Ho, I sing and I sing!
Digging jewels for the King;—
Till I tire of the measure
I sing and I sing:
Here’s a diamond true bright;
Here’s a ruby worth a treasure:
So I labour, and my sight
Surely fails, and I get gray
Digging jewels for the King:
I have toiled so many a day,
I have found so many a treasure,
Yet,—ah’s me!—I dare to say
That I could not earn my way
To the palace of the King.
I was a miner—doomed
With a fate branded at birth
To serve the King entombed
In this dungeon of the Earth:
They gave me a thing called Hope,
A word written in gold
On a talent—precious I’m told;
But, if I am to grope
All my life long in a mine,
What were the use at best
Of a bauble just to shine
And dangle at my breast?
So I sing, so I sing
Here’s a jewel for the King!—
Let me clear it of the rust;
Wrap the gold thing in gold dust:
’Tis a perfect bauble—see,
A truly precious thing,
Far fitter for a king
Than a prisoner like me.