For Edward was his son and Ethel was her daughter,
But the muse of love brought them together.
The sun fell on my knees and i said,
‘Who shall bring me closer again to your love’?
And to weep in secret for the golden cup because,
The silence of the room made me remember!
They took the boy and cried out loud!
But what have they done to the girl?
And from Kenya to see my own people,
For the golden cup is now on the table at last.
Oh, if i could look on her sweet face once again;
And like the silent water slipping down from the hills;
For my lovely Isle is now far from me.
Things seen are not always righteous than things heard,
For my fingers went into the wet earth;
And the things known are higher than the things learnt,
For the reflections of the golden cup directed my moves.
It is better to leave an excavator concealed!
So do not give your brains a racking to lacking;
And like the blast of the doom without the golden cup.
This story is almost five hundred years old,
And it is very deep and very wide to sing with your muse;
For the candle-flame is sprinkled with slat,
And like your shoes so laid on the mat.
Down it came without the golden cup,
But put him into his own native cot;
And bring me a glass of the red wine,
For who will pity the lonely man at bay?