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A convict in his prison cell lay dying,
Spoke of home and loved ones there;
Asked his cellmates in a whisper,
Do they think my end is near?
Do they think of me in prison?
I was once their pride and joy;
Do they think of me in prison?
Do they miss their convict boy?
Oh, I long to see my sister,
Charming blithe sister Nell;
How often I have blessed her,
As I lay in my prison cell.
Have my brothers turned against me,
Since to prison I have come?
If they have, I cannot blame them,
For bad comp'ny have me done.
Take this keepsake to my mother,
It is but a lock of hair;
That is all I have to send her,
She will treasure it with care.
As he handed me the keepsake,
Sparks of light had nearly fled;
After ten long years in prison,
Now their convict boy was dead.
Collected in 1951 from Mrs. Michael Devereaux of Trepassey, NL, and published in MacEdward Leach And The Songs Of Atlantic Canada © 2004 Memorial University of Newfoundland Folklore and Language Archive (MUNFLA).
