Lie still, old man, lie still,
Nothing's here to disturb you.
The ghosts are gone, the heroes
Lie snoring under the hill.
And the sea-bedded hoydens
That used so to perturb you,
Yes, you and your monkey gland,
Now sleep and never feel
The hallowing in your hand.
But now the beast is real
Slouching from Nazareth
With death under its elbow
And filthy on its breath
The ordure of Armageddon.

Old man, old man of the mountain
Only us silly sheep
...