Classic Poem

I was born in the town of Boston,
A town you all know well,
Raised up by honest parents—
The truth to you I will tell—
Raised up by honest parents,
Raised up most tenderly,
Until I became a sporting man
At the age of twenty-three.

My character was taken
And I was sent to jail.
The people tried, but all in vain,
To keep me out on [bail].
The juror found me guilty,
The clerk he wrote it down,
The judge he passed the sentence
To send me to Charlestown.

They put me on the east-bound train
One cold December day,
And every station I would pass
This is what they would say:
“There goes the Boston burglar;
His arms in chains are bound.
'Tis for some crime or other
They have sent him to Charlestown.”

There was my aged father
A-standing at the bar,
Likewise my dear old mother
A-tearing down her hair.
She was tearing down her old gray locks
And trembling, as she said,
“My son, my son, what have you done
To be taken to Charlestown?”

There lives a girl in Boston,
A girl that I loved well.
If ever I gain my liberty
It's with that girl I'll dwell.
If ever I gain my liberty
There are two things I'll shun:
That being a night street walker
And drinking of the rum.