THE FALLEN LIME-TREE

The corn-sheaves whisper thy grave around,
Where fiery blood hath flowed:
O lover of battle and trumpet-sound!
Thou art couched in a still abode.

A quiet home from the noon-day's glare,
And the breath of the wintry blast-

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Didst thou toil through the days of thy silvery hair, To win thee but this at last?

THE FALLEN LIME-TREE

O JOY of the peasant! O stately lime!
Thou art fallen in thy golden honey-time!
Thou whose wavy shadows

Long and long ago
Screened our gray forefathers

From the noontide's glow;

Thou, beneath whose branches,
Touched with moonlight gleams,
Lay our early poets

Wrapt in fairy dreams.

O tree of our fathers! O hallowed tree!
A glory is gone from our home with thee.

Where shall now the weary
Rest through summer eves?
Or the bee find honey

As on thy sweet leaves?

Where shall now the ringdove

Build again her nest?

She so long the inmate

Of thy fragrant breast!

But the sons of the peasant have lost in thee
Far more than the ringdove, far more than the bee!

These may yet find coverts
Leafy and profound,
Full of dewy dimness,

Odour, and soft sound:

But the gentle memories
Clinging all to thee,

When shall they be gathered

Round another tree?

O pride of our fathers! O hallowed tree!
The crown of the hamlet is fallen in thee!

THE BIRD AT SEA

BIRD of the greenwood!

Oh, why art thou here?
Leaves dance not o'er thee,

Flowers bloom not near.

All the sweet waters

Far hence are at play-
Bird of the greenwood!
Away, away!

Where the mast quivers
Thy place will not be,
As midst the waving
Of wild-rose and tree.

FAR away!-my home is far away,

Where the blue sea laves a mountain-shore ;

In the woods I hear my brothers play,

Midst the flowers my sister sings once more,
Far away!

Far away!-my dreams are far away,

When at midnight stars and shadows reign: "Gentle child!" my mother seems to say, "Follow me where home shall smile again, Far away!"

Far away!-my hope is far away,

Where love's voice young gladness may restore. O thou dove! now soaring through the day, Lend me wings to reach that better shore, Far away!

KEENE; OR, LAMENT OF AN IRISH
MOTHER OVER HER SON

[THIS lament is intended to imitate the peculiar style of the Irish Keenes, many of which are distinguished by a wild and deep pathos, and other characteristics analogous to those of the national music.]

DARKLY the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-haired son!
Silent and dark!

There is blood upon the threshold

Whence thy step went forth at morn

Like a dancer's in its fleetness,

O my bright first-born!

At the glad sound of that footstep
My heart within me smiled;

Thou wert brought me back all silent
On thy bier, my child!

KEENE

Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-haired son !
Silent and dark!

I thought to see thy children
Laugh on me with thine eyes;
But my sorrow's voice is lonely
Where my life's flower lies.
I shall go to sit beside thee,
Thy kindred's graves among;

I shall hear the tall grass whisper-
I shall not hear it long.

Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-haired son !
Silent and dark!

And I, too, shall find slumber

With my lost one in the earth ;—

Let none light up the ashes

Again on our hearth!

Let the roof go down !-let silence

On the home for ever fall,

Where my boy lay cold, and heard not

His lone mother's call!

Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-haired son!
Silent and dark!

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