PARTED.

Once more my hand will clasp your hand;

Your loved voice I shall hear once more;

But we shall never see the land,

The pleasant land we knew of yore;

Never, on any summer day,

Hear the low music of its streams,

Or wander down the leafy way

That leadeth to the land of dreams.

Still, borne upon the scented air,

The songs of birds rise clear and sweet,

As when I gathered roses there,

And heaped their glories at your feet;

And still the golden pathway lies

At eve across the western sea,

And lovers dream beneath those skies,

Which shine no more for you and me.

No more, ah, nevermore! and yet

They seem so near, those summer days,

When Hope was like a jewel set

To shine adown Time’s misty ways;

I sometimes dream that morning’s light

Will bring them back to us once more,

And that ’tis but one long dark night

Since we two parted by the shore.

We parted with soft words and low,

And ‘Farewell till to-morrow,’ said;

From sea and sky, the sunset’s glow

A golden halo round you shed;

Then as you went, I heard you sing,

‘Haste thee, sweet morrow:’ parting thus,

How could we dream that life would bring

Not any morrow there for us?

We parted, and that last farewell

Its shadow on our life-path cast;

And Time’s relentless barriers fell

Between us and our happy past;

And now we meet when cares and tears

Have dulled the parting and the pain,

But never can the weary years

Bring back our golden dreams again.

D. J. Robertson.

Printed and Published by W. & R. Chambers, 47 Paternoster Row, London, and 339 High Street, Edinburgh.

FOOTNOTES:

[1] Irish poteen whisky.

[2] The big blunderbuss taken in Clare.

[Transcriber’s note—the following changes have been made to this text.

Page 627: Luée to Lucé—“earth at Lucé”.]