ONLY a cabin, thatched and gray,
Only a rose-twined door,
Only a barefooted child at play
On only an earthern floor.
Only a little brain—not wise
For even a head so small,
And that is the reason he bitterly cries
For leaving his home—that’s all.
Only the thought of her girlhood there,
And her happier days as wife,
In the shelter poor of its walls so bare,
Have endeared them to her for life;
What is the weeping woman’s cause?
Why are her accents gall?
What does she know of our intricate laws?
It was only a hut—that’s all.
He’s only a peasant in blood and birth,
That man with the eyelids dim,
And there’s room enough on the wide, wide earth
For sinewy serfs like him.
Why had this pitiful, narrow farm,
For his heart such a wondrous thrall?
Why each tree and flower such a mystic charm?
He was born in the place—that’s all.
. . . . . . .
The years have gone, and the worn-out pair
Sleep under the stranger’s clay,
And the weeping child with the curly hair
Is a brave, strong man to-day;
Yet still he thinks of the olden land,
And prays for her tyrant’s fall,
And longs to be one of some chosen band,
With only a chance—that’s all.
SONGS OF INNISFAIL.
WHERE the Austral river rushes
Through feathery heath and bushes,
Through its gurgles and its gushes
You may hear,
To your wonder and surprise,
Sweet melodies arise
You have heard ’neath other skies
Low and clear.
Yes! within the gold land,
Strange to you and cold land,
Voices from the old land
Swell upon the gale—
Lyrics of the story,
Lit with flames of glory,
Dimmed with pages gory,
Songs of Innisfail!
Where Mississippi leaping
O’er cliffs and crags, or creeping
Through valleys fair, is sweeping
To the sea,
From the fields of nodding grain
On some mountain path or plain
Rings a stirring old refrain
Fresh and free.
Yes! where’er we wander
Irish hearts will ponder
O’er our land, and fonder
Throb with ev’ry tale
Of the home that bore us,
Till the new skies o’er us
Echo with our chorus
Songs of Innisfail.
Exiles o’er the spray-foam,
Whereso’er we may roam,
Thoughts of far-away home
Linger still,
And in dreams we see again
Babbling stream and silent glen,
Forest green and lonely fen,
Vale and hill.
Yes! our hearts’ devotion
Flies across the ocean,
While with deep emotion
Sternest features pale,
As around us stealing,
Softened by sad feeling,
Through the air are pealing
Songs of Innisfail!