The mist came floating round again
With songs and laughter ringing—
And there we were on Bearey slopes
Where morning larks were singing.
THE BABE OF EAREY CUSHLIN.
So sad the lot of babe forlorn
That hath no home in earth or sky,
But sobs along the dark'ning broogh—
"A Babe without a Name am I!"
Scarce launched upon its earthly course,
It had no time to sin or pray;
But all unwelcome, undesired,
Its harmless life was cast away.
Unblest by sign of Holy Cross,
Whose weight, like Christ, it surely bore,
A sinless soul, through dreary space
Thrust out to wander evermore.
It sobs along the lonely broogh,
Where night and darkness fill the sky,
"Oh, pity me! Oh, pity me!
A Babe without a Name am I!"
Dark was the night and rough the road
The Heiress in her anguish trod;
To frenzy wrought, her only thought
To hide her shame beneath the sod.
Ask not what woeful deed was done
Ere dimly dawned the sombre day;
What madness of despair sent forth
That dreadful cry above the bay!
The sea-mews rose and wheeled and crossed,
White wings against the dark brow'd hill;
And widening circles on the tide
Broke silently, and all was still.