The baby sleep—lies pillowed."
As nurse gazed at this picture of profound and innocent repose, lovely as sleeping youth must be, to every eye capable of acknowledging beauty, all her own grief at the separation of to-morrow pressed quick and stern upon her.
"Ah, who'll watch over ye, pulse iv me heart? Who'll ye go spake to when yer in throuble? Where will ye turn when yer sperrit scorns the ways iv them that's about ye. Ah, where indeed! Oh, Mary, sweet queen of heaven, look on ye. Sure ye niver had a purer heart than hers. Blessed Jasus shield ye. Ah, Captin, agra, it's here ye ought to be, with the warm heart an' the strong arm to hold her up through this weary world."
And sinking on her knees, nurse devoutly told her beads, often wiping away the fast-falling tears, yet, with the peculiarity of her race, fervently hoping through it all.
"There is a prescience given to grief,
Which joy may never know,
A hope of future good, to cheer,
The ruggedness of woe!
It is the soul's deep whisper heard
When earth's rude tumult sleeps,