Hogan is out on a Texan plain,
Hennessy fell in Manila fight,
And I—I am back in New York again
In my old arm-chair at the Club to-night;
And Kitty O'Neil—the snow lies white
On the turf above her across the sea,
And stranger colleens are dancing light
Where Kitty O'Neil once danced with me.
O the Antrim glens and the thrushes' song,
And the hedges white with blossoming may,
Many a colleen tripping along,
But none so fair as the one away:
"Musha, God save you!" I to them say,
"God save you kindly!" they answer me;
I shiver and wake, in the dawning grey,
And Kitty O'Neil lies over the sea.
O a bit of a dance in an Irish street—
Hogan was there, and Hennessy,
Many a colleen fair and sweet,
And Kitty O'Neil she danced with me;
Kitty O'Neil, with eyes of brown,
And feet as light as the flakes of snow.
Was it last year, O Kitty aroon,
Or was it a hundred years ago?
SPRING IN THE CITY
Outside my garret window, set
Amid the city's dust and blare,
One bit of green is growing yet—
A gnarled old hawthorn tree stands there
A little bird sings in its bough,
Where may-buds break as white as foam;
It breaks my heart to hear him now,
For O, he sings the songs of home.
His wings are of the hodden grey,
A little lilting thing is he;
He pipes a carol blythe and gay;
But sad the thoughts he brings to me.
Once more the Irish hills rise green,
The lark springs to the sun once more,
Once more I tread the old boreen
And see you at the cabin door.
The young May moon her cresset burns
In misty skies of Irish blue,
And for an hour my spirit turns
From dreary streets to dream of you