They are waiting on the shore
For the bark to take them home;
They will toil and grieve no more;
The hour for release hath come.
All their long life lies behind,
Like a dimly blending dream;
There is nothing left to bind
To the realms that only seem.
They are waiting for the boat,
There is nothing left to do;
What was near them grows remote,
Happy silence falls like dew;
Now the shadowy bark is come,
And the weary may go home.
By still water they would rest,
In the shadow of the tree;
After battle sleep is best,
After noise tranquillity.
Maura Du of Ballyshannon.
CHARLES P. O’CONOR
I.
Maura du[21] of Ballyshannon!
Maura du, my flower of flowers!
Can you hear me there out seaward,
Calling back the bygone hours?
Maura du, my own, my honey!
With wild passion still aglow,
I am singing you the old songs
That I sung you long ago.
And you mind, love, how it ran on—
“In your eyes asthore machree![22]
All my Heaven there I see,
And that’s true!
Maura du!
Maura du of Ballyshannon!”
II.
Maura du of Ballyshannon!
Maura du, my soul’s one queen!
Big with love my heart is flying,
Where the grass is growing green.
Maura du, my own, my honey!
That I love you, well you know,
And still sing for you the old song,
That I sung you long ago.
And you mind, love, how it ran on—
“In your eyes asthore machree!
All my Heaven there I see,
And that’s true!
Maura du!
Maura du of Ballyshannon!”