Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on. When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow,— I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.
I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break,— When the hunger-pain was gnawin' there,
And you hid it for my sake; I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore,— O, I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where grief can't reach you more!
I'm biddin' you a long farewell,
My Mary—kind and true! But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm goin' to; They say there 's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there— But I'll not forget old Ireland,
Were it fifty times as fair!
And often in those grand old woods
I'll sit, and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies; And I'll think I see the little stile
Where we sat side by side, And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn,
When first you were my bride.
LADY DUFFERIN.
HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD.
FROM "THE PRINCESS."
Home they brought her warrior dead:
She nor swooned, nor uttered cry; All her maidens, watching, said,
"She must weep or she will die."
Then they praised him, soft and low,
Called him worthy to be loved, Truest friend and noblest foe;
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.
Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior stept, Took the face-cloth from the face;
Yet she neither moved nor wept.