MY CLUSTER OF NUTS-THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 281

I've heard the songs by Liffey's wave
That maidens sung-

They sung their land, the Saxon's slave,
In Saxon tongue-

Oh, bring me here that Gaelic dear
Which cursed the Saxon foe,

When thou didst charm the raptured ear,
Mo craoibhin cno!

And none but God's good angels near,
Mo craoibhin cno!

I've wandered by the rolling Lee,
And Lene's green bowers;

I've seen the Shannon's wide-spread sea,
And Limerick's towers;

And Liffey's tide, where halls of pride
Frown o'er the flood below:

My wild heart strays to Avonmore's side,
Mo craoibhin cno!

With love and thee for aye to bide,

Mo craoibhin cno!

EDWARD WALSH.

THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,

Where we sat side by side,

On a bright May morning long ago,
When first you were my bride.

The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the lovelight in your eye.

The place is little changed, Mary,
The day as bright as then ;
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again.

But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath warm on my cheek,
And I still keep list'ning for the words
You nevermore may speak.

'Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near;
The church where we were wed, Mary,—
I see the spire from here.

But the graveyard lies between, Mary,
And my steps would break your rest;
For I've laid you, darling, down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely, now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends;
But oh, they love the better far

The few our Father sends !
And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessing and my pride!
There's nothing left to care for now
Since my poor Mary died!

I'm bidding you a long farewell,
My Mary, kind and true!
But I'll not forget you, darling,
In the land I'm going to!

TERENCE'S FAREWELL.

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!

LADY DUFFERIN.

TERENCE'S FAREWELL.

So, my Kathleen, you're going to leave me
All alone by myself in this place;
But I'm sure you will never deceive me,—
Oh no, if there's truth in that face!
Though England's a beautiful city,

Full of illigant boys, oh what then?
You wouldn't forget your poor Terence
You'll come back to ould Ireland again.

Och, those English, deceivers by nature,
Though maybe you'd think them sincere,
They'll say you're a sweet charming creature,
But don't you believe them, my dear.
O Kathleen, agra! don't be minding
The flattering speeches they'd make ;
But tell them a poor lad in Ireland
Is breaking his heart for your sake.

It's folly to keep you from going,

Though, faith, it's a mighty hard case; For, Kathleen, you know there's no knowing When next I shall see your sweet face. And when you come back to me, Kathleen, None the better will I be off then;

You'll be speaking such beautiful English,

Sure I won't know my Kathleen again.

283

Ah now, where's the need of this hurry?
Don't fluster me so in this way:
I forgot, 'twixt the grief and the flurry,
Every word I was maning to say.
Now just wait a minute, I bid ye;

Can I talk if you bother me so ?—
O Kathleen, my blessing go wid ye,
Every inch of the way that you go.

LADY DUFFERIN.

MY OWN DARLING KATEY.

I was working in the fields near fair Boston city,

Thinking sadly of Kilkenny-and a girl that's there; When a friend came and tould me-late enough, and more's the pity!—

'There's a letter waitin' for ye, in the postman's care!' Oh, my heart was in my mouth all the while that he was spaking,

For I knew it was from Katey !—she's the girl that can

spell !

And I couldn't speak for crying, for my heart had nigh been breaking,

With longing for a word from the girl I love well. Oh! I knew it was from Katey. Who could it be but Katey ?

The poor girl that loves me well, in sweet Kilkenny Town.

Oh, 'twas soon I reached the place, and I thanked them for the trouble

They wor taking with my letter, a-sorting with such

care:

MY OWN DARLING KATEY.

285

And they asked me, 'Was it single?' and I tould them 'twas a double !

For wasn't it worth twice as much as any letter there? Then they sorted and they searched, but something seemed the matter,

And my heart it stopped beating when I thought what it might be:

Och boys, would you believe it? they had gone and lost my letter,

My poor Katey's letter that had come so far to me.

For I knew, etc.

I trimbled like an aspen, but I said, "Tis fun you're making,

Of the poor foolish Paddy that's so aisy to craze; Och gintlemen, then look again, maybe you wor mis

taken,

For letters, as you know, boys, are as like as pase!' Then they bade me search myself, when they saw my deep dejection,

But, och! who could sarch when the tears blind the

sight?

Moreover (as I tould them), I'd another strong objection,

In regard of niver larning to read nor to write. For I wasn't cute like Katey, my own darling Katey, etc.

Then they laughed in my face, and they asked me (though in kindness),

What good would letters do me that I couldn't understand.

And I answered, 'Were they cursed with deafness and with blindness,

Would they care less for the clasp of a dear loved hand ?'