THE LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.

287

The place is little changed, Mary, the day is 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 listening for the words you never more 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 step might 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.

Yours was the brave good 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 for the same, Mary, though you cannot hear me now.

I thank you for that patient smile, when your heart was like to break,

When the hunger-pain was gnawing there, and you hid it for my sake!

1 bless you for the pleasant word, when your heart was sad and sore,

Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary, where grief can sting no more.

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:

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 that little stile where we sat side by side,

And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, when first you were my bride.

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

H. W. LONGFELLOW.

SOMEWHAT back from the village street
Stands the old-fashioned country seat;
Across its antique portico

Tall poplar-trees their shadows throw,
And from its station in the hall

An ancient timepiece says to all,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

THE OLD CLOCK ON THE STAIRS.

Halfway up the stairs it stands,

And points and beckons with its hands
From its case of massive oak,

Like a monk, who, under his cloak,
Crosses himself, and sighs alas!
With sorrowful voice to all who pass,
"Forever-never!

'Never-forever!”

By day its voice is low and light;
But in the silent dead of night,
Distinct as a passing footstep's fall,
It echoes along the vacant hall,
Along the ceiling, along the floor,
And seems to say at each chamber-door,
"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

Through days of sorrow and of mirth,
Through days of death and days of birth,
Through every swift vicissitude

Of changeful time, unchanged it has stood,
And as if, like God, it all things saw,
It calmly repeats those words of awe-
"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

In that mansion used to be
Free-hearted Hospitality;

His great fires up the chimney roared;
The stranger feasted at his board;
But, like the skeleton at the feast,
That warning timepiece never ceased,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

289

There groups of merry children played,
There youths and maidens dreaming strayed:

O precious hours! O golden prime,
And affluence of love and time!
Even as a miser counts his gold,
Those hours the ancient timepiece told,
"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

From the chamber, clothed in white,
The bride came forth on her wedding night;
There, in that silent room below,

The dead lay in his shroud of snow;
And in the hush that followed the prayer,
Was heard the old clock on the stairs-

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

All are scattered now and fled;
Some are married, some are dead;
And when I ask, with throbs of pain,
"Ah! when shall they all meet again,
As in the days long since gone by ?"
The ancient timepiece makes reply,
"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

Never here, forever there,

Where all parting, pain, and care,
And death, and time shall disappear,
Forever there, but never here!
The horologe of Eternity

Sayeth this incessantly,

"Forever-never!

Never-forever!"

CONTENTMENT.

291

CONTENTMENT.

ANONYMOUS.

My mind to me a kingdom is;

Such perfect joy therein I find, As far exceeds all earthly bliss

That world affords, or grows by kind : Though much I want what most men have, Yet doth my mind forbid me crave.

I

Content I live-this is my stay;
I seek no more than may suffice-
press to bear no haughty sway;
Look-what I lack my mind supplies.
Lo! thus I triumph like a king,
Content with that my mind doth bring.

I see how plenty surfeits oft,

And hasty climbers oft do fall;
I see how those that sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all :
They get, they toil, they spend with care-
Such cares my mind could never bear.

I laugh not at another's loss,

I grudge not at another's gain;
No worldly wave my mind can toss ;
I brook that is another's pain;
I fear no foe-I scorn no friend:
I dread no death-I fear no end.

Some have too much, yet still they crave;
I little have, yet seek no more:
They are but poor-though much they have,
And I am rich-with little store.

They poor, I rich: they beg, I give;

They lack, I lend: they pine, I live.