And Erin spread her skirt across her grave,
And there were shamrocks nestling on the breast,
And blue bells and all flowers that softly wave,
Making more beautiful her place of rest.

If 'twas from there the stranger gathered thee
I would forgive the sacrilege, and thou
A precious relic to my breast would be,
Nor prized the less because thou'rt withered now.

Ah me! I know thou canst not answer me,
Yet sight of thee must all these thoughts awake;
Enough, from mine own land thou comest, thou'lt be
Welcome to Erin's child alone for Erin's sake.




LAMENTATION

(WALTER AND FREDDIE.)


From morn to eve, from evening unto morning,
I mourn and cannot rest;
So mourns the mother bird when home returning
She finds an empty nest.

I mourn the little children of my dwelling,