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Desolate sweetness- far and far away What had he loved, what had he lost, the boy?
I know not and I speak of what has been. And more, my son! for more than once when I
Sat all alone, revolving in myself
Shows bin sulputive
Nor list for guerdon in the voice of men,
To vex the noon with fiery gems, or fold Thy presence in the silk of sumptuous looms;
Nor roll thy viands on a luscious tongue, Nor drown thyself with flies in honied wine;
Nor make a snail's horn shrink for wantonness;
And more— - think well! Do-well will follow thought,
And in the fatal sequence of this world An evil thought may soil thy children's blood;
But curb the beast would cast thee in the mire, And leave the hot swamp of voluptuous
Nor thou be rageful, like a handled bee,
Ah, clasp me in your arms, sister, ah, fold me to your breast!
ARE you sleeping? have you forgotten? do not sleep, my sister dear! How can you sleep? the morning brings the day I hate and fear; The cock has crow'd already once, he crows before his time; Awake! the creeping glimmer steals, the hills are white with rime.
Ah, let me weep my fill once more, and cry myself to rest!
To rest? to rest and wake no more were better rest for me,
Than to waken every morning to that face I loathe to see:
calm you lay,
The night was calm, the morn is calm, and like another day;
But I could wish yon moaning sea would rise and burst the shore, And such a whirlwind blow these woods, as never blew before.
For, one by one, the stars went down across the gleaming pane,
And project after project rose, and all of them were vain;
The blackthorn-blossom fades and falls and leaves the bitter sloe,
The hope I catch at vanishes and youth is turn'd to woe.
Come, speak a little comfort! all night I pray'd with tears,
And yet no comfort came to me, and now the morn appears,
When he will tear me from your side, who bought me for his slave: This father pays his debt with me, and weds me to my grave.
What father, this or mine, was he, who, on that summer day When I had fall'n from off the crag we clamber'd up in play,
Found, fear'd me dead, and groan'd, and took and kiss'd me, and again He kiss'd me; and I loved him then; he was my father then.
HER, that yer Honour was spakin' to? Whin, yer Honour? last yearStandin' here by the bridge, when last yer Honour was here?
An' yer Honour ye gev her the top of the mornin', 'Tomorra,' says she. What did they call her, yer Honour? They call'd her Molly Magee. An' yer Honour's the thrue ould blood that always manes to be kind, But there's rason in all things, yer Honour, for Molly was out of her mind.
Shure, an' meself remimbers wan night comin' down be the sthrame, An' it seems to me now like a bit of yisther-day in a dhrame
Here where yer Honour seen her - there was but a slip of a moon, But I hard thim-Molly Magee wid her bachelor, Danny O'Roon
'You've been takin' a dhrop o' the crathur,' an' Danny says, 'Troth, an' I been Dhrinkin' yer health wid Shamus O'Shea at Katty's shebeen; But I must be lavin' ye soon.' 'Ochone are ye goin' away?'
'Goin' to cut the Sassenach whate,' he says, 'over the say '— 'An' whin will ye meet me agin?' an' I hard him, Molly asthore, I'll meet you agin tomorra,' says he, 'be the chapel-door.'
'An' whin are ye goin' to lave me?' 'O' Monday mornin',' says he; 'An' shure thin ye'll meet me tomorra?' "Tomorra, tomorra, Machree!' Thin Molly's ould mother, yer Honour, that had no likin' for Dan, Call'd from her cabin an' tould her to come away from the man, An' Molly Magee kem flyin' acrass me, as light as a lark,
An' Dan stood there for a minute, an' thin wint into the dark.