Verses and Rhymes By the Way Part 6

I am a stranger here, I have not seen One friendly face of all that I have known, And my heart mourns for thee my island green, Because I am a stranger and alone

So thou art welcome as a friend to me, Tell me where lay the sod that brought thee forth, Idly I wonder as I look at thee If thou hast come, as I did, from the North?

From the green glens that he beside the sea From cloud capt Sleive mis of the shamrock vest?

From near old castles, where the dread banshee Waits for the native lords when laid to rest?

Or did the tartaned stranger call thee where Mount Cashel's Lord rules o'er a fair domain?

Or gra.s.s grown ruin all that's left to bear Of a lost race the all but fading name?

The lovely Maine lingers in flowing through The peaceful place that was my childhood's home, Myriads of shamrocks on its margin grew, Was it from these thy sisters thou hast come?

Such fair broad meadows by Maine water lay, Erin her mantle green for carpet spread, In merry childhood there we met to play, Das.h.i.+ng the dew from many a shamrock's head.

Where sleep the village dead there is a spot That's dearer far than all the rest to me; It's interwoven with full many a thought, And with my young heart's childish history.

She was most fair that sleeps that sod beneath; The fair form shrined a soul akin to mine, And the sharp pain of heart ties cut by death, Has softened been but left unhealed by time

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, That are forever gone, Sorrows that mothers feel my heart is swelling, And so I make my moan.

One little blossom on my bosom faded, And pa.s.sed from me away, But near my door the drooping willows shaded My little boys at play

My boys that came with flying feet to meet me, And questions wondrous wise, And bits of news which they had brought to greet me, And see my glad surprise

Bitter for sweet no human hand can alter Nor bid one sorrow pa.s.s, With sudden stroke our darling little Walter Was laid beneath the gra.s.s

Ah then it was to me an added sorrow, To hear his brother moan, Where's little Walter, will he come to morrow I cannot play alone?

The summons for the child had come already Which said I must resign The best beloved, the precious little Freddie, To other arms than mine

How still and lone are the familiar places Where little pattering feet Made music for me, and I saw bright faces Dimple with laughter sweet

My arms are empty that woold fain be folding My lost ones to my breast, But well I know, the Father's face beholding, They are forever blest.

From Christ's dear words my bleeding heart would gather At length submissive grace,-- He says that in the kingdom of His Father, They still behold His face.

In the bright garden of the Lord they're staying, Amid the angels fair; And heavenly whispers to my heart are saying-- Look up, your treasure's there.

THE SONG OF THE BEREAVED.

(I have borrowed thy pattern, dear Hood, to cut out our mourning garments.)

With garments for sorrow torn, With eyelids heavy and red, A woman sat by a new-made grave, Bewailing her slaughtered dead-- Weep! weep! weep!

Tears of remorseful pain; The sorrow that sorrows without a hope, Is poured forth above the slain.

Drink! drink! drink!

It slayeth on every side, Till the blue-eyed baby is fatherless, And a desolate widow the bride.

O for a gleam of light On the home, on the friendly hand, That pours in kindness the burning draught That maketh a desolate land.

Drink! drink! drink!

The horse-leech ever craves, There are empty chairs in the desolate home, And the earth swells with new-made graves.

Cellar, saloon, and bar, Bar, cellar, saloon, And a wasted life, and a hopeless death, Is the tempted victim's doom

O men with the friendly treat!

O women with New Year's wine!

It is not liquor you're pouring out, But your child's blood and mine, Drink! drink! drink!

In joyous youthful prime, Drink that marks out the downward road To want and disease and crime

Drink in the lordly hall, Pour out the blood-red wine,-- And grey hairs sorrow over the grave, That is dug before its time Drink for the darling son, Till the softened brain goes mad, And darkness falls on the father's life Which is bound in the life of the lad.

Every unwilling slave Standeth on the bedroom's brink, But what will free the body and soul That is enslaved by drink?

Bar, cellar, saloon, Cellar, saloon and bar Alas, that the demon of drink slays more By far than the demon of war

Drink! drink! drink!

Till manhood and pride are gone, Drink over the grave of self-respect, And then in despair drink on.

Drink! drink! drink!

Drink at the fearful cost Of knowing that though still cursed with life, Yet hope is forever lost.

Our brightest go down to death, We cannot our dearest save; And we dare not think of the judgment seat That lieth beyond the grave.

Drink! drink! drink!

So many are licensed to sell, Drink; you will surely find the house, Whose guests find the way to h.e.l.l.

Oh for the plighted band Of those who are bound to save Their fellow men from the fearful doom That extends beyond the grave!

Alas! they are trying hard To do, what they cannot do, To wage a war to the uttermost, And only hurt a few.

Bar, cellar, saloon, Cellar, saloon and bar Are swiftly, surely, doing their work As those who in earnest are; And the moderate drinker stands, Kind, at the head of the way, And opens the gate, with friendly hands, Of the road that leads astray.

Of the road that leads astray, And never will stop to think That the shroud is sewed, and the grave is dug, For the lost by moderate drink; And the banded are loath to strike, They have friends on the other side, And therefore "h.e.l.l hath enlarged herself"

And opened her mouth so wide