Book._AiAJS ;1D .■^. :y CrOPMRIOHT JDEPOSflT. A ROUND OF RIMES A ROUND OF RIMES BY DENIS A. McCarthy f ■ Author of ^^ Voices from Erin *' SECOND EDITION REVISED AND ENLARGED BOSTON LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 1909 Copyright, igoy, igog. By Denis A. McCarthy. Published September, 1909 THE UNIVBRSITV PRESS, CAMBRIDGE, U.S.A. n.A 24G854 SEP 21 '1909 TO ONE WHO "NEVER DOUBTED CLOUDS WOULD BREAK" PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION In answer to a popular demand this second edition of the author's first book of verses, ''A Round of Rimes," is now presented. The present volume con- tains all the poems which won for the first edition the praise of critics everywhere. A few poems, however, of a merely personal or topical interest, the author has eliminated, and has added a number, since written: A Song for The Flag, Age in Exile, What is Success? To an Irish Thrush, A Song of Beauty, The Fortune Fairy, The Veterans, Spring Song, The Fields o' Ballyclare, Queens, The May Procession, The Singer, On St. Patrick's Day, A Song for the Child- Workers, Give Them a Place to Play, In the Heart of the Hills, The Caged Songster, Rosa Mystica. The author's acknowledgments are due to the ** Youth's Companion," "The Rosary Magazine," [vii] PREFACE "The Christian Endeavor World," ''The Ave Maria," "The Journal of Education," and "The New York Sun," for permission to use in this volume poems which were contributed originally by him to those publications. Denis A. McCarthy. August, 1909. [ viii] CONTENTS Fagb A Song for the Flag i Age in Exile 4 What is Success? 6 To AN Irish Thrush 8 A Song of Beauty . 10 The Fortune Fairy 12 The Veterans 15 Spring Song 17 The Fields o' Ballyclare ig Queens 21 The May Procession 22 The Singer 24 On St. Patrick's Day 25 A Song for the Child- Workers 27 Give Them a Place to Play 29 In the Heart of the Hills 31 The Caged Songster 32 Rosa Mystica 34 The Poet 35 Where Mother Sleeps 37 When All the World Goes Wrong 38 My Song 40 "A Dreamer Lives Forever" 42 When Summer Comes Again 43 [ix] CONTENTS Page Ah, Sweet is Tipperary 45 Remorse 47 The Poet's Heart 48 A Song of Liberty 49 First Love 51 The Sorrow of Love 52 An Old Woman's Thought 53 "In the Tumult of the City" 55 Go Where You Will 57 A Question 58 A Shamrock from the Suir 59 Memories of Ireland 61 Dreams 63 Poor Love must Wait 64 To One in Bohemia 65 Land of Youth! 66 Across the Seas in Erin 68 Rose of My Heart 70 The Memory of Emmet 71 A Prairie Reminiscence 74 In Summer 76 A Picture 77 For Love's Sweet Sake 78 1 Saw 80 Voices from Erin 81 Sweetheart 82 "The Heart of Having is Sad" 83 Heroes 84 Ireland 85 When Love Lay Dead 86 [X] CONTENTS Page The Midnight Mass By "Come Unto Me" 90 Christmas-Time in Ireland 92 The Song I Would Sing 94 Waiting 96 After Summer 98 Do We Forget? 99 Love and Reason 100 An Exile's Longing loi Whene'er I Think of Thee 103 "Bonny Mary of Argyle" 105 I Think of Thee 107 A Buried Heart 108 The Autumn Rain no Come, Cheer Up! 112 [xi] A ROUND OF RIMES A Song for the Flag ILTERE is my love to you, flag of the free, and flag of the tried and true ; Here is my love to your streaming stripes and your stars in a field of blue; Here is my love to your silken folds wherever they wave on high, For you are the flag of a land for which 't were sweet for a man to die. Green though the banner my fathers bore in the days of their ancient wars. Men of my race full many have died for the banner of stripes and stars. Bearing the green my fathers battled and bled in the olden fray; But you, O beautiful flag of the free, are the flag of our hearts to-day. A ROUND OF RIMES So with the myriad races of men who, leaving the past behind, Give to the land of their manhood's choice allegiance of heart and mind, Laboring ever, with hand or brain, the nation they help to build, For you, O beautiful flag, are to them the sign of a hope fulfilled. Native or foreign, we're all as one when cometh the day of strife. What is the dearest gift we can give for the flag but a human life? Native or foreign are all the same when the heart's blood reddens the earth, And, native or foreign, 't is love like this is the ultimate test of our worth. Native or immigrant, here is the task to which we must summon our powers : Ever unsullied to keep the flag in peace as in war's wild hours. Selfishness, narrowness, graft, and greed and the evil that hates the light, — All these are foes of the flag to-day ; all these we must face and fight. 1^1 A ROUND OF RIMES Symbol of hope to me and to mine and to all who aspire to be free, Ever your golden stars may shine from the east to the western sea; Ever your golden stars may shine, and ever your stripes may gleam, To lead us on from the deeds we do to the greater deeds that we dream. Here is our love to you, flag of the free, and flag of the tried and true; Here is our love to your streaming stripes and your stars in a field of blue; Native or foreign, we're children all of the land over which you fly. And, native or foreign, we love the land for which it were sweet to die. l3] A ROUND OF RIMES Age in Exile \^7EARY of the miles and miles of crowded street and square, Weary of the towering walls that stint the light and air, Weary of the clanging bells — ay, moidhered with the noise — Weary of the crabbit look of little girls and boys — How I miss the mountainside, and how I miss the glins ! How I miss the singing and the sighing of the win's ! How I miss the silence in the dark that used to fall — Yet it is the neighbors that I miss the most of all ! Faces by the thousand, it is here a man may pass — Never such a sight at home, at market or at Mass ! Faces like the tides that in the river ebb and flow. Yet, among them all, there 's not a face a man may know. Ah, I 'm often wishing now for just a sight of one Face that was familiar in the pleasant time that 's gone. How the sight would hearten me when life begins to pall — For it is the neighbors that I miss the most of all ! [4] A ROUND OF RIMES Ay, my boys are good as gold since first they brought me out — Not a blessed thing to do but smoke and walk about. Eating of the very best and wearing decent clothes — Sure 't is I *m the happy man, God in heaven knows. Yet I can't deny but that I do be missing still Places I was used to once in meadow, vale and hill ; Places — ay, and faces, too, and voices I recall — For it is the neighbors that I miss the most of all ! Is] A ROUND OF RIMES What is Success? \X7HAT is success? To gain a share of gold? To have one's wealth in envious accents told ? To see one's picture flaunted in the press ? Ah, there be those who label this success. What is success? To win a little fame? To hear a fickle world applaud your name? To be accounted as a genius? Yes, And there be those who label this success. But have we not another standard still To judge a man of character and will? Are gold and fame the only measures tried? In all the world is there no test beside? Ah, yes. The man who meets, with courage grim, The daily duties that devolve on him. The petty, mean, heart-breaking cares that tire The patient soul that never may aspire — [6] A ROUND OF RIMES Howe'er so cramped the field wherein he works, He has not failed — the man who never shirks, The man who toils for years without a break, And treads the path of pain for others' sake. There are a myriad of such men to-day, Who, all unnoted, walk the dolorous way — Upon their shoulders still the cross may press. But who will say they have not won success? I7] A ROUND OF RIMES O To an Irish Thrush |H, little Irish thrush, Hush, oh, hush ! I hear you singing in the morning bright, At glowing noon I hear you, and at night; And, oh, your song, to others gay and glad, To me is sweet, so sweet ! but, ah, so sad ! So hush, and do not sing ! Your minstrelsies such poignant mem'ries brin;. That tears will flow At all the dreams revived of long ago ! Oh, little Irish thrush, Hush, oh, hush ! You are an exile, like myself, and so I can detect an undertone of woe In all your singing, though your master here, Dull with content, it does not pierce his ear. So hush, and sing no more. My heart is full, my eyes are running o'er Because your song Recalls old days I deemed were buried long. [8] A ROUND OF RIMES Oh, little Irish thrush, Hush, oh, hush ! Your jovial master thinks that you are gay, He hears with pride your singing all the day, He thinks you are content, and that you ne'er Long for the Irish woods, the Irish air — So hush, and do not sing. Let not for souls like his your music ring. And for my sake. Hush, little exile, or my heart will break I [9] A ROUND OF RIMES A Song of Beauty /^H, sing me a song of beauty ! I 'm tired of the ^^^ stressful song, I 'm weary of all the preaching, the arguing right and wrong, I 'm fain to forget the adder that under the leaf lies curled, And dream of the light and beauty that gladdens the gray old world ! Oh, sing of the emerald meadows that smile all day in the sun ! The ripple and gleam of the rivers that on through the meadows run ! Oh, sing of the sighing branches of trees in the leafy woods, And the balm for the heart that's hidden afar in the solitudes ! The birds — let them sing in your singing and flash through the lines you write. The lark with his lilt in the morning, the nightingale charming the night, [10] A ROUND OF RIMES The butterfly over the flowers that hovers on painted wing — All these, let them brighten and lighten the beautiful song you sing ! And let there be faces of lovers, and let there be eyes that glow, And let there be tears of gladness instead of the tears of woe. And let there be clinging kisses of lips for a time that part. But never a tristful shadow to darken a trustful heart ! Ay, sing me a song of beauty — away with the songs of strife ! Away with the spectre of sorrow that saddens the most of life ! Though under the leaf the adder of death and of doom lies curled. Oh, sing, for a space, of the beauty that gladdens the gray old world ! I") A ROUND OF RIMES The Fortune Fairy TF you walk in Tipperary By a certain castle gray, Like as not you'll meet a fairy Somewhere there along the way. He 's a crabbed little fellow In a quaint, old-fashioned suit, Scarlet coat and waistcoat yellow, And a three-cocked hat to boot. All his fingers to his knuckles Crusted thick with glitt'ring rings, And a pair of silver buckles On his shoes, like any king's ! Well, perhaps he'll be reclining, "Fair and aisy" in the sun, Feeling drowsy after dining And not much disposed to run. I 12] A ROUND OF RIMES Faith, 't is then's your chance to nab him, Steal up softly in the shade, Steal up cautiously and grab him, And your fortune 's surely made ! Yes, your fortune 's made forever, If you look him in the eyes. Vowing he'll escape you never Till he tells you where it lies — Where it lies, the hidden treasure, Good gold pieces fair and round, Minted in no stinted measure By the fairies underground ! He '11 be turning, he'll be twisting. He'll be peevish as a cat. He '11 deny the gold's existing. He '11 be saying this and that. He '11 be mocking, he '11 be crying. He '11 be grave and he '11 be gay — Every trick will he be trying Just to make you look away ! I 13 I A ROUND OF RIMES But whatever thing he's saying, And whatever trick he tries, And whatever game he 's playing — Look him straight between the eyes ! Ay, be wary and be steady. For 't is oft the rogue has laughed At the mortals fooled already By his cunning and his craft. Ay, be steady and be wary, For the quiver of a lash Will release the Fortune Fairy, And he '11 vanish like a flash ! [14] A ROUND OF RIMES The Veterans "C^VERY year they're marching slower, ■^^ Every year they're stooping lower, Every year the lilting music stirs the hearts of older men; Every year the flags above them Seem to bend and bless and love them As if grieving for the future when they '11 never march again ! Every year that day draws nearer — Every year this truth is clearer That the men who saved the nation from the severing Southern sword Soon must pass away forever From the scene of their endeavor, Soon must answer to the roll call of the angel of the Lord. Every year with dwindling number, Loyal still to those that slumber, Forth they march to where already many have found peace at last, [15 1 A ROUND OF RIMES And they place the fairest blossoms O'er the silent, mould'ring bosoms Of the valiant friends and comrades of the battles of the past. Every year grow dimmer, duller, Tattered flag and faded color; Every year the hands that bear them find a harder task to do, And the eyes that only brightened When the blaze of battle lightened. Like the tattered flags they follow are grown dim and faded too. Every year we see them massing, Every year we watch them passing, Scarcely pausing in our hurry after pleasure, after gain, But the battle flags above them Seem to bend and bless and love them, And through all the lilting music sounds an undertone of pain ! [i6] A ROUND OF RIMES Spring Song '1X7INTER days are dreary, Winter nights are long, — Cometh March, and robin breaks The silence with a song. Cometh April, shine and show'r Freely forth to fling, Breaking beauty's slumber with The tender touch of Spring. Winter days so dreary ! Winter nights so long ! Still may brood about the soul In spite of robin's song; April from the world may bid Wintry winds depart. Still its magic may not move The winter of the heart. Oh, ye folk so dreary, Brooding over wrong ! — Cast away your sadness when You hear the robin's song. [17] A ROUND OF RIMES Let the season to your souls Mirth and music bring, Let your hearts be radiant with The sunshine of the Spring ! [i8] A ROUND OF RIMES The Fields o' Ballyclare T 'VE known the Spring in England And, oh, 't is pleasant there When all the buds are breaking And all the land is fair ! But all the time the heart of me, The better, sweeter part of me, Was sobbin* for the robin In tke fields o* Ballyclare ! I 've known the Spring in England — And, oh, 't is England's fair ! With Springtime in her beauty, A queen beyond compare ! But all the while the soul of me. Beyond the poor control of me, Was sighin' to be flyin' To the fields o' Ballyclare ! I 've known the Spring in England — And now I know it here; This many a month IVe longed for The openin' of the year. I191 A ROUND OF RIMES But, ah, the Irish mind of me (I hope 't is not unkind of me) Is turnin' back with yearnin' To the fields o' Ballyclarel 120] A ROUND OF RIMES Queens JUST like a queen, sure, she carries the head of her — Ay, and her hair is a crown of bright gold ! Just like a queen's is the pose and the tread of her, Just like a queen in a story of old. Queen ? — there 's not one in the world to compare with her. Never a queen beauty's sceptre could bear with her. Never a queen beauty's diadem wear with her, She is so stately, so proud — and so cold ! Faith, she may freeze whom she please with her coldness, then, I 'm for a maid of a mellower mien. One who won't sneer at or jeer at my boldness, when I '11 be confessing how foolish I 've been. She 's not a queen — no, but she 's got a way with her. She has the mildness and sweetness of May with her, Faith, 't is myself '11 be tripping away with her — Sure, 't is a wife a man wants, not a queen ! [21] A ROUND OF RIMES The May Procession TXTHAT is clearer, what is dearer, than the chil- dren's voices singing, As they come with banners waving, as they come with garlands gay, Where the waking buds are breaking and the tender grass is springing, In Our Lady's month of beauty, in Our Lady's month of May ! What is purer or demurer than the fresh young flower- like faces (Ah, no flowers in all the meadows are so gracious or so sweet!), As advancing, softly glancing, through the fragrant woodland places. They approach the shrine of Mary, there to kneel at Mary's feet ! What is fairer, what is rarer, than Our Lady's May procession ! What is nearer to a foretaste of a more than earthly bliss ! [22] A ROUND OF RIMES Ah, no pleasure, — ah, no treasure, of our later life's possession Can compare with all the sweetness and the inno- cence of this ! [23 1 A ROUND OF RIMES The Singer TF song is born within your heart — Then, like the lark on soaring wing, Untouched by rules and schools of art, In sooth you can not help but sing. Behold the bird, untrained, untaught, What music from his throat is flung — E'en so, the song by you unsought Will fall in sweetness from your tongue. If song within your breast is bom, Not all the strife of street or mart, Nor cold neglect nor smile of scorn Can drive its magic from your heart. Though years that come and years that go Their burdens to your soul may bring, Through all the work, through all the woe. The singer can not help but sing ! [24 I A ROUND OF RIMES On St. Patrick's Day \ MERICA, America, O noblest land and best ! To-day thine eyes behold a glimpse of green on many a breast; And in thine ear to-day there sounds a weird and witching strain, A lilt of mingled joy and grief, of merriment and pain. For this is Erin's day of days, and many a son of thine First saw the light of earthly life in Erin's valleys shine ; And so the Irish color gleams, the Irish poet sings. And o'er the noises of the street the Irish music rings ! America, America, thou land of dreams come true ! We love thee none the less because we love old Ireland too. These sprigs of green we wear to-day no treason symbolize — They only show how tenderly old memories we prize ; They show what loyalty to thee and to thy righteous cause Can fill the hearts that hungered long beneath a tyrant's laws; [25] A ROUND OF RIMES They only show, these sprigs of green that 'round thy flag we twine, The depth and fervor of the love we offer thee as thine. America, America, we Ve given thee our toil. We 've helped to rear thy roaring marts and till thy teeming soil; We 've spiked the gleaming bonds of steel that bind the East and West, We 've digged the ore from out the mines that pierce thy mountains' breast. We 've thought for thee, we 've wrought for thee — we 've fought for thee as well ; We 've helped to bear thy banner through the battle's blazing hell — We love thee as our peerless queen, O gracious land and glad; But ah, the dear old mother land so lowly and so sad ! [26] A ROUND OF RIMES A Song for the Child- Workers Ah, the little hands too skilful, And the child-mind choked with weeds ! John Boyle O'Reilly. OHALL we cheat them of their childhood? Shall we rob them of their right? Shall we bend their shrinking shoulders 'neath the load? Shall we stunt their slender bodies? Shall we stint their souls of light? Shall we deal with them by Greed's accursed code? Ah, my brothers, from your ledgers for a moment turn away ! Ah, my sisters, leave your follies and your toys — And give ear to one whose song is for humanity to-day. For the bodies and the souls of girls and boys ! Dearly do we pay for progress, dearly are our profits priced, If we have to rob the school to run the mill, And our creed 's the creed of Mammon, not the gentle creed of Christ, If the little ones He loved must suffer still ! [27 1 A ROUND OF RIMES Let us cease our foolish babble of the rolling tide of trade, Let us prate no more of traffic and its noise, If the wheels of Commerce rattle o'er a roadway that is made Of the bodies and the souls of girls and boys ! Shall we cheat them of their childhood ? Shall we rob them of their right? Shall we bind them to the chariot of Gain ? * Shall the childish brain be blunted, shall the little face grow white In the crowded hives of Industry — and Pain ? Ah, my brothers ! Ah, my sisters, you had better turn away From your ledgers and your dividends and toys, For a menace to the future is the thrift that thrives to-day On the bodies and the souls of girls and boys ! [28] A ROUND OF RIMES Give Them a Place to Play pLENTY of room for dives and dens (glitter and glare and sin!), Plenty of room for prison pens (gather the criminals in!), Plenty of room for jails and courts (willing enough to pay!), But never a place for the lads to race; no, never a place to play ! Plenty of room for shops and stores (Mammon must have the best !), Plenty of room for the running sores that rot in the city's breast ! Plenty of room for the lures that lead the hearts of our youth astray, But never a cent on a playground spent; no, never a place to play ! Plenty of room for schools and halls, plenty of room for art; Plenty of room for teas and balls, platform, stage, and mart. [29] A ROUND OF RIMES Proud is the city — she finds a place for many a fad to-day, But she 's more than blind if she fails to find a place for the boys to play ! Give them a chance for innocent sport, give them a chance for fun — Better a playground plot than a court and a jail when the harm is done ! Give them a chance — if you stint them now, to- morrow you '11 have to pay A larger bill for a darker ill, so give them a place to play I 130] A ROUND OF RIMES In the Heart of the Hills /^H, fain would I hide in the heart of the hills ^^^ Away from the roar and the rattle of trade ! Oh, fain would I rest where the rivulet spills Its silvery wave in a fairy cascade ! Where apples are ripe and where maples are red, And gossamer webs of the spider are spread, I 'm fain to recline with the sward for a bed, In the heart of the hills ! Oh, fain would I fly to the heart of the hills Where proudly the flags of the fall are unfurled ! Oh, fain would I dwell 'mid the splendor that fills The landscape afar to the rim of the world ! For now when the heat of the summer is fled. When apples are ripe and when maples are red, There 's balm for the bosom, there 's rest for the head, In the heart of the hills ! 1 31] A ROUND OF RIMES The Caged Songster "T^EEP in the city's heart, ^^^ Pulsing with toil and traffic — Why should I stop and start? Something — a song seraphic — Tones of a silvery sweetness, Tones like a golden bell, Rich in their round completeness, Full on mine ear they fell ! Only a bird's song, only The song of a skylark lonely, Far from the meadow and croft, Caged in a cobbler's loft. Sing, little lark, O sing ! E'en though your heart be breaking, Forth from your bosom fling Music of God's own making ! Cruel the hand that sought you Deep in the meadow's breast. Cruel the hand that brought you Here from your peaceful nest I 1 32] A ROUND OF RIMES Yet while your voice remaineth, Yet while your heart retaineth Even one dream of Spring, Sing, little lark, O sing ! Deep in the city's heart Pulsing with toil and traffic, Far from the fields apart Many a soul seraphic. Many a poet sadly Pent in the busy throng, Sings till the people gladly Pause and applaud his song. Ah, 't is a bird's song only — That of a skylark lonely. Far from the meadow and croft, Caged in a cobbler's loft ! t33l A ROUND OF RIMES Rosa Mystica /^ MYSTIC Rose, in God's fair garden growing, ^^^ O Mystic Rose, in Heaven's high courtyard blowing — Make sweet, make sweet the pathway I am going, O Mystic Rose ! The darkling, deathward way that I am going, O Mystic Rose ! O Rose, more white than snow-wreath in December ! O Rose, more red than sunset's dying ember. My sins forget, my penitence remember, O Mystic Rose ! Though all should fail, I pray that thou remember, O Mystic Rose ! O Mystic Rose, the moments fly with fleetness; To judgment I, with all my incompleteness — But thou, make intercession by thy sweetness, O Mystic Rose ! Be near to soothe and save me by thy sweetness, O Mystic Rose! [34] A ROUND OF RIMES The Poet T^HE poet sees the tragedy that lies "'' Concealed within the heart from other eyes. Behind the mask, behind the surface smile He sees the gnawing canker-grief the while. Beneath the word he sees the deeper thought, And, deeper still, the soul with sorrow fraught. All things reveal themselves unto his ken. His chart is human life; his books are men. And this the secret is of all his art: He sees life wholly, others but in part. A godlike gift is this the gods bestow To see the truth, to feel it and to know. And thus because he pierces the pretence Of shallow smiles and words disguising sense, The poet may not follow others' lead And lightly write what some may lightly read. [35 1 A ROUND OF RIMES But true to life his lines some trace must bear Of life's mysterious sorrow and despair. The sweetest music breathes a minor strain, And life would not be perfect but for pain. And so the poet sings of grief and strife, And tears and fears, because of such is life. 1361 A ROUND OF RIMES Where Mother Sleeps \X7HERE mother sleeps No sunbeam glances gladly; But the wind sadly Through the long grasses sweeps. The night dew weeps, And darkly shadows fall From the old ruined abbey wall Where ivy creeps. No song of bird, Saving the owlet's dismal cry, is heard. No floweret gay, Child of the sun-loved summer day. From the cold earth upleaps. But all is drear: Death's silence reigneth here — Where mother sleeps. 137 1 A ROUND OF RIMES When All the World Goes Wrong "1X7HEN all the world goes wrong, my dear, When all the world goes wrong, When in the heart no hope there is. And in the soul no song; When every thought with grief is fraught. Ah, then I look and long For love and cheer from thee, my dear, When all the world goes wrong ! When all the world goes right, my dear, When all the world goes right, With every promise proving true And every prospect bright; The gladsome gleams of golden dreams Are fairer in my sight, If thou art near to share, my dear, When all the world goes right ! But let the world go right or wrong, Thy hand and voice and kiss Can charm away, from day to day, My sadness into bliss; [38] A ROUND OF RIMES With thee to share my joy and care, My toil, my smile, my song, I will not fret, but freely let The world go right or wrong ! I39l A ROUND OF RIMES My Song T SAID, **I '11 sing of all the foreign places And of the faces that my eyes have seen, Since, long ago, I looked my last on Erin, Beloved Erin of the valleys green!" And there before me like a panorama. The long, long drama of my exiled days, The friends and scenes of many a year of wand'ring, As I sat pond'ring, passed before my gaze. But when I tried to sing, behold, I could not i My fingers would not wake the silent chords; And though I bent my mind unto the singing There was no ringing of the magic words. And then I said: "I '11 sing of one the dearest, Of one the nearest in the storm and strife. Of one who led me through the toil and trouble Of things ignoble to a better life; Yea, I will steep my soul in dreamings of her. For oh ! I love her and have loved her long, And I will wake my harp to give expression To all my passion in a sweet, sweet song." [40] A ROUND OF RIMES But when I tried to sing, behold, I could not ! My fingers would not o'er the harpstrings move, And though I bent my mind unto the singing There was no ringing of the lay of love. I said at last, "I '11 sing a song of Erin, My own dear Erin o'er the distant seas; I '11 sing of all the olden, golden glories That fill the stories of her seanavhies; For through my veins her ancient blood is flowing, My heart is glowing with her ancient fire. And I will sing of her, though sad and lonely, My land, the only land of my desire ! " And then I sang ; I struck the harp with boldness ; No longer coldness hindered mind or hand; And from my lips there poured the pride, the gladness, Ay, and the sadness of my native land ! I 41 I A ROUND OF RIMES " A Dreamer Lives Forever " T TOO, have been a dreamer; I have knelt To truth and beauty in Arcadian meads; The rapture of the poet I have felt, And all his keen desire for noble deeds. And though my money-minded neighbor deems Of little worth the things that I have done, Far dearer to the dreamer are his dreams Than all the wealth by worldly wisdom won. I 42) A ROUND OF RIMES When Summer Comes Again \7L7HEN summer comes again, dear, And balmy breezes blow, The fields will all be sweet with flowers That now are white with snow; Blue mists will wrap the hill, dear, And echoes haunt the glen. And sunbeams kiss the rill, dear, When summer comes again. When winter winds have fled, dear, And winter's dreary hours. The lark will whistle in the cloud, The blackbird in the bowers; The earth her best will don, dear, To glad the eyes of men. When winter days are gone, dear, And summer comes again. When summer comes again, dear, And love a spell hath wove Around thy gentle heart and mine That scarce have dreamed of love, l43l A ROUND OF RIMES The coldness of the past, dear, Will be forgotten then, When love is lord at last, dear, And summer comes again. [44] A ROUND OF RIMES Ah, Sweet is Tipperary AH, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year, '^^ When the hawthorn 's whiter than the snow, When the feather folk assemble and the air is all a-tremble With their singing and their winging to and fro ; When queenly Slieve-na-mon puts her verdant vesture on, And smiles to hear the news the breezes bring; When the sun begins to glance on the rivulets that dance — Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring ! Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year, When the mists are rising from the lea, When the Golden Vale is smiling with a beauty all beguiling And the Suir ^ goes crooning to the sea; * Pronounced Shure. This is the river mentioned by Spenser in his *' Faerie Queene," as "... The gentle Sbure that making way By sweet Clonmel adorns rich Waterford." [4Sl A ROUND OF RIMES When the shadows and the showers only multiply the flowers That the lavish hand of May will fling; When in unfrequented ways, fairy music softly plays — Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring ! Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the springtime of the year, When life like the year is young, When the soul is just awaking like a lily blossom breaking. And love words linger on the tongue; When the blue of Irish skies is the hue of Irish eyes, And love dreams cluster and cling Round the heart and round the brain, half of pleasure, half of pain — Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring ! [46] A ROUND OF RIMES Remorse T SPOKE to him shortly, sharply, I looked on him with a frown, I told him his sins and follies Were the talk of all the town — And now there's a sorrow in my heart That tears can never drown. Sympathy never I offered, Blinded I was with pride, The hand I should have reached him Hung idly at my side — And now Remorse a constant guest Will ever with me abide. Ah, had I been more loving. Had I but guarded and led; But I went my way unheeding, And closed my heart instead; And now, too late, I love him, Too late, for he is dead. [47 1 A ROUND OF RIMES The Poet's Heart npHE poet's heart *s a crucible wherein The baser metals of life's grief and wrong Are by the subtle alchemy of pain Transmuted straight into the gold of song. [48] A ROUND OF RIMES A Song of Liberty /^PEN your ears to the song I sing you, ^^^ Open your eyes to the truth I show, Open your hearts to the hope I bring you, Hope for a land that is lying low; Centuries old are the chains that bind her, Centuries old is the scar she bears, Bitter as death are the days behind her, Yet through it all she never despairs ! Rouse you then from your idle dreaming, Wake to welcome the time at hand, Liberty's light will soon be streaming Over the hills of our native land ! Red in the night the fires are glowing, Loud in the night the anvils ring, Faces dark in the flames are showing. Sinewy arms the sledges swing, Steady and sure the task pursuing, Each after each the metal strikes — Men, are you blind to the work they're doing? Can you not see they are forging pikes ! I 49 I A ROUND OF RIMES Pikes, the weapons of good and true men, Pikes, the weapons of Freedom's sons, Pikes to put in the hands of you, men, After a while you may capture guns ! Listen, we 've heard from across the water, Heard a message from friendly lips — France, young Liberty's daring daughter, Over the sea is sending ships Laden with means for the land's salvation — Men and money and arms, galore. Coming to help us raise the nation Up to her ancient place once more ! Rouse you then from your idle dreaming. Grasp the weapon that fits the hand. Liberty's light will soon be streaming Over the hills of our native land ! [sol A ROUND OF RIMES First Love /^H, sweet is life when Youth is in the blood ! ^^^ And Love first lays his glamour on the heart ? When dreams anticipant are at their flood, And into being new-found feelings start ! O Time ! thy swiftly flying steps retrace ; Come, Love, again, and fill my heart with joy; For what can Manhood offer to replace The rapturous self-deception of a boy ! I SI] A ROUND OF RIMES The Sorrow of Love T SAID, *'I am fain to borrow, O Life, of your joys' sweet store." But the gift of Love brought sorrow Worse than was mine before. Yet I 'm conscious of life completer From the sorrows the years have brought, For the sorrow of Love is sweeter Than joy where Love is not. [521 A ROUND OF RIMES An Old Woman's Thought Ah, if I were only in Erin, ■^^ In Erin far over the wave, 'T is little at all I'd be carin', And few are the troubles I 'd have ! For there are the well-beloved places — The chapel, the village, the mill. The sthream laughing loud as it races Down from the hill. There, mornin's in spring many scented, There hawthorn's snowy white bloom. There sunsets at evenin' God-painted, There glow-worms shine in the gloom There boreens enchantin'ly mazy All bordered with flowers in June, There daffy-down-dilly and daisy And meadow larks tune. There friends at each turn to meet me With kindly "God save you, asthore!" An' others with blessin's to greet me The minute I 'd open the door. I53l A ROUND OF RIMES There children the soft chair to bring me, Sayin', "Welcome! Sit down awhile, ma'am," And never the cowld word to sting me, Ould as I am. But here I am weary, so weary ! The city's smoke spreads like a pall. The skies are so gray and so dreary. There's no friend to greet me at all; My daughters are proud, overbearin'. My sons wish me laid in the grave — Ah ! if I were only in Erin, 'T is few of these troubles I 'd have ! !S4] A ROUND OF RIMES " In the Tumult of the City j> TN the tumult of the city there is neither rest nor peace, Of the hurry and the worry we may never know surcease, For, before one trouble 's ended there 's another all begun. And before one race is over there 's another to be run. But I know a land of quiet, but I know a place of dreams. By a softly-flowing river that *s the pleasantest of streams, Where a soothing wind is sighing through the mead- ows all the day, In my own dear native valley far away ! In the tumult of the city there is glory to be won. And the promptings of ambition at one's heart are never done; But I 'm weary of the struggle and I 'm fain again to Ue In the long, luxuriant grasses where the river wanders by. [55l A ROUND OF RIMES Let them fight for fame who want it, I had rather sit and dream In the pleasant fields of Erin with the sunlight on the stream ; What's the good of gold and glory when your life is dull and gray, And you 're sighing for a valley far away ! But the tumult of the city, howsoever loud it be, Can not drown the robin's singing in the fields of memory ; And the clouds of care that hover, can not mar the mental view Of the smiling Irish meadows with the river flowing through ; So I '11 face, again, the battle, though the odds be ten to one. For the future can not rob me of the happiness that 's gone; And I '11 gird my soul in patience, though I never- more may stray Through my own dear native valley far away ! I 56 1 A ROUND OF RIMES Go Where You Will /^ O where you will, my heart will follow after ; Ever my ears are listening for your laughter; Ever my eyes look longingly to see Your face, again, that is so dear to me ! Go where you will, may blessings be about you; Drear are the days, dear one, and sad, without you ; Swift be the wings of time until I see Your face, again, that is so dear to me ! Go where you will — love laughs at time or distance ; Love still maintains, through all, its sweet insistence; Yet, knowing this, I still am fain to see Your face, again, that is so dear to me ! [57 1 A ROUND OF RIMES A Question TF, after all the vows that I have sworn Of love and constancy, my heart should stray To brighter eyes and redder lips, and scorn Thy love that has been mine for many a day, Wouldst thou upbraid me with a bitter tongue, And call down curses on my recreant head? Or wouldst thou, for love's sake, forgive the wrong, And let thy heart be merciful instead? 1 58] A ROUND OF RIMES A Shamrock from the Suir* /^UR country's feast is drawing near; ^^^ Then, sister mine, I pray. Send me a little shamrock, dear, To wear upon that day; 'T will comfort me, and make me strong My exile to endure, 'T will be what I have wished for long — A shamrock from the Suir. A shamrock from the sun-loved vale Wherein my youth was spent; A shamrock kissed by ev'ry gale And sweet with springtime's scent; A shamrock that at vesper bell Has drunk of dew-drops pure; A shamrock that the heart can tell Grew green beside the Suir ! And oh, the memories of old That to my mind will rise, ^ Pronounced Shure. [59] A ROUND OF RIMES When I the triple leaves behold Again, with tear-dimmed eyes ! And oh, the dreams of days ere yet I followed fortune's lure, Ere hearts were sad, or eyes tear-wet Beside the peaceful Suir ! And faces that for years have lain Beneath the graveyard mould Will greet me smilingly again As in the days of old; And once again my mother mild Will breathe her teachings pure, For I '11 be as a Uttle child — A child beside the Suir. Then send a shamrock, dear, to me Across the dreary wave. And pluck it from beneath the tree That shades our mother's grave; And all the pain and weariness Which vainly seeks a cure Will fly, when to my lips I press That shamrock from the Suir ! [60] A ROUND OF RIMES Memories of Ireland T SEE in dreams a purple mountain rise Above a verdant vale, Across the azure stretches of the skies I see the cloud-ships sail. A river rippled by a wandering wind Sighs mournfully along, As if its waters grieved to leave behind The beauties here that throng. And this is home, thus pictured in my dreams, This hill is Slieve-na-mon ; And this the Suir, the queen of all the streams The sunlight plays upon. This is the summer sky of bygone days That on my youthhood smiled, And this the Golden Valley, through whose ways I wandered when a child. [6i] A ROUND OF RIMES Oh, dear dream-pictures of my native Isle Across the spreading seas, You give me grief — you give me joy the while, Oh, sad, sweet memories ! For, as in Ireland, through the blinding rain The sun's bright rays are cast; So pleasure mingles in my heart with pain Remembering the past ! 162] A ROUND OF RIMES Dreams "IXTHEN the balmy days grow long, Love, I dream of thee the more, And I weave into my song All the sad, sweet thoughts that throng Of the golden days of yore. If to dream of thee be wrong, Then have I offended sore. Love, I dream of thee the more When the balmy days grow long. All the winter have I sighed For thy presence, wearily; Grieving gazed across the wide Gulf of selfish human pride That divided thee and me. Now sweet hope inspires my song, Wears the smile that once she wore — Love, I dream of thee the more When the balmy days grow long ! [631 A ROUND OF RIMES Poor Love must Wait "pOOR Love must wait till duty 's done, Poor Love must wait till fame be won, Though years go sighing, one by one, ''Too late! Too late!" Till duty 's done and fame be won. Poor Love must wait. Poor Love must wait though hearts may ache. Poor Love must wait though hearts may break, Though tears will flow for his dear sake — Yet such is Fate, Though hearts may ache, though hearts may break, Poor Love must wait ! Poor Love must wait, through every pain, Poor Love must wait — but not in vain. Though all things else by time be slain. Love conquers Fate ! Oh, not in vain, through every pain Poor Love must wait ! I641 A ROUND OF RIMES To One in Bohemia O ROTHER in suffering, brother, too, in song, We well can smile at what the days may bring, For we have known the limit of life's wrong And felt of sorrow's pain the utmost sting. Then let us sing — gazing with fearless eyes Upon the coming years, whate'er they bear, Behold the sun is shining in the skies. And God is master of the world's despair! 1 65 1 A ROUND OF RIMES O Land of Youth ! r\ LAND of Youth ! O Land of hopeful hearts ! ^"^ O flowery, fruitful Land of faith and trust ! How sweet to turn — as year on year departs, And sees each fond illusion fall to dust — How sweet, and yet how sad, to turn away From present pain, the past to linger o'er, And try to bring into the bleak to-day The dreams of joy that I shall know no more ! O Land of Youth ! Swift rolls the tide of Time, Whose current bears me farther still from thee, Through many a strange and uncongenial clime My bark of life goes outward to the sea; More distant grow thy hills that used to rise Like inspirations in the days of yore. And naught remains of thee to glad my eyes, O Land of Youth, that I shall see no more ! But memory musing o'er the golden hours That once were mine within thy verdant vales, Transports me back again among the flowers Whose fragrance freighted all the summer gales; [66] A ROUND OF RIMES And one fair face that I would fain forget Looks out upon me from a cottage door. Until my heart is weary with regret — Regret for love that I shall know no more ! O Land of Youth; Too soon we leave behind Thy ways serene, thy innocent delights ! Too soon we burden the exhausted mind With toilsome days of care and cheerless nights ! Would God that it had been my lot to stay A little longer on thy friendly shore, And so, perhaps, possess thy peace to-day — Thy blessed peace, that I shall know no more ! [67] A ROUND OF RIMES Across the Seas in Erin ACROSS the seas in Erin are manly hearts and true, ^^ Are souls to dream, And minds to scheme, And willing hands to do ! Then wherefore from her valleys do her scattered people flee? And wherefore is she still oppressed when other lands are free? Alas ! alas, for Erin ! With all her brain and brawn, The years reveal Her children's steel Against each other drawn. Across the seas in Erin are men like those who made The martial fame And splendid name Of Meagher's bold brigade ! Then wherefore is the right denied that she has sued for long? And why is she still bowed beneath sad centuries of wrong ? [68] A ROUND OF RIMES Alas ! alas, for Erin ! With all the stirring deeds, In chains she lives, And no one gives The unity she needs. Across the seas in Erin, what Joy to hear again The voice of one Whose magic tone Could fuse the hearts of men ! Could fuse the various hearts of men till petty strife should die, And o'er her hills should ring one grand united battle cry! Alas ! alas, for Erin ! Her faith in men is past. But God is Just, And God He must Uplift her at the last ! [691 A ROUND OF RIMES Rose of my Heart "O OSES riot in rich profusion Over the garden walls of June; Birds are singing in rare confusion Each with his own sweet summer tune. Fair are the flowers that mom discloses Still suffused with the tears of dew — Yet I know that of all the roses, Rose of my heart, there is none like you ! [701 A ROUND OF RIMES The Memory of Emmet 'VT'EARS come and go, and kings grow old and die, And those who whilom held the world in thrall Throneless and sceptreless and crownless lie, Finding in death the common fate of all. Systems and dynasties and nations rise, Awhile the destinies of men they sway; Anon a ruin staring at the skies Proclaims their littleness and their decay. Vainly the monarch flings around his throne A shining armament of mail-clad hordes; Vainly, for lo, the centuries are strown With wrecks of kingdoms once upheld by swords ! Nothing survives save Right — nor king, nor throne ; That nation, howsoe'er its strongholds stand, Which hath not Right for its foundation-stone Is like a house that 's built upon the sand. [71] A ROUND OF RIMES Nothing survives save Right — for God is just ; The Right is His, He guards it thro' the years ; He humbles the oppressor in the dust, He hath an answer to a nation's tears. Nothing survives save Right — a man to-day For loving Right may meet a shameful death, But glorified by death, his name, for aye, Becomes the watchword of a nation's faith ! Thus Emmet died a hundred years ago. Thus unto Right his faithfulness he proved; His only crime — for crime they called it so — Was this, he would have freed the land he loved ! A hundred years ago. And yet, and yet, Where is the Irish heart that does not flame, Fired with a love 't were treason to forget, At the mere sound of Robert Emmet's name ! He saw his country's very life assailed. Bleeding and bound a victim at the stake. He tried to set her free and, when he failed, He freely gave his life for her dear sake. "Let no man write my epitaph," he said; (A hand enslaved were utterly unfit,) [72] A ROUND OF RIMES So on the stone that marks where he is laid, His country, still un-freed, no word has writ. But what are epitaphs engraved on stone, Or eulogies emblazoned on a scroll? His name and fame endures, and his alone, Whose deeds are shrined within his country^s soul. Kings and their hireling hosts, when they depart, Rot un-remembered as the years go by; But while there beats one faithful Irish heart, The memory of Emmet shall not die ! 173] A ROUND OF RIMES A Prairie Reminiscence TN the years of youth and yearning, when I wandered free and far Out beyond the smoke of cities where the spreading prairies are, Once I lingered for a season by a stream that flowed along, Lingered captured and enraptured by a maiden and a song. Ah, the years between are long, But remembrances mil throng Of a little blue-eyed maiden with a soul unknowing wrong, Though she 's lying low to-day In the westland far away, I am dreaming, ever dreaming, of her smile and of her song ! Oh, the splendor of that summer never from my mind shall fade ! Nor the sweetness of the singing nor the beauty of the maid, Though the days of youth may vanish, yet the dreams of youth remain, I 74] A ROUND OF RIMES Be the measure of our pleasure mingled howsoever with pain. Ah, the years between are long, But remembrances will throng Of a little blue-eyed maiden with a soul unknowing wrong. Though upon her lonely grave Prairie blooms in beauty wave, I am dreaming, ever dreaming, of her smile and of her song ! Long ago I ceased my roving, ceased to wander free and far, And the golden grand ideals of my boyhood buried are; But a vision comes to cheer me as the dull days drag along Of a maiden, flower-laden, pouring forth her soul in song. Ah, the years between are long, Still the memory is strong Of a little blue-eyed maiden with a soul unknowing wrong. Summer's sun and winter's snow, In her grave she 's lying low ; But I 'm dreaming, ever dreaming, of her smile and of her song ! l7Sl A ROUND OF RIMES In Summer A CROSS the land the summer walks in splendor; '^^ The flowers spnng up to greet her, and the skies Look down upon her with a glance as tender As love awakens in a maiden's eyes. Along the eaves I see the creeper clinging, The morning-glories open to the sun. And in the orchard trees the birds are singing Their vesper service when the day is done. The silence of the winter and its sadness Have given place to music and to mirth, And yet my heart discovers naught of gladness In all the light and beauty of the earth. For one who loved the summer and the sweetness Of woods and fields responsive to her breath Has passed away with more than summer's fleetness Into the realm of darkness and of death. [76] A ROUND OF RIMES A Picture T OVE'S languorous look lies dreaming in her •■^ eyes, Red roses cluster in her night-black hair, And all in vain her snowy vesture tries To match the whiteness of her bosom fair. Serenely beautiful, with every grace, With every gift that nature can impart, A perfect woman, radiant in her place, And lacking only this : A woman's heart ! [77 1 A ROUND OF RIMES For Love's Sweet Sake /^H, I have wandered many a weary mile, ^"^ For Love's sweet sake, With aching heart and breaking heart the while, For Love's sweet sake, And often have I seen, through all those years, My brightest hopes dissolve in darkest fears, And known full well the bitterness of tears, For Love's sweet sake. The ways forsaken of the world I 've trod, For Love's sweet sake, My miseries unseen of all but God, For Love's sweet sake. A stranger among strangers, I have lain My tired head upon the lap of Pain, And felt the weight of burdens borne in vain, For Love's sweet sake. And knowing all I have endured for thee, And Love's sweet sake, Wilt thou not, of thy pity, turn to me, For Love's sweet sake? [78] A ROUND OF RIMES Unlock the door thy blindness closed fast, Forget the cruel coldness of the past, And let me come into thy heart at last, For Love's sweet sake ! I 79 I A ROUND OF RIMES I Saw T SAW the golden moon arise Out of the silent sea, I saw the star-shine fill the skies With deeper mystery; I saw the shadowy ships go on Across the swelling tide — And grief was in my heart for one Who loved me and who died ! 1 80] A ROUND OF RIMES Voices from Erin 'TpHERE are always voices calling to the exile over- seas, Cries from Erin's mother-heart are on the wings of every wind; And they fill the eye with pictures, and the mind with memories, Of the days of youth and love that, long ago, he left behind. There are always voices calling — and the clamorous demands Of the present, its ambitions and its triumphs and its fears. Can not lessen for an instant, tho' he strays in distant lands. All the sweetness to the exile of the dreams of other years ! [81] A ROUND OF RIMES Sweetheart CWEETHEART, O sweetheart! Though winter winds are loud, Though silently the earth lies beneath its snowy- shroud, For me the birds are singing and the skies serene and blue. Sweetheart, O sweetheart ! And all because of you. Sweetheart, O sweetheart ! The hearts of some are bowed In homage to the haughty, in bondage to the proud. But happier am I by far than those who vainly sue. Sweetheart, O sweetheart ! And all because of you. Sweetheart, O sweetheart! though thickly sorrows crowd, Though false are the friends who eternal friendship vowed. For me the future shines as if all the world were true, Sweetheart, O sweetheart ! And all because of you. 182] A ROUND OF RIMES " The Heart of Having is Sad " /^H, how can you repay me for the hopeless love ^^ and longing Of the silent adoration that I offered you for years — For years of doubt and darkness and of trials that came thronging, When my heritage and portion was the bitterness of tears! The happiness you grant me now it may not find expression ; The love you lavish on me it is given few to know — But yet, despite the rapture of the present and its passion, I can't forget the desolate despair of long ago ! 1 83] A ROUND OF RIMES Heroes TF so it be we are forbid by fate To do the deeds that make a hero great, Let 's do our duty each one as he should, And, lacking greatness, let 's at least be good. Oh, there are seeds of kindness to be sown In hearts that never have such kindness known | And words of gentleness and actions true Are always possible for me and you. 'T is true these seem of little worth, because They do not win for us the world's applause. But noble actions are not judged by size, The great intent the action magnifies. And though our names the world may never fill, The ear of God may find them sweeter still. [84 I A ROUND OF RIMES Ireland /^H, Ireland, Ireland, amid the waters blue, ^^^ Across the seas, across the years my heart goes back to you, To you and to the faithful friends my early boyhood knew In Ireland, Ireland, so tender and so true ! Oh, Ireland, Ireland, I mind me of the dew That sparkled on the flowers fair that in your meadows grew, I mind me of the playmates and the schoolmates not a few In Ireland, Ireland, so tender and so true ! Oh, Ireland, Ireland, though other nations sue To win my heart's affection, yet I *m not forgetting you. There are no scenes so beautiful, no friends like those I knew In Ireland, Ireland, so tender and so true ! [8s] A ROUND OF RIMES When Love Lay Dead AX^HEN Love lay dead — Communing with my grieving heart, I said; "Now let my lot be wheresoever cast, Little I care, the joy of life is past. The golden dreams that filled the olden days, The gladd'ning gleams of love-illumined ways. For aye have fled. Gone are the smiles that once the future wore, Gone are the gifts that once the future bore, Gone is my happiness, forevermore, Since Love lies dead." But from Love's tomb Upsprang, as springs a flower in perfect bloom, A hope of purer, better, things to be — A mind made stronger by its misery, A heart grown tenderer by wounds that bled, And eyes made kindlier by tears they shed, A soul set free — And life grew sweet, again, so sweet to me, Though Love lay dead ! (86 1 A ROUND OF RIMES The Midnight Mass (An incident of the Penal Days.) \1I7ITH stealthy steps across the wold In haste the hunted soggarth * goes, The winter winds are blowing cold, Around him fall the winter snows. But little does he heed the wind. The blinding snow, the dark morass, Far fiercer are the foes behind — He goes to say the midnight Mass. For hours, with many a devious turn, He 's led the chase o'er moor and fen, Beheld the village tapers burn. But dare not seek the haunts of men, For close upon his track have prest, (His holy faith the only cause) With horrid oath and ruffian jest, The minions of the Penal Laws. * Properly sagart, the Irish word for priest. [871 A ROUND OF RIMES And woe to bim should evil hap, Into their hands the priest betray ! The raven o'er his corse would flap Her sable pinions ere the day — But fainter now have grown their cries, Their shots more distant than before, And hopes within his heart arise That he has baffled them once more. But vain the hope of baffled foes; A few more sanguine than the rest Still mark the trail as on he goes, Still keep the chase with eager zest; But all unconscious fares he still, By tangled wood and torrent dread To where, beneath a lonely hill. The Mass in secret may be said. Oh, failte! failtet Round him throng The remnant of his scattered flock — And Mass, with neither chant nor song, Is offered from a fallen rock. And never at cathedral shrine Were purer spirits wrapped in prayer Than those who worshipped the Divine Before that lowly altar there. [88] A ROUND OF RIMES But hark ! The rite is scarcely done When rings a cry upon the breeze — **Up, Father, for your life, and run!" The priest arises from his knees. Too late ! One muttered prayer to God : A volley shakes the mountain-pass, The priest lies slain upon the sod, He'll say no more the midnight Mass! 1 89] A ROUND OF RIMES C( Come Unto Me" PpiLLED is the world with misery and sorrow, Sad are our lives with bitterness and sin, Cares for to-day and worries for to-morrow, Darkness without and deeper gloom within; Yet in the midst of our profound depression There is an eye Divine our needs to see, There is a voice of infinite compassion Saying in accents sweet, "Come unto Me." *'Come unto Me, you weary ones that labor, Jesus of Nazareth — lo, I am He ! I am the Christ transfigured on Mount Tabor, I am the Christ transfixed on Calvary ! What though you 've sinned against my heavenly Father, Yet have I pity on your souls distrest. You to My Sacred Heart I fain would gather, Come unto Me and I \\ill give you rest. " Come unto Me ! Oh, heed the invitation, You whom the world has treated with disdain; [90] A ROUND OF RIMES You who have need of strength and consolation, You who would find a solace for your pain; Cease to pursue each fleeting, false ideal, Follow no longer every fruitless quest; Only in Me is there a joy that's real, Only with Me will you find perfect rest." Ah ! the sweet word of our dear Lord in heaven, Ah ! the bright hope that nothing here can dim, Though on our lives the stain of sin be, even. He '11 not deny us if we come to Him ; Then let our nearest turn in coldness from us. Then let our dearest fail at friendship's test, Have we not Christ and His unfailing promise: "Come unto Me and I will give you rest"? Many a shadow may enshroud the dreamer, Many a cry may fall upon his ear. But the sweet voice of his Divine Redeemer Softly insistent he must always hear; And though his days be filled with strife and sadness, And though he sings but in a minor key, Still there remains to touch his life with gladness Ever the words of Christ: "Come unto Me." [91] A ROUND OF RIMES Christmas-time in Ireland AT Christmas-time in Ireland how the holly branches twine In stately hall and cabin old and gray! And red among the lea es the holly-berries brightly shine, At Christmas-time in Ireland far away. And brighter than the berries are the kindly Irish eyes, And cheery are the greetings of the day, — The greetings and the blessings from the Irish hearts that rise At Christmas-time in Ireland far away ! At Christmas-time in Ireland you can hear the chapel bell A-calling ere the dawning of the day. You can see the people thronging over field and over fell, To the "early Mass" in Ireland far away; And saintly are the soggarths ^ that before the altars stand. And faithful are the flocks that kneel and pray — ^ Properly, sagairt, plural of sagari, priest. [92] A ROUND OF RIMES Ah, surely God must show'r His choicest blessings on the land At Christmas-time in Ireland far away ! At Christmas-time in Ireland there is feasting, there is song. And merrily the fife and fiddle play, And lightly dance the colleens and the boys the even- ing long. At Christmas-time in Ireland far away. There is light and there is laughter, there is music, there is mirth, And lovers speak as only lovers may, — Ah, there is nothing half so sweet in any land on earth As Christmas-time in Ireland far away ! At Christmas-time in Ireland there is sorrow, too, for those Who scattered far in exile sadly stray. And many a tear in silence for a friend beloved flows At Christmas-time in Ireland far away; But still amid the grieving is a hope to banish fears, That God will send them safely back some day. To know again the happiness that long ago was theirs At Christmas-time in Ireland far away ! [93] A ROUND OF RIMES The Song I Would Sing T 'M fain, in the song that I sing for thee, dearest, To weave all the beauties around me that lie, The gleam of the stream when its wave is the clearest, The green of the woods and the blue of the sky; The crystalline dew on the grass of the meadows, The morning mist hiding the high mountain crest, The shine of the sun and the play of the shadows, The shimmer of leaves that are never at rest — But only a rime that has no beauty in it Is all the result of the effort I make, And dreams that I 'd capture are gone in a minute, And rude is the song that I sing for your sake. I 'm fain in the song that I sing for thee, dearest, To weave all the music that nature affords. The lilt of the lark when the summer is nearest. Too subtle and sweet in its meaning for words; The hum of the bees that are robbing the roses, The faraway sound of the surges of seas, [94l A ROUND OF RIMES The chorus of birds when the summer day closes, The laughter of rills and the whisper of trees, But only a rime that has no music in it Is all the result of the effort I make. And dreams that I 'd capture are gone in a minute, And rude is the song that I sing for your sake. I 95] A ROUND OF RIMES Waiting /^H, ever and ever the waves roll in, ^"^ And beat on the yellow sands ! But never, oh never, the lad comes back Who voyaged to distant lands ! The ocean is white with the sails of ships That steer for the harbor of Lynn; I scan them all with an anxious eye, But never my ship comes in. Moans the sea, the wild winds wail, But still no trace of my lover's sail; Sailor men drinking and singing in Lynn, But never, oh never, my ship comes in ! Long years ago my lover's ship Sailed out on the ebbing tide; I watched her till only a tiny speck Upon the horizon wide. And many a gallant youth since then Has striven my heart to win — But my heart is over the waters afar With a ship that never comes in. [96 1 A ROUND OF RIMES Oh, ever and ever the sound of the wave ! — It cries like a mother over a grave; Wedding bells clanging and ringing in Lynn, But never, oh never, my ship comes in ! Yestreen the maidens, one and all, Donned holiday coif and gown To greet the soldiers, scarlet clad, Parading through the town. Rejoiced and cheered they all save I, For 'mid the merry din I thought of a sailor lad, and I wept For a ship that never comes in. Oh, young folk marry, and old folk die, Merry folk laugh, and weary folk sigh ! Sad, oh sad, is the town of Lynn, For never, oh never, my ship comes in ! [97] A ROUND OF RIMES After Summer "VT'OU will come again, O Summer, with the fra- grance of the flowers, And the verdant meadows vying with the beauty of the bowers. Shady woods and waves that shimmer, and the blue sky bending o'er, But a happy heart, O Summer, you will bring me back no more ! You will come again, O Summer, with the singing of the birds, And the loving laugh replying to the ring of wooing words. With the mirth and merry-making of the days in pleasure spent, But you '11 never bring, O Summer, back again my heart's content ! [98 1 A ROUND OF RIMES Do We Forget? T^O we forget because our tears are dried, ^'^ Because the passionate outburst of our woe Is silent now, are our beloved who died Forgotten in their narrow beds and low? Ah, no; though other thoughts may move the mind, Though other feelings may possess the heart, We keep the memory of the dead enshrined In deep recesses, sacred and apart. And though we weep no more as first we did When death appeared and hid them from our eyes. Love is not covered with a coffin-lid. And sad remembrance of them never dies ! [99l A ROUND OF RIMES Love and Reason TF love forget what love most dear should hold, Or learn the things that love should never know, Then, maid, beware, — for soon above the cold Dead ashes of your love your tears will flow. Lovers draught is sweet — the sweetest far that flows To bathe the lips of those who fain would sup; Love's draught is sweet, but bitter soon it grows, If reason be not mingled in the cup. [ 100 ] A ROUND OF RIMES An Exile's Longing \X7HEN I feel the breezes blowing,,strongly blowing ^^ from the West, And I mark the steamers sailing back across the ocean's breast, Then my heart is sick within me to be going with the rest To Ireland ! For the weary years are long, And my life is going wrong. And I 'm longing for the sight of Ireland ! Oh happy are the people who with streaming eyes behold In the blessed light of morning Erin's headlands looming bold. And happy thrice are they who tread the scenes beloved of old In Ireland! For the exiled years of grief In their present joy are brief, And they are glad to be back in Ireland ! [lOl] A ROUND OF RIMES Let me come again to Ireland ere my days be all forespent, Though my hair be white as ashes and my body weak and bent, Let me only come to die there, and I know I '11 die content In Ireland. For 't is sweet when life is past To lie down to rest at last. With the friends of our youth in Ireland ! [ 102] A ROUND OF RIMES Whene'er I Think of Thee XX/HENE'ER I think of thee, of thee who died While yet my lips were warm with thy caress, Who pined and failed and faded from my side As fades a flower of summer loveliness, A long procession moves before my eyes Of days that once were dear to thee and me, And floods of sadly-sweet emotions rise Whene'er I think of thee. Whene'er I think of thee my soul expands, The beauty of creation is my own, No longer bound by sorrow's iron bands I pine in rayless wretchedness, alone. And all things lovely that have ever been Or through the ages evermore will be, I hold them every one my heart within Whene'er I think of thee. The splendor of the sunset and the dawn. The rose breath wafted on the winds of June, The startled shyness of the forest fawn. The haunting music of the robin's tune, [ 103 ] A ROUND OF RIMES The mystery of the starlight on the plain, The magic of the moonlight on the sea, All these, and more than these, are mine again Whene'er I think of thee. Whene'er I think of thee my youth returns, My fair, free youth, my days of daring dreams. And many a joy for which the present yearns, Comes back to haunt me with its golden gleams. And youthful hopes, love-sanctified and blest, Once more in all their witchery I see; They come again, my first-beloved and best, Whene'er I think of thee. ( 104] A ROUND OF RIMES i( Bonny Mary of Argyle " "¥7t7HEN the summer sun in splendor On the distant plains had set, And the golden-rod so tender By the falling dew was wet. When the vesper-bird was silent, And the winds had ceased to sigh, By our cottage door we gathered Out beneath the dark'ning sky, And full soon a voice was ringing. And we sat entranced the while, — One we loved was sweetly singing "Bonny Mary of Argyle." I have heard rich voices blending In cathedrals old and dim, To the throne of God ascending Craving mercy, peace, of Him. But within my memory liveth That sweet song of other years. And hath power to soothe my sadness With the blessed balm of tears. [losi A ROUND OF RIMES Ah, the grandest anthem ringing In cathedral choir or aisle, Could not equal that sweet singing, "Bonny Mary of Argyle!" 'Neath the golden-rod now Ueth The fair singer of the song. And the western zephyr sigheth O'er her lone grave all day long. Weary I, and heavy-hearted, Plod a-through the world my way, And my life with many a sorrow Is more darkened day by day, But a tender mem'ry clinging Brings me back a gentle smile, And a voice so sweetly singing "Bonny Mary of Argyle.'* [106] A ROUND OF RIMES I Think of Thee T THINK of thee When evening shades are falling, And sweet bells calling From a white convent o'er the distant lea; And dreamily The evening breezes blow from out the west. The world's at rest, In twilight wrapt, serene, and turmoil-free. A nightingale Sings his sad song and sweet far down the vale Where deepest shadows be — All lonely I Gaze on the darkened meads, the darkening sky, And think of thee ! [ 107 ] A ROUND OF RIMES A Buried Heart 'T^HEY buried the maid in the forest glade; They digged her grave in the shade of a fir; (Over the spot where she is laid Whispering winds with branches stir). Solemn and slow the gray-haired priest Murmured a Latin prayer, and ceased. The holy water fell like a tear, As they piled the mould upon her bier. Low, low in the forest glade They laid her down in the shade of a fir — But, all unknown to the priest who pray'd, Unknown to the wielders of mattock and spade, They buried my heart in the grave with her ! Fair she was as flow'rs in the dell, That rise where the feet of spring have trod. And pure as the saints that the seers tell Chant round the great white throne of God. [io8] A ROUND OF RIMES Sweet was her voice as the birds that sing When summer kisses departing spring; And her lightest word was more to me Than aught on earth again may be. Wild was the grief of her friends, and loud, As they laid her low in the shade of a fir; Tears shone on the cheek of her father proud — But I was mute amid the crowd, Tho' my heart was deep in the grave with her! Toll, toll, O mission bell, Toll for the fair-faced maid who died. Voices of priests in Masses swell. And waft her soul to the Virgin's side ! Toll, toll, O sad-voiced bell, For the maid who lies in the shade of a fir; And, oh, let your notes ring out as well For my heart that lies in the grave with her. [ 109 I A ROUND OF RIMES The Autumn Rain "n AINING in the springtime ! — But we always know That the sun will shine again In a day or so. Though the eaves may drip and drip, Skies be overcast, In our hearts we feel and say "'T is n't long to last. Soon the summer's sweetness All the land will fill, Murk and mist no longer Hide the distant hill; Soon again the sky will Smile upon the plain " — Thus we feel in springtime, Looking at the rain. Raining in the autumn ! — Ah, the dreary day ! Will the clouds that hide the sun Never pass away ! [no] A ROUND OF RIMES Listen to the monotone Of the dripping eaves. List to the lamenting of The wind among the leaves. Gone the summer's beauty — Every bud is dead; Gone the summer's music — Every bird is fled; All the hopes that held us Through the year are vain, When we sit in autumn Looking at the rain ! I 111] A ROUND OF RIMES Come, Cheer Up ! ^^OME, cheer up, my moody friend! ^"^ What 's the good of whining ? What 's the good of moping 'round Sighing and repining? See, the sky is bright and blue, See, the sun is shining ! Let the sun shine in on you, On your heart and spirit, too, Let it bid you dare and do — What 's the good of whining ? Come, cheer up ! Come, cheer up ! Lift up your head ! What 's the good of whining ? Lo, the very darkest cloud Has a silver lining ! Face your fate and do not stand Peaking thus and pining; Though your gift may not be grand, Do what 's nearest to your hand. Do it well and truly, and You won't think of whining — Come, cheer up ! [112] A ROUND OF RIMES Come, cheer up ! Whatever your lot, What 's the good of whining ? Griefs? Why, every grief you bear Is of wise designing. Cares? Why, every care is sent Tr)dng and refining. Then be blithe of heart and strong, Labor hard and labor long. And amid your smile and song Leave no place for whining — Come, cheer up ! ["3 I LIQHAHY Ul- CONGRESS 015 909 190 9 %