Zament of the Irish Emigrant. 'M sittin' on the stile, Mary, green, And the lark sang loud and highAnd the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, 'Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near- 3 LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. 195 I'm very lonely now, Mary, For the poor make no new friends; The few our Father sends ! Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, When the trust in God had left my soul, And the kind look on your brow- I thank you for the patient smile I bless you for the pleasant word, I'm bidding you a long farewell, My Mary, kind and true! But I'll not forget you, darling, In the land I'm goin' to: 196 LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT. They say there's bread and work for all, Were it fifty times as fair! And often, in those grand old woods, And my heart will travel back again Where we sat side by side; And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. HON. MRS. PRICE BLACKWOOD. HILD, amidst the flowers at play, Father, by the breeze of eve, Traveller, in the stranger's land, Captive, in whose narrow cell Sunshine hath not leave to dwell; |