Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Helen Selina, Lady Dufferin. 18071867691. Lament of the Irish Emigrant
I’M sittin’ on the stile, Mary, | |
Where we sat side by side | |
On a bright May mornin’ long ago, | |
When first you were my bride; | |
The corn was springin’ fresh and green, | 5 |
And the lark sang loud and high— | |
And the red was on your lip, Mary, | |
And the love-light in your eye. | |
The place is little changed, Mary, | |
The day is bright as then, | 10 |
The lark’s loud song is in my ear, | |
And the corn is green again; | |
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, | |
And your breath warm on my cheek, | |
And I still keep list’ning for the words | 15 |
You never more will speak. | |
‘Tis but a step down yonder lane, | |
And the little church stands near, | |
The church where we were wed, Mary, | |
I see the spire from here. | 20 |
But the graveyard lies between, Mary, | |
And my step might break your rest— | |
For I’ve laid you, darling! down to sleep, | |
With your baby on your breast. | |
I’m very lonely now, Mary, | 25 |
For the poor make no new friends, | |
But, O, they love the better still, | |
The few our Father sends! | |
And you were all I had, Mary, | |
My blessin’ and my pride: | 30 |
There ‘s nothin’ left to care for now, | |
Since my poor Mary died. | |
Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary, | |
That still kept hoping on, | |
When the trust in God had left my soul, | 35 |
And my arm’s young strength was gone: | |
There was comfort ever on your lip, | |
And the kind look on your brow— | |
I bless you, Mary, for that same, | |
Though you cannot hear me now. | 40 |
I thank you for the patient smile | |
When your heart was fit to break, | |
When the hunger pain was gnawin’ there, | |
And you hid it, for my sake! | |
I bless you for the pleasant word, | 45 |
When your heart was sad and sore— | |
O, I’m thankful you are gone, Mary, | |
Where grief can’t reach you more! | |
I’m biddin’ you a long farewell, | |
My Mary—kind and true! | 50 |
But I’ll not forget you, darling! | |
In the land I’m goin’ to; | |
They say there ‘s bread and work for all, | |
And the sun shines always there— | |
But I’ll not forget old Ireland, | 55 |
Were it fifty times as fair! | |
And often in those grand old woods | |
I’ll sit, and shut my eyes, | |
And my heart will travel back again | |
To the place where Mary lies; | 60 |
And I’ll think I see the little stile | |
Where we sat side by side: | |
And the springin’ corn, and the bright May morn, | |
When first you were my bride. |