Go to! I pray for thee no more:
The corpse's tongue is still;
Its folded fingers point to heaven,
But point there stiff and chill:
No farther wrong, no farther woe
Hath license from the sin below
Its tranquil heart to thrill.

I charge thee, by the living's prayer,
And the dead's silentness,

To wring from out thy soul a cry

Which God shall hear and bless!

Lest Heaven's own palm droop in my hand,
And pale among the saints I stand,

A saint companionless.

Elizabeth Barrett Browning [1806-1861]

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,
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,
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'nin' for the words
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.

Lament of the Irish Emigrant 1057

But the graveyard lies between, Mary,

And my step might break your restFor I've laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast.

I'm very lonely now, Mary,

For the poor make no new friends;
But, oh! they love the better still
The few our Father sends.

And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessin' and my pride:
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,

And my arm's young strength was gone; There was comfort ever on your lip,

And the kind look on your browI bless you, Mary, for that same, Though you cannot hear me now.

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,

When your heart was sad and soreOh! 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!
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,

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;
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.

Helen Selina Sheridan [1807-1867]

THE KING OF DENMARK'S RIDE

WORD was brought to the Danish king

(Hurry!)

That the love of his heart lay suffering,

And pined for the comfort his voice would bring; (O, ride as though you were flying!)

Better he loves each golden curl

On the brow of that Scandinavian girl

Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl:

And his rose of the isles is dying!

Thirty nobles saddled with speed;

(Hurry!)

Each one mounting a gallant steed

Which he kept for battle and days of need;
(O, ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn-out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,

For his rose of the isles lay dying!

His nobles are beaten, one by one;

(Hurry!)

They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone;

His little fair page now follows alone,

For strength and for courage trying!

The king looked back at that faithful child;
Wan was the face that answering smiled;

Maritæ Suæ

1059

They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped; and only the king rode in
Where his rose of the isles lay dying!

The king blew a blast on his bugle horn;
(Silence!)

No answer came; but faint and forlorn
An echo returned on the cold gray morn,
Like the breath of a spirit sighing.

The castle portal stood grimly wide;

None welcomed the king from that weary ride;
For dead, in the light of the dawning day,
The pale sweet form of the welcomer lay,
Who had yearned for his voice while dying!

The panting steed, with a drooping crest,

Stood weary.

The king returned from her chamber of rest,
The thick sobs choking in his breast;

And, that dumb companion eyeing,

The tears gushed forth which he strove to check;
He bowed his head on his charger's neck:
"O steed, that every nerve didst strain,
Dear steed, our ride hath been in vain

To the halls where my love lay dying!"

Caroline Elizabeth Sarah Norton [1808-1870]

MARITE SUÆ

I

Of all the flowers rising now,
Thou only saw'st the head
Of that unopened drop of snow
I placed beside thy bed.

In all the blooms that blow so fast,
Thou hast no further part,

Save those the hour I saw thee last,
I laid above thy heart.

Two snowdrops for our boy and girl,
A primrose blown for me,

Wreathed with one often-played-with curl
From each bright head for thee.

And so I graced thee for thy grave,
And made these tokens fast
With that old silver heart I gave,

My first gift and my last.

п

I dreamed her babe upon her breast,
Here she might lie and calmly rest
Her happy eyes on that far hill

That backs the landscape fresh and still.

I hoped her thoughts would thrid the boughs
Where careless birds on love carouse,

And gaze those apple-blossoms through
To revel in the boundless blue.

But now her faculty of sight

Is elder sister to the light,

And travels free and unconfined

Through dense and rare, through form and mind.

Or else her life to be complete

Hath found new channels full and meet

Then, O, what eyes are leaning o'er,

If fairer than they were before!

William Philpoi [1823-1889]

BALLAD

HE said: "The shadows darken down,

The night is near at hand.

Now who's the friend will follow me

Into the sunless land?