Green Bays | Page 3

the tip of his lip
An' bedad! they'll be askin' for more--
Asthore--
By the powers, they'll be shoutin' 'Ancore!'
IRISH MELODIES.
II.
KENMARE RIVER.
'Tis pretty to be in Ballinderry,?'Tis pretty to be in Ballindoon,?But 'tis prettier far in County Kerry?Coortin' under the bran' new moon,
Aroon, Aroon!
'Twas there by the bosom of blue Killarney
They came by the hundther' a-coortin' me;?Sure I was the one to give back their blarney,?An' merry was I to be fancy-free.
But niver a step in the lot was lighter,?An' divvle a boulder among the bhoys,?Than Phelim O'Shea, me dynamither,?Me illigant arthist in clock-work toys.
'Twas all for love he would bring his figgers
Of iminent statesmen, in toy machines,?An' hould me hand as he pulled the thriggers?An' scattered the thraytors to smithereens.
An' to see the Queen in her Crystial Pallus?Fly up to the roof, an' the windeys broke!?And all with divvle a trace of malus,--?But he was the bhoy that enjoyed his joke!
Then O, but his cheek would flush, an' 'Bridget,'?He 'd say, 'Will yez love me?' But I 'd be coy?And answer him, 'Arrah now, dear, don't fidget!'?Though at heart I loved him, me arthist bhoy!
One night we stood by the Kenmare river,?An' 'Bridget, creina, now whist,' said he,?'I'll be goin' to-night, an' may be for iver;
Open your arms at the last to me.'
'Twas there by the banks of the Kenmare river
He took in his hands me white, white face,?An' we kissed our first an' our last for iver--?For Phelim O'Shea is disparsed in space.
'Twas pretty to be by blue Killarney,?'Twas pretty to hear the linnets's call,?But whist! for I cannot attind their blarney,?Nor whistle in answer at all, at all.
For the voice that he swore 'ud out-call the linnet's?Is cracked intoirely, and out of chune,?Since the clock-work missed it by thirteen minutes?An' scattered me Phelim around the moon,
Aroon, Aroon!
LADY JANE.
Sapphics.
Down the green hill-side fro' the castle window?Lady Jane spied Bill Amaranth a-workin';?Day by day watched him go about his ample
Nursery garden.
Cabbages thriv'd there, wi' a mort o' green-stuff--?Kidney beans, broad beans, onions, tomatoes,?Artichokes, seakale, vegetable marrows,
Early potatoes.
Lady Jane cared not very much for all these:?What she cared much for was a glimpse o' Willum?Strippin' his brown arms wi' a view to horti-
-Cultural effort.
Little guessed Willum, never extra-vain, that?Up the green hill-side, i' the gloomy castle,?Feminine eyes could so delight to view his
Noble proportions.
Only one day while, in an innocent mood,?Moppin' his brow ('cos 'twas a trifle sweaty)?With a blue kerchief--lo, he spies a white 'un
Coyly responding.
Oh, delightsome Love! Not a jot do you care?For the restrictions set on human inter-?-course by cold-blooded social refiners;
Nor do I, neither.
Day by day, peepin' fro' behind the bean-sticks,?Willum observed that scrap o' white a-wavin',?Till his hot sighs out-growin' all repression
Busted his weskit.
Lady Jane's guardian was a haughty Peer, who?Clung to old creeds and had a nasty temper;?Can we blame Willum that he hardly cared to
Risk a refusal?
Year by year found him busy 'mid the bean-sticks,?Wholly uncertain how on earth to take steps.?Thus for eighteen years he beheld the maiden
Wave fro' her window.
But the nineteenth spring, i' the Castle post-bag,?Came by book-post Bill's catalogue o' seedlings?Mark'd wi' blue ink at 'Paragraphs relatin'
Mainly to Pumpkins.'
'W. A. can,' so the Lady Jane read,?'Strongly commend that very noble Gourd, the?Lady Jane, first-class medal, ornamental;
Grows to a great height.'
Scarce a year arter, by the scented hedgerows--?Down the mown hill-side, fro' the castle gateway--?Came a long train and, i' the midst, a black bier,
Easily shouldered.
'Whose is yon corse that, thus adorned wi' gourd-leaves, Forth ye bear with slow step?' A mourner answer'd,?''Tis the poor clay-cold body Lady Jane grew
Tired to abide in.'
'Delve my grave quick, then, for I die to-morrow.?Delve it one furlong fro' the kidney bean-sticks,?Where I may dream she's goin' on precisely
As she was used to.'
Hardly died Bill when, fro' the Lady Jane's grave,?Crept to his white death-bed a lovely pumpkin:?Climb'd the house wall and over-arched his head wi'
Billowy verdure.
Simple this tale!--but delicately perfumed?As the sweet roadside honeysuckle. That's why,?Difficult though its metre was to tackle,
I'm glad I wrote it.
A TRIOLET.
To commemorate the virtue of Homoeopathy in restoring one apparently drowned.
Love, that in a tear was drown'd,?Lives revived by a tear.?Stella heard them mourn around?Love that in a tear was drown'd,?Came and coax'd his dripping swound,?Wept 'The fault was mine, my dear!'?Love, that in a tear was drown'd,?Lives, revived by a tear.
AN OATH.
(From 'Troy Town'.)
A month ago Lysander pray'd?To Jove, to Cupid, and to Venus,?That he might die if he betray'd?A single vow that pass'd between us.
Ah, careless gods, to hear so ill?And cheat a maid on you relying!?For false Lysander's thriving still,?And 'tis Corinna lies a-dying.
UPON GRACIOSA, WALKING AND TALKING.
(From 'Troy