The Lament of an Irish. Woman.
Ah! little did I think, my boy,
When we crossed the briny foam,
To seek in other lands the bread
We could not find at home-
Ah! little did I think that thou
Would lay thee down and die
Just as the welcome shore was gain'd,
And bread so very nigh.
Could I but lay thee 'neath the sod
Thy infant feet first prest-
That velvet sod, with daisies wrought,
Where sire and sister rest,-
I would not weep such lonely tears;
For kindred had been there
To send the corsnach's low wail
Upon the midnight air.
Oh! Virgin Mother! hear my prayer,
To him the undefiled
That he would guard from fever's rage
My last-my only child.
Ah! gather flowers, my precious gem,
To deck thy brother's grave,
Perchance thine own, ere many suns,
Shall sink beneath the wave."