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HIBERNIAN SONGSTER. |
119 |
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Her father, full of anger, most scornfully did frown, Saying, "Here are your wages; now, sir, depart th» town." Increasing still his anger, he bid me quick begone, "For none but a rich squire shaii wed my Colleen Bawn." I went unto his daughter, and told her my sad tal», Oppress'd with grief and anguish, we both did weep and wail; She said, "My dearest Reiliy, the thought I can't withstand, That in sorrow you should leave me, your dear Colleen Bawn." A horse I did get ready, in the silent night, Having no other remedy, we quickly took our flight, The horse he chanced to stumble, and threw both along, Confused, and sorely bruised, me and my dear Colleen Bawn. Again we quickly mounted, and swiftly rode away. O'er hills and lofty mountains we travel'd night and day; Her father swift pursued us, with his weii chosen band, And I was overtaken, with my fair Colleen Bawn. Committed straight to prison, there to lament and wail. And utter my complaints to a dark and dismal Jail, Loaded with heavy irons, till my trial shall come on, But I'll bear their utmost malice for my dear Colleen Bawm. If it should please kind fortune once more to set me free, For well I know my charmer is constant unto me, Spite of her father's anger, his cruelty and scorn, I hope to wed my heart's delight, my dear Colleen Bawn. |
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THE VESPER HYMN.
Hark, the vesper hymn is stealing
O'er the waters, soft and clear— Nearer yet, and nearer pealing,
Now it bursts upon the ear: Jubilate, Amen. Farther now, now farther stealing,
Soft it fades upon the ear. Now, like moonlight waves retreating
To the shore, it dies along; Now like angry surges meeting,
Breaks the mingled tide of song. Hark! again like waves retreating"
To the shore, it dies along. |
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WHEN FIRST I MET THEE,
When first I met thee, warm and young.
There shone such truth about thee, And on thy lip such promise hung,
I did not dare to doubt thee. I saw thee change, yet still relied,
Still clung with hope the fonder, And thought, though false to all beside,
From me thou couldst not wander.
But go, deceiver! go— The heart, whose hopes could make it
Trust one so false, so low, Deserves that thou shouldst break it. When every tongue thy follies named,
I fled the unwelcome story; Or found, in even the faults they blamed,
Some gleams of future glory. I still was true, when nearer friends
Conspired to wrong, to slight thee; The heart, that now thy falsehood rends,
Would then have bled to right thee.
But go, deceiver! go— Some day, perhaps, thou'lt waken
From pleasure's dream, to know The grief of hearts forsaken. |
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