I'd never love my God the less, 'But no, ah no! it cannot be ; Yet, mother, do not mourn― Come, kneel again, and pray to God, In peace, let us return; The Dark Girl's doom must aye be mine But Heaven will light me on, Until I find my way to God, And Mary, and St. John!' JOHN KEEGAN. THE LAST REPROACH. THE charm, the gilded life is over, I live to feel I live in vain, And worlds were worthless to recover That dazzling dream of mine again. The idol I adored is broken, And I may weep its overthrow ; Thy lips at length my doom have spoken, And is it thus indeed we sever, And hast thou then forgotten all; And canst thou cast me off for ever, To mourn a dark and hopeless thrall ? Oh! perfidy, in friend or foe, In stranger, lover, husband, wife; Thou art the blackest drop of woe That bubbles in the cup of life. THE LAST REPROACH. But most of all in woman's breast, Triumphant in thy blasting power, Enthroned in some celestial bower. Who, when his glances on another Too idly, and too long have dwelt, Will sigh, as if she sought to smother The grief her bosom never felt. Who, versed in every witching art That e'er the warmest love would dare, First having gained her victim's heart, Then turns him over to despair. Alas! and can such treachery be? The worm that winds in slime along, Is nobler, better far than she Who revels in such heartless wrong. Go now, and triumph in thy guilt, And weave thy wanton spells anew; Go, false as fair, and if thou wilt, Again betray the fond and true! Yet this, my last and long farewell, Is less in anger than in sorrow; Mine is the tale which myriads tell, Who loathe to-day, and dread to-morrow. Me, Frances! me thou never knewest The love is deepest oft and truest, That burns within the soul untold. 317 Farewell! in life's gay giddy whirl The bolts that strike, the winds that blight, Soon as the winter winds shall rave At midnight, through the long, dark grass, J. C. MANGAN. ELLEN BAWN. ELLEN BAWN, O Ellen Bawn, you darling, darling dear, you! Sit awhile beside me here, I'll die unless I'm near you ; 'Tis for you I'd swim the Suir, and breast the Shannon's waters; For, Ellen dear, you've not your peer in Galway's blooming daughters! Had I Limerick's gems and gold at will to mete and measure, Were Loughria's abundance mine, and all Portumna's treasure, These might lure me, might ensure me, many and many a new love, But oh, no bribe could pay your tribe for one like you, my true love! ELLEN BAWN-LOVE BALLAD. 319 Blessings be on Connaught! that's the place for sport and raking! Blessings too, my love, on you, a-sleeping and a-waking! I'd have met you, dearest Ellen, when the sun went under, But, woe! the flooding Shannon broke across my path in thunder! Ellen! I'd give all the deer in Limerick's parks and arbours, Ay, and all the ships that rode last year in Munster's harbours, Could I blot from Time the hour I first became your lover, For oh, you've given my heart a wound it never can recover! Would to God that in the sod my corpse to-night were lying, And the wild birds wheeling o'er it, and the winds a sighing, Since your cruel mother and your kindred choose to sever Two hearts that Love would blend in one for ever and for ever! J. C. MANGAN. LOVE BALLAD. LONELY from my home I come, And to weep. Lonely from my lonesome home, My lonesome house of grief and gloom, Vigil often all night long, For your dear, dear sake, Praying many a prayer so wrong That my heart would break! Gladly, O my blighted flower, Sweet Apple of my bosom's Tree, Stretch me in your dark death-bower But we'll meet ere many a day Never more to part, In my soul doth darkness dwell, And through its dreary winding caves Ever flows with moaning swell, One ebbless flood of many Waves, Death, love, has me in his lures, But that grieves not me, So my ghost may meet with yours When the neighbours near my cot, For, oh! 'tis a weary lot This watching eye, and wooing sleep |