MAIRE BHAN ASTÒR.* IN a valley far away, With my Maire bhan Astor, Short would be the summer day, Ever loving more and more. Winter days would all grow long, With the light her heart would pour, With her kisses and her song, And her loving mait go leor. Oh! her sire is very proud, And her mother cold as stone; But her brother bravely vowed She should be my bride alone; For he knew I loved her well, And he knew she loved me too, True is Maire bhan Astor, There are lands where manly toil Surely reaps the crop it sows ; Glorious wood and teeming soil, Where the broad Missouri flows; From our hearth with mait go leor, Mild is Maire bhan Astor, Saints will watch about the door Of my Maire bhan Astòr. THOMAS DAVIS. Maire bhan Astor-"Mary my treasure." YE blessed Creatures, I have heard the call Ye to each other make; I see The heavens laugh with you in your jubilee; My head hath its coronal, The fulness of your bliss, I feel I feel it all. This sweet May morning; And children are pulling On every side, In a thousand valleys far and wide, Fresh flowers; while the sun shines warm, And the Babe leaps up on his Mother's arm : I hear, I hear, with joy I hear! -But there's a Tree, of many, one, A single Field which I have looked upon, Both of them speak of something that is gone: Doth the same tale repeat: Whither is fled the visionary gleam? Where is it now, the glory and the dream? WORDSWORTH. |