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Denis Florence Mac Carthy.

Ballads, poems, and lyrics, original and translated online

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UC-NRLF




POEMS & LYRICS

BY
& D.F. M9CARTHY



Small 4to., beautifully executed on toned paper, price <Js.

A BOOK OF BALLADS,

.from tf)c (German.
BY PERCY BOYD, ESQ., A. B , M. U I. A.



2s. 6rf. cloth, gilt edges,
S P E C I M E N S

OF THE

EARLY NATIVE POETRY OF IRELAND,
En ISngltsI) j$letrical ^Translations,

BY Miss BROOKE, DR. DRUMMOND, S. FERGUSON, J. C. MANOAN, T. FURLONG,
H. G. CURB AX, E. WALSH, J. D' ALTON, J. ANSTER, LL.D., &c. &c.

WITH HISTORICAL AND BIOGRAPHICAL NOTICES,
BY HENRY R. MONTGOMERY.



2s. 6d. sewed,

IRISH POPULAR SOXGS

WITH

lEnglts!) J^lctrtcal Uerstons,

ENGLISH AND IRISH I N T E R P A G E D.

BY EDWARD WALSH.



DUBLIN: JAMES M'GLASHAN.
W. S. ORR AND Co. , LONDON.



, tyms, irafr Htjrtra.



BALLADS, POEMS, AND LYRICS,

Original unit (Translate



BY

DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY.



PUES PARA CANTAR KACI,
HE DE CANTAR, VIVE DIGS !

CALDERON.



I *> * ''?!



DUBLIN :

JAMES M'GLASHAN, 21 D'OLIER-STREET,
1850.



DUBLIN :

at ri)t fflntbmitg

BY M. H. GILL.



ETHNA, TO CULL SWEET FLOWERS DIVINELY FAIR,

TO SEEK FOR GEMS OF SUCH TRANSPARENT LIGHT

AS WOULD NOT BE UNWORTHY TO UNITE

ROUND THY FAIR BROW, AND THROUGH THY DARK BROWN HAIK,

I WOULD THAT I HAD WINGS TO CLEAVE THE AIR,

IN SEARCH OF SOME FAR REGION OF DELIGHT,

THAT BACK TO THEE FROM THAT ADVENTUROUS FLIGHT,

A GLORIOUS WREATH MY HAPPY HANDS MIGHT BEAR ;

SOON WOULD THE SWEETEST PERSIAN ROSE BE THINE

SOON WOULD THE GLORY OP GOLCONDA's MINE

FLASH ON THY FOREHEAD, LIKE A STAR AH ! ME,

IN PLACE OF THESE, I BRING, WITH TREMBLING HAND,
THESE FADING WILD FLOWERS FROM OUR NATIVE LAND
THESE SIMPLE PEBBLES FROM THE IRISH SEA !



916918



CONTENTS.



PAGE.

THE BELL-FOUNDER, 1

PART I Labour and Hope, 3

,, II Triumph and Reward, 11

III Vicissitude and Rest, 19

ALICE AND UNA, 29

THE FORAY OF CON O'DONNELL, 45

THE VOYAGE OF ST. BRENDAN, 71

PART I The Vocation, 73

II Ara of the Saints, 78

III The Voyage, 83

IV The Buried City, 88

,. V The Paradise of Birds, 98

VI The Promised Land, 103

BALLADS AND LYRICS.

The Bridal of the Year, Ill

The Pilgrims, . . . 120

A Lament, 125

Summer Longings, 130

The Seasons of the Heart, 132

Kate of Kenmare, 134

Devotion, 137

The Vale of Shanganah, 139

The Pillar Towers of Ireland, 141

Over the Sea, 143

b



Vlll CONTENTS.

BALLADS AND LYRICS continued.

PAGE.

Oh ! had I the Wings of a Bird, 145

Love's Language, 147

The Fireside, 149

The Banished Spirit's Song, 151

Remembrance, 153

The Clan of Mac Caura, 154

The Window, 158

Autumn Fears, 159

Fatal Gifts, 161

Sweet May, 163

NATIONAL POEMS AND SONGS.

Advance! 167

Remonstrance, 171

Invocation, 174

A Dream, 176

The Price of Freedom, 179

The Voice and Pen, 181

Cease to do Evil Learn to do Well, 183

A New Year's Song, 185

The Living Land, 187

The Dead Tribune, 189

A Mystery, 192

God bless the Turk, 195

The Voice in the Desert, 200

MISCELLANEOUS POEMS.

Afghanistan, 207

To Ethna, 216

The Lay Missioner, 218

A Walk by the Bay of Dublin, 221

Sonnet, with a Copy of " The Spirit of the Nation," 226

Sonnet, with a Copy of Campbell's Poeme, 227



CONTENTS. IX

TRANSLATIONS.

FRENCH.

PAGE.

The Sick Youth, 231

The Blind Old Man 236

The Muses, 247

The Young Captive, * 250

Three Days of Christopher Columbus, 252

Expectation, 257

The Adieu, 258

Evening, 260

Truth, 261

ITALIAN.

To Doris, 262

Contentment, 267

Anacreontic, 270

To Phillis, 272

The Voyage of Love, 274

Autumn, 279

The Isle of Love, 281

Canzone Amorosa, 284

A Cloudy Day in England, , 285

The Pilgrim, the Cavalier, and the Troubadour, 287

SPANISH.

Romance of Maleca, 289

Romance of Zaide, 292

The Bee, 294

The Shade of the Leaves, 295

To-day and To-morrow, , 296

Romance of Abenamar, 297

The Double Pain, 301

The Sound of the Streams, . . 301



X CONTENTS.

TRANSLATIONS continued.

PAGK.

Romance of Gazul, 303

By the Shores of the Sea, 306

GERMAN.

The Pleiades, ' 308

The Elf-king O'Donoghue 315

The Elfin Bride, 318

Death and the Doctor, 321

Rodolph's Ride to the Emperor's Grave, 323

The Water- Sprite 325

The Richest Prince 326

The Faithful Steed 328

Saint Luke, 329

Saint George's Knight, 334

The Christmas of the Foreign Child - 337

Love Eternal 341

Happy Love. . . ' 342

Chidher, 343

The Bold Manner, 345

The Laughing Death's Head 346

The Reconciliation 348

Zobir, 350

NOTES, . . 353



THE BELL-FOUNDER.



PAET I,

ntumr jm



Srbcit (st teg Biirgers jfertre,
Sejjen (st Her fHtiije $refs ;
jjrtUen Scntg seine SffiliirHe.

5j)ret 5EiHS Her JRanDe jFIciss.

SCHILLER.

TOIL IS POLISHED MAN'S VOCATION ;
PRAISES ARE THE MEED OF SKILL ;
KINGS MAY VAUNT THEIR CROWN AND STATION,

WE WILL VAUNT OUR LABOUR STILL.

MANGAN.



O ERIN 1 thou desolate mother, the heart in thy bosom is

sore,
And wringing thy hands in despair, thou dost roam round the

plague- stricken shore;
Thy children are dying or flying, thy great ones are laid in the

dust,
And those who survive are divided, and those who control are

unjust.

B2



4 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

Wilt thou blame me, dear mother, if, turning my eyes from such

horrors away,
I look, through the night of our wretchedness, back to some

bright vanished day,
When, though sorrow, which ever is with us, was heavy and dark

on the land,
Hope twinkled and shone like a planet, and Faith like a sword in

the hand?

n.

Oft has poverty gnawed at thy bosom, and furrowed thy matronly

brow,
But a famine of wisdom and courage thou never hast known until

now;
No blight like to this ever came, though the Spring-tide and

Summer were cold,
For the hands of thy young men are empty, and barren the heads

of the old.
No fruit from the past has been gathered, no seeds for the future

are sown,
But like children or idiots we live on the crumbs of the present

alone.
Then, mournfullest mother, forgive me, if it be as it may be a

crime
To ny from the ruin around me, and dream of a happier

time.

in.

Not now rings the song like a bugle 'mid the clashing and splin-
tering of spears,

Or the heart-piercing keen of the mourner o'er the graves of green
Erin of tears ;



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 5

Not to strengthen the young arm of freedom, nor to melt off old

slavery's chain,
But to flow through the soul in its calmness, like a stream o'er

the breast of a plain.
Changing, though calm be its current, from its source to its haven

of rest,
Flowing on through fair Italy's vineyards to the emerald fields of

the west
A picture of life and its pleasures, its troubles, its cradle and

shroud,
Now bright with the glow of the sunshine, now dark with the

gloom of the cloud.

IV.

In that land where the heaven-tinted pencil giveth shape to the

splendour of dreams,
Near Florence, the fairest of cities, and Arno, the sweetest of

streams,
'Neath those hills 1 whence the race of the Geraldine wandered in

ages long since,
For ever to rule over Desmond and Erin as martyr and

prince,
Lived Paolo, the young Campanaro 2 , the pride of his own little

vale
Hope changed the hot breath of his furnace as into a sea- wafted

gale;
Peace, the child of Employment, was with him, with prattle so

soothing and sweet,
And Love, while revealing the future, strewed the sweet roses

under his feet.



6 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

V.

All! little they know of true happiness, they whom satiety

fills,
Who, flung on the rich breast of luxury, eat of the rankness that

kills.
Ah ! little they know of the blessedness toil-purchased slumber

enjoys,
Who, stretched on the hard rack of indolence, taste of the sleep

that destroys;
Nothing to hope for, or labour for; nothing to sigh for, or

gain;
Nothing to light in its vividness, lightning-like, bosom and

brain ;
Nothing to break life's monotony, rippling it o'er with its

breath :
Nothing but dulness and lethargy, weariness, sorrow, and

death !

VI.

But blessed that child of humanity, happiest man among
men,

Who, with hammer, or chisel, or pencil, with rudder, or plough-
share, or pen,

Laboureth ever and ever with hope through the morning of
life,

Winning home and its darling divinities love-worshipped
children and wife.

Round swings the hammer of industry, quickly the sharp chisel
rings,

And the heart of the toiler has throbbings that stir not the bosom
of kings



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 7

He the true ruler and conqueror, he the true king of his

race
"Who nerveth his arm for life's combat, and looks the strong world

in the face.

VII.

And such was young Paolo 1 The morning ere yet the faint
starlight had gone

To the loud-ringing workshop beheld him move joyfully light-
footed on.

In the glare and the roar of the furnace he toiled till the evening-
star burned,

And then back again through that valley, as glad but more weary
returned.

One moment at morning he lingers by that cottage that stands
by the stream,

Many moments at evening he tarries by that casement that woos
the moon's beam ;

For the light of his life and his labours, like a lamp from that
casement, shines

In the heart-lighted face that looks out from that purple-clad
trellis of vines.

VIII.

Francesca ! sweet, innocent maiden ! 'tis not that thy young cheek

is fair,
Or thy sun-lighted eyes glance like stars through the curls of thy

wind woven hair;
'Tis not for thy rich lips of coral, or even thy white breast of

snow,
That my song shall recall thee, Francesca ! but more for the good

heart below.



8 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

Goodness is beauty's best portion, a dower that no time can
reduce,

A wand of enchantment and happiness, brightening and strength-
ening with use.

One the long- sigh' d-for nectar that earthliness bitterly tinctures
and taints :

One the fading mirage of the fancy, and one the elysium it
paints.

IX.

Long ago, when thy father would kiss thee, the tears in his old
eyes would start,

For thy face like a dream of his boyhood renewed the fresh
youth of his heart.

He is gone; but thy mother remaineth, and kneeleth each night-
time and morn,

And blesses the Mother of Blessings for the hour her Francesca
was born.

There are proud stately dwellings in Florence, and mothers and
maidens are there,

And bright eyes as bright as Francesca's, and fair cheeks as bril-
liantly fair,

And hearts, too, as warm and as innocent, there where the rich
paintings gleam,

But what proud mother blesses her daughter like the mother by
Arno's sweet stream?

x.

It was not alone, when that mother grew aged and feeble to

hear,
That thy voice like the whisper of angels still fell on the old

woman's ear,



THE BELL-FOUNDER.

Or even that thy face, when the darkness of time overshadowed

her sight,
Shone calm through the blank of her mind, like the moon in the

midst of the night.
But thine was the duty, Francesca, and the love-lightened labour

was thine,
To treasure the white-curling wool, and the warm-flowing milk of

the kine,
And the fruits, and the clusters of purple, and the flock's tender

yearly increase,
That she might have rest in life's evening, and go to her fathers

in peace.



XI.

Francesca and Paolo are plighted, and they wait but a few happy
days,

Ere they walk forth together in trustfulness out on Life's won-
derful ways;

Ere, clasping the hands of each other, they move through the still-
ness and noise,

Dividing the cares of existence, but doubling its hopes and its

joys-
Sweet days of betrothment, which brighten so slowly to love's

burning noon,
Like the days of the Spring which grow longer, the nearer the

fulness of June,
Though ye move to the Noon and the Summer of Love with a

slow-moving wing,
Ye are lit with the light of the Morning, and decked with the

blossoms of Spring.



10 THE BELL- FOUNDER.

XII.

The days of betrothment are over, for now when the evening star

shines,
Two faces look joyfully out from that purple- clad trellis of

vines ;
The light-hearted laughter is doubled, two voices steal forth on

the air,
And blend in the light notes of song, or the sweet solemn cadence

of prayer.
At morning when Paolo departeth, 'tis out of that sweet cottage

door,
At evening he comes to that casement, but passes that casement

no more ;
And the old feeble mother at night-time, when saying, " The Lord's

will be done,"
While blessing the name of a daughter, now blendeth the name

of a son.



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 1 1

PART II.

riiunpjj irafr Hmnri.



FUNERA PLANGO,
FULMINA FRANGOi
SABBATA PANGO,
EXCITO LENTOS,
DISSIPO VENTOS, ;
PACO CBUENTOS.



L

IN the furnace the dry branches crackle, the crucible shines as
Avith gold,

As they carry the hot flaming metal in haste from the fire to the
mould ;

Loud roar the bellows, and louder the flames as they shrieking
escape,

And loud is the song of the workmen who watch o'er the fast-fill-
ing shape;

To and fro in the red-glaring chamber the proud Master anx-
iously moves,

And the quick and the skilful he praiseth, and the dull and the
laggard reproves;

And the heart in his bosom expandeth, as the thick bubbling
metal up swells,

For like to the birth of his children he watcheth the birth of the
bells.



12 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

II.

Peace had guarded the door of young Paolo, success on his in-
dustry smiled,
And the dark wing of Time had passed quicker than grief from

the face of a child ;
Broader lands lay around that sweet cottage, younger footsteps

tripped lightly around,
And the sweet silent stillness was broken by the hum of a still

sweeter sound.
At evening when homeward returning how many dear hands must

he press,
Where of old at that vine-covered wicket he lingered but one to

caress ;
And that dearest one is still with him, to counsel, to strengthen,

and calm,
And to pour over Life's needful wounds the healing of Love's

blessed balm.

in.

But age will come on with its winter, though happiness hideth
its snows;

And if youth has its duty of labour, the birth- right of age is
repose :

And thus from that love-sweetened toil, which the Heavens had
so prospered and blest,

The old Campanaro will go to that vine-covered cottage to
rest;

But Paolo is pious and grateful, and vows as he kneels at her
shrine,

To offer some fruit of his labour to Mary the Mother be-
nign



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 13

Eight Bilver-toned bells will he offer, to toll for the quick and the

dead,
From the tower of the church of her convent that stands on the

cliff overhead.

IV.

'Tis for this that the bellows are blowing, that the workmen their
sledge-hammers wield,

That the firm sandy moulds are now broken, and the dark-shining
bells are revealed ;

The cars with their streamers are ready, and the flower-harnessed
necks of the steers,

And the bells from the cold silent workshop are borne amid bles-
sings and tears.

By the white-blossom'd, sweet-scented myrtles, by the olive-trees
fringing the plain,

By the corn-fields and vineyards is winding that gift-bearing, fes-
tival train ;

And the hum of their voices is blending with the music that
streams on the gale,

As they wend to the Church of our Lady that stands at the head
of the vale.

v.

Now they enter, and now more divinely the Saints' painted effi-
gies smile,

Now the Acolytes bearing lit tapers move solemnly down through
the aisle,

Now the Thurifer swings the rich censer, and the white-curling
vapour up-floats,

And hangs round the deep-pealing organ, and blends with the
tremulous notes.



14 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

In a white shining alb comes the Abbot, and he circles the bells
round about,

And with oil, and with salt, and with water, they are purified in-
side and out ;

They are marked with Christ's mystical symbol, while the priests
and the choristers sing,

And are bless'd in the name of that God to whose honour they
ever shall ring.

VI.

Toll, toll I with a rapid vibration, with a melody silv'ry and

strong,
The Bells from the sound-shaken belfry are singing their first

maiden song;
Not now for the dead or the living, or the triumphs of peace or

of strife,
But a quick joyous outburst of jubilee full of their newly felt

life;
Rapid, more rapid, the clapper rebounds from the round of the

bells-
Far and more far through the valley the intertwined melody

swells
Quivering and broken the atmosphere trembles and twinkles

around,
Like the eyes and the hearts of the hearers that glisten and beat

to the sound.

VII.

But how to express all his rapture when echo the deep cadence

bore
To the old Campanaro reclining in the shade of his vine-covered

door,



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 15

How to tell of the bliss that came o'er him as he gazed on the fair

evening star,
And heard the faint toll of the vesper bell steal o'er the vale from

afar
Ah! it was not alone the brief ecstacy music doth ever

impart
When Sorrow and Joy at its bidding come together, and dwell in

the heart ;
But it was that delicious sensation with which the young Mother

is blest,
As she lists to the laugh of her child as it falleth asleep on her

breast.

VIII.

From a sweet night of slumber he woke ; but it was not that
morn had unroll'd

O'er the pale, cloudy tents of the Orient, her banners of purple
and gold:

It was not the song of the sky-lark, that rose from the green pas-
tures near,

But the sound of his bells that fell softly, as dew on the slum-
berer's ear.

At that sound he awoke and arose, and went forth on the bead-
bearing grass

At that sound, with his loving Francesca, he piously knelt at the
Mass.

If the sun shone in splendour around him, and that certain music
were dumb,

He would deem it a dream of the night-time, and doubt if the
morning had come.



16 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

IX.

At noon, as he lay in the sultriness, under his broad-leafy

limes,
Far sweeter than murmuring waters came the toll of the Angelus

chimes.
Pious and tranquil he rose, and uncovered his reverend

head,
And thrice was the Ave-Maria and thrice was the Angelus

said,
Sweet custom the South still retaineth, to turn for a moment

away
From the pleasures and pains of existence, from the trouble and

turmoil of day,
From the tumult within and without, to the peace that abideth

on high,
When the deep, solemn sound from the belfry comes down like a

voice from the sky.

x.

And thus round the heart of the old man, at morning, at noon,

and at eve,
The bells, with their rich woof of music, the net- work of happiness

weave.
They ring in the clear, tranquil evening, and lo ! all the air is

alive,
As the sweet-laden thoughts come, like bees, to abide in his heart

as a hive.
They blend with his moments of joy, as the odour doth blend with

the flower,
They blend with his light-falling tears, as the sunshine doth blend

with the shower.



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 17

As their music is mirthful or mournful, his pulse beateth sluggish
or fast,

And his breast takes its hue, like the ocean, as the sunshine or sha-
dows are cast.

XI.

Thus adding new zest to enjoyment, and drawing the sharp sting

from pain,

The heart of the old man grew young, as it drank the sweet mu-
sical strain.
Again at the altar he stands, with Francesca the fair at his

side,
As the bells ring a quick peal of gladness, to welcome some happy

young bride.
'Tis true, when the death-bells are tolling, the wounds of his heart

bleed anew,
When he thinks of his old loving mother, and the darlings that

destiny slew;
But the tower in whose shade they are sleeping seems the emblem

of hope and of love,
There is silence and death at its base, but there's life in the belfry

above.

XII.

Was it the sound of his bells, as they swung in the purified

air,
That drove from the bosom of Paolo the dark- winged demons of

care?
Was it their magical tone that for many a shadowless

day
(So faith once believed) swept the clouds and the black-boding

tempests away?

c



18 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

Ah ! never may Fate with their music a harsh-grating dissonance

blend!
Sure an evening so calm and so bright will glide peacefully on to

the end.
Sure the course of his life, to its close, like his own native river

must be,
Flowing on through the valley of flowers to its home in the bright

summer sea!



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 19



PAKT III,

JTrasittrto mii



TOE FLOWER THAT .SMILES TO-DAY,

TO-MORROW DIK.S ;
ALL THAT WE WISH TO STAY,

TEMPTS AND THEN FLIES.

WHAT is THIS WORLD'S DELIGHT?
LIGHTNING THAT MOCKS THE NIGHT-
BRIEF EVEN AS BRIGHT.

SHELLEY.

TILL THERE CAME UPON HIS MIND

A SENSE OF LONELINESS, A THIRST WITH WHICH HE PINED.

REVOLT OF ISLAM.
THE BELLS RUNG BLITHELY FROM ST. MARY'S TOWER.

TALE OF PARAGUAY.



L

O ERIN! thou broad-spreading valley them well-watered land of

fresh streams,
When I gaze on thy hills greenly sloping, where the light of such

loveliness beams,
When I rest by the rim of thy fountains, or stray where thy

streams disembogue,
Then I think that the Fairies have brought me to dwell in the

bright Tir-na-n-oge 3 .
But when on the face of thy children I look, and behold the big

tears
Still stream down their grief-eaten channels, which widen and

deepen with years,

c 2



20 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

I fear that some dark blight for ever will fall on thy harvests of

peace,
And that, like to thy lakes and thy rivers, thy sorrows must ever

increase 4 .

II.

Land ! which the heavens made for joy, but where wretched-
ness buildeth its throne

O prodigal spendthrift of sorrow! and hast thou not heirs of
thine own?

Thus to lavish thy sons' only portion, and bring one said claimant
the more,

From the sweet sunny land of the south, to thy crowded and sor-
rowful shore?

For this proud bark that cleaveth thy waters, she is not a cur-
rach of thine,

And the broad purple sails that spread o'er her seem dyed in the
juice of the vine.

Not thine is that flag, backward floating, nor the olive-cheek'd
seamen who guide,

Nor that heart-broken old man who gazes so listlessly over the
tide.

HI.

Accurs'd be the monster, who selfishly draweth his sword from

its sheath;
Let his garland be twined by the Furies, and the upas tree furnish

the wreath;
Let the blood he has shed steam around him, through the length

of eternity's years,
And the anguish- wrung screams of his victims for ever resound in

his ears.



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 21

For all that makes life worth possessing must yield to his self-
seeking lust:

He trampleth on home and on love, as his war-horses trample the
dust;

He loosens the red streams of ruin, which wildly, though par-
tially, stray

They but chafe round the rock-bastionM castle, while they sweep
the frail cottage away.

iv.

Feuds fell like a plague upon Florence, and rage from without

and within ;
Peace turned her mild eyes from the havoc, and Mercy grew

deaf in the din ;
Fear strengthened the dove- wings of Happiness, tremblingly borne

on the gale;
And the angel Security vanished, as the War-demon swept o'er

the vale.
Is it for the Mass or the Angelus now that the bells ever

ring?
Or is it the red trickling must such a purple reflection doth

fling?
Ah, no : 'tis the tocsin of terror that tolls from the desolate

shrine ;
And the down-trodden vineyards are flowing, but not with the

blood of the vine.

v.

Deadly and dark was the tempest that swept o'er that vine-

cover'd plain;
Burning and withering, its drops fell like fire on the grass and

the grain.



22 THE BELL-FOUNDER.

But the gloomiest moments must pass to their graves, as the

brightest and best,
And thus once again did fair Fiesole look o'er a valley of

rest.
But oh I in that brief hour of horror that bloody eclipse of the

sun,
What hopes and what dreams have been shattered? what ruin

and wrong have been done?
What blossoms for ever have faded, that promised a harvest so

fair;
And what joys are laid low in the dust that eternity cannot

repair I



Look down on that valley of sorrows, whence the land-marks of

joy are removed,
Oh ! where is the darling Francesca, so loving, so dearly be-

loved?
And where are her children, whose voices rose music- winged once

from this spot?
And why are the sweet bells now silent? and where is the vine-

cover'd cot?
'Tis morning no Mass-bell is tolling; 'tis noon, but no Angelus

rings;
'Tis evening, but no drops of melody rain from her rose-coloured

wings.
Ah ! where have the angels, poor Paolo, that guarded thy cottage

door, flown ?
And why have they left thee to wander thus childless and joyless

alone ?



THE BELL-FOUNDER. 23


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Online LibraryDenis Florence Mac CarthyBallads, poems, and lyrics, original and translated → online text (page 1 of 17)