Part 15 (1/2)

Good-bye to the gay garden, With prim geraniums pied, And spreading yew trees, old, unchanging Tho' men have died.

Good-bye to the New Castle, With granite walls and grey, And rooms where faded greatness still Lingers to-day.

To every friend in Mallow, When I am gone afar, These words of ancient Celtic hope, ”Peace after war.”

I would return to Erin When all these wars are by, Live long among her hills before My last good-bye.

Beyond Rathkelly. [Francis Carlin]

As I went over the Far Hill, Just beyond Rathkelly, -- Och, to be on the Far Hill O'er Newtonstewart Town!

As I went over the Far Hill With Marget's daughter Nellie, The night was up and the moon was out, And a star was falling down.

As I went over the Far Hill, Just beyond Rathkelly, -- Och, to be on the Far Hill Above the Bridge o' Moyle!

As I went over the Far Hill, With Marget's daughter Nellie, I made a wish before the star Had fallen in the Foyle.

As I went over the Far Hill, Just beyond Rathkelly, -- Och, to be on the Far Hill With the hopes that I had then!

As I went over the Far Hill, I wished for little Nellie, And if a star were falling now I'd wish for her again.

A Song of Two Wanderers. [Marguerite Wilkinson]

Dear, when I went with you To where the town ends, Simple things that Christ loved -- They were our friends; Tree shade and gra.s.s blade And meadows in flower; Sun-sparkle, dew-glisten, Star-glow and shower; Cool-flowing song at night Where the river bends, And the s.h.i.+ngle croons a tune -- These were our friends.

Under us the brown earth Ancient and strong, The best bed for wanderers All the night long; Over us the blue sky Ancient and dear, The best roof to shelter all Glad wanderers here; And racing between them there Falls and ascends The chantey of the clean winds -- These were our friends.

By day on the broad road Or on the narrow trail, Angel wings shadowed us, Glimmering pale Through the red heat of noon; In the twilight of dawn Fairies broke fast with us; Prophets led us on, Heroes were kind to us Day after happy day; Many white Madonnas We met on our way -- ~Farmer and longsh.o.r.eman, Fisherman and wife, Children and laborers Brave enough for Life, Simple folk that Christ loved -- They were our friends. . . .~

Dear, we must go again To where the town ends. . . .

In the Mushroom Meadows. [Thomas Walsh]

Sun on the dewy gra.s.slands where late the frost hath shone, And lo, what elfin cities are these we come upon!

What pigmy domes and thatches, what Arab caravan, What downy-roofed paG.o.das that have known no touch of man!

Are these the oldtime meadows? Yes, the wildgrape scents the air; The breath of ripened orchards still is incense everywhere; Yet do these dawn-encampments bring the lurking memories Of Egypt and of Burma and the sh.o.r.es of China Seas.