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b. 1861
FROM THE IRISH
MY grief on the sea,
How the waves of it roll!
For they heave between me
And the love of my soul!
Abandon’d, forsaken,
To grief and to care,
Will the sea ever waken
Relief from despair?
My grief and my trouble!
Would he and I were,
In the province of Leinster,
Or County of Clare!
Were I and my darling—
O heart-bitter wound!—
On board of the ship
For America bound.
On a green bed of rushes
All last night I lay,
And I flung it abroad
With the heat of the day.
And my Love came behind me,
He came from the South;
His breast to my bosom,
His mouth to my mouth.
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