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322 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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" They came with ready hands our toil to share — 'Twas then I missed him most—my own right hand; I felt, although kind hearts were round me there, The kindest heart beat in a foreign land.
Strong hand ! brave heart! O severed far from
me By many a weary league of shore and sea !
" And tell him she was with us—he'll know who:
Mavoumeen,1 hasn't she the winsome eyes? The darkest, deepest,'brightest, bonniest blue, I ever saw except in summer skies.
And such black hair ! it is the blackest hair That ever rippled over neck so fair.
" Tell him old Pincher fretted many a day
And moped, poor dog, 'twas well he didn't die; Crouched by the roadside, how he watched the way, And sniffed the travelers as they passed him by — Hail, rain, or sunshine, sure 'twas all the same, He listened for the foot that never came.
" Tell him the house is lonesome-like, and cold, The fire itself seems robbed of half its light; But maybe 'tis my eyes are growing old,
And things look dim before my failing sight: For all that, tell him 'twas myself that spun The shirts you bring, and stitched them every one. |
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1 Mo-mhuirnln, my darling. |
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