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494 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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That was the first minute O'Brien was shaken, When he saw that he wasn't quite forgot or forsaken; And down his pale cheeks, at the words of his mother, The big tears were runnin' fast, one after th' other; And he tried hard to hide them or wipe them away, But in vain, for his hands were too fast bound that
day. And two or three times he endeavored to spake, But the strong, manly voice used to falter and break, Till at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride, He conquered and mastered his grief's swelling tide. And, says he, " Mother darlin', don't break your poor
heart, For, sooner or later, the dearest must part. And God knows it's better than wandering in fear On the bleak, trackless mountain among the wjld deer, To lie in the grave, where the head, hand, and breast From thought, labor, and sorrow forever shall rest. Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more, Don't make me seem broken in this my last hour; For I wish, when my head is lyin' under the raven, No true man can say that I died like a craven ! " Then towards the judge Sbamus bowed down his head, And that minute the solemn death sentence was said.
The morning was bright, and the mists rose on high, And the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky. But why are the men standin' idle so late ? And why do the crowds gather fast in the street ? What come they to talk of? What come they to see? And why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree ? Now, Shamus O'Brien, pray fervent and fast; May the saints take your soul! for this day is your last; |
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