Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/294
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DERMOT'S PARTING.
It shall be dear, dear as the bride,
To him who sees her borne,
To wed another, from his side
Upon their marriage morn.
To him who sees her borne,
To wed another, from his side
Upon their marriage morn.
"Not yet, unclasp not yet thy hand,
Though thou all else resign;
I dreamed that death alone should stand
Betwixt thy life and mine."
Though thou all else resign;
I dreamed that death alone should stand
Betwixt thy life and mine."
Dark is my path, no path for thee,
A gloom without a gleam;
Yet speak again, and full and free,
What I but dared to dream.
A gloom without a gleam;
Yet speak again, and full and free,
What I but dared to dream.
"One path on earth alone I fear,
The path that leads from thee;
The bleakest wild, so thou wert near,
Were blest enough for me."
The path that leads from thee;
The bleakest wild, so thou wert near,
Were blest enough for me."
Then come, the stormy splendour dies
That lured and led so far;
But love within thy gentle eyes
Now lights a purer star.
That lured and led so far;
But love within thy gentle eyes
Now lights a purer star.
Dermot's Parting.
Oh, waken up, my darlin'—my Dermot, it is day,—
The day, when from the mother's eyes the real light dies away;
For what will daylight be to me, that never more will see
The fair face of my Dermot come smiling back to me?
Arise, my son—the morning red is wearing fast away,
And through the grey mist I can see the masts rock in the bay.
Before the sea-fog clears the hill, my darlin' must depart—
But oh! the cloud will never lift that wraps the mother's heart!
The day, when from the mother's eyes the real light dies away;
For what will daylight be to me, that never more will see
The fair face of my Dermot come smiling back to me?
Arise, my son—the morning red is wearing fast away,
And through the grey mist I can see the masts rock in the bay.
Before the sea-fog clears the hill, my darlin' must depart—
But oh! the cloud will never lift that wraps the mother's heart!
Sure, then, I'm old and foolish: what's this I'm saying now?
Will I see my fair son leave me with a shadow on his brow?
Oh, no! we'll bear up bravely, and make no stir, nor moan;
There will be time for weeping when my fair son shall be gone.
I've laid the old coat ready, dear; my pride this day has been
That on your poor apparel shall no rent nor stain be seen.
And let me tie that kerchief, too; it's badly done, I fear,
For my old hands tremble sadly, with the hurry, Dermot, dear.
Will I see my fair son leave me with a shadow on his brow?
Oh, no! we'll bear up bravely, and make no stir, nor moan;
There will be time for weeping when my fair son shall be gone.
I've laid the old coat ready, dear; my pride this day has been
That on your poor apparel shall no rent nor stain be seen.
And let me tie that kerchief, too; it's badly done, I fear,
For my old hands tremble sadly, with the hurry, Dermot, dear.