Lay these hands down by my side, Let my face be bare; Bind a kerchief round the face, Smooth my hair. Let my bier be borne at dawn, Then pass away, and let me lie While the morning light grows broad, W SONG From "Windle-Straws." ERE life to last forever, love, We might go hand in hand, And pause and pull the flowers that blow And we might lie in sunny fields For half a summer day. But since we two must sever, love, Since some dim hour we part, I have no tune to give thee much But quickly take my heart, "Forever thine," and "thine my love,"O Death may come apace. What more of love could life bestow, Dearest, than this embrace. BARTHOLOMEW DOWLING (1823-1863) THE BRIGADE AT FONTENOY Y our camp-fires rose a murmur, B At the dawning of the day, And the tread of many footsteps Spoke the advent of the fray; And, as we took our places, Few and stern were our words, While some were tightening horse-girths And some were girding swords. The trumpet blast has sounded The green flag is unfolded, We looked upon that banner, Of our homes and perished kindred Where the Lee or Shannon flows; We looked upon that banner, And we swore to God on high Loud swells the charging trumpet 'Tis a voice from our own land There are memories to destroy, 1 Erin Plunge deep the fiery rowels In a thousand reeking flanks — Down on the British ranks ! Beneath our sabres reel Through their ranks, then, with the war-horse With one shout for good King Louis And we smote them down, still cheering, bragh, Erin, your bright health forever. As prized as is the blessing To the tempest-driven ship - The smile of gentle maid Is this day of long-sought vengeance To the swords of the Brigade. See their shattered forces flying, See, England, what brave laurels As we lay beside our camp-fires, |