White as a seagull, she swept the long passage.
True as the homing-bird flies with its message.
Love her? O richer than silk every sail of her.
Trust her? More precious than gold every nail of her.
Write we down faithfully every man's part in her;
Greet we all gratefully every true heart in her.
More than a name to us, sailing the fleetest,
Symbol of that which is purest and sweetest:
More than a keel to us, steering the straightest,
Emblem of that which is freest and greatest:
More than dove-bosomed sail to the windward,
Flame passing on while the night-clouds fly hindward.
Kiss every plank of her! None shall take rank of her;
Frontward or weatherward, none can eclipse.

Thunder our thanks to her! Cheer from the banks
to her !

Mayflower! Foremost and best of our ships!

MY NATIVE LAND

T chanced to me upon a time to sail

IT

Across the Southern ocean to and fro;
And, landing at fair isles, by stream and vale
Of sensuous blessing did we ofttimes go.
And months of dreamy joys, like joys in sleep,

Or like a clear, calm stream o'er mossy stone,
Unnoted passed our hearts with voiceless sweep,
And left us yearning still for lands unknown.

And when we found one, for 'tis soon to find
In thousand-isled Cathay another isle,—
For one short noon its treasures filled the mind,

And then again we yearned, and ceased to smile.

}

And so it was from isle to isle we passed,

Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips; And when all that was tasted, then at last

We thirsted still for draughts instead of sips.

I learned from this there is no Southern land
Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men.
Sick minds need change; but, when in health they
stand

'Neath foreign skies, their love flies home again With love for Ireland, looking on Cathay!

And thus with me it was, the yearning turned

From laden airs of cinnamon away,

And stretched far westward, while the full heart burned.

My first dear love, all dearer for the grief!
My land, that has no peer in all the sea
For verdure, vale or river, flower or leaf,-

If first to no man else, thou'rt first to me.
New loves may come with duties, but the first

Is deepest yet, the mother's breast and smiles; Like that kind face and breast where I was nursed Is my poor land, the Niobé of isles.

TH

UNSPOKEN WORDS

HE kindly words that rise within the heart And thrill it with their sympathetic tone, But die ere spoken, fail to play their part And claim a merit that is not their own.

The kindly word unspoken is a sin

A sin that wraps itself in purest guise, And tells the heart that, doubting, looks within, That not in speech, but thought, the virtue lies.

But 'tis not so: another heart may thirst

For that kind word, as Hagar in the wildPoor banished Hagar-prayed a well might burst From out the sand, to save her parching child. And loving eyes that cannot see the mind

Will watch the expected movement of the lip: Ah! can ye let its cutting silence wind

Around that heart and scathe it like a whip?

Unspoken words like treasures in the mine

Are valueless until we give them birth. Like unfound gold their hidden beauties shine Which God has made to bless and gild the earth. How sad 'twould be to see a master's hand

Strike glorious notes upon a voiceless lute — But oh what pain when at God's own command A heart-string thrills with kindness, but is mute!

Then hide it not, the music of the soul,

Dear sympathy expressed with kindly voice, But let it like a shining river roll

To deserts dry-to hearts that would rejoice. Oh! let the symphony of kindly words

Sound for the poor, the friendless, and the weak, And He will bless you. He who struck these chords Will strike another when in turn you seek.

MARY ANNE O'REILLY
(1846)

A LULLABY

Mo cheann ban beag, lie still and rest,1

I'll pillow thee here on my breast,
The sun is tired and turning west,

Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.'

Hush O, Hush O, Hush O, my love,
O close thine eyes and sleep my dove,
The winds are crooning in the cove,
Mo mhuirnin cean ban beag.

Mo cheann ban beag, thy lids of snow,
Are loth to hide the gems below,
They close and open sweet and slow,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

Hush O, Hush O, Hush O, my love,
O close thine eyes and sleep my dove,
The winds are crooning in the cove,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

Mo chean ban beag, thy golden hair
Lies like the halo angels wear;
No angel like thee, none so fair,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

1 Pronounced-Mo chan bawn beg, literally, Little white head.

2 Pronounced-Mavourneen kawn bawn beg, literally, My darling little white or fair head.

Hush O, Hush O, Hush O, my love,
O close thine eyes and sleep my dove,
The winds are crooning in the cove,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

My cheann ban beag, thy sleeping face,
Is beauty's quiet dwelling place,
Where dawn rests in the snow's embrace,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

Hush O, Hush O, Hush O, my love,*
O close thine eyes and sleep my dove,
The winds are crooning in the cove,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

Mo cheann ban beag, 'tis bliss to be
The mother of a babe like thee,
Thank God who gave the gift to me,
Mo mhuirnin cean ban beag.

Hush O, Hush O, Hush O, my love,
O close thine eyes and sleep my dove,
The winds are crooning in the cove,
Mo mhuirnin ceann ban beag.

HUSH SONG

Written to an old Irish air found in C. Villiers Stanford's collection.

R

EST asthoreen, down the boreen

Come the cows a mooing low,
Eve is falling, birds are calling,
So their mates to sleep may go.