Bog-land Studies By J. Barlow: 3rd ed |
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 | Bog-land Studies |  |
12
VI
But it come cruel hard on th' ould master, for, livin' so lonesome an' quite,He'd got naught to be takin' his mind off the throuble by day or by night.
An' he wouldn't let on he thought bad o' the matter; an' yet all the same,
He'd be off wid himself in the boat to the town every mornin' that came,
Like enough wid no chance in the world o' the mail bein' in, as he knew;
But he'd set Widdy Doyle at the office a-sortin' the letter-bags thro',
An' stan' watchin' as if one 'ud make all the differ 'twixt Heaven and Hell;
An' it never was Heaven; for always there'd be the same story to tell:
13
And 'ud send the boys over, but, och, ere ye'd think they'd ha' fairly got past
Inish Greine, half ways back, he'd be thrampin' the pier lookin' out for the boat,
In a down-pour, mayhap, wid the win' fit to blusther the nap off his coat;
An' 'twas: ‘Sorra a thing for your Honor.’— Ochone, every sowl in the place
Would be heart-vexed to see him creep home be himself wid that news in his face.
| Bog-land Studies | |