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Bog-land Studies

By J. Barlow: 3rd ed
Barlow, Jane (1857?-1917)

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TH' OULD MASTER
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VIII
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 XVII. 
XVII
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WALLED OUT
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LAST TIME AT M'GURK'S
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BY THE BOG-HOLE
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PAST PRAYING FOR OR, THE SOUPER'S WIDOW
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MISS HONOR'S WEDDING
  
A CURLEW'S CALL

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XVII

So I'd sorra a hand in the matter meself, I may truly declare.
'Twas th' Almighty's own notion that night to decaive him, if decaivin' it were.
So whatever misfortins th' ould master experienced, I hould in a way
He'd the bettermost sort o' bad luck—an' that's somethin'—because ye may say
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His worst throuble as good as ne'er chanced him; ne'er come to his hearin' or sight,
And a hurt that ye feel unbeknownst, as the sayin' is, is apt to be light.
An' bedad he's well out of it all; it's ourselves have the raison to grieve
While the say meets the shore for what happint this Inish that black Holy Eve.
But I'll whisht; for I'm thinkin' when things have determined to run to the bad,
There's no use in discoorsin' an' frettin' save on'y to dhrive yourself mad;
Since the storms, or the blight, or the rint comes agin one wherever one goes,
Till one takes the last turnin'. An' thin if it's true, as some people suppose,
Better luck follows thim that are lavin' than thim that are bidin' behind—
Sure it's off ye'll slip one o' these days, an' what need to be throublin' your mind?
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