Bog-land Studies By J. Barlow: 3rd ed |
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 | Bog-land Studies |  |
57
VII
An' thin the winther began, on a suddint it seemed, for the treesWere flamin' like fire in the wood whin it tuk to perish an' freeze;
An' thro' your bones like a knife wint the win' that come keenin' around,
An' afther that wid the pours o' rain we were fairly dhrowned.
For the wather'd be runnin' in sthrames beneath the step at the door,
An' t' ould thatch that's thick wid holes let it dhrip in pools on the floor,
Till sorra the fire 'ud burn, wid the peat-sods no betther than mud,
Since the stacks thimselves outside seemed meltin' away in the flood.
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Mayhap some one was follyin' behind me, but whin I looked round I seen nought,
Ne'er a sowl save meself, that I dunna believe he tuk heed on at all.
An' sez he: ‘Och, thin, Denis, me lad, so ye're here? Why, the step in the hall
Sounded strange-like; and I to be listenin', an’ never to think it was you.
But, in troth, till ye stood in me sight, I'd no aisier believe me luck true
Than if sthraight ye were come from the Dead. For the time, lad, wint wonderful slow,
An' it seems like the lenth o' me life since ye left us this great while ago;
An' sure only to look down a long lenth o' time sthrikes the could to your heart,
Let alone whin the days sthretch away, each like each, an' nought keeps thim apart
| Bog-land Studies | |