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KEENE, OR LAMENT OF AN IRISH MOTHER OVER HER SON.

Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-hair'd son!
Silent and dark!
68

There is blood upon the threshold
Whence thy step went forth at morn,
Like a dancer's in its fleetness,
Oh, my bright first-born!
At the glad sound of that footstep,
My heart within me smiled;
—Thou wert brought me back all silent
On thy bier, my child!
Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-hair'd son!
Silent and dark!
I thought to see thy children
Laugh on me with thine eyes;
But my sorrow's voice is lonely
Where my life's flower lies.
I shall go to sit beside thee,
Thy kindred's graves among;
I shall hear the tall grass whisper—
I shall hear it not long!
Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-hair'd son!
Silent and dark!
And I too shall find slumber
With my lost one, in the earth;
—Let none light up the ashes
Again on our hearth!
69

Let the roof go down!—let silence
On the home for ever fall,
Where my boy lay cold, and heard not
His lone mother's call!
Darkly the cloud of night comes rolling on;
Darker is thy repose, my fair-hair'd son!
Silent and dark!
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