University of Virginia Library

PRELUDE.

When her nest is scatter'd, a complaining
On the spray the little mother weaves,
From her heart's wild harp its sorrows raining,
Thick as shadows from the shaken leaves.
There are lands, wherein, when Death's white fingers
Tap at last upon the sick-room pane,
Send the neighbours all their sweetest singers—
Comes the minstrel of the cunning strain.

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Sweetly are the singers measure keeping;
Sweetly, sweetly do the minstrels play;
Till the hot heart finds a vent in weeping,
As in rain the sultry summer day.
Nest and nestlings Death from us hath taken;
Ruin broods upon our labour now;
Ours is only like the music shaken
By the wild bird from the hawthorn bough.
Death climb'd up with crown of fire above him—
Not as sometimes to the child he comes,
Gentle, so that we can almost love him,
Knocking at the nurseries of our homes—
But with red eyes, mad in anger mortal,
And his red hair streaming wildly o'er,
Flashing fiery swords before the portal,
Hissing, like a serpent at the door.
We are but as poor musicians, ringing
On their harps some natural rise and fall—
We are only like the singers, singing
At the children's lowly funeral!
 

These lines refer to a calamitous fire at the Derry and Raphoe Institution for the Deaf and Dumb, in which six of the inmates perished.