Caoine

(From the eighteenth-century Irish)

Cold, dark, and dumb lies my boy on his bed; Cold, dark, and silent the night dews are shed; Hot, swift, and fierce fall my tears for the dead!

His footprints lay light in the dew of the dawn As the straight, slender track of the young mountain fawn; But I'll ne'er again follow them over the lawn.

His manly cheek blushed with the sun's rising ray, And he shone in his strength like the sun at midday; But a cloud of black darkness has hid him away.

And that black cloud for ever shall cling to the skies: And never, ah, never, I'll see him arise, Lost warmth of my bosom, lost light of my eyes!

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