Great Store.

Tired an' oul' an' wore An' a lif' at these wans when I'm took! But the Lord will send in His own good time, That never His poor forsook.

The walls is goin' roun' When I rise for to try for to dhress, An' I'm forced to sit by the side of the bed An' wait for the house to take ress!

I was middlin' smart for all Till the time when I fell in the Glen, Goin' up to supper the pigs, the sowles! An' the leg was bruk at me then.

The coul', the coul', an' the pain! An' the hollerin' out for Crowe; An' the thought of the craythurs wantin' their mate, An' it spilt at me all in the snow!

But Crowe came by at las', Goin' home from the Ramsey mart, "Them pigs will be wantin' their mate," I said, When they got me home on the cart.

So that's the way it iss, An' I'll never be sthrayin' far; But we mus' have somethin' to keep us down, The stubborn an' proud we are.

This wumman is good to me, too, An' I'm gettin' the bes' thass in, She was rared at me, an' me darter's chile, An' married on Dicky-the-Win'.

I'm tired an' oul' an' done! Nor able to stan' or to roam, But it's only to wait for the Lord's own time, An' He will be taking me Home.

BONS.

It'll be in the teens of years I'm livin' here alone, An' the house is bare at me, too, like a ness when the birds is flown; But the days is lonelier far pas' what it is in the night, For then I'm stirrin' the bons till the house is full of light.

And then I'm seein' the lumpers all playin' about on the flure, With pussy-bogh sthretchin' her back, and Daa comin' in on the dhure; An' a long little family at us, Henery, John, an' Lil, An' wan that was took at the Angels, an' Miriam Maud, an' Bill.

Henery went for a sailor, an' the ship went down in the night, But I'm seein' him readin' his book when the bons is burnin' bright; An' I'm feelin' me fut for the cradle, an' the tear dhroppin' down from the eye, For the wan that was took at the Angels when I hadn't no time to cry.

Johnny was studdy uncommon, an' terrible fon' of the lan', An' helpin' Daa with the bases an' givin' us all a han'; Billy an' him went foreign--I h'ard they were doin' well, But, the name of the place they was to, is beatin' all to tell.

The gels is married on farmers, an' bringin' a boy or a chile For to see th' oul' granny an' all, an' be rared at me here for a while; But I'm all as well by myself, for then in the mids of the night I can stir up the bons on the chiollagh till the house is full of light.

An' I sit with a fut on the cradle till the blaze is dyin' down, An' the childher goin' a-mixin' with the shaddas creepenin' roun'; I'm watchin' wan an' another, an' always her that was took, An' Daa comin' in on the dhure, an' Henery readin' his book.

THE INHERITANCE.

The lands that should have come to him Were gone with stock and store. They dug a little grave for him, What was he wantin' more.

The trees that should have grown for him Had vanished long before. They carved a little chiss for him What was he wantin' more.

The gown his mother worked for him, Put ready in the drawer, Was doin' a little shroud for him, What was he wantin' more.

The Sign of his Inheritance Upon his brow he bore, And that was all there was for him What was he wantin' more.

LONGING.

Oh! the woods of Ballaglass, and the Corna stream, I was there again just now in the sunset gleam, Oh! The rolling banks of shingle and the rock-bound shore, And the music of the waves' long roar.

Oh! the blaze of gorse and heather in the deep'ning glow, With their gold and purple mirrored in the pool below. And the shadows stealing upwards to the drawing night, And the ling'ring of the last low light.

All above the marshy meadows hung the dark pine trees Scarcely whispering their secrets to the lifting breeze. I could hear the cattle breathing by the low stone wall:-- And Barrule to watch and ward o'er all.

Oh! the little lonely house on the Mooragh turf; With the sound of running water slipping down among the surf, I went in upon the door--but the hearth was bare, And the darkness of the night was there.

Then I wakened from my dream as the sun went down. And I'll wander never more on the Mooragh brown. For I'm far from Corna valley and the rock-bound shore. And I'll see the little house no more.