Page:Records of Woman.pdf/195

Rh

Thy cheek too swiftly flushes; o'er thine eye The lights and shadows come and go too fast, Thy tears gush forth too soon, and in thy voice Are sounds of tenderness too passionate For peace on earth; oh! therefore, child of song! 'Tis well thou shouldst depart.

of music, from amidst the hills, Came suddenly, and died; a fitful sound Of mirth, soon lost in wail.—Again it rose, And sank in mournfulness.—There sat a bard, By a blue stream of Erin, where it swept Flashing thro' rock and wood; the sunset's light Was on his wavy silver-gleaming hair, And the wind's whisper in the mountain-ash.