Puslapio vaizdai
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And continted and aisy he went, wanst he saw he'd made shift to conthrive That the message he had in his mind 'ud go safe. For sez I: "Man alive, I'll be tellin' your people at home the first chance I can git, good or bad, How thimselves, and the ould place you quit, was the last thought that ever you had ; And I'll bid thim be thinkin' of you, whin they hear the bird cry on our bog.

Your poor mother, an' father, an' the

childher, an' their little ould rogue of a dog,

Ne'er a wan you 're forgettin'," sez I; and bedad any fool might ha' known, For the manin' he meant wid his call was as clear as a bugle blown.

And our rifles wint crack be the gateway, and now and again wid a plop Come a bullet dhruv deep in the sand

't was the divil dhrill-sowin' his crop And a priest legged it up to the top of the tower, and stood risin' a yell

For the rest to be sayin' their prayers, like as if 't was our angely bell.

But it's little Jack heeded; for sure his own folk, and th' ould counthry, and all

Were come nearer than near, and gone further than far, along wid that curlew's call.

Ah, but Norah, you 're perished an' thrimblin' wid could sittin' here in the win' ;

Did you bring ne'er a wrap to rowl round you, machree, now the night's closin' in ?

For there's mists curlin' white on the pools, and the air gets an edge whin they lift.

Ay, the moon's up, just on'y a breath 'gin the blue, where the cloud comes adrift,

Sthreelin' by like a haystack on fire, wid the flame blowin' off be the way In bright bundles and wisps, as if some wan 'ud harvest the light of the day. "Tisn't that fashion dark falls, out there in the aist. Wanst the sun goes on lave,

Ne'er a thrace of a glame bides to show where he passed, like the foam of

a wave;

He'll be blazin' wan minit, and thin 't is the same as if somebody shut

A black door on the blink of a hearth, or kicked over a lamp wid his fut. So the rest of us rode thro' a night blindin' dark, till we'd half the plain crossed,

And the moon riz ice-clear, wid a shine lyin' thick on the grass as hoarfrost

You could gather up. And, troth, if our tongues had froze stiff, 't is as much we'd ha' said,

Wid Jack Connolly's baste saddle-empty, and jerkin' the reins as I led. Sure poor Jack had a dale of good-nature; he 'd fooled the ould mare all he could,

And the crathur went slow-fut and heavy; you might think that she understood.

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He marched with soldier scarf and sword, To give us honor strong as death Set free to die that day,

And loyal love as sure.

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