Or, Love in the Country
I.
THE HILL blast comes howling through leaf-rifted trees
That late were as harp-strings to each gentle breeze;
The strangers and cousins and every one flown,
While we sit happy-hearted—together—alone.
II.
Some are off to the mountain, and some to the fair,
The snow is on their cheek, on mine your black hair...
Come in the evening, or come in the morning;
Come when you ’re looked for or come without warning;
Kisses and welcome you ’ll find here before you,
And the oftener you come here the more I ’ll adore you!
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted;
Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted;
The green of the trees looks far greener...
[May 11, 1745]
THRICE at the huts of Fontenoy the English column failed,
And twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in vain assailed;
For town and slope were filled with fort and flanking battery,
And well they swept the English ranks and Dutch auxiliary.
As vainly through De Barri’s wood the British soldiers burst,
The French artillery drove...
[Baltimore is a small seaport in the barony of Carbery, in South Munster. It grew up around a castle of O’Driscoll’s, and was, after his ruin, colonized by the English. On the 20th of June, 1631, the crews of two Algerine galleys landed in the dead of the night, sacked the town, and bore off into slavery all who were not too old, or too young, or too fierce, for their purpose. The pirates...
