I thank you for the patient smile
  When your heart was fit to break,—­
When the hunger-pain was gnawin’ there,
  And you hid it for my sake;
I bless you for the pleasant word,
  When your heart was sad and sore,—­
O, I’m thankful you are gone, Mary,
  Where grief can’t reach you more!

I’m biddin’ you a long farewell,
  My Mary—­kind and true! 
But I’ll not forget you, darling,
  In the land I’m goin’ to;
They say there’s bread and work for all,
  And the sun shines always there—­
But I’ll not forget old Ireland,
  Were it fifty times as fair!

And often in those grand old woods
  I’ll sit, and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
  To the place where Mary lies;
And I’ll think I see the little stile
  Where we sat side by side,
And the springin’ corn, and the bright May morn,
  When first you were my bride.

LADY DUFFERIN.

HOME THEY BROUGHT HER WARRIOR DEAD.

     FROM “THE PRINCESS.”

Home they brought her warrior dead: 
  She nor swooned, nor uttered cry;
All her maidens, watching, said,
  “She must weep or she will die.”

Then they praised him, soft and low,
  Called him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe;
  Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
  Lightly to the warrior stept,
Took the face-cloth from the face;
  Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
  Set his child upon her knee,—­
Like summer tempest came her tears,
  “Sweet my child, I live for thee.”

ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON.

THE KING OF DENMARK’S RIDE.

Word was brought to the Danish king
  (Hurry!)
That the love of his heart lay suffering,
And pined for the comfort his voice would bring;
  (O, ride as though you were flying!)
Better he loves each golden curl
On the brow of that Scandinavian girl
Than his rich crown jewels of ruby and pearl: 
  And his rose of the isles is dying!

Thirty nobles saddled with speed;
  (Hurry!)
Each one mounting a gallant steed
Which he kept for battle and days of need;
  (O, ride as though you were flying!)
Spurs were struck in the foaming flank;
Worn out chargers staggered and sank;
Bridles were slackened, and girths were burst;
But ride as they would, the king rode first,
  For his rose of the isles lay dying!

His nobles are beaten, one by one;
  (Hurry!)
They have fainted, and faltered, and homeward gone;
His little fair page now follows alone,
  For strength and for courage trying! 
The king looked back at that faithful child;
Wan was the face that answering smiled;
They passed the drawbridge with clattering din,
Then he dropped; and only the king rode in
  Where his rose of the isles lay dying!