Home › Contents › Oliver Wendell Holmes

Oliver Wendell Holmes

The Irishwoman's Lament.

N sure I was tould to come till yer Honor, To see would ye write a few lines to me Pat?

He's gone for a soldier is Misther O'Conner, Wid a stripe on his arm, and a band on his hat. "And what'll ye tell him? Sure it must be aisy For the likes of yer Honor to spake wid a pen.

Tell him I'm well, and mavourneen Daisy (The baby, yer Honor) is better again. "For when he went off, so sick was the darlint, She never hilt up her blue eyes till his face, And when I'd be cryin' he'd look at me wild-like, And ax, 'Would I wish for the country's disgrace?" "So he left her in danger, an' me sorely gravin', And followed the flag wid an Irishman's joy; And it's often I drame of the big drums a batin', And a bullet gone straight to the heart of me boy "Tell him to send us a bit of his money For the rint, and the doctor's bill due in a wake, But sure-there's a tear on your eyelashes, honey, In faith, I'd no right wid such fradom to speak. "I'm over much triflin'. I'll not give ye trubble- I'll find some one willin'-oh! what can it be?

What's that in the newspaper yer foldin' up double?

Yer Honor, don't hide it, but rade it to me. 4 "Dead! Patrick O'Conner! oh, God! it's some ither Shot dead! Sure a week's scarce gone by; An' the kiss on the cheek o' his sorrowing mither, It hasn't had time yet, yer Honor, to dry. "Dead! Dead! Oh, my God, am I crazy?

Shure it's brakin' my heart, yer tellin' me so.

And what in the world will become of me Daisy?

Oh, what can I do! Oh, where shall I go? "This room is so dark, I'm not seein', yer Honor; I think I'll go home"-and a sob, hard and dry, Rose up from the bosom of Mary O'Conner, But never a tear-drop welled up to her eye.

K Learning to Pray.

NEELING, fair in the twilight gray, A beautiful child was trying to pray; His cheek on his mother's knee, His bare little feet half hidden, His smile still coming unbidden, And his heart brimful of glee. "I want to laugh. Is it naughty? Say, O, mamma! I've had such fun to-day I hardly can say my prayers.

I don't feel just like praying ; I want to be out-doors playing, And run, all undressed, down-stairs. "I can see the bowers in the garden-bed, Shining so pretty, and sweet, and red; And Sammy is swinging, I guess, Oh! everything is so fine out there, I want to put it all in the prayer, - Do you mean I can do it by 'Yes?' "When I say, 'Now I lay me '-word for word, It seems to me as if nobody heard.

Would 'Thank you, dear God,' be right?

He gave me my mamma, And papa, and Sammy- O mamma! you nodded I might." "POOR BIRDIE."