_Gaelic Air._
Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er--
The war of pride and love;
And, Mary, now we meet no more,
Unless we meet above.
Too well thou know'st how much I loved!
Thou knew'st my hopes how fair!
But all these hopes are blighted now,
They point but to despair.
Thus doom'd to ceaseless, hopeless love,
I haste to India's shore;
For here how can I longer stay,
And call thee mine no more?
Now, Mary, now the struggle 's o'er;
And though I still must love,
Yet, Mary, here we meet no more,
Oh, may we meet above!
[47] This song was addressed to a young lady to whom the author was
attached, and who had agreed to marry him on an improvement in his
worldly circumstances. A desire speedily to gain her hand is said to
have been the cause of his proceeding to the West Indies. The prediction
in the song was sadly realised.