The cottage is here as of old I remember,
The pathway is worn as it always hath been;
On the turf-piled hearth there still lives a bright ember;--
But where is Maureen?
The same pleasant prospect still lieth before me,
The river--the mountain--the valley of green,
And Heaven itself (a bright blessing!) is o'er me;--
But where is Maureen?
Lost! Lost!--Like a dream that hath come and departed,
(Ah, why are the loved and the lost ever seen!)
She has fallen--hath flown, with a lover false-hearted;--
So, mourn for Maureen.
And she who so loved her is slain--(the poor mother!)
Struck dead in a day by a shadow unseen,
And the home we once loved is the home of another,
And lost is Maureen.
Sweet Shannon, a moment by thee let me ponder,
A moment look back at the things that have been,
Then, away to the world where the ruin'd ones wander,
To seek for Maureen.
Pale peasant--perhaps, 'neath the frown of high Heaven,
She roams the dark deserts of sorrow unseen,
Unpitied--unknown; but I--_I_ shall know even
The _ghost_ of Maureen.
_New Monthly Magazine._
* * * * *