Forever and forever, all in a blessed home,

come,

And there to wait a little while till and Effie you To lie within the light of God, as I lie upon your breast,

And the wicked cease from troubling, and the weary are at rest.

TO-MORROW

BY ALFRED TENNYSON

Her that yer Honor was spakin' to? Whin, yer Honor? last year

Standin' here by the bridge, whin last yer Honor was

here;

An', yer Honor, ye gev her the top o' the mornin'; "To-morra," says she.

What did they call her, yer Honor? They call'd her Molly Magee.

An' yer Honor's the thrue ould blood that always manes to be kind,

But there's rason in all things, yer Honor, for Molly was out o' her mind.

Shure, an' meself remimbers wan night comin' down be the sthrame,

An' it seems to me now like a bit o' yistherday in a dhrame

Here where yer Honor seen her - there was but a

slip of a moon,

But I hard thim-Molly Magee wid her batchelor, Danny O'Roon

"You've been takin' a dhrop o' the crathur," and Danny says, "Troth, an' I been

Dhrinkin' yer health wid Shamus O'Shea at Katty's shebeen; *

But I must be lavin' ye soon." "Ochone, are ye goin' away?"

"Goin' to cut the Sassenach whate," he says, over the say "—

"An' whin will ye meet me agin?" An' I hard him, Molly asthore,

"I'll meet ye agin to-morra," says he, "be the chapel

door."

"And whin' are ye goin' to lave me?" "Oh, Monday mornin'," says he;

"An' shure, thin, ye'll meet me to-morra?" "Tomorra, to-morra, machree!"

Thin Molly's ould mother, yer Honor, that had no likin' for Dan,

Call'd from her cabin an' tould her to come away from

the man;

An' Molly Magee kem flyin' acrass me, as light as a

lark,

An' Dan stood there for a minute, an' thin wint into the dark.

But wirrah! the storm that night — the tundher, and rain that fell,

An' the sthrames runnin' down at the back o' the glin 'ud 'a' dhrownded hell.

* Grog-shop.

But airth was at pace nixt mornin', an' hivin in its glory smiled,

As the Holy Mother o' Glory that smiles at her sleepin'

Ethen she stept an the chapel-green, an' she turn'd

herself roun',

Wid a diamond dhrop in her eye, for Danny was not to be foun';

An' many's the time that I watch'd her at mass, lettin' down the tear,

For the divil a Danny was there, yer Honor, for forty

year.

Och, Molly Magee, wid the red o' the rose an' the white o' the May,

An' yer hair as black as the night, an' yer eyes as bright as the day!

Achora, yer laste little whishper was sweet as the lilt of a bird!

Acushla, ye set me heart batin' to music wid ivery word!

An' sorra the queen wid her sceptre in sich an illigant han',

An' the fall o' yer foot in the dance was as light as snow an the lan'.

An' the sun kem out of a cloud whiniver ye walkt in the shtreet,

An' Shamus O'Shea was yer shadda, an' laid himself undher yer feet;

An' I loved ye meself wid a heart an' a half, me darlin', an' he

'Ud 'a' shot his own soul for a kiss o' ye, Molly Magee.

But shure we wor betther frinds whin I cracked his skull for her sake,

An' he ped me back wid the best he could give at ould Donovan's wake

For the boys wor about her agin, whin Dan didn't come to the fore,

An' Shamus along wid the rest, but she put thim all to the door.

An', afther, I thried her meself, av the bird 'ud come to me call,

But Molly, begorrah, 'ud listen to naither at all, at all.

An' her nabours an' frinds 'ud consowl an' condowl wid her, airly an' late.

"Your Danny," they says, "niver crasst over say to the Sassenach whate;

He's gone to the States, aroon, an' he's married another

wife,

An' ye'll niver set eyes on the face of the thraithur agin

in life!

An' to dhrame of a married man, death alive, is a mortial sin."

But Molly says, "I'd his hand-promise, an' shure he'll meet me agin."

An' afther her parints had inter'd glory, an' both in

wan day,

She began to spake to herself, the crathur, an' whishper, an' say,

"To-morra, to-morra!" An' Father Molowny he tuk her in han',

"Molly, ye're manin'," he says, " me dear, av I undherstan',

Then ye'll meet yer parints agin an' yer Danny O'Roon afore God,

Wid His blessed marthyrs an' saints"; an' she gev him a frindly nod,

"To-morra, to-morra," she says, an' she didn't intind to desave,

But her wits wor dead, an' her hair was as white as the snow an a grave.

Arrah, now, here last month they wor diggin' the bog, an' they foun',

Dhrownded in black bog-wather, a corp' lyin' undher groun'.

Arrah, thin, they laid this body they foun' an the grass Be the chapel-door, an' the people 'ud see it that wint

into mass

But a frish gineration had riz, an' most o' the ould was few,

An' I didn't know him meself, an' none o' the parish knew.

But Molly kem limpin' up wid her stick-she was lamed iv a knee.

Thin a slip of a gossoon call'd, "Div ye know him, Molly Magee?"