Embers, Complete. Gilbert Parker

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      It was as fine a churchful as you ever clapt an eye on;

       Oh, the bells was ringin’ gaily, and the sun was shinin’

       free;

       There was singers, there was clargy—“Bless ye both,”

       says Father Tryon—

       They was weddin’ Mary Callaghan and me.

       There was gatherin’ of women, there was hush upon the

       stairway,

       There was whisperin’ and smilin’, but it was no place

       for me;

       A little ship was comin’ into harbour through the

       fairway—

       It belongs to Mary Callaghan and me.

       Shure, the longest day has endin’, and the wildest storm

       has fallin’—

       There’s a young gossoon in yander, and he sits upon

       my knee;

       There’s a churchful for the christenin’—do you hear

       the imp a-callin’?

       He’s the pride of Mary Callaghan and me.

KILDARE

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      He’s the man that killed Black Care,

       He’s the pride of all Kildare;

       Shure the devil takes his hat off whin he comes:

       ’Tis the clargy bow before him,

       ’Tis the women they adore him,

       And the Lord Lieutenant orders out the drums—

       For his hangin’, all the drums,

       All the drums!

YOU’LL TRAVEL FAR AND WIDE

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      You’ll travel far and wide, dear, but you’ll come back

       again,

       You’ll come back to your father and your mother in

       the glen,

       Although we should be lyin’ ’neath the heather grasses

       then—

       You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!

       You’ll see the icebergs sailin’ along the wintry foam,

       The white hair of the breakers, and the wild swans as

       they roam;

       But you’ll not forget the rowan beside your father’s

       home

       You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!

       New friends will clasp your hand, dear, new faces on

       you smile;

       You’ll bide with them and love them, but you’ll long

       for us the while;

       For the word across the water, and the farewell by the

       stile—

       For the true heart’s here, my darlin’!

       You’ll hear the wild birds singin’ beneath a brighter sky,

       The roof-tree of your home, dear, it will be grand and

       high;

       But you’ll hunger for the hearthstone where, a child,

       you used to lie—

       You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!

       And when your foot is weary, and when your heart is sore,

       And you come back to the moor that spreads beyand

       your father’s door,

       There’ll be many an ancient comrade to greet you on

       the shore—

       At your comin’ back, my darlin’!

       Ah, the hillock cannot cover, and the grass it cannot hide

       The love that never changeth, whatever wind or tide;

       And though you’ll not be seein’, we’ll be standin’ by

       your side—

       You’ll be comin’ back, my darlin’!

       O, there’s no home like the old home, there’s no pillow

       like the breast

       You slumbered on in childhood, like a young bird in

       the nest:

       We are livin’ still and waitin’, and we’re hopin’ for the

       best—

       Ah, you’re comin’ back, my darlin’—comin’ back!

FARCALLADEN RISE

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      Oh, it’s down the long side of Farcalladen Rise,

       With the knees pressing hard to the saddle, my men;

       With the sparks from the hoofs giving light to the eyes,

       And our hearts beating hard as we rode to the glen!

       And it’s back with the ring of the chain and the spur,

       And it’s back with the sun on the hill and the moor,

       And it’s back is the thought sets my pulses astir—

       But I’ll never go back to Farcalladen more!

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