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Irish Jesuit Province
LamentAuthor(s): Sheila RichardsonSource: The Irish Monthly, Vol. 61, No. 725 (Nov., 1933), p. 714Published by: Irish Jesuit ProvinceStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/20513658 .
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714 THE IRISH MONTHLY
gloom occasioned by those countless small misfortunes whose accumulated total makes grey and sombre a life that otherwise might be granted some keen hours of sumnshine at least. But Melancholy marked them for her own. Either poet might have written with truth:
"No tu:ned metal known Unless stricken yields a tone,
Be it silver, or sad iron like to me."
Edgar Allan Po8 died in a hospital in Baltimore in March, 1849, and in the Meath Hospital, Dublin, the " worn wasted soul of Mangan " passed away in the
following June. It is not with censure of their weak ness that we remember these twin stars of poetry, but for the scintillating splendour of their verse that shines
more brightly for the darkness of the night.
LAMENT.
The winds will go wailing over the lonely sea, Climbing the ladder of stars to the top, and will cry: " Where is she gone ' to the sun, to the moon: "T tell me, why Took you her, then? Was there none so pleasing as she ? "
The rain with its swift driving spears will go peering to see If you be hid in the hazel thickets; will pry Into the bracken and heather where you used to lie Searching the world to the Back o' Beyond, hopelessly. Brigid, the grief for you puts out the rowan trees' blaze Standing like sentinels, burning the road to Kildare. Brigid, the love of the light and the stars could not bind you; Groping in darkness you go on your desolate ways. Gray-green the willows will sway in their sorrowing where The storm-winds go scouring the earth. . . But the winds will
not find you. SHEILA RICHAItDSoN.
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