Status Updates From A Book of Irish Verse

p.23/178. The Deserter’s Meditation- Curran

p.21/178.

(apparently miscalculated page, or the pagination has changed!)
Old Age- Oliver Goldsmith

Essay on Modern Irish Poetry

From the cold sod that's o'er you
I never shall sever;
Were my hands twined in yours, Love,
I'd hold them for ever.
[66]
My fondest, my fairest,
We may now sleep together!
I've the cold earth's damp odour,
And I'm worn from the weather.

This heart filled with fondness
Is wounded and weary;
A dark gulf beneath it
Yawns jet-black and dreary.
When death comes, a victor,
In mercy to greet me,
On the wings of the whirlwi

At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye; And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there, And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky!