LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT Helen Selina (1807-1867) I’m sittin’ on the stile, Mary, Where we sat side by side On a bright May mornin’ long ago, When first you were my bride; The corn was springin’ fresh and green, And the lark sang loud and high; And the red was on your lip, Mary, And the love-light in your eye. The place is little changed, Mary, The day is bright as then, The lark’s loud song is in my ear, And the corn is green again; But I miss the soft clasp of your hand, And your breath warm on my cheek, And I still keep list’ning for the words You never more will speak. ’Tis but a step down yonder lane, And the little church stands near, The church where we were wed, Mary, I see the spire from here. But the graveyard lies between, Mary, And my step might break your rest; For I’ve laid you, darling, down to sleep, With your baby on your breast. I’m biddin’ you a long farewell, My Mary, kind and true! But I’ll not forget you, darling! In the land I’m goin’ to; They say there’s bread and work for all, And the sun shines always there; But I’ll not forget old Ireland, Were it fifty times as fair! And often in those grand old woods I’ll sit, and shut my eyes, And my heart will travel back again To the place where Mary lies; And I’ll think I see the little stile Where we sat side by side: And the springin’ corn, and the bright May morn, When first you were my bride. TRIPLES with EMMA