Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE IRISH MOTHER AT HER CHILD'S GRAVE, by ELLEN FORRESTER


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE IRISH MOTHER AT HER CHILD'S GRAVE, by                    
First Line: My very heart-strings, sure, will burst asunder
Last Line: Ochone, ochone!
Subject(s): Death; Grief; Mourning; Dead, The; Sorrow; Sadness; Bereavement


MY very heart-strings, sure, will burst asunder --
Oh, woe is me!
Damp is the sod that thou art sleeping under --
Astor machree.

Narrow and dark the bed where thou art lying,
All cold and lone;
And the wild winds above thee, shrieking, sighing,
Machree! Ochone!

The frost is nipping thee, my tender blossom,
In that cold place;
Mavourneen, come and nestle in my bosom
Thy poor chill face.

Thine empty cradle stands beside the fire,
In the cold cot;
They would have moved it, but at my desire
They touched it not.

Then come! I'll clasp my arms so close around thee,
And bear thee home;
Thy father says he will not live without thee;
Come, darling, come!

I speak to thee, achora! Don't you hear me?
My heart will break;
Why art thou mute, my babe, and I so near thee?
Alanna, speak?

My gentle love-bird, thou art fled for ever;
Thy song is o'er;
Thy voice is hushed, and I shall hear thee never --
Oh, never more!

The sunshine of my life has all departed;
The day is gone;
The night has come, and I am broken-hearted --
Ochone, ochone!





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