I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; and when my prayers were said, I hearken'd awhile to a little bird, that sang above my head.' The monks to him made answer, 'Two hundred years have gone o'er, Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, and never was heard of more. Matthias now is our Abbot, and twenty have pass'd away. The stranger is lord of Ireland; we live in an evil day. Days will come and go,' he said, 'and the world will pass away: In Heaven a day is a thousand years, a thousand years are a day.' 'Now give me absolution; for my time is come,' said he. And they gave him absolution, as speedily as might be. Then, close outside the window, the sweetest song they heard That ever yet since the world began was utter'd by any bird. The monks look'd out and saw the bird, its feathers all white and clean; And then in a moment, beside it, another white bird was seen. Those two they sang together, waved their white wings, and fled; Flew aloft and vanish'd; but the good old man was dead. They buried his blessed body where lake and green-sward meet, A carven cross above his head, a holly-bush at his feet; Where spreads the beautiful water to gay or cloudy skies, And the purple peaks of Killarney from ancient woods arise. _William Allingham_ TWILIGHT VOICES Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere, Heaven and Hell from invisible portals Breathing comfort and ghastly fear, Voices I hear; I hear strange voices, flitting, calling, Wavering by on the dusky blast,-- 'Come, let us go, for the night is falling; Come, let us go, for the day is past!' Troops of joys are they, now departed? Winged hopes that no longer stay? Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted? Powers that have linger'd their latest day? What do they say? What do they sing? I hear them calling, Whispering, gathering, flying fast,-- 'Come, come, for the night is falling; Come, come, for the day is past!' Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted; Mortal, thy sands of life run low; Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted: Time is ending;--we go, we go.' Sing they so? Mystical voices, floating, calling; Dim farewells--the last, the last? 'Come, come away, the night is falling; Come, come away, the day is past.' See, I am ready, Twilight voices! Child of the spirit-world am I; How should I fear you? my soul rejoices, O speak plainer! O draw nigh! Fain would I fly! Tell me your message, Ye who are calling Out of the dimness vague and vast; Lift me, take me,--the night is falling; Quick, let us go,--the day is past.