Speak low!--speak low--the banshee is crying; Hark! hark to the echo!--she's dying! 'she's dying.' What shadow flits dark'ning the face of the water? 'Tis the swan of the lake--'tis _the Geraldine's Daughter_. Hush, hush! have you heard what the banshee said? O! list to the echo! she's dead! 'she's dead!' No shadow now dims the face of the water; Gone, gone is the wraith of _the Geraldine's Daughter_. The step of yon train is heavy and slow, There's wringing of hands, there's breathing of woe; What melody rolls over mountain and water? 'Tis the funeral chant of _the Geraldine's Daughter_. The requiem sounds like the plaintive moan Which the wind makes over the sepulchre's stone; 'O, why did she die? our hearts' blood had bought her! O, why did she die, _the Geraldine's Daughter_?' The thistle-beard floats--the wild roses wave With the blast that sweeps over the newly-made grave; The stars dimly twinkle, and hoarse falls the water, While night-birds are wailing _the Geraldine's Daughter_. BY MEMORY INSPIRED _Street Ballad_ By Memory inspired, And love of country fired, The deeds of Men I love to dwell upon; And the patriotic glow Of my spirit must bestow A tribute to O'Connell that is gone, boys, gone! Here's a memory to the friends that are gone. In October 'Ninety-seven-- May his soul find rest in Heaven-- William Orr to execution was led on: The jury, drunk, agreed That Irish was his creed; For perjury and threats drove them on, boys, on: Here's the memory of John Mitchell that is gone. In 'Ninety-Eight--the month July-- The informer's pay was high; When Reynolds gave the gallows brave MacCann; But MacCann was Reynolds' first-- One could not allay his thirst; So he brought up Bond and Byrne, that are gone, boys, gone. Here's the memory of the friends that are gone! We saw a nation's tears Shed for John and Henry Shears; Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong; We may forgive, but yet We never can forget The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys, gone-- Our high Star and true Apostle that is gone! How did Lord Edward die? Like a man, without a sigh; But he left his handiwork on Major Swan! But Sirr, with steel-clad breast, And coward heart at best, Left us cause to mourn Lord Edward that is gone, boys, gone: Here's the memory of our friends that are gone!