is old; how old we know not. Nor have we any clue to the name of the author, or more probably authoress. Of the authors, indeed, of many of our very finest Gaelic songs may be said what was said of the old nameless border-bard, that they-- "Nameless as the race from whence they sprung, Saved other names and left their own unsung." The song in Gaelic has no particular title. It is known by the two first lines quoted above, just as we say, "Of a' the airts the wind can blaw," and "Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." In default of anything better, our English version may perhaps appropriately enough be entitled-- Light and Shade. Dark and dreary is the world to me, No sun, no moon, no star; Vainly I struggle on my midnight sea, No beacon gleams afar; A wilderness of winter, frost and snow, Sad and alone I hang my head in woe. 'Tis vain to strive against the will of fate (No sun, no moon, no star); Where I had looked for love, I found but hate (No beacon gleams afar); I gave my heart, my all, to one who cares Now nought for me--no one my sorrow shares. Cares not my love though I were dead and gone (No sun, no moon, no star!) God help me, I am weak and all alone (No beacon shines afar): I dare not reveal my grief, I dare not tell; The fire that burns my heart no tears can quell. Traveller that passest o'er hill (May thy night have its star!) Acquaint my love that you have left me ill, And seen my bleeding scar; 'Twere better to have killed than maimed me thus-- A bird with broken wing in the lone wilderness. I once was happy, and how bright was then Sun, moon, and every star! Spotless and pure I laughed along the glen; When, swift to mar This happiness and peace, the spoiler came And left me all bereft--the child of shame. And yet I do not hate him, woe is me (No sun, no moon, no star!) But shun him, O ye maidens frank and free! 'Twere better far That you were lifeless laid in the cold tomb, In all your virgin pride and beauty's bloom. But God is good, and He will mercy have; (How bright the morning star!) Even the weary-laden find a grave-- (The beacon shines afar!) Bless, Father of our Lord so meek and mild, An erring mother and a helpless child. The moral of our song is obvious, though you will observe the story is told with all possible delicacy and good taste, a characteristic, by the way, of our best Gaelic poetry. The reader may easily understand that, sung in proper time and place, and with proper feeling, such a song is calculated to have a good effect, and convey a healthy lesson in its own indirect way, when a sermon or moral exhortation, however well meant, would be altogether out of the question. There is much sound sense in Mackworth Praed's Chaunt of the Brazen Head, the first verse of which is this--