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 listening for the words you never more may 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 grave-yard 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 very lonely now, Mary, for the poor make no new friends; But oh, they love the better far, the few Our Father sends! And you were all I had, Mary, my blessing and my pride:―― There’s nothing left to care for now, since my poor Mary died! Yours was the brave good heart, Mary, that still kept hoping on, When the trust in God had left my soul, and my arm’s young strength was gone: There was comfort ever on your lip, and the kind look on your brow; I bless you for the same, Mary, though you cannot hear me now. I thank you for the patient smile, when your heart was like to break, When the hunger-pain was gnawing there, and you hid it for my sake! I bless you for the pleasant word, when your heart was sad and sore; Oh! I am thankful you are gone, Mary, where grief can sting no more. I’m bidding you a long farewell, my Mary, kind and true, But I’ll not forget you, darling, in the land I’m going 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 that little stile where we sat side by side, And the springing corn, and the bright May morn, when first you were my bride! LADY DUFFERIN. ―――― THE TENANT’S FAREWELL. (_A Lay of the 24th of December_.) I’m flitting in the style, Mary, Which each half year we’ve tried, At Michaelmas and Lady-day, Since first you were my bride. The quarters follow quickly on, And the rents mount up so high; But there’s brass upon my cheek, Mary, And there’s no green in my eye. The place is greatly changed, Mary, We’ve boned the fixtures all; We’ve torn the locks from off each door, The bell-pulls from each wall. And we’ll miss our soft warm beds to-night, To-morrow’s quarter day; And the landlord’s waiting for the rent I never mean to pay.