The next two were daughters, and might be called fair, For brightly would glitter their dark glossy hair, As bandless and free, by no fetters confined (Except when a wild flower its sweetness entwined), 'Twas wafted about by the impudent wind. Then their eyes, black as sloes, with a sweet sunny smile, Would surely your thoughts for a moment beguile, And cause you, though hurried, to tarry awhile To ask the best way to the neighbouring town, Or frame some excuse from your horse to get down Just to look at the view from a picturesque stile Of these two lovely daughters of Erin's green isle. The widow's fourth child was a delicate boy, Whose life seemed to hang by a thread; His ailings and wants both his sisters employ, Whose love even health seemed to shed. For as his weak limbs were unable to walk, They'd carry him up to the top of the hill; And so would amuse with their innocent talk, That he'd almost forget what it was to be ill. And when the sun rose with his hot scorching rays, They'd seek a cool spot in the forest shade, where They would sing him to sleep with their sweet native lays, And watch o'er his slumbers with sisterly care. Then one would roam forth for his favourite flower, And twine a fair wreath for his delicate brow; Or weave round him sleeping a fairy-like bower, By drooping and tangling the hazel's green bough. But now to return to our friar, who still Is trying his utmost to catch and to kill A few members more of the slippery tribe, With fine red worms dangling by way of a bribe. The sun long had risen, whose powerful ray Has scattered the dew-drops in vapour away; And though our good friar had chose a snug spot, O'ershadow'd by trees, yet they sheltered him not In the midst of the day; For the sun then that way Came over the water and stared in his face. But, a fisherman true, Though he's roasted quite through, To give o'er the sport he would think a disgrace; So he sits down again, Although fearing 'tis vain, And for the dead worm puts a fresh in its place. Then he looks at his fish, which are covered with grass, (Lest any one rambling should happen to pass), But he finds there's but two, and those small ones, alas! So he said, "But one half-hour I'll stay here, and then If I don't catch another I'll go to my den. For I might just as well be performing my duty, As being here roasted and spoiling my beauty. But let's see, by the bye, They might rise at a fly-- There's lots on the wing, so I'll catch one and try." But this bait they refuse, For they none of them choose By his kind endeavours existence to lose. For when he threw fly they would all run away, Or round it would gambol and sportively play, But never allowed it to lead them astray.