And she who so loved her is slain--(the poor mother!)
Struck dead in a day by a shadow unseen,
And the home we once loved is the home of another,
And lost is Maureen.
Sweet Shannon, a moment by thee let me ponder,
A moment look back at the things that have been,
Then, away to the world where the ruin'd ones wander,
To seek for Maureen.
Pale peasant--perhaps, 'neath the frown of high Heaven,
She roams the dark deserts of sorrow unseen,
Unpitied--unknown; but I--_I_ shall know even
The _ghost_ of Maureen.
_New Monthly Magazine._
* * * * *
THE BURIAL IN THE DESERT.
BY MRS HEMANS.
How weeps yon gallant Band
O'er him their valour could not save!
For the bayonet is red with gore,
And he, the beautiful and brave,
Now sleeps in Egypt's sand.--WILSON.
In the shadow of the Pyramid
Our brother's grave we made,
When the battle-day was done,
And the Desert's parting sun
A field of death survey'd.
The blood-red sky above us
Was darkening into night,
And the Arab watching silently
Our sad and hurried rite.
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