But whin the parish docthor come at last,
Whin death was like a sun-burst in her eyes,
(They looked straight into heaven) an her ears
Wor deaf to the poor childer's hungry cries;
He touched the bones stretched on the mouldy sthraw;
"She's gone!" he says, and drew a solemn frown;
"I fear, my man, she's dead." "Of what?" says I.
He coughed, and says, "She's let her system down!"
"An' that's God's truth!" says I, an' felt about
To touch her dawney hand, for all looked dark,
An' in my hunger-bleached, shmall-beatin' heart,
I felt the kindlin' of a burning spark.
"O, by me sowl, that is the holy truth!
There's Rosie's cheek has kept a dimple still,
An' Mickie's eyes are bright--the craythur there
Died that the weeny ones might eat there fill."
An' whin they spread the daisies thick and white,
Above her head that wanst lay on my breast,
I had no tears, but took the childhers' hands,
An' says, "We'll lave the mother to her rest,"
An' och! the sod was green that summers day;
An' rainbows crossed the low hills, blue an' fair;
But black an' foul the blighted furrows stretched,
An' sent their cruel poison through the air.
An' all was quiet--on the sunny sides
Of hedge an' ditch the stharvin' craythurs lay,
An' thim as lack'd the rint from empty walls
Of little cabins, wapin' turned away.
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