And the light blue smoke of even o'er the darksome forests fell-

So, the corse in wagon thrown, with no decent cover o'er it-

That dipped so light and gracefully as o'er the lake I passed.

And they thrill, as they spill in a rill, o'er my soul:

To one that o'er him long had watched, in reverence and alone.

And o'er each black and bearded face the white or crimson shawl-

While o'er him in an Irish hand there sweeps his Syrian steel-

I may have to wander for weeks o'er the face of England.

Up my lads and lift the ledgers, sleep and ease are o'er.

And vases with rich odour fill'd, that o'er the couch of death

Its booming tones were soft and sweet, and echoed o'er their hills

Then soothly shall we make merry o'er butts of good October brewing.

Yet one line more, And then my work for to-day is o'er.

Twatt, that Norse blood i' thy veins is o'er full o' freets.

Heaven is here-hereon this bridal field of Ardath, o'er-canopiedwith stars!

In the silence of the night time when turmoils and strife are o'er.