Lament over the grave of Mac Cabe
Oh! what a baffled visit mine bath been,
How long my journey, and how dark my lot;
And have I toil'd thro' each fatiguing scene,
To meet my friend - and yet to find him not?
Sight of my eyes! - lost solace of my mind!
To seek - to hear thee - eagerly I sped;
In vain I came - no trace of thee I find –
Save the cold flag that shades thy narrow bed.
My voice is low - my mood of mirth is o'er,
I droop in sadness like the widowed dove;
Talk, talk of tortures! - talk of pain no more –
Nought strikes us like the death of those we love.
Translation: Thomas Furlong