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CAROLAN, Terence

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