KATHLEEN'S FETCH.

- Proofing in Progress -

The reaper's weary task was done,
And down to repose sunk the autumn sun;
And the crimson clouds, in the rich-hued west,
Were folding like rose-leaves round his rest.
My heart was light, and I hummed a tune,
As I hied me home by the harvest moon;
And I bless'd her soft and tender ray,
That rose to lighten my lone pathway.

Then I thought on my Kathleen's winning smile,
(And I felt my heart grow sad the while,)
Of her cheek, like the fading rose-clouds glowing,
Of her hair, like the dying sun-light flowing;
And her words, like the song of a summer bird,
And her air and step, like the fawn's, when stirred
By the hunter's horn, as it boometh o'er
The woody glens of the steep Sliabh-mor.

The broad Lough Mask [1] beneath me lay,
Like a sheet of foam in the silver ray;
And its yellow shores were round it rolled,
As a gem enclosed by its fretted gold.
And there, where the old oaks mark the spot,
Arose my Kathleen's sheltered cot;
And I bounded on, for my hopes were high,
Though still at my heart rose the boding sigh.

The silver moon was veiled by a cloud,
And the darkness fell on my soul like a shroud;
And a figure in white was seen afar,
To flit on my path like a twinkling star.
I rushed, I ran,--'twas my Kathleen dear;
But why does she fly?  has she aught to fear?
I called, but in vain--like the fleeting beam,
She melted away with the flowing stream.

I came to her father's cottage door,
But the sounds of wailing were on his floor;
And the keener's voice rose loud and wild,
And a mother bewailed her darling child.
My heart grew chill--I could not draw
The latch:  I knew 'twas her Fetch I saw!
Yes, Kathleen, fair Kathleen, that sad night died,
The fond pulse of my soul, its hope, its pride.

1. Lough Mask   A large and beautiful lake, bounded by the counties of Mayo and Galway.

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