“Nay, not by me,” her master said,
“Shall sweet Kathleen be sold.
“We loved her in the place of one
The Lord hath early ta’en;
But, since her heart ’s in Ireland,
We give her back again!”
Oh, for that same the saints in heaven
For his poor soul shall pray,
And Mary Mother wash with tears
His heresies away.
Sure now they dwell in Ireland;
As you go up Claremore
Ye ’ll see their castle looking down
The pleasant Galway shore.
And the old lord’s wife is dead and gone,
And a happy man is he,
For he sits beside his own Kathleen,
With her darling on his knee.
THE WELL OF LOCH MAREE
Pennant, in his Voyage to the Hebrides, describes the holy well of Loch Maree, the waters of which were supposed to effect a miraculous cure of melancholy, trouble, and insanity.
Calm on the breast of Loch Maree
A little isle reposes;
A shadow woven of the oak
And willow o’er it closes.
Within, a Druid’s mound is seen,
Set round with stony warders;
A fountain, gushing through the turf,
Flows o’er its grassy borders.
And whoso bathes therein his brow,
With care or madness burning,
Feels once again his healthful thought
And sense of peace returning.
O restless heart and fevered brain,
Unquiet and unstable,
That holy well of Loch Maree
Is more than idle fable!
Life’s changes vex, its discords stun,
Its glaring sunshine blindeth,
And blest is he who on his way
That fount of healing findeth!
The shadows of a humbled will
And contrite heart are o’er it;
Go read its legend, “Trust in God,”
On Faith’s white stones before it.
THE CHAPEL OF THE HERMITS
The incident upon which this poem is based is related in a note to Bernardin Henri Saint Pierre’s Etudes de la Nature.
“We arrived at the habitation of the Hermits a little before they sat down to their table, and while they were still at church. J. J. Rousseau proposed to me to offer up our devotions. The hermits were reciting the Litanies of Providence, which are remarkably beautiful. After we had addressed our prayers to God, and the hermits were proceeding to the refectory, Rousseau said to me, with his heart overflowing, ‘At this moment I experience what is said in the gospel: Where two or three are gathered together in my name, there am I in the midst of them. There is here a feeling of peace and happiness which penetrates the soul.’ I said, ‘If Fénelon had lived, you would have been a Catholic.’ He exclaimed, with tears in his eyes, ‘Oh, if Fénelon were alive, I would struggle to get into his service, even as a lackey!’ ”
In my sketch of Saint Pierre, it will be seen that I have somewhat antedated the period of his old age. At that time he was not probably more than fifty. In describing him, I have by no means exaggerated his own history of his mental condition at the period of the story. In the fragmentary Sequel to his Studies of Nature, he thus speaks of himself: “The ingratitude of those of whom I had deserved kindness, unexpected family misfortunes, the total loss of my small patrimony through enterprises solely undertaken for the benefit of my country, the debts under which I lay oppressed, the blasting of all my hopes,—these combined calamities made dreadful inroads upon my health and reason…. I found it impossible to continue in a room where there was company, especially if the doors were shut. I could not even cross an alley in a public garden, if several persons had got together in it. When alone, my malady subsided. I felt myself likewise at ease in places where I saw children only. At the sight of any one walking up to the place where I was, I felt my whole frame agitated, and retired. I often said to myself, ‘My sole study has been to merit well of mankind; why do I fear them?’ ”
He attributes his improved health of mind and body to the counsels of his friend, J. J. Rousseau. “I renounced,” says he, “my books.
