10 JANUARY 1880, Page 14

POETRY.

IRISH LAMENTATION.

COLD, dark, and dumb lies my boy on his bed ; Cold, dark, and silent the night dews are shed; Hot, swift, and fierce fall my tears for the dead !

His footprints lay light in the dew of the dawn As the straight, slender track of the young mountain fawn: But I'll ne'er again follow them over the lawn.

His manly cheek blushed with the sun's rising ray, And he shone in his strength like the sun at midday ; But a cloud of black darkness has hid him away.

And that black cloud for ever shall cling to the skies : And never, ah, never, I'll see him arise,

Lost warmth of my bosom, lost light of my eyes !

ALFRED PEReav.u. GaAves._