Kathleen

Two children in the olden time,
Who in a summer evening gleam
Up to the front coach-window climb
To watch the team ;

Four grey blood-horses in a steam
That draw the children home from town
Through orchards rosy with the beam
Of day gone down.

Dear is the fair familiar way.
The merry children point elate
To spots endeared of old in play —
Wood, stile, or gate.

"Tom, you remember? there's the pool
You threw the poor old spaniel in."
"There, Kate, we found the red toadstool
By yon gold whin ! "

In far vein-purple tracts of sky
A star thrills ; blackbird, nightingale,
Pulse ecstasies from maybloom nigh
And sweetly fail.

And then the sleek-haired maiden sings,
Both children kneeling toward the glow
While the fond boy about her clings.
Soft sings and low

A ditty that he loves to hear,
Of gentle girl who died, " Kathleen " ;
Vet gathers in his eyes the tear —
i%r name "Kathleen." . . .

The years flow by ; some mourners move
Through drifting leaves of autumn slow ;
A youth the sister of his love
Follows in woe.

And as they leave her in the rain,
A milkwhite doe she often fed
Through the dim forest limps in pain
To lean its head

Upon the harsh grave-wall and die.
More sweet to it than dells of green,
Where mate and fawn sun-dappled lie,
Thy grave, Kathleen !