THE BAWN VONE. 24? 



Before I conclude, it may be asked, What was the object in bring- 

 ing- poor Mary Lacy from her home upon that night ? 



Mrs. H feared that the shock she might receive in her own lonely 

 house would be too much for her spirits. She wished further to give 

 her that air of countenance and protection following the event as 

 would dispose the neighbourhood and friends in her favour. She 

 wished, above all, to cheer and console the widow. 



That night, when she returned, of course all were joy and gladness 

 to receive her. Mary had detailed her visit ; and among all there was 

 a kind of ill-defined feeling, almost a surmise, as to the nature of her 

 expedition. Her exalted firmness of character, her determination, 

 and her surpassing goodness, suggested what mere womanly weak- 

 ness might have been unequal to. Accordingly her return was 

 expected with uneasiness, with alarm, and there was an exclamation 

 of joy at her return. The widow beheld her with a look so piercing 

 that Mrs. H involuntarily whispered to her, " Poor Lacy, my dear, 

 sleeps in his silent grave ;'' and the arms of the widow were flung 

 round the neck of the Bawn Vone. 



THE WARRIOR. 



THE trumpet's hoarse throat on the battle plain 



Had sounded the charge, nor sounded in vain. 



The hollow ground they thundered along, 



And death strode the warrior-ranks among. 



Ere the trumpet's brazen note was o'er, 



Ere a burnished lance was dimmed with gore, 



Ere a sword had drank of life's purple stream, 



Ere a falchion had glanced in the red sunbeam, 



Ere the groans of the wounded and dying were heard, 



Ere a helm was cloven or courser spurred, 



Thus spoke a young hero, whose haggard eye 



Seemed to mark his fearful destiny : 



" I never have known a father's care ; 



A warrior he, he fell in war, 



And his sun-blanched bones were laid in the tomb 



While I was yet in my mother's womb. 



I have seen a mother's death -glazed eye, 



But I was not there to see her die. 



I have wept o'er my loved one's watery grave, 



And I saw her sink and yet could not save, 



Though mail-clad I plunged in the foam-crested wave. 



Heart-broken, forlorn, unfriended, I rove, 



Divided in life from all that I love, 



Until I may meet them in heaven above ! 



I am bound to earth by no earthly tie, 



The only joy I seek is to die ! 



I long for, hope, what others dread, 



And the laurel shall bloom o'er my gory bed." 



He dashed the rowels in his steed, 



And rushed on death with furious speed. 



The din of arms rung out his knell ; 



And covered with wounds and honour he fell ! 



T. S. R. 



