SEA SPRAY &> SMOKE DRIFT 



Did he think on the first time he kiss't Lady 

 Mary? 

 On the morning he wing'd Horace Greville 

 the beau? 

 On the winner he steer'd in the grand 

 military ? 

 On the charge that he headed twelve long 

 years ago ? 



Did he think on each fresh year, of fresh 

 grief the herald ? 

 On lids that are sunken, and locks that are 

 grey? 

 On Alice, who bolted with Brian Fitzgerald ? 

 On Rupert, his first-born, dishonour'd by 

 "play"? 



On Louey, his darling, who sleeps 'neath the 

 cypress 

 That shades her and one whose last breath 

 gave her life ? — 

 I saw those strong fingers hard over each eye 

 press — 

 Oh ! the dead rest in peace when the quick 

 toil in strife ! 



i6o 



