Waterbury Democrat., 1902-07-17
THE GERALDINE

the murmur Which the breeze On an autumnal eve might make among the sere-leayed trees; Then rapt silence, soul Subdued, listening silence there, With earnest, supplicating eyes and hand-clasped hush of prayer. Talk not of grief till thou hast seen the tears which warriors shed Where the chief who led them on to fame lies almost of the dead; Where the eagle eye is dim and dull and the eagle spirit cold, Where ftfully and feebly throbs the heart which was so bold; Thou mightst have fancied grief like this, if ever it were thine Uo hear minstrel sing the deeds of the valiant Geraldine. Where is that gallant name unknown wherever Valour Shone? Wherever mightiest chiefs were named the Geraldine was one; Wherever Erin's banner waved the Geraldine was there, Winning honor from his princes praise. and favors from the fair. But now his course is closing, for his final hour has come, And like a peaceful peasant 'tis his hap to die at home; Hhe priest hath been to shrive him and the leech hath been to tend, And the old man, with Christian heart, prepared to meet his end. Ut is Gods will, the abbot says, that like to all my line
 should die not on the battlefield, said the gallant Geraldine. Within his tent the warrior lay, by his side his children three; There was Thomas with the naughty brow, the Lord of Offaley; There was gentle Ina, welded to proud Desmond's gallant son; There was Richard, the youngest born and best beloved one Lord Thomas near his father stood fair Ina wept apace, Young Richard by the couch knelt down and hid his pale, sad face; He would not that the common eye should gaze upon his woe, Nor that how very much he mourned, his dying sire should know. But the old man said, My youngest born, the deepest grief is thine" And then the pent-up tears rained fast on the face of Geraldine. 'Lead out my steed, the Arab barb, which lately in Almane won in single combat from a Moor ish lord of Spain,
 And bring my falchion hither, with it's waved Damascene blade, In temper true and sharpness keen as ever armorer made; Thou seest, my son, this falchion keen, that war horse from the plain, Thou nearest thy fathers voice, which none may ever hear again; Thou art destined for the altar, for the service of the Lord, But if thy spirit earthward tends, take thou the steed and sword; III doth it hap when human thoughts jostle with thoughts divine, Steel armor. better than the stole, be fits Geraldine"
 ssMy father, thou hast truly said-this soaring spirit swells Beyond those dreary living tombs- yen dark monastic cellsa The cold insheart and weak in hand may seek their pious gloom, And mourn, too late, the hapless vow which cast them such a doom; Give me the flashing falchion and the fiery steed of war,
 The shout-the blow-the onset quick where serried thousands are; Thine eldest born may claim and take thy lordships and thy land, I ask no more than that bold steed, this good sword in my hand, To win what warriors win, and hapIy to entwine
 In other lands some honors new round the name of Geraldine" Flashed then into the chieftain's eyes the light of other days, And the pressure of the old mans hand spoke more than praise; ssSo let it be, my youngest born, thine be a warriors life,
 And may God safely speed thee through thy coming deeds of strife; Take knighthood from thy father $ sword, before his course be run, Be valiant, fortunate and true, acquit thee as my son;
 My harper, here-ere life depart, strike me some warlike strain Some song of my own battlefield would hear once more again; Unfurl the silken sunburst in the noontide's golden shrine, In death, even as in pride of life, let it wave OCT Geraldine" Uhe banner fiuttered in the breeze, the harper's strain went on, "A song it was of mighty deeds by the dying chieftain done;
 At first he listened calmly-the strain
 grew bold and strong Like things of life within his heart did
 memory's quick thoughts throng; Louder and stronger swelled the
 strain, like river in it's course, From his couch the chieftain started
 "To horse,' he cried, ITO horse!" And proudly, like warrior, waved his sword above his head,
 One onward step, one gurgling gasL
 and-the chief is of the dead The harper changed his strain to grief
 the coronach was thine
 Who died, as thou hadst lived, man
 Oh, mighty Geraldine. Communicated by W,
 HAVE SEEN CENTURIES PASS. The visitor to Oxford in England sees ,oanv structures that have a long his