Waterbury Democrat., 1902-12-31

An old man wandered to our door, A man we had never seen before And ne'er may see again. His manner, speech and length or years,
 And furrowed cheeks, allayed the
 fears,
 That often shuts the door and sneers, At such common sight Somehow we made of him guest, And gave him food and needed rest, In fact, we did uor level best, To cheer his sorry plight. He did not speak unless addressed, And then, if truth must be confessed, We all could see that he possessed A highly cultured brain. a His mind was clear and active still, Intelligence is hard to kill, And sometimes half against our will We tell our joy or pain. Our guest was no exception, then, He had his say like other men. It gave us all much pleasure when He told this by-gone tale: Nigh two decades had almost ran Ere went back to where began My life; the memory of my birthplace
 dear .:. Even now may claim the old mans
 tear. A tribute to each hope and joy That fired my soul when as boy, Full of youths ambitious dreams, I rambled o'er her hills and streams, With heart as light as oceans foam And hopes as high as yon blue dome! Yes, I went back to see that spot And found my name almost forgot, Though everything was much the same AS when I left to hunt for fame. There flowed the stream and there the
 dell,
 The old churchyard and holy well, That bubbled up beneath the rock, It's sacred treasures held in stock. By natures craftsmen, walled around, With granite stone. securely bound, And covered with the moss of years Which oft had drank the pilgrims tears,
 Who came to tell their beads at eve And OCT their youthful follies grieve. The schoolhouse, tOo, stood as of yore, The low matched roof and crumbling
 wall, =
 The oak trees look as young and tall AS they did years ago, when First bade my home and friends good
 bye,
 And wandered over land and sea To your great home of liberty. The ancient church still crowned the
 hill,
 Below it ran the murmuring Till, Wound up it's side that rugged pass We climbed to hear the Xmas mass, At midnight, when the priest did bless Us all with simple earnestness. a16 npf Ha1 Is
 now,
 Who poured the waters on. my brow, When 1 a child was pure and white, Not much like what am tonight; Where frowns that old historic moat One day found an anchored boat, And steered it for that peaceful shore Which Moore has called loved Avon
 mOre.'
 cared not where my footsteps led, For then or now I felt no dread, A wanderer since my race began And wayward both as child and man. l had form of manly grace, A bouyant spirit and pleasing face; But what were these but natures dress, The choice gifts of her recklessness? Bestowed 'pon man as years roll on In every cline beneath the sun. A. lhAOuSh IhdI luOLlC As grand place as God had made. Twas beautiful, with natures charms A fairy realm, free from alarms, Of worldly strife, turmoil or hate. Enough-'twas there met my fate. There, underneath the woodland bough Reclined form-I see her now AS beautiful, as fair and bright AS when she first dawned on my sight And IYo o1,ly +o The outlines of her loveliness. She calmly slept on daisied bed, An Irish wolf-hound at her head Her sole companion, fierce and stern, But graceful as mountain fern. The instinct of that noble hound Was almost human; with a bound He forward sprang with blazing eye And bayed aloud his warning cry. While Kathleen started in surprise. And met my bold, admiring eyes. Instinctiyely I barred my head, @.+ But scarcely knew what words I said. For language and the power of speech Will sometimes get beyond our reach. A strange, new feeling OCT me came. My heart was swept with that grand
 flame, -. That priceless gift of Him above. - My first, my last. my only love- We fingered ill that lovely spot And plucxed the blue forget-me-not Which grew in rich luxuriancc there And lent it's fragrance to the air.
 The evening shadows softly fell
 Around us. while the convent bell From wonder ivy-covered tower Pealed OCT the lake and tclled the houl Which brings respite from toil and care And gave us Millett's painted prayer Kathleen descended from a noble line, The O'Neills-no names doth brightel
 shine
 In 1reland's annals, Shane and Owen, The ancient chieftains of Tyrone. Whose broadswords flashed in days O.
 yore,
 From old Benburb to Ministers shore Our old grandsires were allied when The land could boast her fighting men When every castle, gorge and pass Held chief and kern and gallow glass That hardy, daring mountaineer, 1 Whose soul ne'er felt the throb of fear | Whose place was foremost in the van. l When spear and sword met man t man,
 Whose war cry rang from front t flank,