Night had drawn her sable curtain,
Some three hours across the plain;
From the hills the blast was raging,
And in torrents fell the rain;
Grey in years, and grey in sorrow,
At a cabin in the vale,
Dermot, trembling o'er the threshold,
Sigh'd, and told his broken tale.

''Wet and weary, dull and dreary,
Home or comfort none have I;
On the dark heath long I've wander'd,
Not one star illumes the sky:
The cheering blaze that gilds this cottage,
Gave a ray of hope to me;
O shield an old man from the tempest!
Heav'n still smiles on charity.''

''Welcome!'' cried a manly cottar,
''Welcome to this lowly shed!''
''Mercy on thee!'' said his fair one,
''Thou shalt share our board and bed!
Age and trouble's bow'd thee double;
Whiten'd locks thy years proclaim;
Food and fire will quick revive thee,
But, O say from whence you came?''

''I'm a wand'rer, dame believe me,
Heedless where I bend my way;
Now I sigh thro' gloomy vallies,
Now o'er craggy mountains stray:
Oft driv'n from the stately mansion;
Oft partaking with the poor;
Sometimes in an out--house resting;
Sometimes wretched on a moor.

''How dare man, e'en sunk in sadness,
Blame the fix'd decrees of God!
For me, tho' ofttimes driv'n to madness,
Still resign'd, I kiss the rod:
Bound I gaze, see many thousands,
Who wou'd change their lot with mine--
Heav'n has blessings for each mortal,
Never let me then repine.

''Life is but a vale of sorrow;
Fleeting joys awhile we prize;
Comfort now from Hope we borrow;
Now the syren from us flies:
Now we bow to pow'r, to riches;
These, alas! the mind deceive;
But at length experience teaches,
Virtue only bliss can give.

''Since the blood--stain'd fiend, Rebellion,
Stalk'd this dear--lov'd country round,
I have dreamt of days departed,
Nought but mis'ry have I found:
Oft, alas! I'm reft of reason;
Ah! how happy then am I!
These dim eyes have done with weeping,
Sorrow's fountains are run dry.

''The faithful mistress of this bosom
Long has moulder'd with the dead;
I had friends, who smiling met me,
Some are fall'n, and others fled:
Busy memory, why distract me?
Turn no more to manhood's joys;
Greatest treasures, dearest pleasures,
In a moment fate destroys.

''Half my life the sport of fortune,
Hopes I must not cherish here;
Bent with age, its pains increasing,
Man hath little left to fear:
Stranger, wheresoe'er I wander,
Kindred, friends, from me are torn;
Yet, ev'n thus, a voice of soothing,
Cries, ''Man was not made to mourn!''

''I'd a cabin, seat of comfort,
Where ne'er poor man ask'd in vain;
Eager to diffuse each blessing,
Eager to allay each pain:
Many a helpless woe--worn stranger
Shar'd my coarse but wholesome fare;
Oft I saw the tear of pleasure,
Oft I heard the earnest pray'r.

''It was more than palace to me;
There with health I hail'd the day;
From the seat of happy childhood,
Nought cou'd tempt me far to stray:
Years returning gave new blessings;
Joyous, where I first drew breath;
There, in peace, had dwelt my fathers,
There, I hop'd to welcome death.

''I had fields, I lov'd them dearly;
I had sons for me who toil'd;
Heav'n a daughter kindly gave me,
Blooming like a rose--bud wild.
Fiends of Hell soon burnt my cottage,
Where youth's happy years were spent;
Worse than fiends deflower'd my daughter,
And to Heav'n that angel sent.

''Sixteen Summers on the mountains,
Scarce had danc'd the hours away;
Till to earth we weeping bore her
Fall'n to villain man a prey!
Pow'r Supreme, who knew my feelings,
Knew the murd'rers I forgave,
How can man, thy image boasting,
E'er forget--'Tis sweet to save?

''Yet, methinks I see her dying,
That was life's severest shock;
--Ah! how cou'd ye spare her father?
Mercy did his grief but mock!
The last words she feebly utter'd,
Seem'd a pray'r to Heav'n for me;
Bud of promise, early blighted,
Had I bow'd to earth with thee!

''Shed not for me tears of sorrow;
Bitter pangs I'd yet to feel;
My two manly sons were slaughter'd,
By th' assassin's reeking steel!
Free from anarchy and faction,
Freedom tho' they dearly lov'd,
Dark suspicion saw them virtuous;
Such foul deeds stern Pow'r approv'd.

''But my William! youngest, dearest,
Doom'd in foreign climes to mourn!
Exil'd youth! perhaps unpitied;
Ne'er, ah! ne'er canst thou return!
Durst I ask of God one blessing,
On thee I would feast mine eye;
Then forgetful of life's troubles,
Connor soon in peace would die!

''Tow'rds the fields I till'd, delighted,
At to--morrow's dawn I'll bend;
And trace the hill were stood my cottage;
Ev'ry tree will seem a friend.
From the sod that wraps her mother,
Near were murder'd Mary lies,
Nought on earth, I've sworn, shall tear me,
Till death close my aching eyes!''

Wildly gaz'd the cottar, sighing;
Oft in vain he strove to speak;
Strong emotions tore his bosom;
Manly tears bedew'd his cheeks:
''Sorrow's victim,'' soft he utter'd,
''Heav'n has heard thy fervent pray'r;
Mark thy son who bows before thee;
Henceforth thou shalt be our care.

''Long--lost parent now I've found thee,
Never, never more we'll part!
This lov'd wife thy age will nourish,
Watch thee, with a feeling heart!
Lambs at rest, shall each, when waking,
Bless a grandsire with a kiss.''--
''Heav'nly Father! let us thank thee,
For this scene of unhop'd bliss!''