Chapter CLXXIII: The Bay of Dublin

O, Bay of Dublin! how my heart you’re troublin’,
Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream;
Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubblin’,
My heart’s blood warms when I but hear your name;
And never till this life’s pulsation ceases,
My early, latest thought you’ll fail to be,--
O! none here knows how very fair that place is,
And no one cares how dear it is to me.
Sweet Wicklow mountains! the soft sunlight sleepin’
On your green uplands is a picture rare;
You crowd around me like young maidens peepin’
And puzzlin’ me to say which is most fair,
As tho’ you longed to see your own sweet faces
Reflected in that smooth and silver sea.
My fondest blessin’ on those lovely places,
Tho’ no one cares how dear they are to me.
How often when alone at work I’m sittin’
And musin’ sadly on the days of yore,
I think I see my pretty Katie knittin’,
The childer playin’ round the cabin door;
I think I see the neighbours’ kindly faces
All gathered round, their long-lost friend to see;
Tho’ none here knows how very fair that place is,
Heav’n knows how dear my poor home was to me.

_Lady Dufferin._