ove the poet's head
Streamed on the page and on the cloth,
And twice and thrice there buffeted
On the black pane a white-wing'd moth;
'Twas Annie's soul that beat outside
And 'Open, open, open!' cried:

'I could not find the way to God;
There were too many flaming suns
For signposts, and the fearful road
Led over wastes where millions
Of tangled comets hissed and burned--
I was bewilder'd and I turned.

'O, it was easy then! I knew
Your window and no star beside.
Look up, and take me back to you!'
--He rose and thrust the window wide.
'Twas but because his brain was hot
With rhyming; for he heard her not.

But poets polishing a phrase
Show anger over trivial things;
And as she blundered in the blaze
Towards him, on ecstatic wings,
He raised a hand and smote her dead;
Then wrote '_That I had died instead!_'

IRISH MELODIES.

I.

TIM THE DRAGOON (From 'Troy Town')

Be aisy an' list to a chune
That's sung of bowld Tim the Dragoon--
Sure, 'twas he'd niver miss
To be stalin' a kiss,
Or a brace, by the light of the moon--
Aroon--
Wid a wink at the Man in the Moon!

Rest his sowl where the daisies grow thick;
For he's gone from the land of the quick:
But he's still makin' love
To the leddies above,
An' be jabbers! he'll tache 'em the thrick--
Avick--
Niver doubt but he'll tache 'em the thrick!

'Tis by Tim the dear saints'll set sthore,
And 'ull thrate him to whisky galore:
For they 've only to sip
But the tip of his lip
An' bedad! they'll be askin' for more--
Asthore--
By the powers, they'll be shoutin' 'Ancore!'

IRISH MELODIES.

II.

KENMARE RIVER.

'Tis pretty to be in Ballinderry,
'Tis pretty to be in Ballindoon,
But 'tis prettier far in County Kerry
Coortin' under the bran' new moon,
Aroon, Aroon!

'Twas there by the bosom of blue Killarney
They came by the hundther' a-coortin' me;
Sure I was the one to give back their blarney,
An' merry was I to be fancy-free.

But niver a step in the lot was lighter,