Margaret Letitia Josephine Kermode

“ Oh! The rolling banks of shingle and the rock-hound shore,
And the music of the waves' long roar.
Oh! the blaze of gorse and heather in the deep'ning glow,
With their gold and purple mirrored in the pool below.
And the shadows stealing upwards to the drawing night,
And the ling'ring of the last low light.
All above the marshy meadows hung the dark pine trees
Scarcely whispering their secrets to the lifting breeze. ”

“ Called me his singing dove;
With him to please, the days sped fast—
What could I do but love?
And then! He wearied of my song
And lightly passed me by.
So, left alone to love and long—
What could I do but die? ”

“ Oie-vie, oie-vie, ma chree;
For He will have us in His Mind,
Who stilled the raging sea.
Fear not the dark’ning night,
For in His Hand we lie,
Who steers us through from dark to light
Oie-vie, ma veen, oie-vie! ”