AN IRISH MAID.

New Zealand Tablet, 1 April 1920, Page 43

AN IRISH MAID.

(For tlio N.Z. Tablet.) One time, in an old-world castle, With turrets and ivied-stone tow’r, Sat dreaming an Irish maiden. Alone in her virginal bow’r; Her hair, a rich, golden cascade, Was bound with a riband of white, Her eyes from her open casement Were stars of mysterious night. One day, to the close-kept drawbridge, A wonderful stranger there came, A knight of the groat King Dermod, Beloved and great was his name; Love stirred in the heart of the maiden, Love surged in the heart of the man, Brought each all the wondrous rapture That only the greatest love can. He rode o’er the bridge one morning, When nigh ail the castle folk slept, And waking, the lovely, girl-flow’r Long years for her lost hero wept; She knew that he loved her truly. His eyes had his secret well told, More eloquently far than kisses Or arms that the lov’d one enfold. She pray’d to the Christian Ard-righ, To Mary, the Christian Girl Queen, To tell her why, why he came not — Say what could his strange silence mean; At last, came the White Dove of Wisdom, It whispered, instructing the maid, Who heard, understanding the reason Why long had her lover delayed. —Angela Hastings.