A VOICE FROM IRELAND,

BY MRS. MARY E. GRAVES.
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A sound Of wailng and a voice of woe tsborne on every breeze from far oil isle,, 1 Weeping and lamentation and the cry Of mortals perishing for lack of food; Who died before her with the cry for bread The last words on its pale and quivering lips Parent of child bsreft, children of sire o! who eau tell the misery of such scenes |: Who paint the anguish of those stricken ones Or picture forth the tsrrQrs of such death 0 is it not the averaging hand of God, The retributoa of jealous God, That thus is visiting upon that land 1kis fearful token of his dreaded wrath? 0 Ireland famish'd, sufi'riuy, wretched isle When will brighter day succeed this gloam But hark sound is hea,d 10 issue forth From low Mud-ro~fcd cottage ; 'tis syd, Low wailing voice, iha, tells of want and wee And seo in the dim light that struggles thro' The broken easement is female form, With haggard ceuntenance aad sunken eye, Hands clasred. and wildly rocking to and fro Before her lies her ba be, new cold in death, And on that babe she gazes with the deep And strong intensity of Love, which shows That all the mother Is within her stirred And turricdly she coantsher beads, and new Her lew and mcufnful voice breaks forth in

 song

 am hungry, cold and weary,

 But my eyelids cannot close,

 For my home is lone and drcary.

 l0 the stayo the loved reyos<. - "As'o >h.ll 6nd consolation oE.~ Every tar- iS dmtk sud sad,

 Au~eroun is des~lalon,

 Noughi 70 left to make me glad

 J"y Nas once within ny dwelling,

 Though with plenty never crowned New each voice oi woe is telling.

 With the cry our walls rssonnd.

 In ihe streets her t ringing

 We are dyin! s,vA ns bread 2

 Every hsur tn Us i4 b, nyinx

 News tha, some we love arc dead or fall friends death alh hrrsft me,

 Father, mother, sisters dear,

 l!usbNcd, clIdren all have left mo-

 alone am mourning here.

 {! ! my heart was we'll nigh breaking

 When they helpless, cried for bread, I,eamod of !ord, and then awaking,

 Found the golden vision fed.

 Woke 10 find that they were dying,

 Woke 10 misery untold,

 In this cold dark cabin lying,

 IJInt with hunger aHd with cold

 Thou, n! babe. art snatchcd from sor,o ow,

 And will not mourn thee, dear;

 will bn;, thee 10 morrow.

 And my arms shall be thy bicr.

 Now my strength begins 10 fail me,

 And my eyes have lost their sight; Ave Maria pity, save me

 For I too must die this nglIt!'