4^09 
 Ci6g 
 
 CATHERID LEAFLETS 
 
 ^t?ifcH^~ 
 
 ::a^«i^J 
 
 HELENA GAL LAN AM 

 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 athereb leaflets
 
 [SECOND EDITION.] 
 
 GATHERED 
 
 LEAFLETS : 
 
 HELENA CALLANAN. 
 
 r R I C E — O N E SHILLING 
 
 CORK 
 PURCELL AND COMPANY, PUBLIfSHERS, 124, PATRICK STREET. 
 
 18S5.
 
 /5r 
 
 DEDICATION 
 
 It is with the deepest respect and reverence that I 
 dedicate this little book to the revered memory of Mr. 
 Richard Dowden (Richard) of Rathlee, Cork. As 
 these pages will have small chance of being much read 
 beyond our local homes, his familiar name will meet 
 with a warm greeting, recalling to many the image of 
 the true Christian gentleman who moved in their midst 
 "some twenty golden years ago;^' lending to every 
 philanthropic labour, and social gathering, the charm 
 of his own peculiarly pure and genial nature, his 
 large-hearted generosity, and all-embracing sympathy, 
 adopted every good cause, and worked for it with 
 zealous activity independent of sect or class. But 
 every man has his pet project. Outside the sacred cause 
 of temperance, the welfare and happiness of our 
 Institution was nearest to his heart, and from us the 
 deepest debt of gratitude is due. He laboured for our 
 interest with a paternal, enthusiastic devotion. 
 
 Oft have the sweet Shandon Bells tolled the year's 
 farewell above his quiet rest ; but even now the remem- 
 brance of a word spoken by him can touch the tenderest 
 chords of memory, and waken sad regret. Years pass, 
 
 861828
 
 VI, DEDICATION. 
 
 and ring their changes on the heart, often with metallic 
 sound ; but a pleasant voice, musical with kindly 
 feeling, can make its echoes heard through time and 
 change. His family being so much one with our 
 Institution, I did not ask permission to write this 
 dedication, fearing a sensitive modesty might deprive 
 me of the sad pleasure of paying this humble tribute 
 to his memory. 
 
 The thoughts of many hearts, to one 
 Whose memory lives for ever green ; 
 
 A genial beam of Summer sun, 
 
 Fragrant with all his life has been. 
 
 Helena Callanan, 
 
 Asylum for the Blind, 
 
 Cork, December, 1884.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 Page 
 
 THANKS . .1 
 
 FATHER MATHEW 1 
 
 GRANDMAMA'S BOY 4 
 
 SUMMER 5 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH 7 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GIFT OF SHAMROCKS 9 
 
 THE LAST OF AN OLD FRIEND . . , 10 
 
 IN COxMMEMORATION OF A SILVER WEDDING '1> 
 
 CALLED AWAY i:^ 
 
 ONE BY ONE 14 
 
 MAY IN THE CITY 1.0 
 
 BABY'S LAST KISS 10 
 
 LOUIS VEUILLOT'S LAST POEM ... 16 
 
 LITTLE WILLIE 20 
 
 THE IVY OF THE SACRED HEART -20 
 
 DAISY 22 
 
 ' AN AMERICAN LETTER 23 
 
 THE SHAMROCK IN FLORENCE 24 
 
 HER WEDDING DAY 2G 
 
 HER BRIDAL BOUQUET 27 
 
 HER FIRST ROSE 28 
 
 THE GIFT OF KINDNESS 2;* 
 
 STELLiE MARIS au 
 
 THE SHAMROCK 31 
 
 THE BOY AND THE ROSE 33 
 
 A BALLAD . . . • 34 
 
 A FAREWELL 37 
 
 "NO ROOM" 36 
 
 LILY 40 
 
 A SECRET 4_' 
 
 IN MEMORY OF THE REV. MICHAIIL UEHNAIID liUCKLKY 4;; 
 
 KING CHRISTMAS 44 
 
 SONNET TO SAINT AGNES 45
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS 
 
 THANKS. 
 
 TO J. C. 
 
 Kind stranger friend, thy genial sympathy 
 Thy gift enhances threefold in its worth ; 
 
 These simple lines shall bear my thanks to thee 
 From the old city of thy love and birth, 
 
 Of which each fond endearing memory 
 
 Rings in thy heart a ceaseless melody. 
 
 I know the glory that from thee hath fled. 
 Yet with calm courage brave resignedly ; 
 
 Thy patient steps the briary pathway tread, 
 
 But, blest with hope, thou canst more clearly see. 
 
 Than great scientists, of planets bright. 
 
 Beyond the Shadow of the Cross, the light. 
 
 A friendly voice once, with thine own bright rhymes. 
 Beguiled a lonely hour, one autumn day. 
 
 Full of quaint humour, telling of old times. 
 Recalling scenes and faces passed away — 
 
 Some through the portals of Eternity, 
 
 Yet dearer still than all on earth that be. 
 
 FATHER MATHEW. 
 
 Once, in our city by the Lee, 
 The golden bond of charity 
 Together bound three hearts as leal 
 As ever beat for Ireland's weal; 
 Each with the same grand mission blest 
 Though none the other's creed professed 
 Shades of opinion, creed, and class. 
 Were all dissolved to save the mass.
 
 GATHEEED LEAFLETS. 
 
 The Christian man whose genial ways* 
 Outlived the memory of his days, 
 Whose heart overflowed with sympathy 
 For all God's human family, 
 Embraced the cause with one whose life 
 A precept preached 'gainst brawl and strife ; f 
 Both marked the ardent priest, and knew 
 Their cause had gained a champion true. 
 
 They saw, behind the modest veil, 
 Vast stores of energy and zeal, 
 That could a golden harvest glean — 
 Nor had their inspiration been 
 A futile hope, they woke the fire 
 That flamed into a grand desire : — 
 To war with drink and take firm stand 
 Against the evil of our land. 
 
 Like light in darkness Mathew came. 
 To break the chains of guilt and shame 
 That trammelled, with a dark disgrace. 
 The children of the Irish race ; 
 'Twas his high destiny to win 
 Thousands of souls from vice and sin. 
 The stoutest heart might quail to see 
 Our bondage worse than slavery. 
 
 The friar, in humble habit clad. 
 
 Passed o'er the land and left it glad, 
 
 Hope crowned, invigorated, free 
 
 From base degrading misery ; 
 
 His blessing fructified the earth, 
 
 His pledge brought peace to every hearth, 
 
 The sunny radiance of his smile 
 
 From East to West lit up our isle. 
 
 • Richard Dowden (Richard). 
 + William Martin, the Quaker.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 Men followed him with love and awe. 
 They recognised his word as law. 
 ^Twas not his eloquence sublime 
 That sent his voice from clime to clime, 
 But that deep earnest power, that dwells 
 Where truth and charity excels. 
 And Father Mathew's pledge and name 
 A sacred spell-word soon became ! 
 
 Priest, friend, and great philanthropist. 
 Few could his grace and charm resist ; 
 The children gathered round his way. 
 As if they knew how proud one day 
 Would be their privilege to tell 
 That on their ears his accents fell. 
 That they had seen his kindly face, — 
 The saviour of their age and race. 
 
 Bright in our country^s annals shine 
 
 The preachers of the Word Divine, 
 
 Nor can the proudest nation boast 
 
 The record of a truer host. 
 
 Of minstrels, poets, scholars, we 
 
 Can count a glorious galaxy ; 
 
 But Ireland twines round Mathew's name 
 
 The fairest chaplet of her fame. 
 
 Deep in her virgin heart enshrined 
 He lives, the friend of all mankind — 
 The tender, loving, christian man 
 Who raised the flag and led the van 
 Of noble souls, who, armed with right. 
 Went forth to battle with the might 
 Of demon Drink, and check the course 
 Sweeping the land with cataract furce.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 In vain, fair city by the Lee, 
 They sleep, the venerated three ; 
 But they were with us in our need. 
 They sowed the good enduring seed : 
 To every worker in the field 
 May God a precious harvest yield, 
 And fairest fruitage of success 
 Their noble efibrts crown and bless. 
 
 GRANDMAMA^S BOY. 
 
 (grand-nephew op father mathew.) 
 Fain I'd keep thee in the homestead, 
 
 But I try to teach my heart 
 That in life's unceasing battle 
 
 Thou wilt act a Christian's part ; 
 And the rooftree cannot always 
 
 Hide the bird within its nest. 
 For the future hath its duties — 
 
 It is wisest thus and best. 
 
 But the lonely heart will miss thee, 
 
 Darling child, my love was thine. 
 Since those twin bright baby faces 
 
 Pressed so lovingly to mine ; 
 And soft arms were clasped around me 
 
 And I felt my joy complete, 
 When the rose lips, softly prattling, 
 
 Lisped out " Gran'-mama " so sweet. 
 
 From a distant country came they. 
 
 Treasures trusted to my care ; 
 Soon they found my heart's warm shelter. 
 
 And they nestled fondly there, 
 Charlie, full of pranks and humour, 
 
 Mary, winsome and so fair. 
 Kinging laughter through the household 
 
 Told that joyous youth was there.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 Grandmama will miss her Charlie, 
 
 Miss his wiles and merry ways. 
 And the little sister lonely 
 
 In her walks and at her plays. 
 But her brother will be learning 
 
 How to tread the path of truth — 
 Purest Virtue, truest Honour, 
 
 Guardian angels of his youth. 
 
 While my Charlie struggles bravely 
 
 Grandmama will watch and pray 
 That temptation^s darkling shadows 
 
 May not lead her boy astray. 
 Through the many years that wait thee 
 
 Be thy loved one's pride and joy, 
 And, my darling, oh, remember. 
 
 Thou art Grandmama's Own Boy. 
 
 SUMMER. 
 
 There are flowers in the valleys. 
 There is sunshine on the hills. 
 
 Through the bowers and leafy alleys 
 The warm breath of Summer thrills ; 
 
 Gentle airs are softly blowing, 
 
 Pearly streamlets blithely flowing. 
 Nature's music gushing clear. 
 
 Rippling through the vale and wildwood. 
 
 Like the voice of happy childhood ; 
 
 With glad greeting hail the Summer, 
 Fairest season of the year ! 
 
 Summer meets us rich and golden. 
 Shedding beauty o'er the earth. 
 
 Every hour new charms unfolding, 
 Filling all the land with mirth.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 Bringing smiles to brows of sadness ; 
 Sights and sounds of light and gladness 
 
 Soothe the heart and please the ear. 
 Happy birds through airland winging, 
 Sweetest salutations singing — 
 Hail, glad Summer ! glad we greet thee, 
 
 Fairest season of the year ! 
 
 Nestling in the bright June roses 
 
 Dripping still with dews of May, 
 Summer 'mid the buds reposes. 
 
 Till they blush beneath his ray, 
 And from out their opening blushes 
 Such a stream of fragrance rushes, 
 
 We forget the winter drear. 
 Snow-crowned hills and mountains hoary 
 Bask in floods of Summer glory. 
 Hail, glad Summer ! glad we greet thee. 
 
 Fairest season of the year ! 
 
 On the banks are children playing, 
 
 Mirrored in the brook beneath ; 
 Or away in green fields straying, 
 
 Weaving many a daisy wreath ; 
 Golden hair, like sunbeams streaming, 
 Blue eyes, love and sweetness beaming. 
 
 Yet undimmed by sorrow's tear. 
 Gather, little ones, your flowers. 
 Offspring of the rosy hours. — 
 Hail, bright Summer ! glad we greet thee, 
 
 Fairest season of the year ! 
 
 Happy children, 'tis your season, 
 Twine your chaplets while you may. 
 
 Ere the sterner voice of reason 
 Calls you from your sportive play.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 Innocence your hearts possessing, 
 Bless the source of every blessing, 
 
 Lisp His name in accents clear, 
 Praise Him for the morning splendour. 
 For the twilight soft and tender. 
 Hail, glad Summer ! glad we greet thee, 
 
 Fairest season of the year ! 
 
 Nature fair, unclasp thy pages. 
 
 Rich with poetry divine, 
 Inspiration of all ages. 
 
 Ever pure exhaustless mine ! 
 Help us now, vast creation 
 Songs to raise of adoration. 
 
 Gratitude and love sincere. 
 Warm heart's gushing reach God's dwelling. 
 Joyful strains heaven's glory telling. 
 Hail, glad Summer ! glad we greet thee. 
 
 Fairest season of the year ! 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH. 
 
 Just one hour before the Sabbath, 
 
 There God's angel hovered near. 
 Long the white wings had been rustling. 
 
 But our hearts refused to hear. 
 Nearer still, and ever nearer. 
 
 Stole the reaper on his way. 
 Hour by hour the shadows deepened, 
 
 Hope grew fainter with each day. 
 
 II. 
 
 Sitting in this chamber lonely. 
 
 In the softly shaded light. 
 How the dear dead face reminds us 
 
 Of lost pictures, oh, so bright.
 
 OATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 Here the bridal vows were spoken — 
 Vows of faith in weal or woe — 
 
 On that happy August morn 
 Only two short years ago. 
 
 III. 
 
 Baby, hush, thy plaintive wailing 
 
 Cannot reach thy mother's ear; 
 Pledge of love, of grief the herald, 
 
 Thy frail life hath cost us dear. 
 She, whose way thy face should brighten. 
 
 Sleeps the holy sleep of death. 
 Pretty firstling, gift of heaven, 
 
 Sorrow came with thy first breath. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Never shall thine eyes of fondness 
 
 Gaze upon a mother's face. 
 Never shall her guardian spirit. 
 
 With its tender modest grace. 
 Win thee by its soft attraction. 
 
 Teach thee by each gentle art ; 
 Nor her sweet voice tell the story 
 
 Of the Christ-Child's loving heart. 
 
 V. 
 
 Twine the wreaths of rose and myrtle. 
 
 Let sweet flowers perfume her rest. 
 Place her beads between her fingers. 
 
 And the Cross upon her breast — 
 Blessed Cross, Redemption's emblem. 
 
 Teach us now to kiss the rod. 
 Give us in our sorest trial 
 
 Strength to bless the will of God.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Briglit the Sabbath day is dawning, 
 
 Prayerful sounds the Sabbath bells ; 
 Ah, the day of rest is perfect 
 
 Where in peace thy spirit dwells, 
 Resting in the love unchanging. 
 
 Taking up the angels^ lay, 
 Happy in the bliss transcendent 
 
 Of the long, long Sabbath day. 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GIFT OF SHAMROCKS. 
 
 TO THE RIGHT REVEREND DR. o'mAHONY, TORONTO. 
 
 I, 
 
 To every heart in every clime 
 
 The King of Love a message brings ; 
 
 To those who preach His Word sublime 
 Sweet are His tender whisperings. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now thou art in His greenest spot. 
 Thy footsteps tread the mystic way. 
 
 He hath desired to make thy lot 
 
 One calm, pure, happy Christmas Day. 
 
 III. 
 I know thy eyes will kindly greet 
 
 This sprig of Erin''s own bright green. 
 More prized than rose with perfume sweet. 
 
 Or tropic plant of richest sheen. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Fresh gathered when the early dew 
 
 Was shining on each tiny spray, 
 Thy feet oft wandered where they grew — 
 
 Hearts keep thy memory green as they.
 
 10 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 V. 
 
 Take Ireland's Shamrock to thy heart. 
 Thy Celtic heart so true and warm — 
 
 Only three leaves, but say what art 
 Could weave for thee so dear a charm. 
 
 VL 
 
 And, like lona's exiled dove, 
 
 Bless thou the land that gave them birth- 
 The richest land, in faith and love. 
 
 That ever smiled on God's fair earth. 
 
 THE LAST OF AN OLD FRIEND. 
 
 INSCRIBED TO THE LADY OF RATHLEE, WHO IS ALSO THE 
 SUBJECT OF THE UEXT POEM. 
 
 Tenderly old visions greet us, 
 
 Tinged with memories warm and bright, 
 Making quaint and pleasant pictures 
 
 In the Christmas fire to-night ; 
 Gleaming softly 'mid the ivy, 
 
 Shining on the holly sprays. 
 How they crowd and chase each other 
 
 In the glowing embers' blaze ! 
 Red flames flash from floor to rooftree, 
 
 From the heart of an old friend, 
 Nobly friendship's task fulfilling, 
 
 Giving pleasure to the end. 
 Once this Yule log, crowned with beauty. 
 
 Reigned the glory of the Lee — 
 Changes great have come, and many, 
 
 Since thy birth, old Sally-tree. 
 
 Dreaming youth beneath thy shadow 
 Caught from hope such radiant beams. 
 
 That the fair glad world of nature 
 Seemed reflected in its dreams ;
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 11 
 
 There, perchance, in riper wisdom, 
 
 Was conceived some burning thought 
 That hath blossomed into action, 
 
 And a noble deed hath wrought. 
 In the hush of summer twilight 
 
 Bound thee gathered old and young. 
 Hand clasped hand in friendly greeting. 
 
 Tales were told and songs were sung. 
 Last of all thy graceful sisters. 
 
 Guardian monarch of the Lee, 
 Youth, and age, and love, and sorrow, 
 
 Sought thy shade, old Sally-tree. 
 
 In the days when youth and maiden 
 
 Sported on the village green. 
 When the ring of happy laughter 
 
 Woke to life the rural scene ; 
 Then were rifled field and forest 
 
 For the games of merry May, 
 When night dews were on the meadows 
 
 And the moonbeams cheered the way. 
 Still did'st thou survive the pillage 
 
 Of the gay mirth-loving past. 
 But e'en trees must own life's power. 
 
 And we mourn thy fall at last. 
 One wild night the wind in anger 
 
 Fiercely swept across the Lee, 
 And with ruthless hand he levelled 
 
 To the earth our Sally-tree. 
 
 Ere the last red flame has quivered 
 
 And thy life's warm pulse is dead. 
 Whilst the Christmas stars are shining, 
 
 Ere the last bright beam has fled, 
 I would cast this wreath of ivy 
 
 On thy embers as they fade,
 
 12 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 And in simple verse embalm thee — 
 
 Tribute for thy friendly shade. 
 While thy ashes are yet fragrant 
 
 With the memories of the past^ 
 Let us pray that friendship's blessing 
 
 May be with us to the last. 
 When the early blush of summer 
 
 Lights again upon thee^ Lee, 
 Loiterers on its banks shall miss thee 
 
 From thy place, old Sally-tree. 
 
 IN COMMEMORATION OF A SILVER 
 WEDDING. 
 
 For " Auld Lang Syne'' and memories dear 
 
 To-night the past with present meet ; 
 In feeble song and truth sincere 
 
 Pledge we our hearts our friends to greet ; 
 Glad welcome giving old and new, 
 
 But, ah, to thee, the kindest, nearest 
 And truest found, where all are true, • 
 
 Give we our first, our warmest, dearest. 
 
 We make this happy hour your own. 
 
 And pray it be the herald bright 
 Of years as many as have flown — 
 
 As shadowless in their swift flight ; — 
 Still strewing blessings at thy feet. 
 
 Truth's smile and friendship's voice to cheer thee. 
 Pure homely joys and pleasures sweet. 
 
 And all the loved and loving near thee. 
 
 Could wishes promise happiness — 
 
 The fruit of morning's fairest hopes — 
 
 This Silver Wedding Day should bless 
 And softly gild life's shady slopes.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 13 
 
 But stronger words than ours are weak 
 
 The hearths devotion in revealing ; 
 For there are thoughts we may not speak, 
 
 And hidden springs of purest feeling. 
 
 The cherished names that shine to-night 
 
 In tender memories' warmest glow, 
 Are hallowed by the holy light 
 
 Of those who left us long ago ; 
 Whose presence oft our pathway blessed. 
 
 Their wealth of sunshine gleaming o'er us. 
 We'll give one thought to those who rest— 
 
 The loved, " not lost, but gone before " us. 
 
 October, 1881. 
 
 CALLED AWAY. 
 
 I HAD one flower so sweet and rare, 
 It shed its fragrance everywhere — 
 My only one, my lily fair. 
 
 One day from Heaven a message came 
 That filled my heart with keenest pain — 
 God wanted back his gift again. 
 
 My little one grew tired of play ; 
 The playthings all were put away — 
 My flower had bloomed her little day. 
 
 My winsome sprite of life and glee. 
 
 Her years had scarcely numbered three — 
 
 But, ah ! what was she not to me ? 
 
 Down to our earth, by sin defiled, 
 God's Angel came, and o'er my child 
 Fluttered his snowy wings and smiled.
 
 14 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 He hustled my darling into rest. 
 Laid the white blossom on her breast, 
 And bore her to the Mansions Blest. 
 
 I miss the baby prattle sweet. 
 
 The laughing eyes, the dancing feet, 
 
 That morn and eve I used to meet. 
 
 But she is blooming pure and free ; 
 Near the white throne she waits for me, 
 And joyful will our meeting be. 
 
 ONE BY ONE. 
 
 One by one the old ties sever, 
 
 Links drop off from friendship's chain, 
 Golden links that years can never 
 
 Gather up and knit again ! 
 Some are parting, some departed, 
 
 Friends like thee, with truth like thine. 
 Be they blessed, the dear, true-hearted, 
 
 Cherished friends of '^ Auld Lang Syne."" 
 
 Sad we count the vacant places 
 
 Made by every broken tie, 
 One by one the friendly faces 
 
 Leave us as the years go by ; 
 One by one the voices pleasant. 
 
 That have made life's melody. 
 Drop away and rob the present 
 
 Of its sweetest harmony. 
 
 Could warm wishes e'er surround thee 
 With earth's best and purest pleasures. 
 
 Peace and love had ever crowned thee 
 With their wealth of richest treasures ;
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 15 
 
 Many tender wayside flowers 
 
 Didst thou scatter o'er our way, 
 May their sweets perfume the hours 
 
 In the twilight of life's day. 
 
 One by one the old ties sever, 
 
 Links drop off from friendship's chain, 
 Golden links that years can never 
 
 Gather up and knit again ! 
 Thou art linked with memories olden. 
 
 Tender thoughts of thee remain. 
 And within the precincts golden 
 
 Love shall bind each broken chain. 
 
 MAY IN THE CITY. 
 
 The roses opening to the sun 
 Proclaim that winter's work is done ; 
 May, like her own fair Queen of Love, 
 With blessings o'er the earth doth move ; 
 In thrills and shakes the whole day long 
 My birdie fills the hours with song. 
 And happy, as in woodland gay. 
 Echoes the revelry of May. 
 
 Be glad, my heart, for summer's come, 
 And, e'en to this poor city home, 
 The welcome time of light and flowers 
 Shall bring good gifts and happy hours. 
 Here, in this squalid, crowded street. 
 Where weary hearts, 'mid toil and heat. 
 Life's burdens bear from day to day. 
 E'en here we know thee, blushing May.
 
 16 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 So far away from fields and woods. 
 Green sunny meads, cool solitudes, 
 Without one glimpse of country fair, 
 And scarce a breath of pure fresh air ; 
 A beam from the bright Heaven of blue 
 Will stray some attic window through, 
 And longing eyes in summer's ray 
 Hail the glad messenger of May. 
 
 From early morn to eve I hear 
 The merry bird-notes ringing clear — 
 The notes that e^en in winter's gloom 
 Made summer music in my room. 
 Here though no dewy bud is seen. 
 Nor blossom white, nor leaf of green, 
 No warbler perched on hawthorn spray 
 Could sing a sweeter song of May. 
 
 But sometimes I could pity thee, 
 So wasted seems thy melody. 
 Lost in the city^s toil and din, 
 ^Mid sounds of discord, strife and sin ; 
 Yet, birdie, sing of flowers and streams. 
 And with bright pictures fill the dreams 
 Of many who through life's rough way 
 See but faint images of May. 
 
 BABY'S LAST KISS. 
 
 Three times, since little Johnnie's birth^ 
 The hawthorn trees were white ; 
 
 Only three summers, but to earth 
 A benediction bright. 
 
 One of those frail, sweet blossoms given 
 
 To link more closely earth with heaven.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 17 
 
 'l''he long gray shadows fell athwart 
 
 The dim and silent room : 
 A mother watched, with beating heart. 
 
 Alone amid the gloom, 
 Beside her dying baby-boy — 
 Her first-born gift of hope and joy. 
 With patient thankfulness she blest 
 
 The hand that plucked the flower. 
 Better to mourn in emptiness 
 
 Than watch from hour to hour. 
 The bright bird chained and helpless lie. 
 While clogged with pain the years go by. 
 And this her darling^s lot should be 
 
 Through childhood's sunny day, 
 Never to run with careless glee, 
 
 Or play as children play . 
 His name was writ on sorrow's page — 
 Affliction was his heritage. 
 Weary, with many vigils kept. 
 
 The blessed balm of sleep 
 Over her heavy eyelids crept, 
 
 And slumber calm and deep 
 For one brief moment hushed to rest 
 Her sad thoughts, in oblivion blest. 
 " One kiss, mama," the baby cried. 
 
 With love's last effort weak. 
 He raised the tiny arms and tried 
 
 To reach his mother's cheek ; 
 And trying broke life's feeble thread — 
 The baby's spirit up ward's fled. 
 But he will keep that farewell kiss 
 
 A token pure and sweet ; 
 'Twill greet her entrance into bliss 
 
 When child and mother meet 
 Where every cloud in sorrow's day 
 To glory adds a brighter ray.
 
 18 GATHERED LEAFLETS- 
 
 LOUIS VEUILLOrS LAST POEM. 
 
 When death's bright angel brings God^s message blest, 
 
 You will place at my side my pen ; 
 The cross, my proudest glory, on my breast : 
 
 At my feet this volume : and then 
 Softly close my coffin in peaceful rest. 
 
 When you breathe the last prayer in solemn awe, 
 
 Plant the crucifix o'er the dead, 
 (The grand saving sign of Redemption's law). 
 
 If they mark by a stone my bed, 
 Let them write on the slab, " j'ai cru, je vois." 
 
 Say among you " He sleeps, his days are passed. 
 
 His life's laborious tasks are o'er ? " 
 Say rather, " He wakes, he sees at last 
 
 The Heaven he dreamed of ever more. 
 By the perfect light o'er his spirit cast." 
 
 From slander's breath shield not my memory, 
 Should hatred's blight on me descend, 
 
 I am content, I have my victory : — 
 Truth can with evil powers contend, 
 
 I have fought the good fight, my soul is free. 
 
 The men who make this vile attack of hate,. 
 
 Are those to whom my name is bound ; 
 While I, at mercy's portals wait. 
 
 Let them say on : — perhaps each wound 
 Shall throw in shadow my oSences great. 
 
 I am in peace ; let their malignity 
 
 Rage on till rage is satisfied. 
 Blessed be God, for this that now I see ; 
 
 Still can I preach Christ crucified : — 
 In dust e'en yet I am their enemy.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 19 
 
 Thrice blessM be God, my voice still strong and clear 
 
 Persecutes those who dare to lie ; 
 What they insult I honour and revere ; 
 
 The truths, imposter^s lips deny 
 Believing, worshipping, I hold most dear. 
 
 On many souls I shed the light of day ; 
 
 I cheered the fettered captive's doom ; 
 For heavenly angels I made clear the way. 
 
 To hearts where fairest flowers shall bloom, 
 And love be born and hold supremest sway. 
 
 My life was sweet though lost my early years ; 
 
 On bare rocks, washed by ocean's spray 
 The moss grows green ; so on remorseful fears, 
 
 Repentance shines, with sun-bright ray. 
 When sorrow spends itself in bitter tears. 
 
 My life was happy, brightened by my love ; 
 
 In my hard fight, faith fortified 
 My charmed heart, and made it "strong to prove 
 
 The strength of true love purified 
 Prom earthly stain, and firmly fixed above. 
 
 I was a sinner, missing oft the light 
 
 That glory sheds round virtue's ways ; 
 But now, thank God, His truth divinely bright 
 
 Have doubt and error swept away — 
 Penance and prayer have chased the clouds of night. 
 
 In Christ on earth 1 placed my hope alone ; 
 
 I blushed not at His law or name. 
 The last dread day, before His father's throne, 
 
 He will not blush, but veil my shame : — 
 My King and Lord shall claim me as His own.
 
 ^0 
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 LITTLE WILLIE. 
 
 Willie ran with happy glee. 
 
 On the rocky cliff, 
 After butterfly and bee, 
 
 Merrily, as if 
 Danger frowned not at his feet. 
 
 Down the deep abyss 
 Shrub and plant and floweret sweet 
 
 Crowned the precipice. 
 
 Willie, when the morn was young, 
 
 On the dark cliff's bosom. 
 Sported with the bee that hung 
 
 On a fragrant blossom 
 Growing far adown the steep. 
 
 On the grassy ledges 
 Willie slept a dreamless sleep 
 
 ^Mid the weedy sedges. 
 
 Willie, when the day was old 
 
 And in glory dying. 
 Found they lifeless, still and cold 
 
 At the cliff^s foot lying. 
 Bright on bee, and flower and child, 
 
 Bose the Summer sun ; 
 On the shore a wail rang wild 
 
 Ere the day was done. 
 
 THE lYY OF THE SACRED HEART. 
 
 ^Tis not the children of the bowers. 
 
 Fond nurslings of the summer hours. 
 
 Red rose or virgin lily pale. 
 
 That reads, my friend, the sweetest tale ; 
 
 A little trembling ivy spray. 
 
 Transplanted here one autumn day. 
 
 The whole year long, through sun and rain. 
 
 Keeps guardian watch around her pane.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 21 
 
 ^Mid shining flowers it hath its birth, 
 That bright and fragrant make our earth ; 
 It watched them fade and bloom anew. 
 Yet lived the changeful seasons through. 
 In light and shadow still the same ; 
 The hallowed meaning of its name — 
 The Ivy of the Sacred Heart — 
 A tender lesson doth impart. 
 
 Some lover, with a poet's eye 
 For God's least gift on earth or sky. 
 In tint or form of leaf, or flower, 
 Or bright- winged creature of the hour. 
 Traced in the ivy's heart-shaped leaves 
 The story of that Heart that grieves 
 And loves, beyond conception's art. 
 The pearl of faith — the, Sacred Heart. 
 
 The ivy tender watch doth keep 
 
 Above the green graves where they sleep 
 
 Whose hands twined, long ago, the sprays 
 
 That shimmered in the old log's blaze. 
 
 Ah, 'twas a graceful fancy sweet 
 
 To find in it an emblem meet 
 
 Of that all- satisfying Heart 
 
 Whose love can heal the keenest smart. 
 
 ^Tis love that purifies your youth. 
 That outlives sorrow, pain and ruth, 
 Nor fades when gone life's sunny day. 
 But, ivy-like, hides all decay ; 
 That guides our footsteps down the slopes. 
 And plants above our ruined hopes 
 The bright immortal passion flowers 
 That blossom in eternal bowers.
 
 22 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 DAISY. 
 
 If I but knew 
 
 A rhymer true 
 Vd tell him where to find a theme — 
 
 A winsome sprite, 
 
 Airy and light 
 As ever charmed a poet's dream. 
 
 A vision sweet 
 
 His eyes should greet. 
 All love and innocence and mirth ; 
 
 Sportive and gay 
 
 As woodland fay — 
 The daisy of the cottage hearth. 
 
 A pearl of pearls. 
 
 With auburn curls, 
 A laughing mouth and eyes of blue ; 
 
 As lambkin fleet 
 
 Her dancing feet 
 Trip o'er the garden bright with dew. 
 
 She questions flowers 
 
 In sunny bowers. 
 At home with all fair spotless things ; 
 
 From morn to noon 
 
 A prattling tune 
 Of mimic speech like music rings ; 
 
 Your heart 'twould cheer 
 
 To see and hear 
 Her happy childish ecstacy ; 
 
 The eager rush, 
 
 The liquid gush 
 Of rippling bird-like melody. 
 
 Like Summer bloom 
 
 She chaseth gloom ; 
 There's not in nature aught more sweet 
 
 Than this fair child, 
 
 With glee half wild — 
 Our bonny Ethel Marguarite.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 23 
 
 AN AMERICAN LETTER. 
 
 '^ Sister, all is well-nigh over ; mine has been a weary- 
 time^ 
 
 Waiting for the long, long journey, lonely in a distant 
 clime. 
 
 Every day that passes o'er me my weak soul new 
 courage wins, 
 
 With the peace that fills my spirit Heaven's clear 
 dawning light begins. 
 
 I would like to sleep among you, where my mother's 
 
 feet should press, 
 And her kisses mark the green sod — e'en this wish 
 
 grows daily less; 
 God be praised, each longing ceases as I near the land 
 
 above. 
 Nothing now can cast a shadow, but the thoughts of 
 
 those I love. 
 
 Oh ! my loved ones, you are near me many a painful 
 
 sleepless night. 
 Thronging ever fast around me till you almost hide the 
 
 light. 
 If I thought that you could bear it bravely my last 
 
 hours were blest ; 
 Gladly, gladly would I welcome death's sweet call to 
 
 home and rest ! 
 
 Kindred hearts are beating near me — let this thought 
 
 sweet comfort bring — 
 Friendship, vigilant and tender, takes from sorrow half 
 
 the sting, 
 ' And the priest, with blessings laden, cheers me by his 
 
 presence kind ; 
 Do not grieve, the end shall find me happy, peaceful, 
 
 and resigned.
 
 24 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 But my hand grows fainter, fainter ; hot tears stain the 
 
 paper white ; 
 Other tears more sad and bitter yet will blot the words 
 
 I write. 
 Tell old friends think kindly of me — I can only write 
 
 Good-bye ; 
 Pray for me in the old churchyard^ where at rest I fain 
 
 would lie/' 
 
 Loving hearts beside the Dalla ached with sad ex- 
 pectancy. 
 
 In a stranger's hand, but kindly, came a letter o'er the 
 sea, 
 
 Telling how one bright June morning, in the perfumed 
 summer air, 
 
 Round a new-made grave at Woodland's mourners 
 knelt in silent prayer. 
 
 THE SHAMROCK IN FLORENCE. 
 
 Folded in a loving letter, 
 Deep imbedded in soft mosses. 
 Travelled once a tiny seedling 
 
 From the margin of the Lee, 
 To the floral land of Florence, 
 Where for sometime dwelt a maiden 
 Whose dear Motherland the poets 
 
 Called the Emerald of the Sea. 
 
 What the seed would be she knew not, 
 But it came from distant Ireland, 
 Whence she prized the slightest token, 
 
 Ivy leaf or purple shell ; 
 For so true was she to Erin, 
 E'en fair Italy could never 
 Hold one tender thought a captive 
 
 From the land she loved so weD,
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 25 
 
 Questioned much tlie king, and marvelled 
 That the Father^ Son and Spirit 
 Co-existent in one Godhead 
 
 Reigned through all eternity ; 
 Softly through the dew-drops gleaming 
 Saw the saint a sprig of Shamrockj 
 And its trinity of leaflets 
 
 Preached the wondrous mystery. 
 
 So above all flowers we prize it. 
 On the graves our tears bedew it, 
 Far away our exiles bear it 
 
 As a link of the old land ; 
 And the lady told them proudly 
 In strange climes the Shamrock perished, 
 But the city of the flowers 
 
 Erin's child could not withstand. 
 
 So with tender hand, and careful. 
 Planted she her far-sent treasure. 
 Watered it and daily watched it 
 
 Till three green leaves crowned the stem. 
 To and fro from school the children 
 Passing wondered what the strange plant 
 On the sunny window growing — 
 
 Only three green leaves to them. 
 
 Then the lady told the story — 
 How of old a priest, called Patrfck, 
 Brought from Rome Faith's priceless jewel 
 
 To the children of the Gael ; 
 From his lips their pagan monarch 
 Heard the blessed Revelation, 
 Saw the pearl of truth clear shining 
 
 In the Gospel's wondrous tale.
 
 26 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 HER WEDDING DAY. 
 
 JUNE, 1S80. 
 
 In Summer skies, with blushes bright, 
 The morning wakes to life and light ; 
 Glad promise hangs on leaves and flowers, 
 June revels in earth's fairest bowers. 
 Hail, happy day, that brings to thee. 
 Thy heart's desire, thy joy to be — 
 A light to brighten all thy years, 
 'Till earthly sunshine disappears ! 
 
 But there's a shadow in thy place, 
 A shadow thou alone couldst chase, — 
 Kind deeds performed with taste refined, 
 Make acts of kindness doubly kind. 
 Thy gentle thoughts and pleasant words. 
 Unknown to thee touched hidden chords ; 
 Ah ! more than thou couldst ever know — 
 How much we feel we may not show ? 
 
 The true heart gives its smile to all. 
 And pleasure brings to cot and hall. 
 Would we could give each thought a voice. 
 To breathe a blessing on thy choice ! 
 And all our farewells weave for thee. 
 In one harmonious melody. 
 To silence each discordant sound — 
 Peace ringing through the seasons round ! 
 
 Then take our little gift of song. 
 And place it other gifts among ; 
 More fair and costly, true they be, 
 But ours is linked with memory — 
 Of home, and youth's glad shining ways ; 
 And ever through life's winding maze, 
 May all that e'er brought joy to thee. 
 Renew its blessing fruitfully !
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 27 
 
 Fair as the morning be thy noon ! 
 And Winter wear the smile of June ; 
 Or, if light clouds must come with years, 
 Be they as April's fitful tears ! 
 Through all thy ways be God thy friend, 
 Thy trust secure, thy hope and end, 
 To lead thee through the shades of even, 
 To Love's unchanging light in Heaven. 
 
 HER BRIDAL BOUQUET. 
 
 Hidden away from other sight, 
 Tied softly round with ribbon white, 
 I keep a few poor withered flowers. 
 Dead children of June's sunny hours. 
 They were the sweet gift of a friend. 
 With every leaf dear memories blend ; 
 She wore them on her bridal day : — 
 I cannot throw the flowers away ! 
 
 I touch them tenderly, as though 
 
 They lived and blushed in Summer's glow. 
 
 Dried leaves — they wear for me a hue. 
 
 Brighter than roses gemmed with dew. 
 
 I prize them for the giver's sake, 
 
 I prize them for the thoughts they wake ; — 
 
 Remembrance makes December May — 
 
 I cannot throw the flowers away ! 
 
 Bright orange blossoms, green maiden-hair, 
 Their fragrance filled the house of prayer ; 
 Of one great joy they were a part ; — 
 Small things bring sunshine to the heart. 
 There is no beauty in them now. 
 Fast crumbling into dust, but how 
 Could I despise them in decay ? — 
 She wore them on her bridal day.
 
 28 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 HER FIRST ROSE. 
 
 Twice the bleak November gale. 
 Hath chilled the flowerets in the vale, 
 Since, to our earth at morning light, 
 Fluttered a frail wee blossom white. 
 'Twas planted in a garden fair. 
 Fresh from God^s hand, a treasure rare, 
 A precious, tender, tiny thing, 
 Pure as if brushed by angel's wing. 
 
 Our pretty bud in beauty grew. 
 Fed by the sweetest, richest dew ; 
 Love smiled upon the petals bright. 
 And warmed the little life with light. 
 Each day some infant charm gave place, 
 To newer charms of baby grace ; 
 Soon liquid music cheered the hearth. 
 In little rills of childish mirth. 
 
 The fragrant children of the bowers 
 Sleep coldly through the sunless hours; 
 The hoar-frost glistens in the bough, — 
 The woodland birds are silent now. 
 Our bonnie blossom lives to bloom 
 And summer make in winter gloom ; 
 To woo glad sunshine to her home 
 Through many a spring-time yet to come. 
 
 Sweet Ida, with thy little hand 
 Close clasped in Mother's, thou wilt stand 
 One day, dear, while she reads to thee 
 This trivial gift of poetry. 
 » These simple lines so incomplete, 
 Not bright, original or sweet, 
 Only a leaf from friendship's bower 
 To crown her darling's natal hour.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 29 
 
 THE GIFT OF KINDNESS. 
 
 Each life hath its seasons of springtime and flowers, 
 Of success and failure, of dark and bright hours. 
 With crosses and crowns every pathway is strewn, 
 Some meet joy at morning, some find it at noon ; 
 But earth holds one treasure that all may retain. 
 We miss it in pleasure, we need it in pain, 
 It rings in the voice, and it beams from the eye. 
 The sweet gift of Kindness — let none pass it by. 
 
 Cheerless the hearth that its light doth not warm. 
 Loveless the life that its smile cannot charm. 
 The dew softening sorrow, the heart's living spring, 
 It takes from the sharpest affliction the sting. 
 A sparkling oasis that shines ever green, 
 Its beauty can brighten the dreariest scene. 
 In the world's wide tempest we hear its low cry 
 'Tis repeated in Heaven — oh ! pass it not by. 
 
 It may be one syllable kindly expressed. 
 
 But deep in the lone heart it findeth its rest. 
 
 The soft word once spoken is heard through long years, 
 
 And echoed again, oft in sorrow and tears ; 
 
 It blooms in the garden, it blooms in the glade. 
 
 Forget it in sunshine, 'twill seek you in shade ; 
 
 There's no lot too lowly, no station too high. 
 
 For this wound-healing blessing — pass it not by. 
 
 We may learn the lesson in life's daily school. 
 Untrammelled by system, unfettered by rule. 
 In full flowing measure be it freely quaffed — 
 No class, creed, or party can poison the draught. 
 "We move in the circle, 'tis with us alway. 
 It smiles on our threshold more warmly each day. 
 Kind thoughts, pleasant words, upon white pinions fly. 
 They are earth's precious treasures — pass them not by.
 
 Bo GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 STELLA MARIS. 
 
 Like a ship the old house totters 
 
 In the rude arms of the storm ; 
 Oh ! His pleasant to be sheltered 
 
 Here at rest, and safe and warm. 
 Long the old walls have been warring 
 
 With the storm-king in his might, 
 But I know he will not move them, 
 
 Tho' he rages fierce to-night. 
 Yet I listen, sad and wakeful. 
 
 While the wind wails mournfully ; 
 Oh ! I cannot sleep for thinking 
 
 Of the brave hearts on the sea — 
 Of the bright eyes dim with weeping, 
 Of the silent watches keeping — 
 Ave Marie ! Mother, hear us. 
 
 Guide thy sailors safe and free ; 
 Pity all thy wave-rocked children 
 
 Drifting helpless on the sea. 
 
 In the wild wail of the tempest 
 
 Rings a warning note of woe, 
 A long farewell from the ocean. 
 
 And our silent dead below. 
 Only love can read its meaning — ^ 
 
 Breaking hearts, ye know it well ! 
 Tender sisters, anxious mothers, 
 
 What it sayest ye can tell ! 
 And that friend who nearer, dearer 
 
 Than all others soon would be. 
 Did the proud ship homeward bring her 
 
 Her brave sailor from the sea ! 
 Oft he pictured her glad greeting. 
 Thought and dreamed of their fond meeting- 
 Ave Marie ! Mother, hear us. 
 
 Guide the sailor safe and free ; 
 Pity all the wave-rocked children 
 
 Drifting helpless on the sea.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 31 
 
 To the beach to-morrow morniug, 
 
 When the storm^s sad work is done, 
 They will come, the loved and loving. 
 
 Seeking each her dearest one. 
 Some may lay their wave-washed treasures 
 
 In the earth^s green heart to sleep. 
 Others stretch their hands, but vainly, 
 
 To the unrelenting deep. 
 Patient watchers by the waters. 
 
 Listening to the surging sea, 
 You shall meet your dead once more 
 On the bright, illumined shore 
 
 Of the glad Eternity, 
 When death, sorrow, sin and shadow. 
 
 Human love shall cease to be. 
 Ave Marie ! Mother, hear us. 
 
 Guide the sailor safe and free ; 
 Pity all thy wave-rocked children 
 
 Drifting helpless on the sea. 
 
 THE SHAMROCK. 
 Let poets chant their lays anew. 
 To praise the rose or violet blue. 
 The queenly tulip, filled with dew. 
 
 And lily, sweet and fragrant ; 
 But there^s a flower more dear to me, 
 That grows not on a branch or tree, 
 But in the grass plays merrily, 
 And of its leaves there are but three — 
 
 'Tis Ireland's native Shamrock. 
 My country's flower, I love it well. 
 For every leaf a tale can tell, 
 And teach the minstrel's harp to swell 
 
 In praise of Ireland's Shamrock —
 
 32 QATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 The emblem of our Faith divine, 
 Which blest St. Patrick made to shine, 
 To teach eternal truth sublime — 
 Truth that shall last as long as time. 
 And long as blooms the Shamrock ! 
 
 Oh ! twine a wreath of Shamrock leaves. 
 They decked the banners of our chiefs. 
 And calmed the Irish exile's griefs. 
 
 In distant lands a stranger ; 
 The Muse inspired, with words of praise. 
 The poets of our early days 
 To write in many a glowing phrase. 
 And sing in powerful thrilling lays 
 
 The praises of the Shamrock. 
 
 He who has left his island home. 
 Beneath a foreign sky to roam. 
 And in a foreign clime unknown. 
 
 How dear he loves the Shamrock ! 
 When, on the Feast of Patrick's Day, 
 He kneels within the church to pray 
 For Holy Ireland far away. 
 He feel again youth's genial ray 
 
 While gazing on the Shamrock. 
 
 The brightest gems or rarest flowers 
 That ever bloomed in tropic bowers 
 Could ne'er for him recall such hours 
 
 As could the simple Shamrock. 
 Sweet memories, like refreshing dew. 
 The past with all its charms renew — 
 The faithful friends, the cherished few 
 • He left to cull the Shamrock.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 33 
 
 Land of the West, my native isle. 
 May Heaven's blessings on thee shine 
 And banish foes that would beguile 
 
 The lovers of the Shamrock ! 
 May God for ever cherish thee 
 In peace, and love, and harmony. 
 And rank thee proud ^mid nations free ! 
 Thus pray thy children fervently 
 
 For thee and for the Shamrock. 
 
 THE BOY AND THE ROSE. 
 
 Flowering all alone in the golden light 
 
 A red rose grew in a heather dell ; 
 The sunshine played with the petals bright. 
 
 The west winds wafted a sweet farewell. 
 Wee red rose, as the morning fair. 
 
 Scenting the blooming heather ; 
 Little red rose, so wondrous rare, 
 
 Hiding away in the heather ! 
 
 A little boy, roaming one summer day, 
 
 Was lost in the leafy solitudes ; 
 He saw the rose, fair as blushing May, 
 
 And lingered long in the dewy woods. 
 She charmed him by her witching spell. 
 
 Time took swift wing in the heather ; 
 He had a tale worth gold to tell. 
 
 Whispering low in the heather. 
 
 " Fair rose," said the boy, '^ from thy sylvan court, 
 Wilt thou roam with me, and be my queen V 
 " Rash boy," said the rose, " of thy wanton sport 
 Repentance will come one day, I ween ; 
 My dew-gemmed leaves hide thorns — beware ! 
 
 Pass by the queen of the heather ; 
 Here must my love-light shine — take care ! 
 I fain would reign in the heather." 
 
 D
 
 34 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 But vain was her warning — he plucked the rose, 
 
 And stole away the heather-delFs pride ; 
 In shadow and sun, till life's evening's close, 
 
 The little rose journeyed by his side. 
 The thorns pricked, but he blessed the day 
 
 He lingered long in the heather — 
 The sun-bright hour he went astray 
 
 And plucked the rose in the heather. 
 
 A BALLAD. 
 
 AN OLD man's prayer. 
 I. 
 
 " Back to well-beloved Ireland 
 
 While my failing eyes can see 
 Her green hills and pleasant valleys, 
 
 And her rivers rushing free. 
 Now, farewell, brave land of freedom. 
 
 Fortune, fame and friends I've met 
 On your shores, but round my heart-strings 
 
 Is the old land twining yet." 
 It was thus an old man murmured 
 
 When we first put out to sea. 
 And at morning, noon, and evening. 
 
 Thus he prayed incessantly. 
 II. 
 " Back to brave, enduring Ireland, 
 
 Where, in bitterness and tears, 
 The glad smile of hope shone ever 
 
 Like a rainbow in dark years ; 
 Where the blood of many thousands 
 
 Of her glorious martyred band 
 Made the Gospel ray shine brighter, 
 
 Grace difiusing through the land." 
 Thus he prayed his prayer of longing 
 
 As the ship sped o'er the sea. 
 Till in hearts that prayer re-echoed 
 
 Like an old sweet melody.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 35 
 
 III. 
 
 " Back to sainted, patient Ireland, 
 
 Faithful still in pain and loss. 
 With her brave arms ever ready 
 
 To embrace God^s blessed Cross, 
 Sighing out her many sorrows 
 
 In sad tale or thrilling song. 
 Till her children, nigh despairing, 
 
 Cry — 0, Lord ! how long ! how long !'' 
 Long the voyage seemed, and weary, 
 
 To the Isle of Destiny, 
 And the old man^s voice grew feeble, 
 
 But he prayed more fervently. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Back to genial, courteous Ireland, 
 
 To the friends, the haunts I knew. 
 To her kindly loving people. 
 
 And her soggarts — oh, so true ; 
 Where the welcome joins with blessings 
 
 In the dear soft Gaelic tongue. 
 Where the prayer, ' God speed ye,' trembles 
 
 On the lips of old and young." 
 Every morning saw the old man 
 
 Gazing sadly out to sea. 
 And the hush of evening found him 
 
 Praying still on bended knee. 
 
 V. 
 
 " Take me back to fettered Ireland, 
 
 For ^tis from her virgin sod 
 That my soul would wing in freedom 
 
 To the realms of her God. 
 Mother, Mary, Queen of Heaven, 
 
 True to thee my land hath been. 
 And I know that thou wilt give me 
 
 Strength to reach my crownless Queen."
 
 36 GATHEEED LEAFLETS. 
 
 Mingled with the wind's wild sobbing 
 And the surging of the sea 
 
 Rose that prayer of warm devotion 
 With increasing fervency. 
 
 VI. 
 
 '' Haste, good ship, the shadows gather. 
 
 And the long night draweth nigh — 
 Land, the land I love, is nearing, 
 
 All is peace — now, I may die. 
 I shall rest behind the chapel 
 
 Where the kindly neighbours pass. 
 They will pray God's mercy on me 
 
 Coming out from Sunday's Mass." 
 Now his voice is faint and feeble. 
 
 But we heard it on the sea 
 Praying for a grave in Ireland — 
 
 E'en a grave there sweet would be. 
 
 VII. 
 
 One May evening through the valley 
 
 Where his childhood years were passed, 
 Tenderly they bore the old man 
 
 To his longed-for home at last ; 
 'Neath the shamrock turf they laid him 
 
 On green Erin's mother breast 
 In the homely country churchyard 
 
 With his kindred hearts at rest. 
 From the land of his adoption — 
 
 Refuge of the brave and free — 
 For a grave in holy Ireland 
 
 He had journeyed o'er the sea.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 37 
 
 A FAREWELL. 
 
 The glory of an autumn day 
 Gilds the proud ship that bears away 
 From yearning hearts and tearful eyes 
 Their treasure dear, to distant skies. 
 For dear thou wert to home and hearth 
 Thy quiet grace and happy mirth. 
 And only those who knew thy heart 
 Can tell how sweet and true thou art. 
 
 The light is waning o'er the Lee, 
 
 Night's shadows fall upon the sea, 
 
 Thy native shore receding fast, 
 
 And '^ Good-bye," must be said at last — 
 
 " Good-bye/' the saddest words I know — 
 
 'Tis hard for love to let thee go ; 
 
 'i'he tear-dimmed eyes gaze out to sea, 
 
 To catch a last glad glimpse of thee. 
 
 Old friends will miss through long, long days. 
 
 Thy many tender, kindly ways. 
 
 Thy voice lives in our memory — 
 
 An unforgotten melody. 
 
 The pathos of thy song so sweet, 
 
 Its echoes in our hearts repeat, 
 
 The ballad-minstrels found in thee 
 
 The heart and voice of poetry. 
 
 Many will miss thee and will yearn 
 With longing love for thy return ; 
 To thy bright home beyond the sea, 
 Prayers, for all good, shall follow thee. 
 Oft thou to others pleasure brought. 
 Then may each kind and gentle thought 
 That in thy bosom e'er found birth 
 Shed sunshine round thy home and hearth.
 
 38 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 ^'NO ROOM.^^ 
 
 '' " THE GOOD 
 
 Extract from Cork Examiner, 4th December, 1879. 
 
 The following entry was made recently in the Diary of the Good 
 Shepherd Convent in this City : — " Twenty-nine penitents applied for 
 admission during the last two months ; for want of Funds only eight of 
 these have beeu taken in." 
 
 God pity all the waifs and strays 
 
 Who throng our streets this Christmas night, 
 And find no place in loving hearts, 
 
 For whom no home or hearth is bright ; 
 But they who blotted from their souls 
 
 The impress fair of faith and love. 
 And left the pure sweet ways of life 
 
 Should most of all our pity move. 
 
 Where are they now^ those twenty-one ? — 
 
 Poor helpless sisters — where are they ? 
 Cast back upon their awful past 
 
 To tread again their guilty way ; 
 Back to a cold and heartless world 
 
 With sorrow and despair so rife ; 
 Perchance, back to the waters deep, 
 
 To end in sin their sinful life. 
 
 The Shepherd called His wandering sheep 
 
 To hide them in His sheltering arms. 
 They heard His voice so wondrous sweet. 
 
 He drew them by His tender charms 
 Out of the darkness into light — 
 
 The light of His own wondrous face ; 
 The heart that broke upon the Cross 
 
 Had still for them a resting place.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 39 
 
 Full often_, in their early days^ 
 
 He fed them with the living bread ; 
 He longed to gain the hearts again. 
 
 For which His own so freely bled ; 
 They saw the wounded hands and feet. 
 
 The virgin flesh scourged for their sins ; 
 They knocked at His own door, and yet, 
 
 We opened not to let them in. 
 
 His love had sought and found them out 
 
 In humble penitence and tears ; 
 They came, poor weary prodigals. 
 
 Here to forget their blighted years. 
 Oh, Lord ! 'twas hard to bid them go. 
 
 When they would fain Thy mercy seek ; 
 To send the pleaders from our gates. 
 
 With broken hearts and spirits weak. 
 
 Oh ! trembling Babe, in Mary's arms. 
 
 Let thy low wailing once again 
 Re-echo in man's heart and plead 
 
 For those who strive to break the chain 
 That fetters them to earth and sin, 
 
 Though they could once their sphere adorn 
 With souls as pure and free from taint 
 
 As those who pass them by with scorn ! 
 
 Fond mother, when your little ones, 
 
 To-night shall cluster round your knee. 
 Lisping their Christmas carols sweet. 
 
 With happy innocence and glee. 
 Think of the homeless, friendless ones. 
 
 For whom the gulf is yawning wide : 
 Once they rejoiced at Bethlehem, 
 
 And sorrowed with the Crucified.
 
 40 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 To-night the Christmas chimes proclaim 
 
 The lowly birth of Mary^s Son ; 
 Oh ! by the love that brought thus low, 
 
 From Heaven^s bright throne, the Holy One, 
 Help them, ere yet it be too late, 
 
 " To taste and see the Lord is sweet ;" 
 To call him. Father, once again ; 
 
 And let the tears fall at his feet. 
 
 Help them, for our sweet Mother's sake, — 
 
 The pearl of our fallen race, — 
 Her Mother's heart will hear their plaint, 
 
 And from their dark path evil chase ; 
 And for the Magdalen's dear sake. 
 
 Who watched the tomb where Jesus lay. 
 That Easter morn, lest cruel men 
 
 Should steal her buried Love away. 
 
 Ah ! surely 'tis a noble work 
 
 To rescue souls from direst woe ! 
 For, be their sins as scarlet red. 
 
 Can God not make them ^^ white as snow ?" 
 And bright your generous gifts shall shine 
 
 When, trembling in the King's pure sight, 
 You'll read, engraven on his heart, 
 
 The records of this Christmas night. 
 
 LILY 
 
 I KNOW a sheltered garden, where 
 
 A lily blooms in sunshine fair. 
 
 From Spring's glad birth till Winter dies. 
 
 Beneath the ever-changeful skies : 
 
 Years pass, and leave in that blest bower 
 
 A purer gem — a rarer flower.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 41 
 
 Our Lily has a heart that glows 
 As warm and fresh as June's young rose 
 Beneath the rooftree's blest retreat, — 
 Of womanhood the mirror sweet, 
 She sheds around that hallowed place 
 The beauty of a nameless grace. 
 
 Deep in her pure heart's sacred mine 
 Doth nature truest pearls enshrine — 
 Sweet words that scatter kindly seeds 
 In thoughts that blossom into deeds ; 
 Like wayside flowers they glow and shine, 
 And round her life rich blessings twine. 
 
 The infant year, just hovering 
 
 'Twixt Winter drear and smiling Spring, 
 
 Her birthday crowns with promise bright — 
 
 Oh may it wing its happy flight 
 
 In golden moments lightly by. 
 
 Nor may one cloudlet dim life's sky. 
 
 May every birthday as it flies 
 Unfold for her some glad surprise — 
 Some gift of joy that evermore 
 Will leave her happier than before ; 
 Whate'er for her God's love deems best. 
 With such good gifts may she be blest. 
 
 Friendship is poor that can but weave 
 Those few stray rhymes this happy eve — 
 This wreath of leaflets green for thee. 
 Plucked from a very lowly tree ; 
 And yet, perchance, the thought may last, 
 A Unk to bind thee to the past.
 
 42 GATBERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 A SECRET. 
 
 My heart is full of one sweet thought, around which 
 
 others throng 
 So fast, I fain would weave them in a little wreath 
 
 of song. 
 Such a tender, precious secret, was whispered in my 
 
 ear — 
 So low, so shy, and tremulous, as though the world 
 
 could hear. 
 I know a gentle maiden, that dwells beside the sea ; 
 She wears the spotless coronet, of truth and purity ; 
 Her life a chain of sunny hours, a hymn of joy her 
 
 heart ; 
 Such grace hath nature crowned her with, she owes no 
 
 charm to art. 
 Her name shines bright on every bud that blows in 
 
 woodland wild ; 
 'Tis written on the glowing heart of Summer^s first- 
 born child ; 
 It crowns the trees with blossoms white, 'tis nature's 
 
 holiday : 
 It wakes the sweetest melody on every flowering spray. 
 
 And now I know that for my friend a glad new joy 
 
 is born — 
 'Twill leave the old house by the sea a treasure less 
 
 one morn ; 
 And hers the happy secret is that fills my song to-day : 
 The crowning bliss of womanhood is hastening on 
 
 its way. 
 God keep the joy gift in her heart, the sunshine on 
 
 her face. 
 The pure bright loveliness, that shines all tenderness 
 
 and grace. 
 A fonder hope I may not breathe than that her home 
 
 may be, 
 Crowned with the wealth of happiness she knew 
 
 beside the sea.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 4^ 
 
 IN MEMORY OF 
 THE REV. MICHAEL BERNARD BUCKLEY, 
 
 WHOSE TOMB IN ST. JOSEPH'S CEMETERY BEARS THE 
 FOLLOWING EPITAPH : 
 
 " This Celtic Cross has been ere6ted by his fellow-citizens (lay and clerical) 
 over the remains and in memory of Rev. Michael Bernard Buckley, SS. 
 Peter and Paul's, Cork, in testimony of his rare eloquence in the cause of 
 religion, education, and chnrity, his devotion to the poor and afflicted, ardent 
 love of country, brilliant attainments in every de[)artment of knowledge, 
 endearing social qualities, and his surpassing worth as a Christian Priest. 
 Born, 9th March, 1831. Died, May 17th, 1872 -in the llth year of his 
 sacred ministry. Consumatus in brevi explevit tempora multa. — Sap. IV." 
 
 God reward you, Father Michael — 
 
 Scholar, poet, priest of God ; 
 Not a truer heart, or kinder. 
 
 Rests beneath St. Joseph's sod. 
 They who seek thy grave may know it 
 
 By the Celtic cross that keeps 
 Faithful watch — a fitting emblem 
 
 Where an Irish soggart sleeps. 
 Well you loved Faith's sacred symbol, — 
 
 You were Celtic to the core ; 
 By this gift of tender friendship 
 
 Your warm heart would set much store. 
 When Saint Mary's Sabbath greeting 
 
 O'er our city solemn swells, 
 We'll remember how you laboured 
 
 For the Cork Cathedral Bells. 
 
 God reward you. Father Michael ! 
 
 Cork was proud of you that day 
 When your name, with honours wreathed, 
 
 Came to us from far away ; 
 When our country's lays and stories. 
 
 In your own bright genius drest, 
 Woke the love of Erin warmer 
 
 In each faithful exile's breast.
 
 44 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 
 
 With the poet's vivid pictures. 
 
 With the scholar's powerful pen. 
 And the preacher's truth unerring. 
 
 Thou did'st charm the hearts of men. 
 Youth and maid who oft had wandered 
 
 Through our shamrock-covered dells 
 Freely brought their hard-won dollars 
 
 For the Cork Cathedral Bells. 
 
 Requiesce, Father Michael, 
 
 You were good, and true, and leal. 
 Blessed with brilliant gifts and talents 
 
 Modesty would fain conceal ; 
 Your's the wit that never wounded, 
 
 Your's the fellow-feeling sweet 
 That came near another's sorrow 
 
 With refinement exquisite. 
 Kequiescp, Father Michael ! 
 
 Purer than the soft May dew 
 Shining on the grass above you. 
 
 Was the soul we loved in you. 
 While the bells ring out your story 
 
 Green and dear your memory dwells 
 In the hearts that beat responsive 
 
 To the Cork Cathedral Bells. 
 
 KING CHRISTMAS. 
 
 There's not a monarch in the land 
 
 Such pleasant homage can command ; 
 
 Where'er his snowy footsteps fall. 
 
 Gladness he brings, and peace to all : 
 
 The children clap their hands with glee. 
 
 When his silvery hair they see; 
 
 The aged greet him as a friend. 
 
 For thoughts of him with youth's thoughts blend.
 
 GATHERED LEAFLETS. 45 
 
 Oh, Christmas chimes — dear Christmas chimes! 
 
 Ring out the memory of old times j — 
 
 Each friendly voice, each loving heart, 
 
 Now of the buried past a part. 
 
 Ring out from Bethlehem a grace 
 
 To sanctify each vacant place ; 
 
 An echo from the starry spheres, 
 
 Where loved ones dwell, to dry our tears. 
 
 SONNET TO SAINT AGNES. 
 
 With modest courage, eyes undimmed by tears, 
 She stood before tlie tyrant in his might ; 
 Her martyred -soul prepared for that high flight 
 
 Which soars above all earthly craven fears ; 
 
 A fair child crowned with thirteen golden years, 
 Her rapt gaze fixed as on the vision bright 
 Of her Lovers glory breaking on her sight ; 
 
 She heeded not the soldiers savage jeers ; 
 
 She heard the Bridegroom's mystic whispering. 
 So sad, so sweet, as if from Calvary's height ; 
 
 And Calvary's shadow touched her soul's bright wings, 
 
 And in her virgin wreath she longed to twine 
 The crimson passion flower with lilies white. 
 
 And shining roses for her Spouse Divine.
 
 EXTRACTS FROM THE PRESS. 
 
 EXTRACTS. 
 
 Cork Daily Herald^ January 31st, 1885. — This little collection of poems is 
 the work of an inmate of the Cork Blind Asylum, who, deprived of heaven's 
 greatest gift, has devoted her hours of darkness to the improvement of those 
 intellectual qualities with which she is more than ordinarily gifted. The poems 
 are all short, and include a few ballads of much pathos and nicely developed 
 thought. All bear the tender impress of a susceptible and sensitive nature, 
 and a tone of exquisite sadness is imparted to some, which will deeply impress 
 a sympathetic reader. " Called Away " is a very fair specimen of this class. 
 " Little Willie," " One by One," and " May in the City," are also admirable 
 little poems. Perhaps one of the most pleasing in the section is a ballad 
 " Back to well beloved Ireland," in which the prayer of the Irishman, grown 
 old in exile, is expressed, that he may again revisit, to die on its shores, 
 the land of his fathers : — 
 
 " Take me back to fettered Ireland, 
 
 For 'tis from her virgin sod. 
 That my soul would wind in freedom, 
 
 To the realms of her God." 
 
 In the poem " Father Mathew," the poetess has shown that she possesses 
 much skill as a panegyrist in verse, and her addition to the lays sung to the 
 memory ot the Apostle of Temperance will not shine with uncertainty beside 
 the many brilliant odes penned with the same object. The other poems are 
 also very striking, and will be read with an extreme sense of pleasure. We 
 hope to see the little book, with its admirable contents, widely circulated. The 
 work can be obtained from the authoress at the Asylum for the Blind, or 
 from the publishers. 
 
 The Irish Monthly, for February, 1885, says : — The second new volume 
 of poems is "Gathered Leaflets," by Helena Callanan, townswoman, but we 
 believe not a relative of the author of " Gougane Barra." It is published by 
 Purcell & Co., of Cork, and bears the municipal arms of Cork on the cover. 
 We hope it was printed also at Cork, for it is very well printed. Miss 
 Callanan is the Frances Brown of the South. This title will probably convey 
 no meaning to most of our readers, for whatever reputation the Blind Poetess 
 ot Donegal once possessed, seems to have faded out. In the few words of 
 prose with which the Cork Poetess begins her volume, she makes no allusion 
 to the pathetic circumstance to which we have ventured to refer, except by
 
 dating the dedication from the Cork Asylum for the Blind, and there is nothing 
 but brightness, and cheerfulness, and sweet music in the thirty-three poems 
 which she has gathered into this dainty little volume. The personal feeling 
 that runs through many of them, will make them more pleasing even to 
 strangers. One of the most graceful of those is "Her First Rose," and our 
 other favourites are "Summer," "Life and Death,'- "May in the City," 
 "An American Letter," " The Shamrock in Florence," (very original metre), 
 and " The Gift of Kindness," though there is a hitch in the second line. 
 
 The Freeman^ s Journal^ February 13th. — "Gathered Leaflets," by Helena 
 Callanan, Publishers : Purcell & Co., Cork. The poems of a Cork woman, 
 printed and published in Cork, have, doubtless, created a wild sensation in 
 some circles in the beautiful city. But Miss Helena Callanan's " Gathered 
 Leaflets " have more than a local interest. The dedication to the memory of 
 Mr. Richard Dowden (Richard), is dated from the Cork Asylum for the 
 Blind, and this is the only allusion to a privation which adds much to the 
 pathetic interest of this volume. The volume itself is full of brightness, and 
 sunshine, and colour, and you would never suspect that the author was l^lind 
 from early childhood, and had none of the most ordinary faculties for acquiring 
 literary culture. Most of these poems, however, require none of the excuses 
 suggested by these circumstances. They are full of taste and melody, and a 
 cheerful tenderness. The amiable personalities that pervades some of them 
 will be a peculiar charm for some readers, while by no means unpleasing to 
 the general public. The friends of the poetess have done well in gathering 
 thus together her scattered " leaflets." 
 
 Cork Examiner, January 24th, 1885. — " Gathered Leaflets," by Helena 
 Callanan. Publishers : Purcell & Co. A large part of the interest attachable 
 to this little book lies in the fact that its contents are the work of a blind girl, 
 an inmate of the Asylum in this city. If it be melancholy to think that so 
 much real ability has to suffer from the terrible privation of sight, it is, on the 
 other hand, gratifying to recognise the amelioration of her lot which 
 must be afforded by the capacity to think out and perfect compositions 
 like these. Independently of any extraneous consideration the poems are'of 
 merit — indeed their excellence is attested by the fact that many of them 
 appeared in such a high class publication as the Irish Monthly. The versifi- 
 cation is good, the thoughts elevated and pure, and the expression often very 
 felicitous. She is an enthusiastic votary of temperance, and does not weary in 
 her praise of the glorious memory of Father Mathew. To that of the late 
 Richard Dowden (Richard) also she is ardently attached, and to it her little 
 book is affectionately dedicated. We must add;that the book has been most 
 creditably brought out by the publishers. 
 
 Justin McCarthy, Esq., says : — " I have read all the poems, and with 
 the sincerest pleasure. They have the true and tender voice of genuine poetry in 
 them. The author has a marvellous perception of what is beautiful in nature — 
 a kind of instinct or second sight. She sees, as Macaulay says of Milton, 
 ' wTth that inner eye which no calamity can darken.' And" then the poems 
 have for me the unspeakable charm of being so thoroughly Irish in feeling and 
 spirit. I hear the ripple of the Lee as I read them, and the chime of the^bells 
 of Shandon, and feel home sick ! Pray tell her how sincerely I admire and 
 enjoy her poems, and how much I am obliged to her for kindly thinking of 
 sending the green-bound volume to me."
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 Rl?tj r 
 
 MAR 3 1988 
 
 Form L9-507n-7.'54 (5990)444 
 
 THE LIBRARY 
 UNIVERSITY OF CAITFORNM 
 
 LOS /JsGETjm
 
 II 
 
 PS. 
 
 CalLinan - 
 
 I4O9 Gathered leaflets 
 I3g 
 
 1385 
 
 3 ..,™,,,.-,f 1^ 
 
 PR 
 
 kh09 
 Cl3g 
 1885