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Dinah Shadd ran out wid water, an' Judy dhragged the ould woman into the verandah till she sat up. "I'm old an' forlore," she sez, thremblin' an' cryin', "and 'tis like I say a dale more than I mane." "When you're able to walk, go," says ould Mother Shadd. "This house has no place for the likes av you that have cursed my daughter." "Eyah!" said the ould woman.
"Longsome is Absence; Care and Fear are sore, * And ceaseless tears, O friend, mine eyes outpour: Yea, I farewelled my heart on parting day * And heartless, hopeless, now I bide forlore: Pause, O my friend, with me farewelling one * Whose words my cure can work, my health restore!"
Though all you have done I have well deserved, * I take refuge with you, so exult not o'er me: True, I am weak and low and vile, * But I'll bear your will and whatso you bore me: My death at your hands what brings it of glory? * I fear but your sin which of life forlore me!" Quoth the Caliph, "By Allah, good! O Ja'afar, never in my life have I heard a voice so enchanting as this."
His life here, where according to the terms of his grant he must reside as an English settler, he regarded as lonely exile: My luckless lot, That banished had myself, like wight forlore, Into that waste, where I was quite forgot. It is interesting to note here a gentle poet's view of the "unhappy island."
Dinah Shadd ran out wid water, an' Judy dhragged the ould woman into the veranda till she sat up. "'I'm old an' forlore, she sez, thremblin' an' cryin', 'and 'tis like I say a dale more than I mane. "'When you're able to walk, go, says ould Mother Shadd. 'This house has no place for the likes av you that have cursed my daughter. "'Eyah! said the ould woman.
"His song was all a lamentable lay, Of great unkindness, and of usage hard, Of Cynthia, the Lady of the Sea, That from her presence faultless him debarred. . . . . . . . When thus our pipes we both had wearied well, And each an end of singing made, He gan to cast great liking to my lore, And great disliking to my luckless lot, That banished had myself, like wight forlore, Into that waste, where I was quite forgot: The which to leave henceforth he counselled me, Unmeet for man in whom was ought regardful, And wend with him his Cynthia to see, Whose grace was great, and bounty most rewardful. . . . . . . . So what with hope of good, and hate of ill He me persuaded forth with him to fare."
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