so kind?

I not to know. It is hard to pray,
But I shall for this woman from day to day,
"Comfort my dead,
The sport of the winds and the play of the sea."
I loved thee too well for this thing to be,
O dear black head!

BANAGHER RHUE

Banagher Rhue of Donegal,
(Holy Mary, how slow the dawn!)
This is the hour of your loss or gain:
_Is go d-tigheadh do_, _mhuirnin slan_! {21}

Banagher Rhue, but the hour was ill
(O Mary Mother, how high the price!)
When you swore you'd game with Death himself;
Aye, and win with the devil's dice.

Banagher Rhue, you must play with Death,
(Mary, watch with him till the light!)
Through the dark hours, for the words you said,
All this strange and noisy night.

Banagher Rhue, you are pale and cold;
(How the demons laugh through the air!)
The anguish beads on your frowning brow;
Mary set on your lips a prayer!

Banagher Rhue, you have won the toss:
(Mother, pray for his soul's release!)
Shuffle and deal ere the black cock crows,
That your spirit may find its peace.

Banagher Rhue, you have played a king;
(How strange a light on your fingers fall!)
A voice, "I was cold, and he sheltered me . . . "
The trick is gained, but your chance is small.

Banagher Rhue, now an ace is yours;
(Mother Mary, the night is long!)
"I was a sin that he hurried aside . . ."
O for the dawn and the blackbird's song!

Banagher Rhue, now a ten of suit;
(Mother Mary, what hot winds blow!)
"Nine little lives hath he saved in his path . . . "
And the black cock that does not crow.

Banagher Rhue, you have played a knave;
(O what strange gates on their hinges groan!)
"I was a friend who had wrought him ill;
When I had fallen he cast no stone . . . "

Banagher Rhue, now a queen has won!
(The black cock crows with the flash of dawn.)
And she is the woman who prays for you:
"_Is go d-tigheadh do_, _mhuirnin slan_!"

THE FAIR LITTLE MAIDEN

"There is one at the door, Wolfe O'Driscoll,
At the door, who is bidding you come!"
"Who is he that wakes me in the darkness,
Calling when all the world's dumb?"

"Six horses has he to his carriage,
Six horses blacker than the night,
And their twelve red eyes in the shadows
Twelve lamps he carries for his light;

"And his coach is a coffin black and mo