Can such things be? : a story of a white slave . ow? No. I have never sung a note, since I left home. Ihardly think I could sing now. Suppose you try, if its not too late. It is never late here, Matt, but Im afraid to try. Iknow Id fail. Come, darling, sing me one of your old songs. Youremember the old Irish song your father and all of us likedso well? I dont remember which one you mean. It was one of Moores; it was—let me see—it com-mences something like this, Silent, oh Moyle,— Yes, now I know the one you mean. Let me see, per-haps I have forgotten it. She hummed to herself for afew moments,
Can such things be? : a story of a white slave . ow? No. I have never sung a note, since I left home. Ihardly think I could sing now. Suppose you try, if its not too late. It is never late here, Matt, but Im afraid to try. Iknow Id fail. Come, darling, sing me one of your old songs. Youremember the old Irish song your father and all of us likedso well? I dont remember which one you mean. It was one of Moores; it was—let me see—it com-mences something like this, Silent, oh Moyle,— Yes, now I know the one you mean. Let me see, per-haps I have forgotten it. She hummed to herself for afew moments, and then rising said, I will sing for , cleared her throat and began: THE SONG OF FIONNUALA. Silent, oh Moyle, be the roar of thy water. Break not, ye breezes, your chain of , murmuring mournfully, Lirs lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of shall the swan, her death-note singing, Sleep, with wings in darkness furld?When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit from this stormy world?. The Swan Song THE STORY 179 Sadly, oh Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping, Fate bids me languish long ages away;Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping Still doth the pure light its dawning will that day-star, mildly springing, Warm our isle with peace and love?When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing, Call my spirit to the fields above? It would seem as if she was inspired. Her voice rangout loud, clear and melodious; her heart and soul seemed inthe song, and her effort to please. There was a commotion down on the first floor. Foot-steps could be heard stealthily climbing the stairs so as toget nearer without disturbing the singer. At the conclu-sion of the song there was loud clapping, with some huskyvoices shouting, Bravo! Bravo! Give us another. Martha Hill sat down, and, resting her head upon herhands, wept bitterly. Those who had climbed the stairs,awed and impressed by the spark of kindly feeling stillleft in th
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Keywords: ., bookauthorlawrence, bookcentury1900, bookdecade1910, bookyear1915
