The tears coursed fast upon his pale cheeks, and his voice grew almost
inaudible, as rocking to and fro, for some time he seemed in a very stupor
of grief; when at last, in a faint, subdued tone, he broke into one of
those sad and plaintive airs of his country, which only need the moment of
depression to make them wring the very heart in agony.

His song was that to which Moore has appended the beautiful lines, "Come
rest on this bosom." The following imperfect translation may serve to
convey some impression of the words, which in Mike's version were Irish:--

"The day was declining,
The dark night drew near,
And the old lord grew sadder
And paler with fear:
'Come listen, my daughter,
Come nearer, oh, near!
Is't the wind or the water
That sighs in my ear?'

"Not the wind nor the water
Now stirred the night air,
But a warning far sadder,--.
The Banshee was there!
Now rising, now swelling,
On the night wind it bore
One cadence, still telling,
'I want thee, Rossmore!'

"And then fast came his breath,
And more fixed grew his eye;