Classic Poem

The cottage is here, as of old I remember;
The pathway is worn, as it ever hath been:
On the turf-piled hearth there still lives a bright ember;
But,—where is Maureen?

The same pleasant prospect still shineth before me,—
The river—the mountain—the valley of green,
And Heaven itself (a bright blessing!) is o'er me!
But,—where is Maureen?

Lost! Lost!—Like a dream that hath come and departed,
(Ah, why are the loved and lost ever seen?)
She hath fallen,—hath flown, with a lover false-hearted;
So, mourn for Maureen!

And She, who so loved her, is slain (the poor mother,)
Struck dead in a day, by a shadow unseen!
And the home we now loved, is the home of another,
And—lost is Maureen!

Sweet Shannon! a moment by thee let me ponder;
A moment look back at the things that have been;
Then, away to the world where the ruined ones wander,
To seek for Maureen!