“Love’s Despair.” This touching poem was written by a young farmer of Cork who, near the time of his marriage, had gone into the city to buy the wedding-dress for his betrothed. On his way back he heard that she had been married to another man. In despair he flung his presents into the fire. His reason gave way, and he roamed the country henceforth, ever singing the cruelty of Mary and his own misfortunes. His story was well known in Co. Waterford, where he lived a great part of his life. Original in Gaelic Journal, vol. iii., 1887, p. 22.
The literal translation of the second stanza runs as follows:—
“No one knows my case, or how I may find life,
But only the woman who has made me ill;
My cure is not on sea or shore, nor in herb or skill of hand,
My cure is only in the Flower of Youth.
I know not hen from cuckoo, I know not heat from cold,
At no time do I know my friends;
I know not night from day,—but my heart would know its love,
Should she come in time to save me.”