"
Then the silence was great, and the jury smiled bright,
An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light;
By my sowl, it's himself was a crabbed ould chap!
In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap.
Then Shamus' mother in the crowd standin' by,
Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry:
"O, judge! darlin', don't, O, O, don't say the word!
The crathur is young, O, have mercy, my lord;
He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin';--
You don't know him, my lord--don't give him to ruin!--
He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted;--
Don't part us for ever, that's been so long parted.
Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord,
An' God will forgive you--O, don't say the word!"
That was the first minute O'Brien was shaken,
When he saw he was not quite forgot or forsaken;
An' down his pale cheeks, at the word of his mother,
The big tears kem runnin' one afther th' other;
An' two or three times he endeavoured to spake,
But the sthrong manly voice seem'd to falther and break;
But at last, by the strength of his high-mounting pride,
He conquered and masthered his griefs swelling tide,
"An'," says he, "mother, darlin', don't break your poor heart
For, sooner or later, the dearest _must_ part;
And God knows it's betther than wandering in fear
On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer,
To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast
From labour, and sorrow, for ever shall rest.
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