Dunolly's Daughter.

Oh, dear to old Dunolly's heart     His darling daughter seemed,     Yet when she fled, how pitiless     His bitter curse was deemed.     To death he doomed her lover true,     And swore his lowly blood     Should stain the land, whose soil would blush     At wanton womanhood.     But leaves were thick, and woods were green,     Where summer saw their love,     And none could tell Dunolly where     Was nesting his wild dove.     Two years had sped, and all unchanged     Dunolly's mood remained;     When tired with hunting, late at eve     A forest hut he gained.     A cheerful scene! for hung on trees     On either side the door     A stag and roe, and salmon there     Lay strewn the hut before.     There pausing silently he heard     Light laughter, O well known;     And, looking through the wattled wall     Stood motionless as stone.     He saw a happy woman lie     Her true man's form beside;     And laugh as on the bed they tossed     A smiling child in pride.     No word Dunolly spoke, but went,     An altered man, and said;     "Go bring them home, for rich are they,     Love shows them nobly wed."