There  were  who  mourned  their  youth

With  a  most  loving  ruth,
For  its  brave  hopes  and  memories  ever  green;

And  one  upon  the  West

Turned  an  eye  that  would  not  rest
For  far-off  hills  whereon  its  joy  had  been.
Some  talked  of  vanished  gold,

Some  of  proud  honours  told,
Some  spake  of  friends  that  were  their  trust  no  more;

And  one  of  a  green  grave

Beside  a  foreign  wave,
That  made  him  sit  so  lonely  on  the  shore.
1  E.  E.  Welsh,  Man  to  Man,  221.
