VII

An' afther her paärints had inter'd glory, an' both in wan day,

She began to spake to herself, the crathur, an whishper, an' say

'Tomorra, Tomorra!' an' Father Molowny he tuk her in han',

'Molly, you're manin',' he says, 'me dear, av I undherstan',

That ye'll meet your paärints agin an' yer Danny O'Roon afore God

Wid his blessed Marthyrs an' Saints;' an' she gev him a frindly nod,

'Tomorra, Tomorra,' she says, an' she didn't intind to desave,

But her wits wor dead, an' her hair was as white as the snow an a grave.