THE WIND OF MOURNE

By Clinton Scollard

The wind of Mourne comes over the hill,

Over the hill with a trill of song,

And the word of the wind sets my heart athrill,—

“Though life is brief, yet love is long!”

I seek my sweet where the roses stir,

And the stars overhead are a marching throng,

And this is the tale that I tell to her,—

“Though life is brief, yet love is long!”