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."