ballads, by virtue of their simplicity and truth, have lived and will continue to live for generations yet unborn. For "song passeth not away." Such ballads go straight to the heart, not only of the Irish people, but of humanity at large. There are no high-flown metaphors, they tell of homely joys and sorrows, "simple annals of the poor." Take, for example, the first verses of The Lament of the Irish Emigrant—
I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat, side by side,
On a bright May mornin' long ago.
When first you were my bride.
The corn was springing, fresh and green.
The lark sang loud and high.
The red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.
··········But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
Your breath warm on my cheek,
And I still keep listening for the words
You never more may speak.
In Katey's Letter all is joyousness and fun—fun that seems bubbling over from a full heart.
