This poem for recitation brings a theme we have seen before in this short series on poems for recitation, grief, loss and children. Described in one paper as a 'pathetic piece' for the pathos it draws from the audience.
It is a series of rhyming couplets, I am unsure if I have managed to add the verse breaks in the correct spaces. For my mind the first verse seems to long but it is consistent with what I saw in three of the papers in which it was published.
I cannot find any other poetic work by the Gilhooley. The poem was published in at least twelve newspapers in the period July 1885 to January 1886. There are many notes in the papers after this time noting that it was performed publicly. Some of these as concert pieces and others as competition entries. My image to accompany this post are the remarks on one of the performances as reported for a Lyric Competition in the Bendigo Independent, 26 Nov 1913.
When Will Mammy Come?
A Poem for recitation.
By Gilhooley
Twas just at evening at the office, that they came to me, and said,
With kindly words, the news to soften, that my darling wife was dead!
She I'd left that very morning, with the love light in her eye,
Who'd kissed me e'er the garden gate, and waved her hand, to say, "Good-bye!"
Within that lately happy home now cold and silent rested there!
Oh, God! It seemed a horrid dream! A dream too cruel, too hard to bear!
I staggered when the news was brought, and felt as struck by poison'd dart;
A desert drear my life appeared; a piece of stone my broken heart.
And then I thought upon our child, and choked despair for his dear sake;
And went up to my dreary home, while swelled my heart as if 'twould break.
Along the pathway from the house two little feet came toddling down;
And little Willie cried "Oh, Daddy! I's so glad 'on's come from town,
For I cannot find my Mammy!" I kissed the child, but stood, as dumb;
Whilst the tiny lad persisted, "Daddy, when will Mammy come!"
It sear'd my soul to hear him question, and my heart's wound freshly bled;
I cuddled baby close to me, kissed his face, and falt'ring said,
"When will Mammy come? my boy; she cannot come: poor Mammy's dead!"
"Dead! " cried Willy; "Mammy dead!" My heart was dead; I could not speak;
While sobbing loud, " I want my Mammy!" little baby fell asleep.
Into the house I gently bore him; into the room where the body lay;
And stood beside the still white figure, whose soul that morn had flown away.
And as I gazed upon the features, lately filled with joy and life,
Gazed upon this fearsome thing!—That morning mother, friend and wife!
God! I felt I should go crazy with my overpow'ring doom;
If I any longer tarried in that horror—haunted room!
On the morrow, little Willie sought his mother high and low,
And outside the door of death the little boy was seen to go;
Striving hard to turn the handle; crying out amid the din,
"Mammy! Mammy! I is Willie! Won't 'ou come an' let me in?"
And when the funeral was over, oft' within our silent home,
Nestling in my arms, he'd ask me, "Daddy, when will Mammy come?"
And when a few short months were over baby lay with fever ill,
And his merry feet and prattle—All the world to me!—were still.
And one evening in the Autumn, when the sun was sinking fast,
The doctor called me from my study, and said, " this night is baby's last!"
I hastened to the little chamber; there he lay upon his bed,
His little hands so thin and wasted, while the curls from his dear head
Straggled o'er a pale wee face, where the hectic flush was plain;
And his breath was hot and laboured, while throbb'd fast the fever'd brain:
God! To think of that sad picture; mark the minutes quickly go,
Taking from you the last sunshine, filling up your cup of woe,—
This to feel! Oh! none but fathers—none but mothers o'er can know!
"Daddy," said the little fellow, as if he saw a vision fair,
"Mammy's coming, I can see her; and I's going back with her;
And from my neck his hands were loosed, as his lips grew cold and numb;
"Good-bye Daddy, I's going,—going, Daddy: Mammy's come!"
This is all my little story,—tale of long and far away;
But these words are even with me, even at this distant day.
Again I the blue eyes beaming, and the hair like golden foam;
And my soul cries out, with prayer unceasing, "When to me, will Mammy come."
Sources:
When Will Mammy Come? (1885, June 19). The North Eastern Ensign (Benalla, Vic. : 1872 - 1938), p. 2 (SUPPLEMENT TO The North Eastern Ensign.). Retrieved March 28, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article70807065
AFTERNOON SESSION. (1913, November 26). The Bendigo Independent (Vic. : 1891 - 1918), p. 7. Retrieved April 10, 2023, from http://nla.gov.au/nla.news-article226790033
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