Helen Blackwood, Baroness Dufferin and Claneboye

British songwriter, composer, poet and author

Helen Blackwood, Baroness Dufferin and Claneboye, later Helen Selina Hay, Countess of Gifford, born Helen Selina Sheridan, (1807 – 13 June 1867), was a British song-writer, poet, and author. As well as being admired for her wit and literary talents, she was a fashionable beauty and a well-known figure in London society of the mid-19th century.

The corn was springing fresh and green,
And the lark sang loud and high,
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.

Quotes edit

Songs, Poems, & Verses (1894) edit

London: John Murray, 1894

  • I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
    Where we sat side by side,
    That bright May morning 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,
    The love-light in your eye.
    • "The Irish Emigrant" (c. 1860), line 1; p. 105.
  • I'm very lonely now, Mary,—
    The poor make no new friends;—
    But, oh! they love the better still
    The few our Father sends
    • "The Irish Emigrant", line 25; p. 106.
  • I'm bidding you a long farewell,
    My Mary—kind and true!
    But I'll not forget you, darling,
    In the land I'm going to.
    They say there's bread and work for all,
    And the sun shines always there;
    But I'll not forget old Ireland,
    Were it fifty times as fair.
    • "The Irish Emigrant", line 49; pp. 107–108.
  • Oh, Bay of Dublin! How my heart you're troublin',
    Your beauty haunts me like a fever dream;
    Like frozen fountains, that the sun sets bubblin'
    My heart's blood warms when I but hear your name.
    • "The Bay of Dublin", line 1; p. 124.
  • Thou mourner for departed dreams!
    On earth there is no rest
    When grief hath troubled the pure streams
    Of memory in thy breast!
    • "Disenchanted!", line 41; p. 139.
  • Rest now—and weep—thou praised of Earth!
    And own, when all is done,
    A world's false worship is not worth
    The deep tried love of one.
    • "Fame", line 25; p. 141.
  • It has thine own dear playful look—
    Thy smile! thy sun-bright hair!
    Thy brow—so like a holy book
    With sweet thoughts written there!
    The full, soft lids, half-raised above
    Those blue and dreamy eyes,
    Within whose gaze of trusting love
    No fear—no falsehood lies!
    Like lonely lakes of Heaven's pure rain
    Reflecting only Heaven again.
    • "On My Child's Picture", line 11; pp. 154–155.

External links edit