Tola Mahone Poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan

It was when my hand was galvanic,

In the days that had wings and have flown,
That its touch would send the swift panic

Through the heart of lola Mahone ;
Through the heart of lola the stately,

The shy-like lola Mahone
Whom they buried in secret quite lately,

And this is her monument stone :

That when the long winter was over

I 'd wander away all alone,
And sit on the banks of white clover,

Awaiting lola Mahone.
And she down the lake-loving river

Would float in her birchen canoe,
To win the bright bouquet I 'd give her,

Of violets scented and blue.

And never a day would I miss her,

And she would never miss me
I 'd take up my love and I 'd kiss her

My wife that was never to be !
Never, oh never! oh never!

My wife, my comrade to be ;
And I am a wanderer forever,

But lola the stately is free.

No more on the winding Umguliss,
That rolls to the innermost sea,


All hatless, barehanded and shoeless,
Will Tola come floating to me.

And I had no power to save her,
And she had no power to stay ;

God took the sweet soul that He gave her,
And now my lola 's away.

But she gave me a tress that is golden,

And left me a smile and a tear
Ah ! no man has ever beholden

Gifts half so precious and dear.
Gifts from lola the splendid :

Gifts from lola the dead
But the days of our loving are ended,

And low lies the tress-covered head !
The head of lola the stately,

My darling lola Mahone
Whom they buried in secret quite lately,

And this is her monument stone.