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THE 
 
 ROSE OF ROSTREYOR 
 
 (AN EPISODE OF THE BOYNE WATER), 
 
 A POEM, 
 
 ROBERT MOHTGOMEBIE, A.M., T.C.D. 
 
 DUBLIN: 
 
 HODGES, SMITH, AND CO., GRAFTON-STREET, 
 r8 to fbr ihufrefj&g. 
 
 1856. 
 
To 
 
 IN ray less solitude this tale was penned, 
 With weary heartache ever in my side, 
 A twelvemonth since, 'mid mental cloud and mist ; 
 And if my inspiration be but poor, 
 Such the sad cause. But now the sparkling gem, 
 Which I had lost and mourned for ten long years, 
 I've found again its pristine ray undimmed 
 . Perchance, some sunny day, my soul may swell 
 With loftier thought, and weave a happier song. 
 
 R. M. 
 
 May 1st, 1856. 
 
 040 
 
GEACE MONTGOMERIE, called the Rose of Ros- 
 trevor, was only daughter of Sir Robert Montgomerie, 
 a member of the ancient family of the Montgomeries of 
 Ayreshire, the head of a branch of which is the Earl 
 of Eglinton. 
 
 Sir Robert? s father had left Scotland about fifty 
 years previous to the date of the following scenes, and 
 had purchased a tract of mountain land near the ro- 
 mantic spot where the village of Rostrevor, in the 
 county of Down, now nestles, as it were, in a sunny 
 scaur of the Mourne Mountains, at the head of a little 
 cove or inlet of Carlingford Bay. 
 
 Fort Montgomerie towered high on the hill side 
 above the cliff, where the picturesque modern villa, 
 called Woodhovise, has been erected. Remains of the 
 ruins of the Fort are still to be seen, buried in trees 
 and overgrown with ground-ivy and brambles. Some 
 flowers and shrubs, " gone wild," mark the site of the 
 
 Only a week or two previous to the opening scene 
 (mhich was the last day but one of June 3690), Grace 
 Montgomerie had been married to Sir Ronald Marma- 
 
IV 
 
 duke St. John, of LoughbricJcland, when her honey- 
 moon was ruthlessly interrupted by summonses to her 
 father and her young husband to hasten, with their 
 regiments of Protestant Volunteers, to join William 
 of Orange, who had just landed at CarricJcfergus, on 
 the \kth of the month. 
 
 After reporting himself at head quarters, Ronald 
 had got leave to precede the army, now on march 
 towards Dublin, and had written to his bride (who had 
 been left at Fort Montgomerie, with a guard of thirty 
 armed Volunteers of Rostrevor), to apprize her that 
 she might hourly expect him in his yacht, which he 
 had chosen as the safest and speediest mode of travel, 
 having, most of the way, the protection of William's 
 fleet, which was coasting along parallel to the route of 
 the troops. He was godson of Sir MarmaduJce Whit- 
 church, and grand nephew to Sir Oliver St. John, the 
 founder of Tanderagee, the fine castle of which charm- 
 ing village had been rased in the Rebellion. 0/ 
 
THE ROSE OF ROSTREVOR. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 i. 
 
 HAST ever trod by the grey sea cliff, 
 
 And marked the track of the fisher's skiff, 
 
 As it glides in the haze of summer noon 
 
 O'er the sparkling waters of odorous June ? 
 
 Around thee the breath of the perfumed breeze, 
 
 Above thee the arms of antique trees ; 
 
 Thy soul all filled with a genial glee, 
 
 And thy bosom with godlike charity : 
 
 With kindly feelings towards man and brute, 
 
 Spake thy heart not aloud, though thy tongue were 
 
 mute ; 
 
 Did a cankering thought of grief or care 
 Hover around to distract thee there ? 
 Toss it off didst thou not ? to the winds so free, 
 While they sped it on to the pranksome sea, 
 'Till, like nettle-down, it was sunken and drowned 
 In the greenest well of that sea's profound. 
 Yea ! the breeze of the ocean will soften the pain 
 Of bursting heart or of burning brain, 
 
 B 
 
% THE ROSE 
 
 And the din of the mountain waterfall 
 Disperse the dun care-clouds that enthral 
 And oppress the soul like a funeral pall. 
 
 n. 
 
 Eose of Rostrevor, what distress is thine ? 
 Why glancest thou so earnest o'er the brine 
 Of that fair bay, whose wavelets wash thy feet, 
 Hard bye the shore of yon calm cove's retreat ? 
 Eriwrapt thou art, unconscious of the spray 
 And misty drops that stain thy kirtle gay : 
 Doubt thou wilt not thy lover's bark doth ride 
 Birdlike and buoyant on such placid tide : 
 " And yet he should have come by yester night " 
 Breaks sadly from thee in thy own despite ; 
 " Yet no I will not fear." O'er the blue plane 
 Of glittering waters she again doth strain 
 With eager eye, yet gentle as the fawn's, 
 Seen through the ferns in the forest lawns ; 
 Full of high thought, yet feminine and true, 
 As 'twould be kind to all, yet fond to few. 
 
 in. 
 
 A speck a gleam nay, 'tis a snowy sail, 
 Out to receive the dreamy summer gale ; 
 Ear in the distant fiord scarce glides it on, 
 Hard bye the rock-built Castle of King John. 
 Slowly it labours o'er the brimming tide ; 
 Bears it the longed-for of Rostrevor' s bride ? 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. o 
 
 With lazy roll the shifting yard-arm dips, 
 
 " 'Tis he 'tis he I" bursts from her quivering lips ; 
 
 "'Tis Eonald: thank God: why should I have 
 
 fear?" 
 
 Prom off her cheek she brushed the starting tear, 
 For spite of all cold Season's voice could say, 
 Hope in her anxious bosom fluttering lay, 
 Like the young cushat"*, cowering in the nest, 
 Which for the kite's beak takes its mother's breast. 
 Sooth ! there is not in all this world's wide fold 
 A sight more brave yet piteous to behold, 
 Than a fair girl, fate-fallen on blood-stained times, 
 In midst of war and all its thousand crimes, 
 Struggling to bear up with a gallant role, 
 And in man's spirit steep her tender soul. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Ah ! Eonald Eonald." He leaps to the shore ; 
 She murmurs " Thou shalt never leave me more." 
 Kissing her lips, her eyes ; pressed to his heart, 
 He whispers that he never would again depart 
 Until she bade him. Ah ! full well he knew 
 If she was gentle, she was brave and true ; 
 Who, when her country called, would say " away !" 
 For her's the race that brook no brutal sway. 
 
 "What news, dear Eonald; do our friends succeed; 
 " Shall we have succour in our hour of need ?" 
 
 * Wood-pigeon. 
 
4 THE ROSE 
 
 ' ' Yes, love, .we will : our brave deliverer comes : 
 " Ere night I deem we'll hear his vanguard drums : 
 ' Two weeks ago, he leaped on Irish land 
 * ' And joined the Duke* at Carrickfergus strand ; 
 " Now by our lake, far-famed for speckled trouts, 
 " The summer breeze his waving banner flouts, 
 " And doubtless, ere to-morrow's splendour shines, 
 " He'll circle Newry with his foremost lines : 
 " Thy Sire is on his staff; and at his side 
 " Is oft consulted as a friend and guide : 
 " He sends by me his dearest love, and hopes 
 " Thou venturest not beyond the ballium slopes ; 
 " For Rapparees and prowlers haunt the wild, 
 ' ' Whose war is aye on woman, age or child ; 
 " The foe lies near, we've heard, in strong array, 
 " Headed by James, and will dispute the way ; 
 " "Tis our best hope he will : God grant he may." 
 
 " And think' st thou, Eonald, we shall see again 
 
 1 ' Our country freed from these inhuman men ; 
 
 " Shall this fair spot once more with peace be blessed, 
 
 ' ' Its scattered doves returning to their nest ; 
 
 " And our dear friends and brotherhood be free 
 
 " To live in peace, good will and liberty ?" 
 
 t 
 
 " Yes, dearest Grace, I feel that God is just, 
 
 " And fails not those in the end who fearless trust : 
 
 Schomberg. 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 
 
 " His justice may seem backward for a while ; 
 
 " Nay, on bad men He may appear to smile ; 
 
 " But soon or late His wrath will take the knaves ; 
 
 " Few such escape to fill untimely graves. 
 
 " And so blind James comes feebly on his fate, 
 
 ' ' ( Hotly pursued by England's honest hate ;' 
 
 " The Eapparee is now the noblest thing 
 
 " To which in his extremity doth cling 
 
 " The royal Stewart, who was old England's King !" 
 
 " Ah ! Eonald, war's a fearful thing to view 
 " For woman weak like me; but as for you, 
 " I fear it gives you but a fierce, wild joy, 
 " Wherein you hug your sword as 'twere a toy ; 
 " Forgetful of all softer, gentler things, 
 " As of the misery that a conflict brings 
 To Victors and to Vanquished. Proud though the 
 
 " May be, the next day shows a grievous sight.'' 
 
 ' e My sweetest girl, I know thy priceless love ; 
 
 " I feel it, dear, and value it above 
 
 " All things this earth can give ; but well I know 
 
 " Thou would' st not have me this grand game forego ; 
 
 " Nor bid me stand quiescent and discreet 
 
 " Aside, when friends rush by, the foe to meet. 
 
 <' Our strength is doubled by a glorious cause, 
 
 " 'Tis that of Freedom and of Freedom's laws ; 
 
 " Of all, in truth, that severs Good from 111 
 
 " Free thought free speech, free worship, and free will 
 
6 THE ROSE 
 
 " Besides, 'tis not our act ; for noblest men, 
 " Though advocates for peace and ease, yet when 
 " Some Tyrant or Barbarian comes with hordes 
 " To rob and plunder, fain must use their swords ; 
 " And who e'er smote like such, since wars began ? 
 " ' Beware the anger of a patient man !' ' 
 
 " Go go then, Ronald : go in Freedom's name : 
 " On me none e'er shall justly lay the blame 
 " Of binding Valour with Love's selfish chain, 
 " While Honour calls him to the field in vain. 
 " But guard thyself : to no rash dangers haste ; 
 " Think not thou hast thy life alone to waste. 
 " 'Tis all my heart can bear to have iis torn 
 " Asunder thus so soon : but if to mourn 
 " A deeper woe be mine; if left forlorn " 
 
 He strained her to his heart in saddened joy; 
 With kisses stopped her plaint : Then " Boat-a-hoy ! 
 " This night, my life, I'll see thee once again 
 " At the Old Fort. To raise my stalwart men 
 " Now must I go ; swift too as oars can sweep, 
 " As legs can run, or my good hunter leap ; 
 " For I've got orders from thy sire to those 
 " Whose hearts will bound to meet our cruel foes ; 
 " To me he gives the sole and proud command 
 " Of the Eostrevor Volunteers ; that band, 
 " Whose purple banner floats, the work of thy dear 
 hand." 
 
OF EOSTEEVOE. / 
 
 Another kiss, a thousand all in one ; 
 
 So sweet so long so loving : he is gone. 
 
 A moment more, his oars are flashing fast 
 
 Through the bright waters,, and his wherry's past 
 
 The tranquil cove, where close his hooker's moored, 
 
 With anchor dropped and hauser well secured : 
 
 Waves his plumed hat a gallant last adieu ; 
 
 She all in tears holds high her scarf of blue. 
 
 He's gone : yon headland crowned with nodding trees 
 
 Has hid him from her sight ; with bended knees 
 
 On the rock moss she drops : to th' Almighty Power 
 
 She prays, to guard him in the perilous hour. 
 
 More tranquil now to hope she gently yields, 
 
 And seeks the woodland path through flowery fields, 
 
 To where her Father's mansion proudly stands, 
 
 The guardian castle of those lovely lands ; 
 
 The sole surveyor then of slope and dale 
 
 Where now Rostrevor's hamlet fills the vale ; 
 
 Half fort half dwelling whose wide sloping roofs, 
 
 Where sit in hundreds flocks of sunny doves, 
 
 O'erlook the embattled turrets by the moat, 
 
 Prom whence four blazoned standards proudly float ; 
 
 Within, gay shrubs on parterres deck the scene, 
 
 And bright exotics with their radiant green, 
 
 Eaised by fair Taste's aristocratic hand, 
 
 While bigot War with Famine sweeps the land. 
 
 A troop of thirty men within the halls 
 
 Feast, while their arms hang gleaming on the walls, 
 
 Ready at bugle note those arms to wield, 
 
 And join Prince William on the battle field ; 
 
8 THE ROSE 
 
 Part of the band of Northern Volunteers 
 
 Montgomerie leads in all three hundred spears : 
 
 These the especial clansmen, tried and true, 
 
 Rostrevor's townland gives : with banner blue 
 
 And free, bold hearts, where slavery never stamped 
 
 Her dark imprint, nor their high spirit cramped, 
 
 They'll issue forth to swell the Orange host : 
 
 No better men that stout array can boast. 
 
 A jointed lance bears each determined man, 
 
 Fashioned and carried on their leader's plan : 
 
 A harquebuss, a poignard and rapier, 
 
 Complete the outfit of their martial gear. 
 
 When horsemen come and bear down in attack, 
 
 The harquebuss is slung upon the back, 
 
 And the long lance repels the hostile charge, 
 
 Turning more blows than corselet or the targe ; 
 
 But when they meet the foot-foe face to face 
 
 The lance is slung, the fire-arm takes its place : 
 
 Thus were both used, which modern skill as yet 
 
 Would vainly join in gun and bayonet ; 
 
 A double weapon, aimless and untrue, 
 
 Bad to retreat with, awkward to pursue ; 
 
 Whose bullets in uncertain courses fly, 
 
 Down to the earth or upward to the sky, 
 
 And whose short blade, unlike the lance in rest, 
 
 Can seldom reach the horse, or horseman's breast. 
 
 Thus were they armed and kept to "bide their time/' 
 
 'Till Pate would please to stem the hand of crime, 
 
 And succour send ; and now that time is come, 
 
 For soon they'll hear Prince William's gathering drum, 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 
 
 And never yet to maid did fair-haired boy 
 Bush with more keen-felt or extatic joy 
 Of love, than those determined men will go 
 To meet their own and Freedom's darkling foe. 
 
 The Castle clock has struck the curfew hour,, 
 
 The phantom owl flits from the ivy tower, 
 
 The filmy bat, with swift mysterious flight, 
 
 Foretells the coming of the summer night. 
 
 Oh ! the throstle may pour out his liquid note, 
 
 And the merle* exult from his yellow throat, 
 
 And spideog-muirf with gorget of red 
 
 Eemind you that Sol rides high over head ; 
 
 These may revel in music and float in song, 
 
 But they pipe for the non-dreaming noonday throng ; 
 
 For those who in sunlight their senses steep, 
 
 And bury their souls by night in sleep ; 
 
 But give me my owl and the twilight hour 
 
 ('Tis then that the poet's soul swells with power), 
 
 With bat and with beetle and night-loving rail, 
 
 Whose serenade lasts till the stars grow pale ; 
 
 While the daphne and balsam fling scents o'er the lea, 
 
 With none to inhale, but the owl, bat, and me. 
 
 Just at this hour, Loughbrickland's ardent chief 
 Hastes to his bride ; ah ! moments sweet, but brief. 
 Within his breast two struggling passions burn, 
 That seem his soul to vanquish each in turn. 
 
 * Blackbird. f Robin red -breast; pronounced myre. 
 
10 THE HOSE 
 
 Love is now foremost, but at break of day 
 Love will retire and Glory point the way. 
 Not that these Gods possess a tottering throne; 
 But each so strong, they can bnt reign alone. 
 While each afflatus holds his heart in thrall, 
 To it he yields him, body, mind and all : 
 'Tis thus bold deeds in love and war are done, 
 "Pis thus sweet woman and grea,t fields are won. 
 So Eonald now to Eros yields his soul, 
 And from boy Bacchus takes the purple bowl, 
 Heeding not bearded Mars till morning dawns, 
 When he will meet him in the forest lawns, 
 And march beside him with his cousin Death, 
 Nor think of Love's sad sighs or perfumed breath. 
 
OF ROSTKEVOR. 11 
 
 PAET II. 
 
 'Tis the break of day ; the lark on high 
 Sings out ; 'tis the first of gorgeous July ; 
 'Tis Summer's heyday, and in holyday clothes 
 She flaunts like an empress wherever she goes. 
 With mantle and diadem, purple and golden, 
 The same dress she wears now as in the time olden ; 
 Roses and poppies bedeck her bright hair, 
 And her robe is of leaflets, placed layer upon layer ; 
 Just as she flaunted with Adam in Eden, 
 So does she daunce now in Spain or in Sweden ; 
 So does she gleam o'er the meadows and water 
 Of Boyne's ancient stream, soon to blush with man's 
 slaughter. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Upon a paltry chamber's dingy bed, 
 On this bright morn, lay James's stolid head ; 
 Dull sighs upheaved his evil-boding breast, 
 And gloomy dreams disturbed his matin rest. 
 Conscience, that stern avenger, claims her dues, 
 Which criminal can nor flee from, nor refuse ; 
 
12 THE ROSE 
 
 Conscience, that sole unerring prop and stay, 
 That never yet deceived nor led astray ; 
 Given by God, conjoined with Season's ray, 
 To point to Truth, for man, the only way. 
 And he who walks with these two for his guides, 
 Eequires nought else upon this earth besides. 
 False and deceitful are all human laws 
 These two alone come from the First Great Cause ; 
 These two alone illumine from above, 
 And are the source of Justice, Peace, and Love. 
 For use, not hiding, those Twin- Lights were given 
 To shew the way to Truthfulness and Heaven ; 
 For He, who fashioned Cosmos, ne'er designed, 
 That without ray or rule should grope mankind : 
 He gave those inward lamps to every breast, 
 And he who seeks their gleam, obeys Him best.. 
 
 in. 
 
 Thus, Conscience pinions James upon her rack : 
 Before his eyes in dreary dream brings back 
 (His coward heart and cruel soul to daunt) 
 The awful cinders of the martyred Gaunt. 
 And Lysle, that aged lady, pure and good, 
 Blasts his dim sight, in semblance as she stood 
 Upon the scaffold, with her silver hair 
 All dabbed in blood. He starts ! in wild despair 
 He gazes 'round and, as his senses come, 
 He hears, appalled, the warlike, rattling drum ; 
 Jeffries and Kirk, old ready tools of death, 
 Half crazed he calls on, with abated breath : 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 13 
 
 But now a boom a cannon's opening roar 
 
 Another, and another, from the shore 
 
 Of that bright river, on whose flowery banks 
 
 Stern Orange marshals his determined ranks, 
 
 Awakes him fully to the day and hour ; 
 
 "Tis his last throw of Fortune's dice for power ; 
 
 That grasping, grovelling, ever torturing lust, 
 
 Once rampant to the skies, now prone in dust. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Oh ! far-famed Boyne, it needs not me to say 
 
 The various fortunes of thy battle day ; 
 
 An abler hand has flung a halo round 
 
 " The banks and braes" of thy now classic ground ; 
 
 In brilliant language, simple, nervous, true 
 
 Word-painted for the many or the few 
 
 You'll find, Young Student of romantic lore, 
 
 In Wilde's bright volume a delicious store 
 
 Of antique legend, and of modern tale, 
 
 Stript from the mist of ages, or the veil 
 
 Of new untruth. So, may I merely trace 
 
 A few bold outlines, and before thee place 
 
 A sketch of what in days gone by was done, 
 
 When James succumbed and Freedom's fight was won. 
 
 v. 
 
 William of Orange ! with no other name 
 
 Than thine have such base tricks been played by Fame? 
 
 A " pious, glorious" idol, thou'st been placed 
 
 On heaven's high pinnacle by some ; debased 
 
14 THE ROSE 
 
 'Neath earth by others, as a cruel Prince, 
 
 Who not at bloodiest massacres would wince. 
 
 Boyne water greets thee with triumphant cries ; 
 
 From Glencoe's vale, heart-rending moans arise ; 
 
 Stalwart True-blues perennial orgies hold, 
 
 To keep thy name and fame from growing cold ; 
 
 While angry Jacobites, with curses dire, 
 
 Would roast thee, noble hero, in hell- fire. 
 
 Doubly wronged Prince ; if Truth shall e'er again 
 
 Revisit earth, then wilt thou not till then 
 
 Be given thy due. " Pious/' quotha ! by Jove ! 
 
 For " piety" thou mad'st no boast to be above 
 
 The common standard; no mawkish sanctity, 
 
 No cant of tongue, no roll of leering eye, 
 
 Was ever thine ; but though thy mein was cold, 
 
 Thy deeds were ever open, honest, bold : 
 
 And though Glencoe is an eternal blot 
 
 Upon thy reign, yet true or just 'tis not 
 
 To lay it to thy charge. Let that base Scot, 
 
 Who tricked thy ear, and those who played the game 
 
 Of this most savage slaughter, bear the blame. 
 
 Dalrymple and Breadalbane ! can it be ? 
 
 Titles of pride, smeared with such devilry. 
 
 A Campbell too ! Glenlyon's haughty chief 
 
 The servile tool of these ! 'Tis past belief : 
 
 Nobles of Scotland, guardians of her laws, 
 
 Turned murderous wantons, for so slight a cause ! 
 
 Yet true it is ; the awful deed was done 
 
 By Scot T^ Scot. Pale moon and lurid sun 
 
OF EOSTREVOR. 15 
 
 Beheld the monstrous massacre. Yea, those 
 
 Whose lips were wreathed in smiles, were slain by blows 
 
 So brutal, and so fiendish, that the heart, 
 
 At the bare thought, is pierced as with a dart, 
 
 And the roused blood with indignation swells, 
 
 To contemplate such imps' work, worse than hell's ! 
 
 But William's act 'twas not, though of his reign ; 
 
 Nor can we of his clemency complain ; 
 
 And, doubtless, as a Warrior, Prince, and Man, 
 
 He may be placed in history's foremost van. 
 
 In council, sage ; in fight, though brave, not rash 
 
 To win his aim, not blindly make a dash ; 
 
 Eapid, when action was required, but cool 
 
 When caution bid. Bound by no " drilled dull" rule 
 
 Of war or policy ; such rules may bind 
 
 Old Martinets, who have nor soul nor mind 
 
 Fit for great deeds. These can endure to plod, 
 
 Manoeuvre, wheel, retreat, and clod on clod 
 
 Throw up in ramparts, breastworks, and redouts ; 
 
 But 'tis not thus true heroes win the shouts 
 
 Of their victorious troops ; not thus the gleam 
 
 Napoleonic flashed, and broke the dream 
 
 Of leaden-headed German ; not thus, not thus, 
 
 Were grasped the holds of Spaniard, Swiss, or Kuss ; 
 
 Not thus did Alaric, Timor, Charlemagne, 
 
 Their wondrous conquests make their sceptres gain ; 
 
 Not so did our heroic Nelson crush 
 
 Great ships like egg-shells ; but with almighty rush 
 
16 THE ROSE 
 
 Sweeping the seas. Not paddling, dawdling, cruising, 
 Wasting out month on month, boozing or snoozing 
 But with his own undying fire infusing 
 Each gallant tar : Nay, powder-monkies then 
 Under his flashing eye had nerves of men. 
 Heavens ! 'twas a godlike sight, that one small limb, 
 That pallid face, that body spare and slim, 
 Thai puny frame, that shattered, slender form, 
 With veins in which the blood seemed barely warm, 
 Holding a heart, lord of the battle-storm ! 
 Immortal Nelson ; heroes have filled, and will 
 Again, this earth with glorious memories fill ; 
 But never yet did human pulse than thine 
 Throb with a nobler beat on land or brine. 
 Yet, to this hour, Horatia is forgot ; 
 Poor and neglected ; to a lowly lot 
 Abandoned : the same whom, with his latest breath, 
 With life-blood ebbing fast, and certain death 
 Approaching, her Sire to Britain's care consigned. 
 He might as well have made the cold east wind 
 Her Guardian. Oh! shame, shame, oh! damned shame 
 Oh ! stain most foul on England's noble name ! 
 
 But are there not amongst us still great souls 
 As ever ? who, when battle's thunder rolls, 
 Would meet our foes as calm, as true, as brave, 
 As e'er was Nelson on the mountain wave ? 
 Aye 1 but they're chained down by false etiquette 
 And " rules of service," which gives no outlet 
 To the pent spirits of the daring sons 
 Of Neptune, who around their idle guns 
 
OF ROSTBEVOTL 17 
 
 Lounge listlessly, because some cautious one 
 Is at their head, to " timid counsels" prone ; 
 Some " ancient mariner/' who, in his day 
 Was a good captain but never born to play 
 First fiddle at those concerts where great ships 
 Are the organs, and cannon's ' adamantine lips/ 
 Pipe-like, give out those sounds whose harmony 
 Makes the most glorious anthems of the sea. 
 
 But " rules of service/' by your worship's leave ! 
 Have placed him there, to make the freeman grieve 
 And the barbarian chuckle. 'Tis mockery, 
 That " rules of service/' " seniority/' 
 Conjoined with senile mediocrity, 
 Should blast our triumphs thus ; giving us a new 
 Edition of Sir Harry and Sir Hew. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Boyne's battle morn it is : and gallantly 
 
 Bold Douglas sweeps along to Eosnarcc, 
 
 By Townley, Knowth, and Grange ; swiftly to gain 
 
 The foe's far flank his point. The bridge of Slane 
 
 Is crossed same time by Portland. Ere begun, 
 
 The day is, by this brilliant movement, won, 
 
 And James's left outflanked. The centre now 
 
 Advances briskly from the sloping brow 
 
 Of Tullyallen, by old Schomberg led, 
 
 With eighty martial winters on his head. 
 
 Anon, by Yellow Island, Caillimotte 
 
 Leads through the stream his fiery Huguenot ; 
 
18 THE HOSE 
 
 Higher up the Prince,, in order dense and trim, 
 
 Crosses the water. Here horse and man must swim, 
 
 As the fords deepen, and the steeper banks 
 
 Increase the danger ; but in steady ranks 
 
 Dutchman and Dane, with Fleming, Swiss and Swede, 
 
 Move like one nation. To conquer or to bleed 
 
 Their stern device; while English, Irish, Scots, 
 
 In Lutheran brotherhood with the Huguenots, 
 
 March firmly on to yon green peaceful nook 
 
 A hamlet with a church, where daw and rook 
 
 Are wheeling 'round a modest spire, embraced 
 
 By loving ivy. "White cottages are placed 
 
 In narrow lanes, overhung by ancient trees ; 
 
 Old-fashioned flowers abound primrose, heartsease, 
 
 With perrywinkle, bluebell, London pride ; 
 
 Snapdragon, daffodil, with more beside 
 
 Of quaint bright posies. Ah ! devoted spot, 
 
 Thy gardens also grow forget-me-not ; 
 
 For Oldbridge, though thy fate has been obscure, 
 
 And all thy dwellers humble, mean, and poor, 
 
 Yet from this hour thy ruined walls will bear 
 
 A charmed name. Now furious horsemen tear 
 
 Thy paddocks up, and cannon's iron hail 
 
 Scatter thy roofs, and splinter gate and rail. 
 
 Here, where thy streets adjoin the river edge, 
 
 Duke Schomberg drops amid the waving sedge : 
 
 Here, too, the gallant Caillimotte receives 
 
 His death wound ; with the " pluck" that never leaves 
 
 The chivalrous sons of France, he gaily cries, 
 
 "A lagloire, mes Enfans!" and smiling, cheering, dies 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 19 
 
 And here the " Eeverend Captain" Walker falls ; 
 
 Sad fate for him who held old Berry's walls, 
 
 And lived through that dread siege. These leaders gone, 
 
 Prince William takes their place, and, urging on, 
 
 Heads their disordered men. - With gleaming brand 
 
 In thickest fight he's seen, and hand to hand 
 
 Meets the bold foe ; meets Sarsfield's deadly rush, 
 
 And Hamilton's fierce charge, which fain would crush 
 
 The Orange infantry with one wild dash ; 
 
 But over-zealous over hot, and rash 
 
 His onset fails ; a prisoner he is made, 
 
 And brought before the Prince he had betrayed. 
 
 Ere this, had Douglas moved from Eosnaree, 
 Rapid on James's left. His cavalry, 
 Led by Count Schomberg, passed on with hot haste 
 O'er rugged pasture, scrub, and marshy waste ; 
 Triumphant as he went o'er hill and dale- 
 Bad news flies fast he met the mournful tale 
 Of his brave father's fall. With boiling blood 
 He cheered the Dutch Blue Guards, and, like a flood, 
 Poured on the faltering foe. Nought could assuage, 
 But victory, their fierce " angelic" rage. 
 
 Slow yield the Jacobites. By old Duleek 
 
 And Nanny water's narrow bridge they seek 
 
 To gain the southward road. At first, throughout 
 
 Their worsted ranks, order was kept ; a route 
 
 Complete soon followed, until, at the Naul, 
 
 As the thick evening dews began to fall, 
 
20 THE ROSE 
 
 The weak pursuit was stayed. Still on their right 
 
 Were heard some last bold struggles of the fight, 
 
 Hard-bye that treacherous sharp at Milford pass, 
 
 Where William, floundering, sunk in the morass. 
 
 Here, on a rising knoll, since early morn, 
 
 A Keltic chieftain lay, The sweet May-thorn, 
 
 Dog-rose, and woodbine, formed a perfumed wall, 
 
 From whence his clan sent many a death-fraught ball 
 
 From noon till eve ; and every sharp attack 
 
 From fiery Inniskillener beat back ; 
 
 The Brandenburger's heavy charge repelled, 
 
 And the hot zeal of Dane and Fleming quelled. 
 
 Here stood O'Dempsy, chief of the Clanmalier, 
 
 Checking the Prince himself in full career ; 
 
 Who, turning to the right, sped towards Dunore, 
 
 Where was King James's centre. The stunning roar 
 
 Of fifty great guns bellow o'er the fields, 
 
 Yet nor to horse nor foot O'Dempsy yields. 
 
 But now another, fresher foe appears 
 
 Fording the river, with their glittering spears 
 
 And arms upraised; who, as they lightly leap 
 
 Upon the bank, in serried order keep. 
 
 Their leader marshals them in close array, 
 
 And to that flowery hillock points the way. 
 
 Montgomerie 'tis, who, till now with his band 
 
 Kept in reserve, had just received command 
 
 "Prom William's lips that dangerous post to clear, 
 
 So ably guarded by the Clanmalier. 
 
 He waves his sword, and up the sloping meads 
 
 In rapid pace his gallant fellows leads : 
 
OF EOSTEEVOR. 
 
 No baby play,, alas ! before them now ; 
 
 For as they rise upon the hillock brow 
 
 A rattling volley thins their rushing ranks, 
 
 And their red blood flows out on violet banks. 
 
 So sweet the spot where they resigned their breath, 
 
 'Twould almost make one be in love with death ; 
 
 And so it seemed, as if nor pang nor pain 
 
 Had wrenched the features of the glorious slain ; 
 
 Around the lips of many, as they lay, 
 
 A placid smile of peace appeared to play ; 
 
 How sadly strange ! as if some Paradise 
 
 Had oped all lovely to their glazing eyes 
 
 At the last moment. As if Death and Doom, 
 
 Which, living, we regard with doubt and gloom, 
 
 Were the bright Janitors of Kingdom come. 
 
 Not ghostly Demons, but two Seraph Forms, 
 
 Beckoning the parting soul from the rude storms 
 
 And woes of earth, to some abode serene 
 
 Which poets dream of; but which nor saint hath seen, 
 
 Nor priest hath visited ; though such will trace 
 
 Its lines as confident as if the place 
 
 They had inspected oft. Dante could paint 
 
 A monstrous Hell; why not your modern "saint?" 
 
 Virgil and Mahomet have also tried 
 
 Heavens of their own : alack ! for human pride, 
 
 Their pictures are most vile : but viler yet 
 
 Than ever Dante drew or Mahomet, 
 
 Is that sour, dismal landscape, which by some 
 
 We're told awaits us when we pass the tomb ; 
 
 Beyond that curtain that mysterious screen 
 
 Which hangs so thin, yet so opaque, between 
 
22 THE HOSE 
 
 The Present and the Future. Such daubings vile 
 Can with the Wise but raise a mournful smile : 
 To the blest Slain 'tis not of such a heaven 
 That, as they close their eyes, a glimpse is given. 
 We, who have seen the Soul translucid peer 
 Into the dim Hereafter, of such a sphere 
 Could picture something grand ; something which God 
 Had left his stamp on : not a mere clumsy clod 
 Kneaded below here, far from celestial birth, 
 And which, as fashioned yet, smells " earthy of the 
 earth/ 1 
 
 VII. 
 
 Montgomerie, now with passion moved and fierce, 
 Calls on his men the briery fence to pierce ; 
 It was the summit of an ancient Eath, 
 With single entrance and a single path : 
 One of those antique earth-forts of the Dane 
 That still through Erin's Isle untouched remain ; 
 Green hallowed spots the plough doth ne'er pass o'er, 
 Sacred to Time's old tales and fairy lore ; 
 Where the Good People, when the moon shines bright, 
 Dance with red caps on through the summer night ; 
 Where Leprehaun with hammer and cocked hat 
 Sits on a mushroom and goes rat, tat, tat, 
 Mending the Fairies' shoes ; and where the Puck 
 Peeps from the bushes and grins no good luck 
 To those who catch his eye. Such is the spot 
 Sacred to peace, now rent with sword and shot. 
 
OF EOSTEEVOE. 23 
 
 Uostrevor's men rush on with joyous cheer; 
 With ruder yells answer the Clanmalier : 
 High in the gap appears their Chieftain stern, 
 And at his back stand fifty unkempt Kern ; 
 Their long locks floating on the evening breeze, 
 Their feet unsandFd legs bare to the knees ; 
 Their weapons a, short gun- a pike a skean 
 Bright as their own wild eyes that flash so fierce and 
 keen. 
 
 At this hot moment, as Montgomerie sprung 
 Up the green rampart, out a bugle rung ; 
 An Orange orderly on smoking steed 
 Bade him advance with all his force in speed, 
 To follow up and strike a final blow 
 On the now wavering masses of the foe. 
 Montgomerie paused, and loud the Clanmalier 
 From their high barrow yelled with mocking cheer, 
 They knew not why he stopped, if not from fear. 
 
 Ronald rushed up, and " Leave me here," he cries, 
 " With my own band to take this Irish prize." 
 Montgomerie gave assent and waved adieu, 
 And with his other forces swift withdrew. 
 Adown the hill-side rapidly they sped 
 And quickly reached the plain ; thence on ahead 
 Passed in career to where the last bold strain 
 Sarsfield all desperate makes but now in vain 
 To mend the failing fortunes of the fight ; 
 While Berwick's corps is breaking on the right. 
 
THE ROSE 
 
 Lo ! steeds all riderless, and unhorsed men, 
 Come wildly rushing from the small rough glen 
 That lies between. Eight, left, and centre beat, 
 The Jacobites are now in full retreat. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Meantime, intent on his own special deed, 
 Eonald and his small band advance with speed ; 
 A cheer a rush the outside bank is gained 
 Down on the sealers murderous blows are rained. 
 Eonald and two more reach the guarded gap, 
 Where o'er his head O'Dempsy's standards flap ; 
 The leaders meet ; their flashing swords are crossed, 
 High in the air their dancing plumes are tossed ; 
 A lightning cut from CamYs* sparkling blade 
 Has Eonald struck his left arm open laid : 
 Heedless of dropping blood or gaping wound, 
 He presses on ; O'Dempsy yields the ground, 
 Eetreating backwards 'till a sweeping blow 
 From Ronald's sword has nearly laid him low. 
 Staggering, he trips, with one knee to the earth, 
 His plumed head bare, his skean dropped from his girth, 
 His sabre broken while a purple stream^ 
 Adown his forehead blinds his eyes' fierce gleam : . 
 ' ' Yield," shouted Eonald ; as the word he spoke, 
 Prostrate he fell, o'erturned by a stroke 
 Aimed from behind : a Kern a subtle thief 
 A foster-brother thus relieves his chief ; 
 
 * Cahir, pronounced Cawhire, i. e. Charles. He was also 
 called Cahir-na-Coppal or Cophuil ; i. e. Charles of the 
 Horses. See Notes. 
 
OF ROSTREVOE, 25 
 
 The ever- watchful Tasker, swift as light, 
 And active as a wolf hound in the fight. 
 O'Dempsy starts up, clears his brow of blood, 
 And sees the Orange horsemen, like a flood, 
 Sweeping the battle-field. The day is done, 
 Full well he knows : the Jacobites have run. 
 That duped, but gallant army slowly yields 
 Its glorious post 'mid Boyne's empurpled fields, 
 Whose yellow cowslips, dyed in. blood and trod 
 To earth, next Spring sprang red from every sod. 
 Long since had James fled basely from Donore 
 And left behind the cannon's withering roar ; 
 And as he gallop' d on his southern flight, 
 At his brave champions sneered in stupid spite, 
 Taxed those with running he who fled the first 
 Whose fault was battling for his cause accurst ; 
 Whereon some outraged Kelt swore, in disdain, 
 "Let us change kings, we'll fight it o'er again." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Senseless lay Eonald : the daring two who stood 
 Beside him there are stretched in their own blood ; 
 The rest outside in vain essay to reach 
 With their long spears, and clear the well-kept breach. 
 O'Dempsy quickly gives the word " to horse ;" 
 A hundred nags come prancing from the gorse 
 Where they were hidden, browzing the shrubs around, 
 While bullets sang and cannon ploughed the ground ; 
 
26 THE EOSE 
 
 A hundred garrans of old Irish breed, 
 Low-sized, but strong, and " good in hour of need." 
 Each has to bear away a double load, 
 In culog fashion is each beast bestrode. 
 Thus are both horse and foot in one combined, 
 Each gallowglasse takes up a kern behind, 
 And when appears the foeman or the prey, 
 Lightly they spring to earth and lead the way. 
 Thus mount they now ; O'Dempsy bids them take 
 Loughbrickland's fallen chieftain, for the sake 
 Of the rich ransom, which some future day 
 No doubt his wealthy friends will gladly pay. 
 Away they go, skirting the fatal field ; 
 No hot pursuit no calls to halt and yield 
 Arrest their course. O'Dempsy heads his troop, 
 And now beneath low branches bids them stoop : 
 They've entered the deep forests, which then grew 
 O'er the whole land ; pine, alder, oak, and yew. 
 Strapped behind Tasker, long their captive's head 
 Drooped o'er his bosom, and they deemed him dead ; 
 At length his sight and senses half return, 
 And pangs of agony his temples burn ; 
 And as they swiftly gallop through the dark 
 With pinioned limb, bruised body, stiff and stark, 
 His blood seems frozen, while a fearful dream 
 Disturbs his soul : he is, as it would seem, 
 Bound by fierce demons on a wrenching rack ; 
 And now he harkens, as his sinews crack. 
 So exquisite at length becomes the pain, 
 He faints, and to appearance dies again : 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 27 
 
 And thus they bear him through the woods of Meath, 
 By moorland path, all rich with purple heath ; 
 By ferny brake, and scrubbed corrig* side, 
 Till at Lea Castle ends their desperate ride. 
 
 * Low hill. 
 
28 
 
 THE ROSE 
 
 PAET III. 
 
 SWEET conies the balmy breath of e'en 
 From fragrant field and woodland green, 
 While silvery voices seem to rise 
 From Mourne's Yale in mystic sighs. 
 Hark how the curlew's whistle shrill 
 Floats on the air adown the hill ; 
 The partridge of his mate complaining, 
 Querulous at what' s detaining 
 His speckled partner from his side 
 So late, recalls and seems to chide : 
 The untiring peewit*, ever wheeling, 
 The laden wild bee, homeward stealing, 
 The throstle uttering dulcet notes 
 From the sweet thorn on which he dotes ; 
 These and a thousand sounds of joy, 
 Of extacy without alloy, 
 Gushing from every living creature 
 Of every hue and every feature, 
 Stamp this as being that balmy hour 
 
 * Lapwing, or green plover. 
 
OF EOSTEEVOR. 29 
 
 When Nature most exerts her power. 
 
 Bringing her Children to her feet, 
 
 Where each may each exulting greet. 
 
 The cuckoo's mocking voice is in the air, 
 
 While on her haunch erect the listening hare, 
 
 Turning her timid eye around, 
 
 Cowers at that distant sullen sound, 
 
 Which comes with a hollow murmuring hum ; 
 
 'Tis the echo of shout, shot, and gathering drum ; 
 
 'Tis the last mingled clang of that weary array, 
 
 The Victors and Yanguished of Boyne's fateful day. 
 
 n. 
 
 To these sad sounds of War, with doubt and fear 
 Grace turned this eve a troubled, nervous ear ; 
 All day the cannon-boom and musket-rattle 
 Froze up her soul : ''twas clear that now the battle 
 Was done ; and as the sounds more distant fell, 
 To her quick beating heart it augured well : 
 It proved the Jacobites were in retreat ; 
 And from the flag-tower she could see the fleet 
 Still coasting on towards Dublin steadily ; 
 All this and more harbingered Victory : 
 But though her party feelings strongly burned, 
 Yet to her kinsmen all her thoughts were turned ; 
 She knew their spirit knew their daring pride, 
 And that they would be found at Danger's side. 
 Long did she linger by the rampart bridge, 
 Eagerly searching Carlingford's blue ridge; 
 
30 THE ROSE 
 
 Hoping some straggler from the field might corne, 
 Wounded or hastening with the good news home : 
 Midnight still found her by the ballium wall, 
 Until at length she heard the Warder call : 
 The old man, with white hair all floating wild, 
 Bid her to bed ; and, as he faintly smiled, 
 Told her to rest, and that to-morrow's ray 
 Would doubtless bring news of a glorious day, 
 That those she loved would soon triumphant come ; 
 If so, that he was ready for his tomb ; 
 Ready to close in death his aged eyes 
 Which had so often seen their liberties 
 And lives the sport of fiends ! and now once more, 
 If the fight failed, what seas of Lutheran gore 
 Would drench the soil. "Alas ! dear lady, then 
 1 ' Your bright eyes would not touch these cruel men, 
 " Nor my old hoary locks : may Heaven dispose 
 "The issue rightly, and confound our foes/' 
 
 These piteous words drew Grace's tear-drops fast ; 
 Her heart was wrung with doubt ; she quickly passed 
 To her own chamber, where her sleepless eyes 
 Beheld the morrow's longed-for sun arise. 
 
 in. 
 
 Sooth ! gentle Sleep, when other friends depart, 
 Our kindest, truest comforter thou art : 
 Clasped in thy velvet arms in slumber light, 
 The doomed one passes calmly his last night : 
 
OF ROSTEEVOR. 31 
 
 Dreams not of bloody axe or brutal cord, 
 Of children blighted, or of name abhorred ; 
 But thy soft blisses only yields when morn 
 Awakes him, hapless, to his fate forlorn ; 
 And when grief comes upon the young and pure, 
 Grief for some lost one, they can scarce endure ; 
 Thou comest with thy sweet balm and heavenly cure, 
 And sealest their tearful eyes ; until the morrow 
 Shall ope again the fountains of their sorrow. 
 But to sad Love alone thou bring' st no rest, 
 Thou canst not woo him to thy perfumed breast ; 
 To him thou need'st not lisp thy dreamy tale, 
 Nor o'er him fling thy sweet oblivious veil ; 
 He's proof againt thy blandishments, and lies 
 All the night long with wakeful, aching eyes. 
 Thus for poor Grace kind Sleep essay' d in vain ; 
 But, hark she hears the grating drawbridge chain, 
 And then, distinct, a well-known bugle note 
 And now the bridge falls heavy o'er the moat, 
 And the hoarse Warder speaks ; and now she sees 
 Six of Montgomerie's men beneath the trees ; 
 Wounded and foot-sore, wearily they've come 
 Through the night hours, seeking their master's home. 
 A moment more her dress her mantle on 
 Quick to the drawbridge tower she is gone. 
 Alas ! the tale they bear will blanch her cheek; 
 They dole it slowly, the sad news to break ; 
 " The battle's won ; four of their band are slain ; 
 " These six are wounded ; twenty more remain 
 
32 THE ROSE 
 
 " Unhurt, and with their lord have southward passed : 
 
 " Sir Eonald " they must tell the truth at last 
 
 " Was slightly wounded and 'tis their belief 
 
 " Was borne off captive by a rebel chief ; 
 
 " Cahir O'Dempsy, head of the Clanmalier : 
 
 " But for his safety, she need have no fear, 
 
 ( ' As 'tis for gain, not life or liberty, 
 
 " Such deeds are done by the wild Eapparee." 
 
 " The Eapparees \" enough : she'll hear no more ; 
 
 With lip all quivering, she ponders o'er 
 
 This cruel tale for a few moments ; then 
 
 In faltering voice she thanks the faithful men ; 
 
 Directs the Warder their wants and wounds to care, 
 
 Thence rapid to her chamber mounts the stair. 
 
 Prone on her couch in speechless woe she lies, 
 
 Nor finds her misery eased in tears or sighs ; 
 
 Death on the battle-field would better be, 
 
 Than borne off captive by the Bapparee ; 
 
 That name of terror ; those bandits accurst 
 
 Oh ! her poor heart will break her eye-balls burst ! 
 
 For never Thug in Ind bore bloodier name, 
 
 Nor red Commanche earned a darker fame, 
 
 Than erst in Erin did the Eapparee 
 
 For murderous deeds and savage cruelty. 
 
 Pate's sport himself, he swore th' Invader stern 
 
 Should portion of such bitter lesson learn : 
 
 His dismal lot had turned his heart to steel. 
 
 Nor for his victim did he think or feel, 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 33 
 
 But oft/ with mockery and exulting eye 
 
 Beheld the mother or the infant die,, 
 
 While speared and spitted o'er their household fire, 
 
 Roasted the limbs of Husband or of Sire ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 While thus in tearless agony Grace lay, 
 Young Nora came to soothe her wild dismay ; 
 Her favourite handmaid, sprightly, joyous, true, 
 Of Irish race, each Keltic myth she knew, 
 Knew how to dig the sod on Hallowed eve, 
 And in the salt-charm firmly did believe : 
 And in the wheat-ear plucked by maid i' the dark, 
 Blindfolded: and (oh, awful deed!) the sark 
 Hung up to dry in Satan's fearful name, 
 And his appearance, who to turn it came. 
 
 Off times had Grace delighted to explore 
 
 With her the deep nooks of Rostrevor's shore, 
 
 Sitting on rocks and looking o'er the sea, 
 
 Listening all day long to her minstrelsy \ 
 
 Some sweet old Irish lilt*, whose pathos deep, 
 
 Or humorous melody will softly creep 
 
 Through your whole soul ; such as the olden time 
 
 And bards produced. With these some mystic rhyme, 
 
 Legend of robber Sea-King ; heathenish rite 
 
 Of old Sun-worship ; a worship pure and bright, 
 
 Ditty. 
 
34 THE ROSE 
 
 When from the. Bound Tower top the priest did call, 
 At rise and setting, th' adorers of God Baal. 
 Thus with this colleen* Grace .had oft' beguiled 
 The summer days herself a dreamy child ; 
 And such kind feelings, nay, affection sprung 
 Prom their romancing, that it deftly flung 
 Equality's gauze mantle o'er the space 
 In rank that parts them. But now, with anxious face 
 O'er her young mistress, Nora wistful stands 
 For a short moment ; then with trembling hands 
 Baises her long brown locks ; beneath them peers 
 With that wild stare with which a child who fears, 
 And doubts, and wishes, will intensely gaze 
 Into some gloomy thicket's fearful maze ; 
 Hoping and wishing, and anon yet fearing, 
 Some dismal thing will meet her sight or hearing. 
 
 " Oh, dearest lady, speak; take not on so : 
 " Sir Bonald is a prisoner, sure I know ; 
 " But I know also well where he is gone ; 
 " A nobler gentleman never the sun shone " 
 
 " Ah ! Nora, Nora folly naught avails ; 
 " I cannot listen now to Irish tales ; 
 
 " Leave me and let me " 
 
 " No -dear lady don't : 
 " Kill me they may, but leave you 'deed I won't. 
 
 Little girl. 
 
OF EOSTREVOE. 35 
 
 " Now you will hear me ; may I die in sin, 
 " But great O'Dempsy's of my kith and kin. 
 " Why Nora Dempsy sure it is my name 
 " And for Lea Castle, don't I know that same ? 
 " Don't I know every stone that's in the keep, 
 " And every wave that's in the river's sweep, 
 " And every leaf that's on the old ash trees ? 
 " Oh, I will go and on my bended knees 
 " I'll tell O'Dempsy aU the blessed truth." 
 
 " Nora, pray stop : a likely thing in sooth 
 " A desperate Eapparee would hold his hand, 
 " Or check his cruel will at thy command !" 
 
 " Ah, mistress dear, he is not bad or cruel, 
 " But a true prince indeed. Oh, dearest jewel, 
 ' ' 'Tis he has the flowery heart ! Ah, then indeed, 
 cf If you knew all, 'twould make your kind heart bleed 
 " To hear how murdered, aye, and killed outright 
 " By bloody Whigs and Sound-heads through sheer 
 
 spite, 
 
 " He and his were. First in the old Lord's time, 
 " When truth and loyalty were made a crime, 
 " Because the Clanmalier did nobly stand 
 " For the right king, the Roundhead seized his land : 
 '' And then again (when Fortune did" restore 
 " The young King Charles), he thought his own or 
 
 more 
 " Would sure come back : but, ah ! 'twould boil your 
 
 blood 
 
36 THE HOSE 
 
 " To think of such dwuls-owri* ingratitude ! 
 
 " They said he was " Non Innocent ;" and gave 
 
 " His lands and castles to a cringing knave ; 
 
 " To a vile stable-boy ; a pimp ; a rogue ; 
 
 " A niarrougk Kioufi, who had nor coat, nor brog, 
 
 " 'Till with the new king he got into favour : 
 
 " Of course, my dear, 'twas for his good behaviour. 
 
 " When this came round, the old Lord broke and died ! 
 
 " But his brave son, Lord Cahir, has too much pride 
 
 " To give it up, and never a bit he yields, 
 
 " But holds the castles, towns and lovely fields, 
 
 " In spite of all. A noble troop he keeps 
 
 " Two hundred garrans with the which he sweeps 
 
 " Out through the Sasson Pale by night or day, 
 
 " And takes his own as well indeed he may. 
 
 " But never a child or maiden did he harm, 
 
 " Nor wife nor widow injure or alarm ; 
 
 ' ' The brute beasts of the plains he would not hurt ; 
 
 " And once I saw him take his yellow shirt 
 
 " And tear it up to bind the wounded limb 
 
 " Of a great red-haired Sassan, who at him 
 
 ' ' Had aimed a coward blow ; but who, before 
 
 " He could wink twice, got cuts enough galore%. 
 
 " So, dearest heart, put aside doubt and fear, 
 
 " You need have neither with the Clanmalier ; 
 
 " Sir Ronald's safe, and I am certain sure 
 
 " If he's got hurt, 'tis there the tenderest cure 
 
 * Devil's own. f Ill-conditioned lout. J In plenty. 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 37 
 
 " Will be made of him. But now let me. go, 
 " And soon Til bring you tidings, weal or woe." 
 
 " My faithful Nora, you give me sweet relief; 
 
 " Your simple tale almost commands belief ; 
 
 " Nay, you shall go ; but how ? The way is long." 
 
 " Oh, yes, but well I know it : I am strong, 
 
 " Supple and hopeful. Tis three days from here, 
 
 " All 'mong the forests ; but the path is clear." 
 
 " If so, then go. But I yes, Fll go too : 
 
 " I can climb mountain steeps as well as you : 
 
 " Can beat you running, and can jump as well ; 
 
 ' ' And will not Hope my bosom also swell ? 
 
 " Yes, it shall not be, that my Ronald lay 
 
 (< Bleeding, perhaps, his life in drops away, 
 
 " And I, his friend his wife his love his bride 
 
 " Was any where but ministering at his side. 
 
 " Yes, Til go with you ; nay, oppose me not ; 
 
 " All you would argue I have not forgot : 
 
 " The long rough way through rude and savage men, 
 
 " Our beds at night in cavern or in den ; 
 
 " And then, my dearest Father, whom I must 
 
 " Thus disobey for once : but he is just, 
 
 " And will forgive me, when he knows the cause ; 
 
 " 'Tis ample sure for breach of filial laws : 
 
 " He charged me not to venture for an hour 
 
 " 'Till his return beyond the drawbridge tower; 
 
38 THE HOSE 
 
 " But if I had my will, 'tis with the camp, 
 " I would have been ; for though the battle-tramp 
 " Makes my blood shiver, yet War's murderous shouts 
 " Were less terrific than the fearful doubts 
 " In which I've been : and if barbaric foes 
 " Leave gallant men no parts to play but those 
 " Of gladiators, no alternative 
 " But in a rush for life or death to strive, 
 " Sure women gentlest women if they're wives, 
 " Should venture with their husbands even their lives ; 
 " A soft white hand a fond devoted heart 
 " May ease the cruel wound, or lay the smart 
 " Of mangled limb ; and a wife's balmy breath 
 " Bring back the fainting soul, which else would sink 
 in death, 
 
 " So let us go : arrayed in humble guise, 
 
 " To wild marauders we must seem no prize : 
 
 " In two hours hence, we leave. Good Nora, haste : 
 
 " Moments are precious : we've no time to waste." 
 
OP ROSTEEVOTL 39 
 
 PART IV. 
 
 IN every noble breast there is a spirit 
 (Ray of the spark divine which we inherit 
 Through our God-origin), whereto if we will call 
 When dangers threaten and when doubts appal, 
 'Twill bear us past them, so that we may ride 
 On " Garran-ard*" in safety and in pride. 
 The vigorous sinew a.nd the ponderous limb 
 Will be required, and may suffice for him 
 Who martial or vulcaneaii prize would seek, 
 Where the strong-bodied win, where fail the weak ; 
 But, in the nobler strife of wit, one child 
 Of soul is better than a mountain piled 
 With such huge lumber : aye, a colleen dhas^, 
 If thus inspired, through blackest night will pass, 
 Though snare and pitfall crowd the treacherous way, 
 Better than dull brute force in open day. 
 
 n. 
 
 So, through the witching haze and misty light 
 Of the star-spangled noon of summer night, 
 
 * On high horse. f Pretty little girl. 
 
40 THE ROSE 
 
 Grace and her faithful Nora, houseless trod 
 
 The forest war-path, and the velvet sod 
 
 Of the wide-spreading magh*. Their gentle breasts 
 
 "Wakeful with love, they needed but short rests 
 
 And rapid slumbers on some mossy slope 
 
 Beneath an old oak's canopy; while Hope, 
 
 Their guardian angel, with cerulean wing 
 
 Fanned their soft cheeks, brushed off each creeping 
 
 thing, 
 
 That dared intrude grasshopper, lady bird, 
 Or silver spinner, whose white nets they stirred. 
 Thus two nights had they passed ; now the third day 
 Smiled on their journey with benignant ray. 
 Auspicious signals met them from the first ; 
 They never failed for water, when athirst, 
 And harmless granioge^, on her evening strolls 
 Eight in their path, a lucky omen rolls ; 
 Two magpies also hopping through the ferns, 
 With saucy noddings, Nora oft' discerns, 
 But not a weazle crossed their pathway lone, 
 Nor wild dog keened in death-foreboding tone. 
 
 in. 
 
 Upon a bank where thyme and sorrel shed 
 Their perfumes 'round, a light repast was spread 
 By Nora's active hand. A napkin laid 
 Beneath the birch and hazel's nickering shade 
 
 Open plain. f Hedgehog. 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 41 
 
 Bore Spanish fruits and cakes of roasted meal 
 Ground by the antique quern's homely wheel. 
 (These in a knapsack light had Nora placed 
 With thoughtful care and strapped them round her 
 
 waist.) 
 
 A silver cup, dipped in a neighbouring rill, 
 Which drop by drop did from a cleft distil, 
 Moistened their lips and all their wants supplied ; 
 What more ought Luxury ask, or princely pride 
 Obtain ? Most will say this, and yet how few 
 On this gross globe will nature's rules pursue ! 
 Nature who cries to Man, " Behold earth's fruits, 
 " Feed on them free, but leave the flesh of brutes 
 " To the vile carrion tribe : The space is small 
 " 'Twixt the flesh-eater and the canibal -I" 
 Nay, if coarse men cannot refrain to feed 
 On quivering flesh which butchers stab and bleed. 
 Let them not smile superior scorn on those 
 Who only roast and eat their deadly foes ; 
 While Christian meek o'er dying lambs can gloat, 
 And fluttering doves; then cram them down his 
 
 throat, 
 
 And having licked his lips with proper unction, 
 For their sad deaths shows not the least compunction ; 
 But swears their blood and brains and flesh were given 
 (To be ingulphed in him !) by bounteous Heaven. 
 Reverse this picture : How transparent seems 
 That form majestic ! Around him the soil teems 
 With precious loads of vegetable store, 
 Such as in ages past the young earth bore : 
 
42 THE ROSE. 
 
 From these he takes his meals ; and from the juice 
 
 Of grape or apple le will oft produce 
 
 A generous drink ; for though his food be light, 
 
 lie is no abstinence dolt or anchorite ; 
 
 But, thankful, takes Earth's best and sweetest fruits, 
 
 From those that hang in air down to the roots 
 
 That swell below : to cook, concoct, distil, 
 
 Or form them to his liking or his will. 
 
 Sure brightest Sylph on pulse or fruit might dine, 
 
 Or angel's lips be moist with rosy wine ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Soon on their onward path the damsels sped, 
 
 The soft sod springing to their gentle tread ; 
 
 With quick, unerring glances Nora marks 
 
 Where tracks diverge. Yon clump of birch whose 
 
 barks 
 
 Are shining silvery in the morning haze 
 Show where to issue from the Dangan's maze. 
 Now every sign familiar greets her view ; 
 Here the old well-known bridge of fossil yew 
 Over the trout stream ; there the tall pitch-pine 
 Where the kite's nest is ; then the long thin line 
 Of alders that denote the river's course ; 
 And now the cark-a-free* with challenge hoarse 
 Springs whirring from that island-bog of dread, 
 Which late had cast up its long-buried dead, 
 
 Cock grouse. 
 
OP ROSTKEVOR. 43 
 
 Fresh and unfaded, with its stoney eye 
 
 Fixed on its murderer who stood trembling nigh ; 
 
 Appalled with horror, shuddering with remorse, 
 
 Fain would he hasten from the accusing corse ; 
 
 But on the earth before his comrades fell, 
 
 And owned the deed with conscience- stricken yell : 
 
 How, twenty years before, that corse he slew, 
 
 And buried it by night. H thought he knew 
 
 The place ; but Satan ever leads astray 
 
 His blinded dupes, and mocks their darkling way. 
 
 For twenty years that secret dire he bore, 
 
 A fiery coal, consuming his heart's core, 
 
 And now his only wish, his fondest hope, 
 
 Lay in the scaffold and the strangling rope. 
 
 " Drag me to these then," fearfully he cries ; 
 
 " These are my Heaven these my Paradise. 
 
 " Longer on earth I would not tortured dwell ; 
 
 " Life is my death, and memory my hell I" 
 
 v. 
 
 Now past this spot with rapid glance of awe 
 Hastened blythe Nora : and now they reach the spa, 
 Cool bubbling from a knoll, where oft' she'd dipt 
 Her finger when a child, and slily sipped 
 The nauseous drops : Long streaks of brown and red 
 Mark like blood -gouts the streamlet's pebbly bed. 
 'Tis but two miles hence to the Castle walls, 
 Which thought gives Nora joy, but Grace appals. 
 
 As they approach the dreaded Chieftain's haunt, 
 Yague fears and doubts arise, her soul to daunt ; 
 
44 THE ROSE 
 
 With Nora's gladsome eyes she cannot see, 
 Nor look for mercy from a Rapparee. 
 E'en from her cradle she had heard that word 
 Conjoined with all that turns the blood to curd ; 
 And now, although with desperate will she strove 
 To banish doubt and rally hope and love, 
 Yet her best wish or will can scarce avail 
 To make the bold marauder of the Pale 
 Appear less grim and dark. With lip and cheek 
 All cold, and colourless, save one small streak, 
 Slowly she passed beneath the briery vault, 
 That arched around and her light mantle caught. 
 Uncertain now her once firm step became, 
 As she revolved the chances of the game 
 On which she staked her all. Her husband's fate 
 And her own life and honour (once the gate 
 Of that dark castle passed) hung on the breath 
 Of one whose bloody sabre knew no sheath ; 
 With whose applauses outlaws caverns rung, 
 While his bold feats by rebel bards were sung, 
 And by whose sonorous name and adjunct wild 
 The Saxon mother quelled her 'streperous child. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Here, as they trod with rapid steps along, 
 Nora, all watchful, deemed a merry song 
 Would cheer her mistress and the time beguile, 
 Till they had passed a rugged wild defile 
 Where they were now enclosed. Gaily she trolled 
 In bird-like notes, and song on song she rolled 
 
OF ROSTREVOR, 45 
 
 From her light heart, where neither care or guilt 
 Had ever dwelt to mar one humorous lilt ; 
 " My Grandmother's Cot" she sang with merry glee 
 " Jenny bang the weaver" followed arch and free 
 With comic smile she carrolled " Long Tom Howe " 
 " The Irish Washwoman 39 and "The one-horned Cow;" 
 With these right- joyous scraps of rural song, 
 Melodious, humorous, quaint she skipt along, 
 Until she saw that good effects had come, 
 And on her mistress' cheek the wonted bloom ; 
 Then ceasing, clapped her hands and, bounding free, 
 Called to her, loud and quick, to come and see. 
 
 Just at that spot they had issued from the wood, 
 And on the river's brimming margin stood : 
 There on its farther bank in shattered pride 
 Appear Lea Castle's walls extending wide : 
 -Tall in the midst the ivy-covered keep 
 Looks sadly o'er the ruins : while here a heap 
 Of massive masonry and o'erthrown towers 
 Cumber the ballium. Above them lowers 
 A lofty splitten archway, seemingly burst 
 With scornful ire, to view the wreck accurst, 
 Made by the Eoundhead of the noblest pile 
 That feudal pride had raised in Erin's Isle. 
 
 VII. 
 
 For a few moments Nora with fond eye 
 Surveys the scene : then at Her shrill wild cry 
 (The well-known clannish signal) there peeps out 
 A glittering, wary eye from the redoubt 
 
46 THE HOSE 
 
 Over the nearest breastwork. At this she groans 
 And imitates the white owFs mournful tones ; 
 Then in her native Keltic hails a boat 
 Through her closed handstrump like to swell the 
 
 note; 
 
 At this, a head, stealthy and slow, uprears, 
 And next the entire watchful Kern appears : 
 One rapid look he gives one joyous yell, 
 And sinks again. But Nora knows full well, 
 That all is right. 'Tis Tasked self, Machree" 
 This to her mistress " Now perhaps you'll see 
 " Whether I brag or boast." She said no more. 
 For now their eyes are fixed on yonder shore, 
 Erom whence they see a hip-laden quicken bush, 
 That grew on the further bank mid flag and rush, 
 Suddenly leave its place move o'er the flood, 
 And slowly glide to where they trembling stood 
 In fear and joy. The quick-thorn touched the bank, 
 And from beneath its branches bent and dank 
 Out sprang the long-locked Kern : "Oh, Tasker dear, 
 " Is this yourself ! I knew there was no fear 
 " But soon " the rest was muttered out, but naught 
 Distinct was heard ; for Tasker joyful caught 
 His colleen up, and, as she tried to speak, 
 He kissed the words off: lip and eye and cheek 
 Soon blazed beneath his welcome, for the Kelt 
 Has love as hot as hate : both, keenly felt, 
 Make him outrageous seem with friend or foe, 
 And frantic, to the Saxon's soul of snow. 
 At length his joy finds vent in fiery word, 
 And bursts of questions from his lips are poured : 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 47 
 
 Nora at once confesses all the truth, 
 
 And their deep interest in the captive youth ; 
 
 How that the lady who stands suppliant near 
 
 Was lately made his bride ; her mistress dear : 
 
 Recounts her sad, romantic history, 
 
 And how he must her friend and servant be ; 
 
 All this, in Keltic rapidly expressed, 
 
 Like lightning glance flashed through keen Tasker's 
 
 breast ; 
 
 Turning at once, with anxious cheek and eye, 
 He bent full low in native courtesy ; 
 In English words, but Irish idiom strange 
 (Which to "plain Jocks" appears to disarrange 
 Some strict dull meaning), he "welcomed Lady Grace 
 " To the old Dun* ; a ruined, shattered place 
 " Musha ! Machreef it is. Oh ! Chreestha CrasJ, 
 " If that my lady seen it as it was 
 " In days hard bye, 'fore Gramme!' s bloody balls 
 " And powdther bombs had smashed the holy walls ! 
 " May sweet bad luck attend him for his pains, 
 * ' And when in Purgathory he gets out o' chains, 
 " May fifty tousand divvils off him rowl, 
 " And sparrow's meat make of his dirty sowl ! 
 " Mush-an, A-min ! But now, my lady, come 
 " And in my dawny cot, I'll pole ye home; 
 
 * Fortress. f Alack ! my dear. 
 
 J Cross of Christ, pronounced Crawss. $ Little. 
 
48 THE HOSE 
 
 " Eor underneath this purty bush Fve got 
 
 " As nate and clean and illigant a cot, 
 
 " As swims the Barrow's stream from this to Ross ; 
 
 " Don't be afeard ; Til put you safe across." 
 
 As Grace,, surprised, the curious craft surveyed, 
 Nora, all active, raised the leafy shade, 
 And soon disclosed a short flat-bottomed boat, 
 Skilfully " bushed :" in such unnoticed float 
 The % Barrow sportsmen, when they give pursuit 
 To wild swan, popjack, duck or wary coot ; 
 At times also its cunning canopy 
 Will screen from view the prowling Eapparee, 
 Bent on marauding deed or harrying feat. 
 
 Nora now cleared for Grace a fragrant seat, 
 O'er-hung with perfumed boughs, while Tasker held 
 The gunnel firm ; then with a pole propelled 
 The now well-freighted punt across the stream, 
 Until it gently touched what well might seem 
 A common bank, with furze and brier overgrown ; 
 Where, landing, Tasker rolled off a mossy stone, 
 Disclosing five deep steps, from whence a short 
 And narrow tunnel led to the ballium court. 
 
 So quick indeed had this strange ferrying passed, 
 Grace had no time to pause ; her heart beat fast, 
 But still her native courage higher rose 
 With the apparent danger. Only those 
 
or ROSTEEVOR. 49 
 
 In whom the true " blue blood" runs pure and bright, 
 Gain strength and wit thus in the very sight 
 Of what unnerves the common, feeble kind 
 Of men, who rush all helplessly and blind 
 Into the waves or flames. Now at Jils gate, 
 Whom she had ever learned to fear and hate ; 
 Within the walls and in the power of him, 
 So pictured in her mind as stern and grim 
 The dreaded Rapparee ; the outlawed Chief : 
 Horse-robber called ; marauder harryer thief 
 And other hang-dog names : all this, and more, 
 Came to her memory and smote her sore : 
 But then uprose his portrait whom she sought, 
 And whose sad fate and mischance dire had brought 
 Her a weak girl there : this braced her heart 
 And nerved her now with ease to play her part. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Tasker withdrew a secret bolt aside, 
 Which in the great door opened with a slide 
 A smaller portal. Within, a narrow porch 
 Had its dim twilight aided by a torch ; 
 For the long loop-holes that once gaily threw 
 The sunshine down in streams of red and blue 
 From antique tinted panes, were all closed in 
 With sods of earth, since Cromwell's culverin 
 Had blown the casements out, and the mine sprung 
 Those massive walls in fragments 'round had flung. 
 
50 THE ROSE 
 
 Through this they passed on into the great hall, 
 
 Or what had once been such ; whose blackened wall, 
 
 Neglected hearth, rent door and splitten roof, 
 
 Gives the beholder, sad, but arrant proof 
 
 Of what a beast man is, when brutalized 
 
 By superstition. That which is most prized, 
 
 Most rare or beauteous, is most sure to be 
 
 The most distasteful to blind bigotry. 
 
 Thus did the "crop-eared curs" their barbarous work, 
 
 In spite fanatic worse than Goth or Turk ! 
 
 So, in old England, Art's most precious gems 
 
 They burned in piles or flung into the Thames ; 
 
 Made mangers of the time-worn tombs of Kings, 
 
 Denied old fanes with stalls and other things 
 
 Of filth and stench : so, too, on Irish soil, 
 
 Their leader's cry was " Plunder, wreck and spoil ! 
 
 " Women and children slay" (helpless as sheep), 
 
 " And blow up castles, which ye cannot keep \" 
 
 'Twas thus these " Saints" "praised God :" thus they 
 
 fulfilled 
 
 Christ's maxims ! the more blood they spilled 
 (Such their dark creed), the more to flames and waves 
 They hurled, the more they served their God. Accursed 
 
 knaves ! 
 Th' arch- hypocrites' mark tools and whining slaves. . 
 
 Their prototypes are now the Russian hordes, 
 Who murder wounded men. Whose Czar rewards 
 His Admirals, Colonels, Majors not for foes 
 Gallantly vanquished, but for asssasin blows 
 
OP ROSTHEVOR. 51 
 
 And savage stabs ; while from each brutal mouth 
 Come drunken howls, mixed with some sound uncouth, 
 Which stands for God with them : a Gothic God for- 
 sooth ! 
 
 And such were Cromwell's " Saints :" their God the 
 
 same : 
 
 Russian they were indeed in all but name : 
 A fierce war-idol the blasphemer made 
 Of the mild Jesus, whom he did parade 
 In those black days to fire their brutish zeal, 
 As did the Muscovite of late appeal 
 To his besotted serfs, hawking around 
 Christ's image. May God these latter like the first 
 
 confound ! 
 
 Yet are there some in these mock-liberal days 
 Who think it generous looks "Old Noll" to praise, 
 Write books on Hero-worship, and then paint 
 A stilted picture of this ravening " Saint." 
 Veiling with craft his thousand murderous deeds ; 
 Pick a few flowers from out a world of weeds. * 
 Shame upon such ! let honest England still 
 Detest the canting crew ; each Jack and Gill 
 For "false loons" know them, as past ages knew them, 
 Such as the Prince of Wit, Sam. Butler, drew them. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Beyond the Hall, a door of fossil yew, 
 
 All richly veined in purple, brown and blue, 
 
52 THE ROSE 
 
 Opened upon a chamber vaulted o'er 
 
 With rushes strewn upon its earthen floor ; 
 
 Benches and stools, and massive chairs of oak, 
 
 Blackened by time and tinted by the smoke 
 
 Of -wood or peat fires, stood around, and shewed 
 
 The homely comforts of tins wild abode. 
 
 A short straight sword of Danish form and blade 
 
 Hung o'er the mantel ; by the walls was laid 
 
 A pile of arms ; sword, buckler, spear and skean, 
 
 With modern musket, then but rarely seen 
 
 In the wood-kern's grasp. Where fell the light 
 
 Softest and clearest, hung a portrait bright 
 
 Of a sweet Spanish girl, through whose hair 
 
 Bunches of grapes were wreathed ; the sole thing there 
 
 That spoke of peace; elsewhere, war's emblems grim 
 
 Filled every corner of that chamber dim. 
 
 While Grace surveyed the vault with rapid glance, 
 And marvelled for a moment what strange chance 
 Had brought such lovely bacchanalian face 
 To smile upon the gloom of that wild place ; 
 A door at the further end was opened wide, 
 And a bold figure entered with a stride, 
 As if in haste ; a yellow garment, wrapped 
 In ample folds around him, gently flapped 
 With a light breeze, that close behind him blew 
 Erom a small window. Nora breathless flew 
 Up to his side, and, grasping at his hand, 
 Kissed it with fervour ; and without command 
 
OF IIOSTREVOR. 
 
 At once in Keltic poured forth, a rapid tale, 
 How she held service near the Saxon Pale, 
 How her young mistress here had lately wed 
 The Orange Knight, whom he had captive led 
 From Boyne's disastrous field ; and how distraught 
 His destiny to share she fondly sought ; 
 How she had traversed forest, fen and moor, 
 In the dear hope his ransom to procure, 
 And now stood there, in doubt and foolish fear, 
 From the Chiefs lips her husband's fate to hear. 
 
 While Nora thus with eager pathos poured 
 
 Her love-tale out in many a graphic word, 
 
 The Tanist turned an earnest look on Grace, 
 
 And scanned the traits of her sweet Saxon face, 
 
 Beaming with mingled pride, and doubt and fear ; 
 
 Her blue eye bright, yet dewy with a tear ; 
 
 The speaking blush which glowed upon her cheek, 
 
 And the full quivering lip, compressed to speak 
 
 So soon as Nora ceased : on which he turned 
 
 To Grace, whose classic brow and temples burned 
 
 With nervous agony : in gentlest voice 
 
 And kindest tone he said, "he did rejoice 
 
 " That fortune had to him for once been good 
 
 " In bringing her to Lea : that where she stood 
 
 " Had been untrod by lady fair, since those 
 
 " Long past but unforgotten days (ere foes 
 
 " Had blasted all), when one was there, whose smile 
 
 " Brightened the gloom of this dismantled pile. 
 
54 THE ROSE 
 
 " He knew her story, and now, her doubts to end, 
 " He'd bring her where she'd meet a well-loved friend, 
 " If she would kindly give her hand to him, 
 " And take his guidance through those chambers dim/' 
 
 On this, with courteous care he led her through 
 The door behind : another door of yew 
 Disclosed another chamber, 'decked with care ; 
 Lo ! by the casement, in a great oak chair, 
 She sees her Ronald : a cry a blush a start 
 Next moment she is folded to his heart. 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 55 
 
 PART Y. 
 
 O'DEMPSY for a moment fed his eyes 
 With the fond ecstacy and 'rapt surprise 
 That filled the happy pair : then slowly turned, 
 And with a sigh that shewed some grief, deep urned 
 Within his breast, retired with noiseless tread, 
 With folded arms, bent brow, and drooping head. 
 Upon a bench his careless limbs he flung, 
 Before the wall, where that bright portrait hung ; 
 And there he lingered for an hour or more, 
 Pondering that sweet visage o'er and o'er 
 With softened brow : anon, with fiery glance 
 He stood upright ; seized from its hook a lance 
 And shook it with a maniac smile : A curse 
 Begot in Spain ; in Ireland put to nurse 
 Rose to his lips in words of bitterness 
 And such deep scorn as those alone express 
 Who curse in Spain or Erin. Ah ! the dart 
 Stings sore, that rankles in that noble heart. 
 She was his .own ; his sweetest, dearest wife ; 
 In Spain he won her : unconscious of the strife 
 That racked his native fields, he homeward came 
 To find all ruined ; titles, lands and name 
 
56 THE ROSE 
 
 All gone ; destruction, fragments, gloom 
 
 Over the whole : a profligate, mean groom, 
 
 The owner now by law. In stern despair 
 
 He seized Lea Castle ; made a homestead there 
 
 Out of the ruined vaults. His true-souled girl 
 
 No fair-weather flutterer she through toil and peril 
 
 Her husband aye would follow : by forest track 
 
 Through fen and moor by day or night attack, 
 
 Still at his side she rode. Had she not sworn 
 
 Her fate with his to join ? and if forlorn 
 
 It had turned out, 'twas fortune's sad decree, 
 
 And she should share it, same 's if Prosperity 
 
 Her sunniest, summer smile had o'er him shed, 
 
 And with a coronet bedeckt his head. 
 
 Alas ! that such a faithful heart should feel 
 
 The cruel pangs of bullets and cold steel. 
 
 One twilight eve returning through a glen 
 
 With a few Kerns, a band of Coote's fierce men 
 
 Beset them from an ambush ; ten to one 
 
 They were in numbers : that night the young rnoon shone 
 
 On a sad sight ; ill-fated Clanmalier 
 
 Prostrate on earth beside the fresh-made bier 
 
 Of his young wife ; her snowy bosom torn 
 
 With barbarous balls her glossy ringlets shorn 
 
 Prom her fair forehead by a brutal stroke 
 
 Of Saxon sabre. Beneath an ancient oak 
 
 She lay in death, while grim and gaunt around, ' 
 
 Eleven English foemen drenched the ground 
 
 With their thick blood : O'Dempsy's single arm 
 
 Had laid them low. Too late the wild alarm 
 
OF EOSTEEVOE. 57 
 
 Of an attack in front smiting his ear, 
 
 Brought him in furious gallop from the rear, 
 
 In time to see his beauteous flower cut down. 
 
 The wretch that did it he split through the crown, 
 
 So that his head did hang on either side ; 
 
 Ten more with their blood and brains the green earth 
 
 dyed; 
 
 The others fled ; and while his Kerns pursue, 
 Back to his fallen love he quickly flew ; 
 One dying look she gave him ; one cold shiver ; 
 And her sweet perfumed breath is gone for ever ! 
 He kissed her purple wounds, and by them swore 
 That he would rivers spill of Saxon gore ; 
 By day and night their harried homes assail, 
 Nor leave one acre of their boasted Pale 
 Unscourged, unridden o'er. How fierce, how well 
 He kept his oath, old chronicles can tell. 
 Her dear remains he laid beside the Barrow, 
 Beneath a little knock *, where plough nor harrow 
 Have ever come ; but oft the flood will rave 
 And sweep around the lovely Spaniard's grave. 
 Glorious old trees then formed a temple there, 
 Part of the thick oak forest ; now all's bare, 
 Save where the bull-rush or the dark green sedge 
 Clothes the wide callow and the river's edge. 
 
 With these sad memories burning in his breast, 
 His mournful passion knows nor cure, nor rest ; 
 
 * Small, low hill. 
 
58 THE ROSE 
 
 Ofttimes his tortured mind to frenzy wrought, 
 His faithful fosterers think him nigh distraught ; 
 But, in his wildest moods, his noble soul 
 Tempers the thunder-gusts that o'er him roll. 
 
OF ROSTREVOE. 59 
 
 PAET VI. 
 
 i. 
 
 'Tis the summer night, but the river is chill, 
 
 And the ruined walls induce a thrill, 
 
 A sense of cold perhaps more keen 
 
 Than when dazzling snow or icicle green 
 
 Float or hang i' the crisp, clear air, 
 
 When the roses are dead and the forest is bare. 
 
 A sparkling wood-fire's cheerful blaze 
 
 Is not amiss, though the summer haze 
 
 Enwraps the meadows, and filmy things 
 
 Flit 'round the keep on noiseless wings. 
 
 A fire of fossil fir and peat 
 
 What can excel for its genial heat ; 
 
 So brilliant and bright with its flickering light, 
 
 It perfumes the breeze and illumines the night. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Round such a fire by the time-tinted hearth, 
 Where thousand antique memories have birth,, 
 In old Lea Castle's hall, two happy guests 
 Sit lovingly ; their fond and faithful breasts 
 
60 THE ROSE 
 
 Swelling with noblest gratitude; for lie, 
 The dreaded Irish Chief, the Rapparee, 
 Has proved himself so courteous, mild and kind, 
 And met them with attentions so refined, 
 That all the anxious pangs, and doubts, and dread 
 Which tortured Grace before, are happ'ly fled. 
 When once he knew her story, and became 
 Acquainted with her old historic name, 
 He would not hear of ransom. Prom the first, 
 The wounded Ronald like a child he nursed. 
 His generous soul misgave him, when he thought 
 How Tasker, smiting from behind, had brought 
 His gallant captive down. Thus soon a new 
 And noble friendship 'twixt the foemen grew. 
 But when Grace came, giving such faithful proof 
 Of what a young wife could do when nerved by love, 
 His great heart swelled with sympathy : in sooth, 
 She matched his own in loveliness and truth : 
 And from that hour he swore their friend to be, 
 And shewed them Keltic hospitality. 
 Now here beneath his old roof-tree they sit 
 In converse free ; while pathos, humour, wit 
 (Dashed ofttimes with a gloomy, savage burst 
 Of merriment, as for some wrong deep nursed) 
 Flowed from O'Dempsy's lips. Eonald essayed 
 Quaint Saxon tales from old romances made, 
 While Grace, all joy and smiles, took up a lute 
 Hung by the wall (long had its chords been mute), 
 And in such rich and mellow tones she sang, 
 That the old rafters in sweet echo rang ; 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 61 
 
 And tears, all full of brightest memories, 
 Poured, child-like, from the stern Na Cophuirs eyes ; 
 Tor, ah ! the brilliant girl, who once had swept 
 Those strings, the sleep of death for years has slept. 
 
 in. 
 
 This bitter train of thought to change or check 
 The bonny Nora came at her mistress' beck ; 
 And, drawing Tasker on, she curtsied low, 
 Then up and down in " Irish jig " they go. 
 An aged piper last of six who erst 
 In prouder times were wont (as the sun burst 
 All laughing from Aurora's rosy arms) 
 To rouse the clan each morn with loud alarms 
 And war-notes shrill, now in subdued, soft tones 
 Tills the night-air with music. Anon he drones 
 In wild and sad refrain : the chanter soon, 
 Flute-like, resumes the humorous, jovial tune. 
 Nora, with mincing steps and roguish looks, 
 Retreats before and then pursuit provokes ; 
 Her partner follows, and with glancing heel 
 Outstrips bolero, hornpipe, or reel 
 In wondrous twists, turns fanciful and quaint; 
 While she, " as sly and solemn as a saint/' 
 With arms akimbo, "jigging" at her ease, 
 And saucy air, half triumph and half tease, 
 Keeps right before him, holding up her gown, 
 Until at length he yields ; she's danced him down ! 
 
 G 
 
62 THE KOSE 
 
 IV. 
 
 Bright blazed the fire ; more logs and peat thrown on, 
 
 In ruddy glare the scanty relics shone 
 
 Of . the old furniture. High-backed oak chairs, 
 
 Splitten and cracked, stand by the walls in pairs ; 
 
 An antique bench of blackest fossil oak, 
 
 Prom which a cannon- shot had long since broke 
 
 A massive leg, stood by the hearth, and bore 
 
 A monster silver jug, all bubbling o'er 
 
 With aromatic claret, freshly drawn 
 
 Prom a huge pipe, deep buried in the bawn.* 
 
 Three silver cans, emblazoned and embossed, 
 
 Saved from the ruins when most else was lost, 
 
 Shone on the table. Prom her's Grace lightly sips, 
 
 And with the fragrant juice bedews her lips ; 
 
 While Ronald and his host in draughts divine 
 
 Pour deep libations to the God of wine. 
 
 v. 
 
 Thus passed the eve. Each hardy, weary Kern 
 Has left the hall and sought his bed of fern 
 Within the cells, which stand in triple tiers 
 By the outer walls : like a bee-comb appears 
 Their clustering fronts, or like a dove-cote piled, 
 Box upon box. Two hundred followers wild 
 Thus a rude shelter find each night in Lea, 
 Dining on well-fed English beef by day, 
 
 * Courtyard. 
 
OF EOSTKEVOR. 63 
 
 And drinking deep of golden usquebaugh, 
 
 That never paid a tribute to the law, 
 
 INTor ever was by excise dogs defiled ; 
 
 But in white noggins'* filled, luscious and mild, 
 
 From fragrant casks exultingly it flowed, 
 
 And down their ardent throats like liquid amber glowed. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The hall thus cleared, O'Dempsy and his guests 
 Outsat the stars and talked with open breasts. 
 With noblest sympathy and manly rage, 
 The Tanist heard those deeds (which blot the page 
 Of Ireland's story) vouched for by one who saw 
 Them done in blood ; the deeds of fear and awe 
 Of those dark days ; deeds of remorseless sin 
 And cruel spite, wrought by the Jacobin 
 On unoffending infancy and age 
 Among the Lutheran sect. What can assuage 
 Or melt the stony bigot heart, when steeped 
 In Hell's demoniac pits ! such never leaped 
 With generous joy ; but sullen, cold and black, 
 Seeks ever but some ruse or night attack, 
 Answering the old man's groan the infant's cry 
 The mother's prayer the maid's imploring eye, 
 With ' ' Down, heretic, down \ take this and this 
 and die!" 
 
 And thus, with brutal wounds, too sad to tell, 
 Were human forms destroyed by dogs of Hell, 
 
 * Wooden cups. 
 
64 THE ROSE 
 
 In thousands in those days of crime and shame, 
 'Till Orange William their deliverer came. 
 
 VII. 
 
 At these dark tales Na Coplrail's temples burn, 
 
 And boils his generous blood : and in his turn, 
 
 He gives a rapid sketch of all the woes 
 
 He and his suffered from their Eoundhead foes ; 
 
 But when he comes in bitter words to paint 
 
 How that his sire and he were both attaint 
 
 By Borlace and his rebel crop-eared crew, 
 
 For their strict fealty to Charles ; and drew 
 
 A graphic picture of the base reward 
 
 They had received ; and how the poor old Lord 
 
 Had broken-hearted died in those same vaults 
 
 Where once he" kept his wine ; the indignant thoughts, 
 
 Which, while the injured Chieftain spoke, were pent 
 
 In each full bosom, now in words find vent ; 
 
 While tears of sweetest sympathy and pain 
 
 Course slowly down the cheeks of Grace ( as rain 
 
 Drops on a summer morn from moss-rose leaves), 
 
 While with indignant grief her tender bosom heaves. 
 
 Ronald then said, "'Tis clear that on either side 
 
 te Yile deeds are done, enough to make us hide 
 
 " Our heads with rage and shame. Such ever comes 
 
 " When fratricidal civil war benumbs 
 
 " All human feelings ; and men nay, women turn 
 
 " Wolfish in heart ; and so will rend or burn 
 
 " Those who have dwelt beside them for long years 
 
 ' ( In the same village ; had the same hopes and fears ; 
 
OF EOSTEEVOR. 65 
 
 " Stirred by the same kind feelings ; were provoked 
 
 " By the same wrongs ; 'till Beelzebub evoked 
 
 " Their evil natures, and the tempter came 
 
 " To make them brutes in mild Beligion's name ! 
 
 " There is no true Religion on this earth, 
 
 " But with a few, who have nor place nor berth 
 
 " 'Mongst dark sectarians. She abhors disowns 
 
 " All venomous sects ; joying in smiles, not groans : 
 
 " The honest, pure, humane are her ' Elect ; ' 
 
 " These are her only flock her only sect : 
 
 " Such are dependant for their hopes on high, 
 
 " On virtuous deeds, good will and charity ; 
 
 " And not on apish forms on kneeling, bowing, 
 
 ' ' With idiotic antics, ' mopping, mowing/ 
 
 " And surely, if a God in heaven there be, 
 
 " And a Hereafter with Eternity, 
 
 " They'll have reward, not as they bowed or knelt, 
 
 " But as they thought and acted hoped and felt. 
 
 ' ' They'll be rewarded ; doubtless so will those 
 
 " Whose cruel deeds have brought unnumbered woes 
 
 " On human kind. In God's most holy name, 
 
 " Who've tortured human forms with rack and flame ; 
 
 " Some pangs more exquisite must be in store 
 
 " For such, than can be drawn from nerve or gore 
 
 " On which such monsters gloat. Alas ! no spot 
 
 " On earth is free from such, and Erin's lot, 
 
 " Though hapless now, is not perchance more curst 
 
 " Than other realms. The ferocious thirst 
 
 " Of howling Superstition would absorb 
 
 " The life-blood of each corner of tin's orb, 
 
DO THE ROSE 
 
 " And will remain so, till men cease to fling 
 
 " Their reason down; like puppets on a string, 
 
 " Dancing to tunes which cunning bigots play, 
 
 " Who laugh within their sleeves, as well they may, 
 
 " To see the sorry sight. Spaniel-like, men 
 
 " Crouching to earth ; crying, like clerks, 'Amen/ 
 
 " To every rite obscene. Ah ! if such fools 
 
 " Would dare to reason, not then as blinded tools 
 
 " Of arrant roguery would they thus bend, 
 
 " But upright Godlike think of the Last Great End, 
 
 " The Past the Present with their Cosmic Laws 
 
 " Sole revelations of the First Great Cause ! 
 
 " Then would men cease to run like sheep in flocks 
 
 " After some bleating bell- weather : then mere blocks 
 
 " No longer be their heads. Organs and brains 
 
 " Swept clear of cobwebs, mists and mental chains 
 
 " Would soon perform their simple mysteries, 
 
 " And show the Wells where Truth all naked lies ! " 
 
 In converse such as this they passed the night, 
 In stern but friendly vein, 'till morning' s light 
 Shot through the narrow opes with gentle rays, 
 Mingling its pale tints with the woodfire's blaze. 
 They parted then to take a few hours' rest : 
 The Chief on hard and simple pallet pressed, 
 While for his Guests was smoothed an antique bed 
 With velvet hangings, on whose lofty head 
 A crown of ostrich plumes were proudly borne, 
 Part of those battle-spoils, which once were shorne 
 
OF ROSTREVOE. 67 
 
 From the Essex warriors at that Pass* of fame 
 
 Which to this day retains its gaudy name. 
 
 This princely relic much Na Cophuil prized, 
 
 And kept with care, though a richer couch, despised, 
 
 Lay lumbering in a store : a downy plane, 
 
 Whereon a sensual bishop once had lain 
 
 In slothful dreams ; 'till roused one sunny morn 
 
 By the O'Dempsies ; and bed and bishop borne 
 
 Off to Lea Castle, there remained in quod, 
 
 Until his friends released " the man of God" 
 
 By ponderous ransom. The bed, unransomed, still 
 
 With " odour of sanctity " the store doth fill : 
 
 But not a captive nor an honoured guest 
 
 Of the O'Dempsy ever yet has pressed 
 
 Its quilted cushions. The spider and the moth 
 
 Dwell unmolested in the bed of Sloth. 
 
 * The Pass of Plumes. See notes. 
 
68 THE ROSE 
 
 PART VII. 
 
 THE fifth day from the Battle ! The hot sun 
 
 Looks down with gorgeous splendour from his throne 
 
 In the clear, undimmed sky ; ultramarine 
 
 With lilac tinged its tint. The earth in green 
 
 Sparkling is clad. Bird, bee, and flower rejoice ; 
 
 Mammoth and insect murmur in glad voice. 
 
 A glimmering haze, like a gauze veil, is spread 
 
 Enwrapping all. Yonder and overhead 
 
 A dancing mirage, by moor, lake, and fen, 
 
 Lifts, mirrored, to the sky, trees, towers, and men. 
 
 The wavelet ripples by the river's brink, 
 
 Where the white water-lilies float and drink ; 
 
 Drink with their great soft lips, and float in bliss 
 
 Upon the liquid glory. On morn like this 
 
 A gallant cavalcade is marshalling 
 
 By old Lea Castle's gate. With plunge and fling, 
 
 A hundred hardy Irish nags come out, 
 
 Curbed by their supple riders ; who, with shrill shout, 
 
 Halt there and dress. Glued to their seats, they sit 
 
 Unstirrupped saddleless. A long- jawed bit 
 
 And single rein alone they use. Their dress 
 
 As simple is, and light ; no boots compress 
 
OF EOSTEEVOR. 69 
 
 Nor cramp their feet ; nor brazen helmets crush 
 Their aching temples ; yet to the fight they'll rush, 
 Thoughtless of danger their long spears stretching 
 
 far, 
 And with wild yells and cries proclaiming war. 
 
 And now their Chief appears, and by his side 
 
 Sir Ronald and his faithful, smiling bride ; 
 
 She on a beauteous pony, dappled roan, 
 
 With silver points. But not on "a wandering throne" 
 
 Sits she, " to woman limited alone," 
 
 As sings the bard ; for then unused, unknown 
 
 The modern side-saddle. Unconscious of offence 
 
 Or any breach of modesty's pure fence, 
 
 Discarding petticoat and cumbrous skirt, 
 
 With feet in shortened stirrups free, alert, 
 
 She rides in trousers, of softest doeskin made, 
 
 On Spanish saddle, bright with nails and braid. 
 
 Two downy plumes of heron's feathers grey 
 
 Along her graceful hat's broad leaflets play; 
 
 A tunic of the richest myrtle green 
 
 Fits close to her lovely form, where no screen 
 
 Of modern stays, with ribs of steel between, 
 
 Murders good taste and beauty's line destroys, 
 
 And to Death's arms brings Youth with all its 
 
 Sir Ronald also, on a coal-black steed 
 
 Of powerful limb and noted mingled breed, 
 
 Half Norman and half Irish, moves along, 
 
 And in grand strides outwalks the trotting throng. 
 
70 THE ROSE 
 
 Around " Black Diamond's " clear and fiery eyes 
 A band of white extends ; o'er his vast thighs 
 His wondrous sinews play, and web-like veins 
 Start from his crest and mark his glossy reins. 
 This noble brute with Grace's dappled roan 
 Na Cophuil begs his guests will deem their own, 
 Which they accept, well pleased, and hope to make 
 Mementos of hereafter for his sake. 
 
 t 
 
 Anon comes Nora, bursting with pride and joy, 
 On pillion throned behind " her own loved boy/' 
 The cunning, active Tasker. Her happiness 
 Is now supreme, and almost with caress 
 So kind her grasp she holds her lover's belt, 
 And whispers in his ear soft things in kelt. 
 
 Thus set they forth : Na Cophuil leads the throng ; 
 Through the deep woods they canter swift along, 
 Until they reach that ford on Barrow's side 
 Hardbye where now in cold monastic pride 
 Moore Abbey's battlements are seen ; that ford 
 Where soon some gallant heart's blood will be poured 
 Into the rushing stream. Dashing aside 
 The sparkling waves, up the far bank they ride, 
 And onward where Cloncarlin's green mound lies, 
 Threading the moor by paths, which but the eyes 
 Of fox or Eapparee could mark, until 
 They reach the pass that crowns Dunmurry's hill. 
 
 Here they slack rein to breathe their panting steeds, 
 And from the summit view the forest meads 
 
OF ROSTEEVOR. v 71 
 
 And vales of Meath, stretching out north and east, 
 
 Yclad in tints whereon the eye might feast 
 
 And revel for a day. But soon again 
 
 In easy gait they skim the level plain 
 
 By well-known route, until they reach the course 
 
 Of the small rills, whence Boyne derives his source. 
 
 In joyous converse, as they sweep along, 
 
 The hours go by. Thus gaily they prolong 
 
 And pass the summer day. Ronald and Grace 
 
 Feel no fatigue for all the rapid pace 
 
 So lovely is the scene ; such balm the breeze 
 
 Which floats so cool beneath the giant trees 
 
 That wave their arms on high. Na Cophuil too 
 
 Into their varied tales and subjects threw 
 
 Such charm of speech and such romantic lore, 
 
 That his whole breast appeared a luminous store 
 
 Of sparkling anecdote : for ofttimes " truth 
 
 More wondrous is than fiction." His early youth 
 
 Was passed in Spain, where marvel and romance 
 
 Were the strict rule, and common place the chance. 
 
 With this his noble bearing and his care 
 
 Of wounded Ronald, and the courteous air 
 
 With which he treated Grace from the hour she 
 
 came, 
 
 So filled their souls with gratitude' s soft flame, 
 That now they thought but of the amplest way 
 By which they might his generous acts repay. 
 
 Onward they canter still by moat and rath, 
 Straight as a bird would fly. The forest path, 
 
72 THE EOSE 
 
 Often diverged from, brings tliem close at length 
 
 By Dangan's Castle* walls of massive strength, 
 
 Where, after lapse of many fleeting years, 
 
 An Infant Hercules on earth appears ; 
 
 Whom Destiny had marked, and whose proud name 
 
 Has since been blazoned on the scrolls of Fame. 
 
 Onward they go, till evening's shadows chill 
 
 Enwrap them, as they pass by Dowth's green hill. 
 
 The fateful battle-field is on their right, 
 
 From whence murk mists ascend. The starless night 
 
 Of the mid-summer flings mysterious shades 
 
 O'er river callows and o'er forest glades ; 
 
 No shout no sound no whisper, even of life, 
 
 From those wide slopes, the scene of mortal strife 
 
 But a few days gone by. The silent dead 
 
 Reign paramount. And those, who needs must tread 
 
 Over that bloody plain, will bend full low 
 
 In honour of the fallen, or friend or foe. 
 
 Death levels all ; and 'neath Boyne's bloody turf 
 
 All, who found graves or in his yellow surf 
 
 Were 'gulped, upon our hearts have equal claim ; 
 
 Their wounds, their pangs, their gallantry the same. 
 
 Here halts the Irish chief. The hour has come 
 When he again must seek his ruined home ; 
 
 * The birth-place of the late Duke of Wellington, and 
 where his childhood was passed. 
 
OF UOSTREVOR. 73 
 
 Fling happy sympathies and converse by, 
 And act the part which stern necessity 
 Has driven him to. Alas ! how sad, that fate 
 Should thus make sport of one whom love, not hate 
 Whom peace, not war was most congenial to, 
 And whose large heart, as tender, soft, and true 
 As gentlest woman's, was driven, by rage and grief, 
 In strife and blood to seek a fierce relief. 
 
 Reining his horse, with hand held out to each, 
 In saddened tone he says, and faltering speech : 
 " Farewell, my friends ; safe escort I have given 
 "Thus far. And now King William's name and 
 
 Heaven 
 
 " I trust will bring you safe ; farewell. If e'er 
 " Hereafter 'mongst your Orange friends you hear 
 " Cahir Na Cophuil named in hate or scorn, 
 " Plead his poor cause \ tell how unblest, forlorn 
 " His fate has been ; with what vile mockery 
 " His lawful claims were met. That, born to high 
 " And noble rank, to titles, name and land, 
 " He's now an outlaw ; branded with the brand 
 " Of felon-robber ! Cooped in a ruined tower, 
 " Knowing and heeding not what day or hour 
 " A death inglorious from some treacherous blow 
 " Of Saxon ball or steel may lay him low. 
 " But be that soon or late, not quick shall fade 
 " The rose-tint gleam of peace so sweetly made 
 " By thy kind presence, lady. And if from me 
 " Horse-robber as I am rogue rapparee 
 
 H 
 
74 THE EOSE 
 
 " Praises may be received, I would express 
 
 " My deep-felt sense of thy pure faithfulness ; 
 
 " Thy courage, constancy, and matchless truth, 
 
 " And love unfaltering for this gallant youth, 
 
 " Who's worthy of thee. Guard her, Sir Konald, 
 
 well; 
 
 " Love such as hers would make a Heaven in Hell, 
 " While Paradise itself would not suffice 
 " For a false wife, or one whose heart of ice 
 " Is worse than falsehood ! Adieu, my friends ; from 
 
 this 
 
 " I must return. May every earthly bliss 
 " Be on and 'round you. Tasker will guide you still, 
 " Until you reach the base of that bright hill 
 " Where stands Montgomerie's Fort ; 1 know it well, 
 " And once its noble owner met ; how, he can tell. 
 " Let Tasker have a pass ; once more, farewell \" 
 
 They turn to grasp his hand. Grace's blue eyes 
 
 Overflow at once, and watery films arise 
 
 In Eonald' s, as he says : " We part, my friends, 
 
 " But for a time. Our gratitude shan't end 
 
 " In words or tears. This night alone I'll stay 
 
 " At home ; then seek the King, now on his way 
 
 " Victorious southward ; and, with Montgomerie's aid 
 
 " And all our interests joined, I'm not afraid 
 
 " But we shall thy attainder get reversed ; 
 
 " And all thy kin, now scattered and dispersed, 
 
 ' ' Made loving friends, as gallant foes they've been ; 
 
 " Then such rejoicings never yet were seen 
 
OF EOSTREVOR. 75 
 
 " As we will have. Bostrevor's mountains green 
 
 " Will echo tenfold with the heartfelt cheer 
 
 " That then will greet the noble Clanmalier ! 
 
 " Shake not thy head in doubt. By God above, 
 
 " If Orange William don't thy ban remove, 
 
 " Til join thee. Aye, and Grace will join thee too 
 
 " In old Lea Castle. He and his shall rue 
 
 " That day. But, no ; such cannot ever be, 
 
 " For William's heart is generous, just and free, 
 
 " Upright and liberal, and he loves the brave, 
 
 " And only scorns the treacherous, crouching slave. 
 
 " Farewell then, noble friend ; be of good cheer ; 
 
 " Keep thy men quiet ; soon expect to hear 
 
 " Good news, addressed to Yiscount Clanmalier." 
 
 They part. Grace gives her cheek, all wet with 
 
 . tears, 
 
 To his kind kiss. His horse, wheeled round, uprears, 
 And in the twilight gloom he disappears. 
 They turn in silence. Tasker leads the way, 
 And Nora, who alone is brisk and gay, 
 Upon her pillion proudly sits, and bends 
 Her head in joy. To see them part such friends, 
 And with such hopes of future happiness, 
 Crowns every wish she has. In thankfulness 
 She clasps her hands, forgetful (at the least 
 We think so) they were clasping Tasker's waist. 
 With love for all her simple heart overflows ; 
 She finds there's something gracious even in foes. 
 She loves her mistress and Sir Ronald too ; 
 Loves her own Chief. " Hurra ! Diomsaigh aboo \" 
 
76 THE ROSE 
 
 Loves Tasker for himself ; eke for that blow 
 
 With which (ah ! lucky hit) he levelled low 
 
 Sir Konald. But for that bold stroke,, no doubt, 
 
 Where would have been this gay and gallant rout ? 
 
 Where their romantic forest wanderings, 
 
 And where the friendships and the noble things 
 
 Just said and done ? She loves the Orangemen 
 
 And their bold King ; because he'll soon again, 
 
 She thinks she is sure her Chiefs estate restore, 
 
 And make him greater than he was before. 
 
 She loves Montgomerie, as she knows full well 
 
 The way to his large heart ; how it will swell 
 
 When he hears all this tale. A kindness done 
 
 To his dear Child holds him already won ; 
 
 And from his powerful interest with the King, 
 
 O'Dempsy's pardon is a settled thing 
 
 In Nora's happy mind. But lights ahead 
 
 Seem o'er the horizon suddenly to spread, 
 
 As they ascend a hill. 'Tis the gay town 
 
 Of Drogheda, which now in joy would drown 
 
 All bitter memories of former woes, 
 
 When Cromwell and his merciless " Saints" were foes; 
 
 Or those sad days when treacherous Jacobite 
 
 On the unoffending wreaked their bigot spite, 
 
 Till gallant Tichbourne taught the ruthless crew 
 
 What one clear head and dauntless heart could do ; 
 
 And, aided by the chivalrous Moore, repelled 
 
 Thousands with hundreds, and their madness quelled. 
 
 A moment more they're at the western gate, 
 Where Ronald's bugle sounds ; nor long to wait 
 
OF EOSTREVOR. 77 
 
 Had they, for AnketelTs worthy son is there, 
 A friend, in whose brave charge and faithful care 
 William the town had left. With greetings loud 
 He gives their names to the exulting crowd. 
 Eapid the news flies through the joyous town, 
 Their boisterous revelry to cap and crown. 
 Ronald had been returned as lost or slain ; 
 Montgomerie's daughter too, with grief and pain, 
 All friends had heard, was missing from the Fort 
 In most mysterious guise. This sad report 
 Had cast o'er all an unaffected gloom ; 
 But now restored, above the cannon's boom, 
 And o'er the hissing rocket's fiery flight, 
 Arise such cheers as shake the summer night 
 Through all her tremulous airs. A thousand arms 
 Are stretched to them, and all the late alarms 
 For their joint safety in a moment past ; 
 Grace, from her gallant pony freed at last, 
 After her wondrous ride"*, finds welcome sweet 
 With kindly friends, in whose cool, safe retreat 
 She'll pass the night in slumbers fresh and calm, 
 For a light conscience steeps her soul in bliss and 
 balm. 
 
 * About 50 miles. 
 
78 THE ROSE 
 
 PART VIII. 
 
 WHAT thundering noise of clattering hoofs 
 
 Echo from Port Montgomerie's roofs ? 
 
 A dashing troop triumphant comes, 
 
 With clanging trumps and rattling drums ; 
 
 Across the sounding drawbridge prancing, 
 
 Helm, and spear, and sabre glancing; 
 
 Exulting cheers unchecked they give, 
 
 " Long may glorious William live ! 
 
 se Hurrah ! long live Montgomerie ! 
 
 " In health, renown, prosperity. 
 
 " A cheer for brave Loughbrickland too ! 
 
 " And ten for her, so tried, so true, 
 
 " Who glads all hearts with gentlest smiles, 
 
 " Whose fame has gone a thousand miles, 
 
 " As maid unmatched unmatched as wife ; 
 
 " May God protect her peace and life V 
 
 u. 
 
 A week has gone since Ronald swiftly passed 
 Prom Drogheda ; at Waterford at last 
 He came up with the King. Meantime had Grace 
 Returned, right well-escorted, home. The race 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 79 
 
 Was now who could most honour her or serve ; 
 Women her modesty, all men her nerve 
 Lauded throughout the land. Eostrevor's Eose 
 Was sung and toasted. Friends as well as foes 
 Agreed she peerless was. With gentle pride 
 She heard their praise, nor with false taste denied 
 That she deserved it; but no shade, how light, 
 Of vulgar sauciness e'er came to blight 
 The roseate blush of unmixed happiness 
 That tinged her cheek. Each kind or fond caress 
 Prom her dear friends but made her gentler still, 
 And her soft breast with sweeter feelings thrill. 
 In this most exquisite and charming frame 
 Of mind she dwelt, until her Father came, 
 And with him her dear Eonald. Ah ! the news 
 They bring is good. The King could not refuse 
 Their joint petition. Their gladsome, sparkling eyes 
 Tell her as much, as down the stair she flies. 
 They sweep in gallop through the eastern port, 
 And spring from horse-back in the ballium court ; 
 Another moment and she's clasped in bliss, 
 In Sire's and Husband's arms. Sweet kiss on kiss 
 She gets and gives ; the while she murmurs out 
 A welcome to the troop, whose joyous shout 
 Makes the strong walls resound. Montgomerie now 
 Casts off his plated helmet. His pale brow, 
 Marked deep with sun and dust, is shaded o'er 
 With rich brown curling locks, which sorrow more 
 Than age has tinged with silver. For he had made 
 A hapless marriage sad lot, which cast a shade 
 
*80 THE ROSE. 
 
 Over his manhood. His natural placid look 
 
 Changed with it a melancholy sternness took 
 
 Possession of his features. But though the form 
 
 Of coldness supervened, his heart was warm 
 
 Beneath, and all his feelings fresh and green, 
 
 As if unblighted they had ever been ; 
 
 Nor did one misanthropic thought obscure 
 
 His mind's bright mirror ; nor, for the acts impure 
 
 And crimes of one, did he as false despise 
 
 All womankind. Though formed for sweetest ties 
 
 And joys domestic, foul conspiracies 
 
 Disturbed his quiet. An unnatural wretch, 
 
 So base, so bad and cruel, that no stretch 
 
 Of blackest fancy could too darkly paint 
 
 The baneful picture, had contrived to taint 
 
 A once pure well of joy. Love's pathway crossed, 
 
 Blighting its heart-flowers like a venomous frost 
 
 And thus a Wife, once dearly loved, was lost, 
 
 Seduced by his own Brother ! The world ne'er saw 
 
 A case so bad, nor dreamt it. Human law 
 
 Does not provide for such abnormal crime ; 
 
 Hence does the traitor triumph for a time ; 
 
 But yet a time will come "'tis a long lane 
 
 Which has no end" when Guilt with all his train 
 
 Of Cunning, Fraud and Lust, from Death's cold clutch 
 
 Will not defend him ; nor that tottering crutch 
 
 Of sophistry, on which he long has lent, 
 
 Uphold his putrid carcass. His days illspent 
 
 In slander, cowardice and meanest spite 
 
 Turning Love's day-spring into blackest night 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 
 
 81 
 
 Bribing a wife to paths of shame and sin, 
 Where joys domestic end, and woes begin 
 Surely on such a wretch the avenging rod 
 Of Justice will descend, if there's a God. 
 
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 Howbeit, Montgomerie had struggled well 
 
 With his sad lot ; though oft his breast would swell 
 
 With grief and pity. Ah ! the widowed state 
 
 Is a most drear one ; but there heaven's will and fate 
 
 May temper AzraeFs blow : the precious Dead 
 
 Will haunt in memory the nuptial bed ; 
 
 But who, save he who's felt, can know the pain, 
 
 The sick'ning of the soul, the burning brain, 
 
 Of him who in estrangement dwells apart 
 
 From her who once formed parcel of his heart : 
 
82 THE ROSE 
 
 V 
 
 Who for long years lay sweetly in his arms ; 
 
 For whom, if but a finger ached, with Love's alarms 
 
 His breast was filled : and by whose dolorous bed, 
 
 When spasm and raging fever rent her head, 
 
 He sat, unwearied, night and day for weeks, 
 
 Knowing no sleep humoring her sickly freaks 
 
 With kindly patience. That this should be forgot 
 
 Of him, is monstrous ; while many a foolish sot, 
 
 Gambler or spendthrift, wasting aimless lives, 
 
 'Midst all their worthlessness have virtuous wives : 
 
 While he, whose genial happiness was placed 
 
 In home and home's best attributes, when graced 
 
 By wife and child, alone is to be cursed 
 
 With faithlessness ! Ah ! should his vengeance burst 
 
 Some day in wrath and scorn, laying low 
 
 Those who have robbed him, who could blame the blow ? 
 
 'Tis hard to bear such wrong, and hard to hold 
 
 His hand from smiting. Harder to be told 
 
 That, having his dear children by his side, 
 
 He well may by the loss of wife abide : 
 
 But though his young ones bless him with their loves, 
 
 And coo around him like so many doves, 
 
 Yet for his yearning breast such won't suffice, 
 
 For, sooth, in love there are distinctions nice ; 
 
 So, when escaping from a world of strife, 
 
 He looks to find sweet solace in a wife, 
 
 And children only fill his widowed arms, 
 
 'Tis Love indeed ; but Love with half his charms, 
 
 And half the plumage of his bright wings clipped 
 
 (Young violet buds with the full blossom nipped). 
 
OP EOSTEEVOK. 83 
 
 Children, alas ! though sweetest, brightest, best, 
 Cannot fill up the void of that fond breast ; 
 With all their tenderness, cannot atone 
 For those deep wounds which one, and one alone, 
 Could give or heal. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Doubtless, most dear Papa, the King will grant 
 
 " Our prayer. I hear that now Sir Patrick Trant 
 
 " Is outlawed, and O'Dempsy's wide domains 
 
 " In royal gift again. The poor remains 
 
 " Of one vast castle Ronald arid I have seen; 
 
 " But if his thirty thousand acres green 
 
 " Shall be restored, he soon may raise again 
 
 " His numerous forts. Lea Ballybrittas then 
 
 " With Ballyshanduffe amid its oaken groves 
 
 " Ee-rear their ivied towers. My fancy roves 
 
 " Perhaps too fast ? Is it then so ? " 
 
 "My Child, 
 
 " With much endeavour we have reconciled 
 " The King to grant it : for he had heard so much 
 " Of Irish Rapparees, he swore in Dutch 
 " It should not be : but Ronald pled so well 
 " His cause, and told so aptly what befell 
 " To him and thee, and all the generous part 
 " O'Dempsy played, that William's kindly heart 
 " Was mollified ; and on the spot he signed 
 " A pardon free and full. He had designed, 
 
84 THE ROSE 
 
 " He said, the lands for me ; but I rejoice 
 
 " That to befriend O'Dempsy I'd a voice ; 
 
 " And freely all my claims I do forego, 
 
 " And to the winds all selfish thoughts I throw, 
 
 " In favour of the princely Clanmalier, 
 
 " Whose noble acts with joy unfeigned I hear." 
 
 " My kindest father ; well, indeed, I knew 
 
 " Td have your sympathy : and Eonald too 
 
 " Stood sponsor for your aid. The lovely lands 
 
 " Of the O'Dempsy, with the sub-commands 
 
 " Of the O'Dun, might tempt a weaker soul, 
 
 " In sooth, than yours. Montgomerie can control 
 
 " More powerful passions still than avarice ; 
 
 " None can e'er charge him with that grovelling vice ; 
 
 " And higher, prouder feelings he will have, 
 
 " When he shall know the man he's helped to save." 
 
 " I know him, my dear child ; and if my life 
 
 " Be of avail, I owe it him. A strife, 
 
 " Sudden but paltry, years ago occurred 
 
 " In Dublin streets. Something my anger stirred, 
 
 " Of insolence amid a saucy set, 
 
 " That, in mid-pathway hastening, I met ; 
 
 " An idle crew that did the town resort, 
 
 " Striving to ape King Charles's jovial court : 
 
 " Shoved from my course and tumbled in the dust, 
 
 " Rapid as lightning flash my sword I thrust 
 
 " Through the offender's ribs : but soon overpowered 
 
 " I should have been, by all the blows that showered 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 85 
 
 " Around me, when unlooked-for succour came, 
 " And I beheld an arm with sword of flame 
 " Gleaming beside me : soon the wanton crew 
 " Dispersed in flight, leaving behind them two, 
 " Gasping in death. In haste we then exchanged 
 " Thanks and congratulations : quickly arranged 
 " To leave the spot, hardbye Dame's Gate : you'll hear 
 " With pride, I know, that Yiscount Clanmalier 
 e( My brave deliverer was. Forth from the town 
 " Eapid we passed, nor stopped till at sun- down 
 " Our horses reached these towers. While on our way, 
 " I learned that O'Dempsy was about to lay 
 " His claims for " Innocence " before that court, 
 " Which afterwards I heard, in false report, 
 " ' Non-Innocent ' decreed him. He rested here 
 " Some pleasant days ; and when the coast was clear, 
 " Departed. Since then we have not met, until 
 " At the late battle posted on a hill 
 " Unwelcome task was mine to drive him off ; 
 " But, countermanded at the last, with scoff 
 " Was greeted by him. Then Ronald in my place 
 " And my old friend, as foes, came face to face. 
 " Doubtless he knew me not ; twenty six years 
 " Clouded with blood for him, for me with tears 
 ' c Have passed since we two beardless striplings fought 
 " Thus side by side, and Hell-fire clubbists taught 
 " A needed lesson. Now all's well again ; 
 " His name, and fame, and lands restored ; and when 
 " He comes to see us, no honours that the King 
 " Could load me with such honest pride would bring, 
 
 I 
 
86 THE EOSE 
 
 " As thus once more to grasp his friendly hand ; 
 " For he's the noblest Kelt in all this land." 
 
 In silent, tearful joy Grace flung around 
 Her father's neck her arms ; for now she found 
 New cause her Irish Hero to admire : 
 Fresh perfumed oil was thrown upon the fire 
 Of her deep sympathy for his hard fate ; 
 Forced thus to live in lonely, savage state ; 
 Forced to maraud he who was nobly born, 
 And formed in Courts to shine, or to adorn 
 A peaceful, happy home. But now, delight 
 At his good fortune fills her fancy bright 
 With thousand pleasant pictures. In eager haste 
 She prays her Father not an hour to waste, 
 But send a courier on fleetest steed, 
 To let O'Dempsy know what is decreed. 
 
 v. 
 
 But what strange bugle at the drawbridge sounds, 
 And who comes staggering on with ghastly wounds 
 Scarring his pallid face ? What piercing shriek 
 Is that ? And why does Nora wildly break 
 Forth from the mansion ? . Ah ! her loving eye 
 Was quick her half-slain Tasker to descry ; 
 For he it is in plight so sad who comes 
 That none else knows him. The very sight benumbs 
 And freezes Grace's blood. Could aught of ill 
 Have happed his Chief ? sure Fate has had her fill 
 
OF ROSTREVOR. 87 
 
 Of spite against him, not to harm him now, 
 Just when a coronet was on his brow. 
 
 Speechless with grief, poor Nora gently leads 
 The fainting Tasker on. Each wound fresh bleeds 
 As he bows down his head. Brought in, at length 
 He feebly mutters forth : " The flower and strength 
 " Of Hy-Diomsaigh's down ; a coward crew 
 " Of fifty Sassans did it. Ach, plllelieu ! 
 " Achy millia murdha* dim ! that I should live 
 " And he gone from us. Fm only come to give 
 " This true account : now lay me down to die. 
 " Oh ! Nora Nora " and, drooping languidly, 
 The hapless Kern fell back into those arms 
 So tenderly held to him. Now wild alarms 
 And consternations through the castle spread ; 
 Their joy is turned to grief O'Dempsy's dead ! 
 
 He who had borne almost a charmed life 
 Through twenty years of warfare, blood and strife. 
 Is now cut off, like one who luckless falls, 
 After the battle's done, by a spent ball's 
 Accursed blow. Base, rascal hangers-on 
 Are ofttimes found to follow a fight won, 
 And slaughter gallant men, who to such foes 
 All heedlessly their noble breasts expose. 
 
 * Thousand black murders. 
 
88 THE ROSE 
 
 VI. 
 
 Slowly, and word by word, 'mid sob and groan, 
 
 They eke from Tasker how, almost alone, 
 
 His Chief had ridden forth from Lea in peace ; 
 
 For, since they parted, he had bid all cease 
 
 From deeds of war or plunder. Strolling, he rode 
 
 Through the deep woods : he seemed to have a load 
 
 Of thoughts within him. Tasker and two more 
 
 Were all his escort. Onward to the shore 
 
 Of Barrow's stream he wandered ; to that same ford 
 
 Where late his guests passed o'er. His skean, his 
 
 sword 
 
 Were idly sheathed. Friendship and gratitude 
 Filled his whole soul ; arid in this musing mood 
 He gazed in silence on the gliding stream : 
 Sudden a yell ; and then a hideous scream 
 From a speared Kern brought to his flashing eyes 
 The forms of fifty men ; a planned surprise 
 To take him. The valiant part that he had held 
 In the late fight, with rage and vengeance swelled 
 The Orange victors' breasts : one Eawson swore 
 He'd spike his head on Bloody Bridge before 
 A week had passed ; and, with a chosen band 
 Of ardent northerns under his command, 
 He passed from Dublin through the wasted Pale, 
 Whose every dweller had some grievous tale 
 To tell, or some disastrous loss to rue 
 From Cahir-na-Cophuil and his daring crew. 
 Skirting the Naas, he kept by Jigginstown, 
 And by Kildare's Eound Tower, whose mural crown 
 
OF ROSTEEVOE. 89 
 
 Some modern mason, with monastic craft, 
 
 Added, to christianise that pagan shaft. 
 
 At old St. Evan's fane he spent the night, 
 
 Crossing the river with the morning's light, 
 
 Planting his men in ambush by the pass, 
 
 Which then from Lea the only exit was. 
 
 Nor long to wait had he ; for dreaming not 
 
 Of wile or ruse of sword or treacherous shot 
 
 His victim slowly comes. " Dead or alive, 
 
 " Down with the Eapparee ! " As from their hive 
 
 A swarm of wasps rush out, so from his den 
 
 With well-planned trick bursts Eawson and his men. 
 
 Right through the back of the last Kern a spear 
 
 Savagely is sent : his death-shriek in the rear 
 
 Bouses his Chieftain from his reverie, 
 
 On right and left unnumbered foes to see, 
 
 All gathering 'round him. Stretched prostrate in their 
 
 blood 
 
 Lie his three clansmen. In his stirrups he stood, 
 With glaring eyeballs ; then with resistless force 
 Through the deep phalanx drove his powerful horse, 
 Felling two stalwart men. A moment more 
 He's in the river : he has almost gained the shore 
 Of the far bank, when hot in fierce pursuit 
 Eawson cries out " Shoot down the rebel shoot ! " 
 A shower of balls hiss 'round him ; one more true 
 Goes through his brain. Upwards his arms he threw 
 And backward fell : the waters close in blood 
 Over his noble frame ; the friendly flood 
 
90 THE ROSE OF ROSTREVOR, 
 
 Sweeps off his body : for nor alive nor dead 
 
 Shall foes dishonour Clanmalira's head. 
 
 After a fruitless search, the troop in gloom 
 
 Homeward retires. That night to a modest tomb 
 
 The half-dead Tasker faithfully consigns 
 
 His Chief's dank corse, which by the sweet woodbine's 
 
 Long arms was caught upon that Islet's brink, 
 
 Where now the willows stoop their heads to drink 
 
 Of the cool passing stream. This duty passed, 
 
 He hastens to Eostrevor, that one last 
 
 Sad look he may have of his Nora dear, 
 
 And tell the mournful fate of noble Clanmalier. 
 
 END. 
 
91 
 
 NOTES 
 
 Page 2 " Hardbye the rock-built Castle of King John" 
 Carlingford Castle, the ruins of which are still tolerably per- 
 fect, was erected by De Courcy, by order of King John, in 1210, 
 and is still called King John's Castle. 
 
 Page 4 " And joined the Duke on Carrickfergus strand" 
 William, Prince of Orange, landed at Carrickfergus on the 
 14th of June, 1690, where the Duke of Schomberg (an old soldier 
 of an old- school) was encamped with the troops he had been 
 placed in command of twelve months before. The old man, 
 past his activity of mind and body, had wasted the time that was 
 so precious, in dreaming and poking about. In a damp camp, 
 near Carlingford, he lost more men by disease than he would 
 have in many pitched battles ; the enemy being encamped oppo- 
 site to him upon a rising ground all the time. When William 
 came, " not intending to let the grass grow under him," as he 
 indignantly said, he effected in one fortnight what his Commander- 
 in-chief had not head to do in a year. 
 
 Page 4 " Now by our lake, far famed for speckled trouts." 
 Loughbrickland, i. e. the lake of speckled trouts, formed part of 
 the estate of Sir Ronald St. John. This beautiful piece of water 
 contains about 150 statute acres. The castle and town, which 
 bad been dismantled by rebels in 1641, were rebuilt in 1688. 
 
 Page 4 " Thou venturest not beyond the ballium slopes" 
 The ballium is the large court-yard of a castle, surrounding 
 the keep or main centre building. 
 
 Page 4 " The Eapparees and prowlers" $c. 
 The Rapparees were lawless and ferocious banditti, composed 
 of the old Irish clans, who had been driven from their holdings, 
 and lived on plunder and marauding. Their savage crueltv is 
 well known to readers of Irish histories. 
 
92 NOTES. 
 
 Page 8 " A jointed lance bears each determined man" 
 The late Judge Robert Johnson, who, under the nom de plume 
 of Col. Roche Fermoy, wrote a remarkable essay, a few years ago, 
 on the natural military resources of Ireland, advanced some 
 strong arguments against that mongrel weapon, the old musket 
 and bayonet. He proposed, instead, a 12-feet lance with a strong 
 folding joint in the centre, by which it could be doubled up to 
 6 feet. A web-strap was attached, by which it could in a moment 
 be slung over the back, taking the place of a short rifle. The 
 two separate weapons (alternately on the back or in the hand, as 
 required) he asserted would in practice be found most efficient. 
 The old " brown bess " is now nearly acknowledged to be worth- 
 less. It is in fact little more than a handle for the bayonet. After 
 the Peninsular war, the opinions and calculations of several general 
 officers agreed that, in a pitched battle, not more than one musket- 
 bullet out of 400 fired off took effect. 'Tis not thus the Minie rifle 
 does its work; and so far it is confirmatory of the soundness of Roche 
 Fermoy' s theory. British soldiers have triumphed, not by means 
 of the old musket and bayonet, but in spite of it. They would 
 have equally carried all before them with pitch-forks. A letter 
 from the Crimea says, " The regiments of the 4th Division and 
 " the Marines, armed with the old and much-belauded Brown 
 " Bess, could do nothing with their thin line of fire against the 
 " massive multitudes of the Muscovite infantry ; but the volleys 
 " of the Minie cleft them like the hand of the Destroying Angel, 
 " and they fell like leaves in autumn before them." 
 
 Page 10 " So Ronald now to Eros yields his soul" 
 The old Greeks had two deities of love. Eros, god of. senti - 
 mental, and Ant- Eros, of sensual love. 
 
 Page 10 "In the forest lawns" 
 
 Forest is a derivative fromforas (abroad), and properly means 
 an open country with scattered timber and brush -wood ; not 
 thick woods, as is its popular signification. 
 
 Page 11 " Upon a paltry chamber's dingy bed" 
 It has been stated that James passed the night before the 
 battle in Dunore Church ; but this is erroneous, as that Church 
 
NOTES. 93 
 
 was then in ruins. The more reliable accounts are that he got 
 shelter in one of the cottages of the poor little village there. 
 
 Page 12 " The awful cinders of the murdered Gaunt 
 
 " And Lysle, that aged lady" 
 
 " Of all the executions, during this dismal period, the most 
 " remarkable were those of Mrs. Gaunt and lady Lisle, who 
 " had been accused of harbouring traitors. Mrs. Gaunt was an 
 " anabaptist, noted for her beneficence, which she extended to 
 " persons of all professions and persuasions. One of the rebels, 
 " knowing her humane disposition, had recourse to her in his 
 " distress, and was concealed by her. Hearing of the proclama- 
 " tion, he betrayed his benefactress and bore evidence against 
 " her. He received a pardon ; she was BURNED ALIVE FOR HER 
 
 " CHARITY." 
 
 " Lady Lisle was widow of one of the regicides, who had 
 " enjoyed great favour and authority under Cromwell. His 
 " widow was now prosecuted for harbouring two rebels the day 
 " after the battle of Sedgemoor ; and Jeffries pushed on the 
 " trial with unrelenting violence. It appeared not by any proof 
 " that she was so much as acquainted with the guilt of the persons, 
 " or had heard of their joining the rebellion of Monmouth That 
 " though she might be obnoxious on account of her family, it was 
 " well known that her heart was ever loyal, and that no person 
 " in England had shed more tears for that tragical event, in which 
 *' her husband had unfortunately borne too great a share. That 
 " at the very time she had sent her son to fight against those 
 " rebels whom she was now accused of harbouring. Notwith- 
 " standing all applications for pardon, the cruel sentence was 
 " executed, as the King (James II) said that he had given Jeffries 
 " a promise not to pardon her." Hume's England, vol. viii, c. 71. 
 
 Page 13 " In Wilde's bright volume," $c. 
 " The Boyne and Blackwater," by Wm. R. Wilde, Esq. 
 
 Page 14 " Let that base Scot, who tricked thy ear" $c. 
 The massacre of the Clan Macdonald, in the valley of Glencoe, 
 was brought about by the atrocious malignity of the then Earl 
 of Breadalbane, whose lands the Macdonalds had plundered, and 
 
94 NOTES. 
 
 whose treachery to King William their chief had exposed. At 
 this time, Sir John Dalrymple (afterwards Earl of Stair), being 
 in attendance on William as Secretary of State for Scotland, took 
 advantage of Macdonald's having been one day late in tendering 
 his submission, to misrepresent him as an incorrigible rebel, and 
 the only obstacle to the pacification of the Highlands. The 
 King was thus induced to sign a warrant for military execution 
 against this doomed clan. The Secretary ordered Campbell of 
 Glenlyon, a captain in Argyle's regiment, and two subalterns, 
 to repair to Glencoe on the 1st of February, 1692, with 120 men, 
 and urged them to execute their orders with the utmost rigor. 
 Campbell, being uncle to young Macdonald's wife, was received 
 with all manner of friendship and hospitality. The men were 
 lodged at free quarters in the houses of the tenants, and received 
 the kindest entertainment. Till the 13th of the month, the troops 
 lived in the utmost harmony and familiarity with the people, and 
 on the very night of the massacre the officers passed the evening 
 at cards in Macdonald's house. In the night, Lieut. Lindsay, with 
 a party of soldiers, called in a friendly manner at his door and 
 was instantly admitted. Macdonald, while in the act of rising 
 to receive his guest, was shot dead through the back with two 
 bullets. His wife had already dressed ; but she was stripped naked 
 by the soldiers, who tore the rings off her fingers with their teeth. 
 The slaughter now became general, and neither age nor infirmity 
 was spared. Ency. Brit. art. Britain. This dreadful and un- 
 paralleled barbarity was clearly the work of the above Scotsmen, 
 and William had no further to do with it than in allowing him- 
 self to be imposed on as to the necessity of signing the warrant. 
 
 Page 16 " Yet to this hour Horatia is forgot" 8$c. 
 A few days after the above lines were written, a tardy acknow- 
 ledgment of the claims of Nelson's daughter was made public, by 
 a government grant of 300 a year to his three grand-daughters. 
 But his own daughter, the amiable, patient, and uncomplaining 
 Mrs Horatia Ward, still lives unnoticed and unprovided for. 
 
 Page 17 "To timid counsels prone" 8$c. 
 
 " His (William's) forces were ordered to take the field, and 
 " when some cautious counsels were suggested by his officers, he 
 
NOTES. 95 
 
 "rejected them with indignation. *I came not to Ireland/ he 
 " said, l to let grass grow under my feet.' " Leland, v. iii, p. 559. 
 
 Oh ! for one hour of brave old Dandolo ! 
 
 ' Page 17 "A new edition of Sir Harry and Sir Hew" fyc. 
 
 Sir Harry Burrard and Sir Hew Dalrymple. Overborne by 
 this brace of worthies on one occasion, at the commencement of 
 the Peninsular war, Sir Arthur Wellesley, turning to some of his 
 officers, said, in disgust, " Come, let us see what's for dinner, as 
 tf there is nothing for soldiers to do here." 
 
 Page 17 " Boyne' s battle morn it is," $c. 
 For the best and clearest account of this interesting battle 
 (fought July 1st, 1690), we beg to refer the reader to Wilde's 
 " Boyne and Black water," already mentioned. 
 
 Page 18 " With the pluck that never leaves 
 
 " The chivalrous sons of France" $c. 
 
 From the Boyne to the Alma : 
 
 " As he(Caillemotte) lay bleeding in the arms of four soldiers, 
 " he collected strength to exclaim repeatedly, in his own language, 
 " * A la gloire, mes enfans ! A la gloire ! ' " Leland, book 6. 
 
 Again to-day: "THE 'PLUCK' OF THE FUENCH. What 
 " unquestionable pluck those Frenchmen have game to the 
 '* backbone. Our purser, Bowley, when ashore next day, met a 
 '' party carrying off a French offieer, badly wounded one arm 
 " shot close off and other wounds besides. He asked the poor 
 " fellow to drink a little brandy and water, and he immediately 
 " pulled out a flask of his own drank to Bowley sung out, 
 u ' Long life to the Emperor and the English,' and then fell back, 
 " exhausted. Their pluck never dies away." Letter from an 
 officer from Alma heights. 
 
 Page 19 '' And here the Reverend Captain Walker falls" $c. 
 
 An Irish gentleman, who had gone through the perils of the 
 Peninsular war with much honour, and attained the rank of 
 Major, afterwards became a beneficed Clergyman, and was known 
 among his friends and parishioners as fi the Revered Major V." 
 The celebrated George Walker was justly entitled to the same 
 Church-militant rank. 
 
96 NOTES. 
 
 i 19 " Naught could assuage, 
 
 " But victory, their stern, angelic rage." 
 
 " 'Twas here we took Lieut-General Hamilton. The enemy's 
 " horse of Tireconnell's regiment hehaved themselves well ; but 
 " our Dutch, like angels. The K. (William) charged in person at 
 the head of the Inniskilleners, and exposed himself with un- 
 daunted bravery," Col. Bellingham' s Journal, quoted by Wilde. 
 
 The Dutch were " blue angels" at the Boyne. The British 
 lately " red devils " at the Alma ; singular varieties in the 
 Demonology. 
 
 Page 20 "Here, since early morn, a Keltic Chieftain lay." 
 " The word keltic is usually mispelt Celtic, and of course mis- 
 pronounced seltic. But in that ancient language there is no soft 
 C. It is sounded hard as K ; and, therefore, this word should be 
 both written and pronounced hard kellic. 
 
 Page 20 " Here stood O'Dempsy, chief of the Clanmalier." 
 CAHIR O'DEMPSY, called, from his wondrous feats of horse- 
 manship, CAHIR-NA-COPPAL, or Charles of the Horses, was only 
 son of Louis O'Dempsy, last Viscount Clanmalier, whose pro- 
 perty was confiscated by Sir John Borlace and Sir "Wm. Parsons, 
 the Parliamentary Lords Justices, on the plea that Lord C. 
 was a royalist, and had sided with Charles the 1st. The Clan- 
 malier territory extended for 20 miles from Bally brittas in the 
 Queen's to Phillipstown in the King's County ; on it stood several 
 fortified castles. It is curious to observe the similarity of the 
 keltic word cophal, coppal, or chopuil, a horse, with the Latin 
 caballus and the modern French cheval. Another keltic word 
 gossoon (a small boy) has an amusing family likeness to g argon. 
 
 Page 21 " Around the lips of many, as they lay, 
 
 " A placid smile of peace appeared to play," $c. 
 This mournful and mysterious fact of happy smiles in the 
 midst of blood and carnage appearing on the faces of those killed 
 by gun-shot wounds, has been lately remarked in the Crimean 
 war. " Some of the dead lay with a calm, placid smile on the 
 " face, as though they were in some delicious dream. The dead 
 " were happy the dull, cold eye the tranquil brow the gently 
 
NOTES. 97 
 
 " opening lips, which had given escape to the parting spirit, as it 
 " fled from its bleeding shell, showed how peacefully a man may die 
 " in battle, pierced by the rifle ball. All the men who exhibited 
 " signs of pain had been bayonetted. The dead men who lay 
 * % with a smile on their lips had been shot." Letter from Alma. 
 
 Page 22 " We who have seen the soul translucid peer 
 
 " Into the dim hereafter" 8$c. 
 
 In remarkable instances of clairvoyance, during magnetic 
 experiments, " cujum pars magna fui," when facts have come out 
 that would make some start, others doubt their own ears, and a 
 few think) unaffected by doubts, fears, or superstition. 
 
 Page 22 "It was the summit of an ancient Hath," $c. 
 
 Correctly pronounced Ra', the final th not being sounded in 
 Keltic ; but as we write in English, it would be pedantry to follow 
 too literally the niceties of another tongue. Too much of this is 
 already in vogue among very learned ladies and gentlemen, who 
 are so particular in letting country folks and other unlettered 
 ones know that the plural of Terminus in Latin is Termini; that 
 of phenomenon, in Greek, phenomena, &c. &c. quite forgetful 
 that those words, having been adopted into the English language, 
 have become subject to its rules of grammar, and that we ought in 
 all cases to endeavour to fill our pitchers at the " well of English 
 tmdejiled" and not pollute their contents with an admixture of 
 gibberish, which is neither Latin nor Greek nor English. 
 
 The Rath is a circular earthen fort, otherwise called a 
 Barrow, surrounded by a fosse, encircling a raised bank. There 
 are great numbers of these in Ireland, and they are generally, 
 but erroneously, considered the work of the Danes. In point of 
 fact, they were the outer defences of the dwellings of the Irish 
 aborigines : they varied in size, according to the wealth and 
 strength of their owners. The Rath of Clonard, in the county 
 of Meath, was capable of containing 200 men. It has a broad 
 entrance or gap, through which a modern carriage might enter, 
 on its eastern side. The great Rath of Kilfmane, near Killmal- 
 lock in the county of Limerick, is 130 feet high, encircled by seven 
 earthern ramparts, 20 feet apart, and 2000 feet in circuit. In the 
 centre of these Raths were the wooden dwellings of the Irish 
 
 K 
 
9o NOTES. 
 
 Chiefs ; for there were no stone houses in Ireland until after the 
 invasion of the English. "Wooden* houses, properly and substan- 
 tially huilt, would be far more suitable to the dampness of the 
 Irish climate than stone or brick ones. 
 
 Page 23 " And at his back stand 50 unkempt kern." 
 The Kern was the native Irish foot soldier. 
 
 Page 25 " Whose yellow cowslips, dyed in Hood" $c. 
 The cowslips that grow on and near the Boyne battle-field 
 are, to this day, of that red kind of which an occasional one may 
 be observed in any " place of cowslips." The tradition is that 
 they have been altogether so there since the battle. The altera- 
 tion in the tint of flowers caused by difference of soil or manure, 
 is interesting. I have myself seen red roses changed almost to 
 black by peat charcoal, and green ivy altered to a copper-colour 
 by liquid manurings from a stable-tank. 
 
 Page 26 "A hundred garrans of old Irish breed" fyc. 
 The Keltic word garran signifies a strong-built, low-sized 
 horse, which was the native breed of Ireland ; a most hardy and 
 serviceable animal. At present the word is generally used in a 
 disparaging sense, tantamount to rosinante ; but not so in its 
 proper meaning. 
 
 Page 26 " In culog fashion" 8$e. 
 
 Riding double ; one man behind another on the same horse. 
 Pronounced long, as if vulogue. So brog, a shoe, is as if spelt 
 brogue. 
 
 Page 26 "No hot pursuit," %c. 
 
 William has been blamed by his Orange partizans for not 
 following up the pursuit more warmly. But no doubt he had 
 his reasons. Possibly he had no wish to catch his worthy father- 
 in-law. 
 
 Page 27 " Till at Lea Castle ends their desperate ride" 
 
 Lea Castle, then and now in ruins, was a strong fortress on 
 
 the borders of the English Pale, by the bank of the river 
 
 Barrow, about a mile from the present Borough-town of Portar- 
 
 lington. It was one of the earliest castles erected in Ireland 
 
NOTES. 99 
 
 by the invading English, under Stronghow, ahout the year 
 1200. The territory around belonged to the native clan of the 
 O'Dempsies, who continued in constant war with the invaders 
 until the year 1629, when their chief, Sir Terence O'Dempsy, 
 took the oath of allegiance, and was enrolled among the English 
 nobility under the titles of Baron Phillipstown and Viscount 
 Clanmalier. He was succeeded by his son Louis, the second and 
 last Viscount, whose estates were confiscated by the Parliament 
 party ("as already stated at page 96), and whose son, Cahir-na- 
 Coppal, continued to hold possession of the ruined fortress, which 
 had been taken and its keep dismantled with gunpowder by 
 Colonel Reynolds, under Ireton, in 1650, and left much in the 
 way its remains appear at this day. Carte, in his life of Ormond, 
 mentions one of the "harryings," which were the usual barbarous 
 style of warfare of those days ; when, in 1643, Sir Michael Ernie" 
 (having been despatched from Dublin for the purpose) "besieged 
 " Bally brittas Castle, which he took and caused to be blown up, 
 " after making a great booty of the Lord Clanmaleyra's house- 
 " hold stuff and goods." 
 
 After the Restoration, a Colonel Talbot was deputed to go to 
 England by the Irish Royalists, to petition for the recovery of 
 their estates. Very few got any satisfaction. A commission, 
 called the Court of Claims, was appointed, and sat in Dublin in 
 1662; and the parties, who were admitted to have proved their 
 cases, were called "Innocents ;" those who failed, "Non-Innocents" 
 The Nons formed the far greater part, as it was deemed dangerous 
 to disturb the Cromwellian settlers ; and where the estate was 
 unoccupied (like Lord Clanmalier' s), there were enough of greedy 
 ones around the "merry good-for-nothing," gaping for such 
 crumbs. Amongst the numerous disappointed parties was Lord 
 Clanmalier ; and his entire property was soon after made over, by 
 Crown grant, to Sir Henry Bennet, Lord Arlington, a prominent 
 but not reputable character of that day. He had originally been 
 a groom in the royal stables, and yet, through the favour of the 
 King, became a Peer and Secretary of State. He figures in 
 strong relief in De Grammont's Memoirs, and was a member of 
 the Cabal. From him the modern Town of Portarlington derives 
 its name. The estates were subsequently transferred by him .to 
 
100 NOTES. 
 
 Sir Patrick Trant, who, being Commissioner of Eevenue to James 
 the 2nd, in 1690, was the person sent by him to Waterford, pre- 
 vious to the Battle of the Boyne, to have a ship in waiting, in 
 anticipation of defeat. Trant' s title, of course, then became 
 forfeited, and finally, after some delay (not accounted for in the 
 general histories), the entire territory was regranted, by William 
 the 3rd, to one of his Dutch Generals, the Marquis de Eouvigny, 
 created Earl of Galway. Some old leases, signed by him, are 
 still extant in Portarlington. Subsequently the estates were sub- 
 divided and sold to different parties, the principal of whom was 
 Ephraim Dawson, ancestor of the present Earl of Portarlington. 
 
 N.B. The above note is condensed from a full account entitled 
 " Memoir of Leix (or Lea) Castle," in the Irish Union Magazine 
 for 1845. 
 
 Page 29 " Eagerly searching Carlingford 1 s blue ridge." 
 The outline of Carlingford mountain, as seen from the opposite 
 shore at Bostrevor, is singularly indented and beautiful. Of such 
 sharpness, that a kid or sheep on the ridge can be distinctly seen, 
 marked against the sky, at many miles distant. The mountain 
 rises from the sea shore 2,000 feet high. 
 
 Page 33 " And (oh ! awful deed !) the SarJc 
 
 Hung up to dry in Satan's awful name." 
 
 Among the myths practised on Holy-eve by the Irish, there is 
 one which only the boldest dare to try. We have heard of " a 
 case " touching this exploit. Two hot-blooded, fearless damsels 
 washed their SarJcs (an ancient word signifying a a I really 
 can't say what) well, sarks, on Holy-eve, and hanging them 
 before the fire to dry, in the Devil's name, went to bed in the same 
 chamber. After some anxious watching, they were horrified to 
 see a man without a head come and turn them, and then disappear. 
 Of course, the sequel was that the unlucky lasses considered them- 
 selves doomed, and both died before that day twelve months, and 
 no doubt became the property of the headless apparition. 
 
 Page 34 " When from the Round Tower top" $c. 
 The wondrous pillar-towers of Ireland, whose origin and uses 
 are still involved in mystery; for it cannot be conceded by any one, 
 
NOTES. 101 
 
 who will take the trouble to reflect on the subject, that Dr. Petrie 
 has cleared up the matter. His unpoetical and evidently sectarian 
 theory (for which he is belauded unmercifully by a certain clique) 
 of their having been built merely as bettfries by the ignorant and 
 feeble-minded monks of early Christian times, is quite unsatis- 
 factory and unproved. If they were simply detached bellfries, 
 why were not all other portions of Christian Europe studded 
 with them, like Ireland ? Surely the same style of architecture 
 would have been prevalent throughout Christendom, of whose 
 gorgeous ecclesiastical edifices (having no pillar '-towers for bellfries) 
 the few cathedrals or churches built in those days in Ireland 
 were very humble and homely copies. No no the pillar- 
 towers are memorials of an age and of a religion long prior to 
 the times of the poor, dirty monks, who vegetated here from A. D. 
 500 to 1200, being the period allotted by Dr. Petrie for their 
 erection. The tower of Kildare, and others, have evidently been 
 cunningly tampered with during that time by those same monks, 
 on the well-known Gipsy principle of disfiguring children that 
 they may pass for their own. The original conical tops have been 
 removed in some, and battlements built in their place. In others, 
 stones have been withdrawn from the architraves of doors and 
 windows, and new ones inserted, with very clumsy bas-reliefs of 
 the Crucifixion, intimating that the builders and the sculptors 
 belonged to very different races and times. Dr. Petrie' s work is 
 a model of laborious research, and his drawings very elaborate 
 and beautiful. His book is a splendid one : I only quarrel with 
 his theory. 
 
 Page 35 " May I die in sin" $c. 
 
 By this and other fanciful idiomatic expressions, I think the 
 simple Irish peasant, of the present or any former age, is better 
 exemplified than by uncouth spelling of words or gutterality of 
 pronunciation, which are always grossly exaggerated, and give 
 no true picture. 
 
 Page 35 " Every leaf that' s on the old ash trees." 
 The ash trees of Lea are celebrated. One in particular, 
 which was planted in the reign of Charles the 1st, attained great 
 
] 02 NOTES. 
 
 size, and was blown down by a storm so lately as 1828. A piece 
 of it is inlaid into the floor of the Saloon of the Royal Palace 
 of Tervoren in Belgium, and is labelled " encien frene du Ley 
 en Irlande" 
 
 Page 36 "And once I saw him take his yellow shirt." 
 The term shirt is rather a misnomer, as applied to the volu- 
 minous linen garment of the old Irish chiefs and gentles, for 
 indeed it answered the triple purpose of coat, waistcoat, and shirt. 
 It was dyed yellow, not with saffron (of which the Irish had 
 none), but with the juice of the bui-more, or great yellow weed, 
 which is still used in Connaught and Erris as a dye. 
 
 Page 40 " Or silver spinner," 8$c. 
 
 The moor-spider, a curious and beautiful insect. The body, 
 when full grown, is the size of a small horse-bean, of a silvery 
 white, striped with black or dark brown. It builds a web- 
 house, water-proofed with a gummy varnish, of the size of a 
 walnut-shell, and stretches its strong, white, silky nets, made 
 with geometrical exactness, across small streams from the tops of 
 feathery reeds or furze bushes. 
 
 Page 40 " Nor wild dog keened" fyc. 
 
 The old Irish wolf is with some reason supposed to have been 
 but a kind of ferocious wild dog, some specimens of which are 
 still to be seen prowling about cabin doors in unfrequented nooks ; 
 a more dangerous and detestable vermin than the real wolf. 
 
 The keening or mournful howling of a dog is considered 
 unlucky. 
 
 Page 41 " Ground by the antique quern's homely wheel." 
 
 The ancient Irish hand-mill. The corn is required to be 
 
 well dried almost roasted ; hence quern-meal is partially cooked 
 
 coming from the mill, and, if thus eaten with milk, is called 
 
 crowdy. The quern is still used in remote or mountainous parts. 
 
 Page 42 " The old well-known bridge of fossil yew" 
 The fossil timbers of Ireland, commonly called bog-wood, 
 are of three kinds ; oak, yew, and pine. The oak is black or 
 
NOTES. 103 
 
 very dark brown. The yew has various tints of brown, red, 
 pink, purple, &c. and makes beautiful furniture. The fir is un- 
 surpassed for fire wood, and supplies the place of candles in the 
 poorer mountainous districts. These woods, having been enveloped 
 by the bog-vegetable for unknown centuries, have become so 
 impregnated with its strong tannin principle, that they are almost 
 imperishable, making everlasting gates, bridges, &c. 
 
 Page 42 " That Island-bog of dread" $c. 
 A tale of horror very similar to this occurred also, not many 
 years ago, in the county of Kildare. The manslayer had escaped 
 to America, where he remained many years, when some irresist- 
 ible longing for home brought him back to his native locality, 
 and, unrecognized, he was employed with many others cutting 
 a large canal through part of the bog of Allen, when the dead 
 body of his victim was dug up, as fresh as if but just buried, only 
 a little browner than when alive. The body was at once identi- 
 fied, and the murderer, paralysed with the (as he considered) 
 providential exposure of his crime, at once acknowledged the 
 truth, but eventually was acquitted, there being no evidence 
 against him but his own admission, which the law does not 
 consider sufncient ! 
 
 Page 44 " And by whose sonorous name and adjunct wild" 
 Not many years ago, taking a summer evening's ride down a 
 green lane, in the Queen's county, I came on a young brat, sprawl- 
 ing in the dust and squalling apparently for lung-exercise. Soon 
 out rushed its " mammy," who, after shaking and slapping it, 
 exclaimed, " Hah ! if you don't whisht now, I'll give you to 
 Cahir-na Coppal." If to live in the mouths of the people be 
 fame, Cahir has his share, in Mid-Ireland at least. 
 
 Page 45 " The well -known clannish signal." 
 The Irish Clans had each their peculiar war-whoop, as well 
 as private signal, generally an imitation of the cry of some wild 
 beast or bird. That of the O'Dempsies was the singular moan 
 of the hooting or groaning owl, whose unearthly voice in summer 
 nights has doubtless originated the myth of the Banshee. 
 
104 NOTES. 
 
 Page 47 -" May 50,000 divvils" $c. 
 
 In an essay on cursing, in the New Monthly Magazine, a few 
 years ago, a malediction somewhat similar to this is greatly 
 lauded, as being of superior merit for strength and fancy. Spain 
 and Ireland are there awarded the palm for the earnestness, 
 intensity, and originality of their curses. 
 
 Page 50 " Women and children slay." 
 
 " Cromwell, on landing at Dublin, marched with 10,000 men 
 against Drogheda. After a siege of two days, the assault was 
 commenced by his troops, who were twice repulsed; but in the 
 third attack he gained possession of the town ; and, in order to 
 impress on the Irish such a dread of his name as might prevent all 
 opposition, gave orders to put the whole garrison to the sword. 
 This barbarous execution was continued for five successive days ! 
 Out of the entire inhabitants, only 30 were spared, who were 
 instantly transported as slaves to Barbadoes! !" And yet this 
 inhuman scoundrel (" Godly-Saint," I beg pardon) is the same 
 who is now belauded and be - heroed by those who profess 
 Christianity. 
 
 Page 53 " The Tanist turned" %c. 
 
 11 In every Irish county there was a Lord, or Chieftain, and 
 a Tanist, which was his successor apparent." Sir John Temple's 
 Irish Rebellion, 1641, p. 9. 
 
 The title of Clanmalier being in abeyance, Caher was, correctly, 
 only the Tanist, depending on the pleasure of the Sovereign to 
 restore it. 
 
 Page 56 " A band of Coote' s fierce men," 8$c. 
 Sir Charles Coote, whose son subsequently became Earl of 
 Mount Rath, was ancestor of the present Sir Charles Henry 
 Coote, Bart, of Ballyfinn, Queen's county. He was an able, 
 but rather remorseless, soldier of fortune. Sir John Temple, in 
 his curious little memoir, tells us how " Sir Charles Coot had a 
 commission for a regiment, which he quickly made up out of the 
 poor stript English, who had repaired from divers parts, even 
 naked, to the town, and, upon the engagements of the state, 
 
NOTES. 105 
 
 procured clothes for them" p. 125; "and further, for the re- 
 pressing of the disorders daily appearing within the city (Dublin), 
 they made Sir Charles Coot governor, and gave him an allowance 
 of forty shillings per diem for the present." p. 126. 
 
 The above regiment became very active and effective ; and 
 was continued for many years after the death of its Colonel 
 (which occurred in 1643), and was frequently employed in repress- 
 ing the hostile incursions of the natives on the Pale. 
 
 Page 57 " Her dear remains he laid" $c. 
 The grave of the beautiful Spanish wife of Cahir-na-Coppal 
 (who was almost as celebrated for her feats of horsemanship as 
 himself) is to be seen near the edge of the river, a few hundred 
 yards from the castle. 
 
 Page 62 " All bubbling o'er with aromatic claret" 
 Ireland was for many centuries, previous to 1800, celebrated 
 for abundance of claret at the tables of the Chiefs. It was 
 drunk from the cask, which was generally buried in the earth 
 for safety as well as coolness. 
 
 Page 63 " Golden usquebaugh" &;c. 
 
 <l Uisge bui" yellow water, a kind of spiced whiskey, aromatized 
 with saffron, for which the northern parts of Ireland were 
 formerly famed. 
 
 Page 65 " The honest L , pure, humane are her elect, 
 
 These are her only flock, her only sect" $c. 
 We have noted a " modern instance," as being in point here, 
 viz : 
 
 " TO THE EDITOR OF THE DUBLIN EVENING MAIL. 
 
 "Nov. 24th, 1854. 
 
 " Sir, In reply to the enquiry of Q. in your paper of the 22nd 
 
 " inst. relative to the religious tenets of Miss Nightengale, I beg 
 
 " to suggest that she is of that little sect, of which we find scanty 
 
 " contributions from all churches the ' Good Samaritan sect.' 
 
 " Your obedient servant, P." 
 
 Page 67 " From the Essex warriors at that pass of Fame" $c. 
 
 At a noted pass in that part of the impenetrable woods of 
 Leix, called the " dark walk," leading to the ford of the Barrow, 
 
106 NOTES. 
 
 and not far from the present hamlet of Ballybrittas, the Earl of 
 Essex (Elizabeth's favourite) was attacked, in one of his military 
 expeditions through Ireland, by the O'Dempsies, and, as Leland 
 relates, " From the quantity of plumes of feathers taken from his 
 " gay soldiers, the place of action was called the Pass of Plumes." 
 Quantities of old coins are still constantly found in tilling the 
 soil in this spot. 
 
 Page 68 " Where the white water-lilies float and drink" fyc. 
 
 Vast quantities of these noble aquatics may be seen in 
 summer on the surface of the Barrow, between Monsterevan and 
 Athy ; both white and yellow varieties, whose monster blossoms 
 look like multiples of the sun and moon cast on the water. 
 
 Page 69 "Nor brazen- helmets crush 
 Their aching temples" 8$c. 
 
 At the late battles in the Crimea, the unwieldy bearskins were 
 generally thrown aside. If tawdry gold trappings and bearskin 
 monstrosities be cosidered becoming or necessary for peace and 
 parade, at least let there be a war dress of comfort and simplicity, 
 in which a man's brains and muscles may have fair play, leaving 
 dangling sleeves, strangling stocks with straps, tags, jags, and 
 "bobtails, to the tailors who invented them. 
 
 Page 69 " Dappled roan with silver points" 
 In cavalry parlance, " silver points" mean white tail and mane. 
 
 Page 69 " To death's cold arms brings youth" $c. 
 The well-known but little -heeded results of tight lacing, 
 which is not only destructive to health, but also to the "line of 
 beauty." 
 
 Page 70 "Around Black Diamond's clear and fiery eyes 
 
 A band of white extends" $c. 
 
 This is a correct description of a celebrated modern nag, 
 reputed to be " of Cahir-na-Coppal's breed." He was reared by a 
 near relative of the Author's, about 30 years ago, and subsequently 
 sold to a well-known surgical Baronet of Dublin, whom he 
 
NOTES. 107 
 
 carried to perfection after the hounds and through the streets for 
 many years. The esteemed Baronet had his portrait taken, which 
 still adorns his study. He was a miraculous leaper, and would 
 stand by himself at a hall door in the street for hours, waiting for 
 his master, and woe to the unlucky cad who would attempt to go 
 near* him. At such he would charge and bite ferociously, though 
 perfectly quiet to all others passing by. They called him "the 
 devil with the white eyes ;" a remarkable strip of white hair 
 encircling each eye. 
 
 Page 70 "Moore Abbey's battlements are seen." 
 The residence of the Marquis of Drogheda, county Kildare, 
 a castellated gothic edifice of considerable extent, erected on the 
 site of the old monastery of St. Evan. 
 
 f Page 70 " Dunmurry's hill," fyc. 
 
 Dun-murry, the red fort or fortified hill, is one of a remarkable 
 little group, in the county of Kildare, near Rathangan, from 
 whence an extensive view can be had of the plains of Meath, 
 together with those of Kildare, Westmeath, Wicklow, Dublin, 
 and Carlow, besides those of the King's and Queen's counties. 
 
 Page 72 " As they pass by Dowttts green Mil" 
 
 There are three very interesting artificial mounds on the 
 banks of the Boyne, near Drogheda, Dowth, Knowth, and New- 
 Grange. " An eye practised to the forms of ancient structures 
 " at once recognizes these vast pyramids as the work of man, 
 " and a closer inspection soon sets this point at rest." Wilde, 
 page 188. 
 
 After a long and minute description of one of these (to which 
 I would refer the curie us in such matters), Mr. Wilde continue : 
 " Such is the present appearance of this stupendous relic of 
 " ancient Pagan times, probably one of the oldest Celtic (keltic ?J 
 " monuments in the world, which has elicited the wonder and 
 " called forth the admiration of all who have visited it, and has 
 " engaged the attention of nearly every distinguished antiquary, 
 "not only of the British Isles, but of Europe generally." 
 
108 NOTES. 
 
 Page 76 " Till gallant Tichbourne," Sec. 
 
 Sir Henry Tichbourne and Lord Moore (ancestor of Lord 
 Drogheda), who, with a very small band of soldiers, kept the town 
 of Drogheda for many months against a numerous besieging body 
 of the Irish " discontented gentlemen," in 1641, and finally 
 defeated and dispersed them. See Tichbourne's curious letter to 
 his wife, now a rare tract. 
 
 Page 77 "For AnketeWs worthy son is there." 
 Mathew Anketell, Esq. of Anketell Grove, county of Mon- 
 aghan, in 1688, at the head of a few Anglo-Irish Volunteers, 
 attacked and routed, in the most gallant manner, a body of 600 
 Jacobites, who, under a Major McKenna, had entrenched them- 
 selves in an old Danish fort, called the fort of Drumbanagher. 
 Both Mr, Anketell and Major McKenna were slain. Colonel 
 Anketell' s son, under Col. Cutts, was left in command of the 
 garrison of Drogheda, by King William, after the battle. 
 
 Page 83 " I hear that now Sir Patrick Trant" $c. 
 " Lord Arlington disposed of his interest in the town and 
 property to Sir Patrick Trant, upon whose attainder, as a follower 
 of James the 2nd, the possession became forfeited to the Crown," 
 &c. Lewis's Topographical Dictionary. 
 
 Page 83 "Ballyshanduffe amid its oaken proves." 
 At Ballyshanduffe, near Ballybrittas, was another of the old 
 castles of the O'Dempsies. They had also one at Geaskill, in the 
 King's county, besides that at Tinnekill, the ruins of which are 
 close to Lauragh, the residence of Sir Erasmus D. Borrowes, Bart, 
 in the Queen's county. Ballyshanduffe, otherwise called The 
 Derries (a mongrel word, signifying the place of oak trees, from 
 dher, an oak), was then covered with dense woods of oak, a 
 remnant of which, about 50 acres in extent, still remains on the 
 adjoining townland of Ballyfabole. 
 
 Page 85 " Ar.d Hell-fire Clubbists taught," &>c. 
 The Hell-fire Club of Dublin had its origin in the reign of 
 Charles the 2nd ; the members of which did not belie its demoniac 
 
NOTES. 109 
 
 title. It was suppressed or became extinct for a time, but was 
 revived again in George the 2nd and George the 3rd's reigns. 
 The noted exploits of its " pleasant fellows " (such as throwing 
 a waiter out of the window, and ordering the landlord to put 
 him in the bill, &c.) would rank with those of the heroes of 
 " sixty years since," George Eobert Fitzgerald, Tiger Eoche, 
 and Bryan Maguire, &c. &c. 
 
 Page 87 " The flower and strength of Hy-Diomsaigh" 
 
 u Hy or I, being the plural of Ua or 0, a grandson, is fre- 
 
 " quently prefixed to the name of any remarkable progenitor of 
 
 " a family, as well to particularize the family as the lands they 
 
 possess." Tribes and Customs of Hy-Many, by John O 1 Donovan. 
 
 Page 88 " Spike his head on Bloody Bridge." 
 One of the old bridges over the Liny at Dublin, on which 
 it was customary to impale the heads of the " Irish enemye." 
 
 "In 1671, several persons were killed in an attempt made by 
 " the Dublin apprentices to destroy the wooden bridge, whence 
 " it was known by the namo of Bloody Bridge." Dublin Annals. 
 
 Page 88 " Skirting the Naas, he kept by Jigginstown" 8$c. 
 
 The Nass (i. e. the assembly) was held on a high conical hill, 
 where the ancient states of Leinster held their general meetings. 
 At Jigginstown are the ruins of the palace erected by the 
 ill-fated Earl of Strafford, in whose impeachment the building of 
 it formed one of the articles. 
 
 Page 90 " That night to a modest tomb" $c. 
 Cahir-na-Copuil's tombstone is still to be seen in the little 
 old ruined church -yard of Ballyadden, near Bally brittas. There 
 is also a grave at Glendalough, county of Wicklow, shown as his 
 by the guides ; but this latter is the burial place of a pseudo Cahir, 
 whose real name was Shamus (James), and who made some 
 clumsy attempts at imitating the true Na-Copuil, but was nothing 
 more than a common horse-stealer. He was no descendant of 
 Lord Clanmalier, further than being one of the clan. After 
 some exploits in that way, he was taken and hanged in the county 
 of Wicklow, about the year 1735 or 6. 
 
 L 
 
110 NOTES. 
 
 Page 90 " His Chiefs dank corse, which by the sweet woodbine' s 
 Long arms was caught upon that islet's brink." 
 
 A large island in the river Barrow, called " Sally Island," 
 containing about 20 acres, and which now forms part of Lord 
 Drogheda's demesne. 
 
 HOPE AND CO., GREAT MARLBOROUGH STREET, LONDON. 
 
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