JumuiuLaiiii! 4 = ^^^ "n 4 = i» 31 — c_: 1 - iilliil ~^-. r ■ ^. *r: *- :^ ^■•^ i^-. ^ ■:^ ... I THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES -'»■ V* ■4 ^ ■- r :*-^"^ :¥. W:i^ W.-Wi ^t^ *^c 1¥. r w^ m -n.W: -^ ^<> w ^ M -M W '¥' M 'i^. 'M W. '^. A^. 'M '^. ^..-^ h^' ^ «^* '^ ^ 7^ *^ :*i IHh M /M "¥. :^ ^^ 4r 1^ ^ i5^ i^ W: i¥: ^. i^: W: ^ "^ ^ '^ ^isti -■^ THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. BY THE WRITERS OF THE NATION NEWSPAPER, SECOND EDITION, REVISED. ff^i3h?,m DUBLIN: PUBLISHED BY JAMES DUFFY, 23, ANGLESEA-STREET. MDCCCXLIV. DUBLIN: JAMKS J)rFl'y, z:., AN(;I.KSEA-STKF.ET PR PREFACE. We offer this little volume — the materials of whicli have been taken from the " Nation" newspaper — freely and confidently to the people of Ireland, as the sole object of its publication is their benefit. Such a com- pilation was only projected after there were frequent demands for it, Avhich will acquit the authors of vanity, as its price will fully absolve the publisher from any desire of gain in the transaction. A book that neither contemplates praise nor profit is a genuine novelty, and will, we expect, receive the " Cead mile Failte" which a stranger never asks from our covmtrymeii in vain. We commend it especially to the Repeal Eeading- rooms and Teetotal Societies. Such of the songs as go to popular airs ought to be constantly practised by those bodies. They will find very profitable and plea- sant singing for the millions among them. The other pieces may be read or recited at public dinners and soirees with scarcely less advantage. The Englisli minister who planned the Union had a great respect for the influence of songs on a people; in which, we think, he exhibited more sagacity than in handcufling two strong, angry men together to strengthen their con- nexion. However, as there is a difference of opinion on 841995 IV PREFACE. this point, it will be a pleasant test of liis wisdom to knock one of his nuts against the other and see which of them will crack first. It may be observed, that we have spelled some Irish words that occur in this volume somewhat differently from the usual method, that usual method being what- ever way English writers thought fit to spell them for us. We have consulted the best Irish scholars, and adopted their orthography, which we expect will become general. We would be ashamed to mispell Latin, Eng- lish, French, or any other foreign language, and, in the name of common sense, why not our own ? It is quite as comical a blunder to write " Faugh a Ballagh" for "Fag a Bealac," as " Parley- voo" for " Parlez- vous," if we only thought so. We believe there is nothing further to say, but to wish our friends a keen relish for the good things which we set before them. Trikity-street, Dublin, May, 1843. *,* A seconrl series of the "Spirit of the Nation," beinpj Political Songs and National Ballads by the writers of the " Nation" newspaper, is now ready. All applications must be made to the rublishcr, .James Duffy, 25, Anglesea-street, as, in future, the publication will be conducted in liis estab- lishment. CONTENTS. Names of Pieces. Airs. Authors' Signatures. Page. Ourselves Alone Mrs. Casey Slievegcllion... i TheMen of Tlpperary... NoraCriena The Celt 3 Sonnet E.N. Shannon.... 4 Tlie Munster War Song. The Old Woman tossed tip in a Blanket SHAMROCK 5 The Monopolists' Lie Theta 7 Grainne Maol Grainne Maol H 8 FagaBealac Black Northern 11 Epigram Terr.^: Eilius 12 O'Connell T. C. D 13 The Exterminator's Song. / a?/i r THE NATION. Vowed that no other faith in the end could avail ; 1st The JuGGHERNAUT Champion? says GRAhW^'E A/AOitf X, John Bull had a sister fair to be seen, With a roseate blush, and a mantle of green, And a soft swelling bosom ! — On hill or in dale Oh, where could you fellow sweet GliAISSE MAOLI xr. And John lov'd his sister without e'er a flam. As the fox loves a pullet, the vulture a lamb ; So he paid her a visit — but mark the sad tule, My Title Deed's vanished! says GIUINNE MAOLl XII. Then he ruined her commerce, and ravaged her plains; Razed her altars, sowed strife, kept her children in chains. While pitch-caps, triangles, and gibbets, wholesale, Recorded John's love to poor GRAIN SE MAOL ! XIII, But one of her children, more hoyld than the rest, Took it into his noddle to make a n-f/vest ! Our rights. Uncle John ! Else — our flag on the gale I "He soon got an instalment," says GRAISNE MAOL! XIV. And, now lie is at the Ould Growler again, With his logic, and law, and — thrtc millions rf men ! And nothing will plaisc him, just now, but Repale ; " Mo seuct n-anum uilig ta,"' says GRAISNE MAOL I XV. But, should John turn gruflT, and decline the demand ; What means of success may be at our command ? Quite true, he is humbled, and now getting frail. My "Xatio.n' will tell you, says GRAIN NE MAOLI • " Seven times as dear as the soul within me !" 6FIRIT OF THE NATION, I| xvr. ("NATION" LOQUITUR.) " If stubborn and wilful, he still should refuse To hear our just claims, or submit to our views, And resolve, in his folly, to hold ' The Entail,' Dan '11 'kic/t his Dumbarton,'* for GRAINNE MAOL l" jFag a ISralac. f A National Hymn, ehaunted in full chorus at the Symposiacs of the Editors and Contributors of ''Tbb Nation." I. " Hope no more for fatherland, All her ranks are thinned or broken;" Long a base and coward band Recreant words like these have spoken. But We preach a land awoken, A land of courage true and tried As your fears are false and hollow ; Slaves and Dastards stand aside — Knaves and Traitors, FAG A BEALAC! II. Know, ye suffering brethren ours, Might is strong, but Right is stronger ; * Our printer's devil declares that this is a North British phrase for " The Seat of Honour !" How the Old Lady learned to talk Scotch it is not for us to explain. i FyJG A BE J LAC, "Clear the road!" commonly but erroneously spelt Faugh a BtWigh, was the cry with which the clans of Connaught and Mun- ster used in faction fights to come through a fair with high hearts and smash- ing shillelahs. The regiments raised in the South and West took their old shout with them to the Continent. The 8Sth, or Connaught Rangers, from their use of it, went generally by the name of •' The Faugh a Ballagh Boys." Nothing, says Napier, in his History a/ l/n- Peninsular War — nothing so startled the l-'rench soldiery as the wild yell with which the Irish reginienti sprung to the charge ; and never was that haughty and intolerant shout raistd in battle, but a charge, swift as thought and fatai as flame, came with it, like » rushing incarnation of FA G A BE ALA C! l-i SPIRIT OF THE NATIOK. Saxoii V iles or fc'axou powers Can enslave our land no longer, Than your own dissensions wrong her : Be ye one in might and mind — Quit tlie mire where Cravens wallow — And your foes shall flee like wind From your fearless FAG A BEALAC ! III. Thus tlic mighty Multitude Speak in aeceuts hoarse with sorrow " We are fallen, but unsubdued; " Show us Avhence we Hope inaj" borrow, " And we'll figlit your fight to-morrow. " Be but cautious, true, and brave, " "SVlicre ye lead us we will follow ; " Hill and valley, rock and wave, " Sliall echo back our FAG A BEALACr IV. Fling our Sun-burst to the wind, Studded o'er with names of glory ; "Worth, and wit, and niight, and mind. Poet young, and Patriot hoarj'. Long shall make it shine in story. Close your ranks — the moment's come — NOW, ye men of Ireland follow : Friends of Freedom, charge them home — Foes of freedom, FAG A BEALAC! EPIGRAM. " Well, Pat, my boy," said I, " I've had some chat Witli tlic ground landlord of this wilderness." " The grinding one your Honor means," grinned Pat ; " It is tlic tenants that are ground, I guess." SPIRIT OF THE NATIOV. V^ O'CONNELL. A FRAGMENT. Oh ! thou bright sun, who banished by thy ray The night of sorrow from my land away — Before whose radiance, as some magic spell, Like frost-work melted, all our shackles fell — Whose honest beams made freedom's light be felt In those dark mists where bigotry had dwelt — Kigh, high above us, still in grandeur glide. You rose in lowness, but you'll set in pride. In vain j^ou sought some social orb to cheer The desert loneness of our hemisphere, Yet dauntless cried, " 'Tis left alone for me To teach mankind — To wish it's to be free !" And now thou'rt mantled in nnearthly light, Like Vesta's lamp, imperishably bright, For ever cloudless and for ever blest, Sear the oppressor, smile on the opprest. Unlike the orb that glorifies the day, Thy sun may perish, but its beams will stay : Thy name's an heirloom that will last for ever — Thyself may leave us, by thy spirit — Never ! Thou said'st, " Be free !" and taught the bondsman how; And, ah ! dear freedom, who'll unlearn thee now ? THE EXTERMINATOR'S SONG. AlK — " 'Tis I am the Gipsy King. " I. 'Tis I am the poor man's scourge, And where is the scourge like me ? My land from all Papists I purge. Who think that their votes should be free — Who think that their votes should be free ! From huts only fitted for brutes, My agent the last penny wrings : li EPflilT OF THE KATION. And my serfs live oii water and roots, While I feast on the best of good things ! For I am the poor man's pcourge ! For I am the poor man's scourge 1 (Chorus of the Editors o/The Nation) Yes, you are the poor man's scourge! But of such the whole island we'll purge I II. A despot, and strong one, am I, Since a Drummond no longer is here. To my " duties" to point ev'ry eye, Though of "rir/hts" I wish only to hear — Though of" rights" I wish only to hearl If conspiracies I apprehend, To throw off my rack-renting rule, For a " Special Co7nmission" I send. To my friends of the old Tory school 1 For I am the poor man's scourge ! For I am the poor man's scourge ! (Chorus of the Editors of Tub Nation) Yes, you are the poor man's scourge ! But of such the whole island we'll purge ? in. I prove to the world I'm a man. In a way ver\' pleasant to show ; I debaucli all the tenants I can. And of b ds I have a long row — And of b ds I liave a long row! "My cottiers nnist all cringe to me, Nor grudge me tlie prettiest Jass; Or they know very well that they'll s^? Their hovels as flat as tiie grass ! For I am the poor man's scourge! For I am (he poor man's scourge! (Chorus of the Editors o/Tliii Nation) Yes, you are the poor man's scourge ! But of «i«cA the whole island we'll purge ! gPIRIT GF THE NATION. 1^ IV. If O'Connor my right should deny, sir, To " do wliat I like with my own !" For the rascal I've soon a reply, sir, Into gaol for "seditiim" he's thrownrr- Into gaol for " seditioit" he's thrown! The Tariff is bringing rents down — Yet more cash from the former I'll squeeze ; And, for fear of being shot, come to town To drink, game, and intrigue, at my ease! For I am the poor man's scourge ! For I am the poor man's scourge ! (Chorus of the Editors o/The Nation) Yes, yoH are the poor man's scourge. But of such the whole island we'll purge. SONG OF THE UNITED IRISHMEN. Air — " 7'Ae Siege of Belhish." I- 'Tis the green — oh, the green is the colour of the true. And we'll back it 'gainst the orange,and we'll raise it o'er thehlue! For the colour of our fatherland alone should here be seen — 'Tis the colour of the martyr'd dead — our own immortal green ; Then up for the green, boys, and up for the green ! Oh, 'tis down to the dust, and a shame to be seen ; But we've hands— oh, we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween. To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green I II. They may say they have power 'tis vain to oppose-=r 'Tis better to obey and live, than surely die as foes ; 16 6PIRIT OF THE NATION'. But vro scorn all their threats, boys, Avhatevcr tlioy may mean; For ve trust in God above us, and wc dtarly kivc tlie green. So, we'll up for the green, and we'll up for the green ! Oh, to die is far better than bo curst as we have been ; And we've hearts — oh, we've hearts, boys, full true enough, I ween. To rescue and to raise again our own immortal green ! HI. They may swear as they often did, our wretchedness to cure ; But well never trust John Bull again, nor let his lies allure. No, we won't — no we won't. Bull, for now nor ever more ! For we've hopes on the ocean, and we've trust on the shore. Then up for tlie green, boys, and up for the green ! Shout it back to the Sassenagh, "We'll nerer sell the green!" For our Tone is coming l)ack, and with men enough, I ween, To rescue, and avenge us and our own immortal green. IV. Oh, remember the daj-s when their reign we did disturb, At Limerick and Thurles — Black water and Benburb; And ask this proud Saxon if our blows he did enjoy, When we met liim on the battle-field of France — at Fontenoy. Then we'll \ip for the green, boys, and up for the green I Oh, 'tis still in the dust, and a shame to be seen ; But we've hearts and we've hands, boys, full strong enough, I ween, To rescue and to raise again our own unsullied green ! THE VOW OF TIPPERARY. From (Jarrick streets to Sliannon shore — From Slievenamon to Ballindeary — From Longford-pass to Galtymore — Come, hear The "Vow of Tipperary. SPiniT OF THE NATION. 17 Tuo long we fiMiglit for Britain'? cause, And of our blood were never cliary ; She paid us backwitli tyrant laAvs, And lliiuned The Homes of Tipperary. But never more we'll win such thanks ; We swear by God, and^Virgin Mary, Kever to list in Britis^h ranks ;" And that's The Vow of Tipperary. FATHEK MATIIEW. ODE TO A PAINTER, ABOUT TO COMMENCE A PICTURE TO ILLUSTRATE THE LABOURS OF FATHER MATHEW. I. Seize tliy pencil, child of art ! Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee ; Great thy hand, and great thy heart, If well thou do'st the ■« ork before thec ! 'Tis not thine to round the shield, Or point the sabre, black or gory ; 'Tis not thine to spread the field, Where crime is crown'd — where guilt is glory. n. Child of art ! to thec be given To paint in colours all unclouded, Breakings of a radiant heaven O'er an isle in darkness shroudel ! But to paint them true and well, Every ray we see them shedding In its very light must tell What a gloom h^fore was spreading. 18 6PIRIT OF THE NATION. III. Canst thou picture dricLl-up tears— Ej-^es that wept no longer weeping-— Faithful woman's wrongs and fears, Lonel}-, nightl\', vigils keeping — Listening ev'ry footfall nigh — Hoping him she loves returning ? Canst thou, then, depict her joy, That we may know tlie change from mourning ? IV. Paint in colours strong but mild, Our Isle's Kedeemer, and Director Canst thou paint t)n: man a chihl. Yet shadow fortli tlie mighty victor? Let his path a rainbow span. Every Ime and cnlonr blending Beaming " peace and love" to man, And alike o'er all extending 1 V. Canst thou paint a land made free^— From its sleep of bondage, woken—. Yet, withal, that we may see "What 'twas hifoic the cliain was broken? Seize the pencil, child of art ! Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee 1 Great thy hand, and great thy heart, If well thou do'st the work before thee ! J TO THE FKESIDENT OF THE ANTI-HEPEAL OPERATIVE SOCIETY, GREETING. SteiTie mourns an ass, as though 'twere true That "a.sses never die ;" But sure 'tis false, and Thrashem, you Will some day give 't the lie. DPIBIT OP THE NATION. J^ WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE ? " What's my thought like ? " How is it like ? &c. " What would you do with it ?" Nursery- Game. I. What's my thought like ?— What's my thought like ? — Like a column tumbled down- Its noble shaft and capital with moss and weeds o'ergrown ! How is my thought so like unto a column thus laid low ; Jlecauie your thought is Ireland now — laid prostrate, even so 1 What with it would 3'ou do? — oh, say — what with it would you do? Upraise it from the earth again, aloft to mankind's view. ^ sign unto all those that muurn, throughout earth's vast do- main, That Heaven rewards the patient, and will make them joy again. ir. What's my thought like? — What's my thought like? . — Like a gallant ship on shore ! Dismasted all and helpless now, amid the breakers' roar ! Her crew, so faitliful once to her, each seeking plank and spar, To 'scape from her and safety seek, upon the land afar. How is my thought like such poor ship in peril and distress ? Because your thought is Ireland iioic, whose peril is no less ! What with it would you do? — oh, say — what with it would you do? Like to some few but faithful hearts among such vessel's crew — Stand by her to the last I would ! and die, if so decreed, Ere man should dare to say to me, Vou failed her at her need I III. What's my thought like? — Wiiat's my thought like? . — Like a land by Nature bless'd Beyond most other lands on earth — iuidyct the most distressed 20 smUlT OF THK NATION. A teeming syil — abounding streams — vide havens — genial air — And yet a People ever plunged in sufiering and care ! Eight millions of a noble race — high-minded, pure, and good — Kept subject to a petty gang — a miserable brood ! Strong but in Englaml's constant hate, and help to keep us down, And blast the smiles of Nature fair, with man's unholy frown. How is it like my thought, again ?— How is it like my thought ? Because your thovght is Ireland's self- — and even thus her lot ! What with it would you do, again — Wliat with it would you do? Work even to the death I would, to rive her chain in two ! To help her 'gainst unnatural sons, and foreign foemen's rage. And all her hapless People's woes and bitter griefs assuage ; Bid tliem be happy now, at length, in this their rescued land — That land no longer marked and cursed with slav'ry 's withering brand ! No longer Slave to England I — but her Sister, if she will — Prompt to give friendly aid at need, and to forget all ill 1 But holding high her head, and with serenest brow Claiming, amid Earth's nations all, her fitting station now ! This is my thought — it is your thought. — If thus each Irish heart Will only tliink and purpose tlnis, henceforth, to act its part. Full soon their honestboast sliallbe — thatshe was made by them Great, Glorious, Free! — the Earth's first Flower I The Ocean's briglitest Gem I LINES SUGGESTED ni .V VISIT TO THE CHAVK OF BllIC, IK ST. Andrew's cuurchyakd. Since first tlicy placed thee in this cheerless cell, IlillicT I've wandered each succeeding year, Oppres!«'d with grief, to think no honours tell That courage, worth, and genius slumber here — SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 21 Yes! sleep neglected in this silent shatle, Where black obscurity in triumph reigns — . While memory drnop« in lack of generouf* aiil, And cold indiffrence unmov'd remains. Here noxious weeds and sedgy grass contend, As in the breeze for mastery they toil, To hide this mound, vvhere sleeps the faithful friend Who labour'd well to free liis native soil. Alas! cold apathy, the icy hand Is ever quick to spread oblivion's pall Above the champions of this injur 'd land Whom fate penults in freedom's cause to fall. Could I but rear one single line to guide The stranger's foot to lightly press this clay That freedom's sons o'er Erin's hope and pride Hither might come betimes to weep or pray : No flatt'ring lie I'd carve on polish'd stone ; But one brief sentence, rugged, bold and strong, That all might know his earnest, honest tone. The words would be — " My coimtry, right or wrong." Then would fond youths and maidens here unite, And jilant the willow and the fragrant thyme Here would they come beneath the moon's pale light To chant their ditties plaintive and sublime Here would the rose of variegated bloom, 'Xeath the green cypress and the spreading yew, Yield to the morning air its sweet perfume, And from its leaves drop tears of od'rous dew. Sleep on, regardless of the critic's sneer And hollow friendship's smooth imposing cant, Though ptiblic gratitude withholds a tear, Nor avarice deigns a lettcr'd pile to grant ; Tet will the poet's soft and pensive lay Warble in dirges o'er thy nameless tomb, To tell the Patriot who comes this way A martyr'd brother moulders here in gloom. 23 KPlftiT OF THE NATION. THE NATION'S FIRST NUMBER. I. 'Tis a great day, and glorious, O Public! for you— This October Fifteenth, Eighteen Forty and Twol For on this day of days, lo! The Nation comes forth, To commence its career of Wit, Wisdom, and Worths To give Genius its due — to do battle with Wrong And achieve things undreamed of as yet, save in song, Then arise ! fling aside your dark mantle of slumber, And welcome in chorus The Nation's First NombeB. J Here vre are, thanks to Heaven, in an epoch when Mind M Is unfettering our captives and couching our blind ; " And the Press with its thunders keeps marring the mirth Of those tyrants and bigots that curse our fair earth. Be it ours to stand forth and contend in the van. Of truth's legions for freedom, that birthright of man, Shaking off the dull cobwebs that else might encumber Our weapon — the pen — in The Nation's First Nc.mber. III. We announce a New Era — be this our first news "When the serf-grinding Landlords shall shake in their shoes; While the ark of a bloodless yet n)igthy Reform Shall emerge from the flood of the Popular Storm ! Well we know how the lick.' 38 8PTRIT OF THE NATIOJT, O'CONNELL. I. I saw him at the hour of pray'r, when morning's earliest dawn Was breaking o'er the mountain tops — o'er grassj- dell and lawn ; When the parting shades of night had fled — when moon and stars were gone, Uefore a high and gorgeous shrine the chieftain kneel'd alone. His hands were clasp'd upon his breast,his eye was raised above— ^ I heard those full and solemn tones in words of faith and love : He pray'd that those who wrong'd him might for ever be forgiv'n; Oh ! who would say such prayers as these are not received in heav'n ? II. I saw him next amid the best and noblest of our isle — There was the same majestic form, the same heard-kindling smile ! But grief was on that princely brow — for others still he moum'd, He gazed upon poor fetter'd slaves, and his heart within him burn'd : And he vowed before the captive's God to break the captive's chain — To bind the broken heart, and set the bondsman free again ; And fit was he our chief to be in triumph or in need. Who never wrong'd his deadliest foe in thought, or word, or deed ! III. I saw him when the light of eve had faded from the West — Beside the hearth that old man sat, by infant forms caress'd ; One hand was gently laid upon his grandchild's clust'ring hair. The other, raised to heav'n, invoked a blessing and a pray'r 1 And woman's lips were heard to breathe a high and glorious strain — Those songs of old tliat haunt us still, and ever will remain Within the heart like treasured gems, that bring from mcm'ry's cell Thoughts of our youthful days, and friends that we have lov'd so well I SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 39 IV. I saw that eagle glance again — the brow was marked with care, Though rich and regal are the robes the Nation's chief doth wear ;* And many an eye now quailed with shame, and many a cheek now glow'd, As he paid them back with words of love for ev'ry curse be- stow'd. I thought of his unceasing care, his never-ending zeal ; I heard the watchword burst from all — the gath'ring cry — Repeal : And as his eyes were raised to heav'n — ^from whence his mission came — He stood amid the thousands there a monarch save in name ! THE COQUETTE. TO " The love we have lost is never renewed. On th.it dread vacuum of the breast, the temple and the garden rise no more — that feeling, be it hatred, be it scorn, be it indifference, which replaces love, endures to the last." — BULWER. I. I lov'd thee — yes, I lov'd thee — oh! how deeply and how well, The heart that loves alone can feel — what words can ever tell, Too long I dream'd — I vainly dream'd — affection could reside, Within that breast of ice and steel — of cold and cutting pride. II. But now my bosom thrills no more, as once for thee it thrill'd — I see the dark and chilly cloud my fancy strove to gild — The tints that Passion round thee threw — the rays of Love depart — I know thee, as thou falsely wert — and as thou truly art. • Written when O'Coiinell wan Lord Msyor. 40 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. Ml. Yes, where the sons of Folly bow, at Fashion's empty shrine, Go, bring thy flimsy heart to sale — it ne'er was formed for mine — I loathe the idol of the past — I spurn it witli disgust — 'Tis shivered into fragments — and trampled into dust ! IV. Yet no. — I cannot hate thee, tho' thy love no more I prize — We hate not, as we love not, where we only can despise — Then crawl in safety, for to 7ne the thought of thee is such. As of a rei)tile we would kill, could we but bear to touch I MY GRAVE. Shall they bury me in the deep, Where wind-forgetting waters sleep? Shall they dig a grave for me, Under the green-wood tree ? Or on the wild heath. Where the wilder breath Of the storm doth blow? Oh, no ! oh, no 1 Shall they bury me in the Palace Tombs, Or under the shade of Cathedral domes ? Sweet 'twere to lie on Italy's shore ? Yet not there — nor in Greece, though I love it more. In the wolf or the vulture my grave shall I find ? Shall my ashes career on the world-seeing wind? Shall they fling my corpse in the battle mound, Where coflRnless thousands lie under the ground? SPIRIT OF THE NATIOX. 41 J ust as they fall they are buried so — Oh, no ! oh, no I No ! on an Irish green hill-side, On an opening lawn^ — but not too wide ; For I love the drip of the wetted trees — On me blow no gales, but a gentle breeze. To freshen the turf: put no tombstone there, But green sods deck'd with daisies fair. Nor sods too deep: but so that the dew, The matted grass-roots may trickle through — Be my epitaph writ on my country's mind, " He serv'd his country and lov'd his kind." Oh ! 'twere merry unto the grave to go, If one were sure to be buried so. GATHERING CHAUNT or THE ULSTER SEPTS, IN THE BEIGN OF ELIZABETH. The sword of the Saxon is red on our hills. And blood has empurpled the tide of our rills ; O'Hanlon, unfurl your banner of green. And high let the sun-bcbst of Erin be seen. O'Donnell, come down from your dark Donegal, And drive back the Saxon, and scatter the Scadl ; Maguire, come forth with the men of your might, And red let your falchion be seen through the fight. MacMahon, let victory gleam from your crest, O'Reilly, come forth, with your boldest and best ; O'Hagan, M'Donnell, and Derry's bright star. Advance to the hot crimson banquet of war. 42 SPIRIT OF THE SATIO.V. M'Kenna of Treu{:ch, a'i*i Maguinniss of Down, Up, forward, and share in the deathless renown ; O'Dogherty, prince of the wild Innishowen, Up, up to the slogan of gallant Tyrone. The heartless invader his banner extends. And deep 'neath its shade is the woe of our friends, The crags of Slieve-guillen resound with their wail, And Newry is red with the blood of the Gael. We've fish in our streamlets, and kine in our glens, We've shade in our wild woods, and strength in our fens, We've men on our mountains, and hearts in our heath, To welcome the foe to the banquet of death. Bid Essex remember " the Pass of the Plumes," Where the corse of the focman the valley illumes ; Bid Norris again the proud Sasscnagh bring. To scatter his bones on " the lawn of the spring." The Eagles of Erin are up for their prey. And wolves prowl about in the full face of day. " Dunaveeragh" will feast them with flesh of the foe, Where Clifford was slain and his churls laid low. Blackwater, Ecnburb, and Drum-fluich can declare, The rout of I)e Burgh, and the fate of Kildare — The bells of Armagh spoke their joy on the peal, Which rung forth the conquest of gallant O'Neill. The spear of the stranger was broken in twain. Where Vaughan, and Waller, and Turner were slain, And oh ! it was lovely the blood-hounds to see, Eike Boccachs retreating from " Beal na ath buidhe." Then, onward, ye sons of the great Clan-hughboy, Shout back your defiance to bloody Mountjoy ; We've hope in each arm, and fire in each eye, And resolve in each bosom to conquer or die. SPIRIT OF THE SATIONf. 43 THE DALCASSIAN'S WAR-SO^'G— 1014. I, Dalcassia's warrior-bands, now. The chase forego, the chase forego ; Far nobler game demands, now, The spear and bow, the spear and bow — From mountain, glen, and valley. In bright array, in bright array, Round Erin's standard rally! Let cowards stay ! let cowards stay I The sun-burst that floats o'er us In banner'd pride, in banner'd pride, Has ever waved before us O'er victory's tide ! o'er victory's tide I n. Who, who, like craven falters. Nor bravely draws, nor bravely draws. To guard his country's altars, And homes and laws ! and homes and laws ! Who fears, with cause so holy. The pirate Dane, the pirate Dane ? Although the Saxon, lowly, Now brooks his chain ! now brooks his chain I* The sun-burst that floats o'er us In banner'd pride, in banner'd pride, Has ever waved before us O'er victory's tide ! o'er victory's tide ! III. Still victory's smile is beaming Where Murrough leads, where Murrough leads ; And where his blade is gleaming The foenian bleeds ! the foeman bleeds ! Old Brien's dark eye's glancing Along th' array, along th' array ; * Irishmen should never forget that, at the time of the glorious \ictory of CSontarf, the English, our present masters, bowed boneath the Daniih joke. 44 SPIRIT OK TMK XATIOX. Ami the steed's impatient prancing — Then let's away ! away ! away ! The snn-burst tliat floats o'er us In banner'd pride, in banner'd pride, Has ever waved before us O'er victory's tide! o'er victory's tide! THE CURSE OF THE RENEGADES. Oh, shame liyht upon thcni, confusion and scorn ! Be their names sounds aecurs'd to our children unborn ! Ko babe ever bless them — all sterile as base ! No wife ever press them — but perish their race ! Ere first the proud stranger invaded our shore, A renegade rose up, and tempted him o'er ; And the Normr.n marauder no treachery planned, Till a renegade lured him with treason in hand ! The Dane in our feuds found the source of his power ; Kot the people were false, but their cliivalry's flower ; And Callachan, rushing from Cormac's old rock, Tlirough Lagenia's shrines carried Paynimry's shock. Oh, vain was thy valour, Roydamna revered I When a Nial's bright sword the idolator cliecred ; Such princes, JlacMurrough-like, courting the chain. Deserved not, by heav'n ! o'er such people to reign. No page in our annals but teems with like guilt ; Each sword-point is Idunted 'gainst treachery's liilt ! But for this we had shattered oppression's fell yoke — But for this through each host of invaders had broke ! And now new Iscariots betray with a kiss. And barter, like Judas, a birtliright of bliss I Motherland ! they still wound thee with venomous tooth- They slander tliy fame, and proclaim it for truth ! Be the gold of their treason like hell's living fire. No Tactolus at hand, when of torture they tire ! SPIRIT OF THE NATIO.H. 45 May the bread of their falsehood no nutriment lend I May each willow affright them to Judas's end ! Arise, blessed Patrick ! complete thy good work ; Unkennel these reptiles wherever they lurk ; These black, bloated vipers, and renegades vile — Oh, pitiless, slay, and unvenom our isle ! THE SAXON SHILLING. I. Hark ! a martial sound is heard — The march of soldiers, fifing, drumming ; Eyes are staring, hearts are stirr'd — For bold recruits the brave ai-e coming. Ribands flaunting, feathers gay — The sounds and sighs are surely thrilling, Dazzl'd village youths to-day Will crowd to take the Saxon Shilling. Ye, whose spirits will not bow In peace to parish tj-rants longer — Ye, who wear the villain brow. And ye who pine in hopeless hunger — Fools, without the brave man's faith — AH slaves and starvlings who are willing To sell yourselves to shame and death. — Accept the fatal Saxon Shilling. III. Ere you from your mountains go To feel the scourge of foreign fever, Swear to serve the faithless foe That lures you from your land for ever! Swear henceforth its tools to be — To slaughter trained by ceaseless drilling — Honour, home, and liberty, Abandon'd for a Saxon Shilling. 92 46 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. IV. Go — to find, 'raid crime and toil, The doom to which such guilt is hurried ; Go — to leave on Indian soil Your bones to bleach, accurs'd, unburiedl Go — to crush the just and brave, Whose wrongs with wrath the world are filling ; Go — to slay each brother slave, Or spurn the blood-stained Saxon Shilling I V. Irish hearts ! why should you bleed, To swell the tide of British glory — Aiding despots in their need. Who've changed our green so oft to goryf None, save those who wish to see The noblest killed, the meanest killing, And true hearts severed from the free. Will take again the Saxon Shilling! VI. Irish youths ! reserve your strength Until an hour of glorious duty. When Freedom's smile shall cheer at length The land of bravery and beauty. Bribes and threats, oh, heed no more — Let nought but Justice make you willing To leave your own dear Island shore, For those who scud the Saxon Shilling. IRISH WAU-SONG. A. V. 1843. I. Bright eun, before whose glorious ray, (Jar Pagau fathers bout the knee ; WliDise pillar-altars yet can say. When time was young our sires were free- SPIRIT OF THE NATlO.'f. Who saw'st our latter days' decree — Uur matrons' tears — our patriots' gore ; "We swear before high Heaven and thee, The Saxon holds us slaves no more! II. Our sun-burst on the Roman foe Flash'd vengeance once in foreign field — On Clontarf's plain lay scathed low What power the Sea-kings fierce could wield ! Benburh might say whose cloven shield 'Neath blood}' hoofs was trampled o'er ; And, by these mcraories liigh, we yield Our limbs to Saxon chains no more ! III. The clarseach wild, whose trembling string Had long the " song of sorrow" spoke, Shall bid the wild Rosg-Catha* sing The curse and crime of Saxon yoke. And, by each heart his bondage broke — Each exile's sigh on distant shore — Each martyr 'neath the headsman's stroke — The Sason holds us slaves no more ! IV. Send the loud war-cry o'er the main — Your sun-burst to the breezes spread ! Tliat slogan rends the heaven in twain — The earth reels back beneath your tread ! Ye Saxon despot-, hear, and dread — Thy march o'er patriot hearts is o'er — That shout hath told — that tramp hath said, Our country's sous are slaves no more I • Literally the " Eye of Battle," the glorious " incentive to Iha fight," tha war song of the bard, befora whose '• Sea of Past.iou" the warriors riisbid lo death or victory. 48 SPIRIT OF THE XATIOX. IRISH AEE NO LONGER SLAVES. j Am— "7?((/e liritannia." I I. AVhen Britsiin first, at hell's command, : Prepar'd to cross the Irish main, j Thus spoke a prophet in our land, 'Jlid traitors" scoff, and fools' disdain, ] "If Britannia. Britannia cross the waves, i li ish ever shall be slaves. II. I And snfT'ring still with slav'ry found, Shall bruise your heart, and sere your brain— '. Lost Isle ! with matchless beauty crown'd But wanting strength to break your chain ; If Britannia, Britannia cross the waA-es, Irish ever shall be slaves." I I III. In vain the warning patriot spoke, . In treach'rous guite Britannia came. Divided, bent us to her yoke, I 1111 Ireland ro.~c, in Freedimi's name, i And Britannia, Britannia boldly braves, i Irish are no longer slaves! ' TME MEMORY OF THE DEAD. I. Who fears to speak of Ninety-Eight? "Will, blushes at the name? When cowards mock the patriots' fate, W ho hangs his head for shame ? He's all a knave, or half a slave, Who slights his country thus ; But a true man, like you, man, Will fill your glass with us. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 4'J II. We drink tlie memory of the brave, The faithful and the fevr — Some lie far ofF beyond the wave, Some sleep in Ireland, too ; All — all are gone — but still lives on The fame of those who died ; All true men, like you, men, Remember them with pride. III. Some on the shores of distant lands Tlieir weary hearts have laid, And by the stranger's heedless hands Their lonely graves were made. But, though their clay be far away Beyond the Atlantic foam — , In true men, like you, men, ' Their spirit's still at home. ii IV. I The dust of some is Irish earth ; ; Among their own they rest ; j And the same land that gave them birth j Has caught them to her breast ; i And we will pray that from their clay Full many a race may start Of true men, like you, men, i To act as brave a part. ; i They rose in dark and evil daya i To right their native land ; , Tliey kindled here a living blaze That nothing shall withstand. I Alas ! that might can vanquish Right — < r/iey fell and pass'd away ; ' But true men, like you, men, i Are plenty here to-day. \ JO KPiniT OF THE NATIO.X. VI. Then here's their memory — may it be For us a guiding light, To cheer our strife for liberty, And teach us to unite. Through good and ill, be Ireland's still. Though sad as theirs your fate ; And true men be you, men. Like those of Ninety-Eight. WESTERN WAR-SONG. A.D. 1642. ' I. Lo ! Freedom again hath appear'd on our hills, ■ Already the isle her divinity fills ; j The harp wakes — the sword rattles — and kindles the brand — ] While the breeze of her wings passes over the land. \ I I n. i From the rock guarded mountains — her cradle and throne — • She moves in her splendour — she moves not alone; j For myriads unsheathing the chain-breaking sword, Now hail the bright vision long vainly ador'd. j Tlic war's nightly blaze from the mountain shall rise, | And thine Uriflammc, Kuin! stream red to the skies, j Till, numberless, thronging, with torches and swords, ^ We chase back to ocean these foreigner hordes. , I IV. When the foul fetter clanks on the son of the hills. His frame with the rage of a chafd tiger tlirill;; — ' With clenched hand, iron sinews, and fiercely knit brow — i Could a harness of adamant baffle him now ? I I I •PIRIT OF THE NATIOX. Hi { Nol thirsting to madness, red vengeance will pass, Like the cloud's subtle fire, thro' a fortress of brass, Let cannon blaze round him, or white billows flow. He will reach, thro' them all, the heart's blood of his foe. VI. Do'st thou think Connemara's dark fishers can fear The battle, who nightly thro' hurricane steer — Who unmoor the frail skiff, from the Pin's barren sod. To struggle with ocean, the war-horse of God ? VII. From the Giant spar caves ; from the stormy Kilkee ; From where Moher frowns over the fathomless sea, Where the clifi"s of Baltard mock the strength of the waves. And the tempest round Arran indignantly raves ; VIII. Shall come forth to combat a fetterless race, Whom the rocks of the West bear to ocean's embrace — Whose spirits like tempest, resistless and free, Proclaim them the terrible sons of the sea. IX. Not the phalanx of Sparta, for threshold and shrine, More nobly has battled, my country, than thine ; Our cause is as holy — our bosoms as true — And Erin may have her Thermopylae too. THE HOUSE THAT PADDY BUILT. " Take this —What's this ?" Tliis is the House that Paddy built ! — This is the Parliament that sat iu the House that Paddy buiit — These are the slaves, who basely bcut, And sold to England the Parliament, That sat in the House that Paddy built I 52 SI'IRIT OF THE NATIO.V. This is tlie Lord, of name accurst ! — The leader and chief — and by much the worst Of that vile crew, who basely bent, And sold to England, &c. These are the bribes — in money and place, And titles — the badj,'cs of shame and disgrace! — That were given by that Lord of name accurst — The leader and chief — and by much the worst Of that vile crew, &c. These are the tortures and murders fell, Tliat maddened the people and made them rebel, And (along with the bribes in money and place. And titles — the badges of shame and disgrace) Played the game of that Lord, of name accurst — The leader and chief — and, &c. This is The Union — that Union of "Woe ! Which Ireland was forced to undergo, When her hopes were lost, and her spirit was low ! From the dire confusion, and slaughter fell That ensued from the terrible struggle to quell Her people, whom tortures forced to i-ebel, When those tortures — with bribes in money and place, And titles — the badges of shame and disgrace, Played the game of that Lord, of name accurst, &c. &c. Tlicse are the years — twice twenty and twol That Ireland has had to endure and to rue That Union of Name — that Union of Woe, Which she had been forced to undergo. When, &c. These are the men who spoke out at last, And said that the time for despair was past, And that Ireland's rights were well worth one cast! After all the years — twice twenty and two — That, &c. SPIRIT OF THE NATIOX. 5S This is the struggle for justice and right — The peaceful and good constitutional fight, To remove from our country the Union blight! — The struggle of those who've spoke out at last, And said that the time of despair was past, And that, &c. This is the Whig Lord, who bribery tried "With the young men of Ireland, once lier hope and her pride. Who, ere they had yielded, ought surely have died! They, who kept from the struggle for justice and right, The peaceful and good constitutional fight. To remove, &c. Tliese are the Tories, seated now in high place, The haters of Ireland, her creed, and her race ! More bold than the Lord, who bribery tried With the young men of Ireland, once truly her pride ! Who, ere they had yielded, ought surely have died! They who now hold oiF from the struggle of right, The peaceful and good constitutional fight, To remove, &.c. These — oh, these are the People — still honest and true. Who will do once again what before they did do ! Make Peel and his fellows the rights to concede Of a whole nation now — as before of a creed ! Shake off the vile Tories, though firm now in place, (The haters of Ireland, her creed, and her race :) Nor bring back the Whig Lord, who bribery tried With the young men of Ireland, once trulj' her pride ! Who, ere they had yielded, ought surely have died! They who now hold off from the struggle of right, The peaceful and good constitutional fight. To remove from our country the Union-blight ! — The struggle of those who've spoke out at last, And said that the time of despair was past ! And that Ireland's rights were well worth one cast! After all the years twice twenty and two — That she has been doomed to endure and ru« M SPIRIT or THE NATION. The Union of Name — That Union of Wok ! Which England compelled her to undergo, When her hopes were lost, and her spirit was low, In the dire confusion and slaughter fell, That ensued from the terrible struggle to quell Her People, whom tortures forced to rebel ! When those tortures, with bribes in money and place, And titles (the badges of shame and disgrace!) Played the game of that Lord, of name accurst — The leader and chief— and by much the worst Even of that vile crew, who basely bent. And sold to England her Parliament That sat in the House that Paddy built ! PUNCHIFICATION. •* On this head tee have no apprehension : Mr. O'Connell may be a diverting mob actor, but he is not, after all, half so diverting as Punch."— il/ornmg' Herald. Let England's old womanhood tremble no more. Let the Pcelites securely dine, breakfast, and lunch; Though O'Connell makes burning harangues by the score, Still he can't, or he will not, cut capers like Punch 1 Tliough the wrongs of the people in number exceed The potatoes that Irishmen saltlessly munch. Let the cock-a-hoop Tories ne'er stop to take heed. For— O'Connell's not half such a grinner as Punch ! There were mighty strange things done by Merlin of yore. And queer tales are narrated of old Mother Bunch ; Pint a wonder like this was ne'er heard of before, Tliat injustice shall rule, since — O'Connell's not Punch! And tliou, Ireland, who stoodest so straight t'other day, Thou stoopest anew like a man with a hunch. Since the ass of the Herald came out with his bray, That— in short that O'Connell's no puppet, like Punch ! 8PIK1T OF THE .". THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. FART XX. BEING A SECOND SERIES OF POLITICAL SONGS AND NATIONAL BALLADS BY THE WRITERS OF THE NATION NEWSPAPER. DUBLIN: PUBLISHED BY JAMES DUFFY 25, ANGLESEA-STREET. MDCCCXLUI. DUBLIN: JAMES DUFFV. 24, ANGLEHEA-STREET. PREFACE. When we ventured, within a few months after the " Nation" was started, to reprint the Poetry of it, we did an unprecedented thing, and one said to be of doubt- ful prudence. The Newspaper to be sure had suc- ceeded, but it seemed a trial ruinous to these verses and injurious to the paper to expose its weekly miscellanies to the test of permanent criticism. " They are light cavalry," said a friend; "they have charged famously for once, you'll find them jaded hacks when wheeled again into line." "We trusted, them and published. Yet their success has surprised us. "We hardly hoped that their popularity could extend beyond our own class and country. But the Tory has praised theiri more than the Liberal, the anti-Repealer as much as the Nationalist, while their success in foreign countries has at least equalled their success here. Mr. O'Connell thought the ballads "very good," Mr. SuAw "most able," Mr. Butt " iNsriRED." The Irish press thought them excellent for Ireland, but the Morning Post said they were " superior to anything they had supposed t(j exist at present ;" the Leeds Times thought them "great achievements," and the Tablet called them " the music IV PREFACE. of the battle-field." To ascend higher, tlie Dublin Revieio says, they are " vigorous and bold," " fitted to grasp the nation ;" the Quarterly found in them " great beauty of language and imagery," and Fraser declared that though they are "mischievous" it " dare not con- demn them they are so full of beauty." The First Part of the Spirit of the Nation has gone through two editions here ; has been bought by men of all creeds and kinds, from the peasantry to the peerage, the soldier and policeman to the Quarter- master-General, from Tom Moore to Thresham Gregg. The American papers regularly reprint our verses week by week, and a large edition of the Spirit of the Nation has been issued in New York, and sold throughout the United States, and Canada. Our little book of rhymes has been circulated enough, and praised enough, then, fully to justify the novel course we took in reprinting them, and the authors may be content with their fame. This register of what occurred as to the first part is our justification for printing a second. Wliether the praise we have got or shall get be deserved or not, sure we are that whoever gives the people of Ireland a lyrie literature racy of the soil, reflecting its scenery and manners, blended with its history and panting with its hopes, will marshal tliem to independence in an array which prosecutions cannot encounter nor armies ovei'- tlirow. National lyrics to be perfect should be linked PREFACE. with music, tliat the people's heart knows and beats to. This union we hope to see effected, but whether our verses are worthy of such an alliance time alone can tell. We shall say nothing more. Trinity-street, Dublin, November, 1843. *^* The Prose " Spirit of the Nation" is being prepared for the press. A series of sketches of distinguished Irishmen, by the same hands, Arill also be published shortly. CONTENTS Names of Pieces. Airs. Authors" Signatures. Page. The Voice of Labour... Weep on, weep on The Black. Nor- thern 1 Song of the Volunteers of 1782 The Boyne Water... The Celt 3 Young Ireland Fare thee well, my own dear Love Slievegullion 5 Epigram Brutus 6 Tlie Battle of Bcal-an- "i And doth not a ath-Buidh / meeting like this... W. D 7 Song for July 12th As vanquished Erin... J, Ff An Arms' Bill Ballad... Farewell, but whenever you welcome the hour Anon 10 Ifymn of Freedom Brutus 11 The Anti-Irish Irish- man The Irishman H. II 12 The Arms of '82 Brutus... 14 Stand Together Jliyhhind l.nddie Beta 15 The Sq^uJre's Complaint Tlie niyht before Lar- ry wax stretched Anon 16 Tlie Gathering of Lcin- ") Cuilin das cru- stcr, 1G43 j ihi'\. 2\ And now, that Man of demon i^uilt. To fated Wexford flew — The red blood reeking on his hilt, Of hearts to Erin true ! III. He found them there — the young, the old — The maiden and the wife ; Their guardian Erave in death were cold. Who dared for them the strife. They prayed for mercy — God on liigh ! Before thi/ cross they praj'ed, And ruthless Cromwell bade them die To glut the Saxon blade ! IV. Three hundred fell — the stifled prayer Was quenched in woman's blood ; Nor youth nor age could move to spare From slaughter's crimson flood. But nations keep a stern account Of deeds that tyrants do ; And guiltless blood to Heaven will mount. And Heaven avenge it, too ! THE UNION. I. How did they pass the Union ? By perjury and fraud ; By slaves, who sold for place or gold Their country and their God ; 0-2 SPIKIT OF THK NATION. By all the savage acts that yet Have followed England's track : The pitchcap and the ba.vonct, The gibbet and the rack. And thus was passed the Union Ey Pitt and Castlereagh ; Could Satan send for such an end More worthy tools than they ? II. How thrive we by the Union? Look round our native land : In ruined trade and wealth decayed See slavery's surest brand ; Our glory as a nation gone — Our substance drained away — A wretched province trampled on, Is all we've lelt to-day. Then curse with me the Union, That juggle foul and base, The baneful root that bore such fruit Of ruin and disgrace. III. And shall it last, this Union, To grind and waste us so? O'er hill and lea, from sea to sea. All Ireland thunders, No ! Eight million necks are stiff to bow— We know our might as men — We conquered once before, and now We'll conquer once again ; And rend the cursed Union, And fling it to the wind — And Ireland's laws in Ireland's cause Alone our hearts shall bind ! SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 23 THE SONGS OF THE NATION. Air — " Sheela nu Guira." I. Ye songs that resound in the homes of our island — That wake the wild echoes by valley and highland — That kindle the cold with their forefather's story — That point to the ardent the pathway of glory ! — Ye send to the banish 'd, O'er ocean's far wave, The hope that had vanish'd — The vow of the brave ; And teach each proud despot of loftiest station, To pale at your spell-word, sweet songs of The Nation ! II. Sweet songs! ye reveal, through the vista of ages, Our monarchs and heroes — our minstrels and sages — The pomp of Eraania — the glories of Temor, When Erin was free from the Saxon defamcr — The green banner flying — The rush of the Gael — The Sassenach dying — His matron's wild wail — These glories forgotten, with magic creation Burst bright at your spell- word, sweet songs of The Nation! HI. The minstrels who waken these wild notes of freedom, Have hands for green Erin — if Erin should need 'em ; And hearts for the wrong'd one, wherever he ranges. From Zembla to Timor— from Shaunon to Ganges — And hate for his foeman. All hatred above — . And love for dear woman, Seraphical love — Rut chiefest the fair ones whose eyes' animation Is the spell-word that prompts the sweet songs of The Nation ! I '24 sriniT or tiik vatiov. \ t THE FORLOKN HOPE. A SONG OF THE IRISH BRIGADE. Air — '• (Jruisf/in Ian.'' I. Let us lift the green flag liigh Underneatli this foreign sky, Unrol the verdant volume to the wind. As we hasten to the fight Let us drink a last good uight To the beauty which we leave, boy, behind, behind, behind ; To the beauty which we leave, boy, behind. II. Plant it high upon the breach, And within the flag-staflTs reach; We'll oflfer it the tribute of our gore. Yes ! on that altar high, 'Si)ite of tyrants we can die. And our spirits to the saints above may soar, soar, soar ; And our spirits to the saints above may soar. III. Liberty is gone. Now 'tis glory leads us on, And spangles gloomy slavery's night ; If freedom's shattered bark Have not foundered i' the dark Her wreck must see this beacon bright, bright, bright ; Her wreck will see this beacon bright. IV. Yes; glory's shining light Must irradiate the night, And renew the flaming splendour of the day I And freedom's sinking crew Shall recover hope anew. And hail the blazing splendour of this ray, ray, ray ; And hail the blazing splendour of this ray. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 25 V. The green flag on the air, Sons of Erin and desjiair, To the breach in serried column quick advance. On the summit we may fall : Hand in hand, my comrades all. Let us drink a last adieu to merry France, France, France ; Let us drink a last adieu to merry France. VI. To Erin, comrades, too. And her sunny skies of blue, A goblet commingled with tears ! With the fleur-de-lis divine. The green shamrock shall entwine ; But the Ancient* see the Sunburst rears, i-ears, rears ; The Ancient see the Sun-burst rears. THE VOICE OF TARA. DATE UNKNOWN. f I. O ! that my voice could waken the hearts that slumber cold ! — The chiefs that time hath taken, the warrior kings of old — • standard bearer. t The original Irish of this song has been preserved in the extensive moun- tain tract that stretches far into the adjacent counties of Limerick, Cork, and Kerry, between the towns of Newcastle, Abbeyfeale, and Castleisland. 1 have vainly endeavoured to learn the author's name, but the original bears strong marks of its being the production of a Munster bard of the seventeenth cen- tury. I took it down, viva voce, from a Baccach, who moved a very respect- able repertory of wool, butter, and antiquarian lore, among the simple dwellers of the glens. He sung it to that very warlike air, vulgai'lj' named " The Poacher," in a kind of recitative, with his eyes closed, as if to shut out exterior olgects from his inspired vision, and leaning on the top of his staff, as he swayed his body to and fro to the martial sounds. I have rendered the words as literally as possible, hopeless of preserving the abrupt and striking spirit of theGaiic. •2() SPIIUT OF TUE NATIOX. (^h ! for Fingal, the pride of all the gallant Finian crew, To wave his brand — the fight demand — and blow the Baraboo ! II. O ! for the Clana-Morni, the Clana-Deagad tall, Dal-Reada's Knights of glorj-, who scal'd the Roman Wall! O ! for the darts that smote the hearts of Freedom's foreign foe. When bloodier grew the fierce Crob-Ruad* o'er bleak Hel- vetia's snow ! III. O I for the battle-axes tliat smote the pirate Dane ! O I for the firm Dalcassians that fought on Ossory's plain ! And ! for those who wrathful rose the Saxon to withstand, Till traitor arts and recreant hearts betray'd the patriot band ! IV. Alas ! our chiefs of glory will list no minstrel's call — But, o'er their deathless story, can tyrants fling a pall? Ye'll ne'er disgrace your ancient race, ye sons of fathers brave, Arise and burst your bonds accurst — the tomb contains no slave ! V. Arise ye, now or never — from heaven the martyr'd brave — Command you to deliver the land they fought to save ; Then swear to die ere despots tic your linibg in bondage chain, And let the shout ring boldly out o'er listening earth and main. VI. The fishers of Kilkcrran, the men of Greenore bay — The dwellers by Lough Dcrgert, and by the broad Lough Neagh — Leave boat and ( ar, and leap ashore, to join the fiery ranks That coino in pride from Galtee's side, and from Blackwater's banks. • " The bloody hand," the ensign of the Knights of the Red Brancli, SPIRIT OF THE NATIOX, 27 VII. Where "stubborn Newre" is streaming — where Lee's green valley smiles — Where kingly Shannon circles his hundred sainted isles, They list the call— and woe befall the hapless, doomed array Who'll rouse their wrath in war's red path to strike in freedom's fray. VIII. I see the brave rejoicing — I hear their shouts ascend — See martyr'd men approving from thrones of brightness bend. Ye ache my sight, ye visions bright of all our glory won ; The " Battle's Eye"* hath found reply — my tuneful task is done. THE MUSTER OF THE NORTH. A.D. 1641. We deny and hare always denied the alleged massacre of 1G41. But that the people rose under their Chiefs, seized the English towns and expelled the English settlers, and in doing so committed many e.'ccesses is undeniable— as is equally the desperate provocation. The Ballad here printed is not meant as an apology for these excesses, which we condemn and lament, but as a true representation of the feelings of the insurgents in the first madness of success. I. Joy ! joy ! the day is come at last, the day of hope and pride. And see ! our crackling bontires light old Bann's rejoicing tide. And gladsome bell, and bugle-horn from Newry's captured Towers, Hark ! how they tell the Saxon swine, this land is ours, is ours! II. Glory to God I my eyes have seen the ransomed fields of Down, My ears have drunk the joyful news, " Stout Phelim hath his own," Oh ! may they see and hear no more, oh I may they rot to clay, AVhen they shall fail to triumph in the conquest of to-day * The literal English of Rosg-Cata, or the " Incentive to Rattle"' — the war-song of the hard. -8 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. III. Novr, now we'll teach the shameless Scot to purge his thievish maw, Now, now the Court may fall to pray, for Justice is the Law, Now, shall the Undertaker square for once his loose accounts, JVe'll strike brave boys, a fair result, from all his false amounts. IV. Come, trample down their robber rule, and smite its venal spawn. Their foreign laws, their foreign church, their ermine and their lawn ; And all the specious fry of fiaud that robbed us of our own. And plant our ancient laws again, beneath our lineal throne. V. Our standard flies from fifty towers, it leads ten thousand men, Down have we pluck'd the pirate Red never to rise again ; The Green alone shall stream above our native field and flood — The spotless Green, save where its folds arc gemmed with Saxon blood. VI. Pity ! * no, no, you dare not Fricst — not you our Father dare, Preach to us now that Godless creed — the murderer's blood to 6i>are ; To spare his blood, while tombless still our slaughtered kin implore, " Graves and revenge" from Gobbin Cliffs and Carrick's bloody fhorc ! VII. Pity ! well if you needs must whine, let pity have its way, Pity for all our comrades true, far from our side to-day ; • T^Un'l the ProtesUnt Historian states that the Catholic Priests •' hil/fittriil zKitUiiuhj to inDitpTdle thp firoiiei ofwar;" and frequently protected the KoKlifth hy concealing theni in their place* of worshiiJ, and even under their altar »." SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 29 The prison-bouud who rot in chains, the faithful dead who poured. Their blood 'neath StraflPord's lawless axe or Parson's ruffian sword. VIII. They smote them with the swearer's oath, and with the mur- derer's knife, We in the open field will fight, fairly for land and life. But by the Dead and all their wrongs, and by our hopes to- day, One of us twain shall fight their last or be it we or they — IX, They banned our faith, they banned our lives, they trod us into earth. And whilst we bore with passive hearts, our patience was their mirth ; Even this great flame that wraps them now, not we but they have bred, This war is their own work, and now, their work be on THEIR HEAD. X. Xay, Father, tell us not of help from Leinster's Norman Peers. If we shall shape our holy cause to match their selfish fears. Helpless and hopeless be the cause that brooks a vain delay. Our ship is launched, our flag's afloat, Avhether they come or staj'. XI. If silken Howth, and savage Slane should kiss their tyrant's rod, And pale Dunsany still prefer his Monarch to his God, Think you we lack their fathers' sons the Mai'chmen of the Pale, While Irisli hearts and Irish hands have Spanish blades and mail? 30 SPIRIT OF THE NATIOX. XII. Down from the sacred hills whereon a Saint* communed with God, Up from the vale where Bagnall's blood manxired the reeking sod, Out from the stately wood of Truigh, M'Kenna's plundered home, Like Larue's waves, as fierce and fast, our brother clansmen come. XIII. Then, let them stay to bow and fawn, or fight with cunning words ; I fear me more their courtly arts than England's hireling swords, Nathless tlicir creed they hate us still, as the despoiler hates, Would God they loved their prey no more, our kinsman's lost estates ! XIV. Our rude array's a jagj^ed rock to smash the spoiler's power. Or need we aid. His aid we have who doomed tliis gracious hour. Of yore He led our Hebrew sires to peace through strife and pain. And us he lead* the self-same path, the self-same goal to gain. XV. Then, brethren, on .' — O'Nial's shade would frown to see you pause — Our banished Hugh, our martyred Hugh, is watching o'er your cause — His generous error lost the land — he deem'd the Norman true. Oh forward ! friends, it must not lose the land again in you 1 • St. Patrick, nhose favourite i-ctrciit was I.ecale, in the County Down. SPIRIT OF THE NATIOX. 31 THE SLAVES' BILL. Aye, brand our arms, nor them alone ; But brand our brows, degraded race Oh, how a fear can England own Of men, who cannot feel disgrace ? Men ! Are we men ? We talk as such, Heav'ns, how we talk ! but vain alarms — Nought masculine endures so much. Then brand our brows, as well as arms ! This brand is not an ugly thing — May seem an ornament, indeed ; The shame to some would be the sting. But not to slaves who dare not bleed ! Six hundred weary years have pass'd. And which, without some newer harms From Dear Old England ! This, the last, Is but an insult — brand our arms ! Yes, brand our language, faith, and name I Black down time's river let them roll ; Let Erin be a word of shame, And burn its mem'ry from my soul ! Oh ! Erin, Erin ! — never more That darling name let me repeat ! If such the sons my mother bore. West Briton were as sound as sweet. Aye, brand us all ! yet still we crave A pittance at our master's door ; Then leave the wealthy Irish slave His club, liis bottle, and ; And leave the wretched serf, his wife — You may, (she has not many charms,) Potatoes, and liis paltry life ; But, leave us not — ev'n branded arms ! Mad as ye are, who reckless dare To mock the spirit God hath giv'n. 32 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. Pause, ere ye drive us in despair To its appeal — from man to heaven I From ealmcr eyes the furies glare, A nd colder bosoms vengeance warms, Till rage finds weapons, ev'ry where, For Nature's two unbranded arms I SONG OF THE IRISH ARMY, A.U. 1689. We come, with drum and fife, And the banner of the green. And our arms for the strife, They are glorious in their sheen ; No cause have we to tremble, I trow — Outnumb'ring the waves O'er whicli the tempest raves, Let the Dutchman's hireling slaves Tremble novf. Then onward while you may Like an ocean in its might — Let tlie Saxon war-trumps bray. For God defends the right. And on our efforts looks with a smile. For the land of saints arise. Spread the green flag to the skies. And the hated Tyrant flies From our isle. By the margin of tlie shore Let our serrieil thousands stand, As our fathers stood of yore, 'Gainsit the light-haired Danish band. Let U3 meet them as they come from the deep — And the sea-bird soon will shriek. And the wild v.avc soon will break O'er Hi'' r-pol where tyraiitn take Their la.st sleep. SPIRIT OE THE NATIOK. 33 A VOICE FKOM AMERICA. I. From the far West, o'er wide Atlantic's Avavc, With giant accent Freedom's tidings sweep. Columbia's roused. Let Peel and Graham rave. Let Stanley " on," and hoary Wellesley keep Kis counsel as he lists. We reck not, and we care not, How much he dare to do. We guess how much he dare not. ir. We know ourselves unconquerably firm — We're temperate, cool, determined to be free — We feel that vassalage must reach its term — We've had our centuries of slavery. And now, oh, God ! with thy strong arm around us, Shall power abuse, or despotism wound us ? III. Is it for nought the humble friar came, Missioned of heav'n, to banish from our shore The ciirs'd ingredient in our cup of shame — The canker worm that ate into the core — The serpent vice that coiled around the soul. And gave but grief's worst remedy, "the bowl ?" IV. Is it for nought that He, our Leader rules Our peaceful millions with sagacious sway ? — A sway more potent than the minion tools Of Tory rule could beg or buy. The day Of our deliverance dawns. — we know it, and wc feel it — The Union's fetters fall. Ho ! Feel, we say, repeal it ! THE PEASANT GIRLS. The Peasant Girl of merry France, Beneath her trollis'd vine. Watches the signal for the dance — The broad, red sun's decline. 34 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 'Tis there — ami forth she flies with glee To join tlie circling baud, Whilst mirthful sounds of minstrelsy Are heard throughout the land. And fair Italia's Peasant Girl, The Arno's banks beside, With myrtle flowers that shine like pearl. Will braid at eventide Her raven locks ; and to the sky, With eyes of liquid light, Look up and bid her lyre outsigh — "Was ever land so bright?" The Peasant Girl of England, see With lip of rosy dye, Beueatli her sheltering cottage tree. Smile on each passer by. She looks on fields of yellow grain. Inhales the bean-flower's scent. And seems, amid the fertile plain. An Image of content. The Peasant Girl of Scotland goes Across her Highland hill, With cheek that emulates the rose. And voice the skylark's thrill. Her tartan plaid she folds around, A many-coloured vest — Type of what varied joys have found A home in her kind breast. The Peasant Girl of Ireland, she Has left her cabin home. Bearing white wreaths — what can it be Invites her thus to roam ? Her *jye has not the joyous ray .S''ould to her years belong; And, as she wends her languid way, She carols no sweet song. SPIRIT OF THE RATION. 35 Oh ! soon upon the step and glance Grief does the work of age ; And it has been her hapless chance To open that dark page. The happy harvest home was o'er, The fierce tithe-gatherer came ; And her young lover, in his gore, Fell by a murderous aim ! Then, well may youth's bright glance be gone For ever from that eye, And soon will sisters weep upon The grave that she kneels by ; And well may prouder hearts than those. That there place garlands, say — "Have Ireland's peasant girls such woes ? — • When will tliey pass away ?" STEADY. " Courage — your most necessary virtue — consists not in blind resistance, but in knowing when to forbear." — The Natios, June 17. Steady ! Host of Freeedom, steady I Ponder, gather, watch, mature ; Tranquil be, though ever ready — Prompt to act — and to endure. Aimless, rage you not, insanely, Like a maniac with his chain. Struggling madly, therefore vainly, And lapsing back to bonds again. , But, observe, the clouds o'er Keeper Long collect their awful ire — Long they swell more dark and deeper ; When tliey burst, all heaven's on lire. 36 snniT or the .vation. Treedom's barque to port is running. But beware the lurking shelves ; And would you conquer tyrants' cunning. Brethren, conquer first yourselves. Though thy cheek insulted burn — Though they call thee coward-slave— Scoff nor blow shalt thou return : Trust me, tliis is viore than brave. Fortitude hath shackles riven. More than spear or flashing gun ; Freedom, like the thrones of heaven. Is by suflf'ring virtue won. Though thy brother still deride thee. Yield thou love for foolish hate : He'll, perhaps, ere long, beside thee, Froudly, boldly, share thy fate. Discord ! may kind angels chase thee Far from hapless Erin's shores. And the deepest hell embrace thee, Where no fouler demon roarsl Steady ! steady 1 ranks of Freedom, Pure and holy are our bauds ; Heaven approves, and angels lead them, For truth and justice are our brands ! THE GATHERING OF THE NATION. A.D. 1G4G. I. Th()?e scalding tear? — those scalding tears, Too long havu fallen in vain — Up with the i^anners and the spears, And let the gaUier'd grief of years Show eterner stuff than rain. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 37 The lightning, in that stormy hour When forth defiance rolls, May change the poles of Saxon pow'r, And melt the links our long, long show'r But rusted round our souls. II. To bear the wrongs we can redress ! To make a thmg of time The tyranny we can repress — Eternal by our dastardness ! Were crime — or worse than crime. And we, whose best — and worst was shame, From first to last, alike, May take, at length, a loftier aim. And struggle, since it is the same To suffer — or to strike. III. What hatred of perverted might The cruel hand inspires. That robs the linnet's eye of sight, To make it sing both day and night ! Yet thus they robb'd our sires. By blotting out the ancient lore, Where every loss was shone. Up with the flag ! we stand before The Saxons of the days of yore. In Saxons of our own. ; IV. i Denial met our just demands ! I And hatred met our love ! t Till now, by Heaven, for grasp of hands, | We'U give them clash of battle brands, I And gauntlet 'stead of glove. \ And may the Saxon stamp his heel ' Upon the coward's front, ■ Wlio sheathes his own unbroken steel, | Until for mercy tyrants kneel. ' Who forced us to the brunt. I 3ft SPIRIT OF TH£ NATION". THE LION AXD THE SERrENT. AN arms' bill fable. In days of old the Serpent came To the Lion's rocky hall. And the forest king spread the sward with game, And they drank at the torrent's fall ; And the Serpent saw that the woods vere fair, And she loug'd to make her dwelling there. But she saw that her host had a knack of his own. At tearing a sinew or cracking a bone, And had grinders unpleasant!}' strong ; So she said to herself, '* I'll bamboozle the king With my plausible speech, and all that sort of thing. That, since Eve, to my people belong : " These claws and those grinders must certainly be Inconvenient to you as they're dreadful to me — Draw 'em out, like a love, I'm so 'frighted ! And, then, since I've long had an amorous eye on Yourself and your property, dear Mr. Lion, We can be (spare my blushes) united." So subtle the pow'r of her poisonous kisses. So deadly to honour the falsehood slie hisses, The lion for once is an ass. Before her, disarmed, the simpleton stands. The Union's proclaimed, but the hymen'al bands Are ponderous fetters of brass. The Lion, self-conquer'd, is chained on the ground, And the breath of his tyrant sheds poison around Tiie fame and tlie life of her slave. How long in his torture the stricken king lay Historians omit, but 'tis known that one day Tlie Serpent began to look grave ; For when passing, as usual, her thrall with a sneer, She derisively hiss'd some new taunt in his ear — lie shook all bis chains with a roar : SPIRIT or THE NATION'. Hi) And, observing more closely, she saw with much pain, That his tusks and his claws were appearing again, j A fact she'd neglected before. j From that hour she grew dangerously cicil, indeed, And declared he should be, ere long, totally freed : From every dishonouring chain. i "The moment, my dearest, our friend, the Fox, draws i Those nasty sharp things from your Majesty's jaw.?, i You must bound free as air o'er the plain." | But the captive sprung from his dungeon floor, ! And he bow'd the woods with a scornful roar, And his burning eyes flash'd flame ; And as echo swell'd the shout afar. The stormy joy of Freedom's war O'er the blast of the desert came. And the Lion laugh'd, and his mirth was loud As the stunning burst of a thunder cloud, And he shook his wrathful mane ; And hollow sounds from his lash'd sides come, Like the sullen roll of a 'larum drum. He snapp'd, like a reed, the chain. And the Serpent saw that her reign was o'er. And hissing, she fled from the lion's roar. ERIN ABOO Air — " Noc mhainim sin do." I. Arise, men of Erin ! for liberty rally, The rights of your own cherished island defend. Let freedom's wild chaunt from each mountain and valley, Sublime to the throne of the Godhead ascend ; Let feuds be forgotten — the curse of our land — . Let parties no longer divide it in two ; And while we together in brotherhood stand, Our watchword be — Freedom and Erin aboo. 40 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. II. Oh ! why should wc sever whom God has united, Whose children are cradled in one dewy isle — Why think that one spot in that isle must be blighted, If Heaven on anotlier benignantly smile ? Away with the thought — like our banner of green, Whose colour combines both the orange and blue, May all honest sons of old Ireland be seen, And their watchword be — Freedom and Erin aboo ! III. Will Ulster stand back while one true heart remembers The spirit that dwelt in her children of yore ? Who fanned the last spark of our liberty's embers, Till tyranny dazzled shrunk back from our shore. No, no ; by tlie graves of your valorous dead ! Who stood forth majestic in proud " Eighty-two," If tlie spirit of men from your hearths be not fled. Join, Ulster ! for — Freedom and Erin aboo ! IV, She comes — in the struggle for freedom victorious, Before — she will bend not to slavery now, Nor sully, by conduct supine and inglorious. The light with which Fame has encircled her brow. Tiie North and the South in one brotherhood stand. The East and the West are united and true. And far through the length and the breadtli of the land Tlie watchword is — Freedom and Erin aboo ! V. Accursed be your cause, if there linger v itliin it One dark stain of falsehood, one relic of guile ; If Frecflom we love not, and seek not to win it. For All without favour that dwell in our isle. Invoking that God wc in common adore. To do unto us as to others we do ; We swear that no Saxon shall fetter us more. Our watchword still — Freedom and Erin aboo! SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 41 SONG OF TOE PENAL DAYS. Air — " Chreevin evin." (Translated from the Irish.) I. Youthful men and elders hoary, List ye to the harper's song ! My clarseach weeps my true-love's story In my true-love's native tongue ; She's bound and bleeding 'neath tli' oppressor- Few her friends and fierce her foe ; And brave hearts cold who would redress her ; Ma chreevin evin, alga O ! II. My love had riches once and beauty Want, and wo liave pal'd her cheek ! And stalwart iiearts for honour's duty Now they crouch lilie craven's sleek ! Heaven ! that e'er this day of rigour yaw sons of heroes abject low, And blood and tears thy face disfigure Ma chreevin evin, alga O ! xa. 1 see young virgins on the mountain, Graceful as the bounding fawn, With cheeks like heath-flower by tlie fountain, Breasts like downy canavan.* Shall bondsmen share these beauties ample? Shall their pure bosoms' current flow To nurse new slaves for them that trample Ma chreevin evin, alga ! * The cotton plant of the bogs. 42 SPIRIT OF THK NATION. IV. Around my chtiseach's speaking measures Men like tlieir fatliers tall arise — Their heart the same deep hatred treasures, I read it in their kindling cj'cs ! The same proud brow to frown at danger — The same dark cooliiis* graceful flow — The same dear tongue to curse the stranger— Ala chreevin evin, alga ! V, I'd sing ye more but age is stealing O'er my pulse and tuneful fires ; Far bolder woke my chord appealing For craven S/iemvs to your sires. Arouse to vengeance men of bravery, For broken oaths — for altars low — For bonds that bind in bitter sla\cry— Ma chreevin evin, alga O ! A RALLY FOR IRELAND. M.w, 1089. I. Shout it out, till it ring From Benmore to Cape Clear ; For our Countr\% and King, And l{eligi(jn so dear. Rally, rally — Irishmen ! rally ; Form round the flag, that wet with our tears, And torn, and bloody, lay hid for long years, And now once again in its pride re-appears. See from Tjik Castj.e our Green Banner waves! Jkaring fit motto for up-rising slaves ! • The llowiiiK locks of tlic ancient Irisli. SPiniT OF THE NATION". 48 For " Now or Never, Now and for Ever," Bids you to battle for triumph, or graves. And tlie grave holds no slave, Death unfetters the brave. Then rally, rally, Ii-ishmen ! rally. Shout " Now or Never, Now and for Ever," Fight to the last and ye cannot be slaves ! II. M'Carthy, and Hamilton — Are they not here ? Talbot, Berwick, and Sheldon — Why should we fear ? And French men — all staunch men, lioisleau, and Pontee, Pusignan, and Eoscn ; And soon wc shall have the stout Count Lauzun, And Baldearg O'Dounell — the promis'd and chosen. From Shannon to Ban, from Liffey to Lee, The country is rising for Liberty. Though your arms are rude, if your couiage be good, As the traitors fled, shall the strangers flee From another Iveagh, and another Claudy Arm, peasant and lord ; Grasp musket and sword ; Grasp pike, scythe, or skein ; give the war-horse the rein ; March, shoulder to shoulder, for Liberty ! in. Old Schomberg and Churchill Are coming here ; Bloody Kirk, and Dutch Will- Yet never ye fear ; For our Fein* has met — they're a princely set : De Courcy, O'Neill, Plunkctt, MacDonnell, Burke, Byrne, Nagle, St. Lawrence, O'Donnell — The choice of the land from Cork to Tyrcouuell ! '' Tlitt hJsh name fur a Council or rarliament. 44 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. They'll break the last link of the Saxon chain ; The3''ll give us back our lands again. Then up ye and fight for your king and right- Laws are vain, unless swords maintain ; If freedom you'd gain, be victors or slain. Then rally, rally, Irishmen rally ! Fight "Now or Never, Now and for Ever :" Win freedom, and wear it, or die on the plain ! THE IRISH ARMS' BILL. X. My country, alas ! we may blusli for thee now, The brand of the slave broadly stamp'd on thy brow ! Unarm'd must thy sons and thy daughters await The Sassenagli's lust or the Sasscnagh's hate. II. Tlirough the length and Ihebreadtli of tliy regions they roam ; i\Iany huts and some halls may be tliere — but no liomtj ; Rape and Murder cry out " let each door be unbarr'd ! Deliver your arms, and tlien — stand on your guard !" ui. For England hath wakcn'd at length from lier trance^ — • She might knuckle to Rus.sia, and truckle to France — And, licking the dust from America's feet. Might vow she had ne'er tasted sugar so sweet. IV. She could leave her slain tliousand.s, her captives, in pawn. And Akhbar to lord it o'er Affglianistan, And firing the village or rifling the ground Of the poor murder'd peasant — slink off like a hound. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 45 i What then ? She can massacre wretched Chinese — - Can rob the Ameers of their lands, if she please — \ And when Hanover wrings from her duties not due, • She can still vent her wrath, enslav'd Erin, on you 1 ! 1 VI. ; Thus — but why, belov'd land, longer sport with thy shame ? i If my life could wipe out the foul blot from tliy fame, ; llow gladly for thoe were this spirit outpoured ' On the scaffold, as free as by shot or by sword I ' VII. \ Yet, oh ! in fair field, for one soldier-like blow, ^ To fall in thy cause, or look far for thy foe — To sleep on thy bosom, down-trodden, with thee, : Or to wave in thy breeze the green flag of the free ! VIII. Heaven ! to think of the thousands far better than I, Who for thee, sweetest mother, would joyfully die! j Then to reckon tlie insult — the rapine — the wrong — 1 How long, God of love ! — God of battles ! — how long ? I I THE INVOCATION. Sweet Lyrist, wreath a song for me. Such as my fathers loved of old — Tliy theme our cause, the melody The sweetest on tliy strings of gold. d2 46 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. Tuo long we've wept ; though blood and tears May rust, they break not slavery's chain, And forty weary woe- worn years We've wept (as we have bled) in vain. Then strike as though thy fingers hold Our heart-strings 'neath thy touch of fire; Kor blush to wake those songs of old, For Irish hearts on Erin's lyre. In Egypt's storied land of yore, Ere Pharoah reigned, ere Nile ran blood. Majestic on her sandy shore, Her Meninon's giant statue stood. And countless wealth, by sages told. Lay buried near that statue tall, And theirs to seek for gems and gold Where Meninon's head o'erthrown should fall. But he who watched at noon-tide hour The shadow pointing to his prize May teacli that even the gloom of power Can show where Freedom's treasure lies. And Mcmnon's lips sweet music sung Whene'er tiie sun, with orient glow, Awoke sweet morn, and gaily flung Ilcr blushes on that marble brow. Now breaks /or us bright Freedom's day, Now broken falls our mouldering chain ; And, touclied by Freedom's dawning ray, The mystic Harp shall sound again. Then, Lyrist, wreathe a song for me, Such as my fathers loved of old — Thy theme our cause, the melody The sweetest on tliy strings of gold. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 47 PADDIES EVERMORE. I. ! The hour is past to fawn or crouch As suppliants for our right ; j Let word and deed unshrinking voucli The banded millions' might ; ; Let them who scorned the fountain rill, Now dread the torrent's roar, j And hear our echoed chorus still, j We're Paddies evermore, \ What, though they menace, suffering men '. Their threats and them despise ; ! Or promise justice once again, jj We know their words are lies ; | We stand resolved those rights to claim j They robbed us of before, 1 Our own dear nation and our name, j As Paddies, and no more. i III. ^ Look round — the Frenchman governs France, i The Spaniard rules in Spain, I The gallant Pole but waits his chance To break the Russian chain ; The strife for freedom here begun We never will give o'er, Nor own a land on earth but one — We're Paddies and no more. '. i That strong and single love to crusli, ■ The despot ever tried, i I 46 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. A fount it was whose living gush, His liated arts defied. 'Tis fresh as wlien his foot accurst, Was i)lanted on our shore. And vow and still as from the first. We're Paddies evermore. V. What reck we though six hundred years Have oer our thraldom rolled, The soul that roused O'Nial's spears Still lives as true and bold ; The tide of foreign power to stem Our fathers bled of yore, And we stand here to-day like them. True Paddies evermore. VI. Where's our allegiance? With the land For which they nobly died. Our dut}'? By our cause to stand. Whatever chance betide. Our cherished hope ? To heal the woes That rankle at her core. Our scorn and hatred ? To her foc.s, Now, and for evermore. vir. The hour is past to fawn or crouch As suppliants for our riglit; Let word and deed unshrinking vouch The banded millions' might; Let them who scorned the fountain rill, Now dread the torrent's roar. And hear our echoed chorus still. We're Paddies evermore. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 49 THE SIIAN BHEAN BIIOCTII OF 1176. Air—" The Shan bean Soct." I. The sainted isle of old, Says tlie Shan bhean Bliocth ; The sainted isle of old, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. Tlie parent and the monld, Of the beautiful and bold, Has her blithesome heart waxed cold, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. II. The Saxon and the Dane, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth ; The Saxon and the Dane, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth, The Saxon and the Dane, Our immortal hills profivnc. Oh ! accurs'd be the twain. Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. III. What aro the Chiefs to do ? Says the Shan bhean Bhocth ; What are the Chiefs to do ? Says she Shan bhean Bhocth. AVliat should the Chieftains do. But to treat the hireling crew. To a touch of Brian Boru ? Says the ^hau bliuun Bhocth. 50 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. IV. They came across the wave, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth ; They caiue across the wave, Says the Shan bhean Bhoctli. They came across the wave, But to plunder and enslave. And should find a robber's grave, Says the Shau bhean Bhocth. V. Then be the trusty brand, Says the Shan bhean Bhoctli ; Then be the trusty brand. Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. Then be the trusty brand. Firmly clutch'd in every hand. And we'll scourge them from the land, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. VI. There's courage yet and truth, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth ; There's courage yet and truth, Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. There's a God above us all. And whatever may befall, No invader shall enthral. Says the Shan bhean Bhocth. EPIGRAM. Kewell's new patent washing ball, If Times and Morning Post say true, " Will draw out any stain at all, And leave the fabric good as new." Oh, if this boast be not a hum, AVhat wonders quickly will be seen, For turn-coat B — gh — m will purchase some. And wash his rcpvtalion clean. SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 51 THE HARP OF THE NATION. AlR_" Molli a stor." I. Our ancient harp, whose voiceful string The Saxon rent in twain, To him shall fierce defiance fling From minstrel hands again. No strains for vulgar lordings vile Shall to our harp belong — To sweep oppression from our isle Shall rush its sea of sonsi ! II. Our ancient harp shall blend its tone With Erin's ancient tongue, To sing how Saxon guile alone Strong fetters o'er us flung ; Shall rouse to wrath our warrior-baud To shout the battle cry, To sweep oppression from the land, And burst its bonds — or die 1 III. Our ancient harp impell'd the brave Where patriot bosoms bled — Where Danish despots found a grave Where Rome's fierce eagle fled ! Where the Invader bit the dust On many a bloody plain, And, by that Heaven in which we trust, } He'll bite the dust again ! 52 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. NINETY-EIGHT ! I. Let all remember Ninety-eight, that hour of Ireland's woes — When rapine red the land o'erspread, and flames of roof-trees rose — When pity shrieked, and ruffians wreak'd their deadly demon hate. And gibbets groan'd, and widows moaned, in fatal Ninety- eight ! II. In memory save the martyr'd brave, Avho fell in conflict vain, By soldier's sword, or shameful cord, or in the convict's chain ; And tliose whose gore the red lash bore, wlien tyrants strode elate. And pitchcaps clung, and tortures wrung, strong hearts in Ninety-eight ! III. When memory drear shall cease the tear for those that tyrant's crush'd. May life depart our ingratc heart — our craven tongue be hush'd — And may his worst of deeds accurst the despot perpetrate — If swell not high, our rallying cry — Remember Ninety-eight ! IV. And when the yoke, at length, is broke, that binds our island green, And high acclaim shall swell her fame — Abroad ocean's emerald Queen ! A column fair, of sculpture rare, shall proudly celebrate Tlie faithful dead, wliose blood was slied in fatal Nincty- tixht ! SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 53 "THE MEN OF TWENTY-FIVE."* Air — " JFhen my Old Cap was New." I. Rouse, Erin, rouse, and clap youi- wings, Look forth on coming joys ; Wake, Erin's muse, and sweep your strings. And cheer our "Irish Boys;" Those "Boys" who'll chase each Saxon drone From Ireland's recking hive ; Our nation's marrow, blood, and bone, Our " Men of Twenty-Jive." II. Our fathers were a noble race. But mournful was their doom ; They blenched before the cut-throat's face, They sleep in Slavery's tomb. " Unhonored sleep" — but we, their sons. Our rusty chains will rive ; We little dread their whips and guns, We're " Men of Twenty-five." III. , The Saxons say we thirst for blood,t The villains base, tliey lie ; * " A New Race, a new spring of sentiments lias grown up amongst the Irish people during tlie last ten years, and have spread themselves over the land, and evidently displaced the timid, cautious class, whose boyhood was impressed with the terrors of the early portion of tlie present century. The men of iu-enty-iii-e have placed in the rere ranks the men of fifty, and they come forward with all tlie energies and all the courage of their grand- fathers — the A'olunteers of 1782 — to declare that they will not be content with a secondary position for Ireland amongst the nations of the earth." * * — Extract from the Planet (a Sa.xon journal), quoted hi The Natiox of July 20th, 1843. t '■ The Young Irish Agitators, they arc full of the dark vices of Jacobinism. They worship revenge as a virtue. It excites the gloomy cha- racter of their souls. They look forward to the slaughter of those they hate as the geatest enjoyment tliey could experience." — London Morning Post, 'I'luted ht The Nation o^ Ja/y \blh. 54 SPIRIT OF TUE N'ATIOV. But if they're in a fighting mood, Why — let them come and try. But Britain's Lion couchant crawls, Exhausted, though alive, lie wants, behind his " Wooden Walls," The " Men of Ticenty-five" IV. Then, brothers, wake — yon nre awake — Then up — from vale and hill — For Liberty, for Ireland's sake. Sustain the " green flag" still ; And ere your years are " twenty-six," As sure as God's alive, Bright Victory's sun his beams will flr On th' " Mtn of Twenty-fve." V. And when our gallant-hearted band Down life's calm noon-tide run, We'll smile upon that happy land Our youthful vigour won. And when (jur heads are old and grey, If, haply, we survive, " He was," our sons shall proudly say, "A Man of Twentv-five !" A KU1>E REPEAL MELODY. What? stirring at last, "Old Land!" And dar'st thou gaze at the sun? And thy mighty sister looking on ! Wliy thou hast never a brand, SI'IUIT OF THE NATION. 5,5 Alul slavery hath deformed thee, And the central heart tliat warm'd thee Hath been suck'd dry by thy kindred. And thy thin white liairs are cinder'd, Eemember, you're l)ut a step-child, Land! And thy sister flaunts in thy finery grand. II. What ? standing erect, " Old Land !" With thy wasted green robe round thee, Rent with the withes that bound thee. Art not asham'd, at thy sister's door, Looking so meagre, squalid, and poor — Think'st thou she'll stretch thee her hand ? Ha ! ha ! she'll chain thee and whip thee, And of thy last garment strip thee. Down — down, or hide thee or flee To your lone heritage — slavery. III. What? thundering to be heard, "Old Laud!" Ho ! bravely and boldly done ; Now ! where are thy children gone ? Aye, there ; support her — she's weak — See I see ! how her cold limbs shake ; Let her lean on that rusted brand ! " They have treated thee ill !" Old Dame, And thou blushest with rage and shame — Thou'rt astir ! — a fearful token ! That the o'er-strain'd bow has broken ! EPIGRAM. TO Your casuists and clerics hold it isn't fair at all To plunder Peter for the sake of clearing scores with Paul But what the d — 1 would they say to such a lad as you, Who'd plunder Peter and not pay to Paul a single sovs f 56 SPIRIT OF TIIK NATION. THE VISION. A NATIONAL ODE. I. Wliere iron rocks tow'r o'er Til' Atlantic billovs' roll, rrophctic muses bore The root's raptur'd soul ; And Freedom rose in light from the spray. Behold her swiftly glide, O'er the strong and reinless tide, And the surges swelling pride Round her play ! II. Sublime the steeds rush on Till panting next they stand On the brow of Slicve-na-mon, In the Sparta of our land ; And the stormy hills are moy'd at the sound. From Cashel's royal rock To Benburb is felt the shock, And the startled eagles flock, Screaming round. in. As she moves along the plain. Like the march of ocean's wave, Our martyr'd heroes slain liise in armour from the grave. And they clash their phantom shields on the gale. The fires of rage and shame Thro' their visors barred that came, Wrapt in wild unearthly flame Hill and vale. IV. From a tlirone of trampled crowns. On a mount of broken chains. The Aventine goddess frowns U'cr tlie desolated plains, SPIRIT OF THK NATION. Where of old a tyrant's horde ply'd the lasli, She flung her bhuon'd shield On the far-illumin'd field, And the lofty mountains reeled With the clash. Clouds distent with gore Above her darkly hang — Lightnings leap before, Around her thunders clang. And marshaU'd tempests roar like the sea. Her splendour fills the air. And the nations, in its glare. By their broken altars swear To be free ! VI. Then our iron fetters fall Like poison weeds around, And lie inky as a pall On the stain'd and loathing ground ; And the carrion-birds of heaven o'er them sail. While the sound of joyful bells On the laughing zephyr swells From thy glorious em'ral' dells, Innisfail ! VII. The sounding Avoods rejoice. And the waves around thee sing. And the tones of I'reedom's voice Thro' thy ruin'd turrets ring ; And thy buried monarchs smile from the spheres. And many a hallow 'd name, That long slept in silent shame, NoM' in characters of flame Bright appears. 57 .08 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. viir. Ul-Erin laughs above, O'er Shannon's wave below. And songs of joy and love Swell the melting airs that blow, Enaniour'd ling'ring long near thy shore. Around dear Freedom's shrine Thy dewy shamrocks twine, And resound thy harps divine Evermore ! A HEALTH. Hurra ! our feuds are drowned at last ; Hurra ! let tyrants tremble ; The fronted foemen of the past In brotlu'rliDod assemble, nil up— and witli a lofty tongue As ever spoke from steeple. From shore to shore fn.i health be rung — The leader of the people. In mighty triumphs, singly won, The nation lias a token That mightier deeds will yet be done — The last strong fetter broken ; Sinee hearts of nerve and hands of streiigtli. Once banded to resist him. Unfurl his flag, and share at length The glory to assist him. Up with the wine from boss to brim, And be his voice the loudest, Who rears, at risk of life or limb, Our country's flag the proudest. " The leader of the people" — grand, Yet simple wisdom guide him ! And glory to the men who stand, Like sheathed swords, besiilc biui ! SPIRIT OF THE NATION'. ot) DEVIL MAY CARE. Air—" The old head of Denis." Musha^ " Queen of tlie Sea," is it true what they say All about the grand " speeching" you had t'other day About Ireland, and Dan, and Repeal ? I declare I think you were bullied ; but, devil may care, They shan't bully Paddy — so devil may care. I heard, when a boy, you were gentle and true — That you lov'd poor old Ireland and Irishmen too — That your heart was as j ust as your form was fair. And I wished you were here ; but the devil may care, I've got my own darling — so devil may care. And you've got young Albert, and long may you reign. And lightsome and brightsome, and strong be the chain That binds you together in love, now so rare To be found at " Head Quarters;" but, devil may care. That's a case for the lawyers — so devil may care. But Paddy a " case" of his own has just now. So off goes my " caubeen," and here's my best bow ; My belly is empty, my back is all bare, I'm hungry and naked ; but devil may care. Good times are approaching— so devil may care. " Acushla machree," we are wounded and sore. So bad that we cannot endure it much more. A cure we must have, though the Saxons may stare And "curse like a trooper ;" but devil may care, " Sinfein"* is our watch-word — so devil may care. * " Sin fern" — Ourselves — or " Ourselves Alonk." fiO SPIRIT OF THE NATION. Tlirough many a century of darkness and g'oom We writhed in our sorrow and wept at our doom ; We begged and imijlored, but they laughed at our prayer The answer they gave us was — " devil may care," You're " mere Irish" rebels — so devil may care. But no longer, like cowards, we'll kneel to the foe — " Soft words they will butter no parsnips" we know ; Our RIGHTS they must give " on the nail" — "a child's share" We claim, and must get. By St. Patrick, we swear, We won't be put off with a " devil may care." ADIEU TO INNISFAIL. " Feror exul in altum." — Fir. Adieu ! — the snowj' sail Swells her bosom to the gale. And our barque from Innisfail Bounds away. Willie we gaze upon thy shore, That we never sliall see more, And the blinding tears flow o'er. We pray : Afo bourriin ! bc tliou long In peace, tlie queen of song — In battle proud and strong As the sea ! Be saints thine offspring still — True lieroes guard each hill — And harps by cv'ry rill Sound free ! SPIRIT -lio for a thousand years Have battled on througli fire and flame, And nourished with their blood and tears- Religion — Freedom — Civil Right — Should tamely suffer traitor hands To dash them into gloom and night, And bind the verv God with bauds. SPIRIT OF THE NATION, And will ye bear, my brother men, To see your altars trampled down ; Shall Christ's great heart bleed out again Beneath the scoffer's spear and frown ? Shall priests proclaim that God is not. And from the Devil's gospel teach Those worldly doctrines, unforgot. Which burning tyrants loved to preach ? Shall traitors to the human right To God and truth have boundless sway, And ye not rush into the fight And wrench the sacred cross away, And tear the scrolls of freedom, bought With blood of martyrs and the brave, From men who with derisive sport Defy you on the martyr's grave ? Ah, no ! — uprushing — million-strong, The trodden people come at last. Their fiery souls pent up so long Burst out in flames all thick and fast ; And thunder-words and lightning-deeds Strike terror to the Wrong, who flee, Till lo ! at last the wronger bleeds. And dying, leaves the nation free. THE UlISH MAIDEN TO HER LOVER. I. O, tell me not love's light, and joyous talc ; Sing not to me love's soft delicious lay ; But let thy tale be sad — thy strains the wail Of men enslaved — let not tby song be i;»y SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 75 Tune not thy harp to joy. No merry sound Should wake its captive chords to melody, Each gladsome note is to my soul a wound, For Erin wears the chains of slavery. II. And if thy fingers wake, perhaps, a strain Of joy, in passing heedless o'er the chords. Let not thy voice re-echo it again — Let not its brightness pass into thy words. No ; rather sing of death and of the grave. Then will thy lay claim more of sympathy ; These are the themes that best befit the slave. For death at least will make the bondsman free, m. Then sing not now the melting lay of love, Its notes should not be uttered by a slave ; But if thou wouldst thy heart's devotion proTc, Recover first the freedom Heaven gave ; Then when that first, best gift thou shalt regain, A willing ear I'll lend thy minstrelsy ; But sing not to me love's light, joyous strain Till thou canst say — " My native land is free," O'NIAL'S VOW. " J usque la nous leur ferons guerre i mort." — Donald U'>iial, Kin ^ of cuter, t« Pope John. How many a year, In fleet career, Have circled o'er its blackened strand. Since first that vow, Forgotten now, Was plighted to oiir native land ? 76 SPIRIT OF THE NATION. And still the crimes Of those dark times Are perpetrated liour by hour, And Saxon fraud, By God unaw'd, Goes hand in hand with Saxon power ! What lesson stern Thou'st left to learn, Oft baffled, but unyielding King, " In peace or strife, lu death or life. The Saxon bears a poison'd sting. Then weal or woe, Strike home the blow. And win at least the hero's fate. And far on high Your destiny Shall rank with stars of loftiest state." O'Nial swears The crown he wears, Wliile throbs one pulse, or heaves one breath. To meet tliy band With glove and brand. Invading brigand to the death. Nor length of years, Nor blood nor tears, Defeat, disaster, nor distress. Shall mar tlie word I'ledg'd on the sword He dutches for the merciless. THE END. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 405 Hilgard Avenue, Los Angeles, CA 90024-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. \SITY OF CAUFOi \**»-l V ^ 'T'4T JJC SOUTHERM REGIOMAL LIBRARY FACIL ITY saw. ^ Wi AA 000 456 443 1 f^"- 1 # ^ ^ *■■. *■ ■f^^ .:)■ ^. ..^1^ '" , ^v '^ '"*■' ^ ^ ^' :^A :*■: ■■*•■ H»5: m w. .^: "^ •>■ '^^ ^- !*: ^ i^ :i^ i^ ^ ^ ^ ■•'•• •■'■•4, - ■# '<