THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES f £ Ml 38 j ^ OR 1 OJ OA J ii'a FEASf A H D A 3 TLE ROC K jVJ ® R A C jVJ J C Qp£ n A . -#"^m ^w ^ <2/Bj'& of shields h Counted his uild harp M he ■ Pag-e 35. EFFINGHAM WILSON Royal Exchange. LONDON T E M R I A, OR LOIGAIR'S FEAST, CASTLE ROCKMORE, A COMIC OPERA, WITH MINOR POEMS AND SONGS. " The hundred harps ceased at once, The clang of shields was heard." Ossian, Vol. II. p. 106. " King of Erin," said the youth, " now is the time of feasts. Bid the voice of the Bards arise and roll the night away. The soul returns from song more terrible to war." Macpuerson's Ossian, Vol. II. p. 145. LONDON EFFINGHAM WILSON, ROYAL EXCHANGE. MDCCCXXXVIII. Dublin : Printed by John S. Foids, 5, Bachelor's- Walk. PR 39 LL CONTENTS. Introductory Letters: 1. Letter from Daniel O'Botherall in Paris 2. Letter from Mr. Judas Mac 3. Letter from Peter Connor Loigair's Feast ..... Notes on same .-;... Castle Rockmore, a Comic Opera, in three Acts Page 1 12 20 30 68 83 MINOR rOEMS AND SONGS. . 185 Arab's Death Song 180 . 188 . 18f» The Mountain Stream 192 Written d uring a Thunder Storm 193 Volunteer Song .... 195 197 On reading the Polish Manifesto in 1832 198 The Arab Maid . 200 202 203 I ERRATA. Page 2 line 14 for " tout suit" 31 — 5 " in" 38 17 42 9 48 3 48 9 do it." 48 10 51 5 67 9 87 _ 3 in " music o'er" " complaint" *' man, " him can do it" «« town" " the use" « this" " improved" read " tout de suite." — " music is o'er." ~~» " complaints." — " men." " to him that can " tower." " to the use." " Mis." „^ " unimproved." LETTER I. FRO.M DANIEL o'BOTHERALL, ESQ. IN PARIS, TO MR. JUDAS MAC , AT BALLYBOTHER LOD(;E. Yor certainly possess, dear Mac, The thing I want myself, the knack Of writing letters in a trice, Off hand, short, pithy, and concise ; I like the style of your last letter, The hints are good, advice still better. Best page of all, concerning credit, My wife tore off before I read it ; I hear her cry, 'tis magnifique, 'Tis all the same, Mac, in the Greek. Our little bankers' notes and Naps W ill soon take wing, in gowns and caps, In shawls for Madame, hats for Miss, But I must put a stop to this E Indeed, I'm almost sure, dear Mac, You'll shortly see us driving back (Though travelling 's such a dreadful bore) To Ballybother house once more — My lady tells me, we must call, Old Ballybother, Haut-ton hall — The ancient name is best, I say, But Madam must have her own way — If not, dear Mac, she might be wanting, Still to remain, in Chausee D'Antin, Still keep up soiree, ball, and rout, 'Till maitre d' hotel, turn'd us out. But, my good fellow, entre nous, We must tout suit, return to you — Too late, I find, the living here, Quite too delightful, quite too dear — And I may thank Madame and Kate — By whose exertions we of late Got in, with such a haut-ton set, That now I find myself in debt To lordlings, duchesses and counts — In fact, dear sir, the whole amounts, The debts of honor, — I mean, that is, Beside the losses at Frascati's — The salon and, — dear Mac, dear Mac, I'll tell you all when I get back, And secrets too, well worth your keeping. Of what I paid, boy, for my peeping ; You heard the resolutions brave I made, — I'd go to France and save ; How oft I prov'd to priest and parson — That I could live abroad, en garcon, Have claret and champagne, at dinner, And live as well as saint, or sinner. In Paris, Florence, Naples, Rome. For less by one half than at home. Alas the palmy days are gone, I spoke but then as " number one," Then all was sunshine, all was laughter., I had no baggage to look after, No looking lodgings, births, and places, For half a dozen pretty faces ; Oh then I was a rattling roue — And thought much less about a Louis. Still had more money in the bank, Than now — I strive to save a franc ; Instead of having long legg'd Mickey, Seated behind me in the dickey, I find a lank bewhiskered blade, Between the " young person" and maid — Sweet " tableau vivant" for a ballet, Two sylphs supporting a French valet — While singing, swearing, crowing o'er us, The courier rides on before us — We stop, drive on, more slow or faster, Just as he likes, he is the master ; He orders dinner, supper, beds, For each of our diminished heads. Black strangers through the land we roam, While he ' par tout' is quite at home, His jokes and bottles freely cracking, At our expense, while we are packing. He is an ass, who, after marriage, Attempts to travel in his carriage — Sets out " a touring a la mode," Jolting along the ill-paved road, Half choked with sweets like flies in honey, Along the high ways strewing money ; At every post the song, of course, is, Such weight demands, sir, extra horses — When people have so much to drag on, They should at once procure a waggon, Or mount like sober men of sense, Their chattels on the Diligence. When first we landed at Dieppe, Economy advised the step, But what we saved upon this shore, We spent in posting to the Loire PulPd up by wintering at Nice, And lost in medical advice While watering (the gout, you know, Attack'd me suddenly) at Pau ; But why, dear Mac, need I rehearse Those secrets of the privy purse We might have got on well enough, And set the smooth against the rouWi, Had not Madame, sans rhyme or reason, Declared that Hiers was out of season. She longed to visit " dear Madrid," She sigh'd, and sigh, my daughter did, To kiss the young queen ; all in vain, I would not risk my neck in Spain- Observing, if we did engage en Rout, without the British legion, Don Carlos might bandboxes scatter, And it would be no laughing matter, If captured by his highness we, Were shot for a light company. I gave my vote for going home ; Not, cri'd Madame, 'till I see Rome, The Pope, Apollo, Belvidere, The Vatican, St. Peter's chair, — In Florence too we must not miss, The Venere de Medicis, Compare her with Canova's Venus — Stop, stop, my dear, a word between us, And then to go or stay you're free, The Cholera's in Italy ; Well, since it seems we stay in France, The girls must be taught to dance, In self-defence, to 'scape derision, Sing, speak, and walk, " a la Parisienne." Returning homewards without doubt, We find old Paris on the route ; The girls find out their dancing master, I find the cash fly fast and faster — In silks and satins bijoutre, My savings quickly fly from me — And in four prison walls may end, The " saving tour" we took to spend. I go to Galignani's, where I meet an old friend's son and heir. Heading the papers, 'tis a sign He knows what's what, I well divine. Young Shirk has certain high relations, Great uncles and great expectations, And, " entre nous," has ta'en a fancy To my dear little daughter Nancy I set my face against the match, Pretending that he's no great catch- It only makes him doubly zealous To urge his suit ; I think he's jealous Of every jack-a-napes hops past her, And downright, of her dancing master- Sweet temper'd youth, the girls to try him, Laugh at his French, six hours per diem, But 'tis in vain, they can't annoy Poor little Nancy's Irish boy ; But in his politics I twigg The high conservative bred whig — Conservative enough for jobs, And liberal enough for mobs — Prudent enough a smile to win, From < leaders' out and ' leaders' in— 8 Pilot enough his hark to steer, Through shoals and rocks, and still get clear, While others sink or get jamm'd fast, And nail their colours to the mast — Fools of their firmness loudly brag, Sinking beneath a fluttering rag, While he who holds the golden mean, Laughs in his sleeve at blue and green ; Orange or black, or white or yellow, Are all one — to your clever fellow ; Those sentiments at times I draw, From that bright youth, my son-in-law — My son-in-law, I say, for we Consent, and so the thing's to be. I hope you gave young Connor warning, To bundle off, before May morning. Renew his lease ! why that's all fudge, We never promis'd — let him trudge — Hang his improvements — hang them all — New lodge — plantations — garden wall — Much he expected — more fool he — He pleased himself — and displeased me ; Need I repeat the sad reflection He threw upon me at the election, When at the hustings I took note Of how the upstart dar'd to vote Against his landlord and protector, As independent an elector, With deeds and words off-hand and clever, As if he held his farm for ever — Ay, though I told him as he past Up to the poll to cry—" Gripefast," The cur, now looking for a place, Voted for " Snatch" before my face. And now, dear Mac, I hope you'll be, Attentive to the registry ; Confirm the waverers, and clinch All firm to meet the coming pinch ; Snatch must resign in black despair, The fellow cannot live on air — Green hopes unripe, repealer's bounty, Wont fill his pockets ; then the county We'll gaily canvass, hand in hand With Gripefast, if he means to stand ; If not, come fair or stormy weather, Young Shirk and I set up together — Then Mac, once more, my trusty friend, For me the registries attend. 10 If I get in, right soon you'll see Your son a gay stipendiary — From Connor's house your nephew Thrifty May register a ten or fifty ; Cut Connor's farm into ten Small holdings fit for honest men — I'll grant them leases at low rents, And have « their votes" at all events- Here comes my Nancy, here, morbleu, I must conclude and say adieu. The ladies vow I must go squeeze The king's hand in the Thuilleries — Where with the greatest nonchalance, He waits to hear congratulations From every loyal man in France, Who swears against assassinations, And tells him now the danger's past, This vile attempt will be the last, For cannon, pistol, sword, or knife, Can never take his charmed life — Seeing that like his carriage roof, His royal person's bullet proof. My sentiments I cannot smother — To you, dear Mac, I freely own, 11 I would not give old Ballybother To Louis Phillippe for his throne. For thrones are neither more nor less — But here's Madame in her court dress, The ladies here, Mac, rule the roast — I'm off — write by return of post. 12 LETTER II. FROM MR. JUDAS MAC , BALLYBOTHER LODGE, TO DANIEL O'BOTHERALL, ESQ. Respect'd sir, I'm overjoy'd To find, at last, you're getting cloy'd, And 'midst the sweets of foreign bowers Long for Erin's sweet wild flowers, And having, like the prodigal, Not wasted, sir — but tasted all The sweets of life ; now to your mother, Like truant boy, you come again, To your own darling Ballybother, Your people cry, long may you reign. Respected sir, I'm quite delighted To hear your ancient family And that of Shirk will be united By Hymen, — between you and I, 13 I hope the settlements were duly Drawn out — not meaning to disparag< French ways — dear sir, I tell you truly. I'd rather have an Irish marriage — " A nod's as good," you know the rest, And one like me, sir, may suggest. • k French leave" and capers — sorely dreading, We might get up another wedding At home, and get them duly blest, And this I say, hard hints to soften, A good thing can't be done too often. I think the sooner you address Your friends and freeholders the better. And since with Shirk you coalesce, Send us a sentimental letter. I hear that paltry fellow, Snatch, We thought an out-and-out repealer, Has joined the ancient tory watch — And after such a shuffling dealer, Old hands will run a better chance Of being, as they ought, sir, « trusted," And by the time you come from France, We'll have shy Snatch ignobly ousted ; Once seated, counted useful tools, 14 What whelp can push you from your stools- And tho' Lord Purpleton may bluster, And boast about his yeoman muster ; And certain tories of the gown, On whigs and loyal men look down — Pretending, like their paltry wittol. Our very poetasters, " little ;" 'Tis only cant and affectation, I leave it to this thinking nation, What tory ever looked so big As high conservative bred whig ; But while I'm speaking of the county. Your kindness, sir, to mine and me, Surpassing even royal bounty, My vulgar thanks might be too free — But nephew Thrifty, nephew Steady. And Tom and I, and all, agree To keep our thanks in petto ready, To pour upon the new M. P. I called at Connor's house this morning, And gave the simpleton due warning To pack his tatters and be off — Of course he answered with a scoff ; High indignation in a yeoman 15 We agents hail as a good omen ; The more he storms about oppression, The sooner we obtain possession — But when he sends us to Old Nick, Quite suddenly he cuts his stick ; 'Tis only your poor half-starved devil Thinks he succeeds by being civil, With abject mien and begging face, Clings, like a horse-leech, to his place, He'll lick your shoe, or kiss the hand That's raised to drive him from the land, And sometimes cringingly succeed, When agents' tender bosoms bleed, Or landlord hovers near the spot, And get again both land and cot — If whining fails, and quite dejected The fellow, by us, is ejected — Woe to the agent, saint or sinner, Goes out unguardedly to dinner. He may return, but oft remains out, Ex-tenant having blown his brains out — Nought of the sort I apprehend From Connor, though he will not bend, Nor e'en admit that he was wrong, 16 To give his vote for an old song, Repeal and humbug 're out of date- He says, we sing support the state, And if you like support the church, If not just leave her in the lurch ; Our hornbook upon the shelf Declared she could support herself— But for his part he'd rather see, From pigstie, wheat field, apple tree, The parsons out like blackbirds blithe, Collecting in once more the tithe, Than see that tithe, full well at least, Collected by a ranting priest— The wretch for neither cares a bean, But says, the last new broom sweeps clean- And says, 'tis changing can for meather, Chapel for church, 'till all together, Tithes are knock'd up in name and nature, And he who likes may pay the preacher ; And here I thought to pin him fast Upon the landlord to the last — Abolish tithes, and heav'n be praised, The rent rolls shall be quickly raised ! But that, said he, let men of mettle, 17 The true repealers, quickly settle When in the midst of College-green An Irish parliament is seen, And millions with « short sticks" in hand;. Demand the settled rents of lands. So much for mountain — meadow moor And bogs free gratis for the poor : So much for deer-parks, when in tillage Found equal to support a village. We spoke of poor laws : be it known He has a poor law of his own, That every squirling shall maintain One hundred beggars in his train— (But that, at least, is nothing new, As I know some who maintain two) Employed in various ways and modes, In sinking dikes and mending roads. Levelling hills and filling hollows Prosperity and plenty follows. The country squire will disappear, Or rise a civil engineer ; A beggar with his wallet be A wondrous curiosity ; Be star'd on if he asks a boon c 18 As if he tumbled from the moon. I told him that his scheme romantic Might be received beyond th' Atlantic ; And seeing beggars were not rare, Just now this neighbourhood could spare Some thousand beggars, more or less Would gladly cross the seas, I guess Right gladly man a transport fleet, If they could get enough to eat ; And hoped he meant to bring a band Of beggars off to Yankee-land. But let us drop this hapless wight, I hear he now sits up all night, With whiskey punch his friends consoling, And bacchanalian catches trolling; While an old harper from the lulls, Inspired by all the punch he swills, Roars out his songs in maudlin sorrow, And with his harp makes such a noise, I think I'll have him sent to-morrow To work the treadmill with " the boys." From all this, sir, you understand, Connor goes out with waving hand — High head — stiff neck — while all his clan 19 Declare he is an injured man ; A martyr in his country's cause. Need you or I, sir, care three straws ? At present I must say no more, For Father Michael's at the door : His reverence I'm after troubling To carry this as far as Dublin ; 'Twill save a sixpence, and that's better To you, sir, than this scrambling letter. I am, dear sir, your most obedient ( are-taker, driver, steward and agent The whipper-in of that wild pack, Your honour's tenants — Judas Mac 20 LETTER III. FROM PETER CONNOR TO DANIEL O BOTHERALL, ESfct. Peruse this letter, sir, for 'tis the last I'll pen to thee, in memory of the past ; A parting trifle, but 'tis all I owe, To one so zealous for my weal or woe : 'Tis but a word at parting, said before Your ill-paid hirelings drive me from the door, The door, from which it is my pride to say, I am the first sent sorrowing away, And bade go forth upon the world's wide span, If not a ruined, a much injured man. Think not, poor coxcomb, giddy-pated fool, At once the model, and at once the tool — At once the master, and at once the slave, Of some vile, flattering, low, designing knave, •21 Who acts the boon companion and the spy. Who first began the world with a lie ; Think not, great sir, those words severe or warm. From one who spent his all upon his farm — Built on a promise, then was driven forth By hirelings base to wander south or north ; Ay, sent with sorrow rankling in his breast, To beg; — to starve — to wander east or west ; And, wherefore, well may honest men exclaim. Why put this decent man to open shame — Why to his door are prying bailiffs sent, Has he refused to pay his half-year's rent ; His rent is paid — ay, paid too in advance, And his great landlord squanders it in France ; What then — in value did his farm decrease, Because his landlord would not grant a lease ? Say are his fields with wild weeds cover'd o'er ? Or will the land exhausted yield no more ? To all such querists, now great absentee, With your permission, I'll say, come and see; Judge for yourselves, I never mean to boast Of what this house or that plantation cost. Of all the carking care and all the toil 22 Was thrown away upon the stubborn soil, Of wild moors once with ferns and heather brown, In verdant fields and pastures now laid down ; But when I spent my capital and youth, All must admit there's "something done" in truth. Come then before we part, sir, let us trace Your secret motive to its tristing place, Perchance we'll find it festering every part, Corrupting more a cold unfeeling heart ; 'Tis envy ! ! ! black revenge, perhaps, or both, Prompts you to crush one would not break his oath, Ay, break the vow I made at freedom's shrine : ' That I might perish ere one act of mine, ' A word, or nod, or breathing of assent, ' (Much less my vote) to ruling pow'rs be lent ; ' Till Erin — starting from the servile chain, ' Restor'd to life and liberty again, ' Shall, like a star rise, o'er the stormy sea, ' Resume her place and shine among the free ; ' Alien — no longer driven to weep and wail • Without the dismal castles of the Pale ; 23 ' Hunted by blood-hounds — worse than those wild dog?, • Dragged the red carrib — shrieking from wild bogs ; • Told in a harsher language than her own, ; To pray for those by whom she was o'er- thrown.' Not on the battle field in open fight, But smote and shackled midst the shades of night. By one from whom she now with strengthen'd hands, Ay, bold and proudly as that one demands ; If not fair restitution for her wrongs, The woeful burden of a thousand songs ; If not the blood was shed in freedom's cause, Impartial government and England's laws. This is the reason why I spurn'd your bribe, And would not follow serf-like in your tribe, Change, like yourself, my colours and my coat, And give to your poor laughing-stock my vote ; This is my crime, for this alone I'm driven From house and home, and bade appeal to heaven ; Scoff'd at and mock'd, by hirelings sent to cry, 24 Go, proud elector — starve — a beggar die. This is the cause, and this the fostering nurse Of every broken law and every curse ; The smouldering ember fanri'd to that wild flame, Should flash upon your cheek the blush of shame, Ay, 'tis enough, sufficient cause alone, To make men curse the soil, renounce their own, Disown the land where such dark deeds are done, And fly the field before the battle's won ; Mark well the great man, see him condescend To crush the man who thought he was his friend, Lists to a canting agent's mean advice, And perpetrates a human sacrifice ; At the same altar must his tenant kneel, Or quit his farm, and pass the sad ordeal, Or sacrifice him midst the wintry snows, To party spirit — cause of all our woes ; Well may the wild and unenlighten'd boor, Step where he saw his master step before — And join the midnight red marauding band, 25 Rise to expel the farmer from his land ; Break through his door with blunderbuss and knife, And swear the man to yield up land or life ; The wild untutor'd ruffian, who can blame — He heard his landlord swear to do the same. This is the reason why, sir, day by day, \\ e see the industrious farmer glide away, Leave the lov'd spot he labour'd far behind, And cross th' Atlantic, where he hopes to find A home, a resting place, beyond the sea, Where he can dwell at least from tyrants free, May till the land, and sleep without the dread Of being dragg'd at midnight from his bed, Hewn down by wretches at his broken door, And left to perish stiffening in his gore — Nor yet be driven by his landlord's slaves, Houseless and homeless to the wild sea waves ; Compell'd to trust his life to some frail bark, May perish with him midst the billows dark ; Enough — enough — 'tis time that I should cease . Take back your land, I yield it up in peace. I yield it in its beauty and its prime, And seek a farm, sir, in a happier clime; 26 Your agent chuckles, and the men draw nigh, The favour'd swains will soon my place supply : Fresh from the wigwams in the heathy bogs, In this fat farm they soon can fat their hogs ; Pull down the fences, dam the wand'ring brook, Till all assumes that wild neglected look ; Like all the lands from north to south, we see Scathed by an agent or an absentee. Here are your tenants, here " your serfs at will," Men you can trample down — ay, all but kill ; Men well prepared to do a desperate deed — Can slay a victim for a friend in need — Can cross the mountain with the flaming brand. Or on the highway bid the farmer — stand : Such are the men — the terror of the night — Your agent vows found favour in your sight. Count on them now, for long as you draw breath, They'll be " your honour's tenants" unto death ; Till every hole and hovel on the farm Sends forth to beg, or rob, a half-starved swarm, Till land, run down, and with exhaustion spent, Can neither feed the slave, nor pay the rent. Then would you treat them as you've treated me, And dare to fight them out, blood to the knee ; 27 Chas'd for your life with imprecations dire Then call out troops, and bid them charge and fire, And see your half-starved mob, with sticks and stones, Fly, fall, and fill the air with shrieks and groans, And thus on hill side, or on village green, May end the guilty, all too tragic scene. What followed this let the survivors tell, My task is finished. Absentee, farewell. And now, I think I've done my duty, Nora bawn, my little beauty, Weep not, love, no longer sigh ; Kiss me, dearest, sorrow's dry. Bring out the bottle — bring the cup — Old Ned and I must take a sup ; Just something warm, before we part, To lighten sorrow — cheer the heart. The longest race must have an end ; The strongest oak must one day bend ; The ship may drive before the blast ; Friendship, alone, clings to the last. Here, in a cup of mountain dew, Fll drink success, old boy, to you ; 28 And may your wild and wandering lays Win for the " wild harp" more than praise, And this kind cup of old potteen — All I can give to Emeneen. Come, take the harp, old friend, and cheer Little Norah's listening ear ; Cheer her up to bear the parting— At the word her tears are starting — With the wild music of our Isle Win me back my Norah's smile : Sit beside the blazing fire, As your great-grandfather's sire Watch'd the beacon on the rock, (^Noble " Emeneen ac knock ;" Smote his harp, and with wild strains Dared the fury of the Danes ; While amidst the tempest's roar The battle raged along the shore. Wake the harp, and lead us back To the days when old Dubthach Sung in Tara's lofty hall The praises of the Great Niall, While kings and warriors stood around, Conquer'd the first time by a sound. 29 Red conquerors, in battle strong, Led captive by the minstrel's song. But softly, Norah, lightly tread, For see the minstrel's hoary head Is softly sinking on his breast ; We must not break the minstrel's rest : Perchance his muse is wandering now Upon some lofty mountain brow, Or bending in a hermit's cell, Or kneeling o'er a holy well — From fairy-footed rath or dun, Smiles sweetly where the setting sun Illumines with his parting rays The tall " round towers of other days." His hand is on his harp once more ; The minstrel wakes — his dreams are o'er, I think the venerable man Means to regale us with a ran, A dirge, or ditty Emeneen — No, bless that cup of old potteen. His sorrows to the winds are thrown, He wakes the wild air Garryowen. 30 TAR A, THE FEAST OF LOIGAIRE. From the portals of Tara, a herald spurr'd forth, The command of a monarch he bore to the north, And the prince and the noble, the chieftain and thane, He has summon'd to meet on Temoria's plain ; On the eve of Bel, when his fiery car Sinks in the western wave, prepare — Vassals of war, to worship the star Of the Monarch of Erin, the great Loigaire. The voice of the herald is heard in the west, And the chiefs of the islands have heard the behest ; And the war cry replied to his trumpet's shrill call, And the vassals will ride from the hills one and all; 31 On the eve of Bel — when the minstrels sing Hymns to the God as he sings in the sea — And the Druids and men of the magical ring Declare to the people the things are to be. White with foam in the steed of the high-born youth, The herald proclaimed to the kings of the south, And the red crested wariors live in the east, To come with their followers down to the. feast : " On the eve of Bel, from the fragrant bowers, " Lead forth your daughters bright and fair, " Crown'd with flow'rs, to Tara's towers, " And welcome you'll be to the ' feast of Loi- gaire.' " " When this liberal monarch ascended the throne, " Such an age of tranquillity never was known " In the kingdom ; ' but one man was slain with a stone,' — " Twenty thrash'd by mistake at a fair ; " For the Druids commanded the ' boys to be qui't ;' " 32 And, as the historian records with delight :— " There was peace in the land for a day and a night, '• In the reign of the monarch Loigaire." Down came " the invited," a num'rous band, Kings, princes, and nobles, chief men of the land ; Knights of the red branch and bloody hand, To the temples at once they repair, To look on the trophies their ancestors won, ( 2 )And worship as they did the moon and the sun, And then gallop gaily to join in the fun. At the feast of the mighty Loigaire. The worship at Usneagh and Vasnegh is o'er, To Tara in triumph we hasten once more ; There every man feasted, provided he wore ( 3 )Hanging down to his heels his own hair. Thus the rank of each noble was instantly known, And the longer his locks the more honour was shown, Ere a herald proclaimed, or a trumpet was blown, In the courts of the mighty Loigaire. 33 Now the palace of Tara with revelry rang, And the minstrels played sweetly, the bards sweetly sang, And the high flaring torches a mellow light flang Over all that was royal and fair — And the laughter grew loud in the banquetting hall, Ev'n the shadowy casques seemed to laugh from the wall — And the man that laughed louder and longer than all, Was the revelling monarch Loigaire. On his right sat the princess all bright to behold, On his left sat the chief of the collar of jrold, And on thrones sat the kings of all Connaught, the bold King Cormack, O'Connor, and Guaire, In the hall sat the principal men of the state, Antiquarians and poets, the little and great — And the old and the young from the hall to the gate, Sang long live the mighty Loigaire. D 34 Then the monarch arose like a king from his birth, And his sceptre he pointed to heaven and earth ; And hushed was the laughter, the music, and mirth, When the king with magnificent air, Commanded the minstrel of Tara to sing ( 6 ) The praises of Niall the conquering king — " Let the sound of his battles and victories ring Through the halls," said the monarch Loigaire. The minstrel came, old Dubthach, With twenty harpers at his back, Proudly flash'd his hazel eye On the jewell'd thrones as he drew nigh — Monarch, prince, red knight, and thane, Silence held in her mystic chain ; The galloglass* bent on their spears, To see that hoary " man of years," Up the hall as lightly tread, As if but twenty summers shed Their glories on the minstrel's head — Thrice he drained the jewell'd cup, As with rosy wine they fill'd it up — * King's Body Guard. 35 Thrice touched his harp, and at the sound Twenty harpers knelt around — Thrice he call'd on Samhain and Bel, Rais'd his hand, till the bracelets fell Clanking back on his shadowy arm, Bound at once by a spell or charm — Silent and breathless as living stone, The kneeling bard — the king on his throne- Still as the armour on the walls, Knight and warrior round the halls, Seneschal, squire, and white-robed priest Sat unmoved before the feast ; A crash of harps ! ! ! "by every token." The spell that bound the minstrels broken — High on a pile of shields he sprang, And touched his wild harp as he sang — 36 WAR SONG OP THE HARPER OF " NIALL OF THE NINE HOSTAGES." 1. The spoils of war, the tented field, The golden crown, the silver shield, To kings and warriors belong — But 'tis for aye, the minstrel's song Preserves the hero's name ; The minstrel strikes the harp alone, When warriors win " the jewell'd throne," When the red tide of battle's flowing, A single arm hosts o'erth rowing — « Niall— Niall, Rise with your warriors red with gore, Trample the prostrate Gaul once more, And wake the " trump of fame." Who, to the stranger's land afar, Led forth his myrmidons to war — 37 A thousand gallies on the wave, Mann'd by the bravest of the brave, Obey the hero's' call ; Who is he can thus command The valiant men of Ireland, To follow storms and dangers braving — Green banners o'er the blue sea waving ? « Niall, Niall, Leave Britain's, ravaged isle to mourn, And lead — thy warriors have sworn To conquer or to fall. 3. The stormy seas are safely crost — His gallies line the Gallic coast, His warriors in bright array Leap lightly from the billow's spray As fearless and as free — When Gallic spears were flashing nigh, Th' rais'd the shout, the battle cry, Ay, in the midst when swords were flashing, Spears were shivering, helmets crashing ; " Niall, Niall, 38 Wreath, wreath those laurelled brows of thine With the purpling Gallic vine, 'Midst shouts of victory. 4. Why do the mountains blaze around? Why do the loud sea trumpets sound ? Why the " round tower's sacred light Flash o'er the Irish sea to-night,. To light the monarch's way ? Returning with his ships of war, A conqueror from lands afar, Laden with spoil and captives wailing, He comes, a thousand minstrels hailing — Niall, Niall, Thy arm has subdued them all ; The Pict, the Briton, and the Gaul Yield to thy sceptered sway. The minstrel is silent, the music o'er, The slaves have replenish'd the goblets once more, And the health of the bard was drank three times encore — And three cheers for Niall rent the air : 39 And the monarch he hasten'd at once to reward With a corslet of silver in battle might guard, From the spear of the foeman the breast of the bard Of the liberal monarch Loigaire. But hark ! a trumpet sounds without, A hall for guests the heralds shout — Who comes ? the seneschals demand ; A warrior from a foreign land — Bid him come in, for knight or lord Is welcome to our festive board, ( 7 ) Hang his shield on the shining walls, Welcome the brave to Tara's halls. The stranger enter'd, simply drest, In robe of white, and on his breast Hung, from a scarf's light silken fold, A glittering cross of gems and gold. Short were his greeting words — ' All hail' When the magician — Lucet mail — Cri'd from the table where he sate, " Cast out that harden'd reprobate, He lies beneath the Arch-Druid's ban ; Mighty Loigaire, this is the man. 40 ' This is the man, with the cross and the crook, ' ' The horn'd cap,' and the magical book, ' Who kindl'd impiously even the fire, ' On the eve of Bel — scofFd at the idol's ire, ' Upset Locru, with a magical spell ' Broke down in the temple the altars of Bel — ' Kick'd the worshippers — beat the priest — ' And now with impunity comes to the feast.' Wrath was Loigaire with a clouded brow — He spake to the stranger, ' Wlio art thou ? ' Why come ye here, with unblushing cheek ? ' Impious stranger, die or speak.' " My name is Patrick, and my home," Answer'd the man, is " lofty Rome, " And I have cross'd the wide, wide sea, " That Infidels, and men like ye — " Idolaters that bend the knee " Before a heap of sticks and stones, " The sun, the moon, and dead men's bones, " Might, as the Holy Scripture saith, " Be yet converted ' to the faith,' " And turning from your impious ways, " To saints in heaven, give all the praise, 41 " Till holy Peter deigns to ope " The gates of heaven, and if the Pope " Will recommend, the great Loigaire " May chance to get a throne up there." Loigaire replied, " A Roman knight " Can wield a broadsword well in fight, " And though thou art but Roman priest, " I bid thee welcome to the feast. " I heard of Rome when I was small ; " The Romans came and built a wall " (And more fools they) for many a mile " Across old England's ravaged isle, " To keep out Picts — but all in vain — " The Picts pick'd holes in it again, " Through which by many a scurvy trick, " Old England's fruits they used to pick." " Long since, I heard a minstrel say, " The pride of Rome had past away, " Her greatness vanish'd, and the fall " Of Rome was writ on every wall, " And she may date her hapless lot, " Since her old gods were sent to pot — 42 " Since Jupiter, Apollo, Mars, " Gods like our own Sun, Moon, and Stars, " To whom with constant Irish zeal, " From first to last we mean to kneel. " Ay, since the Romans were so stupid, " To send a packing Venus — Cupid — " Hymen — Hebe — Janus — Juno — " And more than I perhaps or you know ; " All Europe rings with Rome's complaint, " Since she forsook her gods for saints ; " At every court and throne she begs, " For cash to set her on her legs. " Her greatness now upon the shelf, " Her priests look here and there for pelf, " And through the world far and wide, " Attack all other gods beside " Their own mock goddess quaint and common, " One that resembles an old woman, " For whom the Romans upset Bacchus, " And now come hither to attack us. " You say this ' pope' will recommend " Me to a saint in heaven ; good friend, " When you return to Rome — (aroon, " A safe return I hope, and soon,) 43 " Say to the pope — his bull — or lamb — " I'm well contented where I am ; " His gods or throne, the great Loigaire " Wont change for his or Peter's chair." Long live the king, cried Lucet mail — At his rebuke, ev'n princes quail : Yet mark — before our sovereign dread, This Infidel bows not his head. Fill, fill the bowls, let every knight Here drink confusion to the wight. They filled the bowls with boisterous glee, And shouted " Rome, bad luck to thee—" But Patrick blest the wine-cups thrice, ( 8 ) And lo ! the wine was turn'd to ice. The tables turn'd, the scoffing bands Gape at the wine-cups in their hands. Said Patrick, on damnation's brink Ye stand — I will not let ye drink ; But if ye wish to taste the wine, Now drink success to me and mine. The thirsty sinners all agreed, And drank to Patrick's home and creed — For Patrick from the frozen chain, Releas'd the rosy wine again. 44 Loigaire, astonished at the sight, Called the magicians, fill'd with spite- Demanding if they could devine How Patrick turn'd to ice his wine. The magi vow'd the scurvy trick, Saint Patrick borrow'd from Old Nick ; But Lucet mail declar'd at once, < I'll prove this fellow knave and dunce, " And if I lik'd to take the trouble, " Could burst him like an empty bubble. " But since, great king, his shallow brain " He racks for slippery tricks again, " Let him come forward, if he dare, " ( 9 ) On magic ground, I'll meet him there, " On equal terms, now let us meet, " And let the man yields first be beat— " Kick'd out, and hunted from your sight " Be called a knavish scurvy wight." Saint Patrick answered, "For a sign " To all, I'll upset thee and thine, " And in the name of holy Rome, " Defy your spirits, let them come ; 45 " Despite of them I vanquish you, " As I have vanquished vile Locru." Said Lucet mail, " The cloudless sky " Proclaims there are no storms nigh : " Let Patrick to his idols bend, " And bid the snows from heaven descend — " White drifting snow, and let it fall " Upon the plains round Tarah's Hall." Saint Patrick answered, " Heaven forbid, " Sky, fields, and flowers should thus be hid " By wintry snows — and take good heed " How you commit this evil deed." " I'll bring it down," cried Lucet mail, " And with the snow, both storm and hail, " Before the winds you must retreat, " A broken-down detected cheat." Then in triumph, the Magi at once to a man, Blaspheming and hooting at Patrick began ; They mock'd him — they shock'd him — they bid him get out — Begone from the halls, while they caper'd about, 46 Their magical verses preparing to sing — Commanding the spirits of darkness to bring Snow and sleet from the hills, while the magical chain They twin'd round their bodies, and writhing with pain, Half naked they reel'd in a wild fitful revel, They danc'd in a circle, and call'd on the devil ; Till the great Lucet mail cried, enough, let it be — Let the king and his courtiers come forward and see. Then the monarch walk'd out with his sceptre and crown, To see if the snow on the earth would come down. The heralds all shouted, make way for the court, And the gossoons all shouted for snow-balls and sport ; Nor did the magician speak boldly in vain, For the " snow spirit" instantly cover'd the plain — There was sighing, and groaning, and scratch- ing of wigs — Lamentations for women, for children, and pigs — 47 Who knows but snow's at his own cabin door, His wife and his children snow'd up on the floor. The monarch perceiving the great discontent, For all the magicians immediately sent — Declaring that no man could ever prevail O'er that mighty magician, the great Lucet mail, That the would-be magician come hither from Rome, May pack up his tatters again and go home. " What business has he," cried the king with a sneer, " With his cross-sticks and crook, to be vapour- ing here — " But now that you've brought down the snow on the plain, " I request, Lucet mail, you'll disperse it again." Then quoth the magician, " Oh king, to my sorrow, " I cant stop the snow until this time to-morrow." " Oh then," cried the king, with a dolorous groan, " We'll be smothered alive in our palace, oh hone — 48 " Oh hone," cried the princes ; " Oh hone," cried the queen, And the ladies in waiting all join'd in the " keen :" " Oh hone," cried the principal man of the state, Antiquarians, and poets, the little and great — " "Wirra sthru," cried the queen, " for the snow- making sinner " Has quench'd the Bel fire, and spoiled the great dinner." " Milla Diaul," cried the king, for his anger wax'd warm, " Is there nobody here who can stop the snow- storm ? " To him that do it, the monarch Loigaire " Will give the broad lands and the town of Kildare — " His God will we worship — his idols adore." Then out spake Saint Patrick, "I'll do it, and more, " For I'll make you a Christian — a God fearing man :" " Go on," cried Loigaire, " and do that if you can." 49 Saint Patrick he turned to the east and the west, He stretch'd forth his hands, and the "snow- storm blest," And the snow from the plains quickly vanish'd away, And the people rejoic'd in the bright cloudless day- Out spake Lucet-mail with vexation and ire, This Patrick he worships both water and fire. But now before all, while the sun's high and bright, Let him cover the plain with the darkness of night. " Now heaven forbid, I should do such a thing " Said Patrick — « You're beat," cried the infidel king; " So paltry a fellow no longer I'll shield, " But as you confess that you're beat from the field, " On the word of a king, get you gone to Kil- dare — • You may worship your idols, or hang yourself there." E 50 Loigaire for ever the minstrels sing — Long may he reign our mighty king — Long may our idols and priest of Bel, All would-be magi quickly quell. Make them bend at once, knock under, Send them packing fill'd with wonder : Patrick and his feather beds, Now may hide their empty heads. Let them vapour, let them bluster, Their confusion adds new lustre To the gem they meant to tarnish, With palaver and French varnish ; Mountebanks and foreign catives Think t' impose on simple natives, Thinking we dont understand Shuffling tricks and sleight of hand — Soon discover to their cost, Who the halfpence won or lost, Soon like Patrick with surprise, Find we see with both our eyes, Sending back their jibs and jeers, Soon convince them we have ears — Give them too a friendly hint, Touching just which way they squint. 51 In our courts those strangers dabble. With our country Druids squabble Standing on their P's and Q's, Wait on tip-toe for the dues ; Once converted, the use Of foreigners, they'll play the deuce— If the Druids once push over, Once admit this Roman rover, Have the weakness to instruct How the people may be pluckt ; Then farewell to our rewards, Patrick comes — down go the bards He'll not understand our merit, Songs stir up the ancient spirit ; He'll quickly put us to the rout, So let us rise and hunt him out. Up rose the bards — but Lucet-mail Cried, " In this quarrel I'll prevail ; " I claim the first and only right. " Of putting Patrick straight to flight ; " I'll baffle him without a spark. " And cheat the devil in the dark, " Deprive him of the light of il\\ . ■ And let him cry, I've lost my way." 52 The great magician rais'd his wand, And suddenly, at his command, Across the glorious sun-lit sky, The clouds of night began to fly — Till the magician, in his might, Had fairly turned the day to night. When the dismal darkness fell Round the Halls, at once, pell mell, Rush'd the guests, all panic struck, Darkness presaging ill luck ; While a band of witless swains Shouted murder, " here's the Danes" — " Savage Norsemen," others shout, " Now they'll put us to the rout." Skenes were drawn, both long and sharp, When Dubthach, to save his harp, Rush'd to grasp it all unseen, And, instead, embraced the queen, Wakening music in the halls Very like an old hag's squalls, King Loigaire rush'd to attack The foe, upsetting old Dubthach. Leinster shouted " Cromaboo," " Fight the Danes, men, die or do ;" 53 Sword in hand begun the work, Flooring Minister's monarch Cork ; Round the palace fiercely rang Curses, war cries, and the clang Of battle-axes, swords and shields, Crash'd and crashing through the fields ; Many a wild and random blow Laid a valiant hero low, Phantoms of a horrid mien Scatter'd wigs upon the green. Rushing to the great hall door, King Loigaire was heard to roar, '• Lucet-mail, the cause of all " This wild confusion in my hall, " Hither come, by Baal, I vow, " I'll make you answer for this row." Lucet-mail was heard within Screaming through the uproar's din, " Lost and tost, and sore confounded, " By the gods, great king, I'm wounded, " Patrick, miscreant so sly, " Thrust his finger in my eye. 54 "■ Send for Patrick," cried the King, " Patrick he can do this thing; " Once again l-estore the sun, " Sweet Saint Patrick, and I'll run " To thy church, my people draw, " Thou shalt be my son-in-law — " Yes, my daughter thou shalt wed, " Take my Bridget to thy bed, " Take her in your saintly arms ; " Now, good saint, from these alarms — " From this darkness and despair — " Free thy father, King Loigaire." Saint Patrick came — the people shout, " Long live the saint" — the sun shines out — The clouds disperse — the darkness dread, When Patrick blest it, quickly fled. All wished the Magi little good, For spreading darkness, shedding blood ; And cheer'd Saint Patrick, who alone, Shed light and glory round the throne. " Take," cried the king, " thy just reward, " My Bridget as thy wife regard, 55 • Love and protect her for my sake — " Bridget, thy saintly husband take." The maid drew near, and she grew faint When she beheld the holy saint ; The saint look'd coldly on her charms, She threw herself into his arms — As mariner clings to a wreck, She wound her arms round his neck, And screamed out like a smitten elf, " 'Tis my own Paddy, 'tis himself." The briny tears began to flow, Words for her feelings were too slow, But sweetly in her mother tongue. She told a tale, when thus she sung : BRIDGET'S SONG. 1. " Oh Paddy, my jewel, oh Paddy, my dear, The sight left my eyes when I saw you were here, In the courts of my father, when for many a day, I thought you were drown'd, love, beyond the ' salt say.' 56 2. " Oh now you're a great man, instead of a slave, As you were, love, before you made off with French leave, Without even giving your Biddy one kiss, When you left me alone on the mountain of Mis. 3. " Oh think on the hour, love, when in the lone cot, I found you a swineherd and pitied your lot. When you told me how heartless, by Niall the bold, You were to my old nurse, the pig driver sold. 4. " Oh think on the hour, love, oh think on the day, When you fell asleep, and your pigs went astray, How you wand'red disconsolate over the plain, 'Till Biddy found out all the ' boneens' again." 57 5 " But now you're come back with a crook in your hand, The finest old shepherd ere stood in the land. But with swineherd or shepherd, contented I am, Then take to your arms your own tender lamb." Saint Patrick, he was sore surprised, And not a little scandalis'd, At the untowardly exposure Poor Bridget made, and with Ins crozier He thrust her off with much resistance, And bid her keep a civil distance. " Keep off," cried he, with brow severe, " You see no longer Paddy here, " A vulgar name forsooth you push up, " To one that's better than a bishop. " Patrick I am, both saint and Roman, " You know me not, poor silly woman, " You know me not, poor maid," said he, " And if you did, in lower key " You should have sung as I now sing, " The praises of my Roman king, " Chanting my words with visage calm, 58 " While people think I sing a psalm. " You'll hear a fragment of my story, " Falling amidst the sounds of glory." ST. PATRICK'S SONG. 1 " Oh Bridget, my darling, I'll run no more rigs, After silly young girls and obstinate pigs ; When I left the old swineherd I banish'd them all, For the love of the Virgin, when I got ' a call. ' 2 " I crost o'er the sea, from my own quiet home, To make in this island fresh converts for Rome ; And if you'll assist me, sweet Bridget my dear, We may help one another to do something here. 3 " We may be thick enough ; though a priest may not wed, He can pray now and then by a penitent's bed. ( 10 )The lands of Kildare from your father Fve won, And in the round tower there I'll make you a nun." 59 When Lucet-mail, who stood behind Saint Patrick, saw what way the wind Was like to blow, his ready wit Flash'd out upon a lucky hit : He lov"sa, (sings.) Here on my native hills, Joy through my bosom thrills — Fearlessly — carelessly — bounding alone ; Gathering, flow'rets fair, Breathing my native air, Joyously singing — oh this is my own. Sweetly the wild bird sings, Where in your wanderings .Saw ye a beauty, beyond the blue sea ; Bright as the sunny lake, Loved for her beauty's sake, .Mirror of all that is lovely and free. Here, in a hermit's cell, Haply with thee I'd dwell, 132 Or follow your footsteps wherever you roam ; Over the world wide, Still I am near thy side, Ever, I find in thy bosom a home. Conway. My dear, dear, daughter, (embraces her,) if you are contented, why should not I be so ? Rosa. Dear papa, do not give up the wild, warm-hearted people of our native isle, to cold, calculating agents ; now that we are amongst them, let us judge for ourselves. '[Exit Rosa. Enter Servant. [Arranges bottles and glasses on the table. Conway. John, should Mr. M'Grippen call, tell him I've retired for the night. John. Yes, sir. [Exit. Conway. (Solus.) And now, for the first time in my life, I feel myself really at home in the castle of my ancestors — retired from the bustling scenes of a heartless world — enjoying the society of my dear daughter — how tran- quilly, and how thankful — (a loud knocking and ringing at the hall-door.) 133 Enter Servant. John. Sir, Parson Tithewagg wishes to see vou, immediately. Conway. Confound him ; the deuce take it ; cannot I be left one moment to myself; tell him I'm in bed ; or stay, tell him I am indis- posed ; can't see any one this — Enter Tithewagg. Tithewagg. Mr. Conway, I call upon you as justice of peace and loyal supporter of the realm, to aid me in arresting a sanguinary Rockite, who has sought refuge in your plan- tations — Conway. In my plantations ! are you quite sure ? Tithewagg. Sure, poh, certain — (shews his coat torn vp the back) — I have been roughly handled. Conway. Good heavens! ho, there, John. Peter, Thomas — call all the servants — fetch me my travelling pistols. Tithewagg. We had better wait for a re- inforcement; I sent for the police — in the mean 134 time I'll recruit myself with a — a glass of — of — water — (closes the table.) Conway. Here's wine, my dear sir, sit down ; (sets a chair and sits also — pushes the bottles ;) this is claret, and this old Madeira — has gone the rounds. Tithewagg. (Helps himself.) Now, you're so kind, (drinks) ; ha, excellent, benissimo ; now, some people say that claret's cold — that sir's all in the stomach ; to be sure, for a quiet companion, I prefer a bottle of particular sherry, but after that I generally stick to the claret. Conway. But, relative to this assault, I hope you have sustained no serious injury. Tithewagg. Why, I escaped pretty well considering — lost the hue and cry, and a pair of green spectacles during the engagement, (drinks.) Conway. And where did the rencontre take place? Tithewagg. You shall hear ; as I was returning from Scramble Hall — you have heard of Phil Scramble? 135 Conway. Never. Tithe wagg. Old Scramble was an excel- lent man — heart, in the right place ; left a large family ; lived together. Phi!, sowing his wild oats, hunts, shoots, gambles ; went to advise him — bad business — (drinks.) Conway. Very bad indeed ; and he — Tithewagg. Won't be advised, still cutting down the trees. Conway. You don't say so ? Tithewagg. It's a melancholy fact. Conway. But we must prevent him. Tithewagg. I did my best, but your influ- ence — Conway. My property — Tithewagg. The respectability of his family — Conway. And the beauty of the planta- tions — Tithewagg. Will be completely destroyed. Conway. Completely destroyed. Tithewagg. But he's a chip of the old block. Conway. I'll stop his chipping, that I will. 136 Tithewagg. But when you once know him. Conway. Know him ! (with surprise.) Tithewagg. Fill your glass, sir, and I'll give you Phil Scramble's health. Conway. Phil the devil ; drink the health of a Rockite cutting down my plantations — (starts up angrily?) Tithewagg. (What an old fool, aside.) Let me tell you, sir, that Mr. Scramble — Conway. D n Phil Scramble. Tithewagg. Is a gentleman. Conway. Pretty gentleman ! Tithewagg. My particular friend. Conway. Stealing timber. Tithewagg. A loyal man and a stanch — Conway. Rockite. Tithewagg. Go on sir, go on sir, undet your own roof. Conway. Your cloth protects you. Tithewagg. But, it wo'nt protect you, (pulling off his coat). Conway. This insolence — (crossing towards him.) 137 Enter Servant. John. The serjeant of the police is below, sir. Conway. He's very much wanting here, (turns his back on Tithewagg.) Tithewagg. Very much wanting here, (turns his back on Conway.) [Exit Servant. Conway. But, Mr. Tithewagg — Tithewagg. But, Mr. Conway — Conway. Let us not appear ridiculous. Tithewagg. Ridiculous ! (with contempt.) Conway. Yes, ridiculous in the eyes of our servants. Tithewagg. Had your temper permitted you to hear about the outrage — Conway. And hav'nt I heard all about it ; and — Tithewagg. Not one word of it. Conway. And Scramble has'nt assaulted you. Tithewagg. Not he. Conway. And he's not cutting down my plantations. 138 Tithewagg. Not he. Conway. Ten thousand pardons ; I'll drink his health. Tithewagg. He's like yourself, wild and hasty ; but his heart's in the right place, stanch, stanch — Conway. Phil Scramble's health. Tithewagg. Phil Scramble's health. [ They pour out wine. Enter Servant. John. The serjeant of the police, sir. Conway. He's not wanting. Tithewagg. He's not wanting. Conway. But, my dear sir, perhaps we ought to see him. Tithewagg. Just as you like, my dear sir. Enter Snapall. Tithewagg. Ha. Snapall, bad business this. Snapall. Horrid, your worship. Tithewagg. It was on my return from Scramble Hall, I encountered the daring outlaw, Rock, at the cross-roads — spoke him fair — he surrendered — lots of private informations — 139 marched my prisoner as far as Duckaniny bog — spoke of putting on the handcuffs, for form sake — he sprang upon me like a tiger, flung me into Duckaniny bog, and bolted into the planta- tions of Castle Rockmore. Conway. You had a most providential escape. Tithewagg. Yes, that I had ; but, Snapall, be moving — search the plantations, the ruins, the shrubberies ; I'll stay here, to protect Mr. Conway from that daring banditti. Snai'all. I'll scour through every hole and corner, your worship. [Exit. Tithewagg. Sharp fellow — that prime thief- taker. Conway. Regular gend'arme. Tithewagg. Now, my dear sir, to business ; pen, ink, and paper, if you please. Conway. You will find them in this writing desk. Tithewagg. Now, my dear sir, do you write and I'll supply the needful ; I ca'nt write without my unfortunate spectacles, especially after dinner. I make it a rule to give a sketch 140 of an outrage, now and then, to the Editor of my newspaper. Conway. I have often read those articles, under the head of " State of the Country," but thought that — Tithewagg. True, we must give the Editor a hint as to the heading of this article ; there- fore write, at the top of the page, " Horrible Outrage," (drinks) — have you written down that, sir ? Conway. No ; I think the word horrible — (pauses.) Tithewagg. You think a more forcible term might be used ; what think you of abo- minable ? Conway. I really think the terms too strong ; suppose you say " singular circumstance." Tithewagg. Singular circumstance ! Conway. Yes. Tithewagg. Why, bless my soul, sir, you do'nt mean to say that there's anything singular in a man's being throttled by the wayside and flung into a quagmire ; sir, I perceive, you are quite inexperienced in those matters ; I beg 141 you will just write down my words — "Diabolical attempt to assassinate." Conwat. Very well, what next ? Tithewagg. " We learn" — have you written down, we learn ? Conway. Yes. Tithewagg. " That one of those glaring out- rages, that crimson over the fair bosom of our bleeding country" — (drinks; not bad Madeira.) Conway. What next ? Tithewagg. " Has been perpetrated in the neighbourhood of Castle Rockmore, as the Rev. T — t — w — double g — Enter John. John. The police have returned with a prisoner. Enter Snapall. Snapall. We have him, your worship. Tithewagg. Bravo, where did you find him ? Snapall. In the pine grove, sir. Tithewagg. Did he make much resistance ? Snapall. None at all. 142 Tithewagg. He could not, man ; he could not, after I had done with him. Snapall. He says, it's all a mistake. Conway. Had we not better examine him ? Tithewagg. Not yet, not yet ; we must let his martial spirit cool. Is he communica- tive ? Snapall. Quite the contrary ; but sir, he's the most gentlemanly blackguard ever I arrested. Tithewagg. Well, well, gentle or simple, lock him up in some strong room, for a while. Conway. The round tower — it's the best lock-up in the premises. Tithewagg. I say, Snapall, lock him up there, safe and sure. [Exit Snapall. Conway. By those active steps we may look for tranquillity, and peace will at length be restored. < Tithewagg. We must make some altera- tions in our letter ; this " glorious news and triumphant — Enter Snapall hastily. Snapall. There's a messenger below from the parsonage, to say that the Rockites have 143 been there in our absence — carried off all the arms, ammunition, and even Mrs. Tithewagg's blunderbuss. TlTHEWAGG. What! all the arms — Mrs. Tithewagg and the blunderbuss. Conway. Let us pursue them instanter. Tithewagg. Certainly, certainly; oh, Mr. Conway, you would enter into my feelings, if you knew what an irreparable loss that blun- derbuss — I mean, poor dear Mrs. Tithewagg. [Exeunt. SCENE III. Dungeon in Castle Rockmore — Captain Marston discovered. Marston. (Solus.) Well, really, now, this i 1 - carrying the joke too far — too much of the romantic ; by the fortune of war, sans doute, I find myself locked up a prisoner in the castle of my inamorata ; a discovery cannot be far off, for, if I am to be examined by that confounded old parson and the prosy papa, I must upsel 144 everything by declaring my birth, parentage and education — confound them all — (walking to and fro) — if this spike-hole of a window was a thought larger I might take wing at once. {Noise without — listening.) There seems to be no small stir in the castle ; ha, all silent again ; I don't hear the tramp of the sentinel — (raising his voice) — guard — I say, constable — mister policeman — all silent, how provoking ; if, by any chance, I could inform my little Rosa of the predicament — I have it now, by Jove, I'll sing, and if she can hear my voice — (Sings.) Blest are the moments, when eyes fondly beaming, The long cherish'd secret, at once will confess; When lovers awaken'd, at once from their dreaming, Would say, ere they part, what no words can express. When the wild clang of war Over mountain and valley, Rolls on with the drum and the trumpet's loud call — To the battle afar, Round your banners rally, Young soldier away — on, to conquer or fall. Blest are the moments, when eyes fondly glancing, 'Midst blushes and smiles, bid the lips fondly meet ; 145 When the soldier again, in his triumph advancing, Lavs the laurels he won at his mistress's feet. As the wild clang of war, Over mountain and valley, Rolls on with the drum and the trumpet's shrill call — Return from afar, Round the lovely ones rally, Young soldier return — and thus conquer all. All silent — she has retired — can't hear my voice ; in that case I may bid good night — here goes, I'll try it again. (Si?igs louder.) Oh, wake thee, dear Rosa, how shall I escape From this horrible dungeon, and horrible scrape ; Locked up in the castle with her I adore, I'm doubly your prisoner ; I said so before. All silent ; faith, I believe it's useless. Oh, wake thee, dear Rosa ; come quickly to me — But do not forget to bring with you the key ; Come quickly, come quickly — my loved wand'ring star, And gently the doors of my prison unbar. Door opens — Rosa Conway standing at it. Rosa. Captain Rock, I presume? M vrston. Your prisoner, fair lady. 146 Rosa. (Ironically.) What ! are you the great Rockite Captain, of whose exploits 1 have heard so much ? Marston. Well now, Rosa, you're too severe. Rosa. You that made the diabolical attempt to assassinate Parson Tithewagg. Marston. Rosa, I am a soldier, your pri- soner — Tithewagg's an old woman. Rosa. (A pretty compliment to the ladies, aside.) Come, come, if I let you out this time, you must promise to keep the peace towards her majesty's liege subjects, for the next seven years, and not to come near this castle without — Marston. Now, Miss Conway ! Rosa. Now, Mister Marston, if I had time I would give you a lecture — indeed I would ; so there, make your escape, as fast as you can, and bless your stars — Marston. I'll only bless the star that fixed my eyes on heaven — Rosa. Come, come, I have no time to listen to your fine speeches. 147 Marston. When shall we meet again? Rosa. Speak not of it now — I hear footsteps. the police are returning from the parsonage, and — Marston. Say that you'll meet me even for a moment to explain this singular — Rosa. You will lose the only opportunity of escaping — away, away. Marston. And must I fly from this without speaking a word about the long cherished hopes — I thought you knew me better. (Voice* heard without.) Rosa. Away — conceal yourself in the eastern shrubbery, and when the pursuit is over — (voices heard) — fly. [Exit. Marston. Here goes, then, I'll hide in hope. [Exit cautiously. SCENE IV. Wild Heath — Hills — Woods — Dark Scenery. Enter Cormac O'Learv and Shane Mara. Cormac. (Angrily.) So you won't take my advice — refuse at once riches, power, beauty, and 148 every other good tiling ; sure, it's evident to the whole counthry she has a liking for you, when she took the bother of asking the farm for you, ay, and giving it to you. Shane. Leave off, now ; bad as I am I would not be consarned in the like for the whole barony, let alone the master's estate ; what ! carry off the young lady to the wild hills, after all she did for me ! Cormac,^Cormac, you don't know me. Cormac. Faith I do, better than you do yourself, Shane Mara ; you think too little of yourself — I know you are descended from the right owners of the soil, and good enough blood for any lady in the land — hould up y'r head, man, a faint heart never won a fair lady. Shane. No matter, I'll not be guilty of doing the like. Cormac. But, man, the father's ould — the father's shook, a shook man — he can't hould out long — he'll take to the bed one of those days, and then who's to look after the colleen dhas ? and even to his death you'll be factotum in the place, royster'n in and out. 149 Shane. It's too bad — it's a burning shame to hear a man of your time of life, talking such nonsense. Cormac. (Crosses to him.) Shane Mara, 'till now I thought you were joking — are you in earnest ? Shane. I am. Cormac. Do you mean to say you won't, follow my advice ? Shane. I do. Cormac. Then, on your own head be it ; for since you wont go the right road by fair means, you must! you must. Shane. Who says, must ? Cormac. One that must be obeyed. Shane. Who — who ? Cormac. Rock. Shane. (Starting) Rock ! Cormac. He commands — it shall be done. Shane. Not with my consent. Cormac. Your consent — your consent ! who ever thought of asking your consent ! a marked man, that never did anything. When did you attend muster ? thougli you're one of us, you'll 150 do nothing for us ; when your lot fell out to attend the burning in Tipperary, where were you, then ? skulking at home ! when the signal was passed up the counthry in the night race — ho — where were you ? snug in your bed, when better men dashed through bogs and curraghs, at a moment's warning ; the third time's the charm — refuse now to obey your Captain, and mark the consequences — Shane. I'll leave the country, I'll go to America, give up all again. Cormac. Go away with you, desert — desert, and what will the Captain say of you ? Shake, (hesitating,) I care not. Cormac. What will the boys call you ? Shane, (hesitating,) I care not. Cormac. (crosses to him,) Coward ! Shane, (pushes him back angrily,) Stand back. Cormac Strike me — raise a hand to me, and by the Eternal — Shane. I'd scorn to strike grey hairs. Cormac You're afraid, you darn't — Shane. Liar — you know the contrary 151 Cormac. Not I, faith, nor any one else. {Going.) Shane. Prove it, ay, before you leave this spot — that I ever deserved this. {Following.) Cohmac. (He's rising at last, aside.) Now, now. {Going.) Shane. {Collars him.) You called me coward ; when and where ? here — milla diaul — you shall prove it. Cormac. {Shakes him off.) Before midnight prove you're not a coward — that's the talk. Shane. Ay, if I went to hell for it. Cormac. Spoken like a true Milesian. Your hand, man, {they shake hands) ; come along. (Aside, he's mine.) [Exeunt. 152 ACT III. SCENE I. Interior of an Irish Farm-house — Armed Pea- sants stretched on benches, others cleaning guns, §c. — the three Lieutenants, Terence Alt, Darkig and Racker, seated round a table in front. ( They sing a glee.) Chorus. In cave or forest, hill or glen, Success to Rock and his merry men. Alt I am a brother, Darrig So am I too; Racker I am another, Omnes Brave and true. Alt I'll stand by thee, Darrig Where our chief commands, Racker From tyrants free — Omnes Join hands — join hands. 153 Chorus. In cave or forest, hill or glen, Success to Rock and his merry men. Alt I'm ever ready, Darrig And so am I; R acker Cool and steady, Omnes When danger's nigh. Alt At your side Darrig A brother stands, Racker Rock's his guide, Omnes Join hands — join hands. Chorus. In cave or forest, hill and glen, Success to Rock and his merry men. Alt In fair and foul weather, Darrig Night and day, Racker We'll stick together, Omnes . . . , Hurrah — hurrah. Alt I'll stand by thee, Darrig Where our chief commands, Racker In blood to the knee, Omnes loin hands — join hands. Chorus. In cave, in forest, hill and glen, Success to Rock and his merry men. 154 Alt. I wonder what keeps the captain so long away. Darrig. Oh, he's breaking in the young colt ; it's no easy matter — R acker. Never fear, the captain's an old hand at that work ; many a one he broke before now. Alt. If he didn't, the hangman did it for him. (A loud whistle heard without.) R acker. He's coming; (whistle heard again.) Darrig. Guard the door there ; Shane's the word. ( They present guns at the door.) (A loud knock at the door.) Alt. The word. Voice without. Shan Buy, (door Jlies open.) Enter Cormac O'Leary, and Shane Mara. Cormac Right, boys, right ; I have brought back the outlier to the herd again. Omxbs. Welcome, brother ; (Shane Mara shakes hands ivith them,) here's your health, boy ; come down here 'till we catechise you. 1 5-3 Cormac. There, go and rub tip your larnin a bit with the mountain dew. (Shane Mara crosses to the lower end.) Alt, Darrig, and Racker, come forward. Cormac. Are we all here ? Alt. All, excepting the picquet that's watch- ing the police down at Castle Rockmore. Cormac. What the devil brought the police down there ? Alt. Why, ould Tithewagg to be sure. Cormac. Then Ave must disperse, for this night our plan's spoiled. Darrig. Ay ; but I have taken good care that neither footman, horseman, or policeman, will be at Castle Rockmore in less than an hour. Cormac. How did you manage that ? Darrig. Why, just as I was bringing my men here, I heard from a gossoon that the police had just left the parson's house, so we slipped over the bog and before you could say trapstick we were in the parson's parlour, boned four brace of pistols, two fowling pieces, one 156 hundred rounds of ball cartridge, an old queen Anne, and the family blunderbuss. Cormac. Bydad, we have no time to lose, the police and all the rest of them will be for scouring the country. Dakrig. Never fear, never fear, alanna, I laid a false scent — I run three of the boys up the mountains, strewing old hats, brogues, and ball cartridges, here and there, so the whole pack will be three miles off before midnight. Cormac. Right, ma bouchal, that's what I like ; oh, Terry, your mother always intended you for a bishop, 'till you stuck in the bog Latin ! but I always knew you'd become a gineral ; now the sooner we start the better. Alt. Easy, captain, easy, we must under- stand one another before we budge an inch. Cormac Sure it's all settled, all settled. Darrig. Then if we succeed, as no doubt we will, in getting Shane Mara and the girl spliced, I'm to have the farm of Knockrasky. Cormac. Certainly, certainly, that's settled. Alt. And I'll have the farm of Killcarra. Racker. No, Rathlanny's your farm. 157 Alt. Be quiet now, don't think to put me off that way. R acker. Fair play's all I want, this was settled before. Alt. You want to put that job on me. Cormac. Peace, peace; can't it be settled afterwards ? Racker. I'll not leave this an inch, if I don't get Killcarra. Alt. You want to put Rathlanny on me, and the taking of it to — Cormac. Whoever gets Rathlanny, we leave a clear fireside for him, to enter on ; the Mur- phys are noticed to quit under pain of our dis- pleasure ; come, the night's passing ; draw for Killcarra, (holds out the handles of a pair of daggers, concealing the blades,) the longest wins. Omxes. Agreed, agreed ; pull away then. Cormac. Draw, and be hanged to you, (holds out the hafts to Alt.) Alt. Here's a pull for Kilcarra, (draws out a dagger.) Cormac. Draw, (turns to Racker.) Racker. The devil may care, (draws out a 158 dagger,) ; measure the blades, (they hold the daggers to measure.) Cormac. Alt has the longest ; he gets Kill- car ra. Racker. Well, since I've lost it fair, your to help me to clear out the Murphys. Omnes. Ay, ay ; agreed, agreed. Darrig. But, what's the captain to have ? Cormac. Oh, not much, the grazing farm near the castle, it's small, (but it's the kidney of the parish, aside.) I'll be backwards and forwards at the castle looking after the interests of the young people ; but it's time we were on the move ; do the boys know where we are going ? Alt. Not they ; what is it to the likes of them ? Racker. All they want is the wind of the word. Cormac. (Standing out, turns to the men at the lower end.) Up rangers — (all start up and prepare their guns, pistols, swords, <^c.) To the fore. All form a semicircle about him, as he pours out a cup of whiskey. ]5'j Cormac, (sings.) " Boys are ye ready to follow me now, A right and a rolicking ranger — My motto you know, Is a word and a blow — When my pistol is out there is danger. ( Takes out his pistol.) Chorus. Stick to the leader, thro 1 thick and thro' thin, Be the course rough or smooth, good or evil, 'Tis time to begin, On, on, lose or win ; We'll follow you down to the devil, We'll follow you, ay, to the devil. ' Then thus with a bumper the bargain we clinch, So keep up your spirits from sinking ; For the man that'll flinch When we come to the pinch, I'll blow out his brains just "like winking." Chorus. Stick to the leader, thro' thick and thro' thin, Be the course rough or smooth, good or evil, 'Tis time to begin, Lead on, lose or win, We follow our chief to the devil, We follow our chief to the devil. \_Exeunt singing. 160 SCENE II. Rustic or country scenery— farm-house at the side. Enter M'Grippen, cautiously looking about. M'Grippen. The house is shut up, but she cannot have retired to bed yet, it's too early for that, but I have made an impression, a genteel one too, I flatter myself, on my little Mary's tender heart, and more than that, for I think I have gotten her would-be lover into a very ' pretty scrape. — I must understand, and the magistrates must understand, that Shane Mara was one of the party that broke into and robbed the parsonage — and how am I to understand it but by those cartridges (looking at them) that were found on his land — if a few of them could be tossed into his house ; ay, I'll manage that, and send the police to search ; and of course he'll cross the water then for the good of his health and mine. Ha ! the door opens, I sup- . pose it's the old hag. (Hides behind a wall.) 161 Enter Mart, (from the farm-house.) Mart. Yes, I perceive it ; I have lost his affections, so cold, so changed — why cannot I follow my poor mother's advice, forget him ? (Sings.) Have I not kept the simplest flow'r Long cherish'd with the tenderest care, Next to my heart, for many an hour, Because his false hand placed it there. Oh flow'rs md buds may soon decay, A show'r may bid their bloom depart ; But oh, what show'rs can wash away His long loved image from my heart. Forget, forget, a mother's voice Is ever whispering in my ear, But hope replies, rejoice — rejoice, For he that won thy heart is near. Oh, flow'rs and buds may soon decay, A shower may bid their bloom depart ; But oh, what show'rs can wear away His long lov'd image from my heart ? M'Grippen — (coming fonvard.) Do I live to hear it, then I am beloved ; " yes, he that won thy heart is near" — (attempts to embrace her.) Mary. Sir, this rudeness — (pushes him back.) M 162 M'Grippen. Love's a rude boy, but we must excuse his soft impetuosity. Mary. You see that I am unprotected, but villain — M'Grippen. Come, come Miss, this is rather too much of a good thing — when a girl's under my protection, she must behave herself. Here Peter, leave the gig by itself, and come here, assist this young lady into it. Mary. Wretch, at your peril. Peter. Come, your ladyship, don't be obstrepolus. Mary. Help, help, oh heavens. ( They carry her, and drag her along.) M'Grippen. Lift her up, Peter, tie my silk handkerchief over her mouth. {Exeunt, drag- ging her off— gig seen crossing rapidly at the back. 163 SCENE III. Shrubbery, parterre, summer-house, temple, rustics, fyc. Enter Miss Conway and Lisette Rosa. And so, Lisette, you are sorry for coming here. Lisette. Ah pas cle tout ma chere made- moiselle Rosa, I vould follow you all over de vorld,mais ici, we are dans une pays sauvage, tout aufait, out of de beau monde, nine mile from post lettre town, a mademoiselle, I am tres fache we, quitte our Hotel Garni — dans la Rue de la Paix. Rosa. But, Lisette, you will find the people here very like your own country people — fond of music and dancing. Lisette. Ah les barbares, mon Dieu, on n' comprends pas Francois — de dont undertand von vord I say mais I speak de Engliss, fort bien, pretty well, but it's not for moi meme, it's for you, mademoiselle, I am so sorry. 164 Rosa. And why for me, Lisette ? Lisette. Because dat you never Jamais, Jamais, vill see Monsieur le Captain Marston here. (Aside, Moi non plus pauvre Volauvent, son valet. Rosa. Come, come, Lisette, you will like this country very well in a short time, allez ma bon. Bring me my shawl ; this beautiful moon- light invites me to promenade a little longer than I intended. Lisette. Ah oui, madlle. mais adieu ma joli pettit chambre dans la rue de la Paix. [Exit. Rosa. (Looking at the evergreens, laurels, §c.) I hope Edmund has not been so fool-hardy as to remain concealed till this hour, and yet he's so adventurous that I should not be at all surprised to find him locked up again in the round tower before midnight. (A rustling in the laurels.) Now this is folly, lingering here so late and the country so much disturbed. Make your escape, go — go — I wont look at you. ( Turns her face away — a man crosses softly to her from the laurels.) Adieu, adieu, Edmund ; think sometimes of — (holds out her hand a 165 little — the man grasps her hand Jirmli/.) Oh, heavens ! — (starts and looks at the man.) You mistake — I mistook — let me go — Shane. Be firm, and fear not. Rosa. This language — a stranger — help. Shane. Be silent, resistance is vain. Rosa. Lisette, Lisette, help, help. Enter Cormac, Alt, and others from the laurels. Cormac. Come, come, we have no time to lose here, bring up the horses to the orchard wall. Alt. Put her up behind him and push along. Darrig. Carry her at once, where's the use of gostherin' here ? Rosa. Men, wretches, beware how you injure — oh, my father. Cormac. Bathershins, do your duty now, or by the bones — (pulls out a pistol,) carry her off at once. (Four men carry her off.) [Exeunt Omnes. Enter Lisette. Lisette. Miss Rosa, Mademoiselle Conway, here is your shawl ; mais, where is she ? (calls,) 166 mademoiselle Conway ; dere is parson Tidvagg, and mademoiselle Tidvagg, venez done ; make the for all de little Miss Tidwaggs, and all de gens d'armes. are come back here to the — (stoops and picks up something,) Tiens, Tiens ; qu'est ce qu e'est, bracelet, (stoops again,) voila, voila — Miss Rosa's collier de perles broken in leetle bits ; ah, mon Dieu ! (looks through the sides,) qu faits on les barbares, wit dat young person ; (looking again,) voile de Bruxelles le chapeau blanc — it is Miss Rosa, ma chere mademoiselle — they are carrying her off to the montaigns, au secours. [Exit running. Enter Captain Marston. Marston. Adventures and serenades — I found it so deucedly awkward to be taken at every turn for a highway-man, that I hastened back to mine inn, doffed the mufti, and have mounted the uniform which will answer my pur- pose just as well, for the rest of this night — as I intend to mount guard, like the chivalrous knight of La Mancha, on this castle, and in the morning to storm the breakfast table of its lord ; 167 but what's all this ? the whole tribe as I live — a regular sortie. Enter Mr. Conway, Parson Tithewagg, Police, Servants, &c. Conway. Here's one of them — stand, you marauder, where's my daughter ? Makstox. Your daughter, sir ! ( With sur- prise.) Parson. {Looking sharply at him.) 'Tis he, my prisoner ; five feet eleven inches ; black hair ; a ferocious whiskerando ; seize him police. The Police advance. M vrstox. {Throws off his cloak.) Standoff fellows ; touch not a soldier. Parsox. We have caught a Tartar. Coxwat. Captain Marston, your appearance here at such a time, and under such circum- stances, creates suspicions ; but my child — my Rosa — Marstox. What of her ? has anything oc- curred ? speak I conjure you. Coxway. Captain Marston, give me your word as a man of honour, that you have had no hand in this affair. 168 Marston. In what affair ? be brief, sir. Conway. In tearing my only child from the arms of her distracted father. Marston. Heavens, could such an outrage — sir, could you suspect for a moment, I would be guilty of — Conway. Enough, enough ; I see that you are not aware that my dear daughter has been carried off. Lisette. Ah oui, oui ; I saw her raise her hands au des espoir to the ciel, and de cruel barbares holding her en cheval. Marston. {Draws his sword.) Let us pursue them at once. Tithewagg. Captain, as I know the loca- lities of the country, I mean the by-ways — Marston. Let us not delay. Tithewagg. We had better divide our forces and scour the country ; you, Captain, and Mr. Conway can take the servants, and — Marston. Manage your forces as you like, I must push on. [Exit. Conway. Stay, Captain, wait for us. Tithewagg. Let him go, sir, he's a host in 169 himself, (as I know to my cost, aside) ; but you had better follow him with your people as fast as you can, while I with my servants, I mean the police, cut off their retreat. \_Ejceunt. SCENE IV. Interior of an Irish Cabin — Armed Peasants seated round tables, some drinking, others examining their arms — Miss Conway disco- vered seated near a fire-place. Cormac. Success, boys, we have carried off the golden fleece, and now all that remains to be done is to put it on the shoulders of the man we like best ; where's Father O'Flinn ? Darrig. He's not come yet. Cormac. Now this is more of it ; nothing can be done right unless I am stuck at the face of it myself; there, run like red shanks half a dozen of ye, and bring him here neck and heels ; tell him he's wanting in all haste to splice a couple. (Four men run out.) 170 Shane. (Aside, this is the last effort to save her.) Crosses to Cormac and whispers to him. Cormac. Right boy, right ; now that's what I call courtship ; boys, the young couple wish to be left alone, so come down with me to the room, and while they're courting we'll take a dhrop. Omnes. Ay, ay, Captain. [Exeunt' Shane. (Crossing to Miss Conway.) Miss Conway. Rosa. Monster — wretch. — ( Weeps.) Shane. Think not for a moment I would harm or insult you ; (lowering his voice,) but if you would escape — Rosa. Escape ! ( With surprise.) Shane. Don't speak so loud, I beg of you ; yes, if you would escape, lose not a moment — I will assist you. Rosa. (Coming forward.) If money and if lands can reward you, it is in my power. Shane. Speak not of rewards ; you have been my benefactress already, and my consci- ence — ( Voices heard without.) Omnes without. Here's your health, Fa- ther O'Flinn— 171 Rosa. Save me, oh, save me ! Cormac. {Door opens a little.) Well have you done courting yet ? — the splicer ; come on, we are waiting. Shane. Ay, ay ; wait a bit, and when I have her consent I'll call you in. Cormac. Well, make haste, make haste ; for the night's passing. Shane. {Opens the window and gives Rosa his hand.) Now Miss Rosa, softly, softly, as you can ; cross the mountain, keep the fort on your left-hand, turn to your right through the break of the red wood, gain the plantations near the high road, and you're safe ; and to con- ceal yourself, wrap this round you, (gives his great coat,) — fly, linger not a moment. Rosa. And you — won't you ? — Shane. Not yet, not yet ; but as soon as I can — (helps her out of the windoiv.) [Exit Miss Conway. Cormac at the door. Well, does she con- sent yet ? Shane. She must say her prayers first. 172 Cormac. Oh, you're confessing her, you do£ you — (Laughter within.) Shane. By this time she must have gained the mountain. (Speaks aside.) Cormac. Come, come, we'll wait no longer. Shane. One moment, that's a dear ; love, I'll make you as gOQd a husband as the best of them. (Kisses his hand.) Voices within. Oh, by all that's beautiful, he's kissing her. (Laughter within.) Shane. We hope that Mr. O'Flinn has brought his book with him. O'Flinn. The devil take me, but I forgot it at home on the dresser. Cormac. Blast your stupid heads — why didn't you bring the man his book, he can't read out of any other ? O'Feinn. Never fear, alanna, I can repate the whole saramony off book ; I ought to have it pat by this time. Shane. (Puts out the candles and gels out of the window.) Don't come in without the book, for we won't be married off by heart, mind that ; (lowering his voice,) so good night to you all. {Exit Shane Mara. 173 CqkmaC. Shane, Shane Mara, why don't you open the door? answer me that; come open the door at once, we'll wait no longer. {They push open the door.) Enter Cormac and the Gang. Terry Alt. What made ye quench the light, ye gomagh, ye — Darrig. This is no time for thricks ; bring here the candle. Enter O'Flinn with a candle. O'Flinx. Here's the true light, ma bouchal ; (sits on a low stool,) I'll yoke them in the twinkling of a bed-post, as well as the bishop ; where are they ? where are the deponents ? Cormac. (Finds the window open.) Gone, gone ; oh, the villain, the false-hearted traitor ! Alt. Hanging's too good for him. Darrig. If he gets off, he'll hang the half of us. O'Flinn. I remember every word of it now, by the vartue of potteen ; come, crass my hand with goold and silver, do it genteely. (Holds out his hand.) 174 Cormac. (Crossing in a rage.) Out of my way, you old couple-beggar, or I'll cross your head with could iron. (Strikes at him with a gun-barrel.) O'Feinn. (Tumbling off the stool.) Oh, queen of heaven, am I asleep, am I awake, or where am I? Omxes, Pursue them — pursue them ; this way — fire away — don't spare them. [Exeunt Omnes. SCENE V. Mountains— Woods — Bocks, fyc. Castle seen by Moonlight in the back ground. Enter Rosa Conway. Rosa. My strength fails, I can fly no farther, (leans on a rock,) but sooner than fall into the hands of those miscreants — (A cry of " Stand villain !") Voices. Mark him, mark him. (Gun shot heard.) 175 Enter Shaxe Mara, (rushing up to where Rosa clings to the rock.) Enter Cormac, Alt, Darrig, and the Gang. Shane. Keep back, back — injure her not. Omxes. Down with the traitor. Darrig. Shoot him on the spot. ( They rush in and overpower him, set him on his knees, and hind his hands behind his back.) Cormac. Blow out his brains there, my dead shots. {Four men step back, and prepare to fire.) Rosa. (TJirows herself before Shane Mara.) Spare him — spare him ; oh shed not innocent blood. Cormac. Keep your fine speeches for your own drawing-room, but raise not your voice on the hill side. Darrig. Why not tumble them both together? Rosa. Yet spare him, spare — Cormac Drag her out of the way — (grasps her arm, and drags her from Shane Mara,) make ready — present — ( Trumpet sounds in the woods.) 176 Enter Captain Marston and Soldiers. Marston. Surrender " in the king's name." Cormac. Never. (Fires a pistol at Captain Marston — Captain cuts him down — Cormac falls over the rocks and disappears. Rockites fire and retreat — Sol Hers fire and pursue them. Exeunt firing and shouting.) Marston. (Catching Miss Conway in his arms.) My Rosa. Enter Mr. Conway, with Peasants armed variously. Conway. Where, oh where is my child ? (distractedly.) Marston. Here sir, safe and sound. Conway. This is the happiest moment of my life. But the soldiers ? Marston. I met them by chance patrolling in the neighbourhood, recognised their officer as an old acquaintance — I think those fellows will curse the hour they encountered him. Conway. But who's this ? a prisoner, I sup- pose. Rosa. Let me unbind the hands of my deliverer — it was he that assisted me when I 177 attempted to escape from the hands of those miscreants, and, if it was not for Captain Marston, they would have murdered him. Conway. (Crossiyig to him.) Shane Mara! I protest his father's son could not have acted otherwise. Generous young man, this shall never be forgotten. Enter Tithewagg and Police, with two prisoners. Tithewagg. Now, base seducer, I'll make you tell your name ; hey-day, what's all this ? (Miss Conway and Captain Marston retire speak- ing to Shane.) What, carry off a young lady of such high pretensions ! ( Takes Mary by the hand and crosses to Mr. Conway with a pompous air,) Mr. Conway, I have rescued your daugh- ter from the arms of that vile renegade. {Points to M-Grippen.) Conway. Sir, sir ! — Tithewagg. No compliments, dear sir ; 'tis true my life was in jeopardy. Conway. Sir, sir! — Tithewagg. Don't speak of it ; I am suffi- N 178 ciently rewarded in restoring a daughter to the arms of her distracted father. ( Wipes his eyes.) Conway. But, sir, I have already embraced my daughter. Tithe wagg. (Aside, an unfeeling old fellow.) Conway. Daughter, you say ; this is not my daughter. Tithe wagg. (Aside, he's mad, mad as a March hare.) Be calm^ my dear sir ; be calm, I entreat of you. Conway. I am calm, sir ; yonder stands my daughter ; Rosa, come hither, my love. Tithewagg. Not your daughter — I faith ! ! ! then she's not mine. M'Grippen. (Comes forward.) I believe I can explain this matter better than any one else ; the fact of the matter is, that — this — that a hem — that — this— Tithewagg. (Ironically.) Thank you, sir ; you have explained this matter so much to our satisfaction, that — that — I shall order you to be handcuffed forthwith. — Conway. What, Mr. M'Grippen, is it pos- sible — how's this ? ( With surprise.) 179 M'Grippen. Oh, sir, I see that Parson Tithewagg has determined to injure my reputa- tion ; I was merely giving the young girl a drive in my gig, when Parson Tithewagg thought proper to drag me out of it. Tithewagg. Come, come ; if all was right. what made you snap a pistol at me ? M'Grippen. I took you for a Rockite. Tithewagg. (In a rage.) A Rockite — a rockite — let me at him. Conway. ( Restrains him.) My dear sir, don't — M'Grippen. Oh, don't prevent him, sir ; he must answer for this elsewhere ; if I am to be abused and insulted for doing a civil, or rather a charitable, action, in accommodating a weary female with a seat in my gig. Mart. (Crosses to him.) Liar, you dragged me into your gig ; you took advantage of my unprotected state, and failing in your base en- deavours to lead me from the paths of virtue, tore me from the door of my aged and helpless parent with brutal violence. M'Grippen. 'Tis false ; a tissue of false- hoods ; oh, modesty ! ! ! 180 Conway. My poor girl, have you no friends ? Mary. I have a mother, and I had a friend, and more than friend, 'till that villain (points to M'Grippen) drove him from me. Shane. But, to return to you for ever, my own Mary. (Embraces her.) Tithewagg. Well, now, Mr. O'Modesty, what do you think of that ? M'Grippen. It's all a conspiracy, a foul con- spiracy, against me. Tithewagg. Faith, I think it beats the Sabine rape all hollow. M'Grippen. I despise your base insinuations. Tithewagg. But I dare say you will find Snapall a very insinuating fellow. Police, con- vey the prisoner to the guard-house. M'Grippen. If there's law in the land, I'll make you repent of this. [Exeunt Police and M'Grippen. Tithewagg. (Looking round to the Peasants.) I believe we sent off the police too soon, sir. Conway. Fear nothing, sir, the people are on my side, ready and willing to put down those villainous disturbers of the public peace — they 181 will no longer be governed by a lawless banditti ; and if our absentees, instead of confiding in heartless and griping agents, would live at borne and confide in the people, we would not hear of outrages, or want police either. Tithewagg. Well, sir, you may get on very well without the police, but you can't get on without a parson. Coxway. Oh, that's another question. Tithewagg. Come, come ; you'll want me immediately. Coxway. Not I, sir. Tithewagg. Then who's to marry your daughter to my pris , to Captain Marston ? Marstox. (Leads Rosa to Mr. Conway.) The parson has anticipated me, sir, and if my profession is the only bar to our union, I am ready to — Conway. Captain, I no longer can object to your profession, and if my Rosa consents — Rosa. My dear father, (embraces him.) Coxway. Enough, I see your hearts are united — and your hands — TirnEWAGG. Shall be united by Bluster 182 Tithewagg, that's my business at all events., srood sir. & FINALE, {Quartette.) Conway. I need not speak my own mind On this eventful day, For the parson seems determined To close it his own way. But justice we must render Unto this brave unknown — Here, captain, take, defend her, And guard her as your own. Chorus. Joy — joy — for ever attends The meeting of lovers and true friends ; We seek again lost hearts in vain, Tithewagg. 'Till Hymen with his torch descends. Rosa, (to Marston.) I love, but, oh believe me, You never can be mine ; (to Conway) Dear father, I'll not leave thee — Marston The army I'll resign, And since my sword has won tin ■ Bright flower I sought in peace, Tithewagg.. You may depend upon the First vacancy in the police. Chorus. Joy — joy. — for ever attends The meeting of lovers and true friends, We seek in vain, lost hearts again, Tithewagg. Till Hymen with his torch descends, MINOR POEMS LOST EVELEEN Weep for the hour, When to Eveleen's bower, The lord of the valley with false vows came." Moore's Irish Melodies. She lay by the side of the mountain stream, Like a fair wild flowret strown ; For her mind was astray in a fairy dream, And she lived in the mountains alone. She had followed her love from her own native land, Where our villagers never had been ; But " the false one" had gone with his wander- ing band, Far, far, from his own Eveleen. 186 She sat 'neath the shade of the hawthorn tree, That grew on the hill fort green ; And she heard a voice singing, " Come, come, follow me, My loved, and my lost Eveleen." Oh, she followed, she followed, the villagers say, For she never returned again ; And we anxiously sought her for many a day, And M r e called her, but called her in vain. They say that she lives with the good people still — And oft 'neath the hawthorn green, The villagers hear her sweet voice in the hill, And sigh for the lost Eveleen. ARAB'S DEATH SONG. Weary and faint in the wilderness sinking, Oh, must I perish, thus perish unknown ; Death, I have stood in thy way without shrinking, And here I am trembling to meet thee alone. 187 When spears were shivering, Red swords quivering, I sought through a thousand bands For thee ' Then had I perished, Fame would have cherished, My name in the lands Of Arabie. Oh, for the shade of yon far distant mountain I Oh. for the shade of yon tall palm tree ! Oh, for a drop from my father's clear fountain. That never, never, more shall flow for me ! Arab steed, faithful steed, Over the desert speed — Fly without rein — o'er the plain Go free ; Last and the only friend, Grieving o'er my hapless end, Fain would bear me back again To Arabie. Hark, 'tis the sound of the rushing of waters ! No, 'tis the flap of the vulture's wing — 188 Hark, 'tis the song of my sunny-haired daughters ! No, 'tis the desert birds heedlessly sing — Bright spears are glancing, Foes are advancing — Strike, now or never, For victory ; Ha, the cold tyrant's dart Enters my freezing heart — Farewell for ever Arabic ELEGIAC VERSES. Weep for me, ye whose hearts can yield- Without a funeral knell ; But let the grave — the frailties shield Of her who loved too well. Her only crime was to believe, One led her heart astray ; Then left her all alone to grieve, And weep her shame away. 189 She prayed to heaven her soul might fly, And heaven heard her prayer ; To heaven her soul flew with a sigh, And found a refuge there. Deep in the cold and silent grave, Ev'n let her failings rest ; Forget her crime, her name, all save That she died not unblest. her grave lies in the shade, And though none holds it dear — Throw flowrets there they never can fade. If watered with a tear. SPANISH ROMAUNT. The thrilling trump of war Has call'd the bold Zamar To fight with the fierce invader ; He has gallop'd down the glen With all his merry men, Like a valiant and a true crusader. 190 Spur, spur away — away — Did the gallant leader say, To the warriors gallop' d behind him ; We'll be foremost in the fray, With the Moorish king today In the Sierra Morenna we'll find him. On, on, their coursers dash, And their arms brightly flash Over rock, stream, and greenwood bower ; They stemm'd the torrent flood, And soon before them stood The Moorish chieftain's mountain tower. Though the crescent's on the walls, There's silence in the halls, For bent upon Christian slaughter ; The Moorish chief unkind, Has gone, and left behind, Locked up in his castle, his daughter. When the dark-ey'd Moorish maid Saw the gallant cavalcade That the bold Zamar was leading, 191 In her turret window high, She began to smile and sigh, For her heart with love was bleeding. »■ Oh, Lalla fly with me, Cried the youth, as on his knee He bent to the Moorish maiden ! On a palfrey you shall ride, To my castle as my bride, Cloth of gold arrayed in. — From her turret-window small, Over barrier and wall, He has carried the maiden over ; He set her on his steed, And away, away, they speed, With the Moorish maid and the rover. Oh, the days are past and gone, When those valiant deeds were done By the gallant and the gay crusaders ; We look, alas, in vain, For the chivalry of Spain Has fled with her dark invaders. 192 We may see on every hill, The Moorish castles still, And the dark-eyed Moorish maids in each valley ; But say, when shall we see The knights of chivalry, Round freedom's banner proudly rally. THE MOUNTAIN STREAM. Disporting in the sun's bright beam, I whispered to the mountain stream, A race so fast can never last — Fly not so fast, fly not so fast ; Now little streamlet list to me, For I will freely counsel thee ; Why, why, forsake The parent lake ? Why from her own sweet bosom flee ? I sung in vain — I counselled vain — The streamlet murmured, and again ; 193 By rock and spray and flow'rct gay, Down to the vale he bent his way ; Now little streamlet list to me — Though now you're bounding wild and free. You'll soon regret and never forget Your own lake in the wide, wide sea. But ere the summer days were o'er, I sought the mountain stream once more ; I found a dry and rocky bed, The streamlet had for ever fled ; 'Twas thus, 'twas thus, I vainly cried, I left my own sweet mountain's side, Have wildly flown, Far from my own, To wander through the world wide. WRITTEN DURING A THUNDER STORM. Dark clouds on the mountain are gathering fast, And the valley is swept by a wild reckless blast ; A groan from the forest, a wail on the wind, Declare the destroyer is coming behind. t o 194 Fly — fly to the spot where at midnight ye rest, The beast to his lair and the bird to her nest ; The tree tops are bending — hark, hark, to the cry — Fly fly to your homes the destroyer is nigh. He comes from the mountains, cling, cling to my side, Before him, careering, red meteors ride ; Mark, mark the dark cloud from his shoulders he flings Wide flashing before us, his withering wings. His wings scath a forest, swift flash upon flash, His wild laughter follows, loud crash after crash ; The oak is a cinder, the bald pated rock Is shivered and rent from the earth with a shock. See, see the hill wolf has abandoned his den, And sought, for protection, the dwellings of men ; And the eagle and vulture around us career, And dart from the lightning half blinded with fear. 195 Fly — fly from this valley of death, e'er we feel The lash of the lightning — no, love, let us kneel, And call on that Being, who can say when he will, To the red scathing thunderer, " Peace, be still." VOLUNTEER SONG. From the mountains lightly bounding, To the beat of the rolling drum, And the trumpets bravely sounding, The warriors come — they come ; I'll join the gallant band, I'll raise the sword and spear, To fight for my fatherland, Why linger longer here ? I see their bright spears glancing, As their banners kiss the gale, The warriors are advancing To my own native vale ; 196 .Join, join the bright array Of men devoid of fear, At break of day, march, march away, Why linger longer here ? We cross the wave tomorrow, Full many a heart may swell, Full many a youth in sorrow, Look back and say farewell ; Some leave behind a weeping bride, And some a mother dear — I'll leave my lonely fireside, Why linger longer here ? On, on, short be the parting Of those who haste to war, Keep, keep your tears from starting, 'Till loved ones fall afar ; Once there was a lovely eyed Would now have shed a tear, 'Twas here she lived, 'twas here she died, Why linger longer here ? 197 ARABS' SONG. When scorning fear and danger, On steeds as swift as bold, We chase the wand'ring stranger For pleasure and for gold ; Though the sun is gleaming o'er us, Our coursers ne'er can rest 'Till the foeraan falls before us, And, ill allah, we are blest. Chorus — 111 allah, we are blest. When, over plain and mountain, The shades of evening steal, When by the long sought fountain Our weary camels kneel ; With the palm tree waving o'er us, We wand'ring Arabs rest, And though deserts lie before us, 111, allah, we are blest. Chorus — 111 allah, &c. o2 198 When by the watchfire gleaming. We see the sword and spear, And see the dark eyes beaming Of the damsels we hold dear ; The only chains e'er bound us, Then binds each Arab's breast, With the chains of love around us, 111 allah, we are blest. Chorus — 111 allah, &c. ON READING THE POLISH MANIFESTO IN 1832. 'Tis past, we've bade our native land For aye a sad farewell, We've fled the plains, where many a band Of gallant heroes fell ; For Poland's laws and freedom's cause, Our brothers true and brave, Have nobly done, when they have won In Poland's heart a crave. 199 We spurn the fierce barbarian's sway, And the ignoble chain, That we have borne for many a day, We'll never bear again ; Who would be free — up let him flee To happier lands afar, Or let his blood swell up the flood In blushing round the Czar. We've 'scaped the fierce destroyer's brand, But rather let us roam Thro' every land, than e'er demand Of faithless France a home ; Her fickle smile, deceived us while Our plains grew red with gore, Her promis'd aid — denied — delay'd — 'Till Poland is no more. Up, let us leave those shores behind, Though homeless, we are free, Perchance another home we'll find Beyond the wide, wide sea; 200 Up, seek the west, where men are blest, And even Poles may be, Amongst the rest to all confest, The sons of liberty. THE ARAB MAID. She saw from her bower, in silence and woe, The wand'ring Hadji depart, To the desert he's gone, dread Simoons may blow, He heeds not, he cares not, the salt tears may flow, He bears o'er the desert her heart. She rose with gentle evening star, And alone to the desert she ran — She saw but a speck on the desert afar, But she followed alone in her white simarre Her lost one's caravan. 201 She wandered by night, and she wandered by day, With nought her soul to cheer, But the hope from her bosom was taken away. When smote by the sun or the pale moon's ray, She sank in the desert's drear. And she heard her requiem in the wind, And she saw in every star A funeral light, but she could not find In the desert the youth who left her behind To die in her white simarre. And oft do the wandering Arabs tell To the wondering Christian slave, How in the spot where Leila fell, They see full oft a white gazelle Bound o'er her sandy grave. And oft at eve, on the deserts afar, When the Hadji's a light cloud scan, They say, with a low salaam, ' Acbar,'* 'Tis Leila alone in her white simarre, She follows the caravan. * God is great, &c. 202 CARINA'S ROSE. Give me a rose, Carina dear, Though rare the roses be, I fain would have one all the year, Each morning fresh from thee. The maid replied, and smiled aside, To lead my heart astray — Cold winter's gloom has chased the bloom, From my last rose away. But near my bower there is a tree, Shall be my only care, Till blooming roses, love, for thee, 'Midst winter's snows it '11 bear. Just as Carina ceased to speak, And raised her eyes divine, I saw a sweet blush on her cheek — And prest it close to mine. 203 Here is the lovely bloom, I cried, Each morn I live to see, Where are the wintry snows can hide The rose I seek from me. Who would delay 'till merry May Brought round a bloom like this, \\ hen he would win a rose each day, Far sweeter with a kiss. SONG. Oh, if I was the first bright ray Aurora sends to kiss away The dews from every sweet wild flower- Ling'ring round my Leila's bower, I'd break the lily's soft repose, I'd gently wake the sleeping rose- Kiss my Leila silently, 'Till her bright eyes reflected me. 204 Oh, if I was the western breeze, At noontide fans th' Accacia trees — The fragrance of full many a flower I'd waft away to Leila's bower, I'd rob the sweetest rose I met, Rob the " tufted violet"— Steal where'er the wild bee sips, Young flow'ret sighs for Leila's lips. Oh, if I was the last fond beam The moon sends forth o'er hill and stream, At midnight's soft and stilly hour — I'd wander to my Leila's bower, I'd linger round her lovely head, Light her to her rosy bed, And at our parting, doubly blest, Melt away from Leila's breast. THE END. Dublin: Printed by Jobn S. Folds, 5, Bachelor's- AValk This book is DUE on the last date stamped below lOm-ll, '50(2555)470 THE L1BKAKT UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES uc :sanwwRg ! o^i^»£|i[ l ... ii mi llll Hill III AA 000 389 098 5 w^n