BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY
 
 ROBERT DWYER JOYCE.
 
 IRISH CHIVALRY 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D., M.R.I.A. 
 
 Author of the tivo Epic Poems, " Deirdre " and" Blanid"; 
 
 of "Legends of the Wars in Ireland" ; 
 
 and of " Irish Fireside Tales" 
 
 fEtoiteb, foitfj glnnotationa, 
 
 BY HIS BROTHEK 
 
 P W. JOYCE, LL.D., M.R.I.A. 
 
 LONDON: LONGMANS, GREEN, & CO. 
 
 DUBLIN : M. H. GILL & SON, LTD. 
 1908 
 
 [All rights reserved']
 
 /9.7 

 
 NOTICE, 
 
 IN the notes of " Ballads of Irish Chivalry," 
 reference, for airs of songs, is often made to 
 " Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs." This 
 book, containing about 800 Irish airs and songs 
 never before published, edited by Dr. P. W. Joyce, 
 is now in the Press, and will be ready early in 
 1909. 
 
 Details later on. 
 
 See the last item in the Catalogue at the end of 
 Ballads of Irish Chivalry."
 
 EDITOR'S PREFACE, 
 
 THE first collected edition of my brother's poems was 
 published in 1861 by James Duffy of Dublin, when the 
 author was a medical student in Cork : the second in 
 1872 when he was a physician with a large practice in 
 Boston, United States. This second edition which 
 was published by Patrick Donahue of Boston contained 
 a great number of new pieces which had never previously 
 appeared in Ireland ; but very soon after it had come 
 from the press it was destroyed in the great Boston fire 
 of 1872 ; so that for many yeara it has been impossible to 
 procure a copy of these Poems. 
 
 The Ballads in this book therefore, with the exception 
 of a few well-known pieces, will come before the present 
 generation with all the freshness of a new publication. 
 
 In 1868 and 1871 he published in Boston two small 
 volumes of Irish Tales in prose "Legends of the Wars 
 in Ireland," and " Irish Fireside Tales " : and several 
 others of his prose stories all on Irish themes were 
 contributed to various magazines, but have not yet been 
 issued in book form. 
 
 In 1876 his epic Poem of "Deirdre" was published in 
 Boston, founded on the story of " The Fate of the 
 Sons of Usna." This was a great success. In 1879 his 
 second epic was brought out also in Boston : 
 "Blanid," founded on the story of the tragic death of 
 
 2061624
 
 vi EDITOR'S PREFACE. 
 
 the great hero Curoi mac Dairk of Caherconree. This also 
 was well received. 
 
 Early in September, 1883, the author returned to 
 Dublin, broken down in health : and from that time 
 my wife and myself attended his bedside in this house, 
 till his peaceful death, on the 24th of October, 1883. 
 It was a great happiness to him that he received the 
 last consolations of religion from his old friend, 
 Father Charles P. Meehan. 
 
 Acting as my brother's representative, I have edited 
 this Selection of " Ballads of Irish Chivalry," lovingly 
 and carefully. All his latest emendations and finishing 
 touches, as I found them marked in his press copy, are 
 here reproduced ; and I am myself responsible for some 
 alterations and corrections. Short notes and prefatory 
 remarks have been appended by me where it appeared 
 desirable or necessary. 
 
 In selecting the particular pieces, I was guided mainly by 
 the literary standard, retaining those which from that 
 point of view I judged to be the best. They all breathe the 
 author's intense love of Ireland and of Ireland's lore ; 
 and I confidently expect that they will be welcomed and 
 enjoyed for their freshness, their vigorous nationality, 
 and their simple and transparent style. 
 
 P. W. JOYCE. 
 
 , LiKINSTER RoAD, 
 
 DUBLIN, 
 
 September, 1908.
 
 CONTENTS AND INDEX, 
 
 [The names of the pieces are in Roman letters : all other entries are in 
 Italics.} 
 
 Adieu, Lovely Mary, 175. 
 
 Affane in Waterford, 41. 
 
 Alter the Battle, 46. 
 
 Ahasullus in Glenanaar, 120. 
 
 Aherlo-w, Glen of, 82. 
 
 Along with my Love I'll go, 146. 
 
 Anner riv., 37, 205. 
 
 Antrim, 69. 
 
 Araglin rtv., 106. 
 
 Ardfinnan on the Suir, 54. 
 
 Ardpatrick, Co. Linik., 6, 102, 119, 
 
 131. 152. 
 
 Asthoreen Mochree, 73. 
 Aubeg or Mulla Riv. The, 42, 99. 
 Avonmore, the Blackwater, 47, 106. 
 
 Baal Fires, 192. 
 Bagenal, Sir Henry, 57. 
 Ballagh-a-thloo, at Clonodfoy, 132. 
 Ballingaddy near Kilmallnck, 63. 
 Ballyhoura Jiffs., 42, 99, 128, 165, 
 
 2IO. 
 
 Ballynahovjn near Ardpatrick, 63. 
 Ballyneety near Limk, Jttnct., n, 
 
 20, 212. 
 
 Bally organ in Li ink., 132, 133. 
 Baltimore in Cork, 149. 
 Banks of Anner, The, 205. 
 Banshee, a fairy mourner, 73, 182, 
 
 184. 
 
 Bantry in W. Cork, 119. 
 Barna, i.e. Barnageeha, q. v. 
 Barnaderg or Redchair, 89. 
 Barnageeha Hill, 134. 
 Barnalee, The Watchfire of, 27, 46. 
 Bameivell,Lord Trimblestun's son, I. 
 Baron and the Miller, The, 48. 
 Barrys of Cork, The, 106, 153. 
 Battle of Benburb, 56. 
 Battle of Kilteely, 78. 
 Battle of the Raven's Glen, 119. 
 Beare, barony in W. Cork, 119. 
 Bearhaven in W. Cork, 121. 
 Before the battle, 27. 
 
 Benburb, Battle of, 56. 
 Benn Gar in the Galtys, 37, 83, 171. 
 Black Abbey in Kilkenny, 173. 
 Black Cathleen,the" Wise Woman," 
 
 28,31. 
 
 Black Robber, The, 62, 63. 
 Blackrock Mt. in Limk., 102, 103, 
 
 119. 
 
 Blacksmith of Limerick, The, 21. 
 Blackwater in Munster, The, 47, 
 
 106, 201. 
 
 Black-water in Ulster, The, 56. 
 Blind Girl of Glenore, The, 108. 
 Boys of Wexford, The, 96. 
 Brandenburgh regiment, 21. 
 Brefney in Leitrim, 154. 
 Bregoge riv., too, 120, 128. 
 Bride riv., 140. 
 
 Bridge of Glanwillan, The, 201. 
 Brigade, The Irish, 147, 174, 177. 
 Brigade's Hurling Match, The, 177. 
 Brosna riv. in Westmeath, i. 
 Bruff, Co. Limerick, 131, 151. 
 Burke, Thomas, 78. 
 Burning of Kilcolman, The, 128. 
 Butlers of Ormond, The, 38. 
 Buttevant, Co. Cork, 104, 128, 131. 
 
 Callan riv. near Armagh, 57. 
 
 Carnage riv. in Limk., 79. 
 
 Candles in Windows at Night, 25, 
 
 200. 
 
 Cannon, The, 195. 
 Carrick-on-Suir, 37. 
 Carriganoura, Cragnour, Castle, 61. 
 Carrigcleena near Mallow, 32, 47, 
 
 126, 127. 
 
 Carrigeennamronety Mt., 81, 89. 
 Carron A/f. : see Corrin. 
 Carrow riv. near Croom, 122. 
 Castlehaven, Lord, 166. 
 Castle Hill over Clonodfoy, 131. 
 Castlemaine in Kerry, 122. 
 Castle Oliver near Kilfinane, 132.
 
 CONTENTS AND INDEX. 
 
 CastlepooknearDoneraile, 100, 104. 
 Cathleen, Black, the " Wise 
 
 Woman," 31. 
 
 Charleville, Co. Cork, 99, 128. 
 Clann Baskin, 120. 
 Clann Afoma, 120. 
 Cleena the fairy queen, 28, 30, 32, 
 
 126, 127, 150. 
 
 Clodiagh riv. in Waterford, 179. 
 Cloghleigh Castle, 166. 
 Clonodfoy near Kilfinane, 131, 132, 
 
 Coach Road at Castle Oliver, 132. 
 Cock and (.he Sparrow, The, 61. 
 Coming Bridal, The, 191. 
 Commoge riv., 79. 
 Condons, The, 61, 106, 166. 
 Coonagh in Limerick, 78. 
 Corrin, Corrinmore, Carron, 81, 128, 
 
 129. 
 
 Coumfea Ml. in Waterford, 190. 
 Coumshingawn in Waterford, 190. 
 Coyne and Livery, 40. 
 Crag E evil I or Craglea, 14. 
 Croom or Crom in Limk., 47, 123, 
 
 '37- 
 
 Cullen near Limk. Junct., II, 212. 
 Cummeragh Mts., 49, 157, 161. 
 Curragh, a wicker-boat, 154. 
 
 Dark Gilliemore, Ballad of, 37. 
 
 Darra, 60, 74, 81, 121, 131 : see 
 Glendarra. 
 
 De Burgo, 78 : see Burke. 
 
 Decies in Waterford, 39. 
 
 Deena Shee, fairies, 180. 
 
 Derrinlaur near Clonmel, 49. 
 
 De Rupe, now Roche (which see) : 
 106. See the ballad of Young 
 De Rupe. 
 
 Desmond, Earls of, 38, 54, 123. 
 
 Diarmid Mor, 147. 
 
 Donall, Sir, 99. 
 
 Doneraile in Cork. 76, 99, 100. 
 
 Donn, the faity king, 28. 
 
 Doon Castle in Keriy, near Bally- 
 bunion, in. 
 
 Drynan Dhun, The, 25. 
 
 Duarrigle near Kanturk, 104. 
 
 Dun Grod near Galbally, 82. 
 
 Dunnalong Castle, 149. 
 
 Dying Ballad-Singer, The, 59. 
 
 Earl Gerald and his Bride, 28. 
 Easmort Waterfall, 8, 62, 65, 102, 
 
 103. 
 Eevinn or Eevill, the fairy queen 
 
 of Craglea, 14. 
 Eileen of the golden hair, 193. 
 
 Eileen's Lament for Gerald, 47. 
 Enchanted War-horse, The, in. 
 Eveleen, no. 
 
 Fairies, in, 132, 180. 
 
 Fairies in raths, 26. 
 
 Fair Maidens' beauty will soon fade 
 
 away, 69. 
 
 Fairy Mill, The, 76. 
 Fairy queen, The, 83. See Cleena 
 
 and Eevin. 
 
 Fairy Wand, Romance of the, 82. 
 Feale riv., The, 150. 
 Fermoy, 100. 
 
 Fertullagh in Westmeath, i. 
 Finneen O'Driscoll the Rover, 149. 
 First Night I was Married, The, 174. 
 FitzGeralds, The, 38, 139, 145. 
 Flame that burned so brightly, Tho, 
 
 24. 
 
 Foiling, a mantle, 39. 
 Fontenoy, 195. 
 
 Forest Fairy, Song of the, 53. 
 Four Comrades, The, 27, 46, 179. 
 Funshion Riv., Co. Cork, 108, 109, 
 
 155, 166, 191. 
 
 Gairha river near Clonodfoy, 133. 
 Galloglass, 4, 101, 129. 
 Galloglasses, The Two, 70. 
 Galloping O'Hogan, 12, 137. 
 Galloping O'Hogan, Song of, 137. 
 Galty Mts., 82. 
 Garrett, earl of Desmond, 38. 
 Garrett, the Great Earl of Desmond, 
 
 or Garrod Earla, 16. 
 Geraldines : see FitzGeralds. 
 Glannagear at Killaiiiillin, 202. 
 Glamvillan, 201. 
 
 Glanvjorth, Cork, 106, 108, 144, 155. 
 Glenagaddy near Kilfinane, 62. 
 Glenanaar, 19, 43, 76, 78, 81, 120, 
 
 193, 196, 201. 
 
 Glenanner near Clonmel, 37, 205. 
 Glenara, 81. 
 
 Glendarra, 45 : see Darra. 
 Glenea near Ardpatrick, 152. 
 Glengarriff in Cork, 119, 153. 
 Glennaive at Ardpatrick, 131. 
 Glenore : see Glanworth. 
 Glenosheen in Co. Limk., 81, 99, 
 
 102, 103, 206. 
 
 Glenroe in Limk., 74, 200. 
 Golden Helmet, Romance of the, 157. 
 Golden Spurs, Romance of the, 139. 
 Gra gal Machree, 145. 
 Greendove and the Raven, The, 155. 
 Grena: see Lyre-na-Grena. 
 Gurma near Mitchelstown, 45.
 
 CONTENTS AND INDEX. 
 
 Hallow Eve, 25, 35. 
 
 Happy Christmas Days long ago, 
 
 The, 199. 
 
 Hobbeler, a horseman, 39. 
 Houra '. see Ballyhoura. 
 How Sarsfield destroyed the siege 
 
 train, n. 
 Hurling, the Game of, 177. 
 
 fmokilly^ in Cork, 139. 
 
 Inchiquin, Murrogh O'Brien, earl 
 
 of, 166. 
 
 Irish Brigade, The, 147, 174. 
 I wish I sat by Grena's side, 162. 
 
 Johnny Dunlea, 6=;. 
 Joy-Bells, The, 198. 
 
 Keeper Hill near Limk., 1 1 . 
 
 Kenmare Bay, 119. 
 
 Kern, 4, 101, 129. 
 
 Kilbeheny near Mitchclstown, 145. 
 
 Kilbrannon, 66. 
 
 Kilcolman Castle, 104, 128. 
 
 Kilcruig hill, 81. 
 
 Kilfinane, Co. Limk., 76, 81, 119, 
 
 131- 
 
 Kilkenny, 171. 
 Killawillin in Cork, 201. 
 Kilmallock, 78, 89, 101. 
 Kilmore near Mallow , 47, no. 
 Kilnamullagh, 131 : see Buttevant. 
 Kilteely, Battle of, 78. 
 Kimaultha Mi. near Limk., n. 
 Kinmagown near Cullen, u, 12. 
 Knockagarraunbaun : see Castle 
 
 Hill. 
 
 Knockanaffrin in Waterford, 182. 
 Knockbrone, 81, 89. 
 Knockea hill in Limk., 81, 89, 103. 
 Knockfierna hill, 28, 127. 
 
 Lady's Turn near Clonodfoy, 132. 
 Lady's Walk near Clonodfoy, 132. 
 Leitrim Castle, 154. 
 Light in Windows on Christmas 
 
 Eve and Hallow Eve, 25, 200. 
 Limerick, n, 211. 
 Linnet, The, 197. 
 Limerick, siege of, n, 211. 
 Little Red Rath, The, 131. 
 Little Thomas, 54. 
 Lombardy, 177. 
 
 Long Mountain in Limk., 133. 
 Loobagh riv. at Kilmallock, 101. 
 LordLucan'. see Sarsfield. 
 Lough Bo near Glenosheen, 133. 
 Lough Ennell in Westmeath, i. 
 Lough Gur in Limk., 16, 102. 
 
 Lusmore, foxglove, 67, 112. 
 Lyons family of Cork, 123. 
 Lyr-na-Grena, 102, 103, i6a, 211. 
 Lyre-na-Freaghaun, 102, 103, 119, 
 211. 
 
 Maigue riv. in Limk., 47, 122, 123, 
 
 136, 137- 
 
 Maine riv. in Kerry, 5 7 . 
 Mairgread Ban, 74. 
 Mallow, 78, 125. 
 Manning Ford, Battle of, 166. 
 Margaret, 162. 
 Maud of Desmond, 12?. 
 Mee-na-malla, honeymoon, 199. 
 Merry Christmas Fire, The, 156. 
 Mitchelstown Cavern, The, 82. 
 Mizen Head in Cork, 150. 
 Malaga near Kildorrery, 108, 156. 
 Moneen, a kind of jig, 117. 
 Monroe, General, 56, 58. 
 Mountains High, The, 143 
 Mournful Squire, Ballad of the, 37. 
 Mulla or Aubegriv., 42, 99, 106. 
 Mumhan, Munster, 63. 
 My first love, 67. 
 Myles O'Reilly the Slasher, 57. 
 
 Nagles' Mts. in Cork, 202. 
 New-mown Hay. The, 92. 
 Nier Riv. near Clonmel, 27. 
 Noneen riv. near Ardpatrick, 63. 
 Norris, Sir Thomas, 78. 
 North Cork Militia, 10. 
 
 Oaks of Houra, The, 210. 
 
 O'Brien, Murrogh, the Burner, 166. 
 
 O''Conpr, Owney Oge, of Offaly, i. 
 
 O'Driscolls, The, 149. 
 
 O, fair shines the sun on Glenara, 
 
 196. 
 
 Offaly in Kildare, i. 
 Ogeen (Glenanaar) riv., 99, 120. 
 O'Grady, Dr. Standish H., 133. 
 O'Hogan, Galloping, 12, 137. 
 O'Hogan, Galloping, Song of, 137. 
 O'Keeffe.s, The, 104. 
 Old love and the new love, The, 9. 
 Oliver's Folly near Clonodfoy, 131. 
 O'Neill, Owen Roe, 56. 
 O'Reilly, Myles, the Slasher, 57. 
 Ormond, Earl of , 37, 38. 
 O'Ruarks, The, 154. 
 O' Sullivan Beare, 119. 
 O'Sullivan's Retreat, 153. 
 Oulartin Wexford, 10. 
 Ounanaar, the Glenanaar Riv., 19, 
 
 43. ?6, 99. 103, 105, 120. 
 Ounnageeragh riv.. 102, 103, 135.
 
 CONTENTS AND 1NDKX. 
 
 Pale, The, round Dublin, 70. 
 Pilgrim, The, 93- 
 Plantations, The, 144. 
 Pooka, The, 100. 
 Portland on the Shannon, 154. 
 Poulaflaikin, Poulaftaikeen, 102, 
 103, 120. 
 
 Quicken Tree or Rowan Tree, 29. 
 
 Raheenroe at Clonodfoy, 131. 
 
 Rapparees, 144. 
 
 Rapparee's horse and sword, The, 
 
 150. 
 
 Rathgoggan : see Charleville. 
 Raths haunted by fairies, 26. 
 Raven's Glen, Battle of the, 119. 
 Raven's skull, draught from, 31. 
 Redchairor Barnaderg, 89. 
 Red Hand of Ulster, 58. 
 Red Rath : see Raheenroe. 
 Red rose and the white, The, 125. 
 Riddera Fionn or White Knight, 
 
 *4S- 
 
 Roche, family of , 170. 
 Romance of the Fairy Wand, 82. 
 Romance of the Golden Helmet, 
 
 Romance of the Golden Spurs, 139. 
 Romance of the Stone Coffin, 89. 
 Roving Brian O'Connell, 163. 
 Rowan or Quicken Tree, 29. 
 
 Saint Anne's Well near Ard- 
 
 patrick, 63. 
 
 Saint Stephen's Night, 194. 
 Samain : see Hallow Eve. 
 Sappho, 198. 
 
 Sarsfield destroys the siege train, n. 
 Sarsfield's Rock, n. 
 Sarsfield's Trooper, Song of, 211. 
 See/in Mt. in Limk., 81, 102, 103, 200. 
 Seneschals of Imokilly, 139. 
 Sefmra Nora at Knockbrone, 89. 
 Sheehan, Very Rev. Dr., P.P., 76, 
 
 177- . 
 
 Sherkin 1st. near Cape Clear, 149. 
 Sir Donall, 99. 
 
 ; Slieve. Felim Rffs., 11,212. 
 Slievenamon in Tipperary, 205. 
 Slievenamuck Mt., 82. 
 Song of Galloping O'Hogan, 137. 
 Song of Sarsfield's Trooper, 211. 
 Song of the Forest Fairy, 53. 
 Song of Tren the fairy, 87. 
 Spalpeen, The, 116. 
 Spenser, Edmund, poet, 100, 128, 
 
 129. 
 
 Spoutmoor : see Easmore. 
 Stone Coffin, Romance of the, 89. 
 Stormy Sea shall flow in, The, 138. 
 Suir river, The, 172, 205. 
 Sunny Gleneigh, 152. 
 
 Tar river near Clonmel, 37. 
 Templemolaga in Cork, 108. 
 Thomas the Black, earl of Oimoini , 
 
 3.8. 
 
 Ttmanoge, the pagan heaven, 82. 
 To a Bird, 209. 
 Tories, The, 144. 
 Tren the Fairy, Song of, 87. 
 Turlaggan, now Tooraleagan, near 
 
 Mitchelstovjn, 45. 
 Two Galloprlasses, The, 70. 
 Tyrrell, Captain, of Fertullagh, i. 
 Tyrrell's Pass, Battle of, i. 
 
 Vavasour, Sir Charles, 166. 
 Vinegar Hill in Wexford, 98. 
 
 Wanderer, The, 165. 
 Watchfire of Barnalee, The, 27. 
 Waterfall, The, 207. 
 Well of the Omen, The, 6. 
 
 White Knight, The, 145. 
 White Ladye, The, 131. 
 
 Wilderness, The, at Clonodfoy, -L\\. 
 
 Wild Geese, The, 174. 
 
 Will of Glenore, 144. 
 
 William III., King, n. 
 
 Ye llovj Ford, Battle of the, 57. 
 Young De Rupe, 170. See De 
 
 Rupe. 
 You're a dear land to me, 206.
 
 ILLUSTRATIONS. 
 
 1. PORTRAIT OF THE AUTHOR, . . Facing Title-page 
 
 2. THE FOUR COMRADES AT THE "SYATCHFIRF,, Facing p. 27 
 
 3. QUEEN CLEENA AND EILEEN, . . ,, p. 35 
 
 4. THE FAIRIES AND THE WAR-HOKSE, . ,, p. 113 
 
 (The first from a photograph : the three last designed' 
 and drawn by John O'Hea.)
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 TYRRELL'S PASS. 
 
 In 1597, during the O'Neill war, young Barnewell, son of 
 Lord Trimbleston, marched south from Mullingar with 1000 men 
 to crush the small Irish army of 400 under Captain Tyrrell, an 
 active and able leader, chief of Fertullagh in "Westmeath. Tyrrell 
 intercepted him at Tyrrell's Pass in the south of Westmeath, 
 then a long narrow firm passage, with bogs and brushwood on 
 both sides. He placed half of his little army in ambush at the 
 Mullingar end of the pass, under Owney Oge 0' Conor chief of 
 Offaly in Kildare : then retreating before Barnewell, he drew 
 him on through the pass till he had caught him between the 
 two detachments. At the proper moment 0' Conor sounded the 
 signal ("The Tyrrells' March" on the bagpipes), when Tyrrell 
 suddenly turned round, and Barnewell was attacked front and 
 rear. His army was annihilated, and he himself was taken 
 prisoner. 
 
 Lough Ennell and the river Brosna are near TyrrelTs Pass. 
 
 BY the flow'ry banks of Brosna the burning sunset fell 
 In many a beam and golden gleam on hill and mead and 
 
 dell; 
 And from thy shores, bright Ennell, to the far-off mountain 
 
 crest, 
 Over plain and leafy wild wood there was peace and quiet 
 
 rest. 
 
 Brave Tyrrell sat that summer eve amid the woody hills, 
 With Captain Owney at his side, by Brosna's shining 
 
 rills
 
 2 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Brave Tyrrell of the flying camps and Owney Oge the 
 
 strong, 
 And round them lay their followers the forest glade 
 
 along ; 
 Four hundred men of proof they were, those warriors 
 
 free and bold ; 
 In many a group they sat around the green skirts of the 
 
 wold. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The sun had set upon their camp, the stars were burning 
 
 bright, 
 All save the Chief and Owney Oge were sleeping in their 
 
 light ; 
 And they sat downward where the stream was singing its 
 
 deep song, 
 Planning fierce raid and foray bold that starry twilight 
 
 long. 
 "By my good faith," said Tyrrell, "for days we've 
 
 wandered wide, 
 And on no foe, still, high or low, our good swords have 
 
 we tried ; 
 There's many a keep around us here, and many a traitor 
 
 town, 
 And we should have a town or keep ere another sun goes 
 
 down." 
 Answered Owney : " Or may fortune send young Barne- 
 
 well's forces here : 
 A pleasant fight in the cool of night for me in the 
 
 starlight clear !" 
 
 in. 
 
 Sudden they ceased, and to their feet both warriors 
 
 instant sprang, 
 And down the little streamlet's bed their challenge 
 
 fiercely rang :
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 3 
 
 They'd heard a sound beside the stream, as if some forest 
 
 bird, 
 Awak'ning from his nightly dreams amid the leaves, had 
 
 stirred. 
 A password : then a stealthy step like a wolf from out his 
 
 lair, 
 And their trusty spy of the falcon eye stood right before 
 
 them there. 
 " Young Barnewell, with a thousand men, high boasting 
 
 at their head, 
 Will find ye here in these green glades at morning light," 
 
 he said ; 
 
 Then vanished silent as he came beneath the forest shade, 
 And the clank of sabres followed him on his pathway 
 
 through the glade. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For his comrades at their leader's call beside the 
 
 streamlet's bank 
 
 Were filing from their ferny beds in many a serried rank ; 
 And now along their ordered lines Fertullagh's accents 
 
 came : 
 " The foeman through our native fields speeds down with 
 
 sword and flame : 
 We'll meet him as we ever did ; and though we are but 
 
 few, 
 We'll meet him in the eastward pass, and give him 
 
 welcome due ! " 
 They gained that pass when morning leapt above the 
 
 eastern wave, 
 And half his men to Owney Oge the hardy chieftain 
 
 gave : 
 "Now lie ye here in ambush close while we retreat 
 
 below, 
 And when the last of the band have passed we'll spring 
 
 upon the foe ! " 
 
 B2
 
 4 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 v. 
 
 There came no sound from those ambushed men as they 
 
 crouched among the fern, 
 But the deep breath of the galloglass,* or whispering of 
 
 the kern ; 
 The light breeze rustling through the boughs in the leafy 
 
 woods all round ; 
 The chirp and song of the busy birds : was heard no other 
 
 sound. 
 
 And now along the misty plain shone out the morning ray 
 On Barnewell's bright and serried files all burning for the 
 
 fray; 
 A thousand valiant men they were from Meath's broad 
 
 fertile plain, 
 And when they saw Fertullagh's files they cried, in high 
 
 disdain 
 " Two hundred men to stem our charge ! We'll scatter 
 
 them like chaff ! " 
 Then poured them through that perilous pass with mocking 
 
 cheer and laugh. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Now Tyrrell flies ; but turns when he hears " The 
 
 Tyrrells' March " ring out : 
 He answers with the trumpet note and the galloglasses' 
 
 shout. 
 The startled wolf leaps from his lair : u Croak, croak," 
 
 cry the ravens hoarse ; 
 "We'll soon have food for each hungry brood the rider 
 
 and the horse." 
 
 * Galloglass, a heavy-armed foot-soldier. Kern, a light- 
 armed foot-soldier. The galloglasses were large-limbed and 
 fierce, and were noted for their fatal dexterity in the use of the 
 battle-axe.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 5 
 
 And out like wolves from the forest gloom on a close- 
 packed herd of deer, 
 
 Two hundred ran on the foeman's van, two hundred on the 
 rear : 
 
 The kern go darting right and left, with their guns and 
 gleaming pikes, 
 
 Woe worth the day for the struggling foe where'er their 
 weapon strikes : 
 
 The giant galloglass strides down with vengeance in his 
 eye, 
 
 Wild yelling out his charging shout like a thunder-clap on 
 high. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now in the narrow open pass the battle rolls along ; 
 Now 'mid the bogs and woods each side the fighting 
 
 warriors throng ; 
 
 As hounds around a hunted wolf some forest rock beneath, 
 Whence comes no sound save the mortal rush and the 
 
 gnash of many teeth, 
 Their charging shouts die gradual down no sound rolls 
 
 outwards save 
 The volley of the fatal gun, and the crash of axe and 
 
 glaive. 
 
 O, life it is a precious gem, yet many there will throw 
 The gem away in that mortal fray for vengeance on their 
 
 foe. 
 In deadly silence still they fight, till the pass is covered 
 
 wide 
 With war-steeds strong, and soldiers slain, and many a 
 
 gory tide. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Hurrah ! that shout it rolleth out with cadence wild and 
 
 stern ; 
 'Tis the triumph roar of the galloglass, and the fierce yell 
 
 of the kern.
 
 6 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 The foeman flies before their steel but not for far he 
 
 flies 
 In the narrow pass, in the bogs and scrubs on either side, 
 
 he dies. 
 Where'er he speeds death follows him like a shadow in 
 
 his tracks 
 He meets the gleam of the fearful pike and the murderous 
 
 battle-axe. 
 Young Barnewell was made prisoner fighting bravely in 
 
 the van, 
 And his comrades all fell slain around him save one 
 
 single man : 
 That man they sped, and away he fled, unharmed by 
 
 That he might tell how his comrades fell that morn at 
 Tyrrell's Pass. 
 
 THE WELL OF THE OMEN. 
 
 Ardpatrick, a green hill, two miles west of Kilfinane, Co. 
 Limerick, with a venerable abbey ruin, and an extensive church- 
 yard on the top (see " The White Ladye " farther on). " The 
 Well of the Omen" (" St. Patrick's Well") is a perpendicular 
 open shaft near the ruin, a yard in diameter and about 12 feet 
 deep, with water at the bottom, originally constructed more 
 than a thousandVears ago to supply the community of monks 
 with water, long before the enclosure was turned into a grave- 
 yard. This deep well is still there, but some rubbish has fallen 
 down, and the water is no longer visible. The legend of the 
 shadows, as told in the second verse, was current round 
 Ardpatrick in and before the early part of the last century. 
 
 I. 
 
 AT morn up green Ard-Patrick the Sunday bell rang 
 
 clear, 
 And downward came the peasants with looks of merry 
 
 cheer,
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 7 
 
 With many a youth and maiden by pathways green and 
 
 fair, 
 
 To hear the Mass devoutly and say the Sunday prayer ; 
 And the meadows shone around them while the skylarks 
 
 gay were singing, 
 And the stream sang songs amid the flowers and the 
 
 Sunday bell was ringing. 
 
 There is a well sunk deeply by old Ard-Patrick's wall ; 
 Within it gaze the peasants to see what may befall : 
 Who see their shadows down below, they will have merry 
 
 cheer ; 
 
 Who see not any shadows shall die within the year.* 
 There staid the youths and maidens where the soft green 
 
 grass was springing, 
 While the stream sang songs amid the flowers and the 
 
 Sunday bell was ringing. 
 
 in. 
 
 Out spoke bold Rickard Hanlon : "We'll see what may 
 befall," 
 
 'Twas to young Bride Mac Donnell the flower among 
 them all, 
 
 " Come see if ours be sorrow or merry wedlock's band !" 
 
 Then took the smiling maiden all by the lily hand ; 
 
 And there they knelt together, their bright looks down- 
 ward flinging, 
 
 While the stream sang songs amid the flowers and the 
 Sunday bell was ringing. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They looked into the water, but no shadows saw below: 
 The dark dark sign of evil ! Ah, could it e'er be so ? 
 
 * I often, when a boy, looked down and always saw my own 
 shadow. P. W. J.
 
 8 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Full lightly laughed young Rickard although his heart 
 
 was chill, 
 And with fair Bride Mac Donnell and all went down the 
 
 hill, 
 To hear the Mass devoutly, with the soft airs round them 
 
 winging, 
 While the stream sang songs amid the flowers and the 
 
 Sunday bell was ringing. 
 
 v. 
 
 Sweet months, despite the omen, in sunny bliss flew o'er, 
 And sometimes thinking on it but made them love the 
 
 more ; 
 But when across Ard-Patrick they sought the lowland 
 
 plain, 
 
 Into the well's deep water they never looked again ; 
 Far off with their companions they sat, fair garlands 
 
 stringing, 
 While the stream sang songs amid the flowers and the 
 
 Sunday bell was ringing. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Dismay through all our hamlet when the storm and flood 
 
 were o'er ! 
 The ford's great rocks were loosened by the torrent of 
 
 Easmore,* 
 
 And clasping hands together sad sad the tale to tell 
 Were found young Bride and Rickard drowned near the 
 
 Robber's Well ! 
 
 O, false and cruel water, so merry downward flinging, 
 How canst thou sing amid the flowers while the death 
 
 bell loud is ringing ? 
 
 * Easmore [pron. Assmore], a waterfall on one of the torrents 
 flowing down from Blackrock. For this fall, and for the 
 "Robber's Well," see " The Black Roober" farther on.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 9 
 
 VII. 
 
 From old Ard-Patrick's ruins loud sounds the piercing 
 
 keen ; * 
 
 By the sad Well of the Omen a deep deep grave is seen, 
 Where side by side together they have laid the early 
 
 dead, 
 And the Mass they've chanted o'er them, and the requiem 
 
 prayer is said. 
 There was woe and bootless sorrow in many a bosom 
 
 clinging, 
 But the stream sang songs amid the flowers, while the 
 
 death bell loud was ringing ! 
 
 THE OLD LOVE AND THE NEW LOVE. 
 
 Am: "Royal Charlie."t 
 
 I. 
 I SAT within the valley green, 
 
 I sat me with my true love, 
 My sad heart strove the two between, 
 
 The old love and the new love ; 
 The old for her, the new that made 
 
 Me think on Ireland dearly ; 
 While soft the wind blew down the glade 
 
 And shook the golden barley. 
 
 u. 
 'Twas hard the mournful words to frame, 
 
 To break the ties that bound us, 
 'Twas harder still to bear the shame 
 
 Of foreign chains around us ; 
 
 * Keen, a lament. 
 
 t For which see Graves's Irish Song Book, page 70.
 
 10 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And so I said, "The mountain glen 
 I'll seek next morning early, 
 
 And join the brave United men ": 
 While soft winds shook the barley. 
 
 While sad I kissed away her tears, 
 
 My arms around her flinging, 
 The foeman's shot burst on our ears, 
 
 From out the wild wood ringing. 
 The bullet pierced my true love's side, 
 
 In life's young spring so early, 
 And there upon my breast she died, 
 
 While soft winds shook the barley. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I bore her to the wild wood screen ; 
 
 And many a summer blossom 
 I placed, with branches soft and green, 
 
 Above her gore-stained bosom : 
 I wept and kissed her pale pale cheek, 
 
 Then rushed o'er vale and far lea, 
 My vengeance on the foe to wreak, 
 
 While soft winds shook the barley. 
 
 v. 
 And blood for blood, without remorse, 
 
 I've tak'n at Oulart Hollow,* 
 While mourners placed my true love's corse 
 
 Where I full soon will follow ; 
 Around her grave I wander drear, 
 
 Noon, night, and morning early, 
 With breaking heart, whene'er I hear 
 
 The wind that shakes the barley. 
 
 * Oulart in Wexford, where, in 1798, a party of the cruel 
 North Cork Militia were annihilated by the exasperated rebels.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 11 
 
 HOW SARSFIELD DESTROYED THE SIEGE 
 TRAIN. 
 
 In August, 1690, King "William III laid siege to Limerick, 
 which was defended by Sarsfield (Lord Lucan) and the Governor 
 Boileau. His siege train of great cannons and ammunition to 
 batter down wall and city was on its way from Dublin, guarded 
 by a convoy of two troops of horse. When Sarsfield received 
 intelligence of this, he at once took 500 picked horsemen and 
 quietly crossed Thomond Bridge into Clare* on the night of 
 Sunday, 10th August : galloped northwards and crossed the 
 Shannon into Tipperary by a deep and dangerous ford above 
 Killaloe ; and as morning approached halted on the northern 
 base of Kimaultha or Keeper Hill, a lofty mountain fifteen miles 
 in a direct line from Limerick. Monday morning they moved 
 leisurely round Kimaultha, and turning southwards, rested in 
 the glens at the eastern extremity of Slieve Felim mountains. 
 Towards nightfall on that day Monday Sarsfield's scouts 
 brought word that the convoy were preparing to encamp beside 
 Bally neety. The old castle of Ballyneety stood on the summit 
 of a rock, then called Kinmagown (MacGowan's hill), but since 
 known as " Sarsfield's Rock," two miles from the village of 
 Cullen, near Limerick Junction Railway Station. 
 
 At midnight they set out southwards for a ride of about 
 twelve miles across country in the moonlight ; and passing 
 through Cullen came on the encampment about 2 o'clock in the 
 morning, taking the whole party by surprise. What followed 
 is told with sufficient clearness and detail in the ballad. 
 
 The next ballad (p. 21) will tell the result of the attempt to 
 storm the city.t 
 
 Stories of Sarsfield's exploit are current among the people of 
 
 * King William's army was altogether on the Limerick side of 
 the Shannon. 
 
 t A full account of the siege of Limerick, with the capture 
 and destruction of William's siege train by Sarsfield, will be 
 found in Joyce's Child's History of Ireland, or Joyce's Concise 
 History of Ireland.
 
 12 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Limerick and Tipperary to this day : and it is sometimes men- 
 tioned in their folk songs. For instance, one of these songs has 
 this striking verse : 
 
 " We marched with bold Lord Lucan before the break of day, 
 Until we came to Kinmagown where the artillery lay ; 
 Then God He cleared the firmament, the moon and stars gave light, 
 And for the Battle of the Boyne we had revenge that night !"* 
 
 According to tradition Sarsfield was guided all through by a 
 celebrated rapparee leader of the time, commonly called Gallop - 
 ing O'Hogan. The ballad does not depart materially from the 
 historical and traditional accounts ; and it is correct in its 
 topography. At the opening, O'Hogan is represented as address- 
 ing Johnnie Moran, one of his followers. 
 
 Dart fyt <$irst, 
 
 I. 
 
 " COME up to the hill, Johnnie Moran, and the de'il's in 
 
 the sight you will see ; 
 King William's stout men in the lowlands are marching 
 
 o'er valley and lea ; 
 Brave cannon they bring for their warfare, good powder 
 
 and bullets galore, 
 To batter the grey walls of Limerick adown by the deep 
 
 Shannon shore." 
 
 ii. 
 
 They girded their corslets and sabres that morning so 
 
 glorious and still, 
 They leapt like good men to their saddles, and took the 
 
 lone path to the hill ; 
 And they swept through the ferns and the heather as on 
 
 towards the upland they prest, 
 Till at length they alighted crouched down and peered 
 
 warily over the crest. 
 
 * See " Song of Sarsfield's Trooper" at the end.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 13 
 
 in. 
 "Look down to the east, Johnnie Moran, where the 
 
 wings of the morning are spread ; 
 Each basnet you see in the sunlight it gleams on an 
 
 enemy's head ; 
 Look down on their long line of baggage, their huge 
 
 guns of iron and brass, 
 That, as sure as my name is O'Hogan, will never to 
 
 Limerick pass. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Spur, then, to the foot of Kimaultha see Ned of the 
 
 Hill on your way 
 Have all the brave boys at the muster by Carna at close 
 
 of the day ; 
 I'll ride off for Sarsfield to Limerick and tell what we've 
 
 seen from the hill ; 
 And if Sarsfield won't capture their cannon, by the Cross 
 
 of Kildare but we will !" 
 v. 
 Away to the north went young Johnnie like an arbalest 
 
 bolt in his speed, 
 Away to the west bold O'Hogan gives bridle and spur to 
 
 his steed ; 
 Through the swift highland river he dashes, down the 
 
 heather-clad moorland amain, 
 Till he biddeth farewell to the uplands and speeds o'er 
 
 the broad grassy plain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 You'd search from the grey Rock of Cashel each side to 
 
 the blue ocean's rim, 
 Through green dale and hamlet and city, but you'd ne'er 
 
 find a horseman like him ; 
 With his foot as if grown to the stirrup, his knee with 
 
 its rooted hold ta'en, 
 With his seat in the saddle so graceful and his sure hand 
 
 so light on the rein.
 
 14 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VII. 
 
 As the cloud-shadow skims o'er the meadows when the 
 
 fleet- winged summer winds blow, 
 By war-wasted castle and village and streamlet and crag 
 
 doth he go ; 
 The foam-flakes drop quick from his charger, yet never a 
 
 bridle draws he, 
 Till he baits in the hot blazing noontide by the cool fairy 
 
 well of Lisbwee. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He rubbed down his good charger fondly, the dry grass 
 
 he heaped for its food, 
 A crust for himself and a cress, with a drink of the sweet 
 
 crystal flood ; 
 And he's up in the saddle and flying o'er woodlands and 
 
 broad fields once more, 
 Till the sand 'neath the hoofs of his charger is crunched 
 
 by the wide Shannon's shore. 
 
 For never a ford did he linger but swam his brave steed 
 
 right across ;* 
 It clomb up the bank like a wolf-dog, then dashed over 
 
 meadow and moss ; 
 The shepherds who looked from the upland, they crossed 
 
 themselves thrice as he passed, 
 And they said 'twas a sprite from Crag Eevillf went by on 
 
 the wings of the blast. 
 
 * He crossed far above Limerick to avoid the besiegers' scouts 
 and outposts. 
 
 t Crag Eevill, now Craglea, a rocky hill over the south end of 
 Lough Derg at the Clare side, near Killaloe, where the fairy 
 queen Eevinn or Eevill bad her palace.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 15 
 
 |1;iri tlgt gtcoytb. 
 
 x. 
 A summons from William to Limerick a summons to 
 
 open their gate, 
 Their fortress and stores to surrender, else the sword and 
 
 the gun were their fate. 
 Brave Sarsfield he answered the summons : ' ' Though all 
 
 holy Ireland in flames 
 Blazed up to the skies to consume us, we'll hold the good 
 
 town for King James !" 
 
 XI. 
 
 When the answer was brought to King William, in his 
 
 anger he vowed and he swore 
 That he'd bury the town, ere he'd leave it, in grim fiery 
 
 ruin and gore ; 
 From black Cromwell's Fort with his cannon he hammered 
 
 it well all the day, 
 And he wished for his huge guns to back him, that were 
 
 yet moving slow far away. 
 
 XII. 
 
 The soft vesper bell from St. Mary's tolled out in the 
 
 calm sunset air, 
 As Sarsfield stood high on the rampart and looked o'er 
 
 the green fields of Clare ; 
 And anon from the copses of Cratloe a flash to his keen 
 
 eyes there came; 
 'Twas the spike of O'Hogan's bright basnet glistening 
 
 forth in the red sunset flame. 
 
 Then down came the galloping horseman with the speed 
 
 of a culverin ball, 
 And he reined up his foam-flecked charger with a gallant 
 
 gambade by the wall ;
 
 16 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 With his eyes he searched tower, fosse, and rampart 
 
 they lay all securely and still; 
 And then to the bold Lord of Lucan he told what he'd 
 
 seen from the hill. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The good steed he rests in the stable, the bold rider feasts 
 at the board, 
 
 But the gay laughing revel once ended, he'll soon have a 
 feast for his sword; 
 
 And now he looks out at the window where the moon- 
 beams shine pale on the square, 
 
 For Sarsfield, full dight in his harness, with five hundred 
 bold troopers is there. 
 
 xv. 
 
 He's mounted his steed in the moonlight and away from 
 
 the North Gate they go, 
 Where the woods cast their black spectral shadows and 
 
 the streams with their lone voices flow; 
 The peasants awoke from their slumbers, when they heard 
 
 them sweep by through the glen, 
 And they thought 'twas the great Garrod Earla* rushing 
 
 past from Lough Gur with his men. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 The grey ghostly midnight was round them, the banks 
 
 they were rocky and steep ; 
 A hoarse roar came up from the Shannon, for the huge 
 
 stream was rapid and deep ; 
 
 * Garret, the Great Earl of Desmond, who is still helieved hy 
 the peasantry to come forth from his enchanted cave beside 
 Lough Gur in Limerick, on the St. John's Eve of every 
 seventh year, and sweep, at the head of his mail-clad barons 
 and knights, through the surrounding country. (For thio Great 
 Earl, see Joyce's History of Ireland at A.D. 1467.)
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 17 
 
 But the bold Lord of Lucan dashed downwards, he asked 
 
 for no light save the moon's, 
 And he's forded the broad lordly Shannon with his 
 
 galloping guide and dragoons. 
 
 The star of the morning out glimmered as fast by Lisearley 
 
 they rode, 
 As they swept round the base of Kimaultha the sun on 
 
 their bright helmets glowed. 
 Now the steeds in a valley are grazing while the riders 
 
 repose by the rill, 
 And Sarsfield peers out like an eagle on the low-lying 
 
 plain from the hill. 
 
 fart tfre Stywfr. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 O'Hogan is down in the lowlands, a watch on the track of 
 
 the foe ; 
 Johnnie Moran from Carna is marching, that his men be 
 
 in time for a blow ; 
 All day from the slope of Slieve Felim, the tall Lord of 
 
 Lucan looks down 
 On the roads where the train of King William on its slow 
 
 march of danger is bowne. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 The red sunset died in the heavens ; night fell over 
 
 mountain and shore ; 
 The moon shed her light on the valleys, and the stars 
 
 glimmered brightly once more ; 
 Then Sarsfield sprang up from the heather, for a horse 
 
 tramp he heard on the waste, 
 'Twas O'Hogan, the black mountain sweeping, like a 
 
 spectre of night in his haste. 
 C
 
 18 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 xx. 
 
 "Lord Lucan, they've camped on the heather beside 
 Ballyneety's grey tower ; 
 
 I have found out the path to fall on them as they sleep in 
 the still midnight hour ; 
 
 They have powder, pontoons, and great cannons dhar 
 dhee,* those huge cannons are bright ! 
 
 They have treasure galore for the taking, and their pass- 
 word is ' Sarsfield ' to-night ! " 
 
 XXI. 
 
 The stars of the midnight were shining when the sleeping 
 
 dragoons got the word ; 
 Each sprang with one bound to his saddle and looked to 
 
 his pistols and sword ; 
 And away down Slieve Felim's broad valleys the guide 
 
 and bold Sarsfield are gone, 
 While the long stream of helmets behind them in the 
 
 cold moonlight glimmered and shone. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 They paused not for loud brawling river, they looked not 
 
 for togherf or path, 
 They swept up the long street of Cullen with the speed 
 
 of the storm in its wrath : 
 When at length on the verge of the camp "Give the 
 
 password ! " rang out in their van, 
 Exultant the answer came: "Sarsfield's the password 
 
 and Sarsfield's the man! "J 
 
 * Dhar Dee, an oath Irish Dar Dia. 
 
 t Togher, an artificial causeway over a hog or marsh. 
 
 I The exact reply as recorded in history. One of Sarsfield's 
 scouts had found out that the password for the night was 
 " Sarsfield."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 19 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And Sarsfield rode on with his troop like a torrent 
 
 through Ounanaar's* glen, 
 And down on the enemy's convoy, who stood to their 
 
 cannons like men, 
 With a sudden and loud-ringing war-cry that wakened 
 
 night's echoes they crashed, 
 And with sabre and pistol drawn ready through the midst 
 
 of th' encampment they dashed. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 They have conquered and scattered the convoy ; they've 
 
 captured King William's great train, 
 And they laugh as they look on the spoil for they'll ne'er 
 
 see such wonders again ; 
 Those guns with one loud-roaring volley might batter a 
 
 strong mountain down : 
 Wirrasthru^ for its gallant defenders if they e'er came to 
 
 Limerick town ! 
 
 xxv. 
 
 They filled them and rammed them with powder, they 
 turned down their mouths in the clay, 
 
 The dry powder casks they piled round them, the baggage 
 above did they lay ; 
 
 A fuse-train they laid to the powder, afar to the green- 
 wood out thrown : 
 
 "Now give it the match," cried Lord Lucan, "and an 
 earthquake we'll have of our own ! " 
 
 * Ounanaar, the river flowing through Glenanaar, in the 
 Ballyhoura Mountains. See farther on " The Fairy Mill," and 
 " Sir Donall." 
 
 t Wirrasthru, equivalent to " alas." 
 c2
 
 20 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALEY. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 O'Hogan the quick fuse he lighted a flash and a whiz- 
 then a glare 
 
 Of broad blinding brightness infernal blazed out on the 
 calm midnight air ; 
 
 An outburst of thunder volcanic to the bright stars of 
 heaven uptore, 
 
 And old Ballyneety's grey castle came down with a crash 
 at the roar.* 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 The firm earth it rocked and it trembled, the moon hid 
 
 her visage on high, 
 And the fragments of guns, carts, and tumbrils showered 
 
 flaming around through the sky ; 
 The fierce sound o'er highland and valley rolled on like 
 
 the dread earthquake's tramp, 
 And it wakened the distant besiegers as they slumbered 
 
 that night in their camp. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Lord Lucan dashed back o'er the Shannon ere the bright 
 
 star of morning arose, 
 With his men through the North Gate he clattered, 
 
 unhurt and unseen by his foes : 
 Johnnie Moran rushed down from old Carna not a foe 
 
 did he see for his blade, 
 But his men searched the camp in its ruin, and the de'il's 
 
 in the spoil that they made ! 
 
 * The explosion split the old castle of Ballyneety, shivering 
 one half in fragments to the ground. This old ruin has now 
 almost disappeared.
 
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 21 
 
 THE BLACKSMITH OF LIMERICK. 
 
 During the attempt to storm Limerick (1690), the citizens 
 men and women rushed forward in multitudes to aid their own 
 soldiers, and seizing any weapons they could lay hands on, dashed 
 into the midst of the smoke, dust, and uproar, and joined eagerly 
 in the fray. By their assistance the attack was repulsed ; after 
 which on the 31st August the siege was raised. 
 
 "While the dreadful conflict was going on in the streets the 
 ' ' Black Battery ' ' blew up and destroyed a whole regiment of 
 the besiegers the Brandenburghers who had taken possession 
 of it after a bloody contest. 
 
 I. 
 
 HE grasped his ponderous hammer he could not stand 
 
 it more, 
 To hear the bombshells bursting and thundering battle's 
 
 roar ; 
 Said he, " The breach they're mounting, the Dutchman's 
 
 murdering crew : 
 I'll try my hammer on their heads and see what that can 
 
 do." 
 
 IT. 
 
 " Now swarthy Ned and Moran, make up that iron well, 
 
 'Tis Sarsfield's horse that wants the shoes, so mind not 
 shot or shell." 
 
 " Ah, sure," cried both, " the horse can wait, for Sars- 
 field's on the wall, 
 
 And where you go we'll follow, with you to stand or 
 fall." 
 
 in. 
 The blacksmith raised his hammer and rushed into the 
 
 street, 
 His 'prentice boys behind him, the ruthless foe to meet :
 
 22 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 High on the breach of Limerick with dauntless hearts 
 
 they stood, 
 Where bombshells burst, and shot fell thick, and redly 
 
 ran the blood. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Now look you, brown-haired Moran, and mark you, 
 
 swarthy Ned, 
 This day we'll try the thickness of many a Dutchman's 
 
 head 
 Hurrah ! upon their bloody path they're mounting 
 
 gallantly ; 
 And now the first that tops the breach, leave him to this 
 
 and me." 
 
 v. 
 
 The first that gained the rampart he was a captain 
 
 brave, 
 A captain of the grenadiers with blood-stained dirk and 
 
 glaive ; 
 
 He pointed and he parried, but it was all in vain, 
 For right through skull and helmet the hammer found 
 
 his brain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The next that topped the rampart he was a colonel bold, 
 Bright through the dust of battle his helmet flashed with 
 
 gold. 
 " Gold is no match for iron," the doughty blacksmith 
 
 said, 
 As with that ponderous hammer he stretched the foeman 
 
 dead. 
 
 VII. 
 
 "Now here's for God and Limerick!" black Ned and 
 
 Moran cried, 
 As on the Dutchmen's leaden heads their hammers well 
 
 they plied .
 
 BALLADS OP IRISH CHIVALRY. 23 
 
 A bombshell burst between them : one fell without a 
 
 groan ; 
 One leaped into the lurid air and down the breach was 
 
 thrown. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "Brave smith! brave smith!" cried Sarsfield, beware 
 the treacherous mine : 
 
 Fall back, fall back on th' instant, or death is surely 
 thine ! " 
 
 The smith sprang up the rampart and leaped the blood- 
 stained wall, 
 
 As high into the shuddering air went foemen, fort, and 
 all! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Up, like a red volcano they thundered wild and high 
 Brave Brandenburghers, spears and guns and standards, 
 
 to the sky ; 
 And dark and bloody was the shower that round the 
 
 blacksmith fell ; 
 He thought upon his 'prentice boys they were avenged 
 
 well. 
 
 x. 
 
 At that mighty roar a deadly silence instant settled down : 
 'Twas broken by a triumph shout that shook the ancient 
 
 town : 
 Again its heroes forward dashed, and charged, and fought, 
 
 and slew, 
 And taught King William and his men what Irish hearts 
 
 could do. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Hurrah, for the brave defenders ! They've hurled the 
 
 foemen back ! 
 The blacksmith rushed on the flying ranks ; his hammer 
 
 ne'er was slack.
 
 24 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 He's tak'n a Holland captain beside the red pontoon, 
 And " wait you here," he sternly cries, " I'll send you 
 back full soon." 
 
 XII. 
 
 "Dost see this gory hammer? It cracked some skulls 
 
 to-day ; 
 And yours 'twill crack if you don't stand and list to what 
 
 I say : 
 Here, take it to King William straight, and you may tell 
 
 him too, 
 'Twould be acquainted with his skull, if he were here, not 
 
 you." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The blacksmith sought his smithy and blew his bellows 
 
 strong ; 
 
 He shod the steed of Sarsfield but o'er it sang no song. 
 " Ochone, my boys are dead," cried he; "their loss I'll 
 
 long deplore ; 
 But comfort's in my heart their graves are red with 
 
 foreign gore !" 
 
 THE FLAME THAT BURNED SO BRIGHTLY. 
 
 AIR : " Saddle the Pony." * 
 
 I. 
 THERE shone a light in a window pane, 
 
 Still burning brightly burning, 
 It gleamed afar o'er Cleena's main 
 
 On Donall's bark returning ; 
 He gazed far up the cliffs between 
 
 The hamlet glimmered nightly 
 And he thought he saw his own Kathleen 
 
 By the flame that burned so brightly. 
 
 * For which see Joyce's " Old Irish Folk Music and Songs."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 25 
 
 It was upon All-Hallows night, 
 
 When candles bright were burning,* 
 That gleamed that clear and constant light 
 
 On Donall's bark returning ; 
 Like a star it lighted the darkening scene, 
 
 It made his heart beat lightly, 
 For he thought he saw his own Kathleen 
 
 By the flame that burned so brightly. 
 
 He moored his bark the hamlet near, 
 
 Where bright the lights were burning ; 
 But a wail fell sad on his startled ear, 
 
 All-Hallows night returning ; 
 He heard a name in that piercing keen,f 
 
 He saw a shroud gleam whitely 
 'Twas the death-wake light of his own Kathleen, 
 
 That flame that burned so brightly ! 
 
 THE DRYNAN DHUN.J 
 
 i. 
 
 BY road and by river the wild birds sing ; 
 O'er mountain and valley the dewy leaves spring ; 
 The gay flowers are shining, gilt o'er by the sun ; 
 And fairest of all shines the Drynan Dhun. 
 
 * The people keep a candle lighting all night, shining out in 
 the darkness through the window, on Hallow Eve, and also on 
 Christmas Eve. 
 
 t Keen, a cry of lamentation. 
 
 + Drynan Dhun, the blackthorn or sloebush. For the air, see 
 Joyce's " Old Irish Folk Music and Songs. 1 '
 
 26 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 n. 
 
 The rath of the fairy,* the ruin hoar, 
 With white silver splendour it decks them all o'er ; 
 And down in the valleys where merry streams run, 
 How sweet smell the blossoms of the Drynan Dhun. 
 
 in. 
 
 Ah ! well I remember the soft spring day 
 I sat by my love 'neath its sweet-scented spray ; 
 The day that she told me her heart I had won, 
 Beneath the white blossoms of the Drynan Dhun. 
 
 IV, 
 
 The streams they were singing their gladsome song, 
 The soft winds were blowing the wild woods among, 
 The mountains shone bright in the red setting sun, 
 As we sat 'neath the blossoms of the Drynan Dhun. 
 
 'Tis my prayer in the morning, my dream at night, 
 To sit thus again by my heart's dear delight, 
 With her blue eyes of gladness, her hair like the sun, 
 And her bright pleasant smile 'neath the Drynan Dhun. 
 
 * The old raths, lisses, forts, and moats are believed to be the 
 haunt of fairies. See Joyce's Social History of Ancient Ireland, 
 Index, "Rath."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 27 
 
 THE FOUR COMRADES : 
 
 OR 
 
 THE WATCH-FIRE OF BARNALEE. 
 
 BEFORE THE BATTLE. 
 
 i. 
 
 THERE were four comrades stout and free, 
 Within the Wood of Barnalee, 
 Under the spreading oaken tree. 
 
 n. 
 
 The ragged clouds sailed past the moon ; 
 Loud rose the brawling torrent's croon ; 
 The rising winds howled in the wood 
 Like hungry wolves at scent of blood. 
 Yet there they sat in converse free, 
 Under the spreading oaken tree : 
 Garrod the Minstrel with his lyre, 
 Sir Hugh le Poer that heart of fire, 
 Dark Gilliemore the mournful squire, 
 And Donall from the banks of Nier.* 
 
 in. 
 
 Spectrally shone the watch-fire light 
 On their sun-browned faces and helmets bright, 
 Showing beneath the woodland glooms 
 Their swords and jacks and waving plumes ; 
 
 As there they sat, those comrades free, 
 Within the Wood of Barnalee, 
 Under the spreading oaken tree, 
 And told their tales to you and me. 
 
 * Nier, a small river near Clonmel. flowing from the "Waterford 
 side into the Suir. See Irish Names of Places, vol. ii., " Nier," 
 in Index.
 
 28 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And first the Minstrel took his harp that oft 
 
 Rang with War's clangorous music, fierce and free, 
 
 And now with gentle touch and prelude soft, 
 Began his strain of simple melody. 
 
 Of love he sang her love whose wavy sea * 
 
 Shines round the sunny shores of Desmond's land, 
 
 And as his voice arose, wild rhapsody 
 
 Sparkled within his eyes, and music bland 
 Flowed from the trembling wires beneath his master 
 hand. 
 
 EARL GERALD AND HIS BRIDE. 
 
 There is a tradition that, some two or three centuries ago, 
 a young Geraldine chief dropped dead in the ballroom while 
 dancing at his own wedding. It was universally believed that 
 he did not really die, but was carried off by Queen Cleena to her 
 palace. The poor bride and her family employed a celebrated 
 " Wise woman " of the county Clare, named Caltilin Dubh, 
 " Black Cathleen," to bring him back from Queen Cleena. (But 
 some versions say that it was Cathleen's daughter that went.) 
 I have a copy in Irish of the conversation supposed to have 
 taken place between Black Cathleen and Cleena. Some versions 
 of the popular legend bring the affair to a happy issue ; and 
 these have been followed in the Ballad. 
 
 'Tis at Knockfierna's footf that haunted hill 
 Where Donn the fairy king hath made his hall, 
 
 A hall invisible to most, but still 
 
 By wanderer sometimes seen at midnight fall, 
 
 * " Her love whose wavy sea," &c. Cleena, the fairy queen, 
 from whom the sea round the south coast of Cork is called 
 " Cleena's "Wave." Seep. 32, below. For Cleena see Joyce's 
 Social History of Ancient Ireland. Desmond, South Munster. 
 
 t Knocknerna, near Groom in Limerick, a celebrated fairy hill. 
 For Donn see Joyce's Social History of Ancient Ireland.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 29 
 
 Rearing its crystal battlements, until 
 
 They seem to prop the skies with pillars tall 
 There Eileen stands beside her Geraldine, 
 The topmost branch of Desmond's princely line. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And Eileen looks upon her Gerald now, 
 
 Then points unto the crimson west. " And see 
 
 How quick," she says, " upon Knockfierna's brow 
 Yon cloud of blackness groweth ! " Presently 
 
 A fierce wind shaketh every forest bough 
 Save the light branches of the rowan-tree * 
 
 That shadows o'er their trysting-place ; and there 
 
 No light leaf trembles in the troublous air. 
 
 in. 
 With lightnings in its front and thunder knell, 
 
 That black-faced cloud comes rolling down the steep, 
 And flings its sable darkness on the dell 
 
 Where stand the startled lovers : wild winds sweep 
 Far through the bending trees with savage yell ; 
 
 Anon a lightning flash, and from the deep 
 Green bosom of the circling wood, a fawn, 
 Small, beautiful, and white, treads o'er the lawn. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The black cloud fades 'tis bright and still again, 
 The birds once more begin their evening tune ; 
 
 But fear is in young Eileen's heart she's fain 
 To seek her father's hall, for in the croon 
 
 Of the near rivulet she hears full plain 
 
 Weird fairy voices. Quick she starts, and soon 
 
 They're speeding to Kilmoodan'sf towers below, 
 
 The white fawn close behind them as they go. 
 
 * Rowan-tree. The peasantry believe that the Rowan-tree, or 
 quicken-tree, or mountain ash, is endowed with great power 
 against fairy spells : the fairies fear it. 
 
 t Kilmoodan, the residence of Eileen's father.
 
 30 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALEY. 
 
 v. 
 It looks on him, as fast away he hies, 
 
 With melancholy fondness in its gaze ; 
 It looks on her with keen malignant eyes, 
 
 As though each glance would kill her. Through the maze 
 Of woods Kilmoodan's turrets now arise 
 
 Upon their path, and in a gorgeous haze 
 Of golden vapour, fades the fawn away 
 Beside the barbican so strong and grey. 
 
 VI. 
 
 The warder from the barbican shouts down, 
 He sees Queen Cleena walking o'er the glade, 
 
 With robe of heaven's own blue, and starry crown ; 
 But nought they see the lover or the maid 
 
 Save that light golden vapour. Crimson brown 
 The twilight steals o'er hill and forest shade, 
 
 As Gerald and his Eileen gain the hall 
 
 Where feast their smiling friends and clansmen all. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Next morning rose in all its summer pride 
 Upon Kilmoodan's towers and leafy wood, 
 
 And love that scorned all change of time and tide 
 Swelled high in Gerald's heart, as there he stood 
 
 Clasping the white hand of his beauteous bride 
 Before the glittering altar ; and a flood 
 
 Of joy swept o'er them when the rite was done, 
 
 When both fond hearts in life and death were one. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And night came o'er the mountains high ; and clear 
 The harps melodious rang within the hall, 
 
 Where o'er the dancers' heads gleamed sword and spear 
 And targe and helm and banner, from the wall ; 
 
 And Gerald takes his Eileen's hand : "And here," 
 In accents sweet and low, he says, " when all 
 
 Dance now for joy, we'll dance for joy and love !" 
 
 And down the floor in circlets light they move.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 31 
 
 IX. 
 
 At once, as rose the clansmen's loud acclaim, 
 
 A dazzling light through loop and window shone, 
 
 That filled the broad hall like a flood of flame, 
 Blinding the dancers' eyes ; and when 'twas gone, 
 
 Hearts throbbed and cheeks were blanched of knight and 
 
 dame ; 
 And dazed with fear and woe, all trembling, wan, 
 
 Young Eileen stood her loving bridegroom flown 
 
 Amid th' affrighted dancers, all alone ! 
 
 x. 
 
 Short time she stood, then fell and closed her eyes, 
 Like a white lily frost-blanched in the vale ; 
 
 And all that night of woe and wild surprise, 
 Wordless and like the marble cold and pale, 
 
 She lay on her sad couch ; but when the skies 
 
 Blushed red with morn, she woke ; and then a wail 
 
 Burst from her as she looked her chamber round 
 
 With wildsome eyes, and yet no bridegroom found. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And many a doctor grave and man of lore 
 
 They brought to cure her mind, for she was mad. 
 
 Ah ! nought could each one do but loud deplore 
 As they looked on the bride her doom so sad. 
 
 At length they brought Black Cathleen of Kilmore, 
 For many a spell and wondrous cure she had, 
 
 That sybil old, who drank her first draught full 
 
 Her birthday morning from the raven's skull.* 
 
 * They say that should an infant get the first draught from 
 the skull of a raven, he or she will be endowed with prophetic 
 powers.
 
 32 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 XII. 
 
 She heard her tale. " Thy Gerald is not dead ! " 
 
 She cried aloud. " Bound by Queen Cleena's chain, 
 
 Where Carrig-Cleena* rears its flinty head, 
 And Avonmore pours down the woods amain, 
 
 He lingers in his grief, with hope still fed 
 Of seeing the green earth and thee again. 
 
 Go there and ask for him, and well thou'lt prove 
 
 That not ev'n Cleena's spells can conquer love." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 They would not let her go : but one still noon 
 Of midnight, when deep slumber brooded o'er 
 
 Her father's stately hall, she donned her shoon 
 Her garments and her cloak, and by the shore 
 
 Of the lone forest rill, beneath the moon, 
 
 She stole away. Ah ! many a mountain hoar 
 
 Lay between her and home when dewy morn 
 
 Glittered like golden fire on tree and thorn. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 With weary feet she crossed the forest glen, 
 With many a sigh toiled up the mountain slope, 
 
 And sat upon its ridge to weep, and then 
 
 Went down into the woods with wakening hope ; 
 
 Away by lone Glengartan's reedy fen, 
 
 And on where Connaill's mountains to the cope 
 
 Of heaven towered upward through the purple air, 
 
 She rested in the burning noon ; and there 
 
 * Carrigcleena, a remarkable circle of natural rocks, five miles 
 S.W. from Mallow, still well known. Under the green plot in 
 the centre it was believed that Queen Cleena had her palace. See 
 page 28, above. The whole neighbourhood still teems with legends 
 about Cleena.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 33 
 
 xv. 
 There laughed a sunny lakelet 'mid the trees, 
 
 Clear mirroring a ruin hoar and lone, 
 Like the blue bosom of those fabled seas 
 
 Where thunders never growl nor wild winds moan. 
 Over its azure breast the wild duck flees, 
 
 The heron broods upon the shore-side stone, 
 And from its secret home at evening's gloom 
 The wary bittern sends its quivering boom. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Above her was a rugged lonely pass, 
 
 Cleft through the splintered mountain like a gate 
 A Titan gate ; mass towered on ponderous mass 
 
 Of savage rock each side ; all desolate, 
 Naked it yawned, save where scant gorse and grass 
 
 Spotted its torrid ribs ; and there elate 
 With life amid the stillness, one small rill 
 Shot down in gladness from the giant hill. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Now in that pass volcanic there appeared 
 A small, light, spiral cloud slow moving on 
 
 Unto young Eileen's path ; and when it neared, 
 From out its fleecy folds that snow-white fawn 
 
 Came and looked on her with a wild and weird 
 Light in its bitter orbs of fiery tawn 
 
 A threatening light, a keen malignant ray 
 
 That struck the poor bride's heart with strange dismay. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 She placed her hand within her snowy vest 
 
 To still the fear with which that lorn heart strove ; 
 
 There found suspended on her faithful breast 
 A golden cross, her Gerald's gift of love, 
 
 And drew it quickly forth. ' ' At His behest, 
 Whose holy sign this is, I charge thee move 
 
 From off my onward path ! " fair Eileen said ; 
 
 And at the word the white fawn shrieked and fled.
 
 34 BALLADS OF IEISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 She kissed that blessed symbol ; went her way ; 
 
 With sinking heart o'er many a mile she wept ; 
 And at the peaceful close of that bright day 
 
 Within a woodman's hut she ate and slept : 
 Slept long and sound, until the yellow ray 
 
 Of morning gilt the hill-tops : then she crept 
 Out from her heather couch and shaped agen 
 Her southern pathway through the forest glen. 
 
 xx. 
 At last she reached the crag. There lightning split 
 
 It stood with jagged front so stern and high, 
 As if the earth in some volcanic fit 
 
 Had burst, and cast it upward towards the sky ; 
 And now, while red its topmost spires were lit 
 
 By sunset, Eileen, with a wild shrill cry, 
 Called on the queen her bridegroom to restore ; 
 But only echo answered evermore. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 She called and wept, and wept and called again, 
 On the hard-hearted queen, till twilight fell 
 
 Upon each forest, hill, and drowsy plain ; 
 Then sped she to a cave far down the dell 
 
 Where dwelt an aged hermit. " Moons may wane, 
 And years may vanish," he began to tell, 
 
 As she sat by his side, ' ' ere thou'lt obtain 
 
 Thy bridegroom from Queen Cleena's magic chain." 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Nathless as each morn rose she took her place 
 And called in piteous tones upon the queen 
 
 Her bridegroom to restore ; and her sad face 
 In the rude blasts soon lost its blooming sheen. 
 
 And autumn came ; the winds began to chase 
 The leaves in the brown woods, and winter keen 
 
 Approached ; and still poor Eileen sat her there, 
 
 Loud calling for her love in wild despair.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALEY. 35 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 At length 'twas Hallow Eve:* before that crag 
 She knelt beseeching with her arms out-thrown ; 
 
 Yet answerless each flinty spire and jag 
 
 Towered to the heavens, by Avild winds beat and blown. 
 
 The morn sped on, till like a tattered flag 
 
 The noonday sky outspread, and with loud moan 
 
 The western blast o'er the dark hills did urge 
 
 Mountains of tumbling cloud from ocean's surge. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 The twilight fell ; and when her eyes she raised 
 
 To take that day's last wistful look, there bright 
 Before her the great rock a palace blazed, 
 
 With towers and domes and halls of golden light. 
 Through the tall portal, a long train that dazed 
 
 Her wondering eyes, out came bold squire and knight 
 And lady ; and in front in splendid sheen, 
 With grace immortal walked the Fairy Queen . 
 
 xxv. 
 And, "Come, thou faithful maid ! " Queen Cleena said, 
 
 ' ' I've proved thy love and deathless constancy 
 Thy love that might the dull dust of the dead 
 
 From its cold sleep awake. Come now with me ! " 
 She took young Eileen by the hand, and led 
 
 Into the great hall golden bright. " And see," 
 Again she said, "the cause of thy sad moan, 
 Thy Gerald, high upon yon glittering throne." 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 She looked, her Gerald looked, but in his eye 
 She saw no sign of welcome warm and fond ; 
 
 He knew her not ; then rose a bitter cry 
 
 Of woe from the poor bride. Anon her wand 
 
 * On Hallow Eve, or Samain Eve, the fairy palaces all through 
 the country are thrown open : see Joyce's Smaller Social His- 
 tory of Ancient Ireland, p. 112. 
 D2
 
 36 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Queen Cleena took, and with a mournful sigh 
 
 Of disappointed love and sad despond 
 She laid it on his brow. From fairy charms 
 He woke, and clasped his young bride in his arms. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Now choose thee," said the mournful queen again, 
 ' ' 'Tween earth and this immortal palace grand." 
 
 " I choose," Earl Gerald said, " my broad domain 
 And faithful bride." Young Eileen took his hand, 
 
 With joyous heart, 'mid that resplendent train 
 Of dames and knights, and out from Fairyland 
 
 She led him through the golden palace door 
 
 Into the world of mortal life once more. 
 
 And many a horseman spurred when morning flashed 
 O'er the hills' ruby cones, by dale and down, 
 
 The news to tell, and many a weapon clashed 
 
 On gladsome shield from wall of tower and town ; 
 
 From where old V entry's sands are murmuring lashed 
 By the grey waves, to Galtee's stony crown, 
 
 The harps rang joyful in each Desmond hall 
 
 For the young bridegroom freed from fairy thrall. 
 
 He ceased, and looked upon Dark Gilliemore, 
 
 Dark Gilliemore the Squire of Dalian Green. 
 " Sir Squire," he said, " since first a lance I bore 
 
 With thee in battle's van, I've ever seen, 
 With saddened mind, thy dark and mournful mien. 
 
 What makes thee such a gloomsome lonely man ? 
 Hast thou some tale to tell of sorrow keen ? " 
 
 The squire sat silent for a little span, 
 Then heaved a rueful sigh and thus his tale began :
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 37 
 
 BALLAD OF DARK GILLIEMORE ; OR, THE 
 MOURNFUL SQUIRE. 
 
 i. 
 
 I PLEDGE ye, comrades, in this cup 
 Of usquebaugh, bright brimming up ; 
 And now while winds are blowing rude 
 Around our camp fire in the wood, 
 I'll tell my tale, yet sooth to say 
 It will be but a mournful lay. 
 
 Glenanner* is a lovely sight, 
 Oun-Tarra's dells are fair and bright, 
 Sweet are the flowers of Lisnamar, 
 And gay the glynns 'neath huge Benn Gar; 
 But still, where'er our banner leads, 
 'Mid tall brown hills or lowland meads, 
 By storied dale or mossy down, 
 My heart goes back to Carrick town. 
 
 in. 
 
 By Carrick town a castle brave 
 Towers high above its river wave, 
 Well belted round by wall and fosse 
 That foot of foe ne'er strode across. 
 Look on me now a man am I 
 
 Of mournful thoughts and bearing sad ; 
 Yet once my hopes flowed fair and high, 
 
 And once a merry heart I had ; 
 For I was squire to Ormond then, 
 
 First in his train each jovial morn 
 
 * Aimer and Tar, two rivers in the south of Tipperary, near 
 Clonmel and Carrick-on-Suir, both falling into the Suir. (Oim 
 means river.) Benn Gar, the highest peak of Galtymore.
 
 38 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 He flew his hawks by moor and fen, 
 Or chased the stag by rock and glen 
 
 With music sweet of hound and horn. 
 Young Ormond was a goodly lord 
 As ever sat at head of board. 
 If Europe's kings, some festal day, 
 Sat round the board in revel gay, 
 And he were there, and I in hall, 
 The seneschal to place them all, 
 I'd place him without pause or fault 
 Among their best above the salt. 
 You need not smile, Sir Hugh le Poer, 
 
 Nor you, young Donal of Killare ; 
 I'd prove my words, ay, o'er and o'er, 
 
 With skian* in hand and bosom bare, 
 Or sword to sword and jack to jack, 
 For sake of Thomas Oge the Black If 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas then the time when mortal strife, 
 Steel axe to axe and knife to knife, 
 Was waged between the Butler line 
 And the strong race of Geraldine. 
 And DesmondJ was a foeman stout 
 In battle, siege, or foray rout ; 
 With spur on heel and sword in hand, 
 Upon the borders of our land, 
 
 * Skian [skeean], a dagger. 
 
 t Thomas, surnamed, from his complexion, the Black or 
 Swarthy, earl of Ormond. 
 
 J Desmond. This was Garrett earl of Desmond, who headed 
 the Geraldine rebellion, 1565-1583. 
 
 The Butlers were earls of Ormond, the FitzGeralds (or 
 Geraldines) were earls of Desmond ; and these two families were 
 nearly always at feud with each other.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 39 
 
 With his fierce hobbelers* he kept, 
 
 And often on our hamlets swept, 
 
 As swoops the eagle from the mountain 
 
 On the young lambkins by the fountain, 
 
 And in his talons bears away 
 
 To crags remote his bleeding prey. 
 
 And many a goodly tower and town 
 
 Before his hot assaults went down ; 
 
 For havoc, flame, and woeful sack, 
 
 Forever marked his vengeful track. 
 
 Yet oft we met him sword to sword, 
 
 By mountain pass and lowland ford, 
 
 And turned the tide of war again 
 
 Far through each Desmond vale and glen. 
 
 v. 
 
 The March winds sang through bower and tree, 
 
 And shook the young reeds by the ferry, 
 And light cloud-shadows o'er the lea 
 Ran like the billows of the sea, 
 One day that in the tilt-yard we 
 
 Were making merry ; 
 When swift as those light clouds that fled 
 
 Over each vale and moorland brown, 
 A mounted courier towards us sped 
 
 Wild spurring down, 
 Then rode unto the castle straight, 
 And blew his bugle at the gate. 
 The Decies't badge full well we knew, 
 On the light cap and foiling! blue, 
 
 The hasty clansman wore. 
 
 * Hobbeler, a horseman : from " hobby," a kind of horse. 
 t Decies, a territory and tribe in Co. "Waterford, over which. 
 Desmond claimed jurisdiction. 
 
 J Foiling, Ivish fallainn , a mantle.
 
 40 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 I wot that small delay had he, 
 So eager for his news were we, 
 For back the ponderous bolts we drew, 
 
 And led him straight our chief before. 
 He told how Desmond and his men 
 Had crossed the border mountain glen, 
 
 A small but hardy band. 
 Assailed his chieftain's hamlets free, 
 And levied coign and liverie* 
 
 Within the Decies' land. 
 Then begged the noble Butler's aid 
 To stem the Desmond's ruthless raid. 
 
 VI. 
 
 In sooth, his prayer was not in vain, 
 For, ere one hour, o'er hill and plain 
 Full many an eager gillie trode, 
 And many a rushing easlachf rode, 
 Till twilight, when on tower and mount 
 A hundred war-fires you might count. 
 Old Carrick town rang loud next morn 
 With roll of drum and bray of horn, 
 For from each forest, plain, and glynn, 
 The clansmen all had gathered in. 
 
 Then Butler issued from his hall 
 Among his gallant clansmen all, 
 And straightway took the southern track, 
 While we rode gayly at his back ; 
 And never his charger rested he 
 
 By cross of road or fount or plain, 
 Until he reached, where, broad and strong, 
 Blackwater rushes by crag and tree, 
 
 * Coign (or Coyne) and Livery, a kind of tribute : see Index 
 in Joyce's History of Ireland, 
 t Easlach, a mounted messenger.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 41 
 
 With plaintive roar or gladsome song, 
 
 'Mid the bonnio woods of wild Aflane.* 
 Within those woods we camped that night, 
 And waited but the morning light 
 To fall upon proud Desmond's path, 
 And on his raiders vent our wrath. 
 
 VII. 
 
 When morn's first beams began to quiver 
 
 On crest of rock and wave of river, 
 
 A marshalled band we saw far south 
 
 Emerging from a valley's mouth, 
 
 And knew 'twas Desmond and his men. 
 
 He saw us by the ford arrayed 
 
 The Desmond bold and when they prayed 
 
 His bearded knights that he would flee 
 
 Our onset, stoutly answered he, 
 
 With knitted brow and flashing eye 
 "Though we are only one to three, 
 
 Beside yon ford I'd rather lie, 
 Bloody and stiff within my jack, 
 Than on a Butler turn my back." 
 
 Then hoarsely rose the battle yell, 
 And fast the Desmond clansmen fell ; 
 Yet stoutly still our charge they met, 
 Though gallantly to work we set, 
 Until Sir Edmund's petronel 
 
 Brought Desmond down, and he was made 
 A prisoner in that gory dell : 
 
 So ended his disastrous raid. 
 
 * Affane, on the Blackwater, a mile and a half south of Cappo- 
 quin. An account of this battle, fought in 1565, will be found 
 in Joyce's Short History of Ireland, p. 420. Desmond was 
 unexpectedly (the Four Masters say treacherously) caught here 
 by superior numbers.
 
 42 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 'T\vas then, as five tall Butlers bore 
 The wounded Desmond by the shore, 
 " Where is the mighty Desmond now ?" 
 They asked, amid that battle's wreck ; 
 He raised himself, all red with gore, 
 And answered with exultant brow, 
 " 0, where, but on the Butler's neck !"* 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The fight was fought, the noonday sun 
 Shone down on banner, glaive, and gun 
 Of the proud victors, as they sped 
 
 Back to their homes the hills across 
 Shone on the vanquished as they fled 
 Through tangled woods and paths that led 
 
 O'er meadowy plain and desert moss ; 
 And up the huge-ribbed hills so high, 
 And with them, prisoner bound, was I. 
 
 They placed me in a dungeon strong, 
 
 Where distant Mullaf winds among 
 
 The leafy woods of Houra'sJ hills, 
 
 Fed by a hundred dancing rills ; 
 
 And there I pined for many a day, 
 
 Till five long seasons passed away. 
 
 Then when they thought my spirit broke, 
 
 They freed me from their cursed yoke, 
 
 And bade me wander as I might, 
 
 Yet warned me 'gainst escape or flight. 
 
 I well remember, ay, and will 
 
 Till some brave foe my blood shall spill, 
 
 * An incident related in the records. 
 
 t Mulla. Spenser's Mulla is the Aubeg river, near Buttevant 
 and Doneraile. 
 
 % Houra, the Ballyhoura Mountains.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 43 
 
 The day I crossed my dungeon door, 
 
 And sought the wild woods free ; 
 The summer sky was laughing o'er ; 
 And from green glen and height and shore 
 The jocund birds their songs did pour 
 
 So merrilie ; 
 
 And to mine eyes all nature wore 
 A look of wondrous brilliancy. 
 An infant's strength was more than mine 
 
 As I went forth that morn ; 
 I thought each stream a draught divine, 
 
 I rested 'neath each blossomed thorn, 
 Or slowly strayed o'er height and hollow, 
 Long draughts of balmy air to swallow. 
 
 x. 
 
 My strength returned. One golden eve 
 
 As up the hills I clomb, 
 Sweet dreams within my heart to weave, 
 
 And think upon my far-off home, 
 I gained a valley lone and deep, 
 Where Ounanaar's* bright waters leap 
 And fill the thick green woods with song, 
 Wild tumbling through the dells along. 
 I sat me by the voiceful stream, 
 I sat me in a pleasant dream ; 
 For who could pass that valley fair 
 And stop not for a moment there ? 
 The green ash o'er the torrent grew, 
 The oak his strong arms upwards threw 
 To the blue heavens, as if to clasp 
 Some wandering cloudlet in his grasp. 
 The leafy branches thick and green 
 On all sides made a shadowy screen, 
 
 * Ounanaar, the Glenanaar river : see note, p. 19.
 
 44 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Save where a little vista showed 
 Beneath me where the torrent sheen, 
 
 A mimic lake, all smoothly flowed, 
 With many a sparkling ripple stealing 
 
 Over its breast of radiancy, 
 Wild beauties on its banks revealing ; 
 
 And, O, what it revealed to me ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 There, on a green and mossy stone, 
 A young bright maiden stood alone 
 Gazing upon the foam-wreaths white 
 
 That sparkled on their pathway rude, 
 And ne'er was seen a fairer sight. 
 
 Methought that maiden, as she stood, 
 Some phantom, or a vision bright, 
 
 Or lovely spirit of the wood. 
 A moment I was standing there 
 Beside that maid so young and fair ; 
 A moment and my heart was gone 
 
 With her bright face and sunny hair ; 
 And ah ! so sweet her blue eyes shone, 
 
 'Twas lost ere I was half aware. 
 A moment for time went so fleet, 
 
 Long hours had minutes been to me 
 And in that lone and wild retreat 
 
 There we were talking pleasantly. 
 I told her how in their strong tower 
 
 A prisoner I had lain, 
 And how I longed for that glad hour 
 
 When I might 'scape their chain ; 
 And found she was a captive too, 
 
 For three long years, 
 A captive from that sweet land where, 
 Above the blooming woods of Caher, 
 Wild Galty to the skies so blue 
 
 Its tall crest rears.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 45 
 
 XII. 
 
 It boots not, comrades, now to tell 
 How oft we met in that lone dell, 
 And how we loved, and how we planned 
 To 'scape and reach the Butler's land. 
 One morn a brave black steed I caught, 
 
 My captor's own fleet steed, 
 And rode away to that wild spot 
 
 With headlong speed ; 
 And towards far Ormond, glad and free, 
 I bore my love away with me. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But sorrow came too soon alas ! 
 As we sped down Glendarra's* pass, 
 The foe came thundering on our track 
 With matchlocks pointed at my back. 
 Away across Turlaggan's* rill, 
 Up to the foot of Gurma's* hill ; 
 But when I gained its summit high, 
 Between my foemen and the sky, 
 A bullet hurtled through the air 
 And grazed my side with sudden smart, 
 And lodged within my true love's heart. 
 
 Ah, woe is me ! the look she gave, 
 
 It haunts me yet ; 
 Its bitter anguish but the grave 
 
 Can make my heart forget. 
 One sudden look of woeful pain 
 
 And she was dead ; 
 And I far down into the plain, 
 
 O'er rocks and glens I fled, 
 
 * These places are all among the hills, four or five miles N.- W. 
 from Mitchelstown, on the way towards Kilfinane.
 
 46 BALLADS "OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And speeding onward like the wind, 
 I left my foemen far behind ; 
 Away, away on that swift horse, 
 Clasping close my true-love's corse ! 
 
 xv. 
 I bore her to yon peaked hill, 
 
 And scooped her narrow bed, 
 And laid the earth, so damp and chill, 
 
 Above my darling's head. 
 And, comrades, since that woeful day 
 
 I've never known 
 
 One hour of gladness : and I crave, 
 When I shall fall amid the fray, 
 
 You'll bear me to yon mountain lone, 
 And lay me in my true love's grave. 
 
 THE FOUR COMRADES. 
 
 AFTER, THE BATTLE. 
 
 i. 
 
 THERE were two comrades stout and free, 
 Within the Wood of Barnalee, 
 Under the spreading oaken tree. 
 
 ii. 
 
 The sun poured down his ruddy light 
 On blooming wold and purple height ; 
 The wild birds sang, the streams rang bright. 
 
 in. 
 
 There they sat at set of sun, 
 Their battle fought, their victory won : 
 Sir Hugh le Poer, that heart of tire, 
 And the dark Minstrel with his lyre, 
 Thinking thinking mournfully, 
 Under the spreading oaken tree,
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 47 
 
 Of their gallant comrades twain 
 Lying on the battle plain. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Comrades to their latest breath, 
 True in life and true in death, 
 God give them peace, God shield them well, 
 Those who escaped and those who fell. 
 
 EILEEN'S LAMENT FOR GERALD.* 
 
 AIK : " Pearla an chuil chraobhaigh."t 
 
 I. 
 
 ON the bloom-covered shore 
 
 Of strong Avonmore, 
 I've mourned for my Gerald till summer is o'er ; 
 
 And autumn falls lone 
 
 On Kilmore'sJ mountain zone, 
 But Cleena, still Cleena ne'er heedeth my moan. 
 
 n. 
 
 O, sweet fell the hours 
 By Crom's lordly towers, 
 
 When we strayed, ever loving, through Maigue's blooming 
 bowers: 
 
 From bright June to May 
 Was one blissful day, 
 Ere my true love was borne from his Eileen away. 
 
 *See "Earl Gerald and his Bride," p. 28, above, where it is 
 related how Eileen recovered her Gerald from the fairy queen 
 Cleena in the end. She slept each night in a hut near the Avon- 
 more or Blackwater, and came to Carrigcleena every morning. 
 
 t For which see Petrie's Ancient Music of Ireland, p. 184. 
 
 J Kilmore, a district near Mallow. 
 
 Crom : Groom Castle on the River Maigue in Limerick.
 
 48 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 
 With gems of red gold 
 
 Gleamed his mail in the wold, 
 As he strode where the lone druid worshipped of old ; 
 
 But the young Fairy Queen 
 
 Passed there one bright e'en, 
 And the flash of his bright mail was never more seen. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She bore him that night 
 
 To her palace of light, 
 In this rock* wild and lone by the spells of her might ; 
 
 And she keeps him in thrall, 
 
 The bright prince of her hall, 
 While she heeds not my wailing, she hears not my call. 
 
 v. 
 
 And thus I must weep 
 
 By Cleena's grey steep, 
 Joy faded, hope clouded, and sorrow more deep ; 
 
 And I'll mourn on the shore 
 
 In the autumn frosts hoar, 
 Till I die for my Gerald by strong Avonmore. 
 
 THE BARON AND THE MILLER. 
 
 The weird legend related in this hallad was current among the 
 people of Limerick and Tipperary sixty or seventy years ago. 
 In a fit of rage the miller uttered the wish, as in verse xii ; and 
 he got his wish in the end. 
 
 I. 
 THERE was a steed, a brave black steed, 
 
 Lithe of body and limb, 
 
 And in country or town, for strength or speed, 
 There never was one like him. 
 
 * Rock : Carrigcleena, the fairy queen's palace : see p. 32.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 49 
 
 ii. 
 
 He had sinews of brass for the chase's flight, 
 
 Eyes of fire as he swept the hill ; 
 He'd a heart of steel for the bloody fight ; 
 
 And his master was Hugh of the Mill. 
 
 HI. 
 
 But Hugh of the Mill had a master too 
 
 The Baron of Derrinlaur,* 
 Whom he served in peace as a vassal should do, 
 
 And followed in day of war. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Never were twain by hill or by plain 
 
 So matched in passion and ill 
 As the baron bold of that castle old, 
 
 And his strong vassal, Hugh of the Mill. 
 
 v. 
 
 By Cummeraght one morn, with stag-hound and horn, 
 
 They hunted like the wind, 
 But the miller's black steed with his sinews of speed 
 
 Left the ireful baron's behind. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "This brown steed of mine, strong Hugh, shall be thine, 
 
 With fifty crowns so bright ; 
 But I must have thy charger brave, 
 
 For I need him in the fight ! " 
 
 vn. 
 
 Then out and told that miller so bold : 
 
 " I care not for favour or pelf ; 
 And this brave steed of mine shall never be thine, 
 
 For I need his strength myself ! " 
 
 * Derrinlaur Castle ruin stands on the southern, or Waterford, 
 bank of the Suir, about three miles below Clonmel. Only one 
 tower remains, now covered with ivy. 
 
 t Cummeragh mountains in Waterford. 
 K
 
 50 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then an ireful man was the dark baron, 
 
 And an angry laugh he gave : 
 ' ' I will have thy steed, though the demon should feed 
 
 On thy carcass, thou grinding knave !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 And though Hugh was strong, down down to the earth 
 
 The vassals have dragged him amain, 
 And they've changed each saddle and rein and girth, 
 
 And mounted him once again. 
 
 x. 
 On the baron's brown horse now he's mounted perforce, 
 
 And the proud baron sits on the other ; 
 The baron is glad, but the miller is mad 
 
 With a passion he cannot smother. 
 
 XI. 
 
 He digs the spurs in the brown steed's sides 
 
 Till it snorts with rage and pain ; 
 Then up with a fiendish frown he rides 
 
 To the baron's bridle rein. 
 
 XII. 
 
 ' ' May the memory of crime thy bosom freeze- 
 The worm that never dies 
 
 Till the flames of hell on thy dark soul seize, 
 And I see it with mine eyes ! " 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then he plunges and volts, and away he bolts, 
 And down the rough mountain he's gone ; 
 
 While the vassals' laughter rings loudly after, 
 And the shout of the fierce baron. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 There were battles enough both bloody and tough 
 
 To employ them both, I wot, 
 And many moons ran over master and man, 
 
 Till the curse was all forgot.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 51 
 
 xv. 
 But there came a day when the baron lay 
 
 On his bed of sickness and dole, 
 And the bells were rung at the evening grey 
 
 For his departing soul. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 There came three knocks at the miller's gate 
 
 In the dead hour of the night, 
 And the miller he rose at a furious rate, 
 
 And looked forth in the full moon's light. 
 
 XT II. 
 
 And there sat the Baron of Derrinlaur 
 
 Upon the swift black horse, 
 And his fixed eyes glared 'neath his visor bar, 
 
 And his brow was pale as a corse. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Come hither, come hither, thou miller brave, 
 
 Come, mount and follow me ! " 
 On the dark -brown steed Hugh is mounted with speed, 
 
 And away with the baron is he : 
 
 XIX. 
 
 In their garb of war by old Derrinlaur, 
 
 And down by the rushing Suir, 
 Till they strike on a track all barren and black, 
 
 O'er a wide and lonely moor. 
 xx. 
 Black mountains rise to the dusky skies 
 
 Beyond that desert place, 
 As side by side away they ride 
 
 In a fierce and furious race. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Taller and taller each giant hill 
 
 And darker their deep chasms grow, 
 As away over quagmire and brawling rill 
 
 Like demons of night they go. 
 
 E2
 
 52 BALLADS OF IEISII CHIVALRY. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Redder and redder the baron's eyes glared, 
 
 But 'twas more from rage than fear, 
 As the bog-fiend's lamp on their pathway flared, 
 
 And they swept that barrier near. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And there at last rose a crag so vast 
 
 That it hid in the clouds its face ; 
 Then the miller reined in, but the baron spurred past 
 
 Till he neared its gloomy base. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Then it rocked and shaked, and it groaned and quaked, 
 
 And its breast burst right before, 
 And a mighty flame through the broad rent came 
 
 As from hell's eternal door, 
 xxv. 
 Yet on and on spurred the fierce baron 
 
 Till he came to that fiery rent ; 
 Then his teeth he ground, and with one great bound 
 
 Through its flaming throat he went ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 One thunderous roar through the heavens tore 
 
 As the rent upclosed again, 
 And the bog-fiend's lamp went out on the swamp, 
 
 And the black cocks crowed by the fen. 
 
 XXVJI. 
 
 The miller he rose at the break of day, 
 And looked for the crag and the moor : 
 
 Nought before him lay but that castle grey 
 And his own blithe mill by the Suir. 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Then he crossed the mill weir speedily, 
 
 And straight to the stable he sped ; 
 But a humbled and awe-struck man was he, 
 
 When he found his steed stark dead !
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Then sore of body and weary of bone, 
 
 To Derrinlaur he passed ; 
 From its gloomy halls rose the vassals' moan, 
 
 For the baron was gone at last. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " And now, once more, my brave black steed, 
 I will have thee," the miller said, 
 
 As he sought the stable with eager speed : 
 But the black steed, too, was dead ! 
 
 SONG OF THE FOREST FAIRY. 
 
 i. 
 
 WHERE the gold moss hangs on the mighty oak, 
 Where never was heard the woodman's stroke, 
 In the ancient woods 
 
 Where the wild deer bide 
 Where the heron broods 
 
 By the lakelet's side, 
 Morn, noon, and eve, in the rosy air, 
 We dance and sport full merrily there. 
 
 n. 
 
 At night in a glade of the brightest green, 
 We meet with glad homage our youthful queen. 
 There in revel and feast 
 
 We spend the night, 
 Or in balmy rest 
 
 Till the morning light ; 
 Or out on the greensward smooth and fair, 
 We dance and sport so merrily there.
 
 54 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 ill. 
 
 Tis glorious to see the globes of dew 
 By the red beams of morn pierced through and through ; 
 Tis sweet to peer 
 
 Where the wild-flower gleams, 
 And sweeter to hear 
 
 The birds and the streams ; 
 And sweeter than all in the blue, bright air, 
 To dance and sport so merrily there ! 
 
 LITTLE THOMAS. 
 
 John, the young Earl of Desmond, was drowned at the Ford 
 
 of Ardfinnan, in the year 1398 (Four Masters, iv., p. 761). 
 
 ArdBnnan, on the Suir above Clonmel, and five miles below 
 
 Caher : its fine castle stands right over the river, near the bridge 
 
 which was built on the site of the old ford where the Earl was 
 
 drowned. 
 
 I. 
 
 NEAR the towers of old Ardfinnan, by the broad ford's 
 mossy stone, 
 
 Down sat the little Thomas and thus he made his 
 moan : 
 
 " He has perished, he has perished, O, my chieftain 
 young and brave, 
 
 And my father too sleeps with him underneath the rush- 
 ing wave. 
 
 II. 
 
 "Many hearts for John of Desmond through the Munster 
 vales will pine, 
 
 But none will beat amongst them half so desolate as 
 mine, 
 
 I, the page, whose pleasant duty was by my dear lord 
 to stay, 
 
 I, the orphan lone, whose father hath perished here to- 
 day."
 
 BALLADS OP IRISH CHIVALRY. 55 
 
 in. 
 
 The golden blaze of sunset died from out the western sky, 
 The moon in clear white splendour rose o'er the peaked 
 
 mountains high, 
 But the little page sat weeping still beside the ford's grey 
 
 stone, 
 And to the waters sweeping thus again he made his 
 
 moan : 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' ' Woe is me ! that they have perished ; ah, I nevermore 
 
 shall find 
 
 A master like the Desmond, a lord so good and kind " 
 Here he started from his mossy seat with a sudden throb 
 
 of fear, 
 For the Desmond stood before him in the moonlight cold 
 
 and clear ! 
 
 v. 
 
 On his limbs the battle harness, on his head bright helm 
 
 and plume, 
 But pale pale were his features, marked that morn with 
 
 youth's fair bloom. 
 " Stay thy lorn and bitter weeping, O my little page," he 
 
 said, 
 "For beneath the waters sleeping it has waked the early 
 
 dead. 
 
 VI. 
 
 ' ' The good sword that I gave thee on our last victorious 
 
 day, 
 It shall carve thy path to glory if bright honour light the 
 
 way. 
 One little maid there dwelleth by the green shore of the 
 
 Lee, 
 Only her love shall be greater than my constant love for 
 
 thee."
 
 56 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VII. 
 
 The phantom warrior vanished in the cold light of the 
 
 moon, 
 And the little page now heareth but the Suir's low 
 
 murmuring tune ; 
 Swift he rusheth from the river, swift he springeth on 
 
 his steed, 
 And through the moon-lit forest path he's gone with 
 
 lightning speed. 
 
 nn. 
 Ten springs more have decked the valleys and it is a 
 
 morn in May ; 
 Knightly spurs the page now weareth, for bright honour 
 
 lit his way ; 
 
 Before the bridal altar with a happy heart stands he, 
 And his bride is that fair maiden by the green shore of 
 
 the Lee. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF BENBURB. 
 
 Benburb, on the Blackwater, five miles N.-W. from Armagh, 
 where Owen Roe O'Neill defeated the Scottish army under 
 Monroe : 1646. Consult any History of Ireland. 
 
 O'ER the hills of Benburb rose the red beam of day, 
 Gleaming bright from our foemen in battle array ; 
 But as brightly again in the midsummer glow, 
 It shone back from the troops of our brave Owen Roe. 
 
 n. 
 
 Monroe had his thousands arrayed at his back, 
 With their Puritan mantles steel morion and jack, 
 And with him Ardes, Blayney, and Conway had come ; 
 To crush Owen Roe at the roll of the drum.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 57 
 
 ill. 
 
 And who with O'Neill on that morn drew the brand ? 
 Bold hearts as e'er beat by the Blackwater strand : 
 Sir Phelim, brave chief, with the bosom of fire, 
 O'Donnell, MacSweeney, and gallant Maguire. 
 
 IV. 
 
 From Derry's wild woodlands, from Maine's sounding 
 
 tide,* 
 
 From Leitrim and Longford, came chiefs to our side, 
 And stern in the front with his sabre in hand, 
 Stood bold Myles the Slasher the pride of our land.f 
 
 v. 
 
 We kept, all that noontide, the Scotsmen at play, 
 Though we thought of their forays and burned for the 
 
 fray; 
 
 For our Chief bade us wait till the eve had begun, 
 Then rush on the foe with our backs to the sun. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then down to our front with his chiefs he spurred fast, 
 " My brave men ! the day of our weakness is past ; 
 We have hearts now as firm as our sires had of yore, 
 When Bagenal they routed by Callan's green shore.J 
 
 VII. 
 
 ' ' See, their cannon the foe for our columns have set ; 
 Strike, and have them to play on their own columns yet ; 
 For God and green Erin stern and sure be your blow, 
 As ye fight in my path !" said our brave Owen Roe. 
 
 * Maine, the river flowing by Castlemaine in Kerry. 
 
 t Mailmora or Myles O'Reilly, called Myles the Slasher from 
 Ms great strength and bravery a colonel under Owen Roe. 
 
 % At the battle of the Yellow Ford on the river Callan, six 
 miles north of Armagh, where Hugh O'Neill defeated Bagenal : 
 1598.
 
 68 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 viir. 
 
 Hurrah for the Red Hand !* And on, to a man, 
 Our columns poured down like a storm on their van, 
 Where a sermon was preaching to strengthen their zeal, 
 But we gave them a sermon the point of our steel. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The Slasher looked round as we closed in the fight, 
 *' Now, my men " he called out " reap your harvest ere 
 
 night !" 
 
 Then he dashed at the foe with his long heavy blade, 
 And, mwone,what a lane through their columns he made ! 
 
 x. 
 
 There was panic before us and panic beside, 
 As their horsemen fled back in a wild broken tide ; 
 And we swept them along by the Black water shore 
 Till we reddened its tide with the Puritans' gore. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Few foemen escaped on that well-stricken day ; 
 On the field, in the river, by thousands they lay; 
 Fierce Blaney had fallen where he charged by the fen 
 He slept face to heav'n by the side of his men. 
 
 XII. 
 
 A kernf by the river held something on high ; 
 "Saint Columb, is it thus that our enemies fly ! 
 Perchance 'tis my coolun which they clipped long ago. 
 Mile Gloria, the rough wig of flying Monroe ! "J 
 
 * The Red Hand was the cognisance and standard of the 
 O'Neills, kings of Ulster. 
 
 t Kern, a foot-soldier : " Coolun," the long hair at the back 
 of the head. 
 
 J " Monroe escaped and fled in panic, bareheaded, leaving on 
 the field his sword, cloak, helmet, and \vig." Joyce's History of 
 Ireland.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 59 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And we took from the foes ere that calm twilight fall 
 Their horses and baggage and banners and all ; 
 Then we sat by our watch-fires and drank in the glow 
 Merry health to our leader, the brave Owen Roe ! 
 
 THE DYING BALLAD-SINGER. 
 
 i. 
 O THADY dear, the way is long, 
 
 My heart and feet are sore and weary ; 
 I'll never sing another song 
 
 In tented Fair or Patron* cheery. 
 But since the day I met with you, 
 
 I never envied lord or lady : 
 No care nor woe nor joy I knew 
 
 That was not shared by Rovin' Thady. 
 
 ii. 
 Since th' hour I ran from home away, 
 
 O, many a pang my heart has riven ; 
 The worst of all was that Fair-day 
 
 I saw my brother at Knockevan . 
 'Twas at the dance now pause and mind, 
 
 What care, with sorrow shame and sin, does, 
 The feet were going like the wind, 
 
 For they were dancing " Smash the windows." 
 
 in. 
 He saw me, but he took no note ; 
 
 He knew me not, so changed and worn ; 
 The song I sung swelled in my throat 
 
 'Twas worse than all that I had borne. 
 
 * Patron usually called a pattern a celebration at a holy 
 well in honour of the patron saint.
 
 60 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 I stopped, I gazed upon them there ; 
 
 I thought of happy days departed, 
 Then turned and tottered through the Fair, 
 
 And left the place all broken-hearted. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now wrap me in my old grey cloak, 
 
 And lay me by this path-side fountain ; 
 I think on those whose hearts I broke, 
 
 Far far away by Barna's mountain ; 
 Long calm they lie where Barna's stream 
 
 Around the church -yard* wall is flowing. 
 O, on their death-bed did they dream 
 
 Of her that's now so quickly going 1 
 
 v. 
 
 I fear the bones of some would stir 
 
 With grief, were their cold earth laid o'er me, 
 Yet still I long to lie near her, 
 
 The mother dear that nursed and bore me. 
 1 ask it with my latest breath 
 
 You won't refuse your Maureen Grady 
 O, take me, lay me near in death, 
 
 Near her I kilt, my Rovin' Thady. 
 
 * The churchyard of Darra : see Index, and p. 74, below.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 61 
 
 THE COCK AND THE SPARROW. 
 
 ONE morn, at the sack of Cragnour,* 
 
 A cock and a sparrow were speaking, 
 While beneath where they sat on the tower 
 
 The Crop-earsf their fury were wreaking 
 Were wreaking in blood, fire, and smoke 
 
 " Ah ! the castle is gone, bone and marrow, 
 And my poor Irish heart it is broke," 
 
 Said the brave jolly cock to the sparrow. J 
 
 n. 
 
 " For the Crop-ears will have us full soon, 
 
 And our bed will be no bed of roses ; 
 They will starve us right dead to the tune 
 
 Of a psalm that they'll twang through their noses ; 
 Never more shall I crow in the hall, 
 
 For the gloom there my bosom would harrow 
 May the fiend whip them off, psalms and all," 
 
 Said the brave jolly cock to the sparrow. 
 
 in. 
 
 " No more," said the sparrow, *' we'll see 
 
 Irish gallants come in late and early ; 
 No more shall they hunt o'er the lea, 
 
 When the sweet autumn wind shakes the barley ; 
 
 * Cragnour : Carriganoura, now a grey old castle ruin rising 
 over the north bank of the Funshion, two miles below Mitchels- 
 town, Co. Cork : conspicuous across the river from the main 
 road. Built by the Condons. 
 
 t Crop-ears, the Puritans the Cromwellians. 
 
 % " Said the brave jolly cock to the sparrow " : the refrain of 
 an old folk song.
 
 62 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Never more shall they dance on the bawn, 
 Or ride from the gate like an arrow ! " 
 
 " Ah ! no more shall I wake them at dawn," 
 Said the brave jolly cock to the sparrow. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But the chief of Cragnour soon returned, 
 
 And the Crop-ears right sorely he hammered ; 
 Then the sparrow with gleefulness burned, 
 
 And " Hurra for my Irish ! " he clamoured ; 
 And "Hurra for the chief of Cragnour ! 
 
 There is joy through my flesh, bone, and marrow ; 
 For his victory I'll crow hour by hour," 
 
 Said the brave jolly cock to the sparrow. 
 
 THE BLACK ROBBER. 
 
 The "Mumhan mountain"* of this ballad is Blackrock, 
 between Ardpatrick and Glenosheen, near Kilfinane, Co. 
 Limerick. One of the torrents coming down from Blackrock 
 flows through a glen called Glenagaddy, the "Glen of the 
 Robber," at the north-west side of the mountain, and three- 
 quarters of a mile west of Lyre-na-freaghaun glen at the east 
 side. The name " Glenagaddy," which I fear is now forgotten 
 in the neighbourhood, preserves the memory of the "Black 
 Robber" of the ballad, who is also commemorated both in 
 legends and in place-names all over Ireland, as well as in the 
 Highlands of Scotland, under his full Irish name, Gadaiyhe 
 fittbh O'Dubhdin, the " Black Robber O'Dwan." In this glen 
 is the "waterfall brown and clear " of the ballad, a quarter of 
 a mile above the public road, from which it is seen conspicuously. 
 The well, "circled by rock and fern," is near the edge of the 
 glen on the west side, a little below the fall. The proper Irish 
 name of this fall is Easmore (" great waterfall," pronounced 
 Assmore), commemorated elsewhere in these ballads ; but it is now 
 
 *Mumhan [pron. Mooan], Munster.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 63 
 
 often corruptly called " Spoutinoor" by English speakers. After 
 emerging from the glen, the little stream crosses the road and 
 flows by "St. Anne's Well,"* belo\v and near Ardpatrick, 
 then on by Sunville, and for some distance beside the public 
 road, where it gives name to Ballynahown, "River-town," 
 about a mile below Ardpatrick : joins the Loobagh near Kil- 
 mallock. This pretty little stream has a curious name " the 
 Noneen," literally "the Daisy," meaning I suppose "the 
 Daisy -fringed river." "The Black Robber" also gave name 
 to the townland and hamlet of Ballingaddy, near Ballynahown, 
 between Ardpatrick and Kilmallock. (Joyce's Irish Names of 
 Places, vol. ii., p. 111.) 
 
 I. 
 
 BY a Muinhan mountain airy and stern, 
 A well lies circled by rock and fern ; 
 And fiercely over a precipice near 
 Rusheth a waterfall brown and clear. 
 
 ii. 
 
 In a hollow cave near that bright well's foam 
 A mighty robber once made his home. 
 A man he was fierce sullen and dark 
 As ever brooded on murder stark, 
 
 in. 
 
 A mighty man of a fearful name, 
 Who took their treasures from all who came, 
 Who hated mankind, who murdered for greed, 
 With an iron heart for each bloody deed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As he sat by the torrent ford one day, 
 A weird-like beldame carne down the way ; 
 Bed was her mantle, and rich and fine, 
 But travel and dust had dimmed its shine. 
 
 * The venerable little church ruin (Kil-Saint Anne) which 
 stood beside this well was barbarously destroyed about half a 
 century ago.
 
 64 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 v. 
 
 A war-axe in his strong hand he took, 
 And he killed the beldame beside the brook ; 
 And when on the greensward in death she rolled, 
 In her arms, lo, a babe, clad in pearls and gold ! 
 
 "VI. 
 
 Then darkly he raised his hand to kill ; 
 But his fierce heart smote him such blood to spill ; 
 And the rage for murder was there beguiled 
 By the innocent smile of that lovely child. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He buried the beldame beside the wave, 
 And he took the child to his mountain cave ; 
 And the first jewel his red hand met, 
 A Fern and a Hound on its gem were set. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He made it a bed of the fern leaves green, 
 And he nursed it well from that evening sheen, 
 And year by year as the little boy grew, 
 The heart of the robber grew softer too. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Ten long years were past and gone, 
 And the robber sat by the ford's grey stone ; 
 And there on the eve of a spring-tide day, 
 A lordly pageant came down the way. 
 
 x. 
 
 Before them a banner of green and gold, 
 With a Fern and a Hound on its glittering fold, 
 Behind it a prince with a sad pale face, 
 A mighty prince of a mighty race. 
 
 XI. 
 
 " Sad," said the prince, " my fate has been, 
 Since the dark enchanters have taken my queen, 
 And they've snatched my child from his nurse's hand, 
 And have kept him since in th' enchanted land."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 65 
 
 xir. 
 
 The robber looked on the Fern and Hound, 
 
 Then sprang towards the prince with an eager bound ; 
 
 And " Why art thou sad, O king," said he, 
 
 " In the midst of this lordly companie ?" 
 
 XIII. 
 
 His kindly purpose they all mistook, 
 For though worn and wan, yet fierce his look ; 
 And sudden a noble drew out his glaive, 
 And cleft his skull on the beldame's grave. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 The dying robber half rose by the wave, 
 " O, enter," he cried, " yon lonely cave." 
 They entered : the pale prince found his child, 
 And all was joy on that mountain wild. 
 
 JOHNNIE DUNLEA. 
 
 THERE'S a tree in the greenwood I love best of all, 
 It stands by the side of Easmore's haunted fall, * 
 For beside it while sunset shone bright far away, 
 1 met for the last time my Johnnie Dunlea. 
 
 IT. 
 
 He stood by my side, and the love-smile he wore 
 Still brightens my heart, though 'twill beam never- 
 more ; 
 
 'Twas to have but one farewell,then speed to the fray ; 
 'Twas a farewell for ever my Johnnie Dunlea. 
 
 * Easmore : see page 62 . 
 
 F
 
 66 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 
 For the red Saxon soldiers lay hid in the dell, 
 And burst on our meeting with loud savage yell ; 
 But their leader's red life-blood I saw that sad day, 
 And it stained the good sword of my Johnnie Dunlea. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My eurse on the traitors, my curse on the ball 
 That stretched my true love byEasmore's haunted fall ; 
 The blood of his brave heart ebbed quickly away, 
 And he died in my arms there my Johnnie Dunlea. 
 
 KILBRANNON. 
 
 " MY love, braid up thy golden locks 
 
 And don thy cloak and shoon ; 
 We'll sit upon Kilbrannon's rocks, 
 
 While shines the silvery moon : 
 And bring thy little babe with thee, 
 
 For his dear father's sake, 
 The lands where he'll be lord to see, 
 
 By lone Kilbrannon lake." 
 
 ir. 
 
 She's braided up her golden locks, 
 
 She's donned her cloak and shoon, 
 And they're away to Kilbrannon's rocks 
 
 By the clear light of the moon. 
 Sir Hubert he took both wife and child 
 
 Upon that night of woe, 
 And hurled them over the rocks so wild, 
 
 To the lake's black depths below.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 7 
 
 in. 
 
 And he has married another May, 
 
 With locks of ebonie, 
 And her looks are sweet, and her heart is gay, 
 
 Yet a woeful wight is he. 
 He wakes the woods with his bugle horn, 
 
 But his heart is heavy and sore ; 
 And he ever shuns those crags forlorn 
 
 By lone Kilbrannon shore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 For down in the lake the dead won't rest, 
 
 That mournful murdered one ; 
 With her little babe at her pulseless breast-, 
 
 She walks the waters lone ; 
 And she calls at night her murderer's name, 
 
 And will call for evermore, 
 Till the huge rocks melt in doomsday flame 
 
 By lone Kilbrannon shore. 
 
 MY FIRST LOVE. 
 
 i. 
 
 WHERE towers the rock above the trees, 
 
 With heath-bells blooming o'er, 
 Where waves the fern in summer breeze, 
 
 And shines the red lusmore, * 
 In woodland nook beside the brook, 
 
 I sit and sadly pore 
 On love I nursed in boyhood first 
 
 For one I'll ne'er see more. 
 
 * Lusmore : fairy-thimble : foxglove. 
 F2
 
 68 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY, 
 
 li. 
 
 How fair, when shines the summer beam 
 
 Upon the hillsides warm, 
 The lady fern beside the stream : 
 
 So fair my Margaret's form : 
 The snow-white crystals shine beneath, 
 
 The red lusmores above : 
 Ah ! such the bright bright laughing teeth 
 
 And lips of my first love. 
 
 in. 
 
 The gorse flowers Ullair's dells illume, 
 
 One sea of golden light ; 
 My Margaret's hair was like their bloom, 
 
 As yellow and as bright. 
 'Twill haunt me still through joy or ill, 
 
 Till death shall end my care, 
 The wondrous grace of her fair face 
 
 Beneath that golden hair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 I loved her with a burning love 
 
 That matched my boyhood well, 
 And brilliant were the dreams I wove 
 
 While tranced in that sweet spell ; 
 And in my breast she'll reign and rest 
 
 Each eve while sad I pore, 
 Where ferns are green the rocks between, 
 
 And shines the red lusmore.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 69 
 
 FAIR MAIDENS' BEAUTY WILL SOON FADE 
 AWAY. 
 
 Aia : " My Love she was born in the North Counterie." * 
 
 MY love she was born in the North counterie, 
 Where the highlands of Antrim look over the sea ; 
 My love is as fair as the soft smiling May ; 
 But fair maidens' beauty will soon fade away. 
 
 ii. 
 
 My love is as pure as the bright blessed well 
 That springs from Seefin in a green lonely dell ; 
 My love she is graceful and tender and gay ; 
 But fair maidens' beauty will soon fade away. 
 
 in. 
 
 My love is as sweet as the cinnamon tree ; 
 As the bark to its bough cleaves she firm unto me ; 
 But the leaves they will wither and the roots will decay, 
 And fair maidens' beauty will soon fade away. 
 
 IV. 
 
 But love, though the green leaf may wither and fall, 
 Though the bright eye be dimmed, and the sweet smile 
 
 and all ; 
 
 O, love has a life that shall never decay, 
 Though fair maidens' beauty will soon fade away. 
 
 * For which see Joj'ce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 68. In this 
 song a good part of an old folk song (including tlie refrain) is 
 incorporated ; the third verse is taken unchanged.
 
 70 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 THE TWO GALLOGL ASSES/ 
 
 i. 
 
 " I LOOK across the moorlands drear 
 
 To see my Donall coming o'er : 
 He left me for the wars last year, 
 And night and day I think and fear 
 
 I'll never never see him more. 
 
 Perchance he's weltering in his gore ; 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 My days are dark, my heart is sore, 
 To think that on thy lovely lea 
 
 I'll never never see him more. 
 
 ir. 
 " Up northwards to the Palef he rode 
 
 To fight the valiant Norman men ; 
 His light plume in the breezes flowed, 
 And bright his gilded armour glowed, 
 
 As he sped down our native glen. 
 
 I'll never see my love again ; 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 My heart is sore with sorrow, when 
 I think that on thy sunny lea 
 
 I'll never see my love again." 
 
 nr. 
 Beneath a tree sat comrades two, 
 
 Two galloglasses in their mail ; 
 All day they rode the valleys through 
 Brave Diarmid Keal and Donall Dhu 
 
 To meet the Normans of the Pale. 
 
 * Galloglasses, heavy-armed foot-soldiers. A galloglasa rode 
 when necessary on any special occasion. 
 
 t Pale, the district round Dublin, inhabited by the Anglo- 
 Norman colony.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 71 
 
 Said Donall of the Gilded Mail : 
 "Killemree, oh, Killemree! 
 
 What dost thou fight for, Diarmid Keal?" 
 " I fight all for my fair countrie, 
 
 Tall Donall of the Gilded Mail." 
 
 IV. 
 
 ' ' And I fight for my fair countrie, 
 
 But eke for love I draw the brand 
 For Mora of the southern lea : 
 To purchase fame for her and me, 
 
 I've ever worked with heart and hand : 
 
 So I fight for love and native land. 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 Though both will fight still both may stand," 
 Said Donall Dhu all hopefully 
 
 As there they sat by the Liffey strand. 
 
 v. 
 At blink of morn upon the dell 
 
 The valiant Normans they descried ; 
 Then loud was heard the battle-yell ; 
 But ere the noon brave Diarmid fell 
 
 His comrade's rushing steed beside. 
 
 All for his native land he died ; 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 It was a death of fame and pride, 
 And fame was his, the bold and free 
 
 Who fell upon the Liffey side. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And black the oath tall Donall swore, 
 "I'll have revenge for him that's slain !" 
 
 Then through the Norman ranks he tore, 
 
 But in their flight along the shore, 
 Surrounded, he was prisoner ta'en ; 
 But ere the morn he broke their chain,
 
 72 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 And turned him towards his native plain, 
 Resolved to die or to be free, 
 
 And see his true-love once again. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He climbed the mountain hoar and bare, 
 
 And darted up the highland pass : 
 Three foemen stood against him there : 
 But whirling his keen sword in the air, 
 
 He stretched the foremost on the grass ; 
 
 He clove the next through hide and brass 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 And the last from the top of a grey rock's mass 
 He hurled him down right furiously : 
 
 Thus 'scaped he death in that wild pass. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 As by a Norman bridge he came, 
 
 The warder laid his jav'lin low, 
 To ask his purport and his name ; 
 Tall Donall's sword went down like flame, 
 
 And felled the warder at a blow. 
 
 Deep wounded crossing Annadoe, 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 At length he reached her faint and slow, 
 And clasped young Mora tenderly, 
 
 Escaped from bond and brand of foe. 
 
 Each day she nursed him tenderly, 
 Her Donall of the Gilded Mail ; 
 'Twas love for her that set him free, 
 That bore him up in the far countrie, 
 Else he had died like Diarmid Keal. 
 Then there was joy o'er hill and dale,
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 73 
 
 Killemree, oh, Killemree ! 
 
 Within and roxmd their native vale, 
 At bridal of that maiden free 
 
 And Donall of the Gilded Mail. 
 
 ASTHOREEN MOCHREE. 
 
 Am: " Astoirin Mochree."* 
 
 I. 
 SPUING with its gay flowers the fields was adorning, 
 
 Streams through the wildwood sang sweetly and free, 
 As I 'scaped from my cell at the dawn of the morning, 
 
 My dark tyrant scorning, Asthoreen Mochree. 
 
 II. 
 O, in that prison my heart was all sadness ; 
 
 The long days fell gloomy and heavy on me, 
 Still thinking I never might see thee in gladness, 
 
 Still brooding in madness, Asthoreen Mochree. 
 
 in. 
 Now I've escaped, but such darkness was never ; 
 
 How could the brightness arise save from thee ? 
 Black woe and despair, they have crossed my endeavour ; 
 
 Thou art sleeping for ever, Asthoreen Mochree. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Out in the forest the branches are shaking ; 
 
 There the lone Banshee is wailing for me ; 
 From the wide-spreading trees the boughs she is taking, 
 
 My bier she is making, t Asthoreen Mochree. 
 
 * For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 36. 
 
 t On a windy night when the trees of the wood are heard 
 crackling that is the banshee tearing down boughs to make a 
 bier for some one about to die.
 
 74 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 v. 
 
 Soon we shall meet in the grave's silent dwelling ; 
 
 O, but 'tis joy thus to slumber with thee ; 
 Soon soon shall the keeners* my hard fate be telling, 
 
 And my death-bell be knelling, Asthoreen Mochree. 
 
 MAIRGREAD BAN.f 
 
 AIR: " The old Astrologer. "J 
 
 I. 
 MY wild heart's love, my woodland dove, 
 
 The tender and the true, 
 She dwells beside a blue stream's tide 
 
 That bounds through sweet Glenroe ; 
 Through every change her love's the same, 
 
 A long bright summer dawn, 
 A gentle flame, and O, her name 
 
 Is lovely Mairgread Ban : 
 O, joy, that on her paths I came, . 
 
 My lovely Mairgread Bdn. 
 
 II. 
 When winter hoar comes freezing o'er 
 
 The mountains wild and grey, 
 Her neck is white as snow-wreaths bright 
 
 Upon thy crags, Knockea ;|| 
 
 * Keeners, mourners who cry aloud for the dead : see p. 25. 
 t Pronounced Maureed Baton : fair-haired Margaret. 
 % For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p 91. 
 Glenroe and Darra, near each other, forming a fine valley in 
 the heart of the mountains between Kilfinane and Mitchelstown. 
 || Knockea : see Index and p. 81, below.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 75 
 
 Her lips are red as roses sweet 
 
 On Darra's flowery lawn ; 
 Her fairy feet are light and fleet, 
 
 My gentle Mairgread Ban ; 
 And O, her steps I love to meet, 
 
 My own dear Mairgread Ban ! 
 
 in. 
 
 When silence creeps o'er Houra's steeps, 
 
 As blue eve ends its reign, 
 Her long locks' fold is like the gold 
 
 That gleams o'er sky and main. 
 My heart's dark sorrow fled away 
 
 Like night before the dawn, 
 When one spring day I went astray, 
 
 And met my Mairgread Ban, 
 And felt her blue eyes' witching ray, 
 
 My lovely Mairgread Ban. 
 
 IV. 
 
 One summer noon, to hear the tune 
 
 Of wild birds in the wood, 
 Where murmuring streams flashed back the beams, 
 
 All rapt in bliss I stood ; 
 The birds sang from the fairy moat,* 
 
 From greenwood, brake, and lawn ; 
 But never throat could chant a note 
 
 So sweet as Mairgread Ban, 
 As through the vales her wild songs float, 
 
 My lovely Mairgread Ban. 
 
 * Fairy moat : see p. 26.
 
 76 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 THE FAIRY MILL. 
 
 i. 
 AWAY to Ounanaar's glancing tide, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray, 
 O'er craggy hill and moorland wide, 
 
 The wanderer takes his lonely way. 
 He is a warrior young and bold, 
 
 His path from the revel wild pursuing, 
 And he sits where down in Glenanaar's wold * 
 
 The ring-doves 'mid the dells are cooing. 
 
 ii. 
 It is by the Pool of the Fairy Mill, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray, 
 Where heard, but unseen, in the evening still, 
 
 Ceaseless the merry wheel worketh away ; 
 And he lists to its mystic plashing sound, 
 
 And he drinks by fairy spells undaunted 
 Of the crystal wave from his helmet round, 
 
 To the maid who dwells in that mill enchanted. 
 
 in. 
 He looks around in the sunset light, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray, 
 And he is aware of a maiden bright 
 
 Close at his side by the rock-wall grey ; 
 
 * Glenanaar, a beautiful and romantic valley in the Ballyhoura 
 Mountains, on the border of Limerick and Cork, between Done- 
 raile and Kilfinane, through which the Ounanaar or Ogeen river 
 flows. The legend of the fairy mill heard gently plashing was 
 prevalent in this place sixty or seventy years ago. 
 
 The Very Rev. Dr. Sheehan, P.P. of Doneraile, has made 
 this neighbourhood the scene of a recent novel ; and he has con- 
 ferred a further distinction on the valley by naming his charming 
 story " Glenanaar."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 77 
 
 A clear light darts from her star-bright eyes, 
 
 Sweet is her love-lit smile and tender, 
 And her shining hair o'er her shoulders lies, 
 
 Yellow as gold in the sunset splendour. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Thou hast drunk," she cries, " to the fairy maid, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray ; 
 Wear in thy plume this small hair braid, 
 
 And think on me at each close of day." 
 She has placed the braid in his nodding plume : 
 
 She is gone, like Hope from a hall of mourning, 
 And he hears no sound save the ceaseless hum 
 
 And the gentle plash of the Fairy Mill turning. 
 
 v. 
 
 He hies away from that haunted glen, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray, 
 But spell-bound, amid the ways of men, 
 
 He thinks on the maid of the Mill alway ;* 
 He thinks while his heart is filled with love 
 
 And a heart ne'er resteth with love so laden 
 Till he stands once more in Glenanaar's grove, 
 
 And eager calls on the fairy maiden. 
 
 He looks around in the sunset light, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray, 
 And there he sees that maiden bright 
 
 Close at his side by the rock-wall grey : 
 "To thee," he cries, "my love, I've come 
 
 By forest green and by mountain hoary ; 
 For thee I leave my own loved home. 
 
 The joys of peace and the battle's glory. 
 
 * Like Connla of the Golden Hair, thinking of the Fairy 
 Maiden. See Joyce's Old Celtic Romances, p. 108.
 
 78 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VII. 
 
 " Then let me live, fair maid, with thee, 
 
 Where the redbreast sings on the hawthorn spray, 
 Where the Fairy Mill sounds merrily, 
 
 And love shall lighten our home alway." 
 With beaming smile, and with looks of love, 
 
 She leads him down by that haunted river, 
 And there, 'mid Glenanaar's flowery grove 
 
 They live in cloudless joy for ever. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF KILTEELY, A.D. 1599. 
 
 For an account of the expedition to plunder and slay the 
 peasantry, led by Sir Thomas Norris, President of Munster, 
 ending in his defeat and death, see Four Masters, vol. vi., 
 p. 2115; or Joyce's Short History of Ireland, p. 500. 
 Thomas Burke, who defeated him with a much smaller force of 
 Irish, was brother of Burke, or De Burgo, Baron of Castle- 
 connell. Norris, as the ballad relates, was brought to Mallow, 
 where he died of his wounds fifteen days after the battle. 
 
 Kilteely is a village in the barony of Coonagh iu East 
 Limerick, adjoining Limerick Junction Station. Knockroe and 
 Coola are near the village. 
 
 THE mountains of Limerick look down on a plain 
 That laughs all in light to their summits again, 
 Green Coonagh with rivers all storied in song, 
 And its tall race of peasants so hardy and strong. 
 
 ii. 
 
 To harry rich Coonagh fierce Norris came down 
 From the towers of Kilmallock, by forest and town, 
 Swearing castle and homestead and temple to sack ; 
 And, O, what a desert he left in his track !
 
 BALLADS OF IEISII CHIVALRY. 79 
 
 in. 
 
 The sun of the morning smiled bright and serene 
 On his ranks by Knock Rue and by Coola the green ; 
 And how bright gleamed their spears by the tents white 
 
 and fair, 
 As they marshalled to plunder the rich valleys there. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They looked to the east and they looked to the west, 
 And they saw where their booty lay fairest and best ; 
 Then they moved like a thick cloud of thunder and gloom, 
 When it rolls o'er the plain from the slopes of Slieve 
 
 Bloom. 
 
 v. 
 
 But see ! they are halting what shrill music swells 
 By the founts of Commogue,* through the forest's green 
 
 dells ? 
 
 'Tis the music of Erin the wild martial strain 
 Which ne'er called her sons to the combat in vain. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "By Saint George ! " exclaimed Norris, and stopped in 
 
 his course, 
 With his long lance stretched forth o'er the crest of his 
 
 horse, 
 " By Saint George, 'tis the Gael ! 'tis his pibroch's wild 
 
 breath ; 
 But he meets at Kilteely his masters and death ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 'Tvvas the Gael. Slow they wound round the foot of 
 
 Knock Rue ; 
 
 Small small were their numbers, but steady and true ; 
 And now as they filed on their path in the wood, 
 They saw the proud foe where exulting he stood. 
 
 * Commogue or Camoge, "winding river," the little river 
 rising near Kilteely, and joining the Maigue near Ci-oom.
 
 80 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "By the turrets of Limerick ! " De Burgo exclaims, 
 "Tis Black Norris : a meed for his plund'ring he claims ; 
 Be they countless as hail, back we never shall go 
 Till we measure our pikes with the steel of the foe." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Have ye seen Avonmore, how it rushes and fills 
 When the flood-gates of autumn are loosed on the hills ? 
 So the tall men of Limerick sweep down on the spears 
 Of Norris the proud and his fair cavaliers. 
 
 x. 
 
 Young De Burgo is there in his trappings so bright, 
 And he rides side by side with his chief through the fight ; 
 But now he darts forward and cleaves his red way 
 Where the banner of England stands proud in the ray. 
 
 xr. 
 
 There Norris receives him with taunt and with sneer, 
 With his arquebus ball and a lunge of his spear ; 
 But the pike of De Burgo deep gashes his head, 
 And he sinks by his banner 'mid wounded and dead. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Back rode the young warrior unscathed by all, 
 The rush of his foemen, the spear-thrust and ball ; 
 With bearing defiant he treads o'er the slain, 
 And clears a good road to his chieftain again. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The Saxons cry loud for their chief : Where is he 1 
 Struck down at the foot of his own banner-tree ; 
 And the banner is gone : there is fear on each brow, 
 And a wild panic spreads through their broken ranks now . 
 
 XIV. 
 
 And soon they are scattered away through the woods, 
 Like the grey Connacht sands by the westerly floods ; 
 But they bear off their chieftain afar as they fly, 
 And they lay him in Mallow to rave and to die.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 81 
 
 GLENARA.* 
 
 I. 
 
 GRAND are the mountains that circle Glenara, 
 Seefin and brown Corrin, Knockea, and Slieve Darra ; 
 Proudly their summits look down where its sheen flood 
 Lies coiled in the gorges or sunk in the greenwood. 
 
 n. 
 
 Sweet are the scenes where that clear flood enlarges, 
 Peaceful the homes by its flower-scented marges ; 
 Fair are the maidens with eyes brightly glowing, 
 Who bide by its windings and list to its flowing. 
 
 in. 
 
 The fairest of all amid Beauty's fair daughters, 
 Dwells my young love by the sound of its waters : 
 At evening she roams through its fairy recesses, 
 My maid of the blue eyes and long golden tresses, 
 
 IV. 
 
 Far from my dear mountain home as I wander, 
 Ever with joy on that maiden I ponder, 
 Thinking and dreaming how fraught with sweet glory 
 My days by her side, 'mid those hills steep and hoary. 
 
 * Glenanaar in the Ballyhoura Mountains near Doneraile 
 (see note, p. 76). Seefin Mt. over Glenosheen, four miles from 
 Kilfinane : see " Sir Donall," farther on. Corrin or Carron, one 
 of the Ballyhoura Mts. rising over Charleville. Knockea hill, on 
 your left as you go from Glenosheen to Glenanaar. Slieve Darra, 
 the hill called Carrigeennamronety or Kilcmig, over Darra. See 
 p. 89, below.
 
 82 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 THE ROMANCE OF THE FAIRY WAND. 
 
 The Glen of Aherlow is a splendid valley near Tipperary town, 
 ten miles long, bet ween the Galty Mountains and Slievenamuck, 
 with Galtymore towering right over it. Benn Gar is the highest 
 peak of Galtymore. Dun Grod or Dungrud, one of the old 
 royal residences of Munster, stood on the Galty side of the 
 glen, over the Aherlow river, three miles from Galbally. 
 Tirnanoge, the "Land of perpetual youth," was one of the 
 names of the Irish pagan heaven (for which see Joyce's Social 
 Histories of Ancient Ireland). Locally the people believed that 
 the great Mitchelstown cavern (between Mitchelstown and 
 Caher) was one of the entrances to it. They say should a person 
 once cross the stream at the far end of the cavern, he could 
 never, by his own power, return : he should remain in Fairy- 
 land for evermore. This was the cave through which with the 
 fairy queen's permission the maiden entered and returned. 
 This ballad is founded on a Muuster folk legend. 
 
 'MlD Galty's woody highlands, by a torrent's lonely 
 
 shore, 
 There dwelt a banished monarch in the dusky days of 
 
 yore ; 
 Long the pleasant Munster valleys had owned his kingly 
 
 sway, 
 Till uprose a fierce usurper and reft his throne away. 
 
 ii. 
 No vassals filled his chambers, no courtiers thronged his 
 
 hall; 
 His bright-eyed little daughter and a grey-haired chief 
 
 were all, 
 Were all the friends remaining since the day of gloom 
 
 and woe, 
 When he fled, a careworn exile, to that tower in Aherlow.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 83 
 
 III. 
 
 Around that grey old fortress, by the shady forest springs, 
 With a heart for ever dreaming of all bright and lovely 
 
 things, 
 Roamed that regal little maiden every golden summer 
 
 e'en, 
 Watched and loved, where'er she wandered, by the radiant 
 
 Fairy Queen. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The sunset light was reddening on the crest of tall Benn 
 Gar, * 
 
 As sat that little maiden beneath the woods afar ; 
 
 " How lovely spreads this land," she said, " in the golden 
 sunset's light, 
 
 But my father's bard has told me of a world more fair 
 and bright. 
 
 v. 
 "Through that land I'd wish to wander ; there I'd ask a 
 
 warrior train 
 Of its queen, to set my father on his Munster throne 
 
 again." 
 Scarce the maid the words had uttered when there shone a 
 
 radiance sheen 
 Up and down the shady valley and the forest depths 
 
 between. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On the song-birds fell a silence, was no sound through 
 
 earth or air, 
 Till in robes of snowy splendour stood a heaven-browed 
 
 lady there ; 
 With kindly eyes down-looking on the little maid stood 
 
 she, 
 While the birds began their gladsome song again from 
 
 bower and tree. 
 
 G2
 
 84 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then spoke the Queen of Faerie with a sweet, heart- 
 thrilling tone, 
 
 " Thou hast wished, O little dreamer, for a sight of our 
 fair zone ; 
 
 Then a gift of power I bring thee : take this snowy wand, 
 and when 
 
 Thou dost long to see our bright land, raise it thrice in 
 this wild glen." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Scarce the witching words were spoken when the Fairy 
 Queen was gone ; 
 
 But a trailing light behind her down the silent valley 
 shone ; 
 
 And up stood that beauteous maiden, under mystic fairy 
 spell, 
 
 And thrice she raised the white wand in that flower- 
 starred forest dell. 
 
 IX. 
 
 On a sudden stood beside her a milk-white palfrey fleet, 
 And a-nigh a mounted esquire in bright mail from crown 
 
 to feet ; 
 Then mounted that young maiden, and away, swift swift 
 
 away, 
 Over Galty's dreamy highlands like a flash of light went 
 
 they. 
 
 x. 
 
 The sunset sudden vanished, and a mighty vault instead, 
 Lit with many-tinted crystals high o'er their pathway 
 
 spread ; 
 Cavern spars gleamed all around them with the white 
 
 stars' silver flame, 
 Till they crossed th' Enchanted River, and to Tirnanoge 
 
 they came.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 85 
 
 XI. 
 
 The maiden gazed with wonder on that world of beauty 
 
 bright, 
 With its green and heavenly mountains bathed all in 
 
 silver light, 
 With its calm sky ever gleaming all in crystal sheen 
 
 above, 
 And its plains, bright streams, and valleys, where the 
 
 fairy dwellers rove. 
 
 xir. 
 It seemed unto the maiden scarce an hour had passed 
 
 away, 
 When they found a mighty falchion beside their path 
 
 it lay. 
 "Take this falchion to my father," said the maid : " for 
 
 some old lore, 
 Some weird voice doth sudden tell me 'twill regain his 
 
 right once more." 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Sped the esquire with the falchion to the exiled monarch 
 
 back, 
 And alone went forth the maiden on her silent heavenly 
 
 track, 
 Till beside a crystal river towered a diamond palace 
 
 sheen, 
 And, with all her court around her, there she found the 
 
 Fairy Queen, 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " By this fairy wand you gave me with its wonder- 
 working power, 
 
 Send me back, O radiant empress, to the world for one 
 short hour, 
 
 Back to Dun Grod's hoary fastness that my father I may 
 see, 
 
 And from dreary woe and sorrow I'll bring him back 
 with me."
 
 86 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 xv. 
 
 "Few are they," said that bright empress, "who would 
 
 leave this land again ; 
 Yet go, and on thy swift course thou shalt have befitting 
 
 train." 
 
 Away the Munster princess and her fairy train are gone, 
 Through the green vales, through the bright plains, 
 
 through the cavern, to the sun ! 
 
 XVT. 
 When she reached the green Earth's valleys from that 
 
 wondrous fairy zone, 
 'Stead of two short hours of gladness, ten long years 
 
 away had flown ! * 
 In the land were many changes ; 'twas the golden 
 
 summer time ; 
 And they asked a youthful peasant, " Who now reigns in 
 
 this sweet clime?" 
 
 XVII. 
 
 " Duan reigns, our aged monarch ; he has slain th' 
 
 usurping lord, 
 And regained fair Munster's valleys by a mighty 
 
 conquering sword ; 
 
 But. O lovely lovely lady, are you come from Fairyland, 
 You look so bright and beauteous on this morning fresh 
 
 and bland ? " 
 
 xviir. 
 
 The lady could not answer, so filled with joy was she ; 
 With her train of maids and gallants sped she on o'er hill 
 
 and lea, 
 Till she reached her father's palace where it stood by 
 
 Shannon's wave, 
 And joyful was the welcome that the gladsome monarch 
 
 gave. 
 
 * On this point see Joyce's Smaller Social History of Ancient 
 Ireland, p. 126.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 87 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Soon he led to his bright daughter a champion young and 
 
 tall, 
 " This be he whose gallant father still was faithful in my 
 
 fall ; 
 Thou canst ne'er find champion braver, truer love thou 
 
 ne'er shalt find : 
 Wilt thou then return, as thou hast said, and leave him 
 
 and me behind ? " 
 
 xx. 
 
 On her father, on the champion, on her brilliant fairy 
 
 train, 
 She looked ; then said she'd ne'er return to Fairyland 
 
 again. 
 Bright was the nuptial morning, and happy was the 
 
 time, 
 When that princess and her champion reigned o'er the 
 
 Munster clime. 
 
 SONG OF TREN THE FAIRY.* 
 
 i. 
 FROM flower bells of ev'ry hue, 
 
 Crystal white or golden yellow, 
 We drink the honey-dew 
 Until we all get mellow, 
 Until we all get mellow, 
 
 And through our festal glee 
 I'm the blithest little fellow ) Repeat to 
 In the fairy companie. j suit the air. 
 
 * For the air, see Goodman's School and Home Song Book, 
 p. 82. " Tren " is pronounced Train.
 
 86 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 u. 
 
 In the fairy companie 
 
 They call me Tren the Merry, 
 
 For I love in revelry 
 
 Each gloomy thought to bury, 
 Each dark sad thought to bury, 
 As I laugh by flower and tree, 
 
 Hill and stream and river ferry, ) 
 
 ,,,. , ,, . . . J \ Repeat. 
 
 Mid the fairy companie. ) 
 
 III. 
 
 'Neath the sunset's crimson ray 
 
 Cups of crystal wine we swallow ; 
 Then my fairy mates are gay, 
 And where'er I go they follow, 
 With laughter mad they follow, 
 
 I dance so merrilie, 
 Over hill and flower-starred hollow, 
 For the fairy companie. 
 
 IV. 
 
 There from bells of ev'ry hue, 
 Crystal white or golden yellow, 
 
 We drink the honey-dew, 
 Until we all get mellow, 
 All laughing glad and mellow, 
 And through our festal glee, 
 I'm the blithest little fellow ) 
 
 T , . . . I Repeat. 
 
 In the fairy companie. )
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 89 
 
 ROMANCE OF THE STONE COFFIN. 
 
 Knockbrone, also called Carrigeennamronety, the " Hill of the 
 Millstones," is situated about two miles north of Kildorrery, on 
 the confines of the counties of Cork and Limerick. Between it 
 and Knockea there is a narrow and deep pass called Barna Derg, 
 the Red Gap, now called Redchair (the " Bloody Pass" of the 
 7th verse). In a ridge of rocks running from the base to the 
 summit of Knockbrone lies a small cave called by the people of 
 the place Seomra-Nora [Shoamra-Nora], "Nora's Chamber." In 
 this cave, according to the legend, a young woman named Nora 
 hollowed out her coffin, and died as told in the ballad. " Cleena's 
 Wave," the sea off the south coast of Cork : see page 28. 
 
 I. 
 
 THERE'S a hollow cave in dark Kuockbrone ; 
 It faceth to the golden west 
 
 From the steep mountain's ridge of stone : 
 Boulder and crag, around it strown, 
 Its entrance from the wild winds save : 
 
 And there of yore, in that lone cave, 
 There lived the gentlest fairest maid 
 
 From brown Slieve Bloom to Cleena's wave. 
 
 ii. 
 
 In grey Kilmallock stands a tower, 
 And there her lordly father dwelt 
 Long long ago in pride and power. 
 And ample was bright Nora's dower, 
 And many suitors round her came ; 
 
 Till one old chieftain pressed his claim ; 
 A false and gloomy man was he, 
 
 But high he stood in martial fame.
 
 90 BALLADS OF HUSH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 
 Some curse was on her father then ; 
 He looked with scorn on her true love 
 For young Sir Redmond of the Glen. 
 They forced her to the shrine, and when 
 Within its sacred bound they staid, 
 
 The withered bridegroom that fair maid 
 You ne'er have seen and ne'er shall see 
 A bridal match so ill arrayed. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As they sat that eve at sunset red, 
 The bridegroom said, with bitter leer, 
 His own dear lady was not dead ! 
 Alas, 'twas truth the old man said : 
 Then Nora started from her rest ; 
 
 And plunged a dagger in his breast ; 
 Then fled by glen and bower and tree, 
 
 Until she reached Knockbrone's wild crest. 
 
 v. 
 
 Remorseful, mad with grief and pain, 
 She passed that woeful summer night, 
 Till morn leapt o'er the hills again. 
 O, tears may gush like April rain, 
 Yet the heart's sorrow will not go ; 
 
 And Nora's grief, remorse, and woe 
 From her poor bosom would not flee, 
 Howe'er her bitter tears might flow. 
 
 vr. 
 
 Her food the wild herbs of the fell, 
 The cave her home for many a day, 
 Her drink a lone and rock-bound well. 
 At length she prayed and legends tell 
 How God did hear her earnest prayer 
 To die on that wild mountain there, 
 And leave for Heaven her misery, 
 
 Her sorrow, madness, and despair.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 91 
 
 vu. 
 
 As by the cave one noon she sat, 
 
 Far looking towards her father's hall, 
 
 Crags round her grey and desolate, 
 
 She saw in burnished harness plate 
 
 Many fierce chargers spurn the grass : 
 
 Two armies, each in one bright mass, 
 Rushed into battle valiantly 
 
 Beneath her in the Bloody Pass. 
 
 Tin. 
 
 One chief she knew with fatal spear, 
 'Twas young Sir Redmond of the Glen, 
 Forth rushing in his wild career. 
 She saw the foe's red banner near 
 Where knight and kern lay strewn and killed, 
 
 Her brave young lover's blood was spilled ; 
 And there that hapless hour sat she, 
 The measure of her sorrows filled. 
 
 IX. 
 
 She took the huge dirk which had slain 
 That old and false and villain chief, 
 Red-crusted with its bloody stain : 
 A grey old crumbling stone had lain 
 Beside the cave for many a year, 
 
 "Of this," she cried, "I'll make my bier, 
 And die where o'er my misery 
 
 No human eye can shed a tear ! ' ' 
 
 x. 
 
 Morn and noon and sunset red, 
 The lady plied that dagger strong, 
 Till she had scooped her narrow bed. 
 Now the sweet summer time was fled, 
 Its blooming flowers decayed and gone ; 
 And all forlorn, and weak, and wan, 
 There on an autumn eve sat she, 
 
 The last that o'er her misery shone.
 
 92 BALLADS OF IEISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 XI. 
 
 She laid her on her bier of stone, 
 And there beside that rocky cave 
 She died in sorrow all alone ; 
 Where, by the ridge of stern Knockbrone, 
 The peasants found her lifeless clay, 
 And bare her to the abbey grey. 
 There sleeps she lowly, silently, 
 
 Till mercy comes on Judgment Day. 
 
 THE NEW-MOWN HAY. 
 
 AIR: "Young Roger was a Ploughboy."* 
 
 I. 
 YOUNG Johnnie, in the autumn, 
 
 To Limerick he came, 
 And none knew what brought him, 
 And none knew his name ; 
 But he sat by Bessie Gray 
 On that sunny autumn day, 
 
 And he told her sweet romances 'mid the new-mown hay. 
 Then O, for fields lighted 
 By sweet autumn's ray, 
 When fond vows are plighted 
 'Mid the new-mown hay. 
 
 ir. 
 Young Johnnie had his dwelling 
 
 Down fast by the Lee, 
 And in manly sports excelling, 
 
 But few like him you'd see ; 
 
 * For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 80.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 93 
 
 And so thought Bessie Gray 
 Since that sunny autumn day 
 
 When he told her sweet romances 'mid the new- mown hay. 
 Then O, for fields lighted 
 By sweet autumn's ray, 
 When fond vows are plighted 
 'Mid the new-mown hay. 
 
 m. 
 
 Young Johnnie could remember 
 
 His vows and his flame ; 
 He came in December, 
 And all knew his name ; 
 And there was a wedding gay, 
 And the bride was Bessie Gray, 
 
 And all from these romances 'mid the new-mown hay. 
 
 Then O, for fields lighted 
 
 By sweet autumn's ray, 
 
 When fond vows are plighted 
 
 'Mid the new-mown hay. 
 
 THE PILGRIM. 
 
 I. 
 
 As I sat at the cross in the village, it was on a bright 
 
 summer day, 
 An old man came silently thither, was drooping and 
 
 bearded and grey; 
 There was dust on his shoon and his garments, the sore 
 
 dust of many a mile ; 
 " O, where are you going, grey pilgrim 1 Come rest 
 
 'neath this green tree a while."
 
 94 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 II. 
 
 "May God's holy blessing be on you, an hour from my 
 journey I'll steal : 
 
 I have wandered from morning till noontide, and foot- 
 sore and weary I feel ; 
 
 I am going fast fast to the graveyard, and wish I may 
 reach it full soon, 
 
 Till under its green grass, untroubled, I sleep by my 
 Eileen Aroon. 
 
 in. 
 
 "Eileen was an Orangeman's daughter, but deep was 
 
 her fondness for me ; 
 She dwelt where in glory and splendour broad Barrow 
 
 sweeps down to the sea : 
 She was fair as the roses of summer and mild as a May 
 
 morning bland ; 
 A maiden so bright in her beauty was never like her in 
 
 the land. 
 
 IV. 
 
 "Ah ! sorely and well I remember, it was in the year 
 
 Ninety- eight, 
 When peace from our land was uprooted and sad was the 
 
 poor peasant's fate ; 
 I'd scarce numbered twenty fair summers, the blood ran 
 
 like fire in my veins, 
 And I rose with the rest for old Ireland to free her from 
 
 bondage and chains. 
 
 v. 
 
 " I had a strange power 'mong my neighbours, my sires 
 
 had been chiefs in the land, 
 And soon on the hills gathered round me a valiant, a 
 
 wild daring band.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 95 
 
 Through many a brave fight I led them by lone cot and 
 
 strife-ruined hall, 
 Till a dark hour of doom saw me faithless to God and my 
 
 country and all. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " We had camped in a gorge of the mountains; the red- 
 coats and yeomen were near : 
 
 I said, ' If I wait for the morning her sire will encounter 
 me here ; 
 
 Can I calm the dark foeman who hates me, with love for 
 his child pure and bright ? 
 
 Can I spare him in battle's mad fury ? ' I fled from my 
 comrades that night ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 * ' I fled like a deer through the mountains to the home 
 of my Eileen Aroon ; 
 
 Ah, great God of glory and mercy, the black fate that 
 met us so soon ! 
 
 She lay in her grave-clothes, down-stricken by a death- 
 sickness sudden and sore, 
 
 And my name was the name of a traitor and my bright 
 hopes were quenched evermore. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 "From the old pilgrim places around me to grey holy 
 
 Derg of the Lake, 
 Since that wild time of trouble and vengeance my slow 
 
 yearly pathway I take ; 
 And I pray that my sins be forgiven, by many a lone 
 
 ruined wall, 
 And I sleep, but I'll soon sleep beside her, the long 
 
 sweetest slumber of all."
 
 96 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then mournful stood up that old pilgrim, and mournful 
 
 took me by the hand, 
 " The blessings of love be upon you, and freedom and 
 
 peace in the land ! " 
 Then he drank at the spring in the village and silently 
 
 went on his way : 
 May God and His mercy go with him, a sure prop by 
 
 night and by day ! 
 
 THE BOYS OF WEXFORD. 
 
 This ballad is correct in its topography and historical allusions. 
 An account of all the battles mentioned here will be found in any 
 good History of Ireland, or in a History of the Rebellion of 
 Ninety-eight. The ballad is founded on an old Wexford folk 
 song, very familiar all over the south of Ireland in my young 
 days, when my brother and myself learned both air and words 
 by merely hearing them sung in our home. He has incorporated 
 in his ballad two verses of the original, little changed. The 
 words are supposed to have been uttered by a Wexford peasant 
 immediately after the Rebellion, in which he took part ; and in 
 this respect they follow out the idea of the old folk song. 
 
 I think it worth while to give here the proper air of this song, 
 the fine martial air to which the Wexford people always sang 
 their old folk song " The Boys of Wexford," as it was published 
 by me for the first time in 1872, in my " Ancient Irish Music," 
 p. 27. The air to which Mr. Ludwig has recently set the song 
 he found in Hoffmann's edition of a portion of Petrie's Ancient 
 Music of Ireland, p. 50, where it is given without a name. 
 Hoffmann does not give the name of the person from whom Petrie 
 got it, or the part of the country it came from : the air is simply 
 given, and we were told nothing whatever about it. It is not 
 the original air of "The Boys of Wexford," though it is now 
 familiar all over the country through Mr. Ludwig's singing.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 97 
 
 In comes the cap - tain's cluugh - ter, the 
 
 cap - tain of the Yuos say -ing, "Brave U-nited man, we'll 
 
 ne'er a - gain be foes : A thou - sand pounds I'll give you and 
 
 
 fly from home with thee; I'll dress my-self in man' sat -tire and 
 
 Chorus. 
 
 *==*==&= 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 fight for lib - er - tie. 
 
 are the Boys of "Wex - ford who fought with heart and hand To 
 
 burst in twain the gall -ing chain, and free our na-tive land. 
 H
 
 98 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 ii. 
 
 And when we left our cabins, boys, we left with right 
 
 good will, 
 To join our friends and neighbours encamped on Vinegar 
 
 Hill; 
 
 A young man from our ranks a cannon he let go ; 
 He slapped it into Lord Mount joy a tyrant he laid low. 
 
 We are the Boys of Wexford who fought with heart 
 and hand 
 
 To burst in twain the galling chain, and free our 
 native land. 
 
 in. 
 
 At Three Rocks and Tubberneering how well we won the 
 
 day, 
 Depending on the long bright pike, and well it worked 
 
 its way : 
 At Wexford and at Oulart we made them quake with 
 
 fear ; 
 For every man could do his part, like Forth and Shelma- 
 
 liere. 
 We are the Boys of Wexford who fought with heart 
 
 and hand 
 
 To burst in twain the galling chain, and free our 
 native land. 
 
 IV. 
 
 My curse upon all drinking 'twas that that brought us 
 
 down ; 
 
 It lost us Ross and Wexford, and many another town. 
 And if for want of leaders we lost at Vinegar Hill, 
 We're ready for another fight and love our country still. 
 We are the Boys of Wexford who fought with heart 
 
 and hand 
 
 .To burst in twain the galling chain, and free our 
 native land.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 99 
 
 SIR DONALL. 
 
 AFAR in the vales of green Houra* my heart lingers all the 
 
 day long, 
 'Mid the dance of the light-footed maidens, with the music 
 
 of Ounanaar's song,t 
 Where the steep hills uprise all empurpled with the 
 
 bloom of the bright heather bells, 
 Looking down on their murmuring daughters, the blue 
 
 streams of Houra's wild dells. 
 In the hush of a calm summer sunset where sing these 
 
 sweet streams as they flow, 
 As I sat with the blithe youths and maidens they made 
 
 me their bard long ago ; 
 Then I told of each valley some legend, some tale of 
 
 each blue mountain crest, 
 But they loved of all old tales I sang them the lay of 
 
 Sir Donall the best. 
 So I'll sing once again of his deeds in my boyhood's 
 
 rude measures and rhymes, 
 Then, gentles, all list to the story, this lay of old 
 
 chivalrous times : 
 
 * Houra : the Ballyhoura Mountains, extending eastwards from 
 Charleville, Co. Cork. The author of these poems was born, 
 and passed his early life, in Glenosheen, situated in a romantic 
 valley in the heart of the Ballyhoura Mountains. 
 
 t Ounanaar, the Glenanaar (or Ogeen, or Glenmore) river, 
 lisingin the Ballyhoura Mountains and falling into the Aubeg or 
 Mulla, near Doneraile. 
 
 H2
 
 100 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 n. 
 
 Nigh the shores of the swift flowing Bregoge,* on a rock 
 
 tow'ring over the wold, 
 Walled in by the rough steeps of Houra, there standeth 
 
 a grey feudal hold ; 
 It is worn by the hard hail of battle, decay is at work 
 
 on its hill, 
 Yet it stands like a sorrow-struck Titan, high, lone, and 
 
 unconquerable still. 
 The green ivy clingeth around it, the blast is at play in 
 
 its halls, 
 The weasel peeps out from its crannies, the black raven 
 
 croaks on its walls ; 
 The peasants who pass in the evening will hurry their 
 
 steps from its height, 
 For they tell fearful things of its chambers and call it 
 
 the Tower of the Sprite. t 
 But its bleak ruined halls once rang merry with wassail 
 
 and minstrel's sweet lay, 
 When it sheltered the youthful Sir Donall, its lord in the 
 
 good olden day. 
 
 in. 
 Sir Donall was first in the chase, and as morning 
 
 upsprang from the sea, 
 He was out by the fay-haunted streams with his falcons 
 
 in woody Fer-muighe ; f 
 
 * Bregoge, a mountain torrent rising in the Ballyhoura hills 
 and falling into the Aubeg near Doneraile. It is celebrated 
 in conjunction with the Mulla or Aubeg by Spenser in his 
 poem " Colin Clouts come home again." 
 
 t Castlepook, "the castle of the pooka or sprite," near 
 Doneraile, stands to this day a black stern-looking lonely ruin : 
 a very fitting home for the Pooka. 
 
 J Fermuighe, now the barony of Fermoy ; pronounced 
 Fermwee, to rhyme with "sea."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 101 
 
 Or away, far away 'mid the mountains, with stag-hound 
 
 and bugle and steed, 
 Overmatching the grey wolf in boldness, outstripping the 
 
 red deer in speed. 
 And his heart and his strong hand were bravest, when 
 
 high rose the trumpet's wild strain, 
 When the war-fires blazed red on the hill-tops and the 
 
 horsemen rode hard on the plain, 
 When dight in his harness and spurring to the Desmond's 
 
 bright banner away, 
 His mountaineers dashing behind him with sabres athirst 
 
 for the fray. 
 On the field, in the home, he was welcomed ; and the 
 
 dames of the crag castles tall 
 Were proud when he smiled on their daughters at eve in 
 
 the gay festive hall. 
 
 "Tis noon on the broad plain of Limerick and down by 
 
 the calm Loobagh's tide,* 
 The sunbeams smite hot on the meadows and burn by 
 
 the green forest side ; 
 And brightly they glint from a helmet and broadly they 
 
 gleam from a shield, 
 Where a knight rideth up by the river in brave shining 
 
 panoply steeled. 
 Kernf crouch on his path in the greenwood with pikes 
 
 ready raised for a foe ; 
 But they know the high mien of Sir Donall and stay for 
 
 some Saxon the blow ; 
 
 * Loobagh, the crooked or winding river the stream that runs 
 by Kilmallock. 
 
 t Kern, a light-armed foot-soldier ; Galloglass, a heavy-armed 
 foot- soldier.
 
 102 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And the galloglass scowls from his ambush ; but he too 
 
 remembers that plume, 
 And wishing good luck to its owner, strides back to his 
 
 lair in the gloom. 
 But why rides Sir Donall so lonely 1 and why is his 
 
 gladness all fled ? 
 On a field by Lough Gur's lonely water* the friend of his 
 
 bosom lies dead. 
 
 Away then away to the mountains he giveth his war- 
 horse the rein, 
 While he longs for the clangour of battle to drown his 
 
 dejection again ; 
 The blest Hill of Patrickf slopes green with its tall hoary 
 
 tower on his way, 
 But the good monk who waits in the abbey in vain 
 
 looketh out for his stay ; 
 And anon the Black Rock of the Eagle frowns down on 
 
 his path by Easmore, 
 Till he crosseth the slow Oun-na-Geeragh, and windeth 
 
 away from its shore. 
 Now nigh him Seefin riseth proudly o'er wild Gleno- 
 
 sheen's ancient wood ; 
 He glances at bright Lyre-na-Grena and drinks of its 
 
 cool crystal flood, 
 
 * Lough Gur, a lake nearBruff, Co. Limerick. 
 
 t Ard Patrick the Height of St. Patrick is a beautiful 
 green hill at the Limerick side of the Houras. On its summit 
 is an ancient church, the time of whose foundation is unknown. 
 Near the church are the remains of a round tower which was 
 blown down by a storm about a century ago. This hill is, and 
 always was, grassy to the top, while all the hills rising over and 
 near it are dark with heather. Accordingly the old pagan name 
 Finntuluch, ""White Hill," was correctly descriptive.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 103 
 
 Then sweeps through the dark Poulaflaikin and on by a 
 
 flat moorland side, 
 Till he lights nigh a clear fairy fountain at length by the 
 
 Ounanaar's tide.* 
 
 VI. 
 
 It is on a small shrubby islet, with forests and cliffs all 
 
 around, 
 Save where the bright stream from the blue hills leaps 
 
 down with a low lulling sound ; 
 And it seems as if step of nought human did e'er on its 
 
 low strand alight ; 
 Yet a lady peers out from the thicket anear the good 
 
 steed of the knight. 
 She is old, yet there's fire in her dark eye, but sorrow is 
 
 stamped on her mien, 
 And she knows the tall crest of Sir Donall and comes to 
 
 his side from the screen ; 
 She waveth her hand to him sadly ; he follows her steps 
 
 by the flood, 
 Till they enter a hut of thick brambles concealed in the 
 
 dark spreading wood, 
 And there, on a rude couch of green fern, an old dying 
 
 chieftain is laid, 
 
 And over him bitterly weeping, there bendeth a golden- 
 haired maid. 
 
 * Blackrock towers over the right as you go from Ardpatrick 
 to Glenosheen, under which is Easmore (pp. 8, 62) : Irish 
 name Lubh-Uharraig an iolair [Doocamg-an-iller] "Black-rock 
 of the eagle." Down to a century ago eagles had their nests on 
 the perpendicular face of the cliff. Lyre-na-Grena, " Sunny 
 Glen," on the south- east side of Seefin Mountain. Poulaflaikin, 
 or Poulaflaikeen, the high pass leading from Glenosheen to 
 Glenanaar, with Knockea hill on the left, and the Long 
 Mountain on the right. The Ounnageeragh river has one of its 
 head waters in Lyre-na-freaghaun under Blackrock. Seefin and 
 Glenosheen are correctly described above. .::
 
 104 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He turns to the knight as he enters, and thus in weak 
 
 accents of woe : 
 ' ' Thy sire was my friend, good Sir Donall, in the days of 
 
 our youth long ago ; 
 The Saxons have scattered my people alas, for that 
 
 gloom-darkened hour, 
 When they forced me to fly, weak and wounded, thus far 
 
 from Duarrigle's tower.* 
 A friend a friend treacherous and hollow hath tracked 
 
 me to Ounanaar's side, 
 And he swears on his sword to betray me or have this 
 
 young maid for his bride ; 
 Black Murrogh, false lord of Rathgoggan,t soon soon 
 
 from thy wiles I am free ; 
 But alas for the wife of my bosom, alas, my loved 
 
 daughter, for thee ! " 
 
 He died on that eve, and they bore him away to the age- 
 honoured spires 
 Of grey KilnamullaghJ next noontide, and laid him to 
 
 rest with his sires. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 There was feasting that night in Kilcolman, and all in 
 
 their bright martial gear, 
 Black Murrogh and fearless Sir Donall and many stout 
 
 champions are there ; 
 
 * Duarrigle, an ancient castle near Kanturk, Co. Cork, a seat 
 of the O'Keeffes. 
 
 t Rathgoggan, the Irish name of Chaiieville, Co. Cork. 
 
 | Kilnamullagh, now Buttevant. 
 
 Kilcolman Castle, near Castlepook (Sir Donall's home), and 
 near Buttevant and Doneraile. See " The Burning of Kilcol- 
 man," farther on.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 105 
 
 And there speaks Sir Donall, uprising, and bends on 
 
 black Murrogh his gaze : 
 "List ye, freres of the feast and the battle, to a tale of 
 
 the wild forest maze. 
 As I rode by the Ounanaar's water, Duarrigle's chieftain 
 
 I found ; 
 He was driven from his home by the Saxons, and said, 
 
 ere he died of his wound : 
 ' A friend a friend treacherous and hollow has tracked 
 
 me to Ounanaar's side, 
 A friend who has sworn to betray me or have my young 
 
 daughter his bride ! ' 
 By my faith he's a bold knightly traitor, to woo her with 
 
 ardour so brave ; 
 Now there lies my gauntlet before him : thus proof of his 
 
 passion I crave ! " 
 
 IX. 
 
 Then up starts the lord of Rathgoggan and fierce is the , 
 
 flash of his eye, 
 As he glares on the dark brows around him with bearing 
 
 defiant and high : 
 "False knight of a silly young maiden, thy gauntlet I 
 
 take from the board, 
 And soon on thy crest in the combat I'll prove my good 
 
 name with my sword ; 
 And I'll clear a good path to my glory a path through 
 
 that black heart of thine, 
 But fired by the love of young damsels, but steeled by 
 
 the red gushing wine ; 
 And close be the palisade round us and short be the 
 
 distance between, 
 Where a liar's black life-blood shall poison the bloom of 
 
 the bright summer green ! " 
 " And fair shine the sun," quoth Sir Donall, "the bright 
 
 evening sun on my sword, 
 Defending Duarrigle's maiden avenging Duarrigle's 
 
 lord ! "
 
 106 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY, 
 
 x. 
 
 Calm eve on the fair hills of Houra and down by the 
 
 Mulla's green marge, 
 The red beams are burning in glory from hauberk and 
 
 sabre and targe, 
 And the warriors are circling around it that smooth 
 
 listed green by the wave 
 Where two mailed champions are standing with keen axe 
 
 and target and glaive ; 
 Flash lances around them in brightness, gleam banners 
 
 along by the shore, 
 Fierce Condon's from Araglin's water,* De Rupe's from 
 
 lordly Glenore ; 
 And the Barry's proud pennon is waving, and the flags 
 
 of the chieftains whose towers 
 Defy from their crag-seats the foemen by Avonmore's 
 
 gorges and bowers ; 
 Yet still the two champions stand moveless, stern, 
 
 frowning, and silent the while, 
 Like the panoplied statues that stand round the walls of 
 
 some grey abbey aisle. 
 
 XI. 
 
 But hark, how the clear martial trumpet outrolls the 
 
 dread signal for strife, 
 And see how those motionless statues outstart from their 
 
 postures to life ! 
 The mailed heels go round on the greensward, the mailed 
 
 hands ply weapons amain, 
 Till the targes are battered and cloven and the axes are 
 
 shivered in twain. 
 
 *Araglin, a river joining the Blackwater near Fermoy. 
 Glenore, Glan worth in the same neighbourhood. Avonmore, the 
 Blackwater.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 107 
 
 Wide and deep are the wounds of Sir Donall, but deeper 
 
 the gash of his foe, 
 As their sabres cross, gleaming and clashing two flames 
 
 in the red sunny glow : 
 One thrust through the blood-spattered hauberk, one 
 
 stroke on the crest waving o'er, 
 And the lord of Rathgoggan lies fallen to rise to the 
 
 combat no more ; 
 And there, for a space, swaying, reeling, and faint from 
 
 his wounds' gushing tide, 
 Sir Donall looks down on the vanquished, then sinketh 
 
 in swoon by his side. 
 
 xir. 
 
 They bear one away to his tower and they bear one away 
 
 stark and cold ; 
 One ne'er may awake ; and one waketh, a bright blessed 
 
 scene to behold ; 
 For the maid of Duarrigle bendeth above the dim couch 
 
 where he lies, 
 With love as her spirit immortal and joy like the morn 
 
 in her eyes. 
 O, sweet are the dreams of his slumbers o'erflowing with 
 
 fairy delight, 
 But sweeter the dreams of his waking each day in the 
 
 Tower of the Sprite. 
 And now 'tis the fullness of summer, a fair breezy 
 
 morning in June, 
 And the streams of green Houra are leaping along with a 
 
 sweet murm'ring tune, 
 And thy bells, Kilnamullagh, are ringing not knells of 
 
 the gloom-footed hours, 
 But the sweet bridal chimes of Sir Donall and the maid 
 
 of Duarrigle's towers.
 
 108 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 THE BLIND GIRL OF GLENORE.* 
 
 i. 
 THE summer blooms around me, 
 
 Fields and streams and lovely bowers, 
 But I cannot see the glory 
 
 Of the meadows and the flowers ; 
 Once to me the golden summer 
 
 Was all one lapse of light, 
 Till the red red lightning struck me, 
 And withered up my sight. 
 Ah! Donall, Donall, 
 Donall of Glenore, 
 Give me back the heart I gave you 
 In the sunny days of yore. 
 
 ii. 
 Do you mind the sunlit meadow 
 
 Where the Funshion murmurs past, 
 Where you vowed one silent even 
 That your love should ever last ? 
 I have now no friends to love me 
 
 In Molaga'sf yard lie they 
 And the blindness, O, this blindness 
 Is upon me night and day. 
 Ah ! Donall, Donall, 
 Donall of Glenore, 
 Give me back the heart I gave you 
 In the sunny days of yore. 
 
 * Glenore, now Glanworth on the Funshion. See p. 106. 
 
 t Molaga, a venerable little church ruin giving name to the 
 parish of Templemolaga, on the river Funshion, two miles east 
 of Kilderrery, Co. Cork. For St. Molaga, see Joyce's Irish 
 Names of Places, vol. i., p. 152.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 109 
 
 in. 
 They tell me in the village 
 
 That your heart to me is changed ; 
 But your words have never told me 
 
 That you wish to be estranged ; 
 Yet I will not cloud the gladness 
 
 Of a heart so kind and free 
 O, this blindness, O, this blindness, 
 Sad the doom it brought to me. 
 Ah, Donall, Donall, 
 Donall of Glenore, 
 Give me back the heart I gave you 
 In the sunny days of yore. 
 
 IT. 
 Donall took the hand of Nora 
 
 On a lovely morning-tide ; 
 He led her to the chapel 
 
 And he made her there his bride. 
 And to find a pair so happy 
 
 You should travel far and wide 
 As the blind maid and her Donall 
 By the Funshion's flowery side. 
 Ah, Donall, Donall, 
 
 Donall of Glenore ; 
 Still he loved her as he loved her 
 In the sunny days of yore.
 
 110 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 EVELEEN. 
 
 Am "The wicked Kenyman."* 
 
 I. 
 
 FAR in the mountains with you, my Eveleen, 
 I would be loving and true, my Eveleen ; 
 
 Then climb the mountains with me. 
 Long have I dwelt by the forest river side, 
 Where the bright ripples flash and quiver wide ; . 
 There the fleet hours shall blissful ever glide 
 
 O'er us, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 n. 
 
 There on my rocky throne, my Eveleen, 
 Ever, ever alone, my Eveleen, 
 
 I sit dreaming of thee ; 
 High on the fern-clad rocks reclining there, 
 Though the wild birds their songs are twining fair, 
 Thee I hear, and I see thy shining hair, 
 
 There, there, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 in. 
 
 Deeply in broad Kilmore,f my Eveleen, 
 Down by the clear stream's shore, my Eveleen, 
 
 I've made a sweet home for thee ; 
 Yellow and bright like thy long long flowing hair, 
 Flowers the fairest are ever blowing there, 
 Fairer still with thy blue eyes glowing there, 
 
 Brightly, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then come away, away, my Eveleen ; 
 We will spend each day, my Eveleen, 
 
 Blissful and loving and free. 
 
 Come to the woods where the streams are pouring blue, 
 Singing in summer, in winter roaring through ; 
 I'll grow fonder each day adoring you, 
 
 There, there, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 * For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 54. 
 t Kilmore, a district near Mallow and Buttevant, Co. Cork.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. Ill 
 
 THE ENCHANTED WAR-HORSE. 
 
 i. 
 DOON* hangs above the ocean clear, 
 
 With old embattled towers, 
 And rears its grey head, stern and drear, 
 
 O'er inland streams and flowers ; 
 Deserted now for many a year, 
 
 While the sun shines on the roses ; 
 And the laugh of man shall never more 
 Resound within its chambers hoar, 
 While the waves roll by with thundering force, 
 
 Or the ocean calm reposes ; 
 While the linnet sings on the golden gorse, 
 
 And the sun shines on the roses. 
 
 The fairies dance on Doon's grey hill, 
 
 When the midnight moon shines brightly, 
 Or far below by its forest rill, 
 
 With many a prank full sprightly ; 
 They foot it too and dance their fill, 
 
 When the sun shines on the roses, 
 On the glade within its forest maze, 
 Where the flowers with light are all ablaze, 
 Where the stream along its glittering course 
 
 Its many charms discloses, 
 And the linnet sings on the golden gorse, 
 
 And the sun shines on the roses. 
 
 * Boon Castle, now in ruins, stands exactly as the ballad de- 
 scribes it on the edge of a cliff over the Atlantic beside Doon 
 Point at the mouth of the Shannon, a mile and a half north of 
 Ballybunnion in Kerry.
 
 112 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 A heavy tramp sounds through the copse, 
 
 Upon their sport advancing, 
 And now their gleesome laughter stops, 
 
 And all their merry dancing ; 
 And treading down the lusmore* tops, 
 
 A steed comes onward prancing 
 A great grey steed with glossy back, 
 With crested mane of midnight black, 
 With arched neck and mighty limb, 
 
 And bold eyes glittering ever ; 
 Where frowned that castle hoar and grim, 
 
 And sang the woodland river. 
 
 IV. 
 
 They look into his great black eyes, 
 
 That gaze on them with wonder, 
 And now they talk in wild surprise, 
 
 And now they pause and ponder. 
 At length a gallant elf-knight cries, 
 
 ' ' Out from the castle yonder, 
 We'll bring the trappings that we found 
 Deep in the chamber under ground, 
 And with them send this steed of might, 
 
 A master seeking ever ! " 
 Where frowned that castle on the height, 
 
 And sang the woodland river. 
 
 v. 
 With laugh and shout away they go, 
 
 And up the steep rocks clamber ; 
 They heed not that the sea below 
 
 Lies stretched like golden amber ; 
 
 * Lusmore, the " fairy-thimble " : foxglove : digitalis : a fairy 
 herb of mighty power.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 113 
 
 They were too busy far, I trow, 
 
 For from the haunted chamber 
 They've brought the harness forth, and braced 
 The saddle bright with silver chased, 
 The haunch-plates, breast-plate, forehead boss, 
 
 And rein of golden glory, 
 Where the woodland stream sang through the moss, 
 
 And frowned that castle hoary. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They hung beside the saddle sheen 
 
 A helm and pair of lances, 
 The best that e'er in war were seen, 
 
 Or heard of in romances ; 
 And then they capered round the green, 
 
 And then, with merry glances, 
 Upon the steed strange spells they laid, 
 And dancing round him in the glade, 
 Said, " Go thou forth, thou gallant horse, 
 
 And find what fate discloses ; 
 While the linnet sings on the golden gorse, 
 
 And the sun shines on the roses ! " 
 
 VII. 
 
 The steed sped down the forest straight, 
 
 And came to a lordly castle, 
 Where all were, noon and night, elate 
 
 With wine and roaring wassail ; 
 A jolly knight came from the gate, 
 
 Bedecked with plume and tassel, 
 And sprang upon his back, but there 
 Soon went he flying through the air, 
 And down~on earth with broken bones, 
 
 In grief and woe to languish, 
 And found that^sermons lie in stones 
 
 Of bitter pain and anguish. 
 I
 
 114 BALLADS OF 1EISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Next by a castle grim and bare 
 
 That great steed's hoofs came clanging, 
 Where rose the puritanic prayer 
 
 And hymns with nasal twanging ; 
 Its lord came down the castle stair, 
 
 His godly bosom banging, 
 And sprang upon the horse's back, 
 But soon went prone into the black 
 Deep moat, where oft his holy steel 
 
 Strewed poor malignants' corses, 
 And found his puritanic zeal 
 
 Was most unfit for horses. 
 
 IX. 
 
 By tower and street, the country round, 
 
 By many a hall of pleasure, 
 He sped, but every rider found 
 
 Wanting in some sad measure. 
 One was a miser whom he drowned, 
 
 For all his bags of treasure ; 
 One was a knave that sold his cause, 
 And one a bloody tyrant was ; 
 Another was a false mean hack, 
 
 Of false men's views the ranter ; 
 But all, as each one gained his back, 
 
 He hurled to earth instanter. 
 
 x. 
 
 At last by lone Cragbarna's side, 
 
 A region Ossianic, 
 Where none but outlaws dared abide, 
 
 'Mid rugged rocks volcanic, 
 As, proud and strong, the great steed hied, 
 
 Down from a crag Titanic 
 
 A young knight sprang 'twas John the Browu r 
 The banished lord of Barnaloun
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 115 
 
 Sprang on his back, and stuck thereon 
 
 As firm as any Persian. 
 Cried he, as brightly shone the sun, 
 
 " Ah, now comes brave diversion ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 The great steed plunged and reared amain, 
 
 To cause some dire disaster 
 Across the crags did wildly strain, 
 
 And down the steep gorge faster ; 
 But every ruse he tried in vain : 
 At length he'd found his master ; 
 He'd found a champion brave and true, 
 Whose heart no foul dishonour knew, 
 Whose sword was drawn to sweep each curse 
 
 Away that wrong imposes, 
 While the linnet sang on the golden gorse, 
 
 And the sun shone on the roses. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And gayly cried Sir John the Brown, 
 
 As like a lamb, or tamer, 
 The steed at last trode mildly down ; 
 
 " O, now I'm free to name her, 
 My ladyelove of bright renown, 
 
 To worship and to claim her 
 To be my bride, for with this fine 
 Brave steed I'll win what should be mine, 
 My native hall, my broad domain, 
 
 That every charm discloses, 
 While the linnet sings his merry strain, 
 
 And the sun shines on the roses. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Then round he galloped eagerly, 
 
 And called up friend and vassal, 
 And drew them on the enemy 
 
 That held his native castle ; 
 12
 
 116 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And there all were eternally 
 
 Immersed in wine and wassail, 
 And knew not, heard not, till they saw 
 Sir John the Brown his good sword draw 
 Before the gate on that great horse, 
 
 To slit their traitorous noses, 
 While the linnet sang on the golden gorse, 
 And the sun shone on the roses. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Sir John the Brown his home hath won, 
 
 And thrashed the foemen fairly : 
 His ladye love of bright renown 
 
 He made his bride full early. 
 Both lord and lady now are gone ; 
 
 Their castle looms all drearly, 
 A ruin stark and lone : but still 
 The peasant hears upon its hill 
 The tramp of that great wizard horse, 
 
 And will, as evening closes, 
 AVhile the linnet sings on the golden gorse, 
 
 And the sun shines on the roses. 
 
 THE SPALPEEN. 
 
 Spalpeens were labouring men reapers, mowers, potato- 
 diggers, etc. who travelled about in the autumn seeking 
 employment from the farmers : each with his spade, or his 
 scythe, or his reaping hook. Sometimes a young man of the 
 higher class of farmers, disguised as a Spalpeen, joined the 
 others, and -went round and worked with them for a mere frolic. 
 
 I. 
 " WHEN comes across the mountains the winter of the 
 
 year, 
 
 With merry jokes and laughter the spalpeens gay are here; 
 I love the first of autumn, but more sweet Hallowe'en, 
 For it brings me back my Connall, my rattling gay 
 
 Spalpeen.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 117 
 
 ii. 
 
 "His hair is like the raven that flies above Knockrue, 
 And stately is his form, and his heart is kind and true, 
 He's the kindest, best, and bravest of all I've ever seen, 
 And until death I'll love him, my rattling gay Spalpeen. 
 
 in. 
 " The first night that I met him I found him kind and 
 
 leal; 
 
 He took me for his partner and we tripped a mazy reel ; 
 It was ' The New-mown Meadows ' and then the light 
 
 Moneen, * 
 And I loved him since that pleasant night, my rattling 
 
 gay Spalpeen." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The leaves of dying autumn by chilling winds were tost ; 
 The corn was stacked securely, the hills were grey with 
 
 frost ; 
 
 When by the turf fire blazing were met at Hallowe'en 
 The farmers' sons and daughters and many a gay Spalpeen. 
 
 v. 
 
 The old man in the corner sat in his elbow-chair ; 
 At all his jokes the laughter rose free from grief or care ; 
 The Banatheef sat smiling, and said she'd never seen 
 A dancer like young Connall, the rattling gay Spalpeen. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They've laughed round many an apple, they've burned 
 
 the nuts in glee, 
 ' ' And some will soon get married, and some -will sail the 
 
 * Moneen, a kind of jig. For "The New-mown Meadows" 
 see Joyce's " Old Irish Folk Music and Songs.'' 
 
 t The " Woman of the house." Irish, beaii-u-tighe. 
 % According to the portents of the burning nuts.
 
 118 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 They've danced for th' ancient piper, they've joked and 
 
 sung between, 
 And told their wondrous legends, each rattling gay 
 
 Spalpeen. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Then Connall took the daughter, the eldest, by the 
 
 hand, 
 
 It was his own sweet Eileen Bawn, the fairest in the land ; 
 He led her towards her parents with modest manly mien, 
 While all stood hushed around him, the rattling gay 
 
 Spalpeen. 
 
 Till. 
 
 ''I've come across the mountains far far from home, to 
 
 find 
 
 A girl above all others, both simple, fair, and kind ; 
 She's standing now beside me, the loveliest I have seen :" 
 So spoke, with gentle bearing, the rattling gay Spalpeen. 
 
 " I know she's good and constant for me would give her 
 
 life; 
 
 I have a happy home for her, and ask her for my wife." 
 He's doffed the old grey garment before them all is seen 
 The lord of many a townland, that rattling gay Spalpeen ! 
 
 x. 
 
 Old Father James came early and blessed the loving pair ; 
 She's off with her dear bridegroom towards Kerry's hills 
 
 so fair ; 
 
 O'er many a fertile valley she reigns just like a queen, 
 Loving, and loved by, Connall, her rattling gay Spalpeen.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 119 
 
 THE BATTLE OF THE RAVEN'S GLEN. 
 
 O'Sullivan prince of Beare and Bantry (in West Cork) during 
 his retreat from Glengarriff to the North in the winter of 1602-3, 
 was attacked on his way by many enemies, hut defeated them all. 
 But of 1000 followers who left Glengarriff with him, less than 
 100 reached their destination : the rest had either been killed in 
 the various skirmishes, or had fallen behind on the way. One of 
 his camping places was beside Ardpatrick, near the scene of the 
 battle described here. (For a fulL account of this remarkable 
 retreat, read A. M. Sullivan's Story of Ireland, or Joyce's 
 History of Ireland.) 
 
 " The Raven's Glen " is a fancy name an attempted transla- 
 tion for "Lyre-na-freaghaun," a deep, dark, heath -clad glen 
 under Blackrock, near Kilfinune (see p. 103). The author had 
 an account of this skirmish only from local oral tradition : the 
 Records make no mention of it. 
 
 I. 
 
 FROM the halls of his splendour by Bantry and Beara, 
 From his turrets that look o'er the silver Kinmera,* 
 With his band of brave warriors O'Sullivan bore him, 
 Till the mountains of Limerick rose darkly before him ; 
 There he camped on the heath where the deep pools 
 
 were paven 
 With the stars of the night, in the Glen of the Raven. 
 
 IX, 
 
 In that glen was no sound save the murmur of fountains, 
 And the moonbeams were silvering the thunder-split 
 mountains ; 
 
 * Kinmera, Kenmare Bay.
 
 120 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 When a horse-tramp was heard from the Ounanaar's 
 
 water, 
 Sounding down from the gorge of the dark Vale of 
 
 Slaughter ;* 
 
 And the rider ne'er reined till his long plume was waven 
 By the breezes that sighed through the Glen of the Raven. 
 
 ill. 
 
 Up sprang from the heather the chieftains around him, 
 And they asked where the foe 'mid the moorlands had 
 
 found him ; 
 For they knew he had passed through the battle's Qerce 
 
 labour, 
 
 From the foam o'er his steed and the blood on his sabre ; 
 While the rocks with the hoofs of their chargers were 
 
 graven, 
 As they pranced into lines in the Glen of the Raven. 
 
 IV. 
 
 'Twas the scout of lone Bregoge :f he'd heard in the 
 
 gloaming 
 
 Fierce yells o'er that rough torrent's roaring and foaming; 
 Then a dash and a shout and a rushing did follow, 
 For the foe burst around him from hillside and hollow ; 
 But a road to his chief through their ranks he had claven 
 Now he stood by his side in the Glen of the Raven. 
 
 * That is " Glenannar," which means " Vale of Slaughter." 
 The "gorge" from which the scout was descending was 
 1'oulaflaikeen, for which seep. 103. Through Glenanaar flows 
 the Ounanaar, or Ogeen, or Glenmore river, crossed at one place 
 by an old ford called Ahasullus, the Ford of Light. (For which 
 see Joyce's Irish Names of Places, vol. i.) There is a legend 
 that the Clann Morna were defeated here by the Ossianic tribe 
 of Clann Baskin. 
 
 t Bregoge : see page 100.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 121 
 
 v. 
 
 Up started Black Hugh from his couch by the fountain, 
 The outlaw of Darra* from Brone's rugged mountain. 
 " There's a passage," he said, " over Ounanaar's water, 
 Where Claim Morna of old were defeated with slaughter ; 
 There bide we the steps of the traitor and craven, 
 And he ne'er shall come down through the Glen of the 
 Raven." 
 
 VI. 
 
 The ambush was set in the Passage of Lightning, 
 And now in the moonlight sharp weapons came brighten- 
 ing, 
 
 The lance of the Saxon from Mulla and Mallow, 
 And the pike of the kern from the wilds of Duhallow : 
 Soon they clash with the swords of the men of Bear- 
 haven, f 
 Who now slowly retreat to the Glen of the Raven. 
 
 vir. 
 
 Then O'Sullivan burst like the angel of slaughter, 
 On the foe by the current of Geeragh's wild water, J 
 And his brave men of Cork and of Kerry's wild regions 
 Were the rushing destroyers, his death-dealing legions ; 
 A.nd onward they rode over traitor and craven, 
 Whose bones long bestrewed the lone Glen of the Raven, 
 
 TUT. 
 
 All silent again over forest and mountain, 
 Save the voice in that glen of Ossheen's ancient fountain ;. 
 While O'Sullivan's crest with its proud eagle feather, 
 And broadswords and pikes glitter now from the heather ; 
 For where the dark pools with the bright stars are paven,. 
 Secure rests the clan in the Glen of the Raven . 
 
 * Darra lies at the foot of Brona or Kuockbrone. See pp. 
 74, 81. 
 
 t Men of Bearhaven : O'Sullivan's men : the ambush party. 
 J Geeragh : see note, p. 103.
 
 122 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 MAUD OF DESMOND. 
 
 I, 
 
 DREAMS a knight that ne'er again 
 
 Shall Maud of Desmond wake to love : 
 That she hath fled from grief and pain 
 
 Away to Heaven's bright fields above 
 Never more shall wake to love, 
 
 So dreams that knight by a streamlet narrow ; 
 ^Tis far down in the summer grove, 
 
 By the dancing tide of the murmuring Carrow.* 
 
 ii. 
 Who is he with looks of pain, 
 
 That dreams beneath the branches there '? 
 The dark-haired knight of Castlemaine,f 
 
 Of the active frame and the manly air. 
 His brow is clouded now with care ; 
 
 They pierce his heart those dreams and harrow, 
 And he starteth up from his mossy lair 
 
 By the dancing tide of the murmuring Carrow. 
 
 in. 
 
 Maud of Desmond loved him true, 
 
 But, ah, her princely father smiled 
 On a stranger lord who came to woo 
 
 That bonnie maid so pure and mild. 
 That young knight broods with bitter smile, 
 
 For memory came like a poisoned arrow ; 
 And he dashed away on his charger wild 
 
 From the dancing tide of the murmuring Carrow. 
 
 * Carrow, a stream near Groom, Co. Limerick, 
 t Castlemaine, in Kerry.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 123 
 
 IV. 
 
 Maud of Desmond makes her moan 
 
 For her hapless love in her native bowers : 
 The grand eve from its golden throne 
 
 Is marshalling its crimson powers : 
 The fields beneath are starred with flowers, 
 
 The stream runs calm where the aspens quiver ; 
 It is where Crom's embattled towers* 
 
 Are mirrored in the Maigue's bright river. 
 
 v. 
 She sees a knight come from the West 
 
 Down the woody vale in fiery speed, 
 And well she knows his helmet crest 
 
 And the stately step of his noble steed ; 
 It is her own true knight, I rede, 
 
 Who conies a last farewell to give her, 
 And he sits beside her in the mead, 
 
 That summer eve by the Maigue's bright river. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And soon the knight's farewell is told, 
 
 And sad he turns to the hills away : 
 But who, advancing from the wold, 
 
 Now bars his path to their summits grey ? 
 It is the stranger lord : All day 
 
 He'd chased the roe where the wild woods quiver 
 To the bugle's note and the staghound's bay, 
 
 In the summer dells by the Maigue's bright river. 
 
 VII. 
 
 He stands upon the woodland path, 
 
 Grim glowering on the western knight, 
 And meeting in their hate and wrath, 
 
 They close in stern and deadly fight ; 
 
 * Crotn or Groom castle, in the Co. Limerick, situated on the 
 river Maigue, was the chief residence of the Earls of Desmond. 
 It now belongs to the Lyons family of Cork.
 
 124 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 There in the reddening sunset light 
 
 Their keen swords into fragments shiver, 
 
 And they draw their daggers sharp and bright 
 For that lady's love by the Maigue's bright river- 
 
 VIII. 
 
 But see ! In that fierce and bitter strife, 
 
 The stranger lord goes down, and there, 
 With outstretched hands, he begs for life, 
 
 And the young knight listens to his prayer : 
 He speaks with a calm and lordly air : 
 
 " I give thy life, but shun thou the giver, 
 And shun the paths of this lady fair 
 
 For evermore by the Maigue's bright river !" 
 
 IX. 
 
 " By the towers of Crom ! " Earl Desmond cries 
 
 For he saw the fight from his castle wall 
 " Such valour still my heart will prize, 
 
 Till death upon its throbbings fall ; 
 Come, spread the banquet in the hall ; 
 
 The brave should have their meed for ever ! " 
 And he brings the knight to his festival, 
 
 In castled Crom by the Maigue's bright river. 
 
 x. 
 There was a mighty feast that e'en, 
 
 And a bridal train next morning tide ; 
 And joyful was the young knight's mien 
 
 With Maud of Desmond at his side. 
 And she was a happy happy bride, 
 
 With all that power and love could give her, 
 The fairest bride in that region wide, 
 
 In castled Crom by the Maigue's bright river.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 125 
 
 THE RED ROSE AND THE WHITE. 
 
 i. 
 THE Red Rose to the White Rose spake 
 
 Within the garden fair : 
 ' ' sister, sister, I shall make 
 
 A garland for her hair 
 A garland for my lady gay 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 And she shall bloom ere next blithe May, 
 
 A bride without a peer." 
 
 ii. 
 
 " List ye, my sister," said the White, 
 
 "Perchance 'tis I may rest 
 Among her locks of golden light, 
 
 And on her gentle breast, 
 Her breast that's like my pearly leaves 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 For Nature also works and weaves 
 
 Sad garlands for a bier. " 
 
 in. 
 
 "Now, cease thy boding voice of woe ! " 
 
 The Red Rose cries again : 
 " See where in pride of beauty's glow 
 
 Forth walks she with her train ; 
 Bright as the morn all glittering 
 
 In spring-time of the year : 
 Can death e'er strike so fair a thing, 
 
 That maid without a peer ? " 
 
 IV. 
 
 When flowers were smiling through the land, 
 
 In glen and forest tall, 
 Young Lady Anne looked down the strand, 
 
 From Mallow's castle wall ;
 
 126 J5ALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And there she saw Lord Thomas stand, 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 Her own young knight, with hawk on hand, 
 
 That morning mild and clear. 
 
 v. 
 
 " Come down, come down, O lady sweet, 
 
 We'll range the greenwoods fair, 
 With hawk and hound and courser fleet, 
 
 To chase the timid hare ; 
 To rouse the pheasant from the woods 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 And start the heron where she broods 
 
 'Mid sedges tall and sere." 
 
 VI. 
 
 She's mounted on the gallant bay, 
 
 And he upon the black ; 
 They've hunted all the livelong day 
 
 Through glen and forest track ; 
 They're resting now 'neath a hawthorn spray, 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 Beside Queen Cleena's rock so gray,* 
 
 With foliage rustling near. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Across her face a cold blast blew 
 
 'Twas sent by some dark fay 
 It blighted her though no one knew, 
 
 That sweet and sunny day. 
 Yet glad she rode towards Mallow's wall 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 And blithely sat she in the hall 
 
 Beside her lover dear. 
 
 * Canigcleena, where the fairy queen Cleena has her palace 
 five miles from Mallow : se note, p. 32.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 127 
 
 VIII. 
 
 At eve they made the altar bright 
 
 For morning's bridal train ; 
 But Lady Anne slept sound that night 
 
 And never woke again. 
 The Red Rose it was dead and gone 
 
 In spring-time of the year ; 
 The White Rose 'mid her bright locks shone, 
 
 And decked her mournful bier. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " She died not ! " still the peasants say 
 
 " But in Queen Cleena's hall 
 She lives with elf-maids bright and gay, 
 
 The fairest of them all ; 
 Each night upon her gallant bay, 
 
 In spring-time of the year, 
 She rideth round that rock so grey, 
 
 In the ghostly moonlight clear ! "' 
 
 * Cleena had an evil reputation for abducting handsome young 
 women and men, and often beautiful children. See the ballad, 
 p. '28, where it is related how she carried off the young earl 
 Gerald FitzGerald. Edward Walsh makes the lover of 
 " O'Donovan's Daughter " say : 
 
 " God grant 'tis no fay from Knockfierna that woos me, 
 God grant 'tis not Cleena the queen that pursues me !"
 
 128 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 THE BURNING OF KILCOLMAN. 
 
 Kilcolman castle, a very picturesque ruin, at one time the 
 residence of the poet Spenser, lies at the hase of the Ballyhoura 
 Hills, on the shore of a small lake, three miles from Buttevant 
 in the County Cork, and the same distance from Doneraile. It 
 originally belonged to the earl of Desmond, and was burned by 
 his followers in 1598 (during the O'Neill war) while Spenser had 
 it. The poet, who was one of ^the settlers on Desmond's con- 
 fiscated lands, narrowly escaped with his life : but his infant 
 child, unwittingly left behind, was burned to death. 
 
 I. 
 
 No sound of life was coming 
 
 From glen or tree or brake, 
 Save the bittern's hollow booming 
 
 Up from the reedy lake ; 
 The golden light of sunset 
 
 Was swallowed in the deep, 
 And the night came down with sullen frown 
 
 On Kilcolman's massive keep. 
 
 ir. 
 And Houra's hills are soundless : 
 
 But hark, that trumpet blast ! 
 It fills the forest boundless, 
 
 Rings round the summits vast : 
 'Tis answered by another 
 
 From the crest of Corrinmore,* 
 And hark again the pipe's wild strain 
 
 By Bregoge's caverned shore. 
 
 * Corrinmore or Carron, a mountain rising over Charleville 
 and Buttevant : one of the Ballyhoura range, visible from 
 Kilcolman. Bregoge river, near Kilcolman: see page 100. 
 " Bregoge's caverned shore" is correctly descriptive.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 129 
 
 in. 
 
 In the castle hearts are beating ; 
 
 While through the mountain pass, 
 By lake and river meeting, 
 
 Came kern* and galloglass, 
 Breathing vengeance deep and deadly 
 
 Under the forest tree, 
 To the wizard man who cast the ban 
 
 On the minstrels bold and free.f 
 
 They gave no word of warning, 
 
 Silent they came, and on, 
 Gate, wall, and rampart scorning : 
 
 But the wizard bard was gone ! 
 Gone fast and far that even 
 
 All secret as the wind, 
 His treasures all in that castle tall, 
 
 And his infant son behind ! 
 
 v. 
 
 Now round that castle hoarest 
 
 Their pipes and horns were still, 
 While gazed they o'er the forest 
 
 Up glen and sloping hill ; 
 Till from the mystic circle J 
 
 On Corrin's crest of stone, 
 A sheet of fire like an Indian pyre 
 
 Up to the clouds was thrown . 
 
 * Kern, a light-armed foot-soldier. Galloglass, a heavy-armed 
 foot-soldier. 
 
 t Spenser denounced the Irish bards in his writings. 
 J On the summit of Corrinmore there is ;i great circular earn. 
 E
 
 130 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Then, with a rival blazing, 
 
 They answered to the sky : 
 It dazzled their own gazing, 
 
 So bright it rolled and high ; 
 The castle of the Poet, 
 
 The man of endless fame, 
 Soon hid its head in a mantle red 
 
 Of fierce and rushing flame. 
 
 vi r. 
 Out burst the vassals, praying 
 
 For mercy as they sped 
 "Where is your master staying ? " 
 
 " Our master : He has fled ! " 
 But hark ! that thrilling screaming 
 
 Over the crackling din, 
 'Tis the Poet's child in its terror wild, 
 
 The blazing tower within ! 
 
 vnr. 
 There was a warlike giant 
 
 Amid the circling throng, 
 He looked with face defiant 
 
 On the flames so wild and strong ; 
 Then rushed into the castle, 
 
 And up the rocky stair, 
 But alas, alas, he could not pass 
 
 To the burning infant there. 
 
 IX. 
 
 The wall was tottering under, 
 
 And the flames were whirling round ; 
 The wall went down in thunder 
 
 And dashed him to the ground ; 
 Up in the burning chamber 
 
 For ever died that scream, 
 And the fire sprang out with a wilder shout, 
 
 And a fiercer ghastlier gleam.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 131 
 
 x. 
 
 It glared o'er hill and hollow 
 
 Up many a rocky bar, 
 From ancient Kilnamullagh* 
 
 To Darra's peak afar ; 
 Then it heaved into the darkness 
 
 With a final roar amain, 
 And sank in gloom with a whirring boom, 
 
 And all was dark again. 
 
 THE WHITE LADYE. 
 
 Brugh [pron. Broo] is the old name of Bruff, Co. Li-meriek. 
 
 Glennaive the "holy glen" (Irish Gieann-naomh] is at 
 the S.-E. base of Ardpatrick Hill, two miles west of Kilfinane Co. 
 Limerick : its name of course connected with the long line of 
 holy men who lived in the adjacent abbey on the summit of the 
 hill (see p. 6). The new residence of the parish priest stands 
 beside this venerable little glen a very appropriate site. 
 
 Raheenroe the "little red rath " was near the fine modern 
 residence, Clonodfoy (three miles from Kilfinane), which retains the 
 name of the original fortress tower: but this old tower has long 
 since disappeared. t I do not know if there are any remains of the 
 old rath in early life I knew it well but at any rate its name 
 "Raheenroe" (commonly shortened to "Raheen") now 
 designates a small townland adjoining the modern residence 
 on the east, and within the demesne. The ruth is called in 
 the Ballad " The Red Rath of the Hill." This hill is a 
 grassy sharp-pointed eminence rising over Raheenroe and 
 Clonodfoy, with a tall massive meaningless stone structure 
 called " Oliver's Folly " on its very summit, from which it is 
 now called "Castle Hill." But down to the last century the 
 
 * Kilnamullagh, Buttevant. Darra's Peak, Carrigeennamronety : 
 see p. 81. 
 
 t Clonodfoy, a shortening of the old Irish name ClocJi-an-fl/oid- 
 bhuidhe, the stone castle of the yellow sod or sward. 
 
 K2 *
 
 132 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 people called it Knockagarraunbaun, the " Hill of the White 
 Horse." 
 
 In old times there was only one main road to and from 
 Clonodfoy, which still exists ; but the portion lying within the 
 demesne namely, from the Ballyorgan entrance to the Castle 
 Oliver entrance is now in great part disused. The present road 
 from the Glenosheen-Fanningstown entrance lodge did not then 
 exist ; for one good reason, that the lake mentioned below 
 lay right in the way. 
 
 In my young days that part of the old road forming a fine 
 avenue between the Ballyorgan entrance and the old mansion* 
 was and is still I think well known by the name of " Ballagh- 
 a-thloo" Irish Bealach-a-tsluaigh, the "road of the host." 
 The word sluagh [sloo] is often applied to a fairy-host on 
 march ; and the name probably refers to the nightly excursions 
 of the fairy inhabitants of the Little Red Rath a form of belief 
 common all over Ireland. But it may possibly commemorate the 
 marches of the more substantial hosts from the original castle of 
 Cloch-an-fh6id-bhuidhe. In this avenue, as you approach the 
 old mansion (or rather its site), there is a sharp bend towards 
 the right called "The Lady's Turn " ; and I often heard the old 
 people speak of it in connexion with a lady's ghost that haunted 
 the spot probably the "White Ladye of the ballad. This 
 " Lady's Turn" was different from what is now called " The 
 Ladies' Walk " near it a walk which was made, and the name 
 given to it, within my own memory. I remember well also 
 that the part of the main Clonodfoy road immediately outside 
 the demesne on the west, namely, that part running from the 
 Castle Oliver entrance up the steep hill to the right and along 
 the present demesne wall, was universally called the "Coach 
 Road," probably preserving a memory of the numerous arrivals 
 
 * This old residence, which stood about a quarter of a mile 
 west of the present Clonodfoy, was not the original Clonodfoy 
 stone castle, but a later structure. It was a fine old mansion, 
 and in good residential condition in my memory ; but it was 
 ruthlessly obliterated off the face of the earth by a vandal 
 steward about sixty years ago, long before the place came into 
 the present proprietor's hands.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 133 
 
 and departures of the olden time. The short stretch between 
 the Castle Oliver entrance nnd the old mansion was called 
 Boher-fflas,fhe " Green Road." 
 
 The little river flowing in the valley near and below Clonodfoy 
 was called the " Gairha," which means " a wild shrubby place 
 along a river" ; from which this part of the demesne was and 
 is still called "The Wilderness." (See my Names of Places, 
 vol. i., p. 497.) The bottom of the valley along which this 
 sluggish stream now runs was in former times covered by a 
 narrow shallow lake about two miles in length, along the dead- 
 level river-bed, called Loch So, the " Lake of the Cows," which 
 figures in ancient Irish literature.* The lake was formed by 
 two obstructions, which prevented the water-flow ; one at the 
 east end a little above Ballyorgan bridge an accumulation of 
 gravel brought down by the floods of the Lyre-na-Grena stream 
 the other at the west end : and it was drained off at some 
 former time by simply making cuttings through the two obstruc- 
 tions cuttings which remain to this day. j "When I was a boy, 
 old Jack Dinan of Glenosheen and of Raheenroe, in whose time 
 considerable portions of the lake still remained, often spoke of 
 Lough Bo, the name of which was quito familiar to him. The 
 water left a bog in which I remember seeing turf cut year after 
 year: and indeed until very recently within my own memory 
 there were still some considerable pools remaining at the 
 western end specially large and noticeable in winter. 
 
 r. w. j. 
 i. 
 
 THE Baron of Brugh took his steel-grey steed, 
 
 And faced the mid-day sun ; 
 And he'd gained Glennaive, so wild his speed, 
 
 Ere the noontide course was run. 
 
 * See Dr. Standish H. O'Grady's " Silva Gadelica," pp. 118 
 to 126. (" The Colloquy of the Ancient Men.") This lake or 
 rather the site of it has never been identified till now. 
 
 t The ground formerly occupied by the western half of the 
 lake is on the watershed, from which streams flow E. and W. 
 respectively.
 
 134 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 ir. 
 He rode by Glennaive and near many a grave, 
 
 O'er that lone glen's sacred rill, 
 And he slacked not nor stayed, till he reached the green 
 
 glade 
 By the Red Rath of the Hill. 
 
 in. 
 
 As he rested by the lone Red Rath, 
 
 A charger's tramp heard he, 
 And riding nigh on the woodland path 
 
 Soon came the White Ladye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 She was no fairy of the place, 
 
 Though she shamed the fairies' speed ; 
 Milk-white her dress, pale pale her face, 
 
 And snow-white was her steed. 
 
 v. 
 The Baron leaped as a knight should leap, 
 
 All on to his saddle-tree, 
 And away away through the woods did sweep 
 
 After the White Ladye. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Till deep in the glen of Barnagee* 
 
 She turned her steed around, 
 And charged the Baron right valiantly, 
 
 As he went with an eager bound. 
 
 vir. 
 A long bright glaive in her hand she bore, 
 
 And she came like a knightly foe, 
 And the Baron she struck on the helm so sore 
 
 That he bent to his saddle bow. 
 
 * Barnagee, Barnageeha, the glen at the west side of the 
 beautiful conical hill of Bavnageeha or Ardnageeha, rising over 
 the village of Ballyorgan.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 135 
 
 vnr. 
 There came a rock in his charger's path, 
 
 As that furious course he ran, 
 And with headlong plunge and with kindled wrath, 
 
 To the ground went horse and man. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Never he rose from the rocky ground 
 
 Till the sunset o'er him shone, 
 Then he mounted his steed and he looked around, 
 
 But the White Ladye was gone. 
 
 Ere Avaned the next moon's silver light 
 
 He sought that place agen, 
 And there he saw a sad sad sight 
 
 A-nigh the hollow glen. 
 
 xr. 
 There lay a dead knight in his path, 
 
 Cloven through crown and crest, 
 And the White Ladye near the lone Red Bath 
 
 With an arrow in her breast. 
 
 xir. 
 And over the Ladye the Baron stood, 
 
 As her life began to fail, 
 And ever as flowed the red red blood, 
 
 She told her woeful tale. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 "My father lived where yon grey tower 
 Frowns o'er the Champion's stream ;* 
 
 There fled my days since childhood's hour, 
 All like a pleasant dream. 
 
 * Champion's Stream : the Ounnageeragh : see note, p. 103.
 
 136 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALEY. 
 
 X1T. 
 
 " This bridal dress, with my life-blood red, 
 
 One lovely morn I wore, 
 
 For I in gladness was to wed 
 
 The Master of Kilmore. 
 
 "The feast was spread, when in there sped 
 
 A young chief from Maiga's side, 
 And his spearmen tall crowded porch and hall, 
 And he said he had come for the bride. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 " Up sprang vassal and knightly guest, 
 
 Each answering with a blow, 
 And soon was changed our bridal feast 
 To a scene of blood and woe. 
 
 xvir. 
 
 " I saw my father falling there, 
 And my love lie in his gore, 
 And in wild despair, I knew not where, 
 I fled through the wicket door. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 " Soon soon I found my courser white, 
 
 And fled over vale and lea, 
 But ever still, since that fatal night, 
 That false chief follows me. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 " He chased me all this woeful morn, 
 
 He sent this arrow keen, 
 But never more to the battle borne 
 Shall his proud crest be seen.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 137 
 
 xx. 
 
 " For ere I fell in this lonely dell, 
 
 My steed leapt forth amain, 
 And with this good sword of my dead young lord 
 I cleft through the false knight's brain." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Soon the Ladye died, and the Baron of Brugh 
 
 Was a woeful wight that hour ; 
 For the dead young knight was his brother Hugh, 
 
 The lord of Groin's dark tower.* 
 
 SONG OF GALLOPING O'HOGAN.f 
 
 Am ; " He thought of the Charmer." J 
 
 HURRAH, boys, hurrah ! for the sword by my side, 
 The spur and the gallop o'er bogs deep and wide ; 
 Hurrah for the helmet and shining steel jack, 
 The sight of the spoil and good men at my back ! 
 And we'll sack and burn for king and sireland, 
 And chase the black foe from old Ireland. 
 
 ir. 
 
 At the wave of my sword start a hundred good men, 
 And we ride like the blast over moorland and glen ; 
 Like dead leaves of winter, in ruin and wrath, 
 We sweep the red Saxons away from our path. 
 
 And we'll sack and burn for king and sireland, 
 And chase the black foe from old Ireland. 
 
 * Croom on the river Maigue : see p. 123. 
 
 t A celebrated Rapparee leader (1690) : for whom see p. 12. 
 
 J For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs.
 
 138 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 
 The herds of the foe graze at noon by the rills ; 
 We have them at night in our camp on the hills : 
 His towns lie in peace at the eve of the night, 
 But they're spoiled and in flames ere the next morning 
 
 light. 
 
 And we'll sack and burn for king and sireland, 
 And chase the black foe from old Ireland. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And so we go riding by night and by day, 
 And fight for our country and all the rich prey; 
 The roar of the battle sweet music we feel, 
 And the light of our hearts is the flashing of steel. 
 And we'll sack and burn for king and sireland, 
 And chase the black foe from old Ireland. 
 
 THE STORMY SEA SHALL FLOW IN. 
 AIR: " Each night when I slumber.''* 
 
 I. 
 THE stormy sea shall flow in, 
 
 Our highland valleys through, 
 Ere I, my faithful Owen, 
 
 Prove false to love and you . 
 My heart was sad and lonely, 
 
 Each weary night and day, 
 Till your kind accents only 
 
 Have chased my grief away. 
 
 ii. 
 For my dear mother left me 
 
 Cold cold in death she lies 
 Ah, how drear fortune reft me 
 
 Of all my heart could prize ! 
 
 * For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 139 
 
 My father far would wander 
 
 Unto some foreign zone, 
 And I was left to ponder 
 
 Upon my grief alone. 
 
 in. 
 Then came a sure sweet token 
 
 Such sorrows might not last : 
 In joy you ne'er had spoken, 
 
 You spoke when joy had passed. 
 Then the stormy sea shall flow in, 
 
 Our highland valleys through, 
 Ere I, my faithful Owen, 
 
 Prove false to love and you. 
 
 ROMANCE OF THE GOLDEN SPURS. 
 
 i. 
 
 " I AM weary, I am weary of the lagging hours alway, 
 The wound I got last autumn, it pains me sore to-day 
 It is burning, it is throbbing worse than when 'twas wet 
 
 with gore, 
 And the joy of peace or battle I never shall see more." 
 
 n. 
 
 Thus spoke the brave Sir Thomas, the knight of 
 Imokeel : * 
 
 Beneath the Desmond's banner he had drawn his 
 conquering steel ; 
 
 But out beneath that banner he never more may ride, 
 
 With that shot-maimed arm of valour and that lance- 
 wound in his side. 
 
 * Imokeel, Imokilly, a barony in Cork between Cork city and 
 Youghal. The FitzGeralds were chiefs or "Seneschals" of 
 Imokilly.
 
 140 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 "My gallant boy, come hither: I give thee my brave 
 
 steed ; 
 
 My trusty blade I give thee to serve thee in thy need ; 
 Then don thy battle harness and with thy following ride 
 To join the noble Desmond by Imokilly's side." 
 
 IV. 
 
 Then out and spake the mother, a fond and fair ladye, 
 " If I should lose my Gerald what in life can comfort me ? 
 If I should lose my Gerald if slain my boy should be, 
 One hour of peace or happiness I nevermore shall see ! " 
 
 v. 
 
 But nathless her beseeching, and nathless sigh and tear, 
 Young Gerald's gone to battle with many a gallant 
 
 spear ; 
 
 And in the early morning by Bride's * translucent wave, 
 They mark the sunbeams glancing from hostile helm and 
 
 glaive. 
 
 VI. 
 
 " Come hither, come thou hither, thou stripling young 
 
 and gay,"- 
 'Twas thus upon the hill-side the Desmond bold did 
 
 say, 
 " We'll down upon yon army: God wot we'll give them 
 
 play : 
 Go thou and take their castle and win thy spurs to-day ! " 
 
 vi r. 
 
 It was above the bridge-end that castle proud did stand ; 
 It was a gallant fortress as e'er was in the land ; 
 And downward dashed young Gerald at his valiant lord's 
 
 command, 
 With his fearless ranks behind him and his long glaive in 
 
 his hand. 
 
 * Bride river flowing eastward through Cork and "Waterford, 
 and pining the Blackwater between Youghal and Cappoquin.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 141 
 
 VIII. 
 
 He has leaped the fosse so bravely amid shot and smoke 
 
 and wrack ; 
 He has mounted to the ramparts, his brave men at his 
 
 back ; 
 They have taken that strong fortress at the good point of 
 
 the steel, 
 But where is he, their leader, the Boy of Imokeel ? 
 
 IX. 
 
 They search round fosse and rampart but cannot find him 
 
 there ; 
 They've searched the battered chambers and up the gory 
 
 stair ; 
 
 Till by the turret window 'mid a circle of the slain, 
 They have found the youthful Geraldine, his helmet cleft 
 
 in twain. 
 
 x. 
 
 It was a day of triumph to the Desmond by that shore, 
 And yet a day of sorrow, when young Gerald up they 
 
 bore 
 Up they bore unto the hill-side where the noble Desmond 
 
 stood 
 Their valiant young commander face and armour stained 
 
 with blood. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then out and spoke the Desmond : " Now list ye all to 
 
 me ; 
 
 This boy has won the castle this boy a knight shall be ; 
 But the hue of death is on him and he cannot speak or 
 
 kneel : 
 Here, page, my spurs : unbrace them and fix them on his 
 
 heel.' !
 
 142 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 XII. 
 
 I wis the sight was woeful, even in that blood-stained 
 
 place, 
 With the red gash on his forehead and the blood on his 
 
 pale face, 
 With the golden spurs braced on him glittering in the 
 
 sunlight clear, 
 Beneath the rustling banner, stretched upon his gory bier. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Through Imokeel they bore him over many a plain and 
 
 dell, 
 
 They bore him to his father and told him how he fell ; 
 The old man's wound burst open and the blood welled 
 
 from his side, 
 And he kissed his pale young champion, and down he 
 
 sank and died. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Now leave me," said the mother, as wild she made her 
 
 moan, 
 "Now leave me in this chamber to my great grief 
 
 alone." 
 And she raised her voice in wailing till the twilight 
 
 gathered down 
 Upon the leafy forests, and the hills and moorlands brown. 
 
 xv. 
 
 It was the starry midnight ere the mother's tones sank 
 
 low, 
 And she prayed unto Our Lady with a broken voice and 
 
 slow: 
 "O! thou who once wert stricken worse than I, long 
 
 long ago, 
 Prop me up in this great trial, give me strength to bear 
 
 my woe."
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 143 
 
 XVI. 
 
 What breaks the heavy stillness ? what in the chamber 
 
 stirs 1 
 Sure she hears the clank of armour and the clink of those 
 
 bright spurs ! 
 And she looks upon her Gerald with a thrill of joy and 
 
 fear, 
 For he's rising, slowly rising, in his armour from the bier. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 O ! not slain, but sorely wounded ! Many a field of fire 
 
 and steel 
 Saw those sharp spurs' golden brightness dimmed with 
 
 gore upon each heel ; 
 
 For in aftertime for Erin never one so brave and leal 
 As Sir Gerald of the Forest, the Knight of Imokeel. 
 
 THE MOUNTAINS HIGH.* 
 
 i. 
 
 ON lowland plains I wander 
 
 All in the falling year, 
 By lowland valleys ponder 
 
 On home and home friends dear ; 
 But spring will soon restore me 
 
 Each long lost homely tie, 
 The grand cliffs tow'ring o'er me 
 
 Upon the mountains high. 
 
 n. 
 Within this lowland valley 
 
 There stands a castle strong, 
 Where round in each green alley 
 
 You'll hear the wild bird's song ; 
 
 *For the air: Goodman's School and Home Song Book. 
 p. 49 : or Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 21.
 
 144 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 But sweeter visions move me, 
 To hear the eagle's cry, 
 
 From beetling crags above me, 
 Upon the mountains high. 
 
 in. 
 When autumn time is coming 
 
 Along the hills and dells, 
 You hear the wild bees humming 
 
 Among the heather bells ; 
 You hear the gay streams singing 
 
 Their songs to earth and sky, 
 Like bells of silver ringing 
 
 Upon the mountains high. 
 
 WILL OF GLEN ORE.* 
 
 Aiu : 'Cad e sin don te sin."f 
 
 IN country or town there was never a man 
 Who could handle a broadsword or fight in the van, 
 Who could glory in danger whate'er was in store, 
 Like the valiant young rapparee,J Will of Glenore. 
 
 From his boot to his basnet was burnished so sheen, 
 And his arm it was strong and his sword it was keen ; 
 And his brain was the brightest that ever of yore 
 Laid a trap for the Sassenach Will of Glenore. 
 
 * Glenore, Glanworth on the Funshion near Fermoy. 
 
 t For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs. 
 
 ^ The Rapparees (and Tories) were young men chiefs and 
 farmers who were turned out of their homes and lands to make 
 room for settlers during the Plantations 16th and 17th centuries 
 and formed themselves into bands to be avenged on and to 
 plunder those who had robbed them of their inheritance.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 145 
 
 From Kilbenny* at cock-crow the Riddera Fionn 
 Spurred on with his vassals by forest and down, 
 Young Will to catch sleeping by dark Galtymore : 
 But the sleep of a fox slept young Will of Glenore. 
 
 For slyly and quietly he'd ambushed his men 
 
 Where the Funshion in foam tumbles down through the 
 
 glen : 
 
 " Now he thinks that he'll catch us just taking our snore ; 
 But 'tis he'll be caught napping !" cried Will of Glenore. 
 
 The Riddera rode with his wild vassals in, 
 
 Till he'd reached the deep bosom of Funshion's lone 
 
 glynn. 
 
 "Now the Riddera's trapped and we'll pay an old score, 
 So blow up the trumpet !" cried Will of Glenore. 
 
 Up they sprang at the signal and forward they dashed. 
 And down on the foe like a whirlwind they crashed : 
 And for many long years did the Riddera deplore 
 The drubbing he got from young Will of Glenore ! 
 
 GRA GAL MAGHREB 
 
 AIR: "Paddy's Green Isknd."t 
 
 I. 
 WHEN morning discloses its light on the roses, 
 
 Upon them reposes the sweet honey dew ; 
 Like those rosebuds the fairest, thy lips, O, my dearest, 
 Have honey the rarest to sweeten them too : 
 
 * Kilbenny or Kilbeheny, where lived the Riddera Fionn 
 or " White Knight " (belonging to a branch of the FitzGeralds), 
 who took the side of the Government in the Geraldine Rebellion. 
 The ruins of his castle still stand over the Funshion, near 
 Mitchelstown. 
 
 t For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs. 
 L
 
 146 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Thine eyes they are brighter than stars of the night, or 
 Than April skies' light, or than gems of the sea ; 
 
 Thy neck's like th' illuming bright lily assuming 
 Its first tender blooming, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 II. 
 I went to the greenwood, where streamlets serene would 
 
 Make music and sheen would enliven me more : 
 Sweet visions they wrought me, sweet memories they 
 brought me, 
 
 Of thee who first taught me love's passion and lore. 
 The birds round me winging, their carols were singing, 
 
 Their voices outringing with rapture and glee ; 
 My heart then enchanted, by memory haunted, 
 
 For thy loved words panted, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 in. 
 O Love, I am thinking of thee from the blinking 
 
 Of morn till the sinking of day in the west ; 
 And thus each fair creature, each bright blooming feature 
 
 And aspect of nature brings joy to my breast ; 
 At night through the airy sweet dreamland of fairy, 
 
 My soul still unweary is wandering to thee ; 
 And each dream or reflection is one recollection 
 
 Of thy fond affection, sweet Gra Gal Machree. 
 
 ALONG WITH MY LOVE I'LL GO.* 
 
 i. 
 
 MY love has an eye of brightness, 
 
 An arm of valour free ; 
 My love has a heart of lightness, 
 
 But ever true to me ; 
 
 * For the air, see Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 63. 
 This title is the burden of an old folk song.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 147 
 
 My pride still unchanging, 
 
 His black locks' clust'ring flow, 
 And away to the wild wars ranging, 
 
 Along with my love I'll go. 
 
 in. 
 The woods wear winter's sadness, 
 
 And white falls the icy shower ; 
 There's shelter peace and gladness 
 
 Within my father's tower. 
 I bore the summer's burning ; 
 
 I heed not winter's snow ; 
 And thus through joy or mourning, 
 
 Along with my love I'll go. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O, never once to leave him 
 
 In tented field or hall ; 
 To smile if joy receive him, 
 
 Or die if he should fall. 
 And ever thus unchanging, 
 
 Through want, toil, and woe, 
 Away to the wild wars ranging, 
 
 Along with my love I'll go. 
 
 DIARMID MOR. 
 
 Am : " The Lowlands of Holland."* 
 
 I. 
 
 THE wintry sun with cheerless gleam 
 Gilds Limerick's battered towers, 
 And far away down Shannon's stream 
 A cloud of darkness lowers ; 
 
 * Forwhichsee Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 69. Diaruiid 
 was one of the Irish Brigade who went to France after tie 
 Treaty of Limerick in 1691. 
 
 L2
 
 148 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And there they glide upon the tide, 
 
 The ships that bear him o'er 
 The stormy wave with Sarsfield brave, 
 
 My gallant Diarmid M6r. 
 
 ii. 
 One summer eve, long long ago, 
 
 He said by wandering Lee, 
 Its rushing waves should backward flow 
 
 Ere he would part from me ; 
 But war came down with sullen frown, 
 
 And called from Shannon's shore 
 He left his bride that eventide 
 
 My gallant Diarmid M6r. 
 
 ill. 
 He heard its call and sped away 
 
 To aid his native land : 
 Can Aughrim's field or Limerick say 
 
 They saw a truer hand 1 
 Heart, arm, and glaive he freely gave, 
 
 As did his sires before ; 
 And now he flees across the seas, 
 
 My gallant Diarmid Mor. 
 
 IV. 
 
 By Lee's green banks the flowers shall bloom, 
 
 When summer decks the grove ; 
 But when unto my heart shall come 
 
 The smiles of my true love 1 
 O, oft and drear shall flow the tear, 
 
 Till some glad bark has bore 
 My love again back o'er the main, 
 
 My gallant Diarmid Mor.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 149 
 
 FINNEEN O'DRISCOLL THE ROVER.* 
 
 Am" The Groves of Blackpool. "t 
 
 I. 
 
 AN old castle towers o'er the billows 
 
 That thunder by Cleena's green land, 
 And there dwelt as gallant a rover 
 
 As ever grasped hilt in the hand ; 
 Eight stately towers of the waters 
 Lie anchored in Baltimore Bay ; 
 And over their twenty score sailors 
 Bold Finneen the Rover holds sway. 
 Then O, for Finneen the Rover, 
 
 Finneen O'Driscoll the free, 
 As straight as the mast of his galley, 
 And strong as a wave of the sea ! 
 
 ii. 
 The Saxons of Cork and Moyallo,t 
 
 They harried his coasts with their bands ; 
 He gave them a taste of his 'cannon 
 
 And drove them like wolves from his lands ; 
 The men of Clan London brought over 
 
 Their strong fleet to make him a slave ; 
 
 * The O'Driscolls owned Baltimore on the south Cork coast, 
 with the adjacent territory and islands, where the ruins of 
 several of their castles are still to he seen : they were noted 
 sailors and sea-rovers. The hero of this ballad was Sir Finneen 
 O'Driscoll, who flourished in the sixteenth century ; and the 
 ruins of his castle of Dunnalong the " old castle" of the first 
 line of the ballad still stand on the shore of Sherkin Island, 
 near Cape Clear. His exploits as a bold sea champion are well 
 remembered in history. For Cleena, see pp. 28, 32. 
 
 t For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs. 
 
 J Moyallo, Mallow.
 
 150 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 He met them on Mizen's rough breakers, 
 And the sharks crunched their bones 'neath 
 
 the wave ! 
 Then O, for Finneen the Rover, 
 
 Finneen O'Driscoll the free, 
 With step like the red stag of Beara,* 
 And voice like the bold sounding sea ! 
 
 in. 
 Long time in that strong island castle, 
 
 Or out on the waves with his clan, 
 He feasted and ventured and conquered, 
 
 But ne'er struck his colours to man. 
 In a fight 'gainst the foes of his country 
 
 He died as a brave man should die ; 
 And he sleeps 'neath the waters of Cleena, 
 Where the waves sing his keen^ to the sky. 
 Then ! for Finneen the Rover, 
 
 Finneen O'Driscoll the free, 
 With eye like the osprey's at morning, 
 And smile like the sun on the sea ! 
 
 THE RAPPAREE'S HORSE AND SWORD. J 
 
 AIR Cad e sin don te sin. 
 
 I. 
 
 MY name is Mac Sheehy from Feale's|| swelling flood, 
 A rapparee rover by mountain and wood : 
 I have two trusty comrades to serve me at need, 
 This sword at my side and my gallant grey steed. 
 
 * Beara, the barony of Beare in West Cork. 
 
 t Keen, Irish, caoin, caoineadh, a dirge, a lament. 
 
 t This little piece vividly pictures the spirit of those times 
 (about 1690). For the rapparees, see p. 144. 
 
 For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs. 
 
 || Feale river flowing by Abbeyfeale and Listowel in Limei ick 
 and Kerry.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. lol 
 
 II. 
 
 Now where did I get them, my gallant grey steed, 
 And my sword keen and trusty to serve me at need ? 
 This sword was my father's in battle he died 
 And I reared my bold Isgur by Feale's woody side. 
 
 in. 
 
 I've said it, and say it, and care not who hear, 
 Myself and grey Isgur have never known fear : 
 There's a dint on my helmet, a hole through his ear : 
 'Twas the same bullet made them at Limerick last year 1 
 
 IV. 
 
 And the soldier who fired it was still ramming down, 
 When this long sword came right with a slash on his 
 
 crown ; 
 
 Dhar Dhee ! He will never fire musket agen, 
 For his skull lies in two at the side of the glen ! 
 
 When they caught us one day at the castle of Brugh, * 
 Our black-hearted foemen, a merciless crew : 
 Like a bolt from the thunder-cloud Isgur went through, 
 And my sword, ah, it gave them what long they will 
 rue ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 Together we sleep under rough crag or tree, 
 My soul, there were never such comrades as we ! 
 I, Brian the Rover, and my two friends at need 
 This sword at my side and my gallant grey steed. 
 
 * Brugh [pron. Broo], Bruff in Co. Limerick.
 
 152 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 SUNNY GLENEIGH.* 
 AIR " Do you remember that night ! "t 
 
 I. 
 
 I STILL am a rover our green island over, 
 
 A passion-fraught lover of beauty and bloom ; 
 On wild mountains pondering, through sweet valleys 
 
 wandering, 
 Where soft winds are squandering the blossoms' 
 
 perfume. 
 From all these dear places, with their bland summer 
 
 graces, 
 
 From all their fair faces my heart still doth stray, 
 To where clear waves are flinging and flowerets are 
 
 springing, 
 And blithe birds are singing in sunny Gleneigh. 
 
 ii. 
 
 There green woods wave slowly to winds breathing lowly, 
 
 And ruin walls holyj stand grey o'er the scene ; 
 There clear fountains rally their strength in each valley, 
 
 Where waves the wild sally and birch leaves are green. 
 There rocks famed in story stand silent and hoary, 
 
 And fields in the glory of summer are gay, 
 And mead blossoms muster their bells of bright lustre, 
 
 And rich berries cluster in sunny Gleneigh. 
 
 * Gleneigh or Glenea, a pretty little glen on the west side of 
 Ardpatrick hill midway between Ardpatrick and Mount Russell. 
 
 t For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 23 ; or 
 Goodman's " School and Home Song Book," p. 50. 
 
 J Ruin walls holy: Ardpatrick old church on the top of the 
 hill : see pp. 6, 102.
 
 BALLADS OF IEISH CHIVALRY. 153 
 
 O'SULLIVAN'S RETREAT.* 
 
 A.D. 1602-3. 
 
 AIR : " Ca rabhais a anois chailin bhig,"t 
 
 I. 
 
 GLENGARRIFF'S shore could give no more 
 
 The shelter strong we needed ; 
 So away we trode on our wintry road, 
 
 Its dangers all unheeded. 
 The snows were deep, the paths were steep, 
 
 But worse than these soon found us 
 The ruffian swords and the traitor hordes 
 That flocked like wolves around us. 
 We'll shout hurrah for valour's sway, 
 
 Each trembling coward scorning, 
 For cleaving brands in dauntless hands, 
 And all for Freedom's morning ! 
 
 n. 
 Mac Caurha's powers by Duhallow's towers 
 
 Our charge they turned their backs on ; 
 And Mallow's flood we stained with blood 
 
 Of Barry, Rupe, Saxon. 
 By Galty's hill around us still 
 
 Rushed many a fierce marauder, 
 Yet our path we clave to Shannon's wave, 
 
 And all by the good lamh ldidir.$ 
 We'll shout hurrah ! &c. 
 
 * An account of this celebrated retreat, which is correctly 
 described in the ballad, will be found in A. M. Sullivan's 
 Story of Ireland, or in Joyce's Histories of Ireland. See the 
 Ballad, p. 119. 
 
 t For which see Goodman's School and Home Song Book, 
 p. 55. 
 
 f Pron. lam lander : the strong band.
 
 154 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 Mac Egan's wrath there barred our path, 
 
 But we gave him warning early 
 To clear the way or his bands we'd slay, 
 
 And we kept our promise fairly. 
 Each killed his steed in that hour of need, 
 
 After false Mac Egan's slaughter, 
 Curraghs* unstaid of their skins we made, 
 
 And crossed the Shannon's water. 
 Then shout hurrah ! &c. 
 
 IV. 
 
 O'Sullivan marched on our van, 
 
 When the foe at Aughrim found us ; 
 Black Malbie's head on the sward he laid, 
 
 While we fought all around us. 
 But O, how few of our brave and true 
 
 Reached Brefney'sj mountains hoary ! 
 Yet none should weep for the brave who sleep 
 On that path so rough and gory. 
 
 Then shout hurrah for valour's sway, 
 
 Each trembling coward scorning, 
 For cleaving brands in dauntless hands, 
 And all for Freedom's morning ! 
 
 * Curragb, a light wicker boat. In these frail improvised 
 vessels they successfully crossed the Shannon near Portland in 
 North Tipperary, just at the moment that their enemies were 
 closing round them. 
 
 t Brefney, a territory in Co. Leitrim belonging to the 
 O'Euarks. Of 1000 men, women, and children who had set 
 out from Glengarriff a fortnight before, less than 100 reached 
 their destination, O'Ruark's Castle of Leitrim, three miles north 
 of Carrick- on -Shannon : all the rest had dropped behind, wearied 
 out or sick, or had fallen in the numerous skirmishes on the 
 way.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 155 
 
 THE GREEN DOVE AND THE RAVEN. 
 
 i. 
 
 THERE was a dove with wings of green, 
 
 Glistening o'er so radiantly, 
 With head of blue and golden sheen, 
 
 All sad and wearily, 
 Sitting two green boughs between 
 
 On lovely Barna's wild-wood tree. 
 
 ii. 
 There was a letter 'neath its wing, 
 
 Written by a fair ladye, 
 Safely bound with silken string 
 
 So light and daintily, 
 And in that letter was a ring, 
 
 On lovely Barna's wild-wood tree, 
 
 in. 
 There was a raven black and drear, 
 
 Stained with blood all loathsomely, 
 Perched upon the branches near, 
 
 Croaking mournfully ; 
 And he said, " O dove, what bring'st thou here 
 
 To lovely Barna's wild-wood tree ? " 
 
 IV. 
 
 " I'm coming from a ladye gay, 
 
 To the young heir of sweet Glen ore,* 
 
 His ring returned, it is to say 
 She'll never love him more, 
 
 Alas the hour, alas the clay, 
 
 By murmuring Funshion's fairy shore. 
 
 * Glenore: Glamvorth on the river Funshion. See p. 108.
 
 156 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALEY. 
 
 v. ' 
 " O dove, outspread thy wings of green ; 
 
 I'll guide thee many a wild-wood o'er ; 
 I'll bring thee where I last have seen 
 
 The young heir of Glenore, 
 Beneath the forest's sunless screen, 
 
 By murmuring Funshion's fairy shore." 
 
 VI. 
 
 O'er many a long mile did they flee, 
 The dove, the raven stained with gore, 
 
 And found beneath the Murderer's Tree 
 The young heir of Gleuore, 
 
 A bloody, ghastly corpse was he, 
 
 By murmuring Funshion's fairy shore. 
 
 Til. 
 
 " Go back, go back, thou weary dove, 
 And tell the cruel maid o'er and o'er, 
 
 He's Death's and mine ; her hate or love 
 Can never reach him more 
 
 To his ice-cold heart in Molaga's* grove, 
 By murmuring Funshion's fairy shore." 
 
 THE MERRY CHRISTMAS FIRE. 
 
 AIR : " The first night I was married. "t 
 
 I. 
 
 BY turns I'm gloomy, gay, or sad, 
 
 As seasons pass away ; 
 But always cheerful, always glad 
 
 When cometh Christmas Day ; 
 
 * Molaga old church near Eildorrery Co. Cork. See p. 108. 
 t For which see Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 69.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 157 
 
 And never bliss more sweet than this 
 
 Can happy man desire, 
 Than sit a-near his true friends dear 
 
 By the merry Christmas fire. 
 
 ii. 
 In summer time the vales are bright 
 
 With glancing leaf and flower, 
 And autumn spreads its amber light 
 
 On many a lovely bower ; 
 And sweetly sing the birds in spring, 
 
 Like tune of fairy lyre ; 
 But far more dear, my true friends near 
 
 And the merry Christmas fire. 
 
 in. 
 From the Christmas fire the gay flames dart, 
 
 And glance and whirl and glow ; 
 And joyous bounds my happy heart, 
 
 While the world is white with snow. 
 O, gladdest boon, to sit full soon 
 
 Where the young heart ne'er could tire, 
 All fondly near my true friends dear, 
 
 By the merry Christmas fire. 
 
 ROMANCE OF THE GOLDEN HELMET.* 
 
 i. 
 ONE glorious Easter even, 
 
 Under the mountain tree, 
 A young knight sat bereaven, 
 
 A-gazing up and down. 
 And wearily and drearily 
 Along the plains looked he, 
 And up the summits brown. 
 
 * This ballad embodies a legend of the Cummeragh Mountains 
 in Waterford.
 
 158 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 IT. 
 
 The birds were singing sweetly 
 From the wild quicken grove, 
 
 The dun deer gambolled fleetly 
 Beside the upland rills ; 
 
 While wearily and drearily 
 
 He thought upon his love 
 Young Bride of the castled hills. 
 
 in. 
 
 His wolf-hound, by him lying, 
 Looked up into his face, 
 
 As though he read the flying 
 Thoughts of his master's brain. 
 
 How wearily and drearily 
 
 Through the brain's little space, 
 Speeds thought's black train ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 " Around my love's hoar dwelling "- 
 'Twas thus Sir Brian said 
 
 " The Norman host is swelling, 
 And I a banished man. 
 
 O, wearily and drearily 
 
 My mournful days have sped 
 Under my foemen's ban." 
 
 v. 
 
 Just then a white fawn darted 
 Out from the quicken screen, 
 
 And up the wolf-hound started, 
 And after her away ; 
 
 And suddenly, all suddenly, 
 
 Under the copses green 
 Soon vanished they.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 159 
 
 vi. 
 
 Beside a cave's hoar portal 
 
 The wolf-hound lost his chase. 
 Could that white fawn be mortal, 
 
 His keen eyes thus to blind ? 
 Yet eagerly, full eagerly, 
 He still pursued the trace 
 
 Through the cave like the wind. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Now came the sunset gleaming 
 
 O'er haunted crag and dell ; 
 The young knight stays his dreaming, 
 
 And looks once more around, 
 Till eagerly, full eagerly, 
 Across the silent fell, 
 
 Cometh his brave wolf-hound : 
 
 VIII. 
 
 In his mouth a helmet golden 
 
 He'd found in th' ancient cave, 
 With a scroll decayed and olden 
 
 Fastened beside the crest : 
 " WTio'll bear me, who'll wear me, 
 Shall have an army brave 
 
 To do at his behest." 
 
 IX. 
 
 Sir Brian placed the helmet 
 
 His plumed cap instead, 
 And scarce had cried, ' ' Now, well met, 
 
 My 'fenceless head and thou ! " 
 When suddenly, all suddenly, 
 He heard an army's tread 
 
 Over the mountain's brow!
 
 160 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 x. 
 
 And quickly filed before him 
 A thousand mounted men : 
 
 High in the twilight o'er him 
 Their gilded banners sail, 
 
 A.nd gallantly, right gallantly, 
 
 They rode in that wild glen, 
 All in their glittering mail. 
 
 XI. 
 
 One led unto Sir Brian 
 
 A mighty milk-white steed, 
 
 And he has mounted high on 
 The antique saddle-tree ; 
 
 And eagerly, right eagerly, 
 
 All cried : "In thy great need, 
 We now will follow thee ! " 
 
 XII. 
 
 Away Sir Brian dashes 
 
 With those weird warriors all ; 
 
 The craggy roadway flashe s 
 
 Beneath their horse-hoofs' bound, 
 
 Till rushingly, still rushingly, 
 
 They speed nigh his true-love's wall, 
 By the Normans leaguered round. 
 
 Behind Sir Brian kept they, 
 
 Their proud plumes dancing high ; 
 
 With brave Sir Brian swept they 
 Upon the Norman crew ; 
 
 And fearfully, O, fearfully 
 
 Rose their ancient battle-cry, 
 Till all they took or slew !
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 161 
 
 XIV. 
 
 His love came forth to meet him 
 
 Beneath the midnight stars, 
 His many friends to greet him 
 
 And those weird warriors all : 
 And joyfully, full joyfully, 
 All crossed the fortress bars, 
 
 And feasted in the hall. 
 
 xv. 
 
 Till morn's white planet lit them, 
 Those champions could not wait ; 
 
 The milk-white charger with them 
 Towards the lone hills they Lord ; 
 
 And gallantly, right gallantly, 
 
 They rode from the castle gate, 
 And ne'er were looked on more ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Long in that ancient castle, 
 
 Beneath grey Cummeragh's head, 
 
 Bright over feast and wassail 
 That golden helmet shone ; 
 
 And joyfully, O joyfully, 
 
 These lovers twain were wed 
 Ere the next morn was gone.* 
 
 * The peasantry of the Cummeraghs will tell you that they 
 often hear and sometimes see a troop of ancient spellbound 
 warriors galloping at night along the wild mountain tracks. 
 J!ut this legend is met \vith elsewhere in Ireland. See p. 16 for 
 Uarrod laiia and his men.
 
 162 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 MARGARET. 
 
 I. 
 THE hills and the dells and the flower-edged streams 
 
 Are brighter than they were wont to be ; 
 For winter is gone, and the sunny gleams 
 
 Of spring-time clothe them in radiancy : 
 But my Margaret is gone, and the spring's bright beams 
 
 Are darkened and dead to me. 
 
 ii. 
 Valley and plain look serene and bright, 
 
 Crag and castle, green fields and all ; 
 The young lambs play in their fresh delight, 
 
 And the sweet birds sing in the forest tall : 
 But my Margaret is gone, and the shades of night 
 
 Dark down in my bosom fall, 
 in. 
 The winter has fled from mountain and stream, 
 
 The woods and the hedges are green all o'er ; 
 But where are those eyes of the azure beam, 
 
 And those radiant locks like the golden ore ? 
 Ah, my Margaret is gone, and my youthful dream 
 
 Has vanished for evermore. 
 
 I WISH I SAT BY GRENA'S SIDE. 
 AIK : "I wish I had the yellow Cow."* 
 
 I. 
 
 I WISH I sat by Grena'sf side, 
 With the friends of boyhood-tide, 
 With the maids the brilliant-eyed, 
 Playful wild and airy, 
 
 *For which see Joyce's Irish Music and Song, p. 12. 
 t Grena, the little stream flowing through Lyre-na-Grena, 
 outh-east side of Seefin Mountain. See p. 103.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 163 
 
 Who taught me that love could go 
 From maid to maiden to and fro, 
 But turning with fonder glow 
 
 Back to you, my Mary. 
 
 ir. 
 
 I wish I sat by Grena's stream, 
 In the ruddy sunset beam, 
 Where the wavelets leap and gleam 
 
 On through dell and wildwood ; 
 Ne'er half so fleet and free 
 As the fairy feet of glee 
 That danced 'neath the summer tree 
 
 In our dreamy childhood. 
 
 in. 
 
 I wish I sat by Grena's wave, 
 Hopes fulfilled that boyhood gave, 
 Where the woods clothe gorge and cave, 
 
 Storied hill and plain, love ; 
 You placed beside me there, 
 Laughing, loving, kind and fair, 
 Long parted far, but ne'er, 
 
 Ne'er to part again, love ! 
 
 ROVING BRIAN O'CONNELL. 
 
 AIR " How do you like her for your wife ? "* 
 
 i. 
 
 ' ' How do you like her for your wife, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell 
 A loving mate and true for life, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell ? " 
 
 * For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 37. This 
 name is the opening line of an old folk song. 
 M 2
 
 164 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 " She's as fit to be my wife 
 As my sword is for the strife," 
 Said the Rapparee* trooper, 
 Roving Brian O'Connell. 
 
 " Never man my child will take, 
 Roving Brian O'Connell, 
 
 Save him who'd die for Ireland's sake, 
 Roving Brian O'Connell." 
 " O, I'd die for Ireland's sake, 
 And her bonds we soon will break " ; 
 Said the Rapparee trooper, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell. 
 
 in. 
 " How will you your young bride keep, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell ? 
 The foemen's bands are ne'er asleep, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell." 
 11 In our hold by Connaill's steep, 
 Who dare make my Mabel weep ! " 
 Said the Rapparee trooper, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " This day in ruined church you stand, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell, 
 To take your loving Mabel's hand, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell." 
 " O, my heart my arm and brand 
 Are for her and our dear land " ; 
 Said the Rapparee trooper, 
 
 Roving Brian O'Connell. 
 
 :; Rapparee : see p. 144.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 165 
 
 THE WANDERER. 
 
 Am" Slan Beo."* 
 
 O, GREEN are the woods that circle my Helen's wild 
 
 home, 
 And sweetest her smiles from Houra to Cleena'sf bright 
 
 foam, 
 And brightest her eyes 'mong the blue eyes of splendour 
 
 that beam 
 Mid the hills of the South, by wildwood and fountain 
 
 and stream. 
 
 IT. 
 By Shannon's green shore my wandering footsteps I 
 
 stayed 
 On a wave-beaten steep to dream of my yellow-haired 
 
 maid: 
 AVhen I saw the fleet wing of the white gull gleaming 
 
 below, 
 I thought of her arched brow and her fair neck of snow. 
 
 in. 
 
 And once by the marge of Cleena's bright waters I lay, 
 In a sweet dream of love and joy at the opening of day ; 
 The beams of the morn smiled over the blue billows 
 
 there, 
 Like the smiles of my love, like the wreaths of her long 
 
 golden hair. 
 
 IV. 
 
 And thus as I stray by river and wildwood and sea, 
 All Nature still paints but one lovely image for me ; 
 And I wish for the day when I'll stand by Ounanaar's tidej 
 In the greenwood again, with my bright-eyed love for 
 my bride. 
 
 * For which see Joyce's " Ancient Iiish Music," p. 4. 
 t Houra, the Ballyhoura Mountains. " Cleena's bright foam," 
 the sea off the coast of South Cork : see p. 28. 
 J Ounanaar, the Glenanaar river: see p. 19.
 
 166 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 THE BATTLE OF MANNING FORD.* 
 
 This battle was fought in the summer of 1643 by the troops of 
 the Kilkenny Confederation (i.e., the Irish army), under Lord 
 Castlehaven, against one of the armies of Murrogh O'Brien, earl 
 of Inchiquin,f commanded by Sir Charles Vavasour. Early in 
 June, Vavasour took the castle of Cloghleagh on the north bank of 
 the river Funshion near Kilworth, Co. Cork (of which the ruins 
 still remain), after a brave defence by Condon, the owner; and 
 all that were found in the castle, viz., 20 men, 11 women, and 
 7 children, were stripped and massacred. On next day, 4th June, 
 Vavasour, seeing Castlehaven's army approaching him from the 
 north, hastily retreated southward across the Funshion at the 
 Ford of Manning, intending to reach Fermoy. But he had 
 barely time to cross the ford when Castlehaven was down on him 
 and fell on his rear, composed of a "forlorn hope,'' and a party 
 of horse. The horse fled and galloped in among the main body 
 of retreating foot as they were making their way towards Fermoy 
 through a narrow passage or laneway. Utter confusion and 
 defeat followed, Vavasour himself was taken prisoner, 600 of his 
 men fell, and all his principal officers were either slain or cap- 
 tured. His standards fell into the hands of the Irish, together 
 with his baggage, his artillery, and a great supply of small 
 arms. J 
 
 I. 
 I SHARPENED iny sword in the morning and buckled my 
 
 basnet and jack ; 
 I clothed my steed in his harness and cheerily sprang on 
 
 his back ; 
 
 * The Ford of Manning on the river Funshion is a mile and 
 a half below Glan worth near Fermoy, and half a mile above the 
 present Ballynahow Bridge. 
 
 t Murrogh O'Brien, earl of Incldquin, called " Murrogh the 
 Burner" from his merciless ravages in Munster, fought against 
 his country in the "War of the Confederation. 
 
 J See Borlase, History of the Rebellion, p. 115 ; and Castle- 
 haven's Memoirs : 1643.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 167 
 
 I rode with my good men behind me and never drew rein 
 
 by the way, 
 Till we came to the green Pass of Ballagh and called up 
 
 young Johnnie Dunlea. 
 
 II. 
 With him and his following we clattered adown by the 
 
 hoarse-sounding rill, 
 Till we came to the strong House of Sloragh and blew up 
 
 our bugle full shrill ; 
 Then Diarmid the Master of Sloragh rode gallantly out 
 
 with his men, 
 And \ve shouted " Hurrah for the battle ! " as onward 
 
 we thundered again. 
 
 in. 
 We swept like the wind through the valley deep 
 
 quagmire and trench we defied, 
 And we knocked at the strong gate of Dangan where. 
 
 Will of the Wood kept his bride ; 
 How he pressed her sweet lips at the parting and kissed 
 
 off her tears o'er and o'er : 
 But alas, they flowed faster at even, for her bridegroom 
 
 came back nevermore ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Through the bog of Glendoran we waded and on through 
 
 the green forest crashed, 
 Then along o'er the broad-spreading highland, a torrent 
 
 of bright steel, we dashed ; 
 And there how we shouted for gladness as the glitter of 
 
 spears we descried 
 From the army of bold Castlehaven far off on the green 
 
 mountain side. 
 
 v. 
 I rode up to Lord Castlehaven and asked for a place in 
 
 his rank ; 
 And he said, ' ' Keep ye shoulder to shoulder, and charge 
 
 ye to-day from our flank."
 
 168 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And we marched 'neath his banner that noontide till fast 
 
 by Lis-Funshion we lay, 
 Where we drank a good sldinte* to Ireland and looked to 
 
 our arms for the fray. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Next inorn, as we gazed down the moorland, a horseman 
 
 we saw spurring in, 
 And he stinted his course not for thicket, for deep bog 
 
 or crag-strewn ravine, 
 Till his charger fell dead by our standard, that waved in 
 
 the bright morning glow ; 
 Then up to our chieftain he tottered and told him his 
 
 dark tale of woe. 
 
 vii. 
 
 "Brave Baron of broad Castlehaven, last eve in the 
 
 Tower of Cloghleagh 
 The foe battered down our defences : save me, every man 
 
 did they slay ; 
 They brought forth their prisoners this morning, with 
 
 maiden and matron and child, 
 And the bloodthirsty miscreants led them away through 
 
 the brown forest wild. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 " And there, in the dell of Glenullin they murdered those 
 
 poor prisoners all, 
 And the demons they laughed as they slew them ah ! 
 
 quickly they freed them from thrall : 
 And now look ye sharp to the southward ; see Vavasour 
 
 there with his horde ; 
 Then give him the murderer's guerdon and pay him with 
 
 bullet and sword! " 
 
 * Sldinte [pron. Slawntha], health.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 169 
 
 IX. 
 
 We looked to the southward and saw them with many a 
 creacht* moving on, 
 
 With the spoil of two counties behind them, by murder 
 and cruelty won ; 
 
 With a waving and flaunting of banners, and bright- 
 flashing arms did they go, 
 
 With the clear shrilly clamour of trumpets and the loud 
 rolling drum of our foe. 
 
 x. 
 
 Then out spurred our brave Castlehaven, his sword 
 flashing bright in his hand, 
 
 And he cried, " Now my children we've caught them, the 
 foes of your dear native land. 
 
 Brave horsemen bear down on the rearguard brave foot- 
 men strike hard on their flanks, 
 
 And we'll give them a bed near the Funshion a grave 
 cold and red by its banks ! " 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then came the loud clangour of horse and the rattling of 
 
 lances and swords, 
 And the gloom and the glitter of battle as we eagerly 
 
 rushed towards their hordes : 
 We dashed through the ford, horse and foot on their 
 
 rear like a whirlwind we tore, 
 Till their horse galloped down on their footmen, and we 
 
 at their backs striking sore. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Yet Vavasour kept by his standard, for a space he stood 
 
 up 'gainst our charge, 
 But we took him and all his bold leaders, on the slope of 
 
 that clear river's marge ; 
 
 * Creacht, a cattle spoil.
 
 170 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 One flag-bearer fled to Kilmallock with banner all 
 
 shattered and torn 
 Sad news to Black Murrogh the Burner, the sight of 
 
 that horseman forlorn ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And over the broad Ford of Manning we kindled our 
 
 camp-fires so bright, 
 And fast by the shore of the Funshion how wildly we 
 
 revelled that night ! 
 And we drank a good bumper to Ireland, and one to our 
 
 general brave, 
 Who led us to triumph and glory that day by the bright 
 
 Funshion's wave. 
 
 YOUNG DE RUPE.* 
 
 i. 
 A STRICKEN plain is good to see 
 
 When victory crowns the patriot's sword, 
 And the gory field seemed fair to me 
 
 Won in the fight at Manning Ford. 
 
 IT. 
 As 1 stooped down my thirst to slake, 
 
 A voice came ringing in mine ears : 
 " Now who this joyful news will take 
 
 Of victory to my goodly peers ? " 
 
 in. 
 I turned me instant right about 
 
 Down by the Funshion's rippling tide, 
 And there I saw our leader stout, 
 
 Bold Castlehaven, at my side. 
 
 *De Rupe, the original form of the present family name 
 Roche. This ballad is a sequel to the preceding one.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 171 
 
 TV. 
 
 " Now who this joyful news will take 
 
 To far Kilkenny's ancient town,* 
 And win a good knight's spurs, and make 
 
 His name a name of high renown ? " 
 
 v. 
 With that up spoke a stripling brave 
 
 Where by a captured flag he stood, 
 Wounded and grimed with dust his glaive 
 
 Still dripping with the foemen's blood. 
 
 VI. 
 
 His form was like Bengara'st pine, 
 
 His youthful face was fair to see, 
 And his eyes were like the osprey's eyne 
 
 On the barren crags of Barnalee. 
 
 VII. 
 
 ' ' The foe may lurk in bush and brake, 
 
 The wolves may howl, the night come down, 
 
 But De Rupe of Ballar news will take 
 To far Kilkenny's famous town." 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Pleasantly smiled that warlike lord, 
 
 His hand he slapped on his mailed knee, 
 
 " Shouldst thou return, by my knightly word, 
 Through many a fight thou' It ride with me. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " But speed thee now as the wild wind speeds, 
 And take that captured flag thou'st won ; 
 
 'Twill mind them of thy valiant deeds, 
 And tell them best what we have done." 
 
 * Kilkenny, the headquarters of the Kilkenny Confederation, 
 about sixty -five English miles across country from Manning Ford. 
 Part of the intervening district was held by Incliiquin's forces, and 
 of course was very dangerous for Castlehaven's courier to traverse. 
 
 t Bengara, in the Galtys : see p. 37.
 
 172 BALLADS OF IEISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 x. 
 
 He took that rent and gory flag, 
 
 Then vaulted to his saddle-tree, 
 On his trusty steed, and lay height and crag, 
 
 Like the lightning bolt away went he. 
 
 XI. 
 
 He had ridden scarce three leagues or so, 
 
 When the night came down all cloudy and black, 
 
 And he passed the forest of Rossaroe, 
 
 While its fierce wolves howled upon his track. 
 
 XII. 
 
 They scented the fresh blood on the wind, 
 
 And they whisked their tails in savage glee ; 
 But though they whined and howled behind, 
 
 He left them all right speedilie. 
 
 xiir. 
 O'er many a pass and moorland wide 
 
 On his weary way he toiled full sore, 
 Till he reached the ford of the broad Suir's tide 
 
 And splashed across to the farther shore. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 " Now who art thou?" did a horseman say 
 
 " What news what news from the Irish foes ? 
 For never a man shall go this way 
 
 Unless Lord Murrogh's pass he shews." 
 
 xv. 
 " I am De Rupe of Ballar dell ; 
 
 Sore is the news I bring to thee " ; 
 And he dashed right up at that sentinel, 
 
 And felled him to earth with the banner-tree ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 He sprang unto the foeman's selle, 
 
 For his own good steed dropped helpless down ; 
 And away once more o'er plain and fell, 
 
 On his path is young De Rupe bowne.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 173 
 
 xvii. 
 
 Before the peers for Ireland's good, 
 
 In far Kilkenny's town next day, 
 Prelate and priest in brotherhood 
 
 Were chanting Mass in the Black Abbaye.* 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 They heard a murmur in the street, 
 And anon a cheer that shook the town ; 
 
 Then the clatter of a charger's feet 
 On the stony way came ringing down. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 And high again that cheering roar 
 
 Through the bannered aisles like thunder ran, 
 
 Till the ancient abbey's sculptured door 
 Was darkened by a horse and man. 
 
 xx. 
 
 He muttered one prayer his soul to save, 
 That courier brave, that wounded wight, 
 
 Then clattered up the echoing nave, 
 And stopped before the altar bright. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 " Christ shrive thy soul, thou gory youth ! " 
 
 Up spake the Primate old and grey 
 " Tidings of joy or tale of ruth 
 
 Bring' st thou to tell us here to-day ? " 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " I bring ye news from Manning Ford ; 
 
 We've smote the f oeman gallantlie ; 
 This flag bold Castlehaven's lord 
 
 A token good hath sent by me !" 
 
 * The very ancient Dominican piiory called the " Black 
 Abbey," in Irishtown, Kilkenny, is still in use as a Roman 
 Catholic church.
 
 174 BALLADS OF HUSH CHIVALRY. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Fast at the words from his wounded side 
 The life-blood spirted o'er hip and selle ; 
 
 As a tree in its pride 'iieath the wild winds' tide, 
 With a crash on the stony floor he fell ! 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 They laid his corse by the altar bright, 
 They chanted the Mass for the brave youth's weal, 
 
 And they prayed to God, in His mercy and might, 
 For hearts like that dead heart bold and leal. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 Christ save his soul, that gallant youth, 
 When by the Judgment Seat we stand, 
 
 Who rode that ride of death and ruth, 
 And all for love of native land ! 
 
 THE FIRST NIGHT I WAS MARRIED.* 
 
 AIR : "The Lowlands of Holland. "t 
 
 I. 
 
 THE first night I was married and made a happy bride, 
 The captain of the cavalry he came to my lover's side, 
 "Arise arise, new married man, arise and come with me, 
 To the lowlands of Holland to face your enemie. 
 
 ir. 
 
 " Holland is a pretty place, the fairest I have seen, 
 With the waysides glittering all in flowers and the fields 
 so bright and green ; 
 
 * From the fragments of an old ballad, about the time of the 
 " Wild Geese," or recruits for the Continental Irish Brigade. 
 The first and last verses are taken almost unchanged. For the 
 Irish Brigade and the " Wild Geese," see any History of Ireland, 
 at 1691 and after. 
 
 tFor which see Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 69.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 17& 
 
 The sunshine lights the clustering grapes, the vines hang 
 
 from the tree ' ' ; 
 And I scarce had time to look about when my true love 
 
 was gone from me. 
 
 in. 
 
 I built my love a gallant ship to bear him o'er the main, 
 With four-and-twenty sailors bold all for a fitting train ; 
 The storm came down upon the sea and the waves began 
 
 to roar, 
 And dashed my love and his gallant ship upon the 
 
 Holland shore. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Says the mother to the daughter, ' ' What makes you so- 
 
 lament ? 
 
 Is there ne'er a man in Ireland to please your discontent ? 
 ' ' There are men enough in Ireland but none at all for 
 
 me, 
 For I never loved but one young man and he's beyond 
 
 the sea." 
 
 ADIEU, LOVELY MARY. 
 
 AIE : " Adieu, lovely Mary."* 
 
 ADIEU, lovely Mary ; I am now going to leave you, 
 And to the West Indies my sad course to steer ; 
 
 I know very well my long absence will grieve you, 
 
 But sweetheart, I'll be back in the spring of the year."f 
 
 * For which see Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 95. 
 t This is a verse unchanged of the old Folk-song on which 
 the present song is founded.
 
 176 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 ir. 
 The May-fires* were burning and ships were returning, 
 
 But word never came to allay her sad fear, 
 And sorely and sadly young Mary sat mourning 
 
 The loss of her love in the spring of the year. 
 
 And summer thus found her, and wooers came round her, 
 Yet deep in her bosom one form she held dear ; 
 
 She answered them, weeping, ''My love I am keeping 
 For one who'll be back in the spring of the year." 
 
 IV. 
 
 The old man with treasure, the young man with pleasure, 
 Still courted till autumn was yellow and sear ; 
 
 But her vows were unbroken, for the same words were 
 
 spoken, 
 " My love will be back in the spring of the year." 
 
 v. 
 
 Next spring flowers were shining, and Mary sat twining 
 A wreath of their blooms, and her heart was not 
 
 drear ; 
 For with love warmly glowing, when soft winds were 
 
 blowing, 
 Her true love came back in the spring of the year. 
 
 * May fires : i.e. Baal fires, for which see p. 192.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 177 
 
 THE BRIGADE'S HURLING MATCH.* 
 
 AIR : " The Game played in Erin go Bragb."t 
 
 I. 
 
 IN the South's blooming valleys they sing and they play 
 By their vine-shaded cots at at the close of the day : 
 But a game like our own the Italians ne'er saw 
 The wild sweeping hurlings of Erin go Bragh. 
 
 Our tents they were pitched upon Lombardy's plain ; 
 Ten days nigh the foemen our army had lain ; 
 But ne'er through their walls made we passage or flaw, 
 Till we showed them the game played in Erin go Bragh. 
 
 in. 
 
 Our sabres were sharp and the forest was nigh ; 
 There our hurleys we fashioned ere morning rose high ; 
 With the goal-ball young Mahon had brought from 
 
 Dunlawe, 
 We showed them the game played in Erin go Bragh. / 
 
 * Hurling. This is the game of Camdn, well known and 
 still played in Ireland : very ancient. Played with camans or 
 hurleys (formidahle weapons in a fight) and a ball. For this 
 game, see Joyce's Social History of Ancient Ireland, and 
 Very Rev. Dr. Sheehan's " Glenanaar," pp. 7, 231, 232. The 
 story embodied in this ballad was told among the people of 
 Cork and Limerick sixty years ago how a company of the Irish 
 Brigade in the service of France captured a town in the 
 manner related. Whether the incident ever happened or not, 
 it is an excellent typical example of the sort of dare-devil 
 dash that has always been characteristic of the Irish in battle. 
 
 t For which see Joyce's " Ancient Irish Music," p. 86. 
 H
 
 178 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Our captain stood out with the ball in his hand ; 
 
 Our colonel he gave us the word of command ; 
 
 Then we dashed it and chased it o'er esker and scragh,* 
 
 While we showed them the game played in Erin go Bragh. 
 
 v. 
 
 The enemy stood on their walls high and strong, 
 While we raced it and chased it and hurled it along ; 
 And they opened their gate as we nearer did draw, 
 To see the old game played in Erin go Bragh. 
 
 VI. 
 
 On a sudden we turned from the ball's swift career ; 
 And rushed through the gate with a grand ringing cheer ; 
 Ah, they ne'er through our bright dauntless stratagem 
 
 saw, 
 While we showed them the game played in Erin go 
 
 Bragh. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Their swords clashed around us, their balls raked us sore, 
 But with hurleys we paid them in hard knocks galore ; 
 For their bullets and sabres we cared not a straw, 
 While we showed them the game played in Erin go 
 Bragh. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 The fortress is taken ! our loud shouts arise ; 
 For King Louis and Ireland they swell to the skies. 
 Ah, he laughed as he told us a game he ne'er saw 
 Like the wild sweeping hurlings of Erin go Bragh ! 
 
 * Esker, a low little sand-hill: Scragh [scraw], a grassy 
 surface 1 .
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 179 
 
 THE BALLAD OF SIR HUGH LE POER;* OR 
 THE DEATH FEUD. 
 
 i. 
 
 THERE is a height by Cloda'sf shore 
 With a grey crag upon its crown, 
 And from that crag a castle hoar 
 
 Looks over many a dale and down ; 
 And in that castle is a room 
 Where I spent many an hour of gloom ; 
 For from my birth some malady 
 Of power malign had seized on me, 
 So that I was a weakly child, 
 Cursed with a soul perverse and wild, 
 A mischievous and peevish child. 
 
 ii. 
 
 I had four brothers, tall and brave, 
 Deft at the bridle and the glaive ; 
 I had four sisters, fair to see ; 
 A mother fond as fond could be ; 
 My father was a comely man 
 As e'er drew sword in battle's van. 
 
 * This was Sir Hugh le Poer, one of the Four Comrades 
 (p. 27), and the ballad is one of the tales told beside the 
 Watch-fire in the Wood of Barnalee. The ballad recounts Sir 
 Hugh's personal history. 
 
 t Cloda, the river Clodiagh in Waterford, rifling in the 
 Cummeragh Mountains, flowing eastward by Clonea, and joining 
 the Suir near Portlaw. The e&stle of Le Poer (now Power) was 
 on the shore of the Clodiagh. 
 
 f
 
 180 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 in. 
 
 . Oft, when alone within my room, 
 Strange shapes arose in evening's gloom. 
 Wild shadowy forms would then arise 
 And pierce me with their searching eyes 
 Vast shades of saffron-kilted chiefs 
 With beards like foam on Burreii's reefs ;* 
 Huge Danes with looks of fire and bale 
 Dim glimmering in their shirts of mail ; 
 Stern Norman knights with hearts as hard 
 As the blue flints of Bleannamard, 
 Came in their iron panoply, 
 Each in his turn, and gazed on me ; 
 With many another phantom train 
 The spawn of my distempered brain. 
 
 IT. 
 
 At morning too the playful elves, 
 Who in the lone raths hide themselves,! 
 Came from each glen and forest glade, 
 And many a gambol round me played ; 
 And when my wild weird laughter smote 
 The warders' ears beside the moat, 
 They crossed themselves, all shuddering, 
 And said I was no earthly thing, 
 But an unnatural changeling sprite 
 Left by the Deena Shee at night. f 
 
 * Barren, a rocky district verging on the ocean, in the north 
 of Clare. 
 
 t Fairies dwell in raths : see note, p. 26. 
 
 J Deena Shee, the fairies. Sometimes the fairies take away a 
 beautiful child and leave an elf in its place, who is always 
 impish and troublesome.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 181 
 
 Amongst that merry crowd was one, 
 An imp of mischief and of fun, 
 From the green rath by Cloda's hill, 
 Who said his name was Snaudadil.* 
 I'd but to call, and presently 
 Up at my elbow started he, 
 To prompt me to such antics wild 
 As ne'er were played by mortal child : 
 Alas, one prank he made me play 
 I'll rue until my dying day. 
 
 VI. 
 
 One morn, my father, freres, and all, 
 At matin meal sat in the hall ; 
 The steeds outside all saddled stood 
 To hunt the stag in Brona's wood ; 
 When at my elbow Snaud appeared 
 With many an antic strange and weird ; 
 He led me down the stair with speed, 
 And bade me mount my father's steed. 
 A moment and I sat in selle ; 
 A moment with a vicious yell 
 Of elfish and exulting glee, 
 I shook the bossy bridle free 
 And pricked the great steed with a knife 
 I'd stolen from Gil the falconer's wife. 
 Madly he danced the court-yard round, 
 Then crossed the deep moat at a bound, 
 And, with a short and angry neigh 
 Of rage and terror, dashed away 
 Like lightning down the forest track, 
 As if a fiend was on his back ! 
 
 * Snaudadil, Irish sndthad-d 1 -diabhail, the " devil's needle," 
 which is the name of the dragonfly among the people.
 
 182 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 VII. 
 
 At first I Avas of sense bereft, 
 
 The breath my little body left, 
 
 So fast and furious was the speed, 
 
 The pace of that strong sable steed. 
 
 At last I woke, full soon to find 
 
 My father and my freres behind, 
 
 Scouring along, with six good men, 
 
 To stop my course through Brona's Glen 
 
 That fatal gorge of crags and pits, 
 
 Where Brone the Banshee* moaning sits. 
 
 They called, but at their call the more 
 
 I yelled and pricked the good steed sore, 
 
 Until I clattered through the Pass, 
 
 Like the resounding rocky mass 
 
 That, loosened from the mountain's cope, 
 
 Thunders down Knock-an-Affrin's slope, t 
 
 Then swifter swifter sped he on, 
 
 O'er bank and brake and clattering stone, 
 
 With mighty overwhelming force, 
 
 Showering the blossoms from the gorse, 
 
 Tearing the greensward's fretted woof 
 
 In thunder with his iron hoof ; 
 
 Still on resistless fierce and fast, 
 
 Till out we dashed by Knocknaree, 
 Where dwelt Sir John de Prendergast, 
 
 For years my father's enemie. 
 
 * Banshee, a woman from the fairy hills, who wails for the 
 dead, or for those about to die. See p. 73. The name " Brone " 
 means sorrow. 
 
 t Knock-an-affrin, the "Hill of the Mass," where open-air 
 Masses were celebrated in the times of the Penal Laws ; one of 
 the highest of the Cummeragh Mountains. See Joyce's Irish 
 Names of Places, vol. i., p. 119.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALKY. 183 
 
 vnr. 
 
 What saw I by that hostile hold 
 
 Within a green glade of the wold ? 
 
 A little maiden fair and bright, 
 
 Mounted upon a palfrey white ; 
 
 Her face by golden sunbeams kissed, 
 
 A goss-hawk on her slender wrist ; 
 
 A small page at her bridle-rein, 
 
 With long bright plume of yellow stain ; 
 
 Beside them two young wolf-hounds grey, 
 
 Upon the cool green grass at play. 
 
 One glimpse I had, and only one, 
 
 As doubly mad I thundered on, 
 
 To mark the look of wild surprise 
 
 And pity in her large grey eyes. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Away with lightning speed once more 
 Towards the great moor of Ballandore, 
 That dreary waste of trembling reeds 
 And marshes, where the wild duck feeds ; 
 Where o'er the deep pools, black and dim, 
 The grassy eskers* seem to swim, 
 Away, till dell and dingle passed, 
 Like th' arrow from the arbalast, 
 We tore through splashing mire and scrog, 
 And plunged, half swallowed, in the bog. 
 Then turned the sweltering steed around, 
 
 With dripping breast and mane, 
 And stamped once more the solid ground, 
 
 And clanged his bridle rein. 
 
 * Esker, a little sand-liill.
 
 184 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 x. 
 
 Ha ! was it thunder from the Pass 
 
 That smote mine ear, 
 Loud rolling o'er the brown morass, 
 
 With sound of fear ? 
 No ; 'twas the vengeful battle-cry 
 
 That came in that fierce peal, 
 With the gun's loud volley rolling by, 
 
 And the ringing clash of steel. 
 Like the autumnal thunder knell 
 
 That shakes the mountains hoar, 
 From lowland base to highland fell, 
 
 It rose in one wild roar ; 
 Then the gloomy marsh and the forest dell 
 
 And the heavens were still once more. 
 
 XI. 
 
 My heart swelled in my troubled breast, 
 Loud throbbing with a wild unrest ; 
 Bitterly did the tear-drops rise, 
 And burn within mine aching eyes ; 
 For much I feared that slogan yell 
 Might be my gallant father's knell. 
 Once more I shook the bridle free, 
 And bounded back towards Knocknaree, 
 Past the sweet spot where I had seen 
 The maiden in the glade of green, 
 Till up, with arrowy speed agen, 
 I clattered into Brona's Glen. 
 
 XII. 
 
 Ah ! well might Brone the Banshee tear 
 Her shadowy robe and streaming hair, 
 And raise her unavailing cries, 
 All mournful to the breezy skies
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 185 
 
 For there, most foully murdered, lay 
 My father, freres, and men that day ! 
 And there, above my father's corse, 
 Horror struck, bending from his horse, 
 I found Sir John de Prendergast ; 
 Moaning, while tears were falling fast 
 My sire's firm friend long long ago, 
 But now for many a year his foe, 
 The father of the sylvan maid 
 I saw within the forest glade. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 With rage and grief I scarce had breath 
 To tax him with my father's death, 
 To brandish high that glittering knife, 
 And challenge him to mortal strife. 
 Sadly he looked down on his foe 
 Upon the bloody turf laid low, 
 Sadly he smiled at my wild wrath 
 He saw me crazed with rage and woe, 
 And deigned me neither word nor blow 
 But turned him silent down the path 
 With labouring breast and hollow groan, 
 And left me with the dead, alone. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 I looked upon my murdered sire, 
 Low lying in the gore and mire ; 
 I looked upon my brothers brave, 
 Each grasping still his broken glaive, 
 And with a ringing shriek of dread 
 Up the wild vale of Brone I fled, 
 Till with commingled fear and hate 
 Mad yelling, shot I through the gate 
 On that great horse, in dust and foam, 
 And brought the direful tidings home.
 
 186 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 xv. 
 Woe ! woe ! the keeners' cry, 
 
 How mournful it began ! 
 Now dying low, now swelling high, 
 
 On the ears of the gathered clan ; 
 Woe ! woe ! my mother's wail, 
 
 And my sisters' grief and fear, 
 And the look of the dead, so still and pale, 
 
 Each on his sable bier ; 
 Eleven corpses in the hall, 
 And my mad freak the cause of all. 
 I cursed that fairy, so that he 
 From that fatal morn ne'er came to me ; 
 I cursed those heroes grim and old, 
 And their shades did I never again behold ; 
 I cursed myself, and that dark ravine, 
 Where the murderers slew my kith and kin ; 
 But the murderers never a curse I gave, 
 I left them all for the lance and glaive. 
 
 xv r. 
 
 The suns of five long years had burned 
 
 O'er widow, sisters, son and clan, 
 And the light of health to mine eyes returned- 
 
 I'd grown a tall and stalwart man ; 
 Spearing the salmon in the floods, 
 Hunting the grim wolf through the woods, 
 The dun deer up the mountain track, 
 Fighting in many a bold attack 
 And, comrades, by the blessed sun, 
 For many a mile there was not one 
 Could manage the battle charger free, 
 Or handle the heavy lance with me ! 
 
 xvir. 
 
 In those five years, through peace or strife, 
 Why took I not my foeman's life ?
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 187 
 
 Why fell I not upon his clan, 
 
 Nor slew them all, both chief and man ? 
 
 You'll hear. Within the secret wood 
 
 I met that maiden fair and good 
 
 The daughter of my father's foe 
 
 I'd seen upon that day of woe. 
 
 She loved me earthly things above, 
 
 I loved her with an equal love ; 
 
 And often, when the winds were bland, 
 
 And flowers were blooming o'er the land, 
 
 We met within the forest bower 
 
 For many a blissful secret hour, 
 
 Or by the streamlet's vocal shore, 
 
 And told our love-vows o'er and o'er. 
 
 The chief himself and all his clan 
 
 Them I avoided every man, 
 
 Lest memory of the direful past, 
 
 Might break the bonds of love at last 
 
 And hurl me on De Prendergast. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Alas, that love must bow to hate, 
 That red revenge its ire must sate ! 
 One day our bard had gathered all 
 Our warlike clan round Cloda's hall, 
 And spoke and told them, every one, 
 I was not like my father's son, 
 Else I had met my foeman stout, 
 And fought the bloody death feud out. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Provoked at heart, with brow full black, 
 I threw my harness on my back, 
 Resolved my foemau's hold to sack, 
 And give it o'er to fire and wrack. 
 I mounted my battle-charger free, 
 And placed my lance beside my knee ;
 
 188 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 High in the sun by Cloda's shore 
 
 I raised the banner of Le Poer. 
 
 Merrily on that river marge 
 
 Glittered the light on helm and targe ; 
 
 Merrily did the sunbeams strike 
 
 On the glancing points of sword and pike ; 
 
 Merrily did the war-pipes play ; 
 
 Yet my heart was sad as we marched away. 
 
 xx. 
 
 As we marched down through Brona's Glen 
 I made a vow unheard of men 
 Whatever fortune happed that day, 
 De Prendergast I would not slay. 
 
 xxr. 
 
 Up for the storming of the gate 
 Rushed the fierce clan with hearts elate 
 That vengeance due had come at last 
 Upon our foe De Prendergast. 
 And there a welcome warm they got 
 Of molten pitch and leaden shot, 
 That laid their bodies many a row 
 The barbican's bloody gate below. 
 Then rose my hot blood boiling high, 
 And the light of battle lit mine eye 
 To see the sudden sally out, 
 The swaying onset stern and stout, 
 To hear the opposing clansmen shout, 
 And rattling steel and roaring rout ; 
 And as a charger that from far 
 Hears the loud clangour of the war, 
 Neighs fierce and shrill, and in his might 
 Bursts through the thickest of the fight 
 So rushed I up the castle height, 
 And raised the war-cry of my clan, 
 And stormed the stubborn barbican
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 189 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Bloody were pike and partisan 
 
 When through the gateway rushed the clan ; 
 
 Bloody were axe and skene* and sword, 
 
 When 'cross the court-yard fast we poured, 
 
 Tumultuous as the mountain flood 
 
 That devastates some lowland wood. 
 
 My blood was hot, my rage unpent, 
 
 As first in that wild rush I went. 
 
 1 saw my foeinan 'mid the dead 
 
 Brandish a huge mace o'er his head ; 
 
 I marked his eye, so cold and stern, 
 
 Glitter like those the mountain ernef 
 
 Casts savagely upon his prey 
 
 Down from his rock so steep and grey ; 
 
 I saw him strike three clansmen down 
 
 With his iron mace through helm and crown. 
 
 I thought upon my murdered sire 
 
 And rushed at him with eyes on fire ; 
 
 I smote him with my bloody sperthe,J 
 
 And dashed him sorely to the earth ; 
 
 Heavy and deadly was the stroke, 
 
 His good steel basnet bar it broke, 
 
 And laid him on his back before 
 
 The archway of his castle door. 
 
 I placed my knee upon his breast, 
 
 And raised my skene on high 
 When passion is strong and reason blind, 
 Our vows are scattered to the wind 
 I raised the skene his life to take, 
 When the solid court-yard seemed to quake, 
 And I heard a sound like the sounds that break 
 From the wings of birds o'er the wild sea lake 
 
 When storms are in the sky. 
 
 * Skene, a knife, a dagger. t Erne, an eagle. 
 
 J Sperthe or sparth, a sort of battle-axe.
 
 190 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 I looked and by the Holy Rood, 
 
 There 'mid that scene of wrath and blood, 
 
 My father's shade before me stood ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 He raised his shadowy hand 
 
 Slowly and silently 
 A strange weird look of stern command 
 
 In his eye as he gazed on me. 
 He spoke : his words were like the tone 
 Of runnels heard remote and lone 
 Through mountain woods now strangely clear, 
 Now dying distant on the ear : 
 " Strike not ! " he said ; " for now I know 
 De Prendergast was ne'er my foe ; 
 True friends were we, long long ago, 
 Ere civil warfare's dire behest 
 With seeming hate filled either breast. 
 That day he singly strove to aid 
 And shield me 'gainst the ambuscade 
 Of him, my murderer Macray, 
 The robber chieftain of Coumfay ! "* 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Down upon the gory sand 
 
 I dropped my dagger from my hand 
 
 Thank Heaven ! it did not find a sheath 
 
 Within his heart who lay beneath. 
 
 I raised mine eyes to look upon 
 
 That awful shade again 'twas gone ! 
 
 * Coumfay or Coumfea, one of the highest of the Cummeragh 
 Mountains, about eight miles directly south of Kilsheelan 
 (railway station) on the Suir. It takes its name from a deep 
 Coom or hollow at its base, with a lake at bottom. Coumfea 
 lies two miles west of the better known lake of Coumshingawn.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 191 
 
 The form that from my troubled sight 
 Hid the wild turmoil of the fight ; 
 The voice that from my spellbound ear 
 Shut out the battle's sounds of fear ! 
 
 XXV. 
 
 I sprang unto my feet, and back 
 
 I turned my clan from the attack ; 
 
 I stopped the battle's thundering din, 
 
 And raised the chief and bore him in 
 
 To the chamber where my long-loved maid 
 
 For the souls departing prayed. 
 
 There I placed De Prendergast 
 
 He and I were friends at last. 
 
 Night came. When morning rose agen, 
 
 Together through the mountain glen 
 
 Up swift we marched, with sword and fire, 
 
 And slew the murderers of my sire. 
 
 And scarce one happy week was o'er 
 
 When both our clans by Cloda's shore 
 
 Gathered beneath the sun to see 
 
 The plighting of my love and me. 
 
 THE COMING BRIDAL. 
 
 AIK : " B'fearr liomsa ainnir gan guna."* 
 
 I. 
 
 MY home stands by Funshion'sf bright river, 
 Where the broom blossoms shine in the spring, 
 
 Where the green beeches murmur and quiver, 
 And the birds 'mid their cool branches sing ; 
 
 * For which see Petrie's Ancient Music of Ireland, p. 52. 
 
 t Funshion, rising on Gultymore, and flowing by Mitchels- 
 town, Glanworth, and Kilworth, joins the Blackwater a little 
 below Fermoy.
 
 192 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 And there, where the sky gleams so blue in 
 
 The stream as it winds through the dells, 
 Adown by the old castle ruin, 
 
 My love in her white cottage dwells. 
 
 ir. 
 The black whortle shines 'mid the heather, 
 
 Where the wild deer in brown autumn rove, 
 And dark is the strong raven's feather, 
 
 But darker the locks of my love. 
 Two trees by the Fort of the Fairy, * 
 
 A red rose and white sweetly grow ; 
 O, the lips and the brow of my Mary 
 
 Outshine their pure crimson and snow. 
 
 in. 
 No flocks hath she down by the island, 
 
 No red gold her coffers illume, 
 No herds on the brown moor or highland, 
 
 No meads where the flowers are in bloom. 
 The old dame has herds by the wildwood ; 
 
 She'd give me green meads, herds, and gold, 
 But the young heart that loved me since childhood 
 
 Shall find me in manhood unsold. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Next Sunday the fires will be blazing 
 
 For the Baal-feastf o'er mountain and plain ; 
 That morn village crowds will be gazing 
 
 With joy on our gay bridal train ; 
 Could love like our love ever falter, 
 
 When placed 'mid the throng side by side, 
 When there, at the old chapel altar, 
 
 The good priest will make her my bride ? 
 
 * Fort of the Fairy : see page 26. 
 
 t At nightfall on the 23rd June the eve of St. John's day 
 the people lighted fires and big straw fockles or torches in the 
 open air, a remnant of the old fire festival in honour of the 
 pagan god Bel or Baal. Also often on 1st May.
 
 BALLADS OF IKISH CHIVALRY. 193 
 
 EILEEN OF THE GOLDEN HAIR. 
 
 COME with me to Mora's bowers, 
 
 Far in wild Glenara's* dell, 
 Where the sunny sward with flowers 
 
 Glitters round the Fairy Well ; 
 Where the green leaves quiver o'er us 
 
 To the jocund summer air, 
 All things bright, and life before us, 
 
 Eileen of the golden hair. 
 
 II. 
 
 Darkness reigned within my bosom, 
 
 Shadow drear by sorrow cast ; 
 Thou hast set a blooming blossom, 
 
 In that desert land at last ; 
 Thou hast taught my soul to borrow 
 
 Hope to banish bleak despair 
 Hope that shows a bright to-morrow, 
 
 Eileen of the golden hair. 
 
 in. 
 
 Then away to Mora's bowers, 
 
 Deep in wild Glenara's dell ; 
 There we'll spend the summer hours, 
 
 Bound by love's bewitching spell : 
 Not a cloud shall linger o'er us 
 
 Cloud of gloom or blighting care, 
 All things bright, and life before us, 
 
 Eileen of the golden hair. 
 
 * Glenauaar: see p. 19. 
 o
 
 194 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 SAINT STEPHEN'S NIGHT.* 
 
 i. 
 
 WITHOUT, the wild winds keenly blow 
 
 O'er weary wastes of wintry snow ; 
 
 Within, the red fire sheds its glow, 
 
 While round and round the dancers go. 
 
 Then merrily, merrily, round and round, 
 O, merrily, merrily, round and round, 
 To the sweetest music in Ireland's ground, 
 The heart's glad laugh and the bagpipe's sound. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Now what befits Saint Stephen's Night 
 
 But loving words and glances bright, 
 
 But young and old, with main and might, 
 
 To dance around in wild delight ? 
 
 Then merrily, merrily, round and round, 
 O, merrily, merrily, round and round, 
 To the sweetest music in Ireland's ground, 
 The heart's glad laugh and the bagpipe's sound. 
 
 311. 
 
 There maid and matron, son and sire, 
 With bounding spirits that cannot tire, 
 Around the bright Saint Stephen's fire 
 All dance and joke to their hearts' desire. 
 
 Then merrily, merrily, round and round, 
 
 O, merrily, merrily, round and round, 
 
 To the sweetest music in Ireland ground, 
 
 The heart's glad laugh and the bagpipe's sound. 
 
 * For the air, see Goodman's School and Home Song Book, 
 p. 72.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 195 
 
 THE CANNON. 
 Time, 1745. Am: "Barrack Hill."* 
 
 I. 
 WE are a loving company 
 
 Of soldiers brave and hearty ; 
 We never fought for golden fee, 
 
 For faction or for party ; 
 The will to make old Ireland free, 
 That set each dauntless man on 
 And banished us beyond the sea 
 With our brave iron cannon. 
 And here's the gallant company 
 
 That fought by Boyne and Shannon, 
 That never feared an enemy, 
 With our brave iron cannon ! 
 
 II. 
 I've brought a wreath of shamrocks here, 
 
 In memory of our own land, 
 'Tis withered like that island drear, - 
 
 That sorrowful and lone land ; 
 I'll hang it nigh our cannon's mouth, 
 
 To whet our memories fairly, 
 And there's no flower in all the south 
 Could deck that gun so rarely. 
 And here's the gallant company 
 
 That soon shall rush each man on, 
 And plough the Saxon enemy 
 With our brave iron cannon ! 
 
 in. 
 'Tis dinted well from mouth to breech 
 
 With many a battle furrow ; 
 A fitting sermon it will preach 
 At Fontenoy to-morrow. 
 
 *For which see the Stanford-Petrie Collection of Irish 
 Music, No. 926.
 
 196 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Then never let your spirits sink, 
 
 But stand around, each man on 
 This foreign slope, and we will drink 
 One brave health to our cannon ! 
 And here's the gallant company 
 
 That always forward ran on 
 So boldly 'gainst the enemy, 
 With our brave iron cannon ! 
 
 O, FAIR SHINES THE SUN ON GLENARA.* 
 
 i. 
 
 O, FAIR shines the sun on Glenara, 
 And calm rest his beams on Glenara ; 
 
 But there is a light 
 
 Far dearer, more bright, 
 Illumines my soul in Glenara,, 
 The light of thine eyes in Glenara . 
 
 ir. 
 
 And sweet sings the stream of Glenara, 
 Glancing down through the woods like an arrow ; 
 
 But a sound far more sweet 
 
 Glads my heart when we meet 
 In the green summer woods of Glenara, 
 Thy voice by the wave of Glenara. 
 
 in. 
 
 May it ever be thus in Glenara, 
 Till we two become one in Glenara ; 
 May thy voice sound as free 
 And as kindly to me, 
 
 And thine eyes beam as bright in Glenara, 
 - In the green summer woods of Glenara ! 
 
 * Glenanaar: see note, p. 19.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 197 
 
 THE LINNET. 
 
 i. 
 I'VE found a comrade free and gay, 
 
 A linnet of the wildwood tree ; 
 We hold sweet converse day by day, 
 
 My heart, my rambling soul, and he. 
 He sits upon the blossomed spray 
 Within the hollow haunted dell, 
 And every song-note seems to say 
 
 That wild bird knows and loves me well. 
 Sweet linnet, still sing merrily, 
 
 Beside the glittering streamlet's shore, 
 For love-bright dreams thou bring'st to me 
 Of Rosaleen for evermore. 
 
 II. 
 As I lie in my waking dreams, 
 
 And dreamy thoughts successive rise, 
 Down from the blooming bough he seems 
 
 To look on me with human eyes ; 
 And then he sings, ah, such a song 
 
 Will ne'er be heard while seasons roll, 
 Save Rosaleen's voice, that all day long 
 In memory charms my heart and soul. 
 Sweet linnet, still sing merrily 
 
 Beside the haunted streamlet's shore, 
 For many a dream thou bring'st to me 
 Of Rosaleen for evermore. 
 
 in. 
 If souls e'er visit earth again, 
 
 With one my little friend's possessed ; 
 Each dulcet wild Elysian strain 
 
 Springs so divinely from his breast.
 
 198 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 Those fairy songs that earnest look 
 
 Some minstrel's sprite it sure must be, 
 Anacreon's soul, or hers who took 
 The love- leap by the Grecian sea.* 
 Sweet linnet, still sing merrily 
 
 Beside the murmuring streamlet's shore, 
 For happy dreams thou bring'st to me 
 Of Rosaleen for evermore. 
 
 THE JOY-BELLS. 
 
 BLITHESOME is our marriage morning ; 
 
 Blithesome are our hearts and gay, 
 No gems or gold our dress adorning ; 
 
 Though we've neither pomp nor sway ; 
 And the joy-bells' constant ringing 
 Floats upon the mountain wind, 
 Ringing, ringing, sweetly bringing 
 Many a glad thought to my mind. 
 O, the joy-bells! Happy joy-bells ! 
 Ringing, ringing sweet and clear, 
 In the May-time of our loving, 
 And the May-tide of the year. 
 
 ir. 
 This small chapel by the mountain 
 
 For our bridal's fittest place, 
 With its fairy thorn and fountain, 
 
 And its old familiar face ; 
 
 * Sappho, the Greek poetess, who threw herself over the 
 Leucadian cliff in her despairing love for Phaon.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALKY. 199 
 
 With the grey priest vested meetly, 
 Like a saint from Heaven above ; 
 With our parents smiling sweetly 
 On our deep and deathless love. 
 
 O, the joy-bells ! Happy joy-bells ! 
 
 Ringing, ringing sweet and clear, 
 In the May-time of our loving, 
 And the May-tide of the year. 
 
 in. 
 
 Once the golden Mee-na-malla* 
 With its sunny hours is o'er, 
 Grief may come but peace must follow 
 
 While I'm on my husband's floor : 
 For my Donall loves me kindly, 
 
 And though love the judgment dim, 
 'Tvvas but slow, and 'twas not blindly 
 That I gave my heart to him. 
 
 O, the joy-bells ! Happy joy-bells ! 
 Ringing, ringing sweet and clear, 
 In the May-time of our loving, 
 And the May-tide of the year. 
 
 THE HAPPY CHRISTMAS DAYS LONG AGO.f 
 
 Am: "Ulach^nDuv 0!"J 
 
 I. 
 WITH sad silent tears, through the dim mist of years, 
 
 I look to the days long ago, 
 
 To the gay happy time when with song, jest, and rhyme 
 We sat by the fire's ruddy glow ; 
 
 * Honeymoon : Irish Mi-na-meala. 
 
 t By " Christmas Days " here, the author means the days 
 about Christmas time. 
 
 J For which see Joyce's Irish Music and Song, p. 33.
 
 200 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 ' When the eyes that shine no more shone around the 
 
 blithe hearth 
 
 Of the homestead far away in the land of my birth, 
 And the brown rafters rang to the music and mirth 
 Of the happy Christmas days long ago. 
 
 From Seefin's guardian hill* there's a bright murm'ring 
 rill, 
 
 Dancing down to the vale of Glenroe ; 
 There's a wood smiling fair and a grey castle there, 
 
 And a once happy homestead laid low ; 
 My blessing on that home and the hours of delight, 
 With my friends around its hearth each gay festive 
 
 night, 
 
 With the eyes of those I loved shining on me fond and 
 bright, 
 
 In the happy Christmas days long ago. 
 
 in. 
 
 O ! Heaven be with the day, when with hearts young 
 and gay, 
 
 We longed for the blithe Christmas snow 
 To cast its mantle white from the hill's towering height 
 
 O'er the wide fields and valleys below ; 
 In each sad exiled heart fond the mem'ry remains 
 Of the Christmas candle's light in the glowing window 
 
 panes ;t 
 
 Of the feasting and the dancing to the piper's merry 
 strains, 
 
 In the happy Christmas days long ago. 
 
 *Seefin Mountain over Glenosheen : seep. 81. Glenroe Valley, 
 between Kilfinane and Mitchelstown : p. 74. 
 f Candles burning in windows : see p. 25.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 201 
 
 THE BRIDGE OF GLANWILLAN.* 
 
 i. 
 THOUGH the linnets sing sweet from the wildwood, 
 
 Young Kathleen no blithe warbling hears, 
 And the warm wind that plays o'er the moorland 
 
 Can ne'er dry her fast-falling tears ; 
 And though gay laughs the sunlight around her, 
 
 Still her heart is all sad and forlorn 
 As she sits by the ford of Glenaraf 
 
 Awaiting her Dermot's return ; 
 For he's gone to the fray with his kindred, 
 
 The hard-riding clansmen of Mourne. 
 
 ir. 
 " There are blood spots full thick on thy charger, 
 
 There are blood marks deep red on thy mail, 
 Have ye news, have ye news from the battle, 
 
 Tired horseman so gory and pale ? 
 Were you at the bridge of Glanwillan, 
 And saw you my love in the fray ? " 
 " A curse on that bridge ! " cried the horseman, 
 "There the Irish have conquered to-day! ' 
 Then he dashed through the bright gleaming river, 
 And away o'er the moorland, away. 
 
 in. 
 " There's a smile on thy face, gallant horseman, 
 
 Who sweep'st like the wind to the ford, 
 On thy steed steams the fresh foam of battle, 
 And the blood stains are wet on thy sword ; 
 
 *"The Bridge of Glanwillan" is the bridge that spans the 
 Blackwater at Killawillin, five miles east of (or below) Mallow. 
 
 t Glenara, Glenanaar. The ford across the river here (now 
 spanned by Ballintlea Bridge the "Big Bridge") is about 
 eight miles north from Killawillin. For Glenanaar, see p. 19.
 
 202 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 O, were you at the bridge of Glamvillan ? " 
 With a wild cry of anguish she prayed : 
 
 Reining up with a splash in the water, 
 
 His hot steaming charger he stayed, 
 
 " Yes, I've news from the bridge of Glanwillan, 
 
 Brave news for old Ireland, fair maid." 
 
 IV. 
 
 " 0, stay thee, brave horseman, I pray thee, 
 
 And tell how the foeman came down ; 
 Did he drive the good preys from the valleys, 
 
 And burn every hamlet and town ? 
 On the narrow red bridge of Glanwillan 
 
 Did my Dermot ride front with the best 1 " 
 On his brow shone a bright smile of triumph, 
 
 Like the sunlight on Houra's wild crest, 
 As the tale of that morning's fierce battle 
 
 He told at the fair maid's behest. 
 
 T. 
 
 But first he glared over the moorland, 
 Where the heathbells laugh bright in the sun, 
 
 And shook his red sword at the foeman, 
 Who wounded and weary toiled on : 
 " 'Twas down from the green sloping mountain 
 We first saw the foemen's array,* 
 
 * The Irish were posted on the slope of one of the Nagles' 
 Mountains, over the Black water, and overlooking " Glanwillan " 
 (also called Glannagear : " Glen of the berries "), the beautiful 
 "Glan" or Glen of the Ross river (joining the Blackwater at 
 Killawillin), from which they sa\v the enemy approaching from 
 the north, at the other side of the Blackwater. They then moved 
 down the slope, lay in wait at the south or Killawillin end of the 
 bridge, and fell on the raiders in the act of crossing.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 203 
 
 Riding forth with high hearts to the foray, 
 On the broad smoking plain far away. 
 
 Dhar Dhee !* like the corn sheaves of autumn, 
 By the bridge lie their corses to-day. 
 
 *' With a jangling of scabbards and bridles 
 
 We dashed down to the broad Avonmore, 
 Where the long narrow bridge of Glanwillan 
 
 Spans the brown tide from steep shore to shore: 
 And there in the green blooming forest 
 
 We halted our ranks on the glade, 
 And each rider looked close to his pistols, 
 
 And loosened his long gleaming blade ; 
 Like a bright wall of steel in the sunlight 
 
 We stood for the foemen arrayed. 
 
 TIT. 
 * ' You could hear the shrill whine of the otter 
 
 As he quested his prey by the shore ; 
 You could hear the brown trout in the shallow 
 
 Splash up from the wave evermore ; 
 So still we awaited their coming, 
 
 Though each heart for the fight throbbed full fain, 
 Till we saw through the greenwoods advancing 
 
 Their line like a long serpent train, 
 Till the psalm-singing troopers of Cromwell 
 
 Poured down o'er the causeway amain. 
 
 Till. 
 
 " 'Twas then like the storm-cloud of autumn 
 
 That rolls over Barna's wild crest, 
 When its thunder clangs hoarse through the gorges, 
 And the lightnings leap out from its breast, 
 
 * An oath : Irish, Dar Dia.
 
 204 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 With our loud ringing slogan of battle 
 On their thick-serried squadrons we bore, 
 
 With a flashing of helmets and sabres, 
 And a rattling of matchlocks galore, 
 
 Till the fresh green was strewn with their corses, 
 And the causeway was slippery with gore. 
 
 IX. 
 
 " There I rode side by side on the causeway, 
 
 With your true-love so gallant and leal, 
 As he charged 'mongst the foremost and bravest, 
 
 In his morion and bright jack of steel. 
 I could hear the loud clang of his horse-hoofs, 
 
 As he swept o er the red bridge's crown, 
 And many a bold Saxon trooper 
 
 'Neath the sweep of his long sword went down. 
 This day for thy Dermot of Mourne 
 
 Is a bright day of deathless renown. 
 
 x. 
 
 " Then weep not, fair maid, by Glenara ; 
 
 In triumph thy love will return, 
 His plume waved to-day 'midst the foremost 
 
 Of the hard-riding clansmen of Mourne. 
 His name shall be sacred among us, 
 
 And a watchword in foray and fray !" 
 Then that fierce clansman glared o'er the moorland, 
 
 As the wolf looketh out for his prey, 
 And he dashed through the ford like an arrow 
 
 On the track of his foeman away.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 205 
 
 THE BANKS OF ANNER.* 
 
 Am : " Cold and rough the north wind blows."t 
 
 I. 
 IN purple robes old Slievenamon 
 
 Towers monarch of the mountains, 
 The first to catch the smiles of dawn 
 
 With all his woods and fountains ; 
 His streams dance down by tower and town, 
 
 But none since Time began her 
 Met mortal sight so pure and bright 
 
 As winding wandering Anner. 
 
 TT. 
 In hillside gleam or woodland gloom, 
 
 O'er fairy height and hollow, 
 Upon the banks gay flowerets bloom 
 
 Where'er her course I follow. 
 And halls of pride tower o'er her tide, 
 
 And gleaming bridges span her, 
 As, laughing gay, she winds away, 
 
 The gentle murmuring Anner. 
 
 m. 
 There gallant men, for freedom born, 
 
 With friendly grasp will meet you ; 
 There lovely maids as bright as morn 
 
 With sunny smiles will greet you ; 
 And there they strove the Bed above 
 
 To raise Green Ireland's banner 
 There yet its fold they'll see unrolled 
 
 Upon the banks of Anner. 
 
 * The Anner flowing from Slievenamon, joins tbe Suir near 
 dlonmel. 
 
 t For which see Joyce's "Ancient Irish Music," p. 65.
 
 206 BALLADS OF IEISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 IV. 
 
 May Heav'n be with the good old days, 
 
 The days so light and airy, 
 When to blithe friends I sang my lays 
 
 In gallant gay Tipperary ; 
 When fair maids' sighs and witching eyes 
 
 Made my young heart the planner 
 Of castles rare built in the air, 
 
 Upon the banks of Anner. 
 
 v. 
 
 The morning sun may fail to show 
 
 His light, the earth illuming ; 
 Old Slievenamon to blush and glow 
 
 In autumn's purple blooming ; 
 The shamrock green no more be seen, 
 
 And breezes cease to fan her, 
 Ere I forget the friends I met 
 
 Upon the banks of Anner. 
 
 YOU'RE A DEAR LAND TO ME. 
 
 Am : " The Blackbird."* 
 I. 
 
 THERE'S a stream in Glenlara,f whose silvery fountain 
 Leaps up into life where the heather-bells bloom, 
 
 That steals through the moorland and winds round the 
 
 mountain, 
 Now laughing in sunlight now weeping in gloom ; 
 
 * For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs. 
 f Glenlara, a fancy name for Glenosheen ; se p. 99.
 
 BALLADS OF IEISH CHIVALRY. 207 
 
 And by its merry dancing, a rural sight entrancing, 
 From out the greenwood glancing, my home you once 
 could see ; 
 
 Now an exile far away from that home I sigh and say, 
 O, green-hilled pleasant Erin, you're a dear land to me.* 
 
 There's a tree by that streamlet in bright beauty shining, 
 
 With green leaves and blossoms all brilliant and gay, 
 With the birds on its branches wild melodies twining, 
 Where I sat with my friends on each blithe summer 
 
 day, 
 When the sunset clouds were glowing and the gentle kiue 
 
 were lowing, 
 And the perfumed airs were blowing around that 
 
 blooming tree ; 
 Tree or friends I'll ne'er see more by that murmuring 
 
 streamlet's shore, 
 O, green-hilled pleasant Erin, you're a dear land to me. 
 
 THE WATERFALL. 
 
 WHERE the moss-bronzed oaks are towering 
 
 By the rude rock's hoary wall, 
 Into a chasm with sudden spasm 
 Rusheth the waterfall : 
 Breaking its prison thrall, 
 Bursting its rocky bar, 
 
 Its voice rolls loud from the bright spray cloud, 
 Over the hills afar. 
 
 * Meaning, according to the idiom, that he paid dearly for 
 devotion to Ireland.
 
 208 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALKY. 
 
 li. 
 All through the flame-browed summer 
 
 'Twas but a tiny stream : 
 Brown autumn gave the swelling wave, 
 And the fierce and fiery gleam. 
 O wanderer, you would deem 
 
 That a bright-eyed monster there 
 Rushed out on thee with a roar of glee, 
 Wild from his forest lair. 
 
 It springeth far in the uplands, 
 That torrent swift and rude, 
 And rolls along with its ancient song 
 Through the deep solitude ; 
 Then between sedgy banks, 
 
 Down from the rugged clift, 
 With a sudden sweep it taketh its leap 
 Into that caverned rift. 
 
 IV. 
 
 It boils and writhes and hisses 
 
 As it leapeth down amain, 
 
 And its deaf'ning roar shakes the mountain hoar 
 Like a Titan's yell of pain. 
 Then darting on again 
 
 Swiftly its brown waves go, 
 Winding away in their rippling play, 
 Through the widening vales below .
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 209 
 
 TO A BIRD. 
 
 i. 
 WHENCE art thou, delightful bird, 
 
 That sittest on the leafy bough ? 
 Thy cheery note, so long unheard, 
 
 My sad soul calms and smooths my brow. 
 What sunny climes hast thou explored, 
 
 What wide seas' foam, what deserts' dearth, 
 Since first thy wings resplendent soared 
 
 Up from thy native spot of earth ? 
 
 ii. 
 Thou need'st not at my greeting start, 
 
 For, comrade, I'll ne'er work thee harm, 
 Or fright thy little trusting heart, 
 
 Or spoil thy wing's refulgent charm. 
 Whence comest thou, O minstrel gay ? 
 
 Perchance far far beyond the foam 
 Thou sat'st upon the wildwood spray 
 
 To sing beside my native home. 
 
 III. 
 
 comrade of the tuneful craft, 
 Could I but dream a song like thine, 
 
 I'd sing how summer breezes waft 
 
 Their perfumes round that spot : how twine 
 The sweetbrier and the woodland rose 
 
 Through that blithe vale, my song should tell, 
 And how like wreaths of feathery snows 
 
 The hawthorn hedge blooms up the dell. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Deep in my soul thy heavenly strain 
 Lights one great flash of memory ; 
 
 1 see that valley green again, 
 
 The rural home and guardian tree.
 
 210 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 The purple hill, the spreading wold, 
 
 The ruined tower and village spire, 
 Meadow and streamlet, as of old, 
 
 Bathed in the level sunset fire. 
 
 v. 
 I hear the ringdove from the wood 
 
 Coo to his mate with plaintive call , 
 The skylark from his golden cloud, 
 
 The murmuring of the waterfall ; 
 The merry milkmaid's roundelay, 
 
 The airy ploughboy's whistle keen. 
 The children at their jocund play 
 
 Around the hawthorn on the green. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And those blithe friends of life's young day 
 
 Who danced beneath that blooming tree, 
 O minstrel, tell me where are they, 
 
 And have they all forgotten me ? 
 Farewell ! Thou spread'st thy shining wing 
 
 To visit isles beyond the foam. 
 Thou'rt gone and where ? Perchance to sim 
 
 My memory into hearts at home. 
 
 THE OAKS OF HOURA.* 
 
 i. 
 
 O, think of the days when the crags' rugged masses 
 Looked o'er one great forest in Houra's wild passes, 
 When the grey wolf preyed fiercely by woodland and 
 
 mountain, 
 
 And the red deer ran free by the swift torrent's shore, 
 When the peasant was king of his home by the fountain, 
 And welcomed the trav'ller with smiles at his dour. 
 
 * Houra, the Ballyhoura Mountains between Cork and 
 Limerick.
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 211 
 
 II. 
 
 Twas a brave time a free time the hills seem to mourn 
 Till the splendour of glade and of forest return ; 
 Yet is there not splendour as grand and as shaggy, 
 
 Where the huge twisted roots of that forest remain, 
 Wide spread o'er each deep cave and precipice craggy, 
 Sending scions of strength to the blue sky again ? 
 
 nr. 
 
 In bright Lyre-na-grena* where the blue stream is flowing. 
 And in dark Lyre-na-freaghaun those scions are growing : 
 They spring from the streams and they tower from the 
 
 ledges 
 
 Of the huge rocks that frown o'er the lone fairy dells ; 
 Like young guardian giants encircling the edges 
 
 Of the deep silent pools and the moss-wreathed wells. 
 
 SONG OF SARSFIELD'S TROOPER, t 
 AIR : " Ye Natives of this Nation."} 
 
 I. 
 THE night fell dark on Limerick and all the land was 
 
 still, 
 
 As for the foe in ambush we lay beside the hilt; 
 Long impatiently we waited to rush upon our prey, 
 With noble Sarsfield at our head before the break of day. 
 From Dublin came the foeman, with deadly warlike store 
 Huge guns with tons of powder and thund'ring balls galore 
 
 * Lyre-na-grena, the "Glen of the Sun," " Sunny Glen," at 
 the south-eaat side of Seefin Mountain (rising straight over 
 Glenosheen). Lyre-na-freaghaun, the "Glen of the hurts or 
 whortleberries," at the north-west side of the same mountain. 
 
 t Commemorates the destruction of King William's siege train 
 by Sarsfield (1690), which is told in more detail in the ballad at 
 p. 11. Read the introductory note at that page. 
 
 J For which see Joyce's Old Irish Folk Music and Songs.
 
 212 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY. 
 
 But little was he dreaming that there to work his bale, 
 We'd come with our commander bold from dark Slieve 
 
 Felim's Vale. 
 
 II. 
 At the lonely hour of midnight each man leaped on his 
 
 steed, 
 Down moor and vale to Cullen we dashed with lightning 
 
 speed ; 
 
 Then eagerly we galloped to Ballyneety's wall, 
 Where lay our foe's encampment with guns and stores 
 
 and all. 
 " Give the word ! " "The word is Sarsfield, and Sarsfield 
 
 is the man : 
 And here I am ! " our general cried, as down on them we 
 
 ran ; 
 Then God He cleared the firmament, the moon and stars 
 
 gave light, 
 
 And for the battle of the Boyne we had revenge that 
 night.* 
 
 in. 
 When the convoy all were scattered we took their mighty 
 
 store, 
 Pontoons and carts and powder casks and cannons by the 
 
 score ; 
 
 And hastily with eager hands we piled them up on high, 
 Laid down the fuse applied the match and blew them 
 
 to the sky ! 
 
 How pleasant laughed our general as fast we rode away ; 
 And many a health we drank to him in Limerick next 
 
 day : 
 Here's another health to Sarsfield, who in that midnight 
 
 hour, 
 Destroyed the foe's artillery by Ballyneety's tower. 
 
 * This spirited couplet is from an old folk song on the same 
 subject, fragments of which still remain among the peasantry : 
 see p. 12 above. 

 
 S 
 
 P. W. JOYCE, M.A., LL.D., T.C.D.; 
 
 M.K.I.A. 
 
 ONE OF THE COMMISSIONERS FOR THE PUBLICATION OF THE 
 
 ANCIENT LAWS OF IRELAND ; 
 
 PRESIDENT OF THE ROYAL SOCIETY OF ANTIQUARIES, IRELAND 
 
 LATE PRINCIPAL, MARLBOROUGH STREET (GOVERNMENT) 
 
 TRAINING COLLEGE, DUBLIN. 
 
 Two Splendid Volumes, richly gilt, both cover and top. 
 With 361 Illustrations. Price i is. net. 
 
 A SOCIAL HISTORY OF ANCIENT IRELAND, 
 
 Treating of 'the Government, Military System, and Law ; 
 
 Religion, Learning, and Art ; Trades, Industries, and Commerce; 
 
 Manners, Customs, and Domestic Life 
 
 of the Ancient Irish People. 
 
 A Complete Survey of the Social Life and Institutions of Ancient 
 Ireland. All the important Statements are proved home by references 
 to authorities and by quotations from ancient documents. 
 
 PART I. Government, Military System, and Law. Chapter i. Laying 
 the Foundation n. A Preliminary Bird's-eye View HI. Monarchical 
 Government iv. Warfare v. Structure of Society vi. The Brehon 
 Laws VH. The Laws relating to Land vm. The Administration of 
 Justice. 
 
 PAHT II. Keligion, Learning, and Art. Chapter ix. Paganism 
 x. Christianity XI. Learning and Education XII. Irish Language and 
 Literature xiu. Ecclesiastical and Religious Writings xiv. Annals, 
 Histories, and Genealogies xv. Historical and Romantic Tales 
 xvi. Art xvn. Music xvm. Medicine and Medical Doctors. 
 
 PART III. Social and Domestic Life. Chapter xix. The Family 
 xx. The House xxi. Food, Fuel, and Light xxn. Dress and Personal 
 Adornment XXIH. Agriculture and Pasturage xxiv. Workers in Wood, 
 Metal, and Stone xxv. Corn Mills xxvi. Trades and Industries con- 
 nected with Clothing xxyn. Measures, Weights, and Mediums of 
 Exchange xxviu. Locomotion and Commerce xxix. Public Assemblies, 
 
 Second Edition. One Vol., Cloth gilt. 596 pages, 213 Illustrations. 
 Price 3$, 6d. net. 
 
 A SMALLER SOCIAL HISTORY OF ANCIENT 
 IRELAND. 
 
 Traverses the same ground, Chapter by Chapter, as the larger work 
 above ; but most of the quotations and nearly all the references to 
 authorities are omitted in this book.
 
 Second Edition. Cloth gilt, 188 pages. Price is. 6d. net. 
 
 THE STORY OF ANCIENT IRISH CIVILISATION, 
 
 Third Edition. Thick Crown Svo. 565 pages. Price IDS. 6d. 
 
 A SHORT HISTORY OF IRELAND 
 
 FROM THE EARLIEST TIMES TO 1608. 
 
 Cloth gilt. $28 pages. Price 33. 6d. 
 Published in December, zSqj : now in its Both Thousand. 
 
 A CHILD'S HISTORY OF IRELAND, 
 
 Specially drawn Map and 160 Illustrations, 
 
 Including a Facsimile in full colours of a beautiful Illuminated 
 Page of the Book of Mac Durnan, A.D. 850. 
 
 Besides having a very large circulation here at home, this book has 
 been adopted by the Australian Catholic Hierarchy for all their Schools 
 in Australia and New Zealand ; and also by the Catholic School Board 
 of New York for their Schools. 
 
 Cloth, 160 pages. Price qd. 
 
 OUTLINES OF THE HISTORY OF IRELAND 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE EARLIEST TIMES TO 1905. 
 
 $oth Thousand. 
 
 " This little book is intended mainly for use in schools ; and it is accord- 
 ingly written in very simple language. But I have some hope that those 
 of the general public who wish to know something of the subject, but who 
 are not prepared to go into details, may also find it useful. ... I have put 
 it in the form of a consecutive narrative, avoiding statistics and scrappy 
 disconnected statements." Preface.
 
 ( 3 ) 
 
 Cloth. 3za pages. 24th Thousand* Price as. 
 
 A CONCISE HISTORY OF IRELAND 
 
 FROM 
 
 THE EARLIEST TIMES TO 1837. 
 
 With Introductory Chapters on the Literature, Laws, Buildings, Music, 
 Art, &c., of the Ancient Irish People. 
 
 Seventh Edition. Crown 8vo. Cloth gilt. Vol. I., Price $s.; Vol. II., 5$. 
 (Sold together or separately.) 
 
 THE ORIGIN AND HISTORY OF IRISH NAMES 
 OF PLACES. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. Price is. 
 
 IRISH LOCAL NAMES EXPLAINED. 
 
 In this little book the original Gaelic forms, and the meanings, of the 
 names of five or six thousand different places are explained. The pro- 
 nunciation of all the principal Irish words is given as they occur. 
 
 Third Edition (with one additional Tale). Cloth. Price 33. 6d. 
 
 OLD CELTIC ROMANCES, 
 
 Thirteen of the most beautiful of the Ancient Irish Romantic 
 Tales translated from the Gaelic. 
 
 Fcap. 8vo. Cloth. Price is. 
 
 A GRAMMAR OF THE IRISH LANGUAGE. 
 
 Cloth. 220 pages. With many Illustrations. Price is. 6d. 
 
 A READING BOOK IN IRISH HISTORY. 
 
 This book contains forty-nine Short Readings, including 
 "Customs and Modes of Life" : an Account of Religion and 
 
 OUSlOIllS tllm 1VLUUC3 Wl J-...V- < " . . . /- 1 
 
 Learning; Sketches of the Lives of Saints Bngit and Colum. 
 killer several of the Old Irish Romantic Tales, including tl 
 "Sons of Usna," the "Children of Lir," and the ''Voyage 
 of Maeldune";'the history of Cahal-More of the Wine-red 
 Hand," and of Sir John de Courcy ; an account of Ancient 
 Irish Physicians, and of Ancient Irish Music, &c., &c.
 
 ( 4 ) 
 
 Re-issue. 4(0. Price' Cloth, 35. ; Wrapper, ts.6d. 
 
 ANCIENT IRISH MUSIC, 
 
 Containing One Hundred Airs never before published, and 
 a number of Popular Songs. 
 
 . Paper cover, fto. Price is. 
 
 IRISH MUSIC AND SONG. 
 
 A Collection of Songs in the Irish language, set to the old 
 Irish airs. 
 
 (Edited by Dr. JOYCE for the " Society for the Preservation of the 
 Irish Language.") 
 
 Second Edition. Paper cover. Crown 8vo. Price bd. net. 
 
 IRISH PEASANT SONGS IN THE ENGLISH 
 LANGUAGE. 
 
 With the old Irish airs : the words set to the Music. 
 Twentieth Edition. 86th Thousand. Fcap.Svo. Cloth. Price 3$. 6d. 
 
 A HAND-BOOK OF SCHOOL MANAGEMENT 
 
 AND METHODS OF TEACHING. 
 
 Ready September, iqo8. Price Cloth gilt, ss. net ; Paper, is. net. 
 
 BALLADS OF IRISH CHIVALRY 
 
 By ROBERT DWYER JOYCE, M.D. 
 Edited, with Annotations, by his brother, P. W. JOYCE, LL.D. 
 
 In the Press : -will be ready early in Spring, iqoq. 
 Cloth gilt. Price tos. net. 
 
 OLD IRISH FOLK MUSIC AND SONGS. 
 
 A Collection of about a thousand Irish Airs and Songs never before 
 published. 
 
 With Analytical Preface and a running Commentary all through.