RISE AND FALL OK THK IRISH FRANCISCAN MONASTERIES. The Author has received the following graceful letter from" Sir Bernard Burke, to whom the work is dedi- cated : — "12th April, 1869. "Dear Father Meehan, — I must tell you how much I have been gratified and profited by an attentive perusal of Tlte Rise and Fall of the Irish Franciscan Monasteries. This book and iis predecessor, The Flight of the Earls, the productions of an accomplished scholar and a faithful annalist, are preparing the way for the great undertaking that remains to be accomplished — the History of Ireland. Whoever succeeds in performing that task adequately will have to draw largely on the riches and resources of your works. The Irinh Franciscan Monasteries aftbrd a theme worthy of your pen, and you have done it ample justice. Your little volume is of priceless value to every Christian student, to the antiquary, the historian, and the eccle- siastical inquirer. The narrative is so gracefully and charmingly given that the reader's interest never flags, and the details are so strictly accurate that the historian's estimate constantly increases. '* Your ever sincere friend, " J. BERNARD BURKE, Ulster. "To the Rr.v. C. V. Mkkhan." NATIONAL AND HISTORICAL BALLADS, SOXGS, AXD POEMS. BY THOMAS DAVIS, M.R.LA. A NEW A-Ni) REVISED EDITION. The snn set ; but set not liis hope: Stars rose; his faith was e:iilier up: Fixed on the enormous galaxy, Deeper and older seemed his eye : And matched liis sufferance sublime The taciturnity of time. He spoke, and words more soft than rain Brought the Age of Gold again: His action won such reverence sweet, As hid all measure of the feat. Emerson. DUBLIN : JAMES DUFFY, 15, WELLIXOTOX-QUAY. LONDON: 22, PATF.IiNOSTER-HOW. 18G9. PURI.INI llrinltb ba |. |«. ©•g;oolc (t- ^on, C AND 7, GT. BkUNSWIOK-ST. SRLF YRL CONTENTS. "^^^5^ ^ &6? ■ \^ ^^ / PAOB Introduction, by the Editor, . 11 PART I.— NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. TiPPERARY, ..... 33 The PiivERS, ..... 35 Glengariff, ..... 37 The West's Asleep, 38 Oh ! FOR A Steed, .... 39 Cymric Rule and Cymric Eulers, 41 A Ballad of Freedom, 43 The Irish Hurrah, 46 A Song for the Irish Militia, 47 Our Own Again, .... 49 Celts and Saxons, .... 62 Orange and Green 54 part il— miscellaneous songs and dallads The Lost Path, .... 61 Love's Longings, 62 Hope Deferred, 63 Eibhlin a Ruin, 65 The Banks of the Lee, 66 The Girl of Dunbwy, 67 Duty and Love, 69 Annie Dear, 69 Blind Mary, 71 The Bride of Mallow, 72 The Welcome, 74 The Mi-na-Meala, . 76 CONTENTS. M.viRE Bjiax a Stoir, Oh ! TUE Marriage, A Plea for Love, . The Bishop's Daughter, The Boatman of Ki>sale, My Darling Nell, . Love Chant, A Christmas Scene, The Invocation, Love and Wak, Mv Land, The Paoirr Hoad, PAKT III.— HISTORICAL BALLADS AND SONGS. ^irst Scrits. A Nation Once Again, Lament for the Milesians, The Fate of King Dathi, Argan Mor, . The Victor's Burial, The True Irish King, The Geraldine-s, O'Brien of Aka, Emmeline Talbot, O'SuLLi van's Return, The Fate of the 0'Sullivan.s, Thk Sack of Baltimore, Lament for the Death of Owen Eoe O'Neill, A Rally for Ireland, The Batfle of Limerick, I'AKT IV.— lIISTOniCAL BALLADS AND SONGS, ^ctonb Scries. The Penal Days, .... Thk De.vth of Sarsfield, . The Surprise of Cremona, 144 147 148 CONTENTS. The Flower of Finae, The Gikl I Lkft Beuind Me, Clare's Dragoons, . WuEN South Winds Blow, The Battle-Eve of the Brigade, fontenoy, The Dungannon Convention, Song of the Volunteers of 1782, The Men of 'Eiguty-two, . Native Swords, Tone's Grave, PART v.— MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, Nationality, Self-reliance, Sweet and Sad, The Burial, We Must Not Fail, O'Connell's Statue, The Green above the Bed, The Vow of Tipperary, A Plea for the Bog-Tjrotters, A Second Plea for the Bog-Trotters, A Scene in the South, William Tell, The Exile, My Home, My Grave, Appendix, ADVERTISEMENT. I HAVE spared no pains to make this volume as correct and complete as a first cditiou can be expected to be. But there Avere obstacles in the way, which no solicitude ou uiy part could overcome. The reader will bear in mind, that one half of these poems were never collected during the author's lifetime, and that many of them had never received the slightest revision since their first appearance in the columns of a weekly journal. Thrown off, too, during the brief intervals of leisure, which his multifarious pursuits afforded, they could seldom have obtained that complete finish which would have precluded the necessity of their revision. The classification and order under which they appear is altogether the work of the Editor. It has been his aim to group them in such a manner as by contrast or sequency, to make them throw light upon each other, and produce their full effect. The passages from Mr. Davis's jirose writings have been inserted with the same view. A partial attempt has been made in a few of the ballads, to restore the Irish names of places and persons to their correct forms. But from the o|)posite character of the two languages, many difficulties arose, and the alterations have been confined to a few of the Ballads in Part III. Mr. Davis was a warm advocate of the restoration of the Irish forms, where practicable, and he was constantly making experiments to that end. Instances of the length to which he carried this, may be found iu the 4to Spirit oj X ADVERTISEMENT. ilic Nation. But he had the right to take any liberties he l>lcased with his own verses, and where he spoiled, could alter and amend. But the Editor could not venture to tamper to any such extent with the harmony and integrity of the 2^oems confided to him. Accordingly, the refor- mation of the sjx'lling of Irish names and places has been confined to a few of the earlier Historical Ballads, where these purely Irish forms seemed more in keeping with the subject and the scene. As Mr. DA^^s contributed largely to the Spirit of the Kal'ton, and to the Ballad Poetry of Ireland, it is necessary to state here, that there are more than Thirty Poems in this volume which have not been included in any previous collection. T. W. INTRODUCTION. BY THE EDITOR. It is my sincere belief, that no book has ever been pub- lished, of more immediate and permanent interest to the Irish People, than this little volume of the Poems of Thomas Davis. The momentary grief of the people for his loss was loud and ardent enough. 1 have heard some touching instances of the intensity with which it manifested itself in thousands, who had never seen his face, or heai-d his voice, — to whom, indeed, his very name and being were unknown, until the tidings of his death awoke in them the vain regret that they had not earlier known and honoured the good great man who worked unseen among them. But, alas ! regrets of this description are in their very nature transient ; and all ranks of the people have much to learn before they can rightly appreciate what a trea- sui'e of hoiio and energy, of life and love, of greatness and glory for himself and them, lies buried in that untimely grave. It has been the peculiar destiny of this Nation of Sorrows, to lose bj' unseasonable death, at the verj' crisis of her peril, the only men who were endowed with the genius and energy to guide her unharmed through the strife. Too seldom have Ireland's chami)ions lived to reap the mature fruit of their toil. Too seldom hath the calm evening of existence, o'ercanopied by victory, and smiled on by such parting 12 IXTRODUCTIOX. twilight as promises a brighter morrow, heralded for them that ghid repose, which they only know who have laboured aud seen their labour blessed. The insidious angel of Death has preferred to take our chieftains unprepared in their noon of manhood, — too often before that noon arrived, stabbing them stealthily in their tents, as they donned their armour, at the dawn of some great day, or mused upon the event of that encounter, which they had bent every energy to meet, and yet were doomed never to see. Long centuries hath the hand of God, for inscrutable causes, been very heavy on Ireland ; aud this alacrity of Death is the fetter-key of his wrath. May this last ofl'er- iu" of our iirst-born propitiate him, and may the kingly Bouls whom hereafter He may send among us to rule and guide our jieople, no more be prematurely summoned away, in the very dawn of their glory, with their hopes unrealized, aud their mission unfullillcd. Fortunately, Davi.s was not a statesman and political leader merely, but a thinker and a writer too, — more than that, a genuine poet ; as, I trust, all who peruse this little liook will acknowledge. True, it is a mere garland of blossoms, whose fruit was doomed never to ripen ; a rcli- (piary of undeveloi)cd genius, but recently awakened to a consciousness of its own power. The ambition, the activity, and above all, the overween- ing contidence of most young men of genius, secures for them a spontaneous discipline in those pursuits for which tliey are si)ecially adajitcd. Goethe and Schiller, Burns and Byron, Wordsworth and Coleridge, too young as most of tliem were, when they commenced a career of author- ship, had written verses for years before they became known to the public. Many are the recounted instances of precocious poetic jiower, both in those, who afterwards became renowned as poets, and in men destined to shine in far other jiursuits, the first e.Kcrcise of whose intellectual energy has taken this direction. Even men who, liko INTRODUCTION. 13 Cowper and Alfieri, have burst the shell of seclusion at comparatively a late period of life, have betrayed in their boyish tastes, or habits, the peculiar bent of their genius. However waywardness or timidity may have retarded the public profession of their art, they had yet some forecast of their destiny. They knew they had wings, and fluttered them, though they had not yet strength to fly. The case of Davis is different, and altogether so peculiar, that it ought not to be passed over in the verj^ briefest in- troduction to his poetical remains. Until about three years before his death, as I am assured, he had never written a line of poetry. His efforts to acquire knowledge, to make himself useful, and to find a suitable sphere of action, were incessant ; but they tried every path, and took every direction but this. The warmth of his affections, and his intense enjoyment of |the beauties of nature and character, of literature and art, ought early to have marked him out as one destined to soar and sing, as well as to think and act. But the fact is, that among his youthful cotem- poraries, for many a long j'ear, he got as little credit for any promise this way, as he did for any other remarkable qualities, bej'ond extreme gooduature, untiring industry, and very varied learning. Truth to say, much of this early misconception of his character was D.wis's own fault. He learned much ; suffered much, I have no doubt ; felt and sympathised much ; and hoped and enjoyed abundantly ; but he had not yet learned to rely on himself. His powers were like the nucleus of an embryo star, imcompressed, unpurified, flickering and indistinct. He carried about with him huge loads of what other men, most of them statists and logi- cians, had thought proper to assert ; but what he thoughl; and felt himself, he did not think of putting forward. The I'esult was, that during his college course, and for some years after, while he was very generally liked, he had, unless perhaps, with some who knew him intimately, but 14 INTKODUCTION. a moderate reputation for liigli ability of any kind. In bis twenty-tiftb year, as I remember — that is, in the spring of 1S39, — he first began to break out of this. His opinions began to have weight, and his character and influence to unfold themselves in a variety of waj'S. In the following year he entered political life. But this is not the place to recount the details of his subsequent career. The outbreak of his poetical power began in this wise. In the autumn of 1S42, taking an active part in the establishment of a new popular journal, (the N^ation,) which was intended to advance the cause of Nationality by all the aids, which literary as well as political talent coidd bring to its advocacy, Davis, and the friends asso- ciated with him, found that while their corps in other respects was sufficiently complete, they had but scanty promise of support in the poetical department. The well- known saying of Fletcher of Saltoun, — " Give me the bal- lads, and let who will make the laws," — had sunk deeply into the minds of some of the projectors of the journal : though I am told that Davis himself was at first not very solicitous on this point ; so little aware was he of his own power in that respect, at the moment it was about to break forth. But the editor of the journal had set his heart on it, having before partially tried the experiment in a Northern paper. Ultimately, however, all the foundci's of the Na- tion agreed in the resolve, that come whence it would, — poftry — real living poetry, gushing warm from the heart, and not nieclianically mimicUing obsolete and ungenial forms, — was worth a trial, as a fosterer of National feeling, and an excitement to National hope. But it came not from any outward source ; and thereupon Davis and his companions resolved, in default of other aid, to write the poetr3' them- selves. They did so; they su prised themselves and every- Itoily else. The result of that despairing attempt have Rinco been made known, and apjilauded in every quarter of the globe. The right chord had been struck, INTRODUCTION. 15 and the consequent stimulus to Iiish literature has bccu, ar.d is incalculable. The rapidity and thrilling power, with which, from the time that he got full access to the public ear, Davjs de- veloped his energies as statesman, political writer, and poet, has been well described elsewhere. It excited the surprise and admiration even of those who knew him best, and won the respect of numbers, who from political or personal pre- judices, had been originally most unwilling to admit his worth. So signal a victory over long-continued neglect and obstinate prejudice as he had at length obtained, has never come under my observation, and* I beleive it to be unex- ampled. There is no assurance of greatness so unmistakable as this. No power is so overwhelming, no energy so un- tiring, no enthusiasm so indomitable as that which slumbers for years, unconscious and unsuspecteeople as well as ruling them. Pdchard Coeur" (Ic-lion was hardly less renowned for poetry than for courage. Bertrand de Born was warrior and patriot, poet and states- man, and it was not found that his success in one pursnit was marred or defeated bj' his proficiency in another. Among the Moslem coteraporaries of all these men, abun- dant exami)les might be adduced of such a combination of p )litical with jmctical power. And recurring to the early dwellers in the East, above all those whom a peculiar dis- pensation set apart from other men, Moses and David were poets, as well as prophets and kings. For snch is the natural condition of health, in nations as in men. The mind and the body alike are agile for a thousand feats, and equal to a thousand labours. For literature is then a part of life, a dweller in the common landscape, a presence in sunshine and shade, in camp and festival, before the altar and beside the hearth,— and not an intruding reminiscence, an antiquated mockery, a ghastly effete excrescence, hiding with its bloated bulk the ■worth of the present hour, and the lovely opportunities of B 13 INTRODUCTION. unused actual life, that ever lie with mute appeal before the dullard man ; and which lie alone who feels the force of, can enter into the feelings or appreciate the worth of bj'C-gone generations too. It is only the insidious materialism of modern existence, that has rent the finest tissues of moral jiower, and dwarfed into mechanical routine and huxtering subserviency, the interchanging faculties of man, making literature itself a statute-book, or a gin-shop, instead of an overhanging canopy of the simple and sublime, a fostering, embrac- ing atmosphere to man's every thought and act. And thus it is that poets and philosophers, — that is, men of purer, deeper, more genial and generative facultj' than others, — find all the avenues to power barred against them by lawj'ers and diplomatists, and are driven to suck their thumbs in corners, when they ought, by virtue of the fiercer life and more powerful reason that is in them, to be teaching the world by example as well as precept ; and not by words alone, but b}' the action too, by the commu- nities of peril, and the interchange of sympathy and love, to bo filling the souls of men with hope and resolution, with piety and truth. Here at least, in this little book, is a precedent and ad- monition to the honest man-of-letters of whatever class or c luntry— that if his feelings for his fellow-men — and who will feel fiu- them, if he does not?— should lead him into l>olitical action, he need not despond because he is a poet, if only he is, into the bargain, a self-reliant man. Davis wa.s a poet, but ho was not for that the less practical ia public life, nor did the most prosaic of his opponents ever object to liim, that he was the less fitted to advise and govern, because ho occasionally expressed in verse the imrer a-spirationa of his soul. Pity it is, to be sure, that these aspirations had not found a fuller utterance, before the fiat of death had hashed to nn- Bcaaonablc rest the throbbings of that large heart. INTRODUCTION, 19 Fra;:rments thougli they be of a most capacious and diver- si I icil character, they are yet to a wonderful degree its un- alVucted utterance. Like wild flowers springing from the mould in the clefts of a giant oak, they relish of the o]ien air, and have looked the sky in the face. Doubtless in many wa3's the impress of the poet's s])irit, and the graces of his character, is but the purer for this partial and too late development of its loveliest folds. Like the first fragrance of the rose, ere its perfume becomes heavy with sweetness ; or as the violet smells the sweetest, when hidden by its cherishing leaves from the glare of the noon- day sun. Moreover, the supreme worth of books is as an index of character; as a fragmentary insight intounfathomed worth and power. For the man who is not better than his books, has ever seemed to me a poor creature. — Many there are, no doubt, — men whose names are high in literature— who fail to produce on their cotemporaries or on those who know their biography, an impression adequate to the promise of their writings— and some, perhaps, who really have no corresponding inward worth. Allowing for the too ardent expectations of ■ their admirers, this indicates ever some lamentable deficiency. One cannot help occa- sionally, in moments of ill humour, suspecting some of these authors to be paltry second-hand thieves of other men's thoughts, or mimics of other men's energy, and not as all good writers ought to be, natural, self-taught, self- directed men. And, therefore, in honest writing, above all things, it is true, that " well begun, is half done ;" be it but once tvell begun. Goldsmith's lovely nature is as visible, and more distinct in the little volume of the ]^ic(ir of Wakefeld, than if he had written a dozen Waverly novels ; liosamund Gray, and Undine are a purer offspring of their author's minds, and a more convincing evidence of their worth, than any congeries of romances could have been. 23 IXTEODUCTIOX. And thus, perhaps, after all, the soiil of DAAas will shine from this book, as pure and clear, — though not so bright, or comprehensive, or beneficent, — as if he had been thirty years writing instead of three, and filled a dozen volumes instead of one. Ah ! as far as writing goes there is enough to make men love him, and guess at him — and what more can the best of readers do with the supre- mest writer, though he lived to the age of Sophocles or Goethe. The true loss is of the oak's timber, the living tree itself, and not of its acorns or of the flowers at its base. The loss of his immediate influence on the events of his time, and on the souls of his contemporaries by guidance and example, — that is the true bereavement ; one which possibly many generations to come will be suffering from and expiating, consciously or unconsciously. So complete an endowment as his is a rare phenomenon, and no calamity can be compared with imtimely extinc- tion. Undoubtedly the circumstances which attended the de- velopment of Davis's powers, are a striking proof of the latent energj' which lies hid among our peoi)le, unwrought and almost untliought of. Not that I entertain the opinion, though it is a favourite theory with some men, — and one M'hich does not obtain the less acceptance because it flatters human nature, — tliat there is an abundance of great men, ever walking the earth, utterly unconscious of their power, and only wanting a sufficient stimulus, themselves to know their power, and make all men acknowledge it. A theory of life and history, in any high sense of greatness, to which I cannot assent : for it seems to me the very essence of the great man is, that he is, in spite of himself, making ever new acquaintance with the realities of life. All animate and inanimate nature is in a conspiracy to make him know himself, or at least to make others know him, and by their love or hate, their fear or reverence, to awaken his slum- bering might. Destiny has a thousand electric shocks in INTRODUCTION. 21 store for him, to which unearuest ineu are insensible ; while his own uuhasting yet unresting sjnrit is ever fathoming new depths in the infinities of tlionght, and suQering, and love. For, as the wisest of the ancients told the clods who condemned him, — the great man is not born of a stock or a stone : but nature's wants are strong in him, and the ties of heart and home are as dear, or dearer to him than to any. And home is the great teacher, in childhood by its joys, in manhood by its sorrows, in age by its ebbing regrets. No matter, then, whether thought or passion have the mastery in the great man's nature, no matter whether action or reception jirepouderates in his life, if he be truly great, and live through man's estate, he will in some way be recognised. Strange it were indeed, if every other element in nature — the paltriest grain of sand, or the most lieeting wave of light — were perpetual and unlimited in its influence, and the mightiest i)0wcr of all, the plenitude of spiritual life, could remain unfolt by kindred spirit, for the natural life of man. True, the great man will often shun society, and court obscurity and solitude ; but let him with- draw into himself ever so much, his soul will only expand the more with thought and passion. The mystery of life will be the greater to him, the more time he has to study it ; the loveliness of nature will be the sweeter to him, the less his converse with her is disturbed by the thoughtless comment of the worldly or the vain. Let him retire into utter solitude, and even if he were not great, that solitude, — if nature whispers to him, and he listens to her, — would go near to make him so : as Selkirk, when after his four years' solitude, he trod again the streets of London, looked for a while a king, and talked like a philoso[)her. For a while, — since, as Richard Steele ablj'^ tells the story, in six months or so, the royalty had faded from his face, and he had gi-own again, what he was at lii'st, a sturdy but common-place sailor. 22 INTEODUCTIOX. But nature herself haunts incessantly the really great man, ami nothing can vulgarize him. And if it were only ou that account alone, whether tested bj' action, or untested by it, the great man is sure of recognition, if allowed to jive out his life. If he act, his acts will show him ; and even if he do not act, his thoughts or his goodness will betray him, "Hide the thoughts of such a man," says a sage of our time : "hide the sky and stars, hide the sun and moon ! Thought is all light, and publishes itself to the universe. It will speak, though you were dumb, by some miraculous organ. It will flow out of your actions, your manners, and your face. It will bring you friendships, and inipledge you to nature and truth, by the love and expectations of generous minds." And yet there is in many of the best and greatest men, a tardiness of growth, which either beneficially shrouds their budding graces from the handling of impatient friends; or, at least, sets at naught that impatience, and hui's the pcrutinyof the interested watcher by perpetual new growth of mere leaves, instead of the flowers and fruit he craves. 1-^vcii where the natural tendency is to active life, such men will for years evince an awkwardness, a shiftlessness, an indirectness of aim, and unsteadiness of pursuit, — on the whole a liulkiug, slobl)ery pouderousness, as of an over- grown school-boy, — which will make men tardy in acknow- ledging their worth and power, when, at length, after abiuulant waywardness, their discipline is complete, their character forineil, and their strength matured. As to the causes of all this, I dare not enter on them now. Tliey all centre in a good-natured simplicit3'-, an infantine acquiescence and credulity, M'hich makes such ^Ixw-gnnving men content to be hewers of wood and drawers of water for half a life-time, until their patience is exhausted ; or until the trumpet call of duty, ever on tiiu watcli to startle them, rouses them into life ; tlien, at i'ugtii, they commence their labimrs and assert their INTRODUCTION. . 23 rii^lits. In their experiences likewise, they ai'e sometimes tanly, and as some ancient wrote, and Goethe was fond of quoting : — 'O ;U7) Sapels tivOpwiros oh TraiSei^erai. In some such frame may the history of Davis's mind be set. But though great men, wise men, kingly men, cannot lint be few, good men and true need not be so scarce as they are, — men, I mean, true to their own convictions, and prompt in their country's need, — not greedy of distinction, but knowing well the hived sweetness that abides in aa unnoticed life, — and yet not shrinking from responsibility, or avoiding danger, when the hour of trial comes. It is such men that this country needs, and not flaunting histrionists, or empty, platform patriots. She wants men who can and will woik as well as talk. Men glad to live, and yet prepared to die. For Ireland is approaching her majority, and what she wants is men. And thus is it, above all, in the manliness of this book, . and of the author's character, that the germ abides of hoi)e for the country, and of consolation for his loss. If such worth could grow up, and such success be won, amid all the treacherous influences that sap the strength of Ireland, what have we not a right to hope for ? What may not be yet the glory and gladness of that distant time, when our National Genius shall at length stand regenerated and dis- enthralled from the shackles of foreign thought, and the contagion of foreign example ; when beneath his own skies, with his own hills around, and the hearts of a whole peoi)le echoing his passionate words, he shall feel therein a content and exultation which mere cosmopolitan greatness isdoomed never to know ; when satisfied with ministering to the wants of the land that bore him, and having few or no ailections beyond the blue waves which are its eternal boundary, he shall find his only and most ample reward in the gratitude and love of our own fervent people ? 2 4 . INTRODUCTION. Ah ! some few short years ago, who could look for such a result with coufiileuce ? Though some there were, whom strong affections made strong in hope, that never despaired, in the gloomiest season. Times are altered siuce then. The eyes of our people are opened, and their hearts are changed. A swift and a surprising, and yet an easy change, for a nation perisheth not except by its own sentence. Blind though it be, it needs but be led towards the East and turned to the rising sun, Tiresias-like, to recover its sight. Well, until a spirit of Nationality had arisen in the land and spread from sea to sea, and was not only talked of, but became an abiding principle iu our lives, how could we hope to have a manly book, or a manly being among us? Or, was it that the man and the feeling both arose together, like a high-tide with a storm at its back ? AVhat else but the fostering breath of Nationality could make that genius strong, which, without such sympathy and cherishing, must necessarily grow up a weakling ? For sympathj', given and received, is the life and soul of genius : without such suj)- port it crawls along — a crippled abortion, when it ought to walk .abroad a giant and champion of men. Until we had proved ourselves worthy of having great men among us ; until we had shewed respect unto our dead, and taken the memory of our forgotten brave unto our hearts again, and, bid them live there for ever ; until we dared to love and honour our own, as tliey deserved to be loved and honoured, wiiat had we, the Irish People, a right to expect? what goodness or greatness could we presume to claim ? Until all sects and parties had at least begun to hold out a help- ing hand to each other, and to bind their native land with one bond of labour and love, what grace could even Nature's bounty bestow on siu;h a graceless people? Time was, as many alive will remember — and I have been often pained by the feeling— when, if the report of any new genius arose among us, we had to make up our minds ^ INTRODUCTIOX. 25 fiiul muoli of its brightest promise blighted in the early bud, or stunted in maturcr growth, by the mingled chill of exotic cidture and of home neglect. In those days we could never approach a product of the National Mind, without a cold fear at our hearts, that we should find it unworthy of the Nation ; that we should find on it the stamp of the slave, or the slimy trail of the stranger. And even as we gazed with fondness and admiration on those, who in our evil days had yet achieved something for us, and given us something to be ])roud of, we still exiiected to meet in them some failure, some inconsistency, some sad, some lamentable defect, and to see the strong man totter like a weakling and a slave. And otherwise it could not be, in our abandonment both of our rights, and hope to recover them. Could the oi'phaned heart of genius be glad like his who had a parent — a mother-country, a father-land? Could he who had no country, or doubted what country he belonged to, and knew not anything that he should care to live or die for ; or if he dreamed of such an object, had chosen sect instead of country — could he be stiong in filial might, and firm in manly rectitude, and bold in genial daring, or can he yet be so among us, like him upon whose childish thought no party syiite had shed its venom, the milk of whose untried affections sectarian hate hath curdled not ; but the greatness and glory of his eouutry illumined for him the morning horizon of life ; while home, and love, and freedom, the sovereign graces of earth, have blended in one religion, and strengthened his heart with a mighty strength, and chastening his spirit for ever, have made the memory of his young days, indeed inefTably divine ? Can he love home as home should be loved, who loves not his country too? Can he love country right, who hath no home? Can he love home or country perfectly, to whose aching lieart the balm of love hath not been timely given ? Be- lieve it not, ye sens of men ! — as he ought, he cannot. As 2G INTRODUCTION. star poiseth star in the wilderness of the illimitable heavens, even so the charities of life sustain each other, and centre in the spirit of God, and bind all created beings beneath the shelter of his love. But enough ; a better and a brighter day is dawning, and the " flecked ilavkiiess like a drunkard reels " From forth day's pathway, made by Fkhedom's wheels-" And our lost Thomas Davis was our Phos]jhoi"os, or briuger jf light ! " Justice and Truth their winged child have found!" But let us not be incautiously hopeful. Let us remember that the pestilential influences, which Davis, like all of us, had to struggle with and overcome, are still rife among us. Let us not deceive ourselves. The miseries of our country for seven centuries have had foreign causes ; but there have been, ever from the beginning of that misery, domestic causes too. We were divided, and did hate each other ; and therefore we cannot stand. It is in many respects, too, an ill time, in which we are to unlearn these errors, and abjure this vice, if ever we abjure it. But He who sent the disease will send the healing too. Ah, why were we not reconciled among ourselves, in earlier, in better times than these ? The fruit of our reconciliation then would have been greater far than ever it can be now. Our native laws, .and institutions, and language, were not then withered away. The trees which our forefathers planted, had yet firm root in the land. But now, in the old age of our Nation, wo had to begin life again, and with deliberate flFort, and the straining of every nerve, to repeat those toil?j which the gladness of youth made light for our fathers long nges ago. And this autumn blossom of our glory may go, too, as tribute to swell the renown of those who so long enslaved us. Yet it is the best we can do. There are millions who have not food. Are they never to l)e iilled ? IIapl)y are you, after all, youth of Ireland! fortunate if INTKODUCTION. , 27 yoii Lut knew it, for if ever a generation had, in hope, some- tliiiig worth living for, and in sacrifice, something worth dying for, that blessed lot is yours. And here, youth of Ireland ! in this little book is a Psalter of Nationality, in which every aspiration of your b.earts will meet its due resixinse, your every aim and effort, encouragement and sympathy, and wisest admonition. High were the hopes of our young poet patriot, and unfore- seen by him and all the stroke of fate which was to call him untimely away. The greater need that you should discipline and strengthen your souls, and bring tiie aid of many, to what the genius of him who is gone might have contributed more than all. Hive up strength and know- ledge. Be straightforward, and sincere, and resolute, and undismayed as he was ; and God will yet reward your truth and love, and bless the laud whose sons you boast your- selves to be. T. W. 20th April, IS-IG. TO THE MEMORY OF DAVIS. 29 €3 t\^t 3!|lfmorn of C^:mas Jlabis. BY JOHN ri-HER MURRAY. When on the tield where freedom bled, I press the ashes of the brave, Marvelling that man should ever dread Thus to wipe out the name of slave ; No deep-drawn sigh escapes my breast — No woman's drojis my eyes distain, I weep not gallant licarts at rest— I but deplore they died in vain. When I the sacred spot behold. For aye remembered and renowned, AVhere dauntless hearts and arms as bold. Strewed tyrants and their slaves around ; High hopes exulting tire my bi'east — High notes triimiphant swell my strain, Joy to the brave ! in victory blest — Joy ! joy ! they perished not in vain. But when thy ever mournful voice, My country, calls me to dei)lore The champion of thy youthful choice. Honoured, revered, but seen no more ; Heavy and quick my sorrows fall For him who strove, with might and main, To leave a lesson for us all, How we might live — nor live in vain. :50 TO THE JIEMOllY OF DAVIS. If, moulded of eai'th's cominon cla.y, Thou Lad'st to sordid arts stooped down, Thj' glorious talent flung away, Or sold for price tliy great renown ; In some poor pettifogging place, Slothful, inglorious, thou had'st lain. Herding amid the unhonoured race, Who doze, and dream, and die in vain, A spark of nis celestial fire, Tlie God of freemen struck from thee ; ^ladethee to spurn each low desiie, Nor bend tlie uncompromising knee ; Made thee to vow thy life, to rive With ceaseless tug, th' oppressor's chain ; With lyre, with pen, with sword, to strive For thy dear laud— nor strive in vain. How hapless is our country's fate — If Heaven in jiity to us send Like thee, one glorious, good, and great — To guide, instruct us, and amend : How soon thy honoured life is o'er — Soon Heaven dcmandeth thee again ; Wc grope on darkling as before. And fear lest thou hast died in vain. In vain — no, never ! O'er thy grave. Thy spirit dwelleth in the air ; Tliy passionate love, thj' jiurpose brave, Tliy hope assured, thy promise fair. Generous and wise, farewell ! — Forego Tears for the glorious dead and gone ; If in tears, if tears are his, still flow For slaves and cowards living on. PAr^T I. NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. "National PofTrt is the very fluweting of the soul -the greatest evidence of its health, the greatest excellence of its beauty. Its melody is balsam to the senses. It is the playfellow of Childhood, ripens in;n the companion of Manhood, consoles Age. It presents the most dra- matic events, the largest characters, the most impressive scenes, and tli ■ deepest passions, in the language most familiar to us. It magnifies and ennobles our hearts, our intellects, our country, and our countrymen — binds us to the land by its condensed and gem-like hi«tory; to the future by example and by aspiration. It solaces us in travel, fires us in ac'.ion, prompts our invention, sheds a grace beyond the power of iuxuiy round our homes, is the recognised envoy of our minds among all man- kind, and to all time." — Davis's Essai/s. TART I. NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. TIPPEEAEY. Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we ; Not British seas nor British coasts Can match the Man of Tipperary ! II. Tall is his form, his heart is warm, His spirit light as any fairy — His wrath is fearful as the storm That sweeps the Hills of Tipperary I III. Lead him to fight for native land, His is no courage cold and wary ; The troops live not on earth would stand The headlong charge of Tipperaiy ! 3i BALLADS AND SONGS. Yet meet Mm in his cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-haired !Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood But ]!klirth and Love in Tipperary ! You're free to share his scanty meal, His plighted word he'll never vary — In vain they tried ■s\ith gold and steel To shake the Faith of Tipperary ! YI. Soft is his cailiii's sunny eye, Her mien is mild, her step is airy. Her heai-t is fond, her soul is high — Oh ! she's the Pride of Tipperary ! VIL Let Britain brag her motley rag ; We'll lift the Green more proud and airy — Be mine the lot to bear that flag, And head the Men of Tipperary ! VIIL Though Britain boasts her British hosts, About them all right little care we — Give us, to guard our native coasts. The matchless Men of Tipperary ! THE RIVERS. 35 THE RIVERS. Air — Kathleen O'More. I. 'There's a far-famed Blackwater that runs to Locli Neagh ; There's a fairer Blackwater that runs to the sea — The glory of Ulster, The beauty of ^funster, These twin rivers be. II. IFrom the banks of that river Benburb's towers arise ; This stream shines as bright as a tear from sweet eyes ; This fond as a young bride, That with foeman's blood dyed — Both dearly we prize. III. IDeep sunk in that bed is the sword of Monroe, "Since, 'tA\dxt it and Oonagh, he met Owen Roe, And Charlemont's cannon Slew many a man on These meadows below. IV. The shrines of Armagh gleam far over yon lea, 'Nor afar is Dungannon that nursed liberty. And yonder Red Hugh Marshal Bagenal o'erthrew On B6al-an-atha-Buidhe.* ♦ Viilgo Ballanabwce— the mouth of the yellow for''. 36 BALLADS AND SONGS. V. But far kinder tlie woodlands of rich Convamore, And more gorgeous the turrets of saintly Lismore ; There the stream, like a maiden With love overladen, Pants wild on each shore. VT. Its rocks rise like stntnes, tall, stately, and fair, And the trees, and the flowers, and the mountains, and air, With Wonder's soul near you, To share with, and cheer you, Make Paradise thei-e. VIL T would rove by that stream, ere my flag I unrolled ; I wnuld fly to these banks my betrothed to enfold — The pride of our sire-land. The Eden of Ireland, ]\Iore precious than gold. vin. !Nf ay their borders be free from oppression and blight ^Tay their daughters and sons ever fondly unite — The glory of Ulster, The beauty of ]\Iunster, Our strength and delight. GLENGARIFF. 37 GLENGARIFF. Am — O'Sullivan's March. I. I WANDERED at Eve by Glengaiiff 's sweet water, Half in the shade, and half in the moon, And thought of the time when the Sacsanach slaughter Reddened the night and darkened the noon ; Mo nuar ! mo niiar ! mo niiar / * I said — • WTien I think, in this valley and sky — Where true lovers and poets should sigh — Of the time when its chieftain O'Sidlivan fled. II. Then my mind went along with O'Sullivan marching Over Musk'ry's moors and Ormond's plain. His curachs the waves of the (Shannon o'erarching And his pathway mile-marked with the slain : Mo nuar ! mo nuar ! mo nuar ! I said — Yet 'twas better far from you to go, And to battle AAdth torrent and foe. Than linger as slaves where your sweet waters spread. in. But my fancy burst on, like a clan o'er the border, To times that seemDd almost at hand. When grasping her banner, old Erin's Lamh Laidir Alone shall rule over the rescued land : haotho ! baotho ! haotho !\ 1 said— Be our marching as steady and strong, And freemen our valleys shall throng, When the last of our foemeu is vanquished and fled ! •Alas! t Oh, fine. 33 BALLADS AND SONGS. THE WEST'S ASLEEP. Mu—T/ie Drink of the White Rocks. I. "When all beside a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep — Alas ! and well may Erin weep, When Connaught lies in slumber deep. There lake and plain smile fair and free, 'Mid rocks— their guardian chivalry — Sing oh ! let man learn liberty From crashing AN^nd and lashing sea. IL That chainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood demand — Be sure, the great God never planned, For slumbering slaves, a home so grand. And, long, a brave and haughty race Honoured and sentinelled the place — Sing oh ! not even their sons' disgrace Caji quite destroy their glory's trace. III. For often, in O'Connor's van. To triumph dashed each Connaught clan — And fleet as deer the Normans ran Tlirougli C(jrlieu's Pass and Ardrahan. And later times saw deeds as brave ; And glory guards Clanricarde's grave — Sing oh ! they died their land to save, Ai Aiighrim's slopes and Shannon's wave. OJI ! FOR A STEED. 39 IV. And if, when all a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep- Alas ! and well may Erin weep, That Connaught lies in slumber deep. But, hark ! some voice like thunder spake : " Tlie Wesis awake ! the West's aivake !" — " Sing oh ! hurra ! let England quake, We'll watch till death for Erin's sake !" OH ! FOR A STEED. I. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and a blazing sci- mitar, To hunt from beauteous Italy the Austrian's red hussar ; To mock their boasts, And strew their hosts. And scatter their flags afar. ir. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and dear Poland gathered around. To smite her circle of savage foes, and smash them upon the ground ; ISI or hold my hand While, on the land, A foreigner foe was found. 40 BALLADS ANB SONGS. IIL Oh ! for a steed, a rusliing steed, and a rifle that never failed, Aud a tribe of terrible prairie men, by desperate valour mailed. Till " stripes and stars," And Russian czars. Before the lied Indian quailed. IV. Oil ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the plains of Hindustan, And a hundred thousand cavaliers, to charge like a single man, Till our shirts were red, And the English fled Like a cowardly caravan. V. Oh ! for a steed, a rusliing steed, with the Greeks at ^larathon. Or a place in tlie Switzer phalanx, when the Morat men swept on, Like a pine-clad hill, V,y an eartliipiake's will Hurled tlie valleys upon. VI. Oil ! for a steed, a rushing steed, when Brian smote down the Dane, Or a jtlace beside great Aodh O'Neill, when Bagcnal llie bold was slain. Or a waving crest And a lance in rest, ^Vith Hruce upon Bannoch plain. CYMRIC RULE AND CYMRIC RULERS. 41 VIL Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the Curragh of Kildare, And Irish squadrons skilled to do, as they arc ready to dare — A hundred yards, And Holland's guards Drawn up to engage me there. VIIL Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and any good cause at all, Or else, if you will, a field on foot, or guarding a leaguered wall For freedom's right ; In flushing fight To conquer if then to fall. CYMRIC RULE AND CYMRIC RULERS.* Ant — Tlie March of the Men of Harlech. I. Once there was a Cymric nation ; Few its men, but high its station — Freedom is the soul's creation. Not the work of hands. Coward hearts are self-subduing ; Fetters last by slaves' renewing — Edward's castles are in ruin, StiU his empire stands. * Vide Appendix iv. 42 BALLADS AND SONGS. Still the Saxon's malice Blights our beauteous valleys ; Ours tlie toil, but his the spoil, and his the laws wc writhe in ; Worked like beasts, that Saxon priests may riot in our tithing ; Saxon speech and Saxon teachers Crush our Cymric tongue ! Tolls our traffic binding, Rents our vitals grinding — Bleating sheep, we cower and weep, when, by one bold endeavour, "We could drive from out our hive these Saxon drones for ever. "Cymeic Rule and Cymric Rulers"^ Pass along the word ! IL We should blush at Arthur's glory — Never sing the deeds of Rory — Car.atach's renowned story Deepens our disgrace. By the bloody day of Banchor ! By a thousand years of rancour ! By the wrongs that in us canker ! Ui) ! ye Cymric race — Think of Old Llewellyn— Owen's trumpets swelling ; 'riicn send out a thunder shout, and every true man .sinniuon, Till the ground shall echo round from Severn to Rliu- limmon. A BALLAD OF FREEDOM. 43 " Saxon foes and Cymric brothers, " Arthur's come again !" Not his bone and sinew, But his soul witliin you, Prompt and true to plan and do, and firm as Mon- mouth iron, For our cause, though crafty laws and charging troops environ — Cymbric Rule and Cymbric Rulers " — Pass along the word ! A BALLAD OF FREEDOM. The Frenchman sailed in Freedom's name to smite the Algerine, The strife was short, the crescent sunk, and then his guile was seen ; For, nestling in the pirate's hold— a fiercer pirate far — He bade the tribes yield up their flocks, the towns their gates unbar. Right on he pressed with freemen's hands to subjugate the free, The Berber in old Atlas glens, the Moor in Titteri ; And vvider liad his razzias spread, his cruel conquests broader. But God sent down, to face his frown, the gallant Abdel-Kader — The faithful AV)del-Kader ! unconquered Abdel-Kader. Like falling rock. Or fierce si roc — 44 BALLADS AND SONGS. No savage or marauder — Son of a slave ! First of the bi\ive ! Hurrah for Abdel-Kader ! II. The Englishman, for long, long years, had ravaged Ganges' side — A dealer first, intriguer next, he conquered far and wide. Till, hurried on by avarice, and thirst of endless rule. His sepoys pierced to Candahar, his flag waved in Cabul ; But still within the conquered land, was one uncon- qucred man. The tierce Pushtani* lion, the fiery Akhbar Khan — lie slew the sepoys on the snow, till Scindh's full flood they swam it Right rapidly, content to flee the son of Dost Mo- hannned. The son of Dost Mohammed, and brave old Dost Alohammed — Oh ! long may they Their mountains sway, Akhbar and Dost ^lohammed ! Long live the Dost ! ^V]lo IJritain crost, llunuh for Dost Mohammed ! • lliW U llic name by wlilcli the Afftjlmns call themselves. Affghan li the rcmlun name (see Eliililnston's delightful book on Cubul). A BALLAD OF FREEDOM. 45 IIL The Russian, lord of million serfs, and nobles scrflier still. Indignant saw Circassia's sons bear np against his will; With fiery ships he lines their coast, his armies cross their streams — He builds a hundred fortresses — his conquests done, he deems. But steady rifles — rushing steeds — a crowd of nameless chiefs — The plough is o'er his arsenals ; — ^his feet is on the reefs! The maidens of Kabynticaarecladin Moscoav dresses — His slavish herd, how dared they beard tlic mountain- bred Chcrkesses ! The lightning Cherkesses ! — the thundering Cher- kesses ! May Elburz top In Azof drop, Ere Cossacks beat Cherkesses ! The fountain head Whence Europe spread — Hurrah ! for the tall Cherkesses !* IV. But Russia preys on Poland's fields, where Sobieski reigned. And Austria on Italy — the Roman eagle chained — Bohemia, Servia, Hungary, -vA-itliin her clutches, gasp ; And Ireland straggles gallantly in England's loosening grasp, * Cherkesses or Abdyes is the right name of the so-called Circassians. Kaliyntica is a town in tlie heart of tlie Caucasus, of ■which Mount Klburz is tlie summit. lilumcnhMch and other physiolopists assert that the finer European races descend from a Circassian stock. 46 BALLADS AND SONGS. Oh ! would all these their strength unite, or battle on alone, Like Moor, Pushtani, and Cherkess, they soon would have their own. Hurrah ! hurrah ! it can't be far, when from the Scindh to Shannon, Shall gleam a line of freemen's flags begirt by free- men's cannon ! The coming day of Freedom — the flashing flags of Freedom ; The victor glaive — The mottoes brave, ilay we be there to read them ! That glorious noon, God send it soon — Hurrah for human freedom ! THE iraSH HURRAH. Air — Xach m-haineann sin do. I, 1 lave you hearkened the eagle scream over the sea ; I lave you hearkened the breaker beat under your lee. A soiiicthing between the A^dld waves, in their play, And the kingly bird's scream, is The Irish Hurrah. ir. How it rings on the rampart when Saxons assail— I low it leaps on the level, and crosses the vale, Till the talk of the cataract faints on its way, And the echo's voice cracks with The Irish HurraL i A SONG FOR THE lUISH MILITIA. 47 III. How it sweeps o'er the mountain when honnds are on scent, How it presses the billows when rigging is rent, Till the enemy's broadside sinks low in dismay. As our boarders go in with The Irish Hurrah. IV. Oh ! there's hope in the trumpet and glee in the fife, But never such music broke into a strife, As when at its bursting the war-clouds give way. And there's cold steel along with The Irish Huri-ah. V. WHiat joy for a death bed, your banner above, And round you the pressure of patriot love. As you're lifted to gaze on the breaking array Of the Saxon reserve at The Irish Hurrah. A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA. Air — The Peacock. I. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in prostrate men ; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the crop so bravely sown ! No more I'll sing nor idly pine. But train my soul to lead a line — A soldiei-'s life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! 48 BALLADS AND SONGS. IL No foe would fear your thunder words, If 'twere not for your liglitning swords — If tyrants yield when niillioiis pray, 'Tis lest they link in war array ; Nor peace itself is safe, but when The sword is sheathed by fighting men — A soldier's life 's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! IIL The rifle brown and sabre bright Can freely speak and nobly write — AVhat prophets preached the truth so well As HoFER, Brian, Bruce, and Tell 1 God guard the creed these heroes taught — That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought. A soldier's life 's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! IV. Then, welcome be the bivouac, The hardy stand, and fierce attack, ^V]u!re i»ikes will tame their carbineers, And riik's tliin their l)ay'netcers, And every field the island through ^Vill show " what Irishmen can do !" A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! OUR OWN AGAI>. 49 Yet, 'tis not strength, and 'tis not steel Alone can make the English reel ; But wisdom, working day by day, Till comes the time for passion's sway- The patient dint, and powder shock, Can blast an empire like a rock. A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldiei-'s death, so Ireland's free ! vr. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen !May sow the seed in slavish men ; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown. No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine, But train my soul to' lead a line — A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free. OUR OWN AGAIN. I. Let the coward shrink aside. We'll have our own again ; Let the brawling slave deride — Here's for our own again ! Let the tyrant bribe and lie, March, threaten, fortify. Loose his lawj'er and his spy — Yet we'll have our own again ! D 60 BALLADS AND SONGS. Let liini soothe in silken tone, Scold from a foreign throne ; Let him come Avith bugles blown — We shall have onr own again ! Let lis to onr purpose bide, We'll have onr own again ! Let the game be fairly tried, We'll have our own again ! II. Send the cry throughout the lanf", " Who's for our own again 1" Summon all men to our band, — Why not our OAvn again 1 Rich, and poor, and old, and young, Sharp sword, and fiery tongue. Soul and sinew firmly strung — All to get our own again ! Brothers strive by brotherhood — Trees in a stormy wood — Riches come from Nationhood — Sha'n't we have our OA\ai again 1 Munstei-'s woe is Ulster's bane ! Join for our own again — Tyrants rob as well as reign — We'll have our own again ! in. Oft our fathers' hearts it stirred, " Rise for our own again !" Often passed the signal word, " Strike for our own again !" Rudely, rashly, and untaught, OUE OWN AGAIN. 51 Uprose they, ere they ou;?lit, Failing, though they nobly fought — Djang for their own again ! Mind will rule and muscle yield, In senate, ship, and field : When we've skill our strength to wield, Let us take our own again ! By the slave his chain is wrought — Strive for our own again. Thunder is less strong than thought — We'll have our own again ! IV. Calm as granite to our foes. Stand for our OAvn again ; Till his wrath to madness grows, Firm for our own again. Bravely hope, and wisely wait, Toil, join, and educate ; Man is master of his fate ; We'll enjoy our own again ! With a keen constrained thirst — Powder's calm ere it burst- Making ready for the worst — So we'll get our own again. Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our OAvn again ! God is on the righteous side, We'll have our own again ! 62 BALLADS AND SONGS. CELTS AND SAXONS.* I. We hate the Saxon and the Dane, We hate the Norman men — We cnrsecl their greed for blood and gain, We curse them now again. Yet start not, Irish-born man ! If you're to Irehmd true, We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan — We have no curse for you. IL We have no curse for you or your's But Friendship's ready gras]), And Faith to stand by you and your's Unto our latest gasp — To stand by you against all foes, Howe'cr, or whence they come. With traitor arts, or bribes, or blows, From England, France, or Rome. III. What matter that at different shrines Wc pray unto one God — Wliat matter that at different times Your fatlicrs won this sod — In fortune and in name we're bound I'y .stronger links than steel ; And neither can be safe nor sound But in the other's weal. • WrlllPti In roply to some very bnautiful verses printed in tlio Errninij Hail, tlppreo.H Ing uud defying tlic assumed lioslilily of tlie Irisli Cclu lu tlic Irith .Snxuiis. CELTS AND SAXONS. 53 As Nubian rocks, and Ethiop sand Long drifting down tlie Nile, Built up old Egypt's fertile land For many a hundred mile ; So Pagan clans to Ireland came, And clans of Christendom, Yet joined their wisdom and their fame To build a nation from. Here came the brown Phoenician, The man of trade and toil — Here came the proud Milesian, A hungering for spoil ; And the Firbolg and the Cymrj', And the hard, enduring Dane, And the iron Lords of Normandy, With the Saxons in their train. vr. And oh ! it were a gallant deed To show before mankind, How every race and every creed Might be by love combined — Might be combined, yet not forget The fountains whence they rose, As, filled by many a rivulet. The stately Shannon flows. 54 BALLADS AND SONGS. VIL Nor would we wreak our ancient feud On Belgian or on Dane, Nor \dsit in a hostile mood The hearths of Gaul or Spain ; But long as on our country lies The Anglo-Norman yoke, Their tyranny we'll stigmatize, And God's revenge invoke. VIIL We do not hate, we never cursed, Nor spoke a foeman's word Against a man in Ireland nursed, Howe'er we thought he erred ; So start not, Irish-born man, If you're to Ireland true, We heed not race, nor creed, nor clan. We've hearts and hands for you. ORANGE AND GREEN WILL CARRY THE DAY. Air — The Protestant Boys. I. Irkland ! rejoice, and England ! deplore — Faction and feud arc passing away. 'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar, " Orange and Green Avill carry the day." Orange ! Orange ! (Jrceii and Orange ! I'ittcd together in many a fray — ORANGE AND GREEN. 55 Lions in figlit ! And linked in tlieir miglit, Orange and Green Avill carry the day. Orange ! Orange ! Green and Orange ! Wave them together o'er mountain and bay. Orange and Green ! Our King and our Queen ! " Orange and Green will carry the day !" II. Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed — William and .James are turned to clay — Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed ; lied was the crop, and bitter the pay ! Freedom fled us ! Knaves misled us ! Under the feet of the foenien we lay — Eiches and strength We'll win them at length, For Orange and Green ^vill carry the day ! Landlords fooled us ; England ruled us. Hounding our passions to make us their prey : But, in their spite, The Irish Unite, And Orange and Green will carry the day ! Fruitful our soil where honest men starve ; Empty the mart, and shipless the bay ; Out of our want the Oligarchs carve ; Foreigners fatten on our decay ! 56 BALLADS AND SONGS. Disunited, Tlierefore blighted, Euined aud rent by the Englishman's sway ; Party and creed For once have agreed — Orange and Green "wdll carry the day ! Boyne's old water, Eed with slaughter ! Now is as pure as an infant at play ; So, in our souls, Its history rolls. And Orange and Green will carrj'^ the day ! IV. English deceit can rule us no more, Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray — Deep was the oath the Orangenian swore, " Orange and Green must carry the day !" Orange ! Orange ! Bless the Orange ! Tories and "Whigs grew ]ialc with dismay, AVhen from the North, Burst the ciy forth, " Orange and Green will carry the day ;" No surrender ! No Pretender ! Never to falter and never betray — With an Amen, We swear it again, OiiANCE AND Green shall carry the day. "The elements of Irish nationality are not only combining— in fact, they are growing confluent in our miiuls. Such iiationiility as merits a good man's help, and awakens a ti'ue man's ambition —such nationality as could stand against internal faction and foreign intrigue — such nationality as would make the Irish hearth happy, and the Irisli name illustrious, is becoming understood. It must contain and represent all the races of Ireland. It must not be Celtic; it must not be Saxon ; it must be Irish. '1 he Brchon law, and tlie maxims of Westminster— tlie cloudy and lightning genius of tlie Gael, the placid strength of the Sac- sanach, tlic marshalling insight of the Norman — a literature which shall exhibit in combination the passions and idioms of all, and which shall equally express our mind, in its romantic, its religious, its forensic, and its practical tendencies— finally, a native government, wliich shall know and rule by the niiglit and riglit of all, yet yield to the arrogance of none— these are the components of such a nationality."— Davis's Es:jAYi3. " It Is not a pnmbling fortune, made (it imperial play. Ireland wants; it is tlic pious and stern cultivation of her faculties and her virtues, the acquisition of faithful and exact habits, and the self-respect that re- wards a dutiful and .sincere life. To get her peasants into snug home- steads, M-itli well-tilled fields and placid hearths— to developo the inge- nuity of her artists, and the docile industry of her artizans — to make for her own instruction a literature wherein our climate, history, and passions shall breathe— to gain conscious strength and integrity, and the high post of holy freedom -tlieso aie Ireland's wants."— Davis's Essays. PART II. MISCELLANEOUS SO.XGS AND BALLADS. "The greatest acliievemcnt of the Irish people is their music. It tells their history, climate, and character; but it too much loves to weep. Let us, when so many of our chains have been broken — when our strength is great, and our hopes high, cultivate its bolder strains— its raging and rejoicing ; or if wo weep, let it be like men whose eyes are lifted, though their tears fall. "Music is the first faculty of the Irish; and scarcely anything has such power for good over them. The use of this faculty and this power, publicly and constantly, to keep up their spirits, renne their tastes, warm their courage, increase their union, and renew their zeal— is the duty of every patriot." — Davis's Essays. TART II. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS AND BALLADS. THE LOST PATH. Air.— Oradh mo chroide I. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, All comfort else has flown ; For every hope was false to me. And here I am, alone. What thoughts were mine in early youth ! Like some old Irish song. Brimful of love, and life, and truth, My spirit gushed along, II. I hoped to right my native isle, I hoped a soldier's fame, I hoped to rest in woman's smile, And win a minstel's name — Oh ! little have I served my land, No laurels press my brow, I have no woman's heart or hand, Nor minstrel honours now. 62 BALLADS AND SONGS. III. But fancy lias a magic power, It brings me Avreatli and crown, And woman's love, the self-same hour It smites oppression down. Sweet thoiights, bright dreams, my comfort be, I have no joy beside ; Oh ! throng around, and be to me Power, country, fame, and bride. LOVE'S LONGINGS. I. To the conqueror his crowning. First freedom to the slave. And air unto the drowning, Sunk in the ocean's wave — And succour to the faithful. Who fight their flag above. Are sweet, but far less grateful Than were my ladys love. I know T am not worthy Of one so yoiing and bright ; And yet I would do for tliee Far more than others miglit ; I cannot give you pomp or gold, If you should be my wife, 15ut I can give you love untold, And true in deatli or life. HOPE DEFERREl"). 63 III. Metliinks that tliere are passions Witliiu that heaving breast To scorn their heartless fashions, And wed whom you hive best. Methinks you would be prouder As the struggling patriot's bride, Than if rank your home should crowd, or Cold riches round you glide. Oh ! the watcher longs for morning, And the infant cries for light, And the saint for heaven's warning, And the vanquished pray for might ; But their prayer, when lowest kneeling, And their suppliance most true, Are cold to the appealing Of this longing heart to you. HOPE DEFERRED. AiK -. Oh ! art Ihou gone, my itary dear ? 'Tis long since we Avere forced to part, at least it seems so to my grief. For sorrow wearies us like time, but ah ! it brings not tune's relief ; As in our days of tenderness, before me still she seems to glide ; G-^ BALLADS AND SONGb. And, tliougli my arms are wide as tlien, yet she will not abide. The day-light and the star-light shine, as if her eyes were in their light, And, whispering in the panting breeze, her love-songs come at lonelj'- night ; While, far away with those less dear, she tries to hide her grief in vain. For, kind to all while true to me, it pains her to give pain. IL I know she never spoke her love, she never breathed a single vow, And yet I'm sure she loved me then, and still she doat.s on me now ; For, when we met, her eyes grew glad, and heaAy when I left her side, And oft she said she'd be most happy as a poor man's bride ; I toiled to win a pleasant home, and make it ready by the spring ; The spring is past — what season noAv my girl unto our home will bring 1 I'm sick and weary, very weary — watching, morning night, and noon ; How Jong you're coming — I am dying — will you not come soon ] EIBIILIN A RUIN. 6& EIBHLIN A EUIN. When I am far away, Eibhlin a rtlin, Be gayest of the gay, Uibhlin a ruin. Too dear your happiness, For me to wish it less — Love has no selfishness, Eibhlin a riiin. II. And it must be our pride, Eibhlin a ruin, Our trusting hearts to hide, Eibhlin a ruin. They wish our love to blight, We'll wait for Fortune's light — The flowers close up at night, Eibhlin a ruin. III. And when we meet alone, Eibhlin a riiin, Upon my bosom thrown, Eiblilin a ruin ; That hour, with light bedecked, Shall cheer us and direct, A beacon to the wrecked, Eibhlin a ruin. •66 BALLADS AND SONGS. IV. Fortune, thus sought, will come, Eihhlm a ruin. We'll win a happy home, Eihhlm a ruin ; And, as it slowly rose 'Twill tranquilly repose, A rock 'mid melting snows, Eibhlin a rain. THE BANKS OF THE LEE. Air.— vl Trip to the Cottage. I. On ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cuttage for Mary and me ; There's not in the land a lovelier tide. And I'm sure there's no one so fair as my bride. She's modest and meek. There's a down on her cheek, And her skin is as sleek As a butterfly's wing — Then her step would scarce show On the fresh-fallen snow ; And her whisper is low, Hut as clear as the spring. Oh ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the L?e, And love in a cuttage for Mary and me : 1 know not how love is hap[)y elsewhere j J know not how an\' but lovers are there ! THE GIRL OF DUNBWY. 67 II. Oh ! so green is the grass, so clear is the stream, So mild is the mist, and so rich is the beam. That beauty should ne'er to other lands roam, But make on the banks of the river its home. When, dripping with dew, The roses peep through, 'Tis to look in at you They are growing so fast ; While the scent of the flowers Must be hoarded for hours, 'Tis poured in such showers When my Mary goes past. Oh ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me — Oh, Mary for me — oh, Mary for me ! And 'tis little I'd sigh for the banks of the Lee ! THE GIRL OF DUNBWY. 'Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy Stopping the mountain statelily — Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet, No lady in Ireland to match her is meet. II. Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies — Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes ; The child of a peasant — yet England's proud Queen Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien. 68 BALLADS AND SONGS. IIL Her brow 'neatli her raven hair gleams, just as if A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff — And love, and devotion, and energy speak From herbeauty-prond eye, and her passion-pale cheek. But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip, And her teeth flash as white as the crescent jnoon's tip, And her for in and her step, like the reed-deer's, go past — As liglitsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast. I saw her but once, and I looked in her eye, And rthe knew that I worshipped in passing her by ; The saint of the wayside — she granted my prayer. Though we spoke not a word, for her mother was there. VI. I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills, But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills ; And I wliisper her softly, "again, love, we'll meet ! And I'll lie in your bosom, and live at your feet." ANNIE DEAR. GO DUTY AND LOVE. kiR.—2fy lodging is on the cold ground. I. On ! lady, think not that my heart has grown cold, If I woo not as once I could woo ; Though sorrow has bruised it, and long years have rolled , It still dotes on beauty and you : And were I to yield to its inmost desire, I would labour by night and by day, TiU I won you to flee from the home of your sire, To live with your love far away. II. But it is that my country's in bondage, and I Have sworn to shatter her chains ! By my duty and oath I must do it or lie A corse on her desolate plains : Then sure, dearest maiden, 'twere sinful to sue. And crueller far to win. But, should victory smile on my banner, to you I shall fly without sorrow or sin. ANNIE DEAR. AiK. — Maids in May. I. Our mountain brooks were rushing, Annie, dear, The Autumn eve was flushing, Annie, dear ; 70 BALLADS AND SOKGS. But brighter was your blusliiiig, When first, your munuurs Iiusliing, I told my love outgushing, Anuie, dear. IL Ah ! but our hopes were splendid, Annie, dear, How sadly they have ended, Annie, dear ; The ring betwaxt us broken, When our vows of love were spoken, Of your poor heart was a token, Annie, dear. III. The primrose flowers were shining, Annie, dear, When on my breast reclining, Annie, dear ! Began our 3/i-na-meala, And many a month did follow Of joy — but life is hollow, Annie, dear. IV. For once, when home returning, Annie, dear, I found our cottage burning, Annie, dear ; Around it were the yeomen, Of every ill an omen. The country's bitter foemen, Annie, dear. BLIND MARY. 71 V. But why arose a morrow, Annie, dear. Upon that night of sorrow, Annie, dear 1 Far better, by thee lying. Their bayonets defying, Thau live an exile sighing ; Annie, dear. BLIND MARY. Aiv.— Blind Mary. There flows from her spirit such love and delight, That the face of Blind Mary is radiant ■uath light — As the gleam from a homestead through darkness will show, Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast faUing snow. ir. Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times, As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes ! And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends, And the starlight, as love, that nor changes nor ends. III. Ah ! grieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun, For the mountains that tower or the rivers that run— For beauty and grandeur, and glorj% and light, Are seen by the spirit, and not by tlic sight. 72' BALLADS AND SONGS. IV. In vain foi- the thoughtless are sunburst and shade, In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade ; While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound Is one of the guardians, an Eden ai'ound ! THE BRIDE OF ]\IALLOW. 'Twas dying they thought her, And kindly they brought her To the banks of Blackwater, Where her forefathers lie ; 'Twas the place of her childhood, And they hoped that its wild wood, And air soft and mild would Soothe her spirit to die. II. But she met on its border A lad who adored her — No rich man, nor lord, or A coward, or slave ; But one who liad worn A green coat, and borne A pike from Slievc Mourne, With the patriots brave. THE BRIDE OP MALLOW. 73 in. Oh ! the banks of the streams are Than emeralds greener ; And how should they wean her From loving the earth 1 While the song-birds so sweet, And the waves at their feet, And each young pair they meet. Are all flushing with mirth. IV. And she listed his talk, And he shared in her walk — And how could she balk One so gallant and true 1 But why tell the rest 1 Her love she confest. And sunk on his breast. Like the eventide dew. V. Ah ! now her cheek glows With the tint of the rose, And her healthful blood flows, Just as fresh as the stream ; And her eye flashes bright. And her footstep is light, And sickness and blight Fled away lUce a dream. BALLADS AND SONGS. VI. And soon by his side Slie kneels a SAveet bride, In maidenly pride And maidenly fears ; And their children were fair, And their home knew no care. Save that all homesteads were Not as happy as theirs. THE WELCOME. Am, — An buachailin ImiJhe. Come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come -without warning. Kisses and welcome j'ou'll find here before you, A.nd the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you. Light is my heart since the day we were plighted. Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are singing, "true lovers! don't sever.' II. I'll pull yoii sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them ; Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom, ril fetch from tlie mountain its breeze to insi)ire you ; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. THE WELCOME. 75 Oh ! your step's like the rain to the summer- vexed farmer, Or sabre and shield to a knight without armour : I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me. We'll look through the trees at the cliff, and the eyrie We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy, We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river. Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her. Oh! she'll whisj^er you, "Love as unchangeably beaming. And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming, Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls How in one down eternity's river." IV. So come in the evening, or come in the morning. Come when you're looked for, or come without warning. Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you. And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you ! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted, Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, Andthelinnetsaresinging," true lovers Idon'tsever! ' fe BALLADS AND SONGS. THE MI-NA-MEALA.* I. Like tlie rising of the suu, Herald of bright hours to follow, Lo ! the marriage rites are done, And begun the Mi-na-Meala. II. Heart to heart, and hand to hand. Vowed 'fore God to love and cherish, Each by each in grief to stand. Never more apart to flourish. TIL Now their lips, low whisp'ring, speak Thoughts their eyes have long been saying. Softly bright, and richly meek, As seraphs first their wings essaying. IV. Deeply, wildly, warmly, love — 'Tis a heaven-sent enjoyment. Lifting up our thoughts above Selfish aims and cold employment. V. Yet, remember, passion wanes, Romance is parent to dejection ; Nought our happiness sustains But thoughtful care and firm affection. * The Honeymoon. MAIRE BHAN A STOIR. 77 VI. When the 3fi-na-meala's flown, Sterner duties surely need you ; Do their bidding, — 'tis love's own, — Faithful love will s.ay God speed you. Guard her comfort as 'tis worth, Pray to God to look down on her ; And swift as cannon-shot go forth To strive for freedom, truth, and honour. VIII. Oft recall — and never swerve — Your children's love and her's will follow Guard your home, and there preserve For you an endless 3Ii-na-meala. MAIRE BHAN A STOIR.* I. In a valley, far away, With ray Mdire hhdn a stoir. Short would be the summer-day, Ever loving more and more ; Winter-days would all grow long, With the light her heart would pour. With her kisses and her song, And her loving maith go leOr. • Pronounce Maurya vatrn asthore— that ij, "Fair Mary, my treasure. 78 BALLADS AXD SONGS. Fond is Mdire hhdn a stair. Fair is 2Idire hhdn a sfoir, Sweet as ripple on the sliore, Sings my JIdu'e hhdn a stOir. II. Oh ! her sire is very proud, And her mother cold as stone ; But her brother bravely vowed She should be my bride alone ; For he knew I loved her well, And he knew she loved me too, So he sought their pride to quell, But 'twas all in vain to sue. True is Mdire hhdn a $foi}\ Tried is Mdire hhdn a stair, Had I wings I'd never soar, From my Mdire hlidn a stair, IIL There are lands where manly toil Surely reaps the crop it sows. Glorious woods and teeming soil, AMiere the broad ^lissouri flows ; Through the trees the smoke shall rise, From our hearth with maith go leor, There shall shine the happy eyes Of my Mdire hhdn a stair. !Mild is 3fdi?-e hhdn a stoir, Mine is Jfdit-e hhdn a stair, Saints will watch about the door Of my Mdire hlidn a stair. OH ! THE MARRIAGE. 79 OH! THE MARRIAGE. AiK. — TJie Swaggering Jig. Oh ! the marriage, the marrian^o, With h)ve and vio hhnachaill for me, The hadies that ride in a carriage Might en\y my marriage to me ; For Eoghan* is straight as a tower, And tender and kwing and true, He tokl me more k)ve in an hour Than the Squires of the county could d( Then, Oh ! the marriage, ifec. His hair is a shower of soft gohl. His eye is as clear as the day, Ills conscience and vote were vinsold When others Avere carried away ; His word is as good as an oath, And freely 'twas given to me ; Oh ! sure 'twill be happy for both The day of our marriage to see. Then, Oh ! the marriage, (kc. III. His kinsmen are honest and kind. The neighbours think much of his skill, And Eoghan's the lad to my mind. Though he owns neither castle nor mill. Vutgo Owen; a iia^uo frequent among the Cyniry (Welsh). 80 BALLADS AXD SONGS. But lie has a tillocli of land, A horse, and a stocking of coin, A foot for a dance, and a hand In the cause of his country to join. Then, Oh ! the marriage, »fcc. IV. We meet in the market and fair — We meet in the morning and night — He sits on the half of my chair, And my people are wild with delight. Yet I long through the winter to skim. Though Eoghan longs more I can see, When I Avill be married to him. And he will be married to me. Then, oh ! the marriage, the marriage, With love and mo huachaill for me', The ladies that ride in a carriage, JNIight eu\-y my mamage to me. A PLEA FOR LOVE. The summer brook flows in the bed. The winter torrent tore asunder ; The sky-lark's gentle wings are spread, Where walk the lightning and the thunder ; And thus you'll find the sternest soul The gayest tenderness concealing, And minds that seem to mock control, Are ordered by some fairy feeling. THE bishop's daughter. 81 Then, maiden ! start not from the hand That's hardened by the swaying sabre — The pulse beneath may be as bland As evening after day of labour : . And, maiden ! start not from the brow That thought has knit, and passion darkened — In twilight hours, 'neath forest boiigh. The tenderest tales are often hearkened. THE BISHOP'S DAUGHTER, Air -The Maid of Killala. I. Killala's halls are proud and fair ; Tyrawley's hills are cold and bare ; Yet, in the palace, you were sad, Wliile, here, your heart is safe and glad. II. No satin couch, no maiden train, Are here to soothe each passing pain ; Yet lay j'our head my breast upon — 'Twill turn to down for you, sweet one ! III. Your father's halls are rich and fair. And plain the home you've come to share ; But happy love's a fairy king. And sheds a grace on every thing. F 82 r;ALLADi5 AND SONGS. THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE. Air. — An Cola Caol. I. His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me ; I could not in a palace find A truer heart than he. The eagle shelters not his nest From hurricane and hail, More bravely than he guards my breast- Thc Boatman of Kinsale. The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps Is not a whit more pure — The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps Has not a foot more sure. No firmer hand nor freer eye E'er faced an autumn gale — De Courcy's heart is not so high — The Boatman of Kinsale. III. The brawling squires may heed him not, The dainty stranger sneei' — But who will dare to hurt our cot, When ]\Iyles O'Hea is here ? The scarlet soldiers pass along ; They'd like, but fear to rail ; His blood is hot, his blow is strong — The Boatman of Kinsale. DARLING NELL. 83 IV. His hooker's in the Scilly van, When seines are in the foam ; But money never made the man, Nor wealth a happy home. So, blest with love and liberty, While he can trim a sail, He'll trust in God, and cling to me — The Boatman of Kinsale. DARLING NELL. I. Wnv should not I take her unto my heart ? She has not a morsel of guile or art ; Why should not I make her my happy wife, And love her and cherish her all my life 1 I've met with a few of as shining eyes ; I've met with a hundred of wilder sighs ; I think I met some whom I loved as well — But none who loved me like my Darling Nell. IL She's ready to cry when I seem unkind. But she smothers her gi'ief within her mind ; And when my spirit is soft and fond, She sparkles the brightest of stars beyond. Oh ! 'twould teach the thrushes to hear her sing. And her sorrow the heart of a rock would wring ; There never was saint but would leave his cell, If he thought he could marry my Darling NeU ! 84 BALLADS AND SONGS. LOVE CHANT. I. [ THINK I've looked on eyes that shone With equal splendour, And some, but they are dimmed and gone, As wildly tender. I never looked on eyes that shed Such home-light mingled with such beauty - That, 'mid all lights and shadows, said : " I love, and trust, and will be true to ye." I've seen some lips almost as red, A form as stately ; And some such beauty turned my head Not veiy lately. But not till now I've seen a girl With form so proud, lips so delicious, With hair like night, and teeth of pearl — Who was not haughty and capricious. IIL Oh, fairer than the dawn of day On Erne's islands ! Oh, purer than the thorn spray In Bantry's highlands ! In sleep such visions crossed my view, And when I woke the phantom faded ; But now I find the fancy true, And fairer than the vision made it. A CHRISTMAS SCENE. 85 A CHKISTMAS SCENE:* OR, LOVE IN THE COUNTRY. I. The hill blast comes howling through leaf -rifted trees, That late were as harp-strings to each gentle breeze ; The strangers and cousins and every one flown, While we sit happy-hearted — together — alone. II. iSome are off to the mountains, and some to the fair, The snow is on their cheek, on mine your black hair ; iPapa, with his farming, is busy to-day, .And mamma's too good-natured to ramble this way. III. The girls are gone — are they not 1 — into town, To fetch bows and bonnets, perchance a beau down. .Ah ! tell them, dear Kate, 'tis not fair to coquette — Though you, you bold lassie, are fond of it yet ! IV. Tou're not — do you say 1— just remember last night, Tou gave Harry a rose, and you dubbed him your knight : IPoor lad ! if he loved you — but no, darling ! no, 'You're too thoughtful and good to fret any one so. * See Appendix vi. 86 BALLADS AND SONGS. V. The painters are raving of light and of shade, And Harry, the poet, of Like, hill, and glade ; A\Tiile the light of yonr eye, and yonr soft wavy form Suit a proser like me, by the hearth bright and wanu. VI. The snow on those hills is uncommonly grand. But, you know, Kate, it's not half so white as your hand ; And say what you will of the grey Christmas sky, Still I slicjldhj prefer my dark girl's grey eye. VII. Be quiet, and sing me " The Bonny Cuckoo," For it bids us the summer and winter love througli, And then I'll read out an old ballad that shows How Tyranny perished, and Liberty rose. VIIL ]\Iy Kate ! I'm so happy, your voice whispers soft. And your cheek flushes wilder from kissing so oft ; For town or for country, for niountains or farms, What care I?— My darling's entwined in my arms. THE INVOCATION. 87 THE INVOCATION. Air.— Fanny Power. I. Bright fairies by Glengariff's bay, Soft woods that o'er Killarney sway, Bold echoes born in C6iin-an-eich, Your kinsman's greeting hear ! He asks you, by old friendship's name. By all the rights that minstrels claim. For Erin's joy and Desmond's fame, Be land to Fanny dear ! II. Her eyes are darker than Dunloe, Her soul is whiter than the snow, Her tresses like arbutus flow, Her step like frighted deer : Then, still thy waves, capricious lake ! And ceaseless, soft winds, round her wake, Yet never bring a cloud to break The smile of Fanny dear ! III. Oh ! let her see the trance-bound men, And kiss the red deer in his den, And spy from out a hazel glen O'Donoghue appear ; — Or, should she roam by M'ild Dunbwy, Oh ! send the maiden to her knee, Whilome I sung, — but then, ah ! me, I knew not Fanny dear ! 88 BALLADS AJfD SONGS. IV. Old Mangerton ! tliine eagles plume — Dear Innisfallen ! brighter bloom — And Mucruss ! whisper thro' the gloom Quaint legends to her ear : Till strong as ash-tree in its pride, And gay as sunbeam on the tide, We welcome back to Liffey's side, Our brightest, Fanny dear. LOVE AND WAR. I. How soft is the moon on Glengariff ! The rocks seem to melt with the light : Oh ! would I were there with dear Fanny, To tell her that love is as bright ; And nobly the sun of July O'er the waters of Adragoole shines — Oh ! would that I saAv the green banner Blaze there over conquering lines. II. Oh ! love is more fair than the moonlight, And glory more grand than the sun : And tlicre is no rest for a brave heart. Till its bride and its laurels arc won ; Ijiit next to the burst of our banner. And the smile of dear Fanny, I crave The moon on tlie rocks of Glengariff — The sun upon Adragoole's wave. MY LAND. 69 MY LAND. I. She is a rich and rare land ; Oh ! she's a fresh and fair land ; She is a dear and rare land — This native land of mine. II. No men than her's are braver — Her women's hearts ne'er waver ; I'd freely die to save her, And think my lot divine. She's not a dull or cold land ; No ! she's a warm and bold land ; Oh ! she's a true and old laud — This native land of mine. IV. Could beauty ever guard her, And virtue still reward her, No foe would cross her border — No friend within it pine ! V. Oh ! she's a fresh and fair land ; Oh ! she's a true and rare land ; Yes ! she's a rare and fair land — This native land of mine. 90 BALLADS AND SONGS. THE EIGHT ROAD. Let the feeble-hearted pine, Let the sickly spirit whine, But work and -s^dn be thine. While you've life. God smiles upon the bold — So, when your flag's unrolled. Bear it bravely till you're cold In the strife. If to rank or fame you soar. Out your spirit frankly pour — Men will serve you and adore, Like a king. Woo your girl with honest pride, Till you've won her for your bride — Then to her, through time and tide, Ever cling. IIL Never under wrongs despair ; Labour long, and cverywhei'e, Link your countrymen, prejiare, And strike home. Tlius have great men ever wroiight, Thus must greatness still be sought, Thus laboured, loved, and fought Greece and Rome. PART III. niSTOPJCAL BALLADS AND SONGS. $\x$t ^tvU^. "Tnis country of ours is no sand-bank, thrown up by some recent caprice of earth. It is an ancient land, honoured in the archives of civilization, traceable into antiquity by its piety, its valour, and its sufferings. Every great European race has sent its stream to the river of Irish mind. Long wars, vast organisations, subtle codes, beacon crimes, leading virtues, and self-mighty men were here. If we live Inhuenced by wind, and sun, and tree, and not by the passions and deeds of the Past, we are a thriftless and hopeless people." Davis's Essays. PART III. BALLADS AND SONGS ILLIISTHATIYE OF IRISH IIISTOllY. A NATION" ONCE AGAIN. I. When boyhood's fire was in my blood, I read of ancient freemen, For Greece and Rome who bravely stood, Three Hundred men and Three men.* And tlien I prayed I yet might see Our fetters rent in twain, And Ireland, long a province, be A Nation once again. II. And, from that time, through wildest woe, That hope has shone, a far light ; Nor could love's brightest summer glow Outshine that solemn starlight : ♦ The Three Hundred Greeks who died at Thermopyla!, and the Thi Romans who kept the Subliciau Bridge. 94 HISTORICAL BALLADS. It seemed to watch above my head In forum, field, and fane ; Its angel voice sang roixnd my bed, " A Nation once again." IIL It wliispered, too, that " freedom's ark And service high and holy, Would be profaned by feelings dark And passions vain or lowly : For freedom comes from God's right hand, And needs a godly train ; And righteous men must make our land A Nation once again." IV. So, as I grew from boy to man, I bent me to that bidding — My spirit of each selfish plan And cruel passion ridding ; For, thus I hoped some day to aid— Oh ! can suclt, hope be vain 1 — When my dear country shall be made A Nation once again. LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS. 85 LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS. AiK — An bruach na carraige bdine. I. On ! proud were the chieftains of green Inis-Fail ; As truriffh gaii oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh 1* The stars of our sky, and the salt of our soil ; As truagh gem oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh ! Their hearts were as soft as a child in the lap, Yet they were " the men in the gap " — And now that the cold clay their limbs doth enwTap — As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh I II. 'Gainst England long battling, at length they went down ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh ! But they left their deep tracks on the road of renown ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh ! We are heirs of their fame, if we're not of their race — And deadly and deep our disgrace. If we live o'er their sepulchres, abject ;ind base ; — As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh ! III. Oh ! sweet were the minstrels of kind Inis-Fail ! As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-farradh 1 Whose music, nor ages, nor sorrow can spoil ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a bh-fai-radh ! * -'Tliatisa pity, without heir in their company," f, e. What a pity tliat there is no heir of their company. See the poem of Giolla losa Mor Mac Firbisigli in The Genealogies, Tribes, nnrf Customs of (he Ui Fiachrach, or O'DubhJa's Count);/, p. 230, line 2, and note d. Also O'Jieilly's Diet, voce—farradh. 96 HISTORICAL BALLADS. But tlieir sad stifled tones are like streams flowing hid, Their caoine* and their jno^nrichtf were chid, And their Language, " that melts into music," forbid ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! IV. How fair were the maidens of fair Inis-Fail ! As truagh gan oidlih- 'n-a hh-farradli ! As fresh and as free as the sea-breeze from soil ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hJi-farradJt ! Oh ! are not our maidens as fair and as pure 1 Can our music no longer allure ] And can we but sob, as such wrongs we endure ? As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! V. Their famous, their holy, their dear Inis-Fail ! A s truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! Shall it still be a prey for the stranger to spoil 1 As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! Sure, brave men would labour by night and by day To banish that stranger away ; Or, dying for Ireland, the future would say As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hli-farradh ! VL Oh ! shame — for unchanged is the face of our isle ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! That taught them to battle, to sing, and to smile ; As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! We arc heirs of tlieir rivers, their sea, and their land Our sky and our niountains as grand — Weareheirs-oh, we'renot-of their heart and theirhand, As truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh I THE FATE OF KING DATHI. 97 THE FATE OF KING DATHI. (a.D. 428.)* I. Dakkly their glibs o'erhang, Sharp is their wolf-dog's fang. Bronze spear and falchion clang — Brave men might shun them ! Heavy the spoil they bear — Jewels and gold are there — Hostage and maiden fair — How have they won them I II. From the soft sons of Gaul, Roman, and Frank, and thrall, Borough, and hut, and hall, — These have been torn. Over Britannia "v\ade. Over fair Gaul they hied. Often in battle tried, — Enemies mourn ! III. Fiercely their harpers sing, — Led by their gallant king, They will to Eire bring Beauty and treasure. Britain shall bend the knee — lUch shall their households be — When their long ships the sea Homeward shall measure. • Vide Appendix vii. 98 HI3T0F.ICAL BALLADS. IV. Earrow and Eath shall rise, Towers, too, of wondrous size, Tdiltin they'll solemnize, Feis-Teamlirach assemble. Samhain and B(§al shall smile On the rich holy isle — Nay ! in a little while (Etius shall tremble.* V. Up on the glacier's snow, Down on the vales below, Monarch and clansmen go — Bright is the morning. Never their march they slack, Jura is at their back, When falls the evening black, Hideous, and warning. VI. Eagles scream loud on high ; Far off the chamois fly ; Hoarse comes the torrent's cry, On the rocks whitening. Strong are the storm's wings ; Down the tall pine it flings ; Hail-stone and slcct it brings — Thunder and lightning. » Tlie consul (Etius, llie sliicld of Ifnly, nnrt tcrrov of " tlie haiba- rlan,"wasa cotcmpi riiiy of King Datlii. FeiR-Tenmhrach,t\\c Parlia- mcnt. of Tai-a. raillin, pamcs held at Tailte, county Jlcatli. Sainhain and Denl, tlic moon and sun wliicli Ireland worsliii)]ied. THE FATE OF KING DATHI. 99 VII. Little these veterans mind Timndering, hail, or wind ; Closer their ranks they bind- Matching the storm. While, a spear-cast or more, On, the front ranks before, Dathi the sunburst bore — Haughty his form. VIII. Forth from the thTinder-cloud Leaps out a foe as proud — Sudden the monarch bowed — On rush the vanguard ; Wildly the king they raise — Struck by the lightning's blaze- Ghastly his dying gaze. Clutching his standard ! IX. Mild is the morning beam, Cently the rivers stream, Happy the valleys seem ; But the lone islanders — Mark how they guard tlieir king ! Hark, to the wail they sing ! Dark is their counselling — Helvetia's highlanders. 100 HISTORICAL BALLADS. X. Gather, like ravens, near — Shall Dathi's soldiers fear ] Soon their home-path they clear — Rapid and daring ; On through the pass and plain, Until the shore they gain, And, with their spoil, again. Landed in Eirinn. XI. Little does Eire* care For gold or maiden fair — " Where is King Dathi 1 — where. Where is my bravest V On the rich deck he lies. O'er him his sunburst flies — ■ Solemn the obsequies, Eire ! thou gavcst. xn. See ye that countless train Crossing Ivos-Comain'sf plain. Crying, like hurricane, Uile lilt ai ? Broad is his carn^s base — Nigh the " King's burial-place,"t Last of the Pagan race, Lieth King Dathi ! * The true ancient and modern name of this island. t Anijl. Uoscomnion. X Ilihcrnice, Hoilig nil Hiogh, vulgn^ Rt'lignaree — "A famous burial I)Iace near Cruacluiii, in Connaclit, where the kings were usually in- terred, hcfore the cstablislimcnt of tlio Christian religion in Ireland."— Oliiiens ir. Diet. ARGAN MOR. 101 ARGAN MOR.* Am. — Aryaii Mor. I. The Danes rush around, around ; To the edge of the fosse they bound ; Hark ! hark, to their trumpets' sound. Bidding them to the war. Hark ! hark to their cruel cry, As they swear our hearts' cores to dry. And their Raven red to dye ; Glutting their demon, Thor. II. Leaping the Rath upon, Here's the fiery Ceallachan — He makes the Lochlonnachf wan, Lifting his brazen spear ! Ivor, the Dane, is struck down. For the spear broke right through his crown ; Yet worse did the battle frown— Anlaf is on our rere ! III. See ! see ! the Rath's gates are broke ! And in — in, Uke a cloud of smoke. Burst on the dark Danish folk, Charging us everywhere — Oh, never was closer fight Than in Argan Mor that night — How little do men want light, Fighting within their lair. • Viile Appendix viii. t Northrnen 102 HISTORICAL BALLADS. - rv. Then girding about our king, On the thick of the foes we spring — Down — down we trample and fling, Gallantly though they strive And never our falchions stood, Till we were all wet with their blood, And none of the pirate brood Went from the Rath alive ! THE VICTOR'S BURIAL. L Wrap him in his banner, the best shroud of the brave — Wrap him in his onchu* and take liim to his grave — Lay him not down lowly, like bulwark overthrown, But, gallantly upstanding, as if risen from his throne. With his craiseadt\ in his hand, and his sword on his thigh. With his war-belt on his waist, and his cathhharrt on high- Put his Jleaacj^ upon his neck — his green flag round him fold, Like ivy round a castle wall — not conquered, but grown old^ 'Mhuire as truagh ! A mliuire as truagh ! A mulbire as truagh! ochon !\\ Weep for him ! Oh ! weep for him, but remember, in your moan. That he died, in his pride, — with his foes about Jiim strown. • riag. t Sl'tar. J Huliiict. § Collar. |1 WinusUiruc, oclione! THE victor's burial. 103 II. Oh ! shrine him in Beinn-Edair* with his face towards the foe, As an emblem that not death our defiance can Lay low — Let him look across the waves from the i^romontory's breast, To menace back the East, and to sentinel the West ; Sooner shall these channel waves the iron coast cut through, Than the spirit he has left, yield, Eastcrlings ! to you— Let his coffin be the hill, let the eagles of the sea Chorus with the surges round, the tuireamhf of the free ! 'Ilhuire as iruajh ! A vilv.dre as truagh ! A mhuire as truagh ! ochon / Weep for him ! Oh ! weep for him, but remember, in your moan. That he died, in his pride — with his foes about him strown ! THE TRUE IRISH KING.J I. The Ctcsar of Rome has a wider domain. And the Ard High of France has more clans in his train ; The sceptre of Spain is more heavy with gems, And our crowns cannot vie with the Greek diadems ; * Ilowth. t A masculine lament. X Vide Appendix ix. 104 HISTORICAL BALLADS. But kinglier far before heaven and man Are the Emerald fields, and the fiery-eyed clan, The sceptre, and state, and the poets who sing. And the swords that encircle A True Irish King ! IL For, he must have come from a conquering race — The heir of their valour, their glory, their grace : His frame must be stately, his step must be fleet, His hand must be trained to each warrior feat, His face, as the harvest moon, steadfast and clear, A head to enlighten, a spirit to cheer ; While the foremost to rush where the battle-brands ring, And the last to retreat, is A True Irish King ! III. Yet, not for his courage, his strength, or his name. Can he from the clansmen their fealty claim. The poorest, and highest, choose freely to-day Tlie chief that, to-night, they'll as truly obey ; For loyalty springs from a people's consent, And the knee that is forced had been better unbent — The Sacsanach serfs no such homage can bring A.S the Irishmen's choice of A True Irish King ! TV. C'omo, look on the pomp when they " make an O'Neill ;" The muster of dynasts^O'h-Again, O'Shiadliail, O'Cathdin, O'h-Anluain,* O'Bhrcisldin, and all. From gentle Aird Uladhf to rude Diln na n-gall ;J * Anr/I. O'lliigan, O'Sliicl, O'Cd'ian, or Kiinc, O'Hanloii. t Ahj//. Tlio Ards, t Angl. Donegal. THE TRUE IRISH KIXG. 105 " Rt. Patrick's comharha"* witli bishops thirteen, And ollamhs,i and hreitheamhs,X and minstrels, are seen, Round Tulach-Og§ Rath, like the bees in the spring, All swarming to honour A True Irish King ! V. Unsandalled he stands on the foot-dinted rock. Like a pillar-stone fixed against every shock. Round, round is the Rath on a far-seeing hill, Like his blemishless honour and vigilant will. The grey-beards are telling how chiefs by the score Have been crowned on " The Rath of the Kings " heretofore ; While crowded, yet ordered, within its green ring, Are the dynasts and priests round The True Irish King ' VT. The chronicler read him the laws of the clan, And pledged him to bide by their blessing and ban ; His skian and his sword are unbuckled to show That they only were meant for a foreigner foe ; A white willow Avand has been put in his hand — A type of pure, upright, and gentle command — While hierarchs are blessing, the slipper they fling, And O'Cathilin proclaims him A True Irish King ! ♦ Successor— co;«^ar6a P ha tiruig -the Arclibisliop nf Ard-macha (Armagh), t Doctors or learned men. t Judges. jIji;//. Brehons § In the county Tir-Eoghain (Tyrone) between Cookstown and Stewartstown. 106 BALLADS AND SONGS. VII. Thrice looked lie to Heaven witli thanks and with prayer — Thrice looked to his borders with sentinel stare — To the waves of Loch n-Eathach,* the heights of Srathbhiin ;t And thrice on his allies, and thrice on his clan — One clash on their bucklers ! — one more !— they are still— What means the deep pause on the crest of the hill 1 Why gaze they above him 1 — a war-eagle's Aving ! " Tis an omen ! — Hurrah ! for The True Irish King !" VIIL God aid him ! — God save him ! — and smile on liis reign — The terror of England — the ally of Spain. May his sword be triumphant o'er Sacsanach arts ! Be his throne ever girt by strong hands and true hearts ! May the course of his conquest run on till he see The flag of Plantagenet sink in the sea ! May minstrels for ever his victories sing, And saints make the bed of TuE True Irish King ! * Amjl. Loui;'.! Xcagli. f Angl. Striibaiic. THE GERALDINES. 107 THE GERALDINES. I. The Geraldines ! the Gci-aldines !—tis full a thousand years Since, 'mid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their battle-spears ; When Capet seized the crown of France, their iron shields were known. And their sabre-dint struck terror on the banks of the Garonne : Across the do'ttTis of Hastings they spurred hard by William's side, And the grey sands of Palestine with Moslem blood they dyed ; But never then, nor thence, till now, has falsehood or disgrace Been seen to soil Fitzgerald's plume, or mantle in his face. II. The Geraldines ! the Geraldines ! — 'tis true, in Strong- bow's van. By lawless force, as conquerors, their Irish reign began ; And, oh ! through many a dark campaign they proved their prowess stern. In Leinster's plains, and ]\Iunster's vales, on king, and chief, and kerne ; But noble was the cheer v.ithin the halls so rudely won, And generous was the steel-gloved hand that had such slaughter done ; 108 BALLADS AND SONGS. How gay their laugh, how proud their niien, you'd ask no herald's sign — Among a thousand you had known the princely Geral- dine. IIL These Geraldines ! these Geraldines ! — not long our air they breathed ; Not long they fed on venison, in Irish water seethed ; Not often had their children been by Irish mothers nursed ; When from their full and genial hearts an Irish feel- ing burst ! The English monarchs strove in vain, by law, and force, and bribe. To win from Irish thoughts and ways this " more than Irish " tribe ; For still they clung to fosterage, to hreitheamh, cloak, and bard : What king dare say to Geraldine, " your Irish wife discard V IV. Ye Geraldines ! ye Geraldines ! — how royally ye reigned O'er Desmond broad, and rich Kildare, and English arts disdained : Your sword made knights, your banner waved, free was your bugle call By Glcann's* green slopes, and Daingean'sf tide, from Bearbha'sJ banks to E6chaill.§ * Anrtl. Glyn. t Antjl. Pinctle. J AiKjt. IJuriow. § \nijl. Youilinl. THE GERALDINES. 109 "What gorgeous shrines, wliat hreitheainh* lore, what luinstrcl feasts there were In and around Magh Nuadhaid'sf keep, and palace- filled Adare ! But not for rite or feast ye stayed, when friend or kin were pressed ; And foemen fled, when " Crom Abii"X bespoke your lance in rest. V. Ye Gerald ines ! ye Geraldines ! — since Silken Thomas flung King Henrj^s sword on council board, the English thanes among. Ye never ceased to battle brave against the English sway, Though axe, and brand, and treachery, your proudest cut away. Of Desmond's blood, through woman's veins passed on th' exhausted tide ; His title lives — a Sacsanach churl usurps the lion's hide ; And, though Kildare tower haughtily, there's ruin at the root, Else why, since Edward fell to earth, had such a tree no fruit 1 VI. True Geraldines ! brave Geraldines ! — as torrents mould the earth, Yon channelled deep old Ireland's heart by constancy and worth : * Angl. Bichon. t Aiirtl. Mavnonth. t Formerly the war-ciy of tlie Geraldines, aiul now their motto. 110 BALLADS AND SONGS. Wlien Ginckle 'leagiiered Limerick, the Irish soldiers gazed To see if in the setting sun dead Desmond's banner blazed? And still it is the peasants' hope upon the Cuirreach's* mere, " They live, -who'll see ten thousand men with good Lord Edward liere " — So let them dream till brighter days, when, not by Edward's shade. Bat by some leader true as he, their lines shaU be arrayed ! VII. Tliesc Geraldines ! these Geraldines ;— rain wears away the rock. And time may wear away the tribe that stood the battle's shock ; But ever, sure, while one is left of all that honoured race, In front of Ireland's chivalry is that Fitzgerald's place : And, though the last were dead and gone, how many a field and town. From Thomas Court to Abbeyfcile, would cherish tlieir renown, And men would say of valour's rise, or ancient power's decline, '• Twill never soar, it never shone, as did the Gcr- aldine," * Anf/l. Curragh. O'BRIEN OF AKA. Ill viir. Tlie Gcraldiiies ! tlic Geraluines ! — and are there any fears "Within thcsons of conquerors for full a thonsand years? Can treason spring from out a soil bedewed with martyr's blood 1 Or has that grown a purling brook, which long rushed down a flood ? — By Desmond swept with sword and fire, — by clan and keep laid low, — By silken Thomas andhiskin,^by sainted Edwai'd, no ! The forms of centuries rise up, and in the Irish line Command their son to take the post that fits THE GeRALDINE !* O'BRIEN OF ARA.t Am.— T/te Fiper of Blessington. I. Tall are the towers of O'Ceinneidigh. — X Broad are the lands of !MucCarrthaigh — § Desmond feeds five Innidred men a-day ; Yet, here's to 0'Briain|| of Ara ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar,!" Down from the top of Camailte, Clansman and kinsman are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. * Tlip cnncludins stanza was found amonc the author's papers, and was inserted in the first edition. The allusion to the pure, honest, W. Smith o'lirien. is obvious. t Ara is a small mountain tract, south of Loch Teirpidheirc, and north of the Camniltc, or the Keeper, hills. It was the seac of a branch of of tlie Thi'mnnd princes, called the O'Briens .•>f Ara. X Virr/n. O'Kenncdy. § Viil M'Carfhy. II Vul. O'Brien. If Vul. Ui uniiiiuer. 112 BALLADS AND SONGS. Bee you the mountains look liuge at eve — So is our chieftain in battle — Welcome he has for the fugitive, — Uisce-beatha* fighting, and cattle ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Gossip and ally are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. IIL Horses the valleys are tramping on. Sleek from the Sacsanach manger — Creachs the hills are encamping on, Empty the bans of the stranger ! Up from the Castle of Druini-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Ceitheariif and btiannachteLve coming li ere To give him the cead mile failte. He has black silver from Cill-da-lua — t Rian§ and Cearblial]|| are neighbours — 'N Aonachir submits with n/mtiliii — Butler is meat for our sabres ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Rian and Coar1)hall are coming here To give liim the cead mile failte. • Vul. rsquebaugh. t yii!(i"< Kerne. J Vul. Kilhilne. § Kii/. Kyaii. |' Ik^.' Caiiull. ^ l'»/. Ntnagli. O'BRIEN OF AKA. 113 'Tis scarce a week since througli Osairghe* Chased he the Baron of Durmhagh — t Forced him five rivers to cross, or he Had died by the sword of Red IMurchadh !t Up from the Castle of Drum-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, All the Ui Bhriain are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. VI. Tall are towers of O'Ceinneidigh — Broad are the lands of INIacCarrthaigh — Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day ; Yet, here's to 0']3riain of Ara ! Up from the Castle of DruLm-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Clansman and kinsman are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. ' Vulgo, Ossory. f ''«'• Durrow. i Vul Murrougli. 114 HISTORICAL BALLADS. EMMELINE TALBOT. A BALLAD OP THE PALE. XTlic scene is on the borders of Dublin and Wicklow.J I. 'TwAS a September day, In Glenismole,* Emmeline Talbot lay On a green knoll. She was a lovely thing, Fleet as a falcon's wing, Only fifteen that spring — Soft was her soul. Danger and dreamless sleep Much did she scorn. And from her father's keep Stole out that morn. Towards Glenismole she hies — Sweetly the valley lies. Winning the enterprise — No one to warn. IIL Till, by the noon, at length, High in the vale, Emmeline found her strength Suddenly fail. ♦ Ilibernice, Gieann-nn-sni<5il. EMMELINE TALBOT. 115 Panting, yet pleasantly, By Dodder-side lay she — Thrushes sang merrily, " Hail, sister, hail !" IV. Hazel and copse of oak Made a sweet lawn. Out from the thicket broke Kabbit and fawn. Green were the eiscirs round, Sweet was the river's sound, Eastwards flat Cruach frowned, South lay Sliabh Bdn. Looking round Barnakeel,* Like a tall Moor Full of impassioned zeal Peeped brown Ivippure.t Dublin in feudal pride And many a hold beside. Over Finn-ghaill:]: preside — Sentinels sure ! VI. Is that a roebuck's eye Glares from the green 1 — Is that a thrush's cry Rings in the screen ? * Ilib. Bcarna-clmcl. t Uib. Kcap-iiibliair. % Vulg. Fingal. ll^e ■ HISTORICAL BALLADS. Mountaineers round her sprung, Savage their speech and tongue Fierce was their chief, and young, Poor Emnieline ! VII. " Hurrah, 'tis Talbot's child," Shouted the kerne, " Off to the mountains wUd, Faire* O'Byrne !" Like a bird in a net. Strove the sweet maiden yet. Praying and shrieking, " Let- Let me return." After a moment's doubt. Forward he sprung, With his sword flashing out- Wrath on his tongue. " Touch not a hair of her's— Dies he, who finger stirs !" Back fell his foragers. To him she clung. IX. Soothing the maiden'a fears, Kneeling was he, Wlicn burst old Talbot's spears Out on the lea. » Viilg. Fan-all. EMMELINE TALBOT. 117 IMarcli-men, all stanch and stout Shouting their Belgard shout — " Down with the Irish rout, " Prets d'accom^ilir."* X. Taken thus unawares, Some fled amain ; Fighting like forest bears, Others were slain. To the chief clung the maid. How could he use his blade ? That night, upon him weighed Fetter and chain. XI. Oh ! but that night was long, Lying forlorn, Since, 'mid the wassail song. These words were borne — " Nathless your tears and cries. Sure as the sun shall rise, Connor O'Byrnet dies, Talbot has sworn." XII. Brightly on Tamlachtt hill Flashes the sun, Strained at his window-sill. How his eyes run The motto and cry of tlie Talbots. t Hib. Conchobhar O'Broin. t Vulg. TiiUaght. 118 HISTORICAL BALLADS. From lonely Sagart slade Down to Tigli-brad;\n glade, Landmarks of border raid, Many a one. XIIL Too well the captive knows Belgard's main wall Will, to liis naked blows, Shiver and fall, Ere in his mountain hold He shall again behold Those whose proud hearts are cold, Weeping his thrall. XIV. " Oh ! for a mountain side. Bucklers and brands ! Freely I could have died Heading my bands, But on a felon tree — " Bearing a fetter-key, By him all silently, Emmelinc stands. XV. Last rose the castellan. He had drunk deep, — Warder and serving-man Still Avere asleep, — Wide is the castle-gate, Open the captive's grate, Fetters disconsolate Flung in a heap. * * o'sullivan's return. 119 XVI. 'Tis an October day, Close by Locli Dan ]\Iany a creacli lay, INIany a man. 'Mongst them, in gallant mien, Connor O'Byrne's seen Wedded to Emmeline, Girt by his clan ! O'SULLIVAN'S RETUKN.* Air— Jh cruist/in Idii. O'SuiLLEBHAiN has come Within sight of his home, — He had left it long years ago ; The tears are in liis eyes, And he prays the wind to rise, As he looks towards his castle, from the prow, from the prow ; .As he looks towards his castle, from the prow. II. For the day had been calm. And slow the good ship swam, And the evening gnn had been fired ; He knew the hearts beat wild Of mother, Avife, and child, .And of clans, who to see him long desired, long de- sired ; And of clans, who to see him long desired. ♦ Vide .\ppendix x. 120 HISTORICAL BALLADS. IIL Of the tender ones the clasp, Of the gallant ones the grasp, He thinks, until his tears fall warm ; And full seems his wide hall. With friends from wall to wall, TVTiere their welcome shakes the banners, like a storm. like a storm ; Where their welcome shakes the banners like a storm. IV. Then he sees another scene — Normal churls on the green — " O'Suilleahhdin ahit " is the cry ; For filled is his ship's hold With arms and Spanish gold. And he sees the snake-twined spear wave on high, wave on high ; And he sees the snake-twined spear wave on high.''^ V. " Finghin's race shall be freed — From the Norman's cruel breed — ]\ry sires freed B6ar once before, * The standard bearings of O'Siillivnn. See O'Donovnn's edition of the IJaiiquct of Diin na n-Gedh, and the Battle of Magh Ratli, for the Archfeological Society, App. p. 340. — "Bearings of O'SulUvan at tho Battle of Caisglinn." " I see, miKhtily advancing on the plain, The banner of the race of noble Fingliin ; Ilis spear with a vcneinous adder {enlmned), His host all liery clianipions." Flnghin was one of llieir most famous progenitors. — AuTiioii's Notk. o'sullivan's ketukn. 121 When the Barnwell's were strewn On the fields, like hay in June, And but one of them escaped from our shore, from our shore ; And but one of them escaped from our shore."* VI. And, warming in his dream. He floats on victory's stream. Till Desmond— till all Erin is free ! Then, how calmly he'll go down, Full of years and of renown, To his grave near that castle by the sea, by the sea ; To his grave near that castle by the sea ! VII. But the wind heard his word, As though he were its lord, And the ship is dashed up the Bay. Alas ! for that proud barque. The night has fallen dark, 'Tis too late to Eadarghabhalf to bear away, to bear away ; 'Tis too late to Eadarghabail to bear away. VIII. Black and rough was the rock, And terrible the shock. As the good ship crashed asunder ; • The BarnweHs were Normans, who seized part of Beara in the reign of Henry II.; but the 0'^'ulliva^'s came down on them, and cut off all save one— a young man who settled at Drininagh Castle, Co. Dulilin, and was ancestor to the Barnwells, Lords of Trimlestone and Kingslaud. — ArTHOR's Note. t Viil. Adragoole. 122 HISTORICAL BALLADS. And bitter was tlie cry, And tlie sea ran mountains liigh, And tlie wind was as loud as the thunder, the thunder. And the wind was as loud as the thunder. IX. There's woe in B^ara, There's woe in Gleann-garbh,* And from Beduntrdighef unto Dun- kiarAin ;J All Desmond hears their grief. And wails above their chief — " Is it thus, is it thus, that you return, you return — Is it thus, is it thus, that you return ]" THE FATE OF THE 0'SULLIVANS.§ I, " A BABY in the mountain gap — Oh ! Avherefore bring it hither ] liestore it to it's mother's lap, Or else 'twill surely withei'. * Vul. Glcngariff. t ^"ul- Bantry. t T^w'- Dunkcrron. § After the taking of Dunbwy and the ruin of the O'Sullivan's country, the chief marched right througli Muskerry and Onnond, hotly pursued. He crossed the Shannon in curachs made of liis horses' skins. He then defeated the English forces and slew their commander, Manby, and Anally fought his way into O'Huaic's country. During his absence his lady (lieantiijhiarnn) and infant were supported in the mountains, by one of his clansmen, M'Swiney, who, tradition says, used to rob the eagles' nests of their prey for his charge. O'SuUivan was excepted from James the First's amnesty on account of his persevering rcsistiince. He went to Spain, and was u])poinied governor of Corunna and Viscount llerclmven. His march from Glengariff to I.eitriiu is, perhaps, the most romantic and gallant achievement uf his age.— .^uruou's Note. FATE OF THE O'SULLIVANS. 123 A baby near the eagle's nest ! How should their talons spare it 1 Oh : take it to some woman's breast, And she will kindly care it.'' II. " Fear not for it," ]\r.Swiney said, And stroked his cul-tionu* slowly, And proudly raised his matted head, Yet spoke me soft and lowly — " Fear not for it, for, many a day, I climb the eagle's eyrie, And bear the eaglet's food away To feed our little faiiy. III. " Fear not for it, no Bantry bird Would harm our chieftain's baby" — He stopped, and something in liim stirred—' 'Twas for his chieftain, maybe. And then he brushed his softened eyes. And raised his bonnet duly, And muttered "the Beantigherna lies Asleej) in yonder buaili."f IV. He pointed 'twixt the cliff and lake. And there a hut of heather, Half hidden in the craggy brake. Gave shelter from the weather ; • Viilgo, coulin. t yiifo^i boulic. 124 HISTOKICiVL BALLADS. The little tanist shrieked with joy, Adown the gidley staring — The clansman swelled to see the boy, O'Sullivan-like, daring. V. Oh ! what a glorious sight was there, As from the summit gazing, O'er winding creek and islet fair. And mountain waste amazing ; The Caha and Dunkerron hills Cast half the gulfs in shadow, While shone the sun on Culiagh's rills, And Whiddy's emerald meadow — VI. The sea a sheet of crimson spread, From Foze to Durscy islands ; While flashed the peaks from Mizcnhead To iMusk'ry's distant highlands — I saw no kine, I saw no sheep, I saw nor house nor furrow ; But round the tarns the red deer leap. Oak and arbutus thorough. VI r. Oh ! what a glorious sight was there, That paratUse o'ergazing — When, sudden, burst a smoky glare, Above Glengaritf blazing — The clansman sprung upon his feet — Well might the infant wonder — Ilis hands were clenched, his brow was knit, His hard lips just asunder. FATE OF THE o'sULLIVAN's. 125 VIII. Like shattered rock from out the ground, He stood there stiff and silent — Our breathing hardly made a sound, As o'er tlie baby I leant ; His figure then went to and fro, As the tall blaze would flicker — And as exhausted it sunk low, His breath came loud and thicker. IX. Then slowly turned he round his head, And slowly turned liis figure ; His eye was fixed as Spanish lead, His limbs were full of rigour — Then suddenly he grasped the child. And raised it to his shoulder, Then pointing where, across the wild, The fire was seen to smoulder. " Look, baby ! — look, there is the sign, Your father is returning, The 'generous hand' of Finghin's line Has set that beacon burning. ' The generous hand' — Oh ! Lord of hosts— Oh, Virgin, ever holy ! There's nought to give on Bantry's coasts — Dunbwy* is lying lowly. * Vide Appendix xi. 126 IIISTOEICAL BALLADS. XL " The halls, where mirth and minstrelsy Than B6ara's wind rose louder, Are flung in masses lonelily, And black with English powder— The sheep that o'er our mountains ran, The kine that filled our valleys, Are gone, and not a single clan O'Sullivan now rallies. XIL " He, long the Prince of hill and bay ! The ally of the Si)aniard ! Has scarce a single cath to-day, Nor seaman left to man yard " — M'Swiney ceased, then fiercely strode, Bearing along the baby. Until we reached the rude abode Of Bantry's lovely lady. XIIL We found her in the savage shed — , A mild night in midwinter — The mountain heath her oidy bed, Her dais the rocky si)linter ! The sad Jkantighcnrn' had seen the fire- 'Twas plain she had been praying — She seized her son, as we came nighcr, And welcomed me, thus saying — FATE OF THE O'SULLIVANS. 127 XIV. " Our gossip's friend I gladly greet, Though scant'ly I can cheer him ;" Then bids the clansmen fly to meet And tell her lord she's near him. M'Swiney Idssed his foster son, And shouting out his faire " Cy SuiUehhdin ahu" — is gone Like ]\Iarchman's deadly arrow ! XV. An hour went by, when, from the shore The chieftain's horn winding, Awoke the echoes' hearty roar — Their fealty reminding : A moment, and he faintly gasps — " These — these, thank heav'n, are left me "- And smiles, as wife and child he clasps — " They have not quite bereft me." I never saw a mien so grand, A brow and eye so fearless — There was not in his veteran band A single eyelid tearless. His tale is short — O'Euarc's strength Could not postpone his ruin, And Leitrim's towers he left at length. To spare his friend's undoing. 128 HISTORICAL BALLADS. To Spain — to Spain, he now will sail, His destiny is wroken — An exile from dear Inis-fail, — Nor yet his will is broken ; For still he hints some enterprise, When fleets shall bring them over, Dunbwy's proud keep again shall rise. And mock the English rover. * * XVIII. I saw them cross SUeve Miskisk o'er, The crones around them weeping — I saw them pass from Culiagh's shore, Their galleys' strong oars sweeping ; I saw their ship unfurl its sail — I saw their scarfs long waven — They saw the hiUs in distance faU — They never saw Berehaveu ! THE SACK OF BALTIMOEE. 129 THE SACK OF BALTIMORE* I. TirE summer sun is falling soft on Carbery's hundred isles — ""he summer sun is gleaming still tlirougli Gabriel's rough defiles — Old Inisherkin's crumbled fane looks like a moulting bird ; And in a calm and sleepy swell the ocean tide is heard ; The Jaookers lie upon the beach ; the children cease their play ; The gossips leave the little inn ; the households kneel to pray — And full of love, and peace, and rest — its daily labour o'er — Upon that cosy creek there lay the town of Baltimore. II. .A deeper rest, a starry trance, has come with midnight there ; ".No sound, except that throbbing wave, in earth, or sea, or air. ' Bnltimore is a small seaport in the barony of Carbcrj", in South ^Munster. It grew up round a Castle of O'Driscoirs, and was, after liis •niin, colonized l)y the Englisli; On the 20th of June, 1G31, the crew of '.two Algerine galleys landed in tlie dead of the night, sacked tlie town, land bore off into slavery all who were not too old, or too young, or too Iflerce for their purpose. The pirates were steered up the intricate channel by one Ilackett, a Dungarvan fisherman, whom they liad taken ■at sea for the purpose. Two years after ho was convicted and executed for the crime. Baltimore never recovered tliis. To the artist, tlic antiquary, and the naturalist, its neighbourhood is most interesting. — •45ee "The Ancient and Present State of the County and City of Cork," i)J>y Charles Smith, M. D. 130 HISTORICAL BALLADS. The massive capes, and ruined towers, seem conscious of the cahn ; The fibrous sod and stunted trees are breathing heavy bahn. So still the night, these two long barques, round Dunashad that glide, ]\Iust trust their oars — methinks not few — against the ebbing tide — Oh ! some sweet mission of true love must urge them to the shore — They bring some lover to his bride, who sighs in Baltimore ! III. All, all asleep within each roof along that rocky street, And these must be the lover's friends, with gently gliding feet — A stifled gasp ! a dreamy noise ! "the roof is in a flame !" From out their beds, and to their doors, rush maid, and sire, and dame — And meet, upon the threshold stone, the gleaming sabre's fall, And o'er each black and bearded face the white o\ crimson shawl — The yell of "Allah" breaks above the prayer, and shriek and roar — Oh, blessed God ! the Algerine is lord of Baltimore ! IV. 'J'hen flung the youth his naked hand against tin shearing sword ; Then sprung the mother on the brand with which he i son was gored ; THE SACK OF BALTIMORE. 131 Then sunk the grandsire on the floor, his grand-babes clutching wild ; Then fled the maiden moaning faint, and nestled with the child ; T>ut see, yon pirate strangled lies, and crushed with splashing heel. While o'er him in an Irish hand there sweeps his Syrian steel — Though virtue sink, and courage fail, and misers yield their store. There's one hearth well avenged in the sack of Balti- more ! V. Mid-summer morn, in woodland nigh, the birds began to sing — They see not now the milking maids — deserted is the spring ! Mid-summer day — this gallant rides from distant Bandon's town — These hookers crossed from stormy Skull, that skiff from Affadown ; They only found the smoking walls, with neighbours' blood besprent. And on the strewed and trampled beach awhile they wildly went — Then dashed to sea, and passed Cape C16ire, and saw five leagues before The pirate galleys vanishing that ravaged Baltimore. VI. Oh ! some must tug the galley's oar, and some must tend the steed — This boy will bear a Scheik's chibouk, and that a Bey's jerreed. 132 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Oil ! some are for the arsenals, by beauteous Dardan- elles ; And some are in the caravan to Mecca's sandy dells. The maid that Bandon gallant sought is chosen for the Dey — She's safe— he's dead — she stabbed him in the midst of his Serai ; And, when to die a death of fire, that noble maid they bore, She only smiled — O'Driscoll's child — she thought of Baltimore. VII. 'Tis two long years since sunk the town beneath that bloody band. And all around its trampled hearths a larger concourse stand, Where, high upon a gallows tree, a yelling wretch is seen — ■ 'Tis Hackett of Dungarvan— he, who steered the Algerine ! He fell amid a sullen shout, with scarce a passing prayer. For he had slain the kith and kin of many a hundred there — Some muttered of MacMurchadh, who brought the Norman o'er — Some cursed him with Iscariot, that day in Baltimorei . K- LAMENT FOR EOGHAN RUADH. 133 LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF EOGHAN" RUADH O'NEILL * *,* Time, 10th Nov. lf)49. Scene— Onnond's Camp, County Waterford. SlieakcTs^A veteran of Koglian O'Neill's clan, and one of the lioise- men, just arrived with au account of his death. " Did tliey dare, did tliey dare, to slay Eoglian Ruadli O'NeiU]" " Yes, they sle'w vnth. poison him, they feared to meet with steel." " May God -wither up their hearts ! May their blood cease to flow ! " May they walk in living death, who poisoned Eoghan lluadh ! ir. " Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words." " From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to mea- sure swords : But the weajion of the Sacsanach met him on his way, And he died at Cloch Uachtar,t upon St. Leonard's day. III. t| " Wail, wail ye for the ilighty One ! Wail, wail, ye for the Dead ! Quench the hearth, and hold the breath — with ashes strew the head. * Commonly called Owen Roe O'Neill. VUle Appendix .\ii. t Clough Oughtcr. 134 HISTORICAL BALLADS. How tenderly we loved him ! How deeply we de- plore ! Holy Saviour ! but to think we shall never see him more. IV. " Sagest in the council was he, kindest in the hall ! Sure we never won a battle — 'twas Eoghan won them all. Had he lived — had he lived —our dear country had been free ; But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll ever be. V. "O'Farrell and Chinrickarde, Preston and Red Hugh, Audley, and MacMahon, ye are valiant, wise, and true ; But — what, what are ye all to our darling who is gone] The Kudder of our Ship was he, our Castle's corner stone ! VI. " Wail, wail him through the Island ! Weep, weep, for our pride ! Wouhl that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died ! Weep the Victor of Beann-bhorbh* — weep him, young men and old ; AVecp for him, ye women — your ]^)cantiful lies cold ! A RALLY FOE IRELAND. 135 VII. " We thought you would not die — we were sure you would not go, And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's crael blow — Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky — Oh ! why did you leave us, Eoghan 1 Why did you die? VIII. " Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill ! bright was your eye, Oh ! why did you leave us, Eoghan 1 Why did you cUel Your troubles are all over, you're at rest with God on high, But we're slaves, and we're orphans, Eoghan !— why didst thou die ]" A RALLY FOR IRELAND. May, 1689.* I. Shout it out, till it ring, From Beann-mhor to Cape Cloire, For our country and king. And religion so dear. * Fide Appendix xiii. ■136 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Eally, men ! rally — Irishmen ! rally ! Gather round the dear flag, that, wet with our tears, And torn, and bloody, lay hid for long years, And now, once again, in its pride re-appears. See ! from the Castle our green banner waves. Bearing fit motto for uprising slaves — For Now OR Never ! Now AND FOR EVER ! Bids you to battle for triumph or graves — Bids you to burst on the Sacsanach knaves — Eally, then, rally ! Irishmen, rally ! Shout Now OR NEVER ! Now AND FOR EVER ! Heed not their fury, however it raves. Welcome their horsemen with i)ikes and with staves, Close on their cannon, their bay'nets, and glaives, Down with their standard wherever it weaves ; Fight to the last, and ye cannot be slaves ! Fight to the last, and ye cannot be slaves ! IL Gallant Sheldon is here, And Hamilton, too, And Tirclionaill so dear. And MacCarrthaigh, so true. And there arc Frenchmen ; Skilful and stanch men — DcBoscn, Pontee, Pusignan, and Boissclcau, And gallant Lauzun is a coming, you know, With Balldcarg, the kinsman of great Eoghau Riiadh. A RALLY FOR IRELAND. 137 From Sionainn to Banna, from Lif6 to Laoi,* The country is rising for Libertie. Tlio' your arms ai'e rude, If your courage be good, As the traitor tied will the stranger flee, At another Drom-m6r from the " Irishiy." Arm, peasant and lord ! Grasp musket and sword ! Grasp pike-staff and skian ! Give your horses the rein ! March, in the name of his Majesty — Ulster and ]\Iunster unitedly — Townsman and peasant, like waves of the sea — Leinster and Connacht to victory — Shoulder to shoulder for Liberty, Shoulder to shoulder for Liberty. IIL Kirk, Schomberg and Churchill Are coming — what then 1 We'll drive them and Dutch Will To England again ; We can laugh at each threat. For our Parliament's met — De Courcy, O'Brian, INLac Domhaill, Le Poer, O'Neill and St. LaAvrence, and others go leor, The choice of the land from Athluainf to the shore ! The/ll break the last link of the Sacsanach chain ! They'll give us the lands of our fathers again ! Shannon, Baiin, Liffey, and Lee. t Atlilune. 138 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Then up ye ! and fight For your King and your Eight, Or ever toil on, and never complain Th.o' they trample your roof -tree, and rifle your fane. Rally, then, rally ! Irishmen, rally — Fight Now OR NEVER, Now AND FOR EVER ! Laws are in vain without swords to maintain ; So, muster as fast as the fall of the rain : Serried and rough as a field of ripe grain. Stand by your flag upon mountain and plain : Charge till yourselves or your foemen are slain ! Fight till yourselves or your foemen are slain ! THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK.* ACGUST 27, 1690. AlK — Oarradlt Eoghain.^ I. On, hurrah ! for the men who, when danger is nigh. Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall. And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. King William's men round Limerick lay, His cannon crashed from day to day. Till the southern wall was swept away At the city of Luimneach Imn-cjhlas.X ' Vide Appendix xiv. f GaiTyoweii. t " Limerick of Mie azure river." THE BATTLE OF LIMEKICK. 139 'Tis afternoon, yet hot the sun, When William fires the signal gnn, And, like its flash, his cohunns rvni Ou the city of Laimiieacli Unn-gldas. II. Yet, hurrah ! for tlie men who, when danger is nigh, Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall, And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of alL The breach gaped out two perches wide, The fosse is filled, the batteries iilied ; Can the Irishmen that onset bide At the city of Luimneach Unn-gldas. Across the ditch the columns dash. Their bayonets o'er the rubbish flash, When sudden comes a rending crash From the city of Luimneach linn-ghlas. III. Then, hurrah ! for the men who, when danger is nigh, Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall. And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. The bullets rain in pelting shower. And rocks and beams from wall and tower ; The Englishmen are glad to cower At the city of Luimneacli linn-ghlas. But, rallied soon, again they pressed. Their bayonets pierced full many a breast. Till they bravely won the breach's crest At the city of Luimneach linn-ghlas. 140 HISTORICAL BALLADS. IV. Yet, hurrah ! for the men who, when danger is nigh. Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall. And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. Then fiercer grew the Irish yell, And madly on the foe they fell, Till the breach grew like the jaws of hell — Not the city of Luimneach linn-ghlas. The women fought before the men, Each man became a match for ten, So back they pushed the villains then, From the city of Luimneach linn-ghlas. V. Then, hurrah ! for the men who, when danger is nigh, Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. Hurrali ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall. And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. But Bradenburgh the ditch has cross'd, And gained our flank at little cost — The bastion's gone — the town is lost ; Oh ! poor city of Liiimneach linn-ghlas. \^^lcn, sudden, Sarsfield springs the mine — Like rockets rise the Germans fine. And come down dead, 'mid smoke and shine. At the city of Lidmneach linn-ghlas. VI. So, hurrah ! for the men who, when danger is nigh, Are found in the front, looking death in the eye. Hurrah ! for the men who kept Limerick's wall. And hurrah ! for bold Sarsfield, the bravest of all. THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK. 141 Out, with a roar, the Irish sprung, And back the beaten English iiung. Till William fled, his lords among, From the city of LuimneacJi linn-gldas. 'Twas thus was fought that glorious fight, By Irishmen, for Ireland's right — May all such days have such a night As the battle of Luimneach linn-gldas. PART IV. HISTORICAL BALLADS AND SONGS. ^tt$\\i\ ^^v\i$. "Br a Ballad History we do not mean a metrical chronicle, or any continued work, but a string of ballads clironologically arranged, and illustrating the main events of Irish History, its characters, costumes, scenes, and passions. "Exact dates, subtle plots, minute connexions and motives, rarely appear in Ballads; and for these ends the worst prose history is superior to the best Ballad series ; but these are not the highest ends of history. To hallow or accurse the scenes of glory and honour, or of shame and and sorrow— to give to the imagination the arms, and liomes, and senates, and battles of other days— to rouse, and soften, and strengthen, and enlarge us with the passions of great periods — to lead us into love of self-denial, of justice, of beauty, of valour, of generous life, and proud death— and to set up in our souls the memory of great men, who shall then be as models and judges of our actions— these are the highest duties of History, and these arc best taught by a Ballad History." — Davis's Essays. TART IV. BALLADS AND SONGS ILLUSTRATIVE OF IRISH HISTORY. THE PENAL DAYS. Air.— 77(6 Wlieeheiight. I. Oh ! weep those days, the penal days, When Ireland hopelessly complained. Oh ! weep tliose days, the penal days, When godless persecution reigned ; When year by year, For serf, and peer. Fresh cruelties were made by law, And, filled with hate, Our senate sate To weld anew each fetter's flaw. Oh ! weep those days, those penal days — Their memory still on Ireland weighs. II. They bribed the flock, they bribed the son, To sell the priest and rob the sire ; Their dogs were tauglit alike to run Upon the scent of wolf and friar. K 146 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Among the poor, Or on the moor, Were hid the pious and the true — While traitor knave, And recreant slave, Had riches, rank, and retinue ; And, exiled in those penal days. Our banners over Europe blaze. in. A stranger held the land and tower Of many a noble fugitive ; No Popish lord had lordly power. The peasant scarce had leave to live ; Above his head A ruined shed, No tenure but a tyrant's will — Forbid to plead, Forbid to read, Disarmed, disfranchised, imbecile — ^Miat Avonder if our step betrays The freedman, born in penal days 1 IV. They're gone, they're gone, those penal days ! All creeds are equal in our isle ; Then grant, Ijord, thy plenteous grace. Our ancient feuds to reconcile. Ijct all atone For blood and groan, THE DEATH OF SARSFIELD. 147 For dark revenge and open wrong ; Let all unite For Ireland's right, And drown our griefs in freedom's song ; Till time shall veil in twilight haze, The memory of those penal days. THE DEATH OF SARSFIELD.* A CHANT OF THE BRIGADE. I. Saksfield has sailed from Limerick Town, He held it long for country and crown ; And ere he yielded, the Saxon swore To spoil our homes and our shrines no more. Sarstield and all his chivalry Are fighting for France in the low countrie — At Ms fieiy charge the Saxons reel ; They learned at Limerick to dread the steel. • Snrsfield was slain on the 29th July, 10(13, at Landen, heading his countrymen in the van of victory,— King William flying. He could not have died better. His last thouijhts were for his country. As he lay on the field unhelmed and dying, he put his hand t.' his breast. When he took it away, it was full of his bc't blood. Lookint- at it sadly with an eye in which victory shone a moment before, he said faintly, " Oh ! tli:it this were for Ireland." He said no more ; and histoi-}- records no nobler saying, nor anymore becoming death.— Author's Novf.. — Vide Appendix xiv, for a brief sketch of the services of the Irish Brigade, in which most of the allusions in these and several of the following poems are explained. 148 HISTORICAL BALLADS, IIL Sarsfield is dying on Landen's plain ! His corslet had met the ball in vain — As his life-blood gushes into his hand, He says, " Oh ! that this was for father-laud ! iv. Sarsfield is dead, yet no tears shed -we — For he died in the arms of Victory, And liis dying words shall edge the brand, "\ATien we chase the foe from our native land ! THE SURPRISE OF CREMONA. I. From Milan to Cremona Duke Villcroy rode, And soft are the beds in his princely abode ; In billet and barrack the garrison sleep, And loose is the watch which the sentinels keep : 'Tis the eve of St. David, and bitter the bi'ceze Of that mid-winter night on the flat Cremonese ; A fig for precaution !— Prince Eugene sits down In winter cantonments round Mantua town ! II. Yet through Ustiano, and out on the plain, Horse, foot, and dragoons, are defiling amain. " That flash !" said Prince Eugene : " Count ^lerci^ push on" — Like a rock from a precipice Merci is gone. TUE SURPKISE OF CREMOXA. 149 Proud mutters the Prince : " That is Cassioli's sign : Ere the dawn of the morning Cremona '11 be mine ; For Merci will ojien the gate of the Po, But scant is the mercy Prince Yaudemont will shew !" IIL Through gate, street, and square, with his keen cava- liers — A flood through a guUey — Count Merci careers — They ride ^vithout getting or giving a blow. Nor halt till they gaze on the gate of tlie Po. " Surrender the gate !" — but a volley replied. For a handful of Irish are posted inside. By my faith, Charles Vaudemont will come rather late. If he stay till Count Merci shall open that gate ! IV. But in througli St. Margaret's the Austrians pour. And billet and barrack are ruddy with gore ; Unarmed and naked, the soldiers are slain — There's an enemy's gauntlet on Villeroy's rein — " A thousand pistoles and a regiment of horse — Release me, MacDonnell !" — they hold on their course. Count Merci has seized upon cannon and wall, Prince Eugene's head-quarters are in the Town-hall ! V. Here and there, through the city, some readier band. For honour and safety, undauntedly stand. At the head of the regiments of Dillon and Burke Is Major O'Mahouy, fierce as a Turk. 150 HISTORICAL BALLADS. His sabre is flashing — the major is dress'd, But muskets and shirts are the clothes of the rest ! Yet they rush to the ramparts, the clocks have tolled ten And Count Merci retreats with the half of his men. VI, " In on them !" said Friedberg — and DiUon is brokti, Like forest-flowers crushed by the fall of the oak ; Through the naked battalions the cuirassiers go ; — But the man, not the dress, makes the soldier, I trow. Upon them with grapple, with bay'net, and ball, Like wolves upon gaze-hounds, the Irishmen fall — Black Friedberg is slain by O'Mahonys steel, And back from the bullets the cuirassiers reel. VII. Oh ! hear you their shout in your quarters, Eugene ? In vain on Prince Vaudemont for succour you lean ! The bridge has been broken, and, mark ! how, pell-mell, Come riderless horses, and volley, and yell ! — He's a veteran soldier — he clenches his hands, He springs on his horse, disengages his bands — He rallies, he urges, till, hopeless of aid. He is chased through the gates by the Irish Brigade, via. News, news, in Vienna ! — King Leopold's sad. News, news, in St. James's ! — King William is mad. News, news, in Versailles ! — " Let the Irish Brigade Be loyally honoured, and royally paid." News, news, in old Ireland ! — higli rises her pride, And high sounds her wail for her children who died, And deep is her prayer : " God send I may see MacDoniiuU and Mahony figliting for nie !" THE FLOWER OF FINAE. 151 THE FLOWER OF FINAE. I. Bright red is the sun on the waves of Lough Sheelin A cool, gentle breeze from the mountain is stealing, A\Tiile fair round its islets the small ripples play, But fairer than all is the Flower of Finae. Her hair is like night, and her eyes like grey morning. She trips on the heather as if its touch scorning, Yet her heart and her lips are as mild as May day, Sweet Eily MacMahon, the Flower of Finae. III. But who down the hill-side than red deer runs fleeter 1 And who on the lake side is hastening to greet her ] Who but Fergus O'Farrell, the fiery and gay, The darling and pride of the Flower of Finae ] IV. One kiss and one clasp, and one wild look of gladness ; Ah ! why do they change on a siidden to sadness ? — He has told his hard fortune, no more he can stay, He must leave his poor Eily to pine at Finae. For Fergus O'Farrell was true to his sire-land. And the dark hand of tyranny drove him from Ireland; He joins the Brigade, in the wars far away. But he vows he'U come back to the Flower of Finae. 152 HISTORICAL BALLADS. VI. He fought at Cremona — she hears of his story ; He fought at Cassano — she's proud of his glory ; Yet sadly she sings Siuhhail a riiin* all the day, " Oh ! come, come, my darling, come home to Finae." VII. Eight long years have passed, till she's nigh broken- hearted, Her reel, and her rock, and her flax she has parted ; She sails with the " Wild Geese" to Flanders away. And leaves her sad parents alone in Finae. VIIL Lord Clare on the field of Ramillies is charging — Before liim, the Sacsanach squadrons enlarging — Behind him the Cravats their sections display — Beside him rides Fergus and shouts for Finae. IX. On the slopes of La Judoigne the Frenchmen are flying. Lord Clare and his squadrons the foe still defying. Outnumbered, and wounded, retreat in array ; And bleeding rides Fergus and thinks of Finae. X. In the cloisters of Ypres a banner is swaying. And by it a pale, weeping maiden is praying ; 1'liat flag's the sole trophy of Ramillies' fray ; This nun is poor Eily, the Flower of Finae. ♦ Sliulc aroon. THE GIEL I LEFT BEHIND ME. 153 THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME. I. The dames of France are fond and free, And Flemish lips are "willing, And soft the maids of Italy, And Spanish eyes are thrilling ; Still, though I bask beneath their smile, Their charms fail to bind me, And my heart flies back to Erin's isle, To the gui I left behind me. II. For she's as fair as Shannon's side. And purer than its water, But she refused to be my bride. Though many a year I sought her ; Yet since to France I sailed aAvay, Her letters oft remind me That I promised never to gainsay The girl I left behind me. III. She says — " My own dear love, come home, My friends are rich and many, Or else abroad Avith you I'll roam A soldier stout as any ; If you'll not come, nor let me go, I'll think you have resigned me." Mj' heart nigh broke when I answered — No ! To the girl I left behind me. 154 HISTORICAL BALLADS. IV. For never shall my true love brave A life of war and toiHng ; And never as a skulking slave I'LL tread my native soil on ; But, were it free or to be freed, The battle's close would find me To Ireland bound — nor message need From the girl I left behind me. CLARE'S DRAGOONS.* AiK. — Vivn la When, on Ramillies' bloody field. The battled French were forced to yield, The victor Saxon backward reeled Before the charge of Clare's Dragoons. The Flags, we conquered in that fray, Look lone in Ypres' clioir, they say, AVe'll Avin them company to-day. Or bravely die like Clare's Dragoons. CHORUt'. Viva la, for Ireland's wrong ! Viva la, for Ireland's right ! Viva la, in battle throng, For a Spanish steed, and sabre bright ! • I'ide Alipemlix xiv. Clare's dragoons. -155 The brave old lord died near the fight, But, for each drop he lost that night, A Saxon cavalier shall bite The dust before Lord Clare's Dragoons. For, never, when our spurs were set. And never, when our sabres met, Could we the Saxon soldiers get To stand the shock of Clare's Dragoons. CHORUS. Viva la, the New Brigade ! Viva la, the Old One, too ! Viva la, the rose shall fade, And the shamrock shine for ever new ! III. Another Clare is here to lead. The worthy son of such a breed ; The French expect some famous deed, When Clare leads on his bold Dragoons. Our colonel comes from Brian's race, His wounds are in his breast and face, The hearna baoghail* is still his i)lace, The foremost of his bold Dragoons. CHORUS. Viva la, the New Brigade ! Viva, la, the Old One, too ! Viva la, the rose shall fade, And the Shamrock shine for ever new ! * Gap of danger. 156 HISTOEICAL BALLADS. rv. There's not a man in squadron here Was ever known to flinch or fear ; Though first in charge and last in rere, Have ever been Lord Chare's Dragoons ; But, see ! we'll soon have work to do, To shame our boasts, or prove them tnie, For hither comes the English crew, To sweep away Lord Clare's Dragoons, CHORUS. Viva la, for Ireland's wrong ! Viva la, for Ireland's right ! Viva la, in battle throng. For a Spanish steed and sabre bright ! Oh ! comrades ! think how Ireland pines, Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines, Her dearest hope, the ordered lines, And bursting charge of Clare's Dragoons. Then fling your Green Flag to the sky, Be Limerick your battle-cry, And charge, till blood floats fetlock- high. Around the track of Clare's Dragoons ! CHORUS. Viva la, the New Brigade ! Viva la, the Old One, too ! Viva la, the rose shall fade, And the Shamrock shine for ever new ! WHEN SOUTH WINDS BLOW, 157 WHEN SOUTH WINDS BLOW. Air.— TTie gentle Maiden. I. Why sits the gentle maiden there, While surfing billows splash around 1 Why doth she southwards wildly stare, And sing, with such a fearful sound — " The Wild Geese fly where others walk ; The Wild Geese do what others talk — The way is long fi-om France, you knoAv — He'll come at last when south winds blow." II. Oh ! softly was the maiden nurst In Castle Connell's lordly towers, "NATiere SkeUig's billows boil and burst, And, far above, Dunkerron towers ; And she was noble as the hiU — Yet battle-flags are nobler still : And she was graceful as the wave — Yet who would live a tranquil slave 1 HI. And, so, her lover went to France, To serve the foe of Ireland's foe ; Yet deep he swore — " Whatever chance, " rU come some day when south, winds blow." 158 HISTORICAL BALLADS. And prouder hopes he told beside, How she should be a prince's bride, How Louis would the Wild Geese* send, And Ireland's weary woes should end. IV. But tyrants quenched her father's hearth. And wrong and absence warped her mind ; The gentle maid, of gentle birth, Is moaning madly to the "wind — " He said he'd come, whate'er betide ; He said I'd be a happy bride ; Oh ! long the way and hard the foe — He'll come when south — when south winds bloAv !" THE BATTLE EVE OF THE BRIGADE. AiK — Contented J am. I. The mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set, And the gallant Count Thomond is president yet ; The vet'ran arose, like an uplifted lance, Crying — " Comrades, a health to the monarch of France !'' With bumpers and cheers they have done as he bade, For King Louis is loved by The Irish Brigade. * The recruiting for the Brigade ^s•as carried on in the French ships ■\vhicli smuggled brandies, wines, silks, Ac, to the western and south- western cimsts. Their return cargoes were recruits for tlie Brigade, and were entered in their books as \Vild (icese. Hence this became the com) on name in Irchind for tlic Irish serving in the Brigade. The recruiting was cliiefly from Clare, Limerick, Cork, Kerry, and Galway. BATTLE EVE OF THE BRIGADE. 159 II. " A hetalth to King James," and they bent as they quaffed, " Here's to George the Elector," and fiercely they laughed, " Good luck to the girls we wooed long ago, Where Shannon, and Barrow, and Blackwater flow ;" " God prosper Old Ireland," — you'd think them afraid. So pale grew the chiefs of The Irish Brigade. " But, surely, that light cannot come from our lamp ? And that noise — are they all getting drunk in the camp T " Hurrah ! boys, the morning of battle is come, And the generale's beating on many a drum." So they rush from the revel to join the parade : For the van is the right of The Irish Brigade. They fought as they revelled, fast, fiery, and true, And, though victors, they left on the field not a few ; And they, who survived, fought and drank as of yore. But the land of their heart's hope they never saw more ; For in far foreign fields!, from Dunkirk to Belgrade, Lie the soldiers and chiefs of The Irish Brigade. 160 HISTORICAL BALLADS. FONTENOY* 1745. Thrice, at the liiits of Fontenoy, tlie English cohinin failed, And, twice, the lines of Saint Antoine, the Dutch in vain assailed ; For town and slope were filled with fort and flanking battery, And well they swept the English ranks, and Dutch aiixiliarj^ As vainly, through De Barri's wood, the British soldiers burst, The French artillery drove them back, diminished, and dispersed. The bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld with anxious eye. And ordered up his last reserve, his latest chance to try, On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, how fast his generals ride ! And mustering come his chosen troops, like clouds at eventide. II. Six thousand English veterans in stately column tread, Their cannon blaze in front and flank. Lord Hay is at their head ; • J'tc/c Aiiiieiulix xiv. FONTENOY. 161 Steady they step a-down the slope — steady tliey climb the hill; Steady they load — steady they fire, moving right on- "vvard still, Betwdxt the wood and Fontenoy, as through a furnace blast, Through rampart, trench, and palisade, and bullets showei-ing fast ; And on the open plain above they rose, and kept their course, With ready fire and grim resolve, that mocked at hostUe force : Past Fontenoy, past Fontenoy, while thinner grow their ranks — They break, as broke the Zuyder Zee through Hol- land's ocean banks. III. More idly than the summer flies, French tirailleurs rush round ; As stubble to the lava tide, French squadrons strew the ground ; Bomb-shell, and grape, and round-short tore, still on they marclied and fired — Fast, from each volley, grenadier and voltigeur re- tired. " Push on, my household cavalry !" King Loviis madly cried : To death they rush, but rude their shock — not un- avenged thoy died. On through the camp the column trod — King Louis turns his rein : "Not yet, my liege," Saxe interposed, "the Irish troops remain ;" L 162 HISTORICAL BALLADS. And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been a Waterloo, Were not these exiles ready then, fresh, vehement, and tnie. IV. "Lord Clare," he says, " you have your wish ; there are yonr Saxon foes !" The Marshal almost smiles to see, so furiously he goes ! How fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont to be so gay, The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-day — The treaty broken, ere the ink A^'herewith 'tAvas writ could dry. Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's parting cry, Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their coun- try' overthrown — Each looks as if revenge for all were staked on him alone. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere, Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were. V. O'Brien's voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he commands, " Fix bay'nets ! — charge !" Like mountain storm, rush on these fiery bands ! Thin is the English column now, and faint their volleys grow, Yet, must'ring all the strength they have, they make a gallant show. FONTENOY. 1G3 They dross tlieir ranks upon tlie hill to face that battle-wind — Their baj'oiiets the breakers' foam ; like rocks, the men behind ! One volley crashes from their line, when, through the surging smoke, With empty guns clutched in their hands, the head- long Irish broke. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, hark to that fierce huzza ! " llevenge ! remember Limerick ! dash down the Sacsanach !" VI. Like lions leaping at a fold, when mad with hunger's pang, Right up againsb the English line the Irish exiles sprang : Bright was their steel, 'tis bloody noAv, their guns arc tilled with gore ; Through shattered ranks, and severed files, the trampled flags they tore ; The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, staggered, fled — The green hill-side is matted close with dying and with dead. Across the plain, and far away passed on that hideous wrack. While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun. With bloody plumes, the Irish stand — the field is fought and won ! 164 niSTOEICAL BALLADS. THE DUNGANNON CONVENTION 17S2. The churcli of Dungannon is full to the door, And sabre and spur clash at times on the floox", While helmet and shako are ranged all along. Yet no book of devotion is seen in the throng. In the front of the altar no minister stands, But the crimson-clad chief of these warrior bands ; And, though solemn the looks and the voices around, You'd listen in vain for a litany's sound. Say ! what do they hear in the temple of prayer ? Oh ! why in the fold has the lion his lair ] Sad, wounded, and wan was the face of our isle, By English oppression, and falsehood, and guile ; Yet when to invade it a foreign fleet steered, To guard it for England the North volunteered. From the citizen-soldiers the foe fled aghast — Still they stood to tlieir guns when the danger had past, For the voice of America came o'er the wave, Crying : Woe to the tyrant, and hope to the slave ! Indignation and sliame tlii-ough their regiments speed : They have arms in their hands, and what more do they need ] III. O'er the green hills of Ulster tlieir banners are spread, The cities of Leiuster resound to their tread, THE DUNGANNON CONVENTION. 165 The vallcj's of ^lunster with ardour are stirred, And the i)hiius of wild Connaught their bugles have heard ; A Protestant front-rank and Catholic rere — For — forbidden the arms of freemen to bear — Yet foenian and friend are full sure, if need be. The slave for his country will stand by the free. By green flags supported, the Orange flags wave, And the soldier half turns to unfetter the slave ! IV. More honoured that church of Dungannon is now, Than wheii at its altar communicants bow ; More welcome to heaven than anthem or prayer. Are the rites and the thoughts of the warriors there ; In the name of all Ireland the Delegates swore : " We've sufi"ered too long, and we'll suiFer no more — Uncon(iuered by Force, we were vanquished by Fraud ; And now, in God's temple, Ave vow unto God, That never again shall the Englishman bind His chains on our limbs, or his laws on our mind." V. The church of Dungannon is empty once more — No plumes on the altar, no clash on the floor. But the councils of England are fluttered to see, In the cause of their country, the Irish agree ; So they give as a boon what they dare not withhold, And Ireland, a nation, leaps up as of old. With a name, and a trade, and a flag of her own, And an army to flglit for the people and throne. But woe worth the day if to falsehood or fears She surrenders the guns of her brave Volunteers ! 166 HISTORICAL BALLAD3. SONG OF THE VOLUNTEERS OF 1782. AiR—lTie Boyne Water. I. Hurrah ! 'tis done —our freedom's won — Hurrah. ! for the Volunteers ! No laws we own, but those alone Of our Commons, King, and Peers. The chain is broke — the Saxon yoke From off our neck is taken ; Ireland awoke — Dungannon spoke — With fear was England shaken. XL When Grattan rose, none dared oppose The claim he made for freedom : They knew our swords, to back liis words, Were ready, did he need them. Then let us raise, to Grattan's praise, A proud and joyous anthem ; And wealth, and grace, and length of days, May God, in mercy, grant him ! III. Bless Harry Flood, who nobly stood By us, through gloomy years ! Bless Charlemont, the brave and good. The Chief of the Volunteers ! The North began ; the North held on The strife for native land ; Till Ireland rose, and cowed her foes — God bless the Northern land ! THE MEN OF 'EIGHTY-TWO. 167 IV. And bless the men of patriot pen — Swift, Molyncux, and Lucas ; Bless sword and gun, which " Free Trade " won, Bless God ! who ne'er forsook us ! And long may last, the friendship fast, Wliich biiKls us all together ; While we agree, our foes shall flee Like clouds in stormy weather. Remember still, through good and ill, How vain were prayers and tears — How vain were woids, till flashed the swords Of the Irish Volunteers. By arms we've got the rights we sought Through long and wretched years — Hurrah ! 'tis done, our Freedom's won — Hurrah ! for the Volunteers ! THE MEN OF 'EIGHTY-TWO. Am— An Cruisgin Lan. I. To rend a cruel chain, To end a foreign reign, The swords of the Volunteers were drawn. And instant from their sway. Oppression fled away ; So we'll drink them in a cruisgin Idn, Idn, Idn, We'U drink them in a cruisgin Idn ! l^eS HISTORICAL BALLADS. 11. Witliin tliat host were seen The Orange, Bhie, and Green — The Bishop for its coat left his lawn — The peasant and the lord Ranked in with one accord, Like brothers at a cruisgin kin, Idn, Idn, Like brothers at a cruisgin Idn !. IIL With liberty there came Wit, eloquence, and fame ; Our feuds went hke mists from the dawn ; Old bigotry disdained — Old privilege retained — • Oh ! sages, fill a cruisgin Idn, Idn, Idn, And, boys ! fill up a cruisgin Idn ! IV. The trader's coffers filled, The barren lands were tilled. Our ships on the waters thick as spawn — Prosperity broke forth. Like summer in the north — Ye merchants ! fill a cruisgin Idn, Idn, Idn, Ye farmers ! tiU a cruisgin Idn ! Tlic memory of that day 81iall never pass away, Tho' its fame shall be yet outshone ; THE MEN OF 'EIGHTY- TWO. 169 We'll grtave it on our shrines, AVe'll sliout it in our lines — Old Ireland ! fill a cruisghi kin, Idn, Idn, Young Ireland ! fill a cnusgin Idn t vr. And drink— The Volunteers, Their generals, and seers, Their gallantry, their genius, and their brawn, With water, or with wine — The draught is but a sign — The purpose fills the cruisrfm km, Idn, Idn, This purpose fiUs the cruisgin Idn ! VII. That, ere Old Ireland goes, And while Young Ireland glows, The swords of our sires be girt on, And loyally renew The work of 'Eighty-Two — Oh ! gentlemen — a cruisgin kin, Idn, Idn, Our freedom ! in a cruisgin Idn ! 170 HISTORICAL BALLADS. NATIVE SWORDS. A VOLUNTEER SONG. — IST JULY, 1792. Aiu — Boyne Water. I. We've bent too long to braggart wrong, While force our prayers derided : We've fought too long, ourselves among, By knaves and priests divided. United now, no more we'll bow, Foul faction we discard it ; And now, thank God ! our native sod Has Native Swords to guard it. IL Like rivers, which, o'er valleys rich, Bring ruin in their water. On native land, a native hand Flung foreign fraud and slaughter. From Dermod's crime to Tudor's time Our clans were our perdition ; Keligiou's name, since then, became Our pretext for division, IIL But, worse than all, with Lim'rick's fidl Our valour seem'd to perish ; Or, o'er the main, in France and Spain, For bootless vengeance flourish. The peasant here grew pale, for fear He'd sufl'er for our glory, AVhile P' ranee sang joy for Fontenoy, And Europe hymned our story. tone's geavk 171 IV. But, now, no clan, nor factious phan, The East and West can sunder — Why Ulster e'er should Munster fear, Can only wake our wonder. Religion's crost, when union's lost, And " royal gifts " retard it ; But now, thank God ! our native sod Has Native Swords to guard it. TONE'S GRAVE. In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave, And wildly along it the winter Avinds rave ; Small shelter, I ween, are the ruined walls there, WTien the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kildare. II. Once I lay on that sod— it lies over Wolfe Tone — And thought how he perished in prison alone. His friends unavenged, and his country unfreed — " Oh, bitter," I said, " is the patriot's meed ; III. IFor in him the heart of a woman combined 'With a heroic life, and a governing nund — A. martyr for Ireland — his grave has no stone — IHis name seldom named, and his virtues unknown." 172 HISTORICAL BALLADS. IV. I was woke from my dream by tlie voices and tread Of a band, who came into the home of the dead ; They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone, And they stopped when they came to the grave of Yy^olf Tone. V. There were students and peasants, the wise and the brave, And an old man who knew him from cradle to grave, And children who thought me hard-hearted ; for they, On that sanctified sod, were forbidden to play. VI. But the old man, who saw I was mourning tliere, said : " We come, sii-, to weep where young Wolfe Tone is laid. And we're going to raise him a monument, too — A plain one, yet tit for the simple and true." My hcai-t overflowed, and I clasped his old hand. And I blessed him, and blessed every one of his band \ " Sweet ! sweet ! 'tis to find that such faith can remain To the cause, and the man so long vanquished and slain." VIII. In Bodciistown Churchyard tlicre is a green grave. And freely around it let winter winds rave — Far better they suit him — the ruin and gloom, — Till Ireland, a Nation, can build him a tomr. PART V. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. "Nationality is no longer an unmeaning or despised name among us. It is welcomed by the higlior nmlis, it is tlie inspiration of ttie bold, and the hope of the people. It is the summary name for many things. It seeks a Literature made by Irishmen, and coloured by our scenery, manners, and character. It desires to see Art applied to ex- preis Irish tlioughts and belief. It would make our Music sound in every parish at twilight, our Pictures sprinkle the walls of every house, and our Poetry and History sit at every hearth. "It would tlius create a race of men full of a more inten.sely Iri.aid us back witli tyrant laws, ^nd tliinned The Homes of Tipperary. A PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS. 193 III. Too long, with rash and single arm, The peasant strove to guard his eyrie. Till Irish blood bedewed each farm, And Ireland wept for Tipperary. IV. But never more we'll lift a hand — We swear by God and Virgin Mary ! Except in war for Native Land, And that's The Vow of Tipperary ! A PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS. I. " Base Bog-trotters," says the Times, " Brown with mud, and black with crimes, Turf and lumpers dig betimes (We grant you need 'em), But never lift your heads sublime, Nor talk of Freedom." II. Yet, Bog-trotters, sirs, be sure. Are strong to do, and to endure, Men whose blows are hard to cure — Brigands ! what's in ye. That the fierce man of the moor Can't stand again ye 1 194 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IIL The common drains in jNIuslira moss Are wider than a castle fosse, Connaught swamps are hard to cross, And histories boast That Allen's Bog has caused the loss Of many a host. IV. Oh ! were you in an Irish bog, Full of pikes, and scarce of prog, You'd wish your Times-&Mp was incog. Or far away, Though Saxons, thick as London fog, Around you lay. A SECOND PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS. I. The 3fail says, that Hanover's King Twenty Thousand men will bring. And make the " base bog-trotters sing A pillieu ; And that O'Connell high shall swing, And others too. IT. There is a tale of Athens told. Worth at least its weight in gold To fellows of King Ernest's mould, (The royal rover). Who think men may be bought and sold, Or ridden over. A SECOND PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS. 195 III. Darius (an Imperial wi'etch A Persian Ernest, or Jack Ketch,) Bid his knaves from Athens fetch " Earth and water," Or else the herald's neck he'd stretch. And Athens slaughter. IV. The Athenians threw them in a well, And left them there to help themsel', And when his armies came, pell-mell. They tore his banners. And sent his slaves in shoals to hell. To mend their manners. Let those who bring and those who send Hanoverians, comprehend Persian-like may be their end, And the " bog-trotter " May drown their knaves, their banners rend, Their armies slaughtoi-. 196 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A SCENE IN THE SOUTH. I. I "WAS walking along in a pleasant place, In the county Tipperary ; The scene smiled as happy as the holy face Of the Blessed Virgin Mary ; And the trees were proud, and the sward was green And the birds sang loud in the leafy scene. Yet somehow I felt strange, and soon I felt sad, And then I felt very lonely ; I pondered in vain why I was not glad, In a place meant for pleasure only : For I thought that grief had never been there. And that sin would as lief to heaven repair. IIL And a train of spirits seemed passing me by, The air grew as heavy as lead ; I looked for a cabin, yet none could I spy In the pastures about me spread ; Yet each field seemed made for a peasant's cot, And I felt dismayed whan I saw them not. IV. As I stayed on the field, I saw — Oh, my God ! The marks where a cabin had been : Through the midst of the fields, some feet of the sod Were coarser and far less green, A SCENE IN THE SOUTH. 197 And three or four trees in the centre stood, But they seemed to freeze iu their solitude. V. Surely here was the road that led to the cot, For it ends just beneath the trees, And the trees like mourners are watching the spot, And cronauning \Adth the breeze ; And their stems are bare with children's play. But the children — where, oh ! where are they ] An old man unnoticed had come to my side, His hand in my arm linking — A reverend man, without haste or pride — And he said : — " I know what you're thinking ; " A cabin stood once underneath the trees, " Full of kindly ones— but alas ! for these ! " A loving old couple, and tho' somewhat poor, " Their cliildren had leisure to play ; " And the piper, and stranger, and beggar were sure " To bless them in going away ; " But the tyi)hus came, and the agent too — " AJi ! need I name the woi'st of the two 1 VIII. " Their cot was unroofed, yet they strove to hide " In its walls till the fever was passed ; "Their crime was found out, and the cold ditch side " Was their hospital at last : 198 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. " Slowly they went to poor-house and grave, " But the Lord they bent to, their souls will save. IX. "And thro' many a field you passed, and will pass, " In his lordling's ' cleared ' demesne, " ^Vhere households as happy were once — hut, alasl " They, too, are scattered or slain." Then he pressed my hand, and he went away : I could not stand, so I knelt to pray : X. "God of justice!" I sighed, "send your spirit down " On these lords so cruel and proud, " And soften their hearts, and relax their frown, " Or else" I cried aloud — " Vouchsafe thy strength to the peasant's hand " To drive them at length from off the land !"* * The scene is a mere actual landscape which I saw. WILLIAM TELL. 199 WILLIAM TELL AND THE GENIUS OF SWITZERLAND.* I. Tell. — You have no fears, !My native land ! Then dry your tears, And draw your brand. A million made a vow To free you. — Wherefore, now, Tears again, my native land 1 u. Genius, — I weep not from doubt, I weep not for dread ; There's strength in your shout, And trust in your tread. I weep, for I look for the coming dead, AVho for Liberty's cause shall die ; And I hear a wail from the wido'\\"'s bed Come mixed with our triumph-cry. Though dire my woes, yet how can I Be calm when I know such suffering's nigh ? * Just before the insurrection whieli expelled tlie Austrians, Tell and some of his brother conspirators spent a night on the shore of the Underwald Lake, consulting for liberty ; and while they were thus engaged, the genius of Switzerland appeared to them, and she was armed, but weeping. "Why weep you, mother?" said Tell; and she answered : " I see dead patriots, and hear their orphans wailing." And he said again to her: "The tyrant kills us with his prisons and taxes, and poisons onr air with his presence ; war-death is better." And she said : " It is better." And the cloud passed from her brow, and she gave him a spear, and bade him conquer. 200 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IIL Tell. — Death comes to all, My native land ! AVeep not their fall — A glorious band ! Famine and slavery Slaughter more cruelly Than Battle's blood-covered hand ! IV. Genius. — Yes, and all glory Shall honour their grave, With shrine, song, and story, Denied to the slave. Thus pride shall so mingle with sorrow, Their wives half their weeping will stay ; And their sons long to tempt on the morrow The death they encounter to-day. Then away, sons, to battle away ! Draw the sword, lift the flag, and away ! THE EXILE. PARAPHRASKD FROM THE FRENCH. 1. I've passed througli tlie nations unheeded, iinknown ; Though all looked upon me, none called me their own. I shared not iheir laughter— tlioy cared not my moan— - For, all ! the poor exile is always alone. THE EXILE. 201 II. At eve, when the smoke from some cottage uprose, I low liapjiy I've tlioiiglit, at the weary clay's close. With his dearest ai'ouud, must the peasant repose ; But, ah ; the poor exile is always alone. Where hasten those clouds'? to the land or the sea — Driven on by the tempest, poor exiles, like me 1 What matter to either where either shall flee ] i'oY, ah i the poor exile is always alone. IV. Those trees they are beauteous — those flowers they are fair ; P>ut no trees and no flowers of ray country are there. They speak not unto me — they heed not my care ; For, ah ! the poor exile is always alone. V. That brook murmui-s softly its way through the plain ; But the brooks of my childhood had not the same strain, It reminds me of nothing — it murmurs in vain ; For, ah ! the poor exile is always alone. VI, Sweet are those songs, but their sweetness or sorrow No charm from the songs of my infancy borrow, I hear them to-day and forget them to-morrow ; For, ah ! the poor exile is always alone. 202 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VIL They've asked me, " Why weep you 1" I've told them my woe — They listed my words, as the rocks feel the snow. No sympathy bound us ; how could their tears flow 1 For, sure the poor exile is always alone. VIIL When soft on their chosen the young maidens smile, Like the dawn of the morn on Erin's dear isle, With no love-smile to cheer me, I look on the while ; For, ah ! the poor exile is always alone. IX. Like boughs round the tree are those babes round their mother, And these friends, like its roots, clasp and grow to each other ; But, none call me child, and none call me brother : For, ah ! the poor exile is ever alone. X. Wives never clasp, and friends never smile, Mother's ne'er fondle, nor maidens beguile ; And happiness dwells not, except in our isle, — And so the poor exile is always alone. XI. Poor exile, cease grieving, for all are like you — Wec[)ing the banislied, the lovely, and true. Our country is Heaven — 'twill welcome you, too ; And cherish the exile, no longer alone ! MY HOME. 203 MY HOME. I HAVE dreamt of a home — a liappy home — The ficklest from it would not care to roam : 'Twas a cottage home on native ground, Where all things glorious clustered round — For highland glen and lowland plain Met within that small demesne. In sight is a tarn, with cliffs of fear, Where the eagle defies the mountaineer, And the cataract leaps in mad career, And through oak and holly roam the deer. On its brink is a ruined castle stern, — Tlie mountains are crowned with rath and cam, Robed with heather, and bossed with stone, And belted with a pine wood lone. Tlu-o' that mighty gap in the mountain chain, Oft,' like rivers after rain, Poured our clans on the conquered plain. And there, upon their harrassed rear, Oft pressed the Norman's bloody spear ; Men call it " the pass of the leaping deer." Wild is the region, yet gentle the spot — As you look on the roses, the rocks are forgot ; For garden gay, and primrose lawn Peep through the rocks, as thro' night comes dawn. 204 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, And see, by tliat burn the children play ; In tliat valley the village maidens stray, Listing the thrush and the robin's lay, Listing the burn sigh back to the breeze, And hoping — guess whom 1 'niong the thorn trees. Not yet, dear girls— on the uplands green Shepherds and flocks may still be seen. Freemen's toils, with fruit and grain. The valley fill, and clothe the plain ; There's the health which labour yields- Labour tilling its own fields. Freed at length from stranger lord — From his frown, or his reward — Each the owner of his land. Plenty springs beneath his hand. Meet these men on land or sea — Meet them in council, war, or glee ; Voice, glance, and mien, bespeak them free. Welcome greets you at their hearth ; Reverend they to age and worth ; Yet prone to jest and full of mirth. I'ond of song, and dance, and crowd* — Of harp, and pipe, and laughter loud ; Their lay of love is low and bland. Their wail for death is wild and grand ; Awful and lovely their song of fiame, AVhen they clash the choi'ds in the country's name. • Correctly rvuil, the Itisli name for llic violin. MY HOME. 205 They seek no courts, and own no sway, Save the counsels of their elders grey ; For holy love, and homely faitli, Rule their hearts in life and death. Yet their rifles would flash, and their sabres smite, And their pike-staffs redden in the fight, And young and old be swept away. Ere the stranger in their land should sway. But the setting sun, ere he sink in the sea, Flushes and flashes o'er crag and tree, Kisses the clouds with crimson sheen, And sheets with gold the ocean's green. Where the stately frigate lies in the bay. The friendly fleet of the Frenchmen lay. Yonder creek and yonder shore Echoed then the battle's roar ; Wliere, on slope after slope, the west sun shines. After the fight lay our conquering lines. The triumph, though great, had cost us dear ; And the wounded and dead were lying near — When the setting sun on our bivouac proud, Sudden burst through a riven cloud. An answering shout broke from our men — Wounds and toils were forgotten then. And dying men were heard to pray The light would last till they passed away — They wished to die on our triumph day. We honoured the omen, and thought on times gone And from chief to chief the word was passed on. The " harp on the green " our land flag should be, And the sun through clouds bursting, our flag at sea : 206 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The green borne harp o'er yon battery gleams, From the frigate's topgallant the " sunburst" streams. In that far-off isle a sainted sage Built a lowly hermitage, Where ages gone made pilgrimage. Over his grave with what weird delight, The grey trees swim in the flooding light ; How a halo clasps their solemn head. Like heaven's breath on the rising dead. Longing and languid as prisoned bird. With a powerless dream my heart is stirred. And I pant to pierce beyond the tomb, And see the light or share the gloom. But vainly for such power we pray, God wills — enough — let man obey. Two thousand years, 'mid sun and storm. That tall tower has lifted its mystic form. The yew-tree shadowing the aisle, 'Twixt airy arch and mouldering pile, And nigh the hamlet that chapel fair Shew religion has dwelt, and is dwelling there. While the Druid's crom-leac up the vale Tells how rites may change, and ci-eeds may fail Creeds may perish, and rites may fall. But tliat hamlet worships the God of all. In the land of the pious, free, and brave. Was the happy home that sweet dream gave. But tlie mirth, and l>eauty, and love that dwell Within that home— I may not te^L MY GRAVE. 207 MY GRAVE. Shall they bury me in the deep, Where Avind-forgetting waters sleep ? Shall they dig a grave for me, Under the green- wood tree ] Or on the wild heath, Where the wilder breath Of the storm doth blow ] Oh, no ! oh, no ! Shall they bury me in the Palace Tombs, Or imder the shade of Cathedral domes ] Sweet 'twere to lie on Italy's shore ; Yet not there — nor in Greece, though I love it more. In the wolf or the vulture my grave shall I find ? Shall my ashes career on the world-seeing wind 1 Shall they fling my corpse in the battle mound, Where coffinless thousands lie under the ground ] Just as they fall they are buried so — Oh, no ! oh, no ! No ! on an Irish green hill-side, On an opening lawn — but not too wide ; For I love the drip of the wetted trees — I love not the gales, but a gentle breeze, To freshen the turf — put no tombstone there, But green sods decked with daisies fair ; Nor sods too deep, but so that the dew, 208 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. The matted grass-roots may trickle througli. Be my epitaph writ on my country's mind, "He served his country, and loved his KIND." Oh ! 'twere merry unto the grave to go, If one were sure to be buried so. Ov yap he7'e mirth and minstrelsy Than Beara's wind rose louder, Are flung in masses lonelily, And black with English 2)oiuder. Poems, page 126. The destruction of O'SuUivan's Castle of Duuboy or Dunbwy, (correctly Dunhaoi or Dunhuidhe) is well described by Mr. Mitcliel. — Life of Aodh O'Neill, p. 216. "Mountjoy spent that spring in Munster, with the President, reducing those fortresses which still re- mained in the hands of the Irish, and fiercely crushing down every vestige of the national war. liichard Tyrrell, however, still kept the field ; and O'SuUivau Beare held his strong castle of Dun-buidhe, which he wrested from the Spaniards after Don Juan had stipulated to yield it to the enemy. This castle com- manded Bantry Bay, and was one of the most impor- tant fortresses in Munster ; and therefore Carew determined, at whatever cost, to make himself master of it. Dun-buidhe was but a square tower, with a court-yard and some out-works, and had but 140 men ; yet it was so strongly situated, and so bravely defended, that it held the Lord President and an army of four thousand men, with a great train of artillery and some shii)s of war, fifteen days before PATE OF TUE O'SULLIVAXS. 2^3 its AvalLs. After a breach was made, the stunning parties were twice driven back to their lines ; and even after the great hall of the castle was carried, the garrison, under their indomitable commander, ]\lac Geoghegan, held their ground in the vaults underneath for a whole day, and at last fairly beat the besiegers out of the hall The English cannon then played furiously upon the walls ; and the President swore to bury these obstinate Irish under the ruins. Again a desperate sortie was made by forty men — they were all slain ; eight of them leaped into the sea to save themselves by swinuning ; but Carew, anticipating this, had stationed Captain Harvy, ' with three boats to keepe the sea, but had the killing of them all ;' and at last, after ^Mac Geoghegan was mortally wounded, the remnant of the garrison laid down their arms. Mac Geoghegan lay, bleeding to death, on the floor of the vault ; ' yet when he saw the besiegers admitted, he raised himself up, snatched a lighted torch, and staggered to an open powder barrel— one moment, and the castle, with all it contained, would have rushed skyward in a pyramid, of Hame, when suddenly an English soldier seized him in his arms : he Avas killed on the spot, and all the rest were shortly after executed. 'The whole number of the ward,' says Carew, ' consisted of one hundred and ft)rty-three selected men, being the best choice of all their forces, of which not one man escaped, but were either slain, executed, or buried in the ruins ; and so obstinate a defence hath not been seen within this kingdom.' Perhaps some will think that the survivors of so brave a band deserved a better fate than hanging." 234 APPENDIX. XII. LAMENT FOR OWEN ROE O'NEILL. Poems, page 133. This poem was issued by the author with the follow- ing explanatory sketch : — " In 1 649, the country being exhausted, Owen made a truce with ]\Ionk, Coote, and the Independents — a truce observed on both sides, though Monk was severely censured by the English Parliament for it. — {Journals, lOth August, 1-649.) On its expiration, O'Neill concluded a treaty with Ormoiul, 12th October, 1649 ; raid so eager was he for it, that ere it was signed, he sent over 3,000 men, under Major- General O'Farrell, to join Onnond, (which they did October 25th.) Owen himself strove with all haste to follow, to encounter Cromwell, who had marched south after the sack of Drogheda. But fate and an unscrupulous foe forbade. Poison, it is believed, had been given him either at Dei-ry or shortly after. His constitution struggled with it for some time ; slowly and sinking he marched through Tyrone and Monag- han into Cavan, and, — anxiously looked for by Ormond, O'Farrell, and the southern corps and army, — lingered till the 6th of November (St. Leo- nard's feast), when he died at Clough Onghter Castle, — then the seat of Maelmorra O'Reilly, and situated on a rock in Lough Onghter, some six miles west of Cavan. He was buried, says Carte, in Cavan Abbey ; Imt report says his sepulchre was concealed, LAMENT FOR OWEN ROE o'nEILL. 235 lest it should be violated by the English. The news of his death reached Oimond's camp when the Duke was i)reparing to fight Cromwell, — when Owen's genius and soldiers were most needed. AU writers (even to the sceptical Dr. O'Conor, of Stowe) admit that had Owen lived, he would have saved Ireland. His gallantry, his infiiicnce, liis genius, his soldiers, all cttnibine to render it probable. The rashness with which the stout bishop, Ebher ^Mac Mahon, led 4,000 of Owen's veterans to death at Letterkenny, the year after ; and the way in which Ormond frittered away the strength of O'Farrell's division (though l,2(iO of them slew "2,000 of Cromwell's men in the breach at CMonmel), — and the utter prostration which followed, showed Ireland how great was her loss when Owen died. " O'Farrell, Red Hugh O'Neill, and Mac Mahon, were Ulster generals ; Audley, Lord Castlehaven, and Preston, commanded in the south and east ; the Marquis of Clanrickarde was president of Con- naught." Mr. Dftvis grounded his stiuizas on a pojjular belief which not only prevailed at the time of Owen lioe's death, but subse([uently became incorporated with the facts of history, that the general died by poison given him at a bancpiet in I )erry. This treachery, however, had no just foundation. The exact circumstances connected with Owen's death were first made known to the public by the researches of the Ilev. C. P. Meehan, to whom the civil history of his country is more indebted than even the ecclesiastical, and for whose labours there is one reward — a durable and glorious name. In a M.S. preserved in Trinity Col- 236 APPENDIX. lege, and written by a contemporary of tlic great chieftain, Father Meehan discovered the first authen- tic particulars connected with his decease and brought them to light in the first number of this Series. But in that beautiful and charming volume — one of the most remarkable ever published — " The Flight of the Earls," the author gratifies the most anxious curiosity respecting the hero's fate, by reprinting, from the original in the State Paper Office, a letter written by the dj-ing chieftain to the Marquis of Ormonde. As to the nature of his disease thei"e existed an uncertainty Avith the patient and his medical attendant. lie com- plained chiefly of pains in the knees, and it is ]n'obable that they had their origin in some acute rheumatic or gouty ailment. He was buried in the Franciscan Convent, Cavan ; see Flight of the Earls, p. 472. xrii. A EALLY FOPt IRELAND. Poems, page 135. There is no period in Irish, or in English History, which has been so much misrepresented, or of which so utterly discordant opinions are still entertained, as the Revolution of 1088 — 91. The English history of that revolution has been elaborately sifted, and its hidden causes successively dragged to light, by men of remarkable emiuence in literature and in politics. It A RALLY FOR IRELAND. 237 is si:fficient to mention in England, Mr. Fox, Sir James jNIackintosli, Mr. Hallam, Dr. Lingard, and Mr. Ward ; — in France, I\[. Thierry {Historical Essays, No. VI.,) I\I. Carrel, and j\I. De i\Iazire, — and among Irishmen, i\Ir. W. Wallace, {Conti)iuation of Mackin- toslis History,) and !Mr. Torrens Mac Cnllagh, (Articles in the Xorth of England Magazine, for 18i2, and in the Dublin Magazine, for 1843.) A minute study of some at least of these writers — Mr. Wallace's history is, perhaps, on the whole, the fairest and most compre- hensive — is indispensable to a correct understanding of the Irish question. In the Dublin Magazine, for 1843, January to April, jMr. Davis devoted a series of papers to a critical examination of some of the Irish authorities, on this subject, principally in regard to the Irish Parliament of 11)8!). His aim was to vindicate the character of tliat legislature, and to refute some of the most glaring falsehoods which had hitherto, by dint of impudent re-assertion, pas.sed almost unquestioned by Irishmen of every shade of political opinion. Falsehoods of a more injurious tendency have never been current among a people ; and the effort to expose them was with !Mr. Davis, a labour of zeal and love ; for he knew well how much of the religious dissension which has been and is the ruin of Ireland, took its rise from, and stands rooted in, erroneous conceptions of that time. To these papers the reader is referred, who is anxious to form an accurate, and withal a national judgment of the cardinal crisis in Irish History. How high the hopes of Ireland were at the com mencement of this struggle, and how she cherished 238 APPENDIX. afterwards the memories and hopes bequeathed from it, is abundantly illustrated by the Jacobite Relics in Mr. liardinian's Irisli 2Iinstrelsu, and in the more lecrecent coition by !Mr. Daly. XTV. BALLADS AND SONGS OF THE BRIGADE. Poems, p. 144. So considerable a space in this volume is occupied by poems, founded on the adventures and services of the Irish Brigade, that it seemed right to include here the following sketchy written by 'Ms. Davis in the year 1844 :— HISTORICAL SKETCH OF THE IRISH BRIGADE. INTRODUCTION. The foreign military achievements of the Irish began on their own account. They conquered and colonized Scotland, frequently oven-an England during and after the Roman dominion there, and more than once penetrated into Gaid. ] )uring the time of the Danish invasion, they had enough to do at home. The pro- gress of the English contiuest brought them again to SKETCH OF THE IRISH BRIGADE. 239 })attle on foreign ground. It is a melancholy fact that in the brigades wherewith Edward I. ravaged, Scotland, there were numbers of Irish and Welsh. Yet Scotland may be content ; Wales and Ireland suffered from the same baseness. The sacred heights of Snowdon (the Parnassus of Wales) were first forced by Gascon mountaineers, w^hose independence had perished ; and the Scotch did no small share of blood- work for England here, from the time of Monro's defeats in the seventeenth century, to the Fencible victories over drunken peasants in 1798. In these le^des of Edward I., as in those of his son, were numbers of native Irish. The Connaught clans in particular seem to have served these Plan- tagencts. From Edward Bruce's invasion, the English control was so broken ihat the Irish clans ceased to serve altogether, and indeed, shortly after, made many of the Anglo-Irish pay them tribute. But the lords of the Pale took an active and prominent part in the wars of the Roses ; and their vassals shared the victories, the defeats, and the carnage of the time. In the continental wars of Edward III. and Henry V., the Norman-Irish served with much distinction. Henry VIII. demanded of the Irish government 2,000 men, 1,000 of whom were, if possible, to be gunners, i. e. armed with matchlocks. The services of these Irish during the short war in France, and especially at the siege of Boulogne, are well known. At the submission of Ireland in 1603, O'Sullivan Bearra, and some others excepted from the amnesty, took service and obtained high rank in Spain ; and 240 APPENDIX. after the flight of O'Neill and O'Donnell in 1607, numbers of Irish crowded into all the Continental services. We find them holding commissions in Spain, France, Austria, and Italy. Scattered among ''''Strafford's Letters" various indications are discoverable of the estimation in which the Irish were held as soldiers in foreign services during the early part of the seventeenth century. The Spanish government in particular seems to have been extremely desirous of enlisting in Ireland, their own troops at that time being equal, if not superior, to any in the world, especially their infantry. Nor were the Irish troops less active for the English king. Strafford had increased the Irish army. These he paid regularly, clothed Avell, and frequently " drew out in large bodies." He meant to oppress, but dis- cipline is a precious thing, no matter who teaclies it — a Strafford or a Wellington ; and during the wars which followed 1641, some of these troops he had raised, served Ireland. In 1639, Avhen the first row with the Scotch took place, Wentworth was able to send a garrison of 500 Irish to Carlisle, and other forces to assist Charles. And the victories of Mont- rose were OAving to the valour and discipline of the Irish auxiliaries under Colkitto (left-handed) Alister iMac Donnell. Many of the Irish who had lost their fortunes by the Cromwcllian wars, served on the Continent. Tyrconnell increased the Irish army, but with less judgment than Strafford. Indeed, numbers of liis regiments were ill-ofHcered mol)S, and, wlien real work began in 168!), were disbanded as having neitlur SKETCH OF THE IRISH BKIGADE. 241 arms nor discipline. His sending of the Ii'ish troops to England luistened the llevolution by exciting jealousy, and they were too mere a handful to resist. They "were forced to enter the service of German princes, especially the Prussian. SERVICES OP THE IRISH BRIGADE. The year before the English Revolution of 1 688, William effected the league of Augsburg, and com- bined Spain, Italy, Holland and the empire, against France ; but, except some sieges of imperial tOAvns, the war made no great progress till 1690. In that year France blazed out ruin on all sides. The Palatinate was overrun and devastated. The defeat of Huniieres at Valcourt wa.s overweighed by Luxemburgh's great victory over Prince Waldech at Fleurus. But as yet, no Irish troops served north of the Alps. It was otherwise in Italy. The Duke of Savoy having joined the Allies, ^farshal Catinat entered his territories at the head of 18,000 men. !Mountcashel's brigade, which landed in May and had seen ser\'ice, formed one-third of this corps. Catinat, a disciple of Turennc, relied on his infantry ; nor did he err in this instance. On tlie Stli of August, 1600, he met the Duke of Savoy and Prince Eugene at StafFardo, near Salucco. The battle began by a feigned attack on the Allies' right v.-ing. The real attack was made by ten battalions of infantry, who crossed some marshes heretofore deemed impassible, turned the left wing, commanded by Prince Eugene, drove it in on the centre, and totally routed the enemy. The Irish troops (" bog-trotters," the Ti)nes calls us now) proved that 242 APPENDIX. there are more qualities in a soldier than the light step and hardy frame which the Irish bog gives to its in- habitants. But the gallant Moimtcashel received a wound, of which he died soon after at Bareges. This same brigade continued to serve under Catinat throughout the Italian campaigns of '91, '92, and '93. The principal action of this last year was at Marsi- glia on the 4th October. It was not materially dif- ferent in tactic from Staffardo. Catinat cannonaded the Allies from a height, made a feigned attack in the centre, while his right wing lapped roixnd Savoy's left, tumbled it in, and routed the army with a loss of 8,000, including Duke Schomberg, sou to liim who died at the Boyne. On this day, too, the Muuster soldiers had their full share of the laurels. They continued to serve during the whole of tins war against Savoy ; and when in 1G98, the Duke changed sides, and, uniting his forces Avith Catinat's, laid siege to Valenza in North Italy, the Irish distin- guished themselves again. No less than six Irish reginients were at the siege. While these campaigns were going on in Italy, the garrison of Limerick landed in France, and the second Irish Bi"igade was formed. The Flanders campaign of '91 hardly went beyond skirmishes. Louis opened 1692 by besieging Namur at the head of 120,000 men, including the bulk of the Irish Brigade. Luxeniburgh was the actual commander, and Vauban the engineer. Namur, one of the greatest fortresses of Flanders, was defended by C'ochorn, the all but equal of Vauban ; and William advanced to its relief at the SKETCH OF TTIE IRISH BRIGADE. 243 head of 100,000 men, — illustrious players of that fear- ful game. But French and Irish valour, pioneered by Vauhan and manoeuvred by Luxeniburgh, prevailed. In seven days Namur was taken, and shortly after the citadel surrendered, though witliin shot of William's c'ami\ Louis returned to Versailles, and Luxemburgh con- tinued his progress. On the 24th of July, 1692, William attempted to steal a victory from the ^Larshal who had so rejteatedly lieaten iiim. Having forced a spy to persuade Luxem- burgh that the Allies meant only to forage, he made an attack on the French camp, then placed between Steen- kirk and Enghien. Wirtemburg and Mackay had •Actually penetrated the French camp ere Luxemburgh mounted his horse. But, so rajnd were his movements, so skilfully did he divide the Allies and crush Wirtem- burgh ere Coimt Solmes could help him, that tlie enemy was driven off with the loss of 3,000 men, and many colours and cannon. tSarsficld, who commanded the Brigade that day, was publicly thanked for his conduct. In !March, 1693, he was made a ^lareschal de Camp. But his proud career was drawing to a close. He was slain on the 29th July, 16:j3, at Landen, heading his coiintiymen in the van of victory. King William flying. He could not have died better. His last thoughts were for his country. As he lay on the field unholined and dying, he put his hand to his breast. When he took it away, it was full of his best blood. Looking at it sadly with an eye in which victtuy shone a moment before, he said faintly, " Oh ! that this were Q 244 APPENDIX. for Trelaiul.'' He said no more ; and history records no nobler saying, nor any more becoming death.* It is needless to follow out the details of the Italian and Flanders campaigns. Suffice that bodies of the Irish troops served in each of the great armies, and maintained their position in the French ranks during years of hard and incessant war. James 11. died at St. Germain's on the 16tli Septem- ber, 1701, and was buried in the church of the English Benedictines in Paris. But his death did not affect the Brigade. Louis immediately acknowledged his son, James III., and the Brigade, upon which the king's hopes of restoration lay, was continued. In 1701, Sheldon's cavalry, then serving under Catinat in Italy, had an engagement with the cavalry corps under the famous Count ]Merci, and handled them so roughly that Sheldon was made a lieutenant- general of France, and the supernumeraries of his corps were put on f uU pay. In January, 1702, occurred the famous rescue of (^remona. Villeroy succeeded Catinat in August, 1701, and having with his usual rashness attacked Eugene's camp at Chiari, he was defeated. Both parties retired early to winter quarters, Eugene en- camping so as to blockade Mantua. While thus placed, he opened an intrigue with one Cassoli, a priest of Cremona, where Villeroy had his head quar- ters. An old aipieduct passed under Cassoli's house, and he had it cleared of mud and weeds by the ♦ AocnidinR to Mr. O'Connor, (Military Ilisiory of the Irish Nation, )) Tl-\,) "tlicrc was no Irish corps in the army of l.uvcnibnrgli, and Siirstli'ld fell Icnillii^ on a cliargc of Stranger.s." liut this only nialics liis death, and Ihu rugrcts wlilcU acctnuianicd it, the more affecting. Ku. SKETCH OF THE IRISH HI! 1(1 APE. 245 authorities, under pretence that his liousewus injured from want of drainage. Having opened this way, he got several of Eugene's grenadiers into the town disguised, and now at the end of Januaiy all was ready. Cremona lies on the left bank of the river Po.* It was then live miles round, and guarded by a strong ca.stle and by an en^rintr, or continued fortification all round it, pierced by five gates. One of these gates led almost directly to the bridge over the Po. This bridge was fortified by a redoubt. Eugene's design was to surprise the town at night. He meant to penetrate on two sides, south and north. Prince Charles of Vaudemont crossed the Po at Firenzola, and marcliing up the right bank Avith 2,500 foot and 500 hoi-se, was to assaidt the bridge and gate of the Po, as soon as Eugene had entered on the north. As this liorthern attack was more complicated, and as it succeeded, it may be best described in the narrative of events. On the 31st of January Eugene crossed the Oglio at Ustiano, and approached the north of the town. Marshal Villeroy had that night returned from a war council at Milan. At three o'clock in the morning of the 1st of Feb- ruary, the allies closed in on the town in the following order : — 1,100 men under Count Kufstein entered by the aqueduct ; 3(tO men were led to the gate of St. Margaret's, which had been walled up, and imme- diately ci>mmenced removing the wall fri»m it ; mean- • In talking o( right or left banks of rivers, you are supposed to bo looking di'wn the stream. Thus, Connaui^ht is on the right liunk of the Shannon; Lclnster and Munster on its left bank. 246 APPENDIX. time, the other troops under Kufstein pushed on and secured the ramparts to some distance, and as soon as the gate was cleared, a vanguard of horse under Count Merci dashed through the town. Eugene, Staremberg, and Prince Commerci followed with 7,000 horse and foot. Patrols of ca-valry rode the streets ; Staremberg seized the great square ; the barracks of four regiments were surrounded, and the men cut down as they appeared. Marshal Villeroy hearing the tumult, hastily burned his papers and rode out attended only by a page. He was quickly snapped up by a party of Eugene's cavalry commanded by an Irishman named Macdon- nell. Villeroy seeing himself in the hands of a soldier of fortune, hoped to esc;qie by bribery. He made offer after offer. A thousand pistoles and' a regiment of horse were refused by this poor Irish captain ; and Villeroy rode out of the town with his captor. The IManpiis of Mongon, General Crenant, and other officers shared the same fate, and Eugene as- sembled the town council to take an oath of allegiance, and supply him with 14,000 rations. All seemed lost. All was not lost. The Po gate was held by 35 Irishmen, and to Merci's charge and shout they answered with a fire that forced their assailant to pass on to the rampart, where he seized a battery. This unexficcted and almost rash resistance was the very turning point of the attack. Had Merci got this gate, lie had only to ride on and open the bridge to Prince Vaudemont. The entry of ;},000 men more, und on that side, would liave soon ended the contest. iS'ot far from this same gate of the Po were tlio SKETCH OF TIIF. IRISH BRIOADR. 247 quarters of two Irish regiments, Dillon (one of M()untcaslier» old brigade) and IJiirkc (the Athluno regnnent). Dillnn's regiment \vas, in Colonel Lucy's absenee, commanded by Major Mahony. He had ordered his regiment to a.ssemble for exercise at day- break, and lay down. He was awoke by the noise of the Imperial Cuirassiers i>assing Ids lodgings. He jiinii»ed up, and finding how things were, got oflF to the two corps, and found them turning out in their shirts to check the Imperialists, who swarmed round their (piarters. He had just got his men together when fJeneral D'Arenes came up, put himself at the head of these regiments, who had nothing but their muskets, shirts and cartouches about them. He instantly led them against Meivi's force, and after a .sharp struggle, drove them from the ramp5irts, killing large numljers, and taking many pri.sonei*s, amongst otliers Macdonnell, who returned to tight after securing Villeroy. In the mean time Estrague's regiment had made a post of a f»!W houses in the great sijuare : Count Kevel had given the word "French to the ramjtarts," and retook All-Saints' (Jate, while M. Pnu^lin made head against the Imi>erial Cavalry patroles. But when Revel attempted to push further round the ramparts and regain .St. Margaret's Uate he was rejiulsed with heavy loss, and l>'Arenes, who seems to have been everywhere, was wounded. It wjis now ten o'clock in the day, and Mahony had received orders to fight his way from the Po to the Mantua CJatc, leaving a detachment to guard the ramjiart from which he had «lriven Mcrci. He pushe*! on, driving the enemies' infantry before him, but 248 APPENDIX. suffering miicli from tlieir fire, when Baron Freiberg at the head of a regiment of Imperial Cuirassiers, burst into Dillon's regiment. For a while their case seemed desperate ; but almost naked as they were, they grappled with their foes. The linen shirt and steel cuirass — the naked footmen and the harnessed cavalier met, and the conflict was desperate and doubtful. Just at this moment jMahony grasped the bridle of Freiberg's horse, and bid him ask quarter. '' No quarter to-day," said Freiberg, dashing his spurs into his horse ; he was instantly shot. The Cuiras- siers saw and paused ; the Irish shouted and slashed at them. The volley came better and the sabres Avavered. Few of the Cuirassiers lived to fly ; but all who survived did fly : and there stood these glorious felkiws in the wintry streets, bloody, triumphant, half- naked. Bourke lost seven officers and forty -two soldiers killed, and nine oflicers and fifty soldiers wounded ; Dillon had one ofiicer and forty-nine sol- diers killed, and twelve officers and seventy-nine soldiers Avounded. But what matter for death or wounds ! Cremona is saved. Eugene waited long for A^audemont, but the French, guarded from Merci's attack by the Irish pic([uet of 35, had anq)le time to evacuate the redoubt and ruin the bridge of boats. On liearing of Freiberg's death, Eugene made an effort to keep the town by frightening the council. On liearing of the destruction of the bridge, he de- spaired, and effected his retreat Avith consummate skill, retaining Villeroy and 100 other officers prisoners. Europe rang with applause. Mr. Foi'man mentions Avhat Ave think a very doubtfid saying of King \Vil- SKETCH OF THE IRISH BRIGADE. 249 Hani's about this event. There is no such quo.=ition as to Kinj;: Louis. He sent his pul)lic and formal thanks to tlieni, and raised their jiay forthwith. We \V(»uld not like to meet the Irishman wlio, knowing these facts, would i>;us8 the north of Italy, and not track the steps of the Irish re-^iments through the .streets and gates and ramparts of Cremona. In the campaigns of 1703, the Irish distinguislied themselves under Veudorae in Italy, at Vittoria, Luzzara, Cas.sano, and Calcinato, and stUl more on the Rhine. When Yillars won the battle of Freiillin- gen, the Iri.sh had their share of the gh>ry. At Spires, when Tallard defeated the Germans, they had more. Tallard had surprLscd the enemy, but their com- mander, the Prince of Hesse, rallied his men, and al- though he had three horses shot under him, he rejielled the attack and wa-s getting his troops well into hand. At this crisis Nugent's regiment of horse was ordered to charge a corps of German cuirassiers. They ilid so effectually. The German cavalry was cut up ; the French infantry thus covered returned to their work, and Hesse was finally defeated with immense loss. And now the fortunes of France began to waver, but the valour of the Brigade did not change. It is impossible in our space to do more than glance at the battles in which they won fame amid general defeat. At the battle of Hochstet or Blenheim in 17i»4, Marshal Tallard was defeated and taken prisoner by Marlborough and Eugene. The Fivnch and Bava- rians lost l(»,0'>ii killed, i:j,0(M) prisoiiei-s, and !)() pieces of cariuon. Yet amid this nwnstrous disaster, Clare's dragoons were victorious over a portion of Eugene's 250 APPENDIX. famous cavalry, and took two standards. And in the battle of Ramillies in 1706, where Villeroy was utterly routed, Clare's dragoons attempted to cover the wreck of the retreating French, broke through an English regiment, and followed them into the thronging van of the Allies. Mr. Forman states that they were generously assisted out of this predicament by an Italian regiment, and succeeded in carrying off the English colours they had taken. At the sad days of Oudenarde and ]\Ialplaquet) some of them were also present ; but to the victories which brightened this time, so dark to France, the Brigade contributed materially. At the battle of Al- manza (13th March, 1707), several Irish regiments served under BerANdck. In the early part of the day the Portuguese and Spanish auxiliaries of England were broken, but the English and Dutch fought suc- cessfully for a long time ; nor was it till repeatedly charged by the elite of Berwick's army, including the Irish, that they were forced to retreat. 3,000 killed, 10,000 prisoners, and 120 standards attested the mag- nitude of the victory. It put King Philip on the throne of Spain. In the siege of Barcelona, Dillon's regiment fought with great effect. In their ranks was a boy of twelve years old ; he was the son of a Galway gentleman, Mr. Lally or O'Lally of TuUoch na Daly, and his uncle had sat in James's parliament of 1689. This boy, so early trained, was afterwards the famous Count Lally de Tollendal, whose services in every l>art of the globe make his execution a stain upon the lionour as well as upon the justice of Louis XVI. And wJKMi Villars swept off tlio whole of Albemarle's battalions at Dcuain, in 1712, the Irish were in his van. SKETCH OF TTIE IRISH BniOADE. 251 Tho treaty of Utreclit and the dismissal of Marl- boroujrh put an end to the war in Flanders, but still many of the Irish continued to serve in Italy and Germany, and thus fought at Parma, Gnastalla, and Pliilipshurg. In the next war their great and peculiar achievement was at the battle of Fontenoy. Louis in person had laid siege to Tournay : Marshal Saxe was the actual commander, and had under him 7!),(H)() men. The Duke of Cuinberland advanced at the head of 5r),0(H> men, chiefly English and Dutch, to relieve the town. At the Duke's ai)proach, Saxe and the King advanced a few miles from Tournay with 4.').000 men, leaving 18,000 to continue the siege, and n,00() to guard the 8cheld. Saxe posted his army ah^ig a range of slo])es thus : his centre was on the ■\illage of Fontenoy, his left stretched off through the wood of Parri, his right reached to the town of St, Antoino, chise to the Sclield. He fortified his right ami centre by the villages of Fontenoy and St. Antoine, and redoul>ts near them. His extreme left was also strengthened by a redoubt in the wood of liarri, but his left centre, l>etween that wood and the vilhvgeof Fontenoy, was not guarded by any tiling save slight lines. Cumberland had the Dutch, under Waldeck, on hi.s left, and twice they attempted to carrj' St. Antoine, but were rejielled with he^ivy lo.ss. The same fate attended the English in the centre, who thrice forcetl their way to Fontenoy, but returned fewer and sadder men. Ingold.sby was then ordered to attack the wood (if Harri with CumlK'rlaiul's right. He did so, and broke into the wood, wlu-u the artillery of the redoubt smhlenly opened on him, which, a.ssisted 252 APPENDIX. by a constant fire from the French tirailleurs (light infantry), drove him back. The Duke resolved to make one great and final eflbrt. He selected his best regiments, veteran English corps, and formed them into a single column of G,000 men. At its head were six cannon, and as many more on the flanks which did good service. Lord John Hay commanded tliis great mass. Every thing being now ready, the column advanced slowly and evenly, as if on the parade ground. It mounted the slope of Saxe's position, and pressed on between the wood of Barri and the village of Fontenoy. In doing .so, it was exposed to a ci'uel fire of artillery and sharp-shooters ; but it stood the storm, and got beliind Fontenoy. The moment the object of the colunm was seen, the French troops were hurried in upon them. The cavalry charged ; but the English hanlly paused to off"er the raised bayonet, and then ])oured in a fatal fire. They disdained to rush at the l)icked infantry of France. On they went till within a short distance, and then threw in their balls with great precision, the officers actually laying their canes along the muskets, to make the men fire low. Mass after mass of infantry was broken, and on went the column, reduced, but still apparently invincible. Due ixichelieu had four cannon hurried to the front, and he literally battered the head of the column, while the Iiousehold cavalry snrrountled them, and in repeated charges wore down their strength ; but (liese French were fearfid sufi'erers. Louis was about to leave tiie field. In tliis juncture Saxe ordered up liis last reserve — the Irish ]5rigade. It consisted that day of the regiments of Clare, Lally, Dillon, Berwick, SKETCH OF TIIK lUISH BRIGADE. 2r)3 Roth, and Buckley, with Fitzjames's horse. O'Brien, Lord Clare, wa.s iu command. Aided by the Freneh ro^'iments of Normandy and Vaisseany, they were ordered to charge upon the flank of the English with fixed bayrice One Shdlimj each ! ! Some of the most Popular Volumes of CARLETON'S TRAITS AND STORIES OF THE IRISH PEASANTRY win appear in tlio Nutionul Library. On tlie 1st of May, will be ready THE POOR SCHOLAR, OTHER IRISH TALES. BY W I L L I A M C A II L E TON. Dublin : JAMES DUFFY, 15, WeUington-quay ; and Loudon : 22, Paternoster- row. University of California SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY 305 De Neve Drive - Parking Lot 17 • Box 951388 LOS ANGELES, CALIFORNIA 90095-1388 Return this material to the library from which it was borrowed. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES L 008 741 329 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 001 092 894 3 Uni^