Fa/Deft Treaszzrj/1El Song

(fa/deft Trea szzrj/ f 1e l) S ong; a nd Lyme;

Edited by CH A RLES WELS H

On e

NEW YORK D odge P u b lis hin g Co m pa n y

. 40- 42 EAST 1 g1 m ST REET

TH EO D O RE ROOS EVELT

P R ES I DE N T OF THE UN I TED STATES

TH I S WO R K I S DEDI CATED

AS A M A RK O F AP P R EC IATI O N OF H IS EN CO URAGE M E NT OF T HE STUDY O F I R IS H L I TE RATUR E I N AM ER I CA

P REFACE

a h l im lies a im s H IS nt o ogy, as its name p , to pre sent so m e Of the best examples of I rish songs and lyrics from the Bards who wrote in their mother I tongue , when reland was the island of saints and

c r c s hola s and the s hool of the West ; the folk songs ,

street ballads , the great wealth of patriotic poetry called forth by the suppression and Oppression of the centuries , humorous and convivial verse with I which rish literature abounds , the pathetic , romantic and sentimental poetry for which the Irish have a l

n ways bee famous , and the elusive , reﬁned , tender and mystical voices which breathe in the poetry of the

- Irish Renascence of to day . S s ongs and lyrics must neces arily be an elastic term ,

a I especially when pplied to rish verse , since nearly all Irish poetry is lyrical and nearly all Irish poetry is

song ; even in narrative , descriptive and didactic I poetry, the rishman more often than not takes on a lyric tone . Hence , although the longer poems of Goldsmith and Moore have been excluded because they do not exactly answer to the title of this collec tion , many others may be found herein which , while

not being strictly songs or lyrics , possess in some de

c gree the characteristi s of one or the other . v vi P R EP /{CE

Indeed the line can never be drawn with absolute acc urac y and it is possible that many pieces have been here in c luded which may be c onsidered neither songs nor lyrics , but the editor while hoping generally to a nd c c d please the scholarly riti al rea er, desires also to gratify the larger public who will expect to ﬁnd in

c c su h a collection , those verses whi h have endeared them selves to the hearts of the Irish people and whi c h they would not willingly let die . There is probably no body of poetry in the world which lends itself less readily to literary criti c ism and c lassiﬁc ation than that whic h has sprung from the

Of . great heart the Irish people They have ever been ,

Old who like the holy men of , spake as they were

As o moved by the Holy Ghost . a rule the p ets of Ireland have appeared to c are little for form s except

m — m those of rhyme and rhyth , feeling do inating ever .

' There is little effec t of the la bor l zm ce to be felt in the great body of Irish poetry ; even in those polished and complicated verses , full of vowel rhymes and alliterations characteristic of the early writers in their native Irish so me of which have been so felicitously

D r D c d . ren ered by ouglas Hyde, there is scar ely any F sensation of the fetters of form . rom the ﬁrst Bard who told in burning a n d Homeri c phrase the story of the ﬁghts Of the Iberian Chiefs or of the grand stand

c m d D whi h Brian Boru a e against the anish invasion , to the burn ing songs and ballads of the young Ireland PR EFACE vii

ers and to the love songs of Moore and the mystical Of o Of o imaginings the p ets the m dern revival , there is always a sense Of spontaneousness left on the mind

of the reader ; action , sentiment and feeling have ever been the pulsating notes of Irish poetry as they have always been the dominant features of the Irish char

c acter, shaping and moulding the destinies of the ra e . No collection of Irish songs and lyrics would be complete without some exa mples Of the convivial

songs, which had their vogue in the genial days of L L wt . e , over and Moore The fashion which gave them birth has passed away and there are many

features of it which it would be well to forget, but it represents a distinct period in the national life and a character and spirit of the people which is as per

manent as its hills and its valleys , its rivers and its

bogs . But no lengthy disquisition on the characteristics

Of I and history rish poetry need be attempted here . More competent authorities have dealt with the sub ject in its many and varied aspects and the poetry of Ireland by common c on sent n ow holds a high and

distinguished place among the literatures of the world . An anthology loses half i ts value unless it be also a Of work ready reference , hence the plan has been adopted of arranging the contents of this volume

alphabetically, according to the names of the authors G m t and the translators from the aelic, anony ous poe ry v iii P R EFACE

ﬁndi n g a plac e in the alphabetical order under the f S S A title O treet Ballads , Hedge ongs and nonymous verse . For those who wish to study the groups into which

c Irish songs and lyri s naturally fall , the apparatus fur h ished at the end Of the volume will be found readily I practicable . The thousand and one gems of rish poetry contained herein are classiﬁed in the indexes in such a manner that the student can easily ﬁnd every group with which he may wish to acquaint himself.

The folk songs , the Bardic songs, the love songs, the

a n d humorous convivial songs and the sacred poetry, as well as many other minor subdivisions will be found in their places . The translations from the Gaelic by different hands included in the volume are indexed under the names of their translators and so far as the authorship is known , under the names Of the writers they are also indexed Of G i n the general group aelic authors . A few trans la tions of the sam e poem s by different hands will be ” m E found as for example The fa ous hills of ire O, h of which no less t an three different versions are given . In garnering this collection the editor has had the advantage Ofthe c ritical judgment of some Of the fore most Irish scholars and poets among whom may be

: D r D mentioned with grateful thanks . ouglas Hyde,

S L c F . G e Mr tephen u ius wynn , rancis Jos ph Bigger ’ hue . ono and D . J O D g as well as some of the best P REP / ICE ix

E I A i nglish and rish scholars on this side of the tlant c , and among these thanks are especially due to Professor F R who C . N . obinson , occupies the eltic chair at

D r F E U . . Harvard niversity , Maurice gan of the

n Rev C . Catholic University in Washingto , the . . P F G . D . C avan , Messrs John rimmins , Patrick ord , E R G . R o ugene eary, John J o ney, James yan , and R S . J . ichardson .

CHARLES WE LS H .

TABLE O F C O NT ENT S

(VOLUME I)

! ALE ANDER , CECIL FRANCES Dream s The Burial of Moses ’ The Irish Mothe r s Lam e nt ’ The Le ge nd of S tu m pie s Brae There is a Gre e n H ill

! M ALE ANDER , WILLIA Ve ry Fa r Away

M M ALLINGHA , WILLIA Abbey A sa roe A cross the S e a A D ream Am ong th e H eathe r Four Ducks on a Pond H alf- Waking Love ly Mary Donne lly S pring 1 5 Com e Th e Ba n - S he e The Fairie s The Le re ca un or F m e p , airy Shoe ak r The Love r a n d Birds The Milkm aid The Ruin ed Chape l The Sail or The Winding Banks of Erne Windlass Song Winning Wishing

OH N ANSTER , J The Fairy Child xii CONTENTS

ARMSTRONG, JOHN FRANCIS Adie u Th e Bl ind S tude nt B ANIM , JOHN Ail e e n S oggarth A rOon The Fe tch The Irish M Othe r In th e Pe nal Days

B ‘ ARLOW , JANE Th e Flitting O f th e Fairie s B M ARRY, ICHAEL JOSEPH The Place Whe re M a n S hould D re The Sword B EAMISH , FLORENCE S l e e p O n

B is o of C o n e ERKELEY, GEORGE , B h p l y O n th e Prospe ct o f Pla nting Arts a nd Lea rn i ng A m e rica

B I ICKERSTAFF , SAAC S ong Two S ongs

B M E Z LAKE, ARY LI ABETH ’ Th e D awning O the Y e ar Th e First S tep s B D OUCICAULT, ION Song

T BOYD , HOMAS To th e Le a n a n Sidhe B OYLE , WILLIAM Philande ring B RENAN , JOSEPH Com e to M e D e e , ar st CONTENTS xiii

B O T ROOKE, CHARL T E Pul se of My H eart

B S TOPPO RD ROOKE, AUGUSTUS ’ Th e N o bl e La y of Aillinn

B R ROWNE , F ANCES O the Pl e asant Days Of Old ! The Last Frie nds What H ath Ti m e Taketi

K V B T . UGGY , E IN The S axon S hilling

CALLANAN , JAMES JOSEPH An d M us t W e Part ’ D irg e ofO S ul liva n Be ar Gon gane Barra 0 Sa B o D rIm In y, My r wn The Convict of Clonm e l ’ The La m e nt of O Gn ive

CAMPBELL , JOSEPH Ne wtownbre da ’ The Friar 5 Bush The Garde n of the B ee s Th e Lam e nt of P a tra ic M or M a cCruIm In ove r S ons Th e N in e Gl ens of Aon - D ruim

T CAMPION , JOHN . ’ Em m e t s D eath

CANNING , GEORGE Epita ph S ong The Fri e nd Of Hum anitya n dthe Knife Grinde r

CANTON , WILLIAM Lau s Infantum

CARLETON , WILLIAM A S igh for Kn ock m a n y xiv CONTENTS

K CASEY , JOHN EEGAN Dona l K e nny . Gracie Og Machre e Maire My Girl Th e Rising Of th e Moon

CHERRY , ANDREW Th e Ba of is c y B ay . The Gre e n Littl e S ham rockOf Ire land Tom Moody

N H W H . o o M RS . e CHESSON , . , ( ra pp r) N i am Th e Cuckoo S ing s In th e H eart of W inte r The Dark M a n Th e Fae ry Fool The Fairy Fiddle r Th e Gray Fog ’ The King of Ire la nd s Son

C , LARKE, J B Em an a c-Knuck to Eva

I CLARKE, JOSEPH GNATIUS CONSTANTINE ’ Rough Ride r O Ne ill Th e Fighting Race

H B CODE , ENRY RERETON Th e S prig of Shill e la h

P COLEMAN , ATRICK JAMES ’ Bindin th e Oats S e e d- Tim e

P COLUM , ADRAIC A D rove r D ream a n d S hadow Th e B e ll s Th e Pl owe r

V CONGRE E, WILLIAM A m ore t Extracts fro m th e Mourm ngBride CONTENTS

D CONNOLLY, ANIEL Com pe nsation Me m ori e s of the Erne Trout Fishing

CONNOLLY , JAMES Th e Song of Ila nn L CONOLLY, UKE AYLMER Th e Enchante d Island

M CRAWFORD , RS . JULIA D e rm ot Astore Kathl e e n Mavourne e n

T . T CROKER , CROF ON C o e on ce Fi z e d n of e a in Mauri t g ral , K ight K rry The Lord of D un ke rron

REV CROLY , . GEORGE Le onidas Th e Island of Atlantis

A H TT CURR N , ENRY GRA AN A La m e nt

P CURRAN , JOHN HILPOT Cushla - m a -chre e ’ Th e D e se rte r s Me ditation The Monks of th e S cre w D ’ ALTON , JOHN . ’ Cla ra gh s Lam ent

D ARLEY, GEORGE Song Song of the S um m e r Wi nds To H e le ne Tru e Love line ss

D V A IS , FRANCIS My Ka ll a gh Dhu Asthore Nann y xvi CONTENTS

D V T A IS, HOMAS OSBORNE A C is m s S ce e or hr t a n , A Nati on O nce Aga in A Ple a fo r Love Fon te n oy Maire Bhan a S tor My Grave My Land Oh ! th e Marriag e The Girl of D un b wy The W e l com e ’ Th e W e st s Asl e ep D AWSON , ARTHUR m e s S ui e e Bu p r , q r Jon s

D E V S IR ERE, AUBREY Libe rty of th e Pre ss T he Childre n Band The S hannon

V T ERE, AUBREY . ’ D irg e of Rory O M ore Flowe rs I Would Bring S ad is Our Youth Song Sorrow Th e Littl e Black Rose

D M OHENY , ICHAEL A Cushla Ga l m o Chre e

D REV . B OLLARD , JAMES Irish Mist a n d S unshine ’ ’ The Fallin o th e Rain Wh e n th e W e st Wind Blows

D D E OW EN , DWARD Awak ening ’ Lady Margare t s Song Song xviii CONTENTS

S S I R S FERGU ON , AMUEL Ce an D ubh D e e lish D rim m in D hu

L m e O e th e R ins of th e A e of Tim e ue a nt v r u bb y ol ag , Mild M a be l Ke lly Owe n Bawn P as the e n FIon Th e Cool un The Fair H il ls ofIre land The Fairy Tho rn The Fairy We ll of La gna na y The Forging of th e Anchor The La p of Nuts

Z M FIT GERALD , AURICE Moonlight on N e w York Bay To Doug las H yde

FITZS IM ON E , LLEN Th e Song ofth e I rish Em igrant In Am e rica

FLECKNOE R R , ICHA D Of D rinking

L. FORREST, J . ’ Th e Banshe e 5 Song

S E FORRE TER , LLEN ' The Widow s Message to H e r Son

Fox , GEORGE The County of Mayo

Z D E FRA ER , JEAN JEAN ’ Brosna 5 Banks for 1 z th 1 8 Song July , 43

E FURLONG , ALIC Th e D ream er Th e Tre es C ONTENTS xix

M FURLONG , ARY A n Irish Love - Song Gl en - n a - S m oe l

T FURLONG , HOMAS Bridg e t Cruise Eil e e n A roon Maggy La idir Roisin D ubh

F ’ N GALLAGHER , . O EILL Th e S ea Madne ss

W . D. GALLAGHER , The Labore r

GEOGH EGAN , ARTHUR GERALD A fte r Aughrim The Moun tain Fe rn

L R os l ll d GILBERT, ADY ( a Mu ho an ) Kilfe nora Saint Brigid Sham rocks Song The Builde rs The Wild Geese

I V GOLDSM TH , OLI ER An Ele gy M e m ory The H erm it ’ Tony Lum pki n s SOn g Wom an

G B H EVA ORE OOT , F om s to W e r Ea t st . Th e Littl e Waves of B reEriy To Mae ve xx CONTENTS

V A . P . GRA ES , A n Irish Grace ’ Fathe r O Flyn n Irish Eye s Kitty Bhan Like a S tone in the S tre e t he e e S m o e T Blu , Blu k S he I s My Love Th e I rish S pinn ing -Wh e e l

V C L. GRA ES, Ad A rIstiden Ob fusca tum Ad Aristiu m Fuscum

GREENE, GEORGE ARTHUR O n Gre at S ugarl oaf Spring -Tim e

GRIFFIN , GERALD Eil e e n Aroon Gi e c e e l Ma hr . H y— B rasa il : th e Isl e of th e B l est The Wak e of the Abse nt

N S LucIAs GWY N , TEPHEN A La y of O ssian a n d Patri ck Ire land Mate r S e vera

H ALPINE, CHARLES GRAHAM l F de Not a S tar From the Flag Sh al a .

H B OBSON , ULMER Th e D e luge Ulad

H M OGAN , ICHAEL . D ra herin O Machree C ONTENTS

H D YDE, OUGLAS From a Poe m by Te ig e M a cD aire I Shall Not Die for The e L C d I C T e e ittle hil , all h My Grie f on the S e a My Love— O h ! S h e is My Love 0 We re Y ou on the Mou n tain Ring l e te d Youth of My Love The Brow of Ne ﬁn ’ The Re d Man s Wife The Sign of th e Cross Foreve r

K INGRAM , JOHN ELLS The Me m ory Of the D ead

T M S IRWIN , HO A CAULFIELD A Window Song ’ The Em igrant s Voyage ’ The Pota to- D igge r s Song L JOHNSON , IONEL The D ark An g el Th e Last Music The Re d W ind To M orfydd Ways of Wa r

R D JOYCE, OBERT WYER Crossing th e Blackwater The Blacksm ith of Lim e ri ck Th e Wind Th at Shak es th e Barl e y

K V R A ANAGH , OSE Lou gh Bray ’ t M icha n s C c d S . hur hyar The Northe rn Blackwate r K EEGAN , JOHN Ca och th e Pipe r

K E D ’ E EELING , LSA STERRE Love Making in Paddy Land xxii CONTENTS

K E ENEALY , DWARD ’ Love s Warning K ENEALY , WILLIAM Th e Last Re que st Th e Moo n B e hind the Hill K ENNEDY , WILLIAM ’ The Poe t s H eart

0 K S ENNEY, JAME Why Are Y ou Wande ring H ere

KEOH LER T , HOMAS Apology A utum n The De votee

KICKH AM . , CHARLES J My Ulick Patri ck S he e han Rory of th e H ill

L D ANE , ENNY Kate of Arra glen

LARM INIE M , WILLIA Consolation

L EM AWLESS , ILY A Re tort L E EAMY , DMUND A Roya l Love

LEEANU S , JOSEPH HERIDAN Ab h ra in a n Bh uideil ’ Sham us O Brien 772g G O LD E N T R E A S U R Y

’ of IRISH SO N GS a ﬂa LY RIC S

CECIL FRANCES A LE! A NDER (1 8 1 8— 1 895)

DREAMS EY ND O , beyond the mountain line,

- S The gray tone and the boulder,

Beyond the growth of dark green pine, S That crowns its western houlder,

- Of There lies that fairy land mine,

Unseen of a beholder .

Its fruits are all like rubies rare ; Its streams are clear as glasses ;

There golden castles hang in air, And e purple grapes in mass s , And noble knights and ladies fair

Come riding down the passes . Ah me they say if I could stand U o m p n those ountain ledges , I should but see on either hand Plain ﬁelds and d usty hedges And yet I kn ow my fairy - land L ’ ies somewhere o er their edges. 2 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

TH E BU RI AL OF MOSES

Y ’ ’ Nebo s lonely mountain , on this side Jordan s

wave , III a vale , in the land of Moab , there lies a lone! y grave An d c no man knows that sepul hre, and no man saw it e ’ er For God the angels of upturned the sod , and laid the

dead man there .

That was the grandest funeral that ever passed on earth sa w But no man heard the trampling, or the train go forth D c c Noiselessly , as the aylight omes ba k when Night d is one , ’ An d the c rimson streak on ocean s cheek grows into

the great sun .

- Of Noiselessl y , as the spring time her crown verdure

weaves , And all the trees on all the hills open their thousand leaves ; S o Of , without sound music , or voice of them that

wept , S ’ ilently down from the mountain s crown , the great c pro ession swept .

’ a OII r - Peor s Perchance the ba ld old e gle, g ay Beth

height ,

Out of his lonely eyrie, looked on the wondrous sight 3

4 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

II a m e — In that strange grave without a , whence his un cofﬁ n ed clay S 0 ! e hall break again , wondrous thought b fore the

judgment day, r An d stand , with glory w apt around , on the hills he

never trod , An d won in speak of the strife that our life, with the Son God carnate of .

’ ’ 0 lonely grave in Moab s land ! 0 dark Beth - Peor s hill ! S peak to these curious hearts of ours , and teach them

to be still . God c we hath his mysteries of gra e, ways that cannot tell

He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep Of him he

loved so well .

TH E IRIS H M OTHER ’ S LAMENT

She watche d for th e return of h er son from Am e rica in h er ” o se th e Fo e e D e . h u by yl , n ar rry HERE ’ S no one on the long white road ’ The night is closing o er ; 0 mother cease to look abroad An d let me shut the door .

Now here and there a twinkling light Comes out along the bay a n d The little ships lie still white , ” And c no one omes this way . IRISH SONGS AN D LYR ICS

She turned her straining eyes within ; he S sighed both long and low . in Shut up the door ; take out the p , s Then , if it mu t be so .

But, daughter, set the wick alight, And p ut it in the pane

m - If any should come ho e to night, ’ He ll see it through the rain .

Nay, leave the pin beneath the latch

If some one pus h the door, Across my broken dreams I ’ ll hear

His footstep on the ﬂoor .

S he crouched within the ingle nook, S he spread her ﬁ ngers sere , i had - Off Her fa led eyes a far look ,

Despite her fourscore year .

An d if in youth they had been fair, ’ T was not the charm they had , l Not the O d beauty lingering there, B u t something weird and sad .

ﬁreli ht The daughter , i n the g pale , A woman gray an d wan , S a t listening , while half dream , half wail , Her words went wandering on

O river that dost never halt Till down beyond the bar ’ Thou m eet st the breakers green and salt That bore my lads afar TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

O sea betwixt our slighted isle An d that wide bounteous West That has such mag ic in her smile To lure away our best

Bring back , bring back the guiding Bring fast the ho m e - bound ship Mine eyes look out ; I faint to feel t a The ouch of h nd and lip .

An d a is that l nd so much more fair, S O mu ch m ore ri c h that shore d Than this , where, pro igal of care, I nursed the sons I bore ?

I m nursed the at my yielding breast, I reared them at my knee , They left me for the golden West ;

They left me for the sea .

With hungry heart , and eyes that strove In m vain their eyes to eet , ’ An d all my lavish m other s love Be at backward to my feet

L ike that broad stream that runs, and raves , And ﬂoweth grandly out ,

But the salt billows catch its waves , A nd ﬂing them all about

The bitter world washed out my claim In c hildhood it was dear ,

But youth forgets , and manhood came, A nd dashed it far and near . IRIS H S ONGS AN D LYR ICS 7

I Old m But when think of the ti e, S oft ﬁngers , eyes that met , In spite of age , in spite of clime,

I wonder they forget .

And if they live , their life is strong ; Forgotten here I die

I question with my heart , and long , wh And cannot answer y, Till by Christ ’ s grace I walk in white

Where his redeemed go , ’ And G know the reason of od s right,

Or never care to know .

But out - bound ships come hom e again ’ They sail neath sun and moon . Put thou the c andle in the pane ; ” They may be coming soon . Calm lie the lights below the town ’ There s not a ship in sight ; ! O mother cease , and lay you down

m - They will not co e to night .

TH E LEGEND OF STU M PIE ’ S BRAE ‘

' ' EARD ye no tell O the S tumpie s Brae ? S it down , sit down , young friend , ’ I ll m ur c - ake yO ﬂesh to reep to day , ’ An d your hair to stan on end .

I This e m bodi e s a n a ctual l e g end atta ch e d to a l one ly spot o n e o f D o e a T he e o f the th borde r of th e County n g l . lang uag ballad is th e pe cul ia r se m i- S cottish dial e ct s poken I n the North f I — A ﬁor O re land u/ . 8 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ ’ Y m an r wi sin oung , tis ha d to strive , ’ An d the hardest strife of a , ’ IS 0 i c in where the greed ga n reeps , ’ ’ An d drives God s grace awa .

’ ’ c Oh , it s qui k to do, but it s lang to rue, n m Whe the punishment co es at last , An d we would give the world to undo ' an d The deed that s done past .

m Over yon strip of eadow land , A nd i over the burnie br ght ,

D the .ﬁ r- inna ye mark trees stand , Around yon gable white

I mind i t weel , in my younger days The story yet was rife There dwelt within that lonely place A farmer and his wi fe .

They sat together, all alone , d A One blesse utumn night ,

When the trees without, and hedge, and stone ,

Were white in the sweet moonlight .

The boys and girls were gone down all ’ A wee to the blacksmith s wake ; ’ a ss d There p ane on by the window small , A nd guv the door a shake .

’ The man he up and ope n d the door

When he had spoken a bit , ’ A m a n ste d pedlar pp into the ﬂoor, D d b own he tumble the pack he ore, R was ight heavy pack it . IRISH S ONGS AN D LYRICS

wi’ Gude save us says the wife , a smile, ' ” But yours is a thriv in trade . ’ ’ A a I v e wa n der d y, y, mony a mile, I ” An d plenty have made .

The man sat on by the dull ﬁre ﬂame , When the pedlar went to rest ; D Close to his ear the evil came, ' - And slipp d intil his breas t .

' ﬁ re li t He look d at his wife by the dim gh , And she wa s as bad as he Could we no ’ murder thon man the night ? “ ’ A we . y could , ready, quo she

He took the pickaxe without a word , d Whence it stoo , ahint the door ; ’ ’ As a ss d stirr d he p in , the sleeper , ’ T waken d hat never more .

’ He s dead says the auld man , coming ’ 0 What the corp, m y dear P ’ We ll bury him snug i n his ain bit pack , o Never ye mind for the l ss of the sack , ’ ’ ’ ” I ve ta en out a the gear .

’ The S pack s owre short by twa gude pan , ’ ’ What ll we do quo he ’ ’ un thou htfu Ou , you re a doited , g man , ’ ” off We ll cut him at the knee . I O TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ h rte They s o n d the corp , and they

tight , ’ Wi his legs in a pickle hay ;

Over the burn , in the sweet moonlight, im l They carried h ti l this brae .

’ shovell d i They a hole r ght speedily, They laid him in on his back ” ’ A P R ’ right pair are ye, quo the EDLA , quo he, S t it ing bolt upright in the pack .

’ Ye v e think ye laid me snugly here, And none shall know my stati on I’ ll I ’ But hant ye far , and ll hant ye near, ’ F son wi r ather and , terror and fea , ” TO the nineteenth generation .

T ’ he twa were sittin the vera next night,

When the dog began to cower, An d w ﬁ reli ht they kne , by the pale blue g ,

That the Evil One had power .

’ It 0 c has stricken nine, j ust nine the lock The hour when the man lay dead m There ca e to the outer doo r a knock, An d a heavy, heavy tread .

’ The old man s head swam round and round , m ’ d ’ The wo an s bloo gan freeze , For wa s it not like a n atural sound , ’ But like so m e one stumping o er the ground

On the banes of his twa bare knees .

1 2 . TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

They sold their gear , and over the sea n To a foreig land they went, Over the sea— but wha ca n ﬂee His appointed punishment ?

The ship swam over the water clear, ’ ’ Wi the help 0 the eastern breeze ;

But the vera ﬁrst sound in guilty fear, ’ m c O er the wide, s ooth de k , that fell on ’ Was the tapping o them twa knees .

III the woods of wild America Their weary feet they set tum ie wa s But S p there the ﬁrst , they say ,

An d he haunted them onto their dying day, C And he follows their hildren yet .

I ha nd ye, never the voice of blood ’ Ca ll d from the earth in vain ; And won never has crime worldly good ,

- But it brought its after pain .

’ ’ 0 S This is the story tumpie s Brae, ’ ’ An d the murderers fe arin fate ’ Y n c turn d wa ou g man , your fa e is that y, Y ’ e ll be ganging the night that gate .

’ Y ﬁ r- e ll ken it weel , through the few trees, The house where they wont to dwell Gin ye meet ane there , as daylight ﬂees , S tumping about on the banes of his knees ’ ’ I S tum ie t ll just be p himsel . IRISH S ONGS AND LYRICS 1 3

THERE IS A GRE EN HILL

HERE is a green hill far away,

Without a city wall , L Where the dear ord was cruciﬁed,

Who died to save us all .

w We may not kno , we cannot tell e What pains he had to b ar, But we believe it was for us f He hung and su fered there .

He died that we might be forgiven , o He died to make us g od , we That might go at last to heaven ,

Saved by his precious blood .

There was no other good enough To pay the price of sin He only could unlock the gate

Of heaven and let us in .

r cl O dea ly, early has he loved , And we must love him too , nd A trust in his redeeming blood , An d try his works to do . 1 TH E LD E EAS U Y O F 4. G O N TR R

W ILLIA M A LE! A ND ER (1 824

VERY FAR AWAY NE touch there is of magic white, ’ S urpassing southern mountain s snow That to far sails the dying light L d ends , where the ark S hips onward go U pon the golden highway broad d That leads up to the isles of Go .

c i One tou h of light more mag c yet, ’ Of rarer snow neath moon or star, c Where, with her gra eful sails all set , S ome happy vessel seen afar, As if i n an en c hanted sleep S ’ teers o er the tremulous stretching deep .

0 shi p ! 0 sail ! far must ye be E re m o glea s like that up n ye light . ’ d Of O er gol en spaces the sea, F c rom mysteries of the lu ent night, S uc h tou c h comes never to the boat c we Wherein a ross the waves ﬂoat .

c O gleams , more magi and divine, L ’ ife s whitest sail ye still refuse, And ﬂying On before us shine U pon some distant bark ye choose . da By nig ht or y, across the spray, T hat sail is very far away . IRISH S ONGS AND LYR ICS 1 5

WILLIA M A LLINGH A M (1 824- 1 889)

ABBEY AS AROE

RAY A Asa roe Ba ll sha n n , gray is bbey , by y y

town , It o has neither do r nor window , the walls are broken down The carven stones lie sc attered in briars and nettle

The onlyfeet are those that come at burial of the

dead . A little rocky rivulet runs murmuring to the tide, in Singing a song of ancient days , sorrow, not in pride ; The bore - tree and the lightsome ash across the portal r g ow , An d A Asa roe heaven itself is now the roof of bbey .

It looks beyond the harbor - stream to Gulb a n mountain blue ; ’ It Of E — A hears the voice rna s fall , tlantic breakers too ; High ships go sailin g past it the sturdy Clank of oars Brings in the salmon - boat to haul a net upon the shores ;

A nd wa m - c m this y to his ho e reek , when the sum er

day is done, Slow sculls the weary ﬁsherman ac ross the setting sun hee us While green with corn is S g Hill , his cottage white below ; A Asa roe But gray at every season is bbey . I O TH E G OLDE N TR EAS UR Y OF

There stood one day a poor old man above its broken bridge ; Sa w He heard no running rivulet, he no mountain

ridge ’ urn e i c S hee us He t d h s ba k on g Hill , and viewed with misty S ight

- The abbey walls, the burial ground with crosses ghostly white U nder a weary weight of years he bowed upon his ff sta , Perusing in the present time the form er ’ s epitaph For , gray and wasted like the walls , a ﬁgure full Of woe ’ This man wa s of the blood of them who founded Asaroe .

F D D undr was Tirconnell rom erry to o Tower , broad wa s theirs S i pearmen and plunder, bards and w ne, and holy ’ abbot s prayers ; With chanti ng always in the house which they had builded high S n — To God and to aint Ber ard , whereto they came to

die . At ! worst, no workhouse g rave for him the ruins of his rac e S hall rest among the ruined stones of this their saintly

place . The fond Old man was weeping ; and tremulous and slow Along the rough and crooked lane he crept from

Asa roe . IR ISH S ONGS AN D LYR ICS I 7

ACROSS TH E SEA W K D AL E in the lonesome evening , d I An who so sad as , When I sa w the young men and maidens

Merrily passing by .

To thee, my love, to thee S O fain would I come to thee While the ripples fold upon sands of gold

And I look across the sea .

I stretch out my hands who will clasp them P I — call , thou repliest no word 0 why should heart - longing be weaker Than the waving wings of a bird

To thee, my love , to thee S o fain would I come to thee ’ For s s the tide s at rest from ea t to we t,

And I look across the sea . T ’ here s joy in the hopeful morning , ’ There s peace in the parting day , There ’ s sorrow with every lover

Whose true love is far away,

To thee, my love, to thee S o fain would I come to thee ’ And the water s so bright in a still moonlight, AS I o look acr ss the sea .

A DREAM

HEARD the dogs howl in the moonlight I went to the window to see the sight All the Dead that ever I knew two Going one by one a nd two by . I 8 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

On they passed , and on they passed n sfell w ﬁ rst Tow o s all , from to last Of Born in the moonlight the lane,

Quenched in the heavy shadow again .

c as S hoolmates , marching when we played At soldiers on ce— but now more staid Those were the strangest S ig ht to m e I Who were drowned , knew , in the awful sea .

S traight and handsome folk ; bent and weak , too ;

Some that I loved , and gasped to speak to S om e but a day in their c hurc hyard bed

S ome that I ha d not known were dead .

A — m long , long crowd where each see ed lonely , Y wa s et of them all there one, one only, R wa aised a head or looked my y.

— he . S lingered a moment , she might not stay

How long since I saw that fai r pale face Ah Mother dear might I only place d My hea on thy breast, a moment to rest , While thy hand on my tearful c heek was prest

On , on , a moving bridge they made

Ac o - m d ross the m on strea , from sha e to shade , Y oung and old , women and men ;

- m d Many long forgot, but reme bere then .

An d ﬁrst there cam e a bitter laughter ; A Sound of tears the mom ent after ; A n d m c then a usi so lofty and gay, da That every morning , day by y, I m a strive to recall it if I y.

20 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

“ S inging Hi for Eskydun in the teeth of wind

and weather, ’ Love ll warm me as I go through the snow among the

heather .

FOUR DUCKS ON A POND OUR ducks on a pond ,

A - grass bank beyond , A blue sky of spring, White clouds on the wing What a little thing

To remember for years, To remember with tears

HALF - WAKING

THOUGHT it was the little bed I slept in long ago ; A straight white curtain at the head , An d two smooth knobs below .

I I thought saw the nursery ﬁre , A nd in a c hair well known i My mother sat, and did not t re

With reading all alone .

If I should make the slightest sound ’ S I m w To how that a ake, ’ S a n d he d rise , lap the blankets round , My pillow softly shake ; IR ISH S ONGS AN D LYRICS 2 1

c Kiss me , and turn my fa e to see

The shadows on the wall , ’ And R D then sing ousseau s ream to me, e I Till fast asle p fall .

But this is not my little bed That time is far away ; I With strangers now live instead ,

From dreary day to day .

LOVE LY M AR Y D ONNELLY

D ’ I H , lovely Mary onnelly , it s you love the ) S t ’ If ﬁfi; girls were round you I d hardly see the t

mr the c Be what it i time of day, the pla e be where it

weeIl ks D S b of Mary onnelly, they bloom before me 5ZE

’ Her eyes like mountain water that s ﬂowing on a rock ,

How clear they are, how dark they are and they give S me many a hock . Red rowans warm in sunshine and wetted with a ’ show r , ’ Could ne er express the ch arming lip that has me in its ’ w r po .

o Her nose is straight and hands me, her eyebrows

lifted up ,

3. Her chin is neat and pert , and smooth , just like

china cup , 2 2 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ f. I d Her hair s the brag O relan , so weighty and so ﬁne ; ’ c a nd d It s rolling down upon her ne k , gathere in a

twine .

’ The dan ce 0 last Whit - Monday nig ht exceeded all

before , No pretty girl for miles abo ut wa s missing from the ﬂoor ; r e 0 was But Ma y k pt the belt of love , and but she gay S he c dan ed a jig , she sung a song , that took my heart

away .

u When she stood p for dancing, her steps were so

complete , The m usic nearly killed itself to listen to her feet ; a The ﬁddler moaned his blindness , he he rd her so d much praise , But blessed his lu c k to not be deaf when once her c voi e she raised .

’ An I m d evermore whistling or lilting what you sung , Y w our smile is al ays in my heart , your name beside my tongue ; ’ ’ But you ve as many sweethearts as you d c ount on

both your hands , ’ A nd for myself there s not a thumb or little ﬁnger

stands .

’ ’ 0 Oh , you re the ﬂower womankind in country or in town ; I I ’ m The higher exalt you , the lower cast down . IRIS H S ONGS AN D LYRICS 2 3

m m wa If so e great lord should co e this y, and see your

beauty bright , ’ An d b e I d wa s you to his lady, own it but right .

0 we might live together in a lofty palace hall , ul c r W here joyf musi rises, and where sca let curtains fall O might we live together in a cottage mean and sm all ; o With s ds of grass the only roof, and mud the only wall !

0 ’ D . lovely Mary onnelly, your beauty s my distress ’ ’ It s I ll far too beauteous to be mine, but never wish it

less . I The proudest place would ﬁt your face, and am poor and low

But blessings be about you , dear , wherever you may go !

S PRING IS COME

E scan the timid verdure , S Along the hills of pring ,

Blue skies and gentle breezes , An d soft clouds wandering d The quire of birds on bud ing spray, Loud larks in ether sing A d da fresher pulse , a wi er y, G ive joy to everything . 24 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

The gay translu c ent morning ' L ies glittering on the sea , The noonday sprinkles shadows Athwart the daisied lea ; The round sun ’ s falling scarlet rim In vapour hideth he ; The darkling hours are cool and dim A s vernal night should be .

E Our arth has not grown aged , With all her c ountless years She works , and never wearies Is glad and nothing fears

The glow of air, broad land and wave, In season reappears And shall , when slumber in the grave

These human smiles and tears .

a n d Oh , rich in songs colors , Thou joy - reviving Spring ’ S ome hopes are chill d with winter m Whose ter thou canst not bring , Some voices answer not thy call a n d d When sky woodlan ring , Some faces c ome not bac k at all

- m With primrose blosso ing . The distant ﬂying swallow

- The upward yearning seed , F ’ ind Nature s promise faithful , A ttain their humble meed . ’ Great Parent thou hast also form d These hearts which throb and bleed ’ r With love, truth , hope , their life hast wa m d, An d s what is be t, decreed . IRISH S ONGS AN D LYR ICS 25

TH E BAN- S HEE

A B ALLAD OF A NCIEN T ERI N

’ EARD ST thou over the Fortress wild geese ﬂying an d crying ? Was it a gray wolf’ s howl ? wind in the forest sighing ? c ? Wail from the sea as of wre k Hast heard it , ? ” “ Comrade Not so . ’ as Here, all s still the grave, above , around , and

below .

b e The Warriors lie in battalion , spear and shield

side them , C m b e Tranquil , whatever lot in the o ing fray shall

tide them .

See W rests . the G O f E , here he , lory rin , our Kingly Y outh ’ Closed his lion s eyes, and in sleep a smile on his ” mouth .

— The cry, the dreadful cry I know it louder and

nearer,

C D un — - / — m ircling our til e B a n s hee . y heart is frozen to hear her S a w you not in the darkness a spectral glimmer of white Flitting away ? — I saw it l —evil her message to

night .

C of onstant , but never welcome , she , to the line our Chief Of Bodeful , baleful , fateful , voice terror and grief. 26 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

D im ly burneth the lamp— hush again that horrible cry If a thousand lives could save thee, Tierna, thou ” shouldest not die .

C ? I . Now what whisper ye , lansmen wake Be your words Of me Wherefore gaze on eac h other ? I too have heard

- the Ban shee . D s D h eath is her mes age : but ye, be silent . eat com es to no man ’ S weet as to him who in ﬁghting c rushes his c ountry s

foeman .

— S treak of dawn in the sky morning of battle . The Stran ger

C - c amps on our salt sea strand below, and re ks not

his danger . Victory — that was my dream one that shall ﬁll men ’ s ears In story and song of harp after a thousand years .

G - ive me my helmet and sword . Whale tusk , gold I c c wrought , l ut h thee F - m e m ! Y ea Blade , lesh Biter , fail not this ti e , I c when tou h thee , S m S hivers of joy run through e . ing aloud as I swing thee ’ G m - lut of ene ies blood , meseemeth , to day shall bring

thee .

28 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

With a bridge of white mist Colum b kill he crosses , On his stately journeys From S lieve - League to Rosses Or going up with the musi c

On cold starry nights , To sup with the Queen L Of the gay Northern ights .

They stole little Bridget For seven years long ;

When she came down again ,

Her friends were all gone .

They took her lightly back, Between the night and morrow ; S he was They thought that fast asleep, She wa s But dead with sorrow . They have kept her ever since D eep within the lake,

ﬂa - On a bed of g leaves ,

Watching till she wake .

By the craggy hillside , m Through the osses bare,

- They have planted thorn trees , For pleasure here and there . Is any man so daring A s di m u g the p in spite , He shall ﬁnd their sharpest thorns In his bed at night .

U m p the airy ountain , D own the rushy glen , ’ We daren t go a - hunting IR ISH S ONGS AN D Lf R[ CS 29

For r fea of little men . o Wee folk , g od folk , Trooping all together c ca Green ja ket , red p , ’ And white Owl s feather

TH E LEPRE CAUN O F Y S K , R AIR HOEM A ER

A R H Y M E FOR CH ILDREN ITTLE cowboy, what have you ’ Up on the lonely rath s green Only the plaintive yellow - bird S inging in sultry ﬁelds around

C C C - e hary , hary, hary, chee Only the grasshopper and the bee

- - Tip tap , rip rap, Tick - a - ta Ck- too S w carlet leather se n together,

This will make a shoe . L eft , right, pull it tight , S ummer days are warm ; U nderground in winter, Laughing at the storm La y your ear close to the hill D O you not catch the tiny clamor, elﬁ n Busy click of an hammer, Voice of the Leme ca un singing shrill As he merrily plies his trade He ’ s a span An d a quarter in height Get a him in sight , hold him f st , ’ An d you re a made Man 30 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

Y u c m m o wat h your cattle the su er day , S u p on potatoes , sleep in the hay ; How should you like to roll in your carriage ’ An d look for a duchess s daughter in marriage ? S eize the shoemaker , so you may !

Bi a - g boots hunting , S d an als in the hall ,

dd - White for a we ing feast, And pink for a ball wa This y, that way, S o we make a shoe, G etting rich every stitch , Ti c k - tack - too - - c Nine and ninety treasure rocks,

- This keen miser fairy hath ,

Hid in mountain , wood , and rocks,

R - c a n d uin and round tower, ave rath , An d where the c orm orants build ; From tim es of old Guarded by him ; Each of them ﬁlled Full to the brim With gold

I da caught him at work one y myself, In the c astle - ditc h where the foxglove grows ; A a nd wrinkled , wizened , bearded elf, S c c tO pe ta les stuck on the p of his nose, S c his ilver bu kles to hose , L eather apron , shoe in his lap

Ri - ra ti - ta p p, p p , Ti c k - tac k - too A grig stepped u pon my cap, Away the m oth ﬂew IRISH S ONGS AN D LYRICS 3 I

Buskins for a fairy prince,

Brog ues for his son , m e Pay well , pay me well , ’ ” When the job s done . wa s The rogue mine beyond a doubt, I stared at him ; he stared at me S ervant, sir Humph said he ,

— And pulled a snuff b ox out .

He took a long pinch , looked better pleased , The queer little Lemeca un ” r Oﬂe ed the box with a whimsical grace,

Pouf ! he ﬂung the dust in my face , An d I , while sneezed , Was gone

TH E LOVER AND BIRDS

ITH IN a budding grove, ’ In A pril s ear sang every bird his best ,

But not a song to pleasure my unrest, Or touc h the tears unwept of bitter love

Some spake , methought, with pity, some as if in jest .

To every word ,

Of every bird , I listened or replied as it behove .

S Cha fﬁ n ch S ! creamed , weet, sweet, sweet

Pretty lovey, come and meet me here ” Cha fﬁ nch I a , quoth , be dumb awhile , in fe r Thy darling prove no better than a cheat

And . never come , or ﬂy, when wintry days appear Y e t from a twig , SO With voice big ,

The little fowl his utterance did repeat . 3 2 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

I m a n Then , The forlorn , ” Hears earth send up a foolish noise aloft . ’ ’ And what ll he do ? What ll he do ? scoffed c d in The Bla kbird , stan ing an ancient thorn , a n d ﬂitted Then spread his sooty wing s to the croft, a With cackling l ugh , m I Who , , being half E nraged , called after, giving back his scorn .

c Die ! Worse mo ked the Thrush , die ? ? Oh , cou ld he do it Could he do it Nay c ! ! ! Be qui k be quick Here, here, here (went his lay) ! ? ? Take heed take heed then , Why Why Why Why ? Why P “ S ee - S ee now see - ee now (he drawled) Bac k ! Back Back R - r- r- run away

Oh , Thrush , be still , Or at thy will S eek some less sad interpreter than I

Air air blue air and white I I Whither ﬂee, whither , O whither , O whither ﬂee L (Thus the ark hurried , mounting from the lea)

Hills , countries , many waters glittering bright I I D Whither see, whither see eeper , deeper , deeper, I ! whither see , see , see ” Ga L I y ark , said , The song that ’ s bred In happy nest may well to heaven take ﬂight

’ m m sa d There s so ething , so ething , I ” d half remember, pi pe a broken strain R ! R S Well sung , sweet obin obin , ing again . IRIS H S ONGS AND LrR I GS 33

’ S O c I pring s pening cheerily, heerily be we glad I a Which moved , wist not why, me mel ncholy mad , no w Till , grown meek , c With wetted heek , o s I M st comforting and gen tle thought had .

THE MILKM AID

? H , where are you going so early he said ; G ood luck go with you , my pretty maid ; To tell you my mind I ’ m half afraid h I But I wis were your sweetheart . low When the morning sun is shining , A nd the cocks in every farmyard crow, I’ ll carry your pail ’ O er hill and dale , ’ n I ll a - A d go with you milking .

' I m a - going milking , sir , says she , Th rough the dew , and across the lea ; ’ Y ou ne er would even yourself to me,

Or take me for your sweetheart .

When the morning sun , etc .

- Now give me your milking stool a while, To carry it down to yonder stile I ’ m wishing every step a mile, An d myself your only sweetheart . sun When the morning , etc . 34 T H E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ in Oh , here s the stile under the tree, ’ An d there s the path in the grass for me, An d I thank you kindly, sir , says she, An d ou wish y a better sweetheart . n n e tc Whe the morni g sun , .

m e - b e Now give your milking pail , says , ’ An d c while we re going a ross the lea , ’ c c Pray re kon your master s ows to me , ’ A I m n ot lthough your sweetheart . W n hen the mor ing sun , etc .

Two of them red , and two of them white, w Two of them yello , and silky bright : ’ S he him m c told her aster s ows aright,

Thoug h he was not her sweetheart . n Whe the morning sun , etc .

’ She m ilk d sat and in the morning sun , A n d n was O a n d when her milki g ver done, he him S found waiting , all as one s A if he were her sweetheart . etc When the morning sun , .

’ He freely offe r d her his heart a n d hand Now m c m m she has a far at her o and , An d c ows of her own to graze the land S ucc ess to all true sweethearts h m r W en the o ning sun , etc .

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

TH E S AILOR H OU that hast a daughter For WOO we d one to and , Give her to a husband With snow upon his head ; Old Oh , give her to an man ,

Though little joy it be, Before the best young sailor That sails upon the sea ! How luckless is the sailor When si c k and like to die

He sees no tender mother ,

No sweetheart standing by . Only the c aptain speaks to him u u m a n S tand p, stand p , young An d steer the shi p to haven , ca n AS none beside thee .

m e S Thou sayest to , tand up , stand up ; I say to thee, take hold L m ift me a little fro the deck , c My hands and feet are old . A n d m I let y head , pray thee With handkerchief be bound m ’ There , take y love s own handkerchief, An d tie it tightly round .

Now bring the chart, the doleful chart ; S ee where these moun tains meet c c The louds are thi k around their head , The m ists around their feet ’ Cast anchor here ; tis deep and safe Within the rocky cleft IRISH S ONGS AND LYRICS 37

The little anchor on the right

The great one on the left .

An d now to thee, O captain , I Most earnestly pray, That they may never bury me In church or Cloister gray

- But on the windy sea beach , At the ending of the land , All - on the surfy sea beach , D eep down into the sand .

For there will come the sailors, I Their voices shall hear , And at casting of the anchor The yO- ho loud and c lear ; An d at hauling of the anchor The wh o and the cheer F arewell my love, for to thy bay I n evermore may steer .

TH E WINDING BANKS OF ERNE ; OR TH E ’ S B Y , EMIGRANT ADIEU TO ALL S HANNON

A LOCAL B ALLAD

DIEU to Be lasha n n y ! where I was bred and born ; ’ GO I I ll where may, think of you , as sure as night and m om w kindly spot , the friendly to n , where every one

is known , 38 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

An d not a face in all the place but partly seems my own ’ ’ ri There s ot a house or window, there s not a ﬁeld or ill b , ' B ut I ll , east or west , in foreign lands , recollect them

still . ’ I ’ m I leave my warm heart with you , tho my back forced to turn d Bela sha nn SO a ieu to y, and the winding banks of Erne !

’ NO more on pleasant evenings we ll saunter down the

Mall ,

When the trout is rising to the ﬂy , the salmon to the

fall .

The boat comes straining on her net, and heavily she

c reeps . C off c Off ast ast she feels the oars , and to her berth she sweeps i Now fore and aft keep hauling, and gather ng up the w d e , m Till a silver wave of salmon rolls in a ong the crew . m a S it a — m Then they y , with pi pes lit , and any a joke a nd yarn A Belas ha nn E dieu to y, and the winding banks of rne

c The musi of the waterfall , the mirror of the tide, ’ When all the green - hill d harbour is full from side to side F m Portnas un Bullieb awns A ro to , and round the bbey

Bay, IR ISH S ONGS AND LYR ICS 39

From rocky Inis S a im er to Cooln a rg it sand - hills gray

While far upon the southern line , to guard it like a

wall , L e m The eitrim mountains cloth d in blue, gaze cal ly

over all , An d c S wat h the hi p sail up or down , the red ﬂag at her stern A a dieu to these, dieu to all the winding banks of Erne

F arewell to you , Kildoney lads, and them that pull an

oar ,

A - a lug s il set , or haul a net, from the Point to Mul la ghm ore ;

F m S - L ro Killybegs to bold lieve eague , that ocean

mountain steep, S ix d hundred yar s i n air aloft , six h undred in the d eep , F D F rom ooran to the airy Bridge , and round by

Tullen strand , L evel and long , and white with waves , where gull and curlew stand Head out to sea when on your lee the breakers you discern Adieu to all the billowy coast and winding banks of Erne !

F m ! ! m arewell , Cool ore Bundoran and your sum er crowds that run ’ From inland homes to see with joy th Atlantic - setting sun ; 40 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR r OF

a n d S To breathe the buoyant salted air , port among the waves n c a nd To gather shells on sa dy bea h , tempt the gloomy caves ;

To watch the ﬂowing , ebbing tide, the boats, the

crabs , the ﬁsh ; Y oung men and maids to meet and smile, and form a tender wish

The sick and old in search of health , for all things have their turn An d I must quit my native shore and the windi n g banks of E rne

Farewell to every white cascade from the H a rbour to

Belleek ,

And - every pool where ﬁns may rest , and ivy shaded creek ; S c The loping ﬁelds, the lofty ro ks, where ash and

holly grow , The one split yew - tree gazing OII the curving ﬂood below ; The L T ura w ough , that winds through islands under m ounta m green And C C d o r astle al well s stretching wo ds, with t anquil bays between And Breesie Hill , and many a pond among the heath and fern For I must say adieu — adieu to the winding banks of Erne

VI I

The thrush will call through Camlin groves the live long summer day ; IRISH S ONGS AND LYRICS 4 1

w a nd d The aters run by mossy cliff, bank with wil ﬂowers gay The girls will bring their work and sing beneath a

twisted thorn , Or stray with sweethearts down the path among the g rowm g corn I Along the riverside they go , where have often been Oh ! never shall I see a gain the days that I have seen A c c I thousand han es are. to one never may return E A Be la sha nn th e . dieu to y, and winding banks of rne

A c dieu to evening dan es, when merry neighbours

meet, And the ﬁddle says to boys and girls Ge t up and shake your feet “ ” ’ To shanac hus and wise Old talk of Erin s days gone b y ’ tre n ch d Who the rath on such a hill , and where the bones may lie n Of saint , or ki g, or warrior chief ; with tales of fairy

power , And tender ditties sweetly sung to pass the twiligh t

hour . The mournful song of exile is now for me to learn A d a c O II O f dieu , my e r ompanions the winding banks Erne !

Now measure from the Com m ons down to each end

of the Purt, 4 2 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

R A Kn a ther— I ound the bbey , Moy , and wish no one any hurt S c S C L The Main treet , Ba k treet, ollege ane, the Mall, u a n d P ortn a s n , If I any foes of mine are there , pardon every one . I hope that man and wom ankind will do the same by me ; For my heart is sore and heavy at voyaging the sea . ’ I ll e My loving friends b ar in mind , and often fondly turn Bela sha n n i To think of y, and the w nding banks of E rne .

’ ’ If I m m one d I God ever a y man , mean , please , to c ast My golden an chor in the place where youthful yea rs ’ were pa ss d Though heads that now are black and brown must m eanwhile g ather g ray , a c Old New f es rise by every hearth , and ones drop away Y et dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside ; ’ ’ It s m m I m ho e , sweet ho e , where er roa , through '

lands and waters wide . An d Lo d m e I if the r allows , surely will return m Belasha n n To y native y, and the winding banks of E rne .

TH E G OLD EN TRE AS UR Y OF

c m e n other turn , and Heave O , heerly ,

d- Heave, and goo bye to the shore

Our money, how went it We shared it and spent it ; ’ b c Next year we ll come a k with some more , Heave O

WINNING

ER blue eyes they beam and they twinkle, Her li ps have m ade smiling m ore fair ; ’ c w On heek and on bro there s no wrinkle, But thousands of curls in her hair .

’ ’ S — he s little , you don t wish her taller ; Just half through the teens is her age An d to baby or lady call her, Were something to puzzle a sage

Her walk is far better than dan c ing She speaks as another might sing An d c all by an innocent chan ing , L m ike la bkins and birds in the spring .

’ Unskill d c in the airs of the ity, ’ S he s perfec t in natural grace ; S ’ he s gentle and truthful and witty, ’ An d ne er spends a thoug ht on her face

’ Her face, with the ﬁne glow that s in it, As fresh as an apple - tree bloom A n d c m m oh when she o es , in a inute , L m ike sunbea s she brightens the room . IR ISH S ON GS AN D L YR ICS 45

a As taking in mind and in fe ture , How many will sigh for her sake I I wonder— the sweet little creature t What sor of a wife she would make .

WIS HING

ING - TING I wish I were a Primrose A bright yellow Primrose blowing in the S pring o The stooping b ughs above me ,

The wandering bee to love me,

The fern and moss to keep across , An d the Elm - tree for our king

Na — Elm - y nay I wish I were an tree ,

A Elm - ! great lofty tree, with green leaves gay

The wind would set them dancing ,

The sun and moonshine glance in ,

The Birds would house among the boughs, An d sweetly sing

O— R no I wish I were a obin , A R o obin or a little Wren , everywhere t go ;

Through forest , ﬁeld or garden , And a sk no leave or pardon , Till winter comes with icy thumbs f To ru ﬂe up our wing .

— Well tell Where should I ﬂy to, Where go to sleep in the dark wood or dell ?

Before a day was over , c Home omes the rover , ' For Mother s kiss— sweeter this Than any other thing 46 TH E G OLDEN TR EAS UR Y OF

J OH N A NS TE R (1 798- 1 86 7)

THE FAIRY CHILD H E summer sun was sinking

With a mild light , calm and mellow ; ’ It shone on my little boy s bonnie cheeks,

An d his loose locks of yellow .

was The robin singing sweetly, was sa d a n d An d his song tender , ’ a An d my little boy s eyes , while he he rd the song , d m o . S iled with a sweet , s ft splen or

My little boy lay on my bosom While his soul the song was quafﬁ ng ; n The joy of his soul had ti ged his c heek , r An d his hea t and his eye were laughing .

c I sate alone in my ottage , The midnight needle plying ; m ’ I feared for y child , for the rush s light In the socket now was dying

c Then came a hand to my lonely lat h , Like the wind at m idnight moaning I knelt to pray , but rose again r For I heard my little boy g oaning . IR ISH S ONGS AND L YR ICS 4 7

I m I c m s crossed y brow and rossed y brea t, m c But that night y hild departed , a They left a we kling in his stead , A n d I a m broken - hearted

0 , it cannot be my own sweet boy, F h is w or eyes are dim and hollo ,

— My little boy is gone is gone, An d his mother soon will follow .

The dirge for the dead will be sung for me , And a c the m ss be hanted meetly , An d I h shall sleep wit my little boy, In c the moonlight hurchyard sweetly . TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

J O H N FRA NCIS A RMS TRONG (1 84 1 — 1 86 5)

AD IEU

EAR c H a distant larion blare, The s m oldering battle ﬂam es anew ; A noise of onset shakes the air D a nd ! ear woods quiet vales, adieu

wa s Weird crag , where I wont to gaze ’ On the far sea s aerial hue, Below a veil of glim m ering haze ’ At morning s b reezy prime— adieu 1

C lear runnel , bubbling under boughs a n d Of odorous lime darkling yew, Where I have lain on banks of ﬂowers An d dreamed the livelong noon — adieu I

And , ah ye lights and shades that ray b m Those or s of brightest su mer blue, That haunted me by night and day For happy moons — adieu adieu

TH E BLIND. STUDENT

’ E d we N uri pi es plays debated , In C ollege, one chill winter night ; A u studen t rose p, while we waited For m ore intellectual light . IR ISH S ONGS AND L YR ICS 49

As a he stood , p le and anxious, before us , d n Three wor s , like a soft summer wi d , ’ Went past us and through us and o er us A whisper low - breathed He is blind I

An d c in many a fa e there was pity, In many an eye there were tears For his words were not buoyan t or witty, As ﬁtted his fresh summer years . An d c he spoke once or twi e, as none other C ’ ould speak , of a woman s pure ways H e remem bered the face of his mother Ere darkness had blighted his days . 50 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

J OH N BA NIM (1 798— 1 844)

AILEEN I IS not for love of gold go, ’ Tis not for love of fam e

Though fortune should her smile bestow, And win I may a name, A ileen win An d I may a name .

And yet it is for gold I go, An d yet it is for fame, That they may deck another A n d bless another name, Aileen And bless another name .

For this, but this, I go : for this I lose thy love awhile, A n d all the soft and quiet bliss

Of thy young faithful smile , Aileen

Of thy young faithful smile .

And I go to brave a world I ’ ’ And woo it o er and o er, An d tem pt a wave and try a U pon a stranger shore, Aileen U pon a stranger shore .

52 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ Who, in the winter s night, S o a rth a roon gg , c When the old blast did bite, S o a rth a roon gg , C c ame to my abin door, An d , on the earthen floor,

Knelt by me , sick and poor, S ogg a rth a roon 2

i Who , on the marr age day, So a rth a roon gg , o Made the po r cabin gay, S ogg a rth a roorz 2 An d o did b th laugh and sing,

Making our hearts to ring, At the poor christening, S ogg a rth a roon i Who, as fr end only met, S o a rth a roo gg n ,

Never did ﬂout me yet, S ogg a rtﬁ a roon An d when my heart was dim G ave, while his eye did brim ,

What I should give to him , Sogg a rt/z a roon

Och , you and only you , Sogg a rth a roon I An d I for this was true to you, Sogg a rth a roorz ’ In love they ll never shake, When for Old Ireland ’ s sake u did We a tr e part take, Sogg a rth a roon I IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 53

TH E FETCH

H E mother died when the child was born , And left me her baby to keep ; m om I rocked its cradle the night and , ’ An d silent hung o er it to weep .

' Twas a sickly child through its infancy,

Its cheeks were so ashy pale, Till it broke from my arms to walk in glee

Out in the sharp , fresh gale .

n r t A d then my little gi l grew s rong, An d laughed the hours away ; ’ Or sung me the merry lark s mountain song, W hich he taught her at break of day .

When she wreathed her hair in thicket bowers,

- With the hedge rose and harebell blue, I called her my May in her crown of ﬂowers,

. With her smile so soft and new .

An d I the rose , thought, never shamed her cheek , But rosy and rosier made it ; An d her eye of blue did more brightly break d Through the bluebell that strove to sha e it .

I One evening left her asleep in her smiles , An d walked through the mountains lonely ;

I i was far from my darl ng , ah many long miles, An d I thought of her, and her only .

The Fe c is the o of a e so d om ed to de t h appariti n p r n o ath . 54 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

S he m darkened y path like a troubled dream , In that solitude far a n d drear I m c spoke to y hild , but she did not seem h To hearken wit human ear .

S he only looked with a dead , dead eye , And wa n wa n c a , heek of sorrow . I knew her Fetc h she wa s c alled to die A n d she died upon the morrow .

TH E IRIS H MOTHER IN TH E PENAL DAYS

OW c m m - wel o e, welco e, baby boy, unto a ’ mother s fears , f The pleasure of her su ferings , the rainbow of

her tears , ’ c hO e The obje t of your father s p , in all he hopes

to do , A ’ future man of his own land , to live him o er anew

' ’ How fondly on thy little brow a m other s eye would c tra e, An d m c in thy little li bs , and in each feature of thy fa e, r His beauty , wo th , and manliness, and everything ’ that s his , E xcept , my boy , the answering mark of where the fetter is

Oh many a weary hundred years his sires that fetter

wore , An d he has worn it sin c e the day that him his mother bore 1R 1SH S ONGS AN D LYR I CS 55

m m ou And now, y son , it waits on you , the mo ent y

are born , The old heredita ry badge of suffering and scorn

A bo — las , my y so beautiful alas , my love so brave And must your gallant Irish limbs still drag it to the grave P An d m o you , y son, yet have a son , foredo med a slave

to be, ’ Whose mother still ' m ust weep o er him the tears I weep o ’ er thee ! 56 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

JA NE BA RLOW (1 857 FLITTING OF TH E FAIRIES

F rom the E nd o E l n town f ﬁ .

HEN Oberon spake the word of might That set the enchanted cars in sight ; I But love lack , to tell aright

Where these had waited hidden . Perchance the clear airs round us rolled In secret cells did them enfold , Like evening de w that none behold ’ Till to the sward tis slidden .

An d who can say what wiz a rdiz e e Had fashion d them in marvelous wise, A nd given them power to stoop and rise More high than thought hath traveled ? S m c i c o ewhat of loud the r frames onsist , ’ is But more of meteor s luminous m t , All girt with stran ds of seven - hued twist F ’ rom rainbow s verge unraveled .

’ I Tis said , and believe it well , c That whoso mounts their magi selle, Go es , if he list , invisible Beneath the broadest moonlight IR IS H S ON GS AND LYR ICS 57

m F — That virtue co es of aery fern , Lone - lived where hill - l pe s starward turn ’ Thro frore nig ht hours that bid it burn Flame - fronded in the moonlight ;

For — r this holds true too t ue, alas wa s The sky that eve clear as glass , Y e t no man saw the Faeries pass Where azure pathways glisten ; A n d — a true it is too true, y me That nevermore on lawn or lea S F hall mortal man a aery see , n Though long he look and liste .

Only the twilit woods among A wild - winged breeze hath sometimes ﬂung Dim echoes borne from strains soft - sung Beyond sky - reaches hollow S till further, fainter up the height , Receding past the deep - zoned night Far c F who hant of ays lead that ﬂight , Faint call of Fays who follow

’ F a s ollowi Red- ( y f ng . ) rose mists o erdrift ’ Moth - moon s glim m ering Lit by sheen - silled west Barred with ﬁery bar F leeting , following swift , Whither ac ross the night Seek we bo urne of rest ? F a : lea din . Afa ( y g ) r . 58 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Vailing c rest on c rest D own the shadowy heig ht, Earth with shores and seas D ropt , a dwindling gleam . D usk , and bowery nest ,

D - awn , and dells dew bright, What shall bide of these ?

a in A am . (F ays le d g . ) dre

F led , ah ﬂed , our sight . Y e a , but thrills of ﬁre

Throbbed adown yon deep, Faint and very far Who shall rede aright S a y, what wafts us nigher, Bec koning up the steep A (F ays lea ding . ) star .

F a s ollozefifz L ( y f g ) ist , a star a star l Oh , our goa of light Y et the winged shades sweep, Y et m the void loo s vast . Weary our wild dreams are When shall c ea se our ﬂight Soft on shores of sleep ?

F a s a din . At ( y le g ) last .

6 0 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ The c owa rd s dying eyes may c lose U pon his downy bed , An d m c m softest hands his li bs o pose , m ' Or gar ents o er them spread . who d But ye shun the bloo y fray ,

When fall the mangled brave, — cofﬁ n - Go strip his lid away, And see him in his grave

’ T were sweet , indeed , to close our eyes ,

With those we cherish near, And , wafted upwards by their sighs,

Soar to some calmer sphere .

But whether on the scaffold high , ’ Or in the battle s van , The ﬁttest place where man ca n die Is where he dies for man

TH E S WORD H AT rights the brave ? The sword What frees the slave ? The sword What cleaves in twain ’ The despot s chain , makes his gyves a nd dungeons vain ? The sword

CHO RUS

Then c ease thy proud task never While rests a link to sever IR IS H S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 6 1

G uard of the free , ’ We ll cherish thee , And keep thee bright forever 1

What checks the knave The sword What smites to save The sword I What wreaks the wrong U npunished long , last, upon the guilty strong ? The sword

CH ORUS T hen cease thy proud task never, etc .

What shelters Right ? The sword What m akes it might ? The sword What strikes the c rown

Of tyrants down , answers with its ﬂash their frown The sword

CHORU S T hen cease thy proud task never, etc .

S t ill be thou true , Good sword ’ l We l die or do , Good sword 6 2 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Leap forth to light If tyrants smite, m And trust our ar s to wield thee right, Good sword

CHO RUS

Y es cease thy proud task never While rests a link to sever

Guard of the free, ’ c ~ We ll herish thee, And keep thee bright forever ! IR ISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 63

FLORENCE BEA M IS H

SLEEP ON

’ LEE I a P on , for know tis of me you are dre ming, S leep on , till the sun comes to give you a call ,

' Though the pride of m y hea rt is to see your eye m bea ing, b dr a m t o Y et still to e e f is better than all . ’ ’ For m then tis to yours that y heart s always speaking , ’ A nd then tis the spell that enchains it gives way, An d I reveals all the love that never, when waking , C ould get round my tongue in the daylight to say .

Y es , sleep on , mavourneen , my joy, and my treasure, a Not often does sleep get comrade so fair , An d no wonder it is that his eye takes a pleasure c ou To wat h by your pillow while y slumber there .

— - Then sleep softly sleep , till the day dawn is breaking , And peeps in to give you a smile and a call , For though great as my joy is to see you when waking Y et still to be drea m t of is better than all ! 6 4 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

GEORGE BERKELEY J HS H OP OF CLOY N E (1 6 84— 1 753)

ON TH E PROSPECT OF PLANTING ARTS AND LEARNING IN AMERICA

H E Muse , disgusted at an age and clime m Barren of every glorious the e, In distant lands now wa itS ' a better time Produci n g subjects worthy fame

In happy climes , where from the genial sun

An d virgin earth such scenes ensue, e Th force of art by nature seems outdone, n d A fancied beauties by the true .

In happy climes , the seat of innocence, Where nature guides and virtue rules ; When m en shall not impose for truth and sense The pedantry of courts and schools ;

There shall be sung another golden age,

The rise of empire and of arts , The g ood and great inspiring epic rage

The wisest heads and noblest hearts .

Not such as Europe breeds in her decay S d uch as she bre when fresh and young , m When heavenly ﬂa e did animate her clay,

By future poets shall be sung . IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS

c Westward the ourse of empire takes its way, The four first acts already past A fifth shall close the drama with the day ’ Time s noblest oflspring is the last . 6 6 TH E ' G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

ISA A C BICKE RS TA FF (1 735— 1 8 1 2) S ONG

F rom Love in a Villag e

ERE was H a jolly miller once, Lived on the river Dee ;

He worked and sang , from morn night ;

No lark so blithe as he . A n d this the burden of his song, F b e orever used to , I n I care for obody, not If no one cares for me .

TWO SONGS

’ F rom Tdoom : a n d S a ll or tﬁe S a lor s R y , i eturn

Y ti m e how happy once and gay ! Oh blithe I wa s as bl ithe c ould be ; ’ n ow I m - a - ! But sad , ah , well day F or my true love is gone to sea .

I The lads pursue, strive to shun Though all their arts are lost on me ; For I ca n never love but one , A n d he, alas has gone to sea .

6 8 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ For we d ? if so be , want , ye see A c stuff plu k of this here , In I d — a Am — a n i , and eric , ’ We re sure to ﬁnd enough .

Then bless the king, and bless the state, A n d bless our c aptains all ; ’ An d ne er may chance unfortunate h The Britis ﬂeet befall . ’ ’ ros rous e But p p gales, wher er she sails, A n d ever may she ride, ’ Of sea and shore , till time s no more, i The terror and the pr de . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 69

ELIZA ETH LA E n ée CGRATH MA RY B B K , M (1 840

TH E DAWNING 0’ TH E Y E AR

LL ye who love the spring - time— and who but loves it well b e When the little birds do sing , and the buds gin to swell ! w f Think not ye ken its beauty, or kno its ace so

dear, Till ye look upon old Ireland in the dawning o ’ the year !

F r o where in all the earth is there any joy like this , When the S kylark sings and soars like a spirit into

bliss , While the thrushes 1n the bush strai n their small brown

mottled throats , Making all the air rejoice with their clear and mellow notes

And the blackbird on the hedge in the golden sunset glow

- Trills with saucy, side tipped head to the bonny nest below And the dancing wind slips down through the leav es

of the boreen , ’ And all the world rejoices in the wearing o the green 70 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ For tis green , green , green , where the ruined towers

are gray , ’ n d a ll A it s green , green , green , the happy night and da y ;

Green of leaf and green of sod , green of ivy on the

wall , An d the blessed Irish shamrock with the fairest green a of ll .

T here the primrose breath is sweet, and the yellow gorse is set A crown of shining gold on the headlands brown and wet ; Not a nook of all the land but the daisi es make to

glow , A n d c the happy violets pray in their hidden ells below .

’ A n d it s there the earth is merry , like a young thing newly made Running wild amid the blossoms in the ﬁeld and in d the gla e, Babbling ever into musi c under skies with soft clouds

pi led , Like the laughter and the tears in the blue eyes of a

child .

0 ’ But the green , green , green , tis that is blithe and fair In the fells and on the hills , gay and gladsome as the 1 a r, L o ying warm ab ve the bog , ﬂoating brave on crag and

glen , Thrusting forty banners high where another land has

ten . IR ISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 7 1

S ure . Mother Nature knows of her sore and heavy

grief, And thus with soft caress would give solace and reh e f Would fold her c lose in loveliness to keep her from

the cold , ’ And clasp the mantle o er her heart with emeralds and

gold .

So who - — ye love the sprin g time, and who but loves it well

When the little birds do sing , and the buds begin to swell Think not ye ken its be auty or know its face so dear ’ Till ye m eet it in old Ireland in the dawning o th e year !

TH E FIRST STEPS

' ’ O - NIGH I as the tender gloaming ’ Was sinking in evening s gloom , An d only the blaze of the ﬁ re light ’ da rk n in Brightened the g room , I laughed with the gay heart gladness

That only to mothers is known , For the beautiful brown - eyed baby Took his ﬁrst steps alone

Hurriedly run n ing to meet him C ame trooping the household band ,

Joyous , loving , and eager To he reach him a lping hand , 72 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

him To watch with silent rapture,

To cheer him with happy noise , My on e little fair - faced daughter

An d four brown romping boys .

Leaving the sheltering arms That fain would bid him rest C lose to the love and the longing, ’ Near to the mother s breast ,

Wild with daring and laughter , L m e ooking askance at , He stumbled across through the shadows ’ To rest at his father s knee .

m Baby, y dainty darling , S tepping so brave and bright With ﬂutter of lace and ribbon

- Out of my arms to night , Helped in thy pretty ambition e With tenderness bless d to see , S e helter d , upheld , and protected How will the last steps be ?

See a ll , we are beside you , U c rging and be koning on , Watching lest aught betide you

Till the safe , near goal is won , Guiding the faltering footsteps That trem ble and fear to fall

How will it be , my darling , With the last sad step of all ? IRISH S ON GS AND LYRI CS

! I Nay shall dare to question , Knowing that One more fond Than all our tenderest loving Will guide the weak feet beyond An d a knowing beside, my de rest , ’ That whenever the summons , twill be But a stumbling step through the shadow ’ Then rest— a t the Father s knee 74 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

D IO N BOUCICA ULT (1 82 2- 1 890)

S ONG

S ed to b e m uppos sung by a young wo an, whose d ed n e d i i Ir lan .

’ M I very happy where am , Fa r across the sa y ’ I m far very happy from home, In A m erika North y.

’ It s lonely in the night when Pat Is sleeping by my side . I lie awake , and no one knows ’ I v e c The big tears that ried .

For a little voice still calls me back coun thrie To my far , far , And nobody can hea r it spake

Oh nobody but me .

There is a little spot of ground Behind the chape l wall ’ It s nothing but a tiny mound, Without a stone at all

It i r ses like my heart j ust now , It makes a dawny hill ; ’ It s m c fro below the voi e comes out, I i cannot kape it st ll .

76 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

TH O MA S B OY D (1 867

TO TH E LEANAN S IDHE ‘

HERE is thy lovely perilous abode ? In what strange phantom - land Glimmer the fairy turrets whereto rode The ill - starred poet band ?

S a I Y y, in the sle of outh hast thou thy home,

The sweetest singer there , S tealing on winged steed across the foam Through the moonlit air ?

Or , where the mists of bluebell ﬂoat beneath

The red stems of the pine , ’ An d m sunbea s strike thro shadow , dost thou breathe The word that makes him thine

Eri al Or by the gloomy peaks of g , a nd c Haunted by storm loud ,

Wing past , and to thy lover there let fall His singing - robe and shroud

’ ' Or is thy palace entered thro som e cliﬂ

When radiant tides are full , ’ An d round thy lover s wandering, starlit skiff, Coil in luxurious lull ?

1 Lea n der S e L a wn S idﬁ en b ee The F i de . ( ) , a ry Bri IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 77

nd o A would he , entering on the brimming ﬂo d , S ee caverns vast in height ,

And diamond columns , crowned with leaf and bud , Of Glow in long lanes light,

And e there, the p arl of that great glittering shell

Trembling , behold thee lone,

Now weaving in slow dance an awful spell , Now still upon thy throne ?

’ Thy beauty ah , the eyes that pierce him thro Then melt as in a dream The voice that sings the mysteries of the blue And all that Be and Seem

Thy lovely motions answering to the rhyme

That ancient Nature sings,

That keeps the stars in cadence for all time , ’ An d echoes thro al l things

Whether he sees thee thus , or in his dreams , Thy light makes all lights dim An aching solitude from henceforth seems o The w rld of men to him .

Th y luring song, above the sensuous roar ,

He follows with delight , S L ’ hutting behind him ife s last gloomy door. An d fares into the Night . 78 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

W ILLIA M BOY LE (1 853

PHILANDERING

A EEN a ea sizla ! wh UR , , ah y such a frown on you ’ S ure, tis your own purty smiles should be

there, c Under those ring lets that make su h a crown on you ,

‘ As m the sweet angels the selves seem to wear, Whe n from the picthers in c hurch they look down on

you ,

Kneeling in prayer .

’ ’ Troth , no, you needn t , there isn t a drop on me, ’ Barrin one half- one to keep out the cowld ’ ’ An d , Maureen , if you ll throw a smile on the top 0

me, ’ - I ll w bowld. Half one as never so sweet, make c But , if you like, dear, at on e put a stop on me L sc w ife with a o ld.

’ Red- haired Kate R yan — Don t mention her name to me I ’ ’ I v e . a taste , Maureen darlin , whatever do I — Ah But kissed her , now, would you even that same to me ’ Y e m e saw Well , well , if ye did , sure it s true, I ' But don t want herself or her cows , and small blame to me I When know you .

80 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

J OS EP H BRENA N (1 828— 1 857)

E M E DEAREST COM TO ,

E I ’ m OM to me, dearest , lonely without thee ; ’ D a y- time and night - time I m thinking about thee ;

i - - m I N ght time and day time in drea s behold thee, m U nwelco e the waking that ceases to fold thee . C ome to me, darling , my sorrows to lighten ,

Come in thy beauty to bless and to brighten , C m o ome in thy wo anho d , meekly and lowly,

Come in thy lovingness, queenly and holy .

S wallows shall ﬂit round the desolate ruin , Telling of spring and its joyous renewing ; A nd thoughts of thy love , and its manifold treasure, ' Are circling my heart with a promise of pleasure ; 0 Spring of my spiri t 0 May of my bosom S hine out on my soul till it burgeon and blossom

- The waste of my life has a rose root within it ,

A n d thy fondness alone to the sunshine can win it .

Figure that moves like a song through the even Features lit up by a reﬂex of heaven E E yes like the skies of poor rin , our mother, Where sunshine a nd shadows are chasing each other ; S m m miles co ing seldom , but childlike and si ple, ' An d Opening their e yes from the heart of a dimple O thanks to the S aviour that even thy seeming Is left to the exile to brighten his dreaming I IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 8 1

Y ou have been glad when you knew I was gladdened D I ? ear, are you sad now to hear am saddened As octave to octave and rhyme unto rhyme , love, w Our hearts al ays answer in tune and in time , love ; I cannot weep but your tears will be ﬂowing Y ou can not smile but my cheeks will be glowing I would not die without you at my side , love Y ou n I . will not linger whe shall have died , love

C I ome to me, dear , ere die of my sorrow Rise on my gloom like the sun of to - morrow S I trong , swift , and fond as the words that speak , love , an d With a song on your lip a smile on your cheek ,

love . C in ome, for my heart your absence is dreary c Haste, for my spirit is si kened and weary Come to the arms that alone should caress thee Come to the heart that is throbbing to press the e 82 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

CHA RLOTTE BROO KE (1 740— 1 79 3) PULSE OF M Y HEART

Miss Brooke did m u ch to re scue an cie nt Irish poe try from o o h e r c ssic s e o f e o sc e d the oblivi n , alth ugh la tyl languag b ur oc co o a n d io dis i c i e n e ss o f th e o i i T is l al l ur nat nal t n t v r g nal . h m e is m o e i e om e ofh e r wo frag nt r l t ral than s rk .

S ’ the sweet blackberry s modest bloom , F air ﬂowering , greets the sight , Or strawberries in their rich perfume Fragrance and bloom unite S o this fair plant of tender youth In outward charms can vie, nd m A fro within the soul of truth ,

S . oft beaming, ﬁlls her eye

c Pulse of my heart dear sour e of care,

S - tolen sighs , and loved breathed vows ! Sweeter than when through scented air Ga y bloom the apple boughs m With thee no day can winter see , Nor frost nor blast c a n c hill

Thou the soft breeze, the cheering beam , T hat keeps it summer still .

84 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

What news , what news , thou great gray man I ’ ” fear tis ill with me . Aillinn Oh , is dead , and her li ps are cold , ” An d she died for loving thee .

An d he looked and saw no more the man , i But a trail of dr ving rain . woe c Woe he ried , and took his sword An d in drave his heart twain .

And s S out of his blood bur t forth a pring, And a yew - tree out of his breast ; A nd it grew so deep, and it grew so high ,

The doves came there to rest .

Aillinn But was coming to keep her tryst , The hour her lover fell An d she rode as fast as the western wind A c ross the heathery hill .

Behin d her ﬂew her loosened hair, Her happy heart did beat ; ’ When she was w are of a cloud of storm C i ame dr ving down the street .

An d out of it stepped a great gray man , An d his ca p was peaked with snow

The ﬁre of death was in his eyes , ’ And he gan his horn to blow .

What news , what news , thou great gray man An d is it ill to me e Oh , Bail the Prince is dead at the ford , " And i he died for lov ng thee . IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 85

w Pale, pale she gre , and two large tears D ropped down like heavy rain , An d she fell to earth with a woeful cry,

For she broke her heart in twain .

And out of her tears two fountains rose

That watered all the ground , And out of her heart an apple - tree grew ’ That heard the water s sound .

a nd woe Oh , woe were the kings, were the queens , And woe were the people all ; And the poets sang their love and their death I n cottage and in hall .

And the men of Ulster a tablet made F e’ rom the wood of Bail s tree, An d the men of Leinster did the like ’ Aillinn s - Of apple tree .

And on the one the poets wrote - L The lover tales of einster, An d on the other all the deeds

That lovers wrought in Ulster .

Nowwhen a hundred years had gone The King of all the land

Kept feast at Tara , and he bade

His poets S ing a strand .

’ They sang the sweet unhappy tale , ’ T l in he noble Ai l n s lay . " o c G , bring the tablets , ried the King ” - For I have wept to day . 86 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

But when he held in his right hand The wood of Baile’ s tree An d in his left the tablet smooth ’ F Aillin n s - rom apple tree,

The lovers in the wood who kept L - n ove lo ging ever true , n K ew one another , and at once F rom the hands of the king they ﬂew .

c As ivy to the oak they lung , Their kiss no man could sever

Oh , joy for lovers parted long

To meet, at last, forever

88 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

ld m 0 the gentle dames of O who, quite free fro fear

or pain ,

Could gaze on joust and tournament , and see their cham pion slain 11 d c They lived 0 goo beefsteaks and ale , whi h made m the strong and bold , 0 more li ke men than women were those gen tle dames of old

0 old r those mighty towers of with their tu rets , moat

and keep, m Their battle ents and bastions, their dungeons dark d and eep . Full many a baron held his court within the castle hold ; And v many a capti e languished there, in those strong towers of old

O the troubadours of old ! with the gentle m in strelsie ’ whiche er Of hope and joy, or deep despair, their lot may be ; For years they served their lady - loves ere they their

passion s told , O wondrous patien c e m ust have had those trouba dours of Old

0 those blessed times of old with their chivalry and state I c c c love to read their hronicles , whi h su h brave deeds relate ; I love to sing their ancient rhymes , to hear their

legends told , d I But, Heaven be thanke lived not in those blessed times of old IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 89

TH E LAST FRIENDS

On e of th e e d I s m e who e e e d to his a Unit ri h n , lat ly r turn n tive c e m e s of e i e e s e d ha d in ountry aft r any y ar x l , b ing a k what duce d him to si I e d w e a ll his e d e e o e vi t r lan , h n fri n s w r g n , ” ’ - s e e d I c m e c to se e the m o s . A u t/zor s n ote . an w r , a ba k untain C E OM to my country , but not with the hope That brightened my youth like the cloud light ing bow ; For the vigour of soul that seemed mighty to Cope u ﬂed With time and with fort ne hath from me now, A nd love that illum ined my wanderings of yore

Hath perished , and left but a weary regret For the star that can rise on my midnight no more,

But the hills of my country they welcome me . yet .

The hue of their verdure was fresh with me still , ’ When my path was afar by the T a n a is lone track

’ From the wide - spreading deserts and ruins that ﬁll m The lands of old story , they sum oned me back They rose on my dreams through the shades of the

West, They breathed upon sands which the dew n ever wet ; For c m I the e hoes were hushed i n the ho e loved best , And I knew that the mountains would wel c ome me

yet .

The m dust of y kindred is scattered afar , T hey lie in the desert , the wild , and the wave ; For wa r serving the strangers through wandering and , r The isle of their memory could grant them no g ave . And I I m , return with the emory of years

Whose hope rose so high , though in sorrow it set ; T c hey have left on my soul but the tra e of their tears,

But our mountains remember their promises yet . go TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

0 where are the brave hearts that bounded of Old ? An d where are the faces m y c hildhood has seen ? For a n d fair brows are furrowed , hearts have grown

cold , a re But our streams still bright , and our hills are

still green . A m y, green as they rose to the eyes of y youth , When brothers in heart in their shadows we met ; And b ills the have no memory of shadowor death , For their summits are sacred to liberty yet .

Like oc ean retiring the morning m ists n ow Roll back from the m ountains that girdle our land ; And sunlight en circles eac h heath - covered brow

For whi c h time hath no furrow and tyrants no brand . 0 thus let it be with the hearts of the isle Effac e the dark seal that oppression has set ;

Give bac k the lost glory again to the soil , m For the hills of my country re ember it yet .

WH AT H ATH TIME TAKEN ? S H AT hath Time taken tars , that shone

On the early years of earth , An d the an c ient hills they looked u pon , Where a thousand stream s had ’ birth F ’ orests that were the young world s dower , With their long - unfading trees ; An d the halls of wealth , and the thrones of power m He hath taken ore than these .

He hath taken away the heart of youth , An d c its gladness, whi h hath be en

9 2 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

KEVIN T . BUGGY (1 8 1 6 - 1 84 3)

THE SA! ON S H ILLING l

ARK ! a m artial sound is heard fi fi n The marc h of soldiers , g , drumming ; E yes are staring, hearts are stirred r c Fo bold re ruits the brave are coming , R fla untin ibands g , feathers gay

The sounds and sights are surely thrilling . Dazzled village youths to - day n h Will crowd to take the S ax o S illing .

Y e whose spirits will not bow In peace to parish tyrants longer Y e , who wear the villein brow , And ye who pine in hopeless hunger F ’ ools , without the brave man s faith All slaves and starvelings who are willing TO sell themselves to sham e and death A a xon i i ccept the fatal S S h ll ng .

1 e s o he s Re f r t t Engli h custom wh en re cruiting for the arm y . The acce ptance of a shill ing (twe nty- ﬁ v e ce nts) from th e re cruit in se e n co s i e s th e a ct of e is i a n d in th e old d s g rg a t n t tut nl t ng , ay m an y a poor fe ll ow h a s b e e n so plie d with drink th a t h e ha s awake n e d from h is sl e e p to ﬁ n d a shill ing in h is hand a n d th e ’ ue e s co o s i o s o f re d w i e a n d e i e d to his Q n l ur (r bb n , h t , blu ) p nn ' ’ ” ha t or on his e s s e si s h e h a d s e d for so e br a t ; ur gn that li t a g r, — / e e h e h a d o o e it. C. l v n though f rg tt n about V. IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 93

Ere you from your mountains go

To feel the scourge of foreign fever , Swear to serve the faithless foe That lures you from your land forever ! S wear henceforth its tools to be To slaughter trained by ceaseless drilling

Honour, home, and liberty,

Abandoned for a S a xon S hilling .

Go— to ﬁnd , mid crime and toil , The doom to which such guilt is hurried Go— to leave on Indian soil Y our bones to bleach , accursed , unburied

— Go to crush the just and brave, Whose wrongs with wrath the world is ﬁlling ; Go— to Slay eac h brother Slave Or spurn the blood - stained Sa xon Shilling !

Irish hearts why should you bleed To swell the tide of British glory A iding despots in their need , ’ Who ve changed our g reen so oft to g ory I

None , save those who wish to see d The noblest kille , the meanes t killing , And true hearts severed from the free , Will take again the S a x on S hilli ng !

Irish youths reserve your strength U ntil an hour of glorious duty , ’ When Freedom s smile shall c heer at length

The land of bravery and beauty .

Bribes and threats , oh , heed no more Le t nought but Justi c e make you willing To I leave your own dear sland shore , For S a x on Shi lin those who send the l g . TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

JA MES J OS EP H CA LLA NA N (1 795- 1 829) AND MUST WE PART ?

ND must we part ? then fare thee well ! But he that wails it— he ca n tell

How dear thou wert , how dear thou art An d ever must be , to this heart ’ But n ow tis vain — it c annot be ; F 011 arewell and think no more me .

Oh yes— this heart would sooner break Than one unholy thought awake ; ’ I d sooner slumber into clay ’ Than cloud thy S pirit s beauteous ray ; o — G , free as air as angel free ,

An d . , lady, think no more on me

Oh did we meet when brighter star

Sen t its fair promise from afar, I then might hope to c all thee mine ’ The minstrel s heart and harp were thine ’ But now tis past— it ca nnot be F arewell and think no more on me .

Or do — but let it be the hour ’ When mercy s all - atoning power F rom His high throne of glory hears,

Of souls like thine, the prayers , the tears

Then , whilst you bend the suppliant knee, — ! Then then , O lady thin k on me .

TH E GO LD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

May fevers long burn thee, A n d agues long freeze thee May the strong hand of God In His red anger seize thee !

Had he died calmly I would not deplore him , Or if the wild strife ’ Of the sea - war Closed o er him But with rope s round his white limbs

Through ocean to trail him , Like a ﬁsh after slaughter ’ I Tis therefore wail him .

Long may the curse Of his people pursue them S cully that sold him , An d soldier that slew him One glimpse of heaven ’ s light May they see never ! May the hearthstone of hell Be their best bed forever

In the hole which the vile hands

Of soldiers had made thee , U nhonoured , unshrouded , An d headless they laid thee ;

No sigh to regret thee, ’ No eye to rain o er thee ,

No dirge to lament thee , No friend to deplore thee ! IRISH S ON GS AND LrRIGS 97

D ear head of my darling, How gory and pale e These ag d eyes see thee, High spiked on their jail That cheek in the sum m er sun ’ Ne er shall grow warm ; ’ c Nor that eye e er atch light,

But the ﬂash of the storm .

A c e urse , bless d ocean ,

IS on thy green water, From the haven of Cork To Iv era of slaughter S ince the billows were dyed

With thy red wounds of fear , M uierta ch Of Oge, ’ Our O S ulliva n Bear

GOUGANE BARRA

ERE i Gou a ne H is a green sland in lone g Barra , Whence Allu of song s rushes forth like an arrow ; In deep valleyed Desmond a thousand wild fountains d Come own to that lake , from their home in the

mountains . There grows the wild ash ; and a time - stricken willow

l Gouga n e Barra is a sm all lak e about two m il e s in cir cum fe re n ce m e d th e m e o s s e m s ic de sce d , for by nu r u tr a wh h n from the m ountains that divide the countie s of Cork a nd e K rry . 98 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR r OF

c d d m Looks hi ing ly own on the irth of the billow , As a c sa d c , l ike some g y hild that monitor s orning , c It lightly laughs ba k to the laugh of the morning .

And its zone of dark hills— oh to see them all ’ b ri ht n in g g , When the tempest ﬂings out its red banner of light i n ng , m ’ ’ A nd the waters co e down , mid the thunder s deep

rattle, Like clans from their hills at the voi c e of the battle An d ﬁ re - c m brig htly the rested billows are glea ing , An d wildly from Malloc the eagles are scream i ng 011 d , where is the welling , in valley or highland , SO meet for a bard as this lone little island

m m O11 C 2‘ How oft, when the su er sun rested lara , A d Iv era n d lit the blue headlan of sullen , I m m Have sought thee, sweet spot, fro y home by the

ocean , ’ n a m in strel s A d trod all thy wilds with devotion , And who thought on the bards , oft gathering together , In c c a n d the left of thy ro ks , the depth of thy heather , D m S ’ d welt far fro the axon s dark bon age and slaughter, As they rai sed their last song by the rush of thy water

wa s l n High sons of the l yre oh , how proud the fee i g TO dream while alone throug h that solitude stealing ; E a m Though loftier minstrels green rin c n n u ber, I alone waked the strain of her harp from its slumber,

9 A m o a i o e th e a e . C e C e unt n v r l k ap l ar.

1 00 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

AY M Y R ' DRIM IN 1 0 S , B OWN

a ed rom the I rish Tra n sl t f .

D rim in 2 say, my brown , thou silk of the kine, hO e Where , where are thy strong ones, last p of thy line ?

Too deep and too long is the slumber they take, A m wh ’ t the loud call of freedo , y don t they awake

My strong ones have fallen — from the bright eye of da y All darkly they sleep in their dwelling of clay ; ’ c m — The old turf is o er the they hear not my cries, An d c L I sin e ouis no aid gives cannot arise .

L O l where art thou , ouis , our eyes are on thee ’ Are thy lofty ships walking in stren gth o er the sea ’ n m I freedo s last strife if you linger or quail , m ’ No orn e er shall break on the night of the Gael .

’ h But should the king s son , now bereft of his rig t , C d n c ome , prou in his stre gth , for his ountry to ﬁght L n e w ike leaves on the trees will people arise, An d deep from their mountains shout back to my

cries .

l D rim in is th e e m e of cow c I e d favourit na a , by whi h r lan is e e o d Th e ﬁ v d o f i a re the h r all e g ri cally e note d. e e n s Er n

ﬁ v e i dom s — s e Le s e s e Con n a u li t a n d k ng Mun t r, in t r, Ul t r, g , Me a th— into which th e island wa s divide d unde r th e Mil e sian d n st — Ca lla n a n y a y . . 9 S ill: o the cows a n d om c e ess o for th e m os e i f , i i ati xpr i n t b aut of ful cattl e . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 01

c m When the prince , now an exile , shall o e for his own ,

The isles of his father, his rights and his throne, o S My pe ple in battle the axons will meet,

An d . kick them before, like old shoes from their feet

O ’ er mountains and valleys they ’ ll press on their

rout, The ﬁve ends of Erin shall ring to their shout My sons all united shall bless the glad day ’ ﬂi - S e far When the nt hearted . axons they ve chas d

away .

THE CONVICT OF CLONMEL

OW hard is my fortune , And vain my repining The strong rope of fate For this young neck is twining . My strength is departed My cheek sunk and sallow ; i I c Wh le languish in hains , In the jail of Clua nnzea la .

No boy in the village

Was ever yet milder, I ’ d play with a child , An d my sport would be wilder . ’ I d dance whhout tiring From morning till even , ’ And the goal - ball I d strike

To the lightning of Heaven . TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y

At b ed— o d c my f ot e aying ,

My h urlbat is lying , Through the boys of the village My goal - ball is ﬂying ; My horse ’ mong the neighbours

Neglected may fallow , I m While pine in y chains , In Cl a a n m ea la the jail of .

Next S unday the patron At home will be keeping, And the young ac tive h urlers

The ﬁeld will be sweeping . With the dance of fair m aidens ’ The evening they ll hallow , c While this heart , on e so gay , Cla a n m ea la Shall be cold in .

T H E LAM ENT OF O ’ GNIVE

a r e I r Tra n sl tedf om th ish .

OW dimm ed is the glory that circled the Gael ’ And fa ll n the high people of green Innisfail ; The sword of the S axon is red with their gore ; the mighty of nations is mighty no more !

’ ’ l F ea r/la tha O Gm a m h wa s fam ily ola m h or bard to th e ’ 1 T he oe m o f ic O Ne il o f Cla nobo y abo ut th e year 556 . p wh h M a hru a h th e se l ine s a re th e tran sl a tion com m e n ce s with . t g ’ — /I M F hi Ca rt . r . m a . y 9 I n n is a il the s d o f de s in on e of the m e s of I re f , i lan t y, na l and.

1 04 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

For freedom or valour no m ore c anst thou see

In the home of the brave, in the isle of the free .

’ i n s t Afﬂctio dark waters your spiri s have bowed , An d O ppression hath wrapped all your land in its

shroud , S ince ﬁrst from the Brehon s pure justice you strayed S And bent to those laws the proud axon has made .

c c We know not our ountry , so strange is her fa e c Her sons , once her glory, are now her disgra e n I Gone, go e is the beauty of fair nnisfail , G For the stranger now rules in the land of the ael .

Where , where are the woods that oft rung to your

cheer, Where you waked the wild chase of the wolf and the deer ? Ca n those d ark heights, with ramparts all frowning

and riven , Be the hills where your forests waved brightly in heaven

E O bondsmen of gypt , no Moses appears ’ To light your dark steps thro this desert of tears D n o egraded and lost ones , Hector is nig h

To lead you to freedom , or teach you to die

l B rehon s the e e d a d es of the I s se s . , h r it ry ju g ri h pt IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 05

J OS EPH CA M PBELL (Living )

NEWTOWNBREDA

IS Ba ll lesson pretty tae be in y , ’ Tis pretty tae be in green Malone ; ’ Tis prettier tae be in Newtownbreda ,

Becking under the eaves in June . ’ The cummers are out wi their knitting and spinning , ’ u wa The thr sh sings frae his crib on the , ’ An d o er the white road the clachan caddies ’ - Play at their marlies and goaling ba .

’ 0 Ball lesson O fair are the ﬁelds y , ’ An d fair are the faes 0 green Malone ; ’ 0 But fairer the ﬂowers Newtownbreda, ’ ’ wi 0 Wet dew in the eves June . ’ ’ Tis pleasant tae saunter the gray clachan thoro ’ S D When day inks mellow o er ivis hill , And feel their fragrance sae softly breathing

F - rae croft and causey and window sill .

’ a re Ball lesson O brave the haughs o y , ’ And brave are the balds 0 green Malone ; ’ But braver the hames o Newtownbreda , ’ ’ wi 0 Twined about the pinks June . And c just as the fa e is sae kindly withouten , The heart within is as guid as gold Wi ’ F m new air ballants and erry music , ’ And cracks cam down frae the days of old . 1 06 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ Ba ll le sson Tis pretty tae be in y , A nd pretty tae be i n g reen Malone ; ’ in Tis prettier tae be Newtownbreda ,

Becking under the eaves in June . m m wi’ The cu ers are out their knitting and spinning, ’ c wa The thrush sing s frae his rib on the , ’ An d o er the white road the c lac han c addies ’ a n d - a Play at their marlies goaling b .

TH E FRIAR ’ S BUS H

’ The Friar s Bush g ive s nam e to th e old Catholi c burying ground situate o n th e l e ft- hand side o f th e road l eading o ut

o m e - e i s e to S - m i is on th e ise o f th e h i s e o e fr B ul f r t rath l , r ll ju t b f r e s I e e e w h w the you com e to Mount Pl a ant. n v r kn o place g ot i ts m e i o d m m o e who is a e o si o of th e na unt l t l by y th r, r p t ry all i di s o ie s of L a V e I e he r s o in qua nt tra tional t r ag n al . t ll t ry v e rsiﬁ e d form be low.

N penal times , as peasants tell , A friar c am e with book and bell To c hau nt his Mass eac h Sabbath morn ’ S - m - Beneath rath ilis trysting thorn .

c m c o He a e in sun , he ame in ﬂo d ’ F m Ard- m ic Na sca s ro holy wood , Where Niall buil t his monastery

house ' the c la n n - A e dha - b ui e To s ri pts of C dh .

But that was in the golden a ge U la id d When fostere saint and sage , E re g o rb ies g ra sped their m ensal - lands d Or ﬁled their books with bloo y hands .

1 08 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Week in , week out, he crossed the ford Fea rsa d a nd d To town , dare the sword wh C Of those o mocked his churchly loth ,

An d sought his bones to make them broth .

God But , guarded by the grace of , U d nharme he went his weary road , Till of a darkling Lammas day

A planter took his life away .

He slew him by the trysting - tree At c hosen oppo rtunity His hand upheld the Sacred Blood That ﬂowed unto the common good

Nor arm nor voice of any there Was raised to quell the murtherer ; ’ For wa s shame each peasant s heart numb, ’ F r c m was o fear ea h wo an s soul dumb .

With double blood upon his head The planter to his castle sped ’ ’ An d o er their shepherd s b ody pale

- The people raised the funeral wail .

They laid him after sunset - blush

- Beneath the ancient trysting bush , A n d on his head they set the sod ’ - cu O er which the sacring p had ﬂowed .

They wandered long without a guide , An d d of their number many die , A n d ere they passed they begged to be ’ ” L Fria r s aid resting by the Tree . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 09

’ Twas thus , if legend tell it true, A lowly graveyard round it grew ; A i holy spot it is , in fa th ,

Where one might wish to lie in death .

An d still on moldered stone and grass

The - thorn tree sees the shadows pass,

Nor shows a Sign of slow decay , ’ For twill be quick till Judgment - day

TH E GARDEN OF TH E BEES HERE is a clearing in the maze of ﬂowers That closes in my father ’ s House of Happi ness And S ummer dews it with her softest showers,

The while she suns it with an eye of tenderness . And on its plat of shaven fairy - grass

My bees are housed in hives of beechen wood , Filling the languorous air with lazy drone

- c Till moth time comes with melan holy mood ,

D - eepening the shadow on the dial stone, ’ An d drifts of purple o er the mountain pass .

And often there of quiet S ummer eves S S Feidhlim O We gather, eaghan and eumas , g I

— My Gaelic school to sit within the leaves , ’ - An d listen to the red bees twilight lullaby . A nd Seaghan will take a poem from his breast,

Chanting it to the purple sunken sun , 1 1 0 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

U ntil the m erg ing g low of da y and night ’ An d m m c ur urous drone and singer s voi e are one, ' ’ A nd D ana s secret eyes from heaven s height

Look down upon our little world at rest .

TH E LAMENT O F P ATRAIC M OR M AC CR UIM IN OVER H IS SONS

The M a cCruim in s we re h e re dita ry pipe rs to th e M a cLe ods of S e I n is e S ca tha h Th e c e s of th e c a is a d o d ky ( c ) . r t l n han h l in a i e c e wi th e m o o CO GA D H NO S l TH Pe a ce g p p hant r, th tt ” r Wa r a s o i d o f th e a Pa tra ic M o r who o . e s a re o c . M ny t r t l l n , i e d in th e m idd e of th e se e e e n ce t wa s re e n l v l v nt th n ury, f qu tly cco m a n ie d to i a n d m a e s e e n o - u so n s a ll a p k rk rk t by v gr wn p ,

- I t wa s o n he i a c o f whom die d within o n e twe lve m on ths . t r coun t th a t th e sorro wing pa re nt co m pose d th e affe cting pioha i re a cht c e d C M H A D H NO CLOI NNE or L m e for the all U , a nt ” Childre n .

A P a tra ic M a c Cruim in M Mor , D om hn a ll S S on of of the hroud ,

Piper, like my kind before me , a cLe d To the household of M o . Death is in the seed of C ruim in ; All my m usi c is a wail ; Early graves await the poets

An d the pi pers of the Gael . Samhain gleans the golden harvests D uly in their tide and time, But the body ’ s fruit is blasted

Barely past the Be a lte in prime .

Cethle n n claim s the fairest ﬁghters Fitl own y for her , her own , But m y seven sons are stri cken

- Where no battle pipe is blown .

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

m n Never ore upo the mountain , Neverm ore in fair or ﬁeld S hall ye see the seven cham pions

- Of the silver mantled shield .

I Cum ha dh n a l will play the C oinne , Wildest of the rowth of tunes Gathered by the love of mortal F m - u ro the olden druid r nes .

Wail ye Night is on the water ; Wind and wave are roa ring loud Caoine for the fallen c hildren M a cL Of the piper of eod.

TH E NINE GLENS OF AON- DRUIM

HERE is ﬁre in the heart of the Nine Glens

within ,

- That Oisin , the ardent souled, would live again to light The seed of ﬁre that molders there in darkness chill and dim

ﬂa m e - Must blow to bloom bright .

G e - se the e of th e e c or l ann tai , gl n f t h ghost .

- G e se is th e e of th e e e se d e . l ann g , gl n gr n g

- - G e D i e th e e o f th e A h D i e R e . l ann u n , gl n b ainn u n iv r G o the e of th e de a d o die s e c . l ann rp, g l n b

- i in h le a n n a n G e a th t e e of th e i e d. G ( l ann ) , g l n l ttl for

e - i e - E a m a in th e e of the o of a a n Gl ann ba l , gl n t wn E m .

- i o f h o G e a a ra m h the e t e m . l nn , g l n pl ugh an

- G e a o m the e e . l nn g r , blu g l n

- G e loi h e the e of th e s o e . l ann c c , gl n t n IR ISH S ON GS AND LYRI CS 1 1 3

Gleann - taise sings the fairy - songs she knew of yore ; ’ G - se is - Thro leann g , exulting , the brown streamed rivers leap And r , sti red by the ﬁner breath that ﬁlls her bosom

hoar ,

- Gleann D uine looks up from her sleep .

S trange sounds of shrilly music are rife in the wind That breathes down Gleann - a ra im h from the long forgotten years ; ’ Tis the pi pes of S om ha irle Buidhe leading out his Gaelic kind

That ring in her wondering ears .

G - Gleanna n leann corp marks the cry, and green Takes up the quickening ether within her zone of b ills ’ An d Glea n ti- baile - Ea m a in looks like a battler s queen iob reach i When her pulse at his p t thr lls .

Gleann - gorm is out to meet the risen dawn In summer busk of purple broom and lichen gray ; An d swift as the phantom - S hips of Manannan

G - cl iche The shadows of leann o ﬂeet away .

T G here is fire in the heart of the Nine lens within , T - hat Oisin , the magic tongued , is come again to light The seed of fire that moulders there in darkn ess chill and dim fla me - Will blow to bloom bright . 1 1 4 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

A I JOH N T . C M P ON (1 8 1 4

EMMET ’ S DEATH

E - dies to day , said the heartless judge, the s Whilst he sate him down to fea t, An d a smile was upon his ashy lip As he uttered a ribald jest ; For a demon dwelt where his heart should be , o o That lived up n blo d and sin , And oft as that vile j udge gave him food

The demon throbbed within .

- He dies to day, said the jailer grim , Whilst a tear was in his eye ; But why should I feel so grieved for him I ’ S I ve n ure, seen ma y die L I ast night went to his stony cell , With the sc anty prison fare

He was sitting at a table rude, Plaiting a lock of hair ’ An d loo k d he so mild , with his pale, pale face, An d he spoke in so kind a way, old That my breast heaved with a smothering feel , An d I kn ew not what to say !

1 1 6 TH E G OLD EN TR E AS UR Y OF

GEORGE CA NNING (1 770- 1 827) EPITAPH

’ For the tom bstone e re cte d ove r the Ma rquis of A nglese a s le os a t W e o g , l t at rl o. ERE rests , and let no saucy knave

Presume to sneer and laugh , To learn that moldering in the grave I S laid a British Calf.

For who is he writes these lines sure, That those who rea d the whole wa s m Will ﬁnd such laugh pre ature,

For too . here , , lies a sole

An d here ﬁve little ones repose,

Twin born with other ﬁve,

Unheeded by their brother toes, al Who all are now ive .

A leg and foot to speak more plain , Rests here of one comman ding ;

Who though his wits he might retain , L ost half his understanding .

An d when the guns , with thunder fraught,

Poured bullets thick as hail , C ould only in this way be taught foe - To give the leg bail . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 1 7

And E u now in ngland , j st as gay As in the battle brave,

Goes to a rout , review or play,

With one foot in the grave .

F ortune in vain here showed her spite, F S l or he will ti l be found , ’ E n Should ngland s so s engage in ﬁght,

Resolved to stand his ground .

’ B ut Fortune s pardon I must beg ; he S meant not to disarm , ’ r Fo when she lopped the hero s leg , S he did not seek his harm ,

' And but indulg d a harmless whim S ince he could walk with one S he sa w 011 two legs were lost him ,

Who never meant to run .

SONG

F rom The Rover or the D ou hle Arra n em en t ; g . HENE ’ ER with haggard eyes I view ’ 1 Th s dungeon that I m rotting in , I think of those companions true Who studied with me at the U — n iv ersit G y of ottingen , — n iversit Go y of ttingen .

S weet kerchief, checked with heavenly blue, Which once my love sa t knotting in 1 1 8 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Alas Matilda then was true At least I thought so at the U — n i ersit G v y of ottingen , — ni ersit G v y of ottingen .

! ! ! Barbs barbs alas how swift you ﬂew , Her neat post - wagon trotting in Y e bore Matilda from my view Forlorn I l an guished at the U — n iv ersit G y of ottingen , — n iv e rsit G i y of ott ngen .

This faded form this pallid hue ! This blood my veins is clotting in My years are many— they were few When ﬁrst I entered at the U — n iv ersit G y of ottingen , — n iv ersit y of Gottingen .

There ﬁrst for thee my passion grew, S d P ottin e n weet, sweet Matil a g Thou wast the daughter of my tu o U tor , law profess r at the — n iv ersit G n y of ottinge ,

— n iv ersity of Gottingen .

S un ! , moon , and thou , vain world , adieu That kings and priests are plotting in : Here doomed to starve on water gru el I , never shall see the U — n iversit G y of ottingen , — n iv ersit G y of ottingen .

1 i i sa id to h a e Th s ve rse s v be e n a dde d by th e younge r

1 20 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

KN IFE - GRIND ER

od I S tory G bless you have none to tell , sir

a - C Only last night drinking at the hequers ,

This poor old hat and breeches, as you see, were

T0m in a scufﬂe .

Constables came up for to take me into Custody they took me before the justice ; Justice Oldm ixon put me in the parish c S to ks for a vagrant .

I should be glad to drink your honour’ s health in A S c pot of beer , if you will give me ixpen e ; I But for m y part , never love to meddle

With politics , sir .

FRIEND OF HU MA N ITY

I give thee Sixpence I will see thee damned ﬁrst Wretch whom no sense of wrongs can rouse to vengeance ! S ordid , unfeeling, reprobate , degraded S piritless outcast

K iehs the K n e - ri n der overturn s his whee a n d [ gf g , l , exit in a tra n sp ort of rep ublica n enthusia sm a n d un i r h a ro ve s a l p il n th py . ! IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRI CS 1 2 1

WILLIA M CA NTON (1 845 1

LAUS INFANTIUM

praise of little children I will sa y od G ﬁrst made man , then found a better way F r o . woman , but his third way was the best s Of all created things , the lovelie t A nd most divine are children . Nothing here a C n be to us more gracious or more dear . And God though , when saw all his works were good ,

There was no rosy ﬂower of babyhood , ’ Twas said of children in a later day T hat none could enter Heaven save such as they .

The n earth , which feels the ﬂowering of a thor , 0 o Was glad , little child , when you were b rn S c The earth , which thrills when kylarks s ale the blue , ’ Soared up itself to God s own Heaven in you ; . An d Heaven , which loves to lean down and to glass Its w beauty in each de drop on the grass ,

Heaven laughed to ﬁnd your face so pure and fair, And 0 left, little child , its reﬂex there . 1 2 2 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

WILLIA M CA RLETO N (1 798— 1 869) A S IGH FOR KNOCKM ANY

AKE d m , prou a bition , take thy ﬁll Of pleasures won through toil or crime ; Go c m , learning , li b thy rugged hill , An d m m give thy na e to future ti e .

Philosophy , be keen to see ’ Whate er is j ust , or false , or vain c m Take ea h thy eed , but oh , give me m m To range y ountain glens again .

Pure was the breeze that fanned my cheek , ’ ’ As o er Kn ockm a n y s brow I went ; When every lovely dell could spe ak

I - n c . airy musi , vision sent F I c alse world , hate thy ares and thee ; I hate the treacherous haunts of men ; G c ive ba k my early heart to me,

Give back to me my mountain glen .

How light my youthful visions shone ’ When spann ed by Fane y s radiant form

But now her glittering bow is g one , And leaves m e but the c loud a n d storm

With wasted form and cheek all pale , a a n d With heart long se red by grief pain , ’ D un roe I ll , seek thy native gale, I ’ ll d m m trea y ountain glens again .

1 24 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

J OH N KEEGA N CA S EY (1 846 - 1 870)

DONAL KE NNY

’ M E Sha skan R O , piper, play the eel , Or else the Lasses on the heather And , Mary, lay aside your wheel

Until we dance once more together . At fair and pattern 1 oft before ’ Of reels and jigs we ve tripped full many ; ’ But ne er agai n this loved old ﬂoor D Will feel the foot of onal Kenny .

S oftly she rose and took his hand , And softly glided through the measure,

While, clustering round , the village band

Looked half in sorrow , half in pleasure . Warm blessings ﬂowed from every lip ’ As ceased the dan c ers airy motion 0 Blessed Virgin guide the ship ’ Which bears bold Donal o er the ocean

God Now be with you all he sighed , Adown his face the bright tears ﬂowing a ie e God guard you well , o , they cri d , o U p n the strange path you are going .

’ I P a ttern o sa i s s da , patr n nt, a aint y. IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 1 25

So his S full breast, he scarce could peak , i r W th burning grasp the st etched hands taking,

He pressed a kiss on every cheek ,

An d sobbed as if his heart was breaking .

’ I ’ m Boys , don t forget me when gone , For sake of all the days passed over The days you spent on heath and bawn '

a R ua dh . With D on l , the rattlin rover a ra Mary, g , your soft brown eye Has willed my fate (he whispered lowly) Another holds thy heart : good - bye Heaven grant you both its blessings holy

A w kiss upon her brow of sno , A rush across the moonlit meadow ,

- Whose broom clad hazels, trembling slow , The mossy boreen wrapped in shadow; ’ ’ A T o way o er ully s b unding rill , An d far beyon d the Inn y river ; ’ c 011 C One heer arrick s rocky hill , ’ And D onal Kenny s gone forever .

A .

The breezes whistled through the sails, ’ G O er alway Bay the ship was heaving , And smothered groans and bursting wails

Told all the grief and pain of leaving . One form among that exiled band r Of parting so row gave no token ,

Still was his breath , and cold his hand ’ For D t onal Kenny s hear was broken . 1 26 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

GRACIE OG MACHREE

“ S O NG O F TH E WILD GEES E

LACED P the silver in her palm , I ’ By uny s smiling tide , An d vowed , ere summer time came

To claim her as a bride . m m But when the su er time came on , I dwelt beyond the sea ; Y et still my heart is ever true To Gra cie 0 M a chree g .

o O bonnie are the wo ds of Targ, An d R m green thy hills, ath ore, And soft the sunlight ever falls ’ On Darre s S loping shore ; And there the eyes I love— in tears S hine ever mournfully, I While am far, and far away M a r From Gra cie 0g ch ee .

- When battle steeds were neighing loud,

With bright blades in the air, Next to my inmost heart I wore

A bright tress of her hair . When stirrup - c ups were lifted up

To lips, with soldier glee, I One toast always fondly pledged , ’ Twas Gra cie 0g M a chree .

l ' Gra cie o m o- chroidhe G c e ofm e g , young ra i y h art.

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ Twas on an April eve That I ﬁrst met her ; Many an eve shall pass re I E forget her . S ince my young heart has been

Wrapped in a whirl , Thinking and dreaming of

Maire my girl .

She is too kind and fond E ver to grieve me, She has too pure a heart ’ e E r to deceive me . ’ Were I Tyrcon nell s chief D ’ Or esmond s earl , L ife would be dark , wanting

Maire my girl . Over the dim blue hills S trays a wild river , Over the dim bl ue hills Rests my heart ever ; Dearer a nd brighter than

Jewels or pearl , D wells she in beauty there,

Maire my girl .

TH E RIS ING OF THE MOON

A . 1 8 ( . D 79 )

’ S O Ferra ll H , then , tell me , hawn , Tell me why you hurry so m a on ha b ush Hush b c l, , and listen ; A n d his Cheeks were all a - glow I bear ordhers from the Captain IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 29

Ge t you ready qui c k and soon ; For the pikes must be together ’ ” t ri i A the s n of the moon .

’ S O Ferrall Oh , then , tell me , hawn , ’ ’ ” Where the ga th rin is to be ? I n the ould spot by the river,

Right well known to you. and me ; One word more — for signal token m ’ Whistle up the archin tune ,

With your pike u pon your shoulder , ’ " By the risin of the moon .

Out from many a mud - wall cabin ’ Eyes were watc hing thro that night ; Many a manly chest wa s throbbing For the blessed warning light .

Murmurs passed along the valleys, ’ L ba n s hee s ike the lonely croon , An d a thousand blades were ﬂashing ’ At the risin of the moon .

T here , beside the singing river, That dark mass of men were seen Fa r above the shining weapons Hung their own beloved Green Death to ev ’ ry foe and traitor F ! ’ orward strike the marchi n tune, And r ! hu rah , my boys , for freedom ’ ’ ” Ti risin s the of the moon .

I Well they fought for poor Old reland , And full bitter was their fate ; 1 30 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

(Oh what glorious pride and sorrow ’ Fill the nam e of Ninety - Eight ’ Y e t God , thank , e en still are beating ’ n Hearts in manhood s burning oon , Who would follow in their footsteps ’ At the risi o of the moon

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y

Her yielding timbers sever, c are Her pit hy seams rent ,

- When Heaven , all bounteous ever, Its boundless merc y sent ;

A sail in sight appears, We h ail her with three cheers Now we sail with the gale F rom the Bay of Biscay, O

TH E GREEN LITTLE S HAMROCK OF IRELAND

’ ERE S rows in l H a dear little plant that g our is e, ’ S c m Twas aint Patri k hi self, sure, that set it ; A n d the sun on his labour with pleasure did m s ile ,

A nd with dew from his eye often wet it . It thrives through the bog , through the brake, through the m irela n d n d c d c I A he alle it the dear little shamro k of reland ,

The sweet little shamrock , the dear little sham

rock , I The sweet little, green little , shamrock of reland .

This dear little plant still grows in our land , F d E resh and fair as the aughters of rin , m ca n Whose s iles bewitch , whose eyes can command , I n eac h c limate that they may appear in ; An d bo shine through the g , through the brake, through the m ire la n d d m I Just like their own ear little sha rock of reland , c The sweet little shamro k , the dear little sham c ro k , m I The sweet little, green little, sha rock of reland . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 33

This dear little plant that springs from our soil ,

When its three little leaves are extended , D we enotes from one stalk together should toil , A nd ourselves by ourselves be befriended And still through the bog, through the brake, through m irela nd the , F rom one root should branch , like the shamrock of I reland ,

The sweet little shamrock , the dear little sham

rock , The I sweet little, green little, shamrock of reland .

TOM MOODY

OU - in all knew Tom Moody , the whipper , well ’ The bell just done tolling wa s honest Tom s knell ; A ’ more able sportsman ne er followed a hound ,

Through a country well known to him ﬁfty miles round . No hound ever opened with Tom near the wood ’ ’ But he d challenge the tone, and could tell if twere good ; And all with attention would eagerly mark , ! R When he cheered up the pack . Hark to ook ! ! wood , hark hark High — wind him and cross him ; R — Now , attler, boy Hark

’ S ix - crafty earth stoppers , in hunter s green drest, S upported poor Torn to an earth m ade for rest ; c S n His horse , whi h he styled his Old oul , ext appeared , On whose forehead the brush of the las t fox was

0 1 1 TH E G LD EN TR EAS UR Y OF 34. O

c a t o d Whi p, p, boots , and spurs in a rophy were b un , A n d e here and there follow d an old straggling hound . Ah s no more at his voice yonder vale will they trace, Nor the welkin reso und to the burst in the chase With High over — now press him Tally - ho - Tally - ho

u Thus Tom spoke his friends ere he gave p his breath , ’ S c I in e see you re resolved to be in at the death , ’ — I l c One favor bestow tis the last shal rave, Give a rattling v iew - hollow thrice over m y grave ; An d n I u unless at that war ing lift p my head , o c d I My b ys , you may fairly con lu e am dead Tom Honest was obeyed , and the shout rent the sky, ' For c d - ho every voi e joine i n the tally cry, Tally - ho l Hark forward ! Tally - ho ! Tally - ho !

1 36 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

I called to Oisin and he obeyed

Out of the sunshine into the shade, Though the words were out a n d the warhorn s blew An d wisdom and pride my voice gainsaid .

But a hundred years , or a thousand years , I kept my lover from hopes and fears In D m a rm ruid dark on y he slept . S hall I not keep men even as I kept ? ’ w Twixt a man and his isdom let blow my hair, ’ s — The man is beside me , and wi dom s where ?

F G The enians died and the high ods die, ’ ' m I . But spring s im ortal , and so am I I a m I am young , swift , am fair to see , a My blood is the s p running new in the tree . Shall I not keep men even as I kept Oisin free from his falling sept who Who shall deny me , or gainsay , For the world is beginning anew to - day ? Y outh is glad , for the world is wide ;

0 Y Lo . Tarry, outh ve is here at thy side

The world is beginning anew to - day ; Fire is awake in each clod of Clay The ragweeds know what has n ever been told

By the old to the young , or the young to the old . The hawthorns tell it in broad daylight !

The evening primrose awaits the night , Her be autiful sec ret she shuts in c lose

Till the last late bee goes home from the rose . An d I a m the secret , the ﬂower , and the tree ; I a m e 0 Y I B auty outh , have blossomed for thee . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 37

TH E CUCKOO SINGS IN THE HEART OF WINTER

H E n cuckoo si gs in the heart of winter, And all for M a urye e n he tunes his song ; ’ ’ a ur e e n s How M y hair is the honey s color . (He sings of her all the winter long 1)

’ ’ Her long loose hair s of the honey s color, d The wild sweet honey that wil bees make .

The sun herself is ashamed before her, ’ The moon is pa le for her gold cool s sake .

’ S he bound her hair, of the honey s colour, With ﬂowers of ya rrow and quicken green An d n w now O e binds it with leaves of willo ,

And cypress lies where my head has been .

’ Now Pastheen s robins sing beside doorway , A nd wrens for bounty that Grania gave : The cuckoo sings in the heart of winter ; ’ M a He sings all day beside uryeen s grave .

TH E DARK M AN

E ’ OS 0 the World , she came to my bed And changed the dreams of my heart and head

For joy of mine she left grief of hers ,

And garlanded me with a crown of furze . 1 38 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ R 0 ose the World , they go out and in , An d watch me dream and my mother spin A nd they pity the tears on m y sleeping fac e m ’ While y soul s away in a fairy place .

’ R 0 ose the World , they have words galore , ’ ’ An d wide s the swing of my m other s door An d soft they speak of my darkened eyes do ? But what they know, who are all so wise

’ R 0 ose the World , the pain you give Is worth all days that a man may live Worth all shy prayers that the colleens say

011 - the night that darkens the wedding day .

’ R 0 ose the World , what man would wed When he might dream of your face instead Might go to his grave with the blessed pain Of hungering after your face again ?

’ R 0 ose the World , they may talk their ﬁll , For dreams are good , and my life stands still ’ While their lives red ashes the gossips stir ;

— But m y ﬁddle knows and I talk to her .

TH E FAERY FOOL

F I ’ m F D the aery fool , alua A F I y me , the aery fool How do I know what the rushes S ighing and shuddering al l the da y Over their shadowy pool ?

1 40 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

No man alive has seen me, But women hear me play S d ometimes at door or win ow, Fiddlin g the souls away ’ ’ The c hild s soul a nd the c olleen s c c Out of the overing lay .

None of my fairy kinsmen Make music with me now A I lone the raths wander , Or ride the whitethorn bough ;

But the wild swans they know me , And w the horse that draws the plo .

T H E GRAY FOG

ERE ’ S D H a gray fog over ublin of the curses , It m a v rone blinds my eyes , ; and stops my

breath , And I c travel slow that once ould run the swiftest , ’ An d I fea r ere I meet M a uryee n I ll meet D eath .

’ D There s a gray fog over ublin of the curses , An d a gray fog dogs my footsteps as they go,

And C . its long and sore to tread , the road to onnaught Is it fault of brogues or feet I fare so slow ?

’ D There s a gray fog over ublin of the curses , But the Connaught wind will blow it from my wa y An d a Connaught girl will kiss it from m y m emory If D the eath that walks beside me will delay . S S N D LYRICS 1 IRISH ON G A 4 1.

’ D (There s a gray fog over ublin of the curses , And no wind c omes to break its stillness deep And a Con na ughtm a n lies on the road to Connaught A nd M a uryee n will not kiss him from his slee p Ululu

TH E KING OF IRELAND ’ S SON

’ OW all away to Tir na n og are many roads

that run , ’ But he has ta en the longest lane, the King of ’ Ireland s son .

’ a There s roads of hate , and roads of love, and many wa middle y, And castles keep the valleys deep where happy lovers stray

’ Where Aong us goes there s many a rose burns red mid

shadows dun ,

No rose there is will draw his kiss , the King of Ire ’ land s son .

And yonder, where the sun is high , Love laughs amid

the hay ,

But smile and sigh have passed him by, and never

make delay .

’ And here (and O ! the sun is low ! ) they re glad for won harvest ,

But naught he cares for wheat or tares , the King of Ireland ’ s son 1 1 4 2 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ I ’ m A n d you have ﬂung love s apple by , and to pluck it yet : But what are fruits of gramarye with druid dews beset ?

Oh what are magic fruits to him who meets the Li a nan sidhe ’ Or hears athwart the distance dim Fion n s horn drowsily

He follows on forever when all your chase is done ’ d I son He follows after sha ows, the King of reland s .

1 44 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ The polish d ringlets of thy jetty locks ’ S ham e the black raven s on the sun - gild rocks ;

Thy neck can boast a whiter , lovelier glow , ’ Than the wild cygnet s silvery plume of snow .

And from thy bosom , the soft throne of bliss,

The witch of love, in all her blessedness ,

Heaves all her spells , wings all her feathered darts, A nd in d dips her arrows a oring hearts . R E v a ise , , rise the sun sheds his sweet ray , ’ ’ Am — rous to kiss thee rise, my love we ll stray A m m cross the ountain , on the blosso y heath ,

h - The eath bloom holds for thee its odorous breath .

F a rom the tall cr g , aspiring to the skies, ’ I ll pick for thee the stri ngs of strawberries ;

w - The yello nuts, too , from the hazel tree ’ Soul of m y heart - I ll strip to give to thee red As thy lips the berries shall be bright , A nd the sweet nuts shall be as rife and white

A nd - milky , as the love begotten tide o That ﬁlls thy sp tless bosom , my sweet bride .

Queen of the smile of joy shall I not kiss ’ - cot less d o Thee in the moss grown , b b wer of bliss S hall not thy rapturous lover clasp thy charms , An d fold his Ev a in his loving arms ’ S hall Inn isca ther s wood again attes t ’ Thy beauties stra in d unto this burning breast ? A b sent how long Ah when wilt thou return ? ’ When shall this wither d bosom c ease to mourn ? IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 45

E v a ? , why stay so long why leave me lone , In c the deep valley , to the old gray stone ? 0 d Pourin g my plaints come , ivinest fair C m m hase fro y breast the demon of despair . m The winds are witness to y deep distress , L ike the lone wanderer of the wilderness , For thee I languish and for thee I sigh E v a My , come , or thy poor swain shall die

An d didst thou hear my melancholy lay ? An d ? Ev a ? art thou coming , love My say

- Thou daughter of a meek eyed dame, thy face ’ IS lovelier than thy mother s , in soft grace . 0 m E va yes thou co est , to m y sight An angel minister of heavenly light The sons of frozen climes can never see S ummer ’ s bright smile so glad as I see thee Thy steps to m e are lovelier than the ray T ’ hat rose night s cheek with the blush of day. 1 46 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

J OS EPH IGNA TIUS CONS TA NTINE CLA RKE (I 846

ROUGH RIDER O ’ NEILL

First re cite d by th e author at th e Annual D inne r of th e Ne w

o F ie d S o s of S t. t ic c 1 1 0 a t c Y rk r n ly n Pa r k, Mar h 7, 9 5, whi h si h e e s Pre de nt Rooseve lt was t gu t .

H EN d the cresset of war blaze over the land , ’ A n d c c a all ran ﬁer e thro the West , “ S R R r aying ough ide s , come to the roll of m the dru ,

They came with their bravest and best , With a clatter of hoofs and a stormy hail S inewy, lean , tall an d brown i Hunters and ﬁghters and men of the tra l , F rom hills and plains, from college and town ' ’ c s o With the owboy yell and the redman s who p, Sons of thunder and swingers of steel ; An d own A o , leading his rizona tr op, ” ’ R d c Nei l ode gla and fearless Bu ky O l .

In I the ranks there was rish blood galore , As it ever is sure to be U fla When the nion g is flung to the fore, An d m en the fig ht is to make free . There were Kellys and Murphys and Burkes and Doyles

! o l h C r t b . I C. C a e . B e m ss Py g y J . l rk y p r i ion .

1 48 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

TH E FIGHTING RACE

EAD out the names and Burke sat back , An d Kelly drooped his head . While S hea— they c all him Scholar Jack

Went down the list of the dead .

Ofﬁcers, seamen , gunners , marines ,

The crews of the gig and yawl ,

The bearded man and the lad in his teens,

— c . Carpenters , oal passers all c Then , kno king the ashes from out his pipe, S aid Burke in an offhand wa y ’ ’ C We re all in that dead man s list , by ripe ” Kelly and Burke and S hea . ’ ’ a nd I m S Well , here s to the Maine , sorry for pain ,

S aid Kelly and Burke and S hea .

’ ’ Wherever there s Kellys there s trouble, said Burke . ’ ﬁ htin s m Wherever g g the ga e, ’ c of Or a spi e danger in grown man s work , ’ ”

S d . ai Kelly , you ll ﬁnd my name ” An d do we fall short , said Burke, getting mad , ’ When it s tou c h and go for life ’ S It s - S aid hea , thirty odd years , bedad , Since I charged to drum and ﬁfe ’ c U p Marye s Heights , and my old anteen

S topped a rebel ball on its way . There were blossoms of blood on our sprigs of green Kelly and Burke and Shea ’ ” “ ’ And the dead didn t brag . Well , here s to the ﬂag

S aid Kelly and Burke and Shea .

o . I . C e e m C pyright by J C . lark . By p r ission . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 49

I ’ I d ’ wish twas in relan , for there s the place , “ ’ we Said Burke , that d die by right, n I the cradle of our soldier race ,

- After one good stand up ﬁght .

My grandfather fell on Vinegar Hill , An d ﬁghting wa s not his trade ; ’ But his rusty pike s in the cabin sti ll

With Hessian blood on the blade . ” A e y , aye, said Kelly, the pikes were great When the word was clear the wa y I We were thick on the roll in ninety - eight ” Kelly and Burke and S hea . ’ Well , here s to the pike and the sword and like

Said Kelly and Burke and Shea .

And S hea, the scholar , with rising joy, S R aid , We were at amillies We left our bones at Fontenoy An d up i n the Pyrenees D L ’ l Before unkirk , on anden s p ain , C L G remona , ille, and hent , ’ A F c We re all over ustria , ran e , and Spain, c Wherever they pit hed a tent . We ’ ve died for England from Waterloo To Egypt and Dargai ; ’ An d w still there s enough for a corps or cre , ” Kelly and Burke and Shea .

Well , here is to good honest ﬁghting blood S Said Kelly and Burke and hea .

’ Oh , the ﬁghting races don t die out ,

If they seldom die in bed ,

For love is ﬁrst in their hearts , no doubt , 1 59 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

S aid Burke ; then Kelly said I A When Michael , the rish rchangel , stands ,

The angel with the sword , An d the battle - dead from a hundred lands Are ranged in one big horde, G ’ Our line , that for abriel s trumpet waits ,

Will stretch three deep that day , From Jehoshaphat to the Golden Gates ” Kelly a n d Burke a n d S hea . ’ God Well , here s thank for the race and the sod S i a n d S a d Kelly Burke and hea .

1 52 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

C Ge t c ries , ye gone , Pat , yet onsents all the while . o To the priest soon they g , and a year after that ’ A H o w baby cries out , d ye do , father Pat , With your sprig of S hillelah and sham rock so green

c I Bless the ountry, say , that gave Patrick his birth ,

Bless the land of the oak, and its neighbouring earth , Where grow the S hillelah and sham roc k so green

May the sons of the Thames , the Tweed , and the S hannon , Drub the foes who dare plant on our c onﬁnes a cannon ; U a n d L nited happy , at oyalty s shrine , May the rose a n d the thistle long ﬂou rish and twine Round the sprig of S hillelah and shamrock so green IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS I S3

PA TRICK JA M ES COLEMA N (1 867

BINDIN ’ TH E OATS

’ S l NDl N the oats in sweet eptember, Don ’ t you remember

That evening , dear com la tel Ah but you bound my heart p y, F i na tel a r and y, Snug in the snood of your silken hair

S wung the sickles , you followed after With musica l laughter ’ And witchin eye . I I tried to reap , but each swathe took , love , S poiled the stook , love , For your sm ile had bothered my head awry !

S uch an elegant, graceful binder, Where could I ﬁnd her All Ireland through ’ ’ Woru t stra in o the stout, young, pp fell ws F airly jealous, ' B a sthor m re yin , e ach e, for you

’ ’ T luckin s alk 0 Persephone p the po ies,

Or the red roses , ’ In Henna s plain 1 1 54 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

You wor sweeter, with cheeks so red , love, And beautiful head , love, ’ a therin u G p the golden grain .

’ S Bindin the oats in sweet eptember, Don ’ t you remember 1 The stolen pog ue t How c ould I help but there deliver My heart forever To such a beautiful little rogue

’ ’ Bindin the oats , twas there you found There you bound me That harvest day Ah I that in your blessed bond , love. F air and fond , love, ! Happy, forever and ever, stay

SEED— TIME

’ H E to m orn in p of the to you , Mick , Isn ’ t it ﬁne an ’ dhry an ’ still e Just an elegant day, avi , tole s l To stick the y on Tullagh hi l . ’ The ﬁeld is turned , an every clod ’ ’ In ridge an furrow is fresh an brown ’ So ’ let s away, with the help 0 God, ’ ’ ’ w By the heel o the evenin we ll have them do n .

1 ’ I o u e ss g , ki .

1 56 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ By the winter ﬁre we ll laugh to sc orn ’ ’ ’ w The frown o famine an scowl o sorro .

’ f’ An whin the tur s in the haggard piled , ’ God We ll come , plase with our spades an d loys ’ ’ It s busy ye ll be , then , Brigid , my child , ’ F e illin the baskets b hind the boys . ’ So shtick thim deep in Ould Ireland s clay ’ ’ ’ It s nearly dusk , an there s work galore ; ’ I s t time enough in the winter to play, is When the crop safe on our cabin ﬂoor .

As c long as the cows have milk to hurn , ’ ’ a ties With plenty o py in ridge an furrow, ’ By the winter hearth we ll laugh to scorn ’ ’ ’ The wn i o fro o fam ne an scowl sorrow . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 1 57

PA D RA IC COLU M

A DROVER

O Meath of the Pastures , F sea rom wet hills by the , Through Leitrim and Longford

G0 my cattle and me .

I hear in the darkness

Their slipping and breathing , I name them the byways ’ They re to pass without heeding .

o Then the wet, winding r ads,

Brown bogs with black water, And my thoughts on white ships ’ ’ An d i 0 S the K ng pain s daughter.

0 farmer, strong farmer, Y ou can spend at the fair, But your face you must turn To your crops and your care !

And s soldier , red soldiers , Y ’ ou ve seen many lands , two But you march by two , ’ And a by captain s comm nds . 1 58 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

0 the smell of the beasts , m The wet wind in the orn , An d the proud and hard earth Never broken for corn

An d the crowds at the fair , o The herds , lo sened and blind L d oud wor s and dark faces , An d the wild blood behind .

(0 strong men with your best I would strive breast to breast ; I c ould quiet your herds

With my words , with my words . )

I will bring you , my kine, ’ Where there s grass to the knee, ’ But you ll think of scant croppings,

Harsh with salt of the sea .

DREAM AND S HADOW

OUR face has not the bloom I gave a My dre m of you , my dream of you Y ’ our eyes have not her eyes deep hue, Nor has your hair the gold I wrought Out of my dreams for head of her M Ebron I thought that dream sheen ca ught F m ro hair of you , from hair of you ’ Pale lips, pale hair , tis not your fault A shadow of a drea m are you

1 60 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Y et why give thought to the gods H as Pan led your brutes where they stumble Has Wotan put hands to your plow or Dana numbed pain of the child - bed

t 0 What mat er your foolish reply , man standing

lone and bowed earthward . c G Your task it is a day near its lose . ive thanks to ” - God the night giving .

S lowly the darkness falls , the broken lands blend with

the savage , ’ - The brute tamer stands by the brutes , by a head s breadth only above them

’ ’ A a head s breadth , y, but therein is Hell s depth and u the height p to Heaven , d o An the thrones of the g ds , and their hal ls and their

chariots , purples and splendours . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 6 1

WILLIA M CO NGREVE (1 670— 1 729)

A MORET AIR Amoret is gone astray e v r Pursue and seek her , y lover ; ’ I ll tell the signs by which you m a y c The wandering shepherdess dis over .

C oquet and coy at once her air,

Both studied , though both seem neglected C areless she is with artful care, A ff ffecting to seem una ected .

With skill her eyes dart every glance, ’ ' Y e t change so soon you d ne er suspect them ; ’ For C she d persuade they wound by hance, art Though certain aim and direct them .

She likes herself, yet others hates For that within herself she prizes ; And u , while she la ghs at them , forgets S he is the thing that she despises .

E! TRACTS FROM TH E MOU RNING BRIDE

USIC to has charms soothe a savage breast, c To soften ro ks , or bend a knotted oak . ’ I ve read , that things inanimate have moved , And , as with living souls , have been informed

By magic numbers and persuasive sound . 1 6 2 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Vile a nd ing rate too late thou shalt repent The base injusti ce thou hast done m y love Y e s , thou shalt know , spite of thy past distress , A nd all those ills whic h thou so long hast mourn ed ’ H e a v n has n o rage like love to hatred turned ,

Nor hell a fury like a woman scorned .

’ Seest thou how just the hand of hea v n has been ? Le t who c us , through our innocen e survive , S till in the paths of honour persevere , A n d not from past or present ills despair ; For blessings ever wait on virtuous deeds ; An d though a late, a sure reward succeeds .

1 64 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Naught behind had power to hold us ; all before had c harms to woo . L Hope to me held forth her garlands , ove her rose wreathed crown to you d L Hope has vanishe , ove has perished dust lies deep

on rose and bay, Yet though storm and gloom beset us, sunshine oft has wa warmed our y.

o Many a face has smiled up n us , brightening hours d that else were rear ,

Many an eye with kindness kindled , sparkling friend c ship , glancing heer , ’ c O er the s enes now fading from us, many a drifting c loud has strayed , Y e t we my friend , when all is balanced , have seen a more sun th n shade .

D ’ reams are gone , the world is real this we ve learned and this we know we U Though build topian mansions , still our feet must tread below All the gloss a n d glow that fancy spreads to lure the

steps of youth , F c ast re ede and faster vanish , driven by staid , prosaic

truth .

- Now with grave eyed age advancing, heralded by m silvery glea s , c Though the lo ks that late were ebon , every season shorter seems IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 1 6 5

S n pri g makes ﬂuttering haste for summer , autumn

grasps the ﬂowers of June , Winter ’ s fretful shadows ﬂit before September ’ s mel low moon .

’ Ours is not a new experience ; nay tis much as other ’ men s ; Since time ’ s earliest cycle human hearts have pon

dered , nows and thens : This, at least, the years have taught us roses bloom r whe e snow has lain , ’ And the sun , though darkness whelm it , shines and loriﬁes g again .

MEMORIES OF THE ERNE H E summer days are darker now , the wintery

days more drear , And leaf and ﬂower in glen and bower , more

sombre seem and sere, T ’ han when in boyhood s sunny days , which knew no h our of shade, A 0 E I long thy banks , stately rne, with idle steps strayed ’ Twas ﬁve and twenty years ago and long years they

have been , Y et l a fresh y still before me spreads the fair, famili r

scene . S The blooming lopes, the billowy ﬁelds , the winding a n d paths ways ,

The woodlands near, the hills afar, all veiled in mystic z ha e . 1 66 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

n d d d A gli ing gran ly to the sea , with many a ﬂash and g leam A nd m any a c urve by swel ling shores the dear old m storied strea , ’ a n d That ﬂows frets o er ford and fall , to meet the

waves below, An d m urmurs still the so ng it sang a thousand years

ago .

To thee , Belleek , where anglers came from all the c oun try round , An d S im ple lives of lowly toil by S i m ple joys were crowned ;

And R - - c c thee , ose isle, whose ivy rested rumbling

tower hath stood , Through centuries a warder gray above the foamy

ﬂood . A nd Tetun thee , y, blandly calm , within whose solemn shade The mingled dust of sire and son in peaceful rest is

laid . ’ ’ ’ Corlea s C ff t L green vale , li s s ately halls , aputa s emerald grove ; ’ Fair Cam lin woo ds and Kathleen s Fall long famed in

lays of love . ’ To Ba llysha nnon s shingly strand and bright Bundoran Bay To eac h and every dear old spot doth memory fondly stray ! c I Much hanged , fear , is all the scene, yet grandly ﬂow dost thou , 0 m stately strea , as erst thou didst a thousand years ago !

1 6 8 TH E G OLD E N TR EAS UR Y OF

And c limbed the hills whi c h sentinel the lordly Dela ware ; ’ I v e e By many a sylvan stream stray d , and many a m ossy shore Where varying S plendors gloriﬁed the emerald land ’ scape o er . in h To each and all nort and south , and east and

bounteous west , I freely grant a generous meed and hold their c harms confessed ; a n d But still to thee my heart returns , all its c urrents

ﬂow, D E m ear rne , still mur uring as thou didst a thousand

years ago .

Alas ! that from the peaceful vale where calm con tentm ent m s iled , And simple pleasures, sweetly pure , the passing hours

beguiled . ’ c in Alas ! that thence thy hildren s steps , youth or

, age should turn 0 No m ore to press thy bloom ing banks and ﬂowery paths 0 Erne c c I But chan e and fate , hath thus de reed , and were now to stand c m U pon thy shores , this fa e ight be , a strange one in

the land . c m a I The kindly friends , the o rades dear, whom l st

saw through tears , Are d I m c I t change , ween as u h as , by ﬁve and wenty years An d m Te tun so e in calm y sleep , and some have r st ayed afar , IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 69

' To dree or die neath tropic sun or glittering northern

star . E But thou bright rne, thy course doth run to meet

the waves below, A n d cha nte th still the song they heard a thousand

years ago .

TROU T FISHING

CROSS the ﬁelds and through the de w m S till sparkling on the blosso ing clover,

We lightly trudge , with all the blue Broad arc h of morning beaming over ;

The woods before are dark and cool ,

With here and there a golden glimmer, And over many a wayside pool

A a . gleam , a ﬂ sh , a shade, a shimmer

athS ' a n d By winding p mossy lanes , All brightly fringed with ﬂower and berry ,

We pass , nor pause to note the strains, woodla n d wa rblers Of . blithe and merry .

Our thoughts are bent on cast and play . ’ We hardly heed the splendor o er us , But haste with quickening steps away

To reach the glorious sport before us .

- With lisping , low voiced monotone, in The broo k ﬂows by curves and sallies , And bears its rippling music down To daisied l pes and verdant valleys ; 1 70 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Through serried pines the sunlight falls , L ’ ike grains of gold thro emerald drifted , An d n ear , the cleft and towering walls c f Of ledge and li f to heaven are lifted .

Soft winds blow down from ridge and grove

Where balsam boughs are gently swaying , An d round a silvery beech above

Two heedless squirrels briskly playing .

But now to work with rod and line, An d dainty ﬂies on trusted leader ; ’ S We ll take the ﬁrst auspicious ign , An d as ou c t below y slanting cedar .

A G ’ gleam , a splash By eorge, he s fast ! A w lusty fello and how he rushes, Now n o here , now there , w swiftly pas t A - bend of fern , and alder bushes The whistling line spins merrily out ; He leaps and ﬂings a sparkling torrent

Of crystals round , then wheels about An d heads straight up the foamy current

Beh ind a boulder now he darts, ' An d n ow across to deep recesses m Beneath a bal y bank , then starts For sheltering beds of tangled cresses a ll But vain , vain , subdued at last , He yields and faintly gasps and ﬂounders ; ’ ’ — S Tis o er your portive hour is past , 0 royal prince of plump two - pounders Again with feathery touch the ﬂies D c an e lig htly over pool and shallow,

1 72 TH E G OLD EN T REAS UR Y OF

S o c m d oft , so thin g alm of su mer woo s , m c m Of strea s that hant in rh ythmic nu bers ,

Of fragrant , ﬂowery solitudes

Where peace with folded pinions slumbers , Full oft to thee doth fancy take d d Her airy ﬂight from bur ene highways ,

To roam again by brook or lake ,

Or dream in leafy paths and byways . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRI CS 1 73

J A MES CO NNOLLY (Living )

T HE SONG OF ILANN

I ' ” F rom la n n a n a Ain e.

L ED ’ D OV the High King s aughter, Ah , she was fair to see Nine royal cham pions sought her For c queenly ompany .

Brooches and S ilks they brought her A nd gems from oversea , A ’ D But ine, the High King s aughter, R eceived them haughtily .

A c unning charm I wrought her ﬁ n druinie Of gold and , As Danaan lore I taught her U nder the hazel tree .

But far away one brought her To a great dun by the sea , ’ And there the High King s Daughter D d roope wan for misery .

And all in vain I sought her wa s That so fair to see , ’ For A D ine , the High King s aughter,

Had died for love of me . 1 74 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

LUKE A Y LM ER CO NO LLY — 1 833)

TH E ENCHANTE D IS LAND

’ O Ra thlin s Isle I c han ced to sail m When sum er breezes softly blew, An d there I heard so sweet a tale I d c d That oft wishe it oul be true .

l They said , at eve , when rude winds s eep , ’ An d hushed is ev ry turbid swell , A m d mermaid rises fro the eep, An m c d sweetly tunes her agi shell .

An d c c while she plays , ro k , dell , and ave, In dying falls the sound retain , As if som e c horal spirits gave

Their aid to swel l her W itching strain .

m Then , sum oned by that dulcet note, U th ’ m prising to ad iring view , A fairy island seem s to ﬂoat

With tints of many a gorgeous hue .

An d a n d glittering fanes , lofty towers, All o n this fairy isle are seen A n d a n d waving trees , shady bowers , m m d With ore than ortal ver ure green .

1 76 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

M R LIA CRA W FO RD S . JU (1 800 ?— 1 885

DERMOT ASTORE H ! Dermot Astore between waking and sleeping c I I heard thy lear voice, and wept to its lay ; Every p ulse of my heart the sweet measure was keeping ’ Killa rn e s Till y wild echoes had borne it away . own i Oh tell me , my love, is th s our last meeting ? ’ S hall we wander no more in Kill arn ey s green ’ bow rs, ’ c To wat h the bright sun o er the dim hills retreating , An d the wild stag at rest in his bed of spring ’ ﬂow rs ?

D As . Oh ermot tore, etc

Oh l Dermot Astore 1 how this fond heart would

ﬂutter , I in When met thee by night the shady boreen , An d heard thine own voice in a soft whisper utter

Those words of endearment, Mavourneen col leen I know we must part, but oh say not forever, That it may be for years adds enough to my pain ’ I ll hO e But cling to the p , that though now we must

sever, In e I i some bless d hour shall meet thee aga n . D A Oh ermot store, etc . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 77

KA THLEEN MAVOURNEEN ATH LEEN MAVOURNEEN ! the gray dawn

is breaking , The horn of the hunter is heard on the hill The lark from her light wing the bright dew is

shaking , u ? Kathleen Mavo rneen what , slumbering still how ? Oh , hast thou forgotten soon we must sever Oh hast thou forgotten this day we must part ? It be may be for years , and it may forever wh ? Oh , y art thou silent , thou voice of m y heart wh ? Oh y art thou silent , Kathleen Mavourneen

Kathleen Mavourneen , awake from thy slumbers l ’ The blue mou n tains glow in the sun s golden light

‘ Ah u , where is the spell that once h ng on my numbers A rise in thy beauty, thou star of my night

Mavourneen , Mavourneen , my sad tears are falling , To think that from Erin and thee I must part It a nd be may be for years , it may forever wh ? Then y art thou silent , thou voice of my heart ? Then why art thou silent, Kathleen Mavourneen 1 78 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

T ROFTON CRO ER . C K (1 798- 1 854)

I E AUR ICE FI ZGERALD CAO N ON M T , KNIGHT OF KERRY

Th e o l o i e e o n th e de of rice F e d f l w ng k n ath Mau itzg ral , K i of e who was i e d in F de s o th n ght K rry, k ll lan r ab ut e year 1 6 2 co i s a n sio to th e s e s o of the ns e e 7 , nta n allu n up r titi n Ba h , o m is e d c m on in Ir h l e g n . H AD heard lamentations An d sad warning cries From the Banshees of many c Broad distri ts arise . I o C bes ught thee , O hrist , To protect me from pain I prayed , but my prayers ff i They were o ered in va n .

A eria from her closely Hid nest did awake The women of wailin g At ’ S ur s rosy lake . From Glen Fogra of woods C ame a mournful whine, ’ And all Kerry s hags o G Wept the l st eraldine .

The Banshees of Y ougha ll An d stately Mogeely

On storm y S lieve Mis

S pread the cry far and wide, From steep S lieve Finn a lenn

The wild eagle replied . ’ R Mong the eeks , like the ’ - c Thunder peal s e hoing shout, a nd It bursts , deep bellows

Bright Brandon gives out .

S I uch warring, thought , Could be only for him The blood shower that made

The gay harvest ﬁeld dim , The ﬁery tailed star h m en call T at a comet , Were omens of his ’ As Ca of great esar s fall .

Th i e s m e io e d a re e s m o i s a nd e s in e l ocalit nt n lak , unta n , gl n the o of I e d in the co e s of Co L m e ic a nd S uth r lan , unti rk , i r k , Ke rry .

TH E LORD OF DUNKERRON

“ m F a r Le en ds F ro i y g .

’ H E D un kerron — s lord of O ullivan More, Why seeks he at midnight the sea - beaten shore ?

His bark lies in haven , his hounds are asleep ;

foes are abroad on the land or the deep .

Y et nightly the lord of D un kerron is known On the wild shore to watc h and to wander alone ; ’ For a beautiful spirit of ocean , tis said , The D un kerron lord of would win to his bed . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 1 81

When , by moonlight, the waters were hushed

repose , That be autiful spirit of ocean arose ;

Her hair , full of luster, just ﬂoated and fell ’ O er her bosom , that heaved with a billowy swell .

L — ong , long had he loved her long vainly essayed To l ure from her dwelling the coy ocean maid And long had he wandered and watched by the tide, ’ ’ To claim the fair spirit O S ulliva n s bride

The maiden she gazed on the creature of earth , Whose voice in her breast to a feeling gave birth

Then smiled and abashed as a maiden might be ,

Looking down , gently sank to her home in the sea .

Though gentle that smile, as the moonlight above, ’ s ’ O ullivan felt twas the dawning of love, And hope came on hope , spreading over his mind , As i the eddy of circles her wake left beh nd .

The Dunkerron lord of he plunged in the waves , And sought, through the ﬁerce rush of waters , their caves The o gloom of whose depths , studded ver with spars , t lit Had the glit er of midnight when up by stars .

Who can tell or can fancy the treasures that sleep Intombed in the wonderful womb of the deep ?

The pearls and the gems , as if valueless thrown ’ To sea c wreck c c lie mid the on ealed and unknown . 1 82 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

D — C i ur own , down went the maid , still the hiefta n p

sued , o Who ﬂies must be followed ere she can be w oed . U m nte pted by treasures , unawed by alarms, The maiden at length he has clasped in his arms

They rose from the deep by a smooth - spreading

strand , a n d d Whence beauty ver ure stretched over the land . ' Twas an isle of enchantment and lightly the breeze , m m With a musical ur ur , j ust crept through the trees .

The haze - woven shroud of that newly - born isle S d m oftly fa ed away from a ag ical pile ,

A c c - pala e of rystal , whose bright beaming sheen

— Had the tints of the rainbow red , yellow , and green .

An d grottoes , fantastic in hue and in form , u — Were there , as ﬂung p the wild sport of the storm ; Y e t c c m all was so loudless , so lovely , and al , It seemed but a region of sunshine and balm .

in Here , here shall we dwell a dream of delight, Where the glories of earth and of oc ean unite Y e t I , loved son of earth must from thee away ; ’ There are laws whi c h e en spirits are bound to obey !

I Once more must visit the chief of my race, m m His san c tion to gain ere I eet thy e brac e . In a mom ent I dive to the c hambers beneath ’ One c ause c a n detain me— one only— tis death

1 84 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

REV GEORGE CRO LY (1 780— 1 860) LEONIDAS U HO T for the mighty men , Who died along this shore Who died within this mountain ’ s glen ’ For never nobler chieftain s head ’ Was laid on Valor s crimson bed , Nor ever prouder gore S who won th prang forth , than theirs e day U pon thy strand , Thermopylae

S hout for the mighty men ,

Who on the Persian tents , Like lions from their midnight den e Bounding on the slumbering d er, ’ R ush d— a storm of sword and spear ; L ike the roused elements , Le t m loose from an im ortal hand , To c hasten or to crush a land

But there are none to hear ; G reece is a hopeless slave . LEONIDAS no hand is near To lift thy ﬁery falc hion now No warrior m akes the warrior S vow ’ U - wash d pon thy sea grave . ’ c ra is d The voi e that should be by men ,

Must now be given by wave and glen . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 85

And it is given — the surge

The tree, the rock , the sand ’ On Freedom s kneeling spirit urge ,

In sounds that speak but to the free, The memory of thine and thee The vision of thy band S till gleams within the glorious dell Where their gore hallow ’ d as it fell I

And is thy grandeur done ? Mother of men like these

Has not thy outcry gone , Where Justice has an ear to hear Be holy God shall guide thy spear ; ’ Till in thy crim son d seas Ar e plunged the chain and scimitar , GREECE S hall be a new - born S tar

TH E ISLAND OF ATLANTIS

For m e the A c S e a wa s e a n d h a d a n at that ti tlanti navigabl , island be fore that m outh which is call e d by you Pillars of H e r s is a n d wa s e a a n a ll cul e s. But thi l gr ater than bo th Lyby d As o e e a n d ffo de d a n e s a ss e to o e e i o ia t g th r, a r a y p ag th r n ghb ur in is ds a s it wa s e s to ss om ose is d to a ll th e g lan , a y pa fr th lan s co i e w c o de s on h i ic S e a in nt n nt hi h b r r t s Atlant . But , s cce e d m es odi o s e e s a n d de e s i u ing ti , pr gi u arthquak lug tak ng ce a n d i w e m de so io in th e s ce of on e pla , bring ng ith th lat n pa da a n d i a ll t w i e ce of A e i s wa s a t o ce y n ght, hat arl k ra th n an n me e d de th e e a a n d th e A ic is d i se e i rg un r rth ; tlant lan t lf, b ng ” ’ ’ — Tint ern s e d in the se a e e dis e e d. I la to s . absorb , ntir ly app ar A H l thou tlantic , dark and deep ,

Thou wilderness of waves , Where all the tribes of earth might sleep In their un c rowded graves ! 1 86 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

The sunbeams on thy bosom wake, Y et never light thy gloom m The te pests burst , yet never shake

Thy depths, thou mighty tomb

Thou thing of mystery , stern and drear, Thy sec rets who hath told The warrior and his sword are there,

The merchant and his gold .

T i here lie their myr ads in thy pall , S ec ure from steel and storm An d a he, the fe ster of them all ,

- The canker worm .

’ Y et on this wave the mountain s brow Once glowed in morning ’ s beam An d , like an arrow from the bow, Out sprang the stream

An d on its ban k the olive grove, ’ And the peach s luxury , ’ An d the dam ask rose— the night - bird s love

Perfumed the sky .

A Where art thou , proud tlantis , now Where are thy bright and brave ? ’ ? Priest, people, warriors living ﬂow Lo ok on that wave .

C rime deepened on the recreant land , L ong guilty, long forgiven T o here p wer u preared the bloody hand , d There scoffe at Heaven .

1 88 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

H ENRY GRATTA N CURRA N (1 800- 1 876 )

A LAMENT

’ I r h o 0h n O N ea ch a From the is f 7 t n . ARK source of my anguish ! deep wound of a land Whose young and defenseless the loss will deplore m u ﬁ cen t The ni spirit , the liberal hand , S till stretched the full bounty it prompted to pour .

’ The stone is laid o er thee the fair glossy braid ,

The high brow , the light cheek with its roseate glow f The bright orm , and the berry that dwelt and could fade

On these lips , thou sage giver , all , all are laid low .

L ike a swan on the billows , she moved in her grace, S - a n d now white were her limbs , with beauty replete, An d time on that pure brow ha d left no more trace n Tha if he had sped with her own fairy feet .

’ 1 T s e m is m e for D f m es II o Este e e o . hi p a la nt Mary , Qu n Ja

Sh e die d a t S t. Ge m i A 26 1 1 H r s n c e d 8 . e o r a n , pril , 7 , all m e s F cis d d wa s the C e ie D e Geo e so Ja ran E war , h val r S t. rg , e d th I s m uch be lov by e ri h . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 1 89

Whatever of purity , glory, hath ever was Been linked with the name, lovely Mary, thine ; woe h Woe , , t at the tomb, ruthless tyrant, should sever l The tie which our spirits ha f broken resign .

Ca — R Than esar of hosts the true darling of ome, Fa r wa s — prouder James where pure spirits are met , ’ ’ — he a v n s The virgin , the saint though radian ce illume ’ ’ Their brows— Erin s wrongs can o ershadow them

yet .

And o rank be the p ison , the plagues that distil Through the heart of the spoiler that laid them in

dust , The w rapt bard ith the glory the nations shall ﬁll ,

With the fame of his patrons , the generous, the just .

Wherever the beam of the morning is shed , With its light the full fame of our loved ones hath

shone , The deep curse of our sorrow shall burst on his head d t That hath hurle them , the pride of our hear s, e from their thron .

The midday is dark with unnatural gloom And a spectral lament wildly shrieked in the air Tells all hearts that our princess lies cold in the

tomb , Bids the old and the young bend in agony there ! 1 90 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Faint the lowing of kine o ’ er the seared yellow lawn And tuneless the warbler that droops on the spray The bright tenants that ﬂashed through the current

are gone, For we the princess honoured is laid in the clay .

D ’ arkly brooding alone o er his bondage and shame , in d G By the shore mute agony wan ers the ael , A n d sa d m c m m is y spirit, and louded y drea , For n my ki g , for the star, my devotion would hail .

What woe beyond this hath dark fortune to wreak What wrath o ’ er the land yet rem ains to be hurled m R m They turn the to o e but despairing they shriek, ’ For S pain s ﬂag in defeat and defection is furled .

Though our sorrows avail not , our hope is not lost For the Father is mighty ! the highest rem ains 1 ’ The loosed waters rushed down upon Pharaoh s wide

host , But the billows crouch bac k from the foot He

sustains .

’ 1 s Just Power that for Mo es the wave did st divide , Look down on the land where thy followers pine Lo d E ok own upon rin , and crush the dark pride o Of the scourge of thy people, the f es of thy shrine .

1 9 2 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

TH E DESERTER ’ S MEDITATION

Si F sadly thinking , with spirits nking , m c c Could ore than drinking my ares ompose , ’ c m I d A ure for sorrow fro sig hs borrow,

hO e - A n d p to morrow would end my woes . ’ But as in wailing there s nought availing , D An d eath unfailing will strike the blow, o Then for that reason , and for a seas n , Let us be merry before we go

- To joy a stranger , a way worn ranger , ’ ’ In ev ry danger my c ourse I v e run

Now hope all ending , and death befriending , c His last aid lending , my ares are done ;

No more a rover , or hapless lover, My griefs are over — m y glass runs low ;

Then for that reason , and for a season , Le t us be merry before we go

T H E MONKS OF TH E S CREW l

H EN S aint Patrick this order established , He called us the Monks of the S crew Good rules he revealed to our Abbot To guide us i n what we should do ; But ﬁrst he replenished our fountain With liquor the best in the sky ; And he said , on the word of a saint ,

That the fountain should never run dry .

1 “ ” The O de of S t. P ic or o s o f th e r r atr k , M nk e S cr w, wa s a co i i socie i e de d to disc nv v al ty, nt n ove r a n d e ncourage the wit m ou a nd e l e c e o i , hu r, int l tual pow r f ts m em be rs. IR ISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 1 93

c Each year , when your octaves approa h , In full c hapter convened let me ﬁnd you ; m An d when to the Convent you co e ,

Leave your favourite tem ptation behind you . C A nd be not a glass in your onvent , U nless on a festival found ; n I A d, this rule to enforce, ordain it

One festival all the year round .

’ My brethren , be chaste , till you re tempted W hile sober , be grave and discreet ; And humble your bodies with fasting , ’ As oft as you ve nothing to eat . Y e t , in honour of fasting , one lean face ’ Am ong you I d always require ; f A I the bbot should please , he may wear it,

If m . not, let it co e to the Prior

C m o e, let each take his chalice , m y brethren , And with due devotion prepare ,

The Co e a s it wa s c e d or ce of m e e in was in nv nt, all , pla t g , e i S e e D a n d i wa s the s h e m S t. t c m for t e m K v n tr t . ublin , u to s m e d i be rs to as e bl e ve ry Satur ay e ve n ng during the la w term . T e ha d s o e m e e - ce e R m Cur h y al o an th r ting pla n ar athfarnha , ’ n s co se w ic he o i e c e d The io he ra untry at, h h appr pr at ly all Pr ry, e i e e c e d o The i e o f the e s i e m e in b ng l t Pri r. furn tur f t v apart nt D in wa s com e e m o is a n d a t the m e e s the ubl pl t ly nk h , ting all m e m e s e e d in the h i o f th e de c e b r app ar ab t or r, a bla k tabin t d m The m s f e e e ll dis i is d o ino . e m b e r o the club w r n arly a t ngu h e m e n i c d n Lo d o i com ose o f the ce e e d , n lu i g r M rn ngton ( p r l brat g le e H e re in Coo l Grot the Marquis of Townshe nd (when ’ V o ds L d A o m a ce e e o e e D r. O Le r i r y) , Y lv rt n (aft rwar or v n or ) , y, G F ood Ge o e O e d e o so H sse rattan , l , rg gl , Ju g J hn n , u y Burgh, d h e o Lo d i de a n t f A . I t s e d 1 r K lwar n , Earl rran la t till 795.

S ee s the s o i s i e C e . Le e , al o, t ry w th thi t tl by harl s J v r. 1 94 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

With hands and with voices uplifted , n c Our hym to con lude with a prayer .

May this chapter oft joyously meet , A n d ds this gla ome libation renew, S F A To the aint , and the ounder , and bbot, And Prior, and Monks of the Screw !

1 96 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

c C The gallant, gra eful , young hevalier, Whose look is bonny as his heart is gay ;

His sword in battle ﬂashes death and fear,

While he hews through falling foes his way . O ’ er his blushing cheeks his blue eyes shine ’ ’ Like dewdrops glitt ring on the rose s leaf ; C Mars and upid all in him combine, an d l h The blooming lover the god ike c ief.

His curling locks in wavy grace , L ’ ike beams on youthful Phoebus brow, F d ’ lit wil and golden o er his speaking face, And down his ivory shoulders ﬂow .

Like Bugus is he in his youthful days, a c C E Or M ein , whose deeds all rin knows , ’ D a r s c i Mac y hiefs , of deathless pra se ,

Who h ung like fate on their routed foes .

L Con n a ll ike the besieger, pride of his race, F i Or ergus, son of a glor ous sire, C Or blameless onnor , son of courteous Nais , Re d — Lo L The chief of the Branch rd of the yre .

’ c oo The cu k s voice is not heard on the gale ,

Nor the cry of the hounds in the nutty grove , ’ Nor the hunter s cheering through the dewy vale , S — ince far far away is the youth of our love .

m n The na e of my darli g none must declare, Though his fame be like sunshine from shore shore ; — ! But , oh , may Heaven Heaven hear my prayer And o waft the hero to my arms nce more . — — w Chorus . M it a s y heart danced when he near , Ah now my woe is the young Chevalier ;

’ ’ ’ Tis a pang that solace n e er can know , That he should be banished by a rightless

foe . 1 98 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

GEORGE D A RLEY (1 785- 1 846)

S ONG WEET in her green dell the ﬂower of beauty

slumbers , ’ Lull d by the faint breezes S ighing through her

hair , Sleeps she and hears not the m elancholy n umbers ’ Breathed to my sad lute mid the lonely air .

Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teem ing To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above ; m c 0 that in tears, fro my ro ky prison , streaming, I too could glide to the bower of m y love

Ah ! where the woodbines with sleepy arms have

wound her ,

Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay , L d istening , like the ove , while the fountains echo

round her, ’ 0 T her lost mate s call in the forest far away .

C For c ome then , my bird the pea e thou ever

bearest , S till Heaven ’ s messenger of com fort to me C m d m fa ithfulle t o e , this fon boso , O s and fairest ,

- Bleeds with its death wound , its wound of love for thee !

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

d d m There of i lenesses rea ing , S c c m we ar e fro waking refrain , Mom ents long as ages deeming ’ Till we re at our play again .

TO HELENE

On a i t- rin ca relessl los g f g y t.

SEND a ring— a little band m d Of e eral and ruby stone, A nd bade it , sparkling on thy Tell thee sweet tales of one Whose constant mem ory

e . Was full of loveliness , and th e

A shell was graven on its gold ’ ’ ’ Twas Cupid ﬁ n d without his wings To Helene on c e it would have told More than was ever told by rings But now all ’ s past and gone

Her love is buried with that stone .

Thou shalt not see the tears that start From eyes by thoughts like these beguiled n Thou shalt not know the beati g heart , Ever a vi c tim and a child Y et Helene , love , believe

The heart that never c ould deceive .

’ I ll hear thy voice of melody In the sweet whispers of the air ; IR ISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 201

I ’ ll see the brightness of thine eye ’ In the blue evening s dewy star ; In c rystal streams thy purity And look on heaven to look on thee .

TRUE LOVELINESS

T is not beauty I demand , ’ A a w cryst l bro , the moon s despair , ’ Nor the snow s daughter , a white hand , ’ Nor merm aid s yellow pride of hair .

Tell me not of your starry eyes , Y our lips that seem on roses fed , Y C m our breasts , where upid tu bling lies ,

Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed .

A o blo my pair of vermeil cheeks , L ’ ike Hebe s in her ruddiest hours , A breath that softer music speaks

T a - han summer winds wooing ﬂowers ,

are . These but gauds Nay, what are lips

- Coral beneath the ocean stream ,

Whose brink when your adventurer slips ,

Full oft he perisheth on them .

A nd what are cheeks , but ensigns oft That wave hot youths to ﬁelds of blood ’ ’ Did o Helen s breast , though ne er so s ft, Do Greece or Ilium any good 202 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Eyes can with baleful ardour burn n m Poison ca breathe, that erst perfu ed There ’ s man y a white hand holds an urn ’ With lovers hearts to dust consumed .

F ’ or crystal brows there s nought within , They are but em pty cells for pride ; ’ He who the S iren s hair would win I s mostly strangled in the tide .

G ’ ive me , instead of beauty s bust, A tender heart , a loyal mind , I Which with temptation would trust , Y et never linked with error ﬁnd

One in whose gentle bosom I C o m a o ould p ur y secret he rt of w es , Like the care - burthened honey - ﬂy

That hides his murmurs in the rose .

My earthly comforter whose love S o indefeasible might be,

That when m y spirit wonned above , c a Hers ould not st y for sympathy .

204 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

m ’ im His voice is ﬁrm , his knee is proud when po p s perious tone - o Would have the free b rn spirit bowed , that right should bow alone ; For Kalla h due well does g know his , nor ever seeks he more al l Would heaven mankind were alike you , my Kallagh dhu as thore !

And Ka lla h I g is an rishman in sinew , soul and bone ; ’ Not e en the veins of old Slieveb an are purer than his own The wing of foe has swept our skies , the foreign foe

our shore, a Ka lla h dh u But st in or change thy race deﬁes , my g asthore !

’ What wonder, then , each word he said fell o er my

maiden day, ’ Like breathing o er the cradle - bed where mothers kiss and pray ; I Though dear your form , your cheek , and eye , loved

those virtues more , d Ka lla h Whose bloom nor ills nor years estroy, my g dhu asthore

o Oh , c uld this heart , this throbbing thing , be made a

regal chair , ’ I d e Ka lla h rend its every swelling string , to s at you , g , there And oh , if honest worth the kingly bauble bore, o Ka lla h No slave wert thou , my blo d , my bone, my g dhu asthore IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 205

NANNY FOR an hour when the day is breaking Down by the shore when the tide is making !

Fair as a white cloud thou , love, near me , None but the waves and thyself to hear me O to my breas t how these arms would press thee Wildly my heart in its joy would bless thee won 0 how the soul thou hast would woo thee , Girl of the snow neck closer to me

s O for an hour as the day advance ,

- s Out where the breeze on the broom brush dance , ’ Watching the lark , with the su n ray o er us , Winging the notes of his heaven - taught chorus

O to be there and my love before me, ’ Soft as a moonbeam smiling o er me I Thou wouldst but love , and would woo thee , Gi ! rl of the dark eye closer to me .

O for an hour where the sun ﬁrst found us , S Out in the eve with its red heets round us , ’ Brushing the dew from the gale s soft winglets ,

Pearly and sweet , with thy long , dark ringlets

O to be there on the sward beside thee , Telling my tale though I know you ’ d chide me S u o weet were thy voice tho gh it should und me , G irl of the dark locks closer to me .

O for an hour by night or by day , love ,

Just as the heavens and thou might say , love

Fa r c - from the stare of the old eyed many , Bound in the breath of my dove - souled Nan ny ! 206 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

0 for the pure chains that have bound me , Warm from thy red lips c ircling round

0 in my soul , as the light above me, Queen of the pure hearts ! do I love thee !

208 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ Y — s a ? ou re not do you y Just remember last night , Y ou d gave Harry a rose, and you ubbed him your knight ; d — n o n Poor lad if he love you but , darli g no, Y ’ ou re too thoughtful and good to fret any one so .

n S The painters are ravi g of light and of hade, A n d Harry , the poet , of lake , and of glade While the light of your eye and your so ft wavy form S uit a proser like me, by the hearth bright and warm .

The snow on those hills is uncommonly grand , ’ But you know , Kate, it s not half so white as your

hand , A n C d say what you will of the gray hristmas sky, ’ S till I slightly prefer my dark girl s gray eye .

C Be quiet , and sing me The Bonny uckoo, For it bids us the summer a n d winter love through ’ ’ An d then I ll read out an old ballad that shows L How Tyranny perished , and iberty rose .

I ’ m My Kate so happy your voice whispers soft, An d d your cheek ﬂushed wil er from kissing so oft, For c m a town or for ountry , for ount ins or farms , I ? ’ w m What care My darling s ent ined in my ar s . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 29 9

A NATION ONCE AGAIN

H EN ’ boyhood s ﬁre was in my blood , I m read of ancient free en , For G R who reece and ome bravely stood , d ‘ Three Hun red men and Three men . And then I prayed I yet might see

Our fetters rent in twain , n I n A d reland , lo g a province, be

A Nation once again .

And , from that time , through wildest woe n That hope has sho e , a far light ; ’ Nor could love s brightest summer glow Outshine that solem n starlight It seemed to watch above my head I n forum , ﬁeld , and fane c b ed Its angel voi e sang round my , “ A Nation once again .

’ It whispered , too , that freedom s ark

An d servi c e high and holy,

Would be profaned by feelings dark , An d passions vain or lowly ’ For m freedom co es from God s right hand , An d needs a godly train An d righteous m en must make our land A ” Nation once again .

1 Th e T e e H d e d G e e s wh o die d a t T e m o ae an d hr un r r k h r pyl , he ee R m s who e th e u lici n B d — t Thr o an k pt S b a ri ge D a vis . 2 1 9 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y

So I m a n , as grew from boy to , I bent me to that bidding My S pirit of eac h selﬁsh plan A nd c ruel passion ridding ; For I m , thus hoped so e day to aid Oh I can s uch hope be vain When m y dear c ountry Shall be made

A Nation o nce again .

A PLEA FOR LOVE

H E o b ed summer br ok ﬂows i n the , The winter torrent tore asunder ’ The skylark s gentle wings are spread Where walk the lightning and the thunder ; ’ A nd thus you ll ﬁnd the sternest soul

The gayest tenderness concealing , An d m minds that see to mock control ,

Are ordered by some fairy feeling .

Then , maiden start not from the hand ’ That s harden ed by the swaying sabre The pulse beneath may be as bland As even ing after day of labo ur : An d m S , aiden tart not from the brow d That thought has knit , and passion darkene ’ In n twiligh t hours , eath forest bough , are The tenderest tales often hearkened .

2 1 2 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

— S teady they load steady they ﬁre , moving right on

ward still , F Betwixt the wood and ontenoy , as through a furnace

blast , m a Through ra part , trench , and palis de , and bullets showering fast An d o on the open plain above they r se, and kept their

course , a n d i o With ready ﬁre gr m resolve, that m cked at hos tile force F F Past ontenoy, past ontenoy, while thinner grow their ranks T Zu der Ze e hey break , as broke the y through Hol ’ land s ocean banks .

i F r More dly than the summer ﬂies , rench ti ailleurs rush round F As stubble to the lava tide , rench squadrons strew the ground ;

- - i Bomb shell , and grape , and round shot tore, st ll on they marched and ﬁred i F c . ast , from ea h volley, grenadier and voltigeur ret red Push on my household c avalry ! King Louis m adly cried — un To death they rush , but rude their shock not

avenged they died . On through the camp the column trod — King Louis turns his rein : “ S x I Not yet , my liege , a e interposed , the rish troops remain ; And Fon te no F y, famed ontenoy, had been a Waterloo , n Were ot these exiles ready then , fresh , vehement,

and true . IRIS H S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 2 1 3

L C “ ord lare, he said , you have your wish , there are your Saxon foes The m m arshal almost s iles 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 wherewith twas writ d coul dry, T heir plundered homes , their ruined shrines , their ’ women s parting cry , i c Their priesthood hunted down like wolves , the r oun n try overthrow , Each looks as if revenge for all were staked -on him

alone . 011 Fon ten o F y, on ontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere , Rushed on to ﬁght a nobler band than these proud

exiles were .

’ ’ O Brien s is e voice hoarse with joy, as , halting , b com

mands, “ ’ “ Fix b a nets — — L y charge, ike mountain storm , rush on these ﬁery bands l E c a n Thin is the nglish olumn now , d faint their vol w ieys gro , ’ Y et m ust rin , g all the strength they have , they make a S w gallant ho . They dress their ranks upon the hill to face that bat tle - wind ’ c Their bayonets the breakers foam like ro ks , the men behind 1 c l One volley rashes from their ine , when , through the

surging smoke , 2 1 4 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

m c c d With e pty guns l ut hed in their hands , the hea I long rish broke . F 011 F c On ontenoy , ontenoy , hark to that ﬁer e huzza Reveng e ! rem e m ber Limerick ! dash down the S a csa na ch l

L ’ ike lions leaping at a fold , when mad with hunger s

pang , Right up against the English line the Irish exiles sprang : ’ was n ow Bright their steel , tis bloody , their guns are ﬁlled with gore ;

Through shattered ranks , and severed files , and tram pled flags they tore ; E n The nglish strove with desperate stre gth , paused , fle d rallied , staggered , The green hillside is matted c lose with dying and with

dead . Across the plain and far away p assed 011 that hideous

wrack , c While c avalier and fantass in dash in upon their tra k . 011 Fon ten o Fon teno y, on y, like eagles in the sun , With bloody plumes the Irish stand — the ﬁeld is fought a nd won

MAIRE BHAN A STOR N a valley far away ‘ M a ire bha n a tor With my s , S t m hor would be the su mer day ,

Ever loving more and more .

1 M a ire bh a n a star F m e e — o ced , air Mary y tr asur , pron un M a u r a v a u n a store y .

2 1 6 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

M Y GRAVE

ALL m e H they bury in the deep, Where wind- forgetti ng waters sleep S di hall they g a grave for me, U nder the greenwood tree ? d Or on the wil heath , Where the wilder breath Of the storm doth blow

Oh , no oh , no

S hall they bury me in the palace tombs , Or under the shade of cathedral domes ’ ’ Sweet twere to lie 011 Italy s shore Y et n ot — G c I there nor in ree e, though love it more . In the wolf or the vulture my grave S hall I find S hall my ashes c areer on the world - seeing wind ? m c t S hall they fling y orpse i n the bat le mound , Where cofli nless thousands lie under the ground Just as they fall they are buried so ! Oh , no oh , no

! I No on an rish green hillside, On an Opening lawn — but not too wide ; For I love the drip o f the wetted trees I love not the gales , but a gentle breeze, — ut n To freshen the turf p o tombstone there, But green sods decked with daisies fair ;

Nor sods too deep , but so that the dew

- m a c The matted grass roots y tri kle through . ’ Be m y epitaph writ on m y c ountry s mind c He served his ountry , and loved his kind .

’ Oh twere merry unto the grave to go, If so one were sure to be buried . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 2 1 7

M Y LAND

H E is a rich and rare land ; ’ 0 she s a fresh a n d fair land ; S he is a dear and ra re land

This native land of mine . No men than hers are braver ’ ’ Her women s hearts ne er waver ; I ’ d freely die to save her , n A d think my lot divine . S he ’ s not a dull or cold land ’ No she s a warm and bold land ; 0 she ’ s a true and old land

This native land of mine .

C ould beauty ever guard her , And virtue still reward her, No foe would cross her border No friend within it pine

’ O she s a fresh and fair land , 0 she ’ s a true and rare lan d ’ es Y , she s a rare and fair land

This native land of mine .

OH TH E MARRIAGE

H the marriage , the marriage , With love and m o bhua cha ill for The ladies that ride in a carriage Might envy my marriage to me

1 IPI o bhua cha ill m a o c m bo . , b u hal , y y TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

For Eo ha n g is straight as a tower , An d tender and loving and true , He told m e more love i n an hour Th an the squires of the county could do . ! a Then , Oh the marri ge, etc .

His hair is a shower of soft gold ,

His eye is as clear as the day , His consc ien c e and vote were unsold When others were carried away ;

His word is as good as an oath , ’ An d freely twas given to me ; ’ Oh sure twill be happy for both

The day of our marriage to see .

Then , Oh the marriage, etc .

His kinsmen are honest and kind ,

The neighbors think much of his skill , ’ And Eo ha n s g the lad to my mind ,

Though he owns neither castle nor mill . tilloch But he has a of land , A horse, and a stocking of coin , A o fo t for the dance , and a hand In c the ause of his country to join .

Then , Oh the marriage , etc . We meet in the market and fair We meet in the m orning and night

He sits on the half of my chair, An d my people are wild with delight . Y e t I n long throug h the wi ter to skim , E o ha n l m I Thou g h g ongs ore can see, I m d him When will be arrie to , An d m d he will be arrie to me .

2 20 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

— s he d The saint of the wayside grante my prayer, Though we spoke not a word ; for her mother was

there .

I ’ never can think upon Bantry s bright hills, u But her image starts p, and my longing eye ﬁlls ; ’ And I A ! whisper her softly gain , love, we ll meet ’ " And I ll lie in your bosom , and live at your feet .

TH E WELCOME OM E in the evening, or come in the morning , ’ C o ome when you re lo ked for, or come with i out warn ng , m ’ Kisses and welco e you ll ﬁnd here before you , ’ And the oftener you come here the m ore I ll adore

ou . L ight is my heart since the day we were plighted , wa s Red is my cheek that they told me blighted ,

The green of the trees looks far greener than ever , ’ And the linnets are singing , True lovers, don t sever

I ’ ll w pull you s eet ﬂowers , to wear, if you choose them : ’ ’

m o . Or, after you ve kissed them , they ll lie on y b som I ’ ll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you I ’ ll ’ fetch from my fancy a tale that won t tire you . ’ 0 your step s like the rain to the sum m er - vexed

farmer, Or saber and shield to a knight without armor I ’ ll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, I ’ ll Then , wandering, wish you , in silence, to love

me . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 2 2 1

We ’ ll look through the trees at the cliff and the eyrie ’ We ll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy ; ’ ’ i We ll look on the stars; and we ll list to the r ver, ’ Till you ll ask of your darling what gift you can give

her . ’ “ Lo 0 she ll whisper you , ve as unchangeably

beaming, nd m A trust, when in secret, ost tunefully stream i n g , Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver ’ " o As our souls ﬂow in one d wn eternity s river .

So come in the evening , or come in the morning , ’ o Come when you re looked for, or come with ut warn

ing , ’ Kisses and welcome you ll ﬁnd here before you , ’ And the oftener you come here the more I ll adore

you . L ight is my heart since the day we were plighted , Re d 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

TH E WEST ’ S ASLEEP H EN all beside a vigil keep, ’ ’ The West s asleep, the West s asleep . A E las and well may rin weep,

When Connaught lies in slumber deep . a n d There lake plain smile fair and free, ’ — c Mid rocks their guardian hivalry . Sing oh let me learn liberty sea From crashing wind and lashing . 222 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

That c hainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood dem and Be sure the great God never pla nned F r m o slumbering slaves a ho e so grand . An d long a brave a nd haughty race Honored and sentineled the place ! ’ d S ing , oh not even their sons isgrace ’ a c C n quite destroy their glory s tra e .

’ ’ F r n O Con nor s o ofte , in van , c C To triumph dashed ea h onnaught clan , A nd ﬂeet as deer the Norm ans ran ’ C urlie u s a nd Ardra ha n Through Pass , An d later ti m es saw deeds as brave ; ’ A n d glory g uards Cla n rica rde s grave S d e d ing , oh they i their land to save , ’ ’ At Au hrim s S g slopes and hannon s wave .

And if, when all a vigil keep, ’ ’ The West s asleep, the West s asleep A ! m a E las and well y rin weep , C m That onnaught lies in slu ber deep . But hark som e voice like thunder spake The West ’ s awake the West ’ s awake S E ing , oh hurrah let ngland quake ; ’ E ’ We ll watch till death for rin s sake .

2 24 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

No more shall occasion suc h sig hs and suc h groans ’ For what mortal s so stupid C As not to quit upid , r When called to good claret , and bumpe s, Squire Jones ?

Y e poets who write , ’ And brag of your drinking famed Helicon s brook , Thoug h all you get by it IS d a inner ofttimes , In reward for your rhymes, D With H umphry the uke, L earn Bacchus to follow , An d A quit your pollo, F orsake all the Muses , those senseless old crones Our jingling of glasses Y our rhym ing surpasses e c S Wh n crowned with good laret, and bumpers , q

Jones .

Y e so soldiers stout,

With plenty of oaths , though no plenty of coin , Who make such a rout

Of all your commanders , s F Who erved us in landers, And eke at the Boyne , Come leave off your rattling

Of sieging and battling , ’ And know you d much better to slee p in whole bones ; G Were you sent to ibraltar , ’ Y d o our notes you so n alter , An d wish for good claret, and bumpers, S quire Jones . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS

Y e c lerg y so wise , d c a n Who mysteries profoun demonstrate so clear, How worthy to rise ! Y ou c prea h once a week , But your tithes never seek Above once in a year

Come here without failing , A nd leave off your railing ’ Gainst bishops providing for dull stupid drones ; S ays the text so divine , What is life without wine ?

c — a S Then away with the laret , bumper, quire Jones

Y e lawyers so just , who Be the cause what it will , so learnedly plead , How worthy of trust Y ou m know black fro white , Y ou prefer wrong to righ t, ’ As you chance to be fee d Leave musty reports ’ An d forsake the king s courts , Where dulness and discord have set up their thrones S Burn alkeld and Ventris , And d all your damne entries ,

And C -a S away with the laret, bumper , quire Jones

Y e physical tribe ‘ c Whose knowledge onsists in hard words and grimace , ’ Whene er you prescribe ,

Have at your devotion , o Pills , b lus , or potion , Be what will the case ;

1 m e of t e im La wco m ntators h t e. 2 26 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Pray where is the need d To purge , blister and blee

When , ailing yourselves , the whole faculty owns That the form s of old Galen Are not so prevailing As — S mirth with good claret, and bumpers , quire Jones

Y e - fox hunters eke , a nd o That follow the call of the horn the h und , Who your ladies forsake ’ Before they re awake , To beat up the brake Where the vermin is found L Blue m a n eave Piper and , S l D c hri l u hess and Trueman , No music is found in such dissonant tones Would you ravish your ears

With the songs of the spheres , — a Hark away to the claret, bumper, S quire Jones

228 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

L ike Joseph went they forth , or Benjamin , In all their tou c hing beauty to redeem And did their soft lips kiss the S epulchre ? A las the lovely pageant as a dream F d ade They sank not through ignoble fear , m They felt not Mosle steel . By mountain , stream , In n — sands, in fe s , they died no mother near

TH E S HANNON I ER V of billows , to whose mighty heart The tide - wave rushes of the Atlantic S ea ; R c iver of quiet depths , by ultured lea, ’ Romantic woo d or c ity s crowded mart R c iver of old poeti founts , which start

F - e rom their lone mountain cradles , wild and fr e , ’ Nursed with the fawns , lulled by the woodlark s

glee, ’ An d c ushat s h ym en ea l song apart ; R C iver of hieftains , whose baronial halls,

L d c - ike veteran war ers , wat h each wave worn steep , ’ ’ P rtum n a s Bun ra tt s o towers , y royal walls , ’ ’ c c G e Carri k s stern ro k , the eraldine s gray ke p River of da 1 k m e m entoes ! m u st I close ’ ’ L m c A u hrim s ? My lips with i eri k s wrong, with g woes IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS

' D E ERE A UBREY T . V (1 8 1 4- 1 902)

DIRGE OF RORY O ’ MORE

A . 1 2 . D 64

’ - c the sea saddened valley , at evening s de line , A hei fer walks lowing the S ilk of the Kine ; o From the deep to the moun tains she r ams , and ag ain ’ From the mountain s green urn to the purple - ri m med i ma n .

’ seek st ? T What thou , sad mother hine own is not thine ! He dropped from the headland— he sa nk in the brine ! ’ Twas a dream ! but in dream s at thy foot did he follow Through the meadow - sweet on by the marish and mallow !

’ Was he thine ? Have they slain him ? Thou se ek st

him , not knowing — a Thyself, too , art theirs thy sweet bre th and sad lowing

Thy gold horn is theirs , thy dark eye and thy silk , And l ! that which torments thee , thy milk , is their mi k 2 30 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ ’ d L ! m Twas no ream , Mother and Twas no drea , Innisfail — Hope dreams , but grief dreams not the grief of the Gael ’ Fro m Leix and Ikerrin to D on eg a l s shore ’ Rolls the dirge of thy last an d thy bravest — O M ore

FLOWERS I WOULD BRING LOWERS I would bring if ﬂowers could make

thee fairer , A nd music , if the Muse were dear to thee (For lovi n g these would make thee love the bearer)

But the sweetest songs forget their melody , An d loveliest ﬂowers woul d but c onceal the wearer A I m c rose marked , and ight have plu ked ; but she She m Blushed as bent ; i ploring me to spare her , c Nor spoil her beauty by su h rivalry . I Alas and with what gifts shall pursue thee , f What o ferings bring , what treasures lay before thee r woo When earth with all her ﬂoral t ain doth thee, A n d all old poets and old songs adore thee A n d love to thee is naught ; from passionate m ood ’ S ecured by joy s c omplacen t plenitude

S AD IS OUR Y U FOR IT IS E ER G I G O TH , V O N AD is our youth , for it is ever going , C m w ru bling a ay , beneath our very feet ; S a d is our life , for onward it is ﬂowing In c c d c urrent unper eive , be ause so ﬂeet ; S ad are our hopes , for they were sweet in sowing, - o n But tares , self s w , have overtoppe d the wheat ;

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y

love which lifts the heart , yet leaves

The spirit free ,

That love , or none , is ﬁt for one

- Man shaped like thee .

SORROW

CU T a ﬂliction N each , whether light or grave , ’ God s messenger sent down to thee ; do thou With courtesy rec eive him rise a nd bow; An d s c , ere his shadow pa s thy threshold , rave Perm ission ﬁrst his heavenly feet to lave ; Then lay before him all thou hast allow

No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, Or m ar thy hospitality no wave ; Or mortal tumult to obliterate ’ T he soul s marmoreal c almness ; grief should be L — c b d ike joy majesti , equa le, se ate, C m m onﬁr ing , cleansing , raising , aking free ; S trong to c onsume sm all troubles ; to c omm end G t s reat houghts , grave thoughts , thought lasting to the

end .

TH E LITTLE BLACK ROSE

1 H E t tle Blac k Rose shall be red at last ; c dr What made it bla k but the March wind y, An d the tear of the widow that fell on it fast ? It shall redden the hills when June is nigh !

The Silk of the Kine shall rest at l a st ; What drove her forth but the dra gon ﬂy In the golden vale she shall feed ful l fast, d w With her mil gold horn and her slo dark eye .

1 s ic m e s o f I e d e e cc in G e i My t al na r lan fr qu ntly o ur a l c poetry. S ON GS

The wounded wood - dove lies dead at last ! - die The pine long bleeding, it shall not

This song is secret . Mine ear it passed ’ l n A In a wind o er the p ai s at thenry . 234 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

M ICH A EL D O HENY

(1 80 5- 1 86 3)

A CUS H LA GAL MO CH REE ’l

H E - long, long wished for hour has come, Y e t c a stor ome , , in vain An d left thee b ut the wailing hum Of sorrow and of pain

My light of life, my only love

Thy portion , sure, must be ’ G ’ Man s scorn below , od s wrath above ’ A en isle g ea l m o chroia he

’ I ve m given for thee y early prime, ’ An d manhood s teeming years ’ I v e n i m blessed thee i my merriest t e, An d shed with thee my tears An d , mother, though thou cast away ’ c The hild who d die for thee, My fondest wishes still should pray For en isle g ea l m o chroidhe

’ ’ For I v e c thee tra ked the mountain s sides, An d slept within the brake , More lonely than the swan that glides ’ 011 L ua s fairy lake .

1 A cushla a l m o chree e ofm ea g , brig ht v in y h rt.

236 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

A E D L S . L A D REV. J M B O R (1 872 IRIS H M IS T AND SUNS H INE

OFT I m mist on rish ountain , i Br ght sun on ﬁeld and dell , S wift tides of joy or sorrow In Celtic hearts that swell w od Green glen and haunted o land ,

Loved homes by laughing streams , F o irm faith and matchless manho d ,

Lo these my varied themes .

Round tower and ivied abbey,

Low whispering of the past , Aroun d Life ’ s early pathway

Their dreamful shadows c ast . Wild wind - blasts S ighing voic eful ’ o Far o er the m orland lone, Brought throbbing fairy music

To thrill with mystic tone . Gray mist and ﬂashing sunshine That ﬂec k the gorse - land brown High deed and c loudy legend Of Eire ’ s old renown ’ m ’ The saints and artyrs yearnings, ’ The patriot s rhapsodies , ’ m c With ti rous touch un ertain , I strike the harp to these . IR IS H S ON GS AN D LYRICS 237

F S air land of Mist and unshine,

The distant exile thrills , In dream of hom e and kindred

To see thy holy hills . Should song of mine ﬂow clearer

Old scenes and skies of blue , .

Old hopes that crown life dearer,

I hold my trust made true .

THE FALLIN ’ 0’ THE RAIN

’ - C w Q OD BYE to County arlo , tis the lonesome

place to me ,

S ure every week is like a month , and every

month like three . ’ now I The mist is coming wet and cold , but won t

complain , ’ k ’ ’ I m ree . going home, and little the fallin o the rain

"I I was foolishness that brought me here , wonder at it now ; Too proud was I to work the spade or follow up the plow ; But little work and gold galore won ’ t heal the heart ’ 0 pain ' ' ’ ’ ’ And I m off to old Kilkenny thro the fallin o the

rai n .

’ ’ f s Twas oolishne s that brought me here, twas madness a made me st y , ’ With n ot a hillside slopin green to rest my eyes all

day, 2 38 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ ’ ’ u tretchin b lin di But Allen s bog o ts like the level , n

main , ’ ’ ’ ’ And ne er burst o sunshine for the fallin o the rain .

’ A plague upo n the landlord crew , they re everywhere the same ’ we If Ireland s deep in poverty , know to whom the blame ; ’ Black greed is in their grasping hearts, they d rob us

root and grain , ’ ’ ’ Just judgment fall upon em with the fallin o the

ram .

are The lads tall and hearty here, their faces good to

see , ’ An d God will sure reward em all their kindness

unto me , I But when feigned their merry dance, and heard the pipers play My heart nigh burst with longin ’ for the faces far

away .

’ ut m I wonder if tis b a dream a hundred ti es a day, An d draw my hand across my eyes to drive it all away ; Then faint and dim I see the hills beyond this weary ai pl n ’ ’ ’ ’ They call m y wild heart ever thro the fallin o the i ra n .

’ But— soon I ll breathe the heather breath on brown ’ Kn ockb rocken s side An d see a silver - shining stream across the valleys glide ;

TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y

- s My gold haired Moran kis ed me, (Oh bleeding heart so sore ’ ’ ’ Tis bac k we ll be at m orn in With a brimming boat galore ’ ’ Tis home we ll come at m orn in ” When the full tide ﬂows . Ah l his words are with me ever W l hi e the west wind blows .

’ ’ I m lea vin ofKil ona n y , ’ ’ An the ocean s wicked waves , My keenest woe that never I ’ may kneel o er their graves . ’ I ll God F But pray to , our ather, He will grant their souls repose He will ease my bitter sorrow While the west wind blows IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS

EDWA RD D OWDEN (1 84 3

AWAKENING

’ TH o e rworn o I brain , with heart a summer cl d ,

With eye so practiced in each form around , An — d all forms mean , to glance above the ground I rks it , each day of many days we plod , ’ - Tongue tied and deaf, along life s common road . n ot how But suddenly, we know , a sound

Of living streams , an odor , a ﬂower crowned a sod With dew , lark upspringing from the And w a 0 e aw ke . joy and deep amaze ! we Beneath the everlasting hills stand ,

We hear the voices of the morning seas , An d earnest prophesyings in the land , While from the open heaven leans forth at gaze The encompassing great cloud of witnesses .

LADY MARGARET ’ S SONG

IRLS I , when am gone away, 011 this bosom strew

Only ﬂowers meek and pale, An d the yew . ‘ TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OE

La d m y these hands own by y side, Let my face be bare

Bind a kerchief round the face ,

Smooth my hair .

Let my bier be borne at dawn , S ummer grows so sweet , D eep into the forest green o Where b ughs meet .

Then pass away , and let me lie

One long, warm , sweet day u There alone , with face pturned ,

One sweet day .

m While the orning light grows broad ,

While noon sleepeth sound ,

While the evening falls and faints,

While the world goes round .

S ONG

W - F rom in dle S tra ws.

ERE life to last forever , love, d We might go hand in han , An d pause a nd pull the ﬂowers I n all the idle land , A n d we m ight lie in sunny ﬁelds And while the hours away With fallings - out and fallings - in For m da half a sum er y.

244 TH E G O LD EN TREAS UR Y OF

BA RTH O LO M EW D OWLING

(1 82 3- 1 86 3)

TH E BRIGADE AT FONTENO Y

M a 1 1 1 y , 745 .

Y a - ﬁ res our c mp rose a murmur, A t the dawning of the day , And the tread of many footsteps S poke the advent of the fray ; A n d we , as took our plac es , Fe w and stern were our words , While some were tightening horse - girths An d o s me were girding swords .

The tru m pet blast has sounded Our footmen to array e The willing st ed has bounded , Impatient for the fray

The green ﬂag is unfolded , While rose the cry of joy Heaven speed dear Ireland ’ s banner To- day at Fon tenoy

o We looked up n that banner, An d a the memory rose . Of our hom es and perished kindred Where the Lee or S hannon ﬂows ; IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 24 5

We looked upon that banner , And we swore to God on high ’ To smite to - day the Saxon s might

To conquer or to die .

Loud swells the c harging trum pet ’ Tis a voice fro m our own land God of battles ! God of vengeance ! ’ Guide to day the patriot s brand

There are stains to wash away , m There are me ories to destroy, In the best blood of the Briton Fon te n To day at oy.

Plunge deep the ﬁery rowels In a thousand reeking ﬂanks D c l I own , hiva ry of reland , Down on the British ranks Now shall their serried columns Beneath our sabres reel

wa r- Through their ranks , then , with the horse

Through their bosoms with the steel .

With one shout for good King Louis And the fair land of the vine , Like the wrathful Alpine tempest We swept upon their line Then ran along the battle - ﬁ e ld m Triu phant our hurrah , An d we smote them down , still cheering, “ E rin s la n tha a l o bra h , g g g g

1 rin bra /i i o i e a o e e . E g , Er n , y ur br ght h lth f r v r TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

As prized as is the blessing From an aged father ’ s lip As welcome as the haven To the tempest - driven ship As dear as to the lover The smile of gentle maid Is this da y of long - sought vengeance of To the swords the Brigade .

S e e c their shattered for es ﬂying , A o br ken , routed line S ee E , ngland , what brave laurels

- w For your brow to day e twine .

Oh , thrice blest the hour that witnessed The Briton turn to ﬂee ' F m E ro the chivalry of rin , ’ - - And France s ﬂeur de lis .

As we - ﬁres lay beside our camp ,

When the sun had passed away, An d thought u pon our brethren That had perished i n the fray God We prayed to to gran t us , ’ An d then we d die with joy , One day upon our own dear land L F nteno ike this of o y.

248 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Y e t s b not as they , in sad mistrust or ceptic dou t

for, oh , e They looked in hope to the bless d saints , these dead

of long ago .

And , then , the churchyard , soft and calm , spread out beyond the scene With sunshine warm and soothing shade and trees upon its green Ah ! C though their cruel hurch forbid , are there no hearts will pray For the poor souls that trembling left that c old and speechless clay

My God I am a Catholi c I grew into the ways Of my dear Church since ﬁrst m y voi c e could lisp a word of praise ; But oft I think though my ﬁrst youth were taught and

trained awrong , I still had learnt the one true faith from Nature and from song

For still , whenever dear friends die, it is such joy to know They are n ot all beyond the ca re that healed their

wounds below, S That we can pray them into peace, and peed them to the shore Where clouds and cares and thorny griefs shall vex

their hearts no more .

A nd the sweet saints, so meek below , so merciful above ; IR ISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 249

c And the pure angels , wat hing still with such untiring love 1 111 11 An d the Virgin , Queen of Heaven , with all her ’ mother s care,

Who prays for earth , because she knows what break ing hearts are there

a C Oh , let us lose no single link that our de r hurch has

bound , ’ To keep our hearts more close to Heaven , on earth s ungenial ground ; ’ But trust in saint and martyr yet , and o er their

hallowed clay, L ong after we have ceased to weep, kneel faithful

down to pray .

S o S I shall the land for us be still the ainted sle of old , c Where hymn and in ense rise to Heaven , and holy beads are told And e God ven the ground they tore from , in years of i cr me and woe , I i nst nctive with His truth and love, shall breathe of long ago 2 50 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

W ILLIA D REN D R. M NA N (1 754- 1 820) ERIN H EN Erin ﬁrst rose from the dark swelling ﬂood God I n sa w blessed the green sla d , and it was good ; ’ e m ra ld E The of urope , it sparkled and shone In m c the ring of the world the ost pre ious stone . In c her sun , in her soil , in her station thri e blest , i With her back towards Br tain , her face to the West, E rin stands proudly insular on her steep shore, ’ ’ An d strikes her high harp mid the ocean s deep roar .

its m But when soft ton es seem to ourn and to weep , ’ The dark Chain of silen c e is thrown o er the deep ; At the thought of the past the tears gush from her eyes An d the pulse of her heart makes her white bosom rise . E ’ Oh sons of green rin , lament o er the time When religion was war and our country a c ri m e ; ’ m a n When in God s image inverted his plan , And molded his God in the image of man ;

’ r t S When the int es of tate wrought the general woe, The stranger a friend and the n ative a foe ; ’ While the m other rejoi c ed o er her c hildren oppressed An d c lasped the invader more c lose to her breast

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

T H E WAKE OF WILLIA M ORR HERE our murdered brother lies ’ Wa ke him not with woman s cries ; Mourn the wa y that manhood ought Sit in silent trance of thought .

Write his merits on your mind Morals pure and manners kind In as his head , on a hill ,

Virtue placed her citadel .

Why cut off in palmy youth ?

Truth he spoke , and acted truth . ” C N ITE c ountrymen , U , he ried , An d died for what our Saviour died .

God of peace and God of love Le t it not Thy vengeance move Let it not thy lightnings draw A nation guillotined by law .

Hapless Nation , rent and torn , Thou wert early taught to mourn Warfare of six hundred years E pochs marked with blood and tears

’ n n Hu ted thro thy native grou ds , rewa rd Or ﬂung to human hounds , E ach one pulled and tore his share, d Heedless of thy eep despair .

Hapless Nation hapless Land Heap of uncementing sand I IR ISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 253

Cru m bled by a foreign weight

And m . by worse , do estic hate

God of mercy God of peace ! Make this mad c onfusion cease ; ’ e r O the mental chaos move ,

Through it S P EAK the light of love .

Monstrous and unhappy sight ’ Brothers blood will not unite ; Holy oil and holy water

Mix , and ﬁll the world with slaughter .

Who is she with aspect wild The widowed mother with her child Child new stirring in the womb 1 Husband waiting for the tomb

A c ngel of this sa red place , Cal m her soul and whisper peace C ord , or axe, or guillotine ,

— Make the sentence not the sin .

Here we watch our brother ’ s sleep c Wat h with us , but do not weep : Watch with us thro ’ dead of night

But expect the morning light .

Conquer fortune— persevere Lo ! it breaks , the morning clear c c The heerful co k awakes the skies, The day is come — arise - arise 254 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

W ILLIA M D RENNA N R . , J (1 802

TH E BATTLE O F BEAL- AN- ATHA- BUIDH

1 598

’ Y O Neill close beleaguered , the spirits might droop Of the S a xon m three hundred shut up in their c oop , Ba en a l Till g drew forth his Toledo, and swore,

On the sword of a soldier to succor Portmore .

His veteran troops , in the foreign wars tried

Their features how bronzed , and how haughty their stride Stept steadily on it wa s thrilling to see ’ The thunder - cloud brooding o er BEAL- AN - ATHA B ID H U .

h The ﬂash of t eir armor, inlaid with ﬁne gold , Gleam ing matchlocks and c annons that m utteringly rolled C With the tramp and the lank of those stern cuirassiers , D d F m F c c yed in the bloo of the le ish and ren h avaliers .

An d I are the mere rish , with pikes and with darts

- c - With but glib overed heads , and but rib guarded hearts

1 ’ B ea l - a n - a th a - bu ia h l ite rally m ean s th e Mouth ofthe Y e llow

Fo d a n d is o o ced B ea l - n u - a t - r , pr n un h bu ie.

256 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

C S ’ I ried , My hand to the assenach ne er may hurl Another to earth if I call him a c hurl c o He ﬁnds me in l thing , in booty, in bread ’ ’ C O Sha n a ha n My hief, won t g give him a bed

L ! I e and of Owen , aboo and the rish rush d on The foe ﬁred but one volley— their gu nners are gone ;

o m - c Before the bare b so s the steel oats have ﬂed ,

1 c . 0 , despite asque or corslet, lie dying and dead

An d Ba en a l brave Harry g , he fell while he fough t With many gay gallants— they slept as men oug ht ; c — Their fa es to Heaven there were others , alack

By pikes overtaken , and taken aback .

And I c my rish got clothing , coin , olors , great store, A — o leor rms, forage , and provender plunder g They mun c hed the white manchets— they cham ped

the brown chine , F uillel ua h for that day , how the natives did dine

’ C i e O Sha n a ha n The hiefta n look d on , when g rose, ’ ’ A n d c d O Neill I ve rie , Hearken , a health to pro pose ' ‘ To our S assenach h osts and all qua ﬂed in huge

glee . ” With Cca d m ile fa ilte g o BEAL- AN- ATHA BUIDH

1 Go le or in d ce . , abun an 9 Fu illelu a h o o s e c m o . , j y u x la ati n

3 Geod m ile a ilte o d ed d e c m es to f g , a hun r thousan w l o . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS

ND W H . D R RE . O V . UM M (1 778- 1 86 5)

CUCH ULLIN’ S C HARIOT

The of w c s is c de m ﬁed v e r original , hi h thi a onsi rably a pli “ o is o m a n old I is r m ce e e d Th e B e c of si n , fr r h o an ntitl , r a h the Plain of M uirhe vn e y.

H E - I car, light moving , behold , Adorned with gems and studs of gold R uled by the hand of skilful guide, S wiftly— and swiftly— see it glide !

S - harp formed before, through dense array Of foes to cut its onward way ; ’ While o er its fi rm - fixed seat behind S wells the green awning in the wind . It ’ mates in speed the swallow s flight, r Or oebuck bounding fleet and light ,

Or fairy breeze of viewless wing , That in the joyous day of spring ’ ’ Fl s ies o er the champaign s gra sy bed , ’ A n d - e up the cairn crown d mountain s head .

C omes thundering on , unmatched in speed,

n - The galla t gray, high bounding steed ; firm His four hoofs , at every bound , S carce seem to touch the solid ground , O utflashing from their flinty frame F s f la h upon lash of ruddy flame. TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

The other steed , of equal pace, Well shaped to c onquer in the race m ﬁ rm - Of slender li b , knit , and strong ,

' His small , light head he lifts on high , Impetuous as he scours along Red lightnin g glances from his eye ; Flung on his curving neck and chest ’ Toss his crisped m anes like warrior s cres t ’ - Of the wild chafer s dark brown hues,

The color that his ﬂanks imbues .

The charioteer , of aspect fair, In front high - seated rides ; i a He holds the polished re ns with c re, An d safe and swiftly guides,

With pliant will and practiced hand , ’ m Obedient to his lord s com and .

That splendid chief, whose visage glows As brilliant as the crimson rose .

Around his brows, in twisted fold ,

A purple sa tin band is rolled , All sparkling bright with gems and gold An d such his majesty a n d grace As speak him born of royal race ;

Worthy , by deeds of high renown , w ’ To in a n d wear a monarch s crown .

’ ’ The following is M c Ph e rson s de scripti on o fCuch ullin s cm The ca r th e ca r o f wa r com e s on i e th e ﬂ m e ofde a ! the , , l k a th id ca r of Cuchullin th e o e son of S e m o ! I t e ds b e rap , n bl b n i d i e a w e n e a a oc i e the sun - s e e d m is of th e h n l k av r r k , l k tr ak t e . I ts side s a re e m osse d w s o e s a n d s e i e h ath b ith t n , parkl l k the se a o d th e o o f i Of o is e d e w is its e m r un b at n ght. p l h y b a ; its se o f th e sm oo es o Th e sid s d at th t b ne . e a re re pl e nishe with ” — s e the o o m is the oo s oo of e e F in a l I . p ars ; b tt f t t l h ro s . g , Book

260 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ An d Ch a fﬁ n they re mighty fond of g , S o I outs ide dare not write his name , For fear they would be laughing, So I wrote From little Kate to one ” m Who she loves faithfully, And it— he knows oh , he knows it h on e Wit out word from me .

Now , girls, would you believe it, s o on sa ted That postman , c ,

No answer will he bring me , So long as I have waited ’ B ut — maybe there mayn t be one, For the reason that I stated

That my love can neither read nor write,

But loves me faithfully, ’ And I know where er my love is, T hat he is true to me .

LAMENT OF TH E IRIS H E MIGRANT

’ ’ M S ittin on the stile , Mary ,

Where we sat side by side , ’ m orn in On a bright May , long ago, When ﬁrst you were my bride i ’ The corn was spring n fresh and green , And the lark sang loud and high An d wa s the red on your lip , Mary, An d I the ovelight in your eye .

la l The p ce is ittle changed , Mary The da y is bright as then ’ u The lark s lo d song is in my ear, IR ISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 26 1

And the c orn is green again I m c But iss the soft lasp of your hand , d m An your breath , war on my cheek , ’ ’ And I still keep list n in for the words Y u o never more will speak .

’ Tis but a step down yonder lane , And the little church stands near wed The church where we were , Mary ;

I see the spire from here .

But the graveyard lies between , Mary , And my step might break your rest ’ For I ve to e laid you , darling down sle p

With your baby on your breast .

’ I m now very lonely , Mary , For the poor make no new friends

But , oh they love the better still , The few our Father sends And I you were all had , Mary My blessin ’ and my pride ’ ’ c There s nothin left to are for now, S ince my poor Mary died .

Y wa s d ours the goo , brave heart , Mary, That still kept hopi n g on God When the trust in had left my soul , A ’ nd my arm s young strength wa s gone There was comfort ever on your lip An d the kind look on your brow I bless you , Mary , for that same,

Though you cannot hear me now . TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

I thank you for the patient smile

When your heart was ﬁt to break , ’ - n a w n When the hunger pain was g i there , And you hid it for my sake ; I bless you for the pleasant word When your heart was sad and sore I ’ m Oh thankful you are gone , Mary, Where grief can ’ t reach you more

I ’ m ’ biddin you a long farewell , My Mary— kind and true ’ I ll ou But not forget y , darling , ’ ’ In the land I m goin to ’ They say there s bread and work for all , An d the sun shi n es always there I ’ ll I But not forget Old reland , Were it ﬁfty times as fair

An d often in those grand old woods I ’ ll sit and shut my eyes , An d my heart will travel back a gain To the place where Mary lies ’ And I ll think I see the little S tile

Where we sat side by side , ’ And s rin in the p g corn , and the bright May morn ,

When ﬁrst you were my bride .

264 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

How blest should I be If our hearts did agree , S I ince already ﬁnd so much pleasure alone . I I see and love , and the bliss I enjoy t No rival can lessen nor envy des roy . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 26 5

S IR CH A RLES GA VA N D UFFY (1 8 1 6 - 1 903)

INNIS H OWEN

Do OD bless the gray mountains of dark negal , Ailea ch God bless Royal , the pride of them all F r o she sits evermore like a queen on her throne, I n ishowe n And s m iles on the valley of Green n . G In n ishowen An d fair are the valleys of reen , And hardy the ﬁshers that call them their own A race that nor traitor nor coward have known E G In n ish we n njoy the fair valleys of reen o .

o Oh simple and bold are the bos ms they bear, Like the hills that with silence and nature they share ; For God our , who hath planted their home near his

own , ow Breathed his spirit abroad upon fair Inn ish e n . F for wild In n ishowen Then praise to our ather . , Where ﬁercely forever the surges are thrown Nor weather nor fortune a tempest hath blown Could shake the strong bosoms of brave In ishowe n n .

See the bountiful Couldah careering along A type of their manh ood so stately and strong

' 1 Cou lda h Cu lda th e c e e in th e I n n ishowe n m , ﬁ , hi f riv r oun 266 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y O F

w b estown On the eary forever its tide is , So In n ishowe n they share with the stranger in fair . God In n ishowen g uard the kind homesteads of fair . ’ Which m a nhood and virtue have chos n for their own ; n in n Not long shall that natio slavery groa , Inn ishow That rears the tall peasants of fair en .

L St. D D ike that oak of Bride which nor evil nor ane, S D m Nor axon nor utchman could rend fro her fane, They have clung by the creed a n d the c ause of their own In n ishowen Through the midnight of danger in true . In n ishowe n Then shout for the glories of old , The stronghold that foemen have never o ’ er thrown

The soul and the spirit , the blood and the bone, In n ishowen That guard the green valleys of true .

wa s G No purer of old the tongue of the ael , When the charging a boo made the foreigner quail ; w ’ When it gladdens the stranger in elcome s soft tone .

In m - c Inn ishowen the ho e loving abins of kind , Inn ishowen Oh ﬂourish , ye homesteads of kind , ’ Where seeds of a people s redemption are sown Right soon shall the fruit of that sowing have

grown , Innishowen To bless the kind homesteads of green .

- c When they tell us the tale of a spell stri ken band , All entranced , with their bridles a n d broadswords in

hand , E Who await but the word to give rin her own,

268 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

An d now the doleful b een is raised What will poor Ireland do What must poor Ireland do F Our luck , they say, has gone to rance . What ca n poor Ireland do ?

’ I r Oh , never fear for reland , for she has so ge s still , ’ ’ For R emy s boys are in wood , and Rory s on the ‘the hill , And never had poor Ireland more loyal hearts than these God May be kind and good to them , the faithful Rapparees The fearless Rapparees a R R The jewel w ar ye, ory, with your Irish apparees

’ C Coulder Oh , black s your heart , lan Oliver, and than the clay ! ’ ’ a C S S a rsﬁ eld s Oh , high s your he d , lan assenach , since gone away ’ It s little love you bear to us for sake of long ago I But howld your hand , for reland still can strike a deadly blow Ca n strike a mortal blow ’ ’ Och ! a a r- a - Chriost / tis she that still could strike the deadly blow

’ ’ 1 w boda ch The master s ba n , the master s seat , a surly ﬁlls ; ’ The master s son , an outlawed man , is riding on the hills ;

1 B oda ch se e e s e m a n , a v r , inho pitabl ; a churl . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 269

God r But, be praised , that round him th ong, as m m thick as su er bees , The swords that guarded Limerick walls — his faithful Rapparees ! ’ His lovin Rapparees ! R Who daar say, No to ory Oge, who heads the Rapparees !

L Black Billy Grimes, of atnamard , he racked us long and sore ’ God rest the faithful hearts he broke ; we ll never see them more ’ ’ But I ll go bail he ll break no more while Truagh has

- gallows trees , For why ? he met one lonesom e night the awful Rapparees The angry Rapparees T hey never sin no more, my boys, who cross the R apparees .

S Cr m well r e Now , assenach and o e , take h ed of what I say Keep down your black and angry looks that scorn us night and day ; ’ For there s a just and wrathful Judge that every i act on sees , ’ And he ll make strong , to right our wrong , the faith ful Rapparees The fearless Rapparees ’ The S a rsﬁeld s n men that rode at side, the cha geless Rapparees l 2 70 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

TH E MUSTER OF TH E NORTH

We de ny a n d have always denie d th e all e g e d m assacre of

1 6 1 . the e o e ose de e c e s se e d th 4 But that p pl r un r th ir hi f , iz e is o s a nd e e e d th e is e e s a n d in do Engl h t wn xp ll Eng l h s ttl r , ing so com m i e d m e ce sse s is de e— a s is tt any x , un niabl e qually the ir o o io The d e de spe rate pr v cat n . balla h re printed is n ot m eant a s a n o o for ese e ce sses ic we co de m n ap l gy th x , wh h n n a d m e a s e e e se o of th e e s h la nt, but a tru r pr ntati n e f ling of t e in ’ sur e n ts in the ﬁ s m d e ss of cce ss — A uth or s n o e g r t a n su . t .

OY joy ! the day is come at last, the day of hope and pride ’ An d see our crackling bonﬁres light old Bann s

rejoicing tide, ’ And gladsome bell and bugle - horn from Newry s

captured towers, Hark ! how they tell the Saxon swine this land is ours — is w a s !

Glory to God my eyes have seen the ransomed ﬁelds D of own , “ S My ears have drunk the joyful news, tout Phelim " hath his own . Oh ! m a y they see and hear no more l— oh ! may they rot to clay ! When they forget to triumph in the conquest of to

day .

’ Now, now we ll teach the shameless S cot to purge his thievish maw n ow Now, the court may fall to pray, for Justice is the La w;

2 72 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

r d To spa e his bloo , while tombless still our slaughtered ki n implore Graves and revenge from Gobbin cliffs and Carrick ’ s bloody shore 1

“ ! c Pity ould we forget , forgive, if we were clods

of clay, e Our martyred priests , our banish d chiefs , our race in

dark decay, An d — — da u h , worse than all you know it , priest the g ters of our land With wrongs we blushed to name until the sword was in our hand

Pity well , if you needs must whine, let pity have its way m t m Pity for all our co rades rue, far fro our side to day

- The prison bound who rot in chains , the faithful dead who poured Their blood ’ neath Temple ’ s lawless axe or Parson ’ s rufﬁ a n sword .

They smote us with the swearer ’ s oath and with the murderer ’ s knife We in the open ﬁeld will ﬁght fairly for land and life ; r our But , by the dead and all their w ongs , and by

- hopes to day,

One of us twain shall ﬁght their last, or be it we or

they .

1 Th e sce ne of th e m assacre of th e unoffe nding inhabitants of

Island Mag e e by the garriso n of Carrickfe rgus . IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 273

They banned our faith , they banned our lives , they

trod us into earth , Until our very patience stirred their bitter hearts to

mirth . n ow we Even this great ﬂame that wraps them , not bu t they have bred own Yes, this is their work ; and now their work be on their head

’ F Le inste r s Nay , ather, tell us not of help from

Norman peers , If we shall shape our holy cause to match their selfish fears Helpless and hopeless be their cause who brook a vain delay ’ fla s Our ship is launched , our g afloat , whether they

come or stay .

Le t silken Howth and savage Slane still kiss their ’ rod tyrant s , And pale Dunsany still prefer his master to his God ’ ’ L we d ittle miss their fathers sons, the Marchmen of

the Pale, If Irish hearts and Irish hands had S panish blade and mail

Then let them stay to bow and fawn , or ﬁght with cunning words ; I fear no more their courtly arts than England ’ s hire ling swords c Nathless their reed , they hate us still , as the de spoiler hates ’ Could they love us , and love their prey, our kinsmen s lost esta tes ? 274 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Our rude array ’ s a jagged rock to smash the spoiler ’ s po wer who Or , need we aid , his aid we have doomed this gracious hour Of yore he led his Hebrew host to peace through ri st fe and pain , An d us he leads the self- same path the self- sam e goal

to gain .

1 Down from the sacred hills whereon a sai nt com m uned God with , ’ Up from the vale where Bagenal s blood manured the

reeking sod , ’ ’ Out from the stately woods of Truagh M Kenna s

plundered home , L ’ ike Malin s waves , as ﬁerce and fast, our faithful

clansmen come .

’ ’ T on O Neill s hen , brethren , dear shade would frown to see you pause

Our banished Hugh , our martyred Hugh , is watching ’ o er your ca use His generous error lost the land— he deemed the Norman true ;

Oh , forward , friends, it must not lose the land again in you

l st. c se f s e in C Patri k, who avorite retreat wa Le cal , the ounty D own .

2 76 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y

The shamroc k on an older shore S prang from a ri c h and sacred soil

Where saint and hero l ived of yore , An d where their sons in sorrow toil ; And d m e here, transplante , it to Seem s weeping for the soil it left An d diamonds that all others see re m a A tears drawn fro its he rt bereft .

When April rain makes flowers grow , An d sparkles on their tiny buds That in June nights will over - blow A n d fill the world with scented floods, The lonely sham roc k in our lan d S o fine am ong the C lover leaves For the old springtim es often grieves I o a feel its tears up n my h nd . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 2 77

ROBERT EM M ET (1 778- 1 803)

L e s e on A H - d D n w e e in writt n rbor ill burying groun , ubli , h r the d e of e s i e e e ed bo i s insurg nt shot n 1 798 w r int rr .

O rising column marks this spot , Where many a victim lies ;

But oh the blood which here has streamed ,

To Heaven for justice cries .

’ It o claims it on the oppress r s head , woe Who joys in human ,

Who drinks the tears by misery shed,

And mocks them as they ﬂow .

It a claims it on the c llous judge, o d Whose hands in bl od are yed ,

Who arms injustice with the sword ,

The balance throws aside .

It e claims it for this ruin d isle , ’ Her wretched children s grave ; F Where , withered reedom droops her head , And — a man exists slave .

O sacred Justice free this land From tyranny abhorred Resume thy bal a nce and thy seat R — esume but sheathe th y sword . TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

No retribution should we seek Too long has horror reigned

By mercy marked may freedom rise, i By cruelty unsta ned .

Nor shall a tyrant ’ s ashes mix With those our martyred dead ’ This is the plac e where Erin s sons ’ In E rin s cause have bled .

An d who those here are laid at rest, Oh hallowed be each name ; Their memories a re forever blest C onsigned to endless fame .

Unconsecrated is this ground , Unblest by holy hands ;

No bell here tolls its solemn sound , r No monument he e stands .

’ But here the patriot s tears are shed , The poor man ’ s blessing given c c These onse rate the virtuous dead , to These waft their fame heaven .

2 80 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ An d far away mid strangers cold she toiled for many

a year , An d no one heard the heart - wrung sigh or saw the

silent tear , But letters fon d the seas beyond would kind and con

stant go, won c I With gold dear , and words of heer , from rish Molly O

’ And one by one she sent for all the loved ones o er the

foam , And one by one she wel comed them to her fond heart

and home , And l a st and best her arms caressed the aged head of snow ’ ” a ! I Oh , mother , we ll be h ppy now said rish Molly O !

Al a s ! long years of toil and tears had chilled her ’ young heart s glow , And grief and care had blanched her hair and stilled ’ her pulse s ﬂow, A nd when the spring bade wild birds sing and buds i n beauty blow m a I They ade your grave where willows w ve , poor rish Molly O

TH E BOG ROAD

Lisdoon va rn a O ULD I travel afar now F m ro Bantry to Barna, ’ Tis to Lisdoonvarna My wa y I would ﬁnd IRIS H S ON GS AN D LYRICS 28 1

For there, one bright summer , m Myself, a newco er , F r ound mi th , fun , and humor ’ That ne er leaves my mind . who Oh , those each season ,

Without rhyme or reason , Cross far foreign seas on ’ a T0 light the heart s lo d , as Know nought of the ple ure,

Without stint or meas ure , That waits them with leisure

Along the Bog Road .

All o s rts and conditions , A l l trades and positions ,

Of men on all missions , Are there to be found

There are jobbers and teachers , And l r ped ars and preache s , And delicate creatures From all Erin round T o here are blo ming young maidens, And r hea ts heavy laden , A n d stout dames that no sign Of fading yet showe d While dearly - dowered daughters Are trying the waters , And S ighing for partners A long the Bog Road .

’ Tis there every morning , D s c ull drowsine s s orning, Stout lads without warning

Roam over the hills , 282 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

While matron a nd widdy “ (Lamenting poor Biddy

Take draughts that would rid ye, ’ d Tis sai , from all ills . There farmers together Discuss on the heather

The markets, the weather , The last crops they sowed h o While c ildren are sp rting , Y oung couples resorting Are cozily courting A R long the Bog oad .

’ Of pri ests there s a legion F rom every known region , The hotels besieging For shakedowns in vain D ean , Bishop, and Canon , F Liﬂe S rom y to hannon , For reasons no man on This earth could explain So me quietly straying, ‘ Their Oﬂices saying Some jolly and gay in The lon g cars a load ; S ome solemnly stalking, S ome eagerly talking Y ou ’ ll meet them all walking A R long the Bog oad .

284 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

The o a m dest face, the gentle gr ce , the humor and the cheer of her Eyes like the summer skies when twin stars bea m above

in them , ' Oh proud will be the boy that s to light the lamp of n love i them . ’ ’ Céa a m ile ailte Do f they ll give you down at novans ,

etc .

T ’ Ah hen when you rise to go, it s , then , now sit down again Isn ’ t it the haste you ’ re in ? and Won ’ t you soon come round again ? ’ Y our ca ubeen an d your overcoat you d better put

astray from them , ’ Twill take you all your time to try and tear yourself

away from them . ’ ’ Céa a m ile ailte l i D j they l g ve you down at onovans ,

etc .

THE OULD PLAID S HAWL

OT far from old Kinvara , i n the merry month

of May,

When birds were singing cheerily , there came

across my way, As if from out the sky above an angel chanced to fall ,

A little Irish ca t/in in an ould plaid shawl .

She ri t pped along right joyously, a basket on her arm ' And olf ! , her face, and , oh her grace, the soul of saint would charm ; IR ISH S ONGS AND L YR ICS 2 85

’ er r Her brown hair rippled o er h brow, but g eatest charm of all ’ Was her modest blue eyes beaming neath her ould

plaid shawl .

I courteously saluted her God save you , miss, says I sir God save you kindly, , said she, and shyly passed me by ' a her Oﬁ went my heart along with her, captive in

thrall , o Imprisoned in the corner of her uld plaid shawl .

E I nchanted with her beauty rare, gazed in pure de

light , Till round an angle of the road she vanished from my sight ; I I But ever since sighing say, as that scene recall , The grace of God about you and your ould plaid ” shawl .

’ I v e r heard of highway robbe s that, with pistols and

with knives , Make trembling travelers yield them up their money

or their lives , But think of me that handed out my heart and head and all ' ' To a simple little ca zlzn in a n ould plaid shawl

a Oh graceful the mantillas that the signorinas we r, An d o tasteful are the b nnets of Parisian ladies fair , ’ or r in l But never cloak or hood obe, pa ace, bow r, or ll ha , 2 86 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Clad half suc h W itching beauty as that ould plaid

shawl .

Oh some men sigh for riches , and some men live for

fame , ’ An d some on history s pages hOpe to win a glorious name ; a r My aims e not ambitious , and my wishes are but small Y ou might wrap them all together in an ould plaid

shawl .

I ’ ll G I ’ ll seek her all through alway, and seek her all C ar through l e, ’ I ll searc h for tale or tidings of my traveler every

where, ’ For peace of mind I ll never ﬁ n d until my own I call ’ I a i z n That little rish c / in her ould plaid shawl .

288 TH E G OLD EN TR E/ IS UR Y OE

I e t c w But if could g sight of the rown on his bro , ’ By day a n d night traveling to London I d go ;

Over mountains of mist and soft mosses below, Drim m in Till it beat on the kettle drums dhu O .

D rim m in Welcome home , welcome home , dhu O o was I G od your sweet milk for drinking , trow

With your face like a rose , and your dewlap of snow , ’ I ll Drim m in part from you never, dhu O

LA MENT OVER TH E RUINS OF TH E ABBEY OF TIMOLEAGUE ONE and weary as I wandered

By the bleak shore of the sea , Meditating and reﬂecting ’ On the world s hard destiny ;

Forth the moon and stars 'gan gli m mer

In the quiet tide beneath , For on slumbering spray and blossom

Breathed not out of heaven a breath .

I On went in sad dejection , Careless where my footsteps bore Til! a ruined c hurch before me c Opened wide its an ient door,

T I l ill stood before the porta s ,

Where of old were wont to be , For an the blind , the halt, d leper, A a nd lms hospitality . IR ISH S ON GS fIND L YR ICS 289

S till the ancient seat was standing Built against the buttress gray Where the clergy used to welc ome

Weary travelers on their way .

I m e d in There sat own sadness , ’ m I n Neath y cheek placed my ha d , ' 1 Ill the tears fell hot and briny

Down upon the grassy land .

I There, said in woful sorrow , l Weeping bitter y the while, Was a time when joy and gladness Reigned within this ruined pile

Was a time when bells were tinkling , C lergy preaching peace abroad ,

a - Psalms singing , music ringing

Praises to the mighty God.

E mpty aisle , deserted chance! , to Tower tottering your fall , M a ny a storm since then has beaten On the gray head of your wall !

M a ny a bitter storm and tempest

- Has your roof tree turned away , S ince you ﬁrst were form ed a temple To Lo the rd of night and day .

Holy house of ivied gables , ’ That wert once the country s pride, Houseless now in weary wandering R oam your inmates far and wide . 290 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Lo - ne you are to day , and dismal , Joyful psalms no more are heard c Where , within your hoir, her vesper S - creeches the cat headed bird .

Iv is y from your eaves growing,

- Nettles round your green hearth stone, F oxes howl , where , in your corners, D ropping waters make their moan .

Where the lark to early m atins U sed your clergy forth to call ,

There alas no tongue is stirring, S ’ ave the daws upon the wall .

R efectory cold and empty, D m or itory bleak and bare,

Where are now your pious uses, Simple b e d and frugal fare ?

G one your abbot , rule, and order, Broken down your altar stones ; Naught see I beneath your shelter S o ave a heap of clayey b nes .

a Oh the h rdshi p, oh the hatred , c Tyranny, and ruel war , O Persecution and ppression , That ha ve left you as you are I myself once also prospered too Mine is , , an altered plight .

Trouble , care , and age have left me

G od - o for naught but grief to night .

29 2 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

The dewy blue blossom that hangs on the spray n More blue than her eyes huma eye never saw . D c e eit never lurked in its beautiful ray . D I o ear lady, drink to you , slainte g bragh

To gaze on her beauty the young h unter lies ’ Mong the branches that shadow her path in the

grove .

But alas , if her eyes

The rash gazer surprise , All m c eyesight departs fro the vi tim of love, A nd the bli nd youth steals hom e with his heart full of

sighs . O pri de of the Gael of the lily - white palm O coolun of curls to the grass at your fee t ! At the goal of delight and of ho nor I am

To boast such a theme for a song so unmeet .

OWEN BAWN

This re fe rs to th e rigid proh ibition o f th e inte rm arriag e with

th e n i e I is W i i m de s of s e i n A . D . at v r h by ll a Burgh , Earl Ul t r, 1 w ic le d to the I s e m e o d th e e 333 , h h ri h r turn fro b y n riv r Bawn a n d the e x l s o of th s om a ll s e pu i n e Engli h fr Ul t r.

’ Y Owen Bawn s hair is of thread of gold spun ; a Of gold in the sh dow, of light in the sun ; All curled in a c oolum the bright tresses are They make his head radiant with beams like a star !

’ My Owen Bawn s mantle is long and is wide, To wrap m e up safe from the storm by his side

S la trz te o bra ﬁ o ea l e e . g g , y ur h th for v r IRISH S ON GS AND L YR ICS 293

’ n I d - A d rather face snowdrift , and winter wind there, r Than lie among daisies and sunshine elsewhe e .

My Owen Bawn Quinn is a bold ﬁsherman , He tracks the dun quarry with arrow and spear

Where wild woods are waving , and deep waters ﬂow , - d roe . Oh , there goes my love with the dun appled

My Owen Bawn Quinn is a bard of the best , He spears the strong salmon in midst of the Bann Lo A nd rocked in the tempest on stormy ugh Neagh ,

D raws up the red trout through the bursting of spray .

My Owen Bawn Quinn is a hunter of deer, h to He wakes me wit singing , he sings me rest ’ An d cruit fi u the neath his ngers rings p with a sound , ’ As though angels harped o er us, and fays underground .

They tell me the stranger has given command , crom m e a l a nd m in That coolu shall cease the land , ' b e n That all our youths tresses of yellow shor , An d bonnets , instead , of a new fashion worn .

’ That mantles like Owen Bawn s shield us no more, ’ n c That hunting and ﬁshing he eforth we give o er, w That the net and the arro aside must be laid , For o a n d hammer and tr wel , and mattock spade .

a That the echoes of music must sleep in their c ves , ’ That the slave must forget his own tongue for a slave s ,

That the sound of our lips must be strange in our ears, An d il e w o ur our bleeding hands to i n the d of tea rs .

1 01 412 m , a s all harp . Crom m ea l m c e , usta h . 2 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF 94,

! m Oh , sweetheart and comfort with thee by y side , I c ould love and live happy, whatever betide c But thou , in su h bondag e , wouldst die ere a day A - oé n ! way to Tir , then , Owen , away

o There are wild wo ds and mountains , and streams

deep and clear , There are loughs in Tir - oe n as lovely as here ; ’ n Y w There are silver harps ringi g in ello Hugh s hall , An d d all ! a bower by the forest si e, sweetest of

i n We w ll dwell by the sunshi y skirts of the brake , Where the sycamore shadows glow deep in the lake ; An d the snowy swan stirring the green shadows there, A on in ai r ﬂoat the water, seems ﬂoating .

A - n ! way to Tir oe , then , Owen , away

We will leave them the dust from our feet for a prey, And our dwelling in ashes and ﬂames for a spoil 'Twill be long ere they quench them with streams of the Foyle

PASTH EEN FION

’ n H , my fair Pasthee is my heart s delight ; Her gay heart laughs in her blue eye bright ; L ike the apple blossom her bosom white, ’ An d her neck like the swan s on a Marc h morn bright

c ! ! Then , Oro, ome with me come with me come with me c I ! Oro, ome with me brown girl , sweet

296 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

T H E COOLU N 1

’ Tra nsla ted om t/z e I ris/z o M a u rice D u rm or O D u a ﬁ f g g n .

H AD Coolun you seen the , ’ c c Walking down by the u koo s stree t, With the dew of the meadow shining

- On her milk white twinkling feet . ' ' ’ 0 ca i/z rz O my love she is , and my g , ’ An d she dwells in Ba l na ga r; And she bears the palm of beauty bright, F E rom the fairest that in rin are .

’ In Ba l na a r Coolun g is the , Like the berry on the bough her cheek Bright beauty dwells forever On her fair neck and ringlets sleek ’ O sweeter is her m on th s soft music T han the lark or thrush at dawn , Or the blackbird in the greenwood singing

Farewell to the setting sun .

R u bo ise p, my y make ready I t My horse , for for h would ride , m To follow the odest damsel , Where she walks on the green hillside ' For e er since our youth were we plighted , In faith , troth , and wedlock true 0 ’ she s sweeter to me nine times over, Than organ or c uckoo

1 ’ A n cﬁ zzz l m de of ﬂ ai n fair owing locks . ' ' 9 ' Ca zlzn o o n irL g , y u g g IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 297

0 ever since my childhood I loved the fair and darling child ;

But our people came between us , An d with lucre our pure love de ﬁled

O my woe it is , and my bitter pain , An d I it weep night and day, ' That the ca i/z n Ori n of my early love Is torn from my heart away .

S weetheart and faithful treasure , an d Be constant still , true ; Nor for want of herds and houses ’ L who eave one would ne er leave you . I ’ ll b e pledge you the less d Bible ,

Without an eke within , T od hat the faithful G will provide for us, to or Without thanks kith kin .

0 love, do you remember

When we lay all night alone ,

Beneath the ash in the winter storm , When the oak wood round did groan ?

No shelter then from the blast had we ,

The bitter blast or sleet ,

But your gown to wrap about our heads, And a our my co t around feet . 298 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

TH E FAIR H ILLS , OF IRELAND

F rom til e Iris/z .

e c se s io in th e i i m e e r of a A v ry lo tran lat n , or g nal t , n Irish song of unknown authorship dating fro m th e e n d of the seve n ” ce Th e e m e s 0 sa d m e te e n th ntury . r frain an la nt.

PLENTEOUS plac e is Ireland for hospitable e che r , ’ Uzlea cdn dub/z 0 Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow

barley ear, ' ( zflea cdn dubﬁ O There is honey in the trees where her misty vales ex

pand , An d her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fanned ' T o here is dew at high n ontide there , and S prings i the yellow sand

On the fair hills of holy Ireland .

Curled he is and ringleted , and plaited to the knee, (Ii/coa t” dublz O

c I ea Each captain who omes sailing across the rish S , ' ' Uz lca ca n dub/z 0

An I m d will ake my journey , if life and health but

stand ,

U nto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant

strand , An d o leave your b asted braveries, your wealth and m high co mand , For I the fair hills of holy reland .

L c arge and proﬁtable are the sta ks upon the ground , ' Uz lea a in dub/z 0

TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y

they c ome to where the rowan - trees in lonely

beauty grow,

Beside the Fairy Hawthorn gray .

w The Hawthorn stands bet een the ashes tall and slim , Like matron with her twin granddaughters on her knee ; ’ The rowan - berries cluster o er her low head gray and dim I n ruddy kisses sweet to see .

h T e merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,

Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem , m And away in mazes wavy , like skim ing birds they 0 8 , 0 never carolled bird like them

But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze

That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,

And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted braes, l a m in An d dreamier the g e g grows .

k A nd sinking one by one , like lar notes from the sky ’ When the falcon s shadow sa ileth across the open S haw , ’ c Are hushed the maidens voi es , as cowering down they lie

In the ﬂutter of their sudden awe .

For from the air above and the grassy ground beneath , An d from the mountain - ashes a n d the old wh ite

thorn between , IRIS H S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 30:

A power of faint enchantment doth through their b e

ings breathe , An d they sink down together on the green .

They sink together silent , and , stealing side by side, ’ They ﬂing their lovely arms o er their drooping c ne ks so fair, a Then vainly strive gain their naked arms to hide , F a or their shrinking necks again are b re .

T hus clasped and prostrate all , with their heads to o gether b wed , ’ ’ Soft o er their bosoms beating— the only human sound

They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd , L ike a river in the air, gliding round .

ca n a n No scream y raise, no prayer can any say,

But wild , wild the terror of the speechless three , For A G c they feel fair nna ra e drawn silently away,

By whom they dare not look to see .

They feel thei r tresses twine with her parting locks of

gold , A nd the c urls elastic falling as her head withdraws ; They feel her sliding ar m s from their tranced arms

unfold ,

But they may not look to see the cause .

For heavy on their senses the fain t enchantment lies Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze ; 302 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

An d neither fear nor wonder can Ope their qui veri ng

eyes , i Or their limbs from the cold ground ra se ,

Till out of night the earth has rolled her dewy side, With every haunted mountai n and stream y vale below ; n When , as the mist dissolves in the yellow morni g

tide, ’ The c dissolv eth maidens tran e so .

as Then ﬂy the ghastly three swiftly as they may, A n d their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in . tell i va n , F hey pined away and died within the year and day, ’ And wa s A ne er n na Grace seen again .

I’ H E FAIRY WELL OF LAGNANAY

OURNFULLY ! , sing mournfully E ! O listen , llen , sister dear Is there no help at all for me , But only ceaseless sigh and tear ? did who re Why not he , left me he , With stolen hope steal memory ? E 0 listen , llen , sister dear m (Mournfully , sing ournfully ’ I ll go away to S lea m ish hill ’ I ll c - plu k the fairy hawthorn tree , A nd let the spirits work their will I care not if for good or ill , 80 they but lay the m em ory c m l Whi h all y heart is haunting sti l .

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

I Come with me to the hill pray,

And I will prove that blessed freet . t They rose with soft and silen feet , They left their mother where she lay

Their mother and her care discreet, All ! ! ( , alas and well away ) And c d F soon they rea he the airy Well , ’ The a d mount in s eye , clear, col , and gray, Wide Open in the dreary fell ’ How long they stood twere vain to tell . At o last up n the point of day, ’ U na m Bawn bares her boso s swell , All ! ( , alas and well away Thrice o ’ er her shrinking breast she laves The gliding gla n c e that will not stay Of subtly - stream ing fairy waves ; An d now the c harmed three brackens c raves She plucks them in their fringed array ; r Now round the well her fate she b aves . All ! an d ! ( , alas well away )

S ave us all from Fairy thrall Ellen sees her face— the rim T an d wice and thrice that is all ,

Fount and hill and maiden swim , All together melting dim ” ’ U n a U n a , , thou may st call , S sa d ister , but lith or limb (Save us all from Fairy thrall) Never agai n of Un a bawn Where n ow she walks in dreamy hall S hall eye of mortal look upon 0 c a n wa s it be the guard gone, That better guard than shield or Wall ? IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 305

Who knows on earth sa ve Jurla ugh D aune ?

(Save us all from Fairy thrall .

Behold the banks are green and bare , No pit is here wherein to fall ; A y, at the fount you well may stare,

But naught save pebbles smooth is there ,

d all . An small straws twirling , one and

Hie thee home , and be thy prayer , Save us all from Fairy thrall

TH E FORGING OF TH E ANCHOR

’ ’ M E D n O , see the olphi s anchor forged tis at a white heat now 7 The bellows ceased , the flames decreased tho on the forge ’ s brow ’ The little flames still fltfa lly play thro the sable mound And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking

round , All clad in leathern panoply , their broad hands only bare ;

Some rest u pon their sledges here, some work the W in dlass there.

W The indlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves below ; And e red and de p , a hundred veins burst out at every throe — O n It rises, roars , rends all outright Vulca , what a glow ’ ’ Tis blinding white, tis blasting bright ; the high sun shines not so ! 306 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

c The high sun sees not, on the earth , su h ﬁery fearful S how c The roof ribs swarth , the andent hearth , the ruddy lurid ro w

Of smiths that stand , an ardent band , like men before the foe ’ As m , quivering thro his ﬂeece of ﬂa e, the sailing

monster , slow

S — inks on the anvil all about , the faces ﬁery glow r — n Hu rah they shout , leap out leap out ba g , ha n g , the sledg es go Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low; A hailing fount of ﬁre is struck at every squashing blow ; The leathern mail rebounds the hail the rattling c in ders strow The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering

fountains ﬂow , An d thick and loud the swinking crowd at every stroke pant ho

L a nd eap out , leap out , my masters leap out lay on load ’ Let s forge a goodly anchor— a bower thi ck and broad For n I od a heart of oak is ha ging on every blow , b e ;

An d I . d see the g ood ship ri ing , all in a perilous road The low reef roaring on her lee— the roll of ocean poured F m m ro ste to stern , sea after sea ; the mainmast by the board d The bulwarks own , the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains

308 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last ; ’ w A shapely one he is , and strong, as e er from cat as c ast .

O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life

like me , What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea

- D O deep sea iver, who might then behold such sights a s thou ? ’ ’ The hoary - monster s palaces methinks what joy twere now To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of the

whales , And feel the churned sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails Then deep in tangle - woods to ﬁght the ﬁerce sea uni

corn , a And send him foiled and bellowing b ck , for all his ivory horn ; To leave the subtle sworder - ﬁ sh of bony blade forlorn ; And for the ghastly grinning shark to laugh his jaws to scorn ’ ’ To leap down on the kraken s back , where mid Nor wegian isles r He lies, a lubber anchorage fo sudden shallowed miles , - a off Till , snorting , like an under sea volc no , he rolls ;

a - Meanwhile to swing, buffeti ng the far astonished shoals - n - Of his back browsi g ocean calves or , haply in a cove, S - s hell strewn , and con ecrate of old to some Undine

love ,

- m - b To ﬁnd the long haired mer aidens or, hard y icy

lands,

T - o wrestle with the sea serpent, upon cerulean sands . IRISH S ON GS AND LrRIOS 309

- r F r o t O broad a med ishe of the deep , whose sp r s can equal thine ? D t The olphin weighs a thousand tons , that ugs thy cable line ’ An d night by night tis thy delight , thy glory day by

day, T i hrough sable sea and breaker white, the g ant game to play But shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I gave ’ A ﬁsher t — f s joy is to des roy thine o ﬁce is to save .

’ 0 d - un lo ger in the sea king s halls , couldst thou but derstan d

Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that n dripping ba d , S w lo swaying in the heaving wave, that round about

thee bend , With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend r Oh , couldst thou know what heroes glide with la ger

steps round thee , ’ Thine iron side would swell with pride ; thou dst leap within the sea !

Give honor to their memories who left the pleasant a str nd , To shed their blood so freely for the love of Father land Who left their chanc e of quiet age and grassy churc h

yard grave,

So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave 3 1 0 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

I Oh , though our anchor may not be all have fondly

sung,

Honor him for their memory, whose bones he goes among

T H E LAPFUL OF NUTS

H ENE ’ ER I see soft hazel eyes ,

An d - r nut brown cu ls , I think of those bright days I spent Among the Limerick girls ; W hen up through Cra tla woods I went Nutting with thee ; A n d we c f plucked the glossy, lustering ruit F d rom many a ben ing tree .

we Beneath the hazel boughs sat, I Thou , love, and , And the gathered nuts lay in thy lap, c Below thy down ast eye . ’ we we d But little thought of the store won , I , love, or thou , For we our hearts were full , and dare not own ’ The love that s spoken now .

0 ’ S there s wars for willing hearts in pain , An d high Germani c ! ’ A n d I ll c m I o e back , if ever come back ,

With knightly fame and fee, ’ An d I ll c m c I o e ba k , if ever come back , F aithful to thee ,

That sat , with th y white lap full of nuts ,

- Beneath the hazel tree .

3 1 2 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Even there with the last breath these fond words I ’ d say

! Oh , beautiful Moon , shine peaceful and bright I On the green hills of reland , away, far away !

TO D OUGLAS H Y DE

“ R M A c O the banks of ndros oggin , d ’ Where the pine is ben ing o er, To the farthest headland marking California ’ s fertile shore From the boundless plains of Texas ’ NO Niagara s foaming tide , With a hundred thousand wel com es D Exiles greet you , ouglas Hyde .

’ Long we ve listened to the pleading Of the men who failed to show How their words alone could purchase Freedom from a heartless foe Meekly craving for the justice A lways thwarted , long denied Thank the Lord that heaven sent us D Men like you , our ouglas Hyde .

’ Y ou who E , knew of rin s glory , Y ou , who saw her latent power , Y u who c o , sear hed the mountain craggy, Wooded glen and leafy bower For the relics of her genius An d the tokens of her pride ; u who Y o , wove a native garland , Y ou c d D ! , who rowne her, ouglas Hyde IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 3 1 3

Now the dismal clouds are dri fting

A n d the star of hope appears , Lighting Erin ’ s road to freedom After all the weary years S Now the olden tongue is poken , An d across the ocean wide Y ou are bringing news to cheer us

F Do . rom the old land , uglas Hyde

From the banks of Androscoggin 0 Where the pine is bending er , To the farthest headland marking California ’ s fertile shore From the boundless plains of Texas ’ TO Niagara s foaming tide , Hea r the shout and hear the greeting W Do ! elcome, welcome, uglas Hyde 3 1 4 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

ELLEN FITZS IM ON (1 805— 1 883)

S ONG OF TH E IRIS H EMIGRANT AMERICA OR TH E WOODS OF CAILLINO

Y heart is heavy in my breast, my ears are full ar of te s , My mem ory is wandering back to long de

parted years ,

To those bright days long , long ago , n I d c woe When aught dreamed of sor id are or worldly , - d But roamed , a gay, light hearted boy, the woo s of

Caillino.

- - There, in the spring time of my life and spring time r of the yea , ’ I ve s watched the snowdrop start from earth , the ﬁr t

young buds appear , t ’ The sparkling s ream o er pebbles ﬂow , m The odest violet and golden primrose grow , illino m Ca . Within thy deep and ossy dells , beloved

’ Twas there I w ooed m y Mary Dhuv and won her for

my bride ,

Who bore me three fair daughters and four sons , my ’ age s pride

3 1 6 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

i I a I Once more w ll revisit thee , de r sle that I love best ’ O er thy green vales will hover slow , An d many a tearful parting blessing will bestow - all on thee On all , but most of , , beloved Caillino IR IS H S ON GS AND LYR ICS 3 1 7

RICHA RD FLECKNOE — 1 678)

OF DRINKING

r H E fountains drink caves subter ene , The rivulets drink the fountains dry ; ri Brooks drink those vulets again , And them some river gliding by

Until some gulping sea drink them ,

And ocean drinks up that again .

Of ocean then d oes drink the sky

When having brewed it into rain , The earth with drink it does supply , And plants to drink up that again . n When tur ed to liquor in the vine , ’ Tis our turn next to drink the wine .

o a By this who d es not pl inly see , How into our throats at once is hurled Whilst merrily we drinking be The quintessence of all the world ? i Whilst all dr nk then in land , air, sea , Let us too drink as well as they . 3 1 8 TH E G OLD EN TR E AS UR Y OF

FO RR L. ES T J . (Living ) THE BANS HEE ’ S SONG

’ R d I E the wil heath roam , On the night wind I come ; An d Be auty shall pale At the voice of my wail Husk hark to my tidings of gloom and of sorrow ’ Go o d eo a n , weep tears of blo d , for g elzorra I

With the stranger the brave Hath now found him a grave ; A n d in beauty and bloom He hath sunk to the tomb D Oh , never for esmond shall beam forth a morrow ’ For in death cold he lies Och I d eag a n e/Iorra

! Woe , woe , wild and deep ! Wake , fair one , and weep

Wail , wail , wail , wildly wail At the voi c e of my tale 1 Go ! c , go hen eforth life is a burden and sorrow ’ ’ ’ For thy heart s pulse is stricken Oeiz a eog a n e/zorra

S m I hrieking the Phanto ﬂed . came and found

The maiden lying lifeless on the ground .

3 20 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

' ’ I cherish d I h Which fondly have . ave clung To this bright hope since ﬁrst my heart was wrung S ! U . nder my sad bereavement oon , ah soon , (And I would crave it as a blessed boon

My bones shall rest with hers , my spirit soar ’ To meet my dark hair (1 c hild upon a happier shore ! IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 3 2 1

ELLEN FORRESTER (1 828— 1 883)

THE WIDOW ’ S MESSAGE TO H ER SON

BER D I EM EM , enis , all bade you say ’ Tell him we re well and happy, thank the Lord c But of our troubles , sin e he went away , ’ ' a ozek You ll mind , , and never say a word ’ Of cares and troubles , sure , we ve all our share ; ’ The ﬁnest summer isn t always fair .

Tell him the spotted heifer calved in May ; ’ S he died , poor thing ; but that you needn t mind ; Nor how the constant rain destroyed the hay But tell him God to us was ever kind ’ And when the fever spread the c ountry o er,

His mercy kept the sickness from our door .

Be sure you tell him how the neighbors came An d cut the corn ; and stored it in the ba rn ; " ‘ l would be as well to mention them by name ’ ’ Ned M Ca be M Carn Pat Murphy , , and James , An d big Tim Dal y from behind the hill ; But say og ra — 0 say I miss him still !

1 A ra dﬁ 0 e g , lov ! 3 2 2 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

They c am e with ready hands our toil to share ’ Twas then I missed him m ost— m y own right hand ; I felt , although kind hearts were round me there ,

The kindest heart beat in a foreig n land . Strong hand ! brave heart ! 0 severed far from me By many a weary lea gue of shore and sea !

’ An d tell him she wa s with us— he ll know who ‘ ’ M a ourn een W v , hasn t she the insome eyes

The darkest , deepest , brightest , bonniest blue, m I ever saw except in sum er skies . An d suc h blac k hair it is the blackest hair so ' i That ever rippled over neck fa r .

Tell him old Pincher fretted many a day ’ ’ An d moped , poor dog , twas well he didn t die ; C wa rouched by the roadside , how he watched the y, An d sniffed the travelers as they passed him by ’ Hail , rain , or sunshine , sure twas all the same,

He listened for the foot that never came .

- Tell him the house is lonesome like, and cold , The ﬁre itself seems robbed of half its light ; ’ m are But maybe tis y eyes growing old , An d things look dim before my failing sight ’ For all that, tell him twas myself that spun

The shirts you bring , and stitched them every

one .

- o m b m in m da in . M u z , y rl g

3 24 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

GEORGE FO! Unknown )

TH E COUNTY OF MAYO

F rom M e I rislz of Tﬁ om a r Flo w! !

’ the deck of Patrick Lynch s boat I sat in

woful plight , Through my sighi ng all the weary day and

weeping all the night . Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I 0 8 » B e ' I’ d y the bless d sun , tis royally sing thy praise ,

Mayo .

I When dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did

much abound , In the company of fair young m aids the Spanish ale

went round . ’ Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now I ’ m f orced to go , And l S must eave my bones in anta Cruz , far from my

own Mayo .

' ’ They are altered girls in Irrul now ; tis proud they re

grown and high ,

' With their hair - b ags a nd their top - knots— for I pass

their buckles by. IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 3 25

’ I God But it s little now heed their airs, for will have it so m a for Tha t I ust dep rt foreign lands, and leave my

sweet Mayo .

’ Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin is not Earl in Irrul still , ' And that Brian D uﬂ no longer rules as Lord upon the Hill ; And that Colonel Hugh M a cGra dy should be lying low dead and , And I u sailing, sailing swiftly from the co nty of

Mayo . 3 26 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

J EA N D E J EA N FRA ZER (1 809— 1 852)

BROSNA ’ S BANKS ES I , yes , idled many an hour I n w (Oh would that could idle o , ’ In wooing back the wither d ﬂower Of health into my wasted brow ’ ’ o e rsha dowin But from m y life s g close, My unim passioned spirit ranks Among its happiest moments those ’ I Brosna s idled on the Banks .

For there upon my boyhood broke The dream y voice of n ature ﬁrst

An d every word the vision spoke, H ow deeply has my spirit nursed A m ’ wo an s love, a lyre, or pen , ’ A c res ued land , a nation s thanks , w A friendship ith the world , and then ’ A Brosna s grave upon the Banks .

For I these sued , and sought , and strove,

But now my youthful days are gone, ’ In — vain , in vain for woman s love Is still a blessing to be won ’ An d c still my ountry s cheek is wet ,

- The still unbroken fetter clanks ,

3 28 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y O F

S NG FOR ULY 1 2TH 1 8 O J , 43

’ ’ A zr b oym ’ Wa ter

OM E pledge again thy heart and b and' ’ One grasp th at ne er shall sever ; Our watc hword b e Our native land Our motto Love forever An d let the Orange lily be

771 ) - 3 badge, my patriot brother The everla sting Green for m e ; And we for one another .

Behold how green the gallant stem On which the ﬂower is blowing How in one heavenly breeze and b eam

Both ﬂower and stem are glowing .

The same good soil , sustaining both , Makes both united ﬂourish

But cannot give the Orange growth ,

And cease the green to nourish .

’ Y ea — ﬂowr , more the hand that plucks the Will vainly strive to c herish The stem blooms ou— but in that hour

The ﬂower begins to perish . R egard them , then , of equal worth While lasts their genial weather ; The ti m e ’ s at hand when into earth

The two shall sink together . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS

’ ’ Ev n thus be , in our country s cause , Our party feelings blended

Till lasting peace , from equal laws,

On both shall have descended . Till then the Orange lily be Iz - T y badge, my patriot brother The everlasting Green for m e — And we for one a nother . 330 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

A LICE FURLO NG (1 875

TH E DREAMER I D W N that dies on the meadows lush , Trembling stars in the breathless hush ’ The maiden s sleeping face doth bloom A oo sad , white lily in the gl m .

Along the limpid horizon borne The ﬁrst gold breathing of the morn A lovely dawn of dreams doth creep

Athwart the darkness of her sleep .

In the dim shadow of the eaves A quiet stir of lifted leaves ! As in the old , beloved days,

She wandereth by happy ways .

- With half awakened twitterings , The young birds preen their fold ed wings S he giveth a forget - me - not

To him who long ago forgot .

A r - thwa t the meadowy, dewy sweet , A wind comes wandering on light feet For h her the wind is from the sout , o His kiss is kind upon her m uth.

332 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

' The cha fﬁ nch is God s little page . 0 joyant vassalage Y ou will Y ou will he sa yeth the whole day

long , In sweet monotonous song Poised on the window - sills of outmost leaves He watches where the tremulous sunlight weaves Its o golden webbing ver the palpitant grass ,

While the summer butterﬂy, winged of the blue d veine snow, Floa ts by on aerial tides as clear as glass L i l ike a fa ry ship with its delicate sai s ablow.

F rom the break of morn , ' Herein the blackbird i s God 8 courtier , i With gold tongue ever ast r, Piping and praising e On his beak d horn . To do his Seigneur duty In mellow ﬂuency and dulcet phrasing , In pae ans of passing beauty ; As a chanting priest , C ’ hanting his matins in the wane o the night, While slow great winds of vibrant light

S weep up the lilied East .

G ’ The dumb thing is od s guest, And ever tired creature seeking rest

The sheep, grown weary browsing, The a o c ttle, dr uthy with heat ,

One after one , lagging on listless feet , ’ Seek the green shadow of God s pleasant housing While the thousand winged wights of bough and air ’ Do ﬁnd God s palace fair IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 333

M A RY FURLONG (1 86 8— 1 89 8)

AN IRIS H LOVE - SONG

I I ou love you , and love you , and love y , O my honey ! It ’ ’ isn t for your goodly lands, it isn t for your money ; It ’ ’ ’ isn t for your father s cows, your mother s yellow

butter, ’ The love that s in my heart for you no words of mine may utter

The whole world is gone wrong with me since yester m om in g early, Above the shoulder of Slia v Ruadh the sun was peep

ing barely, Your light feet scarcely stirred the dew among the scented clover 0 0 happy dew, happy grass , those little feet went over !

The breeze had coaxed your nut - brown hair ben eath

the white sunbonnet , The sunbeams kissed the corn - ﬂowers blue that you n had faste ed on it, An d danced and danced , and quivered down your gown of colored cotton ’ And when I loo ked upon your fac e I fear I d quite 334. TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

It I c was not you ame to see this morning but another, d ask But who could look on that brown hea , and for

Tom , the brother ' Y c our blue eyes have bewitched me quite , the atin ’ and the dhrin kin ’ ra h I m a l Have lost the g they used to have, of you ’ ways thinkin

011 r f The white of wheat is your cheek , the sca let o the berry There sweetly blends on each soft lip the smile comes quick and merry ; An d ! oh the blue , blue eyes that shine beneath their silken lashes M y word ! it is for sake of them my bread is turned to ashes !

’ But sure this foolish tongue of mine won t get to tell its story I I R Oh , how wish had the talk of my ﬁne cousin ory Who ’ s just as glib as if he ate the highest English m Gra mar, And if he loved a thousa nd times it would not make

him stammer .

A nd yet I almost think she ca res— for sometimes how she blushes nd A so this pleasant eve of May, when all the larks and thrushes ’ ’ r I ll a n l A e singing their sweet songs of love, try te l S my tory, ea k c in Although I cannot sing like them , or sp k li e ous R ory .

Grok ste , ta .

336 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Mighty earthen walls shall build l And the va ley shall be ﬁlled ,

Filled with clea r pellucid rills

That are born within the hills, They shall gather all these fountains

Flowing sweetly from the mountains, Cunningly shall bear them down To the distant thirsty town

No green rushes grow beside The dark waters as they glide From the Valley of the Thrushes But the scent of the furze - bushes And the breath of heath - c lad hill m Dwell within their boso still . IR IS H S ON GS AN D LYRICS 337

TH O MA S FURLONG (1 794- 1 827) BRIDGET CRUISE

’ F rom the I rish of 0 Ca rola n

turn thee to me , my only love, Let not despair confound me ; ve Turn , and may blessings from abo

In life and death surround thee . This fond heart throbs for thee alone Oh leave me not to languish wn Look on these eyes , whence sleep hath ﬂo , Bethink thee of my anguish :

My hopes, my thoughts , my destiny All dwell , all rest, sweet girl , on thee .

Y oung bud of beauty, forever bright , The proudest must bow before thee Source of my sorrow and my delight Oh must I in vain adore thee ' Where, where, through earth s extended round, Where may such loveliness be found Talk not of fair ones known of yore Speak not of Deirdre the renowned She whose gay glance each minstrel hailed Nor she whom the daring Dardan bore ’ From her fond husband s longing arms ;

Name not the dame whose fatal charms ,

When weighed against a world , prevailed; 338 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y

' c To ea h might blooming beauty fall , L i ovely , thr ce lovely, might they be ; But the gifts and graces of each and al l Are i mingled , sweet ma d , in thee

How the entranced ear fondly lingers On the turns of thy thrilling song I How brightens each eye as thy fair white ﬁngers ’ O er the c hords ﬂy gently along a d The noble , the le rned , the age , the vain , G aze on the songstress , and bless the strain .

How winning , dear girl , is thine air, How glossy thy golden hair

Oh loved one, come back again , With thy train of adorers about thee

Oh come, for in grief and in gloom we remain L ife is not life without thee .

My memory wanders— m y thoughts have strayed My gathering sorrows oppress me o e Oh lo k on thy victim , bright p erless maid , a S y one kind word to bless me . wh s I l Why, y on thy beauty mu t dwe l , When each tortured heart knows its power too well ? Or why need I say that favored and blessed Must be the proud l a nd that bore thee ? Oh dull is the eye and cold the breast T hat remains unmoved before thee .

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

m Oh , welcome ever ore , m e With welco es yet in stor , ’ i a n d T ll love life are o er, Eileen Aroo n

MAGGY LA IDIR ’ F rom tke [ risk of 70kn O N ea ekta n

’ ere s ﬁrst the toast , the pride and boast, Our darling Maggy La idir Let old and young , with ready tongue An d O pen heart , applaud her . ’ Again prepare— here s to the Fair

Whose smiles with joy have crowned us, Then drain the bowl for eac h gay soul ’ That s drinking here around us .

’ ’ O Neil Come , friends , don t fail to toast , Whose race our rights defended ; ’ O Donnell Maguire the true , too ,

From eastern sires descended . Up up again — the tribe of Maine

In danger never failed us , ’ Le ter With in s s spear forever near ,

When foemen have assailed us .

The madder ﬁll with right good will , There ’ s sure no joy like drinking ’ Our Bishop s n ame this draught must claim ,

Come let me have no shrinking .

His name is dear, and with him here ’ F We ll join old ather Peter, ’ ’ An d as he steers thro life s long years, M a e r y life to him seem swe te . IRIS H S O N GS AN D LYR ICS 34 1

C m o e mark the call , and drink to al l I ’ Old reland s tribes so glorious ,

Who still have stood , in ﬁelds of blood , U nbroken and victorious Long as of old may Connaught hold Her boast of peerless beauty A nd Leinster show to friend and foe

Her sons all prompt for duty .

A curse for those who dare Oppose Our country ’ s claim for freedom a May none appear the knaves to he r , ’ ’ Or none who hear em heed em : m May famine fall upon the all , co May pests and plagues nfound them , A nd c heartfelt are , and black despair , ’ Till life s last hour surround them .

May lasting joys attend the boys

Who love the land that bore us , S till may they share such friendly fa re As this that spreads before us . ’ May social cheer , like that we ve here , Forever stand to greet them An d hearts as sound as those around to Be ready still meet them .

C ome , raise the voice rejoice, rejoice , F ’ ast , fast , the dawn s advancing, w dim My eyes gro , but every limb

S eems qu ite agog for dan c ing . S w ’ eet girls begin , tis .shame and sin ’ To see the time we re losing . 34 2 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

a — Come , lads , be g y tri p, tri p away, who While those sit keep boozing .

’ ? Da n Where s Thady Oge up , , you rogue, Why stand you sh illy - shally ? ’ U ’ There s Mora here , and na s here, ’ An d S yonder s sporting ally . ’ d— Now frisk it roun aye, there s the sound Our sires were fond of hearing ;

— The harp rings clear hear, gossip , b ea r ! 0 sure such notes are cheering

Y our health , my friend till life shall May no bad chance betide us ;

Oh , may we still , our grief to kill , Have drink like this beside us ’ A ﬁg for care but who s th a t there That ’ s of a quarrel thinking ? Put out the clown or knock him down ’ We re here for fun and drinking .

Tie up his tongue— a m I not sprung From chiefs that all must honor i G O ’ N i The pr ncely ael , the great e l, ’ ’ O Kell O Conn or y and , ’ O Brien the strong , Maguire , whose song Has won the praise of nations ; ’ O M oore Bra uff the tough , and big nd , These are my blood relations

344 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ ’ m o There s no ﬂower that e er bloo ed can my r se excel , There ’ s no tongue that e ’ er moved half my love can

tell , I I Had strength , had skill the wide world to subd ue , Oh ! the quee n of that wide world should be Roisin D ubh .

I Had power, oh my loved one , but to plead thy

right , ’ I should speak out in boldness for my heart s delight ; I would tell to all round me how my fondness grew, And m R D u bid them bless the beauty of y oisin bh .

The mountains , high and misty , through the moors

must go, c The rivers shall run ba kwards , and the lakes over

ﬂow , n d old c m A the wild waves of ocean wear a ri son h ue,

E re the world sees the ruin of my Roisin D ubh . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 34 5

’ NEILL GA LLA GH ER F . O (Living ) THE SEA M ADNESS A E H V come far from the sound of the thresh , the

sight of the living sea , To a place of cribbed and narrow ways , where only the wind is free ;

But the leap of the sea is in my blood , and always ,

night and day , I hear the lap and wash of the waves , the hiss of the

ﬂying spray .

When the loosened winds of the tempest wake far thunder on the deep I can hear the siren music calling through the veil of sleep ; Through the thronging c ity highways comes the hol low ocean roar , And I sicken for the long green surge, the lonely

- foam wet shore .

I - know a storm lashed headland , where the broken hillside di ps In a sombre ﬂame of heather to the ocean ’ s singing

lips . I must go ; the sea has called me , as a m istress to her swain From the i m m em orial tumult I shall drink of peace i aga n . 346 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

D GA LLA H ER W . . G (Living )

T H E LABORE R

D u — s TAN p erect Thou ha t the form , A n d likeness of thy God who more ? A soul as dauntless ’ m id the storm Of daily life— a heart as warm ’ And pure, as breast e er wore .

What then ? Thou art as true a man As moves the human m a ss among ; As much a part of the great plan That with creation ’ s dawn began

As any of the throng .

Who is thine enemy The high In w station , or in ealth the chief c The great, who oldly pass thee by, With proud step and averted eye

Nay nurse not such be lief.

If true unto thyself thou wast, ’ What were the proud one s scorn thee A feather, which thou mightest cast Aside as idly as the blast

The light leaf from the tree .

’ — urb d s No unc passions , low desire ,

- Absenc e of noble self respect,

348 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

A RTH UR GERA LD GEO GH EGA N (1 8 1 0— 1 889)

AFTER AUGHRIM

0 you remember, long ago, Kathaleen low When your lover whispered , S I I hall stay or shall go, Ka thaleen And ou Go ! y answered proudly, And join King James and strike a blow For the Green

i w M ovrone, your ha r is white as sno , Kathaleen

Your heart is sad and full of woe .

Do you repent you made him go, Kathaleen ! And quick you answer proudly, No For better die with S a rsﬁ eld so Than live a slave without a blow For the Green

TH E MOUNTAIN FERN I H , the fern , the fern , the rish hill fern , That girds our blue lakes from Lough Ine L E ough rne, c k m waves on our rags li e the plu e of a king, IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 349

And c bends like a nun over lear well and spring . ’ ’ a - The fairies tall p lm tree , the heath bird s fresh nest, An d the couch the red - deer dee ms the sweetest and

best ,

- With the free winds to fan it , and dew drops to gem , m ? Oh , what can ye match with its beautiful ste

F t Fin b a r A - rom the shrine of S . , by lone von hwee , D To the halls of unluce, with its towers by the sea, F m K kthu ro the hill of noc to the rath of Moyvore, L i ’ ike a chaplet that circles our green sland o er, ' In the bawn of the chief, by the anchorite s cell , 011 the hilltop or greenwood , by streamlet or well ,

With a spell on each leaf which no mortal can learn , I Oh , there never was plant like the rish hill fern

I i Oh , the fern , the fern , the r sh hill fern ,

That shelters the weary , or wild roe , or kern Kilcoe Through the glens of rose a shout on the gale, As the Saxons rushed forth in their wrath from the

Pale ,

- With bandog and blood hound , all savage to see, Clunca lla To hunt through the wild rapparee . c r Hark a y from yon dell on the startled ear rings, An d forth from the wood the young fugitive springs , ’ Through the copse , o er the bog, and oh , saints be his guide ’ His ﬂeet step now falters, there s blood on his sides ; Y et f onward he strains , climbs the cli f, fords the

stream , ’ And sinks on the hilltop , mid bracken leaves green ’ An d thick o er his brow are the fresh clusters piled , And his as the i they cover form mother her ch ld , 350 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

c An d the Saxon is bafﬂed . They never dis ern hi m I Where it shelters and saves , the rish hill fern .

Ir Oh , the fern , the fern , the ish hill fern , r ’ ’ That pou s a wild keen o er the hero s gray cairn , Go d a hear it at mi night , when st rs are all out, ’ An d the wind o er the hillside is moaning about,

With a rustle and stir , and a low wailing tone That thrills through the heart with its whispering lone An d ponder its meaning , when haply you stray Where the halls of the stranger in ruin decay

- With night owls for warders , the goshawk for guest, And - their dais of honor by cattle hoof pressed , s With its fos choked with rushes , and spider webs ﬂun g Over walls where the marchmen their red weapons

hung , c m With a urse on their na e, and a sigh for the hour Lo That tarries so long . ok what waves on the tower m a n d With an o en sign , and an augury stern , ’ ’ n I Tis the gree ﬂag of Time, tis the rish hill fern .

352 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

I n thy fair valley and on th y strong tide,

That gave and took , and taking all , yet gave, Kilfenora !

SAINT BRIGID

ID dewy pastures girdled with blue air, d Where ru dy kine the limpid waters drink , Through violet - purpled woods of green Kil

dare, ’ ’ Neath rainbow skies , by tinkling rivulet s brink ,

d - O Brigid , young , thy ten er , snow white feet In days of old on breezy mom s and eves

Wandered through labyrinths of sun and shade , Thy fa ce so innocent - sweet Shining with love that neither joys nor grieves S ave as the angels , meek and holy maid

With white ﬁre in thy hand that burned no man , But cleansed and warmed where ’ er its rays might

fall ,

Nor ever wasted low, or needed fan , ’ - Thou wa lk dst at eve am ong the oak trees tall .

There thou didst chant thy vespers , while each star

Grew brighter listening through the leafy screen .

d - - Then cease the song bird all his love notes soft , m His usic near or far, Hushing his passion ’ mid the sombre green e To let thy peaceful whisp rs ﬂoat aloft .

’ An d still from heavenly c hoirs thou steal st by night A e W To tell sweet v s in the oods unseen , To tend the shrin e s la m ps with thy ﬂa m beon white IRIS H S O N GS AN D LYRICS 353

A n d set thy tender footprints in the green .

Thus sing our birds with holy note and pure , As though the loves of angels were their theme ; Thus burn to throbbing ﬂame our sacred ﬁres With heats that still endure ; c ff o a Then e hath our da odil its g lden gle m , From thy dear mindfulness that never tires

S HAMROCKS

a WEAR a shamrock in my he rt .

Three in one , one i n three

Truth and love and faith , Tears and pain and death 0 sweet my shamrock is to me

La w y me in my hollo bed ,

Grow the S hamrocks over me . one Three in , one in three , F aith and hope and charity, Peace and rest and silence be With m e where you lay my head 0 dear the Shamrocks are to me

S ONG HE silent bird is h id in the boughs , is The scythe hid i n the corn ,

The lazy oxen wink and drowse, The grateful sheep are shorn ; R o edder and redder burns the r se , ’ The lily was ne er so pale , Stiller and stiller the river ﬂows to e Along the path the val . TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y O F

A little door is hid in the boughs , A fac e is hiding within ; When birds are silent and oxen drowse Why should a maiden spin S w lower and slower turns the heel , re d The face turns and pale, Brighter a n d brighter the looks that steal A h long the pat to the vale .

THE BUILDERS SAW the builders laying

S tones on the grassy sod , An d people praised them , saying A fane to the mighty God l Sha l rise aloft in glory,

Pillars and arches wide, Windows stained with the story ” C Cruciﬁed Of hrist the .

I sa w the broken boulders Lie in the waving grass , F lung down from bending shoulders . An d m said , Our lives ust pass Ere wide c athedral spreading Ca n span this mossy ﬁeld Where kine are slowly treading An d ﬂowers their honey yield .

Oh , dreaming builders , tarry ! U nchain your souls from toil , L c eave the ro k in the quarry, The bloom upon the soil

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

I heard a sound of singing

Across the eventide . What sight my soul bewilders Beneath the sunset ’ s glow The fane that the dreaming builders Were building long ago

’ n Ot Tis the sculptured portal , d Or win ows jeweled wide ,

With joy of the life immortal , An d who woes of him died ,

That ﬁll my soul with wonder , An d drain my heart of tears, A nd c ask with voi e of thunder , Where are thy wasted years

But a thousand thousand creatures

Kneel down where grew the sod , A nd hear with glowing features

The words that breathe of God. A - lone and empty handed , I wait by the open door S c L d u h work hath the ord commende , A nd I can work— no more

The builders never heeding

They lie and take their rest , A nd hands n o longer bleeding A re folded on eac h breast ’ The g rass waves o er them sleeping , A n d ﬂowerets red and white

Where I kneel above them weeping, ”

A n Y o u . d whisper , were right ' IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 357

TH E W ILD GEESE

H AD no sail to cross the sea , h A brave white bird went fort from me, My heart wa s hid beneath his wing c m S i 0 strong white bird , o e back in pr ng

I watch ed the wild geese rise and cry Across the ﬂaring western sky ;

Their winnowing pinions clove the light ,

Then vanished , and came down the night .

I low wa s laid me , my day done , I ’ longed not for the morrow s sun ,

But closely swathed in swoon of sleep , F orgot to hope, forgot to weep .

m The moon , through veils of gloo y red , A warm yet dusky radiance shed All ’ down our valley s golden stream , And ﬂushed my slumber with a dream .

Her mystic torch lit up my brain

My spirit rose and lived amain , An d followed through the windy spray

That bird upon its watery way .

0 0 wild white bird , wait for me ! My soul hath wings to ﬂy with thee a On foam waves , lengthening out af r , ’ We ll ride towards the western star .

’ f O er glimmering plains , through orest gloom , ’ To track a wanderer s feet I come 358 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ m Mid lonely swa p, by haunted brake, ’ I l his l pass unfrighted for sake .

A lone , afar, his footsteps roam ,

The stars his roof, the tent his home . ’ S a w st thou what wa y the wild geese ﬂew To sunward through the thick night dew

C arry my soul where he abides , An d pierc e the mystery that hides c His presen e , and through time and space L ” ook with mine eyes upon his face .

Beside his prairie ﬁre he rests , All feathered things are in their nests ” What strange wild bird is this , he saith , S till fragrant with the ocean ’ s breath ?

Perch on my hand , thou briny thing , And let me stroke thy shy wet wing ; What message in thy soft eye thrills ? I see again my native hills,

’ An d vale , the river s silver streak ,

The mist upon the blue, blue peak ,

The shadows gray , the golden sheaves ,

The mossy walls , the russet eaves .

’ I I v e greet the friends loved and lost ,

Do ? - all forget No, tempest tost , ’ That braved for me the ocean s foam , So me heart remembers me at home .

360 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

OLIVER GO LDS MITH (1 725- 1 774)

AN ELEGY

On Ike lor ker sex M rs M a r E lo ise g y of , . y .

C OD e p ople all , with one accord , L ament for Madam Blaize , Who n ever wanted a good word F w rom those ho spoke her praise .

The needy seldom passed her door, And always found her kind She freely lent to all the poor

Who left a pledge behind .

S he strove the neighborhood to please With manners wondrous winning And never followed wicked ways U w nless when she as sinning .

At church , in silks and satins new , of With hoop monstrous size , She never slumbered in her pew

But when she shut her eyes .

I Her love was sought, do aver, By twenty beaux and more The King himself has followed her

When she has walked before . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 36 1

But now , her wealth and ﬁnery ﬂed , Her hangers - on c ut short all ; The doctors found , when she was dead o Her last dis rder mortal .

Let us lament , in sorrow sore , For S t Kent reet well may say , That had she lived a twelvemonth more She - had not died to day .

MEMORY E R Y M MO , thou fond deceiver,

S till importunate and vain ,

To former joys recurring ever, A nd turning all the past to pain

’ ’ T th o ress d hou , like the world , pp oppressing , ’ Thy smiles increase the wretch s woe And he who wants eac h other blessing In thee must ever ﬁnd a foe .

THE HERMIT

F m ke a Wa ke e ro e Vic r of ﬁ ld. RN U gentle Hermit of the dale , An d guide my lonely wa y To where yon taper c heers the vale

With hospitable ray .

“ r I d Fo here forlorn and lost trea , With fainting steps and slow ; 36 2 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

m Where wilds im easurably spread , I ” S eem lengthening as go .

F orbear my son , the Hermit cries , To tempt the dangerous gloom For yonder faithless phantom ﬂies

To lure thee to thy doom .

Here to the houseless child of want My door is open still And though my portion is but scant, I give it with good will .

- a Then turn to night, and freely sh re Whate’ er my cell bestows c c My rushy ou h and frugal fare ,

My blessing and repose .

NO ﬂocks that range the valley free To slaughter I condemn ; T i aught by that Power that pit es me, I learn to pity them

But from the m ountain ’ s grassy side A guiltless feast I b ’ ing A a n d scrip with herbs fruits supplied , An d water from the spring .

n Then pilgrim tur , thy cares forego All earth - born cares a re wrong :

Man wan ts but little here below, ” t t l Nor wan s that li t e long .

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

c His rising ares the Hermit spied , With answering ca re opprest ; ” And whence, unhappy youth , he cried , The sorrows of thy breast ?

F rom better habitations spurned, Reluctant dost thou rove ?

Or grieve for friendship unreturned , Or unregarded love ?

Alas the joys that fortune brings A re a triﬂing , and dec y ; And those who prize the paltry things

More triﬂing still than they .

An d what is friendship but a name, A charm that lulls to sleep ; A shade that follows wealth or fame, An d leaves the wretch to weep

An d love is still an emptier sound, ’ The modern fair one s jest :

On earth unseen , or only found ’ To warm the turtle s nest .

For shame, fond youth thy sorrows ‘ An d spurn the sex , he said

But while he spoke , a rising blush

His lovelorn guest betrayed .

S urprised , he sees new beauties ri se , S wift m antling to the view Li ’ ke colors o er the mornin g skies, As bright, as tr ansient too . IR IS H S ON GS AND LYRICS

The bashful look , the rising breast, Alternate spread alarms The lovely strang er stands confest A in all a maid her ch rms .

And f n r , ah orgive a stra ger ude, ” A wretch forlorn , she cried al r Whose feet , unh lowed thus int ude a Where he ven and you reside .

But let a m aid thy pity share, Whom love has taught to stray ;

Who seeks for rest , but ﬁnds despair

Companion of her way .

My father lived beside the Tyne , A wealthy lord was he ; And all his wealth was marked as mine,

He had but only me .

To win me from his tender a rms , Unnumbered suitors came c Who praised me for imputed harms , A nd felt, or feigned , a ﬂame . Each hour a mercenary crowd

‘ With richest proﬁ em strove ; A E mong the rest young dwin bowed ,

But never talked of love .

In humble , simplest habit clad , No wealth or power had he a nd Wisdom worth were all he had , But e r all to thes we e me . TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

And when beside m e in the dale c He aroled lays of love , His breath len t fragrance to the gale

An d music to the grove .

s The blos om opening to the day , d The dews of heaven reﬁne , Could naught of purity display

To emulate his mind .

The dew , the blossoms of the tree, With charms inconstant shine c woe ! Their harms were his, but , to me c Their onstancy was mine .

F r I o still tried each ﬁckle art , Importunate and vain ; An d while his passion touched my heart , I trium phed in his pain

Till , quite dejected with my scorn , He left me to my pride

And sought a solitude forlorn ,

In . secret , where he died

But mine the sorrow , mine the fault, An d well my life shall pay ; ’ I ll seek the solitude he sought ,

A nd stretch me where he lay .

A n d there forlorn , despairing , hid, ’ I ll lay me down and die ; ’ Ed Twas so for m e that win did , i I ” A n d so for him w ll .

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

c c When Methodist prea hers ome down ,

A - c d prea hing that rinking is sinful , ’ c c I ll wager the ras als a rown , c They always prea h best with a skinful . But when you c om e down with your pence For c c a sli e of their s urvy religion , I ’ ll leave it to all men of sense,

But you , my good friend , are the pigeon . oroddle toroddle toroll T , , .

T hen come , put the jorum about, An d c let us be merry and lever,

Our hearts and our liquors are stout, ’ Here s the Three Jolly Pigeons forever . Le t u c some cry p wood ock or hare , Y our bustards , your ducks , and your widgeons ; d But of all the bir s in the air, ’ l Here s a health to the Three Jo ly Pigeons . Tor T r ddl t r l oddle , o o e, o o l.

WOMAN

H EN lovely woman stoops to folly,

And ﬁnds too late that men betray , What c harm can soothe her melancholy What art can wash her tears away

The only art her guilt to cover , d m ’ To hi e her sha e from ev ry eye, c To give repen tan e to her lover , An d — wring his bosom is to die . IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 369

EVA GORE - BOOTH

FROM EAST TO WEST

. REAT ships glided into the port Surely the ships of the gods laden with dreams An d It men said , is well

They have brought their dreams to us as of old , ” And now new tales shall be told . But the gods stood on the decks aghast They saw the earth an iron port ;

The air a silver citadel ,

The sky a fortress built of solid gold . F no m Then rani said , Here is place for our drea s . S o they ﬂung the great sails over the mast , And s sailed out slowly across the sea , Till they came to a twilight land in the west Where old unquiet mysteries And pale discrowned spirits dwell Where the wind sings a son g with a golden lilt And the air ﬂows by in silver streams .

There, in wild wastes of the world they built A11 ivory castle for their dreams .

THE LITTLE WAVES OF BREFFNY H E Grand Road from the mountain goes shining

to the sea, is a r e And there trafﬁc in it , nd m any a ho s and cart 3 79 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

C m e But the little roads of loonagh are deeper far to , An d the little roads of Cloonagh go ram blin g

through my heart .

' A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o er th e hill ’ An d t a n d the e s glory in it , terror on the wind But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and

still , And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my

mind .

The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storm ing on wa their y, Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal ; But the Little Waves of Breffny have drowned my

heart in spray, And the Little Waves of Breffn y go stumbling

through my soul .

TO MAEVE

OT for thee, O Maeve , is the song of the Wan

dering Harper sung, For men have put lies on thy lips, and treason and shrieking fear

Because thou wert brave , they say thou wert bitter and false of ton gue

They mock at thy weakness now , who once ﬂed

from thy ﬂaming spear .

372 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

G . RA A . P VES (1 846

AN IRIS H GRACE R beauty ’ s blaze Let Pagans praise The A i features of gla a. Admire agape The maiden shape C m onsum ate in Thalia. Last b a il in thee Euphrosyne ’ A o llied the sov ran p wers , Of form and face No heathen Grace Ca n G match this race of ours .

are Blue her eyes , as though the skies , '

Were ever blue above them , And dark their full fringed canopies

As - if the night fays wove them .

Two m roses kiss to old her mouth , ’ m Her ear s a lily blosso , o Her blush a sunset in the s uth , An d drifted snow her bosom . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 373

c Her voi e is gay, but soft and low,

The sweetest of all trebles,

A silver brook , that i n its ﬂow,

Chimes over pearly pebbles .

A happy heart, a temper bright, Her radiant smile expresses And , like a wealth of golden light,

Rain down her sunny tresses .

’ E ' arth s desert clime ,

Whose sands are time, Will prove a glad oa sis If ’ tis my fate

My friends , to mate G With such a girl as race is .

FATHER O ’ FLY NN

f ’ priests we can o fer a charmin variety , ’ Fa r renowned for la rn in and piety ’ S I d widout i till , advance ye impropr ety, ’ F O Fl n n w ather y as the ﬂo er of them all .

O CH RUS .

’ ’ F O Fl nn Here s a health to you , ather y , ' S Iciinte S Idin te dz , and , and S l n te agin owerfulest P preacher, and Tinderest teacher , and D Kindliest creature in ould onegal . 3 74 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Don ’ t talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity F m G L a ous forever at reek and atinity, Fai x and the divils and all at D ivinity ’ ’ Father O Flyn n d make hares of them all C I v in ture m ome, to give you y word , i Niver the likes of his log c was heard , Down from m ythology I tha olo nto y gy, ! ’ Troth and conchology if he d the call .

’ ’ F Fl nn wa Och ather O y , you ve the wonderful y wid you , All the ould sinners are wishful to pray wid you , A l l the young childer are wild for to play wid you , ’ Y wid F c ou ve such a way you , ather avi k ’ S so till , for all you ve gentle a soul , ’ Ga d , you ve your ﬂock in the grandest control , C c hecking the razy ones , ’ Coa xin on a is y ones , L ’ iftin the lazy ones on wid the stick .

’ And though quite a v oidin all foolish frivolity S c till , at all seasons of inno ent jollity , Where was the play - boy could clai m an equality At m F wid co icality , ather , you o Once the Bishop lo ked grave at your jest, Till this remark set him off wid the rest : Is it lave gaiety All to the laity Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too

376 TH E GOLD EN TRE AS UR Y OF

c With the foot of the fawn she rossed the lawn , Half con ﬁding and half in fear ; And her eyes of blue they thrill ed me through ,

One blessed minute then , like the deer, A a n d way she darted , left me here .

0 la te sun , you are at your golden gate, ’ For you ve nothing to show beneath the sky m s wh To co pare to the la s , o crossed the grass c wa s Of the shamro k ﬁeld , ere the dew dry, And the glance she gave me as she went by .

LIKE A STONE IN TH E STREET ’ M left all alone like a stone at the side of the street, With no kind good day on the way from the

many I meet . s S till with look cold and high they go by, not one

brow now unbends , None hold out his hand of the band of m y fair - weather

friends .

They helped me to spend to the end all my ﬁne shin

ing store, They drank to my health and my wealth till both were

no more . An d now they are off with a scoff as they leave me

behind , ’ c i When you ve ate the ri h fruit, underfoot w th the ar b e bitter rind .

’ There s rest d eep and still on you hill by our old ’ Chapel s side — IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 377

I Where laid long ago, to my woe , my young one ’ year s bride . Then Oc hone ! for relief from my grief into madness I ﬂew ’ Would to God ere that day in the clay ' I d been

covered with you .

TH E LUE LUE S E B , B MOK

H , many and many a time In the dim old days, ’ When the chapel s distant chime

Pealed the hour of evening praise , ’ I ve bowed my head in prayer

Then shouldered scythe or bill , And c traveled , free of are , To my home across the hill

Whilst the blue, blue smoke

Of my cottage in the coom , S oftly wreathing , S weetly breathing ,

Waved my thousand welcomes home .

’ For I v e oft and oft stood , D elighted in the dew, Lo o oking down acr ss the wood , Where it stole into my view S weet spirit of the sod , I E Of our own rish arth , Going gently up to God ’ F m o m ro the po r an s hearth .

O the blue, blue smoke TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y

c Of my ottage in the coom ,

Softly wreathing , S weetly breathing

My thousand welcomes home .

I e But hurri d swiftly on , When Herself from the door Came swimming like a swan Beside the Shannon shore An d after her in haste, 011 pretty, pattering feet, Our rosy c herubs raced Their daddy dear to meet

Whilst the blue, blue smoke c Of my ottage in the coom , S oftly wreathing, S weetly breathing ,

Waved my thousand welcomes home .

But the times are sorely chan ged S c in e those dim old days, ’ An d I e far , far v ranged From those dear old ways ; ’ An d my c olleen s golden hair all has To silver grown , An d our little cherub pair Have c herubs of their own An d the black , black smoke, L m ike a heavy funeral plu e, D arkly wreathing , F earful breathing , C rowns the city with its gloom .

TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y

! Oh , no . Nothin ’ you ’ ll show ’ ' ’ an i her sittin tak n a twirl at it.

’ Se e ! the lamb s wool ’ Turns coarse an dull

By them soft, beautiful weeshy white hands of her . D own goes her heel , R ’ oun runs the wheel , ’ urr n t P i wid pleasure to ake the commands of her .

Then Show me a sight Bates for delight An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl ! Oh , no Nothin ’ you ’ ll show ’ ’ ’ uals Aq her sittin an takin a twirl at it .

F Talk of Three ates ,

Seated on sates , ’ ’ ’ Spinnin and shearin away till they ve done for me I Y ou may want three For assa cree your m , F o — But one ate for me , b ys and only the one for me

’ An d i sn t that fate Pi c tured com pla te An ould Irish wheel wid a young Irish girl at n o ! Oh , Nothin ’ you ’ ll show ’ ’ ’ A ua ls q her sittin an takin a twirl at it . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 38 1

S H E IS M Y LOVE

ke m ea su re o ke ori in a l Gaelic lov e on I n i f t g s g . E H is my love beyond all thought, Though she hath wrought my deepest dole Y et dearer for the cruel pain n Than one who fai would make me whole .

h S e is my glittering gem of gems, Who yet conte ni ns my fortune bright Whose cheek but glows with redder scorn h Since mine as worn a stricken white .

She is my sun and moon and star ,

Who yet so far and cold doth keep, ’ S he would not even o er my bier

One tender tear of pity weep .

I nto my heart unsought she came , A wasting ﬂame, a haunting care I s wh ? nto my heart of heart , ah , y And left a sigh forever there . 382 T H E G O LD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

C. L. GRA VES (Liv i ng ) AD ARISTIU M FU SCU M

NTEGER vitae scle resq ue purus Non eget Mauris jaculus neque arcu e n e na tis sa ittis Nec v gravida g , F ha retra usce, p , S ive per S yrtes iter ze stuosa s S ive fa cturus per inhospitai em C a ucas a m vel qu ae loca fab ulosus Lam b e t H das es y p .

Nam qua me silva lupus in Sabina D um meam Canto La la gen et ultra a or ex editis Term in um curis v g p , inerm im Fugit , Quale porta tum n eque militaris D a unias latis alet aescule tis uliae enerat lionem Nec J tellus g , u r Arida n t ix .

1 H ce Ode . ora ,

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

Pone m e pigris ubi nulla cam pis stiv a recre a tur Arbor ae aura , Quod latus mundi n eb ulm m alusq ue Jupiter urget Pone sub c urru n im ium propinqui Solis in terra dom ib us negata Dulce ridentum Lala gen amabo D lo uentem ulce q . IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 385

’ ‘ 0 wild is Hibernia s Taurus ’ ’ A nd C m Cow ollings chi erical , And neither demure nor decorous ” I Is the Tammany Boss , but vow That even in Cham berlain ’ s garden ’ No wickeder brute you ll es py

Than the horrible heifer of Hawarden , E m Who ﬂed from my erald Eye .

Were I bound within range of a rifle ’ In Dopping s implacable grip ; ' Though I flew to the sum m it of Eiflel To give Ashm ead - Bartlett the slip ; S Were I doomed to despair on ahara , S Or sentenced to dine with the hah , ’ d c - ra - ra S till I hant, to the tune of Ta ,

E - - The prai ses of rin go bragh .

1 The Irish Bull . 9 e e a n d a Cow Thre acr s . 3 ss or th e Tam m any Bo Tiger. 4 C m e l . P w . A . . as ce a Mr ha b r ain , M , on gored by bull i n his e gard n . 386 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

GEORGE A RTH UR GREENE (1 853

ON GREAT SUGARLOAF

HERE Sugarloaf with bare and ruinous wedge Cleaves the gray air to view the darkening sea lii h We stood on g , and heard the north wind ﬂee Through clouds storm - heavy fallen from ledge to

ledge .

L Then sudden ook we cried . The far black edge

Of south horizon oped in sunbright glee, A nd a broad water shone , one moment free , Ere darkness veiled again the wavering sedge .

S ’ uch is the Poet s inspiration , still Too evanescent coming but to go S uch the great passion showing good in ill ,

- too Quick brightnesses , love lights soon burnt low ’ ’ An d m such an s life, which ﬂashes Heaven s will o Between two gl oms a transitory glow .

TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR

The very wind , so full and free , F ’ orgets not ocean s spray, nd E I for et A , ileen , g not thee

When thou art far away . GERA LD GRIFFIN (1 803 - 1 840)

EILEEN AROON H EN , like the early rose, E ileen a roon I

Beauty in childhood blows, E ileen a roon I

When , like a diadem ,

Buds blush around the stem , Which is the fairest gem ? E ileen a roon

Is it the laughing eye ? E ileen a roon Is it the timid sigh E ileen a roon 1 “ Is it the tender tone, Soft as the stringed heart ’ s moan

Oh it is Truth alone , E ileen a roon

When , like the rising day, E ileen a roon I L ove sends his early ray, E ileen a roon I

E il klin a rain E e e m easu e . , il n, y tr r TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y

What makes his dawning glow Changeless through joy or woe ? c Only the onstant know, E ileen a roon I

I know a valley fair, E ileen a roon I I a knew a cott ge there , E ileen a roon I ’ Fa r in that valley s shade I knew a gentle maid , F ! lower of a haze glade, E ileen a roon

Who in the song so sweet ? E ileen a roon Who in the dance so ﬂeet ? E ileen a roon I

De c m ar were her har s to me , D earer her laughter free , D c c earest her onstan y, Eileen a roon

Y outh must with time decay,

Beauty must fade away , E ileen a roon

C c astles are sa ked in war , C hieftains are scattered far, e Truth is a ﬁx d star,

39 2 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

I might have said , m m My ountain aid , A father ’ s right was never given True hearts to c urse With tyrant force

That have been blest in heaven . I In But then said , after years ,

When thoughts of home shall ﬁnd her, My love may mourn With secret tears ” Her friends thus left behind her .

S Gile m a lzr e ee . ing , , etc

I Oh , no, said ,

My own dear maid , For me , though all forlorn , forever That heart of thine Shall ne ’ er repine ’ — O er slighted duty never . m F . rom ho e and thee, though wandering far A dreary fate be mine, love ’ I d rather live in endless wa r w Than buy my peace ith thine, love .

’ S Gile m a elzree ing, , etc .

Fa r , far away,

By night and day, I toiled to win a golden treasure ; An d golden gains Repaid m y pains In a n d n m fair shini g easure . I m sought ag ain y native land , c m m e Thy father wel o ed , love ; I m d i poured y gol nto his hand , An d my guerdon found in thee, love . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 393

S Gile m a chree ing , , i S t down by me , ’ We now are joined and ne er shall sev er ; ’ own This hearth s our ,

Our hearts are one , And peace is ours forever !

H Y - BRASAIL: THE ISLE OF THE BLEST N the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye

dwell , A shadowy land has appeared , as they tell ;

Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest ,

- An d H B ra s a il . they called it y , the isle of the blest ’ From year unto year on the ocean s blue rim , The beautiful S pectre showed lovely and dim

The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay, E And it looked like an den , away, far away !

A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale , In the breeze of the Orient l oosened his sail ; F Ara rom , the holy , he turned to the west ,

For Ara wa s H - B ra sa il though holy , y was blest . He heard n ot the voices that called from the shore ’ He heard not the rising wind s menacing roar ; on da Home , ki ndred , and safety , he left that y An d H - B ra s a i he sped to y l, away, far away !

Morn rose on the deep , and that shadowy isle , ’ i O er the fa nt rim of distance , reﬂected its smile ;

Noon burned on the wave , and that shadowy shore S d eemed lovelily istant , and faint as before ; 394 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ L c m d d c one evening a e own on the wan erer s tra k , An d to Ara again he looked ti m idly back

Oh far on the verge of the ocean it lay, e Y t the isle of the blest was away, far away

R d ash dreamer , return O ye win s of the main , c c Ara Bear him ba k to his own pea eful again . R ash fool for a vision of fanciful bliss , c To barter thy calm life of labor and pea e . The warning of reason was spoke in vain He never revisited Ara again

Night fell on the deep , amidst tempest and spray, And he died on the waters away, far away

TH E WAKE OF THE ABSENT

HE dismal yew and cypress tall ’ a Wave o er the c hurchy rd lone , Where rest our friends and fathers

Beneath the funeral stone .

Unvexed in holy ground they sleep, Oh ! early lost o ’ er thee n No sorrowi g friend shall ever weep,

Nor stranger bend the knee . ‘ M o Ckn m a I lorn a m I Hoarse dashing rolls the salt sea wave ’ Over our perished darling s grave .

The winds the sullen deep that tore

- c His death song hanted loud ,

W oe is m e k m a ie or . M o C u My g r f ; ,

396 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

S TEPH EN LUCIUS GWY NN (Living )

A LAY OF OSS IAN AND PATRICK TELL you an ancient story Learnt on an Irish strand Of lonely Ossian returning Belated from fairyland

To e a land grown me k and holy, b To a land of mass and ell , U nder the hope of heaven , U nder the dread of hell

It tells how the bard and warrior, L ast of a giant race , i Wrestled a year with Patr ck , A nswering face to face,

Mating the praise of meekness , c With vaunt of the warrior s hool , And the glory of God the Father With the glory of Finn M a cCool

U ntil at last the hero ,

Through fasting and through prayer, C m C a e to the faith of hristians , An d turned from the things that were . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 397

was When the holy bread broken , A nd the water wet on his brow , And the last of the ﬁerce Fianna C Had spoken the hristian vow,

In a sudden glory Patri c k S n eei g the ﬁerce grown mild , L d aughe with joy on his convert,

L ﬁ r t- ike father on s born child .

Well was for you , O Ossian , ” Y o u c ame to the light, he said A nd now I will S how you the torment " F m od ro which to our G you ﬂed .

Then with a pass of his crozier ut He p a spell on the air, A n d there fell a mist on the eyeballs

Of Ossian standing there .

S hapes loomed up through the darkness , ” And “ Now , says the saint , look well ; S ee F your friends the ianna , And a ll their trouble in hell .

Ossian stared through the darkness , S a w , as the mist grew clear, Le gions of swarth - hued warriors Raging with sword and spear

F m oot en , huge and misshapen , ' S tiﬂe ne d with snarli n g ire ; Chariots with hell - black stallions C s uin e hamping a p of ﬁre, TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y

A n d - all of the grim faced battle ,

With clash and yell and neigh , D ashed on a knot of wa rriors S et n in a ra k at bay .

a n d Ossian looked , he knew them , c Knew ea h man of them well , F Knew his friends , the ianna,

There in the pit of hell.

was his There very father, L i eader of all the r bands, F inn , the terrible wrestler, Griping with giant hands ;

Oscar with edged blade smiting , Ca oilté with charging lance, A nd D iarmuid poising his javelin , Nimble as in the dance ;

C - onan , the crop eared stabber,

A m - i ing a slant way stroke, An d the ﬁery Luga ch leaping

Where the brunt of battle broke .

But in front of all by a furlong,

- There in the hell light pale , G M a c M orn a Was the champion , ull , r Winding a monst ous ﬂail .

An d still the ﬂail as he swung it S ang through the maddened air , S d inging the dee s of heroes , A song of the days that were .

TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y

As whirling in air the striker c d Sang lear , or thu ded dull , woe When , the tug on a sudden S G napped in the grasp of ull .

Hand - staff and striker parted was m The song of the ﬂail du b,

On the heart of Ossian , listening, F ell that silence numb .

An d oh for a ti m e uncounted He watched with straining eyes The tide of the devils ’ battle

Quicken and turn and rise .

’ He watched the Fia n n a s onset

Waver and hang in doubt, He watched his leaderless comrades

S wept in a struggling rout .

But Gull , with a shield before him ,

Crouched on the battleground , And there in the track of slaughter

Tore at what he found ,

c Until in the rash and tumult ,

An d dashed with a bl oody rain , He had knotted his ﬂail tog ether

With sinews out of the slain .

1 Tu som e m e s c e d ce th e e e o w c ds g , ti all tra , l ath rn th ng hi h hol wo s o f a ﬂa i o e e the t part l t g th r. IR ISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 40 1

F Then , as the gasping ianna F elt their endeavor fail , Chanting their ancient valor c Rose the voi e of the ﬂail .

And agai n in the stagnant ebbi ng Of their blood began to ﬂow

The ﬂood of a surging courage , The hope of a crowning blow

An d the heart of their comrades watching , S tirred with joy to behold

Feats of his bygone manhood ,

Strokes that he knew of old .

Again he beheld the stubborn r S etting of targe to ta ge , Again he beheld the rally

S well to a shattering charge .

And surely now the Fianna Must slaughter and whel m the foe 1 11 m a ﬁerce and ﬁnal triu ph , L ords of the realm below ,

As x they leapt in a loosened phalan , Climbing on heaps of slain ’ And a gain Gull s wizard weapon F lew on a stroke i n twain .

For a time and times uncounted Ossian endured the sight

Of the endless swaying tumult, fi The ebb and ﬂow of the ght. 402 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

His face g rew lean with sorrow , An d d m hunger stare fro his eyes , An d the laboring breath from his boso m ' Broke in heavy sighs .

Patrick watched , and he wondered , An d at last in pity spoke : 0 Vexed is your look , Ossian , As your very heart were broke .

C - ourage , O new made Christi a n Great is my joy in you I would like it ill on a day of grace

My son should have aught to rue .

Therefore for these your comrades I give you a wish to day That shall lift them out of their torment I nto some better way .

S peak be bold in your asking, ” C m hrist is strong to redee . — Ossian turned to him sudden , L ike one awaked from a dream .

’ was His eye ﬁerce as an eagle s , ’ An d c m his voi e had a tru pet s ring, As when at the Fenian banquets

He lifted his harp to sing .

I F ask no help of the ather, I S ask no help of the on, S Nor of the Holy pirit, n e Ever Three in O .

404 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

m m As the shining sal on , ho eless in the sea depths, c d Hears the river all him, scents out the lan ,

Leaps and rejoices in the meeting of the waters ,

Breasts weir and torrent, nests in the sand ;

L ives there and loves ; yet with the years returning , R usting in the river, pines for the sea , S weeps back again to the ri pple of the tideway , m on Roa er of the waters , vagab d and free

Wan derer am I like the salmon of the rivers m urm ur us L ocea n , o , ondon is my . and deep Tossing and vast yet through the roar of London

m . Co es to me thy summons , calls me in sleep

Pearly are the skies in the country of my fathers, m m Purple are thy mountains , ho e of y heart . m m Mother of y yearning , love of all y longings , m m Keep me in re e brance , long leagues apart .

MATER SEVERA HERE the huge A tlantic swings heavy water d eastwar , I off reland , square to meet it, shoulders the seas ! t c ff Wild are all her chas s with stress of li and billow ,

On her northern m oorland is little sheltered ease .

i m Well is w th the sal on , ranger of her rivers m c Well is with the ackerel shoaling in ea h bay , c Dear is all the land . to the lonel y sni pe and urlew

A m a nfolk ! . y, but for its a bitter lot have they IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS

: d Thankless is the soil men trench , and elve , and labor Blac k and spongy peat amid barren knowes of stone

Then to win a living overseas they travel , And God their women gather, if pleases , what was o s wn .

- E Harvesters , a homing from the golden tilth of ngland , Where they sweat to cope with increase of teeming

years , F h ’ ind too oft returning , sick wit others plenty ,

S unless autumn dank upon green and spindling ears .

Or a tainted south wind brings upon the root - crop Sten c h of rotting ﬁbre and green leaf turning black F m n ow a ine , never distant , stalks nearer and nearer , Bids them rake like crows amid mussel - beds and

wrack .

Bleak and gray to man is the countenance of Nature ;

Bleak her soil below him , bleak her sky above m a n Wherefore, then , by is her rare smile so c herished Paid her niggard bounty with so lavish love ?

Not the slopes of Rhine with such yearning are re membe red c D Not your Kentish or hards , not your evon lanes . ’ Tis as though her sons for that ungen tle mother w ’ m ’ Kne a mother s tenderness, felt a other s pains .

w - Man y an out ard bound , as the ship heads under Tory , Clings with anguished eyes to the barren Fanad

shore . 406 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

d- Many a homewar bound , as they lift the frowning F oreland , his Pants to leap the league to desolate Gweedore .

’ There about the ways God s air is free and spac ious m - War are chimney corners there, warm the kindly r hea t . T s here the soul of man take root , and through its travail

G - rips the rocky anchorage till the life strings part .

408 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

That ﬂag from their wives and sweethearts dear

Returned to their homes no more .

— They died by the bullet disease had power, ’ An to death they were rudely tossed m But the thought ca e warm in their dying hour, Not a shtar from the ﬂag is lost a thers Then they said their p and aves through , ’ An I i — did , like r shmen , died our Boys in Blue .

shta rs But now they tell us some are gone, Torn out by the rebel gale ; shta rs That the we fought for , the states we won , ’ Are U still out of the nion s pale . ’ May their sowls in the dioul s hot kitchen glow ’ Who sing such a lyin shtra in

By the dead in their graves , it shall not be so They shall have what they died to gain All the shtars in our ﬂag shall still shine through ’ The grass growing soft o er our De ad in Blue BULM ER H OBS ON (Living )

TH E DELU GE

‘ NGE Manannan Mac Lir his deep blue mantle cast

Over the hearts of men , and over all the land

An d he came to the land of men , borne on an icy blast .

The wind drifted the waves , and the waves washed on the strand h a n d ea rt . Till water , were blent The pale sky and the sea

Met on the mountain tops, and the trembling stars

were quenched . An d the frightened hosts of men thought to the west to ﬂee ;

But far to the west , and further, all the land was

drenched . w Then the clans of men were dro ned , women and warriors strong C o hildren tossed on the waves , maidens with l osened hair Drifted about on the waters ; and the sea was hed for long Over the land where the hosts of men once had a

dwelling fair . o a n d But Fintan roamed through the ﬂ od , he alone of men 4 1 0 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Watc hed the rise of the sea, watched it tower and

fall , E b b , and ﬂow , and fail , and sink from the land again , L c eaving the dead in its tra k , and silence over all .

Then he gathered the bodies of men , gathered them one by one From the desolated land ; and he built a mighty

PYre, And he laid them side by side, wife, and father, and

son . A n d there in the starlight pale he lit the funeral ﬁre . An d the sm oke - wreath curled away ; and over the moonlit sea It in it went , the dead of night, till came to the I sles in the West . An d out of the smoke each man took the shape that he used to be ; ’ An d in there they dwell on the sunset s rim, the

sunset roam and rest .

ULAD

N the north is the strength of the wind , of the whirl wind In the south there are murmuring waters ; The east has a ca oin e for its song

In the west is strengthless love .

The waters grow troubled and cease soon, But the wind is a - sway on the hills F orever , forever .

4 1 2 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

M ICH A EL H OGA N (1 832

DRAH ERIN O MA C HREE

IE E I GR V when think on the dear, happy days of

youth , When all the bright dreams of this faithless world seemed truth I ’ When strayed thro the woodland , as gay as a mid

summer bee, In Dra he rin brotherly love with my O Machree .

T we - ogether lay in the sweet scented meadows to rest , ’ Together we wat c hed the gay lark as he sung o er his

nest, Together we pluc ked the red fruit of the fragrant haw

tree , And I D ra herin loved , as a sweetheart , my O Machree

His form it was straight as the hazel that grows in the

glen , c a n d His manners were ourteous , social , and gay amongst m en His bosom was white as the lily on summer ’ s green lea ’ And God s brightest image was D ra herin O Machree !

1 D ra kerin O M a ekree e o e of m , littl br th r y heart. IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 4 1 3

Oh ! sweet were his words as the honey that falls in

the night, nd m c - o A his young s iling fa e like May blo m was fresh , and as bright ; His eyes were like de w on the ﬂower of the sweet a p ple - tree ; ’ My heart s spring and sum m er was D ra herin O Machree

He went to the wars when proud England united with Fran c e ; His regiment was ﬁrst in the red battle - charge to a d van c e ; But when night drew its veil o ’ er the glory and life

wasting fray , D ra herin Pale, bleeding , and cold lay my O Machree

I I ’ d d ’ Oh if were there , watch over my arling s last

breath , I ’ d I ’ d wipe his cold brow , and soften his pillow of death ; I ’ d pour the hot tears of my heart ’ s melting anguish o ’ er thee ! D ra Oh , blossom of beauty my he rin O Machree !

I ’ m Now left to weep , like the sorrowful bird of the

night , ' This earth and its pleasures no more shall a ﬂord me de hght ;

The dark narrow grave is the only sad refuge for me , ’ Sinc e I lost m y heart s darling— m y Dra herin O Machree ! 4 r4 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

D OUGLA S H Y DE (1 860

FROM A POEM BY TEIGE M AC DAIRE

F r m tke I risk a tra n sla tion in tke m eter o tke ori in a l o , f g

IS not War we Want to Wage T i With H om ond TH n n ed by outrage . SLIGHT not Poets ’ Poignant spur h nor Of RIGHT ye Owe it O .

Ca n there Cope a Man with Me In Burning hearts Bitterly , At BLo ws LU S I wis my men B H , L F F Bright F US H their urious aces .

S tore of blister - Raising Ranns

These are my Weighty Weapons , STrikin S R G Poisoned , g T ON through men ,

They Live not LONG so striken .

S H elter from m y S H a fts or rest Is F t F not in ur hest orest , Fa r FALL S S they , words oft as now, L m No WAL can WARD y arrow .

en a rrels d e To QU ch in QU goo de ds, R WRon s To aise up g in hundreds , AIL A E To N a N M on a man , I FAIL — FA E not M my weapon .

4 1 6 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

LI LE C ILD I CALL EE TT H , TH

F rom tke [ risk

TTLE I I child , call thee fair,

Clad in hair of golden hue, Every lock in ringlets falling

D . own , to almost kiss the dew

S low gray eye and lang uid mien ,

Brows as thin as stroke of quill , c Cheeks of white with s arlet through them , ’ Och it s through them I am ill .

L c us ious mouth , delicious breath , C - halk white teeth , and very small , L ovely nose and little chin ,

— - White neck , thin she is swan like all .

u P re white hand and shapely ﬁnger, Li m bs that linger like a song Music speaks in every motion

- Of my sea mew warm and young .

R - ounded breasts and lime white bosom , L m c ike a blosso , tou hed of none, S tately form and slender waist , Fa r more graceful than the swan .

Alas for m e ! I would I were

- n ered With her of the soft ﬁ g palm , n I Waterford to steal a kiss , L Or by the iss whose airs are balm . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 4 1 7

M Y GRIEF ON TH E SEA

Tra n sla ted by D oug la s Hyde

Y 011 grief the sea , How the waves of it roll For they heave between me An d the love of my soul

A bandoned , forsaken ,

To grief and to care , Will the sea ever waken Relief from despair ?

M y grief and my trouble Would he and I were In the province of Leinster

Or county of Clare .

Were I and my darling

- Oh , heart bitter wound 011 board of the ship For A merica bound .

e on th e sea I t is it is b i . It is it My gri f , that g is e e s e I wa s that going b twe n m e An d m y thou and tre asur s . e om e ie W a n h0 e of o o e l ft at h Making g r f, ithout y p (g ing ) v r sea m e Fo e e a n d a e e I a m n ot A nd with , r v r y . My g ri f that , m w e m oorn e e n I n th e ce of Le e O r C of y hit , provin inst r ounty

C e . so o I a m n ot An d m o s d e s On d lar My rr w , y th u an lov boar o f s Vo i to m A b e d o f s e s W a s de a hip yag ng A e ri ca . ru h un r m e l ast night A n d I thre w it ou t With th e h e a t of th e da y. My o e c m e To m s de S de to s d A nd o l v a y i , houl r houl er m uth on o t — Lov e S on s o Con n a e/zt m u h . g f . 4 1 8 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

On a green bed of rushes All I last night lay , An d I ﬂung it abroad

With the heat of the day .

An d m y love came behind me H e came from the South ;

His breast to my bosom .

His mouth to my mouth .

M Y LOVE — OH SH E IS M Y LOVE

F rom t/ze I rislz

H E — casts a spell oh casts a spell , c I Whi h haunts me more than can tell , D c earer , be ause she makes me ill , who Than would will to make me well .

tor - oh store She is my s e she my ,

Whose gray eye wounded me so sore,

Who will not place in mine her palm ,

Who will not c alm me any more .

he — oh S is my pet she my pet , I e Whom can n ver more forget,

Who would not lose by me one moan , c Nor stone upon my airn set .

l She roon — oh she roon is my my , m e Who tells nothing , leaves me soon l o on e h Who wou d not l se by me sig , m Were death and I within one roo .

1 Ruin s ec e e s e e . r t tr a ur , lov

4 20 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

0 WERE Y OU ON T H E MOUNTAIN ?

F rom tke [ risk

were you on the mountain , and saw you my Love ? An d m saw you my own one , y queen and my dove ? An d saw you the m aiden with the step ﬁrm and free ? 0 wa s n in ? say , she pini g sorrow like me

I m sa w L was up on the ountain and there your ove, I h own a n d d saw t ere your one , your queen your ove ; I sa w m h ﬁ rm a n d there the aiden wit the step free, And w she was not pining in sorro like thee .

RINGLETED YOUTH OF M Y LOVE

” Tra n sla ted by D oug la s Hyde in Lov e S ong s of Con n o r/It

INGLETED youth of my love, W c d ith thy lo ks boun loosely behind thee, Y o u passed by the road above, But you never cam e in to ﬁnd m e ; Where were the harm for you If you cam e for a little to see me ; Y o ur kiss is a wakening dew I Were ever so ill or so dreamy .

If I had golden store I would m ake a ni ce little boreen d u To lea straight p to his door , The door of the house of my storeen IR IS H S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 4 2 1

Ho ping to God not to miss The l sound of his footfa l in it, I have waited so long for his kiss I u That for days have slept not a min te .

I 0 ! so thought , m y love you were A s the moon is , or sun on a fountain , A w n d I thought after that you were sno , The cold snow on top of the m ountain An d I thought after that you were more i ’ L ke God s lamp shining to ﬁnd me , i Or the br ght star of knowledge before, An d the star of knowledge behind me .

Y ou me - promised high heeled shoes , And m satin and silk , y storeen , \ nd m e to follow , never to lose , Though the ocean were round us roaring Like a bush in a gap in a wall I - am now left lonely without thee, And I this house , grow dead of, is all I That see around or about me .

TH E BROW OF NEP IN

Tra n sla ted by D oug la s flyde in Lov e S ong s of Con n a ekt

ID I stand on the bald top of Né ﬁn

An d - m my hundred ti es loved one with me , We shoul d nestle together as safe i n Its shade as the birds on a tree . F m m usic ro your lips such a is shaken , 4 2 2 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

m When you speak it awakens y pain , An d d my eyeli s by sleep are forsaken , And I m seek for my slu ber in vain .

But were I on the fields of the ocean I should sport on its infinite room , I should plow through the billows ’ commotion d a Though my frien s should look d rk at my doom . For the flower of all maidens of magic ’ Is I m a beside me where er y be , An d my heart like a coal is extinguished , m n Not a wo a takes pity on me .

H ow well for the birds in all weather, u They rise p on high in the air , An d then sleep upon one bough together Without sorrow or trouble or c are But so it is not in this world

For m - a myself and y thousand times f ir, For c , away , far apart from ea h other, E ach day rises barren and bare .

S a y, what dost thou think of the heavens

When the heat overmasters the day, Or what when the steam of the tide Rises up in the face of the bay ? Even so is the man who has given An - inordinate love gift away, Like a tree on a mountain all riven

Without blossom or leaﬂet or spray .

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

There grows a tree in the garden m With blossoms that tre ble and shake, I lay my hand on its bark And I feel that my heart must break . On one wish alone

My soul through the long months ran , One little kiss

F Red- rom the wife of the haired man .

com e But the day of doom shall , And hills and harbors be rent ; A mist shall fall on the sun From the dark clouds heavily sent ;

The sea shall be dry, And earth under mourning and ban Then loud shal l he c ry

For Red - the wife of the haired man .

T H E SIGN OF T H E CROSS FOREVER

I cam e across this re ligious poe m in Irish am ong the m anu ’ S c s o f W m S m i O B rie n th e I s Le de C e ript illia th , ri h a r, at ah r ’ m o e I t wa s e d to F e M e e h a n — D ou la s yl . attribut a ath r O . g ” H de in R eli ious S on s o C n a ekt y g g f on . ROM the foes of my land , from the foes of my

faith , F rom the foes who would us dissever, Lo h O rd , preserve me in life , in deat ,

With the Sign of the Cross forever .

By death on the Cross was the race restored , For vain was our endeavor e s e L Henceforward bless d , O ble s d ord , the S C Be ign of the ross forever . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 4 25

R ent were the rocks , the sun did fade

The darkening world did quiver, When on the tree our S aviour m ade The S C ign of the ross forever .

Therefore I mourn for him whose hea rt S hall neither shrink nor shiver, Whose tears of sorrow refuse to start

At the Sign of the Cross forever .

S wiftly we pass to the unknown land , D own like an ebbing river , But the devils themselves cannot withstand

The Sign of the Cross forever .

When the hour shall come that shall make us dust ,

When the soul and the body sever, Fearful the fear if we may not trust I n S C the ign of the ross forever . 426 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

J OHN KELLS INGRA M (1 82 3 THE MEMORY OF TH E DEAD

HO fears to speak of Ninety - Eight ? Who blushes at the name ’ c When the owards m ock the patriot s fate, Who hangs his head for shame ? He ’ s all a knave or half a slave Who slights his c ountry thus ut B a true man , like you , man ,

Will ﬁll your glass with us .

We drink the memory of the brave, The faithful and the few S m off o e lie far beyond the wave, S m I o e sleep in reland , too ; All all — , are gone but still lives on The fame of those who died ; An d true men , like you , men ,

Remember them with pride .

Some on the shores of distant lands

Their weary hearts have laid , ’ A nd by the stranger s heedless hands Their lonely graves were made ; B il t though their clay be far away A Beyond the tlantic foam , In true men , like you , men , ’ S Their pirit s still at home .

4 28 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

TH OMA S CA ULFIELD IRWIN (1 82 3— 1 892) A WINDOW S ONG TH IN I the window of this white ,

Low - , ivy roofed , retired abode, ’ We look through sunset s sinking light Along the lone and dusty road ’ That leads unto the river s bridge, c Where stand two sy amores broad and green , When c e from their rising grassy ridge

The low rays lengthen shade and sheen . c The village panes reﬂe t the glow, i An d all about the scene is st ll ,

Save , by the foamy dam below, The drumming wheel of the whitewashed mill

A radiant quiet ﬁlls the air , An d gleam the dews along the turf a o While the gre t wheel , b und

On its drowsy round , Go es snoring through the gusts of surf.

A - south , beyond the hamlet, lie m The low , blue hills in ingling mist, d With furl of clou along the sky, An d c as m ravines ri h a ethyst, IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 4 29

A nd mellowedges golden - ored As the sinks round sun in the ﬂood , And high up wings the crow line toward Old turrets in the distant wood ; Awhile from some twilighted roof The blue smoke rises o ’ er the thatch By cots along the green aloof Some home ~ come laborer lifts the la tch

Or housewife sings her child to sleep , - ﬂock Or c alls her fowl from the turf,

h - W ile the mill wheel , bound

On its drowsy round , t Goes snoring through the gus s of surf.

S till at our open window, where ew Gleams on the leaves the lamp n lit, Fo r o hours we read old b oks , and share

Their thoughts and pictures , love and wit As m idnight nears, its quiet ray ’ Thrown on the garden s hedges faint ,

Pales , as the moon , from clouds of gray, L ooks down serenely as a saint . few We hear a drops of a shower , L aying the dust for morning feet, c Patter upon the orner bower,

T . hen , ceasing, send an air as sweet

n And as we close the window dow ,

An d close the volumes read so long, Even the wheel ’ s snore

Is heard no more , ’ An d scarce the runnel s swirling so ng . 436 TH E GOLD EN TRE AS UR Y OF

TH E EMIGRANT ’ S VOYAGE

EVENING w H E white sails are ﬁlled , and the ind from the shore Blows sad from the hills we shall visit no more ; ’ nd c A our ship slowly moves o er the o ean at rest , F rom the land of our hearts , in the light of the West .

’ Though few are the friends on the land s sinking rim , Y e t s im our eye , straining into the sunset , grow d we We are leaving forever the walks where strayed , An d is the graves where the dust of our dearest laid .

Now twilight has covered the isle in its gloom ; D ark the village , and lost the old place of the tomb An d we see but you dusk mountain line in the light We have watched from our cottage doors many a

night .

h A the stars on the ocean are glimmering nigh , Like the eyes of the dead looking up at the sky ;

A n d a s - our ship speeds along , heart wearied we sleep, ’ Mid the waters of God and the clouds of the deep .

MO RNING F ull stretched are the sails , dim and dewy the spars ;

- On the spray wetted deck falls the light of the stars , And m c we the blue lonely orning breaks oldly, as , In c the wind , leave the hurrying heaps of the sea .

All alone in the world , without riches below , We have memories that wander wherever we go ;

4 3 2 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Not alone , not alone, will we labor and roam m s i m Where your me orie linger we st ll have a ho e , An d c shall still tread , in fan y, the paths you have

trod , U ntil death leads us up to our dear ones and God .

’ TH E POTATO - DIGGER S S ONG

OM E Conn a l c , , acushla , turn the lay, A n d m o show the lu pers the light, g ssoon For we m m ust toil this autu n day, ' n With Heave s help, till rise of the moon . c c d Our orn is sta ke , our hay secure , God m Thank and nothing , y boy, remains , the t But to pile potatoes safe on the ﬂu e, m Before the c om ing Nove ber rains . The peasant ’ s mine is his harvest still ’ S o a i now , my lads , let s work with w ll

Work hand and foot , d Work spade and han , Work spade and hand Through the crum bly mould ; The blessed fruit That grows at the root Is the real gold I Of reland .

Och I wish that Mauric e and Mary dear Were singing beside us this soft da y ; ’ Of c ourse they re far better off than here ’ But whether they re happier who can say ? ’ ’ ’ I v e d hear when it s morn with us , tis night With them on the far Australian shore m i Well , Heaven be about the with visions br ght , IRIS H S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 433

n m A d send them c hilder and oney galore . ’ m With us there s many a outh to ﬁll , ’ And h so , my boy , let s work wit a will ; d Work han and foot , d Work spa e and hand , Work spade and hand Through the brown dry mould ; The blessed fruit That grows at the root Is the real gold I Of reland .

’ Ah O Re a rda n T , then , Paddy , you thundering urk ,

Is it coorting you are in the blessed noon . m l a nd m Co e over here , Ka ty , ind your work , ' ’ l c Or I l see if your mother an t change your tune .

Well , youth will be youth , as you know , Mike , Sixteen and twenty for eac h were meant

But , Pat , in the name of the fairies , avick , Defer your proposals till after Lent And as love in this country lives mostly still 011 — di di potatoes g , boy , g with a will

Work hand and foot ,

Work spade and hand , Work S pade and hand Through the harvest mould The bles sed fruit That grows at the root Is the real gold

Of Ireland .

Down the bridle road the neighbors ride, de Through the light ash sha , by the wheaten sheaves ; And the children sing on the mountainside 434 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

In m the sweet blue s oke of the burning leaves . s A the great sun sets in glory furled , ’ F I c aith , it s grand to think , as wat h his face, s E A he never sets on the nglish world , I He never , lad , sets on the rish race . In S I the West , in the outh , new relands still

G u . C row p in his light ome, work with a will o Work hand and fo t,

Work spade and hand , Work spade and hand Through the native mould The blessed fruit That grows at the root Is the real gold I Of reland .

— o c But look the round mo n , yellow as orn , Com es up from the sea in the deep blue calm ; It scarcely seems a day since morn ’ Well , the heel of the evening to you , ma am ! God bless the moon for many a night, As I b ed restless lay on a troubled , wa s due When rent , her quietest light

Has ﬂattered with dreams my poor old head . But see— the basket remains to ﬁll

' C l — ome , girls , be a ive boys , dig with a will

Work hand and foot ,

Work spade and hand , Work spade and hand Through the moon lit mould The blessed fruit That grows at the roo t Is the real gold I Of reland .

THE GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

the When sunlight glows upon ﬂowers ,

Or ripples down the dancing sea, Thou with thy troop of pas sionate powers Belea ue rest b e wilderest g , me .

Within the breath of autumn woods, r Within the winte silences,

Thy venomous spirit stirs and broods , 0 Master of impieties

The ardor of red ﬂame is thine, An d thine the steely so ul of ice ; Thou poison est the fair design i Of Nature w th unfair device .

A s pples of a hes, golden bright ;

Waters of bitterness , how sweet ! 0 banquet of a foul delight,

Prepared by thee , dark Paraclete !

Thou art the whisper in the gloom ,

The hinting tone, the haunting laugh ; m Thou art the adorner of y tomb,

The minstrel of mine epitaph .

I ﬁght thee, in the Holy Name

Y e t what thou dost is what God saith . I m Tempter should escape thy ﬂa e, Thou wilt have helped m y soul from Death

D The second eath , that never dies , m That cannot die , when ti e is dead L D c i ive eath , wherei n the lost soul r es, c Eternally un omforted . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 437

D A ark ngel , with thine aching lust two : Of defeats , of two despairs L c ess dread , a hange to drifting dust,

Than thine eternity of cares .

' so Do what thou wilt , thou shalt not , Dark Angel trium ph over me Lon el u n to ike Lon e I o y g ,

t tke D i in it . D ivine, o v y

TH E LAST MUSIC

ALM LY ! , breathe calmly all your music , maids m Breathe a calm music over y dead queen . All your lives long, you have not heard nor seen F m airer than she, whose hair in so bre braids With beauty overshades

Her brow broad and serene .

S urely she hath lain so an hundred years ’ c Pea e is upon her, old as the world s heart . ! Breathe gently, music Music done, depart And leave me in her presence to my tears , With music in mine ears ; F r o sorrow hath its art .

She Music , more music , sad and slow lies

Dead : and more beautiful than early morn . D c I : is rowned am , and of her looks forlorn Alone vain memories immortalize

The way of her soft eyes ,

Her virginal voice low borne . 438 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

The balm of gracious death now laps her round A c s once life gave her gra e beyond her peers . S ! I a trange that loved this l dy of the spheres , To sleep by her at last in c omm on ground When kindly dea th hath bound

Mine eyes, and sealed mine ea rs .

Maidens make a low musi c m erely make S m ilence a melody, no ore . This day , S he travels down a pale and lonely wa y c Now for a gentle omfort , let her take S c u h music for her sake, AS mourning love can play .

Holy my queen lies in the arms of death m c I Music oves over her still fa e , and L S he ean breathing love over her . will lie ’ In c d earth thus almly, un er the wind s breath The twilight wind that saith : R es t I wortk ound to die y f .

TH E RE D WIND ED WIND from out the East Re d Wind of blight and blood Ah , when wilt thou have ceased

Thy bitter, stormy ﬂood

R e d Wind from over sea, S courging our holy land What angel loosened thee Out of his iron hand

440 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

d Western the win s are , An d western the waters , Where the light lies :

wha t a re tke wi n ds I

A nd wka t a re t/Ie wa ters 2

[Wine a re our y ey es .

C old , cold grow the winds, An d d r a k grow the waters , Where the sun dies

wka t a re tke win ds 7

A n d wha t a re the wa ters I

Al ine a r our es e y ey .

And down the night winds An d d own the night waters, The music ﬂies :

O I wka t a re the win ds 7

A nd wka t a re tke wa ters 2

Cold be tke win ds ,

A n d wild be the wa ters ,

S o m in e be y our eyes .

WAY S OF WAR

TERRIBLE and splendid trust Heartens the h ost of Innisfail

- Their dream is of the swift sword thrust, A n G light ing glory of the ael . IR ISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 44 1

C c c roagh Patri k is the pla e of prayers , A n d Tara the assem bling - pl ace : But each sweet wind of Ireland be ars

The trump of battle on its race .

D ur e I D From s y sle to onegal , F A rom Howth to chill , the glad noise R : ings and the heirs of glory fall ,

Or victory crowns their ﬁghting joys .

A dream a dream an ancient dream Y et I , ere peace come to nnisfail , So m me weapons on some ﬁeld must glea ,

Some burning glory ﬁre the Gael .

That ﬁeld may lie beneath the sun , Fair for the treading of an host :

That ﬁeld in realms of thought be won , And armed minds do their uttermost

Some way to faithful Innisfail Shall c om e the majesty and awe m Of artial truth , that must prevail la w To lay on all the eternal . 44 2 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

ROBERT D WY ER J OY CE (1 830- 1 883) CROS SING TH E BLACKWATER

A D 1 6 0 . . 3

E stood so steady, ll A under ﬁre , d We stood so stea y, Our lon g S pears ready To vent our ire ; S To dash on the axon ,

Our mortal foe , An d lay him low In d the bloo y mire .

’ T was by Blackwater,

When snows were white, ’ c Twas by Bla kwater , Our foes for the slaughter S tood full in sight But we were ready

With our long spears , And we had no fears ’ But we d win the ﬁght .

Their bullets c am e whistling

U pon our rank , m Their bullets c a e whistling ,

TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y

Fe w ﬂed that day Will they bar our way When we come again

e Our dead fr res we buried , few They were but , Our dead freres we buried

Where the dark waves hurried , An d ﬂashed and ﬂew 0 sweet be their slumber Who thus have died ’ In the battle s tide, I nnisfail , for you

TH E BLACKSMITH OF LIMERICK

E grasped his ponderous hammer ; he could not

stand it more, To hear the bombshells bursting and the ’ thundering battle s roar . ’ a D said The bre ch they re mounting, the utch man ’ s murdering crew try my hamm er on their heads and see what tha t can do

sw Now, arthy Ned and Moran , make up that iron well ; ’ ’ S arsﬁeld s Tis horse that wants the shoes, so mind not ” shot or shell . ” “ Ah c o — , sure, ried b th , the horse can wait for ’ S a rsﬁeld s on the wall , ' ’ And where you go we ll follow , with you to stand or fall ! " IR ISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 445

The blacksmith raised his hammer, and rushed into

the street , ’ c foe to His prenti e boys behind him , the ruthless m eet L r s High on the breach of ime ick , with dauntless heart they stood

Where the bombshells burst and shot fell thick , and d redly ran the bloo .

- Now look you , brown haired Moran , and mark you , swarthy Ned This day we ’ ll prove the thickness of many a Dutch ’ m a n s head ’ Hurrah ! upon their bloody path they re mounting gallantly

And now the ﬁrst that tops the breach , leave him to this and me

The ﬁrst that gained the rampart, he was a captain brave A c G - aptain of the renadiers , with blood stained dirk and glaive ; o He p inted and he parried , but it was all in vain , For fast through skull and helmet the hammer found his brain

The next that topped the rampart , he was a colonel

bold , Bright through the murk of battle his helmet ﬂashed

with gold . Gold is no match for iron ! the doughty black

smith said , As with that ponderous hammer b e cracked his foe man ’ s head 446 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

“ ” Hurrah for gallant Li m erick ! blac k Ned and c Moran ried , ’ As on the D utchm en s leaden heads their hammers well they plied A bombshell burst between them— one fell without a

groan , d One leape into the lurid air, and down the breach was thrown

! a r ﬁ Brave smith brave smith cried S s eld, b e ware the treac herous mine ! ! Brave smith brave smith fall backward , or surely death is thin e The sm ith sprang u p the rampart and leaped the - d blood staine wall , As c high into the shuddering air went foemen , brea h and all 1

U p like a red volcano they thundered wild and high ,

S pear , gun , and shattered standard , and foemen through the sky An d dark and bl oody was the shower that round the blac ksmith fell ’ H e thought upon his prentice boys, they were avenged well

d c On foeman and defen ers a silen e gathered down , ’ Twas broken by a triumph - shout that shook the ancient town As d out its heroes sallie , and bravely charged and

slew , An d taught Ki n g William and his men what Irish hearts can do !

448 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

But harder still to bear the shame c Of foreign hains around us . An d I so said , The moun tain glen I ’ ll seek at morning early , And U join the brave nited Men ,

While soft winds shook the barley .

I While sad kissed away her tears ,

My fond arms around her ﬂinging , ’ m 011 The foe an s shot burst our ears, From out the wildwood ringing ’ The bullet pierced my true love s side , ’ In life s young spring so early, And on my breast in blood she died ,

When soft winds shook the barley .

But blood for blood without remorse ’ ’ I ve ta en at Oulart Hollow ’ ’ I v e plac ed my true love s clay - cold c orse Where I full soon will follow ; I An d round her grave wander drear,

Noon , night, and morning early , With breaking heart where ’ er I hear The wind that shakes the barley IRIS H S ON GS AN D LYRICS 449

ROS E KA VA NA GH (1 860- 1 89 1 )

LOUGH BRAY

LE LITT lonely moorland lake , Its waters brown and c ool and deep Th e d id , the hills behind it make

A picture for my heart to keep .

For c ro k and heather, wave and strand , Wore tints I never sa w them wear ; ’ was The June sunshine o er the land , ’ Before, twas never half so fair

m The a ber ripples sang all day , And sing ing spilled their crowns of white U c pon the bea h , in thin pale spray t That s reaked the sober sand with light .

The amber ripples sang their song , ’ When suddenly from far o e rhea d ’ A lark s pure voice mixed with the throng

Of lovely things about us spread .

Some ﬂowers were there, so near the brink Their shadows in the wave were thrown

While mosses , green and gray and pink ,

Grew thickly round each smooth dark stone. 450 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

' An d m m over all , the su er sky, S hut out the town we left behind ; ’ Twas joy to stand in silence by , c One bright hain linking mind to mind .

Oh , little lonely mountain spot Y our plac e within my heart will be ’ Apart from all Life s b li sy lot A r m t ue, sweet , solemn me ory .

T M ICH AN’ Y A S . S CHURCH RD

’ NSIDE the c ity s throbbing heart One spot I know set well apart F ’ ’ rom life s hard highway, life s loud mart .

Eac h D ublin lan e and street and square Around might echo ; but in there

The sound stole soft as whispered prayer .

A little , lonely, green graveyard , c c The old hur hyard its solemn guard , The g ate with naught but sunbeams barred

While other sunbeams went and came Above the stone whi c h waits the nam e ’ 1 F ﬂa m e His land must write with reedom s .

The slender elm above that stone , Its summer wreath of leaves had thrown A round the heart so quiet grown .

1 Re e i to th e e of Ro e m m e f rr ng grav b rt E t.

452 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Here the first daisies break free from the sod , S tars looking up with their first glance to God A Here , ere the first days of pril are done , Stand the swart cherry trees robed with the sun In the deep woodland the windflowers blow c c Where young grass is springing , the ro uses glow, D ’ own the green glen is the primrose s light , Soft shines the hawthorn ’ s raiment of white Round the rough knees of the crab - tree a ring Of daffodils dan c e for joy of the spring ; And then my bright river , so full and so free,

S ings as it wanders through woodland and lea .

Fed with a thousand invisible rills, a we Girdled around with the of the hills , m High in the ountains you spring to the light ,

Pure as the dawn from the dark ring of night . m a Well y the fairies keep revelry round ,

There where you c leave the thin air at a bound , And rush on the crag with your arm s outspread Only a fairy c ould step where you tread ’ d Mid the eep echoes you pause to arouse , ’ m Mid the gri rocks with the frown on their brows , F Type of young reedom , bold river , to me ;

L L . eaping the crags , sweeping down to ough Neagh

Many a ruin , both abbey and cot ,

Sees in your mirror a desolate lot . Many an ear lying shut far away Hearkened the tune that your dark ripples play One— I remem ber her better than all S he knew every legend of cabin a n d hall ;

- Wept when the La w and the Famine time met, IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 453

Sang how the Red Hand wa s radiantly set 1 Over the victors who fought at the F0rd ' ’ Over the sweep of O Neill s S panish sword 0 our own river where is she to - night ? Where are the exiles whose homes are in sight ?

Once in the Maytime your carol so sweet F m ound out my heart in the idst of the street . Ah ! I how listened , and you murmured low

Hope, wide as earth and as white as the snow ;

Hope that , alas like the foam on your breast ,

Broke and was drifted away from its rest .

Peace did not pass from your bonny broom shore, L ost though the hope unto me evermore , L — I a ost, like your song for think it sigh S I tirs that deep heart when listen anigh . o Only at dusk does it s und like farewell ,

- Just a good bye to myself and the dell .

1 ’ F - - - Tke ord Be a n Buidhe . S ee D D re n n an s e , al atha r. po m w s e ith thi titl . 454 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

J OHN KEEGA N (1 809— 1 849) CAOCH TH E PIPER NE ’ winter s day, long , long ago, I was When a little fellow , A d piper wandere to our door,

- Gray headed , blind , and yellow : An d ! how wa s , oh glad my young heart, r h d Though ea t and sky looked reary, To see the stranger and his dog ” ’ an a oc h Le a r Poor Pinch d C O y.

An d when he stowed away his bag ,

- Crossed barred with green and yellow, ’ I In I thought and said , reland s ground ’ ” There s not so ﬁne a fellow . An d Fin ee n S Burke , and haun Magee , An d E ily, Kate, and Mary, R “ ushed in , with panting haste , to see ” ’ a An d welcome Ca oc h O Le ry.

Oh God be with those happy tim es Oh God be with m y c hildhood 1 I When , bareheaded , roamed all day

- Bird nesting in the wildwood . I ’ ll not forget those sunny hours,

1 Ca oek d. , blin

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y

e d His ﬂeshl ss han s are stiff and wan , Ay— ti m e is even blending The c olors on his threadbare bag An d Pinch is twi ce as hairy A nd thin - spare as when ﬁrst I sa w ’ m s Ca och O Lea r Hi elf and y.

God ’ s blessing here the wanderer ’ Fa r , far be hell s black viper ; Does anybody hereabouts Remember C a och the Piper ? With swelling heart I grasped his hand ; d D The old man murmure , eary, Are you the silky - headed child ’ That loved poor Ca och O Le ary?

Y es I — , yes , said the wanderer wept As if his heart wa s breaking ” An d a ie m a chree where , v , he sobbed, Is all the merry - m aking I found here twenty years ago ” I My tale , sighed , might weary ; ’ Enough to say— there s none but me ’ ” a h Lea r To welcome C oc O y.

V0 v0 v 0 m an , , the old cried , An d wrung his hands in sorrow , a store m a ekree Pray let me in , , ’ An d I ll o Izom e - g to morrow . ’ ’ My peace is made I ll c almly leave This world so c old and dreary ; An d a nd you shall keep my pi pes dog, ’ An d Caoch a r pray for O Le y. IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS

” With Pinch I watched his bed that night ; Next da y his wish was granted : F wa s He died and ather James brought , And R the equiem Mass was chanted . The neighbors came ; we dug his grave E a Near ily, K te, and Mary , And there he sleeps his last sweet sleep . ’ a och O Lea r God rest you C y. 458 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y O F

’ ELS A D ES TERRE— KEELI N G

AN IRIS H TH ING IN RH Y ME

LOVE MAKING IN P A DDY LA N D

F rom I n I IIou ktl a n d a n d D rea m la n d g .

’ I d r K i s PVin dow Un e t . . ty

’ H then who is that there talkin ’

S . ure it s only me , ye know ’ ’ ’ I was thinkin we d go walkin ’ Wor ye ra ly tkin kin so

’ Och , ye needn be so cruel ’ An me thrudg ed this siv en m ile Is ? it cruel , Michael , jewel ’ ’ S ure I m dressin a ll tke wkile I

' ’ lza el s tta II e r M e Co e. . B fo e g

’ There , now , that s me cottage, Kitty . ” Is ? it , Mike ’ ’ Y is ; an isn t it pretty l— m Hm loneso e like .

’ ’ Lonesom e (Now s y r m inute c Mi hael , strike S ou wor it ure, ify in A rrah , Mike

460 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ The si h d young lover saw that she passed it, and g , Gill ﬂo wer m y , gentle rose ary ; a nd They say his heart broke , he certainly died , il l - Wh e the dews fe l over the mulberry tree .

Now all you fair ladies , take warning by this , Gillyﬂower; gentle rosem ary A nd never refuse your young lovers a kiss ,

i o the - Wh le the dews fall ver mulberry tree . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYRICS 46 1

WILLIA M KENEA LY (1 828- 1 876) TH E LAST REQUEST

’ RE Ala n na OU going away , , over the stormy

’ A n d I ll se e — never more you oh never , As tkore m a ekree ’ M a vrone ! I m sick with sorrow— sorrow as black as night ’ u ka - M a bo e l goes to morrow , by the blessed morning s

light .

’ ! I o Ala n n a Oh once th ught, , you d bear me to the

grave , ’ By the side of your angel sisters , before you d cross the wave D ’ own to the green old churchyard , where the tree s dark shadows fall ’ ’ Aelzorra u But now , , you re going , yo ll not be there

at all .

’ The strangers hands must lay me down t o my silent

sleep , ’ An d hem us S , you ll not know it beyond the rolling

deep . ! D keelin I dkeelin I A vourn een wh Oh g g , y do you

go away , ’ ’ Till you ll see the poor old mother stretch d in the churchyard clay ? 46 2 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ Ala n n a I My heart is breaking, , but mustn t tell you so F r I o see by your dark, dark sorrow, that your own

poor heart is low . ’ I I d c thought bear it better, to heer you on your way ; ’ ’ A ekorra a ekorra I u I ll But, yo re going , and soon b e in the clay !

’ ’ G Skem us— od s blessing be with you , sure, you ll come

back again ,

When your curls of brown are snowy , to rest with your m other then D ’ own in the green old churchyard , where the tree s dark shadows fall ’ ’ Astlzora ek in the strangers land you couldn t sleep at all

TH E MOON BEHIND TH E HILL

’ TH E KILKE N NY E ! ILE S CH RISTMAS S ONG

WATC HED last night the rising moon

Upon a foreign strand ,

Till memories came, like ﬂowers of June, Of hom e and fatherland I dreamt I wa s a child once more s Be ide the rippling rill , Where ﬁrst I saw in days of yore b ill The moon behind the .

It brought m e back the visions grand ’ That purpled boyhood s dream s Its youthful loves , its happy land , ’ As bright as morning s beams .

464 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

WILLIA M KENNED Y (Liv ing )

TH E POET ’ S HEART

’ H OU h k ow st it not, love , when light looks are d aroun thee , m c When usi awakens its liveliest tone , When pleasure in chains of en c hantm ent hath bound

thee, ’ know st Thou not how truly this heart is thine own . It o is not while all are ab ut thee in gladness, While shining in light from thy young spirit ’ s

shrine , m m But in o ents devoted to silence and sadness , That thou ’ lt e ’ er know the value of feelings like

mine .

’ S check o erta ke hould grief touch thy , or misfortune

thee , How so on would thy mates of the summer decay the They first of whole fickle floc k to forsake thee ,

Who ﬂattered thee most when thy bosom was gay . What though I seem cold while their incense is

burning, In the depths of m y soul I have c herished a ﬂam e To cheer the loved one should the night time of mourning ’ E er send its far shadows to darken her name . IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 46 5

Then leave the gay c rowd — though my cottage is

lonely, Ga y halls without hearts are far lonelier still ; ' Then say thou lt be mine , Mary , always and only , ’ ’ And I ll be thy shelter whate er be thine ill . As the fond mother clings to her fair little blossom t on its The closer when blight ha h appeared bloom , So thou Love the dearer shall be to this bosom a The deeper thy sorrow, the d rker thy doom . 46 6 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

JA MES KENNEY (1 780- 1 849) WH Y ARE YOU WANDERING HERE ?

H Y i I ? are you wander ng here, pray n A old man asked a maid one day . L ooking for poppies , so bright and red , F d I ’ m ather , sai she , hither led . Fie ! ! cr fie she heard him y, ’ who Poppies, tis known to all rove, G a nd row in the field , not in the grove G row in the field and not in the grove .

Tell me again , the old man said , ? Why are you loitering here, fair maid ’ The nightingale s song, so sweet and clear,

F I . ather, said she , come to hear

Fie l ﬁe ! she heard him cry,

Nightingales all , so people say ,

Warble by night, and not by day

Warble by night and not by day .

The sage looked grave, the maiden shy , ’ When Lubin jumped o er the stile hard by ;

The sage looked graver , the maid more glum,

Lubin he twiddled his ﬁnger and thumb . ’ Fie ! ﬁe ! the old man s c ry ; I Poppies like these, own , are rare, ’ A nd of su c h n ightingales songs beware ’ n d A of such nightingales songs beware .

TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

But a deeper blending , twining , With the brig ht ones on their wa y And a ﬁ ercer ﬁre divining In the buried heart of clay .

’ An d as peace can ne er be mine wa Until every y is trod , With a heart sincere I go ’ - Passion s cloud strewn path to God .

AUTUMN S EAS ON of the withering of the leaves, ’ That seek their la st repose on earth s cold

breast , 0 let me hea t the sorrows of thy voice

Calling all things to loveliness and rest .

In thy soft clouds grown gray with misery, c ﬂa un tin Thy desolate bran hes g the gaunt skies , S urely there dwells a sweetness of despair For - lonely hearts and weary tear stained eyes .

For dumbly dressed , in sober light arrayed ,

Breathing a hidden mystery and fear, The pomp and pageants of eternity

Loom through the withering ritual of the yea r .

TH E DEVOTEE

H E autumn wind sighs through the trees, s D isturbing all my garnered ea e , The brown leaves stir a ﬂuttering thought

- With half repented memories fraught . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 469

D God ear , how sweet the pain of sin o That opens d ors to let Thee in .

How strange that Nature too should know ’ The ecstasy of sin s wild glow How strange that in this wa y my soul

Should feel its union with the whole . And yet may God not thus i m part Himself unto the seeking heart ? 470 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

KI KH A M CHA RLES J . C (1 830- 1 882) M Y U LIC K Y Ulick is sturdy and strong , d A n light is his foo t on the heather, An d truth has been wed to his tongue c we Sin e ﬁrst were talking together . And though he is lord of no lands , c c Nor astle , nor attle, nor dairy, U c d My li k has health and his h an s ,

An d - a heart load of love for his Mary, A n d what could a maiden wish more ?

One night at the heel of the eve , I wa s m ind it snowing and blowing , ’ m I b liev e M y other was knitting, , For m e I wa s sitting and sewing ; ’ My father had read o er the news , ’ n d A sat there a humming , We ll wake him, c When U li k stepped in at the door , As white as the weather could make him

True love never cooled with the frost .

o He sh ok the snow out from his frieze, An d drew a chair up to my father , My heart lifted up to my eyes To see the two sitting together They talked of our isle and her wrongs

4 72 TH E GO LD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

PATRICK S HEEHAN Y i S name is Patr ck heehan , My years are thirty - four ;

Tipperary is my native place, Not far from Galtym ore : I came of honest parents , ’

But now they re. lying low ; And ma ny a pleasant day I spent In G Aherlow the len of .

My father died I closed his eyes Outside our cabin door The landlord and the sheriff too Were there the day before And then my loving mother, An d sisters three also , Were forced to go with broken hearts

From the Glen of Aherlow.

For k three long months , in search of wor , I wandered far and nea r ;

I - went then to the poor house, For to see my mother dear The news I heard nigh broke my heart ;

But still , in all my woe , I bless the friends who m ade their graves In G Aherlo the len of w. IR IS H S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 4 73

m kin Bereft of ho e and kith and ,

With plenty all around , I starved within my cabin , And slept upo n the ground ;

But cruel as my lot was , ’ I ne er did hardship know ’ I E Till joined the nglish army, m Aherlow Fa r away fro . ! Rouse up there , says the corpora , Y ou l a zy H irish hound ’ Why don t you hear , you sleepy dog , The call ‘ to arms sound ? A I las , had been dreaming

Of days long , long ago ;

I woke before Sebastopol , And Ahe rlow not in . I groped to ﬁnd my musket H ow dark I thought the night e God was O bless d , it not dark , It was broad daylight And I I blin d when found that was , My tears began to ﬂow ’ I longed for even a pau per s grave n G Aherlow I the len of .

e O bless d Virgin Mary, Mine is a mournful tale ; I A poor blind prisoner here am , ’ In Dubli n s dreary jail

Stru c k blind within the trenches , Where I never feared the foe ; ’ And now I ll never see again My own sweet Aherlow TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

RORY OF T H E H ILL

T u H A rake p near the rafters , Why leave it there so long ?

The handle, of the best ash , Is sm ooth and straight and strong n A d, mother , will you tell me, Why did my father frown

- When to make the hay , in summer time I climbed to take it down ? ” ’ S he o lo ked into her husband s eyes, did While her own with light ﬁll , Y ’ w ou ll shortly kno the reason , boy ! S R aid ory of the Hill .

The midnight moon is lightning up

Slia v - - The slopes of na man , Whose foot a ﬁ rights the startled hares S o long before the dawn ’ He stopped j ust where the An n er s strea m d Winds up the woo s anear, Then whistled low and looked around c c To see the oast was lear . The sheeling door ﬂew open In he stepped with right good - will God s WO ave all here and bless your RK, S R H ill aid ory of the .

Right hearty was the welcome I That greeted him , ween , For years gone by he fully proved How well he loved the Green A n d there was one amongst them Who grasped him by the hand

TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ She m looked at hi with woman s pride, ’ With pride and woman s fea rs ; She fle w him to him , she clung to , And dried away her tears l r He feels her pu se beat t uly , While her arms around him twine Now God be praised for your stout heart, ” Brave little wife of mine . fi rst- He swung his born in the air, While joy his heart did fi ll ’ Y REEMA N ou ll be a F yet, my boy, S R aid ory of the Hill .

Oh knowledge is a wondrous power, An d stronger than the wind And o thr nes shall fall , and despots bow, Before the might of mind The poet and the orator

The heart of man can sway, And would to the kind heavens That Wolfe Tone were here tod ay ’ Y et I trust me, friends, dear reland s strength Her truest strength — is still

The - - i rough and ready rov ng boys, L l ike Rory of the Hi l . IRISH S ON GS AND LYRICS 477

DENNY LA NE (1 8 1 8- 1 896 ) K ATE or ARRAGLEN

I sa w H EN ﬁrst thee , Kate, ' e v n in That summer g late, Down at the orchard gate r a len Of A r g , ’ ’ I felt I d ne er be fore S een one so fair, asthore, I feared I ’ d never more S ee thee a gain I stopped and gazed at thee , My foo tfall luckily

Reached not thy ear , though we Stood there so near ;

While from thy li ps a strain , S oft as the summer rain , ’ S ad as a lover s pain

Fell on my ear .

’ I e a v he rd the lark in June , h ’ i T e harp s wild plaint ve tune, The thrush , that aye too soon ’ Gives o er his strain ’ I v e heard in hushed delight , b orn The mellow at night , Waking the echoes light Of old Loch Lene ; 478 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

c But neither e hoing horn , h o Nor thrus up n the thorn ,

Nor lark at early morn ,

Hymning in air, ’ Nor harper s lay divine, ’ E er witched this heart of mine , L ike that sweet voice of thine, ’ ev nin That g there .

And o when s me rustling, dear, F ell on thy listening ear , You thought your brother near, And named his name, I could not answer, though , As luck would have it so ,

His name and mine, you know, Were both the same

Hearing no answering sound , Y ou glanced in doubt around , m o With ti id lo k , and found It wa s not he

Turning away your head ,

And blushing rosy red , Like a wild fawn you ﬂed Fa r , far from me .

h T e swan upon the lake ,

The wild rose in the brake, The golden clouds that make

The west their throne, d The wil ash by the stream , ’ The full moon s silver beam , ’ ’ The e nin v g star s soft gleam , S hining alone ;

480 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

WILLIA M LA RM INIE (1 850- 1 900) CONS OLATION ES , let us speak, with lips conﬁrming The inner pledge that eyes reveal al dim Bright eyes that death sh l forever, An d l o ips that silence so n shall seal .

Y es , let us make our claim recorded h Against the powers of eart and sky, And that cold boo n their laws award us o Just once to live and nce to die .

T hou sayest that fate is frosty nothing , But love the ﬂame of souls that are

Two spirits approach , and at their touching,

Behold an everlasting star .

0 High thoughts , love well , let us speak them Y et bravely face at lea st this fate To know the drea m s of us that dream them

On blind , unknowing things await .

If m ’ years fro winter s chill recover , If d ﬁel s are green and rivers run , If I e c thou and b hold ea h other , Hangs it not all on yonder sun IRISH S ON GS AND LYR ICS 48 11

So while that mighty lord is gracious b m s With prodigal ea s to ﬂood the skie , Let us be glad that he ca n spare us ' The light to kindle lover s eyes .

’ f 5 ne w o And die assured , should li e w nder b In an y world our slum ers break , These the ﬁrst words that each will utter ? Be loved , art thou too awake 482 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

EMILY LA WLES S (Liv ing ) A RETORT W W F rom itk tke ild Geese.

OT hers your vast imperial mart, e a re Where myriad hop s on fears hurled, Where furious rivals meet and part woo To a world .

m Not hers your vast i perial town , Y our mighty mammoth piles of gain , Your loaded vessels sweeping down

To glut the main .

U lzer ﬂow nused , unseen , rivers , From moun tain tarn to ocean ti de a Wide vac nt leagues the sunbeams show,

- The rain clouds hide .

You swept them vacant Your decree Bid all her budding commerce cease You drove her from your subject sea, To starve in peace

c R Well , be it pea e esigned they ﬂow ,

No laden ﬂeet adown them glides , But wheeling salm on someti m es show

Their silvered sides .

484 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

ED M UND LEA MY (1 848

A ROYAL LOVE

LOVE D a love— a royal love In the g olden long ago ; An d wa s she fair as fair could be , The o foam up n the broken sea , e The she n of sun , or moon , or star,

The sparkle from the diamond spar, Not half so rare and radiant are As my own love — m y royal love In a o the golden long g .

And she had stately palace halls In the golden long ago ; And warriors, men of stainless swords,

Were seated at her festive boards , F c ier e champions of her lightest words , ’ d c While hymned the bar the hieftains praise, And sang their deeds of battle days , To cheer my love— m y royal love In the golden long ago . IR ISH S N GS O AN D LYRICS 4 85

She wore a stately diadem In the golden long ago , Wrought by a cunning craftsman ’ s hand And fashioned from a battle brand As ﬁt for the queen of a soldier land ,

Her sceptre was a sabre keen ,

Her robe a robe of radiant g reen , My queenly love— m y royal love In the golden long ago .

Alas for my love— m y royal love Of the golden long ag o I F n or . go e are all her warrior bands, An d rusted are her battle brands , And broken her sabre bright and keen , Ati d d torn her robe of ra iant green , A slave where she was stainless queen My loyal love— m y royal love Of the golden long ago .

But there is hope for my royal love Of the golden long ago ; Be vond the broad and shining sea Gathers a stubborn chivalry

That yet will come to make her free , And hedge her round with gleaming spears, A nd crown her queen for all the years , My only love — m y royal love

Of the golden long ago . 486 TH E G OLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

J OS EPH S H ERIDA N LE PA NU (1 8 1 4- 1 872)

ABH RAIN AN BHU IDEIL

Address of a D ru n ka rd to a B ottle of Wkiskey ROM what dripping cell , through what fairy

glen , ’ Where mid old rocks and ruins the fox makes

his den ,

Over what lonesome mountain , ’ A en iskle m o ekroia ke

Where gauger never has trod , S weet as the ﬂowery sod , Wild as the breath

Of the breeze on the heath , ’ An d - sparkling all o er like the moon lighted fountain , Are you come to me Sorrowful me ?

Dan c ing— inspiring ’ My wild blood ﬁ rin Oh terrible glory Oh beautiful siren C ome , tell the old story C m m c o e, light up y fan y , heart .

Oh , beautiful ruin ’ My life — m y undoin

488 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

Wi rra stkrue I

My father and mother,

The priest, and my brother

Not a one has a good word for you . ’ ’ a l But I can t part you , darling their preaching s l vai n ’ Y ou ll burn in my heart till these thin pulses stop ; ’ And the wild cup of life in your fragrance I ll drain

To the last brilliant drop . Then oblivion will cover

The shame that is over, The wa s brain that mad , and the heart that was sore ; i Then , beautiful w tch , ’ I ll — in be found a ditch , u i i With yo r k ss on my cold lips, and never r se more . IRISH S ON GS AN D LYR ICS 489

S HAMUS O ’ BRIEN

A Ta le o N in et -ez kt a s rela ted o n [ f y g , by risk P ea sa n t

UST wa r in e t - E after the , in the year N y ight , As c ha te soon as the boys were all s attered and , ’ T w was the custom , whenever a peasant a s caught,

— To hang him by trial barring such as was shot . ’ on There was trial by jury goin by daylight , ’ And the martial la w hangin the la v ings by night ’ It s them was hard times for an honest gossoon If ’ D he missed in the judges , he d meet a ragoon A n d whether the judge or the soldiers gave sentence, div il c The a mu h time they allowed for repentance . ’ ’ An the many s the ﬁne Boy was then on his keeping , ’ ’ ’ m slee in With s all share of restin , or atin , or p , ’ An e E b cause they loved rin , and scorned to sell it , A prey for the bloodhound , a mark for the bullet , U nsheltered by night , and unrested by day ,

With the heath for their barrack , revenge for their pay . ’ An the bravest and hardiest Boy of them all

1 a [ r k L e W . R . Le Fa n u in h is S ev en t Ye rs o is i 1 0 y f f , 9 3 , s : It wa s w e in a e fe w d s in the e 1 8 0 say ( ) ritt n v ry ay y ar 4 , ' o s he o e it I a nd se nt m e da y b y da y by m y br the r a wr t . w c e ed i e a n d n o a n d e e c e d it. Th e qui kly l arn t by h art , th n r it s of n w ic it wa s w i e e e os a n d e s scrap pape r o h h r tt n w r l t, y ar e m o e is e d fo r a co I ha d to w i e it o ut aft r, wh en y br th r w h py , r t i On e e co I e to S m e fro m m e m ory for h m . oth r py gav a u l L e wh o e c e d it in Am e ic a n d o i n d h is dis ov r, r it r a , n tw thsta ing c im e of the o s i t wa s m o e n ce i e d to la r , auth r hip r tha on attr but " him . 490 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

’ Brie n Gle n all S m . Was ha us O , from the town of g

His limbs were well set , and his body was lig ht , ’ ’ An ed the keen fang hound hadn t teeth half so white . c was But his fa e as pale as the face of the dead , An d his c heek never warmed with the blush of the red ’ An d , for all that , he wasn t an ugly young Boy , ’ For the devil himself couldn t blaze with his eye , S o funny and so wicked , so dark and so bright ,

L fi re - fla sh ike a that crosses the depth of the night . And wa s m he the best ower that ever has been , An d the illiga n test hurler that ever wa s seen ; ’ I n fi ncin c ut he gave Patrick Mooney a , ’ An d um in in j p he bate Tom Malony a foot . ’ For lightness of foot there wasn t his peer, ’ ’ For , begorra , you d think he d outrun the red deer ; ’ An d wa s c his dancin su h that the men used to stare , A nd the women turned crazy , he had done it so quare 1 And , begorra , the whole world gave in to him there . ’ An d it s he wa s the boy that was hard to be caught ; ’ ’ And it s often he ran , and it s often he fought, ’ ’ A nd it s many s the one can rem em ber quite well ’ The quare things he done ; and it s often I heerd tell e Ca hirb a ll How he fright ned the magistrate in y, A nd so ers Ahe rlow escaped through the j in valley , A n d m m leathered the yeo en , hi self ag in four , An c a im d stret hed the two strongest on old G lt ore .

1 I n Gae l ic the consonant r is give n its full value be fore

o e co so o d ci n th e e fe c o f a d ss e e . . an th r n nant, pr u g f t i yllabl ; g ” ta rbk o o e d “ tho rruv a co m e th e F e c , pr n unc ( bull ) ; par r n h t a u rea u . T is c ice i e m o e G e ic oc io s h a s h pra t , l k any th r a l l ut n , “ ” be e n carrie d into English ; he nce worruld for world ; ” ﬁ rrum for ﬁ rm , e tc .

492 TH E GOLD EN TR EAS UR Y O F

An ﬁ erce ne ss d he swore with the that misery gave,

By the hopes of the good , by the cause of the brave, That when he was moldering in his cold grave His enemies never should have it to boast His scorn of their vengean ce one moment was lost ; m m His boso ight bleed , but his cheek should be dry, ’ ’ For undaunted he d lived , and undaunted he d die .

o Well , as so n as a few weeks were over and gone ,

The terrible day of the trial came on . There was such a crowd there was scarce room to d stan ,

With soldiers on guard , and dragoons sword in hand And the c ourt - house so full that the people was

bothered , An d attorneys and c riers on the point of being sm oth ered ; An d c ounselors almost given over for dead , ’ A n d the jury sittin u p in their box overhead ; An d d the ju ge settled out , so determined and big , i a w a n d ill n t i . With his gown on his back , an g new g A nd c m wa s silen e was called , and the inute it said , The c ourt was as still as the heart of the dead , An d a they he rd but the opening of one prison lock , ’ An d S Br hamus O ien c ame into the dock . For d n one min ute he turned his eye roun on the thro g , A n d ﬁ rm he looked on the bars , so and so strong, ’ A n d h0 e he saw that he hadn t a p nor a friend , A chance to escape nor a word to defend An d b e d folded his arms as he stoo there alone , A s c m d al and as col as a statue of stone . ’ An d writin they read a big , a yard long at laste, ’ A n d m Jim didn t understand it or ind it a taste . An d o the judge to k a big pinch of snuff, and he says, IR IS H S O N GS AN D LYR ICS 493

’ A re O Brien you guilty or not , Jim , if you plase ? A n d they all held their breath in silence of dread ’ A nd S O Brie n hamus made answer and said ,

My lord , if you ask me if in my lifetime I thought any treason , or done any crime c m c I That should all to y heek , as stand alone here , c The hot blush of shame or the oldness of fear , Though I stood by the grave to receive my death

blow , God I Before and the world would answer you , No I But if you would ask me , as think it like, If I in the rebellion carried a pike , And I fought for old reland from the ﬁrst to the close , ’ And o d shed the heart s blo of her bitterest foes, ’ I Y Es I answer you , , and tell you again , I ’ m Though stand here to perish , it s y glory that then ’ I n I her cause was willin my veins should run dry , ” And I a m that now for her sake ready to die . wa s m Then the silence great , and the jury s iled bright , ’ And the judge wasn t sorry the job wa s made light ; ’ was By my soul , it s himself the crabbed old chap , ’ In twin klin c a a he pulled on his ugly black p . ’ Then S 5 i n hamus mother , the crowd standing by, Called out to the judg e with a pitiful cry ’ ’ ’ ! d t— Oh judge , arlin don oh , don t say the word The cra thur m c is young , have er y , my lord ’ ’ wa s He foolish , he didn t know what he was doin ’ ’ Y ou him m — don t know , y lord oh , don t give him to ruin ’ c ra thur r He s the kindl iest , the tenderest hea ted , ’ ’ Don we t part us forever , that s so long parted ! m ! m Judge , avourneen , forgive him forgive him , y

lord . An d God ’ will forgive you . Oh don t say the word 494 TH E GOLD EN TREAS UR Y OF

’ O Brien That was the ﬁrst minute was shaken , When he saw that he wasn ’ t quite forgot or forsaken c hecks An d down his pale , at the words of his mother, ’ ’ runn in th The big tears were fast , one after other ; And h he tried ard to hide them or wipe them away ,

But in vain , for his hands were too fast bound that da An d li e tw or thr e times he endeavored to spake ,

But the strong , manly voice used to falter and break ,

- Till at last , by the strength of his high mounting pride, ’ s He conquered and mastered his grief swelling tide . ’ ’ And , says he , Mother darlin , don t break your poor

heart , For , sooner or later , the dearest must part . ’ And God knows it s better than wandering in fear

On the bleak , trackless mountain among the wild deer,

To lie in the grave , where the head , hand , and breast F rom thought , labor, and sorrow forever shall rest . ’ ’ Then , mother , my darlin , don t cry any more, ’ Don t make me seem broken in this my last hour ; ’ For I l in wish , when my head is y under the raven , No true man c a n say that I died like a c raven l S Then towards the judge hamus bowed down his head , An d m that minute the sole n death sentence was said .

wa s The morning bright , and the mists rose on high , A n d k c the lar whistled merrily in the lear sky . ’ But why are the men standin idle so late ? A nd wh do h r ? y t e c owds gather fast in the street 3 What come they to tal k of ? What c ome they to see ? An d why does the long rope hang from the c ross — tree ? ’ S O Brien Now , hamus , pray fervent and fast ; May the saints take your soul ! for this day is your last ;

496 TH E G OLD EN TR EAS UR Y OF

An d the priest gives his blessing and goes down on the

ground , ’ A nd Shamus O Brien throws one last look around m a n d Then the hang an drew near , the people grew

still , c m Young faces turn ed si kly and war hearts grew chill . And a ll being ready , his neck was made bare , ’ For the gripe of the life - stra nglin cord to prepare ; And the good priest had left him , having said his last

prayer . un But the good priest done more, for his hands he

bound , An d with one daring spring Jim has leaped on the ground Bang bang go the carbines and clash go the sabers ’ ’ a He s not down I he s alive still Now st nd to him , neighbors Through the smoke and the horses he ’ s into the crowd is r By the heavens he free than thunde more loud , By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken

One shout that the dead of the world might awaken . Y a our swords they may glitter , your c rbines go bang, ’ But if you want hangin , yourself you must hang , ’ ’ For - slee in Aher low to night he ll be p in g glen , ’ And c c the devil s in the di ce if you at h him again . m The soldiers run this way the hang en run that , A nd Father Malone lost his new S unday hat ; ’ An d sheriﬂ m the s were both of the punished severely , And im ﬁned like the devil , because J done them

fairly .

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