F OREWORD
R To all who b elieve that igh t, Justice and Liberty is the inali enable heritage of all p eopl es ; To all those who despise hypo crisy and double dealing in individual s as well as in N 0 11 of ati s , To every true lover and b eliever in, th e ideals and fundamental principles upon which genuine democratic of republ icanism is based , I dedicate this volume my simp le n d n o rhyming . A , if, but o e in th e vast number of my fell w men wh o h as heretofore allowed o thers to do his thinking a for him , will only awaken to the fac t, and th t through the i p erusal of th s volume , th at th e C reator of th e universe i “ endowed all mank nd with , as Lord Lytton put i t , Such j ewels as the exploring m ind br ings from th e c aves of knowl huold b ll edge, namely, brains to use as they s e used by a men for the U p lifting and betterment of all mankind , then
I have not l ived my life in vain .
The Author .
N —All h t c ote . of t e poems here in wi h dates atta hed were pub lished at the time sp ecified in Irish and Irish - American weekly newspap ers and magaz ines .
C opyrigh t 19 22 By RAF TE RY P U B LI S H I N G C O
h ca o C i g .
(3 31 1 6 8 3 7 1 7
I t
SEP20 ' 22 F IRE LANDS H ALL O FAME .
- Call the roll their names are legion , ’ - Glory s page can hold th em all , ’ l h o, th ey com e from every region, s Cloister , cottage , ca tle , hall . Th eirs the deeds that history ’ s p ages
Hold as annals we should frame , To enl ighten future ages
In th e Irish hal l of fame .
C all the ro ll—let chief and p easant
In on e grand assemblage meet , W e wh o glory in the present
W ill th eir deed s of valor greet . ’ Let th e shades of th e O C onn or
B ear the ir gr and and kingly name ,
To a place of fitting ho nor ,
In th e Irish h all of fame . — C all th e roll the cloud is rising , Th rough th e darkness come s th e dawn
B h O e ! ringing smiles of p , apprising ’ E rin s nigh t of gloom h as gone . Let her honored shield b e brightened An d embl azon there each name In a scroll of gold enlightened
By th e glory of their fame .
a Brian Boru , Clontarf h s crowned thee K ingly sire , without a p eer ; M alachy , th e gold coll ar round thee P ’ rove s a h ero s priz e you wear . Roe b Owen Ben urb , th e glorious , G e O N of r at eill red hand name , ’ Puts Tyrone s proud sons victorious
In th e Irish h al l of fame .
’ C — n ll all th e roll l et th e O D on e , P u rincely ch ieftain , shou t Ab ,
To th e clansmen of Tyr Connell , I Valiant rishm en and true .
Shane th e p roud , Red Hugh the migh ty . G rand in h istory stands each name . E t r in b ows o th em no t ligh tly , In o h er glori us h all o f fame .
C th e — all roll let thane and clansman , C i h eftain brave and warrior bold ,
They wh ose fierc e , defiant sl o gan A d l nswere fo e in days of o d, F all in l ine and take their p laces , While loved E rin writes each name Unto their all otted Sp aces In th e Irish hall of fame . 3 ’ P B rien s Th o n roud O , ch iefs of m o d G f lorious stood thy nam e o old , E re the coward traitor sold it S ’ For the cursed axon s gold . m Title wore thee free fro fetters , ’ Bright thou then kept freedom s flame , ’ An d twill glow in shining l etters In the Irish hall of fame .
’ O Rou rk B r ff n i w e e of e , forget not Mighty d eeds of valiant men ; ’ C Malle McDerm ott ome , O y, come , , From each Conn augh t vale and glen ;
Loved th ee well our holy Ireland , ’ With a love th at ne er knew shame , ’ Well you ll answer for your s irelan d In the Irish hall of fame .
M C ar h The c t y clan s assemble , ’ Desmond s bravest round wil l cl ing ; ’ ’ C e ome , you brav , wh o d ne er dissemble , ’ ’ n o A d O T ole s proud stand ard bring, Erin ’ s valiant chiefs undaunted Will like gems from out the frame Tel l a nation ’ s tal e unvaunted In I our rish hall of fame .
’ ’ ’ We ve O B yrn es and O L ou gh lin s ; ’ ’ ’ ’ fi Dowd We ve O Du y and O , ’ An d s t Cler th e ma er mind , O y, Who of those would not feel proud ? M P llin a Lai MacCu llin an ac a , M c g, , u mh ill Finn Mac C a , every name Adds each one a ray of lustre
To th e Irish h all of fame .
Th o ’ the tyrant’ s foo t has trampled o ’ er For centuri es agone
The clay of those great men of yore , Their memory still l ives on ; ’ And twill burst forth grand and glorious In a wreath o f heavenly flame , W hen a nation stand s victorious ’ Fore the Irish hall of fame .
Call th e rol l—th e blush of d awning ’ O er E e I our m rald sle i s shed , ’ In th e light of freedom s morning
We cannot forget the dead . The dead whose lives wer e given T ’ o uphold a nation s name , In deathless lines let them be riven In the Irish hall o f fame . 4 — ’ Call th e roll tis P atrick S ar s field a Le ds the brave of G arryowen .
Come , thou murdered Father Sheehy , C om e, Fitzgerald and Wolfe Tone ,
Brave young E mmett . gal lant Dwyer ,
0 , how brilliant will each name Shine until the day of judgment
In th e Irish hall of fame .
Father Quigley , Fathers Murphy , H Brothers John and enry Sh eares , P b hilp ot Curran , right your p leading
Shines through al l the maze of ye ars . E E sm on d McN ev in mmet , e and , o ’ Far med thou fire f freedom s flame . G reat and grand will b e the rol l call I n ou r Ir ish hall of fame .
’ M ll Grace O a ey, answer queenly T r an u aile o the call of G , th 0 From e skies . . li on of Judea , ‘ l Tru mpet forth th e name McH a e. ’ Thom as Moor e and Dan O Con n ell ' h W ith Dean Swift from ou t t e frame , W il l like priceless gems shine radiant n I the Irish hall of fame .
on e ! L g th e list of nam s , 0 , Ireland s Daughters , son , al l tried and true , ir elan d Who in love gave all to s , ’ H i gh their hearts e er b eat for you . t G en le writers of Th e N ation , “ ’ E v m a crowned in freedom s fla e . ” “ ” With Speranz a and May Downing , ’ S hine in E rin s hall of fame .
D ay l s Thomas C larenc e Mangan , I m Kickh am f ngra . , sons o song , H ea t r s of oak that h eat within thee , T o loved E rin did b elong . What a wealth of love and feel ing ’ Wound th ee round h er hall owed name ’ How twill thril l th e millions kneeling ’ I Fore the rish hal of fame .
S tatesmen , leaders, Flood and Grattan, I saac Butt, the loved P arnell , Leal did you an d your col leagues f r Work for su fe ing E rin well . From the long list true and s teady ’ S vi h ines th e light of D a tt s name , ’ E rin s loyal soul s s tand ready To fill her pro ud h all of fame . 5 C — all the rol l let dauntless Fenian , “ ” True United Irishmen , W h e o in h art and soul were freemen , S pirit rallying, stand again ,
Wh il e th e tra itor , knave and coward, Trembling hang th eir heads in shame When a nation ’ s flag waves proudly ’ er O the Irish hall of fame . W ould th at p en of mine had p ower , W ould that brain of m ine could p e-n ’ E s rin p ast until this hour , That h er scattered children then G lorying in h er grand traditions , ’ Rallied round h er ancient name , An d in bright undying l etters , R ear th e Irish h al l of fam e. C — all the rol l the names are l egion , H ’ ll istory s p age h olds one and a , ’ Tho they h ail from every region , C e ottage , abb ey, castl . h all , Th eirs th e deeds that Mo th er E rin
Loves to p aint in h eavenly flame , Freedom ’ s banner proud uprearing In s e our Iri h h all of fam . — 8 1 12 December . 9
SWEET C OUNTY OF MAYO .
' 0 , this little p lant of shamro ck green ’ ’ ‘ I ll keep wh er e e er I go . I plucked it by a silvery stream n C f I th e ounty o Mayo . ’ An d th-o to day I m far away
From the e, my native l and , I ’ ll no t forget th ose happy days
By the River Rob e so grand .
r O, the alien land is dea to me , But wh o on earth can bl am e If in my h eart s o tenderly n I ch erish o e sweet name , ’ An d thy praises sure ever I ll sing n low I accents soft and , God bless th e friends I left beh ind n f I sweet County o Mayo .
F AIL INNI S . ’ h There s a little Isl e o , many a mile A way on the ocean s crest . ’ Tis Innisfail , all hail , all h ail ,
Fair Isle of th e brave and bl est . An d we love each h ill , and rippling rill , E - ach sun kissed lake and val e, And sh elving strand . in th at favored land , d The hom e of th e stur y Gael . 6 A POEM. o D edicated to All Men of Iris h Bl od on July 4th .
’ Unfurl old E rin s banner , h Fling its green folds to t e breez e ,
In this , the greater Ireland , ’ Our country o er the seas .
L et u s show the cursed Briton H ow we glory in th e prid e Of th e countl ess line of heroes ’ ” Wh o for freedom s caus e h ave died .
They now would share th e honors ‘ of th e brave ones who ar e gone ; They now would fawn upon us
W o . ith , H t Bro th er Jonathan
0 ! but how they loved the h eroes W h o th e sword did proudly draw To save the fair C olumb ia ’ From th e Briti sh lion s maw !
Men of E rin ! Men of E rin !
You may well fe el proud that d ay, F or th e Irish troop s fought bravely ’ In grim battl e s fierce array .
An d in may a well fought b attle fi eld , o On mountain, vale r glen,
Did the red coats cry with terror, “ ’ There s th at damn green flag again
- n W ell migh t they b e terror s tricke , W hen they found themselves b efore Men wh o had a debt to s ettle f r O a hundred years o m ore .
W ell th ey knew tho se Irish exiles n o r Were t th ere fo empty spoil , But blood for loved ones murdered On our sacred Irish soil .
Wear th e glorious Stars and S tripes then W , , ith th e gr een entwined in on e, In m emory of the Irish brave W h o o f ught with W ashington .
Then b ear yourselves righ t proudly , An d h old your heads on high , In o r - this , u adOpted country, n O th e fourth day of July . — June 27, 1909. WAKE I THE A N NG .
’ Here s to th e folly that fired the world with 3 ’ Sp ark of th e War God s wrath ; ’ Let it revel now to its heart s content l n its Ow n red blood - stained p ath W hile th e demon of hate with a sinister smile Is working his evil way Through the s o called p aths of Ch i is tian love
Where religion claims full sway . Ah - , lo ok at th ose eyes and the hard drawn lips Of th e p arson wh o prates of G od ’ As the fount of love and forgiveness e er to all od Ch ildren of the s . Did th e lowly Jesus of N azareth p re ach of Vengeanc e and blood for blood ? Ah ’ s of , no , twa the gospel p eace and love , or E ’ lse we ve misunderstood .
’ h - O , h ere s to th e wealth red dyed with blood ’ In Civilization s nam e ; Let those enjoy it who ’ ve p l ayed the trumps in This savage hellish game ; Ye w h s , let those enj oy it wh il e th ey may o have A dded fuel to the fire , ’ Til the sky ’ s red dawn beholds th e p awn wake up
With a blood desire , Then the cul ture of Commerce whose iro n h and H as crushed in its lust for greed s e P - a n o Will e men hoenix like rise , longer to
Beg and p lead , But with giant strength break thro the bonds that foi Ages have crushed men down An d place on the brow of th e s erf down trod ’
Demo cracy s nobl e crown .
Ah , high on th e w alls of the world is writ th e P reface of destiny, An d th e lette r s gleam like fiery stars from Thraldom bursting free To encircle th e earth in c h ar iot drawn by th e S f teeds c knowledge unleashed , F ull fed on emotions electrified from th e d epth s
That the serf has reached . ’ N ow H e answers Humanity s clarion call to strip For th e mighty fray ; An d his ful crum is union forged in th e fire ’ Of Despotism s fell sway ; For N ature decrees that man comb ined for the Rights o f his fellow man H olds not to the schism of righ t divine vested In any one of the common clan . —A 13 191 pril , 7 H OME , S WE ET H OME .
d B ack to the vale that my ch il hood kn ew, T n s o the frie ds of my youth o tr ied and true .
Yea back to that to that Island of emerald hue ,
. n With her mountains and lakes s o gra d , r Long years have gone by , sinc e I first did o am ,
From th e verdant shores , over the oceans foam , ’ l for H But I l soon be sai ling H ome , Sweet ome,
E rin , my nativ e land .
E MICHA L DAVITT .
a u n b i a — Died at B r y, C o ty Du l n M y 30, 1906 B uri ed at Straide, n t o Cou y May .
on of H e sleeps the breast the land that he loved ,
True s on on her b osom reclining, ’ i od r An d green s th e s sh eet that covers him o e ,
Fresh with sh amr ock and daisy entwining . Oh r s th , there let him est till th e flu h of e dawn , i E - H s own l oved rin a l ighting, ’ Will fl ash o er his tomb like a h erald at noon ’ f ri h i The gl ad news o a nation s a g t ng.
’ as G reat w th e love that ne er faltered , th o thrall ’ Of the tyrant s fierc e h ate sought to b atter The h ome th at were raised in his breast at th e cal l Of his c ountry her shackl e s to shatter ; An d h into th e vortex e p lunged with a will , N o though t of himself ever heeding, of But her whom a nation , unconquered , but still At of the feet th e tyrant lay b leeding .
C e his h h rished b e name in t e hearts of the brave, His m emory till time never ending ’ W u i ill live while the s n shed s its l ght o er h is gr ave, ’ H eaven s rays with the em er ald blen din ; And thus will go onward th e caus e h e esp oused , Unch an n g g with each generation , Til l th e r ights of his country forever are h oused ’ “ ” N -h eat the emblem of Ireland a N ation .
- May, 1909.
E N MA RI VOURNEEN .
E rin , acushl a , the land w e l ove best , E ou r ver thoughts wander back over th e fo am , Fain would w e lay ourselves onc e mor e to rest ’ On th e em erald s od r ound our ch ildhood s loved home And to l ist the b irds in the foliage singing, In a of t M ’ pr ise heir aker neath s kies ever blue , e e e Ther wh r the daisies in sunsh ine are springing, ’ ’ E Oh E mavo r e 1 rin , , rin u n en , t s you .
’9 THE OPTIMIST.
Taunt me not , thou laugh ing demon ,
W ith the chances missed and gone , F or I see th e sunligh t gleaming ’ on Through th e cloud that s coming . ee S , I cast thy fetters from me , ’ n A d defy Dame Fortune s frown ,
You may gl ower thus up on me ,
But you cannot crush me down .
’ On a royal road I ve wandered
Many long and weary years , ’ h I ve s a A . the bright . bright hours qu ndered , n A d for naught but sigh s and tears , W ith a fringe of p assing pleasur e o town Just p icked up in fast J y , ’ v Sorrow I e h ad in full m easure , ’ But there s n aught can crush me down .
BI LINE S ADDRES SED TO A GOT.
P l of o or , po or o d wh ited sepul chre , th e b arnacl es hate C ’ o ling tightly to your fossiled hide , ne er t disintegrate , l Because , preserved by b atant rant and base hyp ocrisy, S l m i can t of r hameless y flowing fro p ool s of , fount , you Ch ristianity .
s ” When , from ash es to ashes and from dust du t ’ Is u p io sly uttered o er your grave , Dear Mother E arth alas sh e must H of old remnant a knave, From which by time ’ s unch anging power The spirit h as been s et free To roam an outcast from th at h our f r Through and o all eternity .
For P eter coul d n ot refuge give with in the h eavenly home To songthat on thi s earth did l ive h ating th e Church of ome .
An d Satan sure will take th e p ains H ades gatekeeper to tell . “ e c e of That p would reign in my domains , keep b igots out 1 eal
Then as th ere is no h alf way h ous e in your b el ief, wis e guy, Your soul must keep ri ght on the roads forever p assing bye ; P h f Th e gates of aradise above , t e gates o H ades below , of h o e Bereft of p eace , p , of l ove , a wond ering soul h ob o . \
10 S WEET I I ME R SH LODIE S .
Th e -s of his o song country each hour gr ws dear , To I the rishman far from his home , ’ F or they seem to bridge time and bring old m em ries near ’ As 1 1 s m sp r t each dear pot he ll ro am , old While th e music go es on and he hears each song, ’ On memory s sweet p age he can see , An d the places and friends that forever are gone l Live again in each o d melody .
’ e R S o ” Ther s the Last ose of ummer, Left Bl oming Alone , N o A G ld ” w limp se of O Ireland I crave . “ M ll Then Believe e, if A Thos e Endearing Young Charms “ An d My Sp irit Bounds Over the Wave ” “ To A The Vale of voca , Where Bright W aters Meet ’ ’ Tis a sight th at s entrancing to s ee; And K ” I the Lakes of illarney find at my feet, At th e h sound of t at sweet melody .
’ Oh tis o , fine to go b ack and b e nce more a b oy,
Full of l ife , free from troub le and care ; To of ro am by the banks the sweet, silvery Moy,
H and in hand with a colleen s o dear . An d to r with light heart go th ough thy vales , sweet
Filled with tenderest memories to me , They l ive in the songs that I love best and know ’ My native land s sweet melody .
Ah C M ’ R ” , the onnaught an s ambles br ing j oy to my h eart ,
I go strolling through old Castleb ar , An d th e strains of the Irish W asherwoman imp art
A deligh t th at no troub le can mar . “ ” s o Then the B lackberry Blossom , lithesome and gay , ’ To its tune I now trip o er the lea ; W ith the B ard of Armagh I continue my way of Through th e clear land s weet melody .
The Boys of Kilkenny each neat , r oving blade , ” Loving Mary, the Ros e of Tralee , h An d the Wexford b oys , brave , w o wer e never afraid ,
Th rough th e mountains of W icklow I see , “ Th at Limerick is Beautiful everyone knows , “ Dublin Bay that sounds sweetly to me , Wh ile th e Sh annon or Liffey maj estically fl ows
Through the garden of sweet melody .
” Though the Last Glimp se of E rin in Sorrow I S ee , ’ H ow I m longing to be on ce again “ ’ Where the old S handon Bell s tolled so sweet o er th e ’ o But I know that the l onging s in vain . ’ Still I ll ever go on through that sweet l and of song, ’ An d for ever in sp irit I ll be
- o A roaming through E rin dear , wafted al ng
On th e sweetest of sweet melody . 11 They sing of the exile that cam e to the beach , “ E R th Oh , Let rin ememb er e Days
When scholars sublime in o ld Tara did teach , l l a W h e th e h arp it r ng out in their praise . E Then Come Back to rin you l eft far behind , “ ’ And Wearing the G reen th ey ll all b e, “ ’ M ’ On S t. P atrick s Day in the orning you ll find , f In that dear land o sweet molody .
’ ’ “ ’ N ow tis Brian Boru 8 March and O Don n ell Abu M ’ And the song of the brave instrel Boy ,
The songs that were made for the br ave and the true , ’ Sure the wanderer s heart fills with j oy ; E ’ For in these you can tell , as in mmet s Farewell
The great love of thy children for thee , “ Oh E A M A o , rin cush la , avourneen sth re ’ e s There s naught l ike th y weet melody .
EEN H E P I E F TA GH EEN E I T O U . L , R D
’ ’ m In fantasy s re alms I wandering, ’ i M d fond scenes of long, long ago , Where the bright silvery Robe is meand ering a a Through the lowlands of de r old M yo . ’
f . h e k d m O a rosy c c e co lleen I dreaming, S ’ he s as pure as the shamro ck is green ,
n - A d h er eyes with fond love l ight are gleaming, ’ h ! T u h n E t ee . Tis ileen , e pride of a g
Oh R , if by the obe I c ould meet h er , An d clasping her close to my breast,
With a smile and a kiss fondly greet her , ’ In I . th at fairyland , reland s proud West . ’ r We d know naught of troubl e or so row , u r b O loves would e p eaceful , serene , E h ver waiting the j oys of t e morrow, M E T u h en a e . y il een , fair maid of g
’ w e d The Shamro cks pluck, love , together , ’ An d d ’ ’ w e list to th e lark s morning song , As o h a he r se from t e brigh t purple he ther , ’ a That broider the moorlands long, r Where the shades of our grandsires a e sleeping, ’ N m n l d in eath mounds ever a t e green , ’ of A vigil love we d be keeping, M E e T u h e n y ile n , th e pride of a g e . 12 OF BI T TH E LAN D MY R H .
Sweet little island , where grows th e green shamro ck ,
Pride of the world , thou land of my birth ; ’ Tho far from th e sh ores , thy brave ch ildren may wander , ’ o r h To them th u t t e deares t, best land up on earth . f ’ Through years o Oppression you ve risen triumphant . Forcing the foe to allow your just cl aims ;
Grand is thy history , my own loved Ireland , o Made glorious by thousands f p atriot names .
Erin Machree , th e dark clouds disappearing ou M That crushed y , avourneen , for centuries gone ; - s Thy day tar of liberty brightly is nearing .
God bless thee , my c ountry , and soon bring it on . u s l Oh , if b t my bone I could lay in o d Irel and , An h o d s e wer e a nati n , as once she had b een , ’ ’ ’ Ti d o m ir l n d s gladly I give my l ife s bl od for ys e a , T ’ f o o sleep neath a sod s heet o Shamrocks s green .
f wh An d there with the clay o the p arents o bore m e , h Loving and kind , o , they always had been ’ on Rest peacefully whil e a green flag fl ew o er m e , f Th e emblem o Ireland , a nation again . Oh ' r t ' o l : acush la, thy green sh r es are ever m n or w Before e, o m atter asleep a ake , ' ’ To e libert r n d s e y c ow thee I fondly endeavor , ’ ’ And d gladly I give my life s b lood for thy sake .
ma b a of h is Th e tyrant y o st prestige and p ower ,
E mp ires . great have existed b efore , And they and their glory were swep t in an hour
Into oblivion to rise never more ,
All o . over the earth , thou b el ved l ittl e island
Thy children s o sc attered are making a name , n ir land A d the bully s o h aughty that wronged th ee , my s e , d ’ Fin s ou t they re determ ined on spoiling his gam e.
’ W s h here er e sough t trouble th e wh ole world over , ’ An Irish brigade England s army h as m et , r H e enemy ever, the b old Irish rover ,
H e h as wrongs to wip e ou t that h e canno t forget . ’ Ti a s loy l and true h e will stand by the stranger , ’ ’ h a If liberty s the watchword he s is to comm nd ,
Then fe arl ess and brave , caring nothing for danger , ’ -o r H e ll face the ppres s or wh o th eatens th e land .
0 ! could thy s-on s meet on thy soil for an hour And muster their forc e round th e bridge of Athlon e ’ ’ r on ri n O Au g m s famed field , why , o earth there s no p ower , C ould keep th ee in bondage , my loved isl and home . f The free air c an soon c arry s hip s o invasion, ’ And E ngland is tremb ling, her do om s near at hand. h r May e downfall bring forth Ireland onc e more a nation , of n The pride the world , my ow native l and ! - A 1 ugust 28 , 909. 13 MY LAND . ou r 0 , green are the fields in the land of birth , ’ r An d blu e are the s kies that o e circle above , w e Sure ,where is the sp ot , tho travel the earth , That can make u s forget the sweet isle of true
It lies far away on the crest of the ocean, Like emerald pure it is crown ing th e wave ’ i ’ T s E rin , the isle of our heart s deep devotion , n v Th e l and of th e free a d the home of the bra e .
MA TH E M MY GGIE OF OY.
Th is a face of gentl e sweetness , An d a maiden form divine , ’ As memory sweet I ve treasured , Through the long lost page of time S ince w e rambl ed by th e river H and in hand a maid and boy. Oh , thee I never will forget, M M0 7 My aggie of the 3 .
As I si t, I think and p onder O’ er that h appy long ago , ’ When by the Moy we d wander I wn t M n my o , my swee ayo .
Oh , n o wonder I start dreaming, ’ n A d I m once again a boy,
Awaiting thy sweet coming, M Mo y Maggi e of the y. i Once again I s t b eside you , An d I ho ld your hand in mine , A e s I look into your ey s of b lue ,
Where the love light used to s h ine .
Then I tell you of my l ife hopes ,
And I watch you sm ile with j oy.
Oh my purest, sweetest angel , M M o y aggie of the M y. Now the go lden sun i s s etting As I wander down the l ane
An d I s ee the old , old churchyard
By th e r iver q again .
But thou art not there to greet me , ’ An d I know th at i ts ! on h igh ’ a n W e ll meet ag in my angel o e, M y Maggi e of the Moy. On my hand a tear drop fall ing r B ings me back to earth once more , To find th at I am far away i ’ From E r n s lovely s hore , A h ’ ’ nd t o far and near I ve wandered , I have never laid an eye
On a sweeter , truer c olleen l Than was Maggi e of the Moy. — 3 1 July , T O MY FIRS T S WEE TH EART.
Ah n o , sure I could t forget you , E ven tho you did forget
The words that wer e wh isp er ed at p arting, Midst th e s c enes wh er e ou r eyes h ad first met ;
Love s uch as mine lives forever ,
An id eal enthroned cannot fall , E ven th o’ oceans may sever An i d fate round a l ife casts ts thrall ,
Thus I think of you night and morning, W m h erever my footstep s may ro a , O n ut o the wild ro lling pr airie , ’ W n ay o the oceans wh ite fo am ,
And your ch eeks like the ro ses in Summ er ,
Your eyes like th e fresh sparkl ing dew, Th at is the picture th at thro the y ears C o omes floating to me of y u , ’ Tis framed in a setting of ' emerald gr e en ’ n A d lit by th e sun s evening glow, All mirrored so soft in th e rippling gle am a r o Of lake in ou loved May . So thus around my every soul
Fond loving th oughts entwine , Of th os e h alycon days of yore
Sweetheart d ays of mine . And as twiligh t comes softly stealing, An d paints each bright scene anew ,
The swe et memories ever r evealing, l Those o d visio n s fair of you , So thu s do the smiling Cup ids ’ Ex orin m p g my soul s d1 d eeps ,
Find a keep er there called Memory ,
W h o s lumb ers but never sle eps ,
And h e to their question replying, “ Loves Young Dre am you gaz e upon W ho h er e midst a dead p ast lying, i Yet dying would s t ll live o n .
0 . Sep temb er, 19 3
’ AN IRISHMAN S BOQUE T.
e r A red , red r o se for th e love I h a
This native l and of mine , An ivy spray and a Sh amrock sprig ’ Th eir l eaves to fondly twine - - n With th e p ansi es and forget me o ts , I ’ d p lace with loving h and In the Spring boquet I wear today F o dea ° o r r ld Irel and . I E ’ AN IR SH E! IL S LOVE .
orn C ould we forget th e land where we were b , o e Green Isle, where in our childh od days we sp nt ,
The c ottage home , midst fields of flowering th orn ,
Wh ere reigned p eace , p lenty , h appiness , content ,
0 , no ; wh ile l ife lasts , so must l ive a love r a F or E rin . Columbia knows ou h e rts to h er are
An d as there is a God in H eaven above , th Our h earts are la rge enough to lov e e two .
’ C olumb ia s praises w e can sing aloud
An d glory in the red , th e white , the blue ;
While of the old green flag we can be proud , ’ ’
E o. A children s love we l l give to rin , to old On e flag th e symbol of a grand race , h i o g t ng for righ t, and l nging to be free ; ’ Th e o ther mongst all nations hold first place , ’ Tis emblem of th e land of lib erty.
’ s s An d neath them bo th , our grand ire bl ed and died , ’ ’ In freedom s c aus e they ne er were kn own to yield .
An d Irish troop s h av e oft turned battles tide , o An d victory w n on many a hard fough t field , Who dares to s ay th at in th is great free land G E ’ reen rin s children have no rights nor claims , r F o liberty th ey stood h ere sword in hand ,
G ood men and true , proud of their Irish names .
fo B efore them s tood a cruel , relentless e, Deep dyed in b lood of their loved kith and kin ; An d memory of three hundred years or so
Rose up before those Irish exiles th en .
They s aw their country , once a nation grand , m ’ ’ Laid waste and tra peld neath the tyrant s heel ,
And swore th at young Columbia , fair , fair land , ’ ’ W ould ne er b eneath a despot s shackl es reel .
Above th em waved a strip ed and starry flag,
The emblem true , of liberty and l ight ,
They p ledged if it th e Briton down would drag, ’ H e d h ave to ch ange th eir day to darkest night . d ’ F or free om 8 sake , they fought , they bled , th ey died , o An d Washingt n, gr eat soul , h e knew th eir worth , ld He saw that o green flag, their l ove, th eir pride ,
H elp make this gr eat republic of th e earth .
We cannot then forget th e dear , old l and ,
Whose gold h arped green flag, good true hearts unfurled . ’ n Tho eath th e stars and stripes today , we stand l ’ Wi ling to fight its b attles gainst th e world . ’ u m b is t not s o Speak p y roth er exiles . ’ C olumbia hold s a love that s fr ee from gu il e. ’ Wh ile o er the ocean wide will a lw ays go ’ ’
e d Is . A children s l ov , to p oor ol Erin s le 16
IRELAND A NATION .
- f old Blood of th e sea divided Gael , ye children o a grand 1 11 nat 0 , a Pulse p roud and stand by Innisfail , with De Vel era t ke
your station . Our Motherland needs every s on and daughter true to Ir 1sh
Freedom , To rout and keep right on th e run th e prophets fal s e who
wrong would lead th em . ’ There ne er w as time Dark Rosaleen good men and true
so badly needed , ’ e As this dark hour, th e dawn between, when h ep s fair field is darkly seeded o r r a andrs t of By hyp c ites with lying tongue , th e p op g s th e Ol l S p er , ’ W ho strew d th e thorns th at sprung from roots hard and
oppressive to th e toiler .
- of old Sons o th e s ea divided G ael , fair exil ed daughters i;r1n , of Rise , and th e standard b oldly hail , th e colors your nation wearing ; ’ Ti E r s amon De Valera calls in name of her un conquered eve , “ ’ r own R ” h ’ Ou Dark ose , w o th o in thralls , a n ation s righ t
relinquish ed never . 0 , by th e blood th at laved her breast from p atriot hearts ’ thro all the ages , In of a memory th e brave and blest, h er chieft ins b old and s n aints a d sages , e Ris in your might and take your pl ac e , let Shoneens hie ’ to a h ell s d mnation , ’ But ym f E rin s dauntles s race with De Va lera take your
siaoIon .
E T ARS .
Those salty p earl s , we know not wh at they m ean That well from ou t th e dep ths of our des p air ; P e erchanc th ey come . from realms of might h ave been To of for o tell hop ed j ys th at never were . An d as th e thoughts arise from mem ory’ s book S o ’ flow those p early streams from nature s brook , C ou r s mg adown th e p aths wh ere joy and fears H ave played at odds through al l th e bygon e years . Re1l1ev1n g thus the grief overburdened brain God- Blest as a sent shower of summer rain .
is SWE ET BROOKH ILL .
s to old (Respectful ly in cribed my friend and townsman, C T . Q . Ouray, olorado .
I . Let p oets praise their fair lands in wonder
In notes of thunder , in p eans of j oy .
But I wil l ch ant, of a beauteous E den f ’ Where o t I played in , when a boy , ’ Tis there the b looming rhododendrons The gentl e summer breez es fill ’ s W ith perfumed breaths , making l ife s ely ium f O Sylvian glades of Sweet Bro okhill .
II . o wh o 0 , b unteous nature , fre ely d ealt her ,
A wealth of sp lendor , supreme , sub lime , n I dell and woodland , by lake and fountain , With verdur e blooming there all th e time ! en r Sure my h eart grows f de , as I sit and p onder n A d in spirit wander, by ripp ling rill , ’ O er h glade through wildwood , as in my child ood
I often roam ed , in Sweet Brookhill . III . ’ i h T s ther e t e wild duck nests in sedges , Along th e edges of island s fair ; That dot th e l akes in th is smil ing E den ’ With shrub o er laden, and bl ossoms rare Th ere pine trees p almy make fresh air balmy W , , hil e from their branches th e wild b irds thrill , u W ith mingled chorus , ringing o t melodious , ’ e O r the E merald meadows of Sweet Brookhill .
IV.
’
i , o M d h ills s urrounding, with fruit a b unding ;
The nuts and berries in profusion grow .
Wh ile b lo oming thorn , each h eight adorn, ’ o Make s pictures beauteous wh ere e er y u go, ’ The sweet red clover you ll find all over, W ff ith daisy, violet and da odil , Th l o e o d h use rounding, with laurel crowning
h o . This Mayo E den, t e Sweet Br okh ill
V . h b O , may I e b lest , once more may I rest, An d gaz e with rapture th e hills a down W here mirrored nightly, on lakes starred brightly, Ar la m rri o e the clear loved homes of C r e o s t wn , t ro ’ Then o am at even, when for h om e I m leaving , ’ n lin The sh ady lane , to Do s mill ; old By Mount Lamb ert, where oft I scamp ered , n I boyho od days through Sweet Bro okhill . —March 19 AN ISH MA ’ DE IR N S PRI .
’ It e matters not wher e er I roam , My thoughts wi ll drift across th e foam ’ To E o rin s Isle , my home , sweet h me ,
The land that I adore . r on th Bright eme ald e ocean crest , S ’ o il by St. P atrick s footstep s blest, H ’ k Fair Isle , by eaven s b lue s y caressed ,
I l ove thee more and more .
0 , land of song and s tory old ,
Of sch olar , S aint and hero bold , Would that my p en could but unfo ld
The ages p ast and hoary . nd -s A view thy shrine and temples all , n d Thy courts with knigh t a s eneschal , ’ H Thy sceptred chiefs , in Tara s all ,
In all their ancient gl ory .
’ h I d s ow som e p ictures truly grand , ’ To E rin s sons in every land , And watch them in amazement stand
- Filled with new b orn pride .
For that fair isle , from whence they sprung, Where learnings fane w as rocked and rung W ith eloquence sublime , where b ards have sung An d heroes fought and died .
Wher e ch ief with love of hom e inspired ’ E ach clansman s heart with courage fired , ’ Twas free a n d untrammeled th ey desired
Their nativ e isle should be .
Its homes and altars th ey would sh ield , o Or pr udly die on battlefield , E r e to invader they would yield ’ A Nation s destiny .
To see the kingly Brian Boru , ’ Lead E rin s warriors staunch and true , ’ n A d C lontarf s bloody fiel d bestrew, s n d Wi th cru hed a vanquished Dane . An h R d Benburb where t e gre at Owen oe, e C M t bloody o ote , and fierce Monroe , ’ ’ An d cau s ed Blackwater s banks o er flow a With S cot and British sl in .
To watch the struggl e at the Boyn e
Would be a p icture glorious , fine , For P apist valor would outsh ine The cursed Orange knavery
- An d sh ow h ow tim e and time again ,
Th ey cut the mongrel h orde in twain , ’ G ainst odds they shed their b lood l ike
Ah , there was Irish bravery . 20 s But dir ty Jame , whose craven heart , H ad c aused h im from the field to start , W wh o ith troop s, had they done th eir part , An d entered in the fray . No ot w of e b ig spa n , recr ant crew , h W o flaunt the fl ag of orange hue , W n ow do ould eyer feel as they , ’ E o r xultant e th e day .
o ’ T be at Limerick s walls again, When S ars field and his gallant men
Made Orange William tremble . wh en H e h eard th e loud uproar . An d ew s on kn that Iri h p luck h ad w , H ad ruined his sieg e train , every gun , To s ee o s un him fume , as r se the , ’ ’ O er Shannon s lovely shore .
An m d any p ictures just as bright ,
O s . for n r f truggles fough t, truth a d ight , ’ - . fo o Gainst h ireling e and S ax n might , F or i faith and l berty . I ’ d show til l Erin ’ s s ons today W u o ld proudly raise their he ads and say , ’ o m hu rr aah Thank G d, I Irish , h ip , hip , l ’ or er F the gre en isle o the sea .
DE AR GALWAY.
n ream I d sI see you , sweet Loughrea , ’ By Slieve s blue mounta in side I roam From Menlough heights at break of day orri I watch th e beauteous C b fo am . ’ n o O Claddagh s strand I lay me d wn, A s oft I did when but a boy,
An d memory p aints m e G alway town , M y h eart is b eating now with j oy . l l F or dear o d Galway , sweet o d Galway , ears o w I l eft h er y ag , but my h eart is there , I kno . n ld l I dear o G alway , loved o d Galway , Ye s , my heart is th ere, because I l ove her .
’ r At even when my work is o e , n S o I fancy by th e uck I g , a By B l lygar and Bal linamore , ’ Thro Ballygl ass to Ballinaslo e , An d turning westward onc e again s To Athenry I fondly tray .
Then dear old Tuam I enter in , s a An d seem to h eart a sweet voice y, ld Through dear old Galway, sweet o G alway , ’ A dream twas I regret , fond m emories linger l ld G Round dear o d Galway , loved o alway,
I o . My h eart is th ere , I know, because l ve her 2 1 A CA T THE F MA LL O SONS O YO.
G et beneath th e old green standard f o r ow n ran u i l O u dear G a e, of M Fall in line , tru e men ayo, You wer e never known to fail
When our country needed h eroes , Ye u were ever to the fore , ’ What s the matter ? Ar e you sleep ing ? M ayo needs you more and more .
Where aer the boys I p layed with On C S the wide laremorris quare , When th e Mayo c lub sounds ro ll - call H ow many answer h ere ? Sha me upon you l Shame upon you l Yo h u were ever in t e van , Ar e you now ashamed to own up That you are a Mayo man ?
C as tlebar l I call up on you s s taball By th e hade of S hill , Have your sons become de cadent ? Do their h earts no longer thrill A of t the memory the races , That you h eld in ninety - eight ? If not then let them com e an d knock l ’ Upon o d Mayo s gate.
’ Westport , answer ; where s your quota ? H ave your children lost their pride ? E ngland met on Boer b attlefields on cBr id Thy dauntles s s , M e, An d were h e in N ew York today ’ H e d find the time to go An d tell us in our club room ’ That h e s proud of sweet Mayo .
a l Ballina ! pride of Tyr w ey,
Backward you ha ve never b een , You were always r epresented
By th e best of Mayo men . In th e club room we are waiting
To give them th e glad hand, l F or th e honor of o d Mayo ,
n o r n a . A d u ow , our n tive land
h ? Bal linrob e , w y art thou laggard r i e P Come , a s l erform thy task , u s Send thy sturdy sons to join ,
- Bring the h ero es of L oug Mask , a o Shrule , The Ne le will bravely f ll ow a Bobeen , Hollymount will come l ong An d the dash ing boys from Keelogu es a An d the galla nt l ds from Cong. 22 u Ballyh aunis , let u s he ar from yo , W hat is it you can s ay? ’ That your sons from Mayo s honor guard
S hould like this stay away . ’ s n ot on e e . Twa like th at at tim , F or your gallant boys would go ’ f O er miles and miles o Irish ro ads , F or f th e honor o Mayo .
l i o S winford , Kilkel ly, Ke t ma gh , c me forward ,
W h o dare say thou art afraid ,
You wh o knew our own loved Davitt, C-om e o a r i , y u m nly sons of St a de, C s n ? harle tow , art th ou delinquent ’ f n o i I t, then come , prove t s so o Th at thy s ons can have a voice , to , o In th e c uncils of Mayo .
M k urris , Ach ill , Cros smolina ,
Thou art missing from th e fold , Yet ye gave staun ch men to Mayo n l I th e da rk , dark days of o d, W hen the wes t land did awaken And proudly took th e fi eld , You h ad sons b eneath the s tandard W h di o would e, but never yield .
Ro M und th ey ruins , ayo Abb ey , h r n By t e shades of Ca n aco , a Moor eh all Ballinaf d , Towerh ill and , un W here th e fox and wild hare h ave r , H ave your sons h ere ceased to love th ee? ’ N o n o , they ve t ; n or ever sh all
By th e mem ory of brave Nal ly, Co o me , y u tru s ty s ons of B elle.
- Forward Newp ort and Kill ala, ’ W hy rt th ou standing idly by ? C t ‘ l ome , hou sons of o d B elmullet, And h a r tak e up t e b ttl e c y. M ayo ever to th e forefront, ’ Ti s a nobl e work to do, N ow to place it where it sh ould be , Is o just up to me and y u .
’ o t a r Fr m S . C olm n s uined abbey, O n ver mountai , hill and rock ,
- c rroll Let it ring through Barn a a , S k e on to Kn oc . end it thund ring ,
That N ew York h as men from Mayo, S h e taunch , ve m ent and true, n a Banded, ful l of love for Gra u ile, ’ An e o d Irel and s welfar . to . 23 Co me , then , men, and j oin us , W n e will welcome o e and all , he n o Let my words t unh eeded , ’ R s a nd M i e answer ayo s cal l , An d show the Irish peopl e That you thought it worth your while To prove we ’ re patriots just as true ’ ’ As E e er l eft rin s Isle .
- July 10, 1909 .
WH E E RE YOU AN D I W RE BORN .
’ ’ Tis s ad tonight I m feeling ,
Remembrances crowd on , ’ Old memories o er me stealing Of days forever go n e . When through the bog and mo orland
W e roamed in early morn , l Round the homesteads in o d Irel and , Where you and I were born
0 w a , the lark his y was winging, ’ k Toward s H eaven s bluest s y, . in m His j oy notes sweetly s g g, Wh il e onward you and I ’ ir lan d Went tramp ing o er the m e ,
- A hunting in the morn ,
Through th e hogs and wo ods in Ireland .
W here you and I were born .
1 A ch ase we lo oked for ev er ,
From s ome nimble old game keep , And m any a trench and river W e crossed with flying leap ; ’ Then o er the beg and moorland , ’ W e d rac e in early morn,
0 ! thos e good old times in Ireland ,
Where you and I were born .
’ And tho oceans wid e divide u s ,
And new friends each h ave met ,
No matter what betid e u s ,
Old memories linger yet, l n d Of our b oyhood in th e s ire a , w ’ o Wh en the gam e keep er e d sc rn ,
And go poach ing in old Ireland ,
Where you and I were born .
’ w T as many a brace of rabbits ,
We bagged by wood and hill , ’ 0 And learned th e wild birds h abits , ’ And th e grouse and Snipe w e d k l ll ;
IRELAND .
’ a P ride of Atlantic s Oce n,
De ar little Isl e of Green, ’ Land of my h eart s devotion,
Of all others , thou art queen .
’ Sorrows thou had st thy share of, a Through centuries gone n d fled , But close to thy breast thou claspeth
Thy own brav e p atriot dead .
“ ir l n Love of my life , my s e a d, True will I b e to thee ; ee My wish is to s thee , Ir eland ,
A nation once more free .
’ Fre e fr om the Briton s power , Alone by thyself to s tand ; n May God speed o th e hour , n F or my ow , my native land .
Land of ethereal beauty , H om e of th e sh amro ck green ;
Thy martyrs to l ove and duty,
Beat al l th e world has seen .
ir lan True to th eir God and s e d,
P atriots , brave and grand ;
Gave life and love to Ireland , n Their ow beloved land .
h H elp me , O , Lord , and aid me , Guide my hand and pen
To place a wreath to th e m emory ,
Of the heroes wh o have b een .
n o Gone , aye ; but t forgotten ; ’ No ! nor th ey ne er shall be ; ’ W th e hen Briton s throne is rotten , ’ Th ey ll l ive on in m emory .
Then Ireland will b e a nation , C ultured , sub lime , and grand ; An d th e lords of all creation W bo to ill w my native land . — 1 May, 19 1.
26 T A TALE OF WO S HIPS .
On th e dial of life d oes the h and of tim e its as n Tell tale the years roll o , An d — th e fate of proj ects corrupt sublime , ’ Ar e writ tho their sponsors are gone To ’ the val e b eyond , whenc e th ey can t return To view the child of th eir mind , N or check its cours e through th e downward bourne on That flows through hum an kind .
On e of them fl oats on a kindly stream ’ And is nursed on an ocean s roar That wafts it back with a migh ty scream To change what h as been b efor e; W hile th e oth er sinks in the mire it h as Sprung An d putridly stagnant l ay ; The on e a song of advancement sung W , hile the other would clog th e w ay, h But nature , wis e as t e mariner , stands To p ilot the goo d b arque through To a barber safe wh ere to willing h ands H r e delive s the cargo and crew . n h A d t e other it lo oks up on with di s trust , ’ Ti s unsafe in a calm or gale ,
E ach block and bolt is eaten with rust,
It is rotten from keel to rail , An d its c argo reeks with th e filth and slime ’ In wh ich it s encompassed ; so ’ f Nature knows that it can t ride the waves o time ,
But down to th e dep ths mus t go.
An d down it goes with a sickening y awn In th e h arbor it claimed as its own ;
Wh il e th e good b arque buffets both wave and storm ,
An d rides on its course alone, ’ Till some kindly h aven in God s own land
A wel coming beacon sh ows . When in on th e waves to a kindred strand
The b arque of advancement goes , Th en ou t from its mast like an eagle s et free Flies its standard once more unfurl ed ’
In the fair , free winds of God s b lest liberty ,
An d a nation is reb orn to the world . — 2 191 . January 9,
27 A I ISH M ’ T A N R AN S O ST. To me there ’ s not in all the earth A sweeter land , nor one more d ear ,
Than the loved isle that gave me b irth , e Whos skies reflect the smile and tear, ’ An d e wher soe er from her I roam ,
Wherever fate my footsteps gu ide , I ’ ll h old for thee , my isl and home , of e Thoughts full love , of h ope and prid .
’ Th e tyrant s foo t may le ave its mark
Upon thy proud and pulsing breast, But never can it quench th e sp ark o Th at l ng has lit thy soul oppress ed . W a ll hen thy hopes were dark and drear , The sacred cause of lib erty ’ e Bov all th ings el se thou held most dear ,
Sweet little isl e of destiny .
An d wh n that is y, o matter wh ere r Thy children f om thy side may roam , Their thoughts s o fraugh t with memories
Drift b ack to thee , across the foam . l o Fain wou d I now b e near thy c ast , A- th watching for y sh elving strand , But failing that then l et me to ast M , y fair , my p eerless native land .
’ r s E Then he e to thee , rin, bright gem of the ocean , Yo o ur rocky bound coast pr udly breasting the wave , ’ Sends b ack o er the billows with heartfel t emotion
The sorrows th at crowned thee , thou land of the brave , An d with h 0 pe b eating high that at length comes th e dawn
mg,
The guerdon that lures on thy valleys to smile , A- gl inting thy h ill s and thy mountains adorning,
l e . But makes thee more beauteous , thou green little l e — 1 N ovember , 191 .
’ TH E E! ILE S DREAM .
Last night I dreamt a dream s urpassing swee t, O w as - nce more I the care free , happy b oy ,
The sylvan dells of youth my eyes d id greet, An d p leasure ther e w as free from fal s e al loy . A mong th e boughs th e birds th eir j oy notes sang,
The hawthorn filled the air with s weet p erfume , hell The village th e call to matins rang, An d a n ture seemed to wear her brightest bloom . a There I entr anced s t me down, s To gaz e enrap t at scene I well recall .
The lake , the stream , the hill beyond the town , M e f y childhood h ome the d arest sp ot o al l . 0 a , would to he aven th t dream were only true ,
I . That might wander th ere again , starting in l ife anew ! I E ’ AN E L S WISH .
0 ! I toda ti n I had but my choice y, ” s rovi g would be W h ere flows a clear and purling strea m th at holds a charm f or me, ’ I ’ d ’ ’ Tis there hear th e thrush s thril l , the black b ird s p iping c a And the l ark h is j oy - notes s m gin g in the sky above them all ; ’ ’ Ti s I d la - there y me down to rest on d aisy tufted sod , l n of I Where often the good o ld days youth gaily trod , W 1th l th es om e s tep to meet a l ass with laugh ing eyes of filu e, ’ Fair as the grandest flower th at e er with in a garden grew .
0 ! I bu t ’ ’ had my wish today , tis there I d l ove to go, h Then lay m e down up on t e b ank and watch the waters fl ow . An d th e — hear winds a murmuring, like music soft and s weet , e Whil fancy dreamy p ictures of the p ast laid a t my feet . ’ Ti s a cailin sweet and simpl e would be smil ing at m e there , n Th e love light beaming in h er eyes , the sun l ight o her hair . And all my c ares would vanish and life a j oy would seem , ’ ’ ’ E en tho ugh twere but a vision , e en tho twere but a dream .
n o as toir s o But wishes are t wing s , , nor are th ey ship I kn w , ’ f ’ o Tho flying , aye and sailing, o t across the seas they g .
When th e old h eart , acushl a , th e p ath s of youth would tread And h a ! seek the golden yes terday that, A ! al s has fled , n od of S Fled , never to return more , save whe the G leep
- Th e mystic v eil of dre amland lifts and bid s us ta ke a p eep , At hill and dal e and woodland that well our ch ildh ood knew ; ’ m em r By o y s nymph s , with angel h ands , now p ainted fresh d an true .
’ An d n ow my soul is wandering mid scene s I love th e b est , h Mo M 1n W h ere l ow s t e winding Rob e and y, my ayo th e w es tf f f ll ’ l O E rin , best b eloved o a the world s favored is es W h ’ w oe s t111 h o l n o, th o her h eart is filled with p g ever . 11 s m es . ’ That soon th e d awn dispelling, e er disunion s cursed p ain , h a In glory s e will b lossom forth , A N ation once gain ’ G od grant th e hour is ne ar at h and wh en freedom s m agl c gleam 0 Lights up the p aths th e exile loves to picture in 11 18 dream . — 12 19 . March ,
2 9 ’ A THE LOVERS P RADISE .
’ Ou t in the land from which there s no returning
Our souls will meet for all eternity, r F a from th e life of sadness , strife and yearning, ’ h e n Like p e s ow z ephyrs for ever floating free , i Fresh midst th e flowers of sweet contentment bloom ng,
Kissed by the sun of summer all the while , ’ There w here no shade s of night will e er be glooming Ou r f of dream o p eace , love, thro c louds guile .
’ Way in the r ealms Wh ere p lumaged b irds of splendor
To sleep will lul l ou r s ouls with songs of heavenly rest , Into th e arms of angels who s e light embraces tend er ’ Assures us e er the gu ard iansh ip of s en—tinels truly blest O, the awakening midst p erfumed winds a sigh ing ’ O er garden s rich with smiling flowers who s e l ike the earth ’ ne er seen, Wafting their breaths to thril l our sp irits lying On knolls of softest feather grass the greenest of th e greet
Dear , could I bu t p aint th e charms that shall await us Nature should give more than her richest hues More than s h e owns in art or divine affllatu s Wrought by a brush th at an angel ’ s hand might use ’ S is v u uch the realm I e p ictured for yo , dearest, In th at far off celestial bye and bye Wher e there is naught but all things of th e fairest A f waiting our souls in that home go al o Joy .
ERIN .
t Wha is thy destiny , Isl and of S aints , N ation of bards and sch olars sublime ? ’ Tis not th e hand of th e serf wh o p aints ’ The glory that s thine through ages of time . ’ The glory th at Spread o er a darkened land ’ True light of learning , man s brightest star .
0 , isl e of tradition and h istory grand ,
A sl ave to the ruthless tyrant you ar e.
A n sl ave , but no , ot a willing one ,
Thou couldst not b e such a menial th ing, A captive held in ch ains by th e gun Of th e h o tyrant base , w o is trying t bring o a Thy proud , pr ud r c e to a bended knee , ’ ’ A scullion s fate and a coward s brand . But he finds th at that station can never be
a . By nation fil led , O, my native land — r S eptembe ,
30 THE “DARK ROSALEEN
A w e 0 , Erin, cushla , carried away a W hen we left you , a love th t could never decay ; r our r F o . the soil where fo efathers b attled and bled ’ s G ainst th e foe that was cru hing thy littl e brown head . h r Th e tyrant s o ruthless w o w onged you , our own “ Little Rosaleen s o s ad and al one ;
’ n ot ou Ah , sure tis p ity we feel for y , dear , ’ r for e s as wh o F o , that, you d d spise u ones knew fear . ’ i 0 No, t s faith , aye , and h p e that your soul , ever bright , o ’ W ill bl om forth once again in l oved freedom s proud light . A nation unconquered and virile ou r oWn ” Littl e Ros aleen Dhu , now so s ad and alone .
s s Ah , perhap s , in th i land wher e th e tarry flag flies , ’ O er a nation thy exiled ones help ed r ealiz e , of Th e hop es thy b osom be answered , Machre e n A d thy children from thraldom of Britain set free . ’ od tr l um h n G grant right will p o er foul might , ou r ow , “ Little Rosaleen Dhu all so sad and alone . —A 1 pril , 19 6.
EA F B TIF B U TI UL , EAU UL EYES .
Th e maiden was coy , caught w as th e boy n I a net by Cup id laid , An d sh e p layed th e game , 0 , j ust th e same , As a any other m id . T was wel l he knew tha t h er eyes of blu e ad hi H stole s h eart away , As ’ he caught their gleam , full of love s young dream , To ’ her he d fondly s ay,
R CHO US .
S e hine , shin , b eautiful eyes , wh ere the loveligh t lurks and
ms , ke a ou Li sunbeam brightly y gleam , taking my h eart by s ur rl se p , o o Glow, gl w, wh erever you g , make havo c among the boys , But save for m e the soft glance I s ee In th ose beautiful , b eautiful eyes .
Like th e brigh t stars above sh one those eyes full of love , F or s h e knew th e lad was true o , S a m ’ y g we can t live ap art , sh e gave him h er , h eart , o Just as ther maidens do . An d da ed s o one y they were w , the story said , An d lived h appy day by day, F or s ’ he hold her ap art, th en she s clasped to his heart As to ’ her h e d fondly s ay, — 2 4 1 1 . November , 9 31 A W EATH F R O HOPE.
’ of o er Land my dreams , far away the ocean , in r Deep my memory thy w ongs are engraved. ’ Well dost thou merit a heart s deep devotion , E r - rin unconque ed alas ! but enslaved . E ? a —n nslaved Yes , cushla , but conquered o, never ! ’ ea ’ Thy proud h d ne er bowed to the tyrant s command , But true to thy just claims of nationhood ever A e i th que n n e epo ch of nations thou stand .
’ E rin unbe aten ! th o trampled —dishonored An d o fo fettered with chains by a cold bl oded e, h er Rose up l ike a pho enix and faced Oppressor , a N o er A cr ven ? , never ; H tyrants would know ’ ’ That tho c rimson they d turn her emerald vall eys , An d a p illage her hearths with b lood reddened hand , r t r O send her brav e sons o th e block o the galleys , r F o Ireland a nation , she ever would s tand .
s Ah , E rin ! th ou fearles , proud child of the oc ean , o’ o ’ Th for centuries br ken and battered you v e been , Thy fair bosom crushed with each heartfel t emotion o n Th at sorr ws h ave pressed on thy mantle of gree ,
Still thy s oul full of freedom , shone out in its gl ory ; Wi th no faltering voice thou thy b rave sons command ’ Ah ! wh o that h as read they eventful life s story ’ l But feels that forever a nation thou t stand .
A nation ! A nation ! Yes , Ireland a nation , t ! ! In language , in cus oms , yea yea sh e will b e a Th e thrall of no tyrant, no base subjug tion
C an h old down a peop le w ho yearn to be free . th e Th en , on with struggle , the twilight is clearing, Th e bright s tar of h ep e now is l ighting th e l and h S tick close to her s oil , for t e day is fast nearing and Wh en Ireland a nation once more takes h er sta . 1 11 July 1, 9 .
N ATIVE LAND .
There is a l and of o ther lands th e best vm To him whose th oughts at times will lo g rest ,
On scenes th at memory calls to mind at will ,
The sheltered vale , th e cot beneath the hill ,
W herein his youthful days in cas e he spent , e 0 s t Blest with a parents lov , , weet conten ,
Touch but that absent ch ord with fairy wand ,
An d there th e answer lies , his native land .
32
TH E I DY NG E! ILE .
M a ove my bed ne r th e window, A lanna , let my eyes gaze th across e blu e s ea, ’ Ah l f or , it won t be for ong, I hear th e l ow song of the e waves calling swe tly to me . ’ Ti s a a message they be r from the land o f my youth , my own E loved rin, asthore , An d each wavelet . doth bring a sad murmuring from th e ’ e a ll shor th t I never s ee m ore .
0 E A ’ , rin , cushl a , deep down in my heart there s a love , sure di that never can e, ’ ’ An d I ve e a h treasured it th re as a j ewel mo s t r re , O , tis ’ t b u something hat wealth couldn t y. An d now that I know my p oor spirit must go up above to
th at beautiful shore , I am breathing a prayer for th e land that I ’ ll ne ’ er see with
these mor tal eyes ever more .
od ’ 0 , merciful G , tis a blessing I crave for the land wher e
my b oyho od w as Sp ent, Th e h om e of my youth , where th e teachings of truth had
fil led my young soul with content, " Wh ere the touch of Thy hand h ad m ost carefully p lanned 1a s vi ta of beauties galore , n I wo odl and and del l , by stream , lake and fell , in th e land ’ ll that I never see more .
May Thy angel of l ight all her ch ildren unite and give her
the wealth of th eir love , Till th e sound of their prayer will arise in the air and p eti tion Thy throne up above H er pur e brow to crown with her ancient renown a nation as free as of yore is O, Lord , h ear the prayer of the exile whose c are the dear ’ l and h e l l never see more .
A a Mav- The light d im has grown , O, lann rone h as the night time come on all so soon ? What s that wh isp ering sound I hear all around wh o is play m g that old marching tune ? ’ An d what is th at vast throng that goes troop ing along w1th
- th e green flag a waving b efore , ’ a M r O, Alann , achree , sure they re marching to f ee th e land ’ a ll s e th t I never e more .
’ E ’ o Twas good bye to rin s Isl e , and a fond l ving smile lit h is
face er e his sp irit had fled , H e breathed h is last as the ph antom tr00 ps pass-cd w 1th th e
flag he loved waving ah ead . H is l ast wish on earth for the land of his b irth as d ear and f true as o yore , a For h is glorious s ir elan d h is ever brave Irel nd , who se
shores h e would never s ee more . 34 I EA TH E WA I O GH . o, MAGG E, D R, Y S R U
0 Ma a w a i s th e . , ggie , de r , the y rough and steep h ills b efore a o sh or e That I mu s t tread to earn my bre d up on a f reign : ’ But yet I m richer than th e duke that counts h is golden p ile , ’ F or m emories still my coffers fil l of th ee and E rin s isle .
I ream again in sp iritland , beside a rippl ing stream . ’ n °br1 h t I s ee th e . graveyard o the hill , I catch your eyes g
gleam , n a a o As oft I did in d ays go e by , the d ys of long g , ’ When you and I by Man u lla s b anks roamed m ou r sweet a M yo .
d 0 , Maggie , dear , the times are changed from wh at th ey use to b e ’ When you and I , a girl and b oy , stood neath the willow tree , love H and clasp ed in h and to p l ight a tro th , in youthful
sincere , r Without a though t th at fate decides ou p aths in life , my
dear .
Th e bird h ad eft h is evening l ay sung to his. nesting m ate E r e e you and I had left ou r tryst with in the old barr d gate , ‘ W h r le e e s pt th e kin of you and yours , revered Sp ot, well you
knew , h 1ll Upon the by ripp ling rill in dear old sw eet Mayo .
’ 0 M ve o a— , aggie , dear , I roamed th e w rld , drifting wide afar , An d oft for n ol I longed sight of you a d dear d Castleb ar , of a lov But leagues oce n l ay between m e and th e scenes I e, ’ e k The meadow green by purl ing stream , May s blue s y above , " a e The glistening l ke , the b g and brake , th e ruined tower eyen E o m . ach val e and dell we knew s well , to me ory ever fond s h lter ed an a Th e l e, dear p rting pl ace , th e broken stile , you len ew .
' th e r ld w o Upon h il l by rippling rill , in dea o s eet M ay .
0 M d of im . ag gie , e ar , I t es hear th e magic of thy vo ice . On w h l s er m w mds 1t to m p g comes me , and m akes y heart
rej oice , ou t it s an d From th e p as t speak to m e olden d ays recal l , TI II I o e 1 f r f rget th e pres nt t me o sweetes t h ou r s of all . Ah w s o e o , s eetest hours , fre from care , y u by my side ,
asthore , F on d m mory treasures and keep s green each moment loved ee or y e. S ‘ p ent in th e glory of thine eyes , where s ilvery waters fl ew a ll ’ Through me dows green , Man u a s stream in ou r ow n ou r M , , loved ayo .
- 1 e 1 1. D cemb er 16, 9
35 T IE ’ H E AL N S SON G .
’ O tis , simp le the lay that the alien sings , ’ The wondrous the p ictures that memory brings To th e exile w he sighs at the clos e of th e day or of F the land his childho od , away , far away .
The ship of his fancy is breasting th e waves , A hearing him b ack where the foamy tide braves
The ro cks th at are crowninog th e brigh t silvery strand , s h or e That slope from the s s of his dear native land .
0 h o a , w that h as ro med from the land of his b irth , ’ Fo rgets the loved sod e er his dear mother earth . N et h e whomth e s ou l of the p atriot warms h o W ith pe through the years full of tempest and storms .
h l n But him w o, heart cold , drifting careles s a o g, ’ s on Finds no answering throb to dame nature s sweet g, ’ ’ Inviting him b ack 0 or the ocean s wild foam T ’ o r evel again round his boyhood s loved h ome .
’ Midst the scenes th at ar e cherished in sunshine and rain , By the exile whose dreams fondly p ictur e again
The vale and the mountain , the lake and the rill , ’ n A d th e wo odlands that rang with th e thrush s wild thrill .
its a 0 , here let my lay find answering c l l , ’ ’ Mid st the dreams and th e h ep es th at e er circle it all While in fancy my Spirit is winging its way
To the land of my childho od , away , far away .
A DAY DREAM OF LIFE .
a Ah , if of life sub lime , you dreamt a dre m , Then woke to find th e mockery of life ’ mon A grinning de , gl orying twould seem At all th e wrecks of poverty and strife s ea Th ese failures upon the rough , turbulent ’ m f im e des . Of fate , o t s misnamed man s t y
n A d, wh at if on awaking, you should find
Th e w orld changed from wh at it was before , An d all th e ill s of life were cast behind ’ re A curtain dripp ing with th e million s go , ’ r a Who died that o e the e rth , democracy ’ M t . ight live , and henceforth guide man s des iny
W ould not the change be worth th e price m an pa1d
In b lo ed , to thu s create a . nob ler plan , Wh ereby a new foundation could b e l aid ’ F or world of man s humanity to man , N o pl ace in su ch for cursed autocracy ’ To rule with i ron hand man s destiny . — 1 19 5 . February , 36 MOON DREAMS .
Like th e moon at evening
Shining from the sky, T h e s hadows softly cle aving
Lik e dre am s of days gone by . ’ AS to memory S m ansion , Smiling Spirits bring From out the caves of olden
Th e thoughts th at ever cl ing .
e Thus to me there comes , d ar ,
From th e long ago, f On th e winds o even , ro P assing to and f , Voices sweetly singing l O d words ever new , ’ Love s own message bringing m Across th e s eas fro you .
Like the ivy twining Round th e ruined wal ls n C lingi g, ever clinging, ’ Til the structure fall s,
Then fresh tendril s creeping,
Bind each torn p art , As soft as an gel s weep ing ’ r O e a broken h eart .
Thus around my soul , dear ,
Loving though ts entwine , f l O those h appy days of o d, t f Swee h eart days o mine , An d twiligh t softly s tealing P e aints each scene an w, Memories sweet revealing n a Visio s f ir of you .
Like summer winds a - sigh ing
Through the leafy bowers , S oft as the dewdrop s lying h With in t e Sleeping flowers . At night wh en the stars are falling There comes fro m th e realms a bove A i sweet voice ever call ng, I ’ m ’ o er . watching thee , my love
Thus d o th e smiling cup ids , E m ’ i d xploring y soul s d m eeps ,
Find a tenant th ere called memory , Wh o s lumb ers but never sleep s; And h e to their words rep lying, ’ s o Love y ung dream you gaze up on , ’ Who h ere midst a dead p ast lying Yet dying would stil l l ive on . 3 7 A HI T E THE L UN C NG OF HE L AGUE .
’ 8 Twas June of 1 79, and a glorious sun s hone down n O the towering crest o f Cro agh P atrick bl est, and the streets of West—port town ; The day was the 8th ah l gloriou s day ; wh en Davitt stoo d Si de by side o ’ With the great P arnell , wh o at length did tell f a nation s
right and pride . “ ’
o . on N man , said he , d are a boundary p lace a nation s upward tread ; S of W aile old tand firm , you sons Granau , grip tightly your ” h omestead . ’ An d list to the words of th e truest friend d owntrodden man could know e e ou t Then Davitt step p d forth , and his Silvery voic rung o — ver Sweet Mayo .
M ’ y friends , said h e , l ong th e tyrants grasp has throttled ou r suffering land ; It ’ has crushed us down wi th a b itter h ate , th e world c an t unde r stand ;
P - r s lundered our homes laid waste ou field , made desol ate our green h illside ; Whil e roughshod o ’ er graves of our sacred dead—th e ab ’ s n e e t e s minions ride . — h ’ Sh all w e th e sons of those valiant s ires , w o ne er b ent a
cringing knee , n B ow d own to th e whims of a British lord ? No! heave s , that cannot be ; An d the shout th at rent th e air in ac cents true said 1S0inging ’ P a s Then Davitt smil ed and to arnel l said , there s the n wer —M from brave ayo .
An d over th e and th e mountain top s that ringing war cry Spedhills ’ I r e t resounded from Clontarf s famous field , and echoed from Mizen H ead ; It N f blazed to the sons of th e gallant orth , the tal e o th e ’
West s awake , An d o th e sturdy S outh heard the news with j y, and its light ’ 0 E er the ast did break . r un on Then over the ocean th e gl ad cry rang, whe e th e s “ ” Old G lory shines ; ’ old Through the canyon s old of the Rockies h , through the whisp ering Southern p ines ; Oh ’ ’ a m d , th e exile 3 h eart beat high wi th pride , tho a te r di m e
his eye , I know, ’ An d D avitt s God name was on every tongue , with a bless old—Ma you , yo . h n 0 , could we r ecall th e days of t e p ast , a d have in our midst again h er OeS o 1879 The f , brave , h onest , true , steadfast men ; But some of them sleep in th eir native earth ; some in Glas nevin lay ;
’ ' ’ S ome where the sweep of th e ocean s tide o er th e rocks of Long Island p lay ; ’ ’ S ome (111 ble k B arn acarroll s h ill—som e round sweet B al 11n dm ea ’ Y a vitt s own - TRAIDE n e l Da laid in his dear S , where the su on his Mayo Sh ines . An d th e gr eat McH ale in th at l and above is breathin g a
prayer, I know, ' f On th e sturdy sons th at thou s till can bo ast, thou queen o —M th e West ayo . Ye — as s , th ey rest by th e silvery Moy some in loved C e ar ; An d some in this world l iving are , but sc atter ed , ah , wide
a ar , g th r But th ey h ail e name , no t with blush o sh ame , but with a pride in their he rts , yea ! yea ! An d they pray to th eir God for th e soil they trod on th at
proud , eventful day, ’ W the w as r e hen League launch ed , that glo ious Jun , neath ’ Croagh P atrick s sacred crest ; An d the world at l arge h eard th e new w ar cry th at thun ’ dered from Ireland s west ; o S , G od b less th e l iving, and rest the souls of thos e th at are
lying low, ’ An d ever keep bright sweet lib erty s light in the core of my —MAY h eart O. — August 5 , 1911.
THE W AN DERIN G OF SH AUN P ADRAIC AND TH E IRISH
AME RICAN LITE RARY S OCIETY.
’ ’ for v I ve b een in m any p laces , I e wandered quite a while ; ’ ’ I 0 ! tis fifteen years ago S ince I left E rin s lovely sl e . And watched th e hills of Queenstown fade away b efor e my
eyes , The headland s of old Kerry and the gold blue Irish skies h A , sure in all my ramblings I never could forget h roth a to Th e land where I was b orn , t my h e r t clings it yet,
H er history and tr aditions grand are very de ar to me ,
To disseminate them is th e obj ect of our young so ciety . o ’ l wa I S I l try to tell my ro amings , in th e best y that can ,
S o A as . ince I j ined th e I . . L . S . a literary m an H 1m cGurin arry Lannen , J M and your very humbl e friend ’ Decided that a meeting Thursday evening we d attend . ’ s So w e sou ht th e Irish Counties H all , and aid faith we l inv1ge
39 on e an d to The Kerry Ladies all , visit us next night, Tom An d hear th e brilli ant Father , a worthy Soggarth , truly “ n An H r o M . Discourse and give a lecture our With . Dooley o r W e moun the stairs , tight held in hand u overco ats and . cal ct1es ,
With h e r ts in mouth a gallant band, to meet such charming laai ma f Up on the door , then gently knocked the leader o the trio , ’ Yeu d think that w e were burglars or scoundrels in embryo . A- w n clerin who or e g would enter first, the medium , short , ll ta er , ’ e P When th e door did ep , and there al l smiles stood resid ent M L-a l r is s w o . C il h w ’ aed mill e a fa t e as her cry ; step in , we r e glad to see ye h f ’ A ! a , s weet K erry damsels , th e Lord in H eaven b e wi g] ee .
e - f Sure in w went to bas k in smiles , that c ome from rows o
pear 8 , ’ E ach colleen there w as fit to grace a lord s ho me or an
’ 1 Twas Sit righ t d own , feel quite at home , be you from C ork
or Derry, Y ’ ou re welcome here th is blessed night , said al l those girl s
from Kerry . They asked us th en ou r mision state ; Harry seemed to hav e
throat dryness , ’
B u t v o . sure I e nly found of late , h e gets a ttacks of Shyness ’ “ ’ H e s m aid I glad to meet you all , proud daughters of Dan s
C ounty , ’ ’ s n We re here becau e we re h ere , a d perhaps encro a c hing on
your bounty . ’
B u t w on t s a bu t u M u r in . I y a word , th en introd ce cG ’ ’
t e er . The orator from Lei rim , faith deceivers h e l l , Spurn H ’ M t ’ e l l tel l you o f the artyrs brave , our coun ry s great de
p artey, And r an blin M t th et g rhymer from ayo , j us wait till he gets 8 artezi a e Troth f ith , w e made th se girls feel proud that they were I rn rish bo , w e u on Th at dear land could talk p , from sundown until m orn , An d then w e bid th em all farewel l , midst smiles of colleens
ch eering, ’ a 0 , sure tis p le sant scenes l ike this makes the Celtic hearts
endearing . ’ We left ; they said don t strangers be , 0 , glad we fel t and merry ’ I ll never forget my wandering in upon the girls from Kerry .
11 0
T H T THERE ARE HE AR S T A LONG, AC USHLA.
are s t There are hearts th at long, alanna , there heart tha ’ can t forget, ’ Even thot th e years he fl eetl ng old- tim e memories linger Ye t ’ h W hen the mys ic veil , acushla , fore t e s oul is brushed
away, An d th a scene s of nigh a score of years seem but as yester éa y.
’ a th o ’ tis 0 , i t Seems so short, al nna, long, long years h ave p asse ’ An d i h of n the ve g t age; acushla , o my Shoulder s falling asz While the memories floating round me ever fresh ening in
my mind , ’ s a S eems to y why twas but yesterday I left my love behind .
nno m ’ Ah , but sure tim e ca t fo ol e, why, twill soon be twenty years
S inc e I held your h and , acushla, and I kissed away your
ears . h a e O , my h e rt was ful l to bursting, s ure I yet can feel th p ain
That welled up in my bosom when w e parted down the l ane .
When we p arted , aye , alanna , p arted never more to meet, r Savet when in the Spirit r ealms , kindred souls each oth e gree , An d n ew a s o re just , asthore , cushla , ure I think th at y u a
near , F or me ar your face so often p ictured , faith is smiling at , de .
Y o er es , the face bel oved of memory, that to me w ul d nev
0 ange , f th e ’ i Q long l ost pa st, acushl a , t s the on e link th at remains , ’ n v a i A d I e treasured it, alann , gently nursed t in my h e art, W r ound my very soul around it, yea, of life made it a p a t .
An th u d e time c om es round , acushla, ah , I wonder do yo
know ,
' ’ When y lon ging s oul goes roaming o er th e v-ales of sweet fia ye . An d1 $ 8 6 w oftimes to it th e Spots , alanna , where e used meet n? l h O th e h i l above , acus la , with th e river at our feet .
‘ r By the iver sid e , al anna , through th e meadow , up th e hill , h h To w ere everyt ing was silent , aye , acushla , calm and still , ’ a o of S ve the wild bird s n tes m elodious , or th e rustling th e
recs , r r n t h O theb Sighing winds of h eaven , bo n e o e westward
reez e. 42 ’ W ell you know th e p lace, al anna , sure tis there I often go When through sp ace my sou l is Spe eding to old h aunts in
loved Mayo . o And my compass , memory guiding, brings my Sp irit ship t n o d W u an I . here_ in days gone by, acushla, y sat hand in hand
h a n Now, the long , long years Ve vanished , a d it s eems but yesterday s Sinc e I h eld your hand , acushla , and I ki sed your tears
’ n o r v ot A d in h p e , in j oy o sorrow, s ure I e g fond memories Ye ’ R n a e ound a h eart th at lo gs , acushla, y , a heart th at can t forget .
B ’ E HO E Y SHANNON S LOV LY S R .
m a e O! Limerick Asthore , I y never s e you more , ’ ’ ll et n ew But I ne er forg the time past and gone , ’ When by Shannon s Side , W here my frail barque kissed the tid e , -I alon ramb led merrily g, along,
I ramb led merrily along .
’ ’ o r s n 0 ! Ge rge s st eet o fair , do t I wish that I w ere there ’ o Then I d cross the bridge the c annon stood up n, ’ Oft they barked in days of yore; ’ But they ve long sinc e ceased to r ear, l l Still th e Shannon sings th e same o d song, o d song, l S till the Shannon Sings th e same o d song .
n ' i 0 1 o the Side next Cl ar e , the treaty ston e s there , A ’ witnes s mute of E ngland s cruel wrong,
- The solemn p ledge you gave , a Ah ! you broke bloodthirsty kn ve ,
An d let loo se again your murdering throng, throng, An i d let loo s e aga n your Hessi an throng .
’ ’ P l ll n erh ap s I l go back yet , but at l east I ot forget
Th e city famed in s tory and in song, ’ r fiel E From wh ere S a s d, rin s pride , n 0 ! o e night did b oldly r ide , ’ An d h s et K a w e ing Billy s p l ns all rong, all wrong, ’ nd A h e s et King Billy s p l ans all wrong.
no a e ’ I w will s y g od bye , and p erhap s next week I ll try To t keep the muse a r aveling right along, C From l ew Bay to Clogh er H ead , nd o A Clear Isle , t Doagh Beg . ’ or t f o Ol f Irel and , you re he land o song, f song, ’ . a f Yes , Irel nd , you re th e land o song . — 11 July, 19 . 43 L A EM DEAR O D CL R ORRIS TOWN .
In fancy I am roaming now, where th e hills are smiling own n O gabled roofs and streets I loved , dear old C laremorris town ; And altl th e tender thoughts of years com e rush ing back
0 day,
To one who here in exile dreams, four thousand miles away . S Four thousand m iles from weet Mayo , the ocean waves e b tween, ’ M — o er y Spirit Ship a gliding to hills and valleys green , ’ To lake and stream and woodland sweet and bogs of pu rpl d r brown, I s ee h em all a- stretching ou t from dear old Claremorri s
town .
’ 0 , memory , good , kind , trusty friend , untru e you ve never
een , W ith brush of skil l you p aint at will my boyhood paths
again . o e Once m re I roam round home , swe t home , a h appy , care
free boy, as o When life w one l ng golden h our of bliss , fond h op e
and joy . ’ m MO h il m ad I p assing now by p l lake , the leads to Brookhill ; ’ ’ oulon s I cross ol ler meadow , dale and brake and out by D m 1 ’ An d on thro Tubber alley dark and up each Sligh t incline ’ Till now I stand upon the hill overlo oking old Crossb oyne :
th w a From h ere e inding Robe rolls on , a Silvery stre k
through green, ’ o s Then cr ss th e weep of purp le moor , meandering by Ta h n u ee , P ull weela Thru a , dear old Spot , by Hollymount to go . n 0 , fain would I just fol low o its cour s e through Sweet M ayo . But I rn u s t with my wandering soul keep to the well - known tracii H t ’ By amil on s green vine clad co t to Ballindine , then b ack ’ Thro wood an d moor until I reach where smiling h ills look own h e C Upon streets my b oyhood knew , dear old laremorris t1 own .
M - y Spirit stil l a j ourneying on to holy Knock I go , ’ O er l on g mile s of hill and dale each footstep wel l I f , Sil now, ’ C H B allin sm all By astlegar and eaney s mill , the road to , B allybr eh an L eu h n am on B arn ac arroll R z y lake and g , , ock f1elg—a11 . ’ ’ 0 s o , sure , the places com e fast, e en thro th e lap se of years , ’ W h o wonders that the ex 11e s eyes are n ew bedimmed with
tears , ’ But thro th eir mist I see again the green hill s smiling down ’ C Upon th e spot I e er wil l love, dear, dear laremorris town .
’ I m no K K ro am ing w up illeen hill , ilb eg lo oms into view, old o road D ru mk een The b g , next comes , then Ballygowan ,
eo, An d then beyond the railroad bridge , one fork leads to K ylemore , ’ on M loon con n r The other thro eelick, th en C o hill , Asthore . From h ere th e workh ouse I c an s ee and also sweet Brook 1 7 lis ttan in Th e g g l ake b etween them both , its waters c alm and o 1ll St ’ An d ag in th e p ictur e greets my eyes of green hill s smiling gown o s an d of C o Up n th e treets gabl ed roofs dear l aremorris t wn .
’ lon in In fancy I th e g g feel that comes o er me , you know , To l for t rdr oe see again in all its bloom th e o d at A , a To drink a dr ught of purest air , p erfumed by hawthorn sweet
n n u lin . A d gaze enrap t at miles o f moor , e p rp g at my feet fi l rr st i u n Boh ergarra l ake , May e d beyond , then Ca a ee a hill . ad 0 , wonder not those pictured scenes my eyes with s tears
fill , ’ ’ i t M on s That w th b lest S . ichael s th e mount like angel e er smile down o Up on tthe streets my b oyhood loved , dear, dear Clarem rris own . ‘ ’ To Mo u t street -I s end my be st wish my h eart s love to the g , quare ,
A kiss I s end to James street, 0 , would th at I were there . T o Church street, wh ere I went to school , I send a h eart felt l h S g , I a o wish th t I could lap se the p ast and nce more b e a b oy . l But , ah , friends , sure th at cannot b e ; l ife now must run ts S ' pan , ’ But ere I die I h op e to see wh ere my life s p ath first began , An d tread once more th es e emerald h ills th at sm 111n gly look down On streets and homes my boyhood knew in loved Claremorris o n t w . — 1 2 . May, 19
4 5 A OF S ONG LOVE .
’ We ll Sing a song of the absent land ’ That w e ne er may s ee again ; E S ach mountain scarp and hining strand ,
Moor , meadow, vale and glen ,
- Th e cross ro ads , h aunt of h appy hours
With comrades young and gay, Of rambles through those fairy bower s ’ W e knew in l ife s noonday .
’ 0 , sure , we ll sing a song o f love .
Th e friends of long ago ,
Of memories fond , the treasure trove ,
Of exil e hearts you know . w N o matter where e wander to , ’ W h ate er our fortune b e , f I hearts within us still b e at true , ’ l for O d l and , we ll long thee .
’ Ah e e , sure , w l l long and pin and Sigh , ’ E en though it b e in vain ,
For scenes beloved in days gone by , ’ ’ r A M F a o er the tlantic s ain . ’ S o th u s we ll Sing a song tonight , , o r Th ugh sorrow be ou lot , ’ ’ That freedom s dawn may soon b eam bright , ’ ’
For her w e ve ne er forgo t .
That dear , dear l and our childhood bl est,
Where sleep our kith and kin , th ’ Sweet i sland on e ocean s breast, Ou r h op es are centered in od G bless her emerald hi lls and del ls .
G eld bless her children all , An d may the light that gl oom disp el s o Burst thr ugh th e clouds that thrall . —Augus t
T AN EPI APH .
H e m ay have b een an arrant knave , H e may h ave b een a foo l , An d from th e cradle to the grave
H ad broken each golden rule , But yet within his pulsing breast
S ome spark of good there lay , That now when h e h as gone to res t Will c ause some one to s ay ’ H ma n e w as a .
116 E A S WE T ISL ND OF S ONG . h ’ r E rin , thy b ard s t e fo centuries Sleep ing,
Live yet in thy music all soulful and sweet , i Their Spirits in song grand traditions are keep ng, Th at in ages to come thy proud ch ildren will greet W of r M ith the tale thy glo y in times p ast, avourneen . Ah ! thrilling th e story thy h arp strings can tell Wh en th e mantle of freedom unto th ee returning ’ s Rings forth once again with thy oul s m agic sp el l .
n Sure , Musa herself makes her home in thy mountai s ’ n on A d rides the breez e thro thy emerald val es ,
W hile her nymphs at thy r ivers , thy l akes and thy fountains ’ ’ E er h erald h er coming thro woodland and dales , The wind b earing onward in lou d Swelling mo tion ’ Nature s song th at still sweeter in cadence grows , ’ Til it j oins the soft murmuring croon of th e ocean ,
Then over th e earth it a caroling goes . And that is the reason w hy everyone calls th ee a Sweet isl nd of song, Acushl a Machree . ’ r ’ F o e en th o th e chains of the tyrant enthrall th ee , ’ Th e sh ackles but h eightened thy soul s melody, ’ r F o all thro the ages in sunsh ine and sorrow ,
Thy ch ildren, rej oicing or weep ing in song, n I th e p ast, through th e pre s ent and ever th e morrow, W , ill tenderly ever thy soul b ear along .
’ n d i b f A music s thy soul , 0 , N o e o nations ,
Long, long, wert th ou dead wer e it not for th e charm , H eaven born in thy breast, pulsing proud anim ations ,
P o . utting h p e in thy heart , giving strength to thy arm o S thus let thy song, diadem of thy glory , R ’ ing out thro th e ages vast, coursing along, 7 Till it tells to the unb orn millions thy story,
Green Erin, Alanna , s weet island of song .
MY OWN , MY SWEE T MAYO . I o he' could n t well forget the e, t oc ean waves divide , ’ To l a e me you re sti l the fairest , n o m tter what b etid ,
Th e day th at I forget the e my sp irit wings its w ay, An d of leaves b ehind its earthly cloak , a cold , cold corp se
c ay. In o y uth I trod thy valleys , thy hill s I rambl ed down , ’ Barefooted oft I wandered o er thy moorl ands purp le brown , An d fancy p aints m e pictures of scenes th at well I know , m M ” Th en how coul d I forget thee , y own , my sweet ayo
a o I c e r o Long years g left th e , , a wand re to r am , ’ Mid h om e strangers in an alien land , to seek anoth er , But all th e gl are and glitter th at surrounds m e h ere today
Fades into naught as longing com es for b ills far , far away , F or lake s and rills and rivers and woodland p athways sweet , ’ That memo ry 8 p age will gather to scatter at my feet , nd ’ ’ A onc e again I feas t my eyes th o in fancy tis I know , ’
I oa M . r m through youth s elysium , my own , my sweet ayo 47 TO MOTH ER IRELAND .
m r C ould I but love thee dearer , could I but give thee o e, ’ ’ ’ Ti own d o s at thy feet, my loved one , I lay pr ud freedom s
S ore, ’ o t But al l I ve g t o give thee , dear , is all a man can give , ’ An d fl csh and b lood and brain of mine is th ine while e er I i e s is 0 , would that fate would grant thee, dear , ju t only what .
me, A ’ m im wh o is nation s right, that once thou h eld , fro H
1v1n e. o ’ i A nati n s right that yet you claim , s yours , and yours
a one, a N o s upp li nt, thou , on craven knee , before a British throne , ’ But as a queen who dares deny the str anger s right to stand ’ n Supreme a d sol e dictator o er thy ch ildren in thy land . o lood f 0 , could th e blo d wi thin thee , d ear , the b o p atriot
de ad, h T e b lood that drenched thy emerald breas t, by b aneful
tyr ant Shed , r im C y out to H who reigns above , for vengeance would it
cry, ’ hu Until to c rimson e it turned the blue of h eaven s Sky . An d m n to p ass-ion would give sway and strike another elow l , T h o break th e chains that b ind th ee , d ear , a captive to t e
fe The e th at do es not know thy worth , nor for thy feelings
care , ’ W h ose hirelings oft with bruta l force has driven thee to despalr H o as sc urged th e e with a b itter hate, with sorrow l ined thy bro n t A d laughed to scorn the rights you cl aimed , the righ s ’ e c a in n ow you r l im g , ’ ’ d tl ea But there s a ay, s your day, d r , for surely it must come W , hen clarion voic e in accents true , or roll of beating drum , ’ Will tell the world th at for thy rights no long thou lt delay , ’ E en ho t th ou callest up on thy sons to arm for th e fray . 0 a , could we love the tyrant , dear, an d kiss th e blo ody h nd , Th at s tilled th e hearts wh o dared to b eat with pity for their
land ,
The land that died a million deaths and Sh ed a bill ion tears , ’ S r r d c ourged by th e ty ant s blo ody leash , fo seven hun red
years . 0 n , no , our heri tage is h ate , for by the God o h igh , ’ ’ ’ We c an t forget th e patriot s fate , th e moth er s anguished
The decad would ris e from out their graves and smite u s
wh ere we sto od , ’ Did w j oiri hands with hands red dyed in Irel and s nobl est efl ooti 48
E A I LINES WRITT N ON A MAYO P TR OT.
In Glasnevin cemetery I stood ,
Full many a year ago, s W ith gentle footstep there I trod , l An d Spoke in accents ow .
B eside a grave , beneath a tree wh l l I knel t, and prayed a e, ’ n h o Oer o e w gladly gave h is life , ’ f e F or love o E rin s Is .
o Ah l wh o would think that there lay n e, l F eetfooted as th e d eer , n A d that the manly h eart was stilled , That knew n ot what was fear ; Hi s spirit proud , they could n ot break , f Threats were o no avail , ’ Twas h is young life th ey th en did take , ’ n I Mountj oy s cursed j ail .
Oh P N , atrick ally , brave and bold ; ’ Th u r o t with th e Lord on high , ’ On th ou earth d be , if British gold Thy loyalty could buy ; ’ But a traitor thou would st never b e ’ To Ireland s cause s o grand ,
Thy fondest hopes were l iberty , F or faith and fatherland .
Ac cursed b e th ey wh o gave thy youth I ’ nto th e tyrant s power , An d o may th eir bl ood , and pr geny,
Be blasted from th at hour . Oh I th ; reland , thou nursed e sordid knave ,
Who sold your rights away, An d sent thy p atriot l oyal and br ave To ’ h sleep ne ath t e cold clay .
But the dawn is nearing n ew for thee , M y own , my native land , An d - the day star of thy destiny , IS shining bright and grand , Thy br ead demen sn es are onc e again ’ m r With h o esteads d otted o e ,
The landlord and h is. foreign henchman Forever leave thy shore ;
150 n n l S leep o ! S leep o thou n ob e youth , Beneath th e sheltering tree ; n ot I Fear , when reland gains her righ ts , h Forgotten t ou wilt b e . N o - ! thin e amongst the hallowed names , Of Irel and ’ s heroes shal l r Be reco ded in her h all of fame , o Thou martyr brave fr m B alla . — 24 July , 1909 .
EO E ’ ’TATE KIN G G RG S R PATCH .
’ ’ o er a w From the oce n comes th e ne s that Britain s on the j ob , An d o farm ing is quite popular , l ed by the King, b e g b ; F or e royalty is making friends with Sp ade and Sh ov l , sure - n ew n The princesses blue blooded are experts o manure , An d n ew th e humble tubers by kingly h ands ar e laid old W s P a e Behind ind or al ce in b ds by princes made, Wh ile with ho e in hand the Queen do es s tand o ld mother
earth to scratch , ’ ’ for they r e raising Iri sh Mu rp hies n ew in George s tater
patch . 1 E M
’ ’ r O ld f Th e S e, o E ngland s emblem , e er di fuses sweet p erfume , to But the h igh bred onion now it must give up som e room .
Sure , cabbages and Yankee beans are leaders of the hour ’ ’ ’ An d claim th e tater blos som c an t b ecom e th e nation s
flower .
But when regal dukes and duchesses its praises loudly s ing, n A d help to rais e its standard loyal to their Queen and King, Where is th e oth er vegetabe can ever b e the m atch ’ W ith th k n gly Irish Murphy raised in G eorge s tater p ae6I i
L et th e farmers of this great broad land look to their laurels
n ew , ’ E S i e to urop e kingly l n by righ t divine are turning the plow , n f A d Moth er E arth is coming back as ruler o the free ,
W hile rejuvenated nature smiles upon democracy,
Then let al l toil and give the soil the best care that th ey can ,
For the farmer is acknowledged n ew to be the kingly man .
S o let us doff our bonnets n ew and how our hirsute thatch , ’ “ ’ To the royal Irish Murphies in King George s tater p atch . — 9 a 1 1 7. Ch icago , M y , 1 Ma 1 e s [ From news item in Tuesday morning, y , p ap r ] ,
5 1 TH E M E F T PE E F AL O HE S CIES .
’ (AS written in answer to Ii iplings p oem under th e same l 1 l t t e . ) ’ Coming down thro al l th e ages Since the world first b egan, th f Woman bravely bore her burdens as e mother o th e man . C e h o almly gavl wit love unequaled, al l that childho d did entai " ’ I was th el female of the sp ecies that gave manhood to the
ma e.
In t w the m of pain and sorro , in th e thick of car e and !mi s des, e o Tend r ar e th e ministrati ns of the mother , sweeth eart,
Wife, Great the wealth of l ove and kindness that was never known to ai a o Did the fem le f th e S p ecies ever l avish on th e male .
n I th e b earing of h er burd en, from the cradl e to the grave — , Who hals been the m ost u n s elfis h who has been th e willing s ave ’ — To the oi Sprin g of her bosom d own the long road of tra vai l ’ th Twas the female of e sp ecies , giving ever to th e male .
In th h S i n f t e cloister, in the O p ce, o the gory field o dea h , ’ id- M s t the din and grim e of battle , like a loving angel s breath h e h as S so othed , calmed and comforted , made easier the
trail ,
Y a . e , the femal e of th e sp ecies creditrix is of the male
’ a Ah , sometimes she s wh at man h as made her , warped and
wicked thing, ’ la to m w ho Th e p y y of the onster , for passion s sake Will 1b ring, n o s Wealth or ho eyed w rds al l Sinister , that their power may i l p reva ,
An d some female of the s pecies fal ls a martyr to th e male .
men Love , that pure and holy virtue , i s the cloak that l ewd bring
To the barriers of inno cence , hiding well the p oisoned sting,
An d with soft alluring phrases . they a S ister soul assail e Till some female of th e sp ecies sacrifices to the mal .
Ah es t , y , trusting sacrifices , to a coward and a bru e , S ’ of Lost to every manly feel ing, atan s cub devoid truth , i t— a Dev l , viper , gormandizer , seeking naught but lus wass il
B endin g female of th e spec ies wi th th e talons of th e male .
5 2 Tears th e tender h eart asunder, when th e mask they cast
am e, om an elfi h Laughs to scorn th e trusting w , and wi th w s howl s deride ’ Th e fount his h ands unh oly tore ap art b ecause twas frail , m A fair female of th e species thus ade hideous by the male .
bo Skeptics , fiends , foul , ungodly , w your head s so crowned
with sh am e , ar e but For the weak and erring woman you alone to blame , r r Th at her stronge , abler Sist ers a e at last upon your trail , P roves th at the female of th e spec ies h as found out the
arrant mal e.
0 , th e femal e of the sp ecies , with th e soft and tender h and ,
IS the bulwark of all nations , is th e pride of every land , S h e a o f e th t gives of l ve unstinting , su f ring never made her
quad, h o f f t e r e . Yea, the female o the sp ecies is e s l p p o the male
T AL I TI! E ’ E A NA UR ! E D CI N S ADDR S S TO H IS SON .
’ en rn S alute that starry banner , s , for neath i t you were bo . f ’ It was conceived , my boy, up on th e dawn o freedom s morn . Each glowing strip e and gleaming star shoul d ch erished b e o y y u , ’ fee n No n a s hand must ever mar our l oved red , white and l b ue.
Y l d our dad would gladly die , a , for Moth er d ear and you , ’ li om Defendin e and freedom neath our loved red , white g1 1) l e an u .
I f ’ ’ I foe Should e er endanger your dad s adop ted land , ’ ’ r ll Be foeman, kin o stranger , tis by th at flag I s tand . ’ ’ An d e l di do whil e I v b lood to shed, son , I l proudly e or ’ ’ M r old y p a ; neath freedom s emblem grand red , white and 1 su e.
Y oo our granddad w as an alien , your dad an alien , t , ’ n e u r O died , th e oth er s willing, for o loved red , white and
b lue .
o l Through time as y u grow up , l ad , et that flag b e your pride , Y ’ our moth er s father loved i t and for it bravely died , ’ An d too you must e er b e ready to give life for it , , ’ s ldier d Like tru e and steady neath our l ove red , white and ol e u .
' ‘ ’ Th en h ere s to every stripe and star that w aves o er m e and
you . ’ ’ ’ We l l d ie fore foeman s h and Sh all mar our grand red , white md a blue . — C c 9 1917. hi ago , February , 5 3 OE IN P SY LAN D .
' Of r ills of o rippling , babbling br oks and purl ing streams , we
Sing, f o O w odlands sweet , th e cool retreat wh ere notes of wild
birds ring, f ' s O hills and dells , of lake and fells , and val leys smiling fair , Of n moorlands brown , of crags that frow , and i sla nds rich
and rare , f of a O childhood haunts, merry j unts with Mary, Mag or
a e , f t d r th O trys ing stiles a own the l ane o by e garden gate .
Of meadows green where maidens glean th e grain the reaper m ews , Of waving fields who se corn yi elds its treasure to him who ow Of bush and brake and paths that maake life ’ s j ourney o d ub ly sweet, ’ O S hin in s tr an ds f g and bo ld h eadlands , that exile eyes e er
greet, " ’ f n of O gliste ing wave , Ships that brave the ocean s foamy rac Of eyes so blue , of hearts so true th at bring the rover back .
’ Of golden h air , of ch eeks s o fair , of love that ne er will d ie , f e of k O roving blad , mossy glade , of gold and azur e s y; l lim f a f Of su t y e e, o h rvest tim e , o flowers that blush and rlo m l o , ’ n I gardens fair , and fill th e air with N ature s sweet p erfume , ’ in h Of w ds that sigh , th e b anshee s cry, of how t e fairies
danc e, ’ r Of love s sweet song, the madding th ong, of battle steeds
wh o prance .
’ ’ s The thru h s thrill , th e whippoorwill , th e cuckoo s wel l known call ; ru in h - r Th e tower, t e leafy b ower , the moss g own garden w aee un The setting s , th e rising m oon, th e l ittle twinkling star ; The candl e light that Shines at night for those beyond the
b ar , ’ t d The old bog road , youth s loved ab ode , the little wh i e washe
cot,
- - not. The viol et blue , th e p ansies hue , th e sweet forget me
Th e sh amrock green , th e p ike and Skeen , th e harp without
the crown ,
The village street, the friends you meet, the lad from your
home town . e e W i n The thoughts divin , O, sweetheart min , the kiss , the ning smile E Th e Winsom e lass , the mountain p ass , the l ittle merald isle , r th The lowing kine that slowly wind at eve ac oss e lea , ’ a oo for o er Th e dreamy mood , th e he rts that br d loved ones a the s e . 5 4 h e And t s e asthore , and many more , in rhyme and rhythm
free , th e t Make up th emes from which we ge all soulful melody, And o on f thus it will g ever until the end o time , F or s on mankind wil l bur t into s g in every age and clime , An d all the phras es s ad or gay that po ets love to u s e ’ Are 8 of h found in Poesy golden realm , the kingdom t e mus e. — 1 July, 19 0.
IF MOTHE R EVE CAME BACK TO EAR TH TODAY.
E e er h e a of a o v never w e a corset in t d ys long g , And as of u s s o Sh e w mother the race , at least they tell ; ’ H er figure must have b e en th e b est th e world e er did know , ’ By Go d s own hand a perfect model made . r E ve never w e e a s ilken gown when visiting she went, r f an i s H e rob e o fig leaves fresh She donned, d with t wa
content, An d for the gee gaws such as we s ee n ow h er coi n she never n spe t, ’ S o husband Ad am couldn t h er upbraid .
ha h n a o Eve never d t e Optio from a dozen h ts to cho se, d - Nor wardrobe of fine linen, s ilk ho se an high heeled Sho es ;
No servants h ad She , either , to bully and a bus e.
A p erfect lady She was in every way. ’ v Yet E e w as always fitly dres sed in n ature s sweetest smil e, h s n r n o as S e u ed o frill s , comp lexio n p ill s o fad s w know s y An d for go od looks p erh ap s Sh e may h ave b eaten by a mi le r He fussy daughters of th e present d ay .
e r n n n Ev neve , ever paint or p owder rubbed up o h er face , ’ ’ Such things I m sure s he d look u pon as b eing a d isgrace, h But th at s eem s all th e rage n ow with the femal e of t e race . ’ a And by my soul they th ink tis simply gr nd , l Good o d soap and water in th e discard they h ave cast, ’ Th e pain t g and th e p owder puff n ew o er th e face is pass era n l a A d the h ea thy, clear complexion is disappe ring fast , n O e seldom s ees i t new in this gr eat land .
’ n o ma A d if Mother Eve came b ack tod ay Sh e d wonder , y u y e ‘
. r At th e inconsistent reasoning of our Sister sufl a gette,
W h o equal rights with m anhood claim , h er privileges yet i To rema n just as th ey were b efore . ’ N ow e n — r - r o w men are ot a kicking o a g owling, don t y u know , ’ f . w o n d I men wa t to o m en s work , fight , p low, and reap and o s w ,
But ch iv alry will get a scare and off th is planet go, ’ Tis simply this and nothing more . - 4 2 S eptember 1 , 191 . 55 AM SH ROCKS .
(On receiving Shamrocks from my little friends , Franci s loomah ar a and Mary J . Neary , C , County G alway) .
Speak not to me of j ewels rare Thos e priceless gems a king might prize ; a Rich , fl shing bright beyond comp are Respl endent a s the sunlit skies ; ’ F or they re but cold , poor , lifeles s things ’ ’ E O en tho they flash and glitter S , Besid e the gift my letter brings
From far off fields and friends I know .
’ Tis but a few smal l sprigs of green
Begirt around with humbl e cl ay, But fairer gems were never s een
Th an th os e that greet my eyes today , For sure of loving h earts th ey tell An d tender hands th at from the s od P lucked fresh and green in fairyed dell o Those emblems o f our h om e and G d.
M e ethink s I y t can s ee the dew ,
Like angel tears , that softly lay
Up on those leaves as fresh they grew ,
‘ ’ Round that dear h om e in old Galway ; An d s ure this l ittl e b it of earth e N w h ard and dry th at gird s them round , s I soil that gave my fath er birth , a For Galw y w as h is native ground .
S o r doub ly dea to me , are tho s e Sweet Slender Sprays of S hamrock green Three le aves as on e together grows ’ od s G unity th e p ar ent stem . a F ith , Hope , and Love , from whose fount springs ’ Th e strength that e er in union lies ; B efor e its voice th e rul e of kings An d ruthless s way of tyrant fli es .
God ble ss th e littl e h and s and h earts . To m w e who this priceles s gift I o , ’ ’ Tis love like theirs th at e er imp arts ’ To Sp irits bowed , l eve s h eavenly glow . An d as on tender leaves I pr ess ’ S s P oft kis on th is St. atrick s day , My spirit flies wi th fond caress in l To you dear friends o d Galway .
1 . March 9, 19 3
DEAR OLD MAYO.
I . ’ a O , th e fault was mine , or we ne er h d p arted , And life had been wh at it ough t to b e ; But the die was c ast ere yet I started
To know thy worth , Agr a Machree ! ’ o Twas nly when in my wild , wild roaming ’ N no eath alien skies , with friend to cheer , ‘ lon l h - Th at my e y eart w as ever homing, An d pining for thee , loved Mayo dear .
II .
S ad s ad , , th e path that the exile wanders ! ’
For sad s th e thoughts that remembranc e brings , In th e lonely night as he sits and ponders , Th e scene th at ever to memory clings ; 0 , th ose olden days th at were prized s o l ightly ,
The golden hours th at ch ildhood knew, C ’ ould th ey return , h ow I d clasp th em tightly , ’ An d n e er again woul d I roam from you .
Dear , dear old land , how my soul is yearning th Mo To rove once mor e by e rippl ing y,
But fate decrees. there is no r eturning
To - th e happy days , wh en a care free boy I ’ roamed thy moors , and o er hill s I wand ered ; O o , th e thoughts wel l u p and they thrill m e s ,
Till I lapse th e waste of th e years I squandered ,
t . Th at left m e far from he e, loved Mayo
’ ! Ma But ah chree , th ere s no use in Sighing, ’ Th o back the tears sure I cannot keep , ’ F or hear e the l ove I you , Asthor s undying, An d s with thoughts of you I am lulled to leep . ’ Then my soul fl ies out o er th e b ounding ocean , R o fl ow To when ob e and M y ever rippling , An d seem to sing in their winding motion , “ Ma H l ! y eaven bless th ee , O oved Mayo
V .
Y s ran u a e , may Heaven bless th ee , ol d G d earest , ’ From Ballaghaderreen o er to Achill Isl e ; s An d from Benmore Head down to Cong the faire t , M y bounteous nature upon thee smil e . ’ ! O, th at s my heartfel t wish , Acushla ’ -s r Awake , asleep , wh ere oe e I go ,
An d fond th ough ts I send to thy s hore Alanna , For proud am I of dear Old Mayo . — April , 1913. 58 ’ Respectfully inscribed to Limerick s famous di sciple of P Musa, ort Costa , California .
’ P s on G o oetic of arryowen , tho far fr m her you stray , A “ ” cross th e foam to h ome , sweet home you own loved Mon egea, ’ - G o es sapphic gems a wafting o er th e gently flowmgo F eale ’ z h er l That to the whisp ering yp s there , an exil e s ove reveal .
Within your breast the tender sp ark of memory bursts to
ame , ’ f Till Limerick , proud o valiant sons who brilliant made
her name . ’ H er blessing s ends to you loved one with mother s fond
caress , An d s on n S glorie in h er absent s , h er ow famed T . D . .
Let humble woo er of th e muse in fancy clasp your hand , ’ “ An d iI d aughts of love divine we ll toast ou r Mother iang — ’ M t . B ra Fro m izen Head to Garvan Isl es , from Achil l o er o y. ’ W oul d sh e were garbed in freedom s smil es , our fondest
Wish today .
0 well I know your pulsing heart b eats fervently and true l ’ ’ i ar fie d . Like S s d s dauntless veterans , you ll nobly e or do An d wh en some future day w e meet , with j oy your hand I ’ ll press
- Till then may H eaven bless th e p ath of far fam ed T . D . S . 1 April 13, 19 3 .
E E ALL TOG TH R.
l A l togeth er children banded , n r on e O e fo all and al l for , ’ Faction s blighting sh ip s have stranded An d our eyes have seen the sun Ris e above th e troubled waters Like a God sent b eacon grand ’ Cal ling E rin s sons and daugh ters o On closer ties f r moth erland .
l i A l together , friendship seal ng, ’ ’ A children s caus e for E rin s weal ;
Love subl ime all p ast wound s h ealing,
On e and all sh ould h app ier feel . In bonds of kinsh ip n ow reb orn Thro ’ hearts th at give with clasp of hand A children’ s love to l igh t th e morn
In brighter hop es for moth erland . 1 19 . November, 3 5 9 ’ TH EN HE RE S TO MOTH ERLAN D .
We cannot s oon forget th e friends
The real friend s and true , ’ ’ An d oft we ll meet where pleasure lands Its charms like morning dew ; ’ ’ An d w ith Go d s help w e ll s ee the day ’ When friendship s sterling band
- i l E n o rc es thousands s uch as th ey, Th en h ere ’ s to Motherland !
’ Ye t s , here s to her whose tender breas f ’ ’ O t felt the traitor s sting, A ’ h s ye, here s to her w o yet i b lest With hearts that ever cling
To ideals by which mankind true , n flin h in l U c g y will s tand . ’ Then her e s a wish , dear friends , to you , An d here ’ s to Motherl and !
Ah ’ , sure , tis only once w e l ive , An d only onc e we die ; If ur of o all we cannot give , Then nob ly let us try ; h G ive of t e best within us then , And t calmly ake our . stand ’ Long with the fold - embattled wh en ’ ’ M Tis here s for otherland .
TH E M B M T MOY OON EA S ON HE .
I th watch ed e silvery moon arise , The s ight it w as entrancing ; It shed its beams from out th e skies An d sent them madly dacing ’ Up on th e river s rippling br east
With seeming indiscretion , I I ’ ll th ough t the fairies , be b lessed , H ad n come to take poss essio .
They danced along, I watch ed th e while , As there I sat in rapture ; Sure if th e scene it would not s po il I ’ d t try a beam o c ap ture . ’ G od grant some d ay er e l ife is o er A trip I ’ ll take w ith joy To watch th e moonbeams dance once more o Upon the ripp ling M y.
60 T HE GIRLS F ROM TIP PERARY. (Respectfully inscri bed to the Tipp erary Ladies ’
Association . )
’ ilin s Oh , ca swee t I ve met gal ore h ol ir l n S inc e I left t e d ear d s e a d, Fair as th e skies th at light th e shore Of their loved mother , Ireland , An d wh ile they all were queenly fair n A d Winsome as a fairy . I doff my humble caub een h ere To the girls from Tipp erary .
h A , sure their sp arkling gl ance you meet ’ M - idst j oyous throngs a dancing, ’ As thro j i g an d reel with flying feet
They go with s tyl e entrancing, Then with soft voic e and winning smile Of a Lizzi e , Mag or M ry Your wafted back to E rin’ s Isle An l d brave o d Tipperary .
’ ’ ’ r l ee Sure , tis o e G a t s nobl e crest ’ The s un s brigh t rays a - sh ining ’ E e ’ r gird Su ir s. fai r and rippling breast
With a gold and silver lining . ’ ’ An e d tis th ere that E rin s sons , Machre ,
Of th e foe were never chary, For they were always b acked , you s ee,
By the girls of Tiperary.
’ An d i kh am , yea , twas there th at K c , he , o e h is G d r st soul in glory, ’ er fough t to set old Ireland fre e F rom the tyrant , grim and gory ; An d yet his sp irit p roudly l ives
By lough and mountain dreary. A e y , wh erever H eaven offspring gives T o the homes of Tipp erary .
’ This night we ll drink a silent toast , ’ ’ - n n Th o far from A er s waters , Th at E rin wel l may proudly boast “ ’ Tipp erary s exiled d aughters , For tho ’ far away from motherl and ’ Th eii hearts h ave ne er grown weary
Of lovinOg dear o ld Ireland ,
Those gir ls from Tipperary. 1 14 March 29, 9 .
6 1 ME C D T E I MONU N T LUB AY A C LT C PARK . Ma (Respectfully dedic ated to rtin S h er—idan: ) h a - a- a O , h ear it come rustling, whistling and bustling ; h o a - - on h e s a O , hear it c m e hurtl ing t oft M y morning breeze ; S ee the crowds th at off to Celtic P ark to watch the games
are hustling . ’ rr h A a , mocky baun , there s not a doubt , it surely is the ll c eese . ' lon h - Come g and s ee th em go it in t e three mil e race , ye ej i vi l ! ’ m The champions of the world , ah , begob I not content ’ Till I see P at Flynn of Ireland beat Koh lemain en on the evel m At the games this very Sunday of th at club , th e Monu ent .
’ ’ n d m an They ll be running, aye , a j ump ing, sure , , you ll be
delighted , And h e a divil— e t footb ll games , ye faith y never saw the l e . ’ n Sure , you ll thi k you are in Ireland when th e old green flag ’ you ve sighted , . ’ An d th l s - e ca lin all a dancing, tis a sight for eyes to strike .
S I c an t a l ure . d escrib e it l to you , you mus t b e there to s ee ii It — ’ will only cost a quarter b etter ne er you money spent . S o C P take th e car to eltic ark , a crowd will sure be in it , to s e - e On their way e th e great games of that club , th M onument .
ULSTE IA T AT R UP O D E . p i Wh at is that noisy holl ering ? says Mc herson to McQua d. ’ a- th That s Boney Law speeching, e p olice sergeant said , ’ H e s a- - preaching factionism to th e Carson Craig brigade ,
While they rave and curse , all law and order scorning, S ’ ’ ure they re drilling, yes , th e re drilling, with their deadly
wooden guns . ’ e They r Sp oiling for a fight , begob , those brave and valiant ones is th e th e wh o Whose motto , best man is one yells and runs , ’ Yet they d whip th e British lion in th e morning .
is ? Wh at that awful cursing says the mother to the maid . ’ h e O T at s som rangemen conversing, the p olice serge ant said . Sure th ey u rs e the P op e a million times wh il e they are on a ej p ra e . . Th ei r r an ti n gs V il e with b lasph emy adorning . , An d like yel low curs a - yelp ing their b ark worse than their 1 e . ’ Tis to h ll with all th e P apists they ar e yel ling day and mgel ' While th ey rave and bluff and bluster that they ’ re ready now 0 fig An d th e whip British lion in the morning . 62 W r hat is that c ate wauling s ays the j ailbird to the j ade . ’ a a th Th t s the Loyalists cheering, e police sergeant said . F or C arson just delivered a windy, wild tirade , ’ of Full prejudice , a rascal s vile suborn ing, And n with hymns you hear th em singing, th ey ow try to fool
th e Lord , 0 M i an h arran u es While e , th e p ious fakir , g th e Orange h 0 I ge th e K P Loyal to ing and arliament, brothers al l , and th en h e s cor e ’ e d But w whip the British lion in the m orning .
’ is What that tune they re pl aying ? says Home Rul e unafraid . ’ s ern e O th That s range donkeys braying, e p olic e Sergeant s ai ci ’ o n t r n Tis resistance day at Belfast , c ve e s o p arade , ’ An K d th ey re howling to ing G eorge a tim ely warning, ’ That if h e signs the H ome Rule bill th e act he ll surely rue , a h For this h ndful of fanatics will t emp ire tear in two. ’ et e a ! Y tis p eace th y w nt 0 , wh at a j oke ; just hear this blo ody crew S ’ hout , we ll whip th e British lion in the morning.
’ r n Wh at is that note of revel ? says G atta s nobl e shade , P ’ S om e h ellhounds o f the devil , loved arnell s sp irit said , Des ecr ti i g every inch of ground wh ere p atriots true are eaié ’ ’ Who fough t to s ee o er E rin freedom s dawning, n A d l ike fiends they ar e yelling in Antrim and in Down , That On acts of right and jus tice th ey will ever sp it and fro ’ W hil e they d kick into the River Boyne th e King of E n g ’ l and s crown , n A d whip th e British lion the s ame morning . What its h at m ournful crying ? says th e merch ant seeking rati e l O d ascendancy is dying, the p olice sergeant said . od on m 0 , thank G for tol er ation now bro ad lines undis ayed ,
In . l ove and hope links us , all h atred scorning ’ ’ An d we l l live in p eace and p l enty for the land that s all our O ’ Join ing hands with C atholi c brethren wh o al l o er ! this isle h av e shown ’ A s a p iri t free from malice , one and all we ll stand lone
For an undivided Ireland in the morning . 12 October 26, 19 .
63 I TEE OUR IR SH VOLUN RS .
From ou t a dream of bygon e time k Th e soul of E rin wo e , An d with a thril l of j oy sublime H er marti al spirt s p oke : a d P raise God, I he r thy trea again, Like music to my ears ;
Oh, H eaven bles s my manly men, My Irish Vo lunteers !
S om e thought my heart n o longer b eat f r W ith pride o val iant Tone , ’ Nor th at again I d care to greet fi l S ars e d at G arryowen , ’ Th at E mmet s epitaph would lie ’ Unwritten midst my tears , ’ The cause th ey died for ne er can die My dauntless Volunteers !
A i s queen I s t unconquered still , “ ” My Rebel bro od around , And find a Rory of the H il l Amongst th em yet is found ;
A dashing Dwyer , a Crowley b old , oo A Step hens , t , appears , ’ Our fighting blood has ne er grown cold , My gallant Volunte ers !
’ A mother s tears for you I s hed,
My murdered G eraldine , When down beside thy gory bed I cast my mantl e green To catch the blood that from thy breast Gushed ou t like rain of tears ; ’ s With it my rising brood I ve ble t, My steadfa s t Volunteers !
e e wh o Th y lied lik Jade , never knew sh ame ,
My recreant traitor breed , ’ To fan once more d isunion s fl ame And pit creed against creed , Yet from my breast loved p atriots sprung ’ Orr th e Like , brothers Sh eare s , ’ W h o freedom s song of yore had s ung “United Volunteers !
Now t , my h ear beats high with prid e again , ’ Yo a li u ve n iled their every e, An d I h ave yet good sturdy men ’ W o i h d proudly do or d e, An d ’ freedom s star is still a light, ’ As twas in bygone years ; P G od ’ raise , you l l keep i t ever bright, My stalwart Volunteers ! — 1 r June 15 , 19 4 .
164
RESENTING IN S T TH E L E AN ULT O O D GR EN F LAG .
You ! Yo i lie u British dog, you l e! ou The flag y now behold , Up on whose field of emerald green
“
Ther e shines a h arp of gold , Is emblem of a land and race Who ever h ave withstood ’ Th e tyrants efforts to efface i t i Their r ghts to na onhood .
You l ie again , you British dog ! w Down trodden e have been, b od But conquered , no , I swear y G ,
Who se es this spring day scene , f E ’ O rin s sons in proud array , Of thi s great cheeri n g throng ; G ood h earts and true are keen to day ’ To right their country s wrong .
You know you l ie, you British boun d! Th e day wil l never dawn n When l ies , deserted o the ground , ’ Th at flag G od s s un sh ines on ;
A mill ion C el ts their blood would shed ,
Another in their p lace ,
- Would wade breast high , through seas
To save it from disgrace .
h O ! lying still , you cringing cur , o Our grandsires f ught and fell , ’ G ainst E ngl ish brute and S cottish knave An b oun d d H essian s of h ell . ’ 0 ! that s th e chiva lry you boast ?
Gorged for rapine and guile , ’ You brought th e scum of E u r ope s coast
To ravage our fair isle .
Ah ! o hang your head , you British d g ; Th e cry for vengeance still R r ings up to heaven , f om moor and bog, From pl ain and val e and h il l ; e — For moth r , wife for maid and child , Left sullied in their gore ; efile For h omes by mongrel brute d d, ’ On E rin s beauteous shore . Lo ok up , you lying British hound , ’ And view a nation s pride , h Wh o crushed and battered to t e ground ,
Your b ase decrees defied .
You sought to kil l our l anguage old ,
Ou r faith by you was banned ,
You failed , we closer did infold
For our G od and fath erland .
Just wait, you yelp ing British cur , a bu t To Irel nd , you gave back h er Some of th e wealth you stole from , W rung from you , on th e rack Of public opinion ; stil l you owe
A gre ater , deeper debt ,
The righ t to rule themselves , you know ,
I s due th e Irish yet .
Ah ! t you admit , you Bri ish d og,
Th at brighter sh ines h er sun , ’ be The landlord s leaving plain and g, ’ His direful work s near done . ’ O er hill and vale wil l soon b e h eard ’ The ch ildren s voi ces at p lay , W here sheep and kine and gaming b ird
For years ha d h eld full sway .
o n ow G , , you lying British h ound , S a y no t another word ,
But leave my sigh t , get homeward bound ’ My Irish blo od you ve stirred ’ W e n ith th oughts of E rin s martyr d so s , H er murd ered p atriots ; yea , The wrong done to ou r loved o nes Ar e fres h in mind today .
’ H e s gone , the mongrel British cur , W hil e brighter grows the sh een ’ Of fl a gold upon th e g h e d slur , Our ow n r immortal g een ,
With stars and strip es and green and gold , ’ e Wav in th e sun s bright ray, ’ G ood h ear ts and true march nea th thy fold O ’ n t. P th is S atri ck s Day . 1 11 9 . March .
67 MA TH H T YO OUG S .
Kind readers a moment I pray your attention,
Whil e I send fond thoughts to some places I know , ’ Tis some of yo u know well th e names th at I mentio n E specially the daughters and sons of Mayo . ’ They re all situated way over in Ireland ,
Wher e the nymph s of King N ep tun e in rocky caves pl ay , n irel nd An d the sh amrock is blooming on m ountain a d m a , ’ e m l m t P Sw e te b e we wear on S . atrick s Day .
’ f 0 , tis often in days o my b oyhood I wandered
Round Balla , Ballina , Ballinrobe , Ballindine , ’ Wh ere th e Robe and th e Moy thro the vall eys meandered , C C mo C astlebar , ross lina , Claremorris , rossboyne B all var a Ballaghaderreen , Ballyhaunis , y , Bel carra , C Cloon k en C logher , , C laggan , arvan and Cong, K K iltimagh , Knock , K ilcolman , ilvine and Killala ,
Sure all of th em famous in story and song .
Ballyglass , Ballyh ean, B allycastle , Belmull et , D on f en ru mk een o e y, Doogort , Derrycorrib , D , ’ Men r ai s ed there ne er feared British b ayonet or bullet n I their efforts to righ t wrongs of E rin th e green , A n h rin h From chill H ead o to famed Aug ad ag , An d Kilcummin down to th e sho res of Lough Mask ’ of S assen agh ' We‘re sons who e er questioned the rights th e n ’ A d p erilous oft made the oppressors task .
0 , Boycott went down to defeat and dishonor , ’ o foe Th o backed by the tro op s of our bl odthirsty , An d England not wanting his presence thrust o n h er
Soon sh ipped h im away to far off Mexic o . You all know th e story of h ow first w as started
Th e L and League by Davitt at sweet Irish town . ’ An d how P arnel l th e ch ief met Mayo s loyal he arted
At W o . estp rt , wh ere shades of Croagh P atrick smile down
N a From ewp ort across to th e p lains of Bell hy ,
From Charlestown . Foxford , c ame men not afraid , Killeaden , Kilkelly , Kilmaine , N eale and Partry ,
To hear th e grand w ords of our Davitt from Strade , An d now th at h is b ody God rest him is lying n I loved moth er e arth where the green Shamrocks grow , ’ tr easu r e th e a e i We ll \ words th t h e utt red ere dy ng, _ N w ow th at his d ear E rin shines bright in the glo .
’ Of o sweet l iberty s light , h e s ardently hoped for ;
- An d gallantly fought for , through sunshine and rain ; l d n e That Ire and , his arling, in proud quee ly mann r
Would grandly bloom forth a free nation again . 0 ’ . th e day s not far off wh en once more in her glory ’ ’ S he ll smil e o er the grave s of h er p atriots true , Then in l etters of gold will b e w r itten th e story Of w o ’ th ose h ne er faltered to die or to do . 68 n A d Mayo at home or in exil e united ,
Will ever unflinching and fearlessly stand , By th e ideals of martyrs whose sacrifice r ighted w The c entur i ed r ongs of our d ear native land . o S now as we meet at this grand celebration,
In honor of him wh o i s patron of all , ’ Ma a y Ireland s proud children, th e b est in cre tion , P h P ’ raise G od w o sent atrick to famed Tara s H all .
While th at dear l ittle p lant embl ematic of union , o a S loved and revered by each true Irish he rt , ’ Will tend e er to draw u s in closer communion
- With th e whole Th irty Tw o a pting on e gallant p art . S o thu s do I issue a kind invitation To ’ ch ildren wh om tyranny n e er could enthrall , To com e and take p art in on e grand celebration ’ ’
S t P . . atrick s night at the Mayo Men s Ball
’ And I ve t to if forgotten some loved sp o mention , I ’ o t isn t because I would mean to do s , For on starting this rhym e it was my sole intention
To send back kind though ts to loved C ounty Mayo . March
C a hic go , Venus of the thriving marts
That dot the plains of this united land , Lustily the veins th at thrill thy h eart of h earts ’ E er pulse prosperous , vibr antly and grand , ’ ’ Tho Neptune s nymphs m ay l ave th e aspiring feet f ’ O cities east and westward neath our skies ,
Their giant strides you p roudly rise to meet ,
Great b eauteous daughter of fair Ill inois .
C m e c - h icago , c a of th e vast m id west . i Queenly you s t up on unrivalled throne , Your fair l imb s stretch ed wi th strength supremely blest ’ r O e a rich heritage th ine very own . l Where avenu e , bou evard and streets by miles As fres h each morn you from the lake aris e ’ i Greet th ee b edecked with heaven s sunk s s ed smil es , P roud , bounteous d augh ter of fair Illino is .
2 1917. Octob er 2 ,
6 9 T EE MY BEAU EOUS MAYO QU N .
m ’ I et her first at even , th e s u n in th e west w as low, O Wh en i - H s Sinkin rays a capping the hill s of my sweet Mayo , am f fr in in h Wi th the g e s o gold and ruby a g g t e blu est s ki es ,
Whose hue w as only rivalled in the dep ths of her violet eyes , ’ n h ll w A d O ’ o my hand did tremb le as I help ed her o er the ' tl l s e .
My h eart w as madly beating as she gave me a winning smile . h S e thanked me, a n d then I watch ed her trip lightly across th e lea ’ Sure th e l ight of young love s awakening w as born th at day m 0 e.
That night as I tossed on my p illow , her visage before my
eys , I a s w h er in every planet that dotted th e moonlit skies , ’ An d I swore in my heart I d win h er and woe her before the year H ad changed from th e glow of summer to th e chill of the winter drear h n e O , at morn th e bright s u shining brought h p e to me sure and fast sh e I met her again by th e r iver , and she gave me a smil e as p asse An d th e mon th wa s ever sh e w as tenderly clasp ed to my erlereast ’ e a I had won th e h eart of a coll een . the fairest in Ir l nd s w es A ear an d w as y a h alf went quickly . and life a b eauteous d ream , e w a l s g For lov s th e god that rul ed us , and a l w a a bri ht
sunbeam , w as But the ship of hop e struck the breakers , and cupid
storm tossed , An d th e bonds of lov e th at b ound us in the waves of fate
were lost . ’ ll ’ W e . od r e e a I p arted O, G , that p a ting ; whil lif l st ne er
orge ,
The charm of th e kiss sh e gave me is cl inging around me yet . ’ An d o e tho others may W oo her nearer , and ceans betwe n
us flow, ’ My h eart will e er keep a corner for h er and my sweet Mayo . An d oft on the p l ains of Texas with my s addl e under my ea Wh ile the snake with his noisy rattl es was filling my bronch o W ith dread , Would my sp irit b e wafted out yonder Wh ere my h eart had n ever bee , ’ An d I d dream I was once more roaming by th e side of my M ayo Queen ,
70 But I woke to find skies above m e , were arching a Texan
P an , h i Afar from t e hills and valleys I never may s ee aga n , for “ S ave in my dreams , memory Will ever keep green , I know, The thoughts of th ose happy hours with my fair queen in sweet Mayo . — S eptember , 1911.
I I PE A M S S T P R RY.
of S trike up the band for the finest , th e b est them , Where can you equal such coll eens as they ? Sure ’ tis in line you will find all th e rest of th em
When smiling Tipp erary is l ea ding th e way .
! Such a fine crowd , every one is the b est dressed of them
Happy , contented , light hearted and gay There ’ s th e N orth and the S outh and th e E ast and th e W est With them i Ti r ar When sweet M ss pp y is l eading th e way .
n m ar ch th to I the grand , sure e boys will confess them ’ That th ey re th e finest of feminine clay ,
An d cheering the words th at th e thousands address to th em , h When darl ing Miss Tipperary is leading t e way .
Great is the throng that that evening will press to them
Of gossoons and c olleens from Westp ort to Bray , n d C of A from Belfast to ork , taking in all th e rest th em , With gallant Tipp erary a- l eading th e w a
Then strike up the b and ! Let the music ring blest to them
Wh ile j oyous they trip i t till dawn of th e day, f Th e cream o f th e Irish , the finest , the b est o th em ,
W wa . ith a Tipperary , a colleen dhas , leading the y — 191 Chicago , February 5 , 6.
E ’ LOV S MES SAGE .
I p lucked at eve a full blown rose , Its blush ing p etals wet W ith dew, Th at it my secret might disclose a I sent it, l dy fair to you . W , ith it an ivy leaf you found , W hich told of love th at close would cling ;
The p ansies , too , th at decked it round , Were thoughts that only love could bring ; An d next I cul led from out their bed Forget me n ets and daisies s weet ; ’ Then N ature s m essage onward sp ed ’ To plead my cause at beauty s feet .
7 1 F INITIE AF S . ordi inn Acc ng to P ey E ar le.
W hat care we if the world with b itter scorn S o u s and o r hould p int at brand u love a shame , M s e n ust we who e love in h ave itself were b orn, ’ B e p arted cause another bears my name ? Wh our e s y should p aths in lif be rent a under . h h - O , w y should time worn customs u s divide ? C o th ould man with v ice control e rol ling thunder , Or with h is finger s tem th e rising tide ?
W h r y should ou l ives be empty, lone , forsaken ?
Oh , w hy should narrow minds our hear ts enthrall W , hen through the b linding s torm shines the b eacon , s ll Love, the subl imest p a sion of them a ? r There are n o barrie s moulded , woven ,
Built strong enough to keep our lives ap art , or th F wh en e great god , love , our p ath has chosen ’ There s naught can keep fond h eart from kindred heart .
W o hen the small voice y u hear ab ove , about you , Is ever whispering sweetly in your ear , h e O s h e e S loves you , , lov s , you , yes , she loves you , W ’ hat care I for the world s censure , dear ? ’ Too e many brothers , sisters h eart ar breaking, Must ours be crushed and broken just the same ? ’ O n n , no , for heave wh o watched young love s awaki g, l Will angels send to bear away a l bl ame .
’ - n Then let our souls in love s aba don meeting .
Forget al l else in one sweet hour of b liss , An d with fond heart to fen d hear t wildly beating ’
Draw up love s ch allenge and seal it wi th a kiss . n i Th e narrow world will w ake a d heed the warn ng, n A d w e no longer need our fetters wear , o When barriers grim and strong, true l ve is scorning,
Then you and I will b oth be happy, dear . P —N othwi h tan din s a P h as [ . S . t s g four uch ttempts , inney i h ’ no t yet found h s soul mate , but if e keep s on he l l soon ffin i i m III of outdistance that discipl e of a t s , H enry V , nause ous memory ]
’ LOVE S S ACRIFICE .
Farewell , my best b el oved , forever more , farewell . ’ In death you ll know the story th at in life I dared not tell H ow much I loved you how I strov e in vain To crush within my pulsing breast that sweet but kil ling . pain ; e e s on An d how I lived on h p e , and h p ing till lived ,
- Till life becam e a misery my peace of mind was gone . e o h as The world now se ems hopel ss amb iti n , all , fled , , — Nau gh left m e but a last retreat my pl ac e amongst th e tj ead . 72
MOTHERLAND .
[ Th e Isl e of Destiny whose brave children are today of facing th e b ligh t of famine , and the p angs starvation , owing to lack of employment and the high pri ce of th e nec es saries of life due to th e w ar and th e fact that ben eficent Britain needs the foodstuffs of Ireland for English consump tion b eing willing to thus bestow on our Motherland the boon of going hungry a b enevolence - oftim es meted out to weaker “ ” people-s by the self- styled P rotector of S mall N ationalities ; let us the ch ildren of th at Motherland in Chicago on St. ’ Patricks day be generous i n our contributions to the Relief Fund for our suff ering kin in p oor old Ireland ]
Let the eyes of the world gaz e ‘on h er An d s e e h er inmost soul , With the galling chains that bind h er ’ ’ Neath a tyrant s b as e control ; Let it ask then if we wh o l-ove h er C an h er s love de pot , too . N o! No! by the G od above h er ’ Ou r E love is not ngland s due .
Go ask th e s carp s of h er mountains An d W her moorlands bleak and ild , Yea aske h er lakes and fountains , H er rivers and pl ains defiled
By the blood th irsty track of the Briton, ’ ’ An d th ey ll cry out at G od s command , May he to th e dust b e sm itten W h o ravaged this b eauteous l and .
An d you wh o would laugh to scorn ’ Th e fact that we can t forget, W ith th e soul of slave was b orn An d l a s ave will live till d e ath , K n nowing aught of a God of Freedom , The ruler of l and and s ea Whose h and is th e star that l eads th em S fi f ouls tted or liberty .
Ah thy . sad is h eart , acushla , “ Ou r brave littl e proud Dark Rose Th ou gh tears and blood th ou art sh edding th What carest y ruthl ess foes . ’ Bu t ne er sh all thy scattered ch ildren Forget th ee wh o wert th e p rid e Of th e l true , th e noble . the daunt ess ,
Who through ages for th ee h ave died . — 22 . February , 1917
74 PAT YOU OWE NOT A O T , DR P O ENGLAND .
Why should your b lood be shed , asthore , Far from your native strand ? ’ fi r W hy should sons from E rin s shore G o die for base E ngland ’ Let al l of John Bull s braggards go Fight for their Union Jack ; ’ Th ey ll meet for once a worthy foe ’ An d few will e er c ome b ack .
’ What has old Erin e er received S av e treachery and sham e
S ince first by Saxon hounds dec eived , C ursed ever b e their name ? Wh o p laced up on thy emerald brow Th e blight of tyrant h and ? S lave chains are clanking on her now Ou r p oor , wronged Ireland .
h - O , may th e might of German guns S trike deep a vital dart ’ To h eart of E rin s faith le s s s ons ’ W h o p lay the traitor s p art . h H om e is your place , o , Gael ic race , To fac e and fight th e foe ’ ’ ’ N eath E rin s flag, by h eaven s grace , — ’ Rise strike proud freedom s blow .
h s ? O , are you slave degenerat e N o spark within your soul
Of what mad e princely Owen great, Who se legions held control n I gallant Ulster of the North , ’ The stronghold of O N eill ? ’ B enbu rb s dead heroes rally forth ,
Loved E rin ne eds your steel .
E a G od, what would Tone and mmet s y
Could th ey from death arise , ’ But order E rin s flag today
Unfurled to h er skies , ’ s Then onward , freedom s tandard drench ed Beneath your p atriot-s stand ; The murderous tyrant never quench ed
Our love for native l and .
Think of the butchered G eraldine ; Go through the b itter years ’ Foul E ngl and s sword w as never clean Of Irish blood and tears ! ’ You ve but a s ingl e life to l ive , ’ Th en h ark to freedom s song, Th e blood in battle you should give
To Ireland does bel ong . — 1 January, 19 5 . 75 THE H OST O U BE G F O R F ORMER ER.
Where is that old tin- can werushed In that bygone happy time , That up to the brim with foaming suds We got fil led for a dime ? Ah , sure it is gone and with it th e days Of c - free lun h and ten c ent cheer . ’ So - good bye , old can, you re an also ran , ’ v For th ey e bo osted th e price of beer .
Oh ? , where is that schooner of white and gold G lorious foam - topp ed s uds W , That nickel bought herever you sought , N o matt er W hat style your duds h ’ A , i t s disapp eared , and a littl e shrimp f a gl ass with unfriend ly leer S A ays , dime a throw is my price , you know ; I ’ m the ghost of your former beer
Ah , Wh ere is that stein , old friend of mine ,
That always held full m easure , Of h ep e for the thirsty wayfarer A- seeking cooling p leasure , s un When the was high and mighty h ot, In th e summer time of the ye ar Ah h . poor old stein , to o , h as hit t e decline r - - kn e F om that high priced , weak ee d beer .
Ah - , where is that good , old , ten cent s ho t f O regul ar bar b al l booze , t We used to quaff wi h roystering laugh ,
Th at drove away th e blues , An d e r mad a lad , wh il e a dolla he had , Feel rich as a millionaire Ah ’ th , tis gone e route of the free h andout , An d th e nickel schooner of b eer
Bad luck to the meddling P roh ib cranks P reachers , o ld maids , and the like , Wh o never knew the j oys that we gay boys
Found on Amber P ike , w Wh en those great big scoops at a nickel a thro , f We qua fed with laugh ing c heer , h O , how I sigh a s I cast my eye On th is ghost of our former beer .
’ 110 Tis use at al l , with a gl ass so small , A trying to lift a load . ’ For , with price so h igh , fore you bat an eye , Y b A R our roke on mber oad . An d faith all I can say is bad luck to th e day
Th at they canned th e scuttle of cheer , The high hat s coop and the steam ing soup d For th is amn l i ttle ghost of a—beer . February , 1919 . 76 “RATS
G et out your snare , your trap and cat, An d a lo d your blunderbuss . ’ W on K ar s been declared aiser Rat, ’ e o L t s rally t the fuss . Our fee is legion and h is strength ’ In s m cunning ure s i mense , An d judging by his tail at length , H e o r n sh ws g eat commo sense .
E ntrenched in br east of Mo ther E arth ’ H is arm ies e er increas e ; And ‘ from the moment of their b irth ’ Till death they never ceas e
To take their toll , in devious ways From daily store of man ; ’ An d such has be en th is p irate s craze
S inc e first th e world b egan .
Wh en you s ee this b ewhiskered gent W ith sh ifting, beady eyes , ’ Sneak cro ss your p ath with fell intent, ’ An d sp eed that s truly wise ,
Just trai l him to his chosen go al , ’ ermin e Like scout t d and grim , And with th e wrath W ithin your s oul K no ck daylight out of him .
’ A menac e to our larder e er
H as been th is despot king . And from th e confines of his l air De ath dealing germ s bring ’ r To scatter o e our b eef and beans , a Our corn meal , and c ke ,
Our sp inach , and our mustard greens , b h i W h ile e s fil l doth take .
’ Now when we ve vanquished Kaiser Rat,
An d put h im on the bum , a W e then can pension General C t, An d hymns of j oy m ay hum
Because at night wh en moon doth shine ,
An d s leep our eyelids we igh , Th at ca' terwauling loud and fine ’ W on t cause us leave th e hay
’ Ah ! we ve forget in te aring down ’ o This lordly rodent s h use , ’ H is a lly s guns stil l on u s frown old P M From lines of rince ouse . ’ S o we must fight the battl e 0 er ; H ark ! b ark l I h ear th e cats ;
My wife has started now to snore , ’ i “A ” T s 1 A. M w , rats ! 1 July, 19 7. 77 E OL E IRELAND, D AR D IR LAND, F AR AWAY.
B o lan (S incerely inscribed to James y , th e Irish S teamship agent ) Where the val leys woo th e sunshine and the green h ills greet th e dawn ; W here a thousand silvery streamlets kiss th e emerald b anks
along, There my fancy ship is Sp eeding with a treasure trove of ove
For Ireland, dear o ld Ireland , far away .
h r it s O , I see thy b ow, alanna , with si lvered crown of years
- A glistening in the distance through a diadem of tears , ‘ a - An d my heart goes out , throbbing, full of symp athy and
hop e ,
For Ireland , bonni e Irel and , far away .
’ a- s Sure , I hear th e lark inging o er yon moorlands purple n brow , An d I s ee the d aisies springing by the boreen leading down To the little straw - thatch ed cabin where in childh ood oft I
pl ayed ,
In Irel and , cherished Ireland , far away
Oh ’ , th e years can t still th e longing nor distance lull the pain ’ n I the exiled h eart that s aching for a sigh t of you again . h —’ But t e grief is sweet , acushla tis a casket full of love I For Ireland , p oor old reland , far away .
’ o Sure , tis many an eye is dimming for th e lads that are n 8 , ’ Whose nameless bones li e bleaching up on E urope s war swep t shore ; ’ Q cu h lam oh Twas thy brawn and brain , a s , thric e cursed b e the day d They marched from Mo th er Irel an , far away
’ n o I the broil of nations quarrels what had you , dear isle , t
gain ,
S ave another sh eaf of sorrow to thy legacy of p ain, ’ ’ F or ti s many a wreath of mourning hove r s o er the h allowed hearths f I I . O reland , holy reland , far away
S ’ ’ weet isl e of tribul ation , though your star of hop e s o er cas ’ By glo ve in g cl oud s of sorrow th at are crowding o er you ease G ’ ’ od s will the gloom dispelling, you yet will wear a nation s
crown,
Staunch Ireland , brave o ld Ireland far away . , — 1 . January 9, 19 6 78 WH A CA T USED THE WAR.
Mammon and Mars in a p alace grand ’ Met on e fine summ er s day An d they wined and dined on th e fat of th e
Like hungry birds of prey . From Humanity ’ s breast th ey filled th eir cup s
With a vintage r ich and red , An d greedily chewed between the sup s ’ Th e hearts from which twas shed .
Said Mammon to Mars with a drunken l eer , “ W u e must s tand by o r friend Commerce , Our comrade true of many a year W h r o sp eaks in a langu age te se . Many a thrilling j aunt h ad w e
Over the seas of sp oil . n r rk I ou good sh ip A of Hyp ocrisy , ur O fuel th e sons of toil .
’ W hat care w e for th e widow s moan ’ Or th e hungry orph ans cry ? W e must get what w e cl aim is ou r own
Th ough m illions of toilers die . ’ ’ Tis we must keep th e p arasite s crown on Tigh t h is royal h ead , n Even though G od o our actions frown , ” n A d we reek of th e blood thus sh ed .
“ ’ S nk th aid Mars to Mammon , Let s dri e to ast H ’ ere s to Dip lo macy, Our ur r first , o last , ou proudest b oast
W ho rules the dem ocracy . ’ Give him his way and he ll win the day ’ O er the millions wh o toil and sp in , And wh il e I gird on my sword for th e fray ” You l r ur e th e toile s in .
is W ell said , quo th Mammon , th e die cast, Now let u s drink our fill Th e sons of toil from first to l ast
Must stand for , and p ay th e b ill , W w our h ile e, with Comm erce by side , In e n a s a of blo od a d gold , ’ O er the turbulent waves of war will gl ide , l ” O d Hypo crisy full in each hold .
79 Y T IE JOHNN BULL O HIS DEAR F R ND PAT.
’ Ah P at o ti , , my b y, s wel l I know you are a friend of mine, for e ’ For , sure , s ven hundred years I ve trimmed you good
and fine . ’ ’ o er I ve scattered you all the earth , far from your n ative an ’ ’ n d oft n n v A e your brow, you know, I e stamped th e felon s lj ranei ’ Twas ll because you dared to love the soil where you were e) orn , ’ ’ A fact th at e er brought down on you Britannia s smil e of o sc rn . ’ o P a m n ow o But, d n t mind , t; just h elp e t whip proud Ger
m any, ’ l An d I l still b e master of th e waves and rul er of the s ea .
e ’ u Ay , twas with ch ains I bound yo , Pat ; yea , sh ackl es h ard
and strong,
Th en like a pirate bol d I stole what did to you b elong . I purch as d from th e renegades and p aid them with your 80 l(e ’ Th e pr' cious thin g they had to sell ; twas you an d yours tel ey s old nd A , sure , I ever crushed you down beneath an iron h eel , ’ While with b are h ands you e er did strive against my flash
ing steel . ’ n w But we ll forget it all o , Pat , and tackle Germ any , ’ ’ l n a S o s I l b e master of the waves a d ruler of th e s e .
o — ’ I tried to kill y ur ancient tongue sure , th at you c an t
I s ougli t 0 lure you from the way you worshiped Him on ll ig11
Your blood I sp illed with every ch ance that ever I d id get . ’ Oh , I m aching for the time wh en I can s pill more of it yet. stol a e o c u s o I e you lo f, but sur , I gave y u back s ome r mb
breag. Wh at ar d l when my gut was filled tha t you were un gs read ’ n ow m n But we ll stand togeth er , P at, and b eat roud Ger a y, ’ n A d I ll still be master of the waves and ru er of the sea.
a er There w s a traitor , Pat , you know his nam e w as C astl eagh , n o He was a deep dyed Scoun drel , too, th e truth I w must
S ay,
But there were others of h is like came righ t along the l ine . ’ An d treachery to Ireland s cause h as ever thus worked fine , S m d J oe ur e , and Bill and Jack an W ill and l ittle and geeve , — ’ oo . Are all recru iting n ew for me th ey ll et paid , t , bel ieve But old Home Rul e will feel very si ck 1gwe trim G ermany ’ n A d I m still master of the waves an d rule—r of the sea. January 1915 . 80
L THE H OUSE OF A L NATIONS .
l o Resp ectfully inscrib ed to my o d friend J hn F. Down ey ’ ’ ’ of the Cork Men s Ass n who w as Chief Mixoligist at E gan s 4th A e Y H all , 6 Street and msterdam Avenue , N w ork, when o ll N th e writer gave it the titl e Hous e f A ations . ’ ’ In N ew York th ere s a hal l that s well known to us all S it ’ ure s door ne er a th irsty soul p asses , ’ or F , tis there you can feast , Whil e you sip golden yeast , ’ In o a desert tis true an asis . ’ An d there s always a welcome awaiting you there , ’ N o s matter how hu ble your station , m’ ’ For when once you re insid e tis in j oy you abide W ll ith th e boss of the H ouse of A N ations .
’
E k . There s Boss gan , h imself, l i e a H ercules stands A s handsome and fair as Ap ollo , ’ While his blue eyes th ey shine with a light th at s divine As the trend of deb ate he does fol low ; a We Then the glasses we clink and th e mb er drink , ’ M idst a scene of majestic elations , h ’ d For , faith Ireland w as freed from th e S as s an ag s gr ee E ll very nigh t in th e H ouse of A N ations .
You 1d P o find German , ol e , Jew and Ital ian , to , S The Frenchman wede , Dane and th e Yankee , I S Th e rish , th e Dutch , the Russian , Turk . cotch , An d N ’ the egro who smil ed you h is th ank ee , Sure they all quaffed th e b eer and p artook of the ch eer An d by m ’ , y soul one o f Bacchus creations Was that elegant soup P at McD on ou gh would Scoop All N From the p ots , in th e H ouse of ations .
’ Ah tis , many an hour in days long gone p ast , ’ When Downey hind b ar th ere was tending, ’ ’ I sp ent n eath that roof and dull care ne er o er c ast ’ A shadow o er Bacchus j oy bl ending ; ’ An d - tis m any a p leas ant mind picture I paint ,
Day dreaming midst l ater sensations , Of ’ the scenes to which gro ssness n e er added a taint , To o the mirth in the H use of All N ations .
16. Jun e, 19
T F O A LADY RIEND .
A sunb eam fell on my p ath one d ay , An d made al l in th e world seem bright ,
For , it lit up a heart with its golden ray, ’ That till th en w as as dark as nigh t ; An d e I tried to catch it and hol d it th re ,
But it l aughed as it danced away,
F or th ere was a h eart that it loved more dear , e Than th e on e i t h ad m t by th e way. 82 THE CITY OF LONDON .
W e a ( r itt n in answer to a bo sting Britisher . )
Deck with dreams this soulless monster, od H ’ Why a G , imself twould take , To cast a veil of glamour ’ er f O th is p il e o filth and fake , W here the reaper s of dish onor a Glory in th e Spo ils of sh me , An d b ase j unkers thr ive up on her ’
C loaked in civilization s name .
C t s rown her with a beau eou rainbow, H ide the stench that reeks within , B id your muse weave cloak of beauty ’ O er this p it of crime and sin ; ’ Ar t of man had ne er yet p ower To make o ’ er and b eautify In a day or in an hour
Such a hideous living lie .
tru ek le S om e might to th e tempter , An d a phantom halo cast ,
Built up on weird imagination , Too unstap le thus to last ’ Fore the foul ungodly vapors ou t That from this cesspo ol rise , W h ere the worshipers of Mammon ifi Filthy lu cre de es .
Fling fantasti c clouds of l egend ’ O er of a p ool wild desires , H ide th e vil e disgraceful orgies Of s s her p ampered on and sires , A ye, and gird h er towering s epulchres In a mantle pure and white , That their feted h ellish denizens Ma th y b e hidden from e light .
' Tell h er splendid sh ining rivers ll A th eir secrets to unfold , W hy the d awn would s ink to sunset E r ol e it were an h our d, Did those p lacid flowing waters o Tell the stories g ne and p ast, Of the murdered sons and daugh ters
That into their depth s were cast .
Mon s ter built on human traffic , R on erfid aised p y and crime , B oastful of an architecture ’ Th at ne er grac ed a given time ; Olla P odrid a of stone and iron n Breeding Sin , disease a d sham e , W h o could hide with cloaked il lusion All th e h orrors of thy name 83 ’ H E S ONLY AN ULSTER LAD.
H W t ere in this favored land we call th e es , And ou t th gazing upon e silvery s ea, ’ s I m thinking of some spo t I love the be t ,
A place that h olds a deathless charm for me .
P a t erh p s my though ts are wandering o Gweedore , ’ Or from Lough Swilly s banks I hear th e c all to of That brings me b ack again days yore ,
Then al l my love goes out to Donegal .
’ Ma s o b y be my Spirit r aming y the Foyle , ree Or p erh aps in St ve I hear the music merry, That oft I heard at evening after toil In some loved spo t i n County Londonderry .
r O then again a picture h olds my mind , ’ ’ I m waiting now in B' allymena s s treet
To see again the girl I left behind , ’ n r im An d County A t s lying at my fe et .
s c n —b Th e e e is changed y S trangford Lough I s tand , ’ Or else neath E agle Mount midst heather brown ; ’ S I m clas in b ome colleen fair p g y the hand , ’ I m a n l Coun t dre mi g now of dear o d y Down .
’ o By Callan s silvery waters n w I stray, ’ Tis mark et d ay once more in sweet Rich H ill ; I rambl e through the street of Killylea o 0 ! C unty Armagh h ow I love you still .
’ Tis Clontibret now bursts upon my view ’ W h o dares tell me I m no t an Irishman ; ’ Tho far away my heart is ever true o M To th se I l eft behind in onaghan .
The s un now on th e famed b l ack water shines It crowns Benburb like king upon a throne ; ’ ’ O N eill s red h and seems trac ing deathless lines Up on thy loving soil my sweet Tyrone
’ ’ I m resting now on E rne s gr assy bank I gaze once more on E nniskillen town ;
Fermanagh in my hea rt now h olds first rank , ’ ’ In n e Mo a s val e I d love to l ay me down .
N ear Bally hais e I h ear th e rippling rill , e I s e o nce more the silvery Annalee ,
From C avan town I go on to Co otehill , u s ee A Cavan lad b efore you now yo .
84 N ow I all through gallant Ulster h ave been, H er sons have ever nobly stood the test ; I When reland needed true and valiant men, Sh e e n ver asked in vain ; you gave your b est .
’
Then let the Dutchman s fo llowers h ave their day , A ’ ’ c ountry s cause they d sell , if one they had ; F or prejudic e the i gnorant minds sway, ’ G od our l l Thank , we ve stil l Irish U s ten ad. —J 1 91 uly , 1 1 .
HE H EE GOD LP T , MOTHE RLAND !
’ If Erin s only hop e is th at her stalwart sons shall die ’ ’ n a n O foreign fields ne th Britai s flag , then well m ay E rin 818 Fo r w em b ereft of manly men and hearts both true and g1 rave , Her sac ed caus e is trusted to the craven s erf and kn ave r — , W h o w l l ll gh Old her long- claimed right a natio n fre e to s ean(i Oh - od , hear the winds a crying out, G h elp p oor Ireland !
H s Yea , eaven help her, thus b etrayed by thos e h e thought
her friends , to By cunning meth od s foully laid gain their own vile ends . P n u oor wreck up on unfriendly shores , dismantl ed a d n
manned, o A prey to p irates , as f yore , p oor trusting mo therland !
h l r fi l s Oh , w t w u d gallant S a s e d ay, or yet th e brave Wolfe r ‘ eon e e . ’ ’ Would E mmet humbly answer , Yea , we ll uph old Britain s throne ? ” Or would the murdered G eraldine as m eekly take his stand f Beneath the E nglish Union Jack, th e curse o m otherland
N ow P , would th e , voic e of arnel l urge h is countrymen to go ’ ol E ’ ? An d fil l the gap s in Britain s ranks , d rin s direful foe Would Mich ael Davitt call up on the gallant Fenian b and No To help th e British rul e the wave ? , no , dear motherland !
C Why , it would even b e b eyond th e foul l eech , astlereagh , ’ To call up on old E rin s sons their country to b etray ’ By p ouring into Mar s h ell fire th e br avest of her b lood h While gnawing at her very h eart t e brutal lion stood . h ’ and A , me ! tis ch ildren that thou nursed fed with tend er h and Oh G od l e That thus would sacrifice thee ! , h e p the , mother land ! - 5 1916 March , .
85 THE S ONG TH AT REACH ED THE SKIE S .
h f I gazed upo n t e camp ing ground , the rows o tents along, i r The a was filled with mel ody, a medley sweet of song ; e The soldier boys were r sting after first drill of the day, An d th e singers of each comp any were trolling som e sweet
lay. On e sang of hom e and mother in his own beloved west ; l - h Another of a b ue eyed lass, the one e loved th e b est .
But one song rang above them all in thrilling melody, ’ “ ” Twas The S tar - S p an gled Banner of this land of the brave
and th e fre e.
The s un shone brightly in the west above the Rockies grand , Its golder rays seemed smiling down up on our b eauteous l ana.
Before m e lay the verdant p l ains and rivers smiling fair,
Wh ile up above the S tars and Strip es in glory floating there ,
Flung to the sky its glea ming folds free as eagle in his flight, rm en h Its c olors and the fi am t a b lending in t e light , While from the camp ground flo ated up a flood of melody “ ’ Twas The Star—Sp angled Banner ” of this land of the brave
and the free .
’ I ve heard s engs sung in many tongues in days that h ave gone h B ut o h ad power to thr ill m e l ike tha t song that re ached n elee SkY; For well I knew each soldier lad whos e voice rang out s o
sweet, On fe b attle field beneath that flag the e would bravely meet . S o thus I sto od til shades of night enwrapp ed th e camp ground there Whil e angel voices from the skies seemed chanting that
sweet air , I pray d to Him wh o reigns abov e and rul es b oth l and and ea For that l oved S tar - Spangled Banner emb lem true of
liberty .
P AT I W N A Y I H PA I T R CK . LL , IR S TR O AND MARTYR .
Don e to Dea th i n Mo u n tjoy Pr is e-n an d In terred in a N am e l r i l C es s G ave n G as n evin em etery.
h E h i O , must rin weep w e her patriot s lumbers ,
Unhonored , unknown in the co ld , s i lent grave , ’ Till the G odd ess of Freedom in loud swelling numb ers E on mb lazons a name the tomb of the brave . Oh ’ , no , for her ch ildren , e er proud of her story, Forgetful may b e ’ till her sp ir i t shall cal l ’ For a mark o er the last bed of h im w h o for glory Of E n — l rin , his loved o e, gave life gave his al . 86 MAYO PICNIC AN D GAMES .
f Come where th e boys o the west will make merry , C ome where th e coll eens of Mayo will smil e .
Laugh ing bright eyes and lip s red as a berry ,
Banteringly sweet will your hours beguile . ’ Sure , they re the lassies c an trip light and airy , ’ Beating good time to the p iper s quick tune . h Graceful and neat, with t e ease of a fairy , ’ Y n 16th f e ou l l find her there o th e o Jun .
’ r n il C ome W here the sp irit of G a u a e s l eading, n C ome where th e h ea rts will b e lightsome a d gay. f ’ ’ I you ve the blues , sure , th ey ll quickly b e sp eed ing , ’ When Carroll s band on th e field starts to play . ’ Then full of joy you ll a colleen be seeking . Oh , such a change will come over you soon , l Jigging and reeling, s y glancing, s oft sp eaking, A h real Irish time on th e 16t of June .
Come wh ere a eaed mil e failth e awaits you , C h o ome where t e Gaels will assembl e , y u know , Au o d sure their prowess will s imply el ate y u . R ecords will fall at th e games of Mayo ,
Such running and jumping and Gaelic diversions ,
You never h ave seen since you first s aw th e mo on . ’ Be sure you re one of th e th ousands of p ersons A t old Celtic P ark on the 16th of June—. June , 1912
TH E MOTH ER OF THE MAN
I will no t sing of queens with h air of gold , W ith rows of p early teeth and eyes of blue ,
But of th e woman whose smile is never cold , ’ ’ 1 For th ere you l l find a h eart th at s good and true , h e S may b e pl ain , aye h omely , if you will , ’
s h e . But wh en sp eaks , ah , me , the beauty s th ere E ach soft word S p oken h as th e power to thril l An d op ens up 1a maz e of wonders rare ; The world which seemed so dull and c ommonplace
Becomes at once a glowing, l iving thing , Th e ch ill of winter vanishes ap ac e An d life b ecomes like one long smiling spring ‘ s Such is the power a good , true woman , wield ’ ‘ G od knew it wh en H e drew the world s pl an H e m ad th e e lakes , th e mountains and the fields
An d woman made as comrad e to th e m an , ’ S o till th e last call o f th e trump et sound s ’ For al l b efor e G od s jud gment seat to stand , “ G o n d h n o d w oman . a t e earth wi th her ab ou ds ,
Will ever b e th e bulwark of each l and . 87 T E ’ H E TINK R S KINGDOM.
It was just as the sun in th e month of July drooth H ad caused a great that made everything dry, That Mohan the tinker of n o fixed abode P i tched his tents by the side of the old county ro ad ; ' To th e north w as a hil l with a spring on its crest w a f e t To th e east s a wood , miles o b g o the west, Whil e th e south showed a village ’ mid rich smiling lea “ h h “ ” A , this is t e spot said b old Mohan for m e.
h of is Then around him he called t e men h band , n i i A d resting h s ch in on the palm of h s h and , “ h ’ S aid , h ere sure at l ast to t e fairest I ve come Of the many brigh t sp ots in a tinkers kingdom ” An d where is th e monarch wh o sits on his throne o Is as h appy as I with a cr wn all my own , k ’ The s y, th at in d aytime with sunlight e er b eams , n A d at night radiant shines wi th th e moo n and star gl eams .
o n o N w I d o t rule you with d espotic h and , ’ I m the chief of th is trib e an d I simply comm and Y ou to do what is best for our clan one and all , ’ An o d I kn w there s not on e but will answer th a t call . S ee h ere in the wood there is plenty of game An d timber to give to our c amp fire s flame ’ e While there s turf in yon b g, would a man of you Spurn ” Th e glow from such fuel so bright does it burn ?
Then here in this stream that flowes down from the spring
There ar e Jackpike and eels fit for empero r or king, W hil e food for our hors es and donkeys you s ee s n I ple tiful down in th at ri ch smiling lea, ’ And what more does man wa nt s ave wh at Nature e er glves To th e f olks who w ill for age th e wher ewithal he lives ? S o with God as our law and the earth as our p lan ’ ” No e a tinker er bows to the mandates of m n .
If th e few! of our neighbors grow lesser by time o o S l ng as they c annot ch arge us with th e crime, 0 Let the banquets b e rich with th e Spoils you will bring
To th e tents of your fath ers wh ere Moh an is king, A . ye, king of th e tinkers w h o number this cl an f fifty stout fellows and each on e a man Fit for fun or for fro lic a gamb ol or figh t And all of wh om know th at Chief Moh an is right .
88 ’
S o t M Tom P at th e gauntle was p icked up by ike, or , A o s he quickly casts ff his coat , vest and hat , An d in pugilist pos e h e trip s out on th e street S C bu ek o aying, ome on my this here is your meat . H ow the l ads of th e town howled in accents of gl ee At o of the th ught the scrap they were going to s ee, N ever dreaming th at thus they were viewing but some f s O the up and th e downs of a tinkers kingdom .
Quick a lightening this first p air of bucks come to blows , s te s The ch allenger p a h ard fist with h is nose , An d the b lood of a Mohan by Mohan is shed As down in a stream pours th e blood , claret red ,
Then h is woman steps forth in d efense of h er man , ’
That s the signal for action by all of th e clan , An d s o fathers and moth ers and daughters and sons H ave entered the fray and are going great guns .
S uch mauling and brawl ing, such wrestling and strife , ’
A city bred youngster ne er saw in his l ife , ’ Twas a real battle royal where woman and man W of ere uph olding the prowess and pride th e clan , To the end that they cared not for British made laws
A fight th ey were into no matter the cause , or N th e , nish that usu al ly to the clan come w oe Full of worry and for the Mohan kingdom .
h Who is the b est man ? A , h ard to decide ,
Interference has suddenly come from outside , ’ For alas and alack when th e scrap s at its height i A bunch of damn hobb es rush in l eft and right , An d th e blood besmeared tinkers both women and men
S o on find themselves prisoners the town j ail within . n P s a A d the J . . next morning in sentenc e doth y “ ” Ten days for each one or ten shillings each p ay .
’ ’ Tis th en th ere s a bu stlin g to s ee if the coin
IS forthcoming to pay for each prisoner th e fine , S o th e purses and wal lets are search ed for the cush
Whil e over th e whol e Moh an gang falls a hush , As in whisp e r s th ey count ou t th e shill ings and pen c e f Left from the debauch , th e cause of their o fense ’ ’ Gainst th e l aw of Queen Vic wh ich defines crime outr ight
Is being drunk and disorderly and indulging in figh t .
90 ll After counting, th e tinkers find three quid is a
They can scramble together, s o th en comes th e cal l As to whom are th e ones to be freed there and then To go out and try s crap e u p the rest of the tin By sel ling whatever good coin will command “ h ‘ The horses , th e donkeys or augh t th at t e band H as in treasure or store it c an o ffer fo r sal e n oh an A d thus keep the freeborn M s from j ail .
’ Ti s i r s done x a e free and fast campward. they fly , ’ Bad luck to the drink th ey dare get th e they re dry An d s ick in th e head from that c ursed day b efore When whiskey was blended with proud Moh an gore ; ’ N ow tis bargains th ey o ffer th e go od p eopl e round , For they must raise the fine and that means seven pounds ; Th ere are fourteen good Moh an s awaiting the train
That will take th em to prison ten d ays to remain .
m ’ o ’ Thus the kingdo of tinker s pr gresses thro life ,
From friendsh ip , p eace , gl adness , to b attle and strife , s ad To prison , to freedom , now carefree , now , ’ E er taking from l ife bo th the good and th e bad With a gyp sylike p enchant and outlook th ey claim N atur e owe-s them a living an d they get th at sam e s n d r affi c in By to il ing, by cheming a by t g some Al ’ l according to th e laws of a tinker s kingdom .
E TH E SH IRK R.
H e s w a a man to nature true , H is wants were simp le , aye , and few , ’ Life s troubles for him h ad no fear , o S long as h e could get hi s b eer , An d quietly h e went along th ere l ife ’ Thout friend or sweetheart , child or wife .
H is fel lowman he would no t cheat o S l ong as h e had lots to eat,
S imp le his way and p lain his talk , ’ n A d sure h e d rather ride than walk , For exertion he would never Sh irk S o long as he h ad not to work .
91 WH AT DID THEY DIE F OR .
What did th ey die for , the true and th e brave Who gave to E rin all th at Martyrs could give ? They died the soul of a nation to s ave
An d t . that truth , right , justice and freedom migh live
A S th e heritage true o f al l sons of mankind , ot th N e vested righ t of a privil eged few , So the Christl ike men are the m eh w e find do Who for right , truth , justice will die or .
a Wh t d id they die for, the men whose names Are linked with Irel and and E astertide ? A c ause that gleams with the noblest flames f O human rights , for wh ich m en have died , S o we wh o gl ory in Christ the man n A d the death H e suffered to make men free , If true to principle , creed and clan, M ust stand for justice and lib erty .
W P P ? hat d id you di e for , loved adraig earse W C ? hat did you d ie for , brave James onnolly
W as i t that traitors . migh t thus revers e Y f erfid ? our cause , to their scheme o p y
C Mc n h 1 ri larke , Do ag , P lunkett , McB de,
Mallon , C olb ert, th e brothers Kent, W as i t for th is gross fraud you died , ? You , wh ose l ife bloo d was for freedom spent
Y K h oung evin Barry , w y d id you di e ’ A fel on s death on the sc aff old tree ? ll h A true men know wel l the reas on w y, ’ a Tw s for righ t , for justice and liberty ; An D rm o d Daly , Mc e tt and B e n ston to o . ’ 1 Th ey died that a nation s soul might live , Ever to E r in and freedom tr ue
Their martyr b lood did they freely give .
Tom Ash e you suffered b efore your s oul
Went forth to meet in th e Great Beyond , w h The martyrs brave h o ad reached that goal , n For being to Erin true , fervent a d fond , An d why did the tyrant murder you ? Ah e w h o e , w are true to our race can t ll , t I was not b ecause you were false , untrue ,
An d the cause of Moth erland will ing to sell .
Let foul Brixton Prison rise up before v Tho se of our race wh o would censure the bra e , ’ Then ask if th e figh t for freedom is o er , The freed om for which Terence MacSw in ey gave
92 ll A that a pure true soul could give , Ch With a ristlike p atience thro tortured days , Th at the cause of E rin and freedom would l ive ‘ , An d the struggle be crowned with V icto r s rays .
a i n Wh t did th ey d e for , o e and all Who since E aster week for Ireland d ied
Th e l ads wh o answered proud freedom s call , ? Th e wom en and children killed , sacrificed h e t h By t hireling brutes of e tyrant o ld , Whose emp ire reeks of the b lood and tears Which th at p irate shed in his lust for gold All o e over the earth f r a thousand y ars .
a S a Sh me , h me on you men of th e G ael ic race , W h o for o mess f p ottage , would compromise ’ A nation s rights which sh ould hold first pl ace , In all heart-s wh ere th e sp irit of justic e l ies ;
If martyrs h ave suffered and died in vain ,
An d gold not princip l e rules the world , Then wel l migh t th e wrath of God again d Like on S odom of old , he earthward hurle . 2 July , 19 2
S ome men to wealth are born and bred
S ome to that end asp ire , S ome to th e heights of fam e are led ’
To seek . their h eart s d esire , ’ And o thers still on glory s field Find th ere a deathless crown ; To death a fruitful harvest yi eld f Th e seekers o renown . ’ o er is The p ainter h canvas raves ,
Th e p oet woos h is muse , ‘ ’ ’ Th e author sails o er fi cti-on s waves
Its mysteries to diffuse .
Th e actor , doctor, each in turn,
P lay th eir allotted p arts , The gambler honest toil will spurn
W hil e games of ch anc e h e starts , An d so in all the p ath s of life E ac h on e his groove does find
While joy and gladness , c are and strife ,
Rul es what is called mankind .
93 MEE I ME UPON T NG S O FOLKS F ROM H OME . When old friends meet in foreign l ands As we tonight have met And in the friendly clasp of h ands
Find memories linger , yet Around the dear old childhood home Mid scenes that still are dear ’ Th at wh ereso e er from th em w e r oam Ou r thoughts Will drift b ack there Back to the land of our childhood h E rin , t e gem of the wave Back to the mountain and wildwood The lakes and the r ivers that l ave Th e emerald turf of our S ir elan d Or flow thro h er bogs purple - brown ’ S o here s a fond wish to Old Ireland S Clar en orris From some gaels from weet Town . N 14 ovember , 19 .
’ TIS NOT F OR YOU AND ’TIS NOT F OR
An Irish lass and an Irish lad
S at in a mes sy dell , A story sweet tho’ old he had
The maid th at day to tell , An d a red, red rose in his hand he held ,
Then gave it to th e maid , ’ For her love s story sweet it Sp elled , A s thus h e softly said ,
Chorus : Ah ’ ’ , tis not for you and tis not for me , That all this world goes round ; But all my world is in your eyes An d by your swe et face b ound , Ah m a , the years may come and the years y An d those eyes les s bright m ay be,
But stil l th e earth and heaven , also ,
Will sh ine in them for me .
On e day they w ed and the go ld en sun S hone brightly in th e sky , An d n the lad smiled on his dearest o e, As she stood blush ing, nigh ,
S o the months rolled on and th e years elap s ed , N o e l w th y both are o d and staid , ’ But ever to his hear t she s clasp ed , An d to her softly said :
94 A M W O E IREL ND, Y O N L V D MOTH ERLAN D .
h o ’ A , Motherland , th e cean s wide divide u s ’ Tis more and more my love doth grow for thee ’ I d happy he no matter wh at betid e us If you were a nation once more free . m h The stars all see into t y loved name falling, th a Th e waves al l seem to sing it to e str nd , e I hear a, nightingale , and he s ems calling I own M reland , my loved otherland .
’ h m s ad A , Motherland , I often and lonely,
As I dream of scenes l ong, long ago ; ’ My spirit s ever h overing about you , s ee Thy h ills I no matter where I go . H ear my soul cry out across the ocean , o G od bless thee little isl e s green and gr and , F or h you I ave a wealth of deep devotion , I e own M r land , my loved o therland .
June , 1906.
’ LOVE S YOUN G DREAM.
’ o old m I oft times th ink f you , d ear h ear t, wh en some elody Rings in my ear and seems to bring those old days back
to me . o The days when y u and I , dear heart, wer e care free , young
and gay, ’ An d love s young dream did ever seem to both of us to s ay
’ on o n Dream , young love , young l ove , dream , for l ife tis
but a dream . ’ You re building castl es in th e air ; things are not as th ey
seem . ’ th ’ ’ The present s here , e future s near , the p ast s forever gone ; ’ You ll soon h ave naught but memories . Dream on , young
love , dream on .
Th e seas divide us now, dear h eart , of each we are b ereft . ’ ’ Our etl n o p in distant lands w l ie , and memory s all that s tede I I be But sti ll think o f you , dear heart , no matter wh ere , An d often wonder if at times you ever think of me . on ’ Dream , young love , young love , dream on . This life tis
but a dream .
as . We still build castles in th e air , find things not th ey seem ’ ’ e s ’ Th e pres nt here , th e future s near , th e p ast s fo rever
’ An d n all that s left is memory sweet . Dream o , young love , n dream o . 95 CASE ON THE H I H COST Y G OF LIVIN G .
You talk of th e high cost of living r F l S aid Casey to M s . Mc au , ’ Sure I ve got a serious mi-sgiving ’ no There isn t such thing at all , r F or sure we a e only existing, ’ As to living ma am what do you mean ? Tha t your b ody is merely r esisting ’ The fact that you re just a h as been
N ow let us for instance decipher
The various co sts of our grub , ’ ’ F or is h o t we w must e er p ay the p iper, ’ r th ub We a e only e other man s d , or of F he boosts up the price potatoes , H k e boosts wheat and c orn s y high .
“ Then h e cans all th e b eans and tomatoes An d th claims that e crop has been shy .
Then h e s ends flour up to the limit, n A d our bread costs us doub le the dough , ’ nd no As to o atmeal a rice we re t in it , ’ h e s Their prices boosted also,
- Why, even th e peanut is so aring An s d eeking a p lace in th e sun . What cares b e if our insides are roaring ’ n A d our po cket book s down on th e run .
So l ong as h e p iles up the greenbacks n A d waters his sto ck to high tide , While through various ch annels h e makes tracks To evade all th e law o n ou r sid e ’ ’ Sur e we re ground neath his h eel every minute , ’ Just whether we r e living or dead , ’ i As h is ch attels and serfs we re righ t n it, N ow truer words never were said
I tell you ma ’ am that you are dreaming ’ Of th e high cost of living that s all , W hil e some men with millions are teeming ’ W r McF aul hat s th e status of M . ? ’ W hy h e s getting the same weekly wages - fiv a That h e drew twenty e years go, ’ An d it do esn t need wisdom of s ages To know what to do with h is dough
F or th e eats for the table cost doub le W h at they did when you first were a bride , n d - A to m ake end s meet now is the trouble , A ye, a hard one for us to decide For a luxury faith is the p l ainest f O grub tha t a body can eat, ’ Sure the soup bone the butcher s maintain is W orth just quite as much as th e meat . 96
F O B T E O IF R UNKEM H Y W ULD VOTE .
’ B unkem w s r Ben a a foxy guy, from o e the s ea he came ; Once on these shores he plied his oars to reach th e s ea of me His e was Po i f b arqu the litical , a l ght draught kind o boat, P rO ell d h ’ p y windy bellowed sails , thro soc ial streams to feat
His lo as g b ook tells follows , the c ourse h e would pursue , The benefits that to mankind would from his voya ge accrue ; E ’ lect me , boys , and you will ris e from ou t environ s moat , all of For you will live at cas e if for m e you will vote .
’ I ll ch ange your present mod e of life ; all ills I will efface ; ’ ll ’ I cause a great upheaval that wil l change th e world s face . ’ ’ n A d when I m worth a million, won t I be a man of note ’ h for O , you ll all b e that, my brothers , if me you only vote .
’ ll r n I j ail the grafte s o e and all , corruption I wil l kill, All ffi municipal o ces with brothers I will fill , ’ An d ll e work I find for every man, ashor , aye , and afloat ; ’ l il I l mould a model government if for m e you w vote .
’ You ll ride to work in autos , ow n steam yachts by th e score . ’ ’ n a I monop lanes , like eagles , thro the air you ll grandly so r ; ’ An d you ll care less for ten dollars than you onc e did for a
groat . h ’ O , you ll all b e mighty moguls, if for me you only vote .
’ You ll b e governors and mayors , legisl ators , c ongressmen ; ’ An d regulate the hour when a day s work should b egin ; Utopia ’ s glorious b anner over every pl ace will float ’ n o I our international kingd om , if for m e you ll nly vote
’ ’ ’ You ll drink ch amp agne fore your breakfast, Chianti fore your lunch ; E c at o f eve ything the choicest , wash it down with laret pun cr ’ ’ You ll b ecom e as wise as sages , and from great men s lives
will quote , f r o e Idolized by future ages , if o me y u only vot
’ h You ll own all your present bosses , and can make t em sh ine
your shoes , Light your clear H avanas and mix your cocktail b ooze ’ You be th to C , you ll egreat dicta rs and can shout , om e here
And o s for . th e b s es will come crawling, if me you only vote
W for man wh o ith ten a day, th e smallest p ay any worlb sones
An d a hundred to th e sup erman wh o all h onest labor sh irks , ’ Whil e he plans out vast improvem ents th at thro all his pip e
dreams float . 98 ’ ll s 0 , I plan a wondrou universe , if for me you will vote .
’ You ll make love to all th e lad ies ; h ave sweeth earts by th e ore; ’ Free b eer and free tob acco you ll find find everywh ere ga
ore. ’ An d th e man w h o doesn t u s e them with the b ig stick we will smote ; Rex o Queens il l cal l ye my br thers, if for me you only o v we .
r i i Now, ch eca up , the day s com ng when real freemen ye W 1ll be t An d graft will b e a dead word ; j ust take it s raight from me . ’ s a a Everybody wil l be h one t , there won t b e j rring note ;
But rememb er my Utopi a dep ends upon your vote .
n o o : To conclude th is happy p icture , ow t al l of y u I say ’ n Keep o working l ike th e devil ; don t anticip ate the day . ’ n n r An d twas ot a William Shakespeare , o a Longfellow, who wro e \ AI thos e p leasant th ings about the time when B u nk em gets
your vote .
L A OUR GRAND O D FL G .
S th e ilent night and the moo n brightly sh ining, As m I and my p ip e so lemn co p any keep . W fi rm am n h ile th e stars up ab ove th e blue e t l ining, Are glistening l ike tears that an angel migh t weep .
Th e smoke up ward curling makes p ictures fantastic , t ’ Th a rise fore my vision in phantom array,
From a simple home scene , to a war tableau drastic , n o r That soone are born th an faded away .
’ n But o e midst th em all seems recurring more often , Ah ! longer its charms th e smoke ringlets h old , An d th e rays of the moon seems th e background to soften , c f By framing it in , in a cir le o gold, ’ Tis a flag red and white , with a star Sp angled corner Of blue , th at blends fine with the white and the red , An d s o ’ it waves , 0 ! grand , tis a p erfec t ad orner ’ For the crown that sits fair on Miss Liberty s h ead .
’ ’ C a m o Tis olumbi s proud emblem , ay G d ever bless them , t With men o defend them , forever and aye ,
That th e fair winds of freedom may ever caress them , ’ And o o r o S vi cto ry e er bring t u l ved U . . A Ah ’ l . stay there grand p icture , I l smoke until morning , M m old yself and y p ip e sure , are friends and true , An d faith there i s non e dare look on you with sc orning W on hilst e lover i s ready to d ie or to do.
199 IN S W EET CO NT U Y MAYO.
Oh A r ’ , cushl a baun, there a e pretty sp ots way out here in
the west , An d D m e N tur e in her own sweet way in beauty h as them aj ressea w ’ But ith all their wondrous charms , sure they can t com
p are , you know Wi th S C M the old haunts of our childhoo d in weet ounty ayo .
S S ure , the tates can boast of rolling p lains and mountains S l m l p y grand , W ’ hile wooded tracts immense , indeed , are scattered o er this land ; ’
But ther e s someth ing mi ssing in them to the exi led heart,
you know, t ecalls s o Tha ome sp ots h e kn w, dear , in Swee t Co unty 1fia o y .
Ah C , around dear old laremorris , there are emerald h ills u and de s , An d smiling bits of forest where the kindly fairy dwells M e idst nymph s of music thrilling, as the breezes softly wow From the Moorlands brown and purp le in Sweet C ounty of M ayo .
Faith th e Yellowstone is wondrous and the Rocki es giant 18 While th e prairies vast of Texas are a sigh t to thrill th e
eye , W ’ here for days and days you d travel and not meet or hear,
you know, Folks to greet you with a bles sm g l 1ke you would 1n Sweet Mayo
They can have their p arks and mountains , th eir cities and
their p lains , N ot that I do belittle them , but the fact at least remains , ’ h That I d rather see Croagh P atrick and th e N ep m range ,
you know,
An d the bogs and smil ing meadows of Sweet County Mayo .
Ah God , sure is kind to every land and beauty scatters wide i h An d well may free C olumbia l ook upon her 5 0 11 w t prid , ’ e an tl n But that little isl e unconquered , p g neath th e tyrant s blow
H as a thousand Sp ots of beauty just as dearly loved , you know
100
A M CL RE ORRIS . i of (Dedicated to my friend and townsman , T . Qu nn C Ouray , olorado . h ! A wh en that sweet name caught my eye , Old memories fast came thronging A down the road of days gone by ,
- S o fraught with l ove and longing . n A d scenes that well my boyhood knew , Like phantoms rose befor e me ; ’ ’ Til l I forgot as oft I do , ’ That ali en skies were o er me .
” “ ” B oh er ar ra The Goods Store , g l ake , “ ” Th e Cro ssroads at th e quarry , ’ An d fi ld be there is May e s g and brake , Ar dr o e fort, and Lough Carra . Sure al l o f them are p ictured n ow In one vast p ano r am a ,
With faces of brave men I vow , ’ W h o p layed in that night s drama .
’ K’ . s ee T Q , D . , and well I ’ O K himself, poor fellow ! An d boys whose names began with B ,
Hearts with no tinge of yellow . ’ o P W . n . , Balla s martyred s , God res t his soul in heaven ; ’ ’ n E O rin s breast a bed h e s won ,
H e sl eep s in old G lasnevin .
’ Tho l ad I w as wh en matchless brains l “ ’ ” Th eir ski l with Carter s measured , ’ ’ In memory s book th ose true men s names ,
I sacredly h ave treasured . And n i h when at g t with p ip e I keep , 0 “ A - thought fest stil l and solemn,
From out th e wreaths of smoke will creep ,
- A never ending column .
e s -o The forms and fac s , friends dear ; S ome famed in song and story ; l Whi e over all s hines brigh t and cl ear ,
A dazzl ing crown of gl ory . An d M h o ayo , proud of sons w gave
Th eir best to Moth er E rin , S tands beaming on h er true and brave r Th e old green flag up ear ing.
1 N ow o I o y u and , dear fr iend , c an g , n I fancy soft and tender, ’ of ho O er graves men w faced the foe, “ Their sl ogan No surrender An d hirel ings b acked by British go ld , ’ ‘ Found brute force ne er could sever, f l The r ights o E r in nation o d, r To s tand a nation eve .
’ n B rn a rroll - O a ca s wind swept h ill ,
Friends well b eloved are lying, ’ lm The breez e at even ca and still , A - round their graves a sigh ing . ld Som e sl eep in o Kilcolman , too, ’ lli m all In B a n s s more resting, W t C h ile swee rossboyne holds quite a few, o R Their m unds th e fair obe br easti ng .
n A d others found in alien soil , Their final b ed of slumber ; h A ! you and I when freed from to il , b May b e amongst th at num er . ’ ’ But tho we re h ere in exile bound, f r There yet is reason o u s,
To praise once more that hal lowed ground , l “ ” Our own , b e oved Claremorris .
March 2 , 1913.
L MOL Y MULQUEEN .
Molly Mulqueen is a gal of mine M , ighty fine , simply divine , W ’ to e re be wed in th e summertime , ’ ’ Tis happy then we ll be ; h O , no more will I h ave to roam ,
Or eat free lunch with a mug of foam , ’ F or I ll stick cl ose to my happy h ome , o ’ N w , s ay, d on t you envy m e ?
’ l I l furnish a neat little H arlem fl at , N f ever sp at , just think o th at ,
Molly and I and the pu s sy cat,
Just u s three ,
Until some day comes a littl e h eir, W s o ith golden hair and face fair, M Just like Molly ulqueen , so there , N o ’ w , s ay, d on t you envy me ?
103 HANDS ACROSS THE S EA.
t H erald of Freedom , blow thy trumpe , let its blast blow l oud
and long , ’ ’ ’ O er C olumbia s vales an d mountains and h er children s
homes among, ’ E e Till the echoes of its s ounding, wakes th e agl in his nest ’ ’ To th e sh adow gl ooming darkly o er our nati on s pulsing breast
S le o pirit of Liberty , awaken , t thy t rch more brigh tly gl ow , ’ m Till the ideals of the fathers gl ea as in th e long ago , l a rl ots When for death or g orious freedom , p t girded on th e
sword , ’ An d gainst Tary traitorou s workings faced the British o mongrel h rde .
f Winds of Freedom , catch Old Glory emblem o our loved an ’ Till each stripe and star a legion call s, to staunch and proudly stand
- - For th at self determination , keystone of d emocracy A o republi c , now and forever fr m th e wiles of Britain free .
G h ow oddess of Liberty , rememb er , you thrust in days of
yore , ’ By the aid of dauntless freemen , Britain s vandals from
thy shore , e a Whil th e Tory Jackals , purch sed , worked as now doth work the knave ’ h itc h G as To to eorge s chariot, thee proud land , object l s ave .
All h o w worship kings and princes know not true demo cracy , fl u n ki They are but the willing es bowing to autocracy , An d b e th ey of wealth the owners seeking coronet to buy , ’ E s ngl and always h as uch baubl e , for th e serf who ll bribe
and lie . I 1 I ’ In God let s trust and in no other , s ave ourselves your
ch ildren true , M r Let us tel l our would b e oth er that w e still can die o d o , “ l ’ To keep grand O d Glory waving o er this great republi c .
free , Answer thus G oddess of Freedom to th eir hands across s th e ea .
104
M ME ORIE S .
0 ! Erin , Mavourneen , my p oor heart i s aching, ’ ’ I m th inking of loved spots I ll never s ee more , i A p icture s o fair through my d ay dream is break ng, ’ In fancy I wander by Liff ey s dear shore; ’ ’ o l An d had fate but been kind, now tis there I d b e r am n g f ’ d The br ight days o youth , h ow I gladly recall . Wh en my barque danced th e wave in the m l dsumm er gloam
mg, ’ ’ E er I said farewell to s weet Dublin s North W all .
’ From th e pigeon - house fort looking out o er th e waters ’ ’ h s There s Blackrock , there s Kingstown, while north e
Clontarf , Then th e quays you can see like a fair r ow of daughters All stretching right b ack from th e C ustom - house wharf ; And is its there the Dodder , bright surface g—leaming, There muscle and brawn oft met victory downfall , The bright sun on Ringsend and S andymount beaming ’ I seem now to s ee from sweet Dub lin s N orth Wall .
a 0 Dub l in sth ore , sure wherever I wander A ’ shore or afloat, faith I m thinking of the e, ’ My sp irit s now rambling three thousand mil es yonder
To where once more th is rover is longing to be , A- watch ing the smoke of th e sh ip s upward curling ’ ’ e sk o erveilin To join the blu y that s g them all , An d s ee the gray seagulls their l ight wings u n furlmg ’
R a l W . ound th t loved s pot, sweet O d Dubl in s North ell — 11 September 2, 19 .
C ALL ME AT EVENTIDE .
’ n S Twas i th e golden ummertime at , eventide d ear heart , l o ’ You sa d y u loved me only and from m e ne er would part, “ " But you left me lonely , cro ssed the great d ivide , ’ And I m r o waiting still dear heart fo y u each eventide .
Chorus Yes , waiting for you d ear to call me Ou t o t th e realms above , Where with my darling I ever b e l on F oating wings of l ove , W c here p arting will b e never more , lear , No e matt r wh at may b etide , S o ’ m dearest , I waiting to he ar you C all me at eventide .
’ Ah I m s ad , with longing, life seems cold and drear , I s ’ ’ For mi s you dear one , tho thy sp irit s near , As I l fa n would have you ever at my side, ’ S o I m f r waiting still , d ear h e art, o you e ach eventide . 106 I E TO A YOUN G RUSS AN J WESS .
” o 0 s Mildred , fair chil d f th e far 11 land and old world way ,
H ow quickly hast thou grasp ed the true significance ,
Of trend and thought, now governing the h ighways s Of Progress , aye , the realm of advance o tterm en t In all that tends t be in life , W h ere more of braln and less of body s trife h Bespeaks success , to those w o dare to tread r The broad , bro ad road to fortune o to fame , a A rough , h rd road to travel , Miss Mildred , But on e upon which all of u s have claim Because the great Creator gave to all o h Th e right , to j ourney t wards whence comes t e c all
Of life, no matter what th e final guerdon be , ’ E ach one h as right to seek one s destiny ’ e According to one s own expr ssed desire , ’ r r F or the mind , trammeled o fre e makes life s eternal fi e w a of m a Burn which ever y the trend though t y guide , F or good or evil b oth flames spread s o w 1de And not on e whit b eyond th e mark fate sets ’ As bound ary for th e ch ild , a mother s womb b egets .
JU S T AN ATOM. Whil e the world goes round th ere will always be found ho Amongst human kind many w are foolish , n d too A , others in whom much good sens e abound , M h e any of t same cranky and mulish , r N ow l ife is too short, sure, why wo ry or fret ?
of . For your faults are l ife but a feature , Yo f u may b e rich , af luent , p oor or in debt, ’ of N a But ature , you r e just one sm ll creature .
T C A TO HE ORK L DIES . f Fair daugh ters o Cork, sure I s ee by Th e Advocate a n S That your b l l will come off o this aturday night . Ma y the music that rings in the Lyceum generate , ’ M of of idst the greatest crowds all th e j oys delight . ’ i Sure this s a wi s h from a friend who s no t new to ye , o C Fair , grand , gallant daughters f brav e Rebel ork ;
May the ogirls from the Lee and the B lackwater flock to An d R a l all ebel sons in th t dear o d N ew Yo rk .
May p leasure and j oy crown your eff orts with wonderment An d a smiling big crowd danc e rings round on the floor . May success shine th at night on a great and grand element Of c ailin s T r i r and gossoons round King e p s cho e. tI e R F aith eb el men proud , sure , I know will b e th ere w1tli ye .
W of s o of ith th ousands exil e from utside Cork , f ’ I my wish and G od s blessing from ou t west can get to ye , b Grand , fair Re el daughter s in dear old N ew York . 107 H OW JOHN IN N NEA Y EE RL F R D IRELAND .
Th e t as - abl e with glasses w litered, the b ooze had been freely
passed round , nd nn A John I , the braggart and boaster , his tongue at thi s
moment h ad found . ’ Hould O ll on, byes , tell ye a story , a blood curd ling story .
begob . ’ ’ dails wid freein ir l n d [ t th e uv O e a , an Oi wus the man on h t e j ob . ’ Ye i w as O h know O in the militia , an i wore t e red co at uv
the Queen , ’ But it wasn t b ecause Oi w u s traitor to the land uv th e h arp ’ an th e green . ’ 0 Oi Oi a in , no , wus there fer a purp ose , me chance wus w it ,
ye see . i ’ i Fer shure O b elonged to the Fenians , an O swore to set irelan O d free . ’ Ho m I ? Th r oth i m i w ould , faith , O thirty . O was born in ’7a ’ ’ An Oi am an ould sixty sevener that e er to th e o ath has
been true , ’ ’ Fer ever sinc e then Oi ve been plan in to drive out the S axon
sp alp een , ’ An unfurl the flag u v me country once more over ould C ol
lege Green . u s 0 , Oi w th e bhoy that could do it, if courage could do it , o y u b et . B Are e 0 u t m e p lans they were foiled . y l istening ? tha t _ , i’ ll night shure O never forget . ’ t a 0 1 n o i Well , to ell ye wh t had intend ed , don t laugh w , t ’ won t take m e l ong . ’ ’ Twas to capture the b lame magaz ine , l ads , and there s where
me plans all went wrong . ’ That nigh t 0 1 w as on sentry duty ; tw.as so dark ye could s not ee yer hand , n n i t A d this wus the igh t O had wished fer, to do th e grea i things O had planned . ’ i Th e hour wus w ay fore reveille , as O crept to th e closed
guard room do or . ’ ’ Oi rush ed in an soon had th e corporal an th e guard al l tied
upon the floor , i ffi O gagged them as well , byes , b egorrah , by stu ng in each m n o th a sock , An d said , lay there , ye Spalpeens , till morning, then turned th e key in the lock . The m gazine now was before me ; it stood in a corner an a o e. ’ Twas down in th e ground fifty feet, lads , cut out u v th e solid
limestone , An d the only way you could get in th ere w as down three long v s flights u tone s tairs ,
0 m , that dream was a wonderful drea , John ; it was vivid, of ’ th at there s n o doubt, But th e next time you go to free Ireland put th e whole o British army t rout . ’ Ah a , many s the ch nce did ye have , John, when E ngland was
brought to her knees , ’ ’ But a corp oral s guard ye ne er sent, John, wh o would fight
to s et Ireland free , An d you and th e bunch of bunk h eroes wh o speak of th e sword and the gun S tood passively by while the true and th e bra ve the land for n the p eople have w o , An d ye slandered the m emory of true men as their souls
through the golden gate p ass . Why your skull would be cracked d id —you whis p er your ’ story to Doran s j ackass , An d if I the freedom of Ireland real fighting we stil l have t0 d0 , ’ H er w ar n eati1 th e cry will br ing her standard th e valiant ,
brave and the true, The men wh o h ave ever been faithful to h er interests when
put to th e test, An d the rol l call of battl e will muster in her legions th e gal
lant and b est, S o clin ; to your ancient ideas dream on wh ile the fighting is g , one ,
But sing dumb , you dastards and cowards when Ireland her
freedom has won . — October 28, 1911.
TIPPERARY LADIES .
ailin Tip your ha ts to Tipp erary , Tipp erary c s sweet,
As to music light and airy ye trip with flying feet . ’ ’ Soft as br eezes from th e G altee s thrilling as th e wild bird s
f il h Will b e glad caed mill e a t es at Imp erial Lyceum .
’ Wake me from dull care s al arms till I dance a j i g and reel
Wi th a cail in in my arms let me through p olka sp iel . ’ Ah ’ M o W f o , there s Limer ick s Wal ls , av urneen , aves o T ry, h ear the hu m u Of the danc ers gai ly turning a t Imp eria l Lyce m .
cailin Tip your h ats to Tipperary, Tipp erary s grand , ’ ’ ’ h ern l r r to our Of t s e We l l ne er grow weary , they e a credit laneli ’ Cailin dhas who knows no b eating till they know you ve
b eat them some , m Thousands will r espond your greeting at Imperial Lyceu . SING US AN IRISH SONG.
S us ou r ing a song that will cheer hearts up a bit, On e h as o o with a tune th at g t a s ul ring to it, W h G ’ i y, in od s name , should we glo omily thinking s t, ’ When we ve a key that can brighten it al l . M w e ot h elodies sweet h ave g by t e score , ’ In of praise th e land that we e er will adore , E w e rin, prid e in thee , brave sons h ave died for thee, C f From ove o Cork up to sweet Donegal .
’ u K - Sing s illarney . Ah , sure , there s a. thrill in it ; “ ’ Or th e sweet Sh andon Bells , with th e Le e s r ippling o mfi i n 1t ’ ’ nd l r A o d Dublin Bay , let s have ou h earts fill of it,
0 , Ireland is s oulful of musi c , agra . “ Ballyporeen” and the Town of Athlone “ “ a” The Val e of Avo c and Old Garryowen ,
Joyous an d sound of them , gladness ab ounds in them , f Grand are th e songs o green E rin Go Bragh .
B c h o of Th e la kb erry Blossom , w lightsome the air it , Th “ ’ R i e Connaugh t Man s amb le s , wh at rollick ng cheer
to i t, ’ n E h A d then, sure , there s rin th e Smile and t e Tear in it, S a ongs , 0 , a cushla , th t never will die . “ ” “ en f h e W ith the Boys of Kilkenny, The M o t e W st, h “ k ’ An d t e ne at Crus een Laun, e er smi ling its b est,
Erin inspirin th em , love for her firing th em ,
s of th e g) the Mi Bo . Song rave , like bold nstrel y
’ it Brian Boru s March . A r eal royal ring to , “ ’ ” O Donnell Abu h as a da sh an d a swing to it, i The Dear Little Sh amro ck, we lovingly cl ng to it ,
e e e of th a . Gre n li ttl mblem Erin , e gr nd ” e n That Limerick is Beautiful , very o e knows , “ ” And W e to h er o th e , exford Boys n ver would yield f es , ' r o h m sin u s of Great is ou store f t e , g galore th em ,
Swe et are th e songs of our dear native l and .
’ r Then h ere s a. h ealth to the land of ou b irth , W h ere can its equ al b e found oup earth ? f on E merald the s od o it , tyrants hav e trod it, But th e sp irit of freedom is virile there yet ON TH E AN GLO - AME RICAN AL LIANCE AGAINST
GERMAN Y.
oh n B Mi o i J u ll to ss C lumb a .
’ ou C a H o ’ o Ow h are y , Miss o lumbi ? , w beautiful you look ; ’ ’ Don t blym m e h if I tell you that hon you H im n ow dead S tn o]? M My dear daughter , iss Bri tannia , said hask cousin would sh e ple ase ’ i ’ f Take ha sail with me , to show some folks H m ruler h o the seas ? ’ ’ ’ ’ W i ie o Kaiser s getting chesty , h and more ships e s going t m lg H H h it d and i ham hall exc e , fearing my p et plans are killed . ’ n a f l H o, would t hit be h w u hif my dear ones were made sl aves ? o But h f that there h is n o danger, hif Britanni a rules the
waves .
C olumbia to J . B .
’ 1 r o ou Well , , M . Bull , y u quite surprise me , don t y ;no l ealwly, F or a I he rd you wer e no friend of ours a hundred years ago.
Then we were poor and weak, I was much younger than I
am , o a S b efore I give an answer I will ask my Uncle S m .
Joh n Bull .
o C m H , my dear niece Mis s olumbia , now listen hunto e. - h a You hare han Anglo S axon , j ust the same s Uncle B . 1 We ad h a fam ily quarrel in 776, But H n clt Sammy now hand h i h are just has thick h as gr lz m 8 .
Columbia.
’ on th ere Mr is o o ou e Hold , , . Bull , th er e n d ubt y think you r Wi. se ’ ’ But you can t s o easy pull th e wool down o er my eyes . ’ a h e Uncle S m looks very easy , but you b et s mighty s lick ,
S o I leave you all the honor of b eing th icker than a brick .
l John Bu l .
’ That s h go od j oke , Miss Columb ia , but will surely make h a 1? l H at th pa c hin dear Lunnon, wher e King Heddie says ’ Hi hl 1f m . lo i ’ d ’ li h ’ Ha nd th e b om n blee in H eng s , ho , ow they ll laugh
hat that, ’ ’ e Tho , hit leaves them hl n h a p ickle han th y don t know ’ wh er e they re hat . 112
BA THE LAS S FROM CAS TLE R .
Tim Kelly was a fine gossoon,
W ith h eart s o light and gay, ’ Th e way he d lilt an Irish tun e
Would drive the blues away . ’ But sur e you d leave the gayest throng n A d journey miles afar ,
To hear h im sing t hat sweet old song, ” My lass from Castlebar .
E R FRAIN .
’ Light of my l ife, h e d gaily s ing, i Come b e my gu id n s tar,
An d reign supreme w ere love is king, w r S eet lass from Castl eb a .
0 o s , j y knew never gr eater bound ’ That when I d s it and h ear Tim Kelly start th e first gl ad sounds f ir O that sweet , well known a , ’ I d close my eyes and dreaming go A h cross t e seas afar , Wh ile ou t th e vo ice rang soft and low
Dear lass from Castlebar .
A REFR IN .
’ You by my side I d l ove to r ide ’ r On Collins j aunting c a , An d show with pride my bonnie bride , D ear lass from Castl eb ar .
You well m ight call it melody To h ear Tim Kelly sing. W ith ch armin g voic e so fresh and fr ee ’ H e d m ake the welkin ring .
When done the boys would cheering c all , ’ ’ Tim , sing bout love s bright star, And on e wh o q of all is th e ueen , a Fair lass from C stlebar .
RE A FR IN .
Wh o r a can su p ss my bonni e lass , ’ My soul s bright guiding star ? 0 r a e , g machre , my cailin dhas ,
Fair queen fro m Castlebar .
114 0 years h av e p assed since last I h eard l Tim sing that sweet o d song, But often has my heart been stirred
As years hav e rolled along . From ou t the p ast s o ri ch and rare
A sweet voice from afar , a S ings , sur e l ike sunsh ine w s h er h air C Dea r lass from astl eb ar .
E R FRAIN .
W s o of ith h eart true and eyes blue ,
Brigh t as th e evening star , Dame nature never fairer knew
Than my lass from Castlebar . — 1 January 26, 19 3.
WORRY.
h ’ O , life s too shor t to worry much ’ O er mundane things or troubles such As on our daily pathway touch
From daybreak round to dawning .
’ Tis worry binds the soul s of men ’ An d in oft leads to d isgrac e and s , So u cast th e sh ackl es off yo , then ,
This very morning .
An d if just now your fe eling b lu e Go r wo smoke a p ip e of weed o t , An d b id your worries j oin th e crew ’ In é S atan s r gion .
’ ’ Wh il e you go on o er life s highway A - - new made man , ligh t h earted , gay , ’ M a idst tho s e wh o l ive their l ives e ch day, An d they ar e legion . 14 January 25 , 19 .
H 5 MAY EA O DR MS .
Oh E A ’ , rin , cushla , tho far from thy shore , ’ er n O the wild foamy ocea my Spirit will go , An d I with boyish delight revisit once more ,
The scenes of my childhood in County Mayo .
’ ’ s ee P I the brigh t sun o er Cro agh atrick s blest head , An d w ander again as I did when a boy ’ O er s od the green that shelters my own beloved de ad , t o Tha sleep by the banks of th e Robe and the M y.
From dear old Claremorris I wander afar , H n Through ollymount, Bal li robe , and Westp ort I Then wing my way onward to l oved C astlebar ; h O , memories sweetest of County Mayo .
’ Sure twas there many bright h appy hours I S pent ,
. With one wh o now wings with the angels ab ove ,
An d my sp irit with feelings of j oyous content , ’ Kneels ther e by the shade of my boyhood s young love .
Then a prayer will go up from my wandering soul , n A d is j oined by my angel in heaven , I know,
It asks the Creator wh o al l things control , M To bles s thee forever , sweet County ayo .
’ n Th en I m off through Ma ul la , Foxford , Ballina , — K An d a trip to the far famed illala is made , Ah ! When turning again I go onward , for o tr aide I must visit th e grave of my h er at S .
h a e O , D avitt , thy p l ce sure can nev r b e filled ,
H ow E rin will miss thee , oh , well do I know ,
B u t th e lessons of freedom thy grand voice instilled ,
Will l ive on forever , loyal son of Mayo .
’ N ow onward and o er h ill , mountain and rock , l i h S C To K e t mag , winford and old harlestown ;
Then I fly to the s hrine of our Lady at Knock , ’ An d pray G od s blessing on E rin send down .
a Then over the wide pl ain of Bek n I fly , o An d through Ba llyh aunis next moment I g , I li e S o thus every night, on my p allet ,
An d dream of each loved spot in County Mayo .
’ I Oh , tis deep in my heart sure each place enshrine , o An d all bid me welcome as I r am along,
Through C as tlem agarr et to Sw eet Ballindine , ' Then acros s to th e Ardi au n C as tle at Cong . 1 16
Y’ A E PADD S DDR SS TO ENGLAND .
h ff E a O , long h ave you blu ed it, ngl nd , you bloodthirsty
buccaneer , ’ But w e re wi se to your gam e and hate for your name is the p roudest badge we wear ; An d your boast that th e s u n never sets on your fl ag can b e met with on e as true Th at th e hand of an enemy ther e is found awaiting to strike : o a; y u .
’ It may e amongst th e Australian bush or in Africa s torrid h1 c me , ’ ’ On India s p lains where the G anges flows and th e Hym alaya s
rear sublime , h r Or el s e in t e d epths of C anadian wo ods , o wherever your
foul flag flies , ’ r a - There s an enemy the e , nursing a h ate with a hatred th at
never dies .
An d C h wh o h ere in olumb ia , land of t e free , are thousands ,
hand in h and , Ar e awaiting the day that must surely come when b efore ’ you w ith guns they ll stand An d h elp to wip e ou t the heavy deb t of atonement you owe
our race . o E at S keep your concessions , ngland ; th ey canno t th debt ff e ace .
Go tell to th e crav en Irish wh o kneel at th e foot of thy
throne , A- begging a few concessions instead of demanding their w n o , s Ye , theirs that you stol e , you pirate , with your murderous
hireling crew, Th at w e who ar e true to our land and race ask no conces
sions of you .
’ Tis only knave and polth ro-on who is willing to take a paria Ac ceptan g your mess of p ottage with thanks in his coward cart .
But , damn you , you thief and tyrant , and damn him , the
will ing sl ave , ’ Who d s qu ar e for a small concession all th e blo od of the hrave
118 h 0 u O , 1 , u s tell yo , E ngland , foul murder er, n ow s o £1anliet is o —E ou r We want what ours , and ours nly rin, native land . ’ t o h o And we re willing o figh t t gain it ; a , y u know h ow our
race can fight . S o — o, damn you and your c ncessions what we want is but
our right .
n o r fi l forget t we had a S a s e d, an E mmet, Fitzgerald ,
Wolfe Tone,
- their spirit is still amongst u s, yea, and E ngland , not
theirs alone . ’ S e r e s and the Fa th ers Murphy in memory are her e h0ai a y, th e dauntless sons of th e fighting rac e are anxiously
awaiting th e fray .
Th e s pirit of murdered Crowley comes out of Kilclooney wood An d W a s d Dwyer , th e ickl ow rebel , speaks up a rebel shoul , n o W hil e they ask , is the Ga el decadent ? H ave the sons t the sam e desires ? H as th e l ight on the altar of l iberty died th at was lit in th e blo od of our s ires ?
’ n o i ri hl o o its Oh , ; it s Sh ining b g y; th er e s blo d yet t feed
ame , ’ ’ An d fearless th e hearts wh o ll shed - it in lib erty s holy name ; n r o A d, England , ou h ands are against you , relentles s for y u o r u hate. ’ W e want n ot your damned concessions ; tis only our day w e wait !
The day wh en th e figh ting Irish from over the world wide ’ n I s cried ranks Sh all muster strong as the o cean s tide , Demanding by force of arms th e right that th ey ever cl aim n l n a ri l A free , indep endent Ireland ; a ation in rank a d i/Ia hsfi4 y,
11 19 TH F T E ROAD O OU AN D DOWN .
’ ’ ’ When traveling o er life s p athway, lad , in youth s b loom gay
and free , Forge t no t th at a time will come some day
When al l the j oy you ever had will be a memory . ’ - Maybe you ll be a man th en , old and gray , Of frie ds - l h you may have many, of wealth may have fu l s ore . n Or perhap s like thousa nds frie dless you may roam ,
A stranger poor , uncared for , upon som e for eign sh ore ol ch ilh o Far from that dear d spot your od h ome .
Th en while you ’ ve health and plenty Turn not your head asid e ’ ’ From him who s met with fortune s blighting frown .
Rememb er he was once l ike you , A ’ mother s j oy and pride ,
Th o wrecked now on th e road of out and d own .
G ive him a word of symp athy , a smile if nothing more , ’ Twill ch eer the weary traveler on his way A b ite to eat, a drink perh aps , oft helps the heart full sore n A d sh eds into h is dark soul one bright ray . H ope from it long hath vanished and th e world seems cold
and drear . th e S eek not cause to find , it may give p ain , ’ But m ake him feel that tho h e s down , a friend is s tanding near i To h elp him take a grip on l fe again .
Then th o his clothes are ragged ’ Don t idly p ass h im by , e H may h ave once been man of high renown, A ’ father s fair haired darling, ’ Th e light of mother s eye ,
This wreck now on th e road of out and down .
' ’ A right good fellow p erh aps h e d been when h e was in his
prime , o Was well to do , h ad friends and plenty , t o, An d ’ often helped a fellow man , ne er th inking that a time
Would come for him when friends , alas , are few, ’ For when misfortune s glo om oercasts your star once Sh in
ing brigh t . An d storm tossed you ar e tis sad to find , The fr n ds would h ave sworn by have vanish ed with . ifie l1giftu An d t lon lef you e, a broken wreck behind .
T ’ EI M P . . IA COUN Y L TRI S , S , B . A. ASSOC TION .
(Respectfully inscribed on r eceiving an invitation to their ’ nineteenth annual ball on St. P atrick s night at th e N ew 0 th S tar Casino , 1 7 s treet near Lexington avenue . )
’ i n ou Oh, t s wo dr s to think wh ere the C onnaught man ram i) 1es ’ ’ on You ll find him wherever God s earth you go. ’ An d tis en 0 of th , faith , t p e heap , sure , he scramb les , or di i F v l a p lace els e will suit him , you know ’ An d th at s quite the style with the sons of old L eitrim ’ o On t0 p sur e they ll be or n t in it at all . w o At the N e Star C asino , b egorra , y u will meet them n O March 17 at their annual ball .
’ Fitzp atrick s Orch estra the music will furnish , ’ ’ n A d that s enough said, now I m tel ling you straight, The floor l ike a looking glass new done with burnish — ’ Would actually teach you to dance faith , tis great . ’ m Keep this to yourself, for a secret I telling, ’ ’ An d s son o don t let a mother i kn w it at all , Th e b est j ig and reel ers in N ew York now dwelling M ’ l W ill cut fancy step s at th e Leitrim en s bal .
’ ’ S o make up your mind that tis th ere you l l b e hieing ; h O , lads , aye , and lassi es , rememb er the place P ’ Wh ere on St. atrick s night every one will be trying ’ T is h or e To m ake Sh amrocks grow round old erp c s face . h Now , look at t e ad of this organization on e B . and A. Leitrim men and all . Irishmen well known al l over the nation ’ ’ You ll s ee there S t. P atrick s night at th e ball .
’ A YOU RE A GRAND LITTLE N TION .
fl a Up, up ith your g, fl ing its folds to the breeze , ’ From beneath it no true son e er turns and flees . N o ’ , his face to th e foe , ever fighting h e ll b e r o F o the freed m you wish for , Acushl a Machr ee .
Oh th e ou , plundered , th ey robbed you and bound y with 0hamm But the spirit within you defiant remains ; f Unswerving your cause as the waves o th e s ea,
A . Unc onqu ered , unb eaten, cushl a Machree
122 ’ ’ r of From Dublin way o e to the pl ains Mayo , o From Cork up to Antrim , wherever you g , o s e Your brave Volunteers every place y u can e , ’
A e . An d th ey d die to d efend you , cush la Machre
Your sons facing danger are fearl ess and brave , h of O , well may we call you th e gem the wave ; ’
n . Sure , you ve s uff ered a d b led seeking sweet liberty ’
A a . You re a grand l ittle nation , cushl Machree
’ You re a wonder to all who your story h as known ’ — ’ th . For the pluck you ve displayed aye , e valor you ve shown to Undismayed and unconquered , you yearn b e free , ’ A M . You re a brave little n ation , cushla achree 1 22 19 4 . N ew York , June ,
I L TT LINES WRITTEN ON M CH AAE DAVI .
h ’ o Why , why do I weep ? O , don t ask me s l When Ireland is gro aning with anguish and woe; h O , wh isp er it gently from shore unto Shore ’ ’ n i Mayo s noble s o Michael Dav tt s n o more .
’ ’ ’ Let s loving sighs send o er th e grave where h e s laid ’ i n N eath th e green s od h e loved in h s ow native Str aide, ’ For th e poor and oppressed twas a gr eat love he bore ; ’ Oh woe avi t n , to th ee , Ireland , thy D t s o more .
is H was th e soul that w as noble and grand , An d great w as his will th at n o tyrants command ; ’ ’ The figh t for his country ne er made h im give o er : I r i ’ g ieve with thee , Ireland , thy Dav tt s no more .
Oh ! Davitt , thy pl ace sure c an never b e filled , But th e lessons of freedom thy grand voic e instilled ’ ’ be - E r Wil l taught rin s children the whole world o e , ’ Th e M i n ayo , sweet Mayo , they D av tt s o mor e
’ ’ Let s build o er the green s od th at h e loved s o well ’ in h i A monument fi tt g s life s work to tell , An d around it the sh amro ck will lovingly grow In f f remembrance o Davitt , true son o Mayo . — 0 June 10, 19 6.
123 ’ ’ MAYO S DAY AT CELTIC PARK .
a Were you at th e M y games , boy ? No! h ’ O , you don t know what you missed !
The day was fine and dandy,
- The green sward was sun kissed , An d finer lads and lassies You or I have never s een Than on Sunday represented s The little isle o green .
We h ad girls there from Kerry, An d dash ing b oys as well , All i lin the w ay from old K lorg , ’ An d Killarn ey s lakes and fells ;
Ther e were beauties from sweet Limerick , ’ From th e River Shannon s side . W ur ra w r a , u r , if you knew, boy , ’ r What ye missed , ye d rath e died .
Then ther e w as Martin S heridan , ’ O, ain t that the dandy boy! ir When the discus leaves his h and , s , S ’ ’ ure , tis like a b ird twill fly ’ Through the air and o er the green s ir r A hundred and forty feet o so . Ah M ’ , artin , you re a credit
To the County of Mayo .
We had Johnny Joyc e from Galway , A blazer staunch and true ; Run bo , begorra , that h e can , y, Run h e did , and h e won , too. c r h There w as great big Matt M G at , b oy , ’ Tis the h ammer h e can throw . P ’ oor Tom C ol lins wasn t well , sir ’ There s a good M y from Mayo ; An d he ran a dandy race , boy , C ame in second in th e fi eld ir Lee and all . but Johnny Joyce , s
To Tom Collins had to yield . a The steep lechase w s w on by Daly , ’ h r Who was next ? A , now you e on . C l l r Why , row ey , the o d w a h orse , H e w h o on a w a m rathon . Oh . begorra , there were boys there h With th e muscle and t e brawn , The finest bunch of athletes ’ ’ n That e er God s su shone on . N ’ ow I th ink tis nearly time , boy, ’ That I d s ay a word or so Ab out ou r own fair lassies
From th e County of Mayo .
They were there in al l their glory , An d th ey came from near and far
From Balla and Ballinrob e , sir ,
124
T O MOTHER ERIN .
(In l oving memory of her dauntless sons wh o Won a glorious
death nobly fighting b eneath th e flag of Irish freedom ,
April , 1916)
To th e list of thy deathl ess heroes On f the lustrous scroll o fame , ’ Midst th e gems of thy soul immortal Add each dauntless rebel ’ s name Whose bl ood h as p oured into freedom ’ s
Lamp an d made brighter its s acred light ,
That thou as a nation may ever live , n Unconquered , und immed a d bright .
Not all th e wiles of the traitor , foul
Filthy and rank as hell , N or t f all the might o th e tyrant, nor Th ’ e British Siren S spel l , C ould still in thy pulsing bosom thy National hop e and pride ; ou Y called and th ey proudly answered , ’ And twas nobly they fought and died
While th e Spo ts on th e l eopard are changeless; W ’ h il e th e tiger s hide is barred , The wreath of hop e which crowns thee
Th ou never can discard , But proudly thou e ’ er must wear i t Whil e raised on an Irish breast on Is the s of an Irish mother, by ’ H eaven s fre e winds caressed
Then clasp to th ey emerald b osom the ‘ C of h alice reb el bloo d , Fresh fil led from th e hearts of h eroes ’ Who freedom s voice understood , Wh il e their souls in th e life immortal Will gather around th e shrine W ith th e rest of thy p atriot ma rtyrs ’ N ’ eath lib erty s flag d ivine . 1 a 14 19 6. M y , ’ ’ Oft I ve heard the th rush a- thril ling in the woodlands long
a go,
When the trees with buds were springing, and all nature
s eemed to smile , ’ O O While th e b lackbird s notes m ade an swer wi th a p iping clea r
and slow, O From wh ere primro ses were blooming in th e fiel d beyond the stiie ; H ow thos e days com e b ack to memory of the rover far a way ’ o er Fro m th e sacred isle th at gave him b irth , far the o c ean blue, n l A d I s ee it all in fancy , and I hear th e rounde ay of old Of the rob in , who seemed Singing songs love land
to you . h h e u O , before m e lie t e m oorlands str tching o t b eyond th e
ea , And I hear the bog- lark warbl ing as h e wings it towards
the sky, Sure th e wild - duck and the bald - cote on the glistening lake I s ee ll Dipp ing, d iving a suspicious , as they did in days gone by ,
When they sailed the placid waters , as I strolled along the o s re, Of t rell- known lough that b ordered the graveyard on hOeesO1OO O C a f utside astlebar , acushl , 0 ! tho se dear loved hours o
yore, Of “ b oyhood d ays in Mayo , h ow the thought my pulses iiiri Ah ’ ti ’ ’ , s oft in my dreaming ne ath th e cl oudless alien Skies , Do es my soul from exi le wander to traverse ea ch well wn kno s cene , W e Y hether in N w ork , in Texas , or the plains of Illinois , I am o wafted back t E rin, where my though ts have ever OO een , An d I thank th e God of P atrick for th e kindliness H e shows To s on of M a Simp le ayo , in a far and distant land , ’ From where all h is dreams ar e centered round the stead
fast hearts h e knows , O ’ ’ ’ W ill keep freedom s flam e e er burning on green E rin s
sh elving strand . — 91 June , 1 6 .
127 WAR !
war ! War, dreadful thy p ortals open wide , ’ Beckoning within thy realms Mar s gore - mad human tide n O seething wings of hate to wildly ride , T o maim , to slay , like fiends to devastate an d m Where p eace beamed bright p lenty s iled of late . h r ’ A , steep , steep now will be the w a gods rate ; i h There , the c h e rules t e sea , the land th e air W , , hil e death stalks ghastly , gloating, everywhere . e Y a, where the e agl e screams , where growls the bristling
ear . ’ W a e here , c iviliz tion, where s thy proud st boas t? ’ G az e where thou wil t on E urop e s mongrel host, ’ ’ All drink from th e cannon s mouth Mar s bloody toast “ E I am th e ruler now , b oth mp eror and King r h A e merely slaves , w o from rich gardens bring ’ s Targets of fle h and b lood gainst which my bullets wing. I wh o in p e ace was raised with tender care ; P ’ etted by rich and po or , I d luxuries to spare , ” n A d now I deal death round me everywhere . H ear now that rumbl ing sound ; s ee where th e vultures fly ?
There brain and brawn in one vast tangl e lie . a s - Wom n has raised ons thus in that h ell hol e to d ie . h ? f For what , and w y That sp awn o knave or fool From G od divine shall claim th e righ t to rule ’ r O e man and make of him a willing tool . n o S ee, yonder the sky is red , l ike rai f blo od , P ouring its share unto the rising flood Of hate its victims never understood ;
But yet th ey nurse i t midst th e din of strife , More tender cared for th an the child or wife ; A ’ ye, dearer h eld th an e en is very life . ’ Yea, such is war Mar s smil es upon his braves An d blood lust fills the eye ; the beast heart craves ’ r -s A game of ch ance with death o e yawning grave , For glory passing as the noond ay sun For gilt that glitters brighter e ’ er ’ tis won ’ Such baubl e l eaves th e word s task undone A e y , more ; undoes most what w as done b efore Mounts ruin ramp ant on a field of gore An d ma n a of laughs back to sava—ge d ys yore Where is the dove of p eace a resting now N ’ ’ ot on the cruiser s mast nor warsh ip s prow , n A d far from th e frown that marks th e kingly brow, h o Wh o prides on legions w , with steady tread Ma rch p ast , h is standards flying overh ead What cares he wh o are numbered with the dead
If but his . august wish b ecomes a l aw An d men and nations sp eak of h im with aw e? ’ Someone must p lay the p art ; must b e cat s - paw n d A yet , wh at if th ey fail and all is lost ? ’ H e s but the skipp er of th e Ship storm tossed , - h But they, po or fools , ave dearly paid the co st
128
’ NEATH TH E E ORANG , WH ITE AND GREEN .
’ Ah h oir , my fancy ship s sailing t e ocean, Ast , ‘ “ Waft by love of our Rosaleen Dhu An d its hold is p acked full of good wishes galore
For her ch ildren s o valiant and true, ’ ’ W h o s o s o gainst tyranny might m de gal lant a stand .
N ob lest patriots ever were seen, ’ That they soul still would rally at Freedom s demand , ’ N eath thy standard , Wh ite Orange and Green .
’ A e y , my sp iri t ship s sailing the ocean , Agra , ’ To G lasnevin tis making its way, An d I s ee enee again the loved graves th at I s aw ’ On that ne er can be forgotten day ’ ’ nn l When I walked round the c ircl e , O Co e l s you know ,
As . a boy with an Irish mind keen , An d I felt that b efore me an emb l em d id glow ’
Twas th e Orange , th e Wh ite and th e Green .
’ 0 , my Spirit ship s landed in Irel and , Machree , An d once more in Glasnevin , I roam . ’ ’ e H ere s th e mound where loved P arnell s buri ed you s e, ’ ’ n n ell Jus t th is side of O C o s last home , An d a P a N down this w y, Alanna , t al ly is laid , ’ N ot a stone o er h is grave to be seen ; ’ ’ H e , the staunch and th e brave, who d ne er be afraid , ’
N . eath the Orange , the Wh ite and th e Green
’ h f n n e A , my a cy Sh ip s trembling, Alanna , Mavro , For it miO sses th e chance for to kneel P At th e graves of at P earse and his comrades , ohone , They wh ose hearts were far truer than steel ; t a I But th e prayer hat I s y, sure , will reach them , know ,
Though the tyrant i s standing b etween , b E Just the bodies e murdered three asters ago , An d G th e Orange , th e White and the reen .
’ - For th eir soul s will march onward with liberty s l ight, A s th e b eacon of Ireland a nation , An d the children of E rin must stand by and figh t Till Freedom her legions awaken An d strikes down th e despot whose foul bl oody hand “ At th e throat of our Dark Rosaleen d S eeks to strangl e th e national life of ou r lan ,
An d O G . her emblem , W hite , range and reen - 1 April 21, 19 9 .
131 0 WEE S T ISLAND OF SON G .
’ E b tho for rin, thy ards centuries Sleep ing , L i ve yet in thy musi c all soulful and sweet ; O -s in e l n Their spirit s ong grand traditions are k e p g, That in ages to c ome thy proud children will greet W th e a f o . ith t le thy gl ory in times pas t, Mavourneen An d Ah l thrilling the story thy harp strings can tell When the mantl e of freedom unto the r eturning R ’ ings forth once again with thy soul s magic sp ell .
Sure , Musa herself makes her hom e in thy mountains n A d rides on th e breeze through thy emerald vales ,
While h er nymphs at thy r ivers , thy lak es and thy fountains ’ E r e herald her coming through woodland and dales . Th e wind bearing onward in loud swelling motion ’ Na ture s song that sti ll sweeter in cadence grows
Till it j oins the soft murmuring croon of th e o cean , An d th - over e earth it a c aroling goes .
i n n Sure , that s the reaso why every o e c alls thee f Sweet island o song, acushl a m achree , ’ F or e en th o the chains of th e tyrant enthralls thee , ’ ‘ Th e shackl es but heightened thy soul s melody , r F o all through the a ges , in sunsh in e and sorrow,
Thy children , rej oicing or we eping in song , n I th e p ast , through the present, and ever the morrow,
W ill tenderly ever thy soul b ear along .
’ n d N of A music s thy soul, 0 , iobe nations ,
Long, long wer t thou dead were it not for the charm H eaven born in thy breast, pul sing proud animations ,
Putting h op e in th ey h eart, giving strength to thy arm . f o S o then let thy song, diadem o thy gl ry , ’ Ring ou t thro the ages vast, coursing along,
Till it tells to th e unborn millions thy story ,
A s . Green E rin , lanna , swee t isl and of ong — 8 1 14 February 1 , 9 .
131 L E O T OV D C UN Y MAYO .
E s e The green shores of rin I e in my dreaming, s od s rkle The emerald gleaming be pa d with dew, ’ The s un o er the vall eys and h ills brightly beaming h Make b eauteou s t e scenes tha t my infancy knew, As I l ay me to sleep with my head on th e p illow , ’ M o er y soul the b illow a roaming will go , ’ S e e king haunts where it first s aw love s ligh t awaking, ’ th e Far o er wave in l oved C ounty Mayo .
RE FRAIN . ’ Tho fate be unkind and those fond ties may sever, As w -r r ande e s afar from thy soil we may go , 0 wh o N o , would forget thee , thy children , , never ; ’ C They ll love you forever , sweet ounty Mayo .
’ M a y f ncy ship winging its flight o er th e o cean , ’ Th e lamp of devotion e er lighting the way ,
Wafts onward its sails filled with heartfelt emotion , old Till safely i t anchors in dear Clew Bay , And C P there is roag atrick like sentinel standing, A— a watch ing the foamy w ve pl ay down below , W ith proud cres t up reared like a leader commanding ’ M The winds to blow softly o er County ayo .
AIN REFR . a of Then picture b eauty l ies Open b efore me , ’ R Thro wild scenes of grandeur the ob e and Moy fl ow . ’ h ’ 0 w o that has know th ee could e er but a dore th ee , h C Ma Th ou queen of y h eart, loved ounty yo .
I love every foot of that green l ittl e island , Its s val leys and d ells , h ills and mountain subl ime , l - m ir elan Rivers and ake s , sylvan woods purple d, 0 E ’ E . rin , acushla , thou rt den of mine . h r Blame , bl ame not th e a d if in memories tender , ’ ’ O er pathways of ch ildhood h e ll lovingly go, ’ His h eart b eats for you , els e he d never rememb er
In exile h e came from the County Mayo .
RA REF IN . ’ ’ m a d Th en here 8 to thy shores th o afar I y wan er , With h eart growing fonder as years com e and go ; ’ O er hopes for thy future I lovingly ponder ,
Like every true son of County Mayo .
- l Let Switzerland b oast of her s now cl ad A p mountains ,
Let G ermany sing of the Danub e and Rh ine , ’ France rave o er her vineyards , Italy h er fountains ,
S pain pride in her ol ive , P ortugal her wine , f h a But I simply ch ant of th e gem o t e oce n ,
Where nature a vista of beauties can sh ow , From Bray H ead across to wh ere wildly in motion
The waves kiss th e ro cky b ound shores of Mayo . 132
M Y NATIVE TOWN .
S n P h - ( incerely i scribed to atrick J . H oey, t e w ell known Irish
N o. 941 S N Y f tailor , of ixth avenue , ew ork , th e friendship o e m whom will ev r b e estee ed . ) old Dear, dear town , I hold you in my arms An a view through dre my m ists your countless charms , Wh ile fairy voices musically tel l Old tal es of h aunts friend memory p aints so well There are the lakes where smil ing waters sl eep An d golden sunb eams laughing vigil keep ; To j oyous s ounds of woodland mel ody ’ l o The wild b irds daily ch ant , o d t wn to th ee .
Dear , dear old town , in lap of smiling hill s , W s ith tender thoughts of you my memory thrill , As mysti c hands with loving touch portrays E ach well - known street before my anxious gaze o ‘ N scene in al l this world were h alf s o fair , F or all the friends o f youth are gathered there . h ’ A , happy p ast ! Al as ! They re s cattered wide , ’ of - Tis few them with in th ee now ab ide .
’ m s ee Dear , dear old town , though tis in drea s I
The charms with wh ich Dam e N ature wreathed th ee , ll ’ A to th e exil e s h eart are doubly dear,
From h ill to hill , by l ake , through street and square An d winding lane that p assed from there b eyond
o to . To mo rland bleak , but yet memory fond From there th e lark h is morning song sent down
A un . s s rays b athed thee , dear , dear old town
Dear , dear , o ld town , accep t my humbl e l ay ’ As tribute snatch ed from hurrying life s highway . C ’ rud e though it be , tis yet sincere and true ,
An d al l its simple lines ar e meant for you .
Fain would I fashi on halo for thy brow, But fate decrees this humbler method now ; Though in my pul sing heart you ever wear a crown
Of . gold en hopes , my dear old nativ—e town 16 . January 23, 19
134 O AT E ’ ONE F N UR S NOBLEMEN .
In o ’ b oyh od days , twas well I knew A nobl eman of nature true l H “Th umbly h e l ived , up on e S quare M a anly nd kind , straight and s incere . N ot all th e wealth that Britain boasts could buy ’ i n o H s loyalty to E rin , ! he d rather die o s or o Than t de ert her cause , t betray a friend , nd A leal w as h e ever to end .
In B arn acarroll now h is b ody lays ;
N o p illared column answers in his praise . ’ e Round h im the fre e winds sing sweet natur s song, r While th ose he fought fo c areless pass along . ’ Ah ! years gone by they d gl adly grasp h is hand ’ n d er h l n A ch eer him, as h is voice rung o t e a d, Bidding th em firmly stand and fight th e caus e f ’ O E rin , crushed by Britain s tyrant laws .
W h o W h e was that man y onc all knew him well , r Loved Davitt knew him , and the g eat P arnell . H e did brave work when started th e Land League , n d n ot s A in th e cause knew what wa fatigu e, ’ To help th e po or oppressed , he d travel far . “ n Kilmainh am knew him , aye ! a d C astleb ar ’ Bec au se of his belief in man s fre e speech ’ n A d that th eir landed rights he d to th e tenants teach .
I knew him , yes , and knew him thus to be
- W hol e souled and true ; yea, all sincerity . h i Lord keep s soul , 0 ! may i t ever wing n Through heavenly lanes where angel cho irs si g . n d h i A to p osterity may s name go down , P f C n atri ck J . Gordon o l aremorris Tow . - 1 A 19 . pril 6, 3 " “ TIIE VOICE F ROM GAL WAY.
Re i to S M ( spectfully inscr bed tephen . Fah erty . )
H r earken to ou brothers calling, ’ From where C orr ib s waters fl ow An d th e mountain dew is fal ling On the verdant plains below , W her e the cattl e of th e grazier on Fatten the grassy ground , And th e s carlet - co ated b lazer (in Urges the horse and h ound .
But where E rin ’ s faithful children
From the bare , bleak mountainside et G but just a scanty l iving, Whil e th e yel ling huntsmen ride ’ O er the val leys , rich and smiling, ’ Where th e grazier s cattle roam ; e s ee Wher you no spadesmen toiling, s e Where you e no cottage home .
’ Ah ! ’ God E twas made rin s mountains , An d H e made th e plains , as well , Long ’ fore Cromwell forged the S logan “ Go to C onnaught or to h e] 1 An d od G mad e th em , aye , and blessed them For th e ch ildren of the G ae ’ An d with heaven s smile caressed them H ills and dells of Innisfail ,
Sure ’ twas ne ’ er decreed in h eaven That the toiling sons of man Should b e up on the mountains driven While the sheep and bullocks ran ’ o O er where G d meant man to l ab or ,
Digging deep the fruitful earth ,
Living p eaceful with his neighbor ,
There of plenty being no dearth .
Rou t th e cattle ; keep on driving, h On t es e plains homes must arise , Fro m wh ence fires of p easants thriving ’ Waft their smoke to h eaven s skies As an incense softly floating im To the throne of H above , i o Who al l earthly deeds s n ting, h o t e . King of kings , god of l ve
’ H earken to our broth ers calling, “ Come and aid us in th e fray , H elp us burst th e chains enthrall ing
Th at encircle us today .
136
I D MA BR T ANN TO HER S TEPSONS IN IRELAN . M Dear Patsy and icky , come , put on your brogues An d grab yer s h illaliah s to slather the rogues r B rit That a e lambasting Ma y with cannon ball p ogues . E very loyal stepson to his duty ! ’ I ve a shilling right here to stick in your fist, f Loved step sons o mine should step up and enlist . ’ ’ i divil Th o t s often , ye s , yer necks I did twist ’ You re quite welcom e n ow as a recruity .
’ ’ ’ n ho M r n A d t icky and Patsy , ye re thick and ye e blu t, ’ ’ Ti v o for o t s a nice p lace I e g t ye u at the front , l a Where the fighting is fiercest, et ye be r the brunt, ’ ’ n A d if ye re not kilt I m a b eauty . ’ s S ur e, a s crappers ye re famous both near and afar ; h th dev1l O , e may take ye wherever ye are ; ’ ’ To ye er fond asp irations I ve oft put a b ar, n A d I sto le from ye millions of booty .
Ah P , atsy and Micky , yer h earts are so kind
That all me wrongdo ings have long left yer mind. ’ Wh at yer patriots died for ye know twas but wind . ’ Arrah , d arlings , ain t Stepma the cutey ! S ’ oo ure , tis valiantly ever yer bl d ye did Sp ill , ’ or F , faith , twas myself did a lot of ye kill . ’ Ma s ll a y the Germans do likewi e , I pray th t they will . ’ Then who ll cry for my Irish recru itey?
’ Ah th roth P i E , , Micky and atsy, t s rin will weep f ’ When in trenches o France in death s arms ye sleep . Oh o ’ , may sweet des lation o er all yer rac e creep ’ To comply with Ma Brit s sworn duty .
S o step righ t ou t n ow , boys, and tackle my foe, ’ i o For the quicker ye leave t s th e faster ye g . n m n A d y ow dandy ch app ies can stay hom e, ye know, ’ i When I ve fool s like the Irish r ecru tey. December
138 E T T ’ E . DID YOU EV R G A F I IF NOT, TH EN H OEY S O Y UR MAN .
Did you ever get a fit ? A prep er fit at th at ? o I d not mean a pair of shoes , a collar or a hat, f e or But a fit o nobby scen ry , an overcoat suit . ’ ’ s t h e Th ere one swel l tailor in th is own , faith , s the hey can 0 1 for For style , quality and fit, p atterns quiet and showy ; o e P G , leave your orders and b p leased by Tailor atrick H o ey .
o H i I N w , o ey s an rishman , of that there is doubt , ’ An d h e s an artist in his line , he fits the l ean or stout . is of H prices are within th e reach every workingman , A h e lt ough his clothes are buil t up on th e b st and surest plan .
- th e a r N o matter how weather is , let it b e w rm o b lowy, ’ P You re comfortable if your duds are made by . J . H oey .
The man that ’ s square and up to date is worthy of your trade ’ An d no one can deny th e facts the re strictly true as said , For who knows this tailor man and who th at him h as met] hat ’ a But ever found in every w y h e s fair and square , you b et ? ’ o a S o here s a tip , g get fit and life will seem more glowy W hen decked ou t in scenery mad e by Tailor P atrick o ey.
e b — Five thousand styl s you can s elect , the fa r ics nothing ner ; ’ o There s cut and fit and fash i n , too, al l by a crack designer , ’ n s a — A d, sure , they y clothes make the man ti s true and well o y u know it .
- A well made suit and overco at on any figur e sh ow it . ’ ’ - S o by car or bus thout any fuss , to Fifty fourth street go ye , u of Th en at 941 S ixth aven e find the store P adraig H oey . O - - M LO N NA ORE .
R th e M M ’ ( espectful ly inscribed to ayo en s Association . )
’ ’ Tis thro th e miles tha t lie between
With spiri t hands we clasp , An d fac e the m aze of migh t have been ’ I n friendship s manly grasp . ’ ’ ’ O er memory s cup we ll drink the to ast : “ h e fe S never feared a e, Who of loyal s ons has raised a h ost r n Ou ow b eloved Mayo .
’ Let s stand in fancy on th e cres t f - n a - M O famous Loon ore , An d gaze upon tho se brave and best
Th e comrade s true of yore . E igh t thousand of as l oyal m en
As ever fac ed the fo e , W ho sealed th e d oom of tyrants th en In old M valiant ayo .
They were prep ared to do or die , N o quarter would they ask or b Him N give . They swore y on
Their h earts wer e in their task , That Dempsey held his little cot e Was due to th em w know , ’ A deed like this can t he forgo t M By men of brave ayo .
Two b aronies were c alled upon s To end their Fenian sons , Well to the order did respond
Thos e tru e and dauntless ones , They marched all nigh t o ’ er hil l and At d awn drew U p before A cabin in th at shel tered vale ’ N - n - M eath famous Loon a ore .
Men s of Cl aremorri and Kilmaine ,
Who duty did th at day , P rov ed British forces were in vain ’ An d - Blo sse ne er said th em nay . Th o ’ backed by E ngland ’ s armed men H e feared his strength to sh ow ’ ain h G t Irish sons w o marsh aled then , s Would peak for old Mayo .
IB A TR UTE .
d Mr s . s C (Dedicate to Tere a . Brayton . ) P roud daughter of our sore tried land ’ Fair woman with the p oet s soul , ’ Th ou ve s of ough t the caves knowledge grand , And insp iration was thy goal ; Thou found it in the magic maz e Of of a o memories sweet long g , ’ M idst scenes and forms of other days , e Th e dear tru friends you used to know . An d round it you a wreath have wove , Of a tender thoughts , in ccents sweet , ’ a Then bound it o er with b nds of love , ’ An d laid it at thy idol s feet . o o Thy id l yes , thy j y, thy pr ide
The sainted isle , loved Innisfail , ’ Fair emerald on the ocean s tide , S of The home of h amrock and G ael , To know thee is but to admire s s o Thy entiments , so leal , grand , ’ Tis only love could thus inspire t Thee wi h such thoughts of our dear land . ’ I ve e met the once , thy voice I h eard , I s aw thy proud bosom rise and fall ,
The soul with in th ee pl ainly stirred , An d E love for rin backed it all .
These lines , fresh from my humble p en , r I dedicate fair ha d to thee , W ith hopes th at Innisfail again a Will stand , a n tion once more free .
A EMO I EM E CL R RR S M ORI S .
H w J II imbl o man e as y a s e cobbler , with th e h eart f a ‘ ' W 1tII in, An d l ove of th e land that gave h im bir th was h is b eset i ting s n .
H ow h e l oved to r ead to his cronies old, wh o cheered with true applause Some p assage hold that in language told the advanc e of th e l good o d cause .
as —a 0 , I w only a youngster then small littl e sh aver lad , But to s it on th e hob as P at read ou t was enough to make
me glad . An d now through th e lapse of bygone years I can s ee that grand old fac e ’ Li ght up , till he seemed to my boyish mind like a chief of u r o Gaelic rac e.
1112 i h o’ Oh , thos e ndeed were t e happy days , th littl e I though t
so en , i ’ But fa th , I d give ten years of my life to h ave them b ack .
agal u , Just to stroll up th e l ane wh er e his cottage stood and gaz e l in at my o d friend P at, i h i - W ith h s p ip e in s mouth , a mending shoes, as there at i a h s bench h e s t.
’ h o Tis well , then , do I rememb er w Malachy , Dick and Tom , P James , and Jim , and th e staunch . J . , discussed th e right and wrong ’ n In P at Canton s cottage , up Chap el Lane , at eve a s the su went down’ — l In a go lden blaze oh , those good o d days 1n sweet Clare morris town !
SWEET ISLAN D OF MY DREAMS . To you my heart with fondest lov e ’ “ ” W r R ill e e revert, Dark o saleen , ’ No matter wh ereso e er I rove o e I cling t th ee , my E merald Qu en , ’ An d th o th e a lien land may h old o a A home f r m e where freedom gle ms , ’ My pulsing h eart could ne er grow cold
To you, sweet island of my dream s .
And tho I lent a will ing ear T ’ ll o wanderlust s alluring ca , ’ l n Midst a l th e shor es I trod o dear , f Yours were the fairest o th em all . ’ Or wh en in Neptune s arms I tossed
Awake, asleep , it ever s eems My soul the p athway never lost
' T o ms . o y u , sweet i sland of my drea
I only wish th e day h ad com e ’ ou ere W h en freedom s crown again y w , An d of the wealth you had but some
o e. Th e tyr ant stol e from y u , Asthor ’ From o er the earth a sh ou t of j oy
Would flashing go in thundering screams , P roclaiming the dark night’ s gone by For f you , sweet island o my dreams .
REF RAIN .
Of my nigh t th e sun at morrow , Of my h ope s th e star that beams n I th e midst of j oy or s orrow ,
" Through my soul in fresh ing s treams ’ Memory s magic r iver flowing
Fill s my l ife with h eavenly gl eams , ’ W hen in fancy o er you going,
Sweetes t isl and of my dreams . - October, 1912 . 143 AN O SAINT H A ISL D F S AN D SC OL R S .
f Isle o the W est , where th e Druid and Gael An d o ol chiefs f d h eld high wassail , Where art and science and warriors bol d l Were nurtured and lived in the days of o d, W o here sch lars learned , and saints sublime , n Shed ligh t o the nations of that clime , ’ An d spread c ivilization s brightest ray ’ O er a world of darkness and decay . ’ Nob ly th ou ve weathered the gale and storm That crushed and oppressed you in every form ; Onward you ’ ve p lodded long weary years ’ ’ Whil e th e orphan s cry and th e w idows tears
Well ed up from thy bosom . Oh , d ear, dear l and , ’ ‘ - h H ard pressed by t e tyrant s b loody hand , But sorr ow and trouble did only cleave f ’ The b onds o love , tho thy heart did grieve F or h thy children brave , by t e tyrant slain, ’ Caus e th eir G od and their rights th ey would maintain . I sle of tradition , and h istory grand ,
Thy children s cattered in every land , S n till wo o th ee , a d give thee undying love An d blessings ask thee from above . What oth er land in th e world can say ’ My children s love is as strong today As it was wh en ch ieftain with chieftain v 1ed n m o I a ga e of kings on th e m untain side . nd A d eeper and deep er it ever grows , h Like a river, as on to t e sea it flows , Gathering fresh triumph s and wreath s to lay On thy brow with love tha t shall live for aye ? l Dear , dear o d l and of the proud . proud C elt , Oh , deep are the wounds by the Bri ton d ealt ’ S o pilled thy be s t blo d , but could ne er effa ce
l . Thy language o d, nor thy pride of r ace ’ ’ Tis spoken today , and th ey v e multiplied S o ’ tr ng as th e waves on the oc ean s tide .
Thy rockbound coa st where the waves beat h igh , ’ r S ending the wh ite spray towa ds h eaven s blue sky, Wondrous and wild is the o cean ’ s lay ’ M ' idst thy crags and caves where the wild fowl play . Round th ee the voice of th e temp ests ring From th e ocean ’ s sweep the free winds sing N ’ l ’ ature s o d s ong, while the ligh tning s flash h Il lumes t e rocks , where th e wild waves dash . Thousands of years you h ave thus withstood
Th e action of wind and wave and flood .
Hoary thy h ead , b ut a h and uns een
H as placed on thy brow a crown of green,
144
(Of th e martyr p atriots of the Irish Republic wh o so n obly E 16 a fought aster week , 19 , th t the s oul of Ireland might
live forever . )
L et humb le rhymer p en a verse In f h memory o t e broth ers P earse , McDon o h g , C onnolly and C lark , W ’ hose soul s alight with Freedom s spark, ’ Burs t forth in manhood s true array
In Dubl in town E aster Monday .
Of Derm t B i Mc ot , Daly and Mc r de,
Who as freemen fought , l ike heroes died ; Of P To n lunkett , m a d E dmund Kent, All faced the fee in h eart content ’ That E rin s soul might live alway ; In E r Dublin town aste Monday,
’ Twas for death or glorious lib erty ’ i l Did figh t the brave O Rah l y. ’ N eath Freedom ’ s flag h e proudly sto od An d ’ gave h is all , a true man s bl ood , That E rin’ s soul might pride alway " O E f Dublin town that aster day .
’ ’ a Twas gainst fe rful odds , not man to man , ’ S R s M nr ah n to od en ton , allon , O H a a , ’ Their comrades E rin s trues t sons ; ’
Fate p laced them midst the death less ones . ’ F or a martyr s crown they bo re away M From o therland th at E aster day .
’ o’ ’ The tyrant s blo d th irst ne er app eased , Th e gentle Sk effin gton w as seized An d done to death in lawl ess mood ’ At hands of Britain s mongrel brood ’ For th o innocent , h e murdered lay In n Dubl in tow th at E as ter day .
K of God of o r e ing all men , u sir s , ’ Twas Thy h and l it the quenchless fire s Of freedom in the soul of man Through ages since the world b egan Th en make the ruthl ess tyrant p ay F or E Dublin town aster Monday . o e o of s a F ul hypo crit , dev id h me , B esteeped in greed yet m akes the claim ; “ P rotec tor h e of nations small ” And H e o bloo d guilty f them all . ’ F or hel l s own game his cub s did play ’ In E Dublin s town each aster day .
’ In silence let a nation s tears Bedew th e so il where freedom rears Its standard nurtured in dauntless hearts Of men wh o nobly p layed their p arts An d fought and died ’ neath freedom ’ s ray ’ In E E rin s Isle each as ter day . —Ma rch 27, 1917.
H E OF T S E E T OU QUE N HE I L S , IR LAND .
Ah e a ! Ireland , my b autiful Irel nd , m ili h Mother gra , s machree, ’ Sur e tis over your mountain and mirelan d ’ M s to y oul s ever l onging be , F or the years and the m l les th at d ivide u s N ’ e er could make m e forgetful of you , ’ An d h fo t o tyrant and e may deride u s , ’ Tis f ea the cor e o h rt tells you true .
E AI R FR N .
In le l n my dre am s wh en at night I am s ep g, ’ In r my thoughts th o th e whole day long, I grieve for your proud soul a- weep ing h ’ You s o tender, w o ne er did a wrong a To th e tyr ant wh o h s ravaged , defamed thee ; P s o ure , fair l ittle mother grand ,
Wh ose bosom still pulses s o proudly,
Thou queen of the isles , Ireland .
0 ! Ireland , acushla, Mavourneen , W ere endea rments a thousand times more rn m To spring forth from my soul fondly yea g, l ir F or a glimp s e of you , au in as to , ’ n Sure , I d s end them al l over with glad ess , r u W ith my prayers to high heaven fo yo , If th ey only would banish th e sadness
i for ou . That s yours , I now tel l y true
147 IIL M E ACUS A GRA ACHR E .
s The sons of other land may b oast, th eir ' an That l d i s the be s t, ’ An d with a children s love will toast Th e soil those footstep s b lest , on But I wil l sing of e green isle , is s h e So true and fair , Ma on y heaven freedom her smile , A a cush l a gra M chree .
W here can you find in o ther lands ’ Killarn ey s lakes and fel ls , Bray ’ s purp le head and silvery strand s Avoca ’ s vale and dells
The l ordly Shannon , S miling Suir G f a rand L i fey, be uteous Lee ? ’ Tis proud of you we can be, sure , A M cushl a gra achree .
Where is the oth er land can boast ’ ’ A mount lik e E agle s Nest ’ Or road like that by Au trim s coast r O hill like Tara , b lest m A C lon acno ise , G ap of Dunlow Or lak e like famed Lough Neagh ? W ho wonders th at w e love you s o Acushl a gra Machree
’ Tis sure an isl e by heaven bl est
W ith we alth of mineral store , ’ An d th o for centuries Oppressed H r e ch ildren love h er more .
Then let men b oas t of other lands , But I will sing of th ee
Green Erin of the S ilvery S trands , r Acushl a g a Machree . 12 July, 19 .
1 . 148
TO EV F TH E TIM H R . A R OT Y SIIANLEY.
(Resp ectfully inscribed to th e young County Leitrim s og garth whose labors among the co lor ed C atholics of Greater N ew Y of whicm ork is truly a work wonders , upon the of o b lessing G d rests with h eavenly smiles . May the fair
C of S t. M 4 at the hurch Benedict the oor, N o. 3 2 West - s Fifty th ird treet , be crowned with magnificent success . ) ir l n d l Ireland , my s e a , your mountains , lakes and mir e and N fitl s et n om By bounteous ature y up o your bos green ,
Mak e you a rich and rare land , a true , a fresh and fair land . ’ ’ od ou n a G s et y o th e ocean s bre st, the brightest gem e er
seen .
’ me Your sons the world over , sure , mongst men are manly n;
Your daughters , beauteous , bright and pure , are faithful
to th e core. ’ An d th o the o cean waves d ivide them from their native or vale glen, Their thoughts are ever wafting to the absent emerald o s re. ’ [ f Hol hu r ch th eir h elp should need they re ever right in ime ; ’ n r —tis d Th ey know no t rac e, o cl an, nor creed Go made on e and all ; Then faith and hope and charity in solid way they will de
n e, ’ ' -o That E rin s gallant children , aye , from Cork t Donegal . ’ ’ irel n d mir elan d So Ireland , our s a , tho far we re from your , ’ Tis s houlder right to shoulder we wil l stand with Fath er Tl m — h ’ m God b less th e nobl e work he does o , E rin, dear, tis si ply gr and ! o l d to h n o a . C ome , Irish exiles , fall in e and give g d him — 1 April 3, 19 5 . T B EI H E IG L TRIM BAL L .
’ ’ St r e . Pat ick s night s here , my d ar ; where are you go ing to? ’ ’ Th e big Leitrim ball , wh ere th e Irish we ll meet aroo ! h ’ O , sure tis the grand music there will app eal to you , ” As e to of E o we danc the tune Green rin , G Bragh ; All of ld the boys from th e darling o W est, All of ilin the ca s from Connaugh t, the blest ; ’ e w — We ll me t there acushla ba n come , get your bal l gown on , ‘ To w ’ th e N e Star C asino we r e going agra.
H C ORUS .
’ o old th f Th en here s t Ireland , e gem o the wave ; Tyranny never h er sons could enslave W hil e such a Sp irit lives as each proud exile gives m W ho is present this night at th e big Leitri ball .
h h ’ ! A , hear th e crowd s hout ! O , b egob s can t th ey step a b it Did you ever s ee j igging or reel ing to equ al it ? ’ “ ” ’ : h ! Th ere s th e Blackb erry Blo ssom o , doesn t it make a hit e h ow e S e th y trip it , acushl a m achree ; ’ C ome , sure my feet can t b e easy at all ’ I m w e to bi e ! Faith , glad that —came this g L itrim b all Joyous th e throng in it and w e b elong in it ,
So step out m avourneen , and dance th is with me .
o i on Oh , lo k at th e sh amro ck ! The d ew , faith , s yet it ; P on ! St. atrick h imself, d ear, must sur e blew h is breath it of An d faix n ow th e devil could n ot be th e death i t , ’ Twill live like th e nation , for ever and all !
h i ton i ht l O , sure th e New S tar s crowded g . Did you ever s ee cailin s or go ssoons s o br1ght? ’ ’ H ere s wher e th e Irish are , they ve come from near and far
To dance rings around at th e big L eitrim b all . TH E A NOSEG Y.
’ ’ Tis strange how things will turn up tho hidden away for years ’ Th at brings to memory s page a though t of time that life endears ’ ’ An d th o it oft may bring a sigh ther e s too a thrill of j oy it o For brings a fel low back t days when he w as but a boy. . I found with in my trunk a b ox I brought from swe et Mayo When I l eft home and al l I loved more than twenty years ago W ithin i t was what onc e had bee n a bl ooming fresh nos egay u C r r I plucked o tsid e Swee t astleba in I eland far away .
’ Sure now I s ee as then I s aw thos e pan-sies lovely dye-s ’ s e n The shades I used to e within a Irish col leen s eyes , An d faith th e faded ivy is o nce more a vivid green . ’ ’ Th e rosebud blooms just like her ch ecks the fairest e er I ve
s een . ’ n o h You w n der why I m sobbing w , w y, to w et th em with my hears For sure th e po or things mus t b e dry after all those weary y ears S ince I took th em from her tresses fair one glorious even in May ’ r l f r E e I left sweet County Mayo in o d Ireland a away .
’ ’ 0 , there s m any a slip twixt cup and lip in this world of care and strife And to youth hills afar look greener than th ey would in
later life, ’ o Sure fortun e is a fickle j ade and fate s a strange one, t o; ’ Faith they re the ones acushla tha t has kep t me far from you ’ o s m h o m to h Y u a k e w I speaking , w y th e colle en in my
mi nd, ’ Don t you s ee th e fresh plucked nosegay and h er standing there b eh ind ? ’ Just as I used to see h er when at eve as lad I d s tr ay Through the fi elds outside sweet Ca stlebar is Ireland far aw ay . — July 30, 1917.
152
TA LK VERSUS WORK.
on o Lip b attle never w a figh t against an armed f e, F or o windy w rd s but hit the air, and with th e breezes blow I s ea of o of nto a n thingness chock full emp ty boast , W here bu ble ships loud mouthed strand upon a frothy coash
’ N o me w bombast er did drop a bomb upon a sub marine , ’ N or n e bul l and bunk er spitted foe upon a b ayonet ke en, o Wind p udding never fed a corp s of soldiers fit t fight, ’ An d muzzle load ed know it all s more often wrong than right .
’ W ha t- w e- - can do s are always late in entering th e strife , ’ do it ’ w h o Th e now s are e er the ones put the p ep in life , The wait- a whiles get often lost in their own verbos e do mains ’ - at- on n Wh ile act onc e gets th e j ob and somethi g e er attains .
’ The wh at w e- did s in wandering midst the cobwebs of the p asz ’ Forget that men and times have ch anged and history s
making fast, r fl in S upe u ou s amount of talk wil l never w th e day,
While ignorant intelligence in the aggregate holds sway .
S o let u s in the p arlanc e of th e realm known as slang, C an all th e wagging wooden tongues that from mutton domes h ave rang ’ Loud p eals of w arry chatter eloquent of meddlers chimes , f While v e rain them and w e teach th em th e true trend o tg 1 e tmes .
W our be ork wins , in union there i s str ength , l et this slogan
An d n ot our energies waste on a blase verbosity,
For actions louder sp eak th an words rememb er all who may . for old Then do your bit to make a hit the good U . S . A.
15 4 E NGLAND .
(Sincerely d edicated to th e memb ers of the All- Ireland Boys - and Girl s, whos e gr and annual b all at P laza Assemb ly P ’ ’ R on t. ooms S atrick s nigh t will b e in aid of St. G ertrude s C R C . e P . Church , W st onshohocken , a . ) P erfidiou s Brita in , in thy ho liest mood , ’ Th ou d rule the worl d with treach erous iron h and ; C m ursed b e thy e pire and thy b oastful brood , n Barren the rocks o wh ich thy j unkers stand . M ine is not hate born of hate alone , f i But l ove o nj ured isle where youth I p assed . If in the fires of hel l I must atone ’ F or l hating thee , I l h ate you to th e last !
You in your prid e of p lace no mercy sh owed To weak of foemen c yet worthy your steel , ’ An d blood of fen s eles s child and mothe r flow ed A e o d ’ l y , your savage ears h eard n t the age s app ea , ’ n d o A virtues altars , desecrated , s t od The virgin murdered by your savage brute ; o tr am l s t a Yea , y u p e the fairest fl owers of m tronhood ’
You . smile , you l augh , but ah ! you can t refute
You prate of treaties now ! W hen h ast th en kep t S ave towards a foema n strong thy written word W ith p irate z e al the sev en seas you swep t
N ot right , but m igh t, your base soul ever stirred ,
n - A d hate you thus have sown in every clime . e m Subdued , with h eart aflam , your victi lays , ’ ’ Tis vengeance slumbering lightly till the tim e — ’ F or freedom comes then dread the h and he ll raise .
2 1915 . Feb ruary 7,
55 MA T i YO, HE DAUN TLESS .
Que enly s h e s its w h ere th e wild waves are b eating ’ r - O e boulders that girdl e her rock bound shore , P roudly she smiles as the winds bid h er greeting ’ n f I accents as tru e as her son s song o yore . ’ Over C l ew Bay again comes freedom s well - known ring ’ G s ranna s sea warrior h ave vanquished the foe , While from Croagh P atrick ’ s cres t on to the furthest west G oes the old war cry of d auntless Mayo .
On from Killala the slogan comes ringing ’ r O e vale , lak e and mountain to Lough Mask afar , ’ nd l i A answering shouts from o d N eph n tis bringing,
- A mingled with ech oes from famed C as tlebar . ’ ’ The W es t s awake again ! Thro every vale and glen o o S teadily marching the V lunteers g . L o r e in Irishtown and on am o , well fought days of yore ,
Doubtl ess the glory of dauntles s Mayo .
’ N e er h as sh e b owed to th e will of th e spoiler ; r s ee H e hop e always , ever , th e green flag to ’ Waving free o er th e head o f each true Irish toiler
From Liff ey to Moy, from th e Foyl e to the Lee , of Undaunted she stoo d th e test, gave her sons the best ; Nobly they ever have answered the foe on e Ireland a nation , still and undivided , will
Be ever th e w ar cry of dauntl ess Mayo . — 4 9 11 June 2 , 1 1 .
1516
THE C FA E IN MY DREAM.
M o v of was y s ul in the mystical alley memory ro amin along, ’ All Mus-a E as g o dreamland like s lysium , w b athed in g cry f song ; 0 W of as h ile hop e , like an angel sweetness , w j oyously aiding .
my fligh t, A vision entrancing appeareth enframed in a circle of light . ’ — ’ Twas a face , aye a girlish vis age her eyes of th e sky s azure b lue The tresses that clustered around them l ike liquid gold sun
light in hue , And c hecks that in p urity blended th e blush of her soft ruby i s , Like ro sebuds that kiss back to heaven th e perfumed dew
drop s from their tip s . 1 gazed s a smile bid me greeting ; d id P aradise epen her gaaes To the sinner rep entant without them wh o anxiously eu trance awaits ? Was this angelic creature b efore me a messenger God Him self sent To bid me app ear in His presence in th e realms of Joy and C ontent ’ Oh , wh at could I answer , I wondered when brought fore the throne of His Grace ! Then a mist seemed to rise up before m e th at slowly en lo ve ped the face , l called to th e fast fading vision till my pl eading vei ce ro se
to a scream , An d I voke to th e realization that that fair face was only a
Eream .
A LULLABY.
There are tw o littl e eyes of brigh tes t That h aunt m e the whole day long ;
A dear curly h ead of golden hue , ’ An d a baby s prattling song ’ I s ee and I hear wh ere er I go , An d when I reach h om e at night ’ This lullaby s sang s o sweet and low ’ ’ To mamma s h eart s delight .
158 AI REFR N .
for Go to sleep , sweet b aby m ine , sleep your mamma , do, un - And in t e morn the s wil l s hine , and th e b irds will b ill anhc oo; n Angels ill guard my li ttle o e all through the long, dark 1118m ’ ’ n r So go away , bogie man, ow un , fro m mamma s heart s
d elight .
Sure ’ tis rich er I feel t han any king
That wears a go lden crown , An d happy am I as a song I sing
W h ile I rock him up and down . ’ 0 , my life s complete for th e p ictur e sweet Makes all the world seem brigh t W hen I reach home and h ear th is lullaby , ’ ’ S ang to m amma s heart s delight
- New York , October ,
T M TH E H EE C OME BACK O O R MAC R .
of I n . (Resp e ctfully inscrib ed to that sterling son rela d , Dr
H Greev 145 66th N e . c w W M W . illiam y, est street, York ) ’ Tis Springtime in Irel and , th e land of your b irth , ’ ’ n d o r A moth erl and s calling y u b ack o e the ea rth , o ” Y u sons and fair daughters of Rosaleen Dhu , W h o s h e knews h as b een ever both leal and true ; F or h e s e wants you to s e her in garb newly dressed ,
W ith th e buds a n d the flowers by N ature carr es s ed, ’ n A d th e bird s sweetly singing o er moorl and and lea ,
So list to call of your Mother Machree .
C R HO US .
’ ’ 0 m or o come back my ch ildren , I waiting f y u, My mounta ins and valleys are gl istening with dew ; An r d th e sham ock is blooming in gard en and pl ain, a Th en come b ck my exil es to Moth er again, to Yes , com e b ack my exil es Mother again .
h f r ou 0 , t e lark he will warb le a love song o y , As he wings h is w ay up to the skies azure blue ; An d th e h ills th ey will greet you as onward you go By the woods and th e mirelan d your ch ildhood did Whil e th e church b el ls wil l ring ou t th eir chim es as As th e s un in his glory of noon sh eds h is gold W arm rays on my breast where the moorland and lea W o fo e ill b e waiting to greet y u r Moth er Machre . S PARKS F ROM THE ANVIL or TH OUGHT.
E nvironment : Th e anch or that keep s my sh ip riding the waves in the h arbor of dis on ten t whil e chance calls me to
the vast sea that l ays b eyond , fan dy d isp orting on its throb m bing bosom . The j ailer that h olds e with iro n grip beh ind ’ th e bars o f fate wh ile fortune s nymph s b eckon to me from ’ s the my ti c realms to go j oin ambition s throng .
Sparrows may deck them selves in bird of paradise feath ers a , but after they h ve run the gamut th ey find th ey are
still only sparrows .
’ The iron in one s soul must be well rusted ere th e needle ’ to h e marrow in one s conscience pricks t . i i
I t p ays to be nearly hon est unless on e can afford to be
very crooked .
A scrap of p aper under present conditions is only worth its face value ; such is the outcome of treating treaties n ligh tly . A d yet one would imagine th e na tions fighting are “ ” loudly sh outing Damn the gxpen s e .
’ It s O P an lla, odrida for fair now, for h ave we not beef, s bull , auerkraut, sausages , macaroni , snails , la ugh ing gas and dynamite , with chop suey and oth er mysterious s crap s b eing added to the mixture , making it so much more nau seating ? 1 W h ’ y, woman , lovely woman , couldn t h ave mad e a worse ’ mess of things if she tried with all of a vamp ire s hatred to e wreck and ruin th e heaven of h er bitter st rival , and yet dip loma cy ha s been th e study of statesmen from time im
- s e . memorial . I blush for you c vil zation called , i i Pretty near time for statecraft and kultur to b e taking a as f hitch in their p ants , woman su frage will soon be a world wide real ity .