, A POEM. 
 
 BY OLLAV. 
 
 COLLEGE LIBR 
 
 Cl T> 
 
 mm 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 
 1 8 74 . 
 
>’■ >&■ 
 
THE GAEL: 
 
 A POEM. 
 
 k 
 
 By ollav. 
 
 BOSTON COLLEGE LIBRA UY 
 CHESTNUT HILL, MASS, 
 
 BOSTON: 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR. 
 
I 
 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 It is said that fiction is the soul of narrative poetry, and, wanting 
 that, it loses its principal charm. Influenced by this, I have en- 
 deavored to intertwine an appropriate machinery through the follow- 
 ing poem. But I was led to do so as much by necessity as choice. 
 For, having proposed to write a poem founded on the spirit of Irish 
 history, I soon found that no plot embraced by the limits I pre- 
 scribed would express the ideas excited by such a subject. So, like 
 the case of many another poetical hero in peril, immortals descended 
 to the rescue. 
 
 At first view our history seems repulsive enough. Treachery and 
 disunion marks its course, blighting every effort in the very spring- 
 tide of hope. But those who look deeper see something more ani- 
 mating ; for, in spite of this dc^prfestic treason, and its fruits, — for- 
 eign invasion, tyranny, and laws|£-we find the Gael clinging to 
 their faith and fatherland with invincible fidelity, and their poetry 
 and music giving immortal expression to, this imperishable feeling. 
 This laiter influence, in contrast to the former, — the spirit of disun- 
 ion — is expressed by the character of Bride. Bride is an attempt 
 to personify the national poetry and music of Ireland, and to por- 
 tray their influence and tendency on our race. I believe it is un- 
 necessary to explain why St. Columbkille is selected as the minstrel 
 guardian of Ireland. The nature of the Banshee is well known, and 
 justly pronounced by Scott, “ The most beautiful of the minor super- 
 • stitions of Europe.” But here I have extended, or, more likely, re- 
 vived the original meaning, displaying her not as the mourner of 
 death only, but, as it were, the guardian angel of a family laboring 
 for its weal as well as lamenting its misfortunes. 
 
 Let me add that, although real scenery is described, and local 
 names mentioned, the story is entirely ideal. 
 
 Ollav. 
 
t 
 
THE GAEL. 
 
 FYTTE I. 
 
 Guardian of our land, to whom all sacred gifts belong, 
 
 Whose voice is native melody, whose language native song ; 
 Inspirer of the Gael ! to whom the glorious task was given 
 To breathe unto our suffering race, the harmonies of Heaven, 
 
 To hymn our golden glories past, our future hopes to greet, 
 
 And rouse us to the holv strife, and sooth us in defeat ; 
 
 Oh ! aid me now, inspiring power, and give me to reveal 
 Thy mission ’gainst adversity, to liberate the Gael.* 
 
 They sat beneath the plume of pines that crowns the rocky height, 
 ’Neath which the stainless, placid Nore and Dinan’s wave unite. 
 Triumphant through the gathering clouds the conquerer burst ; his 
 throne 
 
 Flamed like the opening gates of Heaven ! majestic he looked down 
 And bound the storm in golden chains, the frowning mass con- 
 trolled, 
 
 And formed an arch triumphal of their piles of burning gold, 
 
 And gave one glorious hour of calm ere sinking to repose ! 
 
 Bright smiled the plain, with radiance robed the glowing hills arose, 
 And warbled all th’ illumined streams of ancient Argiod Ros ; 
 
 The rain-dashed woods waved, crowned with light, and from their 
 shades rose free 
 
 The grateful birds’ exulting rolls of glorious melody ; 
 
 And every ruder sound that rose by distance was subdued, 
 
 Or breathed more of calmness there than ever silence could. 
 
 But ah ! with eager haste she rose, and viewed with rapid eyes 
 How dark and deep the gathering clouds obscured the loaded skies, 
 Then gave the breeze the oriflame, whose golden radiance shone 
 A beam shot through the sable woof around the sinking sun ; 
 
 And, “ Donal, go ! ” fair Eileen cried ; “the hastening shadows fall, 
 And Heaven’s eternal trump prepares to sound the battle call; 
 Receive the banner of the Gael, and lead the true and bold 
 Till death shall rend it from thy grasp, or liberty shall fold ! 
 
 This is the flag that once above Emania’s towers waved free, 
 
 And led the fiery charges of the Red Branch chivalry, — 
 
 Heard from the guardian Fenian bands their chiefs’ immortal song, 
 And saw through Tara’s sacred halls our ancient glories throng — 
 
 * The Gael. This name is adopted for metrical reasons, and it is intended to ex- 
 press the Irish people as they now exist, irrespective of creed or descent. 
 
6 
 
 That o er triumphant Dathi’s march through humbled Europe flew, 
 The gathering clans of Malachi, the victories of Boru ; 
 
 By Laurence blessed to ceaseless strife against the invading foe, 
 And fanned the fiery conquerors of Bagnal and Munro, — 
 
 That led through thousand circling foes the soldiers of Dunboy, 
 And waved o’er saved Cremona and avenging Fontenoy ! 
 
 Be guided by the sacred past, and trust to God on high, 
 
 And on your true united selves, not foreign help, rely ; 
 
 Though France mav send the promised aid beneath inspiring Tone, 
 Remember your redemption lies but in yourselves alone. 
 
 Away] and oh, by Eileen’s love, when beaten foemen yield, 
 
 And, proudly laurel’d, those shalt tread the liberating field, 
 
 Close not thy heart to pity’s cries, nor seek for to return 
 The ruthless wrongs that made the land in hot rebellion burn ; 
 
 And curb your comrades base career if angry passion draws, — 
 
 Let no mean vengeance dare defile our high and holy cause.” 
 
 He’s gone, and, mid the wildrose shades, knelt beautiful Eileen 
 In prayer, as fast the blinding tears revealed her bosom’s pain 
 That she had nobly hid while there she grasped her lover’s hand, 
 And fondly kissed, and proudly bade him forth for fatherland. 
 
 “ God of our wronged and suffering land, the faithful few befriend, 
 Who scarce with aught, save trust in Thee, rise for the destined end; 
 Oh sure Thy justice never formed our land so rich and fair, 
 
 With all man can love or heaven bestow, for foes to rend and tear ; 
 Nor gave such proud, unbending hearts, if bondsmen they should be, 
 That pant to see the sunburst fly, and raise the green isle free.” 
 
 FYTTE II. 
 
 A footstep broke the silence round, and, frowning, o’er her stood 
 Dark Dermid, who, to win her smiles, had long and vainly woo’d ; 
 
 And, as the fair and timid bird on which the serpent’s eye 
 Fixes its fascinating glance, trembles, but cannot fly, 
 
 She stood. With scornful laugh, he cried, “ Nay, beauty, do not fear. 
 
 ’Tis not a tale of melting love again that brings me here ; 
 
 But vengeance for my slighted love, my breast by insult gored ! — 
 
 If, on that eve when fondly here I for your smiles implored, 
 
 You had refused my pleaded cause in kind, regretful tone, 
 
 ’Twas past, and I had borne my grief in lonely pride, unknown. 
 
 But no, your loathing scorn was shown as if a reptile sought, 
 
 And needless shrieks the beggar prince in lordly passion brought ; 4 
 
 Yet even that hour had Dermid now forgiven and concealed, 
 
 But all has been for Eileen’s mirth, and Donal’s laugh revealed : 
 
 You made the story of my shame, the fondness of. my breast, 
 
 The country’s fun, my peoples’ sport, my comrades’ bitter jest ; 
 
 And, ceaseless since, their barbed shafts my dark disgrace recall, 
 
 And changed the honey of my heart to black and bitter gall, 
 
7 
 
 Till fond love turned to such fierce hate that here I freely part 
 My fame on earth, my hopes of Heaven, to avenge my blighted 
 heart, — 
 
 . The hour is come, and Heaven nor Hell my purpose now can thwart. 
 He deems to-night his armed bands the Dinan vales shall clear, 
 But my revenge, — ay, tremble now, — brought secret numbers here ; 
 And when your bosom bursts full soon in deep and hopeless pain 
 O’er blighted hopes and bleeding love, remember Dermid then ! ” 
 Yes, Eileen trembled while he spoke ; but rose with queenly pride, 
 And, with flushed face and haughty glance, the traitor’s gaze defied, 
 Till through the gloom the ruffian fled, and left her trembling there, 
 All paralyzed with agony : his words fell on her ear 
 Like sable raven’s sullen croak foreboding awful woe, 
 
 Or stones on the hollow coffin lid when some loved one is low ! 
 When hark ! what sound rose on the breeze that chilled her heart 
 with fear : 
 
 She listening stood : again the voice, lamenting still more near ; 
 Now, sadly beautiful, afar slow faints the lonely cry, — 
 
 Then in fond, fierce, and wild despair, swelled clamorous to the sky, 
 Till on Cnocduva’s shadowy brow the mourner’s form stood, 
 
 Her flowing hair and cloud-like robes in wild disorder flow’d ; 
 
 Her w£ak, wan hands, she warning raised, and clasped with grief, 
 and then 
 
 With frantic energy waved on towards the gathering glen ; 
 
 Then, wildly wailing, disappeared. Roused, desperate, with her fear, 
 Dashed Eileen on to reach her love and warn him of the snare ; 
 With many a bursting tear and prayer to pitying Heaven sent 
 To guard her through that dreadful night, and Dermid’s crimes 
 prevent. 
 
 FYTTE III. 
 
 “ Why weeps Aoibhan ? ” the Inspirer cried ; “ is this the hour for 
 grief, 
 
 When Fate fulfils our utmost wish to bless thy guardian chief ? 
 What could mv fondest love do more ? For happiness you pray’d ; 
 * I gave it, and immortal fame ; your darling hero made 
 My chosen chief, to rouse and lead the rising patriot band 
 That now await the signal fires to rise for fatherland ; 
 
 And, gracing and ennobling all, into his being wove 
 The inspiration of the whole, the noble Eileen’s love ! 
 
 For ’tis the task Columba gave, that in unbroken line 
 I should prepare such royal hearts to hold the flame divine, 
 
 And hand the cause unsullied down from suffering sire to son, 
 
 Till comes the day high Heaven decrees the combat shall be won. 
 In many ways, in various paths, my chosen band I raise : 
 
 Some to pour around the Poet’s inspirating lays, 
 
8 
 
 And some with glowing speech the fainting hearts to animate, — 
 These teaching by their honored lives, those by their glorious fate ; 
 But, greatest, when through female charms I pour the sacred flame 
 To mould some favored hero-heart to rise to highest fame. 
 
 And Donal is my favored of the present gifted band, 
 
 That toil to unify and raise the long distracted land 
 And have so well attained their end, that now at last I feel 
 My proud commission is fulfilled, — the union of the Gael ! ” 
 
 “ But hear the mourning Aoibhan’s tale : When, kindled by thy lyre, 
 The rival tribes and creeds arose, and quenched their ancient ire 
 In tears of love and amity, alarmed Oppression rose, 
 
 But quaked before their unity, nor dared for to oppose, — 
 
 And, while he seemed to bless the scene, from Hell’s infernal shade 
 Invoked the guardian fiend ! She rose, across the Heaven’s spread 
 Her wings, like pestilential clouds, flung through the bigot gloom 
 Discord brands to fire all hearts with rancour, and illumine — 
 
 Meet torch — the paths of party vengeance. Her malignant tongue 
 Rumored of plots and massacres : above the North she hung 
 And shrieked of Papist perfidy and treachery ; then told 
 The fiery South the Orange traitors gave the pass, and sold 
 Their country for the Saxon bribe, — all means to kindle hate ; 
 And, with suspicion’s taint, their loves she tried to separate 
 And fan hostility again ; but chiefly ’gainst our will 
 Her task malignant was designed, and, with infernal skill, 
 
 Round every blessing we bestowed a blighting curse entwined, 
 
 And vowed disaster foul shall end each glory we designed; 
 
 For Dermid of the sullen brow, whose love Eileen repelled, 
 
 She sought, and - with revengeful hate his gloomy bosom swelled ; 
 The story of his love refused, with added hues of shame, 
 
 She urged, a hundred taunting tongues around the land proclaim : 
 The mocking laugh, the bitter jest, his jealous bosom tore, 
 
 Till, answering her intentions, he for fullest vengeance swore, 
 
 And to the foe betrayed the cause, and twice three hundred men 
 Led, and ambushed in the wood beside the gathering glen. 
 
 And then I watched him seek the maid, his treachery to boast, 
 And gloat upon her agonies for love and freedom lost ; 
 
 And when she flew to warn the chief, I hither came to crave 
 Thy aid, Inspirer of the Gael, my guardian care to save.” 
 
 “ Let tyranny rouse all its fiends, and thev pour all their wrath 
 That cannot stir the heart that rests on Heaven’s plighted faith : 
 The long expected hour is come, all clans and creeds combine, 
 And traitor, fiend, nor foe shall mar the destiny divine. 
 
 What ! weeping still, and doubtful ? Then come, with me prepare 
 To seek the Aoinian Dove, whose voice divine shall calm thy fear ; 
 For he foreknows our fate, and shall exultingly reveal, 
 
 My proud commission is fulfilled, — the union of the Gael.” 
 
FYTTE IV. 
 
 They rose and sought the guardian saint, and prayed him to confess 
 Their darling hero’s destiny, the future of our race. 
 
 And he, while tears of sorrow fell : “Oh ! Bride, sad is the tale — 
 Entire disaster waits upon the efforts of the Gael. 
 
 For when of yore, at dark Kinsale, the Irish cause was lost, 
 
 And Fate, that smiled on great O’Neil, then all his proud hopes 
 crossed, 
 
 Before the All -Disposer’s throne in fervent prayer I bowed, 
 
 To know if, by the Saxon power, my race should be subdued, — 
 
 ‘ Yes,’ answered the Eternal voice, ‘yes, such is sovereign Fate ; 
 And penetential centuries upon their future wait, — 
 
 Their princes shall be scattered far, their language shall decay, 
 Their place among the nations of the earth shall pass away, 
 
 Their children’s worth, their climate’s wealth, be lavished for the 
 foe, 
 
 Who’ll only use the power they’ll bring to deepen every woe ; 
 
 The leading heart, in victory’s porch shall meet untimely grave, 
 The very elements shall war ’gainst the impatient brave, 
 
 And traitors from their midst shall rise to blast them with deceit, 
 And every hope shall only beam to lure them to defeat.’ 
 
 Wild with the dismal catalogue of Erin’s future woes, 
 
 Aloud for mercy, through His voice, my wild petition rose : 
 
 * Eternal God, Thy power divine the hurricane controls, 
 
 And traced the path around which the sun undeviating rolls, 
 
 And forth from naught the myriad stars in bright procession led, 
 And, summing all, the boundless Heaven of all Thy glory spread ; 
 Eternity, nor space, shall know a rival to compare 
 Save one, the greater God, the power of humble, earnest prayer. 
 Even he, whose lifelong earthly path was one of ceaseless crime 
 That wearied even Thy clemency — attribute most sublime — 
 When o’er his guilty head the red avenging thunders frown, 
 
 And tempted justice pants to hurl the irrevocable ruin, 
 
 When weeping mercy closes Heaven, and Hell gapes at his feet, 
 And the mocking fiends accusing rise, that lured him with deceit, 
 Let him contritely kneel, and Prayer a shield of grace will raise 
 Before, ’gainst which Thy thunders burst, and lightnings vainly blaze, 
 Transforms the visiting of wrath meant for eternal woe, 
 
 Into the best and sweetest gift Thy mercy could bestow ; 
 
 Nay, bursts the folded gates of Heaven, storms Thine eternal throne, 
 And hurls the thunders from Thy grasp, and turns to smiles Thy 
 frown ! 
 
 And, if deservers of Thy wrath such clemency obtain, 
 
 Shall not Thy chosen servants, Lord, their fond petitions gain ? 
 
10 
 
 And, oh ! for whom ? Th’ unsullied Gael, who, ’gainst oppressions 
 wrath, 
 
 Are daring for Thy holy faith, defeat, exile and death.’ 
 
 Then thus the voice Divine replied, ‘Oh, ye of little faith, * 
 
 Thus to view the secret ways of Heaven’s love beneath ! 
 
 Know then that those we favor most, we most afflict, and prove 
 Through terrible adversity, their constancy and love. 
 
 ’Twas not through smiling paths of peace you won the crown of 
 bliss, 
 
 Nor shall the future glories of the Gael be won by less : 
 
 Then do not faint, my Western Job, tho’ Heaven seems to frown, 
 
 For every tear shall form a gem to deck Thy future crown ; 
 
 Thy love to me hath angered Hell, and Heaven the trial allows ; 
 
 But thou shalt triumph o’er thy foes, even by the means they’ll 
 choose ; 
 
 For he, thy fondest child, sh^ll tend, and from his lyre shall flow 
 The sweetest melodies of Heaven to alleviate thy woe, 
 
 And with their own success the proud oppressors overthrow ; 
 
 For he shall harmonize thy sons till contrite tears shall blot, 
 
 And lives of love repay, the wrong their base dissensions brought ; 
 
 Till, grander still, the rival creeds and races shall combine, 
 
 And I shall, on their union, give a nationhood divine.’ 
 
 Such is the will of Heaven, Bride ! Thus on themselves the hour 
 Depends to grasp the sacred crown, and crush the tyrant’s power ; 
 
 For such designs the fiend is loose, and, while her arts prevail, 
 
 Liberty shall never bless the future of the Gael. 
 
 Alas ! that union is not yet that God’s fulfilment need, 
 
 And, until then, the hapless land must bear, and weep, and bleed ; 
 Although some harbingers divine aside old feelings fling, 
 
 The saxon-fostered curses still around the people cling, — 
 
 And the young leader of thy love the general fate shall meet, 
 
 Death waits untimely on his path, and on his band defeat.” 
 
 FYTTE V. 
 
 “ Child of my pride, my hope, my love,” the Banshee cried ; and lo! 
 Like a cloud passed by th’ illuming moon, her raiments darkened so; » 
 As downward they returned to earth her voice rose wild and shrill, 
 
 As the midnight wail ’mong leafless trees when the blast howls 
 o’er the hill. 
 
 “ Indeed round every bliss we gave, the blithing curse is twined, 
 
 And foul disaster terminates each glory we designed. 
 
 False was every promise, Bride : when first my love did crave 
 Thee for to bless my guardian care, thy flattering promise gave 
 A brighter fate than I concieved, — the Liberator’s crown, 
 
 With all I sought ; thy sacred promise plighted the renown 
 Of the redeemer of the Gael. Yet not the sweet hopes gone, 
 
11 
 
 Or early death, I mourn so much as a beaten rebel’s shame, 
 
 Only to bear through future years the last O’Purcell’s name.” 
 
 “ Yet I my promise shall fulfil, although opposing Fate, 
 
 Seems to have bent its course to meet the fiend’s relentless hate ; 
 Yet shall my love and power break through all gathering ills, and 
 throw 
 
 More glory round his fall than e’er can victory give the foe ; 
 
 My harp’s sublimest mood shall sound his loud, eternal praise, 
 
 And from his own rent, broken clan, the destined bard shall raise ; 
 Who in his his country’s heart of hearts his memory shall throne, 
 With Fingal’s* fate, Sarsfield’s end, the eleven of Athlone ; 
 
 With Tone’s, and noble Geraldine’s, shall yet entwine his name, 
 Whose hearts contained no bigot fuel to feed the demon’s flame, 
 Whose memories yet shall guide the Gael, and lead the destined 
 band 
 
 That Heaven will bless to crush the fog, and liberate the land. 
 Come, let us seek him, and inspire, and make his early fate 
 A beacon for all future times, that it may kindle yet 
 The fire of freedom in the land, and canonize his name, 
 
 The morning star of freedom in the galaxy of fame. 
 
 They found him on Shangana’s brow with evening’s latest glow, 
 Viewing with fond, exulting love, the glorious scene below : 
 
 The holy well, the haunted rath, legended tower and stream, 
 
 As all their bright, romantic lore, upon his bosom came ; 
 
 And oh ! it proudly heaved to feel, despite the tyrant’s will, 
 
 His native land was worthy of her sons’ affection still ; 
 
 Not alone the beauty that adorns, the grandeur that sublimes, 
 
 But every pass, and cliff, and glen, sings, bard-like, of old times,— 
 Where cairn-rock and mouldering shrine to loving eyes reveal 
 The sacred memories of yore, the glories of the Gael. 
 
 But every sod of our loved land a sainted foot has blessed ; 
 
 ’Neath every turf, from shore to shore, our patriot martyrs rest, 
 And every scene around proclaims some warrior tale of yore, 
 
 That well might rouse the coldest heart to strive and save once more. 
 “ And cheer, my land, though long ’twas thine to bear oppression’s 
 chain, 
 
 Thy crown is near, thy sons have loved too well to love in vain ; 
 Though set thy splendor, western sun, soon shall thy morning beam 
 Illume the world again, and shine the brightest star of fame ! 
 
 Oh ! darling of eternal love, though once dissession spread 
 Thy frantic sons, and ope’d a path for the wily Saxon’s tread, 
 
 Has not their firm, eternal truth, since then, almost repaid 
 The mournful doom, which, for their crimes, chastising Heaven 
 decreed ; 
 
 The brightest glory andlriumph that other lands e’er gained, 
 
 Ne’er won the hearts of love, that e’en thy wrongs for thee obtained ; 
 
 * FingaL, the Hero of Dundalk.. 
 
12 
 
 Though treason, chains, insults, and death, opposed the patriot way, 
 The brightest temptings lured the suffering people to betray, 
 
 With wild affection still they clung through all thy deep’ning ills, 
 As pure, as fresh, as changeless as the verdure of thy hills ! 
 
 Ay, still, as darker grew thy wrongs, they loved thee more and more, 
 Through all the silent wrongs of peace, the open wrath of war, 
 And sought the foreign battlefields to meet thy hated foes, 
 
 And gathered glory’s brightest flowers to wreath thy ravished brows ; 
 Made those that reached Columbia’s shore, by freedom’s sunshine 
 blessed, 
 
 Still mourn for the dear old emerald darling of the west ; 
 
 So wildly fond her hills and songs are round their bosoms twined, 
 The joys around are far less dear than the sorrows left behind. 
 
 And yet, my hapless native land, for long and dismal years, 
 Unceasing down thy pallid cheeks flowed agonizing tears, — 
 Though o’er the bleeding sirj; the son sprang battling for thy right, 
 And flung the gauntlet of the Gael for unrelenting fight, 
 
 Though hearts of fondest, purest love, would answer to the call, 
 The guardian demon of our land, Disunion, blighted all. 
 
 At last ! though late, their errors seen, thy sorrowing sons unite, 
 The north, the south, the east, and west alike, shall claim thy right ; 
 And never, since the shamrock sprung, did base invader stand 
 When thy bold sons united rose to free their native land.” 
 
 He paused, and turned to fire the pile, and send abroad a flame 
 To light all hearts, no tyrant’s power can ever quench or tame. 
 
 FYTTE VI. 
 
 Lo ! as he spoke, on Corrinduv the signal flames reply, 
 
 And proud Clomanto’s noble brow illumined the western sky,— 
 Dark Cnoc-na-moc, the stormy Corbs the flaring warning bore, 
 And queenly Corrigeen out-flamed o’er lurid Glashan-glorh ; 
 
 Red from Glasana’s triple peak the burning banners beamed, 
 
 And old Dromdelgy’s ancient rath with fiery tongues proclaimed, — 
 Quick from the hills of fair Dunmore the joyful answer rose, 
 
 Till, like volcanoes, flared to Heaven Sliabhmargy’s heathery brows, 
 And on, and on, till Carbis hill flashed far the ruddy rays, 
 
 And the burning crown of green Sliabhan saluted Shang’na’s blaze. 
 Then, as the generous warrior horse that hears the trumpet sound, 
 With loud, impatient neighs, and proudly foaming, paws the ground, 
 While his distended nostrils blaze, and with exulting bound 
 Rears quivering for the expected fight, his bold, magnificent eyes 
 Darts fearless on the levelled spears, with fiercer gleam replies, 
 Erects his mane, expands his chest, devours the space between 
 With wild, tumultous joy, to share the glory of the scene, — 
 
Down, down, with joyous speed he dashed to reach the gathering 
 glen, 
 
 While echo’d round the hurrying tramp, and shouts of mustering 
 men, — 
 
 And youths flew fast from home to home, and only paused to say, 
 “ The muster-place is Tulla-Glas ! Remember Orr ! Away ! ” 
 
 And Bride above th’ exulting hills, in mood triumphant soared, 
 And o’er all hearts the fiery strains of martial Ireland poured,— 
 That summoned from the hallow’d graves around their warrior sires 
 To beckon from their hills of fame, and pour the sacred fires 
 That burned against oppression’s might of old, and wave them on, 
 With sacred palms, to save the land, or win the martyr’s crown. 
 
 In Tulla-Glas they met ; upon the little ferny mound 
 O’Purcell stood, and thus addressed the listening bands around : 
 
 “ Now perish those that shrink ! our freedom’s sunlight through the 
 shades 
 
 Of tyranny shall never flash, except from rebel blades ; 
 
 No other refuge, other hope, meets the inquiring eye, 
 
 The issue comes at last to this, that we must fight or die. 
 
 What ! will we slavish, basely wait, until our aching eyes 
 See from the home of happy days the spoiler’s flames arise ; 
 
 Our aged fathers’ hoary tresses clogged with gushing gore, 
 
 The tender bosom childhood sought, by ruffian weapons tore ; 
 
 And, darker still, our sisters loved, and maiden’s fond and fair, 
 Writhe in the fiend’s embrace, and vainly call in wild despair ? 
 
 The vilest coward that crawls on earth would arm against such 
 wrongs ; 
 
 And we, upon whose memory such proud remembrance throngs, — 
 Shall we submit ? within whose veins the blood of fathers flows, 
 That never yet in battle ran except upon their foes, — 
 
 And won first fame in every land from Saxon bondage free, — 
 When Heaven unites our race at last to crush their tyranny ? 
 
 Have we not waited, hoped, and prayed, our lawful rights to gain ? 
 What gave they for our humble plaints but scorn and disdain ! 
 
 Till we should from their justice turn, and learn from their fears 
 One angry flash of rebel steel is worth ten thousand prayers.” 
 Attentive to their chief’s harangue, the glowing warriors swayed, 
 And every impulse of his speech with gesture proud obeyed ; 
 
 And, when he ceased, could find no words, but simultaneous broke 
 One universal shout that well their burning feelings spoke. 
 
 And Bride, with proud, exulting voice, sublimed the warriors’ cry, 
 And tenfold through rent Heaven reverberated the reply 
 From all the graceful, emerald zone of hill-girt Ossory. 
 
 “ Then, in God’s name, and Ireland’s cause 1 ” O’Purcell cried, and 
 raised 
 
 The banner of the bendless race. With rapturous pride they gazed 
 Upon its sunbright splendors beaming through the stormy air, 
 
 And every knee was bent with love, and every head was bare 1 
 
14 
 
 When hark ! that shout and mocking laugh ! They rose, but undis- 
 mayed, 
 
 Although outnumbering foeman ranks burst through the circling 
 shade : 
 
 At once their muskets’ wrathful crash tore through the midnight air, 
 Till the tortured flesh was scorched with fire, the volley’s blazed so 
 near, — 
 
 Then close they sprang for deadlier fight, with fierce and furious zeal, 
 And stern resolve, and defiant shouts, and clash of angry steel. 
 Thronged in the narrow gorge the roar burst horrible and high, 
 
 Of shout, shot, clash, crash, groan, that echo shuddered to reply ; 
 With pike and bayonet, sword and bill, the tangled foemer. tore, 
 Hacking limbs, and cleaving skulls, scattering brains and gore ; 
 
 Or, in the fierce embrace of death, the gorey ferns they crushed, 
 With scorching breath and blazing eyes, till either’s life-blood 
 gushed. 
 
 Each fought less eager for his own than for his foeman’s life, 
 
 And still as fewer grew the ranks more deadly grew the stife ; 
 
 For dauntless stood the rebel chief, though o’erwhelmed was his 
 band, 
 
 And clove the circling foemen down with red, terrific brand, 
 Upheld the flag, and with bold words cheered on his comrades true, 
 And showed them in the bloody front all he would have them do ; 
 And, when he saw all hope was vain, snatched glory from despair, 
 And loud to pitying Heaven poured a patriot’s noble prayer : 
 
 “ Yet if a soldier’s last request, Eternal, can prevail, 
 
 Give us to leave a memory that shall animate the Gael ; 
 
 That, though we die unlaurelled death, we may not vainly bleed. 
 But fire the future of our race, the self-same path to tread ! ” 
 
 And Bride, to glorify his fall, redeemed her sacred vow, 
 
 And shed a radiant glory round his haughty, fearless brow, 
 
 Filled his heart, and nerved his arm to sway his reeking sword, 
 And through his animating voice the wild rasgcatha poured ; 
 
 Till his glorious deeds and sacred trust his gallant few inspired, 
 And with the patriot’s noblest thrill their fearless bosoms fired ; 
 And they dung around the flag with immortal love, till one by one 
 they fell, 
 
 Blessing the land they died to save, and him they loved so well, — • 
 Who, struggling with a score of foes had sank upon the ground, 
 And bleeding, faint, but defiant still, was overpowered and bound ; 
 With the torn flag they could not wrest clutched in his dying hold 
 Upon the breast whose gushing life-blood crimsoned every fold. 
 
 It was dark Dermid’s sole request that they would spare his life, 
 Nor give the soldier’s noble end amid the glorious strife, 
 
 But bind, and from the nearest tree give him dishonored death, 
 That he might gloat o’er every pang, and mock his parting breath ; 
 And while the foe, with ready skill, prepared the fatal cord, 
 Stooping, in the hero’s ears, his taunts vindictive poured ; 
 
1 
 
 15 
 
 v 
 
 And worse, the noble hound he loved, — that followed through the 
 night, 
 
 And fought, with angry paw and fang, to save him in the fight, — 
 That even th’ admiring Saxon spared, — the ruffian drew his knife, 
 
 * And, with repeated stabs, deprived the gallant brute of life. 
 
 Altho’ round hand, and foot, and neck, redoubled cords were bound, 
 Altho’ on every side red gaped a streaming, fatal wound, 
 
 The deed roused all remaining life ; erect upon his feet 
 He sprang ; but ere his tongue could aught of his hot heart repeat, 
 The foes that watched with levelled guns the quick command obey, 
 A dozen bullets tore his heart, and banished life away. 
 
 What wild wail of a breaking heart rang o’er the gory glen, — 
 What female form in torn array dashed through the armed men ! 
 t Alas ! too late ! though love lent speed, her ’wiidering fears misled, 
 And brought her just to see that noble bosom’s life-blood shed. 
 Then Aoibhan o’er the awful scene, loud raised the banshee wail, 
 And poured her lone, wild cries of grief along the gloomy vale ; 
 t And Bride, robed in the storm-clouds, rolled darkly o’er the scene, 
 And bade melodious Dinan mourn the groaning hills between, 
 
 With hoarse, loud voice, through all his curves, to swell the angry 
 keen, — 
 
 Past Ardalto, with sullen surge, loud moaned the full-waved Nore, 
 And madly round Cnocarrigeen roared rushing Glashan-Glorh ; 
 But fierce o’er all, her angry voice the swollen tempest tore, 
 
 And loosed th’ impatient winds of Heaven to howl her warrior’s 
 death, 
 
 And bade the rolling thunders bursting shriek her frantic wrath ; 
 And trembling earth, and shuddering Heaven, sublimed the tragic 
 strain, 
 
 And chorused wild the mad lament of Eileen’s awful pain : — 
 
 “ Is this the end of ail we hoped a few short hours ago, 
 t When I fondly, proudly bade thee forth in youthful, manly glow? 
 
 I knew ten thousand dangers lurked around the path you dared, 
 But fondly hoped that angel bands my warrior love would guard ; 
 
 I dreamed but of bright, victor fields, and Donal hailed the first, 
 That smote our foulest foeman down, our vilest slave-link burst, 
 
 * And of a long and happy life, amid a people free, 
 
 . Where millions, blessed and blessing, joined in love and praise 
 with me. 
 
 Wo ! wo ! no more my aching heart those glorious dreams shall 
 know, 
 
 No more, no more, through hopeless life my panting bosom glow 
 * To thy sweet glances, sunny smiles, and words whose language failed 
 To tell the feelings that so well the melting tones revealed, — 
 
 Deep moving as some dear old air heard on the stranger’s plain, 
 That sweetly on the exile’s heart brings Ireland back again ; — - 
 Gone, gone ! Nor mine the only joy thy early fate could yield, 
 Thy young heart’s blood not poured upon the freedom-giving field - ! 
 
16 
 
 True, true thou wert all love believed, all Eileen’s love could crave, 
 And with the banner nobly fell, the foremost of the brave ! 
 
 True, true, thy memory down all time shall Erin love and bless, — * 
 But oh ! thou ’rt gone, and can those thoughts relieve my wretched- 
 ness.” 
 
 ****** 
 
 In Donoughmore there is a grave enrobed with wildfiowers fair, 
 The linnets sing in the haw-trees round, and children tread not there. 
 No stone is reared ; but little need. Oh, well is known the grave 
 Where sleep the broken-hearted girl and patriot martyr brave ! 
 And hither on the summer eve the village bands repari, 
 
 And sing the tale in ballads wild of those that slumber there, — 
 
 Or eager youth attentive list, as aged lips repeat 
 The unforgiven memories of remembered Ninety-eight. 
 
 And there they tell, till brave hearts pant and gentle eyes grow dim, 
 How Donal died for Erin, and Eileen died for him ; 
 
 Or, with voice fierce as serpent’s hiss, retrace the traitor’s fate, 
 Who bore through every land he sought the blight of human hate,— - 
 Till, smote by plagues, while yet alive the tortured members fell 
 Asunder in his putrid flesh, and he died despised of hell, 
 
 Abhorred of earth, accursed of Heaven, with none to mourn his pain, 
 While foemen wept for Donal brave, and beautiful Eileen. 
 
 And Bride, with her divinest lyre, attends the gatherings there, 
 Inspires the old that tell the tale, inflames the young that hear ; 
 Showing that fame, whate’er his fate, will the patriot’s name illume, 
 While unenvied by the burning fiends of hell ’s the traitor’s doom ; 
 Till with the imperishable hope their panting bosoms glow, 
 
 Of yet to rend their country’s bonds and crush the hated foe, 
 
 And see the darling banner fly o’er native stream and heath, 
 
 And all our sundered creeds and clans in harmony beneath ! 
 
 The hope that cheered the exile’s heart upon the foreign plain, 
 
 And soothed the aching hearts that bore the ruler foeman’s chain, 
 And bade them proudly from the dock his utmost wrath defy, 
 
 And bless their darling island love upon the scaffold high ! 
 
 Red ages failed to crush that hope Eternity would fail ! 
 
 And while above God’s fair earth treads the fond and fiery Gael, 
 His daily wish, his nightly prayer, his life-long hope shall be, 
 
 To rend the rule of snares and fangs, and raise the Green Isle free. 
 
 ' Ollav, 
 
 *