^^ ■ Q <*>'%> '%.'*N-^.'%,-^%'^V^' LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. I #[ K UNITED STATUS OF AMERICA. ^ -^ r/r^Mi'/^o^ — ^^X'^ '"^'■■■ P M Haxeriy. McwToik THE POEMS ov THOMAS DAVI S. ■■yiTH NOTES, HISTORICAL ILLUSTRATIONS, ETC^ AND AM INTRODUCTION, BY JOHN MITCHEL. Thy striving^, be it with loving ; Thy living, be it in deed. Goethe. NEW YORK: PUBLISHED BY P. M. HAYERTY, 110 FULTON STREET, 1860. ^5^^ ^^^^l. \ Brief, brave, and glorious, was his young career, His mourners were two hosts, his friends and foes , For he was Freedom's champion, one of those, The few in number, who had not outstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield her weapons. He had kept The whiteness of his soul, and thus men o'er him wept. Byron CONTENTS. PAOB INTRODUCTION, BY JOHN MITCHEL . . ■ . i INTKODUCTION, BY THE EDITOR . . . . ix PART I. — NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. TIPPERARY 31 THE RIVERS 33 GLENGARIFF ....... 35 THE west's ASLEEP ..... 37 oh! FOR A STEED 38 CYMRIC RULE AND CYMRIC RULERS ... 41 A BALLAD OF FREEDOM 43 THE IRISH hurrah 47 A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA ... 48 OUR OWN AGAIN 60 CELTS AND SAXONS 63 ORANGE AND GREEN 56 PART n. — MISCELLANEOUS SONGS AND BALLADS. THE LOST PATH 69 love's LONGINGS 61 HOPE DEFERRED 62 EIBHLIN A RUIN 64 THE BANKS OF THE LEE 65 THE GIRL OF DUNBWY 67 DTTTY AND LOVE 68 ANNIE DEAR 69 BLIND MARY 71 THE BRIDE OF MALLOW 72 CONTENTS. PAGE THE WELCOME 74 THE MI-NA-MEALA . 76 MAIRE BHAN A STOIR . 78 oh! the marriage . 79 A PLEA FOR LOVE . 81 THE bishop's daughter . 82 THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE 83 MY DARLING NELL . 84 LOVE CHAUNT . 85 A CHRISTlllAS SCENE 86 THE INVOCATION 88 LOVE AND WAR . 90 MY LAND 91 THE RIGHT ROAD . 92 PART m. — ^HISTORICAL BALLADS AND SONGS. jfixst %ZXit8. A NATION ONCE AGAIN LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS THE FATE OF KING DATHI ARGAN MOR THE victor's burial THE TRUE IRISH KING THE GERALDINES o'bRIEN OF ARA EMMELINE TALBOT . o'sULLIVAN's RETURN THE FATE OF THE o'SULLIVANS THE SACK OF BALTIMORE LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF OWEN A RALLY FOR IRELAND THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK * 93 , 95 , , 98 . 102 , , . 104 , , 105 , , . 109 , . . 114 . . 116 . . 122 , . 126 . 132 ROE o'nEILL 137 . . 140 . . 143 CONTENTS. •PART IV. HISTORICAL BALLADS AND SONGS. ^£COn& ^zxits. PAGK THE PENAL DATS .... . 147 THE DEATH OF SARSFJELD . 150 THE SURPRISE OF CREMONA . 151 THE FLOWER OF FINAE . . 154 THE GIRL I LEFT BEHIND ME . . 156 glare's DRAGOONS .... . 158 WHEN SOUTH WINDS BLOW . 161 THE BATTLE-EVE OF THE BRIGADE . . 162 FONTENOT . 164 THE DUNGANNON CONVENTION . . 168 SONG OF THE VOLUNTEERS OF 1782 . 171 THE MEN OF 'eIGHTY-TWO . 173 NATIVE SWORDS .... . 175 tone's grave . 177 PART V. — MISCELLANEOUS POEM s. NATIONALITY . 179 SELF-RELIANCE .... . 181 SWEET AND SAD .... . 183 THE BURIAL . 186 W^E MUST NOT FAIL . 190 o'cONNELL's STATUE . 192 THE GREEN ABOVE THE RED . . 195 THE VOW OF TIPPERARY . 198 A PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS . 199 A SECOND PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS . 201 A SCENE IN THE SOUTH . . 202 WILLIAM TELL . 205 THE EXILE . 207 MY HOME . 209 FANNY POWER . . 214 MARIE NANGLE . 216 MY GRAVE . . 219 APPENDIX 221 The sun set ; but set not nis nope . Stars rose ; his faith was earlier up ' Fixed on the enormous galary. Deeper and older seemed his eye : And matched his sufferance sublime The taciturnity of time. He spoke, and words more soft than rain Broug-ht the Age of Gold again : His action won such reverence s^yeet. As hid all measure of the feat. Emerson INTRODUCTION BY JOHN MITCHEL. At Mallow, on the river Blackwater, in the County of Cork, and some time in the year 1814, Thomas Osborne Davis was born. His father was by birth a Welshman, but long settled in the South of Ireland; and Davis, ever proud of his Cymric blood, and of his kindred with the other Gaelic family of Milesians, named himself through life a Celt, " The Celt" was his nom-de-plume ; and the Celtic music and literature, the Celtic language, and habits, and history, were always his fondest study. Partly from the profound sympathy of his nature with the fiery, vehement, affectionate, gentle, and bloody race that bred him, — his affinity with " the cloudy and lightning genius of the Gael," — partly from his hereditary aversion to the coarser and more energetic Anglo-Saxon, — and partly from the chivalry of his character, which drew him to the side of all oppressed nations everywhere over the earth, — he chose to write Gelt upon his front ; he would live and die a Celt. The scenes of his birth and boyhood nursed and che- rished this feeling. Amongst the hills of Munster — on the banks of Ireland's most beauteous river, the Avondheu, Spenser's "Auniduff," — and amidst a simple people who yet retained most of the venerable usages ol olden time, their wakes and hineral-caoines, their wed- ding merrymakings, and simple hospitality with a hun- dred thousand welcomes; he imbibed that passionate and deep love, not for the people only, but for the very soil, rocks, woods, waters, and skies of his native land, which gives to his writings, both in prose and poetry, their chief value and charm. He received a good education, and entered Trinity College, Dublin. During his university course, his read- ing was discursive, omnivorous, by no means confined within the text-books and classic authors prescribed for study within the current terms of the college curriculum. Therefore he was not a dull, plodding blockhead " pre- mium-man." He came through the course creditably enough, but without distinction ; and "Wallis, an early friend and comrade of Davis, and the author of the first tribute to his memory and his genius, in the " Introduc- tion" prefixed to this edition of his Poems, says that " during his college-course, and for some years after, while he was very generally liked, he had, unless, per- haps, with some few who knew him intimately, but a moderate reputation for high ability of any kind." In short his moral and intellectual growth was slow ; he had no personal ambition for mere distinction, and never through all his life did anything for effect. Thus he spent his youth in storing his own mind and training his own heart ; never wrote or spoke for the public till he approached his thirtieth year ; exerted faculty after faculty (unsuspected by himself as well as by others) just as the occasion for their exertion arose, and nobody else was at hand able or willing to do the needful work ; and when he died at the age of thirty-one, those only who knew him best felt that the world had been per- mitted to see but the infancy of a great genius. His poetry is but a fragment of the man. He was no boy-rhymer ; and brim-full as his eye and soul were of the beauties and glories of Nature, he never felt a ne- cessity to utter them in song. In truth he did not himself suspect that he could make verses until the establishment of the Nation newspaper, in which, from the first, he was the principal writer ; and then, from a calm, deliberate conviction that amongst other agencies for arousing national spirit, fresh, manly, vigorous, national songs and ballads must by no means be ne- glected, he conscientiously set to work to manufacture the article wanted. The result was that torrent of impassioned poesy which flashed through the columns of the Nation, week by week, and made many an eager boy, from the Giant's Causeway to Cape Clear, cut open the weekly sheet with a hand shaken by excitement, — to kindle his heart with the glowing thought of the nameless " Celt." The defeat of Ireland and her cause, and the utter prostration into which she has fallen, may, in the minds of many, deprive the labours of Davis of some portion of their interest. If his aspirations had been made realities, and his lessons had ripened into action ; if the British standard had gone down, torn and trampled before the green banner, in this our day, as it had done before on many a well-fo«ght field, — then all men would have loved to trace the infancy and progress of the tri- umphant cause, — the lives and actions of those who had toiled in the sweat of their brows to make its triumph possible. It is the least, indeed, of the penalties, yet it is one of the surest penalties of defeat — that the world -will neglect you and your claims ; will not care to ask why you were defeated, nor care to inquire whether you deserved success. Yet to some minds it will be always interesting to understand instead of misunderstanding even a baffled cause. And to such, the Poems of Davis are presented as the fullest and finest expression of the national sen- timent that in 1843 shook the British empire to its base, and was buried ignominiously in the Famine-graves of 48 — not without hope of a happy resurrection. To characterize shortly the poetry of Davis — its main strength and beauty lies in its simple passion. Its exe- cution is unequal ; and in some of the finest of his pieces any magazine-critic can point out weak or unmusical verses. But all through these ringing lyrics there is a direct, manly, hearty, human feeling, with here and there a line or passage of such passing melody and beauty that once read it haunts the ear and heart for ever. *' What thoughts were mine in early youth ' Like some old Irish song, Brimful of love, and life, and truth, My spirit gushed along." And in that exquisite song, " The Rivers." Let any one who has an ear to hear, and a tongue to speak, read aloud the fifth stanza. " But far kinder the woodlands of rich Convamore, And more gorgeous the turrets of saintly Lismore; There the stream, like a maiden, With love overladen Pants wild on each shore " PREFAOB. t Who that has once seen, will ever forget, old Lord Clare, rising at the head of his mess-table, in the " Battle-eve of the Brigade" — " The veteran arose, like an uplifted lance. Saying, Comrades, a health to the monarch of France '." His " Lament for the death of Owen Eoe," is the very heart and soul of a musical, wild, and miserable Lish caoine (the coronach, or ncenise) — ** Wail, wail him through the Island ! Weep, weep for onr pride ! Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died ! Weep the victor of Benburb — weep him, young men and old ; Weep for him, ye women — your Beautiful lies cold ! •* We thought you would not die— we were sure you would not go, And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow — Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky — Oh ! why did you leave us, Owen 1 Why did you die 1 For his battle-ballads may be instanced "Fontenoy," and the "Sack of Baltimore." And his lo-fe-songs are the genuine pleadings of longing, yearning, devouring pas- sion. Perhaps, however, the most characteristic, though far from the finest of all these songs, is that beginning " Oh ! for a steed 1" There he gives bold and broad expression to that feeling which we have already de- scribed as a leading constituent of his noble nature, — sympathy with conquered nations, assertion and es- pousal of their cause against force and fate, — and a mortal detestation and defiance of that conquering " energy" which impels the civilizing bullies of mankind to "bestride the narrow world like a Colossus." This sympathy it was which so strongly attracted him to the • books of Augustin Thierry, whose writings he often recommended as the most picturesquely faithfil and heartily human of all historical works. Space would fail us to give anything like an adequate narrative of Davis's political toils through the three last busy years of his life. It is not detracting from any man's just claims to assert, what all admit, that he, more than any one man, inspired, created, and moulded the strong national feeling that possessed the Irish people in '43, made O'Connell a true uncrowned king, and " Placed the strength of all the land Like a falchion in his hand." The "government," at last, with fear and trembling came to issue with the " Repeal Conspirators" in the law courts. Well they might fear and tremble. One movement of O'Connell's finger — for only he could give the signal — and within a month no vestige of British power could have remained in Ireland. For O'Connell's refusal to wield^ that power, then unquestionably in his hands, may God forgive him ! He went into prison on the 30th of Ma}^, 1844, stayed there three months — came out in a ti'iumph of perfect paroxysm of popular enthu- siasm stronger than ever. Yet from that hour the cause declined ; nothing, answering expectation or commen- surate with the power at his command, was done or attempted. "Physical force" was made a bugbear to frighten women and children ; priests were instructed to denounce " rash young men," from their altars ; and "Law" — London law, was thrust down the national throat. Davis saw this, — vainly resisted it, and made head against it for a while. He laboured in the Kation more zealously than ever; but his intimate comrades per- ceived him changed ; and after a short illness he dlied at his mother's house, Baggot street, Dublin, on the 16th of September, 1845. The Nation lost its strength and its inspiration. The circle of friends and comrades, — the "Young Ireland party," as they Tvere called, that revolved around this central figure, that were kept in their spheres by the attraction of his strong nature; taking their literary tasks from his hands, — drawing instruction from his varied accomplishments, and courage and zeal from his kindly and cheerful converse, — soon fell into confusion, alienation, helplessness. Gloom gathered round the cause, and Famine wasting the bone and vigour of the nation, made all his friends feel, as the confederate Irish felt when Owen Roe died of poison — like " Sheep -without a shepherd when snow shut out the sky." MacN'evin, who idolized him, was cut suddenly from all his moorings, and like a rudderless ship drifted and whirled, until he died in a mad-house. Of others, i^ would be invidious to trace the career in this place. Enough to say, that the most dangerous foe English dominion in Ireland has had in our generation, is buried in the cemetery of Mount Jerome, in the southern suburbs of Dublin. Fragmentary and hasty as are the compositions in prose or verse, which Davis left behind him, they are the best and most authentic exponent of the principles and aspirations of the remnant of his disciples. INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOB. It is my sincere belief^ that no book lias ever been pub- lished of more immediate and permanent interest to the Irish People, than this little volmne of the Poems of Thomas Davis. The momentary grief of the people for his loss was loud and ardent enough. I havelieard some touching instances of the intensity with which it manifested itself in thousands who had never seen his face, or heard his voice, — to whom, indeed, his very name and being were unknown until the tidings of his death awoke in them the vain regret that they had not earlier known and honoured the good great man who worked unseen among them. But, alas ! regrets of this description are in their very nature transient ; and all ranks of the people have much to learn before they can rightly appreciate what a trea- sure of hope and energy, of life and love, of greatness and glory for himself and them, lies buried in that un- timely grave. X INTRODUCTION. It has been the i~»eculiar destiny of this Nation of Sor- rows, to lose by unseasonable death, at the very crisis of her peril, the only men who were endowed with the genius and energy to guide her unharmed through the strife. Too seldom have Ireland's champions lived to reap the mature fruit of their toil. Too seldom hath the calm evening of existence, o'ercanopied by victory, and smiled on by such parting twilight as promises a brighter morrow, heralded for them that glad repose, which they only know who have laboured and seen their labour blessed. The insidious angel of Death has pre- ferred to take our chieftains unprepared in their noon of manhood, — too often before that noon arrived, stab- bing them stealthily in their tents, as they donned their armour, at the dawn of some great day, or mused upon the event of that encounter, which they had bent every energy to meet, and yet were doomed never to see. Long centuries hath the hand of God, for inscrutable causes, been very heavy on Ireland ; and this alacrity of Death is the fetter-key of his wrath. May this last offering of our fii-st-born propitiate him, and may the kingly souls whom hereafter He may send among us to rule and guide our people no more be prematurely sum- moned away, in the very dawn of their glory, with their hopes unrealized, and their mission unfulfilled. Fortunately, Davis was not a statesman and political leader merely, but a thinker and a writer too, — more than that, a genuine poet ; as, I trust, all who peruse this little book will acknowledge. True, it is a mere garland of blossoms, whose fruit was doomed never to ripen ; a reliquary of undeveloped genius, but recently awakened to a consciousness of its own power. INTRODUCTION. Xi The ambition, the activity, and above all, the over- weening confidence of most young men of genius, secures for them a spontaneous discipline in those pur- suits for wliich tliey are specially adapted. Goetlie and Schiller, Burns and Byron, Wordsworth and Coleridge, too young as most of them were, when they commenced a career of authorship, had written verses for years before they became known to the public. Many are the recounted instances of precocious poetic power, both in those who afterwards became renowned as poets, and in men destined to shine in far other pursuits, the first exercise of whose intellectual energy has taken this direction. Even men who, like Cowper and Alfieri, have burst the shell of seclusion at comparatively a late period of life, have betrayed in their boyish tastes or habits, the peculiar bent of their genius. However waywardness or timidity may have retarded the public profession of their art, they had yet some forecast of their destiny. They knew they had wings, and fluttered them, though they had not yet strength to fly. The case of Davis is difi'erent, and altogether so pecu- liar, that it ought not to be passed over in the very briefest introduction to his poetical remains. Until about three years before his death, as I am assured, he had never written a line of poetry. His efi"orts to acquire knowledge, to make himself useful, and to find a suitable sphere of action, were incessant; but they tried every path, and took every direction but this. The warmth of his affections, and his intense enjoyment of the beauties of nature and character, of literature an« art, ought early to have marked him out as one destine^ to soar and sing, as well as to think and act. But the XU INTRODUCTION. fact is, that among his youthful cotemporaries, for many a long year, he got as little credit for any promise this way, as he did for any other remarkable qualities beyond extreme good nature, untiring industry, and very varied learning. Truth to say, much of this early misconception of hia character was Davis's own fault He learned much ; suffered much, I have no doubt ; felt and sympathised much ; and hoped and enjoyed abundantly ; but he had not yet learned to rely on himself. His powers were like the nucleus of an embryo star, uncompressed, un- purified, flickering and indistinct. He carried about with him huge loads of what other men, most of ihera statists and logicians, had thought proper to assert ; but what he thought and felt himself, he did not think of putting forward. The result was, that during his col- lege course, and for some years after, while he was very generally liked, he had, unless perhaps with some who knew him intimately, but a moderate reputation for high ability of any kind. In his twenty-fifth year, as I remember — that is, in the spring of 1839 — he first began to break out of this. His opinions began to have weight, and his character and influence tO unfold them- selves in a variety of ways. In the following year he entered political life. But this is not the place to recount the details of his subsequent career. The outbreak of his poetical power began in this wise. In the autumn of 1842, taking an active part in the establishment of a new popular journal, (the Na- tion,) which was intended to advance the cause of Nationality by all the aids which literary as well as political talent could bring to its advocacy Davl«, and I-\TRODUCTION. XIU the friends associated with him, found that while their corps in other respects was sufficiently complete, they had but scanty promise of support in the poetica departmeut. The well-known saying of Fletcher of Sal- toun, — "Give me the ballads, and let who will make the laws," — had sunk deeply iato the minds of some of the projectors of the journal : though I am told that Davis himself was at first not very solicitous on this point ; so little aware was he of his own power in that respect, at the moment it was about to break forth. But the Editor of the journal had set his heart on it, having before par- tially tried the experiment in a Northern paper. Ulti- mately, however, all the founders of the Nation agreed in the resolve, that come whence it would, poetry, — real living poetry, gushing warm from the heart, and not mechanically mimicking obsolete and ungenial forms, — was worth a trial, as a fosterer of National feeling, and an excitement to National hope. But it came not from any outward source ; and thereupon Davis and his com- panions resolved, in default of other aid, to write the poetry themselves. They did so ; they surprised them selves and every body else. The results of that despair- ing attempt have since been made known, and applauded in every quarter of the globe. The right chord had been struck, and the consequent stimulus to Irish literature has been, and is, incalculable. The rapidity and thrilling power, with which, from the time that he got full access to the public ear, Davis developed his energies as statesman, political writer, and poet, has been well described elsewhere. It excited the surprise and admiration even of those who knew him best^ and won the respect of numbers, who from 2 XIV INTRODUCTION. political or personal prejudices, Lad been originally most unwilling to admit his worth. So signal a victory ovei long-continued neglect and obstinate prejudice as he had at length obtained, has never come under my observa- tion, and I believe it to be almost unexampled. There is no assurance of greatness so unmistakable »s this. No power is so overwhelming, no energy so untiring, no enthusiasm so indomitable, as that which slumbers for years, unconscious and unsuspected, until the character is .'completely formed, and then bursts at once into light and life, when the time for action is come. This was the true guarantee of Davis's greatness, — of a genius which was equal to any emergency, which would have been constantly placing itself in new aspects, overcoming new difficulties, and winning fresh love and honour from his countrymen, and from mankind. A character so rich in promise, so full of life and energy, of love and hope, as his, and at the same time so suited for public life, is a rarity in history. Had he been spared for a few years longer, the world would have known this well As it is, they must partly take it on trust from those who knew the man. For none of his writings, either in prose or verse, will enable them to know him thoroughly. As, indeed, the richer and deeper, and more vital and versatile a man's character is, the poorer fragment of himself will his writings inevitably be. Not but that everything Davis has written, abounds in admonition and instruction, for Irishmen of every class, and for all in any country who have the sym- pathies and affections of men. But from the activity of his public life, it was impossible that he could write with that leisure and deliberate care, which the heart INTRODUCTION. XT and intellect require for finished composition. And ac- cordingly, none of his works can be taken as an adequate expression of his creative power. Had he lived, and been enabled to shift a portion of his political burden upon other shoulders, I have no doubt but he would have more frequently retired into himself, and thus been enabled to give the world the purer fruits of his unen- cumbered leisure. But the weight of his toil cut him off before that leisure came. If anywhere, it is in this volume, that a key to Da- vis's most engaging qualities, and to his inward heart, may be found. But there is not room here, and I must await some other opportunity of weighing the merits of these poems, in relation to their autlior's character, and to the wants of the time and country for which they were written. It may, at all events, be better done when his prose works also have been given to the public, and the elite of the labours of his young statesmanship made permanently and universally accessible. For lite- rary pre-eminence was not his ambition at all, and even usefulness through the channels of literature, but one of the many means which he shaped to one great end. For these and other reasons, apart from his want of leisure, and his early death, his poems above all must not be judged without a reference to his aims and his mode of life. I do not believe that since the invention of printing, there has been any volume of such sincere effect and varied power, produced under similar cir- cumstances. The longer portion and by far the best of them were written and published in a single year (1844), and that the most active of the author's life, during which his political labours, in addition to constant writ- XVI INTRODUCTION. ing for the journal with which he was connected, were almost as incessant and fatiguing as those of a minister of state. In these and in some not dissimilar instances which I could recount of others, there seems good reason to hope for our country and our age. Novalis used to lament bitterly the severance of poetry from philosophy, and surely not without abundant cause ; but with far better reason might he have bemoaned the divorce of poetry from life and action. For in no respect is there a greater contrast between these latter formalized ages, and the wilder, healthier centuries of the world's antique life. Solon was a poet, as well as a statesman and sage. Sophocles was not only an unrivalled dramatist, but a distinguished soldier, and in youth a miracle of beauty and accomplishments, — the Sidney as well as the Shakspeare of that glorious age. Pericles and Csesar were orators, philosophers, soldiers, wits, poets, and consummate statesmen, all in one. Descending to a later age, entirely different in character and aims, we find Alfred teaching his people as Avell as ruling them. Richard Cceur-de-lion was hardly less renowned for poetry than for courage. Bertrand de Born was warrior and patriot, poet and statesman, and it was not found that his success in one pursuit w^as marred or defeated by his proficiency in another. Among the Moslem cotemporaries of all these men, abundant examples might be adduced of such a combination of political with poetical power. And recurring to the early dwellers in the East, above all to those whom a peculiar dispensation set apart from other men, Moses and David were poets, as well as prophets and kings. INTRODUCTION. xvfi For such is the natural condition of health, in nations as in men. The mind and the body alike are agile for a thousand feats, and equal to a thousand labours. For literature is then a part of life, a dweller in the common landscape, a presence in sunshine and in shade, in camp and festival, before the altar and beside the hearth, — and not an intruding reminiscence, an antiquated mockery, a ghastly effete excrescence, hiding with its bloated bulk the worth of the present hour, and the lovely opportunities of unused actual life, that ever lie with mute appeal before the dullard man ; and which he alone who feels the force of, can .enter into the feel- ings or appreciate the worth of bye-gone generations too. It is only the insidious materialism of modern exist- ence, that has rent the finest tissues of moral power and dwarfed into mechanical routine and huxtering sub- serviency, the interchanging faculties of man, making literature itself a statute-book, or a gin-shop, instead of an overhanging canopy of the simple and sublime, a fostering, embracing atmosphere to man's every thought and act. And thus it is that poets and philosophers, — that is, men of purer, deeper, more genial and generative faculty than others, — find all the avenues to power barr«d against them by lawyers and diplomatists, and are driven to suck their thumbs in corners, when they ought, by virtue of the fiercer life and more powerful reason that is in them, to be teaching the world by ex- ample as well as precept; and not by words alone, but by action too, by the communities of peril, and the inter- change of sympathy and love, to be filling the souls of men with hope and resolution, with piety and truth. XVIU INTRODUCTION. Here, at least, in this little book, is a precedent and admonition to the honest man-of-letters of whatever class or country — that if his feeling for his fellow- men — and who will feel for them, if he does not? — should lead him into political action, he need not des- pond because he is a poet, if only he i?, into the bargain, a self-reliant man. Davis was a poet, but he was not for that the less practical in public life, nor did the most prosaic of his opponents ever object to him, that he was the less fitted to advise and govern, because he occa- sionally expressed in verse the purer aspirations of his soul. Pity it is, to be sure, that these aspirations had not found a fuller utterance, before the fiat of death had hushed to unseasonable rest the throbbings of that large heart. Fragments though they be of a most capacious and diversified character, the}^ are yet to a wonderful degree its unaffected utterance. Like wild flowers springing from the mould in the clefts of a giant oak, they relish of the open air, and have looked the sky in the face. Doubtless in many ways the impress of the poet's spirit, and of the graces of his character, is but the purer for his partial and too late development of its loveliest folds. Like the first fragrance of the rose, ere its perfume becomes heavy with sweetness ; or as the violet smells the sweetest, when hidden by its cherishing leaves from the glare of the noonday sun. Moreover, the supreme worth of books is as an index of character ; as a fragmentary insight into unfathomed worth and power. For ihe man Avho is not better than his books, has ever seemed to me a poor creature. — Many there are, no doubt, — men whose names are liigh INTRODUCTION. XlS in literature — who fail to produce on their cotempora- ries or on those who know their biography, an impres- sion adequate to the promise of their writings — and some, perhaps, who really have no corresponding in ward worth. Allowing for the too ardent expectations of their admirers, this indicates ever some lamentable deficiency. One cannot help occasionally, in moments of ill-humour, suspecting some of these authors to be paltry secondhand thieves of other men's thoughts, or mimics of other men's energy, and not as all good writ- ers ought to be, natural, self-taught, self-directed men. And, therefore, in honest writing, above all things, is it true, that " well begun, is half done ;" be it but once well begun. Goldsmith's lovely nature is as visible, and more distinct in the little volume of the Vicar of Wake- field, than if he had written a dozen Waverley novels ; Eosatmmd Gray and Undine are a purer oifspring of their authors' minds, and a more convincing evidence of their worth, than any congeries of romances could have been. And thus, perhaps, after all, the soul of Davis will ehine from this book, as pure and clear, — though not so bright, or comprehensive, or beneficent, — as if he had been thirty years writing instead of three, and filled a dozen of volumes instead of one. Ah ! as far as writing goes, there is enough to make men love him, and guess at him, — and what more can the best of readers do with the supremest writer, though he lived to the age of Sophocles or Goethe. The true loss is of the oak's tim- ber, the living tree itself, and not of its acorns or of the flowers at its base. The loss of his immediate influence on the events of his time, and on the souls of his co- XX INTKODUCTION. temporaries by guidance and example, — that is llie true bereavement: one which possibly many generations to come vnll be suffering from and expiating, consciously or unconsciousl}'. So complete an endowment as his is a rare phenomenon, and no calamity can be compared with its untimely extinction. Undoubtedly the circumstances which attended the development of Davis's powers, are a striking proof of the latent energy which lies hid among our people, un- wrought and almost unthought of. Isot that I entertain • the opinion, though it is a favourite theory with some men, — and one which does not obtain the less accep- tance because it flatters human nature, — that there is an abundance of great men, ever walking the earth, utterly unconscious of their power, and only wanting a sufficient stimulus, themselves to know their povv'er, and make all men acknowledge it. A theory of life and history, in any high sense of greatness, to which I cannot assent: for it seems to me the very essence of the great man is, that he is, in spite of himself, making ever new acquaint- ance with the realities of life. All animate and inani- mate nature is in a conspiracy to make him know himself, or at least to make others know him, and by their love or hate, their fear or reverence, to awaken his slumbering might. Destiny has a thousand electric shocks in store for him, to which unearnest men are in- sensible ; while his own imhasting yet unresting spirit is ever fathoming new depths in the infinities of thought, and suffering, and love. For, as the wisest of the an- cients told the clods who condemned him, — the great man is not born of a stock or a stone; but nature's wants are strong in him, and the ties of heart and homa INTRODUCTION. XXI are as dear, or dearer to him than to any. And home is the great teacher, in childhood by its joys, in manhood by its sorrows, in age by its ebbing regrets. No matter, then, whether thought or passion have the mastery in the great man's nature, no matter whether action or reception preponderates in his life, if he be truly great, and live through man's estate, he will in some way be recognised. Strange it were indeed, if every other element in nature — the paltriest grain of sand, or the most fleeting wave of light — were perpe- tual and unlimited in its influence, and the mightiest power of all, the plenitude of spiritual life, could remain unfelt by kindred spirit, for the natural life of man. True, the great man will often shun society, and court obscurity and solitude : but let him withdraw into him- self ever so much, his soul will only expand the more Tvith thought and passion. The mystery of life will be the greater to him, the more time he has to study it ; the loveliness ot nature will be the sweeter to him, the less his converse with her is disturbed by the thought- less comment of the worldly or the vain. Let him re- tire into utter solitude, and even if he were not great, that solitude, — if nature whispers to him, and he listens to her, — would go near to make him so : as Selkirk, when after his four years' solitude he trod again the streets of London, looked for a while a king, and talked like a philosopher. For a while, — since, as Richard Steele ably tells the story, in six months or so, the royalty had faded from his face, and he had grown again, what he was at first, a sturdy but common-place sailor. But nature herself haunts incessantly the really great XXll INTRODUCTION. man, and nothing can vulgarize him. And if it -were only on that account alone, whether tested by action, oi untested by it, the great man is sure of recognition, if allowed to live out his life. If he act, his acts will show him ; and even if he do not act, his thoughts or his goodness will betray him. "Hide the thoughts of such a man." says a sage of our time: "hide the sky and stars, hide the sun and moon 1 Thought is all light, and publishes itself to the universe. It will speak, though you were dumb, by some mii-aculous organ. It will flow out of your actions, 3'our manners and your face. It will bi'ing your friendships, and impledge you to nature and truth, by the love and expectations of generous minds." And yet there is in many of the best and greatest men, a tardiness of growth, which either beneficiall}^ shrouds their budding graces from the handling of impatient friends ; or at least sets at naught that impatience, and huffs the scrutiny of the interested watcher by perpe- tual new growth of mere leaves, instead of the flowers and fruit he craves. Even where the natural tendency is to active life, such men will for years evince an awk- wardness, a shiftlessness, and indirectness of aim, and unsteadiness of pursuit, — on the whole a hulking, slob- bery ponderousness, as of an overgrown school-boy, — which will make men tardy in acknowledging their wortti and power, when at length, after abundant way- wardness, their discipline is complete, their character formed, and their strength matured. As to the causes of all this, I dare not enter on them now. Thf^y all centre in a good-natured simplicity, an infantine acquiescence and credulity, which makes such INTRODUCTION. XXlll slow-growing men content to be hewers of wood and drawers of water for half a life-time, until their patience is exhausted ; or until the trumpet call of duty, ever on the watch to startle them, rouses them into life ; then at length they commence their labours and assert their rights. In their experiences likewise, they are some- times tardy, and as some ancient wrote, and Goethe was fond of quoting : — 'O nfj Sapzig avOpcOTTog ov Trai6cvSTai. In some such frame may the history of Davis's mind be set. But though great men, wise men, kingly men, cannot but be few, good men and true need not be so scarce as they are, — men, I mean, true to their own convictions, and prompt in their country's need, — not greedy of dis- tinction, but knowing well the hived sweetness thai abides in an unnoticed life, — and yet not shrinking from responsibility, or avoiding danger, when the hour of trial comes. It is such men that this country needs, and not flaunting histrionists, or empty platform patriots. She wants men who can and will work as well as talk. Men glad to live and yet prepared to die. For Ireland is approaching her majority, and what she wants is men. And thus is it, above all, in the manliness of this book, and of the author's character, that the germ abides of hope for the country, and of consolation for his loss. If such worth could grow up, and such success be won, amid all the treacherous influences that sap the strength of Ireland, what have we not a right to hope for f What may not be yet the glory and gladness of that distant time, when our Ifatioual Genius shall at length XXIV IKTRODUCTION. stand regenerated and disenthralled from the shackles of foreign thought, and the contagion of foreign example, when beneath his own skies with his own hills around, and the hearts of a whole people echoing his passionate words, he shall feel therein a content and exultation which mere cosmopolitan greatness is doomed never to know ; when satisfied with ministering to the wants of the land that bore him, and having few or no affections be3'ond the blue waves which are its eternal boundary, he shall find his only and most ample reward in the gratitude and love of our own fervent people ? Ah! some few short years ago, who could look for such a result with confidence? Though some there were, whom strong affections made strong in hope, that never despaired, in the gloomiest season. Times are altered since then. The eyes of our people are opened, and their hearts are changed. A swift and a siu'prisiug, and yet an easy change, for a nation perisheth not ex- cept by its own sentence. Blind though it be, it needs but be led towards the East and turned to the rising sun, Tiresias-like, to recover its sight. Well, until a spirit of Is'atiouality had arisen in the land, and spread from sea to sea, and was not only talked of but became an abiding principle in our lives, how could we hope to have a manly book, or a manly being among us ? Or was it that the man and the feel- ing both arose together, like a high-tide with a storm at its back ? What else but the fostering breath of x>: ation- ality could make that genius strong, which, without such sj^mpathy and cherishing, must necessarily grow up a weakling ? For sympathy given and received, is the life and soul of~^genius: without such support it INTRODUCTION. XXV crawls along a crippled abortion, when it ought to walk abroad a giant and champion of men. Until we had proved ourselves worthy of having great men among uf, ; until wi>, had shewed respect unto our dead, and taken the memory of our forgotten brave unto our hearts again, and bid them live there for ever; until we dared to love and honour our own, as they deserved to be loved and honoured, what had we, the Irish People, a right to expect? what goodness or greatness could we presume to claim ? Until all sects and parties had at least begun to hold out a helping hand to each other, and to bind their native land with one bond of labour and love, what grace could even Nature's bounty bestow on such a graceless people ? Time was, as many alive may well remember — and I have been often pained by the feeling — when, if the report of any new genius arose among us, we had to make up our minds to find much of its brightest pro- mise blighted in the early bud, or stunted in maturer growth, by the mingled chill of exotic culture and of home neglect. In those days we could never approach a product of the jS'ational Mind, without a cold fear at our hearts, that we should find it unworthy of the Nation; that we should find on it the stamp of the slave, or the slimy trail of the stranger. And even as we gazed with fondness and admiration on those, who in our evil days had j'ct achieved something for us, and given us something to be proud of, we still expected to meet in them some failure, some inconsistency, some sad, some lamentable defect, and to see the strong man totter like a weakling and a slave. And otherwise it could not be, in our abandonment 3 XXVl INTRODUCTION. both of our righta and hope to recover them. (iJould the orphaned heart of genius be glad like his who had a parent, — a mother-country, a father-land ? Could he who had no country, or doubted what country he be- longed to, and knew not anything that he should care to live or die for ; or if he dreamed of such an object* had chosen sect instead of country ? — Could he be strong in filial might, and firm in manly rectitude, and bold in genial daring, — or can he yet be so among us, — like him upon whose childish thought no party spite hath shed its venom, the milk of whose imtried affections sectarian hate hath curdled not ; but the greatness and glory of his country illumined for him the morning horizon of life; while home, and love, and freedom, the sovereign graces of earth, have blended in one religion, and strengthened his heart with a mighty strength, and chastening hi? spirit for ever, have made the memory of his young days, indeed inefi"ably divine? Can he love home as home should beloved, who loves not his country too? Can he love country right, who hath no home? Can he love home or country perfectly, to whose aching heart the balm of love hath not been timely given? Believe it not, ye sons of men ! — as he ought, he cannot. As star poiseth star in the wilderness of the illimitable heavens, even so the charities of life sustain each other, and centre in the spirit of God, and bind all created beings beneath the shelter of his love. Bnt enough, — a better and a brighter day is dawning, and the " flecked darkness like a drunkard reels " From forth day's pathway, rHade by Fbeedom's wheels." INTRODUCTION. XXVll And our lost Thomas Davis -was our Phosphorus, or bringer of light I "Justice and Truth their winged child have found !" But let us not be incautiously hopeful. Let us re- member that the pestilential influences, which Davis, like all of us, had to struggle with and overcome, are still rife among us. Let us not deceive ourselves. The miseries of our country for seven centuries have had foreign causes; but there have been, ever from the be- ginning of that miser}^ domestic causes too. "We were divided, and did hate each other. We are divided and do hate each other ; and thei^efore we cannot stand. It is in many respects, too, an ill time, in which we are to unlearn these errors, and abjure this vice, if ever we abjure it. But He who sent the disease Avill send the healing too. Ah, why were we not reconciled among ourselves, in earlier, in better times than these? The fruit of our reconciliation then would* have been greater far than ever it can be now. Our native laws, and in- stitutions, and language, were not then withered away. The trees which our forefathers planted, had yet firm root in the land. But now, in the old age of our Na- tion, Ave have had to begin life again, and with delibe- rate effort, and the straining of every nerve, to repeat those toils, which the gladness of youth made light for our fathers long ages ago. And this autumn blossom of our glory may go, too, as tribute to swell the renown of those who so long enslaved us. Yet it is th^ best we can do. There ai*e millions of sad hearts in our land. Are the}' to be so for ever? There are millions who have not food. Are they never to be filled ? Happy are XXVlil INTROijUCTION. you, after all, youth of Ireland ! fortunate if you but knew it, for if ever a generation had, in hope, something worth living for, and in sacrifice, something worth dying for, that blessed lot is yours. And here, youth of Ireland ! in this little book is a Psalter of Nationality, in which every aspiration of your hearts will meet its due response, — your every aim and effort, entiouragement and sympathy, and wisest admonition. High were the hopes of our young poet patriot, and unforeseen by him and all the stroke of fate which was to call him untimely away. The greater need that you should discipline and strengthen your souls, and bring the aid of manj^ to what the genius of him who is gone might have contributed more than all. Hive up strength and knowledge. Be straightforward, and sincere, and resolute, and undismayed as he vvas ; and God will yet reward your truth and love, and bless the land whose sons you boast yourselves to be. IQth April, 1846. TO THE MEMORY OF DAVIS. Qio tl)e iHemorfi of @^l)omas lUatJis. BY JOHN FISHER MURRAY. When on the field where freedom bled, I press the ashes of the brave, Marvelling that man should ever dread TTius to wipe out the name of slave ; No deep-drawn sigh escapes my breast — No woman's drops my eyes distain, 1 weep not gallant hearts at rest, I but deplore they died in vain. When I the sacred spot behold, For aye remembered and renowned. Where dauntless hearts and arms as bold, Strewed tyrants and their slaves around. High hopes exulting fire my breast — High notes triumphant swell my strain, Joy to the brave I in victory blest — Joy ! joy ! they perished not in vain. But when thy ever mournful voice, My country calls me to deplore The champion of thy youthful choice, Honoured, revered, but seen no more ; Heavy and quick my sorrows fall For him who strove, with might and raain^ To leave a lesson for us all, How we might live — nor live in vain. 3* XXX TO THE MEMORY OF DAVIS. If, moulded of earth's common clay, Thou hadst to sordid hearts stooped down^ Thy glorious talent flung away. Or sold for price thy great renown ; In some poor pettifogging place Slothful, inglorious, thou had'st lain, Herding amid the unhonoured race, Who doze, and dream, and die in vain. A spark of his celestial fire. The God of freemen struck from thee ; Made thee to spurn each low desire. Nor bend the uncompromising knee ; Made thee to vow thy life, to rive With ceaseless tug th' oppressor's chain With lyre, with pen, with sword to strive For thy dear land — nor strive in vain. How hapless is our country's fate, — If heaven in pity to us send Like thee, one glorious, good and great— To guide, instruct us, and amerrl . How soon thy honoured liie is o'ei- — Soon Heaven deinandeth thee again ; We grope on darkling as before. And fear lest thou hast died iu vain. In vain, — no, never ? O'er thy grave, Thy spirit dwelleth in the air ; Thy passionate love, th}' purpose brave, Thy hope assured, thy promise fair. Generous and wise, farewell ! — Forego Tears for the glorious dead and gone His tears, if tears are his, still flow For slaves and cowards living on. PART L Hatiannl Mkh nnh Intigs. '* ISational Poetry is the very flowering of the soul, the greatest evidence of its health, the greatest excellence of its beauty. Its me- lody IS balsam to the senses. It is the playfellow of Childhood, ripens into the companion of Manhood, consoles Age. It i>resenls the most dramatic events, the largest characters, the most impressive scenes, and the deepest passions, in the language most familiar to us. It magiiiiies and ennobles our hearts, our intellects, our country, and our countrymen, — binds us to the land by its condensed and gem-like history ; to the future by example and by aspiration. It solaces us in travel, fires us in action, prompts our invention, sheds a grace beyond the power of luxury round our homes, is the recognized envoy of our minds among all mankind, and to all time." — Davis's Essays. TIPPERARY. Air — Original* I. Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we ; Not British seas nor British coasts Can match the man of Tipperary ! • Vide "Spirit of the Nation," 4to. p. 84. BALLADS AND SONGS. U. Tall is his form, his heart is warm, His spirit h'ght as any fiiiij — His wrath is fearful as the storm That sweeps The Hills of Tipperary ! III. Lead him to fight for native land, His is no courage cold and wary ; The troops live not on earth would stand The headlong Charge of Tipperary ! IV. Yet meet him in his cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood But Mirth and Love in Tipperary ! V. You're free to share his scanty meal, His plighted word he'll never vary- In vain they tried with gold and steel To shake The Faith of Tipperary ! Soft is his cailirCs sunnv eye, Her mien is mild, her step is airy. Her heart is fond, her soul is high — Oh ! she's The Pride of Tipperary I TIPPERARY. 33 Let Britain brag her motley rag ; We'll lift The Green more proud and airy ; — Be mine the lot to bear that flag, And head The Men of Tipperary ! * VIII. Though Britain boasts her British hosts, About them all right little care we — Give us, to guard our native coasts, The Matchless Men of Tipperary ! THE RIVERS. Air — Kathleen O'More. There's a far-famed Blackwater that runs to Loclj Neagh, There's a fairer Blackwater that runs to the sea — The glory of Ulster, The beauty of Munster, These twin rivers be. 34 BALLADS AND SONGS. n. From the banks of that river Benburb's towers arise ; This stream shines as bright as a tear from sweet eyes ; This fond as a young bride, That with foeman's blood dyed — Both dearly we prize. Deep sunk in that bed is the sword of Monroe, Since, 'twixt it and Donagh, he met Owen Roe, And Charlemont's cannon Slew many a man on These meadows below. IV. The shrines of Armagh gleam far over yon lea, Nor alar is Dungannon that nursed liberty, And yonder Red Hugh Marshal Bagenal o'erthrew On Beal-an-atha-Buidhe.* V. But far kinder the woodlands of rich Convamore, And more gorgeous the turrets of saintly Lismore; There the stream, like a maiden With love overladen, Pants wild on each shore. • Vulgo, Ballanabwee — the mouth of the yellow ford. THE RIVERS. 36 Its rocks rise like statues, tall, stately, and fair, [air, And the trees, and the flowers, and the mountains, and With Wonder's sou! near you, To share with, and cheer you, Make Paradise there. I would rove by that stream, ere my flag I unrolled ; I would fly to these banks my betrothed to enfold— The pride of our sire-land, The Eden of Ireland, More precious than gold. vm. May their borders be free from oppression and blight, May their daughters and sons ever fondly unite — The glory of Ulster, The beauty of Munster, Our strength and delight. GLENGARIFF. Air. — O'SullivarCs March, I. 1 wji^rERED at eve by GlengarifTs sweet water, Half in the shade, and half in the moon. 36 BALLADS AND SONGS. And thought of the time when the Sacsanach slaughter Reddened the night and darkened the noon ; Mo nuar ! mo nuar ! mo nuar /* I said, — When I think, in this valley and sky — Where true lovers and poets should sigh— Of the time when its chieftain O'Sullivan fled, f Then my mind went along with O'Sullivan marching Over Musk'ry's m.oors and Orraond's plain, His curachs the v.^aves of the Shannon o'erarching, And his pathway mile-marked with the slain : Mo nuar ! mo nuar ! mo nuar ! I said, — Yet 'twas better far from you to go, And to battle with torrent and foe, Than linger as slaves where your sweet waters spread. nt. But my fancy burst on, like a clan o'er the border, To times that seemed almost at hand, When grasping her banner, old Erin's Lamh Laidit Alone shall rule over the rescued land ; O haotho ! O baotho I O haotho ! \ I said, — Be our marching as steady and strong, And freemen our valleys shall throng, When the last of our foemen is vanquished and fled I • " Alas 1" t Vide post, page 126 t " Oh, fine." THE west's asleep. 37 THE WEST'S ASLEEP. Air — The Brink »f the White Rocks. When all beside a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep — Alas ! and well may Erin weep. When Connaiight lies in slumber deep. There lake and plain smile fiiir and free, 'Mid rocks — their guardian chivalry — Sing oh ! let man learn liberty From crashing wind and lashing sea. n. That chainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood demand — Be sure, the great God never planned. For slumbering slaves, a home so grand. And, long, a brave and haughty race Honoured and sentinelled the place — Sing oh ! not even their sons' disgrace Can quite destroy then- glory's trace. III. For often, in O'Connor's van. To triumph dashed each Connaught clan— « * Vide " Spirit of the Nation," 4to p, 70 i 38 BALLADS AND SONGS. And fleet as deer the Normans ran Through Corlieu's Pass and Ardrahan. And later times saw deeds as brave ; And glory guards Clanricarde's gpave — Sing oh ! the}'' died their land to save, At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave. IV. And if, when all a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep — Alas ! and well may Erin weep. That Connaught lies in slumber deep. But — hark ! — some voice like thunder spake " The West^s awake, the West^s awake "-— " Sing oh ! hurra ! let England quake, We'll watch till death for Erin's sake !" OH ! FOR A STEED. Am — Original* Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and a blazmg scimitar, To hunt from beauteous Italy the Austrian's red hussar To mock their boasts. And strew their hosts. And scatter their flags afar. • Vide " Spirit of the Nation," 4to p 309 oh! for a steed. 39 II. Oh! for a steed, a rushing steed, and dear Poland gathered around, To smite her circl5 of savage foes, and smash them •upon the ground; Nor hold my hand While, on the land, A foreigner foe was found. III. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and a rifle that never failed. And a tribe of terrible prairie men, by desperate valour mailed, Till " stripes and stars," And Russian czars. Before the Red Indian quailed. IV. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the plains of Hin- dustan, And a hundi'ed thousand cavaliers, to charge like a single man, Till our shirts were red. And the English fled. Like a cowardly caravan. V. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, with the Greeks at Marathon, 40 BALLADS AND SONGS. Or a place in the Switzer phalanx, when the Moiat men swept on, Like a pine-clad hill By an earthquake's '%vill Hurled the valleys upon. VI. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, when Brian smote down the Dane, Or a place beside great Aodh O'Neill, when Bagenal the bold was slain. Or a waving crest And a lance in rest. With Bruce upon Baijnoch plain. VII. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the Curragh of Kildare, And Irish squadrons ready to do, as they are ready to dare — A hundred yards, And Holland's guards Dra\\Ti up to engage me there. vni. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and any good cause at all. Or else, if you will, a field on foot, or guarding a leaguered wall For freedom's right ; In flushing fight To conquer if then to fall. CYMRIC RULE AND CYMRIC RULERS. 41 CYMRIC RULE AND CYMRIC RULERS.* Am—The March of the Men of Harlech. j Once there was a Cymric nation : Few its men, but high its station — Freedom is the soul's creation, Not the work of hands. Coward hearts are self-subduing ; Fetters last by slaves' renewing— Edward's castles are in ruin, Still his empire stands. Still the Saxon's malice Blights our beauteous valleys ; Ours the toil, but his the spoil, and his the laws we writhe in; Worked like beasts, that Saxon priests may riot in our tithing ; Saxon speech and Saxon teachers Crush our Cymric tongue ! Tolls our traffic binding, Rents our vitals grinding — ■ Bleating sheep, we cower and weep, when, by one bold endeavour, We could drive from out our hive the Saxon drones ' for ever. • Vide Appendix. t Welsh air. 4* 42 ballads and songs. ** Cymric Rule and Cymric Rulers "— Pass along the \^ord ! n. We should blush at Arthur's gloiy — Never sing the deeds of Rory — Caratach's renowned story- Deepens our disgrace. By the bloody day of Banchor ! By a thousand years of rancour ! ' By the wrongs that in us canker ! Up ! ye Cymric race — ■ Think of Old Llewellyn,— Owen's trumpets swelling : Then send out a thunder shout, and every true man summon, Till the ground shall echo round from Severn to Plin- limmon, " Saxon foes, and Cymric brothers, " Arthur's come again ?" Not his bone and sinew, But his soul within you, Prompt and true to plan and do, and firm as Monmouth iron For our cause, though crafty laws and charging troops environ — " Cymric Rule and Cymhic Rulers ' — Pass along the word ! A BALLAD OF FREEDOM. 43 A BALLAD OF FREEDOM. The Frenchman sailed in Freedom's name to smite the Algerine, The strife was short, the crescent sunk, and then his guile was seen ; For, nestling in the pirate's hold — a fiercer pirate far — He bade the tribes yield up their flocks, the towns their gates unbar. Right on he pressed with freemen's hands to subjugate the free, The Berber in old Atlas glens, the Moor in Titteri ; And wider has his razzias spread, his cruel conquests broader. But God sent down, to face his frown, the gallant Abdel-Kader — The faithful Abdel-Kader ! unconquered Abdel-Kader ! Like falling rock. Or fierce siroc — No savage or marauder — Son of a slave ! First of the brave ! * Hurrah for Abdel-Kader !* • Tliis name is pronounced Cawder. The French say that their great foe was a slave's son. Be it so — he has a hero's and freemin't he9«. " Hurrah for Abdel-Kader !"— Author's Note 44 BALLADS AND SONGS. n. The Englishman, for long, long years, had ravaged Ganges' side — A dealer first, intriguer next, he conquered far and wide, Till, hurried on by avarice, and thirst of endless rule, His sepoys pierced to Candahar, his flag waved in Cabul ; But still within the conquered land was one uncon- quered man, The fierce Pushtani* lion, the fiery Akhbar Khan — He slew the sepoys on the snow, till Scindh's f full flood they swam it Right rapidly, content to flee the son of Dost Moham- med, The son of Dost Mohammed, and brave old D'st Mohammed — Oh ! long may they Their mountains sway, Akhbar and Dost Mohammed ! Long live the Dost ! Who Britain crost, Hurrah for Dost Mohammed ! * This is the name by which the Affghans call theniseTv-es. AfFghac is a Persian name (see Elphinstone's delightful book on Cabul). — Author's Note. t The real name of the Indus, which is a Latinized word. — Au thor's Note. THE BALLAD OF FREEDOM. 45 m. The Russian, lord of million serfs, and nobles serflier still, Indignant saw Circassia's sons bear up against his will ; With fiery ships he lines their coast, his armies cross their streams — He builds a hundred fortresses — his conquests done, he deems. But steady rifles — rushing steeds— a crowd of name- less chiefs — • The plow is o'er his arsenals ! — his fleet is on the reefs ] The maidens of Kabyntica are clad in Moscow dresses — His slavish herd, how dared they beard the mountain- bred Cherkesses ! The lightening Cherkesses ! — the thundering Cherk- Blay Elburz top In Azof drop, Ere Cossacks beat Cherkesses ! The fountain head Whence Europe spread — Hurra ! for the tall Cherkesses !* " Cherkesses or Abdyes is the right name of the, so-called, Circa* mans, Kabyntica is a town in the heart of the Caucasus, of "whicb Mount Elburz is the summit. Blumenbach, and other physiologists assert that the finer European races descend from a Circassian stock.— Author's Note. 46 BALLADS AND SONGS. IV. But Russia preys on Poland's fields, where Sobieski reigned, And Austria on Italy — the Roman eagle chained — Bohemia, Servia, Hungary, within her clutches, gasp ; And Ireland struggles gallantly in England's loosening grasp. Oh ! would all these their strength unite, or battle on alone, Like Moor, Pushtani, and Cherkess, they soon would have their own. Hurrah ! hurrah ! it can't be far, when from the Scmdh to Shannon Shall gleam a line of freemen's flags begirt by freemen's cannon ! The coming day of Freedom — the flashing flags i Freedom ! The victor glaive— The mottoes brave, May we be there to read them I That glorious noon, God send it soon — Hurrah for human Freedom I THE IRISH HURRAH. 4l THE IRISH HURRAH. Air — Nach m-haineann sin do. Have you hearkened the eagle scream over the sea ? Have you hearkened the breaker beat under your lee ? A something between the wild waves, in then* play, And the kingly bird's scream, is The Irish Hurrah. n. How it rings on the rampart when Saxons assail- How it leaps on the level, and crosses the vale, Till the talk of the cataract faints on its way, And the echo's voice cracks with The Irish Hurrah. m. How it sweeps o'er the mountain when hounds are on scent, How it presses the billows when rigging is rent, Till the enemy's broadside sinks low in dismay, As our boarders go in with The Irish Hurrah. Oh ! there's hope in the trumpet and glee in the fife, But never such music broke into a strife. As when at its bursting the war-clouds give way, And there's cold steel along vidth The Irish Hurrah. 48 BALLADS AND SONGS. What joy for a death-bed, your banaer above, And round you the pressure of patriot love, As you're hfted to gaze on the breaking array Of the Saxon reserve at The Irish Hurrah, A SONG FOR THE HUSH MILITIA. Air — The Peacock. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in prostrate men ; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the crop so bravely sown ! No more I'll sing nor idly pine, But train my soul to lead a line — A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! n. No foe would fear your thunder words If 'twere not for our light'ning swords—. If tyrants yield when millions pray, 'Tis lest they link in war array ; A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA. 49 Nor peace itself is safe, but when The sword is sheathed by fighting men — A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! III. The rifle brown and sabre bright Can freely speak and nobly write — What prophets preached the truth so well As HoFER, BrAn, Bruce, and Tell 1 God guard the creed these heroes taught, — That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought, A soldier's Hfe's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! IV. Then, welcome be the bivouac. The hardy stand, and fierce attack, Where pikes will tame their carbineers, And rifles thin their bay'neteers. And every field the island through Will show " what Irishmen can do !" A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! .V. Yet, 'tis not strength, and 'tis not steel Alone can make the English reel ; But wisdom, working day by day, TUl comes the time for passion's sway— 6 60 BALLADS AND SONGS. The patient dint, and powder shock, Can blast an empire like a rock. A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier s death, so Ireland's free ! VI. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in slavish men ; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown. No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine, But train my soul to lead a line — A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! OUR OWN AGAIN. Air — Original* I. Let the coward shrink aside, We'll have our own again ; Let the brawling slave deride. Here's for our own again — * Fide " Spirit of the Nation,* 4to. p. 308 OUR OWN AGAIN. 61 Let the tyrant bribe and lie, March, threaten, fortify. Loose his lawyer and his spy. Yet we'll have our own again. Let hiim soothe in silken tone, Scold from a foreign throne ; Let him come with bugles blown, We shall have our own again. Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own agaui— Let the game be fairly tried, We'll have our own again. 11. Send the cry throughout the land, " Who's for our own again ?" Summon all men to our band,— Why not our own again ? Rich, and poor, and old, and young, Sharp sword, and jaery tongue- Soul and sinew firmly strung, All to get our own again. Brothers thrive by brotherhood — Trees in a stormy wood — Riches come from Nationhood — Sha'n't we have our own again ? Munster's woe is Ulster's bane I Join for our own again — Tyrants rob as well as reign, — We'll have our own again. 52 BALLADS AND SONGS. Oft our fathers' hearts it stirred, " Rise for our own again !" Often passed the signal word, " Strike for our own again !" Rudely, rashly, and untaught, Uprose they, ere they ought. Failing, though they nobly fought, Dying for their own again. Mind will rule and muscle yield. In senate, ship, and field — When we've skill our strength to wield Let us take our own again. By the slave his chain is wrought, — Strive for our own again. Thunder is less strong than thought,— We'll have our own again. Calm as granite to our foes. Stand for our own again ; Till his wrath to madness grows, Firm for our own agam. Bravely hope, and wisely wait. Toil, join, and educate ; Man is master of his fate ; We'll enjoy our own again. With a keen constrained thirst — Powder's calm ere it burst — CELTS AND SAXONS. 63 Making ready for the worst, So we'll get our own again. Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own again. God is on the righteous side, We'll have our own again. CELTS AND SAXONS.* We hate the Saxon and the Dane, We hate the Norman men — We cursed their greed for blood and gain, We curse them now again. Yet start not, Irish born man, K you're to Ireland true. We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan— We have no curse for you. We have no curse for you or your's, But Friendship's ready grasp, And Faith to stand by you and your's Unto our latest gasp — * Written in reply to some very beautiful verses printed in the Evening Mail, deprecating and defying the assumed hostility of the Irish Celts to the Irish Saxons.— Author's Note. 5* 64 BALLADS AND SONGS. To stand by you against all foes, Howe'er, or whence they come, With traitor arts, or bribes, or blows, From England, France, or Rome. in. What matter that at different shrines We pray unto one God — What matter that at different tunes Our fathers won this sod — In fortune and in name we're bound By stronger links than steel ; And neither can be safe nor sound But in the other's weal. IV. As Nubian rocks, and Ethiop sand Long drifting down the Nile, Built up old Egypt's fertile land For many a hundred mile ; So Pagan clans to Ireland came. And clans of Christendom, Yet joined their wisdom and their fame To build a nation from. Here came the brown Phoenician, The man of trade and toil — Here came the proud Milesian, Ahungering for spoil ; CELTS AND SAXONS. 65 And the Firbolg and the Cymry, And the hard, enduring Dane, And the iron Lords of Normandy, With the Saxons in their train. And oh ! it were a gallant deed To show before mankind, How every J^ce and every creed Might be by love combined- Might be combined, yet not forget The fountain whence they rose, As, filled by many a rivulet The stately Shannon flows. vn. Nor would we wreak our ancient feud On Belgian or on Dane, Nor visit in a hostile mood The hearths of Gaul or Spain ; But long as on our country lies The Anglo-Norman yoke, Their tyranny we'll signalize. And God's revenge invoke. vm. We do not hate, we never cursed. Nor spoke a foeman's word Against a man in Ireland nursed, Howe'er we thought he erred ; 66 BALLADS AND SONGS. »So start not, Irish born man, If you're to Ireland true, We heed not race, nor creed, nor elan, We've hearts and hands for you. ORANGE AND GREEN WILL CARRY THE DAY. Air — The Proiestani Boys. Ireland ! rejoice, and England ! deplore — Faction and feud are passing away. 'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar, " Orange and Green will carry the day." Orange ! Orange ! Green and Orange ! Pitted together in many a fray — Lions in fight ! And linked in their might, Orange and Green will carry the day. . Orange ! Orange ! Green and Orange ! Wave together o'er mountain and bay. Orange and Green ! Our King and our Queen ! " Orange and Green will carry the day !" ORANGE AND GREEN. 57 n. Rusty tne swords our fathers unsheathed — William and James are turned to clay — Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed ; Red was the crop, and bitter the pay ! Freedom fled us ! Knaves misled us ! Under the feet of the foemen we lay — Riches and strength We'll win them at length, For Orange and Green will carry the day ! Landlords fooled us ; England ruled us, Hounding our passions to make us their prey But, in their spite. The Irish Unite, And Orange and Green will carry the day ', ni. Fruitful our soil where honest men starve; Empty the mart, and shipless the bay ; Out of our want the Oligarchs carve ; Foreigners fatten on our decay ! Disunited, Therefore blighted. Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway Party and creed For once have agreed — Orange and Green will carry the day ! 58 BALLADS AND SONGS. Boyne's old water, Red with slaughter ! Now is as pure as an infant at play ; So, in our souls, Its history rolls, And Orange and Green will carry the day ! English deceit can rule us no more. Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray- Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore, " Orange and Green must carry the day !" Orange I Orange! Bless the Orange ! Tories and Whigs gi-ew pale with dismay When, from the North, Burst the cry forth, " Orange and Green will carry the day ;" No surrender! No Pretender Never to falter and never betray — With an Amen, We swear it again, Orange and Green shall carry the day. lAET n. " The greatest achievement of the Irish people is their music. I tells their history, climate, and character ; but it too much loves t( weep. Let us, when so many of our chains have been broken,— while our strength is great, and our hopes high, — cultivate its boldei strains — its raging and rejoicing ; or if we weep, let it be like men whose eyes are lifted, though their tears fall. " Music is the first faculty of the Irish ; and scarcely anything has such power for good over them. The use of this faculty and this power, publicly and constantly, Xo keep up their spirits, refine theii tastes, warm their courage, increase their union, and renew their zeal,— is the duty of every patriot."— Davis's Essays THE LOST PATH. Air — Grddh mo chroide I. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my ;;omfort be, All comfort else has flown ; For every hope was false to me, And here I am, alone 60 BALLADS AND SONGS. What thoughts were mine in early youth 1 Like some old Irish song, Brimful of love, and life, and truth, My spirit gushed along. I hoped to right my native isle, I hoped a soldier's fame, I hoped to rest in woman's smile, And win a minstrel's name. Oh ! little have I served my land, No laurels press my brow, I have no woman's heart or hand. Nor minstrel honours now. in. But fancy has a magic power, It brings me wreath and crown. And woman's love, the self-same hour It smites oppression down. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, I have no joy beside ; Oh ! tlirong around, and be to me Power, country, fame, and bride. LOVE S LONGINGS. 61 LOVE'S LONGINGS. To the conqueror his crowning, First freedom to the slave And air unto the drownmg-, Sunk in the ocean's wave — And succour to the faithful, Who fight their flag above, Are sweet, but far less grateful Than were my lady's love. n. I know I am not worthy Of one so young and bright ; And yet I would do for thee Far more than others might ; 1 cannot give you pomp or gold, If you should be my wife, But I can give you love untold, And true in death or life. Me thinks that there are passions Within that heaving breast To scorn their heartless fashion, And wed wliom you love best. 6 62 BALLADS AND SONGS. Methinks you would be prouder As the struggling patriot's bride, Than if rank your home should crowd, oi Cold riches round you glide. IV. And the infant cries for light, And the saint for heaven's warning, And the vanquished pray for might ; But their prayer, when lowest kneeling, And their suppliance most true, Are cold to the appealing Of this longing heart to you HOPE DEFERRED. Air — Oh! art ihou gone, my Mary dear! I. 'Tis long smce we were forced to part, at least it seems so to my grief. For sorrow wearies us like time, but ali ! it brings not time's relief; As in our days of tenderness, before me still she seems to glide; And, though my arms are wide as then, yet she will not abide. HOPE DEFERRED. 63 The day-light and the star-light shine, as if her eyes were in their light, And, whispering in the panting breeze, her love-songs come at lonely night ; While, far away with those less dear, she tries to hide her grief in vain, For, kind to all while true to me, it pains her to give pain. n. I know she never spoke her love, she never breathed a single vow. And yet I'm sure she loved me then, and still doats on me now ; For when we met, her eyes grew glad, and heavy when I left her side. And oft she said she'd be most happy as a poor man's bride ; I toiled to win a pleasant home, and make it ready by the spring ; The spring is past — what season now my girl unto our home will bring ? I'm sick and weary, very weary — watching, morning, night, and noon ; How long you're coming — ^I am iying — will you not come soon '^ 64 BALLADS AND SONGS. EIBHLIN A RUIN. Am — Eibhlin a ruin. I. When I am far away, Eibhlin a ruin^ Be gayest of the gay, Eibhlin a ruin, Too dear your happiness, For me to wish it less- Love has no selfishness, Eibhlin a ruin. And it must be our pride, Eibhlin a ruin, Our trusting hearts to hide, Eibhlin a ruin. They v/ish our love to blight, We'll wait for Fortune's light. The flowers close up at night, Eibhlin a riiin. m. And when we meet alone, Eibhlin a ruin. Upon my bosom thrown, Eibhlin a riiin ; THE BANKS OF TH£ L..E2. S6 That hour, with light bedecked, Shall cheer us and direct, A beacon to the wrecked, EibliUn a riiin, IV. Fortune, thus sought, will come, Eibhlin a ruin. We'll win a happy home, Eibhlin a ruin ; And, as it slowly rose, 'Twill tranquilly repose, A rock 'mid melting snows, Eibhlin a ruin. THE BANKS OF THE LEE. Air — A Trip to the Cottage. I. Oh ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me ; There's not in the land a lovelier tide, And I'm sure that there's no one so fair as my bride. She's modest and meek, There's a down on her cheek. And her skin is as sleek As a butterfly's wing — 6* 66 BALLADS AND SONGS. Then her step would scarce show On the fresh-fallen snow, And her whisper is low, But as clear as the spring. Oh ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me, I know not how love is happy elsewhere, I know not how any but lovers are there ! Oh ! so green is the grass, so c.ear is the stream. So mild is the mist, and so rich is the beam. That beauty should ne'er to other lands roam, But make on the banks of the river its home When dripping with dew. The roses peep through, 'Tis to look in at you They are growing so fast ; While the scent of the flowers Must be hoarded for hours, 'Tis poured in such showers When my Mary goes past. Oh ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me — Oh, Mary for me — oh, Mary for me ! And 'tis little I'd sigh for the banks of the Lee ! THE GIRL OF DUNBWY. 67 THE GIRL OF DUNBWY. Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy Stepping the mountain statelily — Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet, No lady in Ireland to match her is meet. II. Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies — Yet a monarcli might kneel for a glance of her eyes ; The child of a peasant — yet England's proud Queen Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien. III. Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff — And love, and devotion, and energy speak From her beauty-proud eye, and her passion-pale cheek. IV. But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip, And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip, And her form and her step, like the red-deer's go past — As lightsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast. V. I saw her but once, and I looked in her eye, And she knew that I worshipped in passing her by , The saint of the wayside — she granted my pj"ayer. Though we spoke not a word, for her mother was there. 68 BALLADS AiND SONGS. VI. I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills, But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills ; And I whisper her softly, " again, love, we'll meet, " And I'll lie in your bosom, and live at your feet." DUTY AND LOVE. Am — My lodging is on the cold ground. I. Oh ! lady, think not that my heart has grown cold, If I woo not as once I could woo ; Though sorrow has bruised it, and long years have rolled. It still doats on beauty and you ; And were I to yield to its inmost desire I w^ould labour by night and by day, '^U I won you to flee from the home of your sire, To live w'ith your love far aw^ay. But it is that my country's in bondage, and I Have sworn to shatter her chains ! By my duty and oath I must do it or lie A corse on her desolate plains : ANNIE DEAR. Then, sure, dearest maiden, 'twere sinful to sue, And crueller far to win, But, should victory smile on my banner, to you I shall fly without sorrow or sin. ANNIE DEAR. Air — Maids in May. I. Our mountain brooks were rushing Annie, dear. The Autumn eve was flushing, Annie, dear ; But brighter was your blushing, "When first, your murmurs hushing, I told my love outgushing, Annie, dear. Ah ! but our hopes were splendid, Annie, dear, How sadly they have ended, Annie, dear; 70 BALLADS AND SONGS. The ring betwixt us broken, When our vows of love were spoken, Of your poor heart was a token, Annie, dear in. The primrose flowers were sli^ning, Annie, dear, When, on my breast reclining, Annie, dear! Began our Mi-na-meala. And many a month did follow Of joy — but life is hollow, Annie, dear. IV. Vox once, when home returnmg, Annie, dear, I found our cottage burning, Annie, dear; Around it were the yeomen. Of every ill an omen, The country's bitter foemen, Annie, dear. V. But why arose a morrow, Annie, dear, Upon that night of sorrow, Annie, dear? BLIND MARY 71 Far better, by thee lying, Their bayonets defying, Than live an exile sighing, Annie, dear. BLIND MARY. Air — Blind Mary. There flows from her spirit such love and delight, That the face of Blind Mary is radiant with light — As the gleam from a homestead through darkness wik show, Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow n. Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times, As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes ; And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends. And the starlight, as love, that nor changes nor ends. m. Ah ! gi-ieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun. For the mountains that tower, or the rivers that run — For beauty and grandeur, and glory, and light. Are seen by the spirit, and not by the sight. 72 BALLAPS AND SONGS. IV. In vain for the thoughtless are sunburst and shade, In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade ; While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound Is one of the guardians, an Eden around i THE BRIDE OF MALLOW. I. 'TwAs dpng they thought her, And kindly they brought her To the banks of Blackwater, Where her forefathers lie ; 'Twas the place of her childhood. And they hoped that its wild w^ood, And air soft and mild would Soothe her spirit to die. II. But she met on its border A lad who adored her — No rich man, nor lord, or A coward, or slave ; But one who had worn A green coat, and borne A pike from Slieve Mourne, With the patriots brave. THE BRTPF. OF MALLOW. 73 m. Oh ! the banks of the stream are Than emeralds greener : And how should they wean her From loving the earth ? While the song-birds so sweet, And the waves at their feet, And each young pair they meet, Are all flushing with mirth. IV. And she listed his talk, And he shared in her walk— And how could she baulk One so gallant and true ? But why tell the rest ? Her love she confest, And sunk on his breast, Like the eventide dew. V. Ah ! now her cheek glows With the tint of the rose, And her healthful blood flows, Just as fresh as the stream ; And her eye flashes bright. And her footstep is light. And sickness and blight Fled away like a dream. 7 74' BALLADS AND SONGS. VI. And soon by his side She kneels a sweet bride, In maidenly pride And maidenly fears ; And their children were fair, And their home knew no care, Save that all homesteads were Not as happy as theirs. THE WELCOME. Am — An luachailin hwtdhe. I. Come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come without warn- ing, Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you. Light is my heart since the day we were plighted, Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever. And the linnets are singing, " true lovers ! don't sever." THE WELCOME. 76 n. I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose thein ; Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you ; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. Oh ! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, \ Or sabre and shield to a knight without armour ; I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me, Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me. m. We'll look through the trees at the cliif, and the eyrie, We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy, We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river, Till you ask of your darling what gift you can give her. Oh ! she'll whisper you. " Love^as unchangeably beaming. And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming. Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver, As our souls flow in one down eternity's river." IV. So come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come without warning. Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you ! Light is my heart since the day we were plighted, Red is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever, And the linnets are ringing, " true lovers ! don't sever !" 76 BALLADS AND SONJS. THE m-NA-MEALA. Like the rising of the sun, Herald of bright hours to follow, Lo ! the marriage rites are done, And begun the Mi-na-Medla. n. Heart to heart, and hand to hand, Vowed 'fore God to love and cherish. Each by each in grief to stand, Never more apart to flourish. HL Now their lips, low whisp'ring, speak Thoughts their eyes have long been saying, Softly bright, and richly meek, As seraphs first their wings essaying. IV. Deeply, wildly, warmly love — 'Tis a heaven-sent enjoyment, Lifting up our thoughts above Selfish aims and cold employment THE MI-NA-MEALA. 7*7 V. Yet, remember, passion wanes, Romance is parent to dejection ; Nought our happiness sustains But thoughtful care and firm affection. VI. When the Mi-na-meala's flown, Sterner duties surely need you ; Do their bidding, — 'tis love's own, — Faithful love will say God speed you. vn. Guard her comfort as 'tis worth. Pray to God to look down on her; And swift as cannon-shot go forth To strive for freedom, truth, and honour. vm. Oft recall — and never swerve — Your children's love and her's ^vill follow ; Guard your home, and there preserve For you an endless Mi-na-meala* • Honeymoon. 7* 78 BALLADS AND SONGS. MAIRE BHAN A STOIR. Air — Original. In a valley, far away, With my Mdire bJidn a siOir,*- Short would be the summer-day, Ever loving more and more ; Winter-days would all grow long, With the light her heart would pour, With her kisses and her song, And her loving maiih go kor.f Fond is Mdire bhdn a sioir, Fair is Mdire bhdn a sivir^ Sweet as ripple on the shore, Sings my Mdire bhdn a sioir. II. Oh ! her sire is very proud. And her mother cold as stone ; But her brother bravely vowed She should be my bride alone ; • Which means " fair Mary my treasure." If we are to write gib- berish to enable some of our readers to pronounce this, we must do so thus, Maur-ya vaun asthore, and pretty looking stuif it is. Really it 'is time for the inhabitants of Ireland to learn Irish. — Author's Note. t Much plenty, or in abundance. — Author's Note. oh! the markiage. 79 For he knew I loved her well, And he knew she loved me too, So he sought then* pride to quell, But 'twas all in vain to sue. True is Mdire hhdn a stoir. Tried is Mdire bhdn a stair, Had I wings I'd never soar. From toy Mdire blidn a stair, III. There are lands where manly toil Surely reaps the crop it sows, Glorious woods and teeming soil, Where the broad Missouri flows ; Through the trees the smoke shall rise. From our hearth with maithgo leor. There shall shine the happy eyes Of my Mdire hhdn a stair. Mild is Mdire dhdn a stair, Mine is Mdire bhdn a stair, Saints will watch about the door, Of my Mdire bhdn a stair. OH! THE MARRIAGE. Air — T]ie Swaggering Jig. I. Oh ! the marriage, the marriage, With love and mo bhuacliaill for me, 8€ BALLADS AND SONGS. The ladies Hiat ride in a carriage Might envy my marriage to me ; For Eoghan* is straight as a tower, And tender and lo\ing and true, He told me more love in an hour Than the Squires of the county could do. Then, Oh ! the marriage, &c. n. His hair is a shower of soft gold. His eye is as clear as the day. His conscience and vote were unsold When others were carried away ; His word is as good as an oath. And freely 'twas given to me ; Oh 1 sure 'twill be happy for both The day of our marriage to see. Then, Oh ! the marriage, &c. m. His kinsmen are honest and kind. The neighbours think much of his skill, And Eoghan's the lad to my mind, Though he owns neither castle nor mill. But he has a tilloch of land, A horse and a stocking of coin, A foot for the dance and a hand In the cause of his country to join. Then, Oh ! the mai-riage, &c. • Vulgo Owen ; but that is, pmperly, a name among the Cymr^ 'Welsh).— Author's Note. A PLEA FOR LOVE. We meet in the market and fair — We meet in the morning and night — He sits on the half of my chair, And my people are wild with delight. Yet I long through the winter to skim, Though Eoghan longs more I can see, When I will be married to him, And he will bo married to me. Then, Oh ! the marriage, the marriage, With love and mo hhuachaill for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage. Might envy my marriage to me. A PLEA FOR LOVE. I. The summer brook flows in the bed, The winter torrent tore asunder ; The sky-lark's gentle wings are spread, Where walk the lightning and the thunder And thus you'll find the sternest soul The greatest tenderness concealing. And minds, that seem to mock control, Are ordered by some fairy feeling. / V 82 BALLADS AND SONGS. Then, maiden ! start not from the hand That's hardened by the swaying sabre — • The pulse beneath may be as bland As evening after day of labour : And, maiden ! start not from the brow That thought has knit, and passion darkened- In twilight hours, 'neath forest bough, The tenderest tales are often hearkened. THE BISHOP'S DAUGHTER. Air — The Maid of Killala. I. Killala's halls are proud and fair ; Tyrawley's hills are cold and bare ; Yet, in the palace, you were sad. While, here, your heart is safe and glad. No satin couch, no maiden train. Are here to soothe each passing pain ; Yet lay your head my breast upon,— 'Twill turn to down for you, sweet one ! THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE. 83 in. Your father's halls are rich and fair, And plain the home you've come to share ; But happy love's a fairy king, And sheds a grace on every thing. THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE. Air — An Cota Caol. His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me ; I could not in a palace find A truer heart than he. The eagle shelters not his nest From hurricane and hail, More bravely than he guards my breast— The Boatman of Kinsale. The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps Is not a whit more pure — The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps Has not a foot more sure. No firmer hand nor freer eye E'er faced an Autumn gale — I 84 BALLADS AND SONGS. De Courcy's heart is not so high — The Boatman of Kinsale. m. The brawling squires may heed hun not, The dainty stranger sneer — But who will dare to hurt our cot, When Myles O'Hea is here ! The scarlet soldiers pass along — They'd like, but fear to rail — His blood is hot, his blow is strong — The Boatman of Kinsale. IV. His hooker's in the Scilly van, When seines are in the foam : But money never made the mm, Nor wealth a happy home. So, blest with love and liberty, While he can trim a sail, He'll trust in God, and cling to me — The Boatman of Kinsale. DARLING NELL. I. Why should not I take her unto my heart ) She has not a morsel of guile or art ; Why should not I make her my happy wife, And love her and cherish her all my life ? LOVE CHAUNT. 85 I've met with a few of as shining eyes, I've met with a hundred of wilder sighs, I think I met some whom I loved as well — But none who loved me like my Darling Nell. II. She's ready to cry when I seem unkind, But she smothers her grief within her mind ; . And when my spirit is soft and fond, She sparkles the brightest of stars beyond. Oh ! 'twould teach the thrushes to hear her sing. And her sorrow the heart of a rock would wrings There never was saint but would leave his cell. If he thought he could marry my Darling Nell ! LOVE CHAUNT. I THINK I've looked on eyes that shone With equal splendour, And some, but they are dimmed and gone, As wildly tender. I never looked on eyes that shed Such home-light mingled with such beauty,- That 'mid all lights and shadows said, " I love and trust and will be true to ye." 8 86 BALLADS AND SONGS. TVe seen some lips almost as red, A form as stately ; And some such beauty turned my head Not very lately. But not till now I've seen a girl With form so proud, lips so delicious, With hair like night, and teeth of pearl, — Who v/as not haughty and capricious. III. Oh, fairer than the dawn of day On Erne's islands ! Oh, purer than the thorn spray In Bantry's highlands ! In sleep such visions crossed my view, And when I woke the phantom faded ; But now I find the fancy true. And fairer than the vision made it. A CHRISTMAS SCENE ; OR, LOVE IN THE COUNTRY. I. The hill blast comes howling through leaf-rifted treea. That late were as harp-strings to each gentle breeze ; The strangers and cousins and every one flown, While we sit happy-hearted — together — alone. CHRISTMAS SCENE. 87 n. Some are off to the mountain, and some to the fair, The snow is on their cheek, on mine your black hau- ; Papa with his farming is busy to-day. And mamma's too good-natured to ramble tliis way. The girls are gone — are they not ? — ^into town, To fetch bows and bonnets, perchance a heau^ down ; Ah ! tell them, dear Kate, 'tis not fair to coquette — Though you, you bold lassie, are fond of it yet ! IV. You're not — do you say ? — -just remember last night. You gave Harry a rose, and you dubbed him your knight ; Poor lad ! if he loved you — but no, darling ! no, You're too thoughtful and good to fret any one so. V. The painters are raving of light and of shade, And Harry, the poet, of lake, hill, and glade ; While the light of your eye, and your soft wavy form Suit a proser like me, by the hearth bright and warm. The snow on those hills is uncommonly grand, But, you know, Kate, it's not half so white as your hand And say what you will of the grey Christmas sky, Still I slightly prefer my dark girl's grey eye. 88 BALLADS AND SONGS. VII. Be quiet, and sing me " The Bonny Cuckoo," For it bids us the summer and winter love through,- And then I'll read out an old ballad that shews How Tyranny perished, and Liberty rose. My Kate ! I'm so happy, your voice whispers soft, And your cheek flushes wilder from kissing so oft, For town or for country, for mountains or farms, What care I ? — My darling's entwined in my arms. THE INVOCATION. Air — Fanny Power. Bright fairies by GlengarifFs bay. Soft woods that o'er Killarney sway, Bold echoes born in Ceim-an-eich, Your kinsman's greeting hear ! He asks you, by old friendship's name, By all the rights that minstrels claim. For Erin's joy and Desmond's fame, Be kind to Fanny dear ! THE INVOCATION. 89 II. Her eyes are darker than Dunloe, Her soul is whiter than the snow, Her tresses like arbutus flow, ■ Her step like frighted deer : Then, still thy waves, capricious lake ! And ceaseless, soft winds, round her wake, Yet never bring a cloud to break The smile of Fanny dear ! III. Oh ! let her see the trance-bound men, And kiss the red deer in his den, And spy from out a hazel glen O'Donoghue appear ; — Or, should she roam by wild Dunbwy, Oh ! send the maiden to her knee, I sung whilome,* — but then, ah ! me, I knew not Fanny dear ! IV. Old Mangerton ! thine eagles plume — Dear Innisfallen! brighter bloom — And Mucruss ! whisper thro' the gloom Quaint legends to her ear ; Till strong as ash-tree in its pride, And gay as sunoeam on the tide, We welcome back to LifFey's side Our brightest, Fanny dear. * Viae ante, pa^e 67. 8* 90 BALLADS AND SONGS LOVE AND WAR. I. How soft is the moon on Glengariff ! The rocks seem to melt v/ith the light ; Oh ! would I were there with dear Fanny, To tell her that love is as bright ; And nobly the sun of July O'er the waters of Adragoole shines — Oh ! would that I saw the green banner Blaze there over conquering lines. Oh ! love is more fair than the moonlight, And glory more grand than the sun ; And there is no rest for a brave heart, Till its bride and its laurels are won ; But next to the burst of our banner, And the smile of dear Fanny, I crave The moon on the rocks of Glengariff — The sun upon Adragoole's wave. MT LAND. 91 MY LAND. She is a rich and rare land ; Oh ! she's a fresh and fair land : She is a dear and rare land — This native land of mine. II. No men than her's are braver — Her women's hearts ne'er waver ; I'd freely die to save her, And think my lot divine. III. She's not a dull or cold land ; No ! she's a warm and bold land,' Oh ! she's a true and old land — This native land of mine. IV. Could beauty ever guard her, And virtue still reward her, No foe would cross her border- No friend within it pine ! V. Oh, she's a fresh and fair land ; Oh, she's a true and rare land ! Yes, she's a rare and fair land — This native land of mine- BALLADS AND SONGS. THE RIGHT ROAD. I. Let the feeble-hearted pine, Let the sickly spirit whine, But work and win be thine, While you've life. God smiles upon the bold — So, when your flag's unrolled, Bear it bravely till you're cold In the strife. n. If to rank or fame you soar. Out your spirit frankly pour — Men will serve you and adore. Like a king. Woo your girl with honest pride, Till you've won her for your bride- Then to her, through time and tide, Ever cling. ni. Never under wrongs despair ; Labour long, and everywhere. Link your countr)Tnen, prepare, And strike home. Thus have great men ever wrought, Thus must greatness still be sought, Thus laboured, loved, and fought Greece and Rome. PART m. ILLUSTRATIVE OF IRISH HISTORY. " This country of ours is no sand-bank, thrown up by some recent caprice of earth. It is an ancient land, honoured in the archives of civilization, traceable into antiquity by its piety, its valour, and its sufferings. Every great European race has sent* its stream to the river of Irish mind. Long wars, vast organisations, subtle codes, beacon crimes, leading virtues, and self-mighty men were here. If we live influenced by wind, and sun, and tree, and not by the passions and deeds of the Past, we are a thriftless and hopeless people." Davis's Essays A NATION ONCE AGAIN.*! When boyhood's fire was in my blood, I read of ancient freemen, * This little poem, though not strictly belonging to the historical class, is placed first ; as striking more distinctly than any other in th« collection, the key-note of the author's theme. — Ed. t Set to original music in the " Spirit of the Nation," 4to. p. 272 -Ed. 94 BALLADS AND SONGS. For Greece and Rome who bravely stood, Three Hundred men and Three men * And then I prayed I yet might see Our fetters rent in twain, And Ireland, long a province, bo A Nation once again. n. And, from that time, through wildest woe, That hope has shone, a far Ught ; Nor could love's brightest summer glow Outshine that solemn starUght : It seemed to watch above my head In forum, field, and fane ; Its angel Voice sang round my bed, " A Nation once again." It whispered, too, that " freedom's ark And service high and holy. Would be profaned by feelings dark And passions vain or lowly : For freedom comes from God's right hand, And needs a godly train ; And righteous men must make our land A Nation once again." * The Three Hundred Greeks who died at Thermopylae, and the Three Romans who kept the Sublician Bridge.— Author's Note. LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS. 95 So, as I grew from boy o man, I bent me to that bidding — My spirit of each selfish plan And cruel passion ridding ; For, thus I hoped some day to aid — Oh ! can such hope be vain ? — When my dear country shall be made A Nation once again. LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS. Air — An hruacli na carraige bdine.* Oh ! proud were the chieftains of green Inis-Fail As truagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh ! f The stars of our sky, and the salt of our soil ; As truagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh ! * Set to this beautiful Tipperary air in the " Spirit of the Na- tion," 4to. p. 236. + " That is pity, without heir in their company," i. e. What a pity that there is no heir of their company. See the poem of Giolla, losa Mor Mac Firbisigh in The Oenealogies^ Tribes, and Customs of the Ui Fiachrach, or 0''Dubhdd's Country, printed for the Irish Arch. Soc. p. 230, line 2, and note d. Also, CReilly^s Diet, voce—farradk —Author's Note. ^6 BALLADS AND SONGS. Their hearts were as soft as a child in the lap, Yet they were " the men in the gap" — And now that the cold clay their limbs doth enwrap; — As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh ! n. 'Gainst England long battling, at length they went down ; As truagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh ! But they left their deep tracks on the road of renovMi ; As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh I We are heirs of their fame, if vre're not of their race,- ■ And deadly and deep our disgrace, If we live o'er their sepulchres, abject and base ; — As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh I Oh ! sweet were the minstrels of kind Inis-Fail ! As iruagh gan oidhir hi-a bh-farradh ! Whose music, nor ages nor sorrow can spoil ; As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh But their sad stifled tones are like streams flowing hid, Their caoine* and their pioprachi f were chid, And their language, " that melts into music," forbid; As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a bh-farradh ! * ^n ff lice, "keen t ^n^Z. pibroch . LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS. 97 IV. How fair were the maidens of fair Inis-Fail ! As truagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh ! As fresh and as free as the sea-breeze from soil, As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh ! Oh ! are not our maidens as fair and as pure 1 Can our music no longer allure 1 And can we but sob, as such wrongs we endure ? As iruagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh ! Their famous, their holy, their dear Inis-Fail ! As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a dhfarradh ! Shall it still be a prey for the stranger to spoil 1 As truagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh ! ^Sure, brave men would labour by night and by day To banish that stranger away ; Or, dying for Ireland, the future would say As truagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh / VI. Oh ! shame — for unchanged is the face of our isle ; As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh ! That taught them to battle, to sing, and to smile ; As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh ! We are heirs of their rivers, their sea, and their land, — ■ Our sky and our mountains as grand — [hand ; We are heirs — oh ! we're not — of their heart and their As iruagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh I 9 98 HISTORICAL BALLADS. THE FATE OF KING DATHI * (A.D. 428.) t I. Darkly their glibs o'erhang, Sharp is their wolf-dog's fang, Bronze spear and falchion clang — Brave men might shun them Heavy the spoil they bear — ■ Jewels and gold are there — Hostage and maiden fair — How have they won them ? II. From the soft sons of Gaul, Roman, and Frank, and thrall, Borough, and hut, and hall, — These have been torn. Over Britannia wide, Over fair Gaul they hied. Often in battle tried, — Enemies mourn ! III. Fiercely their harpers sing, — Led by their gallant king. They will to Eire bring Beauty and treasure. * This and the remaining- poems in Part I. have been nrranged aa nearly as possible in chronological sequence. — Ed. + Vide Appendix THE FATE OF KING DATHI. 99 Britaia shall bend the knee — Rich shall their households be — When their long ships the sea Homeward shall measure. IV. Barrow and Rath shall rise, Towers, too, of wondrous size, Tdiltin they'll solemnize, Feis- Teamhrach assemble. Samhain and Beal shall smile On the rich holy isle — Nay ! in a little while (Etius shall tremble !* V. Up on the glacier's snow, Down on the vales below. Monarch and clansmen go — Bright is the morning. Never their march they slack, Jura is at their back. When falls the evening black, Hideous, and warning. * The consul CEtius, the shield of Italy, and terror of " the barba- rian," was a cotemporary of King Dathi. Feis- Teamhrach, the Par- liament of Tara. Tailtin, games held at Tailite, county Meath. Hamhain and Beal, the moon and sun which Ireland woishipped.— Author s Note 100 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Eagles scream loud on high; Far off the chamois fly ; Hoarse comes the torrent's crj;, On the rocks whitening. Strong are the storm's wings ; Down the tall pine it flings ; Hail-stone and sleet it brings— Thunder and lightning. Little these veterans mind Thundering, hail, or wind ; Closer their ranks they bind — Matching the storm. While, a spear-cast or more, On, the front ranks before, Dathi the sunburst bore — Haughty his form. Forth from the thunder-cloud Leaps out a foe as proud — Sudden the monarch bowed — On rush the vanguard ; Wildly the king they raise — Struck by the lightning's blaze- Ghastly his dying gaze. Clutching his standard ! THE FATE OF KING DATHI. 101 IX. Mild is the morning beam, Gently the rivers stream, Happy the valleys seem ; But the lone Islanders — Mark how they guard their king ! Hark, to the wail they sing I Dark is their counselling — Helvetia's highlanders. Gather, like ravens, near — Shall Dathi's soldiers fear Soon their home-path they clear- Rapid and daring ; On through the pass and plain, Until the shore they gain. And, with their spoil, again, Landed in Eirinn. XI. Little does Eire* care For gold or maiden fair — " Where is King Dathi ? — where, Where is my bravest 1" On the rich deck he lies, O'er him his sunburst flies- Solemn the obsequies, Eire ! thou gavest. • The true an'ient and modern name of this island.-^En. 9+ 102 HISTOKICAL BALLADS. XII. See ye that countless train Crossing Ros-Comain's* plain, Crying, like iiurricane, Uile liu ai ? — Broad is his carri's base — Nigh the " King's burial-plaee,"f Last of the Pagan race, Lieth King Dathi ! ARGAN MOR.f I. The Danes rush around, around ; To the edge of the fosse they bound ; Hark ! hark, to their trumpets' sound. Bidding them to the war ! Hark ! hark, to their cruel cry, As they swear our hearts' cores to dry, And their Raven red to dye ; Glutting their demon, Thor. • Angl. Roscommon. t Hibcrnice, Roilig na Riogh, vulgo, Relignaree — " A famo js bu- rial-place near Cruachan,in Connacht, where the kings were usually interred, before the establishment of the Christian religion in Ire- land."— O'jBnen's Ir. Diet. i Vide Appendix. ARGAN MOR. 103 II. Leaping the Rath upon, Here's the fiery Ceallachan— He makes the Lochlonnach* wan, Lifting his brazen spear ! Ivor, the Dane, is struck down, For the spear broke right through bis crown. Yet worse did the battle frown — Anlaf is on our rere ! in. See ! see ! the Rath's gates are broke And in — ^in, like a q^oud of smoke, Burst on the dark Danish folk, Charging us everywhere— Oh, never was closer fight Than in Argan M6r that night — How little do men want light, Fighting within their lair. IV. Then girding about our king. On the thick of the foes we spring- Down — down we trample and fling. Gallantly though they strive : And never our falchions stood, Till we were all wet with their blood, And none of the pirate brood Went from the Rath alive ! • Northmen 104 HISTORICAL BALLADS. THE VICTOR'S BURIAL. Wkap him in his banner, the best shroud of the brave — Wrap him in his oncJiu,* and take him to his grave — Lay him not down lowly, like bulwark overthrown. But, gallantly upstanding, as if risen from his throne, With his craiseachf in his hand, and his sword on his thigh, With his war-belt on his waist, and his cathbharrl on high — Put his fleasg\ upon his neck — his green flag round him fold. Like ivy round a castle wall — not conquered, but gi'own old — ^Mhuire as iruagh ! A rnhuire as truagh ! A mhuire as iruagh ! ochon ! \\ Weep for him ! Oh ! weep for him, but remember, in your moan. That he died, in his pride, — with his foes about him strown. II. Oh ! shrine him in Beinn-EdairlT with his face towards the foe, As an emblem that not death our defiance can lay low — * Flag. t Spear. X Helmet. $ Collar. II AngUee, Wirrasthrue, ochone ! ^ Ilowth. THE TRUE IRISH KING. lOJ) Let him look across the waves from the promontory's breast, To menace back The East, and to sentinel The West; Sooner shall these channel waves the iron coast cut through, Than the spirit he has left, yield, Easterlings ! to you — Let his coffin be the hill, let the eagles of the sea Chorus with the surges round, the iuireamh * of the free ! ^Mhuire as truagh ! A inhuire as iruagh ! A mhuire as iruagh ! ochon ! Weep for him ! Oh ! weep for him, but remember, in your moan. That he died, in his pride, — with his foes about him strown ! THE TRUE IRISH KING, f I. The Caesar of Rome has a wider demesne, And the Ard Righ of France has more clans in his train ; The sceptre of Spain is more heavy with gems. And our crowns cannot vie with the Greek diadems ; « A masculine lament. t Vide Appendix. 106 HISTORICAL BALLADS. But kinglier far before heaven and man Are the Emerald fields, and the fiery-eyed elan, The sceptre, and state, and the poets who sing. And the swords that encircle A True Irish King ! For he must have come from a conquering race — The heir of their valour, their glory, their grace : His frame must be stately, his step must be fleet, His hand must be trained to each warrior feat, His face, as the harvest moon, steadfast and clear, A head to enlighten, a spirit to cheer ; While the foremost to rush where the battle-brands ring. And the last to retreat is A True Irish King ! Yet, not for his courage, his strength, or his name, Can he from the clansmen their fealty claim. The poorest, and highest, choose freely to-day The chief, that to-night they'll as truly obey ; Eor loyalty springs from a people's consent. And the knee that is forced had been better unbent — The Sacsanach serfs no such homage can bring As the Irishmen's choice of A True Irish King ! Come, look on the pomp when they " make an O'Neill ; The muster of dynasts — O'h- Again,* O'ShiadliaiJ, * Angl. O'Hagan, O'Shiel. THE TRUE IRISH KING. 107 O'Cath^in, O'h-Anluain,* O'Bhreislein, and all, From gentle Aird Uladhf to rude Dun na n-gall :| '' St. Patrick's comharha^'' \ with bishops thirteen, And oUarrihs \\ and breWheamJis, IT and minstrels, are seen, Round Tulach-Og * * Rath, like the bees in the spring, All swarming to honour A True Irish King ! V. Unsandalled he stands on the foot-dinted rock ; Like a pillar-stone fixed against every shock. Round, round is the Rath on a far-seeing hill ; Like his blemishless honour, and vigilant will. The grey-beards are telling how chiefs by the score Have been crowned on " The Rath of the Kings" here tofore. While, crowded, yet ordered, within its green ring, Are the dynasts and priests round The True Irish King! VI. The chronicler read him the laws of the clan, And pledged him to bide by their blessing and ban ; His skian and his sword are unbuckled to show That they only were meant for a foreigner foe ; * AngL O'Cahan, or Kane, O'Hanlon. t Angl. The Ards. t Angl. Donegal. ^ Successor — comharba Phadruig — the Archbishop of {Ard-machd) Armagh. II Doctors or learned men. If Judges. Angl. Brehons. ** In the county ^Tir-Eoghain) Tyrone, between Cookstown and Stewartstown. 108 HISTORICAL BALLADS. A white willow wand has been put in his hand — A type of pure, upright, and gentle command — While hierarchs are blessing, the slipper they fling, And O'Cathdin proclaims him A True Irish King ! Thrice looked he to Heaven with thanks and with prayer — Thrice looked to his borders with sentinel stare — To the waves of Loch n-Eathach, * the heights of Srathbhan ; f And thrice on his allies, and thrice on his clan — One clash on their bucklers ! — one more — they are still— What means the deep pause on the crest of the hill ? Why gaze they above him ? — a war-eagle's wing ! '' ' Tis an omen ! — Hurrah ! for The True Irish King !" VIII. God aid him ! — God save him ! — and smile on his reign — The terror of England — the ally of Spain. May his sword be triumphant o'er Sacsanach arts Be his throne ever girt by strong hands, and true hearts ! May the course of his conquests run on till he see The flag of Plantagenet sink in the sea ! May minstrels for ever his victories sing, And saints make the bed of The True Irish King ! • Angl. Lough Neagh. t Angl. Strabane. THE GERALDINES. 109 THE GERALDINES. I. The Geraldines ! the Geraldines ! — 'tis full a thousand years Since, 'raid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their battle-spears ; When Capet seized the crown of France, their iron shields were known. And their sabre-dint struck terror on the flanks of the Garonne : Across the downs of Hastings they spurred hard by William's side, And the grey sands of Palestine with Moslem blood they dyed ; — ■ But never then, nor thence, till now, have falsehood or disgrace Been seen to soil Fitzgerald's plume, or mantle in his face. n. The Geraldines ! the Geraldines ! — 'tis true, in Strong- bow's van By lawless force, as conquerors, their Irish reign be- gan ; And, oh ! through many a dark campaign they proved their prowess stern, In Leinster's plains, and Munster's vales, on king, and chief, and kerne : 10 110 HISTORICAL BALLADS. But noble was the cheer within the halls so rudely • won, And generous was the steel-gloved hand that had such slaughter done ; How gay their laugh, how proud their mien, you'd ask no herald's sign — Among a thousand you had known the princely Geral- dine. in. These Geraldines ! these Geraldines ! — not long our air they breathed ; Not long they fed on venison, in Irish water seethed ; Not often had their children been by Irish mothers nursed, When from their full and genial hearts an Irish feeling burst ! The English monarchs strove in vain, by law, and force, and bribe, To win from Irish thoughts and ways this "more than Irish" tribe ; For still they clung to fosterage, to breitheamh, cloak, and bard : What king dare say to Geraldine, "your Irish wife discard'"? Ye Geraldines ! ye Geraldines ! — how royally ye reigned O'er Desmond broad, and rich Kildare, and Ecglish arts disdained : THE GERALDIiNES. HI Your sword made knights, your banner waved, free was your bugle call By Gleann's* green slopes, and Daingean'sf tide, from Bearbha'sJ banks to Eochaill.^ What gorgeous shrines, what breitheamh\\ lore, what minstrel feasts there were In and around Magh Nuadhaid'sIT keep, and palace- filled Adare ! But not for rite or feast ye stayed, when friend or kin were pressed ; And foemen fled, when " Crmn A&w"** bespoke your lance in rest. V. Ye Geraldines ! ye Geraldines ! — since Silken Thomas flung King Henry's sword on councU board, the English thanes among. Ye never ceased to battle brave against the English sway, Though axe and brand and treachery your proudest cut away. Of Desmond's blood, through woman's veins passed on th' exhausted tide ; His title lives — a Sacsanach churl usurps the lion's hide ; * Angl. Glyn. t A.ngl. Dingle. J Angl. Barrow. § Angl Youghal || Angl. Brehon. «[ Angl Maynooth. •• Formerly the war-cry of the Geraldines ; and now their motto 112 HISTORICAL BALLADS. And, though Kildare tower haughtily, there's rum at the root, Else why, since Edward fell to earth, had such a tree no fruit? VI. True Geraldines ! brave Geraldines ! — as torrents mould the earth. You channelled deep old Ireland's heart by constancy and worth : When Ginckle 'leaguere^ Limerick, the Irish soldiers gazed To see if in the setting sun dead Desmond's banner blazed ! And still it is the peasants' hope upon the Cuureach's* mere, "They live, who'll see ten thousand men with good Lord Edward here" — So let them dream till brighter days, when, not by Ed- ward's shade. But by some leader true as he, their lines shall be arrayed ! vn. These Geraldines ! these Geraldines ! — rain wears away the rock. And time may wear away the tribe that stood the battle's shock, • Angl. Curragh. THE GERALDINES. 113 But, ever, sure, while one is left of all that honoured race, In front of Ireland's chivalry is that Fitzgerald's place : And, though the last were dead and gone, how many a field and town. From Thomas Court to Abbeyfeile, would cherish their renown, And men would say of valour's rise, or ancient power's decline, ♦ " Twill never soar, it never shone, as did the Geral- dme." vni. The Geraldines! the Geraldines! — and are there any fears Within the sons of conquerors for full a thousand years 1 Can treason spring from out a soil bedewed with martyrs' blood ? Or has that grown a purling brook, which long rushed down a flood ? — ■ By Desmond swept with sword and fire, — by clan and keep laid low, — By Silken Thomas and his kin, — by sainted Edward ! -No! • The forms of centuries rise up, and in the Irish Ime Command their son to take the post that fits THE GeRALDINE !* I • The concluding- stanza, now first published, was found among the author's papers. — Ed. 10* 114 HISTORICAL BALLADS. O'BRIEN OF ARA * Air — The Piper of Blessingion. Tall are the towers of O'Ceinneidigh — f Broad are the lands of MacCarrthalgh — J Desmond feeds five hundred men a day ; Yet, here's to O'Briain^ of Ara ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar,|| Do\vn from the top of Camailte, Clansman and kinsman are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. II. See you the mountains look huge at eve — So is our chieftain in battle — Welcome he has for the fugitive, — Uisce-beatha,^ fighting, and cattle ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Gossip and ally are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. • Ara is a small mountain tract, south of Loch Deirgdheirc, an(J north of the Camailte (vulgo the Keeper) hills. It was the seat of a branch of the Thomond princes, called the O'Briens of Ara, who hold an important place in the Munster Annals. — Author's Note. t Vidgo, O'Kennedy. J Vul. M'Carthy. § Vul O'Brien y Vul. Drumineer. T Vul. Usquebaugh. O'BRIEN OF ARA. 116 Horses the valleys are tramping on, Sleek from the Sacsanach manger — Creachs the hills are encamping on, Empty the b4ns of the stranger ! Up. from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Ceithearir^ and huamiacht are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. He has black silver from Cill-da-luaf — Rian| and Cearbhall^ are neighbours — 'N Aonachli submits with afuililiu—r Butler is meat for our sabres ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Rian and Cearbhall are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. V. *Tis scarce a week since through OsairghelT Chased he the Baron of Durmhagh — ** Forced him five rivers to cross, or he Had died by the sword of Red Murchadh Iff * Vulgo, Kerne. f Vul. Killaloe. t Vul. Ryan. i) VuU Carroll. II Vul. Nenagh. IT Vul. Ossory •* Vul. Durrow ft Vul. Murrough. 116 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, All the Ui Bhriain are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. Tall are the towers of O'Ceinneidigh — ■ • Broad are the lands of MacCarrthaigh — Desmond feeds five hundred men a day ; Yet, here's to O'Briain of Ara ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Clansman and kinsman are coming hero To give him the cead mile failte. EMMELINE TALBOT. a ballad of the pale. [The Scene is on the borders of Dublin and Wicklow ] I. 'TwAs a September day — In Glenismole,* Emmeline Talbot lay On a green knoll. • Hibernice, — Gle^nn-an-smoil EMMELINE TALBOT. 117 She was a lovely thing, Fleet as a falcon's wing, Only fifteen that spring— S(rft was her soul. Danger and dreamless sleep Much did she scorn, And from her father's keep Stole out that morn. Towards Glenismole she hies ; Sweetly the valley lies. Winning the enterprise, — . No one to warn. m. Till by the noon, at length, High in the vale, Emmelme found her strength Suddenly fail. Panting, yet pleasantly, By Dodder-side lay she- Thrushes sang merrily, « Hail, sister, hail !" IV. Hazel and copse of oak Made a sweet lawn. Out from the thicket broke Rabbit and fawn. 118 HISTORICAL BALLADS. Green were the eiscirs round, Sweet was the river's sound, . Eastwards flat Cruach frowned. South lay Sliabh Bdn. Looking round Barnakeel,* Like a tall Moor Full of impassioned zeal, Peeped brown Kippure.f Dublin in feudal pride, And many a hold beside, Over Finn-ghaill:t preside — Sentinels sure ! VI. Is that a roebuck's eye Glares from the green ?— Is that a thrush's cry Rings in the screen ? Mountaineers round her sprung, Savage their speech and tongue, Fierce was their chief and young- Poor Emmeline ! VII. « Hurrah, 'tis Talbot's child," Shouted the kerne. Nib. Bearna-chael. f Hib Keap-itibhair. t Vu^. Fingal, EMMELINE TALBOT. 119 " Off to the mountains wild, Faire* O'Byrne !" Like a bird in a net, Strove the sweet maiden yet, Praying and shrieking, " Let- Let me return." VIII. After a moment's doubt, Forward he sprung. With his sword flashing out- Wrath on his tongue. " Touch not a hau* of her's — Dies he, who finger stirs !" Back fell his foragers — To him she clung. IX. Soothing the maiden's fears, Kneeling was he. When burst old Talbot's epears Out on the lea. March-men, all staunch and stout, Shouting their Belgard shout — " Down with the Irish rout, Prets d'accomplir.^'j Vuig. Farrah. f The motto and cry of the Talbot* 120 HISTORICAL BALLADS- X. Taken thi]s unawares, Some fled amain — Fighting like forest bears. Others were slain. To the chief clung the maid — How could he use his blade ? — That night, upon him weighed Fetter and chain. XI. Oh ! but that night was long, Lying forlorn. Since, 'mid the w^assail song. These words were borne— " Nathless your tears and cries, Sure as the sun shall rise, Connor O'Byrne* dies, Talbot has sworn." XII. Brightly on Tamhlachtf hill Flashes the sun ; • Strained at his window-sill, How his eyes run From lonely Sagart slade Down to Tigh-bradan glade, Landmarks of border raid. Many a one. • Eib. Conchobhar O'Broin. t Vulg. Tallaght EMMELINE TALBOT. 121 Too well the captive knows Belgard's main wall Will, to his naked blows, Shiver and fall. Ere in his mountain hold He shall again behold Those whose proud hearts are cold, Weeping his thrall. " Oh ! for a mountain side, Bucklers and brands! Freely I could have died Heading my bands, But on a felon tree " — Bearing a fetter key, By him all silently Emmeline stands. * XV. Late rose the castellan, He had drunk deep, — Warder and serving-man Still were asleep, — Wide is the castle-gate, Open the captive's grate. Fetters disconsolate Flung in a heap. * * 11 122 HISTORICAL BALLADS. 'Tis an October day, Close by Loch Dan Many a creach lay, Many a man. 'Mongst them, in gallant mien, Connor O'Byrne's seen Wedded to Emmeline, Girt by his clan ! O'SULLIVAN'S RETURN.* Am — An cruisgin Idn.j I. O'SuiLLEBHAiN has come Within sight of his home, He had left it long years ago ; The tears are in his eyes, And he prays the wind to rise, As he looks towards his castle, from the prow, from the prow; As he looks towards his castle, from the prow. • Vide Appendix. t Slow time o'sullivan's return. 123 II. For the day had been calm, And slow the good ship swam, And the evening gun had been fired ; He knew the hearts beat wild Of mother, wife, and child, And of clans, who to see him long desired, long desired; ^ And of clans, who to see him long desired. in. Of the tender ones the clasp, Of the gallant ones the grasp. He thinks, until his tears fall warm ; And full seems his wide hall, With friends from wall to wall. Where their welcome shakes the banners, like a storm, like a storm ; Where their welcome shakes the banners like a storm. Then he sees another scene — Norman churls on the green — ^^ G' Suilleahhain abu" is the cry; For filled is his ship's hold With arms and Spanish gold, A^d he sees the snake-twined spear wave on high, wave on high ; And he sees the snake-twined spear wave on high.* • The standard bearings of O'Sullivan. Sec O'Donovan's edition of the Banquet of Dun na a-Gedh, and the Battle of Magh Rath, for 124 HISTOEICAL BALLADS. " Finghin's race shall be freed From the Norman's cruel breed — My sires freed Bear' once before, When the Barnwells were strewn On the fields, like hay in June, And but one of them escaped from our shore, from our shore ; And but one of them escaped from our shore."* VI. And, warming in his dream, He floats on victory's stream, Till Desmond— till all Erin is free ! Then, how calmly he'll go down, Full of years and of renown, To his grave near that castle by the sea, by the sea ; To his grave near that castle by the sea! the Archseological Society, App. p. 349. — " Bearings of O'Sullivan at the Battle of Caisglinn." " I see, mightily advancing on the plain, The banner of the race of noble Finghin ; His spear with a venomous adder (entwined), His host all fiery champions." Finghin was one of their most famous progenitors. — Author's Note. * The Barnwells were Normans, who seized part of Beara in the reign of Henry II. ; but the O'SuUivans came down on them, and cut off all save one— a young man who settled at Drimnagh Castle, Co. Dublin, and wa? ancestor to the Barnwells, Lords of Trimlcstone and Kingsland.— AuTHoa's Note. o'stjllivan's return. 126 VII. But the wind heard his word, As though he were its lord, And the ship is dashed up the Bay. Alas ! for that proud barque, The night has fallen dark, ■'Tis too late to Eadarghabhal* to bear away, to bear away ; 'Tis too late to Eadarghabhal to bear away. vni. Black and rough was the rock, And terrible the shock. As the good ship crashed asunder ; And bitter was the cry. And the sea ran mountains high. And the wind was as loud as the thunder, the thunder ; And the wind was as loud as the tliunder. There's woe in Beara, There's woe in Gleann-garbh,f And from Beanntraighe;}: unto Dun-kiarain ;^ All Desmond hears their grief, And wails above their chief — " Is it thus, is it thus, that you return, you return- Is it thus, is it thus, that you return 1" * Vul. Adragoole. t Vul Glengarriff. t Vul Bantry