flt ibe 6atc$ of noon. f J\l o oor| 3-< BY JAMES T. GALLAGHER BOSTON ANGEL GUARDIAN PRESS. 1899 COPYRIGHT, 1899, BY JAMES T. GALLAGHER. Go flfc# TDQiffe. CONTENTS. PAGE. AT THE GATES OF NOON 9 WINTER -------- I I THE SKYLARK - - - 12 NATURE WORSHIP - - 13 SPRING -------- 15 THE MISSING SPRING ------ 16 SUMMER S SERMON - - - - 17 JUNE--- ---l8 EXIT OF SUMMER - - 1 9 COMPENSATION - 2O ARMENIA A PLEA ------ 21 HAWTHORNE S BIRTHPLACE - - - - 22 SUNSET ON CALLOW S HILL - - - - 23 WASHINGTON 24 RIGHT 25 FATHER MURPHY IN 98 26 JUSTICE - - 27 REVERIE -28 THE BIRTH OF LIGHT 29 LOVE LIED - - - 30 CHARLES A. DANA 31 NORTH BRIDGE ------- 32 K BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL - - - - 35 MARBLEHEAD -------39 OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES 43 DR. AMOS HOWE JOHNSON ----- 44 GRANT AND DEATH 46 DR. ROBERT DWYER JOYCE - - - - 47 EMMKT - 49 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY 53 CHARLES J. KICKHAM 56 MAJOR GRADV ... 58 CAED MILLE FAILTHE do ALLEN, LARKIN AND o BRIF.N - - - - C>2 RELEASED. AUGUST, 1896 - 64 SHAMROCKS FROM IRELAND - - (>f> A SHAMROCK FROM THE IRISH SHORE - - JO DEAR SHAMROCK OF MY NATIVE VALK - - J2 ST. PATRICK S DAY - - 7-i ST PATRICK S DAY TOASTS - - - 76 THE GALLANT NINTH - - - 78 SPREAD THE LIGHT - So THE DOG OF AUGHRIM 82 A PICTURE OF IRISH HISTORY 86 FAMINE IN IRELAND - - ... 90 ERIN S APPEAL - ... 93 A PLEA FOR UNITY 95 MEN OF IRELAND - 97 SELF RELIANCE - - 99 ROSCOMMON S WELCOME TO PARNELL 102 ANCIENT ORDER OF HIBERNIANS 104 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE OPERA OF "BRIAN BORU." THE HOUSE OF LORDS MUST GO - AT LAST ... - I I I VOW OF THE EXILED CELT - 114 THE EXILE TO HIS SON I I 6 THE DYING EXILE - - - 121 WILL I REMEMBERED BF. ! - 127 AH, WELL I LOVE MY NATIVE LAND 129 Hi. ME ------ - !:>[ THE AUTUMN DAYS 134 JULY - - - - 136 WHERE ARE THE GODS ? 18 BOYHOOD S CHRISTMAS NIGHT - 140 OLD YEAR, GOOD-BYE - - - - - 143 THE SEA 145 TO MY FATHER - - H7 A MOTHER S LAMENT FOR HER CHILD - - 151 LEO XIII GOLDEN JUBILEE - 153 WHAT CATHOLICS HAVE DONE FOR AMERICA - 155 A CHILD - - - - - - - - l6l R. \V. - 163 JAMES - - l66 MAY l6S OH ASK ME NOT WHY AM I SAD - - I JO ADIEU - -- - 172 TO A CHILD ..-_--- 175 TRUE LOVE - - - - - - - -176 TO MAY - 1/7 ANNIE - 179 LITTLE TOMMY S WOOING ----- 180 ANNIE BAN MACHREE - - - - - - 1 82 THE BELLE OF BUNKER HILL - - 184 SONG - -lS6 SHATTERED HOPES ------ 188 POPPING THE QUESTION" ----- 19^ THE MODEL OF MYLAUY s HAND - IQ9 IS IT LOVE -------- 200 O DARLING SING THE SONG AGAIN - - 2O2 DARLING ANNIE - - - - - - 204 TELL ME YOU LOVE ME - - - - - 2O6 ANNIE 2uS ANNIE DARLING - 2!O MY OWN MARY DEAR - - - - - 212 TO M.J.R. - - -- 4 INVESTIGATE. INVESTIGATORS - 2l6 THE DAY WE CELEBRATE ----- 2l8 WHAT WILL THE DOCTORS DO? - - - - 22O IT S A VERY FUNNY WORLD 222 vii "Lo! at the gates of noon I musing stand: Since dawn my pathway o er the meadows wound, And all the bright and fragrant flowers I found, Childlike, I gathered for a garland grand." Jit the Sates of C ! at tbe gates of noon fl musing stand : Since Dawn mv patbwap. o er tbe meadows wound, Bnd all tbe brigbt and fragrant flowers 11 (ound, Cbildlifce, 11 gatbered for a garland grand So wreatbe tbe altar of m\> native land Bnd even? sbrine in Jf anc\? ballowed ground ; fcope s terian ribbon twined tbeir stems around, JSut scentless now tbeis droop witbin m band! L et on tbeir faded petals would 11 loofc Jx>ening merges in Eternity ; tbe^ call bach eacb meadow, vale and brook 11 knew and cberisbed wben a dreamer free ; Bnd rest sball tbe\> forever in tbis booh d, percbance, bie all, but loved by, me ! WINTER. Minter. "THE exiled Winter seized again his throne, * And through the land his haughty couriers sent, Proclaiming loud his mandate and intent That neither mercy nor respite be shown Whate er rebelled his regal sway to own. His milky banner, battle-scarred and rent, He flung adown the scowling firmament ; His clansmen charged, lo ! Autumn s hosts o er- thrown ! mighty Monarch of the Virgin crown ! Magician-artist ! whose light breath can chain The pulsing sea, yet deigns, without a frown, To paint weird pictures on the humble pane ! 1 loved fair Summer and the Autumn brown, But hail and worship thy majestic reign ! AT THE GATES OF NOON. OTHOU sweet bird ! that in the ear of Dawn Dost pour thy joyous and melodious lay As glides the vital current of the Day Into the pallid veins of hill and lawn, Restoring all the Winter s lance had drawn, While he, rude surgeon, o er the land held sway, I envy thee, and oh ! would soar away Beyond the limit of this mortal bawn And let my soul melt out in song with thee ! Thou hast no pain, nor didst thou ever know The soundless deeps or chilling peaks of woe ; Thy wing is chainless and thy spirit .free ! Around thee dance the clouds in ecstasy, Blue bending skies thy star-strewn canopy. NATURE WORSHIP. IRature IKflorsblp. TO A. G. C. TV /\ Y soul is weary of the city street * " * The din and clamor of its crowded way, Eternal sameness of the night and day, The pomp and poverty and pride I meet, The Crime new-ermined and the gilt Deceit Like vultures swooping to devour their prey, While Justice, blinking in the social ray, Beholds the vesture, but forgets the cheat. Oh, I would fly to some untrod retreat, Where Nature, regal, holds untrammelled sway, And kneel in worship at her virgin feet, Recount her glories and her laws obey ; Nor cease to honor till my last heart-beat Till heaven commingles with the earth s decay. With her already ! on her forest throne I quaff the nectar of the balmy air Distilled through meshes of her golden hair From parting Summer s sacred censer blown. 1 ; AT THE GATES OF NOON. The anthem grand, the sweet, weird monotone Of harpers ancient, blending soft and rare, Upwells around me, till the demon, Care, Is crushed forever and his reign o erthrown. O Courtis! wert thou with me! thou, whose mind Is pure and lofty as this gorgeous scene ; Whose fervid soul and fancy unconfmed Would limn the splendor of the gold and green, Swayed by the footsteps of the wooing wind I would be happy as the gods, I ween. Come, come, in spirit ! Lo ! the dawn appears, And Day s proud monarch mounts the rose- strewn skies ! The startled Night withdraws her sentry-eyes, But yields the diamonds of her midnight tears To gem the billows of assailing spears That press around her as she westward Mies ; Yet on the rampart where she, fighting, dies, The victor Day-god curbs his charioteers. Gleams brighter now the forest s autumn dress As down his vast and pillared sanctuary The lucid legions of the Morning press, Where Nature reigns in cloistered majesty ! Oh, I m too happy in this happiness, And long to share it with the world and thee i SPRING. Spring. PRIXG walked across the meadows yester- clay, And whispered to the flowers on the way : Awake, arise, the Winter night is fled, The milky sheets that wrapped your dreamy bed Dissolve and float away, like jeweled lawn, To deck the forehead of approaching Dawn. The flowers looked up and smiled a greeting sweet ; Some blushed for joy, and some grew pale to meet Their mother so beloved and lost so long ; From out the brake rolled clear the bluebird s song, And Nature, hopeful at the sudden boom, Recalled her artists to the idle loom, While onward wheeled along the misty way The gorgeous chariot of the perfect day. AT THE GATES OF NOON. TTbe /IDtsstuQ Spring. PRING walked across the meadows yester- day," So sang a rhymer many days ago, But where she wandered no one seems to know; Most certain tis the maiden went astray, Or from exposure died upon the way. Perchance she met her old and bitter foe, Grim Winter ! and he basely laid her low For daring to usurp his lordly sway. The flowers are weeping for their mother now, And hide their faces in the pallid grass, Remorseless on, with awful voice and brow, The wicked tyrant and his cohorts pass. Revenge ! revenge ! the hills and valleys vow, While birds sob low the solemn requiem mass. 16 SUMMER S SERMON. Summer s Sermon. "TO-DAY all Nature speaks the Word of God, * And mirrors well His love and purity : The fragrant snow upon the spreading tree, The tear-eyed violets clinging to the sod, The daisied grass, by careless footsteps trod, The forest vast that claps its hands in glee To every breeze that wooes caressingly Are types of Him, and blossom at His nod. Weak man alone, created lord of all, Preordered for the highest destiny, Rebels, and, doubting, flings a sable pall Across the bosom of divinity. O God of love ! How awful is the fall From Nature s praise to man s foul blasphemy ! AT THE GATP;S OF XOOX. T_T AIL, Star-eyed goddess of the verdant gown * * And rose-twined coronet, Imperial June ! Thy subject, I. Beneath thy argent moon, Or ardent sun, where willows weave a crown O er laughing streams, or where huge mountains frown, When Nature sweeps her harp and wakes a tune, Or all Creation shudders in a swoon, To thee, in worship, shall I bow me down ! I would be near thee in the forest dim, In woods entangled, on the mystic sea, Thy loyal page, to raise thy garment s hem Across the bosom of the dewy lea ; Creation s priest thy peerless brow to gem, And Nature s voice to hail thy majesty. 18 EXIT OF SUMMER. H Biit of Summer. ER verdant robes around her, Summer drew And vanished, like the shadow of a beam, Within the melting landscape of a dream, From all the scenes she graced and loved and knew ; To grieving Nature one fond kiss she threw One farewell kiss and like a sunset gleam, It touched the mountain s lip, the seabound stream, And stamped Creation with its golden hue. Adieu, enchantress ! Queen of love, adieu ! Though fled is beauty and the soul of song, Shall Memory oft revisit and review Thy vacant throne and glance thy halls along, While loyal Fancy will thy steps pursue Through shattered ranks of Autumn s russet throng. 19 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Compensation. I IKE breath of slander, Winter s herald came, *-* And whispered low amid the leafy bowers The poisonous words, that quick the bab bling hours Spoke oft aloud, with ever added shame, To sully Summer and her daughters name. With grief intense, soon drooped the gentle flowers, And graveward sank in fair and fragrant showers, While Nature wept, apart, their blighted fame. Sage Autumn listened to her sister s woe, And, moved to pity, kissed each pining child, When lo ! a ruddy and a golden glow Leaped to each brow and lip and bosom mild; And hosts that shrank to meet the jealous foe In gorgeous glory, looked abroad and smiled. ARMENIA. A PLEA. Hrmenfa a plea. THOU Protector of the poor and weak, The Friend alone on Whom the crushed can call For aid and justice when the strong inthrall, At Whose high throne the wronged will never seek For right in vain, hear st Thou Thy children speak In prayer aloud : "Oh, let Thy mercy fall Round poor Armenia like an iron wall, And stay the murder-hand, the victim-shriek. Or else, O God ! vouchsafe them strength to wield, For life and virtue and their native plain, The sword avenging and unsparing steeled Against this monster and his frightful train ; Nor curb their fury till the doom is sealed Of hell s vicegerent and his demon reign ! AT THE GATES OF NOON. Ibawtborne s JBirtbplace. ""PIS not a vast nor venerable pile 1 Where fays and goblins in the moonlight dance ; Modest and meek it meets the pilgrims glance, The critic s malice and the cynic s smile ; Yet neath its roof the monarch of Romance First saw the world his matchless genius swayed, Its windows through the July sunshine strayed To touch his forehead with its gleaming lance. First here the lightning of his thoughts revealed The teeming valley of his fiction lore, The fancy-fountains of his mind unsealed And let the deathless story-streams outpour. Hawthorne ! In reverence ever shall we trace And sacred hold thy humble natal place. SUNSET ON GALLOWS HILL. Sunset on Gallows Dtll, T T IS crimson shield the regal Lord of Day, * * Triumphant marching to the Night s em brace, One moment poised above the pallid face Of that lone hill, whereon, the records say, The wizard victims, with their lives, did pay The debt of frenzy to the times disgrace ; And lo ! its snow-robes are vermilion lace ! Or is it blood, or but his parting ray ? Entranced I shuddered at the awful light And pondered well the wondrous mystery ; Then turned to lethe, or a new delight, Unto the bosom of the distant sea. Bright scarlet discs were all that met my sight On sea and shore, on naked spire and tree ! 2T, AT THE GATES OF NOON. TJQasbinoton. "THOU mighty monarch of a people s heart ! * Creator Father of a Nation free, In war or peace alike in majesty And grace didst act the statesman-hero s part Rending Oppression s chain, and Freedom s chart, Bequeathing stainless to posterity ! All nations bend in homage unto thee : Thou taughtst triumphant Peace through War s dread art. With grateful hearts and unvexed minds to-day We turn to thee, immortal Washington ! And proudly crown thee with the deathless bay, Amidst the blaze of Freedom s fulgent sun ; With vision lifted to the summit-way Thy country s grandest glory yet unwon ! NIGHT. \I 7HAT art thou, O vast, mysterious night ! Spreading thy sable wings o er sky and earth, And clasping mundane things with starry girth, Dewy and noiseless as thy onward flight ? What shoreless dee]), or mystic mountain height, Beheld thee rise, or cradled thee at birth ? Art thou a mask of day, and in thy mirth Or anger, give or hold, the boon of light ? Yet thou wert ever beautiful to me, In joy, or grief, or thunder-speaking rage ! Hope, in thy countless eyes, and faith I see, I never yet beheld in Day s bright page. Thou art the shadow of eternity ! Though I am neither poet, priest nor sage. 2 5 AT THE GATES OF NOON. jfatber flfeurpb^ in 98. I N Boolavogue, his flame-swept church beside, * Stood Father Murphy on Whitsunday morn, His hunted flock, from out each cave and tarn, Around him gathered, like a surging tide. "O Father ! speak the promised Word, " they cried. "Behold our kindred and our homesteads torn, The desolation of our land forlorn ! "- His sword he drew, and "Follow me," replied. How well he battled on the Wexford heights, Avenged Dunlavin and blood-drenched Car- new, Bore down the yeomen in the bloody fights Of Inniscorthy and of Carrigrue, And roused the nation to regain its rights, To-day is echoed all creation through ! 26 JUSTICE Justice. T SAW approaching from a mountain height * A radiant maiden with majestic mien, Bearing aloft a sword of lightning sheen That cleft the meshes of surrounding night. Before her fled Wrong s minions in affright ; Behind, the toiling millions stood serene And viewed the triumph of the unknown queen, Bent to their task and claimed no other right. Oh, who art thou ? I cried in fear and awe, And what thy name, and whence thy potent power So far transcending human might and law So well adjusted to the place and hour ? "The worker s Right, long sought and long de nied, Am I ; my name is Justice," she replied. AT THE GATES OF NOOX IReverie. On visiting the favorite seat of O. W. Holmes at Beverly Farms. |\ TIGHT gracefully came with me as I strayed * Where often mused the genial prince of song, While yet his hand the breathing chords among, The lofty strains awoke that nations swayed, And still are echoed by each hill and glade. A flowery wreath May wove our path along, And stars danced near, a gleaming, glinting throng, Like jewelled crown upon a black-haired maid. Immortal Holmes ! thy spirit sure was nigh ; The balmy air was thrilled with soothing strain Unheard since thou didst leave us for the sky, And could be breathed by only thee again : The place enchanted seemed. But ah ! my sigh Transfixed the silence with a shaft of pain ! 28 THE BIRTH OF LIGHT. Birtb of I X darkness tombed was earth and all mankind, * The Soul immortal lay a garden waste Wherein the passions on a throne were placed Unchecked, unsatisfied and unconfined Through all the Seasons of the ruling mind, Since disobedience and the mortal taste Of fruit forbidden Eden s lord debased, And death outscattered to each wailing wind. But lo ! afar, amid the regnant gloom Proclaims a star the light of life new-born That man reseated shall again resume The sway triumphant of the primal morn ; And faith shall nourish to eternal bloom The seed supernal in all hearts forlorn. AT THE GATES OF NOON. %ox>e Xiefc. "TO me Love came one summer day and said : "I will be with thee through all future time, To cheer thy pathway and to grace thy rhyme, And sweet spells weave around thy nightly bed." On wings the fleetest golden Summer sped, And bannered Autumn, Nature s queen sub lime, Majestic passed, and forth in haughty prime Grim Winter came, but lo ! Love, false, is fled. Love loves the essence of the summer rose And long delays where wealth and beauty meet Where tinsel glitters and where pleasure glows, Nor flies the presence of alloyed deceit : But when joys vanish, or the tempest blows, His feet are nimble and his wings are fleet. CHARLES A. DANA. Cbarles B. Dana. NOT weep shall we thy passing, Dana great ! Though wert thou brightest of the brilliant men, Who gave the press their mighty minds and pen To upward lift it to its high estate ; But long shall linger by the sunset gate, That bars thee ever from our mortal ken, To list the throbbing of thy day s wild din, And pray such other will our God create ! Thou wert beloved, O Dana ! e en by foes ; By those, much more, who bowed to thy be hest ; The genius budding found in thee repose, Nor left the lowly from thy side distressed. Who longest knew thee most will mourn thy close Oh, may thy spirit find eternal rest ! AT THE GATES OF NOON". IRortb " A W-^-Y " sa id haughty (General Gage, in Bos- ** ton by the sea, "And, Leslie, lead three hundred men to Salem instantly, And capture all the cannon there, and bring them to this town, Nor brook the least resistance from a traitor to the crown." Midwinter s sun was gazing down on Massa chusetts Bay, On stern and snow-capped Marblehead reposed the noontide ray, As from their ship to Lovis Cove and Roman s sheltered strand, In martial pomp and bright array, came Leslie and his band. NORTH BRIDGE. The men of Marblehead beheld this herald of the storm, And swift to Salem Pedrick sped to spread the loud alarm ; The bells were rung the drums were beat the people rushed from prayer, Determination in each face their trusty weap ons bare. "North River Bridge ! " Lo ! hrm it stands in its accustomed place, While onward sweep the British ranks in awe- inspiring pace. A moment s halt, then Leslie s voice, in awful rage, outpealed "Forward ! And, Foster, point me where the cannons are concealed ! " "Halt ! " thundered gallant Pickering behind him forty men ; "Who dares attempt to cross North Bridge shall never breathe again." "We go," was Leslie s bold reply "to do the King s command, And all who rashly interfere, we ll shoot down where they stand." 33 AT THE GATES OF NOON. On Gallows Hill the evening sun shot clown his crimson bars, And faintly in the ocean blue, regleamed the Hesper stars ; Her crystal lamp, the crescent moon hung o er the tidal flood Defiant and unyielding still the hostile leaders stood. "Fire ! " rang the dreadful order from the British captain then, "Hold ! Hold ! beware ! " cried Captain Felt, " tis death to all your men ! " The soldiers paused, and Barnard spoke "Peace ! peace ! there is a way, If Pickering and his men agree, to end this wicked fray." Night flung her sable curtains down and wrapt the bloodless scene, And Leslie back to Boston fled, in double quick, I ween ; The moon and stars serenely smiled on man hood s flag unfurled, And Echo slept, awaiting yet the shot that shook the world ! 34 THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. ZTbe Battle of Eunfeer 1bill. A T last the cry "To arms ! To arms ! " through ** Lexington outrang, And Concord knew the hour was come, and to her weapon sprang. No need to tell how 7 foe met foe and grappled on that morn Amid the shattered British ranks our liberty was born. Now face to face the foemen stand defiance in each eye, Impatient for the battle shock resolved to win or die ; The awful story has been told by pens of mas ter skill, Yet I shall dare again review that day on Bun ker Hill. 35 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Uprose the Dawn and westward rolled the cur tains of the night, And lo ! brave Prescott and his men upon the fort-crowned height, Beneath the friendly stars they toiled that ram part to upraise, Whose frowning brow the British fills with anger and amaze. Serene the monarch of the sky from out his highest tower Surveys the marshalled pomp and pride of Brit ain s haughty power ; Serene he glances on the hill, where, few but undismayed, The rudely-weaponed patriots for battle stand arrayed. Hark to the cannon s thunder-crash ! the shells red lightning see ! And like a surging sea of flame sweeps Pigott s infantry ; List how the god of slaughter laughs from river, hill and shore ! Oh ! never rolled a battle-wave so charged with death before. THE BATTLE OF BUNKER HILL. An earthquake shudders underneath where Howe s battalions come Flame-sheeted like a forest-tire ; yet Prescott s fort is dumb ; And Stark, unmoved as granite cliff, awaits the crimson tide It breaks. Ah, God ! within its foam five hun dred Britons died. Hurrah ! hurrah ! for Liberty ! the fight is fought and won ! And lo ! before the volunteers the royal legions run Hurrah ! hurrah ! but see ! they halt ; they rally and attack, And Bunker Hill has hurled again the roaring columns back. Gage sees, afar, the day is lost an empire to his king And dashes to the scene with all the troops that he can bring. Awful his rage and mad despair, terrific his com mand : "Go, fire the town from end to end, nor let one timber stand ! " 37 AT THE GATES OF NOON. The god of day affrighted shrank behind a sable cloud, The concave heaven mirrored back the city s hery shroud, A tremor quivered through the hill where fell the tearing shell ; Yet Prescott pours his iron hail and keeps the rampart well. On ! on ! the British columns press o er dying and o er dead, Flame-bordered in the front and rear, rlame-cur- tained overhead. "Fight, win or die," Howe s battle cry, and Prescott s "No retreat ; " But, ah ! his waves of victory are crested with defeat ! Secure and loved for evermore the fame and name shall be Of all who fought and bled that clay to give us liberty ; But traced in golden letters bright upon a deathless chart, The valiant Warren s name shall live within the Nation s heart. MARBLEHEAD. UPON thy fort, old Marblehead, I stood, as from her orient bed The Morning rose, and blushing sped, In majesty, To where thy rocky arms outspread Embrace the sea. Alone I viewed the gorgeous Day With jewelled sandals tread the bay Climb up and down each craggy way And valley wild Till all revealed before me lay, This earthquake child. Renowned, romantic, rugged town, Upon thy face the smile and frown Of Nature chase each other down From field to shore, And gems of art thy forehead crown Thy sons adore. 39 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Historic muse ! inspire my strain To paint the old heroic reign Of this quaint village by the main, And tell its tale Which time and ocean s rage in vain Assailed, assail. Roll back the curtains of the past, The fisher-fleets with nets outcast, The hardy seamen at the mast, Let me behold, In peaceful toil or War s dread blast, Reliant, bold. Tis done : and lo ! most gallantly The valiant Mugford s bark I see Careering o er the vassal Sea Like meteor flame, The captured British ship alee Ah ! dear-bought fame ! Brave Glover on the 1 )ela\vare Mid icy crags, his weapons bare, Inspiring all with courage rare To dare and do, Or guiding Burgoyne s shattered square New England through. 4 o MARBLEHEAD. The deathless Constitution ride, Triumphant monarch of the tide, The sinking Guerriere beside, While fearless Hull With Russell, Cowell, Prince, divide The honors full. The privateers, cyclonic, sweep The boastful Britons from the deep They claimed to own and meant to keep- ( ) conflict dread ! Ten hundred widows, orphans, weep The deathless dead ! Th immortal brave who died to free Their land from Britain s tyranny And plant the flag of liberty On sea and shore The refuge of oppressed to be For evermore. Sleep, heroes, sleep. A nation s love With Freedom guard your graves above. The starry banner that you wove In War s red loom Floats free to-day o er Lovis Cove, And will till doom. AT THE GATES OF NOON. The scene is changed. Rebellion red Has dared to lift his hideous head. The bugle call is scarcely sped Upon its way The gallant men of Marblehead Rush to the fray ! And never did a braver brand Flash forth for Right and native land Than quivered in brave Martin s hand Than Boardman held Than answered Phillips stern command Till wrong was quelled. And once again, alone I stand Where "Castle Rock" with iron hand Repels old Neptune s charging band While daylight dies And Night and Luna, smiling bland, Walk up the skies. Good night ! farewell, historic shore ! Thy story and thy "Churn s" wild roar Will haunt my soul for evermore With dreams divine Will live within my bosom s core, While life is mine ! 42 H OLIVER WENDELL HOLMES. liver TKflen&eU Ibolmes. IS songs are sung ; the golden lyre is mute That thrilled the nations with the soul of song; Death laid his finger on the breathing lute And froze the melody its chords among. Like regal sun the master-singer came ; Fair, tear-gemmed Nature mirrored his sweet light ; Bird, flower and stream laughed in the lambent flame ; Man s sorrows faded in the robes of night. Meridian day, his full-orbed genius shone No cloud to mar the fields of smiling blue ; Triumphant rolled his crystal chariot on Where eye reveals her gorgeous throne to view. Resplendent still his crown of glory gleams Where pencilled tints of earth and sky unite ; Gay Autumn blushes in his farewell beams; The steel-gray curtain falls and it is night. AT THK GATES OF NOON 5>r. Hmos ifoowe ]\|()T when the chain is rent apart ^ That links Hereafter to the Here And all we hold on earth most dear Is severed from the bleeding heart : Not in that moment, sorrow-tossed, Though Grief may weep with thousand eyes, ("an \ve compute and realize The depth and height of what is lost. Nor can our city, bending low In grief beside the silent clay Of him who brought a cheering rax- To many a home and heart of woe. But in the calm of after-day, When Reason sadly mounts her throne, And lists, in vain, the gentle tone That Comfort shed alon<r our wav. 44 DK AMOS HOWE JOIIX.SO.V. Though Science weeps, not she alone Religion takes her by the hand, And leads her where the Virtues stand 1 ewailing their protector gone. Peace to thy shade ! Immortal rest ! Thou wert a friend unto the poor. Such epitaph will time endure Av ! longer than the monarch s crest. 45 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Grant anfc H>eatb. T HK hand of Dawn, with pencil bright, Was tracing morning o er the sky When Grant upon McGregor s height Beheld grim Death in armor nigh. "Oh, hero of undying fame ! Who saved the Union, peace restored ! Grant ! Victor ! Chief ! on Mars red plain, Yield, yield to Death thy flaming sword ! " Spoke Grant ; and Valor sat enthroned Upon his brow s majestic held. "What Victor never claimed before To thee, King Death, my sword I yield." 4 6 DR. ROBERT DWVER JOYCE. 2>r. IRobert 2Dw\?er Let me, for love, let me be unforgot Joyce. r\IVINE Apollo! grant to me "^ One spark of thy celestial fire ; I fain would wake the golden lyre To Dr. Joyce s memory ! By me he would be unforgot : Though earth, again, should ring his fame, And every tongue pronounce his name, Though all his race remember not ! To-day I passed the city street That erst re-echoed to his tread, And musing on the spirit fled, An aged friend I chanced to meet. "Do you remember Joyce ?" I said. "Joyce ? Joyce ? the man that hung my bell ? Yes, yes, I knew him very well, But I forgot you know he s dead ! ! ! " 47 AT THK GATES OK NOON. Shame on the city, race and land That claimed him in his regal hour And basked in sunshine of his power But dead, forget his genius grand ! Ah ! Time shall do him justice meet, And Fame shall grant him rightful place The greatest singer of his race That ever trod a Boston street. EMMET. Emmet. Head at the Emmet Anniversary Celebration at Monument Hall, Charlestown, March 4, 1897. I. |\]() tears we ll shed for the deathless dead, 1 ^ The hero long departed, Xor shall we moan o er the nameless stone Where sleeps the noble-hearted. We dare not weep till the foe we sweep From the land for which he perished, Xor dare we moan till the scrolless stone Shall bear the tribute cherished. We come to-day on his grave to lay The martyr s wreath of glory, And back again on the heart and brain Swells all the tragic story The bleeding land and the brave sons banned Who would from wrong defend her ; The scaffold grim where they mangled him, The peerless youth and tender ; 49 AT THE GATES OF NOON. The last request to be left at rest, Unknown his aims and station, Till times and men should rise again, And make his land a nation. Here by his tomb in the March eve s gloom We kneel, the young and hoary, And vow to write on his gravestone white His name a line of glory ! II. He saw his own beloved land Writhe in the tyrant s iron hand, And this his spirit could not stand ; He saw the merciless and strong Relock the chain, apply the thong, His soul rebelled against the wrong ; He saw the captive, poor and weak, The tear of sorrow on her cheek, And dared one comfort-word to speak ; He saw the captors, cruel, stern, The kindly word of comfort spurn, With new-born fury on her turn. EMMET. Then rose the spirit of his race In splendid majesty and grace, And wrote defiance on his face ! On ! like the fkry breath of storm, Right s battered mail around his form, He rushed into the conflict warm ! He cared not what his fate might be, His land was chained, she must be free He went, where beckoned Liberty Where called the voices of the dead, Who in the ancient struggle led, And in the cause of Freedom bled. But ah ! he did not see the woe That surged on hearts like ocean s flow, The day that saw his overthrow ! Nor did he see the shaft of pain That pierced the heart and rent the brain And laid his idol mid the slain ! AT THE GATES OF NOON. III. But his name will live forever, and his fame shall never die, And his blood from earth appealing, shall for vengeance ever cry ! And the Gael will some day answer as a unit to the call, And march on the Saxon foeman like a moving granite wall ! From North and South we ll gather, from the Kastland and the \Yest, In each hand the sword of Justice, Right s strong shield upon each breast ; And we ll sweep the foe before us, as the cyclone sweeps the chaff, And we ll make our land a Nation, and write Kmmet s epitaph ! JOHN BOYLE O REILLY. 3obn JOY died within a people s heart ^ The day his noble spirit tied ; And yet O Reilly is not dead, Though Nature claims the mortal part. He lives in every word and act He ever did or ever spake ; He only sleeps till men awake And find his dream a living fact. The singer cannot cease to be : His songs are seeds in fertile earth, \Yhich in God s sunlight spring to birth And blossom truths eternally. Nor will his fervent songs e er die, So well attuned to human right, Like guardian angels in the night They point from danger to the sky. Hut still we miss the guiding hand, The friendly clasp, the gentle tone, The man who made the wrongs hij o.vn Of every creature, every land. 53 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Who fearless spoke his faith and mind, And knew not color, creed, nor race ; Who toiled disunion to efface, And link in friendship all mankind. And yet the silent tear will fall Above his dear, untimely grave ; To all mankind his life he gave, And he was dearly loved by all. Nor weeps Humanity alone : Religion bends beside his tomb, And Freedom in a robe of gloom, Bewails her stalwart champion gone. But deepest is poor Krin s woe, Yet joy is mingled with the sigh, And hope and pride within her eye Alternate gloom, alternate glow, As proud Columbia takes her hand And speaks: "He was a noble son; His splendid life, his work, "well done," Will glory shed upon each land. 54 JOHN BOYLE O REILLY. "As dear and true he was to me As bravest son I ever bore ; Enchained and wronged upon thy shore, On mine be worshipped Liberty. "He brought no treason in his heart ; Xo trumpet patriot was he, Proclaiming deathless love for me, But selling in the highest mart. "O Erin ! on from age to age His growing fame secure will be ; In Poet-Patriot history His name shall gild a leading page. "Then cease to weep, he is not dead, But risen to a higher sphere ; Our highest tribute to him here The wreath shall type that crowns his head. 55 AT THE GATES OF NOON Gbarles 3. Ikicfebam. \17HAT! Kickham dead? another harp- string still, That poured to liberty the purest song; Another hand that touched with master skill, And traced in burning truth our country s wrong Another star, that shone throughout the night And beamed the brightest when despair was nigh, (Ah ! quenched will soon be every beacon light, ) Has fallen, Erin ! from thy darkening sky ! The tears of sorrow for a Daughter dead, Though yet undried within the nation s eye Ah ! must we mourn so soon his spirit fled, That woke our laughter and our deepest sigh ! The pure in spirit, strong in patriot zeal, \Yho gave his country all that he possessed, A brilliant genius heart as true as steel, A soul exalted now fore er at rest ! CHARLES J. KICKHAM. That he was valiant, e en his foes confessed, That he was honest ask the prison cell ! He fought her battles she is unredressed ! He is a victor, for he, fighting, fell. Oh ! strong my faith, but ah ! when one by one I mark the heroes drop along the way ; I feel like one benighted and alone, When moon nor star gives forth a cheering o O ray. And is he dead ? no ! no ! he cannot die While live the tones that his proud harp strings gave, For now they thunder up to God-on high, Or murmur sweetly by each hill and wave 1 While e er a heart doth throb for native land, Or honest Patriot can grasp a spear ; Shall Ireland sorrow for thy spirit grand, Thy tnem ry live within our bosoms here. AT THE GATES OF NOON. /IDajor ^F HOUGH silent and bitter the tears that we shed, We weep not, brave Grady, because thou art dead ; But we sorrow and moan that the "land of the free" Would martyr a patriot-hero like thee ! Ah ! sad is the thought, and twill ever enwind With the cypress and laurel the soul and the mind Of the friends who beheld thee go forth in thy might To battle for Liberty, Justice and Right. True son of a race that yet never knew fear, Amid thunder of cannon or lightning of spear ; That, ever undaunted, rushed on to defend The honor of Nation, of flag, or of friend. MAJOR GKADY. Oh ! had thy bold spirit from earth taken flight, Where the billows of battle rolled down from each height : Or, had st thou been smitten when fronting the foe, Our hearts were not wrapped in the garments of woe But to Fame and to Freedom thou dost now be long : And Honor and Valor shall guard thee from wrong ; And Truth, in her record of Liberty s fight, Shall blazon thy glory with pencil of light. 59 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Gaefc flDille jfailtfoe. Read at the Reception to Miss Maud Gonne, Columbia Theatre, Boston, December 19, 1897. IT AIL to thee, hail to thee, daughter of Krin ! * * Friend to the lowly, the poor and oppress ed ! Caed mille failthe ! brave heart and unf earing, Liberty clasps thee with joy to her breast. True thou hast been to the cause of our sireland, True to thy mission to rend her cursed chain ; Here to the shore of the greater new Ireland, Caed mille failthe, again and again ! High in the court of thy Country s oppressor, Mightst thou have dallied in downy repose ; Thrilled by the wrongs that degrade and distress her, Grand, in rebellion, thy spirit arose. Mighty and grand as the maiden immortal, Rending the mail-girded foemen of I 1 ranee, Onward thou sweepest to liberty s portal, Cheering thy people s triumphant advance. 60 CAED M1LLE FAILTHE. Weep, let the weak at thy heartrending story, Falter the coward when patriots call ; Records of Erin so thrilling and gory, Weaponed battalions must wipe out them all ! Trenched on the hills of our motherland, bleed ing. Fronting the ranks of her treacherous foe, Tongue of the musket must utter our pleading, Thunder a lan^uasre that tyrants shall know ! 61 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Bllen, Xarfein anfc 36rien. (Murdered by England, Nov. 23. 1867.) T N every land beneath the skies * Wherever throbs an Irish breast, To-day a prayer to God will rise The martyred heroes souls to rest, Who six and twenty years ago Proclaimed, upon the gallows tree, Full in the teeth of Ireland s foe, The gospel of the brave and free. Mid bristling steel and vengeful foes That cold November morn they stood, And fearless spake their country s woes While tyrants thirsted for their blood. "Vile England, murder us," they said, "But vengeance yet will grasp a brand And death will reap a harvest dread, Across the bosom of thy land ! " Adown the current of the years Their precious blood is borne along, Till, mingled with a nation s tears, It surges now a sea of wrong. 62 ALI.EN, LAKKIN AND O BRIEN. Some day twill rise in fearful wrath And sweep the yielding banks away Ah ! Saxon, change thy crime-paved path Kre it s too late the tide to stay ! The calm is now ; the storm is near ; Revenge is waiting not asleep ; Our wrongs have grown too great to bear, And Justice has no tears to weep. The shroudless victims of your crime From out their holy graves to-day Call to the Gael, in every clime, To sweep your tyrant rule away. () Allen, Larkin and O Brien! Immortal heroes ! names of light ! Your deathless words like beacons shine To guide our steps to freedom s height ; And when our banner, streaming free, Is planted on each Irish hill, Emblazoned on its folds shall be Your dying prayer to guard it still ! AT THE GATES OF XOOX. IReleasefc august, 1896. A T last they re free ! the gallant ones, their ** bondage night is clone, Their prison cells are open wide, they now can face the sun. But, God ! how lone and desolate the threshold where they stand Old friends are dead and times are changed they re strangers in the land ! With pallid face and sunken eye, and shattered health and mind, They totter from the prison door an early grave to find. Upon their bent and withered forms the people shud ring gaze, And ask aloud, "Are these the men we knew in other days ? " Great God ! what awful punishment, what tor ture, changed them so ? Was it the years of wild despair, or brutal jail or s blow ? 64 RELEASED, AUGUST, 1896. Could man to man be so unjust, so savage and unkind ? Hut they are free ay ! free to die a wreck in soul and mind ! You, Irishmen ! who prattle loud of "peace" and "British faith," Behold these seared and broken forms outflung to living death. Think, if you can, their late release is token of good will That England means to right the past and grant you justice still. O blind and brutal Kngland ! now drunk with wine of pride, Behold thy waning greatness and thy fortune s ebbing tide ! Think of the awful coming day when, through thy shattered square, The Irish millions, vengeance led, a lightning bolt shall tear. AT THE GATKS OF NOON. Sbamrocfcs from flrelarrt. O WEET sister, oh, sweet sister ! send, oh, send ^ across the sea, For the coming Patrick s morning, send some shamrocks green to me, How I ll prize them from thee, sister, God alone can ever know, For I love them, oh, I love them, and the land in which they grow. Yes, old Frin s faithful daughter, wheresoe er the exiles stray, Whether in the ice-bound Arctic, where there s but one night and day, Or beside the gates of morning, or where day" light sinks to rest, The green shamrock hills of Frin fond are treasured in each breast. And thy name, sweet sainted sister, in the South, North, Fast and West, Of all Frin s faithful children, is beloved the clearest, best ; 66 SHAMROCKS FROM IRELAND. And thy voice, wherever echoed, ever more thy name endears, And the weary-hearted exile cheers or floats his eyes in tears. But thy letter, ah ! to read it the sad tale of Erin s woes The long suffering of her children, the in justice of her foes ; Thy great efforts to redress them in the past and present years Ah ! twould wring from hearts of iron floods of salt and scalding tears. And they threaten thee with murder ? Oh, most valiant men and brave ! Land of \varriors and of heroes ! Land that never nursed a slave ! What ? A proud and mighty empire on which never sets the sun Claims the honor first to threaten murder to a saintly nun ! And the cause ! Oh, mankind, hear it ! Hear it, God in heaven above ! That she strove to feed through famine years, the hungry of her love ; 67 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Told the kind and listening world how the land lords flung the poor, When they had no more to plunder, starving, naked from their door. And they ll murder thee for telling ? By that God that made us all By the grave of every martyr, from Cork s Cove to Donegal, By our hopes and by our sorrows, if they lay a hand on thee, All the world cannot save them from being swept into the sea. For, though Ireland is down-trodden, robbed, and starved and begging there, And her tyrants fast have bound her even taxed the very air ; Though her sons are broken-hearted, and are driven to despair, To avenge thee, noble sister, there s an Ireland everywhere. And you say, dear, loving sister glorious news for all and me, Who were forced by law-made famine, from their country o er the sea, 68 SHAMROCKS FROM IRELAND. And who re ever longing, longing, that bright land again to see Though they ve taxed the periwinkles, still the shamrocks yet are free. Then, while they re free, oh, send me, for the coming Patrick s Day One bright wreath, and night and morning ever, ever shall I pray That you ll rise as bright and happy as the sun yet ever rose, On the wings of glorious triumph, o er your mean, unmanly foes. (I write to ask those of your leaders who wish tor shamrocks from Ireland for St. Patrick s day to give n e timely notice. Dean Swift said that the only thing in Ireland not taxed in his day was the air. Well, that is taxed now, as far as possible, for an attempt has been made by our paternal government to prevent meetings in the open air for the discussion of Irish grievances. But the shamrocks, as yet, are free. Let me add that even this may not continue, since periwinkles have been taxed by an Irish landlord Sifter )[an/ Francis Clare s Letter to the lioston Globe.} AT THE GATES OF NOON. B Sbamrocft from tbe flrisb Sbore. OWEET Shamrock from the Irish shore ! ^ O triple leaf ! beloved by me, I clasp thee to my heart once more, And kiss with joy thy verdancy. And as I gaze upon each stem Late rooted in my native clay, With tearful eyes I pray to Him To roll my country s clouds away. I feel like shouting o er the main To bid my countrymen arise And rend the foul, accursed chain That binds her weeping neith the skies - And place her on the throne of light Where she sat proudly long ago, Ere Saxon fraud and brutal might Wrapped round her form the cloak of woe. Dear Shamrock of my native shore ! What blissful scenes you call to view, You open Memory s bolted door, Revealing: all I loved and knew : 70 A SHAMROCK FROM THE IRISH SHORE. My cottage home the peaceful glade The winding stream that laughs along Where first my ardent thoughts essayed To soar aloft on wings of song. Again I see the hand of Dawn Roll back the curtains of the night, And hill and vale, and lake and lawn, Bathe in the flood of golden light, I climb Keash Corran s craggy steeps And musing sit upon his breast, While Evening o er the valley weeps, And Day yields calmly to the West. Shamrock from the Irish shore ! Immortal soul of minstrelsy ! 1 press thee to my lips once more And dream my native land is free. Oh ! may the sun of Freedom s day Uprise and bless thee with his light, Kiss from thine eyes the tears away The symbols of thy bitter night ! AT THE GATES OF NOON. Bear Sbamrocfe of flDp IRative Dale. F^vEAR Shamrock of my native vale ! *- What treasured memories throng around Of mountain, hill and flowery dale, Of spreading mead, and storied mound, Of fragrant groves, where minstrelsy Of Nature s songsters thrills the gale, As fondly, now, I gaze on thee, Dear Shamrock of my native vale ! Again I view the laughing stream That glides my native cot before : Upon its banks I sit and dream The dreams of boyhood o er and o er ; I join the headlong, careless throng In games made famous by the Gael, Each time I look thy leaves among, Dear Shamrock of my native vale ! And father s voice and mother s smile, And brothers, sisters, cherished dear, The friends whose words were free from guile, The comrades true from year to year ; DEAR SHAMROCK OF MY NATIVE VALE. Again I hear, again I see Oh, may such memories never fail ! While to my heart I m pressing thee Dear Shamrock of my native vale ! And Hope, once dead, triumphant cries, Though rent by hand of Destiny, The Gael shall yet all potent rise Linked in the chain of unity ; And sweep the foe from land and sea, And crown with Freedom Innisfail : Thus Hope to me, while kissing thee, Sweet Shamrock of my native vale ! 73 AT THE GATES OF NOON. St. Patrick s AWAKE from your slumbers, brave sons of the Gael ! The night is retiring, the daylight is near ; The music of Erin floats wild on the gale, Proclaiming the day of St. Patrick is here ! Awake from your dreaming, come forth in your pride, And join in the march neath the banner of green ; Let enemies frown, and let bigots deride The glory of Erin to-day must be seen. Wherever the day-god looks down from his home In forest or city or out on the sea (Alas! the poor exiles must everywhere roam) Thy sons, beloved Erin, are thinking of thee. They re longing and pining for that coming day When thy chains shall be rent, thy oppressors must fiee ; 71 ST. PATRICK S DAY. When they ll march through thy valleys in mar tial array, And the moans of the starving no longer shall be. Awake from your slumbers, you re dreaming too long! Has ever such dreaming a nation made free ? Ah ! dreaming will never right poor Erin s wrong The sooner you know it the better twill be. The moment is come in our land s saddened story, The time when each true son must play a brave part ; Shall we preach the old sermon or rush on to glory ? Who falters has in him a traitorous heart ! 75 AT THE GATES OF NOON. St. Patrick s H>a\? Hoasts. OH ! here s to green Erin, the place of my birth ! The sweetest and fairest of lands on the earth, And soon may she spring, in her olden-time glow, Enfranchised and strong from the grasp of her foe! And here s to the valiant, who battled and bled To lift the green high o er the Sassenach red ! That ever to country and freedom were true, Who tyrants might crus h but could never subdue ! And here s to the living wide rendered apart, But fixed in their love as the blood to the heart ! Oh ! theirs is the duty to dare and to do, The glory and fame of our land to renew ! And here s to "Old Glory, and long may it wave, The symbol of all that is dear to the brave ! ST. PATRICK S DAY TOASTS. May the vengeance of God blast the hand that would mar The sanctified sheen of each stripe and each star ! And here s to the heroes who bore it along, And trampled sedition, enslavement and wrong ; Oh ! proud is the boast, but who ll dare to deny That Irishmen battled to keep it on high ! Oh ! here s once again to our own mother isle, And soon may contentment and peace on her smile ; All tyrants must perish and kings pass away, But love for thee, Erin, will never decay. AT THE GATKS OF NOON. IT be Gallant IRintb, Read at presentation of the American and Irish Flags to the Ninth Regiment, M. V. M., Camp Dewey, Framingham, May 29, 1898. f~** ALLANT Ninth of Massachusetts ! you have ^^ heard the bugle-call Ringing out from Freedom s rampart from the Nation s sea-girt wall ; You have answered to the summons and await the last command Ere you rush away to battle, with the foemen of our land. Lo ! this flag ordained in heaven given by an angel bright To the chosen sons of valor, in their struggle for the right. You must bear it on its mission though the universe defy Onward bear it, and defend it, and beneath it win or die ! THE GALLANT NIN TH. Gallant Ninth ! this sacred banner erst your noble fathers bore, And it streamed a dread defiance where the foeman s bullets tore ! Like a meteor, through the tempest, blazed it over Malvern height, Where the noble Cass lay bleeding, and brave Guiney led the fight. Bogan ! take this starry banner it is dear to your command ! Take this green and golden symbol of another stricken land ! Bear them where the fight is fiercest, bring them back without a stain, And remember Mother Erin in your vengeance for the Maine ! 79 AT THE GATKS OF NOON. Spreafc tbe OPREAI) the Light! Spread the Light, in ^ Erin o er the sea ! Spread the Light both day and night till Motherland is free ; Spread the Light, my countrymen ! in village and in town, Till by its rays our country s wrongs for centu ries be known. Spread the Light, Spread the Light, in Krin o er the sea ! Till every heart is lit with love of home and liberty ; Spread the Light, and friends unite, and Erin soon shall stand Amid the nations of the earth a free and happy land. So SPREAD TIIK LIGHT. Spread the Light the glorious Light of Liberty and Peace And soon in Erin of the streams all tyranny shall cease ; Spread the Light ! our land twill right her ty rants quake with fear Their acts won t bear the light of day, and day is drawing near 1 Si AT THE GATES OF NOON. 2>OQ of Biuibnm. The battle of Aughrim was fought at the pass of Urrachree, on Sunday, July 12, 1691. The Williamite army, under Ginckle, consist ed of 45,000 horse and foot; the Irish force under St. Ruth, was about 15,000, and had only nine field pieces. The Williamites were thiice driven, with great slaughter, from their positions, when St. Ruth was killed by a cannon ball. To reap the glory, he had kept the plan of battle to himself, and when he tell the Irish were without a leader. Throughout the battle the gallant Sarsfield, with half the troops, was compelled to remain idle and ignorant of all. Many Irish regiments, scorning to fly, were slaughtered to a man; and their dead bodies, stripped of everything by the Williamites, were left unbuned on the field. There is a true and remarkable story of a wolf dog belonging to an Irish officer killed in the battle, whose body the dog guarded, night and day, and would not allow anybody to disturb the remains. He would go in the night to the adjacent villages for food, and return to the place where his master lay to resume his watch. Thus he contin ued for months, when one of Colonel Foulke s soldiers, going that way by chance, unslung his piece and shot the faithful sentinel dead upon the bones of his master. " "PHK day is ours, my gallant men," criedbrave 1 but vain St. Ruth, "We win a deathless victory for liberty and truth ; This land we ll wrest from William s grasp, though we re but one to three, And make his crew remember long the pass of Urrachree. "All day with myriad cannon have they poured the fierce attack ; With valor and the naked sword, thrice have we flung them back. 82 THE DOG OF AUGHRIM. They re beaten, boys ! they re beaten. Still un- sheath your swords again And on them like an avalanche, and sweep them from the plain." Like thunderbolt upon the foe the Irish column sped, Athlone s deep stain to wash away, St. Ruth is at the head. On, onward rolls that wave of death. O God ! what means that cry ? St. Ruth, the brave, upon his steed sits headless neath the sky ! "Oh ! where s the gallant Sarstield now ? Is victory defeat ? O God ! in mercy strike us dead, twere better than retreat. Where ! where is Limerick s hero brave ? " the chiefiess soldiers cry, And scorning flight, they wait the dawn to give them light to die. "No quarter ! " \vas the slogan of the Williamites that day, And graveless lay the murdered brave, to dogs and thieves a prey. AT THE GATES OF NOON. But even clogs more sacred held the dying and the slain, Than Ginckle and his hireling hordes on Augh- rim s bloody plain. When Saxon hends the scene of death and rob bery had lied, An Irish wolf-dog sought his lord mid heaps of pilfered dead, And strove, with more than human love to rob death of his prize, Then moaned a dirge above his breast, and kissed his lips and eyes. The July sun shone fiercely down upon that corpse-strewn plain, Where bird and beast of air and field devoured the naked slain. But faithful still, the wolf-dog stood, mid sav age growls and groans, To guard alike, from man and beast, his well- loved master s bones. And Autumn pencilled Summer s bloom in tints of gold and red, And Winter, over hill and dale, a ghostly mantle spread ; THE DOG OF AUGHRIM. The weird winds wailed across the moor and moaned adown the deli; Yet guarded well that noble dog his master where he feU. Spring timidly was glancing down upon that spreading plain, \Yhere, seven months, Death s sentinel, the faithful dog had lain, When carelessly across the fields a British sol dier trod And halted near the only bones remaining on the sod. Up sprang the faithful wolf-dog then he knew a foe was near, And feared that foe would desecrate the bones he loved so dear. Fierce and defiant there he stood; the soldier* seized with dread, Took aim and fired the noble dog fell on his master dead ! AT THE GATES OF NOOX. B picture of flrtsb 1bistor. i. woe o er Erin hangs its sombre veil, And wails and curses pierce the ambient gale; Despair and Murder hover o er the land, And outlawed Justice grasps her fiery brand. Sweet Peace, affrighted, quits the dreadful scene, And grim-faced Misery darkens all the green ; Pale-burning Hate lights up each sunken eye, And fiendish Bigotry stands grinning nigh. The kindly peasant views his home ablaze, His kindred outraged fore his tortured gaze ; The fruit of toil swept off for unjust tax, His recompense, the pitch-cap and the axe. The priest by bloodhounds hunted from the fane, The great reward, his hated head to gain ; Religion mocked at, and a well-soaped rope For all who are believed to love the Pope. 86 A PICTURE OK IRISH HISTORY. Ah ! who would dare to call his soul his own ! Dread crime and bribery, their crop have sown ; The fiends impatient for the coming fruit Ere it has ripened, steal the stem and root. Free speech is strangled, even hope is fled, And shackled liberty lies almost dead ; With altered eye the sun beholds the green When great O Connell looms upon the scene. II. Erect and towering as the mountain pine, He stands and muses on the land s decline ; The gathering clouds upon his massive brow Proclaim the conflict fast approaching now. As wolves affrighted seek the mountain cave, \Vhen downward thunders jagged rock and wave ! As cowards tremble neath the hero s lance, The foe recoils before his lightning glance. As traveler shudders in the starless night. When some great meteor flashes on his sight, And heaven thunders, all the earth replies, So shake the tyrants in wild, mute surprise. AT THE GATKS OF NOON The baffled monster sees his rule is o er, And trembling hurries to another shore, Or in the pest-well of foul shame and sin, Mokanna-like to hide him, plunges in. He speaks a nation to his standard flies, The sun looks smiling from the bending skies i The vales and mountains in a shout of glee Re-echo back, " Emancipated be!" To rend the hated and oppressive chains That bind his land, noiv every nerve he strains. The monsters, Fraud and Bribery, to kill, Tho unsuccessful, yet a victor still. III. What mean the trumpet and the clarion s note, That shrill and clear upon the morning float The ringing clatter of the horses tread, The gay procession winding far ahead These banners waving in the pulsing air, The green and orange mingled friendly there ? Why bare their heads as slowly on they come, And gaze with moistened eyes on Desmond s* home ? Lord Edward Fitzgerald 88 A PICTURE OF IRISH HISTORY. Is it a vision of great eighty-two, Or the Volunteers sprung to life anew ? Has Emmet started from his scrolless grave, Or Wolfe Tone bid again his pennons wave ? And yet no cannons frown on either side As on they march in martial pomp and pride ; No glittering spear reflects the noontide beam Tis not a vision not a passing dream. Behold yon shaft that lifts its head on high, Though muffled yet Olympian brow and eye. There, like the .stars that circle round the sun, They come to honor Ireland s greatest ONE. Unveil that brow ! and let the eagle eye Gaze on the scene of triumphs laughing nigh ; Inspire the land to battle bravely on, Till o er the mountains flashes freedom s dawn. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Ifamine in flrelan^ A GAIN, alas ! is heard the cry ** Up-pealing through the Irish sky, "Gaunt Famine stalks with frenzied eye From strand to strand, And breadless babes and mothers die Throughout the land." While in his van with axe and flame The men to terrify and tame, The crowbar brigands march and claim The yearly store To feed the landlords dogs and game On foreign shore. And is there not a hand to save The victims from starvation s grave ? Among the slaves, one tearless slave With unbent knees, Who d even from the masters crave The dregs and lees ? 90 FAMINE IN IRELAND. One man in either warring band That claims to represent the land, To bravely bid the people stand And hold their own ? Great God ! is manhood from the strand Forever flown ? Ah ! fondly I had hugged the thought The awful past a lesson taught, At least a little reason brought To sire and son They d act as men and brothers ought Till right was won. Vain dream ! The ghosts of millions dead, Upstarting from the ditches bed, The thousands howling now for bread In vain appeal ; They stand bewildered, faction led, While robbers steal. Unhappy land ! What was thy crime, Committed ere recorded time ? Thy sons, heroic, rise sublime Where er they roam ; And right the wrongs of every clime But thine, at home! AT THE GATES OF NOON. Yet thou hadst sons like brave O Xeil, Whose thunderous charge and lightning steel Oft made the Saxon foemen reel Upon thy plain ; And sons shall waken freedom s peal For thee again. And sons thou hadst in ninety-eight, Who wept blood tears at thy sad state, And toiled to rend the chain of hate And make thee free ; And though they could not conquer fate, They died for thee. My motherland ! I see thee still Rag-garmented upon the hill, Or lonely roaming by some rill, In grief bowed down. Ah, had I power to back my will, Thou dst wear thy crown. 92 ERIX S APPEAL. Erin s Hppeal. MEN of the Irish race ! And friends that are tried and true ! Erin turns her tear-stained face Again in appeal to you. She stands on the brow of day Behind is the sable night ; Before, the uncertain way, Half dim in the dawning light. "O give me your aid ! she cries, "The might of your tongue and brain ; Dark woe on my people lies, And round them a rusty chain ! One step and we greet the day ; The chain from each limb unbind O give me your aid, I pray ! The strength of each tongue and mind." O men of the Celtic race, And friends of a deathless Right ! And thou, with majestic pace That leadest the march of light ! 93 AT THE GATES OF NOON. O haters of wrong and crime, And lovers of liberty, True and brave of every clime, What what will your answer be ? O will it be weak and cold, Or thrilling with strength and cheer, Giving back the hope of old To that land long chained in fear ? Speak now, or never again, Dare claim that your souls are free ! That Isle in the circling main Has your honest sympathy. 94 A PLEA FOR UNITY. O B UMea for THmt\?. ,H for the clays the grand old days when Ireland s sons were one ! Oh for the chiefs the peerless chiefs who led the people on ! \Yhen every sun, from rath and dun, saw free dom s flag unfurled ; And Learning s blaze sent Christian rays to light the pagan world. Alas ! these days these warring days ah, sad it is to see The people s right, the people s might, rent by disunity ! The foe is bold, our leaders cold, and jealousy holds sway, The master mind, the ranks to bind, is not with us to-day. 95 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Let us again, my countrymen, unto ourselves be true, Renew the days the deathless days when Ire land glory knew ; Unite, unite, our wrongs to right, and let our motto be : "Faith, unity," from sea to sea, "and Christian charity." MKX OF IRELAND. /iDcn of ffrelanfc. MEN of Ireland ! shrined in story Are the deeds of fame and glory \Yrought in battle tierce and gory, By your sires of old ; Say, will you like slaves surrender That rare heritage of splendor, Country bleeds, will you defend her Like your fathers bold ? Proud their flag uprearing, Death they faced unfearing, Can you be their progeny And prove untrue to Erin ? Swear by wrongs of tearful ages, By the graves of martyred sages Crimes that stain her story s pages, Country to uphold 1 Men of Ireland, hunger-haunted ! Weaponed like your sires undaunted, Rise and rend the foemen vaunted, Sweep them from your shore ; 97 AT THE GATES OF NOON. And with love and hope undying, Mid the people s joyful crying Fling your ancient flag outflying, To the breeze once more. Better dead or dying On the hillside lying Mid the brave, than live a slave The tyrants needs supplying ; Onward ! did your fathers falter ? On ! for God s and Freedom s altar ; Strike for crimes of rack and halter, Strike till wrong is o er ! SELF-RELIANCE. Self=1Reliance. Trust not for freedom to the Franks, They have a king who buys and sells, In native swords and native ranks. Your only hope of freedom dwells. BKYON. would that Ireland s sons would take This glorious lesson once to heart, And from the sleep of bondage wake, And on the road to freedom start. Oh would at last they learned to know, If they would bid the foe defiance, And ever strike a winning blow 7 , Their hope and shield is Self-Reliance ! Tis well to win the stranger s ear, Tis good to have a nation friend, But when the storm king rages near Can foreign friendship shelter send ? Have ships on ev ry sea to ride, Be versed in all the "modern science," The rock, when rolls war s dreadful tide, That will resist, is Self-Reliance. 99 AT THE GATES OF XOOX In years gone by our fathers tried To break the chain that binds our land. The foe that now assails defied, And nobly bared the gleaming brand, But, though they braver were than we, And then the foe was less defiant, Their struggles ended wretchedly, And why ? They were not Self-Reliant. Then take a lesson from the past, And though yours be a mighty foe Defeated she must sink at last Neath a united people s blow. For never yet has history shown By ancient force or "modern science," A state or nation overthrown Whose motto had been Self-Reliance. Oh God ! it pains my soul to hear That still there live in that green land Degenerate sons, who quake with fear To see their brothers grasp the brand ; Who d rather crawl in servile dust, Than rise and bid the foe defiance Who think it sin her chains to burst And sneer and jeer at Self-Reliance. SELF-RELIANCE. But onward ! Sons of Innisfail ! The bright and glorious goal is nearing, On mountain top and down the vale Behold hope s rays at last appearing. Let cowards mock ! let cravens fear ! We ll use for Freedom each appliance, The dawn is here, the skies grow clear If in your heart be Self-Reliance. AT THE GATES OF NOOX. IRoscommon s Welcome to parnell. f~^ AEI) mille failthe ! Ireland s hope and Eng- ^ land s steadfast foe, Caed mille failthe to the West, thou soother of our woe ! Oh, how our inmost hearts are filled with pride and honest glee, The poor man s friend, the tyrant s foe, amongst us here to sec From towering heath-robed Corleus, to Mul- lagh s craggy side, From Galway s fair and spreading meads to stately Shannon s tide, From peasant s cot and lordly dome, the young man and the gray, We come, with banners, swelling strains, to welcome you to-day. Yes, in our tens of thousands strong, of every class and creed (Though other things we differ in, in this we have agreed ;) ROSCOMMOVS WELCOME TO PARNELL. We re here, the arched sky our roof, the listen ing world to tell, We re grateful for your noble acts, and that we love you well. For where s the land beneath the sky that has not on its breast, By tyrants driven from their homes, some exiles from the West ? And where s the land beneath the sky that has not heard thy fame ? Or Irish heart but treasures well thy highly honored name ? Oh, if our prayer can pierce yon sky and reach His ear above, Or if the love we bear to thee can our great Father move, To Him we ll pray both night and day to shield thee with His hand, And leave thee, Parnell, long to us and our be loved land. 103 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Bncieut i^er ot ibibernians. "THE A. O. H., the A. O. H., God bless it * night and day, And may the angels guide and guard and keep it from decay. Oh, may it grow from age to age in strength and unity, And link the Gael in friendship s chain and Christian charity ! In evil days, when Ireland sank immersed in Penal gloom, It rose the messenger of Hope from out the Nation s tomb, Stood strong as granite battlement around the stricken Gael, And scourged full oft in breach and field the bloodhounds of the Pale. It held aloft the torch of faith and morals in the land, And guarded well the hunted priest when Erin s creed was bann d. 104 ANCIENT ORDER OF HIBERNIANS. The magic tongue of bard and chief, the golden C eltic lore, It snatched from out oblivion s grave to live for evermore. It clasps the exile to its breast beneath whatever sky, Relieves the widow in distress and dries the or phan s eye. The poor, the friendless and the sick receive its tender care, And for its dead ascends to God its daily fervent prayer. Ere spoke the guns of Lexington across the sea it came, The foeman heard on Bunker Hill and trembled at its name. On field and flood, Columbia ! wherever thun dered Mars, To glory, fame and victory it bore the Stripes and Stars. And in the future as the past twill battle in the van For justice, right and liberty for every creed and clan ; AT THE GATES OF NOON. As faithful guard the starry flag on its adopted strand As ever did its valiant sires the green on native land. The A. O. H., the A. (). H., God bless it night and day ! And may the angels guide and guard and keep it from decay ! Still may it grow, from age to age, in strength and unity, And link the Gael in friendship s chain and Christian charity. 1 06 LINES SUGGESTED BY THE OPERA OK "BRIAN BORU. v> tbe pera of "Brian Boru." T SA\\ brave Brian Boru to-day * Lead on his clans in bright array, And though it was in mimic play, My soul was thrilled To see the harp and sunburst rly Uncrowned, beneath the Irish sky ; The victor-chiefs all gathered nigh My dream fulfilled. The past unrolled its page to me Not that retraced by bigotry, But truth s own tale of chivalry And high emprise Clontarf beheld upon her plain When sank the stormy-hearted Dane To never rise nor right again Xeath Irish skies. And as I mused upon each line Where Erin s ancient glories shine, I sorrowed for my land s decline Her ceaseless woe ! 107 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Still Hope triumphant in my breast Cried, "Sons heroic yet shall wrest Her lawful right and queenly crest, From Saxon foe." O God ! it is a splendid sight, When rush the chivalry and might Of ancient Krin to the right Their king before ; With banners streaming high and free, Kissed by the winds of liberty, While, bannerless, the British flee From hill and shore. Oh ! would that it were fact, not play ! Oh ! would that I could see the day The Saxon hordes were swept away From my dear land ! When, at free Erin s trumpet call, The chiefs and clans would gather all, And wake again, through Tara s hall, The music grand ! 108 THE HOUSE OF LORDS MUST GO. TTbe Ibouse of Xoros flfcust Go. HOUT the cry from hill and valley, In the workshop and the store, Let it ring through street and alley, From the centre to the shore. Swell it loud, ye friends of Freedom ! Be you Irishmen or no, That the people must have justice, And the House of Lords must go ! Through the ages we have suffered And most humbly bent the knee, Pleaded with our pampered masters, For relief and liberty. With contempt and sneer they ve answered, Aye ! and often with a blow ! Slaves, or men ! will this continue ? Do I hear you answer, No! Twas but yesterday we asked them For that holy human right, That was given to all people When the Great God gave them light. 109 AT THE GATES OF NOON. With a scornful "no" they answered, Ah ! how long will this be so ? Men ! Awake ! We must have freedom, And the lazy lords must go ! Yes, arise ! and by the millions Who have vainly cried for bread ! By the bones that lie uncoffined, In the ocean s slimy bed ! By the famine-murdered parents ! And the outraged sisters, swear ! Tyrant rule, class domination, Must be ended everywhere ! AT LAST. Ht Xast. (England is on her knees in the Transvaal. For once she pleads, not for justice, but for mercy for her sons. For once she admits that though justice may be all right, it is not always the best thing. It took many warnings to reveal her position to her, but at last she under stands. Cablegram to Daily Press.) f~\ GOD be praised ! mine eyes have seen the ^-^ joyful day at last ! Mine ears have drunk the thrilling news re echoed in the blast ! The robber of the poor and weak in every land and sea, For life and mercy humbly pleads, on lowly- bended knee. Perfidious Britannia ! thou curse of every clime ! There couldst not be a God of right if lasting was thy crime ; The Godhead spoke ; thy galling yoke melts from each neck away, And thou, by every land despised, standst fear fully at bav. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Glory to God ! the plundered now will have their own again, And deep revenge will doubly pay for centuries of pain ! The mercy which you never gave and which you crave to-day Avenging swords will only grant when ended is thy sway. From north and south and east and west, from mountain, lake and sea, Wherever tossed thy blighting flag of fraud and treachery ; Wherever pressed by pirate feet to pillage and to slay, A prayer and hope to God ascends for thy de feat to-day. Beloved Erin ! Motherland ! My tearful queen ! My own ! Betrayed, reviled and battle-scarred, long exiled from thy throne, What mercy did the tyrant grant to all thy pleading tears ? What justice to thy children wronged through many hundred years ? AT LAST. Arise, Lord Edward ! Brother Shears ! Rise true and lofty Tone ! Immortal Emmet ! martyr boy, from neath thy scrolless stone ! Come Allen, Larkin and O Brien from out your quick-lime grave And tell of England s mercy and the justice that she gave ! Up from the bosom of the deep, ye shroudless thousands come, By sword and famine forced to flee from kindred and from home ! Arise ! ye millions starved to death, while ship loads left your land, And point to-day to England vile, the grim, accusing hand ! Glory to God ! the plundered now will have their own again ; And sweet revenge will doubly pay for centuries of pain ! The mercy which she never gave and which she craves to-day, Avenging swords will only grant when ended is her sway ! AT THK GATES OF NOON. Dow ot tbe E.iilefc Gelt. T WILL not curse the Saxon land, * Nor will I curse the Saxon men, Though I m an exile, banished, banned, And ne er can see my land again ; Though childhood s home was razed to earth By fiendish laws and fiendish men, I will not curse their acts nor birth God knows their wealth of crime and sin. But hate them, yes ! With deadly hate, While e er within my heart or veins One ruddy drop does circulate, One flickering ray of life remains. And I will feed that deathless hate With every crime and every wrong Inflicted on my land, to date, Since Saxon trod its hills among ! I have no other aim in life Than to avenge my country s past ; Than nerve my brothers for the strife The strife, thank God ! approaching fast : VOW OF THE EXILED CELT. Than plant in them the same deep hate. My foe has been my brother s foe, My fate has been a million s fate How easy then the seed to sow ! Vile Saxon ! Didst thou yet begin To con the debt you ll have to pay When millions of my countrymen Will seek revenge the reaping day ? And oh ! that day s not distant now The dawn s first glimmer gilds the sky ; I read it in each knitted brow, J see it in each brother s eye. And, when it comes, let no man yield ; We will not, cannot, mercy show ; Our fathers blood from every field, From every stream, would thunder, "No ! " Would cry : "They never justice gave To hoary head or lisping child, Roll on them like an earthquake wave, Too long our land they have defiled." AT THE GATES OF NOON. ZTbe Exile to fbis Son. a shelving cliff by the restless sea The exile sat at the close of day, In the great broad land of the brave and free, Where starry flags in the breezes play ; And sad he seemed, and old and weak, Though scarce past life s meridian day ; The shade of death was on his cheek, His brow was ridged, his locks were gray. Low at his feet reclined a boy A blue-eyed boy with golden hair, The exile s pride and only joy ; And, wise was he, and brave as fair. He gazed into his father s face And mutely drank each word he said : Like wind-swept cloudlet s shadow chase, Unconscious flushes came and fled. 116 THE EXILE TO HIS SOX. "Thirty years," the old man cried, "Ay, thirty weary years this day, Since, leaning o er the big ship s side, I watched loved Erin fade away. Oh ! looked she then so bright and grand, Dressed in the flowery robes of May, The bridegroom Ocean, with his hand Laving her feet in milky spray! "You wonder that I weep, my boy, But sure you never saw that land ; Ah ! you know not the wealth of joy I buried ere I left its strand. You ll never know the cherished dreams 1 nursed alone beside that sea, When moonlight beams seemed sabre gleams, And Ocean s voice spoke Liberty. "Where towering heath-robed Knock-na-Reagh Majestic rises from the sea, And sentry-like guards Sligo bay, Our cottage nestled peacefully ; My parents, sister Nell, and me Ah ! Nellie was the village queen Lived happy and contentedly, ( )ur home the neatest could be seen. AT THE GATES OF NOON. "The landlord came, and without cause He cast us out one winter day Accursed be their Saxon laws ! Ere night our home a ruin lay. Beneath a hedge we made our bed, No neighbor dared his roof to share The morning found my parents dead, And Nellie moaning in despair. "Next day, poor Nellie, raving wild, Was placed behind the madhouse bars But God was kind to the homeless child, And took her soul beyond the stars ; That night above my parents clay The very night poor Nellie died I vowed the monster vile to slay ; I slew him in his drunken pride ! "You start I see your horror gaze ; Yes, murder is a dreadful thing; But trace the cause through all its maze, Back to its poisoned parent spring ; View, as I viewed, your parents slain, Your sister in the madhouse, dead, And no redress a frenzied brain A homeless outcast, vengeance-led." 118 THE EXILE TO HIS SOX. The old man paused, and sorrow s tears, Long pent, now Mowed like summer showers, As memory ran across the years And traced again youth s happy hours. He shuddered, and a piercing look The bright and gentle boy he gave ; With firm, fierce clasp his hand he took, As up the moon sprang from the wave. "My boy, come swear by yonder star, That late has seen my suffering land By all the wrongs that were and are, And all my country s martyred band By all the torture and the pain The tyrant caused that land and me, You ll ever give your strength and brain To Erin, till she s ransomed, free !" The wind was still, the ocean spoke In murmured whispers on the shore, The sea-fowl scarce an echo woke, The crag-tossed torrent ceased its roar. Up stood the youth before his sire, The moon gleamed on his flushing brow, His blue eyes flashed with patriot fire, As slow he spoke his father s vow. 119 AT THE GATES OF NOON". Up sprang the old man from his seat, And round the youth his arms he flung " .Via bouchal bci-wri, ne er may defeat"- No other word e er spoke his tongue. His arms relaxed a gasp ! a moan ! In vain the youth raised up his head: "Oh, father, leave me not alone ! " In vain he cried his sire was dead ! THE DYING EXILE. H>\?imi nearer, nearer to my bed, And raise the pillow neath my head, Eor I would speak a word to you Ere I, forever, bid adieu. My hours of life are numbered now, 1 feel death s seal upon my brow, And fast, before my fading sight, The day is sinking into night. Ah ! tis a lonely thing to die Alone, beneath a foreign sky. Afar from all you cherish dear, With not a kindred spirit near ; No soothing voice, nor tender hand To quench the scorching fever brand ; No tear to hallow parting love, Nor prayer to waft the soul above. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Up sprang the old man from his sent, And round the youth his arms he tiling ".I/a bouchal ba~utt, ne er may defeat"-- No other word e er spoke his tongue. His arms relaxed a gasp ! a moan ! In vain the youth raised up his head: "Oh, father, leave me not alone ! " In vain he cried his sire was dead ! THE DYING EXILE. nearer, nearer to my bed, And raise the pillow neath my head, For I would speak a word to you Ere I, forever, bid adieu. My hours of life are numbered now, I feel death s seal upon my brow, And fast, before my fading sight, The day is sinking into night. Ah ! tis a lonely thing to die Alone, beneath a foreign sky, Afar from all you cherish dear, With not a kindred spirit near ; No soothing voice, nor tender hand To quench the scorching fever brand ; Xo tear to hallow parting love, Xor prayer to waft the soul above. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Ah ! this to dying adds a pain ; Yet longer I would not remain, And oft I sought on fields of death A solace for my weary breath. Wherever Freedom s banner led, Wherever Truth and Honor bled, My sword leaped from its scabbard bright, And flamed the foremost in the right. I saw my hapless motherland Lie bleeding neath the tyrant s hand ; I heard the starving orphan s cry, Beheld the famished millions die Along the ditches and the moor, While ships bore plenty from the shore ; And when I said "It must not be," They tortured and transported me. Oh ! you that know the penal cell, The monsters, more like fiends of hell Than sons of men, who guard the chain That links the convict to his pain ; You, you, alone can ever say The wrongs I suffered clay by clay, Till God, in mercy, showed to me The path that led to liberty. THE DYING EXILE. But freedom s naught to him who s banned From home and love and native land, And oh ! these ever were to me More dear than life or liberty ; Vet, far from all, my bones must rest, But listen tis my last request, And if you ever tread our land, Its true fulfilment I demand. I knew a maiden long ago, The only daughter of my foe The foe of all my land and race The tyrant of my native place ; But she was beautiful as day Reposing in the arms of May, And gentle as the balmy sigh The blowing rosebud breathes anigh. In her the lowly and oppressed, The poor, the homeless and distressed, Had ever found a gentle friend, To soothe, to pity and defend ; And long she labored day and night The people s many wrongs to right, And oft and oft she wept to see Her tyrant father s cruelty. 123 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Kind friend, this package take from me, And guard it well and tenderly, This is her name, and that the place (Yes, she is of the Saxon race), And if she s living, understand I charge you place it in her hand, But tell her not a single word Of me, or all you now have heard. But, if she s dead, above her breast Just place the simple legend, "Rest." We ll meet above A frosty wave Swept o er his face tear-wet and grave, And froze the sentence half unsaid Most tenderly I raised his head, But Death had touched him with his sword And sent his spirit to its Lord. WILL I REMEMBERED BE 11 IRememberefc JBe? MY love, my life, my hope, my pride, My all on earth to me, My native land, my childhood s home, I leave to night and thee ; I go to lands far, far away Beyond the heaving sea ; Ah ! when an exile there I stray, Will 1 remembered be ? I know my lot in that far land, A lot of toil must be ; Ah me ! how willing were my hand Were all that toil for thee. I feel thy face on earth again I never more shall see, But ah ! to know, will kill my pain, That I ll remembered be. Oh, tell me when at eventide, Or at the noon of day, The slowly-winding Suck beside, You sit or musing stray, 127 AT THE GATES OF NOON Where we first wove our web of love In wildest ecstacy, And vowed to ever faithful prove \Yill I remembered be ? Or when in halls of mirth and light You mingle with the brave, They tell you of the glorious fight They fought their land to save ; And when they whisper low and sweet Their tale of love to thee, With lips well practised in deceit, Will I remembered be ? Yon moon that now from heaven s floor Smiles down upon this scene, Will cease its silvery flood to pour On lake and valley green ; Those bright and trembling stars will set, This bower will withered be ; But this fond heart can ne er forget My native land or thee. 128 AH, WELL I LOVE MY NATIVE LAND. Bb, Well 11 Xove /IDs IRattve Xanfc. A H, well I love my native land * The land my fathers dearly cherished ; Its vales and hills and mountains grand, Defending which, they nobly perished; Its silvery lakes and sparkling streams, Its ruins ivy-clothed and hoary, In which I still catch lingering gleams Of Erin s past, unrivaled glory. Each fragrant dell and dreamy glen, Where, when a child, my father brought me To see his corps of Eenian men To love my Erin thus he taught me. And, oh, I never shall forget Their ringing cheer, their sabres clashing, I think I see them marching yet, Their bayonets in the moonlight flashing. 129 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Ah, no ! they re scattered far and wide, Some in the prison cells are weeping, Some far beyond the ocean s tide, And some in mother earth are sleeping. Oh, how I long to grasp the sword, And stand in line as father taught me, To hear the cheer, the marching word, Ring in the glen where father brought me. 130 HOME. 1bome. OH ! who on earth has ever heard, From human lips or singing bird, A sweeter tone, a dearer word, Than home ? More love, more joy, more bliss is found, Than earth contains within its round, In that sweet, simple little sound My home. The sailor tossed upon the sea, Wrapt in the maze of reverie, Starts with the joy of slave made free At sound of home. The pilgrim on his lonely way Beguiles the weary hours away With memories sweet of childhood s day And home. The soldier watching through the night, And waiting for the morning light, Forgets the coming bloody tight In thoughts of home. AT THE GATES OF NOOX. The exile mid eternal snow, Or delving deep in earth below, Still dreams, amid increasing woe, Of home. And as I sit this Christmas Eve Within my room, and think and grieve, What web of memories I weave Of home ! Of childhood s home beyond the sea, But home, alas ! no more to me. Ah, greatest, darkest misery, I have no home ! How many more in Innisfail Tell every piercing, passing gale The same heartrending, woeful tale Of ravished home ! How many more this Christmas Eve Along the ditches sadly weave The same sad web, and dying, grieve Eor home ! HOME. Oh, God of justice ! will there be An end to Erin s misery, And will her tyrants find with Thee A home ? Will those who suffer here below, Whose life is one long night of woe, With Thee no brighter glory know, No sweeter home ? AT THE GATES OF NOON. Ube autumn Daps. \\ 7 HAT days so rare as the autumn clays, When the morning beams or the golden rays Of the setting sun, like a gleaming lance On the burnished shield of the forest glance ? The days of spring, like a flirting maid, May enchant the eye with their light and shade* But their pleasures pall on the conscious heart, Like the fleeting glow of her soulless art. The summer days, with their dreamy calm, May steep the mind in a sensuous balm, But the spotless soul and the sleepless eye And the nerveless frame from the drug would fly. And the winter days may whisper "rest" To the shattered heart and the weary breast, But over and over their storm-swept page Are the deep footprints of unchanging age. THE AUTUMN DAYS. O ! never were days like the peerless days When Autumn unrolls to the raptured gaze Of the lofty soul and the searching eye All her pencilled gems, on the earth and sky, AT THE GATES OF NOON. \17HY do all poets sing to May And bend the knee to "royal June," Unless it^is one rhymes with lay The other, easily with tune ? Why are the other months unsung ? Have they no beauty in their eye ? Perchance they trip the rhymer s tongue But I will sing thee, clear July ! Thou art so beautiful to me Each golden morning, noon and eve ; And oh ! thy nights entrancingly Begem each fancy-web 1 weave. Sweet Summer s full-grown daughter thou, With heaving breast and love-fraught sigh Close to my soul I clasp thee now, And kiss thy rosy lips, July. With thee I ll wander down the vale, Or climb the craggy, breezy hill, The lake, sun-kissed and pulsing, sail, Or sit beside the laughing rill. 136 JULY. Beneath the tangled forest shade, \Yhere Nature s brood is sweetly shy, I ll twine a fragrant, flowery braid And wreathe thy brow, my queen, July Or, if thou wilt, beside the sea, Where wavelets steal to kiss the strand, And where unrivaled thou shalt be, I ll wander with thee hand in hand. Where white-winged skiffs swift skim the bay, And Neptune blinds the day-god s eye, I ll still be near and homage pay And deem thee peerless, fair July. AT THE GATES OP^ NOON. \17HERK do the gods and goddesses dwell, Of which the learned speak ? Is Venus home in a pink sea shell ? Is Neptune s throne on the ocean s swell ? And Jove s in the lightning streak ? Does Pluto reign in the world of Night ? Are all his subjects dark ? Are Luna s eyes those lamps of light That, glimmering, hang in heaven s height And quench when sings the lark ? Is Vulcan throned in .-Etna s fire ? Does yet his anvil ring ? Does Clio s hand still grasp the lyre ? Or Thalia mask each young desire, And Polyhymnia sing ? Where does Pallas hold her court ? Are all her courtiers wise ? Does Mars command a British fort ? Or is he of Wolseley making sport Beneath Soudanian skies? 138 WHERE ARE THE GODS? And thousand other gods, whose names Are known to learned man, And nymphs divine whose rival claims The Romans honored with festive games When Echo slighted Pan. AT THE GATES OF NOON. s Christmas DACK through the mist of vanished years *-* fond memory wings her way To friends and scenes I knew and loved in childhood s blissful day ; To comrades true who played with me around the firelight bright O memory ! let me live with them again this Christmas night. Oh, let me take my father s hand and press it to my lip ! And lay my head on mother s breast, her honeyed kisses sip ! With sisters, brothers, steal from bed to place the candle light In every window, as I did on boyhood s Christ mas night. 140 BOYHOOD S CHRISTMAS NIGHT. And dream again of Santa Claus the things I wished he d bring, And sleep the sleep of innocence untouched by sorrow s sting ; Wake to behold my hopes fulfilled a new day dawning bright A day of joy as once I did on boyhood s Christmas night. The stranger-land may freely give all things the worldly prize, And equal place the lord and slave in law and freedom s eyes ; But, ah ! it never can restore the peace and pure delight The exile knew, in native land, on every Christ mas night. There is within the Celtic heart a something half divine, Most tender, true and passionate no stranger can define, That fits the exile to the land wherever he may roam, But chains his love, through weal and woe, to native land and home. 141 AT THE GATES OF NOON. I have my share of bliss and joy I know the pangs of woe And hope still leads me to the steep where glory s baubles glow ; But I would lay me down to-night, nor wake to life and light, If twould restore the joys I knew, on boyhood s Christmas night. 142 OLD YEAR, GOOD BYE. OLD Year, Good bye ! Old Year, good bye ! Earth fadeth from thy sight, And dissolution s cloak draws nigh To curtain thee in night. Tis sad, of all who hailed thy birth "With merry song and cheer, How few deplore thy end on earth, Or weep around thy bier ! O, ripple of the sea of time Receding from the shore ! Many who cheered thy natal chime Have gone, ah ! gone before ; Many who glowing promise gave Hailed thee with hearts elate Are now within the silent grave, Or mono: the desolate. AT THE GATES OF NOOX. Oh, leave with us, thou dying Year ! The wisdom-lore thou hast That we life s barque may safely steer Through rocks that wrecked our past, To light us on the path of truth Throughout our earthly span To save from shame the erring youth The wayward youth and man. i 44 THE SEA. Tlbe Sea. "THE sea, the sea, the chainless sea, * Restless ever and ever free, Beyond proud tyrant man s control ; True type of the immortal soul, The sea, the sea, the changeful sea ! Majestic, mystic, main for me. Now dancing, gliding on the strand Like playful children hand in hand, Now rolling high with rush and roar, Like giants struggling on the shore ; Now laughing round the rocks in glee, Like prisoned spirits just made free. Now sobbing, sighing, sad refrain, As if its soul were thrilled with pain ; Now rearing high its gleaming crest As if despair had seized its breast ; Till now with awful frenzied roar Its marshalled columns charge the shore. H5 AT THE GATES OF NOOX. The sea, the sea, the faithful sea, Teacher ever and guide to me ; Reflecting true this state called life, Human passion, sorrow and strife, But constant still to God s command, Kissing the beach or lashing the strand. 146 TO MY FATHER. TTo jflDv? Jfatber. H, my father, dearest father ! dearer far than life to me ; More beloved than life was ever, dearer far than life could be, Tell me soon, and tell me truly, ah ! I m longing for to know And to know it, dearest father, might dispel this cloud of woe If, when brothers and my sisters and the friends my childhood knew, In the Spring and Winter evenings by the fire side sit with you ; Or in mellow Autumn weather, or when Summer decks the lea, As they roam my native valleys, do they ever speak of me ? 47 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Oh, they would, beloved father ! if they knew the love I bear, And the wild and passionate longing once again be with them tJicrc If they knew the pain and anguish and the dreadful cloud of woe That has ridged my youthful forehead, hangs above where er I go ; All the toil and all the hardships that are mine from year to year ; How my broken heart is bleeding - all my flowers of hope are sere ; How the days drag slowly onward, through the night I fight with care, Lest it would dethrone my reason lest I wither in despair. And bright hopes were mine in boyhood, nur tured by a fancy bright As the crystal drops that linger in the flowerets after night ; They were hopes, beloved father, that some fu ture day I d stand Mid the great and valiant champions of my hapless Motherland ; TO MY FATHER. That some day when I d be stronger, as you taught me I would wield Till the Saxon foe was routed, your bright brand in battle-field I would die, as died your father, or I d make my country free, But my youthful hopes have perished I m an exile o er the sea ! Far away from all I cherish all on earth that s dear to me What care I how soon I perish ? Father, I ve forgotten thee ; In my anguish, I forgot thee, but I know thou wilt forgive, Yes, to see thee and my Erin, through all tor ments I would live Live to see the spreading valley that I love with all my soul, And the winding, green-fringed rivers dancing, laughing as they roll See my brothers and my sisters, and the friends who care for me , I would live to strike for Erin ! I would live to see her free ! 149 AT THE GATES OK NOON. Then I care not when I perish, for I long to be at rest See my long-lost darling mother in the kingdom of the blest. Then I care not ; ah ! I care not when my sun of life may set, For my dawn has been a sad one, and the noon tide sadder yet. But I ll stop this dreadful wailing, have I not a soul and mind ? Can I paint no brighter picture one more cheering to mankind ? No ; the great God never gave me life to fritter thus away ; I will burst the bonds that bind me, I will rush into the day. A MOTHER S LAMENT FOR HKR CHILO B flfcotber s OLament for foer Cbilo. H ! pulse of my heart and light of my day ! My joy and my comfort, my bright hope and stay ! Flower of my soul, my sweet, idolized one, Why hast thou withered and left me alone ? Dream of delight, thou hast faded away From the shore of existence like sun-kissed spray, And left in my bosom a living regret That, try as I may, I can never forget. Bright were thy locks as the eve s golden sky, And heaven s own blue could not rival thine eye. Fair was thy brow as the young apple spray, A.nd lovely thy smile as a morning in May. Sweet was thy breath as the rose s perfume, And thy voice soft as angel-harps breathing in tune. Too fair was thy spirit for prison of clay, The ang els released it and bore it away. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Who will now cheer me the long, dreary day ? Thou wert anear me when all were away. Ah ! merciless Death, why didst thou destroy The flower of my soul, my own idolized boy ? Peace, breaking heart ! let him sleep ; it is well, He s fled from the strife amid angels to dwell Gone where the glory of sunshine and shower Will nurture eternal my beautiful flower. LEO XIII. GOLDEN JUBILEE. Xeo XIII. Golfcen Jubilee. pole to pole, from rise of sun Until it kneels before the West, Where treasured are great deeds well done, Wherever throbs a Christian breast, Let Pagans roll to Heaven on high, Te Deums mingle grand and free, The prince of princes neath the sky, Doth celebrate his jubilee! Ten lustrums rolled adown the past Since Damietta hailed him lord ; Grim War since then oft blew his blast, But saintly Leo sheathed the sword. Perugia, trembling in the grasp Of bandit chiefs and lawless guile, Beheld his iron arm unclasp The chains that would her shrines defile. Along the current of his years Honor s gems are thickly cast ; The monuments that genius rears All earthly titles will outlast. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Much more is he than what is great ; The world no more to him can bring He sits in Peter s royal state, Is Nature s and Religion s King. His path is sloping down the west, The gorgeous light of eve is near ; Yet can his master mind attest In righting wrong, that it is clear. Oh, may the sunset splendid be ; But grant, O God, us one request, That many years shall come and flee, Ere Thou shalt take him to the blest. 54 WHAT CATHOLICS HAVE DONE FOR AMERICA. Mbat Catbolics 1bav>e Bone ffor Bmerica. J\ A EN have said and preached and written for * a hundred years and more, That the Catholics were never an advantage to this shore. They have shouted, lay and cleric, of the "pa triotic" clan, That America owes nothing to the "Roman Irishman. Come and read our country s story, and behold how they have lied, See how Catholics discovered, and the Irish for her died ! Lo, La Casa, famous Pinzon, with Columbus in command, Leaving sunny Spain behind them for a vision ary land. 55 AT THE GATES OF NOON. And Americus Vespucius, kneeling at the papal throne, Asking God to bless and guide him, in his quest of lands unknown. What were they ? I ask the bigots were they Catholic by birth ? Found they not for all God s people, best and greatest land on earth ? At what altar prayed the Cabots, great De Soto and Champlain, And the world-renowned Ualboa, who first saw the peaceful main ? Ponce de Leon, Varrazani, valiant Cortez and La Salle, Father Marquette, Monk La Carron, who Lake Huron loved so well. And the Admiral Magellan, who first sailed the globe around, And Cartier, who Canada and the grand St. Lawrence found ? 156 \VHAT CATHOLICS HAVE DONE FOR AMERICA. Few I name, but they were potent in revealing this broad land From the icy hills of Greenland to the torrid polar strand. Turn a page, and view the founders of our cities and our States, From Quebec to St. Augustine, onward to the Golden Gates. Were not Catholics the foremost ? First and only in that day To protect and grant all people right to worship their own way ? Read the Revolution s story written by a truthful hand See the Catholics who suffered and the outer ramparts manned At Long Island, Trenton, Princeton, Brandy- wine and Germantown, Monmouth, Moultrie and Point Stony, Valley Forge of sad renown, AT THE GATKS OF XOON. And whose blood bedewed each valley, and en- crimsoned every rill, From the banks of Yorktown River back to blood-stained Bunker Hill. Who was founder of our navy in those dark and doubtful days ? Will Jack Barry and McDonough ever win the bigot s praise ? Know they not that sons of Patrick, who it seems they cannot bear, Saved our Washington and army from starvation and despair ? Do they know that "Romish" Poland, "popish Spain and "papist" France, Sent their ships to aid our struggle, warlike men with gleaming lance ? Have they heard of great Pulaski, Rochambeati and Lafayette, The immortal Kosciusko, whose fame s sun shall never set ; 158 WHAT CATHOLICS HAVE DONE FOR AMERICA. Gallant Moylan, and O Brien ; Carroll, he whose noble hand Signed the scroll of independence for the State of Maryland, And the thousand other brave men, who fought well for Freedom s Chart, And whose names and deeds are graven on the Nation s grateful heart ? And again in the Rebellion ! Lo, the records brave and bright, Of the fearless sons of Erin in the awful, bloody fight At Fair Oaks and Lookout Mountain, Gettys burg of deathless fame ; Shiloh, Corinth and Antietam Glory yet de lights to name. And at Fredericksburg and Vicksburg where they charged through shot and shell, Till the rebels ran before them as from out the mouth of hell ; 59 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Heard they of heroic Meagher, dashing Sheri dan and Shields, Dauntless Corcoran, Phil Kearney, hero of Chantilly s fields ; But why thus pursue the story of the Catholic s high deeds ; It is simply wasting paper for the bigot never reads. 1 60 A CHILD. H CMI&. A VIOLET of the early spring, ** Or snowdrop only half revealed, Or like a primrose blossoming In some sequestered, south-kissed field, Death-chilled by lingering Winter s breath ; Cold lay the darling baby boy Within the frosty lap of Death, While round him wept Love, Hope and Joy. The soulful eyes through which once shone Affection s sweet and tender ray ; With heavy lids are pressed upon Like midnight s mantle wrapping day. The ruby lips are white as snow, The voice that welcomed is no more, Ah ! there s no measuring the woe That follows Death to every door. 161 AT THE GATES OF NOON. But there s a morn to every night ; And there s a joy to every pain ; And Faith can view another light In Heaven s latest angel-gain The debt of nature must be paid, All that s mortal sure must die ; Then who would baby s soul have stayed From cleaving to its God on high ? R. W. tR. m. A H, no ! not mine the gift to tell in rhyme ** The grief I feel For him who was my friend. Some other time, When I can kneel Upon the sacred clay that wraps his breast Alone, where dwelt A heart as noble as yet ever blest A home, or felt Man s woes : perchance I then may weave in rhyme Above his clay My grief, new-born at vesper bell s sad chime But not to-day. There is the empty chair wherein he sat, When first we met ; His rousing welcome and the after-chat I ll ne er forget. 1 was an exile from the land he loved And toiled to free. 163 AT THE GATES OF NOON. His love for Liberty each sentence proved, He spoke to me. I read within his eye and in his face His life s one scheme To lift his country to her rightful place. He s dead ! Vain dream ! And will 1 never see his face again, Nor hear his voice That was a living antidote to pain ? All would rejoice On entering here, where many a year He welcomed all, And was the sage and witty charioteer ( If I can call Him such) to the vehicle of his thought. Ah, nevermore ! Life s sun is set his gentle soul has sought The silent shore. Oh ! verdant be the turf that shrouds his breast As that dear isle He loved so well, wherein he longed to rest ; And may the smile Of Heaven s endless day an aureole Immortal crown 164 R. W. The generous spirit of his lofty soul Ah ! too soon flown. But while the changing seasons come and go, Till memory dies, From hearts that loved him many tears shall flow Regrets arise. AT THE GATES OF NOON A GAIN, remorseless death has come ** And snatched the idol of our soul ; Again, the heart-enshrouding gloom Pall-like, has wrapt our mind and home And brought us grief and dole. But two short years ago to-day, An angel in his upward flight Tore from our hearts our darling May, And left us here to grief a prey And changed our day to night. And ere her form was cold in clay, God s angel came to us once more, Another victim claimed as prey, And little Arthur bore away To God s eternal shore. And now, O Death ! why so unkind ? Thou mightst have spared our darling boy, We know that we should be resigned, But yet, round .him our hearts were twined, He was our hope, our only joy. 1 66 JAMES. Ah ! will \ve never more behold Those eyes where fond affection beamed ? The flowing curls, like burnished gold That down his shapely shoulders rolled, That brow where budding genius gleamed ? Tis hard to bear, but yet to-day We bow to our Creator s will, And tenderly his form we lay Beside sweet Arthur, darling May, On Calvary s silent hill. AT THE GATES OF NOON. OH, Great King of Heaven and Lord of the earth ! And Virgin of virgins who gave to Thee birth ! Forgive ! But my soul, half despairing will say, Ah ! why did You take from us our darling May ? Why ? why ? dim forever the liquid blue eye, And banish the smile that brought heaven so nigh ? Why hush the sweet voice that oft conquered despair And stiffen the hand that could brush away care ? She was gentle and wise, ah ! perchance far too wise, And she thirsted for knowledge of stars and of skies, And I oft told her stories too mystic for youth She has solved the great problem and tasted of truth. 1 68 MAY. Oh ! clothe our sweet darling in garments of white ; She loved them on earth and her spirit was bright, And place her where roses eternally bloom, And violets shed round her their sweetest per fume. She ope d like the rose was as sweet and as fair To the sun s golden kisses that dwelt in her hair. She fled with the roses in Summer s decline, She was pulse of our heart, but to God we re sign. 169 AT THK GATES OF XOON. b Hsfc Me IRot HfflfoB Hm 11 ! ask me not why am I sad, And plaintive is my lay ; \Yhy am I now less gay and glad Than I have been alway ; And why I hate again to see The scenes that once were dear, Which in my breast such ecstacy Awoke, when thou wert near. Oh ! how can I be happy now, Light-hearted, merry, gay ; Contentment s smile wear on my brow, And thou so far away ? The scenes that once were Eden-bright And Eden-dear to me Seem cheerless now as winter night And bare as Ben a Rec. The soaring lark s entrancing song, Poured in the ear of Morn ; The dimpling stream that laughs along Of music now is shorn. 170 OH ASK ME NOT WHY AM I SAD. The leafy dell where, glancing bright, The shimmering moonbeams stole To kiss thy soft throat s milky-white, Xo more can charm my soul. The morning beam that chases night Behind the western bar, And drowns in its refulgent light The day s devoted star ; The thirsty sun that, panting sips, The chalice of the flowers, Have failed to light the dark eclipse That o er my pathway lowers. Oh, come once more asthore machree To this fond heart of mine, And all these clouds will quickly flee, The vale in beauty shine ; The streams will sweetly laugh along Amid the bright-eyed flowers ; The matin lark will trill its song As in the olden hours. AT THE GATES OF NOON. H&fcu ! A DIEU ! And may your voyage be fair ** Across the rolling sea ; May sky and wave their brightest wear, To make it sweet for thee ; For never did the ocean bear Upon its swelling wave A purer soul, a mind more rare, A heart more true and brave. Adieu ! And when you gaze at night Far out upon the sea, On Luna s crystal lamp of light, One moment think of me Remember that another s sight Is fixed upon it, too, Who feels, though lone, a calm delight To think it meets thy view. Oh ! you shall see the land we love, And press its verdant breast View gentle May robe vale and grove In nature s richest vest ; Adown our native valley rove, Where bright streams laugh along, And where my youthful thoughts I wove Into a web of song. And you shall see the friends we prize The friends of boyhood s day And look into their love-lit eyes, And list their laughter gay. But I must tread neath alien skies My weary path alone, And feel each dreary hour that flies My dearest friend is gone. Oh ! take my blessing to that land, To every one I knew ; And say, though on a foreign strand, I still am fondly true. Tell them when Erin shall demand What lost she long ago, My brand shall be the foremost brand To flash before the foe. 73 AT THE GATES OF NOON. And should you ever come again Across the rolling wave, Oh, bring to me a shamrock green Plucked from my mother s grave ; More prized twill be than all the gifts That friendship can bestow More fondly treasured in my heart Than man can ever know. TO A CHILD. a T^AIR little rosebud, fragrant and bright, Daughter of beauty and laughter and light ; What will I sing to thee, what will I say, Or wish thee, sweet Mamie, on thy natal day ? Can I wish thee more fair than this moment thou art More dear to my own or thy fond parents heart ? No song can I sing, no poem can I write, That can truly thy sweet budding charms re cite. May thy future be crowned with the sunshine of peace, And may angels to guard and to guide thee ne er cease. I love thee so dearly, I cannot half say, The blessings ! wish thee on thy natal day. AT THE GATES OF NOON. TLrue Xove. , what on earth is half so sweet As love, true love ? An equal joy you ll only meet In realms above, Where all is beauty, all is bliss One long day of happiness. Oh, what on earth is half so bright As love, true love ? What thrills the heart with such delight As love, true love ? Not all the song birds, all the flowers, That sing or bloom in earthly bowers. Oh, what on earth is half so grand As love, true love ? Be its chain for motherland Or mankind wove ; Its every link is rarer gem Than ever flashed in diadem. 176 TO MAY. ^TWELVE months to-day 1 Is little May, My inmost soul s fond treasure ; And like a fay In lap of May She sings an untaught measure. And I rejoice To hear a voice So pure, so sweet and simple, A mine of gold Her cheeks unfold In every little dimple. I never knew Such eyes of blue As these now on me beaming, Like morning light Dispelling night, Their rays are on me streaming. AT THE GATES OF NOON. The golden ray Of fading day Is hidden in her tresses, And soft as rest On lily s breast The dews are her caresses. May little May, Each future day, Be crowned with joy and pleasure, And may she be As now is she Her parents hope and treasure. 178 ANNIE. Hume. RIGHT as the face of a Morning in May, When from the East it wings forth its bright way ; Sweet as the thrushes first note in the grove, Or pale, infant primrose, is Annie, my love. Pure as the dew-drops that lovingly creep Into the young lily s bosom to sleep ; And fair as the hawthorn wreath that is wove By Nature s own hand, is Annie, my love. Chaste as the breath that at eventide flows From the bright dewy lips of the opening rose ; True as the vow of seraph above, Rarest of rare ones, is Annie, my love. AT THE GATES OF NOON. Xittle you love me, sweet Maggie Magee ? And would you be happy with me, Machree ? My dear little wife will you be And see If you could be happy with me ? I love you, sweet Maggie Magee ! Ah ! more than I can tell to thee Machree ! I would forfeit the world, quite free for thee, My life I would give up for thee ! I am lonely, sweet Maggie Magee ! And you can bring comfort to me, Machree ! My home by the beautiful Lee Wants thee My vine-bowered cot by the Lee. i So LITTLE TOMMY S WOOING. You ll be welcome there, Maggie Magee ! The flowers may be jealous of thee, Machree ! But the sunbeams will gather in glee Round thee Oh ! you will be queen of the Lee. Will you marry me, Maggie Magee ? Just whisper the answer to me, Machree ! Or if you prefer, let it be One wee One wee little kiss let it be ! iSl AT THE GATF.S OF NOON. Hnnie 36an /IDacbree. \I 7HKRK winding Suck in beauty roams Neath Talbot s spreading shade, And crystal Mina laughing comes Adown its fragiant glade, As modest as the violet bells, Half hidden o er the lea ; In native grace and beauty dwells My Annie Ban Machree. Her lofty brow is purer white Than opening lily leaves, O erhung with golden tresses bright As sunset Summer eves ; Her laughing brown eyes tender beam Seemed when we met to me Like quivering starlight in the stream My Annie Ban Machree. And oft we met in Summer eves In that delightful vale, Beside the stream, amid the leaves, Anew to tell our tale ; ANNIE BAN MACHRKE. \Yhile song-birds poured above our head Their witching melody, Which echoes seemed of sweet words said By Annie Ban Machree. But 1 was forced, my Annie Ban, To foreign lands to roam To seek my share from Fortune s hand, That Fate denied at home. It was for thy dear sake I came ; And I ll return to thee, With wealth to crown, and heart the same, MY Annie Ban Machree. AT THE GATES OF NOON Belle of JSunfeer Dili. DENEATH the stately monument *~* That crowns the storied mound, Where British ranks brave Prescott rent And Warren glory found, Deep musing on the men of eld Whose Fame lives with us still, One Autumn eve, I first beheld, The Belle of Bunker Hill. As gracefully as sailing ship Glides on a moonlit sea, When argent waves, with snowy lip, Dance round the prow in glee, She came aloft the stony stair And crossed the sloping hill, While sinking sun and pulsing air Adoring her stood still. Upon her cheek the kiss of Dawn ; Her brow was lily fair, The warp of Evening s golden lawn Was tangled in her hair ; :S 4 THE BELLE OF BUNKER HILL. And brilliant as the lightning s lance Unsheathed in midnight sky, Flashed every sweet and melting glance Of her bewitching eye. She went. The grace and beauty fled From everything around ; And Night, with sable wings outspread, Descended on the mound. The regal Moon regained her throne, Yet there I lingered still And vowed earth had one queen alone The Belle of Bunker Hill. 185 AT THE GATES OF NOON. \17HEN we parted, Mavourneen and sad was the parting ! A hope buoyed my soul I would see thee again ; That hope, like a star, lit my pathway at start ing To leave all I cherished and cross the wide main Wherever I roamed in the land of the stranger, In moments of joy or when clouds would ap pear, Like an angel to cheer me and guide me from danger, Annie, Mavourneen, thine image was near. If I but knew that I still am remembered That even a thought you have given to me, The pains I ve endured and the sorrows unnum bered Would melt in the arms of wild ecstacy, 1 86 SONG. Earth would be fairer and life would be dearer, Hope on my pathway would smile as of yore ; Fancy would bring all I love to me nearer My heart s idol, Annie, and my native shore. What were a Kingdom to me, love, without thee ? \Yhat were a crown but a weight on my brow ? Beauty and love have hung jewels about thee A King or a Kingdom could never endow. Annie, Mavourneen! though sad was the parting The meeting will pay for a lifetime of pain, And homeward will soon the fond exile be start ing To claim his heart s idol and part not again. 187 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Sbatterefc Ibopes. T IVE there men who love to ponder, roam * they in whatever clime, On the sweetness of life s morning, on their childhood s happy time The wild roaming in the meadows, down beside the laughing rills, And the meetings, Sunday evenings, on the fort- crowned, sloping hills, In that land of song and story, far away beyond the sea ; That bright land of fame and glory, dear as life itself to me ? Live there men who love to ponder, on that blissful long ago, Yet, in musing, ope the flood gates of a surging tide of woe ? See, from every hill and valley, that to shape can memory start, Arrows quivering, poisoned arrows fly to wound anew the heart. If there live such let them listen, and in true, though humble strain, I will tell them my youth s story, all its bliss and all its pain iSS SHATTERED HOPES. How we met, and why we parted, how we loved in vain but well Ah ! twill soothe my aching bosom that sad tale of love to tell. We were little ones together ; many a time in early spring, \Yhen the primrose gems the valley, and the bee is on the wing, Did we sit for hours together, where the river winds along Through sweet Ougham native valley listen ing to the thrush s song. Then we built our airy castles, and we furnished them with care ; And we talked about the flowers and the song birds we d have there. Childhood knows nor rank nor station ; childhood cares not for a caste ; Thus, in roaming and in dreaming, all our youthful days we passed. Then she went into the convent school ; I saw r her not for years ; But she wrote me oft and told me for I spoke to her of fears : 189 AT THE GATES OF NOON, "Never while the gentle river glides beneath Kilterra s shade, While a tree stoops down to kiss it, will I break the vows I made. Chase away your fears ; be happy ; time will show you I am true : All the earthly love and cherish could not bribe niv love from you." She came back again ; I met her one calm even tide in May She was stately, tall and graceful, she was brighter than the day ; And her cheeks were like the rose-beams smiling Morn softly flings On the hills and on the valleys, as its way it westward wings ; And her hair was soft and golden as the evening- beam caressed In the arms of the Lily, when the sun retires to rest. And, oh ! naught could match the love-beam of her liquid deep-blue eye, Save the smiling of the Eve-star, in her own un clouded sky. 190 SHATTERED HOPES. Oh, the meeting ! oh, the greeting ! Never shall my heart forget ; And her voice s mellow sweetness lingers in my memory yet. Oh, the joy ! the bliss ! the rapture ! of the pure, the fond embrace Heaven seemed to shed the glory of its sweet ness on the place ; And the future lay before me like a glimpse of paradise, Sorrows seemed to vanish mist-like, in the sun light of her eyes. But her father, he was wealthy, and a humble peasant I Dare I woo his lovely daughter ; dare I think of one so high ! He a lord of princely mansions, woods extensive, spreading plains, Would have wed his cultured daughter to some lord of wide domains ; And he found one, and he forced her to become that lordling s bride, Tore her from my bleeding bosom and most grossly to her lied. 191 AT THE GATES OF NOON. As the ivy pines that s torn from the stately forest tree, That it clasps within its arms and entwines most lovingly ; As the flowers which Summer nourished in the Autumn blasts decay, So my loved one, torn from me, broken-hearted pined away. Oh, the torture ! oh, the anguish ! oh, the heart- corroding pain ! Oh, the eager, ceaseless longing to behold her face again ! It was wrong, perhaps, to make it, but it should not be denied The one request I craved of them to once see her when she died. From that hour, within my bosom burned a deathless flame of hate, And my soul cried out for vengeance blood alone could satiate. I was calm at times and tried me to forget and to forgive, And I drowned in tears that hate-flame, till I thought it could not live. 192 SHATTERED HOPES. But one evening in September she was two weeks buried then I went it was my custom to the churchyard in the glen ; All was still was wrapt in night-robes as I knelt me on her grave ; And I wept, I raved, I questioned, and I thought she answer gave. Then rolled forth the tide of vengeance and swept all resolve away, And I drifted on its current, till the dawning of the day, When I found me near his mansion, in the bower she loved the best, In my ears still ringing "vengeance" demons urging in my breast. With the Day-god came her father, down the dew-gemmed, velvet lawn ; And I waited, as the tiger waits the coming of the fawn ; Nearer, nearer, unsuspecting, on his wonted round he came, Every forward step increasing in my breast the vengeance flame. 193 AT THE GATES OF NOON Oh ! the wild beast, hunger-frenzied, never rushed upon its prey With the fury that possessed me as I dashed him to the clay And that moment were his last one, for my hand was raised to smite, When the wraith of my beloved one, and his daughter met my sight There she knelt with arms extended and I thought she murmured "Spare "- That is all that I remember strength and senses fled me there. For a month, with raging fever, I lay senseless, raving wild, And the man I would have murdered nursed me as he would his child. There is pity in the world yet and some good in every heart, But often tis the hand would shield unconscious wings the dart. 194 POPPING THE QUESTION . popping tbe Question. \1 7E sat to rest upon a rustic seat * * My love and I, Within as beautiful and fair retreat As ever eye Of mortal gazed upon in flowery May ; The Sun was kissing his adieu to Day, The clouds were blushing like a bashful maid When love s first kiss upon her lips is laid. We had been friends from childhood s blissful time, And often met ; I praised her charms in many a cadenced rhyme, But never yet Could tell the passion that consumed my breast, The ceaseless longing and the wild unrest. O love ! first love ! thou art a blissful thing, But unconfessed thou hast a biting sting. AT THE GATES OF NOON. And who that ever fondly, truly loved, The loved one near, His tongue found chainless and his heart un_ moved, His vision clear ? Long there 1 lingered but no word could speak, Her lily hand was clasped in mine, her cheek Rocked on the pillow of my heaving breast The world was conquered were my love confessed! At length I talked about the golden eve, The peaceful grove ; A thousand times I vainly tried to weave My web of love. One mighty effort, and the tale was told ! She blushed a little, and methought grew cold ; One kiss of rapture and one fond caress, I popped the question, and she answered, "Yes." Oh, bright and peaceful as a summer day, Or autumn night, When countless stars begem the cloudless way Of Luna bright ; My barque since then has glided down life s stream, 196 POPPING THE QUESTION. My soul has slumbered in connubial dream, And heaven and earth seems robed in richer dress Oh ! love s the essence of all happiness. 197 AT THE GATES OF NOON. /IDooel of flfcx? Xafcp s fmnfc, /\ A Y song is not of love-lit eyes, * In which the soul reflected gleams, Nor of those fairy-forms that rise To haunt the love-sick in their dreams ; One of the thousand charms I sing, That Nature in a maiden plan cl ; How Art that beauty worshipping Produced a model of her hand. Here on my desk that model lies, And oft I fancy as I view, Within its veins life s current hies, So real the image and so true ; And as I trace each beauty-line That tapers to its finger tips, I wish the legal right were mine To press the real one to my lips. THE MODEL OF MY LADY S HAXD. Some may love the beaming eye The rose s kisses on the cheeks ; Others rave of charms that lie In woman s lips whene er she speaks ; But oh ! the fairest thing to me That Art or Nature ever plan d If she herself would dearer be The model of mv laclv s hand. 199 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Us it %ov>e? M Y Annie ! If it be love to think of thee From smiling morn to blushing eve, When toiling hard or roaming free Amid the gay or those who grieve ; To dream of thee and only thee, Through every changing hour of night To long for morn thy face to see As sightless mortals long for sight. If thinking, dreaming thus of thee Is love, what mortal loves like me My Annie ? My Annie ! Oh ! if tis love to ever be Unhappy when thou art away, To count the moments as they flee, And think a minute long as day ; To feel my pulse and bosom dance With longings that I can t explain, To meet thy brown eyes liquid glance, And clasp thee in my arms again If ever feeling thus for thee Is love, what mortal loves like me, My Annie ? IS IT LOVE? My Annie ! If it be love to think that thou Art fairer than the moon and stars That gem the midnight s sable brow, Or Morning s smile through orient bars, Be chained to silence when thou rt near And eloquent when thou rt away ; To ever hope and ever fear, Rebel forever and obey If living thus alone for thee Is love, what mortal loves like me, My Annie ? AT THE GATES OF NOON. 2>arlinc5, Sim] tbe Sons DARLINCI, sing the song again, You sang to me long, long ago ; I love to hear the good old strain Like angels whisper sweetly flow, The sad, sweet music of your voice By love and truth made sweeter still, Could ever make my soul rejoice, My inmost heart with rapture thrill. Oh ! sing for me the sweet old strain, Tis years since I have heard it last ; To hear the soothing strains again, Will bring me back the happy past. Though many songs of other days, Are fondly treasured in my breast, Oh ! this of all those golden lays, I love the fondest, dearest, best. O DARLING, SING THE SONG AGAIN! Whene er from lips so pure as thine, I hear such thrilling music flow, It brings me back on wings divine The golden, happy, long ago, The days, whate er the span of years, That nature will allot me yet : Wherever Fate my life-barque steers, I never, never, shall forget. 203 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Darling Hume. \1 7HKN the moon on yonder tower Rains its soft and crystal shower In the sweet sequestered bower, My darling Annie ! Where the alders bending low Kiss the streamlet s gentle flow, Where we parted long ago, I ll meet thee Annie. There beside that singing stream, Neath the moon s inspiring beam, I will tell thee my life s dream, My darling Annie. Oh ! what joy it will impart To my true but tortured heart If you ll breathe, "no more we ll part," My darling Annie. How oft this many a day, Neath the eve-star s tender ray, There, all lonely, did I stray, My darling Annie ! 304 DARLING ANNIE. While each leaf the zephyr stirred, Every song-bird s note I heard, Called to mind the parting word, My darling Annie. AT THE GATES OF NOON Uell /iDe Jflou Xove /foe. OTAR of my night ! ^ Sun of my clay ! Happy when near thee, Sad when away. Beautiful maiden With smile half divine, Tell me you love me, Say you ll be mine. How dear I love thee Words cannot tell ; Mortal has never Loved woman so well, Since first I saw thee My heart is thine, Tell me you love me, Say you ll be mine. In every tress Of thy rich, golden hair, That streams clown thy neck And shoulders so fair ; 206 TELL ME YOU LOVE MK. In every feature Such rare beauties shine, I would not exchange them For earth s richest mine. Peace of my soul, Comforter, kind, Deep in my heart And fond thou art shrined So deep and so true No words can define ; Tell me you love me, Say you ll be mine. Oh, for that word I am longing to hear ! Earth knows no sound Half so sweet to mine ear. Oh !. for those lips, More ruby than wine, Tell me you love me, Say you ll be mine. 207 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Hnnfe. WOU told me you d write me from over the sea A long, loving letter, my Annie machree ; And tell me of all the dear friends whom we knew, And who in our childhood were kind to us two. You would picture the traits of that nourishing land Where Freedom and Peace ever go hand in hand, That gives to the exile a hearth and a home When, alas ! from their own they are driven to roam. Now two years have passed since you left this sweet shore And you have not written, my Annie asthore, And I have been waiting, ah, waiting in pain, Your long-promised letter from over the main. Oh, times are much changed in our own native land Since, weeping, you stood on its emerald strand, Since I, sad at heart, through salt tears, from the quay, Saw the bark that was wafting my darling away- ANNIE. And I, too, dear Annie, will soon have to part From the land of my fathers, the home of my heart, The isle I have worshipped since I was a boy, The source of my sorrow, my bliss, and my joy. 209 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Bnnie Darlimj. K back, Annie darling ! oh, come back to me, Come back to thy lover that s waiting for thee ; The fireside is lonely, the cottage is drear, The day hath no brightness when thou art not near, Come back, Annie darling, oh ! come back to me, Come back to thy lover who s longing for thee. You told me when leaving you would not delay, That you would return some bright summer day, The Summer has come and the Autumn is past, And the dark clouds of Winter are gathering fast. Come back, Annie darling, oh ! come back to me, Come back to thy lover who s longing for thee. ANNIP: DARI.ING. "I is true that you dwell in a land that is fair, That Freedom and Peace, and Contentment are there ; There must be a magical spell in the land That could keep you a moment from our native strand. Come back, Annie darling, oh ! come back to me, Come back to thy lover who s longing for thee. Oh ! is it, asthore, that Columbia s more dear? Or is it that we are in slavery here ? Or what can it be that could keep you a day From our native vale and thy lover away. Come back, Annie darling, oh ! come back to me, Come back to thy lover who s longing for thee. Oh ! often you said as we roamed side by side, In days of our childhood by Ougham s sweet tide, You d never forget, love, through weal and through woe, Your own native valley wherever you d go. Come back, Annie darling, oh ! come back to me, Come back to thy lover who s longing for thee. AT THE GATES OF NOON. wn flDarp H>ear. A S morning light beaming when first it comes ** streaming Like rills o er the mountain so bland and so clear, As bright and as tender, may Heaven defend her! Is my gentle maiden, my own Mary dear. So deeply I love her, no mortal above her, Shall dwell in my heart, and I ll ever revere With purest devotion while a pulse is in motion, The sweetest of maidens, my own Mary dear. The spirit of pleasure, a home s dearest treasure, A gem that will ever grow dearer each year, A fountain of sweetness, perfection s complete ness, Is my little maiden, my own Mary dear. Oh! how could I leave her, for earth I d not grieve her, And the truest in love takes grief most severe. No ! absence shall never the golden chain sever That faithfully binds me to my Mary dear. MY OWN MARY DEAR. Oh! who d not believe her ? oh ! who could de ceive her ? What heart could wish wrong to a maid so sincere ? What doer of harm it would not disarm To gaze on the sweet face of my Mary dear ? Oh ! could I forever, by any endeavor, Wherever she lives, be e en toiling anear, More happy I d be than if kingdom to me Were given apart for my own Mary dear. 213 AT THE GATES OF NOON. Uo /ID. 3. 1R. OI) speed the ship that bears thee R , across the swelling sea, And may the winds and waves unite to make it sweet for thee. May sun and moon smile brightly down upon thee night and day, Till thou shalt feast thine eyes again upon thy native bay. Oh ! what a joy and pride will hll the heart of Innisfail As to her breast she presses thee and fondly bids thee "hail ! " How Millstreet s soul will thrill with joy to see the loved one come, And Clara wave her heather flag to bid thee welcome home. Though years sixteen have rolled adown the current of the past Since on the hills of Innisfail a ling ring look you cast, 214 TO M. J. K. Your ardent love for motherland has but the stronger grown. As, through the days and months and years, your burning pen has shown. God speed the ship that bears thee R , across the heaving sea, And may the angels night and day keep watch and guard o er thee, May rosy hours around thee smile and sorrows ne er intrude, And mayst thou come to us again with health and strength renewed. But we will miss you, genial R ; ah ! we will miss you here. While yet we envy you the joy of treading Ire land dear. We ll miss you in the meeting hall, we ll miss your tireless pen "(iocl keep you safe" is prayer of all, till you come back again. AT THE GATES OK NOON. flnvestioate, flnvesttoators. * A YK, let us have the naked truth, ** No more we ask nor less is wanted ; The facts, commissioners ! forsooth, Though you may be election-haunted. We want to know, and know we must, Who wronged the soldiers of the nation, And crimefully betrayed our trust, No matter what their rank or station. What do the weeping mothers care For "sons of somebody s" ambitions ? Fond hearts doomed ever to despair For dreams of scheming politicians ? Their loved ones they shall see no more Because some quack official blundered Nor fell they on a foreign shore Where foemen charged and cannons thundered. They answered Freedom s call with pride And fought the fight and triumph -tasted, But homeward totter, sunken-eyed, With bodies bent and famine-wasted. * Relating to mal-adminittration in the Spanish-American War, INVESTIGATE, INVESTIGATORS. And one by one they pine and die ; Yet with their dying prayer is blended A sigh Ah should it be a sigh ? For God s own land they well defended. Yes, let us have the naked truth, No more we ask nor less is wanted ; The facts, commissioners ! forsooth, Though you may be election-haunted. We want to know and we must know Who wronged the soldiers of the nation And wrapped our homes in shroud of woe Or --we ll make our investigation. 217 AT THE GATES OF NOON Ubc 2>ap We Celebrate. fling the star-strewn banner out And let the cannons roar, Make every hoarse-tongued belfry shout From shore to sounding shore. Scream, eagle ! scream, thy chainless mirth Above each love-linked state, Our Freedom and our Nation s birth, To-day we celebrate. And let each race and class^and creed In friendship, brothers be, Our fathers blood bedewed the seed Whose flower is Liberty. Let Love and Truth and Right have sway And buried be all Hate, God never made another day Like this we celebrate. Beneath the lightning of the sword To life our Nation sprang. The shot at Lexington that roared The knell of tyrants rang. THF. DAY \VE CELEBKATE. Oh ! let it roar again to-day. To symbolize the fate Awaiting all who would betray What now we celebrate. Starry emblem of the free And hope of the oppressed ! 1 cannot voice the love for thee That wells within my breast. But should st thou ever need my aid, Though lowly my estate, All I possess my life and blade To thee I consecrate. 219 AT THE GATES OK NOON. TCflfoat Mill tbe Doctors H>o ? AH! what will all the doctors do, ** And all the drug-compounders, too, When old and young seek meadow-dew To cure their aches and ills ? Must hospital and college go ? And great professors learn to grow Long-whiskered grass, and make it glow At dawn with crystal pills ? Must doctors future text-book be The rosy dawn and verdant lea ? Their drugs the tears that silent ly Drop from the midnight s eye ? Must they unlearn whate er they know Of microbe lore, and simply go Through parks on "light fantastic toe" To make disorders fly ? Of course, some say, " tis but a fad, " But that s what makes it doubly bad ; The young, and even ma and dad, Are fashion-mad to-day. WHAT WILL THE DOCTOKS DO And then it is a thrilling sight, Most clear to dude and bald-head wight, To see bare ankles, small and white, Gleam in the morning ray. Ah, me ! what will the doctors do ? Of course, there are a favored few Who own broad meadows, and can view Their future practice there. But for the rest, it seems to me, Unless they plant, in dew and lea, A new bacillus or a rlea, There s nothing but despair. 221 AT THE GATES OF NOOX. flt s a Wer\? ffunns It s a very funny world this half poverty and wealth, Where doctors wish for sickness and all others wish for health ; Where undertakers cannot live unless their neighbors die , And butchers want their friends for stew hotel- men theirs to lie. It s a very funny world, where to kill yourselfs no sin, Vet if you kill your neighbor, all to kill you will begin : Where lovers love each other and just quarrel to forgive, And murder one another that together they may live. It s a very funny world, where the bankers keep the bank, And the clerks spend all the money, while de positors grow lank ; Where, if you ask your savings back, you re told they all have fled, And all accounts are tattered up and all the clerks are dead ! ERRATA. Page 43, Third stanza, fourth line should read "eve" not "eye." Page 47, Second stanza, second line should read "through" not "though."