F ^ • Ex Libris C. K. OGDEN THE POEMS THOMAS DAY IS. NOW FIRST COLLECTED. asaiti; iSotes anto l^iatoiical fiUustraUons. Thy striving, be it with Loving; iliy living, be it iJx Peed. Ooetne. DUBLIN : PUBLISHTED BY JAMES DUFFY, 7 , WELLINGTON-QUAY. LONDON: SIMPKIN, MARSHALL AND CO., STATIONERS' HALL COURT. 1853. Brief, brave and glorious, was hl3 young career, His mourners were two hosts, liis iriends and toes; For he was Freedom's champion, one of tliose, The few in number, who had uot oiitstept The charter to chastise which she bestows On such as wield lier weapons. He had kept Tile whiteness of hw soul, and thus men o'er him wept. DUBLIN : Pattison Jolly, Printer^ 12, Anffksea Street. PR is 25 LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALTFORNIi SANTA BAEBARA ABYEIITISEMENT. I HAVE spared no pains to make this volume as correct and complete as a first edition can be expected to be. But there were obstacles in the way, which no solici- tude on ray part could overcome. The reader will bear in mind, that one half of these poems were never col- lected during the author's lifetime, and that many of them had never received the slightest revision since their first appearance in the columns of a weekly journal. Thrown off too, during the brief intervals- of leisure, which his multifarious pursuits aObrdod, tliey could seldom have obtained that complete finish which would have precluded the necessity of their revision. The classification and order under which they appear is altogether the work of the Editor. It has been his aim to group them in such a manner as by contrast or sequency, to make them throw light upon each other, and produce their full efiect. The passages from Mr. Davis's prose writings have been inserted with the same view. A partial attempt has been made in a few of the ballads, to restore the Irish names of places and persons to their correct forms. But from the opposite character of the two languages, many difficulties arose, and the altera- iV ADVERTISEMENT. tions have been confined to a few of the Ballads in Part III. Mr. Davis was a warm advocate of the restoration of the Irish forms, where practicable, and he was constantly making experiments to that end. Instances of the length to which he carried this, may be found in the 4to Spirit of the Nation. But he had the right to take any liber- ties he pleased with his own verses, and where he spoiled, could alter and amend. But the Editor could not ven- ture to tamper to any such extent with the harmony and integrity of the poems contided to him. Accordingly, the reformation of the spelling of Irish names and places has been contined to a few of the earlier Historical Ballads, where these purely Irish forms seemed more in keeping with the subject and the scene. The Glossary of these phrases, which was promised, and which is o'ccasionally referred to m the notes, is un- avoidably postponed until the next edition. As Mr. Davis contributed largely to the Spirit of the Nation, and to the Uallad Poetry of Ireland, it is neces- sary to state here, that there are more than Thirty Poems in this volume, which have not been included in any previous eeilecliaa. T, W. CONTENTS. PAOB INTRODUCTION, BY THE EDITOR - - - ix PART I.— NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. TIPPEUARY . . - - 3 THE RIVERS - - . -5 GLENGARIFF - - » -J THE west's ASLEEP - - - 9 OH 1 FOR A STEED - - - - 11 CYMRIC RULE AND CYMRIC RULERS - - 14 A BALLAD OF FREEDOM - - - 16 THE IRISH HURRAH . . - '20 A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA - • 21 OUR OWN AGAIN - . - 24 CELTS AND SAXONS - - 27 ORANGE AND GREEN - - - 30 PART IL— MISCELLANEOUS SONGS AND CALLA;>S. THE LOST PATH - . . - 35 love's LONGINGS - - . - 36 HOPE deferred - - - - 38 eibhlin a ruin - - . - 39 the banks of the lee - . . 41 the girl of dunbwy - - - 42 duty and love - - . - 44 annie dear - - - - 45 blind mary - - - - 47 the bride of mallow - - • 48 a2 Tl CONTENTS. I'Aoa THK WELCOME ~ - - "50 THK MI-NA-MEALA - - - - 52 MAIRK EHAN A STOIR - - - 54 OH ! THE MARRIACB - - - 56 A FLEA FOR LOVE - - - - 58 THE bishop's DAUGHTER - - - 59 THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE - - - 60 MY DARLING NELL - - - 62 LOVE CHAUNT •• - - - G3 A CHRISTMAS SCENE - - - 64 THE INVOCATION - - - - 66 LOVE AND WAR - o - - 68 MY LAND - - - - 69 THE RIGHT ROAD - - . - 70 PART .III.— HISTORICAL BALLADS AND SONGS. JFtrst Series. A NATION ONCE AGAIN - - - 73 LAMENT FOR THE MILESIANS - - 75 THE FATE OF KING DATIII - - -11 ARGAN BIOR - - - - 82 THE victor's BURIAL - - - 84 THE TRUE IRISH KING - - - 85 the ceraldines - - - - 89 o'brien of ara - - . - 95 emmeline talbot - - - 98 o'sullivan's return - - - 104 the fate of the o'sullivans - - 1c8 the sack of baltimore - - - 115 LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF OWEN ROE o'nEILL 119 A RALLY FOR IRELAND - - -122 THE BATTLE OF LIMERICK ... ]25 CONTENTS. PAKT 1\ —HISTORICAL BALLADS AND SONGS. Sjconti Scries. PAGB the penal days - - . - 131 the death of sarsfield - - . 133 the surprise of cremona - - 135 the flower of finae ... 138 the girl i left behind me " - 140 glare's dragoons - - - 142 when south winds blow .... 145 the battle-eve of the brigade - - 147 fontenoy .... 149 the dungannon convention - - 153 song of the volunteers of 1782 - . 156 THE MEN OF 'eIGHTY-TWO - - . 158 NATIVE SWORDS .... 160 tone's GRAVE - - - - 162 PART v.— MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. NATIONALITY - - - -167 SELF-RELIANCE ... - 1(}9 SWEET AND SAD - - - - 171. THE BURIAL ... 174 WE MUST NOT FAIL ... 178 o'cONNELL'S STATUE - . ^ 180 THE GREEN ABOVE THE RED - - 184 THE VOW OF TIPPERARY ... 187 A PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS . - 188 A SECOND PLEA FOR THE BOG-TROTTERS - 189 A SCENE IN THE SOUTH - . - 191 WILLIAM TELL .... 194 THE EXILE . - - - 196 MY HOME ..... 198 MY GRAVE .... 203 APPENDIX .... 207 Tlie sun set; but set not his hop«: Stars rose ; his faith wns earlier up: Fixed on the enormous galaxy, Deeper and older seemed his eye: And matclied his sufferance sublime Tlie taciturnity of time. He spoke, and words more soft than rain Brouglit the Age of Gold again: His arlitjn won such reverence sweet. As L>d all measure of tlio lent. INTRODUCTION BY THE EDITOR. It is my sincere belief, that no book lias ever been pub- lished, of more immediate and permanent interest to the Irish People, than tliis little volume of the Poems of Thomas Davis. The momentary grief of tlie people for his loss was loud and ardent enough. I have heard some touching instances of tlie intensity with which it manifested itself in thousands, who had never seen his face, or heard his voice, — to whom, indeed, his very name and being were unknown, until the tidings of his death awoke in them the vain regret that they had not earlier known and honoured the good great man who worked unseen among them. But, alas 1 regrets of this description are in their very nature transient ; and all ranks of tlie people have much to learn before they can rightly appreciate what a trea- sure of hope and energjs of life and love, of greatness and glory for liimself and tliem, lies buried in that untimely grave. ▲ 3 X INTRODUCTION. It has been the peculiar destiny of this Nation of Sor- rows, to lose by unseasonable death, at the very crisis of her peril, the only men who were endowed with the genius and energy to guide her unharmed through the strife. Too seldom have Ireland's champions lived to reap the mature fruit of their toil. Too seldom hath the calm evening of existence, o'ercanopied by victory, and smiled on by such parting twilight as promises a brighter morrow, heralded for them that glad repose, which they only know who have laboured and seen their labour blessed. Tlie insidious angel of Death has pre- ferred to take our chieftains unprepared in their noon of manhood,— too often before that noon arrived, stabbing them stealthily in their tents, as they donned their ar- mour, at the dawn of some great day, or mused upon the event of that encounter, which they had bent every energy to meet, and yet were doomed never to see. Long centuries hath the hand of God, for inscrutable causes, been very lieavy on Ireland ; and this alacrity of Death is the fetter-key of his wrath. May this last offering of our first-born propitiate him, and may the kingly souls whom hereafter He may send among us to rule and guide our people, no more be prematurely sum- moned away, in the very dawn of their glory, with their hopes unrealized, and their mission unfulfilled. Fortunately, Davis was not a statesman and political leader merely, but a thinker and a writer too, — more than that, a genuine poet ; as, I trust, all who peruse this little book will acknowledge. True, it is a mere garland of blossoms, whose fruit was doomed never to ripen ; a reliquaiy of undeveloped genius, but recently awakened to a consciousness of its own power. INTRODUCTION. XI The ambition, the activity, and above all, the over- weening confidence of most young men of genius, se- cures for them a spontaneous discipline in those pursuits for which they are specially adapted. Goetlie and Schil- ler, Burns and Byron, Wordsworth and Coleridge, too young as most of them were, when they commenced a career of authorship, had written verses for years before they became known to the public. Many are the re- counted instances of precocious poetic power, both in those, who afterwards became reno^vned as poets, and in men destined to shine in far other pursuits, the first exercise of whose intellectual energy has taken this di- rection. Even men who, like Cowper and Alfieri, have burst the shell of seclusion at comparatively a late pe- riod of life, have betrayed in their boyish tastes or habits, the peculiar bent of their genius. However way- wardness or timidity may have retarded the public pro- fession of their art, they had yet some forecast of their destiny. They knew they had wings, and fluttered them, though they had not yet strength to fly. The case of Davis is diflerent, and altogether so pe- culiar, that it ought not to be passed over in the very briefest introduction to his poetical remains. Until about three years before his death, as I am assured, he had never written a line of poetry. His efforts to ac- quire knowledge, to make himself useful, and to find a suitable sphere of action, were incessant ; but they tried every path, and look every direction but this. The warmth of his affections, and his intense enjoyment of the beauties of nature and character, of literature and art, ought early to have marked liim out as one destined to soar and sing, as well as to think and act. But tliC XU INTRODUCTION. fact is, that among his j'outhful cotemporariea, for many a long year, he got as little credit for any promise this way, as he did for any other remarkable quahties, be- yond extreme goodnature, mitiring industry, and very varied learning. Truth to say, much of this early misconception of his character was Davis's own fault. He learned much ; suffered much, I have no doubt : felt and sympathised much ; and hoped and enjoyed abundantly ; but he had not yet learned to rely on himself. His powers were like the nucleus of an embryo star, uncompressed, unpurified, flickering and indistinct. He carried about with him huge loads of what other men, most of them statists and logicians, had thought proper to assert ; but what he thouglit and felt himself, he did not think of putting forward. The result was, that during his college course, and for some years after, while he was very generally liked, he had, unless perhaps with some who knew him intimately, but a moderate reputation for high ability of any kind. In his twenty-fifth year, as I remember — that is, in the spring of 1839, — he first began to break out of this. His opinions began to have weight, and his character and influence to unfold themselves in a variety of ways. In tlie following year he entered poli- tical life. But tills is not tlie place to recount the details of his subsequent career. The outbreak of his poetical power began in this wise. In the autunm of 1842, taking an active part iii the establishment of a new popular journal, (the Nation, ) whicli was intended to advance the cause of Nationality by all the aids, which literary as well as political talent could bring to its advocacy, Davis, and the friends asso- INTRODUCTION. XIU ciated with him, found that while their corps in other respects was sufficiently complete, they had but scanty promise of support in the poetical department. The well-known sOiying of Fletcher of Saltoun, — " Give me the ballads, and let who will make the laws," — had sunk deeply into the minds of some of the projectors of the journal : though I am told that Davis himself was at first not very solicitous on this point ; so little aware was he of his own power in that respect, at the moment it was about to break forth. But the Editor of the journal had set his heart on it, having before partially tried the experiment in a Northern paper. Ultimately, however, all the founders of the Nation agreed in the resolve, that come whence it would, poetry, — real living poetry, gusliing Avarm from the heart, and not mecha- nically mimicing obsolete and ungenial forms, — was worth a trial, as a fosterer of National feeling, and an excitement to National hope. But it came not from any outward source ; aJid thereupon Davis and his com- panions resolved, in default of other aid, to write the poetry themselves. They did so ; they surprised them- selves and every body else. The results of that de- spairing attempt have since been made known, and ap- plauded in every quarter of the globe. The right chord had been struck, and the consequent stimulus to Irish literature has been, and is, incalculable. The rapidity and thi-illing power, with Avhich, from the time that he got full access to the public ear, Davis developed his energies as statesman, political writer, and poet, has been well described elsewhere. It excited the surprise and admiration even of those who knew him best, and won the respect of numbers, who from poll- XIV INTRODUCTION. tical or personal prejudices, had been originally most unwilling to admit his worth. So signal a victory over long-continued neglect and obstinate prejudice as he had at length obtained, has never come under my observa- tion, and I believe it to be almost unexampled. There is no assurance of greatness so unmistakeable as this. No power is so overwhelming, no energy so untiring, no enthusiasm so indomitable, as that which slumbers for years, unconscious and unsuspected, until the character is completely formed, and then bursts at once into light and life, when the time for action is come. This was the true guarantee of Davis's greatness, — of a genius which was equal to any emergency, which would have been constantly i^lacing itself in new aspects, overcoming new difficulties, and winning fresh love and honour from his countrymen, and from mankind. A character so rich in promise, so full of life and energy, of love and hope, as his, and at the same time so suited for public life, is a raritj' in history. Had he been spared for a few j'^ears longer, the world would have known this well. As it is, they must partly take it on trust from those who knew the man. For none of his Avritings, either in prose or verse, will enable them to know him thoroughly. As, indeed, the richer and deeper, and more vital and versatile a man's character is, the poorer fragment of himself will his writings inevitably be. Not, but that everything Davis has written, abounds in admonition and instruction, for Irishmen of every class, and for all in any country who have the sym- pathies and affections of men. But from the activity of liis public life, it was impossible that he could write with that leisure and deliberate care, which the heart INTRODUCTION. XT and intellect require for finished composition . And ac- cordingly, none of his ■works can be taken as an adequate expression of his creative power. Had he lived, and been enabled to shift a portion of his political burden upon other shoulders, I have no doubt but he would have more frequently retired into himself, and thus been enabled to give the world the purer fruits of liis unen- cumbered leisure. But the weight of his toil cut liim off before that leisure came. If anywhere, it is in this volume, that a key to Davis's most engaging qualities, and to his inward heart, may be found. But there is not room here, and I must await some other opportunity of weighing the merits of these poems, in relation to their author's character, and to the wants of the time and country for Mdiich they were written. It may, at all events, be better done when his prose works also have been given to the public, and the elite of the labours of liis young statesmanship made permanently and universally accessible. For literary pre-eminence was not his ambition at all, and even use- fulness through the channels of literature, but one of the many means which he shaped to one great end. For these and other reasons, apart from his want of leisure, and his early death, his poems above all must not be judged without a reference to his aims and his mode of life. I do not believe that since the invention of printing, there has been any volume of such sincere effect, and varied power, produced imder similar cir- cumstances. The longer portion and by far the best of them were written and published in a single year (1844), and that tlie most active of the author's life, during which his political labours, in addition to constant XVI INTRODUCTION. writing fur the journa,! M-itli which he was cornectcd, were ahnost as incessant and fatiguing as those of a minister of state. In these and in some not dissimilar instances whicli I could recount of others, there seems good reason to hope for our country and our age. Novalis used to lament bitterly the severance of poetry from philosophy, and surely not without abundant cause ; but with far better reason might he have bemoaned the divorce of poetry from life and action. For in no respect is there a greater contrast between these latter formalized ages, and the wilder, healthier centuries of the world's antique life. Solon was a poet, as well as a statesman and sage. Sophocles was not only an unrivalled dramatist, but a distinguished soldier, and in youth a miracle of beauty and accomplishments, — the Sidney as well as the Shakspeare of that glorious age. Pericles and Caesar were orators, pliilosophers, soldiers, wits, poets, and consummate statesmen, aU in one. Descending to a later age, entirely diiferent in character and aims, we find Alfred teaching his people as well as ruling them. Richard Coeur-de-lion was hardly less renowned for poetry than for courage. Bertrand de Born was warrior and patriot, poet and statesman, and it was not found that his success in one pursuit was marred or defeated by his proficiency in another. Among the Moslem cotemporaries of all these men, abundant examples might be adduced of such a combination of political with poetical power. And recurring to the early dwellers in the East, above all to those whom a peculiar dispensation set apart from other men, Moses and David were poets, as well as prophets and kings. INTRODUCTIOM. Xvil For such is the natural condition of Ijealth, in nations as in men. The mind and the body alike are agile for a thousand feats, and equal to a thousand labours. For literature is then a part of life, a dweller in the common landscape, a presence in sunshine and in shade, in camp and festival, before the altar and beside the hearth, — and not an intruding reminiscence, an antiquated mockery, a ghastly effete excrescence, hiding witli its bloated bulk the worth of the present hour, and the lovely opportunities of unused actual Ufe, that ever lie with mute appeal before the dullard man ; and which he alone who feels the force of, can enter into the feel- ings or appreciate the worth of bye-gone generations too. It is only the insidious materialism of modern existence, that has rent the finest tissues of moral power, and dwarfed into mechanical routine and huxtering sub- serviency, the interchanging faculties of man, making literature itself a statute-book, or a gin-shop, instead of an overhanging canopy of the simple and sublime, a fostering, embracing atmosphere to man's ever}' thought and act. And thus it is that poets and philosophers, — . that is, men of purer, deeper, more genial and generative faculty than others, — find all the avenues to power barred against them by lawyers and diplomatists, and are driven to suck their thumbs in corners, when they ought, by virtue of the fiercer life and more powerful reason that is in them, to be teaching the world by example as well as precep' ; and not by words alone, but by action too, by the communities of peril, and the interchange of gympathy, and love, to be filling the souls of men vrith hope and resolution, with piety and truth. XVlll INTRODUCTION. Here, at least, in this little book, is a precedent and admonition to the lionest man-of-letters of whatevet class or country — that if his feeling for his fellow-men — and who will feel for them, if he does not? — should lead him into political action, he need not despond because he is a poet, if only he is, into the bargain, a self-reliant man. Davis was a poet, but he was not for that the less practical in public life, nor did the most prosaic of his opponents ever object to him, that he was the less fitted to advise and govern, because he occasionally ex- pressed in verse the purer aspirations of his soul. Pity it is, to be sure, that these aspirations had not found a fuller utterance, before the fiat of death had hushed to unseasonable rest the throbbings of that large heart. Fragments though they be of a most capacious and diversified character, they are yet to a wonderful degree its unaffected utterance. Like wild flowers springing from the mould in the clefts of a giant oak, they relish of the open air, and have looked the sky in the face. Doubtless in many ways the impress of the poet's spirit, and of the graces of his character, is but the purer for this partial and too late development of its love- liest folds. Like the first fragrance of the rose, ere its per- fume becomes heavy with sweetness ; or as the violet smells the sweetest, when hidden by its cherishing leaves from the glare of the noonday sun. Moreover, the supreme worth of books is as an index of character ; as a fragmentary insight into unfathomed worth and power. For the man who is not better then his books, has ever seemed to me a poor creature — Many there are, no doubt, — men whose names are high in literature — who fail to produce on their cotempora- INTRODUCTION. XIX ties or on those who know their biography, an impres- sion adeciuate to the promise of their writings — and some, perhaps, wlio really have no corresponding inward worth. Allowing for the too ardent expectations of their admirers, this indicates ever some lamentable de- ficiency. One cannot help occasionally, in moments of ill humour, suspecting some of these authors to be paltry secondhand thieves of other men's thoughts, or mimics of other men's energy, and not as all good writers ought to be, natural, self-taught, self-directed men. And, therefore, in honest writing, above all things, is it true, that "well begun, is half done;" be it but once well begun. Goldsmith's lovely nature is as visible, and more distinct in the little volume of the Vicar of Wake- field, than if he had written a dozen Waverley novels ; Ro- samund Gray, and Undine are a purer offspring of their author's minds, and a more convincing evidence of their worth, then any congeries of romances could have been. And thus, perhaps, after all, the soul of Davis will shine from this book, as pure and clear, — though not so bright, or comprehensive, or beneficent, — as if he had been thirty years writing instead of three, and filled a dozen of volumes instead of one. Ah! as far as writing goes, there is enough to make men love liim, and guess at him, — and what more can the best of readers do with the supremest writer, though he lived to the age of Sophocles or Goethe. The true loss is of the oak's tim- ber, the living tree itself, and not of its acorns or of the flowers at its base. The loss of his immediate influence on the events of his time, and on the souls of his cotem- poraries by guidance and example, — that is the true 3CX INTRODUCTION. bereavement ; one which possibly many generations to come will be suffering from and expiating, consciously or unconsciously. So complete an endowment as his is a rare phenomenon, and no calamity can be compared with its untimely extinction. Undoubtedly the circumstances which attended the development of Davis's powers, are a striking proof of the latent energy, whicli lies hid among our people, unwrought and almost unthought of. Not that I enter- tain the opinion, though it is a favourite theory with some men, — and one which does not obtain tlie less ac- ceptance because it flatters human nature, — that there is an abundance of great men, ever walking the earth, utterly unconscious of their power, and only wanting a ' sufBcient stimulus, themselves to know their power, and make all men acknowledge it. A theory of life and history, in any high sense of greatness, to which I can- not assent ; for it seems to me the very essence of the great man is, that he is, in spite of himself, making ever aew acquaintance witli the realities of life. All animate and inanimate nature is in a conspiracy to make him know himself, or at least to make others know him, and by their love or hate, their fear or reverence, to awaken his slumbering might. Destiny has a thousand electric shocks in store for him, to which unearnest men are in- sensible ; while his own unhasting yet unresting spirit is ever fathoming new depths in the infinites of thought, and suffering, and love. For, as the wisest of the an- cients told the clods who condemned him, — the great man is not born of a stock or a stone ; but nature'3 wants are strong in him, and the ties of heart and home are as dear, or dearer to him than to any. And home 1NTROI>0CTION. XXI is the great teacher, in childhood by its joys, in man. hood by its sorrows, in age by its ebbing regrets. No matter, then, whetlier thought or passion have the mastery in the great man's nature, no matter whether action or reception preponderates in his life, if he be truly great, and live through man's estate, he wiU in some way be recognised. Strange it were indeed, if every other element in nature — the paltriest grain of sand, or the most fleeting wave of light — were perpetual and un- limited in its influence, and the mightiest power of allj the plenitude of spiritual life, could remain unfelt by kindred spirit, for the natural life of man. True, the great man will often shvm society, and court obscurity and solitude : but let him withdraw into himself ever 60 much, his soul will only expand the more with thought and passion. The mystery of life will be the greater to him, the more time he has to study it ; the loveliness of nature will be the sweeter to him, the less his converse with her is disturbed by the thoughtless comment of the worldly or the vain. Let him retire into utter solitude, and even if he were not great, that solitude, — if nature wluspers to him, and he listens to her, — would go near to make him so : as Selkirk, when after his four years' solitude, he trod again the streets of London, looked for a while a king, and talked like a philosopher. For a while, — since, as Richard Steele ably tells the story, in six months or so, the royalty had faded from his face, and he had grown again, what he was at first, a sturdy but common-place sailor. But nature herself haunts incessantly the really great man, and nothing can vulgarize him. And if it were only on that account alone, whether tested by action, or un- b XXH IKXaODCCTIOK. tested by it, the great man is sure of recognition, if allowed to live out his life. If he act, his acts will shew hku ; and even if he do not act, his thoughts or his goodness will betray him. " Hide the thoughts of such a man," sajs a sage of our time: "hide the sky and stars, hide the ' ' sun and, moon I Thought is all light, and publishes " itself to the universe, xt will speak, though you were ' ' dumb, by some miraculous organ. It will flow out of " your actions, your manners and your face. It will " bring you friendships, and impledge you to nature " and truth, by the love and expectations of generous " minds." And yet there is in many of the best and greatest men, a tardiness of growth, which either beneficially shrouds their budding graces from the handling of impatient friends ; or at least sets at naught that impatience, and huffs the scrutiny of the interested watcher by perpetual new growth of mere leaves, instead of the flowers and fruit he craves. Even where the natural tendencj' is to active life, such men will for years evince an awkward- ness, a sMftlessness, an indirectness of aim, and unstea- diness of pursuit, — on the whole a hulking, slobbery ponderousness, as of an overgrown school-boy, — which will make men tardy in acknowledging their worth and power, when at length, after abundant waywardness, their discipline is complete, their character formed, and their strength matured. As to the causes of all this, I dare not enter on them now. They all centre in a good-natured simplicity, an infantine acquiescence and credulity, wliich makes such slow-growing men content to be hcAvers of wood and drawers of water for half a life- time,' until their patience INTRODUCTION. • XXill is exbaustecl ; or until the trumpet call of duty, ever on the watch to startle them, rouses them into life ; then at- length they comiuence their labours and assert their rights. In their experiences likewise, they are some- times tardy, and as some ancient wrote, and Goethe was fond of quoting : — O fit) dapeiQ ai'OpuTroQ ov TraicevsTcii. In some such frame may the history of Davis's mind be set. But though great men, Avise men, kingly men, cannot but be few, good men and trus need not be so scarce as they are, — men, I mean, true to their own convictions, and prompt in their country's need, — not greedy of dis- tinction, but knowing well the liived sweetness that abides in an unnoticed life, — and yet not shrinking from responsibility, or avoiding danger, when the hour of trial comes. It is such men that this country needs, and not flaunting histrionists, or empty, platform patriots. She ■wants men who can and will work as well as talk. Men glad to live, and yet prepared to die. For Ireland is approaching her majority, and what she wants is men. And thus is it, above all, in the manliness of this book, and of the author's character, that the germ abides of hope for the country, and of consolation for his loss. If such worth could grow up, and siich success be won, amid all the treacherous influences that sap the strength of Ireland, what have we not a right to hope for? What may not be yet the glory and gladness of that distant time, when our National Genius shall at length stand regenerated and disenthralled from the shackles of foreign thought, and the contagion of foreign example when beneath his own skies, with his own hills around, XXIV INTRODUCTION. and tlie hearts of a whole people echoing his passionate words, he shall feel therein a content and exultation which mere cosmoioolitan greatness is doomed never to know; when satisfied with mhiistering to the wants of ' the land that bore him, and having few or no affections beyond the blue waves which are its eternal boundary, he shall find his only and most ample reward in the gra- titude and love of our own fervent people? All! some few short years ago, who could look for such a result with confidence? Though some there were, whom strong affections made strong in hope, that never desj)au-ed, in the gloomiest season. Times are ultered since then. The eyes of our people are opened, d.nd their hearts are changed. A swift and a surprising, and yet an easy change, for a nation perisheth not ex- cept by its own sentence. BUnd though it be, it needs but be led toward the East and turned to the rising sun, Tiresias-like, to recover its sight. Well, until a spii'it of Nationality had arisen in the land, and spread from sea to sea, and was not only talked of, but became an abiding principle in our lives, how could we hope to have a manly book, or a manly being among us ? Or was it that the man and the feel- ing both arose together, like a high- tide with a storm at its back? What else but the fostering breath of Nation- ality could make that genius strong, which, without such sympathy and cherishing, must necessarily grow up a weakling? For sympathy, given and received, is the life and soul of genius: Avithout such support it crawls along a crippled abortion, when it ought to walk abroad a giant and champion of men. Until we had proved ourselves worthy of having great men among us; INTRODUCTIOK. XXV until we had shewed respect unto our dead, and taken the memory of our forgotten brave unto our hearts again, and bid them live there for ever ; until we dared to love and honour our own, as they deserved to be loved and honoured, what had we, the Irish People, a right to expect? what goodness or greatness could we presume to claim ? Until all sects and parties had at least begun to hold out a helping hand to each other, and to bind their native land with one bond of labour and love, what grace could even Nature's bounty bestow on such a graceless people ? Time was, as many alive may well remember — and I have been often pained by the feeling — when, if the report of any new genius arose among us, we had to make up our minds to find much of its brightest pro- mise blighted in the early bud, or stunted in maturer growth, by tlie mingled chill of exotic culture and of home neglect. In those days we could never approach a product of the National Mind, witliout a cold fear at our hearts, that we should find it unworthy of the Nation ; that we should find on it tlie stamp of the slave, or the slimy trail of the stranger. And even as we gazed with fondness and admiration on those, who in our evil days had yet achieved something for us, and given us something to be proud of, we still expected to meet in them some failure, some inconsistency, some sad, some lamentable defect, and to see the strong man totter like a weakling and a slave. And otlierwise it coxild not be, in our abandonment both of our rights, and hope to recover them. Could the orphaned heart of genius be glad like his wlio had a pi\reut, — a mother-country, a father-land? Could he i2 XXVI INTllOnUCTION. who had no country, or doubted what country he be- longed to, and knew not anything that he should care to live or die for ; or if he dreamed of such an object, had chosen sect instead of country ? — Could lie be strong in filial might, and firm in manly rectitude, and bold in genial daring, — or can he yet be so among us, — like him upon whose childish tliought no party spite hath shed its venom, the milk of whose untried aifections sectarian hate hath curdled not ; but the greatness and glory of his country illumined for him the morning horizon of life ; wliile home, and love, and freedom, the sovereign graces of earth, have blended in one religion, and strengthened his heart ■with a mighty strength, and chastening his spirit for ever, b.ave made the memory of liis young days, indeed inetfably divine ? Can he love home as home should be loved, who loves not his country too ? Can he love country right, who hath no home ? Can he love home or country perfectly, to whose aching heart the balm of love hath not been timely given ? Believe it not, ye sons of men ! — as he ought, he cannot. As star poiseth star in the wilderness of the illimitable heavens, even so the charities of life sustain each other, and centre in the spirit of God, and bind all created beings beneath the shelter of his love. But enough, — a better and a brighter day is dawning, and the " flecked darkness like a drankard reels " From forth day's pathway, made by Fkeedom's wheels." And our lost Thomas Davis was our Thosphoros, or bringer of light ! " Justice and Truth their winiicd child have found!" INTRODUCTION. XXVU But let us not be incautiously hopeful. Let us re- member that the pestilential intluences, which Davis, lilce all of us, had to struggle with and overcome, are still rife among us. Let us not deceive ourselves. The miseries of our country for seven centuries have had foreign causes ; but there have been, ever from the be- ginning of that misery, domestic causes too. We were divided, and did hate each other. We are divided and do hate each other ; and therefore we cannot stand. It is in many respects, too, an ill time, in which Ave are to unlearn these errors, and abjure this vice, if ever we abjure it. But lie who sent the disease will send the healhig too. Ah, why were we not reconciled among ourselves, in earlier, in better times than these ? The fruit of our reconciliation then would have been greater far than ever it can be now. Our native laws, and in- stitutions, and language, were not tlien withered away. The trees which our forefatliers planted, had yet firm root in the land. But now, in the old age of our Na- tion, we have had to begin life agaui, and with delibe- rate effort, and the straining of cA'ery nerve, to repeat those toils, which the gladness of youth made light for our fathers long ages ago. And this autumn blossom of our glory may go, too, as tribute to swell the renown of those who so long enslaved us. Yet it is the best we can do. There are millions of sad hearts in our land. Are the)' to be so for ever ? There are millions who have not food. Are they never to be filled ? Happy are you, after all, O youth of Ireland ! fortunate if you but knew it, for if ever a generation had, in hope, something worth living for, and in sacrifice, something worth dying for, that blessed lot is yours. XXVlll INTRODUCTION. And here, youth of Ireland ! in this little book is a Psalter of Nationality, in which every aspiration of your hearts will meet its due response, — your every aim and effort, encouragement and sympathy, and wisest admonition. High were the hopes of our young poet patriot, and unforeseen by him and all the stroke of fate which was to call him untimely awaj'. The greater need that you should discipline and strengthen your souls, and bring the aid of man}', to what tlie genius of him who is gone might have contributed more than all. Hive up strength and knowledge. Be straightforward, and sincere, and resolute, and undismayed as he was ; and God Avill yet reward your truth and love, and bless the land whose sons you boast yourselves to be. T. \Y. TO THE MEMORY OF DAVIS. ®o i\)e i^fTcmorti of ^I)omas IBabis. BY JOHN FISHER MURRAY. When on the flelct where freedom bled, I press the ashes of the brave, Marvelling that man should ever dread Thus to wipe out the name of blave; " No deep-drawn sigh escapes my breast- No woman's drops my eyes dlstain, 1 weep not gallant hearts at rest — I hut deplore they died in vam. AVlien I the sacred spot behold, Tor aye remembered and renowned, \Vhere dauntless hearts and anna as bold, StreTved tyrants and their slaves around; High hopes exulting fire my breast — High notes hiumpliant swell my struln, Joy to the brave ! in victory blest — Joy! jay! they peiished not in vain. But when thy ever moumt'ul voice. My countiy, calls me to deplore The champion of thy youthful choice, lIonom"ed, revered, but seen no raoi'o; Heavy and quick my sorrows fall ror liim who strove, with might and mala, To leave a h.'sson for us all, How we niiglil Uve— uor live in valu. TO THE MEMORY OF DAVIS. If, moulded of earth's common clay, Thou had'st to sordid arts stooped down, Thy glorious talent flung away, Or sold for price thy great renown; In some poor pettifogging place, Slothful, inglorious, thou had'st lain. Herding amid the imhonoured race, AVho doze, and dream, and die in vain. A spark of his celestial flre, The God of freemen struck from thee ; Made thee to spiun each low desire. Nor bend the uncompromising knee; Made thee to tow thy life, to rive With ceaseless tog, th' oppressor's chato; With l)Te, with pen, with sword, to strive For thy dear land— nor sti'ive in vain. How hapless is our country's fate, — If Heaven in pity to us send Like thee, one glorious, good, and great— To guide, instruct us, and amend ; How soon thy honoured life is o'er— Soon Heaven demandeth thee again ; We gi-ope on darkling as before, And fear lest thou hast died in vain. In vain,— no, never ! O'er thy grave, Thy spirit dwelleth in the air; Thy passionate love, thy purpose brave, Thy hope assured, thy promise fair. Generous and wise, farewell '.—Forego Tears for the glorious dead and gone;' liis tears, if tears are his, still flow For slaves and cowards livirst on. PART I. NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. " National Toetry is tlie very fiowcrlng of the soul, — the greatest evidence of its health, the greatest excellence of its beauty. Its melody is balsam to the senses. It is the playfellow of Childhood, ripens into the companion of Manhood, consoles Age. It presents tho most dramatic events, the largest characters, the most impressiro scenes, and the deepest passions, in the language most familiar to ns. Jt magnifies and ennobles our hearts, our intellects, our country, and our countrymen, — binds ua to the land by its condensed and gem-liko history; to the future by example and by aspii-ation. It solaces us in travel, fires us in action, prompts om' invention, sheds a grace beyond the power of luxury louiid Otir iiomes, is the recognised envoy of our minds among all mankind, and to all time." — Davjs's Essays. NATIONAL BALLADS AND SONGS. TIPPERARY. Air — Original.* I. Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we? Not British seas nor British coasts Can match The Man of Tipperary 1 II. Tall is his form, his heart is warm. His spirit light as any fairy — His wrath is fearful as the storra That sweeps The Hills of Tipperary! iir. Lead him to fight for native land. His is no courage cold and wary ; The troops live not on earth would stan^ Tlie headlong Charge of Tipperary 1 • Vide " Spirit of the Nation," 4to. p. 84, B BALLADS AND SONOS^ IV. Yet meet him in liis cabin rude, Or dancing witli his dark-haired Mary, You'd, swear tliey knew no otlier mood But Mirth and Love in Tipperary ! V. You're free to sliare liis scanty meal, His plighted word he'll uerer vary — In vain they tried witli gold and eleel To shake The Faith of Tipperary I VI. Soft is liis cailin's sunny eye. Her mien is mild, her step is airy. Her heart is fond, her soul is high — Oh ! she's The Pride of Tipperary 1 VII. Let Britain brag her motley rag ; We'll lift The Green more proud and airy ; Be mine the lot to bear that flag. And head The Men of Tipperary I VIII. Though Britain boasts her British hosts, About them all right little care we— Give us, to guard our native coasts, Tlie Matchless Men of Tipperary I THE BrVERB. THE KIVERS. Air — Kathleen O'More. I. Thers's a far-famed Blackwater that runs to Loch Neaghj There's a fairer Blackwater that runs to tlie sea — The glory of Ulster, The beauty of Munster, 'Fnese twin rivers be. II. From the banks of that river Benburb's towers arise ; This stream sliines as bright as a tear from sTcet eyes ; This fond as a young bride, That with foeman's blood dyed — Both dearly we prize. Deep sunk in that bed is the sword of Monroe, Since, 'twixt it and Donagh, he met Owen Roe, And Charlemont's cannon Slew many a man on These meadows below. BALLADS AND SONGS. The shrines of Armagh gleam far over yon lea, Nor afar is DungauDon that nursed liberty, And yonder Red Hugh Marshal Bagenal o'ertbrew On Beal-an-atha-Buidhe.* V. But far kinder the woodlands of rich Convamore, And more gorgeous the turrets of saintly Lisrnorc ; There the stream, like a maiden With love overladen, Pants wild on each shore. VI. Its rocks rise like statues, tall, stately, and fair. And the trees, and the flowers, and the mountains} and air, With Wonder's soul near you. To share with, and cheer you, Make Paradise there. TH. I would rove by that stream, ere my flag I unrolled ; T would fly to these banks my betrothed to enfold — The pride of our sire-land. The Eden of Ireland, More precious than gold. * VuJgo, BiJlanabwee— the mouth of tiie yellow tod.— Terf* Gtos" BAKV. GLENGARIFF. VIII. May tLeir torders be free from oppression and blight : May their daughters and sons ever fondly unite— The glory of Ulster, Tlie beauty of JIunster, Our strength and delight; GLENGARIFF. Air. — O'Sullivan's . '•cr.?A. I ■WANCEBED at eYC by GlengariflF's s^eet water, Half in the shade, and half in the moon, And thought of the time when the Sacsanach slaughter Reddened the night and darkened the noon ; Mo nuar ! mo niiarl mo nvar I* I said, — When I think, in this valley and sky — Where true lovers and poets should sigh — Of the time when its ehieftain O'SulUvan fied-f » "Alas." t Vide post, pnge 108. BALLADS AND SONGS. Then my mind went along with O'Sullivan marcliuig Over Musk'ry's moors and Ormond's plain, His curachs the waves of the Shannon o'erarcliiug, And his pathway mile-marked with the slain : Mo nuar ! mo nuar I mo nuar I I said, — Yet 'twas better far from you to go, And to battle with torrent and foe, Than linger as slaves where your sweet waters spread. But my fancy burst on, like a clan o'er the border. To times that seemed almost at hand, When grasping her banner, old Erin's Lamh Laidir Alone shall rule over the rescued land : O baotho I baotho I O baotho I * I said,— Be our marching as steady and strong, And freemen our vaUies shall throng, When the last of our foemen is vanquished and fiedl ♦ " Oh, fine.' Tlie meaning, &c., of all tlie Irish rlivnsoB ia Uiis Tolnmc vrill be found in the Glossari. THE WEST'S AS LEE r. THE WEST'S ASLEEP. Am— 77ie Brink of the White Rocha. When all beside a vigil keep. The West's asleep, the West's asleep- Alas ! and well may Erin weep, When Counaught lies in slumber deep. Tliere lake and plain smile fair and frefi, TVIid rocks — their guardian chivalry — Sing oh ! let man learn liberty From crashing wind and lasliing sea. That chainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood demand — Be sure, the great God never planned. For slumbering slaves, a home so grand. And, long, a brave and haughty race Honoured and sentinelled the place — Sing oh ! not even tlicir sons' disgrace Can quite destroy their glory's trace. • Vide " Spirit of the Xatlr^n." 4to. D. TO- 10 BALLADS AND SOSGcJ. III. For often, in O'Connor's van, To triumph dashed each Connauglit clan— And fleet as deer the Normans ran Through Corlieu's Pass and Ardralian. And later times saw deeds as brave ; And glory guards Clanricarde's grave — Sing oh ! they died their land to save, At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave. And if, when all a vigil keep, The "West's asleep, tlie "West's asleep — Alas ! and well may Erin weep, That Connaught lies in slumber deep. But — ^hark 1 — some voice like tliunder spaki ♦' The West's awake, the WesVs awake" — " Sing oh ! hurra ! let England quake, We'll watch till death for Erin's sake I" oh! for a steeo. 11 OH! FOK A STEED. Air — Original.* On 1 for a steed, a rusliing steed, aud a blazing scimitar, To hunt fiom beauteous Italy the Austrian's red hussar; To mock their boaste, And strew their hosts, And scatter their flags afar. n. Oh I for a steed, a rushing steed, and dear Poland gathered around. To smite her circle of savage foes, and smash them upon the ground ; Nor hold my hand While, on the land , A foreigner foe was found. • Vide " Spirit of the Xation," 4to. p. 209L B .') 12 BALLADS AND SONGS. Oh ! for a steetl, a. rushing steed, and a rifle that never failed, And a tribe of terrible prairie men, by desperate valour mailed, Till " stripes and stars," And Russian czars, Before the Red Indian quailed. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the plains of Hin- dustan, And a hundred thousand cavaliers, to charge like a single man, Till our shirts were red. And the English fled lake a cowardly caravan. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, with the Greeks at Marathon, Or a place in the Switzer phalanx, when the Morat mea swept on, Like a pine-clad hill By an earthquake's will Hurled the vallies upon. OH! FOR A STEEIk. 13 VI. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, when Brian smote down the Dane, Or a place beside great Aodh O'Neill, when Bagcmil the bold was slain, Or a waving crest And a lance in rest, With Bruce upon Bannoch plain. VII. Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the Curragh of liildare, And Irish squadrons skilled to do, as they are ready to dare — A hundred yards, And Holland's guards Drawn up to engage me there. viir. Oh ! for a steed, a rusliing steed, and any good cause at all. Or eise, if you will, a field on foot, or guarding a lea. guered wall For freedom's right ; In flusliing fight To conquer if then to fall. 14 AJ^LADS AND SONOS. CYMRIC RULK AND CYMRIC RULERS. Air — Tlic March of the Men o/Harlech.f Once tliere was a Cymric nation ; Few its men, but high its station — freedom is the soul's creatior Not the work of hands. Coward hearts are self-subduiiig ; Tetters last by slaves' renewing — . Edward's castles are in ruin. Still his empire stands. Still the Saxon's malice Blights our beauteous valleys ; Ours the toil, but his the spoil, and his the laws we writhe in ; Worked like beasts, that Saxon priests may riot in our tithing ; Saxon speech and Saxon teachers Crush our Cymric tongue! Tolls our traffic binding. Rents our vitals grinding — • Vide Appendix. t Welsh air. cvjir.H' r.vi.i: and '.\y.v,\c kulkrs. ]o Bleating sheep, we cower and weep, when, by oue bold endeavour. We could drive from out our hive these Saxon (irones for ever. " Cymric RuLK and Cymric Eulers" — Pass along the word I II. "We should blush at Arthur's glory — Never sing the deeds of Rory — Caratach's renowned story Deepens our disgrace. By the bloody day of Banchor I By a thousand years of rancour 1 By the wrongs that in us canker I Up ! ye Cymric race — Think of Old Llewellyn,— Owen's trumpets swelling ; Then send out a thunder shout, and eveiy true man summon, Till the ground shall echo roimd from Severn to Plio limmon, " Saxon foes, and Cymric brothers, •' Arthur's come again I" Not his bone and sinew. But liis soul within you. Prompt and true to plan and do, and firm as Monmouth iron For our cause, though crafty laws and charging troops environ — '• Cymric Role and Cymric Eulebs" — Pass along the word I IG BALLADS AND SONCS. A BALLAD OF FREEDOM. The Frenchman sailed in Freedom's name to smite the Algerine, The strife was short, the crescent sunk, and then his gviile was seen ; For, nestling in the pirate's hold — a fiercer pirate tar — lie bade the tribes yield up their liocks, the towns their gates imbar. Right on he pressed with freemen's hands to subjugate the free, The Berber in old Atlas glens, the Moor in Titteri ; And wider had his razzias spread, his cruel conquests broader, But God sent down, to face his frown, the gallant Abdel- Kader — The faithful Abdel-Kader ! unconquered Abdcl-Kader t Like falling rock, Or fierce siroc — No saA-age or marauder — Son of a slave ! First of the brave ! Hurrah for Abdel-Kader !' • This name Is iironoiinccd Cawder. The French sfty that their BALLAD OF FREEDOM. 17 The Englishman, for long, long years, liad ravaged Ganges' side — A dealer first, intriguer next, he conquered far and wide, Till, hurried on by avarice, and thirst of endless rule, His sepoys pierced to Candahar, his flag waved in Cabul ; But still within the conquered land was one imconquered man, The fierce Pushtani* lion, the fiery Akhhar Klian — He slew the sepoys on the snow, till Scindh'sf full flood they swam it Right rapidly, content to flee the son of Dost Mohammed, The son of Dost Mohammed, and brave old Dost Mohammed— Oh ! long may they Their mountains sway, Akhbar and Dost Mohammed ! Long live the Dost ! Who Britaixi crost, Hurrah for Dost Mohammed ! great foe was a slave's son. Be it so — he has a hero's and freeman's heart. " Hun-ah for AbdclKader 1" — Author's Note. • Tlii.s is the name by wliicli the Afifghans call them.scilvcs. Affglian is a Persian name (see Elpliinstone's delightful hook o» Cabul). — Author's Note. t The real name ■*' the Indus, which is a Latinised word. — Author's NOTB. Ifl BALLADS AND SONGS. The Eussian, lord of million serfs, and nobles serflier still, Indignant saw Circassia's sons bear up against his will ; With fiery ships he lines their coast, his armies cross tlieii" streams — He builds a hundred fortresses — Ma conquests done, he deems. But steady rifles — rushing steeds — a crowd of nameless chiefs — The plough is o'er his arsenals ! — his fleet is on the reefs ! The maidens of Kabyntica are clad in Moscow dresses — His slavish herd, how dared they beard the mountain • bred Cherkesses ! The lightening Cherkesses ! — the thundering Cherkesses ! May Elburz top In Azof drop, Ere Cossacks beat Cherkesses ! The fountain head Wlience Europe spread — Hurrah ! for the tall Cherkesses !* • Cherkesses or Abdyes is the right name of tlie, so-caUcd, Circas- sians. KabjTitica is a town In the heart of the Caucasus, of which Mount Elburz is the summit. Bluinenbach, and other physiologists, assert that the finer Ewopean races descend fi'om a Circassian stock. — AUTHou's Note. BALLAD OF FREEDOM. 19 But Russia preys on Poland's fields, where Sobieski reigned, And Austria on Italy — the Eotnan eagle chained — Bohemia, Servia, Hungary, within her clutches, gasp ; And Ira'and struggles gallantly in England's loosening grasp. Oh ! would all these their strength unite, or battle on alone. Like Moor, Pushtani, and Clierkess, they soon would have their own. Hurrah I hurrah ! it can 't be far, when from the Scindh to Shannon Shall gleam a line of freemen's flags begirt by freemcn'a cannon 1 The coming day of Freedom — the flashing flags of Freedom 1 The victor glaive — The mottoes brave. May we be there to read them I That glorious noon, God send it soon — . Hurrah for himian i'reedom I iO BALLADS AND SONGS. THE IRISH HURRAH. Air — Nach m-baineann sin do. Have you hearkened the eagle scream over the sea ? Have you hearkened the breaker beat under your lee ? A something between the wild waves, in their play, And the kingly bird's scream, is The Irish Hurrah. II. How it rings on the rampart when Saxons assail — How it leaps on the level, and crosses the vale. Till the talk of the cataract faints on its way, And the echo's voice cracks with tlie Irish Hurrah. III. How it sweeps o'er tlie mountain when hounds are on scent, How it presses the billows when rigging is rent, Till the enemy's broadside sinks low in dismay, As our boarders go in with The Irish Hurrah. Oh ! there 's hope in tlie trumpet and glee in the fife. But never such music broke into a strife. As when iit its bursting the war-clouds give way. And there's cold steel along with The Irish Hurrah, SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA. 21 T. What joy for a death-bed, your banner abore, And round you the pressure of patriot love. As you 're lifted to gaze on the brealting array Of the Saxon reserve at The Irish Hurrah. A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITFA. Air — The Peacock. The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in prostrate men ; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the crop so bravely sown 1 No more I'll sing nor idly pine. But train my soul to lead a line — A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldicr'b death, so Ireland's free I 22 BALLADS AND SOMOS. No foe would fear your thmidcr word;! If 'twere not for our light'niiig swordts— If tyrants yield when millions pray, 'Tis lest they link in war array ; Nor peace itself is safe, but when The sword is sheathed by fighting meu- A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free ! The rifle brown and sabre bright Can freely speak and nobly write — What prophets preached the truth so well As HoFER, Eriah, Broce, and Teli^ ? God guard the creed these heroes taught, — That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought. A soldier's life's the life for me — A soldier's death, so Ireland's free '. Then, welcome be the bivouac. Hie hardy stand, and fierce attack, "Where pikes will tame their carbineers. And rifles thin their bay'neteers. And every field the island through WiU show " what Irishmen can do I" A soldier's life's the lite for me — A soldier's dcatii. so Ireland's free I SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA. 23 V. Yet, 'tis not strength, and 'tis not steel Alone can make the English reel ; But wisdom, working day by day. Till comes the time for passion's sway — The patient dint, and powder shock, Can blast an empire like a rock. A soldier's life's the life for me — . A soldier's death, so Ireland's free I The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in slavish men ; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown. No more I'il sing, no more I'U pine. But train my soul to lead a line — A soldier's life's the life for nie — A soldier's deatn, so Ireland's ireoi 24 ijALLADS AND SONGG. OUK OWN AGAIN. Air — Original.* Let the coward shrink aside, "We'll liave our own again ; Let the brawling slave deride. Here's for our owii agaiu — Let the tyrant bribe and lie, March, threaten, fortify. Loose his lawyer and his spy. Yet we'U have our own agaiE . Let him soothe in silken tone, Scold from a foreign throne ; Let him come with bugles blown, We shall have our own again. Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own again — Let the game be fairljf tried, We'll have our own again. «* F/Vie "Spirit of tlie Nation," 4to. p S08. ODR OWN AGAIN. 2S II. Send tlie cry throughout the land, " Wlio's for our own again ?" Summon all men to our band, — Wliy not our own again ? Rich, and poor, and old, and J^oung, Shari) sword, and fiery tongue — Soul and sinew firmly strung, All to get our own again. Brothers thrive by brotherhood — Trees in a stormy wood — Kiches come from Nationhood — Sha'n't we have our own again ? Munster's woe is Ulster's bane ! Join for our own again — Tyrants rob as well as reign, — We'll have our own again. Oft our fathers' hearts it stirred, " Rise for our own again I" Often passed the signal word, " Strike for our own again 1" Rudely, rashly, and untaught. Uprose they, ere they ought, Palling, though they nobly fought. Dying for tlieir own again. 26 Mind will rule and muscle yield, In senate, ship, and field — . When weVe skill our strength to wield. Let us take our own again. By the slave his chain is wrought, — Strive for our own again. Thiinder is less strong than thought, — . We'll have our own again. Calm as granite to our foes, Stand for our own again ; Till his wrath to madness grows. Firm for our own again. Bravely hope, and wisely wait. Toil, join, and educate ; Man is master of his fate ; We'll enjoy our own again. With a keen constrained thirst — Powder's calm ere it burst — Making ready for the worst, So we'll get our own again. Let us to our purpose bide. We'll have our own again. God is on the righteous side, We'll have our own agam. CELTS AND SAXONS. CELTS AND SAXONS.* We hate the Saxon and the Dane, We hate the Norman men — We cursed their greed for blood and gain. We curse them now again. Yet start not, Irish born mao, If you're to Ireland true, We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan — We have no curse for you. II. We have no curse for you or your's. But Friendship's ready grasp. And Faith to stand by you and your's, Unto our latest gasp — To stand by you against all foes, Howe'er, or Avhence they come, With traitor arts, or bribes, or blows. From England, France, or Eome. • AVritten in reply to some verj- beautiful verses prtiitcd In the Evening Mail, deprecating and defying the assumed hostility of tlie Irish Celts to the Irish Saxons. — Authobs Xotk. 2S BALLADS AND SONfiS What matter that at different shrhies "We pray unto one God — What matter that at different times Our fathers won this sod — In fortune and in name we're bound By stronger links than steel ; And neither can be safe nor sound But in the other's Aveal. IV. As Nubian rocks, and Ethiop sand Long drifting down the Nile, Built up old Egypt's fertile land For many a hundred mile ; So Pagan clans to Ireland came, And clans of Christendom, Yet joined their wisdom and their fam© To build a nation from. Here came the brown Phoenician, The man of trade and toil — Here came the proud Milesian, Ahungering for spoil ; And the Pirbolg and the Cymry, And the hard, enduring Dane, And the iron Lords of Normandy, With the Saxons in their train. CELTS AND SAXONS. 29 And oh ! it were a gallant deed To show before mankind, How every race and every creed Might be by love combined — Might be combined, yet not forget The fountains whence they rose, As, filled by many a riviUet The stately Shannon flows. VII. Nor would we wreak our ancient feud On Belgian or on Dane, Nor visit in a hostile mood The hearths of Gaul or Spain ; But long as on our country lies The Anglo-Norman yoke. Their tyranny we'll signalize. And God's revenge invoke. We do not hate, we never cursed, Nor spoke a foeman's word Against a man in Ireland nursed, Howe'er we thought he erred ; So start not, Irish born man, If you're to Ireland true, We heed not race, nor creed, nor clar. We've hearts and hands for you. BALLADS AND SONGS. ORANGE AND GREEN WILL CARRY THE DAY Air — The Protestant Boys. Ireland ! rejoice, and England ! deplore — Paction and feud are passing away. "XSvas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar, " Orange and Green will carry the day " Orange 1 Orange! Green and Orange I Pitted together in many a fray — Lions in fight 1 And linked in their might, Orange and Green will carry the day. Orange 1 Orange I Green and Orange ! Wave them together o'er mountain and bay, Orange and Green / Our King and our Queen ! •♦ Orange and Green will carry tlie day !" ORANGE AND GKEEN. 31 Eusty the swords our fathers unsheathed — William and James are turned to clay — Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed ; Red was the crop, and bitter the pay ! Freedom fled us 1 Knaves misled us I Under the feet of the foemen we lay — Riches and strength Well win them at length, For Orange and Green will carry the day 1 Landlords fooled us ; England ruled us, Hounding our passions to make us their prey But, in their spite. The Irish Unite, And Orange and Green will carry the day ! ui. Fruitful our soil where honest men starve -, Empty the mart, and shipless the bay; Out of our want the Oligarchs carve ; Foreigners fatten on our decay I Disunited, Therefore bhghted. Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway ; Party and creed For once have agreed — Orange and Green will carry the day I c3 32 BALLADS AND S0N03. Boyne's old water. Red with slaughter I Now is as pure as an infant at play; So, in GUI' souls, Its history roll?, And Orange and Green will carry the day! English deceit can rule us no more, Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray — Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore, " Orange and Green must carry the day 1" Orange I Orange ! Bless the Orange I Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay. When, from the North, Burst the cry forth, " Orange and Green will carry the day ; " No surrender J No Pretender 1 Never to falter and never betray — With an Amen, We swear it again, OnANGE AND GrEEN SHALL CARRY THE UAY, "The elements of Irish 'Nationality are not only combining — In fact, Oicy are growing confluent in onr minds. Such nationality as merits a good man's lielp, and awakens a true man's ambition, — snch nationality as could stand against internal faction and foreign intrigue, — such nationality as would make the Irish hearth happy, and the Irish name illustrious, is becoming understood. It must contain and represent all the races of Ireland. It must not be Celtic ; it must not be Saxon ; it must be Irish. The Brehon law, and the maxims of AYestminster; — the cloudy and Ughtning genius of the Gael, the placid strength of the Sacsanach, the marshalling insight of the Norman ;— a Literature which shall exhibit in combination the passions and idioms of aU, and which shall equiilly express om- mind, in its romantic, its religious, its forensic, and its practical tendencies; — finely, a native government, which shall know and rule by tlie might and right of all, yet yield to the arrogance of none; — these are the components of such a nationaUt;'," — Davis's EssAVii, •' It Is not a gambling fortune, made at imperial play, Ireland wants; It is the pious and stem cultivation of her faculties and her virtues, the acquisition of faithful and exact habits, and the self-respect that re- wards a dutiful and sincere life. To get her peasants Into snug homa- steads, with well-tilled fields and placid hearths, — to develope the inge- nuity of lier artists, and the docile industry of her artisans, — to make for her gwn instruction a literature wherein our climate, history, and passions shall breathe, — to gain conscious strength and integrity, and the high post of holy freedom; — these are Ii-eland's wants." Daviss Essays PART II. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS AND BALLADS. "The greatest achievement of tlie Irish people is tlieir music. It tells tlieir liistory, climate, and cliaracter; but it too much loves to vreep. Let us, when so many of our chains have been broken, — while our strength is great, and our hopes high, — cultivate its bokler strains — its raging and rejoicing; or if we weijp, let it be like men whose eyes are lifted, though their tears fall. " JIusic is the first fticulty of the Msh ; and scarcely anything has Buch power for good over theai. The use of this faculty and this power, publicly and constantly, to keep up their spirits, refine .their tastes, wann their courage, increase their union, and renew their ze.il, —4a the duty of every patriot." — Davls's Essays. MISCELLANEOUS SONGS AND BALLADS. THE LOST PATH. Air Grddh mo chroide. I. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, All comfort else has flown; For every hope was false to me, And here I am, alone. What thoughts were mine in early youtli ! Like some old Irish song. Brimful of love, and life, and truth. My spirit gushed along. I hoped to right my native isle, I hoped a soldier's fame, I hoped to rest in woman's Biniler And win a minstrel's name — S6 SONGS AND BALLADS. Oh 1 little Lave I served my land, No laurels press my brow, I have no woman's heart or hand. Nor minstrel honours now. But fancy has a magic power. It brings me wreath and crown, And woman's love, the self-same hour It smites oppression down. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort bo, I have no joy beside ; Oh ! throng around, and be to me Power, country, fame, and bride. LOVE'S LONGINGS. To the conqueror nis crowning, First freedom to the slave. And air unto the drowning. Sunk in the ocean's wave — And succour to the faithful, Who fight their flag above, A re sweet, but far less grateful Than were my lady's love. lovk's loncinor. 37 I know I am not worthy Of one so young and bright ; And yet I would do for thee Far more than others might ; I cannot give you pomp or gold. If you should be my wife, But I can give you love untold, And true in death or life. lit. Methinks that there are passions Within that heaving breast To scorn their heartless fashions. And wed whom you love best. Methinks you would be prouder As the struggling patriot's bride. Than if rank your home should crowd, Jt Cold riches round you glide. Oh ! the watcher longs for morning. And the infant cries for light. And the saint for heaven's warning, And the vanquished pray for might ; But their prayer, when lowest kneeling. And their suppliance most true, Are cold to the appealing Of this longing heart to you. V 38 SONGS AND BAI,I,AD8, HOPE DEFERRED. Air Oh I art thou gone, my Mary dear t 1. "Tis long since we were forced to part, at least it seems so to my grief, For sorrow wearies us like time, but all ! it brings not time's relief: As in our days of tenderness, before me stiU she seems to glide ; And, though my arms are wide as then, yet she will not abide. The day-light and the star-light shine, as if her eyes were in their light, And, whispering in the panting breeze, her love-songs come at lonely night : Wliile, far away with those less dear, she tries to hide her grief in vain. For, kind to all while true to me, it pains her to give pain. I know she never spoke her love, she never breathed a single vow, And yet I 'm sure she loved me then, and still doats on me now ; EIBHLIN A RUIN. 39 For, when we met, her eyes grew glad, and heavy when I left her side. And oft she said she 'd be most happy as a poor man's bride , I toiled to win a pleasant home, and make it ready by the spring ; The spring is past — Avhat season now my girl unto our home will bring ? I'm sick and weary, very weary — watching, morning, night, and noon ; How long you're coming — I am dying — will jou not come soon ? EIBHLIN A RUIN Air, — Eibhlin a ruin. When I am far away, Eibhlhi a ruin, Be gayest of the gay, Eibhlin a ruin. Too dear your happiness, Por me to wish it less — Love has no selfishness. Eihhl'm a ruin. 40 SONGS AND BALLADS. And it must be our pride, Fihhl'in a ruin. Our trusting hearts to Iddc, Eibhl'tn a ruin. They wish our love to blight. We'll wait for Fortune's light The flowers close up at night, Eihhl'm a ruin. And when we meet alone, EihliUn a ruin. Upon my bosom thrown, Eihhlin a ruin ; That liour, with light bedecked, Shall cheer us and direct, A beacon to the wrecked, Eihhlin a rain. Fortune, thus sought, will ooraOf, Eibhlin a ruin. We'll win a happy hG7ne, EibhUn a rain ; And, as it slowly rose, 'Twill tranquilly repose, A rock 'mid melting snows, Eihhlin a ruin. THE BANKS OF TH K LKE. 41 THE BANKS OF THE LEE. Air A Trip to the Cottage. Oh I the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me; There's not in the land a lovelier tide, And I'm sure that there's no one so fau' as my bride She's modest and meek, There's a down on her cheek, And her skin is as sleek As a butterfly's wing — Then her step would scarce show On the fresh-fallen snow, And her whisper is low, But as clear as the spring. Oil ! tlie banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me, I know not how love is happy elsewhere, I know not how any but lovers are there J II. Oh I so green is the grass, so clear is the stream. So mild is the mist, and so rich is the beam. That beauty should ne'er to other lands roam, But make on the banks of the river its home. 42 SONGS AND BAI,I,AD8. Wlien, dripping with dow, The roses peep through, Tis to look in at you They are growing so fast ; WTiib the scent of the flowers Must be hoarded for hours, 'Tis poured in such showers When my Mary goes past. Oh ! the banks of the Lee, the banks of the Lee, And love in a cottage for Mary and me — Oh, Mary for me — oh, Mary for me I And 'tis little I'd sigh for the banks of the Lee 1 THE GIKL OF DUNBWY. I. 'TiR pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy Stepping the mountain statelily — Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet, No ladv in Ireland to match her is meet. roor is her diet, and hardly she lies — Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes ; The child of a peasant — yet England's proud Queen Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien. THE GIRL Of DUNBVVY. 43 Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff — And lore, and devotion, and energy speak From her beauty -proud eye, and her passion-pale cheek. IV. But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip. And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip, And her form and her step, like the reed-deer's, go past— . As lightsome, as lovely, as haugiity, as fast. I saAV her but once, and I looked in her eye. And she knew that I worshipped in passing her by ; The saint of the wayside — she granted my prayer, Tliough we spoke not a word, for her mother was there* VI. I never can think upon Bantry's bright liills. But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills ; And I whisper her softly, "again, love, we'll meet. And I '11 lie in your bosom, and live at your feet. " •14 SONGS AND BALLADS. DUTY AND LOVE. Air. — My lodging is on the cold ground. Oh ! lady, think not that my heart lias grown cold, If I woo not as once I could woo ; Tliough sorrow-has bruised it, and long years have rolled. It still doats on beauty and you : And were I to yield to its inmost desire, I would labour by night and by day, Till I won you to flee from the home of 3'our sire. To live with your love far away. But it is that my country's in bondage, and I Have sworn to shatter her chains! By my duty and oath I must do it or lie A corse on her desolate plains ; Then, sure, dearest maiden, 'twere sinful to sue, And crueller far to win, But, should victory smile on my banner, to you I shall fly without sorrow or sin. ANNIE DEAR. 46 ANNIE DEAR. A IB. — Maids in May. Ora mountain brooks were rushing, Annie, dear. The Autumn eve was flushing, Annie, dear; But brighter was j'our blushing. When first, your murmurs hushing, I told my love outgushing, Annie, dear. Ah ! but our hopes were splendid, Annie, dear, How sadly they have ended, Annie, dear; The ring betwixt us broken, When our vows of love were spoken. Of your poor heart was a token, Annie, dear. d3 46 SONGS AND BALLADS. The primrose flowers were shining, Annie, dear. When, on my breast reclining, Annii, dear 1 Began our MUna-meaia, And many a month did follow Of joy — but life is hollow, Annie, dear. IV. For once, when home retnrnmg, Annie, dear, I fonnd our cottage burning, Annie, dear; Around it were the yeomen, Of every ill an omen, The country's bitter foemen, Annie, dear. But why arose a morrow, Annie, dear. Upon that night of sorrow^ Annie, de.vr? Far better, by thee lying. Their bayonets defying, Than live an exile sigliing, Annie, dear. p^ BLIND MARY. 47 BLIND MAEY. Air. — Blind Mary. i'uERK flows from her spirit such love and delight, irh;it the face of Uliiid Mary is radiant with light — |As tlie gleam from a homestead through darkness will show, jOr the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow. Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times, As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes ; And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends. And the starlight, as love, that nor changes nor enda. Ah ! grieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun, For the moimtains that tower, or the rivers that run — For beauty and grandeur, and glory, and light. Are seen by the spirit, and not by the sight. In vain for the thoughtless are sunburst and shade, In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade ; While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound Is one uf the guardians, an Eden around! 48 SONGS AND BALLADS. THE BRIDE OF MALLOW. I. 'TwAs dying they thouglit her, And kindly tliey brought her To the banks of Blackwater , Wliere her forefathers lie ; 'Twas the place of her childhood, - And they hoped that its wild wood, And air soft and mild A^'ould Soothe her spirit to die. II. Bat slie met on its border A lad who adored her — No rich man, nor lord, or A coward, or slave ; But one who had worn A green coat, and borne A pike from Slieve Mourne, With the patriots brave. HI. Oh ! the banks of the stream are Than emeralds greener : And how should they wean her From loving the earth ? AVhile the song-birds so sweet. And the waves at their feet. Ami each young pair they meet. Arc aU dushing with mirth. THE BRIDE OF MALLOW. 49 And she listed his talk, And he shared in her walk — And how could she baulk One so gallant and tnie ? But why teU the rest ? Her love she confest, And sunk on his breast, Like the eventide dew. V. Ah ! now her cheek glows With the tint of the rose. And her healthful blood flovp, Just as fresh as the streans ; And her eye flashes bright. And her footstep is light, And sickness and blight Fled away like a dream. And soon by his side She kneels a sweet bride. In maidenly pride And maidenly fears ; And their children were fair, And their home knew no care, Save that all homesteads were Not as happy as theirs. 60 SUNtiS ASD 13ALLAUS. THE WELCOME. Air. — An buachailui huidlie. I. Come in the evening, or come in the morning, Come when you're looked for, or come without warning, Kisses and welcome you'll find here before 3'ou, And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you. Light is my heart since the day we were plighted, Eed is my cheek that they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever. And the linnets are singing, "true lovers I don't sever." I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear if you choose them ; Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom. I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire you ; I'll fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tire you. Oh ! your step's like the rain to the summer-vexed farmer, Or sabre and shield to a knight without armour ; I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above me. Then, wandering, I'll wish you, in silence, to love me. THE WELCOME. 51 We'll look through the trees at the cliif, and the eyrie. We'll tread round the rath on the track of the fairy, We'll look on the stars, and we'll list tc the river. Till you ask of your darUng what gift you can give her. Oh ! she'll whisper you. " Love as unchangeably beaming, And trust, when in secret, most tunefully streaming. Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver. As our souls flow in one down eternity's river." So come in the evening, or come in the morning. Come when you're looked for, or come without warning. Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you. And the oftener you come here the more I'll adore you 1 Light is my heart since the day we were jilighted, lied is my cheek tliat they told me was blighted ; The green of the trees looks far greener than ever. And the luinetsare singing, " true lo\ ei-s t don't sever!" 52 S0N08 AND B.VLLAD8. THE MI-NA-MEALAo Like the rising of the sun, Herald of bright hours to follow, Lo? the marriage rites are done, And begun the Ml-na-meala. Heart to heart, and hand to hand. Vowed 'fore God to love and cherisli, Each by each in grief to stand. Never more apart to flourish. Now their lips, low whisp'ring, speak Thoughts their eyes have long been saying. Softly bright, and richly meek, As seraphs first their Avings essaying. Deeply, wildly, warmly, love — 'Tis a heaven-sent enjoyment. Lifting up our thoughts above Selfish aims and cold employment. THE MI-NA-MKALA. 53 V. Yet, remember, passion wanes, Romance is parent to dejection; Nought our happiness sustains But thoughtful care and firm affection. VI. When the Mi-na-mealas flown, Sterner duties surely need you; Do their bidding, — 'tis love's o^vn, — Faithful love will say God speed you- VII. Guard her comfort as 'tis worth. Pray to God to look down on her : And swift as cannon-shot go forth To strive for freedom, truth, and honour. VUI. Oft recall — and never swerve — Your children's love and her's will follow ; Guard your home, and there preserve Tor you an endless Mi-na-meala.* • lloneymooa. Kirfe GLOssiBr. 54 SONGS AND BALLADS. MAIRE BIIAN A STOIH. Air — Original. In a valley, far away. With my Mdire bhan a stoir* Sliort would be the siimrner-day, Ever loving more and more ; Winter-days would all grow long, With tlie light her heart would jiour. With her kisses and her song, And her loving maith go leor.f Fond is Maire bhan a stoir. Fair is Maire bhan a stoir. Sweet as ripple on the shore, Sings my Miire bhan a stoir. • 'WTiich means, "fair Mary my treasure." If we are to ■write gib- berish to enable some of oui- readers to pronounce this, we must do so thus, Maur-ya vaun asthore, and pretty looking stuff it is. Really it is time for the inhabitants of Ireland to learn Irish. — Auiuor's Koth. t Much plenty, or iu abundance.— Authok's Note. MAIRE I3HAN A STOIR. 55 II. Oil ! lier sire is very proud, And her mother cold as stone ; But her brother bravely vowed She should be my bride alone ; For he knew I loved her well, And he knew she loved me too, So he sought their pride to quell, But 'twas all in vain to sue. True is Maire hhan a sloir. Tried is Maire bhan a stoir. Had I wings I'd never soar. From my Maire hhan a stoir. There are lands where manly toil Surely reaps the crop it sows, Glorious woods and teeming soil, Where the broad Jlissouri flows ; Through the trees the smoke shall rise, From our hearth with maith go kSr, There shall shine the happy eyes Of my Maire bhan a stuir. Mild is Maire hhan a stoir. Mine is Maire bhan a stoir. Saints will watch about the door Of my Muire bhan a stoir. 56 SONGS AND BALLADS. OH! THE MARRIAGE. Air llie Swaggering Jig. On ! the marriage, the marriage. Witli love and mo hhuachaill for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage Slight envy my marriage to me ; For Eoglian* is straight as a tower. And tender and loving and true, He told me more love in an hour Than the Squires of the county could do. Then, Oh ! the marriage, &c. II. His hair is a shower of soft gold, His eye is as clear as the day, His conscience and vote were unsold When others were carried away ; His word is as good as an oath. And freely 't^vas given to me ; Oh ! sm-e 'twill be hapjiy for both " The day of our marriage to see. Then, Oh ! the marriage, &c. * Vuhjo Owen ; but tliat is, proijerly, a name ainoag the Cymry (Welih).— AuTuoK'a Note. ohI the marriage. 57 III. His kinsmen are honest and kind. The neighbours think much of his skill. And Eoghan's the lad to my mind, Though he owns neither castle nor mill. But he has a tilloch of land, A horse, and a stocking of coin, A foot for the dance, and a hand In the cause of his country to join. Then, Oh I the marriage, & plain. Crying, like hurricane, Uile liu ai? — Broad is his corn's base — Nigh the " King's burial-place, "(«) Last of the Pagan race, Lieth King Dathi 1 (a) The true ancienl and modern name of this island. Vide Glos- BABY in voc. — Ed. (b) Angl. Roscommon. (c) Bibernke, Koilig na Riogh, vulgo, Relignaxce — " A famous bnrial place near Cruaclian, in Connacht, where the kings were usually in- terrefl, before the establishment of tlie Christian religion in Ireland."— O'Brien's Ir. Did. rS 82 HISTORICAL BALLADS, ARGAN m6e.(«) Air — Argan Mor. Ta:B Danes rush around, around ; To the edge of the fosse they bound ; Hark ! hark, to their trumpets' sound. Bidding tliem to tlie war Hark ! hark to their cruel cry, As they swear our hearts' cores to dry, And their Raven red to dye ; Glutting their demon, Thor, Leaping the Eath upon, Here's the fiery Ceallachan — He makes the Lochlonnach(6) wan. Lifting his brazen spear ! Ivor, the Dane, is struck down. For the spear broke right through his crown j Yet worse did the battle frown — Anlaf is on our rercl (c) Tide Appendix. {h) Korilimeii, — vide Glossaw. ARGAN JluR. 83 See ! see ! the Eath's gates are broke I And in — in, like a cloud of smoke. Burst on the dark Danish folk, Charging us everywhere — • Oh, never was closer fight Than in Argan M6r that night — How little do men want light, Fighting within their lair Then girding about our king. On the thick of the foes we spring — Down — down we trample and fling. Gallantly though tliey strive ; And never our falchions stood. Till we were all wet with their blood. And none of the pirate brood Went from the Bath alivo ! 84 HISTORICAL BALLAOf? THE VICTOR'S BURIAL. I. Wkap him iu his banner, the best sliroud of the brave — "Wi-ap him iu his o7ichu,{a) and take him to his grave — Lay him not down lowly, like bulwark overthrown, But, gallantly upstanding, as if risen from his throne, With his craiseacW') iu his hand, and his sword on his thigh, With his war-belt on his waist, and his cathbharric) on high — Put his JieasgW upon his neck — his green flag round him fold, Like ivy round a castle waU — not conq^uered, but groAvn old— 'Mhuire as truagh I A mhuire as truagh I A mhuire as truagh ! o-ihnn !\e) Weep for him ! Oh ! weep for him, but remember, in yoar moan. That he died, in his pride. — with his foes about liim strown. II. Oh shrine liim iu Beinn-Edairf/J witli his face towards the foe. As i'.n emblem that not death our defiance can lay low — (a) FUig. (6) Spear. (c) Helmet. id) Collar. («) Anglice, WiiTastUrue, odione! (/) Howth. THE TRUE IRISH KIXG. 85 Let him look across the waves from the promontory's breast, To menace back The East, and to sentinel The West ; Sooner sliall these channel waves the iron coast cut through. Than the spirit he has left, yield, Easterlings ! to you— Let his coffin be the hill, let the eagles of the sea Chorus "with the surges round, the tuireamh(^j of the free ! 'Mhuirc as Iruagh ! A mkuire as truagh I A mhuire as truagh I ochon I Weep for him ! Oli ! weep for him, but remember, in your moan, That he died, in his pride, — with his foes about him strown ! THE TRUE IRISH KING.(6^ The Caesar of Rome has a wider demesne, And i\\.QArd Righ of France lias more clans in his train ; The sceptre of Spain is more heavy with gems. And our crowns cannot vie with the Greek diadems ; But kinglier far before heaven and man Are the Emerald fields, and the fiery-eyed clan, The sceptre, and state, and the poets who sing. And the swords that encircle A True Irish King 1 («) A masculine lament- (6) Vide AppeniTix. 8G HISTORICAL BALLADS. For, lie must have come from a conquering race — The heir of their valour, their glory, their grace : His frame must be stately, his step must be fleet, His hand must be trained to each vt^arrior feat, Ilis face, as the harvest moon, steadfjist and clear, A head to enlighten, a sph-it to cheer; ■\7hile the foremost to rush where the battle-brands ring, And the last to retreat is A True Irish King ! Yet, not for his courage, his strength, or his name, Can he from the clansmen their fealty claim. The poorest, and liighest, choose freely to-day The chief, that to-night, they'll as truly obey ; ?ov loyalty springs from a people's consent, Vnd the knee that is forced had been better unbcnt-- rhe Sacsanach .serfs no such liomage can bring As the Irishmen's choice of A True Irish King ! Come, look on the pomp when they "make an O'Neill ; The muster of dynasts — O'h- Again, O'Shiadhail, O'Cathain, 0'h-Anluain,(«) O'Bhreislein, and all, From gentle Aird Uladh(6) to rude Diin na n-gall :(«) (a) Angl. CHaRan, O'Shiel, O'Cnhaii, or Kane, O'Hanlon. (t) Angl The Ards. Cc) Angl. Donegal THE TRUE IRISH KING. 87 "St. Patrick's comharba,"(a) with bishops tliirtccn, Andollamhsi^) andbreitheamhs,(<^) and minstrels, areseen Round Tulach-Og('') Eath, lilce the bees in the spring, All s-vrarming to honour A True Irish King ! Unsandalled he stands on the foot-dinted rock ; Like a pillar-stone fixed against every shock. ' Round, round is the Rath on a far-seeing liill ; Like his blemishless honour, and vigilant will. The grey-beards are telling how chiefs by the score Have been crowned on " The Rath of the Kings" here- tofore. While, croAvded, yet ordered, within its green ring, Axe thedynasts and priests round The True Irish King 1 VI. Tlie chronicler read him the laws of tlie clan, And pledged him to bide by their blessing and ban ; His skian and his sword are unbuckled to show That they only were meant for a foreigner foe ; A white willow wand has been put in his hand — A type of pure, upright, and gentle command — While hierarclis are blessing, the slipper they fling, And O'Cathain proclaims him A True Irish King ! (a) Successor — ccmharba Phadrmg — ^the Arclibishop of (^Ard-macJid) Armagh (6) Doctora or learned men. (c) Judges. Amjl. Erehons. ( What gorgeous shrines, what breUheamk(e) lore, what minstrel feasts there were In and around Magh Nuadhaid's(/) keep, and palace- filled Adare ! But not for rite or feast ye sta3'ed, when friend or Ida wore pressed ; And foemen fled, when ^'CromAbu'i!/) bespoke your lance in rest. (a) Avgl. Glyn. (h) Angl Dingle. (c) Aval Barrow. d) Angl. Yoiaghal. (e) Ang'i. Brchon. (/) Angl. Slaynooth. (g) Foimerly the war crj- of tlio Geraldines; and now their motto, Vide Gi.ossAKV in voa. 92 HISTORICAL BALLADS. V. Ye Geraldiues! ye Geraldines! — since Silken Thomas flung King Henry's sword on council board, the English thanes among, Ye never ceased to battle brave against the English sway, Though axe and brand and treachery your proudest cut away. Of Desmond's blood, through woman's veins passed on th' exhausted tide ; His title lives — a Sacsanach churl usurps the lion's hide : And, though Kildare tower haughtily, there's ruin at the root. Else why, since Edward fell to earth, had such a tree no fruit ? True Geraldines ! brave Geraldines ! — as torrents mould the earth. You channelled deep old Ireland's heart by constancy and worth : When Ginclile 'leaguered Limerick, the Irish soldiers gazed To see if in the setting sun dead Desmond's banner blazed I THE GERALDINES. 93 And still it is the peasants' hope upon the Cuirreach'sC*) mere, ••They live, who'll see ten thousand men with good Lord Edward here" — So let them dream till brighter days, when, not by Ed- ward's sliade. But by some leader true as he, their lines shall be arrayed ! VII. These Geraldines ! these Grcraldines ! — rain wears away the rock, And time may wear away the tribe that stood the battle's shock, But, ever, sure, while one is left of all that honoured race, In front of Ireland's chivalry is that Fitzgerald's place : And, though the last were dead and gone, how many a field and town. From Thomas Court to Abbeyfeile, would cherish their renown, And men would say of valour's rise, or ancient power'3 decline, •• Twill never soar, it never shone, as did the Geral- dme." (a) Angt Currn^b. 94 HISTORICAL BALLADS. VIII. Tlie Geraldiiies 1 the Geraldiues ! — and are there any fears Witliin the sons of conquerors for full a thousand years ? Can treason spring from out a soil bedewed with martyr's "olood ? Or has that grown a purling brook, which long rushed down a flood ? — By Desmond swept with sword and fire, — by clan and kee]3 laid low, — By Silken Thomas and liis kin, — ^by sainted Edward 1 No! The forms of centuries rise up. and in the Irish line OOMBIAND THEIR SON TO TAKE THE POST THAT FITS THE GeRAIJJINK 'J "^ (a) The concluding stanza, now flrst publisUed, was fonnd aracag the autlior's papers. — Ed. o'brikn of ara. 95 O'BRIEN OF ARA.(«) Air — The Piper of Blessington. Tall are the towers of O'Ceinneidigh — (b) Broad are the lands of MacCarrthaigh — («J Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day ; Yet, "here's to 0'Briain((i) of Ara I Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar,(<;) Down from the top of Camailte, Clansman and kinsman are coming here To give liim the cead mile failtk. u. See you the mountains look huge at eve — So is our chieftain in battle — "Welcome he has for the fugitive, — Uisce-beatha,(f) fighting, and cattle! (a) Ara Is a small mountain tract, south of Loch Deirgdheirc, and north of the Camailte (t^M?(?o the Keeper) hUls. It was the seat of a ' branch of the Thomond piinces, called the O'Briens of Ara, who hold an important place in the Srunster Annals. — Adtiiok's Notb. (6) Vulgo, OKennedy. (c) Vul M-Cartliy. (d) Vul. O'Brien. (e) Vul Dnimineer. (/) Vul. Usquebaugh. ■)(i HISTORICAL BALLAWe. Up from tlie Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Gossip and ally are coming liere To give him the cead mile failte. Horses the vallej's are tramping on, Sleek from the Sacsauach manger — Creachs the hills are er.oamping on, Empty the hans of the stranger ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camaiito, Ceithearnit^) and buannacht are coming here To give him the cead wile failte. IV. He has black silver from Cill-da-lua(6) — Iiian(«) and Cearbhall(<^) are neighbours — 'N Aonach(eJ submits with afuiliUu — Butler is meat for our sabres ! Up from Ihe Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Rian and Cearbhall are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. (ft) Vulffo, Kerne. (b) Vul Eillaloe. (c) Vul. Kyan. (,(/) Vul Can-oil. (e) Vul. Xenngh. O'BRIEN OF ARA. 97 Tis scarce a week since through Osairghe(«) Chased he the Baron of Durmhagh — (*) Forced him five rivers to cross, or he Had died by the sword of Eed Murchadii I(<) Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, All the Ui Bhriain are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. VI. Tall are the towers of O'Ceinneidigh — Broad are the lands of MacCarrthaigh — Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day ; Yet, here's to O'Briain of Ara ! Up from the Castle of Druim-aniar, Down from the top of Camailte, Clansman and kinsman are coming here To give him the cead mile failte. (a) Vvlgo, Ossory. (6) Vul. Dunow. (3) Vul. Murrough. 98 EISTOniCAL BALLADS. EMMELINE TALBOT. A. BAJ.LAD OF THE PAXE, [The Scene is on the borders of Dublin and Wioldow.l I. 'TwAs a September day — • In Glenismole,(a) Emraeline Talbot lay On a green knoll. She was a lovely thing, Fleet as a falcon's wing. Only fifteen that spring — Soft was her soul. Danger and dreamless sleep Much did she scorn, And from her father's keep Stole out that morn. Towards Glenismole she hies i — Sweetly the valley lies, "Winning the enterprise, — No one to warn.