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Les diagrammes suivants illustrent la mAthode. 1 2 3 32X 1 2 3 4 5 6 m THE ?i I* O E M C# R- 110,^ .AS WAliVX M,'^G,E:E. ^e^J'IC/US NOTfci »s' MBS. J.'SADI,IEK. . . ■ . m ";■ / -5^ to tie Ottt'lie «»r, -■■■ ■.'■»*F» ff.(m H5« e.Vf It-lit ,}ttrt ; , II ■- 'teRiv : MOjS^ » A. J J ! -., :ii BfROIiAY STREET. .•'a:if^v m • ^5^sc.v^T.m*Ri^r. v^,.,j*;,att» ■st*)M^ ^mwraPv' : J 'A. 1^ THB p o E m: 8 or THOMAS D'ARCT M^GBB. WITH COPIOUS NOTES. Bt MBS. J. SADLIEB. I'd nllMr ioni on* irfinpto Tane TnM to the 0««Ue Mr, Than etonle ode* Z micbt nhi With SMUtM Urt'niag new. JTeOMk Bead from aono humbSor po»i WhOM MMigo guh fh>m the heart Aa nia flrom the donda of anminar, Or laara fhwa tha eyelid* itart ; irhok throsf h toBg daya of labor, And Blghta devoid of eaae, Btia heard la hla aool the niuaio Of woadwfU BMlodia& XeNi/UlMa. LONDON: NEW YOBE : MONf HEAL: k J. SADLIEB k CO., 81 BABOLAY STBEET. BOSTON :-.P. VL. BBADT, 149 TBEMONT STREET. mnuL nun axs n. "?• S ^l>LiBf^^>^. iDtered aooording to Act of Ctongress, in the year 1800, By D. ft J. SADLIEU k CO., Ill the Olerk'a Office of the Diitrict Court of the United States for th* Sonthem District of New York. muM&trfU ky TINCBNT DILb, « * IT N«w ChMAMi M., W. Y PEBFACB. i Turn poemi which are now for the first time presented in a collective I form to the public, were gatliered together from various parts of the Old and the New World. Very many of them were written for the Dublin Nation, as well under Mr. Sullivan's as Mr. Duffy's editorial management. It seemed to be one of Mr. McOee's most lingering fancies, to keep up his [connection all his life long with the far-famed journal in whose brilliant pages he had made his name as a poet. The several volumes of the jour- nals he himself edited, namely, the New York Nation, the Anuriean CeU, land the New Era, Mrs. McQee supplied from his own library. Some of I the poems appeared in Duffy's Hibernian Magazine, to which he was also Ian occasional contributor, and others in the Boston PiUd* Many of the I best of his later poems were written for the New York Ibhlet, the last Ijournal with which he was connected ; not a pecuniary connection, but himply one of friendship, and community of thought and feeling with its Iconductors, one of whom has the sad privilege of editing his poems. I am [indebted to the Messrs. Sullivan, of the Dublin Nation, Mr. Donahoe, Iproprietor of the Button Pilot, and several private friends of Mr. McOee's, [for transcribed copies of poems ; also to Mr. Meehan, of the New York Iriih American, for files of Duffy's Nation, without which I could not have Icompleted my collection. By Major Maher, of New Haven, Ct., I was lloaned the missing volume of the American Cdt for 1852. Those written Ifor the Bottom Pilot were, of course, juvenile productions, lacking the grace |and finish we find in thoM of his later years. These I have placed as a ort of appendix at the end of the volume. Unfortunately, some of thtt ^ It PREFACE. poemi wre itlll wanting, u I observed on the author's lists of his poems the names of some that I could nowhere find — some, too, of the most valu- able—such as "The Spoiling of Armorica," ** St. Bridget and St. Flainc," •'Earl Sigttd and his Sons," * "The Vale of Angels," "The Dog of Augh- rim," "The Isle of St. Iberius," and other historical poems. Should any of these be found hereafter, they will be given in another edition. In the arrangement of the poems, I have followed the actual course ot our poet's mind. I have placed the Patriotic poems first, the Legendary and Historical next, then the Poems of the Affections, the Occasional or Miscellaneous, and lastly, the Religious, which, happily for him, repre- sented the last phase of his mind. The Historical Poems, it will be seen, I have arranged chronologically, following the course of the history of the Irish Celts, including their life in their new American home. The Biographical Sketch being merely intended as a key to the poems, I would respectfully request the reader to read it first, then the Introduc- 1 tion, which will prepare the way for the poems themselves. Some errors will be detected by critics in the rhyme of certain of the I poems, none, however, in the rhythm, which, in all, is perfect. I have done what I legitimately could to correct errors, which the author himselil would have done in a general revision, had he lived to prepare his workil for publication. Some of the defects in rhyme I could not venture toj correct without taking unwarrantable liberties with the author's thought. The editing of these scattered remains of a genius all too soon extioj guished in death, was truly a labor of love to one who knew the lamentedj author long and well, and from an intimate knowledge of his many nobk •qualities of head and heart, set a high value on his friendship, collection of iiis poems is as complete as I could make it, and such as it i I commend it to public favor as a volume of genuine poetry, spring from a heart that was deeply imbued with a love of the beautiful, good, the heroic* II. A. S. | Kiw Tou, November 18, 1869. CONTENTS. hooBAraioAL Skucii or thb Authob 16 Intbodcctiok to tub Pobbs 41 PATRIOTIC POEMS: A Fragment 100 A Harvest Hymn 09 Along the line 161 A Malediction 69 A mere Irishman's Lament 79 Am I Bemember'd 159 An Apology to the Harp 61 An International Song 164 An Invitation Westward 146 Another Year 143 A Profession 157 Arm and rise ! 168 A Salutation 188 A Suluttition to the Free Flag of America ■,, 181 A Song for the Sections 71 A Vow and Prayer .^/ 128 [change 89 [Death of the Homeward Bound 102 pecds done in Days of Shame 84 iDreara Journeys 140 |Freedom's Journey 160 Treedom's Land 76 lail to the Land 67 lome Sonnets— Address to Ireland 125 lope 90 \i is easy to Die 92 jrd Gl-gall's Dream 164 ►lidsummer, 1851 .V 161 lative Hills 141 Jew- Year's Thoughts 87 lo Surrender 88 le to an Emigrant Ship 96 >'Dom»eU of Spain *.....- 147 i.\ s I II Yi CONTENTS. 9tm\ Oh ! blame me not 128 Prologue to St. Patrick at Tara 114 Question and AiMwer 120 Rise and go 166 Rocks and Rivers 80 Salutation to the Cults 13r> Song of the Sikhs 74 Song of the Surplus 149 Sonnet 730 Sonnet— Return 139 The ancient Race 132 The Army of the West 73 Tlie Celt's Consolation 82 Tiie Dawning of the Day : . . 90 Tlie deserted Chapel 77 The Emigrant at Home f . . 64 The Exile's Devotion 108 The Exile's Meditation 105 The Exile's Request 184 The Gathering of the Nations 83 The Heart's Resting-plaoe 127 The Living and the Dead 101 The Partinj; from Ireland IOC riie Pilgrims of Liberty 65 The Reaper's Song 98 The Recusant 81 The Saints Farewell 110 The Search for the Gael. . . .« 91 The Son;^ of Labor 112 The Tlirce Dreams 104 The Three Minstrels 63 Tune's Teachings 142 To Duffy, Free 120 To Duffy in Prison 116 To my Wishing-cap Ill Try again 166 Union is Strength 186 When Fightii^ was the Fashion 9o Wishes 148 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS: A Ballad of Bannow 271 Address to Milesius .-. . 171 1 C0NTSNT8. ▼u 128 114 1-20 155 80 185 74 . 149 . ?30 . 139 . 132 . 73 A. I • • • • 8-2 90 77 64 108 105 134 85 127 101 106 65 98 81 110 , 91 . 112 . 104 . 68 . 142 . 120 . 116 . Ill . 156 ,. 136 .. 96 .. 148 . 271 1711 VAOB After the Flight 812 A Ix'Kvnd of Dunluce CuBtle '265 A Ix'Kfntl of St. Patrick 192 Anu'r^in's Anthem on discovering Innisfail 174 All Invocation 170 A rrivyor for Feargal O'Oara 828 Itrothor Michael 817 HryuM, the Tanist 218 Curoliui tl»e Blind 829 Ciithiil's Farewell to the Rye 228 Clmrlty and Science 888 Death of Art M'Murrough .«. 267 1)»^ Couroy's Pilgrimage 268 Epithnhuniiim 256 Esociitlon »)f Archbishop Flunkett 328 FeiiRh M'Hugh 297 Finn Synan's Game of Chess 209 How St. Kicrnan protected Clonmacnoise 214 In-ftlix Felix 825 lona 219 lona to Erin ! 221 Ireland of the Druids 181 Kildare's Bard on Tournaments ,, 288 King Brian's Ambition (L 24G King Brian's Answer 248 King Brian's Liament for his Brother Mahon 248 King Malachy and the Poet M'Coisi 245 Lady Gormley 211 I Lament of the Irish Children imprisoned in the Tower 298 Lay of the last Monk of Mucmss 806 Lost, lost Armada 804 Margaret O'CarroU 277 [Milcadh Espagne 172 lOrigin of the Isle of Man 179 |Queen Mary's Mercy 289 idall M'Donald 279 llory Dall's Lamentation • • • 4» 814 Saint Bees .• .'"' ^ . 860 Saint Columbaniis in Italy to Saint Comgall in Ireland 231 Shawn Na Gow's Quest 345 Sir Cahir O'Dogherty's Message 309 Song of " Moylan's Dragoons " 886 ong of O'Donnellin Spain...... 808 ' i^ ■3 i "'*i\- na CONTENTS. Sonnet— to Kilbarron Castle 824 St. Brendan and the Strife-sower 199 St. Cormac, the Navigator 229 St. Patrick's Death 198 St. Patrick's Dream 187 St. Patrick's first Converts 189 St. Patrick's of the woods 351 The Abbey of Lough Key 867 The Banshee and the Bride 28o The Battle of Ayachucho 352 The Battle of Clontarf. 249 The Caoine of Donnell More 228 The Captivity of St. Patrick 185 The Celts 176 The Coming of St. Patrick 184 The Coming of the Danes 235 The Connaught Chiefs Farewell 326 The Croppies' Grave 334 The Death of Donnell More 225 The Death of King Magnus Barefoot 237 The Death of O'Carolan 333 The Famine in the Land 339 The flying Ships 342 The four Masters 320 The Gobhan Saers 178 The Harp of King Brian 169 The haunted Castle 355 The Irish Homes of Illinois 348 The Irish Wife 282 The Landing of the Normans 255 The Last O'SuUivan Beare 315 The Legend of Croagh Patrick 195 The Love Charm 286 The outlawed Earl 307 The Penitence of Don Diego Bias 262 1 The Pilgrimage of Sir Ulgarg 260 The Poet's Prophecy 300 Hie Praise of Margaret O'CarroU of Oflfally 274 The Rapparees 310 The Saga of King Olaf, of Norway, and his Dog 240| The Shanty 349l The sinful Scholar 25il| Thfl Summons of Ulster 80l| CONTENTS. ix PAOS The Testament of St. Arbogast 233 The Voyage of Eman Oge 201 The wild Geese 332 The " Wisdom-sellers ' ' before Charlemagne 205 The woful Winter 343 Three Sonnets for St, Patrick's Day 194 To the River Boyne 330 'Twas something then to be a Bard 284 POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY: An Eastern Legend 878 A Plea for Spain 407 Caleb and Joshua 374 Columbus 883 Dicphon 865 Ilannibal's Vision of the Gods of Carthage 368 Jacques Cartier 387 Jaeciues Cartier and the Child 389 '• Our Ladye of the Snow !" 393 Re-conquest of the Spanish Land 380 Sebastian Cabot to liis Lady 385 The Answer of Simonides 870 The Death of Hudson 898 The Jews in Babylon 372 The Launch of the Griffin i^i 404 The Maccabees 376 The Star of the Magi and of Bethlehem 378 The Virgin Mary's Knight 381 Verses in honor of Margaret Bourgcoys 891 ?OEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS: A Death-song 419 A Dream of Youth 445 A Monody on the Death of Gerald Griffin 436 An Invitation to the Country , , 429 Cead mille failthe, O'Meagher ! 435 Consolation 439 Edward Whelan 465 Eugene O'Curry 467 Home Thoughts 428 I love thee, Mary ! 425 In Memoriam 438 In Memoriam 441 *[ X CONTENTS. TAttM In Memoriam 462 lines written in a Lady's Album 424 live for Love 420 Mary'8 Heart 440 Memento Mori 426 Memento Mori 432 Memories 427 Requiem ^ternam 467 St. Kevin's Bed 416 Sursum Corda 455 The dead Antiquary, O'Donovan 448 The Death-bed 430 The Exile 421 The Parting 413 The Priest of Perth 463 Thoughts of Leland 414 To a Friend in Australia 444 To Mary in Ireland 417 To Maiy's Angel 423 To Mr. Kennedy, the Scottish Minstrel 461 WUliam Smith O'Brien 446 Wishes 460 Words of Welcome 443 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS: A Contrast 496 Ad Misericordiam 505 An Epicurean Ditty , 489 A Plea for the Poor 492 A small Catechism 632 Autumn and Winter 531 Contentment 601 Dark blue Eyes 478 Donna Violetta 493 False Fear of the World 488 God be praised 486 God Bless the Brave ! 614 Grandma Alice 606 Graves in the Forest 491 Hallowe'en in Canada— 1863 610 Icebergs 622 Impromptu 623 Independence 680 CONTENTS, X] VAOB Irish Proverbs 480 Lines, written on the eighty-second Anniversary of the birth of Thomas Moore 500 Lines written on the Fly-leaf of a Book 498 " Lough Derg." 482 My Round Table 478 Peace hath her Victories 626 Prima Vista 633 Rich and Poor 496 Sunset on the Corso at Borne 618 Tasso's Tomb at Rome 620 The Charter Song of the Tom Moore Club 498 The farther Shore 611 The Lady Mo-Bride 629 The Lord and the Peasant 479 The Man of the North Countrie 484 The Minstrel's Curse 527 The Mountain-laurel 477 The Old Soldier and the Student 616 The Ponitent Raven 608 The Romance of a Hand 476 Tiie Sea Captain 623 The Star Venus 612 ITie Students 490 The Student's luckless Love 476 The Sunless Land 626 The Trip over the Mountain " 499 Thomas Moore at St. Ann's 613 To Miss M. S 508 Woman's Praise 603 Youth and Death 487 JGIOUS POEMS: A Christmas Prelude 657 A Prayer for the Dead 665 Christmas Mom 660 Eternity 689 Hymn to Saint Patrick 641 I will go to the Altar of God 571 Life, a Mystery to Man 663 Shrines on the Shore 646 Soldier ! make your Sword your Cross ! 667 St. Bridget of Kildare 644 i/f' ^ 'u \ \ ■ 3EU CONTENTS. \ ] . PAGI Stella ! Stella ! 670 Sunday Hymn at Sea 570 The Saints of Erin 540 Tlie Celt's Prayer 512 The Prayer to St. Brendan 54;] The dying Celt to his American Son 547 The Cross in the West 548 Tbe.IIermit of Croagh Patrick 649 Winifred of Wales 651 The Christian Brothers 652 The Arctic Indian's Faith 556 The Midnight Mass 5C1 The Rosary 5G3 The Three Sisters 564 The first Communion 668 The Pearl of great Price 672 JUVENILE POEMS: Boyhood's Dreams 577 Canticle of the Irish Christian 579 lines addressed to Mr. A. M'Evoy, of Boston, one of the Author's first Friends in America 585 Lines dedicated to the Memory of a beloved Mother and two dear Sisters 677 Lines sacred to the Memory of John Banim 589 Lines to the Petrel 580 Lines written on the Fly-leaf of a copy of " Tlie Spirit of the Na- tion 690 Sea Song 681 Song of the American Repealers 586 Song supposed to be sung by one of the Seamen during a stormy Night 582 To Ireland 583 To Wexford in the Distance 578 Trees , 687 Notes 591 •^ .;^1 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. ;t BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH. Thomas D'Arcy McGee, whose poems are now for the first ^ime presented in a collective form to the public, was born it Carlingford, County Louth, Ireland, on the 13th day of ipril, 1825. His father, Mr. James McGee, then in the !!oast Guard Service, had married Miss Dorcas Catherine [organ, the highly-educated daughter of a Dublin book- slier, who had been imprisoned and financially ruined by is participation in the conspiracy of 1798.* Of this [nion, Thomas D'Arcy was the fifth child and second son. ^orn and nurtured amid the grand and lovely scenery of le Bosstrevor coast, his early childhood fleeted by in a jgion of wild, romantic beauty, which impressed itself for- rermore on his heart and mind, and tended not a little, as may well suppose, to foster, if not create, that poetic icy which made the charm of his life, and infused itself (to all he wrote and all he said. He was eight years old len the family removed to the historic town of Wexford, lere the elder Mr. McGee had received a more lucrative ^pointment. " Both on the father and mother's side,*' says a biof^'aplier of Mr. McGee, |e was descended from families remarkable for their devotion to the cause Ireland. With the exception of his father, all the men of the families on sides were ' United Irishmen.' "—See " Short Sketch of the Life of Hon ). McGee," by H. J. O'C. Clarke, Q. C, Montreal. 16 BIOGRAPHICAL HKKTCII OF THE AVTHOlt. «-! Soon after their removal to Wexford, the McGee family sustained a heavy blow in the death of the accomplished and most exemplary wife and mother. The rare worth and the varied attainments of this lady may be estimated by the profound respect, the more than filial affection, so to say, with which her eminent son cherished her memory all the days of his hfe. Of his father he was wont to speak as an honest, upright, religious man ; but his mother he loved to describe as a woman of extraordinary elevation of mind, an enthusiastic lover of her country, its m.usic, its legends, its wealth of ancient lore. Herself a good musician and a fine singer, it was to the songs of her ancient race she rocked her children's cradle, and from her dear voice her favorite son, the subject of our sketch, drank in the music— the sweet old G aelic melody — that rings in all his poetical compositions, as a lingering echo from the past. His pas- sionate and inextinguishable love for the land of his birth,] her story and her song, may be traced, and was ever traced! by himself, to the same source. Even the strong and vigor- ous, yet simple religious faith, which was one of the mother's characteristics, was no less discernible in her son — at every stage of his Ufe manifesting itself in profound respect for religion and its ministers, and for everything that men should hold sacred here below ; while the fervent piety of the truel Irish mother is happily found reflected in the truly religiouj| tone of all his latest poems. The loss of such a mother, it is needless to say, was keenl.^ felt by such a son ; and through all the changeful years oij his after-life, her gentle memory shone like a star througlj the clouds and mists that never fail to gather round tl path of advancing life. But the mother slept in her quiet grave in the old Cister cian Abbey, and years rolled over the head of our youi poet, each one bringing sorrow and change — his niigb^ )l mOORAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 17 igenius developing itself year by year without other aids than day-school in Wexford afforded, the higher advantages )f education being as yet beyond the reach of the middle slasses in Ireland, unless a religious vocation called their ions to Maynooth. But the boyish years of the future ^talesman and historian were not passed in mean or frivo- )us pursuits. His love for poetry and for old-world lore frew with his growth, and by the age of seventeen ho had read all that had come within his reach relating to the his- tory of his own and other lands. He had read of Wash- ington, and of the great country beyond the Atlantic where freedom had established her throne, and where the oppressed )f all nations found a welcome, a home, and equal laws for ill. He knew that many of his race had there found fame, md wealth, and honor ; and seeing little prospect of ad- runcement at home, he emigrated to America, with one of lis sisters. He was little over seventeen when, after a short visit to his aunt in Providence, B. I. (the only sister >f his much-loved mother), he arrived in Boston, just at the time when the "Bepeal movement" was in full strength lamongst the Irish population of that city, warmly aided by [some of the prominent public men of America of that day. lit was in June, 1842, that our young Irish poet arrived in JBoston. When the 4th of July came round, the roar of lartillery and the gladsome shouts of the multitude, the paving of flags, and the general jubilation of a people whc. lad freed themselves, fired his youthful imagination. It seemed to him that what he saw that day was but the foro- shadowing of similar scenes in his own beloved land. Thomas D'Arcy McGee addressed the people that day, md the eloquence of the boy-orator enchained the multi- tudes who heard him then, as the more finisV 'jd speeches of lis later years were wont " Tho applause of listening senates to commaDd." ^.U 18 BlOOItAPUICAL SKKTCII OF THE AUTHOR. iiilll ill f,i A day or two after, our young exile was offeretl, and accepted, a situation in connection with the Bodon Pilot, of which widely-circulated Irish-American journal he becamo chief editor some two years later, just when the Native- American excitement was at its height, and the American people were about to witness the disgraceful riots in Phila- delphia which resulted in the sacking and burning of two Catholic churches. It was a critical period in the history of the Irish race in America ; they were proscribed and perse- cuted on American soil, and were once again, as of old in their own land, obliged to defend their lives, their property, their churches. Few were then their defenders in the press of America, but of those few stood foremost in the van Thomas D'Arcy McGee, a host in himself. With all the might of his precocious genius, and all the fire of his fervid eloquence, he advocated the cause of his countrymen and co-religionists, and so scathing were his fiery denunciations | of the Native Americans, as the hostile party were styled, that all New England rang with their unwelcome echo. This outburst of fanaticism at length subsided and passed j away, but the popularity which the young Irish editor and orator had gained during the struggle continued to gvow and flourish. The Eepeal agitation was then at ^ts heir^ht both in Ireland and America, and again the Boston Pikil\ and T. D. McGee took a leading part. . By his speeches at Bepeal meetings, his lectures delivered all through New| England, and his already powerful pen, our young " Wex- ford boy,'* as he was often called, rendered so good service! to the cause he loved, that his fame crossed the Atlantic and reached O'Connell himself, who, at some of the public meetings of the day, referred to his splendid editorials ns "the inspired writings of a young exiled Irish boy in America." So mightily had his fame increased, that he was invited by the proprietor of the Dublin Freeman's Journd-\ ;!M mOORAPUICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 10 I, ami iUtt, (»t ecauio lativc- lericau Phila- of two itory of I L persc- ol«l in •opevty, le press the -van all the is fervid Qen and iciations ] J styled, ,e echo, passed ^tor and ,0 gKOW height w PM\ tches at I th New « \Vex- servicej Ltlantic public Irials as I boy in I he was! ^hen as now one of the leading Irish journals — to become Its editor. No offer could be more acceptable to Mr. McQee, none could have been more flattering, or more in accord- ico with his heart's dearest wish, to do something for the Ivancement of his native land. But what a #hange in his lutunes ! Three years before ho had left his home by the jlaney side to better his fortune in the New World : he had ;ft Ireland unnoticed and unknown ; he returned radiant rith fume, his youthful brow already crowned with the inrels he had won in defence of his people at home and [broad, called to aid the greatest of patriots and his asso- iiates in the cause of Irish freedom. So, at the age of twenty, our poet-journalist took his place |ii the front rank of the Irish press. But the Freeman was )o moderate in its tone, too cautious, as it were, for the n'vid young patriot ; and finding that he was not at libei'ty change its character or its course, he gladly accepted the |ffer of his friend Charles Gavin Duffy to assist him in edit- ig the Nation, in conjunction with Thomas Davis, John [itchel, and Thomas Devin Reilly. In such hands the Nation soon became the great organ of le National party, the mouth-piece of all the fervent aspira- lons of what was called "Young Ireland." Perhaps no )nrnal was ever published in any country with such a [idiixy of genius shining on its pages. Like a magnet, it |rew to itself men and women of all their race the most pUiantly endowed with the gifts of mind. Their names icame household words — words of pride and power — lougst the Irish people. The poetry of the Nation, even [ore than its prose, was read and quoted everywhere, and voice stirred the people like a trumpet's sound. The im- U'diivte result was the secession of the War party, repre- [nted by the Nation, from the ranks of the National or Old [eland party, so well and wisely led by the great O'Connell, 1/ w :■ A- 20 BIOORAPBIOAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. \4 who had done much for his country, and would have done more, in all human probability, were it not fur this fatal Becessiun of the younger and more ardent spirits who had been wont to follow his banner. But the end came, and a sad end it was. The great "Liberator" died, while on foreign travel, a broken-hearted man. Famine had stricken the land of Erin, and her peo- ple, made desperate by despair, were judged by the " Young Irelanders" ripe for rebellion. Mr. McGee, who was secre- tary of the Committee of the Confederation, was one of those deputed by his party to rouse the people to action ; and after the delivery of a stirring address at Boundwood, in the county of Wicklow, he was arrested, but succeeded soon after in obtaining his release. Nothing daunted by this first mishap, he agreed to go to Scotland for the pur- pose of enlisting the active sympathies of the Irish in the I manufacturing towns, and obtaining their co-operation in the contemplated insurrection.* He was in Scotland when the news reached him that the "rising" had been attempted in Ireland, and had signally failed — that some of the leaders] had been arrested, and a reward offered for the apprehen- • * Amongst other accusations brought against Mr. McGce by his bitter and I unscrupulous enemies, is that of having betrayed his trust, or, at least, sadiyl misniannged liis Scotch micsion— " the Dumbarton a&'uir," as they cull it.f Happily, we have on record the public testimony of Mr. DuQ'y, by tvhom,! amongst others, he was sent on that mission, that he had acquitted hiniselfl with honor and fidelity of the duties it imposed upon him. These are liii| words, well known indeed, but ever fresh, because so true : "To forty political prisoners in Newgate, when the world seemed shut ooij to me forever, I estimated him" (meaning Mr. McGee) " as I do to-day. I saiJ ' If we were about to begin our work anew, I would rather have his help thu| any man's of all our confederates. I said he could do more things like a niasb than the best amongst us since Thomas Davis; that he had been sent, at tin last hour, on a perilous mission, and performed it nut only with unflincliiiil courage, but with a success which had no parallel in that era; and, above ali, that he Las been systematically blackened by the Jacobins to an extent thil would have blackened a saint of God. Since he has been in America, I IiaTi| watched his career, and one thing it has never wanted— a fixed devotion < Irish interests.' " BWOnAPHICAL 8KKTCU OF THE AUTHOR. 21 lono fatal »bad great larted r peo- iCoiing secre- jne of iction ; clwood, iceeded ' ited by I be pur- li in the I ,tion in I id when! tempted I leaders] prehen- • bitter and! Last, sadly I ^y cull it.| by •whom,! Cd hiniselfl ^e arc lu>l shut ou'l r, I suiA I help tha I a niasttt Ut, at tw InflinchinJ labove all jxtent thi lea, I lia« levotion lion of himself, and others who had effected their escape. 'hese were sad tidings for our ardent young patriot— sadder dl the more for that he had married less than a year before, iud a fair young wife, to whom he was tenderly attached, mxiously awaited his return in their quiet, happy home, in pleasant suburb of Dublin. A few short months before le had been a gay and happy bridegroom, spending the first )right days of married life with his young bride amid the romantic solitudes of Wicklow, dreaming proud dreams for Ireland, and fair ones for himself and her he loved. All ^hat was past now. Buin had already come on the national ;ause, and death or exile awaited himself. The dreams he lad dreamed and the hopes he had cherished were all luwn, it might be, forever. But something must be done, md that quickly. He succeeded in crossing in safety the iiirrow sea between Scotland and Ireland, and in the far kurth found a generous friend and host in the late ever- |iiinented Dr. Maginn, the gifted and patriotic Bishop of )erry. Protected and sheltered by that great and good >relate, Mr. McGee awaited the visit of his wife, whom he kad contrived to make acquainted with his place of conceal- kient. He could not and would not leave Ireland without Beiug and bidding her farewell. Sad indeed was their part- ig, for the young wife was soon to become a mother, and |h-bo might tell if she were ever to see her husband's face ;ain? Yet with the unselfishness of true affection she [rged him to hasten his departure for America, and he once ;ain sailed, in the disguise of a priest, for what he fondly id proudly called the Land of Freedom. He landed in Philadelphia on the 10th of October, in that memorable year '48, and on the 26th day of the same month appeared the Irst number of his New York Nation, the advent of which m hailed with enthusiasm by the great majority of the fish in America. The prestige of the Dublin Nalionf of A ! v/ T 22 niOGRAPmCAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. P? 91 ' which Mr. McGee was known to have been one of the editors, the 4clat he had before gained as editor of the Bos- ton Pilot, and, lastly, the great want the American Irish had of a powerful organ, all combined to make the first issue of *^ the New Yoi'k Nation an event most anxiously looked for. As far as ability and power were concerned, the Nalionl fully realized the most sanguine expectations of Mr. McGee's I friends, and it took, as it were by right, the place of thej great Irish organ of America. But unfortunately for him- self and the prospects of his paper, Mr. McGee — naturally! feeling sove on account of the utter and most ignoble failure of his party in Ireland, and the imprisonment of his dearest friend, Gavin Duflfy, and others of the leaders — in writing on the causes of the revolutionary collapse, threw the blame onj the priesthood and hierarchy of Ireland, who had, he said, used their boundless influence in dissuading the people froinj joining the insurrection. As might be expected, the illus- trious Bishop Hughes, then happily governing the diocesel of New York, took up the defence of the Irish clergy, and! triumphantly proved, through the columns of the press, that! in acting as they had done, they saved their people froiiil utter ruin by rushing into a rebellion for which no adequatel preparation had been made. Mr. McGee stoutly maintained! his own opinion, and many took sides with him ; but all thel religious sympathies of the Irish people, and their profound! reverence for their clergy, were arrayed against him, and hel found, when too late, that he had lost ground considerably! in the favor of the best portion of his countrymen in! America. To do him justice, his own truly Irish respect m the clerical order speedily regained its paramount place inj his mind and heart, and he not only desisted very soon frou writing against the Bishop, but ever after deplored this oon-j troversy with him as one of the false steps of his life. "NVba few men so greatly endowed would have done, he frfr "'"'"^''"'^■'-^■^-— r/r..,,,,. 98 r"7"^ expressed, both i„ p„h]:^ , , . h'-lified regret that he Lad so 1 1 " ''"™'«- '"'^ -»- t'"." ^""^^-J"""' on the soreness of 7r T^ '" *'"' •^"'»- '"'oe or wield his pen against lltt' "' '° ^"'^^ ^s --knew better than he,;;"!.: fu " \"""^ ^-'"-- But the Neu, To,., j«,,,,„ ^;;;/»% acknowledged. "^« unwase eontroversv, and vilr T''"^ ""^ «ff«<^' of »-ero„s friends in fiJ^on. mT tl '''' "'^'^'^ "' '- > 'fe and an infant daughter toi' f "'"°™<'. '"th his t ^''/^^O. t-e pubiS •; ; : :;^ --^ -nn.enced.in fi-e hrst two .-ears of the Cell's IJI T"" '^""^ ^''""S k ti'e same, or nearly the LTt,' " ""' "'""•"cteri^el h'« came a time when thT 'f™'"*'"""^ ardor; bnt ^ K -teiiect of its e^L t '::t '"""^ """• -<» ^- f l'a«s,on and prejudice into S! " """' "''"'^ ')>« douds f- cant of faction, the C! dt ''^'°"' °' ^'«™aJ '^uth ' ■ "ounted to nothinj. he beZ to """'""' "■"'' "''^^ "U ["^;vith his whoie'heart he Mr: f ''•^ *™« colors I elevate the Irish people not I "'''' "'""• "^P-^d f ''c»e.s of revolution bu L t! f •""^'''"'""'""e Utopian h <" tl« iard fate tkat L^i^e '"f, "^'" '" '"'"'<'"'" k;. power ditrering from Them „ " ^"'^J^"'^ <>* a f«r- "nato among them the It of" ""' '" ^^"^-^ .• '<> K by the wa,s of peace -2?'' ""''' '° '-"'^^ '''«^- h'cnment. to the level, evenoftt^'^ '"'' '""'"'''''S en- f ';<'• Who will say that h^ wariT" T'"'"''' ^'^'- I-eland after than before tl " P"'™'' '"^ a lover >-d.ont radicalism tolat e^r"""'"""' ^"^^^ ^"^ h '■-»« of no selfish m^ i •! bT'""""™ -'''<"' ^as Hkt and the sage counTet oi """'' °' ""''"^'l H'"- as the lat: most em • T ""^"'"""'^ Christian h"' As this change iIm: M o'"" ^"^P^'™-^ "^ f ". a>"I sun is, grossl/m 3re»e ^^^ ' ^"'"''P'^' ^as f P-'.v. Whose rants LZZT '^ ''^ ^<'™'"«- I qmtted then and forever, and aa \ I Ill'" '( i 1 ill! li 24 BIOGRAPmCAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. many even of those who most admired his genius and his poetry have accepted the views of his unscrupulous enemies, I think it my duty to dwell at more length on this particular point than the limit of this introductory sketch might seem to warrant. In justice to his memory, I will leave him to explain in his own terse and vigorous style the reasons, or rather the chain of argument, by which he arrived at the new set of principles which governed his whole remaining life. It was in the August of 1852 that he addressed, through the columns of the Celt, a "Letter to a Friend" on what he aptly styled "the recent Conspiracy against the Peace and Existence of Christendom." This friend, we have j reason to think, was the late brilliantly-endowed Thomas F. i Meagher.* The second paragraph of this remarkable letter] reads as follows : "Let me beg of you, in the sacred name of God, yourj Author and Eedeemer, and in the dear name of Ireland, that you use this interval of exemption from a decided course toj review the whole field of European politics, and to bring tbel proposals of the most conspicuous organs of power and agi-j f tators of change in our time to the only test of a Christian— I the beam and scales in which St. John saw the angels weigh- ing men, actions, and motives. This standard of right and! wrong, a Protestant Christian might say, does not exist iiij this world ; but a Catholic knows better. You are a Cath| die. For you there is an exact and infallible standard, which nothing is too high and nothing too low — which will detect a grain wanting in a pennyweight, or a stone missing from a pyramid. The field of that standard is Christendon — Christ's kingdom — that is, his Church, and the angels ♦ Pew "Will have forgotten poor Meagher saying only a little before, thri even if the altar stood in the way of Ireland's freedom, it must be overthrowM Happily even he lived to see his fatal error, and to admit, as he did in his ti| Australian exile, that if ever Ireland is to be liberated, she must first 1 regenerated by baptism in her own holy welia. other." °°* '» ■'^ '^^ghed and measured by t^ CLS':rir ~r -,•"--%-. o, 'Writer goes on to say: "' °"^'" *° •>« "-"'le, the I «"1I do as candidly and 1 ■ """^^ "P°" «• This '-' -iil and testanfenT for r fh " '' ' "^™ *'<="-^ a demanded. ' '"^ "" ^^'^ case aU plainness is "I discoverer^ nf *i, J ■•g»o™=ce. Th^ I *•"" ^"'•y ""'««' of the inquiry ^v n„ xnis 1 discovered in o « , M""y, 2ny own God, you wiu ,,,,^ ,^^^ ;d » a way which, I trust in temess, and sorrow for lo»t f • '~''y controversy and bit- Had we st„d.-ed pri^ XaTd "T °''^°^'-"^' h 'deal nationality, I might no " \''™""^ »« ''^ -lid Nes to «cover a confidence whilr '"'"""^ <'°»"<' Baa will say it, for it j, ^^J^^'* "^ "wn fault forfeited. f and the study of principles Ttl," '"'' *"' '" 1^- [«'"e has been English-thl? , ^ '°rf ^'"^- 0"'«er. fave been French, or impHcirflw " ""' ' °"^ Po^^c^ ^"der all this rubbish, the b', f T^ °' ^'^''"■>«" = and -1^ Christian elemen L ou "3 ^" """"''^ ""' '''' B".ke died, politics ceased to be '''"'^«'»«°''- Since h ;n England. Ke crue poL," T"""' '" °" "'""d r'V<'ver had disciples amlr„, "1 """'"''"y of Adam f "ot bottomed upon any prTneil .. "'°''''"""' °' S^el N could be no ^ubstitufetoaS 1. '"" """ °' ^'Con- h.S^ «»'isfying fuUness of a B^ " """^''"'^ ^'oUect, I "Having discovered bv .. "^ " ^^^nson. . ^'^''>=" chiefly Of moli r £r '"'«-• """ the "oojcs, Enghsh and French, gav. 26 BWGRAPmOAL SKKTCH OF THE AUTHOR. 4 iiii; Ml , very superficial and false views of political science, I cheer- fully said to myself, ' My friend, you are on the wrong track. You think you know something of human aflfairs, but you do not. You are ignorant, very ignorant of the primary principles that govern, and must govern, the world. You can put sentences together, but what does that avail you, when perhaps those sentences are but the husks and pods of poisonous seeds ? Beware ! look to it 1 You have a soul ! What will all the fame of talents avail you, if you lose that T Thus I reasoned with myself, and then, setting my cherished opinions before me, one by one, I tried, judged, and capitaLj executed every one, save and except those which I found to j be compatible with the following doctrines : "I. That there is a Christendom. " II. That this Christendom exists by and for the Cath- olic Church. " III. That there is, in our own age, one of the most dan- gerous and general conspiracies against Christendom that] the world has yet seen. " IV. That this conspiracy is aided, abetted, and tolerated] by many because of its stolen watchword — * Liberty.' " V. That it is the highest duty of * a Catholic man ' to go j over cheerfully, heartily, and at once, to the side of Chris- tendom — to the Catholic side, and to resist, with all hisl might, the conspirators who, under the stolen name of| 'Liberty,' make war upon all Christian institutions." Such, then, were the motives which induced the subjecij of this memoir to go over, as it were, from one camp to the! other — from the ranks of irreligion and universal revolutionj to those whose standard was the Cross — whose motto wa and is, " Peace and good will amongst men" — whose end and aim is the freedom wherewith God maketh free — not tN lawless liberty of doing evil. To this set of principles MrJ McGee faithfully adhered to the hour of his death, and thei BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 27 governed his whole public life, and made him the conserva- tive statesman he was in his more mature years. After publishing the American Celt for some years in JHos- ton, where he obtained a high place amongst the eminent literary men of the day, Mr. McGee transferred his publica* tion office to Buffi»,lo, at the urgent request of the late Bishop Timon, but was ultimately persuaded by his many friends in New York to remove thither, and here for some five years he held the first position in the Irish - American press. During the yuars from 1852 to 1857, the American Celt was regarded by friend and foe as the great champion and advo- cate of tl e Irish race in America, and was considered the best authority on all matters affecting Irish interests. But while editing the Celt with unequalled power and matchless skill, Mr. McGee continued to instruct and delight crowded audiences in the various cities and towns with his lectures on all manner of subjects — very many of them delivered for charitable and religious objects. His lectures on " The Catholic History of America," " The Reformation in Ire- laud," " The Jesuits," etc., can never be forgotten by those who heard them. Yet amid all his arduous and toilsome avocations, he found time to institute and inaugurate various associations and movements having the social and moral elevation of the Irish race for their object ; and it may truly be said, that to his undying love of his own race, and his yearning aspirations for their well-being, they owed some of the most valuable suggestions for their guidance as a people that have yet been made. It was his special object to keep tliem bound together by the memories of their common past, and to teach them that manly self-respect that would elevate them before their fellow-citizens, and keep them from political degradation. To make them good citizens of this their adopted country, lovers of the old "cradle-land" of their race, and devoted adherents of the sacred cause of 28 BlOGRAPmCAL SKETCH OF THE AJTTHOR. 11 ^'f m/ Catholicity — these were the ends and aims visible on every page of the American Celt. But unfortunately for the pecu- niary prospects of its editor, the Celt took sides with no political party here, and warned the Irish population not to trust implicitly in any. The consequence was, that it lost ground with "the politicians;" and the very reason that should have made it a power in the land — its steadfast ad- herence to principle, its lofty disregard of party interests or party intrigues — made it languish for want of support, and become a heavy burden on the over- taxed mind of its editor and proprietor. Yet who will say that the American Gelt was not more honored in its high, unselfish mission than it would have been in the more remunerative sphere of party- .politics ? Who will say that its teachings died with it, or that the self-devoting labors of its editor have left no fruit | behind them? The best and most intelligent of the Irish j race even to-day in these countries are proud to acknowl- edge their debt of gratitude to the American Celt and "D'Arcy | McGee." Amongst other projects for the advancement of his own! race, Mr. McGee had early conceived, and consistently ad- vocated in the Celt, that of colonizing — spreading abroad and taking possession of the land — making homes on the broad j prairies of the all-welcoming "West, instead of herding to- gether in the demoralizing " tenement-houses" of our greatl cities. To p) omote this most laudable end, Mr. McGeej inaif • a't.«. .v;tat was called "the Buflfalo Convention"—! naj;. , •. ♦^nt Ling or senate of one hundred Irish- AmericanI gentivniiGD h'A\ lay and clerical, held in the border citjl above named, as being easy of access to delegates from botlil sides of the frontier line. In this Convention, composed oil the most intelligent and distinguished amongst the men oil their race in the several localities which they represent(^d,| Mr. MoGee was confessedly the ruUng spirit, the chief or BIOGRAPHICAL HKSTCH OF THE AVTHOIt. 29 ganizer ; yet his characteristic modesty made him keep rather iu the background, while others were placed in the van, and made the apparent leaders of the movement. This might be called his deinU in that senatoiial career in which he subsequently attained so great distinction. Well had it been for the Irish in America had the views and suggestions of the Buffalo Convention been more generally adopted. That Convention wns, however, an epoch in Mr. McGee's life. His eminent talents, his untiring assiduity, his in- domitable perseverance, were so strikingly manifested then, I that some of the Canadian delegates became impressed with the idx'H, of inducing him to take up his abode in the Provinces, where his name and fame were abeady known as one of the great Irishmen of the day. He had lectured in the Canadian cities during the preceding years, and the spell of his genius and the might of his wondrous eloquence had, as usual, enchained those who heard him. He had made warm friends in Montreal and other cities, and they all united in urging him to take up his abode in Montreal, where the want of a ruling mind such as his was sensibly Ifelt by the rapidly-increasing Irish population. It was rep- Iresented to him that he had not met in the United States pvith that encouragement or that degree of appreciation pvhich his great abilities and devotion to principle deserved ; Iwhereas in Canada his countrymen stood in need of his Iservices, and had the power and the will to advance his pnterests. After some negotiation on the subject, Mr. McGee at length consented to make Canada his home, sold his ^uterest in the American Celt, and removed with his family to Montreal, where he at once commenced the pubUcation )f a journal called The New Era. This paper was not very Successful, owing to the fact that its editor was as yet but ittle acquainted with Canadian affairs, and was obliged, as 80 BIOQRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOH. ■I i * it were, to feel his way before he ventured to take his stand amongst the publicists of the Province. But the success or failure of the New Era was of small account, as it soon ap- fn peared. Before the end of his first year in Montreal, Mr. McGee's friends and countrymen, against all odds, returned him to the Canadian Parhament, as one of the three mem- bers for Montreal. This was undoubtedly a great triumph, for his election had been warmly contested, and it was only the united action and the honest enthusiasm of his own countrymen and co-religionists that carried the day. - The modesty which, as we have said, w^as one of Mr. McGee's characteristics as a public man, made him keep rather in the background for some time after he had en- tered on his senatorial duties. His position in the House of Assembly, too, was not what he could have wished, and was, in fact, somewhat anomalous, as he found himself, for the time being, identified with what was called the Rouge party, the Radicals of Canada, with whom he had little or nothing in common. But even though laboring under this disadvantage, and that other of being still comparatively a stranger, Mr. McGee failed not to make his mark in the legislative halls of his new country, and before the close of his first session, the Irish member for Montreal was recog- nized as one of the most popular men in Canada. Many of those who had been his enemies, and the enemies of his race, were already disarmed of their prejudices, and began to perceive that an Irish Catholic could rise to any level ; that, after all, something good could come out of the heart of Celtic Ireland. Considering the fierce opposition which Mr. McGee's first nomination and subsequent election met | from the English and Scotch and Protestant Irish electors | of Montreal, and the cold, indiflferent, and merely accidental i support of his fellow-Catholics, the French Canadians, to whom his name was entirely unknown, no greater triumph BIOORAPmCAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 31 i«)f genius aud of a noble nature has been seen in our times than Lis second, and third, and fourth elections for Mon- al by acclamation, and without opposition. This "Irish Lrc dveiiturer," this "stranger from abroad," while elevating lis o\ a people, and defending his own faith, its laws and its iistitutions, as it never had been defended in a Canadian 'culitiment, while proving himself the great Catholic Irish- lau of Canada, made friends for himself and his co-religion- .sts even amongst those who had been most prejudiced ainst everything Catholic and Irish, and stood forth, not y any assumption of his own, but by general consent, the ising star of British America, the hfe and light of the Canadian Legislature, already distinguished for eminent en and able statesmen. Yet, at times, his early connection .ith the revolutionary party was made the subject of biting arcasra aud ungenerous reproach by some pohtical oppo- cut. On one of these occasions, when twitted with having ceil a " rebel " in former years, he replied with that candor lul that calm sense of rectitude that distinguished him in is parliamentary career : " It is true, I was a rebel in Ireland in '48. I rebelled gainst the misgovernment of my country by Kussell and is school. I rebelled because I saw my countrymen starv- g before my eyes, while my country had her trade and loiumerce stolen from her. I rebelled against the Church stablishment in Ireland; and there is not a Liberal man in is community who would not have done as I did, if he ere placed in my position, and followed the dictates of .umauity." About the year 1865, Mr. McGee's countrymen in Mon- eal and other cities presented him with a substantial ark of their esteem and admiration — viz., a handsome resi- nce, suitably furnished, in one of the best localities in the ity he so ably represented. 82 BIOORAPIIICAt SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. In 1862 he accepted the office of President of the Execu- tive Council (whence his title of Honorable), and while discharging the duties of that onerous position, he likewise acted for a time as Provincial Secretary, Hon. Mr. Dorion, who had held that office, having resigned. Who could be- lieve that it was at this particular time, and amid all the multifarious avocations of his double office, that he com- pleted his "History of Ireland," in two 12mo. volumes, confessedly one of the best, if not the very best, digest of Irish history yet written ? Yet such was the fact. In 18G5, Mr. McGee visited his native land, in company \rith some friends, and, while staying with his father in "Wexford, delivered in that city a speech on the condition of the Irish in America, which gave offence to his countrymen in the United States, inasmuch as he took pains to show that a larger proportion of them became demoralized and degraded in that country than in Canada. It was either during this visit, or a previous one in 1855, just ten years before, that he caused a tomb to be erected over the grave of the mother he had loved so well.* In 1867, Mr. McGee was sent to Paris by the Canadian Government as one of the Commissioners from Canada to ih * Speaking of tliia touching act of filial affection, the Wexford Independent of that date remarked : " Some years ago a little poem was copied into the Nation and several of our contemporaries from an American paper ; it was addressed ' To my Wish- ing- jap,' and bore the well-known poetical title of our townsman, Mr. Thomas D'Avcy McGee. Among the other wishes expressed was the following: ' Wishing-cap, Wishing-cap, let us away To walk in the cloisters, at close of day, Once trod by friars of orders gray. In Norman Selskar's renown'd abbaye, And Carmen's ancient town ; For I would kneel at my mother's grave, Where the plumy churchyard elms wave, And the old war-walls look down.' The poet lived to see his wish fulfilled, and, on his late visit to Wexford, caused i j neat tomb to be placed over that beloved grave." r'Tf I SIOOBAPHIOAL SKETCH OF THE AVTHOR. 33 \% the great Exposition held during that 3'ear in the French metropolis. From Paris he went to Rome as one of a Idcpiitation from the Irish inhabitants of Montreal on a [question concerning the affairs of St. Patrick's congregation lin that city. During his visit to Paris, Rome, and other nties of the European continent, he wrote for the New Yorl \Tahlel a series of very interesting letters, entitled "Irish ipisodes of Foreign Travel." In London he met, by pre- vious appointment, some of his colleagues in the Canadian Cabinet, who had gone to England to lay before the Imperial rovernment the plan of the proposed union of the British 'rovinces. In the important deliberations which followe()iuinion. The victory, however, cost him clear, for the vile ioiiiis that had been used to turn the Irish of Montreal ifuinst him for electioneering purposes were the immediate uises of his assassination a few months later. The evil lassions of the basest and most degraded of his country- jon had been excited against him, and he was thenceforth doomed man, although he probably knew it not. At the time of that ill-starred election, Mr. McGco veas |ut recovering from illness, and the stormy scenes inciden- il to so fierce a struggle, with the grief and mortification seeing some of his own countrymen his bitterest oppo- jiits, all combined to produce a reaction, which threw him jaiu on a bed of sickness. During many tedious weeks of ilVering, and the necessary seclusion from the world conse- [nent thereon, he thought much on subjects affecting his )urs welfare ; he reflected on the ingratitude of men, the iptiness of fame, the nothingness of earthly things, the randeur and solidity of the imperishable goods of eternity. tbe deep silence of his soul, shut in from the great tu- mult of the outer world, he pondered on the eternal truths id on the religious traditions of his race, and the strong ^ith that his Christian mother had implanted in his heart few and flourished until it brought forth flowers of piety lat would have shed a glory and a beauty on the altar of ^lij^non, had he been permitted to live to carry out his ex- jted and purified ideas. Strange to say, with all his briU- it success as a public man, neither politics nor public life id ever been his choice ; by the force of circumstances he IS drifted on to those troubled waters, where rest and boe are things unknown. The calm pursuits of literature, |e study of that old-time lore which, even in boyhood, he ^d loved so well, and the cultivation of that poetic genius 1 36 BIOGBAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. \\\V'- which had so early developed itself in his 'wonderfully-gifted mind — these were his favorite occupations, and for himself he would have desired none other. How often, when writ- ing to his best-loved friends, has he spoken of some bright season of calm rest, when, far from the bustle of public aflfairs, he should be at liberty to devote himself to literary pursuits. What plans he had projected I what dreams dreamed of what he was then to do for the advancement of Irish and Catholic literature ! Yet who that heard him in debate, even in the last months of his Ufe, during that last session of Parliament, could have guessed that his hopes and wishes were far in the dim re- treats of quiet life, with his books and his pen, and that | harp whose chords were his own heart-strings ! On the | very night preceding his cruel murder he delivered one ofj the noblest speeches ever heard within the walls of a Cana- dian FarHamcnt, and fully equal to tlie best of his ovvn.j The subject was the cementing of the lately-formed Union of the I'rovinces by bonds of mutual kindness and good-will, j It was a glorious speech, they said who heard it ; but, alas!j alas! th3 echoes of that all-potent voice had scarcely died on the air, when the great orator, the preacher of peace, the sagacious statesman, the gifted son of song, the loved of] many hearts, had ceased to live I He had reached the door of his temporary home, the fairj moon of April shining down from the cold, clear depths ofj heaven, — silence reigned around, broken only by the distaiitl roar of the cataract,* coming softened and subdued on th«| still air of night, his poet-soul drinking in the ethei-Gall beauty of the hour, — when a lurking assassin stole from hisj place of concealment, and, coming close behind, shot himj through the head, causing instantaneous death. A feff| minutes later and all Ottawa was in commotion over "i * The Chaudi&re Falls, near Ottawa City. '" f. '\- BIOGRAFEICAL SKETCH OF TEE AUTHOR. 37 murder of Hon. T. D. McGee," and the sad news was flying on the telegraph's wings to the quiet home in Montreal where the wife of his youth and their two fair daughters were wrapped in sleep, dreaming, it might be, of the calm delights of the coming days which the husband and father was to spend with his family ; for it was the Tuesday morn- ing in Holy Week, and the next evening he was to have reached home for the faster recess. Over the sorrow of that household we cast a veil ; it was too sacred for the pub- [ lie eye. Secret and unseen by mortal eye was the death of the j great Irish - Canadian ; grand and imposing, and of regal pomp, were his funeral rites, and lofty the honors that greeted his cold remains. His obsequies were solemnized first in the Cathedral of Ottawa; then in St. Patrick's Church land in the Church of Notre Dame, in Montreal ; and again |ia the beautiful Cathedral of Halifax, N. S., on which latter )ccasion a noble funeral oration was delivered by his true md most appreciative friend. Archbishop Connolly. And the )eople of Canada mourned him many days, and still do uourn the great loss they sustained in his premature death. [n their social reunions, in their national festivals, they speak )f him, whose voice was wont to delight all hearts, whose subtle and bright, yet gentle humor shed light on all around, kvhose genial nature diffused a spirit of brotherly love and [he best of good-fellowship wherever its influence reached.* * In proof of tliis, I may mention that at tJie annual celebration of " Hallow- 'en " by the St. Andrew's Society of Montreal, at which Mr. McGee was wont speuk, and where it is customary to read prize poems on that old Scotcli il Irisli festival, of forty-six poems sent in competition on the Hallowe'en Allowing his death, thirty-sexen contained some touching allusion to that sad lent. From one of the poems to which prizes were awarded, we quote the ^Honing stanzas, in the ancient dialect to Scotia dear : " Ak ! wad that he were here the nicht, Whase tongue was like a faerie lute ! But vain the wish : McGee ! thy might Lies low in death— thy voice is mut«. ■ii 38 BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR, i ; I His assassi lation took place on the morning of April 7th, and on the St. Patrick's Day previous, just three weeks before, he had been entertained at a pubUc banquet in Ottawa City. His speech on that occasion was one of the noblest efforts of his marvellous eloquence. It was on the general interests of the Irish race, with the present condi- tion and future prospects of Irish literature — shadowing forth, in no indistinct lines, his own abiding and all-endur- ing love of his race and country, and the work he had marked out for himself in the after years for the service of one and the other. He alluded to certain representations he had made while in London, during the previous year, to Lord Derby, then Premier of England, with regard to the misgovernment of Ireland, and the necessity of satisfying the just demands of the Irish people, remarking, at the same time, in his humorous way, that "even a siUnt Irishman might do something to serve his country." Following up the same train of thought, he wrote, only a few days before his death, that memorable letter to the Earl of Mayo, Chief Secretary of Ireland, earnestly recommending that some permanent measures should be taken to improve the condi- tion of Ireland, and remove the disaffection of her people by u more just and equitable course of legislation than that hitherto pursued. The fufieral vault had closed on the writer of that remarkable document — since quoted by Mr. He's gane, the noblest o' us a' — Aboon a' care o' warldly fame ; An' wba sae proud as he to ca' Our Canada his hame? " The gentle maple weeps an' waves Aboon our patriot-statesman's heed ; But if we prize the licht he gave, We'll bury feuds of race and creed. For this he wrocht, for this he died ; An' for the luve we bear his name, Let's live as brithcrs, side by side, In Canada, our hame." BIOGRAPEIOAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR. 89 Gladstone in support of his just and statesman -like views in [refrard to the government of Ireland — before it reached \ America, after publication in England. " A prophetic voice from the dead coming from beyond the Atlantic," the English statesman aptly styled that letter of earnest plead- ling for Ireland. At the very time of his death, too, Mr. IMcGee was engaged writing, for the Catholic Woiid of New- York, an essay on " Oliver Plunket, Archbishop and Martyr." (Thus, it may truly be said that he died, as he had lived, loving and serving his mistress, Ireland, as a true knight." His last writings were for Ireland — his last words for the l^eace and unity of his adopted country, the New Dominion of Canada. The following touching tribute to his memory, from the I pen of one of our very few remaining Irishmen of genius, I will be read with interest : " D Arcy McGee !" wrote Henry Giles to the present writer, soon after the sad death of their common friend — " D'Arcy McGee ! I knew him well, and loved him greatly. He was but a boy when I first made his acquaintance, and even then he was engaged in writing brilliant articles in Mr. jDonahoe's Pilot. He had, besides, published some of his [literary efforts. As he advanced in years, so he did in power Great in his eloquence, his reputation grew with the growth of that country" (meaning Canada) "which his energies helped to increasing force. All this had as yet but served to indicate his power, to put forth the branches [of his deep-lying energy, when the assassin drew near, and, with his stealthy step, in darkness, crushed the growing and [advancing strength." But he is dead, " the noblest Roman of us all ;" lost to [friends and country— lost to literature — lost to song. "Far away," says one of his biographers, "from that glo- Irious but unhappy isle where he dreamt away the bright 40 BIOQIiAPHICAL SKETCH OF THE AUTHOR, fleeting hours of his childhood — far away from the home of his dearest hopes, of his highest aspirations — far away from the green churchyard where the ashes of his parents rest in the friendly embrace of the land of their birth — in the New World, far over the sea, in the land of his adoption, high up on the sunny side of beautiful * Mount Royal,' which, slop- ing towards the far-famed St. Lawrence, laves its foot in the limpid waters of the majestic river, overlooking the fair city of Montreal, where for years his voice was the most potent, his smile the most friendly, his influence in all that was most noble, patriotic, and good, was most felt, sleeps the greatest poet, orator, statesman, historian, the best, the truest friend^ counsellor, and guide of the Irish race in America. His gi'ave is bedewed by a young nation's tears ; his memory lives, and shall live, in that young nation's heart ; his name and fame shall cast lustre on the pages of her history, and bis life-labors stand forth as an example worthy of emula- tion to future millions." * • ** Short Sketch of the Life of the Hon. Thomas D'Arcy McGee," by Henry J. O'C. Clarke, Q. C, Montreal INTRODUCTION^ TO THE POEMS. Of all the poets of our time, Thomas D'Arcy McGee was. In many ways, the most remarkable. Unaided by collegiate jducation, thrown entirely on his own resources — even in )oyhood an emigrant to the New AVorld, where his supreme renins made him a brilliant editor and an effective orator )iig before the age when other men enter on the stage ol Ordinary life — a popular lecturer — a writer of acknowledged j>o\ver, equal to the best of our time — a careful and reliable kistorian — an essayist of grace and skill — a legislator — a piler— a projector of mighty plans for the government of lations — yet a singer of sweet songs, interweaving the wear- ig, wasting cares of daily life, and the lofty conceptions of le statesman's mind, with the glittering thread of poesy, le golden fringe of life's dull garment, giving brightness id beauty to the meanest things, the dryest pursuits, the [eariest hours,-i-Poetry was his solace in the manifold |oubles of his hfe. It cheered him in poverty ; it enlivened |s dreariest hours ; it breathed a charm over the dry details id joyless struggles of political life ; it illumined the edito- il pages ; it refreshed his overtaxed mind when Nature lUed for repose ; it made love fonder and friendship dearer ; id softened grief, and brightened joy, and made Thomas [Arcy McGee the best-loved friend, the most genial com- 1 i 42 INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. i.< panion, the most hospitable and cordial host, the best enter- tainer our modern society has seen in America, while lend- ing to his speeches, to his public writings, as well as to his private correspondence, the inefifable charm that poetry, the oflfspring of mind and heart alone can give.* That this poetry of Lis nciare was expressed in noble and most melodious verse, we have very high literary authority. Many years have passed away since Charles Gavin Duffy, himself a poet of no mean order, .>mid of McGee's poetry, and of his devotion to "Irish iJjjer'3Gib ;" "Who has served them ^ iuii bdcb fascinating genius?! I! i * Amongst other remarkal'.i piooi- oi' 'e ch i .at. pervaded even the public discourses of Mr. McGee, I will cite the loi! ■'" u . n "862, he was in- vited to assist at the great " Popham Celebration ' at V-yrtlund, Me. On that occasion he spoke on "Samuel de Champlain," and a few days after he re- ceived from Mrs. Lydia H. Sigourney the following graceful tribute,— she afterwards sent him a copy of her poema : " Hartford, Conn., U. S. A., October 1st. 18C2. ^ " Mrs. Sigourney was delighted with the perusal of the address of Mr '*" McGec at the celebration of the 155th anniversary of the settlement of Maine, } ns reported in our public prints, and regretted not having had the privilege of j listening when it was delivered. " She has long cherished an interest in tlie character and exploits of Sieur j de Champlain, and felt that they had scarcely won due appreciation. Of the accompanying brief poem, which owes its existence to the eloquence of Mr. McGee, she requests his acceptance as a slight acknowledgement of th«| pleasure for which she is iidebted. " LE SIEUR DE CHAMPLAIN. " Onward o'er waters which no keel had trod. No plummet sounded in their depths below, No heaving anchor grappled to the sod Where flowers of Ocean in seclusion glow. From isle to isle, from coast to coast he press'd With patient zeal, and chivalry sublime, Folding o'er Terra Incognita's breast The lillied vassalage of Gallia's clime ; Though Henry of Navarre's profound mistake Montcalm must expiate and Franco regret, Yet yonder tranquil and heaven-mirror'd Lake, Like diamond in a marge of emerald set. Bears on its freshening wave from shore to shore The baptism of his name forevermore." INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. 43 [is poetry and his essay's touch are like the breath of spring, ^iid revive the buoyancy and chivalry of youth. I plunge ito them like a refreshing stream of * Irish undefiled.' What kher man has the subtle charm to invoke our past history Ind make it live before us ? If he has not loved his mis- less, ' Ireland,' with the fidelity of a true knight, I cannot ^ame any one who has." The Dublin Nation, of May 20th, 1857, speaking of "True *oetry, and how it has been appreciated," speaks as follows [f Mr. McGee's poetry : " Perhaps, however, the poetic re- [reations of T. D. McGee, taking them as a whole, are the lost intensely Irish verses which have, as yet, been contri- |uted to our literature. No one, not even Davis, seems to lave infused the spirit of Irish history so thoroughly into pa mind and heart as McGee ; nor can any more melancholy oof of the decay of national spirit be given than the fact lat these poems, the composition of which has been a labor If love to him — exile as he is from the Old Green Land — imain uncollected. We might search in vain, even through le nufaberless volumes of English poems and lyrics, for any lat equal in their passion, fire, and beauty his verses en- [tled 'The War,' 'Sebastian Cabot to his Lady,' 'The felt's Salutation,' and many others.'' Since his lamented death, Henry Giles wrote, "All this" kneaning his outward life, his visible strength and power) has beneath it an ever-abiding, underlying principle, a pll-spriiig ever fresh and ever sweet of glorious poetry, |iih its softest melody, or, in passion, indignant and strong, ith its wild and varied vehemence. How varied the poems [ere which he breathed forth upon the woes and wrongs of K'liind! How noble the strains in which he celebrates ^al beantiful land of much calamity and countless wrongs!" And the London Afhenceum, speaking of Canadian poetry, U(l, years ago, while Mr. McGee was still amongst the I" 11 44 INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMf. 11 i living : " They have one true poet within their borders — that is, Thomas D'Arcy McGee. In his younger days the principle of rebellion inspired him with stately verse ; let us hope that the conservative principles of his more mature years will yield many a noble song in his new country." It has also been said, and I think with truth, that McGee was, even more than Moore, entitled to be called " the Bard of Erin," for that his genius was more distinctively Irish, and his inspiration more directly and more exclusively from Ireland and her ancient race. His poetry bears all the char- acteristics of genuine Irish minstrelsy ; it is redolent with the purest Irish feeling ; the passionate love of country and of kin, the reverence for what is old and venerable, the strong religious faith, the high appreciation of the beautiful and the good — these underlie all his poems ; while over nil are diffused the choicest graces of fancy, the most subtle humor, the most delicate beauty of thought and expression. Like some strain from the bardic ages of old, comes to the ear and to the heart one of McGee's ballads. Whether he sings of love or friendship, of faith or charity, of war or^ peace, or chants some old-time legend, or a grand historic j tale of other days, the under-tones are still the same, and j the chords are swept with a master's hand, of " The green grave of my mother 'Neath Selskar's ruin'd wall," or of the young wife of his love, whom he was forced to leave] in the first year of their marriage, now sighing- " Sad the parting scene was, Mary, By the yellow-flowing Poyle," now reminding her of the calm joys of their bridal days ioj lovely Wicklow — When he sings | " Dost thou remember the dark lake, dearest, Where the sun never shines at noon ?" JNTRODVCTION TO THE POEMS. 45 fiind passionately cries— " My darling, in the land of dreams, of wonder, and delight, I see you, and sit by you, and woo you all the night; Under trees that glow like diamonds upon my aching sight. You are wulking by my side in your wedding garments whito"— we hear his voice like the sighing of the breeze in summer )oughs, and we think of the forgotten bards of the long- )ast ages, who left us "The Last Rose of Summer" and Savourneen Dheelish." Anon, he sings of battle, as was lis wont in the fiery days of youth, and his voice is a trum- i|)et-call — " Gather together the nations ! arouse and arm the men !" [ow the martial spirit of the Celts of old rings in Cathal'a V Farewell to the Rye :" " Farewell sickle I welcome sword I" b the "Harvest Hymn," and "The Reaper's Song," and [•The Summons of Ulster," and the "Song of the Sheiks!" We read these warlike lays, and the " Pilgrims of Liberty," lind many another patriot strain, and we feel our souls stirred dthin us, and we marvel that the calm, meditative mind of Ihe statesman we knew in later days could ever have con- ceived such burning thoughts. Again, and how often our poet sings of his native land, her roes, her beauties, the passionate love wherewith she in- )ired him from youth up, a love that no time or space could |ver cool, ever diminish I As a boy leaving Ireland, he sang home and country — to "Carmen's ancient town," "to Texford in the distance ;" in exile, he chanted sweetly and lournfully the memories of his own land and his yearnings behold it again. His " Parting from Ireland" is an agon- ^ing wail of sorrow : . " Oh, dread Lord of heaven and earth ! hard and sad it is to go From the land I loved and cheriah'd into outward gloom and woe ; Was it for this. Guardian Angel ! when to manly years I came. Homeward, as a light, yott led me—light that now is tarn'd to flame f ' w 46 INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. u m \ li'i And whoever sang with fonder pride, or in more melodious verse, the romantic beauty of Ireland, her household virtues, her ever-abiding faith in things divine? How fondly bo apostrophizes his " Ireland of the Holy Ifllandfl, Belted round with niiaty highlands!*' In " The Deserted Chapel" we have a most touching and graphic description of the desolating effects of emigration in j the old land ; in "The Woful "Winter," a mournful lament for the myriad victims of famine and pestilence in the dreary j year of '47 : " They arc flying, flying, like northern birds, over the sea for fear; They cannot abide in their own green land, they seek a resting here Oh ! wherefore are they flying— is it from the front of war, Or have they smelt the Asian plague the winds waft from afar?'' And again, in the noble poem entitled "Famine in tliel Land," " Death reapeth in the field of life, and we cannot count the corpses !" the same subject is pursued with sorrowful interest. It was indeed one that addressed itself to the tenderest sympathies of the poet's heart, and we find it touchingly prominent in several of the poems ; and this is natural, for " the Ancient Race," the " Celtic Race," was one of his favorite themes he loved more than all to sing its praise ; he loved it, b was proud of it ; then how could he fail to feel its woes, audi the dark doom that made it subject to periodical famine aDil{ pestilence? Even in the land of his exile, we find hi " Meditations" interwoven with sad reflections on the hardl lot that makes so many of his countrymen wanderers on thej face of the earth : " Alone in this mighty city, qneen of the continent ! I ponder on my people's fate in grief and discontent; Alas ! that I have lived to see them wiled and cast away, And driven like soulless cattle from their native land a prey !" Indeed, love for his own " island race" was one of our poet'i ■ f-\: INTRODUCTION TO THE POEM!^. 47 strongest and most abiding instincts. How grandly he sings of " Ossian's Celts," of the warlike Milesians ! how fra- ternal and how noble his ** Salutation to the Celts 1" — " Hail to our Celtic brethren wherever they may be, In the far woods of Oregon, or by the Atlantic sea !" His love for Ireland inspired Mr. McGee beyond all doubt with some of the very best and sweetest of his poems. It was so a part of his nature that, like the theme of some noble piece of music, it runs through all his poetry, yielding ever the sweetest notes, charming us, while we read, like the matins of the lark, or the vesper-hymn of the bird of eve. His songs of Ireland come gushing from the inner- most depths of his heart, warm, and fresh, and glowing, — "0 Pilgrim, if you bring me from the far-off lands a sign, Let it be some token still of the Green Old Land once mine ; A shell from the shores of Ireland would be dearer far to me Than all the wines of the Rhine-land, or the art of Itaiie." His " Wishes," his '* Memories," his " Heart's Resting-place," all echo the same strain — "Where'er I tum'd, some emblem still Boused consciousness upon my track ; Some hill was like an Irish hill, Some wild-bird's whistle call'd me back." And how touching is the apology we find in more than one of the poems for his passionate devotion to Ireland and her literature I In one he sings — " Oh ! blamo me not if I love to dwell On Erin's early glory ; Oh ! blame me not, if too oft I tell The same inspiring story!" [ In another we find the singularly characteristic lines— " I'd rather turn one simple verse True to the Gaelic ear. Than classic odes I might rehearse With senates list'ning near." / INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. n ' « Now this is precisely what he did, and it makes the chid charm of his poetry. It was because he, more than any poet of our time, " turn'd " his verses " true to the Gaelic ear," that, whether grave or gay, tender or pathetic, or martiul. or religious, they ever reach the Gaelic heart, and mirror all its many-hued aspects. The noblest of his poems are undoubtedly the historical, Indeed* it was one of the dreams of his life to complete, in some season of rest (which never came I) a ballad-history of Ireland : some broken links of that golden chain will delight many a reader of this volume, as they have delighted thou- j sands in days gone by. " Amergin's Hymn on Seeing Innis- fail," "Milesius, the Spaniard," " Ossian's Celts," " Ireland I of the Druids," "The Coming of St. Patrick," and other poems on the life and death of that apostle ; " The Voyage | of Em an Oge," " The Gobhan Saer," " St. Cormac, the Navi- gator," " St. Brendan and the Strife-Sower," " St. Columbaj to his Irish Dove," "St. Columbanus to St. Comgall," "The Testament of St. Arbogast," " The Pilgrimage of Sir Ulgarg,"! the two noble poems on " Margaret O'Carroll, of Offaly;"! " Lady Gormley," " Flan Synan's Game of Chess," " Sir Johnl De Courcy's Pilgrimage," " Good Friday, 1014," " Shawn ml Gow's Guest," and other poems on King Brian BoromheJ the fine, but unfinished poem on " The Death of Donnell More," "Cathal's Farewell to the Rye," "The Wisdom-Selj lers before Charlemagne," " The Lament of the Irish Childrenj in the Tower," "Earl Desmond's Apology," "Rory DallJ Lamentation," "Feagh McHugh," "Sir Cahir O'DoghertyJ Message," " The Rapparees," " The Midnight Mass," " Ttef Death of Art McMurrogh," "The River Boyne," "The| Execution of Archbishop Plunket," " The Death of O'Caro lau," the poems on the famine and pestilence in Ireland and on the emigration and the Irish in America, are hi» toricol poems of the highest order. So, too, are " The Ba INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. 49 tie of Ayachucbo," "Moylan'a Dragoons," "The Sage of King Olaf Tregvysson," "The Death of King Magnus," •' The Death of Hudson," the two musical ballads on " Jac- ques Cartier," o Launch of the Griffin," "Sebastian Cabot to his Lady," "Hannibal's Vision of the Gods of Carthago," " Diephon," and various other poems on general historical subjects. With these may be classed "lona," the wonderfully fine poems on " The Four Masters " and their chief, " Brother Michael," the " Prayer for Farrell O'Gara," their benefactor and employer, and " Sursum Corda" addressed to his friend, the venerable and most estimable Eugene O'Curry. Another remarkable class of these poems is the obituary or commemorativ Of these, the loftiest and grandest "The Dead quary" (John O'Donovan), "Eugene are O'Curry," and " Riciiard Dalton Williams ; very fine too, and very solemn, is the " Monody on the Death of Gerald jGriffiu;" whilst "WilUam Smith O'Brien," "John Banim," I and other eminent Irishmen, are duly commemorated. The [lament for Banim is not equal to any of the others, being a [mere juvenile composition, written while Mr. McGee was |e(liting the Boston Pilot. Some of the most graceful and effective, however, of his poetical efforts were his tributes to the memory of private friends long known and well esteemed, )iit of no historical importance. Chief amongst these are I' The Prayer for the Soul of the Priest of Perth," and " Re- juiem ^teruam," which last, written but one short month jefore his own sad death, applied so entirely to himself, lat it almost seemed like the voice of presentiment, and as lough he, like Mozart, were inspired to chant his own equiem. It was in these heart-piercing strains of sorrowing Section, as well as in the numerous poems addressed to p wife, and some few to his chosen friends, that the win- ing tenderness of our poet's nature made itself manifest. ■r 'II &) INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS, t i ,1 '.i !•« 1 In this connection may be mentioned the exquisite little poems " Consolation," " Mary's Heart," " God be Praised," and " To my Wishing-Cap." Amongst the poems expressive of friendship, one of the most beautiful is that " To a Friend in Australia," in which are found these exquisite lines : " Old friend ! the years wear on, and many cares And many sorrows both of us have known ; Time for us both a quiet couch preparer — A couch like Jacob's, pillow'd with a stone. " To the manifold trials, troubles, and heart-wearing struj^- gles of his life, Mr. McGee gives unwonted expression in the musical and sorrowful little poem entitled " Ad Miseri- cordiam," written during his darkest day?, when publishing the Amencan Celt in New York. No one, we would hope, can read without emotion the concluding lines : *' Welcome, thrice welcome, to overtax'd nature, Tlie darkness, the silence, the rest of the grave ; Oh ! dig it down deeply, kind fellow-creature, I am weary of living the life of a slave !" It is quite remarkable, however, that, Amongst the poetical remains of Thomas D'Arcy McGee, the religious element, the strong, hvely, simple faith of his Celtic fathers is supremely evident. In every stage of his life, the most stirring, the I most unfavorable to religious thought or feeling, we find liisj muse devoted to the Saints of God, especially those of own race ; how he sang of " St. Patrick," " St. Brendan of I the West," " St. Arbogast," " St. Kieran," " St. Columbanus," " St. Comgall," " St. Cormac, the Navigator," " St. Bride, of I Kildare," and " St. Columba, of the Churches," this voluinej will bear witness. His poem on " Eternity" contains, witbiflj a short space, much sublime thought and the fulness ofl faith ; yet it was written many years ago, when life was! young and warm, and its cares were many and heavy on tM poet's heart. Even " The Rosary " received its tribute fron his pious muse in those busy by-gone years ; indeed, all bii ■, ( . .' 1 '%l INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. ffl life long Mr. McGee cherished the special veneration which his mother taught him in early infancy for the blessed Mother of our Lord. In his latest years, when the legislative halls of his adopted country were wont to echo with his matchless eloquence, and the multitudinous cares of statecraft weighed upon his mind, and the tumult of party strife jarred harshly on his finely-tuned ear and heart, we find his poetry chiefly of a religious character. It was then that he sang of "Humility," of "First Communion," of "Sister Margaret Bourgeois,'' of Montreal, and her wonderful life of sancti- fied labor ; it was then he penned these deathless lines — " Mighty our Holy Church's will To guard her parting souls from ill, Jealous of death, she guards them still — Miserere, Bomine ! * " The dearest ft-iend will turn away, And leave the clay to keep the clay, ■^ Ever and ever she will stay — Miserere, Domine /" Had he lived longer, this religious aspect of his mind, this fervent, ever-living faith would have been still more strikingly manifested. Amongst his papers was found a list of " Topics" for poems, evidently written quite recently, all of them of a most solemnly religious character. These were the " Topics" written in pencil in his own fair hand : " He came unto His own, and His own received Him not," " The night cometh in which no man can work," " I beheve in the Communion of Saints," " Ergo expecto resurrectionem morluorum" " It is a holy and wholesome thought to pray for the dead." The solemn significance of these scriptural texts, selected as the subject of poems probably but a few weeks or a few I days before his untimely and most melancholy death, will be [noted with interest. Indeed, we find in several of the poems expressions that read like the voice of impending doom ; I thus in the Monody on ihe Death of Gerald Griffin : % 62 wt i|: :>i INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. " So have bright spirits been eclipsed and lost, Forever dark, if by Death's shadow cross'd ;" and again — still more like presentiment : " Oh, even thus Death strikes the gifted, then Come the worms— inquc:,ts — and the award of men !" The beautiful little poems, "Stella! Stella!" "I will go to the Altar of God," and the " Sunday Hymn at Sea," were written during Mr. McGee's last voyage from Europe, in 1867. They breathe the very spirit of faith, called into poetical expression by the abiding presence of the great waters, the boundless mirror of Creative Power. "The; Christmas Prelude," "A Prayer for the Dead," "The Starj of the Magi," " An Irish Christmas," " The First Commu- nion," "Eternity," "The Pearl of Great Price," and others,] are eminently religious. Of the pathetic ballads, "The Death of the Homeward] Bound," one of the best known of all Mr. McGee's ballads, will be read with most pleasure. It is wonderfully beautiful " The Trip over the Mountain " is a capital specimen of thel Irish popular ballad, showing with graphic fidelity thel process of love-making amongst the peasantry, not only of "Wexford, but of all the Irish counties. The "dramatic sketch," as he called it, "King Dermid; or. The Normans in Ireland," although not so finished as it would have been had he written it some years later, still gives evidence of considerable power, and shows that th author might have shone as a dramatist had he followed ui| this first attempt. Take the poems for all in all, they ara to my thinking, the most truly Irish collection in our da]| given to the public. They are intensely, thoroughly Iris in the sense of genius, of national idiosyncrasy — Irish thought, in feeling, in expression. They are Irish in revfi ential love for what is old and venerable — witness exquisite poem on the Premonstrat<^nsian Abbey of Lou u^thodvction to the poems. th.y a« Irish in the L^ZZl '""" '- """^ '«-' ^ breathe, whether in love oTfrie ^ T""'^ "' '"^-«- *•>«; «>o«t "true to the Gaelic ear "2 T ■ k". '^''"^~^'"><=- quent flow of words, adapting Cutia' ' '° "'<' ^'°- "donation of the sweetest afd t T /"'' '" *''* ""^'""J , those written for and of he irisT f'*"' '"^'"''^- ^™» Irish thought and expression " '" "™ "^'^ "^ '™« to '»<>. Of this class, the 2^,? """^" '" "■"» '"^ Ire- Invitation Westward '• is al ^^^ ^"^'"^ P«">. "An Cross in the West," "St. PatrieF.""7't' *"' '"<'' ""The Homes of Ihinois," " G™lt-n " t'^''''''^'" " Tie Irish H-e- "The Arn.y of tleC" 5^^'; ""'' ^"'o- Amenca," " Hail to the Land '■ If' ^'''* ^'«S of 'ul homage to the count J whlre"! n?""^' ''^''■- ^''- « home, the greatness of^^eTntne h'^ "' "'"^' ^°"8" legated. The noble versesTn "P , '"" """ '^^ ''PPre- -d "Peace hath her Cories'^T T^'"" (Newfoundland) ^'■opo, to the great Exposition in t^ ! '' """"" '" P"™ ■Dream," and "lona to Er n'" ar!^ ""^-"^'- ^"'""f^ published poems. It wiU be seen 7T'"' "^^ '''^' °* t" ,7 -'fi"i»''ed. such as "The ^11 „, t.'""" "^ ""^ P"^'"^ '.'he best of his historical Joems) "1^7"" """^ " ("- Bnde,»" The Four Students," aid "The ^'fr;''" and the h'er, a truly charming produlL "' ^"'""'"■•" T"" K he seems to have inCd/d "r i?" *" "' '^"S^'^ntary hat intrinsic beauty indued jl" /f' '"''"''"""''^ ^ "» praoge all she could Ld of Ttwl '" '""«'=' ■""» J • "Anota p„e™ died TH 1 'P'""' <""•«•* t Wl.. to Z . vo ° ', """"" •» '""• intended 7'','' '" '""'°-" "■« 64 INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. !>'■ , I: One couplet of this poem is strikingly characteristic of the author's peculiar delicacy of thought and expression : ^ " The lone lake, like a lady, grieves, Saddest in the long auiumn eoe«." To ordinary readers nothing can be more simple than these two lines, but to the cultivated poetical taste they will pre- sent a graceful thought, most happily rendered in musical words. Some other such exquisite snatches of song the editress found here and there on scraps of paper, without any (apparent connection — broken links of thought, or rather gushes of song welling forth from the fount of genius. Here is one of these : "Spell-bound or asleep, I was wandering all alone Where, beneath monastic rocks old and gray. The deep sea beats its breast with many a sigh and moan For its stormy frantic passions, or the ships it cast away." Another was as follows : *' A moon that sheds a needless light On soulless streets in the far-gone night." On another scrap was found this stanza, which the author evidently meant for the beginning of a poem to be named " The War of the Holy Cross :" " Art thou brave, and lovest glory, then rise and follow me, And thou shalt have for captain the Lord of land and sea ; Where the mighty men of ages left foot-prints stamp'd in gore, We will bear the sacred banner that our fathers bore of yore." This poem, to judge from its opening lines, would have been one of great vigor and of stately measure, conceived in that religious spirit which marked exclusively the closing period of our poet's life. The following stanza is of strange, sweet mapped out the plan of a grand epic on the Jewish exodus, which was to have extended over twelve books. How thoroughly he mastered every sub- ject on whicl\ he wrote may be judged from the following note appended to the plan of this poem : " itead for Exodus, ' St. Jerome and the Fathers,' ' Divine Legation,' His- tories of Egypt, Arabia, the Jews, etc., Natural History, Josephus, and tlMj Talmud." mnODUCTION TO THE POEMS. melody; would that the nn^rv. ended f~ ^' ^^"^ «° commenced had been "Oft through the gloaming, i^ike shadows coming, Around me roaming, ' » In scenes afar— Than the present nearer Come the old days dearer, Beaming brighter, clearer m, ^ .,. ^''an the evening star." St '2::2..''^-:^:- -- ?- -^- -^^p^- been if completed, as it ^naXetl ' " """ '"^^ name was found on one of Mr MoP ' T"" " '""^'" "' """ •• Ki„, V , . McGee's ],sts of his poems • Other broken snatches of „i • in ll.e poems, where there we™ eTenV""" ' """'^ ^'"•""'-d 0»e of these commences Tus-"! J"'';r^""'"<' ™^^es. work- undone ;" another "Ahr k ."'"^ "°' ^'^ '^"t ^ny The. detached versesTcommet' to Th """ '""^ '"' '"■^''' '»«o„, for they are indeed o 1 , ""^''''' '^"^ ->»- ™wed in connection witlu. autl^^ r'"™"-' -^- I sad, sad death. - "'""'^ « chequered life and " I dream'd a dream wt^^ *t. TiatwouM keep „j,„<,„4*«,e, roe iIH^^^^IIk' '^ ^i 1 66 INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. m h * delivered over eleven hundred lectures on every subject that could elevate and instruct the people ! — he who wrote many books of rare value, and edited some fifteen volumes of news- papers! — he whose poetry, like his eloquence, has thrilled the hearts of tens of thousands ! Ah I if he did not do work enough ** to keep his name from the spoiler's hand," then no man or woman of our generation has a claim to lasting re- membrance. As one of those who knew him best, and all he had done and meant to do for the real interests of society, especially those of his own race, which is also hers, and as one of his hnmble fellow-laborers in the field of Irish and Catholic lit- erature, the editress ha3 done what in her power lay to "keep his memory for the true" and his "name from the spoiler's hand." The following beautiful poem from the pen of " Thomasine," one of the sweetest singers of the Dublin Nation in its palmiest days, appeared so late as 1860 in the columns of that paper. It is a response to Mr. McGee's heart- warm stanzas, " Am I remember'd in Erin ?" THE EXILE'S QUESTION, "AM I REMEMBER'D?" I. Well have the poets imaged forth The foar-cross'd hope of lovers true — A needle turning towards the north, Constant, yet ever trembling too ; And love the purest soonest feels This thrilling doubt arise. As homeward memory sadly steals From exile's distant skies. Thou art remember'd ! II. But doubt like this doth grievous wrong To Her round whom thy heart-strings twine f And, Brother of the sweet- voiced Song ! Never such fervent love as thine Did Erie's grateful nature leave Unnoticed or forgot ; Still for thy absence doth she grieve, Still mourn thy exiled lot. Thou art remember'd I INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. 67 III. Nay, and though long the glorious roll Of gifted sons who loved her well. Much were that tender mother's dole, If one forgotten fell. E'en as the Church holds record proud Of every sainted name, She counts for each in that bright crowd A son's especial claim — Thou art remcmber'd ! IV. She sends this greeting fond by me, To bid thy heart rejoice ; Eager fj-om lands beyond the sea, She listens for thy voice. By many a hearth her daughters sing Thy strains of Celtic lore, While round their knees the children cling To learn the deeds of yore— And thou'rt remember'd ! Oft, too, when themes of import grave Call men to council high, Some voice recalls thy lessons brave. Faithful to live or die ; And constant still — believe it, friend ! — Before God's holy shrine, Few names with her petitions blend More warmly loved than thine — Thou'rt well remember'd I To this we append, selected from scores of poems written in America on Mr. McGee's death, the following musical and I eloquent tribute to his memory from the pen of an accom- [ plished Catholic priest of Pennsylvania : " Dark is the honse of onr fathers, brother. Fast fall the tears of its inmates for thee— Grief-stricken man his emotions may smother. But loud is the wail of the wife and the mother, Loved D'Arcy McGee I " Sweetly the Muses thy loss are bewailing. Sighing in chorus the sad dirge — ah me ! Life's golden sunset in darkness is paling — Death thy bright name with his shadows is veiling, Lost D'Arcy McGee ! 58 INTRODUCTION TO THE POEMS. 11 '■. i f(!i' Iliil "Lo ! the great dead of the long-buried ages, Thronging innumerous, moau over thee — Spirits of heroes, of saints, and of sages, Glowing with life in thy bright-pictured pagea, gifted MoGee ! " Thousands, the wide world o'er, who with gladness, Spell-bound, enraptured, erst listen'd to thee. Silver-tongued Orator! now, in deep sadness. Horror-struck, gaze on the dark deed of madness, martyr'd McGee ! " Poet, Historian, the Forum's bright glory — Light lie the sod, noble D'Arcy ! on thee ; Blest be thy name till the ages are hoary — Honor'd, oft utter'd in pray'r, song, and story, O deathless McGee !" With these echoes of his fame from either side the Atlan- tic, wo close our introduction to the poems of Thomas D'Arcy McGee — poems which will, we think, justify me in saying that he himself, more than any of his race, struck " the harp of King Brian," and breathed over its strings the Celtic spirit of Ossian, whom he once addressed in this pro- phetic strain : " Oh, inspired giant! shall we e'er behold In our own time One fit to speak your spirit on the wold, Or seize your rhyme ? One pupil of the past, as mighty soul'd As in the prime Were the fond, fair, and beautiful, and bold— They, of your song sublime ! " If Thomas D'Arcy McGee was not the one " fit to speak that spirit on the wold" — if he was not the "pupil of the past," the " mighty-soul'd," representing in our new age the great father of Celtic song — then is there none such among j living men. Harp of Thatr And scan Lest bj Deep buri Thesha The wild i Fearinsr o Seeing the Whothr Mangan ai I knell a If Griffin, < Had nev( Or if our li To native I !- AN APOLOGY TO THE ffAEP. Harp of the land I love ! forgive this hand That reverently lifts thoe from the dust, And scans thy strings with fiUal awe and love, Lest by neglect the chords of song should rust. • ! n. Deep buried in tall grave-yard grass thou wert^ The shadows of the dead thy sole defence — The wild flowers twining round thee meekly fond, Fearing their very love might be offence. I'f- III. Seeing thee thus, I knew the bards were gone Who thrilled thee — and themselves thrilled to thy touch : Mangan and Moore, I knew, were vanished ; I knel'l and raised thee : did I dare too much ? IV. If Griffin, or if Davis Uved, a night Had never fallen upon thee, lying there ; Or if our living poets, loyal held To native themes so much, I dare not dare. 62 PATRIOTIC POEMS, V. But could I see thee, glorious instrumont 1 The first time in long ages silence-bound ? Thou ! "who wert nursed on ancient Ossian's knee- Thence sacredly through ages handed down. VI. 1 1 who have heard thy echoes from my soul, A sickly boy, couched at my mother's knee : 1 1 who have heard thy dirges, wild as winds, And thy deep tidal turns of prophecy I VII. 1 1 whom you tuned in sorrow day by day, For friend, adviser, solace, companie. Could I pass by thee, prostrate, nor essay To bear thee on a stage — harp of my loved Erie f vm. Forgive me I oh, forgive me, if too bold I I twine thy chords about my very heart, And make with every pulse of life a vow, Swearing — nor years, nor death, shall us two part IX. I have no hope to gather bays, on high Beneath the snows of ages, where they bloom, As many votaries of thine desired, And the great favor'd few have haply done ; But if emblem o'er my dust should rise. Let it be this : Our Harp within a wreath Of shamrocks twining round it lovingly, That so, O Harp ! our love shall know no death I PATRIOTIC POEMS, 68 THE THREE MINSTRELS. Three Minstrels play within the Tower of Time, A weird and wondrous edifice it is : One sings of war, the martial strain sublime, And strikes his lyre as 'twere a foe of his. The sword upon his thigh is dripping red From a foe's heart in the mid-battle slain ; His plumed casque is do£f'd from his proud head. His flashing eye preludes the thundrous strain. Apnrt, sequester'd in an alcove deep, Through which the pale moon looks propitious in. Accompanied by sighs that seem to weep. The second minstrel sadly doth begin To indite his mistress fair, but cruel, who Had trampled on the heart that was her own ; Or prays his harp to help him how to woo. And thrills with joy at each responsive tone. Eight in the porch, before which, fair and far. Plain, lake, and hamlet fill the musing eye, GazinfT tow d the thoughtful evening star ems transfixed upon the mountain high, arc Country and of Duty sings: jlow and triumphal is the solemn strain; L ke Death, he takes no heed of chiefs or kings. But over all he maketh Country reign. Sad Dante . he, Ic ied from life, who found His way to Ec. -i , and unhappy stood Amid the angels — 1 j, the cypress- crown'd, Knew not the utmost gift of public good. il 64 PATBIOTIC POEMS. n i 1 Thoughts deeper and more solemn it inspires Than even his lofty spirit dare essay; How then shall we, poor Emberers of old fires, Kindle the beacons of our country's way ? V We all are audience in the Tower of Time; I For us alone at this hour play the three, — Choose which ye will — the martial song sublime. Or lover fond; but thou my Master be, O Bard of Duty and of Country's cause I Thee will I choose and follow for my lord I Thy theme my study and thy words my laws — Muse of the patriot lyre and guardian sword I THE EMIGRANT AT HOME, " I had a dream which was not all a dream."— f^ron. I. A TOUTH retum'd from the far, far West Lay slumber-bound in his early home. When a fairy vision beguiled his rest, And a voice of music fill'd the room. II. " What saw you in the Western land Beyond the sea, my Irish boy ?" " Oh I forests vast, and rivers grand, And a sun that shone, as if for joy. M ni. " What saw you else in the Western land That lures so many across the sea ?" "Oil ! I saw men toiling on every hand. And right merry men they seem'd to be. PA TRIO TIC POEMS. m' 65 IV. " When you were abroad in the Western lind, Saw you any who ask'd for me?" *' Oh ! I met marching many a band, Aiid the air they play'd was Grammachree. V. " And their order'd ranks you should have seen, In guarded camp, or festive hall, When their manly limbs were clad in green, And a flag of green flew over alL" VI. The spirit clapp'd her pearl-pale hands, Proudly her silvery wings she shook, And the sleeping youth from the far-off lands Bless'd, as she pass'd, with a loving look. THE PILGBIMS OF LIBERTY. I. lEsiDE a river that I know, shrined in a laurel grove, [see my idol — Liberty, that wears the smile of Love ; [er face is toward the city, four paths are at her feet, ley bear her hymns from the four winds as rays converging meet. n. the four paths I see approach my idol's votaries: lose from the highlands of the West, from Northern valleys these ; 66 PATRIOTIC POEMS. n From Shannon shore and Slaney's side, yon other pilgrims throng: Oh I wild around my idol's shrine will surge their mingled song. III. And thither wends that wounded man, who bears the muf- fled sword Once borne by the comrade true his kindred heart adored; The sacred stains upon the blade are drops of tyrant blood: He brings it now to Freedom's shrine, as loyal comrade should. IV. And thither wends the widow, with her fair son at her side, The banneret, whose eye is wet, beneath his brow of pride ; The sable crape around the staff his father bore is roll'd — The shining Sun across the Green flings many a ray of gold. V. The maiden \/ith the funeral urn close gathered to her breast Goes thither to give up the heart she loved on earth the best ; She girt his sword and gave him for Ireland's holy fight— And once again to Liberty, Love yields her equal right. VI. The Artist, with his battle piece — the Poet, with his song— The Student, with his glowing heart, pour to the shrine along, Where Liberty, my idol, sits on a shrine like snow. By a ghding river that I love, near a city that I know. VII. Oh! long around my idol's throne may bloom the laurel trees, The ever green and ever glad, they laugh at bhght and breeze — PATRIOT JO POEMS. 67 111 True children of our hardy clime, long may they there be seen — Like our nation's banners folded, as deathless and as green. VIII. Oh! long may the four pathways join beneath my idol's feet, And long may Ireland's mingled men before her altar meet ; Oh ! long may man and maid and youth go votaries to the grove W^here reigns my idol, Liberty, that wears the smile of Love. HAIL TO THE LAND. Hail to the land where Freedom first Through all the feudal fetters burst, And, planting men upon their feet, Cried, Onward! never more retreat I Be it yours to plant your starry flag On royal roof and castle crag ; Be it yours to climb Earth's eastern slope In championship of human hope. Your war-cry. Truth ! immortal word ; Your weapon, Justice ! glorious sword ; Your fame far-traveled, as the levin,* And lasting as the arch of heaven. Hail to the Happy Land ! n. Hail to the land where FrankUn Hes At peace beneath disarmed skies, i 9,1 r ■^ li'i 5 i ||B|y |> i HI ''■ '; 68 -P^ TRIO TIC POEMS. Where Jefferson and Jackson rest, ' Like valiant men, on Victory's breast, Where, his benignant day-task done. The clouds have closed round Washington— The star amid the luminous host Which guides mankind to Freedom's coast. I feel my heart beat fast and high. As to the coast our ship draws nigh ; I burn the fresh foot-prints to see Of the heroes of Humanity. Hail to the Happy Land I III. Hail to the land whose broad domain Rejoices under Freedom's reign — Where neither right nor race is bann'd. Where more is done e'en than is plann'd — Where a lie hveth not in stone. Nor truth in Bible-leaves alone — Where filial lives are monuments To noble names and high intents — Oh ! where the Uving still can tread, Unblushingly, amid the dead I Hail to that Happy Land I ! ' IV. What can I lay on FreedcM 's shrine Meet-oflfering to the power divine ? I have nor coronet nor crown. Nor wealth nor fame can I lay down ; But I have hated tyrants still, And struggled with their wrathful will ; And when through Europe's length they lied, For thee I feebly testified ; ! 'Xi PATRIOTIC POEMS. And oft, in better champion's stead, In thy behoof I've striven and said, " Ah, be the oflfering meet to thee. My hfe, my all, dread Liberty ! Hail to thy Happy Land I V. " The land is worthy of its place. The vanguard of the human race ; Its rivers still refresh the sea. As Truth does Time, unceasingly ; Its prairie plains as open lie As a saint's soul before God's e^'e ; Its broad-based mountains firmly stand Like Faith and Hope in their own land. Heaven keep this soil, and may it bear New worth and wealth to every year ; And may men never here bend knee To any lord, O Lord, but Thee. Hail to the Happy Land I" 69 A MALEDICTION. I. '' My native land ! how does it fare Since last I saw its shore?" " Alas I alas ! my exiled fi-ere, It aileth more and more. God curse the knaves who yearly steal The produce of its plains; "Who for the poor mar. never feel, Yet gorge on labor's gains I Br«^ 70 I: ij' ' 'liil!! ■I i| PATJilOTIC POEMS. n. " We both can well recall the time When Ireland yet was gay; It needed then no wayside sign To show us where to stay. A stranger sat by ev'ry hearth, At ev'ry board he fed; It was a work of maiden mirth To make the wanderer's bed. in. " 'Tis altered times : at every turn A shiftless gang you meet; The hutless peasants starve and mourn, Camp'd starkly in the street. The warm old homes that we have known Went down like ships at sea; The gateless pier, the cold hearth-stone, Their sole memorials be. IV. ** We two are old in years and woes, And Age has powers to dread ; And now, before our eyes we close, Our malison be said: The curse of two gray-headed men Be on the cruel crew* Who've made our land a wild-beast's den- And God's curse on them too." * Meaning the " exterminating" landlords. PATRIOTIC POEMS. A SONG FOR THE SECTIONS, I. Ye, who still love our native land, Who doubt not, nor despair, Come, let us make another stand, And never droop for care. If she is poor, she needs the more The service of the true. And laurels will be plenty yet, Though heroes may be few. 71 ' n. "What though we failed in 'Forty-eight To form th' embattled line, The more our need to compensate Our friends in 'Forty-nine ; What though ships bear to isles afar The foremost of our race — For them and Ireland both we'll war, And their slavish bonds efface. ni. All Europe shakes from shore to shore ; The Jews bid for her crowns ; Democracy, with sullen roar. Affrights her feudal towns : The kings are struggling for their lives Amid the angry waves, And every land but Ireland strives To liberate its slaves. 72 PATRIOTIC POEMS ;i|!ii rv. Up I up I ye banish'd Irishmen, The soldier's art to learn ; A time will come — Will ye be then Fit for the struggle stern ? A time will come when Britain's flag From London Tower shall fall — Will ye be ready then to strike For Ireland, once for all ? V. Oh I by the memories of your youth, I conjure you prepare ; By all your vows and words of truth, I ask you to prepare. Oh, by the holy Christian Creed, Which makes us brothers, rise ! And staunch the kindred wounds that bleed, Ere yet our nation dies ! VI. Ye who still hope in Fatherland, Your trial-time shall come, When many a gallant exile band Can strike a blow for home 1 For Ireland and for vengeance, then, Arise and be prepared. And strike the tyrant to the heart The while his breast is bared. ! VII. No more of mercy — not a word Of scorning 'vantage ground — Kg more of measuring sword and sword, Of being content to wound ; — y , .ii! i 1* 1 . 1 : PATRIOTIC POEMS. But when the battle is begun, Cleave open crown and crest ; Then only will your work be done, Then only can you rest. 73 IM iii ''THE ARMY OF THE WEST," ^E fight upon a new-found plan, our Army of the West — (ur brave brigades, along the line, will leave the foe no rest — )ur battle-axes, bright and keen, with every day's swift sands, jay low the foes of Liberty, and then annex their lands; >n, onward through the Western woods our standard saileth ever Lud shadows many a nameless peak and unbaptized river — ?he Army of the Future we, the champions of the Unborn — ^e pluck the primal forests up, and sow their sites with corn. n. uhat rugged standard beareth the royal arms of toil — ['he axe, and pike, and ponderous sledge, and plough that frees the soil — rhe field is made of stripes, and the stars the crest supplies, Lud the Uving eagles hover round the flag-stafifs where it flies. Lnd thus beneath our standard, right merrily we go, 'he Future for our heritage, the tangled Waste our foe : le Army of the Future we, the champions of the Unborn — !e pluck the primal forests up, and sow their sites with corn. f.m 74 rATIlIOTIV P0KM8. ii 51 m. Down in yon glade the anvil rings beneath the arching oakfi, Behind yon hills our neighbors drive young oxen in the yokes, Yon laughing boys now boating down the rapid river's tide, Go to the learned man who keeps the log-house on its side- Like suckers of the pine they grow, elastic, rugged, tall. They will hit a swallow on the wing with a single rifle ball— The cadets of our army they, from " the "West-Point" of the unborn, They too will pluck the forests up, and sow their sites witli corn. IV. Oh ye who dwell in cities, in the self-conceited East, Do you ever think how by our toils your comforts are increased ? When you walk upon your carpets, and sit on your easj| chairs. And read self-applauding stories, and give yourselves sucli| airs — Do you ever think upon us, Backwoodsmen of the West, Who, from the Lakes to Texas, have given the foe no rest?! On the Army of the Future, and the champions of thej Unborn, Who pluck the primal forests up, and sow their sites with | corn ? SONG OF THE SIKHS. !•: I. Allah ! it altah ! the rivers are red With the blood and the plumes of the Infidel dead; Allah ! U allah ! their far isle gi'ows pale At the sound of our song on the western gale. I :i' PATEIOTIO POEMS. 76 This morning, how proud was their muster and show, As their squadi'ons swift wheel'd, and their columns came slow ! AVheel'd swift to their death by the spears of Lahore — Ciuue slow to feed Jhailum full with their gore. m. Allah ! il allah ! the Dost and his son ' Shall hear of the deeds on this bloody day done, And a stream from the hills to our camp we shall see. Like the Ganges, refreshing the shores of the sea! IV. Let your hearts shout aloud to the arch of the sky, For thither the souls of our dead brothers fly ; Oh ! sweet from the Houris their welcome will be, As they tell how they fell 'neath the cool Tamboo tree. V. Allah ! il allah ! trust cannon and sabre ! — Rest not ! Paradise is the payment of labor ! Allah ! il allah I another such day, And, hke spirits cast out, they will flee and away I FREEDOM'S LAND. 1. Where is Freedom's glorious land ? Is it where a lawless race Scorn all just control, and stand Each one 'gainst his brother's face ? i 76 PATRIOTIC POEMS. No I f ( r man's wild passions still Heavier chains their tyrants forge, And his own unbridled will Is itself the fiercest scourge, And a land of anarchy Never can be truly free. II. When her fetters Gallia broke And indignant oast away, With the old and galling yoke, Every salutary sway, Were not the destroyers then Tyrants worse to meaner slaves ? Freedom is miscall'd of men When her footsteps tread on graves— Where unpuaish'd crime goes free Is no land of liberty. m. But where men like brethren stand. Each one his own spirit rules. Serving best his own dear land. Turning from the anarch's schools, Reverencing all lawful sway — Patient if it be unjust; If the fabric should decay. Build, improve — not raze to dust ; Liberty and justice fair Find their holiest altars there I IV. Such be thou oh land of mine 1 Still'd be every discord rude I Erin, let thy sons combine In one holy brotherhood I 1 ,'. PATRIOTIC POEMS, Prudent, temperate, firm, and strong — Loyalty our watchword be 1 Truth our shield 'gainst taunt and wrong, And warm hearts our chivalry ! Loyal soul and stainless hand, Make our country Freedom's laud I 77 f THE DESEBTED CHAPEL. X. Sunday morning, calm and fair I Ah, how beautiful the scene is ! The blue hills shade the amber air, The Slaney flows, my home, between us I Do you note ' 3 Sabbath sun, Burnish'd for the day's devotion ? Do you note the white ships on The distant, silent, silver ocean ? IL ** God be praised for Ireland's beauty ! Such a mother as He gave us ? Did we only do our duty, Gould the powers of hell enslave us ? E'en this river, did we heed it. Safety's lesson yet might teach us. Far and weak the founts that feed it. But to what great end it reaches I" m. So I thought, my way across To that wayside chapel lowly, Whose rude eves, festooned with moss. Often moved me with thoughts holy — i ;' 78 PATRIOTIC POEMS. (Thoughts that do not love the city !) Now, alas ! all here was altered — Even the Mass-boy's accent falter'd ; The congregation, few and sad, Such a look of ruin had. That I could not pray for pity I IV. Signs of grief on every face, In the consecrated place ; At the altar I heard weeping, Tears the aged priest's face steeping ; And ii moan might rend a stone. Round the silent walls was creeping. The very carved Saint in his nook Had compassion in his look — Chimed the sad winds through the steeple- " Save, O Jesus ! save thy People !" V. " "Where," thought I, " is now the maiden Who once knelt here, blossom-laden ? "Where the farmer, whose broad breast Here its simple sins confess'd? Some, perchance, beyond Lake Erie, Toil as slaves in forests weary ; Some are nearer home beside us, Jn their cold graves, whence they chide U3, That we still let feuda divide us I" VI. Whoso has a human heart. Let him our old chapel see, Note all round i^, nor depart, Till to God, on bended knee, PATRIOTIC POEMS. He has vowed his part to take With us aye, for Ireland's sake, And her feudal bonds to break. 79 .' m^i A MERE inisn MAN'S LAMENT. I. On, ancient land ! where are those lords Whose palacf; gates to me Seem'd rusted as their father's swords. Which wf : their share in thee ! Their avenues are all grass-grown, Their courts with moss are green. Cold looks each tree, and tow'r, and stone, Where no master's face is seen. n. Yon swan that sails across the lake. How sad its state appears ! The raven's hoarse, dull echoes wake Among the oaks of years. Neglected feed-j the fav'rite steed Up to the very door ; It whines : poor beast ! thy lord, I rede, Will ne'er caress thee more. III. Far, far beyond the crumbling wall Which marks that wide domain. Silence and sorrov/ over all Hath hung the cloud and chain. ; ffTL K '" 80 PATBIOTIC POEMS. The stout yeoman hath lost his pride, The toilsman's strength hath past, And lifeless homes, from every side, Stare us, like skulls, aghast. IV. Ah, ancient land ! what tree could keep Its bearing high, or strength. If the roots that in the soil were deep Fail'd, as its stay, at length ? And art thou not a rootless tree. Dear land ! fair land? — ah I how Should sap or firmness be in thee — What stay of strength hast thou ? V. In for^gn halls thy lords laugh loud. Are gayest 'mid the gay — Their day of life has not a cloud. In the strange climes far away. Free lk)ws their wealth, and shines their worth, In France, Spain, Italy; They've smiles and wealth for all the earth. And cold neglect for thee. .t M VI. Not such our lords of ancient time, Whose ample roofs rose o'er A.ilepch, Carmen, Tara sublime — They loved their natal shore ; Theirs were the homes that fill'd the land With light like lofty lamps — Unlike this errant, night-born band, Chiefs of death' dews and damps! PATRIOTIC POEMS, 81 VII. But weak as froth such plaintive strain- Let us no more repine ; Let them still from our soil remain, Still laugh at wrath divine. The sterner and the louder call, Shall drag them o'er the sea — " The lord that dwells not in his hall, No lord o'er us shall be I" THE RECUSANT. 9 I. YoD swore me an oath when the grass was green, To win me a royal dower, To take me henca to the altar, I ween, And thence beyond their power. n. By St. Berach's staff, and St. Euadan s be .11, And by all the oaths in heaven. You swore to love me, when spring was green, While breath to your body was given. in. And your faith has flown ere the corn was ripe. And your love ere the leaves do fall — I am not treated as queen or as wife, Or houor'd or dower'd at all. * Tliis little poem would seem to ' ; al' ' i'orical, representing Ireland reproach* lug England for breach of faith.-- "?. 82 PATRIOUO POBUa. vr. Oh ! false and fair and fickle of faith, Nor lover nor name need I, I have had young lov«2rs true to the death, And others who shall not die. V. I shall be woo'd when the spring is green, I shall win me a royal dower. And my true lovers all, ere long, I ween, Shall save me from your power I THE CELT'S CONSOLATION. I. Ir our island lies prostrate, why should we despair ? What race, for resistance, with oars can compare? Some wiser, some richer, are found in the world, But their souls are as red as the flags they unf url'd ! n. With swords by their sides some are harness'd to sha»nc, But the bronze of success cannot hide the black name ; Nor the diamonded brow shield the guilty abhorr'd, When their pride toi^ples down in the breath of the Lord. IB. O'er the waters of Time, in the chron'cler'H bark, As we sail by the Ages, some brilliant, some dark, We behold how the empire of blood is o'erthrown, And we see its black bastions all round us bestrewn. PATRIOTIC POEMS. 88 IV. If we may not bo free, let us try to be frank, Let us fight life's long battle with well-ordor'd rank If wo may not be great, let us try to bo good, And long for no laurels besprinkled with blood I NO sun REND Eli. r. Heard amid the landlord's wassail. In his tear-bemoated castle — Heard by peer and heard by peasant, As the prophet of the present — Heard in Dublin's dimest alleys, Heard in Connaught's saddest valleys — In our night-time, from the North, Came a voice to stir the earth. With its watchword, •* No surrender I" ir. "No surrender !" It is spoken — Be the people's vow unbroken I " No surrender !" Sons of toU, Lineal heirs of Irish Boil ! Holy lips have blessed the bans, Wedding of the hostile clans — " No surrender !" Men of God — ie shall break the tyrant's rod With your Gospel, " No surrender I" HI. " No surrender !" Man of might, Who woke the voice that broke the night, I I 84 PATRIOTIC POEMS. Whoso heart is firo, whose brain is light- You shall lead and win the fight ! On Slieve Donard plant your banner, Let the mountain breezes fan her. Ireland feels its dawning splendor, Hoping, chiding, guiding, tender. Shining on us, " No surrender I" DEEDS DONE IN DAYS OF SHAME, . A DEED ! a deed I O God, vouchsafe, Which shall not die with me. But which may bear my memory safe O'er time's wreck-spotted cea, — A deed, upon whose brow shall stand Traced, larj^e in linen of flame — " This hatl been done for Ireland, Done in the days of shame I" Tl li ' An age will come, when Fortune's sun Will beam in IrelauJ's sky, And mobs of flotterers then will run To hail her majesty. Amid that crowd I shall not he To join in the accluim ; But deeds will have their memory. Though done in days of shame. PATRJOTIV POEMS. 85 III. When six feet of a stranger soil Shall press upon ray heart, And envy's self will pause awhile To praise the manly part — Oh ye who rise in Ireland, then, To fight your way to fame, Think of the deeds by mouldering men Done in the days of shame I THE OATHERINO OF THE NATIONS. I. Gather together the nations I proclaim the war to all : Armor and sword are girding in palace, tower, and hall ; The kings of the earth are donning their feudal mail again — • Gather together the nations ! arouse and arm the men. II. Who Cometh out of the North ? 'Tis Russia's mighty Czar ; With giant hand he pointeth to a never-setting star ; The Cossack springs from his couch — the Tartar leaves his den ! — Ho ! herald souls of Europe, arouse and arm the men. III. What does the Frank at Rome, with the Russian at the Rhine ? Antl AU)ion, pallid as her cliffs, shows neither soul nor sign ; r»'pe Pius sickeneth dailv, in the foul Sicilian fen — Ho ! vardens of the world's strongholds, arouse and arm the men. w 86 PATRIOTIC POEMS. IV. The future circleili nearer on its grey portentious wings, Pule are the cheeks of princes, and sore afraid are kings !— Once faced by the furious nations, they'll flee in fear, and then, By the right divine of the fittest, we shall have the reign of men! ROCKS AND niVERS, AN IRISH TABLE. I. "When the Kivers first were born, From the hill tops each surveyed, Through the lifting haze of morn, Where his path through life was laid. n. Down they pour'd through heath and wood, Ploughing up each passing field ; All gave way before the flood, The Rocks alone refused to yield. III. " Your pardon !" said the "Waters bland, " Permit us to pass on our way ; We're sent to fertilize the land — And will be chid for this delay." IV. ** You sent !" the Rocks replied with scorn, "You muddy, ill-conditioned streams ; Return and live, where ye were born, Nor cheat yourselves with such wild dreams." PATRIOTIC POEMS. 87 ''-\ V. " You will uot ?" " No !" Tho Waters mild Culled loudly on their Idndred stock, Wave upon wave their Ktren<,Hh they piled ; And cleft in twain lock after rock. VI. They nurtured towns, they fed the land, They brought new life to fruits and flockr : The Rivers are the People, and Our Irish Landlords are the Rocks. NEW-YEAIi'S THOUGHTS. I. A Spirit from the skies Came into our trodden land ; It glow'd in roseate dyes. And around its brow a band Was bound like a sun-stream in the west ; And as its accents broke O'er the land, our men awoke, And each felt the stranger's yoke On his breast ! .s n. And first a flush of shame Spread along their manly brows, And next, in God's dread name, They swore, and sealed their vows, That Ireland a free state should be ; \ .1 gg PATRIOTIC POEMS. And from the mountaiDS then, And from each glade and glen, Gray spirits taught the men To be free. III. There was candor in the land, And loud voices in the air. And the poet waved his wand, And the peasant's arm was bare, And Religion smiled on Valor as her child ; But, alas ! alas I a bUght Came o'er us in a night. And now our stricken plight Drives me wild I IV. But wherefore should I weep. When work is to be done ? Wherefore dreaming lie asleep In the quick'ning morning sun ? Since yesterday is gone and pass'd away I will seek the holy road That our martyr saints have trod,* And along it bear my load As I may I V. I will bear me as a man — As an Irish man, in sooth — No barrier, wile, or ban, Shall stay me from the truth, I will have it, or perish in the chace — PATRIOTIC POEMS. That I loved my own isle well My bones at least shall tell, And on what quest I fell In that place. VI. But if God grant me life To SCO this struggle out, The end of inward strife And the fall of foes without, I will die without a murmur or a tear ; — For in that holy hour. You'd not miss me from your dower Of love, and hope, and power, Erin, dear! CHANGE. How fair is the sun on Lough Gara ! How bright on the land of the Gael I For Summer has come with her verdure. To gladden the drooping and pale ; And morn o'er the landscape is stealing. The meadows are joyous with May ; All lightsome and brightsome the hours — Poor Erin was never so gay 1 n. How loud is the storm on Lough Gara ! How dark on the land of the Gael ! The clouds they are split with red hghtning, The blasts how they mutter and rail I I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 1.0 I.I Uit2A |2.5 •^ 1^ 12.2 ij& F' V' HL ^ 6" ► Hiotographic Sciences Corporation 23 WIST MAIN STRUT WnSTH.N.Y. MSM (71«) •7a-4»03 ' ^ fW go PATRIOTIC POEMS. Ob, black is tbe evening around us, And gone are the smiles of tbe morn. All gloomsome and dreary the bours — Poor Erin was never so lorn I in. Sweet motber I bow like to our story I How like our own mournfullest doom — Now brigbt witb tbe prestige of glory — Now dasbed into gloomiest gloom I How late since our dear flag flew o'er us I How soon did our poor struggles fail I And frail as tbe gladness of Gara Were tbe hopes in tbe heart of the Gael I THE VAWNINO OF THE DAT. I. In our darkness we find comfort, In our loneliness some joy, When Hope, like tbe moon arises, Night's phantoms to destroy ; The spectral fires that haunt us Before its light give way, And the Unseen cannot daunt us At the dawning of tbe day. n. There are empty homes in Ireland, There are full ships on tbe sea ; Sons and brothers are awaiting Their people patiently ; PATRIOTIC POKHa. Their eyes are on the ocean, And they cannot turn away, — How sweet will be their meeting At the dawning of the day. HL I, too, am like a merchant Whose wealth is on the deep ; The blast that blows unkindly Could almost make me weep ; I think of the friend-freighted ship, That leaves my native bay — May the saints be its protection Till the dawning of the day ! 91 ll -PlUI J ft 111 , L JmI •> ' V vH^^^^^^^M \ , "!' 5 V 4 ^<^h| \ WL \ i'r^ B ,^| m 1 THE SEARCH FOR THE OAEL. I LEFT the highway — I left the street — In Albyn I sought them long ; I foUow'd the track of Kenneth's feet, And the sound of Ossian's song ; By the Kymric Clyde, and in Galloway wild, I sought for the wreck of my race ; But the clouds that the hills of Albyn hide Have pitied their forfeit place. I look'd for the Gael in the Cambrian glen, From the Cambrian mountains 'mid. And I saw only mute, coal-mining men — The face of my ra'je was hid. -{/, U^l } JHH V, 1 92 FATBIOTIC POBMa. At Merlin's work in Caernarvon waste They knew not Merlin's name — And the lines the hand of the master traced As the Devil's craft they claim. in. I look'd for the Gael in green Innisfail, And they showed me cowering there Misshapen forms, cast down and pale, Thy disciplined host, despair I But I noticed yot in their stony eyes A flash they could not veil, And I said, " Will no brave man arise To strike on this flint with steel ?" IV. I have found my race — ^I have found my race, But oh ! so fallen and low, That their very sires, if they look'd in their face^ Their own sons would not know. Still I've found my race — I've found my race. And to me this race is dear. And I pray that Heaven may grant me grace To toil for them many a year. IT IS EASY TO DIE. \ It is easy to die When one's work is done — To pass from the earth Like a harvest day's sun. After opening the flowers and ripening the grain Bound the homes and the scenes where our friends remain. PATRIOTIC POEMS. O. 98 It is easy to die When one's work is done — Like Simeon, the priest, Who saw God's Son ; In the fohiess of years, and the fohiess of faith, It is easy to sleep on the clay couch of death. m. But 'tis hard to die While one's native land Has scarce strength to cry 'Neath the spoiler's hand ; O merciful God ! Tonchsafe that I May see Ireland free, — then let me die. ODE TO AN EMIGRANT SEIP* L Let ns speak the ship that stands Boldly out from sheltering lands : Like a proud steed for the goal — Like a space-defying soul ; Comet bright, and swift that hath Enter'd on her chosen path I n. By the color that thou wearest, By the precious freight thou bearest, By the forests where you grew, In the land you steer unto — Ship be ready, and be true I 94 PATRIOTIC POEMS. r«' m ^ m. Tremble not beneath the weight Of your anxious human freight ; Freight beyond all cost or price, Of gold, or pearls, or Indian spice ; Steadily, oh steadily. Through fickle winds and troubled sea Bear the fallen to the free. Tenderly, oh tenderly 1 IV. Munster's headlands fade away ; Old Kinsale dons its haraid grey ; * No Channel light here shows the way — It is no landlock'd boating bay Their vessel heads for now — From the east unto the setting sun, A watery field their eyes rest on, Green is the soil they plough. Here wave vaults wave in sportive speed, Like schoolboys in a summer mead ; While the brave ship with lofty port. Ambitious, spurns their idle sport. And holds upon her way afar. For higher prize and sterner war. V. Upon her deck a child I see, A young adventurer on the sea ; And ever hath its mother press'd Her infant to her gentle breast ; Now looking westward hopefully, Now turning eastward mournfully — The Past and Future — light and shade Upon her brow a truce have madt. PATRIOTIC P0KM8. VI. By the ocean fame thou'st won, Gallant ship, sail fleetly on I Proudly, safely, sail once more To thine own paternal shore ; Stars upon thy standard shine — Never shame that flag of thine ! vn. Pleasant harborage waiteth thee, Off beyond this surging sea : "Where thy mighty anchors shall, In the ooze, sleep where they fall ; And thy brave, unbending masts Creak no more to northern blasts ; Quiet tides and welcoming cheer "Waiteth, good ship, for you here I vm. Steadfast to one purpose still. Hold on with unwavering will ; Thus the hero wins renown — Thus the martyr wins his crown : Thus the poet — thus the sage Find their port in history's page ; Stars upon thy standard shine — Never shame that flag of thine ! i ' 'mi M t'w' I ; t i •• WHEN FIGHTING WA 8 THE FASHION." J, "We've ships of steam, and we have wu'es. Thought travels like a flash on— But much we've lost that was our sires', When lighting was the fashion. > )l 'm • ■. re ' 98 PATBIOTIO P0MM8. Oh gay and gentle was their blood-^ Who Danes and Dutch did dash on, Who to the last all odds withstood. When fighting was the fashion. m. The grain that grew in Ireland then, Their own floors they did thrash on — They lived and died like Christian men, WLen fighting was the fashion. IT. Then Milan mail, in many a field, Mountmellick swords did clash on. And generals to our chiefs did yield. When fighting was the fashion. V. But now, oh shame ! we lick the hand That daily lays the lash on — Luck never can befall our land. Till fighting comes in fashion. r HOPE. HIBEBNIA. I. Tell me truly, pensive sage, Seest thou signs on any page, Know'st a volume yet to ope. Where I may read of hope — of hope f •1^ PATlilOTIV POEMS. ft II. Dare I seek it where the wave Grieves above Leander's grave Must I follow forth my quest In the wider, freer West ? in. Shall I seek its sources still, Delving under Aileach hill ? Must I wait for Oashel's fall To build anew Temora's hall ? It -a THE SAOE. IV. Genius, no ! the destined morn In the East shall ne'er be born ; Genius, no ! thy ancient quest May not be answer'd in the "West. V. Not where the war-laden tide Continents and camps divide, Not where Russ and Moslem cope, Shall break the morn of Erin's hope. VI. On Antrim's cliffs, on Cleena's strands, Thou shalt marshal filial bands ; And deep Dubmore and dark Dunloe Shall kindle in the sunburst's glow. vn. On native fields, by native strength, Thy fetters shall be burst at length. Then will and skill, not note and trope. Shall stand the sponsors of thy hope. .\J *» PATRIOTIC POEMS. n -^ THE liEAPEH'S SONG. Am — Tlie Jolly Shearers. I. The AugiiBt sun is setting Like a fire bcbind the hills — 'Twill rise again to see us free Of life or of its ills ; For what is life, but deadly strife That knows no truce or pause, And what is death, but want o£ breath To curse their alien liiws? »•• •• , Chorus — Then a-shearing lef us go, my boys, A-shearing let us go, On our own soil 'twill be no toil To lav the corn low. II. The harvest that is growing Was given us by God — Praise be to Him, the sun and shower Work'd for us at his nod. The lords of earth, in gold and mirth, Bide on their ancient way. But could their smile have clothed the isle - In such delight to-day ? Chorus. in. " How will you go a-shearing. Dear friends and neighbors all?" " Oh, we will go with pike and gun, To have our own or fall ; PATHIOTIC POEMS, | Wei] stack our arms and stack our com Upon the same wide plain ; 'SVell plant a guard in baru and yard, And give them grape for grain." Chorus. IV. God speed ye, gallant shearers, May your courage never fail, May you thrash your foes, and send thj chaff To England on the gale ! May you have a glorious harvest-home, AVhether I'm alive or no ; Your corn ^Mlb here, the foe comes there — Or it or he^ must go. * Chorua — Then a-shearing let us go, my boys, A-shearing we will go, On our own soil 'twill be no toil To cut the corn low. I >t A HARVEST UYMN. 1. God has been bountiful 1 garlands of gladness Grow by the waysides exorcising sadness, Shedding their bloom on the pale cheek of slavery, flulding out plumes for the helmets of bravery. Birds in them singing this sanctified stave — " God has been bountiful — Man must be brave !" n. Look on this harvest of plenty and promise — Shall we sleep while the e«ic:::7 snatches it from us ' %.: ^jj. - m u 100 > PATJtlOTlO POEMS. See where the Aiin on the golden ^rain Rparkles 1 Lo ! where behind it the reaper'a homo darkles I Hurk ! the cry ringing out, •' Save uh — oh, save ! Qod has been bountiful — Man must be bravo 1" III. From the shores of the ocean, the farther and hither, Where the victims of famine and pestilence wither. Lustreless eyes stare the pitying heaven. Arms, black, unburied, appeal to the levin — Voices unceasing shout over each wave, " God has been bountiful — Man must be brave 1" IV. "Would ye live happily, fear not nor falter — Peace sits on the summit of Liberty's altar I "Would ye have honor — honor was ever The prize of the hero-like, death-scorniu g liver I "Would ye have glory — she crowns not the slave — God has been bountiful, you must be brave ! V. Swear by the bright streams abundantly flowing. Swear by the hearths where wet weeds are growing — By the stars and the earth, and the four winds of heaven, That the land shall be saved, and its tyrants outdriven, Do it ! and blessings will shelter your grave — God has been bountiful — •will ye be brave ? FATJtlOTW 2'OKMS. 101 THE LIVING AND THE DEAD, I. BnioHT is the Sprinpf-timo, Erin, preen and gay to see ; But my heart is heavy, Erin, witli thoughts of thy sons and thee ; Tiiinking of your dead men lying as thick as grass new mown — Thinking of your myriads dying, unnoted and unknown — Tiiinking of your myriads flying beyond the abysmal waves — Thinking of your magnates sighing, and stifling their thoughts like slaves ! II. Oh ! for the time, dear Erin, the fierce time long ago, "NVhcn your men felt, dear Erin, and their hands could strike a blow I "When your Gaelic chiefs were ready to stand in the bloody breach — D:m{,^er but made Mem steady; they struck and saved their speech ! But where are the men to head ye, and lead ye face to face. To trample the powers that tread ye, men of the fallen race ? nL The yellow corn, dear Erin, waves plenteous o'er the plain ; But where are the hands, dear Erin, to gather in the grain ? The sinewy man is sleeping in the crowded churchyard near, And his young wife is keeping him lonesome company there ; His brother, shoreward creeping, has begged his way abroad, And his sister — though, for weeping, she scarce could see the road. i i % ijr 102 :li!i|. PATltJOTIO POEMS. IV. No other nation, Erin, but only you would bear A yoke like yours, O Erin ! a month, not to say a year ; ' And will you bear it forever, writhinfj and sighing sore. Nor learn — leurn now or never — to dare, not to deplore — Learn to join in one endeavor your creeds and people all — 'Tis only thus can you sever your tyrant's iron thrall. T. Then call your people, Erin ! call with a prophet's cry — Bid them link in union, Erin I and do like men or die — Bid the hind from the loamy valley, the miller from the fall — Bid the craftsman from his alley, the lord from his lordly hall- Bid the old and the young man rally, and trust to work, not words. And thenceforth ever shall ye be free as the forest birds. 11 DEATH OF THE HOMEWARD BOUND. I. Paler and thinner the morning moon grew, Colder and sterner the rising wind blew — The pole star had set in a forest of cloud, And the icicles crackled on spar and on shroud, When a voice from below we feebly heard cry, " Let me see, let me see my own land ere I die. n. "Ah! dear sailor, say! have we sighted Cape Clear? Can you see any sign ? Is the morning light near ? You are young, my brave boy ! thanks, thanks for your hand, Kelp me up till I get a last glimpse of the land. PATRIOTIC POEMS. 108 Thank God, 'tis the sun that now reddens the sky, I shall see, I shall see my own land ere I die. ui. " Let mo lean on your strength, I am feeble and old, And one half of my heart is already stone-cold : Forty years work a change ! when I first cross'd this sea, There were few on the deck that could grapple with nie ; But my youth and my prime in Ohio went by. And I'm come back to see the old spot ere I die." k-i' If . i \x^ I IV. 'Twas a feeble old man, and he stood on the deck. His arm round a kindly young mariner's neck — His ghastly gaze fix'd on the tints of the east As a starveling might stare at the sound of a feast ; The morn quickly rose and reveal'd to his eye Tlie land he had pray'd to behold, and then die ! V. Green, green was the shore, though the year was near done- Hiyh and haughty the capes the white surf dash'd upon— A gray ruiu'd convent was down by the strand. And the sheep fed afar, on the hills of the land ! "God be with you, dear L-eland!" he gasp'd with a sigh ; " I have lived to behold you — ^I'm ready to die." VI. He sunk by the hour, and his pulse 'gan to fail. As we swept by the headland of storied Kinsale ; Off Ardigna Bay it came slower and slower, And his corpse was clay-cold as we sighted Tramore ; At Passage we waked him, and now he doth lie lii the lap of the land he beheld but to die. ' 1 :' 104 PATRIOTIC POEMS. (!" mi. THE THREE DREAMS. I. Borne on the wheel of night, I lay And dream'd as it softly sped — Toward the shadowy hour that spans the way Whence spirits come, 'tis said : And my dreams were three; — The first and worst Was of a land alive, yet 'cursed, That burn'd in bonds it couldn't burst — And thou wert the land, Erie I n. A starless landscape came 'Twixt that scene and my aching sight, And anon two spires of flame Arose on my left and right ; And a warrior throng Were marching along, Timing their tramp to a battle song, And I felt my heart from their zeal take fire, But, ah ! my dream fled as that host drew nigher 1 in. Next, methought I woke, and walk'd alone On a causeway all with grass o'ergrown. That led to ranks of ruins wan, Where echo'd no voice or step of man ; Deadly still was the heavy air. Horrible silence was everywhei*6 — No human thing, no beast, no bird In the dread Death-land sung or stirr'd ; PATRIOTIC POEMS, Saint Patrick's image up in a nook Held in its hand a Prophecy Book, And its mystic lines were made plain to me, And they spoke thy destiny, loved Erie I IV. " The Skene and the sparthe, The lament for the dearth, The voice of all mirth Shall be hush'd on thy hearth, O Erie ! And your children want earth When they bury I Till Tanist and Kerne Their past evils unlearn, And in penitence turn To their Father in hcxiven ; Then shall wisdom and light, Then manhood and might, And their land and their right To the sons of Milesius be given. But never till then — 'Till they make themselves men — Can the chains of their bondage be riven I" 106 i * THE EXILE'S MEDITATION. 1. Alone in this mighty city, queen of the continent ! I ponder on my people's fate in grief and discontent— Alas ! tliat I have lived to see them wiled and cast away, And driven like soulless cattle from their native land a pvey. l-^i ^^ 106 FATHIOTIO POEMS. 'i- * n. These men, are they not our brethren, grown at our mother's breast ? Ai-e they not come of the Celtic blood, in Europe held the best? Are they not heirs of Brian, and children of Eoghan's race. Who rose up like baited tigers and sprung in the foemau's face? III. And vrhy should they seek another shore, to live in another land? Had they not plenty at their feet, and sickles in their hand ? Did an earthquake march upon them, did Nature make them flee, Or do they fly for fear, and to seek some ready-made Liberty ? IV. I have read in ancient annals of a race of gallant men Who fear'd neither Dane nor devil ; but it is long since then— And " cowardice is virtue,'' so runs the modern creed — The starving suicide is praised and sainted for the deed I THE PARTING FROM III EL AND. I. Oh ! dread Lord of heaven and earth ! hard and sad it is to go From the land I loved and cherish'd into outward gloom and woe ; Was it for this, Guardian Angel ! when to manly years I came. Homeward, as a light, you led me — hght that now is turn'd to flame ? PATRIOTIC POEMS. 107 '\\. I am as a shipwreck'd sailor, by one wave flung on the shore, By the next torn struggling seaward, without hope for- evermore ; I am as a sinner toiling onward to the Redemption Hill — * By the rising sands envirou'd, by siroccos baffled still. m. How I loved this nation ye know, gentle friends, who share my fate — And you too, heroic comrades, loaded with the fetter's weight — How I coveted all knowledge that might raise her name with men — How I sought her secret beauties with an all-insatiate ken. IV. God I it is a maddening prospect thus to see this storied land Like some wretched culprit writhing in a strong avenger's hand — Kneeling, foaming, weeping, shrieking, woman-weak and woman-loud — Better, better. Mother Ireland! we had laid you in your shroud ! Mi • f 1 ■ i: ': I V. If an end were made, and nobly, of this old centennial feud^r If, in arms outnumbered, beaten, less, O Ireland! had I rued ; For the scatter'd sparks of valor might reUght thy dark- ness yet. And thy long chain of Besistanoe to the ifuture had been knit. St m Wn |: u I'r'^ 108 PATRIOTIO POEMS. I: VI. Now Iheir castle sits securely on its old accursed hill, And their motley pirate-standard taints the air in Ireland still; And their titled paupers clothe them w ith the labor of our hands, And their Saxon greed is glutted from our plunder'd fathers' lands. VII. But our faith is all unshaken, though our present hope is gone ; England's lease is not forever — Ireland's warfare is not done. God in heaven, He is immortal — Justice is His sword and sign— If Earth will not be our ally, we have One, who is Divine. VIII. Though my eyes no more may see thee, island of my early love ! Other eyes shall see thy Green Flag flying the tall hills above ; Though my ears no more may listen to the rivers as they flow, Other ears shall hear a Prean closing thy long caoine of woo! THE EXILE'S DEVOTION. I. If I forswear the art divine Which deifies the dead — What comfort then can I call mine, What solace seek instead ? '.■.:■ PATBIOTIC POEMS. For, from my birth, our counti-y's fame "Was life to me and love, And for each loyal Irish name Some garland still I wove. ^ n. I'd rather be the bird that sings Above the martyr's grave, Than fold in fortune's cage my "wings And feel my soul a slave ; I'd rather turn one simple verse True to the Gaelic ear, Than classic odes I might rehearse "With senates list'ning near. 109 .5' 1 #1 .s ■ !■ lU. Oh, native land I dost ever mark When the world's din is drown'd. Betwixt the daylight and the dark A wondering, solemn sound That on the western wind is borne Across thy dewy breast ? It is the voice of those who mourn For thee, far in the West ? ^ IV. For them and theirs I oft essay Your ancient art of song. And often sadly turn away Deeming my rashness wrong ; For well I ween, a loving will Is all the nrt I own ; Ah me ! could love suffice for skill, What ti-iumphs I had known ] Lr 110 PATRIOTIC POEMS. 4 Y. My native land ! my native land I Live in my memory atill ; Break on my brain, ye surges grand 1 Stand up ! mist-cover'd hill. Still in the mirror of the mind The scenes I love I see ; "Would I could fly on the western wind, My native land ! to thee. THE SAINT'S FAREWELL. M: '! il Oh, Aran blest I oh, Aran blest ! Bright beacon of the wavy "West I Henceforth through life long seas must roll Between thy cloisters and my soul. II. Farewell, farewell, thou holy shore, Where angels walk with men, once more I In Hy, my lonely hut shall ne'er Beceive such guests of earth or air. m. Thou Modan, Mersenge's pious son, Sad is my heart, and slow my tongue To say farewell to friend like thee ! May Christ, our Lord, your keeper be ! IV. Far eastward, far too far, lies Hy, Darkness is o'er its morning sky ; PATRIOTIC POEMS. The sun loves not hisL ancient East, But hastens to the holier West. Ill : Ml •, I, " ■ Aran ! thou sun of realms terrene, Would that, luU'd by thy airs serene, I slept the sleep that lasts till day^ Wrapp'd in thy consecrated clay. VI. Aran, thou sun ! no tongue may tell How, haunted by each holy bell. My love, call'd backward to your breast, Longs for its evening in the West. TO MY WISJIINQ-CAP. I. WisHiNO-cap, Wishing-cap, I would be Far away, far away o'er the sea. Where the red birch roots Down the ribbed rock shoots. In Donegal the brave. And white-sail'd skiffs Speckle the cliffs. And the gannet drinks the wave. I'M n. Wishing-cap, Wishing-cap, I would lie On a Wicklow hill, and stare the sky. Or count the human atoms that pass The thread-like road through Glenmacnass, ;1 '■ 113 PATRIOTIC POEMS. Where once the clans of O'Byrne were ; Or talk to the breeze • "Under sycamore trees, In Glenart's forests fair. in. Wishing-cap, Wishing-cap, let us away To walk in the cloisters, at close of day, Once trod by friars of orders gray. In Norman Selskar's renown'd abbaye, And Carmen's ancient town ; For I would kneel at my mother's grave, "Where the plumy churchyard elms wave, And the old war- walls look down. THE SONG OF LABOR. « I. To the tired toilers' ring, Brother, bring your song and tabor ; Poets of all nations, sing To-day a hymn of praise to Labor. Chorus — " Viva Labor! long live Labor 1 Strongest sceptre! keenest sabre! Chant the hymn I strike on the tabor! Liegemen I sing the Song of Labor." II. GERMAN. On the German Rhine-banks I Have beheld his banners flv, While the order'd ranks beneath Struck a stroke with every breath — PATRIOTIC POEMS, 118 Sledges on the anvils ringing, Poets in tboir gardens singing — •' Viva Labor ! long live Labor!" etc. III. ITALIAN. "Where the Arno winding comes, Under sliade of Florence domes — "Where Genoa rises steep, Crowning high tlie subject deep — Where live Rome and dead Rome dwell, Like corpse in cr3'j)t near sexton's cell — Through Italia's storied length, Skill and art, surpassing strength, Daily toil and chant at even The great human song to Heaven — " Viva Labor ! long live Labor I" etc. rv. FRENCHMAN. Ah ! my France, thy dauntless spirit Love of toil doth still inherit, And no power but armed wrong Ever yet hath hush'd thy song I In the province, in the street, Troops of toilers you may meet — Men who make as light of labor As our minstrel of his tabor. "Viva Labor I long live Labor !" etc. T. IRISHMAN. Ask not me for merry song, Music flies the land of wrong I ■i *■ f ; ■1 ■ ■ J ■ - ; kl it ;i 114 PATRIOTIC P0KM8. By the noble Shannon river, Wretched land-serfH monn and shiver — Whining all day in the city Are the partners Woe and Pity : Lordlings think toil don't beseem them, Though their own sweat might redeem them. " Viva Labor 1 long live Labor I" etc. VI. AMERICAN. In the land where man is youngest. On the soil where nature's strongest, Come and see a greater glory Than the old vine-bender's story I Come and see the city's arms Filling forests with alarms — See before the breath of steam Space and waste fly like a dream. " Viva Labor ! long live Labor !" etc. [Written for the Annual Festival of the St. Patrick's Literary Association of Montreal, of which the author was the founder and tlrst president.] PItOLOOUE TO ST. PATRICK AT TARA.'> I. The stranger entering at yonder door, Who never saw our amateurs before, May ask, What have we here ? an Irish play ? In Lenten times, and on St. Patrick's day ? n. Our answer is, The very day inspires With memories of the green land of our sires j * The drama of the evening, so called. PATnWTlC POKMS. The very day unfokla, from ago to age, The Christian drama of that island-stage — The martyr, liero, scholar, warrior, bard, The plot, the stake — virtue and its reward ; The good man's grief, the heartless villain's gain, The strong-arm'd tyrant righteously slain ; The thousand memorable deeds which give Zest to the Fast, and make its actors live ! m. This day, in every Irish heart and brain. Calls up that Past, nor does it call in vain ; Surrounds the mental theatre with all The fond embellishments of Tara's hall ; Seats on that Meathian mound the kings of old, In flowing vest and twisted tongues of gold — A warlike race, to whom repose was rust, Mingled of good and ill, just and unjust : Men much the same ruled all the pagan West — Some gentler, wiser, greater than the rest ; War was their game, and, eagle-like, they bore Back to their cliffs the spoils of many a shore. 115 IV. To Tara in its most auspicious day We would transport you in the coming play ; While yet " the Road of Chariots " round its slope, To eyes far off, shone as the path of Hope ; Ere yet its hospitable hearths were cold, Or Ruin reign'd where mirth abode of old — To Tara, as it rose upon the way Of the apostle, on that eve of May When first he kindled the forbidden fire Of Faith, that never, never can expire I 5 '' 116 PATRIOTIC POEMS. V. Kemote the time, and difficult the task For which your kind indulgence here we ask ; Yet what more meet for this our Irish play — Saint Patrick's life upon Saint Patrick's Day ? Kt 'M- TO DUFFY IN PRISON, I. ispiil' Through the long hours of the garish day I toil with brain and hand, In the silent watches of the night I walk the spirit-land ; Our souls in their far journeyings want neither lamp nor guide, They need no passj)orts, wait no winds upon the ocean wide, And, dreadful power of human will ! they grub out of the earth The crumbled bones of mighty men, and give them second birth ; They travel with them on the paths which through the world they took. And converse with them in the tongues which, when alive, they spoke. n. One night I stood with Sarsfield where his heart's blood was • outpour'd, On Landen's plain, in Limerick's name, he show'd it with his sword ; Ere morn, upon the Pincian Hill, I heard Tir-Owen's tale Of the combats, and the virtues, and the sorrows of the Gael. ill' 1 ■ . . J PATIilOTIC POEMS. 117 Since then I've walk'd with Grattan's shade amid the gothic gloom Of Westminster's moukless abbey, forecasting England's doom, And in green Glassnevin I have been beside the tombs where rest — There, Curran, here, O'Connell, on our mother-land's warm breast. m. 'Twas but last night I traversed the Atlantic's furrow'd face— The stars but thinly colonized the wilderness of space — A white sail glinted here and there, and sometimes o'er the swell Rung the -seaman's song of labor, or the silvery night- watch bell; I dreamt I reach'd the Irish shore, and felt my heart re- bound From wall to wall within my breast, as I trod that holy ground ; I sat down by my own hearth-stone, beside my love again — I met my friends and Him, the first of friends, and first of Irish men. I saw once more the dome-like brow, the large and lustrous eyes — I mark'd upon the sphinx-hke face the clouds of thought arise — I heard again that clear quick voice that, as a trumpet, thriU'd Tlie souls of men, and wielded them even as the speaker will'd-- I felt the cordial-clasping hand that never feign'd regard. Nor ever dealt a muffled blow, nor nicely weigh'd reward. WW 118 PATRIOTIC POEMS. iiii ilii My friend I my friend! oh! would to God that you were here with me, A-watching in the starry West for Ireland's liberty ! V. Oh, brothers ! I can well declare, who read it like a scroll, "What Roman characters were stamp'd upon that Roman soul — The courage, constancy, and love, the old-time faith and truth, The wisdom of the sages, the sincerity of youth — Like an oak upon our native hills, a host might camp there under. Yet it bare the song-birds in its core, above the storm and thunder ; It was the gentlest, firmest soul that ever, lamp-like, show'd A young race seeking Freedom up her misty mountain road. VI. You grew too great, dear friend ! to stand under a tyrant's arm, His tall tow'rs trembling o'er your mines had fill'd him with alarm ; He was the lord of hired hosts, of ill-got wealth well kept, You led a generation, and inspired them while he slept : He woke — ye met — and once again, O Earth and Heaven ! ye see Might's dagger at Right's throat. Right's heart beneath his knee ; Yea, once again in Ireland, as of old in Calvarie, The truth is fear'd and crucified high on a felon tree. VII. Like a convoy from the flag-ship, our fleet is scatter'd far, And you, the valiant admiral, chain'd and imprisoned are ; PATRIOTIC P0F.M3. 119 Like a royal galley's precious freight flung cm sea-sunder''i strands, The diamond wit and golden worth are far-cast on the lands — And I, Nvhom most you loved, am here, and I can but indite ^Iv yearnings, and my heart hopes, and curse them while I write : Alas ! alas ! ah ! what are prayers, and what are moans or sighs, ■\Vhfen the heroes of the land are lost — of the land that will not RISE ? vin. But I swear to you, dear Charles, by my honor and my faith. As I hope for stainless name and salvation after death, By the green grave of my mother 'neath Selskar's ruin'd wall. By the birth-land of my mind and love, of you, of M , , all. That my days are dedicated to the ruin of the power That holds you fast and libels you in your defenceless hour ; Like an Indian of the wild woods, I'll dog their track of slime, And I'll shake the Gaza-pillars yet of their godless mammon shrine. IX. They will bring you in their manacles beneath their bloody rag— They will chain you like the Conqueror to some sea-moated crag — To their fiends it will be given your great spirit to annoy — To fling falsehood in your cup, and to break your martyr- joy ; :<\ li ! '\ . t '%: w^ ir. PATRIOTIC POEMS. id But you will bear it nobly, like Regulus of eld — The oak will be the oak, and lionor'd e'en when fell'd : Change is brooding over earth, it will find you 'mid the main, And, throned beneath its wings, you'll reach your native land again. TO DUFFY, FREE. L Thkough long sorrows and fears, And past perilous years, And darkness and distance, And seas, whero the mists dance, I see a new star ! Not a comet, or wild star. But a radiant and mild star, Still shining as Venus, Still bright'ning like Sirius, On a night in July, Is the star I descry ! And though myriads of miles and of waves intervene, Admonish'd, I worship the star I have seen. II. It beams from the far cloud, whose wild stormy heaving Hsis fiU'd all our souls with a fearful misgiving, On the storm-waters dark, "Where, half-savage and stark. Men, with sinew and shout, Are seeking about For lost stanchion and spar ; And that calm, shining sUr, m. PATRIOTIC POEMS. 121 "With its light and its smile, Guides their task and their toil ; And the seekers, anon, Look that it shines on ; And they bless still the good star, evening and morning, For their guide and their comfort, their hope and their warning. k m. 'Tis thy star, oh, my friend, That doth shine and ascend On the night of our race ; Thou art the appointed. By affliction anointed, As through grief cometh grace ; Born heir of the planet, See now that you man it "With the heroes whose worth Hath made this round earth A circular shrine ; For the sun hath not shone On such work as, when done, Will be thine. IV. 'Tis given to you That work to renew Which the blood of past builders hath hallow'd in vain, When their helpers bore sceptres in France and in Spain, To try the sphinx-task of our kindred again ; Death waits in the way For defeat or a prey. And horrors hedge round The combatting ground •i^ ■ i\ rr- -•p_ ^ 122 PATRIOTIC POEMS. :::' If m Where Ireland, dishonor'd, awaiteth the knight "Who shall conquer for her both renown and her right. And should none such appear In a day and a year, Her 'scutcheon, disgraced, Is forever displaced From the midst of the ancient and noble, Who, through time and through trouble. In the cavalcade's rush, in the locking of shields, Have still seen her banner abroad in their fields. V. The fate of our land God hath placed in your hand ; He hath made you to know The heart of your foe, And the schemes he hath plann'd ; Think well what you are. Know your soul — and your star ; Persevere — dare — Be wise and beware — Seek not praise from to-day ; Be not wiled from your way By visions distracting ; Heed not the detracting Of souls imbecile Who your mastership feel, Yet hate yr>\v as pride hates the sky-piercing spire, Beof?." "^r; 'au It- own gaudy dome it springs higher. VI. brth, knight, to the altar With bold heart and holy. And fear not, nor falter. But ask, and ask solely PATRIOTIC POEMS. 123 The might and the grace To redeem our/all'n nation From its deep desolation^ And lift up our race ; Let your vigil be long, For prayer maketh strong The arm of the weakest, And the will of the meekest, To wrestle with wrong ; Born heir of the planet, See now that you man it "With the heroes whose worth Hath made this round earth A circular shrine ; For the sun hath not shone On such work as, when done, Will be thine! 1 t. A VOW AND PBATEB.^ I. Ireland of the Holy Islands, Circled round by misty highlands- Highlands of the valleys verdant, Valleys of the torrents argent, If I ever cease to love thee, If I ever fail to serve thee. May I fall, and foulness cover All my hopes and homestead over ; Die a dog's death, outcast, hurried I Into earth as dogs are buried. * Written on losing sight of the Irish shorfts, 1848. .V ■ if 124 PATRIOTIO POEMS, n. Though in thee each day of sorrow, Led unto more sad to-morrow — Though each night fell darker, bleaker. Bound my couch, a careworn waker — If I ever cease to love thee, If I ever fail to serve thee. May my children rise around me. Like Acteon's brood, to hound me, Over all life's future landscape With a hate that nothing can 'scape. III. Since the trance of childhood bound me, I have felt thy arms around me ; More to me than any other Hast thou been a nurse and mother ; Could I ever cease to love thee ? Could I ever fail to serve thee ? Thou whose honied words forever Flow before me like a river. Vocal ever, ever telling Of the source from whence they're welling ? IV. God look on thee, ancient nation ! God avert thy desolation! Oh I hold fast his dread evangels, And he'll set his shining angels As a guard of glory keeping Watch about thee, waking, sleeping. Tempt Him not, and all thy evils. And the ulcer-giving devils Who possess thee, shall be pow'rless, And thy joys to come be hourless. i''li: rt:j PATRIOTIO POEMS. 125 HOME SONNETSr-ADDRESS TO IRELAND. I. Mother of soldiers I once there was a time When your sons' swords won fame ia many a clime ; "When Europe press'd on France, they fought alone For her, and served her better than their own ! Those were the days your exiles made their fame By gallant deeds which put our age to shame — Those were the days Cremona city, saved, Stood to attest what Irish valor braved ! When England's chivalry, sore wounded, fled Before the stormy charge O'Brien led — * When travellers saw in Ypres' choir display'd The trophies of your song-renown'd brigade I Mother of soldiers ! France was proud to see Your shamrock then twined with the^ewr de lis /• II. Mother of soldiers ! in the cause of Spain The Moors in Oran's trench by them were slain ; ' For full an hundred years their fatal steel Has charged beside the lances of Castile. Carb'ry's, Tyrconnell's, Breflfny's exiled lords To Spain and glory gave their gallant swords ;• And Spain, of honor jealous, gave them place Before her native sons in glory's race ; Her noblest laurels graced your soldiers* head, Her dearest daughters shared your soldiers* bed ; In danger's hour she call'd them to the front. And gave to them the praise who bore the brunt : Mother of soldiers ! Spain to-day will be A willing witness for thy sons and thee I nnl m i ■ 1- 1 .,1. .^ w^^ 126 \l PATRIOTIC POEMS, III. Mother of soldiers ! on the Volga's banks Your practised leaders form'd the Russian ranks ; And fallen Limerick gave the chiefs to lead . The hosts who triumph'd o'er the famous Swede. • That time even Austria gave them host on host, The ruling baton, and the perilous post — Buda, Belgrade, Prague, Deva — every trust That man oould earn, and found them bold as just. Velettri, Zorndorflf, Dantzic, still can tell How Austria's Irish soldiers fought and fell, And how the ruling skill that led them on To conquer was supplied by your own son I " Mother of soldiers ! while these trophies last, You're safe against the sland'rers of the past I IV. Mother of exiles ! from your soil to-day New myriads are destroy'd or swept away ; The crowded graveyards grow no longer green, The daily dead have scanty space, I ween ; The groaning ships, freighted with want and grief, Entomb in every wave a fugitive ; The sword no more an Irish weapon is — The spirit of the land no longer lives ; Mother ! 'twas kill'd before the famine came — The stubble was prepared to meet the flame ; All manly souls were fi'om their bodies torn, And what avails it if the bodies burn ? Mother of soldiers ! may we hope to be Yet fit to strike for vengeance and for thee I PATRIOTIC POEMS. 121 TIIE HEART'S liESTINO-PLACE. Twice have I sail'd the Atlantic o'er, Twice dwelt an exile in the West ; Twice did kind nature's skill restore The quiet of my troubled breast — As moss upon a rifted tree, So time its gentle cloaking did. But though the wound no eye could see, Deep in my heart the barb was hid. ^y 11. I felt a weight where'er I went — I felt a void within my brain ; My day-hopes and -my dreams were blent \Vith sable threads of mental pain ; My eye delighted not to look On forest old or rapids grand ; The stranger's joy I scarce could brook — My heart was in my own dear land. m. Where'er I turn'd, some emblem still Roused consciousness upon my track ; Some hill was like an Irish hill, Some wild bird's whistle call'd me back ; A sea-bound ship bore off my peace Between its white, cold wings of woe ; Oh ! if I had but wings like these. Where my peace went I too would go. '^:| 1 1 128 PATIilOTIO POEMS, :i % OIIl BLAME ME NOT. X. Ou I blame me not if I love to dwell On Erin's early glory ; Oh I blame me not if too oft I tell The same inspiring story ; For sure 'tis much to know and feel That the Race now rated lowly Once ruled as lords, with sceptre of steel, While our Island was yet the Holy. n. *Tis much to know that our sainted, then, To their cloisters the stranger drew, And taught the Goth and Saxon men All of heaven the old earth knew — When Alfred and Dagobert students were In the sacred "Angel's Vale," And harp heard harp through the midnight air Pealing forth the hymns of the Gael. in. 'Tis mucli to know that in the West The Sun of our wisdom rose. And the barbarous clouds that scarr'd its breast Were scatter'd like baffled foes — To know that in our hearts there dwell Some seeds of the men of story : Oh ! blame me not if I love to tell Of Erin's ancient glory. PATRIOTIC POEMS. 129 QUESTION AND ANSWER. " youNo Thinker of the pallid brow, What care weighs on your brain ? What tangled problems solve you now Of glory or of gain ? Is that you seek of heaven or hell ? Work you with charm or fire ? What is your quest ? what is your spell ? And what your hope or hire ?" n. " Oh, brilliant is my quest," he said, " And eminent my hope, As any star that yet hath shed Its light through heaven's cope ; I seek to save mine ancient race — 'Tis knowledge is my spell — Their lines of life and fate I trace, To know and serve them well.'' in. " Their mission — say, what may it be That thus inspires your toil. And holds you back to native earth Like saplings to the soil? Their mission — is't to rob and reign O'er half the sons of earth ? Or is it not to hug the chain. And die of doubt and dearth?" p T-rr ISO PATMIOTIQ POEMS. IV. " Oh, no ! oh, no I" the Thinker said, '* Their future far I see — Their path through pleasantness is led, Their arms and minds are free ; They walk the world like gods of old, Incensed, enshrined, obey'd ; *Tis this I seek, for this I strive — My answer now is made I" SONNET.* Not of the mighty I not of the world's friends Have I aspired to speak within these leaves ; These best befit their joyful kindred pens — My path lies where a broken people grieves ; B" the Ohio, on 'the Yuba's banks, As night displays her standard to their eyes, Alone, in tears, or gather'd in sad ranks, Stirring the brooding air with woful sighs, I see them sit : I hear their mingled speech, Gaelic or Saxon, but all from the heart ; " Home !" is the word that sways the soul of each — A word bevond the embellishments of art : Yet of this theme I feebly seek to sing. And to my banish'd kin a book of " Home " I bring. * Tins appears to have been intended by the author for the dedication of aa epic be was nfriting, called " The Emigrants."— Eo. •fi.1 PATRIOTIC poems: 131 A SALUTATION TO THE FREE FLAG OF AMERICA. Flao of the Free ! I remember mo well ^^^aen your stars in our dark sky were shining — 'Tvvas the season when men like the cold rain fell, And pour'd into graves unrepining — 'Twas the season when darkness and death rode about In the eye of the day dim with sorrow, And the mourner's son had scarce strength to moan out Ere he follow'd his sire on the morrow. ^ 1 1 1 II. Flag of the Free ! I beheld you again, And I bless'd God who guarded me over — And I found in your shade that the children of men Half the glory of Adam recover. And they tell me, the knaves ! thou dost typify sin. That thy folds fling infection around them. That thy stars are but spots of the plague that's within, And which shortly will raging surround them. III. Not so ! oh, not so ! thou bright pioneer banner I Thou art not what factions miscall thee ; Where Humanity is there must ever be Honor — : Shame cannot stain let what else n^ay befall thee : Over Washington's march, o'er the Macedon's freight When flying, the an-jels ordain'd thee — "The Flag of the Free, the beloved of Fate, Aud the hope of Mankind," have they named thee \ 1 i 1 I ■ i iiJi w .1 \ Ss i'.:-'l ^^:.:| m ¥t "T^ME ti . in k 132 PATRIOTIC POEMS. THE ANCIENT RACE. I. What shall become of the ancient race — The noble Celtic island race ? Like cloud on cloud o'er the azure sky, "When winter storms are loud and high, Their dark ships shadow the ocean's face — TvTiat shall become of the Celtic race ? n. What shall befall the ancient race — The poor, unfriended, faithful race ? Where ploughman's song made the hamlet ring, The village vulture flaps his wing ; The village homes, oh, who can trace, — God of our persecuted race ? III. What shall befall the ancient race ? Is treason's stigma on their face ? Be they cowards or traitors ? Go Ask the shade of England's foe ; See the gems her crown that grace ; They tell a tale of the ancient race. IV. They tell a tale of the ancient race — Of matchless deeds in danger's face ; They speak of Britain's glory fed On blood of Celt right bravely shed ; Of India's spoil and Frank's disgrace — They tell a tale of the ancient race. PATRIOTIC POEMS. V. 133 Then why cast out the ancient race ? Grim want dwelt with the ancient race, And hell-born laws, with prison jaws, And greedy lords with tiger maws Have swallow'd — swallow still apace — The limbs and the blood of the ancient race. VI. Will no one shield the ancient race ? They fly their fathers' burial-place ; The proud lords with the heavy purse — Their fathers' shame — their people's curse — Demons in heart, nobles in face — They dig a grave for the ancient race ! VII. They dig a grave for the ancient race — And grudge that grave to the ancient race — On highway side full oft were seen The wild dogs and the vultures keen Tug for the limbs and gnaw the face Of some starved child of the ancient race I VIII. What shall befall the ancient race ? Shall all forsake their dear birth-place, Without one struggle strong to keep The old soil where their fathers sleep ? The dearest land on earth's wide space — Why leave it so, ancient race ? Wi S : i M ill .'■si • i ( ■ ^ .1. ■ '1-1 4 \ y -u IX. What shall befall the ancient race ? Light up one hope for the ancient race ? ?;? 4 -';';« 134 ! ' It Yi 1 ; i^ PATRIOTIC POEMS. O Priest of God — Soggarth aroon ! Lead but the way — we'll go full soon ; Is there a danger we will not face To keep old homes for the Irish race ? They will not go, the ancient race ! They must not go, the ancient race ! Come, gallant Celts, and take your stand — The League — the League — will save the land- The land of faith, the land of grace, The land of Erin's ancient race I XI. They will not go, the ancient race I They shall not go, the ancient race ! The cry swells loud from shore to shore, From em'rald vale to mountain hoar — From altar high to market-place — They shall not go, the ancient race ! THE EXILE'S BEQUEST. I. Oh, Pilgrim, if you bring me from the far-off lands a sign. Let it be some token still of the green old land once mine ; A shell from the shores of Ireland would be dearer far to me Than all the wines of the Rhine land or the art of Italic. n. For I was born in Ireland — I glory in the name — I weep for all her sorrows, I remember well her fame I And still my heart must hope" that I may yet repose at rest On the Holy Zion of my youth, in the Israel of the West. v< i 5^ J PATBJOTIC POEMS. in. 135 Her beauteous face is furrow'd with sorrow's streaming rains, Her lovely limbs are mangled with slavery's ancient chains, Yet, Pilgrim, pass not over with heedless heart or eye The island of the gifted, and of men who knew to die. IV. Like the crater of a fire-mount, all without is bleak and bare. But the rigor of its lips still show what fire and force were there ; Even now in the heaving craters, far from the gazer's ken. The fiery steel is forging that will crush her foes again. V. Then, Pilgrim, if you bring me from the far-off lands a sign, Let it be some token still of the green old land once mine ; A shell from the shores of Ireland would be dearer far to me Than all the wines of the Rhine land, or the art of Italia. SALUTATION TO TUB CELTS. I. Hail to our Celtic brethren wherever they may be. In the far woods of Oregon, or o'er the Atlantic sea — Whether they guard the banner of St. George in Indian vales, Or spread beneath the nightless North experimental sails — One in name and in fame Are the sea-divided Gaels. n. Though fallen the state of Erin, and changed the Scottish land — Though small the power of Mona, though unwaked Lewel- lyn's band — m 136 PATRIOTIC FOEMS. ■-'!( H i> i ■ ll 1 1 1 . = 1 ■1 1 i I Though Ambrose Merlin's prophecies degenerate to tales, And the cloisters of lona are bcmoan'd by northern gales — One in name and in fame Are the sea-divided Gaels. HI. , In Northern Spain and Bi litany our brethren also dwell ; Oh ! brave are the traditions of their fathers that they tell ; — The eagle and the crescent in the dawn of history pales Before their fire, that seld^^r^ ^'iSf*'. and never wholly fails : One in narrf -w^ ^ rn fame Are the sea-diviJed Gaels. rv. A greeting and a promise unto them all we send ; Their character our charter is, their glory is our end ; Their friend shall be our friend, our foe whoe'er assails The past or future honors of the far-dispersed Gaels : One in name and in fame Are the sea-divided Gaels.* Boston, August 30, 1850. UNION IS STRENGTH. I. A MAN whose corn was carried away Before his eyes, and whose oats and hay "Were piled up into the landlord's cart, Look'd toward his castle with sorrowful heart. * This poem was published in the first number of the AmeHcan Oeli. PATRIOTIC POEMS. n. 187 f I •• You seem," said he, " so strong and grand, Like a giant you overlook the land ; And a giant in stomach you sure must be, That of all my crop can leave none to me." III. Quoth another — " Of such weak words what end ? Have you any hope that the devil will mend, Or the wolf let the kid escape his maw, Or a landlord yield his rights at law ? IV. " Let us go over to Rackrent Hall By twos and threes — it may befall. As wisdom is found in the multitude. Enough of us might do the cause some good." V. At first they went by twos and threes, But Rackrent's lord they could not please ; And next they went in number a score, But the case was even the same as before. I VI. By fifties and hundreds they gathered then, Resolute, patient, dogged men, — And the landlord own'd that he thought there was Some slight defects in the present laws. VII. A barony spoke — a country woke — A nation struck at their feudal yoke — 'Twas found the Right could not be withstood. And — wi«dom was found in the multitude I 188 PATRIOTIC POEMS. A SALUTATION. Dauntless voyagers who venture out upon the ■wreck -paved deep, Who can £ail with hearts unfailing o'er the ages sunk iu sleep ; There is outlet — ye shall know it by the tide's deep conscious flow; There is offing — may ye show it to the convoy following slow ! Gallant champions, whose long labors file away in vista'd space. Lost the fitful hour of sabres — not the Archimedean pluce ; In the future realm before ye down the vale of labor looms Your new Athens, oh ! pine benders, rear'd above the rob- bers' tombs. Be ye therefore calm in council, Patience is the heart of Hope — Never wrangle with the brambles when with old oaks ye must cope ; "William, Walpole, Pitt, and Canning, ye shall smite and overthrow. Not by practising with pygmies can ye giant warfare know. Whoso ye find fittest, wisest, he your suzerain shall be, Yield him following and affection, stand like sons around bis knee ; Make his name a word of honor, make him feci you as a fence, Trust not even him too blindly, build your faith on evidence. IlllJi'l PATRIOTIC POEMS. 139 Brothers, ye have drain'd the chalice late replenish'd by defeat ; Unto brethren bear no malice, put the past beneath your feet ; For the love of God, whose creatures ye see daily crucified, For your martyrs, for your teachers, shun the selfish paths of pride. Then, by all our pure immortals, ye, true champions, shall be blest, By St. Patrick and St Columb, by St. Brendan of the West, By St. Moiling and St. Bridget, and our myriad martyr bands. And your land shall be delivered, yea! delivered by your hands. SONNET-RETURN. I HAVE a sea-going spirit haunts my sleep, Not a sad spirit wearisome to follow. Less like a tenant of the mystic deep Than the good fairy of the hazel hollow ; Full often at the midwatch of the night I see departing in his silver bark This spirit, steering toward an Eastern light, Calling me to him from the Western dark. " Spirit I" I ask, " say, whither bound away ?" " Unto the old Hesperides !" he cries. " Oh, Spirit, take me in thy bark, I pray." " For thee I came," he joyfully replies ; ** Exile ! no longer shalt thou absent mourn, For I the Spirit am men call — Return." ;i J 140 PATBIOTIO P0KM8. DREAM JOURNEYS. Sionall'd by something in our dreams, The ship of night, swift-sided sleep, Glides out from all these alien streams To waft us homeward o'er the deep. n. We lead two lives, estranged, apart, By day a life of toil and care, Till darkness comes with magic art. And bears us through the enchanted air. in. How oft have I not heard the swell Of Ocean on the farther shore I Heard Skellig-Michael's holy bell, Or Cleena's warning oflf Glandore 1 IV. t 't Rising afar from Arva's lake Have I not heard the wild swan's call ? Or paused, a wayside vow to make. By Saint Dachonna's waterfall ? V. Before the dawn, when no star shined, Have I not knelt on Tara hill. And felt my bosom glad to find The Stone of Empire " standing still ? ;.<» i- PATRIOTIC POEMS. m. 141 The sacred strand our fathers' foet Have often trod, I nightly view, The island of the Saint's retreat, Amid the mountains of Tirhugh. 't' , vn. The field of fame, the minstrel's grave. Though sad, rejoicingly I trace ; From Ara to the Iccian " wave, I gather relics of the race. vm. Thus borne on wings of woven dreams, The ship of night, swift-sided sleep. Finds us along those alien streams. And wafts us homeward o'er the deep. NATIVE HILLS. I KNOW, I know each storied steep Throughout the land — Where winds enchanted, love-lock'd sleep, Where teem the torrents grand — For them I pine, for them I weep. An outcast man, and bann'd. I see th' assembled bards of old On those grand hills — Their music o'er the upland fold Like dew distills. Or flashes downward bright and bold, As cave-born rills. ■ i ifl™ j Y ' \^M 142 PATRIOTIC POEMS, Content, my soul 1 in vain you long To breathe that air Sweet with the loving breath of song, Felt everywhere, — For man is weak, and Fate is strong. Not there ! not there ! ' € 1 -■■:ii R 1 i ,1 t'*|;h; 1. TIME'S TEACHINGS. I. Time boars a scythe around the earth. An hour-glass noting death and birth, A pouch for proverbs by his side, And scatters broadcast, far and wide. Truths that in manly breasts should 'bide, To light and lead them — Truths to the shepherd-kings once told — Truths flowing from the hills of old. And good for men to feel, though cold — And much we need them I II. Time singeth gayly night and morn, " The longest lane must have a turn :'* And who knows lanes like Father Time — A travelling man since Adam's prime, In every age, through every clime. By moon and sun ? My brothers, lay this " must " to heart— The goal, though distant from the start, To struggle for is true man's part. Till all is won. PATRIOTIC POKMR. 143 III. Time chantoth gravely night find daj', "God never shuts, but Ho makes a way ;" " Time is God's own messenger, AXIS herald p,nd avenger here — He files the chain and dries the tear — Bears tomb and shrine. And, brethren, shall we doubt it — we ! That no road leads to Liberty Save by dungeon vault, and gory tree, And battle line ? IT. TJ ne hath sung now, even as he pass'd, ' ^koning delay 'd will come at last ;" Aiiv4, as he sung this holy strain, I saw the island once again Expanded under seas of grain, And saw it fall as thick as rain 'Fore yeomen bold ; And cities, girding round the land. And merchants crowding all the strand, And Peace at Plenty's full right hand Upon her throne. .r 'Vi ANOTHER YEAR. I. Another year for young and old, For East and "West, is flown forever I The tatter'd miner counts his gold Beside the yellow Yuba river ; 144 PATRIOTIC POEMS. The senate of our nation bows Before a Tartar idol brazen ; And lovers in their Christmas vows Declare contempt of time and season. XL Europe looms darkly into da^;, Save where one sudden gleam enlightens And rolls from France the fogs away, And Order's horizon now brightens. The Sultan in his sage divan Smiles at our clam'rous Western frenzy That styles Kossuth " the coming man,'' And glorifies the new Eienzi I PI ii'li! in. The Yaderland is all a dream. And to our New Year nothing germane ; The Scandinavian Bund — a scheme To stir the bile of Baltic mermen ; The Danube rolls in headlong haste From Austria's arm'd, troubled border. And moans along the Hungarian waste — A desert through the wreck of Order. IV. The Cossack trains his horse and lance. Smiled on by the approving Eussian, And, longing, asks the road to France, And counts the spoil of Pole and Russian ; The Tuscan, proud of Dante's tongue. Yet thinks the Savoyard his foeman, While mines by secret murder sprung. Explode the heroic name of Roman I PATRIOTIC POEMS. V. Our race — the Celtic race — remains — Limbs of a life once so gigantic ! — Proscribed upon their native plains, Far-parted by the deep Atlantic ! But heaven for us has stars and saints, And earth a creed, a need, a mission ; Then let us hush our weak complaints. And mend, like men, our own condition. 14i> VI. By Emmet's death, O'Connell's life, ' And Smith O'Brien's pure endeavor, I^et's quench the kindling stuff of strife, And stifle Faction's voice forever. Sons of the brave ! shall we descend To spend our souls in parish quarrels ; Have we no altars to defend. No breach to breast in search of laurels ? VII. God in His goodness gives us strength, And time, and courage to recover ; Let us look forward now at length, And cease to live the poor past over. Let us from shadowy griefs arise, Admit the sun — employ the season — Now and forever let's be wise. And leal to God, and led by Eeason. New Year's Eve, 1851. * ;■'! ;■ K T 146 PATRIOTIC P0EM8. AN INVITATION WESTWARD. I. Te are weary, O my people, of your warfare and your woes, In the island of your birthright every seed of sorrow grows ; Hearken to me, come unto me, where your wearied souls may rest And plume their wings in peace, in the forests of the West. n. This life — ah I what avails it by which shore we may be led To the mounds where lie entrench'd all the army of the dead? In the Valley of All Souls, when the Lord of judgment comes. The Cross shall be our banner, our country all the tombs. m. Is it wise to waste the present in a future of the brain ? Is it wise to cling and wither under Mammon's deadly reign? If the spirit of the toiler is by daily hate oppress'd. How shall he pray to Heaven, as we do in the "West ? It grieves my soul to say it — to say to you, Arise I To follow where the evening star sings vespers down the skies ; It grieves my soul to call you from the land you love the best — But I love Freedom better, and her home is now the West. PATRIOTIC POEMS. V. 147 Then, children of Milesius, from your house of death arise, And follow where the evening star sings vespers to the skies ; Though it grieve your souls to part from the land you love the best. Fair Freedom will console you in the forests of the West. On Lake Erik, September, 1852. O'DONNELL OF SPAIN. I. Let it be told in Donegal, Above the waves on Swilly's shore, To Assaroe's hush'd waterfall, To wreck'd Kilbarron's ruin hoar, That in the Fatherland, Old Spain, The race of Conal rules again. XL Bid those who doubt the force of blood. The mean philosophers of pride. Account for how this hidden flood Eises their diclum to deride ! Show them where, spurning every chain, The race of Conal rules again. m. Ten ages of the life of man Have pass'd o'er earth since that dark day "When, under James Fitz-James's ban, Tyrconnel's chieftains sail'd away. That galley might, in after years. Have sail'd in widow'd Erin's tears. h w >M% 1^ I, < . « 148 i Tti'l! PATRIOTIC POEMS. TV. Ten ages ! but tbe heap'd up woes Of confiscation, exile — all Could never quench the blood of those Whose sires were chiefs in Donegal. Thy hatred, Albion, raged in vain — The slain of Erin rise in Spain ! V. Let it be told from Malin's waves To Lough Derg's penitential strand, "Whisper it o'er the ancient graves — O'Donnell rules his Fatherland I Tell it till every trampled hind Can hear Hope's voice in every wind. VI. And thou, Lucena ! fortune's son. Best not too long upon thy blade. The smaller victory is won. The greater may be yet essay'd ! An hour may come, shall come, if thou Art worthy so to bind thy brow I WISHES. I. Though there the damp from ocean's moat Hangs thick and gray o'er town and hill, And sudden storms drive bark and boat - Helpless before their furious will, Yet would I be To-day with thee, My own dear native land! PATRIOTIC POms, •ki 149 II. Tl^^ugh here the sky of freedom pours Is golden blaze incessant dow,f And men «ield their own sov', J ^--db^anymonarXfrr. •""-"• Yet would I be To-day with thee, % own dear native laud! ^or what is wealth, when hearts are sad? AiKi what can exile's freedonibep-l The freedom of the harmless mad A pitied, poor inanity. -A-h ! I would be To-day with thee, % own dear native land f There is ^,^^^^j^/;-^^ I^ike Ireland to the Irishman. ' Absence, through all, we must Jeplore And pine beneath the exile's ban Ah ! I would be To-day with thee, % own dear native land! '^^^ OF Tli^ SURPLUS, 1. The d r' wave around the hafl The dock and thistle own the lea Tiehnt,^h^^^.^_^.^_ ea, «»'tWe-s no place for such a^„,. i\ i f . t\ .1 \m - I.,. .«■•: 150 PATRIOTIC POEMS The rabbit burrows in the hill, The fox is scarce begrudged his den, The cattle crop the pasture still, But our masters have," no room for men." II. Each thing that lives may live in peace — The browsing beast and bird of air ; No torturers are train'd for these, "While man's life is a long despair. The Lady Laura's eyes are wet If her dog dies beneath her feet ; It has its burial rites — and vet Our human griefs no mercy meet. liiliiiiii in. "Well may'st thou ask, O Preacher true. Of manly sense and fearless tongue — Like Israel's prophet, well may you Exclaim, *' How long, O Lord ! how long ?** How long may Fraud, and Pride, and Power Conspire to slay the immortal soul ? How long shall Ireland groan and cower Beneath this thrice-accursed control ? IV. When shall we see free homes abound, And meet by street, and bridge, and stile, The freeman's lifted brow unbow'd, As free from guilt, as free from guile ? The song of peace, the hum of toil Will flow along our rivers when ? When none within our native isle Shall say, we have " no room for men." PATRIOTIC P0EM8. 151 Why lieth the plough on the headland, with broken stilt and tusk? "Why gapeth the sun-dried furrow from gray dawn unto dusk ? Why Cometh no singing sower, scattering song and seed, Where the field-mouse rangeth fat and free amid his groves of weed ? in. There was no earthquake in the land — the ocean swept not here — Since we beheld the grateful soil enrich the waning year ; The kind clouds in the west are throng, and hither bring their rain — Now, why is the laborer lost for work, and the land disrobed of grain ? IV. Ask not the peasant nor the priest — ask not the papers why- Why would you shame the manly cheek, or fill the feeling eye — MIDStTMMER, 1861. I. Why standeth the laborer in the way, with sunken eyes and dim? Is there no work, is there no hope, is there no help for him ? Why rusteth the swift, bright sickle that swept down Saxon grain, Stuck in a patch of ragged thatch that keepeth not out the rain? M !% I H l! 'it 152 PATRIOTIC POEMS. m ill But go to the gate of Windsor, and ask its lady gay Why her Irish farm has gone to waste, and its farmers gone to clay. • V. All! if the sceptre had a soul, if conscience topp'd the crown, We soon would have the truth made plain in country and in town — Plain as the ancient mountains — plain as the girdling sea — That in the laws lie all the cause of Ireland's misery. VI. You, Irish farmers, whose thin ranks are broken and dis- may'd, You know what spoil is made of toil, how all this woe is made ; The Lady of Windsor little thinks how you have rack'd and wrought Your boues and brains to foster all that thus has gone to nought. IHii VII. Little she knows that round her stand a gang of thievish earls. Whose founts are fed, whose wines are cool'd with tears of humble churls ; Little she knows that to their gods of Bank and Fashion rise Daily a litany of groans, and a human sacrifice I VIII. The plough will rot, the furrow gape, the worker wait in vain. Till Law and Labor, side by side, shall grapple Pride again. PATlilOTlO POEMS. 153 Oh, Lady of Windsor, think betimes that even the strongest throne May not withstand the just demand of Labor for "his own." IX. We ui^k no shares of Indian wealth, no spoils of Eastern shores ; Kaffir and Dyak still, for us, may heap and hide their stores ; We ask not London's pride and pomp, nor Yorkshire's iron arms — We ask the law to guard and judge the farmers on their farms. The robber knights are all around ; from every castle-top They stretch their necks, a-hungering after the poor man's crop : We ask that Justice have her seat amid the upstack'd com. That all he sowed and nursed may not from Labor's grasp be torn. XI. Is this too much ? Is this a crime ? Let men and angels judge. Hark to the lords' hired advocate, but hear us for the drudge; Between our causes let the state in lawfulness preside. And we will gladly take the share awarded to our side. XII. Hear us and judge, while yet on earth our fiery race remain; "Too late" can never be unsaid, nor ever said in vain. To the far West — to God's own court — already hosts are fled ;— Oh hear and save the living left, ere again " too late '* be said I i i 154 PATRIOTIC POEMS, I' ;.:-4 LORD GL— GALL'S DREAM. " A dream which was not all a droam." I. Lord Gl — Gall slept in " the House " last night, When a teriible vision oppress'd his sight ; 'Twas not of Incumbor'd Estates ('tis said), Nor the Durham Bull, nor the hat so red — But ho dreamt that a balance he saw in air, Above the broad Curragh of famed Kildare — That God and the landlords* both were there. n. He heard the recording angel call The titled criminals one and all, And the witnesses to testify — And he heard the four far winds reply ; And myriads heap'd on myriads throng From unnumber'd graves to denounce the wrong, And with their sins to confront the strong I lu. His lordship scarce could tell for fear, Of every name that met his ear ; But he saw that the archangel took Note of them all in his blackest book — From Farney some, and from Skibbereen, From "West and East and the lands between, Such a skeleton tryst has never been seen. IV. He heard how Sir George gave the widow's mite As instalment to a sybarite — ■ ( .! PATRIOTIC POEMS. He heard how Lord Dick his fox-hounds fed With ten starved cottiers' daily bread — Anon, he trembled to hear his own Name, named in the angel's sternest tone, And thereat, upstarted he with a groan. y. Sadly he paces his silent hall, Still muttering over the name Gl — Gall — And penitent thoughts depress his head, But the grave will not give up its dead. Far, far away from their native Suir Are scatter'd the bones of the exiled poor. But the angel has note of them all, be sure I London. 156 RISE AND GO. 1. In the valleys of New England, Are you happy, we would know ? Are you welcome, are you trusted ? Are you not ? — Then, Eise and go I n. Ye are toiling, toiling ever, Toss'd like sea-waves to and fro ; Up at sunrise, up at sunset, Still detested — Rise and go. m. You are merry o'er your infants, Yet you tremble as they grow ; 'Tis the land makes them your maat^rs^ Hapless land! — Arise a:^d go. I '.Hi m WT 166 f>i ^k*. PATRIOTW POEMS. rv. As ye act, or as ye falter, We will deem ye men or no ; For the homestead, for the altar, Take advice — Abise and go I TRY AGAIN. I. When the equinoctial blast Tears the canvas from the mast, Does the sailor stand aghast To complain ? Nay ; rather through the storm You can mark his manly form — Try again. i •-ii:ri: i* #: n. When the night-clouds overtake The hunter in the brake, Where the wild wolf and snake Have domain. Does he fling him down to weep, Like a sluggard in his sleep. Or, with fearless heart and leap. Try again ? m. If friends or fate should prove An overmatch for love. And we vainly try to move Their disdain, ' PATRIOTIC POEMS. Oh ! who would then lie down, Though friends or fate should frown— Who would not, for his own, Try again ? Vf. And when our land we see Still sighing to be free — When we should teach her — we ! How to gain Her rights, and rise sublime From the torture-bed of time. Why not ring upon the chime — Try again ? V. Try again, thou fallen land. With united heart and hand — Try with rifle and with brand, Though blood rain I Try for the sacred sod That valiant men once trod ; In the holy name of God, Try again I try again I 157 A PROFESSION. I. I've thought a^ toil'd from boyhood's days, Not for ga uor rank, nor glory. But to gather lew Hibernian bays. And to master our island story. 158 PATRIOTIC POEMS. When friends grew cold, and the very sky Seeni'd darkly to deny me, I pray'd for aid, and, from on high, The patriot's star drew nigh me. n. All nought to me is pomp and wealth. And the multitude's hoarse praises — Give me, O God ! but life and health. And the lofty thought that raises ; Give me the power to weave a wreath — An evergreen rustic garland, Which, when my exile ends in death, May be kept for me in a far land. I ?:■;. 11: 15 i \m ni. Or, if I ask what is denied Save to the elect immortal. If I may not merit a niche inside, Let me lodge without in the portal ; Let me be lay-brother to the bards, The Muse's life-apprentice — I'll envy not their high awards While I am amanuensis. IV. I've thought and toil'd from boyhood's days. Not for gain, nor rank, nor glory. But to gather a few Hibernian bays. And to master our island story. When friends grew cold, and the very sky Seem'd darkly to deny me, I pray'd for aid, and, from on high. The patriot star drew nigh me. :^i^ PATRIOTIC POEMS, 159 AM I REMEMBER'D. I. Am I remembor'd in Erin — I charge you, speak me true — Has my name a sound, a meaning In the scenes my boyhood knew ? Does the heart of the Mother ever Recall her exile's name ? For to be forgot in Erin, And on earth, is all the same. n. Mother 1 Mother Erin I Many sons your age hath seen — Many gifted, constant lovers Since your mantle first was green. Then how may I hope to cherish The dream that I could be In your crowded memory number'd With that palm-crown'd companie ? III. Yet faint and far, my Mother, As the hope shines on my sight, 1 cannot choose but watch it Till my eyes have lost their light ; For never among your brightest. And never among your best. Was heart more true to Erin Than beats within my breast. i 160 PATRIOTIO POEMS, A FRAGMENT, I. I WOULD not die with my work undone, My quest unfound, my goal unwon, Though life were a load of lead ; Ah ! rather I'd bear it, day on day, Till bone and blood were worn away, And Hope in Faith's lap lay dead. II. I dream'd a dream when the woods were green, And my April heart made an April scene, In the far, far distant land, That even I might something do That should keep my memory for the true. And my name from the spoiler's hand. |!li FREEDOM'S JOURNEY. 1. Freedom ! a nursling of the North, Rock'd in the arms of stormy pines, On fond adventure wander'd forth "Where south the sun superbly shines ; The prospect shone so bright and fair, She dreamt her home was there, was there. n. She lodged 'neath many a gilded roof, They gave her praise in many a hall, PATRIOTIC POEMS. 161 Their kindness check'd the free reproof, Her heart dictated to let fall ; She heard the Negro's helpless prayer, And felt her home could not be there. III. She sought through rich savannas green, And in the proud palmetto grove, But where her altar should have been She found nor liberty nor love ; A cloud came o'er her forhead fair, She found no shrine to Freedom there. IT. Back to her native scenes she turn'd. Back to the hardy, kindly North, Where bright aloft the pole-star burn'd. Where stood her shrine by every hearth ; " Back to the North I will repair," The goddess cried ; " my homo is there I" ALONG TEE LINE. A. D. 1812. I. Steady be your beacon's blaze Along the line ! along the line I Freely sing dear Freedom's praise Along the line I along the line I Let the only sword j'ou draw Bear the legend of the law. Wield it less to strike than awe Along the line I along the line I m 162 t iiji i iiij- 1 11 ii PATRIOTIC POEMS. n. I i Let them rail against the North* Beyond the line ! beyond the line I When it sends its heroes forth Along the hne ! along the hne 1 On the field or in the camp They shall tremble at your tramp. Men of the old Norman stamp, Along the line I along the line ! III. Wealth and pride may rear their crests, Beyond the line I beyond the line ! They bring no terror to our breasts, Along the line I along the hne ! We have never bought or sold Afric's sons with Mexic's gold, Conscience arms the free and bold, Along the line ! along the Mne t IV. Steadfast stand, and sleepless ward, Along the line ! along the line I Great the treasures that you guard Along the line I along the line I By the babes whose sons shall be Crown'd in far futurity With the laurels of the free,* Btand your guard along the line ! * It is unnecessary to say that these verses were written after the author's removal to Canada. — ^Ed. PATBIOTIO POEMS. 163 I ARM AND RISE! I. Arm and rise ! no more repining. See, the glorious sun is shining — What a world that sun beholds i White ships glanciog o'er the ocean, All earth's tides, too, in swift motion, Pouring onward to their goals. n. 'Tis no life for sighing, dreaming — Eead the riddle — full of meaning — Written on your own broad palm ; For this needs no gipsy guesses, Here the line that curses, blesses — Say, I shall be — say, I am ! m. You have borne the parting trial — Dare the rest ; let no denial Daunt your hope at Fortune's door ; See, a new world waits your wooing. Courage is the soul of sueing — All things yield the brave before. IV. One tear to the recollections Of our happy young affections. One prayer for the ancestral dead, Then right on ; the sun is shining. No more doubting or repining. Firm's the path on which we tread. 1 i : I 1 i ..(■ i- Mi i: mm ^ liiii II 164 i tiiii PATIilOnC POEMS. In the forest stands the castle, Silent, gloomy, bell nor wassail Echoes through its sable halls ; Night and Chaos guard its portals. They shall bow even to us mortals — Strike I and down their standard falls. VI. On the round Canadian cedars Legends high await but readers — From the oaks charm'd shields depend ; Strike ! thou true and only champion, Lord of the first land you camp on ! Strike ! and win your crown, my friend I VII. Crowns — ay, golden, jewel'd, glorious — Hang in reach before and o'er us — Sovereign manhood's lawful priae ; He who bears a founder's spirit To the forest, shall inherit All its rights and royalties. i::^^ AN INTERNATIONAL SONG. Chorus. — Comrades ! awhile suspend your glee, And fill your glasses solemnly — I give the Brave Man's Memory. I. There is one Brotherhood on earth. Whereto brave men belong by birth, ' %i"\ PATRIOTIC POEMS. 165 And he who will not honor one, Wherever found, himself is none — Comrades ! awhile, etc II. Where'er they fought, howe'er they fell. The question is — Was't ill or well ; Victors or vanquish'd, did they stand True to the flag they had in hand ? Comrades ! awhile, etc. III. What ! shall we, then, at Waterloo Deny to either honor due ? Belie the hero of the day, Or gi'udge the fame of gallant Ney ? Comrades I awhile, etc. IV. Who looks on Abram's storied plain May honor most one hero's name ; But we conjure to-night the three — Here's Wolfe, Montcalm, Montgomery I Comsades ! awhile, etc. n I .' T til' riiii I' r HISI %m t 1 ! 1 IRISH HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. i i i i ■; - ■ \ i. % \ 1 i ' V THE HARP OF KING BRIAN. 1.. Mute harp (rf King Brian, what bard of these days Shall give to thy cold chords the spirit of song ? "Who shall win thee to gladness, or tune thee to praise, Or rouse thee to combat with faction and wrong ? Cold, cold is the hand of the master who first In the halls of Kinkora thy melody woke, "When the psean of conquest triumphantly burst. As the soul of the land pass'd from under the yoke ! n. He sat by the Shannon, well worthy to hear The strains he gave forth, swift and strong as its tide ; And his hand, long familiar with falchion and spear, Clung to thee in grief, and caress'd thee with pride I Long, long will his clansmen remember the strain — Now sinking in sorrow, now madd'ning to. rage — He sang in the morning when Mahon was slain. And went forth the war of his vengeance to wage. ^ i III. Nor less dear to their hearts was the king when the cloud Of warfare had broken and melted away, When, unarm'd and retired from the worshipping crowd, He drew from the chords Love's own exquisite lay. ! i w m w 1 s i '!i 170 niSTOIilCAL AND LEGKNVMiY POEMS. In battle he bore thee aloft on his shield, In peace, too, the hosts of thy lovera ho led ; If his glory shone first on the war-cover 'd field, Fame's mellow'd liijht ou Kiucoru was shed I XV. Mute harp of King Brian ! Time's sceptre has pass'd O'er the high homes of Erin, and conquer'd them all; Ad are's royal oak has gone down in the blast. And the cattle are housed in Kinkora's old hall. But the muse that hangs over thy time-stricken fame May console thee that yet there are left in the laud Bards as leal to thy lord, and as proud of his fame As any that ever took gifts from his hand ! 1 <^^H •« %'W m i . _'.. . ( B :nr:ii V. Yes ! the hero may sleep and his grave be unknown, And Armagh, the fallen, may blush at his praise — No need hath King Brian of shrine or of stone To live in the hearts of the bards of these days. Mute relic of ages I if haply thy strains Still visit the master who first gave thee birth, Say his name is revered with the hohest names That ever won honor and worship on earth I AN INVOCATION. X. Soul of my race ! Soul eternal ! That liveth through evil and time — That twineth still laurels all vernal, As if laurels couxd once more be thine I HISTORICAL AND LKOENDARY POEMS. Oil hear mo, oh cheer me, bo near mo, Oh jjfuido ino or chide mo alwiiy, Bat do not lly from me or feiir mo — I'm uil clay when thou. Soul, art away. 171 u. My mother died young ; I inherit For thee all her love and my own ; Oft I heard in thy fields her dead spirit Sing thy songs with Eternity's tone. Friends fled, years have sped, hopes are dead- Fruitless tasks, restless age leadeth on — But thy smile, free of guile, hope can shed On the future, from years that are gone I III. Soul of my ra jI Soul eternall Who passeth o'er ocean and earth — "With thy new woven garlands so vernal, To sit at thy true lover's hearth — Oh hear me, oh cheer me, be near me, Oh guide me or chide me alway, But do not fly from me or fear me — I'm all clay when thou, Soul, art away. ADDRESS TO MILESIUS. I. " Father Milesius ! in the world where dwell All spirits once of earth, each one in place, If earthward gazing, can you trace or tell The future that awaits your baffled race ? 172 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND AH Y F0EM3. II. " Are we to pass cr perish in this sea Of sorrow coldly compassing us round ? Or are we still in bonds and woe to be Saddest of men on earth that may be found ? III. " Indian, Etruscan, Israelite are gono Out of the world like water down a steep ; Man might deny them., but that sculptured stone And brazen chronicle the record keep. IV. "Lost science, unknown armor, massive piles. In which the dwarfish Present stands aghast — Ruins of cities spread o'er mournful miles Tell of the heirless races of the Past. Wil'^ li. V. j| " Lost ! lost to earth ! it is the body's lot To be secreted in its kindred clay : Father Milesius ! must we come to nought ? Must Innisfail be blotted out for aye ?" MILE AD H- ESP AG NE. >3 I". Spoke Milesius ere he died — " Here, my children, do not 'bide ; Right fruitful is the land of Spain, But here you may no more remain. 'Tis written that your home shall be An island farthest in the sea : HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 173 There sea-monsters freely feed, There the eagles mate and breed; There the sacred oak is born — Thence it looketh forth with scorn On the tempest-trodden waves, Crouching in their shelter'd caves. Where the pathless forests stand Interlock'd around the land, Where the ocean vapors thicken. There your warlike seed shall quicken — There shall be +he abiding-place Of your broad and branching race." II. Death has closed the Patriarch's eyes. Closed his ears to Scotia's cries ; Still the heart and cold the brain Where tiioughts grew thick as summer grain ; Mute the lips whose eloquence Mingled wit, and faith, and sense ; Nerveless now the arm of might That thunder'd through the stormy fight. Well may there be bitter grief For thy loss, O matchless chief ! Well may they in silence mourn The man of men bevond the bourne : Well may flow fond woman's tears For him who loved them all his years ; Sad and dark the day they made His grave in the Galliciau shade. Clanna-Mileadh may have many Arms of oak and lips of honey, But, until their last great man. His like they shall not look upon. W'} ^ 174 JIISTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. in. Thick and dense the April rain Falls upon the o'erclouded plain, But the sun shines out anon, And the sudden shower is gone ; Likewise passeth human grief. Though the lost one be the chief ! Pass'd the sad Milesian shower That fell around Betanzo's tower. And in its halls, and in its ships. The last words on the Patriarch's lips — About a land far in the sea. Destined their fertile home to be — Was all that that adventurous host Remember'd of the chief they lost. AMERGIN'S ANTHEM ON DISCOVERING hVNISFAIL.^* I. BEiioLn ! behold the prize Which westward yonder lies ! Doth it not blind your eyes Like the sun ? By vigil through the night, By valor in the fight. By learning to unite 'T may be won ! 't may be won 1 By learning to unite, 't may be won ! n. Of this, in Scythian vales, Seers told prophetic tales, Until our Father's sails Quick uprose ; niSTOinCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 175 But the gods did him detain In the generous land of Spain, Where in peace his bones remain With his foes, -with his foes — Where in peace his bones remain with his foes. III. Sad Scotia ! mother dear ! Cease to shed the mournful tear — Behold the hour draws near He foretold ; And, ye men, with one accord, .!■. Mi Mie oar and draw the sword. For li - only shall be lord Who is bold, who is bold — He only shall be lord who is bold I IV. They may shroud it up in gloom Like a spirit in the tomb, But we hear the voice of doom As it cries ; Let the cerements bo burst. And from thy bonds accursed, Isle of isles, the fairest, first, Arise ! arise ! Isle of isles, the fairest, first, arise I V. Couch the oar and strike the sail. Ye warriors of the Gael ! Draw the sword for Iu.)'>fail! Diish ,u }L\ w T^ it m m 17G IIISTOIilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. "With such a prize to f^ain, Who would sail the seas again ! Innisfail shall be our Spain Evermore ! evermore ! Innisfail shall be our Spain evermore ! THE CELTS. Long, long ago, beyond the misty space Of twice a thousand years, In Erin old there dwelt a mighty race. Taller than Roman spears ; Like oaks and towers, they had a giant grace, AVere fleet as dears. With winds and wave they made their 'biding place, These Western shepherd-seers. Their ocean-god was Man-a-nan,'^ M'Lir, Whose angry lips, In their white foam, full often would inter Whole fleets of ships ; Cromah,'* their day-god and their thunderer, Made mdVning and eclipse ; Bride'^ was their queen of song, and unto her They pray'd with fire-touch'd lips. Great were their deeds, tlieir passions, and their sports ; With clay and stouo They piled on strath and shore those mystic forts Not yet o'erthrown ; On cairn-crown'd hills they held their couni'il-courts ; While youths alone, With giant dogs, explored the elk resorts, And brought them down. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 177 Of these was Finn, the father of the bard Whose ancient song Over the clamor of all change is heard, Sweet-voiced and strong. Finn once o ertook Granu, the golden-hair'd, The fleet and young ; From her the lovely, and from him the fear'd, The primal poet sprung. Ossian ! two thousand years of mist and change Surround thy name — Thy Finian heroes now no longer range The hills of fame. The very name of Finn and Gaul sound strange- Yet thine the same — By miscall'd lake and desecrated grange — Remains, and shall remain ! The Druid's altar and the Druid's creed AVe scarce can trace, There is not left an undisput'^d deed Of all your race. Save your majestic song, which hath their speed, And strength and grace ; In that sole song they live, and love, and bleed — It bears them on through space. Oh, inspired giant ! shall we e'er behold In our own time One lit to sjteak your spirit on the wold, Or seize your rhynie ? One pupil of the past, as mighty soul'd As in the prime, Were the fond, fair, and beautiful, and bold — Thev, of your sonf^ sublinje! ; 1 \ '1 w 178 msrOliWAL AND LEG END Mi Y POEMS. THE GO nil AN SAERJ' He stepp'd a man out of the ways of men, And no one knew his sept, or rank, or name — Like a strong stream far issuing from a glen From some source unexplored, the master came ; Gossips there were wlio, wondrous keen of ken, Surmised that he should be a child of shame! Others declared him of the Druids — then Through Patrick's lal)ors fall'n from power and fame. He lived apart wrapp'd up in many plans — Ho woo'd not women, tasted not of wine — Ho shunn'd the sports and councils of the clans — Nor ever knelt at a frecpiented shrine. His orisons were old poetic ranns. Which the new Ollaves deem'd an evil sign ; To most he seem'd one of those pagan Khans Whose njvstic vigor kii"WS no cold dechne. He was the builder of tlie wondrous towers, AVhich tall, and straiglit, and exquisitely round, Rise monumental round the i.shi once ours, Index-like, marking spots of holy ground. In gloaining glens, in Icafv lowland bowers, On rivtu-s' banks, th(!so (Jloiledchx old abound, Where Art, enraptured, meditates long hours. And Science flutters like a bird spell-bound! Lo ! wheresoe'er these pillar-towers aspire, Heroes and holy men repose below — The bones of some glean'd from the pagan pyre, Others in armor lie, as for a foe : IIlSTOIilCAL AND LEOENDAUY POEMS. It wiiH the mij^'lity Master's life-desiro To chronicle Lis f,'reat uiieestors so ; "What liolier duty, what acliievomont bijjber KeinaiiiH to us than this he thus doth show ? Yet he, the builder, died an unknown death; His labor done, no man beheld him more ; Twas thouj^ht bis body fad(Hl like a breath, Or, like a sea-mist, floated oil' Life's shore. ])onbt overhanj^s bis fate, and faith, and birth ; His works alone attest bis life an# ■•;> y /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WiST MAIN STRICT WEBSTER, NY. MS80 (716) 872-4503 T . i 6^ 184 HISTORICAL AND LEQENDARY POEMS. To serve ('twas said) the Unknown God, With harp, and hymn, and harmless rite. One, bolder than the rest, essay'd To spread his creed on Leinster's shore, But, by a tumult sore dismay'd. He fled, and ventured back no more. Palladius like a courier came. And spoke and went — or, like St. John, To the broad desert breath'd the name . Of the Expected, and was gone — Leaving to every pagan seer The future full of doubt and fear. THE COMING OF ST. PATRICK, m In Antrim's mountain solitude. Above the fabled northern sea, The pagan plain and Druid's wood. The Shepherd-Saint I dimly see. " Young and a slave ! he tends the flocks Which spot the purpled heath around, And, 'mid the misty topmost rocks, A secret shrine for prayer hath found. There, next to heaven, he rears his cross, And there at morn, at noon, and eve, Kneehng upon the dripping moss, I see him pray and hear him grieve. The exile mourns his far-off home. The Christian humbly prays for grace ; And sometimes from his heart will come A sigh for Erin's darkling race. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMH. 185 III. Seven years I watch'd him work and pray, Trusting that still he might be free, Until, one bright auspicious day, I saw him seize his staff and flee. To Sligo — to the Loire — through Gaul — I saw him pass, 'till that dread hour When •* Victor " came, charged with his call, And tnoved him with angelic power. Along the umbrageous Appenine, Tu Rome, his tottering feet I trace ; Lo ! there the pontiff, Celestine, Ordains the Apostle of our race. •• IV. After this pilgrira-intei*val, Again the Shepherd-Teacher saw His Antrim highlands soaring tall Above the flock-en amell'd shaw. Landed on the familiar shore, He seeks to save his ancient lord. But, rudely spurn'd from Milcho's door," Turneth his footsteps Tara-ward, Stiil scattering, as he goes, " the Word." n •r TUB CAPTIVITY OF ST. PA THICK. Gathered and perch'd the multitude on Howth's romantic rock, As thick as o'er the flsh-strewu strand the craving sea-birds flock— i !WMir,;i 186 HISTOBICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. ^ Hi ¥> '1i! On lofty peak, on jutting pier, on sea-wash'd shelving cliff, On anchor'd mast, and weedy wreck, and cautious coasting skiff. Fast beat their hearts as, from the east, advancing one by one, Each well-known prince's galley swims, gilded by the sun ; , And in their midst King Nial's prow, a head above its peers, Arises, crown'd with captives, and glittering with spears — The captives of Armorica, the spears thaf smote the foe Where the swift Loire rolls back before the ocean's steadfast flow. II. Cheer upon cheer, with endless peal, they send across the sea — The sailor's hail, the goat-herd's horn, the voice of boyish glee; And beauty's banner, flung abroad, streams downward to the wave, To welcome home the well-beloved, the fortunate, the brave. Alas! no shout responds that fleet, no thrilling trumpets clang — The echoes only answer'd to the welcome as it rang. Slow, silent, as in sorrow, the galleys landward come, And every cheek has whiten'd, and every voice is dumb; Slow, silent, as in sorrow, the victors reach the shore. And then they raise the shriek of grief — " King Nial is no more I" III. Oh ! what w^ere all the conquests to Erie when she lost The hero of her heart beloved, her guardian and her boast. Sadly she left ungather'd spoils on Howth's forsaken straml. And, weeping, bore the body to Tara, through the land. The very captives of the sword forgot their bitter grief In this wild public sorrow for a father and a chief. And oft, with unused accents, repeated o'er and o'er The wild words heard on every side — •' King Nial is no more I" mSTOIilCAL AND LEOENDARY POEMS. IV. 187 Nav, there was one who stood a stone amid the fall of tears — Dark Milcho, lord of Dalriad, grown old in sins and years, Whose love of war was meted by the treasures of the field, "\\ ho counted that alone well won which gave a golden yield. Unmoved he stood ; then gave command unto his orderM men, And sought his hoarded treasures in Sliemish guarded glen. With him go many captives, fair daughters of the Rhine, Whose feet shall ne'er be red again with juice of Alsace vine; And one, a Christian youth, there is, the saddest of the train, Who grieves to think he ne'er shall see the shores of France again. The captive is a keeper of sheep on Antrim's hills ; The captive is a weeper by Antrim's icy rills ; The captive is a mourner in the midhours of the night ; The captive is a watcher for the coming of the light; — A watcher for His coming who is the light of men, A mourner for the darkness that shadows Sliemish Glen — A weeper for the sins of youth, aforetime unconfess'd, A keeper of the passions that rush through boyhood's breast; The captive is a Shepherd, but his future flock shall be All the countless generations of that Garden of the Sea. :f^ 1 i 1 ST. PATRICK'S DREAM.*^ Poou is the pallet he dreams upon, In the holy city. Saint Martin's of Tours ; Is it a beam of the morning sun Flushes that face so pale and pure ? 188 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, r ^■. Is it the ray of a cloister lamp ? Is it some chalice jewel bright ? No ! night and the cell are dim and damp — Here is nor earthly nor astral light ! ii^ ^ t: I' 4 Oh, such a dream I From Foclut wood, Near the sounding sea of an earUer day, Ten thousand voices, well understoo'd. Spoke ! and the sleeper heard them say : " Hear the Unborn I by the hand Of the angel Victor — swift is he I Oh, Patrick, far in thy Christian land, Erin's unborn we send to thee I" in. And then he dreamt that Saint Victor stood By his pallet in that cell at Tours — And the cries were hush'd in Foclut wood ; But the heavenly messenger, swift and sure. Presents the scroll that bore their prayer. In the speech of his exile fairly writ — And waking, the Saint beheld it there — And these were the words he read from it : " Come ! holy one, long preordain'd. For thee the swans of Lir are singing ; Come ! from the morning, Orient-stain'd, Thy Mass-bell through our valleys ringing I " Man of the hooded hosts, arise I Physician, lo ! our souls lie dying — Hear o'er the seas our piteous cries. On thee and on our God relying I fflSTOmCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 189 " Come, powerful youth of Sliemish hill ! Come, in the name and might of Rome ! Come with the psalm that charms from ill — Cross-bearer! Christ-preparer I come." IV. The sleeper read ! still doubts arose — Till to Aurora's torches red He held the scroll — repeating those Wild supphant words the Unborn said I He look'd where late the angel pass'd, Many the big drops on his brow; His robe he girt, his stafif he grasp'd, He only said, " In God's name, Now !" MoiSTREAL, February, 1868. m 1: ] .1, ST. PATRICK'S FIRST CONVERTS.^ z. Morn on the hills of Innisfail ! The anchor'd mists make sudden sail, The sun has kiss'd the mountain gray. For ancient friends and fond are they I n. In the deep vale, where osiers verge The clear Lough Sheeling's gentle surge, Two royal sisters doff their dresses, And, binding up their night-black tresses, Fair as the spirits of the streams. Or Dian's nymphs in poets' dreams, • The legend here versified, almost literally, is one of tho oldest episodes is Irish history. LI 'H *■> X90 msTORWAL AND LKOENDART P0XM9. They bathe them in the limpid lake, And mock the mimic storm they make I I v.. I a' Be >- 1 m. Scarce had their sandals clasp'd their feet, Scarce had they left their still retreat, Scarce had they tiirn'd their footsteps, when Strange psalmody pervades the glen ; And full before them in the way There stood an ancient man and gray, Chanting with fervent voice a prayer That trembled through the morning air. IV. He was no Druid of the wood, Arm'd for the sacrifice of blood ; He was no poet, vague and vain, Chanting to chiefs a fulsome strain ; His reverent years and thoughtful face Gave to his form the Patriarch's grace ; His sacred song declared that he Shared in no gross idolatry I V. " Where dwells your God ?" the sisters said ; " Where is His couch at evening spread ? Sinks he with Crom into the sea. And rises from his bath as we Have done ? Is it his voice we hear Thundering above the buried year ? Or doth your God in spirit dwell Deep in the crystal, living well ? Or are the winds the steeds which bear His unseen chariot everywhere ?" Kf HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. TI. The Saint replied, " Oh, nobly born ! Haply encounter'd here this moru ; You ask the only truth to know That Adam's children need below ; Your quest is God, like them of old "NVho found the gravestone backward roUM From where they left the Saviour cold." VII. Mildly to tell, the holy man The story of our faith began — Of Eve, of Christ, of Calvary, The baleful and the healing tree; Of God's omnipotence and love, Of sons of earth, now saints above ; Of Peter and the Twelve, of Paul, And of his own predestined call. viir. " Not on the sea, not on the shore, In solemn woods or tempest roar, Dwelleth the God that we adore. No ! wheresoe'er His cross is raised, And wheresoe'er His name is praised; The pure Ufe is His present sign. The holy heart His favorite shrine ; The old, the poor, the sorrowful. To them He is most bountiful ; Palace or hovel, land or sea, God with His servants still will be !" ******* IX. Leogaire, the last of our pagan kings, In terror from his slumber springs, 191 f ; « - , i 1 i : \ i ; ■';>. H ■ i ! f m^^fi^ r 192 mSTORlOAL AND LEO END ART POEMS, For he had dreamt his daup;hiers fair Pillars of fire on Tara were, And that the burning light thence streaming Melted the idols in his dreaming — And the dream of Leogaire, our annals say, Was fulfiird in the land in an after day. mi mm -t- m A LEQENi> OF ST. PATRICK. Seven weary years in bondage the young Saint Patrick pass'd, Till the sudden hope came to him to break his bonds at last; On the Antrim hills reposing, with the north star overhead, As the gray dawn was disclosing, "I trust in God," he said— " My sheep will find a shepherd, and my master find a slave, But my mother has no other hope but me this side the grave." Then girding close his mantle, and grasping fast his wand. He sought the open ocean through the by-ways of the land } The berries from the hedges on his solitary way. And the cresses from the waters, were his only food by day; The cold stone was his pillow, and the hard heath was his bed. Till, looking from Benbulben, he saw the sea outspread. He saw that ancient ocean, unfathom'd and unbound, That breaks on Erin's beaches with so sorrowful a sound ; There lay a ship at Sligo bound up the Median sea — " God save you, master mariner, will you give berth to me ? I have no gold to pay thee, but Christ will pay thee yet." Loud laugh'd that foolish mariner, "Nay, nay. He might forget!" ii HISTORICAL AND LEOENDARY POEMS. 193 " Forget ! Oh, not a favor done to the humblost one Of nil His human kindred can 'scapo th' Eternal Son I" In vain the Christian pleaded, the willinj^ sail was spread, His voice no more was heeded than the sea-birds overhead ; And as the vision faded of that ship against the sky. On the briny rocks the captive pray'd to God to let him die. But God, whose ear is open to catch the sparrow's fall, At the sobbing of His servant frown'd along the waters all ; Tlie billows rose in wonder and smote the churlish crew. And around the ship the thunder like battle-arrows flew; The screaming sea-fowl's clangor in Kish-corran's inner caves Was hush'd before the anger of the tempest-trodden waves. "I : J : Like an eagle-hunted gannet, the ship drove back amain To where the Christian captive sat in solitude and pain — "Come in," they cried; "O Christian! we need your com- pany. For it was sure your angry God that met us out at sea." Then smiled the gentle heavens, and dofiTd their sable veil, Then sunk to rest the breakers and died away the gale. So, sitting by the pilot, the happy captive kept On his rosary a reck'ning, while the seamen sung or slept. Before the winds propitious past Achill, south by Ara, The good ship gliding left behind Hiar-Connaught like an arrow — From the southern bow of Erin they shoot the shore of Gaul, And in holy Tours, Saint Patrick findeth freedom, friends, and all. In holy Tours he findeth home and altars, friends and all ; Tliere matins hail the morning, sweet bells to vespers call ; i ■Ji"" .q },■ 104 mUTOltlCAL AND LEGENVARY POEMS. ■% y-* ft:' 1:.'- tilt Ji. TUei'ti's no lord to make him trcinble, no ningiciiin to endure, Nor need he to dissemble in the pious streets of Tours ; But ever, as he rises with the morning's early light, And still erewhile he slecpeth, when the north star shines nt night, When he sees the angry Ocean by the tyrant Tempest trod, He nuuraurs in devotion, " Fear nothing ! trust in God I" THREE SONNETS FOR ST. PATRICK'S DAY. I. Not yet had dawn'd the day-star of the soul On that dark isle beyond which land was not ; Far in the East it blazed, and in the South, And high above the Alpine summits stood, Shooting its rays along the vales of Gaul ; Albion's cold cliflfs had felt the cheering beam. Though soon eclipsed and lost. Like sinful Eve, Hidden amid the thickest Eden grove. Our island-mother knew not of her hope ! Enfolded by the melancholy main, A sea of foliage till'd the eagle's eye — A sea within a sea — one wave-wash'd wood, Save where some breezy mountain, bare and brown. Rose 'mid the verdant desert to the skies ! II. SwABMiNo with life, these woods gave forth a race Of huntsmen and of warriors, whose delight Was spoil and havoc ; o'er the Bom an wall They leap'd like wolves upon their British prey ; Far flash'd their oars upon the Gallic tide ; And in the Alpine valleys rose the shout Of "Farrah!" to the onset upon Borne I mSTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 105 And still, where'er they dwelt, or sail'd, or camp'd, In native woods, in Bhips, or on 8tran;,'e Hhores, Moved the (h-etid Druid, with his bloody knife, Aiid rites obscene of Bel and of Asturte — The fearful brood of that corrupted will ■\Vhicb brought inipcriul Tyi-e down to the dust, "Which conquer'd Carthage more than Scipio's sword. And left them heirless in the world's esteem ! , V ' III. Into that land where he, wet with his tears, Had seven years eaten of the bitter bread Of slavery and exile, came the Saint Whose day we celebrate throughout the eartk I Before his mighty words false gods fell down, And prostrate pagans, rising from the plain, Knew the true God, and, knowing, were baptized. Praise to his name, the ransom'd Slave who broke All other chains, and set the bondsman freel Praise to his name, the Husbandman who sow'd The good seed over all that fertile isle I Praise to the Herdsman who into the fold Of the One Shepherd led our Father's flock, Whose voice still calls us wheresoe'er we hide ! Montreal, March 12, 1862. THE LEGEND OF CROAGII PATRICK.^* Ask you why we repair Every Lent as pilgrims lowly To Croagh Patrick, and make there Vows to God, and all the Holy Now in glory ? \-\\ I •, ;■: 196 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY P0EM3, VI True and plainly I will tell "What in ancieiit days befell, And sanctified this place To th' Apostle of our race — Thus the story : u- ) "When Patrick came to Cruachan Eigle first (Steep the side is of that mountain in Mayo), 'Twas girt about with woods where the accursed Plotting Druids still flitted to and fro — "With fasting and with prayer upon the summit, He sought his ardent soul to assoil, Kneeling^ over chasms wall'd as by a plummet, Treading stony paths with patient toil. n. The gray mists hid the earth as day was ended, The sea as with another sea was cover'd, When, with loud shrieking cries, a host of birds descended, And over his anointed head dark hover'd ; Some breathed an obscene odor which appall'd him, Some utter'd cries that shook his soul with fear, Some with blasphemies distracted and miscall'd him, Some hiss'd like springing serpents at his ear. III. The tempted one went praying fast and faster. His knees seem'd to freeze unto the stone ; At length he cried aloud — " O Lord and Master, I am wrestling with a hell-host all alone I" Seizing, then, the holy bell that lay before him ('Twas a gift from the good Pope Celestine), Thrice ringing it, he speedily, full o'er him, Saw the Lenten moon's fair face shino. mSTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. IV. Then a choir of cherubs round the mountain winging, Lauds and vespers for the holy Saint began, And he, though soul-entranced by the divinest singing, Still trembling felt the feebleness of man. And he pray'd three prayers to God that blessed even', That Slieve Eigle to no stranger might belong. That an Irish death-bed shrift might lead to heaven ; And once more he pray'd, fervently and long — 197 1-^^- \m t '! ■ V. That, before the final Judgment-morn had risen. Ere the angel of the trumpet cleft the air, Ere Christ's coming should loose Death from his long prison, Ere the pale horse for his rider should prepare — That, through the woful scenes Apocalyptic, Innisfail, ten thousand thousand fathoms deep, Among old Ocean's caverns labyrinthic. The destruction of the world might outsleep. Of Patrick this was the prayer For our fathers and their kindred ; Hence, as pilgrims we repair Every Lent to Cruachan Eigle. But no more as such 'tis known (Croagh Patrick is its name) — Time will wear the very stone — Ireland's eagles all have flown ; Of things old, her Faith alone Stands unconquer'd and the same I ,:i 198 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND ARY POEMS. ST. PATRICK'S DEATH. [From the ancient rhyme called St. Fiech's Hymn.] Z. To his own Armagh the Saint's feet turn'd, As the lamp of his Ufe obscurely burn'd, And he bade them make his dying bed In that holy city, the Church's head ! II. Midwaj', an angel, at midnight deep. Came by the couch and soothed his sleep ; It was Victor, the guardian of his life. Who had led him safe through storm and strife. lU. To the eyes of the sleeper that angel seem'd The same as when first of his call he dream'd; By a belt of fire he was girt around, And he sang with a strangely solemn sound : IV. ** Thy Armagh shall rule in Erie forever, Praise be to Christ, the primacy-giver I Your prayer was heard, your soul I call, Prepare for the end in the cell at Saul I" V. At Saul, to the people, St. Tassach said : " We shall see him no more — our Father is dead 1 People of Erie, lament not nor mourn — A mortiil has died, but a Saint is born 1" HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 199 II u -^1 VI. From far and near, from isle and glen, Came mourning priests and sorrowing men, And with hymns repeated, the sleepless throng "SVaked him with solemn psalter and song. VII. Torches like stars burn'd thick and bright Hound his tomb for many a day and night ; As the Sun of Ajalon steadfast stood, So blazed the Church for the Chief of the Rood. I ■ 3 ! VIII. Our Father, who lived without stain or pride, Now dwells in his mansion beatified, With Jesus and Mary in perpetual morn — The mortal has died, the Saint is born. ST. BRENDAN AND THE STRIFE- SOWER.^ What time Saint Brendan on the sea At night was sailing, A spirit-voice from the ship's lee Rose, wildly wailing, Crying, " Blessed Brendan ! pray for me A prayer availing ; "For I have been, O Saint, through hfe, A sinner ever ; With murmurings my course was rife As any river ; I never ceased from sowing strife, Good men to sever. WW »5' JI^'C m'^ i"i I ?^'* im I I'' 200 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. " Within our convent's peaceful wall Was song and prime ; But I loved never music's call, Nor voice of chime ; The Host that holiest hearts appal Awed never mine. ' In chancel, choir, in lonely cell. On the sea-shore. The love of strife, as a strong spell, # Was evermore Upon me — 'till sore sick I fell. And was given o'er. " Then, in the brief hours of my pain, To God I cried And mourned — nor. Father, mourned in vain- My strifes and pride — My soul departed — rent in twain — Half justified. " 'Twixt heaven and hell, in doubt I am, holy Saint ! Oh I supplicate the bleeding Lamb To hear my 'plaint — Oh ! bless me with thy words of balm — 1 faint — I faint — " » Saint Brendan seized his rosary, And knelt him low And pray'd, whoso the soul might be That pass'd him fro, That God and Christ His Son would free It from its woe. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. And never any night at sea, In his long saihng, Hoard the Saint after from the lee The Spirit's wailing — He deem'd it with the Just to be, Through prayer availing. 201 n 1 ' THE VOYAGE OF EM AN OGE.»» In the Western Ocean's waters, where the sinking §un is lost, Rises many a holy cloiteach high o'er many an island coast. Bearing bells rung by the tempest when the spray to heaven is toss'd : Bearing bells and holy crosses, that to Arran men afar Twinkle through the dawn and twilight, like the mist- environ'd star Hung in heaven for their guidance, as, in sooth, such symbols are. 'Tis a rosary of islands in the Ocean's hollow palm — Sites of faith unchanged by storms, all unchanging in the calm, There the world-betray'd may hide them, and the weary heart find balm. Wayward as a hill-stream chafing in a sad fir-forest glen. Lived the silent student, Eman, among Arran's holy men, Sighing still for far Hy-Brasil — sight of fear to human ken. Born a chieftain, and predestin'd by his sponsors for a sage, Eman Oge" had track'd the sages over many an ancient page, Drnin'd their old scholastic vials, nor did these his thirst assuage. * Eman Oge means Young Edward. i\ •«■ J w f.ll I: tk* 'i^i-v ■■■m 1 ^hI^hhI RRIIB li i .., ^W^' I^B j^Hj m^ ^^■^^^K^i'c' P|U«^BW|m, ill'" j1 ' li r4nl P 1 H 1 j! I i 1 i 1 i 1 HI II w i 1 t 1 ' n 1 u ■ i B ■in t 1 11 ■ ^H^n 1 1 , 202 HISTORICAL AND LEOENDARY POEMS. Thinking thenceforth, and deploring, sat he nightly on the strand. Ever watching, ever sighing, for the fabled fairy land; For this earth he held it hateful, and its sons a soulless band. 'Twas midsummer midnight, silen(A on the isles and ocean lay. Fleets of sea-birds rode at anchor on the waveless moou- bright bay. To the moon, across the waters, stretch'd a shining silver way— When, O Christa ! in the offing, like a ship upon the sight, Loom'd a land of dazzling verdure, cross'd with streams that flash'd like light, Under emerald groves whose lustre glorified the solemn night. As the hunter dashes onward when the missing prey he spies, As to a gracious mistress the forgiven lover flies, So, across the sleeping ocean Eman in Lis currach hies. Nay, ho never noted any of the holy island's signs — Saint Mac Duach's tall cathedral, or Saint Brecan's ivyed shrines. Or the old Cyclopean dwellings — for a rarer scene he pines. Now he nears it — now he touches the gold-glittering preciouH sand — Lir of Ocean^* is no miser when such treasures slip his hand — But whence come these antique galleys crowding the deserted strand ? HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 203 Tyrian galleys, with white benches, sails of purple, prows of gold; Triremes, such as carried Cflosar to the British coast of old; Serpents that had borne Vikings southward on adventures bold; Gondolas, with glorious jewels sparkling on their necks of pride; Bucentaurs, that brought the Doges to their Adriatic bride; Frisian hulk and Spanish pinnace lay reposing side by side; <■ a si 12 Carracks, currachs — all the vessels that the ocean yet had borne, By no envious foemen captured, by no tempests toss'd or torn. Lay upon that stormless sea-beach all untarnish'd and unworn. But within them, or beside them, crew or captain saw he none — " Have mankind forever languish'd for the land I now have won?" So said Eman, as he landed, by his angel tempted on. Where it led him — what befell him — what he sulfer'd — who shall say ? One long year was pass*d and over — a midsummer's night and day; Morning found him pallid, pulseless, stretch'd upon the island bay. Dead he lay: his brow was calcined like a green leaf scorch'd in June, Hollow was his cheek and haggard, gone his beaming smile and bloom — Dead he lay, as if his spirit had already faced its doom, m^fiw li. k 204 BISTORIOAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Who shall wake him ? who shall care him ? wayward Eman, stark and still — Who will nerve anew his footsteps to ascend Hfe's craggy hill? Who '.ill ease his anguish'd bosom ? who restore him thought and will ? ^t'- % } H^ » Hark! how softly tolls the matin from the top of yonder tower — How it moves the stark man ! Lo, you ! hath a sound sucii magic power ? Lo, you! lo, you! Up he rises, waked and saved! Ah, blessed hour ! • Now he feels his brow — now gazes on that shore, and sky, and sea — Now upon himself — and lo, you ! now he bends to earth his knee; God and angels hear him praying on the sea-shore fervently. I THE PKAYER OF EMAN OQE. God of this Irish isle ! Blessed and old, Wrapp'd in the morning's smile In the sea's fold — Here, where Thy saints have trod- Here, where they pray'd — Hear me, O saving God ! May I be saved ? God of the circling sea ! Far-rolling and deep — Its caves are unshut to Thee, Its bounds Thou dost keep — t;.'M mSTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Here, from this strand, "Whence saints have gone forth — Father 1 I own Thy hand, Humbled to earth. God of this blessed light Over me shining ! On the wide way of right I go, unrepining. No more despising My lot or my race, But toiling, uprising. To Thee through Thy grace. 205 i , (. ■%' THE '' WISDOM-SELLERS" BEFORE CUARLEMAQNE.^ MONACHUS SAN-GALLENSIS loquUur : " Grandson of Charlemagne I to tell Of exiled Learning's late return, A task more grateful never fell To one still drinking at her urn ; Of Force, O King I Too many sing, Lauding mere sanguinary strength ; But Wisdom's praise Our favor'd days Have ask'd to hear at length. When he whose sword and name you bear Reign'd unopposed throughout the West, And none would dream, or, dreaming, dare Reject his high behest — He found no peace nor near nor far. No spell to stay his swaying mind ; ■' I I" ; ■ I. ■ ■■', "' ■ t ■ I: w • VW 206 HISTORICAL AND LKOENDARY POEMS, For Glory, like the sailor's star, Still left her votary far behind. The wreck of Roman art remain'd, Casting dark lines of destiny ; The very roads they went proclaim'd The modern man's degeneracy ; Our Charles vept like Philip's son, For that Time's noblest wreaths were won. II « i.''\ '«: » :" t ** One morn upon his throne of state Crown'd and sad the conqueror sate. ' What stirs without, my chiefs ?' said he, ' Do all things rest on land and sea ? Has France slept late, or has she lost The love of being tempest-toss'd ?' Spake an old soldier of his wars, One who had fought in Lombardy, Whose breast, besides, bore Saxon scars — The soldier-emperor's friend was he : * O Carl ! strange news your steward bears, Of merchants in the mart, who tell. Standing amidst the mingled wares. That they bring Wisdom here to sell ; Tall men, though strange, they seem to be. And somewhere from ayont the sea.* Quoth Charles — * 'Twere rare merchandise That, purchased, could make Paris wise. Fetch me those wisdom-sellers hither — We fain would know their whence and whither.' " Of air erect and full of grace. With bearded lip and arrowy eye, And signs no presence could efface Of Learning's meek nobilitv. BJSTOIilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. HOT The men oppear'd. Carl's iron front Was lifted as each bow'd his head ; With words more gentle than his wont, To the two strangers thus he said : • Merchants, what is the tale I hear, That in the market-place you offer Wisdom for sale ? Is wisdom dear ? Is't in the compass of our coffer ?' n, " In accents such as seldom broke The silence there, Albinus spoke : 'OCarl! illustrious emperor! We are but strangers on your shore : From Erin's isle, where every glen Is crowded with the sons of song, And every port with learned men, We, venturing without the throng (And longing, not the least, to see The person of your majesty, Whose fame has reach'd the ends of ocean), Forsook our native isle, to bear The lamps of wisdom everywhere, Our heavenly Master's work to do — And first we came, O King ! to you : In His dread name, the Eternal King, Clemens and I, His errand bring — Whose soldier is the sandall'd priest, Whose empire neither West nor East — Whose word knows neither South nor North, Whose footstool is the subject Earth — Who holds to-day as yesterday. O'er age and space, his sovereign sway — Whose wisdom in our books enroU'd Unto your majesty we offer — ■' I ; II w 208 HISTORICAL AND LEOKNDARY POEMS, IT I r ' ! ■' ^iV i :? Neither for guerdon nor for gold Within the compuss of your co£fer. On Garnac's cromleach you have gazed, And seen the proud strength of the past ; You saw the piles the Coosars raised — Saw Art his empire-cause outlast. All scenes of war, all pomps of peace, Armies and harvests in array — Your longing soul from sights like these To Time and Art oft turns away. Great hosts are bristhng over earth Like grain in harvest, till anon A wintry campaign, or a dearth Of valor, and your hosts are gone. The soldier's pride is for a season. His day leads to a silent night ; . But sov'reign power, inspired by reason, Creates a world of life and light. We've rifled the departed ages. And bring their grave-gifts here to-day ; We sell the secrets of the sages — The code of Calvary and Sinai. To wisdom, King ! we set no measure ; For wisdom's price, there is but one — To value it above all treasure. And spend it freely when 'tis won. By every peaceful Gaelic river The Bookmen have a free abode ; They celebrate each princely giver. And teach the arts of man and God. All that we ask for all we bring Is eager pupils round our cell. And your protection, mighty King I W^hile in the realms of France we dwell.' BJSTORICAL AND I.EOKNDARY POEMS. " Bow'd the grout king his lofty head — ' Be welcome, men of God !' ho said ; ' Choose ye a home, it shall be given, And held in seignory of heaven.' " Grandson of Carl ! I need no more; The rest throughout the earth is known- How learning, lost to us before, . Spread like a sun around his throne, Till now, in Saxon forests dim. New neophytes their lore-lights trim — How even my own Alpine heights Are luminous through studious nights — How Pavia's learned half regain The glory of the Roman name — How mind with mind, and soul with soul, Press onward to the ancient goal — How Faith herself smiles on the chose Of Chimera and Reason's race — How * wisdom-sellers ' one may meet In every ship and every street — Of how our Irish masters rest In graves watch'd by the grateful West — How more than war or sanguine strength Of Wisdom's praise Our favor'd days Have ask'd to hear at length." 209 t !■ FLAN STNAN'S GAME OF CHESS. I. Flan Synan from the south had come, with tributes in his train From the Desmond men and Thomond men by fear or force he'd ta'en ; la m ;*:*' 210 EISTOIilOAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. ■a/- A thousand harness'd horses, with bells to their harness triced, Seven chariots piled with silver cups and robes kings only priced ; And boastfully, on captured hai-ps, bards sung the battle rann. And all agreed th-^re ne'er had lived a conqueror like Flan. II. That was the night in Tara ! such singing and such wine ; The morning sun shone in on them, but they said, " Let it shine ;" A Thomond hostage play'd at chess against the royal host, Who vauntingly to the southerr chief thus foolishly made boast — That he "to Thurles' Green would bring his board, and not a man In all the south, in open day, durst spoil the game of Fluu." Jlji!' III II.; m III. Bright shines the sun along the Suir, and warm on Thurles' Green ; Strange is the sight and singular that there this day is seen : A king and court, in merry sport, like boys on holiday, Have sat them down to tables laid, round which they laugh and play. " Did I not say, Dalcassian ! that here there was no man Who dare essay, in open day, to spoil the game of Flan ?" IV. Smiled gayly the Dalcassian, '* Kings have been check'd ere now." " What mean you ?" quoth the monarch, with anger on liis brow. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 211 *Here come some who can answer !" cried the other; and amain A thousand arm'd Thomond-men defiled into the plain. " 'Tis our turn now," exclaim'd the chief, as here and therij they ran; 11 "You've lost your game on Thurles* Green, O boastfu' monarch Flan !" ;,» LADY OOIIMLEY.^ A GAELIC BAIXAD. I. She wanders wildly through the night, Unhappy Lady Gormley ! And hides her head at morning light, Unhappy Lady Gormley ! No home has she, no kindly kin. But darkness reigneth all within, For sorrow is the child of sin. With hapless Lady Gormley 1 II, What time she sate on Tara's throne. Unhappy Lady Gormley ! Bright jewels sparkled on her zone, Unhappy Lady Gormley ! But her fair seeming could not hide The wayward will, the heart of pride, The wit still ready to deride, Of scornful Lady Gormley! !!':,'.;i '4|i| !l il' IJiiifi 1 !■ li' ' P mm 212 HISTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. ITI. The daughter of a kingly race Was lovely Lady Gorraley ! A monarch's bride, the first in place, Was noble Lady Gormley ! The fairest hand she had, the skill The lute to touch, the harp to thrill, Melting and moving men at will, The peerless Lady Gormley 1 IV. Nor was it courtly art to call The splendid Lady Gormley I The first of minstrels in the hall, All-gifted Lady Gormley ! Song flow'd from out her snowy throat As from the thrush, and every note Taught men to dream, and bards to dote On lovely Lady Gormley ! V. But arm'd as is the honey-bee Was fickle Lady Gormley I And hollow as the alder-tree Was smiling Lady Gormley I And cold and haughty as the swan That glancing sideward saileth on, That loves the moon and hates the dawn, Was heartless Lady Gormley I VI. God's poor had never known her care — The lofty Lady Gormley ! She had no smile for nun or frere, The worldly Lady Gormley I 1 * ; fflSTOmCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 213 She fed her heart on human praise, Forgot her soul in prosp'rous days, "Was studious but bow to amaze, The haughty Lady Gormley ! VII. At last she fell from her great height. Unhappy Lady Gormley ! Her lord had perish'd in the fight, Unhappy Lady Gormley ! And now she has nor house nor home, Destined from rath to rath to roam. Too proud to make amend or moan, Unhappy Lady Gormley ! VIII. Behold her on her lonely way, The wretched Lady Gormley, And mark the moral of my lay, The lay of Lady Gormley ! When Fortune smiles, make God yonr friend, On His love more than man's depend, So may you never in the end Share the woe of Lady Gormley I ;;f f ii.. BRYAN, THE TAN 1ST. I. Bryan, the son of the Tanist, grew Stately and strong, and brave and true, The heart of his house and the pride of his name, Till Torna, the poet, his guest became. And lit his blood with words of flame, And soil'd his breast with schemes of shame. w 11 , :. sw: ■ '11 214 mSTORlCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, II. Toriia hated Sil-Murray, branch and root, And he swore to spoil the tree of its fruit; And Torna, steadfast as any hill, Had a fiend's soul with a minstrel's skill, And Bryan he used as his ladder until He reach'd his mark and wrought his will. 11. Through fear, and fire, and settling gloom, I hear a fray, and I see a tomb, From a rifled bed, through a rifted wall, I see the son of the Tanist fall. And like the exulting eagle's call, The poet's voice is o-^er all I IV. Oh human passion ! oh human strife I How do you taint the springs of life I A thousand souls are black to-day From the smoke of this fratricidal fray, And peace from our sept has pass'd away. And the end of the guilty — who shall say ? HOW ST. KIERAN PROTECTED CLONMAUNOISR^ I. There is an ancient legend. By the Donegal Masters told. How St. Kieran kept his churches, As a shepherd keeps his fold. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 215 n. Ages had lain in their ashes, Crowns had outworn their kings, Change had come over Clonmacnoise, As it comes o'er all earthly things. m. Long gone was the wooded desert, Where he broke the Druid's reign- Long gone was the cruel bondage Of the proud usurping Dane. IV,* And calm as a river of heaven The Shannon flow'd along, Bv the towers and churches seven, From morn till even' song. V. With sounds of pious duty, By day it was all alive With the low sweet voice of study — The hum of a holv hive. i : 1 VI. In the street the youth uncover'd, In the meado^f the mower knelt, When the call to prayer, far or near, Was heard or only felt. VII. The Spenser left his store-house, The Ostrarus left his load. And sage and lector silent, Bow'd to the call of God. 216 R';-S^ :! i!!'i:i HISZOmCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, vni. Now Night, the priest of labor, Had spread his cope afar, And brightly on his bosom Glitter'd the morning star. IX. Even as that sole star glitter'd On high in its guardian light. So the lamp alone keeps vigil At St. Kieran's shrine to-night. X. The lamp alone keeps vigil, While a shape flits to the shore, And a shallop down the river Has shot with muffled oar. * XI. As at the stir of the latchet Flieth the beast of prey. So swiftly into the darkness The shallop glides away. XII. No sound broke o'er the landscape As the guilty boatnfan sped Through the ghastly gray of daybreak, Like the ferryman of the dead. XIII. Ba'^ sounds of wail and wonder Ere noon, on every side, Were heard by that peaceful river Down which he darkly hied. t ' \ M mSTORIOAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 217 XIV. For the rifled shrine of St. Kieran Had been found on the river shore, And an eager host surrounded The high- priest's open door. XV. And some were prompt to counsel, While many shook with fear — For sure, they said, such sacrilege Foretold disaster near. XVI. At the door outspake the high-priest— "Let every one begone To his daily task, to his chosen work, The saints will guard their own," XVII. And so the ancient legend Relates how oft in vain The bold shrine-thief took shipping To pass beyond the main. XVIII. No ship wherein he enter'd Could ever find a breeze ; Her itlasts stood fast in their tackle As in the soil the trees. XIX. While right and left all freely Swept past the outward bound ; The ship that held the shrine-thief Seem'd hard and fast aground. ■J f WF 218 mSTOIilCAL AND LEGEND A liT POEMS. XX. The sailors at the rowlocks Toil'd till their hearts grew faint ; "Where they felt only the current, He felt the avenging Saint. XXI. At length remorse and anguish O'ertook the caitiflf bold. And stricken with mortal terror. His fearful tale he told. XXII. And now a glad procession Of galleys, with banner fine, Has left Athlone with the gold and gems Of St. Kieran's plunder'd shrine. [tf! life If "^■ XXIII. A day of great rejoicing Is this for the land around ; The Saint has been exalted — That which was lost is found. XXIV. On the morrow spoke the high-priest- " Let every one begone To his daily task, to his chosen work. The saints will guard their own." ii mw HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 219 ! I hi IONA.^« Would you visit the home St. Columbcille chose ? You must sail to the north when the west wind blows- To the art where grows not flowers or trees, On the soil of the sea-spent Hebrides ; Tliere, over against the steep Ross shore, In hearing of Coryvrekan's roar, You will find the dwarfish holly growing, And see the brave sea-bugles blowing Around the roots of the belladonna, On the shore of the island — holy lona ! II. In that lovely isle the north star shines On crownless kings and saints sans shrines; There, the small sheep crop the grass that springs Lineally up from the loins of kings; There, Jarls from Orkney and Heligoland, And Thanes from York and from Cumberland, And Maormars of Moray, and Lennox, and Levin, Cruel in life, lie hoping for heaven ; There, Magnus of Norway, and stern Macbeth, Are stretch'd at the feet of the democrat. Death; And chieftains of Ulster, and lords of Lorn, There wait for the trump of All-Soul's morn. III. " Here lived Saint Columb," the ferrymen say, " He kept his boats in this shingly bay; He fenced this glebe, he set up this stone (The kirk it belong'd to was overthrown) Upon this mound, at close of day; Facing towards Erin, he ever would pray. '■'i n I U T^ r 220 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Thousands of blessings he gave to the Gael — 'Tis pity they were not of more avail !" if:!*. 'lirl IV. Saint of the seas! who first explored The haunts of the hyperborean horde — Who spread God's name, and rear'd his cross From Westra wild to the cliffs of Ross — Whose sail was seen, whose voice was known By dwellers without the Vikings zone — Whose days were pass'd in the teacher's toil — Whose evening song still fiU'd the aisle — Whose poet-heart fed the wild bird's brood — Whoso fervent arm upbore the rood — Whose sacred song is scarce less sublime Than the visions that typified all time — Still, from thy roofless rock so gray, Thou preachest to all who pass that way. V. I hear thy voice, O holy Saint ! Of to-day, and its men make dire complaint; Thou speakest to us of that spell of power, Thy rocky lona's royal dower — Of the light of love and love of light Which made it shine out like a star in the night; Thou pointest my eyes to the deep, deep waves — Thou callest my ken to the mute, mute graves — Thou wooeth young Life, and her lover, Faith, As victors to enter the Castle of Death, And to leave their beacons of being to warn The weak and wild and the far unborn Off perilous straits and fair-false shoals, Where myriads have lost their adventured souls. HISTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 221 VI. Saint of the seas ! when the winds are out — When, hke dogs at fault, they quest about — When I wake on ocean's rocky brink, While the billows pause and seem to think, My soul from its earthly mooring slips And ghdes away through the midnight ships — And all unheeding the face of Fear That darkles down on the marineer, It rushes through wind, and space, and spray, And through the birds that embank the bay, And over the holly and belladonna, To chant its lauds in thy holy lona ! ION A TO ERIN!^ WHAT ST. COLUHBA SAID TO THE BIRD FLOWN OVER FROM IRELAND TO lONA.'' I. Clino to my breast, my Irish bird, Poor storm-toss'd stranger, sore afraid I How sadly is thy beauty blurr'd — The wing whoso hue was as the curd. Bough as the sea-gull's pinion made I ji. Lay close thy head, my Irish bird, Upon this bosom, human still ! Nor fear the heart that still has stirr'd To every tale of pity heard From every shape of earthly ill. * This beautiful poem acquires additional interest from the fact that it wa« one of the last the author wrote, having appeared in print only a few days before his death. > r M>. t 222 nisTOJiiCAL and legendary poems. III. For you and I are exiles both — Rest you, wanderer, rest you here I Soon fair winds shall waft you forth Back to our own beloved North — Would God I could go with you, dear I IV. Were I as you, then would they say, Hermits and all in choir who join — *' Behold two doves upon their way, The pilgrims of the air are they — Birds from the Lififey or the Boyne I" i ¥lv':^ :!■■■. ■;! V. But you will see what I am bann'd No more, for my youth's sins, to see, My Derry's oaks in council stand By Roseapenna's silver strand — Or by Raphoe your course may be. VI. The shrines of Meath are fair and far — White-wing'd one, not too far for thee — Emania, shining like a star, (Bright brooch on Erin's breast you are !) * That I am never more to see. vn. You'll see the homes of holy men. Far west upon the shoreless main — In shelter'd vale, on cloudy ben,'" Where saints still pray, and scribes still pen The sacrod page, despising gain I HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 223 VIII. Al)ovo the crofts of virgin saints, There pauwe, my dove, and rest thy wing, But tell them not our sad complaints, For if they dreamt our spirit faints. There would be fruitless sorrowing. IX. Perch, as you pass, amid their trees. At noon or eve, my travell'd dove, And blend with voices of their bees. In croft, or school, or on their knees — They'll bind you with their hymns of love I X. Be thou to them, O dove ! where'er The men or women saints are found, My hyssop flying through the air ; My seven-fold benedictions bear To them, and all on Irish ground. XI. Thou wilt return, my Irish bird — I, Columb, do foretell it thee ; Would thou could'st speak as thou hast heard To all I love — happy bird ! At home in Erie soon to be ! C A THAI'S FAREWELL TO THE RYE.^ I. Seining sickle ! lie thou there ; Another harvest needs my hand, Another sickle I must bear Back to the fields of my own land. Farewell, sickle ! welcome, sword I if 224 HISTOmCAL AND LEGEND ART POEMS m A crop waves red on Connaught's plain, Of bearded men and banners gay, But we will beat them down like rain. And sweep them Uke the storm away. Farewell, sickle I welcome, sword ! in. Peaceful sickle ! lie thou there. Deep buried in the vanquish'd rye; May this that in thy stead I bear Above as thick a reaping lie ! Farewell, sickle ! welcome, sword ! IV. Welcome, sword ! out from your sheath, And look upon the glowing sun ; Sharp-shearer of the field of death, Your time of ruat and rest is gone. "Welcome, welcome, trusty sword I V. Welcome, sword I no more repose For Cathal Crov-drerg or for thee, Until we walk o'er Erin's foes. Or they walk over you and me. My lightning, banner-cleaving sword I VI. Welcome, sword I thou magic wand, Which raises kings and casts them down ; Thou sceptre to the fearless hand. Thou fetter-key for Hmbs long bound — Welcome, wonder-working sword I |:| HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, 225 I :■'■■ '^ vn. Welcome, sword ! no more with love Will Cathal look on land or main, Till with thine aid, my sword ! I prove What race shall reap and king shall reign. Farewell, sickle ! welcome, sword ! vni. Shining sickle I lie thou there ; Another harvest needs my hand, Another sickle I must bear Back to the fields of my own land. Farewell, sickle ! welcome, sword I A ' ■';( THE DEATH OF DON NELL MORE.*^ A FRAGMENT. V. On thev came to Thurles — better For their wives, if such men wed. They had never left their mud-walls — On that wild adventure led By Donnell More and the Sil-Murray- Seventeen hundred of them bled 1 ▼1. On the plain of Thurles rises High a memorable pile, Rear'd to God by the great victor, Visible for many a mile: Well may his majestic spirit Walk, in pride, its lofty aisle. I; 1-^- I-; •':; • li : li p i 226 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. vn. Piety becomes the valiant, As the garland does the bride — All the saints lean down with favor To the man that hath been tried ; In the battle, their protection Is as armor to his side. VIII. "Who avenged the saints like Donnell, "When Prince John drove down his stake On Ard-Finian, and in Tipraid, Sacred for Saint Factna's sake ? "Who but he drove back the braggart, And his stone entrenchments brake ? Still they came — as their own armor, Brazen and unbroken — back; And the clans of Munster wither'd In the havoc and the sack — Came, but fled like thieving foxes. With the dun-dogs on their track ! X. On Kilfeakle and Knockgraflfon Waves no more their lawless flag — Limerick owns no Saxon warder. None tops Saint Finian's crag ; Let them tell their tales of conquest, So the baffled always brag. xz. In his pride, the blue-stream'd Shannon, Roll'd between unfetter'd banks. 1 HISTORICAL AND LEQENDARY POEMS. With meek joy, the gentle Suir, Maiden-like, but murmur'd thanks — And the gray hills smiled upon him, Riding in his conquering ranks. XII. But there came a time, and Donnell With his kingly fathers slept ; Other chieftains rose in Thomond, None that such strict guardship kept — Other warriors rose, but never One like him for whom she wept. XIII. 'Twas not that his blood was Brian's, 'Twas not that his heart was gi'eat, 'Twas not that he took from no man, But gave worthy of his state — He was born the land's defender. The fond foster-son of Fate ! XIV. He was served, not for his bounty, Nor his favor, nor his name — Not that Fame still bore his banner. And success was page to Fame — But he was through all heroic, Hence his far-spread following came ! XV. When the Saxons came hke snow-flakes. Covering Banba's sacred strand, He arose — the nation's chieftain. Warfare-wise, and strong of hand — And his name became a spell-word O'er their God-defying band ! Hi * 1(1 i|c « 227 J ji !* ■: ! Ii:'''^ 228 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. !li W^ THE CAOINE OF DON NELL MORE.*» 1. He is dead, and to the earth We bear our shield and sparthe, Thomond's prince and Ireland's promise, In God's anger taken from us ; And the bells he gave are pealing. And the hosts he led are kneeling, And the mourning priesthood falters At his marble-builded altars — Chant slower, sisters, slower, 'Tis the Caoine for Donnell More I II. Thomond's grief will not be hurried, Eoyal deeds cannot be buried. Men cannot cast a dungeon O'er the stars, and he's among th*m, — • He, of his the liberal spender, "" Of ours the stern defender — The pillar of our power, Snapp'd in our trial's hour — Chant slower, sisters, slower, 'Tis the Caoine of Donnell More I III. Baise your voices, keener, shriller, Till they reach the upland tiller, And the seaward farthest man on The blue-stream'd, splendid Shannon, And the eagle, from the quarry, Shall fly back to his high eyrie. H BISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. And the deer on Slieve an Iron Flee as when the dogs environ, And the eremitic heron Shall fly o'er fen and fern — Walk slower, sisters, slower, 'Tis the corpse of Donnell More ! IV. To the bards of Erin he was As to the harp the Geis ;** As o'er yon town the spire, So he stood o'er others higher ; As the fearless ocean ranger, Langh'd he in the hour of danger ; As the rover on the land, "Was he free of mind and hand — Walk slower, sisters, slower, 'Tis the corpse of Donnell More I V. When th^ Galls fell thick as hail On the roof-trees of the Gael, % ;|c H( ^ ^ 'I' 229 .-J ST. CORMAC, THE NAVIGATOR.** A LEGEND OF TUB ISLAND OF LEWIS. FIRST ISLANDER. " Look out ! look out ! on the waves so dark, And tell me dost thou see a bark Riding the tempest through ? It bears a cross on its slender spar, And a lamp that glances like a star. And three men make the crew I" ' i ¥ > h n iliAi'i 230 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND ABY POEMS. SECOND ISLANDER. • " I see a bark fur off at sea, With cross and lamp and crew of three, But sooth it labors sore ; I see it rise, I see it fall. Now the fmsfr- ocean swallows all, And I oee tlic bark no more. FIRST ISLANDER. " 'Tis he ! 'tis he ! I know his sail — " 'Tis the holv .. f Uie distant Gael, True to his pl'^^n. "" vord — * Be't storm or calm, oi fu.il or fair,' He said, 'I will '><^ surely On the birthday oi our L^i ■ / " He is the saint whose hymn soars loud O'er shifting sail and crackling shroud. Who resteth on his oar In the summer midnight's silent hour, May haply hear that voice of power O'er Coryvrekan's roar. " He knoweth how to steer aright. By the yard, and plough, and northern light, Through the battling Shetland Seas — Knoweth of every port the sign From Westra to Saint Columb's shrine In the southern Hebrides. " A host will throng to cape and bay To meet him each appointed day, Be it festival or fast, And if his bark comes not in sight They deem they have not reckon'd right, Or that the day is past. I ' HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 231 " His psalm hath waken'd Osmunwall, And from the cavern of Fingall Hath shaken down the spar; The fishers on the midnight waves, And the otter-hunters from their caves Salute his cross and star." SECOND ISLANDER. " I see, I see through the night-fall dark Saint Cormac sitting in his bark. And now he draweth near ! Dear Father of the island men, Welcome to Wallis' Isle again, And to our Christmas cheer I" SAIXT C0LUMBANU8 IN ITALY TO SAINT COMGALL IN IRELAND*!^ I. Health to my friend and Father I far beyond Sliabh Colpa's snows ! My heart impels my pen — My heart, however far, of thee still fond — Thou first of Ireland's wise and holy men ! u. Know, holy Comgall, since you saw our sail Melt in the horizon of the Irish Sea, God hath vouchsafed new conquests to the Gael Through Gaul, and Allemain, and Italy — Conquests, my Father, unlike those of old Which our benighted chieftains undertook, When Dathi by the thunderbolt was fell'd, And Crimthan half the thrones Cis- Alpine shook. 232 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. III. On other fields we win far other fame, With other foes we wage our mortal fight — Our watchword now is Christ, our Saviour's name, Our forays far into the realms of night ; Like exhalations from a fen, the powers Of darkness to the conflict thick ascend, But the Eternal Charter still is ours— " Lo I I am with you always, to the end 1" luffs-:: It W ' '"' 1 r .! H . ii IV. In Burgundy, a she- wolf broke our fold — A wolf in wiliness and craft and wrath — A queen in infamy and beauty bold, Who raised a milhon barriers in our path ; But God on Brunchant did judgment dread — By her own pride her funeral pyre was rear'd, And on that pile I saw her haughty head Lopp'd by the axe, and by the lightning scarr'd. V. In bleak Helvetia, Gall and I essay'd, Not fruitlessly, the blessed cross to raise — And, though the powers of hell were all array'd Against us; we had courage, God have praise 1 Idols of wood and bronze we overthrew At Arbona, Tucconia, Brigantium — Where we found false gods we've left the true ; Now, Zurich, Constance, shrine their idols dumb. VI. My brother Gall, amid the Alps abides — I preach the Gospel through the Lombard plain- The harvest ripens round me on all sides. But few there are^ to gather in the grain. niSTOIilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 233 Send forth some laborers, as pure and keen As the steel'd sickle, to your scholar's aid — The time is not yet come when weaklings glean "Where Arius draws on Christ his rebel blade. ;(*^ VII. King Agilulph, the Ard-Righ of this land, God hath inspired him for my constant friend — He clears my path with his strong sceptred hand, And doth himself my daily steps attend ; And it has been my lot to intercede AVith Peter's Coarhh*^ for him happily — And now we all are one in word and deed From the far Alps to the Tyrhenian Sea. Tin. Comgall, farewell ! May all the angels guard Bauchor,* our mother, and her holy men, And our dear island, isle of God's regard ; Be all our blessings on you all ! Amen. i!' THE TESTAMENT OF ST. ARBOGAST. I. St. Arbogast, the bishop, lay On his bed of death in Strasburg Palace — And, just at the dawn of his dying day, Into his own hands took the chaHce ; And, praying devoutly, he received The blessed Host, and thus address'd His Chapter, who around him grieved, And, sobbing, heard his last request. * A famous monastery ia the province of Ulster, of which St. Comgall wat Abbot.— Eu. W i 234 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND ARY POEMS, II. Quoth he — " The sinful man you see Was born beyond the Western sea, In Ireland, whence, ordain'd, he came, In Alsace, to preach, in Jesus' name. There, in my cell at Hagueneau, Many unto the One I drew ; There fared King Dagobert one day, With all his forestrie array, Chasing out wolves and beasts unclean, As I did errors from God's domain ; The king approached our cell, and he Esteem'd our assiduity ; And, when the bless'd St. Amand died. He call'd us to his seat, and sighed. And charged us watch and ward to keep In Strasburg o'er our Master's sheep. i 1:1 III. ** Mitre of gold we never sought — Cope of silver to us was nought — Jewel'd crook and painted book We disregarded, but, perforce, took. Ah ! oft in Strasburg's cathedral We sighed for one rude cell so small. And often from the bishop's throne To the forest's depths we would have flown, But that one duty to Him who made us His shepherd in this see, forbade us. IV. •'And now — " St. Arbogast spoke slow, But his words were firm, though his voice was low- •' God doth require His servant hence. And our hope is His omnipotence. ill HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. But bury me not, dear brethren, with The pomp of torches or music, sith Such idle and unholy state Should ne'er on a Christian bishop wait ; Leave cope of silver and painted book, Mitre of gold, and jewel'd crook, Apart in the vestry's darkest nook ; But in Mount Michael bury me, Beneath the felon's penal tree — So Christ our Lord lay at Calvary. This do, as y.e my blessing prize, And God keep you pure and wise I" These were the words — they were the last — Of the blessed Bishop Arbogast.*'' 235 ir THE CO MI NO OF THE DANES *^ The nighv, is holy — 'tis blessed Saint Bride's — *" The hour may be almost one : Lord Murrough late on the rath-top bides, Gazing the new moon on. The moon, he had dreamt, that night would throw O'er his lands a sign of warning or woe. II. The night is holy — the visible sea Spreads like a dinted silver plain. And Lord Murrough's oaks look shadowingly Across the vista meeting again. The watch-dog sleeps, and though prayers are said, 'Tis not the nightingale chants o'er the dead. W'' i' v 236 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. in. The watch-dog sleeps — enough are awake ; Chapel and cloister are wakeful all — Long after the final prayer they make, Lord Murrough walks still on the shining wall, Gazing the pale mute moon in the face — By his feet lies his well-worn battle mace. IV. His battle mace ! What does it there ? Why are his greaves and armlets on ? Has he thrown his guage to the fiends of air That his visor is barr'd in the moonlight wan ? He awaiteth the sign he is to see — If for war, he will hie forth instantly. V. The night is wearing of blessed Saint Bride, The hour may be nigh to three, Lord Murrough casts his glance aside From the moon out to the sea. What sable shade from the zenith fell ? Lord Murrough shuddered, yet could not tell. "VI. He look'd aloft — a wing — a bill — Another — two ravens grim O'erspread the moon, wrapt castle and hill, And the sea to the horizon's rim. The birds of Odin in the spirit-sphere Ne'er shed from their wings such darksome fear. VII. Lord Murrough mutter'd his longest prayer. With a few added words at the end ; mSTOEICAL AND LEOENDAliY POEMS. And he held by his mace in the lightloss air, With the grasp of a trusting friend ; And full an hour it might have been Til 1, sky, and sea were again serene. VIII. Then looking seaward the sad lord saw A fisherman drawing his net, And the sea was as bright as a summer shaw, Though the shore was like rocks of jet — And the sea-bird croak'd, and the coming oar Sent its dreary echoes to haunt the shore. IX. Lor'' 'urrough knew that the days of rest T Is native land were fled — And he pray'd to God and St. Bride the blest To arm her — heart and head ; Then he tenderly kiss'd, and lay down by his mace- And he died — the last free lord of his race ! 237 TUB DEATH OF KING MAGNUS BAREFOOT.'^ I. On the eve of Saint Bartholomew in Ulfrek's-fiord we lay (Thus the importuned Scald began his tale of woe), And faintly round our fleet fell the August evening gray, And the sad sunset winds began to blow. II. I stood beside our monarch then — deep care was on bis brow — "I hoar no horn," he sighed, " from the shore : m B"v ?38 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Why tarry still my errand-men ? — 'tis time they were here now, And that for some less guarded land we bore." 1 1 III. Into the valley 'd West these errand-men had gone — To Muirkeartach, the ally of our king (Whose daughter late was wed to Earl Sigurd, his son). The gift-herd from Connacia to briug. • IV. 'Twas midnight in the firmament, ten thousand stars were there. And from the darksome sea look'd up other ten — I lay beside our monarch, he was sleepless, and the care On his brow had grown gloomier then. V. When morning dawning gray in lightsome circles spread. From his couch rose the king slowly up, " Elldiarn, what ! thou awake ! I must landward go," be said, " And with thee or with the saints I shall sup." VI. Then when the red sun rose, in his galley through the fleet Our noble Magnus went; and the earls all awoke. And each prepared for land — the late errand-men to meet. Or to free them from the Irish yoke. VII. It was a noble army ascending the green hills As ever kingly master led ; The memory of their marching my mournful bosom thrills, And I still hear the echo of their tread. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 239 Ere two hours had pass'd away, as I waiider'd on the strand, Battle-cries from afar reach'd my ear ; I climb'd the seaward mountain and look'd upon the hind, And, in sooth, I saw a sight of fear. IX. As winter rocks all jagged with the leafless arms of pines, Stood the Irish host of spears on their path — As the winter streams down dash through the terrible ravines, So our men pour'd along, white with wrath. X. The arrow flights, at intervals, were thicker o'er the field Than the sea-birds o'er Jura's rocks, "While the ravens'^' in the darkness were lost — shield on shield "Within it clash'd in thunderous shocks. 'il XI. At last one hoarse " Farrah !" broke from the battle-cloud Like the roar of a billow in a cave, And the darkness was uplifted hke a plague-city's shroud- And there lifeless lay our monarch brave. xn. And dead beside the king lay Earl Erling's son, And Erving and "Dlf, the free ; And loud the Irish cried to see what they had done, But they could not cry as loud as we. XIII. Oh, Norway ! oh, Norway ! when wilt thou behold A king like thy last in worth. ■It 240 mSTOJilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Whose heart fear'd not the world, whose hand was ful] of gold For the numberless Scalds of the North. xrv. 'Eil A.h ! well do I remember how he swept the Western seas Like the wind in its wintry mood — How he reared young Sigurd's throne upon the Orcados, And the isles of the South subdued. XV. In his galley o'er Cantire, how we bore him from the main- How Mona in a week he won, By him, how Chester's earl in Anglesea was slain — Oh, Norway ! that his course is run I THE SAGA OF KING OLAF, OF NORWAY, AND HIS DOG.^i I. ■ [Of the early reigu pf Olaf, surnamed Tryggvesson.] King Olat, Harold Haarfager's heir, at last hath reach'd the throne, Though his mother bore him in the wilds by a mountain lake- let lone; Through many a land and danger to his right the king hath pass'd. Outliving still the low'ring storms, as pines outHve the blast; Yet now, when Peace smiled on his throne, he cast his thoughts afar. And sail'd from out the Baltic Sea in search of Western war. His galley was that " Sea-Serpent" renown'd in sagas okl, His banner bore two ravens grim, his green mail gleam'd with gold — The king's ship and the king himself were glorious to behold. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 241 II. [The success of King Olaf s cruise to the West] O'er the broad sea the Serpent leaves a train of foam behind, The pillaged people of the isles the darker record find; For the godly royal pirate, whene'er he took a town. Sent all its souls to Odin's court, its treasures to his own. His Scalds of prophet ear, oft heard — it lives still in their lays- All the voices of Valhalla in chorus sing his praise ; But Tryggvesson was a fighting king, who loved his wolf- dog more. His stalwart ship and faithful crew and shining golden store, Than all the rhyming chroniclers gray Iceland ever bore. III. [How King Olaf made a descent on Antrim, and carried ofif the herds thereof.] Where Antrim's rock-begirdled shore withstands the north- ern deep, O'er Eed Bay's broad and buoyant breast, cold, dark breezes creep — The moon is hidden in her height, the night winds ye may see Flitting like ocean owlets from the cavern'd shore set free — The full tide slumbers by the cliffs a-weary of its toil. The goat-herds and their flocks repose upon the upland soil — The Sea-King slowly walks the shore, unto his instincts true "While up and down the valley'd land climbeth his corsair crew. Noiseless as morning mist ascends, or falls the evening dew. IV. [The king is addressed by a clown having a marvellous cunning dog in hia company.] Xow looking to land and now to sea, the king walk'd on his way. Until the faint face of the morn gleam'd on the darksome bay; Ill c* ! ? I I'll It ia I»; m-: 242 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. A noble herd of captured Line rank round its ebb-dried beach — The galleys fast receive them in, when, lo! with eager speech, A clown conies headlong from the hills, begging his oxen three, And two white-footed heifers, from the Monarch of the Sea. The hurried prayer the king allowed as soon as it he heard. The wolf-dog of the peasant, obedient to his word. Counts out and drives apart the five from the many-headed herd. V. [King Olaf ofiercth to purchase the peasant's dog, who bestows it on him with a condition.] " By Odin, king of men !" marvelling, the monarch spoke, "I'll give thee, peasant, for thy dog, ten steers of l)etter yoke L. Than thine own five." The hearty peasant said : "King of the ships! the dog is thine; yet, if I must be paid, Vow, by your raven banner, never again to sack Our valleys in the houis of night — we dread no day attack." More wonder'd the fierce pagan still to hear a clown so say, And mused he for a moment, as was his kingly way, If that he should not carry both the man and dog away VI. King Olaf taketli the vow, and soiletli with the dog away.] The Sea-King to the clown made vow, and on his finger placed An olden ring the sceptre-hand of his great sire had graced, And round his neck a chain he flung of gold pure from the mine, Which, ere another moon, was laid upon St. Columb's shrine; Then with his dog he left the shore — his sails swell to the blast ; Poor "Vig" hath howl'd a mournful cry to the bright shores as they pass'd. HISTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 243 j -V ■■ v Now brighter beam'd the sunrise, and wider spread the tide ; Away, awaj' to the Scottish shore the Danish galleys hied — There, revelling with their kindred, three days they did abide. VII. [Of the Sea-King's manner of life ] King Olaf was a rover true — his home was in his bark, The blue sea was his royal bath, stars gennn'd his curtains dark ; The red sun woke him in the morn, and sail'd he e'er so far, The uutired courier of his way was the ancient Polar star. It seem'd as though the very winds, the clouds, the tides, and waves, Like the sea-side smiths and Vikings, were his lieges and his slaves; His premier was a pilot old, of bronzed cheek and falcon eye, A man, albeit, who Avell loved life, yet fear'd he not to die, "Who little knew of crowns or courts, and less to crouch or lie VIII. [The treason of the Jomsburg Vikings calleth home the king.] Strange news have come from Norway — the Vikings have rebell'd; Homeward, homeward fast as fate, his galley's sails are swell'd, — Off Heligoland, Jarl Thover, and Rand the Witch they meet, Bat a mystic wind bears the evil one, unharm'd, far from the fleet. J:ul Thover to the lard retreats — the fierce king follows on, Slaying the traitors' compeers, who far from them doth run. After him flung King Olaf his never-missing spear, But Thover (he was named Hiort," and swifter than the deer) In the distance took it up, and answer'd with a jeer. (pi 244 HISTOJilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. IX. [Thover Hiort treacherously kiileth the king's dog ] The wolf-dog then the monarch loosed — the traitor trembled sore ; Vig holds him on the forest's verge — the king speeds from the shore. Trembled yet more the caitiflf to think what he should do — He drew his glaive, and with a blow pierced his captor through. And when the king came to the place, his noble dog lay dead. His red mouth foaming white, and his white breast crimson red. " God's curse upon you, Thover !" — 'twas from the heart, I ween, Of the grieved king this ban burst out beside the forest green. The traitor vanish'd into the woods, and never again was seen. [How King Olaf and his dog were buried nigh unto one another by the sea.) Tw) cairns rise by Drontheim-fiord, with two gray stones hard by, Sculptured with Runic characters, plain to the lore-read eye, A/id there the king, and here his dog, from all their toils repose. And o'er their cairns the salt-sea wind, night and day, it blows; And close to these they point you the ribs of a galleys wreck, With a fork'd tongue in the curling crest, and half of a scaly neck \ HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 245 And some late-sailing Scalds have told, that along the shore- side gray, They have often heard a kingly voice and a huge hound's echoing bay — And some have seen the traitor to the pine woods running away. KING MALACHY AND THE POET M'COISI.i* I. King Malachy, shorn of crown and renown, With nothing left but his mensal board. Hung in the troopless hall his sword, Cared his own horse in the stable. And daily sank deeper in joys of the table ; For Brian the King by force and art, By might of brain and hope of heart, Conquer'd the sceptre and won the crown. Leaving to Malachy little renown. n. In Tara's hall was room to spare. For few were the chiefs and courtiers there ; Of all who stood well in the monarch's graces, But three retain'd their ancient places, And two of the three had follow'd Brian, Had the conqueror thought them worth his buyin*, The third, the Poet M'Coisi, alone Stood true to the empty, discrowu'd thi'one. m. And many a tale the poet told Of Tara's splendor in days of old — 24G HISTOItlCAL AND LEOENDAItY POEMS. Of Erin's wonderful builders three, Of Troylane, the builder of Rath-na-ree, And Unadh, who built the banquet-hall, And the Gobhan Saer, the master of all ; Of the Miller of Nith, and the Miller of Fore, And many a hundred marvels more ; Of the Well of Galloon that, like sudden sorrow, Turns tlie»hair to gray to-morrow ; Of the Well of Slieve-bloom, which, who profanes On the land around, draws down plagues and rains ; Of the human wolves that howl and prey Tlirough Ossory's Woods from dark till day ; Of speaking babes and potent boys. And the wonderful man of Clonmacnoise, Who lived seven years without a head, And the edifying life he led ; Of ships and armies seen in the air, And the wonders wrought by St. Patrick's prayer. Ill Hii ■ i^ i^ m 41 iK KING BRIAN'S AMBITIONfi^ I. King Brian by the Shannon shore Stood musing on his power. For now it had the torrent's roar, Swoll'n by the wint'ry shower — But when the cold grave held him fast, W' here would it be, or would it last ? II. By him 'twas gather'd slowly as The Shannon gathers strength, HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. And now the force and freight it has The depth, the spread, the length, — The very greatness so long sought Dark shadows from the future caught ; m. The cold distrust of meaner souls, The hatred of the vile, That pride which nothing long controls — Worst evil of our isle — All these like rocky barriers lay In the Clan-Dalgais' onward way. IV. " Care crowns a monarch with his crown, And he who cannot bear it Had better lay the burden down Nor vainly seek to share it ; Wealth, honor, justice he may shai'e, But all his own is kingly care." V. So spoke the heart within the breast Of that brave king whose story Burns redly in the Gaelic West, Its setting sun of glory. When night his house of darkness bars, There riseth after him but stars. VI. Dark shadows on the Shannon fell, The day was spent and gone, Long in the unfrequented dell The monarch mused alone — Well may you deem what was the prayer The royal patriarch offer'd there. 247 248 mSTOmCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. KINO BRIAN'S LAMENT FOR HIS BROTHER MAII0N.9 A FRAGMENT. I. Ah I what is the news I hear, My brother dear! my brother dear I • But yesterday we sent you forth In hope and health, in joy and mirth, But yesterday — and yet to-day We lay you in your house of clay 1 u. O Mahon, of the curling locks, With teeth like foam on ocean rocks, With heart that breasted battle's wave. Are mine the hands to make your grave — These hands that first you taught to hold KING BRIAN'S ANSWER. I. " Go not forth to the battle," they said, " But abide with your councillors sage ; A helmet would weigh down the head That already is weigh'd down with age. There are warriors many a one In their prime, all impatient to go ; Let the host be led on by your son, He will bring you the spoils of the foe." * Treacherously slain by a Munster chieftain named O'Donovan. Ir^'-; ISli HISTORICAL AND LEOKNDARY POEMS. 249 II. But the jij^eel king rose in his place, And his eye had the fire of long-past years, And his hand grasp'd the keen-pointed mace, And silence came over his peers. " 'Tis true I am old," — and he smiled — " And the grave lies not far on my road. But in arms I was nursed as a child, And in arms I >vill go to my God I ni. " For this is no battle for spoil, No struggle with rivals for power ; The gentile is camp'd on our soil, "Where he must not exult for an hour. 'Tis true I am old," — and he smiled — *' And the grave lies not far on my road, But in arms I was nursed as a child, And in arms I will go to my God." TRE BATTLE OF CLONTARF. Good Fbidat, 1014. As the world's Redeemer hung On a tree this day to save, In His love, each tribe and tongue From the thraldom of the grave, We vow — attest, ye heavens ! — by His gore To snap the damning chain Of this Christ-blaspheming Dane "Who defiles each holy fane We adore. <■■:, 260 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, n. But — death to Erin's pride — Amid Sitric's host behold Malmordha's squadron ride, Who betray, for Danish gold, Their country, virtue, fame, and their souls. " False traitors, by the rood, Ye shall weep such waves of blood As in winter's spring-tide flood Ocean rolls !'* ni. Thus spoke our wrathful king As he drew Kincora's sword. And abroad he bade them fling The emblazonry adored, The mystic sun arising on the gale ; And a roar of joy arose As they bent a wood of bows On thy godless robber foes, Innisfail I IV. The fierce Vikinger now On the dreadful Odin call, And the gods of battle bow From Valhalla's cloudy hall. And bend them o'er the dim "feast of shells," But, like drops of tempest-rain, The innumerable slain Of the traitor and the Dane Strew the dells. V. Clontarf ! a sea of blood Rushes purple from thy shore, ■ mSTOniCAL AND LEO END ART POEMS. And tho billow's rising flood Is repell'd by waves of gore, That fling a sanguine blush o'er the tide, — "NVe have drawn tho sacred sword Of green Erie and the Lord, And have crush'd the Sea-King's horde In their prido. VI. Rise ! Ruler of the North I Terrific Odin, rise I Let thy stormy laughter forth Burst in thunder from the skies. Prepare for heroes slain, harp and shell 1 For we crowd thy feast to-night With tho flow'er of Ocean's might, Who, in Freedom's burning sight, Blasted, fell! VII. There lie the trampled Dane, And the traitor prince's band, AVho could brook a foreign chain On the green Milesian land, mortal beauty reigns evermore ; the surf is bloody red A\ re the proud barbarian bled, Or with terror winged fled From our shore. 251 \T*i VIII. Such ever the doom Of the t} at and the slave — Be their da. ^c unhonor'd tomb 'Neath the falchions of the brave, 262 uisTomcAL and legendary poems. "Who, fired v^ith Freedom's soul, clasp the brand- O goddess thrice divine I Be our isle again thy shrine. And renew the soul of Bri'n Through the land I li THE SINFUL SCHOLAR. " Father Abbot !" the pale friar said, " Awake ! arise ! our scholar's dead !" "Dead! and so soon?" — **Ay! even now His heart hath ceased." — " Yet tell me how ?" " Thus 'twas : As Clarence, Hugh, and I Watch'd by his pallet prayerfully. The gray dawn broke ; up from the bed Suddenly rose that mighty head — * Oh ! bring me forth into the light,* He cried — * I would have one last sight Of the fair morning as it breaks Upon the antlers of the Keeks!'* "VVe bore him forth. Clarence and Hugh Turn'd and wept. He drank the view Into his very soul, and sigh'd As if content. I bv his side Then heard him breathe, in accents faint, Some name — perchance his patron saint ; He clasp'd my hand — I felt it quiver, And the swift soul was fled forever ! Think me not crazed if now I tell What instant on his death befel : Beside the bed, become a bier. We, kneeling, heard a rustling near — * Celebrated mountaiua in Kerry. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 253 Then dropp'd, like blossoms from a tree, Three doves, as lilies fair to see — Think me not void of mind or sense — Three lighted there, but/our flew hence — Four doves, if ever I said a prayer, Soar'd skyvv'ard through the lucid air — Clarence and Hugh, as well as I, That they were four, can testify 1" )|t 9|c mt )|( in in Close by Killarney's gentle wave They made the scholar's simple grave— The blue lake, like a lady, grieves Saddest in the long autumn eves — The stern hills, like a warrior host, Look down upon their lovsd and lost — The genius of the place he sleeps Beneath the heights, above the deeps — Who fed on sunshine, drank the dew, Who mortal weakness never knew. # lt( ♦ H( 4: * No stone spoke o'er him — rose alone A wooden cross — long, long since gone — But far and near, through many an age, He lived in chronicles a sage — One of the marvels of his race, Whose lightest word 'twere joy to trace ; And so the unreal shape became The heritor of all his fame — And the true story slept as deep As this world's memory can sleep. Of gentle blood and generous birth, Neither a lord nor clod of earth, 254 HISTOBICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Of careful sire and mother holy, Our scholar \^as. This, and this solely He ever told. No more was known. Even when his fame afar had flown On the four winds. His after course Obscured the interest of his source. One, only one, in secret cell, The whole of that strange life could tell — All that the scholar had reveal'd Could tell, but that his lips were seal'd By solemn vows, which never yet Did the worst-fallen priest foi'get ; Yet, by the edict of the dead. Some passages were register'd Amid the abbey's psalter, where. In Gaelic letters round and fair. An after age's curious eye Alighting, clear'd the mystery. Hear, then, the tale, not idly told — A story new as well as old — A song of suffering and of fame, Of false and true, of pride and shame. ******** Here ends the author's MS. and Part I. in the first rough draft. Tlic plan of this noble poem he had mapped ont as follows: "Part II. — Glfii-Manna ; the eve of victory ; the morning after the battle ; Brian's apparition in the tent of Maelsuthain ; advises him to retire from the world ; the scholar departs from the camp of the victorious king in search of Penance and Peace. " Part III — His life at Irrelagh ; his literary work ; liis schoi-l and scholars : the three Donalds; the strange lady; the three Donalds wanted; they depart, beg liis blessing, and leave to visit the Land of our I{cdemi)tion. " Part W. — Apparition of the three doves ; their message and warning ; Macl- suthain's resolution, repentance, and death." IIiul the author lived to complete it, the " Sinful Scholar " would have been one of the finest poems in Irish literature.— Ed. HISTORICAL AKD LEGENDARY POEMS. 255 THE LANDING OF THE NORMANS. I. " Alas ! for this day, The accursed of all years ! In Banna's broad bay The invader appears ; The pennant of Cardigan Threatens the land, And the sword of Fitzstephen Burns red in his hand. Sleep no more I sleep no more ! Up, Lagenians, from sleep ! While you dream on the shore They march o'er the deep ! n Wake, Cyrari and Ostman ! Wake, Cahirians ! and gather Your strength on the plain. Arm, brother ! arm, father ! For our homes, for our lives, For the fair fields of Carmen, For the love of our wives, Down, down on the Norman ! Sleep no more ! sleep no more ! etc. HI. Now, when Cardigan's chief And his penniless peers Look doubtfullv forth From their rampart of spears, m 256 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. In the very first hour, Ere a camp they inclose, Go, shatter the power Of our insolent foes ! Sleep no more ! sleep no more ! etc. EFITIIALA3IIUM. THE BRIDAL OF EVA M'MURROGH. 4 X. " Go forth into the fields, Bid the flow'rs to our feasts. With the broad leaves which, as shields, Guard the noon-heat from their breasts ; Bid the nobly-born rose, And the lily of the valley. And the primrose of the sheep-walk, And the violet from the valley — Whei'e the order'd trees in ranks Rise up from the river's banks, Bid them all — one and all — To our garland-hidden hall — To the wedding of the worthy, to the bridal of the races- Bid the humble and the noble, the virtu( ' and the graces. n. " Go forth unto the shrines, Lift up your voices there ; Lay your off 'rings, more than mines. And the prince of off 'rings, prayer ; BiBg our Lady of the Isle, Where King Dermid's tithes are tidal, HISTORICAL AND LEOENDAliY POEMS, 257 c. From her holy height to smile On this rare and noble bridal. From St. Brendan's to St. Bees', All along the Irish seas, Shore of shrines, pray a prayer For the vaHant and fair, For tlie wedding of the worthy, the bridal of the races 1 m. " Seek out the sons of song ; Let them know who hath been wed, That, amid the festive throng, Their seats are at the head ; Bid them come with harp and lay. And mellow mighty horn, To charm the night away And to 'gratulate the morn. For the Lady Eva's sake. Royal largess they must take. At the wedding of the worthy, the bridal of the races I Lces— races. IV. " They are come ! they are here ! The music and the flowers, The blessings far and near. Have a sound of summer showers ; Here Beauty's conscious eyes Flash with emulous desire ; Ah ! how many a gallant dies In this mortal arrowy fire ! What lessons by this light IMay young lovers read to-night, In the wedding of the worthy, the bridal of the races I ra 258 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND ARY POEMS. m\ LE COUBCY'S PILGRIMAGE M " I'm weary of your elegies, your keenings and complaints, We've he^rd no strain this blessed night but histories of saints ; Sing us some deed of daring — of the living or the dead !" So Earl Gerald, in Maynooth, to the Bard Neelan said. Answer'd the Bard Neelan — " Oh, Earl, I will obey ; And I will show you that you have no cause for what you say; A warrior may be valiant, and love holiness also. As did the Norman Courcy, in this country long ago." ■■A i Few men could match De Courcy on saddle or on sward, The ponderous mace he valued more than any Spanish sword ; On many a field of slaughter scores of men lay smash'J an 1 stark. And the victors, as they saw them, said — " Lo ! John De Courcy's mark !" De Lacy was his deadly foe, through envy of his fame ; He laid foul ambush for his life, and stigmatized his name ; But the gallant John De Courcy kept still his mace at hand, And rode, unfearing feint or force, across his rival's land. He'd made a vow, for some past sins, a pilgrimage to joay At Patrick's tomb, and there to bide a fortnight and a day ; And now amid the cloisters the disarmed giant walks, And with the brown beads in his hand, from cross to cross he stalks. HISTOIilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 259 News came to Hugo Lacy of the penance of the knight, And he rose and sent his murderers from Durrogh forth by night ; A score of mighty Meathian men, proof guarded for the strife, And he has sworn them, man by man, to take De Courcy's hfe. 'Twas twihght in Downpatrick town, the pilgrim in the porch Sat, faint with fasting and with prayer, before the darken'd church — When suddenly he heard a sound upon the stony street — A sound, familiar to his ears, of battle-horses' feet. He stepp'd forth to a hillock, where an oaken cross it stood. And looking forth, he lean'd upon the monumental wood. "'Tis he! 'tis he!" the foremost cried : " 'tis well you came to shrive. For another sun, De Courcy, you shall never see alive !" Then roused the soften'd heart within the pilgrim's sober weeds — He thought upon his high renown, and all his knightly deeds; He felt the spirit swell within his undefended breast. And his courage rose the faster that his sins had been con- fess'd. " I am no dog to perish thus! no deer to couch at bay 1 Assassins ! ware* the life you seek, and stand not in my way !" He pluck'd the tall cross from its root, and waving it around. He dash'd the master-murderer stark — lifeless to the ground. As row on row they press'd within the deadly ring he made. Twelve of the score in their own gore within his reach he laid ; * " Then ware a rising tempest on the main." — Dryden. 41111 ■^^ HISTORICAL AND LEOENDAliY POEMS. The rest in panic terror ran to horse and fled away, And left the Knight Do Courcy at the bloody cross to pray. mim " And now," quoth Neelau to the Earl, *' I did your will obey; Have T juyk shown you had no cause for what I heard you say ? " Faith, Neelan," answer'd Gerald, " your holy man, Sir John, Did bear his cross right manfully, so much we have to own." THE PILOlilMAGE OF SIR ULOARO.» No supple ash in Cavan Wood Was fairer to the eye — Not clearer on Lough Oughter's flood Was pictured the blue sky, Than in the form and in the breast Of Ulgarg, God and grace had rest. In warlike camp, beneath the lead Of Breffni's potent flag — In festal hall or sportive shade. On stormy sea or crag, 'Fore Ulgarg, none of all his race Could win by worth the 'vantage-place. Si One hope he held from boyhood's dawn Till manhood's rounded prime — That he might live to look upon The fields of Palestine — That he his swimming eyes might set On Sion, Sinai, Olivet. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. In vain the fairest of the land, "Whore beauty ever reigns, Wove for his yonth love's rosy band To bind him to their plains ; In vain of glory sung his bards. His footsteps yearn'd to trace our Lord's. Free to command his after fate, He rose, and left behind Glory and beauty, place and state, For only sea and wind — For palmer's staff, and mourner's weed, And desert thirst, and feet that bleed. 261 What years he spent in Palestine It may not now be known, But all its hills and caves divine He knew them as his own — Christ's route he traversed everywhere, From the manger to the sepulchre. Bound home, at last — 'twas eventide, The sun was in the West, When calmly by the Jordan's side He sat him down to rest ; And looking toward the crimson sky, A patriot tear suffused his eye. He pray'd — he slept — the midnight moon Beheld him where he lay; The night winds seized his mutter'd breath. And flew with it away ; Morn rose sublime on Jordan's tide, Sir Ulgarg still lay by its side. 262 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Another moon, and night, and morn Pass'd on, but never more Arose that pahner, travel- worn — His pilgrimage was o'er. By a chance-passing Christian hand. His grave was made in Holy Land. THE PENITENCE OF DON DIEGO RIAS, A LEGEND OF LOUGH DERG."* 1. There was a knight of Spain — Diego Rias, Noble by four descents, vain, rich, and young, Much woe he wrought, or the tradition lie is. Which lived of old the Castilians among ; His horses bore the palm the kingdom over, His plume was tallest, costliest his sword, The proudest maidens wish'd him as a lover. The caballeros all revered his word. u. But ere his day's meridian came, his spirit Fell sick, grew palsied in his breast, and pined,- He fear'd Christ's kingdom he could ne'er inherit. The causes wherefore too well he divined ; Where'er he turns his sins are always near him. Conscience still holds her mirror to his eyes, Till those who long had envied came to fear him. To mock his clouded brow and wint'ry sighs. III. Alas I the sins of youth are as a chain Of iron, swiftly let down to the deep, lIJSTOniUAL AND LEGEND A KY POEMS. 263 How fur we feel not — till when, we'd raise 't again "\Vo pause amid the weary work and weep. Ah, it is sad a-down Life's stream to see So many aged toilers so distress'd, And near the source — a thousand forms of glee Fitting the shackle to Youth's glowing breast I IV. He sought Peace in the city where she dwells not, He wooed her amid woodlands all in vain, Ho searches through the valleys, but ho tells not The secret of his quest to priest or swain, Until, despairing evermore of pleasure, He leaves his land, and sails to lar Peru, There, stands uncharm'd in caverns of treasure, And weeps on mountains heavenly high and blue. V. Incessant in his ear rang this plain warning — " Diego, as thy soul, thy sorrow lives ;" He hears the untired voice, night, noon, and morning, Yet understanding not, unresting grieves. One eve, a purer vision seized him, then he Vow'd to Lough Derg, an humble pilgrimage — The virtues of that shrine were known to manv, And saving held even in that skeptic age. VI. With one sole follower, an Esquire trustful, He pass'd the southern cape which sailors fear. And eastward held, meanwhile his vain and lustful Past works more loathsome to his soul appear, Through the night-watches, at all hours o' day, He still was wakeful as the pilot, and I>^ . i . 7» I. Of l)ards and beadsmen far and near, hers was tho name of names — Tho lady fair of Oirally — the flower of Leinster dames, And she lias join'd the pilgrim host for tho eitio of Saint James. Ir Nvar- II. It was Calvagh, Lord of OfTfally, walk'd wretchedly apart, AVithin his moated garden, with sorrow at his heart, And now ho vow'd to heav'n, and now ho cursed his fate — Tiiiit he had not forbidden that far journey ere too late. III. " AVliy did I not remember " — 'twas thus ho wLsh'd in vain — "The many waves that roll between Momonia's clilTs and Spain ? Why (hd I not remember, how, fill'd witli bitter hate, To waylay Christian pilgrims the Moorish pirates wait?" IV. Ho thought of Lady Margaret, so fair, so fond, so pure, A captive in the galley of some Clirist-denying Moor ; IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-S) k^ A V 4^ A J % 1.0 I.I 1.25 'i la lllio 1.4 I 1.6 /l 7: 9. /A Photographic Sdences Corporation V <^ •^ ^ O O^ 23 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. 145S0 (716) 872-4S03 ■fe ^o '^ O^ 278 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. I'li. ,1 ■ \h\- I i He thought of all that might befal, until his sole intent Was to gallop to the southward and take the way she went. V. The noon was dark, the bitter blast went sighingly along, The sky hung low, and chill'd to death the warder's snatch of song ; The lymph flag round the flagstaff lay folded close and furl'd, And all was gloom and solitude upon the outer world. VI. A rush as of a javelin cast, the startled chieftain heard, A glance — upon the castle-wall a carrier-dove appear'd ! A moment, and the courier had flutter'd to his breast. And panting lay against his heart, low cooing and caress'd. VII. There lay a little billet beneath the stranger's wing — Bound deftly to bis body with a perfumed silken string — By night and day, o'er sea and shore, the carrier had flown, For of God's wavs so manifold each creature knows its own. VIII. He press'd the billet to his lips, he bless'd it on his knees— " To my dear lord and husband : From Compostella these— "NVe have arrived in health and peace, thank God and good Saint James " — And underneath the simple lines, the lady's name of names. IX. "Now blessings on thee, carrier-dove!" the joyful Calva' cried ; " In such a flight both heart and wing were surely sorely tried ; True image of thy mistress dear, in mercy's errand bold, Thy cage shall hang in her own bower, all barr'd with good red gold. mSTOIilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 279 at e went. long, 3 snatch idfuiTd, d. " And ever on thee, while thine eyes shall open to the sun, White-handed girls shall wait and tend — my own undaunted one f And when thou diest, no hand but hers shall lay thee in the grave ? Brave heart ! that bore her errand well across the stormy wave. ird, ir'd! st, 3aress'J. ring— ad flown, s its own. is knees- la these— and good If names. Iful Calva rely sorely bold, rith good RANDALL MCDONALD. A LEGEND OF ANTRIM. 8uo^vl^'G now kandall mdonald of lorn won the lands or antbim AND TIIEIIl LADY. The Lady of Antrim rose with tlie morn, And douii'd her grandest gear ; And hor heart beat fast, when a sounding horn Announced a suitor near ; Hers was a heart so full of pride, That love had little room. Good faith, I would not wish me such bride, For all her beautiful bloom. One suitor there came from the Scottish shore, Long, and lithe, and grim ; And a younger one from Dunluce hoar, And the lady inclined to him. •' But harken ye, nobles both," she said. As soon as they sat to dine — " The hand must prove its chieftainry That putteth a ring on mine. 280 UISTOiaCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, " But not in the lists with armed hands, . Must this devoir be done, Yet he who wins my broad, broad lands Their lady may count as won. Yo both were born upon the shore, — Were bred upon the sea. Now let me see you ply the oar, For the land you love — and me ! " The chief that first can reach the strand. May mount at morn and ride. And his long day's ride shall bound his land, And I will be his bride !" M'Quillau felt hope in every vein. As the bold, bright lady spoke — And M'Donald glanced over his rival again. And bow'd with a bargeman's stroke. 'Tis summer upon the Antrim shore — The shore of shores it is — Where the white old rocks deep caves arch o'er, Unfathom'd by man I wis — Where the basalt breast of our isle flings back The Scandinavian surge. To howl through its native Scaggerack, Chanting the Viking's dirge. *Tis summer — the long white lines of foam Boll lazily to the beach, And man and maid from every home Their eyes o'er the waters stretch. On Glenarm's lofty battlements Sitteth the lady fair. And the warm west wind blows softly Through the links of her golden hair. 'm ^v HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. The boats in the distant offing, Are marshall'd prow to prow; The boatmen cease their scoffing, And bond to the rowlocks now; Like glory-guided steeds they start — Away o'er the waves they bound ; Each rower can hear the beating heart Of his brother boatman sound. 281 ' )'■ Nearer ! nearer ! on they come — Row, M'Donald, row ! For Antrim's princely castle home, Its lands, and its lady, row 1 The chief thai first can grasp the strand May mount at morn and ride, And his long day's ride shall bound his land, And she shall be his bride 1 He saw his rival gain apace. He felt the spray in his wake — He thought of her who watch'd the race Most dear for her dowry sake I Then he drew his skein from out its sheath, And lopt off his left hand. And pale and fierce, as a chief in death, He hurl'd it to the strand ! " The chief that first can grasp the strand, May mount at morn and ride ;" Oh, fleet is the steed which the bloody hand Through Antrim's glens doth guide ! And legends tell that the proud ladye "Would fain have been unbann'd, For the chieftain who proved his chieftainry Lorded both wife and land. m X'l 110 882 - V-:-' i ft ■« p- *l ll I! it i| mSTOBICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, THE IRISH WIFE. EARL Desmond's apology.^ I WOULD not give my Irish wife For all the dames of the Saxon land — I would not give my Irish wife For the Queen of France's hand ; For she to me is dearer Than castles strong, or lands, or life — An outlaw — so I'm near her To love till death my Irish wife. Oh, what would be this home of mine — A ruin'd, hermit-haunted place, But for the light that nightly shines Upon its walls from Kathleen's face ? "What comfort in a mine of gold — "What pleasure in a royal life, If the heart within lay dead and cold, If I could not wed my Irish wife ? I knew the law forbade the banns — I knew my king abhorr'd her race — "Who never bent before their clans, Must bow before their ladies' grace. Take all my forfeited domain, I cannot wage with kinsmen strife — Take knightly gear and noble name, And I will keep my Irish wife. My Irish wife has clear blue eyes. My heaven by day, my stars by night — UISTOHICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. And, twin-like, truth and fondness lie Within her swelling bosom white. My Irish wife has golden hair — Apollo's harp had once such strings — Apollo's self might pause to hear Her bird-like carol when she sings. I would not give my Irish wife For all the dames of the Saxon land — I would not give my Irish wife For the Queen of France's hand ; For she to me is dearer Than castles strong, or lands, or Hfe — In death I would lie near her. And rise beside my Irish wife. 283 '■:[.■'.: KILD ARE'S BARD ON TOURNAMENTS. h SiNO not to me of Normandie, Its armor'd knights and bloodless sports, Its sawdust battle-fields, to me, Are odious as its canting courts ; But sing to me of hunting far The antler'd elk in Erris' vales, Of flying 'neath the crackling spar, Off Arran, through Atlantic gales. IX. Kaymond was brave, De Courcy bold, And Hugo Lacy bred to rule — But I am of the race of old, And cannot learn in Norman school. u 284 msTomcAL and leoendary poems. Sing not to me of Guisnes field, Or how Earl Gerald match'd with kings ^* I'd rather see him on his shield Than tilting in their wrestler rings. 'TWAS SOMETUINO TUEX TO BE A BARD. In long gone days when he who bore The potent harp from hall to hall, His courier running on before, His castle where he chose to call; When youthful nobles watch'd for him, And ladies fair, with fond regard, Fill'd the bright wine-cup to the brim, 'Twas something then to be a bard. u. When seated by the chieftain's chair. The minstrel told his pictured tale. Of whence they came and who they were, The ancient stock of Innisfail — When the gray steward of the house Laid at his feet the rich reward, Gay monarch of the long carouse, 'Twas something then to be a bard. III. 'Twas glorious then when banners waved, And chargers neigh'd, aAd lances gleam'd, When all was to be borne or braved That patriot zeal desired or dream'd — www^ ■jrjw.« BISTORICAL Ayi) LEOENDAIi T POEMS. 'Twas glorious in mid-host to rido A king's ^\it graceful as the 'pard, With famous captains by his side. Proud of the presence of the bard. IV. 'Twas glorious, too, ere age had power To dim the eye or chill the blood, To fly to Beauty's evening bower. And lift from Beauty's brow the hood; To feel that Heaven's own sacred flame Can melt a heart however hard. To gather love by right of fame — 'Twas glorious then to be a bard. 285 m THE BANSHEE AND THE BRIDE. A FRAGMENT. I. On the landscape night and darkness, Sheep and shepherd sleeping lay — Somewhere far the old moon wander'd, Scarce a star vouchsafed its ray ; While the cold breeze from the northward Stirr'd the anchor'd pleasure-boat. And thriU'd the long reeds, making music All along the castle-moat. XL But the sadder sound was vanquished By the gazer from within, As upon the unlighted landscape Broke the festal midnight din; m^ ft" h^ 9< W:. 'i ■ lit 280 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. For to-night Rath Imayn's chieftain Has brought home his lovely bride, And her kinsmen and his clansmen Seven days at Bath Imayn abide. in. " Hark I" he said, " what voice of sorrow Is it thus I chance to hear, Gould they not await the morrow, Nor disturb our marriage cheer ? Bid them enter, though untimely. Never was it truly said That we turu'd away the stranger. Or denied him board and bed 1" * * ♦ * « THE LOVE CHARM. I. " Ancient crones that shun the highways. In dark woods to weave your spells- Holy dwellers in the byways, Erenachs of blessed wells; House and lands to whoso finds me Where the cure for Connor dwells 1" II. One went out by night to gather Vervain by the summer star;" Hosts of Leeches sought the father In his hall of Castlebar; Blessed water came in vials From the wells of ancient saints; Vain their knowledge — vain their trials- Science wots not youth's complaints. JIISTOniCAL AND LKOENDAJiY POEMS. III. " Nearer, nearer, Sister Margaret — (Lest the baiUed Leeches hear) — Listen to me, sister dearest, 'Tis of Love that I lie here. In Athenree there is a blossom ISIore than all their charms could do; There is healing in her bosom, All my vigor to renew. 287 ., ^■'■'»i IV. " But our father hates her father — Deadly feud between them reigns — Peace may come when I am sleeping AVliere the lank laburnum's weeping, And the cold green ivy creeping O'er the grave where nothing pains ! T. " Tell her then—" " Nay, brother, brother. Live and hope and trust to me; In a guise none can discover, I will be your lady's lover. Woo her here to thee, my brother, Ere the new moon faded be 1" TI. Glad in boyish guise sits Margaret, With a harp upon her knee, Harping to the lovely mistress Of the castled Athenree — Chanting how, in days departed, All the world was truer-hearted — How death only could have parted Love and fond Fidelity. 5 , 288 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Vll. Sighed the lady — " Gentle minstrel, If such lovers e'en lived now, Ladies might be found as faithful. But few such there are, I trow." Quoth the jinger, also sighing, " Nay, I know where one is lying For thy sake — know where he's dying — Tell me, shall he live or no ?" Through the green woods, blossom-laden, Bide the minstrel and the maiden. O'er the Bobe's bright waters gushing — He exhorting and she blushing — Athenree behind them far, Biding till the sun of even', Lingering late upon Ben Nephin, Saw them enter Castlebar. iz. Sat the sick heir in his chamber, Sore besieged by eoily death. Life and death's alternate banners Waver'd in his feeble breath; All the Leeches had departed, While the sad sire, broken-hearted. Gazes from his turret lonely. Thinking of his sick heir only — O'er his heirless lands beneath. *' Connor I Connor I here's your blossom, Take her — take her to your bosom; -r^u. •• HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Said I not to trud to me f And this reverend man will wive yoa — Albeit he comes to shrive you — And the bridesmaid I shall be I" XI. On the turret wept the father, (While the son beneath was wed) — Came the priest reluctant to him — "Ah! I know," he cried, "Ae'« deadr " Nay, not so, my noble master, Young Lord Connor's come to life !" " Say 't again, again — speak faster — " ** Yea, my lord — and here's his wife !" * » 289 QUEEN MARY'S MERCY. HESPECTFULLY dedicated to MR3. JAMES 8ADLIER. Pabt I. I. Call her not " Bloody Mary " — she "Who loved to set the prisoner free,'* And dry misfortune's tear — Or, ere the ancient fraud prevail, Attend unto a simple tale, As trtie as we sit here. II Long years in London's dismal Towers O'Connor told the heavy hours, Unpitied and unknown ; The serf who brought the prison bread Shook ominous his shagged head, And seol'd the crypt of stone ; m ffim E: i m UM H 1 T^M 6 K. "VX'^SI H^aBi 290 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Within his ken, no Uviug thing Save some bat chnging to the wing, To the wet wall he saw — While daily fainter grew his hope, That that dread gate would ever ope — Such then was Saxon law. III. His manly locks were wither'd now, Sorrow had trenched his joyous brow, Quaver'd the voice at whose clear call The tumult hush'd in camp and hall, And trembled sore the limbs that once Was tireless in the chase and dance. And heavier than the chain he wore. The heart that in his breast he bore ! Six years had pass'd since unaware, He fell into the Saxons' snare ; False Francis Bryan's guest betray'd — " From banquet-hall in chains convey *d ! And wpU he knows what strife for power Kent Offally from that rash hour; Three kinsmen, haughty, fierce, and vain. Contending, rend his dear domain; A fourth, a youth of milder mood, In Mellifont draws close his hood, And, shuddering o'er their evil deeds. Seeks solace in his book and beads. IV. Ah ! sad must fare the chieftain's child. Left parentless in scene so wiid ! No father's sway, no mother's art To guide her steps or school her heart ; HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, "With none to help her helplessness, With none to cheer her loneliness, Drifted at mercy of the storm — AVhat may befall this fragile form ? What eye keep guard ? what accents plead ? What arm defend in hour of need ? The fearful father turn'd to heaven — J3y its dread Lord her life was given ; A-lbeit, in his propitious day, It cost him little time to pray ; Now all his soul went up in sighs To the good angels in the skies. To su))plicate their guardian aid In warden of his orphan'd maid. 291 V. Would that the pining captive knew, Sweet Marg'ret, how beloved you grew ? How lovely wtis the mould of grace That charm'd the rustics of thy race ; How lovelier far the pious mind Thy beauty so devoutly shrined ; Seldom was camp or fortress sway'd By wiser head, or more obey'd ; Seldom were laws of kings or earls More potent than this orphan girl's ; For early care gives shape and course To minds that have the torrent's force, Which else with wasteful want exhaust, And quickly in life's sands are lost ! Fair Marg'ret's soul had all the fire That mark'd in youth her captive sire. With all the tenderness beside That won him to her mother's side, w^m H ' ! Itll ■ in r > h > S-Jl ,1 1> IM i hi 1 :^ llv 1. ,-J' - 292 HISTORICAL AND LEOENDARY POEMS. And who need ask what load of care For love, such bosoms will not bear ? Yl. Saint Bridget's holy sisterhood, Restored to their time-hallow'd wood, Watch'd o'er her vouth with zeal as true As mortal maiden ever knew. And worthily she lived to pay Their priceless care in after-day. Of all the lore they knew to teach, She most pursued the English speech,'* Unthreading meaning's mazy round Until the undoubted sense was found. Soon all familiar and by rote Was Surrey's lay and Chaucer's note ; With many a tear she ponder'd o'er The story of Sir Thomas More, And frequent flash 'd her eye of jet At thought of his true Margaret.'* Not for its rythmic melody. Nor for its aspirations high, She prized the stranger's tongue ; A higher hope, a better aim Than pride of lore or love of fame From her fond fancy sprung. Her sire in Saxon prison lay — This speech alone could win her way I It might — God grant that it might — ^l>e A guide, a passport, and a key To win that dear sire's liberty I Part II. L The Irish Sea benignant smiled On the imprison'd chieftain's child ; mSTOmCAL AND LEO EN VARY POEMS. 293 The western wind, with friendly zeal. Eastward impell'd the willing keel ; A cloudless morrow's sunrise shed Its saflfror shower on Holyhead ; It seem'd the smiling Heaven bless'd Her dauntless heart and fiUal quest, As, lighted by a faithful hand, She lightly leap'd on Cambria's strand.** Instinct with hope, she spning with speed Uijon a rough Carnarvon steed — A colt untrain'd to silken rein Or ambling in a lady's train — Of foot unerring, skill'd to cross The ^vildest ridge of Penman-ross. High noon beheld the cavalcade At Bangor Ferry, close array 'd; With Bangor's monks an hour they stay'd; Then onwai'd sped the impatient maid Past Penman Mawr; at eve they stood By Aberconwaj^'s rapid flood; Another day, another night, Gave Chester's war-walls to their sight; By the third moon their course was bent Along the eddying tide of Trent — O'er Stoke's sad field, enrich 'd and red With ashes of the Irish dead,^' In Simnel's spurious cause misled. They paused not Litchfield's tow'rs to see; Snatch'd brief repose at Coventry; O'er Dimsmore Heath at dawn they swept. And, ere the midwatch, wearied, slept Beneath the blessed calm and shade Saint Alban's ransom 'd abbey made.** 294 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. II. To royal Richmond's nuptial court Our trembling suitor must resort : There reigns Queen Mary ; by her side King Philip sits in silent pride ; Around, his glittering escort shine, A living, moving, Mexic mine. Mingling, like morning in the east, The light ai^d shade, grandee and priest ; From lip to lip pass'd many a name Still living on the lips of fame ; Swart Alva and Medina's duke Reflect their master's cheerful look ; The banish'd cardinal is there. Grown gray with early woe and care ; Elizabeth, whose gay attire, Like Etna's vines, hides heart of fire ; Repentant Gardiner stands a-near. And many a high and puissant peer, And many a lady tine or fair. And many a jocund, hopeful heir. III. As when among the feather 'd race. Assembled in their wonted place. Borne from its home by adverse blast, Some fate a foreign bird may cast, Whose plumage, rich with tropic dyes, Startles the native warbler's eyes — Such wonder seized the courtiers all, As, trembling, up the audience-haU, Came the bright maiden of the West, In mourning weeds untimely dress'd^ Her cheek made pale by carking care, No jewel in her turban 'd hair — ^ HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 295 Upon her troubled breast there lay A starry cross, her only stay — Til rough the long lash her eye that hid The big tear swell'd beneath the lid — The suppliant scroll that told her woe Sore shaking in her hand of snow. rv. Before the throne she Hung her down, 'Spite gallant's smirk and usher's frown— " Mercy !" she cried, in accents wild, " Behold, my Queen, O'Connor's child ! The hand my orphan youth caress'd, The hand that night and morning bless 'd — The teaching voice, the loving face, "We miss them in his native place ! There is no music now, nor mirth About Offally's hostless hearth — Offally's fields lie bare and brown, 0£fally's flowers all torn and strown — Offally's desolate domain Echoes its absent master's name ; The peasant mourns, God's poor bemoan His woes, which truly are their own ; Contending Tanists rive and rend The lordship of their fetter'd friend ; potent lady, by the name Of Mercy, under which you reign, (By Mary, Mother of our Lord, Captive to treason and the sword), By her who knew what 'twas to shed Maternal tears o'er Jesus dead — Be merciful to mine and me, 1 beg it on my bended knee." I m> '•'■■ ■ 1*' ' > 1^ i I 296 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. V. Troubled with thought, Queen Mary's brow Is tum'd to royal Philip now ; i Elizabeth has clench'd her hand, As if it held a seering brand; And moved her rigid lips, but hush'd The stormy words that upwards rush'd. The suppliant caught the sovereign's look, And guidance from its meaning took : " Oh, aid me, gracious Prince of Spain,"" She cried in piteous piercing strain; " The same high blood your heart inspires Still animates my captive sire's ; By your own knightly vows, I crave My father from his living grave — By that dear faith we both revere, My poor petition deign to hear ; To you I turn, who still have stood The champion of Christ's holy rood : True to his faith my father fell, By it, shall he not rise as well ?'* King Philip bow'd his lofty head. And something to his consort said, "Who, smiling, spoke, " Fair maiden, well Your father's woes you've learn'd to tell. Arise ! the king agrees with me ; Your prayer is heard ! your sire is free I** V VL Joy I joy ! on Barrow's bowery side, Joy throughout Erin far and wide ; Hath Imayn rings with jubilee — Its noble chief is safe and free. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Nor does he come alone, Kilclare's young lord, and Ossory, Their fathers' halls have lived to see And hold them as their own ! 2?)7 FEAGIi M'lIUGII.^i Feagh M'Hugh of the mountain — Feagh M'Hngh of the glen— Who has not heard of the Glenmalur chief. And the feats of his hard-riding men ? Came you the sea-side from Carmen — Cross'd you the plains from the West — No rhymer you met but could tell you, Of Leinster men who is the best. Or seek you the Li£Fey or Dodder — Ask in the bawns of the Pale — Ask them whose cattle they fodder, W^ho drinks without fee of their ale. From Ardaraine north to Kilmainham, He rules, like a king, of few words, And the Marchmen of seven score castles Keep watch for the sheen of his swords. The vales of Kilmantan are spacious — The hills of Kilmantan are high — But the horn of the Chieftain finds echoes From the waterside up to the sky. The lakes of Kilmantan are gloomy. Yet bright rivers stream from them all — So dark is our Chieftain in battle, So gay in the camp or the hall. li ii .' r 1 1"': 3 jhJ » mH^I f I^^^^H HUH ^m^mmm IMNMI'i m oncii' huhi m : :■( :>■/ 298 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. '' The plains of Clan Saxon are fertile, Their Chiefs and their Tanists are brave, But the first step they take o'er the border, Just measures the length of a grave ; Thirty score of them foray'd to Arklow, Southampton and Essex their van — Our Chief cross'd their way, and he left of Each score of them, living, a man. Oh, many the tales that they cherish, In the glens of Kilmantan to-day, And though church, rath, and native speech perish, His glory's untouch'd by decay. Feagh M'Hugh of the mountain — Feagh M Hugh of the glen — Who has not heard of the Glenmalur Chief, And the feats of his hard-riding men ? LAMENT OF THE IRISH CHILDREN IMPRISONED IN THE TOWER«» I. For deep-valley 'd Desmond we sigh and we weep. The Funcheon and Maigue flow on through our sleep, And our eyes wax dim as the red clouds rest Like an advanced guard o'er our destined West n. Oh I who will break us these walls of stone ? Oh I who will list to our hapless moan ? Oh ! who will bear us forever, far From London Tower toward yonder star ? mSTOlilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 299 m. ih perish, >f, IN THE jep, ir sleep, Children of Chieftains, we pine in chains, Sighing in vain for our flower-strewn plains; The ill wind that swept us so far away, Flung us on stones, not on kindred clay. IV. We look through these loops on the Saxon swine Carousing abroad over ale and wine, And their speech is familiar to us as to theirs. While our own sounds strange in our Gaelic ears. V. Oh ! land without love I oh ! halls without song ! How luckless the weak race who find you strong I Chivalry grows not on English ground, Nor can Mercy about its throne be found. VL The day shall come men will doubt the tale Of the captive children of Innisfail — They wiU doubt that false England made a prey Of orphans lured from their homes away. VII. Our mothers* eyes may grow dim with tears, Our fathers may barb their blunted spears, But this tower our charnel-house shall be. Ere our lost we gain, or our land we see. vm. Oh ! Blessed Virgin, who saw thy Son In a hostile city worse set upon, Be Thou unto us brother, mother, and priest^ And let our poor heads on your bosom rest . f ^ m '■*! 300 UlSTOlilCAL AND LEOENDAUY POEMS. IX. Farewell to Desmond ! farewell Loch Lene ! To Adare's rich feast, aud to Thurles Green I Farewell to old scenes, and friends, and songs — Death chains us forever to the land of our wrongs ! il »■ niHH ■ n 3,-. ,f)r.'|(ll . 'i ^HH r mmti ^o»" Hii -i/- M SF >k diAhji mdJ. THE POET'S PROP^ECY.^^ I. By the Druid's stone I slept, While my dog his vigil kept. And there on the mountain lone, By that old weird-rising stone, Visions wrapt me round, and voices Spoke the word my soul rejoices. IT. " Bard ! the stranger's roof shall fall — Grass shall grow in Norman hall — Mileadh's race shall rise again, Lords of mountain and of glen; Nial's blood and Brian's seed, Known for kingly word and deed — OUamh's skill and Ogma's lore, Time to Banbha will restore. III. " Destiny has doom'd it so ! Through pass of death and waves of woe, Banbha's sons shall come and go; Twelve score years a foreign brood Shall warm them in the native blood — Shall lord it in the fields of Eri, Till her sons of life are weary. •■fw "ir-- 1 BISTORIOAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 801 IV. " When the long-wrong'd men of Eri Of their very Hves are weary — In that hour, from cave and rath, Mighty souls shall find a path — They who won in Gaul dominion ; They who cut the eagle's pinion ; They of the prophetic race ; *» They of the tierce blood of Thrace ; *• They who Man and Mona lorded,'"^ Shall regain the land and guard it." V. So, upon that mountain lone, By the gray, weird-rising stone, Visions wrapt me round, and voices Spoke the word my soul rejoices. THE SUMMONS OF ULSTER.'^ Arm ! arm ! ye men of Ulster, for battle to the death I Arm to defend your fathers' fields, and shield your fathers* faith 1 They are coming! they are coming! the foe is gathering near ! Arm for your rich inheritance, and for your altars dear I They have sworn to rase from out Tyr-Owen the old Hy-Nial line ; They have sworn to spare no sacred thing, nor sex, nor holy shrine ; They have sworn to make the Brehons as elks rare on our hills ; They have vow'd to God to perish here, or work their evil wills. r^; l.ya :^! 802 HJSTOUJOAL AND LEOENDAHY POEMa. They say the Queen of England is the Queen of lunishowen— That Hugh O'Neil must be her earl, or else be overthrown— That Hugh Roe, our own, must kneel to her, and Tyrconnel be no more, And an unbelieving bishop sit where Saint Patrick sat of yore. And they will have us beard ourselves in their own boyish trim. And put loyal-fashion'd garments on every Irish limb — And our island-harps be broken, and our bards be tuni'd away — For ijie minstrel true must follow still the fortunes of Lis lay I Now swear we by our fathers* graves, and by the wives we've wed, And by the true-begotten heirs of each honest marriage-bed, And by our bloss'd Apostle, they shall perish one and all, Ere they lord it thus o'er broad Tyr-Owen, Armagh, and Donegal ! Unfold our standards on the hills, and bid the heralds forth, Let them blow their challenges abroad through all tbe valley 'd North — Let them summon every spearsman from Lough Raraor to Lough Foyle, From Dundalk's bay of battles to the far-off Tory's Isle ! And if they ask for Hugh O'Neil and the O'Donnell Roo, Bid them meet their trusted princes by the falls of Assaroe— Let the curraghs of Fermanagh rot on fair Lough Erne's shore — Let the fishers of Lough Swilly fling aside the peaceful oar — Let the men of Ardnarigh leave their dogs upon the track, BJSTORWAL AND LKdKNDAHY F0EM8. 803 lowcn — irown — I'l'coiinel k sat of n l)0)isli ib- je turu'cl lea of bis ives we've riage-becl, nd all, agh, and lids forth, 111 all the iBamorto Isle! ll Roo, Lssaroe— jh Erne's peaceful le track. And the pilgrim fi'om Saint Patrick's Islo to tluj trysting hurry buck ; Ami, as over the deop-valley'd North the challeiigo thus they blow, liid them meet their trusted Princes by the Falls of Assaroe. SONO OF 0' DOXXELL IX SPAIN. COnUNNA, WIXTEU OF 1G03. I. On, wild and wintry is the night, and lonely is the hour, But I wish I were far off at sea, in spite of storm and shower, So thiit the dawn might see me cast upon the Irish coast — So that I had regain'd my land, whatever might be lost ! No headland gray, so far away From house or place could be, But the voice of kin would bid me in. And welcome back from sea. n. Full pleasant is the land of Spain, and kind ray lord the King, And sweetly to the wilUng ear the Spanish minstrels sing; But in my ear the song of love sounds idle and profane, Until I clasp my only one — my native land again. No headland gray, so far away From house or place could be, But the voice of kin would bid mo in. And welcome back from sea. m. Oh, happy is the beaten bird, that from the billowy West, At fall of eve can still return in Erin to her nest; Oh, happy is the fond sea wave, that, when the storms cease, Can fling itself at Erin's feet, and breathe its last in peace. 1 1 ■ « 1^ 'A 304 EISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. No headland gray, so far away From house or place could be, But tlie voice of kin would bid me in, And welcome back from sea. IV. Blow, blow, ye winds, and fly ye clouds, let day and night be sped, God speed the hour, and haste the help, by Spain long prom- ised; But help who may, God speed the day, and send His strong wind forth, To bear O'Donnell's flag again to combat in the North. No headland gray, so far away From house or place could be, But the voice of kin would bid me in, And welcome back from sea. LOST, LOST ARMADA. I. One by one men die on shore, Falling as the brown leaves fall; Daily some one doth deplore A sleeper in a sable pall. Slowly single coffins pass To cold crypts beneath the grass ; But on sea — oh, misery I Death is frantic — death is free; So they found who sailed with thee, Lost, lost Armada ! Ill, d night be .ong prom- His strong !^ortli. le in, HISTORICAL AND LEGEND ARY POEMS II. "NMiat an Oriental show Thine was on the Biscayan tide; Well might PhiHp's bosom glow When his power you glorified ; Indian wealth and Flemish skill, Spanish pride and Roman will, Borne on every carvel's prow; Where are all your splendors now ? Fallen like gems from Philip's brow, Lost, lost Armada I III. Water-demons beat the deep — Lir, the sea-god, waked in rage — Sped his couriers forth from sleep — None his anger durst assuage; Then the god-demented seas Whitened round the Hebrides, On Albyn's rocks, on Erin's sands. Banshees wrung their briny hands, Keening for your perished bands, Lost, lost Armada I IV. Fifteen hundred men of Spain Sunk in sight of Knocknarea; Twice a thousand strove in vain To reach your harbors, Tyrawley I Oh ! they have not even a grave In the land they came to save; Only penitent Ocean moans O'er their white, far-drifting bones. Blends with it Erin's groans. Lost, lost Armada I 305 306 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. LAY OF TEE LAST MONK OF MUCRUSS. I. If I forget thee, Irrelagb! Irrelagh!" If I forget thee, Irrelagh I May the tongue ungrateful cleave To my mute mouth's eave, And the hand of my body wither — Irrelagh ! II. Woe, woe to the hand, Irrelagh ! Irrelagh ! Woe to the guilty hand, Irrelagh ! The hand the godless spoiler laid On prayer-worn cell and sacred shade, And thy lustrous altars — Irrelagh ! in. r An ever-shining lamp, Irrelagh! Irrelagh I An ever-shining lamp, Irrelagh I Wert thou o'er valley and o'er wave, Taking only what you gave — The oil of Aaron — Irrelagh I UISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. b07 IV. I am worn and gray, Irrelagh ! Irrelagh I I am worn and gray, Irrelagh ! Night and silence brooding o'er me. Death upon the road before me, While I kneel to bless thee — Irrelagh ! V. May the myriad blessings, Irrelagh ! Irrelagh I May the myriad blessings, Irrelagh ! Of all the saints in heaven, Through all time to come be given. To him who builds thee up — Irrelagh ! VI. For rebuilt thou shalt be, Irrelagh ! Irrelagh 1 Rebuilt thou shalt be, Irrelagh ! At new altars hke the old. Shining bright with gems and gold, Ancient rites shall be renewed — Irrelagh ! THE OUTLAWED EARL.«i I. Down through. Desmond sailing, Come the sea-llocks wailing, Storms without prevailing On the wiiitrv sea. 11 pt 1 ; ( 308 P' « : 1 1 Mi' if ^ __ HISTORICAL AND LEOKNJJAJiY POEMS. Deep the snows that cover All the landscape over, Nor Rapparee nor rover Far to-night will be. II. Yet, ah ! yet, remember, In this wild November, "Who, without an ember, Ray, or rushlight, bides— Who, in all the nation, Fill'd the highest station — "Who, in desolation, Hunted, homeless, hides I III. Some highland hea'ds concealing In his wretched shieling, The Lord for whose revealing Golden snares are spread,— All merciless the victor Of our noble Hector, May God be his protector, The G^d for whom he bled I rv. This shall be Desmond's glory, Unknown in Norman story, That the cross he bore, he Bore for Christ's dear sake. Brother after brother. Another and another. Fell so, yet no other Fart would any take. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 309 Death can but deliver From man's worst endeavor, Then will Christ forever Make His own of thee ; For lost realm and palace — For man's deadly mahce — His all-saving chalice Shall your banquet be ! VI. Down through Desmond sailing Come the sea-flocks wailing, Storms without prevailing On the wintry sea ; The hour may now be nearing, When you, Death's challenge hearing. Answer, all unf earing, *« Master, I follow Thee !" BIR CAIIIR O'DOGHERTY'S MESSAGE."* Shall the children of Ulster despair ? Shall Aileach but echo to groans ? Shall the line of Conn tamely repair To the charnel, and leave it their bones ? Sleeps the soul of O'Neill in Tyrone ? Glance no axes around by Lough Erne ? Has Clan Randall the heart of a stone ? Does O'Boyle hide his head in the fern ? Go, tell them O'Dogherty waits — Waits harness'd and mounted and all, That his pikestaves are made by the gates — That his bed 's by the white waterfall I ._ ^. ■■•■ '-SI Ml '"J 310 HISTORICAL ANJ) LEGENDARY POEMS. Say, he turnetli his back on the sea, Though the sail flaps to bear him afar ! Say, he never will falter or flee, While ten men are found willing for war ! h t Bid them mark his death-day in their books. And hide for the future the tale ; But insult not his corpse with cold looks. Nor remember him over their ale. If they come not in arms and in rage, Let them stay, he can battle alone — For one flag, in this fetter- worn age, Is still flying in free Innishowen ! If the children of Chieftains you see, Oh, pause and repeat to them then. That Cahir, who lives by the sea, Bids them think of him, when they are men; Bids them watch for new Chiefs to arise, And be ready to come at their call — Bids them mourn not for him if he dies, But like him live to conquer or fall ! TJIE RAPPAREES.oi I. W HEN the hand of the Tyrant was heavy and strong 'Jr. ' .;T island, and hush'd was the psalm and the song; When hourly the blood of the unarm'd was spilt; When the worship of God was deem'd treason and guilt; W^hen slaves' hearts were as callous as hve hearts could bf Who requited the wronger ? — the fierce Rapparee ! HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 81* II. Xiiv, smile as you will, they were real heroes then ; O'er a quagmire of terror, they, only, tower'd men I The Hessian was lord of the plain, but the hill "Was a fortress unwon from the free native still, — He shelter'd the poor, set the law's victim free, 111 bis high court of judgment — the proud Kapparee I III. The u ild was his house, and the heather his bed, Aiul the cold stone the pillow that held up his head; But the Hessian that lay in his treble-strong keep Would have given his eyes for so dreamless a sleep. His soul from all foul stains he ever kept free; •'I want only my own! " — said the stout Rapparee. IV. Nor was his life joyless, for oft in the shade Of the summer woods sombre his banquet he made; And, like " the good people," whoever pass'd by. He charm'd to the ring of his wild revelry; Oft, too, he adventur'd the wall'd towns to see, Aiul mask'd in their markets — the rash Rapparee ! V. At evening his music was heard from the rath, And the sprite-fearing herd turn'd aside from his path ; When the lowland deer-hunters the long jhase gave o'er. He i'ollow'd, and homeward its broad honors bore ; And the salmon, for him, seem'd to swim from the sea. And the mountain-birds bred for the stout Rapparee ! VI. Oh ! name them not slightingly, mete them no scorn. Nor Bravoes, nor Thugs they, nor men basely born — '> u 812 JIISTOIilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. O'Connors and Kavanaghs, heirs of the East, O'Dowcls and O'Flaherties, old in the "West ; O'Carroll, O'Kelly, O'Reilly, Mac Nee- Are all names that were borne by the brave Rapparee. VII. Oh ! name them not slightingly, mete them no scorn, Was not Redmond true heir to the vales of the Mourne Was not Cahir, who hunted the soft Harrow's side, An O'Dempsey as true as e'er ruled it in pride ? Was not Donald O'Keeffe, of the old Desmond tree, With the crown at its root — a renown'd Rapparee ? VIII. Oh I call them not brigands, those chiefs in decay. And weigh not their deeds in the scales of to-day; Let sick children and gossips turn pale at the name, But just men to brave men give fairness and fame. Let us try them, and test them, and shame to us be If we still blame the name of the wrong'd Rapparee I U. ■ ■ 'm 1:5^ AFTER THE FLIGUT.'^^^ September, 1607. I. Far on the sea, to-night, ye are — ye noble Princes and captains brave, and ladies lorn, And ship-pent children, happy in your trouble — Who know not to what trials you are born. II. Far on the sea — no gleam from any offing, No star in the mirk sky to guide you on, ♦ This poem was, I think, the last written by Mr. McGee for the Dublin Nation; it appeared in that paper on the 14th of March, 18G8, less than » month before his death —Eo. HJSTOBICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 313 While here, your foes exultingly are scoffing At all your clansmen — now that you are gone. III. No port in sight — no nobly lighted mansion To greet ye in, lords of the open hand I Cleaving I see you by the sea-wash'd stanchion, Praying for any but your native land. IV. For any land where God's name stirs devotion — For there some Christian prince would bid you hail — For any star to light safe through this ocean To any shore, the Chieftains of the Gael. V. be :eel Gone from your land, you once made so resplendent With your achievements ; darkness shrouds us o'er; On you our hopes and prayers have gone attendant To serve their season on another shore. VI. For God in heaven will not permit forever This exile of our greatest and our best, "Who, for the Faith, in life-long leal endeavor Upheld the holy Crusade of the West. VII. for the They will return 1 O God, the joy and glory Of that proud day to all the race of Conn — They wiU return, and in their after story Find solace for the woes they 've undergone. 814 mSTOmCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, H It ■■< rfi lis S> I I 1 " 1 N ■ RORY BALL'S LAMENTATION.^ ■ Aiu — " jtfa Cofcen tZAaa cruitke na ho." Z. Ah, where is the noble one vanish'd ? I look through the day and the night ; The sun and the north-star are steadfast, But my Eri is fled from my sight ! The mountainous Albyn I clamber, And Mona of winds I can see, Wild Wallia still frowns on the ocean, But my Eri is hidden from me. n. Who passeth, all shrouded in sable. Moaning low like a wandering wind ? What voice is this wailing ? I fear me 'Tis one that should madden my mind. O Eri ! my saint and my lady — Oh ! musical, beautiful, brave ; *\Miy, why do you pass like a shadow That smiles on the sleep of a slave ? III. If these dark eyes were bright as the falcon's, If my soul would fly with me away, And give me to-morrow with Eri, Death might have me for asking next day. For what is my life without Eri ? A harp with the base of it gone; And glory ? a bright golden goblet, AVheu the wine that should fill it is done I HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 315 IV. Oh ! liftd I niy foot on your \ieatlier, ^Vith my harp and my hound in my ken, No door but would play on its hinges To have Rory Dall coming again. Ah, potent the spell that would sever My Eli and me evermore — The angel of judgment might part us, "We could not be parted before I day. Inet THE LAST O'SULLIVAN BEARE.o* All alone, all alone, where the gladsome vine is growing, All tiloue by the waves of the Tagus darkly flowing, No morning brings a hope for him, nor any evening cheer To O'SuUivan Beare, through the seasons of the year. He is thinking, ever thinking, of the hour he left Dunbuie, His father's staff fell from his hand, his mother wept wildly ; His brayc young brother hid his face, his lovely sisters twain. How they wrung their maiden bauds to see him sail away for Spain. They were Helen bright and Norah staid, who in their father's hall, Like sun and shadow, froHck'd round the grave armorial wall. Ill Compostella's cloisters he found many a pictured saint, But the spirits boyhood canonized no human hand can paint. VU alone, all alone, where the gladsome vine is growing, AH alone by the wave of the Tagus darkly flowing, m hi ' |v'. I I:.' > >, 'I 316 mSTOnWAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. No morning brings a hope for him, nor any evening cheer To O'Sullivun Beare, through the seasons of the year. Oh ! sure he ought to take a ship and sail back to Dunbuio— He ought to sail back, back again, to that castle o'er the sen; His father, mother, brother, his lovely sisters twain, 'Tis they would raise the roof with joy to see him back from Spain. Hush ! hush I I cannot tell it — the tale will make me Avikl— He left it, that gray castle, in age almost a child ; Seven long years with Saint James's friars he conn'd the page of might, Seven long years for his father's roof was sighing every night. Then came a caravel from the North, deep freighted, full of •woe, His houseless family it held, their castle it lay low; Saint James's shrine, through ages famed as pilgrim haunt of yore, Saw never wanderers so wronged upon its scallop'd shore. Yet it was sweet, their first grief past, to watch those two sweet girls Sit by the sea, as mermaiden hold watch o'er hidden pearls— To see them sit and try to sing for that sire and mother old, O'er whose heads five score winters their thickening snows had roU'd. To hear them sing and pray in song for ihem in deadly work, Their gallant brothers battling for Spain against the Turk. Corunna's port at length they reach, and seaward ever stare, "Wondering what belates the ship their brothers home should bear. mSTOniCAL AND LEO END A HY POEMS. 317 r cheer ur. )aub\uo— jr the sen; , me wiltl— I'd the page ghir.g every rrhtea, fulloi )ilgrim haunt )p'a shore. -h. those t^'o Iden pearls- mother old. ceiling sno^^-3 em in deadly 3t the Tart- Ird ever stave, home should Jov ! joy ! it comes — their Philip lives ! — ah ! Donald is no more ; Like half a hope one son kneels down the exiled two before ; I'luy Kjioko no requiem for the dead nor blessing for the hving ; The tearless heart of parentage has broken with its grieving. Two pillars of a ruin'd pile — two old trees of the land — Two voyagers on a sea of grief, long sufferers hand in hand; Thus, at the woful tidings told, left life anJ all its tears. So tlied the wife of many a spring, the chief of an hundred years. One sister is a black-veil'd nun of Saint Ursula, in Spain, And one sleeps coldly far beneath the troubled Irish main ; 'Tis Helen bright who ventured to the arms of her true lover, But Clecna's stormy tides now roll the radiant girl over. All alone, all alone, where the gladsome vine is growing, All alone by the wave of the Tagus darkly flowing. No morning brings a hope for him, nor any evening cheer To O'SuUivan Beare, through the seasons of the year. BROTHER MICH A EL. 00 "When the wreck of noble houses Strew'd the land, as the Armada Strew'd the iron beach of Erris — In those davs when faith and science Shared the fate of ancient lineage. And the holy men — the planets On this earthly side of heaven — Faded from the blank horizon; Then, when no man could determine If the present or the future ir^ Nl i m 818 IimTOBICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Show'd most darkly, came a stranger From a distant shore, to gather And to save the old memorials Of the noble and the holy. Of the chiefs of ancient lineage, Of the saints of wondrous virtues; Of the Ollamhs, and the Brehons, Of the Bards and of the Betaghs, That they might not die forever; How he came, and how he labor'd, • What he suffer'd, what adventured, That he might preserve the story Of the dear ancestral Island, That should never be forgotten ! Not a stranger, yet a stranger Was the patient pale explorer; Born the heir of bardic honors, Where Kilbarron, like a topsail, Soars above the North Atlantic — Better days in green Tyrconnell, High beside its chiefs had found him Seated at the festal table; Now, poor brother of Saint Francis, Less than priest and more than layman. On the threshold of the chancel He is well content to hover; So that, fare and garb provided, Time to pray, and time to labor In the work his soul delighted. It might prosper — let him perish I Looking northward from the city By the Egyptian call'd Eblana, * Dublin. HlSTOIilCAL AND LEOENDAItY POEMS. We can trace the careful stages Of the constant Brother Michael ! "SVe can trace him where the Slaney Spreads its waves around Beg-Erin, Holy isle of Saint Iberius ! AVhere the gables of Dunbrody Stand the proof of Hervey's penance, "» By the junction of the rivers; Where the golden vale of Cashel Leads the pilgrim to the altar — To the tabernacles glorious, Shining from that rocky altar; Where, in beauteous desolation. Like Saint Mary in the desert, Quin's fair abbey pleads with heaven. 3'9 Looking northward from the city By the Egyptian call'd Eblana, We can trace the careful stages Of the constant Brother Michael, Where the Boyne, historic river. Dear to Cormac and Cuchullin, Stretches seaward, sad and solemn. Loth to leave the plain of Tara; Where the lakes and knolls of Cavan Echo to the sound of harping; From the yet unconquer'd forests. Where Lough Erne's arbor islands Waft their fragrance to the mountains; Thence to the ancestral region Turns the constant Brother Michael — With the gleanings of his travel, With the spoils of many ruins, With the pedigrees of nobles, .;t.ii 320 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, With tho trophies of his Order, "With the title-deeds of races, With the acts of Saints ^nd Prophets; Never into green Tyrconnell Came such spoil as Brother Michael Bore before him on his palfrey! By the fireside in the winter, By the sea-side in the summer. When your children are around you, And the theme is love of country; When you speak of heroes dying In the charge, or in the trenches; When you tell of Sarsfield's daring, Owen's genius, Brian's wisdom, Emmet's early graA'e, or Grattan's Life-long epic of devotion; Fail not, then, my friend, I charge you, To recall the no less noble Name and works of Brother Michael, Worthy chief of the Four Masters, Saviors of our country's annals 1 THE FOUR MASTERS. Many altars are in Banba, Many chancels hung in white. Many schools, and many abbeys, Glorious in our father's sight; Yet whene'er I go a pilgrim. Back, dear Holy Isle, to thee, May my filial footsteps bear me To that Abbey by the Sea, — To that Abbey roofless, doorless, Shrineless, monkless, tho' it be I HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. These are days of swift upbuilding, All to pride and triumph tends; Art is liegeman to Religion, Genius speaks, and Song ascends. As the day-beam to the sailor, Lighting up the wreckers' shore, So the present lastre shineth On the barrenness before, — But no gleam rests on that Abbey, Silent by Tyrconnel's shore. 821 Yet I hear them in my musings, And I see them as I gaze. Four meek men around the cresset, "With the scrolls of other days; Four unwearied scribes who treasure Every word and every line, Saving every ancient sentence As if writ bv hands divine. On their calm, down-bended foreheads. Tell me what is it vou read ? Is there malice or ambition, In the will, or in the deed ? Oh, no ! no ! the Angel Duty Calmly lights the dusky walla. And their four worn right hands follow Where the Angel's radiance falls. II Not of Fame, and not of Fortune, Do these eager pensmen dream; Darkness shrouds the hills of Banba, Sorrow sits by every stream; One by one the lights that led her, yt''^^ II ' i fif m fe: J i 322 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Hour by hour were quench'd in gloom ; But the patient, sad, Four Masters, Toil on in their lonely room — Duty thus defying Doom. As the breathing of the west wind Over bound and bearded sheaves, As the murmur in the bee-hives, Softly heard on summer eves, So the rustle of the vellum, So the anxious voices sound. So the deep expectant silence Seems to listen all around. Brightly on the Abbey gable Shines the full moon thro' the night, While far to the northward glances All the bay in waves of light. Tufted isle, and splinter'd headland, Smile and soften in her ray. Yet within their dusky chamber, The meek Masters toil assay. Finding all too short tiic day. Now they kneel ! attend the accents From the souls of mourners wrung; Hear the soaring aspirations, Barb'd with the ancestral tongue ; For the houseles*^ sons of Chieftains, For their brethren afar. For the mourning Mother Island, These their aspirations are. And they said, before uprising, " Father, grant one other prayer— HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Bless the lord of Moy-O'Gara, Bless his lad}', and his heir; Send the gen'rous chief, whose bounty Cheers, sustains us in our task, Health, success, renown, salvation — Father ! this is all we ask." 323 Oh ! that we who now inherit All their trust, with half their toil, Were but fit to trace their footsteps Through the Annals of the Isle ; Oh ! that the bright Angel, Duty, Guardian of our tasks might be. Teach us as she taught our Masters, In that Abbey by the Sea, Faithful, grateful, just, to be ! A PRAYER FOR FEARGAL O'GARA. WRITTEN ON A BLANK LEAF OF o'dONOVAN's " FOUR MASTEBS.'* A PRAYER for Feargal ! Lord of Leyney — He for whom this book was written. By the life-devoted Masters — Brother Michael and his helpers ! May the generous soul of Feargal, In the mansions of the bless'd. By the learned, gifted elders, All whose love had elsewise perish'd — By the countless saints of Erin, By the pilgrims to the Jordan, By the noble chiefs victorious, Over all life's sinful combats — w 1 ! 324 HISTOIUCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. Dwell forever, still surrounded; As he gather'd up their actions, As he drew their names around him In these pages may he find them, Still around him and about him, la i - titude forever ! Oh ! forever and forever, Benedictions shower upon him, Bj:'gl-1 ■ ".Iv-^ries shine around him, And till' t ""ifoii prayers of Erin, Rise like iijc*=.n u up to heavan. Still •>! Fearg, ' ord of Leyney! i i ! SONNET-^0 KILBARRON CASTLE.^oi Beoad, blue, and deep, the Bay of Donegal Spreads north and south and far a-west before The beetling cliflfa sublime, and shatter'd wall Where the O'Clery's name is known no more. Kilbarron, many castle names are sung In deathless verse they less deserved than thee, — The Rhine-tow'rs still endure in German tongue ; Gray Scotland's keeps in Scottish poesy; In chronicles of Spain, and songs of France, Full many a grim chateau and fortress stands ; And Albion's genius, strong as Uther's lance. Guards her old mansions 'mid their alter'd lands ; Home of an hundred annalists, round thy hearths, alas! The churlish thistles thrive, and the dull graveyard grass. AsHAMEE, July, 1816. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, 325 ''IN-FELIX FELIX. "^02 "Why is his name unsung, oh minstrel host ? AVhy do you pass his memory like a ghost ? "Why is no rose, no laurel, on his grave ? Was he not constant, vigilant, and brave ? Why, when that hero-age you deify. Why do you pass " In-felix Felix " by ? :e. fue I lands ; irths, alas! reyard grass. He rose the first — he looms the morning star Of the long, glorious, unsuccessful war; England abhors him ! has she not abhorr'd All who for Ireland ventured life or word ? What memory would she not have cast away, That Ireland hugs in her heart's heart to-day ? He rose in wrath to free his fetter'd land — "There's blood, there's Saxon blood, upon his hand.' Ay, so they say ! — three thousand, less or more, He sent untimely to the Stygian shore, — They were the keepers of the prison-gate — He slew them, his whole race to liberate. clear-eyed poets ! ye who can descry Through vulgar heaps of dead where heroes lie-^ Ye to whose glance the primal mist is clear — Behold there lies a trampled noble here ! Shall we not leave a, mark ? shall we not do Justice to oiie so hated and so true ? If ev'n his hand and hilt were so distain'd, — If he was guilty, as he has been blamed, . ( i h ^'S? 326 mSTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. His death redeem 'd Lis life — he chose to die Kather than get his freedom with a lie. Plant o'er his gallant heart a laurel tree, So may his head within the shadow be. I mourn for thee, O hero of the North — God judge thee gentler than we do on earth I I mourn for thee, and for our land, because She dare not own the martyrs in our cause; But they, our poets, they who justify — They will aot let thy memory rot or die I THE CONNAUGHT CHIEF'S FAREWELL. [Scene— Galway Bay after sunset. A Connaught Chief and his daughter on the deck of a departing ship. Time — 1G52. A few days after the surrender of Galway city to the PasUamentariaus.] ** My Daughter I 'tis a deadly fate that turns us out to sea, Leaving our hearts behind us, where our hopes no more can be ; The fate that lifts our anchor, and swells our sail so wide, Will have us far from sight of land ere morning 's on the tide. " Why does the darkness lower so deep upon the Galway shore ? Will no kind beam of moon or star shine on the cliffs of Moher? My child, you need not banish so the heart's dew from your eye, We cannot catch an utmost glimpse of Arran sailing by. << Thus all that was worth fighting for, for ever pass'd away, The true hearts all were given to death, the living turn'd to clay; HISTORICAL AND LEGEND AliY POEMS. 327 No wonder, then, the shamefaced shore should veil itself in night, "When slaves slee[» thickly on the land, why should the sky be bright ? •' Yes, thus their light should vanish, as vanish'd first their cause, Its hills should perish from our sight, as sunk its native laws, Its valleys from our souls be shut like chalices defiled, Nought have I now to love or serve, but God and you, my child." " 'Sly father dear — my father, what makes you talk so wild ? To God place next your country, and after her, your child; Though the land be dark behind us, and the sea all dim before, A morrow and a glory yet shall dawn on Connaught's shore. " What though foul Fortune has her will, and stern Fate fills our sail. The slaves that sleep must waken up, nor can the wrong prevail; "What though they broke our altars down, and roli'd our Saints in dust. They could not pluck them from that Heaven in which they had their trust." " May God and his Saints protect you, my own girl, wise as fair. An angel wrestling with my will, indeed you ever were; Oh, sure, when j'oung hearts hold such hope, and young heads hold such thought. Defeat can ne'er be destiny, nor the ancient fight unfought I 328 HISTORICAL AND LEO END AH Y POEMS. I' I, ' \r> i \ 1 ' h . Pfjafl ■siHH-t^H m ■II "Good land — green land— dear Ireland, though I cannot see you, still May God's dew brighten all your vales, His sun kiss every hill; And though henceforth our nights and days in strange lands must be pass'd, Our hearts and hopes for your uprise shall keep watch till the last!" EXECUTION OF ARCHBISHOP PLUNKETT. LONDON, JULY, 1G81. I. Another scaffold looms up through the night, Another Irish martyr's hour draws near. The cruel crowd are gathering for the sight, The July day dawns innocently clear ; There is no hue of blood along the sky. Where the meek martyr waits for light to die I II. Which is the culprit in the car of death ? He of the open brow and folded hands ! The turbid crowd court every easy breath. There is no need on him of gyves or bands; Pale, with long bonds and vigils, yet benign. He bears upon his breast salvation's sign. III. What was his crime ? Did he essay to shake The pillar of the state, or undermine The laws which vow a worthy vengeance, And punish treason with a death condign ? HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 329 Look in that holy face, and there behold The secret of the sufferer's life all told. IV. Enough ! he was of Irish birth and blood, He iiU'd Saint Patrick's place in stormy^ays. He lived, discharging duty, doing good, Dead to the world, and the world's idle p..aise, — The faithless saw his faith with evil eyes, They doom'd him without stain, and here he dies. ie! '^CAROLAN THE BLIND." I. To the cross of Glenfad the Blind Bard came, And at the four roads he drew his rein, And stopp'd his steed, and raised his hand To learn from the currents the lie of the land ; And spoke he aloud, unconscious that near His words were caught up by a listening ear. ^e n. '* The sun's in the south, the noon must be past, And cold on my right comes the northeast blast ; What ho ! old friend, we '11 face to the west. For Connaught 's the quarter the Bard loves best ; 'T is the heart of the land, and the stronghold of song. So now for our Connaught friends march we along I m. " In Connaught," he humm'd, as on he rode, " The heart and the house and the cup overflow'd ; p^"^-^n- w I'V i Mi ' hm ■ ■, i' '■■, 830 mSTOJilCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. In Connaught alone does music find The answering feet and the echoing mind ; 'Tis the soul of the soil and the fortress of song, So now for our Connaught friends march we alonsr !" TO THE RIVER BOYNE.m I. Bride of Lough Eamor, gently seaward stealing, In thy placid depths hast thou no feeling Of the stormy gusts of other days ? Does thy heart, O gentle, nun-faced river, Passing Schomberg's obelisk, not quiver, "While the shadow on thy bosom weighs ? XL Thou hast heard the sounds of martial clangor, Seen fraternal forces clash in anger, In thy Sabbath valley, Eiver Boyne ! Here have ancient Ulster's hardy forces Dress'd their ranks and fed their travell'd horses, Tara's hosting as they rode to join. III. Forgettest thou that sil«nt summer morning When William's bugles sounded sudden warning, And James's answer'd, chivalrously clear; When rank to rank gave the death- signal duly, And volley answer'd volley quick and truly, And shouted mandates met the eager ear ? nr. The thrush and linnet fled beyond the mountains ; The fish in Inver Colpa sought their fountains; IIISTOItlCAL AND LKGENDAliY P0KM8. 33I Tho unchiised deer ran through Trodagh's* gates ; St. Mary's bells in their high places trembled, And made a mournful music, which resembled A hopeless prayer to tho unpitying fates. Ah ! well for Ireland had the battle ended • "When James forsook what William well defended, Crown, friends, and kingly cause ; Well, if the peace thy bosom did recover Had breathed its benediction broadly over Our race, and rites, and laws. VI. Not in thy depths, not in thy fount. Lough Ramor, Were brew'd the bitter strife and cruel clamor Our wisest long have mourn'd ; Foul faction falsely made thy gentle current To Christian ears a stream and name abhorrent, And all its sweetness into poison turn'd. VII. But, as of old, God's prophet sweeten'd Mara, Even so, blue bound of Ulster and of Tara, Thy waters to our exodus give life ; Thrice holy hands thy lineal foes have wedded. And healing olives in thy breast imbedded, And banish'd far the bitterness of strife.'" VIII. Before thee we have made a solemn /cprfus, And for chief witness called on Him who made us. Quenching, before his eyes, tho brand of hate; Our pact is made for brotherhood and union, For equal laws to class and to communion. Our wounds to staunch, our land to liberate. • Tredagli— now Drogheda. ts ,r ' 'Wy 332 HISTORICAL AND LEQENDABY POEMS. IX. Our trust is not in musket or in sabre — Our faith is in the fruitfuluess of labor, The soil-stirred, willing soil; In homes and granaries by justice guarded, In fields from blighting winds and agents warded, In franchised skill and manumitted toil. X. Grant us, oh God, the soil, and sun, and seasons I Avert despair, the worst of moral treasons. Make vaunting words be vile; Grant us, we pray, but wisdom, peace, and patience, And we will yet re-lift among the nations Our fair, and fallen, and unforsaken isle I THE WILD GEESE.ios I. " "What is the cry so wildly heard, Oh, mother dear, across the lake ? " " My child, 't is but the northern bird Alighted in the reedy brake." II. '■"Why cries the northern bird so wild? Its wail is like our baby's voice." " 'T is far from its own home, my child, And would you have it, then, rejoice ? III. " And why does not the wild bird fly Straight homeward through the open air? I see no barriers in the sky — Why does she sit lamenting there ? " HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS, 333 rv. •* My child, the laws of life and death Are written in four living books; The wild bird reads them in the breath Of winter, freezing up the brooks — V. " Reads and obeys — more wise than man- And meekly steers for other climes, Obeys the providential plan. And humbly waits for happier times. VI. " The spring, that makes the poets sing, Will whisper in the wild bird's ear. And swiftly back, on willing wing, The wild bird to the north will steer." \ n vn. " Will they come back, of whom that song Last night was sung, that made you weep ? ** "Oh! God is good, and hope is strong; — My son, let 's pray, and then to sleep." TEE DEATH OF O'GAROLAN.^^ There is an empty seat by many a board, A guest is missed in hostelry and hall, There is a harp hung up in Alderford That was in Ireland sweetest harp of all. The hand that made it speak, woe's me, is cold, The darken'd eyeballs roll inspired no more; The lips — the potent lips — gape like a mould, Where late the golden torrent floated o'er. m a 334 HISTORICAL AND LjUGENDAEY POEMS. In vain the watchman looks from Mayo's towers For him whose presence filled all hearts witU mirth; In vain the gathered guests outsit the hours-*- The honored chair is vacant by the hearth. From Castle-Archdall, Moneyglass, and Trim, The courteous messages go forth in vain, • Kind words no longer have a joy for him Whose lowly lodge is in Death's dark demesne. Kilronan Abbey is his castle now, And there till doomsday peacefully he'll stay; In vain, they weave new garlands for his brow, In vain they go to meet him by the way; In kindred company he does not tire, The native dead, and noble, lie around, His life-long song has ceased, his wood and wire Rest, a sweet harp unstrung, in holy ground. Last of our ancient minstrels ! thou who lent A buoyant motive to a foundering race — "Whose saving song, into their being blent. Sustained them by its passion and its grace — God rest you ! May your judgment dues be light, Dear Turlogh ! and the purgatorial days Be few and short, till, clothed in holy white. Your soul may come before the Throne of rays 1 THE CROPPIES' GRAVE.ify I. Peace be round the Croppies' grave, Let none approach but pilgrims brave; This sacred hillside even ye*; Should slavery fly with frighrepod feet. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. II. Peace to their souls, whose bodies here Met martyr's death and rebel's bier, "Who sleep in more than holy ground, In death unparted and unbound. m. Fearless men of every time, 111 Christian land and pagan clime, Have sunk to rest by plain or hill, O'erwatched by cairn and citadel. IV. The roving sea-kings' tumuli Stand firm by northern strait and sea; The Pharaoh hath his pyramid, Whose gate and date the sands have hid. V. The Indian lies beside his lake. Waiting the final voyage to take. The good Manetto's passport given To the green hunting-grounds of heaven. VI. The Roman vault, the Grecian shrme, Ave sacred haunts of all the " Nine," Who there unweave the shrouds of death, And breathe around creative breath. vn. But vault, or shrine, or forest grave. Or sea-kings' cairn beside the wave, Or Egypt's proudest pyramid. Such hearts as Tara holds, ne'er hid. 335 m 336 msTORicAL and legendary poems. VIII. What though of these none wore a crown, None crouched beneath a monarch's frown ; What though none spoke the speech of Greece, Spartans were not more brave than these. IX. Though pompous line and pillar'd stone May never make their lost names known, They sleep wrapp'd by the noble sod. Ten thousand Irish chiefs have trod. Peace be round the Croppies' grave; Peace to your souls, ye buried brave; Tara's Hill, when crowned and free, Had never nobler guests than ye I SONQ OF ''MOYLAN' S DRAGOONS." ^os [Supposed to be sung after the surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown, 1781.] I. Furl up the banner of the brave, And bear it gently home. Through stormy scenes no more 't will wave. For now the calm has come; Through showering grape, and drifting death, It floated ever true. And by the signs upon its path. Men knew what troop went through. ece, EISTOEICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. n. Yon flag first flew o'er Boston free, When Graves's fleet groped out ; On Stony Point reconquered, we Unfurl'd it with a shout ; At Trenton, Monmouth, Germantown, Our sabres were not slack. Like Hghtning, next, to Charlestown We scourged the British back. n. And here at Yorktown now they yield. And our career is o'er. No more thou 'It flutter on the field. Flag of the brave ! no more ; The Redcoats yield up to " the Line," Both sides have changed their tunes ; To peace our Congress doth incline. And so do we. Dragoons. 337 ir. " 108 at Yorktown, Ue, leatb, Furl up the banner of the brave, And bear it gently home, No more o'er Moylan's march to wave, Lodge it in Moylan's home. There Butler, Hand, and Wayne, perchance. May tell of battles o'er. And the old flag, on its splinter'd lance. Unfurl for joy once more. T. Hurrah I then, for the Schuylkill side. Its pleasant woody dells; Old Ulster '<» well may warm with pride, When each his story tells. ^r I' ' II ■i «! i I- 338 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND AIIY P0KM8. Comrades, farewell ! may Heaven bestow On you its richest boons; So let us drink before we go, To Moylan's brave Dragoons I CHARITY AND SCIENCE. no I. The city gates are bound and barr'd — whence comes the foe? Sentinels move along the walls, speechlessly and slow ; The banner over the castle droops down despondingly — New graves and fireless hearths are all the Castellan can see. IT. The priest was at the altar, chanting a solem mass ; Fearlessly through the crowded nave we saw the Leagiier pass — He slew the clerk at the Agnus Dei — he struck the priest to death — He spill'd the consecrated cup — life wither'd at his breath. III. Then rose a cry to Heaven, " "Who will btay this shape ol fear — This bodiless avenger ? God I is no succor near ?" Street after street sent up the cry to the warders on the wall, And the childless Castellan echo'd it from his heirless inner hall. ^- I ^u Now forth into the market-place there stepp'd two maidens young, I Kac Goddess-bright to look upon, and honey-sweet of tongue; HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 339 Under the brow of one there lay the leeches' healing lore — 'Twas fair Science, led by Charity — they pass'd from door to door. V. In clays of peace, no two so fond of silence or repose. But as the hearts of men sunk down, their spirits higher rose ; AVealth had fled — its steeds fell dead — nor could its treasure bring A cool breath from the sultry heavei. — a pure drop from the spriug. VI. These imaidens gave, for Jesus' sake, what treasures could not buy ; The ail- grew pure as they approached, the darkness left the sky; rr- The sentry at the eastern gate felt the foe hurrying out, ;\.nd the citizen and the Castellan raised a wildly joyful shout. VII. The people sang Te Deum, and, at eve, this other song — "May Charity and Science in our island flourish long; And wheresoe'er they turn their steps, let manhood bend the knee, Let our fairest and our sajjest their votaries still be I" THE FAMINE IN THE LAND. I. De.\th reapeth in the fields of life, and we cannot count the corpses; Black and fast before our eyes march the biers and hearses ; In lone ways and in highways stark skeletons are lying, ( 840 mSTOIilCAL AND LEO END ART POEMS'. And dally unto Heaven their living kin are crying — "Must the slave die for the tyrant, the sufferer for tl.e sin— And a wide inhuman desert be where Ireland has been ; Must the billows of oblivion over all our hills be roli'd, And our land be blotted out, like the accursed lands of old ?" u. Oh ! hear it, friends of France ! hear it, our kindred Spain ! Hear it, our kindly kith and kin across the western main- Hear it, ye sons of Italy — let Turk and Russian hear it — Hear Ireland's sentence register'd, and see how ye can bear it ! Our speech must be unspoken, our rights must be forgot; Our land must be forsaken, submission is our lot — We are beggars, we are cravens, and vengeful England feels Us at her feet, and tramples us with both her iron heels. m. These the brethren of Gonsalvo ! these the cousins of the Cid! They are Spaniels and not Spaniards, born but to be hid— They of the Celtic war-race who made that storied rally Against the Teuton lances in the lists of Roncesvalles ! The}', kindred to the mariner whose soul's sublime devotion Led his caravel like a star to a new world through the ocean ! No ! no ! they were begotten by fathers in their chains, Whose valiant blood refused to flow along the vassal veins. IV. Ho ! ho ! the devils are merry in the farthest vaults of night, This England so out-Lucifers the prime arch-hypocrite; Friend of Peace and friend of Freedom — yea, divine Eeligions friend, She is feeding ou our hearts like a sateless nether fiend ! HISTORICAL AND LEQENDAUY POJMS. 341 tl-e sin- been ; ll'd, la of old?" Ho ! lio ! for the vultures are black on the four winds; No purveyor hke England that foul camp-following finds; Do you not mark them flitting between you and the sun ? They are come to reap the booty, for the battle has been won. ed Spaiu 1 :n main — ear it— ow ye can e forgot; b— Ingland feels )n heels. V. Lo ! what other shape is this, self-poised in upper" air. With wings like trailing comets, and face darker than despair ? See ! see ! the bright sun sickens into saffron in its shade, And the poles are shaken at their ends, infected and afraid — 'Tis the Spirit of the Plague, and round and round the shore It circles on its course, shedding bane for evermore; And the slave falls for the tyrant and the sufferer for the sin, And a wild inhuman desert is where Ireland has been. (usms of tlie to be hid— ied rally ivalles I lime devotion through tlie chains, rassal veins. jtults of niglit, lypocrite; lineBeligio^'* ler fiend 1 VI. 'Twas a vision — 'tis a fable — I did but tell my dream — Yet twice, yea thrice, I saw it, and still it seem'd the same; Ah ! my soul is with this darkness nightly, daily overcast, And I fear me, God permitting, it may fall out true at last; God permitting, man decreeing ! What, and shall man so will. And our unseal'd lips be silent and our unbound hands be still? Shall we look upon our fathers, and our daughters, and our wives, Slain, ravish'd, in our sight, and be paltering for our lives V VII. Oh ! countrymen and kindred, make yet another stand — Plant your flag upon the common soil — be your motto Life and Land ! r m 842 HISTORICAL AND LEGKNDAUY POEMS. From the charnel shore of Cleena to the sea-bridge of the Giant, Lot the sleeping souls awalce, the supine rise self-reliant; And rouse thee up, oh ! city, that sits furrow'd and in weeds, Like the old Egyptian ruins amid the sad Nile's reeds. Up, Mononia, land of heroes, and bounteous mother of song. And Connaught, like thy rivers, come unto us swift aud strong ; Oh ! countrymen and kindred, make yet another stand — Plant your flag upon the common soil — be your motto Life Laud. THE FLYING SHIPS. AS SEEN FROM THE COAST OF IRELAND IN 1847. I. Where are the swift ships flying Far to the West away ? Why are the women crying, Far to the West awav ? Is our dear land infected, That thus o'er her bays neglected, The skiif steals along dejected, While the ships fly far away ? n. Skiff! can I blame your stealing Over the mournful bay ? Ships flee, but they have no feelingf, Bent on their order'd way; HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 343 :lge of the •eliant; i in weeds, eeds. motlier of J swift and stand- motto Life 'Tis you, oh ! you lords of castles, Keeping your godless wassails, And banishing far your vassals, "lis you I curse this day 1 lU. Sad is the sight that daunts me, Far to the West away, But a homeward hope still haunts mo, Far to the West away; I see a fair fleet returning, I see bright beacons burning, And gladness in place of mourning, As the ships to the shore make way, .847. THE WOFUL WINTER. SUGGESTED BY ACCOUNTS OF IKELAND, IN DECEMBER, 1848. L TuEY are flying, flying, like northern birds over the sea for fear, They cannot abide in their own green land, they seek a rest- ing here ; Oh ! wherefore are they flying, is it from the front of war, Or have they smelt the Asian plague the winds waft from afar? n. No ! they are flying, flying, from a land where men are sheep, Where sworded shepherds herd and slay the silly crew they keep; Where so much iron hath pass'd into the souls of the long enslaved, That none was found by fort or field, or in Champion's right hand waved. 341 ■I HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. III. Yea I they arc flying hither, breathless and palo with fear, Aud it not the Hailing time for ships, but the winter, dark and drear ; They had rather face the waters, dark as the frown of God, Than make a stand for race and land on their own elastic sod. lY. Oh, blood of Brian, forgive them I oh, bones of Owen, rest ! Oh, spirits of our brave fathers, turn away your eyes from the West; Look back on the track of the galleys that with the soldier came — Look I look to the ships of Tyre, moor'd in the ports of Spain. T. But look not on, dread Fathers I look not upon the shore Where valor's spear and victory's horn were sacred signs of yore; Look not toward the hill of Tara, or Iveagh, or Ailech high ! Look toward the East and blind your sight, for they fly at last, they fly I VI. And ye who met the Romans behind the double wall, And ye who smote the Saxons as mallet striketh ball. And ye who shelter'd Harold and Bruce "• — fittest hosts fo. the brave — Why do you not join your spirit-strength, and bury her in the wave ? vn. Alas I alas ! for Ireland, so many tears were shed, That the Celtic blood runs palely, that once was winy red! HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 345 'ith fear, inter, dark vn of God, elastic soil. •wen, rest ! : eyes from the soldier he ports of Thev nre flpng, flyinj? from lier, the holy and the old, 01), the land hus ulter'd little, but the men are cowed and cold. vrii. Yea ! tliey are flying hither, breathless and pale with foar, And it not the suiling-tirae for ships, but the winter, dark and drear; They had rather face the waters, dark as the frown of God, Thill) roake a stand for race and laud, on their own elastic sod. STIAWN NA GOW'S* GUEST. A FABLE FOR THE POETS OF THE NATION, IN 1848. the shore acred signs jlechhigli! they ily at wall, ball, ist hosts f^ A KiLLALOE Gow wrought in his forge at nighi;, "With a merry heart, in a glowing light; His arm of strength and head of sense, Brought the good heart due recompense. II. 'T- 3 a red ploughshare on his anvil lay. light the Gow — ** Before a year and a day - ay a sod of valley and lea Iny master will turn, clean colter, with thee." III. This Gow ■ s a lonely bachelor man, And live<^ .ne a tree, where his life began; His only iv was that glorious river Which Aow , by Killaloe ever and ever. ♦ Shaum na Goio-John, the Smith. Ruil'ii'iW' T it ! 346 HISTORICAL AND LEO END ART POEMS. TV. He loved the trees and the raen that rose On its sides, for the sake of the river that flows, And oft, though wearied, he lay awake. To hear the rapids their clamors make. V. In through the smiddy door there came, And stood full in the forge's flame, A form most royal, and comely, and bold, Crown'd like a King of Kinkora old. VI. There was regal power in every look. And lineage plain as a herald's book, As sitting down at the Gow's reques', Out spoke the unexpected guest: VII. " Shawn Gow, of Killaloe, I find Your craft has left my lore behind — These chains are not for the vanquish'd in battle. But fetters, methinks, for pasture cattle." VIII. Answer'd the Gow: "My Khan and guest. The sun and the sunburst have set in the West; The conqueror lives in the heart of the land — Ho alone hath fetters for foot and band.'* IX. " And tell me, truly, my stalwart Gow, Do you forge no swords in Banba now ? I have temper'd a blade of old, and fain Would see the brave art flourish again." HISTORICAL AND LEGEND ART POEMS. 347 )attlc, ''est: •' Kliau, Sliahh an Iron, still retains The martial ore in its giant veins ; But the men of Erin are thrown and bound, Without a wrestle, without a wound." XL *' Ha !" said the guest, " ill news is this — The slaves in spirit are slaves, I wis, That all the swords of Adam's race Can never uplift to freedom's place. XII. •' But, Gow, where are the bards, whose words Struck late on my ears * like the clash of swords ?' Hath the spirit of poesy stoop'd its pinion To laud the tyrant's dread dominion ?" XIII. " The bards," said the Gow, " as many as be, Still sigh that Erin is else than free; But of late they have only sigh'd and wept, And few the prophetic vigil hath kept." XIV. " Worse news than ill," replied the Khan, " For never since Banba first began, Lack'd there of bards when trial was near, To shout their warnings in her ear. XV. " Throughout the age-long Danish fight. In camp and court, by day and night, The poet's brain and poet's hand Were toiling for Banba's holy land. !f i 1^' f» 348 HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS XVI. " I must be gone 1 do thou go forth, Say Brian came from his grave in the north; Bid dairseachs sound and hearts be strung — Give freedom first to mind and tongue ! XVII. " The land is old — the land lies low — They must not drown her soul with woe; The land 's in sleep — ^but not death's sleep — 'T is time to work, but not to weep." XVIII. Out through the smiddy door there pass'd The Ard-righ's fetch, nor turn'd, nor cast A backward look, in deeper night His form was blended from the sight. THE IRISH HOMES OF ILLINOIS. Chorus — The Irish homes of Illinois, The happy homes of Illinois; No landlord there Can cause despair, Nor blight our fields in Illinois. I. 'T is ten good years since Ellen hawn Adventured with her Irish boy Across the sea, and settled on A prairie farm in Illinois. The Irish homes of Illinois, etc. HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. n. 349 Sweet waves the sea of summer flowers Around our wayside cot so coy, Where Ellen sings away the hours That light my task in Illinois. The Irish homes of Illinois, etc. m. Another Ellen 's at her knee, And in her arms a laughing boy; And I bless God to see them free From want and care in Illinois. The Irish hoines of Illinois, etc. IT. And yet some shadows often steal Upon our hours of purest joy; When happiest we most must feel " If Ireland were like Illinois !" The Irish homes of Illinois, etc. i r linois, rilinois; |e In Illinois. THE SHANTY. I. linois, etc. This is our castle ! enter in. Sit down and be at home, sir ; Your city friend will do, I hope. As travellers do in Rome, sir I 'T is plain the roof is somewhat low, The sleeping-room but scanty. Yet to the Settler's eye, you know, His castle is — his Shanty ! i n lis?''- 350 HISTORICAL AND LEGEND AUY POEMS. H. The Famine fear we saw of old, Is, like a ni{?litmare, over ; That wolf wiU never break our fold, Nor round the doorway hover. Our swine in droves tread down the brake, Our sheep-bells carol canty, Last night yon salmon swam the lake, That now adorns our Shanty. III. That bread we break, it is our own, It grew around my feet, sir, It pays no tax to Squire or Crown, Which makes it doubly sweet, sir ! A woodman leads a toilsome life. And a lonely one, I grant ye, Still, with his children, friend, and wife, How happy is his Shanty ! IV. No feudal lord o'erawes us here. Save the Ever-bJess'd Eternal ; To Him is due the fruitful year. Both autumnal and vernal; We 've rear'd to Him, down in the dell, A temple, neat, thoL- h scanty, And we can hear its blessed bell On Sunday, in our Shanty. V. This is our castle ! enter in. Sit down, and be at home, sir ; Your city friend will do, I hope. As travellers do in Rome, sir I HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 'T is plain the roof is somewhat low, The sleeping-room but scanty, Yet to the Settler's eye, you know, His castle is — his Shanty ! 351 ST. PATRICK'S OF THE WOODS. I. *• Sir, my guest, it is Sunday morning, And we are ready to mass to go, For the sexton sent us word of warning That the priest would be in the glen below." II. Quickly I rose, in mind delighted To find the old faith held so fast, That even in western wilds benighted My people still to the cross were clasp'd. III. We trod the forest's broken byway, AVe burst through bush, and forded floods, Uutil we came to the valley's highway, "Where stood St. Patrick's of the "Woods. IV. A simple shed it was, but spacious, With ample entrance open wide; Where forest veterans, green and gracious, Stood sentinels at either side. V. And there, old friends with friends were meeting. And the last new-comer told his tale; And kindred kindred there were greeting, In the loving speech of the island Gael. FT 352 mSTOmCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. VI. W K! Ki I i li m.' I' ? .' it And here a group of anxious faces "Were drawn around a bowering tree, While one, a reader, with sage grimaces Bead from a record spread on his knee. VII. Betimes I heard loud bursts of laughter At O'Connell's wit, from the eager throng. And then deep sighs would follow after Some verse of Moore's melodious song. vm. Till at length the bell of the lowly altar Summon'd to prayer the scatter'd flock. And they moved with steps that would not falter If that summons led to the martyr's block. IX. I 've knelt in churches, new and ancient. In grand cathedrals betimes I 've stood, But never felt my soul such transport As in thine — St. Patrick's of the Woods. I -I THE BATTLE OF AYACHUCHO .^^* I. Earth's famous fields, how lost, how won. From first Time saw the unchanging sun O'er hostile ranks preside, The poet's voice hath given to fame — But Ayachucho's glorious name Still sleeps on Andes' side. i\ HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 353 II. Where Condorkanki's battlement With the steep tropic sky is blent, The tide of war had roU'd. The Spanish tents along its base Look'd down upon a kindred race, By many wrongs made bold. III. La Serna from his tent, at morn Counted the Chilian host with scorn — Scorn 'twere not wise to show; As condors close their wings, his flanks Drew up their far-distended ranks And swoop'd upon the foe. IV. Strange sight on Ayachucho's plain, Spain smiting down the sons of Spain, The nurslings of her breast ! Untaught by Britain's past defeat How Freedom guards her last retreat In the unfetter'd West ! h* V. The Andes, with their crowns of snow, Crowns crested with the fiery glow Of the volcanic flood; The condor, sailing stiffly by. The oak trees struggUng to the sky Beyond the palm-tree wood — VI. These, Chili, were thy witnesses I Long may 't be till scenes like this Thy mountains see again. V '.■'■> -' »l ill 854 HiSTomoAL and legendary poems. But if, beneath the glowing Line, Such warfare must again be thine, God send thee more such men I VII. As bend and break before the shower The loaded wheat and scarlet flower, So broke the Spanish host I As strikes the sail before the squall, I see the Viceroy's standard fall — The day is won and lost I VIII. A day is won that dates anew Thy story, Chili ! thine, Peru I And, vast Pacific, thine ! By native skill and foreign aid Young Freedom hath securely made A lodgment at the Line ! IX. Of Sucre's skill, O'Connor's aid, Cordova's flashing, ruddy blade, The Chilian muse will boast; And seldom can the muse essay The story of a nobler day Than that La Serna lost. X. The Andean echoes yet shall take The burden from De Sangre's lake Of the heroic lay — And Conkorkanki's passes drear Age after age the tale shall hear Of Ayachucho's day I HISTOniCAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 355 THE HAUNTED CASTLE.i» " How beautiful ! how beautiful !" cried out the children all, As the golden harvest evening's moon beamed down on Donegal; And its yellow light that danced along the Esker to the Bay, There tinged the roofless abbey's walls, here gilt the castle gray. "How beautiful ! how beautiful! let us go hide and seek." Some run along the river's edge, some crouch beside the creek; AVhile two, more dauntless than the rest, climb o'er the Cas- tle wall, Aud without note on horn or trump, parade the princely hall. Brave little boys, as bright as stars, beneath the porch they pass'd. And paused just where along the hall the keep its shadow cast; And, Heaven protect us ! there they saw a fire burning away, Aud, sitting in the ingle-nook, an ancient man and gray; He sat upon his stony seat Hke to another stone, And ever from his breast there broke a melancholy moan ; But the little boys they feared him not, for they were two to one. And the man was stoop'd and aged, and sad to look upon. And he who was the eldest — his mother called him Hugh — Said, " "Why for, sir, do you make moan, and wherefore do you rue ? Vr-i 35G HISTORICAL AND LEQENDAliY POEMS. Are you one of the old-time kings lang Hyne exiled to Spain, Like a linnet to its last year's nest, that here returns again ?" And the shape stood up and smiled, as the tiny voice he heard, And the tear that hung upon his cheek fell to his snowy beard. " My boys," he said, " come sit ye here beside me, until I Tell you why I haunt this hearth, and what so makes me sigh. " I am the Father of their Race — the Cinnel-Connell's sire— And therefore thus I watch their home, and kindle still their fire; For the mystic heat would perish amid a land of slaves, If it were not tended nightly by the spirits from their graves; And here I still must keep my stand until the living are Deem'd meet to track the men of might along the fields of war; And, ah! my little men,'' he said, "my watch is very long, Unpromised of an early end, uncheer'd by friend or song. "And the present is embitter'd by the memories of old— The bards and their delights, and the tales the gossips tolJ; I remember me the ringing laughs and minstrelsio divine, That echoed here for Nial Garv and Thorlogh of the Wine; I remember how brave Manus — an early grave he met — Traced the story here of Columb-cille, a tale surviving yet; And, oh ! I weep like Jacob, when of Joseph's death he heard, When I think upon you, young Hugh Roe, Tirconnell's staff and sword I I "My boys, he was not thirty years of age, although his name Was spread all over Ireland upon the wings of fame; HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 357 exiled to IS again ?" f -voice he liis snowy until I makes me lell's sire— le still their ; slaves, heir graves; ring arc the fields of rery long, or song. Entrapp'd, imprison'd, frozen on Wicklow's wintry hills, He rose, he fought, he died afur, crowning our country's ills. Alas ! I cannot help but cry — and you ! what, crying, too ? Indeed, it might melt iron hearts to think upon my Hugh. My boys, go home, remember him, and hasten to be men, That you may act, on Irish soil, his gallant part again." " How beautiful ! how beautiful !" cried out the children all, As the two boys clamber'd over the ancient castle wall; "Kuu here — run there — take care — take care;" but silently and slow To their humble homes, the little friends, hand in hand they go; And from that night they daily read, in all the quiet nooks About their homes, old Irish songs, and new-made Irish books; And many a walk, and many a talk, they had down by the Bav, Of the Spirit of the Castle Hall, and the words they heard him say. \i of old- tossips told; Isio divine, the Wine; le met — Iviving yet; Lth he heard, juiiell's stafl: Uh his name name; THE ABBEY BY LOUGH KEY.^^* I. Pleasant it is in the summer time To sail upon Lough Key, Alone, or with a soul belov'd — 'T is a lonely lough to see; But ah ! the ancient charm is fled. That charm 'd that lough for me I u. Fair are the woods of Rockingham, And fair the islands all, nr •fc . > 858 •■' ? Ill Hi msrOliWAL AND l.KGKNDAHY P0KM3. And fair McDcrmot's castle is, Thou^^li uoddin^ to its fall; But tho ancient charm is fled away, Ab, me ! beyond recall. m. Of old, o'er Nature's fairest holds God's holy standard stood. The loveliest mirrors smiled to catch The imago of the Bood; Then, many a cross-crown'd turret rose Around this spreading flood. IT. Then, many a cot was saved witb prayer, And hail'd with holy cheer. And many a high-born penitent Was fain to labor here ; For holy names and holy deeds Then calendar'd the year. V. Full many a year sweet peace abode Beside the placid lake. And whoso claim'd the stranger's place For God's all-glorious sake. Was welcome still to stay his stay, And take what he would take. VI. Then on the evening traveller's ear Arose sweet chojint of psalm. Which all the forest list'ning to, Stood hush'd in cloistral calm, And the only airs that stirr'd abroad Whisper'd the dread " I Am." HISTORICAL AND LEGENDARY POEMS. 859 VII. Ah ! woll-a-tlay ! the charm is fled — No more across this ilood, Shall traveller catch the solemn song Of Norbert's brotherhood; The pious peasant scarce can tell "Where once their convent stood I vn. Yet though the years be fled in flocks, Six hundred vears and more, I fancy yonder tree a tower, And there, along the shore, I see the Abbot Clarus pass, With white-robed monks a score. IX. A prayer for Abbot Clarus, Whose holy house stood here — One of God's strongholds for the land. For many and many a year; For still Saint Norbert's brotherhood To Gael and Gaul were dear I A prayer for Abbot Clarus McMailcn, he who plann'd The house of the Blessed Trinity, Upon Lough Hey to stand — Who here as guardian of the lake, Gave peace unto the land I 360 EISTOllICAL AND LEGENDARY' POEMS'. SAINT BEES. *^ I. Bright shone the joyful summer sun On Cumberland's dark shore. The wind had fail'd the fishermen And put them to the oar; The flippant swallow swept the shaw, The brown nuts bent the trees, "When, from the neighboring hill, I saw The village of Saint Bees. n. " "Who was Saint Bees ?" I asked of one Who drove a lazy yoke. " Saint Bees," quoth he, " is that place yon: You'll find 'em stiffish folk." " Who was Saint Bees ?" I asked again A squire in scarlet dress'd. " Who ?" echoed he — " North Countrie men But little like a jest." m. I stood within the fontless porch, I paced the empty nave. The v'ery verger of the church A false tradition gave. Hard by, a staring pile of brick (Or college, if you please) Had played the Saint t]ie scurviest trick- Had called itself — Saint Bees. mi\\ HISTORICAL AND LEOENDAUY POEMS. 361 len IV. A well-fed pedant in a train Of stuff (not train of thought), "Who, like a great goose, strode before The gosling flock he taught, Said, stroking down his neckcloth white, That he, " In times like these, Must say that, being no Puseyite, He knew nought of Saint Bees." V. "Was it r this, oh, virgin band, Your Irish iiome vou left, And set, for heathen Cumberland, The life-spring in this cleft? "Was it for this your vesper chant Charm'd all these savage seas ? Where is the fruit you strove to plant Along this shore. Saint Bees '* VI. I could have borne the callous clown, The squire's chagrin amused. But the dullard in his cap and gown I from my heart abused. I wish'd that I had been his Pope, To put him on his knees, And make his fine pedantic gown An offering to Saint Bees. IfTTiT »1 ES'il POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. . ( it I ll DiErilON. FoK King Celeus in Eleusis, the evening board was spread, The monarch, with his youthful queen, sits at the table head ; The f.iircst fiolds of Attica for him their harvest bore, And ^onerous was his royal heart and bountiful his store. A tiller of the land by day, a teacher by the hearth, Wlioii sunset seal'd his glorious book, the widespread, l)eiuite(Mis earth; Nn t.uigling jmrple trail'd behind liis active limbs, no rod Of kindly show ere mock'd liis hand; no miniicry of God; His name tlirough all Ionia was held in reverence meet. And bUjssings cu'cled round his liead, and prayers enthroned his f(^et. Mctiuiira and her royal spouse sat at the table head, Ami the household and the guests are there for whom tlie hoard was spread; Tlio wihl boar, and the antler'd deer lie shorn of speed and strength, AliMinr that royal banquet board stretched in their ample h'ligth; 't:i'l th ' in fear ! Nor thou, O happy mother, Metanira! but draw near— And fear me not, my boys beloved ! 't is Cer(!S calls you now; POEMS ON a EN Ell Ah HISTORY. 8G7 Como to your guest, iior trrjinblo at tho halo on her brow, Tor blcssocl shall tlii.s houHuhold bo, uiul bloHKod every one — Tliow, nionarcli ! and thou, mother! Triptolemus, Dicphon! IJcside the way I lantjuish'd, ah mo ! how wearily ! Th(i fear of I'luto's darksome realm on my heart lay heavily; Tlioy found mo as a woman, their kindness hath restored All the Immortal to my soul — Metanira, hear my word : I will imiHo thy boys until they grow of men the lordliest — best, And th((ir thirst for greatness shall bo fed from Ceres' child- less breast; Tlii y shall draw the pap's elixir that once fed Proserpine, And iitver yet had Attica such sons as these of thine!" lull tliiiiikful were the monarch and the mother for their sons, Tliroii^di whoso veins tho immortal ichor already plenteous runs — Tlioir tow'ring forms and glowing eyes bespeak their fos- t(!rago rare, And fills their father's heart with hope, their mother's with now care; For beings cannot tenant Earth, if for Earth framed too linely. Nor this world's limits satisfy souls that aspiro divinely — And siulder Metanira grow, as, every day apace, Hor sons walk'd godlier in thought, and heaveulier in grace; iliid sh(5 watch'd with stealthy constancy tho goddess' every move. Lost she should bear away for aye the children of her love. Each evening at the twilight hour Ceres retired apart ^Vith the youths she loved, to work for them a rite's mys- terious art; Sho sooth'd them to deep slumber, then spread a couch of flame. 3G8 POEMS ON (IKXEIIAL HISTORY. Tlioro sho ni^-litly laid ihoiii till iluiy loss and 1c8h of earth hocaiiie. ►SiKtli is tho art which still survives, snch is the penal pain Thio'.i^^li which the Hons of earth to a spirit-life attain; But Mctanira, on an evo, this ordeal chanced to spy, It. roused tho human mother's fear, she raised a f(!arful ciy— Tho s])ell was broke, Diephon woke to perish in the tiic, And Tiiptolemus scarce escaped for death more (piick ami dire; And Ceres, moaning piteously, forever passed away, And Celeus never saw her more, though he sought her many a day. Even yet Diephon's destijiy tunes many an Attic; lyre, How ho perish'd earth-waked on the couch of puril'ving lire! t JLLVyJBAL'S VISION OF rilE COl)^ OF CAItTlI.V! F.n'^ I. I swK\n to thee, Silenus, 'twas not an idle dream, "When the gods of Carthage call'd me by the Ebro's rushing stream, When I stood amid the council of the deities of Tyre — And I felt a spirit on mc, the spirit of my sire. . II. jfou know if I am fearful, yet I qiiiver'd when I saw The mighty form of Kronos, full of majesiy and awe — His glance was far and lifted, like one looking into space, When he turn'd it full upon mo abash'd I hid my face. III. I heard the thrones communing in a langnage strange and higK Words of earth tind words of heaven, in opinion and reply; POEMS ON OENEIIAL HISTORY. 309 Names and actions all familiar, clierish'd sccr<;ts all untold, Were mingled in their councils with the unknown and the old. IV. TIk! prayer I pray'd at Gades, the boyish oath I swore — TIh! sliiughter at Saguntum which slaked the thirsty shore, Tlu! tribes we smote at Tagus, all the actions of my youth TuHsM bodily before me, till I trembled at thjir truth. V. Tii( n a deity descended and touch'd me with his hand, And I saw, outspread before me, the fair ItaUan land; Its interwoven valleys, where the vine and olive grow And the god who touch'd me, speaking, said gently, "Rise and go !" VI. But I knelt and gazed, as gazing I would have aye remain'd, This was the destmed labor — this wa« the task ordain'd — As lilce a dragon breathing fire, I was loosed to overrun These garden'^ of all flowers, these cities of the Sun. VII. Wluire on snow-fed Eridanus the sacred poplars grieve, Whore the artists of Etruria their spells and garments weave ; By a lake amid the mountains, by a gliding southern stream. Hosts and consuls fell before me — I swear 't was not a dream. VIII. AVc smote them with the sling, we smote them with the bow, Libyan and Numidian, and Iberian footmen slow; And the elephants of Ind, and the lances of the Gaul, Bore the standard of our Carthage, victorious over all. w^ 370 POEMS ON OJCNKItAL IIISTOllY. IX. I hejird tlio voico of wailing, I hoard tho voice of Iloino, Tlioii I kntiw my day was waniiif^, I know my hour wiih como, For to mo a hound is jj^ivou hy tho f^ods whom I oho}', And tho wail of Homo must ushor in tho ovoninj; of my lay. But I swoar to tlion, Silonus, shieo tho vifiion of that night, AVhon all tho Tyrian doitios woro ^ivon to my sij^ht, I oust no look bohind mo, I nurso no woak dosires For the lovely one I quitted, for tho palace of my sires. XI. Tho daugliter of Caliiso, whose beauty thou hast seen, 'I'he ample halls of Barca, are as visions that have boon ; The belov'd ancestral city, with its temples and its walls, Has no message which my spirit from its destiny recalls. XII. Beyond those peaks of crystal, my path lies on and on. Where the gods have drawn tho channel there must the river run; For me, a touib or triumph, exile or welcome home — But the dragon of the vision must work its work at Rome ! THE ANSWER OF SIMONILES. X. " WuAT say'st thou ?" Unto Simonides King Hiero spake: " O thou wise ! "Who yieldeth yonder orb its rays — Who setteth the niijfht-watch in the skies ? ror.MS OM (IKXKUAL IIISTOTiV. ■\Vli() slirn-ili up this woinlrouH Roa Tli.'ii wait.fth hero in Syniciiso V If liiou liiisl. vo.nd tliis inyKiery, I pniy ihco do not tliy friond rofusol" " Of rii^'htH iuitl (liiys I iisk for Hovon, KiutJ ! for this Hucnst hos in heaven." II. Sovon nij,dits woro p.issM aiul rovgu days, When thus n«^'ain Kin^' llioro Kaid — "I i)ray tlioo, wise Siiiioiiid*!^, Hast thou our last week's riddle read? 1 know thou art not rash to speak, Nor dost thou fear what may befall, That li^dii will from thy darkness break — Now who is God and Lord of all?" But he answer'd : " Grant mo another seven Days, for this secret bides in heaven !" 371 HI. Seven days more were overpast, And lliero sought the sage's cell. Assured the hour was come at last, The secret of the skies to tell; But he found the prophet worn and wan "With travail, and vigil, and lonely thought; *' It is not given to mortal man To find," he said, " that which I sought: Wherefore, if all life's days were given, O King, I still should ask for seven I" ^, ^, IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) ^ // ^ .<^i^ 1.0 I'i I.I |Z8 |Z5 I |50 •^ R-li2 12.2 ■WUi. 1 ^ M 11^ ^ 6" ► V] 0> Photogra|diic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STRIET WEBSTER, N.Y. MSSO (716) 872-4503 ^ .^ 872 POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. ¥•1 THE JEWS IN BABYLON. IPsalm cxxxvi., verso i., " Upon the rivers of Babylon, there we sat and wept, and we remembered Sion ; v. ii. On the willowa in the midst thereof wc hung up our inHtruments ; v. iii. For there they, that led us into captivity. required of us the words of song. And they that carried us away said : ' Sinj; ye to U8 a hymn of tlie songs of Sion ;' v. iv. How shall wc sing the songs of the Lord in a strange land ?" Z. The sun dwelt on the royal domes Of Babylon the great — The captives sat upon the stones Without the water gate; The river through the willows rush'd, "Where they their harps have hung, For sorrow all their songs had hush'd And all their harps unstrung. n. Forth came a thoughtless city throng, And round the mourners drew — " Come, sing to us a Sion song, And string your harps anew ?" " Ah no, not so I" the captives said, " Not in a stranger land — Song from our hearts is banished. And skill from every hand. m. " Jerusalem ! dear Jerusalem, Could thy sons sing or play. And thou that art all earth to them So fallen and far away ? . POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. O, Sion ! may the tongue or hand That first forgets thee, rot^— If thou nrt fallen, our native land, Thou art not quite forgot." 873 IV. The Babylonian troop are gone In thoughtful mood, away — The rivers and their tears flow on. And none their grief gainsay : Their sad harps on the willows swing. Their lips in secret pray — That yet in Sion they may sing Their native Sion lay. AN EASTERN LEGEND. I. Once there was a Persian monarch, (So the Persian poets sing,) Aged, honor'd, great, religious. Every inch a man and king; Night and Morning were his subjects, North and South bow'd down the head. All went well within his palace. Till his only son fell dead. n. Then his grief broke out in frenzy, On the floor he dash'd his crown, Tore his gray beard in his madness, Call'd God's lightning impious down. 874 POEMS ON OENEJIAL HISTOBT. Till at length a Sago of sages, Who the Past and Future read, By command was brought before him, Order'd to restore the Dead I m. And the Sage but stipulated This condition with the King, That three men who never sufter'd Sorrow, first they there should bring; Then the mighty monarch's servants Sought the three afar and long, But the happiest had known sorrow, Disappointment, loss, or wrong I IV. Then the mighty Persian monarch, (So the Persian poets sing,) Seeing sorrow universal. Felt himself again a king; Calmly for the path of duty Girded he his armor on, And perform'd his royal labors, Till, in time, he found his son. CALEB AND JOSHUA. [lo the 13th and Uth chapters of the Book of Numbers, the reader will find the history herein paraphrased.] I." When Moses led the doubting host From Pharoah's power and Egj'pt's coast, God was his ally and his guide Through fordless floods and deserts wide; POKMS ON GENERAL HISTORY, Though years were Bpent and young men bent- Famine in tield, and feud in tent, Tlic valiant Prophet and his band Believed and sought the Promised Laud. 875 n. Now when in Pharan's sands they lay, Twelve were sent forth to seek the way, Which through the thick of foemen lay; And ten returning, psile with dread, Show'd figs and grapes, but trembling said, * A giant race of Enac's brood Possess'd the soil, where cities stood Mid brazen walls and towers so high. That whoso sought to take must die." I m. But two — apart from all the rest — Loudly the trembling tribes address'd: *' The walls,** they said, " and towers are high. But do not nearly reach the sky — The men are men of mighty make; But, if we brethren courage take And trust in God and our own strength, "We'll win the Promised Land at length." ler will And the 17. Above the camp there came a cloud. And forth from it, as thunder loud, A voice of power which swore, of men Alive, and in the desert then, The faithful two alone should tread The Laud the Lord had promised. ^ 376 r POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. y. Men have perish'd, years have flown. The faithful two survive alone, God's hostages to human sense. That faith is its own recompense. Caleb 1 Joshua i when will men Put trust in God, as ye did then ? New Yobk, 1849. THE MACCABEES. [" And every man said to liis neigbor, ' If we shall all dr as onr brethren have done, and not fight against the bcatlicn for our lives and v nr justiiicatiuDs they will now quickly root us out of the earth.' " And they determined in that day, sajing— " Whosoever shall come op against us to fight on the Sabbath, we will fight against him, and wc -viWX not all die, as our brethren that were slain in the secret places. "—iraccabtfi, chap. II., v. 40, 41. Darkness o 'ershadow'd Israel all, Woe, and death, and lamentation; The Heathen walk'd on Sion's wall, The Temple all was desolation; A dumb demoniac shape of stone Was raised upon God's holy altar, Where children of the Faith kneel down, And fearful priests through false -rites falter. n. Buried the Book of God, the spirit Of Moses and of David gone — Lost the traditions they inherit, Their Sabbath scoflTd and spat upon; mm rOKMS ON OENEUAL JIISTOHY. Meek recusants, with bent necks biire, Be.soii*»ht swift dcuth fioni lire and sword, Of all deliverance in despair, Died, rather than deny the Lord. ni. But other men of hardier mood In Modin's mountains wander'd free, Their temple the o'erarching wood, The cave their solemn sanctuarv ; Men who had sworn they would not die Like shunibles-sheep a willing prey. Had sworn to meet the enemy Though he should come on Sabbath-day. IV. Their chiefs were Judas — Israel's shield. Her buckler, sword, and morning star; The first in everv arduous field To bear the burden of the war; And Simon sa«ie, the man of lore, AVhose downcast eyes read coming signs; Wlio, from afar, could foes explore, And counteract their dark designs. 377 V. Oh, valiant Assidean chiefs. How well your fathers' will ye wrought, How lifted Israel from her griefs, And bore her on your shields aloft; " She shall not perish !" so ye swore — They shall not root us out of earth; Our fathers' God we dare adore, And rule the realm that gave us birth." 878 POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. Oh ! noble pair I with awful odds Seron, Lysias, Nicanor, come ! Their trust is in their Syrian gods, Your firmer faith is in your own ! How valiantly, year after year, Ye gird your loins for warfare grand I How proud at last your flag ye rear O'er your regenerated land ! vn. O God ! I know an ancient race As sore oppress'd as Israel once, Fierce foes from earth would fain erase Our faithful fathers' filial sons; Wilt Thou not grant us shield and sword For this last Maccabean war ? A Simon and a Judas, Lord I Thy outlaw'd faithlal to restore ? THE STAR OF THE MAGI AND OF BETHLEHEM. I. " "Whence is the star that shineth so brightly ? 'Tis not of those that arise for us nightly — Pale in its presence appearing all others. It looms like a first-born over its brothers." n. The herds of Arabia lay gather'd and sleeping, The sons of the shepherds their watches were keeping, When the star of our faith all lustrous and tender, Fill'd the desert of grass with the sheen of its splendor. POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. 879 ni. Thou, in wonder and terror tlicy ran to their seers, Wisest of men, in those primitive yeai'H, Ishmael's priests, the renown'd of Sabco, Who grew pale in the light that arose o'er Jiidea. IV. To their eyes, star-reveal'd, an angelical choir Fill'd the heavens with timbrel, and anthem, and lyre, And they heard through the calm of that marvellous morn, That the king, that the lion of Judah was born. V. Then the magi and lords of the desert arose, And gath'ring the myrrh in the Orient that grows, And the incense of Saba, iii censer and coffer. And the virginal ore from the far mines of Ophir I vi. By Jordan they sought the Messiah in Zion, The desert-born look'd for the trace of " the Lion " — Dark, dark as Sinai enslirouded in thunder, Grew Herod, the king, at their tidings of wonder. vn. Again rose the star of the Orient, to guide them To the ox and the ass, and earth's Saviour beside them, "Where, child-like and weak, the Master of Ages Took tribute from Araby's princes and sages. « \i VIII. So may God grant to us, amid all our demerit. The faith, love, and hope of the men of the desert, For ns, as for them, dawns the marvellous morn. And the angels are singing — " Lo I Jesus is bom." Christmas Eve, 1851. u < 1% '■ ]/ 880 POEMS ON O EX Kit Ah niSTOUT. vin. RE-CONQUEST OF THE SP AXIS II LAND. X. Many a day in sumraer time Ramiro, from tlio North, On the fair Ileitis of the South impatiently look'd forth ; And in winter, when the torrents came like bandits Icapinii; down From their high Astiirian homes, ho avoided tower uml town, And, scowling from some pathless pass, he spent the fruitless day Counting the Moorish castles far beneath him as they lay. n. By the altar of Saint Jago upon Christmas Eve he stood; Hoarsely thunder'd past the stream; wildly waved the luiked wood. In the little mountain chapel King Ramiro knelt alone, When Saint Jago thus bespoke him, from his elFigy of stone: " Ramiro, King Ramiro! thou who wouldst re-conquer Spain, You have allies in the winter, in the darkness, and the rain- Strike when your foe is weakest, and you shall not strike in vain I" in. On the banks of the Douro there is darkness — there is rain; On the banks of the Douro there is striking — not in vain ! The eagles of the North, from their high Asturian nests. Are fasten'd on the Moslems, like falcons in their crests. On the domes of Compbstello there is darkness — tliere ia rain, .And benenMi feasts King Ramiro, the Deliverer of Spain. POEMS ON GKNERAL HISTORY. 381 THE VIRGfy 3fARrS KNIOnT.^^* A BALLAD or THE CltUSADES. Beneath the starB in Palestine seven knijjhts discoursing stood, But not of warlike work to come, nor former fields of blood, Nor of the joy the piljjfrims feel, prostrated fur, who see The hill whore Christ's atoning blood pour'd down the penal tree; Their theme was old, their theme was now, 'twas sweet and yet 'twas bitter, Of noble ladies left behind spoke cavalier and ritter, And eyes grew bright, and sighs arose from every iron breast, For a dear wife, or plighted maid, far in the widowed West. Toward the knights came Constantino, thrice noble by his birth, And ten times nobler than his blood, his high out-shining worth. His step was slow, his lips were moved, though not a word ho spoke. Till a gallant lord of Lombardy his spell of silence broke. '•What aileth thee, O Constantino, that solitude you seek? If counsel or if aid you need, we pray thee do but speak ; Or dost thou mourn, like othor/r^re.^, thy lady-love afar, Whose image shineth nightly through yon European star ?" Then answ^er'd courteous Constantino, " Good Sir, in simple truth, I chose a gracious lady in the heydey of my youth, I wear her imago on my heart, and when that heart is cold, The secret mav be rifled thence, but never must be told. 882r rO£itS ON OENKUAL JIISTORT. li i \ m For her I love and worship well by lijn^ht of morn or even, I no'er shall see my mistress dear, until we meet in heaven, But this believe, bravo cavaliers, there never was but one Such lady as my holy love, beneath the blessed sun." He ceased, and pass'd with solemn step on to an olive grove, And kneeUng there ho prayed a prayer to the lady of his love, And many a cavalier whose lance had still maintained his own Beloved to reign without a peer, all earth's uneqnall'd one, Look'd tenderly on Constantine in camp and in the fight ; With wonder and with generous pride they roark'd the light- ning light Of his fearless sword careering through the unbelievers' ranks, As angry Rhone sweeps off the vines that thicken on his banks. " He fears not death come when it will, he longeth for his love, And fain would find some sudden path to where she dwells above. How should he fear for dying when his mistress dear is dead?" Thus often of Sir Constantine his watchful comrades said; Until it chanced from Sion wall the fatal arrow fiew, That pierced the outworn armor of his faithful bosom through; And never was such mourning made for knight in Palestine As thy loyal comrades made for thee, beloved Constantine ! Beneath the royal tent the bier was guarded night and day, Where with a halo round his head the Christian champion lay; POEMS ON OEKKRAL JllSTOJiY. 888 That talisman upon his breast — what may that marvel bo Whrch kept his ardent soul through life from every error free ? Approach! behold! nay, worship there the image of his 1()V<', The heavenly queen who reigneth all the sacred hosts above Nor wonder that around his bier there lingers such a light, For the spotless one that sleepeth, was the liU'»»H Virgins Knight! Written on Lady-day, 1853. COLUMBUS. A FRAGMENT. I. Star of the Sea, to whom, age after ago. The maiden kneels whose lover sails the sea — Star, that the drowning death-pang can assuage, And shape the souFs course to eternity — Mother of God, in Bethlehem's crib confined, Mother of God, to Egypt's realm exiled — Thee do I ask to aid my anxious mind. And make this book find favor with thy child I n. Of one who lived and labor'd in thy ray, I would rehearse the striving and success — Through the dense past I ne'er shall find my way Unless thou helpest, holy Comfortress 1 A world of doubt and darkness to evade, ■ An ocean all unknown to Christiun kind — Another world by natrire's self array'd. O'er the wide waste of waves, I seek to find 1 11 ti* W-vl m J. * pi. ■ i i. yi- ' ■» * |4i ; ! ' i 384 POEMS ON OENEUAL HISTOIIT. III. From Jesus death the fifteenth century's close Was near at hand for all the elder world, When sharp and ominous the Crescent rose On shores from which the Holy Cross was hurl'd— Constantine's city saw its banner torn, Its shrines all down, its people flying far — SaAV, year by year, the Moslem hosts return With some fresh trophies of the Christian war. IV. No more the Red Cross in the West inflamed The valiant to the ancient enterprise — No more Jerusalem, all pale and maini'd, Bled, like its Lord, before the nation's eyes 1 Godfrey and Richard in their armor slept. The sword of Tancred rusted, sheath'd in clay — Europe still wept, but for herself she wept, And her grief wore not, in Time's course, away ! V. Rome trembled, like Jerusalem of old. The Tiber shrank at every eastern bveczo ; None in all Christendon; was found t .; bold To seek the Sultan in his new-won seas; The Adriatic sky by day was dark, Italian galleys crept more close to shore; Venice, beneath the Lion of Saint Mark, Paid the Tuik tribute, thankful 'twas not more! VI. France gather'd in her limbs, like one benurab'd Beneath an icy and destructive sky. And once before tiie Crescent she succurab'd, And begg'd the peace she could not force or buy; >se imi-ra- 1 war. id -esl u POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. Albion, as yet disjointed and unbound, Slumber'd securely in the watery West, One only champion Europe yet had found, One only arm to guard her naked breast. VII. Among the troubled Powers swart Spain arose, Arm'd and inspired, the battle's brunt to bear — God's foes were hers, but even for heathen foes Her chivalry would open a career; Gentle, but faithful, constant to her creed, Bnovant amid the banners of the field. Grave in the council at the hour of need, Europe's true champion and Religion's shield. VIII. Two wedded sovereigns govern'd in Spain, He, from the North, as cautious and as cold — She, from the South, of the more generous strain. Less bound in love of acres or of gold; Isabel, bright and generous as the spring That plants the primrose in tlie peasant's path, And Ferdinand, the sage but callous king, Whose muffled hand ne'er left the sign of wrath. 385 i^- SEBASTIAN CABOT TO HIS LABY.^" Dear, my Lady, you will understand By these presents coming to your hand. Written in the Hyperborean seas, (Where my love for you doth never freeze,) Underneath a sky obscured with light. Albeit call'd of mariners the night. 886 POEMS ON OENEUAL HISTORY. That my thoughts are not of liinils unknown, Or buried gold beneath the southern zone, But of a treasure dearer far to me, In a far isle of the sail-shadow'd sea. I ask'd the Sun but lately as he set. If my dear Lady in his course he met — That she was matronly and passing tall. That her young brow cover'd deep thought withal, That her full eye was purer azure far Than his own sky, and brighter than a star; That her kind hands were whiter than the snow That melted in the tepid tide below, That her light step was stately as her mind, Steadfast as Faith, and soft as summer wind; AVhether her cheek was pale, her eye was wet, And where and when my Lady dear he met ? And the Sun spoke not: next I ask'd the Wind "Which lately left my native shores behind, If he had seen my Love the groves among. That round our home their guardian shelter lliiiig, If he had heard the voice of song aris'3 From that dear roof beneath the eastern skies. If he had borne a prayer to heaven from thee For a lone ship and thy lone Lord at sea? And the Wind answer'd not, but fled amain. As if he fear'd my questioning again. Anon the Moon, the meek-faced minion rose. But nothing of my love could she disclose, — Then my soul, moved by its strong will, trod back The shimmering vestige of our vessel's track, And I beheld you, darling, by our hearth. Gone was your girlish bloom ai»d maiden mirth, POEMS OX GENERAL HISTORY. 387 wn, Tilt witlial, star ; the Huow wincl; ,'}is wet, ■3 met ? lie AViml intl, ong, iiclter lUuig, jrn slcies, nil tliee jea? iiiiaiu, In rose, lose, — 0, trod bacli IS track, Irtb. ken mirth, And Care's too early print was on the brow, Where I have seen the sunshine shamed ere now; And as unto your widow'd bed you pass'd, I saw no more — tears blinded me at last. But mor,.iii not, Mary, let no dismal dream Darken the current of Hope's flowing stream ; Trust Him who sets his stars on high to guide Us sinful sailors through the pathless tide, The God who feeds the myriads of the deep, And spreads the oozy couches where they sleep; The God who gave even me a perfect wife, The star, the lamp, the compass of my life, "Who will replace me on a tranquil shore. To live with Love and you for evermore. The watch is set, the tired sailors sleep, The star-eyed sky o'erhangs the dreamy deep — No more, no more: I can no further write; Viiin are my sighs, and weak my words this night; But kneeling here, amid the seething sea, I pray to God, my best beloved, for thee; And if that prayer be heard, as well it may, Our parting night shall have a glorious day. JACQUES C ARTIER. I. Ix the seaport of Saint Malo, 'twas a smiling morn, in May, When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sail'd away; lu the crowded old cathedral all the town were on their knees, For the eafe return of kinsmen from the undiscover'd seas; — -v^ 388 POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. And every autumn blast that swept o'er pihnacle and pier, Fill'd manly hearts with sorrow and gentle hearts with fear. n. A year pass'd o'er Saint Malo — again came round the day When the Commodore Jacques Cartier to the westward sail'd away ; But lyp tidings from the absent had come the way they went, And tearful were the vigils that many a maiden spent; And manly hearts were fill'd with gloom, and gentle hearts with fear, When no tidings came from. Cartier at the closing of the 3'ear. But the Karth is as the Future, it hath its hidden side, And the Captain of Saint Malo was rejoicing, in his pride, la the forests of the North — while his townsmen mourn'd his loss He was rearing on Mount Royal the Jleur-dc-lis and cross; And when two months were over and added to the year, Saint Malo hail'd him home again, cheer answering to cheer. $■■ IV. He told them of a region, hard, iron-bound and cold. Nor seas of pearl abounded, nor mines of shining gold, Where the wind from Thule freezes the v/ord upon the lij), And the ice in spring conies sailing athwart the early ship; He told them of the frozen scene until they thrill'd with fear, And piled fresh fuel on the hearth to make him better cheer. V. But when he changed the strain — he told how soon is cast In early spring tba fetters that hold the waters fast; POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. 389 How the winter causeway, broken, is drifted out to sea, • And the rills and rivers sing with pride the anthem of the free ; How the magic wand of summer clad the landscape, to his eyes. Like the dry bones of the just, when they wake in Paradise. VI. He told them of the Algonquin braves — the hunters of the wild, Oi how the Indian mother in the forest rocks her child; Of how, poor souls ! they fancy, in every living thing A sj)iiit good or evil, that claims their worshipping; Of how they brought their sick and maim'd for him to breathe upon, And of the wonders wrought for them through the Gospel of St. John."* VII. He told them of the river whose mighty current gave Its freshness, for a hundred leagues, to Ocean's briny wave; He told them of the glorious scene presented to his sight, "What time he rear'd the cross and crown on Hochelaga'a height. And of the fortress cliff that keeps of Canada the key, And they welcomed back Jacques Cartier from his perils over sea. P JACQUES CARTIER AND THE CHILD. I. When Jacques Cartier return'd from his voyage to the west- ward. All was uproar in Saint Malo and shouting of welcome — Dear to his heart were the hail and the grasp of his towns- men. 390 POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. , And dear to his pride the favor and thanks of King Francis. But of all who drew nigh — such was the cast of his nature— A god-child beloved, he most delighted to answer Ou all the surmises that fill the fancy of children. II. " Tell me," she said, " what you found far away in the wood- lands; Say how you felt when j'ou saw the savages standing Arm'd on the shore, and heard the first sound of their war- cry? Were you afraid then ?" Quietly smiled the brave sailor— " Nay, little daughter," he said, *' I was not afraid of the red men ; But when I saw them, I sighed, alas ! for the bondage, The darkness that hangs over all the lost children of AJiira. As I in the depths of their forests might wander and wander Deeper and deeper, and finding no outlet forever — So they, in the old desolation of folly and error, Are lost to their kindred divine in mansions eternal. III. " And then, daughter dearest, I bless'd God in truth and in ' secret. That he had not suflfer'd my lot to be with the heathen. But cast it in France — among a people so Christian ; And then I bethought me, peradventure to me it is given To lead the vanguard of Truth to the inmost recesses Of this lost region of souls who know not the 6rospel. And these were the thoughts I had far away in the wood- lands, "When I saw the savages arm'd, and heard the roar of their war-crv," POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. 391 VERSES IX HONOR OF MARGARET BOURGEOYS.^^^ Dark is the light of Prophecy — no heavenly dew3 distill Oil Sion's rock, on Jordan's vale, or Herraon's holy hill — 'SVaLr ?^s Lord!'' the Psalmist cries, pouring his soul's complaint; Save lis, O Lord ! in these our days, for Israel has no Saint. Not half so dark the sky of night, her starry hosts without, As the night-time of the nations when God's living lamps go out. But wondrous is the love of God ! who sends his shining host. From age to age, from race to race, from utmost coast to coast; And wondrous 'twas in our own land — e'en on the spot we tread — Ere yet the forest monarchs to the axe had bow'd the head, That in our very hour of dawn, a light for us was set, Here on the royal mountain's side, whose lustre guides us vet. 'Tis pleasant in the gay greenwood — so all the poets sing — To breathe the very breath of flowers, and hear the sweet birds sing, 'Tis ijleasant to shut out the world — behind their curtain green, ^ And live and laugh, or muse and pray, forgotten and unseen; But men or angels seldom saw a sight to heaven more dear, Thai) Sister Margaret and her flock, upon our hillside here. From morn till eve, a hum arose, above the maple trees, A hum of harmony and praise from Sister Margaret's bees; ji M '''"UiflmliE 892 POEMS ON GENERAL UISTORT, Egyptian hue and speech uncouth, grew fair and sweet, when won To sing the song of Mary, and to serve her Saviour Son ; The courier halted on his path, the sentry on his round, And bare-head bless'd the holy nun who made it holy groimd. There came a day of tempest, where all was peace before— The Huron war-cry rang dismay on Hochelaga's shore- Then in that day all men confess'd, with all man's humbled pride, How brave a heart, till G-od's good time, a convent serge may hide. The savage triumph'd o'er the saint — a tiger in the fold- But the mountain mission stands to-day ! the Huron's tale is told ! Glory to God who sends his saints to all the ends of earth, Wherever Adam's errmg race have being or have birth, Glory to God who sheds his saints, our sunshine and our dew, Through all the realms and nations of the Old World and tlie New, Who perfumes the Pacific with his lily and his rose. Who sent his holy ones tob less and bloom amid our snows I Dear Mother of our mountain home ! loved foundress of our school — Pray for thy children that they keep thy every sacred rule. Beseech thy glorious Patron — our Lady full of grace — To guide and guard thy sisterhood — and her who fills thy place, Thy other self — to whom we know all glad obedience given As rendered to thyself will be repaid tenfold in heaven ! For thee, my Country ! many are the gifts God gives to thee, And glorious is thine aspect, from the sunset to the sea; POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY, 393 And many a cross is in thy midst, and many an altar fair, And many a place where men may lay the burden that they bear. Ah I may it be thy crowning gift, the last as 'twas the first, To SCO thy children at the knee of Margaret Bourgeoys nursed. Montreal, October, 1865. M ''OUR LADYE OF THE SNOW!" If, Pilgrim, chance thy steps should lead Where, emblem of our holy creed, Canadian crosses glow — There you may hear what here you read, And seek, in witness of the deed, Our Ladye oflhe Snow!^^'^ / I. In the old times when France held sway From the Balize to Hudson's Bay O'er all the forest free, A noble Breton cavalier Had made his home for may a year Beside the Eivers Three. II. To tempest and to trouble proof, Rose in the wild his glitt'ring roof To every trav'ler dear; The Breton song, the Breton dance, The very atmosphere of France, Diflfused a generous cheer. h t 894 POEMS ON GENERAL HISTORY. III. Strange si' I THE PARTING. PI Sad the parting scene was, Mary 1 By the yellow-flowing Foyle, Dai-k my days have been, and dreary, All this long, long while: Now the hermit of misfortune, In my rock I coldly dwell; In my ears are booming ever, " God be with you, love — farewell !" n. Such the words your lips last utter'd — Mistress of my wof ul heart ; 'Twas the first time you were pleasured, Thus in haste with me to part; For, behind, hot foes were pressing After him you loved so well; Sad and eager was our parting — " God be with you, love — farewell I" m. Nightly, as through ocean's valleys, We held on our silent way, Memory brought the bitter chalice Despots fill'd for ua that day;— 414 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. In my exile still I drank it, Darkest gloom upon me fell — Like a requiem, still rang round me " God be with you, love — farewell !" IV. Daily gazing towards the eastward, Underneath the blinding sun, I am seeking for the dear ship Which should bring my chosen one ; Daily do I count the white sails Looming o'er the long sea-swell — When among them will my Mary Come to end our long farewell ? THOUGHTS OF IRELAND. ■WRITTEN ON THE KIVER HUDSON DURING THE SUMMER OF 1848. m m 'Ti3 summer in the green woods closely growing In valley and on hill-side's steep. Their shady awnings fringe the Hudson softly flowing O'er its sands to the engulfing deep. II. 'Tis summer, and the brilliant birds are singing Songs of joy under Freedom's feckless sky, And mirth and plenty round me luxuriantly are springing, But they neither glad my heart nor eye. m. What more, to me, is the golden summer glowing. Without you, than the murkiness of March ? What, to me, is the Hudson grandly flowing Processional through its mountainous arch ? POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 415 rv. "Were we two in yon boat upon its current, Then, indeed, it had been a stream divine; Every ripple on its tide would bear an errand, Every rock along its shore be a shrine I V. Joy dwelleth not for man in the external — Pleasure cometh not to us from afar; True love it is that makes the very desert vernal. And lights the deepest darkness hke a star. VI. In vain the summer spills its spikenard round me, Skies brighten and flow'rs bloom for me in vain; A parting and a memory hath so bound me, That I could bid the very birds refrain. VII. This surely is the noblest of new nations. And happy at their birth are its heirs; But for me, I still turn to the isle of desolations, "Where the joys I felt outcounted all the cares. VIII. fng [» are springing. 'Tis summer in the woods where we together Have gather'd joy and garlands long ago — The berries on the brier, the blossoms on the heather. The "Wicklow streams are singing as they flow. Lwmg, h? IX. There Nature worketh wonders less gigantic — Man rears himself not there so subUme — But still I would I were beyond the vast Atlantic, By your side in our own cloudy clime ! i^-f -I l[ wd : li ■ i s- 2/i' w nil 1?' I'' f !. ) 116 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. X. But God, who decrees our joys and trials, Hath led us to this far new land — Hath ordain'd for our good these self-denials, Let us bow beneath his Fatherly hand ! ST. KEVIN'S BED. I. Dost thou remember the dark lake, dearest. Where the sun never shines at noon ; Dost thou remember the Saint's bed, dearest. Carved in the hard, cold stone ? II. Dost thou remember the history, dearest, Of the Saint of the churches, Kevin ? Hard was his couch here, and desolate, dearest, But his bed is now made in heaven. III. Dost thou remember the waterfall, dearest, Furrowing the rocks so gray ? So, through this stony scene 'he sainted one, dearest, Cbannell'd out his onward way. IV. Out of the dark lake, saw ye not, dearest. Issue the light, laughing river ? So, from his cold couch, his soul went up, dearest. Like a new star, ^o God's sky, forever. v. Oh ! never forget we the dark lake, dearest, And the moral of tales told there ; So may our souls meet the Saint's soul, dearest, On the hills of the upper air I POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 417 >t. ,rest, 3, dearest, TO MARY IN IRELAND. WRITTEN ON MAY EVB. I. Mary, Mary, are you straying In our olden haunts alone ? In the meadows are you Maying, Where the other flowers have blown ? In the green lanes are you roaming, "Where we chanted young Love's hymn ? Do you think you see me coming, Through the evening shadows dim ? II. Do you think I'm happy, dearest, In the wondrous sights I see ? Ah ! when my new friends are nearest. Happiness is far from me ! Two things have I loved supremely, — Two things that I cannot see — Mother Ireland, fallen but queenly, Mother Ireland, Love, and thee. 11 ' jarest. :est, ni. Oh, for one June day together. By the Ovoca's auburn tide ! Oh, to walk the empurpled heather, Mantling royal Lugduff 's side ! On the mountain, still to heaven, Like its hermit, I could pray,"« All my days — if God had given To my heart but one such day. :i tell 418 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. IT. Ill the moonlight, groves that we know, Silent stand as sheeted ghosts; Where the fairies dance till cockcrow, Marshall'd in unbanished hosts. If you look forth from your lattice, ,A.t the star thfit squires the moon. Know the same star looketh at us, And shall see our union soon. Seaii iul oorms may be between us — Anger o.»>«i v^j^lect are not — TiL , tv o, ro '=; tide between us, Yainly to ti-o r . ..j^ot. For your dwelling I have builded Here, a home, my heart's delight; Hope the eaves and panes hath gilded. Freedom makes the landscape bright. i VI. Groves as stately fill the far-sight. Walks as silent tempt the feet; Steering by the polar star-light, Night winds bear the fairy fleet; Fraught with dews, and sweets, and voices. Bound for every open heart; Mine, my love, almost rejoices — Would, if you were here for part. vn. Courage, never fear the ocean, Summer winds and summer skies, Without clouds or wild commotion, Call you to me, western wise; POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Love shall be your pilot, dearest, Over the charmed summer sea; Love, who a new home hath builded, In the West, for you and me. 419 i A DEATH- SONG. I. Take me to your arms, beloved, Before that I am dead — Let me feel your warm hand at my heart. Your breast beneath my head ; For my very soul is gasping, And it fain would be away In the far land, where the spirits dwell, For ever and for aye. n. The cold tear on my chilly cheek For this world is not shed — But, to think how lonely you will be When I, beloved, am dead. I'm thinking of you, sad and lone, Here staying joylessly, When I am cold as the white gravestone. Beneath the dripping tree. in. I little dream'd, beloved. When you woo'd me long ago In our own green land, I'd leave you So soon, and in such woe. I , 420 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. But, ah ! my heart's delight, we'll meet Beneath the immortal hills, Where falleth never snow or sleet, Where entereth not earth's ills. IV. Oh ! hasten, darling, hasten, To follow after me, For in heaven I will be desolate, Until rejoin'd by thee. Now, take me to your arms, love, Before that I am dead — Let me feel your warm hand at my heart, And your breast beneath my head; For my very soul is gasping, And fain would be away xj In the far land, where the spirits dwell, For ever and for aye. LIVE FOR LO VE. I. I LIVE not alone for living — I woo not glory's prize, The world, I hold, worth giving For one beam from beauty's eyes; I never seek to clamber My brother men above — I pay court in a lady's chamber, And reign in a lady's love. n. Of gold I am not chary, In death's dawn it melts away, Like gifts of the night- trapp'd fairy,"' In the gray, grim break of day ; n) 137 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. For power — all power is hollow — And like to it are they, "Who, the bloodless phantom follow, Turning from love away. IIL Oh, call it not " idle passion," Or, prostrate poet's dream — Since Adam 't has been the fashion, Since Ossian 't has been t^ie theme; In this dear girl before me The sum of my hope is set — The Past and the Present o'er me, Foe^, future, and all, I forget. IV. Let others rule in the Senate, Let others lead in war; And if they find pleasure in it. May it stand to them like a star; But give me — a simple dwelling, Away from the crowd removed — A bower by the waters welling. And you by my side, beloved. AV TEE EXILE. I. Ko more to bless my soul, shall rise The joys of by-gone years; No more my unstrung harp replies To wordly hopes or fears. In mirkest night is lost the star. Whose light my pathway led; I am lonely, very lonely. Oh . would that I were dead. 421 %i 422 POEMS OF THE AFFECTI0IJ8. II. No more along thy banks, sweet Foyle, My evening path shall lie ; No more my Mary's love-lit face Shall meet my longing eye. All that could cheer my wayward soul, Like sunset tints hath fled; I am lonely, very lonely, Oh ! would that I were dead. III. Ah ! when the pleasant spring time came, Like bride bedeck'd with flowers. How blest, adown the hawthorn lane, We pass'd the twilight hours. My Mary, Heaven had call'd you then. Its light was round you shed ; I am lonely, very lonely, Oh ! would that I were dead. IV. Even then j'our words of love would blend With hopes of freedom's day, And whisper thus — " No woman's love In slavish hearts should stay." The while, the wild rose in your hair, Scarce match'd your cheek's pure red ; I am lonely, very lonely, Oh ! would that I were dead. V. Oh ! that my stubborn heart should live That dreadful moment through, When those bleak robes I raised, to give One parting kiss to you; same, e, en, POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. "When there lay all my earthly joy, Array 'd for death's cold bed; I am lonely, very lonely, Oh ! would that I were dead. VI. Yes, Mary dear, thy earnest wish Is all that wakes me now: To haste the day, when slavery's blush Shall flee our country's brow; To toil, to strive, till free she'll rise, Then lay with thee my head; For I'm lonely, very lonely, And longing to be dead. 423 blend )ve red; TO MARY'S ANGEL. A VALENTINE. I. Ye angels, to whom space is not, Who span the earth like light, Keep watch and ward around the spot Where dwells my heart's delight; And when my true love walks abroad. Spread roses in her path, And let the winds, round her abode, Subdue their wail and wrath. n. live give Ye angels, ye were made to be To one another kind ; And she to whom I charge ye, see. Your sister is in mind; It, ' h ■ 424 POEMS OF TUE AFFECTIONS. As gentle as soft strains, as wild As zephyrs in their youth, As artless as a country child, The very word of truth. m. Ye gfuard the sailor far at sea, The hermit in his cell ; Yet they are less alone than she — • Good angels, watch her well I He who should be her guard and guide, Alas ! is fai* away; Ye spirits, leave not Mary's side, I charge ye, night or day I \ ( LINES WRITTEN IN A LADY'S ALBUM. TO MARY D.* My gentle friend, your father's guest Might not refuse your high behest, Even though it were a sterner task Your loveliness was pleased to ask. If one who once was "reverend" "• may For his own special favorites pray. Then heaven will hoard its blessings up To pour them in your path and cup. Daily and hourly on your head The blessings of both worlds be shed I May sorrow have no power to stay Beneath your roof a second day I * The accomplished daughter of an Irish lawyer of Philadelphia, now the esti- mable wife of a prominent New York physician. rOEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. May every weed, and woe, and thorn Out of your destined path be torn ! May all for whose deliyht you hve Pay back the bliss you're born to give I 4*25 But if, liJce all earth's other flowers, You, too, shall have your chilly hours, May God sow stars thick through your night. And make your morrow doubly bright 1 May Love still wait, a faithful page, Upon your grace from youth to age — And may you crowft the gifts of Love With peace that cometh from above I Oh ! how I wish that J were old. That seventy years of beads I'd told — That all my sins were quite forgiven, So that I might be heard in heaven — Ah 1 then these blessings, one by one. Should on your path of life be strown. And neither earth nor fiends should rend God's favors from you, gentle friend ! I'uiLADKLPniA, Nov. 26, 1848. / LOVE TUBE, MARY! INTRODUCED IN AN IRISH LEGEND — THE EVlL GUESH I. I MAY reveal it to the night, "Where lurks around no tattling fairy, With only stars and streams in sight — I love, I love thee, Mary I 426 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS, l! II. Your smile to me is like the dawn New breaking on the trav'ller weary; My heart is, bird-like, to it drawn — I love, I love thee, Mary ! III. Your voice is Lke the August wind, That of rich perfume is not chary, But leaves its sweetness long behind, As thou dost, lovely Mary ! IV. Your step is like the sweet, sweet spring That treads the flowers with feet so airy, And makes its green enchanted ring. As thou dost, where thou comest, Mary ! MEMENTO MORI, I. My darling, in the land of dreams, of wonder and delight, I see you and sit by you, and woo you all the night, Under trees that glow like diamonds upon my aching sight, You are walking by my side in your wedding garments white. n. My darling, my Mary, through the long Summer's day, Though many are the scenes I pass and devious be my waji You follow me forever, and I cannot turn away — Oh! who could turn from wife like mine in her wedding garments gay ? POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 427 yi I, pnng so airy, , Mary! III. My darling girl, it is a year — a year and little more — Since I took you in my arms from your happy mother's door, I thought I loved you then — that I knew you long before, But I know you ten times better now, and love you ten times more. IV. Yet 'tis not what the world calls " love," that for my love I feel, 'Tis pure as martyr's memory, and warm as convert's zeal, 'Tis a love that cannot be dispell'd by time, or chance, or steel, 'Tis eternal as my soul, and precious as its weal. V. Dear Mary, do not grieve if I am long away, There is an added twilight hour joined to my life's long day, — To rest with you in peace, may God grant me, I pray, And to sleep beside you, darling, until the Judgment-day! IX and delight, ie night, Imy aching siglit. Idding garments imer's day, lious be my ^"^^ ray. I in her wedding MEMORIES. I LEFT two loves on a distant strand. One young, and fond, and fair, and bland; One fair, and old, and sadly grand — My wedded wife and my native land. One tarrieth sad and seriously Beneath the roof that mine should be; One sitteth sibyl-like by the sea, Chanting a grave song mournfully. A little life I have not seen Lies by the heart that mine hath been; A cypress wreath darkles now, I ween. Upon the brow of my love in green. 428 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. The mother and wife shall pass away, Her hands be dust, her lips be clay; But my other love on earth shall stay, And live in the life of a better day. Ere we were born my first love was, My sires were heirs to her holy cause; And she yet shall sit in the world's applause, A mother of men and blessed laws. I hope and strive the while I sigh, For I know my first love cannot die ; From the chain of woes that loom so high Her reign shall reach to eternity. HOME TIIOUGIITS. If will had wings, how fast I'd flee To the home of my heart o'er the seething sea ! If wishes were power, if words were spells, I'd be this hour where my own love dwells. My own love dwells in the storied land, Where the holy wells sleep in yellow sand; And the emerald lustre of Paradise beams Over homes that cluster round singing streams. I, sighing, alas ! exist alone — My youth is as grass on an unsunn'd stone. Bright to the eye, but unfelt below — As sunbeams that lie over Arctic snow. My heart is a lamp that love must relight. Or the world's fire-damp will quench it quite; In the breast of my dear, my life-tide springs — Oh ! I'd tarry none hero, if will hcd wings. POEMS OF TUE AFFECTIONS. 429 •XI AN INVITATION TO THE COUNTRY. I. Oh ! come to the flower-fields, Mary, Where the trees and grass are green, And the trace of Spring — the faii*y I — Is in emerald circles seen. For the stony-streeted city Is not fit for your tiny feet; Oh ! come, in love, or in pity. And visit my calm retreat. u. Was never so green a glade For human heart's desire — Was never so sweet a shade, Since the fall, and the sword of fire. The birds, of all plumage, here Are singing their lovingest song — Oh ! that she stood hst'ning near For whom my lone heart longs I HI. Fair Spring is the fond Earth's bride, That cometh all wreath'd in flowers; And he laughs by his lady's side. And leads her through endless bowers. My lady's the Spring to me. And her absence wintereth all — For others the hours may flee, On me like a mist they fall. w; ■> w ' I. • ! ril '■"T'm 430 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. IV. Oh ! come to the flower-fields, Mary, Where the trees and grass are green, And the trace of Spring — the fairy ! — Is in emerald circles seen. For the stony-streeted city Is not fit for your tiny feet ; Oh ! come, in love, or in pity, And visit my calm retreat ! 'nfiiV* ; - ■ »': THE DEATH-BED. I. Up amid the Ulster mountains, Oh, my brother ! Where the heath-bells fringe the fountains, Oh, my brother ! Like a light through darkness beaming. Like a well, in deserts streaming — Like rehef in dismal dreaming, I beheld her, oh, my brother I II. Hair like midnight, eyes like morning, Oh, my brother ! Breaking on me without warning, Oh, mv brother ! Shooting forth fire so resistless. That my heart is low and listless. And my eyes of Earth are wistless, Oh, my brother ! POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 431 III. Daily, nightly, I've been pining, Oh, my brother I For those eyes lilte morning shining, Oh, my brother ! And that voice ! like music sighing O'er the beds of minstrels dying, 'Twas a voice there is no flying. Oh, my brother ! intains, ing, I IV. Say not, hope — oh ! rather listen, Oh, my brother ! When the evening dew-drops glisten, Oh, my brother ! On the grass above me growing. Strew my grave with blossoms blowing, Where that haunted fount is flowing. Oh, my brother ! V. Where her feet did print the heather, Oh, my brother ! Grace and goodness grow together, Oh, m^OTother ! Even yon wither'd wreath doth move me, Seems to say, she might have loved me — Strew no other flowers above me. Oh, my brother ! Hi'W ' r 432 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. MEMENTO MORI. [To the memory of Nicholas S. Donnelly, of Xew York, who died of cholera when on u visit at St. Louis, Mo., May 18, 1849.] I. He sought the South in his early prime, Ere half the worth of his heart was known, While yet we thought — oh, how many a time ! — By the light of his life to guide our own. II. He went where " the Father of Waters " rolls His united waves to the gulf of the sea — Where the Pestilent Spirit was showering souls Into the lap of Eternity. III. Like a mower, it swept the tropical South Of mead, and flower, and fruit, and thorn ; The vested priest, with the prayer in his mouth, It took, and the infant newly born; IV. The bride at the altar it breathed upon, And the white flow^ers fell from her clammy brow; And the hand the ring had been just placed on, Blacken'd, and fell like a blasted bough. V. But of all the pestilence gather'd in, The noblest heart and truest hand, And the soul most free from stain of sin, Was thine, young guest of the southern land ! POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 433 VI. wlio died of cholera .849.] Ill him the fullness of manly sense, With the Christian's zeal, were finely blent; "While a tender, child-like innocence The charm of love to his friendship lent. VII. nown, I time ! — >\vn. ; " rolls sea — •ing souls And he is dead, and pass'd away, And we have bow'd to the chast'ning rod; In holy earth we have placed his clay; His soul rests on the breast of God. VIII. Yet still sometimes we think we hear His quick, firm step, and laughter shrill; So fancy cheats the accustom'd ear. While the heart is bent to the Maker's wilL nl W .uth Ithorn; lis mouth, IX. Rest, brother, rest in your early grave ; Rest, dutiful son, our dearest, best — In vain have we pray'd your life to save. But not in vain do we pray for your rest ! Iclammy brow; blaoed ou, ^g^- irn land ! IN MEMORIAM. TO THE MEMORY OF THE LATE LAMENTED BISHOP o'rEILLY.'» AVUITTEN FOR TUB EXIIIDITION OF THE NEW HAVEN CATHOLIC SCU00L8. L Shall the soldier who marches to battle require. From the chief, his own time to advance and retire ? The choice of the foe, or the choice of the field. Or the spot where at last his life's blood he may yield? 434 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Then, how weak would his trust be, how faint his belief, "Who could barter for favors with Christ for his chief ? How unworthy to follow our Lord would he be "Who could fly from the tempest, or shrink from the sea ! II. Oh ! not such was his hope, as we saw him depart On the work of his Master — not such was his heart — His spirit was calm as the blue sky above — For there dwelt the Lord of his hfe and his love; No terrors for him whisper'd over the wave, For he knew that the Master was mighty to save; The ocean to him was secure as the land, Since all things obey the Creator's command. iir. How oft in the eve, o'er the sky-pointing spar, His eve must have turn'd to the luminous star; " 'Tis the star of the sea !" he would say, as he pray'd To Mary our Mother for comfort and aid. In the last fatal hour, when no succor was nigh. How blest was his lot, with such helper on high ! When the sordid grew lavish, the brave pale with fear, How happy for him, our dear Mother was near ! rv. "Where the good ship hath perish'd, or how it befell, No man that beheld it, is living to tell — All is darkness, all doubt, on the sea, on the shore. But we know we shall see our dear father no more. Ye cold capes of Greenland, oh ! heard you the sound ? The shout of the swimmer, the shriek of the drown'd ? Ye vapors that curtain Newfoundland's dark coast. Have you tidings for us, of our father that's lost ? POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 435 X his belief, bis chief ? be •om the sea ! lepart is heart — I love; 3 save; id. ;par, star; IS he pray'd V. We may question in vain; still respondeth the Power Almi^dity, — " Man knows not the day nor the hour, He was Mine, and I took him — why question ye Me, On the secrets I hide in My breast, like the sea — Oh, ye children of faith ! why bewail ye the just ? That I have the spirit, and you, not the dust ! The dust — what avails where the righteous may sleep. In the glades of the earth, or the glens of the deep ? TI. "When the trumpet shall sound, and the angel shall call, To the place of My presence, the centuries all — The dust of the war-field shall rise in its might, Embattled to stand or to fall in Mv sight. And the waves shall be hid by the hosts they give forth, From the sands of the South to the snows of the North, And ye too shall be there ! — there with him you deplore, To be Mine, if ve will it, when Time is no moke !" nigh, high 1 le with f^'^f) near I it befell, le shore, Ino more. the sound? le drown'd? L'k coast, [s lost ? CEAV MILLE FAILTIIE, O'MEAQHER! I. As from dawn in the morning, As relief comes through tears, Beyond hope, beyond warning Our lost star appears. Lo ! where it shines out, Our long-loved and wept star, Hark ! hark to the shout — Cead mille failthe, 0' Meagher!* * Pronounced— 'Mar. 436 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. n. In the mdko. of duty Your young li<(ht was lost, To the sad eyes of beauty "What vigils you cost ! On the bronze cheeks of men, AVhere each tear leaves a scar, There was trace of you then — Cead millefailthe, 0' Meagher ! ni. The fond spell is broken, The bonds are all broke. As of old, God hath spoken, You walk'd from the yoke ! May the guidance that passeth All eloquence far. Be thine through the future, Cead millefailthe, 0' Meagher ! A MONODY ON THE DEATH OF GERALD GRIFFIN, Autlior of " The Collegians," " Gysippus," etc. ' Died at Cork, June 12,l;4() "When night surrounds the sun, and the day dies. Leaving to darkness for its hour the skies. Nought has the heart of man thence to deplore — The day lived long, was fruitful, is no more ; But when the hurricane at noon o'erspreads The orb divine, which life and gladness sheds, Or some disorder'd planet rolls between The sun and earth, darkling the verdant green, EcUpsing ocean, shadowing like a pall The busv town — men. discontented all. POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. By sea and land, anxiously pause and pray For the returniuf? giver of the day — So have bright spirits been eclipsed and lost, Forever dark, if by Death's shadow cross'd. 437 In Munster's beauteous city died a man As 'twere but yesterday, whoso course began In clouded and in cheerless morning guise — Had climb'd the summit of his native skies, And, as he rose, brighter and fairer grew, Beneath his influence, every scene he knew. His country hail'd him as a Saviour, given To chronicle past times; when 'mid the heaven Of expectation and achievement, lo ! A monastery's gate, — therein the Bard doth go, And sees the children of the poor around Feed on the knowledge elsewhere yet unfound. The Poet then, his former tasks foreswore, Vowing himself to charity evermore, — Folded his wings of light — cast his fresh bays aside — His friends beloved abjured, abjured his pride, There lived and labor'd, and there early died. Short was his day of labor, but its morn Prolific was of beauty; thoughts were born In his heart's secret spots, which grew, attended By a fine sense — instinct and reason blended — Till, like a spring, they spread his haunts with glory, O'er-arch'd their streams, upraised their hills in story, Fixed the broad Shannon in its course forever, And bade it flow for aye, a genius-haunted river. Ye men of Munster, guard his sleep serene 1 Spirits of such bright order are not seen '!f? ! f 1 A! f I ) *^ 138 POEMS OF THE AFFECTWNS. But once in generations. He was an echo, dweUing Amid your mountains, all their secrets telling, Their mem'ries, their traditions, and their wrongs, The story of their sins — the music of their songs, Their tempests, and their terrors, and the forms They bring forth, impregnated by the storms. He knew the voices of your rivers, knew Every deep chasm they leaj) or murmur through, — Blindfold, at midnight, by their sounds could tell Their names and their descent o'er cliff and dell. Oh 1 men of Munster, since the ancient time, Ye have not met such loss as in this monk sublime! The second summer's grass was on his grave, When to his memory Melpomene gave A laurel wreath wove from the self-same tree That shades Boccaccio's dust perennially; Fair were the smiles her mournful glances met In woman's lovely eyes, with heart's-dew wet, And many voices loudly cried, " Well done !" As the sad goddess crown'd her lifeless son. Oh, ever thus: Death strikes the gifted, then Come the worms — inquests — and the award of men ! Low in your grave, young Gerald Griffin, sleep; You never look'd on him who now doth weep Above your resting-place — you never heard The voice that oft has echo'd every word Dropp'd from your pen of light — sleep on, sleep on— I would I knew you, yet not now you are gone I Written during the Author's visit to Ireland, ia March, 1855. POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 439 CONSOLATION. I. Men seek for treasure in the earth ; AVhere I have buried mine, There never mortal eye shall pierce, Nor star nor lamp shall shine ! We know, my love, oh ! well we know, The secret treasure-spot, Yet must our tears forever full, Because that they are not. II. How gladly would we give to light The ivory forehead fair — The eye of heavenly-beaming blue, The clust'ring chestnut hair — Yet look around this mournful scene Of daily earthly life, Viid could you wish them back to share Its sorrow and its strife ? III. If blessed angels stray to earth. And oek in vain a shrine, They i ds must back return again Ur I heir source divine: All lilt oeys the unchanging law Of Him who took and gave. We count a glorious saint in heaven For each child in the grave. 'Hf^'mi F ■ 440 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. -i IV. Look up, my love, look iij), afar, And dry each bitter tear, Behold, three white-robed innocents At heaven's high gate appear ! For you and me and those we love. They smilingly await — God grant we may be fit to join Those Angels of the Gate. MABY'S HEART. 'i:^ I. I KNOW one spot where springs a tide Of feeling pure as ever ran, The path of destiny beside. To bless and soothe the heart of man. By night and noon, be't dark or bright, That fountain plays its blessed part; And heaven looks happy at the sight Of Mary's heart ! of Mary's heart I IT. There's wealth, they say, in foreign climes. And fame for those who dare aspire, And who that does not sigh betimes For something better, nobler, higher ? But here is all — a golden mine, A sea unsail'd, a tempting chart; These, all these may be, nay, am mine — The wide, warm world of Mary's heart ! eoXMS OF THi: AFFBCTIOm HI. A^cliet life's trials black,,. lo,;,- 1 1-ow the ,n„,o„ and the U " J^e cannot strip n,v ro^p.,f.. i rriT , , ^ V' ioseate bower That safe retreat I stm can keep Despite ofenvy'svenom'd dart • ^-p.e of ain.fe's stores, can el Securely lodged in Harm's heart! 441 i^^ ^VEjroniAM. RICHAKD DALTON WILLIAMS ' ^-i JLLVo, 18G2, AGED40. The early mower, heart-deen in n I^alls suddenly to . ^ ^^ ''^''^' The lark he tartl ?" "'^'^ "" ^^^'«- **■ "^ startled carok tn iu^ ^"-al. the dead aStl'lInZ^"""' Ti'us thro„; tl e vf ;7 " '""'' '-"J"'"^- One U,at amid fi.r other s";„es and years easjet had reached the time of tears ^^'-n™an,.hopes«.eregarner'dina;e;- 442 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS ii ' II Blithe was his jest in those fraternal days, Before we reach'd the parting of the ways. IV. They were a band of brethren, richly graced With all that most exalts the sons of men — Youth, courage, honor, genius, wit, well-placed — When shall we see their parallels again ? The very flower and fruitage of their age, Destined for duty's cross or glory's page. V. And he, our latest lost among them all, No rival had for strangely-blended powers — All shapes of beauty waited at his call ; Soft Pity wept o'er Misery in showers, Or honest Laughter, leaping from the heart, Peal'd her wild note beyond the reach of Art. VI. Out of that nature, mingled to the sun. Sprang fount and flower, the saving and the sweet ; The gleesome children to his knee would run. The helpless brute would twine about his feet For he was nature's heir, and all her host Knew their liege lord in him — our latest lost ! VII. Meekly o'er all, the rare and priceless crown Of gentle, silent Pity he still wore — Like some fair chapel in the midmost town, His busy heart was wholly at the core ; Deep there his virtues lay — no eye could trace The Pharisee's prospectus in his face. POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 443 n — aced — } ers — art, Art. Id the sweet ; run, us feet llostl Iwn rn. Itrace vni. Sleep well, O Bard ! too early from the field Of labor and of honor call'd away ; Sleep, hke a hero, on your own good shield, Beneath the Shamrock,* wreath'd about the bay. Not doubtful is thy place among the host Whom fame and Erin love and mourn the most. IX. While leap on high, Ben Heder, the wild waves ; "While sweep the winds through storied Aherlow ; While Sidney's victims from their troubled graves O'er MuUaghmast, at midnight, come and go ; While Mercy's sisters kneel by Mercy's bed — Thou art not dead, O Bard ! thou art not dead I X. War's ruffian blast for very shame must cease, And Nature, pitiful, will clothe its graves — And then, true lover of God's blessed peace. When earth has swallow'd up her vaunting braves, Thy gentle star shall shine along The path of ages, solaced by thy song. WORDS OF WELCOME. TO MRS. S , ON REVISITING MONTREAL. TuE leaves of October are wither'd and dead, All our autumn's brief honors have faded or fled, But this season the saddest, our brightest shall be, For there's sunshine and gladness in welcoming thee ! We heed not how darkly the evening may lower. Round yon mountain, surcharged with the tempest or shower, * " Su.viiKocK " was the nom de plume of Williams, in the Dublin Nation, W^^^TP 444 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. ir? O'er the light in oiir breasts there's no shadow of grief, From the tree of our friendship there fulls not a leaf. Your voice brings the perfume and promise of spring, And we strive to forget 'tis a voice on the vnng, For never was May-time to poets more dear, Than these days of October since you have been here ; If evening falls swiftly it lengthens the night, While with music and legend we burnish it bright. The sole pang of sorrow our bosoms can know, • Is how lately you came, and how soon you must go. Alas ! for this stern life, how far and how few Are the friends we can honor and cherish like you ! Yet that rivers and realms so cold and so wide. Such friends from each other long years should divide ! But a truce to reflection, a conge to care, This weather within doors is joyously fair, Here's a toast ! fill it up ! let us drink it like men : •' May we soon see our dear guest among us again ! Montreal, October 25, 1861. TO A FRIEND IN AUSTRALIA.** Old friend ! though distant far, Your image nightly sh.i :!S upon my soul ; I yearn toward it as toward a star That points through darkness to the ancient pole. Out of my heart the longing wishes fly, As to some rapt Elias, Enoch, Seth ; Yours is another earth, another sky. And I — I feel that distance is like death. * Charles Gavin Duffy. POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 445 f grief, leaf. pring, 1 liere ; } bgo. you I d divide ! ten : kjain Oh ! for one week amid the emerald fields, "Where the Avoca sings the song of Moore; Oh ! for the odor the brown heather yields, To glad the pilgrim's heart on Glenmalur ! Yet is there still what meeting could not give, A joy most suited of all joys to last; For, ever in fair memory there must live The bright, unclouded picture of the past. Old friend ! the years wear on, and many cares And miuiy sorrows both of us have known; Time for us both a quiet couch prepares — A couch like Jacob's, pillow'd with a stone. And oh ! when thus we sleep may we behold The angelic ladder of the Patriarch's dream; And may my feet upon its rungs of gold Yours follow, as of old, by hill and stream ! ! A DREAM OF YOUTH. lA.o Icient pole. I. When the summer evening fadetli from golden into gray, And night, dark night, sets his watch upon the hill, A j^entle shadow standeth in my secret path alway. And whispereth to my heart its fond words still. //" II. ^^hen the fleeing of the shadows foretells the coming light, And morn, merry morn, wmds her horn on the hill, Tbei-G glideth by my bed the shadow of the night, AVhispering to my heart its fond words still. 44G POEMS OF TUB AFFECTIONS. P ; ...... i t p'i III. And dearer far to me is that shadow and that dream, Than all the grosser joys our daily life can give; 'Tis a lesson — and a blessing, far more than it doth seem,— It will teach me how to die, as it teaches me to live. IV. 'Tis the memory of my youth, when my soul was free from stain. The memory of days spent at my mother's knee; 'Tis the language of my youth that thus speaks to me again- Dear dream, do not desert me; dear shadow, do not flee fl WILLIAM SMITH O'BRIEN. I. Thus we repeat the wretched past, Thus press to give Our oflferings at the tomb at last, Forget — forgive — All that was warring, erring, lost, In those who now Can lift no more among our host, Or voice, or brow ! 11. Two nations in our land are found: One lowly laid — A host, an audience under ground, Sons of the shade; And one a noisy, driftless throng, Heroes of the dav — Who chorus still the spendthrift's song, " Live while ye may !" POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 447 1 dream, give; t dotU seem - lie to live. x\ was free from sknee; tka to me again- Low, do not flee EN. last, ,st, lost, lOSt, mud: )und, long, irift's song, III. Now with the dead, the just, the true, Let our thoughts be — To them the tribute long time due Give willingly; And when ye name the names who most Deserve our praise, Was there his peer in Erin's host In latter days ? IV. Behold the man ! ye knew him well, Erect, austere — "Whose mind was as an hermit's cell, Whence purpose clear Sprang headloug, thoughtless for its source, A self-will'd stream, Embower'd on all its onward course By dream on dream ! * V. Pride, cold as in the stiflf-ribb'd rock, Was in his mould, And courage, which withstood the shock Of trials manifold ; And tenderness unto the few he loved, His all in all — And fortitude in fiery furnace proved At honor's call. VI. But over these — friend, lover, patriot, seer, Let us proclaim, His name to Erin ever shall be dear, For this is fame — ■iff" 448 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Justice — o'er all — the saving salt of earth, He still pursued — Justice, the world's regenerate second birth, Its holy rood ! VII. Sleep, pilgrim, sleep, beneath that blessed sign Whose saving shade Shadows for man the mystic sun divine, For whom 'twas made; Sleep, stainless of a Christian land. Whose arts — all just — Thy witnesses before the judgment stand, So let us trust I THE DEAD ANTIQUARY, O'DONOVAN. Far are the Gaelic tribes, and wide Scatter'd round earth on every side For good or ill; They aim at all things, rise or fall, Succeed or perish — but through all Love Erin still. Although a righteous Heaven decrees 'Twixt us and Erin stormy seas And barriers strong. Of care, and circumstance, and cost. Yet count not all your absent lost, Oh, laud of song ! Above your roofs no star can rise That does not lighten in our eyes. Nor any set earth, nd birth, blessed sign ivine, t stand, xovA y. POKMS OF TlIK AFFECTIONS. That ever shed a cheering beam On Irish hillside, street, or stream, That we forget. No artist wins a shining fame, Lifting aloft his nation's name High over all; No soldier fulls, no poet dies, Out underneath all foreign skies We mourn his fall ! And thus it comes that even I, Though weakly and unworthily, Am moved by grief To join the melancholy throng, And chant the sad entombing song Above the chief — The foremost of the immortal band AVho vow'd their lives to fatherland; AVhose works remain To attest how constant, how sublime The warfare was they waged with time; How great the gain ! I would not do the dead such wrong; If graves could yield a growth of song Like flowers of May, Then Mangan from the tomb might raise One of his old resurgent lays — But, well-a-day, He, close beside his early friend, By the stark shepherd safely penn'd. Sleeps out the night; 449 450 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. m ii r I II So his wierd numbers never more The sorrow of the isle shall pour lu tones of might I Tho' haply still by Liffey's side • That mighty master must abide Who voiced our grief O'er Davis lost;* and him who gave His free frank tribute at the grave Of Erin's chief jf Yet must it not be said that we Failed in the rites of minstrelsie, So dear to souls Like his whom lately death hath ta'en, Although the vast Atlantic main Between us rolls I Too few, too few among our great, In camp or cloister, Church or State, Wrought as he wrought; Too few of all the brave we trace Among the champions of our race. His fortress was a nation wreck'd, His foes were falsehood, hate, neglect, His comrades few; His arsenal was weapon-bare, His flag-staflf splinter'd in the air, Where nothing flew ! Had Sarsfield on Saint Mary's Tower More sense of weakness or of power. More cause to fear * Samuel Ferguson. t Deni! The magnates of the Irish land. That, being so moved, As fathers of the fatherless, They shield from danger and distress His well-beloved. And teach us, Father, who remain Filial dependents on that brain So deeply wrought; Teach us to travel day by day By honest paths, seeking alway The ends he sought I MoNTKEAL, January, 1862. •*. .''- I'O^MS OF THE AFFECTION,, 455 ,.„ , ^URSUM CORDA. I I nose, however w}m n ^^''^.^••'»"ft»tl'« mournful ui.,at J3™..'..,g in the caln. to-n:o„.o; ' T'>o„gh,f„j.d„tif„^ ,^ cj.,1? ♦! , -^ "^ *-naiis increase &t,] he ,vaMul soul „uat quieten, ^Wl through iabor see. for peaee. If. oh friend -in all our forest, HeaUng gre,v on herb or tree For the wound that grieves thee sorest Sm-eiy I would send it thee; ' Bu the hewing braneh hangs nearer, I'y thy seldom-idle hand, Draws the „ag.e-all the dearer- From the core of fatherland. TW w,i i j^ ^,^ _^,^^^^^^^^ That wh,eh„adeth, manhoods ll 0>er coldness, toil, derision, ^ la the early, anxious past. J^^he Almighty's just provision, ', I^^^tay and strength at last. i 456 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Turn for solace to those pages Where your hived-up lore we read, To that company of sages Who for you have lived indeed; Think of him who strove to smother In his books a noble's grief; Think of the poor footsore brother Of the Masters Four the chief i Think what life the scald of Lecan Led, through evil penal days, Let his gentle spirit beckon Yours to render greater praise. Sad must be your fireside, only Sadder was the wayside inn Where he perish'd, old and lonely, By the Letcher of Dunflin ! All who honor Erin, honor You with her, beloved friend ! Blessings we invoke upon her, Without limit, without end ; Blessings of all saints in glory, We invoke for him who drew Old Egyptian seeds of story From the grave, to bloom anew I Sursum Corda ! with the Masters Whom you love, your place must be, There no changes, no disasters, Ever can imperil you ! Happy age ! unstain'd, untarnish'd Bv one blot of blame or shame, Happy age ! protected, garnish'd, With a patriot-scholar's fame ! ^oi:ms or the AFrEcnom 457 EUOS^E O'CURRY W. listen .0 each wind that blows The, -ocord of the latest 4 To find some friend forever gone Some hope we heidforevefero'ssU ^h wretched wnrlrT f i, 0-«ivotheZ^"'°'^°""'"~-°l''- tue ioviiig, generous luef See foendship, fervid heart all Cd^ I-.dIowandp„l3e].ssinthedast'- Who won d ordain hin,se,f. in Ll"" To oe of all he loved, the heir- To 1 nger on the starless stage '"^""""^^^'-o-Panyeke^here? G've me again „yt„p„.^^^ In consecrated soil 'twas gro'wn- ---enoftriSlr--' May deem onr ancient custom vain • Bat aye responsive to my hand, ' " '"P '""^' P™'- tl^e funeral strain I' >vaB, of old, a sacred rite. A deb, on.onor freely paid lo champ,ons fallon in the light And scholar? ■ „r „ • ■"•"'" peaceful shade;- I J iff- ). I 458 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Alas ! that rito Khoukl now be claim'd, O world ! for one we least can spare; Whose name by us was never named Without its meed of praise or prayer ! An Ollamh of the elect of old, Whose chairs were i)laced beside the king-, Whose hounds, whose herds, whose gifts of gold, The later bards regretful sing; Ay ! there was magic in his speech. And in his .wand the power to save,"" This sole recorder on the beach Of all we've lost beneath the wave. Who are his mourners ? bj' the hearth His presence kindled, sad they sit, — They dwell throughout the living earth, In homes his presence never lit; Where'er a Gaelic brother dwells, There heaven has heard for him a prayer — Where'er an Irish maiden tells Her votive beads, his soul has share. Where, far or near, or west or east, Glistens the sogjarth'a* sacred stole. There, from the true, unprompted priest, Shall rise a requiem for his soul. Such orisons like clouds shall rise From every realm beneath the sun, For where are now the shores or skies The Irish aoggarlh has not won ? Oh ! mortal tears will dry like rain, And mortal sighs pass like the breeze, And earthly pray or arn often vain, E'en breathed amid the Mvsteries; * Hoygiirtli priest. POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS, 459 ■ 1 Lfts of golil, 130 til > ' irtb, prayer ire. Die, t^riest, Idea i-eeze, 38 ; Happy, alone, we hold the man Whose steps so righteously were trod. That, ere the judgment-net began, Had suppliants in the Saints of God. Arise, ye cloud-borne saints of old, In number like the polar flock — Arise, ye just, whose tale is told On Shannon's sic^.e and Arran's rock, In number like the waves of seas, In gloi'y like the stars of night — Arise, ambrosial-laden bees That banquet through heaven's fields of light I This mortal, (all'd to join your choir, Tlirough every care, and every grief, Sought, with an antique soul of fire, O'er all, God's glory, first and chief. And next he sought, oh, sacred band I Ye disinherited of heaven, To give you back your native land. To give it as it first was given ! No more the widow'd glen repines, No more the ruin'd cloister groans. Back on the tides have come tiie shrines, Lo ! WG have heard the ^speech of stones; In the mid-watch v/nen darkness reign'd, And sleepers slept, unseen his toil — > But heaven kept count of all he gain'd For ye, lords of the Holy Isle ! Plead for him, oh ye exiled saints! Ye outcasts of the iron time ! He heard on earth your mute complaints, He heard you with a zeal sublime; 460 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. If venial error still attaints His spirit wrapt in penal fire, Plead for him, all ye pitying saints. And bear him to your blessed choir ! Let those who love, and lose him most, In their great sorrow comfort find; Remembering how heaven's mighty host Were ever present to his mind ; Descending on his grave at even May they the radiant phalanx see — Such wondrous sight as once was given, In vision, to the rapt Culdee I'^' May Angus of the festal lays, And Marian of the Apostle's hill,"« And Tiernan of the Danish days,'" And Adamnan and Columb-kill, Befriend his soul in every strait. Recite some good 'gainst every sin, Unfold at last the happy gate, And lead their scribe and Ollamh in I WIS TIES. ADDRESSED TO MRS. J. S . I. What shall we wish the friends we love. To wish them well ? That fortune ever may propitious prove. And honor bear the bell ? Or that the chast'ning hand of grief, If come it must, May spare the stem, while scattering the leaf Low in the dust ! Fn Ear POKMS OF THE AFFECTIONS. 461 II. Then let us wioli our lov'J — the youthful zest — To wish them well — That lau«jhs with childhood, gladdens for the guest- That loves to tell, With brow unshamed, the story of its youth, Its simple tale — Proving a life well spent, leads on, in sooth,' To old age, green and hale ! III. This life we lead in outward acts, 'tis known Is ill contained — By heart and hand, not equipage alone — Our goals are gained; Trappings and harness made for passing show, Are little worth, When halts the hearse, where all things human go, With earth — to earth ! Ill leaf TO MR. KENNEDY, THE SCOTTISH MINSTREL, ON HIS REVISITING MONTREAL. I. Fill often we ponder'd, as distant- you wander'd. If frioiuls rose around you like light on the lea — Earth's fragrance unsealing, fair prospects revealing, ^Vith welcome as loyal as wishes were free. |l>ii' tlie songs you had sung us were never forgotten. And your name among all our rejoicings would blend; ^ur Wiis it the Minstrel alone was remembered, Every verse seemed to breathe of the man and the friend. if ^^^'f 4G2 POEMS OF THE AFFECTIONS III. May the promise of 8prin <^ m ^i ^^' ^ v /A Photographic Sciences Corporation \ •^ •SJ '^ O" .^ '^f^ «^ 33 WIST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, N.Y. US80 (716)872-4503 'I) .-^. 4i <^ 466 ; turn -' R'''-' i- m 1, 496 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. She's so lonesomely grand, that she seems To shrink from the presence of man. Aine basks in the glad summer sun, Like a young dove let loose in the air; Sings, dances, and laughs— but for me Her joy does not make her less fair. III. Oh ! give mo the nature that shows Its emotions of mirth or of pain, As the water that glides, and the corn that grows, Show shadow and sunlight again. Oh ! give me the brow that can beLd, Oh ! give me the eyes that can weep. And give me a heart like Lough Neagh, As full of emotions and deep. RICH AND POOR. A SEASONABLE DITTY. I. The rich man sat by his fire, Before him stood the wine, He had all heart could desire, Save love of laws divine ; A daily growth of wealth, And the world's good word through all, Wife, and children, and health. And clients in his hall. II. The rich man walk'd about His large luxurious room. His steps fell soft as the snows without, On the web of a Brussels loom ; T MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Without, the bright icicles had Made lustres of all his trees, And the garden gods look'd cold and sad In their snowy draperies. m. The rich man look'd abroad Under the leaden sky, And struggling up the gusty road. He saw a poor man go by; He paused and lean'd on the gate, To husband his scanty breath. Then feebly down on the threshold sate. The counterfeit of death ! IV. The rich man turn'd his head And close his curtains drew, And by his warm hearth, gleaming red, The wine-fledg'd hours fast flew ; Without, on the cold, cold stone, The poor man's head reclined, A snow-quilt over him blown, A body without a mind ! 497 The rich man's sleep that night Was vinous, dreamy, and deep. Till near the dawn, when a spectre white He saw, and heard it weep ; He rose, and stepping forth. Beheld a sight of woe — His brother Abel on the earth Slain and hid in the snow I IWr^^ 498 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VI. The stone received the head Rejected by the brother; 'Twas of colder cause he lay there dead Than the cold of the winter weather I His blue lips gaped apart, And the snow that lapp'd his frame, Lay through life on the rich man's heart After that night of sharne. \ 5 J 1:1 . THE CIJARTER SOXG OF THE TOM MOORE CLUB.* Air—" a place in thy memory, dearest." The Greeks a Pantheon provided For their children of genius who died, Then let not the race be derided That remembers its poet with pride. Chorus. — Then, while gaiety reigns at the board, boys, And the wine in each goblet is bright, Let a loyal libation be pouv'd, boys, To the soul of the minstrel to-night. The warm Irish blood in each bosom Once glow'd in the light of his fame, And though Fate has ordain'd we should lose him, We remember with honor his name. Chorus. — Then while gaiety, etc. For, wherever his footsteps may wander, The Irishman's bosom, be sure. Through time and through change, will still ponder On the genius and glory of Moore. Chorus. — Then while gaiety, etc. * The autlior was then President, as he was the founder, of the " Tom Moore Clnb ■' in Boston —Ed. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 499 THE TRIP OVER THE MOUNTAIN. A POPULAR BALLAD OF WEXFORD. I. 'TvvAS night, and the moon was just seen in the west, When I first took a notion to marry ; I rose and pursued my journey in haste, You'd have known that I was in a hurrv. I came to the door, and I rattled the pin, I hfted the latch and did boldly walk in. And seeing my sweetheart, I bid her " good e'en," Saying, " Come with me over the mountain !" II. " What humor is this you've got in your head, I'm glad for to see you so merry ; It's twelve by the clock, and they're all gone to bed: Speak low, or my dadda will hear ye !" "I've spoken my mind, and I never will rue; I've courted a year, and I think it will do ; But if you refuse me, sweet girl, adieu ! I must go alone over the mountain !" IIL "But if from my dadda and mamma I go. They never will think of me longer; The neighbors about them, too, wiU not be slow To say, that no one could do wronger." " Sweet gii-1, we're wasting the sweet hours away, I care not a fig what the whol e of them say. For you will be mine by the dawn of the day. If you'll come with nie over the mountam 1" I I I! t i,-i i' ! 600 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. IV. She look'd in my face with a tear in her eye, And saw that my mind was still steady, Then rubb'd out the tear she was going to cry ; " In God's name, my dear, now get ready!" *' Stop ! stop ! a few moments, till I get my shoes !" My heart it rejoiced for to hear the glad news; She lifted the latch, saying, " I hope you'll excuse My simplicity, over the mountain !" V. 'Twas night, and the moon had gone down in the west, And the morning star clearly was shining, As we two pursued our journey in haste. And were join'd at the altar of Hymen ! In peace and contentment we spent the long day. The anger of parents, it soon wore away, And oft we sat chatting, when we'd nothing to say. Of the trip we took over the mountain ! LINES, WRITTEN ON THE EIOHTY-SECOXD ANNIVERSARY OF THE BIKTII OF THOMAS MOOBE. " Oh, blame not the Bard !" was the prayer he put forth To the age and the nation he wished to adorn, "Well he knew that man's life is a warfare on earth, And that peace only comes to the dust in the urn. Yet who that has paused o'er his magical pnge, Could couple the bard, e'en in fancy, with blame ? The delight of our youth, and our solace in age, In the bright roll of song, the pre-eminent name ! MISCELLANEOUS FORMS. 501 "Who can think of the thoughts, as in torrents they roU'd From the spring of his soul, and forget how, at first, We learn'd to repeat them from lips that are cold. And caught them upheaving from hearts that are dust. He err'd — is that more than to say he was human ? Yet how nobly he paid for the errors of youth I Who has taught, as he taught, man's fealty to woman. Who has left us such texts of love, freedom, and truth ? Blame the Bard ! let the cynic who never relented Dwell alone on the page that is soil'd with a stain. Forgetting how deeply and long he repented — Forgetting his purer and holier strain. For us — while an echo remains on life's mountain, W^hile the isle of our youth 'mid her seas shall endure — We must pray, as we stoop to drink at the fountain Of song, for the soul of the Builder — Tom Moore. r^ I CONTENTMENT. Men know not when they are most blest, But all — alway — Pursue the phantom Future's quest, — Anxious to stray; As young birds long to leave the nest And fly away. Blessed is he who learns to bound The spirit's range, Whose joy is neither sought nor found In love of change; A tiller of his own right ground, This world his grange. 502 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. He hears, far oflf, the city's din, But loves it not; He knows what woes and wrecks of sia Beneath it rot; Vainly the tide allures him on — He bides his lot. MM i I So would I live, beyond the crowd, Where party strife, And hollow hearts, and laughter loud, Embitter life ; AVhere hangs upon the sun the coal-black cloud With sorrow rife. Fain would I live beneath a rural roof, By whose broad porch Children might play, nor poor men keep aloof — Whose artless arch The ivy should o'ergrow without reproof, And cares should march. The di'owsy drip of water falling near Should lull the brain ; The rustling leaves should reach the ear ; The simplest swain Should sing his simplest song, and never fear A censure of his strain. But why these wishes ? does contentment grow. Even as the vine, Only in soU o'er which the south winds blow Warm from the Line ? Wherefore, in cities, if I will it so, May't not be mine ? MISCELLANEO US POEMS. 503 Come, dove-eyed Pence! come, ivy-crowned sprite! Come from thy grot, And make thy home with me by day and night. And share my lot; And I shall have thee ever in my sight, Though the world sees thee not. WOMAN'S PRAISE. I. The myriad harps of Erin oft, In other days, Were by enthusiast minstrels strung In woman's praise; And though they sometimes stoop'd to sing The praise of wine. Still, nightl)', did each trembling string Eesound with thine. II. " Oh, who" (these ancient rhymers asked), " Would dwell alone, That could win woman to his side. For aye, his own ? Oh ! cold would be the household cheer" ('Twas so, they said), But for the light the mistress dear O'er all things shed. III. And tuneless many a harp would be, And many a brain. If woman. Queen of Minstrelsie, Lent not th« strain; ^r ■ -^^1^ 604 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. And many a heavy tear would chill On misery's cheek, If woman were not present still Her word to speak. If I hi V M f r I "^ i.fi- K- , IV. " Ye who have seen her gentle hand Do gentle deeds, In haunts where misery made u stand, And men were reeds; Ye who have seen the fetter chain Undone by them, Find, find for that a fitting name Ye vaunting men I H- I 1 1 y. '• Oh ! blessed be the God that dower'd The earth with these, Our truest, firmest, noblest friends, In woe or ease; Bless'd for the grace that makes the earth Beneath their feet A garden, and that fills the air With music meet. VI. " And still, whate'er our fate may be" (The minstrel saith), " Let woman but be near, and we Will smile in death I Whate'er the scene, where woman's grief And woman's sigh Can mingle round, there bard and chief May fitly die." MISCELLANEOVS POEMS. 505 AD MISER ICO RDIAM. X. I SOUGHT out your shore, all storm-spent and weary, For over the sea your name was renown'd, My footsteps were light and my heart grew right cheery, As I trod, though alone, on republican ground. II. The sun shone so brightly, the sky so serenely, Your men bore their brows so fearlessly high. Your daughters moved on, so calmly, so queenly, That I felt for your laws I could cheerfully die. m. If any distraction assail'd my devotion, 'Twas only my memory wander'd afar, To the Isle I had left, the saddest of ocean, "Whose night never knew a republican star. IV. But all this is over; this vision has faded; This hope in the west has forever gone down, Aiid worn out with toiling, brain-sick and heart-jaded, "Where I look'd for a welcome, I meet but a frown. V. When Cometh the Messenger, friend of the friendless. Sweet unto me were the sound of his scythe ; When cometh the long night, starless and endless, The bed without dreaming, the cell without gyve. '"t , )i 506 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VI. Welcome ! thrice welcome ! to overtax'd nature, The darkness, the silence, the sleep of the grave Oh ! dig it down deeply, kind fellow-creature, I am weary of living the life of a slave. L ,! ;. GRANDMA ALICE o 1. it I HAD just now a curious dream, While dozing after dinner, I dreamt I saw above my bed (As sure as I'm a sinner) — In words and figures broad and tall, With flourishes a-plenty, " This is the time that mortals call The year Nineteen Hundred Twenty I" n. I rubb'd my eyes — in fancy rubb'd — To find mvself beholder Of any date so ancient dubb'd, And sixty summers older. I look'd about, — 'twas Cornwall town, But grown as fine as Florence I Only the river rolling down Look'd like the old St. Lawrence. ni. Out from a shady garden green Came ringing shouts of laughter, I watch'd the chase, myself unseen, The flight, and running after; * This playful jeu d^esprit was written in the album of a very yonng laJyj in 1861. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. A group of matronly mamas, With scions in abundance, Who pour'd around their pleased papas Their spirits wild redundance. IV. ■ Hard bv a thicklv-bloominff bower. Rosy, and close, and shady, I saw, beguiling eve's calm hour, A venerable lady; Her eyes were on a well-worn book, And, as she turn'd the pages. There was that meaning in her look Which sculptors give to sages. V. Sometimes she smiled and sometimes sigh'd, As leaf by leaf she ponder'd; Sometimes there was a touch of pi*ide. Sometimes . e paused and wonder'd; Her station seem'd all plain to me — A grand-dame hale and hearty — Happy and proud was she to see The gambols of the party. 507 a very yonng VI. I closer drew, and well I knew, In Nineteen Hundred Twenty, The ladv's book was old, not new — I caught a well-known entry ! The lady's years of life had pass'd Unsour'd by care or malice; The book — this album 'twas, she clasp'd— They call'd her Grand-Ma Alice ! Cornwall, C.W., 1861. r i 508 MISCELLANEO US POEMS. [Of a similar character are the following lines, placed in a little Indian basket given by the author to the young daughter of a friend] TO MISS M. S . In a dream of the night I this casket received, From the ghost of the late Hiawatha deceased; Arid these were the words he spoke in my ear : " Mr. Darcy New Era* attention and hear ! You know Minnehaha, the young Laughing-Water, Mr. S r of Montreal's dear eldest daughter ; To her bring this trifle, and say that I ask it, She'll treasure for my sake the light little casket." This said, in his own solemn Longfellow way. With a bow of his plumed head, he vanish'd away ! As I hope to be spared all such ghostly commands, I now place the said Indian toy in your hands ! August 15, 1857. If IF .1^, THE PENITENT RAVEN. I. The Raven's house is builii with reeds. Sing woe, and alas is me ! And the Raven's couch is spread with weeds. High on the hollow tree; And the Raven himself, telling his beads In penance for his past misdeeds, Upon the top I see. * Mr. McGee was at the time publishing the Neio Era in Montreal. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 509 little Indian i, Bd; r."SVater, ighter-, it, casket. ^ay, 'd away 1 II. Telling his beads from night till morn, Sing alas ! and woe is me ! In penance for stealing the Abbot's corn. High on the hollow tree. Sin is a load upon the breast, And it nightly breaks the Kaven's rest, High on the hollow tree. m. The Raven pray'd the winter through, Sing woe and alas is me ! The hail it fell, the winds they blew High on the hollow tree. Until the spring came forth again. And the Abbot's men to sow their grain Around the hollow tree. IV. Alas ! alas ! for earthly vows. Sing alas ! and woe is me ! Whether they're made by men, or crows, High on the hollow tree ! The Raven swoop'd upon the seed. And met his death in the very deed. Beneath the hollow tree. ■'^ f i [weeds, m Montreal. '♦v. So beat we our breasts in shame of sin, Alas ! and woe is me ! "While all is hollowness within, Alas ! and woe is me. And when the ancient Tempter smiles So yield we our souls up to his wiles, Alas ! and woe is me ! ^m 610 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. >?(■■'}■ '' . HALLOWE'EN IN CANADA— \%%Z. [Written for, and read by the author at the annual celebration of Hallowe'en by the St. Andrew's Society of Montreal.] U \ If: fcf ;-^ The Bard who sleeps in Dumfries' clay, Were he but to the fore to-day, What think you would he sing or say Of our new-found Canadian way Of keeping Hallowe'en ? n. Ah I did we hear upon the stair The ploughman tread that shook Lord Dair, The President would yield his chair, And honor (over Member, Mayor), The Bard of Hallowe'en. m. Methinks I catch, then, ringing clear, The accents that knew never fear, Saying " I joy to sfee you here, — And still to Scottish hearts be dear, The rites of Hallowe'en. nr. " Whene'er they meet, on any shore. Whatever sky may arch them o'er, Still may they honor, more and more. The names their fearless fathers bore, And, like them, Hallowe'en. i'l' MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 511 3. m of Hallowe'eu V. *' I care not for the outward form, *Tis in the heart's core, true and warm, Abides the glow that mocks the storm, And so — God guard you a' from harm Till next year's Hallowe'en." r, re. :e, THE FARTHER SHORE. How fair, when morning dawns and waters glow, Shines the far land by night conceal'd no more; Gladly we feel how blest it were to go And dwell forever on that Farther Shore. Nothing contents us — nothing rich or fair Wears the bright, gladsome hue that once it wore ; Sadness is in our sky and in our air To that which smiles upon the Farther Shore. Noon beams aloft I the distant land draws near, The way seems narrower to venture o'er, Yet hourly grows the scene less green and clear. More equal seems the near and Farther Shore. Eve pale and paler fades into the dark ; We watch the rower resting on his oar. Unlovely to our eyes is that dim bark, A funeral shape lost in the Farther Shore. Night nestles down I oh, happy sleep and night ! The winds are hush'd, the waters cease to roar. Let us depart by the stars' gentle light, And wake to-morrow on the Farther Shore. NOVKMBER, 1862. ■-1 W'T^ ' I ^ ■■ 612 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. THE STAR VENUS. The beautiful star, Venus, Shines into my heart to-night. With rot a cloud between us To mar her radiance bright I Over the snow-roof *d city, •over the mountain white, "Witi. '^ rUnce of tender pity, Lool iC- Lady of the Night. And I think of the long-gone ages, "When, -with her sunny smile, She thrill'd the coldest sages Who sail'd by her Cyprus Isle. O Venus ! Alma Venus I Thy lustre surprises nought, But wherefore so serene is The ray that drives distraught ? Is it to teach the lover To hope, and to persevere Till all the clouds blow over That hide his lady dear ? So my heart takes thy chidings. Fair Queen of Love and Light, And hoping for hopeful tidings. It bids thee hail to-night. sM MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 513 THOMAS MOORE AT ST. ANN'S.^^ z. On these swift waters borne along, A poet from the farther shore, Framed as he went his solemn song, And set it by the boatman's oar. n. It was his being's law to sing From morning dawn to evening light; Like nature's chorister's, his wing And voice were only still'd at night. IP ni. Nor did all nights bring him repose; For by the moon's auspicious ray, Like Philomela on her rose, His song eclipsed the songs of day. IV. He came a stranger summer-bird. And quickly pass'd; but as he flew Our river's glorious song he heard, His tongue was loosed — he warbled too I V. And, mark the moral, ye who dream To be the poets of the land: He nowhere found a nobler theme Than you, ye favor'd, have at hand. 614 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. VI. Not in the storied Summer Isles, Not *mid the classic Cyclades, Not where the Persian sun-god smiles, Found he more fitting theme than these. VII. So, while the boat glides swift along, Behold above there looketh forth The star that lights the path of song — The constant star that loves the north ! M' f I 11 GOD BLESS THE BRAVE! I A New Orleans newspaper, the Southern Pilot, lately received, Informs ua that the Irish soldiers of Companies C and K, Eighth New Hampshire Volunteers, finding themselves encamped in the neighborhood of the grave of Richard Dalton Williams, have had the sacred spot inclosed, and erected " a tall and graceful slab of Carrara marble," with this inscription : Sacred to tlie memory of Richard Daltox Williams, the Irish Patriot and Poet, wfio died July 5, 18G2, aged 40 years. Thit stone was erected by his countrymen serving in Companies C and K, Eighth New Hampshire Volunteers, as a slight testimonial of their esteem for his unnuUied patriotism and his exalted devotion to the cause of Irish freedom.] I. God bless the brave ! the brave alone Were worthy to have done the deed, A soldier's hand has raised the stone, Another traced the lines men read. Another set the guardian rail Above thy minstrel — Innisfail ! n. A thousand years ago — ah I then Had such a harp in Erin ceased. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 515 His cairn had met the eyes of men, By every passing hand increased. God bless the brave ! not yet the race Could coldly pass his resting-place. se. il eceived, informs us mpshire Voluntcera, grave of Uicuabd erected "a tall and Irish Patriot and l,e., C and K, Eighth for his wmllied 3d, III. True have ye writ, ye fond and leal, And, if the lines would stand so long, Until the archangel's trumpet peal Should wake the silent son of song, Broad on his breast he still might wear The praises ye have planted there I IV. Let it be told to old and young, At home, abroad, at fire, at fair. Let it be written, spoken, sung. Let it be sculptured, pictured fair, How the young braves stood, weeping, round Their exiled Poet's ransom'd mound I V. How lowly knelt, and humbly pray'd. The lion-hearted brother band, Around the monument they made For him who sang the Fatherland I A scene of scenes, where glory's shed Both on the living and the dead ! VI. Sing on, ye gifted ! never yet Has such a spirit sung in vain; No change can teach us to forget The burden of that deathless strain. Be true, like him, and to your graves Time yet shall lead his youthful braves ! vW^ 616 M1S0KLLANE0U8 POEMS. U\ i ■ '> \ 1 1 I if THE OLD SOLDIER AND THE STUDENTA^ I. The star of honor on his breast, The gray head bow'd with years, Hush'd every roister student's jest; Still ready for his peers. The aged soldier gazed around, His sight was somehow dim; We saw that it was classic ground That had some spell for him. II. "Your pardon, gentlemen," he said; " I interrupt your game ! But once I trod the courts you tread; The place is much the same; And if you heed a tale to hear, A brief, plain tale I'll tell — There's none here holds this spot more dear, Though all may love it well. III. " Years, years ago, when that your sires "Were eager, planning men, T, stirred by travel's vague desires, Forsook my native glen. I cross'd the seas, and claimed the right A kinsman once bequeath'd, And long in Nature's sore despite, This learned air I breathed. Vi 1 i 0, 'Mi MISCELLANEOUS POEMS, 517 ENT.^^ •e dear, s rht IV. " For not of books, and not of lore. My days and dreams were spun; A banner some brave band before, A bold deed to be done, A rush upon some bristMng wall, A midnight camisade — These were my study, and my all To be of the brigade. V. " I took the cassock from my back, I flung my summa down, I rush'd away on war's wild track, I served the Church and Crown; And tottering now on life's last brink, I come to-day to view This place, of which I often think. And speak my heart to you. VI. " There must be soldiers ! yes, and they Should have a mission clear, To lead them on their awful way. As any tonsard here. There must be soldiers, and there must Be soldiers of the Cross — The bravest, firmest, chief in trust, Or all our hopes are lost. VII. *• Young men, forgive an old man's prose, Forgive an old man's tale. You combat with far fiercer foes, Than any we assail. I \:t ft I ''>t i 618 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 'i'l \ •: True chivalry of soul lies not In panoply or gear; Your good fight always mudt be fought, Be firm, and persevere." NlOB, Savot, March 14, 18G7. SUNSET ON THE CORSO AT ROME. [An impromptu, written on St. Patrick's Day, 1867.] I. The sun has set in amber Behind St. Peter's dome. Like some fair-hair'd Sicamber Retreating west from Rome ; But he will bring the morrow, With all its promise bright, With its life, its strife, and sorrow. And its merciful " Good night 1" II. We look upon his setting, A sillvcn, smiling throng, We think — life's span forgetting — The darkness is not long; A few short hours over. And, all brighter from his rest, Like a rich returning lover, He'll deck the fair world's breast. III. Aye I we believe in being Created as we are; Holding that true — for seeing A rock, a sea, a star; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Yet deny that the All-giver To creatures could assign A cycle of forever By a tenancy divine. IV. Saint Peter's dome at midnight, Though the sun be quench'd and gone, Will stand as high and upright As in the day that's done; And the Keys in Peter's keeping Will still be firmly grasp'd, Till, from their final sleeping, All men see day at last ! 619 In Rome, as on Mount Sion, Hides Satan from the first; Now roused, a roaring lion, He dares and does his worst; Now a serpent, smooth, sweet-spoken, As when he ambush'd Eve, Through the angel-guard had broken. And, through man, made God to grieve. VI. But still the Eternal City, Type of eternal power. Looks down in patient pity On the idols of the hour; As Genoa looks on the waters By passing clouds o'ercast. As Fiesole looks on Florence, From the high-ground of the past I - ' f 520 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. TASSO'S TOMB, AT ROMEAit I. The tepid air bespeaks repose, The noonday city sleeps; No shadow from the cypress groves Athwart the Tiber creeps. This seems the very land of rest To wondering wanderers from the West, Who walk as if in dreams ; English Ambition's onward cry, To all beneath this opiate sky Yet untranslated seems. II. Here is the goal ; here ended all His tragedy of life I The honors, banishment, recall, The love, the hate, the strife ! A weary man, the poet came To light a funeral-torch's flame At yonder chancel light ; When here he summ'd up all his days. Heedless of human blame or praise, And turn'd him to the Night ! III. Oh, holy Jerome ! at thy shrine, Who could hope better meed, Than he who sang the song divine Of crusade and of creed ! MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 621 Who loved upon Jerusalem, As thou didst when at Sethlehem, The Master's steps to trace ! "Who burned to tread the very sod Imprinted by the feet of God, In the first years of grace ! Wrapt in the shade of Tasso's Oak, I breathe the air of Rome ; He found his final home "Where, freed from every patron's yoke, The Alban and the Sabine range Down yonder, seeming nothing strange, Although first seen by me ; Firm as those storied highlands stand. So, deep-laid in Italian land, Shall Tasso's glory be. «l Calm here, within his altar-grave. The restless takes his rest ; Besculptured, as becomes the brave. With nodding casque, and crest. And shield, on which we trace the line, The key-note of his song divine, " Pro Fide /" Tasso lies. So may we find our legend writ. What time the Crucified shall sit For judgment, in the skies ! 522 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. i ts i' ICEBERGS. STEAMER ALBION, LAT. 46.55 N., LONG. 62.30 W. I. Parting their arctic anchors The bergs came drifting by, A fearful fleet for a ship to meet Under the midnight sky; Their keels are fathoms under, Their prows are sharp as steel. Their stroke, the crash of thunder, All silently on they steal. n. In the ruddy glow of daylight, When the sea is clear and wide, When the sun with a clear and gay light Gilds the avalanche's side; Thcii the sailor-boy sees castles And cities fair to view, With battlements and archways And horsemen riding through. m. Lonely in nights of summer, Beneath the starlight wan, A way-worn berg is met with, Sad-featured as a man ; All softly to the southward • , Trailing its robes of white. It glides awaj' with the current Like a hooded Carmelite. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 523 IV. To-day — 'twaS Sunday evening — When dimly fi-om the north, Under the far horizon A church-hke cloud came forth; It came, a white reminder Of the memories of the day; As a silent sign, we fancied, It paused, and pass'd its way. BUMDAV, 19tb May, 18G7. IMPROMPTU. A HAPPY bird that hung on high In the parlor of the hostelry, Where dailv resorted ladies fair To breathe the garden-perfumed air. And hear the sweet musician; Removed to the public room at last. His spirit seem'd quite overcast, He lost his powers of tune and time, As I did mine of rhythm and rhyme When I turn'd politician. THE SEA CAP TAIN. ^3' The anchor is up and the broad sails are spread. The good ship is adrift from the land, And the sportive spray sprinkles the fair figure-head, As if flung fi'om some sea-spirit's hand. ■f ♦ 524 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. n. The wind pipes aloud through cordage and spars, The sea-boy sings back to the wind, The day is all sunshine, the night is all stars — "Was never old Neptune more kind. III. But the master he paceth the deck to and fro, (Impatient of fortune, I ween !) Now his footstep is hurried, now leaden and slow. As he mutters his shut lips between. IV. And his eye fiercely glares at the blue blessed sky, As if all his tormenting lay there ; Now he smiteth his breast as to stifle a sigh — A sigh that resounds of despair. V. 'Tis the midwatch of night — still unwearied he stalks To and fro in the moonlight so dim ; And unto himself or some phantom he talks, While the phantom seems talking to him. VI. Afar o'er the waters, an index of light, Points the eye to the darkness intense ; Say, whence comes the skiflf that entrances his sight — What destiny carries it hence ? VII. There standeth a form where the mist might have stood, As a sail her scarf catches the breeze — And the 'kerchief she waves has the color of blood. While her girdle hangs loose to her knees. MISCELLANEOUS FOEMS. 625 VIII. There is sin, there is shame, there is shipwreck of fame In the eye, on the brow of the maid; No need unto him that she should name her name, At a gkinco the whole story is said. To the ship's side she drew in her ghostly canoe, For a moment has waited her prey : In vain shout the crew, to the phantom he flew — In the darkness they vanish away. X. Whenlhe Priest heard the tale by the gossips told o'er, " Of a truth," so he said, " it may be; For the sins men imagine they leave upon shore, Do follow them often to sea." PEACE HATH HER VICTORIES. 1. To people wastes, to supplement the sun, To plant the olive where the wild-brier grew, To bid rash rivers in safe channels run. The youth of aged cities to renew, To shut the temple of the two-faced god — Grand triumphs these, worthy a conqueror's car; They need no herald's horn, no lictor's rod; Peace hath her victories, no less than War. To raise the drooping artist's head, to breathe The word despairing genius thirsts to hear, To crown all service with its earned wreath, To be of lawless force the foe austere; 526 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. This is to stretch a sceptre over Time, This is to give our darkling earth a star, And belt it with the emerald scroll sublime; Peace hath her victories, no less than War. m. To stand amidst the passions of the hour Storm-lash'd, resounding fierce from shore to shore; To watch the human whirlwind waste its power, Till drowned Reason lifts her head once more; To build on hatred nothing; to be just, Judging of men and nations as they are. Too strong to share the councils of mistrust; Peace hath her victories, no less than War. IT. To draw the nations in a silken bond, On to their highest exercise of good ; To show the better land above, beyond The sea of Egypt, all whose waves are blood; These, leader of the age I these arts be thine. All vulgar victories surpassing far ! On these all heaven's benignant planets shine ; Peace hath her victories, no less than War. Paris, April, 1867. THE SUNLESS LAND. I. Know you the sunless land, where throng'd togethei The silent hosts stand out, unheeding whether 'Tis summer heat, or bleak December weather — Know you that sunless land ? MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 527 II. ^ar. jre to shore; power, 3 more; ■e, rust; War. blood; line, Mark well the tents that multitude that cover, On each the crnsade-standard flyinj,' over, Where sleeps the blameless maiden by her lover — Know you that sunless land V III. Its fields have never flash'd to share or sabre, There reigns the night in which no man can labor. There neighbor knoweth not his nearest neighbor — Know you that sunless land ? IV. There Folly wears all year the same tame Fashion; There Wit the crowd around has ceased to flash on; There Age feels no regret, and Youth no passion — Know you that sunless land ? V. Thence let us go, and slow its pathways measure; Leaving far off all scenes of sensual pleasure. There let us dig the cave to store our treasure, Safe in that sunless land. shine ; War. r'd togethei nether pather^ [land? THE MINSTREL'S CUIiSE. I. " My malison," the minstrel said, " I give to man or youth. Who slights a loj^al lady's love, Or trusts a wanton's truth. II. " And on his traitor head shall fall Not only curse of mine, But cited down, at Nature's call, God's malison divine I 528 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. III. ** We've borne our Lady to the grave This weary, weary clay, While our young earl, a wanton's slave, Is false, and far away. IV. " He riots in his leman's bower, He quaffs her philter'd wine, — False knight ! false love ! this very hour, Where is that wife of thine ? V. " He wed her on midsummer eve, With taper and with ring; His passion wither'd with the l^af, But came not with the spring. VI. " She marked the change, poor heart ! poor heart 1 She missed him from her side ; She strove to play the stoic's part. She sicken'd, and she died! VII. She lies outstretch'd in churchyard clay. She drinks the deadly dew, He leads the revels far away, The noisiest of the crew. VIII. " But on his traitor head shall fall Not only curse of mine, But cited down, at Nature's call, God's malison divine." MISCELLANEO US POEMS. 529 THE LADY MO-nRinE.^39 LOur, ,1 poor clay, I. When I was a boy, and delighted to dream, ■\\ here the sycamores shadow the bright Banna's stream, I remember, 'twixt waking and sleeping, I saw The first sight of the village-saint walking the shaw — The Lad V Mo-Bride! II. Her eye was as black as the summer-ripe sloe, Her brow was as fair as the New-Year's day snow ; Have you seen the red berry that grows on the yew ? So shone her soft lips and so gleaming with dew. Oh ! Lady Mo-Bride ! III. Ill our poor little chapel, next Sunday again, Mid the sun-browned maidens and toil-weary men, On the hard-sanded floor, as I live, she did kneel, While the light of her grace like a glory did veil The Lady Mo-Bride ! IV. In summer the fever spread round through the poor. As a wild-fire devouring a desolate moor ; Ah ! then, through its raging how calmly she trod, I The pure saint that she was — on earth walking with God- The Lady Mo-Bride ! V. The grave-yard green crowded, the village forlorn, [The harvest had fail'd, there was blight in the corn ; pj-^ •: ^-^T^ 530 MISCELLANEOUS POKMS. Then came that high huly, with comforts and wealth, Her smile giving joy, and her hand leaving health — The Lady Mo-Bride! VI. But now she is wedded, and carried away By some lord of the English, who loved her, they say ; A nd 8ad is our village, and valley, and all, For the lady we pray for, but cannot recall ! Dear Lady Mo-Bride ! INDEPENDENCE. Let Fortune frown and foes increase, And life's long battle know no peace; Give me to wear upon my breast The object of my early quest, Uudimm'd, unbroken, and unchanged, The talisman I sought and gain'd. The jewel, Independence ! II. It feeds with fire my flagging lieart To act by all a fearless part; It irrigates like summer rain The thirsty furrows of my brain ; Through years and cares my sun and star, A present help, a hope afar — The jewel. Independence ! III. Rob me of all the joys of sense ; CjLirse me with ail but impotence; MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 531 ealth, th— Iride I Fling me upon an ocean oar; Cast me upon a savajj;o shore ; Slay me I but own above my bier, " The man now gone still held, while hero, The jewel. Independence I" lev say ; )-Bride I 36, :;ed, Ldence ! AUTUMaV AXn WIN T Eli. AN ANTIQUE. I. Autumn, the squire of Winter, is abroad. Making much dust upon the breezy road; His Joseph coat with every hue is gay, Bat seems as if 't had known a sunnier day; His master from the North is drawing nigh, Fiir-clad, and little favor'd to mine eye. II. And yet this piebald courier doth him wrong; He loves a friend, a bottle, and a song; His memory's a mine, whereof the ore Is ever-wrought and never-ending lore. His white locks hide a head full of rare dreams. Which by a friendly tire with gladness streams. While Christmas shrives the perishing Old year He leads the New out from behind the bier. Lnd star, idence I III. Oh! motley Autumn, prithee mend thy pace, I do not like thy costume nor thy face ; Thy hollow laugh and stage proprieties Tell of a bungling actor, ill at ease, — To live such life as thine is shame, is sin; Prithee fall back, let honest Winter in F* ,' a .If ■■:• ,, 11,(1) ii( lip ii 632 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. It , r* I 1; ^ SMALL CATECHISM. X. Wjiy are children's eyes so bright? Tell me why ? 'Tis because the infinite Which they've left, is still in sight, And they know no earthly blight — Therefore 'tis their eyes are bright. n. Wliy do children laugh so gay ? Tell me why ? 'Tis because their hearts have play In their bosoms, every day, Free from sin and sorrow's sway — Therefore 'tis they laugh so gay. III. "Why do children speak so free ? Tell me why ? 'Tis because from fallacy. Cant, and seeming, they are free. Hearts, not lips, their organs be — Therefore 'tis they speak so free. IV. Why do children love so true ? Tell me why ? 'Tis because they cleave unto A familiar, favorite few. Without art or self in view — Therefore children, love so true. MlSVXLLANJiOUS POJSMS. 633 tree PRIMA VISTA* " Land ! land 1" how welcome is the word To nil — or Iftiidsmcn bred or seamen ! Deep in their lairs the sick are stirr'd — The decks are throng'd with smiling women. The face that had gone down in tears Ten days since in the Britisli Channel, Now, like Aurora, reappears — Aurora wrapp'd in furs and flannel. ** Where ?" " Yonder, on the right, dost see A firm dark line, and close thereunder A white line drawn along the sea, A flashing line whose voice is thunder ?" " It seems to be a fearsome coast — No trees, no hospitable whiffs — God help the crew whoso ship is lost On yonder homicidal cliffs !" "Amen! say I, to that sweet prayer; The land, indeed, looks sad and stern, No female savans' field-day there, Collecting butterflies and fern. An iron land it seems from far, On which no shepherd's flock reposes; Lash'd by the elemental war, The land is not a land of roses." Pro I ^ly, oh Prima ViMa! still, "\^ re sweeps the sea-hawk's fearless pinion, D. ou unfurl from every hill T banner of the New Dominion ! * Newfoundland. - ml K i W li'< i t 534 MISCELLANKOVS POEMS. Proudly to all who sail the sea, Bear then, advanced, the Union standard, And friendly may its welcome be To all men, seaward bound or landward 1 All hail ! old Prima Visla ! long As break the billows on thy boulders, Will seamen hail thy lights with song, And home- hopes quicken all beholders. Long as thy headlands point the way Between man's old and new creation, Evil fall from thee like the spraj', And hope illumine every station ! Long may thy hardy sons count o'er The spoils of ocean, won by labor; Long may the free, unbolted door Be open to each trusty neighbor ! Long, long may blossom on thy rocks Thy sea-pinks, fragrant as the heather; Thy maidens of the flowing locks Safe shelter'd from life's stormy weather ! Yes ! this is Prima Visla ! this The very landmark we have prayed for; Darkly they wander who have miss'd The guidance yon stern land was made for. Call it not homicidal, then. The New World's outwork, grim its beauty; This guardian of the lives of men. Clad in the garb that does its duty ! Less gaily trills the lover lark Above the singing swain at morning. Than rings through sea-mists chill and dark This name of welcome and of warning. MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Not happier to his cell may go The saint, triumphant o'er temptation, Than tlie worn captain turns below, Relieved as by a revelation. How blest, when Cabot ventured o'er This northern sea, yon rocks rose gleaming I A promised land seem'd Labrador (Nor was the promise all in seeming) ; Strong sea-wall, still it stands to guard An island fertile, fair as any. The rich, but the unreap'd reward Of Cabot and of Verrazzaui 1 535 i for; ide for. beauty; dark In cr. w WT Mi RELIGIOUS POEMS ETERNITY. " Dies irae, dies illse, Solvot, 'secuhim in flaviliac." I. All men are marshall'd in array, And order'd for the Judgment Day I The grave is but a gate whereby They pass into eternit3\ n. More fearful .will that hour be "When eA'ery wave of every sea Will find a voice, and all shall cry — " Behold, behold, eternity !" IIL The metals which the mountains hold, Like tears adown them shall be roll'd ; The blinded earth, the shining sun, To the dread end will stagger on I IV. Nought shall endure from pole to pole. Nought, save th' imperishable soul; The sea shall pass, the stars decay. Souls only can survive that day ! 1^ f !f' j^?f n — " f-i'"'" 540 liELIGIOUS POEMS. ▼. O God of justice ! God of love ! Rain down Thy mercies from above. And Biake our sinful souls to be Worthy to dwell for aye with Thee ! YK Teach us to live our little time, By thy deliver'd l;iw sublime; Teach us to die, so that we may Endure, in faith, Thy Judgment Day I TnU SAINTS OF ERIN. A FRA&MENT. How shall I sing the heavenly host That burn'd of old on Ireland's coast, "When their joint lustre shone afar. The Gothic world's morning star ? Their pious arts, their sacred names Live still in honor'd ancient fanes. Gray guardians of the isle or lake. Frequented for the founder's sake. Sad is the change, and sad the time, When into hands unmeet as mine, Descends the white and purple thread Of what they suffer'd, what they said. Breathes there no more a soul of fire To wake to praise the Irish lyre ? To chant in high, enduring song A lay to be remember 'd long ? RELIGIOUS POEMS. Has green Momonia lost the art Through the ear to reach the heart ? Gushes there from no northern mount Of sacred song the crystal fount ? Has Shannon's tide no magic spring, Where he who drinks perforce must sing? Lies Leinster voiceless as the clod Before the theme — the Saints of God 2 Not so ! not so ! * * * 541 UYMN TO SAINT PATRICK. I. Oh thou ! Apostle of our race, Look down from thy bright dwelling-place On us thy sujipliant sons, and hear The prayer we offer to thine ear. ir. Enthroned upon the eternal hills Where spring salvation's crystal rills, Dear Father ! from thy chalice grant That saving draught for which we pant I III. Standing hard by the awful throne Where rules the mystic Three in One, Beseech, oh Father ! for thy race The entail of God's precious grace ! IV. By the bright brotherhood of Saints, By weak humanity's complaints, By all our wants and all your bliss. Saint Patrick, hear our prayer in this ! fr*r '• / ■— "-^pBpp 542 BELIQIOUS POEMS. THE CELTS PRAYER. I. Oh, King of Heaven ! who dwelleth throned afiir Bej'ond the hills, the skylark, and the star, "Wliose ear was never shut to our complaints. Look down and hear the children of thy Saints ! u. "We ask no strength of arm, or heart, Lord ! We still can hoist the sail and ply the sword, We ask no gifts of grain — our soil still bears Abundant harvests to the fruitful years ! III. The gift, O Lord, we need, to David's son You gave, for asking, once in Gabaon ; The gift of Wisdom, which, of all your powers, Most needful is, dread Lord ! to us and ours ! IV. Our race was mighty once, when at their head Wise men, like steadfast torches, burn'd and led; When Ollamh's lore and royal Cormac's spell Guided the Gael, all things with them went well. V. Finn, famed for courage, was more fam^id for art, For frequent meditations made apart; Dathi and Nial, valorous both and sage, Were slow in anger, seldom stirr'd to rage. BELIOIOVS POEMS. 543 VI. Look down on us, oh Sire, and hear our cries ! Grant to our chiefs the courage to bo wise, Endow them with a wisdom from Thy throne, That they may yet restore to us our own ! •^ THE PRAYER TO ST. BREXDAX. I. Upon this sea a thousand dolphins swam, Tossing their nostrils up to breathe awhile; Aud here the lumbering leviathan, Lay heap'd and long like some half-founder'd isle; "When, from the west, a low and antique sail Swell'd with soft winds that wafted prayers before, Bore thy frail bark, Columbus of the Gael, Far from thy native Conuaught's sheltering shore ! Mo-Brendan ! Saint of Sailors ! list to me, And give ihy benediction to our bark, For still, they say, thou savest souls at sea. And lightest signal-fires in tempest dark. Tiiou sought'st the Promised Land far in the "West, Earthing the sun, chasing Hesperion on, But we in our own Ireland had been blest. Nor ever sigh'd for land beyond the sun ! III. Shores of eternal spring might cross in vain, For all the odious wealth we counted nought ; The birds-of-paradise might sing in vain, Hiid not our cup with too much woe been fraught ! TT 544 UEllGIOUS POEMS. Tlien, sailing in thy legendary wake, We lift our hearts and voices unto thee ; . Bless the fair realm that for our spirits' sake You sought of yore through the untravell'd sea I IV. And for us, outcasts for the self-same cause, ]}eseech fi-om Heaven's full granary some store Of grace to love and fear the equal laws Enthroned upon that liberated shore. Help us to dwell in brotherhood and love, In the New Home predestined for our race; So may our souls to thine, in heaven nbove. Pass glorified, through their great Master's grace ! ST. BRIDGET OF KILDARE. LINKS WraTTEN ON THE FIRST OF FEBRUARY. I. How few, on this once famous festival day, Remember the Virgin of Erin, whose fame Oft bow'd down the nations devoutly to pray, Of Kildare's holy abbess invoking the name! II. On the Alps oi the Swiss, on the friths of the Dane, "When the cross had supplanted idolatry's sign. How the sons of the Qentiles surrounded thy fame. What homage, O Virgin ! what conquests were thine ! III. As a queen of the seas, how resplendently shone, 'Mid the far Scotic islands the shrines of St. Bride,"' But they who once claim'd thee, and call'd thee their own, Have gone out — but oh ! not to return with the tide ! JIELIGIOVS POEMS. C45 IV. To rcif^n in one heart, tlirou},']! the chjin«jfes of time, Is the fond expectation of niiiitlcn most fiiir, But whiit myriads have felt an affection snbHnio For thy beauty of {goodness, sweet Bride of Kildare ! V. Even now may be found in the bosoms of men Some hearts, Hko the lamp at thy altar of old, Whose faith burns as brijjfht and as steadfast as then, As warm as its fame, and as pure as its gold. VI. Let them roam where they may, they can never forget, And never forefi'o, let what fate may betide, To remember the day, and to render the debt They owe to Kildare's holy abbess, St. Bride. SIiniNES ON THE SJIOJIE. WRITTEN OFF THE COAST OF MUNSTER, ASII-WEDN'ESD.VY, 1855. I. Evenings there were when yon dim coast Was lighted by a hermit-host, Ere vet the fervid faith was lost Our fathers held. How shall I, in this callous age, Speak of their choir, demure and sage. Who fed the lamp and fiU'd the page, In nights of eld ! * II. A pilgrim then to Erin's shore AVould nowhere find the ruins hoar, Which echo but the surge's roar, That I have seen; 646 RELIGIOUS POEMS. From capo to capo, from isle luul bay, Chancels would lij^'lit him on his way, Hia log would be a litany. As it hath been ! III. How alter'd now ! our faith how weak. Since the old days of which I speak. When every galliot dropp'd her peak, And spread her flag. As soon as saw the conscious crew Arran, emerging o'er the blue. Or the wild cell of Saint Macdugh, A sea-wash'd crag ! IV. Mayhap we may have wiser grown, Since Saints in Erin last were known, Since honors from the deep were shown To God's elect I But of all gifts our fathers had, Yon shrines, by impious hands unclad. Seem to my soul the loss most sad — Religion wreck'd ! I r v. "Wreck'd ! no, not so ! the eternal shrine Secure may stand, unquench'd may shine. In every breast, in mine and thine, Mine early friend ! The baffled tyrant cannot tear From out the heart, once rooted there, The Cross, our fathers' pride and care, Till time shall end ! ItELlaiOUS POEMS. 647 TUE DYLVG CELT TO I/IS AMERICAN SOX. I. My son, a darkiiftss falloth, Not of iii{,'ht, upon my oyes ; And in my ears there calleth A voice as from the skies ; I feel that I am dyin^', I feel my day is done ; Bid the women hush their crying, And hear to me, my son ! II. "When Time my garland gathers, Oh ! my son, I charge you hold By the standard of your fathers In the battle-fields of old ! In blood they wrote their story Across its field, my boy; On earth it was their glory, In heaven it is their joy. III. By Saint Patrick's hand 'twas planted On Erin's sea-beat shore, And it spread its folds, undaunted, Through the drift and the uproar; — Of all its vain assaulters, — Who could ever say he saw The last of Ireland's altars ? Or the last of Patrick's law ? 548 RELW 10 US P KMS. IV. Tliroriy;li the western ocean driven, By the tyrant's scorpion whips, Behold ! the hand of Heaven Bore our standard o'er the ships! In the forest's far recesses, When the moon shines in at night, The Celtic cross now blesses The weary wanderer's sight ! My son, my son, there falleth Deeper darkness on my eyes; And the Guardian Angel calleth Me bv name from out the skies. Dear, my son, I charge thee cherish, Christ's holy cross o'er all ; Let whatever else may perish. Let whatever else will fall. TUE CROSS IX THE WEST. Oh, fear not ! oh, fear not ! though storms may assail Salvation's old symbol in city or vale; By the waveless Pacific, by the new Median Sea, The cross over all shall triumphantly be. Tts merciful shadow shall shelter our halls, Even they who despise it shall j^ause where it falls, The index that stands on the dial of time And shows man his hour and his errand sublime. RELIGIOUS POEMS. 519 III. The banner of faction shall full at its feet, The flag of the free do it reverence meet; Tlw) wrath-driven host shall grow calm in its shade, And repent of the vows that they rashly have made. IV. 'Twas the first of all banners unfurl'd on our shore, 'Twas the banner Columbus in humbleness bore; The needle might varv, the crew mutineer — "With the cross on his prow he was callous to fear. V. - ^ On thy shores, Guahania, when white men first stood. Their speech was the Spanish, their standard the rood; Upon Oregon's slopes, over Labrador's sands Still the cross of the Jesuit pioneer stands. Then fear not ! oh, fear not ! though storms may assail Salvation's old symbol in city or vale; By the waveless Pacific, by the new Median Sea, The cross over all shall triumphantly be. THE HERMIT OF CROAOII PA TRICK. I. A Heumit here, in days of old. Lived bv the fox's lair, The vears of his life bv his beads ho told. The hours of his life by prayer. No roar of the clamorous plains Disturb'd his wild retreat, His paths, familiar to winds and rains, Were unknown to human feet. 650 JiELIGIOUS POEMS. II. Night and morn, when ihe sky was brighfc, He sat on the mountain's crest, And sung God's praise wiih all liis might, Or kneeling, beat his breast. And when the sky above him frown'd, , And the storm rose fierce and loud, He pray'd to Heaven foi the land around, Its weak, and wicked, and proud. III. And many a tempted levin brand From its destin'd aim was turn'd. And many a sinful ship made land The sea would have inurn'd; And many whose final 'counting hour Was come, got Time of Grace ; And many a high and haughty tower His prayer kept in its place. IV. In all that land these things were known, Through all the proverb ran: " Tlie chosen Friends of God alone Are real Friends to Man." Alas ! in our own alter'd dav. Well may the guilty rue How few are livinjj now to pray For the sins the many do When we are stricken with age or ill. Or frighten'd with God's fires, Our trust is still in human skill, Or art's electric wires. JiELIGIOUS POEMS. Oh ! sages, make for me a heart Of ancient mould and faith, And then I'll venerate your art, And honor it in death ! 551 ' ' WINIFR ED OF WALES." [Written in tlie album of a lady whose Christian name was Winifred.] Along our native glens, of old, In hut and hall, for young and old, When Night brought round her tales, No purer epic was to tell Than that which on the list'ner fell, Of AVinifred of Wales ! The virgin martyr fair and true ; The tyrant swoia his will to do, Whose wrath, wild as the gales That sweep o'er Snowdon, and whose sword Crept that bright lily of our Lord, •Sweet Winifred of Wales ' Where fell her blood, the conscious earth To a charnied spring gave instant birth, Whose ministry no'er fails To heal the sick, to liglit the blind. If sought in fervid frame of mind, Amid the hills of Wales ! Auspicious name ! so meekly borne, I thee invoke, this holy morn, When all men's prayer prevails. To bless this roof, and her who bears Tliy name — so honor'd through all years -- Sweet Winifred of Wales ! Qi'KBKC, Sunday, Ai. i' '', ISii'J. I'TKT)'- '■ ■I'riy-rrTjfmmi 552 RELIGIOUS POEMS. THE CHRISTIAN BROTHERS. VERY IlESrECTFULLY DEDICATED TO THE CHRISTIAN BROTHERS or NEW YORK. I. In the streets of the city, where laughter is loud, Where Mammon smiles down on his worshipping crowd, "Where the footsteps fall fast as the falling of rain, The sad and the sinful, the vile and the vain; In the streets of the city what form do we meet. With long sable robe flowing free to his feet, W^ho is it that moves through the wondering mall ? 'Tis our teacher — a son of the sainted La Salle. II. He hath left his young home in the land of the vine, For the vineyard of God — for those tendrils of thine; He hath heard that dear voice which of old calm'd the sea, As it whisper'd to him, " Bring the children to me, Foi of such are the I'^ingdom of God," ere the soul Hath a speck of the sin that defileth the wholo. 'Tis for this that he liveth — upbraid him who shall, Who walks in the way of the sainted La Salle ! ni. Oh, city ! that looking forth seaward forever To the fleet on the bay, through the fleet on the river; Still LiviiJg thy limbs in the parallel tides, And proud of the strength that disaster derides; Would you win true renown — 'tis a dutiful youth, An heirloom of honor, devotion, and truth; W\)uld you have them to pillar the home and the hall. Oh ! teach thoTu the J ore of the sainted La Salle ! New Yobk, 18 jO. liELIGIOUS POEMS. 553 LIFE, A MYSTERY TO MAN". You ask me, comrade, " why I speak with awe, Harping" forever on this Theme of Life, As if it were tiie only care of man, Instead of being a rope of sHpp'ry strands, lull of vihi accidents, vexations, dreams; A taper made but to be burned out, A better sort of shroud, a thistle-down, The airy carriage of an unsown seed. The wooden shedding of a lasting structure, A very flimsy, miserable makeshift, Neither an art, nor yet a mystery ?" Life is a mystery, might be an art ! Old men know all its secret sleights and laws, But when they learn to live, 'tis time to die. And so their knowledge, age by age, goes with them; And the young still begin to live, as though A past were not, and future could not be. It is Life's noon, and tlu* young soul looks out: Oh Earth ! how fond and beautiful thou art ! How blue the sky is ! Kow benign the sun ! How glorified the ni^rht ! How joyous Spring And all the seasons look ! He's told "Life's but a voyage, a river, and a dream ;" And this he takes as literal, nor thinks The voyager's port is death; the river's end Is in the sea, eternity; the dream once over, The sleeper wakes up face to face with God ! He comi)rehends life's sacred sense no more Than the niiitf trumpet does thj word it utters. ;}i 554 TiKLIGlOUS POEMS. Upward ho goes, a-j^athcring hIioIIs and toys, As if God sent him inusenni-makiiij,''; or, ►Sitting at Honio siren's feet (^f chiy, He sings away the hours witli wanton airs, nin<,'in{4- his reason from liim: then for days He will be searching'' after it, that he May squander it once more. He's heard that amid roses beautiful, Ilemorse, even as crocodiles of Nile, Choosetli his den; he well knows that a poison, Deadliest to men, has ever been distilled From the fair blossoms of the laurel tree; Yet, like some laughing child of Memphis old, Playing among the sphinxes, never notes That Good and Evil, from their dateless posts Regard l)im with their all-unwearied eyes; He never Lliinks, while looking at his watch, A spirit sits within the works to note His actions by the liour; he little dreams, Sleep-walker as he is, that even now Angels descend from heaven every day. And might be seen if we had Jacob's grace. His lawless will he makes his only law. His god is pleasure, and his devil, pain. The first great end of life, is to be saved; And next, to leave the world the better for us. Both are commanded, both are possible. No good man's life was ever lived in vain: Like hidden springs they freshen all around, And by the lonely verdure of their sphere, You know where good men dwelt. But man's true empire is his deathless soul — How capable of culture and adornmo|it! liEUaiOlJS POKMS. 555 je. )r us. iml, His memoiy, which, from the distant years, Drives its long camel-cavalcades of lore; His will, a curb'd steed or a cataract, Full of directness, loftiness and power, If it were rij^htly schooled; his reason, An armory of Archimedean levers, Such as, reposinfj; on the Word of God, Might raise the world ! Will man never know To rulG the empire in himself contained, Its hosts of passions, tastes, affections, hopes; Each one a priceless blessing to its lord, If subject to Religion's holy law? Ah! were there many rulers among men. How fragrant in God's nostrils wou1'^ Ijocome This reeling, riotous, and rotten earth ! Then should we see no more guilt and remorse. Life's vernal and autumnal ecpiinox. Shaking down roof-trees on defenceless heads. Scattering the fairest hopes of (hsarest friends, And strewing peaceful places witli the wreck Of lofty expectation; then premature old age, And gray hairs without honor, could not be; Nor o)[)hans rankly cumbering the waste. Like garden-seeds to some far prairie blown; Then blessed peals would daily fill tho air. And God's house be familiar as our own; Then Faith, and Truth, and patient Charity, Tleturning from their long sojourn in heaven, With fdl their glorious aits and gentle kin. Would colonize tliis moriil wilch^niess, flaking it sonH'thiiig like wluu God desi'.'n'd ! Thus would I have my friend (consider life, And, like the diver in the secret sea. 7 55G liKLKJIOUS POEMS. Open his eyes and see it all reveal'd — Quicksands, ciirrents, monsters, weeds, and shoals. Thus would I have hiui school, in humbleness. His ear to catch the rhythmic admonitions Which come, upon the winj^s of every wind. From the far shore where the dead ages dwell. I would have liim entertain such thoughts, That, being with him, they might still preserve His feet from pitfalls, and his cheek from shame. His heart from sorrow, and his soul from woe. THE ARCTIC IXDIAN'S FAITH. % "We worship the Spirit that walks, unseen, Through our land of ice and snow: We know not His face, we know not His place, But his presence and power we know. n. Does the buffalo need the pale-face' word To find his pathway far ? What guide has he to the hidden ford, Or where the green pastures are ? Who teacheth the moose that the hunter's gun Is peering out of the shade ? Who teacheth the doe and the fawn to run In the track the moose has made ? III. Him do we follow, Him do we fear — The spirit of earth and sky; Who hears with the Wapiti' s*^ eager ear His poor red children's cry. * Wapiti— ihe elk. REL ir, 10 US POEMS. "Whose whisper we note in every breeze That stirs tlie birch canoe, "NVho haij<^s the reindeer moss on the trees For the food of the Caribou. That Spirit we worship who walks, unseen, Through our land of ice and snow: AVe know not His face, we know not His place, But His presence and power we know. 657 A CIIR IS T M A S J' Jt ELUDE. The seer-prince, the prophet-child, Who dwelt in Sennaar undefilcd, Proclaini'd with fire-anointed lips. The elder law's apocalypse; Told of earth's powers, their rise and fall, Messiah's birth, and death, and all; How, prone by Tigris' shore he saw A vision fill'd with scenes of awe; All heaven's designs in earthly things, The fate of kingdoms and of kings; The Egyptian's, Persian's, Grecian's fate. But, saddest sight ! saw Zion's state : The second temple overthrown From pinnacle to corner-stone; Th' eternal sacrifice suppress'd By Gentile legions from the west; . Dense darkness in all Judah's skies Till Michael, Israel's prince, arise. And He, the Saint of saints, descend On earth, captivity to end. 558 HKLIGIOUS PUKMS. Hound rollM the iitncs, and AhIii know AVhiit. D;ini(sl saw; tlioii Homo oiii^Mow All other boundfl. War's List wihl roar Lay ImshM un Caiitabria's shore; The idol of tlu! two-fold fa'd street, ami brid;^e, and foot-miirk'd glen; The very desert seem'd to be Peopled by Caesar's dread decree: "Number the nations who obey. Throughout the world, the lloman sway !" Lo 1 from their Galilean homo AVhere two of Caesar's subjects come ! Like tender sire and daugnter, they Hold reverent converse on their way; A-foot and simply clad, yet grace Abundant shines in either face; • JaH««— the god of peace aiaoiigst the ancient Uumans. T HKIAdlOUS POEMS. 569 Ho, NcU'h Ron, a thou^'htfiil man, "NVlioin every Hij^ii Hjx'ak.s arti.sau ; She, fairest of all Isracd's fair, With f,'()(lliko ^'oodiiOHs in her air, Conscious of royal David's blood, And of her holy motherhood, Turns to her f^'uide with filial ear. Well i)l(\ased his reverent si)ee(!h to hear. Deeembcir's brc-iitii falls keen and {;hill On Jacob's well from Khal's hill; The wintry s(!ene looks pale and dim On Sieluim from jVlount (Jcra/.iin, Where, pacin;^ slowly, fr(>m the north, A mother near her baby's birth, Throu'^h scenes Samarian, bleak and wild, Borne, and not bow'd, by such a child ! For thou J'JpJira/a art to bo The Man-(lod's destined nursery ! For thee alono tlio star shall rise, For thee alone the morninj^ skies Shall brij^'hten with the an^^'l's song; For thee tlie angel-aided seers By Ader's tower shall calm their fears, And ravish'd by the heavenly strain Shall seek their Lord beyond the plain I For thee alone the magi bring From the far East their ofl'ering ! For thee alone shall Herod quiver, EphraLa ! blest be thou for ever ! Draw we the veil: this mvsterv Is all too bright for mortal eye; How shall it, then, be fitly sung In earthly strains, by mortal tongue I IMAGE EVALUATION TEST TARGET (MT-3) 4^, V w^.. t/. Z ^ rf> 1.0 I.I 11.25 ■f 1^ IIIIM IIIIM 1^ ^^ u — 6" 2.0 1.8 U 111.6 V] <^ W ^/,. '/ /A Photographic Sciences Corporation 23 WEST MAIN STREET WEBSTER, NY. US80 (716) 872-4503 x^ I 5G0 HEUGlOUa rOEMS. w In beuveii above, by His own choir, "Where shines the strong Divine desire, Can worthily be raised the psalm That hail'd on earth the dread I AM I K. II'' -- i % .i'. IN ■ > .. »* 4 m m CHRISTMAS MORN. I. Up, Christian ! hark ! the crowing cock Proclaims the break of day I Up ! light the lamp, undo the lock, And take the well-known way. Already through the painted glass Streams forth the light of early Mass ! II. Our altar ! oh, how fair it shows Unto the night-dimm'd eyes I Oh ! surely yonder leaf that glows, Was pluck'd in Paradise I "Without, it snows ; the wind is loud ; Earth sleeps, wrapp'd in her yearly shroud. III. Within, the organ's soaring peal, The choir's sweet chant, the bells. The surging crowd that stands or kneels. The glorious errand tells. Kejoice I rejoice ! ye sons of men. For man may hope for heaven again I IV. 'Tis but a step, a threshold cross'd. Yet such a change we find; RELIGIOUS POEMS. ■ Without, the wainVring worldling toss'd By every gust of wind ; "Witliin, there reigns a holy calm, For here abides the dread " I AH " ! 561 THE MIDNIGHT MASS. 1. "Where the mountains gray and weary, Watch above the valley pass, Come the frieze-clad upland people, To the Midnight Mass ; Where the red stream rushes hoarsel}' Through the bridge o'ergrown with grass, Come the whispering troops of neighbors, To the Midnight Mass ! II. No moon walks heaven's high hall as mistress, No stars pierce the drifting rocks. Only wind-gusts try back, whining Like dogs on a dubious track. Hark ! there comes a startling echo Upward through the central arch I 'Tis the swollen flood that carrie>j, Captive off, a raft of larch. m. Shines a light; it is the Chapel — Softly, 'tis the hour of God; Poor and small, yet far more lowly Was the infant Christ's abode; 662 RELIGIOUS POEMS. Rude and stony is the pavement, Plain and bare the altar-stone ; Ruder was the crib of Bethlehem Over which the east star shone. Hi IV. ConJUeor ! God of ages, Mercy's everlasting source ! I have sinned, oh ! do Thou give me Strength to stem my passion's force Mea culpa ! mca culpa ! Saviour of the world and me, By thy Passion, oh ! have mercy, Thorn-crown'd of Calvary 1 V. Gloria in excelsis Deo ! Shout the pecan to the sky ! Eyes of faith, in yon poor stable, See disguised Divinity. Gloria in excelsis Deo ! Christ, the hope of man, is born ! Shout the anthem ! join the angels I 'Tis our Saviour's natal morn. VI. Praise to God, the Eternal Father, Who of clay created man I Praise to Christ, who trod the wine-prest Till the atonement overran ! Praise to Him, the Holy Spirit, Who inform'd our souls with grace ! Alleluia ! 'tis the morning Of redemption for our race I RELiaiOUS POEMS, 663 THE ROSARY. I. tt Bring hither to me my rosary I" Cried the lovely Lady Anne, As, by the sick bed where he lay, For her dear lord she began To count her bless'd beads one by one, As the hours of hope and life sped on. II. " Jesus save us !" cried a knight, In the pagan forest lost, No star to lend its guardian light, No mereing, track, or post. " Jesus save us !" and forth he drew The rosary, salvation's clue. ■A, III. Brain sore, and feverish with care. In Armagh's cloister deep, Tlie scholar knelt all night in prayer; Thought would not let him sleep, Till the problems, all entangled, he Unwound them on his rosary. IV. When fiercely broke the Atlantic sea Around the quivering bark. And the scowling crew with mutiny Made the scowling sky more dark; Columbus calmly tells his beads. Nor mutiny nor tempest heeds. 5G4 r i y\ RELIOIOUS POEMS. V. Oh ! scorn not, then, the pious poor, Nor the rosary they tell; Ere Faust was born, or men grew. proud To read by the hght of hell. In noble and in humble hands Beads guided souls to heaven in bands. THE THREE SISTERS. I. There are three angel sisters That haunt the open sea. Three loving, life-like sisters, Though different they be. II. One hfts her brow, like morning, Above the waters dark. And the star that brow adorning Laves many a beaten bark. in. One, by her anchor clinging, Walks the waters, like our Lord, And the song she still is singing The dead to life hath stirr'd. IV. But of all the angel sisters Who haunt the open sea, The fondest and the fairest. Sweet Saint Charity for me. BELIOIOUS POEMS. 565 T. Her spirit fires the coldest, And arms the weakest heart ; When death hath seized the boldest, The burial is her part. VI. On a thousand giddy headlands Her fleeting robe is seen; By a thousand bays her buried Calmly rest beneath the green. VII. She hath no star nor anchor. Nor lofty look hath she. But of all the angelic sisters, Sweet Saint Charity for me ! A PRAYER FOR THE DEAD. Let us pray for the dead 1 For sister and mother. Father and brother, For clansman and fosterer. And all who have loved us here; For pastors, for neighbors. At rest from their labors; Let us pray for our own beloved dead I That their souls may be swiftly sped Through the valley of purgj\torial fire. To a heavenly home by the gate call'd Desire t 666 BELIOIOUa POEMS. II. I see them cleave the awful air, Their dun wings fringed with flame; They hear, they hear our helping prayer, They call on Jesu's name. m^ III. Let us pray for the dead ! For our foes who have died, May they be justified ! For the stranjjer whose eves Closed on cold, alien skies; For the sailors who perish'd By the frail arts they cherish'd; Let us pray for the unknown dead ! etc. IV. Father in heaven, to Thee we turn. Transfer their debt to us; Oh ! bid their souls no longer burn In mcviiate anguish thus. V. Let us pray for the soldiers On whatever side slain ; Whose green bones on the plain Lay uuclaim'd and unfather'd, By the vortex wind gather'd; Let us pray for the valiant dead I etc ▼L Oh I pity the soldier. Kind Father in heaven, Whose bodyxloth moulder Where his soul fled self-shriven I liELiaiOUS POEMS. 667 VII. We have pray'd for the dead ; AU the faithful departed, Who to Christ were true-hearted; And our prayers shall be heard. For so promised the Lord; Aud their spirits shall go Forth from limbo-like woe — And joyfully swift the justified dead Shall feci their unbound pinions sped Through the valley of purgatorial fire, To their heavenly home by the gate called Desire. VIII. By the gate call'd Desire In clouds they're ascended ; — Oh, saints ! pray for us, Now your sorrows are ended I SOLDIER! MAKE YOUR SWORD YOUR CROSS! I. SoLDiEK ! make your sword your cross, Borne as the cross should be ; So, nor fame, nor honor's loss, Ever can o'ershadow thee ! Who were they, the bravest brave, In the early days of faith, When Sebastian died to save The Church that glorifies his death ? n. The Saints of Home, the Saints of Gaul, Rode arm'd oft o'er tented field, 6C8 n RELIOIOVS POEMS. ill: \t.-' : t I :V': ■ 1 4I '■ l< •it':. m p|;; e y',".' M»' . ■ , ■■ fct' ■■ r Kbl^:, .j 3. "Who wore Maurice, Martin, all The legion of the one-lock'd shield ? They, as you, were bred to war, Slept in guarded bivouac ; "What they were, e'en that you are — Follow in their sainted track ! HI. Know that power is from on high, Know that duty dwells beside it ; Man's worst fate is not to die. If well prepared and well provided ! Soldier ! make your sword your cross, Borne as the cross should be ; So, nor fume, nor honor's loss. Ever can o'ershadow thee I THE FIRST COMMUNION. WRITTEN FOR A CONVENT FETE. "Were you bid to the bridal ? have you sat at the feast Of the life-giving bountiful Lord of the East ? Oh ! glorious the beauty that shone on His brow. As the innocent bride made her prayer and her vow. And who was the maid, in our old cloudy west, So sought from afar — so chosen — so blest ? Was her lineage as lofty, as old as His own ? "Was she born in the purple and nursed on a throne? Fair Psyche the gentle, no noble was she, Nor born of lineage of lofty degree, — A tiller of earth was her father, ordained To purchase by labor the food that he gained. Tlius it came that tliA l,f^ • • , Tl'xs gently He Jre»r \tT ''*'"'*''■ «'•- o'™ ! '"" ^ "<"•.» qiioeu ana a bride. "». Psyche beloved I von- ^„.i With onr Ladv of P tv^ ^ ""^ """' '«' ^obeasy„„„e-of5::::i:,7'"^ V . *^ fe*""es, and poetry nninfo lou «lmll tread in their nath 71'' •^---aae..eeC;:--:--P3... "•'-en under tbe^if/oTbr^ ^ '^"'^'« P^-- % the hps of Hia pries H„ T" °^ "'"« s Pnest, He was offered to thine - Wet ti^""'' '■"'''' ''"»''°"--: I H r\ '; in STELLA/ STELLA/ I. AyuERE shall we turn, if not to Thee I Stella! Stella 1 Star of the wilderness-ways of the sea, Stella! Stella! Hope of the ages that were, and shall be, Stella! Stella! II. *Tis writ on the earth, and 'tis writ on the wave, Stella! Stella! That thou, glorious star, art mighty to save, Stella! Stella! From sin, and from death, and a watery grave, Stella! Stella! m. Darkness and tempest lie crouch 'd in our way, Stella! Stella! Yield us not up to the monsters a prey, Stella! Stella! Shine ! and all danger will up and away, Stella! Stella! SUNDAY HYMN AT SEA. I. Guide thou our ship, Almighty Power I Dread Lord of sea and land ! And make us feel, at every hour. The helm is in thy hand ; For they alone, by land or sea, Are guided well, who trust to Thee ! HELIGIOUS POEMS. 671 n. The ttbyss may yearn beneath our path, The angry waves may rise, The winds rusli headlong in their wrath, Out of their lowering skies, But well we know they all obey The Lord, the Guardian of our way. III. "When darkness covers all the deep, And every star is set. Serenely we may sink to sleep. For Thou art wakeful yet. How thankful. Lord ! we ought to be ! Teach us how thankful — here at sea ! / WILL GO TO THE ALTAR OF GOD. SUGGESTED BY THE ENTRANCE TO THE HOLY MASS. I. In the night-time I groan 'd on my bed, I felt, O my Father ! thy rod ; I felt all thy beauty and truth ; In the morning I rose and I said, •* I will go to the altar of God — To God, who rejoiceth my youth." II. I arose, and knelt under the sign Of Him who the wine-press hath trod, Where it shone like a ruby, in sooth; And my soul drank the hulocaust wine, As I knelt at the altar of God — " Of God who rejoiceth my youth." 572 BFLIOJOUS POKMS, Despair not, O sorrowing friend ! Down, down on the stone or the sod ; To our Father, all mercy and truth, Cry aloud, ** I repent ! I amend ! I will go to the altar of God — To God, who rejoiceth my youth." THE PEARL OF GREAT PRICE. The richest diamond mortal man Has ever sought, or ever found. Lies cover'd up by scarce a span Of daily trodden, common ground. II. Not far to seek, nor hard to find, Oh, jewel of the earth and sky ! "Worth all for which the caliphs mined, Worth all for which men delve and die ! ta. A tear by Jesus shed, congealed. Were not more pure than this poor stone, That thirty years He bore concealed On earth, at first, the only one. IV. He taught hl3 twelve to cast the net, He taught them to believe and trust ; He show'd them where this pearl was set, Its setting cover'd up with dtist. RELIGIOUS POKMS, 573 V. Each gave a jewel unto each, And each could find out one for all ; Ever within the wretch's reach, Ever within the poor man's call. VI. It bound the risen Saviour's robe ; And when above Mount Olivet, He vanish'd in his own abode. The lustre earthward pointed yet. VII. It shone a lamp in many a cave Beside the Jordan and the Nile ; It lightened many a stormy wave, And brighten'd many a holy inlr. VIII. It burned red on Godfrey's breast. What time Mahound was trampled down. And when in Salem he had rest, It graced him better than his crown. IX. Its worth is in the wearer's will A thousand or ten thousand fold ; As men may use it, good or ill, It fades to dross, or turns to gold. X. "Would you then know the jewel's name, Or where this diamond mine may be ? Never 'twas sought but that it came — The jewel is Humility ! ft f JUVENILE PO EMS '¥ Si Y( ii..,^ LINES DEDICATED TO THE MEMORY OF A BELOVED MOTHER AND TWO DEAR SISTERS.* The sunbeam falls bright on the emerald tomb, And the flow'rets sjirinfj j^ay from the cold bed of death, Which incloses within it — oh ! earth's saddest doom ! — Perfections too pure for the tenants of earth. How hallow'd the spot where she rests in the shade, A parent unequall'd I'or virtue and love, Where the mould'ring- remains of two sisters are laid, Whose spirits are radiant in glory above ! Sweet spirits, who dwell in the home of the Holy, Farewell ! a survivor must bid vou adieu ; Yet lives with the hope once again to behold j'ou. By following the virtues once practiced by you ! BOYHOOD'S D RE A3IS. I LOVE the earth, the sea, the air, A faithful friend and a lady fair; A cottage half-hid in evergreens, With a dozen of babies behind the screens, Looking out with their arch blue eyes. I love to roam o'er heath and hill, Down the dark glen and over the rill, * Written in 18-tl, in the author's sixteenth year. 678 JUVENILE POEMS. m m p 4 To cool my brow with the mountain gale, And drink my own health in Adam's ale, 'Neath the radiant morning skies. I love to muse on the rocky steep, Wliere the old abbey flings its shade o'er the deep, To watch the bright sail on the sunlit wave, Like the spirit-land beaming behind the grave. Afar, from earth that lies. I love the lovely land of the west, AVhere my sires and their sorrows calmly rest; An idol her story hath been to me, And I love her the more that she is not free, For she shall and must arise ! Boston, August 13, 1842. I TO WEXFORD IN THE DISTANCE. WRITTEN ON BOARD THE SHIP " LEO," ON THE AUTUOu's FIRST VOYAGE TO AMERICA, IN HIS SEVENTEENTH YEAR. Oh, city ! o'er the still and silent sea, Farewell ! my heart is overrun with sorrow, I am not what I would be, gay and free, Farewell ! the ocean is my home to-morrow ! Friend of my early days, my happiest hours, No more among the rocky wilds we'll stray, Or in the sunny meadows cull the flow'rs, Or while with wondrous tales, the time away ; With riper years come care and sorrow's sense, Yet meet we may again, please Providence ! April 8, 1812. JVVENILB POEMS. 679 CANTICLE OF THE IRISH CHRISTIAN, ON BOARD THE " LEO," MAY, 1842. I. Lord God of our progenitors, The mighty and tlie just, Of sages, chiefs, and senators, Now mingled with the dust ; Who through the night of ages For thee have wept in chains, Upon whose hist'ry's pages Thy foes have scatter'd stains I n. Oh, by the love you bore them, Look on their suftering sons ; Cast Tliy soft shadows o'er them, Guard well their little ones ! Once Thou didst plant Thy fountains Of mercy and of grace. Mid Erin's holy mountains, And love her loyal race. III. Who rear'd these sacred ruins ? Who strew'd them o'er the land ? Thy wise ones and Thy true ones. Who felt Thy guiding hand. Lord, by Thy love her children Have rear'd Thy Cross afar, Mid rude and untaught wild men, Who worshipp'd godless war I 580 JUVENILE POEMS. IV. Jehovah ! look with kindness From Thy empyrean bowers ; Remove their selfish blindness, Prince of ten thousand powers I Lord ! in thy glorious mercy, Oh, let this ordeal cease ; Confound the fierce oppressor, Lord God of praise and peace I LINES TO THE PETREL, Herald of the stormy breezes, "Where dost thou find thy place of rest, When billows rage, and each blast freezes Around thy wild, wild ocean nest ? When niglit hath drawn her robe of sables O'er the land, and o'er the billow, What guiding hand 'tis which enables Thee to attain thy secret pillow ? The hand which made ten thousand creatures To fill the earth, the sky, the air, Has given them spheres of life and nf.tures Which in that life see nought of care. Oars is a life of stormy change, Yet wanting change, a weary waste ; Boundless your home, as ocean's range, It boasts a life of flight and feast. Ye view the proudest works of man, Torn by the fierce tornado's roar, Yet calmly the wild scenes ye scan, Safe lodged on some lake's woody shore. JUVENILE POEMS. But, mortal ! when the storm runs hv^h, Can your frail bark withstand its wrath ? Can vou behold the sea and skv, And brave the lightning in its path ? Can you, prince of created things ! AVithstand for aye, great Nature's power, Skim o'er the wave on buoyant wings, Or call your own one little hour ? Apuil 2o, 1842, on board the Leo. 581 SEA SONG. " OH, PILOT, 'tis a fearful NIGHT !" % " Oh ! Pilot, 'tis a fearful night, There's horror in the sky, And o'er the wave-crests, sparkling white, The troubled petrels cry!" The hardy tar stood by the wheel, And answer'd not a word, But well I knew his heart could feel Each sound his ear had heard. IL I saw the sea-boy far aloft, Rock'd on the top-sail yard, Yet, youthful as he was, and soft, He wrought, and little cared If waves ran high that fearful night. If eastern tempests roar. Nor reck'd, nor dream'd, that wayward wight Of friends left on the shore ! 682 JUVKNILK rOKMS. III. I tiirn'd again — tho pilot stood , Still silent at the wheel, A billow smote the corvette good And threw her on her keel; The pilot's manly arm shook, His eye was big and wild, Some prayer his troubled spirit spoke For distant wife or child. ti. IV. " Oh ! pilot, 'tis a fearful night ! There's horror in the skv, And o'er tho wave-cresta, foaming white, The troubled petrels fly!" The hardy tar stood by the wheel. And answer'd not a word ; Full well I knew his heart could feel Each sound his ear had heard. At Sea, May 2, 1842 i SONO, SUPPOSED TO BE SUNG BY ONE OE THE SEAMEN DURING A STORMY NIGHT. Oh, launch the life-boat out, my boys, Oh ! launch the life-boat out ! The raging waves are breaking, boys. The coral reef about ! The pride of India's golden streams Lies scatter'd on the shore, And fiercely though the sea-bird screams. It wakes the brave no more ! Then launch, etc. JUVENILE POEMS. One tattor'tl spar above the bark, Still l)rav('s tho furious gale, And HI the lightniiijj^-span^'leJ dark, Olio bleaeh'd aud tat.ter'd sail ! Then hiuneh, etc. 1'he pale, horn'd moon withdraws her lijj;ht, The tempests louder roar, Their wrath has slain not few to-ni-j^ht Who ne'er shall bravo it more ! Then launch, etc. On Board the " Leo," April 14, 1842. 583 TO IRELAND. Land of ray fathers ! I could weep Thy sorrows e'en as they were mine, Did not a fiercer passion creep, Into my thoughts of thee and thine, To feel earth's basest should so long Sit throned amid thy pauper throng ! Cannot the past beget some hope ? Doth not its fire your bosoms warm ? Look back; what foe feared they to cope ? Clontarf, Benburb, beam'd through the storm, As suns obscured by clouds of years, Their victors little dreamed of fears ! Go ! seek Armagh's all-hallow'd pile, The tomb of Brian crumbles there; Seek Tura's Hall, lona's isle, And ask eve's shadows how and where Hi ft ■■■■rA 684 JUVENILE POEMS. The men who made those spots sublime Wore nursed — what was their native climo I Must tbo {,'rjivo yawn to answer thjra, " They were of Erin's sons the best ?" Do not your memories, Irishmen, Give answer to the huuiblinj^ quest? Yes, yes ! such were her sons of yore, And shall she see such sons no more ? U Why boast ye of your olden plains. Where triumph'd the Milesians' might ? Are Saxons kindlier than Danes V More brave than Romans in your sight ? Or discord — which hath gorged its fill — Say, does the demon haunt ye still ? Will none arise with sword or cross, To drive the fiend from out vour land. Where, fattening on the traitor's corpse, He sows defeat with tireless hand V Still must thy soil bring wretches forth. To suck blood from their parent earth ? Down with the altars faction-reared ! Blot out the class-badge of a hue; Still let the shamrock be revered. And drink love from its morning dew I So may Old Ireland bear once more Such children as she reared of yore I Each heart is yet a fitting shrine For household gods to harbor in; An essence dearer far than wine ; An angel's voice forewarning sin. JUVENILE POEMS. Is not moro truo than tlio lovo which dwells lu an Irish hcivvl's ten hiuuliXHl cells. There is not one who roams the land, Fron: Kenbaau's clilVs unto the Lee, But owns a valiant heart and hand, A spirit panting to bo free ; And by our sainted fathers* graves, They shall no longer Hve like slaves ! Thus from the founders of their kind, Courage and truth descend to them; And who in majesty of mind, Oulsoars the sons of those ancient men ? My native land, rejoice ! onco more Thy sous shall be as their sires of yore ! 585 LINES ADDRESSED TO MR. A. m'eVOY, OF BOSTON, ONE OF THE AUTHOR's FIRST FRIENDS IN AMERICA. Each morn that dawns, each closing hour of day, I'll teach my soul for thee and thine to pray, That thy kind, generous heart may pass through life Unvex'd by care, unknowing woe or strife ; That thou may'st know that peace, best boon of Heav'n, Unto the righteous man in mercy given ; That o'er the setting of thy mortal sun The angel choirs may join in orison ; And thou, by them, be thron'd amongst the good — So prays an Irish heart in friendship's mood I 586 JUVENILE POEMS. SONG OF THE AMERICAN REPEALERS. Oh ! Erin dear, our fatherland, Across the Atlantic's million waves, We bless thee for thy noble stand. And would be sponsors to thy slaves; For never doubt, the mighty shout Thev raised on Tara's hallow'd hill. Has reach'd the exile far away. And lives in hearts Hibernian still. Born on thy soil, we've read thy story. And burn to see thy wrongs arighted; Strip ! strip the Saxon's tinsel glory, And let thy triumph-torch be lighted ! Though Tamworth's knave,* and Wellesley — slave Of gilt and gold — may taunt j'ou. Yet whilst Columbia stands your friend, Ne'er let such dastards daunt vou. M i Though darkness o'er thy cause should come, And fearful friends in terror cower. And Britain beat her brigand drum. To waste thy lands in vengeful power ; Let tyrants rant and traitors cant, And craven foes belie thee; For know thy stout Columbian band Scorn all that may defy thee I Skptemder 23, 1843. * Sir Robert Peel. It will bo remembered that this is a boyish efiTusion, the author bciug little over 17 when it was writton. JUVENILE POEMS. 587 TREES. I. How glorious are the works of God ! How speak they unto man, Whose spirit sleeps not in the clod Flung round it for a sj^an ! The morning sky, the gentle breeze, A sea becalra'd by night, Are glorious things — but tall green trees Are lovelier in my sight. II. E'en in their wintry skeletons, The winds that struggle low, Will bring to us, earth's transient sons, A voice from where we go. 'Twas thus at midnight's solemn hour, I loved to talk with them, To glean a knowledge and a power Unknown to sensual men. III. It has been thus in every time. With men of every land; They've been to pagan priest a shrine With richest incense fann'd. Oh I if such rites our pity claim, The Brahmin's sure is first. Who worships in his fig-tree fane The Power his temple nurst. 688 JUVENILE POEMS. I i i 1- % I % IV. To England's Icing one shelter gave, When sorely press d by Brunswick's spies, And one was llufus William's grave, Though not as felons die, he dies. All lands have theirs : from Naples' shore To Erin's oak — more dear to me Than all the trees earth ever bore. Save two — Salvation's — Freedom's Tree I What is the poet's hapless life. If reft of one, his high reward ? The lover's truth, the soldier's strife, Claim kindred emblems to the bard. Oh, may this land for many a day Bear sons such diadems to claim ; May Laurel, Myrtle, Olive, Bay, Long bloom around the freeman's fame I m/ Yet dearer far to Christian hearts The trees of old must be ! What boon to earth the wood imparts, Upraised on Calvary ! The trees of Eden once were fair ; One caused all after time to weep, Even while the saving voice of prayer ' Through kindred shadows creep. VI. Our father Abram, too, hath seen The heavenly ministers of grace, Beneath the spreading evergreen. And wisdom heard, lost to this race ; JUVENILE POEMS. Then from their everlasting homes They came upon the evening breeze, Thej- sought not Canaan's lordly domes, But holy Hebron's terebiuth trees. Mav 13, 18i3. 589 LINES SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF JOHN BANIM. Go preach to those who have no souls — who would not shed a tear O'er beauty's blight or patriot's worth, or virtue on the bier; Far from the land that bore us. oft did he restore The memory of our earlier days, our country's matchless lore ! Though Lever's power can raise our thoughts from Despond's deepest slough,* And Lover's rare and sparkling wit may kindle jDleasure's glow, 'Mid our Morgans and our Edgeworths, our novelists and bards, No wreath more bright than that which fame to Bauim's muse awards. Who hath not paused with burning brow o'er his immortal story Of Sarsfield, and his Irish hearts, in Limerick's list of glory; Or sorrowed with the Aged Priest, or McNary's lovely dai ^hter, Or felt the power that genius sheds o'er Boyne's historic water ? * The Slongh of Despond in the Pilgrim's Progress. ffWfTW 690 JUVENILE POEMS. Scarce had ho to the world given the ancient pastor's worth, When he whose pen could paint the soul, was torn away from earth; And many a calm declining eve, upon his tombless grave, Shall Kilkenny's daughters strew their flowers and sing a requiem stave. September 10, 1842. LINES WRITTEN ON THE FLY-LEAF OF A COPY OF " THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION," Shall Ireland rise o'er chain and woes, And hor deep degradation, To trample on her ancient foes And write her name — a nation ? Yes ! she shall rise and be once more, A glory in the ocean, And be, as she has been before, The land of our devotion ! Our love, it is no weathercock. It knows no change of season, Through joy and woe, in calm or shock, "We give her heart and reason. Nkw Havkn, July 9, 1850. ->(>^„;(p NOTES. PageC", ('). '' Hail to the Land." The levin — the lightning ; the levin-bolt — tlie thunder. TageTo, («). '' The Dost and his son." Dost Mahommed and Alibar Kliau, the leaders of tlic Afghan "War of Independence, ui 1842 and '43. Pago 93, (3). " Ode to an Enwjrant Ship." Tlie ship that brought out the author's wife and child, as indicated in tlve fiftli stanza. Page 94, {*). '• Old Kinsale dons its haraid gray." The tSiraid was the loose hanging cap worn by the ancient Irish. Page 125, (s). '» ITome Sonnets." " When England's chivalry, sore wounded, fled Before the stormy cliargc O'Brien led.'' At Fontcnoy, July 2, 1745. Page 125, («). " ]Mother of soldiers ! France was proud to see Your shamrock, then, twined with her/eHr de lis." When the Irish Brigade were quitting the service of France, in 1792, the King's brother presented them with a banner, on wliich the shamrock was entwined witli the Jleur de Zw. The motto was : " 1G92-1792 — Semper et uhiqite fidelis." Page 125, ('). "Tlie Moors in Oran's trench by them were slain." At the siege of Oran, in 1732, the Iri.sh under General Ijicy drove the floors from the trenches, obliged tliem to raise the siege, and relieved tlio Spanish garrison. Page 125, (s). "Carb'ry's, TVrconnell's, BrefTny's exiled lords, To Spain and glory gave their gallant swords." Tlie O'SuUivans, O'Donnells, and O'Reillys were particularly distin- guished in the Spanish service, by sea and land. mrrw' 592 NO TEH. Page 120, C). " And fiillon Limonck pave tlic chiefs U) loud Tlic lu)Kt8 wlio tiiimiiih'd o'or the famous .Swede." Marshal Lacy (hilU'd Poter tlic (i real's first army. It was by his onU-rs tiie liussiaiis reserved tlicir fire at I'ldtcnva until tiie Swedes were close on them— a device which is said to have turned the batile. Page 120, (>o). " And how the ruling skill that led them on To conquer, was siipplied by your own son." General Brown, of whom it was observed that " whether he endeavored to take or liberate a king, he was ciiually successful." Aijnrotti's Letters, page 24. Page 140, ("). "The Stone of Empire." The Lia Fail, still, according to Dr. Petrie, to be seen at Tara. Page 141, ('•■!). "The Iccian wave." ITic old Irish name for the Irish Sea, or (,'liannel. Page 172, ('3). ''Mihiv^-Expagne." Milesius the Spaniard, the leader and patriarch of the Scythio-Spanish colony, from whom the greater proportion of the present population of Ireland is descended. Page 174, ('•*). " Aincrgin's Anthem on Discover iiiff Innisfail." Amcrgin, one of the three sons of Milesius, was the poet-seer of the emigration. Innisfail — the Isle of Destiny — was one of the ancient names of Ireland. Page 170, C'^") "Their ocean-god was Miln-il-nilin JIcLir." Mft.n-a,-nftn was the God of "Waters, tlie Neptune of the ancient Irish. He was called Mac I.ir, tliat is. Son of the Sea. The disposal of good or bad weather was said to be allotted to him, conjointly with the God of the Winds, and for this cause he was worshijjped by mariners. Page 170, ('«). " Cromah, their day-god and their thunderer." Crom, or Crom-eacha, was the name given by the ancient and pagan .' is'i to their Fire-God, the sun — the dispenser of vital heat, and the autlior of tecundity and prosperity. He was their Detis Optimus Maximus, from vhom all other deities descendeil. The name is derived from the I'liryptian ' n-'i Clirom — Ignis, lire— which was the only visihle object of devotwu permitted, and that only as the symbol of the Supreme. Cimsistcntly, however, with this view, they deified also the powers of Nature. The Irish Crom-Cruith — God th« Creator — was the same as that adored by NO T£S, 593 I Swede." )y his onlers vore close on m on sou." c endeavored iroUi's Letters, iriv. cythio-Spanish , population of li-lfuU." )et-secr of the ancient names IcLir." ancient Irish. Lsal of good or Itlic God of tlie mderer." |nt and pa^an md the author llaxinius, from the Kiryptiau \t of devotion Ctmsistently, [Nature. The hat adored hy Zoron-ster and the Persians for more tlian five hundred years before Clirist. Cruith is a derivative from Cruitiiam— to form, to create— and lience the present Irisii Cniithiur — tiie Creator. Page 170, (,'"). " Bride wiis their queen of son.:." Dridli, or I'ride, was tlie daughter of the Fire-Ood, and was (ioddoss of Wisdom and Song. Her blessing was esteemed tlie richest and most valued gift whicli man could receive from above ; she therefore became the god- dess of philosophers and poets. Page 178, (i*-). " The Oohhan Suer." In Petrie's " llouiid 'i'owcrs " there is a short acctmnt of the "Ciobhan Saer," their builder. He is then; supposed to have lived in the first ("inis- tian age of Ireland — the si.xth century ; but his birth, life, and death are involved in great obscurity and many legends. He is, perhaps, after l'"inu and St. Patrick, the most popular personage in the ancient period of Irish history. Page 180, ("'). " Seizing on Mona for his ' kitchen -garden.' " John ITely Hutchinson — Lord Donoughmore — of whom Pitt said, " if ho had got the three kingdoms for an estate, he would still ask the Isle of Man for a kitchen-garden." Page 181 , (2") . ■ " Scots of Ireland, ' ' For many centuries Ireland was called Scotia, and even down to the fourteenth century it was used in Latinity as Columbia is used synonymously with America. The Irish settlers in Argyle brought the name of their mother-land with them, and now Caledonia alone is called Scotia. Page 182, (2'). " llie trapper, by the momitahi rill." Ireland was the "Out West" of Europe until America began to be peo- pled. So late as two centuries ago. she supplied furs and timber to the ilediterrancan ports. Page 182, (22). ' ' Unto great Crom, the god of day." Crora was the Jupiter or " thunderer " of our pagan ancestors. Page 183, (23). " 'Dieir ' Paradise of Youth ' was laid." Thierna na Of/e, the land of Everlasting Youth, in Celtic mythology, was placed under the Atlantic. Page 184, (2^). "Tlie Shepherd-Saint I dimly see." The birth-place of St. Patrick is a mooted point in Irish history. We incline to the belief that he was born of French parents, in the Roman 504 NO TES. colony of Viilentiuiun, on the Clyde, near the present Kirhpatrlck. He was made captive by Nial "of tlio llostaf^cs," upoji an expedition ai,Minst tlie llonians in Nortii I'ritain, and leil to tiie lot of one Mileho, whose llotks he was sent to watch, among the romantic hi^rhlands of Antrim. I'ayo 1B5, (2-'). "Lo! tluMe the rontiif, Celestine, Ordains the Apostle of our race." Pope Celestino, ad. 425, appointed St. Patricli to the mission of Irclaiid. By this pimtiir he was called I'atricius, which means noble. Page 185, (2c). " But, rudely spurn'd from Milelio's door." 8t. Patrick, after his return from Home, first attempted to make converts in his old abi(Hng-place, but failini^ there, went boldly to Tara, when; In; 8ucce(!ded most miraculously. Princes, chiefs, Druids, and people, in that neighborhood, were converted in multitudes. Page 187, ("). " St. Palriclcs Dream." Patrick, escaped from his long captivity, restored to his parents, liappy in their love, longs to return as a missionary to the people among whoiu lie liad lived as a slave. " I saw in the visions of the night," he said-- and this passage, from a very authentic period of antiquity, strongly sup- ports the claim of the Irish to an early knowledge of the art of writing— " a person coming from Ireland with innumerable letters, and he gave me one of them, and I read in the beginning of the letter, 'The voice of the people of Ireland ;' and I thought at that very moment that I heard tliu voice of those who were near the wood of Focluth, which is adjoining to the Western Sea, anil they cried out thus, as it were, with one voice, ' Wo entreat thee, holy youth, to come and walk still among ujj; ;' and I was very much pricked to the heart, and could read no further, and so I awoke. Thanks be to God the Lord, who, after very many years, hath granted to them according to their cry." — Ferguson s Ireland before the Conquest, p. 134. Page 1 95, (28) . ''The Legend of Croagh Patriek. ' ' The legend from which the version in the text is almost literally taken, is given in Messingham's " Florilegium," andColgan's " Acta Sanctorum," Vol. I. For some vulgar mis-tradition of this unquestionably ancient legend, ■we probably owe the story of the banishment of the venomous animals from Croagh Patrick and Ireland. Page 199, (29). " St. Brendan and the Strife-Sou-er." ' St. Brendan related that, sailing one night on the great ocean, there came to him the soul of one (who had been an angry monk, and a sower of strife among his brethren) supplicating his prayers, etc. — See Usher's lieligion of the Ancient Irish, p. 20, ed. 1686. NO TES. 595 Page 201, (30). '' The Voyaye of Eituin O'je." Tlic lopond of Ily-niasil is one of tlio lu'st known of our national traili- tions. It is an island wiiich nscd once every seventli year to eiucrj,'e fioui the depths of tlie ocean, far to tlie west of Arran, and like a vi ry Ivlm in its beauty ; and, like Kden too, shut «j,'ainst tiie race of man. Many voy- njfes were undertaken by tlie adventurous and the \isionary in search of this fable-land, with what success is related in O'Flaherty's " W»(st ('on- naught," and other old books, English as well as Irish. Yoimg Edward. Page 201, (^')- "Eiuan Oge." Page 202, (32). " Lir of Ocean." Lir wa.s the Neptune of the Celts, and father of several sea-spirits of in- ferior order. Page 205, (^3). " The Wmhm-Sdlcrs before Charlemagne." When the illustrious Charles began to reign alone in the western parts of the world, and literature was cverwhere almost forgotten, it happened that two Scots of Ireland came over with some British merchants to the coast of France — men incomparably skilled in human learning and in the Holj' Scriptures. As they jnoduced no merchandise for sale, they used to cry out to the crowds that flockeii to j)urchase, " If any one is desirous of wisdom, let him come to us and receive it, for wc have it to sell." Their reason for saying that they had it for sale was that, perceiving the people inclined to deal in saleable articles, and not to take anything gratuitously, they might rouse them to the acipiisition of knowledge, as well as of . UIG. — Annalu /•our Maskrx, Vol. II., p. 673. Page 214, (3*). " ILw St. Kicrnan Vroteded Chnmacnoise." The reader will fim! thi.s legend in the " Four blasters," somewhere, if I remember right, in the lifteenth century. Not having the work at hand at the; moment, I am unable to give the entry, whicli is an exceedingly curious one. rage 219, (3c). "/o««." We were now treading that illustrious island, which was once the luniin- ury of the Caledonian regions, whence savage clans and roving barbarians derived the benefits of knowledge and the blessings of religion. To abstract tlu! mind from all local emotion would be impossible, if it were endeavored, and would be foolish if it were possible. Whatever withdraws us from the power of our senses, whatever makes the jiast, the distant, or the future predcmiinate over the present, advances us in tlie dignity of human beings. Far from me and from my friends be such frigid philosophy, as may con- duct us, indilferont and unmoved, over any ground which has been digni- lied by wisdom, braver)', or virtue. The man is little to be envied who.» St. C>m:/aU in Ireland." St. ('oliiiiilniiMis, tlio rmil of tli<' Apo.stolir aire of tlm Irisli ('hurcli, pri'iuliccl tli(! (iitspcl ill IJiiritumly, iiiiil otln-r pnivliin's of FiiitUL', iti the i'i'i>,'nH of tli(! iMtToviii^iim kiiij^s, iind in liOiiibunly i\;;;iinst i\w AriiinR. Ho tvas nil iiccMiinplirilic*! ;;;i-aiiiniiiiiiiii (wiiic-li term then iiK-liidcil ull li) ainl a f;oo«l poet. (iuldaHtiis ami I'sln r liuvd pri'SiTvcd soinr of his rpis- tli's, wliidi wen; imiiiumoiih, hikI ileiiry ('iiuhsiiis lias piihlirtlieil one of liis [•ociiiH, copii'd from an uncii-nt MS. of l''rcist!:if,'i'n, in Itavmiii. He was cducati.d nnder St. Coni^iiU, uhhot, ut naiichor, in the Aids of Down, to wlioi.i it is not iiniilvcly Ik; siiould k>vo houiu acnnuit of his travel.N nnd cxpi'iiencus. Hi; diod in ids own nioniisteiy of Dol)bio, in noitlu'iti Haly, on tlic 21st of Ncn'ombcr, 015. A town and many churchoa iu upper Italy Htill boar bin name. raj,'c 2?>?>, (<«). " I'etor's Coarhh." Tliat is, successor. IV^e 235, ("). "Of the blesstxl Bishop Arboga.st." Sec MacCieoj^hegan's Irdaiul, Vol. I., p. 201, for the account of the death of St. Arbotjiust. (Saillicr's New Yink edition.) Pago 2:]5, (••3). " The Coming of the Dunes." The Danes first landed in Ireland a.d. 705 and 7'.»8. The object of their earliest vi>yages was Leinster, in which the scene of these verses is laiil. Page 2;55, ('^). "The night is holy— 'tis blessbd Saint Bride's." Bride — the abbreviation of Bridyel. Pagt; 237, ('O). " The Death nf King Magnm nare/oot.'^ King Magnus Ravefoot becanie joint King of Norway with Ilakon Olaf- son, in 10M3. Hut llalion. in chasing a ptarmigan over the Dofreiield, caught an ague, of which lie died, and after this ^lagnus reigned .".lone t^-n ywirs. In this time he made many voyages into the West, conqueriDg nil he attacked, whether in the isles or on the Scottish or English shores. In 1102, he was slain in Ulster by an Irish force, near the sea-shore. In Miss Brooke's lieliques of Irish I'oetrg is a translation of an Irish poem on thi« event, "the author of which," that lady observes, "is said to have belonged to the family of the O'Neills." This poem agrees with Sturleson's as to the scene of the tight and its result, but dilfers in the details. I have followed the latter for the facts of Magnus's previous life, as well ns for the immediate cause of his death. The Ulfrck's-liord of the ballad was the Danish name of Strangford Lough. It is scarcely necessary to add that at thin period the Danes were nominal, if not practical ChristianB. NO TL'd. 590 (I freliind.' liisli Church, l<'niiiti!. In the the ArliV"«- ^^'^ ..lull iHutU-hTt') ,,inr of hiH t'pw- mhod oiif «>f i»H iviviiii. Ho was vdrt of Down, to f his tniveU rnn\ \ lutvtlu'iii Itiily, ctt iu upper Italy if^ast. account of the 'ho ol.joct of their ■c verses is hiiil. lint Diido's." Wairfoot.''^ 1 with Iliikon Olaf- \i'Y the Dofrelield, , rcisned r.lone U'W ■st, conqupriD;^ all luf^'lish sliores. Tn la-shovo. In Miss ^n Iiisli poem on ' • is said to have !fi with Stiivleson'a lie details. I have , as well as for the ke ballad was the lary to add that at tistians. PaKO 2!]9, ("i)- " While tlio niveuH In thu darkness win hist." The ravens— the Danish Htandard. I'a^'e UIO, (•-'••). The Sivja of Kimj Oitf, of X„rirut .\.i» ;•'.••'» to a i». 1(M)(». Ills Haj;a is tin- »>ixth in Snorro Sturlesoii's //iiiiiM[riii;//'i, iiiul is very curidUH and sn«i;eslive. Anioni; other inc ideiits, it cnntiiiiis tlic cjii- S(uh' which siiu'Kestcd these* stanzas. It may he here remarki nieles of the North-men, of the several nations, tlirow niiuli nllcrtrd li;;ht «»n otir own more statistical annals. All throie^h the niiilli, tenth, and eleventh centuries, tiiat restless race frown aloriLC the lpacU;;roinid of our history, lillin;,' us with an awfid interest, similar to tliat which we feel in watchini; th(? ailvance of one thnnder-clond toward anoilier. They certainly destroyerian Boroihine, aided, perhaps, by his own incompet«'ncy, that Malachy II, was deposed from the chief monarchy of Ireland. Paf^c 210, (■'••'). ^^ Kinrj Brian X Amhilinn.''^ The ambition of Ihian at this late period of his heroic life was no Ioniser that which had dethnmed Malachy. The "ambition" of the aged UKm- arch had become purified and exalted into a purely Christian motive, namely, that of expelling the pagan Danes from Ireland. n Page 258, (■■*«). '' De Coitra/s rUt/rwuiffe.'' Sir John De Courcy, under King Ilonry (the Second.) was the chief con- queror of Ulster — who about the getting of the same had sc^ven battles wth the Irish, five of which he won and lost two. Having at length reduced it to English rule and order, and occupied it for twenty years or more. King John, hearing that De Courcy had boldly declared that the death of the rightful heir to the English crown — rrince Arthur— was effected through his commands, he instructeil the brothers, Sir Walter iinl Sir Hugh De Lacy, to arrest De Courcy, and send him to England to be hanged. Sir Hugh went with his host from Meath, and did battle with De Courcy in Down, and after many being slain ou both bides the victory i^^ o;!i GOO NO TE8. m was in favor of De Courcy.— (Finglas*B Breviale, Harris's Jlifjernica, p. 43.) Among the traditional licroes of Ireland. J(jlin Dc Conrcy occupies a prominent position. Tlio exploits which fame ascribes to him entitle him to the character of an Irish Cid. The circumstance related in the btiUad 's popular in every homestead from Innishowen to Inisherkin. Page 2G0, (■"). " The Pilorimafjc of Sir Ulgarg." A.D. 1231. The Four Masters simply record the death of Ulgarg O'llourke, of Brcftny, as having occurred beside the river Jordan. Page 202, (ss) . " .-1 Legend of Lough Derg. ' ' Lough Derg, in Donegal, was a place famous for pilgrimage from a very early period, and was much resortt'd to out of France, Italy, and the Pen- insula, during the Middle Ages, and even in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries. In Mathew Pari.s, and Froissart, as well as in our native annals, and in O" Sullivan Beare, there are many facts of its extraordinary history. Page 204, (^s). "Living on bitter bread and penitential wine." The brackish water of the lake, boiled, is called wine by the pilgrims. Page 205, (to) . " ^4 Legend of Dunluce Qtslle. ' ' A portion of Dunluce Castle was destroyed by a tempest some c jnturies ago, while the inmates were busily engaged in revelry. Many lives were lost by the accident. Page 207, (c). '' Death of Art M'Murrovghr Art M'Murrough died at Ross, in 1410, after having reigned over Lein- ster for forty years. He was the chief Irish soldier of the age, and the first, perhaps, that overreached the Normans by tactics and strategy. His campaigns were against Eoger Mortimer, Ilichard the Second, the Etvrl of Ormond, Sir John Stanley, and Sir Stephen Scrope, Lord Thomas of Lan- caster, and the first Earl of Shrewsbury — the British Achilles. He took Pioss, Carlow, Enniscorthy, and other fortified places, from the English, and exacted an annual tribute of eighty marks from Dublin. Page 208, (<'=). "And from the many-gat6d town pass'd Easchlaghs in affright." "Easchlagh'' — a courier among the Gadelians, who was often a woman. The word is pronounced nearly as if it were written asla. Page 208, (w). "To the Calvach in his hall." The Calvach O'Connor Faly was Murrogh O'Connor, a renowned warriofj \t NO TES. 601 liernica, p. 43.) cy occni)ies a to him entitle related in the lisherkin ith of Ulgarg )rdan. ge from a very r, and the Pon- nd seventeenth in our native s extraordinary ial wine." the pilgrims. some cjnturies klany lives were mcd over Lein- lo age, and the 1 strategy. His Ind, the Earl of fhomas of Lan- tlles. He took the English, lEaschlaghs in ften a woman. Lvncd warrior, who beat the English in several battles ; amongst others, that of Eilluchain, fought in U13. Page 208, («<). ''To MacDavid in Riavach." Cont» Riavach— a name given to Wexford in the fourteenth and fifteenth centuries. Page 269, («*). "Forth." In Wexford. Page 271, C*). " Where hundreds of our gallant dead await The long-foretold, redeem' d and honor' d fate." The coming of a historian who shall liberate our illustrious dead from the bondage of neglect and calumny, is foretold in our prophecies. God seiid him, and soon ! Page 274, («'). " The Praise of Margaret O'OtrroU." Margaret, the daughter of O'Carroll, married, early in the fifteenth cen- tury, the Calvach O'Connor, chief of Offaly. She retjvined, after her mar- riage (a not imusual custom with our ancestresses), her maiden name, and under that name she became famous. Several traits of her character, given in McFirbiss' Annals, prove her to have been a woman of remarkable spirit and capacity. Thus we read of her pilgrimage to Compostella, and how the English of Trim having taken several Irishmen, her neighbors, prison- ers, and her lord having in his keeping certain English prisoners, she " went to Beleathatruim, and gave all the English prisonertj ior Macgeo- ghegan's son, and for the son's son of Art, and that unadvised to the Cal- vach, and she brought them home." — MS. Irish Arch. Society, Vol. I., page 212. "It was she," says the same annaliot, "that, thrice in one ye^r, proclaimed to, and commonly invited (in the dark days of the year), on the feast day of Da Sinchel in Killaichy, all persons, both Irish and Scot- tish, or rather Albians, to the general feasts." The numbers who usually attended these feasts are set down as "upward of 2,000," by some as 2,700. It is stated, also — "She was the one woman that has made mostot preparing highways and erecting bridges, churches, and mii«s-books, and of all manner of things profitable to serve God and her soul." Her death, from a cancer in her breast, is very pathetically bemoaned, as well it might he, by the McFirbLss of her time. It took place in 1461, which is called on that account "an ungratious an unglorious yeare to all the learned in Ireland, both philosophei*8, poets, guests, strangers, religious persons, soldiers, mendicants, or poor Orders, and to all manner and sorts of poor in Ireland." See MSS. Arch. Soc. Vol. I. In these days of exhortation to female patriotism, such a type of an Irishwoman of the middle ages will, I aui».6uie, gain many more admirers than the grotesque fiction which is 602 NO TES. usually madu of Grace O'Malley, who is represented in our "historians" much more like a ssivage than the hi^h-bred and high-spirited gentle- woman that she was. Page 274, («8). " Rath Imayn." Now Ilathangan, County Kildare. ITie art of poetry. Page 275, (C9). "Dan." Page 276, ('<>). A. D., 1414. " The O'Higgins, on account of Nial, then satirized John Stanley, who only lived for five weeks after the satirizing, having died of the venom of the satire; this was the second instance of the influence of Nial O'Higgins' satires, the first having been the clan Conway turning gray the night they plundered Nial of Claidan." — Annals of the Four Masters. Page 277, (")• "DaSinchel." The two Sinchels— Saints of the land of Oflfaly. Page 277, («). * ' Margaret 0' Carroll ' ' Duald M'Firbis, the last antiquary of Lecan, in his MS. Annals, quoted by 0' Donovan {Four Masters, page 944), gives several details of the great Irish Pilgrimage " towards the CitieoJ Saint James, in Spain," undertaken in the year 1445, when the "goodlie companie" numbered the chiefs of the name of M'Dermott, M'Geoghegan, O'Driscoll, several of the Munster Geraldines, Eveleen, wife of Pierce D' Alton, and a great number of others, •'noble and ignoble." The admirable Margaret O' Carroll wivs a principal person Ir this pilgrimage. Page 282, ("). " The Irish Wife." In 1376 the statute of Kilkenny forbade the English settlers in Ireland to intermarry with the old Irish, under penalty of outlawry. James, Earl of Desmond, and Almaric, Baron Grace, were the first to violate this law. One married an O'Meagher ; the other a M'Cormack. Earl Desmond, who was an accomplished poet, may have made the defence for his marriage. Page 284, ('<). "Or how Earl Gerald match'd with kings. ' Gerald, eighth Earl of Kildare, whose splendor almost rivalled that of the King his master at the famous " Field of the Cloth of Gold." Page 286, C*). "One went out by night to gather Vei'vain by the summer star. ' ' Vervain- -a healing plant, in great repute among the ancient Irish ; it should b& gathered under the dog-star, by night, barefoot, and with the )«ft hand. NO TKS. 603 ur •'hietorianfl" -spirited gcntlc- Page 289, ('«). " Who loved to set the prisoner free." In justice to Queen Mary, it mu8t be admitted that she was the only English sovereign who seems to have freely forgiven Irish state prisoners, as we see in this and other instances. Lingard (a. d. \fi^A) shows that her clemency was far superior to that of Elizabeth, and of the governments who punished so severely the Jacobite insurrections of 1715 and 1745. Page 290, ("). ' ' False Francis Bryan's guest betray 'd. ' ' The insurrection, defeat, submission, and betrayal of Bryan O'Connor Faly, in the reigns of Henry VIII. and Edward VI., is carefully narrated in "the Annals of the Four Masters. In 154G, with O'More, he con- tended unsuccessfully with the Lord Justice St. Leger, and was compelled to retreat into Connaught ; the next year they recrossed the Shannon and attempted by arms to recover what they had lost. ITie Four Masters thus record the upshot : " 1547 : O'Connor (Bryan) and O'More (Gilla Patrick), having been abandoned by the Irish, went over to the English, to make submission to them upon their own terms, under the protection of an English gentleman, i.e., the Lieutenant. This, however, was a bad pro- tection." Tliis Lieutenant, O'Donovan adds, was Francis Bryan, who married the Countess TJowager of Ormond, and was made Marshal of Ire- land, and Governor of the counties of Kilkenny and llpperary. He was Lord Lieutenant in 1549, and died early in 1550. O'More died soon after his imprisonment in England ; O'Connor, having made an unsuccessful attempt to escape, was sentenced to "constant confinement ever after." {Four Masters, a. d. 1551.) It was not till 1553 he was liberated. Page 292, ('8). " She most pursued the English speech." Tills curious and highly interesting account of the liberation of O'Con- nor, on his daughter's intercession, is given in the Annals, under the year 1553. (Vol. v., page 1531.) Page 292, ("). " At thought of his true Margaret." Margaret Roper, More's favorite daughter. Page 293, (so). " She lightly leapt on Cambria's strand." The ancient route from Dublin to London was through Anglesea to Coventry and St. Alban's. llie journey by that way wjis above threo hundred miles. Page 293, («•). " O'er Stoke's sad field, enrich'd and red With ashes of the Irish dead." At Stoke, in 1487, was fought the la.st great battle of the War of the Roses, under the banner of the poor prctenert Simnel. Simnel 604 NO TES. hod been crowned in Dublin, and accompanied by a large Anglo-Irish and Burgundiaii force, invaded England. They were defeated, with great loss, at Stoke, leaving among the dead Lords Thomas and Maurice Fitzgerald, the Earl of Lincoln, and Martin Swartz, Commander of the German aux- iliaries. Page 293, (ss). «' Saint Alban's ransom'd abbey made." Tlie Abbey of St. Alban's was greatly favored by l)oth the Saxon and Norman Kings of England. It was, at the spoliation, one of tlie richest in England, and its Abbot took precedence of all others in Parliament.— Alban Butler, under June 22. Page 294, («3). • ' No jewel in her turban'd hair. ' ' The turban is stated by several writers to have formed the head-dress of Irish ladies. As for their other raiment, we find it thus depicted in the old Scottish romance of Squire Meldruyn : " Her kirtill was of scar lot reid, Of gold and garland of hir held, Decorit with enamelyne ; Belt and brochis of silver fyne ; Of yellow taftais wes hir sark, Begaryit all with browderit wark, Richt craftelie with gold and silk." Page 296, («<). " Oh, aid me, gracious Prince of Spain." *' He (Philip) obtained from Mary the release of several persons of dis- tinction, whom she had thrown into prison, on suspicion of their disaflfeo- tion to her government. — Watson s Philip IL, Book I. Page 297, («») . ' ' Feagh M'nagh. ' ' Feagh McHugh 0' Byrne, a celebrated Wicklow chieftain of the sixteenth century. Page 298, (se). " Lament of the Irish Children Imprisoned in the Tower. " In the reign of Henry A''III., the school of " King's Wards" wa.s pro- jected, and it seems to have been a favorite practice, in that and the suc- ceeding reigns, to demand the children of our chiefs as hostages, to be educated in London. Sir Edward Coke's infamous speech in James the First's Parliament, defending the perpetual imprisonment of the Irish children in the Tower, is the most striking document we know as to the fate of these unfortunate young captives. Page 300, (87) . ^' The Poet's Prophecy. ' ' Hugh O'Niel had a poet, O'Clery, who foretold the victory of the Black* ir NOTES. 605 ^nglo-Irish and with great loss, rice Fitzgerald, e German aux- nade." the Saxon and of the richest in n Parliament.— lir." he head-dress of spicted in the old 3pain." [l persons of dis* >f their disaffeo- >f the sixteenth i/Ae Tower.''* irds" was pro- lat and the suc- [lostages, to be in James the of the Irish inow as to the 1 of the Black. water. The original of Ihese lines may have been written by the same iitmd, as I first met with them in an old MS. in the Burgundian library at Brussels, among other fragments left by Friar Michael O'Clery, one of the Four Masters. Page 301, (88). The Tuatha de Danaans. ' They of the prophetic race." Page 301 , (89). • ' They of the fierce blood of Thrace. * ' The Picts, or Cruithmans, who are derived, by ancient tnulitions, from Thrace. Page 301, (90). " They who Man and Mona lorded." Beside their Scottish colony, the Irish had dominion over the isles of Man and Mona (Anglesea). Holyhead was called in Welsh Liany Gwyddyl, or "Irish Church." Golydan, an ancient Welsh writer, divides the Irish of Vortigern's time into those of Ireland, Mona, and North Britain.— See Irish edition of '* Nennius," published by the Irish Archaeological Society, note, p. 191. Page 301, (P>)- " The Summons of Ulster." The time to which this ballad refers is that when Hugh O'Neil, Prince of Tyr-Owen, was forming his grand confederation against the oppressive power of Elizabeth. Page 306, (9«). "Irrelagh." The ancient name of the Abbey of Mucruss, at Killarney. Page 307, («). " The Outlawed Earl." Gerald, the fifteenth and last Earl of Desmond, who lost life and land struggling against religious persecution and foreign tyranny. Page 309, (9<). " Sir Cahir 0" Dogherly' s Message." In 1608, O'Dogherty, Chief of Innishowen, seized Derry, garrisoned Cul- more, and fought a campaign of five months against the troops of James I. with success. He fell by assassination in the twentieth year of his age. • Page 310, (95). " The Rapparees." This is a logical deftnce of a most injured class of brave men. The Rapparees first appeared in the wars for James II., and were the ffueriUas of that and the succeeding generation. A false Williamite nomenclature has made the name synonymous with assassination and larceny. This, to be true, would make all that history records of fugitive heroism false. ~ 606 yO TES. Page 312, (M). " AfUr the Flight." These lines were written after perusing Rev. C. P. Mechan'a " Flight of the Northern Earls." Page 314, ("). " Rory DdVa Lamentalion." Rory " T>,;i,'' or the blind, r» celebrated Irish harper at the court of Jara{ V . ut ^^otland, who was banishgd that court for decKiring he would rather be the O'Neil than King of Scotland. j^vH /(^j^ ^i ' \.i,VA^ Page 315, (»«). " The Last O^Sullivan Beared Philip C'Sur.i-iiu Reare, a brave captain, and the author of many works relating to utijin'. .-ommanded a ship-of-war for Philip IV. of Spain. In his " CatJuilic Lis /, j^mblished at Lisbon in 1609, he has alluded to the sad story of ms famiiv. '^l if, in brief, thus : " In 1602, his father's castlo of D tiibuidho. '«c''i,if deuK '.. \ by cannonade, the family— consisting of a wife, t.vo sons, and •■<-> d t... :»•« — emigrated to Spain, where his young- est brother, Donald, joinv'd hir.. p.oo). " The Death of O'Curolan." Turlogh O'Carolan, born at Nobber, a. d. 1670, became blind at the age of manhood, and then the harp Avhich had been his amusement bt'camo his profession. The lady of the Mac Dermott of Aldersford, in Roscommon, equipped him with horse, harp, and gossoon. At every house ho wius a welcome guest, and for half a century he wandered from mansion to man- sion, improvising words and airs. Koscommon, the native county of Gold- smith, was his favorite district, where he died in 1731, at the house of his first patroness. One of Goldsmith's most touching essays is on " Carolan the Blind,"' and his musical influence can certtiinly be traced not only in Goldsmith's Poems, but also in Sheridan, Moore, and Gerald Griflin. Page 334, (>o7). ''The Croppies' Grave." On the top of the hill of Tara is " the Croppies' Grave," and the stone at the head is thought by Petrie to be tlie true Lia Fail, or '• Stone of Destiny." Page 336, ('os). ''Song of 'Moylan's Dragoons.' " "Moylan's Dragoons," says Mr. G. W. P. Custis, nephew of Washing- ton, " were in almost every action during the war." Page 337, (""»). "Old Ulster." Ulster County, Pennsylvania. Page 338, (>'0). "■ Charily and Science." Cities infected with pestilence are usually placed in a state of siege. Dr. Corrigan, of Dublin, in hi^ humane pamphlet, Fever and Famine as Cause and Effect, hag given a sketch of the town of TuUamore, so blockaded by these invisible and almost irresistible enemies, in the year of our Lord 1818 ,■ from that passage these stanzas took their rise. 608 NOTES. Page 344, ("'). " And ye who sheltor'd Harold and Bruce." Harold, the lost of the Saxons, and Robert Bruce, both found refuge in Ireland from defeat, and returned from it to victory. Page 352, ("«). " The DatUe of Ayachucho.^' This battle, fought the 8th of December, 1825, Avas the Yorktown of South America. The Spanish Viceroy and his entire force surrendered themselves as prisoners of war to the^atriots under General Sucrev Col. O'Connor, mentioned in the poem, was chief of the Patriot staff. Page 355, ( H3) . '• The Haunted Castle. ' ' Donegal Castle, the chief seat of the princely family of the O'Donnells, stands now in ruins, in the centre of the village of the same name, at the head of Doneijal Bay. It was built in the fifteenth century, and shows, even in its decay, royal proportions. The present owner. Lord Arran, to his credit be it told, has it well walled and cared for. The remains of the abbey, where the Four Masters completed their Annals, are within sight of the castle. Page 357, (>"). " The Abbey by Lough Key." A famous monastery of Premonstratcnsians, the Order of St. Norbert, founded on Lough Key by Clarus McMailen O'Mulconry, a.d. 1215, figures frequently in our annals. There are notices of Clarus in the Four Masters, at the years 1235, 1237, 1240, and 1247, which give us interesting glimpses of the power and benevolence of this Irish representative of the great Arch- bishop of Magdeburg. * Page 368, ( "5) . " Hannibal' s Vision of the Gods of Carthage. ' ' " In his sleep, a.s he told Silenus, he fancied that the supreme God of his fathers had called him into the presence of all the gods of Carthage, who were sitting on their thrones in council. There he received a solemn charge to invade Italy." — Arnold's Rome, chap, xliii. Page 381, ("8). •' The Virgin Mary's Knight." In the Middle Ages, there were Orders of Knights specially devoted to our Blessed Lady, as well as many illustrious individuals of knightly rank and renown. Thus the Order called "Servites," in France, was known as VEsclavea de Marie, and there was also the Order of " Our Lady of Mercy," for the redemption of captives; the "Templars," too, before their fall, were devoutly attached to the service of our Blessed Lady. Page 385, ("'). " Sebastian Cabot to his Lady." To the reader, whose idea of Sebastian Cabot is associated with the usual pictures of him. taken when he was nearly four-score, it may be necessary d Bruce." i found refuge in he Yorktown of 3rce surrendered ;ral Sucre; Col. b staff. the O'Donnella, tne name, at the ury, and shows, , Lord Arran, to 3 remains of the e within siglit of of St. Norbert, .D. 1215, figures ho Four Masters, esting glimpses the great Arch- rthage. ' ' [upreme God of Is of Carthage, )ived a solemn |ly devoted to ightly rank ms known aa of Mercy," re their fall, pth the usual necessary 170 TES. COO to remark, that he receivee freed from tl.m). Father Hennepin. Page 406, (n^). " Within the precmct of his god." The Manitoulin Isles, in Lake Huron, were supposed by the aborigines to be the special abode of the great Manitou, and were feared and reverenced accordingly. Page 406, (•«). " And may it be thy lot to trace The footprints of the unknown race •Graved on Superior's iron shore. Which knows their very nam** no more.'' "That this region was resorted to by a barbaric race, for the purpose of procuring copper, long before it became known to the Avhite man, is evident from numerous memorials scattered throughout its entire extent. Whether these ancient miners belonged to the race who built the mounds found so abundantly on the Upper Mississippi and its affluents, or were the progeni- tors of the Indians now inhabiting the coimtry, is a matter of conjecture. . . . The high antiquity of this rude mining is inferred from the fact that the existing race of Indians have no tradition by what people, or at what periotl, it was done. The places, even, were unknown to the oldest of the band, until pointed out by the white man." — Whitney and Foster's Report on (he Mining Region of Lake Superior, published by the United States Con- gress. Page 417, ('"). " On the mountain, still to heaven, Like its hermit, I could pray." St. Kevin's Be*! is in the side of Lugduff Mountain, above the lake of Glendalough, County Wicklow, Page 420„<>2'). " Like gifts of the night-trapp'd ffiiry.'' Of the fairy legends of Ireland, none is more common than that of the leprachaun, who, caught by some belatcjd mortal, reveals where gold or other treasures are hidden, as the price of his liberation. the great lakes, nmle still more 11(1 of which wo )f (fvc-wituessea. Mxiaiie) has Iteeii rely consurcil by ry full (U'tnilrt he edition, and the * above Niagara )ec'n questioned. i« day.'' ;od." / the aboriginea d and reverenced 11 race )rc, no more.'* the purpose of man, is evident stent. Whether nounds found so ere the progeni- r of conjecture. >m the fact that iple, or at what e oldest of the Foster's Report Ited States Con- Jven, >> Ive the lake of liry." in that of the kvhere gold or NO TES. Oil Page 424, ('«•). *' If one who once was " reverend'' may For hi« own special favorites pr.vy." When the author escaped to America, in 1848, it was in the disguise of a priest. He was known on board ship as " Father Jolin.'- Page 438, («»»). •• In Memoriam—Bisuov IIeilly." Tills eminent prelate, it mil bo remembered, perished in the ill-fated steamer "Pacific." Page 458, ("o). •*Atr1 in his wand the power to save.'' For the faculties and privileges of our ancient Order of Ollamhs, sec Dr. O'Curry's Lectures on the MS. Materialt of Ancient Irish IFtstory, page 2. Page 400, ('3>). 'In vision, to the rapt Culdeo." Angus the Culdet. Tlie cause of writing his Festalogium is tluis stated in O'Curry's words: One time that Angus went to the churcii of Cull Benn- chair he saw, he says, a grave there, and angels from heaven constantly descending and ascending to and from it. Angus asked the priest of the church Avho the jierson was that was buried in this grave ; tlie priest answered that it was a poor old man who formerly lived at the place. " What good did he do?" said Angus. "I saw no particular good by hiw," said the priest, " but that his customary practice wius to recoiuit and invoke the saints of the world, as far as he could rcmeinbc^' them, at his going to bed and getting up, in accordance with the custom of the old devotees." "Ah, my Owl !" said Angus, " he who would make a poetical composition in praise of the Saints should doubtless have a high reward, when so much has been vouchsafed to the efforts of this old devotee." And then Angus commenced his poem on the spot. Page 460, (»32). " And Marian of the Apostle's hill. ' ' Marianus O'Gorman,^ Abbot of Cnoc-na-n-Aspel ("the Apostle's hill"), in Oriel, the present County of Louth. He composed his Martyrology to supply certain omissions of Angus the Culdec, but "in the first place to gain heaven for himself and every one who should sing it." — O'Curry's Lectures, page 261. Page 460, (•"). " And Tiernan of the Danish days." Ticman O'Branin, Abbot of Clonmacnoise (obit a. d. 1088), author of our earliest remaining chronology. Pago 477, ('"). " The Mountain-Laurel.^' Rhododtndron Maximiia — the mountain-laurel ; a deadly poison has been distilled from the beautiful blossoms of this tree of famo. It'* 11 ■i II 612 JfO TES, h. ]; Page 518, ("»). " Thomas Moore at St. Ann'»r At St. Ann'H, near the junction of tl»e upp«.". brancli of the Ottawa with ihc St. LAwrom.-e, they show a {mrtici'Jur Bpot aH the place where MtX)re compoHcd liis well-known " Canadian Bout-Song." Ah the poet himtielf Im Rilent on the Kuhjcct in the note with whidi he uccon)panie38). '' The Sea Qiptain." ' The legend under tliis title is a favorite among sailors. I heard it re- lated, many years ago, with the greatest gravity, by an " Old Salt," who laid the scene of the ghostly abduction in the Gulf of St. Lawrence. Page 529, ("s). " The Lady Mo-Bride." Mo, or my, an expression of endearment prefixed to the names of saints, to children, and dear friends. Bride is a popular form of Bridget. Page 543, (»«). *' Mo-Brendan ! Saint of Sailors, list to me." Mo- Brendan, that is, "my Brendan," a term by which the ancient Irish usually addressed their patron saints. Page 544, (">)• " 'Mid the far Scotic Islands, the shrines of St. Bride." The Western Islands — Hy -Brides — are said to have been called for her. — See Mrs. Ferguson's Ireland before the Conquest, p. 165. Page 509, ('<*). "Our Lady of Pity, whose image you see." Tlie " First Communion '' took place in the convent chapel of our Lady of Pity, Montreal. V" the Ottawa with ttco whuro M(x»re he poet hiintiolf in nieak is sliown iu I heard it re- Old Salt," who awrence. lames of saints, ridget. to me." !h the ancient of St. Bride." illed for her. — >u see. " il of our Lady