T. W. ROLLESTON, M.A. (continued 7)
Reading edition
III.
A nation's right, a nation's right— God gave it, and gave, too, A nation's sword, a nation's might, Danger to guard it through. 'Tis freedom from a foreign yoke, 'Tis just and equal laws, Which deal unto the humblest folk, As in a noble's cause. On nations fixed in right and truth, God would bestow eternal youth.
IV.
May Ireland's voice be ever heard Amid the world's applause! And never be her flag-staff stirred, But in an honest cause! May Freedom be her very breath, Be Justice ever dear; And never an ennobled death May son of Ireland fear! So the Lord God will ever smile, With guardian grace, upon our isle.
SELF-RELIANCE.
I.
Though savage force and subtle schemes, And alien rule, through ages lasting, Have swept your land like lava streams, Its wealth and name and nature blasting; Rot not, therefore, in dull despair, Nor moan at destiny in far lands! Face not your foe with bosom bare, Nor hide your chains in pleasure's garlands. The wise man arms to combat wrong, The brave man clears a den of lions, The true man spurns the Helot's song; The freeman's friend is Self-Reliance!
II.
Though France that gave your exiles bread, Your priests a home, your hopes a station, Or that young land where first was spread The starry flag of Liberation,— Should heed your wrongs some future day, And send you voice or sword to plead 'em, With helpful love their help repay, But trust not even to them for Freedom. A Nation freed by foreign aid Is but a corpse by wanton science Convulsed like life, then flung to fade— The life itself is Self-Reliance!
III.
Oh! see your quailing tyrant run To courteous lies, and Roman agents, His terror, lest Dungannon's sun Should rise again with riper radiance. Oh! hark the Freeman's welcome cheer, And hark your brother sufferers sobbing Oh! mark the universe grow clear, Oh! mark your spirit's royal throbbing— 'Tis Freedom's God that sends such signs, As pledges of his blest alliance; He gives bright hopes to brave designs, And lends his bolts to Self-Reliance!
IV.
Then, flung alone, or hand in hand, In mirthful hour, or spirit solemn; In lowly toil, or high command, In social hall, or charging column: In tempting wealth, and trying woe, In struggling with a mob's dictation; In bearing back a foreign foe, In training up a troubled nation: Still hold to Truth, abound in Love, Refusing every base compliance— Your Praise within, your Prize above, And live and die in Self-Reliance!
THE BURIAL.[82]
Why rings the knell of the funeral bell from a hundred village shrines? Through broad Fingall, where hasten all those long and ordered lines? With tear and sigh they're passing by—the matron and the maid— Has a hero died—is a nation's pride in that cold coffin laid? With frown and curse, behind the hearse, dark men go tramping on— Has a tyrant died, that they cannot hide their wrath till the rites are done?
the chant.
"Ululu! ululu! high on the wind, There's a home for the slave where no fetters can bind. Woe, woe to his slayers!"—comes wildly along, With the trampling of feet and the funeral song. And now more clear It swells on the ear; Breathe low, and listen, 'tis solemn to hear. "Ululu! ululu! wail for the dead. Green grow the grass of Fingall on his head; And spring-flowers blossom, 'ere elsewhere appearing, And shamrocks grow thick on the Martyr for Erin. Ululu! ululu! soft fall the dew On the feet and the head of the martyred and true." For awhile they tread In silence dread— Then muttering and moaning go the crowd, Surging and swaying like mountain cloud, And again the wail comes fearfully loud.
the chant.
"Ululu! ululu! kind was his heart! Walk slower, walk slower, too soon we shall part. The faithful and pious, the Priest of the Lord, His pilgrimage over, he has his reward. By the bed of the sick lowly kneeling, To God with the raised cross appealing— He seems still to kneel, and he seems still to pray, And the sins of the dying seem passing away. "In the prisoner's cell, and the cabin so dreary, Our constant consoler, he never grew weary; But he's gone to his rest, And he's now with the bless'd, Where tyrant and traitor no longer molest— Ululu! ululu! wail for the dead! Ululu! ululu! here is his bed!" Short was the ritual, simple the prayer, Deep was the silence, and every head bare; The Priest alone standing, they knelt all around, Myriads on myriads, like rocks on the ground. Kneeling and motionless—"Dust unto dust. He died as becometh the faithful and just— Placing in God his reliance and trust." Kneeling and motionless—"ashes to ashes"— Hollow the clay on the coffin-lid dashes; Kneeling and motionless, wildly they pray, But they pray in their souls, for no gesture have they; Stern and standing—oh! look on them now. Like trees to one tempest the multitude bow; Like the swell of the ocean is rising their vow:
the vow.
"We have bent and borne, though we saw him torn from his home by the tyrant's crew— And we bent and bore, when he came once more, though suffering had pierced him through: And now he is laid beyond our aid, because to Ireland true— A martyred man—the tyrant's ban, the pious patriot slew. "And shall we bear and bend for ever, And shall no time our bondage sever And shall we kneel, but battle never, "For our own soil? "And shall our tyrants safely reign On thrones built up of slaves and slain, And nought to us and ours remain "But chains and toil? "No! round this grave our oath we plight, To watch, and labour, and unite, Till banded be the nation's might— "Its spirit steeled, "And then, collecting all our force, We'll cross oppression in its course, And die—or all our rights enforce, "On battle field." Like an ebbing sea that will come again, Slowly retired that host of men; Methinks they'll keep some other day The oath they swore on the martyr's clay.
WE MUST NOT FAIL.
I.
We must not fail, we must not fail, However fraud or force assail; By honour, pride, and policy, By Heaven itself!—we must be free.
II.
Time had already thinned our chain, Time would have dulled our sense of pain; By service long, and suppliance vile, We might have won our owner's smile.
III.
We spurned the thought, our prison burst, And dared the despot to the worst; Renewed the strife of centuries, And flung our banner to the breeze.
IV.
We called the ends of earth to view The gallant deeds we swore to do; They knew us wronged, they knew us brave, And all we asked they freely gave.
V.
We took the starving peasant's mite To aid in winning back his right, We took the priceless trust of youth; Their freedom must redeem our truth.
VI.
We promised loud, and boasted high, "To break our country's chains, or die;" And, should we quail, that country's name Will be the synonym of shame.
VII.
Earth is not deep enough to hide The coward slave who shrinks aside; Hell is not hot enough to scathe The ruffian wretch who breaks his faith.
VIII.
But—calm, my soul!—we promised true Her destined work our land shall do; Thought, courage, patience will prevail! We shall not fail—we shall not fail!
O'CONNELL'S STATUE.
Lines to Hogan.
Chisel the likeness of The Chief, Not in gaiety, nor grief; Change not by your art to stone, Ireland's laugh, or Ireland's moan. Dark her tale, and none can tell Its fearful chronicle so well. Her frame is bent—her wounds are deep— Who, like him, her woes can weep? He can be gentle as a bride, While none can rule with kinglier pride; Calm to hear, and wise to prove, Yet gay as lark in soaring love. Well it were, posterity Should have some image of his glee; That easy humour, blossoming Like the thousand flowers of spring! Glorious the marble which could show His bursting sympathy for woe: Could catch the pathos, flowing wild, Like mother's milk to craving child. And oh! how princely were the art Could mould his mien, or tell his heart When sitting sole on Tara's hill, While hung a million on his will! Yet, not in gaiety, nor grief, Chisel the image of our Chief, Nor even in that haughty hour When a nation owned his power. But would you by your art unroll His own, and Ireland's secret soul, And give to other times to scan The greatest greatness of the man? Fierce defiance let him be Hurling at our enemy— From a base as fair and sure As our love is true and pure; Let his statue rise as tall And firm as a castle wall; On his broad brow let there be A type of Ireland's history; Pious, generous, deep and warm, Strong and changeful as a storm; Let whole centuries of wrong Upon his recollection throng— Strongbow's force, and Henry's wile, Tudor's wrath, and Stuart's guile, And iron Strafford's tiger jaws, And brutal Brunswick's penal laws; Not forgetting Saxon faith, Not forgetting Norman scath, Not forgetting William's word, Not forgetting Cromwell's sword. Let the Union's fetter vile— The shame and ruin of our isle— Let the blood of 'Ninety-Eight And our present blighting fate— Let the poor mechanic's lot, And the peasant's ruined cot, Plundered wealth and glory flown, Ancient honours overthrown— Let trampled altar, rifled urn, Knit his look to purpose stern. Mould all this into one thought, Like wizard cloud with thunder fraught; Still let our glories through it gleam, Like fair flowers through a flooded stream, Or like a flashing wave at night, Bright,—'mid the solemn darkness, bright. Let the memory of old days Shine through the statesman's anxious face— Dathi's power, and Brian's fame, And headlong Sarsfield's sword of flame; And the spirit of Red Hugh, And the pride of 'Eighty-Two, And the victories he won, And the hope that leads him on! Let whole armies seem to fly From his threatening hand and eye. Be the strength of all the land Like a falchion in his hand, And be his gesture sternly grand. A braggart tyrant swore to smite A people struggling for their right; O'Connell dared him to the field, Content to die but never yield; Fancy such a soul as his, In a moment such as this, Like cataract, or foaming tide, Or army charging in its pride. Thus he spoke, and thus he stood, Proffering in our cause his blood. Thus his country loves him best— To image this is your behest. Chisel thus, and thus alone, If to man you'd change the stone.
THE GREEN ABOVE THE RED.
Air—Irish Molly O!
I.
Full often when our fathers saw the Red above the Green, They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike and scian, And over many a noble town, and many a field of dead, They proudly set the Irish Green above the English Red.
II.
But in the end throughout the land, the shameful sight was seen— The English Red in triumph high above the Irish Green; But well they died in breach and field, who, as their spirits fled, Still saw the Green maintain its place above the English Red.
III.
And they who saw, in after times, the Red above the Green Were withered as the grass that dies beneath a forest screen; Yet often by this healthy hope their sinking hearts were fed, That, in some day to come, the Green should flutter o'er the Red.
IV.
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edward died, and Wolfe Tone sunk serene— Because they could not bear to leave the Red above the Green; And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield nobly bled— Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above the Red.
V.
So when the strife began again, our darling Irish Green Was down upon the earth, while high the English Red was seen; Yet still we held our fearless course, for something in us said, "Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green above the Red."
VI.
And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge strive to glean, That we may pull the English Red below the Irish Green, And leave our sons sweet Liberty, and smiling plenty spread Above the land once dark with blood—the Green above the Red!
VII.
The jealous English tyrant now has banned the Irish Green, And forced us to conceal it like a something foul and mean; But yet, by Heavens! he'll sooner raise his victims from the dead Than force our hearts to leave the Green, and cotton to the Red!
VIII.
We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses those who lean On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly king or queen; And, freely as we lift our hands, we vow our blood to shed Once and for evermore to raise the Green above the Red.
THE VOW OF TIPPERARY.
I.
From Carrick streets to Shannon shore, From Slievenamon to Ballindeary, From Longford Pass to Gaillte Mór, Come hear The Vow of Tipperary.
II.
Too long we fought for Britain's cause, And of our blood were never chary; She paid us back with tyrant laws, And thinned The Homes of Tipperary.
III.
Too long with rash and single arm, The peasant strove to guard his eyrie, Till Irish blood bedewed each farm, And Ireland wept for Tipperary.
IV.
But never more we'll lift a hand— We swear by God and Virgin Mary! Except in war for Native Land, And that's The Vow of Tipperary!
TIPPERARY.
I.
Let Britain boast her British hosts, About them all right little care we; Not British seas nor British coasts Can match the Man of Tipperary!
II.
Tall is his form, his heart is warm, His spirit light as any fairy— His wrath is fearful as the storm That sweeps the Hills of Tipperary!
III.
Lead him to fight for native land, His is no courage cold and wary; The troops live not on earth would stand The headlong charge of Tipperary!
IV.
Yet meet him in his cabin rude, Or dancing with his dark-haired Mary, You'd swear they knew no other mood But Mirth and Love in Tipperary!
V.
You're free to share his scanty meal, His plighted word he'll never vary— In vain they tried with gold and steel To shake the Faith of Tipperary!
VI.
Soft is his cailin's sunny eye, Her mien is mild, her step is airy, Her heart is fond, her soul is high— Oh! she's the Pride of Tipperary!
VII.
Let Britain brag her motley rag; We'll lift the Green more proud and airy— Be mine the lot to bear that flag, And head the Men of Tipperary!
VIII.
Though Britain boasts her British hosts, About them all right little care we— Give us, to guard our native coasts, The matchless Men of Tipperary!
THE WEST'S ASLEEP.
Air—The Brink of the White Rocks.
I.
When all beside a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep— Alas! and well may Erin weep, When Connaught lies in slumber deep. There lake and plain smile fair and free, 'Mid rocks—their guardian chivalry— Sing oh! let man learn liberty From crashing wind and lashing sea.
II.
That chainless wave and lovely land Freedom and Nationhood demand— Be sure, the great God never planned, For slumbering slaves, a home so grand. And, long, a brave and haughty race Honoured and sentinelled the place— Sing oh! not even their sons' disgrace Can quite destroy their glory's trace.
III.
For often, in O'Connor's van, To triumph dashed each Connaught clan— And fleet as deer the Normans ran Through Corlieu's Pass and Ardrahan. And later times saw deeds as brave; And glory guards Clanricarde's grave— Sing oh! they died their land to save, At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave.
IV.
And if, when all a vigil keep, The West's asleep, the West's asleep— Alas! and well may Erin weep, That Connaught lies in slumber deep. But, hark! some voice like thunder spake: "The West's awake! the West's awake!"— "Sing oh! hurra! let England quake, We'll watch till death for Erin's sake!"
A SONG FOR THE IRISH MILITIA.
Air—The Peacock.
I.
The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in prostrate men; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the crop so bravely sown! No more I'll sing nor idly pine, But train my soul to lead a line— A soldier's life's the life for me— A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
II.
No foe would fear your thunder words, If 'twere not for your lightning swords— If tyrants yield when millions pray, 'Tis less they link in war array; Nor peace itself is safe, but when The sword is sheathed by fighting men— A soldier's life's the life for me— A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
III.
The rifle brown and sabre bright Can freely speak and nobly write— What prophets preached the truth so well As Hofer, Brian, Bruce, and Tell? God guard the creed these heroes taught— That blood-bought Freedom's cheaply bought A soldier's life's the life for me— A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
IV.
Then, welcome be the bivouac, The hardy stand, and fierce attack, Where pikes will tame their carbineers, And rifles thin their bay'neteers, And every field the island through Will show "what Irishmen can do!" A soldier's life's the life for me— A soldier's death so Ireland's free!
V.
Yet, 'tis not strength and 'tis not steel Alone can make the English reel; But wisdom, working day by day, Till comes the time for passion's sway— The patient dint and powder shock, Can blast an empire like a rock. A soldier's life's the life for me— A soldier's death, so Ireland's free!
VI.
The tribune's tongue and poet's pen May sow the seed in slavish men; But 'tis the soldier's sword alone Can reap the harvest when 'tis grown. No more I'll sing, no more I'll pine, But train my soul to lead a line— A soldier's life's the life for me— A soldier's death, so Ireland's free.
OUR OWN AGAIN.
I.
Let the coward shrink aside, We'll have our own again; Let the brawling slave deride— Here's for our own again! Let the tyrant bribe and lie, March, threaten, fortify, Loose his lawyer and his spy— Yet we'll have our own again! Let him soothe in silken tone, Scold from a foreign throne: Let him come with bugles blown— We shall have our own again! Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own again! Let the game be fairly tried, We'll have our own again!
II.
Send the cry throughout the land, "Who's for our own again?" Summon all men to our band,— Why not our own again? Rich and poor, and old and young, Sharp sword, and fiery tongue, Soul and sinew firmly strung— All to get our own again! Brothers strive by brotherhood— Trees in a stormy wood— Riches come from Nationhood— Sha'n't we have our own again? Munster's woe is Ulster's bane! Join for our own again— Tyrants rob as well as reign— We'll have our own again!
III.
Oft our fathers' hearts it stirred, "Rise for our own again!" Often passed the signal word, "Strike for our own again!" Rudely, rashly, and untaught, Uprose they, ere they ought, Failing, though they nobly fought— Dying for their own again! Mind will rule and muscle yield In senate, ship, and field: When we've skill our strength to wield, Let us take our own again! By the slave his chain is wrought— Strive for our own again. Thunder is less strong than thought— We'll have our own again!
IV.
Calm as granite to our foes, Stand for our own again; Till his wrath to madness grows, Firm for our own again. Bravely hope, and wisely wait, Toil, join, and educate; Man is master of his fate; We'll enjoy our own again! With a keen constrained thirst— Powder's calm ere it burst— Making ready for the worst— So we'll get our own again. Let us to our purpose bide, We'll have our own again! God is on the righteous side, We'll have our own again!
CELTS AND SAXONS.[83]
I.
We hate the Saxon and the Dane, We hate the Norman men— We cursed their greed for blood and gain, We curse them now again. Yet start not, Irish-born man! If you're to Ireland true, We heed not blood, nor creed, nor clan— We have no curse for you.
II.
We have no curse for you or yours, But Friendship's ready grasp, And Faith to stand by you and yours Unto our latest gasp— To stand by you against all foes, Howe'er, or whence they come, With traitor arts, or bribes, or blows, From England, France, or Rome.
III.
What matter that at different shrines We pray unto one God? What matter that at different times Your fathers won this sod? In fortune and in name we're bound By stronger links than steel; And neither can be safe nor sound But in the other's weal.
IV.
As Nubian rocks, and Ethiop sand Long drifting down the Nile, Built up old Egypt's fertile land For many a hundred mile, So Pagan clans to Ireland came, And clans of Christendom, Yet joined their wisdom and their fame To build a nation from.
V.
Here came the brown Phœnician, The man of trade and toil— Here came the proud Milesian, A hungering for spoil; And the Firbolg and the Cymry, And the hard, enduring Dane, And the iron Lords of Normandy, With the Saxons in their train.
VI.
And oh! it were a gallant deed To show before mankind, How every race and every creed Might be by love combined— Might be combined, yet not forget The fountains whence they rose, As, filled by many a rivulet, The stately Shannon flows.
VII.
Nor would we wreak our ancient feud On Belgian or on Dane, Nor visit in a hostile mood The hearths of Gaul or Spain; But long as on our country lies The Anglo-Norman yoke, Their tyranny we'll stigmatize, And God's revenge invoke.
VIII.
We do not hate, we never cursed, Nor spoke a foeman's word Against a man in Ireland nursed, Howe'er we thought he erred; So start not, Irish-born man, If you're to Ireland true, We heed not race, nor creed, nor clan, We've hearts and hands for you.
ORANGE AND GREEN WILL CARRY THE DAY.
Air—The Protestant Boys.
I.
Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore— Faction and feud are passing away. 'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar, "Orange and Green will carry the day." Orange! Orange! Green and Orange! Pitted together in many a fray— Lions in fight! And linked in their might, Orange and Green will carry the day. Orange! Orange! Green and Orange! Wave them together o'er mountain and bay. Orange and Green! Our King and our Queen! "Orange and Green will carry the day!"
II.
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed— William and James are turned to clay— Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed, Red was the crop, and bitter the pay! Freedom fled us! Knaves misled us! Under the feet of the foemen we lay— Riches and strength We'll win them at length, For Orange and Green will carry the day! Landlords fooled us; England ruled us, Hounding our passions to make us their prey; But, in their spite, The Irish Unite, And Orange and Green will carry the day!
III.
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve; Empty the mart, and shipless the bay; Out of our want the Oligarchs carve; Foreigners fatten on our decay! Disunited, Therefore blighted, Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway; Party and creed For once have agreed— Orange and Green will carry the day! Boyne's old water, Red with slaughter! Now is as pure as an infant at play; So, in our souls, Its history rolls, And Orange and Green will carry the day!
IV.
English deceit can rule us no more; Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray— Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore, "Orange and Green must carry the day!" Orange! Orange! Bless the Orange! Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay, When from the North Burst the cry forth, "Orange and Green will carry the day!" No surrender! No Pretender! Never to falter and never betray— With an Amen, We swear it again, Orange and Green shall carry the day.
THE LOST PATH.
Air—Grádh mo chroidhe.
I.
Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, All comfort else has flown; For every hope was false to me, And here I am, alone. What thoughts were mine in early youth! Like some old Irish song, Brimful of love, and life, and truth, My spirit gushed along.
II.
I hoped to right my native isle, I hoped a soldier's fame, I hoped to rest in woman's smile And win a minstrel's name— Oh! little have I served my land, No laurels press my brow, I have no woman's heart or hand, Nor minstrel honours now.
III.
But fancy has a magic power, It brings me wreath and crown, And woman's love, the self-same hour It smites oppression down. Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, I have no joy beside; Oh! throng around, and be to me Power, country, fame, and bride.
THE GIRL OF DUNBWY.
I.
'Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy Stepping the mountain statelily— Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet, No lady in Ireland to match her is meet.
II.
Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies— Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes. The child of a peasant—yet England's proud Queen Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien.
III.
Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff— And love, and devotion, and energy speak From her beauty-proud eye, and her passion-pale cheek.
IV.
But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip, And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip, And her form and her step like the red-deer's go past— As lightsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast.
V.
I saw her but once, and I looked in her eye, And she knew that I worshipped in passing her by; The saint of the wayside—she granted my prayer, Though we spoke not a word, for her mother was there.
VI.
I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills, But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills; And I whisper her softly, "Again, love, we'll meet! And I'll lie in your bosom, and live at your feet."
BLIND MARY.
Air—Blind Mary.
I.
There flows from her spirit such love and delight, That the face of Blind Mary is radiant with light— As the gleam from a homestead through darkness will show Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow.
II.
Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times, As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes! And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends, And the starlight, as love, that not changes nor ends.
III.
Ah! grieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun, For the mountains that tower or the rivers that run— For beauty and grandeur, and glory, and light, Are seen by the spirit, and not by the sight.
IV.
In vain for the thoughtless are sunburst and shade, In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade; While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound Is one of the guardians, an Eden around!
OH! THE MARRIAGE.
Air—The Swaggering Jig.
I.
Oh! the marriage, the marriage, With love and mo bhuachaill for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage Might envy my marriage to me; For Eoghan[84] is straight as a tower, And tender, and loving, and true; He told me more love in an hour Than the Squires of the county could do. Then, Oh! the marriage, etc.
II.
His hair is a shower of soft gold, His eye is as clear as the day, His conscience and vote were unsold When others were carried away; His word is as good as an oath, And freely 'twas given to me; Oh! sure, 'twill be happy for both The day of our marriage to see. Then, Oh! the marriage, etc.
III.
His kinsmen are honest and kind, The neighbours think much of his skill, And Eoghan's the lad to my mind, Though he owns neither castle nor mill. But he has a tilloch of land, A horse, and a stocking of coin, A foot for a dance, and a hand In the cause of his country to join. Then, Oh! the marriage, etc.
IV.
We meet in the market and fair— We meet in the morning and night— He sits on the half of my chair, And my people are wild with delight; Yet I long through the winter to skim, Though Eoghan longs more I can see, When I will be married to him, And he will be married to me. Then, Oh! the marriage, the marriage, With love and mo bhuachaill for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage, Might envy my marriage to me.
THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE.
Air—An Cota Caol.
I.
His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me; I could not in a palace find A truer heart than he. The eagle shelters not his nest From hurricane and hail, More bravely than he guards my breast— The Boatman of Kinsale.
II.
The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps Is not a whit more pure— The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps Has not a foot more sure. No firmer hand nor freer eye E'er faced an autumn gale— De Courcy's heart is not so high— The Boatman of Kinsale.
III.
The brawling squires may heed him not, The dainty stranger sneer— But who will dare to hurt our cot When Myles O'Hea is here? The scarlet soldiers pass along; They'd like, but fear to rail; His blood is hot, his blow is strong— The Boatman of Kinsale.
IV.
His hooker's in the Scilly van When seines are in the foam; But money never made the man, Nor wealth a happy home. So, blest with love and liberty, While he can trim a sail, He'll trust in God, and cling to me— The Boatman of Kinsale.
LOVE AND WAR.
I.
How soft is the moon on Glengariff, The rocks seem to melt with the light: Oh! would I were there with dear Fanny, To tell her that love is as bright; And nobly the sun of July O'er the waters of Adragoole shines— Oh! would that I saw the green banner Blaze there over conquering lines.
II.
Oh! love is more fair than the moonlight, And glory more grand than the sun: And there is no rest for a brave heart, Till its bride and its laurels are won; But next to the burst of our banner, And the smile of dear Fanny, I crave The moon on the rocks of Glengariff— The sun upon Adragoole's wave.
MY LAND.
I.
She is a rich and rare land; Oh! she's a fresh and fair land; She is a dear and rare land— This native land of mine.
II.
No men than her's are braver— Her women's hearts ne'er waver; I'd freely die to save her, And think my lot divine.
III.
She's not a dull or cold land; No! she's a warm and bold land; Oh! she's a true and old land— This native land of mine.
IV.
Could beauty ever guard her, And virtue still reward her, No foe would cross her border— No friend within it pine!
V.
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land; Oh! she's a true and rare land; Yes! she's a rare and fair land— This native land of mine.
THE RIGHT ROAD.
I.
Let the feeble-hearted pine, Let the sickly spirit whine, But work and win be thine, While you've life. God smiles upon the bold— So, when your flag's unrolled, Bear it bravely till you're cold In the strife.
II.
If to rank or fame you soar, Out your spirit frankly pour— Men will serve you and adore, Like a king. Woo your girl with honest pride, Till you've won her for your bride— Then to her, through time and tide, Ever cling.
III.
Never under wrongs despair; Labour long, and everywhere, Link your countrymen, prepare, And strike home. Thus have great men ever wrought, Thus must greatness still be sought, Thus laboured, loved, and fought Greece and Rome.
MY GRAVE.
Shall they bury me in the deep, Where wind-forgetting waters sleep? Shall they dig a grave for me, Under the green-wood tree? Or on the wild heath, Where the wilder breath Of the storm doth blow? Oh, no! oh, no! Shall they bury me in the Palace Tombs, Or under the shade of Cathedral domes? Sweet 'twere to lie on Italy's shore; Yet not there—nor in Greece, though I love it more, In the wolf or the vulture my grave shall I find? Shall my ashes career on the world-seeing wind? Shall they fling my corpse in the battle mound, Where coffinless thousands lie under the ground? Just as they fall they are buried so— Oh, no! oh, no! No! on an Irish green hill-side, On an opening lawn—but not too wide; For I love the drip of the wetted trees— I love not the gales, but a gentle breeze To freshen the turf—put no tombstone there, But green sods decked with daisies fair; Nor sods too deep, but so that the dew, The matted grass-roots may trickle through. Be my epitaph writ on my country's mind, "He served his country, and loved his kind." Oh! 'twere merry unto the grave to go, If one were sure to be buried so.
Footnotes
1 (Return) This work, with the inclusion of the full text of the more important of the Acts of the Parliament of James II., and with an Introduction by Sir Charles Gavan Duffy, was reprinted from the Dublin Monthly Magazine of 1843 by Mr. Fisher Unwin in 1891 as the first volume of the 'New Irish Library.' It is now out of print.
2 (Return) Mr. Mongan's School on Lower Mount Street.
3 (Return) "Life of Davis," p. 286.
4 (Return) "Life of Davis," pp. 218, 219.
5 (Return) King's "State of the Protestants." Harris's "Life of King William," folio, Dublin, 1749, book 8. Leland's "History of Ireland," vol. 3, book 6, chaps. 5 and 6. Lesley's "Answer to King's State of the Protestants," London, 1692. Curry's "Review of the Civil Wars of Ireland." Plowden's "Historical Review of Ireland; also History of Ireland," vol. i., c. 9. Jones's "Reply to an anonymous writer from Belfast, signed Portia," Dublin, 1792.
6 (Return) Thorpe's MSS.
7 (Return) London, 2 vols. 4to, edited by Rev. J. Clarke.
8 (Return) Paris, 1825, 3 vols. 8vo.
9 (Return) Spenser's "View"; Fynes Moryson's "Itinerary"; Captain Lee's "Memoir"; Harris's "Letters"; and Carte's "Ormonde."
10 (Return) See the proofs of this collected in Carey's "Vindiciæ Hibernicæ."
11 (Return) Milton's "Eikonoclastes"; Warner's "History of the Rebellion"; Carey's "Vindiciæ"; and Pamphlets, Libraries of Trinity College and the Dublin Society.
12 (Return) Sir W. Petty's "Political Anatomy of Ireland"; Lawrence's "Interest of Ireland"; "Curry's Review"; "Carte's Life and Letters of Ormonde," &c.
13 (Return) Hallam's "Constitutional History," v. 3, p. 588, 3rd edition.
14 (Return) Speke's "Memoirs."
15 (Return) See the Declaration of Union, dated 21st March, 1688, in the Appendix to Walker's "Account of the Siege of Derry."
16 (Return) These acts were done in good faith by the people, instigated by the devices of the nobles. A letter, now admitted to have been forged, was dispersed by Lord Mount Alexander, announcing the design of the Roman Catholics to murder the Protestants.
17 (Return) See as to this, Melfort's letter to Pottinger, the sovereign of Belfast; "History of Belfast," pp. 72-3; Lesley proves, on Williamite authority, that the Protestants were worse treated by William's army than by James's. See Dr. Gorges in Lesley's Appendix.
18 (Return) He was appointed in 1686 (see Appendix B). T. W. R.
19 (Return) In July, 1691, William had offered these terms: 1st. The free public exercise of the Roman Catholic Religion. 2nd. Half the churches in the kingdom. 3rd. Half the employments, civil and military, if they pleased. 4th. Half their properties, as held prior to Cromwell's conquest. The terms were at once refused. The suppressed proclamation doubtless offered at least as much. (Harris's "William," and Plowden, b. 2.)
20 (Return) Rawdon Papers, p. 253.
21 (Return) Anthony Hamilton, in his "Memoirs of Grammont," exaggerates this to £40,000 a year, and attributes Miss Jennings' affection to its attractions. But besides that, by his statement, Tyrconnell had been a rival of Grammont with Miss Hamilton, there is enough in Grammont to account for it otherwise. Hamilton, an Irishman, and a Jacobite, seems to have sympathised with Tyrconnell. He describes him as "one of the largest and most powerful looking men in England," "with a brilliant and handsome appearance, and something of nobility, not to say haughtiness in his manners." He mentions circumstances, showing him bold, free, amorous, and, strange for a courtier, punctual in payment of debts. Yet this man, so full of refinement, and so trained, is described by King as addressing the Irish Privy Council thus:—"I have put the sword into your hands, and God damn you all if ever you part with it."
22 (Return) Clarendon's "State Letters," vol. i. and the Diary.
23 (Return) Hallam's "Constitutional History," v. iii., p. 530.
24 (Return) State Tracts, Will. III.'s reign, H. R.'s App. to Cox.
25 (Return) "Memoirs of James II.," by the Rev. —— Clarke, Chaplain to George IV. These memoirs seem to have been copies of memoirs written under James II.'s inspection, and deposited in the Scotch College in Paris. The originals perished at the French Revolution, and their copies came to Rome, from whence they were procured for the English government in 1805. See Mr. Clarke's preface, and Guizot's preface to his translation of them in the "Mémoires de la Révolution."
26 (Return) Hallam ("Constitutional History," chaps. 13 and 14) contains enough to show the uncertainty of the law. Throughout these, as in all parts of his work, he is a jealous Williamite and a bigoted Whig. His treatment of Curry has been justly censured by Mr. Wyse, in his valuable "History of the Catholic Association," vol. i., pp. 36-7.
27 (Return) This Preamble is James II.'s own writing, as appears by "The Journal."
28 (Return) The clause for the destruction of the Records of the parliament of 1689, is in an act annulling the attainders and all acts of 1689.
"Be it enacted by the King's most excellent Majesty, by and with the advice and consent of the lords spiritual and temporal and commons in this present Parliament assembled, and by the authority of the same, That all and every the acts, or pretended acts, and the rolls whereon the said acts or pretended acts, and every of them, are recorded or engrossed, and all proceedings of what nature or kind soever had, made, done, or passed by the said persons lately so assembled at Dublin, pretending to be or calling themselves by the name of a Parliament, and also all writs issued in order to the calling of the said pretended Parliament, and returned into any office in this kingdom, and there remaining, and all the journals of the said pretended Parliament, and other books or writings in any wise relating thereunto, or to the holding thereof, shall, by the officers or persons in whose custody the same are, be brought before the lord deputy, or other chief governour or governours of this kingdom for the time being, at such time as the lord deputy, or other chief governour or governours for the time being shall appoint, at the council chamber in Dublin, and there shall be publicly and openly cancelled and utterly destroyed: and in case any officer or person in whose hands or custody the said acts and rolls or proceedings, or any of them, do or shall remain, shall wilfully neglect or refuse to produce the same, to the intent that the same may be cancelled and destroyed, according to the true intent of this act, every such person and officer shall be, and is hereby adjudged and declared to be from thenceforth incapable of any office or employment whatsoever, and shall forfeit and pay the sum of five hundred pounds, one-half thereof to his Majesty, and the other half to such person or persons that shall sue for the same by any action of debt, bill, plaint, or information, in any court of record whatsoever."—7 Will. III. Ir. c. 1.
"It is possible an outline of some such bill might have been prepared by one of those hot-headed people of whom James had too many in his councils either for his safety or for his reputation, and they were chiefly English; and that such draft of a bill having been laid before parliament, that wise, patriotic and sagacious body did ameliorate and reduce it into 'the statute for the revival of the court of claims'; a law so unparalleled from its moderation in its review of forfeitures, by going back to Cromwell's debentures exclusively; a period of only thirty-eight years anterior to the date of their then sitting.
"Such a draft of a bill, like our own protestant bill for the castration of Romish priests, which did pass here but was cushioned in England,[1] or like the threat of a bill for levelling popish chapels, which I myself heard made when I sat in the house of commons, such a draft of a bill, I say, might have been found among the baggage of the Duke of Tyrconnel, of Sir Richard Nagle, or of the unfortunate sovereign himself, for Burnet acquaints us, That all Tyrconnel's papers were taken in the camp; and those of James were found in Dublin." (Burnet's "Own Times," Vol. 2nd, p. 30).
29 (Return) The dates about the time of this revolution are most important. On the 10th October, 1688, William issued an address, dated at the Hague, and another from the same place, dated 24th October, intended to counterwork James's retractations. He landed at Torbay, November 5th, arrived in London December 17th. Some Whig Lords signed an association, dated December 19th, pledging themselves to stand by the prince, and avenge him if he should perish. December 23rd, William issued the letter calling the members of Charles II.'s parliament, the mayor, aldermen, and 50 councillors of London. December 26th they met, called on the prince to assume the government and issue letters for a convention, and they signed the association of the Whig Lords. They presented their address 27th December, it was received December 28th, and then this little club broke up. December 29th William issued letters for a convention, which met 22nd January, 1688-9, finally agreed on their declaration against James and his family, and for William and Mary, 12th February; and these, king and queen, were proclaimed 13th February, 1688-9. February 19th, a Bill was brought in to call the convention a parliament; it passed, and received royal assent 23rd February. By this the lords and gentlemen who met 22nd January were named the two houses of parliament, and the acts of this convention-parliament were to date from 13th February. This hybrid sat till 20th August, and having passed the Attainder Act was adjourned to 20th September, and then 19th October, 1689. This second session lasted till 27th January, 1689-90, when it was stopped by a prorogation to the 2nd April; but before that day it was dissolved, and a parliament summoned by writ, which met 20th March, 1689, and as a first law, passed an act ratifying the proceedings of the convention.
30 (Return) The following is the list of books given as the present sources of history:—
some of the original sources of irish history.
ancient irish times.
Annals of Tigernach, abbot of Clonmacnoise, from A.D. 200 to his death, 1188, partly compiled from writers of the eighth, seventh, and sixth centuries.
Lives of St. Patrick, St. Columbanus, etc.
Annals of the Four Masters, from the earliest times to 1616.
Other Annals, such as those of Innisfallen, Ulster, Boyle, etc. Publications of the Irish Archæological Society, Danish and Icelandic Annals.
english invasion and the pale.
Gerald de Barri, surnamed Cambrensis, "Topography" and "Conquest of Ireland." Four Masters, Tracts in Harris's Hibernica. Campion's, Hanmer's, Marlborough's, Camden's, Holingshed's, Stanihurst's, and Ware's Histories. Hardiman's Statutes of Kilkenny.
Henry VIII. and Elizabeth.—Harris's Ware. O'Sullivan's Catholic History. Four Masters. Spencer's View. Sir G. Carew's Pacata Hibernia. State Papers, Temp. H. VIII. Fynes Moryson's Itinerary.
James I.—Harris's Hibernica. Sir John Davies' Tracts.
Charles I.—Strafford's Letters. Carte's Life of Ormond. Lodge's Desiderata. Clarendon's Rebellion. Tichborne's Drogheda. State Trials. Rinuccini's Letters. Pamphlets. Castlehaven's Memoirs. Clanrickarde's Memoirs. Peter Walsh. Sir J. Temple.
Charles II.—Lord Orrery's Letters. Essex's Letters.
James II. and William III.—King's State of Protestants, and Lesley's Answer. The Green Book. Statutes of James's Parliament, in Dublin Magazine, 1843. Clarendon's Letters. Rawdon Papers. Tracts. Molyneux's Case of Ireland.
George I. and II.—Swift's Life. Lucas's Tracts. Howard's Cases under Popery Laws. O'Leary's Tracts. Boulter's Letters. O'Connor's and Parnell's Irish Catholics. Foreman on "The Brigade."
George III.—Grattan's and Curran's Speeches and Lives—Memoirs of Charlemont. Wilson's Volunteers. Barrington's Rise and Fall. Wolfe Tone's Memoirs. Moore's Fitzgerald. Wyse's Catholic Association. Madden's United Irishmen. Hay, Teeling, etc., on '98. Tracts. MacNevin's State Trials. O'Connell's and Sheil's Speeches. Plowden's History.
Compilations.—Moore. M'Geoghegan. Curry's Civil Wars. Carey's Vindiciæ. O'Connell's Ireland. Leland.
Current Authorities.—The Acts of Parliament. Lords' and Commons' Journals and Debates. Lynch's Legal Institutions.
Antiquities, Dress, Arms.—Royal Irish Academy's Transactions and Museum. Walker's Irish Bards. British Costume, in Library of Entertaining Knowledge.
31 (Return) Like many of the suggestions of Thomas Davis this has borne fruit. In our own day the Irish Folk Song Society (20 Hanover Square, London, W.) as well as the Feis Ceoil and the Gaelic League have done invaluable work in the direction indicated.—[Ed.]
32 (Return) Mellifont, founded in 1142 by O'Carroll, King of Oriel.—C.P.M.
33 (Return) See Irish Franciscan Monasteries, by C.P.M., C.C.
34 (Return) Again we note that, though late in the day, Davis's appeal has been answered, and most of the important ancient monuments of the country placed under official protection. The real need now is for scientific exploration of the ancient sites.—[Ed.]
35 (Return) The reader who wishes to know what modern archæology has to say of this great tumulus may be referred to Mr. George Coffey's "Newgrange," published by Hodges, Figgis & Co., 1912. It dates from about 1,000 years earlier than Davis supposed.
36 (Return) The Transactions of the Royal Irish Academy, vol. xx. Dublin: Hodges & Smith, Grafton Street.
37 (Return) A turbulent and learned Franciscan friar who figured in the Confederation of Kilkenny.—C.P.M.
38 (Return) Author of the Life of Thucydides.—C.P.M.
39 (Return) See Mitchel's Life of Hugh O'Neill, and Meehan's Flight of the Earls. Dublin: Duffy & Sons.
40 (Return) Owen Roe, who defeated Monro, 1646.
41 (Return) "The Select Speeches of the Right Hon. Henry Grattan. To which is added his Letter on the Union, with a Commentary on his Career and Character." By Daniel Owen Madden, Esq., of the Inner Temple. Dublin: James Duffy, 1845. 8vo, pp. 534.
42 (Return) The Industrial Resources of Ireland, by Robert Kane, M.D., Secretary to the Council of the Royal Irish Academy, Professor of Natural Philosophy to the Royal Dublin Society, and of Chemistry to the Apothecaries' Hall of Ireland. Dublin: Hodges & Smith, 21 College Green.
43 (Return) 'Bright water' is the true rendering: Could Davis have been thinking of binn uisge, and supposing that binn meant sweet in taste as well as in sound?—[Ed.]
44 (Return) Tales and Sketches illustrating the Irish Peasantry. By William Carleton. James Duffy, Dublin, 1845. 1 vol., 8vo., pp. 393.
45 (Return) A splendid edition of this work, greatly enlarged, and printed in The Irish Exhibition Buildings, was issued by Messrs. Duffy and Sons, September, 1882.
46 (Return) The artist referred to was Sir Frederick Burton. [Ed.]
47 (Return) Ballad Poetry of Ireland,—Library of Ireland, No. II.
48 (Return) A "Ballad History of Ireland."
49 (Return) This essay, together with another of less value, was reprinted from The Nation by M. J. Barry as an introduction to his "Songs of Ireland" 1845. [Ed.]
50 (Return) The withdrawal of the Coach Contracts from Ireland is but another instance of the same spiteful and feeble policy. Messrs. Bourne and Purcell had for years held the contract for building the Irish Mail Coaches. This contract was less a source of wealth to them than of support and comfort to hundreds of families employed by them. The contract runs out—Messrs. Bourne & Purcell propose in form for it—an informal proposal, at a rate inconsiderably lower, is sent in by another person, and is at once accepted. It is accepted notwithstanding its irregularity, and notwithstanding the offer of Messrs. Bourne & Purcell to take it, even at a loss, as low as anyone else. It is given to a foreigner. Were the difference triple what it was, that contract should have been left in Ireland.—Nation.
51 (Return) From The Nation May 17, 1845.
52 (Return) The Three Hundred Greeks who died at Thermopylæ, and the Three Romans who kept the Sublician Bridge.
53 (Return) Angl. Brehon.
54 (Return) Angl. Glyn.
55 (Return) Angl. Dingle.
56 (Return) Angl. Barrow.
57 (Return) Angl. Youghal.
58 (Return) Angl. Maynooth.
59 (Return) Formerly the war-cry of the Geraldines, and now their motto.
60 (Return) Angl. Curragh.
61 (Return) The concluding stanza was found among the author's papers, and was inserted in the first edition. It is believed to have had a personal reference, not to any Geraldine but to William Smith O'Brien.—Ed.
62 (Return) Ara is a small mountain tract south of Loch Deirgdheire, and north of the Camailte, or the Keeper, hills. It was the seat of a branch of the Thomond princes, called the O'Briens of Ara.
63 (Return) Vulgo O'Kennedy.
64 (Return) Vul. M'Carthy.
65 (Return) Vul. O'Brien.
66 (Return) Vul. Drumineer.
67 (Return) Vul. Usquebaugh.
68 (Return) Vul. Kerne.
69 (Return) Vul. Killaloe.
70 (Return) Vul. Ryan.
71 (Return) Vul. Carroll.
72 (Return) Vul. Nenagh.
73 (Return) Vulgo, Ossory.
74 (Return) Vul. Lurrow.
75 (Return) Vul. Murrough.
76 (Return) Baltimore is a small seaport in the barony of Carbery, in South Munster. It grew up round a Castle of O'Driscoll's, and was, after his ruin, colonized by the English. On the 20th of June, 1631, the crew of two Algerine galleys landed in the dead of the night, sacked the town, and bore off into slavery all who were not too old, or too young, or too fierce for their purpose. The pirates were steered up the intricate channel by one Hackett, a Dungarvan fisherman, whom they had taken at sea for the purpose. Two years after he was convicted and executed for the crime. Baltimore never recovered this. To the artist, the antiquary, and the naturalist, its neighbourhood is most interesting. See "The Ancient and Present State of the County and City of Cork," by Charles Smith, M.D.
77 (Return) Commonly called Owen Roe O'Neill. Time, 10th November, 1649. Scene—Ormond's Camp, County Waterford. Speakers—A veteran of Eoghan O'Neill's clan, and one of the horsemen just arrived with an account of his death.
78 (Return) Clough Oughter.
79 (Return) Benburb.
80 (Return) Shule aroon.
81 (Return) Gap of danger.
82 (Return) Written on the funeral of the Rev. P. J. Tyrrell, P.P., of Lusk; one of those indicted with O'Connell in the Government prosecution of 1843.
83 (Return) Written in reply to some very beautiful verses printed in the Evening Mail, deprecating and defying the assumed hostility of the Irish Celts to the Irish Saxons.
84 (Return) Vulgo, Owen, a name frequent among the Cymry (Welsh).