Cried, "My hand to the Sassenach! ne'er may I hurl Another to earth if I call him a churl ! He finds me in clothing, in booty, in bread "Land of Owen, aboo!" and the Irish rushed on And brave Harry Bagenal, he fell while he fought And my Irish got clothing, coin, colors, great store, Arms, forage, and provender-plunder go leor !! They munched the white manchets-they champed the brown chine, Fuilleluah!' for that day, how the natives did dine! The Chieftain looked on, when O'Shanaghan rose, And cried, "Hearken, O'Neill! I've a health to pro pose To our Sassenach hosts'" and all quaffed in huge glee. With 2 "Cead mile failte go2 BEAL-AN-ATHABUIDH!" 1 Go leor, in abundance. 2 Fuilleluah, joyous exclamation. 3 Cead mile failte go, a hundred thousand welcomes to. REV. W. H. DRUMMOND (1778-1865) CUCHULLIN'S CHARIOT The original, of which this is a considerably amplified version, is from an old Irish romance entitled, "The Breach of the Plain of Muirhevney." HE car, light-moving, I behold, TH Adorned with gems and studs of gold; Swiftly and swiftly-see it glide! Comes thundering on, unmatched in speed, The other steed, of equal pace, Well shaped to conquer in the race; Red lightning glances from his eye; In front high-seated rides; He holds the polished reins with care, With pliant will and practiced hand, All sparkling bright with gems and gold : To win and wear a monarch's crown. The following is McPherson's description of Cuchullin's car: "The car, the car of war comes on, like the flame of death! the rapid car of Cuchullin, the noble son of Semo! It bends behind like a wave near a rock, like the sun-streaked mist of the heath. Its sides are embossed with stones, and sparkle like the sea round the boat of night. Of polished yew is its beam; its seat of the smoothest bone. The sides are replenished with spears; the bottom is the footstool of heroes.”—Fingal, Book I. LADY HELEN DUFFERIN O (1807-1867) KATEY'S LETTER CH, girls dear, did you ever hear, I wrote my love a letter? And altho' he cannot read, I thought 'twas all the better. For why should he be puzzled With hard spelling in the matter, When the maning was so plain? That I loved him faithfully, And he knows it-oh, he knows it Without one word from me. I wrote it, and I folded it, And put a seal upon it, 'Twas a seal almost as big As the crown of my best bonnet ; For I would not have the postmaster Make his remarks upon it, As I'd said inside the letter That I loved him faithfully, And he knows it-oh, he knows it Without one word from me. My heart was full, but when I wrote And they're mighty fond of chaffing, And he knows it-oh, he knows it — Now, girls, would you believe it, So long as I have waited; But maybe there mayn't be one, For the reason that I stated - That my love can neither read nor write, And I know where'er my love is, LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT ''M sittin' on the stile, Mary, I'M Where we sat side by side, On a bright May mornin', long ago, The corn was springin' fresh and green, The place is little changed, Mary; |