"Vo-Vo-Vo!" the old man cried,
And wrung his hands in sorrow,
"Pray lead me in, asthore machree,
And I'll go home to-morrow.
My peace is made '-I'll calmly leave
This world so cold and dreary,
And you shall keep my pipes and dog,
And pray for Caoch O Leary."

With "Pinch," I watched his bed that night,
Next day, his wish was granted;
He died--and Father James was brought,
And the Requiem mass was chanted-
The neighbors came; we dug his grave,
Near Eily, Kate, and Mary,

And there he sleeps his last sweet sleep;
God rest you! Caoch O'Leary.

We'll break windows, we'll break doors,
The watch knock down by threes and fours;
Then let the doctors work their cures
And tinker up our bruises.
Instead of Spa, etc.

We'll beat the bailiffs, out of fun,

We'll make the mayor and sheriff's run;
We are the boys no man dares dun,
If he regards a whole skin.
Instead of Spa, etc.

Our hearts, so stout, have got us fame,
For soon 'tis known from whence we came;
Where'er we go they dread the name
Of Garryowen in glory.
Instead of Spa, etc.

Johnny Connell's tall and straight,
And in his limbs he is complete;
He'll pitch a bar of any weight

From Garryowen to Thomond Gate.
Instead of Spa, etc.

Garryowen is gone to wrack,
Since Johnny Connell went to Cork.
Though Darby O'Brien leapt over the dock,
In spite of all the soldiers.

Instead of Spa, etc.

"I see them, oh! I see them, in a fearful red array;
The yeomen, love! the yeomen come-ah, heaven! away-away!
I know I know they mean to track my lion to his lair;
Ah! save thy life-ah! save it for thy Kathleen ban Adair."

"May heaven shield thee, Kathleen! when my soul has gone to rest;

May comfort rear her temple in thy pure and faithful breast; But to fly them-oh! to fly them, like a bleeding, hunted hare; No! not to purchase heaven, with my Kathleen ban Adair.

My portmanteau I have got packed with potatoes, greens and bacon,

If you don't think I'll look after that, in troth you are mistaken. If the ship pitch and toss, for a half a dozen farthings,

I'll take my trunk upon my back and walk to Castle Garden.

Give my respects to Mr. Mack, and likewise to Mrs. Hagan,
And I'll come back to the christening, when she marries Patsy
Fagan;

I'm deep in love with Mollie Burke, as a jackass is in clover,
When I am settled, if she will come, I'll pay her passage over.

There's statues gracing this noble place in,
All heathen goddesses so fair;
Bold Neptune, Plutarch and Nicodemus,
All mother naked in the open air.
So now to finish this brave narration,

Which I have not the genii for to entwine, But were I Homer or Nebuchadnezzar, 'Tis in every feature that I'd make it shine.

GILLE MACHREE.

GILLE MACHREE,* sit down by me,

We now are joined and ne'er shall sever; This hearth's our own, our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever!

When I was poor, your father's door
Was closed against your constant lover;
With care and pain, I tried in vain

My fortunes to recover.

I said: "To other lands I'll roam,
Where Fate may smile on me, love;
I said: "Farewell, my own old home!"
And I said: "Farewell to thee, love! "
Sing Gille machree, etc.

I might have said, my mountain maid, Come live with me, your own true lover;

I know a spot, a silent cot,

Your friends (an ne'er discover; Where gently flows the waveless tide

By one small garden only;

Where the heron waves his wings so wide,
And the linnet sings so lonely!
Sing Gille machree, etc.

I might have said, my mountain maid,
A father's right was never given
True hearts to curse with tyrant force,
That have been blest in Heaven.
But then, I said: "In after years,
When thoughts of home shall find her!
My love may mourn with secret tears
Her friends thus left behind her."
Sing Gille machree, etc.

O, no, I said, my own dear maid,
For me, though all forlorn, forever,

That heart of thine shall ne'er repine
O er slighted duty-never

From home and thee though wandering far
A dreary fate be mine, love;
I'd rather live in endless war,
Than buy my peace with thine, love.
Sing Gille machree, etc.

Far, far away, by night and day,
I toiled to win a golden treasure;
And golden gains repaid my pains
In fair and shining measure.
I sought again my native land,
Thy father welcomed me, love;

I poured my gold into his hand,

And my guerdon found in thee, love.
Sing Gille machree, sit down by me,

We now are joined, and ne'er shall
sever;

This hearth's our own, our hearts are one, And peace is ours forever.

*Gille machree,-brightener of my heart.

THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.

A BABY was sleeping, its mother was weeping,

For her husband was far on the wild, raging sea,
And the tempest was swelling 'round the fisherman's dwelling-
And she cried: "Dermot, darling, oh! come back to me."

Her beads while she number'd, the baby still slumber'd,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee;
"Oh! blest be that warning, my child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.
"And while they are keeping bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
Oh! pray to them softly, my baby, with me-
And say thou wouldst rather they'd watch o'er thy father,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."

The dawn of the morning saw Dermot returning,

And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see; And closely caressing her child with a blessing, Said: "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

THE BATTLE OF FONTENOY.

THRICE, at the huts of Fontenoy, the English column failed,
And, twice, the lines of Saint Antoine, the Dutch in vain assailed;
For town and slope were filled with fort and flanking battery,
And well they swept the English ranks, and Dutch auxiliary.
As vainly through De Berri's wood, the British soldiers burst,
The French artillery drove them back, diminished, and dispersed,
The bloody Duke of Cumberland beheld with anxious eye,
And ordered up his last reserve, his latest chance to try.
On Fontenoy-on Fontenoy, how fast his generals ride!
And mustering come his chosen troops, like clouds at eventide.
Six thousand English veterans in stately column tread,
Their cannon blaze in front and flank, Lord Hay is at their head;
Steady they step adown the slope-steady they climb the hill;
Steady they load-steady they fire, moving right onward still,
Betwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as through a furnace blast,
Through rampart, trench, and palisade, and bullets showering
fast;

And on the open plain above they 'rose and kept their course,
With ready fire and grim resolve, that mocked at hostile force;
Past Fontenoy-past Fontenoy, while thinner grow their ranks-
They break, as broke the Zuyder Zee through Holland's ocean
banks.

Saxon foes! "

66

The marshal almost smiled to see, so furiously he goes!
How fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont to be so gay,
The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-day-
The treaty broken, ere the ink wherewith 'twas writ could dry,
Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's part-
ing cry-

Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country overthrown,

Each looks, as if revenge for all were staked on him alone.
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere,

Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were.

SHAUN'S HEAD.

GOD's wrath upon the Saxon; may they never know the pride
Of dying on the battle-field their broken spear beside;
When victory gilds the glory shroud of every fallen brave,
Or death no tales of conquered clans can whisper to his grave.
May every light from cross of Christ that saves the heart of man,
Be hid in clouds of blood before it reach the Saxon clan;
For sure, oh, God, and You know all? whose thought for all
sufficed,

To expiate these Saxon sins, they'd want another Christ.

Just think, O Shaun! the same moon shines on Liffey as on Foyle,
And lights the ruthless knaves on both, our kinsman to despoil;
And you the hope, voice, battle-ax, the shield of us and ours,
A murdered, trunkless, blinding sight above these Dublin towers.
Thy face is paler than the moon, my heart is paler still- .
My heart? I had no heart-'twas yours-'twas yours! to keep or
kill.

And you kept it safe for Ireland, chief-your life, your soul, your pride

But they sought it in thy bosom, Shaun-with proud O'Neill it died.

You were turbulent and haughty, proud and keen as Spanish steel;

But who had right of these, if not our Ulster's chief-O'Neill?