Some, sobbing, turn away,
And the strongest men can hardly see for weeping,
So noble and so loved were they.
Their hands are locked together, those young
brothers,
As before the judge they stand--
They feel not the deep grief that moves the
others;
For they die for Fatherland.
They are pale, but it is not fear that whitens
On each proud high brow;
For the triumph of the martyr's glory brightens
Around them even now.
They sought to free their land from thrall of
stranger,--
Was it treason? Let them die;
But their blood will cry to heaven--the Avenger
Yet will hearken from on high.
Before them, shrinking, cowering, scarcely
human,
The base informer bends,
Who, Judas-like, could sell the blood of true
men,
While he clasped their hands as friends.
Ay, could fondle the young children of his victim,
Break bread with his young wife,
At the moment that, for gold, his perjured dictum
Sold the husband and the father's life.
There is silence in the midnight--eyes arekeeping
Troubled watch, till forth the jury come;
There is silence in the midnight--eyes are
weeping--
"Guilty!" is the fatal uttered doom,--
For a moment o'er the brothers' noble faces
Came a shadow sad to see,
Then silently they rose up in their places,
And embraced each other fervently.
Oh! the rudest heart might tremble at such sorrow,
The rudest cheek might blanch at such a scene;
Twice the judge essayed to speak the word--
to-morrow--
Twice faltered, as a woman he had been.
To-morrow!--Fain the elder would have spoken,
Prayed for respite, tho' it is not death he fears;
But thoughts of home and wife his heart hath
broken,
And his words are stopped by tears.
But the youngest--Oh! he speaks out bold and
clearly:--
"I have no ties of children or of wife;
Let me die--but spare the brother, who more
dearly
Is loved by me than life."
Pale martyrs,ye may cease; your days are numbered;
Next noon your sun of life goes down;
One day between the sentence and the scaffold--
One day between the torture and the crown!
A hymn of joy is rising from creation;
Bright the azure of the glorious summer sky;
But human hearts weep sore in lamentation,
For the brothers are led forth to die.
Aye; guard them with your cannon and your
lances--
So of old came martyrs to the stake;
Aye; guard them--see the people's flashing
glances,
For those noble two are dying for their sake.
Yet none spring forth their bonds to sever--
Ah! methinks, had I been there,
I'd have dared a thousand deaths ere ever
The sword should touch their hair.
It falls!--there is a shriek of lamentation
From the weeping crowd around;
They're stilled--the noblest hearts within the
nation--
The noblest heads lie bleeding on the ground.
Years have passed since that fatal scene of dying,
Yet life-like to this day
In their coffins still those severed heads are lying,
Kept by angels from decay.
Oh! they preach to us, those still and pallid
features--
Those pale lips yet implore us from their graves
To strive for our birthright as God's creatures,
Or die, if we can but live as slaves.
----Speranza (Lady Wilde).
[Illustration: 0266]
THE WITCH-BRIDE
|A fair witch crept to a young man's side,
And he kiss'd her and took her for his bride.
But a Shape came in at the dead of night,
And fill'd the room with snowy light.
And he saw how in his arms there lay
A thing more frightful than mouth may say.
And he rose in haste, and follow'd the Shape
Till morning crown'd an eastern cape.
And he girded himself and follow'd still,
When sunset sainted the western hill.
But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side,
Weary day!--the foul Witch-Bride
----Wm. Allingham.
[Illustration: 0267]
THE MILKMAID
[Illustration: 0268]
|O where are you going so early? he said;
Good luck go with you, my pretty maid;
To tell you my mind Im half afraid,
But I wish I were your sweetheart.
When the morning sun is shining low,
And the cocks in every farmyard crow,
I'll carry your pail,
O'er hill and dale,
And I'll go with you a-milking.
I'm going a-milking, sir, says she,
Through the dew, and across the lea;
You ne'er would even yourself to me,
Or take me for your sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
Now give me your milking-stool awhile,
To carry it down to yonder stile;
I'm wishing every step a mile,
And myself your only sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
O, here's the stile in-under the tree,
And there's the path in the grass for me,
And I thank you kindly, sir, says she,
And wish you a better sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
Now give me your milking-pail, says he,
And while were going across the lea,
Pray reckon your master's cows to me,
Although I'm not your sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
Two of them red, and two of them white,
Two of them yellow and silky bright,
She told him her master's cows aright,
Though he was not her sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
She sat and milk'd in the morning sun,
And when her milking was over and done,
She found him waiting, all as one
As if he were her sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
He freely offer'd his heart and hand;
Now she has a farm at her command,
And cows of her own to graze the land;
Success to all true sweethearts!
When the morning sun is shining low,
And the cocks in every farmyard crow,
I'll carry your pail
O'er hill and dale,
And I'll go with you a-milking,
---Wm. Allingham.
THE NOBLEMAN'S WEDDING
|I once was guest at a Nobleman's wedding;
Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been
kind,
And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the
shedding;
Her former true lover still runs in her mind.
Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover
Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings;
And there among strangers, his grief to discover,
A fair maiden's falsehood he bitterly sings.
"Now here is the token of gold that was broken;
Seven long years it was kept for your sake;
You gave it to me as a true lover's token;
No longer I'll wear it, asleep or awake."
She sat in her place by the head of the table,
The words of his ditty she mark'd them right
well;
To sit any longer this bride was not able,
So down at the bridegrooms feet she fell.
"O one, one request, my lord, one and no other,
O this one request will you grant it to me?
To lie for this night in the arms of my mother,
And ever, and ever thereafter with thee."
Her one, one request it was granted her fairly;
Pale were her cheeks as she went up to bed;
And the very next morning, early, early,
They rose and they found this young bride
was dead.
The bridegroom ran quickly, he held her, he
kiss'd her,
He spoke loud and low, and listen'd full fain;
He call'd on her waiting-maids round to assist
her,
But nothing could bring the lost breath back
again.
O carry her softly! the grave is made ready;
At head and at foot plant a laurel-bush green;
For she was a young and a sweet noble lady,
The fairest young bride that I ever have seen.
---Wm. Allingham.
St. Margaret's Eve
|I built my castle upon the sea-side,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
Half on the land and half in the tide,
_Love me true!_
Within was silk, without was stone,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
It lacks a queen, and that alone.
_Love me true!_
The gray old harper sung to me,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
"Beware of the Damsel of the Sea!"
_Love me true!_
Saint Margaret's Eve it did befall,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
The tide came creeping up the wall.
_Love me true!_
I open'd my gate; who there should stand--
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
But a fair lady, with a cup in her hand.
_Love me true!_
The cup was gold, and full of wine,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
"Drink," said the lady, "and I will be thine."
_Love me true!_
"Enter my castle, lady fair,"
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
"You shall be queen of all that's there."
_Love me true!_
99 A gray old harper sung to me,"
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
"'Beware of the Damsel of the Sea!'"
_Love me true!_
19 In hall he harpeth many a year,"
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
"And we will sit his song to hear."
_Love me true!_
991 love thee deep, I love thee true,"
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
"But ah! I know not how to woo."
_Love me true!_
Down dash'd the cup, with a sudden shock,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
The wine like blood ran over the rock.
_Love me true!_
She said no word, but shriek'd aloud,
The waves roll so gaily O,
And vanish'd away from where she stood.
_Love me true!_
I lock'd and barr'd my castle door,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
Three summer days I grieved sore.
_Love me true!_
For myself a day and night,
_The waves roll so gaily O_,
And two to moan that lady bright.
_Love me true!_
----Wm. Allingham.
THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE
|When the spinning-room was here,
Came Three Damsels, clothed in white,
With their spindles every night;
One and two and three fair Maidens,
Spinning to a pulsing cadence,
Singing songs of Elfin-Mere,
Till the eleventh hour was toll'd,
Then departed through the wold.
_Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow_.
Three white Lilies, calm and clear,
And they were loved by every one;
Most of all, the Pastor's Son,
Listening to their gentle singing,
Felt his heart go from him, clinging
To these Maids of Elfin-Mere;
Sued each night to make them stay,
Sadden'd when they went away.
_Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow_.
Hands that shook with love and fear
Dared put back the village clock,--
Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock,
Flow'd the song with subtle rounding,
Till the false "eleven" was sounding;
Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere
Swiftly, softly left the room,
Like three doves on snowy plume.
_Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow_.
One that night who wander'd near
Heard lamentings by the shore,
Saw at dawn three stains of gore
In the waters fade and dwindle.
Nevermore with song and spindle
Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere.
The Pastor's Son did pine and die;
Because true love should never lie.
_Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow_.
----Wm. Allingham.
THE FAITHLESS KNIGHT
|It is a careless pretty may, down by yon river-
side;
Her face, the whole world's pleasure, she gladly
hath espied;
And tossing back her golden hair, her singing
echoes wide;
When gaily to the grassy shore a youthful
knight doth ride.
And vaulting from his courser, that stoops the
head to drink,
And greeting well this Maiden fair, by running
waters brink,
He throws about her slender neck a chain of
costly link:
Too courteous he for glamourie, as any may
might think.
All through the flowery meadows, in the
summer evening warm,
The rippling river murmurs low, the dancing
midges swarm;
But far away the pretty may, nor makes the
least alarm,
Sits firm on lofty saddle-bow, within the young
knight's arm.
Now months are come, and months are gone,
with sunshine, breeze, and rain;
The song on grassy river-shore you shall not
hear again;
The proud knight spurs at tournament, in
Germany or Spain,
Or sues in silken bow'r to melt some lady's
high disdain.
And thus in idle hour he dreams--"I've
wander'd east and west;
I've whisper'd love in many an ear, in earnest or
in jest;
That summer day--that pretty may--perhaps
she loved me best?
I recollect her face, methinks, more often than
the rest."
----Wm Allingham.
MICHAEL DWYER
|At length brave Michael Dwyer and his un-
daunted men
Were hunted o'er the mountains, and tracked
into the glen;
The stealthy soldiers followed, with ready blade
and ball,
And swore to trap the outlaw that night in wild
Emall.
They prowled about the valley, and toward the
dawn of day
Discovered where the faithful and fearless
heroes lay;
Around the little cottage they formed into a ring,
And called out "Michael Dwyer! Surrender to
the King!"
Thus answered Michael Dwyer--"Into this
house we came
Unasked by those who own it; they cannot be
to blame;
Then let those guiltless people, unquestioned,
pass you through;
And when they've passed in safety, I'll tell you
what we'll do."
'Twas done. "And now," said Dwyer, "your
work you may begin;
You are a hundred outside--we're only four
within;
We've heard your haughty summons, and this
is our reply--
We're true United Irishmen--we'll fight until
we die."
Then burst the war's red lightning, then poured
the leaden rain;
The hills around re-echoed the thunder peals
again;
The soldiers falling round him brave Dwyer
sees with pride;
But, ah! one gallant comrade is wounded by his
side.
Yet there are three remaining, good battle still
to do;
Their hands are strong and steady, their aim is
quick and true--
But hark that furious shouting the savage
soldiers raise!
The house is fired around them!--the roof is in
a blaze!
And brighter every moment the lurid flame arose,
And louder swelled the laughter and cheering
of their foes;
Then spake the brave M'Alister, the weak and
wounded man--
"You can escape, my comrades, and this shall
be your plan.
"Place in my hands a musket, then lie upon the
floor,
I'll stand before the soldiers, and open wide the
door;
They'll pour into my bosom the fire of their array,
Then, while their guns are empty, dash through
them, and away!"
He stood before his foemen, revealed amidst
the flame;
From out their levelled pieces the wished-for
volley came;
Up sprang the three survivors, for whom the
hero died,
But only Michael Dwyer burst through the
ranks outside.
He baffled his pursuers, who followed like the
wind,
And swam the River Slaney, and left them far
behind;
But many a scarlet soldier he promised soon
should fall
For those, his gallant comrades, who died in
wild Emall.
----T. D. Sullivan.
[Illustration: 0281]
RANDALL M'DONALD
|The lady of Antrim rose with the morn,
And donn'd her grandest gear;
And her 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 hearken ye, nobles both," she said,
As soon as they sat to dine--
"The hand must prove its chieftainry,
That putteth a ring on mine.
"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.
Ye 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'Quillan felt hope in every vein
As the bold, bright lady spoke--
And McDonald 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
Roll 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.
The boats in the distant offing
Are marshaird prow to prow;
The boatmen cease their scoffing,
And bend 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.
Nearer! nearer! on they come,
Row, McDonald, row!
For Antrim's princely castle home,
Its lands, and its lady, row!
The chief that 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!
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!
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.
-----T. D. M'Gee.
[Illustration: 0285]
THE DEMON OF THE GIBBET
|There was no west, there was no east,
No star abroad for eyes to see;
And Norman spurred his jaded beast
Hard by the terrible gallows-tree.
"O, Norman, haste across this waste,--
For something seems to follow me!"
"Cheer up, dear Maud, for, thanked be God,
We nigh have passed the gallows-tree!"
He kissed her lip: then--spur and whip!
And fast they fled across the lea!
But vain the heel, and rowel steel,--
For something leaped from the gallows-tree!
"Give me your cloak, your knightly cloak,
That wrapped you oft beyond the sea!
The wind is bold, my bones are old,
And I am cold on the gallows-tree."
"O holy God! O dearest Maud,
Quick, quick, some prayers--the best that be!
A bony hand my neck has spanned,
And tears my knightly cloak from me!"
"Give me your wine,--the red, red wine,
That in the flask hangs by your knee!
Ten summers burst on me accurst,
And I'm athirst on the gallows-tree!"
"O Maud, my life, my loving wife!
Have you no prayer to set us free?
My belt unclasps,--a demon grasps,
And drags my wine-flask from my knee!"
"Give me your bride, your bonnie bride,
That left her nest with you to flee!
O she hath flown to be my own,
For I'm alone on the gallows-tree!"
"Cling closer, Maud, and trust in God!
Cling close!--Ah, heaven, she slips from me!"
A prayer, a groan, and he alone
Rode on that night from the gallows-tree.
---Fitz-James O'Brien.
KILBRANNON
[Illustration: 9287]
|My love, braid up thy golden locks,
And don thy silken shoon,
We'll sit upon Kilbrannon's rocks,
Where shines the silvery moon;
And bring thy little babe with thee,
For his dear father's sake,
The lands where he'll be lord to see,
By lone Kilbrannon lake."
She's braided up her golden locks,
She's donned her silken shoon,
And they're away to Kilbrannon's rocks
By the cold light of the moon;
Sir Hubert he took both wife and child
Upon that night of woe,
And hurled them over the rocks so wild,
To the lake's blue depths below.
And he has married another may,
With the locks of ebonie,
And her looks are sweet, and her heart is gay,
Yet a woeful wight is he;
He wakes the woods with his bugle horn,
But his heart is heavy and sore;
And he ever shuns those crags forlorn
By lone Kilbrannon shore.
For down in the lake the dead won't rest,
That vengeful murdered one;
With her little babe at her pulseless breast,
She walks the waters lone;
And she calls at night her murderer's name,
And will call for evermore,
Till the huge rocks melt in doomsday flame,
By wild Kilbrannon shore.
----R. D. Joyce.
THE GREEN DOVE AND THE RAVEN
|There was a dove with wings of green,
Glistening o'er so radiantly,
With head of blue and golden sheen,
All sad and wearily
Sitting two red blooms between
On lovely Barna's wild-wood tree.
There was a letter 'neath its wing,
Written by a fair ladye,
Safely bound with silken string
So light and daintily,
And in that letter was a ring,
On lovely Barna's wild-wood tree.
There was a raven, black and drear,
Stained with blood all loathsomely,
Perched upon the branches near,
Croaking mournfully,
And he said, "O dove, what bring'st thou here
To lovely Barna's wild-wood tree?"
"I'm coming from a ladye gay,
To the young heir of sweet Glenore,
His ring returned, it is to say
She'll never love him more,--
Alas the hour! alas the day! --
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore."
"O dove, outspread thy wings of green;
I'll guide thee many a wild-wood o'er;
I'll bring thee where I last have seen
The young heir of Glenore,
Beneath the forest's sunless screen,
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore."
O'er many a long mile did they flee,
The dove, the raven stained with gore,
And found beneath the murderer's tree
The young heir of Glenore,--
A bloody, ghastly corpse was he,
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore.
"Go back, go back, thou weary dove,--
To the cruel maid tell o'er and o'er,
He's death's and mine, her hate or love
Can never reach him more--
To his ice-cold heart in Molagga's grove,
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore."
----R. D. Joyce.
MANNIX THE COINER
|Mannix the coiner and Neville the Piper--
Rebels and outlaws, jolly as thrushes;
They lived in a lane where they had a great
reign
Of piping and coining, and drinking like
fishes.
Neville he swore, with wild fury,
That Mannix should share with him half the
prog;
Then Mannix jump'd up, in a hurry,
And sent off the wife for a gallon of grog.
"Well done!" said the piper; "Play up!" said
the coiner,
"We've gold in our pockets and grog on the
brain;
The _law_ and the gallows are made in the
palace,
While we, who defy them, rejoice in the
lane!"
When the grog was brought in, they soon
_swiggd_ it,
And Neville then _rasp'd_ up another gay tune,
And bold Mannix merrily jigg'd it,
As brisk as a bee in the meadows of June.
"Well done!" said the piper--"Play up!" said
the coiner,
"We are the _boys_ that can _live everywhere!_
Life, without fun, is like spring without sun--
So we'll _flash_ it away, and the devil may care!
"Those guineas--whoever may take'em--
Are but flying tokens to worldly fools lent,
And I am the _boy_ that can make'em,
As bright as e'er came from the Sassenach
mint!"
"Well done!" said the piper--"Play up!" said
the coiner,
"My _golden character_ I'll always maintain!
And, compared with the schemers who rule and
befool us,
We're real honest men and good _boys_ in the
lane!"
Then Mannix put fire to his grisset,
And out of his mould he shook many a _shiner_,
But ere he had time to impress it,
In _roll'd_ the peelers and snaffled the coiner,
So there was an end to the piping and coining,
And a ruction was kick'd up, but no one was
slain,--
"I'm done!" said the coiner--"Cheer up," said
the piper,
"Fortune will favour the brave in the lane."
"We have you, at last!" cried the peelers,
"Tho' many a day we have chased you in vain!"
"Then," said Mannix, "your dungeons and jailors
May all be high hang'd--and farewell to the
lane!"
Then off ran the coiner, and loud laughed the
piper,
As his friend disappear'd thro' night's darkness
and rain,
Like a shaft from a quiver, he plung'd o'er the
river,
And left the bold peelers befool'd in the lane.
----M. Hogan.
[Illustration: 0293]
MY MAURIA NI MILLEÔN
|Will you come where golden furze I mow,
My Mauria ni Milleôn?"
'To bind for you I'd gladly go,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own.
To chapel, too, I would repair,
Though not to aid my soul in prayer,
But just to gazé with rapture where
You stand, _mo buchal baun_" *
"Will you rove the garden glades with me,
O Flower of Maids, alone?"
"What wondrous scenes therein to see,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own?"
"The apples from green boughs to strike,
To watch the trout leap from the lake,
And caress a pretty _cailin_ ** like
My Mauria ni Milleôn.
"Will you seek with me the dim church aisle,
O Mauria ni Milleôn?"
"What pleasant scenes to see the while,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own?"
"We'd list the chanting voice and prayer
Of foreign pastor preaching there,
O, we'd finish the marriage with my fair
White Flower of Maids alone."
* _Mo buchal baun_, my fair boy. ** _Cailin_, maiden.
She sought the dim church aisle with me,
My Bliss on Earth, most fair!
She sought the dim church aisle with me,
O grief! O burning care!
[Illustration: 0295]
I plunged my glittering, keen-edged blade
In the bosom of that loving maid,
Till gushed her heart's blood, warm and red,
Down on the cold ground there.
"Alas! what deed is this you do?
My Bliss on Earth, _mo store!_ *
What woful deed is this you do,
O youth whom I adore?
Ah, spare our child and me, my love,
And the seven lands of earth I'll rove
Ere cause of grief to you I prove
For ever--ever more."
I bore her to the mountain peak,
The Flower of Maids, so lone!
I bore her to the mountain bleak,
My thousand woes, _mo vrone._ **
I cast my _cota_ *** round her there,
And,'mid the murky mists of air,
I fled with bleeding feet and bare
From Mauria ni Milleon.
---Anon. Translated by G. Sigerson.
* _Mo store_, my treasure. ** _Mo vrone_, my grief.
*** _Cota_, the long frieze great-coat of the peasantry.
THE LADYE'S ROCK
|A faery dwells in a cove by the sea,
Stately as maiden of high degree;
And ever and aye by night and by day