"Oh, go not yet not yet away, Killeevy, O Killeevy! Let us feel that life is near our clay," By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. But the tramp and voices of life are gone, And beneath each cold forgotten stone, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. But who is he who lingereth yet? The fresh green sod with his tears is wet, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. Oh, who but Sir Turlough, the young and brave, Should bend him o'er that bridal grave, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "Weep not, weep not," said a lady fair, Killeevy, O Killeevy! "Should youth and valour thus despair, And pour their vows to the empty air?" By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. There's charmed music upon her tongue, Such beauty bright and warm and young By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. The charm is strong upon Turlough's eye, His faithless tears are already dry, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "The maid for whom thy salt tears fall, Thy grief or love can ne'er recall; By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "My heart it strangely cleaves to thee, And now that thy plighted love is free, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "To thee," the charmed chief replied, "I pledge that love o'er my buried bride; Again the funeral voice came o'er, The passing breeze, as it wailed before, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "If I to thy youthful heart am dear, One month from hence thou wilt meet me here, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. He pressed her lips as the words were spoken, And his banshee's') wail now far and broken By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "Adieu, adieu!" said this lady bright, And she slowly passed like a thing of light, Now Sir Turlough has death in every vein, And there's fear and grief o'er his wide domain, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. 1) What rank the banshee holds in the scale of spiritual beings, it is not easy to determine; but her favourite occupation seems to be that of foretelling the death of the different branches of the families over which she presided, by the most plaintive cries. Miss Balfour. . "Come, haste thee, leech, right swiftly ride, Sir Turlough the brave, green Truagh's pride, The leech groaned aloud, "Come, tell me this, By all thy hopes of weal and bliss, Has Sir Turlough given the fatal kiss?" By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. "The banshee's cry is loud and long, At eve she weeps her funeral song, "Then the fatal kiss is given the last Of Turlough's race and name is past, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. The leech has failed, and the hoary priest, With pious shrift his soul releas'd, The shanachies 1) now are assembled all, And the songs of praise, in Sir Turlough's hall, By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy. The month is closed, and green Truagh's pride, Is married to death and side by side, He slumbers now with his churchyard bride, From Carleton's story, Owen M'Carthy, we extract another specimen of his poetry, in a different style, and on a widely different subject: 1) The bards. THE NATIVE GLENS. Take, proud ambition, take thy fill Of pleasures, won through toil or crime; And give thy name to future time; Whate'er is just, or false, or vain; Pure was the breeze that fann'd my cheek, False world, I hate thy cares and thee; I hate the treacherous haunts of men; Give back to me my mountain glen. How bright my youthful visions shone, And leaves me but the cloud and storm; With heart long sear'd by grief and pain. I'll tread thy mountain glens again. Thy breeze once more may fan my blood But ah! the spell is gone; no art, William Carleton was the son of a small farmer in the County Tyrone, Ireland, and being designed for the church, received the education of a priest; but he declined to take orders, and resolved to support himself by his pen. He rendered his country most important services by his Irish tales, in which he exposed the oppression practised by greedy landlords and agents, and his writings have exercised a salutary influence on recent parliamentary legislation. Though an Irishman and a Roman Catholic, he palliates neither the faults of the peasantry nor those of their spiritual guides, the priests. For several years before his death, Carleton enjoyed a pension of L. 200 from the literary fund. Rev. Francis Mahony (Father Prout.) The Rev. Francis Mahony, an Irish Roman Catholic priest, born in 1805, and educated in France, contributed to Fraser's Magazine, in 1834, a series of witty papers, as the Reliques of Father Prout, late parish priest of Watergrass-hill, in the County of Cork, Ireland. These papers are remarkable for the singular skill of their author in the production of comic rhymes, as well as for the unrivalled facility he displays in turning verse from one language into another. By the latter talent he was enabled to play off a practical joke on his countryman, Thomas Moore, which annoyed the poet not a little. Having translated a number of the Irish Melodies into Latin and French, he gravely maintained in one of these contributions to Fraser, that Moore had stolen them from French and Latin originals. Thus the lines: Lesbia hath a beaming eye, But no one knows for whom it beameth; But what they're aimed at no one dreameth, he maintained, were merely a translation of Lesbia semper hinc et inde Oculorum tela movit; Quis ameter nemo novit. In like manner he gave the pretended French. original of "Go where glory waits thee;" which he attributed to a French countess who lived in the first half of the sixteenth century. Perhaps Moore was the only reader of this paper who did not enjoy the joke. As a specimen of Mahony's powers in a different style of writing, we quote his lines on the flight of the swallows at the end of autumn: |