Where Capa-chuinn* hath woodlands green, Low clustering in her leafy screen, The high-bred dames of Dublin town With wavy plume, and silken gown, Can plumes compare thy dark brown hair? Or measur'd pace, thine artless grace, When harebells scarcely show thy trace, I've heard the songs by Liffey's wave They sung their land the Saxon's slave, O! bring me here that Gaelic dear And none but God's good angels near, * Cappoquin. A romantically situated town on the Blackwater, in the county of Waterford. The Irish name denotes the head of the tribe of Conn. + Amhon-mhor-The Great River. The Blackwater, which flows into the sea at Youghal. The Irish name is uttered in two sounds OnVore. I've wandered by the rolling Lee! And Lene's green bowers I've seen the Shannon's wide-spread sea, And Liffey's tide, where halls of pride My wild heart strays to Amhan-mhor's side, With love and thee for aye to bide, SHULE AROON. A BRIGADE BALLAD. [The date of this ballad is not positively known, but it appears to be early in the eighteenth century, when the flower of the Catholic youth of Ireland were drawn away to recruit the ranks of the Brigade The inexpressible tenderness of the air, and the deep feeling and simplicity of the words, have made the ballad a popular favourite, notwithstanding its meagreness and poverty.] I WOULD I were on yonder hill, Shule, shule, shule aroon, Shule go succir, agus shule go cuin, I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, Chorus. I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red, Chorus. I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, Is go Chorus. But now my love has gone to France, If he e'er come back 'tis but a chance, Chorus. O SAY, MY BROWN DRIMIN. A JACOBITE RELIC. BY J. J. CALLANAN. A Drimin doan dilis no sioda* na mbo. [Drimin is the favourite name of a cow, by which Ireland is here allegorically denoted. The five ends of Erin are the five kingdomsMunster, Leinster, Ulster, Connaught, and Meath, into which the island was divided, under the Milesian dynasty.] O SAY, my brown Drimin, thou silk of the kine, My strong ones have fallen-from the bright eye of day, Silk of the cows-an idiomatic expression for the most beautiful of cuttle, which I have preserved in translating.--TR O! where art thou, Lewis? our eyes are on thee No morn e'er shall break on the night of the Gael. And deep from their mountains shout back to my cries. And kick them before, like old shoes from their feet. O'er mountains and valleys they'll press on their rout, When the flint-hearted Saxon they've chased far away. THE GRAVE OF MAC CAURA. BY MRS. DOWNING. Author of "Scraps from the Mountains." [At Callan, a pass on an unfrequented road leading from Glanerought (the vale of the Roughty) to Bantry, the country people point out a flat stone by the pathway, which they name as the burial place of Daniel Mac Carthy, who fell there in an engagement with the Fitzgeralds in 1261. The stone still preserves the traces of characters which are, however, illegible. From the scanty records of the period, it would appear, that this battle was no inconsiderable one. The Geraldines were defeated, and their leader, Thomas Fitzgerald, and his son, eighteen barons, fifteen knights, and many others of his adherents, slain. But the honour and advantage of victory were dearly purchased by the exulting natives, owing to the death of their brave and noble chieftain.] AND this is thy grave, MacCaura, Here by the pathway lone, Where the thorn blossoms are bending Alas! for the sons of glory; Oh! thou of the darkened brow, And the eagle plume, and the belted clans, Is it here thou art sleeping now? Oh! wild is the spot, MacCaura, And loud was the banshee's wailing, And deep was the clansmen's sorrow, When with bloody hands and burning tears They buried thee here, MacCaura. And now thy dwelling is lonely- Farewell to thy grave, MacCaura, Where the slanting sunbeams shine, And the briar and waving fern M |