But see yon pirate strangled lies, and crushed with splashing heel,

While o'er him in an Irish hand there sweeps his Syrian

steel

Though virtue sink, and courage fail, and misers yield their store,

There's one hearth well avengéd in the sack of Baltimore!

Mid-summer morn, in woodland nigh, the birds begin to

sing

They see not now the milking maids, deserted is the spring!

Mid-summer day-this gallant rides from distant Bandon's town

These hookers crossed from stormy Skull, that skiff from Affadown;

They only found the smoking walls, with neighbours' blood besprent,

And on the strewed and trampled beach awhile they wildly went

Then dash'd to sea, and passed Cape Cleir, and saw five leagues before

The pirate galleys vanishing that ravaged Baltimore.

Oh! some must tug the galley's oar, and some must tend the steed

This boy will bear a Scheik's chibouk, and that a Bey's jerreed.

Oh! some are for the arsenals, by beauteous Dardanelles ; And some are in the caravan to Mecca's sandy dells. The maid that Bandon gallant sought is chosen for the Dey

She's safe-she's dead-she stabb'd him in the midst of his Serai;

235

And, when to die a death of fire, that noble maid they bore,

She only smiled-O'Driscoll's child-she thought of Baltimore.

'Tis two long years since sunk the town beneath that bloody band,

And all around its trampled hearths a larger concourse stand,

Where, high upon a gallows tree, a yelling wretch is

seen

'Tis Hackett of Dungarvan-he, who steered the Alge

rine!

He fell amid a sullen shout, with scarce a passing prayer, For he had slain the kith and kin of many a hundred

there

Some muttered of MacMorrogh, who had brought the Norman o'er

Some curs'd him with Iscariot, that day in Baltimore.

O'DONOVAN'S DAUGHTER.

BY EDWARD WALSH.

AIR-" The Juice of the Barley.”

ONE midsummer's eve, when the Bel-fires were lighted,
And the bag-piper's tone call'd the maidens delighted,
I join'd a gay group by the Araglin's water,

And danced till the dawn with O'Donovan's Daughter.

Have you seen the ripe monadan glisten in Kerry?
Have you mark'd on the Galteys the black whortle-berry,
Or ceanabhan wave by the wells of Blackwater ?—
They're the cheek, eye, and neck of O'Donovan's Daugh-

ter!

Have you seen a gay kidling on Claragh's round moun

tain?

The swan's arching glory on Sheeling's blue fountain, Heard a weird woman chant what the fairy choir taught

her?

They've the step, grace, and tone of O'Donovan's Daughter!

Have you mark'd in its flight the black wing of the raven ? The rose-buds that breathe in the summer breeze waven? The pearls that lie hid under Lene's magic water? They're the teeth, lip, and hair of O'Donovan's Daughter!

Ere the Bel-fire was dimm'd, or the dancers departed,
I taught her a song of some maid broken-hearted:
And that group, and that dance, and that love song I
taught her

Haunt my slumbers at night with O'Donovan's Daughter.

God grant 'tis no fay from Cnoc-Firinn that wooes me, God grant 'tis not Cliodhna the queen that pursues me, That my soul lost and lone has no witchery wrought her, While I dream of dark groves and O'Donovan's Daughter!

If, spell-bound, I pine with an airy disorder,

Saint Gobnate has sway over Musgry's wide border; She'll scare from my couch, when with prayer I've be sought her,

That bright airy sprite like O'Donovan's Daughter.

SOUTH MUNSTER CLANS MARCHING TO BATTLE, A. D. 1690.

HARK the distant hum!

The clans of stormy Desmond come

From their rugged glens and savage hills,

How their warriors' laughter the bosom thrills :
Their hearts are dauntless, and careless, and light-
Their plumes are brave-their spears are bright.
Each Crahadore's lip has the careless play,
And the joyous smile of a festal day;

But that lip will clench, and that eye will glow
When he meets, when he meets his Saxon foe.

As the banded squadrons pass,

'Tis glorious to see their banners wave,

And the sunbeams sparkling on spear and glaive, On horseman's helm, and steel cuirass.

'Tis glorious to see, by stream and glen,
Old Desmond's mountaineers again

Draw from its scabbard the rusting brand,
In the thrilling cause of fatherland;
Grimly crave, with a warrior joy,

Vengeance for Smerwick and bloody Dunboy.

From Muskerry mountains and Carbery hills,
MacCarthies have rushed like their highland rills;
MacSwinies, O'Learies, O'Riordans came,
When the signal flew on wings of flame;

O'Driscolls are there, from their crag-bound shore :
And O'Mahonies, men of the woods and moor.
Many a Duhallow battle-axe bright-

For Clan-Awly, Clan-Keeffe, and Clan-Callaghan, all
Have answered the princely MacDonagh's call,
When that chieftain summoned his bands of might;
* creaċadóir creaċaire, a spoiler, preyer

And many a clan with the Norman name :
Like leaves of their forests Fitzgeralds came,
Barrys, and Barretts, Sapeul, Condhune,
From broad Imokilly, and Kilnatalloon-
From Orrery's valleys, and Avonmore's banks,
In hundreds have mustered their stately ranks.

On, on, our march must know no pause,
Till the wolf dog's game is in his jaws;
On-with clear heart and footing sure,

For our path lies by mountain and shaking moor.
The river is broad, but who 'd wait for a ford,
And the cause of Righ Seamus in need of his sword.
Up, up, with the wild hurra,

We fight for the right, and Righ Seamus go bragh,*

Though they file along, in their loose array,
Like a driving cloud on a summer's day,
So brilliant, so gallant, and gay,

Many a light-limbed mountaineer

Dashed from his dark eye the soul-sprung tear,
As he parted from maid, or from matron dear.

Many a reckless Crahadore

Bent o'er the maid he might clasp no more.
On leafy Imokilly's shore,

Yon gallowglass has left his bride

By steep Slieve Logher's heathy side.

Rent was his manly heart with sorrow

As she smoothed his long black hair;

As she pressed his bronzed cheek and forehead fair, And blessed him for the bloody morrow; But the griefs of the parting moment pass From the breast of kern and gallowglass. When the clairseach rings and the baraboo, When he hears the chieftain's war halloo,

* King James for ever!