THE LIBRARY
OF
THE UNIVERSITY
OF CALIFORNIA
LOS ANGELES
/ ^
THE
SPIRIT OF THE NATION;
OB,
BALLADS AND SONGS
SY
THE WKITERS OF "THE NATION."
COMAIMNG ALL THE SONGS AND FALLALS FORMEKLY
PUBLISHED IN TWO PAETS,
Fifty=Sixth Edition.
gublht:
JAMES DUFFY AND CO., Ltd.,
15 Wellington Quay.
Edmund Burke Sc Co.i
Cl & 62 GREAT STRAND STREET, DUBLIIT.'
TK
3 7^
ADYERTISEMEXT TO THE FIFTIETH EDITION.
A Xe^v Edition of. fbe "Spirit op thb Nation" lias
bsan long called for, and is here presented in a clear, bold
tj^pe. The old stereo plates, from which over one hundred
thousand impressions had been printed, had got so com-
pletely worn out under the press, that copies printed from
Uiem were imperfect, and it became necessary to print a
cew edition in a style worthy of a work, the reputation of
Irhich has steadily risen with each succeeding generation,
not only at home, but in England aud America. Francis
Jeffrey aud Aliss Mitford in England, and Longfellow in
America, have written and rpoken of some of the poema
{vith enthusiasm ; aud a new demand for them has grown
up in both countries.
The Present Edition is not a mere reprint of the two
parts published in 1843. "With aU that is worth preserving
ivL them, it unites the additional poems in the expensive
quarto published in lS4o, under the title of " Soogs and
Ballads by tlie VAiters of Tiiii Nation'."
930236
CONTENTS,
Names of Posms.
Author i' XaiM).
Pjioe.
Ktlieu to Innisfail, -
-
- R. D. Williams, -
- 0:J
/"lid yourselves and God w\
.11 aid you,
- Sliabh Cuilirin, -
- 171
Advance, -
.
- D. F. M' Car thy, -
- 204
Annie, Dear,
.
- Tliomas Davis, .
- 12;
Anti-Irish Irishman, -
-
- Hugh Uarkin, -
- 2Si
Appeal, An,
-
- .
- 63
Arms of Eighty-tM-o, -
-
- ^L J. Barry,
- 250
Rillad 0/ Freedom, -
-
- Thomas Davi.s, -
- 11^
rattle of Beal-an-atha-Buidhe,
- "William Drennan,
- 44
Eattle-Eve of the Brigade,
- Thomas Davis, -
- 108
Bide your Time,
- M. J. Barry,
. 73
Bishop of Ross,
- Dr. Madden,
- 190
Boatman of Kinsale, -
- Tliomas Davis, -
- 130
Boyhood's Years,
- Rev. C. Mechan, -
- 05
Brothers, Arise,
- G. S. Pliillips, -
- -224
Cate of Ceann-mare, -
- D. F. M-Carthy, -
- 1S3
Cease to do Evil, Learn to do Well,
- D. F. M'Carthy, -
- 117
Clare's Dragoons,
- Thomas Davis, -
- 176
Day Dreamer;
- Charles Gavan Duffy,
- Ill
Dear Land,
- Sliabh Cuilinn, -
- 20
Dream of the Fnture,
- D. F. M'Carthy, -
- 122
Eire a Ruin,
- Sliabh Cuilinn, -
- 91
'England's Ultimatum,
Sliabh Cuilinn, -
- 213
Erin, our own little Isle,
- Fermoy, -
- 23
Exterminator's Song,
- J. C. O'Callaghan,
- 125
•Fag an Bealagh,
- Charles Gavan Duffy,
- 9
Eall of the Leaves, -
- Rev. C. ileehan, -
- 180
-Father ilathew,
-
. CS
F:ll high to-night, -
- William Mulchineck,
- 238
■Fireside,
- D. F. jrCarthy, -
- 233
Fontenoy,
- Thomas Davis, -
. 215
<Sael and the Green, -
- Y.J.Barry,
- M
vi
CONTENTS.
Names of roems.
Authors' Names.
Page.
Gathering of the Nation,
.
- J. D. Frazer,
- 07
Geraldlnes,
- Thomas Davis, -
- 93
Green above the Red,
-
- Tliomas Davis,
- 157
Green Flag,
_
- JI. J. Barry,
- 147
Health, A, -
^
- J. D. Frazer,
- lOS
Highway for Freedom, -
-
- Clarence Mangan,
- 202
3 [ynin of Freedom, -
-
- JI. J. Barry,
- 103
Inis-Eoghain,
.
- Charles Gavan lUiffyj
- 8:
Irish Arms Eill,
-
- "William Drennan,
-203
Irisli Reaper's Harvest Hymn,
- John Keegan,
- C-2
Irisli "War Song,
.
- F J .\ ard "Walsh, -
. 35
Israelite Leader,
-
- A '—,
- 149
Iwate of Araglen,
-
- Denny Lane,
- 1C3
Lament of Grainne Maol,
-
- Hugh llarkin,
- 24?
Lament for Owen Roe O'NeilJ,
- Thomas Davis, -
- 11
Lament for the Milesians,
-
- Thomas Davis, -
- 140
Lay Sermon,
.'
- Charles Gavan Duffy,
- ISG
Lion and Serpent,
-
- R. D. "Williams, -
- 59
Lost Path, -
-
- Thomas Davis, -
- 7)
Love's Longings,
-
- Thomas Davis, -
.24«
Jlcmory of the Dead,
-
_
- 41
Men of Tipperary, -
-
- Thomas Davis, -
- 67
Munster, -
-
- SHabh CuiUnn, -
- 142
JIunster War Song:, -
-
- R. D. "Williams, -
- 61
l^Uister of the North,
-
- Cliarles Gavan Duffy,
- 28
]My Grave, -
-
- Tiiomas Davis, -
. 210
WyLand, -
-
- Thomas Davis, -
- 138
Nation's First Number,
-
- Clarence Mangan,
- 17
New Year's Song,
-
- D. F. McCarthy, -
- 121)
O'Connell, -
-
- Astrea, . -
- 14
O'Donnell abu.
-
- M. J. M'Cann, -
-205.
Oh ! for a Steed,
-
- Tliomas Davis, -
- m
Orange and Green will car
ry the day.
1 - Thomas Davis, -
- log-
On: Course,
-
- J. D. Frazer,
- 219.
Our Own again.
- Thomas Davis, -
- 193:
Ourselves Alone,
•
- Sliabh Cuilinn, -
- 58
Paddies Everniore, -
-
- Sliabh Cuilinn, -
- 81
Past and Present,
-
- Sliabh Cuilinn, -
- 24S
Patience, -
.
• Spartacus,
- 155-
Patriot Brave,
~
- R. D. "Williams, -
- 179-
Patnot's Bride,
-
- Charles Gavan Daffy,
- 74
Patriot's Haunts,
-
- "William Mulcliincck,
- 19ft
Feasant Girla,
-
•
- loa
OOKTENTS.
tii
Kanii.es of Poems.
Authors' Natruii.
Page,
tMllar Towers of Ireland,
.
-
D. F. MCarthy,
-
- 1G<
Price of rreedom.
.
•
•
D. F. irCarthy,
-
- 79
Rally for Ireland,
.
_
^
Thomas Davis,
-
- 88
iiecruUiiig Song of tbe Irish Erigaac,
.
JIauricc 0"Coni:<
:•:!,
- Vol
Eight Coad,
_
_
Thomas Davis,
-
87
Saxon Shilling,
.
-
K. T. Bnggy,
-
- 51
Slaves* Bill,
-
-
William Drenna
n.
- 2^9
Shan Van Yacht,
_
.
ilichael Dohcny
j-
- 95
Song for July the 12th, lSi3,
.
J. D. Frazer,
.
- S6
gong of the Penal Days,
-
Fdwaid Walsh,
-
- 70
Song of the Volunteers of 1'
.
Thomas Davis,
.
- 33
Songs of the Nation
, -
-
Edward Walsh,
.
- 110
Sonnet,
-
E. N. Shannon,
-
- 2-2
Stand Together,
.
Beta,
-
- 26
Steady,
.
.
R. D. Williams,
-
- 2;3l
Step Together,
.
-
M. J. Barry,
.
- 154
Sword, The,
-
-
M. J. Bany,
-
- 113
True Irish King,
.
_
Thomas Davis,
.
- m
Tone's Grave,
-
-
Thomas Davis,
-
- 93
Tyrol and Ireland,
.
.
Theta,
.
- 25
Union, The,
-
-
Sliabh Cuilinn,
-
- 105
Up for the Green,
.
„
F'jrmoy, -
.
- 135
Victor's Burial,
-
.
Thomas Da-vis,
_
- 222
Voice and Pen,
.
-
D. F. M'Carthy,
_
- 133
Voice of Labor,
_
-
Charles Gavan Duffy,
- 47
Vow of Tipperary,
-
-
Thomas Davis,
.
- 211
Was it a I'reara,
.
-
John O'Couneii,
-
- 72
"Watch and Vrait,
.
-
Charles Gavan Duffy,
- 174
Welcome, -
.
.
Thomas Davis,
- 110
West's Asleep,
-
-
Thomas Davis,
- 60
Wexford Massacre,
-
.
M. J. Barry,
- 252
What's my Thought
like,
.
John 0'Conr.cli,
-227
Why, Gentles, why,
-
.
L. N. F. -
- 163
V/iid Geeco.
-
-
U J. Eai-iy,
-109
THE
SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
FAG AN BEALACH.*
[To make the general tone and some of the allusions in this song
Intelligible, we should, perhaps, mention that it was written in October,
1842, when the hope and spirits of the people were low; and published
in the third number of tlie Xalioii, as the Cliarter-song of the con-
tributors. It was supposed to be first sung, as it actually was, at oue of
their weekly suppers.]
BY CHARLES GAVAN DUFiy.
I.
" Hope no more for fatherland,
All its ranks are thinned or brokan ;"
Long a base and coward band
Eecreant words like these have spoken :
But WE preach a land awoken ;
Fatherland is true and tried
As your fears are false and hollow ;
Slaves and dastards, stand a?ide —
Knaves and traitors, Fag an Bealach !
* Fag an Bealach, " Clear the road,"' or, as it is vulgarly spelt. Faugh
a Ballagh. was the crj- with which the clans of Connaught and Munstef
Used in faction fights to come through a fair with high hearts and
smashing shillelalis. The regiments raised in the South and West took
their old shout -with them to the Continent. The 87Us orRojal IriaU
10. WIE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOK.
n.
Know, ye su-ffering brethren ours,
Might is strong, but Eight is stronger ;
Saxon wiles or Saxon pow'rs
Can enslave our land no longer
Tlian your own dissensions wrong her ;
Be ye one in might and mind —
Quit the mii'e where- cravens wallow —
And your foes shall flee like wind
From your fearless Fag an Bcalach I
III.
Thus the mighty multitude
Speak in accents hoarse with sorrovv^ :
" We are fallen, but unsubdued ;
Show us whence we hope may borrow^
And we'll fight your fight to-morrow.
Be but cautious, true, and brave,
Wliere you lead us we will follow;
Hill and valley, rock and wave.
Soon shall hear our Fag an Bealach I "
IV.
Fling our banner to the wind.
Studded o'er with names of glory ;
Ftisileers, from their use of It, went generally by the name of " The
Faugh a Ballagh Boys." "Nothing," says Napier, in his History of the
Peninsular War — "nothing so startled the French soldiery a3 the wild
yell with which the Irish regiments sprang to the charge;" and never
•was that haughty and intolerant shout raised in battle, but a charge
swift as thought, and fatal as tlame, came with it, like a rushing iiicar«
nation of Fag an Bealach /
Tiin SPmiT OF THE NATION. 11
Wcrth, and wit, and might, and mind,
Poet young, and patriot hoary,
Long shall make it shine in story.
Close your ranks — the moment's come —
K OW, ye men of Ireland ! follow ;
Friends of Freedom, charge them home —
Foes of Freedom, Fag an Bealach I
Lxi^IEXT FOR THE DEATH OF EOGHAN
EUADH 0':N'EILL,
COSmOXLY CALLED OWEX EOE o'XEIL.
[Tins striking and dramatic ballad ^vas the first -"VTitten by Tliomas
Davis. Before the publication of the first number of the Nation, Davis,
Dillon, and Duffy agreed to attempt political bailads, on which they had
great reliance for raising the spirit of the country ; to their next meetintj
Davis brought the " Lament for Owea l:ce," and ■' The Men of Tippcary."]
EY THOMAS DAVIS.
Time-lOch November, 1C!9. Scene— Ormond's camp, Co. WivterforJ.
Speakers— a veteran of Owen O'Neils clan, and one of the horseaieu
iust an-ived with an account of his death.
I.
'■' Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Ovreu Eog
O'NeH r
" Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to
meet with steel."
" !May God wither up their hearts I May their
blood cease to flow !
May they walk in li^ing death, who poisoned Owen
Pvoel
12 THE snrjT or tue nation.
IL
"Though it break my heart to hear, say again thd
bitter words."
"From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to
measure swords ;
But the weapon of the Saxon met him on his waj^
And he died at Cloc Uactair, upon Saint Leonard>
Day."
m.
" ^Yail, wail ye for the Mighty One ! Wail, v/ail
ye for the Dead !
Quench the hearth, and hold the breath— with
ashes strew the head !
How tenderly we loved him ! How deeply we
deplore !
Holy Saviour 1 but to think we shall never see him
more !
IV.
** Sagest in the council -was he, kindest in the hall :
Sure we never won a battle — 'twas Owen won
them all.
Had he lived, had he lived, our dear country had
been free ;
But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll
ever be.
TUE SriRIT OF THE NATIOJT. 13
V.
^^OTarrcll and Clanrickarde, Preston and Red
Audley and MacMalion, ye are valiant, wise, and
true;
But wliat— what are ye all to our darling who is
gonci
The rudder of our ship \va3 he — our castle's
corner-stone I
VL
^ Wail, wail him through the island ! "Weep, weep
for our pride !
Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief
had died I
Weep the victor of Beinn Burb — weep him, young
men and old I
Weep for liim, ye women — your Beautiful lies
cold I
VII.
'* Wo thought you would not die— we were sure
you would not go,
And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's
cruel blow —
Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts
out the &ky —
Oh ! why did you leave i:s, Oweni why did you
U THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
VIII.
'•' Soft as woman's was your voice, O'lSTeil ! bright
was your eye !
dh.1 why did you leave us, Owen? u-liy did
you die ?
Your troubles are all over — you're at rest with
God on high ;
But we're slaves, and we're orphans, Owen ! — why
did you die V*
O'CONNELL.
I.
I SAW him at the hour of pray'r, when morning's
earliest dawn
Was breaking o'er the mountain-tops — o'er grassy
dell and lawn—
When the parting shades of night had fled — when
moon and stars were gone,
Before a high and gorgeous shrine the chieftain
kneeled alone.
His hands were clasped upon his breast, his eye
was raised above —
I heard those full and solemn tones in words ol
faith and love ;
Tie prayed that those who wronged him might for
ever be forgiven ;
Oh ! who would say such prayers as these are not
received in heaven ^
TiJE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 15
II.
I s<a'w liim next amid the best and noblest of our
isle —
There was the same majestic form, the same heart-
kin dling smile !
Dut grief was on that princely brow — for others
still he monrned —
lie gazed upon poor, fettered slaves, and his heart
within him burned;
And he vowed before the captive's God to break
the captive's chain —
To bind the broken heart, and set the bondsman
free again ; [need,
And fit he was our chief to be, in triumph or in
Who never wronged his deadliest foe in thought,
or word, or deed.
III.
I saw him when the light of eve had faded from
the west —
Eeside the hearth that old man sat, by infant form.::
caressed ;
One hand was gently laid upon his gTandchild'e
clustering hair.
The other, raised to heaven, invoked a blessing
and a pray'r !
And woman's lips were heard to breathe a high
and glorious strain —
Those songs of old, that haunt us stilh and ever
v.ill remain
i6 TUE SPIRIT OP THE NATION.
Within the heart like treasured gems — that bring
from mem'ry's coll
Thoughts of our youthful days, and friends that
ive have loved so well 1
IV.
I saw that eagle glance again — the brow was
marked with care,
Though rich and regal are the robes the Nation's
chief doth wear ; *
And many an eye now quailed with shame, and
many a cheek now glowed.
As he paid them back with words of love for
every curse bestowed.
I thought of his unceasing care, his nevcr-endinj?
zeal ;
I heard the watchword burst from all — the
gathering cry — Re])cal !
And, as his eyes were raised to heaven — from
whence his mission came —
He stood, amid the thousands there, a monarch, save in
name.
ASTREA.
♦ Written during his mayoralty,
•rHE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 17
THE NATION'S FIRST NUMBER.
By CLARENCE I^IANGAN.
Air— *«i?c7/n/0'J/ore."
I.
T'is a great day, and glorious, Public ! for you—
Tills October Fifteenth, Eighteen Forty and Two !
For on this day of days, lo ! The Nation came
forth,
To commence its career of "Wit, ^Yisdom, and
^Yorth—
To give genius its due — to do battle with wrong —
And achieve things undreamed of as yet, save in
song.
Then arise ! fling aside your dark mantle of slumber,
And w^elcome in chorus The Nation's Finsr
Number.
II.
Here ■we are, thanks to heaven ! in an epoch whe'j.
Mind
Is unfettering our captives, and couching our blind ;
And the Press, with its thunders, keeps marring
the mirth
Of those tyrants and bigots that curse our fair earth.
Be it ours to stand forth and contend in the van
Of truth's legions for freedom, that birthriglit of
ui2.n f
IS THE SPIRIT OP THE NATION.
Shaking off the dull cobwebs tliat else migLt
encumber
Our weapon— the pen— in The Nation's First
Number,
III.
We announce a New Era — be this our first news—
When the serf-grinding landlords shall shake in
their shoes,
While the ark of a bloodless yet mighty Eeform
Shall emerge from the flood of the popular storm !
Well we know how the lickspittle panders to pow'r
Feel and fear the approach of that death-dealing
hour ;
But we toss these aside — such vile,vagabond lumber
Are but just worth a groan from The Nation's
First Nuliber.
IV.
^Though wo take not for motto, Nul rCa de Vesprit
(As they once did in Paris) liors nos Ions amis,
We may boast that for first-rate endowments our
band
Forms a phalanx unmatched in — or out of — the land,
Poets, Patriots, Linguists, with reading like Parr's— «•
Critics keener than sabres — Wits brighter than
stars,
And Eeasoners as cool as the coolest cucumber,
Form the host that shine, out in The Nation's
. >-' First Number,
THE SPIRIT OP THE NATIO?f. 19
V.
We shall sketch living manners and men, in a
style
That will scarcely be sneezed at, we guess, for a
while ;
Build up stories as fast as of yore Mother Bunch ;
And for fun of all twists take the shine out oi
" Punch ;"
Thus our ^Yisdom and Quizdom will finely agree,
Very much, Public dear, we conceive, as }ou see,
Do the lights and the shades that illume and
adumber
Each beautiful page in The Nation's First
Number.
VI.
A. word more. To Old Ireland oui* first love la
given,
Still our friendship hath arms for ail lands under
heaven.
We are Irish — we vaunt it — all o'er and all out ;
But we wish not that England shall " sneak up the
spout !"
Then, Public ! here, there, and elsewhere through
the world,
Wheresoe'er Truth's and Liberty's flajj^s are un-
furled,
From the Suir to the Rhine, from the Boyne to
the H umber,
Raise one shout of applause for The Nation's
First NuiiBEii.
S0 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
DEAK LAND.
When comes the day all hearts to weigh,
If staunch they be, or vile,
Shall "sve forget the sacred debt
AVe owe our mother isle ]
My native heath is brown beneath,
My native waters blue ;
But crimson red o'er both shall spread,
Ere I am false to you,
Dear land !
Ere I am false to you.
IL
VTliCn I behold your mountains bold —
Vour noble lakes and streams —
A mingled tide of grief and pride
Within my bosom teems.
I think of all your long, dark thrall—
Your martyrs brave and true ;
And dash apart the tears that start—
We must not weep for you.
Dear land I
We must not weep for yoiu
THE SPIRIT OF THE NAnON. 21
m.
^ly grandsire died, his home Reside ;
They seized and hanged him there ;
His only crime, in evil time
Your hallowed green to ^yea^.
Across the main his brothers twain
AYere sent to pine and rue ;
Ajid still they turned with hearts that burned
In hopeless love to you,
Dear land I
In hopeless love to you.
IV.
My boyish ear still clung to hear
Of Erin's pride of yore,
Ere Norman foot had dared pollute
Her independent shore ;
Of chiefs, long dead, who rose to head
Some gallant patriot few ;
Till all my aim on earth became
To strike one blow for you.
Dear land I
To strike one blow for you 1
V.
What path is best your rights to wrest
Let other heads divine ;
By work or word, with voice or sword,
To follow them be mine.
32 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
The breast that zeal and hatred steel
No terrors can subdue ;
If death should come, that martyrdom
Were sweet endured for you,
Dear land !
Were sweet endured for you.
Sliabh Cuilinn.
SONNET.
BY F. N. SHANNON,
Translator of Dante, Author of "Tales Old and New.**
In fair, delightful Cyprus, by the main,
A lofty, royal seat, Love's dwelling stands ;
Thither I went, and gave into his hands
An humble scroll, his clemency to gain.
*' Sire," said the writing, " Thyrsis, who in pain
Has served thee hitherto, this boon demands—
His freedom ; neither should his suit be vain,
After six lustres' service in thy bands."
He took the scroll, and seemed to pore thereon ;
But he wa-s blind, and could not read the case.
Seeming to feel his grievous want full sore^
Wherefore, with stern and frowning air, anon
He said, and flung my writing in my face :
" Give it to Death — we two will talk?*- o'er."
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 23
ERIN-Ora OWN LITTLE ISLE.
Air—*' The Caravat Jig:'
r.
Trishmen ! never forget
Tis a foreigner's farm — your own little isle ;
Irishmen ! when will you get
Some life in your hearts for your poor little isle^
Yes ! yes ! — we've a dear little spot of it !
Oh ! yes !— a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! — if Irishmen thought of it,
'Twould be a dear little, sweet little isle I
n.
Then, come on and rise — ev'ry man of you ;
Now is the time for a stir to be made ;
Ho ! Pat ! who made such a lamb of you %
Life to your soul, boy, and strength to your
blade !
Yes ! yes ! — a dear little spot of it !
Oh ! yes ! — a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! — if Irishmen thought of it,
Erin once more is our own little isle !
III.
Pdse heartily ! shoulder to shoulder,
We'll show 'em strength with good humour
go leor J
P-ise ! rise ! show each foreign beholder
We've not lost our love to thee, Erin ,^- -c'c'^V /
24 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
For, oil ! yes ! — ^'tis a dear little spot of it !
Yes I yes ! — a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! — Via Irish have thought of it 3
Erin for ever — our own little isle !
IV.
Never forget what your forefathers fought for, !
When, with "O'Neill 1" or " O'Donnell aboo !"
Sassenaghs ev'rywhere sunk in the slaughter, !
Vengeance for insult, dear Erin, to you !
For, oh ! yes ! — a dear little spot of it !
Yes ! yes ! — a sweet little isle ;
Yes ! yes I — if Irishmen thought of it,
Erin once more is our own little isle !
V.
Yes,we^ai;0 strength to make Irishmen free agam;
Only UNITE— and we'll conquer our foe ;
A.nd never on earth shall a foreigner see again
Erin a province — though lately so low.
For, oh I yes ! — we've a dear little spot of it 1
Yes ! yes ! — a sweet little isle !
Yes ! yes ! — the Irish have thought of it ;
Eim/w «ver— OXJR OWN little isle !
Fermoy.
THE SPIRIT OF TEE NATION. 25
TYROL AND IRELAND.
"Ye gather three ears of com, and they take two out of three. Are ye
contented ? are ye happy? But tliere Is a Providence above, and there
Rre angels ; and when we seek to riqht ourselves, they will assist us."—
Speech ofHofer to the Tt/rolese, 1809.
I.
And Hofer roused Tyrol for this,
Made \yinschgan red with blood,
Thai Botzen's peasants ranged in arms,
And Inspruck's fire withstood.
For this ! for this ! that but a third
The hind his own could call,
^Vhcn Passyer gathered in her sheaves ;
Why, ye arg robbed of all.
II.
Up rose the hardy mountaineers,
And crushed Bavaria's horse,
I' th' name of Father and of Son,*
For this without remorse.
Great Heaven, for this ! that Passyer' s swdn?
Of half their store were rest ;
Why, clods of senseless clay I to you
Not even a sheaf is left !
• "The Bavarian van gunrd, composed of 4,000 men, advanced Into the
defile; and when they had leaclicd midway, the mountaineers hurled
down upon their heads huge rocks, wliicli they had rolled to the vcri:9
of the precipice, in the name of the Father, the Son, and tha Uy]/
Gl.n&t."—liuloire dcs Tyniiaii,
) 'CaE SPIRIT OF THE UATION,
III.
'Midst plenty gushing round, ye starve —
'Midst blessings, crawl accurst —
And hoard for your land-cormorants all,
Deep gorging till they burst !
Still, still they spurn you with contempt^
Deride your pangs with scorn,
Still bid you bite the dust, for churls
And villains basely born 1
IV.
idiots 1 feel yo not the lash ?
The fangs that clutch at gold ^
From rogues so insolent what hope
Of mercy do ye hold 1
The palHd millions kneel for food j
The lordling locks his store.
Hath earth, alas ! but one Tyrol,
And not a Hofer more.
Theta.
STAND TOGETHER.
I.
Stand together, brothers all 1
Stand together, stand together !
To live or die, to rise or fall,
Stand together, stand, together !
THE SPiniT or THE NATION. 27
Old Erin proudly lifts her head—
Of many tears the last is shed ;
Oh ! for the li\dng — hy the dead !
Stand together, true together I
II.
Stand together, brothers all !
Close together, close together !
Be Ireland's might a brazen wall —
Close up together, tight together !
Peace ! no noise 1 — but, hand in hand,
Let calm resolve pervade your band,
And wait, till nature's God command —
Then help each other, help each other.
iir.
Stand together, brothers all !
Proud together, bold together 1
From Kerry's cliffs to Donegal,
Bound in heart and soul together I
Unroll the sunburst ! who'll defend
Old Erin's banner is a friend ;
One foe is ours — oh ! blend, boys, blend
Hands together — hearts together 1
IV.
Stand together, brothers all !
Wait together, watch together,*
See, America and Gaul
Look on together, both together T
28 THE SriRIT OF TTIE NATION.
Keen impatience in each eye ;
Yet on "ourselves" do we rely —
" Ourselves alone " our rallying ciy I
And *'stand together, strike together f
Beta.
THE MUSTER OF THE NOETH.
A.D. 1641.
BY CnAIil.ES GAVAN DUFFY.
nVe deny and have always denied the alleged massacre of ICH. Hnt
that the people rose under their chiefs, seized the English towns and
expelled the English settlers, and in doing so committed many excesses,
Is undeniable— as is equally the desperate provocation. The ballad here
printed is not meant as an apology for these excesses, which we condemn
and lament, but as a true representation of the feelings of the insurgents
in the first madness of success.]
I.
Joy ! joy ! the day is come at last, the day of hoj^e
and pride —
And see ! our crackling bonfires light old Bann's
rejoicing tide,
And gladsome bell and bugle-horn from Newry's
ci.'ptured towers,
£Iark ! how they tell the Saxon swine, this land is
ours, is OURS.
II.
Glory to God ! my eyes have seen the ransomed
fields of Down,
My ears have drunk the joyful news, '^ Stout Phe-
lim hath his own."
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION, 2&
Oh I may tliey see and hear no more, oli ! may tlicy
rot to clay,
Wlicn they forget to triumph in the concjuest of
to day.
III.
Now, now we'll teach the shameless Scot to purge
his thievish maw ;
Now, now the Court may fall to pray, for Justice
is the Law ;
Now shall the Undertaker* square, for once, his
loose accounts —
Well strike, brave boys, a fair result, from all his
false amounts.
IV.
Come, trample down their robber rule, and smite
its venal spawn.
Their foreign laws, their foreign church, theii
ermine and their lawn,
With all the specious fry of fraud that robbed us
of our own ;
And plant our ancient laws again beneath our
lineal throne.
V.
Our standard flies o'er fifty towers, o'er twice ten
thousand men ;
Down have we plucked the pirate Eed, never to
rise again ;
• The Scotch and Englisli adventurers planted in XTister bv James L
were Cdllcd Undei utkeis.
30 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATiON;
The Green alone shall stream above our native
field and flood —
The spotless Green, save where its folds are gemmed
with Saxon blood I
VI.
Pity !* no, no, you dare not, priest — not you, our
father, dare
Preach to us now that godless creed — the mur-
derer's blood to spare;
To spare his blood, while tombless still our slaugh-
tered kin implore
" Graves and revenge " from Gobbin cliffs and
Carrick's bloody shore !t
vir.
Pity! — could we "forget, forgive," if we were
clods of clay,
Our martyred priests, our banished chiefs, our race
in dark decay.
And, worse than all — you know it, priest — tlio
daughters of our land
With wrongs we blushed to name until the sword
was in our hand 1
• Lelancl, the Protestant historian, states that the Catholic prlcsta
** labored zealously to moderate the excesses of war" and frequwitly
protected the English by concealing them in their places of worship and
even under their altars.
t The scene of the massacre of the nnoffencUng inhabitants of IsjIanJ
Mngee by the garrison of Carrickfergus.
(TltE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. *^^
viir.
Pity ! well, if you needs must wliine, let pity liav 2
its way,
Pity for all our comrades true, far from our side
to-day :
Tlie prison-bound who rot in chains, the faithful
dead who poured
Their blood 'neath Temple's lawless axe or Parson's
ruffian sword.
IX.
lliey smote us with the swearer's oath, and with
the murderer's knife ;
We in the open field will fight fairly for land and
life;
But, by the dead and all their wi-ongs, and by our
hopes to-day,
One of us twain shall fight their last, or be it we
or they.
X.
They banned our faith, they banned our lives, they
trod us into earth,
Until our very patience stirred their bitter hearts
to mii^th.
Even this great flame that wraps them now, not
u-e but they have bred :
Yes, this is their own work ; and now their work
be on their head I
o^ THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIONS
XI.
Kay, father, tell us not of help from Leinster*s
Korman peers.
If we shall shape our holy cause to match theii
selfish fears —
Helpless and hopeless be their cause who brook a
vain delay !
Our ship is launched, our flag's afloat, whether they
come or stay.
XII.
Let silken Howth and savage Slane still kiss their
tyrant's rod,
And pale Dunsany still prefer his master to his
God;
Little we'd miss their fathers' sons, the Marchmen
of the Pale,
If Irish hearts and Irish hands had Spanish blado
and mail !
XIII.
Then, let them stay to bow and fawn, or fight with
cunning words ;
I fear me more their courtly arts than England's
hireling swords ;
Nathless their creed, they hate us still, as the
despoiler hates ;
Could they love us, and love their prey, our kins-
men's lost estates i
TEE SPIRIT OF Tll£ NATION. D3
XIV.
Our rude array's a jagged rock to smasli the spoileiX.
pow'r,
Or, need we aid, His aid we have who doomed this
gracious hour ;
Of yore He led His Hebrew host to peace through
strife and pain,
And us he leads the self-same path, the self-same
goal to gain.
XV.
Down from the sacred hills whereon a saint* coin'
muned with God,
Up from the vale where Bagenal's blood manured
the reeking sod,
Out from the stately woods of Truagh, M'Kenna'a
plundered home.
Like Malin's waves, as fierce and fast, our faithful
clansmen come.
XVI
Then, brethren, on I CXeill's dear shade woulj
frown to see you pause —
Our banished Hugh, our martyred Hugh, is watch-
ing o'er your cause —
His generous error lost the land — he deemed the
Norman true;
Oh, forward ! friends, it must not lose the land
again in you I
• St. Patrici, yfhosa favorite retreat was Lecale, In tJie Co. Dowii.
^4 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
The Times newspaper, iu the absence of any topic ol
public interest, having made tliis ballad the subject of a
leading article, iu which extravagant praise of its literary
merits was joined with an equally extravagant misrepre-
sentation of its object and tendency, it had the hard
fortune to run the gauntlet of all the Tory journals in the
empire, and to become the best abused ballad in existence.
It was described as the Rosg-Gata of a new rebellion — as
a deliberate attempt to revive the jealousies of the bill of
settlement ; and the organ of the General Assembly of
Ulster coolly proclaimed the writer to be a man with the
intellect, but alsoer,
Heaven be our guide, for v/e will bido tliia lot
aliame no longer !
THL' SPIRIT OF THE NATION. X>i
THE MUXSTER WAE-SONG.
A.D. 1190.
BY R. D. WILLIAMS.
Ajr — "-4«(? doth not a meei'mg."
[This ballad relates to the time -when the Irish began to rally aui
anite against their invaders. The union was, alaa ! brief, but its effects
were great. The troops of Connaught and Ulster, under Cathal Croibh-
dearg (Cathal O'CoKnorof the lied Hand), defeated and slew Arnioric
St. La^Tence, and stripped De Courcy of luilf his conquests. But tha
ballad relates to Munster ; and an extract from Moore's (the most access-
ible) book will sho-w that there was solid ground for triumph : " Among
the chiefs who agreed at this crisis to postpone their mutual feuds, and
act in concert against the enemy, were O'Brian of Thomond, and ilac
Carthy of Desmond, hereditary rulers of North and South Munster, and
chiefs respectively of the two rival tribes, theDalcassiansand Eoganians.
By a truce now formed between those princes, O'Brian was left free to
direct his arms against the English ; and ha-ving attacked their forces at
Thurles, in Fogarty's country, gave them a cojiplkx^ overtiikow.
putting to the sword, add the Munster annals, a great number oi
knights."— Moore's "History of Ireland," a.d. 1190.]
Can tlie depths of the ocean afford you not graves,
That you come thus to perish afar o'er the waves—
To redden and swell the wild torrents that flow
Through the valley of vengeance, the dark Eathar-
lach r*
The clangor of conflict o'erburthens the breeze,
U'rom the stormy Sliabh Bloom to the stately
Gailtees ;
Your caverns and torrents are purple with gore,
Shabh na m-Ban,t Gleann Colaich, and sublime
Gailtee Mor 1
The sunburst that slumbered, embalmed in our tears,
Tipperary ! shall wave o'er thy tall mountaineers 1
And the dark hill shall bristle with sabre and spear,
While one tyrant remains to forge manacles here.
• Aharlow aien, co'vUiJy Tipncr^vr/, * Siievcnivraoii.
52 THE SPIRIT OP THE NATION.
The riderless war-steed careers o'er the plain
With a shaft in his flank and a blood-dripping mane.
His gallant breast labors, and glare his wild eyes I
lie plunges in torture — falls — shivers — and dies.
Let the trum^^ets ring triumph ! the tjTant is slain I
He reels o'er his charger deep-pierced through the
brain ;
And his myriads are flying like leaves on the gale— ^
'But who shall escape from our hills Avith the tale 1
Tor the arrows of vengeance are show'ring like rain^
And choke the strong rivers Avith islands of slain,
Till thy waves, "lordly Sionainn,"all crimsonly flow,
Like the billo^vs of hell, with the blood of the foe.
Ay ! the foemen are flying, but vainly they fly —
Kevenge with the fieetness of lightning can vie ;
And the septs of the mountains spring up fronj
each rock,
And rush down the ravines like wolves on the flock.
And who shall pass over the stormy Sliabh Bloom,
To tell the pale Saxon of tyranny's doom,
When, like tigers from ambush, our fierce moun-
taineers
Leap alung from the crags with their death-dealing
spears 1
They came with high boasting to bind us as slaves,
But the glen and the torrent have yawned on their
. graves : ^ ,
THE SPmiT OF THE NATTOX. 53
From the gloomy Ard Fionnain to wild TeampoU
Mor— *
From the Siur to the Sionainn — is red with theij
gore.
By the soul of Heremon ! our warriors may smile,
To remember the march of the foe through our isle ;
Their banners and harness were costly and gay,
And proudly they flashed in the summer sun's ray;
The hilts of their falchions were crusted with gold,
And the gems of their helmets were bright to be-
hold ;
By Saint Bride of CHdare ! but they moved in fair
show —
To gorge the young eagles of dark Eatharlach !
AN APPEAL.
Ill-fated Erin ! land of Avoe,
Still trodden down by foreign foe,
\Vliy strike you not one final blow 1
Long-suffering country ! are not thine
For ambush meet the deep ravine,
And plains to form the embattled line 1
The hardy Affghan, prompt and bold,
Unconquered in his mountain hold,
Bade Britain's bravest hearts wax coldy
• Ardfinau aad TempJcmo''^
54: THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION;
Shall we, who boast a holier trust,
Whose stcainless cause is pure and just—
Shall we still grovel in the dust 1
Shall we, in banded millions strong,
Still bear the yoke we've borne too long i
Still crouch to insult, scorn, and wrong ?
THE SAXON SHILLING.
BY K. T. BUGGY.
[Mr. Euggy was a native of Kilkenny, and for some time editor of the
Kilkenny Journal, He was also a contributor to the Citizen Magazine,
'Mid an active agitator in the Repeal movement. He succceeded Mr.
ijavan Duffy as editor of the Belfast Vindicator in 1843, when the
latter established fhQ Nation; and he died soon after in the midst ct
his labors.]
Hark ! a martial sound is heard —
The march of soldiers, fifing, drumming,
Eyes are staring, hearts are stirred—
For bold recruits the brave are coming.
Ribands flaunting, feathers gay—
The sounds and sights are surely thrilling
Dazzled village youths to-day
Will crowd to take the So.xon Shilling I
Ye, whose spirits will not bow
In peace to parish tyrants longer —
Ye, who wear the villain brow — •
And ye^ who pine in hopeless hungei'—
ITTE SPIRIT OV THE NATIOJ^. 55
b'ools, "witliout the brave man's faith —
All slaves and starvelings who are v>dlling
To sell yourselves to shame and death —
Accept the fatal Saxon Shilling.
Ere you from your mountains go
To feel the scourge of foreign fever,
Swear to serve the faithless foe
That lures you from your land for ever !
Swear henceforth its tools to be —
To slaughter trained by ceaseless drilhng —
Honor, home, and Kberty
Abandoned for a Saxon Shilling I
Go — to find, 'mid crime and toil,
The doom to which such guilt is hurried !
Go — to leave on Indian soil
Your bones to bleach, accursed, unburied !
Go — to crush the just and brave,
Whose wrongs with wrath the world are filling 1
Go — to slay each brother slave —
Or spurn the blood-stained Saxon Shilling I
Irish hearts ! why should you bleed
To swell the tide of British glory —
Aiding despots in their need,
"NNTio've changed our green so oft to gory ?
Xone, save those who wish to see
The noblest kiUed, the meanest killing,
And true hearts severed from the free,
Will take again the Saxon ShilUnq 1
5^ Tllli: SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Irish youths ! reserve your strength
Until an hour of glorious duty,
When freedom's smile shall cheer at length
The land of bravery and beauty.
Bribes and threats, oh ! heed no more —
Let nought but Justice make you willing
To leave your own dear island shore
For those who send the Saxon Shilling.
OUESELVES ALONE.
The work that should to-day be wrought,
Defer not till to-morrow ;
The help that should within be sought,
Scorn from without to borrow.
Old maxims these — yet stout and true —
They speak in trumpet tone.
To do at once what is to do,
And trust ourselves alone.
Too long our Irish hearts we schooled
In patient hope to bide,
By dreams of English justice fooled
And English tongues that lied.
That hour of weak delusion's past — •
The empty dream has flown :
Our hope and strength; we find at last,
"fs in ourselves
THE sriniT OF THE nation. 5T
Aye! bitter hate, or cold neglecb,
Or lukewarm love, at best.
Is all we've found, or can expect,
Y\"e Aliens of the AVest.
iS'o friend, beyond our ov;n green shoro,
Can Erin truly own ;
Yet stronger is her trust, therefore,
In her brave sons alone.
Eemeniber, when our lot was worse —
Sunk, trampled to the dust —
'Twas long our weakness and our cui"Srj
In stranger aid to trust.
And if, at length, we proudly trod
On bigot laws o'erthrown,
AVho won that struggle ? Under God,
Ourselves — OURSELVES alone.
Oh I let its memory be enshrined
In Ireland's heart for ever '
It proves a banded people's mind
Must win in just endeavor ;
It shows how wicked to despair,
How weak to idly groan —
If ills at others' hands ye bear,
The cure is in youii own.
The foolish word '' impossible "
At once, for aye, disdain ;
Ko power can bar a people's will,
A people's right to gaxji,
5^ TRE spiRrr 0]*' thk mation.
Be bold, united, firmly set,
Nor flinch in word or tone—
We'll be a glorious nation yet,
Redeemed — erect — alone I
Sliabh Cuilinn
THE LION AND THE SEEPENT.
AN ARSIS-BILL FABLE.
BY R. D. WILLIAMS.
In days of old the Serpent camo
To the Lion's rocky hall,
And the forest king spread the sward with game,
And they drank at the torrent's fall ;
And the Serpent saw that the woods were fair.
And she longed to make her dwelling there.
Eut she saw that her host had a knack of his own
At tearing a sinew or cracking a bone.
And had grinders unpleasantly strong ;
So she said to herself: " I'll bamboozle the king
"With my plausible speech, and all that sort of things
That, since Eve, to my people belong "
" Those claws and those grinders must certainly be
Inconvenient to you as they're dreadful to me —
Draw 'em out, lilce a love, I'm so 'frighted !
And, then, since I've long had an amorous eye or
Yourself and your property, dear Mr. Lion,
We can be (spare my blushes) united.''^
THE SriHIT 07 TIIE NATION. 5 '3
So subtle the pow'r of lier poisonous kissea,
So deadly to honor the falsehood she hisses,
The Lion for once is an ass.
Before her, disarmed, the poor simpleton stands;
The union's proclaimed, but the hymen'al bands
Are ponderous fetters of brass.
The Lion, self-conquered, is chained on the ground,
And the breath of his tyrant sheds poison around
The fame and the life of her slave.
How long in his torture the stricken king lay
Historians omit, but 'tis known that one day
The serpent began to look grave.
For, when passing, as usual, her thrall with a sneer,
She derisively hissed some new taunt in his ear,
He shook all his chains with a roar ;
And, observing more closely, she saw with much
pain
That his tusks and his claws were appearing again,
A fact she neglected before.
From that hour she grew dangerously civil, indeed,
And declared he should be, ere long, totally freed
From every dishonoring chain.
** The moment, my dearest, our friend, the Foj:^
draws
Those nasty sharp things from your majesty's ja^73,
you must bound free as air o'er \he, plain."
GO THE SriRIT OF THE NATION.
But the captive sprang from his dungeon fijor,
And he bowed the woods with a scornful roar,
And his burning eyes flashed flame ;
And as echo swelled the shout afar,
The stormy joy of freedom's war
O'er the blast of the desert came.
And the Lion laughed, and his mirth was loud
As the stunning burst of a thunder-cloud,
And he shook his wrathful mane ;
And hollow sounds from his lashed sides come,
Like the sullen roll of a 'larum drum —
He snapped like a reed the chain ;
And the Serpent saw that her reign was o'er
And, hissing, she fled from the Lion's roart
THE WEST'S ASLEEP.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Air—" The Brlnl of the White ii'oc/;iv'*
When all beside a vigil keep,
The West's asleep, the West's asleep —
Alas ! and well may Erin weep.
When Connaught lies in slumber deep.
* This ail slightly differs, in the end of the second line, from th3
version in Hunting's thiid volume, and agrees with that to which Jlr
llorncastle i^ang " The Herring is King." There is a totally different
end still finer air known in the county Tippcrary by the name of " Tl:o
U;ilJ; of the Whit© ]l:)cka "
TEE SPIRIT OF THE NATION GI
There lake and plain smile fair and free,
'Mid rocks — tlieir guardian chivalry ;
Sing, oh ! let man learn liberty
From crasliini^ wind and lushinsr sea.
That chainless wave and lovely la:ii
Freedom and nationhood demand —
Be sure, the great God never planned
For slumbering slaves a home so grand.
And, long, a brave and haughty race
Honored and sentinelled the place —
Sing, ob ! not even their sons' disgrace
Can quite destroy their glory's trace.
For often, in O'Connor's van,
To triumph dashed eacli Connacht clan,
And fleet as deer the Xormans ran
Through Coirrsliabli Pass and Ard liathain f
And later times saw deeds as brave ;
And glory guards Clanricard's grave —
Sing, oh ] they died their land to save,
At Aughrim's slopes and Shannon's wave.
And if, when all a vigil keep,
The West's asleep, the West's asleep,
Alas I and well may Erin weep
That Connacht lies in slumber deep.
But, hark ! some voice like thunder spake ;
" Tlie, JFesfs awaJce, the West's aicaJ:e " —
Sing, oh ! hurrah ! let England quake,
We'll watch till death for Erin's sake I
62 rtiE SPIRIT OF THIS NATION.
THE IRISH EEAPER'S HARVEST HYMN.
BY JOHN KEEGAN.
All bail ! Holy IMary, our liops and our joy !
Smile down, blessed Queen ! on the poor Irish boy
AVho wanders away from his dear beloved home ;
Mary ! be with me wherever I roam.
Be mth me, Mary !
Forsake me not, Mary !
From the home of my fathers in anguish I go.
To toil for the dark-livered, cold-hearted foe,
Who mocks me, and hates me, and calls me a slave,
An alien, a savage — all names but a knave.
But, blessed be Mary !
My sweet, holy Mary !
The hodagh* he never dare call me a knave.
From my mother's mud sheeling an outcast I fly,
With a cloud on my heart and a tear in my eye *
Oh ! I burn as I think that if Some One would say,
" Revenge on your tyrants !" — but, Mary ! I pray
From my soul's depth, Mary !
And hear me, sweet Mary I
For union and peace to old Ireland I pray.
The land that I fly from is fertile and fan-.
And more than I ask or I wish for is theruj
THE SPIRIT OF TKH NATIOIV. 6 '5
J3ut I must not taste the good things that I see —
'* There's notliing but rags and green rushes for
ine."*
mild Virgin Mary !
sweet Mother ]\Iary !
Who keeps my rough hand from red murder but
thee]
But sure in the end our dear freedom we'll gain,
And "wipe from the green flag each Sassanach stain,
And oh ! Holy J\Iary, your blessing we crave !
Give hearts to the timid, and hands to the brave ;
And then, Mother Mary !
Our own blessed Mary !
light liberty's flame in the hut of the slave !
ADIEU TO IXXISFAIL.
BY R. D. WILLLDIS-
AiB, — *' The Cruiskeen Lauvi.'^
Adieu ! — the sno^'VJ sail
Swells her bosom to the gale,
And our bark from Innisfail
Bounds away.
While we gaze upon thy shore,
That we never shall see more,
And the bhnding tears flow o'er,
We pray.
• Taken literally from a, ccrivcni'Iyu 'a1' t a, youi'-g pef.Sf.nt oa Lis -v \j
lo reap tli? Uarvest ia Ecglrxa.
64 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Ma vulrnccn! bo tliou long
In peace the queen of song — .
In battle proud and strong
As the sea..
Be saints thine offspring still,
True heroes guard each hill,
And harps by ev'ry rill
Sound free I
Though, round her Indian bowers,
The hand of nature showers
The brightest, blooming flowers
Of our sphere ;
Yot not the richest rose
In an alien clime that blows.
Like the briar at home that gro'A'S
Is dear.
Though glowing breasts may be
In soft vales beyond the sea,
Yet ever, gra ma cJirce,
Shall I wail
For the heart of love I leave.
In the dreary hours of eve,
On thy stormy shores to grieve,
Innisfail !
But mem'ry o'er the deep
On her dewy wing shall sweep.
When in midnight hours I weep
O'er thy wrongs J
'VKE SPIRIT OF lEE NATION. 65
A.nd bring me, steeped in tears,
The dead flowers of other years.
And waft unto my ears
Home's songs.
When I slumber in the gloom
Of a nameless, foreign tomb,
By a distant ocean's boom,
Innisfail 1
Around thy em'rald shore
May the clasping sea adore,
And each wave in thunder roar,
« AU hail r
And when the final sigh
Shall bear my soul on high,
And on chainless wing I fly
Through the bluft
Earth's latest thought shall be,
As I soar above the sea,
* Green Erin, dear, to thee
Adieu!"
BOYHOOD'S YEAES.
BY THE REV. CHARLES SIEEHAN.
A.H ! why should I recal them — the gay, the joyous
years,
Ere hope was crossed or pleasure dimmed by sorrow
and by tears \
s
66 THE spmrr uf the nation.
Or why should mem'iy love to trace youth's glad
and sunlit way,
When those who made its charms so sweet are
gathered to decay 1
The summer's sun shall come again to brighten
hill and bower —
The teeming earth its fragrance bring beneath the
balmy shower ; [our tears—
But all in vain will mem'ry strive — in vain we shed
They're gone away, and can't return — the friends
of boyhood's years !
Ah ! why, then, wake my sorrow, and bid me now
count o'er [to come no more —
The vanished friends so dearly prized — the days
The happy days of infancy, when no guile our
bosoms knew, [moment flew ?
Nor recked we of the pleasures that with each
'Tis all in vain to weep for them — the past a dream
appears ;
And where are they — the loved, the young, the
friends of boyhood's years 1
Go seek them in the cold churchyard — they lon^
have stolen to rest ;
But do not weep, for their young cheeks by woe
were ne'er oppressed.
Life's sun for them in splendor set^ — no cloud camo
o'er the ray
That lit them from this gloomy world upon theb
joyous way.
THE SPIKIT OF THE NATION. g7
No tears about their graves be shed — but sweetest
flow'rs be flung — [perish young —
The fittest offring thou canst make to hearts that
To hearts this world has never torn with racking
hopes and fears ; [^'^PPy years !
For blessed are they who pass away in boyhood's
THE MEN OF TIPPERAEY.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Let Britain boast her British hosts,
About them all right little care we ;
Not British seas nor British coasts
Can match the Man of Tipperary !
Tall is his form, his heart is warm,
His spirit light as any fairy —
His wrath is fearful as the stoiTU
That sweeps the Hills of Tipperary.
Lead him to fight for native land,
His is no courage cold and wary ;
The troops live not on earth would stand
The headlong Charge of Tipperary !
Yet meet him in his cabin rude,
Or dancing with his dark-haiied Mary,
f ou'd swear they knew no other mood
But mirtk and love in Tipi')erary !
68 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
You're free to share his scanty meal- -
His pHghted word he'll never vary ;
In vain they tried with gold and steel
To shake the Faith of Tipperary !
Soft is his cailin's sunny eye,
Her mien is mild, her step is airy,
Her heart i? fond, her soul is high—
Oh ! she's the Pride of Tipperary I
Let Britain, too, her banner brag,
We'll lift the Green more proud and airy
Be mine the lot to bear that flag,
And head the Men of Tipperary.
Though Britain boasts her British hosts,
About them all right little care we ;
Give us, to guard our native coasts.
The Matchless Men of Tipperary !
FATHER MATHEW.
OUE ro A PAINTER ABOUT TO COMMENCE A PICTURE
ILLUSTRATING THE LABORS OF FATHER MATHKW.
Seize thy pencil, child of art !
Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee !
Great thy hand, and great thy heart.
If weU thou dost the work before thoe i
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. gg
^ris not thine to round the shield,
Or point the sabre, black or gory ;
'Tis not thine to spread the field,
Where crime is crowned — -where guilt is glory!
Child of art ! to thee be given
To paint, in colors all unclouded,
Breakings of a radiant her.ven
O'er an isle in darkness shrouded I
But, to paint them true and well,
Every ray we see them sheddiiig
Tn its very light must tell
What a gloom before was spreading
Canst thou picture dried-up tears —
Eyes that wept no longer weeping —
L^'aithfjl woman's wrongs and fears.
Lonely, nightly vigils keeping —
Listening every footfall nigh.
Hoping him she loves returning 1
Canst thou, then, depict her joy,
That we may know the change from mourning I
Paint in colors strong, but mild.
Our isle's redeemer and director.
Canst thou paint the man a child,
Yet shadow forth the mighty VICTOE i
Let his path a rainbow span,
Every hue and color blending.
Beaming " peace and love " to man,
Ajid alike o'er all extending !
70 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Canst thou paint a land made free —
From its sleep of bondage woken —
Yet, withal, that we may see
What 'twas before the chain was broken
Seize thy pencil, child of art !
Fame and fortune brighten o'er thee !
Great thy hand, and great thy heart,
If well thou dost the work before thee
SONG OF THE PENAL DAYS.
A.D. 1720.
BY EDWARD WALSH.
Air — " Mo Chraoivin Aovinn."
Ye dark-haired youths and elders hoary,
list to the wand'ring harper's song.
My clairseach weeps my true love's story,
In my true love's native tongue :
She's bound and bleeding 'neath the oppressor,
Few her friends and fierce her foe.
And brave hearts cold who would redress L er—
Ma chreevin evin alga, I
My love had riches once and beauty,
Till want and sorrow paled her cheek ,
ind stalwart hearts for honor's duty —
They're crouching now, like cravens sleek.
O Heaven ! that e'er this day of rigor
Saw sons of heroes abject, low —
And blood and tears thy face disfigure,
Ma chreevin evin alga, !
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. /I
i see young virgins step the mountain
As graceful as the bounding fawn,
With cheeks like heath-flow'r by the fountain,
And breasts like downy ceanavan.
Shall bondsmen share those beauties ample ]
Shall their pure bosoms' current flow
To nurse new slaves for them that trample 1
3Ia chreevln evin alga, !
Around my clairseach's speaking measures
Men, like their fathers tall, arise ;
Their heart the same deep hatred treasures —
I read it in their kindling eyes !
The same proud brow to frown at danger —
The same long coulin's graceful flow —
The same dear tongue to curse the stranger —
Ma chreevm evin alga, I
I'd sing ye more, but age is stealing
Along my pulse and tuneful fires ;
Far bolder woke my chord, appealing.
For craven Sheamus, to your sires.
Arouse to vengeance, men of brav'ry,
For broken oaths — for altars low —
For bonds that bind in bitter skv'ry —
Ma chreevln evin alga, !
72 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATiaN.
WAS IT A DREAM?
BY JOHN 0*CONNELL.
It was an empty dream, perchance, yet seemed »*
vision high.
That in the midnight hour last night arose before
mine eye —
Two figures — one in woe and chains, the other
proud and free —
Were met in converse deep and grave beside the
western sea.
" Wiat, ne'er content, and restless still T the proud
one sternly cried ;
" Forsooth of freedom prattling still, and parting
from my side 1
I hold thy chain, thou busy fool ! mine ire thou
mayest provoke,
And bring destruction on thine head, but never
shake my yoke !"
Then up arose the mourning one, and raised hei
bt-auteous head.
And mild and calm, though sad in tone, " My sis
ter," thus she said, [thou hast been —
" For sister I would fain thee call, though tyrant
None feller or more pitiless hath hapless slave
e'er seen.
VRH, SPIRIT OF TJIE NATION. 73
The rights, the freedom that I seek, the Lord of
heaven gave —
That mighty Lord who never willed that earth
should have a slave ! — [ask of thee
Those rights, that freedom thou didst take ; I only
To give mine axon to me again, and friends we'll
ever be."
The proud one laughed in haughty scorn, and
waved a falchion bright [the fight ;
O'er the enchained one's head aloft, and dared her to
The flushing cheek and kindling eye bespoke no
terror there,
But, with a strong, convulsive gasp, she bowed to
heaven in prayer I
Then raised her front serene again, and mildly spoke
once more : [passed o'er —
" Seven long and weary centuries of insult have
Of insult and of cruel wrong ! and from the earliest
hour, [of pow'r.
E'en to this day, a tyrant thou hast been in pride
" But when distress and enemies came threat'n-
ingly around, [been found !
Then soft in words, and falsely kind, thou ever hast
Distress again may come to thee, and foreign dan-
gers press, [thankfulness !'
And thou be forced to yield mj all, and earn no
74 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Again the proud one scornful laughed, and waved
again her braad; [fettered hand —
The other mutely raised to heaven her chained and
Then swift a storm passed o'er the scene, and when
its gloom was gone,
The tyrant form was lowly laid — the captive had
her own !
THE PATRIOT'S BRIDE.
BY CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY.
Oh I give me back that royal dream
My fancy wrought,
When I have seen your sunny eyes
Grow moist with thought,
And fondly hoped, dear love ! your heart from mine
Its spell had caught,
And laid me down to dream that dream, divine.
But true, methought,
Of how my life's long task would be, to make yours
blessed as it ought.
To learn to love sweet Nature more
For your sweet sake.
To watch with you— dear friend ! with you —
Its wonders break ;
The sparkling Spring in that bright face to see
Its mirror make —
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 75
On Summer morns to hear the sweet birds sing
By linn and lake ;
And know your vo;cv3, your magic voice, could still
a grander music wake !
On some old, shell-strewn rock to sit
In Autumn eves,
Where gray Killiney cools the torrid air
Hot Autumn weaves ;
Or by that holy well in mountain lone,
Where Faith believes
(Fain would I b'lieve) its secret, darling wish
True love achieves :
Yet, oh ! its saint was not more piu'e than she to
whom my fond heart cleaves.
To see the dank, mid-winter night
Pass like a noon,
Sultry with thought from minds that teemed
And glowed like June ;
WTiereto would pass in sculped and pictured train
Art's magic boon,
And Music thrill with many a haughty strain
And dear old tune,
Till hearts grew sad to hear the destined hour to
part had come so soon.
To wake the old, weird world that sleeps
In Irish lore ;
The streJns sweet, foreign Spenser sung
By MuUa's shore ;
76 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Dear CuiTan's airy thoughts, like purple birds
That shine and soar ;
Tone's fiery hopes, and all the deathless vows
That Grattan swore ;
The songs that once our own dear Davis sung —ah
me ! to sing no more.
To search with mother-love the gifts
Our land can boast —
Soft Erna's isles, Neagh's wooded slopes,
Clare's iron coast ;
Kildare, whose legends gray our bosoms stir
With fay and ghost ;
Gray Mourne, green Antrim, purple Glenmalur,
Lene's fairy host ;
With raids to many a foreign land, to learn to lovo
dear Ireland most.
And all those proud, old, victor fields
We thrill to name,
Whose mem'ries are the stars that light
Long nights of shame ;
The cairn, the dun, the rath, the tower, the keep,
That still proclaim.
In chronicles of clay and stone, how true, how deep
Was Eir6's fame.
Oh ! we shall see them all, with her, that dear, deal
friend we two have loved the same.
Yet, ah! how truer, tend'rer still
Methought did seem
THE SPIEIT 01 THE NATION. 77
That scene of tranquil joy, that happy home,
By Dodder's stream ;
The morning smile, that grew a fix^d star
With love-lit beam,
The ringing laugh, locked hands, and all the far
And shining stream
Of daily love, that made our daily life diviner than
a dream.
For still to me, dear friend ! dear love !
Or both— dear wife I
Your image comes with serious thoughts.
But tender, rife ;
No idle plaything, to caress or chide
In sport or strife ;
But my best, chosen friend, companion, guide.
To walk through life,
linked hand in hand, two equal, loving friends,
true husband and true wife.
THE LOST PATH.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Am — '* Gradh mo chroid/ie.'^*
Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort bo,
All comfort else has flown ;
For every hope was false to me,
And here I am, alone.
Vulffo, •' !/ra nwi cArew" i .iivyUct* my heart's loTw*
78 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOH,
What thoughts were mine in early yoiitli !
Like some old Irish song,
Brimful of love, and life, and truth,
My spirit gushed along.
I hoped to right my native isle,
I hoped a soldier's fame,
I hoped to rest in woman's smile.
And win a minstrel's name.
Oh ! little have I served my land,
No laurels press my brow,
I have no woman's heart or hand.
Nor minstrel honors now.
But fancy has a magic power ;
It brings me wreath and crown.
And woman's love the self-same hour
It smites oppression down.
Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be.
I have no joy beside ;
Oh ! throng around, and be to me
Power, country, fame, and bride.
BIDE YOUR TIME.
BY M. J. BARRY.
Bide your Time — the morn is breaking'
Bright with freedom's blessed ray —
]\iillions, from their trance awaking,
Soon shall stand in firm array.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 75
Man shall fetter man no longer !
Liberty shall march sublime :
Every moment makes you stronger —
Firm, unshrinking, Bide vqur Time.
Bide your Time — one false step taken
Perils all you yet have done ;
Undismayed, erect, unshaken,
Watch and wait, and all is won.
'Tis not by a rash endeavor
Men or states to greatness climb :
\Yould you win your rights for ever,
Calm and thoughtful, Bide your Time.
Bide your Time — your worst transgression
Were to strike, and strike in vain.
He, whose arm would smite oppression,
Must not need to smite again !
Danger makes the brave man steady —
Rashness is the coward's crime ;
Be for Freedom's battle ready
When it comes— but. Bide your Time.
THE PRICE OF FREEDOM
BY D. F. MCCARTHY.
Man of Ireland ! — heir of sorrow !
Wronged, insulted, scorned, oppres&ed-
WiJt thou never see that morrow
When thy weary heart may rest 1
80 THE S±»IRIT OF THE NATION.
Lift thine eyes, thou outraged creature I
Nay, look up, for man thou art —
Man in form, in frame, and feature —
Why not act man's godlike parti
Think, reflect, inquire, examine,
Is't for this God gave you birth —
With the spectre look of famine
Thus to creep along the earth ?
Does this world contain no treasures
Fit for thee, as man, to wear 1 —
Does this life abound in pleasures,
And thou askest not to share 1
Look ! the nations are awaking —
Every chain that bound them burst !
At the crystal fountains slaking
With parched lips their fever thirst ;
Ignorance, the demon, fleeing.
Leaves unlocked the fount they sip —
Wilt thou not, thou wretched being,
Stoop and cool thy burning lip 1
History's lessons, if thou'lt read 'ein-
All proclaim this truth to thee :
Knowledge is the price of freedom —
Know thyself, and thou art free I
Know, man ! thy proud vocation —
Stand erect, with calm, clear brov/—
Happy, happy were our nation
If thou hadat that knowl^dgfe now I
THE ciPllUT Ui<' 'mE NATION. 81
Know thy wretched, sad condition —
Know the ills that keep thee so ;
Knowledge is the sole physician —
Thou wert healed, if thou didst know :
Those who crush, and scorn, and slight thee—
Those to whom you once would kneel — •
Were the foremost then to right thee,
If thou felt as thou shouldst feci.
Not as beggars lowly bending —
Not in sighs, and groans, and tears —
But a voice of thunder sending
Through thy tyrant brother's ears !
Tell hira he is not thy master —
Tell him of man's common lot ;
Feel life has but one disaster —
To be a slave, and know it noc
If thou knew what knowledge giveth—
If thou knew how blest is he
Who in Freedom's presence liveth.
Thou would st die, or else be free !
Hound about he looks in gladness,
Joys in heaven, and earth, and sea —
Scarcely heaves a sigh of sadness.
Save in thoughts of such as thee .'
82 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
INIS-EOGHAIN.
BY CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY.
[1ni3-Eoghain (commonly written Innishowen, and pronounced luui-
shone) is a ■nild and picturesque district in the county Donegal, Inhabited
chiefly by the descendants of the Irish clans peimitted to remain in
Ulster after the plantation of James I. The native language and the old
songs :;nd legends of tlie country are as universal as the people. One ot
the most familiar of these legends is, that a troop of Hugh CNeill's
horse lies in magic sleep in a cave under the hill of Aileach, where the
princes of the country were formerly installed. These bold troopers
only wait to have the" spell removed to rush to the aid of their country;
ind a man (says the legend) who wandered accidentally into the cave
tound them lying beside their horses, fully armed, and holding the
bridles in their hands. One of them lifted his head, and asked, " Is the
time come?" but receiving no answer -for the intruder was too much
frightened to reply— dropped back into his lethargj' Some of the old
folk consider the story an allegory, and interpret it as tliey desire.
God bless the gray mountains of dark Dun na n.
gall ! *
God bless royal Aileach I the pride of them all ;
For she sits, evermore, like a queen on her throne,
And smiles on the valleys of green Inis-Eoghain.
And fair are the valleys of green Inis-Eoghain,
And hardy the fishers that call them their own —
A race that nor traitor nor coward has known
Enjoys the fair valleys of green Inis-Eoghain.
Oh ! simple and bold are the bosoms they bear.
Like the hills that with silence and nature they
share ;
For our God, who hath planted their home neai
his own,
Breath'd His Spirit abroad upon fair Inis-Eoghain.
rilE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 83
Then praise to our Father for wild Inis-Eoghain,
Where fiercely for ever the surges are thrown ;
Nor weather nor fortune a tempest hath blown
Could shake the strong bosoms of brave Inis-
Eocrhain.
o
See the beautiful Cul-daim* careering along,
A type of their manhood so stately and strong —
On the weary for ever its tide is bestown,
So they share with the stranger in fair Inis-Eoghain.
God guard the kind homesteads of fair Inis-
Eoghain, [own ;
Which manhood and virtue have chosen for their
Not long shall the nation in slavery groan
That rears the tall peasants of fair Inis-Eoghain.
Like the oak of St. Bride, which nor devil nor Dane,
Nor Saxon nor Dutchman, could rend from her fane,
They have clung by the creed and the cause of their
own, Eoghain.
Through the midnight of danger, m true Inis*
Then shout for the glories of old Inis-Eoghain,
The stronghold that foeman has never o'er-
thrown —
The soul and the spirit, the blood and the bone.
That guard the green valleys of true Inis-
Eoghain.
• "nie Could&h, or Culdaff, Is k chief river in the Innlshow'en moun-
lams.
84 THE sriiirr of the natiok.
Nor purer of old was the tongue of the Gael
When the charging dboo made the foreigner quail,
Than it gladdens the stranger in welcome's soft tone
In the home-loving cabins of kind Inis-Eoghain.
Oh ! flourish, ye homesteads of kind Inis-Eoghain^
Where seeds of a people's redemption are sown;
Right soon shall the fruit of that sowing have
grown,
To bless the kind homesteads of Green Inis-
Eoghain.
When they tell us the tale of a spell-stricken band,
All entranced, with their bridles and broadswords
in hand,
Who await but the word to give Erin her own,
They can read you that riddle in proud Inis-
Eoghain !
Hurrah for the spsemen^' of proud Inis-Eoghain 1
Long live the wild seers of stout Inis-Eoghain ,
May Mary, our mother, be deaf to their moan
Who love not the promise of proud Inis-Eoghain !
PADDIES EVERMOEE.
Air — " Paddies Uvermore.^'
The hour is past to fawn or crouch
As suppliants for our right ;
Let word and deed unshrinking vouch
The banded millions' might :
* An Ulster and Scotch term signifying a person gifted with
second sight"— a. prophet
THE SPmiT OF THE NATION. 85
Let them who scorned the fountain rill
Now dread the torrent's roar,
And hear our echoed cliorus still,
We're Paddies evermore.
vMiat, though they menace] suffering men
Their threats and them despise ;
Or promise justice once again 1
We know their words are lies :
We stand resolved those rights to claim
They robbed us of before,
Our own dear nation and our name,
As Paddies evermore.
Look round — the Frenchman governs France.
The Spaniard rules in Spain,
The gallant Pole but waits his chance
To break the Russian chain ;
The strife for freedom here begun
We never will give o'er,
Nor own a land on earth but one —
We're Paddies evermore.
That strong and single love to crush
The despot ever tried —
A fount it was whose living gush
His hated arts defied.
'Tis fresh as when his foot accursed
Was planted on our shore,
And now and still, as from the first,
¥/e're Paddios evermore.
8Q THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
What recked we though six hunAred year?
Have o'er our thraldom rolled 1
The soul that roused O'Connor's spears
Still lives as true and bold.
The tide of foreign power to stem
Our fathers bled of yore ;
And we stand here to-day, like them,
True Paddies evermore.
Where's our allegiance 1 With the land
For which they nobly died ;
Our duty 1 By our cause to stand,
Whatever chance betide ;
Our cherished hope 1 To heal the woes
That rankle at her core ;
Our scorn and hatred 1 To her foes,
Like Paddies evermore.
The hour is past to fawn or crouch
As suppliants for our right ;
Let word and deed unshrinking vouch
The banded millions' might ;
Let them who seemed the fountain rill
Now dread tht torrent's roar,
And hear our echoed chorus still,
We're Paddies evermore.
Sliabh Othltnn.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 87
THE EIGHT ROAD.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Let the feeble-hearted pine,
Let the sickly spirit whine,
But to work and win be thine
While you've life.
God smiles upon the bold —
So, when your flag's unrolled,
Bear it bravely till your cold
In the strife.
If to rank or fame you soar,
Out your spirit frankly pour —
Men will serve you and adore,
Like a king.
Woo your girl with honest pride,
'Till you've won her for your bride-
Then to her through time and tide
Ever cling.
Never under wrongs despair.
Labor long and everywhere,
Link your countrymen, prepare,
And strike homo.
Thus have great men ever wrought,
Thus must greetness still be sought,
Thus labored, loved, and fought
Greece and Rome.
88 THE SPIRIT Oe THPJ NATION.
A RALLY FOR IRELAND
May, 16S9.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Shout it out till it ring
From Beinn-Mor to Cape Cleir,
For our country and king,
And religion so dear,
Rally, men, rally !
Irishmen, rally !
Gratlier round the dear flag, that, wet with ou.v
tears.
And torn and bloody, lay hid for long years,
And now, once again, in its pride re- appears.
See ! from the castle our green banner waves,
Bearing fit motto for uprising slaves —
For '' Now or never !
Now and for ever !"
Bids you to battle for triumphs or graves —
Bids you to burst on the Sassanach knaves.
Rally, then, rally !
Irishmen, rally I
Shout " Now or never !
Now and for ever !"
Heed not their fury, however it raves ;
Welcome their horsemen wdth pikes and with
staves :
•IHE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. HO
Close on their cannon, their bay'nets and
glaives,
Down with their standard wherever it waves ;
Fight to the last, and ye cannot be slaves !
Fight to the last, and ye cannot be slaves !
Gallant Sheldon is here,
And Hamilton, too,
And Tirconaill so dear,
And MacCarthy so true.
And there are Fi-enchmen —
Skilful and staunch men —
De Rosen, Pontee, Pusignan, and Boisseleau,
And gallant Lauzun is a-coming, you know.
With Bealdearg, the kinsman of great Owen Roe ;
From Sionainn to Bann, and from Lif^ to Laoi,*
The country is rising for liberty.
Though your arms are rude,
If your courage be good,
As the traitor fled will the stranger flee^
At another Drom-mhor from " the Irishry,"
Arm peasant and lord !
Grasp musket and sword !
Grasp pike, staff, and skian !
Give your horses the rein !
^larch in the name of his majesty —
Ulster and Munster unitedly—
Townsman and peasant, like waves of the sea—
Leinster and Connacht to victory —
• These rivers are vulgarly named the Shannon. 1/tfoy, and Ldc
90 THE SPIRrr OF THE NATION
Shoulder to shoulder for liberty !
Shoulder to shoulder for liberty !
Kirk, Schomberg, and Churchill
Are coming— what then 1
We'll drive them and Dutch Will
To England again.
We can laugh at each threat,
For our parliament's met —
De Courcy, O'Brien, M'Domhnaill, Le Poer,
O'Neill, and St. Lawrence, and others go leor,
The choice of the land from Athlone to the shore
They'll break the last link of the Sassanach
chain —
They'll give us the lands of our fathers again!
Then up ye ! and fight
For your king and your right,
Or ever toil on, and never complain.
Though they trample your roof-tree, and rifle
your fane.
Eally, then, rally !
Irishmen, rally I
Fight " Now or never !
Now and i or ever !"
Laws are in vain without swords to maintain
So, muster as fast as the fall of the rain :
Serried and rough as a field of ripe grain.
Stand by your flag upon mountain and plain :
Charge till yourselves or your foemen are slain !
Fight till yourselves or your foemen are slain '
THE SPIRIT 01? THE NATION. 91
EIRE A RUIN.
AiR—'*Eibhlm a Ruin. **
Long thy fair cheek was pale,
Eire a ruin —
Too well it spake thy tale,
Eire a ruin —
Fondly nursed hopes betrayed,
Gallant sons lowly laid,
All anguish there portrayed,
Eire a ruin.
Long my dear clairseacKs string
Eire a tuin,
Sang but as captives sing,
Eire a ruin,
'Twas sorrow's broken sigh
Blent with mirth's reckless cry.
Saddest of minstrelsy !
Eire a ruin.
Still was it thine to cope,
Eire a imin —
Still against hope to hope,
Eire a ruin.
Ever through blackest woe
Fronting that tyrant foe,
Whom thou shalt yet lay low.
Eire a ruin^
* Ilk vulgar spfclling, Eileen arooii.
92 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Though he should sue thee now.
Eire a ruin,
Heed not his traitor vow,
Eire a ruin ;
When didst thou e'er believe.
When his false words receive,
But sorely thou didst grieve,
Eire a ruin ?
Millions of hearts are thine,
Eire a ruin ;
Millions as one combine,
Eire a ruin ;
Closer in peril knit,
Patient, though passion-lit —
For such is triumph writ,
Eire a ruin.
rhen let thy clairseach pour,
Eire a ruin,
Wailings of grief no more,
Eire a ruin ;
But strains like flash of steel,
KindHng that fire of zeal
Which melts their chains who feel,
Eire a ruin.
SlIABH CuiLINil
THE Si'IRIT Oi' THE NATlOl^u 93
TONE'S GEAVE.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave.
And wildly along it the winter winds rave ;
Small shelter, I ween, are the mined walls there
When the storm sweeps down on the plains of Kil-
dare.
Once 1 lay on that sod — it lies over Wolfe Tone —
And thought how he perished in prison alone,
His friends unavenged, and his country unfreed —
" Oh ! bitter," I said, *'is the patriot's meed !
" For in him the heart of a woman combined
With a heroic life and a governing mind :
A martyr for Ireland — his grave has no stone.
His name seldom named, and his virtues unknown."
I was woke from my dream by the voices and tread
Of a band who came into the home of the dead ;
They carried no corpse, and they carried no stone,
And they stopped when they came to the grave of
Wolfe Tone.
There were students and pea-sants, the wise and
the brave,
And an old man who knew him from cradle to
grave;
94: THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
^nd children who thought mc hard-hearted — ^fot
they,
On that sanctified sod, were forbidden to play.
But the old man, who saw I was mourning there
said ;
" We come, sir, to weep where young Wolfe Tone
is laid ;
And we're going to raise him a monument, too—
A plain one, yet fit for the simple and true "
My heart overflowed, and I clasped his old hand,
And I blessed him, and blessed every one of his
band:
" Sweet, sweet 'tis to find that such faitli can
remain
To the cause, and the man so long vanquished and
slain 1"
In Bodenstown churchyard there is a green grave,
And freely around it let winter winds rave :
Far better they suit him — the ruin and gloom —
Till Ireland, a nation, can build him a tomb.
THE SPIllIT OF THE KATIO^. 95
THE SHAN VAN VACHT.*
A.D. 1176.
BY mCHAEL DOHENY.
The sainted isle of old,
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
The sainted isle of old,
Says the Shan Van Vacht.
The parent and the mould
Of the beautiful and bold.
Has her blithesome heart waxed cold'
Says the Shan Van Vacht.
The Saxon and the Dane,
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
The Saxon and the Dane,
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
The Saxon and the Dane
Our immortal hills profane ;
Oh ! confusion seize the twain,
Says the Shan Van Vacht.
What are the chiefs to do ]
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
What are the chiefs to do ]
Says the Shan Van Vacht.
What should the cliieftains do
But to treat the hirelins: crew
To a touch of Brian Boru
Says the Shan Van Vacht
* Properly An T-Sean 3hean Bhochd.
96 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
They came across the wave,
Says the Slum Van Facht,
They came across the wave,
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
They came across the wave
But to plunder and enslave,
And should find a robber's grave,
Says the Shan Van Vacht.
Then be the trusty brand.
Says the Shan Van Vacht^
Then be the trusty brand,
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
Then be the trusty brand
Firmly clutched in every hand.
And we'll scourge them from the land,
Says the Shan Van Vacht.
There's courage yet and truth,
Says the Shan Van Vacht,
There's courage yet and truth.
Says the Shan Van Vacht ;
There's a God above us all,
And, whatever may befall.
No invader shall enthrall,
Savs the Shan Van Vacht.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 0?
l^HE GATHERING OF THE NATIOX.
BY J. D. FRAZER.
Those scaldmoj tears — those scaldln£^ tears
Too long have fallen in vain —
Up with the banners and the spears,
And let the gathered grief of years
Show sterner stuff than rain.
The lightning, in that stormy hour
AAHien forth defiance rolls.
Shall flash to scathe the Saxon pow'r,
But tnelt the links our long, long show':..*
Had rusted round our souls.
To bear the wrongs we can redress,
To make a tiling of ilme —
The tyranny we can repress —
Eternal by our dastardness
Were crime — or worse than crime !
And we, whose hest and worst was shame.
From first to last, alike,
May take, at length, a loftier aim.
And struggle, since it is the same
To suffer— or to strike.
What hatred of perverted might
The cruel hand inspires
That robs the linnet's eye of sights
To make it sing both day and night!
Yet thus they robbed our sires,
G
OS
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOT^.
13y blotting out the ancient lore
Where every loss vras shown —
Up with the ?.ag ! we stand before
The Saxons of the days of yore
In Saxons of our own.
Denial met our just demands,
And hatred met our love ;
Till now, by heaven ! for grasp of hands
Y\^e'il give them clash of battle-brands,
And gauntlet 'stead of glove.
. And may the Saxon stamp his heel
Upon the coward's front
Who sheathes his own unbroken steel
Until for mercy tyrants kneel,
Who forced us to the brunt !
THE GERALDINES. ■
LY TIIOrJAS DAVIS.
The Ccraldincs! the Geraldincs !— 'tis full a
thousand years
;Since, 'mid the Tuscan \-ineyards; bright flashed
their battle-spears ;
When Capet seized the crown of France, their iroy
shields vrere known, '
And their sabre-dint stnck terror en the banks of
the Garonuc ;
THE SriKIT OF THE NATION. ' VO
Across the downs of HasLings they spurred hard
by AYilliam's side,
And the gray sands of Palestine with Moslem
blood they dyed ;
But never then, nor thence till now, have false
hood or disgrace [his face.
Been seen to soil Fitzgerald's plume, or mantle in
The Geraldines ! the Geraklincs I^^-'tis true, in
Strongbow's van, [began ;
By lawless force, as conquerors, their Irish reign
And, oh ! through many a dark campaign they
proved their prowess stern.
In Leinster's plains, and I\Iunster's vales, on king,
and chief, and kerne :
But noble was the cheer within the halls so rudely
won.
And gen'rous was the steel-gloved hand that had
such slaughter done !
IIow gay their laugh! how proud their mien! youM
ask no herald's sign — [Geraldine.
Among a thousand you had known the princely
These Geraldines ! these Geraldines I— not lonir our
o
air they breathed,
Xot long they fed on venison, in Irish water seethed,
Kot often had their cliildren been by Irish mothers
nursed,
When from their full and genial hearts an IrLoh
feeling burst 1
1.00 THE gPiRII: OF TflE NATION?*
The English monarchs strove in vain, by law, ani
force, and bribe,
To win from Irish thoughts and ^yays this " more
than Irish" tribe ;
for still they clung to fosterage, to hreithcamhf
cloak, and bard : [discard" ]
AVhat king dare say to Geraldine, " Your Irish wife
Ye Geraldines! ye Geraldines! how royally ye
reigned [aris disdained :
O'er Desmond broad and rich Kildare, and English
Your sword made knights, your banner wavedj
free was your bugle call
By Gleann's"^ green slopes, and Daingean'st tide,
from Bearbha'sJ banks to Eocliaill.§
^yhat gorgeous shrines, what hrcitheamliW lore, what
minstrel feasts there were
In and around Magh Nuadhaid'sH keep, and palace^
filled Adare !
Ijut not for rite or feast ye stayed when friend or
Ivin were pressed j
^nd foemen fled when "CVom a5w"** bespoke
your lance in rest.
Ye Geraldines ! ye Geraldines I since Silken Thomas
flung
King Hcnrj^'s sword on council board, the English
thanes among,
' Ar.gl dyn. f Angl Mhgle. i Angl Barrow.
5 .fl/ig'/- YoiigliHl. WAniil. l.-.i'li.-n. ^ ,4?ii7/. MayriOoih
♦♦ I'uruicily Uic uar crv cl ilic Gi;::ilUii:esj and nuw Uieir'iiieuo.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. iOl
Ye never ceased to battle bravo against the
English sway,
Though axe and brand and treacliery your
proudest cut away.
Of Desmond's blood through woman's veins passed
on th' exhausted tide ;
His title lives — a Sassanach churl usurps the lion's
hide :
And though Kildare tower hauglitily, there's ruin
at the root,
Else why, since Edward fell to earth, had such a
tree no fruit 1
True Geraldines ! brave Geraldines ! as torrents
mould the earth.
You channelled deep old Ireland's heart by con-
stancy and worth :
^^^len Glnckle leaguered Limerick, the Irish sol-
diers gazed
To see if in the setting sun dead Desmond's
banner blazed !
And still it is the peasants' hope upon the Cuir-
reach's* mere,
^ They live who'll see ten thousand men with good
Lord Edward here."
So let them dream till brighter days, when, not by
Edward's shade,
But by some leader true as he, their lines shall be
arrayed !
• 4ngl Curragh.
103 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
These Geraldines ! tlieso Geraldines! rain wears
away the rock,
And time may wear away the tribe that stood tho
battle's shock,
"put ever, sure, while one is left of all that honored
race.
In front of Ireland's chivalry is that Fitzgerald 'a
place ;
And though the last were dead and gone, how many
a field and town.
From Thomas Court to Abbeyfeile, would cherish
their renown !
And men will say of valor's rise, or ancient power s
decline,
^- ' Twill never soar, it never shone, as did tho
Geraldine."
The Geraldines ! the Geraldines ! and are there
any fears
^Yithin the sons of conquerors for full a thousand
years 1
Can treason spring from out a soil bedewed with
martyr's blood ]
Or has that grown a purling brook which long
rushed down a flood 1
By Desmond swept with sword and fire, by clan
and keep laid low,
By Silken Thomas and his kin, by sainted Edward !
No !
TEE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 103
The forms of centuries rise up, and in tlie Irish
line
Command their sons to take the post that fit.*>
THE GeRALDLNe!*
HYMN OF FEEEDOM.
BY M. J. BARRY.
God of peace ! before tliee,
Peaceful, here Tre kneel,
Humbly to implore thee
For a nation's weal.
Calm her sons' dissensions,
Bid their discord cease.
End their mad contentions —
Hear us,. God of peace !
God of love ! low bending,
To thy throne we turn ;
Let thy rays, descending,
Through our island burn.
Let no strife divide us,
But, from heaven above.
Look on us and guide us —
Hear us, God of Love 1
* TIio conckuling: stanza now first published; was found among Uv
Editors papers.— Eo.
lO-i THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION,
God of Battles ! aid us ;
Let no despot's mignt
Trample or degrade us,
Seeking this our right I
Arm us for the danger ;
Keep all craven fear
To our breasts a stram^er— ^
God of Battles ! hear.
God of Eight I preserve us
Just — as we are strong ;
Let no passion swerve us
To one act of wrong ;
Let no thought unholy
Come our cause to blight;
Tlius Ave pray thee, lowly — .
Hear us, God of Eight !
God of Vengeance ! smite us
"With thy shaft sublime,
If one bond unite us
Forged in fraud or crime I
But if, humbly kneeling,
We implore thine ear,
For our rights appealing-
God of Nations ! hear.
Tin: SPIRIT OP THi: nation. " jo:
THE UNION.
How did tlicy pass the Union 1
By perjury and fraud ;
Dy slaves who sold their land for gold,
As Judas sold his God ;
By all the savage acts that yet
Have followed England's track — •
The pitchcap and the bayonet,
Tlic gibbet and tho rack.
And thus was passed the Union,
By Pitt and Castlereagh ;
Could Satan send for such an end
More worthy tools than theyl
Hov; thrive we by the Union ]
Look round our native land*:
In ruined trade and wealth decayed
See slavery's surest brand ;
Our glory as a nation gone ;
Our substance drained away ;
A wretched province trampled on,
Is all we've left to-day.
Then curse with me the Union,
That juggle foul and base —
The baneful root that bore such fndt
Of ruin and disgrace.
105 THE SPUUT OF TllL ^'ATiO^:.
And shall it last, tliis Union,
To grind and waste us so 1
O'er hill and lea, from sea to sea,
All Ireland thunders. No !
Eight million necks are stiff to ho^v —
"We know our might as men ;
We conquered once before, and no\7
AYc'll conquer once again,
And rend the cursed Union,
And fling it to the wind —
And Ireland's laws in Ireland's causo
Alone our hearts shall bind !
Sliabii CuILIXxV
THE PEASANT GIRLS.
The Peasant Girl of merry France,
Beneath her trellised vine.
Watches the signal for the dance —
Tiie broad, red sun's decline,
'Tis there — and forth she flies with gles?
To join the circling band,
Whilst mirthful sounds of minstrelsy
Are heard throughout the land.
And fair Italians Peasant Girl,
The Arno's banks beside,
Vlitli myrtle flowers, that shine like pearl,
Will braid at eventido
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. IQ]
Her raven locks ; and to the sky,
V»lth eyes of liquid light,
Look np, and bid her ]yre outsigh !
" ^Vas ever land so bright 1 "
The Peasant Girl of England see,
AYith lip of rosy dye.
Beneath her sheltering cottage tree,
Smile on each passer-by.
She looks on fields of yellow gi^ain.
Inhales the bean-flower's scent,
And seems, amid the fertile plain.
An image of content.
The Peasant Girl of Scotland goes
Across her Highland hill,
AVith cheek that emulates the rose.
And voice the skylark's thrill.
Her tartan plaid she folds around,
A many- coloured vest —
T\'pe of what varied joys have found
A home in h^er kind breast.
The Peasant Girl of Ireland, she
Has left her cabin home.
Bearing white wreaths— what can it bo
Invites her thus to roam 1
Her eye has not the joyous ray
Should to her years belong ;
And, as she wends her languid way.
She carols no sv.-eet song.
108, THE SPIRIl OF THE NATION.
Oil I soon upon the step and glanoc
Grief does the work of age ;
And it has been her hapless clianco
To open that dark page.
The happy harvest home was o'er —
The fierce tithe-gatherer came,
And her young lover, in his gore,
Fell by a murderous aim !
Then, well may youth's bright glance be gone
For ever from that eye,
And soon will sisters weep upon
The grave that she kneels by ;
And well may prouder hearts than those.
That there place garlands, say :
*' Have Ireland's peasant girls such woes ] —
When will they pass away V
THE BATTLE-EYE OF THE BEIGADE.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Air—'* Conlented I am.''*
The mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set,
And the gallant Count Thomond is president jet ;
The vet'ran arose like an uplifted lance,
Crying, " Comrades, a health to the monarch of
France ' "
With bumpers and cheers theyhave done as he bade,
For King Louis is loved by the Irish Brigade.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 109
** A Iiealtli to King James," and they beni; as tliey
quaifed ;
^* Here's to George tlie Elector I " and fiercely they
laughed ;
'' Good luck to the drls Ave wooed loni? asro,
Where Sionainn,'^ and Ecarbha,! and Abhain-
dubhj flow ;"
"God prosper Old Ireland!'' you'd thhik them
afraid,
So pale grew the chiefs of the Irish Briga.de.
"But, surely, that light cannot come from our
lamp —
And that noise — are they all getting drunk in the
camp ]"
*' Hurrah ! boys, the morning of battle is come,
And the generale's beating on many a drum."
So they rush from the revel to join the parade.
For the van is the risrht of the Irish Briirade.
They fought as they revelled, fast, fiery, and true.
And, though victors, they left on the field not a
few j [yore.
And they who survived fought and drank as of
But the land of their heart's hope they never saw
more.
For in far, foreign fields, from Dunkirk to Belgrade
Lie the soldiers and chiefs of the Irish Brigade.
* Sljatinon. t Barrow. J AvoikHiu, or Black \va!cr.
110 THE SHRIT OF THE KAT1(;N.
THE SONGS OF THE NATION.
BY EDWARD WALSH.
Te songs that resound in the homes of our island--
That wake the wild echoes by valley and high-
land —
That kindle the cold with their forefather's story—
That point to the ardent the pathway of glory ! —
Ye send to the banished,
O'er ocean's far wave,
The hope that had vanished,
The vow of the brave ;
And teach each proud despot of loftiest station
To pale at your spell-word, sweet Songs of The
Nation !
Sweet songs ! ye reveal, through the vista of ages,
Our monarchs and heroes, our minstrels and sages,
The splendor of Eamhain,* the glories of Teamhair,t
When Erin was free from the Saxon defamer— ^
The green banner flying.
The rush of the Gael,
The Sassanach's dying.
His matron's wild wail —
Thesd" glories forgotten, with magic creation,
lurst bright at your spell-word, sw^eet Songs ol
The Nation!
*The palace of the Ul.-ter Iving'q, noai' Armcvg-h, t^tiiiigcd Emania.
f^ti SPIRIT OF THE XATION. Ill
The minstrela who waken these wild notes of
freedom
Have hands for green Erin — if Erin should need
'cm ;
i\nd liearts for the wronged one vvdicrever he rangc3,
From Zehla to China — from Sionainn^ to Gan^zes ;
And hate for his foeman,
All hatred ahove ;
And love for dear woman,
Tlie tenderest love ;
But cliiefest the fair ones whose ej-es' animation
Is the spell that inspires the svreet Songs of Tiiii
Nation!
THE DAY-DEEAMER.
EY CIIAFvLES GAYAN DUFFY.
^YIIAT joy was mine in the gallant time
When I was an outlaw bold !
Girt v.dtli my clan in the glades of Truagh,
Or shut in my castle-hold,
In solemn feiSjt with the brehons gray,
And the stalwart chiefs of old.
How many a tranced hour I sat
At' the feet of the Soldier-Saint :+
•Sli.iTniOR. tFeis, t?iepul>lk: csnucilef, the a5<;^ jilt IrJsto
;St. Lorcan O'TutliL'L
IV2, THE SriRIT OF THE NATION.
Or drank liigli hopes from our dauntless Hugh
That cordial the hearts of the faint ;
Or wove bold plots with untiring Tone,
To blot out the isle's attaint.
What deeds we vowed to the dear old land i
What solemn words we spoke !
How never we'd cease or sleep in peace
Till we shattered the stranger's yoke —
And not with a storm of windy words,
But many a soldier stroke.
We'd knotted whips for the Saxon churls,
And steel for the Norman peers,
And a gallows high for the pampered priests
Who were drunk with the peasants' tears ;
And the towers grim where the robbers laired,
We dashed them about their ears !
We lifted the burled harp anew,
AYith its guardian spear and skeane,"*
And forth we sent to the listening land
Full many a mystic strain,
Which scattered the slavish fear away
That hung on its breast like a chain.
The torrent's voice in the slnmVring night
Is tame to the words we spake —
Skeane, pi'opcrly Sklan, the d;ig'g:er of the Ii'isli.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 113
The tempest words in whose fiery breath
The thrones and dominions shake ;
Till, lo I from their sleep the people rose,
And their chains like a reed they brake.
It stirs mc still, that solemn sight,
Of the proud old land made free,
Our flag afloat from her castles tall
And the ships on the circling sea.
And the joyful voice, like a roll of drums,
Of the nation's jubilee !
A BALLAD OF FEEEDO.AI.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
The Frenchman sailed in Freedom's name to sniito
the Algcrine,
The strife was short, the crescent sunk, and then
his guile was seen.
For, nestling in the pirate's hold — a fiercer pirate
far —
He bade the tribes yield up their flocks, the town''
their gates unbar.
Pught on he pressed with freemen's hands to sub-
jugate the free,
The Berber in old Atlas glens, the Moor in Titteri >■
And wider had his razzias spread, his cruel con-
quests broader
Hi aHE BPIRIT* Oj^ the NATIO?^.
But God sent down, to face his frown, the gallant
Abdel-Kader —
The faithful Abdel-Kader! uuconquered Abdel-
Kader !
Like falling rock,
Or fierce siroc —
No savage or marauder —
Son of a slave !
First of the brave !
Hurrah for Abdel-Kader !*
Jhe Englishman, for long, long years, had ravaged
Ganges' side —
A dealer first, intriguer next, he conquered far and
wide,
Till, hurried on by avarice and thirst of endless
rule,
His sepoys pierced to Candahar, his flag waved in
^Cabul;
But still within the conquered land was one un-
conquered man,
The fierce Pushtanij lion, the fiery Akhbar Khan—
He slew the sepoys on the snow, till Scindh'sf full
flood they swam it
♦ Hiis name is pronounced Cav/def. The French say tliafc their great
foe was a slave's son. Be it so— he has a hero's and freeman's heaic.
" Hurrah for Abdel-Kader !'' , „ , , . ^ ,
t This is the name by which the Ali,n-hans call themselves. Affschan
is a Persian name (see Elphinstone's deiiuhtfiil book on Cabul). Note,
too, that in most of their words a sounds ait\ u sounds oo, and i sounds
ee.
X The real name gf the Indus, which is a Latinised word.
iilE SHnit Ot THE NATION. 115
Eight rapidly, content to flee the son of Dost
Mohammed,
The son of Dost j\Iohammed, the brave old Dost
^Mohammed 1
Oh ! long may they
Their mountains sway,
Akhbar and Dost Moliammcd !
Long live the Dost,
AYho Britain crost —
Hurrah for Dost Mohammed!
The Eussian, lord of million serfs and nobles serflier
still, [will ;
Indignant saw Circassia's sons bear up against his
With fiery ships he lines their coast, his armies
cross their streams.
He builds a hundred fortresses — his conquest done,
he deems.
But steady rifles — rushing steeds — a crowd of
nameless chiefs ! [reefs.
The plough is o'er his arsenals ! — his fleet is on the
The maidens of Kabyntica are clad in Moscov,'
dresses —
His slavish herd, how dared they beard the nioun'
tain-bred Cherkesses I
Tlie lightning Cherkesses ! the thundering Cher-
kesses !
i\Iay Eiburz top
In Azof drop,
116 THE spmiT OF the nation.
Ere Cossacks beat Cherkesses !
The fountain-head
Whence Europe spread —
Hurrah for the tall Cherkesses I*
But Russia preys on Poland's fields, where Sobieski
reigned ;
And Austria on Italy— the Roman eagle chained —
Bohemia, Servia, Hungary, -within her clutches gasp ;
And Ireland struggles gallantly in England's loosen-
ing grasp. [on alone,
Oh ! would all these their strength unite, or battle
Like Moor, Pushtani, and Cherkess, they soon
would have their own.
Ilurrak! hurrah! it can't be far, when from the
Scindli to Sionainnf
Sh;dl gleam a line of freemen's flags begirt with
freemen's cannon !
The coming day of Freedom — the flashing flags of
Freedom
The victor glaive —
The mottoes brave,
May we be there to read them !
That glorious noon,
God send it soon —
Hurrah ! for human freedom !
* Clicrkcsscs or Abydcs Is the light name of the so-called CircRSsinns
Kaby.niicu is a town in the heart of the Caucasus, of Avhich Mount Elburz
Is llie summit Blumenbacli and other pliysiolotrists asseit that tlie
finer European r*sccs descend from a Circassian stock.
♦ S'^uunoa.
THE SPIRIT OP TKE NATION. 117
'^ CEASE TO DO EVIL— LEARN TO DO
WELL."*
EY D. F. :\l'CAnTIIY.
THOU whom sacred duty hither calls,
Some glorious hours in freedom's cause to dwell,
Eead the mute lesson on thy prison walls —
" Cease to do evil — learn to do well'."
If haply thou art one of genius vast,
Of generous heart, of mind sublime and grand,
"Who all the spring-time of thy life hast passed
Battling with tyrants for thy native land —
If thou hast spent thy summer, as thy prime,
The serpent brood of bigotry to quell,
Eepent, repent thee of thy hideous crime—
" Cease to do evil — learn to do well 1"
If thy great heart beat warmly in the cause
Of outraged man, whate'er his race might be — ■
If thou hast preached the Christian's equal laws,
And stayed the lash beyond the Indian sea^
If at thy call a nation rose sublime —
If at thy voice seven million fetters fell,
r^epent, repent thee of thy hideous crime —
*' Cease to do evil — learn to do well 1"
• Inscription on O'Conr.cH's prison-
^18 THE spinrr of the kation.
If tliou liast sceu thy country's quick decay,
And, like a prophet, raised thy saving hand,
And pointed out the only certain way
I'o stop the plague that ravaged o'er the land—
If thou hast summoned from an alien dimes
Her banished senate here at home to dwell,
Jiepent, repent thee of thy hideous crime —
" Cease to do evil— learn to do well l"
Or if, perchance, a younger man thou art,
Whose ardent soul in throbbings doth aspire.
Come weal, come woe, to play the patriot's part
In the brif>^ht footsteps of thy glorious sire !
If all the pleasures of life's youthful time
Thou hast abandoned for the martyr's cell,
Do thou repent thee of thy hideous crime —
*' Cease to do evil — learn to do well 1"
Or art thou one whom early science led
To walk with Newton through tlie immense of
heaven.
Who soared with Milton, and with Mina bled.
And all thou hadst in Freedom's cause hath
given ?
Oh ! fond enthusiast— in the after time
Our children's children of your worth shall tell !
England proclaims thy honesty a crime—
" Cease to do evil — learn to do well I"
inE spinrr of the natio.*^. 119
Or art) tliou one whose strong and fearless pen
Eoused the young isle, and bade it dry its tears,
And gathered round thee ardent, gifted men^
The hope of Irehand in the coming years —
Who dares in prose and heart-awakening rhyme
Bright hopes to breathe, and bitter truths to tell ?
Oh! dangerous criminal, repent thy crime—
^' Cease to do evil — leai^n to do y>'ell 1"
" Cease to do evil " — aye ! ye madmen, cease !
C-ease to love Ireland, cease to serve her well,
Make with her foes a foul and fatal peace.
And quick will ope your darkest, dreariest celL
'*' Learn to do well " — aye ! learn to betray —
Learn to re\dle the land in which you dwell ;
England will bless you on your altered way —
'* Cease to do evil — learn to do well !"
Tliii-d week of O'Connell's iuiprisonmeufc.
THE SWORD.
EY M. J. BARRY,
What rights the brave \
The sword !
What frees the slave ]
Tde sword I
120 THE SPIRIT OF TI^E NATION.
What cleaves in twain
The despot's chain,
And makes his gyves and dungeons vain 1
The sword !
CHORUS.
Then cease thy proud task never
AVhile rests a link to sever !
Guard of the free,
"We'll cherish thee.
And keep thee bright for ever !
What checks the knave 1
The sword !
What smites to save ?
The sword I
What wreaks the wrong
Unpunished long,
At last, upon the guilty strong 1
The sword !
CHORUS.
Then cease thy proud task never, &o.
What shelters right ?
The sword '
\Vhat makes it might 1
The sword !
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 121
Wliat strikes tlie crown
Of tyrants down,
And answers with its flash their frown 1
The sword I
CHORUS.
Then cease thy proud task never, Sec.
Still be thou true,
Good sword !
"We'll die or do.
Good sword !
Leap forth to hght
If tyrants smite,
And trust our arms to wield thee right,
Good sword 1
CHORUS.
Yes I cease thy proud task never
While rests a link to sever !
Guard of the free,
We'll cherish thee,
And keep thee bright for ever !
122 THE SPIRIT OV THE NATION.
A deeajm of the FUTUEE.
ZIY D. F. M'CArcTIIY.
I DREAJrr a dream, a dazzling dream, of a green
isle far away,
^^Tiere the glowing west to the ocean's breast
calletli the dying day ;
And thatj island greeu was as fair a scene as ever
man's eye did see,
With its chieftains bold, and its temples old, and
its homes and its altars free !
No foreign foe did that green isle know — no stranger
band it bore,
Save the merchant train from sunny Spain and
from Afric's golden shore !
And the young man's heart would fondly start,
and the old man's eye would smile,
As their thoughts would roam o'er the ocean foam
to that lone and " holy isle !"
Years passed by, and tlie orient sky blazed with a
new-born light,
And Bethlehem's star shone bright afar o'er the
lost world's darksome night ;
And the diamond shrines from plundered mines,
and the golden fanes of Jove,
^lelted away in the blaze of day at the simple
spell-word, "love I"
THE SPIRIT OY THE NATION. 123
The llglit serene o'er that island green played with
its saving beams,
And the fires of Baal waxed dim and pale like the
stars in the mornin<:r streams !
o
And 'twas joy to hear, in the bright air clear, from
out each sunny glade,
The tinkling bell, from the quiet cell or tlie
cloister's tranquil shade !
A cloud of night o'er that dream so bright soon
with its dark wing came,
And the happy scene of that island green was lost
in blood and shame ;
For its kings unjust betrayed their trust, and its
queens, though fair, vrere frail,
And a robber band from a stranger land with
their war-whoops filled the gale ;
A fatal spell on that green isle fell — a shadow of
death and gloom
Passed withering o'er, from shore to shore, lilj:e the
breath of the foul simoom ;
And each green hill's side was crimson dyed, and
each stream rolled red and wild,
With the mingled blood of the brave and good —
of mother, and maid, and child !
Dark was my dream, though many a gleam of hope
through that black night broke,
Like a star's bright form through a whistling storm,
or the moon through a midnidit oak '
124 THE SriRIT OF THE NATION.
And many a time, with its ■wings sublime, and its
robes of saffron light,
Would the morning rise on the eastern skies, but
to vanish again in night !
For, in abject prayer, the people there still raised
their fettered hands.
When the sense of right and the power to smit".
are the spirit that commands ;
For those who would sneer at the mourner's tear,
and heed not the suppliant's sigh.
Would bow in awe to that first great law— a
banded nation's cry !
At IcnG;th arose o'er that isle of woes a dawn with
a steadier smile.
And in happy hour a voice of pow'r awoke the
slumbering isle !
And the people all obeyed the call of their chiefs
unsceptred hand.
Vowing to raise as in ancient days the name ol
their own dear land !
J\Iy dream grew bright as the sun-beam's light, as
I watched that isle's career
Through the varied scene and the joys serene of
many a future year —
And, oh ! what thrill did my bosom fill, as I gazed
on a pillared pile.
Where a senate once more in power vratched o'er
the rights of that lone green isle 1
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 125
THE EXTEEMINATOR'S SOXG.
BY JOHN CORNELIUS O'CALLAGHAN.
Air—*' ' Tis I am the Gipsy Klng.'^
'Tis I am the poor man's scourge,
And where is the scourge Uke me 1
]\Iy land from all Papists I purge,
Who think that their votes should be free,
Who think that their votes should be free.
For huts only fitted for brutes
JNIy agent the last penny wrings ;
And my serfs live on water and roots,
While I feast on the best of good things !
For I am the poor man's scourge I
For I am the poor man's scourge !
(Chorus of the Editors of the Nation)
Yes, you are the poor man's scourge I
But of such the whole island we'll purge !
A despot, and a strong one, am I,
Since a Drummond no longer is here
To my '' duties " to point ev'ry eye,
Though of " rights " I wish only to liear^
Though of ** rights " I wish only to hear 1
If conspii-acies I apprehend,
^'o throw ofif my rack-ronling rule,
12<3 THE SPiPvIT THE NATION.
For a ^^ SiJedal Commission'^ I send
To my friends of the old Tory school,
For I am the poor man's scourge '
For I am the poor man's scourge .
Chorus of the Editors of the Nation)
Yes, you are the poor man's scourge !
But of such the whole island we'll purge 1
I prove to the world I'm a man,
In a way very pleasant to show j
I corrupt all the tenants I can,
And of children I have a Ions: row —
And of children I have a long row 1
My cottiers must all cringe to me,
Nor grudge me the prettiest lass ;
Or they know very well that they'll see
Their hovels as flat as the grass 1
For I am the poor mean's scourge !
For I am the poor man's scourge I
(Chorus of the Editors of the Nation J
Yes, yoiL are the poor man's scourge I
But oi such the whole island we'll purge !
If a Connor my right should deny
To " do what I like with my own,"
For the rascal I've soon a reply,
Into gaol for ^^ sedition" he's thrown—
Into ^^o\ for ^'sedition'' he's throvrnl
THE spiniT OF THE nation. 127
The tariff is bringing rents down,
Yet more casli from the farmer I'll sq-aceze:
And, for fear of being shot, come to town
To drink, game, and intrigue at my ease !
For I am the poor man's scourge !
Tor I am the poor man's scourge ! '
(Chmis of the Editors of the Nation)
Yes, you are the poor man's scourge !
But of such the whole island w^e'll purge I
ANXIE, DE.IR.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
OUE mountain brooks were rushing^
Annie, dear,
The Autumn eve was flushing,
Annie, dear ^
But brighter was your blushing,
"When first, your murmurs hushing,
I told my love outgushiug,
Annie, dear.
Ah ! but our hopes were splendid,
Annie, dear,
Hov^ sadly they have ended,
Annie, dear;
I'iB THE SPIRIT Olf THE NATION
The ring betwixt us broken,
AYhen our vows of love were spoken,
Of your poor heart -vvas a token,
^ Annie, dear.
The primrose flow'rs were shining
Annie, dear
"When, on my breast reclining,
Annie, dear,
Eegan our Mi-na-Meala,
And many a month did follow
Of joy — but life is hollow,
Annie, dear.
For once, when home returning,
Annie, dear
I found our cottage burning,
Annie, dear;
Around it were the yeomen,
Of every ill an omen.
The country's bitter foemen,
Annie, dear.
But why arose a morrow,
Annie, dear,
Upon that night of sorrow,
Annie, dear 5
Far better by thee lying,
Their bayonets defying,
Th;^T> live an exile sighing;
Ann-'o dea::.
ailE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 12^
A KEAY YEAB'S SONG.
My countrymen, awake ! arise !
Our work begins anew :
Your mingled voices rend the skieSj
Your hearts are firm and true ;
You've bravely marched and nobly met
Our little green isle through,
But oh ! my friends, there's something yet
For Irishmen to do !
As long as Erin hears the clink
Of base, ignoble chains —
As long as one detested link
Of foreif:rn rule remains —
o
As long as of our rightful debt
One smallest fraction's due,
So long, my friends, there's somethiiig yet
For Irishmen to do I
Too long we've borne the servile yoke,
Too long the slavish chain,
Too long in feeble accents spoke,
And ever spoke in vain.
Our wealth has filled the spoiler's net,
And gorged the Saxon crew ;
But, oh I my friends, we'll teach them yet
AVhat Irishmen can do !
I
150 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIO^^.
The olive branch is in our hands,
The white flag floats above ;
Peace — peace pervades our myriad band:i.
And proud, forgiving love ;
But, oh ! let not our foes forget
We're meUf as Christians, too,
Prepared to do for Ireland yet
What Irishmen should do !
There's not a man of all our land
- Our country now can spare,
The strong man with his sinewy hand,
The weali man with his pray'r !.
Kg whining tone of mere regret,
Young Irish bards, for you ;
But let your songs teach Ireland yeO
What Irishmen should do !
And wheresoe'er that duty lead,
There, there your post should ba ;
The coward slave is never freed— ^
. The brave alone are free !
Freedom ! nrmly fixed are set
Our longing eyes on you ;
ibid though we die for Ireland ye(>;
So Irishmen should do !
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 131
OH! FOR A STEED.
EY THOMAS DAVIS.
Oh ! for a steed, a rusliiiig steed; and a blazing
scimitar,
To hunt from beauteous Italy tlie Austrian's red
hussar ;
To mock their boasts,
And strew their hosts,
And scatter their flags afar.
Oh I for a steed, a rushing steed, and dear Pohmd
gathered around,
To smite her circle of savage foes, and smash them
upon the ground ;
Nor hold my hand
While on the land
A foreigner foe was founds
Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and a rifle ilrJj
never failed.
And a tribe of terrible prauie men, by desperate
valor mailed,
Till ''stripes and stars"
And liussian czars
Before the Eed Indian quailed.
132 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATlOBT.
Oh ! for a steed, a rusliing steed, on the plains of
llindostan,
And a hundred thousand cavaliers to cliarge like a
Bingle mail,
Till our shirts were red,
And the English fled
Like a cowardly caravan.
Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, with the Greeks
at Marathon,
Or a place in the Switzer phalanx, when the Morat
men swept on
Like a pine-clad hill
By an earthquake's will
Hurled the valleys upon.
Oh I for a steed, a rushing steed, when Brian smote
down the Dane,
Or a place beside great Aodh O'Neill, when Bago-
nal the bold was slain,
Or a Avaviug crest
And a lance in rest
"With Bruce upon Bannoch plain.
Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, on the Curracli of
Cildar,
And Irish squadrons skilled to do as they are ready
to dare,
A hundred yards,
And England's guards
B'awn ux> to engage me there.
THE -SPIRir OF THE NATION. 133
Oh ! for a steed, a rushing steed, and any good
cause at all,
Or else, if you will, a field on foot^ or guarding a
Icaguered wall,
For Frcedom*s riijlit
In flusliing fight
To conquer, if then to f:ill.
THE VOICE AKD TEX.
EY D. F. M'CAKTIiy.
On I the orator's voice is a mighty power
As it echoes from shore to shore ;
And the fearless pen has more sway o'er rien
Than the murderous cannon's roar.
Vrhat burst the chain far o'er the main.
And brightens the captive's den 1
*Tis the fearless voice and the pen of powcr-^
Hurrah ! for the Voice and Pen !
Hurrah !
Hurrah ! for the Voice and Pen !
The tyrant knaves who deny our rights,
And the cowards who blanch with fear,
Exclaim with glee, " No arms have ye—
Kor cannorii nor sword, no:* 5pcar !
i3k TIIS SPIIlir OF THE NATION.
Your hills are ours ; with our forts and tow'rs
We are masters of mount and glen."
T}- rants, bcAvare ! for the arms we bear
Are the Voice and the fearless Pen !
Hurrah !
Hurrah I for the Voice and Pen !
Though your horsemen stand with their bridles in
hand,
And your sentinels walk around —
Tliough your matches flare in the midnight air.
And your brazen trumpets sound ;
Oh ! the orator's tongue shall be heard among
These listening warrior men,
And they'll quickly say, " Why should we slay
Our friends of the Voice and Pen V
Hurrah !
Hurrah ! for the Voice and Pen !
When the Lord created the earth and sea.
The stars and the glorious sua,
The Godhead sjjohe, and the universe woke.
And the mighty w^ork was done I
Let a word be flung from the orator's tongue,
Or a drop from the fearless pen.
And the chains accursed asunder burst
That fettered the minds of men
Hurrah !
Hurrah ! for the Voice and Pen I
THE GinRIT OF THE NATIO?.. 13:
Oh ! these are the swords with which avc n-];t, .-
The arms in -which we trust,
"Which no tyrant hand will dare to brand,
AYhich time cannot dim or rust I
When these we bore we triumphed before,
With these we'll triumph again ;
And the world will say, " No poAver can slay
" The Voice and tlie fearless Pen I"
Hurrah !
Hurrah ! for the Voice and Pen !
UP FOR THE GREEN.
A SONG OF THE UNITED lEISIDIEN.
A.D. 170G.
Am— "The Wearing of the Green.^^
'Tis the green — oh I the green is the color of tlie
true, . -'
And we'll back it 'gainst the orange, and we'll
raise it o'er the blue !
And the color of our fatherland alone should here
be seen^
And the color of the martyred dead— our own im-
mortal green,
Tlien up for the green, boys, and up for the
green !
Oh ! 'tis down to the dust, and a shame to be
seen^
136 THE SriRIT OF THE NATION.
Eut we've hands, oK ! we've hands, hoys, full
strong enough, I ween,
To rescue and to raise again our own iinuioi-tal
rcen
g
Tliey may say they have power 'tis vain to oppose —
'Tis hetter to ohey and live, than surely die as foes;
Tut we scorn all their threats, hoys, whatever
they may mean ;
For we trust in God ahove us, and we dearly love
the green.
So we'll up for the green, and we'll up for the
green —
Oh ! to die is far better than be cursed as we have
been ;
And we've hearts — oh ! we've hearts, boys, full
true enough, I ween.
To rescue and to raise again our own immor-
tal green.
They may swear, as they often did, our wretched-
ness to cure,
But we'll never trust John Bull again, nor let his
lies allure ;
No, we won't, no, we won* t, Bull, for now nor ever
more !
For we've hopes on the ocean, and we\e trust on
the shore-
THE SriRIT OF THE NATION. 137
Tlion up for the green, boys, then up for the
green !
Shout it back to the Sassanach, '' We'll never sell
the green ! "
For our Tone is coming back, and with men
enough, I ween,
To rescue and avenge us and our own immortal
green.
Oh ! remember the days when their roign we did
disturb,
At Luimneacli^ and Vurlasf, Blackwater and
Be'innlihorh,X
And ask this proud Saxon if our blovrs he did en-
When we met him on the battle-field of Franco- at
Fontenoy.
Then we'll up for the green, boys, and up for
the gi'cen !
Oh ! 'tis silll in the dust, and a shame to bv
seen ;
But we've hearts and we've hands, boys, full
strong enough, I ween.
To rescue and to raise again our own unsul-
lied green !
Fermoy.
» Liiiiciick. t Misspelt ThuvleS. % Benburb,
133 THE SPIRIl UF THE NATION.
]\IY LAND.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
She is a ricli and rare land ;
Oh ! slie's a fresh and fair land
She is a dear and rare land —
This native land of mine .
No men than hers are braver—
Her women's hearts ne'er waver ;
I'd freely die to ^ave her,
And think my lot divine.
She's not a dull or cold land ;
No ! she's a warm and bold land ;
Oh ! she's a true and old land —
This native land of mine.
Could beauty ever guard her,
And virtue still reward her,
No foe would cross her border-
No friend within it pine ;
Oh ! she's a fresh and fair land,
Oh ! she's a true and rare land 1
Yes, she's a rare and fair land —
This native land of mine.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 139
THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Air—'* The Cota CaoV
His kiss is s^yeet, liis word is kind,
His love is ricli to me ;
I could not in a i^alace find
A truer heart than he.
The eagle shelters not his nest
From hurricane and hail
Tilore bravely than he guards my breast —
The Boatman of Kinsale.
The vvind that round the Fastnet sweeps
Is not a whit more pure ;
The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps
Has not a foot more sure j
No firmer hand nor freer eye
E'er fliced an Autumn gale ;
De Courcy's heart is not so high —
The Boatman of Kinsale.
The brawling squires may heed him not,
The dainty stranger sneer —
But who will dare to hurt our cot
When Myles O'Hea is here]
The scarlet soldiers pass along —
They'd like, but fear, to rail;
His blood is hot, his blow is strong —
Tlie Boatman of Kinsale.
140 THE spiniT of the nation.
His hooker's in the Scilly van
When seines are in the foam ;
But money never made the man,
Nor wealth a happy home.
So, blest with love and liberty,
While he can trim a sail,
He'll trust in God, and cling to me—
The Boatman of Kinsale.
LAMENT FOIt THE MILESIANS.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Oh ! proud were the chieftains of proud Innis-Fail,
A^s iniagli gan old Jib' ^n-a Ih-farmdh /*
The stars of our sky and the salt of our soil,
A's truagh gan oidJiir ^n-a hh-farradh :
Their hearts were as soft as a child in the lap —
Yet they were " the men in the gap ;"
And now that the cold clay their limbs doth eu
wrap,
A's truagli gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh I
* A's truagh gan oidhir *n-a hh-farradh. " That is p'ty, without helt
in their company," ?.c., what a pity that there is no heir of their com-
pany. See the poem of Giolla losa Jlor Mac Firbisigh, The Genealogies,
Tribes, and Customs of the Ui Fiachrach, or O'Duhfidd's Country,
printed for the Irish Arch. Soc, p. 2oO, line 2, and uote d. Abo,
O'ReUln's Diet., \o'M/ar,\:dh,
TUE SrmiT OF THE NATION. HI
'Gainst England long battling, at lecgtli tliey went
down,
A's truagh gan oidJiir 'n-a Ih-farradh!
r.'it they've left their deep tracks on the road of
renown,
A's truagh gan oidldr ^n-a hh-farradh !
We are heirs of their fame, if we're not of their race,
And deadly and deep our disgrace,
If we live o'er their sepulchres abject and base,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a Ih-farradh ! .
Oh i sweet were the minstrels of kind Innis-Fail !
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a Ih-farradh I
Whose music nor ages nor sorrovv^ can spoil,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'ji-a Ih-farradh !
Eut their sad, stifled tones are like streams flowing
hid,
Their caoine and their pibroch were chid,
And their language, "that melts into music,"
forbid,
A's truagh gan oidhir ^n-a Ihfarradh I
How fair were the maidens of fair Innis-Fail,
A's truagh gan oidhir '71-a hh-farradh I
As fresh and as free as the sea-breeze from soil,
A's truagh gan oidhir ^n-a Ihfarradh I
Oh ! are not our maidens as fair and a? pure?
Can our music no longer allure 1
And can we but sob, as such wrongs we endure,
A'ii truagh gan oidhir 'n-a. Ih-farradh 1
142 THE SHRIT OF THE NATION.
Their famous, tlieir holy, their dear Innis-Fail,
A^s truagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh !
Shall it be a prey for the stranger to spoil %
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh !
Sure brave men would labor by night and by day
To banish that stranger awa}^,
Or, dying for Ireland, the future would say
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh I
Oh ! shame — for unchanged is the face of our isle,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hhfarradh I
That taught them to battle, to sing, and to smile,
A's truagh gan oidhir 'n-a hh-farradh I
VYe are heirs of their rivers, their sea, and their
land,
Our sky and our mountains as grand —
We are heirs — oh ! we're not — of their heart and
their hand,
A's truagh gan oidhir ^n-a hh-farradh I
MU^^STER.
Yo who rather
Seek to gather
Biding tliought than fleeting pleasure.
In the South what wonders saw ye 1
From the South what lessons draw ye ]
AVonders, passing thought or measure — •
Lessons, tlnougli a life to treasure.
rfiE SPIRIT 05- THE NATION-. 143
Ever living
Nature, giving
Welcome wild, or soft caress —
Scenes that sink into the bein^,
Till the eye grows full with seeing,
And the mute heart can but bless
Him that shaped such loveliness.
Dark and ^dde ill,
Rivers idle.
Wealth unwrought of sea and mine;
Bays where Europe's fleet might anchoi'—
Scarce Panama s waters blanker
Ere Columbus crossed the brine,
Void of living sound or sign.
God hath blest it,
Man opprest it —
Sad the fruits that mingling rise —
Fallow fields, and hands to till them ;
Hungry mouths, and grain to fill ther^ ;
But £. social curse denies
Labor's guerdon, want's supplies.
Sunlight glances.
Life that dances
In the limbs of childhood there —
Glowing tints, that fade and sickeu
In the pallid, famine-stricken
Looks that men and women wear,
Liuug t^-pes of want and cf.ro, ,
I4i- ^HE SPIRIT OF THE NAilO??.
Faith and patience
'Mid privations,
Genial heart, and open hand j
But, Avhat fain the eye would light on,
Pleasant homes to cheer and brighten
Such a race and such a land —
These, alas ! their lords ha"\-e banned.
These things press oii
Us the lesson :
Much may yet be done and borne ;
But the bonds that thus continue
Paralyzing limb and sinew,
From our country must be torn ;
Then shines out young Munster's morn.-
Sliabh CuiLIn:^,
THE TEUE lEISH KING.*
BY THOSLVS DAVIS.
The Cci}sar of Eome has a wider demesne.
And the Ard-Eigh of France has more clans in his
train,
The sceptre of Spain is more heavy with gems.
And our crowns cannot vie with the Greek diadems;
•See Appendix h. to O'Dcnovan's " Hy-Fiaclu-a," p. 245, &.o.
THE SPIRIT OF THE MATION. IID
But kinglier far, before heaven and man,
Are the emerald fields, and the fiery-eyed clan.
The sceptre, and state, and the poets who sing,
And the swords that encircle a TnuE Inisn King ^
For he must have come from a conquering race —
The heir of their valor, their glory, their grace :
His frame must be stately, his step must be fleets
His hand must be trained to each warrior feat ;
His face, as the harvest moon, stcadfist and clear ^
A head to enlighten, a spirit to cheer ;
While the foremost to rush where the battle-brands
ring,
And the last to retreat, is a TnuE Irjsii King !
Yet, not for his courage, his strength, or his name,
Can he from the clansmen their fealty claim.
The poorest and highest choose freely to-day
The chief, that to-night they'll as truly obey ;
For loyalty springs from a people's consent,
And the knee that is forced had been better
unbent —
The Sassanach serfs no such homage can bring
As the Irishman's choice of a True Irish King !
Come, look on the pomp when they " make an
O'Neill/'
The muster of dynasts — O'h-Again, O'Shiadhail,
O'Cathain, O'h-Anluain, O'Eiuislein and all,
From genile Aird IHr.dh to rude Dun na n-gnll
146 THE gPlUlT 017 THE ISATIO^.
** St. Patrick's comharha/'^' with bishops thirteen,
And ollamhs, and breithams, and minstrels are seen
Round Tulach-Ogt rath, like the bees in the spring,
All swarming to honor a True Irish King !
tJnsandalled he stands on the foot-dinted rock,
Like a pillar-stone fixed against every shock ;
Round, round is the rath, on a far-seeing hill,
Like his blemishless honor and vigilant ^vill.
The gray-beards are telling how chiefs by the score
Have been crowned on '"'The Rath of the Kings"
heretofore ;
While, crowded, yet ordered, within i!-s green ring
Ai'e the dynasts and priests round the True Irish
King !
The chronicler read him the lar\^s of the clan,
And pledged him to bide by their blessing and ban j
His skian and his sword are unbuckled to show
That they only were meant for a foreigner foe ;
A white willow wand has been put in his hand —
A type of pure, upright, and gentle command ;
While hierarchs are blessing, the slipper they fling,
And O'Cathain proclaims him a True Irish King '
Thrice looked he to heaven with thanks and with
pray'r,
Thrice looked to his borders with sentinel stare,
• Sncccs50v~co7nharha Phadraig—iho Arehbisbop of Armagh.
t la UiO cciuity Tyroiie, bctweea Cookstown and Stewartslovja*
XttE Sl'miT OF THE NATIOIn. 147
To the waves of Loch N-Eathach, the heic^^hts of
Strathbhaii —
And thrice on hi.s allies, and thrice on his clan.
One clash on their bucklers ! — one more ! they are
still—
What means the deep pause on the crest of tiie
hill 1
SVhj gaze they ahove liim 1 — a war-eagle's wing !
'' 'Tis an omen ! Hurrah ! for the True Irish
King 1"
God aid him ! God save him ! and smile on his
reign—
The terror of England, the ally of Spain.
May his sword be triumphant o'er Sassanach arts !
Be his throne ever girt by strong hands and true
hearts !
May the course of his conquest run on till he see
The flag of Plantagenet sink in the sea,
And minstrels for ever his victories sin
05
And saints make the bed of the True iRisn Kixgj
THE GEEEN FLAG
A.D. 1647.
BY M. J. BARRY.
Boys ! fill your glasses,
Each hour that passes
S^.eals, it may be, on our last night'^ c'^eer.
113 TII'E SrmiT Oi' THE NATlOK".
The day soon sliall come, boys,
AVith fife and drum, boys.
Breaking fchrilly on the soldier's car.
Drink the faithful hearts that love us^
'Mid to-morrow's thickest fight,
AAliile our green flag floats above us,
Think, boys, 'tis for them vra giuite.
Do\Yn with each mean flag.
None but the green flag
Shall above us be in triumph seen :
Oh I think on itsglor}^.
Long shrined in story.
Charge for Eire and her flag of green )
Think on old Brian,
War's mighty lion,
'Neath that banner 'twas he smote the Dane j
The Northman and Saxon
Oft turned their backs on
Those who bore it o'er each crimsoned plain.
Beal-an-atha-Buidhe beheld it
Bagenal's fiery onset curb ;
Scotch Munroe would fain have felled it^*
We, boys, followed him from red Beinnburb.
Down with each mean flag,
Nune but the green flag
Shall above us be in triumph seen :
Oh ! think on its glorj^,
Long shrined in story.
Charge with Eo^han for our flag of green I
THE SriRIT OF Till: NATION. UO
And if, at eve, boys,
Comrades shall grieve, boys,
O'er our corses, let it be with pride,
When thinking that each, boys,
On that red beach, boys,
Lies the flood-mark of the battle's tide.
See ! the first faint ray of morning
Gilds the east with yellow light !
Hark ! the bugle note gives warning —
One full bumper to old friends to-night*
Down with each mean flasr,
None but the green flag
Shall above us be in triumph seen :
Oh ! think on its glory,
Long shrined in story.
Fall or conq^uer for our flag of green !
THE ISRAELITE LEADER.
A Hebrew youth, of thoughtful miea
And dark, impassioned eye,
Once stood beside the leafy sheen
Of an oak that towered high.
Ever, amid man's varied race,
Such port and glance are found — ■
Unerring signs by which to trace
The slave's firct iinvrard bouiiil.
160 THE sriRiT of the nation.
Ay ! Liberty's good son, though he
Yet bears the tyrant brand —
Kot distant far the hour can be
For such to arm and band.
His father's heaped-up corn was near,
To tend it seemed his care ;
But — souls like his to heaven are dear-—
An angel sought him there.
Under the shade of that tall oak
A stranger met his eyes,
And glorious were the words he cpoko
Of Israel's quick uprise !
Deep, thrilling words — they instant mada
That young heart overflow,
As the strong leap of the cascade
Heaves up the tide below.
He spread a feast for the harbinger
Who such good tidings bore,
But fire from heaven consumed it there-—
He saw that guest no more ;
And when the first deep awe had passed
Of such strange visitant,
Up sprang his hopes for Israel^ fast
As eagles from their haunt.
And the pale youth who, but that morn
(So meek of heart was he),
StOod wiuno^ving his father's corn,
Al midnight, lilve a sea
THB SPIRIT OF Tins NATION, 151
^Tien tameless is its stormy roar,
To Baal's high altar rushed,
And it was overturned beforo
The next bright orient blushed.
An altar to the Living God
Upon the ruin stood,
And groves where Baal's priests had trod
Were rooted from the wood ;
And God's good svv'ord with Gideon went
For ever from that day.
Till, of the hosts against him sent,
Not one was left to slay.
Oh ! names like his bright beacons are
To realms that kings oppress,
Hailing, with radiant light from far,
Their signals of distress.
When a crushed nation humbly turns
From sin that was too dear.
Not long the proud oppressor spurns —
Deliverance is near.
A. .
152 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
RECBUITING SONG FOR THE miSH
BRIGADE.
BY lUURICE O'CONNELL.
Air— "The White CocTcade.""
Is tliere a youthful gallant hero
On fire for fame — unknowmg fear —
"Who, in the charge's mad career,
On Erin's foes would flesh his spear 1
Come, let him wear the white cockade,
And learn the soldier's glorious trade ;
'Tis of such stuff a hero's made,
Then let him join the bold Brigade.
Who scorns to own a Saxon lord,
And toil to swell a stranger's hoard 1
"Wlio, for rude blow or gibing word,
Would answer with the freeman's sword ?
Come, let him wear the white cockade, &v
Does Erin's foully slandered name
Suffuse thy cheek with generous shame 1
Wouldst right her wrongs — restore her fame?^
Come, then, the soldier's weapon claim —
Come, then, and wear the white cockade^ cl-&-
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 153
Come, free from bonds your father's faitK,
Eedeem its shrines from scorn and scathe —
The hero's fame, the martyr's wreath,
AVill gild your life or crown your death.
Then come, and wear the white cockade, &c.
To drahi the cup — with girls to toy.
The serfs vile soul with bliss may cloy ;
But wouldst thou taste a manly joyl —
Oh ! it was ours at Fontenoy I
Come, then, and wear the white cockade, &c
To many a fight thy fathers led,
Full many a Saxon's life-blood shed ;
From thee, as yet, no foe has fled —
Thou wilt not shame the glorious dead ]
Then come, and wear the white cockade, &a
Oh I com.e — for slavery, want, and shame,
AVe offer vengeance, freedom, fame,
With monarchs comrade rank to claim,
Lnd, nobler still, the patriot's name.
Oh ! come, and vrear the white cockade,
And learn the soldier's glorious trade ;
'Tis of such stuff a hero's made —
Then coi«^e, and join the bold Brigade.
154 SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
STEP TOGETHER.
BY M. J. BARKY.
Step together — boldly tread,
Firm each foot, erect each head,
Fixed in front be every glance —
Forward, at the word " advance"—
vSerried files that foes may dread ;
Like the deer on mountain heather,
Tread light,
Left, riglit —
Steady, boys, and step together !
Step together — be each rank
Dressed in line, from flank to flank,
Marching so that you may halt
'Mid the onset's fierce assault.
Firm as in the rampart's bank
Kaised the iron rain to weather —
Proud sight !
Left, right —
Steady, boys, and step together I
Step together — bo jour tramp
Quick and Kght—uo plodding stamp
Let its cadence, quick and clear.
Fall like music on the ear ;
Koise befits not ball or camn— »
TUB SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 155
Eagles soar on silent featlier ;
Tread light,
Left, right — ■
Steady, boys, and step together I
Step together — self-restrained,
Be your march of thought as trained.
Each man's single powers combined
Into one battalioned mind.
Moving on with step sustained :
Thus prepared, we reck not whether
Foes smite.
Left, right —
^Ye can think and strike together !
PATIE^X'E.
Be patient, oh ! be patient ! put your ear against the
earth —
Listen there how noiselessly the germ o* the seed
has birth,
How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little
way,
Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and the
blade stands forth to day.
Bo patient, oh! be patient! for the germs of mighty
thouglit
150 THE SPIRIT OF THU NATION.
^Iiist have tlieir silent undergrowth, must undei:-
ground be -vvroiiglit ;
But as sure as ever there's power that makes the
grass appear,
Dur land shall smile with libeily, the blade-time
ghall be hero.
Be patient, oh ! be patient ! go and watch the wheat-
cars grow
So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor
throe,
Day after da}-, day after day, till the ear is fully
grown.
And then again, day after day, till the ripened field
is brown.
Be patient, oh ! be patient I though yet our hopes are
green,
The harvest-fields of Freedom shall be crowned
with sunny sheen.
Be ripening, be ripening, mature your silent way,
Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on
Freedom's harvest day.
SPArwT4Ci^s.
TEL sPiniT or Till: nation. 157
THE GREEN ABOVE THE RED
EY TU0:JAS DAVIS.
Full often, ^vllen our fathers saw the Eed above
the Green,
They rose in rude but fierce array, with sabre, pike,
and skian.
And over many a noble tovrn, and many a field ol
dead,
Tlicy proudly set the Irish Green above the English
Red.
Eut in the end, throughout the land, the shameful
si2;ht was seen —
The English Red in triumph high above the Irish
Green ;
But well they died in breach and field, who, as
their spirits fled,
Still saw the Green maintain its place above the
English Red.
And they who saw, in after times, the Red above
the Green,
Were withered as the gra.ss that ^lies beneath a
forest screen ;
158 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIONS
^ct often by this health}^ hope their sinking hearts
were fed,
That, in some day to come, tho Green should flutter
o*er the Eed.
Sure 'twas for this Lord Edvward died, and Wolfe
Tone sunk serene —
Eecause they could not bear to leave the Eed above
the Green ;
And 'twas for this that Owen fought, and Sarsfield
nobly bled —
Because their eyes were hot to see the Green above
the Eed.
So, when the strife began again, our darling Irish
Green
Was down upon the earth, while liigh the English
Eed was seen j
Yet still vre held our fearless course, for something
in us said,
^'Before the strife is o'er you'll see the Green
above the Eed."
And 'tis for this we think and toil, and knowledge
strive to glean,
That we may pull the English Eed below the Irish
Green,
THE SriRIT OF THE xVATlON. 159
And leave our sons sweet liberty, and smiling
plenty spread
Above the land once dark with blood — the Green
above the lied !
The jealous English tyrant now has banned the
Irish Green,
And forced us to conceal it like a something foul
and mean ;
Cut yet, by heavens ! lieTi sooner raise his victims
from the dead,
Than force our hearts to leave the Green and
cotton to the Eed !
We'll trust ourselves, for God is good, and blesses
those who lean
On their brave hearts, and not upon an earthly
king or queen ;
And, freely as we lift cur hands, vre vow our blood
to shed,
Once and for evermore to rciso the Green above
the Eed 1
IGO TUB SPIRIT OF THE NATION,
THE WELCOME.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Come in the evGiiing, or come in the morning,
Come when you're looked for, or come without
warning.
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before yon,
And the oft'ncr you come here the more I'll adore
you.
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted,
lied is my cheek that they told me was bhghted.
The green of the trees looks far greener than
ever,
And the linnets are singing, "True lovers, don't
sever !"
I'll pull you sweet flowers, to wear, if you choose
them ;
Or, after you've kissed them, they'll lie on my bosom.
I'll fetch from the mountain its breeze to inspire
you;
ril fetch from my fancy a tale that won't tu'e you
Oh! your step's like the rain to the summer
vexed farmer.
Or sabre and shield to a knight witliout armor j
I'll sing you sweet songs till the stars rise above
me,
Then, wandering. I'll wl;^h you^ in silencC; to
love me.
IHE SrlRIT OF THE NATION. 161
We*ll look through the trees at the cliff and the
eyrie ;
We'll tread round the rath on the track of the
fairy j
We'll look on the stars, and we'll list to the river,
Till you ask of your darling what gift you can givo
her.
Oh ! she'll whisper you, " Love as unchangeabl;^
beaming,
And trust, when in secret, most tunefully stream*
ing,
Till the starlight of heaven above us shall quiver
As our souls flow in one down eternity's river,"
So come in the evening, or come in the morning,
Come when you're looked for, or come without
warning.
Kisses and welcome you'll find here before you,
And the oft'ner you come here the more I'll adore
you.
Light is my heart since the day we were plighted,
Eed is my cheek that they told me vras blighted.
The green of the trees looks far greener than
over,
And the linnets are singing, <' True lovers, dou't
sever !"
102 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOK.
WHY, GENTLES, WHY1
AiK — *' Whv, soldiers, vjJiy ?^'
\YiiY, gentles, Avliy
Should we so melanclioly bo S
Why, gentles, why ?
We know that all must die —
He, you, and I !
Life, at the best,
Is but a jest ;
Hopes brightly shine but to tly.
Rejoice, then, that rest-
Deep, quiet, blest —
Stands ever nigh !
"Why, tell mOj vviiy
Should we so melancholy be 1
Wli_y, tell me, why
Burst th' unbidden sigh,
While tears dim the eye 1
Why crave for rest.
And, even when happiest,
Find gloomy thoughts ever nigh 1
'Tis that v/hiie we live
Kougiit full content can give,
Knov/u but on high !
L. N. F,
tHE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 16^
KATE OF ARAGLEN.
Air— ' ' A n Co. ilin Ruadh. "
BY DENNY LANE.
^VjiEN first I say/ tliee, Kate, tliat summer evening
late,
Do^\Ti at the orchard gate of Araglen,
I felt I'd ne'er before seen one so fan', a st&r ;
I feared I'd never more see thee again.
I stopped and gazed at thee — my footfall, luckily,
Reached not thy ear, tho' we stood there so near ;
^Yhile from thy lips a strain, soft as the summer
rain.
Sad as a lover's pain, fell on my ear.
I've heard the lark in June, the harp's wild,
plaintive tune,
The thrush, that aye too soon gives o'er his strain —
I've heard in hushed delight the mellow horn at
night
Waking the echoes light of wild Loch Lein ;
But neither echoing horn, nor thrush upon the
thorn,
Nor lark at early mom hymning in air,
Nor harper's lay divine, e'er witched this heart of
mine,
Like that swe©^ ^roice of thine, that evening -Uiere. "
l6i THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOIT*
And when some rustling, dear, fell on tliy listening
ear,
You thought your brother near, and named his
name,
I could not answer, though, as luck would have
it so.
His name and mine, you know, were both the
same;
Hearing no answering sound, you glanced in doubt
around
With timid look, and found it was not he ;
Turning away 3'our head, and blushing rosy red.
Like a wild fawn you fled, far, far from me.
The swan upon the lake, the wild rose in the
brake.
The golden clouds that make the west their
throne,
Tlie wild ash by the stream, the full moon's silver
beam,
The evening star's soft gleam, shining alone ;
The lily robed in white — all, all are fair and bright ;
But ne'er on earth was sight so bright, so fair.
As tliat one glimpse of thee, that I caught then.
mo chreef
It stole my heart from me that evening there.
And now you're mine alone, that heart is all my
own —
Tliat heart that n'j'er hath known a flame before.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 163
That form of mould divine, that sno'.vy Land of
thine,
Tliosc locks of gold, arc mine for evprmn-."?.
Was lover ever seen, as blest as thine, Kathleen 1
Hath lover ever been more fond, more true 1
Thine is my ev'ry vow I for ever dear, as now !
Queen of my heart be thou ! mo cmlin ruadh /
THE PILLAR TO^YERS OF IRELAND.
BY D. F. MCCARTHY.
The pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they
stand
By the lakes and rushing rivers through the vallcyg
of our land ;
In mystic file, through the isle, they lift their headg
sublime,
These gray old pillar temples— these conquerors of
time !
Beside these gray old pillars, how perishing and
weak
The Roman's arch of triumph, and the temple of
the Greek,
And the gold domes of Byzantium, and the pointed
Gothic spires —
All are gone, one by one, but the temples of our
sires.
ICKI rilE SPIRIT OF THE i??AtIOW.
The column, with its capital, is level with the dust,
And the proud lialls of the mighty and the calm
homes of the just ;
For the proudest works of man, as certainly, but
slower,
Pass like the grass at the sharp scythe of the
mower !
But the grass grows again when, in majesty and
mirth.
On the wing of the Spring, comes the Goddess of
the Earth ;
But for man in this world no springtide e'er
returns
To the labors of his hands or the ashes of his urns !
Two favorites hath Time — the pyramids of Nile,
And the old mystic temples of our own dear isle ;
As the breeze o'er the seas, wdiere the halcyon has
its nest,
Thus time o'er Egypt's tombs and the temples of
the West.
The names of their founders have vanished in thf
gloom.
Like the dry branch in the fire or the body in the
tomb ;
But to-day, in the nay, their shadows still they
cast —
These temples of forgotten gods — these relics o{
the past !
THE SriRIT OF Till: NATION. 1G7
Around these walls have wandered tlio Briton and
the Dane,
TliG captives of Armorica, the cavaliers of Spain,
Plio^niciaa and Milesian, and the plundering
Norman peers,
And the swordsmen of brave Brian, and the chiefs
of later years !
Ilovr many diiferent rites have these gray old
temples known I
To the mind vrhat dreams are vrritten in thesa
chronicles of stone !
What terror and what error, what gleams of lovo
and truth,
Have flashed from these walls since the world vras
in its youth !
Here blazed the sacred fire, and, when the sun was
gone,
As a star from afar to the traveller it shone ;
And the warm blood of the victim have these gray
old temples drunh,
And the death-song of the druid and the matin of
the monk.
Here was placed the holy chalice that held the
sacred wine,
And the gold cross from the altar, and the relics
from the shrine.
168 THE SPIKIT OF THE NATION.
And the mitre shining brighter with its diamonds
than the east,
And the crozier of the pontiff, and the vestments
of the priest !
Where Hazed the sacred fire, rung out the vespet
bell;
Where the fugitive found shelter became the
hermit's cell ;
And hope hung out its symbol to the innocent and
good,
For the cross o'er the moss of the pointed summit
stood I
There may it stand for ever, while this symbol
doth impart
To the mind one glorious vision, or one proud
throb to the heart ;
While the breast needeth rest may these gray old
temples last,
Bright prophets of the future, as preachers of the
past!
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. IG9
THE WILD GEESE *
The wild geese — the wild geese — 'tis long si'ice
they flew
O'er the billowy ocean's bright bosom of blue ;
For the foot of the false-hearted stranger had curst
The shores on whose fond breast they'd settled at
first ;
And they sought them a home afar off o'er the sea,
Where their pinions, at least, might be chainless
and free.
Tlie wild geese — the wild geese — sad, sad was the
Avail
That followed their flight on the easterly gale ;
But the eyes that had wept o'er their vanishing track
Ke'er brightened to welcome the wanderers back ;
The home of their youth was the land of the slave,
And they died on that shore far away o'er the
wnvo.
The wild geese— the wild geese— then* coming once
more
Was the long-cherished hope of that desolate
shore,
* Tlic rccruUs of the Irish Brigade were generally convey cJ to Franca
in the smugglers which brought foreign uines and brandy to our west
coast, ind were entered on the ships' books as "wild geese." Hence tUit
Ijecame the ccmmon nixma for them anio^ij the country people.
1/0 Till: SPlfilf OF THE i^AflO)^,
For the loved ones behind knew it would yet bs
free,
If they flew on their white pinions back o'er the
sea;
But vainly the hope of these lonely ones burned,
The wild geese — the wild geese — they never re-
turned.
The wild geese — the wild geese— hark ! heard ye
that cry 1
And marked ye that white flock o'erspreading the
skyi
Can ye read not the onieu'J Joy, joy to the
slave.
And gladness and strength to the hearts of the
brave ;
For wild geese are con:ing at length o*er the sea,
And Eirinn, grfien Eirinn, once more shall be
freol
Tnfi SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 171
AID YOUESELVES AND GOD WILL
AID YOU.
Signs and tokens round us tliicken,
Hearts throb high and pulses quicken:
Comes the morn, though red and lurid-
Clouds and stoniis rj-ound :t hrjig —
Still it is that morn assured
Long ye've prayed for, sought, and sung.
Soon those clouds may break, and render
To your noon its genial splendor —
Or in gloom m.ore hopeless vest it ;
On your heads the end is rested —
Front to front ye've now arrayed you,
Aid yourselves and God will aid you.
Awful, past all human telling,
Is the change upon you dwelling ;
Act but now the fool or craven,
And, like Canaan doomed of yore,
" Slave of slaves " shall be engraven
On your foreheads evermore.
Crouching to your masters' mercies.
Drugged with slavery's cup like Circe's,
Scorn and by-word of the nations,
Curse of coming generations.
Blackest shame will overshade you —
AJd .yourselves and God will aid you.
172 THE SPIRIT Off THE NATION.
Hence, oli ! hence such foul surmises !
Truer far a vision rises,
Men in Freedom's rank battalloncd,
Countless as the bristhng grain,
Firm as ardent, wise as valiant,
All to venture — all sustain ;
]\Ien of never-sinking patience.
Tried and taught by stern privations.
From their path nor lured nor driven.
Till their every bond is riven —
Every wrong dispersed like May dcvr —
Aid yourselves and God will aid you.
No ! a heart-roused people's action
Cannot die like storms of faction.
Long a mute but master feeling
In the millions' breast was nursed,
Till — a magic voice appealing —
Forth it came, the thunder-burst !
'Gainst it now they plant their barriers.
Guard their keeps, and arm their warriors,
Lavish all their futile forces,
Power's most stale and vile resources,
Yet awhile to crush, degrade you :
Aid yourselves and God will aid you.
Blind misrule, and free opinion,
Armed lies, and truth's dominion,
TEE SPIRit OF THE NA'ilc)xS. Ud
111 a battle still recurring
Ever have these foes been set :
Here their deadliest strife is stirriiicr —
o
Who can doubt the issue yet 1
Watch and wait, your hour abiding,
Nought your goal one moment hiding,
Fearing not, nor too confiding,
Trusting in your leader's guiding —
His who ne'er forsook, betrayed you :
Aid yourselves and God will aid you.
Bat, should all be unavailing —
lieason, trath, and justice failing,
Every peaceful effort blighted,
Ever}' shred of freedom reft —
Then — oh I are we crushed or flighted
While one remedy is left ]
Back I each slave that faints or falters;
Or.! true heart that never alters ;
On! Btout arm no terrors weaken,
Eruce's star and Tell's your beacon ;
Strike — that stroke is many a day due :
Aid yourselves and God will aid you.
SlIALII CUILINN.
i7;4 tiiE Spirit of the natiui^.
WATCH AND WAIT.
BY CPIARLES GAVAN DUFFY,
Air—" Toxd row roio.^''
Sadly, as a muffled drum,
Toll the hours of long probation :
Let them toll, the stable soul
Can work and wait to build a nation*
Curse or groan
Never more shall own
But our stifled hearts are patient
As a stone.
Yes, as patient as a stone,
Till we're struck in hate or ire ;
Then the dint vnW fall on flint.
And send them back a stream of fire I
Wait, boys, wait.
Ready for your fate,
Prompt as powder to the linstock
Soon or late I
Let us gather love and help.
Won from native friends and foemen ^
How little loath the hearts of both.
We read in many a glorious omen.
No, boys, no,
Let no word or blow
Brand a native Irish brotheu
As our foe.
THE SPIRIT OJ" THE KATION. 175
Holy Freeaom s pealing voice
Willing slaves hath never woken ;
Ireland's trance was ignorance,
And Knowledge all her spells hath broken.
Hell and night
Vanish from her sight,
As when God pronounced aforetune,
''Be there light!"
Cherish y\'eii this sacred fiarne,
Feed its lamp with care and patience ',
From God it came, its destined aim
To burst the fetters off the nations.
Kow, boys, now,
Why should we bow,
When the promised day is dawning,
And that's novy ?
Brothers, if this day should set.
Another yet must cro^vn our freedom ;
Tliat will come with roll of drum
And trampHng files with men to lead theni.
Who can save
Renegade or slave 1
IB'ortune only twines her garlands
For the brave I
ITG IHE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
CLARE'S DRAGOONS.
BY THOMAS DAVIS,
Air— 'T/m 7ct."
When on Ramillies' bloody field
The baffled French were forced to yield,
The victor Saxon backward reeled
Before the charge of Clare's Dragoons.
The flags we conquered in that fray
Look lone in Ypres' chou', they say ;
We'll win them company to-day,
Or bravely die like Clare*s Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la for Ireland's wrong I
Viva la for Ireland's right !
Viva la in battle throng
For a Spanish steed and sabre bright
The brave old lord died near the fight,
But, for each drop ho lost that night,
A Saxon cavalier shall bite
The dust before Lord Clare's Dragoons*
For never, Avhen our spurs were set,
And never when our sabres met.
Could we the Saxon soldiers get
To stand the shock of Clare's Dragoons.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIuN. 177
CHORUS.
Viva la the New Brigade !
Viva la the Old One, too !
Viva la, the Rose shall fade,
And the Shamrock shine for ever new I
Another Clare is here to lead,
The worthy son of such a breed ;
The French expect some famous deed
When CLare leads on his bold Dragoons.
Our colonel comes from Brian's race,
His wounds are in his breast and face,
The heama haeghail^ is still his place,
The foremost of his bold Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la the New Brigade !
Viva la the Old One too !
Viva la, the Rose shall fade,
And the Shamrock shine for ever new.
There's not a man in squadron here
"Was ever known to flinch or fear.
Though first in charge and last in rear
Have ever been Lord Clare's Dragoons.
* Tte gav of danger.
17S THE SPIRIT OP THE NATION.
But, see ! we'll soon have work to do,
To shame our boasts, or prove them true,
For hither comes the English crew
To sweep away Lord Clare's Dragoons !
i
CHORUS.
^ Viva la for Ireland's wrong !
Viva la for Ireland's right I
Viva la in battle throng
, For a Spanish steed and sabre bright !
O comrades ! think how Ireland pines,
Her exiled lords, her rifled shrines,
Her dearest hope the ordered lines
And bursting charge of Clare's Dragoons.
Then fling your Green Flag to the sky.
Be Limerick your battle-cry,
And charge till blood floats fetlock high
Around the track of Clare's Dragoons.
CHORUS.
Viva la the New Brigade I
Viva la the Old One, too !
Viva la, the Rose shall fade,
And the Shamrock shin© for ever new !
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATI02T. 179
THE PATKIOT BEAYE.
BY R. D. WILLIAMS.
I DRINK to the vab'ant who combat
For freedom by mountain or wave ;
And may triumph attend, Hke a shadow,
The swords of the patriot brave !
Oh ! never was holier chahce
Than this at our festivals crowned —
The heroes of !Morven, to pledge it,
And gods of Valhalla, float round.
Hurrah for the patriot brave !
A health to the patriot brave !
And a curse and a blow be to liberty's foe,
"Whether tyrant, or coward, or knave.
Great spirits, who battled in old time
For the freedom of Athens, descend I
As low to the shadow of Brian
In fond hero-worship we bend.
From those that in far Alpine passes
Saw Dathi struck down in his mail,
To the last of our chiefs' galloglasses,
The safiron-clad foes of the Pale,
Let us drink to the patriot brave ;
Hurrah for the patriot brave !
But a curse and a blow be to Hberty's foe,
And more chains for the satisfied slave.
180 THE Si'IRIT OF THE NATION,
O Liberty ! hearts that adore thee
Pour out their best blood at thy shrine,
As freely as gushes before thee
This purple libation of wine.
I^'or us, whether destined to triumph,
Or bleed as Leonidas bled,
Crushed down by a forest of lances
On mountains of foreigner dead,
May we sleep with the patriot brave !
God prosper the patriot brave !
But may battle and woe hurry liberty's foe
To a bloody and honorless grave I
THE FALL OF THE LEAVES.
BY THE REV. C. MEEHAN.
They are falling, they are falling, and soon, alas I
they'll fade,
The flowers of the garden, the leaves of dell and
glade;
Their dirge the winds are singing in the lone and
fitful blast.
And the leaves and flowers of summer are strewn
and fadi'ig fast.
THE SPmiT OF THE NATION. 181
Ah! why, then, have we loved them, when their
beauties might have told
They could not linger long with us, nor stormy
sides behold ]
Fair creatures of the sunshine ! your day of life
is past,
Ye are scattered by the rude winds, fallen and
fading fast :
And, oh ! how oft enchanted have we watched your
opening bloom,
'When you made unto the day-god your offerings of
perfume !
How vain our own imaginings that Joy will always
last—
'Tis like to you, ye sweet things, all dimmed an(t
faded fast.
The glens where late ye bloomed for us are leafless
now and lorn,
The tempest's breath hath all their pride and all
their beauty shorn.
11.
'Twas ever so, and so shall be — by fate that doom
was cast —
The things we love are scarcely seen till they are
gone and past.
Ay, ye are gone and faded, ye leaves and lovely
flowers,
But when spring comes you'll come again to deck
the garden's bowers;
183 THE SPIRIT OP THE NA'flON.
And beauty, too, will cull you, and twine ye in her
hair —
iVliat meeter, truer emblem can beauty ever
wear 1
But never here, oh ! never shall we the loved ones
meet
Who shone in youth around us, and, like you,
faded fleet ;
Full soon affliction bowed them, and life's day-
dawn o'ercast —
They're blooming now in heaven, their day of
fading's past !
Ye withered leaves and flowers ! oh ! may you
long impart
"Konition grave and moral stern unto this erring
heart —
Qh ! teach it that the jovs f^f earth are short-lived,
vain, and frail.
And transient as the leaves and flowers b&fore the
wintry ga'©,.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION, 183
GATE OF CEANN-MARE •
BT D. F. MCCARTHY.
I.
Oe ! many bright eyes full of goodness and glad*
ness,
Where the pure soul looks out and the heart
loves to shine,
And many cheeks pale with the soft hue of sadness*
Have I worshipped in silence and felt them divine!
But hope in its gleamings, or love in its dreamings,
Ne'er fashioned a being so faultless and fair
As the lily-cheeked beauty, the rose of the Euach-
tachjt
. The fawn of the valley, sweet Cato of Ceann-
mare !
n.
h was all but a moment, her radiant existence.
Her presence, her absence, all crowded on me ;
But time has not ages, and earth has not distance,
To sever, sweet vision, my spirit from thee !
Again am I straying where children are playing.
Bright is the sunshine and balmy the air,
Mountains are heathy, and there do I see thee.
Sweet fawn of the valley, young Gate of Ceann-
mare !
* Properly Ceann-Jfara— head of the sea
\ Conua^oly written Koi'ij^itjf»
Idi THE SPIRIT OF THK NATION.
in.
Thy own bright arbutus hath many a cluster
Of white, flaxen blossoms, like lilies in air.
But, oh ! thy pale cheek hath a delicate lusti^
No blossoms can rival, no lily doth wear.
To that cheek softly flushing, to thy lip brightly
blushing,
Oh ! what are the berries that bright tree doth
bear ?
Peerless in beauty, the rose of the Ruachtach,
That fawn of the valley, sweet Gate of Ceann-mare !
IV.
beauty! some spell from kind nature thou
bearest,
Some magic of tone or enchantment of eye,
That hearts that are hardest from forms that are
fairest
Receive such impressions as never can die.
The foot of the fairy, though lightsome and airy,
Can stamp on the hard rock the shape it doth
Avear ;
Art cannot trace it, nor ages efface it —
And such are thy glances, sweet Gate of Ceanu-
mare !
V.
To him who far travels how sad is the feeling,
How the light of his mind is o'ershadowcd and
dim,
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 185
When the scenes he most loves, like the river's
soft stealing,
All fade as a vision, and vanish from him !
Yet he bears from each far land a flower for that
garland
That memory weaves of the bright and the fair ;
While this sigh I am breathing my garland is
wreathing.
And the rose of that garland is Gate of Ceann-
mare .*
\1.
In lonely Lough Quinlan,* in summer's soft hours.
Fair islands are floating that move with the tide,
Which, sterile at first, are soon covered with
floWTS,
And thus o'er the bright waters fairy-like glide!
Thus the mind the most vacant is quickly
awakened.
And the heart bears a harvest that late was so
bare,
Of him who, in ro\dng, finds objects in loving
Like the fawn of the valley, sweet Gate of
Geann-mare !
• Dr. Smith, In his "History of Kerry," says: "Near this place Is a
considerable fresh-water lake, calleti Lough Quinlan, in which are soino
email floating islands, much admired by the country people. These
is'ands swim from side to side of tlic lake, and are usually composed ac
fiist of a long kind of grass, which being blown off the adjacent
grounds about the middle of September, and floating about, collect
slinio and other stuff, and so yearly increase till Ihey com* to UVit
g-^s aud other yegetables grown upon theija,"
186 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Sweet Gate of Ceann-mare ! though I ne*er may
behold thee —
Though the pride and the joy of another you be —
Though strange lips may praise thee and strange
arms enfold thee,
A blessing, dear Gate, be on them and on thee !
One feeling I cherish that never can perish —
One talisman proof to the dark wizard, Gare —
The fervent and dutiful love of the beautiful,
Of which thou art a type, gentle Gate of Geann*
'uare!
A LAY SERMON.
BY CHARLES GAVAN DUFFY.
I.
Brother, do you love your brother ?
Brother, are you all you seem 1
Do you live for more than living 1
Has your life a law and scheme 1
Are you prompt to bear its duties.
As a brave man may beseem ]
n.
Brother, shun the mist exhaling
From the fen of pride and doubt ;
Neither seek the house of bondage,
Walling straitened souls about —
Bats ! who, from their narrow spy-hole,
Cannot see a world without.
l-HE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. ISf
in.
Anchor in no stagnant shallow ;
Trust the wide and wondrous sea,
Where the tides are fresh for ever,
And the mighty currents free :
rhere, perchance, young Columbus !
Your New World of truth may be.
IV.
Favor will not make deserving —
(Can the sunshine brighten clay ?)—
Slowly must it grow to blossom,
Fed by labor and delay ;
And the fairest bud of promise
Bears the taint of quick decay.
V.
You must strive for better guerdons —
Strive to he the thing you'd seem j
Be the thing that God hath made you,
Channel for no borrowed stream j
Re hath lent you mind and conscience—
See you travel in their beam !
VL
See you scale life's misty highlands
By this light of living truth 1
188 ilaE SPIRIT 0^ THE NATION.
And, with bosom braced for labor,
Breast tliem in your manly youth ;
So, when age and care have found you.
Shall your downward path be smooth.
vn.
Fear not, on that rugged highway.
Life may want its lawful zest ;
Sunny glens are in the mountain.
Where the weary feet may rest,
Cooled in streams that gush for ever
From a loving mother's breast.
vm.
" Simple heart and simple pleasures,**
So they write life's golden rule.
Honor won by supple baseness,
State that crowns a cankered fool,
Gleam as gleam the gold and purple
On a hot and rancid pool.
UL
"Wear no show of wit or science,
But the gems you've won and weighed
Thefts, like ivy on a ruin,
Make the rifts they seem to shade :
Are you not a thief and beggar
In the rarest spt>ils arrayed i
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 189
X.
Shadows deck a sunny landscape,
Making brighter all the bright ;
So, my brother ! care and danger
On a loving nature light,
Erinorinsr all its latent beauties
o o
Out upon the common sight.
XI.
Love the things that God created,
Make your brother's need your care ;
Scorn and hate repel God's blessings.
But where love is, they are there ;
As the moonbeams light the waters.
Leaving rock and sand-bank bare.
XII.
Thus, my brother, grow and flourish,
Fearing none and loving all ;
For the true man needs no patron —
He shall climb, and never crawl ;
Two things fashion their own channel—
The strong man and the waterfall.
190 THE SPIRIt OF THE NATIOlT.
THE BISHOP OF EOSS.
BY DR. MADDEN,
Author of the •* Lives of the United Irishmen."
I.
The tramp of the trooper is heard at Macroom ;*
The soldiers of Cromwell are spared from
Clonmeljt
And Broghill— the merciless Broghill — is come
On a mission of murder which pleases him well.
The wailing of women, the wild uMu,
Dread tidings from cabin to cabin convey ;
But loud though the plaints and the shrieks wliich
ensue,
The war-cry is louder of men in array.
III.
In the pai-K of Macroom there is gleaming of steel,
And glancing of lightning in looks on that field,
And swelling of bosoms with patriot zeal.
And clenching of hands on the weapons they
wield.
♦ Jlagli Cromha. t Cluftlr. Mealft.
IfiE SPrftlT OF THE NATION. 191
IV.
MacEgan,* a prelate like Ambrose of old,
Forsakes not his flock when the spoiler is near ;
The post of the pastor's in front of the fold
Vihen the wolf's on the plain and there's rapiiiti
to fear.
V.
The danger is come, and the fortune of war
IncHnes to the side of oppression once more ;
The people are brave — but, they fall ; and the star
Of their destiny sets in the darkness of yore.
VI.
MacEgan survives in the Philistine hands
Of the lords of the Pale, and his death is de-
creed ;
But the sentence is stayed by Lord Broghill's com-
mands,
And the prisoner is dragged to his presence with
speed.
VII.
'* To Carraig-an-Droichid| this instant," he cried,
*' Prevail on your people in garrison there
To yield, and at once in our mercy confide.
And your life I will pledge you my honor to
spare."
■ • Mac Aodhagaln in proper spelling.
t Commonly written Carrigadroliid (the Rock of the Bridge), three
miles east of JIacroom, county Cork. The castle is built on a steep rock
in the river Lee, by the M'Cafthys.
192 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
VIII.
" Your mercy I your honor I " the prelate replied,
" I well know the worth of : my duty I know ,
Lead on to the castle, and there, by your side,
With the blessing of God, what is meet will I do."
IX.
llie orders are given, the prisoner is led
To the castle, and round him are menacing
hordes :
Undaunted, approaching the walls, at the head
Of the troopers of Cromwell, he utters these
words :
X.
" Beware of the cockatrice — trust not the wiles
Of the serpent, for perfidy skulks in its folds !
Beware of Lord Broghill the day that he smiles 1
His mercy is murder ! — his word never holds.
XI.
" Eemember, 'tis writ in our annals of blood,
Our countrymen never relied on the faith
Of truce, or of treaty, but treason ensued —
And the issue of every delusion was death T*
XII.
Tlius nobly the patriot prelate sustained
The ancient renown of his chivalrous race.
And the last of old Eoghan's descendants obtained
For the name of Ui-Mani new lustre and grace.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOI\\ 103
XIII.
He died on the scaffold, in front of those walls
AVhere the blackness of ruin is seen from afar;
Aiid the gloom of its desolate aspect recalls
The blackest of Broghill's achievements in war I
OUB OWN AGAIK.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
I.
Let the coward shrink asido.
We'll have our own agaii; 5
Let the brawling slave deride,
Here's for our own again ;
Let the tyrant bribe and he,
March, threaten, fortify.
Loose his lawyer and his spy,
Yet we'll have our own again.
Let him soothe in silken tone,
Scold from a foreign throne.
Let him come with bugles blown,
AVe shall have our own agaiii.
Let us to our purpose bide.
We'll have our own again ;
Let the game be fairly tried,
We'll have our own again.
N
10 ( THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION".
n.
Send tlie cry througiiout the Lini,
" Who's for our own again V"
Summon all men to our band,
Why not our own again 1
Kich, and poor, and old, and young.
Sharp sword, and fiery tongue,
Soul, and sinew firmly strung.
All to get our own again.
Brothers thrive by brotherhood---
Trees in a stormy wood—
Eiches come from nationhood —
Sha'n't we have our own again '?
Munster's woe is Ulster's ban^ — -
Join for our own again ;
Tyrants rob as well as reign—
We'll have our own agaim
III.
Oft our fathers' hearts it stirre-'i^
" Eise for our own again !"
Often passed the signal word,
" Strike for our own again I"
Rudely, rashly, and untaught,
Uprose they, ere they ought,
Failing, though they nobly fought,
Dying for their own again.
Mind will rule and muscle yield
In senate, ship, and field—
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION 1^5
When we've sldll our strength to vricld,
Let us take our own again.
By the slave his chain is wrought —
Strive for our own again ;
Thunder is less strong than thought—
"We'll have our own again.
IV,
Calm as granite to our foes,
Stand for our own again,
Till his wrath to madness grows — •
Firm for our own asrain.
o
Bravely hope and wisely wait,
Toil, join, and educate ;
Man is master of his fate ;
"We'll enjoy our own again.
With a keen, constrained thirst-
Powder's calm ere it burst —
Making ready for the worst,
So we'll get our own again*
Let us to our purpose bide,
"We'll have our OAvn again ;
God is on the righteous side,
We'll have Qur own a2raia.
19G THE SriPvIT OF THE NATION.
A PATRIOT'S HAUKTS.
BY WILLIAM P. MULCHINECt.
I LOVE the mountain rude and Hgli,
Its bare and barren majesty,
And in its peopled solitude
I love to stand in musing mood,
And bring, by fancy's magic pow'r,
Bright dreams to charm the passing houi'j
To fill the green and heathy glen
With hosts of stalwart fighting men,
"With banners flaunting fair and free,
Fit for a new Thermopylae ;
And in the dark and narrow pass
I place a young Leonid as.
\yith joy I mark the phantom fight,
And hear the shouts for native right ;■
And thus, until the shades of night
Proclaim time's quick and restless flight,
in fancy, freedom's war I see.
And tread a land by slaves made free.
I love to mark tiie billows rise.
And fling their spray into the skies —
To mark the bold, impetuous shock
They deal upon the rugged rock ;
Until, where'er its side th-ey lave.
Their power is shown in many a cave-.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 19 T
I matcli the rock to t}Tanny,
The waves to slaves and man made free ;
For know, 'twas unity like this
That Greece put forth at Salamis ;
And thus the Eomans, side by side,
From Carthage tore her crest of pride ;
And yet, where slaves are found, I ween^
New Fabii may still be seen,
AYhose hearts, though bold enough, I trow;.
See not the fitting moment now—
Can find not yet the unity
That made the Doric children free,
That made the haughty Sam.nite fly
The anger of a Eoman eye.
Doubters ! ascend a mountaindieight,
With healthy pulse and sinew light —
Cowards ! upon the foaming tide
Cast your glances, far and wide.
And in the dark hill say with me,
" There's many a sure Tliermopylce, "
And o'er each bay's profound abyss,
" True heaiiis could make a Sslamis,"
.98 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
A HEALTH.
BY J. D. FRAZER.
I.
Hurrah ! our feuds are drowned at laso:
Hurrah ! let tyrants tremble j
The fronted foemen of the past
In brotherhood assemble.
Fill up — and with a lofty tongue
As ever spoke from steeple,
From shore to shore his health be rung—
The leader of the people.
II.
In mighty triumphs, singly won,
The nation has a token
That mightier deeds will yet be done —
The last strong fetter broken ;
Since hearts of nerve and hands of strength,
Once banded to resist him,
Unfurl his flag, and share at length
The glory to assist him.
IIL
Up with the wine from boss to brim,
And be his voice the loudest
Who rears, at risk of life or limb,
Out country's flag the proudest.
THE SPIRIT OS THE NATION. lOD
^ The leader of the peojple " — grand,
Yet simple wisdom guide him !
And glory to the men who stand,
like sheathed swords, beside liim.
ORANGE AND GEEEX WILL CARRY THE
DAY.
BY THOMAS DA^TiS.
Am— "r/ie Protestant Bot/s."
L
Ireland ! rejoice, and England ! deplore,
Paction and feud are passing away.
'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar,
" Orange and Green will carry the day."
Oranc^e! Oransi^e!
Green and Orange !
Pitted together in many a fray — •
Lions in fight !
And, linked in their might,
Orange and Green will carry the day.
Orange ! Orange !
Green and Orange !
Wave them together o'er mountain and bay,
Orange and Green !
Our king and our queen !
Orange and Green will carry the daj !
200 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
II.
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed ;
William and James are turned to clay ;
Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed —
Ked was the crop, and bitter the pay J
Freedom fled us !
Knaves misled us !
Under the feet of the foemen we lay ;
Kiches and strength
We'll win them at length,
For Orange and Green will carry the day !
Landlords fooled us,
England ruled us,
Hounding our passions to make us their prey :
But, in their spite.
The Irish " unite,"
And Orange and Green will carry the day !
III.
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve,
Empty the mart, and shipless the bay;
Out of our want the oligarchs carve ;
Foreigners fatten on our decay !
Disunited,
Therefore blighted,
Kuined and rent by the Englishman's sway ,
Party and creed
For once have agreed —
Orang:e and Green will carry the day !
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 4-^01
Boyne's old water,
lied with slaughter,
Kow is as pure as an infant at play ;
So in our souls
Its history rolls,
Aud Orange and Green will carry the da^y 1
lY.
English deceit can rule us no more ;
Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray ,'
Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore,
" Orange and Green must carry the day 1"
Orange ! Orange !
Bless the Orange !
Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay,
When from the North
Burst the cry forth,
" Orange and Green will carry the day I"
No surrender !
No pretender !
Never to falter and never betray —
With an Amen
We swear it again,
Orange and Green shall carry the daj I
20 j ' '£KU SHRIT OT THE NATION.
A HIGHWAY FOR FREEDOM
BY CLARENCE lilANGAN,
AiR-**Boyne Water.'*
I.
*' My suffering country shall be freed,
And shine with tenfold glory 1"
So spake the gallant Winkelried,
Renowned in German story.
" No tyrant, even of kingly grade,
Shall cross or darken my way !"
Out flashed his hlade, and so he made
For Freedom's course a highway !
II.
"We want a man like this, with pow'r
To rouse the world by one word ;
"We want a chief to meet the hour,
And march the masses onward.
But, chief or none, through blood and
My fatherland, lies iluj way !
The men must fight who dare desiro
For Freedom's course a highway I
III.
Alas ! I can but idly gaze
Around in grief and wonder ^
The people's will alone can raise
The peor)]e's shout of thunder.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 203
Too long, my friends, you faint for fear,
In secret crj^ot and by-way ;
At last be men ! Stand forth and clear
For Freedom's course a liigliway !
iv.
You intersect wood, lea, and lawu,
With roads for monster wagons,
Wlierein you speed like lightning, drawn
By fiery iron dragons.
So do. Such work is good, no doubt ;
But why not seek some nigh way
For mind as well ? Path also out
For Freedom's course a highway !
V.
Yes ! up ! and let your weapons be
Sharp steel and self-reliance I
Why waste your burning energy
In void and vain defiance.
And phrases fierce but fugitive?
'Tis deeds, not words, that I weigh—
Your swords and guns alone can givo
To Freedom's course a highway i
201 THE SPIBIT OF THE NATION,
ADVANCE.
BY D. F. M'CARTEy,
God bade the sun with golden step sublime
Advance \
He whispered in the listening ear of time,
Advance !
Hg bade the guiding spirits of the stars,
With lightning speed, in silver, shining carSj
Along the bright floor of his azure hall
Advance I
Sun, stars, and time obey the voice, and all
Advance !
The river at its bubbling fountain cries
Advance !
The clouds proclaim, like heralds through tho
skies.
Advance !
Throughout the world the mighty Master's laws
Allow not one brief moment's idle pause :
The earth is full of life, the swelling seeds
Advance 1
The summer hours, like flow'ry harnessed steeds,
Advance !
To man's most wondrous hand the same voice cried,
Advance I
Go draw the marble from its secret bed.
And make the cedar bend its giant head ;
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 205
Let domes and columns through the wondering
air
Advance !
The world, man ! is thine. But ^YOuldst thou
share —
Advance 1
Go, track the comet in its wheeling race,
And drag the lightning from its hiding place ;
From out the night of ignorance and fears
Advance
For love and hope, borne by the coming years,
Advance
All heard, and some obeyed the great command,
Advance
It passed along from listening land to land —
Advance
The strong grew stronger, and the weak grew
strong.
As passed the war-cry of the world along ;
Awake, ye nations I know your powers and
rights —
Advance '
Through hope and work, to freedom's new de-
lights
Advance !
Knowledge came down and waved his steady
torch —
Advance !
Sages proclaim, 'neath many a marble porch.
Advance ^
206 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATIOK.
As rapid lightning leaps from peak to peak,
Tiie Gaul, the Goth, the Eoman, and the
Greek,
The painted Briton, caught the winged word,
Advance !
And earth grew young, and carolled, as a bird,
Advance \
Ireland ! oh, my country ! wilt thou not
Advance 1
Wilt thou not share the v/orld's progressive
lot^ ' "
Advance I
Must seasons change, and countless years roll
on,
And thou remain a darksome Ajalon, -
And never see the crescent moon of hope 1
Advance] '^
'Tis time thine heart and eye had wider scope-
Advance! •
Dear brothers, wake ! look up ! be firm ! be
strong !
From out tlie starless night of fraud and wrong
Advance ! "
The chains have fallen from off thy waste^i
hands.
And every man a seeming freeman stands ;
But, ah 1 'tis in the soul that freedom dwells —
Advance !
Proclaun that there thou wearesb no manacles-
Advance I
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 207
Advance ! — thou must advance or perish now —
Advance !
Advance ! Why live with wasted heart and brow?
Advance I
Advance ! or sink at once into the grave ;
Be bravely free, or artfully a slave.
^Yhy fret thy master, if thou must have one 'i
Advance !
Advance three steps, the glorious work is done-
Advance 1
The first is courage — ^"tis a giant stride !
Advance !
With bounding step, up Freedom's rugged side.
Advance !
Knmdedge 'will lead you to the dazzling heights ;
Tolerance will teach and guard your brother's
rights.
Faint nob I for theo a pitying future waits 1
Advance! -
Be wise, be just, with will as fixed as Fate's
Advance !
20S THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
THE IRISH AKMS BILL.
BY WILLIAM DRENNAN.
^[Y country, alas ! we may blush for thee now,
The brand of the slave broadly stamped on thy
brow !
Unarmed must thy sons and thy daughters await
The Sassenagh's lust or the Sassenagh's hate.
II.
Through the length and the breadth of thy regions
they roam ;
Many huts and some halls may be there — but no
home ;
Rape and Murder cry out, " Let each door be
unbarred !
Deliver your arms, and then stand ou your guard !"
ttr.
Tor England hath wakened at length from her
trance —
She might knuckle to Russia, and truckle tc
France,
And, licking the dust from America's feet,
Might vow she had ne'er tasted sugar so sweet.
THE SriTvIT OP THE NATION. 201)
IV.
She could leave her slain thousands, her cai)tives,
in pawn,
And, Akhbar to lord it o'er Affghanistan,
And firing the village or rifling the ground
Of the poor, murdered peasant, slink ofif hke a
hound.
V.
What then 1 She can massacre wretched Chinese,
Can rob the ameers of their lands, if she please,
And when Hanover wrings from her duties not
due,
She can still vent her wrath, enslaved Erin ! on you.
VL
Thus — but why, beloved land, longer sport with
thy shame"?
If my life could wipe out the foul blot from thy
fame,
How gladly for thee were this spirit outpoured,
On the scaffold as free as by shot or by sword I
vn.
Yet, oh 1 in fair field, for one soldier-like blow,
To fall in thy cause, or look far for thy foe ;
To sleep on thy bosom, down-trodden with thee.
Or to wave in thy breeze the green flag of the free J
^ o
210 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
vni.
Heaven! to think of the thousands far better
than I,
Who for thee, sweetest mother, would joyfully die!
Then to reckon the insult — the rapine — the wrong I
How long, God of love?— God of battles! hovv
long 1
MY GRAVE.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Shall they bury me in the deep,
Where wind-forgetting waters sleep ?
Shall they dig a grave for me
Under the green-wood tree ?
Or on the wild heath.
Where the wilder breath
Of the storm doth blow 1
Oh, no ! oh, no !
Shall they bury me in the palace tombs.
Or under the shade of cathedral domes 1
Sweet 'twere to lie on Italy's shore ;
Yet not there — nor in Greece, though I love it
more.
In the wolf or the vulture my grave shall I find 1
Shall my ashes career on the wcucld-seeing wind 1
THE SPIKIT OP THE NATION. 211
Shall they fling my corpse in the battle mound,
Where coffinless thousands lie under the ground— c
Just as they fall they are buried so ?
Oh, no ! oh, no !
No ! on an Irish green- hill side,
Oa an opening lawn, but not too wide I
For I love the drip of the wetted trees ;
I love not the gales, but a gentle breeze
To freshen the turf; put no tombstone there.
But green sods, decked with daisies fair ;
Nor sods too deep, but so that the dew
The matted grass-roots may trickle through.
Be my epitaph writ on my country's mind :
" He served his country, and loved his kind.*
Oh 1 'twere merry unto the grave to gO;
If one were sure to be buried so.
THE VOW OF TIPPERAKY.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
Air—** The Men of Tipperary^
I.
From Carrick streets to Shannon shore —
From Sliabh na m-Ban* to Ballindeary —
From Longford Pass to Gaillte Mor —
C9me hear the vow of Tipper ary.
* Comiiionl7 -.vrltteu Slievcnamoa,
212 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION,
n.
Too long we fought for Britain's cause,
And of our blood were never cliary ;
She paid us back with tyrant laws,
And thinned the homes of Tipperary.
III.
Too long, with rash and single arm,
The peasant strove to guard his eyrie,
Till Irish blood bedewed each farm,
And Ireland wept for Tipperary.
IV.
But never more we'll lift a hand—
We swear by God and Virgin Mary !— .
Except in war for native land ;
Aiid that's the Vow of Tippeimy I
THE SPIRIT OP THE NATIOlf. 213
ENGLAND'S ULTIMATUM.
•* Repeal must not be argued with. Were the Union gall it must be
maintained. Ireland must have England as her sister, or her subi aga..
iris. This is our ultimatum."— iTtincs.
I.
Slaves ! lie down and kiss your chains,
To the Union yield in quiet ;
Were it hemlock in your veins,
Stand it must — we profit by it,
n.
English foot on Irish neck, '
English gyve on Irish sinew, "•
Ireland swayed at England's beck-
So it IS, and shaU continue.
HL
English foot on Irish neck,
Pine or rot, meanwhile, we care not ;
Little will we pause to reck
How you writhe, while rise you dare not.
IV.
Argue with you !— stoop to show
Our dominion's just foundation !
Savage Celts ! and dare you so
Task the lords of half creation %
314 THE SPIRIT OP THE NATION.
V.
Argue ! do not ask again,
Proofs enough there are to sway you^
Three-and-twenty thousand men,
Whom a word will loose to slay you,
VI.
Store of arguments besides
In their time we will exhibit—
Leaded thongs for rebel hides,
Flaming thatch, and burthened gibbet.
vn.
Bid your fathers tell how we
Proved our rights in bygone seasons ;
Slaves ! and sons of slaves ! — your knee
Bow to sister England's reasons.
SUABH CUILINN.
THE SPIEIT OF THE NATiON. 2i5
FONTENOY.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
1.
Thrice at the huts of Fontenoy the Eugh'sli
column failed,
And twice the lines of St. Antoine the Dutch in
vain assailed;
For town and slope were guarded with fort and
artillery,
And well they swept the English ranks and Dutch
auxiliary.
As vainly through De Barri'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.
II.
Six thousand English veterans in stately column
tread,
Their cannon blaze in front and flank, Lord Hay
is at their head ;
216 'TJla SPIRIT OF THE NATIOJf.
Steady they step a-down 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
show' ring fast ;
And on the open plain above they rose, and kept
their course.
With ready fire and steadiness, 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.
ni.
More idly than the summer flies French, tirailleurs
rush round ;
As stubble to the lava tide, French squadrons
strew the ground ;
Bombshell, and grape, and round shot tore, still
on they marched and fired —
Fast from each volley grenadier and voltigeur
retired.
''Push on, my household cavalry," King Louis
madly cried :
To death they rush, but rude their shock— not
unavenged they died.
THE spmrr of the nation. 217
On tlirougli the camp the column trod — King
Louis turns his rein ;
" Xot yet, my liege," Saxe interposed, " the Irish
troops remain ;"
And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been a
"Waterloo,
^Yere not these exiles ready then, fresh, vehement,
and true,
rv.
*' Lord Clare," he says, " you have your wish —
there are your Saxon foes ;"
The marshal almost smiles to see, so furiously he
goes !
IIow fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont
to he so gay !
The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their
hearts to-day —
The treaty broken ere the ink wheremth 'twas
writ could dry,
Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their
women's parting cry.
Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their
country overthrown —
Each looks as if revenge for all rested on him
alone.
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet else-
where,
Bushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud
exiles were.
218 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
V.
O'Brien's voice is hoarse with joy, as, halting, he
commands,
" Fix bay'nets — charge." Like mountain storms
rush on these fiery bands I
Thin is the EngHsh column no'J7, and faint their
volleys grow,
Yei, must'ring all the strength they have, they
make a gallant show.
Tlxey dress their ranks upon the hill to face that
battle-wind —
Their bayonets the breakers* foam ; like rocks, the
men behind 1
One volley crashes from their line, when, through
the surging smoke,
With empty guns clutched iu their hands, th;;
headlong Irish broke.
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, hark to that fierce
huzzah !
" Eevenge 1 remember Limerick I dash dov/n the
Sassenach."
VL
Like lions leaping at a fold when mad with
hunger's pang,
Eight up against the English line the Irish exiles
sprang.
Bright was their steel, *tis bloody now, theii* guns
are filled with gore j
THE SPIRIT OP THE NATION. 219
Tkrougli shattered ranks, and severed files, and
trampled flags tliey tore.
The English strove with desp'rate strength, paused
rallied, staggered, fled —
The green hill-side is matted close with dying and
with dead.
Across the plain and far away passed on that
hideous wrack,
While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their
track.
On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun,
With bloody plumes the Irish stand — the field is
fought and won !
OUR COURSE.
BY J. D. m^lZER.
We looked for guidance to the blind !
We sued for counsel to the dumb I
Fling the vain fancy to the wind —
Their hour is past and ours is come ;
They gave, in that propitious hour.
Nor kindly look nor gracious tone j
But heaven has not denied us pow'r
To do their duty, and our own.
220 THE SPIRIT OF THE NAT70X,
U.
And is it true that tyrants throw
Their shafts among us steeped in gall ?
And every arrow, swift or slow,
Points foremost still, ascent or fall \
Still sure to wound us, though the ain?
Seem ta'en remotely, or amiss 1
And men with spirits feel no shame
To brook so dark a doom as this !
III.
Alas ! the nobles of the land
Are like our long- deserted halls ;
No living voices, clear and grand,
Eespond when foe or freedom calls.
But ever and anon ascends
Low moaning, when the tempest rolls ^
A tone that desolation lends
Some crevice of their ruined souls !
So be it— yet shall we prolong
Our prayers, when deedswould serve ourneed?
Or wait for woes, the swift and strong
Can ward by strength or 'scape by speed 1
The vilest of the vile of earth
Were nobler than our proud array,
If, suffering bondage from our birth,
We wii3 not burst it when we may.
tfllS SPmiT OF THE NATION. 221
V.
And 1ms the bondage not been borne
Till all our softer nature fled —
Till tyranny's dark tide had ^YO^n
Down to the stubborn rock its bed 1
But if the current, cold and deep,
That channel through all time retain,
At worst, by heaven ! it shall not sweep
Unruffled o'er our hearts again !
VI.
Up for the land ! — 'tis ours — 'tis ours !
The proud man's sympathies are all
Like silvery clouds, whose faithless shov/'rs
Come frozen to hailstones in their fall.
Our freedom and the sea-bird's food
Are hid beneath deep ocean waves,
And who should search and sound the flood
If not the sea-birds and the slaves ?
222 THE SPIRIT Off THE NATION.
THE VICTOR'S BURIAL.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
I.
Wrap him in his banner, the best shroud of the
brave —
Wrap him in his oncJm* and take him to his
grave ;
Lay him not down lowly, like a bulwark over-
thrown,
But gallantly upstanding, as if risen from liis
throne.
With his craiseachf in his hand, and his SAVord on
his thigh,
With his war-belt on his waist, and his cafMarrX
on high ;
Put his jleasg§ upon his neck ; his green flag round
him fold,
Like ivy round a castle wall, not conquered, but
grown old.
Wirasthrue ! oh, wirasthrue ! oh, wirasthruel
ochone !
Weep for him I oh, weep for him ! but remem-
ber, in your moan,
Tliat he died in his pride,
With his foes about him strown.
• ilag. t n.^rp. X Ilclir.et. § Collar.
THE SPIRIT OF lun NATION. 223
n.
Oh I shrine him in Beinn-Edair,* with his face
towards the foe,
As an emblem that not death our defiance can lay
low;
Let him look across the waves from the pro-
montory's breast,
To menace back the east, and to sentinel the west.
Sooner shall these channel waves the iron coast
cut through.
Than the spirit he has left, yield, Easterlings ! to
you.
Let his coffin be the hill, let the eagles of the sea
Chorus "^nth the surges round the tuireamhj of
the free !
Wirasthrue ! oh, wirasthrue I oh, wirasthrue I
ochone !
Weep for him ! oh,, weep for him ! but remem-
ber, in your moan,
That he died in his pride,
With his foes around him strewn I
» Ilovtli. t ^ mdicullnc k:ne:4j
124 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION/
BROTHERS, ARISE 1
BY GEORGE PHILLIPS.
[The subjoined address was ■written to the Irish Nationalists, during
the Monster Meetings of 1843, by one of tlie English ruseyites, and may
be fairly taken to represent the sentiments of many of that gnat party.
They cannot but sympathize with a people not only oppressed for con-
Bcience' saks, but for opinions differing little from their own; and it is
natural that the sympathy of the young and earnest should exhibit the
t>old and emphatic spirit which breathes through this pcem.]
L
Brothers, arise ! the hour lias come
To strike the blow for truth and God !
Why sit ye folded up and dumb 1
Why, bending, kiss the tyrant's rod?
Is there no hope upon the earth ]
No charter iu the starry sky 1
Has freedom no ennobling worth "J
And man no immoi-tality ?
XL
Ah, brothers ! think ye what ye are —
AVhat glorious work ye have to do ;
And how they wait ye near and far
To do the same the wide world through.
The wide world sunk in dreams and death..
With guilt and -wrong upon its breast,
Like nightmares choking up its breath,
And murdering all its holy rest I
SPmiT OF THE NATION. 225
m.
i^ethink ye how, with heart and brain,
This God-Hke work were ablest done ;
For man must ne'er go back again
And lose the triumphs he has won.
Ye who have spurned the tyrant's power,
And fought your own great spirits free,
Forget not in this trying hour
The claims of struggling slavery !
IV.
The wise and good — oh ! where are they.
To guide us onward to the right,
Untruth and specious lies to slay,
And red oppression in its might 1
Come forth, my brothers ! on with us —
Direct the battle we would give ;
By thousands we would die — if thus
The milhons yet unborn may live.
V.
For w>iat is death to him who dies
With God's own blessing on his head ^
A charter — not a sacrifice ;
A life immortal to the dead.
And life itself is only great
When man devotes himself to be,
By virtue, thought, and deed, the mate
Of God's own children and the free.
r
226 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
VI,
And are we free ? Oh ! blot and shame !
That men who for a thousand years
Have battled on through fire and flame,
And nourished, with their blood and tears,
Religion — freedom — civil right,
Should tamely suffer traitor hands
To dash them into glooiu and night.
And bind their very God with bands.
VII.
And will ye bear, my brother men,
To see your altars trampled down 1
Shall Christ's great heart bleed out again
Beneath the scoffer's spear and frown ]
Shall priests proclaim that God is not,
And from the devil's gospel teach
Those worldly doctrines, unforgot.
Which burning tyrants loved to preach 1
VIII.
Shall traitors to the human right,
To God and truth, have boundless sway.
And ye not rush into the fight
And wrench the sacred cross away,
And tear the scrolls of freedom, bought
With blood of martyrs and the brave,
From men who, with derisive sport,
Defy you op> the martyi^s grave ^
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 227
TX.
Ah, no ! — uprushing, million-strong,
The trodden people come at last —
Their fiery souls, pent up so long,
Burst out in flames all thick and fast ■,
And thunder-words and lightning-deeds
Strike terror to the wrong, who flee,
Till, lo ! — at last the wronger bleeds,
And, dying, leaves the nation free !
WHAT'S MY THOUGHT LIKE'<
BY JOHN O'CONNELL.
•< WTiat's my thought like ?"
" How is it like ?" &c.
'•* WTiat would you do with it ?"
N-ursery Garr^^.
What's my thought like 1— What's my thought
likel
like a column tumbled down,
Its noble shaft and capital with moss and weeds
o'er-grown !
How is my thought so like unto a column thus
laid low 1
Because your thought is Ireland now, laid prostrate
even so !
228 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
What with it would you do ? — oh ! say what with
it would you do 1
Upraise it from the earth again, aloft to mankind's
view !
A sign unto all those that mourn, throughout
earth's vast domain,
That Heaven rewards the patient, and will make
them joy again.
n.
What's my thought like?— What's my thought
Hkel
Like a gallant ship on shore.
Dismasted all, and helpless now, amid the breakers'
roar!
Her crew, so faithful once to her, each seeking
plank and spar,
To 'scape from her, and safety find upon the land
afar.
How is my thought like such poor ship in peril
and distress 1
Because your thought is Ireland now, whose peril
is no less I
What with it would you do 1 — oh ! say what with
it would you do ?
Like to some few but faithful heaits among the
vessel's crew,
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 229
Stand by her to the last I would, and die, if so
decreed,
Ere man should dare to say to me, You failed her
ai her need I
ui.
What's my thought like ^—What's my though
like?
Like a land by Nature blessed
Beyond most other lands on earth, and yet the
most distressed ;
A teeming soil, abounding streams, wide havens,
genial air —
And yet a people ever plunged in suffering and
care !
Eight millions of a noble race — high-minded, pure
and good —
Kept subject to a petty gang — a miserable brood— f
Strong but in England's constant hate, and help
to keep us down.
And blast the smiles of Nature fair with man's
unholy frown 1
How is it like my thought, again 1 — How is it like
my thought 1
Because your thought is Ireland! s self — and even thus
her lot I
IV.
What with it would you do. again ? — vrhat with it
would you do 1
230 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Work even to the death I would, to rive her chaiii
in two !
To help her 'gainst unnatural sons, and foreign
foemen's rage,
And all her hapless people's woes and bitter griefs
assuage
Bid them be happy now, at length, in this their
rescued land —
That land no longer marked and cursed with
slavery's withering brand :
No longer slave to England I — but her sister, if
she will —
Prompt to give friendly aid at need, and to forget
all ill :
But holding high her head, and, ^vnth serenest brow.
Claiming, amid earth's nations all, her fitting
station now 1
This is my thought — it is your thought. — If thus
each Irish heart
Will only think, and purpose thus henceforth to
act its part,
Full soon their honest boast shall be — that she was
made by them
Great, glorious, free I — the earth's first iiower ! —
the ocean's brightest gen:. '
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 231
STEADY.
BY R D, WILLIAMS.
" Courage— your most necessary virtue— consists, not in blind resist-
ance, but in knowing when to forbear "—The Nation, June 17, 1843.
I.
Steady ! host of freedom, steady !
Ponder, gather, ^Yatch, mature :
Tranquil be, though ever ready —
Prompt to act and to endure.
n.
Aimless, rage you not insanely,
Like a maniac with his chain,
Struggling madly, therefore vainly,
And lapsing back to bonds again.
III.
But, observe, the clouds o'er Keeper
Long collect their awful ire —
Long they swell more dark and deeper —
When they burst, all heaven's on £i'e !
IV.
Freedom's bark to port is running,
But beware the lurking shelves ;
And would you conquer t}Tants' cunning,
Brethren, conquar first yourselves.
832 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
V.
Though thy cheek insulted burn —
Though they call thee coward-slare
Scoff nor blow shalt thou return :
Trust me, this is more than brave.
VL
Fortitude hath shackles riven,
More than spear or flashing gun ;
Freedom, like the thrones of heaven.
Is by suff'ring virtue won.
vn.
Though thy brother still deride thee.
Yield thou love for foolish hate :
He'll, perhaps, ere long, beside thee,
Proudly, boldly, share thy fate.
VIII.
Steady ! steady ! ranks of freedom,
Pure and holy are our bands ;
Eoaven approveSj and angels lead them,
For triil'h and justice are our brands.
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 233
THE FIRESIDE.
BY D. F. M'CAPwTHY.
I.
I HAVE tasted all life's pleasures — I have snatched
at all its Joys —
The dance's merry measures, and the revel's festive
noise j
Though wit flashed bright the live-long night, and
flowed the ruby tide,
I sighed for thee — I sighed for thee, my own fire-
side I
In boyhood's dreams I wandered far across the
ocean's breast,
In search of some bright earthly star — some happy
isle of rest ;
I little thought the bliss I sought in roaming fai
and wide.
Was sweetly centred all In thee, r^iy own fire-
side I
in.
Hov/ sweet to turn at evening's close from all our
cares away.
And end, in calm, serene repose, the swiftly pass-
ing day I
234 i-HE sPTRrp or ^rHE nation.
The pleasant books, the smiling looks of sister or
of bride,
All fairy ground doth make around one's own fire-
side !
rv.
" My lord " would never condescend to honor my
poor hearth ;
" His grace " would scorn a host or friend of mere
plebeian birth ;
And yet the lords of human kind whom man has
deified
For ever meet in converse sweet around my fire-
side I
V.
The poet sings his deathless songs, the sage his
lore repeats,
The patriot tells his country's wrongs, the chief his
warhke feats ;
Though far away may be their clay, and gone
their earthly pride,
"gach godlike mind, in books enshrined, still haunts
my fireside.
VI.
Oh ! let me glance a momeut through the coming
crowd of years —
Their triumphs or their failures— their sunshine or
their tears !
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 235
How poor or great may be my fate, I care not
what betide,
So peace and love but hallow thee, my own fire-
side !
vn.
Still let me hold the \asion close and closer to my
sight;
Still, still, in hopes elysim, let my spirit wing its
flight;
Still let me dream life's shadowy stream may yield
from out its tide
A mind at rest — a trsnquil breast — a quiet fire-
side.
O'DONNELL AB\J
A.D, 1597.
BY IL J. M'CANN.
Proudly the note of the trumpet is sounding,
Loudly the war cries arise on the gale,
Fleetly the steed by Loc Suiiig^-' is bounding
To join the thick squadrons in Saimear's greeu
vale.
On, every mountaineer,
Strangers to flight and t^Mi i
• Lough Swilly.
230 THE SPIRIT Oir THE NA.TION.
Rush to the standard of dauntless Red Hugh !"
Bonnought and gallowglass,t
Throng from each mountain-pass I
On for old Erin — O'Donnell abu !
II.
Princely O'Neil to our aid is advancing,
With many a chieftain and warrior-clan ;
A thousand proud steeds in his vanguard are
prancing,
'Neath the borderers brave from the banks of
the Bann ;
Many a heart shall quail
Under its coat of mail ;
Deeply the merciless foeman shall rue,
When on his ear shall ring.
Borne on the breeze's wing,
TLr-Conaill's dread war-cry — O'Donnell abii I
III.
Wildly o'er Desmond the war-wolf is howling,
Fearless the eagle sweeps over the plain,
The fox in the streets of the city is prowling —
All, all who would scare them are banished or
slain !
Grasp, every stalwart hand.
Hackbut and battle-brand —
• The famous Red Hugh O'Donnell, who aided O'Nell [n defecting
Ihe best generals and most brilliant a:'mies of Eli&abetti.
t See note, page 45.
ITIE SPiRIT Oa' VHE NATION. 237
Pay them all back the deep debt so long due •
Norris and CliiTord well
Can of Tir-Conaill tell—
Ouward to glory — O'Donnell abu !
IV.
Sacred the cause that Clann-Oonaiirs defending —
The altars we kneel at and homes of our sires ;
Euthless the ruin the foe is extending —
Midnight is red with the plunderer's fires !
On with O'Donnell, then,
Fight the old fight again,
Sous of Tir-Conaill, all valiant and trae
Make the false Saxon feel
Erin's avenging steel !
Strike for yoiir country : — O'Donnel! abu^
238 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
FILL HIGH TO-NIGHT.
BY WILLIAJJl MULCHmECK.
Fill high to-night in your halls of light,
The toast on our lips shall be —
" The sinewy hand, the ghttering brand,
Our homes and our altars free."
IL
Though the coward pale, like the girl, may wail
And sleep in his chains for years,
The sound of our mirth shall pass over earth
With balm for a nation's tears.
in.
A curse for the cold, a cup for the bold,
A smile for the girls we love ;
And for him who'd bleed in his country's need
A home in the skies above.
IV.
We have asked the page of a former age,
For hope secure and bright,
And the spell it gave to the stricken slave
Was in one strong word — " Unite."
THffl SPIKIT OF TiiE NATION. 239
l"liough the wind howl free o'er a simple tree
Till it bends beneath its frown —
For many a day it will howl away
Ere a forest be stricken do^m.
VL
By the martyred dead who for freedom bled,
By all that man deems divine,
Our patriot band for a sainted land
like brothers shall all combine.
VII.
Then fill to-night in our halls of light,
The toast on our lips must be —
•' The sinewy hand, the glittering brand.
Our homes and our altars free."
THE SLAVES' BILL.
BY WILLIAM DRENNAN.
I.
Aye, brand our arms, nor them alone,
But brand our brows, degraded race
Oh ! how a fear can England own
Of men who cannot feel disgrace 1
240 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
Men I Are we men 1 We talk as such —
Heavens ! how we talk ! but — vain alarms !
Nought masculine endures so much :
Then brand our brows as well as arms.
II.
This brand is not an ugly thing —
May seem an ornament, indeed ;
The shame to some would be the sting,
But not to slaves who dare not bleed I
Six hundred weary years have passed,
And which without some newer harms
From dear Old England ] This, the last,
Is hut an insult — brand our arms !
IIL
Yes, brand our language, faith, and name 1
Black down time's river let them roll ;
Let Erin be a word of shame,
And burn its mem'ry from my soul I
Erin ! Erin ! nevermore
That darling name let me repeat ;
If such the sons my mother bore,
West-Britain were a sound as sweet
IV.
Aye, brand us aU ! yet still we crave
A pittance at our master's door :
Then leave the wealthy Irish slave
His bottle, club, and paramour '
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 24]
Ajid leave the wretched serf his wife —
(You may — she has not many charms)—
Potatoes, and his paltry life ;
But leave us not ev'n branded arms 1
V.
Mad as ye are, who reckless dare
To mock the spirit God hath given,
Pause, ere you drive us in despair
To its appeal — from man to heaven I
From calmer eyes the furies glare,
And colder bosoms vengeance warms.
Till rage finds weapons, ev'rywhere,
FcL' Nature's two uc branded aiiiis I
THE £,jmiT OF THE NATION.
THE LAMENT OF GRAINNE MAOLI*
BY HUGH HARKIN.
John Bull was a hodach, as rich as a Jew j
As griping, as grinding, as conscienceless too ;
A wheedler, a shuffler, a rogue by wholesale,
And a swindler, moreover, says GRAINNE
MAOLI
II.
John Bull was a banker, both pursy and fat,
With gold in his pockets, and plenty of that ;
And he tempted his neighbors to sell their
entail —
Tis by scheming he prospers, says GRAINNE
MAOLI
Til.
John Bull was a farmer, with cottiers galore —
Stout " chawbacons " once, that like bullocks could
roar;
Hard work and low wages and Peel's sliding
scale
Have bothered their courage, says GRAINNE
MAOLI
♦Vulgarly written, but rightl}- pronounced, " Granu Wail,"
THH SPIRIT OF THE NATIO^. 243
IV.
Jolm Bull w.us a bruiser, so sturdy and stout,
A boisterous bully — at bottom a clout —
For when you squared up he was apt to turn tail-
Brother Jonathan lashed him, says GRAINNE
MAOL I
V.
John Bull was a merchant, and many his ships,
His harbors, his dock-yards, and big building
slips ;
And the ocean he claimed as his rightful entail —
Monsieur Parley-vouz lars that, says GRAINNE
MAOL!
VI,
John Bull had dependencies, many and great —
Fine, fertile, and fat — every one an estate ;
But he pilfered and plundered wholesale and re-
tail—
There's Canada, sign's on it, says GRAINNE
MAOL I
VII.
John Bull was a saint in the western clime,
Stood fast for the truths of the Gospel sublime.
Vowed no other faith in the end could avail ;
Is't the Jugghernaut champion] says GRJINNE
¥AOLt
244 THE SPIRIT OF THiC NATION.
vm.
John Bull had a sister, so fair to be seen,
With a blush like a rose, and a mantle of green.
And a soft, swelling bosom ! — On hill or in dale,
Oh! where could you fellow sweet GBAINNE
MAOL?
IX.
And John loved his sister, without e'er a flam,
Like the fox and the pullet, the wolf and thb
lamb ;
So he paid her a visit — but mark her bewail :
My title deed's vanished! says GRAIN NE
MAO LI
X.
Then he rummaged her commerce and ravaged her
plains ;
Razed her churches and castles— her children in
cliains;
With pitch-caps, triangles, and gibbets wholesale.
Betokened John's love to poor GEAINNE MAOLI
XI.
But one of her children, more hould than the rest.
Took it into his head for to make a request!
Our rights^ Uncle John I Else our flag on the gale !
Faix, he got an instalment, says GRAINNE
MAOLI
THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 245
xn.
And now he is at the Ould Gi'owler again,
With his logic, and law, and — three millions of men I
And nothing will plaise him, just now, but Repale,
^^Mo sead n-anam astig tu"* says GRAINNE
MAOL!
xm.
But should John turn gruff, and decline the de-
mand.
What means of success may be at our command.
Although he be humbled, and now getting frail ?
My "Nation" will tell you, says GRAINNE
MAOL I
XIV.
(''NATION" LOQUITUR.)
" If, stubborn and wilful, he still should refuse
To hear our just claims, or submit to our views,
And resolve, in his folly, to hold the ' entail,'
We'll ' Jdckhis Dumbarton' for GRAINNE MAOLr
Seven times as dear as the sou! within me.
246 THE SPIRIT OF 'i'KE NATION.
LOVE'S LONGINGS.
BY THOMAS DAVIS.
To the conqueror his CLX>vrning,
First freedom to the slave,
And air unto the drowning
Sunk in the ocean's wave,
And succor to the faithful
Who fight their flag above,
Are sweet, but far less grateful
Than were my lady's love.
n.
I know I am not worthy
Of one so young and bright ;
And yet I would do for thee
Far more than others might :
I cannot give you pomp or gold
If you should be my wife,
But I can give you love untold,
And true in death or life.
III.
Methinks that there are passions
Within that heaving breast.
To scorn their heartless fashions,
And wed whom you love best.
THK SFIRIT OF THVl NATION. 247
Methinks you would be prouder
As the struggling patriot's bride,
Than if rank your home should crowd, or
Cold riches round you glide.
IV
Oh I the watcher longs for morning,
And the infant cries for light,
And the saint for heaven's warning.
And the vanquished pray for might ;
But their prayer when lowest kneeling,
A.nd their suppiuuioo most trj.O;
Are cold to the appealing
Of this longing heart to yox
,9,48 THE SPIRrP OF THE NATIOii.
PAST AND PRESENT.
[" Where are the monster meetings— the myiiadaof Tara and MuUagli.
iiastV— English Press passim.']
L
Where are the marshalled hosts that met
Last year the island over ?
Here are they, calm, but ready yet,
Like warriors couched in cover ;
With zeal as ardent, rage as deep,
As bitter wrongs to feed them ;
As stalwart limbs — let fools go sleep,
And dream of stiiied freedom.
II
A lull — the tempest lulls, and thou
The blast the forest scatters ;
The thunder peals are stilled — again
The bolt the turret shatters ;
And low the brandished hatchet sings
For mightier stroke uplifted —
Round, round it swings, then down it ring&,
And toughest blocks are rifted.
ni.
There is a sullen under-hum
Will swell to a tornado ;
A day shall come will render dumb
Our English lords' bravado—
VHE SPIRIT OF THE NATION. 249
When Irish parties, hand in hand,
And shoulder up to shoulder,
Shall take their stand on Irish land,
And buried feuds shall moulder.
IV.
Who chafes or falters at delay,
Faint-hearted and short-seeing ?
What is it all 1 — a winter's day
'Mid ages of ill-being.
Ah ! thus our fathers were undone !
They sickened and seceded —
Had they but battled constant on,
Our battle were not needed.
Grod knows his times : one thing know we-
Our ills, and what will end them ;
That these our fetters loosed must be,
Or should we file or rend them 1
Shall we sit looking at our gyves.
Who talked so loud a year hence ?
Shall we, who frankly staked our lives,
Grudge earnest perseverance ?
VI.
We'll hoard our might and gather more —
We'll draw our brothers nigh us —
250 THE SPIRIT OF THE NA'LTON.
We'll give our minds, from wisdom's store,
A firmer, manlier bias —
We'll rouse the nation near and far.
From Eathlin to Cean-mara,
Then show them where the masses are
Of Mullaghmast and Tara.
SUABH CUILINN,
THE ARMS OF " EIGHTY-TWO."
BY M. J. BARRY.
They rose to guard their tatherlaud—
In stem resolve they rose.
In bearing firm, in purpose grand.
To meet the world as foes.
They rose, as brave men ever do j
And, flashing bright,
They bore to light
The Ai-ms of " Eighty-two T
II.
Oh ! 'twas a proud and solemn sight
To mark that broad array
Come forth to claim a nation's right
'Gainst all who dared gainsay ;
TIIE SVlRrr OF YHE NATION. 251
And despots shrunk, appalled to viov/
The men who bore,
From shore to shore,
The Arms of " Eighty-two I"
III.
They won her right — they passed away —
Within the tomb they rest —
And coldly lies the mournful clay
Above each manly breast ;
But Ireland still may proudly view
What that great host
Had cherished most —
The Arms of ** Eighty-two !"
IV.
Time-honored comrades of the brave —
Fond relics of their fame !
Does Ireland hold one coward slave
Would yield you up to shame ?
One dastard who would tamely vievr
The alien's hand,
Insulting, brand
The Anna of '* Kightj-two f
252 SPIRIT OF THE NATION.
THE WEXFOED MASSACRE.
1649.
BY M. J. BARRY.
1.
They knelt around the Cross divine —
The matron and the maid ;
They bowed before redemption's sign,
And fervently they prayed :
Three hundred fair and helpless ones,
Whose crime was this alone —
Their valiant husbands, sires, and sons,
Had battled for their owu.
a.
Had battled bravely, but in vain —
The Saxon won the fight,
And Irish corses strewed the plain
Where Valor slept with Eight.
And now that man of demon guilt
To fated Wexford flev/—
The red blood reeking on his hilt,
Of hearts to Erin true !
in.
He found them there — the young, the old,
The maiden, and the wife ;
Tlieir guardian brave in death were cold,
Who dared for them the strife.
THE SPIRIT OF TUE NATION. 253
rhey prayed for mercy — God on high !
Before thy cross they prayed,
A.iid ruthless Cromwell bade them die
To glut the Saxon blade !
rv.
Three hundred fell — the stifled prayer
Was quenched in woman's blood ;
Nor youth nor age could move to spare
From slaughter's crimson flood.
But nations keep a stern account
Of deeds that tyrants do ;
And guiltless blood to Heaven will mount,
And Heaven avenge it, too !
THE ANTI-IRISH IRISHMAN.
BY HUGH HARKIN.
I.
From polar seas to torrid climes,
Where'er the trace of man is found,
What common feeling marks our kind.
And sanctifies each spot of ground 1
What virtue in the human heart
The proudest tribute can command %
The dearest, purest, holiest, best,
The lasting love of Fatherland f
254 THE SPIRIT OF THE NATION
U.
Then who's the wretch that basely spume
The ties of country, kindred, friends —
That barters every nobler aim
For sordid views— for private ends 1
One slave alone on earth you'll find
Through Nature's universal span,
So lost to virtue, dead to shame —
The anti-Irish Irishman.
ni.
Our fields are fertile, rich our floods,
Our mountains bold, majestic, grand ;
Our air is balm, and every breeze
Winsrs health around our native land.
But who despises all her charms,
And mocks her gifts where'er he can ?
Why, he, the Norman's sneaking slave,
The anti-Irish Irishmar^
IV,
The Norman — spawn of fraud and guile—
Ambitious sought our peaceful shore,
And, leagued with native guilt, despoiled
And deluged Erin's fields -with gore !
Who gave the foeman footing here 1
AVhat wretch unholy led her van ?
The prototype of modern slave,
An anti-Irish Ii'ishmaa 1
TliE SPIRIT OF THi5 ^ATIOK. 255
V.
Foi ages rapine ruled our plains,
And slaughter raised " his red rigliL hand,"
And \irgins shrieked, and roof-trees blazed,
And desolation swept the land !
And who would not those ills arrest,
Or aid the patriotic plan
To burst his country's galling cliains ?
The anti-Irish Irishman.
VI.
But now, too great for fetters grown,
Too proud to bend a slavish knee,
Loved Erin mocks the tyrant's thrall.
And firmly vows she shall be free !
But mark yon treacherous, stealthy knave,
That bends beneath his country's bau 1
Let infamy eternal brand
That anti-Irish Irishman.
TOE END.
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