Shall I breathe it? Hush!'twas dark:—
Silence!—few could understand:—
Needful deeds are done—not told.
In your ear a whisper! Hark!
'Twas a sworn, unwavering band
Marching through the midnight cold;
Rang the frost plain, stiff and stark:
By us, blind, the river rolled.
Silence! we were silent then:
Shall we boast and brag to-day?
Just deeds, blabbed, have found their price!
Snow made dumb the trusty glen;
Now and then a starry ray
Showed the floating rafts of ice:
Worked our oath in heart and brain:
Twice we halted:—only twice.
When we reached the city wall
On their posts the warders slept:
By the moat the rushes plained:
Hush! I tell you part, not all!
Through the water-weeds we crept;
Soon the sleepers' tower was gained.
My sister's son a tear let fall—
Righteous deeds by tears are stained.
Round us lay a sleeping city:—
Had they wakened, we had died:
Innocence sleeps well, they say.
Pirates, traitors, base banditti,
Blood upon their hands undried,
'Mid their spoils asleep they lay!
Murderers! Justice murders pity!
Night had brought their Judgment Day!
In the castle, here and there,
'Twixt us and the dawning East
Flashed a light, or sank by fits:
"Patience, brothers! sin it were
Lords to startle at their feast,
Sin to scare the dancers' wits!"
Patient long in forest lair
The listening, fire-eyed tiger sits!
O the loud flames upward springing!
O that first fierce yell within,
And, without, that stormy laughter!
Like rooks across a sunset winging,
Dark they dashed through glare and din,
Under rain of beam and rafter!
O that death-shriek heavenward ringing!
O that wondrous silence after!
0250m
The fire-glare showed,'mid glaze and blister,
A boy's cheek wet with tears.'Twas base!
That boy was first-born of my sister;
Yet I smote him on the face!
Ah! but when the poplars quiver
In the hot noon, cold o'erhead,
Sometimes with a spasm I shiver;
Sometimes round me gaze with dread.
Ah! and when the silver willow
Whitens in the moonlight gale,
From my hectic, grassy pillow,
I hear, sometimes, that infant's wail!
—Aubrey de Vere.
0251m
Sarsfield rode out the Dutch to rout,
And to take and break their cannon;
To mass went he at half-past three,
And at four he cross'd the Shannon.
Tirconnel slept. In dream his thoughts
Old fields of victory ran on;
And the chieftains of Thomond in Limerick's
towers
Slept well by the banks of Shannon.
He rode ten miles and he cross'd the ford,
And couch'd in the wood and waited;
Till, left and right, on march'd in sight
That host which the true men hated.
"Charge!" Sarsfield cried; and the green hill-
side,
As they charged, replied in thunder;
They rode o'er the plain and they rode o'er the
slain,
And the rebel, rout lay under!
He burn'd the gear the knaves held dear,—
For his King he fought, not plunder;
With powder he cramm'd the guns, and ramm'd
Their mouths the red soil under.
The spark flash'd out—like a nation's shout
The sound into heaven ascended;
The hosts of the sky made to earth reply,
And the thunders twain were blended!
Sarsfield rode out the Dutch to rout,
And to take and break their cannon;—
A century after, Sarsfield's laughter
Was echoed from Dungannon.
——Aubrey de Vere.
Does any man dream that a Gael can fear?—
Of a thousand deeds let him learn but one!
The Shannon swept onward, broad and clear,
Between the leaguers and worn Athlone.
"Break down the bridge!"—Six warriors rushed
Through the storm of shot and the storm of
shell:
With late, but certain, victory flushed
The grim Dutch gunners eyed them well.
They wrenched at the planks 'mid a hail of fire:
They fell in death, their work half done:
The bridge stood fast; and nigh and nigher
The foe swarmed darkly, densely on.
"O who for Erin will strike a stroke?
Who hurl yon planks where the waters roar?"
Six warriors forth from their comrades broke,
And flung them upon that bridge once more.
Again at the rocking planks they dashed;
And four dropped dead; and two remained:
The huge beams groaned, and the arch down
crashed;—
Two stalwart swimmers the margin gained.
St Ruth in his stirrups stood up, and cried,
"I have seen no deed like that in France!"
With a toss of his head Sarsfield replied,
"They had luck, the dogs!'Twas a merry
chance!"
O many a year upon Shannon's side,
They sang upon moor and they sang upon
Of the twain that breasted that raging tide,
And the ten that shook bloody hands with
Death!
heath
——Aubrey de Vere,
0255m
Afair lady once, with her young lover walked,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
Through a garden, and sweetly they laughed
and they talked,
While the dews fell over the mulberry tree.
She gave him a rose—while he sighed for a kiss,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
Quoth he, as he took it, "I kiss thee in this,"
While the dews fall over the mulberry tree.
She gave him a lily less white than her breast,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
Quoth he, "'Twill remind me of one I love best,"
While the dews fall over the mulberry tree.
9256Original
She gave him a two faces under a hood,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
"How blest you could make me," quoth he,
"if you would,"
While the dews fall over the mulberry tree.
She saw a forget-me-not flower in the grass,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
Ah! why did the lady that little flower pass?
While the dews fell over the mulberry tree.
The young lover saw that she passed it, and
sigh'd,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
They say his heart broke, and he certainly died,
While the dews fell over the mulberry tree.
Now all you fair ladies, take warning by this,
Gillyflower, gentle rosemary;
And never refuse your young lovers a kiss,
While the dews fall over the mulberry tree.
——Ed. Kenealy.
0257m
He came across the meadow-pass,
That summer-eve of eves,
The sunlight streamed along the grass,
And glanced amid the leaves;
And from the shrubbery below,
And from the garden trees,
He heard the thrushes' music flow,
And humming of the bees;
The garden-gate was swung apart—
The space was brief between;
But there, for throbbing of his heart,
He paused perforce to lean.
He leaned upon the garden-gate;
He looked, and scarce he breathed
Within the little porch she sate,
With woodbine overwreathed;
Her eyes upon her work were bent,
Unconscious who was nigh;
But oft the needle slowly went,
And oft did idle lie;
And ever to her lips arose
Sweet fragments faintly sung,
But ever, ere the notes could close,
She hushed them on her tongue.
Her fancies as they come and go,
Her pure face speaks the while,
For now it is a flitting glow,
And now a breaking smile;
And now it is a graver shade
When holier thoughts are there—
An Angel's pinion might be stayed
To see a sight so fair;
But still they hid her looks of light,
Those downcast eyelids pale—
Two lovely clouds so silken white,
Two lovelier stars that veil.
The sun at length his burning edge
Had rested on the hill,
And save one thrush from out the hedge,
Both bower and grove were still.
The sun had almost bade farewell;
But one reluctant ray
Still loved within that porch to dwell,
As charmed there to stay—
It stole aslant the pear-tree bough,
And through the woodbine fringe,
And kissed the maiden's neck and brow,
And bathed her in its tinge.
"Oh! beauty of my heart," he said,
"Oh! darling, darling mine,
Was ever light of evening shed
On loveliness like thine?
Why should I ever leave this spot,
But gaze until I die?"
A moment from that bursting thought
She felt his footstep nigh.
One sudden, lifted glance—but one,
A tremor and a start,
So gently was their greeting done
That who would guess their heart?
Long, long the sun had sunken down,
And all his golden trail
Had died away to lines of brown,
In duskier hues that fail.
0260m
Googlt
The grasshopper was chirping shrill—
No other living sound
Accompanied the tiny rill
That gurgled under ground—
No other living sound, unless
Some spirit bent to hear
Low words of human tenderness,
And mingling whispers near.
The stars, like pallid gems at first,
Deep in the liquid sky,
Now forth upon the darkness burst,
Sole kings and lights on high;
In splendour myriad-fold, supreme—
No rival moonlight strove,
Nor lovelier e'er was Hesper's beam,
Nor more majestic Jove.
But what if hearts there beat that night
That recked not of the skies,
Or only felt their imaged light
In one another's eyes.
And if two worlds of hidden thought
And fostered passion met,
Which, passing human language, sought
And found an utterance yet;
And if they trembled like to flowers
That droop across a stream,
The while the silent starry hours
Glide o'er them like a dream;
And if, when came the parting time,
They faltered still and clung;
What is it all?—in ancient rhyme
Ten thousand times besung—
That part of Paradise which man
Without the portal knows—
Which hath been since the world began,
And shall be till its close.
——J. O'Hagan.
Tis midnight; falls the lamp-light dull and sickly
On a pale and anxious crowd,
Through the court, and round the judges,
thronging thickly,
With prayers none dare to speak aloud.
Two youths, two noble youths, stand prisoners
at the bar—
You can see them through the gloom—
In pride of life and manhood's beauty, there
they are
Awaiting their death doom.
All eyes an earnest watch on them are keeping,
Some, sobbing, turn away,
And the strongest men can hardly see for weeping,
So noble and so loved were they.
Their hands are locked together, those young
brothers,
As before the judge they stand—
They feel not the deep grief that moves the
others;
For they die for Fatherland.
They are pale, but it is not fear that whitens
On each proud high brow;
For the triumph of the martyr's glory brightens
Around them even now.
They sought to free their land from thrall of
stranger,—
Was it treason? Let them die;
But their blood will cry to heaven—the Avenger
Yet will hearken from on high.
Before them, shrinking, cowering, scarcely
human,
The base informer bends,
Who, Judas-like, could sell the blood of true
men,
While he clasped their hands as friends.
Ay, could fondle the young children of his victim,
Break bread with his young wife,
At the moment that, for gold, his perjured dictum
Sold the husband and the father's life.
There is silence in the midnight—eyes arekeeping
Troubled watch, till forth the jury come;
There is silence in the midnight—eyes are
weeping—
"Guilty!" is the fatal uttered doom,—
For a moment o'er the brothers' noble faces
Came a shadow sad to see,
Then silently they rose up in their places,
And embraced each other fervently.
Oh! the rudest heart might tremble at such sorrow,
The rudest cheek might blanch at such a scene;
Twice the judge essayed to speak the word—
to-morrow—
Twice faltered, as a woman he had been.
To-morrow!—Fain the elder would have spoken,
Prayed for respite, tho' it is not death he fears;
But thoughts of home and wife his heart hath
broken,
And his words are stopped by tears.
But the youngest—Oh! he speaks out bold and
clearly:—
"I have no ties of children or of wife;
Let me die—but spare the brother, who more
dearly
Is loved by me than life."
Pale martyrs,ye may cease; your days are numbered;
Next noon your sun of life goes down;
One day between the sentence and the scaffold—
One day between the torture and the crown!
A hymn of joy is rising from creation;
Bright the azure of the glorious summer sky;
But human hearts weep sore in lamentation,
For the brothers are led forth to die.
Aye; guard them with your cannon and your
lances—
So of old came martyrs to the stake;
Aye; guard them—see the people's flashing
glances,
For those noble two are dying for their sake.
Yet none spring forth their bonds to sever—
Ah! methinks, had I been there,
I'd have dared a thousand deaths ere ever
The sword should touch their hair.
It falls!—there is a shriek of lamentation
From the weeping crowd around;
They're stilled—the noblest hearts within the
nation—
The noblest heads lie bleeding on the ground.
Years have passed since that fatal scene of dying,
Yet life-like to this day
In their coffins still those severed heads are lying,
Kept by angels from decay.
Oh! they preach to us, those still and pallid
features—
Those pale lips yet implore us from their graves
To strive for our birthright as God's creatures,
Or die, if we can but live as slaves.
——Speranza (Lady Wilde).
0266m
Afair witch crept to a young man's side,
And he kiss'd her and took her for his bride.
But a Shape came in at the dead of night,
And fill'd the room with snowy light.
And he saw how in his arms there lay
A thing more frightful than mouth may say.
And he rose in haste, and follow'd the Shape
Till morning crown'd an eastern cape.
And he girded himself and follow'd still,
When sunset sainted the western hill.
But, mocking and thwarting, clung to his side,
Weary day!—the foul Witch-Bride
——Wm. Allingham.
0267m
0268m
Owhere are you going so early? he said;
Good luck go with you, my pretty maid;
To tell you my mind Im half afraid,
But I wish I were your sweetheart.
When the morning sun is shining low,
And the cocks in every farmyard crow,
I'll carry your pail,
O'er hill and dale,
And I'll go with you a-milking.
I'm going a-milking, sir, says she,
Through the dew, and across the lea;
You ne'er would even yourself to me,
Or take me for your sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
Now give me your milking-stool awhile,
To carry it down to yonder stile;
I'm wishing every step a mile,
And myself your only sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
O, here's the stile in-under the tree,
And there's the path in the grass for me,
And I thank you kindly, sir, says she,
And wish you a better sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
Now give me your milking-pail, says he,
And while were going across the lea,
Pray reckon your master's cows to me,
Although I'm not your sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
Two of them red, and two of them white,
Two of them yellow and silky bright,
She told him her master's cows aright,
Though he was not her sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
She sat and milk'd in the morning sun,
And when her milking was over and done,
She found him waiting, all as one
As if he were her sweetheart.
When the morning sun, &c.
He freely offer'd his heart and hand;
Now she has a farm at her command,
And cows of her own to graze the land;
Success to all true sweethearts!
When the morning sun is shining low,
And the cocks in every farmyard crow,
I'll carry your pail
O'er hill and dale,
And I'll go with you a-milking,
—-Wm. Allingham.