Ionce was guest at a Nobleman's wedding;
Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been
kind,
And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the
shedding;
Her former true lover still runs in her mind.
Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover
Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings;
And there among strangers, his grief to discover,
A fair maiden's falsehood he bitterly sings.
"Now here is the token of gold that was broken;
Seven long years it was kept for your sake;
You gave it to me as a true lover's token;
No longer I'll wear it, asleep or awake."
She sat in her place by the head of the table,
The words of his ditty she mark'd them right
well;
To sit any longer this bride was not able,
So down at the bridegrooms feet she fell.
"O one, one request, my lord, one and no other,
O this one request will you grant it to me?
To lie for this night in the arms of my mother,
And ever, and ever thereafter with thee."
Her one, one request it was granted her fairly;
Pale were her cheeks as she went up to bed;
And the very next morning, early, early,
They rose and they found this young bride
was dead.
The bridegroom ran quickly, he held her, he
kiss'd her,
He spoke loud and low, and listen'd full fain;
He call'd on her waiting-maids round to assist
her,
But nothing could bring the lost breath back
again.
O carry her softly! the grave is made ready;
At head and at foot plant a laurel-bush green;
For she was a young and a sweet noble lady,
The fairest young bride that I ever have seen.
—-Wm. Allingham.
St. Margaret's Eve
Ibuilt my castle upon the sea-side,
The waves roll so gaily O,
Half on the land and half in the tide,
Love me true!
Within was silk, without was stone,
The waves roll so gaily O,
It lacks a queen, and that alone.
Love me true!
The gray old harper sung to me,
The waves roll so gaily O,
"Beware of the Damsel of the Sea!"
Love me true!
Saint Margaret's Eve it did befall,
The waves roll so gaily O,
The tide came creeping up the wall.
Love me true!
I open'd my gate; who there should stand—
The waves roll so gaily O,
But a fair lady, with a cup in her hand.
Love me true!
The cup was gold, and full of wine,
The waves roll so gaily O,
"Drink," said the lady, "and I will be thine."
Love me true!
"Enter my castle, lady fair,"
The waves roll so gaily O,
"You shall be queen of all that's there."
Love me true!
99 A gray old harper sung to me,"
The waves roll so gaily O,
"'Beware of the Damsel of the Sea!'"
Love me true!
19 In hall he harpeth many a year,"
The waves roll so gaily O,
"And we will sit his song to hear."
Love me true!
991 love thee deep, I love thee true,"
The waves roll so gaily O,
"But ah! I know not how to woo."
Love me true!
Down dash'd the cup, with a sudden shock,
The waves roll so gaily O,
The wine like blood ran over the rock.
Love me true!
She said no word, but shriek'd aloud,
The waves roll so gaily O,
And vanish'd away from where she stood.
Love me true!
I lock'd and barr'd my castle door,
The waves roll so gaily O,
Three summer days I grieved sore.
Love me true!
For myself a day and night,
The waves roll so gaily O,
And two to moan that lady bright.
Love me true!
——Wm. Allingham.
When the spinning-room was here,
Came Three Damsels, clothed in white,
With their spindles every night;
One and two and three fair Maidens,
Spinning to a pulsing cadence,
Singing songs of Elfin-Mere,
Till the eleventh hour was toll'd,
Then departed through the wold.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Three white Lilies, calm and clear,
And they were loved by every one;
Most of all, the Pastor's Son,
Listening to their gentle singing,
Felt his heart go from him, clinging
To these Maids of Elfin-Mere;
Sued each night to make them stay,
Sadden'd when they went away.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
Hands that shook with love and fear
Dared put back the village clock,—
Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock,
Flow'd the song with subtle rounding,
Till the false "eleven" was sounding;
Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere
Swiftly, softly left the room,
Like three doves on snowy plume.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
One that night who wander'd near
Heard lamentings by the shore,
Saw at dawn three stains of gore
In the waters fade and dwindle.
Nevermore with song and spindle
Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere.
The Pastor's Son did pine and die;
Because true love should never lie.
Years ago, and years ago;
And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.
——Wm. Allingham.
It is a careless pretty may, down by yon river-
side;
Her face, the whole world's pleasure, she gladly
hath espied;
And tossing back her golden hair, her singing
echoes wide;
When gaily to the grassy shore a youthful
knight doth ride.
And vaulting from his courser, that stoops the
head to drink,
And greeting well this Maiden fair, by running
waters brink,
He throws about her slender neck a chain of
costly link:
Too courteous he for glamourie, as any may
might think.
All through the flowery meadows, in the
summer evening warm,
The rippling river murmurs low, the dancing
midges swarm;
But far away the pretty may, nor makes the
least alarm,
Sits firm on lofty saddle-bow, within the young
knight's arm.
Now months are come, and months are gone,
with sunshine, breeze, and rain;
The song on grassy river-shore you shall not
hear again;
The proud knight spurs at tournament, in
Germany or Spain,
Or sues in silken bow'r to melt some lady's
high disdain.
And thus in idle hour he dreams—"I've
wander'd east and west;
I've whisper'd love in many an ear, in earnest or
in jest;
That summer day—that pretty may—perhaps
she loved me best?
I recollect her face, methinks, more often than
the rest."
——Wm Allingham.
At length brave Michael Dwyer and his un-
daunted men
Were hunted o'er the mountains, and tracked
into the glen;
The stealthy soldiers followed, with ready blade
and ball,
And swore to trap the outlaw that night in wild
Emall.
They prowled about the valley, and toward the
dawn of day
Discovered where the faithful and fearless
heroes lay;
Around the little cottage they formed into a ring,
And called out "Michael Dwyer! Surrender to
the King!"
Thus answered Michael Dwyer—"Into this
house we came
Unasked by those who own it; they cannot be
to blame;
Then let those guiltless people, unquestioned,
pass you through;
And when they've passed in safety, I'll tell you
what we'll do."
'Twas done. "And now," said Dwyer, "your
work you may begin;
You are a hundred outside—we're only four
within;
We've heard your haughty summons, and this
is our reply—
We're true United Irishmen—we'll fight until
we die."
Then burst the war's red lightning, then poured
the leaden rain;
The hills around re-echoed the thunder peals
again;
The soldiers falling round him brave Dwyer
sees with pride;
But, ah! one gallant comrade is wounded by his
side.
Yet there are three remaining, good battle still
to do;
Their hands are strong and steady, their aim is
quick and true—
But hark that furious shouting the savage
soldiers raise!
The house is fired around them!—the roof is in
a blaze!
And brighter every moment the lurid flame arose,
And louder swelled the laughter and cheering
of their foes;
Then spake the brave M'Alister, the weak and
wounded man—
"You can escape, my comrades, and this shall
be your plan.
"Place in my hands a musket, then lie upon the
floor,
I'll stand before the soldiers, and open wide the
door;
They'll pour into my bosom the fire of their array,
Then, while their guns are empty, dash through
them, and away!"
He stood before his foemen, revealed amidst
the flame;
From out their levelled pieces the wished-for
volley came;
Up sprang the three survivors, for whom the
hero died,
But only Michael Dwyer burst through the
ranks outside.
He baffled his pursuers, who followed like the
wind,
And swam the River Slaney, and left them far
behind;
But many a scarlet soldier he promised soon
should fall
For those, his gallant comrades, who died in
wild Emall.
——T. D. Sullivan.
0281m
The lady of Antrim rose with the morn,
And donn'd her grandest gear;
And her heart beat fast, when a sounding horn
Announced a suitor near;
Hers was a heart so full of pride,
That love had little room,
Good faith, I would not wish me such bride,
For all her beautiful bloom.
One suitor there came from the Scottish shore,
Long, and lithe, and grim,
And a younger one from Dunluce hoar,
And the lady inclined to him.
"But hearken ye, nobles both," she said,
As soon as they sat to dine—
"The hand must prove its chieftainry,
That putteth a ring on mine.
"But not in the lists with armed hands,
Must this devoir be done,
Yet he who wins my broad, broad lands
Their lady may count as won.
Ye both were born upon the shore,—
Were bred upon the sea,
Now let me see you ply the oar,
For the land you love—and me!
"The chief that first can reach the strand
May mount at morn and ride,
And his long day's ride shall bound his land,
And I will be his bride!"
M'Quillan felt hope in every vein
As the bold, bright lady spoke—
And McDonald glanced over his rival again,
And bow'd with a bargeman's stroke.
'Tis summer upon the Antrim shore—
The shore of shores it is—
Where the white old rocks deep caves arch o'er,
Unfathom'd by man I wis—
Where the basalt breast of our isle flings back
The Scandinavian surge,
To howl through its native Scaggerack,
Chanting the Viking's dirge.
'Tis summer—the long white lines of foam
Roll lazily to the beach,
And man and maid from every home
Their eyes o'er the waters stretch.
On Glenarm's lofty battlements
Sitteth the lady fair,
And the warm west wind blows softly
Through the links of her golden hair.
The boats in the distant offing
Are marshaird prow to prow;
The boatmen cease their scoffing,
And bend to the rowlocks now;
Like glory-guided steeds they start—
Away o'er the waves they bound;
Each rower can hear the beating heart
Of his brother boatman sound.
Nearer! nearer! on they come,
Row, McDonald, row!
For Antrim's princely castle home,
Its lands, and its lady, row!
The chief that first can grasp the strand
May mount at morn and ride,
And his long day's ride shall bound his land,
And she shall be his bride!
He saw his rival gain apace,
He felt the spray in his wake—
He thought of her who watch'd the race
Most dear for her dowry sake!
Then he drew his skein from out its sheath,
And lopt off his left hand,
And pale and fierce, as a chief in death,
He hurl'd it to the strand!
"The chief that first can grasp the strand,
May mount at morn and ride;"
Oh, fleet is the steed which the bloody hand,
Through Antrim's glens doth guide!
And legends tell that the proud ladye
Would fain have been unbann'd,
For the chieftain who proved his chieftainry
Lorded both wife and land.
——-T. D. M'Gee.
0285m
There was no west, there was no east,
No star abroad for eyes to see;
And Norman spurred his jaded beast
Hard by the terrible gallows-tree.
"O, Norman, haste across this waste,—
For something seems to follow me!"
"Cheer up, dear Maud, for, thanked be God,
We nigh have passed the gallows-tree!"
He kissed her lip: then—spur and whip!
And fast they fled across the lea!
But vain the heel, and rowel steel,—
For something leaped from the gallows-tree!
"Give me your cloak, your knightly cloak,
That wrapped you oft beyond the sea!
The wind is bold, my bones are old,
And I am cold on the gallows-tree."
"O holy God! O dearest Maud,
Quick, quick, some prayers—the best that be!
A bony hand my neck has spanned,
And tears my knightly cloak from me!"
"Give me your wine,—the red, red wine,
That in the flask hangs by your knee!
Ten summers burst on me accurst,
And I'm athirst on the gallows-tree!"
"O Maud, my life, my loving wife!
Have you no prayer to set us free?
My belt unclasps,—a demon grasps,
And drags my wine-flask from my knee!"
"Give me your bride, your bonnie bride,
That left her nest with you to flee!
O she hath flown to be my own,
For I'm alone on the gallows-tree!"
"Cling closer, Maud, and trust in God!
Cling close!—Ah, heaven, she slips from me!"
A prayer, a groan, and he alone
Rode on that night from the gallows-tree.
—-Fitz-James O'Brien.
9287Original
My love, braid up thy golden locks,
And don thy silken shoon,
We'll sit upon Kilbrannon's rocks,
Where shines the silvery moon;
And bring thy little babe with thee,
For his dear father's sake,
The lands where he'll be lord to see,
By lone Kilbrannon lake."
She's braided up her golden locks,
She's donned her silken shoon,
And they're away to Kilbrannon's rocks
By the cold light of the moon;
Sir Hubert he took both wife and child
Upon that night of woe,
And hurled them over the rocks so wild,
To the lake's blue depths below.
And he has married another may,
With the locks of ebonie,
And her looks are sweet, and her heart is gay,
Yet a woeful wight is he;
He wakes the woods with his bugle horn,
But his heart is heavy and sore;
And he ever shuns those crags forlorn
By lone Kilbrannon shore.
For down in the lake the dead won't rest,
That vengeful murdered one;
With her little babe at her pulseless breast,
She walks the waters lone;
And she calls at night her murderer's name,
And will call for evermore,
Till the huge rocks melt in doomsday flame,
By wild Kilbrannon shore.
——R. D. Joyce.
There was a dove with wings of green,
Glistening o'er so radiantly,
With head of blue and golden sheen,
All sad and wearily
Sitting two red blooms between
On lovely Barna's wild-wood tree.
There was a letter 'neath its wing,
Written by a fair ladye,
Safely bound with silken string
So light and daintily,
And in that letter was a ring,
On lovely Barna's wild-wood tree.
There was a raven, black and drear,
Stained with blood all loathsomely,
Perched upon the branches near,
Croaking mournfully,
And he said, "O dove, what bring'st thou here
To lovely Barna's wild-wood tree?"
"I'm coming from a ladye gay,
To the young heir of sweet Glenore,
His ring returned, it is to say
She'll never love him more,—
Alas the hour! alas the day! —
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore."
"O dove, outspread thy wings of green;
I'll guide thee many a wild-wood o'er;
I'll bring thee where I last have seen
The young heir of Glenore,
Beneath the forest's sunless screen,
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore."
O'er many a long mile did they flee,
The dove, the raven stained with gore,
And found beneath the murderer's tree
The young heir of Glenore,—
A bloody, ghastly corpse was he,
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore.
"Go back, go back, thou weary dove,—
To the cruel maid tell o'er and o'er,
He's death's and mine, her hate or love
Can never reach him more—
To his ice-cold heart in Molagga's grove,
By murmuring Funcheon's fairy shore."
——R. D. Joyce.
Mannix the coiner and Neville the Piper—
Rebels and outlaws, jolly as thrushes;
They lived in a lane where they had a great
reign
Of piping and coining, and drinking like
fishes.
Neville he swore, with wild fury,
That Mannix should share with him half the
prog;
Then Mannix jump'd up, in a hurry,
And sent off the wife for a gallon of grog.
"Well done!" said the piper; "Play up!" said
the coiner,
"We've gold in our pockets and grog on the
brain;
Thelawand the gallows are made in the
palace,
While we, who defy them, rejoice in the
lane!"
When the grog was brought in, they soon
swiggdit,
And Neville thenrasp'dup another gay tune,
And bold Mannix merrily jigg'd it,
As brisk as a bee in the meadows of June.
"Well done!" said the piper—"Play up!" said
the coiner,
"We are theboysthat canlive everywhere!
Life, without fun, is like spring without sun—
So we'llflashit away, and the devil may care!
"Those guineas—whoever may take'em—
Are but flying tokens to worldly fools lent,
And I am theboythat can make'em,
As bright as e'er came from the Sassenach
mint!"
"Well done!" said the piper—"Play up!" said
the coiner,
"Mygolden characterI'll always maintain!
And, compared with the schemers who rule and
befool us,
We're real honest men and goodboysin the
lane!"
Then Mannix put fire to his grisset,
And out of his mould he shook many ashiner,
But ere he had time to impress it,
Inroll'dthe peelers and snaffled the coiner,
So there was an end to the piping and coining,
And a ruction was kick'd up, but no one was
slain,—
"I'm done!" said the coiner—"Cheer up," said
the piper,
"Fortune will favour the brave in the lane."
"We have you, at last!" cried the peelers,
"Tho' many a day we have chased you in vain!"
"Then," said Mannix, "your dungeons and jailors
May all be high hang'd—and farewell to the
lane!"
Then off ran the coiner, and loud laughed the
piper,
As his friend disappear'd thro' night's darkness
and rain,
Like a shaft from a quiver, he plung'd o'er the
river,
And left the bold peelers befool'd in the lane.
——M. Hogan.