"The banshee's cry is loud and long,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!

At eve she weeps her funeral song,
And it floats on the twilight breeze along,"
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

"Then the fatal kiss is given;-the last
Killeevy, O Killeevy!

Of Turlough's race and name is past,
His doom is seal'd, his die is cast,'

By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

"Leech, say not that thy skill is vain;
Killeevy, O Killeevy!

Oh, calm the power of his frenzied brain,
And half his lands thou shalt retain,"

By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

The leech has failed, and the hoary priest
Killeevy, O Killeevy!

With pious shrift his soul released,
And the smoke is high of his funeral feast,
By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

The shanachies now are assembled all,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!

And the songs of praise, in Sir Turlough's hall,
To the sorrowing harp's dark music fall,

By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

And there is trophy, banner, and plume,
Killeevy, O Killeevy!

And the pomp of death, with its darkest gloom,
O'ershadows the Irish chieftain's tomb,

By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

The month is clos'd, and Green Truagha's pride, Killeevy, O Killeevy!

Is married to death-and, side by side,

He slumbers now with his churchyard bride,

By the bonnie green woods of Killeevy.

THE FAIRY WELL.

FORTH from a sparkling well

A little stream went bubbling,
But there was some sad spell,
Its bosom ever troubling;
When through the balmy air
No faint breeze had been sighing,
A low moan was heard there,
As of an infant dying.

The ripples on its breast
Were ever in commotion,
And found as rarely rest

As billows on the ocean.
But when the first star shone'
From the blue sky at even,
That gently plaintive moan
Ascended thence to Heaven.

Music so soft and sweet,
So mournfully thrilling,
As was this calm retreat
With notes of sorrow filling-
How could it be of earth,

Or share in earthly gladness,
When even its seeming mirth
Partook so much of sadness?

Each evening near that well
A female form was sitting,
Whose beauty did excel

The fairies round her flitting.
She came to breathe her tale
Of love and bitter sorrow,
And from the stars so pale
Some rays of hope to borrow.

The lov'd one of her heart,
Inspired by noble duty,
From her was forced to part

In her glad hour of beauty;

And fell he in the field,
Victorious although gory,
His life his country's shield,
His death his country's glory.

The Spirit of that well

Oft viewed the grief-struck maiden, Whose breast with care did swell, Whose heart with grief was laden; And while a tear would stray From her soft eyes in pity, To her at close of day

She sang this plaintive ditty.

"Why, fair one of the earth,
Why mournest thou so wildly,
When in their happy mirth,
The bright stars shine so mildly;
And even the silken flowers
Are slumbering and sleeping
Around thy garden bowers,
Whilst thou, alas! art weeping?

Cease, cease, those bitter sighs,
Be not so heavy-hearted,
Thy love to yon clear skies
Before thee has departed;
And should he now look down,

And see his lov'd one fading,
What tears his cheek would drown,
What grief his brow be shading!

Lo! as yon silvery star

May soon in storms be shrouded,

And its soft rays afar

To us be overclouded.

Even so, thy heart's despair

Would dim his dazzling brightness,

And shade with clouds of care

His robe of snowy whiteness."

Died on the maiden's ear

The song of the kind fairy;

Then ceased the gushing tear,
Then grew her heart less weary;
For parting here, she knew,
Leads to a future meeting,
Where all the good and true
Enjoy an endless greeting.

And oft she came again

To thank the Well's fair daughter,
For that consoling strain

In which such truths she taught her;
But on the streamlet flow'd

In mild and peaceful gladness-
Her beautiful abode

Who changed to joy such sadness.

And thus, when all is pain
Above, beneath, around us,
And sorrow's crushing chain
With iron link hath bound us;
Let us, no longer bowed

To earth with hopeless sorrow,
See, through the darkest cloud,
Rays of a joyous morrow.

HY-BRASAIL-THE ISLE OF THE BLEST.

BY GERALD GRIFFIN.

[From the Isles of Aran and the west continent, often appears visible that inchanted island called O'Brasil, and in Irish Beg-ara, or the Lesser Aran, set down in cards of navigation. Whether it be reall and firm land, kept hidden by speciall ordinance of God, as the terrestriall paradise, or else some illusion of airy clouds appearing on the surface of the sea, or the craft of evill spirits, is more than our judgments can sound out. There is, westward of Aran, a wild island of huge rocks, (Skira Rocks) the receptacle of a deale of seales thereon yearly slaughtered. These rocks sometimes appear to be a great city far off, full of houses, castles, towers, and chimneys; sometimes full of blazing flames, smoak, and people running to and fro. Another day you would see nothing but a number of ships, with their sailes and riggings; then so many great stakes or reekes of corn and turf; and this not only on fair sun-shining dayes, whereby it might be thought the reflection of the sun-beamse, on the vapours

arising about it, had been the cause, but alsoe on dark and cloudy days.O'Flaherty's West Connaught, Irish Archeological Society's Publications, page 68.]

On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell,
A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell;
Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,
And they called it Hy-Brasail, the isle of the blest;
From year unto year, on the ocean's blue rim,
The beautiful spectre showed lovely and dim;
The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay,
And it looked like an Eden, away, far away!

A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale,
In the breeze of the Orient loosened his sail;
From Ara, the holy, he turned to the west,
For though Ara was holy, Hy-Brasail was blest.
He heard not the voices that called from the shore-
He heard not the rising wind's menacing roar;
Home, kindred, and safety, he left on that day,
And he sped to Hy-Brasail, away, far away!

Morn rose on the deep, and that shadowy isle,
O'er the faint rim of distance, reflected its smile;
Noon burned on the wave, and that shadowy shore
Seemed lovelily distant, and faint as before;
Lone evening came down on the wanderer's track,
And to Ara again he looked timidly back;
Oh! far on the verge of the ocean it lay,
Yet the isle of the blest was away, far

away!

Rash dreamer, return! O, ye winds of the main,
Bear him back to his own peaceful Ara again.
Rash fool! for a vision of fanciful bliss,

To barter thy calm life of labour and peace.
The warning of reason was spoken in vain;
He never revisited Ara again!

Night fell on the deep, amidst tempest and spray,
And he died on the waters, away, far away!