T is almost needless for an editor to remind the reader, that much cannot be said in the way of introduction to a section which is headed "Miscellaneous." It may be inferred that the compositions given under such a heading do not treat so exclusively of one subject-have not such special points of character, as to mark them, at once, for classification under particular heads; but let it not be therefore supposed that, like Pope's women, they

"Have no character at all."

Far from it, as the examples given will sufficiently prove.

Our miscellany is not "a mixed party"-that thing which is not

considered respectable, and at which everybody agrees nobody should appear. By no means: it has variety, it is true, but no portion of the company need be ashamed to mix with the other, though they be not all of the same class, or equally high in rank.

Neither is this last section a beating-up of raw recruits to fill our columns:-on the contrary, here will be found some of the choicest of our levies; and among these I will venture to particularize Mr. Ferguson's celebrated ode, "The Forging of the Anchor," which is, without doubt, one of the finest things in the English language.

In writing the introduction to the last section of this book, I feel as if I were parting from a dear old acquaintance. The work became, as I have said in the preface, a labour of love as it progressed; and in the calm of some rich summer sunset, which might not inaptly be likened to the golden glories that hang round the old minstrelsy of my native land, or by the winter fire of my little library, it has been my companion for more than a year, and in such companionship many were the thoughtful pleasant hours. If it be not all it ought to be, I can only blame my incapacity; for I candidly confess I have not spared either time or toil to make it worthy of the object I had in view:- an honourable testimonial to THE GENIUS OF IRELAND.

THE FORESTER'S COMPLAINT.

SAMUEL FERGUSON, M.R.I.A.

and

The post of honour in this section is Mr. Ferguson's;-his verses lead the van; here he appears, not in a translation, but an original poem. An expression of admiration for his genius in general, and an acknowledgment of indebtedness to him, will be found appended to his noble ode, "The Forging of the Anchor," p. 312.

THROUGH Our wild wood-walks here

Sunbright and shady,

Free as the forest deer
Roams a lone lady:
Far from her castle-keep,
Down i' the valley,
Roams she, by dingle deep,
Green holme and alley;
With her sweet presence bright
Gladd'ning my dwelling-
Oh, fair her face of light,
Past the tongue's telling!
Woe was me

E'er to see

Beauty so shining ;
Ever since, hourly,

Have I been pining!

In our blithe sports' debates
Down by the river,

I, of my merry mates,

Foremost was ever;

Skilfullest with my

flute,

Leading the maidens

Heark'ning by moonlight mute

To its sweet cadence;
Sprightliest in the dance

Tripping together-
Such a one was I once
E'er she came hither!
Woe was me
E'er to see

Beauty so shining;

Ever since, hourly,

Have I been pining!

Loud now my comrades laugh
As I pass by them;

Broadsword and quarter-staff--
No more I ply them.

I saw a red cloud in the west,
Against the morning light,

Heaven shield the youth that she loves best
From evil chance to-night.

The door flings wide! loud moans the gale,
Wild fear her bosom fills,

It is, it is the Banshee's wail!*
Over the darkened hills.

Ululah! Ululah!

The day is past! the night is dark!

The waves are mounting round his bark.

The guests sit round the bridal bed,
And break the bridal cake;

But they sit by the dead man's head,
And hold his wedding wake.
The bride is praying in her room,
The place is silent all!

A fearful call! a sudden doom!

Bridal and funeral.

Ululah! Ululah!

A youth to Kilfiehera's † ta'en,

That never will return again.

* The Banshee (bean-sighe), she-fairy, or woman-fairy, is a spiritual attendant on families of ancient Irish descent, only, and her wail prognosticates the death of some one of the family. Mr. Crofton Croker, in his "Specimens of the Keen of the South of Ireland," printed for the Percy Society, gives some verses, translated from the Irish, illustrative of the subject.

"The prosperous Saxons

Were seized with affright,
In Tralee they packed up,
And made ready for flight.

For there a shrill voice

At the door of each hall
Was heard, and they fancied
Foretelling their fall.

"At Dingle the merchants

In terror forsook

Their ships and their business;

They trembled and shook.
Some fled to concealment,-
The fools thus to fly!
For no trader a Banshee
Will utter a cry."

The last verse is quoted, as Mr. Croker informs us, by Dr. O'Brien, in his Irish Dictionary, "to show that the Banshee is solely a spiritual aristocratic appendage." The verses are from a Keen on Maurice Fitzgerald, Knight of Kerry.

The name of a churchyard near Kilkee.