but, though every verse is beautiful, it is too long for insertion at length here, and only a few lines and verses are given. One stanza justifies my own line "We will live merrily under the bough." For Edmond himself says, more elaborately, that, if his love were with him "Sweet would seem the holly shade, Bright the clustering berries growing; And, in scented bloom array'd, Apple blossoms* round us blowing." He thus passionately describes his feelings upon being deserted— "O, sickness past all medicine's art, O sorrow every grief exceeding, He then apostrophizes the nightingale, and exclaims "Mine, O hapless bird, thy fate! The plunder'd nest, the lonely sorrow! The lost, the lov'd harmonious mate! The wailing night-the cheerless morrow." This, I think, must be acknowledged as very pathetic, particularly in the second line:there is something almost painfully expressive of bereavement and desolation in "The plunder'd nest-the lonely sorrow. Finally, notwithstanding his wrongs, he says, with a devotedness that deserved a better requital Still my heart its faith shall prove, And its last sigh shall breathe to bless thee!" *The frequency of allusion to the apple blossom is remarkable in the poetry of the native Irish. THE DAWNING OF THE DAY. AT early dawn I once had been As on by bower, and town, and tower, I meet a maid in the greenwood shade, Her feet and beauteous head were bare, But down her waist fell golden hair * Lene, Killarney. Beside me sat that maid divine, "False man, for shame, why bring me blame?" The sun's first light pursued her flight, At the dawning of the day! This "dawning of the day" is a favourite refrain to Irish songs. I have heard such in some variety, and a " milking-pail" is always present in them. One of my earliest remembrances is hearing my nurse sing such a song, and the refrain, throughout, of that song was wed to the milking-pail in this couplet, "With her milking-pail all in her hand The melody to which this song is sung is very sweet. DESERTER'S MEDITATION. "As Mr. Curran was travelling upon an unfrequented road, he perceived a man in a soldier's dress sitting by the road side, and apparently much exhausted by fatigue and agitation. He invited him to take a seat in his chaise, and soon discovered that he was a deserter. Having stopt at a small inn for refreshment, Mr. Curran observed to the soldier that he had committed an offence of which the penalty was death, and that his chance of escaping it was but small: "Tell me, then (continued he), whether you feel disposed to pass the little remnant of life that is left you in penitence and fasting, or whether you would prefer to drown your sorrow in a merry glass ?" The following is the deserter's answer, which Mr. Curran, in composing it, adapted to a plaintive Irish air.”—Life of Curran by his son, W. H. Curran. IF sadly thinking, with spirits sinking, Could more than drinking my cares compose, To joy a stranger, a way-worn ranger, Now hope all ending, and Death befriending, No more a rover, or hapless lover, My griefs are over-my glass runs low; Let us be merry before we go! MARGRÉAD NI CHEALLEADH. EDWARD Walsh. This ballad is founded on the story of Daniel O'Keeffe, an outlaw famous in the traditions of the county of Cork, where his name is still associated with several localities. It is related that O'Keeffe's beautiful mistress, Margaret Kelly, (Mairgréad ni Chealleadh), tempted by a large reward, undertook to deliver him into the hands of the English soldiers; but O'Keeffe having discovered in her possession a document revealing her perfidy, in a frenzy of indignation stabbed her to the heart with his skian. He lived in the time of William III., and is represented to have been a gentleman and a poet.-Author's note. * AT the dance in the village Thy white foot was fleetest; Thy neck was, lost maid! Than the ceanabhan* whiter; Than the monadan+ brighter: No more shall mine ear drink With thy twining arms round me, Young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh. The moss couch I brought thee Has drank the last drop Of thy young heart's red fountain, A plant found in bogs, the top of which bears a substance resembling cotton, and as white as snow. + The monadan is a red berry, growing on an humble creeping plant found on wild marshy mountains. For this good skiant beside me Young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh. With strings of rich pearls Alas! that my loved one Her outlaw would injure- Her treason's avenger! That this right hand should make thee When in death's sleep it laid thee, Young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh! And while to this lone cave My deep grief I'm venting, And Mairgréad ni Chealleadh. A knife; pronounced as if written skeen. We may infer the skian was of high repute of old, for mention of it is made in ancient English ballads. Robin Hood, that celebrated outlaw, designated in ancient annals as "Of all theeves the prince and the most gentle theefe," is invested with an "Iryshe knife" by the minstrel; and we may suppose the prince of thieves would have the best. In the ballad of "Robin Hood and Guy of Gisborne," Robin makes use of this knife on Guy, and afterwards uses it to loose "Little John" from the bonds of the enemy. "But Robin pulled forth an Irysh knife, And losed John hand and foote. And gave him Sir Guye's bowe into his hand, And bade it be his boote." WHEN 'tis night, and the mid-watch is come, Should any thought of them come o'er your mind; How 'twill cheer Their hearts to hear That their old companion he was one. Or, my lad, if you a mistress kind Have left on shore, some pretty girl and true, You serving at your gun, Should any thought of her come o'er mind: your Think, only, should the day be won, That her own true sailor he was one. This is a charming song, and full of sweet sentiment, and has, therefore, enjoyed great |