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SONG OF O’RUARK,
PRINCE OF BREFFNT. I
THE VALLEY LAY SMILING BEFORE MS.
Air-The Pretty Girl milking her Cow.
The valley lay smiling before me;
Where lately ! left her behind ;
That sadden'd the joy of my mind.
1 These stanzas are founded upon an event of most melancholy importance to Ireland ; if, as we are told by our Irish historians, it gave England the first opportuz. nity of dividing, conquering, and enslaving us. The fol lowing are the circumstances, as related by O'Halloran. « The King of Leinster had long conceived a violent affection for Dearbhorgil, daughter to the King of Meath, and though she had been for some time married to O’Ruark, Prince of Breffni, yet could it not restrain his I look'd for the lamp which she told me,
Should shine, when her Pilgrim return'd, But, though darkness began to infold me,
No lamps from the battlsments burn'd!”
I flew to her chamber—'twas lonely
As , if the loved tenant lay dead-
But no-the young false one had fled.
My very worst pains into bliss,
Now throbb'd to my proud rival's kiss!
passion. They carried on a private correspondence, and she informed him that O'Ruark intended soon to go on a pilgrimage, (an act of piety frequent in those days) and conjured him to embrace that opportunity of conveying her from a husband she detested to a lover she adored. Mac Murchad too ponctually obeyed the summons, and had the lady conveyed to his capital of Ferns.» The monarch Roderic espoused the cause of O'Ruark, while Mac Murchad fled to England, and obtained the assistance of Henry II.
« Such,« adds Giraldus Cambrcnsis (as I find niin in an old translation,) « is the variable and fickle nature of woman, by whom all mischiefs in the world (for the most part) do happen and come, as may appear by Mar cus Antoninus, and by the destruction of Troy.»
There was a time, falsest of women!
When Breffni’good sword would have sougirl That man through a million of foemen,
Who dared but to doubt thee in thought !
Of Erin ! how fall’n is thy fame !
Thy country shall bleed for thy shame.
Already, the curse is upon her,
And strangers her vallies profane; They come to divide-to dishonour
And tyrants they long will remain ! But, onward! —the green banner rearing,
Go, flesh ev'ry brand to the hilt; On our side is VIRTUE and Erin,
On theirs is THE Saxon and Guilt.
OH! IAD WE SOME BRIGHT LITTLE ISLE OF
Air-Sheela na Guira.
On! had we some bright little isle of our ofni,
bowers, And the bee banquets on through a whole year
With so fond a delay,
A thin veil o'er the day ;
live, Is worth the best joys that life elsewhere can
There, with souls ever ardent and pure as the
We should love, as they loved, in the first golden
time; The glow of the sunshine, the balm of the air, Would steal to our hearts, and make all summer
l'rom decline as the bowers ;
Living always on flowers ; Our life should resemble a long day of light, And our death come on holy and calm as the
FAREWELL !--BUT, WHENEVER YOU WELCOME
FAREWELL! - but, whenever you welcome the
hour, That awakens the night-song of mirth in you,