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And I felt it in your bony hand,
The queen has lands and gold, mother,
The queen has lands and gold,
A skeleton babe to hold,
As I am dying now,
What has poor Ireland done, mother,
What has poor Ireland done,
Perishing, one by one?
The great men and the high,
Whether they live or die ?
There is many a brave heart here, mother,
Dying of want and cold,
Are many that roll in gold ;
With wondrous wealth to view,
Would give life to me and you.
Come nearer to my side, mother,
Come nearer to my side,
My father when he died ;
My breath is almost gone ;
Mrs. A. M. Edmond.
TELL'S APOSTROPHE TO LIBERTY.
ONCE more I breathe the mountain air
; once more
I tread my own free hills ! My lofty soul Throws all its fetters off; in its proud flight, 'T is like the new-fledged eaglet, whose strong wing Soars to the sun it long has gazed upon With eye undazzled. O! ye mighty race That stand like frowning giants, fixed to guard My own proud land; why did ye not hurl down The thundering avalanche, when at your feet The base usurper stood ? A touch, a breath, Nay, even the breath of prayer, ere now, has brought Destruction on the hunter's head; and yet The tyrant passed in safety. God of heaven! Where slept thy thunderbolts ?
O LIBERTY ! Thou choicest gift of Heaven, and wanting which Life is as nothing; hast thou then forgot Thy native home ? Must the feet of slaves Pollute this glorious scene? It cannot be. Even as the smile of Heaven can pierce the depths Of these dark caves, and bid the wild flowers bloom In spots where man has never dared to tread; So thy sweet influence still is seen amid These beetling cliffs. Some hearts still beat for thee, And bow alone to Heaven ; thy spirit lives, Ay, and shall live, when even the very name Of tyrant is forgot.
Lo! while I gaze Upon the mist that wreathes yon mountain's brow, The sunbeam touches it, and it becomes A crown of glory on his hoary head; O! is not this a presage of the dawn Of freedom o'er the world ? Hear me, then, bright
And beaming Heaven! while kneeling thus, I vow
O! with what pride I used
Ye know the jutting cliff, round which a track
J. S. Knowlda
WILLIAM TELL AMONG THE MOUNTAINS.
YE crags and peaks : I'm with you once again !
ye first beheld, To show they still are free. Methinks I hear A spirit in your echoes answer me,
I call to you
And bid your tenant welcome to his home
heads into the sky !
Scaling yonder peak,
J. S. Knoroles.
TAE BARON'S LAST BAN QUET.
O' 'ER a low couch the setting sun had thrown its latest ray,
Where, in his last, strong agony, a dying warrior lay, The stern old Baron Rudiger, whose frame had ne'er been bent By wasting pain, till time and toil its iron strength had spent.
“ They come around me here, and say my days of life are o'er, That I shall mount my noble steed and lead my band no more;
They come, and, to my beard, they dare to tell me now that I, Their own liege lord and master born, that I - ha! ha! must die.
“ And what is death ? I've dared him oft, before the Paynim
has come to seek me here ? I've met him, faced him, scorned him, when the fight was raging
I'll try his might, I'll brave his power! — defy — and fear him
“ Ho! sound the tocsin from my tower, and fire the culverin ; Bid each retainer arm with speed ; call every vassal in.
banner on the wall, – the banquet board prepare, – Throw wide the portal of my hall, and bring my armor there !”
An hundred hands were busy then ; the banquet forth was spread,
Fast hurrying through the outer gate, the mailed retainers poured,
pour forth the cheering wine ! There 's life and strength in every drop, — thanksgiving to the
vine ! Are
ye all there, my vassals true ? mine eyes are waxing dim. Fill round, my tried and fearless ones, each goblet to the brim!
“ Ye're there, but yet I see you not ! — forth draw each trusty