THE WAKE OF WILLIAM ORR

T

HERE our murdered brother lies;

Wake him not with woman's cries; Mourn the way that manhood oughtSit in silent trance of thought.

Write his merits on your mind;
Morals pure and manners kind;
In his head, as on a hill,
Virtue placed her citadel.

Why cut off in palmy youth?
Truth he spoke, and acted truth.
"Countrymen, UNITE," he cried,
And died for what our Saviour died.

God of peace and God of love!
Let it not Thy vengeance move
Let it not thy lightnings draw
A nation guillotined by law.

-

Hapless Nation, rent and torn,
Thou wert early taught to mourn;
Warfare of six hundred years!
Epochs marked with blood and tears!

Hunted thro' thy native grounds,
Or flung reward to human hounds,
Each one pulled and tore his share,
Heedless of thy deep despair.

Hapless Nation! hapless Land!
Heap of uncementing sand!

Crumbled by a foreign weight:
And by worse, domestic hate.

God of mercy! God of peace!
Make this mad confusion cease;
O'er the mental chaos move,
Through it SPEAK the light of love.

Monstrous and unhappy sight!
Brothers' blood will not unite;

Holy oil and holy water

Mix, and fill the world with slaughter.

Who is she with aspect wild?

The widowed mother with her childChild new stirring in the womb! Husband waiting for the tomb!

Angel of this sacred place,
Calm her soul and whisper peace
Cord, or axe, or guillotine,
Make the sentence-not the sin.

Here we watch our brother's sleep: Watch with us, but do not weep: Watch with us thro' dead of night – But expect the morning light.

Conquer fortune-persevere —
Lo! it breaks, the morning clear!
The cheerful cock awakes the skies,
The day is come-arise !—arise!

WILLIAM DRENNAN, JR.
(1802-1873)

THE BATTLE OF BEAL-AN-ATHA-BUIDH'

1598

Y O'Neill close beleaguered, the spirits might droop

BY

Of the Saxon-three hundred shut up in their

coop,

Till Bagenal drew forth his Toledo, and swore,
On the sword of a soldier to succor Portmore.

His veteran troops, in the foreign wars tried

Their features how bronzed, and how haughty their stride

Stept steadily on; it was thrilling to see

The thunder-cloud brooding o'er BEAL-AN-ATHABUIDH.

-

The flash of their armor, inlaid with fine gold, Gleaming matchlocks and cannons that mutteringly

rolled

With the tramp and the clank of those stern cuirassiers, Dyed in the blood of the Flemish and French cavaliers.

And are the mere Irish, with pikes and with darts With but glib-covered heads, and but rib-guarded hearts

1 Beal-an-atha-buidh literally means the Mouth of the Yellow Ford, and is pronounced Beal-un-ath-buie.

Half-naked, half-fed, with few muskets, no guns
The battle to dare against England's stout sons?

Poor Bonnochts,' and wild Gallowglasses, and Kern Let them war with rude brambles, sharp furze, and dry fern;

Wirrastrue for their wives-for their babies ochanie,3 If they wait for the Saxon at BEAL-AN-ATHABUIDH.

Yet O'Neill standeth firm-few and brief his commands

"Ye have hearts in your bosoms, and pikes in your hands;

Try how far ye can push them, my children, at once; Fag-a-Bealach and down with horse, foot, and great guns.

"They have gold and gay arms-they have biscuit and bread;

Now, sons of my soul, we'll be found and be fed ; And he clutched his claymore, and-"look yonder," laughed he,

"What a grand commissariat for BEAL-AN-ATHABUIDH."

Near the chief, a grim tyke, an O'Shanaghan stood,
His nostrils dilated seemed snuffing for blood;
Rough and ready to spring, like the wiry wolf-hound
Of Iernè, who, tossing his pike with a bound,

1 Bonnocht, a billeted soldier.

2 Wirrastrue (A Mhuire as truagh), Oh! Mary, what sorrow! Ochanie-ochone, woe.

4 Fag-a-Bealach, clear the way.

Cried, "My hand to the Sassenach! ne'er may I hurl
Another to earth if I call him a churl !

He finds me in clothing, in booty, in bread
My Chief, won't O'Shanaghan give him a bed?

"Land of Owen, aboo!" and the Irish rushed on
The foe fired but one volley-their gunners are gone;
Before the bare bosoms the steel-coats have fled,
Or, despite casque or corslet, lie dying and dead.

And brave Harry Bagenal, he fell while he fought
With many gay gallants-they slept as men ought;
Their faces to Heaven-there were others, alack!
By pikes overtaken, and taken aback.

And my Irish got clothing, coin, colors, great store, Arms, forage, and provender-plunder go leor !1 They munched the white manchets-they champed the brown chine,

Fuilleluah! for that day, how the natives did dine!

The Chieftain looked on, when O'Shanaghan rose, And cried, "Hearken, O'Neill! I've a health to pro

pose

To our Sassenach hosts'" and all quaffed in huge glee.

2

With "Cead mile failte go' BEAL-AN-ATHA

BUIDH!'

1 Go leor, in abundance.

2 Fuilleluah, joyous exclamation.

3 Cead mile failte go, a hundred thousand welcomes to,