Come, lads, be gay-trip, trip away, While those who sit keep boozing. Where's Thady Oge? up, Dan, you rogue, Now frisk it round-aye, there's the sound The harp rings clear-hear, gossip, hear! O sure such notes are cheering! Your health, my friend! till life shall end Have drink like this beside us ! Tie up his tongue-am I not sprung O'Brien the strong, Maguire, whose song Has won the praise of nations; O'Moore the tough, and big Branduff, These are my blood relations! Ο ROISIN DUBH1 H! my sweet little rose, cease to pine for the past, For the friends that came eastward shall see thee at last; They bring blessings and favors the past never knew To pour forth in gladness on my Roisin Dubh. Long, long, with my dearest, through strange scenes I've gone, O'er mountains and broad valleys I still have toiled on; O'er the Erne I have sailed as the rough gales blew, While the harp poured its music for my Roisin Dubh. Though wearied, oh! my fair one! do not slight my song, For my heart dearly loves thee, and hath loved thee long; In sadness and in sorrow I still shall be true, And cling with wild fondness round my Roisin Dubh. 1 This song is a translation. Mr. Hardiman in his "Irish Minstrelsy," says of it: "Roisin Dubh (Little Black Rose) is an allegorical ballad in which strong political feelings are conveyed as a personal address from a lover to his fair one. The allegorical meaning has been long since forgotten, and the verses are now remembered and sung as a plaintive love ditty. It was composed in the reign of Elizabeth of England, to celebrate our Irish hero, Hugh Ruadh O'Donnell of Tirconnell. By Roisin Dubh, supposed to be a beloved female, is meant Ireland." There's no flower that e'er bloomed can my rose excel, There's no tongue that e'er moved half my love can tell, Had I strength, had I skill the wide world to subdue, Oh! the queen of that wide world should be Roisin Dubh. Had I power, oh! my loved one, but to plead thy right, I should speak out in boldness for my heart's delight; I would tell to all round me how my fondness grew, And bid them bless the beauty of my Roisin Dubh. The mountains, high and misty, through the moors must go, The rivers shall run backwards, and the lakes overflow, And the wild waves of old ocean wear a crimson hue, Ere the world sees the ruin of my Roisin Dubh. I F. O'NEILL GALLAGHER (Living) THE SEA MADNESS HAVE come far from the sound of the thresh, the sight of the living sea, To a place of cribbed and narrow ways, where only the wind is free; But the leap of the sea is in my blood, and always, night and day, I hear the lap and wash of the waves, the hiss of the flying spray. When the loosened winds of the tempest wake far thunder on the deep I can hear the siren music calling through the veil of sleep; Through the thronging city highways comes the hollow ocean roar, And I sicken for the long green surge, the lonely foam-wet shore. I know a storm-lashed headland, where the broken hillside dips In a sombre flame of heather to the ocean's singing lips. I must go; the sea has called me, as a mistress to her swain ; From the immemorial tumult I shall drink of peace again. ST W. D. GALLAGHER (Living.) THE LABORER TAND up-erect! Thou hast the form, Of daily life—a heart as warm And pure, as breast e'er wore. What then? Thou art as true a man Who is thine enemy? The high In station, or in wealth the chief The great, who coldly pass thee by, With proud step and averted eye? Nay! nurse not such belief. If true unto thyself thou wast, What were the proud one's scorn to thee? A feather, which thou mightest cast Aside as idly as the blast The light leaf from the tree. No:-uncurb'd passions, low desires, |