H KEVIN T. BUGGY THE SAXON SHILLING1 ARK! a martial sound is heard. The march of soldiers, fifing, drumming; Eyes are staring, hearts are stirred For bold recruits the brave are coming, Ribands flaunting, feathers gay The sounds and sights are surely thrilling. Dazzled village youths to-day Will crowd to take the Saxon Shilling. Ye whose spirits will not bow In peace to parish tyrants longer Ye, who wear the villein brow, And ye who pine in hopeless hunger Fools, without the brave man's faith All slaves and starvelings who are willing To sell themselves to shame and deathAccept the fatal Saxon Shilling. 1 Refers to the English custom when recruiting for the army. The acceptance of a shilling (twenty-five cents) from the recruiting sergeant constitutes the act of enlisting, and in the old days many a poor fellow has been so plied with drink that he has awakened from his sleep to find a shilling in his hand and the Queen's colours (ribbons of red, white, and blue) pinned to his hat or on his breast; sure signs that he had "'listed for a soger," even though he had forgotten about it.-C. W. Ere you from your mountains go To feel the scourge of foreign fever, Swear to serve the faithless foe That lures you from your land forever! Swear henceforth its tools to be To slaughter trained by ceaseless drillingHonour, home, and liberty, Abandoned for a Saxon Shilling. Go-to find, mid crime and toil, The doom to which such guilt is hurried; Go-to leave on Indian soil Your bones to bleach, accursed, unburied! Go-to crush the just and brave, Whose wrongs with wrath the world is filling; Go to slay each brother slave Or spurn the blood-stained Saxon Shilling! Irish hearts! why should you bleed To swell the tide of British glory — Aiding despots in their need, Who've changed our green so oft to gory! None, save those who wish to see The noblest killed, the meanest killing, Irish youths! reserve your strength Let nought but Justice make you willing 1 JAMES JOSEPH CALLANAN A AND MUST WE PART? ND must we part? then fare thee well! How dear thou wert, how dear thou art And ever must be, to this heart: But now 'tis vain-it cannot be; Farewell! and think no more on me. Oh! yes-this heart would sooner break I'd sooner slumber into clay Than cloud thy spirit's beauteous ray; And, lady, think no more on me. Oh! did we meet when brighter star I then might hope to call thee mine— Or do !-but let it be the hour DIRGE OF O'SULLIVAN BEAR From the Irish. One of the Sullivans of Bearhaven, who went by the name of Morty Oge, fell under the vengeance of the law. He was betrayed by a confidential servant, named Scully, and was shot by his pursuers. They tied his body to a boat, and dragged it through the sea from Bearhaven to Cork, where his head was cut off and fixed on the county jail, where it remained for several years. Such is the story current among the people of Bearhaven. The dirge is supposed to have been the composition of O'Sullivan's aged nurse.-From the author's note. HE sun on Ivera TH No longer shines brightly, No more to her maidens The light dance is dear, Scully thou false one, You basely betrayed him, In his strong hour of need, When thy right hand should aid him; He fed thee-he clad thee You had all could delight thee: You left him-you sold him May Heaven requite thee! Scully! may all kinds Of evil attend thee! On thy dark road of life May no kind one befriend thee ! May fevers long burn thee, Had he died calmly I would not deplore him, Or if the wild strife Of the sea-war closed o'er him; But with ropes round his white limbs Through ocean to trail him, Like a fish after slaughter 'Tis therefore I wail him. Long may the curse Of his people pursue them: And soldier that slew him! Be their best bed forever! In the hole which the vile hands No friend to deplore thee! |