Come mark the call, and drink to all
Old Ireland's tribes so glorious,
Who still have stood, in fields of blood,
Unbroken and victorious:

Long as of old may Connaught hold
Her boast of peerless beauty;
And Leinster show to friend and foe
Her sons all prompt for duty.

A curse for those who dare oppose

Our country's claim for freedom; May none appear the knaves to hear, Or none who hear 'em heed 'em : May famine fall upon them all,

May pests and plagues confound them, And heartfelt care, and black despair, Till life's last hour surround them.

May lasting joys attend the boys
Who love the land that bore us,
Still may they share such friendly fare
As this that spreads before us.
May social cheer, like that we've here,
Forever stand to greet them;

And hearts as sound, as those around
Be ready still to meet them.

Come, raise the voice! rejoice, rejoice,
Fast, fast, the dawn's advancing,
My eyes grow dim, but every limb
Seems quite agog for dancing.
Sweet girls begin, 'tis shame and sin
To see the time we're losing.

Come, lads, be gay-trip, trip away,

While those who sit keep boozing.

Where's Thady Oge? up, Dan, you rogue,
Why stand you snilly-shally?
There's Mora here, and Una's here,
And yonder's sporting Sally.

Now frisk it round-aye, there's the sound
Our sires were fond of hearing;

The harp rings clear-hear, gossip, hear! O sure such notes are cheering!

Your health, my friend! till life shall end
May no bad chance betide us;
Oh, may we still, our grief to kill,

Have drink like this beside us !
A fig for care! but who's that there
That's of a quarrel thinking? -
Put out the clown or knock him down —
We're here for fun and drinking.

Tie up his tongue-am I not sprung
From chiefs that all must honor
The princely Gael, the great O'Neil,
O'Kelly and O'Connor,

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!

ROISIN DUBH1

Ο

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 Το 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

e;

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.