Old maxims these—yet stout and true They speak in trumpet tone, To do at once what is to do, And trust OURSELVES ALONE. Too long our Irish hearts we schooled By dreams of English justice fooled Aye! bitter hate or cold neglect, No friend, beyond our own green shore, Yet stronger is her trust, therefore, Remember when our lot was worse And if, at length, we proudly trod On bigot laws o'erthrown, Who won that struggle? Under God, Ourselves-OURSELVES ALONE. F JOHN O'KEEFFE Air-" Don Casar" LOW, thou regal purple stream In my goblet sparkling rise, Let my thirsty subjects say, "A month he reign'd, but that was May." I THE FRIAR OF ORDERS GRAY AM a friar of orders gray: As down the valley I take my way, I pull not blackberry, haw, or hip, Or knight of the shire Lives half so well as a holy friar ! After supper, of heaven I dream, With a dainty bit of a warden pie: And the vesper bell is my bowl's ding dong. What baron or squire Or knight of the shire Lives half so well as a holy friar ! A ELLEN O'LEARY MY OLD HOME POOR old cottage tottering to its fall; Some faded rose-trees scattered o'er the wall; A plot in front, bright green, amid decay, Where my wee pets, whene'er they came to tea, Laughed, danced, and played, and shouted in high glee; A rusty paling and a broken gate Shut out the world and bounded my estate. Dusty and damp within, and rather bare; What was the charm, the glamour that o'erspread |