THE TWISTING OF THE ROPE

The legend attached to the beautiful, capricious and characteristic Irish air of "The Twisting of the Rope," is that a Connaught harper, on his visit to a farmer's house, was inveigled into twisting a hay rope by the mother, who did not approve his attentions to her daughter. He walked backward as he twisted until he found himself outside the door, which was shut against him, and his harp thrown out of the window. It has been utilized by Dr. Douglas Hyde in his play of the same

name.

THAT mortal conflict drove me here to roam,

W Though many a maid I've left behind at

home;

Forth from the house, where dwelt my heart's dear hope,

I was turned by the hag at the twisting of the rope.

If thou be mine, be mine both day and night,
If thou be mine, be mine in all men's sight,
If thou be mine, be mine o'er all beside, -
And O that thou wert now my wedded bride!

In Sligo first I did my love behold,

In Galway town I spent with her my gold:
But by this hand, if thus they me pursue,

I'll teach these dames to dance a measure new!

THE WEARIN' O' THE GREEN

H, Paddy dear! an' did ye hear the news that's goin' round?

OF

The shamrock is by law forbid to grow on Irish

ground.

No more St. Patrick's Day we'll keep, his color can't be seen,

For there's a cruel law agin the wearin' o' the green!

I met wid Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand, And he said, "How's poor Ould Ireland, and how

does she stand?”

She's the most disthressful country that iver yet was

seen,

For they're hangin' men and women there for wearin' o' the green.

An' if the color we must wear is England's cruel red, Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed; Then pull the shamrock from your hat, and throw it on the sod,

And never fear, 'twill take root there, tho' under foot 'tis trod !

When law can stop the blades of grass from growin' as they grow,

And when the leaves in summer-time their color dare not show,

Then I will change the color, too, I wear in my caubeen,

But till that day, plaze God, I'll stick to wearin' o' the green.

ALEXANDER MARTIN SULLIVAN (1830-1884)

FAREWELL

AIL bravely on, thou gallant bark,
Across the Western sea;

S1

And safely guard the precious freight 'Thou bear'st away from me.

Sail on, nor heed the frowning skies,
Nor angry wave nor wind;
Nor reck the grief of aching hearts
Thou leavest here behind.

Keep well thy watch, O seaman bold,
Out o'er the rushing prow;

Nor glimpse of land, nor guiding light,
Can aid thy vision now.

The night comes dark, and o'er the way
Big clouds are gathering wild !
Great God! Protector of the world,
Guard thou both wife and child.

Like miser watching from the shore
The argosy that bears

O'er ocean paths to distant lands
The treasures prized of years,

I sit and gaze, through streaming eyes,
Across the darkening main,

And fain would have the good ship turn
And bring them back again.

Sail on, brave ship; a priceless stake
Is on thy fate for me!

May angels waft thee on thy course,
And calm each threatening sea!
Sancta Maria! to thy care

Are child and mother given,
Whether we meet again on earth,
Or meet our next in heaven!

TIMOTHY DANIEL SULLIVAN (1827)

D

DEAR OLD IRELAND

Irish Air

I

EEP in Canadian woods we've met,
From one bright island flown;

Great is the land we tread, but yet
Our hearts are with our own.

And ere we leave this shanty small,
While fades the Autumn day,

We'll toast Old Ireland!
Dear Old Ireland !

Ireland, boys, hurrah!

II

We've heard her faults a hundred times,
The new ones and the old,

In songs and sermons, ranns and rhymes,
Enlarged some fifty-fold.

But take them all, the great and small,

And this we've got to say:

Here's dear Old Ireland!

Good Old Ireland !

Ireland, boys, hurrah!