616
AN GAOḊAL.
Your answer's not polite,
I'll teach you sir before we part,
To court'sey in my sight."
He held it up before his eyes, —
He put it to his ears, —
"Aha, my lad, this tells a tale, —
A fig for all your tears."
I thought I might at first be wrong,
My simple yes, then said,
But just as bad it proved to be, —
I wished I were then dead.
That day I date as others can,
My Language to despise,
And tried all means to it forget —
Ah! what a sacrifice !
That step I do, and shall regret,
No matter what I be,
The English letters to prefer
To the Irish A, B, C.
M. BURKE.
The following was suggested on seeing the grand
panorama of Ireland now being exhibited at the
Brooklyn Museum.
Dear, lovely scene, my native home once more,
Methinks I see thee on the distant shore,
Where all that's dear, in earlier days than those,
On one sweet spot, found comfort and repose,
Where childhood's haunts, behind the shady trees,
Were then well known, the young and old to please,
Where circling crowds, our daring feats did scan,
Came there to see or give a better plan;
Where many a joke, the circling spot entwined,
And many a laugh came thrilling from behind,
As each lost space, or gained an inch before,
Or backward fell, or felled a dozen o'er.
The laugh, the cry, the loud huzzas were sure.
More zest to add, to pleasing toil endure,
No lazy drone, the trophied ring would dare,
But kept a distance with a gaping stare ;
The day then spent, the circle squared anon,
And each sped homeward with the setting sun,
Sach sports as these, our truant hours employed,
And more than these, we in boyhood age enjoyed.
Dear, lovely Isle, my native home, alas,
What dismal scenes thou'st doom'd of late to pass,
How sad the change, untold the mass of woes,
How weak thy friends, how powerful thy foes?
Thy valiant sons, who sought to set thee free,
Are gone, alas ! to mourn their fate and thee,
To spend their days in distant lands unknown,
And pine in grief, and weep for thee alone.
'Tis sad indeed, to see such men as these,
Cut off at once, and sent beyond the seas,
For what, no crime, but love of Father-land,
For naught but love, led on that worthy band,
Ah, shame, disgrace, the case now plainly shows,
Where lay the guilt. How nobly brave were those,
Their fate tho' sad, more precious is than gold,
'Twill tell their names, when others can't be told.
Dear, charming Isle, where saints and sages trod,
Thou'st lost thy all, save Faith, thy Hope and God,
Thy martyred sons, who reign in bliss on high,
Behold thy wreck and hear each moan and sigh:
Forbear! still hope, the time draws quickly near,
No winter lasts or holds thro' all the year,
The morning dawns, a symptom yon appears,
Hope more to arms than useless whining tears,
When comes the time, be ready each and all,
To weild the sword and use the musket ball,
Rush onward, rush and act your part as men,
Then Ireland shall be Ireland once again. — Burke.
When I Was A Boy, Long, Long, Ago.
O, when I was a boy,
And just a boy's size,
What pleasure and what joy,
I felt within me rise,
I did as other boys,
No matter what the game,
And helped to swell the noise.
And shifted round the blame,
Was foremost on the ground
To lead the fellows on,
And 'mong the latest found,
And last when all were gone.
Ah! many were the games,
We played on the green,
And many were the names,
That shifted thro' the scene,
How often in these days,
Amidst the fun and glee.
Did we loiter in the place?
To have an evening spree,
And many were the schemes
To bring the fellows out.
By calling them some names,
Or hauling them about,
Until at length they both
Did boldly then advance,
And off then went the coats,
And on then, went the hands
The claret freely flowed,
From noses pummeled well,
And each a mettle shewed,
And pummeled as they fell.
Nor did it there them fail,
While rolling in the mud,
But fought it tooth and nail
As well as then they could.
How often when at school
Instead of working sums
We pitched about the stools,
And all of us were mums.
How oft did we divise
A plan, to fight at eve,
Before the master's eyes
Before he gave us leave.
As soon as school was out,
And we as free as air,
We took another rout
To settle matters there.
We crossed the yonder moor,
As fast as we could run,
Full satisfied and sure
To have an evening's fun,
We cheered them on the while,
We slapped them on the backs,
And scarcely crossed the style,
When on went then the whacks.
They fought then like their sires,
They fought, and fought again,
Regardless of the briers
That scratched the nether skin.
These games were oft renewed,
On mountain, dale and gien,
As oft as chance ensued,
Not caring who would win,
Tho' long are past these days,
And years have rolled between —
I'm never since so pleased
As when upon that Green,
Mr. Blaine has up to this, it is said, realized
$250,000 from the sale of his book — a neat little sum
