﻿662
AN GAOḊAL.
FORD'S NATIONAL LIBRARY.
We select the following pieces from number 3 of
Ford's National Library, published at 17 Barclay
St. N. Y. City. This Library is issued in monthly
numbers at the nominal price of 25 cents. Each
number contains about 300 pages of very interes¬
ing matter — particularly so to Irishmen. The
first number is entitled The Irish Question, and
contains extracts from eminent statesmen on the
question. No. 2 is entitled, Leaves From a Prison
Diary, by Michael Davitt. No. 3. is entitled The
Ballad Poetry of Ireland, from which the following
are quoted. No. 4. is entitled, Hours with Eminent
Irishmen, and gives extracts from their writings.
This Library, which is within the reach of all, the
poor as well as the rich, is the best education¬
al preceptor which we have seen in a long time,
and any one reading it need not go to his neighbor
for information on any point worth knowing. A
great fault with Irishmen is that they do not gen¬
erally read such enlightening matter.
We congratulate the Messrs. Ford on this idea
of placing such excellent educational means within
the reach of all.
LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT.
BY LADE DUFEERIN.
I'm sitting on the stile, Mary,
Where we sat side by side
On a bright May mornin' long ago,
When first you were my bride;
The corn was springin' fresh und green,
And the lark sang loud and high —
And the red was on your lip, Mary,
And the love-light in your eye.
The place is little changed, Mary,
The day is bright as then,
The lark's loud song is in my ear,
And the corn is green again:
But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,
And your breath, warm on my cheek,
And I still keep list'nin' for the words
You never more will speak.
'Tis but a step down yonder lane,
And the little church stands near,
The church where we were wed, Mary,
I see the spire from here.
But the grave-yard lies between, Mary,
And my step might break your rest —
For I've laid you, darling! down to sleep,
With your baby on your breast.
I'm very lonely now, Mary,
For the poor make no new friends,
But oh! they love the better still,
The few our father sends !
And you were all I had, Mary,
My blessin' and my pride:
There's nothing left to care for now
Since my poor Mary died.
Your's was the good, brave heart, Mary,
That still kept hoping on,
When the trust in God had left my soul,
And my arm's young strength was gone;
There was comfort ever on your lip,
And the kind look on your brow —
I bless you, Mary, for that same,
Though you cannot hear me now.
I thank you for the patient smile
When your heart was fit to break,
When the hunger pain was gnawin' there,
And you hid it for my sake,
I bless you for the pleasant word,
When your heart was sad and sore —
Oh! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,
Where greif can't reach you more!
I'm biddin' you a long farewell,
My Mary — kind and true!
But I’ll not forget you darling!
In the land I'm goin' to;
They say there's bread and work for all,
And the sun shines always there —
But I’ll not forget old Ireland,
Were it fifty times as fair.
And often in those grand old woods
I'll sit, and shut my eyes,
And my heart will travel back again
To the place where Mary lies;
And I think I see the little stile
Where we sat side by side;
And the springin' corn, and the bright May
morn,
When first you were my bride.
IRELAND UNDER IRISH RULE.
(FROM THE IRISH.)
BY J. C. MANGAN.
[Amongst the Anglo-Saxon students resorting to
Ireland, was Prince Aldfrid, afterwards King of
the Northumbrian Saxons. His having been edu¬
cated there about the year 684 is corroborated by
venerable Bede in his "Life of St. Cuthbert."
The original poem, of which this is a translation,
attributed to Aldfrid, is still extant it the Iris lan¬
guage.]
I found in Innisfail the fair,
In Ireland, while in exile there,
Women of worth, both grave and gay men,
Many clerics and many laymen.
I travelled its fruitful provinces round,
And in every one of the five † I found,
Alike in church and in palace hall,
Abundant apparel and food for all,
Gold and silver I found, and money,
Plenty of wheat and plenty of honey;
I found God's people rich in pity,
Found many a feast and many a city,
I also found in Armagh, the splendid,
Meekness, wisdom and prudence blended,
Fasting, as Christ hath recommended,
And noble councillors untranscended.
I found in each great church moreo'er,
Whether on island or on shore,
Piety, learning, fond affection,
Holy welcome and kind protection.
I found the good lay monks and brothers,
Ever beseeching help for others,
And in their keeping the holy word
Pure as it came from Jesus the Lord.
I found in Munster unfettered of any,
Kings, and queens, and poets a many —
Poets well skilled in music and measure,
Prosperous doings, mirth and pleasure.
