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THE GRAND PARADE, CORK.
the quiet possession of Cork; which city was surrendered to the English monarch, in the year 1172. In 1185, the Norman governor of Cork was besieged in the city by the native Irish, who reduced him to great straits; though, ultimately, with the help of a body of English knights and archers, he routed the assailants. From that time forward, the city has remained under English dominion.
In addition to the Abbey of St. Finbar, Cork formerly possessed several monastic establishments. It had a Franciscan Friary, founded about the year 1214; a Dominican Friary, called the Abbey of St. Mary of the Island, founded in 1229; and an Augustine Monastery, which was known by the name of the Red Abbey, and of which some remains still exist. It contained also, a Carmelite Friary ; a Nunnery, dedicated to St. John the Baptist; a preceptory of the half-ecclesiastical, half-secular, Knights Templars; and a hospital, called the Priory of St. Stephen. Of most of these ancient religious houses, little more than the name remains; but the City of Cork still abounds with ecclesiastical confraternities. There is the North Monastery; and the Capuchin Friary ; to which last society belongs the widely-known Father Mathew. Chiefly by his instrumentality, a beautiful burying-ground has been formed in the southern portion of the city. This cemetery, situated at a place once the site of a botanic garden, and happily named Evergreen, belongs to the Capuchins, but is open to the public, and contains many tombs ; which, seen, as they are, through vistas of cypresstrees, yews, and weeping willows, are touching objects, even to the passing stranger. Roses, lilies, and the plant called “heart's ease,” bloom around the humblest graves; and, here and there, an inscription to the following effect, meets the spectator's eye.
“ Do not pluck these flowers :
They are sacred to the memory of the dead.” It is impossible to contemplate this quiet resting-place, where so many of the departed shall sleep till the last trumpet shall sound, without feelings of deep interest; and, let us add, of regret, that to multitudes of those who there await the morning of the resurrection, the pure light of scriptural truth was never suffered to penetrate. Much has been done for Ireland ; but there is one thing which her generous and warmhearted, and surely loyal people, must do for themselves, if they would rise in the scale of nations, or enjoy the blessings and advantages of social improvement, and civil and religious liberty—they must cease to bow their necks to the Romish yoke; and take the Scriptures of life for their rule of faith.
Of the City of Cork itself, the Grand Parade, depicted in the accompanying plate, is the most imposing portion. It cannot, indeed, boast much regularity of architecture, the houses which bound it being of all sizes and shapes, and of all colours; but it presents a noble and extensive area, and, from its very lack of uniformity, is perhaps only the more picturesque. A well-executed statue of one of the English Georges adorns this Parade; and the beautiful Lee, which flows past it, bears witness, by the numerous pleasure-boats and other craft which float upon its surface, to the opulence and importance of the ancient city which it adorns.
DISCORD IN MELODY.
AND can there then be discord in the gush
Of the glad notes that leave those trembling strings ? Can aught but sounds of peace flow from the harp
Whence Love's own hand the strain of music flings?
Ah! well there may be discord! for on earth
There is no rose but hath its prickly thorn ; Each flower must droop its head to change and death,
And dun, dark night aye follows gladdest morn.
Young hopes may fade, fair promises deceive,
Bright expectations suddenly depart,
And thickest clouds may gather round the heart.
But shall there never come a spring-time fair,
When all earth's many woes shall pass away ? Shall no bright noon succeed the twilight-dawn,
No shining light brighten to perfect day?
Yes ! e'en on earth the heavy clouds may pass;
And Hope unfurl her ever-radiant wings;
And praise wells up from the heart's deepest springs,
Full many a cloudy day may set in light;
The "good time coming" shall be hail'd at last ; Discord shall cease; the sword shall slay no more ;
For former things shall from the earth be past.
E’en now, on Erin's strand, the turtle's voice
Is heard ; and hoarse rebellion's murmurs cease ; Like oil upon the troubled waters cast,
Is thy bright smile, Victoria ! bringing peace !