Steady they load, steady they fire, moving right onward still,

Betwixt the wood and Fontenoy, as through a furnace-blast,

Through rampart, trench, and palisade, and bullets showering fast;

Past Fontenoy, past Fontenoy, while thinner grow their ranks,

They break as breaks the Zuyder Zee through Holland's ocean-banks.

More idly than the summer flies, French tirailleurs rush round;

As stubble to the lava-tide, French squadrons strew the ground;

Bombshell and grape and round-shot tore, still on they marched and fired;

Fast from each volley grenadier and voltigeur retired.

"Push on my household cavalry," King Louis madly cried.

To death they rush, but rude their shock, not unavenged they died.

On through the camp the column trod-King Louis turned his rein.

“Not yet, my liege," Saxe interposed; "the Irish troops remain."

And Fontenoy, famed Fontenoy, had been a Waterloo,

Had not these exiles ready been, fresh, vehement, and true.

"Lord Clare," he said, "you have your wish; there are your Saxon foes!"

The Marshal almost smiles to see how furiously he goes.

How fierce the look these exiles wear, who're wont to be so gay!

The treasured wrongs of fifty years are in their hearts to-day:

The treaty broken ere the ink wherewith 'twas writ could dry;

Their plundered homes, their ruined shrines, their women's parting cry;

Their priesthood hunted down like wolves, their country overthrown

Each looks as if revenge for all were staked on

him alone.

On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, nor ever yet elsewhere, Rushed on to fight a nobler band than these proud exiles were.

their course,

With ready fire and grim resolve that mocked at

hostile force.

commands:

"Fix bayonets- charge!" Like mountain-storm rush on those fiery bands.

Bright was their steel, 'tis bloody now, their guns are filled with gore;

Through scattered ranks and severed files and trampled flags they tore.

The English strove with desperate strength, paused, rallied, scattered, fled;

The green hillside is matted close with dying and with dead.

Across the plain and far away passed on that hideous wrack,

While cavalier and fantassin dash in upon their track. On Fontenoy, on Fontenoy, like eagles in the sun, With bloody plumes the Irish stand-the field is fought and won!

THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS.

Outspake their captain, brave and bold,

A merry wight was he:

"If London Tower were Michael's hold, We'll set Trelawny free!

"We'll cross the Tamar land to land,
The Severn is no stay -
With one and all, and hand-in-hand,
And who shall bid us nay?

"And when we come to London wall,— A pleasant sight to view,

Come forth! come forth, ye cowards all, To better men than you!

"Trelawny he's in keep and hold, Trelawny he may die;

But here's twenty thousand Cornish bold, Will know the reason why!"

383

ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER.

Song.

As by the shore, at break of day,
A vanquished chief expiring lay,
Upon the sands, with broken sword,

He traced his farewell to the free;
And there the last unfinished word
He dying wrote, was "Liberty!"

At night a sea-bird shrieked the knell
Of him who thus for freedom fell;
The words he wrote, ere evening came,
Were covered by the sounding sea;
So pass away the cause and name
Of him who dies for liberty!

THOMAS MOORE.

Song of the Cornish Men.

A GOOD Sword and a trusty hand!
A merry heart and true!

King James's men shall understand

What Cornish lads can do.

And have they fixed the where and when?

And shall Trelawny die?

Here's twenty thousand Cornish men

Will know the reason why!

The Harp that once through Tara's Halls.

THE harp that once through Tara's halls

The soul of music shed,

Now hangs as mute on Tara's walls

As if that soul were fled.

So sleeps the pride of former days,

So glory's thrill is o'er,

And hearts that once beat high for praise,
Now feel that pulse no more.

Veteran and Recruit.

He filled the crystal goblet With golden-beaded wine: "Come, comrades, now, I bid ye— • To the true love of mine!' "Her forehead's pure and holy, Her hair is tangled gold, Her heart to me so tender, To others' love is cold.

"So drain your glasses empty

And fill me another yet;
Two glasses at least for the dearest
And sweetest girl, Lisette."

Up rose a grizzled sergeant —
"My true love I give thee,
Three true loves blent in one love,
A soldier's trinity.

"Here's to the flag we follow,
Here's to the land we serve,
And here's to holy honor

That doth the two preserve."

Then rose they up around him,
And raised their eyes above,
And drank in solemn silence
Unto the sergeant's love.

EDWARD WEntworth Hazewell.

God Save the King.

GOD save our gracious king!
Long live our noble king!

God save the king!
Send him victorious,
Happy and glorious,
Long to reign over us—

God save the king!

O Lord our God, arise!
Scatter his enemies,

And make them fall; Confound their politics, Frustrate their knavish tricks; On him our hopes we fix,

God save us all!

Oh! the French are in the bay,
They'll be here by break of day,
And the Orange will decay,
Says the Shan Van Vocht.

And where will they have their camp?
Says the Shan Van Vocht;

Where will they have their camp?

Says the Shan Van Vocht.
On the Currach of Kildare;
The boys they will be there
With their pikes in good repair,
Says the Shan Van Vocht.

To the Currach of Kildare
The boys they will repair,

And Lord Edward will be there,
Says the Shan Van Vocht.

Then what will the yeomen do?

Says the Shan Van Vocht; What will the yeomen do?

Says the Shan Van Vocht.
What should the yeomen do,
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they'll be true
To the Shan Van Vocht?

What should the yeomen do,
But throw off the red and blue,
And swear that they'll be true
To the Shan Van Vocht?

And what color will they wear?

Says the Shan Van Vocht; What color will they wear?

Says the Shan Van Vocht.
What color should be seen,

Where our fathers' homes have been,
But our own immortal green?

Says the Shan Van Vocht.
What color should be seen,

Where our fathers' homes have been,
But our own immortal green?

Says the Shan Van Vocht.

And will Ireland then be free?

Says the Shan Van Vocht; Will Ireland then be free ?

Says the Shan Van Vocht.
Yes! Ireland shall be free,
From the centre to the sea;
Then hurrah for liberty!

Says the Shan Van Vocht.
Yes! Ireland shall be free,
From the centre to the sea;
Then hurrah for liberty!

Says the Shan Van Vocht.

near

Lokeren, the cocks crew and twilight dawned clear;

At Boom a great yellow star came out to see;
At Düffeld 'twas morning as plain as could be;
And from Mecheln church-steeple we heard the
half-chime-

So Joris broke silence with "Yet there is time!"

At Aerschot up leaped of a sudden the sun,
And against him the cattle stood black every one,
To stare through the mist at us galloping past;
And I saw my stout galloper Roland at last,
With resolute shoulders, each butting away
The haze, as some bluff river headland its spray;

And his low head and crest, just one sharp ear

bent back

fate,

With his nostrils like pits full of blood to the brim, And with circles of red for his eye-sockets' rim.

Then I cast loose my buff-coat, each holster let fall, Shook off both my jack-boots, let go belt and all, Stood up in the stirrup, leaned, patted his ear, Called my Roland his pet-name, my horse without peer

Clapped my hands, laughed and sung, any noise, bad or good,

Till at length into Aix Roland galloped and stood.

And all I remember is friends flocking round, As I sate with his head 'twixt my knees on the ground;

wine,