ee a eee Ea eeoney “pans | Adina tiaaoeetical See 4 es arta ee et ee aes Sr ty a yet eee erate Tote Bika onc ow eee Weir ee ee ‘ RS ra a Se ee anes . 7 : ; Re eRe ay ee . z , 3 . : 7 cats cs v ae ~ eed S ; tae et See . . canes ae ~ . . . * = han eed pag PHSB I Gt SRL OI RAO r ‘ . hate eaena te si wey os Se . , ener es C B e a " Eater ye 4 : rf aes ae ECORI A ae oy pe Perce ee nee ma Ce ERS P ee eo tel ee ee rh ey Seer Nene eee 5 Perea ree _ ig tonne gg eee eee renr mae rae Siete es paren sepushivacebcninaiateabame ae netechraeiae Selene sihiieeies aioe oe Een ee ete pect Seer . x : ytd es : Sra rae eae ae een ee rates : nA es SES ed . . are = en een diaph nh ih icra hen nt ae a aed pene s = ok . tals 3 a ‘i - eta heh cee ne ate) a eh ete oad a a eae age oa ne nao me AE = ; Sates - ve BOOKS a Fines?» Wilms —28fon, De} Seventeen Nights with the Irish Story Tellers By EDMUND MURPHY JOHN MURPHY COMPANY PRINTERS BALTIMORE MARYLAND COPYRIGHT, 1923, BY EDMUND MURPHY INTRODUCTION The following tales I heard related when a boy; some of them are familiar to almost every village youth in the province of Mun- ster, but I have tried to dress them in a new language, and to present them to the reader in a more attractive style than that in which he may have heard them related. If I have succeeded I shall feel repaid for my trouble. E-MUBRPHY. “e CONTENTS PAGE FIRST NIGHT—THE FAIRIES......--ececcecccrccccvccces a KGNOGISNEHIEDOWING cc css ee Wr D gieie oe aaaccic kes Were oie chee 11 TACK BURKE'S STORY: cr. sue es me es poe tn ens eae eee ees Ey JACK PAYES STORY sis 256.345 as oe oe ee ee 20 SECOND NIGHT—KNOCKSHIGOWNA LARRY FLOIOHAN AND THE PF ATRINS, 4 52 ss <5 nance seeses 24 THIRD NIGHT—KILFEAKLE THE MoAT AND STRANGE HAPPENINGS THERE..........- 33 Si AWN SMUBE S LORY) ci5 . occ es ao ee ee ee 40 FOURTH NIGHT—KNOCKGRAFFON Pop PROUNCHRAOK S. 3.6 oe com eae oo ears cheer betes ee 43 COLIIMERILLE SG PROPHECY. .oo55.5.ccs cc o5 oe Oe ee ees 48 FIFTH NIGHT—POOKAS’ ELVES AND FAIRIES Fran LEGEND OF CROM WEiie ELL... s vews ane ee noe eee 51 Try PVA TTERN ORM MLWis
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Invited the cupidity
Of greedy, border powers;
Although we peaceful paths pursued,
Till forced to take the field;
That field with corpses was bestrewed
Ere we were forced to yield.
But hearing of the mighty deeds
Achieved by Hire’s band;
Against the world’s best warriors,
On Ventry Harbor’s strand;
We have come here to seek your aid,
And if successful in the raid,
Which our chief men have planned;
Eight casks of gold will be your share,
Which in this ship, you'll homeward bear
To your own native land.”
The Fenians on excitement bent,
A ready ear to him they lent.
Aboard all went, they liked the trip,
And back the Bretons steered the ship.
They now unfurl great sheets of sail,
And fly before the freshening gale;
And ere the morrow’s sun goes down,
They hail once more their native town.
They now appoint a festive rite,
And all the town grows gay;
The Fenian chiefs they now invite,
To pass with them a jolly night,
In feasting, song’, and story lignt,
Until the coming day.
Then rest another day and night,
And all make ready for the fight.
On the third day their forces march
Against Tolchester town;
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Whose people learning that their foe,
Was one they vanquished long ago;
Smile at their hopes to strike a blow,
That might restore the crown,
That formerly prince Lubeck wore:
Then fiercely every Tolchian swore,
That heavier blows were still in store
For that rebellious clown.
The armies quickly come in sight,
And both make ready for the fight.
Loud and more loud the shouting rose,
As the combatants meet;
With deadly blows, those ancient foes,
Again each other greet:
But now the Fenian chiefs appear,
And bid their friends be of good cheer;
While like a whirlwind on they go,
And spread dismay among the foe,
Along their entire front.
No troops such valor could withstand,
They smote the foe on every hand,
Left but a broken, shattered band
To bear the battle brunt.
The victory was soon complete,
Their foes no longer stand,
And to the Bretons as was meet,
Restore their gold and land.
The latter now returning home,
A council quickly hold;
Decide those chiefs from Scotia’s land
Should share none of the gold.
But dreading much the mighty blows
They saw those heroes deal,
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A frightful plot they hatched for those,
Who helped them to defeat their foes,
And should have shared their weal.
These not suspecting any guile,
The palace seek to rest awhile.
Meanwhile they view the country round
A lovely land it seems;
Where deer and antelope abound,
And rills and sparkling streams.
Through cultivated fields they go,
Where flowering shrubs and fruit trees grow;
On to the summit of a hill,
That makes their very heartstrings thrill;
Such lovely views the place commands,
Where crowning all the castle stands.
But once within the castle hold,
A choir sweet music chants,
And many youths of graceful mould
Anticipate their wants.
And now chief Lund makes haste to say:
Come, “Men of Hire,” be seated pray!
We strangers are no more,
But exercise here lordly sway,
While with us you will deign to stay,
Until your wealth you bear away
To Erin’s lovely shore. —
“Quick, waiters quick!” the Breton said,
Serve viands rich and wine;
But first their thirst must be allavec,
Those valiant friends of mine.”
The Fenian chiefs soon felt elated,
And swore that they had never tasted
Old usquebaugh so fine;
And so, they never hesitated,
But, long they quaffed off unabated,
The generous draughts of wine.
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Still wine for them they freely pour,
Till fell their weapons on the floor,
And helpless was each. chief.
Then did the Breton princes praise
The strategy of Lund;
Who found for them the means and ways
Of saving such a fund.
Not gold alone their actions sway,
In this revenge its part must play.
Said Lund, “where Ventry harbor stands,
The king of the world gave his commands,
And the king of Ireland did agree,
That on that strand the fight should be.
"Twas there I saw my brothers fall,
My cousins, relatives, and all;
The bravest men of Lichtendahl,
Struck down by Oscar’s flail!
And there my father too was slain,
Although he tried to dodge in vain,
Swift Caclte, who cut him in twain—
The fiercest of the Gael.
But now we’ll send to long repose
Late friends, who were our fathers’ foes,
So deal them out your heaviest blows,
There’s none their fate to wail.
But Luchra’s son, who with a band
Of chieftains loitering on the strand,
Were startled by a cry;
And mixed with it were awful sounds;
A man came rushing through the grounds,
And quickly drawing nigh,
Cried: “Comrades haste, avert their fate!
Fly quicker than the deer;
One minute lost, ’twill be too late.”
Each grasps his doughty spear,
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And for the mansion hastes away,
The Bretons’ treachery to repay.
Soon heads were falling down like rain;
The Bretons fought, but fought in vain,
And now like frightened deer,
They seek the densest woods and brakes,
And thick copse bordering the lakes,
In hope to quell their fear
Well did the scared cup-bearers say:
Your vengeance, Chiefs! ’twere well to stay;
If any one of us you slay;
You’ll all regret this night;
For naught will ever then restore
Their strength, to those who weapons bore
In many a battle heretofore
And well remembered fight.
But we the heralds of the king,
Can bring to you a magic ring,
And they’ll be soon all right.
We’ve seen it tried three times before,
’Twill heal their wounds, their strength restore.
And make them fully ten times more
Resistless in their might.”
“Then get the charm and bring it hence.
And from us claim fit reeompense.”
They seek at once the haunted cave,
Where dwelt the fairy queen;
Who gave to each a shadowy cloak,
So they could pass unseen
By the minotaur, who vigil kept
O’er this magic ring, and never slept.
At last they find the secret crypt,
Where lay the magic ring;
And passed unseen the awful beast,
While back the prize they bring,
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And place it first in Oscar’s hand,
Who felt immediate relief;
Then in clear tones he gave command,
To pass the ring from chief to chief.
And every chieftain in his turn,
Felt all his former strength return,
And vengeance fierce within him burn;
For the drugged wine he quaffed.
Ah! they’ll have cause to weep and mourn
Who lately at us laughed.
But now the Bretons in their plight,
Their former foes to them invite,
To lend them needed aid;
Or Wessex sons would surely feel,
The weight of Eire’s polished steel,
If that aid were delayed.
So now their forces they unite,
Against the Fenian chiefs to fight.
There upon Oscar fiercely swore
That he would shed the Breton’s gore,
Until it reddened all the shore,
Where now their good ship lay.
But leave a few behind to store
Eight casks of gold, and perhaps more
For us to take away.
Our suffering we’ll now avenge,
Their treachery calls for revenge,
And soon on them ’twill fall.
Nor will we leave here while one foe
Throughout this land is free to go,
Let battle axe and halberd’s blow
Exterminate them all.
Then quickly taking up the word,
Each warrior drew his keen edged sword;
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The palace grounds they quickly gain,
Where many nobles still remain
Around the council board.
Some boldly counseled and some planned
Measures not yet disclosed,
Giving advise on every hand
Where to unite and where to stand,
And overwhelm the tiny band
By which they were opposed.
Charge! Charge! said Oscar, on that host,
But first on those who loudest boast,
Let your keen halberds play.
Surprised the Tolchians quickly fled,
But after them the Fenians sped,
And those who boasted and who bled,
Were filled with dire dismay.
Nor did they stop the slaughter there,
But kept pursuing them everywhere,
Smiting them in their tracks;
And fearful was the din that rose,
As gathering bands tried to oppose
Those furious chiefs, who on their foes,
Swung the dread battle-axe.
As sweeps the storm along the height,
When thunders rattle and lightnings smite,
And mountain torrents pour.
They madly rush into the fight,
And scores of Bretons put to flight,
Or change their day to endless night,
Amid the battle roar.
What vails the battle to prolong,
’Gainst men so valiant and so strong?
Nought that prince Lund can see.
Against a troop each one would strive,
Receive deep wounds and still survive,
And win the victory.
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Sore was the need of Omar then,
Pursued by Eire’s fighting men,
Her bravest sons were slain.
The other troops in terror fied,
Through fields cf wounded and of dead,
Nor longer fight maintain.
The Fenians came down to the ship,
To start upon the homeward trip,
And meet old friends once more.
While Oscar, Con, and Caolte fleet,
Diarmid, Ossian, and Luch all greet
Their comrades on the shore.
All Europe’s conquest they might plan,
For they were wonders, every one;
Since Hercules, there was no man
That had acquired such fame;
No Sassenach came then to fan
Their discords into flame.
NINTH NIGHT
Pat Martin’s Tale
Pat Martin now addressed the crowd,
Still clapping, and still talking loud:
“I’m glad to see Pat Maher’s tale
Has met with such applause;
But there’s a legend older still,
I know it well because
I was raised on Corkoguiny’s coast,
Where Kerry’s wild waves roar,
And I know well the story that
I heard in days of yore.
As soon as Hire’s fighting men
Had crushed the Breton bands;
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A vast amount of treasure fell
Into the victors’ hands;
Which they conveyed in their trim ship,
Preparing to set sail,
For the land they had so lately left,
Their own loved Innisfail.
His kingship met them on the way,
And said: ‘With us you’ll surely stay,
And we will reckon you alway
Our bulwark and our pride;
For here we grant you lordly sway,
With varying pleasures for each day;
By hill and dale, by lake and bay,
While with us you reside.”
Then to the king’s seductive words,
The Fenians made reply:
“Your generous offer make to those,
You never treated as your foes;
Who never smarted ’neath your blows
And on it might rely.
Reserve for them your gracious mien,
Your base ingratitude we’ve seen;
So now we will not fail
To take away those casks of gold,
And stow them safe in the ship’s hold,
And with them homeward sail;
So part we here, we’re going to join
Our comrades at the ship;
Who gallantly have done their share,
And anxiously await us there,
To make the homeward trip.”
The humbled king his steps retraced,
Through his vast. pleasure ground;
And strange to say, while on his way,
The magic ring he found.
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So to the fairy cave he went,
The genie to conjure,
That boreas he should implore,
To wreck the strangers on the shore,
And thus their gold secure.
Next day the clouds obscure the sky,
And winds and blinding hail
Delay the chiefs, now homeward bound
For the land of Innisfail.
For days those chiefs were tossed about,
Shock fast succeeding shock;
Until at length they’re driven on
The barren Skellig rock.
Here they feared much their fragile craft
Would be to pieces dashed,
For merciless appeared the waves
By which that craft was lashed.
When lo, the sky began to clear,
A calm came o’er the sea;
Then joyfully they anchor cast,
And landed hastily.
They talked and walked along the shore,
The day had now grown fine;
The sea around seemed full of fish,
Each got his hook and line;
When down upon the fishers swooped
Huge gulls and ospreys too,
And used both wings, and bills, and claws,
Upon the Fenian crew.
Before their fierce and sudden charge,
The men to rally fail;
Till Oscar made his signal trip,
And dashed back from the sea-lashed ship
With his big iron flail.
Then o’er the monsters’ backs it rings,
And loud the noise arose;
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When o’er their heads and tails and wings,
The awful flail brave Oscar swings,
And many a bird to earth it brings
Among his feathered foes.
Then was a chance presented to
Proud Diarmid, Conn and all;
To rush down at their fastest clip,
And get their weapons from the ship,
And on the monsters fall.
Both sides then waged a battle fierce;
Such ne’er was seen elsewhere;
One army fighting on the earth,
Another in the air.
The birds at last seemed giving way,
And in wider circles sail;
While on the ground vast numbers lay,
Who fell in the unequal fray,
Which they had waged for half a day,
Against both spear and flail.
The men hoist anchor and set sail
For a haven to the east;
And left this barren island where
Those shocking vultures feast.
They soon reach land, though steep Bray head
Does not invite their stay;
But driven northward by the wind,
They entered Dingle Bay.
Here was an inlet of the sea,
That they could safely fish;
Where the grim shadows ever change,
Beneath the lofty mountain range,
Of frowning, grey Slieve Mish.
On the north side of Dingle Bay,
Just where the town of Dingle lay,
Their ship at anchor rides;
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The chiefs and men together land,
As they had previously planned;
Upon a narrow winding strand,
That the steep mountain hides,
Of Beenoskee where the heather blooms,
Where high above it Brandon looms,
A mighty mountain mass;
That they can easily survey,
Tis only a few miles away,
Towering o’er Brandon Head and Bay,
And over steep Slieveglas.
’Twas here the chiefs advised their bands,
Upon the spreading lea;
That some should search the neighboring lands,
With skeins and spears and battle brands,
And others fish the sea.
Those who for fishing volunteered
Nets for lines substituted;
They lower the boats upon the spray,
And as they pushed the craft away,
Their friends on shore saluted.
Forthwith swift Caolte and Oscar came,
And Diarmid by their side,
And Goll McMorna, the doughty chief,
Of Connaught long the pride.
These were the bravest fighting men
Of all the Fenian crew,
They were the greatest champions
Of Ireland through and through.
But while they stood there doubting
Which course they should pursue,
A novel spectacle was soon
Presented to their view.
A flock of goats attracted by
The strange craft and its sails,
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Kept drawing closer to the spot
Where stood those sportive Gaels.
“Now Caolte,” said Oscar laughingly,
I’ll wager you a pound,
That you don’t overtake the herd,
Before it gets around
The spur of yonder mountain,
Fast as you skim the ground.
For if you fail to catch them
Before that point they gain,
In tangled brush and ferny brake
And copsewood bordering the lake
Such game you'll seek in vain.
The words though spoken in a jest,
Caused Caolte to arise,
And said: who laughs the last, laughs best
And though with me none vies,
The largest in the flock I’ll take,
Before the foremost reach the lake,
And lay it here upon the stake,
Before your very eyes.
said Oscar: “The wager stands the same,
Make good your boast, produce the game!”
There words proud Caolte’s spirit lashed
But answer he made none
Though from his eyes the lightning flashed,
As after them at once he dashed,
Who never was outdone
In race or chase by any man,
From Bandon river to the Baan.
The mountain sides were steep and tall;
The narrow vales between,
Were rent by streams that leap and brawl,
From Dingle Bay to Anascaul,
Forming many a waterfall,
And most romantic scene.
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The rapid brooks all find their way
From Slieve Mish range to Dingle Bay,
The goats dashed through their cooling spray,
With Caolte on their track.
And ere the chiefs their laughter ceased,
O’ertook the herd, one of them seized,
And flung it o’er his back;
And for the supper brought it in
Amid the laughing, boisterous din,
Of those who wagered he would win
Who hailed him with loud cheers.
“Who won the prize?” “What need you care
Since in it all of you will share,
That you’ll have vension to spare
I entertain no fears.”
They passed the evening merrily,
In feasting and in song;
But when they were prepared to dine,
Brought from the boat a cask of wine,
Their pleasures to prolong.
Next day they launch their boats upon
The mountain guarded bay,
And fish its waters all day long;
Enjoying at dawn the milkmaid’s song,
At eve the shepherd’s lay.
A shoal of porpoise passed them by,
Coasting the shore along;
Now think they heard the mermaid’s cry
And not the mildmaid’s song.
They seek at once to moor their boats,
For they fared very well;
Good takes of herring, cod and sole,
And hake and makerel.
A narrow haven soon they spy,
To the east of Dingle Bay,
Where in security they lie
Until the coming day.
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Its coasts were wild, the sky was blue;
From Caragh Lake to Caherdhu
The broom and fern a darker hue,
To their steep sides had given:
In stinted fields along the shore,
The wandering bees their treasure store;
Culled from wild flowers o’er which they soar,
Which constitute their heaven.
The woods with music seem to ring,
The birds in merry chorus sing,
That from Dunkerron’s mountains wing
Their way down to the coast.
The sun is gilding’ with each ray,
The broad expanse of Dingle Bay;
No other estuary they say
Such scenery can boast.
For here were harbor, glen and wold,
And castle new and fortress old,
And mountain streamlets manifold,
That from the heights poured down.
There the enraptured eye can see
Flowers in the vale, fruit on the tree,
And thrushes singing merrily,
Whose voices seem to drown
The echoes of the waterfalls,
Where o’er the crags the Caragh brawls;
The owlet hoots, the cuckoo calls;
Ali nature’s full of life;
The eagles toward Mangerton soar;
We see the boat, we hear the oar,
The wavelets breaking on the shore,
The wolf for mischief rife.
Sheep browse through lovely Caragh vale,
The red deer through Glenbehy stray,
Through Ferta goats have many a trail,
And wolves will find somewhere their prey.
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But on the following morning when
To chase the goats they try;
They find them harder to approach,
Mere timid and more shy;
When all at once appeared a sight,
That thrilled the hunters with delight—
A noble herd of deer;
The great red deer of Glennaflesk,
Viewed from the hills appear grotesque;
At close range, grand and picturesque,
And now they wander here.
But Caolte fearful as the storm,
And swift as a grey hound,
At once pursued them spear in hand,
With all the speed he could command,
Gaining at every bound.
O’ertook them when about to gain,
The Main’s low lying grounds;
And though not one behind did lag,
Pierced to the heart a noble stag,
That weighed a thousand pounds.
Then to the camp he brought the prize,
Seen and admired by eager eyes;
Still viewing closely, Diarmid cries;
Tapping him with his spear:
“You well may gaze on him with pride,
With branching antlers ten feet wide;
Of nobler Stag none pierced the hide,
Than lies before me here.”
But when they next pursued the chase,
Luchra, the dauntless, led
The hunters, till they reached a cave
Beneath Beenoskee’s Head;
When suddenly a boar rushed out,
Hid by the mountain spurs;
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But Luchra met him with his spear,
The son of Luch, who knew no fear;
And ere the hunters had drawn near,
He tossed him in the furze.
This was the great Dunkerron boar,
That ravaged hill and down;
And havoc played for miles and miles
Along the river Laune,
And swam its strongest current when
Its floods were running brown.
Though stunned the savage beast came back,
Determined now to worst
The chief, and made a fresh attack,
More vigorous than the first.
But Luchra struck him with such force,
The huntsmen heard the sound;
Thought him attacked by some wild horse,
And so came hastening up of course;
But only saw the monster’s corse,
Reddening the field all round.
His comrades then cut off the head,
In size a startling sight;
More than enough for all of them
To feast upon that night.
The fishing crew returned to camp,
The supper to prepare;
Examined with intense surprise,
A head of such unusual size,
And long as it did stare.
What an exciting chase they had!
Will they have any more?
That we should miss it makes us mad,
To see the man we'd be so glad,
Who fought that awful boar.
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“Come haste the meal! you'll be surprised;
Boar’s head will taste so fine;
And ducks are not to be despised
Washed down with mead and wine.”
The night was growing late, the crowd
Must bid their host adieu;
And many a one thought Martin’s tale
The better of the two.
TENTH NIGHT
Larry Dolan and the Fairies
“In stories like the one last night,
I certainly take great delight,
And so I think ’tis only right
This tale of mine should follow;
So I could make you all admit,
That an old man with lots of grit,
By dint of cunning and of wit
Beats giants and fairies hollow.”
The early springtime of the year
Found Larry pale and famished,
For he stayed digging every day
Until the light had vanished,
The fine grass field that stretched around
The big moat of kilgobbin,
A frightful spot, a lonesome place,
And Larry’s heart was throbbin’,
As he beheld before him there
A sight that made him shiver;
A hundred elves all crying at once
To throw him in the river.
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Now Larry frightened at their pranks,
Kept earnestly protesting,
That he had never done them wrong,
They surely must be jesting:
A jest is it? the fairies cried—
One that will set you yelling,
For you have ruined the playground
All round our lovely dwelling.
Said Larry: troth I didn’t know
That any one was living,
Within a mile of this big moat,
My word to you I’m giving;
But if you will forgive me now
For making such a blunder.
The crop I’ll sow and weed and hoe
And give you half by thunder!
The kindly offer Larry made
Was by the elves accepted;
Besides no harm was meant to them,
As he had just protested.
Said Larry: “Now to show I’m fair
And just in all my dealings;
We'll alternate the crops each year,
To soothe your angered feelings.
This year, I’ll take all underground,
And you will take all over;
The next year J’ll take all above
And you all under cover.
This proposition won applause;
The elves no longer tarry,
But as they parted each one said:
“Good night! You’re all right, Larry!
“Good night, good night!” the toiler said,
“You'll alter your opinion;
You’ll find that I’m not going to feed
The elves in your dominion.
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No doubt these little men will dream
Of melons and tomatoes;
But not a thing will I plant in
This field but early ’tatoes.
So when the harvest time came round,
The Dolans and the Careys,
Took the whole crop and left the stalks,
To satisfy the fairies.
He put one over on us now,
Next year we elves fare better;
Then we will take all under ground,
We’ll hold him to the letter.
But the next year old Larry sowed
The field with oats and wheat;
And left the fairies but the roots,
This tricky, cunning cheat.
No wonder that they angry got,
For all the elves were boiling hot,
To find themselves outwitted;
And vowed that Larry they would get,
And make the rascal fume and fret,
Their vengeance they would nurse and whet,
As long as ’twas permitted.
Nor did they have so long to wait,
For one night home returning late,
One of the elves perceived him;
And yelled: “Here Larry Dolan comes!
The biggest fraud of all the bums,
Were ever raised in Limerick’s slums
And then rushed up and seized him.
But Larry struck with dire dismay,
Was scarcely able a word to say;
While gazing at the angry fay,
That held him in his power.
It seemed to him, ’twas his last day,
Perhaps ’twas his last hour.
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WitH THE StToRY TELLERS
From sighing, and lying, pray forbear!
On one condition your life I'll spare,
If with it you comply.
There is in Wicklow a giant Who mocks
My faithful herds, and kills their flocks,
By hurling down the mountain rocks,
Which near its summit lie.
If you approach this awful man,
Without some specious well-laid plan,
He’ll surely take your life.
While if his death you don’t procure
Before the third full moon, be sure!
That hardships many you’ll endure
And lose your friends and wife.
Now take your choice, let’s hear you say,
If in the moat you wish to stay;
Or meet this man that you must slay,
If you’d prolong your life.
Says Larry, determined and grim,
“T know that my chances are slim,
But I’ll go for this giant,
Who appears so defiant,
And perhaps I’ll put one over him.”
Very good, says the fairy: My man!
I hope you will hit on some plan;
If you fail by the powers!
In three moons you &re ours;
Now go! and away Larry ran.
But little he slept through that night,
He would doze and wake up in a fright;
Till a bright, happy thought,
Brought relief that he sought,
"Twas a man of great muscle and might,
o7
WitH THE StToRY TELLERS
That in Kerry did chance to dwell,
’Mong the hills, in a bright sunny dell;
Where no landlord would dare
Ask Shawn Fodha to share
The harvests that grew there so well.
Thought Larry, “if I could but get
These giants their vengeance to whet
On each other who knows;”
And at once he arose,
Crying: I’ve got it, my life I will bet!
So to Kerry at once Larry goes,
Bent on making those giants bitter foes;
Sees Shawn Fogha, whose size
Did him greatly surprise;
Then his secrets began to disclose.
“T’m not asking for any reward,
Though I came to put you on your guard;
For in Munster I pride,
And I’m here at your side,
To say there’s an overgrown man,
Who swears that your sides he will tan.
He’s an out and out fraud,
And a lying blackguard,
And says, once when you saw him you ran.
But this time to your castle he’ll come,
Take your nose twixt his finger and thumb,
And squeezing your nose,
Shake you out of your clothes;
And with your hide cover his drum.
So saying, he left Kerry behind,
And to Wicklow proceeds like the wind;
Sees the giant in a trice,
And tells him there twice,
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WitH THE SToRY TELLERS
That to Kerry he’s now forced to go;
Shawn Fodha was “knocking” him so—
Said, you were a big stiff
He’d knock out with one biff,
If you dared to come up to Dunloe.
But he’s slow as a wagon of hay,
And can’t walk a mile in a day;
You'll enjoy the fun,
When to Kerry you come,
To see him try to run away.”
So to Munster the Wicklow gi’nt came
This boastful Shawn Fodha to tame;
Who ne’er saw with his eyes
A man of such size,
Then greatly he feared for his fame.
“Fear not!” said his wife, “I’ve a plan,
That will help you to vanquish this man.”
From his waist to his throat,
She placed under his coat,
Before any contest began,
Two goatskins she sewed,
And away then she rode,
And directly the trials were on.
The giant from Wicklow drew nigh,
Asked Shawn Fodha what feat they should try:
‘T’ll tell you,” said Shawn,
“Sure you’re walking since dawn;
We'll eat first and fight by and by.”
Then seven fat goats were on tables served,
And a cask of usquebaugh;
The giants left nothing but the bones,
And drank with a loud hurrah!
Now for every mouthful swallowed by Shawn
He dropped two in the goatskin pouch,
But Wicklow, who played an honest game
Looked tired, though he was no slouch.
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Witu THE StTorRY TELLERS
Said Shawn: “I have eaten more than you,”
Which the other at once denied.
As you don’t believe it, measure up!
“Tis the only way to decide.”
Then a vat was placed in front of each—
Cried Shawn: “Are you ready or not?”
Then he stuck the knife in the goatskin pouch,
And its contents fell in the pot.
Now then bit for bit, and sup for sup,
As he handed Wicklow the knife,
Who seizing it ripped his stomach up,
And instantly lost his life.
Thus Larry who quickly detected
That giants are dull-witted, and prone
To mischief, won as he expected,
And longs to be free and at home.
Then at once to the moat he proceeds,
Where the elves of Kilgobbin hold court;
By the gleam of a light, on its lonely site,
He saw them dance, sing and sport.
Then at once to the fairies he goes,
Quite ready his tale to disclose
And reminded them then
What they promised him when
He last saw them, just two weeks before.
“To that promise we’re true.”
“Then I’m square with you
For the Wicklow giant is no more.
I got the big elf to kill himself,
And they all burst into a roar:
Saying Larry my dear! you have nothing to fear,
We'll nevermore darken your door.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
ELEVENTH NIGHT
Fairies and Ghosts
But now appeared Ned Sullivan,
And to him all the children ran.
“You said you would a story tell
Would fill us with delight;
Of lonesome spots where goblins dwell,
And wander round at night.”
“Qh yes, I’ll tell those stories,
I’m sure you like the most,
But first I’ll talk of fairies,
And then about a ghost.”
One night poor Mistress Hoban
Returning from a wake,
Had felt so tired and sleepy,
That she forgot to rake
The fire, upon the hearthstone,
Where the fairies bake and brew;
Or dump the dirty water,
Just as she used to do.
So when the fairies came that night,
And saw the place was just a sight.
They started making a rough house,
O’erturned the pans and pots,
And pinched the drowsy sleepers
And tied their clothes in knots.
Told the water to make trouble,
The fire to blaze up high,
The sideboard and the cabinet
Across the room to fly.
The windows did some rattling,
The china made some noise;
The house seemed toppling over
The frightened girls and boys.
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So Spon anne ca i rnp
WitH THE StToRY TELLERS
Although outside the night was still,
As you surveyed the gloom;
Inside it seemed a hurricane
Was blowing through the room.
But nothing could they plainly see
Of what was taking place;
For in their terror they had pulled
The bedclothes o’er their face.
At last arose old Andy Bray,
The dolt a word he couldn’t say;
He was so overcome with fright,
At what he saw and heard that night.
But even when the rumpus
Had reached its very height;
Though angry elves had spoken,
Not a single dish was broken,
But the keyhole bore a token
Of their sudden, hasty flight.
But now for the ghost story
That I have promised you;
It happened many a year ago,
And people say ’tis true.
i The Three Ghosts
Some time ago near Cullen Hill,
The little hut was standing still,
That sheltered Jack Mulloy;
Between the village and Longstone,
A spot that looked so weird and lone
To man’s estate in time had grown
This lonely orphan boy.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
One day he to his mother went,
And said: My youth round here I spent,
I now must earn my bread;
And should kind fortune favor me,
Your loving son again you'll see
Then cold, and want, and poverty,
You never more need dread.
She blessed him though her heart did ache,
For well she knew ’twas for her sake,
That he was going away;
And said: “Think when beset with care,
Of Him who can our burdens bear;
Approach Him with a heartfelt prayer,
And you won’t go astray.
Obedience pledged, he then set out,
But all day long he looked about
In an exciting chase;
Till twilight spread her pall around,
O’er hill and dale and grassy mound;
At last a spacious house he found,
In a dark, gloomy place.
Its owner seated by the fire,
Asked Shawn what ’twas he might desire;
“Kind Sir! I wish a bed;
For I have travelled a long way
In quest of work, and I must say,
I didn’t eat a thing all day,
Nor make a single “red.”
“Be seated, pray!” the other said;
You can have supper and a bed,
_ If in yon tower you'll stay:
You can besides have fire and light,
And if you are not dead of fright,
Ere morning’s beam dispels the night,
Ten guineas I will pay.
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Wi1TH THE STORY TELLERS
Behind the creaking doors and posts,
You’re apt to find unruly ghosts,
Who in the castle hide;
The last three men who there did stay,
Expired before the break of day;
Of what or how I cannot say,
Enough to know they died.”
“T have a conscience calm and clear;
Of ghosts I entertain no fear,
Though see them here I should.”
The farmer rose up, led the way;
Unlocked the door, and thus did say:
“Tf but one night in here you stay,
My promise I’il make good.”
Alone he passed from floor to floor,
Each alcove searched, and locked each door,
Then lighted up the hall:
But soon he heard an awful shout,
Mixed with loud taps, along the route,
And a weird cry—“Look out! Look out!
Or on you I will fall.”
Oh why should ghosts such mischief plan!
A pair of legs soon past him ran,
And danced, and danced away;
While frightful sounds above maintain;
To calm himself, Shawn tries in vain;
Kach thump and bump he hears quite plain,
And wishes for the day.
Just then he saw a body fall,
And roll along down toward the wall,
Where stood the pair of legs;
And jump upon them with a bound,
That made a dull uncanny sound;
A head that rolled along the ground,
Upon them quickly pegs.
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WitH THE SToRY TELLERS
Now that the chost appeared complete,
Shawn feels his pulse the quicker beat,
And hard and fast he prays;
That he would not expire of fright,
That he would live till morning’s light;
So he could take ten guineas bright,
To cheer his mother’s days.
A ghastly sight before him spreads
Two pair of bodies, legs and heads,
Move past him down the floor;
From them two frightful ghosts are made,
And seeing them Shawn is sore afraid;
All heaven invokes to bring him aid;
Or this night he’ll deplore.
Meanwhile the ghosts together leant,
On shaping something they are bent,
Crouched down beside the door.
On them he now directs his gaze,
And soon a sphere he sees them raise;
Then tell off sides, arrange the plays,
And toss it on the floor.
Now happ’d the strangest sight of all,
The shades began to kick football;
But stranger still ’twas made;
For Shawn kicked hard the bounding leather,
And rushed the ghosts not caring whether,
Till all of them got mixed together,
And a fast game they played.
The football treat at length must cease,
The ghosts no longer seem at ease;
Shawn thinks he ought to speak.
“Of tonight’s games I long shall vaunt;
But why do you the castle haunt,
If ’tis allowed you speak, why can’t
You now the secret break?
105
WiTH THE STORY TELLERS
Thus spoke the ghost addressed, ’tis well]
We suffered here the pains of hell,
For mortal never dared
To ask of what we stood in need;
Tho’ we committed many a deed
Of usury, and heartless greed,
And hard with us it fared.
Though singular it might appear,
It was my son who sent you here,
Who lives in the big manse.
Pa and grandpa, the ghosts you see,
Engaged like me in usury
This coffer holds the curst money,
Go see my son at once!
For needy farmers everywhere,
Would take what money we had to spare,
Besides secure the loan,
And if they weren’t able to pay,
When they called on the reckoning day;
We'd take a part of their land away
And add it to our own.
Those bonds and notes clearly explain
Who should just dues from you obtain,
Till all our debts are paid.
So then they searched the country round,
And many creditors they found,
Whose claims they paid with money sound,
And thus the ghost obeyed.
Though many a man sent in his bill,
From Damer’s wall to Cromwell’s Hill,
From Oola to Glenbane;
Not one of them did they gainsay,
But paid off debts the livelong day,
Till every one was heard to say:
My blessing on you, Shawn!
106
Wi1TH THE STORY TELLERS
And then three doves were seen to fly,
From Bruis, to Lattin Church hard by;
Thence through the clouds they soar.
Shawn gets much money and a wife,
Provides for mother all her life,
Nor ghost, nor mortal, care nor strife
Disturbs him evermore.
TWELFTH NIGHT
A Legend of Shronell
Now Shawn na Bourke was called upon
To take the vacant chair,
Who smiling on the happy crowd
Said: If you do not care,
I'll tell a tale ’bout Shronell and
The fairies dwelling there.
You know there’s a long story
"Bout Damer’s crumbling wall,
And you must bring the porter in
If I’m to tell it all.
Oh here it comes! a keg of stout,
Who sends it, can you guess?
My blessing on you Lanty,
May your shadow ne’er grow less!
The liquor put the crowd into
A very jolly mood,
And Shawn na Bourke pursued his tale
As they all hoped he would.
We all know there are fairies
Round here, as thick as grass;
But worst. of all’s the magpie,
And you see him as you pass,
Upon the wall at midnight
When the sky is pitchy dark,
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WitH THe Story TELLERS
Then brighter grows the magpie
As he sits there stiff and stark.
Whoever sees him there aione,
When the moon has hid her face,
Will meet with disappointment,
And get left in fortune’s chase.
“But surely, said Pop Clohessy,
“You do not mean to say
That such a bird can prophecy
What happens me today.
I never saw it in a book,
So I don’t be’lieve that tale,
That the lone magpie brings bad luck,
That sits there on the rail.
I think ’tis superstition,
Are we crazy by the by?
To think that our condition
Depends on a magpie.”
“The magpie,” said the seanachie,
Is not at all to blame;
It is the number not the bird
That figures in the game.
One always was unlucky,
Though you may think it strange;
But if you see a pair of them,
Your luck at once will change.
Two is the lucky number,
Three means a wedding cake;
But if you should see four of them,
Get ready for a wake.
Pat Darcy was a man well known
For industry and pluck;
But since he saw the magpie
He hadn’t any luck.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
His cattle died, his neighbor’s son
He shot him for a grouse;
They sued him for a thousand pounds,
He died in the poor house.
Tom Collins saw the magpie, when
His mare he tried to sell,
And that was just the night before
The horse-fair of Clonmel.
He urged her on with whip and spur
As fast as she could peg,
Till suddenly she fell down dead,
And falling broke Tom’s leg.
Jim Cooney saw the magpie
On his way to pay the rent,
Then stopped to watch a game of chance,
And gambled his last cent.
His cows died of distemper,
His neighbors shunned the lout;
The landlord had no cash to get
So Jim was turned out.
But as exceptions you will find
To every general rule,
So here was Mister Damer,
Who lived up by the school.
He was a chandler, so they say,
And to his business wed;
Full fourteen hours he worked each day
But couldn’t get ahead.
Though he worked just like the dickens
In the fields and in the bogs,
The fox would steal his chickens,
Distemper take his hogs.
Returning here from Cashel town,
That Cromwell’s troopers robbed;
109
- a ae
WitH THE STORY TELLERS
Admiring fertile hill and down,
His heart with pleasure throbbed;
As with himself he contemplated,
These lands would soon be confiscated;
And here were granite and sandstone
Would suit the building trade;
And if he could acquire these lands
His fortune would be made.
To Ballykisteen quarry, he
Proceeds without delay;
When a premature explosion
Nearly blew his head away.
Of cuts and bruises he had lots
His nose was almost gone;
Until he saw the lone magpie,
It mattered not how hard he’d try
All things were going wrong.
But from that day his luck they say,
Increased a hundred fold;
Till he bought ten casks of tallow and lard,
That he hauled from Cashel to Ballinard,
And in them found a rich reward;
For they were casks of gold;
Which the monks had covered in this way,
While in them they had stowed away
Most of what wealth in Cashel lay
Thinking thus to deceive
The plundering Cromwellian brood,
Who sacked the city, took what they could;
But casks of tallow the chandler would
At his new home receive.
But when some candles he would make,
And tallow from the casks must take,
He saw a sight his bosom thrilled—
With precious jewells the casks were filled.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
With face distorted, stern and grim,
Three barrels with gold heaped to the brim,
Then seemed possessed of some mad whim,
To build a mansion grand;
’Mid flowering plants and forest trees,
’Mid tulips, lilacs and heartsease,
Loading with fragrance every breeze,
That swept this fairy land.
The place selected for its site,
Was old Clanwilliam as was right:
Forests and glades, and chestnut groves,
Mountains, valleys, and sheltered coves;
Rocky caverns, and barren fells,
Fertile valleys and shady dells;
Rivers and streams, and mountain tarn
Which furnish many a fairy yarn;
Abbeys and castles, and courtly hall,
This barony possessed them all.
He might have chosen Cullen Hill
For a commanding site;
Or built where Multeen’s sparkling rill
Would add to his delight;
If wilder scenes he would explore,
Here on the slopes of Galtymore,
His mansion might be placed;
That overlooks the vale below,
Where glides the winding Aherlow,
With current strong, and rapid flow
That easily could be traced.
Or if he would the mountain climb,
He’d there obtain a view sublime;
For where its summit greets the breeze,
Such distant views one gains,
One half of Erin’s hills he sees,
A third of all her plains.
Aft
WITH THE SToRY TELLERS
The storms around it howl and rave,
The shadows grimly frown,
O’er cliff and cave, and warrior’s grave,
From Dawson’s Table down.
While from its abrupt sides there wends
Through every gorge and glen,
The torrents that the mountain sends
Past storied cave and den.
Through dale and vale, those streams that flow
Throughout its entire length,
Add beauty to the vale below,
And to the river strength.
But choosing neither hill nor dale,
Nor Suir’s strong rapid stream;
But in the heart of Golden Vale,
Purchased the lands at an army sale,
And there worked out his scheme.
The mansion I will not describe,
The refuge of the feathered tribe;
Except that in the lofty court,
Through which the winds and jackdaws sport;
Tradition says that there was here,
A window for every day in the year.
Twixt Lattin and Shronell on Emily Road,
Was the site selected for his abode.
The tiny Ara glides below,
Like a silver thread in the sunlight’s glow;
Where sloping fields and meadows green,
Fresh charms lend to the rustic scene.
Around these grounds, he raised a wall
Of fine hewn stone eleven feet tall
At an enormous price;
Where roes and does and antlered deers,
Watch the approaching charioteers,
Pass through the gates, whose polished piers
Long bore this strange device.
LIZ
WitH THE Story TELLERS
“Stop loafer, stop! and read this through,
For I was once as poor as you;
As poor as you I still might be,
If I had passed my days idly.”
Two wags once passing the domain,
Before the lodge some time remain;
Examining this queer disclaimer,
Then gave their views to Mister Damer.
“Tf work’s the surest road to wealth,
A good deal too depends on health,
And something on good sense;
But quarry work we will eschew,
Or hap it might what happed to you
In our sweet innocence.
“We still are young and much alive,
Though drones we be in nature’s hive
Nor would we change our humble place,
For all your gold and shocking face.”
From this time Damer, it is said,
Grew sullen beyond measure;
But till he died he kept his pledge,
He left no man his treasure.
Some fools keep digging for it still,
Round trees and shady ditches;
From which they oft are frightened by
Unruly ghosts and witches.
Old people said ’twas a magpie,
Using its bill and claws,
That hid the gold in a field hardby;
Some say ’twas crows and daws.
But whoever sees on the crumbling wall
At midnight two magpies,
Will find a crock of Damer’s gold,
Or else the legend lies.
113
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
Still from this many different tales
About his wealth are told;
And Biddy Early* says she knows
That it was neither daws nor crows;
But a red-haired man, with a hooked nose,
That stole away the gold.
THIRTEENTH NIGHT
We’ve head of ghosts and fairies,
And of banshees many a tale,
And of the ancient fighting men
Who dwelt in Innisfail:
But tell us of some battle that
Occured in later times,
’T would interest this crowded house
More than those ancient rhymes;
For those Englishmen were haughty,
And our Celtic blood was hot;
Between them many a fight took place,
And they’re not all forgot.
“Come over here Thade Callanan!
You know it to be sure—
The story of bold Feoch McHugh,
Who fought in Glenmalure.
Thade Call’nan shrugged his shoulders
And took the proffered chair,
And every one was glad to see
The story-teller there.
Glenmalure
Elizabeth was seated
On England’s ancient throne;
Engaged in weighty projects,
She pondered o’er alcne.
* A famous sorceress
114
WitH THE StTorY TELLERS
At length a favorite courtier
She summoned to her side;
The plastic knight of Wilton,
To stir his heart with pride.
“Tord Grey! it is my pleasure
To Ireland you should go,
And teach her fickle chiftains
Obedience they must show
To all our royal mandates;
Accord them fitting dues,
Pledge to our throne allegiance,
Or death if they refuse.
Two thousand men take with you,
Those rebels well I know
Our church and state will higher rate,
If dealt a crushing blow.
The pope rebellion teaches,
His priests are all disloyal;
Let only those the pulpit fill,
Who hold a patent royal.”
Lord Grey bowed low and took the brief
From out her royal hands—
“The power with which it me invests,
And all for which it stands,
Will scrupulously be observed,
And promise now I make,
That England’s colors I’ll uphold
Till life will me forsake.”
The squadrons soon were ready,
And anchor now they weigh,
With shouting and repoicing,
They enter Dublin Bay;
Where they receive loud greeting
In Dublin of the Pale,
Lord Grey and his mailed warriors,
Ten thousand voices hail;
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Witu THE Story TELLERS
But in his royal mansion
He’s scarcely settled down,
Before he issues his commands
To country and to town:
“The Romish faith and worship
Our good queen Bess prescribes;
Away with vain petitions!
We spurn all popish bribes.
“The Firebrand of the Mountains
I have come here to tame,
In Wicklow’s rugged passes
I hope to bag my game.
Two regiments of picked Englishmen’s
The staff on which I lean,
And death or capture him awaits,
Who fights against our queen.
Then Feach McHugh to Eustace,
Through proud John Lawlor spoke:
“They’ve sent us one more tyrant,
To weld anew the yoke;
Will such threats make us stronger
And rouse the Geraldine?
Bring hither Nolan and O’Moore
With us now to combine.”
Then outspoke Viscount Baltinglass:
“Three hundred clansmen here,
Will help him meet those hirelings
He never yet did fear.”
Then forth stepped other chieftains,
Who said: “We’ve clansmen bold,
To battle with the Sassenach
In Feach’s strong mountain hold.”
Said Eustace: “Then make ready,
To Ballymore repair,
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WitH THE Story TELLERS
For if he conquers Wicklow
We cannot save Kildare.
So whet your pikes and oil your guns,
Your powder keep secure,
For mark me! you'll have need of them,
With Feach in Glenmalure.
So to Idrone and Offaly
Where stately Barrow flows,
We now must bid a fond farewell,
We’re off to meet our foes
Tonight at Old Kilcullen
The Liffey we will pass;
'Tis but a few hours march from there
To Ballymore Eustace.
And what a wealth of scenery
Awaits the clansmen there,
On one side Wicklow mountains,
On the other side Kildare;
With the river Liffey boiling
In eddies at their feet.
They hear the frightful rumbling,
The crushing and the jumbling,
Of boulders downward tumbling
Their presence there to greet.
The fall’s named Poulaphuca,
Thrice fifty feet in height,
And down that dreadful precipice,
The pooka comes each night;
Wrapt in the mist and vapor
That from the falls arise;
He comes to seek his weird abode,
Over a track none ever rode,
His hideous form he only showed
When lightning lit the skies.
EET
With THE StTorY TELLERS
In this romantic valley,
Where Eustace Castle stands,
They rested and they feasted,
Those ready fighting bands;
But the next morning early,
With usquebaugh on tap,
They breakfasted and took the road
That led to Wicklow Gap.
On top of this romantic pass,
The clansmen make a halt;
Declare those hills, and lakes and rills
Are lovely to a fault;
Beneath their feet Nahangan lies,
And Glendalough so gay,
And round these lovely lakes and fine,
Many a legend doth entwine,
Of Holy men, of men divine,
' Who here used fast and pray.
Some told us of Saint Kevin,
And of Kathleen’s sad fate;
Some talked of bloody Sussex,
His treachery and hate;
When some one mentioned Cosby’s name,
Their eyes with fury flashed;
Vented their feelings in a roar
While loud and fierce the clansmen swore
Their pikes they’d steep in his vile gore,
The fiend of Mullaghmast.
Just then addressed Lord Eustace
A well known mountain scout:
“T’l] lead your men across the glen,
I know the quickest route;
Where the ‘Firebrand of the Mountain’
Has gathered all his clan;
The English too are now in view,
Encamped around Lough Dan.
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Lord Eustice somewhat startled,
Northeastward bent his gaze,
Between the lake and Roundwood,
Like a vast field of maize
He sees the English breaking camp,
By Laragh road they go,
For they must cross the Avonmore
By the bridge of Annamoe.
“Scout, lead our men across the glen!
We'll then arrange the fight;
For Wilton’s troops will be encamped
In Glenmalure tonight.”
In a few hours the vale is crossed,
The Glenealo too is passed,
Whose waters are so pure,
Before we gain the hill-top quite,
We face another glorious sight,
Where Lugnaquilla’s lofty height
Stands guard o’er Glenmalure.
While now we’re closing up our ranks,
O’Byrne’s men draw near;
*Mid waving hats and shaking hands
The chieftains now appear.
Thus spoke the lord of Baltinglass
“Six hundred and three score
Of clansmen true we bring to you,
You have as many more,
To meet the ravager who fires
Our churches and our homes;
Who boasts he’ll feed us to the crows,
The hills strew with our bones.
Said Feach: “Our boys are ready,
To dare proud England’s might;
The O’Toole and the McMurrough
Are expected here tonight;
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
The Cosbys and their ilk are brave
Against unarmed men,
But be their numbers what they may,
I’ll fight them in this glen.
The English horse have reached the glen
And pitched their tents close by;
So dark and dreary were its looks,
Its sides so steep and high,
That they threw up strong breastworks,
Lest clan O’Byrne should try
To ’scape Lord Wilton’s cavalry,
And through the valley fly.
The royal troops were ready,
Well cowardly Cosby knew,
Before he asked Lord Grey to come
His hirelingss to review.
Sir Peter Carew also came
To strengthen England’s might:
Unscrupulous and daring,
Lord Wilton’s fortune sharing,
He was ready for the fight.
The English view the rugged slopes
Above the tawny flood;
And stilJness brooded o’er the scene,
Where those tricd warriors stood;
Searce broken by the rapid flow
Of Avonbeg, that down below,
In divers channels strives to go,
Through rocks and brakes and wood.
Why halts the brave O’Byrne clan,
What does their chieftain mean?
Abandoning that narrow pass,
At crossing of the Polanass,
Where drooping willows lean
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
Above its banks, or thinks this glen
Can hold the foe at bay?
In which the Sassenach or Dane,
Could never troops enough maintain,
A single victory to obtain,
Nor ever yet held sway.
Lord Wilton cordially invites
His favorites to him now;
Upon a lofty precipice,
That overlooks the brow
Of a deep glen, where ready stand
His horse and foot, under command
Of captains true and tried.
His guests with eagerness comply,
To watch where soon the clans must fly;
Clans slaughtered there to satisfy
A queen’s offended pride.
The Battle
His ardent troops by companies
Enter the rough defile;
And often find themselves opposed
By some vexatious pile
Of fallen trees, or rocks, or stones,
Through which some tiny brooklet moans,
Through which their steps they wend;
If slow their progress, their desire
To meet the foe is set on fire,
By Lord De Wiltons message dire,
To which quick ear they lend.
“Come Englishmen to England true,
A prize for every one of you!
But be this understood;
121
WITH THE StTorY TELLERS
No prisoners take! ’tis better kill,
Who laws defy and sovereign’s will.
Nor quit this gloomy vale until
Your swords have drunk their blood.”
Onward proceeds the British line,
Through the entangling wood,
Unable clearly to define
Where clan O’Byrne stood;
But soon was heard an ominous shout
Some distance up the glade;
Volleys of musket shots rung out,
From ambuscades well laid.
The skirmishers from Feach’s command
Pour in a deadly fire,
And cowardly Cosby’s murderers
The first were to retire;
But forward pressed the Englishmen,
To battle with their foes,
And in that narow strip of glen,
Beset with brush and briar and fen,
The sword and battle-axe met then
And deadly were their blows.
Lord Grey’s courtiers their laughter ceased,
The volleys heavier grew;
Attacks with sword and pike and gun
The combatants renew.
His horse to charge the rebel flank,
He now seeks to employ;
But on a rugged mountain side
Can cavalry deploy?
He orders up all the reserves,
His footmen to support;
’Tis plain Lord Wilton does not now
Think fighting is all sport.
But on the left Sir Francis
Cosby, of hellish fame,
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WitH THE StTorY TELLERS
Has left exposed the English flank,
They flee like startled game,
He and his troop of yeomen
Have struck their fastest pace;
But shouts like thunder strike their ears,
Round them the nimble foe appears;
Cosby! well grounded were your fears,
Here are the men of Leix!
ee
Of all his bloody murderers,
Fully one hundred men;
Not one escaped O’Morra’s wrath,
Their blood streamed through the glen.
The execrated Crosby
Lay there among the slain,
The bloody fiend of Mullaghmast
Had tried escape in vain.
And still they say when hail and storm,
And lightnings rend the sky;
That round the moat of Mullaghmast,
Fresh horrors lending to the blast,
His hated form they spy:
Into the labyrinth he pries,
Or at its entrance groaning lies,
Rousing the herdsman’s fears
Gazing into the blood-stained 1gir,
Where sat the guests he slaughtered there,
Shrieking, vanishing into air,
The specter disappears.
O’Byrne’s avenging mountaineers,
Have pressed the English sore
Down on their broken front and flank,
His gallow glasses bore:
When clan O’Moore returning found
The English left exposed;
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WITH THE SToRY TELLERS
With pike well poised and axe swung high,
The bloody weapons fast they ply,
Beneath their blows, what numbers die
The early morn disclosed.
The English cause seemed hopeless;
Lord Grey and his courtiers,
That their retreat would be cut off,
Now entertain grave fears.
So they are quickly mounted,
And safety seek in flight;
But they will get a “roasting”
Since after all the toasting,
The feasting, and the boasting,
They’re in retreat tonight.
The pompous lord of Wilton,
Who came O’Byrne to smite,
Will tell exaggerated tales
Of that proud chieftain’s might.
A thousand of his fighting men
Left on the mountain slope,
Who never more will battle
Nor e’er express a hope;
While Feach’s brave clansmen proudly roam,
The hills and valleys round their home,
From hostile foe secure;
For half a century no troops
Dared enter Glenmalure.
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Notes
Commeraghs—A mountain range in the northwest
of Waterford county, for centuries a noted retreat
for outlaws.
Suir, pronounced shure.
Omadhaun—A simpleton.
Leprechaun or cluricane was a little fairy shoe-
maker, having always in his possession a crock of
See Tsar oae =
a
et
124
With THE Story TELLERS
gold. As he was small and always alone, he was
the only one of all the fairy tribes that no one
dreaded.
Page 23. The Spectacle Bridge and Corkscrew
Road are very attracting sights near Lisdoonvarna
in Northwest Clare.
The Sea-Nymphs abode, Among the sea lashed
Cliffs of Moher.
Page 27. Kilfeakle moat, three miles east of Tip-
perary, commanding a fine view and famed in fairy
lore.
Knockgraffon, a famous spot two miles north of
Cahir, on the eastside of the Suir.
Three Year Old and Four Year Old—Faction cries
during the first half of the nineteenth century, heard
at every race and fair, from Kilmallock to Tip-
perary and from the Shannon to the Glen of Aher-
low.
The Battle of Ventry Harbor—A great battle was
supposed to have been fought near Dingle county
Kerry before the Christian Era. The King of the
world having landed there with all his forces, to do
battle against the King of Ireland.
Page 111. Mullaghmast, a great moat four miles
east of Athy, noted as the place where the infamous
Cosby, acting in the interest of the Pale, invited to
a feast to be held there the O’Moores, princess of
Offaly (Queens county) and slaughtered 400 of them
while seated at table.
Page 105. The Firebrand of the Mountains, Feach
McHugh O’Byrne so called from his uncem promising
attitude toward the English settlers.
ae
Art McMurrough
Art MeMurrough, the son of Art MeMurrough,
King of Leinster, was born in the year 1957. ° His
125
aaa aaa
SS =
WitH THE STORY TELLERS
father who was all his life engaged in warfare with
the English, died in 1875, leaving young Art ty
assume the control of affairs at the age of eighteen
years.
He followed in his father’s footsteps, everywhere
combatting the aggressiveness of the English set-
tlers, who from time to time and under one pretext or
other, endeavored to dispossess the Irish of their
lands to which they laid claim.
In 1892, he suffered a defeat at Shankill, Queen’s
county, at the hands of the Earl of Ormond, who
commanded a greatly superior force, but he re-
trieved himself soon afterwards, by the capture of
New Ross, at that time, the second strongest city
in Leinster. After possessing himself of all their
arms and stores, he razed the walls of the town.
The English King, Richard the third was so indig-
nant on hearing this that he raised an army of
thirty-five thousand men; and with it sailed to Ire-
land, landing at Waterford in 1894; but was com-
pletely outgeneraled by McMurrough and returned
to England, without accomplishing anything.
Meantime the king’s exchequer had been removed
from Dublin to Carlow for greater safety. McMur-
rough captured the town and seized the funds. This
was followed by the battle of Kells county Kilkenny.
The British were defeated, and their commander,
the Earl of March, heir apparent to the English
throne was slain.
On learning of this King Richard became so e?-
raged, that he swore he would exterminate the
whole McMurrough sept, and for that purpose gave
orders, that every vessel over fifty tons through the
whole length of England, from the Solway to Lands
End should be placed at his disposal to transport his
troops and stores across to Waterford, but the second
expedition met with no more success than the first,
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
notwithstanding the vast amount of money expended
on it. His failure in consequence, aroused so much
indignation in England that it cost King Richard
both his crown and his life.
McMurrough’s proudest achievement was the bat-
tle of Kilmainham (1410) where he defeated an army
of sixteen thousand men, composed largely of Eng-
lish veterans, of whom four thousand were slain;
only a thousand making good their retreat to their
barracks in Dublin. The rest fled panic stricken
from the battelfield; the darkness aiding them to
escape further slaughter.
FOURTEENTH NIGHT
Art McMurrough
Of Dermot MeMurrough all have heard,
Basest of Leinster’s kings;
Who to support his rotten cause,
A foreign army brings.
From Britain’s hostile shores it came
To save his crown and smirch his name
And still ’tis right that all should know
That ’twas not Dermot, nor Strongbow,
That caused our endless woes;
But the dissensions of the clans,
That kept them from adopting plans,
To oust our ruthless foes.
Thus their divisions paved the way,
For servile chains and tyrants sway.
But we have with us here tonight,
A harper who will you delight;
Of Art MceMurrough he will tell,
Of Leinster’s greatest prince;
I heard the story long ago
But have not heard it since.
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WirH THE STORY TELLERS
The harper then arose and said:
“The story is sublime;
I’ll cull from it a few excerpts
To pass away the time.
But this you must remember
If you would grasp my tale;
You’re ’mid the hills of Wicklow now,
And not in Golden Vale.”
The Invasion
Immediately was fitted out
An expedition grand,
Intended by King Richard,
To overawe this land.
Three hundred ships soon brought across
Three times twelve thousand men;
In Waterford he disembarked,
And summoned to him then,
All Ireland’s Chiefs, so they could see
The splendor of his majesty;
The might of England’s King;
Against whose power, what chief would dare
To lift a hand; how would he fare
To war against a monarch there,
Who could such myriads bring?
Some timid chiefs said ’twas but right,
And others dazzled at the sight
Of England’s King and England’s might,
Did full submission make.
Agreed their lands should henceforth be
At the pleasure of his majesty;
If they should fail in loyalty,
Reprisals he could take.
The Royal Proclamation
Did not to him allure;
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WitH THE Story TELLERS
The brave O’Byrne, the fierce O’Toole,
McMurrough or O’Moore.
He then a courier dispatched
Prince Art to him to bring;
But that proud chief scant honors showed
The envoy of the king.
“What news is this my worthy sir,
From Richard that you bring?
Will he grant me an English shire
If I eall him my king?
For though you have come over here,
Still nothing have you said,
Of what your king’s intentions are,
But mine would learn instead.”
“The king sends greetings to prince Art,
And with them some demands;
Which I shall now explain to you,
Such are the royal commands.
“You must surrender your domains,
And fealty pledge beside;
Then out of his vast plenitude,
He’ll other lands provide.”
“Your sire’s so kind, ambassador
This message to him bring!
I’m king of Leinster and that means
The equal of your king.
Naught mean I to surrender,
As long as I shall live;
But who so would my lands invade,
To him hard blows I’ll give.”
The king on learning this was wroth,
So loud and fierce he swore;
The whole McMurrough clan could scarce
Sate his fierce thirst for gore.
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WiTH THE Story TELLERS
And so the army orders got
To march without delay,
And show no mercy to his sept;
But slay, and slay, and slay!
Then hapless was the fate of those
They chanced to overhaul;
Still were there men within each glen,
To battle after all.
Who fodder and provisions swept
Out of the army’s track;
And with their leaders on each hill,
Prepared a fresh attack.
Soon this unwieldy army
Of English fighting men;
Were put on quarter rations,
Assailed in moor and fen;
By Art MeMurrough’s clansmen
Who led in each attack,
Who shot the vanguard in the face,
The rear-guard in the back.
From Carlow town to Tullow
He sees his losses swell;
But crossing Slaney river
Such members of them fell,
That now the boastful Richard
Sees nothing but defeat,
And the pursuit is changed to an
Inglorious retreat.
So tempting offers now he makes
Of castles and of lands;
If Art no longer would oppose
The march of his commands.
Henceforth this haughty Briton
Crestfallen makes his way
Through moors and fens and woods and glens
Till he reached Dublin Bay.
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
When they arrived in Dublin,
The king again took heart;
Forgot alike his failures
And his promises to Art:
Not so that prince, to whom it seemed
Those pledges now should be redeemed,
He gave him when distrest;
And so to Dublin straight he came,
His wife’s Kildare estates to claim,
But Ormond played a subtle game
And managed his arrest.
Then hard with Leinster’s Prince ’twould fare,
Should Richard’s minions only dare
That doughty chief to kill;
But since to England he must go;
Lest war should follow such a blow,
Their base designs they must forego;
Though much against their will.
But for the chief returning home,
Another plot was laid;
The Saxon lord of Talbotstown,
Prince Art his guest has made.
Within his splendid mansion, which
The Irish call Glencree;
He bade him and his harper share
His hospitality.
But when his faithful harper
Suspicious movements spied;
The gathering of armed men
In the big court outside.
He lost no time to intimate,
His prince was then in peril great,
laying in thrilling Gaelic vein,
Upon his harp this warning strain.
“lve seen the faithless Sassenach,
And even heard him say,
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
That in a dungeon or a grave
Hereafter you would stay.
Your fate they’re now debating,
Get off at any cost!
If you value life and freedom,
Not a moment’s to be lost.
With most provoking coolness,
Art to the Courtyard sped;
To where his noble charger
Was by the groomsmen led.
Aware of his great danger,
Beset by treacherous foes,
He vaulted on his gallant steed,
And forward now he goes.
Then half a dozen palesmen,
At once rushed to the gate,
To block MecMurrough’s passage,
Ere it might be too late:
And called another yeoman
Who did the Irish hate—
Bold Singleton the swordsman
To seal the prince’s fate.
Then forward dashed McMurrough,
Alone but undismayed,
And with his broadsword in his hand,
A passage soon he made.
A passage red and gory,
Recorded now in story;
Until the years grow hoary
With age, ’twill never fade.
First he attacked the foeman
Was holding on the left,
And with a blow of his broad sword,
His head in two he cleft.
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WitH THE STorRY TELLERS
Down on his comrade then he bore,
Who soon was lying in his gore,
And still he left one palesman more,
Of strength and life bereft.
Then next engaged him Singleton,
Who was the Saxons’ pride;
But his strong blow was parried so,
It merely grazed his side.
Then fearful grew McMurrough’s face
With anger and disdain;
As forward leant that doughty chief,
Tightening his horse’s rein,
Then with a lightning downward sweep,
The Saxon doubled in a heap,
And left grim death a harvest reap
For Singleton was slain.
But the gate-keepers on the right
Who saw those deeds were seized with fright,
And safety sought in hasty flight;
Nor once looked back again.
So now the foe retreating,
An open passage made;
No other foeman daring
To block his exit stayed.
‘Hear, traitors hear! before I go
Deem not your walls so great;
Your bodies soon will feed the crow,
Your lands I’ll confiscate.
Your vaunted swordsmen I defy;
Your traitor nest I’ll soon destroy.”
Then galloped to Kippure close by,
Where clansmen for him wait.
Against the English settlers,
Through Wicklow as he sped;
He roused the Irish chieftains,
O’Toole his clansmen led,
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
And frightfully they punished
The Saxons of the Pale;
For six score heads they brought him from
The glen of wild Imaile.
Now consternation seemed to reign
From Bray to Malahide,
As with the royal funds and stores,
To Carlow town they hied;
And levied too a special tax,
Through Leinster near and far,
Against McMurrough and O’Toole
To wage a deadly war.
Meanwhile O’Toole has left behind
The vale of Glenmalure,
And on the plains of Ossory,
McMurrough met O’Moore.
What means this gathering of the clans
Upon the loyalists’ track;
Is Ireland’s inland capital
The object of attack?
Then to Kilkenny Ormond came
And met the Earl of March,
Knight of the Bath and Garter too,
And of the Royal Arch,
And heir apparent to the throne
Of England’s ancient realm;
The royalists are happy now
With such men at the helm.
Battle of Kells
Way down the river Glory
That flows into the Kings,
Is seen the Irish army
That Art MeMurrough brings.
See McGees History of Ireland.
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
Outspoke the haughty earl then
While pride his bosom swells;
“We must prevent their crossing,
And hold the bridge at Kells.
Now Ormond take the cavalry,
And with it quickly go,
Where the Glory and Kings River |
In eddying currents flow; |
Engage them in that angle till
My troops appear in sight;
When should they but attempt to cross,
l’ll slaughter them outright. Hy
Ormond saluted with his sword,
And orders gave “to horse”!
The squadron at a gallop went,
To reach the river their intent,
And thus the Irish troops prevent
Its passage for to force.
But while on Kells his thoughts are bent,
Much precious time is lost.
And ere ’tis reached, at Stonyford
The Irish right have crossed.
Who for possession of the bridge
With Ormond’s horsemen vie;
As the Kilkenny bowmen and
The swordsmen too draw nigh:
That they would hold this vantage ground
McMurrough seemed afraid,
Till Nolan’s men rushed up the glen,
And brought him needed aid.
The battle now is raging
Along the British line;
While victory seems to waver,
And to each side incline;
As bowmen meet cross-bowmen,
And swordsmen onward go,
135
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Te
Sees a = SEDs
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
To check McMurrough’s pikemen
Advancing on their foe.
The English left is falling back,
Their center is hard pressed;
But on the right still raged the fight,
With foemen breast to breast;
Until McMurrough’s pikemen reach
Where Ormond’s troops prevail
His boasted cavalry this time,
To check the pikemen fail.
For to withstand the Irish right
That threatened his defeat;
He summoned up all the reserves,
That covered his retreat.
Appealed to English loyalty,
Nor made appeal in vain;
But in the thickest of the fight,
The Earl of March was slain.
Now consternation seized the ranks
Of England’s fighting men;
As in disorganized retreat,
They fled through wood and glen.
Their officers no safety feel
Till Dublin’s towers they see;
Secure again behind its walls,
They soon grow gay at feasts and balls,
And in its princely courts and halls
Forgot the enemy.
Throughout the country far and wide
The joyful news was spread;
This army of eight thousand men,
Before McMurough fled:
Still in the court of England’s king
The news was told again—
The heir presumptive to the throne
In Ossory was slain.
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WitrH THE SToRY TELLERS
Then swore the king a mighty oath,
His vengeance soon would fall
Upon the whole McMurough clan,
Their chieftains fiefs and all;
To serve his purpose he would take
An army o’er the sea,
And every ship of thirty tons,
Should give him passage free.
The harper ceased his thrilling tale,
While marveled those around,
That voice so clear, and song so sweet,
Could ’mid those hills be found;
With one whose locks were hoary,
Whose head was bowed with years,
Who knew so well the story
Of the Wicklow mountaineers.
But now appeared the butler,
Bearing a massive tray;
Upon it bowls of usquebaugh
To wake the harper’s lay,
And rouse the interest of those
Who quaff the flowing bowl;
With lemon sliced and nutmeg spiced,
Of love and mirth the soul.
a
Come drink the air grows sharper,
Drink to the faithful harper!
Drink while the night grows darker,
To him whose castle stands,
A menace to those strangers,
Whose presence bodes fresh dangers;
Whose thieving lords and rangers
Would steal away our lands.
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WiTH THE STORY TELLERS
if.
Though all their lords around us,
Were anxious to confound us;
Or see their troops surround us,
And shed our blood like rain:
We met them on the Glory,
No need to tell the story,
Its waters soon were gory
With the bodies of their slain.
ITT.
But yesterday that nation
Was full of expectation,
Of our early subjugation,
And that Prince Art ’twould tame;
Instead his chiefs and kerns true,
From the Blackstairs and Ferns too,
Pursued the foe by turns through
The glens like startled game.
IV.
The Wexford and Idrone boys,
The cause of all our own joys,
Who fought it out alone boys,
Of them now let us sing!
McMurrough’s gallowglasses,
From Leinster’s hills and passes,
Who slaughtered in such masses
The forces of the king.
WitH THE Story TELLERS
FIFTEENTH NIGHT
Mike Fitz
“l’m sure it is a welcome sight
To see you all so well and bright,
For you will hear more of the fight,
By Art McMurrough waged.
The harper has come here tonight;
I’m sure he will you all delight,
With tales of daring death or flight,
When war through Leinster raged.”
The Second Invasion—The Harper
The shires and towns King Richard taxed
For to augment his force;
But to increase his mariners,
To the press-gang had recourse.
His chief of staff is hastening
The Royal Decree to send—
That every ship must join his fleet
From Solway to Lands End.
For to transport his troops across,
Required three hundred ships;
In Waterford again they land
On docks and piers and slips.
Then with much pomp the king declares,
The Irish chiefs must make
Submission to his majesty;
Or else their lands he’ll take.
“Enduring peace must Ireland have,
And to that end I plan
To crush the Prince of Leinster, and
The whole McMurrough clan.
139
eee STS SS
a
oat rermempetit eines gnen nti rsabian dptieaiatinaa |
WitH THE SToRY TELLERS
No other chief would dare dispute,
That all the lands I own
Through Leinster and through Munster wide,
Tyrconnell and Tyrone.
Then marched he to Kilkenny,
To Carlow next came down,
But from that place to Arklow
O’er castle, tower and town;
No flag waved but McMurrough’s,
“The Terror of the Pale”
So Richard must supplant it,
Or his expedition fail.
But to his haughty summons,
Prince Art said: “Twas but right,
For cowards to yield submission,
Who had no heart to fight.
For all his threats and bluster,
He did not care a whit; -
His march through Leinster he’d oppose,
And never would submit.”
Then blazed the huts along the track
Where England’s army went,
While shooting peasants furnished them
A novel tournament:
Until Prince Art’s guerillas
Around their camp appear;
Then foragers and looters,
And stragglers and freebooters,
And even the sharpshooters
Of the king had cause to fear.
No fuel or provender could
The army longer take;
Embarrassed by the woods and bogs,
Entangled in each brake:
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WiTH THE SToRY TELLERS
A mark for Irish kerns who
Knew every sod of ground;
Till tented streets seemed hospitals,
With wounded stretched all round.
The English at Kilkenny swore
They’d leave no foe alive;
They had four and thirty thousand,
MecMurrough scarcely five.
How stubbornly that handful fought
In Wicklow’s deep defiles;
Tells why it took eleven days
To cover thirty miles.*
From Carlow town to Arklow,
Each day increased their plight;
Each wood was but an ambuscade,
No ridge gained but by fight;
But crossing Aughrim River,
Which was in a flooded state;
Was enough to make one shiver,
The slaughter was so great.
So when good news the troops receive,
Of vessels ready to relieve
Their wants; just as the men perceive
The sloops bearing supplies;
Into the water they madly rush,
And recklessly each other push;
In their mad haste to get some food,
Numbers are trampled in the flood,
And many a victim dies.
Defeated and crestfallen,
King Richard now retires;
Within the walls of Dublin where,
Recovered from his recent scare
Again assumes his haughty air
Proclaiming his desires.
* McGees History of Ireland.
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WitH THE STorRY TELLERS
And though he had accomplished nought,
Those sycophants who favors sought,
For him light beacon fires.
And while they show him such regard,
A hundred golden marks reward,
He offered for the head
Of Leinster’s Prince should he be brought
To him, alive or dead.
Through England soon the tidings spread
Of Richard’s fresh defeat,
And while some noblemen seemed shocked,
At heart the news they greet.
The king cause for alarm feels,
At claims Lancaster makes;
And musters now what troops he can,
And leave of Ireland takes.
And left the Prince of Leinster, that
He boasted he would tame;
The one who from this campaign won
A great enduring fame.
And left him and his faithful clans,
For years secure from strife;
While the proud English monarch lost
His kingdom and his life.
Come rest thee, Worthy Harper!
Thy tale is very long;
We'll now take some refreshment,
And season it with song.
Some of those songs of Wicklow,
I learned so long ago;
They fill my heart with pleasure,
No matter where I go.
WitH THE StTorRY TELLERS
Kathleen and Saint Kevin
(With apologies to Tom Moore)
I.
Here in the quiet mountain shade,
Beside the lake, Saint Kevin laid
His plans for seven churches;
Built them of stones and lime and sand,
Upon this corner of the land,
That every tourist searches.
qie
One Kathleen came the saint to tempt,
That of his vows he might repent;
Her words were her undoing.
He little heeded her “hot air”
But left here quietly sitting there,
Some further mischief brewing.
III.
But when she to his stony bed
Did penetrate, the saint, tis said,
While muttering a pater,
Exelaimed: Oh Lord, come to my aid;
Then clapsed his hands around the maid,
And dropped her in the water.
IV.
Although the winds with violence break,
Upon the surface of the lake;
They lend to it a charm.
Though tempests wildly howl and roar,
There’s scarce a ripple on the shore;
For Kathleen rides the storm.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
Ve
Into a nymph she quickly turned,
Ah, then his heart within him burned,
And vowed for her to fast:
Then built beside the lake a tower,
And there prayed for that sweet wild flower;
Till heaven she gained at last.
The Mountaineer
I.
Here’s to the mountaineer
No foeman does he fear,
His sheeling it is here
Upon the mountain;
While mends his wife the coats,
His daughters milk the goats,
And his “kids” float tiny boats
Upon the fountain.
II.
Then take their daily flight
To some impending height;
Or among the flowers delight |
In beds of lichen;
Or from the mountain rill,
Pull cresses there until,
Their little bibs they fill,
To aid the kitchen.
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And no Sassenach would dare
Their home to trouble.
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They’re healthy and they’re strong;
At work they lilt a song,
And tell stories all day long
O’er spade and shovel.
EY:
Here’s to the mountaineer!
A stranger still to fear;
Though misfortunes should draw near,
He will not heed ’em;
But with heart and arms strong,
Is prompt to right a wrong
And show the wavering throng
The path to freedom.
One song more and this concert ends
‘A love song to delight our friends;
Now Con McMurrough come along
And sing for us the closing song.
Phil Dwyer to His Sweetheart
I.
What ails you, Dear Polly; it seemed to me now,
As I just squeezed your hand, a dark frown lit your
brow
While my heart with affection is melting, you’d steal
To that red-headed Barrett, to dance the next reel.
While I haven’t a thought but to gladden your life,
To doll you up Polly and make you my wife.
II.
For to me your arch smile is far dearer than gold,
With your soft wavy hair falling down fold on fold;
Then your lips are so rosy and tempting, you know,
And your teeth are so white, shining all in a row;
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
With your bewitching eyes and your proud curving
nose,
Faith a beauty you are from your head to your toes.
III.
Sure your neck is so fair, and so slender your waist,
If I didn’t embrace you, I’d be a “rale baste.”
But then you’d cry out: “Don’t you dare, Phil
Dwyer!
And your face gets so red that ’twould set things ou
fire;
Still you look so attractive, and charming, and gay,
That I think you an angel that just chanced this way.
iV.
Compared to your voice, sure the nightingales
scream;
While your smile brings more cheer, than the sun’s
brightest beam,
And when you are dancing they all stop and stare;
Though your toes touch the floor, you’re nine-tenths
in the air:
But the squeeze of your hand—true as heaven above,
I’m no longer myself, I’m just one lump of love.
V
Faith our hearts they are both in a terrible stew,
If you love me as much as I think I love you;
Sure nothing but smiles on you ever will beam,
And the rest of our lives will be one happy dream;
For ’twould grieve earth and heaven the knot to undo,
Of that marriage bond, that made one of us two.
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WitH THE Story TELLERS
Throughout the fourteenth century,
Each king who conquest tried,
Had found the house of McMurrough
A thorn in his side,
Hence to Lancaster’s anxious quest
Ormond at once replies:
“Tf Leinster’s prince you would destroy,
Commence with his allies.”
For half a dozen years or more,
Peace reigned o’er Wicklow’s land;
Until this new viceroy appeared,
To take supreme command:
Declared on those unruly chiefs,
He soon revenge would take,
And strong support he got at once
From Dublin’s mayor, John Drake;
Who took his place at the head of
The city royalists;
While the viceroy, some troops of horse,
In the same cause enlists,
And with an overwhelming force,
Comes with the dawning day;
And there ’mid Wicklow’s hills and dells,
Five hundred clansmen slay.
All of the brave O’Byrne clan
Who occupied Glencree,
And both sides of the Dargle,
To Bray built by the sea.
Now maids-and matrons through those glens,
Send up their tearful wails;
Tor those who never more shall break
The silence of those vales.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
The Slaughter of the O’Byrne
I,
Though Rathdown’s fair as eden’s paradise,
The foe stole down through Cookstown’s sandy rut,
As the first rays showed sol about to rise
O’er hamlet, sheltered cot, and lonely hut;
But on their murderous work, both horse and foot
Pursued the peaceful dwellers of those vales,
Until their bodies did the Dargle glut.
A host of carrion crows above them sails,
And the whole vale is full of corses, sobs and wails.
II.
These charming dells begirt with lofty hills—
Kippure, Tonduff and Douce above them frown;
Whence flow Glencree’s and Dargle’s charming rills,
While from Prince William Seat comes the Cooks-
town;
On them War Hill and Sugar Loaf look down.
Such lovely scenes prompt brave souls to aspire,
To heroic deeds that crown men with renown;
But baser natures here, they also fire,
This eden to destroy, ere from it they retire.
III.
Those devastated glens shall yet resound,
Where now is heard the dying clansman’s groan,
To the war pipes that through its length shall sound;
The Saxon matrons then shall weep and moan
Their husbands’ fate, attacked and overthrown.
Dundrum shall then in troubled dreams disclose,
Phantoms of murdered kinsman not their own,
For terrible revenge will *Feach take on his foes,
And pay the Saxons back with still more deadly
blows.
* Feach M’Hugh O’Byrne.
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WITH THE StTorRY TELLERS
SIXTEENTH NIGHT
In Which Both Sides Suffer Reverses
News of the viceroy’s victory,
From Saxons won applause;
Gained over these fierce clansmen
Who hate their English laws.
So through the broad plains of kildare,
His troops once more he leads,
Against the Dempseys and O’Moores,
And here again succeeds.
The clans lost just two hundred men
In that unequal fight;
In which they found themselves compelled
To cope with England’s might.
Proud is the Lord Lieutenant now,
Of him the rabble sings;
Who slaughtered Art’s confederates,
) And clipped that chieftain’s wings.
Lancaster now returning home,
Left Ormond in his stead;
To guard the fortunes of the Pale
To which he was so wed;
But death the zealous ear! seized,
| A soldier skilled and brave;
Whereon the council called Kildare,
Their interests to save.
This news caused the late deputy,
The son of England’s king,
To pay a flying visit,
To Ireland in the spring.
Deposed Kildare and left him
To nurse his wounded pride,
And Stephen Scrope appointed
The ship of State to guide.
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With THE STorY TELLERS
In Carlow Art was biding
When news to him was brought,
That his allies were vanquished
In every battle fought.
Short time he lost in summoning
The clans from near and far,
Against the strongholds of the Pale
To wage a ruthless war.
MecMurrough’s clan. rose like one man,
On valley, moor and hill;
Attacked their treacherous foemen,
And smote them there until,
Through all that spacious country,
From Arklow to Athy;
The blaze of Norman castles
Lit up the autumn sky.
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Prince Art has gone in person
To lead his choicest troops;
Down on the Wexford Normans,
Through Scullogue Gap he swoops.
And charming is the color,
The gap in autumn wears,
Two thousand feet above it hides
In cloud, or mist that here abides,
Where nought but the dread pooka rides,
On top of the Blackstairs.
But on the north side of the Gap,
There in profusion grew,
The furze and fern, that clothe in turn,
The slopes of dark Knockroe.
By mountain river wild flowers plucked,
When June its voice had hushed;
Into the Witch’s cave threw stones,
Or from the pine trees plucked the cone
And often nearly broke our bones
As down the hill we rushed.
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Then passed we through Kiltealy,
Along the Dufferin road;
And halted at the Urrin,
That by the wayside flowed.
Sweet scented hay around us lay,
The sun had turned brown,
Whence we marched down to Slaney’s banks
By Enniscorthy town.
The day was dawning in the east;
The town serenely slept;
When like a rushing spring-tide wave
Through its drear streets we swept.
Then having seized the sentries,
We forced them with us go;
And captured the strong castle
Built by Raymond le Gros.*
Disarmed, free passage gave them,
Their banner quickly lowered;
Once more the sunburst hoisted
Where England’s pennant soared,
Their arms and stores, save just a few,
We left with the townsmen,
With whom we did the plunder share,
To keep our banner flying there,
Till we came back again.
That night we followed Slaney,
Till hindered by the Benn,
That from the Wicklow border,
With a swift current ran.
Three miles from Enniscorthy,
These rapid streams unite;
We crossed the latter by a bridge,
That served us well that night.
4 Gros pronounce Gro.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
We kept the river on our right,
Proceeding on our way;
And entered Ferns’ ancient town
Before the break of day.
All the belongings of the Pale
We confiscated then;
They took them from our fathers,
So we took them back again.
Later we entered Camolin,
Where we found many a mill;
Between the Slieveboy mountain,
And steep Ballymore Hill.
We drove away the cattle
Of the Saxons dwelling there,
And to the camp at Carnew,
With our booty did repair.
Now Lord Lancaster’s proxy,
The shrewd diplomat Scrope,
Found ’twas a most resourceful man
With whom he had to cope.
His plans against Prince Art’s allies,
Must for the moment cease;
‘In fact the deputy himself,
No longer felt at ease.
Because to him those earls seem,
Who Munster’s plains divide;
Too jealous of each other,
To battle side by side.
To overcome Prince Art of course,
Would need a strong well equipped force;
This could no man deny.
If Fitz with Butler would unite,
And battle hard for England’s right;
Their chance seemed good to win the fight,
And Leinster pacify.
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
So to the powerful earls, Scrope
A hasty message sent:
“To vanquish Leinster’s prince seems now
My master’s sole intent.
His loyalty I will commend
To England’s lords and king,
And he’ll stand high in their esteem,
Who will strong forces bring.
Meanwhile McMurrough’s clansmen
ilave left behind Carnew;
And passed through rough Shillelagh,
Where the stout blackthorn grew.
Swift rolling Derreen river
They crossed at Hackettstown,
And at Rathvilly, Slaney passed;
Slaney that flows with current fast;
One wonders how the flood can last,
The way it rushes down.
The town of Castedermot
Soon feil into our power;
Famed for its noble abbey,
And for its fine round tower.
But while we laughed and feasted,
The news was to us brought,
That the great earls were reconciled,
And had together fought
Ageinst O’Carroll of Ely,
Who came with troops select,
To bring aid to McMurrough,
And tribute to collect.
From Ara and from Owneybeg
Came squads led by O’Brien;
These to Rathdowney came with speed,
Teigue Carroll’s force to join.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
Rut cf that chieftain’s coming,
The earls were soon apprised,
And laid for both an ambuscade,
Quite skillfully devised.
Outnumbered greatly and surprised,
They were soon put to flight,
And with three hundred of their men,
Fell in that bloody fight.
The news received, McMurrough
Before his chiefs arose—
“This is disheartening tidings,
What do you now propose ?”’
Said Lawlor: “Though Id like at once
To strike our deadly foe;
I fear our numbers are too few
Against him yet to go.”
Stout Hugh O’Toole took up the word:
“Talk not of falling back,
‘Twould instigate those wavering now
To join in the attack,
Upon us and our followers,
That they might favor gain,
From Ormond who would stronger be
Should we come back again.
Still I admit, it looks to me,
Kilkenny’s not the place
Where we could crush decisively
The haters of our race.
But if we straight to Dublin go
It is my firm belief;
The earls their vantage must forego,
And haste to its relief.
So couriers to Wicklow send
To muster all the clans:
Then call the roll in elennasmole;
Prince Art these are my plans!”
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WitH THE Story TELLERS
“Your council prudent seems to me,
We'll pass this day in jollity
And with the rising sun,
To Wicklow we will wend our way;
But in its vales short time we'll stay,
Tomorrow may bring serious play;
Today we give to fun.
So harper! cheer us with your strains,
And play your liveliest air;
For in the pleasures of the camp
Today I mean to share.
Come let the men be feasted,
And try our favorite rounds,
To throw the weight, or jump the gate,
First prize is twenty pounds.”
The feasting over for the time,
The contestants appeared,
And in the running broad jump
Were twenty-four feet cleared.
And in the races that were run,
Were men surprising fleet;
To see them taking the high jump,
Was still a greater treat.
But while the contest with the weights
Is stubbornly maintained;
A courrier on McMurrough waits,
His message thus explained.
“With twenty score, my chief, O’Moore
Is coming from Athy;
To battle hard for liberty,
Or on the field to die.
The welcome news was well received,
O’Moore won much applause;
O’Nolan too had reached the camp,
To strengthen Ireland’s cause,
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
And vow they if at Dublin
The doughty earls they meet;
With toughened bows and bloody blows,
They mean those earls to greet.
Outside the contest ending,
Arose the loud hurrah;
The victors cheered and toasted
In cups of usquebaugh;
While in the hall the harper
Was in his happiest vein;
Discoursing of those heroes,
Who overthrew the Dane.
The kerns and gallow glasses
On oaten cakes regale.
The flesh of geese and pigs and deer,
Had helped to spread around good cheer
And there were methers full of beer,
And fresh goats’ milk and ale.
And there were songs and toasting,
And tales that might enthrall;
Of pookas and malicious sprites,
*Till sleep o’ercame them all.
SEVENTEENTH NIGHT
The Battle of Kilmainham
We’re tired of hearing shoneens boast
Of battles won along our coast,
Whenever we arose;
Can no one here tell us tonight,
Where justice triumphed over might;
Where Irish valor won the fight
Against our English foes?
The greatest battle that took place
’Tween English and the Irish race,
Was at Kilmainham waged;
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WITH THE Story TELLERS
When sixteen thousand on each side,
Buoyed up alike with hate and pride,
Would die or turn the battle tide,
And furiously it raged.
There’s William Lundon, he can tell
The story, for he knows it well;
Come Will! the chair is yours tonight,
And tell us of this glorious fight.
The Battle
Lord Thomas of Lancaster
Long deemed an able prince,
Summoned the Pale from far and near
To join their forces, since
They still had hovering round their gates,
A bold, determined foe;
To whom their boasts of “conquerors’”’
Seemed but a hollow show.
But as he looked across the plain,
He saw approach the Earl of Slane.
Who on his foes would vengeance wreak.
“What of the earls, Slane! speak, pray speak!
“Of Desmond I have naught to say;
I don’t believe he comes this way,
But Ormond’s men passed up the glen
As it was breaking day.
I took them to Kilmainham’s prior,
A man I greatly do admire;
He still retains his youthful fire,
Would rather fight than pray.
On Desmond we could ne’er rely,
A friend, perhaps an enemy.
He will not join in this affray,
But that need cause us no dismay.
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WitH THE SToRY TELLERS
To raise a powerful army
To vanquish all our foes,
And drive them from this province,
Is what I now propose.
To teach its lawless people
That forces we could bring,
Enough to crush forever
This self-styled Leinster king.”
So from the Boyne to Barrow’s mouth
The word was passed around;
In Dublin to assemble,
The fittest rallying ground;
From its large population,
And from its English tone;
Ten thousand men they could raise in
That borough town alone.
The summons it was answered,
And troops kept pouring in;
Until to Lord Lancaster,
It seemed time to begin
War on McMurrough’s clansmen,
In Wicklow’s deep defiles;
On the O’Tooles, O’Byrnes and
The Kavanaghs and Doyles.
These warlike preparations
Did not escape Prince Art,
Full well he knew, the Saxon crew
Against him soon, would start.
So trusty scouts at once he sent
All Wicklow to patrol,
To urge the clans to come with speed
As far as Glennasmole;
If they would save their hearths and homes
From England’s blighting hand;
Aye, save their wives and children,
Their houses and their land.
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WITH THE SToRY TELLERS
No time was to be wasted,
They must come without delay,
Or with exterminating war,
The Palesmen will them pay.
The dawn was just appearing,
When gazing towards Kippure;
Way up the Dodder valley,
The sentry felt quite sure
He saw the foe descending,
Along its winding shore;
Then promptly the alarm gave
And walked his beat once more.
Then forthwith came the Earl] of Slane,
A noble ready to sustain
Proud England’s king and crown;
And as he turning southward gazed
Up Dodder’s stream, he felt amazed,
At the vast army pouring down
From Seefingan to Tallaght town.
Gleaming in sunshine, pikes and spears,
How beautiful the vale appears
Where Killakee’s heights show,
O’er Dodder’s stream that flows straightway,
From steep Kippure to Knockanvea;
While furze and fern their sides array,
Where’er the troopers go.
And from this lofty range of hills,
Pour many streamlets many rills,
To swell the Dodder’s flow.
But while the clans are dressing ranks,
In shadowy Glennasmole;
Within the walls of Dublin
The drums are beating roll.
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To summon to the colors
The various commands,
Who lately had assembled
To crush those rebel bands.
From a hasty reconnaisance
Made by the Ear! of Slane,
Of all McMurrough’s forces
Encamped upon the plain:
He quickly sought Lancaster,
And thus expressed his views:
“My Lord! they bring a mighty force,
And marshalled well both foot and horse;
Within those walls, behind this fosse
Is just the ground I’d choose.
For they seem getting ready
The city to besiege.”
“Tis well, replied Lancaster,
If ’tis as you allege!
An army such as I command,
Has never o’er this mountain land,
Nor through its passes poured.
I’ve seen no troops of finer mould:
Sir Perrier’s men are true as gold,
And Dartois is a leader bold,
As ever grasped a sword.
Here with the center I will fight,
Sir Jenicho commands the right,
Sir Edward holds the left;
Kilmainham’s prior leads the reserve,
Three thousand men our cause to serve,
And Butler does such rank deserve,
Or I’m of sense bereft.
But a short time they have to wait,
When passing through the city gate,
They see the glint of pikes and spears;
Close and more close the foe appears.
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With THE STORY TELLERS
When with a light armed cavalcade,
Through Oxmantown with naked blade,
Count Dartois leads his troops;
While the main body hurries on,
Past the old priory of Saint John,
That three main roads converge upon;
Loud rose the fierce war whoops.
How lovely looked the varied scenes
Presented to their view;
The river smoothly flowing along,
Shaded by beech and yew;
Their foliage presenting
An ever varying hue.
But save the march of armed men,
There was no sound from copse or glen.
The cattle ceased their lowing;
The barnyard fowl their crowing,
And on the river rowing,
You couldn’t find a man.
The browsing horses seemed aware
That something strange was happening there;
They tossed their manes; they sniffed the air,
And through the fields they ran.
Between the Liffey and the wood,
Where many a giant oak tree stood;
Where now Kilmainham stands:
The armies with each other close;
Loud was the clamor that arose,
And louder still the clanging blows
Of spears and battle-brands.
King Henry’s son now joins the fight,
With courage high as was his right;
For he was no soft carpet knight,
But held warfare his game.
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WitH THE STORY TELLERS
Mounted upon a noble steed,
That was of purest Derby breed;
He bade his staff to take good heed;
This day should bring them fame.
Thus urged, they furious battle greet,
And bear themselves as worthy knights,
To battle hard for England’s rights,
Soon as the enemy they meet.
If merciless the blows they deal,
Think war is but a soldier’s game;
To win him an enduring fame,
Ere some fell blow his life shall steal.
But stretched along the river front,
His left opposed to England’s right,
That with the center bore the brunt
Of battle, there Art’s clansmen fight.
These from Shillelah’s rugged height,
But those from Wexford’s fertile plains;
Fierce Hugh O’Toole commands the right,
Where young O’Nolan too maintains
Against Sir Perrier the fight,
O’Byrne’s gallow glasses brave,
From hill and dell and mountain cave,
Lined up beside O’Toole;
For they were veterans skilled and tried,
Who oft before fought side by side;
The rugged mountain oft did ride
To o’erthrow British rule.
The battle front seemed now extending;
Advancing here, there backward bending;
Arrows in clouds on it descending;
Loud! loud! the war-cries rose
While blood flowed in a tide unending,
_From the contestants blows.
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
On England’s right now raged the fight
More fiercely than elsewhere.
Lord Thomas too, they see invite
His fortunes for to share;
Sir Hudson Tuite, with royal Meath,
The prior too came there,
And Birmingham, a valiant knight,
To lend their aid to win the fight.
Confronting them with pike and dart,
Were Leinster’s clans, with brave Prince Art;
His friend, Red Kavanagh, in short
All the McMurrough clan,
Advance to meet their stubborn foes;
The swords and spears exchanging blows;
So furious the encounter grows,
Whole lines fell in the van.
As sea-walls sometimes will give way,
Before the furious spring-tide’s play;
While people look on in dismay
At the destruction wrought:
'Twas thus these fierce contestants met,
With pike and lance defiantly set;
Their eager thirst for blood to whet,
And hard and long they fought.
Then fiercely charged O’Nolan
The Methian royalists;
His clansmen armed with sword and spear,
Cut through their lines from front to rear;
Shouts of defiance, hate and fear,
Go mingling with the mists,
That from the river seem to rise,
And hover o’er the plain;
Where now the warrior sinks and dies;
The shouting rises to the skies,
And echoes back again.
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But louder still the tumult grows,
As if the fiends of hell,
Had lent their aid to pike and blade,
The carnage for to swell.
Through Wexford’s long, wide-spreading host
Count Dartois now a passage forced,
With veterans skilled and brave;
Who fought in Flanders and in France,
Now pierced its ranks and still advance
The Methians to save.
His strategy was bearing fruit,
So sudden the attack
That Gorey’s famous regiment
That through the Gaels a thrill had sent,
Now overborne, broken and bent,
Was quickly hurled back;
While down on them Count Dartois swoops,
And breaks them in disordered groups,
Prince Art sends up his choicest troops
His line for to preserve.
While fiercer now the fighting grew
And spearmen and pikemen closer drew,
To Dartois’ aid the Butler flew
With most of the reserve:
Then shouts arose for an O’Toole
Who might the furious battle rule,
With desperate strength and courage cool
Their purpose best to serve.
And aid the battling Irish right
Still strong in valor and in might
And help them in their sudden plight
To rearrange their lines.
Still to maintain the stubborn fight
And check the Count’s designs.
164
WitH THE Story TELLERS
Prince Art beheld with eager eye
O’Toole with his picked bowmen fly,
For well he knew that chief would die
Or turn the battle tide;
Where Britain’s hosts seemed to prevail,
Now arrows fell in showers like hail,
And streams of blood flowed through the vale
But did not yet decide
Which side would conquer in the fray;
The Prior’s troops might save the day,
But Dartois’ lines were giving way,
Who might the battle guide.
The English ardor seems to flag,
Behind their lines great numbers lag;
Lord Thomas cried: Is this the brag
You made last even-tide?
Send Butler up with the reserve,
Our purpose it will better serve;
The laggards he will surely nerve,
And rouse their dormant pride.
The Prior’s troops can’t save the day;
Count Dartois’ lines are giving way,
Or falling on the plain.
Birmingham dying on the field,
His new command is forced to yield;
Sir Hudson Tuite is slain.
But worst disaster of them all,
That caused their direst plight;
Was when his troops witnessed the fall
Of* Henry’s son, who marshalled all,
And stood there firmly as a wall,
Throughout the raging fight.
* The Earl of Lancaster, son of King Henry IV.
165
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WITH THE STORY TELLERS
Who now will lead that crushed array,
That short time since was proud and gay,
When scorning fosse and wall.
O’erweening pride, of foes makes light;
So eager were they for the fight;
So confident in their own might,
That they could conquer all.
Vain now is England’s boasted pride,
Her veteran troops on every side
Are fleeing from the fray;
Or seek to gain the opposite shore;
The river ford at Inchicore,
Whose waters soon ran red with gore,
As surely well they may.
No need to tell the reason why,
The ford itself is called Athcroy;*
Where thousands of the enemy
Have found a watery grave.
’Mid scenes they dare not look upon,
With all their hopes of victory gone,
But blessed night soon coming on,
A respite to them gave.
Lancaster was to the city brought,
Where for a time the surgeons thought,
His wounds would fatal prove:
But through their prompt and skillful care,
Affairs of State again he’ll share,
But never more will that prince dare
Against McMurrough move.
Though safe within Dublin’s strong walls,
Sad was Lancaster’s plight;
Four thousand of the soldiers slain,
He led into that fight.
* Athcroy, the ford of blood.
166
WITH THE StTorY TELLERS
While nearly trice that number
His colors did desert;
In vain Sir Jenicho might try
His influence to exert,
Upon a thoughtless soldiery,
Demoralized by fright;
Who cast away their weapons
And safety sought in flight.
Of the splendid English army
That round Kilmainham drew,
One thousand warriors scarcely,
Held to their colors true.
The loss of this great battle,
Did England’s prestige lower;
The whole province of Leinster fell
Into McMurrough’s power.
From Hook Head round to Dublin;
From Callan to the sea,
There waved no flag but brave Prince Art’s
His province now was free.
But on the first day of the year
Fourteen-seventeen, ’tis told,
Prince Art within his palace walls,
’Mid wailings manifold;
Was there found lying still in death,
The noblest of the Gael;
For whom his people east and west,
For many a day shall wail.
He who for forty years had dared
Proud England’s power and might,
And beat the forces of the Pale,
In many a stubborn fight;
With his chief brehon, Doran,
Was drugged by wily foes,
He taught on many a battlefield,
To dread his deadly blows.
167
WitH THE STorY TELLERS
Loud was the wailing that arose
Through Leinster far and wide;
Not till they reached Saint Mullins,
Did the wailing once subside:
Then in that little churchyard
By noble Barrow’s side,
Laid the remains of him who was
Their bulwark and their pride.
THE END.
168
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