LAMENT FOR OWEN ROE O'NEILL.

147

I

The Gladiator.

SEE before me the gladiator lie:

He leans upon his hand; his manly brow
Consents to death, but conquers agony,
And his drooped head sinks gradually low-
And through his side the last drops, ebbing slow
From the red gash, fall heavy, one by one,
Like the first of a thunder-shower; and now
The arena swims around him he is gone,

Ere ceased the inhuman shout which hailed the wretch

who won.

He heard it, but he heeded not, — his eyes

Were with his heart, and that was far away;
He recked not of the life he lost, nor prize,
But where his rude hut by the Danube lay,
There were his young barbarians all at play,
There was their Dacian mother, he, their sire,
Butchered to make a Roman holiday ;

All this rushed with his blood; - Shall he expire, And unavenged?- Arise! ye Goths, and glut your ire! LORD BYRON.

Lament for Owen Roe O'Neill.

"DID

1649.

ID they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill?" "Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel."

'May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to

flow!

May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe!

66

Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words."

"From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords;

But the weapon of the Saxon met him on the way,

And he died at Clough-Oughter, upon St. Leonard's day."

Wail, wail ye for the mighty one! wail, wail ye for the dead! Quench the hearth, and hold the breath, with ashes strew the head.

How tenderly we loved him! how deeply we deplore!
Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more.

Sagest in the counsel was he, kindest in the hall !
Sure, we never won a battle't was Owen won them all.
Had he lived, had he lived, our dear country had been free;
But he's dead, but he's dead, and 't is slaves we'll ever be.

O'Farrell and Clanrickarde, Preston and Red Hugh,
Audley and MacMahon

But

ye are valiant, wise, and true;

what are ye all to our darling who is gone? The rudder of our ship was he, our castle's corner-stone!

Wail, wail him through the island! weep, weep for our pride! Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died! Weep the victor of Benburb-weep him, young men and old; Weep for him, ye women — your beautiful lies cold!

We thought you would not die

not go,

we were sure you would

And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the skyOh! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die?

Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill; bright was your eye.

Oh! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die?
Your troubles are all over, you 're at rest with God on high;
But we 're slaves and we 're orphans, Owen ! — why did you
THOMAS DAVIS.

die?

THE WARDEN OF THE CINQUE PORTS.

149

W

The Knight's Tomb.

HERE is the grave of Sir Arthur O'Kellyn?
Where may the grave of that good man be?
By the side of a spring, on the breast of Helvellyn,
Under the twigs of a young birch tree!

The oak that in summer was sweet to hear,
And rustled its leaves in the fall of the year,
And whistled and roared in the winter alone,
Is gone, and the birch in its stead is grown.
The knight's bones are dust,

And his good sword rust;

His soul is with the saints, I trust.

SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDge.

The Warden of the Cinque Ports.

A

MIST was driving down the British Channel;

The day was just begun;

And through the window-panes, on floor and panel,
Streamed the red autumn sun.

It glanced on flowing flag and rippling pennon,
And the white sails of ships;

And, from the frowning rampart, the black cannon
Hailed it with feverish lips.

Sandwich and Romney, Hastings, Hithe, and Dover,
Were all alert that day,

To see the French war-steamers speeding over
When the fog cleared away.

Sullen and silent, and like couchant lions,
Their cannon, through the night,

Holding their breath, had watched in grim defiance
The seacoast opposite;

And now they roared, at drum-beat, from their stations
On every citadel;

Each answering each, with morning salutations,
That all was well!

And down the coast, all taking up the burden,
Replied the distant forts

As if to summon from his sleep the warden
And lord of the Cinque Ports.

Him shall no sunshine from the fields of azure,
No drum-beat from the wall,

No morning gun from the black forts' embrasure,
Awaken with their call!

No more, surveying with an eye impartial
The long line of the coast,

Shall the gaunt figure of the old field-marshal
Be seen upon his post!

For in the night, unseen, a single warrior,
In sombre harness mailed,

Dreaded of man, and surnamed the Destroyer,
The rampart wall has scaled!

He passed into the chamber of the sleeper, —

The dark and silent room;

And, as he entered, darker grew,

and deeper,

The silence and the gloom.

He did not pause to parley, or dissemble,
But smote the warden hoar

Ah! what a blow! that made all England tremble
And groan from shore to shore.

Meanwhile, without, the surly cannon waited,

The sun rose bright o'erhead,

Nothing in Nature's aspect intimated

That a great man was dead!

HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.

JOHN BROWN OF OSAWATOMIE.

151

J

John Brown of Osawatomie.

WOHN BROWN in Kansas settled, like a steadfast Yankee farmer,

Brave and godly, with four sons - all stalwart men of might. There he spoke aloud for Freedom, and the Border-strife grew warmer,

Till the Rangers fired his dwelling, in his absence in the night;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Came homeward in the morning — to find his house burned down.

Then he grasped his trusty rifle, and boldly fought for Free

dom;

Smote from border unto border the fierce, invading band; And he and his brave boys vowed- so might Heaven help and speed 'em! —

They would save those grand old prairies from the curse that blights the land;

And Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Said, "Boys, the Lord will aid us!" and he shoved his ramrod down.

And the Lord did aid these men; and they labored day and

even,

Saving Kansas from its peril, and their very lives seemed charmed;

Till the ruffians killed one son, in the blessed light of

In cold blood the fellows slew him, as he journeyed all unarmed;

Then Old Brown,

Osawatomie Brown,

Shed not a tear, but shut his teeth, and frowned a terrible

frown!