Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

Sweet Castle Hyde.

As I roved out on a summer's morning,

Down by the banks of Blackwater side, To view the groves and meadows charming. And pleasant gardens of Castle Hyde. It is there you will hear the thrushes warbling, The dove and partridge I now describe, The lambkins sporting each night and morning

All to adorn sweet Castle Hyde.

If noble princes from foreign places

Should chance to sail to this Irish shore,

It is in this valley they could be feasted
As often heroes had done before.

The wholesome air of this habitation

Would recreate your heart with pride, There is no valley throughout this nation With beauty equal to Castle Hyde.

There's a church for service in this fine harbour,
Where nobles often in their coaches ride

To view the streams and pleasant gardens
That do adorn sweet Castle Hyde.
There is fine horses and stall-fed oxen

And a den for foxes to play and hide,

Fine mares for breeding and foreign sheeping, And snowy fleeces in Castle Hyde.

Τούτοις μεν δρυμοις ανθων ανασσα,
Ροδον ζηλοει το λειριον,

̔Ο κόσμος ευρυς και Ιερνα πασα
Ουκ έχει χώρον ευφορότερον.
Ο ελαφος τ' αιετος παίζουσι
Συν αλωπηξι παρα ποταμῳ,
Ιχθυες αει και πεσσευουσι,
Καλησι ροης εν Πυργ-Ὕδεῳ.

Βλαρνεας "υλαι και Βαλλη-Κενεαλη, Το Θωμας-αστυ και ιλαρον, Ραθκορμακος τε φιλ ̓ Αββηφαιλη Θαμα μευ κραδιην εβάσκανον,

Εωρακα μεν Σεννανου ροας

Βάρρου ρέεθρα και Βρύδέον,

Αλλ' ουδαμ' οψω ρεεθρ' η ποας,

Όμοια τουτων Πυργ-Ὕδεου.

The richest groves in this Irish nation

In fine plantations you'll find them there

The rose, and tulip, and fine carnation,

All vie with the lily fair.

The buck, the doe, the fox, the eagle,
Do skip and play by the river-side,

The trout and salmon they play back-gammon
In those clear streams of Castle Hyde.

I rode from Blarney to Bally-Kenealy,
To Thomastown and sweet Doneraile,
To sweet Kilshannock and gay Rathcormick,
Besides Killarney and Abbey-fail.

The river Shannon and pleasant Boyne
The flowing Barrow and rapid Bride,
But in all my ranging and serenading
I saw no equal to Castle Hyde.

56

CHAPTER II.

A SECOND LETTHER FROM MR. BARNEY BRALLAGHAN, PIPER, ETC., TO OLIVER YORKE, ESQUIRE ;

IN WHICH HE CONTINUES

HIS ACCOUNT OF THE DEIPNOSOPHIST CLUB, AND ITS MIMBERS; THEIR FURST MEETIN' AND DOCTHOR MAGINN'S

INAUGURAL SARMINT ON THE DHRINK.

Paddy's Goose, Ratcliffe Highway.
Past 1 o'Clock, Jan. 22, 1842.

DEAR SIR,-Well, well af that Crofty Croker ai’nt the dearest darlintist little fella that ever swigged punch I'm a Dutchman. I supposes Misther Yorke ye remimbers that in my furst letther to your worship, which created so much talk in the Clubs, I gev a passin' kind of a random invitayshin to the little linnet of a crayture to get dhrunk with me and my family on the Twelft Nite. Small noshin I had thin that Masther Croughty 'ud look on it in any other light than a joak or may be a plug to fill up a broken crevice in a sintince. But by the hokey 'twas quite differint. Down he came sure enuff in the 'bus to Ratcliffe Highway; and whin I heerd some one inquirin' for Misther Brallaghan, of the Paddy's Goose, faix at furst my heart lept into my mouth, for I was beginnin' to think that it might be a bum bailiff with a

writ from my taylor Misther Stultz, whom I regrets much to say I have'nt ped any time these five years. But judge my delight and sattisfaxshin, whin instead of a ketchpole I beheld the purty little gim of a fellar comin into me with his identicle oaken shilaylee in his hand, and his shinin' gray eye lit up by the laste taste in life of the ginuine potheen. "Barney darlint," sez he, "I come to except yer invitashin, This day's the Twelft Night; and wo'nt we have a rale roarin' supper of pulloneys, purl, and Irish whiskey?" I declare the tears kem into my eyes, and I was'nt able to mutther a word. I only shuck him by the fist, and tuck the little joaker into my wife Judy and the childher who was dhrinkin a dhrop o' gin punch in the bed chamber. The minnit Judy seen Misther Tom, ye'd think she'd fly out of her chemise with rapture. Up she jumpt from the bed where she was settin', and lettin' fall the youngest o' the babbies in her hurry, (loud enuff bedad the imp of darkness roared whin his head kem in conthract with the floor, and I suppose he'd be roaring still only Misther Tom gev him a slice o' Jarman sassage out of his breeches pocket) she tuck little Croker in her arms, and af she did'nt kiss him and hug him, till I thought she'd never have done. Be gogsty ye'd imagine she hadnt seen him for a score o' twelvemonths, so much she rejoiced at havin' him again. 'Tis thrue that a long time had elapsed sence we last saw him ;-for Misther Crofty is, they say, too much taken up with Grandukes

« AnteriorContinuar »