A most plaintive melody, said to have been sung by the women who wailed and wept the departure of the heroes of Limerick, is given in Bunting's "Ancient Music of Ireland" (Dublin, 1840), and called "The Wild Geese." To that air Moore wrote his beautiful song entitled "The Origin of the Harp," beginning

""Tis believ'd that this harp which I wake now to thee,

Was a Syren of old who sung under the sea."

The song proceeds to tell how her love for a youth was rejected; and, in pity to her unrequited passion, a spell was wrought

"And chang'd to this soft harp the sea maiden's form."

Moore then elaborates with great felicity an idea which, he tells us, he derived from a
design prefixed to an ode on St. Cecilia's day, thus-

"Still her bosom rose fair, still her cheek smil'd the same,
While her sea-beauties gracefully curl'd round the frame,
And her hair, shedding tear-drops from all its bright rings,
Fell over her white arm to make the gold strings."

The Bard then tells his mistress that this harp used to give forth mingled notes of
love's gladness and tones of sorrow, until, as the Bard says, with exquisite grace, to
his mistress-

"Thou didst divide them, and teach the fond lay

To be love, when I'm near thee-and grief when away."

It is not unworthy of remark that Moore, with his excessive love of polish, altered the verse I have quoted in full, in the last edition of his collected works, thus

"Still her bosom rose fair-still her cheeks smil'd the same-
While her sea-beauties gracefully formed the light frame,

And her hair, as, let loose, o'er her white arm it fell,

Was chang'd to bright chords utt'ring melody's spell."

Though it may savour of presumption to criticise so polished a versifier as Moore, I cannot help saying I think the alteration, with the exception of the word “chang'd” for curl'd, is not an improvement. The image is more perfectly presented to the mind in the two last lines of the verse as it originally stood; and the "let loose" in the second version, implies intentional disposition of the hair, far less pleasing than the unpremeditated grace with which it "fell" in the first form of the stanza. Then, "utt'ring" is a word so unmusical, that one almost wonders how it could have satisfied Moore's delicate ear.

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In the year 1759, France made great exertions for the invasion of the British dominions. Admiral Thurot was appointed to command an expedition from Dunkirk. Admiral Conflans a still larger one from Brest. Sir Edward Hawke watched Brest; a storm drove him from his blockade. Conflans took the opportunity of sailing; but the British Admiral caught him out at sea, and defeated him off Belleisle, which glorious action is more commonly spoken of as "Hawke's Victory." Dunkirk was watched by Commodore Boys, whom Thurot contrived to evade. He sailed with six ships up the North Sea, and went, north about, to Ireland; severe weather scattered his ships, and only three reached Ireland. Thurot entered the Bay of Carrickfergus, and landed; the garrison of the castle was very small, but fought the French with great gallantry. Their nnmbers were too insignificant for lengthened resistance, and finally they surrendered. Thurot's success was of but short duration. Troops were despatched to the spot with hot haste, and Thurot, after having obtained a supply of provisions from Belfast, was obliged to retire. He sailed south, and the next morning an English squadron, under Captain Elliot, gave chase to the French ships, brought them to action, and captured them. In this action Thurot fell; and thus ended the contemplated invasion of 1759.

The following song has no literary merit whatever, but is a curious specimen of its class; and coming fairly within the series of historic and political songs, in which I have endeavoured to establish a succession, I think it cannot be considered out of place, more particularly as the attack on Carrickfergus, and laying Belfast under contribution, is alluded to elsewhere, and a note of reference to this very song appended.

FROM Dunkirk, in France, in the month of September,
Fitted out was a fleet, and away they did sail;

And Monsieur Thurot, their only commander,

With him at their head they were sure not to fail.

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So away they did steer, without dread or fear,
And searched and plunder'd the coasts all around;
Till at length they arriv'd on the shore of old Ireland,
And landed their men on our Irish ground.

It was at Carrickfergus, in the north of this kingdom,
They landed their men and march'd up to our walls;
Then cry'd the undaunted, brave Colonel Jennings,

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My boys, let's salute them with powder and balls." The battle began, and guns they did rattle,

And bravely we fought under Jennings' command,
Said he, "Play away, play away, my brave boys,
The beggars the force of our fire cannot stand."

The town then they took without any resistance,
The castle they thought was as easy likewise;
So they came marching up in grand divisions,

To storm it, then guarded by the brave Irish boys;
But we kept constant fire, and made them retire,
Till our ammunition entirely was gone;

Then aloud we did say, brave boys let's away,
And sally out on them with sword in hand.

But says our brave colonel, "We cannot defend it,
For to make a sally it is but in vain,

As our ammunition, you see is expended;

We'll therefore submit, and good terms will obtain,
For plainly you see, that to one they are three,
'Tis best then in time for to capitulate;

For if they take it by storm, by the law of arms,
Then death without mercy will sure be our fate."

Then these beggars obtained possession of Carrick,
Where they revell'd and sotted, and drank all the while,
Poor people they did sorely ransack and plunder,
And hoisted it all on board the Belleisle;

But Elliott soon met them, nor away did he let them,
But forc'd them to yield up their ill-gotten store;
Now, Monsieurs, lament in the deepest contrition,
For now you can brag of your Thurot no more.

Let's exalt the brave Elliott, who gained this action,
And sing to his praise in the joyfullest song ;
For we of our foes have got satisfaction,

And Thurot lies rotting in the Isle of Man.

Their general is wounded, his schemes are confounded,
The brave British tars they can never withstand;
The fire of the fierce and the bold British lions
Appear'd in the men under brave Captain Bland.

But now to bring my story to a conclusion,

Let's drink a good health to our officers all;
First brave Colonel Jennings, likewise Bland our captain,
Yet never forgetting the brave Mr. Hall.
Let's drink and be jolly, and drown melancholy,
So merrily let us rejoice too, and sing;
So fill up your bowls, all ye loyal souls,

And toast a good health to great George our king.

A noble statue of Grattan, by Chantrey, stands in the Royal Exchange of Dublin, with this suitable inscription on the pedestal

Filio

Optimo Carissimo
Henrico Grattan
Patria
non ingrata
1829.

EDWARD LYSAGHT.

"Air-"The British Grenadiers."

The man thus celebrated was HENRY GRATTAN, the most illustrious of Irish patriots. The Irish Volunteers had existed, but in separate corps, until 1780, when an increase

and general organisation of that force took place. The military establishments had been so drained to recruit the regiments in America, that there were not sufficient left in the kingdom to defend the seaports from attack; and when the town of Belfast, which had been closely visited eighteen years before by invasion, applied to Government for support against the common enemy that threatened to invade them again, Government could not grant it; and in that state of things the expansion of the volunteer institution was looked upon as the best national safeguard, and with marvellous rapidity men of all conditions and opinions enrolled themselves in these patriot ranks, clothing and arming themselves at their own expense. Henry Grattan's eloquence in the senate increased the national enthusiasm of the volunteers, who looked upon Grattan with a passionate admiration. Some time before, his indomitable energy in Parliament had obtained freedom of commerce for his country, and now he sought, by the force of his argument and the ardour of his eloquence, to rouse the Parliament of Ireland to assert its independence, which it did in the year 1782, as noticed under the song of "Our Island," and obtained the repeal of the objectionable act of the English Parliament, 6th Geo. I.

Much as may be granted to the powers of eloquence, it is too much to suppose that such a triumph could have been obtained by mere oratory. Grattan had 80,000 volunteers of the same opinion as himself, not an insurrectionary band, but a legalised association of armed gentlemen, who had been loyally protecting their country from foreign invasion for years, and now determined to obtain domestic independence. To use Mr. Grattan's own words, "It seemed as if the subjects of Ireland had met at the altar, and communicated a national sacrament. Juries, cities, counties, commoners, nobles, volunteers, gradations, religions, a solid league, a rapid fire." That it was thus looked upon by the Government of the day is proved by the address made to Grattan by Mr. J. H. Hutchinson, his Majesty's principal Secretary of State, when he was charged with communicating a message to the House of Commons from the Lord Lieutenant, by command of his Majesty, as preliminary to assenting to their claim. On that occasion Mr. Hutchinson said, "Not only the present age, but posterity would be indebted to Mr. Grattan for the greatest of all obligations, and would, but he hoped at a great distance of time, inscribe on his tomb that he had redeemed the liberties of his country."

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When a Secretary of State thus spoke of that memorable event, it is quite clear that it could not be tainted with the smallest particle of what a people should not ask, nor a sovereign grant. Moore speaks of this era in the history of Ireland as possessing character of grandeur, as passing as it was bright, but which will be long remembered with melancholy pride by her sons, and as long recall the memory of that admirable man to whose patriotism she owed her brief day of freedom, and upon whose name that momentary sunshine of her sad history rests." He pays a tribute also to the memory of Charles James Fox, in thus alluding to "the frank and cordial understanding entered into with Ireland, which identifies the memory of Mr. Fox and this Ministry* with the only oasis in the desert of Irish history."-Moore's Life of Sheridan, 8vo, pp. 359 to 375.

THE gen'rous sons of Erin, in manly virtue bold,
With hearts and hands preparing our country to uphold,
Tho' cruel knaves and bigot slaves disturb'd our isle some years,
Now hail the man who led the van of Irish Volunteers.

*The Rockingham Ministry.