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Six crafty earth-stoppers, in hunter's green dress'd,
Supported poor Tom to an earth" made for rest;
His horse, which he styled his Old Soul, next appear'd,
On whose forehead the brush of the last fox was rear'd':
Whip, cap, boots, and spurs, in a trophy were bound,
And here and there follow'd an old straggling hound.
Ah! no more at his voice yonder vales will they trace,
Nor the welkin resound to the burst in the chase!

With "High over !-now press him!

Tally-ho-Tally-ho!"

Thus Tom spoke his friends ere he gave up his breath:
"Since I see you're resolved to be in at the death,
One favour bestow-'tis the last I shall crave-
Give a rattling view-hollow thrice over my grave;
And unless at that warning I lift up my head,
My boys you may fairly conclude I am dead!"
Honest Tom was obey'd, and the shout rent the sky,
For every voice join'd in the tally-ho cry,
Tally-ho-Hark forward!
Tally-ho-Tally-ho!

HE WAS FAMED FOR DEEDS OF ARMS.

ANDREW CHERRY.

Here is another specimen of Cherry's muse, by no means equal to the former, but it gave the opportunity of effect in being sung, and hence, was a favourite song of the late Mr. Braham, that great English singer, who has left no equal behind him.

HE was famed for deeds of arms,
She a maid of envied charms;

She to him her love imparts,

One pure flame pervades both hearts ;
Honour calls him to the field,

Love to conquest, now, must yield—
Sweet maid! he cries, again I'll come to thee,
When the glad trumpet sounds a victory!

Battle, now, with fury glows;
Hostile blood in torrents flows;

His duty tells him to depart;
She pressed her hero to her heart;

And, now, the trumpet sounds to arms ;

Amid the clash of rude alarms

Sweet maid, he cries, again I'll come to thee,

When the glad trumpet sounds a victory!

He with love and conquest burns,
Both subdue his mind by turns!
Death the soldier, now, enthrals !
With his wounds the hero falls!
She, disdaining war's alarms,

Rushed, and caught him in her arms!
Oh! death, he cries, thou'rt welcome now to me!
For, hark! the trumpet sounds a victory!

THE BAY OF BISCAY.

ANDREW CHERRY.

Here is a third song of Cherry's, which has, at least, the merit of being graphic-and to that may be attributed most likely its great popularity, assisted, no doubt, by Davy's pleasing and effective music. This was also one of Braham's favourites, and one of the very few sea-songs of Irish origin.

LOUD roar'd the dreadful thunder,

The rain a deluge showers,
The clouds were rent asunder
By lightning's vivid powers:
The night both drear and dark,
Our poor devoted bark,
Till next day, there she lay
In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Now dash'd upon the billow,
Our opening timbers creak:
Each fears a wat❜ry pillow.

None stops the dreadful leak;
To cling to slipp'ry shrouds
Each breathless seaman crowds,
As she lay, till next day,
In the Bay of Biscay, O!

At length the wish'd-for morrow
Broke thro' the hazy sky;
Absorb'd in silent sorrow,

Each heav'd a bitter sigh ;
The dismal wreck to view
Struck horror to the crew,
As she lay, on that day,

In the Bay of Biscay, O!

Her yielding timbers sever,
Her pitchy seams are rent,
When Heaven, all-bounteous ever,
Its boundless mercy sent;
A sail in sight appears,

We hail her with three cheers:
Now we sail, with the gale,
From the Bay of Biscay, O!

DEIRDRE.

From the Irish.

Deirdre, the daughter of Felimy, the son of Dall, was exquisitely beautiful. At her birth it was prophesied she should prove the ruin of Ulster. The king, Connor MacNessa, caused her to be educated with great care, and in guarded seclusion, intending to make her his queen; but Deirdre preferred the young Naisi, one of the sons of Usnach, to the old king, and, snatching a favourable opportunity, threw a rose to Naisi, which, according to the custom of that day, bound him in honour to marry her; and though he anticipated ruin from the abduction of the king's intended wife, he said to his brothers—who also dreaded the consequences of the act-that he would "rather live in misfortune than in dishonour," and that he should be "disgraced before the men of Erin for ever if he did not take her, after that which she had done." The three brothers-all great warriors-fled from Ireland to Alba (Scotland), and found safety on the banks of Loch Etive. The absence of such distinguished heroes was felt to be a national loss, and the king sent a messenger to them, promising forgiveness to all. Naisi trusted in the king's word; but Deirdre feared treachery, and before leaving their sylvan retreat, the only safe and happy one in Deirdre's belief, she is supposed to utter this passionate farewell

FAREWELL to fair Alba,* high house of the sun;
Farewell to the mountain, the cliff, and the dun;
Dun Sweeny, adieu ! for my love cannot stay,
And tarry I must not, when love cries"

away."

Glen Vashan! Glen Vashan! where roebucks run free,
Where my love used to feed on the red-deer with me,
Where, rocked on thy waters, while stormy winds blew,
My love used to slumber-Glen Vashan, adieu !

Glendaro! Glendaro! where birchen boughs weep,
Honey dew at high noon to the Nightingale's sleep;
Where my love used to lead me to hear the cuckoo,
'Mong the high hazel bushes-Glendaro, adieu !

It will be observed that there is no mention of Scotland throughout the entire of this antique romance, prose or verse. The country is called Alba-its ancient name.

Glenurchy! Glenurchy! where loudly and long,
My love used to wake up the woods with his song,
While the son of the rock,* from the depths of the dell,
Laughed sweetly in answer-Glenurchy, farewell!

Glen Etive! Glen Etive! where dappled does roam,
Where I leave the green sheeling, I first called a home,
Where with me my true love delighted to dwell,
The sun made his mansion +-Glen Etive, farewell!

Farewell to Inch Draynagh; adieu to the roar
Of blue billows bursting in light on the shore;
Dun Fiagh, farewell! for my love cannot stay,
And tarry I must not, when love cries "

away.

On arriving in Ireland, they are conducted to Emania, and lodged in the house of the Red Branch. King Connor inquires if Deirdre be still lovely, "if her beauty yet lives upon her?" and a messenger tells him she is still "the fairest woman on the ridge of the world." The house is then surrounded by the soldiers of the king, while Naisi and Deirdre are playing at chess. The brothers, finding they are betrayed, rush out, and do prodigies of valour. Ardan slays "three hundred men of might," Ainli kills twice as many, and then Naisi joins the fray, which is thus described :-" Till the sands of the sea, the dewdrops of the meadows, the leaves of the forest, or the stars of heaven be counted, it is not possible to tell the numbers of heads and hands and lopped limbs of heroes that there lay bare and red from the hands of Naisi and his brothers of the plain." They then spread the links of their joined bucklers round Deirdre, and bounding forth "like three eagles," swept down on the troops of Connor, making tremendous havoc, until Cathbad, the Druid, throws a spell over them, "like a sea of thick gums, that clogged their limbs," and the sons of Usnach are then put to death, and Deirdre, standing over their grave, sings the funeral song, and then flings herself into the grave and expires. The prophecy was fulfilled, for Connor's treachery and murderous act alienated all hearts from him, and the downfall of his house was accomplished. Such is a very brief outline of this story, which, as Mr. Ferguson remarks, "has possessed an extraordinary charm for the people of Ireland for better than a thousand years."

Here is the funeral wail over the loved and the brave, by the beautiful and fatal Deirdre.

DEIRDRE'S LAMENT FOR THE SONS OF USNACH.

Translated from the Irish by S. FERGUSON, M.R.I.A.

THE lions of the hill are gone,

And I am left alone-alone;

Dig the grave both wide and deep,
For

am sick, and fain would sleep.

*"Son of the rock: the echo.-How charmingly fanciful!
↑ She calls Glen Etive Bally-Graine, or "Suntown."

The falcons of the wood are flown,
And I am left alone-alone;
Dig the grave both deep and wide,
And let us slumber side by side.

The dragons of the rock are sleeping—
Sleep that wakes not for our weeping;
Dig the grave, and make it ready,
Lay me on my true love's body.

Lay their spears and bucklers bright
By the warriors' sides aright;
Many a day the three before me
On their linked bucklers bore me.

Lay upon the low grave floor,

'Neath each head, the blue claymore;
Many a time the noble three
Reddened these blue blades for me.

Lay the collars, as is meet,

Of their greyhounds at their feet;
Many a time for me have they
Brought the tall red deer to bay.

In the falcon's jesses throw
Hook and arrow, line and bow;
Never again by stream or plain
Shall the gentle woodsmen go.

Sweet companions, were ye ever
Harsh to me, your sister?-never.
Woods, and wilds, and misty valleys,
Were with you as good's a palace.

Oh! to hear my true love singing,*
Sweet as sounds of trumpets ringing;
Like the sway of ocean swelling,

Rolled his deep voice round our dwelling

Oh! to hear the echoes pealing
Round our green and fairy sheeling,
When the three with soaring chorus,
Made the skylark silent o'er us.

* In the original tale, speaking of the brothers, it is said, "Sweet, in truth, was the music of the sons of Usnach. The cattle, listening to it, milked over two-thirds more than was their wont." Modern dairymen increase their cow's milk from pipes of another sort.