A Book of Irish Verse Part 3

(_Pat whistles._)

'Mary,' the mother said, 'Some one is whistling sure;'

Says Mary, ''Tis only the wind Is whistling through the door.'

(_Pat whistles a bit of a popular air._)

'I've lived a long time, Mary, In this wide world, my dear, But a door to whistle like _that_ I never yet did hear.'

'But, mother, you know the fiddle Hangs close beside the c.h.i.n.k, And the wind upon the strings Is playing the tune I think.'

(_The pig grunts._)

'Mary, I hear the pig, Unaisy in his mind.'

'But, mother, you know, they say The pigs can see the wind.'

'That's true enough _in the day_, But I think you may remark, That pigs no more nor we Can see anything in the dark.'

(_The dog barks._)

'The dog is barking now, The fiddle can't play the tune.'

'But, mother, the dogs will bark Whenever they see the moon.'

'But how could he see the moon, When, you know, the dog is blind?

Blind dogs won't bark at the moon, Nor fiddles be played by the wind.

'I'm not such a fool as you think, I know very well it is Pat:-- Shut your mouth, you whistlin' thief, And go along home out o' that!

'And you be off to your bed, Don't play upon me your jeers; For though I have lost my eyes, I haven't lost my ears!'

_Samuel Lover_

SOGGARTH AROON

Am I the slave they say, Soggarth aroon?

Since you did show the way, Soggarth aroon, _Their_ slave no more to be, While they would work with me Old Ireland's slavery, Soggarth aroon.

Why not her poorest man, Soggarth aroon, Try and do all he can, Soggarth aroon, Her commands to fulfil Of his own heart and will, Side by side with you still Soggarth aroon?

Loyal and brave to you, Soggarth aroon, Yet be not slave to you, Soggarth aroon, Nor, out of fear to you-- Stand up so near to you-- Och! out of fear to _you_, Soggarth aroon!

Who, in the winter's night, Soggarth aroon, When the cold blast did bite, Soggarth aroon, Came to my cabin-door, And, on my earthen-floor, Knelt by me, sick and poor, Soggarth aroon?

Who, on the marriage day, Soggarth aroon, Made the poor cabin gay, Soggarth aroon?-- And did both laugh and sing, Making our hearts to ring, At the poor christening, Soggarth aroon?

Who, as friend only met, Soggarth aroon, Never did flout me yet, Soggarth aroon?

And when my heart was dim, Gave, while his eye did brim, What I should give to him, Soggarth aroon?

Och! you, and only you, Soggarth aroon!

And for this I was true to you, Soggarth aroon, In love they'll never shake, When for old Ireland's sake, We a true part did take, Soggarth aroon!

_John Banim_

DARK ROSALEEN

_From the Irish_

O my Dark Rosaleen, Do not sigh, do not weep!

The priests are on the ocean green.

They march along the deep.

There's wine from the royal Pope, Upon the ocean green; And Spanish ale shall give you hope, My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope, Shall give you health, and help, and hope, My Dark Rosaleen!

Over hills, and through dales, Have I roamed for your sake; All yesterday I sailed with sails On river and on lake, The Erne, at its highest flood, I dashed across unseen, For there was lightning in my blood, My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

O there was lightning in my blood, Red lightning lightened through my blood, My Dark Rosaleen!

All day long in unrest To and fro do I move, The very heart within my breast Is wasted for you, Love!

The heart in my bosom faints To think of you, my queen!

My life of life, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

To hear your sweet and sad complaints, My life, my love, my saint of saints, My Dark Rosaleen!

Woe and pain, pain and woe, Are my lot night and noon; To see your bright face clouded so, Like to the mournful moon.

But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen: 'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!

'Tis you shall have the golden throne, 'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone, My Dark Rosaleen!

Over dews, over sands, Will I fly for your weal: Your holy, delicate white hands Shall girdle me with steel.

At home, in your emerald bowers, From morning's dawn till e'en, You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen!

My fond Rosaleen!

You'll think of me through daylight's hours, My virgin flower, my flower of flowers, My Dark Rosaleen!

I could scale the blue air, I could plough the high hills, O, I could kneel all night in prayer, To heal your many ills.

And one beamy smile from you Would float like light between My toils and me, my own, my true, My Dark Rosaleen!

My fond Rosaleen!

Would give me life and soul anew, A second life, a soul anew, My Dark Rosaleen!

O! the Erne shall run red With redundance of blood, The earth shall rock beneath our tread, And flames wrap hill and wood, And gun-peal, and slogan cry, Wake many a glen serene, Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die, My Dark Rosaleen!

My own Rosaleen!