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And hence his name of Dubh*-to show that pallor
Ne'er tinged his cheek! He earned it well one day
As conqueror in an all but hopeless fray-
He, Earl of Gowran, earned it by his valour,
And hardihood of soul!


The powerful Shane O'Neill, even on his own lands,
He met in Battle's shock, and overcame ;
And then, alas! for Kinel-Owen's fame!
Drave every head of cattle off all townlands
That owned O'Neill's control!


In green Momonia, over hosts uncounted,

He gained the brilliant victory of Athmaine.

There, where the wan moon mourned o'er piles of Slain, He took the Earl of Deele, though armed and mounted, Prisoner upon the field.


Bunratty twice, where War's tremendous thunder

Had many a time been blent with showers of bloodClare Castle twice, and once, too, Proud Clonrood, He took by force of arms, to all mens' wonder

For none dreamed these would yield..


But how recount exploits that none may number?
Where breathes to-day his peer among the Bold
Of Erin? In his frame, of iron mould,

There burned a soul that ne'er knew sloth or slumber,
And lived but 'mid alarms !


Throughout all populous Thomond, nowhere tarrying,
He marched, a Living Wrath, with fire and sword;
He spared not cot or castle, serf or lord,
Despoiling, slaughtering, burning, wasting, harrying,
Where'er he turned his arms.


That ancient castle in Ulidia, Lifford,

That first of Munster's fortresses, Dunloe,

Which long frowned forth defiance on each foe, Succumbed to his arms! O! nought withstood him-cliff, ford, Bridge, or embattled wall.


Askeaton Castle, which his troops bombarded,

He took by assault, but vaunted not the feat; The Limerick men might die, but not retreat; And, where he attacked, the fort was weakly guarded, And could not chuse but fall.

* Dark.


The far-famed Carrickfoyle, a noble stronghold,
Glin Castle, also, fell before the shocks

Of his artillery! Both seemed firm as rocks,
But no defence, no fortalice could long hold
Out against James's son!


O, woe for the Mac Donnells there assembled!
Woe for the warlike son of Sorley! These
He scattered far, like leaves before the breeze-
Heroes who never had shrunk back or trembled
Where fame was to be won!


What more? Undauntedly he next assaulted
The granite-buttressed Castle of Glenarm,
Displaying a heroism that well might warm
The coldest breasts, and kindle to exalted
Aspirings even the Base!


The O'Neills of Scotland, clans of lineage olden, Inspired by GoD, with more of pride than grief, Vowed faith and fealty to this conquering Chief, Whom Glory seemed to circle, as a golden

Halo the sun's bright face!


In Glenkonkeen his troops had store of pillage;
In Glenmalure they preyed both bosk and byre;
Again they ravaged, both with steel and fire,
The lands of Erris, plain, and vale, and village,
Sparing no tribe or clan!


To devastate, by plundering and by reaving
The whole of Ulster, bally, bawn, and sea,
The Earl took shipping on the stormy sea;
A grand exploit !-worthy a King's achieving-
Worthiest of this great man!


He wasted all the townlands of O'Reilly,
O'Reilly of the Sharp and Shining Spears.
Alas for this, the cause of shrieks and tears
'Neath many a roof, I praise not over-highly
Even Thomas Dubh this day!


He plundered the rich country of O'Malley,
Scattering, as rapidly as falcon flies,

Woe and dismay, panic and wild surprise, Through all its districts, town, and vale, and valley. It was no schoolboy's play!


Through Burren, Beare, and Brefney next he carried His vengeful and all-conquering arms—and those, Though many a native Chief rose up to oppose, Of every single head of kine he harried,

This Prince of high renown!


He wrapped in flames all Ossory and Ealy.
Woe is my soul for both of them!—and woe,
O, fourfold woe is me for Aherlow!

This, too, he burned, for none of them were leally
Affected towards the Crown!


Broad Limerick's lands, in one short night and morrow, This hero ravaged, bearing off sixteen

Great preys, with scarce a halt or pause between! Cause this of loud laments and bitter sorrow

To woman, man, and child.


By him was humbled, for the first and last time,
The pride of Kenry and of Connelloe.
Their Lord was absent. Had he dreamed a foe
Was playing among his lands at such a pastime,

Wrath would have driven him wild!


Eascreevey and the mouth of the Bann Water,
And every territory round the twain,
He plundered of their cattle, gold, and grain ;
And fearful and unsparing was the slaughter
He wrought in each and all.


Moyliny's lands he pillaged without measure;

He sacked the Routes of the Smooth Sandy Shores; He rifled, too, the Oriers of their stores, And stripped the wealthy Ards of all their treasureCottage and castle-hall!


How shall I tell what galley-loads of booty,
Enough, in sooth, to sate a King's desire,
He carried off, triumphant, from Kantyre,
And Mann, that Island of the Streams of Beauty,
Though both disclaimed his right!


He overcame and brought beneath subjection
All Kerry; and, by blows that none could strike
Besides himself, anon subdued alike

The Chiefs of Desmond and their disaffection

Such was his matchless might !


His troops and booty over Cashan River,

'Albeit its billows foamed in crested sheen,

He safely brought, as though there had but been
Just wind enough to make the beech-reeds quiver—
A skilful Pilot he!

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Now firing wooded Leix, and then returning
With store of pillaged riches then, perchance,
In Munster's valleys, quickening his advance
Into Iveah;-reaving, slaughtering, burning,
Destroying tower and keep—


This day in Donegal, in fair Cloghstacken-
The next in Sligo of the Pastures Green;
The third day at the Cairn of O'Glaiveen-
So spent the Earl his time, and scorned to slacken
His progress even for sleep!


Not one heath-mantled mountain far or near in
The island-not a harbour-not a rood
Of tufted ground in grassy glen or wood,
Remained unsearched by him throughout all Erin,
For plunder day by day!


Nonsparing Chief! He did not leave unwasted
One acre of Lagenia's fertile plains,

Or Ulster's, or Momonia's fair domains;
With soul that seemed all fire, he ever hasted
Onwards to wreck and prey!

VOL. XXX.-No. 175.



What pen shall paint the dreadful devastation

He wrought o'er Meath's and Connaught's plains and downs?
He scaled their hills, destroyed their towers and towns,

And wrapt their woods in one wide conflagration!
O! but his heart was wroth!


His fierceness overbore all opposition.

I know not if ere long there could be found
A single Chief, renowned or unrenowned,
Who had not promised the Great Earl submission,
And vowed him faith and troth!


O, mighty Thomas! terrible and awless!

There was not one rude, predatory horde,
Whom he pursued not, both with gun and sword.
He expelled and slaughtered all, to the last lawless
Marauder south and north.


Yet scarce had this triumphant Prince of Nobles
Deceased, before the land he left forlorn,
Alas! unhappiest land! again was torn
By fierce dissensions and distracting troubles,
That burst like wildfire forth.


Oh! cause for sadness and unceasing sighing!
The very heart within my bosom bleeds
To think that he whose high heroic deeds
I have here but glanced at, should to-day be lying
Low, low, among the Dead!


But glanced at? Even so! for, in truth, I name not
A tenth of his achievements! But what need
Of more, where all are similar to read?
Whose was the country that he overcame not,
Or held him not in dread?


There was not, far or near, one Chieftain hostile

To England's power on whom he brought not woe
And spoliation, ruin and overthrow.

Well might the Sovereign deem the land a lost isle
When Thomas lived no more!


He was, to sum up all, unmatched in power, an
Intrepid warrior and judious Chief,

Long shall his foes remember with fierce grief
That conquering, that relentless Earl of Gowran,
Whose death I so deplore!

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