And guide my footsteps so on earth, 'Yet, mother, could I see thy smile, Or watch the silver moon and stars I'd never love my God the less, 'But no, ah no! it cannot be ! Yet, mother! do not mourn— Come, kneel again, and pray to God, The Dark Girl's doom must aye be mine- Until I find my way to God, And Mary, and St. John!' MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY was born in Cork about 1817, and wrote much verse for The Nation up to the time of the '48 insurrection. He treated the result of that attempt as final, and ceased his connection with the National movement. He became a police magistrate in Dublin, but after a time relinquished the appointment and went to live on the Continent. He died in 1889. His poems are spirited and energetic, but do not show signs of the brilliant wit which, as Sir Charles G. Duffy tells us, used to delight his colleagues in The Nation office. While he was a police magistrate, a constable giving evidence before him against an Irish-American suspected of seditious designs swore that the prisoner wore 'a Republican hat.' 'A Republican hat!' exclaimed the counsel for the prisoner; 'does your worship know what that means?' 'I presume,' said his worship, 'a Republican hat means a hat without a crown.' Wrote The Kishoge Papers' for The Dublin University Magazine. Published in 1854 A WATERLOO COMMEMORATION FOR 1854; LAYS OF THE WAR, 1856; HEINRICH AND LENORE, 1886. Edited SONGS OF IRELAND, 1845. What shelters Right? What makes it might? The sword! What strikes the crown Of tyrants down, And answers with its flash their frown? CHORUS Then cease thy proud task never, &c. Still be thou true, Good sword! We'll die or do, Good sword! Leap forth to light If tyrants smite, And trust our arms to wield thee right, Good sword! CHORUS Yes cease thy proud task never Guard of the free, We'll cherish thee, And keep thee bright for ever! MICHAEL TORMEY THE REV. MICHAEL TORMEY was born in Westmeath 1820, and died in 1893. He edited The Tablet at one time, and was keenly interested in the Tenant League movement which succeeded the Famine, and was partly evoked by it. He was not distinguished as a poet, but 'The Ancient Race' has in it a surge of heartfelt anguish and wrath which renders not unfitly the master passion of the Irish peasant. THE ANCIENT RACE This poem was written at the era of the Irish Tenant League (1850-56), when the principles of the land struggle were first formulated. WHAT shall become of the ancient race, The noble Keltic island race? Like cloud on cloud o'er the azure sky, When winter storms are loud and high, What shall befall the ancient race The poor, unfriended, faithful race? Where ploughman's song made the hamlet ring, What shall befall the ancient race? They tell a tale of the ancient race- With blood of Kelts, right bravely shed ; Then why cast out the ancient race? Will no one shield the ancient race? They fly their fathers' burial place; M The proud lords with the heavy purse, They dig a grave for the ancient race! What shall befall the ancient race? What shall befall the ancient race? They shall not go, the ancient race- They must not go, the ancient race! From emerald vale to mountain hoar, From altar high to market-place 'THEY SHALL NOT GO, the ancient race!' THOMAS D'ARCY MCGEE Of all the rhetorical qualities of poetry-rhythm and phrase and picturesque diction-McGee possessed a greater measure than any other of The Nation poets. But he wrote with a |