Thus, when the gentle Spina found
The thorn committed to her care,
Received its last and deadly wound,
She fled, and vanished into air.

But from the root a dismal groan
First issuing struck the murderer's ears:
And, in a shrill revengeful tone,
This prophecy he trembling hears :

"Thou chief contriver of my fall,
Relentless Dean, to mischief born;
My kindred oft thine hide shall gall,
Thy gown and cassock oft be torn.

"And thy confederate dame, who brags
That she condemned me to the fire,
Shall rend her petticoats to rags,

And wound her legs with every brier.

"Nor thou, Lord Arthur, shalt escape; To thee I often called in vain, Against that assassin in crape;

Yet thou couldst tamely see me slain:

"Nor, when I felt the dreadful blow,

Or chid the Dean, or pinched thy spouse;

Since you could see me treated so

(An old retainer to your house),

May that fell Dean, by whose command

Was formed this Machiavelian plot,

Not leave a thistle on thy land;

Then who will own thee for a Scot?

"Pigs and fanatics, cows and teagues,

Through all my empire I foresee,
To tear thy hedges join in leagues,
Sworn to revenge my thorn and me.

“And thou, the wretch ordained by fate,
Neal Gahagan, Hibernian clown,
With hatchet blunter than thy pate,

To hack my hallowed timber down;

"When thou, suspended high in air, Diest on a more ignoble tree

(For thou shalt steal thy landlord's mare), Then, bloody caitiff! think on me.”

O, for thy sake I'll tread,

Where the plains of Mayo spread;

By hope still fondly led,

Eileen a Roon!

1 Ellen, my heart's delight.

O, how may I gain thee?

Eileen a Roon!

Shall feasting entertain thee?

Eileen a Roon;

I would range the world wide,
With love alone to guide,

To win thee for my bride,

Eileen a Roon!

Then wilt thou come away ?

Eileen a Roon!

O, wilt thou come or stay?

Mitchelstown.

MITCHELSTOWN CAVERNS.

RIMLY it frowned when first with shuddering mind

GRIM

We saw the far-famed Cavern's darkling womb,

And for that vault of silence and of gloom

Left the fair day and smiling world behind.
But what bright wonder hailed our eyes erelong!
The crystal well, the sparry curtained dome,
The sparkling shafts that propped that caverned home,
And vaults that turned the homeliest sounds to song.
O, this, I thought, is sure a symbol plain
Of that undreaded death the holy die,

Stern at the first and withering to the view;
But past that gate of darkness and of pain,
What scenes of unimagined rapture lie,
Rich with elysian wealth and splendor ever new.

Gerald Griffin.

Moyle, the River.

THE SONG OF FIONNUALA.

ILENT, O Moyle, be the roar of thy water, Break not, ye breezes, your chain of repose, While, murmuring mournfully, Lir's lonely daughter Tells to the night-star her tale of woes. When shall the swan, her death-note singing,

Sleep, with wings in darkness furled?

When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit from this stormy world?

Sadly, O Moyle, to thy winter-wave weeping,
Fate bids me languish long ages away;
Yet still in her darkness doth Erin lie sleeping,
Still doth the pure light its dawning delay.
When will that day-star, mildly springing,

Warm our isle with peace and love?
When will heaven, its sweet bell ringing,
Call my spirit to the fields above?

Thomas Moore.

Mulla (Awbeg), the River.

THE RIVER MULLA.

LD father Mole, (Mole hight that mountain gray

OLD

That walls the northside of Armulla dale;)

He had a daughter fresh as floure of May,
Which gave that name unto that pleasant vale;
Mulla, the daughter of old Mole, so hight

The Nimph, which of that water course has charge,
That, springing out of Mole, doth run downe right
To Buttevant, where, spreading forth at large,
It giveth name unto that auncient cittie,
Which Kilnemullah cleped is of old;

Whose ragged ruines breed great ruth and pittie
To travailers, which it from far behold.

Full faine she lov'd, and was belov'd full faine