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2. He scarce had spoken, ere away he pass'd
Out of my sight as rapid as a bird,
And left me there in much amazement cast, the Looking, perhaps, in some degree absurd; her The noble river rolling calmly by,
The horse, the hasty rider, all did seem, Even to the vision of my outward eye,
Like the thin shadowy figments of a dream ;
I felt, in short, as Wordsworth did, when he - Chanced the leech gatherer on the moor all by himself to see.
Which leaveth him in ane awkward doldrum, after the manner of w. Wordsworth,
Shaketh it off, and marcheth homewards.
3. By the exertion of judicious thought,
At last I from this mental trance awoke, in Marvelling much how in that lonely spot,
Upon my eyes so strange a vision broke; LE From the green bank immediately I went,
And into Limerick's ancient city sped ; During my walk, with puzzled wonderment
I thought on what the rapid horseman said; And, as is commonly the case, when I * Feel any way oppress'd in thought, it made me very dry.
Instinctively I there put forth my hand
Did all upon an oaken table stand;
Of holy harpings of deep poesy ;
He calleth upon Ireland to rejoice in the fashion of a pot of portter,
A very glorious day this is indeed !
This is indeed a very glorious day!
On Irish ground his royal foot to lay. - Rejoice then, O my country, in a tide
Of buoyant, foaming, overflowing glee;
Inviteth the mountains to ane saraband.
* Professor of Astronomy, in T. C. D.
them ane ca
Howth is already at the water-side,
Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste;
Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste;
And Tipperary, * Knocksheogowna's hill,
Cork, the Galtees, studded with many a still,
From Wexford, bloody Vinegart the sour!
St Patrick made the snakes from Ireland scour,-
Move to your Sovereign merrily along ; rivers, in the style of Mas- Ye whom the mighty minstrel of old Mole §
Has all embalmed'in his enchanting song;
A very neat Address from either Bull,||
Shall flow around in currents deep and full,
5. Anent lakes. Killarney sulkily remains behind,
Thinking the King should come to wait on her;
That not one step to visit him she'll stir.
Froin mighty Neagh, ** the stone-begetting lake,
Or Googaun-Barra,tt when the Lee doth take
A word of advice to the
* Which being interpreted, signifies, the hill of the fairy calf ; there is many a sto about it.
+ Vinegar Hill, where a decisive battle was fought in 1798, with the rebels, w were totally defeated.
Croagh-Patrick, in Mayo.
(Mole hight that mountain gray
Collin Clout's come home again.
|| In Dublin Bay are two sand banks, called the North and South Bulls. Not from them is a village called Ring's-End, which gives occasion to the facete to say, d you enter Dublin between two bulls and a blunder. Something Homeric
σερί δε ρόος Ωκεανίο
'Αφρώ μορμύρων ρέεν.-Κ. Σ. ** Est aliud stagnum quod facit ligna dunrescere in lapides ; homines autem find ligna, et postquam formaverunt in eo usque ad caput anni, et in capite anni lapis in nitur, et vocatur Loch-Each, ac (Lough Neagh.) See Mirab. Hib.
++ i. e. The hermitage of St Finbar, who lived there as a recluse. He was Bishop of Cork. It is a most beautiful and romantic lake, containing a pretty isla It is a great place of pilgrimage.
Its lovely course, join in the general hum-
Lealty of the
And travell’d up, your Sovereign to address.
From Geashil barony, with might and main, In turfy thunders, shouting as they roam, "Our Sovereign has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has
Oh! 'tis the Giant's Causeway moving on,
Or you may press our luckless cities down:
Ane caution to the Giant's Causeway not to tread upon th lea weavers of Belfast.
Shewing how Cape Clear becometh ane Marcus Tullius.
z "Last slopes in, sailing from the extremest south, Gallant Cape Clear, a most tempestuous isle ;
that when she opes her mouth,
* Ulster, and Connaught, Leinster, Munster, Meath,
Have some compassion on your own liege Lord !
Were he to death by Dublin poets bored.
And all the aldermen have hired a bard,
And the newspapers have their pens prepared.
A WELCOME TO
HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE THE FOURTH,
ON HIS ARRIVAL IN IRELAND,
MY DEAR SIR, -As I lifted up my voice, and wept over the great national calamity which overspread my native land last year, (I need not say the death of Sir Daniel,) I think it right to rejoice now in the general joy of Ireland at the arrival of the King. I choose the same metre as that which I used in the Luctus, it being, as Beattie well observes of the Spenserian stanza, equally adapted to the grave and the gay. Of course, as before, I recommend it to be sung by my old friend Terry Magrath. The Director at the corner will be saying every where that it was he who wrote this song, or at least that he connived at it, but don't believe him, it being all excogitated by
My dear sir,
R. D. R.
(Tune-Groves of Blarney.]
onal riot in a superior stlye. Stanza IV. 3. National music. Stanza V. 4. Nation:
You're welcome over, my royal rover,
Coming in clover to Irish ground,
Lowland or Highland, up or down!
Our towns and cities all so bright,
Our greasy larders will glad your sight.
Being a root to feed a king ;
Which, were you dumb, would make you sing ;
Which, when you hear, 'twill make you jump;
"Twould melt the heart of a cabbage stump.
As fine as Doric or Attic Greek,
Without a word left in his cheek.
The darling creatures, in your *suite,
That in ould Ireland they'll take root.
And smiling fancies, and all that,
Were you to part them away from Pat.
And give you welcome to the town;
All written out in comely paw,
With million voices, roart Huzza !
To be pronounced Hibernically-shoot. + Hib. Huzzaw.