Decked with flags and streamers gay,
In honor of her marriage day,
Her snow-white signals fluttering, blending, Round her like a veil descending,
The bride of the gray old Sea.
Then the Master,
With a gesture of command,
Waved his hand:
And at the word,
Loud and sudden there was heard,
All around them and below,
The sound of hammers, blow on blow,
Knocking away the shores and spurs.
And see! she stirs!
She starts, she moves,-she seems to feel
The thrill of life along her keel,
And, spurning with her foot the ground,
With one exulting, joyous bound,
She leaps into the ocean's arms,
And lo! from the assembled crowd
There rose a shout, prolonged and loud,
That to the ocean seemed to say,
"Take her, O, bridegroom, old and gray;
Take her to thy protecting arms,
With all her youth and all her charms."
How beautiful she is! how fair
She lies within those arms, that press
Her form with many a soft caress
Of tenderness and watchful care!
Sail forth into the sea, O, ship!
Through wind and wave, right onward steer, The moistened eye, the trembling lip,
Are not the signs of doubt or fear.
Sail forth into the sea of life,
Oh gentle, loving, trusting wife,
And safe from all adversity,
Upon the bosom of that sea,
Thy comings and thy goings be!
For gentleness, and love, and trust,
Prevail o'er angry wave and gust;
And in the wreck of noble lives
Something immortal still survives!
Thou, too, sail on, O ship of State!
Sail on, O Union, strong and great!
Humanity, with all its fears,
With all its hopes of future years,
Is hanging breathless on thy fate!
We know what Master laid thy keel,
What workman wrought thy ribs of steel,
Who made each mast, and sail and rope,
What anvils rang, what hammers beat,
In what forge, and what a heat,
Were shaped the anchors of thy hope.
Fear not each sudden sound and shock;
'Tis of the' wave, and not the rock;
'Tis but the flapping of the sail,
And not a rent made by the gale;
In spite of rock and tempest roar,
In spite of false lights on the shore,
Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea.
Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee;
Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears,
Our faith triumphant o'er our fears,
Are all with thee - are all with thee.
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW.
Jist afther the war, in the year '98,
As soon as the boys wor all scattered and bate,
'Twas the custom, whenever a pisant was got,
To hang him by thrial-barrin' sich as was shot.
There was thrial by jury goin' on by daylight,
And the martial-law hangin' the lavins by night.
It's them was hard times for an honest gossoon:
If he missed in the judges-he'd meet a dragoon;
An' whether the sodgers or judges gev sentence,
The divil a much time they allowed for repentance.
An' it 's many 's the fine boy was then on his keepin'
Wid small share iv restin' or atin' or sleepin',
An' because they loved Erin, an' scorned to sell it,
A prey for the bloodhound, a mark for the bullet—
Unsheltered by night, and unrested by day,
With the heath for their barrack, revenge for their pay;
An' the bravest and hardiest boy iv them all
Was SHAMUS O'BRIEN, from the town iv Glingall.
His limbs were well set, an' his body was light,
An' the keen-fanged hound had not teeth half so white; But his face was as pale as the face of the dead,
And his cheek never warmed with the blush of the red.
An' for all that he wasn't an ugly young bye,
For the divil himself couldn't blaze with his eye,
So droll an so wicked, so dark and so bright,
Like a fire-flash that crosses the depth of the night!
An' he was the best mower that ever has been,
An' the illigantest hurler that ever was seen.
An' in fencin' he gave Patrick Mooney a cut,
An in jumpin' he bate Tim Mulloney a fut;
An' for lightness of fut there wasn't his peer,
For, be gorra, he could almost outrun the red deer!
An' his dancin' was sich that the men used to stare,
An' the women turn crazy, he done it so quare;
An' by gorra, the whole world gev in to him there.
An' it's he was the boy that was hard to be caught,
An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought,
An' it's many the one can remember right well
The quare things he done: an' it's often I heerd tell
How he frightened the magistrates in Caharbally,
An' 'scaped through the sodgers in Aherloe valley;
How he lathered the yoemen, himself agin four,
An' stretched the two strongest on old Galtimore.
But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest,
An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best;
Afther many a brave action of power and pride,
An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side,
An a thousand great dangers and toils overpast,
In the darkness of night he was taken at last.
Now, SHAMUS, look back on the beautiful moon,
For the door of the prison must close on you soon,
An' take your last look at her dim lovely light,
That falls on the mountain and valley this night;
One look at the village, one look at the flood,
An' one at the sheltering far-distant wood;
Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill,
An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still;
Farewell to the potheen, the hurlin' and wake
An' farewell to the girl that would die for your sake.
An' twelve sodgers brought him to Maryborough jail,
An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin all bail.
Well, as soon as a few weeks was over and gone,
The terrible day iv the thrial kim on,
There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand,
An' sodgers on guard, an' dhragoons sword-in-hand;
An' the court-house so full that the people were bothered,
An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered;
An' counselors almost gev over for dead,
An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead;
An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big
With his gown on his back, an' an illigant new wig;
An' "Silence" was called, an' the minute it was said
The court was as still as the heart of the dead,
An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock,
An' SHAMUS O'BRIEN kem into the dock.
For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, An' he looked at the bars, so firm an' so strong,
An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend,
A chance to escape, nor a word to defend;
An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone,
As calm and as cold as a statue of stone;
An' they read a big writin', a yard long at laste,
An' JIM didn't understand it nor mind it a taste,
An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says,
"Are you guilty or not, JIM O'BRIEN, av you plase?"
An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread,
An' SHAMUS O'BRIEN made answer and said:
My lord, if you ask me, if in my life-time
I thought any treason, or did any crime
That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, Though I stood by my grave to receive my death blow Before GOD and the world I would answer you, no!
But if you would ask me, as I think it like,
If in the rebellion I carried a pike,
An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close,
An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes,
I answer you, yes; and I tell you again,
Though I stand here to perish, It's my glory that then
In her cause I was willing my veins should run dhry,
An' that now for her sake I am ready to die."
Then the silence was great and the jury smiled bright,
An' the judge wasn't sorry the job was made light;
By my sowl, it's himself, was the crabbed ould chap!
In a twinklin' he pulled on his ugly black cap.
Then SHAMUS' mother in the crowd standin' by,
Called out to the judge with a pitiful cry:
"O, judge! darlin', don't, O, don't say the word!
The crather is young, have mercy, my lord;
He was foolish, he didn't know what he was doin';
You don't know him, my lord—O, don't give him to ruin! He's the kindliest crathur, the tendherest-hearted;
Don't part us forever, we that's so long parted.
Judge, mavourneen, forgive him, forgive him, my lord, An' God will forgive you—O, don't say the word!"
That was the first minute that O'BRIEN was shaken, When he saw that he was not quite forgot or forsaken;
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