MISCELLANEOUS ADDENDA.

THE DIRGE OF DARGO.*

TRANSLATED BY JOHN ANSTER, LL.D.

CHORUS.

Like the oak of the vale was thy strength and thy height,
Thy foot like the erne† of the mountain in flight;
Thy arm was the tempest of Loda's fierce breath;
Thy blade, like the blue mist of Lego, was death!

Alas! how soon the thin cold cloud

The hero's bloody limbs must shroud!
And who shall tell his sire the tale?
And who shall soothe his widow's wail?
-I see thy father, full of days—
For thy return behold him gaze.
The hand that rests upon the spear
Trembles in feebleness and fear;
He shudders, and his grey bald brow
Is shaking like the aspen-bough;
He gazes, till his dim eyes fail
With gazing on the fancied sail ;-

* "The original is printed in Smith's Gaelic Poems."

Anxious he looks-what sudden streak
Flits like a sunbeam o'er his cheek!
"Joy, joy, my child, it is the bark
That bounds on yonder billow dark!"—
His child looks forth with straining eye,
And sees the light cloud sailing by.

-His grey head shakes-how sad, how weak
That sigh!-how sorrowful that cheek!

His bride from her slumbers will waken and weep;
But when shall the hero arouse him from sleep?
The yell of the stag-hound-the clash of the spear,
May ring o'er his tomb-but the dead will not hear.
Once he wielded the sword-once he cheered to the
hound-

But his pleasures are past, and his slumbers are sound.
-Await not his coming, ye sons of the chace-
Day dawns!—but it nerves not the dead for the race ;
-Await not his coming, ye sons of the spear—
The war-song ye sing-but the dead will not hear!

Oh, blessing be with him who sleeps in the grave,
The leader of Lochlin! the young and the brave !—
On earth didst thou scatter the strength of our foes,
-Then blessing be thine in thy cloud of repose!

CHORUS.

Like the oak of the vale was thy strength and thy height;
Thy foot like the erne of the mountain in flight;
Thy arm was the tempest of Loda's fierce breath;
Thy blade, like the blue mist of Lego, was death!

THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS.*

TRANSLATED BY J. C. MANGAN.

Oh, Woman of Three Cows, agragh! don't let your tongue thus rattle!

Oh, don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may have cattle.

I have seen and here's my hand to you, I only say what's true

A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as

you.

Good luck to you, don't scorn the poor, and don't be their despiser,

For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser,

And death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows;

Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman of Three Cows.

"This specimen, which is of a homely cast, was intended as a rebuke to the saucy pride of a woman in humble life, who assumed airs of consequence, from being the possessor of three cows. Its author's name is unknown; but its age may be determined, from its language, as belonging to the early part of the seventeenth century; and that it was formerly very popular in Munster, may be concluded from the fact that the phrase, Easy, O Woman of Three Cows,' has become a saying, in that province, to lower the pretensions of proud or boastful persons."- Translator.

See where Momonia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants

'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants.

If they were forced to bow to fate, as every mortal bows, Can you be proud, can you be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows!

The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to mourning,

Movrone! for they were banished with no hope of their returning ;

Who knows to what abodes of want those youths were driven to house!

Yet you can give yourself these airs, O Woman of Three Cows.

O, think of Donnel of the Ships, the chief whom nothing daunted

See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted!

He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder cannot

rouse

Then ask yourself should you be proud, good Woman of Three Cows.

O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in story

Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest glory;

Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and cypress boughs,

And so, for all your pride, will you, O Woman of Three Cows.

The O'Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest,

Rest in forgotten sepulchres, with Erin's best and oldest; Yet who so great as they of yore in battle or carouse ? Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows.

Your neighbour's poor, and you, it seems, are big with vain ideas,

*

Because, inagh, you've got three cows, one more, I see, than she has ;

That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows

But if you're strong be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows.

THE SUMMING UP.

Now there you go, you still, of course, keep up your scornful bearing,

And I'm too weak to hinder you-but by the cloak I'm wearing,

If I had but four cows myself, even though you were my

spouse,

I'd thrash you well, to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows.

*Forsooth."