How hard is my fortune, And vain my repining! The strong rope of fate For this young neck is twining. My strength is departed; My cheek sunk and sallow; While I languish in chains, In the gaol of _Cluanmeala_. No boy in the village Was ever yet milder, I'd play with a child, And my sport would be wilder. I'd dance without tiring From morning till even, And the goal-ball I'd strike To the lightning of Heaven. At my bed-foot decaying, My hurlbat is lying, Through the boys of the village My goal-ball is flying; My horse 'mong the neighbours Neglected may fallow,-- While I pine in my chains, In the gaol of _Cluanmeala_. Next Sunday the patron At home will be keeping, And the young active hurlers The field will be sweeping. With the dance of fair maidens The evening they'll hallow, While this heart, once so gay, Shall be cold in _Cluanmeala_. _Jeremiah Joseph Callanan_ THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE _From the Irish_ O, many a day have I made good ale in the glen, That came not of stream or malt;--like the brewing of men. My bed was the ground; my roof, the greenwood above, And the wealth that I sought one far kind glance from my love. Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field, That I was not near from terror my angel to shield. She stretched forth her arms,--her mantle she flung to the wind, And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find. O would that a freezing sleet-wing'd tempest did sweep, And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep; I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or pinnace, to save,-- With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind or the wave. 'Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides, The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides;-- I think as at eve she wanders its mazes along, The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song. _Jeremiah Joseph Callanan_ DIRGE OF O'SULLIVAN BEAR _From the Irish_ The sun on Ivera No longer shines brightly, The voice of her music No longer is sprightly; No more to her maidens The light dance is dear, Since the death of our darling O'Sullivan Bear. Scully! thou false one, You basely betrayed him, In his strong hour of need, When thy right hand should aid him; He fed thee--he clad thee-- You had all could delight thee: You left him--you sold him-- May Heaven requite thee! Scully! may all kinds Of evil attend thee! On thy dark road of life May no kind one befriend thee! May fevers long burn thee, And agues long freeze thee! May the strong hand of God In His red anger seize thee!