Of priests we can offer a charming variety, Far renowned for larnin' and piety, Still I'd advance you, without impropriety, Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all. Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn, _Slainte_, and _slainte_, and _slainte_ agin. Powerfullest preacher, And tindherest teacher, And kindliest creature in Old Donegal. Talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity, Far renowned for Greek and Latinity, Gad! and the divils and all at Divinity, Father O'Flynn would make hares of them all. Come, I venture to give you my word, Never the likes of his logic was heard, Down from mythology, Into thayology, Troth and conchology, if he'd the call. Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way with you, All the old sinners are wishful to pray with you, All the young children are wild for to play with you, You've such a way with you, Father _avick_! Still for all you're so gentle a soul, Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control; Checking the crazy ones, Coaxing unaisy ones, Lifting the lazy ones on with the stick. And though quite avoiding all foolish frivolity, Still at all seasons of innocent jollity, Where is the play-boy can claim an equality At comicality, Father, with you? Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest, Till this remark set him off with the rest: 'Is it leave gaiety All to the laity? Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too?' _Alfred Perceval Graves_ SONG The silent bird is hid in the boughs, The scythe is hid in the corn, The lazy oxen wink and drowse, The grateful sheep are shorn. Redder and redder burns the rose, The lily was ne'er so pale, Stiller and stiller the river flows Along the path to the vale. A little door is hid in the boughs, A face is hiding within; When birds are silent and oxen drowse, Why should a maiden spin? Slower and slower turns the wheel, The face turns red and pale, Brighter and brighter the looks that steal, Along the path to the vale. _Rosa Gilbert_ REQUIESCAT Tread lightly, she is near Under the snow, Speak gently, she can hear The daisies grow. All her bright golden hair, Tarnished with rust, She that was young and fair Fallen to dust. Lily-like, white as snow, She hardly knew She was a woman, so Sweetly she grew. Coffin-board, heavy stone Lie on her breast, I vex my heart alone, She is at rest. Peace, Peace, she cannot hear Lyre or sonnet, All my life's buried here, Heap earth upon it.