thoughtful, the thoughtful made studious, the studious made wise, and the wise crowned with power. In the year 1842, his plans took practical shape, when, in conjunction with Charles Gavan Duffy and John Dillon, he founded the _Nation_ newspaper. This was the initiative step to his subsequent brilliant career as a poet and patriot. Popular poetry was one of the agents depended on by the new editors to infuse a larger spirit of nationality among the people. There being none at hand to suit the exact purpose, they set about making it for themselves. In this way originated that beautiful collection of rebel verse now known wherever the English language is spoken as the _Spirit of the Nation_. Until necessity compelled him to write, Davis never knew that he possessed the poetic faculty in a very high degree. The following exquisitely Celtic ballad was his first contribution to the poet's corner of the _Nation_, a lament for the ill-fated Irish chieftain, Owen Roe O'Neill: "Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill!" 'Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.' "May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow! May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe. Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words." 'From Derry against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords; But the weapon of the Saxon met him on his way, And he died at Clough-Oughter, upon St. Leonard's day.' "Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! wail, wail ye for the Dead; Quench the hearth, and hold the breath--with ashes strew the head. How tenderly we loved him! how deeply we deplore! Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more. "Sagest in the council was he,--kindest in the hall, Sure we never won a battle--'twas Owen won them all. Had he lived--had he lived--our dear country had been free; But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll ever be. "O'Farrell and Clanrickard, Preston and Red Hugh, Audley and McMahon, ye are valiant wise and true; But--what, what are ye all to our darling who is gone? The Rudder of our Ship was he, our Castle's corner-stone! "Wail, wail him through the Island! weep, weep for our pride! Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died! Weep the victor of Benburb--weep him, young men and old; Weep for him ye women--your Beautiful lies cold! "We thought you would not die--we were sure you would not go, And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow-- Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky-- O! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die? "Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill! bright was your eye. O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die? Your troubles are all over, you're at rest with God on high; But we're slaves and we're orphans, Owen!--why did you die?"