'Twas in the busy period, whin the Fenians wor at war, I mopes'd around the Dargle, on a newly painted car; Whin, creepin' from the ditches, like a bogey in the moon, A man proposed the journey of a dhrive to Knockmaroon. He might as well have axed me on the minute, for a run, To Roosha or to Paykin, or the divil or the sun! He might as well have axed me, for a Rocky Mountain jaunt; So I bounced him with an answer of the sudden words, "I can't!" The boys to-night are risin' an' I darn't go impugn Me car into the danger, of a dhrive to Knockmaroon!" [Illustration] Thin spakin' wid the dacency, of a remorseful tone, "In fact," siz I, "me car's engaged, in Bray, by Mick Malone; Besides the mare is nervous, an' me wife expects me soon, For the army's out, I hear, upon the road to Knockmaroon!" He didn't stop to parley, but he jumped upon me car, An' showed a livin' pixture, of the brakin' of the war, By pointin' a revolver at me nose! "I'm John McKune, Dhrive on," siz he, "I'll guard you on the road to Knockmaroon!" I never knew that powdher smelt so flamin' strong before, It smelt as if a whole review, was stinkin' from the bore! The steel of that revolver shone, like bayonets in the moon, Of all the British army on the road to Knockmaroon! An' hauntin' round its barrel, the ghosts of every sin, I done in all me life before, wor there, in thick an' thin! So like a fiddler in a fight I quickly changed me tune, "Bedad!" siz I, "It's I'm yer man, we're off to Knockmaroon." "You see, I've got a takin' way," says he, an' with a grin, He put his barker back into his breeches fob, agin, "Now whail around, an' thro' the bog,--the featherbed,"--says he, "I'll guard you, by the barracks of the Polis, at Glencree, An' dhrive, as if yer car was late, to bring the Royal Mail! Whip up! as if the divil sat upon your horse's tail!" I gev the mare a coaxer, of the knots upon me whip, An' rowlin thro' the darkness, where the road begins to dip, I bowled upon me journey, with the load of John McKune, An' fits of wondher, why he dhrove that night to Knockmaroon; An' just as we were wheelin' out, beyond the feather bed, The boys put up their lamplight, an' alightin' down, he said Some hurried words an' whisperin's, then with a cheer for him, Presentin' arms, "Dhrive on," they cried, "God speed you Wicklow Jim!"