"You should not ask vainly, with streaming eyes, Which of all deaths was the chiefest surprise,
"The very strangest and suddenest thing Of all the surprises that dying must bring."
Ah, foolish world! Oh, most kind dead! Though he told me, who will believe it was said?
Who will believe that he heard her say, With the sweet, soft voice, in the dear old way:
"The utmost wonder is this,--I hear And see you, and love you, and kiss you, dear;
"And am your angel, who was your bride, And know that, though dead, I have never died."
A TALE OF '98, AS RELATED BY AN IRISH PEASANT
Jist after the war, in the year '98, As soon as the Boys wor all scattered and bate, 'Twas the custom, whenever a peasant was got, To hang him by trial--barrin' such as was shot. An' the bravest an' hardiest Boy iv them all Was Shamus O'Brien, from the town iv Glingall.
An' it's he was the Boy that was hard to be caught, An' it's often he run, an' it's often he fought; An' it's many the one can remember right well The quare things he did: an' it's oft I heerd tell How he frightened the magistrates in Chirbally, An' 'scaped through the sojers in Aherlow valley; How he leathered the yeoman, himself agin four, An' stretched the two strongest on ould Golteemore. But the fox must sleep sometimes, the wild deer must rest, An' treachery prey on the blood iv the best; Afther many a brave action of power and pride, An' many a hard night on the mountain's bleak side, An' a thousand great dangers and toils overpast, In the darkness of night he was taken at last.
Now, Shamus, look back on the beautiful moon, For the door of the prison must close on you soon. Farewell to the forest, farewell to the hill, An' farewell to the friends that will think of you still. Farewell to the pathern, the hurlin' an' wake, And farewell to the girl that would die for your sake! An' twelve sojers brought him to Maryborough jail, An' the turnkey resaved him, refusin' all bail.
Well, as soon as a few weeks were over and gone, The terrible day iv the thrial kem on, There was sich a crowd there was scarce room to stand, An' sojers on guard, an' Dragoons sword-in-hand; An' the courthouse so full that the people were bothered, An' attorneys an' criers on the point iv bein' smothered; An' counsellors almost gev over for dead, An' the jury sittin' up in their box overhead; An' the judge settled out so detarmined an' big With his gown on his back, and an illegant wig; An' silence was called, an' the minute 'twas said The court was as still as the heart of the dead, An' they heard but the openin' of one prison lock, An' Shamus O'Brien kem into the dock. For one minute he turned his eye round on the throng, An' he looked at the bars so firm and so strong, An' he saw that he had not a hope nor a friend, A chance to escape, nor a word to defend; An' he folded his arms as he stood there alone, As calm and as cold as a statue of stone; And they read a big writin', a yard long at laste, An' Jim didn't understand it nor mind it a taste, An' the judge took a big pinch iv snuff, and he says, "Are you guilty or not, Jim O'Brien, av you plase?" An' all held their breath in the silence of dhread, An' Shamus O'Brien made answer and said: "My lord, if you ask me, if in my lifetime I thought any treason, or did any crime That should call to my cheek, as I stand alone here, The hot blush of shame, or the coldness of fear, Though I stood by the grave to receive my death-blow Before God and the world I would answer you, No! But if you would ask me, as I think it like, If in the Rebellion I carried a pike, An' fought for ould Ireland from the first to the close, An' shed the heart's blood of her bitterest foes, I answer you, Yes; and I tell you again, Though I stand here to perish, it's my glory that then In her cause I was willin' my veins should run dhry, An' that now for her sake I am ready to die."