"An'," says he, "mother darlin', don't break your poor heart, For, sooner or later, the dearest must part;

An' God knows it's betther than wandering in fear

On the bleak, trackless mountain, among the wild deer,
To lie in the grave, where the head, heart, and breast,
From thought, labor, and sorrow, forever shall rest.
Then, mother, my darlin', don't cry any more,

Don't make me seem broken, in this, my last hour;
For I wish, when my head's lyin' undher the raven,
No thrue man can say that I died like a craven!”
Then toward the judge Shamus bent down his head,
An' that minute the solemn death-sentince was said.

The mornin' was bright, an' the mists rose on high,
An' the lark whistled merrily in the clear sky;
But why are the men standin' idle so late?
An' why do the crowds gather fast in the strate?
What come they to talk of? what come they to see?
An' why does the long rope hang from the cross-tree?
Oh, Shamus O'Brien! pray fervent and fast,
May the saints take your soul, for this day is your last;
Pray fast an' pray sthrong, for the moment is nigh,
When, sthrong, proud, an' great as you are, you must die.
An' fasther an' fasther the crowd gathered there,

Boys, horses, and gingerbread, jist like a fair;
An' whiskey was sellin', and cussamuck too,
An' ould men and young women enjoying the view.

An' ould Tim Mulvany, he med the remark,

There wasn't sich a sight since the time of Noah's ark;
An', be gorry, 'twas thrue for him, for divil sich a scruge,
Sich divarshin and crowds, was known since the deluge;
For thousands were gathered there, if there was one,
Waitin' till such time as the hangin' 'd come on.

At last they threw open the big prison-gate,
An' out came the sheriffs and sodgers in state,

་

An' a cart in the middle, an' Shamus was in it,
Not paler, but prouder than ever, that minute.
An' as soon as the people saw Shamus O'Brien,
Wid prayin' and blessin', an' all the girls cryin',
A wild wailin' sound kem on by degrees,

Like the sound of the lonesome wind blowin' through trees.
On, on to the gallows the sheriff's are gone,
An' the cart an' the sodgers go steadily on;

An' at every side swellin' around of the cart,
A wild, sorrowful sound, that 'd open your heart.
Now under the gallows the cart takes its stand,

An' the hangman gets up, with the rope in his hand;

An' the priest, havin' blessed him, goes down on the ground,
An' Shamus O'Brien throws one last look around.

Then the hangman dhrew near, an' the people grew still,
Young faces turned sickly, an' warm hearts turned chill;
An' the rope bein' ready, his neck was made bare,
For the gripe iv the life-strangling cord to prepare ;
An' the good priest has left him, havin' said his last prayer.
But the good priest done more, for his hands he unbound,
An' with one darin' spring Jim has leaped on the ground;
Bang! bang! goes the carbines, and clash goes the sabers;
He's not down! he's alive still! now stand to him, neighbors!
Through the smoke and the horses, he's into the crowd,
By the heavens, he's free! - than thunder more loud,
By one shout from the people the heavens were shaken
One shout that the dead of the world might awaken.
The sodgers ran this way,
the sheriffs ran that,
An' Father Malone lost his new Sunday hat;
To-night he'll be sleepin' in Aherloe Glin,

An' the divil's in the dice if you catch him ag’in.
Your swords they may glitter, your carbines go bang,
But if you want hangin', it's yourself you must hang.

REPLY TO CORRY.

GRATTAN.

THE right honorable gentleman says I fled from the country after exciting a rebellion; and that I have returned to raise another. No such thing. The charge is false! The civil war had not commenced when I left the kingdom; and I could not have returned without taking part. On the one side, there was the camp of the rebel; on the other side, the camp of the minister, - a greater traitor than the rebel.

The stronghold of the Constitution was nowhere to be found. I agree that the rebel who rises against the government should have suffered; but I missed, on the scaffold, the right honorable gentleman. Two desperate parties were in arms against the Constitution. The right honorable gentleman belonged to one of these parties, and deserved death. I could not join the rebel; I could not join the government; I could not join torture; I could not join half-hanging; I could not join free quarter. I could take part with neither. I was therefore absent from a scene where I could not be active without self-reproach, nor indifferent with safety.

Many honorable gentlemen thought differently from me: I respect their opinions; but I keep my own; and I think now, as I thought then, that the treason of the minister against the liberties of the people was infinitely worse than the rebellion of the people against the minister.

I have returned, not, as the right honorable member has said, to raise another storm, I have returned to discharge an honorable debt of gratitude to my country, that conferred a great reward for my past services. I have returned to protect that Constitution of which I was the parent and the founder, from the assassination of such men as the right honorable gentleman and his unworthy associates. They

are corrupt; they are seditious; and they, at this very moment, are in a conspiracy against their country. I have returned to refute a libel, as false as it is malicious, given to the public under the appellation of a report of a committee of the lords. Here I stand, ready for impeachment or trial! I dare accusation! I defy the honorable gentleman! I defy the government! I defy their whole phalanx ! Let them come forth. I tell the ministers I will neither give them quarter, nor take it! I am here to lay the shattered remains of my constitution on the floor of this House, in defense of the liberties of my country!

THE DEATH-BED.

HOOD.

WE watched her breathing through the night, —

Her breathing soft and low,

As in her breast the wave of life

Kept heaving to and fro.

For when the morn came, dim and sad,
And chill with early showers,
Her quiet eyelids closed; she had
Another morn than ours.

-

THE BELEAGUERED CITY.

LONGFELLOW.

I HAVE read, in some old, marvelous tale,
Some legend strange and vague,
That a midnight host of specters pale
Beleaguered the walls of Prague.

Beside the Moldau's rusbing stream,
With the wan moon overhead,
There stood, as in an awful dream,
The army of the dead.

White as a sea-fog, landward bound,
The spectral camp was seen,
And, with a sorrowful, deep sound,
The river flowed between.

No other voice nor sound was there,
No drum, nor sentry's pace;
The mist-like banners clasped the air,
As clouds with clouds embrace.

But when the old cathedral bell

Proclaimed the morning prayer, The white pavilions rose and fell On the alarméd air.

Down the broad valley fast and far
The troubled army fled;

Up rose the glorious morning star
The ghastly host was dead.

I have read, in the marvelous heart of man,That strange and mystic scroll,

That an army of phantoms vast and wan Beleaguer the human soul.