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Arrah, Kathleen, my darlint, you've teased me enough; Sure I've thrashed, for your sake, Dinny Grimes and Jim Duff;
And I've made myself, drinking your health, quite a baste, So I think, after that, I may talk to the priest."
Then Rory, the rogue, stole his arm round her neck, So soft and so white, without freckle or speck; And he looked in her eyes, that were beaming with light,.. And he kissed her sweet lips-don't you think he was right? "Now, Rory, leave off, sir—you'll hug me no more— That's eight times to-day you've kissed me before." "Then here goes another," says he, 66 to make sure, For there's luck in odd numbers,” says Rory O'More.
THE ANGEL'S WHISPER.
A BABY was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping;
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling;
And she cried, "Dermot, darling, oh come back to me!'
Her beads while she numbered,
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:
"O blest be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."
"And while they are keeping
Oh, pray to them softly, my baby, with me!
For I know that the angels are whispering to thee !"
The dawn of the morning
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;
Her child with a blessing,
Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee.”
Thomas Babington Macaulay.
THE BATTLE OF IVRY.
OW glory to the Lord of Hosts,
Now let there be the merry sound
Of music and the dance,
Through thy corn-fields green, and sunny vines,
And thou, Rochelle, our own Rochelle,
Of all thy mourning daughters.
For cold, and stiff, and still are they
Hath turned the chance of war;
And King Henry of Navarre!
Oh! how our hearts were beating,
When, at the dawn of day, We e saw the army of the League Drawn out in long array; With all its priest-led citizens, And all its rebel peers, And Appenzel's stout infantry, And Egmont's Flemish spears! There rode the brood of false Lorraine, The curses of our land!
And dark Mayenne was in the midst,
And, as we looked on them, we thought
All dabbled with his blood;
The king is come to marshal us,
He looked upon his people,
And his glance was stern and high.
As rolled from wing to wing, Down all our line, in deafening shout, "God save our lord, the king!" "And if my standard-bearer fall,
As fall full well he may— For never saw I promise yet
Of such a bloody fray—
Press where ye see my white plume shine, Amidst the ranks of war,
And be your oriflamme, to-day,
Hurrah! the foes are moving!
Of fife, and steed, and trump, and drum,
The fiery Duke is pricking fast
Of Guelders and Almayne.
Behind the snow-white crest;
And in they burst, and on they rushed,
While, like a guiding star, Amidst the thickest carnage blazed
The helmet of Navarre!
Now, God be praised, the day is ours!
The Flemish Count is slain.
Their ranks are breaking like thin clouds Before a Biscay gale;
The field is heaped with bleeding steeds, And flags, and cloven mail;
And then we thought on vengeance,
And all along our van, "Remember Saint Bartholomew !" Was passed from man to man: But out spake gentle Henry"No Frenchman is my foe; Down, down with every foreigner, But let your brethren go. Oh! was there ever such a knight,
In friendship or in war,
As our sovereign lord, King Henry,
Ho! maidens of Vienne!
Ho! matrons of Lucerne !
Weep, weep, and rend your hair for those
Who never shall return.
Ho! Philip, send, for charity,