O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in story,—
Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest glory!
Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and cypress boughs,
And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman of Three Cows!
The O'Carrolls also, famed when fame was only for the boldest,
Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's best and oldest;
Yet who so great as they of yore, in battle or carouse?
Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows!
Your neighbor's poor, and you it seems are big with vain ideas,
Because, forsooth, you've got three cows,—one more, I see, than she has;
That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows,
But if you're strong be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows!
Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up your scornful bearing,
And I'm too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak I'm wearing,
If I had but four cows myself, even though you were my spouse,
I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows!
James Clarence Mangan.
A FAREWELL.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and gray;
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever;
Do noble things, not dream them, all day long:
And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand sweet song.
Charles Kingsley.