LIFE IN IRELAND 263 



of chawing the leather on the back of an old prayer- 

 book, that she bound me to a shoemaker^ little thinking 

 that it was the human sole I was meant to cobble, and 

 not the sole of a shoe. 



But the verses, said Brian, let me read them ; I am 

 a bit of a poet myself, and can judge. Och, by my 

 soul, and your honour is a prime fellow at a song : I 

 remember the ditty you wrote at the Shelseen House, 

 near to T7'ashmagaloi'e ; every verse was twelve lines 

 long, and every one ended with 



Pour out the whiskey 

 And drink to the girls, 

 And all for old Ireland's glory. 



I forget that effusion of my youth, Mooney \ and I also 

 recommend you to forget it — what suited my then age 

 and taste does not suit it now ; and those things which 

 flourish under a northern Galway breeze, wither and 

 fade in a more mild atmosphere. 



However barbarous, Moojiey, are our Limerick Bards, 

 some of them can sing most sweetly when they please ; 

 and as I see the name of ^Machenry to this, it may be 

 worth notice : so as you prepare me a devill'd turkey s 

 leg, and a glass of cold punch, I '11 read 



THE REBEL'S FATE; 



OR, 



MIS TA KEN PA TRIO TISM. 



THE DEATH OF CARROLL. 



There came to my ship a poor wanderer from Erin, 

 Sunk was his cheek, and his face wan and pale ; 



No fire of his youth in his dark eye appearing, 

 And wet was his hair as it wav'd in the gale. 



