62 



They near'd the Black Kiver, they heard its dull roar — 

 They mark'd the thick mist-wreaths that brood on its 



shore ; 

 When his laugh, close behind them, rang cheery and 



clear — 

 " Here's food for the fishes," quoth Valentine Maher. 



While they stood on the bank, and the boldest held 



breath 

 As he gazed on the torrent, three fathoms beneath ; 

 When the best of E/Oscommon drew rein in despair, 

 With a rush to the front came Valentine Maher. 



He called upon Kathleen — one snort and one spring, 

 She clove thro' the air like a swallow on wing. 

 He turn'd in his saddle — " now, follow who dare ! 

 I ride for my country," quoth Valentine Maher. 



The hounds left the valley — they strain'd up the hill — 

 But one rider remains, and he sticks to them still. 

 They check'd on the brow of Kilconnel, and there. 

 To turn them and cast them, was Valentine Maher. 



Where the coverts of pine over A.thenry frown. 

 Within one mile of home, the grey fox was pulled down ; 

 And rock, hill, and valley sent back the death cheer. 

 As they rang to the halloo of Valentine Maher. 



So we'll drink with nine cheers to the old county's breed — 

 To the blood in the veins of both rider and steed ; 

 And here's, " The next time that Roscommon shall dare 

 Go straight across Gal way with Valentine Maher !" 



Atjthoji of "Gut Livingstone." 



