ISGQ] The Joys of Rounds fone. 225 



Away to Dungoodle's rock, so wild, 



Who in danger oft would be ! 

 And if we fail, and if we drown, 

 It shall be known in Roundstone town, 

 That Skiard must be our pillar-stone 



Far seen across the sea. 



And where the sun throws shadows long 



Adown the evening wave, 

 Yon rocks are our inheritance, 



They '11 watch and guard our grave. 



Hurrah for our watery war-path ! 



Hurrah for our fearless crew ! 

 Hurrah for the deadly rifle 



From which swift death oft flew ! 



Hurrah for Mongan,* following sure, 



Like a sleuth-hound on his prey ! 

 This is his hour of triumph : 



He has tasted blood to-day. 



To-day the Atlantic breakers 



Rolled red round Eagle Rock, 

 While our wild shouts of victory 



Out-rang the waves' loud shock. 



For slain is the stoutest swimmer 



That swam Kilkieran's Bay ! 

 Slain is Rone-More, the big Rone-More, 

 Whom we so often tracked before ; 



But, he is slain to-day ! 



That Great Grey Bull, so cunning, 



With a head like a big old Bear, 

 Who amid the thundering breakers 



Too long had held his lair. 



And yet he fell at last, and so 



Shall fall another Rone, 

 And we '11 bear the spoils of Ocean 



Again into Roundstone. 



His head-boatman, Thomas Mongan, of Roundstone. 

 Q 



