mirth, without help.

'The low will be raised up, says the poet;
The thing that was high will be thrown down again;
The world will be changed from end to end:
When that time comes it will come heavily.

'If you yourself see this thing coming,
And the country without luck, without law, without authority,
Swept with the storm, without knowledge, without strength,
Remember my words, and don't let your heart break.

'This life is like a tree;
The top green, branches soft, the bark smooth and shining;
But there is a little worm shut up in it
Sucking at the sap all through the day.

'But from this old, cold, withered tree,
A new plant will grow up;
The old world will die without pity,
But the young world will grow up on its grave.'

Here is a fine vision of a battle-field:--

'The time I think of the cause of Ireland
My heart is torn within me.

'The time I think of the death of the people
Who protected Ireland bravely and faithfully.

'They are stretched on the side of the mountain
Very low, one with another.

'Hidden under grass, or under tall herbs,
Far from friends or help or friendship.

'Not a child or a wife near them;
Not a priest to be found there or a friar;

'But the mountain eagle and the white eagle
Moving overhead across the skies.

'Without a defence against the sun in the daytime;
Without a shelter against the skies at night.

'It's many a good soldier, joyful and pleasant,
That has had his laughing mouth closed there.

'There is many a young breast with a hole through it;
The little black hole that is death to a man.

'There is many a brave man stripped there,
His body naked, without vest or shirt.

'The young man that was proud and beautiful yesterday,
When the woman he loved left a kiss on his mouth.

'There is many a married woman, with the child at her breast,
Without her comrade, without a father for her child to-night.

'There's many a castle without a lord, and many a lord without a house;
And little forsaken cabins with no one in them.

'I saw a fox leaving its den
Asking for a body to feed its hunger.

'There's a fierce wolf at Carrig O'Neill;
There is blood on his tongue and blood on his mouth.

'I saw them, and I heard the cries
Of kites and of black crows.

'Ochone! Is n