THRENODIA. (From Miscellaneous Poems of JAMES R. LOWELL.) Gone, gone from us! And shall we see Those deep, dark eyes, so warm and light, The stars of those two gentle eyes Will shine no more on earth; Quenched are the hopes that had their birth, As we catched them slowly rise, Stars of a mother's fate; And she would read them o'er and o'er, Over their dear astrology, Which she had conned and conned before, And tears would slide from out her eye, The tongue that scarce had learned to claim I love to see the infant soul Fluttering with half-fledged words, That more than words expressed, O, thoughts were brooding in those eyes birds Far, far into the skies, Gladding the earth with song, And gushing harmonies, Had he but tarried with us long! O stern word-Nevermore. How peacefully they rest, Cross-folded there upon his little breast, These small, white hands that ne'er were still before, But ever sported with his mother's hair Or the plain cross that on her breast she wore! To feel the touch of that soft palm, That wove those pleasant bands! Alas! too deep, too deep Is this his slumber! Time scarce can number The years ere he will wake again. As the airy gossamere, Floating in the sunlight clear, He did but float a little way Adown the stream of time, With dreamy eyes watching the ripples play, Or listening to their fairy chime ; His slender sail Ne'er felt the gale; He did but float a little way, No grating on his vessel's keel; Mingled the waters with the land Full short his journey was; no dust The weary weight that old men must, He seemed a cherub who had lost his way With us was short, and 'twas most meet Nor need to pause and cleanse his feet O blest word-Evermore. LITTLE DORINN. A A FENIAN STORY. BY LOUISA MURRAY, Author of "Carmina," &c. CHAPTER I. THE FAIR HILLS OF ERIN OGH. radiant sun-burst which her poets and patriots hail as an emblem of the bright future yet in store for fair Erin Ogh. A land in some places dark and frowning, wild and barren; in others soft, genial, fertile and bright; raised into grandeur by its magnificent sea-cliffs, its pillars of basalt, and granite mountains; softened into beauty by its glittering rivers, lakes and waterfalls, and its fairy-haunted glens forever green; its ivied ruins of castle, church, and abbey, throwing over it the weird glamour of the past, its legendary and faërie lore filling it with the HISTORIAN, in an eloquent passage, has described the subtle spell of the Irish character with which the conquered Irish revenged their defeat, and in yielding triumphed, by throwing over the minds and hearts of their new masters its fatal fascination. The spell, he tells us, was first chanted over the infant's cradle by the foster-nurse in wild, passionate melodies; it was breathed in the ear of the growing boy by the minstrels who haunted the castle-halls; its law-magic of poetry and romance. It is a land, less attractions proved too strong for the manhood trained amidst such perilous enchantments, and the sons of the invaders became " more Irish than the Irish themselves." In perfect harmony with this subtle fascination of the Irish character, is the charm of the Irish land. It is truly a land "half sunshine, half-tears," of varying aspects and changing skies. One moment gloomily shrouded in clouds and vapours, the next robed in golden hued sun-shower, or purple mist, or sparkling and glowing under the like its children, full of strange anomalies, mysteries and contrasts; a land whose wild beauty and pathetic story irresistibly appeal to the imagination and touch the heart. In all this beautiful land there is no spot more lovely than that which lies between the Dargle, the Vartrey, and the Avoca Rivers, guarded and encircled by its groups of crystalline mountains. The eastern flanks of these mountains, fronting the Irish sea, are broken into deep glens and gorges, their steep rocky sides lined with purple heather, that these rich and beautiful hills and valleys should be famous in Irish story and song? No wonder that those whose senses first opened on these fair scenes, and drank in their enchantments with every breath they drew, should pine for them with passionate love and longing when far away, and echo the lament of the student of St. Omer, in his plaintive song, the Ban-Chnoic, Erin Ogh.* Beautiful and broad are the green fields of Erin, Uliacan dev O! where the shy wild grouse lay their eggs Uliacan dev O! And honey in the woods with the mists wreath deep, On the fair hills of Erin Ogh! CHAPTER II. ROEBAWN AND ITS MASTER. N that lovely valley through which the gardens, on sunny south wails, figs grow ripe winding Vartrey flows, there is, or and mellow, and mulberry trees are loaded with purple fruit as in their native clime. And flowers are not the only gems of nature to be found in this favoured region. Among its mountains of granite and quartz, of greenstone and porphyry,- fit haunts for faërie gnomes—garnets and beryls may be found, and Irish diamonds are abundant. Its sea-beach is strewn with pebbles of exquisite beauty, some with delicate opal tints, some bright cornelian red or emerald green --with blood-stones and agates, and many others whose lovely streaks and veinings might have been wrought by the mermen and mermaids In the purple twilights under the sea. Gold is still found in Crooghan Kinshela mountain, the “Lagenian Mine," with whose glittering splendour Moore adorned his song, and in the streams which have their rise there; and traces and indications of almost every metal are to be met with. No wonder was a few years ago, a farm of about fifty acres, known by the name of Roebawn, so called from an ancient fort, or keep, of the great clan O'Byrne, of which part of the foundation still remained. It lay on the side of a gently sloping hill, safely sheltered from stormy winds, yet freely shone on by the sun, and open to the sweet western breeze; a picturesque, yet homely, old-world spot, such as, in these days of improved and scientific farming, is scarcely any where to be found. It was divided into small fields, enclosed by thick thorn hedges, with here and there clumps of oak, ash and elm interspersed ; and lanes sunk between high banks, where all sorts of weeds and wild flowers grew, and where, in their season, hips and haws, sloes, blackberries, and hazel nuts, might be gathered in abundance, ran from one end of the farm to the other. "The Fair Hills of Virgin Ireland.” The dwelling-house, though old, built of mud, and thatched with straw, looked neat and comfortable, for the thatch was kept fresh and trim, the walls were whitewashed and covered with creepers, and the panes of glass in the windows were always clean and bright. It was divided from the road-a by-road, overhung with trees, and so narrow that it was with difficulty two vehicles could pass each other-by a strip of green field, and a white-thorn hedge and double ditch. At one end of the hedge a gate gave entrance to a lane, shaded with old ash trees, which led to the farm-yard, and near it was a stile from which a footpath wound through "the bawn," as it was called, to the house. Divided from the dwelling by the garden gate, was the dairy; a place of no small importance, for Roebawn was famous for its delicious butter. Close by ran a clear, sparkling stream, which never became dry in the hottest summer, and there every morning and evening, a bare-headed, bare-footed maiden scoured her wooden "milk-vessels,"-churns, cools, piggins and noggins-with bright sand from the stream's pebbly bed, till the wood was white as snow, and the iron hoops shone like silver, piling them on the bank as they were finished, to sweeten in the pure air among the butter-cups and daisies. At the other end of the house, a green door in a low stone wall, covered with clematis, and a monthly rose which bore blossoms nearly every month in the year, opened on the farm-yard round which the farm buildings were grouped, and where there was life and bustle all day long. There cocks, hens, and chickens, crowed and cackled from morning till night; there ducks and geese waded or swam in the little pond beside the big well, there pigeons cooed and swallows twittered, and the great black turkeycock strutted and gobbled among his wives and children, and spread his monstrous tail in the sun. There pigs grunted and fought over their feeding troughs; and there the ploughman brought his tired horses after the day's work was done, to be rubbed down, watered and fed. To this yard the cows came to be milked, and a pretty sight it was to see the stout, red-armed milkers, each carrying her three-legged stool, patting and stroking the gentle creatures, calling them all sorts of pet names, and having pushed and shoved them into their proper places, tied up their long tails, and spancelled their hind legs, sit down on their queer little tripods, and while the cows placidly chewed the cud of the grass or clover on which they had been feeding all day, deflty drew down into the white pails the rich fragrant milk, in rapid frothing streams, keeping time with some crooning old ditty to the rhythmic flow. For it is believed there that cows are soothed by the soft sweet sounds of a musical voice, and when once accustomed to be sung to at milking-time, will not give their milk freely without the wonted strain. Here, through all the autumn, and far on into the winter, the thresher's flail resounded-threshing machines being then scarcely know in the district-and saucy sparrows and chaffinches, with pigeons from the pigeon-houses, fluttered among the fowls, as, in search of stray grains of wheat and oats, they scratched up the chaff at the barn door. Here there was constant variety and movement, and an ever-changing succession of pictures of animal life and rustic labour. Little order or neatness was to be found, but every thing showed careless plenty and rough prosperity, and men and animals alike seemed cheerful, thriving and contented. Next to the yard was the haggard, where mighty ricks of hay and stacks of sheaves, carefully thatched to defend them from the weather, and shaped and trimmed with the nicest accuracy, were raised above the ground on rough frames, to preserve them from the ravages of rats and mice. At the back of the dwelling-house was the garden, well stocked with cabbages, and gooseberry and currant bushes; and beyond the garden was the apple orchard, with apple-trees, old, crooked, gnarled, and moss grown, which, in spite of all horticultural rules, summer after summer, showed branches bending to the ground with their red and golden fruit. In a corner of the orchard two fine old filbert-trees grew beside a well, renowned for the purity and clearness of its water, bubbling out of a stony bank overrun with robin-run-the-hedge, ground ivy, and wild strawberry plants. In the shady lane at the other side of the hedge, what wealth of primroses bloomed in early spring; what cowslips clustered on the meadow banks; what wild roses and honeysuckles made the hedges fragrant in the later summer! Every field had a name, such as the oak park, the hanging field, the red bank, the spring meadow, and every spot on the farm was endeared to the owners by some pleasant memory or inherited association. For it had been the property of the same family for many generations. No one in the neighbourhood had ever heard of a time when it did not belong to the Byrnes. These Byrnes were descended from a branch of the powerful sept of the O'Byrnes, who once were princes in the land, but were now only represented there by a few obscure and impoverished descendants. Maurice Byrne, the present possessor of Roebawn, was a fine, handsome young fellow, quickwitted, eager and impulsive; like a true Celt, sensitive and affectionate, and an excellent son to his widowed mother; with a frank, kindly, pleasant manner, and a temper that made him a favourite with all who knew him; but with a flash in his eye, and a ring in his voice at times, that showed the wild blood of his forefathers still ran in his veins, however restrained and subdued by English civilization. He was now five and twenty; and in that land of early marriages it caused some wonder among the neighbours that he was still single. He was always ready to laugh and dance with any girl that came in his way, and was famous for his skill in those jokes and repartees in which rustic courtships are usually carried on; but in spite of this, and the many shy glances of admiration which the prettiest girls in the parish gave him at mass and merry-making, from under their black or brown lashes, he was still a free man. But some of the most discerning gossips had begun to suspect that he was not likely to remain so long. A CHAPTER III. A MOUNTAIN MAID. T the head of the glen into which the valley narrowed as it approached the mountains, there was a lonely little cabin, built of sods, and thatched with heath, in which lived a very old man, sorely crippled with rheumatism, and his granddaughter, a girl of seventeen. His son, with whom he had lived, his son's wife, and all their childern, except this one girl, had been carried off by a malignant fever; and he would have been forced to go into the poor-house—a harder fate to the wild and lawless Irishman than to the proudest and most independent Englishman—if it had not been for the kindness of his neighbours, and the faithfulness of his granddaughter, little Dorinn. Though only thirteen at the time, she was a bright, intelligent girl, tall and strong for her age; she could spin and knit to perfection, and do most kinds of woman's work better than many who were twice her age, and she bravely declared that she was both able and willing to support her grandfather, if they could only get a roof to shelter them. Filled with admiration for this young thing's courage and filial devotion, her kind neighbours, nearly as poor as herself, built a little cabin at the foot of the mountains, for which no rent was required, and conveyed little Dorinn and her grandfather thither in triumph; adding to the small stock of household goods remaining, after the beloved dead had been "decently buried," and all debts paid, "a loan," as they delicately called it, "not to hurt the darling's |