So my hero's arm

Held the battle straight.

Terror went before him,

Death behind his back;
Well the wolves of Erinn

Knew his chariot's track.

Seven bloody battles

He broke upon his foes;
In each a hundred heroes

Fell beneath his blows.

Once he fought at Fossud,

Thrice at Ath-finn-Fail;
'Twas my king that conquered

At bloody Ath-an-Scail.

At the Boundary Stream

Fought the Royal Hound,
And for Bernas battle

Stands his name renowned.

Here he fought with Leinster

Last of all his frays
On the Hill of Cucorb's Fate

High his Cromlech raise.

TO MY BICYCLE.

In the airy whirling wheel is the springing strength of steel,

And the sinew grows to steel day by day,
Till you feel your pulses leap at the easy swing and sweep
As the hedges flicker past upon your way.
Then it's out to the kiss of the morning breeze

And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road where the tired spirit's load

Slips off as the leagues go by!

Black-and-silver, swift and strong, with a pleasant undersong

From the steady rippling murmur of the chain, Half a thing of life and will, you may feel it start and thrill With a quick elastic answer to the strain,

As you ride to the kiss of the morning breeze

And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road where the tired spirit's load

Slips off as the leagues go by.

Miles a hundred you may run from the rising of the sun,

To the gleam of the first white star. You may ride through twenty towns, meet the sun upon the

downs,
Or the wind on the mountain scaur.
Then it's out to the kiss of the morning breeze

And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road where the tired spirit's load

Slips off as the leagues go by.

Down the pleasant country-side, through the woodland's sum

mer pride,
You have come in your forenoon spin.
And you never would have guessed how delicious is the rest
In the shade by the wayside inn,
When you have sought the kiss of the morning breeze,

And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road where the tired spirit's load

Slips off as the leagues go by.

There is many a one who teaches that the shining river

reaches
Are the place to spend a long June day,
But give me the whirling wheel and a boat of air and steel
To float upon the King's highway!
Oh give me the kiss of the morning breeze,

And the rose of the morning sky,
And the long brown road where the tired spirit's load

Slips off as the leagues go by.

EVENSONG.

In the heart of a German forest I followed the winding ways Where the cushioned moss was barred with the sunset's slant.

ing rays,

When I heard a sound of singing, unearthly sad and clear,
Rise from the forest deeps and float on the evening air.

I thought of the spirits told of in dark old forest lore
Who roam the greenwood singing for ever and evermore;

And stopped and wondered and waited, as nearer the music

grew, Louder and still more loud, till at last came into view

A troop of Saxon maidens, tanned with the rain and sun,
A burden of billeted wood on the shoulders of every one.

The strong steps faltered not, and the chanting passed away
In the fragrant depths of the pinewood, and died with the dy-

ing day.

No spirit in truth! yet it seemed, as while in dreams I stood, That a music more than earthly had swept through the dark

ening wood.

And it seemed that the Day to the Morrow bequeathed in that

solemn strain The whole world's hope and labor, its love and its ancient

pain.

THE SPELL-STRUCK.

She walks as she were moving

Some mystic dance to tread,
So fall her gliding footsteps,

So leans her glistening head.

For once to fairy harping

She danced upon the hill,
And through her brain and bosom

The music pulses still.

Her eyes are bright and tearless,

But wide with yearning pain;
She longs for nothing earthly.

But O! To hear again

The sound that held her listening

Upon her moonlit path!
The rippling fairy music

That filled the lonely rath.

Her lips, that once have tasted

The fairy banquet's bliss,
Shall glad no mortal lover

With maiden smile or kiss.

.

AT CLONMACNOISE

From a photograph
In quiet watered land a land of roses

Stands Saint Kieran's city fair:
And the warriors of Erin in their famous generations
Slumbur there,

I. I. II. Relleston.