. Charles O'Malley, the Irish dragoon . nt Mr. Frees song: Air, — Na Guilloch y Goulen. Oh, once we were illigint people, Though we now Hve in cabins of miul;And the land that ye see from the steeple Belonged to us all from the fother was then King of Connaught, My grand-aunt Viceroy of Tralee ;But the Sassenach came, and signs on it, The devil an acre have we. The least of us then were all earls, And jewels we wore without name ;We drank punch out of ruhies and pearls, — Mr. Petrie can tell vou the same. THE DEPARTURE. 437 But except some turf mould and potatoes,There s nothing our o
. Charles O'Malley, the Irish dragoon . nt Mr. Frees song: Air, — Na Guilloch y Goulen. Oh, once we were illigint people, Though we now Hve in cabins of miul;And the land that ye see from the steeple Belonged to us all from the fother was then King of Connaught, My grand-aunt Viceroy of Tralee ;But the Sassenach came, and signs on it, The devil an acre have we. The least of us then were all earls, And jewels we wore without name ;We drank punch out of ruhies and pearls, — Mr. Petrie can tell vou the same. THE DEPARTURE. 437 But except some turf mould and potatoes,There s nothing our own we can call ; And the English, — bad luck to them ! — hate us,Because we ve more fun than them all! My grand-aunt was niece to Saint Kevin, Thats the reason my name s Mickey Free !Priests nieces, — but sure hes in heaven, And his failins is nothin to we still might get on without doctors, If they d let the ould Island alone ;And if purple-men, priests, and tithe-i)roctors Were crammed down the creat tjun of As Mikes melody proceeded, the majors thorough basswaxed beautifully less, — now and then, its true, rousedby some momentary strain, it swelled upwards in full chorus,but gradually these passing flights grew rarer, and finallyall ceased, save a long, low, droning sound, like the expiring 438 CIIAELES OMALLEY. sigh of a wearied bagpipe. His fingers still continued me-chanically to beat time upon the table, and still his headnodded sympathetically to the music ; his eyelids closed insleep; and as the last verse concluded, a full-drawn snoreannounced that Monsoon, if not in the land of dreams, wasat least in a happy oblivion of all terrestrial concerns, andcaring as little for the woes of green Erin and the alteredfortunes of the Free family as any Saxon that ever opjjressedthem. There he sat, the finished decanter and empty goblet tes-tifying that his labors had only ceased from the pressureof necessity; but the broken, half-uttered words that f
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