s in his hammock till the great Armadas come,
(Capten, art tha sleepin' there below?)
Slung atween the round shot, listenin' for the drum,
An' dreamin' all the time of Plymouth Hoe.
Call him on the deep sea, call him up the Sound,
Call him when ye sail to meet the foe
Where the old trade's plyin' an' the old flag flyin'
They shall find him ware and wakin', as they found him long ago!

THE GREY GHOST: FRANCIS CARLIN

From year to year there walks a Ghost in grey,
Through misty Connemara in the West;
And those who seek the cause of his unrest,
Need go but to the Death-dumb in the clay,
To those that fell defiant in the fray,
Among the boggy wilds of Ireland, blest
By Cromwell, when his Puritanic jest
Left Hell and Connaught open on their way.
As I have heard so may the stranger hear!
That he who drove the natives from the lawn,
Must wander o'er the marsh and foggy fen
Until the Irish gather with a cheer
In Dublin of the Parliaments at dawn.
God rest the ghost of Cromwell's dust, Amen!

BALLAD OF DOUGLAS BRIDGE: FRANCIS CARLIN

On Douglas Bridge I met a man
Who lived adjacent to Straban,
Before the English hung him high
For riding with O'Hanlon.

The eyes of him were just as fresh
As when they burned within the flesh;
And his boot-legs widely walked apart
From riding with O'Hanlon.

"God save you, Sir!" I said with fear,
"You seem to be a stranger here."
"Not I," said he, "nor any man
Who rides with Count O'Hanlon."

"I know each glenn from North Tyrone
To Monaghan, and I've been known
By every clan and parish, since
I rode with Count O'Hanlon."

"Before that time," said he with pride,
"My fathers rode where now they ride
As Rapperees, before the time
Of Trouble and O'Hanlon."

"Good night to you, and God be with
The Tellers of the tale and myth,
For they are of the spirit-stuff
That rides with Count O'Hanlon."

"Good night to you," said I, "and God
Be with the chargers, fairy-shod,
That bear the Ulster's heroes forth
To ride with Count O'Hanlon."

On Douglas Bridge we parted, but
The Gap o' Dreams is never shut,
To one whose saddled soul to-night
Rides out with Count O'Hanlon.

THE INDIAN BURYING GROUND: PHILIP FRENEAU

In spite of all the learned have said,
I still my old opinion keep;
The posture that we give the dead
Points out the soul's eternal sleep.

Not so the ancients of these lands;--
The Indian, when from life rel