Maketh of them ane ca talogue most musical. A word of advice to the rivers, in the style of Mas ter Edmund Spenser, late of Kilcolman. Howth is already at the water-side, Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste; Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste; For now our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has come! 3. Down should dispatch Morne's snowy-vested peaks, Kerry, the great Macgillycuddys reeks, Cork, the Galtees, studded with many a still, Croaght must be there, from whose conspicuous seat All, all should march, tramp off to beat of drum, For now our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has come! 4. Rivers, dear rivers, in meandring roll, "Our Monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has Anent lakes. Killarney sulkily remains behind, 5. Thinking the King should come to wait on her ; But all the other loughs, where'er they be, From mighty Neagh,** the stone-begetting lake, Or Googaun-Barra,++ when the Lee doth take * Which being interpreted, signifies, the hill of the fairy calf; there is many a story about it. + Vinegar Hill, where a decisive battle was fought in 1798, with the rebels, who were totally defeated. + Croagh-Patrick, in Mayo. § Spenser, who dwelt beneath old father Mole, (Mole hight that mountain gray That walls the north side of Armulla vale.) Collin Clout's come home again. He has catalogued our rivers in the Fairy Queen, B. 4. Cant. 2. St. 40-44. In Dublin Bay are two sand banks, called the North and South Bulls. Not far from them is a village called Ring's-End, which gives occasion to the facete to say, that you enter Dublin between two bulls and a blunder. Something Homeric περὶ δὲ ρόος Ωκεανία *Αφρῷ μορμύρων ῥέεν.Κ. Σ. Est aliud stagnum quod facit ligna dunrescere in lapides; homines autem findunt ligna, et postquani formaverunt in eo usque ad caput anni, et in capite anni lapis invenitur, et vocatur Loch-Each, ac (Lough Neagh.) Sce Mirab. Hib. tti. e. The hermitage of St Finbar, who lived there as a recluse. He was first Bishop of Cork. It is a most beautiful and romantic lake, containing a pretty island. It is a great place of pilgrimage. Its lovely course, join in the general hum "Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has come !" 6. O ye blest bogs,* true sons of Irish soil, From Geashil barony, with might and main, In turfy thunders, shouting as they roam, "Our Sovereign has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has come!" 7. Ha! what's this woeful thumping that I hear? Oh! 'tis the Giant's Causeway moving on, Heavily pacing, with a solemn cheer, On clumsy hoofs of basalt octagon. (Gigantic wanderer! lighter be your tramp, Or you may press our luckless cities down: 'Twould be a pity, if a single stamp Smash'd bright Belfast-sweet linen-vending town.) Why have you travelled from your sea-beat dome? "Because our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has come !" 8. Last slopes in, sailing from the extremest south, So North, and South, and East, and West combine, + Ulster, and Connaught, Leinster, Munster, Meath, To hail the King, who, first of all his line, Was ever seen old Ireland's sky beneath. All shall exclaim, for none shall there be mum, "Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has come !" L'ENVOY. 1. How living people joy, I shall not tell, Else I should make my song a mile in length; Chaunting their lays with pertinacious strength: Of sharks and lawyers-asses and Lord Mayors→ Of whelps and dandies-orators and geese In short, of every living thing, all in their own degrees. VOL. X. * Every body has heard of the movements of the Irish bogs. N Moeke com mendation on various folk. 2. Wherein it is But ye remorseless rhymesters, spare the King! earnestly requested of the poets of Dublin, not to slay the King after the fashion of Ankerstroem or Ravillac. Have some compassion on your own liege Lord! Were he to death by Dublin poets bored. And the newspapers have their pens prepared. Let none attempt to greet the King, save such great bards as I. A WELCOME TO HIS MAJESTY KING GEORGE THE FOURTH, ON HIS ARRIVAL IN IRELAND, MDCCCXXI. MY DEAR SIR,-As I lifted up my voice, and wept over the great nationa:l calamity which overspread my native land last year, (I need not say the death of Sir Daniel,) I think it right to rejoice now in the general joy of Ireland at the arrival of the King. I choose the same metre as that which I used in the Luctus, it being, as Beattie well observes of the Spenserian stanza, equally adapted to the grave and the gay. Of course, as before, I recommend it to be sung by my old friend Terry Magrath. The Director at the corner will be saying every where that it was he who wrote this song, or at least that he connived at it, but don't believe him, it being all excogitated by CORK INSTITUTION, Aug. 1, 1821. My dear sir, Your's till death us do part, R. D. R. A WELCOME TO HIS MAJESTY. [Tune Groves of Blarney.] Synoptical Analysis for the Benefit of Young Persons studying this Song. Stanza I. Welcome in general; in the following verses the specific excellencies of Ireland are stated. Stanza II. 1. National meat and drink and valour. Stanza III. 2. National riot in a superior stlye. Stanza IV. 3. National music. Stanza V. 4. National oratory. Stanza VI. 5. National gallantry. Stanzas VII. and VIII. National uproariousness. All these offered for the diversion of the King. YOU'RE welcome over, my royal rover, Our hills and mountains, our streams and fountains, Our towns and cities all so bright, Our salt-sea harbours, our grass-green arbours, Our greasy larders will glad your sight. 2. "Tis here you'll eat, too, the gay potato, And you'll get frisky upon our whisky, Which, were you dumb, would make you sing; And you'll see dashers, and tearing slashers, 3. Just say the word, and you'll see a riot Such recreation to you could show, 4. And as for music, 'tis you'll be suited 5. Then there's our speaking, and bright speech-making, Which, when you hear, 'twill make you jump; When in its glory it comes before you, "Twould melt the heart of a cabbage stump. 'Tis so met'phoric, and paregoric, As fine as Doric or Attic Greek, "Twould make Mark Tully look very dully, Without a word left in his cheek. 8. God bless your heart, Sir, 'tis you will start, Sir, Shout to the winds, GOD SAVE THE KING! These effusions of Hibernian joy may induce some of our readers to inquire how it has happened that we have given them no account of the grand dinner at which, with our contributors, we celebrated the great event of the 19th of July. The fact is, that we had prepared a very full account of it, but, as the devil in the chest had no selecting power over the papers, he only stumbled on the two following songs, EXCELLENT NEW SONG, Composed by JAMES SCOTT, Esq. M. D. and Sung by him, with great THERE are flowers in every window, and garlands round each door, From the cottage, to the castle, in unison all sing,— Hail to Great George the Fourth !-God save the King!!! The man on this auspicious day one moment that would linger Hail to Great George the Fourth!-God save the King!!! Long brooded o'er this nation the thunder-cloud of war, Though blindness fell upon the aged father of his realm, Well may the dealers in wine and spirits say, The happiest of all days is a Coronation day, For thousands on thousands drain their bumpers, as they sing, The nobles of the land to the Monarch all have gone, Oh, when I look around me, it makes my bosom swell, !!! |