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He scarce had spoken, ere away he pass'd
Out of my sight as rapid as a bird,
And left me there in much amazement cast,
Looking, perhaps, in some degree absurd;
The noble river rolling calmly by,

The horse, the hasty rider, all did seem,
Even to the vision of my outward eye,

Like the thin shadowy figments of a dream;

I felt, in short, as Wordsworth did, when he

Chanced the leech gatherer on the moor all by himself to see.


By the exertion of judicious thought,

At last I from this mental trance awoke,
Marvelling much how in that lonely spot,
Upon my eyes so strange a vision broke;
From the green bank immediately I went,
And into Limerick's ancient city sped;
During my walk, with puzzled wonderment
I thought on what the rapid horseman said;
And, as is commonly the case, when I

Feel any way oppress'd in thought, it made me very dry.


When I arrived in brick-built George's Street,
Instinctively I there put forth my hand

To where a bottle, stored with liquid sweet,
Did all upon an oaken table stand;

Then turning up my little finger strait,

I gazed like Docter Brinkley on the sky,

Whence heavenly thought I caught-pure and elate
Of holy harpings of deep poesy;

And, ere a moment its brief flight could wing,

I threw the empty bottle down, to chaunt about the King.

Which leaveth him in ane awkward doldrum, after the manner of W. Wordsworth, Esq.

Shaketh it off, and marcheth homewards.

Turneth stargazer.



A very glorious day this is indeed!
This is indeed a very glorious day!
For now our gracious monarch will proceed
On Irish ground his royal foot to lay.
Rejoice then, O my country, in a tide
Of buoyant, foaming, overflowing glee;
As swells the porter o'er the gallon's side,
So let your joy swell up as jovially;
Shout, great and little people, all and some,

Our monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has




numbsculls low,

Come down, ye mountains, bend
Ye little hills run capering to the shore,
Now on your marrow bones, all in a row,
From all your caves a royal welcome roar."

He calleth upon Ireland to rejoice in the fashion of a pot of portter.

Inviteth the mountains to ane saraband.

* Professor of Astronomy, în T. C. D.

Howth is already at the water-side,

Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste;
Come then to join him, come with giant stride,
Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste;
In your best suits of green depart from home,
For now our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth has


Maketh of Down should dispatch Morne's snowy-vested peaks,

them ane catalogue most musical.

A word of

advice to the rivers, in the

style of Mas

ter Edmund Spenser, late of Kilcolman.

And Tipperary, *Knocksheogowna's hill,

Kerry, the great Macgillycuddys reeks,

Cork, the Galtees, studded with many a still,
Gallop from Wicklow, Sugarloaf the sweet!
From Wexford, bloody Vinegart the sour!

Croaght must be there, from whose conspicuous seat
St Patrick made the snakes from Ireland scour,-

All, all should march, tramp off to beat of drum,

For now our monarch has arrived-King George the Fourth ha come!


Rivers, dear rivers, in meandring roll,
Move to your Sovereign merrily along;
Ye whom the mighty minstrel of old Mole §
Has all embalmed in his enchanting song;
Liffey shall be your spokesman, roaring forth
A very neat Address from either Bull,||
While all the rest of you, from south to north,
Shall flow around in currents deep and full,
Murmuring beneath your periwigs of foam-

"Our Monarch has arrived at last-King George the Fourth h
come !"

Anent lakes. Killarney sulkily remains behind,


Thinking the King should come to wait on her;
And if he wont, she swears with sturdy mind,
That not one step to visit him she'll stir.

But all the other loughs, where'er they be,
From mighty Neagh,** the stone-begetting lake,
To Corrib, Swilly, Gara, Dearg, or Rea,

Or Googaun-Barra,†† when the Lee doth take

* Which being interpreted, signifies, the hill of the fairy calf; there is many a stc about it.

+ Vinegar Hill, where a decisive battle was fought in 1798, with the rebels, w 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.

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|| In Dublin Bay are two sand banks, called the North and South Bulls. from them is a village called Ring's-End, which gives occasion to the facete to say, d you enter Dublin between two bulls and a blunder.

Something Homeric

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** Est aliud stagnum quod facit ligna dunrescere in lapides; homines autem find ligna, et postquam formaverunt in eo usque ad caput anni, et in capite anni lapis in nitur, et vocatur Loch-Each, ac (Lough Neagh.) See Mirab. Hib.

tti. e. The hermitage of St Finbar, who lived there as a recluse. He was f Bishop of Cork. It is a most beautiful and romantic lake, containing a pretty isla 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




ye blest bogs,* true sons of Irish soil, How can I e'er your loyal zeal express? You have already risen, despising toil,

And travell'd up, your Sovereign to address.
Clara has led the way, immortal bog,
Now Kilmalady follows in his train;
Allen himself must soon to join them jog

From Geashil barony, with might and main,

In turfy thunders, shouting as they roam,

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"Our Sovereign has arrived at last-King George the Fourth has



Ha! what's this woeful thumping that I hear?u

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 !"


Last slopes in, sailing from the extremest south,
Gallant Cape Clear, a most tempestuous isle;
Certain am I, that when she opes her mouth,
She will harangue in oratoric style.

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 !"



How living people joy, I shall not tell,

Else I should make my song a mile in length;
Plebeian bards that theme may answer well,

Chaunting their lays with pertinacious strength:
They may describe how all, both man and beast,
Have in the general glee respective shares;
How equal merriment pervades the breast

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.


* Every body has heard of the movements of the Irish boga
+ The five ancient kingdoms of Ireland.


Lealty of the bogs.

Ane caution to the Giant's Causeway not to tread upon the learned weavers of


Shewing how
Cape Clear
becometh ane
Marcus Tul-


Mocke com

mendation on various folk.


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!
Oh! it would be a most terrific thing

Were he to death by Dublin poets bored.
See three sweet singers out of College bray,
And all the aldermen have hired a bard,
The Castle, too, its ode, I ween, will pay,

And the newspapers have their pens prepared.
Be silent, then, and mute, ye unpaid fry!

Let none attempt to greet the King, save such great bards as I.





MY DEAR SIR,-As I lifted up my voice, and wept over the great national 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


My dear sir,

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Your's till death us do part,

R. D. R.


[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 Ire land are stated. Stanza II. 1. National meat and drink and valour. Stanza III. 2. Na tional riot in a superior stlye. Stanza IV. 3. National music. Stanza V. 4. Nation: oratory. Stanza VI. 5. National gallantry. Stanzas VII. and VIII. National uproar ousness. All these offered for the diversion of the King.

YOU'RE welcome over, my royal rover,
Coming in clover to Irish ground,
You'll never spy land, like this our island,
Lowland or Highland, up or down!

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.


"Tis here you'll eat, too, the gay potato,
Being a root to feed a king;

And you'll get frisky upon our whisky,

Which, were you dumb, would make you sing;

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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.

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