He cleared the field, and justice shewed to all impartially; And there he stood, eye-witness good, to decide the victory. Long may his line resplendent shine to all conspicuously; And long a creek in, stand Ballybricken, by the plains of Onnabuoy.

I could not name the half who came that day the game

to see,

From far and near, when they did hear that such a sight would be;

And never gave spectators brave their shouts more lustily, Than when the pride, that did deride, was vanquished by the Onnabuoy.

The poet small, who challenged all, from the Liffey to the Lee,

His honest trade I'll not upbraid, but 'tis not prophecy; The empty praise, which he did raise, is now bitter irony; And his vain song, is sorrow strong to the boys of Onnabuoy.

The boasting ass, I let him pass, nor strive in rivalry ;
Dull and unsonorous his verse, and small his poetry.
I want no fame from whence I came, nor claim (deservedly)
The title rare, of poet fair, for the Muse of Carberry.

Your ear now lend, to make an end, without vaunt or

vanity;

As Autumn gives the quivering leaves to earth devotedly, So Kinalea hath won the day, all men of decency

With me will see, and will agree on the plains of Onnabuoy.

CORK'S OWN TOWN.

This song originally appeared in the "Cork Southern Reporter" newspaper, in March 1825, where it is "dated from the vane of St. Finbarr's steeple, this day of the vernal equinox, xxi. Mar."

66

The Editor has no doubt that the authorship may be correctly assigned to the writer of "O! Blarney Castle, my darling," (see p. 149), and the subsequent song entitled Darling Neddeen." Speaking of "The Groves of Blarney," and other rural lyrics, a learned critic on the "Munster Melodies" observes, when introducing the following song to notice, "But while the country is thus celebrated, the beauties of the city do not remain unsung. Cork has had many laureates, but the last describer of its localities best deserves to wear the bays."

These localities, however, require some explanatory remarks. Daunt's Square, from whence the lyrist takes, as sailors say, his departure, will be presently noticed. He next arrives at "the region of frolic and spree," Fishamble Lane, which, says Mr. Windle, "no longer possesses a shambles; and has lost its once high-sounding name of Ireland's Rising Liberty Street,' conferred on it in the days of the Volunteers; but the stone with that name, full of recollections, still retains its place on the front wall of one of the houses."

The presiding goddess of this interesting spot,

"Where salmon, drisheens, and beefsteaks, are cooked best,"

has been thus addressed by the Muse of Toleken:

"The sun had gone down, and the lofty dark mountains
Were hid from the view by a smart shower of rain,
When I wandered in search of a few of those round things
Called sausages, made up in Fishamble Lane.

There as I walked on amidst broiling and frying,
I spied out a fair one-my heart felt a pain ;
I sat myself down, for I thought I was dying
For Judy MacCarthy of Fishamble Lane.

I gazed on the fair one-one eye was a swivel,
Her nose it was smutty, her hands not too clean;
She told me that she was then broiling a devil,
For which they are famous in Fishamble Lane.
'You're broiling a devil,' says I, ' Judy Carty?
The devil
you and boil you again;
For broils I detest, and this moment I part ye,

broil may

Miss Judy MacCarthy of Fishamble Lane!'"

Of Blackpool, mentioned in the third verse, a particular account will be found in the introductory remarks to a subsequent song. Mallow Lane" is at once the principal passage and main trunk" of the northern part of Cork. "At the west side of Mallow Lane, and on still higher ground, is an extremely populous suburb, divided into numerous alleys and lanes. Its southern boundary is Blarney Lane" (to the description of which the second verse of the following song is devoted), "a long, old street, formerly the principal western entrance to the city."

Returning, in the fourth verse, to the "one-sided Buckingham Square," and to Daunt's Bridge or Square, which is neither a bridge nor a square, the Editor again ventures to quote Mr. Windle in illustration : — "Of squares, Cork possesses none, although the word, strangely enough, occurs as a name to several places;

thus we have Buckingham Square, Knapp's Square, Jones's Square, and Daunt's Square, to which a stranger would find it rather difficult to apply the term." In the latter square is the domicile of that ingenious citizen, renowned in lathering metres;

"One Robert Olden,

Inventor sole of Eukeirogeneion,
Soother of beards."

Of the "narrow broad lane that leads up to the dyke," the Editor can speak from actual measurement. It varies in breadth from eight to ten and eleven feet, and was, until recently, the popular thoroughfare between the east and west parts of the city of Cork.

The Dyke, mentioned in the fifth verse, is, according to Mr. Windle," a delightful walk about a mile in length, and shaded with ranges of noble elm at either side, forming a long vista in one straight line from beginning to end." It was made in 1720, and about thirty years ago protected by an iron gate, the erection of which was celebrated, and the inscription recorded in an ode attributed to Mr. John Lander :

"Here future shoemakers shall read on Sunday,
When our good mayor shall be in heaven,
As bird-catching they're going.—' IOHN DAY,
ESQUIRE, MAYOR, 1807.""

"Blair's Castle that trembles above in the breeze,"

Mr. Windle calls "a modern absurdity, consisting of a centre tower and side wings, finished in the Dutch fashion; but it possesses the advantage of a beautiful situation,

and indeed, like the rest of Sunday's well, of a fine prospect," which locality is alluded to as "sweet Sunday's well" in the seventh verse.

"Dr. Blair was a man of skill,
He built his castle on a hill;
He set four statues in the front,
And every morning went to hunt.
From his castle you may see

Up and down along the Lee."

So says an old song. This Dr. Blair was a Scotch physician, who settled in Cork about the middle of the last century; and, in 1775, published a freethinking volume, entitled, "Thoughts on Nature and Religion;" the able answer to which first brought the famous Father O'Leary into public notice.

Glanmire and Blackrock, the roads leading to which are referred to in the sixth verse, are both agreeable outlets of Cork; The Boreen Manah is a minor road of the latter environ, which, literally translated, means "the little road to the fields." The steeple, termed “ pepperbox," in the seventh and last verse, will be particularly noticed hereafter as the edifice from whence

"The bells of Shandon

Sound so grand on

The lovely waters of the river Lee."

"Regarding it in a general point of view," Mr. Windle, with great truth, asserts that "Cork may be justly called a fine city. Strangers have, without exception, described it as such; but the natives, with a very pardonable vanity,