Am I the slave they say,
Soggarth aroon?
Since you did show the way,
...
The Irish soldier, cast for fight,
Stood to his arms at dead of night,
Watching the east, until its ray
...
Now welcome, welcome, baby--boy, unto a mother's fears,
The pleasure of her sufferings, the rainbow of her t ...
...
Ours is no quarrel that will not be ended--
Ours are not hearts to hate on to the las ...
...
From my proper clime and subjects,
In my hot and swarthy East,
North and Westward I am coming
For a conquest and a feast-
...
``Arrah, Moya, my pet, do you know what they say
About what we're for doing next marrying day?
They say, that to go to the Soggarth, that way,
...
He said that he was not our brother--
The mongrel! he said what we knew--
...
Here we are, Mr. Bull, your Orange and Green,
Flaunting away li ...
...
``More blood!'' cry the vultures--``more blood!''--
The old carrion--crows of our land--
The men by her children who stood
...
``Oh, well I love to see thee
So bravely look, my only boy--
But thy courage--can it free thee?
...
Our fathers' fields we long have till'd,
Despised and stricken down--
The Sassenach's serf! his stores we fill'd ...
...
OSSIAN. Man of prayers, lead me forth
From our silent cell of care,
The morning--breeze to me is worth
All thy hymns and all thy prayer--
...
And yet beneath that happy sky,
Was heard one ever--during sigh,
One heart of sadness there was known,
One voice of sorrow wept alone,
...
I went and came. The wild--wood tree,
Again spread out my canopy.
I could not sleep. I sat in grief
And listened to the rustling leaf.
...
THE SAINT. Ossian, enough of this dotard theme,
Lit up at the meteor--blaze of a dream,
Wanton and vain as ever was fann'd
...
July the first, in Ennis town,
There was a glorious battle,
Though not a man did there go down,
...
Now welcome, welcome, baby-boy, unto a mother’s fears,
The pleasure of her sufferings, the rainbow of her tears,
...
Not by fear, or terror, or pain,
So much as by union and love, we reign,
And good resolution, which fast doth bi ...
...
John Banim (April 3, 1798 – August 30, 1842), Irish novelist, sometimes called the "Scott of Ireland," was born in Kilkenny. In his thirteenth year he entered Kilkenny College and devoted himself specially to drawing and miniature painting. He pursued his artistic education for two years in the schools of the Royal Dublin Society, and afterwards taught drawing in Kilkenny, where he fell in love with one of his pupils. His affection was returned, but the parents of the young lady interfered and removed her from Kilkenny. She pined away and died in two months. Her death made a deep impression on Banim, whose health suffered severely and permanently. In 1820 he went to Dublin and settled finally to the work of literature. He published a poem, The Celt's Paradise, and his Damon and Pythias was performed at Covent Garden in 1821. During a short visit to Kilkenny he married, and in 1822 planned in conjunction with his elder brother, Michael (1796–1874), a series of tales illustrative of Irish life, which should be for Ireland what the Waverley Novels were for Scotland; and the influence of his model is distinctly traceable in his writings. He then set out for London, and supported himself by writing for magazines and for the stage, a volume of miscellaneous essays was published anonymously in 1824, called Revelations of the Dead Alive. In April 1825 appeared the first series of Tales of the O'Hara Family, which achieved immediate and decided success. One of the most powerful of them, Crohoore of the Bill Hook, was by Michael Banim. In 1826, a second series was published, containing the Irish novel, The Nowlans. John's health had given way, and the next effort of the "O'Hara family" was almost entirely the production of his brother Michael. The Croppy, a Tale of 1798 (1828) is hardly equal to the earlier tales, though it contains some wonderfully vigorous passages. The Mayor of Windgap, The Ghost Hunter (by Michael Banim), The Denounced (1830) and The Smuggler (1831) followed in quick succession, and were received with considerable favour. Most of these deal with the darker and more painful phases of life, but the feeling shown in his last, Father Connell, is brighter and tenderer. John Banim, meanwhile, had suffered from illness and consequent poverty. In 1829, he went to France, and while he was abroad a movement to relieve his wants was set on foot by the English press, headed by John Sterling in The Times. A sufficient sum was obtained to remove him from any danger of actual want. Another notable work written by Banim is The Boyne Water, a story of Protestant - Catholic relations during the Williamite War. He returned to Ireland in 1835, and settled in Windgap Cottage, a short distance from Kilkenny; and there, a complete invalid, he passed the remainder of his life, dying on 13 August 1842. His strength lies in the delineation of the characters of the Irish lower classes, and the impulses, often misguided and criminal, by which they are influenced, and in this he showed remarkable power. Michael Banim had acquired a considerable fortune which he lost in 1840 through the bankruptcy of a firm with which he had business relations. After this disaster he wrote Father Connell (1842), Clough Fionn (1852), The Town of the Cascades (1862). Michael Banim died at Booterstown. An assessment in the Encyclopædia Britannica Eleventh Edition (1911) reads: The true place of the Banims in literature is to be estimated from the merits of the O'Hara Tales; their later works, though of considerable ability, are sometimes prolix and are marked by too evident an imitation of the Waverley Novels. The Tales, however, are masterpieces of faithful delineation. The strong passions, the lights and shadows of Irish peasant character, have rarely been so ably and truly depicted. The incidents are striking, sometimes even horrible, and the authors have been accused of straining after melodramatic effect. The lighter, more joyous side of Irish character, which appears so strongly in Samuel Lover, receives little attention from the Banims.)
Soggarth Aroon
Am I the slave they say,
Soggarth aroon?
Since you did show the way,
Soggarth aroon,
Their slave no more to be,
While they would work with me
Old Ireland's slavery,
Soggarth aroon.
Why not her poorest man,
Soggarth aroon,
Try and do all he can,
Soggarth aroon,
Her commands to fulfil
Of his own heart and will,
Side by side with you still,
Soggarth aroon?
Loyal and brave to you,
Soggarth aroon,
Yet be not slave to you,
Soggarth aroon,
Nor, out of fear to you,
Stand up so near to you--
Och! out of fear to _you_,
Soggarth aroon!
Who, in the winter's night,
Soggarth aroon,
When the cold blasts did bite,
Soggarth aroon,
Came to my cabin-door,
And on my earthen-floor
Knelt by me, sick and poor,
Soggarth aroon?
Who, on the marriage day,
Soggarth aroon,
Made the poor cabin gay,
Soggarth aroon,
And did both laugh and sing,
Making our hearts to ring
At the poor christening,
Soggarth aroon?
Who, as friends only met,
Soggarth aroon,
Never did flout me yet,
Soggarth aroon;
And when my heart was dim,
Gave, while his eye did brim,
What I should give to him,
Soggarth aroon?
Och! you, and only you,
Soggarth aroon!
And for this I was true to you,
Soggarth aroon!
Our love they'll never shake,
When for ould Ireland's sake
We a true part did take,
Soggarth aroon!