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Written for The Irish Republic. The Poor Irish Boy. Aib : “ Savourna Dills.” Oh! Norah, dear Norah, my sad heart is breaking, Since alone by the Arra I bid you good by; Forever and always, both sleeping and waking, Thy lov’d image haunts the Poor Irish Boy. For sad was our parting that eve by the river, And pale were your cheeks, as you heaved forth the sigh— " Farewell, love! farewell, love ! forever and ever, May the kind Heavens guard the Poor Irish Boy.” Such were the fond words your lips hath last spoken, To him who was forced from his country to fly; At parting old Ireland my heart was nigh broken, For dear was that land to the Poor Irish Boy. For dear was that dwelling, “ fast, fast by the wild wood,” And sacred the spot where my forefathers lie, And sweet were the hours that I spent there in childhood, Ere tyranny banished the Poor Irish Boy. Oh ! long have I wandered an outcast and stranger, Alone in this world my fortune to try ; No brother, no friend, for to guard me from danger— Sad, sad is the fate of the Poor Irish Boy. How oft in my day dreams I’ve thought of Olean-vo-rct, The fond friends that dwelt there in days long gone by, The cot in the valley—the home of my Norah, Where welcomes oft greeted the Poor Irish Boy. No more in that green vale I’ll pluck the wild flowers, Nor rest in the shade where the stream passes by, Nor view from old Barna those ivy-clad towers That sheltered the home of the Poor Irish Boy. The valley may bloom in its verdure and beauty, The stream sing the dirge of the fair days gone by, The bells from the tower call to Freedom and duty The playmates and friends of the Poor Irish Boy. The plowshare, perchance, may be changed to the saber, The soft strains of love into war’s piercing cry ; But I’ll not be there for to aid in the labor Of freeing the loved land of the Poor Irish Boy. ’Neath some green grassy mound in Missouri’s wild prairie, From friends, love and country your Patrick will lie, When the Green Flag triumphant shall float proud and airy, Once more o’er the land of the Poor Irish Boy. Cush-la-no. St. Louis, Mo., August 26, 1867. Written for The Irish Republic. Ireland. A MOTHER SECOND IN HER CHILDREN’S LOVE. A queen sits crownless where the angry waves, Ridden by the wild winds in their mad career, With white-lipped fury gather all their force, To take the coast that frowns up bold and drear. They fail, but flying ’gainst its jagged front, Are flung back roaring : tossing up their spray, It falls in showers upon her saddened face; It hangs like grief upon her locks of gray, ’Tis blown like tears into her tearless eyes— Tho’ winds may rave along the surface reef, Her heart is buried in a sea so deep, No storm can reach to strike its chords of grief. The slow-paced centuries have moved along, And gazed in wonder on her upraised head Posed expectant for the crown—they passed, And joined the silent army of the dead. Black grief has crowned her with the thorns of pain, And then defiled her with her robes unclean— Her soul grows purer in the furnace heat, And in her rags she looks the regal queen. By serpent chains are her fair limbs entwined ; And, tho’ her white breast has been scarred with whips, Her soul sits chainless in her heavenly eyes, And songs of freedom flow from her sweet lips. They’ve placed their harlots on her emerald throne; They’ve dragged her bleeding to the market place; They’ve killed her loved ones ’fore her very eyes, And flung their red blood hot into her face. They’ve looked with foul desire upon her soul; But could not tame it to their ruffian lust; It would not stoop down from its starry height, To soil its white wings in the common dust. And all the woes that hell could rain on earth Were hurled upon her; but the fiery brood She met with that unbroken look, which shows A soul in arms, rebellious, unsubdued. And some, who from her aching breast drew life, Forsook her sad face for the harlot s smile ; And said, « that late had cast her faultless limbs For fetters;” and with seeming holy guile _2E_ Called her the handmaid whom the Lord had wed— IPad ringed with iron, and embraced with steel; Had robed with rags, and dowered with misery ; Her fair head trailed ’neath ev’ry ruffian heel. Her sweet breath stealing out in piteous sighs, Subdued by suffering and a fatal grace ; Her blue eyes looking to her spouse, thro’ tears, Till every star doth know her upturned face. And men who call her mother, sit and hear False prophets preaching up this creed of slaves; And, lo, they fill the world with vows of love ; And rain hot tears upon the martyrs’ graves. They swear upon their fathers’ crimson swords, . That she shall sigh ’neath tyrant feet no more. The expectant earth reins up to hear the crash Of empires rolling from her rugged shore. But, cursed by lips which British gold has bought, Their thews relaxing, drop the gleaming swords. Their souls fly cowering to their darkened breasts, Or die upon their lips in mumbling words. Base slaves, remain in your congenial chains; Nor mimic freemen in your puny roles; Nor dare assay those parts you dare not do. Think ye that Freedom herds with fettered souls? Who baulk at shadows will at substance cower! Away, your tears profane your mother’s woe. The cowards’ weapons are loud frothy words. Fling down the swords, ye dare not strike a’Jblmv— Or hang them on the shrines where your hearts hang— The shrines red with the blood of Liberty ; And cultivate the serf’s low, humble ways ; You are too good and virtuous to be free. Oh, crownless queen, chained by the sighing sea, Dethroned that heartless gods might stride the world; But that thy sons are pinioned thro’ their souls, Those foreign gods would from thy hills be hurled. Art thou the Bride of Heaven, the holy spouse ? Why is thy bridal bed low in the dust? The few who wear thee in their hearts of hearts— Too few to crown thee—can but work and trust. Trust that the coming years will bring forth MEN Whose souls, encased in clear intelligence, Will dare, tlio’ hell should hurl anathemas, To give thee love instead of base pretense. $ GENERAL CORRESPONDENCE. The Editors of The Irish Republic will allow correspondents to express their views in the strongest and boldest language consistent with propriety; they, therefore, state that they do not hold them selves responsible for tho opinions or expressions under this heading. Requisites for a Soldier. Boston, Mass., August 21, 1867. To the Editors of The Irish Republic. Please give this little document a place in your paper, and you will oblige the subscriber, and, I hope, benefit some of our gallant, but inexperienced volunteers. The hour of need proves the value of the (rue friend; and the day of battle proves the value of the necessary pre paration for the successful endurance of those trials and hard ships, (not to speak of actual fight,) which ever attend the soldier in time of war. Those of our brothers who have practiced gymnastic exercises, heretofore, will now—that is to say, when they are called on to fight for our country— prove themselves fit for the arduous work that is before them. “ Man is capable of becoming, for his weight, the smartest creature in existence—but is it not pitiful to see tens of thousands of effeminates, more like women than men, and all through a mawkish antipathy to manly exercise ? If all our gallant boys, who have buckled on their armor to fight our “ hereditary foe, perfidious England,” had a little such “ drilling ” as Hamill or Collyer undergoes, what havoc they would make among the red-nosed warriors of the “ Kingdom of Canada !” We hope every young man in city, town, and country, will be astir to develop all the bone and muscle that God has given him for self-defense, and for the defense of his country. It was rigid bodily discipline that rendered the Spartan youth invincible! That immortal three hundred of Thermopylae had been gymnasts from their youth. Look, soldiers of the army of the Irish Republic, look to them as your great examples, and strengthen every sinew by vigorous exercise; for the day is close at hand that will give you the opportunity to earn the undying laurel wreath of the Irish Spartan Band! The first thing in order is a soldier’s outfit. The govern ment provides your uniform, cap, jacket, pants and overcoat. You will furnish yourself with two shirts, two pairs drawers, two pairs stockings, all to be woolen. Never wear cotton stockings, if you wish to save your feet. Next, you will pro vide yourself with a good, strong gum blanket, which you will find very useful, both as a bed and as a protection against inclftnent weather. Indeed, no soldier should go into the field without one. Next, you will need a knife, fork, and spoon. A very excellent article of this nature, being a com bination of all three articles in one, can be obtained at any hardware store. The recruit should also provide himself with a good, strong pocket-knife, which he will find useful almost every hour of the day. Perhaps it would be as well to add a tin cup and plate to the above list. I do not know as the government furnishes them or not. The above is all you need to take with you, for you will find them sufficient to carry on a march. Never take any superfluous clothing to camp with you, for you will be sure to cast it on the roadside on your first day’s march. “ When the recruit goes into quarters, if they should hap pen to have been previously occupied by troops, his. first object should be to see that they are free from vermin or. noxious insects. If his investigations discover anything of this kind, he should immediately report to his captain, and if the matter is not attended to, his only remedy is to take an ‘outside seat’ until something is done. “ In establishing a new camp, the first duty of the soldier is to see that all brush and rubbish be immediately removed, and that the street in front of the tent be cleanly swept. It should be the care of the captain of each company to see that the company street is cleaned or swept every morning, and all refuse matter buried or removed. Attention to these sanitary hints will prevent disease and add greatly to the comforts of the men. “ Perhaps one of the most unpleasant features of a march on a warm day is the sensation of thirst, when water cannot be obtained for hours. A partial remedy for this suffering may be found in sucking the juice of a lemon, and no soldier, if he can avoid it, should be without one or two in his haver sack at all times. We know that soldiers are proverbially reckless and improvident, and that it is not an easy matter to keep a ‘good thing’ on hand twenty-four hours, when most of them go on the principle that ‘ we live to-day and die to morrow.’ The prudent soldier, however, will always keep a look out for the ‘ rainy day,’ and if he once tries the experi ment, he will always be sure to have a lemon on hand. “Another annoyance to the green soldier is sore feet. There are very few who, on their first day’s march, do not complain in this respect. But there is a remedy for this also. Every soldier should avoid boots and use shoes. If he is in the habit of wearing 7’s at home, he should select 8’s in the army. If his feet become blistered or chafed, he should im mediately, on entering camp in the evening, bathe them in cold water and grease them with tallow, lie should be care ful to have a tallow candle stuck away in his knapsack before he starts on the march. Wear woolen stockings by all means, no matter whether the thermometer is up to a hundred or down to zero, as they.absorb the perspiration and measurably protect the feet from blistering. “ Major Winthrop’s advice to volunteers, on the subject of proper care of the feet, ought to be pondered and remembered by new recruits. It will be found in his article on the New York Seventh Regiment published in the Atlantic Monthly for June, 1861, which we publish below, for the information of those concerned: “ ‘ And let me say a word to my fellow-volunteers, actual and prospective, in all the armies of the States. A soldier needs, besides his soldiery drill: “‘1. Good feet. “ ‘2. A good stomach. “‘3. And after these come the good head and the good heart. “‘But good feet are distinctly the first thing; without them you cannot get to your duty. If a comrade, orja horse, or a locomotive, takes you on its back to the field, you are useless there. And when the field is lost, you cannot retire, run away and save your bacon. “ ‘ Good shoes and plenty of walking make good feet. A man who pretends to belong to an infantry company ought always to keep himself in training, so that any moment he can march twenty or thirty miles without feeling a pang, or a rising blister. Was this the case with even the decimation of the army who rushed to defend Washington ? Were you so trained, my comrades of the Seventh ? “ ‘ A captain of a company who will let his men march with such shoes as I have seen on the feet of some poor fel lows in this war, ought to be garrotted with shoestrings, or at least be compelled to play l’ope, and wash the feet of the whole army of the Apostle of Liberty. If you find a foot soldier lying beat out by the roadside, desperate as a seasick man, five to one his heels are too high, or his soles too nar row or too thin, or his shoe is not made straight on the inside so that the great toe can spread into its place as he treads. I am an old walker over the Alps across the water, and over Cordilleras, Sierras, Deserts, and Prairies at home; I have done my near sixty miles a day without discomfort—and, speaking from large experience, and with painful recollec tions of the sufferings and death I have known for want of good feet on the march, I say to every volunteer, “ Trust God; hut keep your shoes easy.” ’ ” On the march, avoid liquors, especially if the day is warm. Whisky was unknown among the iron soldiers of Rome, who were the conquerors of the world. Water was their common drink, sometimes modified by weak, sour wine, almost resem bling vinegar. If the soldier will drink, it is best to do so at the end of the march. “Improper drinking of water has killed thousands. There have been instances where thirsty armies, after long marches, have come to some river, when the men would lie down on their faces and quaff an inordinate quantity of water, with these results: some died almost instantly, others became crazy, and staggered like drunken men. Avoid drinking water as much as possible while marching. When you feel dry, rinse the mouth With water, but do not swallow it. Drink only when resting, or before the word is given to march. Men, when heated, should not drink anything cold. In a high state of perspiration, ice water only aggravates thirst. Drink slowly ; half a tumbler of water will suffice the thirst iest man in the world, if lie drinks by sips. Take from twenty-five to one hundred sips and swallow each time—it will quench thirst, better than a quart drank in the usual manner. In fact, it is almost impossible to get down a full glass of water, taken in this manner.” If on the march the sun proves very hot, embrace the first opportunity to fill your cap with oak or hickory leaves, hav ing previously saturated them with water. This will keep your head cool and prevent sunstroke.