Waterbury Democrat., 1902-09-11
1.-THE MASS ROCK 7

ten upon receipt of an Irish newspaper, the Anglo-Celt published by the O Han Ions of Cavan A description of the mass rock which appears in the first column, is an institution which | be- lieve is unknown ill any other part of the world outside Ireland. The in- famous laws that called it into exist. ence are thus described by Edmund Burke: sThis barbarous code hsEd q vicious perfection-it was comniete system. full of coherence and consist ency; we'll digested and well disposed in all it's parts. 1t was a machine of wise and elaborate contrivance and as well fitted for the oppression, Impover- ishment and degradation of q people and the ldebasement in them oflhulnan nature itself as ever proceeded from the perverted ingenuity of man." Thrice welcome here my boyfioods
 friend
 From Ireland OCT the sea. Nigh twenty years have rolled away Since last I gazed on thee. That time has wrought the change you Upon my form and face, But you're still young and sparkling
 bright
 With Irish wit and grace. We'll, let me see what news you bring From where I first saw light. 4AA, Kathleen trim that lamp again, My eyes are ,am tonight. Old memories of the past come back And crowd around me here, My eyes that flashed an hour ago
 Are clouded with q tear. For we'll do remember now
 When l was still boy, How oft I've watched the Cavan road For Bryan McEvoy. think I see that landscape now, . And feel the joys I've felt When from the veterans coathamore* He drew the Anglo-Celt. A man of great importance there
 He stately strode along, With steps as measured as the lines That build n poets song; \ storehouse filled with ancient lore 'Pon which he loved to dwell. The wonder of my youthful days
 Poor Bryan, fare thee well. 'vrhe mass rock of the penal days"
 So reads your first headline, Where outlawed priests have offered up The sacrifice divine; Around whose base the peasant stood Or knelt, 'mong heathn and fern The chieftain and the Kern met
 reloniously to learn.'' And yet it stands rnong Cavan's hills, By Gowna.s wooded side, As rugged as when Brian drowned The Norsemen in the tide. A monument of Ireland's wrongs,
 Upspringing from the sod To mock the tyrants who decreed We should not worship God! I see you smile, poor skeptics now, Whosve never heard the horn Awake the echoes round Loughcrew Upon winters morn, Or saw the English beagles hunt
 The legal Irish game The priest, the teacher and the wolf Were outlaws, just the same. And now they think we should forget Poor Ireland's wrongs and ills, And stand as silent as the towers That sentinel her hills. But Ireland in her darkest hour
 Protested 'gainst the wrong, Sometimes twas with the patriots sometimes the poets song. And though those days are mantled OCT
  And murdered priest and peasant share Alike the myrtyr's tomb, But still the mass rock' rears it's head Defying times's rude blast, \ The sacred link that consecrates
 me present and the past. When lordly shannon northward
 sweeps
 And mingles with the Foyle, When Patrick's shamrock shall not
 spring
 From Erin's sacred soil. When Cashers Rock becomes a mead Where Saxon herds can graze, Then, tyrant, Ireland may forget To curse those penal days! But until then, my countrymen,
 Wherever you may roam, And that is every spot on earth Where manhood builds a home, I charge you by your future hopes, And by the martyrs grave, To ne'er forget your motherlana
 Is England's oldest slave.
 *Coathamore,Y Irish for overcoat, a common term in Ireland.
 JAMES ]. O'REILLYe July 20, 1902.
 Friends, Romans and countrymen, Tand ma vnl1f narE. ACNT aaf paadv