Waterbury Democrat., 1902-12-31

While OCT his vengeful, glazing eye Waved Erin's sunburst proud and high. Those were the days when chief and
 kern
 Fought inch by inch from Lee to Erne, And struck the fierce invader down With spear and glaive, in field and
 town.
 He gave them first on Leinster's strand An Irish welcome, sword in hand. The white capped waves which lashed
 the shore
 Were crimsoned with the Norman's
 gore,
 And many fierce despoiler then Had wished himself at home again. The Red Hand to the breeze was flung, And Tyrone's warriors round him
 chung,
 As brave a chief, as brave a clan, As ever marched in freedoms van; And many fierce and wild forray They fought in days long passed away. Their wild onslaught no foe could
 stand,
 While Der them waved the Bloody
 Hands
 That was the signal for the strife, The shield of altar, maid and wife, Triumphant on hundred fields, Tine clansman dies but never yields.
 
 To bribe, divide, that warlike clan. Cursed be the hand that grasps the
 gold For which a sacred cause is sold. Summed be the wretch prescribed and
 banned, .sI: ss@s An outlaw in the free mans land. May Gods destroying angel smote The death cry in his craven throat. The happiest day in all my life Was when made Kathleen my wife, Surrounded by her fathers clan. The feast was held in old Strabane, Whose storied towers I now can see, Across those leagues of land and sea. For years we lived so happy there l thought that joy reigned everywhere. A dark cloud swept our sky of blue, We landed here in fifty-two. 1 A few years more the war broke out, The war between the north and south, And brave men hurried to the field. To fight, to die, but never yield, Until the old flag floated free Above the land from sea to sea.
 For when those battle guns awoke The nation, like a lightning stroke, And we could penetrate the smoke That fioated OCT the field, There clearly outlined fore our view, In deaths embrace lay gray and blue. Each soldier to his flag was true, But neither side would yield. An! long and weary seem those years Since Lincoln called for volunteers, Whose hearts best blood should dye the sod, #--,% 4 A sacrifice to freedoms God,
 An offering worthy of the free,
 The price of human liberty.
 My Kathleen's eyes lit up with joy While gazing on our only boy, Whose face reflected back her own When we first met in old Tyrone. With all a Spartan mothers pride She bravely tried her grief to hide. Her hero in the vanguard died, With Meagher's bold brigade. The roll of Fredericksburg was read, His name was first amongst the dead. He fell where freer1en IobIy bIed, To break oppression's chain. The story of those fearful years Is chronicled in blood and tears. | Columbia stands without compeers, The worlds pride to-day. Her hour of strife and conflict o'er, l Old Glory waves from shore to shore, l And she shall wave forever more, Proud emblem of the free While ragged that fratricidal fray What part did Cousin England play? w lO uer lOV0 SO lOuu IO-QdY While louder we discIaim? Y Go read the records OCT and see | The despot's deep laid villainy, Then swear your country ne'er shall be Linked with that thing for gain. Historians have recorded we'll 1 The fame of those who fought and fell. 1t may be better not to dwell ! Too much 'pon long ago. Poor Kathleen, dearest loved and best.
 Has long ago been laid to rest. God grant her soul is ith the blest, Where we all hope to go. | In looking back along the years, I Composed of joy and hope and tears, | The brightest spot which there appears I Is my old Irish home. With Kathleen smiling by my side, see her now blushing bride, ! And when I cross the great divide ] She'll meet me there I know. | Among celestial groves and flowers We may recall those happy hours When we first loved in mundane bow 1 CTS, -.. #.s
 And she was all my own.
 This dream may very soon be true, l My mother land, a fond adieu, An exile's blessing be with you,
 Historic old Tyrone" 1 JAMES J. GREELEY. l December p, 1902.