This is too wonderful not to pass on -- Jean ----- Original Message ----- From: "Irish Mom" <Romilly@attbi.com> To: <IRELAND-L@rootsweb.com> Sent: Thursday, December 06, 2001 5:37 AM Subject: [IRELAND] My First Christmas In Heaven > This is for the subscribers I know have lost loved ones this year: > > > MY FIRST CHRISTMAS IN HEAVEN > > I see the countless Christmas trees around the world below > With tiny lights, like heaven's stars, reflecting on the snow. > The sight is so spectacular, please wipe away that tear, > For I am spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year. > > I hear the many Christmas songs that people hold so dear, > But the sounds of music can't compare with the Christmas choir up here. > I have no words to tell you the joy their voices bring, > For it is beyond description to hear the angels sing. > > I know how much you miss me, I see the pain inside your heart, > But I am not so far away. We really aren't apart. > So be happy for me, dear ones. You know I hold you dear, > And be glad I'm spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year. > > I send you each a special gift from my heavenly home above. > I send you each a memory of my undying love. > After all, "Love" is the gift, more precious than pure gold. > It was always most important in the stories Jesus told. > > Please love and keep each other, as our Father said to do, > For I can't count the blessings or love He has for you. > So, have a Merry Christmas and wipe away the tear. > Remember, I'm spending Christmas with Jesus Christ this year. > > Author Unknown > > > > > > > > > ==== IRELAND Mailing List ==== > Visit the Ireland List Homepage: > http://freepages.genealogy.rootsweb.com/~irelandlist > De nobis fabula narratur, their story is our story > http://irelandgenealogyprojects.rootsweb.com > > ============================== > Visit Ancestry.com for a FREE 14-Day Trial and enjoy access to the #1 > Source for Family History Online. Go to: > http://www.ancestry.com/rd/redir.asp?targetid=702&sourceid=1237 > >

Jean a chara, You are posting songs and poems that bring back so many lovely family memories. You told of Oliver Goldmith and he was the author of the poem my Dad knew in Gaeilge. And now Believe Me, If All Those Endearing Young Charms. When I was little (long time ago) my Dad asked me to learn that song on the piano for a St. Patrick's Day Celebration. Since my memory isn't hte greatest think he also enticed me to learn the words by offering a monetary reward. When I was growing up the AOH had an annual St. Patrick's Day show. When I was quite small my sisters who were 8 and 11 years older than me they would sing or play the piano and I would be more of a stage prop, then when I got a wee bit older then I started to play piano myself for the AOH doings. Go raibh maith agat, Jean for bringing back so many wonderful memories. Slan go foill, Margaret (Mairead) > BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS > > Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, > Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, > Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, > Like fairy gifts fading away! > Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, > Let thy loveliness fade as it will, > And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart > Would entwine itself verdantly still. > > It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, > And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, > That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, > To which time will but make thee more dear! > Oh the heart that has truly loved never forgets, > But as truly loves on to the close, > As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets > The same look which she turned when he rose! > > -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852) > > > ==== IrelandGenWeb Mailing List ==== > To contact the list administrator, please send an email to admin-irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com >

RAIN (Donegal) All day long The gray rain beating, On the bare hills Where the scant grass cannot cover, The gray rocks peeping Through the salt herbage All day long The young lambs bleating Stand for covering Where the scant grass is Under the gray wall, Or seeking softer shelter Under tattered fleeces Nuzzle the warm udders. All day long The little waves leaping Round the gray rocks By the brown tide borders, Round the black headlands Streaming with rain. -- Seumas O'Sullivan (born 1879)

BELIEVE ME, IF ALL THOSE ENDEARING YOUNG CHARMS Believe me, if all those endearing young charms, Which I gaze on so fondly to-day, Were to change by tomorrow, and fleet in my arms, Like fairy gifts fading away! Thou wouldst still be adored, as this moment thou art, Let thy loveliness fade as it will, And around the dear ruin each wish of my heart Would entwine itself verdantly still. It is not while beauty and youth are thine own, And thy cheeks unprofaned by a tear, That the fervor and faith of a soul may be known, To which time will but make thee more dear! Oh the heart that has truly loved never forgets, But as truly loves on to the close, As the sunflower turns to her god when he sets The same look which she turned when he rose! -- Thomas Moore (1779-1852)

Books can be a wonderful resource for background on an Irish county in a particular time period. In his Pulitzer prize winning autobiography, Frank McCourt recalls some of his experiences in Leamy's School, Limerick, circa 1940: I'm taken out of the fifth class and put into Mr. O'Halloran's sixth class with all the boys I know, Paddy Clohessy, Fintan Slattery, The Question Quigley, and when school is over that day I have to go back down to the statue of St. Francis of Assisi to thank him even if my legs are still weak from the typhoid and I have to sit on steps and hold on to walls... Mr. Thomas O'Halloran teaches three classes in one room, sixth, seventh, eighth. He has a head like President Roosevelt and he wears gold glasses. He wears suits, navy blue or gray, and there's a gold watch chain that hangs across his belly from pocket to pocket in his waistcoat. We call him Hoppy because he has a short leg and hops when he walks. He knows what we call him and he says, "Yes, I'm Hoppy and I'll hop on you." He carries a long stick, a pointer, and if you don't pay attention or give a stupid answer he gives three slaps on each hand or whacks you across the backs of your legs. He makes you learn eve! rything by heart, everything, and that makes him the hardest master in school... We have to know all the important dates in Irish history. He tells us what is important and why. No master ever told us why before. If you asked why you'd be hit on the head. Hoppy doesn't call us idiots and if you ask a question he doesn't go into a rage. He's the only master who stops and says, "Do ye understand what I'm talking about? Do you want to ask a question?" It's a shock to everyone when he says, the Battle of Kinsale in sixteen nought one was the saddest moment in Irish history, a close battle with cruelty and atrocities on both sides. Cruelty on both sides? The Irish side? How could that be? All the other masters told us the Irish always fought nobly, they always fought the fair fight. He recites and makes us remember: "They went forth to battle, but they always fell, Their eyes were fixed above the sullen shields, Nobly they fought and bravely, but not well, And sank heart-wounded by a subtle spell." If they lost it was because of traitors and informers. But I want to know about these Irish atrocities. "Sir, did the Irish commit atrocities at the Battle of Kinsale?" "They did, indeed. It is recorded that they killed prisoners but they were no better nor worse than the English." Mr. O'Halloran can't lie. He's the headmaster. All these year we were told the Irish were always noble and they made brave speeches before the English hanged them. Now Hoppy O'Halloran is saying the Irish did bad things. Next thing he'll be saying the English did good things! He says, "You have to study and learn so that you can make up your own mind about history and everything else but you can't make up an empty mind. Stock your mind, stock your mind. It is your house of treasure and no one in the world can interfere with it. If you won the Irish Sweepstakes and bought a house that needed furniture would you fill it with bits and pieces of rubbish? Your mind is your house and if you fill it with rubbish from the cinemas it will rot in your head. You might be poor, your shoes might be broken, but your mind is a palace." He calls us one by one to the front of the room and looks at our shoes. He wants to know why they're broken or why we have no shoes at all. He ! tells us this is a disgrace and he's going to have a raffle to raise money so that we can have strong warm boots for the winter. He gives us books of tickets and we swarm all over Limerick for Leamy's School boot fund, first prize five pounds, five prizes of a pound each. Eleven with no boots get new boots. Malachy (Frank's brother) and I don't get any because we have shoes on our feet even if the soles are worn away and we wonder why we ran all over Limerick selling tickets so that other boys could get boots. -- Excerpt, Frank McCourt, "Angela's Ashes," (1996)

THE MAN OF THE NORTH COUNTRIE He came from the North, and his words were few, But his voice was kind and his heart was true; And I knew by his eyes no guile had he, So I married the man of the North Countrie. Oh! Garryowen may be more gay, Than this quiet street of Ballibay; And I know the sun shines softly down On the river that passes my native town. But there's not -- I say it with joy and pride -- Better man than mine in Munster wide; And Limerick town has no happier hearth Than mine has been with my man of the North. I wish that in Munster they only knew The kind, kind neighbours I came unto; Small hate or scorn would ever be Between the South and the North Countrie. -- Thomas D'Arcy McGee (1825-1868)

GIRL OF THE RED MOUTH Girl of the red mouth, Love me! Love me! Girl of the red mouth, Love me! 'Tis by its curve, I know, Love fashioneth his bow, And bends it -- ah, even so! Oh, girl of the red mouth, love me! Girl of the blue eye, Love me! Love me! Girl of the dew eye, Love me! Worlds hang for lamps on high; And thought's world lives in thy Lustrous and tender eye -- Oh, girl of the blue eye, love me! Girl of the swan's neck, Love me! Love me! Girl of the swan's neck, Love me! As a marble Greek doth grow To his steed's back of snow, Thy white neck sits thy shoulder so -- Oh, girl of the swan's neck, love me! Girl of the low voice, Love me! Love me! Girl of the sweet voice, Love me! Like the echo of a bell -- Like the bubbling of a well -- Sweeter! Love within doth dwell -- Oh, girl of the low voice, love me! -- Martin MacDermott (1823-1905)

BIO: John Tyndall was born in Leighlinbridge, Co. Carlow on 02 Aug 1820. During the course of his life, this very intelligent poet-scientist was to invent practical items such as a safe miners' lamp, a powerful lighthouse beacon and the first practical gas mask -- therefore being responsible for saving the lives of many thousands of miners, sailors and common labourers. In France, Pasteuration is called Tyndallization, for it was John Tyndall who apparently first discovered the process of killing bacteria in milk, Louis Pasteur merely passed along Tyndall's discovery to mankind. Per article in "Ireland of the Welcomes," Tyndall could be called a brillant but "invisible scientist" whose theories and accomplishments were often attributed to others. John Tyndall also described the action of the fungus penicillum on bacteria over a century before Sir Alexander Fleming re-discovered the antibotic. Tyndall was also a master mountaineer, and was the first person to climb several peaks in the Alps. He reached to within a few hundred feet of the top of the famed Matterhorn the year before Whymper succeeded in the difficult climb. Tyndall was directly descended from a group of Gloucestershire farmers who crossed the Irish Sea in the 17th century. His parents, although apparently well educated, were poor. His mother was disinherited for marrying against her father's wishes. His father was a sergeant in the Royal Irish Constabulary, and an Orangeman by inclination, although the senior Tyndall most certainly was not a religious bigot. He did, in fact, send his son John to school under the tutelage of a Catholic who can be best described as a hedge schoolmaster. It was a pay school, a luxury that John Tyndall senior could ill afford. Master Conwill was known over the entire countryside for his scholarship and teaching ability. He imparted to his students a basic foundation in English and mathematics as well as surveying, the latter being indispensable for young John whose interests were to lead him into the physical sciences. John studied under Conwill until his 17th birthday, a far older age tha! n most country lads. In retrospect, it seems that Tyndall was more than likely an assistant schoolmaster during his latter two years at Ballinbranagh schoolhouse. Tyndall joined the Ordnance Survey as a Civil Servant on 01 April 1839. For a short time he surveyed in Co Carlow close to his home, but in 1840 he was transferred to Youghal in Co. Cork. In 1842 he was transferred by the Ordnance Survey to Preston in England. He never returned to Ireland expect for short visits home. In Preston he joined the Chartist labour movement led by immigrants from Ireland. His articles in the "Liverpool Mercury" were outspoken and exposed the injustices to the lower working classes, Irish and English alike. Since the Civil Service could ill afford to be politicised by his strong position concerning labour he was fired and returned to Carlow to rethink his future. Since the Tyndalls were Quakers it should be no surprise that the brilliant young scholar joined the staff of Queenswood College, a progressive Quaker school in Hampshire, England. Here Tyndall and his closest friend, the chemist Edward Frankland, built the first practical science laboratory in England. In 1848 he left Queenwood to work on a Ph.D. at Marbury University in Germany, and completed a mathematical dissertation in only two years. While there he came under the influence of the German chemist Robert Bunsen who invented the famous Bunsen burner, even today a basic instrument of every chemistry laboratory. By June 1851, Tyndall had returned to England and made many influential scientific friends. He was nonetheless defeated in attempts to gain a lectureship at Cork and Galway Universities. Had he succeeded he might have spent the remainder of his life in his native land. As fate would have it he was chosen to present a lecture at the Royal Institute (The Royal ! Society). His lectureship was recommended by a committee of which Michael Faraday, the great electrical scientist, was a prominent member. Tyndall's outstanding lecture so impressed Faraday and others that he was shortly afterwards elected Professor of Natural Philosophy at the great Institute. Faraday and Tyndall were to remain admiring co-workers and friends for the rest of Faraday's life. When his friend died, John Tyndall succeeded him as Secretary of the Royal Institute. The rest of Tydall's life was spent managing and conducting experiments and writing first-class poetry. Importantly, John invented the first infra-red spectrophotometer.

What with the poetry? ___________________________________________ Mike "Doc" Dougherty http://members.aol.com/doughertym/index.html Researching the following surnames: Adams, Allison, Bearint, Dougherty, Dull, Herr, Levo McDermott, McDevitt, Steinman ___________________________________________

Dear Lists -- Have an interesting little follow-up to the Circus posts earlier on an Irish list - Found an old Fall 1953 issue of "American Heritage" magazine which tells of NY attorney, George Templeton Strong, whose long-hidden diary had recently come to light. The diary of a private citizen, it mirrored the social life of NYC and the U.S. from 1835-1875. It was written with "sincerity, candor, variety, with great wit." I thought that perhaps a NYC researcher would be interested to know about it existence. Sounds like he wrote something on the order of Mark Twain. Does anyone know if Strong had an Irish background? Strong was an exceptionally interesting and talented human being, because he kept in touch with a wide range of interests - literary, artistic, musical, social and political - and his material would be a good background resource for NY during that time, with its many Irish. Strong was born into a well-to-do and intellectually distinguished family, his father being a Yale-educated lawyer who had known Alexander Hamilton very well and had founded one of the flourishing lega firms of NY. Strong was trained at Columbia and his had a great instinct for public service. He was a founder of the Philharmonic Society, trustee of Columbia College, of the Bank of Savings and of St. Luke's Hospital. He was a loyal vestryman of Trinity Church, deeply interested in the fortunes of the Episcopal sect, one of the founders of the School of Mines at Columbia. He was treasurer of the Sanitary Commission (precursor of the Red Cross) during the Civil War. He had a passionate interest in music, never missed an important concert, he loved Walt Whitman, and was keenly aware of the defects of the great metropolis; its vice, its crime, its squalor, and the corruption within the Tweed Ring that came to flower in his last years. The Strong residence was at 108 Greenwich St, NCY. By mid 1865, he speaks of "cholera being very severe in certain districts of NY and Brooklyn, inhibited by the unwashed, and very severe, indeed, among soldiers at Governor's Island and Hart's Island, and among paupers at Bellevue Hospital and Ward's Island." He wrote, "I find it shameful that men, women and children should be permitted to live in such holes as thousands of them occupy this night in this city. The epidemic is God's judgment on the poor for neglecting His sanitary laws. It will soon appear as His judgment on the rich for tolerating that neglect - on landlords for poisoning the tenants of their unventilated, undrained, sunless rookeries, poisoning them as directly as if the landlord had put a little ratsbane into the daily bread of each of the hundred families crowded within the four walls of his pest-house. And the judgment will be not on the owners of the tenement houses alone, but on the whole community." Strong has an entry in his diary concerning Barnum's circus. July 13, 1865: Lovely weather. A vigorous northwest wind made the tedious railroad ride from Washington less prostrating than usual. Reached home at five P.M. Lonely house, for Ellie marched on Long Branch yesterday at the head of her column, leaving two of the women behind her. I'm dusty and girmy. In default of any "Scabbi-fungic" (a new patent medicine stenciled on Baltimore fences), I shall presently try what Croton water will do. On reaching Broadway from the Jersey City ferry boat, I perceived a crowd of bipeds and a great convocation of steam fire engines puffing and shrieking. A big fire that began at noon had just ended. Barnum's show shop and several buildings of less note on Broadway, Ann Street, and Fulton Street were burned up. Alas, for the "Happy Family" and the inmates of scores of Aquaria, and for the stuffed monkey riding on the stuffed yellow dog, which my childhood venerated. Alas, for the huge quartz crystal I have so often coveted for the School of Mines! Barnum's was an ancient institution. The museum building dates back (I think) to 1830. It has long been an eyesore, with its huge pictures of the fat woman, the "What-Is-It?," the albino children, and the tableau from the reigning "Moral Spectacular Drama." The horrible little brass band that was always tooting in its balcony must have produced or aggravated many cases of nervous disease, for it tormented all passengers at the very junction of our two most crowded downtown thoroughfares. May the sins of those six cruel artists be forgiven them. May they henceforth play less hideously false, and may they all find renumerative engagements in some situation where people will not be forced to hear them notwithstanding all they can do..." ----- Original Message ----- From: "bzbee" <bzbee@bellsouth.net> To: "Jean Rice" <jeanrice@cet.com> Sent: Wednesday, October 03, 2001 7:07 PM Subject: Re: [IrelandGenWeb] Barnum & Brady, NYC -- James Murphy, the "Irish Giant" & Anna Swan > Anna Haining Swan b. Aug. 7, 1846 in New Annan , Nova Scotia (one place said Millbrook, NS), wt. 18 lbs. and at 4 years was 4 ' 6". @ 15 was 7' 11" and 400 lbs. Md. Martin Van Buren Bates " The Kentucky Giant" . After traveling with Barnum & other circuses they settled in Seville, Ohio where they > are buried. Anna died August 5, 1888 at age 42. He remarried a lady of some 5' tall! It mentions that she was of Scottish ancestry. > > All that I find on James Murphy "The Irish Giant" is that he was 8' tall 350 lbs. and died March 1875 at age 33 in Baltimore, Md. > > There is a lovely museum in Tatamagouche, NS to Miss Swan. Very interesting site. > > Jean Rice wrote: > > > Does anyone know anything about James Murphy, billed as the "Irish Giant," by Phineas T. Barnum, or another "giant," 423-pound Anna Swan? What about Brady's Daguerrean Gallery in NYC? > > > > Photos taken mid-1860s at Brady's of handsome James Murphy and curvaceous, weight-proportionate-to-height Anna Swan appeared in the Aug-Sept 1979 "American Heritage" set of books. > > > > The careers of two notables - Phineas T. Barnum and Mathew Brady were joined at that time. Barnum's American Museum sat kitty-corner from Brady's Daguerrean Gallery in New York City, and from time to time Barnum would accompany one or two of his so-called "oddities" for a sitting (or standing). > > > > Anna Swan, during the 1865 fire which destroyed Barnum's museum, apparently had to be lifted to safety with a derrick. > > > > I was curious where some of these individuals were born. > > > > ==== IrelandGenWeb Mailing List ==== > > To contact the list administrator, please send an email to admin-irelandgenweb@rootsweb.com > > >

HIGH AND LOW He stumbled home from Clifden fair With drunken song, and cheeks aglow. Yet there was something in his air That told of kingship long ago. I sighed -- and inly cried With grief that one so high should fall so low. He snatched a flower and sniffed its scent, And waved it toward the sunset sky. Some old sweet rapture through him went And kindled in his bloodshot eye. I turned -- and inly burned With joy that one so low should rise so high. -- James H. Cousins (born 1873)

ALL DAY I HEAR THE NOISE OF WATERS All day I hear the noise of waters Making moan, Sad as the sea-bird is, when going Forth alone, He hears the winds cry to the waters' Monotone. The gray winds, the cold winds are blowing Where I go. I hear the noise of many waters Far below. All day, all night, I hear them flowing To and fro. -- James Joyce (1882-1941)

THE EARTH AND MAN A little sun, a little rain, A soft wind blowing from the west, And woods and fields are sweet again, And warmth within the mountain's breast. So simple is the earth we tread, So quick with love and life her frame, Ten thousand years have dawned and fled, And still her magic is the same. A little love, a little trust, A soft impulse, a sudden dream, And life as dry as desert dust Is fresher than a mountain stream. So simple is the heart of man, So ready for new hope and joy; Ten thousand years since it began Have left it younger than a boy. -- Stopford A. Brooke (1832-1916)

THE CAREFUL HUSBAND I am told, sir, you're keeping an eye on your wife, but I can't see the reason for that, on my life. For if you go out, O most careful of men, It is clear that you can't keep an eye on her then. Even when you're at home and take every care, It is only a waste of your trouble, I swear. For if you for one instant away from her look, She'll be off into some inaccessible nook. If you sit close beside her and don't let her move, By the flick of an eyelid she'll signal her love. If you keep her in front of you under your eye, She will do what she likes and your caution defy. When she goes out to mass, as she'd have you suppose, You must not stay a minute, but go where she goes. You must not walk in front nor yet too far behind her. But she's got such a start that I doubt if you'll find her. -- Anonymous (17th century), translated by the Earl of Longford.

Hi Listers I'm a recent arrival in Ireland, from South Africa, and am researching my LONEY line which has been in Guernsey at least from the late 1700's to the last century. We must have started in Ireland at some stage - haven't found it yet! I have only been able to go as far back as Capt. WILLIAM PETER BARTHOLOMEW LONEY who lived and died in Guernsey in the early 1800's. I haven't been able to find his birth date or place - so would be over the moon if the name rings a bell with anybody. Many thanks! Kind regards Lynda Cookson Co. Galway Ireland www.absolutearts.com/portfolios/n/nutmeg

Has anyone any experience with the following Census sustitute held at the PRONI? 1831- National school registers, which record the age of the pupil, religion, father's address and occupation, are a valuable source of information for anyone interested in tracing their family tree. PRONI has in its custody over 1,500 registers for schools in the Northern Ireland area and the Guide to Educational Records, available on the Search Room shelves, includes an alphabetical index to these records. Trying to find any reference to my g-grandfather Stubbs Lambert c1841, Son of Capt Peter Lambert of castle Ellen. Athenry, Co Galway. No luck with Parish records for the area. thanks.

BIO: The chains encircling the concrete posts in front of the main door in 1996 were rusty and the scutch grass grew high on the old sturdy wall. But the Ballroom of Romance, the Rainbow, in Glenfarne on the side of the Enniskillen to Sligo road was still standing. The music is long gone. Big Tom doesn't play there anymore. In 1996, Glenfarne, Co. Leitrim is a village of three pubs, a post office, 50 or 60 families and a barrel of memories. Fifty years of good times when the dancing years flourished as they came from miles around to step the night away. It began in a small hall, little more than a galvanised shed, when a young man returned from Depression-hit America with a pocket full of dollars and a fistful of dreams. John McGivern was 22 years old, had left the small family farm and worked as an elevator operator in Jersey City. He went to night school and studied the art of public speaking. He came back in 1934, persuaded Michael Keaney to form a local band and ran weekly dances. In the 1950s, bands like Stephen Garvey and Brose Walsh and Jack Ruane, all Mayo musicians drew the crowds and were paid seven pounds between ten players plus a meat tea, according to receipts still extant. (Alcohol was never served). It was a band called the Melody Aces from Newtownstewart in Co. Tyrone who were responsible for the lasting nomenclature: "The Ballroom of Romance." They suggested to John that he personally introduce a romantic interlude. He always dressed in a tuxedo, got on stage and sang, "Have You Ever Been Lonely." Then he encouraged the men and women to make themselves known to each other and give each other a twirl (and, I heard, a shy peck on the cheek!). The system worked and even when the big showband stars came to the Rainbow, John was given his matchmaking spot. Visiting acts like The Everly Brothers, Billy Furey, Ronnie Ronald and homegrown products like the Clipper Carlton, The Royal, The Capitol, were halted in favour of the "Interlude." In 17 years up to the 1974 John McGivern noted that 202 marriages came from his "Ballroom of Romance" and 157 engagements. John met his own wife, Maureen, at a dance in the Rainbow. She was from Enniskillen, Co. Fermanagh. They were married in 1954, had three sons and several grandchildren. John McGivern died on 10 May 1996 at the age of 84. Maureen had fond memories of the dancing and kept thousands of souvenirs - receipts, band cards, posters. "You know we were invited to every wedding. To this day I'm still in contact with some couples." At the funeral Mass for John McGivern (he was buried 100 yards from the Ballroom) four members of the Melody Aces played some special music. Edward McNamee, Gene Turbett, Patsy McGonagle and Shay Hutchinson sang in unison, "Have You Even Been Lonely." -- Excerpt, "Leitrim Guardian"

"ON THE RESTORATION OF ST. BRIGID'S CHURCH, KILTUBRID" Starting from the baptismal font, where water Once sprinkled on his head, now I his daughter Lean to the rose windows of the mystical cross Worshiping creation, in his name, the loss Of the land and language by the holy well When green-mouthed corpses had tongues swell Hungered for food and truth of race and kind Eight thousand teeming souls to bind In their febrile agony, and to long for an end To betrayal, anguish, exile of foe and friend I now honour memory, the blessed well's return The church anew, the well to fill the churn. To hope and faith, where we long to learn, Undo the history, right from wrong discern. -- Rosemarie Rowley, "The Leitrim Guardian" (1997)

The words of Irish Poet William Allingham (1824-1889) "Four ducks on a pond A grass bank beyond A blue sky of spring White birds on the wing What a little thing To remember for years To remember with tears!"

LIMERICK: In Frank McCourt's tender Pulitzer Prize winning autobiography, he sees Ireland through the eyes of a child: "On Sunday mornings in Limerick I watch them go to the church, the Protestants, and I feel sorry for them, especially the girls, who are so lovely, they have such beautiful white teeth. I feel sorry for the beautiful Protestant girls, they're doomed. That's what the priests tell us. Outside the Catholic Church there is nothing but doom. And I want to save them. Protestant girl, come with me to the True Church. You'll be saved and you won't have the doom. After Mass on Sunday I go with my friend Billy Campbell to watch them play croquet on the lovely lawn on Barrington Street. Croquet is a Protestant game. They hit the ball with the mallet, pock and pock again, and laugh. I wonder how they can laugh or don't they even know they're doomed? I feel sorry for them and I say, "Billy what's the use of playing croquet when you're doomed?" He says, "Fra! nkie, what's the use of not playing croquet when you're doomed?" -- "Angela's Ashes, A Memoir" (1996)