were so changed, as to put him under the contempt of a cowardly prince, who had the insolence to demand hostages, or to challenge him into the field, where he did not doubt to make him feel the force of his arms, and of his courageous followers, who were justly esteemed invincible. The messenger, instead of returning the answer, presumed to dissuade Donough from his design of fighting; and insisted that his men were in no capacity to engage with the forces of his master, whose army was fresh and in good heart, and seemed impatient to enter into the field. But Donough replied with his usual majesty that if the law of nations had not secured him from ill treatment, he would instantly cut his tongue out for his insolence, and ordered him out of his presence with this injunction, to tell his master that he would meet him and his subjects of Ossery in the field if he had but one man to stand by him. With this answer the messenger returned, and Donough drew up his men in order of battle. His sick and wounded he designed to commit to the charge of one third part of his army, and with the rest he resolved to engage the enemy, but the wounded soldiers, who were lying upon the ground, immediately started up, and by the violence of the motion bursting open their wounds, they desired their general not to leave them behind, but suffer them to have a part in the action; and stopping their wounds a second time with moss, they laid hold of their weapons, and took their places in the ranks, resolved to assist their companions, and come off with victory or bravely die in the attempt. But most of them were so much reduced by loss of blood that they could not stand upon their legs, and to remedy this misfortune, they desired the general that a number of stakes should be cut in the neighbouring wood and driven into the ground; every wounded soldier was to be tied fast to one of these piles, and then to be placed regularly between two sound men, which would have that effect, that their sound companions would be ashamed to fly and abandon them in that helpless condition to the fury of the enemy; and therefore it would sharpen their courage to reflect that nothing but victory could secure the lives of their distressed friends, who would be cut off to a man if they were not relieved by the bravery of their fellow-soldiers. This proposal was put in execution to the great surprise of the enemy, who judged that they had nothing to expect but death or victory.

The army of Leinster and Ossery, under the command of Mac Giolla Patrick, were astonished at the resolution of that martial tribe, who were under arms expecting the sign of battle. They positively refused to fight, and told the king in a mutinous manner that nothing but a defeat was to be expected from the bravery of the Dailgais, that the wounded were as eager to engage as the sound, and therefore they would not run wilfully into the jaws of lions, who would inevitably tear them to pieces. Mac Giolla Patrick was ashamed, after he had given the challenge, to retire without fighting; and, upbraiding his army with fear and cowardice, insisted that they had the advantage of numbers, that the enemy had but a handful of men, worn out with grievous wounds and long marches, and that the first charge must give them victory. But the courage of the Dailgais, and their unexpected resolution, had impressed such a terror upon the army of Leinster, that they absolutely refused to engage with such desperate enemies; and the king, fearing a general mutiny and defection, was obliged to give over his design, and content himself with falling upon the Dailgais, and by constant skirmishes and stratagems of war to cut them off in their retreat; and this method was so successfully executed, that he annoyed the Dailgais and destroyed more of their men than he could possibly have done in a pitched battle. The conduct and experience of Donough was remarkable in making good his retreat and securing his men against the sudden attack of the enemy; but, notwithstanding all his diligence and caution, he brought back into their own country no more of that valiant tribe than 850, for a great number perished in the battle of Clontarf, and 150 were cut off in their return by Mac Giolla Patrick, king of Ossery.

[Gerald Nugent was, says Hardiman in his Irish Minstrelsy, the "son of a settler,” that is, he was one of those Irishmen of English descent of whom it was complained that they became more Irish than the Irish themselves. In the reign of King John the barony of Delvin in Meath was granted to Gilbert de Nugent, "the ancestor of our poet and also of the present noble family of Westmeath." By the time of Elizabeth the Nugents had taken to the Irish language like many other inhabitants of the Pale, and Gerald Nugent was a bard and harpist. He composed in Irish, and flinging aside his harp he joined with the Irish in their attempt to throw off the yoke of the conquerors. Of course the result was failure, and Nugent became an exile. In his grief at leaving the land of his birth he composed the ode or lamentation, a translation of which by the Rev. W. H. Drummond we extract from Hardiman's Minstrelsy. This is the only one of his poems that has been preserved. Where and when Gerald Nugent died we have been unable to discover.]

ODE WRITTEN ON LEAVING IRELAND.

What sorrow wrings my bleeding heart,
To flee from Innisfail!

Oh, anguish from her scenes to part,

Of mountain, wood, and vale! Vales that the hum of bees resound,

And plains where generous steeds abound.

While wafted by the breeze's wing,
I see fair Fintan's shore recede,

More poignant griefs my bosom wring,

The farther eastward still I speed. With Erin's love my bosom warms, No soil but hers for me has charms.

A soil enrich'd with verdant bowers,

And groves with mellow fruits that teem; A soil of fair and fragrant flowers,

Of verdant turf and crystal stream: Rich plains of Ir, that bearded corn, And balmy herbs, and shrubs adorn.

A land that boasts a pious race,

A land of heroes brave and bold; Enriched with every female grace

Are Banba's maids with locks of gold. Of men, none with her sons compare; No maidens with her daughters fair.

If Heaven, propitious to my vow,

Grant the desire with which I burn,
Again the foamy deep to plow,

And to my native shores return;
"Speed on," I'll cry, "my galley fleet,
Nor e'er the crafty Saxon greet."
No perils of the stormy deep

I dread yet sorrow wounds my heart;
To leave thee, Leogaire's fort, I weep;
From thee, sweet Delvin, must I part!
Oh! hard the task-oh! lot severe,
To flee from all my soul holds dear.

Farewell, ye kind and generous bards, Bound to my soul by friendship strong; And ye Dundargvais' happy lands,

Ye festive halls-ye sons of song; Ye generous friends in Meath who dwell, Beloved, adored, farewell! farewell!

Daily attend, my prince, thy people's cause,
For 'tis thy duty to dispense the laws.
No easy task, with justice to decide,
The tedious office yet you must abide.
With calm deliberation judge the cause,
And justly dispensate to all the laws,
Thy mind not sinking or to awe or fear,
Or love or hate,-to keep the right severe.
For sordid bribes of silver or of gold,

...

Be not thy judgment basely bought and sold. . . .
In wood-crown'd Fodla 'tis a law supreme,
That just decisions permanency claim:
If friends oppose, then firm resistance show
Till, humbled, to thy majesty they bow.
And should thy foe to supplication bend,
Forgive, and treat him as a new-made friend.
Thou mighty prop of Brian's race renown'd,
When war destructive breathes the plains around,
Furious be thy look and stern thy mien.
Son of my soul, be then thy spirit prov'd,
And in the battle's rage persist unmov'd.
To man of violence intrust no pow'r,
Or else thy country rues the fatal hour;
Attempt not, sovereign of Tumonia's plain,
T'engage in war that justice won't maintain;
Nor e'er resign thy right for dubious peace,
If thou wouldst guard thy pow'r against disgrace.
Restrain thy will, nor to extremes proceed;
Admit, sometimes, that thou be disobey'd;
Yet sooner will the land thy rule abide:-
Oppose strong patience to thy wrath's full tide,
Slow to engage, but certain to maintain
His plighted faith, oppressors to restrain;
To shield the weak, the turbulent chastise,
To stablish peace, both lasting, just, and wise,

A mighty monarch's reign immortalize.
Though numerous precepts still I could unfold,
For thy sure guidance, yet will I withhold,
Reserv'd my further counsel:-for, imprest
Be this just maxim deep upon thy breast,
Instruction briefly given is the best.

I will not, till my footsteps you pursue,
Praise thy fair limbs, or frame of fulgent hue;
Nor round, strong knee, torose, well form'd and
fair,

Nor tap'ring active foot, alert as air,

Nor lib'ral soul, majestic, great, and good,
Prompt, fearless, brave, impetuous as the flood;
Undaunted, firm, with native valour fir'd;
For prowess, might, and steadiness admir'd;
Facetious, mild, as zephyrs gentle blow,
Nor ever furious, but against the foe.

Yet will I praise, nor will my voice alone
Be rais'd to celebrate thy great renown.
If thou fulfil the purport of my lays,
From letter'd source deriv'd of wisdom's ways;1
The glorious sun shall spread thy praises round,
And feather'd songsters warble the sweet sound;
Each element beneath high heav'n's expanse,
Earth, water, air, will in full choir advance,
To sing in strain sublime, that ne'er will die,
Thy beaming, sprightly, animated eye.
The hum of bees will murmur o'er the woods,
And sportive trouts will wanton through the floods,
And e'en the sea-calves their deep tones will raise,
At once with me to celebrate thy praise.
The king, the warrior, the poetic sage,
Who live to see the blessings of thine age,

Shall praise thy name, thy great wise deeds avow, And none thine equal, virtuous prince, allow!

[Michael O'Clery, the principal author of the well-known Annals of the Four Masters, was, according to Geraghty in his introduction to Connellan's translation of that work, born in Donegal about the year 1580. He was descended from a learned family who had been for centuries hereditary historians to the O'Donnells, princes of Tyrconnell, and at an early age became distinguished for his abilities and laboriousness. While yet young he left Ireland and retired to the Irish Franciscan monastery at Louvain, where he soon attracted the attention of the learned Hugh Ward, a native of his own county, and a lecturer at the Irish College. His perfect knowledge of the Irish language and history caused him to be

employed by Ward to carry out a project that enthusiastic monk had formed for rescuing the annals and antiquities of his country from the comparative oblivion into which they had fallen.

O'Clery, accepting the offer made to him, returned to Ireland, where for many years he busied himself collecting manuscripts and other works and transmitting them to Louvain. In 1635 Ward died, but some time before he managed to publish from O'Clery's materials The Life of St. Rumold, an Irish Martyrology, and a treatise on the Names of Ireland. John Colgan, also a native of Done

The works of his predecessors.