THE BROWNIES IN IRELAND.

Some left the cultivated sod,

And on the untilled hillocks trod—

Those mounds that rise in certain lands,
Built up, ’t is said, by fairy hands,

And still held sacred to the fay

And leprechawn at present day.

Some ran upon the springy bogs,

Or looked in vain for snakes and frogs.
Said one: “St. Patrick, sure enough,

 

As legends tell us, used them rough;

First laid upon the rogues a curse,

And then, to make their lot the worse,
With blackthorn stick and brogue combined
Made short work of the reptile kind.

The serpents wriggled from the shore

 

To hiss upon the soil no more;

~The frogs jumped off in frightened bands
To tune their pipes in other lands,

And Erin, to this day, you see,

From every one of them is free.”

 

eae fs
n ln
Hae

They sailed upon Killarney’s lakes,

Where every wave in silver breaks,
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