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Rh One word more—for signal token,
 * Whistle up the marchin' tune,

"With your pike upon your shoulder
 * By the risin' of the moon."

Out from many a mud-wall cabin,
 * Eyes were watching through that night:

Many a manly chest was throbbing
 * For the blessed warning light.

Murmurs passed along the valley,
 * Like the banshee's lonely croon,

And a thousand blades were flashing,
 * At the risin' of the moon.

There beside the singing river
 * That dark mass of men was seen,

Far above the shining weapons
 * Hung their own beloved green.
 * "Death to every foe and traitor!

Forward, strike the marchin' tune,
 * And hurrah, my boys, for freedom!

'Tis the risin' of the moon."

Well, they fought for poor old Ireland,
 * And full bitter was their fate.

(Oh! what glorious pride and sorrow
 * Fill the name of Ninety-eight! )

Yet, thank God, e'en still are beating
 * Hearts in manhood's burning moon,

Who would follow in their footsteps
 * At the risin' of the moon!

Leo Casey.

THE SADDEST SIGHT.

a woman her home would decorate, She stops not at obstacles small or great; But the funniest sight her trials afford Is when madam essays to saw a board.