Was the funeral-pall for "the offspring of

hell,"

By the stake and the faggot defended.

Oh, then, for the soul of the martyrs of old, To spread out the banner they wove us! For the Tyrant of Rome is reviving and bold, And would fain wave his trophies above

us.

Up, up from your lethargy, Protestant men! Nor abandon the rights, they have won us ; Draw "the Sword of the Spirit" again and again,

For the martyrs are looking upon us.

And the martyrs of old, they were men of

grace,

And they've left us a noble story

In earth's fairest annals to find them a place,

Till they shine on the

page of glory.

THE SEIGE OF DERRY.

STRING high the harp, old Erin's harp,
That ever thrills to noble story;
Rest thee, good bard, by Derry's scarp,
And sing the song of Derry's glory!—

With ready hand he took the lyre,

And strung it high for deeds of wonder; Glowed all his frame with patriot fire,

As thus he sang the old walls under :

"They have swarmed from the south, They have poured from the west, They have banded together

Their bravest and best;

And they vow by the Virgin,

By Peter, and Paul,

That our own little Derry

Must open or fall.

"But the hearts of our Derry

Are faithful and brave,

And they've hands that can only Be chained by the grave;

And they vow by their children,

Their wives, and their all,

That our own little Derry
Shall conquer or fall.

"And they've been on their knees, To the Lord of the host,

They have ranged every man

At his perilous post;

And they answer the foe,

Like a storm from afar,

With William for ever!'

AndDerry-go-bragh!'

"Then the tyrant comes on, With his thousands of men; And his cannon-roar rattles Again and again;

But as loud is the cry

From the rampart afar,

"And the cold snow has rusted

Their armour till now, And the summer sun's glory

Bescorches their brow;

And fainter and feebler,

The battle-cries are,

King William for ever!'

And Derry-go-bragh!'

"But the pale form of Famine

Each true man appals,

And she beckons full many

Away from the walls:

Yet faithful, though failing,

The echoes still are,

'King William for ever!'

And 'Derry-go-bragh!'

"And many a brave one

Has yielded his breath,

And many a fair one

Has gone to her death;

But they fight for their king, While they wait for their doom,

Till the walls of their town

Are the walls of their tomb.

"But hurrah!-there's a sail On the waves of the Foyle,

And hurrah!-there is aid

For the patriot's toil:

There is food! There is food!

And the tyrant will see

What a giant of might

Little Derry can be.