is no dew on the grass, and the birds do not sing sweetly. With
sorrow after you, Daly, till death, there never will be fruit on
the trees.

'And that is the true man, that didn't humble himself or lower
himself to the Gall; Anthony Daly, O Son of God! He was that with
us always, without a lie. But he died a good Irishman; and he never
bowed the head to any man; and it was with false swearing that
Daly was hung, and with the strength of the Gall.

'If I were a clerk--kind, light, cheerful with the pen--it is I
would write your ways in clear Irish on a flag above your head. A
thousand and eight hundred and sixteen, and four put to that, from
the coming of the Son of God, to the death of Daly at the Castle of
Seefin.'

I have heard, and have also seen in manuscript, a terrible list of
curses that he hurled at the head of another poet, Seaghan Burke. But
these were, I think, looked on as a mere professional display, and do
not seem to have any ill effect.

Here are some of them:--

'That God may perish you on the mountain-side, without a priest,
bishop, or clerk. Seven years may you be senseless and without wit,
going from door to door as an unfortunate creature.

'May you have a mouth that will go back to your ear, and may your
lips be turned back like gums; that your legs may lose feeling from
the knee down, your eyes lose their sight, and your hands lose