"THE SASSENAGH PRIEST."

New Zealand Tablet, Volume XV, Issue 21, 16 September 1887, Page 31

"THE SASSENAGH PRIEST."

(By Patrick SabsfiiiLD Cassidy, in the Celtic Monthly.') Lost soggarth aroon, may the heavens defend And the angels protect you, for you were our friend ; No iodagh o'erbearing could trample us down, Nor landlord oppress vs —we feared not his frown — While you were among us, with heart big and warm, To fight for our rights and to shield us from hanr. Ah I from us they took you —lost light of our eyes, But you'll beam in our hearts like a star in the skies. At christenings and weddings and stations you still Were one of ourselves with a hearty good will; You smiled at our pleasures—God knows they are few 1 — And all our divarsions gave pleasure to you. You sighed for our sorrows and felt for our woes, And placed your strong breast between us and our foes ; But, Priest and Protector, they took yon away, And sad are our hearts, and" a shame on that day 1 They sent us, lost soggarth, a priest in your place Who's haughty and proud, with a frown on his face As chilling and cold as a northern blast When the days of December come hurrying fast ; We don't like to meet him—we turn, sure, aside When out on the highway he happens to ride ; But, soggarth aroon, we'd walk many a mile In the teeth of a storm to get warm in your smile. He dines with the big-bugs and agents in state, And hiß horse it turns in at the magistrate's gate ; He frowns on our pleasures, he scolds at our faults, And the virtues and ways of the rich he exalts I He says we are ignorant and cross in the grain, He sneers at our good traits because they are plain ; Our pastimes are fewer, our sufferings increased, But he doesn't care —he's a Sassenagh priest. On Sunday he in through the green chapel yard Will pass us with l»ok that is haughty and hard, And we —God forgive us ? —we haven't the heart To take at his Mass a devotional part; Our hearts are not with him, our minds not on prayer, When we see in your vestments him standing there ; We stray through the yard and we care not the least, For somehow we feel —he's a Sassenagh priest. When Mass is all over, the women don't wait In a line from the chapel's stretched door to the gate, Their blessings to speak and look into his face, The sweet lines of love and affection to trace. The children don't follow and pluck his soutane, And tempt him to speak to them even in ban ; Lost soggarth aroon, io see you was a feast, But we flee at his sight —lie's a Sassenagh priest. We know lie's no feeling for us and for ours ; Between him and us a cold winier cloud lowers As bitter and black as his cold-blooded pride ; But he'll find that we too have some pride on our Bide. He " don't like annoyance " —he hunts us like mice If e'er we go to him for a bit of advic; 1 For him our affection and reverence have ceased — And why should they not ? —he's a Sassenagh priest.

Ab, Priest, can you ever forget the old time When to be a true priest was a capital crime ? Still true were your flock and defied the fierce frown Of each base human blood-hound that hunted you down. And c'en with the deadly steel passed through the breast, Your hiding place never, no never — confessed, But died with the prayer—" Be his safety increased." That man was unknown, then, a " Sassenagh Priest ?" Ah 1 dark be the dawn and outlook of each morn, For the Priest who but merits his people's cold scorn Preferring the vain-tinselled shallows of pride To generous affection's safe, full-flowing tide. Think, Priest, 'tis your crime if your conduct should sever Those blood-bonds of friendship oppression could never, And woe be to you, when, your influence ceased, You're scorned by y our people — a Sassenagh priett.