{"newspaper_name": "The Wilmingtonian, and Delaware register.", "edition": "01", "page": "p1", "byline": ""}
other food than milk, and certain cakse, call
ed by the Hungarians kollatschen, together
with glass of good brandy, such as is made
in the country. He had descendants in the
fifth generation, with whom he sometimes
sportcd, carrying them in his arms. His
son, though ninety-seven was still fresh
and vigorous. When field marshall count
Wallis, the commandant at Temeswar,
heard that this old man was taken sick, he
caused portrait Of him to be painted, and
when it was almost finished he expired


Dennis Hampson, the blind bard of Mag
gilligan, of whom an interesting account has
been given by lady Morgan, in "The Wild
Irish Girl" died at the advanced age Of l10
years. The "Atheneum," from whence
this notice is extracted, relates, that only
few hours before his decease he tuned his
harp, that he might have it in readiness to
entertain Sir H. Bruce's family, who were
expected to pass that way in few DAYS,
and who were in the habit OF stopping to
hear his music; suddenly however, he felt
the approach Of death, and calling his fami-
ly around him, resigned his breath without
a struggle, and in perfect possession of his
faculties to the last moment. A kindred
spirit produced the following tribute to the
memory of this "aged son of song" He was
the oldest of the Irish bards.
The fame of the brave shall no longerbe sounded.


The last ofour bards now sleeps in his grave:
Alaggiligan rocks where his lays have resounded.


Irown dark at the ocean, and spurn at the


wave.
From Hampson, no more shall thy soul-touching


finger


Steal sweet DER the strings, and wild melody
| pour;


No more near thy hut shall the villagers linger.
While strains from thy harp warble soft round


the shore.


Nomore thy harp swells with enraptured emotion,


Thy wild CLEANS of fancy forever are fled,
NO longer thy minstrelsy charms the rude ocean,


That rolls near the green turf that pillows thy


head
Yet vigour and youth with bright visions had fired
4 thee,
And rose-buds of health have blown deep ON
thy cheek;


The songs of the sweet bards of Erin inspired


thee.


And urged thee TO wander like lsurels to seek.
Yes,oft hast thou sung of our kings crown'd with
glory.
$ Or, signing, repeated the lovers fond lay;
And oft hast thou sung of the bards famed in
D story,


Whose wild notes of rapture have long past a.
way.
Thy grave shall be screen'd from the blast and
the billow,
Around it fence shall posterity raise,
Erin's Children shall wet with their tears thy
: cold pillow,
Her youths shall lament thee, and carol thy


praise.