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%
"^SiU^i^"
RELIQUES
OF
IRISH POETRY:
CONSISTING OP
HEROIC POEMS, ODES, ELEGIES, AND
SONGS,
TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH YBRSSs
JFitA Noiei txpUauAor^ 9.mi,kiUoricali
▲ITD
THE ORIGINALS IN THE IRISH CHARACTER.
TO WHICH n tUmiOOnBD ah IRim TALK.
BY MISS BEOOKE.
TO WHICH IS PRBVIXBD,
A MEMOIR OF HER LIFE AND WRITINGS^ BY AARON CROSSLY SEYMOUR, ESQ.
AUTHOH OF '* LETTBBt TO TOURA PBRtOHty*' Ac. &C*
ti Ojtw, -dt* bin ijt) t)o t*5^^td.— C-dC ^^^4.
Melodious^ Oisin^ are thy itrains to me.
DUBLIN:
PRINTED BT J. CURISTll, 17, ROSS-LAVK*
1816.
; "
Iff?
MEMOIRS OF MISS BROOKE.
TO descend to posterity mrith honour, and have a name inscribed in the annals of fame, is the ear- nest desire of multitudes, but the lot comparatively of few. The great mass is soon forgotten, and their memory perishes. An elegant sepulchral monument, though loaded with the praises of the deceased,, soon ceases to interest the spectator, and being so com- mon a thing is regarded rather as a proof of the wealth than the virtues of the man*
A good and benevolent tenor of conduct will make a person remembered in his circle during the con-* tinuance of that generation. Deeds of public virtue and prowess will be objects of national applause for the same space. Extraordinary actions which affect the destinies of a kingdom will give a place in the page of history, and secure a lasting remembrance. Such as have been benefactors, not to their own country alone, but to mankind, by the alleviation of human misery, by putting a stop to a general and long continued course of injustice and oppres- non, and by the introduction of principles calcu- lated to augment the sum of personal and Mcial fdicity, will justly possess a wider extent of fame, be celebrated in every country as the friend of man, and descend from age to age with undiminished praise. By those who h^ve attained the first rank in
It iftfiMoms of
learning^, or written books of raperior excellence, a renown as e}(tensiye and as durable will be acquired. Biography has always been highly extolled. It has frequently been compared with other kinds of composition, and pronounced peculiarly entertain- ing and instructive. The utility of it has been even ranked above the advantages resulting from general history ; for the aim of all history should be to de- scribe and exhibit persons impartially as they are, that goodness may excite admintion, and vice ab- horrence. Upon this principle, individual represen- tations are obvionaly superior to general and aggre^ gate. When the attention is attracted and confined to one. particular object, the view is more distinct, and the impression is more forcible. Expansion and division weaken : multiplicity and variety distract. This may be judged of, says a masterly writer, by the feelings and operations of the mind in the con- templation of other things.— *' When from the sum- mit of some lofty mountain, we survey the wide extended landscape, though highly delighted, we feel ourselves bewildered and overwhelmed by the profusion and diversity of beauties which nature spreads around us. But when we enter the detail of nature : when we attend the footsteps of a friend through some favoured, beautiful spot, which the eye and the mind take in at once ; feeling ounelves at ease, with undivided, undistracted attention we contemplate the whole, we examine and arrange the parts ; the imagination is indeed less expanded, but the heart is more gratified ; and pleasure is less violent and tumultuous, but it is more intense, more complete, and continues much longer; what is lost in respect of sublimity, is gained in perspicuity> force^ and duration."
MISS imOOKfl. T
It 18 remarked by our celebrated moralist. Dr. Johnsoii» '' That there has scarcely passed a life of which a jndicious and faithfal narrative would not hare been useful/' If such a remark is generally apjAcable^ much more is it appropriate to persons of profound sagacity, brilliant imagination, amaz- ing fortitude, quickness of perception, and strength of intellect. And if the history of such persons be executed with fidelity and skill, while it exercises the judgment less severely, it will fix down the attention more closely, and make its way more di- recdy and more forcibly to the heart But it has frequently been'observed, that the lives of literary characters are enlivened by few incidents, and therefore seldom afford any great scope for bio* graphical remark ; for variety of action is not to be expected in the closet, or in the privacy of study : a simple narrative, therefore, of their writings and opinions is all that we can hope to find in their history. The life of the late celebrated Miss B]x>oko particularly exemplifies this observation ; for in tha retirement which she loved and courted, and the tranquil labours of the closet, there is little room for the display of individual character, however great the abilities of the agent, and however im- portant the effects of her literary exertions on the age in which she lived.
Miss Brooke was descended from one of those families which heralds pronounce ancient and ho^ nourable. The family derive their name probably from Brooke in the County of Wilts, of which they have been possessed from a very early period. The pedigree is regularly deduced from William de la Brooke, who lived in the reign of Henry III. anno 1249, and whose descendants were ennobled aj
Tl MEMOmS OF
Knights, Baronets, and Barons. Sir Basil Brooke, of Madeley, in the County of Salop, Knight, who married Etheldred, only daughter of Sir Edmund Brudenell, ancestor to the Earls of Cardigan, ( son of Sir Thomas Brudenell, Knt. by Elizabeth, eldest daughter of Sir William Fitz- William, of Melton, in Northamptonshire, ancestor to the present Earl Fitz-William) was Sheriff of Rutland in 1558, the last year of Queen Mary's reign, and Sheriff of the County of Northampton, in the 6th and 20th of Elizabeth.* One of his descendants. Sir Basil Brooke, Knt. settled at Maghrabegg, and Brooke Manor, in the County of Donegal, and was an undertaker in the plantation of Ulster.f He married Anne, daughter of Thomas Leicester, of Toft, in the County of Chester,]; Esq. and dying 15th July, 1633, was buried in St. Werburgh's Church, Dublin, hav- ing issue. Sir Henry, of Brookesborough, in the County of Fermanagh, Knt. and two daughters. Which Sir Henry personally served for many years in the wars of Ireland, as a Captain of foot, and in other stations; and during the troubles of 1641 preserved the town and county of Donegal. He waa three times married, and had several children, from one of whom descended the Rev. William Brooke, of Rantavan, Rector of the Union of Mul- lough, in the diocese of Kilmore, who married Miss Digby, of an ancient and honourable family long seated in Ireland.
♦ Foller^s Worthies.
+ Ixidge'a Peerage, Vol. VI. p. 35.
X A respectable branch of the Brooke familj have resided in this countj for several centuries. Sir Heury Brooke, the first barouet of this branch, died In 1064. His descendant, the pre^ lent Sir Richard Brooke, resides at Norton, in Cheshire^ and succeeded his father, the late Sir Richard^ in 1706.
MIS0 BROOKS. Vii
This gentleman was a person of considerable ta- lents and amiable worth, and elected a member of the Conyocation, proposed to be held abont the be- , ginmng of the last century. His conduct in life was upright, conscientious, and steady : in private, fnendly and affectionate; in both, pleasant, amiable^ and conciliatory. He had issue two sons, by Miss Digby. Robert, the eldest, was a man of excellent understanding and affectionate disposition. He mar-^ tied his cousin. Miss Honor Brooke,* daughter of the Rev. Mr. Brooke, a younger brother of the Rev. 'William Brooke, of Rantavan, by whom he had four sons and one daughter, viz. 1 . Henry Brooke^ bom November, 1738. He was originally intended for the church, and had received an education suited to that profession. But from an extreme delicacy of constitution, he was obliged to relin- quish the design, and direct his attention to other pursuits. He was the intimate friend of the cele- brated John Wesley, Rev. John Fletcher, the well- known vicar of Madeley, in Shropshire, and seve- ral characters in the religious world, with whom he frequently ccnrresponded. He married in April, 1767,
* Mrs. Rob€rt Brooke was a lady richly endowed with all those qualities which constitate a Tirtuons woman, an amiable wife, and an excellent mother. Her manners accorded with the aimpHcity of her jcharacter, and were at once mild and gentle, modest and unassuming. There was a dignity in her deport- ment, arising rather from her real worth than from any con. scionsness of it in herself; and it was almost impossible to ayoid treatiDg her with the respect she deserved : yet those who ap. proaclied her with most veneration, were, upon further acquaint- ance, equally bound to her by the ties of affection and regard* She continued through life a pattern of those virtues that adorn Imman nature wherever they are found, and died at a very ad« Taneed age, early in the present century, haying survived her beloTed husband niearly eighteen years.
▼ill MSMOIRS OF
Miss Anne EarchhoiSer, daughter of Mr. Rtrch* hoffer, who kept an eminent famiture warehouse in Dnbliii ; and by this lady, who died in February^ 1805, he had eleren children, only three of whom survived him — a son, called William Henry, and two daughters, Maria Jane, married in July, 1794» to Isaac D'Olier, L. L. D. by whom sh^ has issue a numerous family ; and Theodosia, married in 1810 to F. H. Holcroft, Esq. by whom she had one sur^ viving son. This lady died in March, 1813. Mn Brooke departed this life, October 6th, 1806.* — 2L Robert Brooke, who early in life embraced the military profession^ and went to India, where he quickly rose to the rank of captain. No man ever made a fortune abroad with more deserved renown or greater purity, than Captain Brooke did in India, where his military talents and conduct, and his in- flexible integrity had been frequently and bene^ ficially called into action. On his return from In** dia, in 1775, he built the town of Prosperous,, in the county of Kildare, and was the means of intro- ducing and establishing the cotton manufacture in Ireland. But his patriotic exertions to promote the interest of his native country, in the genuine feeling of that public spiritedness which he eminently pos- sessed, proved the ruin of that fortune which he had so hardly earned, by well-fought battles in hia country's service. In tiie year 1788, he was ap- pointed governor of the Island of St. Helena, and was shortly after raised to the rank of colonel. This situation G>lonel Brooke filled for several years with considerable advantage to the settlement at St. Helena, and to the East India Company, till
^ Memoirs of Mr. Heiirj Brooke, by his sooan-lair, Dr.Isaac D'Olier.
MISft BROOKS. ' IX
* •
declining years and growing infirmities obliged him to resign, and retire on a pension for life. He returned to England, where he lived respected and
beloved, and died . at Bath in the year 1810.
3. Digby Brooke, who followed his brother Colonel Brooke to the East Indies. He was a young man of ▼ery promising talents, amiable disposition, and a remarkably expert engineer. He had hitherto suc- ceeded in his prospects beyond his most sanguine expectations; but haying been directed to blow up a fortification, he was rapidly executing his orders, when one of the mines M'hich he had laid for the purpose, did not explode as soon as expected. After waiting a few minutes longer, and impatient for the result, he imprudently entered the fort without adverting to the necessary precaution of cutting off the communication between the mine and the train of powder by which it was to be set off; almost as soon as he had advanced within the lines, the explosion took place, and he was blown up amidst the undistinguished heap of ruins. — 4. Thomas Digby Brooke, a young man, whose mind was vi- gorous and ardent ; sanguine in all its pursuits, and wholly intent in carrying them through with suc- cess. He possessed some abilities, and translated with elegance, while he retained the s{Hrit of the celebrated Madame Guion's works, particularly her ^ Short and easy method of Prayer/' which he published in 1775, and the memoirs of her life, in a large volume octayo, which appeared some time after. He married Miss Agnes Kirchhoffer, sister to his brother Henry's wife, by whom he had issue a numerous family. He died c^ a putrid fever, in Ja* nuary 1786, universally lamented. — ^5. Miss Sarah Brooke, a young lady of the most amiable manners
b
S. MBMOIRS OF
iuid dispofiiiion, who married Frdncitf Kirchhoffer, brother to Mrs. Henry and Mrs. Thomas Brooke^ by whom she had issue.*
The second son of tlie Rer. William Brooke of kantavan, was the late Henry Brooke, Esq. the eelebrdted Novelist and Dramatic Writer. He was bom in the year 1706. After receiying the usual preparatory education at Dr. Sheridan^s school, he was entered at an early age a student of Trinity" College^ Dublin ; and from thence removed to the Temple in his seventeenth year. There the engaging sweetness of his temper, and pectiliar vivacity of his genius, caught the notice and esteem of almost all those in London, who were themselves remark- able for talents and for learning. Swift prophesied wonders of him— ^Pope affectionately loved him. Thus flattered and encouraged, he returned to Ire^ land, to settle his affairs and be called to the ban
The illness of an aunt whom he tenderly loved» cut short the paternal caresses and welcome^ and hastened him to Westmeath to receive her last adieus. This lady, who had always been passionately fond of her amiable nephew, etinced in her dying moments the most implicit and firm relianee on his honour and worth. She committed to his guardian^ ship her daughter, a fine lively and beautiful girl, of between eleven and twelve, but slightly por« tioned, and therefore in still the greater need of a protector, — 'and then died in peace.
He escorted his mounung ward to Dublin, where his father and mother then were, and placed her at a respectable boarding-^school. Here she improved in beauty and accomplishments : the visits of her
* Memoirs of Mr. Heury Brooke, p. (J, 12, 13, 14, 7a
MISS BROOK.E« Xi
^ardian w^e fri^quent^ aad l6ye stole on their young hearts, unperceived by themselves, but plainly aiq[iarent to the school-fellows of MissMeares, nrhose obsenrations and raillery frequently drew tears of embarrassment and velLation from her eyes* She complainisd to her cousin — ^but he was too much enanumred to discontinue his attentions--^and she loved him too much, to sacrifice his company to prudential considerations. A clandestine marriage -was at last the consequence; upon discovery of vhich, they were again married in presence of his father and mother.
By this lady Mr* Brooke had a numerous family. But of all its honours, only two branches remained of this venerable trunk— ^a son, Arthur, who died a eaptain in the (Service of the East India Company, — and a daughter, Charlotte, the subject of this me^ moir, who inherited a large portion of her father's talents, and was one of the brightest literary orna* ments of this country. She was tiie well-beloved and flattering child of his old age; and sent it) the latter years of his life
^^ To rock the cradle of declining age.
99
At a very early age Miss Brooke gave indica- tions of an uncommon capacity, and discovered that love of reading, and that close application to whatever she engaged in, which marked her cha- racter through life. Mr. Brooke observing in his amiable and ingenious daughter an excellent capa« city for learning, gave her all the advantages of a liberal education. From hb society she undoubtedly reaped many benefits. He was a man of genius^; and his tragedy of '^ Gustavus Yasa,'' is deservedly estimated ** one of the foremost productions of hu-
3L1I MBMOIRS OF
man powers/' To impress us with an idea of his virtues^ we need only read his works; for he was what he there appears to be. The leading features of his mind were benevolence, meekness, and faith ; for his country, patriotism to excess ; and for human kind, that ever wakeful regard to the interests of religion and morality, which delighted to employ itself in seizing or creating opportunities of adyanc- ing their cause.
These sentiments were early instilled into the tender and susceptible mind of Miss Brooke by her excellent parent. He had formed a plan for her education, with an unalterable determination to pursue it. In this plan he proposed to reject the severity of discipline ; and to lea^ her mind insen- sibly to knowledge and exertion, by exciting her euriosity, and directing it to useful objects. By this method. Miss Brooke's desire to learn became as eager as her parent's wish to teach; and such were his talents of instruction, and her facility of retaining it, that in her fifth year she was able to read, distinctly and rapidly, any English book. He particularly attended at the same time, to the cul- tivation of her memory, by making her learn and repeat select passages from the English poets.
During this period Miss Brooke's attention was almost equally divided between her books and a little garden, the cultivation and embellishment of which occupied all her leisure hours. Her faculties necessarily gained strength by exercise; and the sedulity of a fond parent was without intermission exerted to add to her stock of scientific attain- ments. He also taught her the rudiments of draw- ing, in which she afterwards excelled. The quick and early improvement which she made, was an
MISS BROOKB^ XUl
ample recompnse for all the pains that had been taken with her. The accompU^ments generally attained with labour, expense, and waste of time, seemed with her the mere amusement of a few «pare hours^ and acquired with little expense, or professional assistance.
It has often been observed, that where nature has bestowed great powers, the love of fame bums with a proportionate ardour, and that the exertions of men of genius are both called forth and rewarded by the admiration which they naturally excite. The observation has been made and received with greater confidence, because the characters which confirm it are by nature prominent, and press them- selves on our regard, while those which contradict it delight to retire from public view, and do not enter with their proper weight into our considera- tions. But an attentive survey of life will discover many who, though distinguished by their powers and attainments, do not seek for happiness in the applause of mankind, but preferring a calm repose to turbulent enjoyments, decline the honours which are placed within their reach. To the number of these is to be added the subject of this memoir. She was modest and unobtrusive, and is described by her intimate friends as a person of a studious and retired character, whose life was a life of inr eessant reading and thought. Her industry was great ; and her love of literature was the result of disposition, and not of submission to controul. Books she had always at command ; for her father, who contemplated with delight the progress of his daughter, with a wise liberality allowed her unli- mited credit on his purse. But of this indulgence, as die knew that his finances were restricted, she
XLV MXBfOI&8 OF
availed herself no. further than to purchase such books as were essential to her bnproyement.
Her ardour for knowledge was unlimited; and «he was much distinguished at this period of life by the elegance both of her prose and poetical compo- sitions. The early productions of persons of emi- nence have an interest which, is independent of their merit ; but the loss of some pieces which Miss Brooke wrote, when very 3roung, is lamented by her friends, with a warmth of regret which only uncommon excellence could have excited.
If Miss Brooke's literary acquisitions be com- pared with her years, few instances will be found in the annals of biography, of a more successful applioation of time and talents, than she exhibits ; and it is worthy of observation, that she was not less indebted for her attainments, to her uncommon industry and method, than to her superior capacity. The faculties of her mind, by nature < vigorous, were improved by constant exercise : and her me- mory, by habitual practice, had acquired a power of retaining whatever had once been impressed upon it. She seems to have entered upon her career of study with this maxim strongly impressed upon her mind, that whatever had been attained, was attainable by her ; and it has been remarked, that she never overlooked, nor neglected, any opportu- nity of improving her intellectual faculties, or of acquiring esteemed accomplishments.
To an unextinguished ardour for universal know- ledge, she joined a perseverance in the pursuit of it, which subdued all obstacles. Reflection and me- ditation strengthened and confirmed what industry and investigation had accumulated. It was also a lUed principle with her, from which she never
MI8S BltOOKB. XT
▼oluntarilj deviated, not to be deterred by any difficulties that were surmountable, from prosecu- ting to a gaccessful termination, what she had once deliberately undertaken. By a regular allotment of her time to particular occupations, and a scrupulous adherence to the distribution which she had fixed, all her studies were pursued without interruption or confusion.
Some years prior to the birth of Miss Brooke, her fether removed to London, where he renewed hid intimacy with the belles lettres and their professors ; and wrote his poem of Universal Beauty under the eye and criticism of Mr. Pope, who prophesied the expansion of his genius and fame, from a beginning so wonderful in so very yxmng a man. - Soon, how-^ ever, he was obliged to return — -family affiiirs de- manded his presence. In the course of a little time he went a third time to L6ndon, where his company was sought with avidity by the first characters of the age. The amiable Lord Lyttleton soon distin^ guished and cherished a mind and genius so similar to hb own— Pope received him with open arms — Mr. Pitt (the late Lord Chatham) was particularly fend of him, and introduced him to the Prince of Wales, who caressed him Mrith uncommon fami- liarity, and presented him with many elegant and valuable tokens of his friendship. Here, flushed with ambition, glowing with emulation, and ele- vated with praise, his genius soared to its zenith, and snatched all its fire from the -altar of Apollo, to smimate the foremost production of human powers^-^ his-tragedy of " Gnstavus Vasa.''
•• Though in this play,*' says his elegant and accomplished daughter, '' a candid enemy could have discovered nothing exceptionable, yet govern;^
XVl M£MOIRS or
ment took offence at the spirit of liberty which it breathed. They closed the Iheatre against it^ but eould not prevent its publication : the press was still open: and his friends^ enraged at the treatment he received^ took the management of his tragedy inta their own hands, and subscriptions poured in upon it in such a golden tide as exceeded his most san-« guine ideas and hopes/'^
It was about this time that the act was passed for licensing plays^ of which the first operation was the prohibition of ** Grustayus Vasa/' which, having -undergone some alterations, was afterwards acted at Dublin, under the title of " The Patriot;'' the next was the refusal of ** Edward and Eleonora,'' offered by Thomson, the poet.f The oppodtion of government, the exertion of Mr. Brooke's friends, and the publication of his play, noised abroad hig reputation a thousand fold, and confirmed his con- fidence of success. He took a house at Twickenhamj in the neighbourhood of Mr. Pope's, for the advan- tage of his intimacy and friendship, furnished it genteely, hired servants, and sent for Mrs. Brooke, who followed him immediately to London.
Thus every wish was gratified, and every prospect imiled : in love and in friendship, in fortune and in fame — all was flattering, and all was gay. But this bright sky was soon and suddenly overcast. Mr. Brooke was seized with a violent and imconquerable ague ; his medical attendants gave him over, and he was ordered, as a last, but forlorn hope, to re- turn to his native air. He did so, and recovered, promising immediately to go back to London, and
* Ufe of Henry Brooke, Esq. prefixed to his works, p. 7. f Johnson's Lires of the Poets, Vol. VII. p. IS. Sharpest edition.
IfZSS 3RP0XJB. XTll
resume the socii^y and advADtages he had Jeft be- hind. But unfortunately this design was never put into execution; nor could his friends eyer draiv from him the true reason of a conduct so very un- accountable. To some particular intimates, how- ever, he acknowledged his motive ; — it was this : party, while he was in London, ran extremely high. The heart of his beloved patron, the Prince of Wales, went with the pepple, of whom he was the darling, and detested the venal measures of the ministry. Mr. Brooke was thought to have an eye to this in his play of *' Gustavus Vasa;'' and that was the chief cause of its being persecuted by government. But his loyal soul, conscious of its own integrity, was irritated at the undeserved treatment he had received ; and openly avowed his resentment. Soj>n after, the King broke publicly with his son, and the Prince withdrew himself from court, and pub- licly professed himself, avisrse to a ministry which he * looked upon to be enemies both to Country and to King. The breach grew every day wider, and it was feared by many that a civil war. might ensue.*
Mr. Brooke, who was passionately attached to his Prince, had his ears filled with exaggerated stories of the injurious treatment he met with, and >v^s supposed too taniely to endure. He was enrage^ : he op^y espoused his patron's quarrel, and deter- mined to exert all his powers to thunder forth his virtues and his wrongs to the world.
Mrs, Brooke, aware of the impriident zeal of her husband, and trembling for his safety, was terrified at his resolution, and dreaded nothing so much as the thought of his returning to London; the very mention of it threw her into tears and all the agonie#
* General Biog. Dictionary, Vol. Ilf .
C
XTiii Memoibs or
of d^dp^ir. In short, she at last conquered, &nd t>r^ vailed with him to lay aside the lifted pen, to diit- pose of his house at Twickenham, dismiss his ser- Tants, and determine to remain in his native country, safe fl'bm the rage of party and all the dangers of ambition. In vain did his friends, on both sides of ihe water, remonstrate with him on the madness of relinquishing all the bright prospects that smiled so fair and so flattering before him. They could say no more to him than he wds conscious of himself; yet in spite of all thilt his friends; interest, or glory could urge, he still reiiiained in Ireland, '
** Against his better knowledge not deceived, ^* But fondly otercome of female charms."
During this period of his life, Mr. Brooke kept up a constant literary correspondence with most of the geniuses of the age; but unfortunately all these letters were consumed, with many other valuable papers and effects, by an accidental fire^. Two of them from Mr. Pope arc particularly to be lament- ed. In one of them he professed himself in heart a protestant, but apologized for not publicly con- forming, by alleging that it would render the eve of his mother's life unhappy. In another very long one, he endeavoured to persuade Mr. Brooke to take orders, as being a profession better suited to his principles, his disposition, and his genius, thaa that of the \s,vr, and also less injurious to his health.*
Wearied at length with fhiitless efforts to rouse the slumbering genius of his country, disgusted with her ingratitude, and sick with her venality, h^ withdrew to his paternal seat, at Killebeggs, near Naas, in the county of Kilditre ; and thus, in the
* Mm8 Brooke's Life of her Father prefixed to his works, p. 9*
MISS BROOKK* Xlt
society tif the muses, and the peacefVil bqsom of domestic loye, consoled himself for lost advantages and disappointed hopes. An only brother i^hom he tenderly loved accompanied his retirement, i^ith a family almost as nmnerous as his own ; and there, for many years, tiiey lived together with nninter«* mpted harmony and affection. Here he devoted himself wholly to the muses, and to the cultivation of his daughter's mind. At that period Miss Brooke aatonished every beholder by the facility with which she acquired information on every subject. She excelled in every thing that she attempted* It was in the retired scenes of rural life that she first shewed an early taste for poetry, of which some specimens remain ; but I believe i^e destroyed most of the effusions of her youthful muse, when an ac- quaintance with the works of Shakespeare, Milton, and some other English poets, gave a different turn to her thoughts. Her greatest pleasure seemed to be reading, which she would pursue with unwearied attention, dnring so many hours, tha|; her parents have often endeavoured tp draw her away from her books, as they feared that such close application might injure her health. The sciences and modem languages irere not neglected. She likewise studied geography and astronomy wi^ great assiduity. But her attention was chiefly directed to Englisb and French* From the latter language she found great, pleasure in translating, whiph she did with great accuracy. It was that practice, which, by giving her choice of words, and facility of expression, led the way to her becoming an author.
During Mr. Brooke's residence at Rillebeggs he wrote several of his finest tragedies, and formejl golden hope^ of their saccess upon the Enj^lish stagf ,
XX MCSMOIRS OF
from his interest with Mr. Garrick, who professed for him (whilst he lived in London) the highest esteem: but here he was greatly deceived; for Garrick was no longer, as formerly, his friend. In 1774 he had pressed him earnestly to write for the stage, and offered to enter into articled with him for a shilling a line for all he should write duiing life, provided that he wrote for him alone. This Garrick looked upon as an extraordinary compliment to Mr, Brooke's abilities : but he could not, however, bring him over to his opinion, nor prevail with him to accept his offer; on the contrary he rejected it with some degree of haughtiness, for which Garrick never forgave him. He was then in the full and flattering career to fortune and to fame ; and would have thought it a disgrace to let out his talents for hire, and tie himself down to necessity.*
The Irish stage was still open ; Mr. Brooke tried it, and was tolerably successful. The *' Earl of Essex/* a tragedy, acted at Dublin, and at the Theatre Royal, Drury-lane, with considerable applause, gained him great reputation. The representative of the Earl, during the run of the piece, being in con- versation with Dr. Johnson, was loud in the praise of Mr. Brooke's sentiments and poetry. The Doctor, "who had neither seen nor read the work recom- mended, desired to be furnished with some specimen of its excellence. On this Mr. Sheridan repeated the tag at the end of the first act, concluding with the line,
^' Who rule o?er freemen, should themsehes be free.*'
This mode of reasoning, observed the Doctor, i$ conclusive in such a degree, that it will lose iiothin^
* General Biog. llKctioaary, Vol. III.
MISS BKOOJLS. XXI
of its force, even though we should apply it to a more familiar subject, as follows :
^^ Who. drives fat oxeu, should himself be fat."*
" So happy a parody," says a late writer, *' ought always to attend the crambe repetita of the Earl of Essex." Mr. Brooke, indeed, when he re*published his play, took care to change the line at which the lidicuie had been pointed.f
This was an important period in Miss Brooke'^ life, on many accounts. She now frequently enjoyed the society of several eminent literary characters^ by whom she was favoured with particular notice ; many of whom regarded her intellectual powers and acquiations with unfeigned admiration. From her local situation,' she enjoyed many advantages in acquiring useful knowledge. These opportunities appear to have been duly appreciated and improved by her. Music, drawing, and painting in water- colours, engaged her attention. She spent much time in reading ; at once gratifying her thirst after knowledge, and acquiring important and useful in* formation. By this means she extended her know^ ledge of the world, and acquired that variety and depth of erudition, which justly rendered her an object of admiration to all who knew her. Moving in a distinguished sphere of life, her family connec* tions, and extennve acquaintance with persons of exalted rank and eminence in the literary worlds added great lustre to her merit, and set it off with &very advantage. She was admired for her personal charms : and she possessed all the graces of the moat polished manners, and the most engaging address.
• Anthologia Ilibernica, Vol. III. p. 80, + Biog. Dram. Vol. 11. p. 97.
TXir MEMOIRS OF
Tbhed — ^no distteBB unrelieved. In short, he was compelled to mortgage, and at last to sell,
" the fields
** Of kuown entlear'd idea.*'
He left the country, and rented a house and domain in Kildare, where he resided for a few years* But his heart still hovered round the scenes of his hap- piest hours; he left Kildare, and took and improved a farm in the vicinity of his once loved habitation. This, however, he intended for a summer residence only; but was afterwards obliged to settle entirely there, on account of Mrs. Brooke's declining health, which did not permit her to return to Dublin. Shortly after, the spirit of this amiable woman took its everlasting flight to the mansions of felicity and eternal repose; and with her all Mr. Brockets hap- piness, and the better part of his existence, fled ; for his intellects never after recovered the shock of this separation, after a union of near fifty years, enjoyed with a harmony of affection, which mis- fortune strove in vain to embitter, which no length of time could satiate, nor any thing interrupt but death. INTrs. Brooke was a woman of the most ele- gant manners and refined sentiments. She was fa- voured with a strong, comprehensive and active mind ; and having had a good education^ her genius led her to the paths of literature; but this did uot prevent her froin paying a diligent and exemplary attention to the duties of domestic life, and she was much respected in the characters of a wife, a mo- ther, a friend, and a mistress, by many persons who were strangers to her literary attainments. She was well qualified to educate her children; an important employment, to which she devoted much of her time and care.
MISS BROOKE. XXT
Fnmi fhe letters of Miss Brooke to her intimate
Ariehd and correspondent. Miss T , I learn that
Mrs. Brooke was a woman of extraordinary piety, and a patroness of the Methodists. She was also herself a Methodist, though against the judgment ^ Mr. Brooke. A disease, at first painful and lin- gering^ but at last acute and mortal, infested a considerable part of the valuable life which she had qient on earth. By the comforts which the Gospel of Christ is calculated to afford, the pangs of disease were aUeTiated, and its protracted pres- sure was sof);ened by Christian resignation. In this mighty struggle she exercbed a remarkably strik- ing patience ; and mildness endeared those features which disease had invaded. Cheered by the anima- ting prospect which faith discloses, and resting her salvation on the merit and sacrifice of her Saviour, 4ie found herself equal to the last conflict, and fearlessly beheld the yawnings of the grave! Under an accumulation of bodily sufferings, but with the most wonderful tranquillity of mind, her spirit left this world to join that innumerable multitude be- fore the throne above, who have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.
Previous to the death of Mrs. Brooke, the loss of a favourite child (the seventeenth deceased ) gave a severe blow to Mr. Brooke's constitution, already weakened by long study, and beginning to bend beneaih the pressure of years. The agitation of his mind brought on with extreme violence a megrim, to which he had at times been a little subject from his youth ; and the death of his wife completing what that had begun, reduced him for a length of time to a state of almost total imbecility. The care of the physicians, indeed, in some measure restored
d ^
KXTI . l^EMOIRS OT
him ; but still the powers of his mind irere. decayed and his ^eniss flaished only by fits.^
This indeed ia too evidently perceivable in thoM of his works, which were written after the. poweiB of his mind began to relax* In the latter volumea ^f the ''Fool of Quality/' and the Aifasequent no^ yel of'' Juliet Grenville/^ we trace with a mixture of regret/and awje, the magnificent ruins of genius. Both these books were written with a view to moral and teligtous improvemtot, " A mere noveU'* says -his accomplished daughter, " could never have been planned by a head and heart like his ;. he therefore -chose his story purely as a conduit for the systeuL he had .adopted. And most successfully he chose it; — at once he charms, elevates, and melts the soul ! If I may use the expression, he steals ^us into good- ness, and cheats us into improvement; and while we think he only means to amuse tiie imagination^ he informs the understanding, corrects the judg^ ment, and mends the heart: The fascinating powers of his genius lay the inritatiop.afitllB. mental nerve asleep, while, with a kind and skilful hand, he probes the mental wound;, or, as he makes his XassO thus elegantly speak in English :
*^ His bitter so the friendly leech conceals, And with the fraud of latent medicine heais; To the sick, taste he promises delight, And obvious sweets the infant lip iuTite: Health, ambasfa^d In the potion, is imbib'd, For man must eT'n to happiness be brib*d«*'f
'^ He died,'' says Miss Brooke, ^^ as he lived«--A Christian. With the meekness of a lamb, and the fortitude of a hero, he supported the teidious infir-- mities of age, the languors of sickness, and the
♦ Gen. Biog. Vol. HI.
f Life of Mr. Brooke prefixed to his Works, p. 14.
MISS BROOKS. XXTll
"painB of diflsolution : and his death, like his life^ iras instructive/'* This truly excellent man l^t fhe troublesome scenes of this wilderness for tiie never-ending happiness of heaven, on the 10th of October, 1783. " My father," says Miss Brooke, in a letter to the female correspondent already re- ferred to, " was the best of men. Yet he did not die rejoicing. He died resigned, meek, humble. It is the Lord, let him do what seemeth him good/' Mr. Brooke, with many great and still more amiable qualities, was not without his faults; — perfection is not the lot of mortals compassed with infirmities. His feelings never waited the decision of his judgment; he knew not how to mortify, to re* strain, or suspend them for a moment — ^like petted children, they were spoiled by indulgence. '* This unhappy softness/' observes Miss Brooke, ''was the source of a thousand misfortunes to him. In conse-^ quence of it, he was perpetually duped in friend- ship, as well as in charity. His abilities were as warmly exerted in the service or vindication of apparent worth, as his purse was open to apparent distress; and the first proving as fictitious as the last, reduced him sometimes to the mortifying situ- ation of appearing the advocate and friend of cha- racters diametrically opposite to his own. His feel- ings were even beyond those of female nature, soft, and exquisitely tender. His wife used often to con- ceal from him the death of a cottager, lest the grief of the survivors should afiect him too much. His temper was meek, almost to a fault : it was nearly impossible to provoke him to resentment — or if pro* voked, like the Brutus of Shakespeare,
* Liie of Mr. Brooke, prefij^ed to his works.
XILVIU MSMOIRS OF
*< He carried anger as the flint bears fire; Which, much enforced, yields a hasty spark, And straight is cold again."
Trom principle as well as temper, ** he resisted eyi) only with good/' He was too much a Christian to revenge, and too much a philosopher to resent. Once, when asked what he thought of a humorous, but false and malicious libel, in which he, with several others, were included: his answer was — r *' Why, sir, I laughed at the wit, and smiled at the malice of it/**
Mr. Brooke's poetical wprks were collected in 1778, in four volumes, octavo, printed very incor- rectly, and with the addition of some pieces which were not his. Perhaps few men have produced writings of the same variety, the tendency of all which is so uniformly in favour of religious 'and moral principle. Yet even in this there are incon- sistencies, which I know not how to explain, unless I attribute them to an extraordinary defect in judg- ment. During a ^reat part of his life, his religious opinions approached to what are now termed me- thodistical, and one difficulty, in contemplating his character, is to reconcile this yith his support of the stage, and his writing those trifling farces we find among his works. Perhaps it may be said that the necessities of his family made him listen to the importunity of those friends who considered the stage as a profitable resource; but by taking such advice he was certainly no great gainer. Except in the case of his ** Gustavus Vasa,'*t and " Earl
* Life of Mr. Brooke, prefixed to bis works.
+ In the correspondence between Frances Seymour, Dnchesy of Somerset, better known to the world as the Cduntess of Hert* ford, the celebrated patroness of religion, Tirtaet and literature, and Uenrietta Louisa Fermor} Countess of Pomfret, publisheif
MISS BROOKE. XXIX
of EflBex/' there is no reason to think that he was saccessful, and the greater part of his dramas were never performed at all^ or printed until 1778, when he conld derive very little advantage from them. Nor can I impute it to any cause, except a total want of judgment and an ignorance of the public taste, that he intermixed the most awful doctrines of religion, and the lighter incidents of vulgar or fashionable life, in his novels. He lived, however^ we are told, more consistently than he wrote. No day passed in which he did not collect his family to prayer, and read and expound the Scriptures to them. Among his tenants and humble friends he was the benevolent character which he had been accustomed to depict in his works, and while he had the means, he literally went about doing good. The following anecdote is given by Miss Brooke^ with some regret that he had not been educated for the church. '* One Sunday, while the congregation were assembled in the rural church of the parish in which he lived, they waited a long time the arrival of their clergyman. At last, finding he was not likely to come that day, they judged that some
ia 3 Tols. 8ro. mqch information respeptinjr this play will be found. That it contains a considerable portion of party-spirit cannot be denied, and the character of Troll io, the Swedish mialBter, however unjastly, was certaitily intended for Sir Rp* bertWalpole ; but it may be doubted whether this minister gained much by prohibiting the acting of a play, which he had not the courage to suppress ;when published, and when the sentiments, coDsidered deliberately in the closet, might be nearly as injurious ma when delivered by a monthing actor. Dr. Johnson, who at that time ranked aipong the discontented, wrote a very ingenious satirical pamphlet ^n favour of the author, entitled, ^^ A conu plete vindication of the licensers of the Stage from the malicious and scandalous aspersions of Mr. Brooke, attthor of Gustanif Vasa,»' 1739, 4to,
XXX MEMOIRS OF
accident had detained him ; and being loth to de* part entirely without their errand, they with one accord requested that Mr. Brooke would perform, the service for them, and expound a part of the Scriptures. — He consented, and the previous prayers being over, he opened the Bible, and preached ex- tempore on the first text that struck his eye. In the midst of his discourse, the clergyman entered, and found the whole congregation in tears. He entreated Mr. Brooke to proceed ; but this he mo- destly refused ; and the other as modestly declared, that after the testimony of superior abilities, which he perceived in the moist eyes of all present, he would think it presumption and folly to hazard any thing of his own. Accordingly, the concluding prayers alone were said, and the congregation dis- missed for the day."
As a poet, he delights his readers principally by occasional flights of vivid imagination, but has in no instance given us a poem to which criticism may not suggest many reasonable objections. The greater part of his life, he lived remote from the friends of whose judgment he might have availed himself, and by whose taste his own might have been regu*- lated. His first production, ** Universal Beauty," has a noble display of fancy in many parts. It was published without his name, and was very much read and admired for the truly religious and philo* sophical sentiments which it contained. It is not im* probable that Pope, to whom he submitted it, gave him some assistance, and he certainly repaid his instructions by adopting his manner; yet he has avoided Pope^s monotony, and would have done this with more effect, if we did not perceive a me- chanical lengthening of certain lines, rather than a
MISS BROOKS. XXXl
iiatwdl variety of movement. On the other hand, the mblimity of the subject^ by which he wbb in- siured, and which he hoped to communicate, some- times betrays Jiim into a species* of turgid decla- mation. Harmony appears to be consulted and epi- thets multiplied, to please the ear at the expense of meaning.*
A short, but just and striking character of Mn Brooke, is contained in the following lines, written by his intimate friend, the late Rev. Philip Skel- ton, rector of Fintona, in the county of Tyrone, a man incapable of exaggerated panegyric upon any mie:
Here \hs a casket, nrhieh of late resigned Three jewels Ikrighter thao the solar beam ! Such faith, such genius, and a heart so kiod^ As io no second breast are foand by Fame*
Miss- Brooke was now arrived at a time of life when every year was stealing from her some inti- mate friend or dear relation. She sustained a severe deprivation in the loss of her excellent parent. On this occasion the balpi.of religious conversation was lieta; and in patient submi^on to the will of God, the found both relief and reward. Studious by a native pfopenrion of the welfare of her nearest re- latives, scareely. could Joseph himself demonstrate more tenderness to his venerable father, in the land of Goshen, than die did to her parent, nor attend more omistantly to the interest of her intimate' IVtends and relativei;; and since the fall of our first parents, th^re have been but. few, peihaps none, who have performed. all the endearing offices of ineiidship more attentively, speedily and anxiously^
• Chalmer's Biog. Diet Vol. Vlf. Johnson and Chalmer*s Eoglish Poets, ^L toU. Sfo. 1810.
XXXil MEM6lRtf OP
than she performed them ; counting it her honottr and happiness so to do. Enthusiastic veneration for the memory of her father was a leading feature in her character ; and it was the source of much gra- tification to her -mindy that she had enjoyed the opportunity, by her dutiful and affectionate atten^ dance on her beloved parent during his old age and imbecility, to solace the last years of his life, and smooth his passage to the ** Chambers of the grave."
The leading particulars of Miss Brooke's life afford a striking and exemplary instance of self-* acquired excellence, and prove that a mind en- dowed with a strong natural concepticm, a discri- minating judgment, and a thirst for literary and scientific information, may, by perseverance, hope for every thing, independent of foreign aid ; and will ultimately surmount every barrier opposed to its progress to merited success and honourable dis- tinction.
Miss Brooke's passion for literature and general information daily increased, and frequently after the family had retired to rest, she would leave her bed, dress herself, and steal down to the study U^ read. To these nocturnal exercises of her mind she attributed her greatest advances in knowledge and various branches of useful information. The study of antiquities, which present so many images of grandeur and tenderness to interest tlie imagination and the heart, was that for which she conceived a pas^onate curiosity. It led her insensibly into the study of the Irish language, to which she adhered 80 closely and so successfully, that with little or no assistance, she, in less than two years, became per- fect mistress of it.
• ••
MtSS BROOKS. XXXIU
Vfhai, indeed, can be more natural, than to pro- ceed by such a gradation, from inquiries concern- ing the monuments of the history of the ancients, and the remains of their arts, to the study of theif languages ? '' The power to trace the relations of etymology,'' says a late writer, '' is one of the master-keys which open to the knowledge of anti- quity. The history of the origin, the descent, the filiations, and the cognations of words, if philo- sophically written, might involve the whole history of human arts and institutions. We cannot examine tiie ancient and modem languages of Europe, with- out tracing them all to the three grand sources of ihe Celtic, the Gothic, and the Sclavonic; and among these, again, we easily discern so many things to be in common, that they must be consi- dered as radically one aiid the same : while, in the Persian, the Hebrew, and the Arabic, we can dis- cover an agreement, in primary words, with the Critic, Gothic, and Sclavonic, that may seem almost to conduct us up to the knowledge of one original, universal language, on which all others are variously engrafted; without the destruction of the stem/'
Erudition is, amid such investigations, exalted into philosojdiy : and the study of languages expands and elevates tiie mind by filling it with the noblest conceptions, and by teaching it to embrace, as it were at once, the history of all ages and of all na- tions. lYhen Miss Brooke began the study of the Irish language, she had no other helps but those of books. 'IBut the famous Clenard began his acquisi- tion of a skill in the Arabic language, by reading, in an Arabic version of the Psalter, those proper names which he might suppose to be the same in the Arabic as in the Hebrew, and thus labouring to
xxxhr MfiMdias or
distinguish the forms and sounds of the dififerenl characters in which the names were in the unknown language expressed* Sir William Jones was much more indebted to his OMm ardent industry and ge- nius^ than to any aid of instructors^ for the success with which he conquered all the difficulties of the most abstruse oriental learning. Miss Brooke was no left boldly industrious^ and therefore not less for- tunate in her studies, than either of the authors here cited as two illustrious examples.
Miss Brooke's first publication was a translation of a song and monody by Carolan, in Mr. Walker's '' Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards." To these translations die did not prefix her name. The trans* lation of the monody is thus prefaced by her excel- lent friend, the late Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq. : — '' For the benefit of the English reader, I shall here give an elegant paraphrase of this (monody by a young lady, whose name I am enjoined to conceal :— with the modesty ever attendant on true merit, and with the sweet timidity natural to her sex, she dirinks from the public eye.''
A strain of tender pensiveness runs through the whole of this monody. The melancholy spirit which it breathes, is infinitely more afifecting than all the laboured pomp of declamatory woe. The original is said to be simple and unadorned, but pathetic to a great degree ; '' and this is a species of beauty," saya Miss Brooke, '' in composition, extremely difficult to transcribe into any other language." Muclh of the simplicity is unavoidably lost; the pathos which remains, may, perhaps, in some measure, atone for my introducing it here.
MISS BBOOKS. XXXr
CwolanU Monody on the Death of Mary Mac Guirfi.
Were mine the choice of iotellectaal fame,
Of spelfal soog, aod eloquence dMne, Paiotiag'8 sweet power, philonophj's pure flaiM,
And Homer's lyre, and Ossian's harp were mine; The splendid arts of Erin, Greece, and Rome,
In Mary lost, would lose their wonted grace, vAll would I give to snatch her from the tomb,
Again to fold her in my fond embrace.
Desponding, sick, exhausted with my grief.
Awhile the founts of sorrow cease to flow In raio-»I rest not-— sleep brings no relief; —
Cheerless, companionless, I wak,e to woe. Nor birth, nor beauty, shall again allure,
Nor fortune, win me to another bride; Alone I'll wander, and alone endure.
Till death restore me to my dear.oue's side.
Once eVery thought, and every scene was gay,
Friends, mirth and music, all my hours employ'd--^ Now doom'd to mourn my last sad years away,
My life a solitude! — my heart a Yoid! — Alas, the change!— -the change again no more!
For etety comfort is with Mary fled ; And ceaseless anguish shall her loss deplore.
Till age and sorrow join me with the dead.
Adieu, each gift of nature^, and of art. That erst adoro'd me in life's early prime I
The cloudless temper, and the social heart, The soul ethereal, and the flight sublime !
Thy loss, my Mary^ chys'd them from my breasti Thy sweetness cheers,*thyi judgment aids no more;
The muse deserts a heart with grief opprest-— . And lost ii» every joy that charm'd before.
Between the Itte Joseph G)oper Walker^ Esq. and the family of Mr. Brooke, a long and tender frigid- ship snbsisted. There were few individuals for whom he felt a higher esteem and affection, than for the Aniiable and accompUshed subject of thjui memoir^
XXXyi MEMOIRS QF
whose splendid abilities and aspiring gemus, he early predicti^d^ aqd was frequently heard to sayj^ would raise her to an elevated rank in the literary circles. His feeling heart, and intimate acquaint tance with Miss Brooke, taught him to reverence her virtues, to admire her talents, and tq deplore )ier early departure fron^ all sublunary scenes. The los; of such an accomplished scholar as Mr . Walker will be long and deeply deplored by all true votaries of science and the fine arts ; but those only who have had the happiness to be included in the circle of hi^ friends, caii justly appreciate and duly regret the many virtues which dignified, and the numerous graces which adorned, h)s character, " Never,*' says his afiectionate relative, *' was there any man who united, in a higher degree, the accomplish- ment^ of the -gentleman with the attainments of th^ scholar. His polished manners, his refined senti- ments, his easy flow of wit, his classical taste, and his profound erudition, rendered his conversation as fascinating as it was instructive A frame of pecu-: liar delicacy incapacitated Mn Walker from thQ exercise of an active profession, and early withdrew his mind from the busy bustle of the world, to the more congenial occupation of literary retirement. To seek for that best of blessings — ^health, which hui own cliqiate denied him, Mr. Walker was induced to travel. He visited Italy ; he embraced with en- thusiasm that nurse of arts and of arms; he trod with devotion her classic ground, consecrated by the ashes of herpes, and immortalized by the efiu- ttons of poets ; he studied her langnage, he observed her customs and her manners; he admired the ini* mitable remains of ancient art, and mourned ovei; tl^e monumentu of modem degradation; |ie con-
MIS 9 BROOKB. XXXTU
▼ened with her learned men; he was enrolled in her academies, and became almost naturalized to the country/** Mr. Walker returned from the Con- tinent little improved in health, but his mifid stored with the treasures of observation. He soon retired from the turbulence of a city life, to the tranquil- lity and pure air of his romantic villa ( St. Yaleri, ) near Bray, in the county of Wicklow. The grounds, which ^are skirted by a romantic river, were, origi- nally, laid out by Lady Morris Gore, a lady of re- fined taste and elegant accomplishments. To this lady St. Valeri is indebted for its name, having been so called from that place in France which bears a similar name, where her ladyship and her hudband ( the Hon. Mr. Gore, ) had, for some time resided, and with the picturesque scenery of which they had been greatly enamoured.f Mr. Walker was in the forty-ninth year of his age when death closed at puce his life and labours, at St. Valeri, on the 12th of April, 1810; and he breathed his last sigh in the arms of a brother and sister, whose pe- culiar sorrow seen^ed equally to defy consolation and description.
Mr. Walker was a member of the Arcadian Academy recently institiited at Rome, and of the Academies of Cortona, Florence, &c. honorary mem- ber of the Societies of Dublin and Perth, and an original member of the Royal Irish Academy, whose labour&have deserved so well of their country. The study of Italian literature became his favourite pur- suit, and, to his latest hour, continued to be his occupation and solace. But, though attached to
♦ Memoirs of " Alessandro Tassoni," by J, C Walker, Esq. D reface, page 1 i — 1 3. i Ibid, page 70.
XXXVlll MEMOIRS OF
the literature of Italy, he was not regardless of his native land. The first fruits of his genius were offered on the altar of his country. He devoted the earliest e^rts of his comprehensive mind to vindi- cate the injured character, and to enlighten the disputed history, of Ireland. He dwelt with delight on her romantic scenery; he loved the g^ierous, eccentric character of her children ; the native lan- guage of Ireland to his ears was fall of harmony and force; and the songs of her bards filled his patriotic soul with rapturous emotion. He was, in- deed, an Irishman of Ireland's purest times. As a critic and an antiquary, Mr. Walker was equally distinguished. His Essays on the custcmis and insti- tutions of ancient Ireland are written in the true spirit of a native historian, and, as they are emi* nently useful to the antiquary, must be singularly interesting to every Irish breast. These, his earliest works, (the offspring of his vigorous mind, at a period when young men are not yet emancipated from the tyranny df pupilage,) evince a maturity of judgment, a soundness of criticism, and a range of learning, which would not disgrace the name of the venerable Vallancey.*
Shortly after the death of Miss Brooke, Mr. Walker formed the determination of becoming the bi<^a- plier of his amiable and lamented friend. Having been the intimate acquaintance and friend of Miss Brooke; having frequently associated with her a considerable portion of his life ; they had, during an interval of many years, an almost daily intercourse with each other. Thus, such a person seemed to be in every way peculiarly qualified for the task of a
* Memoirs of ^^ Alessandro Tiissoui/' hy J. C. Walker, Esq. preface, page 13, 14.
HISS BROOSLit. XXXix
bk^rapher : but, in the instance of Mr. Walker, not less 80 fr<nn the profundity of his-learning, than from the elegance and purity of his taste.
A variety of circumstances having occurred to interrupt Mn Walker's arrangements, the Memoir of Miss Brooke, which was to have accompanied a uniform edition of her works, was unavoidably post- poned, and eventually laid aside. Thus the public have been deprived of that extended and polished Memoir, which, had it not been for unforeseen events, would have been produced by the pen of her learned and accomplished friend. Besides con- tributing to the Transactians of ihe Royal Irish Academy, Mr. Walker publidied the following works, in a separate form : —
1st. Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards. Lond, 1785. 4to^ 9d. An Historical Essay on the Dress of the ancient and modern
Irish; to which is subjoined^ A Memoir on the Armour and
Weapons of the Msh. Dub. 1788. 4to. 3d. An Historical Memoir on Italian Tragedy. Lond. 1709. 4to, 4th« An Historical and Critical Essay on the Revival of the
Drama in Italy. Edin. 1805. Svo.
In the year 1815 a posthumous volume was pub- lished by hisbrother, Samuel Walker, Esq. M.R.I.A. entitled '' Memoirs of Alessandro Tassoni,'' &c. a work of considerable merit. It is dedicated to the Earl of Carlisle, Mr. Walker's intimate friend*
But Miss Brooke was at length prevailed on by Mr. Walker and others of her literary friends, to conquer her timidity, and to engage in a work for which she seemed admirably calculated. Accord- ingly, in the year 1787, she undertook a translation of such modem.works of merit of the ancient and modem Irish bards, as she could collect amongst her friiends. This was looked upon by some as a bold )rtep. But Miss Brooke understood not only ihe biaiT
Xi ftEMOIRS OB'
but the energies of her character ; — ^a rare endow-^ ment ; and that which would have been romantic^ and perhaps ruinous, to a mind less cultivated, was^ in her's, only a kind of presage of what wotdd re- sult from an undeviating application of her talents in a pursuit so favourable to the bent of her natural inclinations. There are some minds, which, as it were intuitively, know their vigour as well as their inclinatioi) ; and while others are trembling, either from fear or love, or balancing between both, at what they predict must be the consequence of a sup- posed rash measure, such minds keep the poise of their characters, proceed undailntedly in the even tenor of their way, aud even mix a sound judgment and cautious policy with an adventurous and daring spirit.
The truth of this remark was illustrated in a most singular mamier by Miss Brooke, who, partly from deference to the opinion and solicitude of friends^ and partly from a modest opinion of herself, invited Mr. Walker, and some well-kndwn colleagues to share the labours and honours of her enterprize. These, however, they politely declined, as they knew her abilities were fully equal to the task. Accordingly, with a mind disposed to encourage the genius she possessed, joined to a most elegant taste, and most extensive erudition, with an uncom- mon degree of readiness and activity, she availed herself of all the valuable hints which she received from time to time from her literary associates, and has fully shewn her competency to the undertaking.
In the year 1788 her "Reliques of Irish Poetry" appeared, a work universally admired, — a work which not only reflects honour upon her country^ but will hand her name down to the latest poste«
Uiin Bitoou. xli
fity. Mm Btooke hot only inherited her father's talent for writing> bnt ^loi^red with his hetoic sen- timents. She likewise hnbibed no incohnderable ]Ktirtioaif'of the rol^antic ifMt of thd most zedons antiquaries of her coiintry, O'Conor, O'Halloran^ and Vallancey : bnt as this spirit is more congenial with poetry than with prose, it perhaps engaged her to perform her task with more energy and fire, than eool reasoning, or a dull and laborious investigation of facti, could have done.
To investigate the obsolete remains of other times, delivered in a language of which few have been hardy or inquisitive enough to attempt the acquisi- tion ; to elucidate those writings, and clothe them in the ungenial, I trust not migraceful, vesture of modem rhyme, are achievements that might have staggered many a literary knight-errant and en- terprising antiquary^— yet all this has been at- tempted and accomplished by Miss Brooke, in her first poetical attempt, who stands forward '* the avowed champion of her country's lovely muse." ** Let it, however,^' says the Reviewer, •' be remem- bered that she is the daughter of the late Mr. Brooke, a name well-known to patriots aiid poets : and
-Fortes creantar fortibus."*
' The first heroic poem in this collection ts entitled Conloch ; the author, and exact time in which it was written, unknown. " Bnt it is impossible," says Miss Brooke, " to avoid ascribing it to a very early pe- riod, as the language is so much older than that of any of my originals (the War Odes excepted,) and quite different from the style of those pieces which are known to be the composition of the middle ages." —
» Critical ReYiew for ITJK). f
Xlu MEMOIRS OF
" Of the style," say the Critical Reviewers, " we certainly pretend not to judge, yet from some ex- pressions and sentiments, ( we draw our opinion from the translation, ) we can hardly suppose it to- have been composed so early as the middle ages. The two following poems, we belieye, are of later date^ though, like the present, founded on, or framed from, traditionary tales of great antiquity. We can- not well suppose that Greece and Persia were known to the Irish Bards in times preceding the middle ages ; that they then understood the classical phrase, ' the palm of valour;' or knew that knights bound themselves by * the vaic of chivalry/ The measure in which this pomi is written is irregular ; for which the translator^ in our opinion, needlessly apologises* It is told in an abrupt and spirited manner, and strongly resembles that in Ossian's works, entitled Carthou), Cuchullin in this kills hffl son through the same mistake that Qessamor does his in the other : and the young heroes are inspired by the same principle, of its being disgraceful for a warrior to reveal his name to a foe. The resemblance be- tween the compositions of the Irish Oisin, and the Caledonian Ossian, is indeed very striking^ They indeed sufficiently prove that a strict intercourse formerly subsisted between the Irish and the High- land Celts. The same traditionary tales, with some variations, which may . naturally be accounted for by their having been preserved for ages by memory alone, are recorded in both countries. Macpherson, who is never mentioned in the present performance, has, we believe, embellished many a story, in itself simple, and possibly absurd: but, from what we here find, we cannot suppose^ however he adorned or arranged, that he invented them. Miss Brooke^
MISS BROOKS. Xliii
whatever he might be^ is^ we doubt not^ faithfiil to her original; and we perceive in the poem that peculiar beautj^ a mixture of simplicity and pathos, which is sometimes to be discovered in the artless compoatjoQS ci antiquity^ where
Uoresisted gature ^torms the heart. "^
The next poem is, '' Magnus the Great/' and contains a dialogue between Oisin and St. Patrick. Miss Brooke thinks the language of this poem, as it now stands, too modem to be ascribed to an earlier period than the middle ages. This phrase includes a very extended space of time, yet possibly the con- cession diould be somewhat greater. A Scandif navian king, called Magnus, is acknowledged to have made some descents on Ireland in the eleventh century : we may naturally suppose, therefore, that this composition did not exist till some considerable time after Ihat event: as likewise from the Bard's removing the action of the poem to the days of Oisin and St. Patrick. Whether they were cotemporaries or not, it here agnifies but little.f
The third heroic poem is entitled ** The Chase:'' the interlocutors the same as before. It is, I should suppose, of nearly the same antiquity as the pre-r ceding. A curious extract, from Mr. Walker's '^ Memoin of the Irish Bards,*' is prefixed. ** This poem," say the Monthly Reviewers, ''amid all its wildness and inconsistencies, possesses, in its English dress, many beauties."^
The fourth heroic poem is entitled '' MoiraBorb," and ascribed to Oisin ; but " the language is evi«t
* Critical ileview for 1790.
+ Ibid.
X Monthly Re?iew for 1791.
XllV MEMOIRS OP T
dently not earlier than -that of the middle cen* tfiries." — The story is wild and extravagant; and. resembles, like the former, those which were im-* ported from the East during the time of the crusadef • It is, nevertheless, not destitute of nxerit, and eon** tains many beauties*
The " War Odes/' and the " Love Elegies,*' are extremely fine, and exquisitely pathetic. The first Elegy is addressed '^ to the daughter of Owen,'' and written by one O'Geran, but his name only remains known. There are two more elegies of a modem, date, not devoid of interest and pathos, particularly, if we consider of how few literary advantages those who composed them were possessed. *' Miss Brooke^s poetico-patriotic spirit," say the Reviewers, '' flames forth in every advertisement prefixed to the dif-* fereut species of poetry she has translated. She makes many observations in their favour, and mo- destly regrets her being unable to do justice to their merits. They are of no great antiquity, nor, in our opinion, who can only judge from the translation, eminently beautiful. We discover some marks, however, of originality and genius."*
Miss Brooke has put the songs, which she has selected for translation, in very elegant dress. They contain many uncommon thoughts and flowing stanzas,
The concluding tale, which is inscribed to Mr, and Mrs. Trant, is extravagantly romantic, as the reader may suppose when I inform him, that the story is ** taken from the revolution in the History of ancient Ireland, A, M. 3649: and is related by . Keating, O'Halloran, and Warner." It is, however, well told, and the introduction and conclusion ma-
• Critical Reriew for 1790.
MISS BBOOK8. xIt
Imaged -with address. It has great merit of incident, generosity, and passion, as well as versificaticm. '' Indeed Miss Brooke was so perfectly in possession of the language of poetry, that her versification has wndered the whole work interesting to English readers ; which, if undertaken by a person of inferior abilities, would probably never have penetrated be- yond the circle of the translator's acquaintance."^ The testimony of the Critical Review has not been wanting to this work. ''Miss Brooke,'' say the critics, '' is always attentive to her country's literary reputation.
ServeJur ad onum
Qaalis ab incessa processerat.
We are far from condemning her; but hope she will excuse us for sometimes smiling at the excess to which she has carried her enthusiasm. To the poetical talents of her Gaelic ancestors and her own we pay respect. We have been entertained with her translations from every different species of com- podtion mentioned in the title-page, and recom- mend her performance to the antiquary and the man of genius."*
If the Easterns had their genii, the people of the north-west of Europe, Celts and Goths, had their fairies. From the tales which are told of this aerial race, even at this day, in Ireland, one would ima- gine, that '* the Island of Saints" was the place of their '' dearest abode." The ancient bards of Erin have handed down a regular series of their kings and queens. For some years previous to the publi- cation of the ** Rdiques of Irish poetry," Miss Brooke had began to collect all the poems that
f Montlily Re? iew for 1791. f Critical fUfi^w for 17Ca
xlvi MBMoms or
were written in the Irigh langua^re^ having been often charmed to find many beauties in the songs, even of the unlettered bards^ in that tongue. At first she only intended to collect a little nosegay of these poetical flowers. The peasants were so pleased with this intelligence^ that they waited on her with all the scattered rerses that memory could collect. These grateful offerings made so deep an impres- sion in her breast, that she treasured them up, and resolved to translate them into English, if her health would permit. Many verses were written to her on this occasion; and, among the rest, the following by the parish schooL-master :
To Miss Charlotte Brooke. Since ev'rj langaage bas its own conceits, Its subtle windings and its nice retreats; Then whj should yon desert our natire tongue. In which the loves and graces often sung; Pray do you think our native woods. Our lofty mountains, and our silver floods, Our verdant plains and ever-blooming flowers, Our spreading hedges, and our airy bowers. Would not call forth what language could impart If nature stood in need of art? But all our language wished, kind nature gave, And art at best is but the poet's slave.
In the course of a few years Miss Brooke found herself in possession of a considerable number of fragments ; she selected those in which
Nature spoke, and the rapt bard Luxuriant roam*d, nor did regard The little niceties of art. To rouse the soul and rend the heart.
These she published in a quarto volume, with notes, and the originals in the Irish character. The work abounds with many beauties; especially if the circumstances under which it was written are
MISS BEOOKE. xlvii
taken into the account : a young lady in a state of ill health, the death of a tender mother^ and an rnily brother, in a distant clime, with a father whom she tenderly lo^ed, bending under a weight of years ; without a single hand to guide her through an untrodden path, for she could scarce meet with any person that could read a word of the originals. These circumstances would have eyen checked a genius of the boldest wing, and would claim that indulgence to which the imperfection of human nature is entitled. I shall conclude this account of Miss Brooke's '' Reliques of Irish Poetry," already too much protracted, by giving the testimony of the English Review to the work : — " We have pe- rused all the poems with pleasure, and admired equally her taste in selecting, and judgment in translating them. But we are not to suppose this lady one of those who translate but cannot write. She has convinced us of the contrary, by an origi* nal poem, founded on an event that does equal honor to the age of which it is recorded, and to the choice of the poet.'*
Hitherto Miss Brooke had lived in tolerably affluent circumstances ; but' by an unforeseen event she was now deprived of all her property; and at a time of life when she might have been supposed to have deeply lamented many consequent privations. It is not recollected that a single instance of a mur- mur ever escaped her, or the least expressi<m of regret at what she had lost : on the contrary, she always app^red contented and happy. The want of a settled abode interrupted those studies in which she most delighted. She lost the command of all those elegant comforts and conveniences which are generally found so necessary to the formation of
xlyiii MEMOIRS ov
female character. Bat though this period of her life afforded little opportunity for improyement in science^ the qualities of her heart never appeared in a more amiable light. Miss Brooke had only re- signed that which thousands enjoyed in common with herself; which^ though it may shelter us from some sorrows^ can never confer happiness; but she retained her best riches, those faculties and feelings which are the true fountains of enjoyment, and which Providence had bestowed on her with a liberal hand. Poverty neither dimmed her intellect nor chilled her heart; and while her mind was daily occupied with new inquiries after knowledge, her affections were cherished and satisfied with the friendship of those she loved.
Upon a review of the unpleasant circumstances attending her reverse of fortune, a considerable time after, she thus speaks, in a letter to her inti- mate companion and friend, Miss T :
" Why did not my dear Miss T— — afford me the pleasure of an answer to my last ? I will not think that you were offended at the liberty I took in offering my opinion in respect to your concerns — ^it was dictated by regard so zealous and sincere, that I camiot think it possible you should have taken it amiss. — ^In confidence of this, I write again, to entreat you will not suffer low spirits to keep you silent ; this I fear is the real cause, though it ought to produce quite a contrary effect ; and to make yoti seek, and accept, in sympathy, the only conso- lation that earth can afford to sorrow such as yours.
" I am particularly fearful of your falling into dejection, as I am persuaded your mind is riot formed for mediocrity, in any thing : — of this, you mu8t> yourself, be sensible, and let that knowledge
MISS BROOKE. xUx
liiAlte you w^n awa#e of induciiig any state of mind that reasott ^saj^reves^ or religiaii prohibits. — Th^ en&rgiea of your mitd^ wherever durected* wiU lead you wry far--0^ tii^^a^ be ciM^fuV of the path ia which you tread.
" The remembrance of my own 8orrows,T-of my own escape from AtBfsix, enables me, with peculiar interest, to fed and to tremble for your situation. — Deprived of my father, of my bvotbe^j of my fortune, and of my health ; disappointed in friend- dip, and betrayed in trust-^Hs^y affairs ruined by tiiose in whom I most confided, and the best, and direst affections of my heart torn up, as it were, by the very rootal— My'mind, like your oi^i-n, was, for a time tdo' . much preissed down by anguish to lift itself to God; and when it did rise, alas, it was only to murmur, and to vent the complaints of distraction and despair. — Like you, I thought myself singled out for suffering, and that, not to despond would be not to feel. On this brink (Ido believe) of madness, did the Divine Hand arrest me !■ — showed me tlie precipice into which my soul was plunging, and gave me, in resignation, an asylum from woe. The circumstances of my mis- fortunes have suffered very little alteration since that time : but the mind they had to work on is so changed, that it says to them, " Guy, thy sword wo'nt cut." — ^My father, my brother, are as much lost to me now, as when I mourned them with such distraction : the ingratitude and treachery of those injHfhom I trusted, has not proved an illusion : — it is still the same in itself and in its effects upon my fortune, as it was when it tore every fibre of my heart. My health, though not so bad as formerly, is in a fragile state ; and my fortune, though not
S
1 M£MOlilS ot
utterly lost, is still no more than what <(th^r6 wotdd account as nothing. — ^Yet, notwithstanding this, I am happy! — Yes, O iny gracious God ! with hum- ble and joyful gratitude, I own that I am blest as this eartlvcan make me! — ^that if a sigh heayes, of a tear flows from me now, it is only from the grief that others are not eqtially happy with myself.
" You will easily see, my dear Miss T , that
egatigm has no shtoe in m^king^ me write in this manner | and that I do it, inerely to shew you that it is possible to be deprived bf every thing that this Wbrld calls enjoyment, and yet to be even more than resigned to life. The waters of Comfort which were given me to drink of, are equ&Uy open td you. There alone can your soul slakte its thir&t, 4tnd allay the fever of its an^ish^
The soul, a liflng, restless, fierce desire, Caught from the fountain of eternal fire, Eager for blUs, would drink all nature up, But, quenchless, finds it all an empty cup ! For ah ! external, and eloped from God ; Gone, with its hunger, and its will abroad; Forth of its centre^ it can find no way; Where'er it tends, it only tends to stray*
*' Have you got those sermons of Walker's* which I recommended to you }— ^I think you would find them of use. You wUl pardon the liberty I take in '' setting you tasks,'' when you consider
• The late Rer. Robert Walker, one of the Ministers of the High Church of Edinburgh, where he died in April, 1789. For nearly %B years he was associated with Dr. Hugh Blair in the pastoral care of the same congregation. He was endowed with great natural abilities, which he de?oted to the service of reli. gfDn;'and was an eminent and successful labourer in the rine. yard of his divine Maker. His sermons were published in Dublin in 1787, with a long dedication to Mr. William Sleater, by Miss Brooke's intimate friend, the eccentric Philip SkeltQU, late Rector of Fintona, in the county of Tyrone.
Mist BUOOX.IS. 1^
ft
that I learned the lesBon of suffering before yoa did, and am, therefore, qualified to .ofier my ser- Tices. Do, write to me, my good Miss T— : — , and tell me that your mind is more at ease. Belieye me, I am very truly and warmly interested ii) your wdLfare — above all, your fwental welfare. Remem- ber now I escpect to hear from you soon; say a great deal about yourself— -two sheets at least. If you knew how my time is devoured in this odious bustling town, you would write me twe letters for my one, instead of leaving any one unanswered.
Miss Walker,* whom I saw to-day, desires to be kindly remembered to you ; she has not as yet dis- posed of more than one of the three papers which you gave her, but hopes to be more fortunate. Adieu — accept the very sincere good wishes of your affectionate
.CHARLOTTE BROOKE.
If the circumstances of Miss Brooke's external lot had the effect of depressing and discouraging her mind, it cannot be doubted that they were in- strumental, under the Divjine benediction, in fbs- tering the peculiar excellencies of her character. These almost overwhelming afflictions doubtless contributed to form in her that love of retirement, that dread of the temptations of the world, that strictness of eonversation, that spirit of watchful- ness and prayer, which so constantly and so promi^- nently display themselves in her letters. The fol-
* Sister of the late much lamented Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq. aod the long tried friend of Miss Brooke, whose attach* ment to her if well known. Miss Walker is still living, and still cherishes with affectionate warmth the fond remembrance q( ^er dear departed Charlotte^
Ill MKMaiBS OF
lo'wiii]^ extract affords a specimen of the' deyont feelings which she cherished under the pressure of peculiar difficulties and trials. Writing to her affectionate and sympathizing friend. Miss T ■ *, she speaks thus; — ''As a father smiles with pity more than anger on the foUi^ of a favoured child ; jas even in his frowns the look of love is discer*» nible — such has my God been to me : so did he mingle consolation with sorrow, and ''^tay his rough wind, in the day of his east wind." — So was it attempered '' to the shorn Lamb/' that the «torm seemed sent for no other purpose than to drive it into shelter ; — ^to frighten it back to the fold. — When I add to all these blessings of afHiction and deliverance, the many other blessings I enjoy, to- lerable health,? — ^independence,^ — leisure, — with knowledge and opportunities not granted to the bulk of the world — I not only adore and thank and praise my God, but I trepihle also before him. This it is that makes me sometimes fear for my future destination. For — " where much is given, much will be required." Still, however, " in trembling hope," I trust my soul to my Father and my Redeemer/'
It is surely profitable to observe how greatly .Miss Brooke was indebted for her resources, in the reverse of fortune which she experienced, to her early habit of reading and reflection. These forti- fied her mind, and enabled her, with religion for lier instructress, to form a just estimate of the things which really minister to our happiness. These secured to her friends whose conversation de- lighted and improved her; whpse approbation ani- mated her ardour; whose experience directed her pursuits; and whose tenderness e>ccited, without
MISS BROOX.I!. liii
fear of excess, the miost delightful sentiments of our nature. These furnished, through succeeding y ears, the means of constant occupation ; not constrained by necesMty, or by a dread of vacancy and rest-* lessness; not limited to a single pursuit^ vhich be- comes wearisome from its continued recurrence, and narrows the understanding, even while it quickens the faculties; but always new, always useful; equally fitted for society and solitude, sickness and health, prosperity and misfortune.
Some years after the institution of the Royal Irish Academy, Miss Brooke, by the advice of Mr. Walker, and some other friends, made interest to procure the situation of housekeeper to that esta- blishment. The state of her health at that period, made the necessity of exertion painftfl and distress- ing, and rendered her but little able to struggle with the world. The late Earl of Charlemont was at that time President of the Academy. This ac- complished nobleman was the great friend of the celebrated author of ^* Gustavus Vasa.'' His amia- ble daughter also shared in the esteem and regard of this distinguished scholar. Flattered with the prospect of success, and flushed with the hopes of obtaining a comfortable asylum for life, she drew up the following petition, which was presented to the Royal Irish Academy:
My Lords and Gentlemen,
I should not take the liberty of this address to a society I so highly respect, if I was not provide^ with an adequate claim to your attention.
I address you as the daughter of C%»stavfus Vasa — a man, who either as a friend, or a patriot, was dear to every member of your Academy.
Since his decease I have known nothing but
liv MEMOIRS or
a£9iction. The death of my brother^ shortly after, deprived me of my only protection, and also, a con- siderable share of my fortune ; a principal part of ivhat remained, was involved in the failure of Captain Brooke, and ihe rest is now lost by the bankruptcy of a Trader in whose hands it was placed at interest. I have lost in all to the amount of between one and two hundred a year, and this without any imprudence of my own, which might have drawn down those calamities upon n^.
I find myself stripped both of friends and for- tune, in a world of which I have but little know^ ledge— cut off from every dependance, from every protection, but that of Heaven and my Country. — To the most distinguished individuals of that Coun- try, I now address myself as a descendant of GcTiius. I request to be intrusted with the care of a House destined to the purpose, and dedicated to the honour of Genius. — ^I wiU undertake it, if so re^ quired, without a salary.
Unaccustomed to solicit, I yet bend with lesp pain to the task, when I consider the characters to whom my application is addressed. — To you. Gen- tlemen, the memory of my Father cannot plead in vain,-^it will, I am confident, be my advocate with your taste, and my own most distressing situation, with your hwnanity.
In this protection and support of a female Orphan you will also fulfil the purpose for which your ele- gant and respectable Society was instituted, by diowing to the world, that to the Royal Irish Aca- demy, even this spirit of departed Genius was dear.
I have the honour to be, my Lords and Gentle- men, with the utmost respect, your most obedient ■errant. CHARLOTTE ^RQOKE.
Hiss BUOOKC 1Y
By 6n odd caprice of fortune MisB Brooke lort a ritaation for \diich she seemed eminently qualified. Her claitDS to the protecticm of each an inrtitntion as the Royal Irish Acadetny^ independent of the many qnalitied which she pottessed, were nndonbt- edly strong, and snch as one would naturally sup- pose should operate powerfully on the unbiassed and unprejudiced mind of every member of that truly respectable society. Scarcely could the vete- ran soldier strive more earnestly for conquest in the heat of battle, than Mr. Walker for Ihe ad^ vancement of his amiable and accomplished friend. He had interested many in her bclialf, and felt much disappointed at the result of his exertions. Success too seldom results from merit ; and the fate of Miss Brooke forms no felicitous exception to the general experience of men.
In the year 1791, we find our authoress again soliciting the public notice. Early in this year she published " The School for Christians/' in Dia- logues, for the use of children. In the preface to this little work she informs us, that she '^ was blessed with a parent, whose mind was knowledge, and whose heart was virtue ; who stooped to the capacity of her infant years, and replied with un* wearied condescension, to the teasing inquisitive- ness of childhood. Recollection now serves to re-* mind her of those answers, and that mode of in- struction, whifch conveyed knowledge by the means ci sensiUe images, to her mind: and, from her owii experience of the efficacy, and excellence of this plan, she naturally wishes to communicate its utility to others. Let this acknowledgement acquit her of the presumption of pretending to ofier her men wisdon^ — her own instructions to the world.
Ivi MEMOIRS OF
Her only object in this publication, is, the happi^ ness of seeing it becoBae useful to her species, and the pleasure of bestowing the profits of the book^ on the enlargement of a little plan she has formed, for the charitable education of children whose parents are too poor to afford them the means of instruction/'
Miss Brooke's pious labours did not end here. Anxious to do honour to the memory of her father, she formed the determination of publishing a uni- ibrm edition of all his works, and of prefixing a memoir of his life. When the productions of Mr* Brooke's pen- were first sent from Ireland to the English press, he was in a state of mental derange- ment, and bodily pain,^ which rendered him inca** pable of any thing more than a bare assent to their departure; and Miss Brooke was too young to conceive, or prevent the mischief which necessarily ensued. They were submitted to the care of a gen^- tleman who offered his services to superintend their publication ; but he, also, pressed down by infirmi- ties and years, was unequal to the task of revision and selection, in which more difficulties occurred than perhaps he had been aware of. Some pieces were printed which had never been intendeii for the press; also, some that were interpolated by other hands; besides many more which Mr. Brooke never wrote, and had only corrected for his friends : and even his own most favourite productions were printed from unfinished copies, while the perfect ones were overlooked, and unfortunately, remained behind.
In this state, so disgraceful to their author, were his poetical works first published. But the same mismanagement prevailing in the publication, that
MISS BROOKE. ItU
had done in the printing of them, they lay neglected in a ware-room, and totally tmthought of by Miss Brooke, till a few more years brought with them a consciousness, that filial duty had something more than the mortal life of a beloved and honoured parent to care for. Mr. Brooke^s life of fame be^ came then an object of importance and feeling con- cern to his accomplished daughter. His works were opened with triumph, but closed again with anguish and disappointment. '' Till then," says Miss Brooke, " I had scarcely ever opened them at all ; for me- mory still retained the impression which a frequent perusal of the manuscripts, in earlier years, had made ; and it was not till this began to be eflEaced, tiiat the mortifying discovery was made, and the cruel comparison between what I remembered, and what I then saw. It was, however, pursued no far- ther, at that time, than through the course of a few pages : it was attended with feelings too acute for health and spirits, already strained to the utmost, to tmpport and cheer the decline of a parent, whose comfort was dearer to me, even than his fame.''* The works were, therefore, laid by, and never taken up again until some time after the death of Mr. Brooke, when a relation of his ( then in London, and preparing for more distant travel ) proposed to Miss Brooke, to write an account of her father's life, prefix it to his works, and publish them anew ; promising, before his departure, to arrange all matters with the booksellers, and to settle a corres- pondence for her, with a literary fViend of his, in London, whom he said he would engage to super- intend, and acquaint her with the progress of the vork. Part of it whs proposed to be displaced by
* Miss Brooke's Preface to her father*s Works, p. iy,
h
.lyiii MBM0IR8 or
some pieces never before made public ; some more to be reprinted from the manuscripts inMissBrooke'g possession, and an apology made for the imperfec- tions necessarily remaining in the rest.
*' I was at tiiat time," says Miss Brooke, ^* in a state of health nearly approaching to dissolution ; and I seized, with joy, on the hope of accomfdlishing, before my death, the imly purpose for which I then wished to live. Hardly recovered from the grief of my father's death, and but just deprived of an only brother; with a bleeding heart, a timid mind, and a constitution
^^ Spun, by angirish^ to a sightien thread !"
i eagerly caught at that assistance, without which I deemed ^ desired object unattainable. But the 'event most fatally tevelrsed all my prospects:^ my relation departed in too great a hurry to settle my business to any purpose ; and the gentleman to whom he referred me for information, was always too busy to reply to my repeated applications.
*' Wearied at last with fruitless efforts, I ceased to importune him any more ; and finding that two years had elapsed) without any notice, respecting ihe work, I concluded that nothing whatever had been attempted; and looked forward to the hope of 'doing still more justice to the memory of my father, in consequ^ice of this delay, than could have been done at a time when ill health, and ii^ured fortune had sunk my spirits, and secluded me from literary society and assistance. But this flattening idea, iJiough only in proqpect, I was not long suf- fered to enjoy. In a moment least exf^cted, I was sttddeidy shocked by the Appearance of an aecouat in Ae Kng^«*^ papers, that a second edition of my father's works was publisht^l— pnblished without
MISS BliOOKiB. Ikx
my concuiTence, to set the seal to the ttrors ^f th^ fint edition; to disgrace still more deejdy my father's reputation I to make the world suppose his instruct- lions and example so little effectual, to any honour- able purpose, ad that his child, scarce ever separated a mmient from his presence, could basely take ad«- vantage of his death, to build paltry emolument on the ruins of his fame/'*
Afflicted, almost to death, at this cruel intelli^ genee, the utmost that Miss Brooke could then do to remedy the mischief, was, to write instant orders to st4^ the sale, and purchase a right to the copy, by paying the expense incurred. Deeply injured in her property by the misfortunes of those in whose hands it had been entrusted, she was unable to com-^ mand a sum sufficient to reprint the defective parts of her father's works; and a subscription was the only expedient she could think of, to redeem his fame, and give the benefit of his genius and virtues to posterity.
'* With this view,'* says our fair authoress, " I acquainted my friends with what I had already done, and requested their assistance to forward my proposed undertaking* Various were the difficulties and discouragements in the way. Difficulties in the transaction of business with booksellers of another kingdom, whose negligence was rendered still more fupine, by knowing that they had only female re* sentment to fear : and discouragements of the most mortifying kind from those on whose zeal and in- fluence I had rested my principal hopes of success; but who censured me as rash and imprudent for in- curring a certain expense, in search of uncertain good. Some, however, there were, of greater feel-
* MUs Brooke's Preface to her father's Works, p. ▼!, nU
1% HBMOims OF
ing, and more eleyated mmds ; who reached forth the friendly hand« to assist filial duty in its stru^lo through surrounding obstacles."* By their meani Mr, Brooke's works were giwn, in a state not ua- worthy of their author, to the world; and to them the public are indebted for the sublime and affect*- ing lessons of virtue which abound in every page. Indeed, but for their assistance, the whole of the edition would have been committed to the flames ; for Miaa Brooke was determined it should never more appear^ unless it could appear with honour.
In this detail of injuries to Miss Brooke's property and her peace, I mean not to criminate any one ; and would rather hope that she had sufiered through inattention, than want of feeling and integrity in those who were concerned in her affairs. Perhaps^ were they sensible of all she had endured, ^ey would regret that they had any share in the inflic- tion. The day, the hour, is rapidly approaching^ whether as to her enemies or herself, when the views of all hearts shall be disclosed-^when what was devised secretly must be divulged openly—* and when men will be estimated not by the falla- cious sumuses of each pther, but by the ^erring scrutiny of omniscience. I can leave '' the hypo* critical heart'' to him whp sees not as man sees; and with him, whose ways are not as our ways» and to whom ajone vengeance belongi« I ^Iso leave f* \J\e punishment diie" to the offences of hb crea-^ tures ! Here let me leave her foes. But I cannot prevail with myself to sink ii^ oblivion the foUo^ir'* ing letter of Miss Brooke's, which, while it exr poses the cond^ct of an individual, strikingly disr
* Miss Brooke's Prefi^e to ber father's Works, p. Tiii,
MISS BROOiU. Ixi
plays ihe abuses to wliich an unprotected female is sabject, even from those whose sex should lead them on eyery occasion to be ihe strenuous advocate of thdr fair countr jw<»nen. This exposure may draw npon my head ^e censures of those whom I deem my friends* But I entered on my task as a faithfnl rqKirter of facts authenticated ; and I leave an im*- partial public to judge of the genuineness pf my narrative. I hope I shall never Imow fear in the patii of duty. llVliat I have not unadvisedly under- taken, I shall not pusillanimously abandon.
At the period this letter was written. Miss Bropke was in Dublin, on a visit with her intimate friend Dr. Iffll, who behaved towards her through life with paternal affection, and who assisted her in arranging her father's works for publication. It is dated May 15th, 1792.
'* My dear Miss T-- — will, I fear, think sadly <^my silence ; but in trutb I am not to blame ; and I can declare with the utmost sincerity, that a sin- gle day does not pass, without^e^uetit thoughts of^ and cordial good wishes for her welfare. I was as sure of being at G>ttage a month ago as I was of my existence. Three times I was on the point of setting out, And each time detained by inevitablei and disagreeable business. M^Kenzie (the College printer) -«rtu> nnfortunatdy printed my father's works, has harassed me by every species of impu- dence, insolence, and ♦♦♦♦♦♦». Until a week ago I was not able to get the last of the books out of his hands, and I then found there were a number of the copies wanting. I refused to pay his bill, till he gave them all up, and he threaten^ me with a wii. Any court in Christendom would have given it agsunst him, and he was told so; but he knew 1
Ixii MBMoiits or
disliked contention, and therefore bullied me to obtain what he had no right to. However, my book** sellersi Archer and Jones, have taken up the mat^ ter, and say they hope to settle it. I suppose I shall lose considerably, bettdes the far greater vexation of having the work ill done, which is so very dearly paid for. The paper is badly matched ; the subscri- bers complain, and those who do not understand the buriness will, to be sure, lay Hie blame upon me. But I have this consolation, that the fame of my father is justified. The work is not the less per-* feet in itself, for the defect of the paper ; and it will descend to posterity in a state not unworthy of ittf author. Any censure that may fall upon me, when compared with this consideration, is not worth a thought. I have ever lived but for my father, and I shall not noni divide my little rivulet from the parent stream. Oh, may we never be divided! — may we roll together to that sea '' from whence we never have return!" In life, my soul is his; — ^in death I trust it shall join lum ! — You say I know not what it iB to have the heart exclusively cen« tered in one object — ^you forgot my father when you said so. I am indeed incapable of any other love — ^my heart was intended for that alone^ and nature has not nor ' ever will have room for any other one. I see none on earth who resemble him^ and therefore heaven alone can become his rival in my breast.
" I have been looking about for every kind of book which I thought could be useful to you. I have with great diflBiculty procured Dodchidge's '' Rise and progress of Religion in the Soul," which I think is exactly the sort you want and wish for. — ^After all, perhaps we diall not meet. I cannot
MISS BKOOKE. Ixill
go doum this fortnight yet. But I hope you will not have left Longford before that time. Dear girl, don't puniBh me for my intohmtary dlence, but write, and write soon* Your elegant and feeling letters are a real indulgence to me. Even your kind partiality is of use: — ^it reminds me of what I aught to be, and instead of ranity excites only an ambi- tion to merit that opinion which it gives me so mudi pleasure to po8Se9$*
« '* If you knew how harrassed I have been, you would pity instead of blaming me for my silence. Dr. IfiU congratulates me tJiat I am alive. Indeed I have been wonderfully supported as well as tried. My health has often sunk under much less than I have had to bear in the course of this business. The whole world could not a£R>rd me another cause to induce me to such a conflict. But I shall now lay down my arms, and retire for life from a field where 1 have nothing left to fight for. All of this world that I want or wish for b mine— <3od grant I may be equally successful in acquiring my portion of a better world I To that let us lift our souls! Let us rejoice in those trials that have lessened the chains which fettered us to this dungeon of clay ! — ^I long to get hcMue, that I may endeavour to do so. In this busy seene Tcan neither get time to read or to think. '' To*morrow morning I am obliged to go with, my friend, Mrs. Hamilton, to Williamburgs, her country house, within three miles of town, fibc c&jeys the' business that detains me and only laughs at my impatience. Direct to Dominick-street, No. MA, and I shall get your letter with hers. Remem- ber I shall think you are angry with me if yoi^ do not write. Have you heard from Mrs. Waller*
* Mrs. Waller of Allemtown, county of Mealb, the affec
MEMOIKS OF
lately, and how is she ? She has written to me. I suppose she thinks I am in the country by thiB time. — ^Farewell. — God bless you 1
Youth's most truly, CHARLOTTE BROOKE."
To this edition of Mr. Brooke's works is prefixed a Memoir of the author, which was drawn up by Miss Brooke about the year 1787, and publidied with the former edition of his poems* In the pro- secution of so arduous a task as the revision and cor- rection of her father's practical works, Miss Brooke was generously assisted by many kind friends, some of whom not only rendered her essential service in the general selection of the pieces, but zealously ex* erted themselves to forward the sale, in order to pre- vent her being involved in difficulties. '' As to my affairs,"' she observes, ^' I bless iJcl' I have suc- ceeded beyond my Jiopes. After purchasing all my withes, I have stUl enough left for my nxmts, what need I more. I have suffered ccmsideiubly by tfa6 Printer ; also in many otiier instances of disappoint- ment and loss; but still, in the grand points, I am
successful/' From the sale of her '^Rdiques of
Irish Poetry," and her father's works, MissBrooke was enabled to realize upwards of three hundred guineas, with which she purchased an annuity of forty pounds a year, which was all she possessed at the time of her decease.
Some years previous to Miss Brooke's decease,
tiouate friend of Miss Brooke. To the kied exertions of tkis lady, Eyies Irwio, Esq. of Beilrtie, county of Fermanagk, and the Rer. Richard Brooke, Miss Brooke was inJebted for nearly half tlie nnmber of subscribers which she obtained for the publt. cation of her father*s works.
MISS BROOKS. Ixr
tAie had written a play on the popular story of Beli- Barius» by Marmontell ; which, however, it appears she had no intention of publishing. Some time after her death it was found amongst her papers; and having been perused by several literary judges, it was deemed worthy of being brought forward on the London Theatre. Mrs. Siddons was at that pe- riod in Dublin. By the kindness of Mrs. Lefanu, sister to the Right Hon. Richard Brinsley Sheridan, it was introduced to the notice of this celebrated actress. It was afterwards sent to London for the inspection of Mr. Kemble, who, it is said, highly approved of the performance. It remained with this gentleman a considerable time ; and several letters were written by Miss Brooke's friends, demanding an explanation for the delay. After many fruitless inquiries, it was at length stated, that the Play was lost by the carelessness of a servant. Certain it is, the Play ira^ lost to the friends and relations of Miss Brooke, who were never after able to recover it. It is however a curious circumstance, that on Mr. BLemble's return from the Continent, whither he had gone for the purpose of studying the French and Spanish theatricals, and of importing whatever might be serviceable for the improvement of the English stage, he produced a Play on the story of Belisarius, which was brought forward on the Li- verpocd boards.*
Here Miss Brooke's literary labours ended. Had Ae lived it was her intention to have published a new edition of the '* Fool of Quality,'* and I be- lieve to have revised and considerably abridged the latter volume of that work. Of this she speaks in her letters to Miss T " You lament,*' says
* Biog. Dictionarj of LWing Authors, page 185.
1
l&Vi AEMdillS OF
Mifls Brooke, ^* that tiie Fool of Qaallty was not more read. I was a child when tiie first yolutnei Were published^ btit 1 remember vety well what has siiiiie been confirmed to me, by those who knew my father at the time, that the demand for it wa4 infinitely ^^ater than l^at of any other book that had ever appeared. In the conrse of about a year it went through three editions. But the latter volumes destroyed the credit of the work, and it fell of course. Nevertheless, it is now out of prints and only to be had seeoAd-hand» If evel^ I live to possess the power of hazarding a few score pounds, I will certainly restore it to its original fame, and its purposed utility/'^ In a subsequent letter she writes thus : '' If the further sale of my fother'i poems should enable me to run hazards, for my own gratification, I have long proposed to publish another edition of the Fool of Quality. Till Aen, I shall preserve the determination I have made, never so much as to open it. The set&iui infancy that shocked me twelve years ago, iti every page of tho latter volumes of it, would now, in the maturer state of my judgment, torture me almost to deatit. To this torture I shall not unnecessarily submit ; nor will I ever more look upon the WOUAd, till t atft gifted wilh the power of curing it. If I remember right, three volumes would amply contain all that oufflU to remain of the five ; and as to his oth^s^ and last work of Juliet GrenviUe, it is, 1 fear, s^toeely worthy of revision, and should ouly be quietly con* signed to oblivion.**
For the last few years of her life. Miss Brooke principally resided at Cottage, near Longford, with Mr. and Mrs. Browtte, who paid her every ahen<* tion in their power. In order to render her situation
MISS BROOKS. Ixvii
98 comfoftable as possible. When writing to her friend Miss T , she says, ** I find myself ex- tremely comfortable in this little qxi\^t habitation^ but not with people towards whom I i^m indif- ferept/' I am very fond of Mrs. Browne, imd ab7 iolntely doat ^ the children, who I think, are the 4liost engaging of any I have ever seen. The only demur to comfort is the excessive b&dness of the upad, which b indeed almost impassable, at best, to any kind of elevated earriage. Either that, or my wish of consequence has kept me very quiet since I oame here, for not a soul has been here, as you supposes to see me ; and if this was all, I should b^ very far from repining at the road, for a conse-p quence so productive of that leisure and retirement which I love, and which I now iDonl, as well as love. The exercise of a car has been prescribed for my healthy and here I cannot obtain it without walking to the end of the road that leads up to this house. I attempted it twice since I came, and was quite fonndere^ in the trial. I have often heard Lady Granard^ spoken of very highly, and I understand ahe has character enough to make amends for the disadvantage of her rQv3u Still, however, I shall be neither displeased nor surprised should she not think proper to honor me with a visit. I shall not be displeased, because my time will be so much the mere my own. And it will be no wonder at all if she discovers that I am thought proud and unbend- ing to the great, and keeps, on that account, her
* Lady 6rsni^r<l's maiden ' name was Lady Selina RawdoD, She wfis the fourth daughter of John, Earl of Moira, (by the Lady Elizabeth Hastings, only sarviving daughter of the cele. brated Countess of Huntingdon) and married George, sixth Earl •I Graaard, lOtb of May, I77fi, by whom she has issue.
IxTlii MEMOIRS OF
distance. The fact is« that though I am very vfH^ ling to give to Csesar the things that are Caesar's, — the homage of forms, — of place, — of precedencci &c. yet still, so long as there is nothing more than rank to remind me of dignity in the possessors, I am too apt ( without intending it ) to forget that it is not fair to depriye them of the little that is their due, and I so seldom remember to pay homage which does not spring from my heart, that the omis- sion, I believe has been felt indeed by some, and with a mortified pride that very seldom forgives. I wish not to occasion those feelings in my fellow- creatures ; and indolence and habit incapacitate me for the exertion of those common place, but conr stant attentions, which, in general, are necessary to avoid it. No one thing that I love is to be found in the higher ranks of life : — ^neither cultivated minds, on the one hand, nor uncorrupted simplicity on the other. No charm, either of purity or of refinement is there. Nature flies their abodes, and even art itself, elegant art, disdains them. Happiness derides, dignity scorns them; and even humility herself finds her pity mingled with contempt, when she looks upon the poor inflated pageants of a self- created vapour, so soon to vanish into air."
But the days of man are numbered. This is not our home, nor our rest ; it remaineth in a better world for those who are found faithful unto death. Miss Brooke had, for some years, complaint^ which alarmed those who knew how much they should feel her loss ; and though she struggled with ill health, and hardly sufibred it to interrupt her la- bours, yet it seemed evident the mortal tabernacle M'as failing. The last winter of her life was spent in Dublin between her friends Dr. Hill and Mrs. Ha-
MISS BROOKE. Ixix
milton,* of Dominick-street. She also occasionally visited the late Hon. Mrs. 0*Neil,f a lady whose elegance of mind conld only be surpassed by the charms of her person, uniting with the polish of courts the brilliancy of genius, she shone pre- eminent in the fashionable world. With these amiable characters Miss Brooke constantly asso- ciated during her stay in the metropolis. Her health and strength were very perceptibly on the decline,
* Mrs. Hamilton, whose maiden name was Miss Jane Ho wan, was the only daughter of William Rowan, Esq. one of his Ma« jesty's counsel at law, and widow of Tichborne Asten, Esq. By her marriage, in May 1750^ with Gawen Hamilton, Esq. of Kil. lileagh, in the county of Antrim, (eldest son of Archibald Ha« milton, Esq. descended from James Hamilton Earl of Clanbrassil, by Mary, daughter of David Johnson of Tully, in the county of Monaghan, Esq.) she had issue, Archibald Hamilton Rowan, Esq. and a daughter Anne, married to the Rer. Benjamin Beres. ford. Mrs. Hamilton was a woman of strong natural sense, and possessed a very cultirated mind. In the various duties of mother, wife, and friend, she had few equals, no superiors. She surrired her friend Miss Brooke, whom she tenderly loved, and to whom she ever paid the most marked attention, but a few months; and was indeed mercifully taken from the evil to come.
f This elegant and accomplished lady departed this life, Sep. tember 2d, 1793. If Mrs. Siddons ever had a rival, it was her friend and first patroness, Mrs. O'Neil ; yet her elegant pursuits did not divert her from domestic duties : as a wife and a mother her mpemory will be revered. — Of the effusions of her pen, only one has fallen under my observation : I mean The Ode to the Poppy, — See Mrs. Smith's *• Desmond." — I shall conclude this imperfect sketch of the character of this truly amiable lady with the following lines from a sonnet, addressed to her, by her in. genious and unfortunate friend, Mrs. Charlotte Smith : —
^^ In rain the mimic pencil tries to blend The glowing dyes that dress the flow'ry race, Scented and colour'd by a hand divine. Ah! not less vainly would the muse pretend On her weak lyre to sing the native grace, The natire goodness of a soul like thine T'—.
IXX MEMOIRi OF
and she 'was advised by her excellent friend. Dr. Hill, to remain with him for some months longer, af the air of the country was too cold for her delicate constitution. With great difficulty she reached Cot- tage ; and shortly after was seized with a malignant fever, which put an end to her valuable life on the 29th of March, 1793. Miss Brooke had no depend* ance upon her acquisitions, or upon her ;moral cha- racter : her 'whole trust for accep^ce with Qod, and for happiness in the invisible state, rested solely on the atonement and mediation of her Saviour. There was a striking elevation and dignity com- bined with simplicity, in her manner and language, during the vrhole course of her trying illness. Al- though she manifested no ecstasy of joy, she dis- covered serenity and complacency of mind, together with great resignation to the will of God in prayer. 8he departed to another and a better world with perfect calmness and serenity, and in the full pos^ session of all her mental faculties.
^^ How calm her exit ! Night-dewB fall not more gentlj to the groaod, Nor weary worn-out winds expire so soft." — Blair.
I shall now close this part of the Memoir of Miss Brooke, with the following poetical effusion to her memory, from the pen of a lady* who deeply de- plored her early exit from a world like this, but whose modesty has laid an injunction on me, which ex- cludes her name from appearing in this biographical sketch. — The Poem was sent to Joseph Cooper
* The author of ^' Charles Townley,'' a norel in three volumes ; and *^ The Expedition of Gradasso, a metrical Romance," trans, lated from the Italian. To the writer of this she expressed her high sense of the abilities and amiable virtues of Miss Brooke, and lamented, almost to tears, the loss of so tmly excellent and estimable a friend.
MISS BUOO&E.
Walker^ Esq. who immediately forwarded it to the editor of the Anthologia Hibemica, accompanied with the following note :
Sir, — I was last night favoured with the en- closed lines, from an unknown hand, accompanied with a modest request, that 1 would forward them to your magazine, in case they should meet my approbation. I do not lose a moment in sending them to you ; for, besides possessing many poetical beauties, they breath a spirit of unfeigned sorrow, which particularly recommends them to me, who feel such deep affliction for the ingenious and amiable subject of them. — ^I am, &c. J. C. W.
April 13, 1793.
To the Memory of Misi Charlotte Brooke.
Let towering pride erect the sculptnrM shrine^
And Yenal flattery garlands twine to deck
The rault where grandeur lies : — bat cofne, oh Mase!
And seek the lowly grave where Charlotte rests. —
Insatiate grave, and faithless ! verdure gay.
In every springing flow'ret of the year
AdonI thy sarface; yet thy envious depth
VMs ironk my aching sight the fairest flower
That grac'd ottr clime. Alas ! tbr ever hid
1?T6m mortal eyes^ dear maid I thy sweetness blooms
In radiant spheres beyond our feeble view. —
Dh ! early lost and sudden !-^Mighty Powers !
Are tirtoe^ genias, talents, only letit
A little moment) ja6t to iraise onr hope,
And vanish, transient, as the painted cloud
Which qnick dissolves in tears ? — Is life no more ?
And cannot worth superior ward the dart,
Or bflbe it le>hen'd hour from ruthless Aeaih ?
All! BO:— H;6Bld worth prolong the floating dUe,
I had not wept o'er Charlottc's timeless nm,— ^
Though sad my heart, no single mourner t:
For drooping friendship, in dejection fiz*d.
Ixxii MEMOIRS OF
Points the mute sorrow lab'riog for a Tent ; ^
And gratitude, with lifted eje pursues
The shade of her, whose gen'rous bosom felt
For e?ery human woe: — nor felt alone.
But, with delighted readiness, relieved:
Religion too, and filial piety,
Their vot'ry's pale remains exulting own,
Though shrouded in the dust. — And lo ! reveal'd
To fancy's wondering gaze, a thousand shapes,
Air-drawn, ad?ance, bright evanescent forms,
Attuning hea?'nly harps to solemn dirge;
And shadowy choirs of time-ennobled bards.
Whose songs, by her from dark oblivion snatch'd.
And failing language, charm the ear again.
While kindred genius and congenial worth Endure, sweet maid! thou ue*er wilt be forgot: Returning seasons still shall find thy grave With heartfelt tears, and tributary wreaths Due honourM: hands unseen shall dress the sod — There pensive contemplation, too, shall steal From scenes of thoughtless levity, to plume Her wing for flight sublime, and learn of thee O'er earth-born ill triumphant to arise,! To live with virtue^ and with hope to die.
After what has been advanced in the preceding' pages, on the subject of Miss Brooke's abilities as a writer, and her various vicissitudes through life, it is presumed that little more will be expected than a few remarks on some of the prominent fea- tures of her character, for the purpose of deriving instruction from the excellencies and defects which they exhibit, and of discharging the duty of a faithful and impartial biographer; especially as these Memoirs have already extended beyond the limits which I had prescribed, though without ex- hausting the materials I had prepared to lay before the reader. It is far from my design to indulge in extravagant panegyric^ or in strained eulogium on
MISS BROOKE. Ixxiu
the character of the favoured individual, whose life we have been contemplating — her character, like that of other anful mortals, had a certain share of imperfection and infirmity. When a limner nts down to draw a portrait, the first duty which his profesnon imposes is not so much to produce a pleas^ ing picture as a faithful likeness. Nor shall the person who draws up this brief sketch of her cha- racter, aim so much to please the eye of a partial observer, as to pourtray the subject of it, exactly such as she really was. Be it remembered then, that though it is the likeness of an amiable and accom- plished female, which is to be now exhibited, it is the likeness of one '' who was subject to like pas- sions as we are.''
Among the many blessings of our kind Bene- factor, that of friendship is none of the least. In- sensible indeed must that mind be, which is barred to the admission, callous to the influence, and ignorant of the joys of social afipections. In such a person we see human nature woefully de- praved ; we deprecate sin's direful effects on society, and commiserate the unhappy state of the indivi- dual. Still friendship glows in the bosom of a few ! — Still may it glow with increasing purity and ar- dour ! Where persons are united by the bonds of gemiine friendship, there is nothing, perhaps, more conducive to felicity. It supports and strengthens the mind, alleviates the pains of life, and renders tiie present state, at least, somewhat comfortable. '* Sorrows," says Lord Verulam, " by being com- municated, grow less, and joys greater." ** And indeed," observes another, ** sorrow like a stream, loses itself in many channels ; while joy, like a ray of the sun, reflects with a greater ardour and
k
1tx4v MBlEtfOtltS of
quickness when it rebounds upon a man firom Hie breast of his friend."
^^ Friendship! mysterious cement of the soul,
Sweetener of life, and solder of socief /^
I owe thee much. Thou hast deserved from me,
Far, far bejoud what I can ever pay :
Oft have I proved the labour of thy love,
And the warm efforts of the gentle heart,
Anxious to please."-- Blair.
Friendship exists, and is refined in its nature, in proportion to the moral excellence of the parties ; it influences the heart, and manifests itself in all the varying circumstances of life. In the real friend, not words but actions, every motion, the glow of the countenance, expresses the internal warmth: yea, his very heart shews itself. Whoever under- takes this important part, should be
^^ Prepared for martyrdom, and strong to prove^
A thousand ways the force of genuine love.
To echo sigh for sigh, and groan for groan,
And wet bis cheeks with sorrows not his own.— -Cowpbr,
Miss Brooke had a heart eminently tuned to friend- ship* Between her and her a£feetionate correspoiid- ent. Miss T — , the strongest attachment subsisted* The latter at one period of her life was deeply en- veloped in the thick mists of affliction, and almost overwhelmed by their pressure. No sooner was it known than it was felt more keenly by her friend : formed to sympathy, her heart wept, and her eye dropt the friendly tear, the grief was divided, coii'^ solation was suggested, and arising from rational sources, was like oil to the weund. The friendship of Miss Brooke was not a
<^ Name, nor charm that lulls to sleep;**
it was an affection which interested and actuated every power ; it was a sincere and generous paMon,
MI88 BROOKB. IxXY
which sought not its o>vn but bother's ^ood ; and rejoiced in every circumstanGe ^hich tended in Ibe most remote degree to the happiness of her bosom friend. But all friendships formed on earth are of short doiation. Life is uncertain; and the plea- sore enjoyed in the company of tiiose we love is dearly purchased by the anguish of separation.
^ loTidioQS Grave ! how dost thou rend in sunder Whom loTe has luiit, and sympathy made one ! A tie more stubborn far than nature's band."
Miss Brooke has long since taken her everlasting farewel of earthly scenes; but Miss T— still surviTes, and still dwells with grateful recollection, on the memory of her departed friend, whose un« bounded affection and ardent attachment smoothed many a rugged path in her juvenile years, and made
** Her iron cares sit easy."
But is it not a thought calculated to repress every rising sorrow, and wipe away every tear, that the period of separation is^very short ? How will it ap-r pear when it is over ? It may seem very distant in perspective ; but in retrospect, it will dwindle into a point. O how short, in contrast with eternity, the duration of mortal friendships ! Still, however, wh^n, mch friends part* it is the suivivor dies; and Miss Bro6ke's surviving friend can well adopt the beautiful language of the poet on this occassion:
: : — — : — ^ Of joys departed,
Not to return, how painful the remembrance!"
Miss Brooke's charities were extensive. Previous to the loss of her property, when she lived in afflu- ent circumstances, she devoted a considerable por- ti<m of her income to charitable purposes. She took a particular interest in educating the chjldrei}
ItXyi MEMOms OF
of the poor; and when she lived at Longford es- tablished a school^ to the support of which she de- voted the profits of her little work, entitled '* The School for Christians/' In the year of 1778, Dr. Gormley, an eminent physician at Fintona, in the county of Tyrone, dying in very low circumstances, left behind him a very large family of daughters, who by his death were reduced to great poverty. The late Rev. Philip Skelton, a man of an eccen-^ trie character, but of great benevolence of disposi- tion, and always a friend to the friendless and distressed, took the poor orphans under his care, and supported them till he put them in a way of pro- viding for themselves. Those who were of an age fit for it, he recommended for waiting-maids to ladies of fortune. One of them lived in this capaci- ty with Miss Brooke, who kindly took her on there- eommendation of Mr.Skelton,and treatedher in every respect, so as to make her feel her situation as unlike a dependant as possible. Miss Brooke afterwards informed Mr. Skelton by letter, that this girl, who was bred a Roman Catholic, had voluntarily con- formed to the Protestant religion ; which intelligence it may be supposed, was extremly pleasing to him ; for he had always, through a principle of delicacy, avoided speaking to her on the subject of her reU- gion, lest he might appear to use his influence on her in so nice a point, where one should be directed, not by complaisance, but by conscience.*^ But in all
* See Bardy's Life of Skelton, p. 179. This eccentric genins yras the intimate friend of Mr. Brooke, who sent him a copy of his poem on ^^ UoiYersal Beaaty," in one of the blank leaves of which he wrote some curious lines, which the reader will find in a little work entitled ^^ Brookiana," in two Yolumes 4to. Mr. Skelton was also the friend of Miss Brooke. He died May 4, 1787, in the fifty-ninth year of his ministry, and eighty.first of his age.
^ MfSS ' BROOKS. IxXVti
ker acts of beneficence. Miss Brooke was exceedingly careful to avoid ostentation. She felt the obligation of that admonition, ** When thou doest thine alms, let not thy left hand know what thy right doth ; that thine alms may be in secret ;'' and, from the most conscientious motives, made it quite a system to conceal her name as . often as it was practicable, from those to whom she extended relief, or to whom die remitted her contributions for any important object.
One of the most remarkable features of Miss
Brooke's character was, her candour in judging.
She was slow to discern the faults of others, and
backward to mention them. When she found it
imposalble altogether to justify the actions of some
of her fellow-creatures, she did not judge their
motives, but rather mentioned such apologies as the
case would bear. Unconscious of the superiority of
her own attainments, and abashed by a sense of her
own infirmities, she was not at all concerned to
judge others, but without self-denial embraced
that precept, " Honour all men." She felt the
force of that question, ** Who art thou that judg-
est another's servant? — For we must all appear
before the judgment-seat of Christ.'' This was the
source of her candour ; an habitual recollection of
judgment to come ; a referring of every thing to
that awful day. This is very observable in many
of her letters, as well as in her general conduct.
When writing to a particular friend, she speaks
thus: — *' I wish you had happened to keep Harry's
letter to send me along with your own, for I havQ
not received it, and I should be very sorry if it is
lost, for, poor man, he has very little time for
writing, and I very seldom hear from him. I sup-
Ixxyiii MKMOiRS or
pose you will see Mrs. at his house, but
I dou't think you will like her. There is a hard- ness in her manners, which aett upon me with all the powers of repulsion ; and I think the poles could as soon meet, as my heart come into contact with hers.* — ^Yet she is really in many respects a most uncommonly good woman. But self-opinion, pride, and ill-temper, must be put off before she becomes a new creature. However, there are very few new creatures to be met with ; — as for me I know but one. — Shall I therefore condemn all the rest ? God forbid ! " To their own Master each of them standeth or falleth." Believe me, I neither dare nor wish to attempt such an impious piece of cruelty or folly. For '' who am I, that I should judge another man's servant?*' I have neither Tight nor inclination to judge them. As Jar as I can see of their state, I would not dare to trust myself in such a one; but how far the possibilities of nature may admit of their acceptance from a merciful God, I know not, nor is it fit I should at- tempt to enquire. *'
Miss Brooke was possessed of first-rate natural endowments; and claimed a considerable degree of mental superiority. Her apprehension was quick, her judgment wras accurate ; and her imagination vigorous and bold, fertile and ready. No one could more nicely or instantanemisly discriminate the de- fects or excellencies of a performance; but her candour and self-diffidence generally repressed the declaration of her sentiments. She was not a person to whom mediocrity, in any sense, could be attri- buted. Promptitude, vigour, and resolution, marked her entire character. She was fond of music, and played extremely well. She drew correctly from
MISS BROOKi;.
nature; and was an enthusiastic admirer of the gaUime and beautifnL She valued erudition in all its branches, and for all its le^timate purposes ; and strove patiently and laboriously to gain an ex^ tensive knowledge of literature. And her acquisi- tions, considered in connection with her circum- stances, were eminent. .Her acquaintance with general science, though not profound, was exten- sive. She knew no luxury so great as a book : her reading was constant and diversified. But she was averse to novels and works of fiction. " I would not recommend works of imagination,'^ says Miss Brooke, to one of her correspondents ; *' I was for gome years that I did not venture to read any books of fimcy — not even the most moral productions. I found they deadened my reli^ for the only kind of reading that then cotild be of real use to me« They are too apt to lead the wavering mind aside^ and lull its nerve asleep." Her Bible was her com- panion, her friepd, and her counsellor; and the numerous quotations to be found in her epistolary communications evince the extensive knowledge she had acquired of its sacred contents. The wri- tings of Law, and the celebrated Madam Guion, were in her constant perusal. Upon these, and some of l3ie works of Doddridge, she employed much of her time. Biography, and history of eventful pe- riods, interested her even to the last period of her life. These, and other kinds of compositions in which there was a mixture of anecdote, she used to call ^^ eager reading;'* and she often putisued it beyond the limits of her strength. She was mistress cdT Italian and French, and translated witii ease and elegance many of the best works in these lan- guages. To the study of the Irish she was enthusi-
ItXX MEMOIRS or
X
astically attached; and the extensive knowledge of that language which she arrived to> plainly proves what progress may be made under the great- est disadvantages. It is frequently the case, that those who have the means and opportunities of im- provement, undervalue and neglect them; while others who are desirous of excelling, are denied 'these assistances. But diligence conquers the hard- est things. ** An intense desire of knowledge/' says a late writer, '^ will not suffer a man to be idle. It will create the help it does not find. It will detach leisure from distraction, and solitude from company; it will keep open the eyes and the ears ; and by lively, active, minute, habitual attention, it will aggregate and multiply intellectual stores; it will render every place a school, and every occurrence a tutor; it will suffer nothing to be lost."
^^ Some minds are temper'd happily, and mix'd V^Tith such ingredients of good sense and taste Of what is excellent in man, they thirst ^ * With such a zeal to be what they approfi^^ That 1)0 restraints can circnmscribe them more Than they themselves by choice, for wisdom's sake, Nor can example hurt them."
Such was Miss Brooke. Her spirit was ardent and invincible, displaying an almost unequalled decision of character. Her judgment on most points^ was generally formed with such force and precision, that she seemed a stranger to hesitation, and seldom found occasion to review any of her resolutions. Having once settled in her own mind the question of right, on whatever subject, she would pursue her object with . indefatigable industry, patience, and perseverance. There was a firmness in her prin- ciples and proceedings, which neither admitted re- laxation nor delay. Difficulties and disappoint-
MISS BftOO&B. IxXXi
iiie&ts^ instead of producing discouragement, af- forded a fresh excitement to action^ and the hope of ultimate success. ^
The gift of poetry was hereditary in the family of Mr. Brooke ; it descended to his daughter Char- lotte, and, like the rest of her relatives, die em- ployed it in the service of religion and virtue. Of her first poetical attempts there are few remains, and as they were written merely to please a few friends in the country, it b probable she would have been sufficiently gratified with their approba- tion, if they had not called on her to add somethii^ more to that fame which those efiusions had ac- quired. In the latter years of her life she wrote a considerable number of pieces, none of which have ever appeared in print, having been exclusively confined to the circle of her own immediate friends and relations. Some of those have come under my notice. Their variety is as striking as their num- ber. I select one, not because it is preferable to many that remain, but for the useful and interesting topic that it treats of, and the pious spirit which it breathes, as well as the poetical merit which it un- questionably possesses.
Like Bartimeas, Lord, I came
To meet thy healing word; To* call upon thy gracioas name, *
And cry to be restor'd !
Across tby path my limbs I laid,
With trembling ho()e elate; And there, in conscious rags array'd,
A poor blind beggar sate.
I did not ask the alms of gold.
For sight alone I cried; Sight 1 sight a Saviour to behold!
And feel his power appli'd.
1
VxTtSi Mjiiioiits or
The more Ae crowd rebnk'd mj pray't.
And gave it to the wind, The more I cried thy grace to share I—
Thy mercy to the Blind!
At length I heard a pitying voice, « Pilgrim,'* he calls, " arise I
** Poor Pilgrim, let thy heart rejoice, << He hears thee, aad replies."
Up, at the word, with joy I bound
(My euro IB hope began,) And cast my garment on the ground,
That/iM/er / may run.
Bat the << What wilt thou?" yet delays;
Nor yet I view the light; Till faith once more with fervour prays,
O give me, — give me sight!
Transport!— 'tis done! I view that face!- That face of Love divine I—
I gaxe, the witness of his grace; And see a Saviour mine!
Next on myself mine eyes I castp— Ah ! wliat a sight to find ! —
All soiPd, and shrinking at the blast Of each inclement wind !
What shall I do? — resume again
The rogi I cast away; And on my limbs, beneath my ken,
The loathsome object lay!
No, wretched garment, lie thou there. Nor give me farther shame;
(O welcome, first the rudest air That may assail my frame !)
With thee may all my follies die! — To thee may sense adhere ! —
There, self, may all thy cobwebs lie. And earUi, thy cumb^rous care!
Far be^er prospects now arise,
A better garb to view; Since He who has restored mine eyes.
Has power to clothe me, too.
Mi88 BROOKB. IxXXUi
U blood shall wash m^ stains amay^ His grace my faith appro?e; His righteousness my limbs array^ And shelter me with lo?e!
No more the sordid alms of earth
My altera sense delight — All joyous in its recent birth,
The glorious birth to light!
** Mifl8 Brooke/' sajrs a gentleman, who was on a visit at her father's, in a letter to^ friend, ** inhe- rits a considerable portion of the countenance of her father ; but, she is as pale as a primrose, and almost as thin as her mother. Our conversation at dixmer tamed chiefly on the customs and manners of the inhabitants in the ne^hbourhood. You would really think that Mr. Brooke was talking of his own chil- dren, they were all so dear to him ; he prayed for them, and blessed them over and over again, with tears in his eyes. Miss Brooke dwelt on their ta- lents ; ready turns of wit ; their passion for poetry, music, and dancing ; she gave me some specimens of their poetry, but I have mislaid them, I hope I have not lost them ; she also gave me the following Low Letter, which was actually written by a young man in the vicinity, to a very handsome young woman, to whom he was afterwards married, to the great joy of all the parish : —
"My dearest Nanny, — ^I write this with the quill rf a virgin goose, on paper almost as snowy as your breast Thij9 is a compliment justly due to your naidenhood and innocence. It is now so long since I saw you, that 1 begin to think you have foigotten me. If your lively image treated me as unkindly as jon do yourself, I should die of despair ; but, it doey
IXXXIT MSMOmS OF
not desert me, sleeping or wakings in or out of com- pany. My companions cannot conceive Mrhat it is that makes me so pensive, they little know the cause, and, perhaps, if they did, they would only laugh at me ; for if your finger aches, there are a thousand remedies prescribed for it in an instant ; but, when your heart is consumed in all the toider flames of love, not one c^n be found to sympathize with you. I think I have already given you many proofs of the sincerity of my passion ; I don't want your pity ; the beggar lives on pity — I want your |iand and your heart along with it, it is this alone that can make me happy, and restore my mind to that tran^ quillity which it knew till these unfortunate eyes of mine first met yours. A line will revive my droops ing spirits, and g^ve my soul a holiday, which it has not enjoyed since you left this place.
I am, my dearest Nanny, Yo^r sincere lover,
" T-- D— Y/'
•' In the evening,*' continued the gentleman al^ ready mentioned, *' we walked into the garden ; his favourite flowers were those that were planted by the hands of his wife and daughter; I was astonished at his skill in botany ; he dwelt for some moments on the virtues of the meanest weeds, and then launched out mto such a panegyric on vegetable diet, that he almost ir.ade me a Pythagorean; especially after the conversation I once had with that amiable and learned man. Dr. Hill, on this subject. When the conversation turned on the poets, I expected that Miss Brooke would have shewn me some of h^r own poetry-; but the diffidence and modesty of all her expressioiis, convinced me, in a short lime, that I
i
( MIS9 BBOOKB. IxXXY
wu not to hope for that favour — ^I say favour, for, I am told by a lady of refined taste, who is very inti- mate with her, that she has written some verses that breathe, if I may use the expression. Promethean fire. She was kind enough, however, to give me the following lines, written by a young lady, who had never seen the city in her life : —
Pelieia to Charlotte.
Let those who tread the trophy'd roads of fame) Enjoy the sweets ambltioas ardours yield;
Let heroes emulate each glorious name, And reap their laurels in the tented field*
Far other joy from social friendship flows, Far other feelings from this source arise.
E'en lo?e to thy sweet power submtssiTe bowi, And kindred bonds are loose to friendship's ties*
«
We oft, Charlotta, share its heart-felt joys,
Its bright influence animates the mi^id ; How frail to this are courtiers gilded toys.
Blown with the gale, the sport of ev'ry wind!
When sol withdraws the golden beams of day.
And planetary worlds around us shine. When in the concave glow^i the milky way,
And nipping frosts the wat'ry plains confine.
How pleas'd we dose about the genial fire,
Within the little cot, the seat of age— Of chearful age that can the scene admire, • When mirth and innocence our thoughts engage.
Then glows the heart, soft as the melting snows. More free, more open than the halcyon's plumes,
Envy, a hated guest, the dome ne'er knows, Nor malice here her consequence assumes*
Hail, happy days of innocence and peace. Of health and farour'd ease, and all that's fair,
The wish to cherish and the power to please ; Tftese, these we taste, and freedom's genial care.
IXXUTI MKHfOIRS or
P«rhap9, wtien age hnih ni^rtVi o'er o«r hairs, And hoary time, with pinion'd haste hath fiowD,
Refiectioii back again those scenes maj bear, And sweet remembrance stamp them for her own.
To excel in epistolary writing, is an enviable ae*- comidishment, and may be rendered an instrument of great profit, as well as of pleasure. It has often been justly observed, that there is no way in which we can form a better estimate of the leading feat&rea of a person 's character, and of his prevailing tone e£ sentiment, than by his private letters. It is when the feelings are thus poured with unsuspecting confi- dence into the bosom <^ friendship, that the true state of the mind most distinctly appears. The talent for writing which Miss Brooke possessed, rendered her correspondence easy and pleasant. The liveli- ness of her conceptions, and peculiar felicity of ex- pression, imparted to her familiar letters an irrensti- We charm ; whilst the warmth of her affection, — ^her solicitude for the happiness of her friends, and her exalted piety, rendered them lessons of morality and religious instruction. She wrote with uncommon fa- cility ; and her letters are full of hints darived from her own circumstances, or application to those of her correspondents ; and exhibit much of the christian and the friend united. The first extract which I shall give is from a letter, the last she ever penned, to her excellent cousin the late Henry Brooke, Esq. in which her deep impressions of the evil of sin, and the total depravity of her. nature, are well repre- sented. The letter is dated Cottage, March lj3» 1793, and she was summoned to a world of unin- terrupted happiness in sixteen days after : —
'' I am afraid you think me better than I really am» — * Make me a clean heart. Oh God, and renew
MlfS BUOOKB. llXXvU
a rigiut ipirit within me !* — is % prayer tbat I have still bat too much occasion to offer np oontinuaUy : and I fear, upon the whok, it m only my vievn and ideas tiiat are changed* and my heart is just (he same that ever it was. Formerly I believe I was iMer dian you thought me, — now not so goad. — ^I always loved God» and fiMed him ; and endeavoured toperfonnwhat/Cftoi^fMtoiehiswill. Yet, strange as it may seem, though I read the Bible — heard my father^— and studied the law — still
^ Tke mists and fiinra that mortal «y«i tOToIre^
were so thick, that I only perceived by halves, and ftroDgh a ghuB, very darkly* It then appeared to me that to take up one's cross, only meant, to bear patt- ently the evils which were unavoidable — ^that a de- nial of self meant only a denial of what the world calls sin — Ihat I "was forgiving enough, when I did not revenge — meek enough when I would not allow myself to be tn a passion, &c. &c.
*' But new I see matters in quite another pmirtof view. — I see, to demonstration, that one must be ia a manner ' absent to the body' in order to be ' pre- sent to the Lord.' — ^I see the vital neceswty of re- nouncing self altogether — of losing all that Adam found, in order to Jind what he lost. Long experi- ence has convinced me of this necessity — and argu- ment'coald now as soon make me doubt of my ex- istence, as of a truth to which that existence is itself die witness, and the demonstraticm. — ^I know not ciAer when or how this truth began first to be ma- nifest to me ; but I believe that affiiction first gave tiie s^ness, which was preparatory to the impres- sion. Every human prop was plucked from under me, and I was thrown, of necessity, upon God ; — hut I was not pure enough, in my own estimaltOB,
MBMOIRS OtF
to find my whole consolation in him. — ^I dared 0 pray to him for human comforts — and he not only forgave, but even granted, in such d manner, my prayer, as that it has not turned into poison to me« — ^In proportion as my love for the world and the things of it decreased — just in exact measure, was it permitted to smile upon me ; and its goods to mi- nister to my wants, and answer to my petitions for them: — ^but I have now long ceased to petiticm/or them at all. Years have passed since I found myi^elf even inclined to pray for any temporal good; — ^that one only excepted, which related to the power of doing justice to the memory of my father. Even in that accustomed morning prayer — * that this day I fall into no sin, neither run into any danger,' I feel cfiecked when I apply * danger* to any thing out- ward; and am allowed only to use it as implying danger of offending against that God who will not that [ should pray for any thing but Himself.
'' Now, is not here a circumstance that one who did not know me, would take to be a certain mark of an advanced state of grace ! — ^yet it is not so. — My views and pursuits — hopes, fears, desires> and prayers are all converted, it is true — but my spirit and temper are still the same. — ^Indignity would I am sure, if offered, offend me, as much as ever ; and disappointment in those things for which I have, not lost my relish, vexes me for the moment, just in the same degree as it would have done ten years ago. Though to God I am humbled almost to annihilation of self — yet, to my fellow-creatures I am proud still. My pride does not prevent me from conde- scending to my inferiors, provided they don't for-- get their distance — ^nor to my superiors, nhen they don't take airs upon it, — ^but when either of these
MI88 BBOOKX. Lcxxix
tinngs befal, then I fed that I am proad^ though I don't always let it be seen. — Now, pray observe that it is not for talk's sake I am telling you all this ; but that you may consider my case, and know how to prescribe for me. Therefore, don't let it be just read, and forgotten ; but answer me to it all.
** I would be very glad that I could make over to Maria nine-tenths of my little frippery talents; for they might be of use to her, though to me they are wholly unprofitable ; the tythe of them is as
much as I am able to manage, but altogether they are too many for me : — ^they became my masters in- stead of my servants.— -I have been obliged to dis- card a great many of them, and the rest have their noses in the comer, 'till they grow good, and obe- dient. Yet why should I wish that these gifts once so cultivated and prized, were less rich, or less abun- dant than they are? — I have neither rank, nor wealth, nor power, nor beauty, — nor any thing else whatever, that is material, to offer upon the Altar of faith, obedience, and love. This is my son, my only son Isaac — ^given to me by God, and by God reclaimed from me — given to me for good — reclaimed for a greater good. — Blessed be the name of the Lord ! — ^blessed when he gives, and not less blessed when (perhaps in greater mercy) it is his pleasure to take away ! "
The deep sense entertained by Miss Brooke of her own imworthiness, together with her ingratitude to God for numerous mercies received, she in the same letter expresses thus : — '* As to mjrself, I can say that, unless my experience is a delusicm of the ene* my — ^it declares for Mr. Law's opinion ( which ap- pears to me by far the most pious, rational, and c<m- sonant to nature, and to all that we conceive of
m
Xe MEMOIKS 0#
God,} — that forgiveness c^ sin id cleansing from, sin — ^that it is impossible for any Unrgtvcneu or any good, on the part of the Deity to be withheld froin the creature, or to remain uncommunicated to it, but when it is not in the possibilities of it nature to receive it This leaves to God the judgment of his creatures; and permits the humUe Christian to tremble without despairing. I never felt any thing like what some define the forgiveness of sins; — ^bat I think I have felt impressions of the fot^eof God — which is not very far from his forgiveness, surely* Were I to die this night, I should have humble hope, though mixed with many fears But were I to live to attainments greater than any of the best Qiristians I ever knew — I should still rejoice — on/y — ^with trembling. I am often grieved that I feel not my sins with that keenness and severity of rebuke that I ought to do. Yet gtill it seems to me that I ought not to make myself unhappy about this ; because that the dispensations of my merciful God toM^ards me appear to be such as wills me not to receive the '* spirit of bondage unto fear,*' — ^but rather to b? drawn by the cords of gratitude and love. When I am chidden — it seems only like the reproaches of a jealous and tender parent — reproaching me — not with unrequited benefits, but with unrequited knie. And the moment that — convinced and grieved — I turn my first step towards " my Other's house** — while yet a very far oflP — ^the open arms of mercy make haste to meet and embrace me with a sweet-- ness that fills my eyes with tears, and my heart with so much gratitude and joy, that it has no room left wherein unhappiness or regret might harbour. No sooner do I begin to be sorry, than my sorrow is swal* lowed up in pardon and joy. — Yet, ought not all
M1S« BBOOKX. XCi
fliis infinite lore and poodnesB of my God to afflict me the more, when I am so culpably unhappy as to ofirad him ? And I offend him every day, and all tke day — God help me — ^my very best endeavours would be an offence, did not mercy weigh the mill to a better obedience than any thing the deed can produce. — Dear Harry, speak fully to this subject, and set me right, where I am wrong. God knows I would not willingly err. I am, at any rate suicere; and — at least before God — ^I am humble — even in the very dust. Tell me, — ^may we not weU go onour way rejoicing, whai certain of beiiig got into tiie right road — without an abK^ute €iS9urance of salya- tion ? may not an humble application of the blood of Christ, and the gracious terms of the Gk>spel, be a sufficient ground for our ** eating our bread with gladness and singleness of heart ?'' — even though it reached no farther tiian a hope that the infirmity of our nature, and imperfection of our obedience, may not be so great, as to leave no possibility for infinite goodness to make us happy, and
'* To some humbler Heav'n the trembler raise, Tbiere though the last — the first to sing his praise.'**
The concern which Miss Brooke manifested for the salvation of a particular individual, is feelingly and powerfully conveyed in the following ex-f
tracts : — — *' Be assured, my dear Miss T that
the pleasure you so kindly say you take in hearing from me, is as gratifying to me, as my letters can possibly be to you. — ^You owe me no acknowledge^ mettts for those letters; — they spring from the irre-^ nstible impulse of my heart; — I coidd not withhold them, even if I wouid. But I am not at all inclined
*The answer to this letter will be found in tl^e Memoirs of die late ileory Brooke, Esq. p. }78.
XCU MXMOnS OF
to do 80— on the contrary, I no sooner conclude and send off my letter, than I recollect twenty things more that I wished to have said ; and I only re^et that I cannot spend more of my time than I do in painting to you the beauty of that holiness from which you turn, to please yourself with the visionary *' shadow of a shade" — ^the sweetness of that voice which you refuse to hear, that you may attend to the sounding brass and tinkling cymbals that surround you. — ^Take care, my friend ! You stand upon the brink ! — God has plucked the props of every human comfort from under you, that you may lean only on him. Yet you will rather lean upon air itself — any thing— ^nothing — rather than God. Alas, my dear girl, this is a dreadful state ! — a state infinitely more culpable than that of tiie vain and giddy groupe of unthinking creatures, who laughed at your seriousness, merely because they did not com- prehend it* — ^But you do comprehend. — You see, you feel, you understand — yet you turn away.
*^ You bid me pray for you. — Can you doubt that I do ? — Scarce do my petitions for my own parti- cular want, rise with more fervour to the throne of grace, than they do for those of my poor unhappy friend ! — But why, oh, why will you not pray for yourself? — Do you not, then, remember the gra-* cious words of the friend of sinners ? — *' They that are whoe need not ^ physician, but they that are SicL*^ Be assured until you pray, you can do no- thing.— " Prayer (says some one— I forget who) is our messenger to heaven; and it never returns empty handed.'' — ^But you say your prayers are so languid," — ^now, what do you mean to express, by this ? — ^that you cannot pray as others dor-in elo* fluent language, sublime^ feryour, &c» ?— If ^^
MtfiS BBOOKE. XCm
is all, do not be discoiuraged. You know your -wants, do you not? — Can you not then wish to be relieyed ? — ^If you can wish you can pray. The mat- ter is very simple. — ^The particular want needs only to be known snA/eli; and then we, of couise know how to ask relief. — " Save Lord, or we perish/* — cried the tempest-beaten mariners. *' Lord ( cried the lick) if thou wilt thou canst make me whole/' — •* Lord that I may receive my sight," cried the blind. The application of all this is very obvious. How can you feel that you are sick; without wishing to be healed? Impossible — ^unless (indeed) you are as enamoured of misery, as other people are 1^ folly. If this is the strange and fatal state of your heart, why then do you seek for such society and conversation as may be made a means (under God ) of health to you ? — No, you would not, surely; and tiierefore, I trust in God it is twt your state. But what then? — ^Do you hope that good society — ^good conversation — good preaching — good books — ^wiU either penetrate the aversion of your will from God — or apply the want of that will ? — Do you hope that the prayers of your friends will prevail for you, while your own are silent? — '' Ask and it shaU be given to you.*' — But to ask is to pray, and you will perfaapSi say you cannot pray. Well then— flfe^tre— toiVA— and it shall be given you. It is all the same ^ng. To kneel down in prayer is doing nothing, without it is the previous asking of our heart that throws us prostrate.
** I am heartily sorry you have been so prejudiced against the mystic writers; — ^it is a prejudice that injures you very much. I have just now finished (for, I suppose the tenth or twelfth time ) Mr. Law's pnost incomparable treatise on the very spirit you
xeiT MSMOIB0 or
want — tbe spirit of prayer; and, were it not that jou declared yourself rather hurt than served by )m pamphlet on Regeneration, I would strongly recom* mend it to you. It not only opens ( in the most daz- zling clearness of demonstration } the whole nature uf this Uessed spirit, bat it also shews the way to it. The Bible excepted, I know no other book upon the faee of the earth that is like it, — ^none so adapted (under God) to make — and to accompli^ a Chris- tian. NeyerthelesB, I must not reconunend it to you. Yoa fear to be a mystic — My friend, this is as groundless a fear, as that of a girl learning to spells apprehending she should thereby become a learned lady. I have been reading Mr. Law these fifteen years ; and I am not a mystic, nor perhaps ever riiall be. That knowledge which is ** too wonderful and excellent for me," I leaye with women, untouched; and concern myself only with such as I find to be level to my comprehension, and necessary to .my state. The mystic writers lead more directly to Christ than any other ; and therefore it is that I read them ; — ^they place the reader with Mary, at the feet of Jesus, and make his divine language be heard in its own genuine trulb and efficacy."
In another communication to the same person. Miss Brooke thus expresses herself: — *^ For Hea- ven's sake, dear soul, do not give way to such dreadful despondency. Why will you not try the ptdg remedy? Believe me, that incessant guard over every thought, word, and deed — ^tfaat umtmitting itrife
** Which sense doth wage with Tirtue"— —
and [which you seem to think so very difficult-** believe me, you would not find it half so wearisome, even in its most trying hours, as that gloomy de*
MISS BROOKE. XCt
spair which is dragging yoa reluctant to the tomb.
« — Was it not the word of truth itself that assured
Vis, ''his yoke was easy and his hurden was light?*'
Aye bnt, say you, and a thousand others, ** we
have tried, and we find it is not light, but it is
heavy, and we cannot carry it.'' Alas ! but how
have you tried it? — '' Take these clodies," would
a humane Christian say to a naked brother, ^* take
these clothes, and put them on; yon will find them
comfortable and warm/' — ^His naked brother takes
them, and ties them in a bundle on his back ; then
walks awhile, and cries, ** Oh they are very heavy
and burdensome ! — ^they only weigh me down, in*
stead of keeping me warm : and I am just as cold
as ever I was.'^ — The application is obvious; for
alas, it is only in this manner that the yoke of our
Lord is in general tried to be worn, and therefore*
no wonder it is not found easy. Put it on rightly,
and then have patience for a little time, until yoa
have "proved it." — If it does noijit at first, it will
grow easy in the loearing. You. had patience with
the rudiments of all other kinds of learning, and
why can you not bear those of Christianity also?
— or do you think it is in this alone that you caa
jump into perfection at once, without any previous
pains? — ^But if it should be accompanied with dif*
ficulty, will you not have the smiles of a reconciled
God to cheer and animate your labours? — ^Have
eborage, my fiiend! — your heavenly father has
seen that you are beginning to be wexuy of tmsbs^^
though you consider yourself '^ yet afar off,'* he
beholds his returning prodigal — ^he only waits for
you to advance a few steps more, and he then will
meet and embrace you, and his housfaold will re*
joice over his child ** who was lost and is found.'*
XCTI MBMOIRS OF
— ^Still jou he^tate — Oh, perhaps you then doubt that he is a kind father reconciled to sinners through Christ ! If you do, seek instantly for a solution of your doubts. If you would open your mind to me entirely upon thi9 subject, perhaps I could assist you. Would to God that I could in any degree im- part peace and comfort to you. — I aspire not to be myself the means of spiritual comfort to you, (such honour is ** too wonderful and excellent for me;'') but only to transfer to you those helps that have brought me into the right road. — But perhaps in fact you are much farther advanced in it than I am ; and that humility alone leads you into those expressions which make it appear possible that a hand so weak as mine could aid you. If so, pardon a mistake which you yourself have caused; and accept of my hearty good wishes and prayers, if in nothing else I can serve you."
In a subsequent letter. Miss Brooke writes as fol- lows to the same correspondent, who was still sink- ing under that awful gloom and dejection of mind, which was *' dragging her reluctant to the tomb:"' — '' I am quite shocked to find you plunged in such dreadful and increa^ng melancholy. Why, dear girl, why will you not apply yourself in earnest — with all your heart — ^to the oiily,*only remedy? If this world has lost all its attractions for you, why do you not turn your attention to another? I do not mean, why do you not read sometimes, and think some- times seriously about it — ^but why do you not set your whole heart upon extracting that comfort from the contemplation of efemi/y, which time can never afford you? Why not make God the prime object of at least your ardent prayers and earnest efforts to love ? — Why not make his love your constant
MI8S BROOKS. XCTU
wtadj, your constant guide ? Believe me, Without uniformity and constancy, at least in our intentions and endeavours — ^partial acts of worship or of duty are of very little ayail. Nay more ; when the heart has been long estranged^ a quarantine is frequently, and very justly required, before it is received in safety " to the haven where it would be." — ^The soul, in this case, must often wait with patience the time when " God will be gracious unto her." She must humble herself in prostration and penitence; soften herself in prayer ; — ^guard herself with con- stant vigilance ; and arm herself with frequent me- ditation. She must, in fine, continue in the patient endeavour to do, in every word^ thought, and deed — . the will of her Grod ; — in the humble assurance that he will at length, in his own good time, shew her fully of his doctrine*
'' I fear your assent to the doctrines of Scripture IB still, in some degree, held back, by the bias of former prejudices. If I am mistaken, you will par^ don mp : if otherwise, let me intreat you to lose no time, but inquire diligently and candidly till you are enabled to discover the truth. Have you read Leslie's short method with the Deists and Jews, which I lent you? If that is not full enough, I have another volume of sermons, which contains a regu-^ lar and connected proof of Christianity as old as the creation, in language the most nervous, and argu- ment the most clear, of any thing I ever read. Open your mind fu^ly to me on this subject, and perhaps I may be able to help you. I shall with pleasure
accept of Mrs. S 's* invitation to write to her,
and shall have my letter prepared against Satux-
* Mrs. S of Aooadale, in the county of Fermanagh, was
ft womaa of singular eicellence, whose whole soul was conse-
n
xcviii IRltOlUS OF
(fey. I return ^Tm Walker's letter, mud beg my most affectionate compliments to her. Adiea«"
In a subsequent letter to her afBtcted friend^ she thus expresses herself : — ^ I am heartil j sorry to find your frame of mind so very dejected, and that in a manner that makes dejection friendless, anA that sorrow which was meant to heal, — a mere eor-> roder of your heart. — ^Instead of incessantly lar- mentin^ your departed friend, yon should east about for the means of meetmg him again. — I know that he both belieyed in and loved his Qirist : — if he allowed himself in any instance of sin, — ^he yet determined on a speedy period to it : he deceived himself in the idea that this was enough for fke present, and that in a virtuous union he would i^nm commence a course of rdigion as well as happiness. I mean not by any means to excuse this delay; but only to offer it as a strong presumption of his having before death repented of those sins which he often lamented, even to me, though without expressly naming them. — If, as I stron^y hoped, he is now happy with his God; — it b belief and love that have made him so. Would you then be where he is — would you
^' Embrace yonr wedded soal io bto,*^
-^You must believe and love siso. Will you through negligence and coldness, not only risk your eier« nal separation from God; but also separate yourself for ever from the society of him who, perhaps, in your present idea, would form no inconstderaUe share of your heaven hereafter? .You already know that nothing more is wanting to your salvation than just to ** turn to God." This knowledge is s
crated to the cause of religion. She waa for many years a metn* ber of the Methodiit Society, and died aboat the year 17<^7.
MI9S VHOOKS. XCtlX
gttst nttp : but mill orij increase your condemna- tion, my poor friend, without you act accordingly, I hmtfw you will pardon the freedom of my speech ; beeaoie 3^a are sensiUe of the motive that impels H. — ^Let me then tell you all my fears : — let me tell you that I apprehend you hare already very much giiewd tilie spirit of God, by repeated and reiterated neglects. Peihaps, in order to conciliate once more those sweet and salutary compunctions, it may be expediect to chasten yourself before your God ! I meant not fasting, when I spoke of self-denial. It is prejudicial to weak constitutions, and therefore cerw tainly improper. Nevertheless, even in eating, self-* denial may be used, without fasting at all. To ab- stain from tiie pm^tcidar hind of food one most relidies, is a much better abstinence than fasting ; beeanse it '^ brings down the body," without weakening it or rendering it unfit to be an effectual sorant in the performance of all its appointed and necessary functions. Every kind of abstinence which injures health is not only foolish but srnjxtl ; because it is a slow suicide, ami because, for any Ihti^ we can tell, by weakening our bodies we may weaken our mifhds also, and render the one as unfit to perform itii duty as the other. To chasten or " bring down" the body is right — to weaken it is eertaiinly wrong. To you every kind of allowable 8elf--denial is necessary, till the time of your pro- bation in conviction is past. O then delay not to practise it. — ^In the name of that Saviour through idiose merits and intercession you hope to escape &e unutterable horrors of eternal death; and in whose glorious presence you desire to meet the object of your hearts dearest affections 1 By all this I eonjnre you, delay no longer to tura vour faco
C MEMOIRS OF
towards Jerusalem ! — Be not discouraged at the^ apparent difficulty of watchfulness and self-cor- rection, " even in your most harmless conver- sations." It is in the first place absolutely necessary, and in the next, I do assure you, from my own ex^ ' perience, that the difficulty will be only for a time. Bye and bye, if you persevere, it will become npf only easy but delightful to you. But of this, more anon/'
The tender concern and anxious solicitude which Miss Brooke manifested for the eternal welfare of an intimate friend, for whom she entertained every sentiment of esteem and regard, is feelingly and powerfully conveyed in the following letters : — " I am most exceedingly grieved to find, from your own account, that you continue so long a Laodi-- cean — ^neither hot nor cold. Yet would I hope that you underrate your progress. It is certain that merely notional religion could hardly speak as you do. Mere notions relate only to the surface — ^they seldom obtain even a glimpse of internal vital piety* Yet you speak like one who had at least a thorough comprehension of vital piety, however you may be deficient in some circumstances of the practice. This is surely a very singular blessing — a blessing that many others seek for in vain, and must strive hard, and pray earnestly before they can obtain it : — ^this is the John Baptist that prepares the way — the conviction which must go before, in order for Christ to come after. Oh then neglect not the " voice that cries to you in the wilderness 1 *' — ^that makes the path so strait, you have only to turn and walk in it. It is true you cannot turn of yourself^ but he who gave you the conviction will likewise give you ihefailli and the poxver, provided you will
MISS BROOKS. CI
bat ask and trust him. Nay« the yery trust itself must be asked for, before it will be given. Do not be dejected at your coldness in prayer. Persevere^ and the very effort will warm you.
*' But, my dear friend, you must '^ do of the will" before you can fully '' know of the doctrine" of our Lord. Be patient in the exercise of the Jint, in humble hope and supplication to obtain the last, in his good time, who has given you all things. I am greatly alarmed to see that you are permitting the season of salutary sorrow to pass unimproved. Alas this is sucking out the bitter dregs, aud leav- ing the balm of Gilead behind ! — Do but reflect how much you have received at the hands of your God ! When you sought not him he still sought you ; first with those gifts wliich the world, ac* counts good — ^with abundance, with friends, with talents. Still you would not hear. Then were you corrected, but yet, '^ in measure,'' and in a manner most adapted to recal, and make you turn inward. All would not do ! Last of all came the blessing, which I trust will be successful to gain you ! — ^the blessing of severe a£9iction ! — If you let that pass, what then remains ? — Oh, in the name of him who has so often '* caUed when you would not hear» and stretched out his arms when you would not an- swer.'* " Turn" — turn at last ; " for why will you die," saith the Lord,
''You say that unless you secluded yourself from all around you, religicm would be a fruitless pur- suit to you. Alas, my dear girl i why will you thus deceive yourself? Is it then impossible to be a Christian, except in a cell ? It is very true, the life you describe does indeed shut out religion: — but where is the necessity to lead it ? Can you not go
en H£MoiKs or
oTten into company, or lit lamg enough after meak^ and chat with your friends at home, without girin^ vp every hour ? Can yoo not (at least in Hie gtne^ ral ) spend half an hour or an hour before brtakfaat with yantr Godf — Can yoo not after dinner, — or at least at night, retire in time to afford some leisure for oontempiatton, to recollect and reflect oa the erents of the day — ^to ask pardon for omission, or return thaaiks for performance— to bring memory to tariL — ^to take account of erery thought and action. ** Have I in the course of tiiis day indulged no idea — peraiitted no word or deed to escape me, but what might be complacently regarded by hint whose eyes are too pure to behold iniquity ^ any- kind? Hare I ordered my goings in his paths ; and been particularly careful to guard against that sin which most easily besets me?''— Surely a course of this kind is not impossible to any cne. The busiest may ha^e leisure for this much.
^ The virtues of self-denial, I think, would much tend to softai and open your heart to divine in^ pressions» It is true that God pours his bounties abroad for the temperate use, not the rejection of his creatures ; but it is equally true that the religions patient y like the bodity one, must ( in order to the restoration of healtii) abstain often from even the most wholescmie food, in order to adhere to that par« ticular regimen which is suited to the nature of his case^ When once cured he may then enjoy the board that heaven spreads, and all the various goods that it bestows, with a temperate relish, and a grateful heart* But while an invaUd he must ab^ stain tiipngh others may enjoy in safety. He must mortify not his fesk alone, but also his affections and desires. He must take up his cross. Oh happy
MIftS BUOOKK. etit
time who ein pfCM it td their heaittl-^who can ac-- ooni it '' all joy to fiiffer !'' — Ok aiay j<m leant at JcBgth to do to! — Maj yen (even though it be thnmgh much tribulation) enter the glorioas kingdom where I trust we shall meet in triuaaph ! We hare already '* taken sweet counsel together, and walked in the house of our Giod;" and shall we now separate and turn different ways ? — Qh no, no i Let me entreat, let me conjure you, do bat try, even for a few days the coarse I have takea the liberty to prescribe for you : — it will not inter- fere either with health or pleasure, but, on the eoi^* trary, add greatly to both. It will give you that '' ^irit of a man that supports his infirmities.'* — Yoa must learn to pray. In order to do so, avoid afl that is in hazard of preventing you. Poor David said, '* My sins have taken such hold upon me that I cannot look up." If you cannot look up, then close your eyes and bow down your heart. Summon np every reflection that can call up either love or fear* — *' Mercy and judgment are the habitation of his eeat." Do, my dear girl — ^promise me that you will adhere but for one week to my prescription— were it but to indulge your friend — your true, true well-wisher. I would by no means have you seclude yourself from your friends :«-*nay, I was even sorry to hear you say the other evening that you had rather be alone than have their company; it looked unkind to Miss W ■ who was with you at the time. Perhaps, my dear girl, it would be better for Bs wait to weigh our sentiments a little, before we utter tiiem too hastily, and at all hazards. Indeed it was a lesson I found it very hard to learn, and I am myself no more than a b^inner in it yet. '' I would strongly advise you to' get Doddridge
etV MEMOIRS OF
for a constant companion. It is not a book to be read only once and th^i laid aside : — it fnmidies daily assistance in almost every posnble situation to the humble endeavouring Christian. Do you write to Mrs. S— — ? I hope you do. If so, and that you think it proper, tell her, with my best respects, that though a stranger to her person, I am none to her character; and should be very glad, if her leisure permits, to be improved by her correspon- dence. So few are the excellent ones of the earth, that we ought to seek opportunities of being known to them/'
In a subsequent communication to the same per- son. Miss Brooke speaks thus : — '' I rejoice to find that it is not itnbelief which withholds you from seizing on the privileges and promises of our holy faith ! A sense of past alienation, then, and a feel- ing of present weakness, are all that keep you back : is it so 7 If it is, — do but reflect upon your situation ; and then you will exult in the progress of that good work which has been effected in your heart. To convince of sin — ^is the first and greatest difiSculty. This already done, what then remains but to fly to a Saviour. But you have done so, it appears ; only not in the mamier — ^not with all the Jaith and all the hoe which are required. Cry, then, for more ! Pray — ^pray without ceasing ! — wrestle, with all the powers of your soul, for this inestimable blessing ; Ubis^nishing work of the blessed spirit of God; his last and best gift !
'' I neVer meant to insinuate that '' to walk by faith and not by sight'' was an easy attainment ; — ^to man it is an impossible one ; but to God all things are possible. The divine hand can, with ease, remove
^^ The mists and films that mortal eyes involve.'' — •
MIS8 BROOKB. CT
Can present to the vie-w of faith an invisible wotld — perceived, though not seen. — Can fill the ardent longing of the soul, till it oyerflows^ almost to the exclusion of temporal delights, even of the lawful and the laudable kind. — "When I said that the yoke of our Lord was easy and his burden light, I meant that it frees us ( as it surely does ) from the weari- some yoke with which this outward world is conti- nually loading us ; with which we " labour and are heavy laden/' — and it is by laying down the one and taking up the other that we shall *^ find rest nnto our souls/' — That sweet rest — ^that sweet peace which reposes upon the bosom of its God. — Confi- dently assured of his protecting love, it feels eqnaUy secure in the storm as in the calm of life ; and blesses the kind physician of souls as much for his bitter as for his cordial cup ; assured that they are both alike prepared with unerrinjg skill, and directed by infinite love to the healing of his re*- deemed ones.
" Why do you say you have unfortunately im- bibed higher ideas of Christian duty than are ap- parently felt by tiie mere professors of Christianity? Why unfortunately? Oh, rather bless God — ^bless him and rejdce in his gracious work ! — ^It will be perfected — ^never fear. *' Turn to the strong hold,** poor " prisoner of hope!" — Once fortified ffiere, yon will, of course, obtain all that unshaken courage and resolution which you think at present is so dif- ficult to attain. When once it is attained — oh, then how delightful. — ^How pitiful, how poor, — how childish will then appear those objects of sense which you now complain of, as continually distract*^ ing your attention ! Do but resist them firmly for one week, (praying meanwhile for divine aid) and
o
you Will Sfee iiowthfey dittiininh W ybiitr yiew. C^ti- Vate the ^^leasbii^s 6f deT^otbil, and th^se of «eiiB<d Will vafti* bef6te thfeni. Ofejtecte « toot fee^h'* Will then be und^rstMd, felt atid rejoic^ in, bl^yodl iSi iJiat presses oh thte outward eyte. — ^Ettrt^h)U*e yourself—ilo What you (Uih — do ail yb\i cAa— M^Veii foir k little tiUi^^ kAd th^ii Mftk^ your ^e)K>H; ;-^bbt> nhtil you pul forth all y^ufr sfi^en^h Ift the c6UWst, you can neither jVidge of Ihfe J^oWiftrS IhAl iirfe per*- hiitted to your Adversary, ttoir of thdse th4t **tt ^Veh to yoUrself. — Let hi6 prevali-^Reinembfer fdit 6he week — one short W^k.-^** Watch aM J^ray" but for one Week, and if you do not fiird a change, I Will ^ive up the point/*
On the subject of self denial Miss Brooke speafcs as follows, in a letter to one of her numerous cor- respondents:— *' I agree Mith you perfectly, as to what you say respecting the insufficiency 6f absti- nence far its awn sake. NeV^hdess, I 4tai asjsured that he who will not of himself take ttj^ tirosses, now and then, by way of J)rattiee,'wiU never be able to bear them when they are laid rxpon him. Observe I include not fasting in ^bstihehci?. It i* )^enerally injuriuus 't6 health, and when it is 00, becomes sinful. — ^But I mean self -denial — lii^ spirit of sacrifice which is the spirit of love. lU general, the more we 'endure for a Ituman ftiettd, 'the m6rt they engage our afifectidns. And if ^nduranc^ lA Ihis instiauce is ci-eative of afi^^iou, — afiection is kko creative of endurance : — ^they toutuaHy arct upon^ iarid Simulate each otheir We are evfen some- times rejoiced in an opportunity of proving our loVe, by the sacrifices we are ready to make. No wonder then that we aire told t6 *' rejoice when w6 are ac- counted worthy to 8uffer''yor our God! Self-denial
MISB BRQOKB* CyU
ifl siIbo useful and eyen necessary in another point of yiew — tobriiig ipto subjection thp '* outer man/' To m^^^ the vaai^l JfJiovif hi^ Lord. To H^fp those lubbard appetites and passions of ours ii) due suf>- Ofdiiiation^ ^nd not suffer theip, as they are perpe- tually pcllQed, to coqk thejr arms a kimbo, and flourish their fists at their masters. — An enlightened Heathen (Socrates) w^so sensible qf this, that it is recorded of himi that he often denied the calls of lamgpF and of thirst, Yf^^^ he found them unusu- 9l\j violent in their demands; a^d sometimes, after T^^ng the cup to his lip> l^d it down agaiif, and took a tDfu in his garden^ till he foui^d that he zoos the master ; — ^and then h^ returned, ^nd gaye his S€rvant %, ^fmk.'^
The vritings of the l^te Rev. William Jj^yff a eelebi^ted mystic, were n^^ch admired by Miss Broo^. They ^xt full of the grossest absurdities and iq^ d^S^rous errors, yet cordially receiyed| 9Qd h^ld most sacred by many. It must be con- fessed; t|i4t Mr. LaM^ had a masterly pen, and th^re are some strokes in his performances, that are ex- ceeded by no writer I eyer met with. But though he rails against system-poi^kers, as he calls some initers he does pot happen to think >vith, ai^d blaipes those who giye credit to their writings, or adopt their sentiments, yet he could implicitly foU low those pf ^acob Behmen; yea, insist upon Bebmen's being as really in^ired as St. John was* Thus blind is the heart of man, it blames in others as a^ error, what itself follows and embraces as truth. To a female friend, from whose mind Miss Brooke wished to remove some unfavourable senti- ments which she had imbibed towards the writingf of 5»~r. I^a^i she yrrites thus: — ** I have read yoiji|P
CVIU MEMOIRS OF
remarks on Mr, Law ; — ^but give me leave to ask—
did you not read Mr. W 's letter, before you
made them ? — I will grant, both to you, and to Mr.
W i that Mr. Law's expressions are not always
either guarded or correct; they are too liable to be mistaken by the well-meaning, and misrepre- sented by the cavilling reader. There is perhaps no writer who does not in some degree partake of this defect. They understand their own meaning, and they conclude of course that no one else can mis- take it, let them express it how they may. Mr. Law I always thought a most signal instance of this unhafipy carelessness ; but I sought the cause where I found it — ^^n that sublime enthusiasm and those beautiful affections which transported him beyond the bounds of language. I do not mean this as an excuse^ but only as a reason for a defect so very perceivable in (indeed) all his writings. I think there is no excuse for it. Authors should in cooler moments revise the works of their genius when glowing with all the colours of fancy and fire of heated imagination, — or of sublime enthuT siasm. My knowledge of Mr. Law's defect makes me cautious how I recommend his spiritual works to -any one ; and it is only to those bees whom I think capable of safely imbibing his honey, that ever I do recommend him. I think, however, the Treatise on Regeneration has less of apparent ob- scurity than any other of his spiritual works ; and I am confident that had yon read it more at leisure you would not have objected to any part of it. My sense of his sentiments is this — By conversion he means just the common purport of the word:— • to be turned 9 which, when applied to Christianity, evidently means, to be turned towards the new
miss BROOKB. Cl^
Jerusalem — ^not arrived there ; in plainer words — to depart from error, and begin ( by the light of traih and grace in Christ) a new life — a new course — noijinishedy but only then begun, when the creature is Jirst converted. — By *' grmolb,'* and " degrees** of regeneration, he means — growth in grace. — By " putting off the old man" he does not mean (as you deduce from the expression) that the old man is totally dead, for alas, on this earth, we have no grounds to hope for any such state of utter impeccability as that, of course, must be : — ^but that we have ceased to indulge him — to permit him the ascendancy over us. And when he says " compleieiy put off*' — ^he neither appears (I think) to mean, nor can mean any more than that he is completely subjected through Christ. Were the old man dead, we might still praise, in- deed, but we need not either watch or pray any longer. — ^As to those passages you object to where he (Mr. Law) declares the necessity of sensible witnesses of the spirit as invariably the characte- ristic of a highly regenerate state — and elsewhere again (as you seem to think, contradicts himself by ) speaking of the Christian knowing himself to be an accepted creature, I confess I cannot see the least contradiction in it. I speak from my own ex- perience. /, for instance, know myself to be an ac- cepted creature : — ^that is, I have found grace and favour in the sight of my Redeemer, in that he has enlisted me his soldier and servant. I am no longer in a state of enmity. Of this I cannot be ignorant, and need no witness to inform me of that which the state of my own nature and heart makes it im-> possible for me not to know. The world is no longer my object, neither the things of it I neither scheme
ex MEMOIRS or
for them, nor pray for them ; but rather fear them aa entanglements, and pray that I may not obtain them unless accompanied with grac^ ^4 ftbiUty to turn them to their proper uge. For this converfiion I offer many ardent thanks and praises to th^ Cfo4 of my salvation; but I do not* in consequence, ^9teem myself in a highly regenerate st^te — or mi^h as to be assured that my sins are fill forgiTen me. Conversion is but the beginning — justifipatiou is the perfection of the Christian state. J am not in a state of Christian perfection ; aud if I were much nearer to it than I am, I still would not go abimt to watch and seek for that ^' witness" which lonie so much insist upon. If I did so, it is very probable I might have long since thought myself possessed of it ; because from the n^tur^l energies of my feelings and imagination I am often hurried iato transports of devotion and joy, the hundredth part of which, J am certain, would be sufficient to pasjs for '' the witness" with many inrho were not dware of the cheat. But I find by the woeful ex-- perience of daily weakness and foUy, that I am yet but in the beginning of my warfare. I have my &ce turned to^ the new Jerusalem, it is true-r-I am in the right road — ^but I so often stop to pull flowers, that unfortunately mj journey advances very islowly,
*' With respect to Mr. liaw's denial of the wrath of God.-^I do not think he needs any defence. The scriptures speak to human ears, and must, therefoie, and do speak human language. They ascribe all the passions of mankind to the Deity .-^-He is alter- nately angry and pleased — disappointed and grati- fied-^-grieved and delighted^ Who does not see that all this is merely to accommodate tlie fiunian audi*-
M1S8 UttOCKE. ^xi
f6r^«^tlrt hufnaH teader ^ It ^ems to Yfte almodl bfew- J^fcteihy to Suppose AAy t)ther-
** Whtti God created tnaii) hte gavie him his pfo- l^t ^nd particular nature. He created him to be happy ; but man, as £ar as In him l^y, endeavoured to defeat the ihtetttidn of the Deity. He slighted a^e the commandy and iht warning of God, H* disobeyed, and he died. The nature capable of im?* nk>rtality, became mortal by ltd xmn thoiee, by Its own act — ^by the necessities of its own la>vrs, in con- sequence of that act. Here was room enough for the ^*rrath of (jSod, if any such wrath had existed— instead of which ^e find nothing but love— Al- mighty unceasiing unwearied love !
^^ Ift Tain the desperate rebel would essay
trom thee to teat his being far away ;
Thy saving hand arrests hi« mad career"
" Throughout the tvhole process of his procedure tcAirards main, 1 confess I can see nothing but love* Ifhe Kilmer damns himself, and Doddridge has very beantifiilly erpressed what was always my senti- ment <*i this subject ; — see my little book, writteh long before 1 ever met with Doddridge, and which 1 Send you.* — \ now come to the last objection to
Vlr. L^w, Vhith Mr. W lays so much stress on.
It is a passage where he professes to think that this world ^vas ot^ginaBy the habitation of the fallen Sbg^)^. if I recollect right, Mr. Law does not make this eve* in dife slrgh^esft degree a necffeSsaYy artifele (if^rttef i he merely advances it as )an idea which to Mm appea:red to open net«r sources of admiratioik and gratitude to that boundless love which ^veii t^are the creation of man was husied iti bringing
* *' School foj* Chrisljans," which, Miss Brooke saj^s In one of her letters, contains her creed.
CXU JfSMOIRS OF
good out of the evil vhich the creatnre had intro* duced into his habitation. For my part, I think his opinion not only a very innocent, but a very pror bable one, and it seems to be implied, though not expressed by Moses. I can see no reason why Mr*
W should so violently anathematize an idea
which is at once ingenious, beautiful, benevolent, and innocent, even though it should be a mistake. Sure I am that Mr. Law would never have an- swered him in similar language. His wisdom has at least one character of being from above — it is gentle. If any man ever possessed a spirit after God's own heart, Mr. Law surely did. He was all love — all a mild light of benevolence beaming forth in every page of his works. His very errors (if errors they are) proceed wholly from this virtue — if possible — to excess. If he has mixed (in some of his works ) philosophy with religion, he has not made it necessary to it. Those who don't like it may leave it quietly alone. There is some of the Bible which we can't understand; yet none but infidels or idiots would give this as a reason for rejecting it. Mr. Law's practical works are for the multitude^ and there is no philosophy introduced into them ; but I cannot see why he should be debarred from introducing it into his other works written profess- edly upon subjects of sublime speculations, in all of which^ amidst the greatest heights and depths of his genius, he is the humble, self-abased, grateful^ and adoring christian still. I have read all his workis. I do not understand them all, but that is no r^son why others may not understand them. The study of astronomy — of natural philosophy, &c. are by no means necessary to Christianity ; yet they add a plume to the wings of love and adoration.
MISS BftOOKfe. CXlii
And therefore are not only innocent and charming, but highly usefnl also ; and I cannot see why moral philosophy should be exclusively prohibited. To make philosophy necessary to religion^ or indeed to mingle it at all with practical tracts upon religious subjects is^ I think, wrong ; but, in the speculative parts of it, I see not any reason for shutting out either moral or natural philosophy : — ^under proper direction they are useful assistants, and surely very allowable ones.
'' You object to Mr. Law's using tlie terms. wrath, &c. &c. and applying them to outward na- ture. Surely this is very common. The mr<xOi of elements — ^the wraJOi of seasons — ^their mildness — sweetness, &c. &c. are phrases made use of without scruple or reproof by all other writers, and why not by Mr. Law 7 You also think him wrong in objecting to the new convert's impatience ( or as he calls it making loo much haste ) for the perfection, and glory, and ** witness,'' &c. of Saints. Now I know him to be right in saying that such impatience is wrung. It involves just the same nature and oon- sequence with respect to the sickness of the soul, as with that of the body. When an invalid of a sanguine and impatient temper gets into the hands of a wise and skilful physician, and feels the first returning dawn of health produced by his care — he directly sets up for being well at once-^yrili sub- mit to be kept low no longer — ^must exhibit the same vigour and perfection of body that he sees in the youth, strength, and health of others. Just so with the impatient soul — ^and the consequence is a relapse. Our heavenly physician knows best what regimen to appoint, and it is our business, in full confidence of his wisdom, to submit ; even though
P
txiv MEMoims of
our cure should gd on dowly, and though ve sfaonld he kept on a spare diet, and debarred of many so- laces that are given to others. He who knows the nature of our case is the best judge how to treat iiu We should^ indeed, as St. Paul exhorts, ' Press on' — ^but how ? — Why, use all diligence to observe those directions which we are commanded. To use the exercise — the regimenr^-the meditmes appcnnt- ed, with the most exact observance : — ^thitf is our business. Let us leave the cure to him who hasfaith^ fully promised, m sweh a ease, to eflect it« Too nrneh haste may make us impatient — ^perhaps de8-< perate*— and is, besides, very wide of that spirit of meekness and trust which should leave all tilings to be done by our God in his omi good time."
Such are Miss Brooke's sentiments respectmg the writing of Mr« Law, which unquestionably pos- sess much that is good, but abundantly more that ia injurious. Miss Brooke renews the subject in the following letter to the same correspondent : — "In my last, the limits of my paper did not permit me to i^eak to you half the fulness of my heart, upon a subject of such infinite importance as that on which your thoughts are at present so much and so justly occupied. You seem to think the mystic writers too much taken up with speculative i^eligion, to the neglect or omission of those points of doc* trine which would lead to thepr^r//^ of it. If fhej^ are so to you, they are not for your purpose ; even though they ^ould appear in a light not their own, to you. — ^No writer is to be valued, on this sulyject, but for the substantial and practical titility of his doctrine; and if his speculations do not tend to lead into practice, they are useless. But if that which on first view appears to me merely fine theory, should
MU8 BROOKS. CXY
en trial he reducible to the firmest grounds, and surest belp to practice — i$ it not i/ten to be apfuroy-^ ed ? — ^We bBl prqfess, at least, to bdieve the neces* Btty of a '^ death unto an and new birth unto righfeeonsneis'^ — jet how few even conceive a ri^t idea of eatiher, much less make one step towards a tiial of tbem. Every one is willing to detest those particular sins which his natural mmi is averse from. The man of natural honor abhors all sins that are dishonoraMe. Natural mildness abhors all sins of revenge and wrath. — Natural humanity of temper MMom all sins of cruelty.— ^a/i/ra/ rectitude ab^ han the sins of injustice and oj^ession.— Now all theae characters, doing nothing more or better thai^ ttvoiding what they are prompted to avoid by the natural man — through no higher motive thanmerely a gratification of those sweet and amiable tempers with which God of his ii^nite mercy endowed them, to make his yoke a burden still the more even natu^ rally easy and delightsome to them« — These self- deceived people persuade themselves that they are dead to sin, and alive to righteousness. — Whereas, in fact there is in all possibility but the one only way of dying to sin ; and that is, by dying to self. By a constant unremitting vigilance in contradict tion and suppression of every rising and working of self in the heart — This miserable self, which is the world into which our first parents fell, when broken off from the paradise and life of God — Tbis is the world which we must hate and renounce. — The things of this outward world are no farther hurtful than as they serve to nourish this fallen w<Mid of man in the human heart. — This self into which Adam fell must die before the life of God (which He Jost) can be renewed laiid ma^ed, ii)
CXVl MEMOIRS OF
08^ as it was in him previous to his fall. — Therefore " if ye suffer with rae, ye shall also reign with me/' — In the nature of things, it cannot be that we diould reign without we first suffer. — But nature shrinks from suffering, and therefore will never he weary of trying to find out shorter and smoother paths of her own to the place of her heavenly de- signation, until she is first convinced beyond a' pos- sibility of doubt, that there can be but one only road« and that every other path leads astray. — And how is nature to be convinced of that ? — ^By learning to know herself. — This truth and this knowledge is taught by the mystics beyond any other writers that ever I have read ; and it is for this reason I prefer them. It is yet for this reason, that, to those unacquainted with them, they appeiCr too specula-- tive, when, in fact, they are only establishing the grounds and absolute necessity of practice.- — ^You say very truly, that religion ought to be simple, because of the multitude. — ^But can any thing be more simple than this ?-^— In Adam all died; in Christ all shall be made alive. — ^We cannot be at once both fallen, and renewed.-^— We must get out of the pit of corrupt nature, before we can be de-* livered from it. — We must die to the corruption of Christ, — And what are those corruptions? Are they what the world calls crimes? No : these are only the offspring of our natural corruption; and that corruption is self. We must die to self then, and we can only do it by suffering. How then, you will say ; can none who enjoy worldly happiness hope to inherit eternal life? God forbid elsel Yet still they must suffer. Surely there are many ways of suffering ; and perhaps in a steady and unremitting course pf self-denial, when, the *^ wa|
MI8S BROOKS. CXVii
that seme doth -wage with yirtue" is kept up with- oat one moments respite to the devoted nature which must die — ^perhaps this incessant warefare and gradual deatii is in itself ( at least in its first progress) more irksome, and difficult of endurance than most external inflictions. — Do not yet be dis- couraged, VfLj friend ; for while the outward nature groans the inward one will triumph. When the one b fettered, the other " enlarged,'* will " run in the way of God's commandments." Self-denial there* fore, though painful to the flesh, is yet, to the ' Spirit, delightfoL
" But perhaps you will ask, if all the investigations of nature, and the grounds and necessity of sufiering laid open by the mystics, be necessary to religion,
what then is to become of the multitude f ^I an*
swer, that, to the multitude it is not necessary ; be- cause, unaccustomed to investigation, and unac- quainted with knowledge, they are content to fol- low when they are led^-r-at least as far as notion or opinion goes. — But with persons of a different class and character in life, the case is far otherwise. — Witii me at least I know it was so. — ^I was by no means willing to submit my high and mighty rea- son to any other guide than the scriptures ; for the human leaders of the blind appeared so often blind themselves, that I was very unwilling to trust them; and as to the scriptures themselves, I was very loth to suppose they could possibly mean the absolute pootive reality and literality of dying to self, '(as I now find it, ) but wanted to try if a meaning less irksome ^o flesh and blood might not be discovered in those texts which stood so much in my way. — First, I tried whether the mode of one interpreter wpuld answer to procure me the spirit and temper
CXyni MJBW0IE9 OF
vhich I acknowledged it was desirable to have— ^ that would not do. — Then I tried another — andano* ther — and ran the round of tikem all. — Then I made experiments of tnr/ own. — In these also I was diaa{>^ pointiBd. — Grieved, and vexed, I sat down to con- sider what now was best to be done. — ^Fightin^ with the corruptions of ray nature to so little purpose had wearied me completely out: and yet I was afraid of laying down my arms, for fear of being made utterly captive. — ^By this time, however, the experience of outward and inward sufferings had nerved my mind, and by the grace of God, ren- dered it less a coward to endurance, than it had for- merly been ; and then recollected those books which I had l<mg before laid aside as '' too hard for me." I took them up once more. — I apprehended them more clearly ; — they appeared convincing, yet still very very severe : however, as the mode they pre- scribed was almost the only one I had left untried for my resche from those csflrruptions, which became felt every day more grievously than the former,—* I was determined to make trial of it. I did so, - and I have found the effect. Whoever objects to its ef- ficacy, I would make them the same answer as the blind man restored to sight made to the unbdUeving Jews, who would not credit the possibility of his cure : I would say that ** whereas I was blinds I now see." Do not, however mistake me, or suppose highly of my state, in con&equence of this declara- tion.—Convalescence, my friend, is not he^th. — Yet, convalescence must of necessity, be ccmscious of departing disease, and rejoice in returning health, though only as yet in its dawn. Alas, it has long been but a very slowly progressive dawn with me. Perhaps I am inpapable of the '* perfect day." — If
MISS BKOOKS. Cxix
90, let me then be content to be a '^ door-keeper in the house of my God." Yes, O my merciful God i V miworthy to gather up eren the crumbs, in the mansions of highest bliss, —
'^ Yet Co some humbler llea?*n the humble raise, ^^ There tho' the last-— the first to sing thj praise ! ^' SoiM lowljT ▼scant seat, I!^tsbnal deign ; ^^ Nor be Creatioa aod Redemption vaiti !"
You seem to think that the mystics sre Sometimes at Tariance with the scriptures. But perhaps they only appear so, by taking some passages of those scriptures in a sense different from what you have been accustomed to understand them in — even so, — I grant you, it is expedient to read them with cau- tion, inasmuch as the point is of such infinite impor- tance.—See whether they make the scriptures con- tradict themselves. — If they do not. — If they, on the contrary, eirpound them in such a way as to make us still more enamoured of that infinite lovk which gave them. — If they preach up a '* death unto sin, and a new birth unto righteousness" only in a voice more loud, and words more convincing than others- why should we turn away ?
** I have already, in my last letter, told you that I myself, ibongh receiving so much benefit from the mystic writers, yet do not, in every particular, ac- quiesce in their opinions. — In some of those particu- lars they vary from each other. — But in the firm assertion and clear demonstration of the one great and necessary truth they all agree :-- ror at least all of them that I have ever met with. — Whfen this i» the case, I camiot think it material if they should be mistaken in some poiirts of opinion, the belief or dis* bdief of which cannot affect our salvsttion. — The most, perhaps the only important of these is some-
CXX MEMOIRS or
thing like intimation of some kind of punidiment after death, to cleanse the soul utterly of all its re- maining pollutions, previous to its reception inta heaven. Now I cannot myself agree with this opi^ nion. — I do not find it authorised sufficiently by scripture, yet many of the early Christians hold the doctrine of Purgatory ; — ^and iluyught they under- stood it from scripture. Mistakes in opinion will arise in the most enlightened minds, while any thing of human remains. I would no more reject the ex- ample, or writings of a Christian led by the spirit of God, merely because they possessed not the per- fection of heaven — than I would dash the cup of blessing from my lips, because it did not overflow* Some there are, however, who cannot admit the doctrine of any writer at all, unless they can agree with him in every particular. If this be jour case, you have then great reason to be careful how you read letters full of spiritual matters.
'' Believe me, I should by no means think ** argu- ment lost time," if it could in the least serve either you or myself, in respect to the course of our spiri- tual acquirements; but I know, by experience, that unless most ably handled, it does often more harm than good: — ^if it is not wanted^ it only adds ta notions what it takes away from fceeling — and if it is wanted, it ought to be treated by abler handa than mine. Perhaps I have myself ^' darkened counser' by ill-chosen words ; yet be assured that my heart goes with every line I write you, in sin- cere and ardent wishes for your happiness."
These, which are only extracts from a few of many similar letters written by Miss Brooke, and at present in my possession, with various papers on divine subjects, require no commentary. The pre-
niB8 BROOKS. CXXl
lent transcripte contain a very distinct representa- tion of Uie views she entertained of some of the leading^ doctrines of diyine tmth^ and concern . for the eternal salvation of others. Bnt what is the de* si^^ let it be asked, of introducing these in the present narrative ? It is to show what those princi- ples were, which, in their practical operation, pro- dnced all those amiable dispositions, that frame and serenity of mind, and Christian deportment, which were so eminently exemplified in her character^ and which so particularly inspired that holy com- posare, in the prospect of dissolution, which so emi- nently adorned the concluding period of her sojourn- ing on this earth.
With regard to the letters omitted, I would ob- serve that on the one hand, there was nothing in them that could have detracted from the substantial excellency of Miss Brooke : or on the other, that could have been important to her character, either in rendering it useful and impressive, or prominent and distinct. In the selection of what is retained, and now presented to the reader, I have had my motives, and they extended to every part of it; Aoagh for the perfection and approbation of them; I must be indebted to the judgment of some, and the candour of others : as in a case of this kind, it cannot be supposed that I would attempt to state or vindicate every view that has influenced me. Some few things would not have obtained permis- sion to appear, but for three reasons. First, an un- willingness to merge the peculiarity of the indivi- dual, and rob her of any distinguishing feature. Secondly, a fear of deviating too much from the wishes and expectations of her friends and conilec>* tions. And thirdly, a supposition that an editor is
q
extii MEMOIRS or
not deemed angwerable for eveiy expression U8e<f# or opinion held by the anthor he publishes.
However, to prevent any mistaken inference from the supposition on which I have presumed, I wish it to be observed, that I am by no means ashamed of many of the leading doctrinal sentiments appa- rent in the letters of Miss Brooke, and known to be held by the writer. At the same time, I would wish the reader to understand, that I avow myself no partisan for the theological system of Mr. Law, or any other propagator of mysticism^ as I conceive it to contain a multiplicity of pernicious errors, many of which are opposed to common sense, and utterly subversive of the scriptures of truth. I believe every unbiassed reader of Miss Brooke's compositions, must admit many of the leading points of her belief to" have promoted in her the love of God and of man- kind, in which all real Religion consists. And where there is a general agreement, there may yet be a number of subordinate differences. ** There are things," says an elegant i/^Titer, ** which two individuals may hold to be equally true, but not equally important : they may therefore dissent from each other as to the degree of attention they de- serve— ^and this will considerably affect the pro- portion in which they are dispersed. They may hold the same things to be not only equally true, but equally important ; and yet dissent from each other as to the manner in which they should be en- forced, whether abstractedly in their notions, or in their experimental and practical learning ; whether in their qualities or uses; whether in the mecha- nical exactness of human systems, or in the fine glowing, natural, imdefineable freedom of Scrip- ture language/'
MISS BROOKS. CXXm
At one period of her life. Miss Brooke fre- quently associated -with the higher classes of so- ciety ; but was preserved from being intoxicated by the flattering charms of worldly greatness. The insight into character which she obtained through means of her intercourse with high life, strengthened her conviction of the emptiness and vanity of those things which are generally looked up to with de- sire and envy ; and furnished her with a practical proof of the indispensible necessity, in every con- dition of life, of the knowledge of vital religion, to communicate true excellence to the character, or impart real enjoyment to the heart. About the year 1786 the late Countess of M oira* visited Miss Brooke, and from thence a gradual intimacy grew up between them, which ended only with the life of the latter. Her extraordinary display of genius and acquirements procured her great celebrity, an(]l the learned flocked about her with admiration. Mr. and Mrs. Trantf paid her the most marked at-
* The Countess of Moira was the eldest and only suirivin^ daoghter of Theophilas, Earl of Hantlngdon, (by his wife, the Ladj Seliua Shirley, second daughter and coheir to Washing, ton, Earl Ferrers) and sister to Francis, the last Earl of Hun. tingdon. She was a woman of great acquirements and com? manding abilities-^and inherited a considerable portion of the masculine understanding of her mother, the late Lady Hunting. don, who closed a life of the most ezteosire usefulness, un. boaoded intrepidity, and intrinsic excellence in the cause of re. ligion, on June 17th, 1701. Unequivocally may it be said, that her character has never been surpassed or equalled in any age, or in any nation. Lady Moira departed this life April 12th, 1808.
f The late Dominick Traut, Esq. married firsts Mary, daoghter of Edward Rice, of Mount Rice, in the county 9^ Kildare, Esq. (eldest son of Sir Stephen Rice, Chief Baron of the Exchequer) by Elizabeth St. Lawrence, eldest and only snr^ ▼iving daughter of Thomas Lord Howth, by Mary, daughter of Henry, Lord Viscount l^ingsland. The said Mary had for hef ,
cxxiT usMOiRs or
tention ; and as a small tdcen of Miss Brooke's esteem and regard, she dedicated her '' Irish Tale" to this worthy couple. It was also about the same period that she became acquainted with the Hon. Robert Hellen,* second justice of his Majesty's Court of Common Pleas, who delighted in her so- ciety, and regarded her intellectual powers and acquisitions with unfeigned admiration. In the circle of his amiable happy family. Miss Brooke spent a large portion of her time, where she had every thing she could think of to contribute to her comfort or amusement. To Judge Hellen, with Lady Moira, Dominick Trant, Esq. Eyles Irwin, Esq. and her intimate friend, Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq. and others, Miss Brooke acknowledges her obligations, in the preface to the '' Reliques of Irish
first husband L. Colonel William De^ge, aicLde.camp to the Duke of Devonshire; and for her second, Arthur Blennerhasset, of Riddleston^ in the county of fJoierick, Esq. third Justice of the Court of King's Bench. Mr. Trant married secondl i/jMis9 Kleauor Fitzgibbon, third daughter of John Fitzgibbon, an eminent lawyer at the Irish Bar, who died in April, 1780, sister to the late Earl of Clare, and the late Mrs. Arabella Jeffries Grove, relict of the late James St. John Jeffries, Esq. of Blar. ney Castle.
* Judge Hellen departed this life at Donnybrook, July 93d) 1703, deservedly lamented by a numerous acquaintance. — His virtues, public and social, were of the most distinguished kind : few men possessed a more cultivated taste: his library was one of the best in the kingdom; and bis collection of paintings and an. tiques was equally beautiful aud interesting. In his judicial capa. city he united the urbanity of the gentleman with profound legal knowledge. Whenever he presided in a criminal court, his pa« tient investigation of truth, and the natural clemency of his dis. po8ition» eqnally filled all who heard him with respect and ad. niiration.-r-May his successors on the bench imitate him in dis- pensing justice with a steady, firm, yet gentle hand] and re^ eeivci as he did, the united applause of all \
MIBB BBOOKE. CXZT
Poetry/' for the Taluable assistance which they affi>rded her in the compilation and translation of that work ; a work which is now presented to the public, executed in a manner not unworthy of its author.
It is not surpriting, that talents of so high an order should have acquired a most extensive in- fluence ; superiority of mind contains a warrant for command, and men in general are willing to obey. Miss Brooke did not assume the dictatorship, it was freely given to her ; and the deference paid to her judgment was too frequently carried to extremes* '* Probably," says a late writer, ** many circles in the world enjoy a similar advantage, where the thinking of one person saves the trouble to all the rest ; yet it may be doubted whether this easy ex- pedient be not productive of some injurious effects, and amongst ofliers, that of prostrating the human faculties before the object of their admiration, till it ceases to be tangible, and becomes invested with some imaginary grandeur which it would be awful to approach. Hence arises the timidity in exami- ning character, the disposition to give too high a colouring to biographical sketches, and to confound every just distinction with indiscriminate and un- meaning praise. It is better for us to know that every thing pertaining to man is imperfect, and that where we see much positive excellence, we may expect to find some positive defects ; then only are we placed in a situation to contemplate the lives of the best of men to edification and ad*^ vantage."*
To tenderness and elegance of genius. Miss Brooke joined the most amiable social virtues. Few
• Morri8»B life of Fuller, page 487.
eXXVl MEMOIRS OF
enjoyed the softened pleasures of the society of " Home," or entered with greater feeling into its interests and concerns than she did. There was an independence and an ingenuousness about her, which could not escape the most transient observer*^ She scorned every thing that was mean and selfish, and was one of the last persons in the world to plume herself with borrowed feathers. She hated all man- ner of guile and deceit, and whatever is assumed as a disguise to sentiment and feeling. Affectation and vanity were the objects of her supreme con- tempt. She had no envious or rancorous feelings about her; her constitution was unproductive of the meaner vices. Disinterested and self-denied, she had no worldly ambition to gratify, no sordid appetites to indulge^ There was a transparent sin- cerity in all her actions, and even the misguided parts of her conduct entitled her to the praise of good intentions. In short, if there ever lived a woman who, to softness of manners and gentleness of heart, united power of understanding and great energy of mind : with qualities to create love, to secure f i iendship, and to fix the principles pf both in dispositions less steady, perhaps, than her own ; and if ever there was a female qualified for per- forming the strongest as well as the tenderest do-r mestic relations, and while others might change, remain herself the same ;, I do verily believe Miss Brooke to be that woman.
But I am far from wishing to present Miss Brooke as perfect. We have no such characters in the biography of holy writ ; and when we meet with them in other walks, we feel ourselves trifled with, if not insulted. We have fable given us instead of fact. Such pharacters are imaginary. Perfection
miss BUOOKXf. CtXVit
is not the lot of mortals on this side the ^ave. When the moon walketh in her brightness, her shadows are most visible. I disdain the affectation of impec- cability in creatures '' compassed with infirmities/' biographers too commonly instead of a faithful picture turn panegyrists, and raise suspicions of the truth of their report, by endeavouring to exalt fal- lible men on such pedestals of perfection, as dis- hearten rather than excite to imitation. Earth pro- duces no faultless monsters : and Christianity dis- claims them* I may venture confidently to assert of every human being, that amidst all his apparent amiability of conduct and sweetness of disposition, his exalted virtues and numerous good qualities, if, as a faithful biographer, he were to describe every thing which hath passed in his spirit or conduct with scrupulous fidelity, perhaps there is not a creature who ever existed that would submit the narrative to public view ; conscious that it must sometimes at least excite disgust and abhorrence instead of love and veneration. Where much is to be com- mended, and little to offend, or awaken censure, there the just tribute of praise will be offered. But Miss Brooke needs no posthumous fame to blazon her worth ; she is now alike beyond all human cen- sure or applause which can affect her.
The following lines are extracted from a beauti- fully pathetic elegy, on the death of the late much lamented Joseph Walker, Esq. by Eyles Irwin, Esq. of Cheltenham, a gentleman equally beloved and respected for the amiability of his manners, as for the elegance of his literary talents. They were communicated to Samuel Walker, Esq. by Mr. Irwin's brother-in-law. Doctor William Brooke, of Dublin, a near relative of Miss Brooke, and in-
€t
eXXYlii MEMOIRS, STO.
terted in the editor's preface to the Memoirs of Tassoni/' by Joseph Cooper Walker, Esq.
'^ Shades of St. Valeri! your dell, how long,
The haunt of Erin's eloquence and song!
Shades of St. Valeri ! to you were known %
The Gaelic spirit and the Theban tone;
That mark'd the ^^ Reliques" of thy elder time,
Which female genius deck'd in classic rhyme.
Thy echoes oft resounded to the strain,
Where Brooke revived the memory of the slain,
Who sleep in honour's bed, proud victors of the Dane!
For parity of studies, and of mind,
Still to her harp thy master's ear inclined."
Lines under a Portrcnt of Miss Brooke^ by a Friend,
Religions, fair, soft, innocent, and gay, As ev'ning mild, bright as the morning ray, Youthful and wise, in ev'ry grace mature, What vestal ever led a life so pure!
AARON C. SEYMOUR^
45, Baggot'ttreetf jipHi^ 1810.
PREFACE.
IN a preface to a translation of ancient Irish poetry, the reader will naturally expect to see the subject ehic^idated and enlarged upon, with the pen of learning and antiquity. I lament that the limited circle of my knowledge does not include the power of answering so just an expectation; but my regret at this circumstance is considerably lessened, when I reflect, that had I been possessed of all the learn- ing requisite for such an undertaking, it would only have qualified me for an unnecessary foil to the names of O'Conob., O'Halloban andVAL*
LANCET.
My comparatively feeble hand aspires only ( like the ladies of ancient Rome ) to strew flowers in the paths of these laureled champions of my country. The flowers of earth, the terrestrial ofl&pring of Phcebus, were scattered before the steps of victo- rious War; but, for triumphant Genius are re- served the celestial children of his beams, the un- fading flowers of the Muse. To pluck, and thus to bestow them, is mine> and I hold myself honoured in the task.
'* The esteem (says Mr.O'HALLOUAN) which " mankind conceive of nations in general, is always ** in proportion to the figure they have made in " arts and in arms. It is on this account that all " civilized countries are eager to display their he-
" roe8> legislators, poett and philosoj^ers — and ^th '' justice, since every individual participates in the " glory of his illustrious countrymen. " — But where, alas, is this thirst for national glory ? when a sub- ject of such importance is permitted to a pen like mine! Why does not some Mon* of AtxJi-.ixL gemua step forward, and' boidly throw his gaimtlet io Prejudice^ the avowed and approved champion<of his country *fl lovely: muse ?
It isvimposflible for imaginatidn«to conceive too higUy of the pitch •of e'xceilence to whixsh a science must have soared, which was cherished ^lith: such enthusiastic regard and cultivation as thai of poetry^, in this <^ountry. It was absolutely, for ages, the vital soul of the nation;* and shall we then have no curiosity respecting the productions of genius once so celebrated, and so prized ?
True it is, indeed, and much' to.be. lamented, that few of the compositions of those ages that wae famed, in Irish annals, for the/f9i!ito/**sof^,'are now to be obtained by the- most diligent. resesrch. The greater number- of the poetical'* remains of olir Bards/ yet extant, were .written dtuthg the middle ages^ periods when^he gemas of Ireland' was in its wane,
« ^^'etjj^U, not lost
** All its original brightness. "
On tiie contrary^ many of the productions of those times breathe the true spirit of poetry^ jbMidesthe
* See the elegant and falChfal O'CasoR- upon this subject; (Diiieriation^ on the Ilisiary of Irelandy p. 63. .3d. edit.>«nd he is supported bj the testiroooies of the most autheotic of an- cient and modern historians.
nvttit they.poBseflB witii the Hiitorian and Antiquary, a»«o^maiij faithful dtlinattiom of the manners and ideas of ike periods in ^which they were composed*
^th a tiew to throw some light on the anti* quhies of this cottlitry, to vindicate, in part, its hiiloty^ -alid prove 'its claim to scientific as well asto military fame, I have been induced to under- take the following work. Besides the four' difie* rent ' species of composition which it contains, ( the fis&oic PoxM, the Oni;, ^the Els ot, and the 'SoifG ) Mhets yet remain unattempted by transia* 'tion: — ^tiie Romai^ck, in particular, which unites the fiite of Homer with the endianting wildness of •AriOBto. ^But the limits of my present plan have necessarily excluded many beautiful productions ^f genius, as little more can be done, within the -eompass of a single volume, than merely to give afew -specimens, ixi the hope of awakening a just ^aAd useful curiosity, on the subject of our poetical cdnpoiitims.
Unacquainted with the rules of translation, I -know not how far those rules may censure, or ac^ •quit me. I do not profess to give a merely literal version of my originals, for that I should have fbund an impotfdible undertaking. — 'Besides the spirit which they breifflie; and which lifts the imaginatLon far febove the tameness, let me say, the injustice, of «ttbh a taik,— ^here are tnany comjllex words that could ndt be translated literally, without great in- jury to' the original — ^without being ** false to its ** sense, and falser to its fame.*'
I am aware that in the following poems there
CXTXU PRBFACB.
will sometimes be found a sameness, and repetition of thought, appearing but too plainly in the Eng^ lish version, though scarcely perceivable in the original Irish, so great is the variety as well as beauty peculiar to that language. The number of synonima* in which it abounds, enables it, perhaps beyond any other, to repeat the same thought, without tiring the fancy or the ear.
It IB really astonishing of what various and com- prehensive powers this neglected language is pos- sessed. In the pathetic, it breathes the most beauti- ful and affecting simplicity; and in the bolder species of composition, it is distinguished by a force of expression, a sublime dignity, and rapid energnp-, which it is scarcely possible for any translation fully to convey; as it sometimes fills the mind with ideas altogether new, and which, perhaps, no mo- dem language is entirely prepared to express. One compound epithet must often be translated by two lines of English verse, and, on such occasions, much of the beauty is necessarily lost ; the force and effect of the thought being weakened by too slow an in- troduction on the mind; just as that light which dazzles, when flashing swiftly on 4he eye, will be gazed at with indifference, if let in by degrees.
But, though I am conscious of having, in many instances, failed in my attempts to do all the justice I wished to my originals, yet still, some of their beauties, are, I hope, preserved; and I trust I am doing an acceptable service to my country, while
* There are upwards of forty names to express a Ship In the Irish language, nod nearly an equal number for a HoutCy ftc.
PREFACB. CXXXIU
I endeaTOur to rescue from obliyion a few of the invaluable reliques of her ancient genius ; and while I put it in the power of the public to form some idea of them, by clothing the thoughts of our Irish muse in a language with which they are familiar, at the same time that I give the originals, ^ vouch- ers for the fidelity of my translation, as far as two idioms so widely di£Perent would allow.
However deficient in the powers requisite to so important a task, I may yet be permitted to point out some of the good consequences which might result from it, if it were but performed to my wishes. The productions of our Irish Bards ex-- hibit a glow of cultivated genius, — a spirit of ele«- vated heroism, — sentiments of pure honor, — ^in- stances of disinterested patriotism, — ^and .manners of a degree of refinement, totally astonishing, at a period when the rest of Europe was nearly sunk in barbarism : and is not all this very honorable to our countrymen? Will they not be benefited, — will they not be gratified, at the lustre reflected on them by ancestors so very difiTerent from what modem pre- judice has been studious to represent them ? But this is not all.
As yet, we are too little known to our noble neighbour of Britain; were we better acquainted, we should be better friends. The British muse is not yet informed that she has an elder sister in this isle; let us then introduce them to each other! to- gether let them walk abroad from their bowers, sweet ambassadresses of cordial union between two countries that seem formed by nature to be joined
by every boiid of interest, and of asuty. Let.them. entreat of Britain to cultivate a nearer acquaint- ance with her neighbouring isle. Let them (kmci- liate for us her esteem, and her affection will follow of course. Let thehi tell her, that the portionof her bloo'^ which flows in our veins is - rather jen- uobled than disgraced by the mingling tides that descended from our heroic ancestors. Let them •come— but will they answer to a voice i tike mine? Will they not rather depute some favoured pen, to jchide me back to the shade whence I have been allured, and where, perhaps, I ought to have re- mained, in respect to the memory, snd superior
gfnius of a Father — it avails not to say how dear! — But my feeble efforts presume not to emulate, — and they cannot injure his fame.
'To guard against criticism I am no way pre- pared, nor do I suppose I shall escape it ; nay, inr- deed, I do not wish to escape the pen of the candid critic : and I would willingly believe-that an indi- vidual capable of no offence, and pretending to no pre-eminence, cannot possibly meet with any seve- rity of criticism, but what the mistakes, or the deficiencies of this performance, may be justly deemed to merit ; and what, indeed, could scarcely be avoided by one unskilled in composition, and now, with extreme diffidence, presenting, for the first time, her literary face to the world.
It yet remains to say a few words relative to the *Talb which is annexed to this volume : for that I had no original ; the story, however, is not my own : it is taken from a revolution in the histoiy of an-
FRBPAC9. CXXXV
cient Irdialid, Anno Mmdi 3649. And no where will the. Muse he furnished with nobler subjects than- that neglected history affords. The whole reig'n of Ceallachain is one continued series of heroiflBi; and' high-wrought hdior, that rises supe- fior to all the fli^it of Romance, and ^defies Poetic fable to surpass'it. Ako^ the rei^ of Bkian Boi^ noiB^H, and the famous retreat of the glorious* tribe of Dalgais ; besides many mother instances too na* merous for detail; amongst which I selected the story of Maon> as a subject more suited to my limited powt^rs^ than those which demand a *' Muse of fire," to record them.
I cannot conclude this preface without the gra- tification of acknowledging the favours with ivhich
I have been honoured^ since the commencement of
my work.
From the judgment and taste of Domiicick
Tu ANT, Esq. ( a gentleman too well known to need
my panegyric ) I have received much information
and asssistance. To 'the Right Honourable the Countess of Mom a
I am indebted for some valuable commuiucations;
as also to the learned WII-^I am Beau ford. Esq,
of Athy; to Rawh OuSmy, Esq. of Umerick;
andto Thbophilus 0*Fi/Anagan, Esq, of Trinity
Coll€?ge, Dublin.
To the learning and' public spirit of Sylvester O^BTallor'an, Esq. I owe iraramerable obligations.; and Joseph C. WALKEfR, Esq. has afforded every assistance which zeal, judgment, and extensive knowledge, could give:
Besides the literary favours of my friends, there are others which I cannot omit to acknowledge, as ' they equally tend to evince their wishes for the success of this undertaking.
The accomplished family of Castle-Brownb, in the county of Kildare, have exerted all the in- fluence of taste, and character, to extend the sub- scription to this work. The learned author of the Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards, and his brother, Samuel Walker, Esq. late of Tri- nity College, Dublin, have also been equally zea- lous and successful ; and to these two families I am indebted for the greater number of my subscribers, in this kingdom. For the rest, I am obliged to the influence of the Honorable Justice Hellen; Domi* NICK Travt, Esq. Richard Griffith, Esq. the Reverend Edward Ryak, D. D.* the Reverend T. B. Meares, and several other friends.
Amongst those of our sister country who have exerted themselves to promote the success of this work, the liberal spirit of William Hayley, Esq. has been most particularly active. From the height of his own pre-eminence in literary fame he is ever ready to reach, unasked, the voluntary hand to those who come to pay their vows at the shrine of his favourite Muse. I have also the same obliga- tions to the Reverend Doctor Warner, the son of him whose historical justice, superior to modem prejudices, so generously asserted the dignity and character of Ireland, in a work which must ever reflect the highest honor on the candour, and phi* lanthropy, as well as the abilities of its author.
CONTENTS.
HEROIC POEMS.
An iDtroductory Discourse to the Poem of Conlocb.
By Sylrester O'Halloran, Esq. M. R. I. A 7
I. Conloch 15
Original of ditto 393
The Lamentatioa of Cucullin over the body of his
Son Conloch 20
Original of ditto 399
II. Magnns the Great 45
Original of ditto 403
III. The Chase 85
Original of ditto 412
IV. MoiraBorb 143
Original of ditto 426
ODES.
An Introductory Discourse to the War Ode 165
I. War Ode to Osgnr, the Son of Oisin, in the front of
the Battle of Gabhra 179
Original of ditto 4 435
II. Ode to Gaul, the Son of Morni 195
Original of ditto 438
III. Ode, by Fitzgerald, written on his setting out on a
Voyage to Spain 215
Original of ditto 441
0
CONTfiNTSi
Fagv
ELEGIES.
I. Elegy to the daughter of Owen ^Vf
Original of ditto 445
II. Elegy 241
Original of ditto 450
III. Elegj 551
Original of ditto 452
IV. Elegy on the death of John Bnrke Carreotryle, Esq. 263 Original of ditto 455
V. Elegy on the death of Carolan 277
Original of ditto 457
SONGS.
Thoughts on Irish Song 285
I. Song, for Gracey Nugent. By Carolan 905
Original of ditto 459
It. Song for Mable Kelly. By Carolan 311
Original of ditto 460
III. Song. By Patrick Linden 319
Original ofditto 462
IV. The Maid of the Valley 323
Original of ditto 463
AN IRISH TALE.
* Introduction • • • 335
Maon: anIrishTale 341
Erratum.— Page 129> line 3, for aims, read claims.
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I.
A
POEM.
ADVERTISEMENT.
I HAVE not been able to discover the Author of t^e Poem of CoNLocHy nor can I ascertain the exact time in which it was written; but it is impossible to avoid ascribing it to a very early period, as the language is so much older than that of any of my Originals, (the War Odes excepted,) and quite different from the stvla of those pieces, which are known to be the compositions of the middle ages.
With equal pride and pleasure, I prefix to it the following Introduction, and regard it as an ornament and an honor to my work. For many other valuable communications, I am also indebted to Mr. O'Halloran ; and am happy in this opportunity of returning my public acknowledgments for the kind aseal with which he has assisted me, in the course of my undertaking ; besides the information, which (in common with his other admiring readers) I have received from his in- estimable IidrodudUm to the Historjf and Antiquities of Irda/id; a work, fraught with Teaming, rich with the treasures of ages, and animated by the very soul of patriotism, and genuine honor I
/
Mk
INTRODUCTORY DISCOURSE
TO
THE POEM OF CONLOCH,
BT ITLVESTSR O BAUJOttkft* ESQ. M. R. I.^k
HAD ike iuicient Historj and Language of Ire- land been regarded in the rery important lights which both most aaniredly merit, our accounts of the Lanni^ CvaAomB, jLegpslation and Manners of the early Celte, would not now be so imperfect and confused; nor 'would modem writers • presume so flatly to contradict the facts recorded of them by the ancient Greek and Roman historians. But thii is not the place to expatiate on so interesting a subject : as an introduction to the following Poem, I shall only say a few words relative to the ant}-> ^uity of Chiyalry in Europe.
6 ixntaDucTOiiT biscovrsb
It is a fact unanimously subscribed to, that the (Custom <tf jureating knights in Europe, ori^nated not from the Romans, but amongst the Celtas them* selves. The Ron^ans^ vrhereyej' the^ carried their arms, waged war against arts and sciences, as well 9S against mankind ; and hence it partly proceeds, that our accounts of the greatest nations of anti- quity are now so meagre and mutilated. The ancient Celts were amongst the number of those states that experienced this sad truth ; for though the early Greeks confess how much they were in- debted to them for Letters and Philosophy, though Pansania9 bears testimony to their knights, and though Caesar, an eye-witness, confesses, that these knights were the second order amongst the Gauls; yet, because the succeeding Romans were so in^ dnstriopB in the destruction of their records, that scarce a trac^ remains behind, our writers of the present, and of the two last centuries, agree, that the first institution of chivalry, in Europe, was about the time of the croisades. But though all the other nations in Europe were over-run, and, of course, their annals destroyed, yet Ireland still remained free and independents receiving intq her
TO THE POEM OF C0N1.0CR. 9
fostering arms the distressed, aad the proscribed, of Britain and of the Continent. Here did those arts and sciences flourish, which there were annihilated by war and rapine; and here it is, that Pezron, Menage, Bochart, Aldrite, &c. should hare ap* pealed, for a satisfactory explanation of the feodal laws and customs; the want of which has led them to represent their early ancestors as . a rude and illiterate people, (notwithstanding the fullest Greek and Roman testimonies to the contrary, ) and that the feodal system and military tenures were in- stituted, Jbr tlie first time, after the expulsion of the Romans from Gaul; whereas these, as well aa chivalry, flouridied among the ancient Celtss, in those days of politeness and erudition, which l<mg 'preceded the conquests in Gaul, and were always in force in Ireland.
Witii us Quvalry flourished from the remotest antiquity: there were five orders of it; four for the provinces, land one confined to the blood-royal; and so highly was this professicm respected among us, that a Prince could not become a candidate for the mmar^hy, who had not the Gradh^aoisoe, or order of Knighthood, conferred upon him. At
10 XNTRomrcronY Discoiriiss
a very tender a^e, the intended cavalier bad a golden chain hung roand his neck, and a sword and qpear put into his hands. 'At seven jesas old he was taken from the car^ of the women, and deeply, instructed in Philosophy, History, Poetry and Genealogy. The iisin^ his weaipons with judg-* ment, elegance and address, was also carefully attended to ; principles of Morality were seduloosiy inculcated, and a reverence and tender respect for the Fair, completed the education of the young hero. By his vows he was obliged to protect anci redress the injured and the oppressed. He was not' to reveal his name or his country to any un^fbur^- teous knight, who seemed to demand* it as a right. He was not to go out of his road for any meimce. He could not decline the combat with any kmg^ht» how intrepid soever. And still further to show to what a^ pitch of elevalSon tbey carried the^r ideas c^ military glory ; even in death, they were io fac^ this destroyer of mankind, armed, and jready to' oppose force to force. This is so true, that on^ Cuchullin's being mortally wounded at the battle of Muirthievne, he had hu back placed against a rock, witii his sword and spear in his hands, &c.
TO THE POEM OF CONLOCH* II
And Eogain^more, after the battle of Lena^ wag laid out CQin|detely armed» as our history, has re^ corded. See also how these aecouuts illustrate later periods: De Saint Palaye, in his Memoirs of Ancisnt Chita lrt, tells us» that,, always, on tha decease of a knight, he was laid out in complete announ Aud Hume mentions an.Englidi knight, who, dying, ordered himself to be armed, with his lance and sw<nrd by hiuiL^ as if ready to encounter death! The Qievalier Bayard, one of the bravest and moist accomfdished knights of France, during the reign of Francis the First, finding himself mpr-r tally # wounded in battle, ordered his attendants to place his back against a tree, with his sword in his hand, and died thus facing his conquering, though eommiserating enemies.
The history of the following poem is. briefly this:— rin the reign of Conor Mac--Neflsa, king of Ulster, (about the year of the world 3950,) Ireland abounded in heroes of the most shining intrepidity; insomuch, that they were all over £ar<^> byway of emineiice, e^led. The Heroeqi
4
Of THE Westerit Isle^ Amongst these were Cucbiillin, the fK>n of Sualihach ; Conall-Ceamach,
12 IKTROBVCTORT BISCOUR9E
and the three sons of Uisneach, Naoise, Ainle» and Ardan^ all courins*gennan. CuchoUm, in one 6i his continental expeditions, returning home bj way of Albany, or modern Scotland, fell in love, at Dun-Sgathach, with the beautiful Aife, daughter to Airdgenny. The affairs of his country calling him home, he left the lady pregnant; but, on taking leave, he directed, in case his child should be a son, to have him carefully brought up to arms, at the academy of Dun*Sgathach : he gave her a chain of gold to be put round his neck, and desired, that he should be sent to Ulster, as soon as his military studies were completed, and that he diould there recognise him by means of the golden chain* He also left the following injunctimis for his conduct : that he should never reveal his name to a foe; that he should not give the way to any man, who seemed to demand it as a right; and, that he should never decline the angle combat with any knight under the sun.
The youth (his education completed) came to Ireland to seek his father; but it appears that he arrived in armour, a manifest proof, according to th^ etiqiiette of those days, tlutt he came with a
TO tHS POBM OF COXLOCH. 13
hoftile iiitention, and to look for occasions to ag«- nalize his Taldiir* On his af^roaching Eamania, the royal residence of the Ulster kings, and of tho Croabh-ruadh, or Ulster knights/ Conor sent a he- rald to know who he was? A direct answer, and he armed, would hare been improper; it would hare been an acknowledgment of timidity: in short, the question was only a challenge; and his being asked to pay an eric, o/ tribute, implied no more, than that he should confess the superiority of the Ulster knights. On his refusal to answer the question, Cuchullin appeared: they engaged, and the latter, hard pressed, threw a spear, with such direction, at the young hero, as to wound him mortally. The dying youth then acknowledged himself his son, and that he fell in obedience to the injunctions of his mother. It appears, however, from the poem, that when Cuchullin left her those injunctions, he was far from expecting that his son should haye put them in force upon his arrival in Ireland. On the contrary, it appears the effect of jealousy in the lady, and of revenge, hoping that Cuchullin (now advanced in years) might himself fall in the conflict; for« thousrh a sraUant
14 INTE09VCT0IIT DI8COVE8E, STC.
and most intrepid knightj yet our hirtory proves that he was by no means constant' in his attach- ments to the fair.
«
As to the numbers of knights engaged and yan* quished by Gonloch, previous to his conflict with CuchulliUj it is all poetic fiction^ to raise the cha- racters of the two heroeSr Even G>nall--Gearnach, master of the Ulster knights, is made to submit to Conlochj who then falls the greater victim to the glory of his own father.
CONLOCH:
A POEM.
CONLOCH, haughty, bold aiid braye, Ride9 upon lemc's wave!— Flush'd with loud-applaudhig fame. From Duiucaik's walls he came; Came to yUit Erin's coast; Came to prove her mighty Host!
Welcome, O youth of the intrepid mien.
In glittering armonr dresti Yet, ihu8 to see thee come, I ween»
Speaks a strayed course, illustrious Guest!
But now, that safe the Eastern gale Has given thee to our view; Recount thy travels, give the hi^ detaM Of those explmts from whence thy glory grew.
16 HEROIC POSM8«
Do not, like others of Albania's land. Reject our fair demand; Nor from its sheath the sword of conquest callj
To cause thy youth, like their% to fall: Should'st thou, like them, with fruitless pride,
delay The usual tribute of the bridge to pay.
'* If such, (the youth replied,) ere while, «' Has been the practice of your worthless Isle; Yet never more a Chief shall it disgrace. For this rights-arm shall your proud Law efface/'
i€
4€
Thus, while he spoke, collecting all his mighty Fierce he addrest his conquering arms to fight; No stop, no stay, his furious faulchion found. Till his dire hand an hundred warriors bound: Vanquidi'd, they sunk beneath his dreadful sway. And low on earth their bleeding glories lay.
Then Conor to his blushing host exclaim'd, *< Of all our Chiefs, for feats of prowess fam'd, ^^ Is there not one our glory to restore ?
*' So cold b dioi become our martial heat, ** That none will dare yon haughty youth to meet, ** Hjb name and errand to explore, '' The slaughter of hb dreadful arm restrain, '' And force his pride its purpose to explain!'^
'Twas then the kindling soul of Conall rose. Victorious namet the terror of his foes! His threatening arm aloft fhe hero rais'd. And in his grasp the deadly faulchion blaz'd!
Secure of ccmquest, on he moved. The youthftd foe to meet; But there a force, tSl then imkno^vn, he proved!
Amazed we saw fhe strange defeat ;
We saw our Champion bound; Subdued beneath fierce Coidoch^s arm he lay ; No more, as erst, to boast unvanquished sway, A name, till then, for victory still renown'd.
'' Quick I^ a rapid courier fly!
(Indignant Aulifie cried,)
*' Quick with the shameful tidings let him hie,
n
a
it
a
18 HSROIC POXM9«
'' And to our aid the first of helroes call, '' From fair Dundalgan's lofty wallj '^ Or Dethin'0 ancient pride!''
" Welcome, CucuUin! mighty chief! Though late, O welcome to thy friend's relief! Behold the havoc of yon deadly blade! Behold our hundred warriors bite the ground! '' Behold thy friend, thy Conall bound! '* Behold — ^nor be thy vengeful arm delay'd!'*
*' No wonder (he replied) each foreign knight *' Should now insult our coast! " Lost are the souls of martial might, '' The pride of Erin's host! ^' Oh! since your deaths, ye fav'rite sons of
fame! " Dismay, defeat, distress, and well'-eam'd shame, '' Alike our loss, and our reproach proclaim!-«~-
** For me, my friends, what now remains, " When I behold yon mighty Qiief in chains? ** With such a hero's cmiqueror diould I cope, ** What could my humbler boast of prowess hope?
HEROIC POEMS. 19
" How should you think my arms could e'er pre- vail, '' Where Conall-Ceamach'a ekill and courage
€t
€i
'^ And wiH tiiou then decline the fight,
'' O arm of Erin's fame! ** Her glorious, her unconquered knight,
*' Her first and fav'rite name!
** No, brave CucuUin! mighty chief
" Of bright victorious steel! Fly to thy Conall, to thy friend's relief.
And teach the foe superior force to feel!*'
Then, with firm step, and dauntless air, CucuUin went, and thus the foe addrest: '' Let me, O valiant knight, (he cried,)
'* Thy courtesy request! *' To me thy purpose, and thy name confide, '' And what thy lineage, and thy land declare?
" Do not my firiendly hand refuse,
" And profifer'd peace decline;
" Yet, if thou wilt the doubtful combat chuse, '^ The combat then, O fairThair'd youHi! be thine!'*'
20 HEROIC POEMS*
*' Never ahall aught ao base as fear
" The hero's bosom sway! ** Nev^r, to please a curious air,
" Will I my fame betray! '' No, gaUant chief! I will to none '' My name^ my purpose, or my bjirth relreal; '' Nor even from thee the combat will I shun, '* Strong tiiough thine arm appear, and tried tiiy " martial steel.
" Yet hear me own, that, did the vow *' Of clnvalry allow,
" I would not thy request withstand, '' But gladly take, in peace, thy proffered hand. <' So does that face each hostile thought controul! '^ So does that noble mien possess my soul!
n
Reluctant then the chiefs commenc'd the fights Till glowing honor roused their slumbering
might! Dire was the strife each valiant arm maintained. And undecided long their fates remained; For, tiU that hour, no eye had ever viewM A field 80 fought, a conquest so pursued!
At length CvcuIlin'B kindling soul aroee; IndignaDt flbame recnuted fury l^ida; With fatal aim his glittering lance he throws^ And low on earth the dy'mg youth extends*
Flown with the spear, his rage foKSook
The hero's generous breast. And, with soft Toice, and pitying look. He thus his brave, unhiq[>py foe addrest.
'' Gallant youth! that wound, I fear» " Is past the power of art to heali ** Now then thy name and luu^ge let me faear» " And whence, and why we see thee here,
*' reveal! That so thy tomb wUh honor we may raise. And give to glory'ls sob^ thy deathkas prjEuser'
i€
it
'* Approach ! '* — the wounded youth re- ply'd:— '* Y«t — ^yet more closelgr ni^! '^ On this dear earth — by that dear side '' O let me die!
2S MSROIC V0BM9.
" Thy hand—my Fatherl— lAplew chief! ^' And yoUf ye warriora of our isle, draw near,
*' The anguish of my eoul to hear, ** For I must kill a father's heart with grief!
'' O first of heroes! hear thy son, "Thy Conloch^s parting breath! V See Dunscaik's early care! See Dundalgan's cherish'd heir! See, alas! thy hapless child. By female arts beguird. And by a fatal promise w<m, ^' Falls the sad victim of untimely death!
$€
it
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II
" O my lost son! — relentless fate!— '' By this cunt arm to fall! — " Come wretched Aife, from thy childless hall, " And learn the woes that thy pierc'd soul
" await! '' Why wert thou absent in this fatal hour?*-"
'' A mother's tender power *' Might sure have sway'd my Conloch's filial
" breast! *' My son, my hero, then had stood confest!
nsftoic POEMS. 23
*' But it 18 past! — he dies! — ah wpe! — ^' Come^ Aife, come, and let thy florrowB flow! '< Bathe his dear wounds !— ^support his lan^d " head! ** Wadi, with a mother's tears, away, the blood a " father Aedl"
*' No more, (the dying youth exclaim'd,) ** No more on Aife caU! " Curst be her art ! — ^the treacherous snare she framed '' Has wrought ihy Conloch's falll '' Curse on the tongue that arm'd my hand *' Against a father's breast! '' That bound me to obey her dire command, *' And with a lying tale my soul possest; " That made me think my youth no more thy care, *^ And bade me of thy cruel arts bewwe!
'' Curst be the tongue to whose deceit ** The anguish <^ my father's heart I owe.
** While thus, to bathe his sacred feet, ^' Through this unhappy ade,
'' He sees the same rich crimson tide '^That fills his own heroic bosom flow!
24 mRoic paxMs#
'' O yes! too flurely am I tiiiite! '^ No longer I the fittal truth conceal;
^* Never before did any foe
'^ The name of Conloch know; " Nor would I now to thee my birth reveal, '' But safety, even from thy dear hand decline, '' Did not my ebbing blood, and shortening breath, *' Secure ihy Conloch^s honor— in his death.
'' But, ah CttcuUin!— ^untless knight! — " Ah!— had'st thou better marked the fight! '' Thy skill in arms might soon have made the« *' know '' That 1 war only half a foe! ^' Thou would'st have seen, for glory tho* I fought. Defence, — ^not blood I sought '' Thou would'st have seen, from that dear " breast, '* Nature and love Ihy Conloch's arm arrest! 'VThou would'st have seen his spear instinctive , *' stray; ** And, when occasion dar'd its force, " Still from that form it fondly tum'd away, •' And gave to air its course:"
K o HasiirtT fhe unhappy rire rettim*d. Bat wfldly titus, in finmtic sorrow moiim^d* ^* O my lov*d Gmlochi beam of glory ^s light!
'' O set not yet in tiightl *' liye^ live my tmh to aid thy father^s sword Ik ^' O live, to eottqueit and to faibe restored! '' CempanioDB of the war, my ton, well go, " Mow down the ranks, and chase Ihe routed foel *' Ourselves an host, sweep o*er the prostrate fields *' And squadrons to my heroes arm shall yield! *' Not mighty EHn's self, from wave to wave, '* Not all her chiefs could our joint prowe» brave I
" (Sonel— art thou gone?'-*0 wretched eyes! *' See where my child! my itmrder^d Conloch liesl *' Lo!'H-in the dust his ahield of conquest laid! ^ And prostmte, now, his once victorious blade! ** O let me titm from the soul-torturing right!
^' O wretch! djeserted and forlorn!
^' With age^s sharpest anguish tom!-*^ ** Stript of each tender tie! each fond delight!
•• Cruel faHier!-— cruel stroke!— ^ ^ See the heart of nature broke ! —
it
t4
€S
S6 JISKOtC POBM.
** Yes, t have tdttrder^d thee^ my Imtlf childf Red with diy blood ihin fiital hand I view!-«- Oh, from the sight distraction will ensue. And grief will tufn with teatiees bsrror wild!*
'^ Reasolii-'-^hitfaelrart Hiott fled?^^ '' Art ihott Willi my Conlocli dead?--^ ^* b this lost wireteh no more ihy eavet *' Not one kind ray to light niy ionl: ^* To free it from the black cmtronl " Of this deep, deep despair J— ——
'' As the lone skiff is toss'd from wave to wave^ ** No pilot's hand to save! '' Thus, tiius my. devious Mul is borne I ** Wild with my woes, I <Mily live to ihouim!
** But all in death will shortly end,. '' And sorrow to the grave its victim sendt " Yes, yes, I feel ilie near a]^ni&€h of peace^
<' And misery soon will ceasei '' As the ripe fruit, at sliady autumn's call, '' Shakes to each blast, and trembles to its "fall;
HEROIC POSMS. 2?
^' I wait the hour that shall afford me rest^ ** And lay, O earth! my sorrows in thy breast.
Here ends the Poem of Conloch : the subject is indeed continued in the following pages; but it is in a distinct and separate piece^ of which I haye seen a number of copies, all in some degree differing from each other, and none of them con- nected with the above, except in this one copy, which I got from Mr. O'Halloran, The follow- ing poem, however, is possessed of considerable merit; and, besides the pathos that it breathes, it exhibits a species of originality in its way, that it unique, and striking to a very grea^ degree.
The above translation is made from Mr. O'Hal-
»
loran's copy, but the original of the poem here subjoined, being rather fuller than the one which was annexed to his, I haye for that rea90i| adopted it
TBI
Ilamentahon of cuculun.
OfBII
THB BODy OF ^lB $OV COXLOG&
ALAS^ alas for fliee, O Aif^'g hapleM sonl And ob» of aires the most undone^ My child! my ehildl woe» taifold voe to mel Alas! Oat e^er these fatal plains Thy Taliant steps receiy'dl And oh, for Cipalma's wretched chief What nonsr, alas, tevainsl HVhat, but to gaze upon his grief! Pf his sole son, by his own arm bereaVdl
O had I died before thw l^ur!-- Mf Iott« my loyely ehildl
90 HEROIC POSMS.
Before this arm my Conloch's arm oppof'd ; Before this spear against him was addrest; Before thes^ eyes beheld his eye-lidtf closed. And life's warm stream thus issuing from his breast! Then^ Death, how calmly had I met thy power I Then, at thy worst of terrors, had I smil'd!
Could fate no other grief devise ? —
No other foe provide?
Oh! — could no arm but mine suffice To pierce my darling's side ! — My Conloch! 'tis d^ed thy father -s woe Even the sad cracifort of reveiige to know! — To rush upon thy nmrdBrer'a erud brMs|;> Scattor his limbs, and r^nd hia haughty cirffltirr While his whole trib; in blood should qUeoi^b my
rage. And the dire feverof my soui aomage} The debt of vengeance, thw, shmild wdibe
paid, .« '*'
And thousands faU the vfctinoi of iJky ahadiil
Ultonian knightfi yogloryof oiur'agel Well have ye scap'd a frantic father's lagei
That not by yoa tiiir fittal fiddik won! That not by you I lose niy loTcly 8on!^— Oh, dearly, eW, should all y our Ihres ainda The trophies from my Conlbch's valour tofn; And your Red-branch, in deeper ctimson dy*d. The vengeance of a &t&er'8 aim diould mourn!
O thou lost hope of my declining yeais! O cruel vrinds that drove thee to this coast! Alas! could Destiny affinrd No other arm, ho other sword. In Leinster of the pointed spears. On Munster's plains, w. in fierce Cruachkn'i host.
To quench in blood my filial lights And spare my arm the deed, my eyes Ibe sightl
O had proud India's splendid plain
Beneath thy prbwes^ bled. There, sufiJc on heaps uf hostile sUiti, Had thy brstve fl|)iitt fled. That then Emania might Ike deed pintRie# And, for thy fiite, exact the vengeance due! Expiring milfiofus had ihy ransom paid» And the wild frenzy of my grief allay ^df
KBBOtC poitrs.
O tliat to Lochlin'fl land of nowi
My son liad steered his couriel Or Greciaii shores, or Persian foes^
Or Spain, or Britain's force! There had he fallen, amidst his £une^
I yet the loss could bear; Nor horror thus would shake my fnun^#
Nor sorrow be— 'Despair I —
Why was it not in Sora's barbarous lands
My lovely Conloch fell! Or by fierce Fictidi chiefs, whos6 tuthless band!
Would joy the cruel tale to tell; Whose souls are tnun'd all pity to subdue; Whose sayage «yes unmoT'd tliat form could viewl
ftejoice, ye heroes of Albania's plains f (While yet I live, my conquering tro Rejoice, that guiltless of the deed Your happy earth remains! . And you, ye chiefs of Gallia's numero Bless the kind fate that spar'd yoi coast!
But what for me^for me is left! Of more, and dearer far than life, bereft!
Doom'd to yet unheard of woe, A father, doom'd to pierce his darling's Ade, ^ And, — oh! with blasted eyes abide To see the last dear drops of fiUal crimson flow!
Alas! — ^my trembling limbs! — ^my fainting frame!—
Grief!— is it thou?
O conquering Grrief!-^! know thee now! Well do thy sad ejSects my woes proclaim! Poor Victor! — see thy trophies, where they lie!— Wadi them with tears! — ^then lay thee down and die!
Why, why, O Aife! was thy child Thus crueQy beguil'dl 'o.
Why to my Conloch did'st thou not impart The fatal secret of his father's art? To warn him to avoid the deadly snare. And of a combat on the waves beware*
Alas, I sink! — my failing sight Is gone! — 'tis lost in night!
34 Hcmoi€ POBvs. .
Goudd and darkness round me dwell!
Horrors moi« tiuufc tongue can tellL See >vhere my 8on» my murdered G>nloch lies! What Airther suflferings now can fate deyise! O my heart's wounds! well may your anguish fl And drop life's tears on this surp&ssii^ woe!
Lo, the sad remnant of my daugfater'd race^ Like some lone trunks I wither in my place! — No more the S(nis of UsHoth to my sight Give manly charms, and to my soul delight! No more my Conloch shall I hope to see : Nor son, nor kinsman now snfviyte for me! O my lost son! — ^my precious child, adieu! No more these eyes that lovely form shall view! No more his dark-red spear shall Ainie wield! No more shall Naoise thunder o'er the fidd! No more shall Ardan sweep the hostile plains!-^ Lost are they all, and nought but woe remains!- Now, chearless earth, adieu Ay every care: Adieu to all| but Horror and Despair!
NOTES
ON THB POSM OF CON LOCH*
IT is f6ttre4 tlie meAsure chosen for the translatien of this poejD, may appear greatly out of rule; but, in truth, I tried several others, and could succeed in none but this. I am conscious, that the measure of an irregular ode is not strictly raited to an heroic poem; the reader, however, as he ad. fances, will perhaps find reason to acquit me; as he will perceiTe, that the Tariety in the subject required a variety in the measure; it is much too animated for the languid flow of Elegy, and too much broken by passion for the stately march of Heroics: — at least it exceeded my limited powers to trana^ fuse into either, the spirit of my original.
Note I. JTef, thus to $ee thee comCj I ween, Speaks a stra^^d course^ illustrious guest I — ^rer. 9. p* 15.
It is here evident, that the herald only affects to mistake the meaning of Conloch's martial appearance, with a view, perhaps, to engage- him to change his intention; or, possibly, through politeness to a striSnger^ he would not seem to think him an enemy, until he had positirely declared himself such* But, be tills as it may, we cannot avoid perceiving the extn>me elegance and delicacy with which the herald addresses him, and makns his demand.
Note If.
the practice of your worthless tr/e.— ver. 8. p. 16.
The fierceness of this reply plainly denotes the impression which Conloch had received of Ireland, from the jealousy and
36 NOTSS ON THB
resentment of his mother, and that he came firmly purposed te eWnce it by ali his aptions.
Note Iir, 7%en Conor to his blushing host exclaimed. — ^ren 17. p. 10.
Conor MacNessa, king of Ulster.
Note IV. ...^.. the kindling soul of ConaU roM.— -Tor. 6> p. 17.
Conall Cearnaoh, master of the Ulster knights, consin-ger- man and intimate friend to CuculliUf
■
Note V. -r—fair Dundaleanft loflg walL—tet. % p. 18.
Pundalgan, (now Dundalk,) the residence of Cttcnllin*
Note VI. Or Bethinks ancient pride. — yet, S. p. 18. •
Dan-Dethin, the residence of Dethin, th^ mother of Cucullin.
Note VII. Welcome J Cueullin! — ^rer. 4. p. 18.
Tlus passage exhibits a species of beauty, that has been often and deserredly admired: here is the poet's tme magical chariot, that annihilates space and circumstance in its speed! We scarce know that the messenger of Conor is gone, until we find him returned ; and without the tedious interrention of narratire, the bard places his hero at once before our eye8.«-r Thus, in the inimitable ballad of Hardyknnte:
Tlie little page flew Bwift as dart. Flung from his niaster^s arm* " Com down, cum down Lord Ifariykaatey " 4Lnd red your King fiae lu|rB|I"
70BM OW CONIiOCH. 37
Note Vm. Ok! since your deatht, yefav'tHe sotu of fame ! — ^rer. 14. p. 1 8.
CocuIUd htre allades to the deatfar of his kinsmen, the three tons of Usnotb, (or Uisueach,) who were cot off some time before by the perfidy of Canor. As their story may perhaps be acceptable to my readers, I will here present them with it, in all its fabnloos array.
Deirdre^ the beautiful daughter of Feidlim MacDoill, se. cretary to Conor, king of Ulster, had, from her infancy, been shut ap, and strictly guarded in a fortress, to frustrate the prophecy of a Druid, who had foretold at her birth, that she should be fatal to the house of Ulster. On a day, as she looked abroad fr6m her prison, she perceived a raven feeding on the blood of a calf, that had been killed for her table, and had tinged with. crimson some new.falien snow. — Imme* diately turning to Leavarcam, (her governess,) she asked, if there was any one in the world so beantiful as to have hair black as that raven's wing; cheeks of as bright and pure a red as that blood; and a skin of the 'same dazzling fairness as that snow? Leavarcam replied, that there was; and that Naoise, the son of Usnoth, more than answered the description.
Deirdre, curious to behold this wonder, entreated her go. Terness to contrive some means by which she might procure a sight of him; and Leavarcam, pitying her situation and con. finement, and thinking this a good opportunity to effect her deliverance from it, went directly to the young and gallant Naoise, informed him of the circumstance, extolled her pupiPs charms, and promised to indulge him with an interview, pro. Tided he would, on his part, engage to free the fair captive, and make her hi5 wife. Naoise joyfully accepted the invi. tation:-— they met; — mutual astonishment and admiration con- cluded in vows of the most passionate love! Naoise, with the aid of his brothers, Ainle and Ardan, stormed the fortress, and carried off his prize ; and escaping thence to Scotland, they were there joined in marriage.
But the fatal beauty of Deirdre prevented the peaceable enjoyment of her happiness:— a Prince of great power in
38 NOTSS ON THS
Albany saw her, and was enamoured ; and finding that it was in Tain to sne, he had recovrse to arms, to force her from the protection of her hnsbandt But Naoise, with a few bift« ful followers, cut his waj through all opposition, and made good his retreat to one of tlie adjacent islands ; where expect, ing to be again attaclced, he dispatched messengers to Ulster, to entreat the aid of his friends.
The nobilitj of that province, on being ia/onned of hb si* tuation, went in a body to the King, lequesting that NaoisA might be assisted and recalled; and Conor, now tumbling for the event of the prophecy, and perceiving, that he could not by open force effect the deaths of tliose whose Ures he feared would fulfil it, veiled his tveacheroos parpose under the masque of generous forgiveness to the rashness of a youtlu ful lover; he affected to engage with pleasure in the caase of the unhappy pair; he granted the desired repealment, and sent a ship to convey them back to Ireland, and a body of troops to wait their arrival on the shore, and escort them to the palace of Emania. But Eogain, the commander of this body, had received private orders from the King to cut off the little band of Naoise on their landing; and particularly not to let JDeirdre and the three sons of Usnoth escape. His commands were too successfully obeyed; and, in spight of the most gal. lant resistance, the unhappy brothers were slain. But Deirdre was reserved for still further woe; the murderous Eogain, struck with her beauty, coald not lift his ar(n against her; he therefore brought her back a prisoner to the palace, and re^ quested her from the King, as the reward of his guilty service: The base and inhuman Conor consented to his. wishes, on obtain- ing a promise that she should be kept confined, and strictly watched, to preyent the accomplishment of the prediction. The wretched rictim was accordingly placed in the chariot, and by the side of her husband's murderer, who aggravated her anguish by the most brutal raillery; and convinced her, that death alone could free her from horrors, jet worse than any she had hitherto endured. Inspired with the sudden resolution of despair, she watched a moment farourable to her purpose,, and springing with violence from the chariot, she dashed herself against a rock, and ezpiri-d.
VOSM «F COlflOCH. 38
Bat the cruel Conor drew down on his house the denuu- ciation that be dreaded, hj the very means through which he sought to avoid it. The friends of the unhappj lovers, ttu raged at his perfidy, assembled all thpir forces, and took ample vengeance on the tyrant fbr his cruelty and breach of faith. His whole army^was rotfted ; his palace of Emania was seized upon, and given up to the plunder of the soldiery; and his favourite son, together with the chief officers of hit household, and all who were supposed to be his friends, fell in the carnage of that day, as so many victims to the manet of the murdered sons of tJsnoth.
VHiatever part Cucullln had taken in revenging the deaths of his young kin^oien, it appears that a kind of sullen recon. cHiation was afterwards effected between him and the King of Ulster; since we here find him (though relactantly) consent, ing to fight bis battles, and obey his commands. But the se. verity of reproach, and the bitterness of recollection, which is implied in the speech before us, plainly demonstrate, that his grief and his injuries were still keenly felt, and warmly resented.
Note IX. fViik iuck a hertf*9 eowfieror should I oape^ Whai could my humbler booH ofprowesthopef'^-^fet. 19. p. 18.
Cucttllin had been once a candidate for the Mastership of the Ulster Knights, but voiontarily resigned his claim to his kinsman Conall, as to one who had exhibited greater proof of- soldlership than he himself had, at that time, been happy enough to have an opportunity of evincing.
Note X. • Sodoes that face each hostile thought coniroul! — ver«13. p. 20.
Deeply, as it is evident, that Conloch had been prepossessed against Cacullin, yet natnre here begins to work; and the sight of the paternal face raises strong emotions in his breast. This is finely introduced by the masterly poet, to heighten the distress of the catastrophe.
10 NOTBS, XTC<
. Note XL Approachl^^-^he wounded youth replyl^d.^'-^w. 15. p« 91*
From this line, to the end of the poem, my readers will perceive the necessity of an irregular measure in the traosla* lion.
Note XII. ^ See Dunscaik^s early care! — ^rer. 7. p. ^
Dun-Sgathach) (i, e. the fortress of Sgathach,) in the isle of Sky. — ^It took its name from a celebrated Albanian her<Hne,* who established an academy there, and taught the use of arms.
Note XIII. *' Still from thai form it fondly turned away^ ^^ And gave to air it$ course.-'^rer, 10. p. 24.
Here is one. of thos^* delicate strokes of nature and sentt. ment, that pass so directly to the heart, and so powerfully awaken its feelingsi — Sympathy bleeds at every line of this passage, and the itnguish of the father and the son are at once transfused into our breasts 1
NOTE^
ON THB LAMBNTATION OF CUCULLIl^/
Note I. «'— — Cuatnial'i wretched chief. — ^rer. 7. p. 29.
Cncallin was called, by way of pre-eminence, the HeUo of CuALNiA, that being the name of bis patrimony, which it still retains, in the county of Louth.
Not^ n.
And thi dite fever of my soul assuage ! — yet. 10. p. 30.
Mliat a picture of a heart torn with sorrow is here exhi^ bited, in these wild startings of passion ! — the soul of a hero, pressed down with a weight of woe,-<- stung to madness by Complicated aggratattons of the most poignant grief, and struggling between reason, and the impatient frenzy of dea spair? — ^How naturally does it rare around for some object| whereon to Tent the burstings of anguish, and the irritations of a wounded spirit!
Note lit. UUonian kfUghisl^jer. 19. p. 30.
These were the famous heroes of the Red.branch«
Note IV. — -*<- CruachanU hoti. — ^rer. li^ p. 31^
hi Connaught.
42 l^dTBS oil THIS FOSBl Of
Not^V. TTua then Emania might the deed ptMriue.-^jet. 19. p. 31.
By Emakia he means the Koights of the Rxi».teAMCii, tfi a considerable part of that palace was occupied by this cele« brated body. The part appointed for their residence was called Teagh na Craoibhe-ruadhy (i. e. the palace of the Red.brAnch,) where there was also an academy institotiid for the instruction of the young knights, and i^ large hospital for their sick and wounded^ called Brbtubhearg^ or the House of the Warriors' Sorrow. See O'Hall. Int. t9 the Hist, of Ire^ iand^ p. 40. 4to. See also K bating.
The palace of Emania, or Eamania, stood near Armagh, Some mins were remaining of it so late as the time of Colgaa* See Collect, de Reb, Hib. toI. iii. p, 34h
Note VL 0r Grecian shores, or Persian foes, — Ten 3. p. 32*
The anti.hibernian critic will hei'o exclaim — ^^ What know^ ledge could Cucullin possibly be supposed to have had of Greece, or Persia, or of proud India's splendid plain? — Does not the yery mention banish every idea of the antiquity of this poem, and mark it oat, at once, as a modern produc. tion ?" It is granted, that this would indeed be the case, had our early ancestors been really such as modern writers repre- sent them: — Barbarians, descended from barbarians^ and ever continuing the same; but their Phoenician origin of it- self sufficiently accounts for their knowledge of the situation, inhabitants, manners, &c. of the Tarious nations of the earth; since the Pheenicians, a maritime and commercial people, traded to every port, and were acquainted with erery country.
Besides this, the literary and intellectual turn of the ancient Irish, frequently sent them, in quest of knowledge, to differ rent parts of ^ globe. *^ Our early writers (says Mr. O'Hal- i«oran) tell us, (and Archbishop Usher affirms the same,) that the celebrated champion Conall Cearnach, Mastier of (he Ulster Knights, was actually at Jerusalem at the time of the cruci-
THE LAMSKTATMN 9T CUCVLLIN. 43^
ffuon of oar Savioar, and related the stoiy to the King of Ulster on his retara." He also adds, that one of our great poets, in the fifth century, traversed die East, and dedicated ft hook to the emperor Theodosius. Many similar instances and proofs conld also be here subjoined ; but the limits of my design oblige me to refer my readers to the learned works of CCoMOB, O'Halloram and Vallamcey, names dear to ever^ spirit of liberality and spience, but by IrUhmen par^ ticnlarly to be revered.
Note VII, Or hyJUrce Piciish chiefs. — rer. 11. p* 33.
The period, when the Picts first inyaded North3ritidii, has not (I believe) been exactly ascertained.*--We here find that country divided between the Picts and the Albaniahs, and the former mentioned as a bloody and cruel people.— It was not till two centuries after this, that a third colony from Ireland, under Carby Riada, was established there*
Jioie VIII. — Ve chiefs of QMia^s numerous hosiy Bless the kind fate that spared your favoured eoast. — ^ver. 20. p. 3^
«
I had nearly forgotten to acknowledge, that some stanzas of the original of this poem are omitted in the translation ; Cucnilin, before this, enumerates tiie heroes of the Red.branch ; viz. Conall Cearnach, Loire Buahach, Cormac Conluingeas, Dnbthach, Forbuidh, &c. &c. and tells them, one by one, that they happily escaped being guilty of the death of his son, and the vengeance that he would have exacted. In some other copies of the poem I do not find these stanzas; I there, fore took the liberty of leaving them out, as I thought they broke the pathos of the composition ; and, besides, they were (in point of poetry) rather inferior to the rest of the piece.
44 VQTBS^ KVC.
Not^ IX. JIas! — my trembling limbsi-^^yfainiing frame l^^rtr. 7. p. 33.
The beautiful lines, in mj origlnt), from whipli the three following stanzas are translated, wens not in Mr. O^HallOt ham's cop7«
Noteli^. —— A combai on the waves beware. — ^rer. 18. p. 33.
Some of our romances and poems ascribe to Cncnllin thf property of being invincible in water, and in relating tliit circumstance of hi^ life, say, that (when hard pressed by Conloch) he took the refuge of a ford, and then threw the fatal GATHBOLG, With which he was sure of killing his anta. gonist. The preceding poem makes no mention of this fable, perhaps through tenderness for the honor of Cncullin; an4 from this, and some other circumstances, I am tempted to fhink they were not written by the saiiie hand.
Note ^L No mare his dark^red spear shall Ainle wiehL — ^rer. 15. p. 34.
Ainle, Naoise, and Ardan, were the three sons of Usnoth, irhose tragical story is related in the notes to the precedin^^ poem.
IL
^agtittd t^t dE^teat:
POEM.
ADVERTISEMENT-
THE language of^ the following Poem^ aft it now ktandsy is certainly too modem to be ascribed to an earlier period than the middle ages; — ^but, irhetber it did or did not exbt, prior to those times, in a dress more ancient than that in which we now find it, is a matter which I confess myself nnqualified to determine : for, though there be many reasons to suppose that this IS really the case; yet there are also some circum* stances in the Poem, which seem to contradict the 8up« position. If, by the Magnus of our Bard, he means the King of that name, who made some descents on Ireland^ about the latter end of the eleventh century, he is then guilty of a great anachronism, in synchro* nising heroes, who flourished at such different periods; and we must fix I he date of his composition at some time in the twelfth, or thirteenth century. This, how* ever, is mere conjecture; upon the strength of which, it would be unfair to judge^ much less to condemn our Bald. Magnus is a name so common amongst the Northern princes, that it cannot determine our opinion.
According to the accounts that Irish history gives of Danish invasions in this kingdom, the earliest was about the end of the eighth century; we, therefore, cannot
48 ADYSRTISEMBNt.
safely rest upon the credit of our Bards, who tell ut of numberless descents, which that fierce and warlike people made upon our coasts, wherein they were op- posed and beaten back by kings and heroes, who flou- rished here in the earliest ages of Christianity. Yet, small as is the faith to be placed in mere poetical au- thority, it ought not to be wholly disregarded : it seems to me, that they must have had some foundation for their perpetual allusions to the early period of Danish depredations in Ireland; nor is the silence of our his- tory a sufficient reason for concluding, that all their accounts are founded in fiction only. The greater part of our historical records are lost, and, doubtless, amongst them, many authentic accounts of events much more interesting than this now in question; and which are not mentioned in the few of our annals that yet remain« Besides this, an invasion, such as that recorded by our Bard, might easily have passed unnoticed by either s concise or a careless historian. The Danes, under bis hero, acquired no footing, gained no victory in our island; they were only just landed, and beaten backs so fruitless an attempt might have been purposely omitted by the historian, as not of sufficient conae** quence to take up room in his annals; or it may per<« baps have been noticed in some of our more volami« nous records, which are lost. Add to this, that num« bers of the Latin writers (from *the commencement of the fourth, to the close of the tenth and eleventh cen- turies) speak fully of an intercourse between the old Inhabitants of Ireland, and the Northern nations. AU
ADVERTISEMENT, 49
those circnmstances considered , it is left to the judgment of the reader, nrhetiier to acquit our Bard of anachronisiD, or not.
There Bte numberless copies of this Poem in the hands of the learned and curious. The one from which I have translated is in the collection of Mr. Joseph C. Walker. The author (or perhaps onlj^ the moderniser of the piece) is said to have belonged to the family of the O'Neils ; hntf what his name was, I havp not been able to learn.
MAGNUS THE GREAT:
A POEM.
Oisiv. Sir. Patrick^
OisiN. I CARE not for thee, senseless clerk! Nor all thy psalming throng. Whose stupid souls, unwisely dark. Reject the light of song:
Unheeding, while it pours the strain. With Finian glory swell'dii
Such as thy thought can scarce contain^ Thine eye has ne'er beheld!
St«P. O son of Finn, the Fenii's fame Thou gloriest to prolong; While I my heavenly Ring proclaim, In psalm's diyiner song«
52 H£R0IC POElif^.
OisiN. Dost thou insult me to my face? Does thy presumption dare tVith the bright glories of my race Thy wretched psalms compare ?
Why did my folly let thee live.
To brave too patient age. To see how tamely I forgive.
And pireach m^ ffoih toy rage!
St,P. f^ai-don grfeat cbieif!— I meaUt no ill; Stin^et is to Me thy iotig ; And bigh thfe themes anA^lofty fekill Its noble ^alnd pYololig.
Sing th^n, sweet bard ! thy J)(irpOs*d tale.
While gladly 1 attend, Atid let me on thy gi'ace prievkil
Its lovcfly sounds to lend.
OistN. Once, While We chas'dthb d»k-brdwn deer. Along ^he sea-girt plain. We saw a distleilit fleet app^r, Advancing oh 'the main.
riEHotc pofeMSk 53
Quick ceA«*d the hunt : — ^to east, to west
Out l^pid mandate hied ; With instiant march the Fertii prest
To join their leader's side.
Breath the chief of mighty fame.
Whom lovely Moma bore. Seven warlike bands to join us came.
Collected cm tiie shore.
Thcfn Ftnn, the soul of Erin's might. With fame and conquest crown'd ;
To deeds of ^oty to Incite, Address'd the heroes round.
€(
4i
Which Of toy cTnefs the first will go " To yon insulted shore, An& "bravely meet the daring foe, " Their purpose to explore ! '^
Thcfn'Conan of the ft'oward mind.
The bald M'Momi spoke, And as his DjfleenFttl soul inclin'd^ Ss sneeritt|^ iaccents br<%e.
<.•--»
5^ HBROIG POKMS«
tf
€€
O chief of Erin'B batt'Iin^ host! " Whom should yon navy bring ?— Haplj some Piipce^ or hero's boast, " To match our wondWous
€(
€€
Let Fergus, peaceful Bard, advance '^ To meet their haughty lord ; He, with accustomed art, perchance " The threatened blow may ward/'
" Peace, tongue accurs'd, bald, froward fool!
(The graceful Fergus cry'd) " Thinkst thou I move beneath thf/ rule.
To go or to abide ?
" Yet, for the Fenii, I will go
'* To yon insulted shore, •' And meet, for them, the daring foe,
" Their purpose to explore/*
Bright in the glittering blades of war.
The youthful Fergus goes; Loud sounds his martial voice afar.
And greets the distant foes*
s>
4t
4i
HfiROlG P0EM8. 55
Whence are those hosts ? Come they the force " Of Finian arms to brave ? — Or wherefore do they steer their course *' O'er Erin's guarded wave?"
*^ Mac-Mehee, of the crimson shields^ ** Fierce Magnus heads our^bands. Who Lochlin's mighty sceptre wields, ** And mighty hosts commands.'^
4€
€$
€i
Why does he thus our coasts explore^ '* And hither lead his power ? If peace conducts him to our shore^ ^* He comes in happy hour/^
The furious Magnus swift reply *d. With fierce and haughty boasts
( The King whose navy's speckled pride Defied our martial host. )
^* I come (he cried) from Comhal's son '' A hostage to obtain ; And, as the meed of conquest won, '' Ifis spouse and dog to gaiq. .
it
56 HSROIG POKMi,
*' His Bran» whose fleetnes* mocks the wind^
'^ His spouse of gentle love : '' Let them be now to me resigned,
'* My mightier arm to prove/'
'' Fierce will the yaliant Fenii fight*
** And thin will be thar host* '' Before our Bran shall, in their aght^
*' Perform thy haughty boast ;
** And Finn will swell green Erin's wave " With Lochlin's fajiood of pride,
'^ Before his ^Kiuse shall be thy slave, " And leave his faithful ade/'
** Now by that generous hand of thine,
** O Fergus! hear me swear, *' Though bright your Finian glories ahine,
** And fierce you learn to dare;
'* Or Bran shall soon the dark-brown deer
** O'er Lochlin's hiHs pursue ; " Or soon this arm shall teach you fear,
** And your vain pride subdue."
UBliotc rosMd# S7
^ Though itrong that valiant ftnji you deem^ *' Whose might io loud you boatt ;
'' And high those martial troops esteem^ '* Whose niukibeiB hide our coast ;
" Yet, never with thy hsKighty tdll '' Shall Brings chief comply ;
'^ Nor ever deer, o^er Lochlin's hill^ '' Before onr Bran shall HjJ
$»
Mild Fergus then, his errand dcme^ Returned with wcmted grace ;
I£s mind, like the unchanging sun^ Stin beaming in his face.
Before bright Honor's generous chief.
His noUe sire, he goes ; And thus unfolds, in accents brief^
The message of his foes.
" Why riiould I, from the valiant ear,
^* The words of death withhold ;
*' Since, to the heart that knows no fear,
** Ail tidings may be told.
I
58 msRoic PonMid
** Fierce Ma^as bids thee instant yield, " And take the granted hour;
'' Or soon the dire contested field '' ShaQ make thee feel his pow'r :
" Fleet-boilnding Bran, his deer to chase, '* And prove his mightier arm ; And thy soft love, his halls to grace, ** And his fierce soul to charm ;
ti
These are his proud, his stem demands, '' Or soon, from shore to shore. His spear shall desolate thy lands, '^ And float thy fields ^ith gore/^
" From me shall my soft love be torn, " A stranger's halls to grace ? —
*' Or my fleet Bran away be borne, ** A stranger's deer to ch^se?-^
'' Oh ! first shall cease this vital breath, ** And useless be this blade ; ,
'' And low in earth, and cold in death, " Tliis arm be powerless laid!
HVROIO POBM9.. 59
^ O Gaul ! shall these redoubted bandf
'* Stand cold and sil^ent bj ; '* And hear such insolent demands^
'' And not to vengeance fly!
'' Shall we not chase yon vaunting host,
*' With rout and death away, '* And make them rue their haughty boast,
" And rue this fatal day?'' — -
*' Yes, by that arm of deathful mig'^t,
*' O G)mhal's noble son ! ^* Soon shall our swords pursue their flight,
'' And soon the field be won ;
it
tt
Yon King, whose diips of many waves *^ Extend along our coast, ^ Who thus thy power insulting braves, ** And dares our gallant host.
'' Soon shall this arm his fate decide, " And, by this vengeftd blade,
'^ Shall that fierce head of gloomy pride *' In humble 4ust be laid !
\99
60 Hsmaic ipocmi.
*' Not 00 !'^ (^th eager wamth exclaimed
My generous son of LoTe ) ^' Yon King^ though fierce, though widely fam'd^ " Thy Osgur'f arm shall prove !
^' Soon his twelve Judges' tribe before
*' My valiant troop shall flee ; ^' And their prond King shall fall^ no more
'' His isle pf boars to see/'
f' No, mine/' (the famed Maolnya cry'd) ** 'Mint be yon vaunting foe !
'' Mine be the task to check his pride, ** And lay his glories low !
** Dark Norway's King myself will meet«
'' And well his arm employ: ^' For danger^ in thy cause, is sweet,
'' And life is risqu'd with joy.*^
'^ No, I to glorious fame will spring 1*'
(Brown Dermid cry'd) '* or die; ^' Mine be to meet yon stranger King, ^' His boasted arm to try ;
'' Strong though it be, it soon shall jieM, ** While in thy eaive I fight;
** Or 0oon these eyes, on yonder field, '' Shall close in endleai nighf
'' My Tifion now I call to mind!''
(The rtarting VaUan cry'd) '' I dream'd that with the Moori«h King, '« Alone the iSght I try'd:
$t
$€
At length, methonght, one lucky aim ** Stmck off his gloomy head ; And thence my aonl forebodes our fame, ^' And sees our glories spread 1*'
** Blest be your souls/ ye arms of wart
(The blooming Finn exclaimed) ^* M^ victory bear your triumpbs far, '' To distant nations fam'd f
'' But, my brare troops! your chief alone,
" Shall chief in danger be; ^' And Magnus shall be afl my own>
f ' liVbate'er the fates decree.
•2 nsRoic vosMf.
4t
€t
Strong though his arm, the war to wage, " I mean that arm to try ; Nor from his might, nor from his rage, <' ShaU Erin's chieftain fly."
Then, girding on each warlike blade. And glorying in their might.
Our martial host advanced, arrayM, And ardent for the fight.
Auspicious arms around us blaz'd, ' Each thigh its weapon graced ; And, on each manly shoulder rais'd, A spear of war is plac'd.
Each chief with ardent valour glows. To prove the faith he swore ;
And forth we march, to meet the foes Encamp'd upon the shore*
No mirth conducts the night along ;
No wax illumes our board : Nor saffron, banquet, wine or song.
The darksome hours afford*
nsftoic posHi. 63
At length we see grey morning rif*
Upon its earlj dew ; And the first dawn of eastern skies
Gives Lochlin's host to view*
Before us, on the crowded shore. Their gloomy standard rose.
And many a chief their navy bore^ And many princely foes.
And many a proud and bossy shield.
And coat of martial mail. And warlike arms of proof they wiel^
To guard, or to assaiL
And many a sword witii studs engrav'd.
In golden pomp was there; And many a silken standard wav'd
In splendid pride in air.
And many a chief in fi^t renown^d^
Finn of the banquets led. And many a helmet darkly frown'd
On many a valiant head«
M tmioic »oBMf.
And mmy a variike axe was tfaere^ To hew the ranlj of fight;
And many a glittering spear in ur Arose wiUi stately
And many a chief of martial fame. And prince of mighty sway.
All rang'd beneatfi our bamiers came That memorable day.
Bright waving from its staff, in air, CaU'grena Ugh was raised.
With gems that India's wealth declare. In radiant pomp it blaz'd«
The next in rank, and next in name, GauFs FuUlaingHorrigh xtm.
Attendant on its master's fame. And dreadful to his foes;
Oft, whUe the fidd of death he brav'd.
Triumphant in his might, High o'er the ranks its beanty wav'd.
And led the rage of fight 1
HBKOIO P0BM9. €5
At length we moy'd ; — ^then was the shock I
Then was the battle's roar ! Reechoing shouts from rock to rock
Resounding, shook the shore !
With tenfold might each nerve was strong ;
Each bosom glowed with flame ! Each chief exulting, forward sprui^.
And rush'd to promised fame I
The foe rccoiVd ! — fierce on we prest.
For freedom or for death I — Each arm to vengeance was addrest.
And victory gasped for breath.
Almost the bloody field was won, ' When through the ranks of fight. Dark Lochlin's king, and G>mhal's son, Rush'd forth, like flame, to sight.
Round on their falling hosts, their eyes With rage and grief they threw ;—
Then, swift as bolts from angry skies. They fierce to vengeance flew I
66 HBROIC POSMS.
ft
Each Chief, with the collected rage Of his whole host was fir'd ;
And dire was the suspence, O Sage I That dreadful sight inspired I
As when two sinewy sons of flame
At the dark anvil meet ; With thundering sound, and ceaseless aim
Their mighty hammers beat :
Such are the fierce contending kings I Such strokes their fury sends ;
Such thunder from their weapons rings. And sparkling flame ascends 1
Dire was the rending rage of fight. And arms that streain'd with gore ;
Until dark Lochlin's ebbing might Proclaimed the combat o'er.
Beneath the mighty Finn he lay. Bound on the blood-stain'd field ;
No more to boast his martial sway. Or hostile arms to wield.
Hskoic posm. 67
«
Thei^^ base of 0oul, bald G>nan spoke—*
'' Hold now the King of Spears^ '^ Till, with one just and vengeful stroke,
** I ease our future fears!**
*' Ungenerous chieftain that thou art ! **
( The hapless Magnus cry 'd ) '' With thee no mercy can have part ; '^ No honor can abide 1
" Not for thy favour e'er to call '' My soul shall I abase ;
'' Beneath a hero's arm I fall, '* Beneath a hero's grace/*
" Since then to me the glory fell " Thy valour to subdue,
^' My arm shall now thy foes repel, " Nor injure those who sue.
^' For thou thyself an hero art, ** Though Fortune on thee frown ;
'' Rise therefore free, and free depart, '* With uiiimpair'd tenown, .
68 HEUOIC POEM 9.
*' Or chuse, strong arm of powerful might!
'* Chuse^ Magnus, now thy course : ** With generous foes in peace unite,
" Or dare again'their force.
" Better our friendship to engage, " And be in peace ally*d,
" Than thus eternal warfare wage, '* Defying and defy'd/'
'' O never more my arm, through life, ** Against thee, Finn, shall rise I
*' O never such ungrateful strife " Shall Mehee's son devise !
«* And O! that on their hills of snow <' My youths had still remain'd,
'' Nor thus against a generous foe *^ Unprosperous war maintained !
'' Exulting in their conscious mighty " And glorying in their fame,
'* And gay with spoils of many a fight, '' And flu^h'd with hope they cJone \
HBKOIC 90SMf. ' 69
'* (Oflad revene! O fatal hour! ' " In mangl'd heaps to die ! ) *^ Too mighty Erin ! to thy power, " Pale vietimSy here they lie."
Thus was the mighty battle won
On Erin's sounding shore ; And thus, O Clerk ! great Comhal's son
The palm of yalour bore !
Alas ! far sweeter to my ear
The triumphs of tkat day. Than all the psahning songs I hear.
Where holy xealots piay..
Clerk, thou hast hewd me now recite
The tale of Lochlin's shame. From whose fierce deeds,andi vanquished might.
The battle took its name*
And by that hand, O blameless sage !
Hadst thou been on the shore. To see the war our chiefs could wage ;
The sway their prowess bore:—
70 HEROIC PO£MS.
From Laogare'6 sweetly flowing stream^ Had'st thou the combat Tiew'd^
The Femi then thy thoughts would deem^ With matchless force endued.
Thou hast my tale, — Tho' memory bleeds. And sorrow wastes my frame^
Still will I tell of former deeds. And live on former fame !
Now old, — ^the streams of life congeal'd.
Bereft of all my joys f No sword this withered hand can wield.
No spear my arm employs.
Among thy clerks, my last sad hour
Its weary scene prolongs; And psalms must now supply the pow'r
Of victory's lofty songs*
NOTES
ON THfi POEM OF MAGNUS TH£ GREAT.
Note I. Magnus the Great. — line 1. p. 51.
^Ki^'^tyi^Y is pronounced in the Irish, Manos; bot the name being a foreign one, i^ here purposely written according to the spelling of the original. The Irish names are, in general, f i?en in sach spelling as will conrey the sound of the original*
Note IL Once, while we chased the dark^brown deer. — rer. 17. p. 52.
- ^^ These hunting matches (says O'Conor) continued sererd ^^ days ; and, in some seasons, several months : at night they en. << camped in the woods, and reposed in booths, covered with the '' skins of the animals they hunted down." The chase was also, to them, ^^ a sort of military school, which rendered toil easy, ^* and annexed pleasure to the rudest fatigue. It gave them great *^ muscular strength, and great agility and firmness against the '^ screrity of the most rigorous seasons. It besides taught them ^ vigilance; skill in archery, and great patience under long ^' abstinence from food. They came out of the forest expert ^' soldiers; and.no nation could excel them in rapid marches, ^ quick retreats, and sudden sallies. By these means it was, ^^ that they so often baffled the armies of South-Britain, and the '^ Roman legions, united." O'Coxor's Dissertations, p. 57, 111« 3d edit.
Note III: Whom lovely Morna bore, — ver. 6. p. 53.
Moroa, or Mnime monchaolmh, (1. •• the beloved maid, with
73 NOTES ON THE
the gentle, or engaging wiles,) was the mother of Finn, and it was in right of her that he possessed his palace of Almhain* Vide Keating.
Note IV. Seven warlike bands to join us came. — ^ver. 7. p. 55.
These were the Fianna Eireanny the celebrated militia, so renowned in the annals of this country, and in the songs of her Bards. Dr. Warner giTes the Ibllowing account of that formidable body.
^^ The constant number<)f this standing army in times of peace, *^ when there were no disturbances at home, ihmt any want of ^^ their assistance to their allies abroad, were nine fliousand *' men, divided equally into three battalions. Bat in case of any ^^ apprehensions of a conspiracy, or rebellion against the mom *^ narch, or if there was any necessity for transporting a body *' of troops to Scotland, in order to defend their allies, the '^ Dalriada's, it was in the power of Finn, the generalissimo, to ^^ encrease his forces to seven battalions, of three thousand each, ^^ Every battalion was commanded by a Colonel; every hnodred ^^ men by a Captain; an officer, in the nature of a Lieutenant, *^ waa set over eierj fifty; and a Serjeant, resembling the De« ^^ curio of the ilomans, was at the head of every five and twenty* ^^ When they were drawn out for action, eyery hundred men ^^ were distributed iuto ten files, with ten (of course) in each; *^ and the leader of the file gave the word to the other nine. Aa *^ it was thought a great honour to be a member of this invin* ^^ cible body of troops, their General was very strict in insisting *^ on the qualifications necessary for admission into it.
^^ The parents (or near relations) of every candidate for the *^ militia, were to give security that they would not attempt to ^^ revenge his death, but leave it to his fellow<^oldlers to do him ^^ justice. He must have a poetical genius, and be well acquainted ^^ with the twelve books of poetry. He was to stand at the dis. ^^ tance of nine ridges of land, with only a stick, and a target; ^^ aud nine soldiers were to throw their javelins at him at once, ^^ from which he was to defend himself unhurt, or be rejected. ^^ He was to run through a wood, with his hair pl«it(;d| pursued
»OEM OF HACtNUS THB GRiCATr 73
^ Irjf a tompunj of the ttilitia, the breaidi ef a tree only being <^ allowed between tbem at letting out, withoat being oTertakeD, ^ or kit hair falling loose aboat bin. He was to leapover a tree^ ^ as high as his forehead ; and euilf stoop under another that ^ was as low as bis knee. These qualifications being proyed, ho << was then to take an oath of allegiaaoe to tko King^ and of ^' idelity to Finn, his commander io chief.
^^ The reader will judge of the propriety of most of these qua* ^ lifications; but this Was not efery thing Uiat was required^ in ^ order for adnissioii into this illastrioiu corps. . Ererj soldier, ^ iMfore be was enrolled, was obliged to subscribe to the follow- ^ ing articles. That, if eyer he was disposed (o marry; he would «( not conform to tkQ mercenary castom of requiring a portion *^ with his wife; but, withoat regard to iier fortune, he would ^^ diuse a woman for her virtue, and courteous manners. That ^ he would oefer ofkr Tiolence to any woman. That he would '* be charitable to the poor, as far as his abilities would permit. *^ And that he would not turn his back, nor refuse to fight with '^ ten men of any other nation^
^^ In the times of peace, they were required to defend the in* *^ habitants against the attempts of thieres and robbers; to quell ^ riota and insurrections; to levy fines, and secttre estates that ^ were forfeited for the use of the crown ; in short, to suppress ^ all seditions and traitorous practices in the beginning; and ^ to appear under arms, when any breach of faith required it. ^ They had no subsistence money from the monarchs but during ^^ the winter half year, when tfaey were billetted upon the coun. ^^ try, and dispersed in quarters. During the other part of the *^ year, from tiie fit«k of May to November, they were encamped ^ about the fields, and were obliged to fish and hunt for their ^ support. This was not only a great ease to the monarch and ^ bis subjects, but it inured the troops to fatigue, preserved ^ tiiem in health and vigour, and accustomed them to lie abroad I ^ in the field: and in a country which abounded so much with
^^ venison, fish, and fowl, as Ireland did, it was no other hard- ^^ ship than what was proper to the lifoof soldiers, to be obliged ^ to draw tlMtr subsistence in the summer season from these *< articles. ^* They made but one meal in the four and twenty hours,
\ u
74 NOTES ON THE
^^ which was always in the eTeuiog; and besides the commofi ^^ method of roasting their meat before the fire, they had aoo* ^^ ther very remarkable, and which they seem most to hare ^^ practised. The places which they chose to encamp in, were ^' always in the neighboarhood of water, where great fires were *^ made, in order to heat ^ome large stones, for soddening of *^ their meat ; here large pits were dug, into which they threw a ^^ layer of stones, when they were hot, and then a layer of flesh, '^ covered up in sedges or rushes; then another course of stones, ^^ and another of flesh, till the pit if as full, or their quantity of '^ meat was finished. While their food was stewing in this man. *^ ner, they washed their heads, necks, &c. till they had cleansed ^^ themselves from the dust and sweat, occasioned by hunting; ^' and this contributed as much to take off* their fatigue as it did '< to promote their health and cleanliness. When they were ^^ dressed, and their meat was ready, they uncovered the pits, ^^ and ^took out their food, of which they eat large quantities *^ with great chearfulness and sociability.
^^ If their exercise led them, as it often did, to top great a ^' distance to return to the camp, as soon as dinner was ended }' they erected little temporary tents or booths, in which their ^' beds were laid out, and constructed with great exactness. ^^ Next the ground were placed the small branches of trees, upon ^^ which was strewed a large quantity of moss, and over all :were ^^ laid bundles of rushes, which made a very commodious lodg. ^^ ing, and which, in the old manuscripts, are called, ^ The Three ^^ Beds of the Irish Militia.' The marks of their fires continue ^^ deep in the earth, in many parts of the island, to this day; *^ and when the husbandman turns up the black burnt clay with ^^ his plow, he immediately knows the occasion of it ; and even ^^ now that soil is chilled by the name of ' FuUacht Finn.' The ^^ militia were as mnch under -discipline, when encamped thus '^ in the summer, as when they were at quarters, and they were /^ at stated times obliged to perform their military exercise. AC Besides these regulations for the army, the celebrated Finn, ^^ who was as great a philosopher as a general, drew up several ^^ axioms of jnrispmdence, which were incorporated into the 'c celestial judgments of the state.'^ Warner's Hist, of Irelandy p. 289.
POSM OF MAGNUS THE GREAT. 75
Note V. Conan of the froward mind, — rer. 17. p. 53.
Conao, wbereTer he is mentioned, or whereTer he appears, always bears the same character for insolent perverseness : but, like Homer^s Thersites, he was endared; and probably for the same reason.
Note Vr. « O chief of Erin's baiVling host!
^^ 9Vhom should ^on navy bring? — '^ Haply some Prince^ or heroes boast j
^^ To match our wond'rons King ! ^
^' Let Fergus, peaceful Bard, advance
^^ To meet their haughty lord; ^^ He, with accustomed art, perchance
** ITie threatened blow may frarcf." — ^rer. 1, &c. p. 54.
III the translation of this passage, more is giyen than is abso. lately expressed in the original, but not more than is implied: the words of Conan here are Tery few ; — he only says, ^^ Who, << O mighty Finn of battles! who should there be but some great '^ chief, or prince, coming against thee ? — let Fergus then, with '* his consummate art, go aud meet him ; he is accustomed to ^* such errands." From the epithet perverse, or froward, being bestowed on Conan, immediately before; and from the angry reply of the usually gentle Fergus, I collected the full force of the intended irony, And understood wliate?er my traiislation has added.
Note vrr.
Loud sounds his martial voice afar* — jer. 10. p. 54,
*^ With us (says Mr. Walker) as with the ancient Greeks, '^ (Iliad, l^. T.) before the use of trumpets was known in our ^^ armies, it was the business of those Herald-bards, (who h^d *^ Stentoric lungs,) to sound with the Toice the alarm, and call " the squadrons together."— ffw^. Mem, of Irish Bards,
76 irOTEf OH THE
A lond and welUtooed Toice was, indeed, peculiarly necessaiy to the Bard; since, without it, it was imposMbie^ that the ani. mated ezhortatioiis of his TlOf^^ ^^^"^ could be heard, amidst the din of arsis*
Note VIIL ^^ Mac^Mehee^ of the crimson shields.-^rer^ 5. p» 55.
The shields of the Danes were usually coloured crimson. We find in Holinbhed's Chronicle, where he describes tlie army led by Hasonlphus against Dublin, in the reign ol Henry II, that ^^ their shields, bucklers and targets, were round, and coloured ^' re4y and bound with iron." Perhaps, howerer, it is only in a figuratiTe sense, that the red shield is here mentioned by the poet, as having been often dyed in the blood of the enttny; it is in this sense, that we frequently read of the r^d epear^ the red fa?orJ,.&c.
Note IX. ««-*<- Whose navtf*s speckled prtde.T^ier* 15. p. M.
Breacj speckled. — I hitre nothing but conjecture to oier upon this epithet; and must leare it to those who are better Tersed in Northern antiquities, to determine wliat kind and degree of ornament is here meant.
NoleX. — ^ " Js the meed of conqisesi 90fi, *^ his spouse and dog to gain.'^yer. 10, ftc. p. 55*
It is not certain, whether such a demand as that of '^ the spouse and dog" was usual, upon similar occasions, amongst the ScandtnaTtans, or Celtic nations. Among the Asialici and other ancients, it was the custom to demand ^^ earth and water,'* as a token of submission* The <^ spouse and dog" are here in. sisted on, evidently In the same sense; and periiaps it vaa tht practice of the Northerns to do so.
VOSM OF MAftirUt Tm GREAT. 77
Note XL ^ Hi$ Brati^ whose Jleetftess mockuhe mind.^^iet. 1. p. 60.
TUs Bran if modi celebrated io many of the Finian tales and poeoiy for fidelity and extraordinary endowments.
Note XII. •-— * LocUimU bhod ofpHde^ — rer. 10. p. 56.
LochUn is the Gaelic name for ScandinaTia in general.
Note XIII. HU mittdf Uke the unchanging suny SHU beaming in hi^face. — ^rer. 1 1. p. 57.
The reader's attention is parttcalarly called to the pecniiat beauty of this image, and indeed of the whole preceding passage. How exquisitely it the charactercifFergas supported! He greets the enemy with courtesy: he is answered with insolence; yet still retains the same equal temper, for which he is every where distinguislied. We see his spirit rise, but it is with something more noble than resentment; for his reply to Magnus breathes aU the calmness of philosophy, as well as the energy of the patriot, and the dignity of the hero.
Note XIV. . '' Soon hie twelve Judges^ iribe^-^jer, 5. p. 60.
In the original, CtAt)t) At) t>A COW^iple^C 66^4^. (Tribe oi die twelre Counsellors or Ju^es.) ^^ Odin, the con- *^ queror of tiie North, established in Sweden a supreme court, ^ composed of twelre mem1>er8, (o assist him in the functions ^* of the priesthood, and ctrii gofemment. This, doubtless, gare ^ rise to what was afterwards called the senate; and the same "> ^* establishment, in like manner, toolc place in Denmark, Nor. ** way, and other Northern states. These senators decided, in ^* the last appeal, all differences of importance; they were, if I ^^ may so say, the assessors of the prince; and were in number
78 NOTE* ON THB
*' twelre, as we are expressly informed by Saio, in his Life of ^^ King Regner Jjodbrog. Nor are there other monnments ^' wanting, which abundantly confirm this truth. We find iu '^ Zealand, in Sweden, near Upsal, and, (if I am not mistaken) ^ in the coanty of Cornwalh also, large stones, to tlie amount of *^ twelve, ranged in the form of a circle, and, in the midst of *^ them, one of superior heighth. Such, in those rude ages, was ^^ the hall of audience ; the stones that formed the circumference '* were the seats of the senators; that in the middle was the ^^ throne of the Kingt" Mallet's Northern Antiquities^ p. 44^ note *• •
Note XV. Maclutfa — ^ver. 9. p. 60 — written Mac Luigheacli,
Note^XVI- Brown Dermid crtf^d. — ver. 18. p. 60.
For an account of Dem&id, see notes on 71ke Ckoie,
Note XVII. Fallan — ver. 6. p. 61^-written Fcelan.
Note XVIII. ** / dreamed that with the Moorish King. — ^rer. 7. p. 61.
Tll5 ^1t^ ^^ t^t^e^tt' tlJOttttl — « The King of the ^' country of the Moors;" literally, the King of the country of the blue men. This seems a strange passage, and I must con. fess myself unable to conjecture whence it could ha^e taken rise, or what connection there could hare been between the Irish and the Moors.
Note XIX. " Blest be your soulsy ye arms of wart — ^ver. 13. p. 6t.
IIow natural and how beautiful is this burst of feeling! We see the affections of Finn exult still more in the attachment of his heroes, than his pride does in their prowess.
POEM or MAGNUS THX GREAT* 79
Note XX. •* Nor from his mighi^ nor from his rage^
" ShM EHn's chUftainfty.—yeT, 3, &c- p. 62.
There is not one of the heroes who speaks with so much mo. desty as Finn, the greatest of them all. The rest promise, with confidence, a certain success to their Talonr; he alone speaks witliout a boast, and is modest, though determined.
■
Note XXr. . Auspicious arms around us blazed, — ^rer. 9. p. 62.
The ptgan Irish had a custom, which was introduced by the Ttta)tha.de>Danans, of using charms, to enchant their weapons, preyions to their going to battle; but perhaps, by the word auspicious^ the poet only means, that their weapons had been tried and victorious in fight.
Note XXir. Nor saffron^ banquet^ wine or song. — ^rer. 19. p. 62.
I cannot conjecture the reason why saffron is here intro- duced, and must ther^ore dismiss the passage without any thing more than a faithful adherence to my original*
Note XXII (. And man^ a proud and bossy shield^ And coai cf martial mail. — ver. 9. &c. p. 63.
We here see a marked difference between the arms and ap- pearance of either host. The troops of Magnus are covered with steel; but w« meet with bo coais of mail amongst the chiefs of the Fenii.
^^ It should seem (says Mr. Walker) that body armour of ^^ any kind was unknown to the Irish previous to the tenth cen- ^^ tnry,a8 we find King Muirkertach, in that century, obtaining '^ the ascititious name of Muirkertach na geochall croceann^ for ^^ so obvious an invention as tjiat of the leathern jacket. Yet
80 KOTES OX THB
*^ coats of mail are mentioned in tbe Brehon laws, and (be word ^^ mail Is supposed to be derifed from mala in Irisb. Thongh '^ tbe poets* of the middle ages describe tbe beroes of Oisin, aa ^^ shining in polished steel, no relic of that kind of armonr has ^^ escaped the wreck of time in Ireland ; nor has there eren a ^ specimen of the brass armonr^ in which it is said tiie Danes so << often met the Irish, fallen noder my obsenralion* Snitfa hu ^ deed tdls ns, that corselets of pure gold were discorrered on ^^the lands of Clonties, In the county of Kerry ;f bat tbestf ^^ might hare been left there bj the Spaniards, who had a forti» ^^ fication, called Fort del Or^ adjoining those lands.
^^ That the bodies of Irishmen should hare been totaliy de« ^^ fenceless with respect to armoar, daring their sereral bloody ^ contests with the Danes, I am neither prepared to «dnttt nor *< deny ; bnt I confess myself inclined to think, that their In- *^ flexible attachment to their ciril dress wonld not yield to the ^ fashion of the martial garb of their enemies, thoogli it gare ^^ those people an evident advantage over them in the field of ^^ battle. It is however certain, that the English did not find ^< them cased in armour.*'^ HUi.EspayontheDresi and Armour of the Itiih^ p. 100.
Note XXIV. And man^ a tword with itudi engraved
In golden pomp was there; And-many a silken standard wav^d
Its splendid pride in air. — ver. 13, &c. p. 63*
I am not certain wbetlier these four lines relate to (he troops of Magnus, or those of Finn, and have therefore purposely given to the translation, the same ambiguity wbieh is ibund in the odglnai. It is, however, most probaUe, that the poot hero opeaks of the Feoii, because the two lines from which tbis verse is translated begin a stanza in the original, and in die third
* Tbe peet before m if, however, (ai well'as many othen,) aa cieeplioa.
f NaL and Go. UUt, ofMerry^ p. 107. One of these condels was pq^ chawd by Mr. 0*Hallor4v, the gold of which was io dactile^ at !• roU ap like |»per. ItUrod, to Hist, of Ireland^ p. 910«
t Vide Srmrcsa*s SiaU pflftUmiU
POEM OF MA0X1T9 THS dREAT. 8}
line) ^' Finn of the banquett" comes in. HoweTer, ^^ Golden. '^ hilted 'swords hare been found in great abundance in this ^^ kingdom; and we are told, in the Life of St. Bridget, that ^' the King of Leinster presented to Dubtachus, her father, a ^^ sword ornamented with many costly jewels, which the pious '* Tirgin parloined from Dubtachus, and sold for the charitable *< purpose of relieving the necessities of the poor." Hisi^ Esio^ Qtt the Dress and Armour of the Irish^ p. 1 18,
Note XXV. And manjf a hebnet darkly frotDh*d,'^Yer, 19. p. 63.
At what period helmets ^ere first worn in Ireland, is a matter of mere conjecture. That they were in use, previous to the tenth centttiy, is certain, from some coins, discovered in the Queen's county, in the year 1786; (Trans, of the Royal Irish Acad. 1787. See also Bimom's ^ssay on Irish Coins.) But how much earlier, or of what icind of metal they were formed, I have never been able to discover. Mr. Wai^ker's Memoirs of our ancient armour, give an account of ^ golden helmet, which was found in the county of Tipperary ; it is described as resembling in form a huntsman^s cap, with the leaf in front divided equally, and elevated, and the scull encompassed with a ribband of gold crimped. Golden helmets are sometimes, but seldom, mentioned in the Irish poems which iiave fallen under my observation ; but with helmets of some sort^ all their warriors are armed. Ciogad in general they are called, but hardly ever described; and when they are, it is in such figun^tive language, that one can neither determine on the form, nor the ipaterial of which they are com- posed. ^^ The strong helmet,'' and ^^ The darlufroifning heU met," are the most common; but sometimes we meet with '^ The golden helmet," ^^ The helmet enwreathed with gold," and *^ The helmet blazing with gems of the East." These latter are in general described as a part of the armour of foreigners, not of Irish.
83 V0Tfi6 ON THB
Note XXVL And many a warlike axe was there — rer. 1. p. 64. *
The Irish were particularlj expert in the nse of the T^tl^']^ C^ZA, or battle.a](e. Cambrensis, in speaking of this dread* ful weapon, as wielded bj our countrymen, says, ^^ They make ^^ use of but one hand to the axe, when they strike, and extend ^* their thumb along the handle, to guide the blow, from which '^ neither the crested helmet can defend the head, nor the iron '^ folds of the armour, the body ; whence it has happened, in <^ our time, that the whole thigh of a soldier, though cased in ^^ well.tempered armour, hath been lopped off by a single blow ^^ of the axe; the whole limb falling on one side of the horsey ^' and the expiring body on the other.'?
»
Note XXVII. And many a glittering spear — ^?er. 3. p. 04.
«
A great number, and a variety of spear.heads hare been found. In different parts of this kingdom. The Collectanea-^ Rebu9 Hibernicis has furnished drawings of seieral, and sereral mor* are given in Mr. Walker's Memoir on the Armour of the IrisK
Stanihurst has described the dexterous manner in which the Irish use the spear or lance. ^^ They grasp (says he) about the '^ middle, heavy spears, which they do not hold pendant at their '^ sides, under their arms, but hurl with all their strength over '^ their heads." In spight of the incommodious length of these weapons, Harris tells us, that the Irish usually cast them with such might, as no Haubergeon or coat of mail were proof againif their force, but were pierced through on both sides. Hibern* p.59.
The helmet, the sword, the axe, and the spear, are the only arms with which the poet before us has furnished the Irish troops,* though to the enemy he -has given coats of mail, and yhields; and this circumstance so far confirms the most correct ideas that we have been enabled to form of the ariQS of oar an. cient countrymen. This, however, does not invalidate the antho^
* Even the- target is not mentioned ; bat this appears only an omtsBion d£
the poet, for it is certain that it was uDUersally in use amongst the aotieot Irish. •?....
PO^M OF MAGNUS THE GBSAf. 80
Htj and antiqnitj of other poems, in which we find some of the most distingniBhed chiefs of the Fenii possessed of shields; not the wicker target, but of metal, and sometimes embossed with gold. These, we maj rerj well suppose, were trophies borne away from ? anqoished enemies, and therefore, though we should find them still more frequently mentioned, it would not be tt matter of wonder*
Note XXVIII.
> •
Andman^ a chief of martial fame-^yer. 5* p. 64*
The repetition of the word man^ is exactly literal ; it had anf admirable effect in the original, and, I thought, also, appeared well in an English drefs;
Note XXIX. ' 6all.grena high wus raised, — ^rer. 10. p. 04.
Hie blazing iun* — ^This was the celebrated standard of the Finian general.
Note fViih gems that Indians wealth declare. — Ter. 11. p. 64*
The words in the original are dlOCUjB Ztfie ^VOtP^ L e. precious stones from the coontiy of the east.
Note XXXI. Gauti Fnllfltng^torrigh rof^.-— rer, 14. p. 64.
The standard of the tribe of Momi.
Note XXXII. Beneath the mighty Finn he lay^ Bvundon the bloodstained field ^ — ^rer. 16. p. 66^
From this, and many similar passages, it appears that our ancient countrymen, in their martial contests, thirsted rather for honor than for blood. In the heat and confusion of a mixed
64 " KOtES, JBTC.
engagement, numbers were necessarily slaugbtered ; but, where, ever mercy could be shown, we find, that the conqueror spared the life of even his bitterest enemy, and was content with the honor of laying him ^^ bound on the field.'*
Note XXXIII. " For thou thyself an hero art^ — rer. 13. p. 67.
The ancient Ijrish ha?e been repeatedly stigmatised with the name of Barbarians, liieir souls, their manners, and their language, were thought alike incapable of any degree of define, ment. The reader will easily judge how little oT the marks of barbarism appear in the passage lM*fdre us; yet this |)ocm has been the faTOurite of many centuries ; and its antiquity has never been questioned, though the date cannot be exactly ascertained. Here, however, it may be urged, that we do not contend for its being of prior date to the middle ages. Does this then invali* date the proof? and were we less barbarians, when torn with civil broils, and foreign invasions, thair when we were a coo. quering and flourishing people ?
Note XXXIV. From Laogare^s iweeily Jlozcing stream^ — ver. 1. p. 70.
In hopes of being able to ascertain the scene of (his battle, I have endeavoured to find which of our rivers was anciently called by the name of Laogare^s Stream^ but in ?ain. I can discover nothing more of it than what the poem points out, that it is near to and within sight of the sea.
Note XXXV. ifow old^ — the stream of life congeaVd^
Bereft of all my joys. No sword this withered hand can wield,
No spear my arm employs, — ver. 9, &c. p. 70.
How beautifully pathetic is the close of this poem! Surely every reader of sensibility must sympattiise with a sityatiou so melancholy, and so very feelingly described t
III.
t!i:i)e C|)ade;
A
POEM.
ivni^
ADVERTISEMENT,
MY curiosiiy respecting the Poem of The Chasty was first awakened by a Ipng extract from it, which I saw in Mr. Walkbb^s Memoirs of the Irish Bards. I accord- ingly wrote to that Gentleman, to request an entire copy of it, and also his opinion respecting the age in which it was composed; together with any anecdotes upon the subject, which his knowledge of Irish antiquities might enable him to afford me. To this request I received an answer, from which I have obtained Mr* Walker^s per- mission to give the following extract, as an introduction to the Poem.
f < I am happy to find that my work has been the means ^< of introducing the Poem of The Chase to your notice. ^< It is indeed eminently deserving of the judgment you << have passed upon it. The story is extremely interest- ^< ing, and admirably well conducted ; and for brilliancy ^^ of fancy, and powers of description, we may almost f^ rank the author with Ariosto himself.
*f I am sorry I cannot afford you all the information I ^^ could wish, upon the subject of this beautiful Poem : f < indeed I have little more to offer than vague conjecture.
^' The legend, which either gave rise iOy or was taken f < firom the Poem of The Chesty is frequently alluded io^
88 ADVERTISEMENT-
<^ in many of tbe written, as well as traditional tales of. <^ the Irish; It is also ingeniously inferwoven with the « romance of 1p&)Y Clje C^D^lt). Of its antiquity I << cannot speak with any certainty; all roy enquiries << concerning the author, and the age in which it was << written, have been unsuccessful. Nor can we give it <^ (at least in its present dress,) either to Oisin, or to any <^ other poet of the age in which he lived. The marks of *^ a classical hand appear frequently throughout the << whole; and tlie mention of beUs ako seem to bring it <^ forward to more modern times; so that! fear we should ^* risk an error in ascribing it to any period earlier tlian ^^ the middle ages*
<^ I have never had an opportunity of visiting the scene <^ of this Poem, though I often saw Slieve Guilletty at some <^ distance, as I travelled through the county of Armagh* <^ But a friend, whose business often Itods him to' that •<< mountain, drew up, at my request, the following d^ ^^ scription of it, in which you Will find meiltion Of the ^^ lake where the poet tells i|s the gallant Finn paid so <^ dearly for his complaisance, when he sought, the En- << cbantress'^^ ring ; and also of the cave whence she issued, ^^ when pressed by the Finian heroes to restore their be- *^ loved chief to his pristine form/'
^ I am tenant to a lady for Slieve Guillen^ (says my ^ correspondent,) and often visit it, during the summer,
< to see my cattle. In July last (1788) I went over the
< extent of this mountain : from bottom to top it is reck- ^ oned two miles. On the summit there is a large heap of
< stones, which is called Cailleacii Birrn^s House: ia
ADVERTISEMENT. 89
which it is said that linn Mac Cumhal lies buried; and, at an hundred paces distance, on nearly the same level, there is a circular lake, the diameter of which is about one hundred feet; and is about twenty deep. On one side of this lake, another heap of stones is piled ; and round it, at all seasons, is a beaten path, leading to the Old Ltody^s^ or WitcVs House. Lately, some pea* sants, expecting to find out this old woman, (who, how- ever, has at no time thought proper to appear,) threw down her house, and came io a large cave, about twenty feet long, ten broad, and five deep, covered with large flags, in which either the dame or money was expected, but only a few human bones were found. From the summit of this' mountain, if the day happens to be clear, you command an extensive prospect of Lough-Neagh^ and all the circumjacent country/ Mr. JFalkery after this description of the mountain by his friend, adds his regret, that he was not possessed of a complete copy of The Chase; but I afterwards procured one from Maurice Gormany of this city, (a professor of the Irish language,) and from that copy I have made my translation.
The CHASE:
A POEM.
6isiN« St. Patrick^
dmi^.O SONofGalphniin!— wj^edmnet Soft voice of heavenly song/' Whose notes around the hd j shrine Sweet melody prolong ;
Did e'er my tale thy curious ear And fond attention draw.
The story of that Chase to hear^ Which my fam'd father saw ?
The Chase/ which dngly o'er the pldtn^ The hero's steps pursu'd i
Nor one of all his valiant train Its wond'rous progress view'd«
92 HEROIC P0EM9*
St. p. O royal bard, to valour dear.
Whom fame and wisdom grace^ It never was my chance to hear That memorable Chase.
But let me now, O bard, prevail !
Now let the song ascend ; And, thro' the wonders of the tale.
May* truth thy words attend !
X)isiN. O Patrick! — ^to the Finian race A falsehood was unknown; No lie, no imputation base
On our clear fame was thrown ;
But by firm truths and manly might
That fame established grew. Where oft, in honorable fight,
_ •
Our foes before us flew.
Not thy own clerks, whose holy feet The sacred pavement trod,
With thee to hymn, in concert sweet. The praises of thy God ;
HEROIC POfiM8« 93
Not thy own clerks in truth excelled
The heroes of our line. By honor train'd, by fame impell'd
In glory's fields to shine 1
O Patrick o^ the placid mien.
And voice of sweetest sound ! Of all thy church's walls contain
Within their hallow'd round,
Not one more faithful didst thou know
Than ComhaPs noble son. The chief who gloried to bestow
The prize the bards had won !
Were Momi's valiant son alive, (Now in the deedless grave,) O could my wish from death revive The generous and the brave 1
Or Mac-O'Dhuivne, graceful form,
Joy of the female sight ; The hero who would breast the storm
And dare the unequal fi^^ht.
94 HSROIC POBMf.
Or he inrhose sword fhe ranks defy'd, Mac-Garra, conquest^s boast^
Whose valour would a war decide. His single arm an host.
Or could Mac-Ronan now appear.
In all his manly charms ; Or — Oh my Osgur I wert thou here^
To fijl my ag'ed arms !
Not then, as now, should C^phruin's son.
His sermons here prolong ; With bells, and psahns, the land o'er-ran^
And hum his holy song !
If Fergus liv'd, again to sing.
As erst, the Fenii's fame ; Or Daire, who sweetly touched the strmg.
And thrill'd the feeling frame ;
Your bells, for me, might sound in yain^
Did Hugh the little, live ; Or Fallan's generous worth remain^
The ceaseless boon to give ;
HX&OIC P0EBC8. 95
Or Conan bald, tho' oft his tongue To rage provok'd my breast;
Or Finn's smaU dwarf, whose magic song Oft lull'd the ranks to rest.
Sweeter to me their voice would seem Than thy psalm-singing train ;
And pobler far their lofty theme. Than that thy clerks maintain I
St.P. Cease thy vain thoughts, and fruitless boasts ; Can death thy chiefs restore Son of the King of mighty hosts, sir gbries are no more.
Confide in him whose high decree O'er-rules all eartiily power;
And bend to him thy humble kneey To him devote thy hour;
And let tiby contrite prayer be made To him who rules above;
«
Entreat for his almighty aid^ for his protecting love !
96 HEROIC POEM9.
Tho* (with thy perverse will at strife,) Thou deem'st it strange to say.
He gave thy mighty father life. And took that life away.
OisiN. Alas ! thy words s^d import bear. And grating sounds impart ; They come with torture to mine ear> And anguish to my heart I
Not for tlitf God these torrents spring. That drain their weeping source, ^ -*
But that my Father, and my Now lies a lifeless corse !
Too much I have already done. Thy Godhead's smile to gain;
That thus each^ wonted joy I shun. And with thy clerks remain !
The royal robe, the social board, Musick and mirth are o'er.
And the dear art I once ador'd I now enjoy no more ;
HCROIC POBMS. VJ
For now no bards, from Ouin'a hand.
The wonted gift receive; Nor hounds, nor horn I now command.
Nor martial feats atchievel
0 Innisfail! thy Oisin goes
To guard thy ports no more; To pay with death the foreign foes Who dare insult thy diore 1
1 speak not of the fast severe
Thy rigid faith has taught; Compared with all the rest I bear. It is not worth a thought
St.P. OlOisinofthe mighty deed! Thy folly I deplore; O I cease thy frenzy thus to feed. And give the subject o'w.
Nor Finn, nor all the Finian race. Can with his power compare,
Who to yon orbs assigns their place. And rules Hxe reahns of air !
98 HEROIC POEMS*
For man yon azure yanlt he spread^ And clothes the flow'ry phuns ;
On every tree soft fragrance sheds^ And blooming fruit ordains !
'Tis he who gives the peopled stream.
Replete with. life to flow; "Who gives the Moon's resplendant beam.
And Sun's meridian glow I
Would^st thou thy puny King compare
To that Almighty haad. Which form'd fair earth, and ambient air.
And bade their powers expand ?
OisiN. It was not on a fruit or flower My King his care bestow'd ; He better knew to shew his power In honoris glorious road.
To load with death the hostile field ;
In bloody his might proclaim ; Our land with wide protection shield.
And wing to heaven his fame L
HKROIC P01BMS. 99
In peace» his tranquil hours to bless.
Beneath soft beauty's eye ; Or on the chequered field of chess«
The mimic fight to try ;
Or Sylvan sports, that well beseem
The martial aqid the brave ; Or, plunged amid the rapid stream.
His manly limbs to laye.
But, when the rage of battle bled !
Then — ^ihen his might appeared.
And o'er red heaps of hostile dead
Ss conquering standard rear'd !
■«■
Wliere was thy God, on that sad day.
When, e'er leme^s wave. Two heroes plough'd the wat'ry way.
Their beauteous fme to save ? ,
Frcon Lochlin's King of Ships^ his bride.
His lovely Queen they bore. Through wbom unnumber'd warriors dy'd.
And bath'd ii> blood our shore^
100 HEROIC POCMS.
Or oa that day, when TaUk's proud mi^ht
Invaded Erin's coast ; Where was thy Godhead in that fight»
And where thy empty boast?
While round the bravest Fenii bied>
No help did he bestow; 'Twas Osgur's arm avenged the dead.
And gave the glorious blow !
Where was thy God, when Magnus camel Magnus the brave^ and great;
The man of might, the man of fame. Whose threatening voice was fate I
Thy Godhead did not aid us then; —
If such a God there be. He should have favoured gallant meiii
As great and good as he{
Fierce Anninir's wide-wasting son, AUean, of dreadful fame,
W|)o Tamor's treasures oft had wcq. And wrapt her walls 'm flame ;
HSROIC POEMS. 101
Not by thy God, in Angle fight.
The deathful hero fell; But by Fhm^B arm, whose matchless might
Could ev'ry force repel !
In ey'ry mouth his fame we meet. Well known, and well beliey'd; —
I haye not heard of any feat Thy cloudy King atchiey'd.
St. p. Drop we our speech on either side. Thou bald and senseless fool I In torments all thy race abide, lYhile God in heayen shall rule.
QisiN. If God then rules, why is the chief Of ComhalV gen'rous race To fiends condgn'd, without relief
dee, or from grace ?
lYhen, were thy God himself confined, *My King, of mUd renown.
Would quickly all his chains unbind. And giyehim back his crown^
102 HEROIC POEMS.
For never did his generous breast
Reject the feeling glow; Refuse to succour the distrest.
Or slight the captive's woe.
His ransom loos^'d the prisoner's chains. And broke the dire decree;
Or, vriih his hosts, on glory's plainsit He fought to. set them free I
O Patrick ! were I senseless grown* Thy holy clerks should bleed>
Nor one be spar'd, to pour his moan Q'er the avenging deed !
Nor books, nor crosiers dxonld be found.
Nor ever more a bell. Within thy holy walls should sound.
Where prayers and zealots dwell.
St. p. O Oisin,^ of the royal race ! The actions of thy sire. The king of smiles, and courteous grace, I, with the world, admirer
HS&blO P0SM9. 108
Thy story fherefore I await.
And thy late promise claim. The Chase's wonders to relate, ,.
And^give the tale to fame«
OisiN. O Patrick! tho' my sorrowing heart Its fond remembrance rend, I will not from my word depart, Ebwe'er my tears descend!
Full joyous past the festive day
In Almhain's stately hall. Whose spears, with studded splendours gay,
nium'd the trophy 'd wall.
The feast was for the Fenii spread;
Their chiefs, assembled round. Heard the song rise to praise the dead.
And fed their souls with sound.
Or on the chequer'd fields of chess Their mimic troops bestowed;
Or round, to merit or distress. Their ample bounty flow'd.
104 HfiRoic Fdcrsisr.
At length, unnotic d of hitf train.
The Finian king arose. And forth he went where Alnihain'0 plain
With neighbouring yerdure glows.
There, while alone the hero chanced To breathe the fragrant gale,
A young and beauteous doe advanced. Swift bounding o'er the vale«
He call'd his fleet and faithful houndu. The doe's light steps to trace ;
Sgeolan and Bran obeyed the sounds;. And sprung upon the chase.
Unknown to us, no friend to aid.
Or to behold the deed; His dogs alone, and Luno's blade.
Companions of his speed.
Swift on to steep Slieye Guillin's foot.
The doe before him flew; But there, at once, she mockM pursuit.
And vanished from his yiewl
HfiROlC POSIfS* 105
He knew not whether east or west She part the mountain's bounds.
But east his random bourse he prest^ And west his eager hounds!
At length he stopped, — ^he looked around.
To see the doe appear; lYhen soft distress, with plaintive sound,
Aasail'd his gentle ear.
The fdaintiye sound, quick to his breast. With wonted influence sped ;
And on he followed in its quest. Till to Lough-Shieve it led.
There he beheld a weej^ng fair.
Upon a bank recUn'd, In whose fine form, and graceful air.
Was every charm combined.
On her soft cheek, with tender bloom^
The rose its tint bestow'd ; And in her richer lip's perfume.
The ripened berry glow'd*
p
106 iindic Foras*
Her «ie€k was as ibe bloaioiii Or Vkt tke cygnitt*B breast.
With tbat majestic, grac^iil air. In aiow and softness drest :
Gold gare its rich and rsi^ant die.
And in her tresKS Ikm^d; And like s firteMl^ :iiar, her eye
Yfiih MBmfmiit^ mmnflsttdimf glowU
'EhjmiS, O I%tffi«k^ hadirtlMi Men The ^immmamt'hit^imflky'd;
That tendev fem^ M^gneeAd mien, Thyedf kid :fof^<^*e iMJtl
The .'< Hast diott* sifrail maw? ef gtticn hair!
•Tf
BeMd ]»y iiiiiuiiiii.wi «te«r'
M
«<
VhjF cteve, e kiaig:» wat ikii my cut;
Far oiber llwiflfti aiy%eiMi than^ ** Tlw <bM«iiti, Oh* ef woe?"
tg
it
Is it the husband of thy yontfr^ . '' O fair-one^ that haa died? ' . Or has an infant pledge eftrtiA *' Been torn from thy safitaido?
^' WhUe^haaded monraar! speak tise grief
'' That eaniealiiydiatress; . '' Aad, ifiit will^vdnt leiie^
TlioiitM|iay^#l»aUwnarid i^edress."
4t
it#M»|WjP!i<.a#<>« t>to,,gwiwaits Jdfeg! <' ]|ii9vip<|dr.aHM^ haaaxtaons ring.
Her treimir^g^edortm, l/^^en^if^^ali.focm he diaanRay'd; ■And ^^aj!A jntt <hfi<larfm.
108 HEBOIC P0EM9.
At the white-handed jfair's request.
Five times the lake he try'd ; On ev'ry side his search addressed.
Till he the ring descry'd.
But when he sought the blooming mdid^
Her treasure to restore ; His powers were gone,— he scarce could wade
«
To reach the nearest shore !
That form where strength and beauty met.
To conquer, or engage, . Paid, premature, its mournful debt
To grey and palsied age.
While magic thus our king detained,
In hateful fetters bound; We in fair Almhain's halls remain'd '
And festal jpy went round.
The mirthful moments danc'd along
To music's charming lore; And, to the sons of lofty song.
Wealth pour'd her bounteous store I
BEEOIC POSMi. 109
Thus fled the hours, on heedless wing, •
From every care released; Nor thought we of our absent king.
Nor miss'd him from the feast :
Till Caoilte, struck with sudden dread. Rose in the Hall of Spears :
His words around strange panic spread. And wak'd misgiying fears !
'' Where is the noble Ccmhal's son, " Renown'd assembly! Say? —
** Or is our arm of conquest gone,— " Our glory passed away!".
We stood aghast. — Conan alone. The rash Mac Momi, spoke ;
'' O joyful tidings ! I shall groan '' No more beneath his yoke.
'* Swift CaoUte, of the mighty deed !
'' On this aus[acious day, " I, to his fame and power, succeed,
'' And take the sovereign sway."
no HEROIC ]POEBfS*
We laugh'd to scora hit senseless hsmt, Tho* with a grieving heart;
And AiinhaiA.saw oar numerous host. With headlong haste depart*
The yan myself and Caoilte led.
The ¥enii in the rear ; And on oar rapid march we sped.
But saw no king a]^ear.
We foUow'd^ where he led tiie chase. To steep Slie ve Guillih's foot ;
But there we could no further trace^ And stopped the vain pursuit.
North of the mount our march <we stayed.
Upon a verdant plain. Where conquest once our arms arrayed/
Tho' bought with heaps of slain !
Hope threw each eager eye around. And stiird attentbn's ear, —
In vain, — ^for neither sight or sound Of our lov'd chief was near.
asBoic i^XHs; III
Bttt, on the borders of a Iake>
A tall old mail we spy'd. Whose looks his wretched age bespake
To want and woe ally'd !
Bare wither'd bones^ and ghastly eyes.
His wrinkl'd form displayed; Palsy'd and pale^ he scarce cotdd rise.
From age and Mrength decayed*
We thought, perchance, that famine gave
That wan and wasted frame. Or that from far, adown the wave,
A fisherman he came.
We ask'd him, had he seen in chase. Two hounds that snuff 'd the gale.
And a bold Chief, of princely grace. Swift bounding o'er the vale«
The head of age in silence hung, Bow'd down with shame and wod.
Long e'er his hesitating tongue The cruel trudi could shew.
113 HEROI<$ POBMf/
At length, to Caoilte's faithful ear. The fatal change he told.
And gave our raging host to hear The dreadful tale unfold i
With horror struck, aghast and pale^ Three sudden shouts we gave.—
Afirighted badgers fled the vale. And trembling sought the cave !
But Conan glory'd in our grief;
Conan the bald, the base; He curs'd with rage the Finian chiefs
And all the Finian race.
O, were I sure, (he fiercely said) " Thou wert that heart of pride,
** Soon should this blade thy shaking head ** From thy old trunk divide !
" For never did thy envious mind
'' Bestow my valour's meed; " In secret has thy soul repined
r
*^ At each heroic deed*
Honoic POBvs. 113
^' Ijgnk^e not fmr thy stren^fh decayed, '' Shnml. fbrm^ and foul disgrace ;
'< But that I cannot wave my blade '* O'er all thy hated race.
'* Oh^ were they idl like thee thid day, '* My vengeance, as a flood,
** Should sweep my hated foes a-^ray^ 4< And bathe my steel in blood !
'^ Since Comhal of the Hosts i^s dain '* Upon the ensanguined field,
'' By Momi's son, who ne'er in vain '' Uprear'd his golden shield;
'' Since then, oiar dan in exile pine, *^ Excluded from thy nght;
" And the fam'd heroes of our line " But live in thy dcspight."
Caoiltb. ^^ Did not my soul too keenly diare
** In our great cause of woe, '' On aught like thee to waste its care, '^ Or any thought bestow ;
114 HfiBOlC POBMS*
ti
€€
Bald, senseless wretch 1 thy envy, soon ** This arm should make thee me ; And thy crush'd bones, thou basebufibon, ** Should bear thy folly's due!"
OsauR. ** Cease thy vain bab'ling, senseless fool ! ** Bald boaster, stain to arms, " Still forward to promote misrule, '' But shrink at war's alarms!"
Con AN. '' Cease thou, yain youth, nor think my soul " Can by thy speech be won, " Servile to stoop to the controul •* Of Oisin's beardless son.
^' Even Finn, who, head of all thy line> '' Can best their boasts become^
" What does he do, but daily dine, " Upon his mangFd thumb.
'' 'Twas not the sons of Boishne's clan, ** But Momi's gallant race,
^* That thunder'd in the warlike van, ^ And led the human chase.
HBROIC P0EM6. 113
^' Gimn, thU silken son of thine,
'' Who thus in words excels, '' Will learn of thee the psalming whine,
'' And bear white books and bells.
** Cease Os^r, cease thy foolish boast, '' Not words, but deeds decide ;
** Now then, before this warlike host, ** Now be our valour try'd J "
JlAj son high rais'd his threatening blade,
To give his fury sway; But the pale Conan shrunk dismayed.
And sprung willi fear away :
Amid the scoffing host he sprung.
To shun th' unequal strife ; To 'scape the forfeit of his tongue.
And save his worthless life.
Npr vainly did he importune ;
The host, as he desir'd. Engaged my son to give the boon
His cowardice required.
116 HSROIC P0ZM8.
Once^ twice, and thrice; to Erin's chief The sorrowings Caoilte spoke :
" O say, lov'd cause of all our grief! *' Whence came this cradl stroke?
'' What curs*d Tuothan^s direful chum '' Has dar'd that form defaee?
'' O ! who could thus thy force Asaim^ " And wither ev*ry grace V^
f' Guillen's fiEiir daughter, (Finn leply'd,.) '' The treacherous snare designed,
'* And sent me to yon magic tide, '' Her fatal ring to And/'
Conan who, penitent of tongue.
Would now his guilt reroke. Forward, with zeal impatient sprung^
And vengefiil ire beqpoke.
it
€€
May never from this hill (heeryM,) '' Our homeward steps depart. But GiiBlen dearly shall abide '* Her dark and treacherous art 1"
HBROIC JPOSMS. 117
Thep our stout ^elcU with tIiong8 we bounct
Our hapleis King to betitr ; WhUe. ff9^ fond phi^tiUA pressed aroimd«
The precuma weight to i^are.
North ^ the mounts to Guillen's cave.
The alter'd tfma we bore ; Determin'd all her art to brave.
And his lost powers restore.
Eight nights ^d days, without success.
We tore the lii^ng tomb. Until we ^erc*d the last recess
Of the deep cavern's glooin.
Then fordi the £ur Eachimtress came.
Swift issuing to the. light. The form of grace, the beauteous dune.
With ^^nns too great for sight.
A cup quite, full she treviUing b«re
To Erin's later'd chief. That could his pristine form restore^
And heal his peofile's
118 HHROIC POEMS.
He drank. — O joy 1 his fonner grace, Hb fonr e** powers retum'd;
Agam with beauty glow'd his face. His breast with valour bum'd.
Oh, when we saw his kindling eye With wonted lustre glow.
Not all the glories of thy sky Such transport could bestow !
The Hero of the Stately Steeds, From magic fetters free.
To Finian arms and martial deeds Thus — ^thus restored to see ! —
Scarce could our souls the joy sustain I Again three shouts we gave ;
Again the badgers fled the plain. And trembling sought the cave !
Now, Patrick of the scanty store.
And meager-making face ! Say, didst thou ever hear before
■
This memorable Qiase?
NOTES
ON THB POEM OF THE CHA89.
THERE are numberless Irish poems still extant, attributed to Oisin, and eit&er addressed to St. Patrick, or like this, co«« posed in the form of a dialogue between the Saint and the Poet* In all of them, the antiquary discovers traces t>f a later period than that in which Oisin flourished ; and most of them are sup« posed to be the compositions of the eighth, ninth and tenth ceu« tnries. But be they of what age they may, as productions abound- ing with numberless beauties, they plead for preservation, and recommend themselves to taste: and as (at the very latest period to which it is possible to ascribe them) they must certainly relate to an age of much antiquity, and reflect much light on manners, customs and events, that, in consequence of modem pyrrhonism, have been doubted to have ever existed, they surely have a high and serious claim to attention, and call equally upon the poet, the historian, and the publicspirited, to preserve these reliqnes of ancient genius amongst us! But Irishmen — all of them at least who would be thought to pride themselves in the name, 00 to reflect back any part of the honor they derive from it ; — they are parHcuhrly called upon, in favour of their country, to res- cue these little sparks from the ashes of her former glory.
Note I. Where ofty in honorable Jight. — ver. 15, p. 02.
The heroes of ancient Ireland we*e sworn never to attack an
• _
enemy at any disadvantage.— -0'Hali.oeav.
120 NOTES ONT THB
Note IL ne chief mho gloried to beriozo The prize the bards had wont — ^rer. It. &c. p. 99.
In all these poems, the character of Oisin is sainimitablj well svpported, that we lose the idea of any other bard, and are for a time persuaded it is Oisin himself who speaks. We do not seem to read a narration of eTents, wherein the writer was neu ther a witness, nor a partj i^^it is the Son^ — ^the Faihery*'-4he . Heroy^he Patriot^ who speaks ; who breathes his own passiomi and feelings on oar hearts, and compels our sympathy to accom^ pany all bis griefs; while, in a strain of natural and impassioned eloquence, he descants on the fame and virtues of a parent whom be describes as at once so amiable, and so great; and bewails the loss of aU his former friends, kindred, and companions, and laments his own forlorn and disconsolate state, in apostrophes that pierce the very soul of prty ! — Besides passages which occur in this, and the two poems of Magnus and Moira borb, the ttj^lUttfl Ojl^JT) ^yxy ^^t)titt15 exhibits a very pa. tbetic instance, where, lamenting the loss of his father and his celebrated Fenii, he exclaims, *^ To surrive them is my depth of *^ woe! the banquet and the song have now no charms for me! *' Wretched and oId,-^the poor solitary remnant of the FenIi? <^ Why, — O why am I yet alive? — Alas, O Patrick? grievous is ^ my state! — the last of all my race! — My heroes are gone! ^^ my strength is gone ! — Bells I now hear, for the songs of my '^ bards; and age, blindness and woe, are all that remain of « Oisin !»»
Note III. Were MornPt valiant son a/tre.— ver. IS. p. 93.
The celebrated Golf, or Gaul Mac Morni. He Is a farourite hero in most of the Fian tales; and is in general ranked next to Finn MacCumhal, and equal to Osgur, in point of prowess. Great as is Oisin's partiality in favour of the heroes of his own race, yet we find him, on all occasions, doing ample justice to the character and valour of a chief, who was not allied to hi»
POSM OF THB CHASB. 121
lily, and whose tribe had eren, at different times, been their tery bitterest enemies.
Note IV. Or Mac.O'Dhuione, graceful form^-^yer^ 17, p. 93.
Diarmad, or Dermot MacO'Dfaoivne. This hero was cele. brated for his extraordinafj beaoty, and the graces of Us form:-^bnt we find he was not less brave than beautiful.
Note V. MauGarra^ eonque$V$ boast* — ^v^r. 3. p. 04*
Possibly this was the Mac Garraidh Mac Momi, king of Connaught, mentioned in the War.Ode to Osgnr, at the battle of Gabhra. His ha?ing been, at that time, the enemy of the Fenii, would not be a reason sufficient to prevent the poet from making Oisin speak thus highly of him here;-«H>n the contrary, the Irish heroes were instructed, from their youth, to respect a brare enemy ; and made it a point of honor to speak of them in honorable terms* It is very seldom that an instance to the con. traiy occurs, as the attentive reader will perceive, through the whole course of these poems.
Note VI. Or could Mac^Ronan now i^^peor.-^ver. 5. p. 94*
*
Caoilte MacRonain ; he is a very distinguished chief amongst the Fenii, and a favourite with all their poets.
• Note VII. — -OA mg Osgurl^'-^Deri thou A«re.— ver. 7* p. M.
Psgnr, the son c^ Oisin, who was killed at the battle of Gabhra.
122 xoT£s ov wm
Note VIIL If Fergus Uv^dy again to ting. — fer. IS. p. 04.
Fergus, the brotlier of Oiflin, and-diief poet of the Fenii. See Dm. on the War-Ooe.
Note IX. Or Dairey who sweetly touched the string. — ver. 15. p. 94.
We find DOthing particQlar related of this Daire, further than bis skill in music. This enchaQting science, as well as peetrj, was cultiyated bj the chiefs of ancient Ireland.
Note X. Did Hugh the liMe^ /toe.— ^er. la p. M.
Hugh, or Aodh beag Mac-Finn.
Note XL . Or Palian*s generous worth reinotsi.— nrer. 19. p. 04.
We meet this hero again, in the poem of Mignvs.
Note XII. Or Conan bald.^~Yer* 1. p. 95.
For the (character of Couan, see the notes oa the preceding poem.
Note XIII. * Or Finn^s small dwarf ^ whose magic song Oft lulled the ranks to re^l.— ?er. 3, &c. p. 05.
It is not easj to determine whether the poet here only means, that this dwarf had a voice of that particular cadence, as natu. rallj to incline his hearers to sleep; or whether he means to ascribe to bim the actual powers of magic. Upon the subject of the dwarf, I have onlj conjecture to offer. In the learned
POSM OF YHfi CHASE. 123
and carioQS work of Mons. Mallet, we find that, amongst the nations of the North, the Laplanders were considered as dwarfs, on account of the comparative iownessof their stature; and also^ that their extreme ingenuity in the mechanic arts, which a dis. position of mind, naturally pacific, gave them leisure and incli. nation to pursue, had acquired them the reputation of being skilled in magic. Perhaps the little Being here mentioned might haTe been one of those. Oisin, we see, piqued at the in. sinuation of St. Patrick, takes pains to show him, that, from the first of the heroes, down to the last; even the very dwarf that belonged to Finn, was dearer, and more acceptable to him than he was.
Note XIV. Far ftoflp no bards^ from Oiiin^s handy
The wanted gift recehe.^^wer. 1, &c. p. 97.
All Irish Histories, Chronicles and Poems, concur in testis mony of the high respect in which the office of the Bard, and the favours of the Muse, were formerly held in this kingdom* Oisin, at once a Hero and a Bard, is supposed to have felt equally for both ; as a Bard, to have felt the dignity and impor* tance of those talents, which had power to confer the immorta- lity of fame, that, as a Hero, he so ardently desired. We,, there* fore, are not to wonder,' if we find him frequently recurring, with a pleased, yet melancholy retrospection, to those happy days, when he joined, to the luxury of bestowing, the glory of enconmgiog an art, of which he was himself a master.
Note XV. O Innisfaill thy Oisin goes To gumrdthif ports no more, — ^ver. 6, &c. p. 97.
Dr. Hammer, in his Chronicle, gives us a long list of the chief, tains, under the command of Finn MacCumhal, who were par. ticalarly appointed to the care of the harbours of Ireland; at the end of which he adds, ^^ These were the chlefe commanders ^* by direction from Fin M^Koyll, who tooke farther order that ** beacons should be set up in sundrie places of the land, where,
124 NOTES ON THB
^< in time of danger, they might hare direction for reliefe, an4 '^ to draif ^ he4d for their defence."
Note XVI.
To patf with death the foreign foesy Who dare insult thy shore,— rer> 7/&Cr p. 97.
We find Oisin, in this passage, does not appear so old, or so infirm, as he is represented in many of the Fian Poem^; on tho contrary, he laments-^not his inability-r4)at the religions re* straints which detain him from the field. Perhaps the poet here means to show the over strained zeal of the early Christian miS4 sionaries, who, finding the Irish chiefs so passionately devoted to military glory; so haughty, high spirited, and impatient of injury; thought it impossible ever to bow their minds to the doctrine of meekness, without carrying it absolutely to an ex- treme that exceeded the reasonable bounds prescribed by its divine Teacher. They were, however, successful :— the same enthusiasm that led our heroes to the field, soon after piunged them into cloisters. Still it was a sense of duty ; the object only was changed ; through an unhappy error, they thought themselves performing an acceptable service to heaven, by contradicting the very purposes for which heaven designed them ; by refusing to fulfil the obligations of active life, and withdrawing alike from the spheres of domestic and public duty, to devote them* sehes to the austerities of secluded penitence, productive only of individual, instead of ^eftero/ advantage. Still, however, they were impelled by an ardour to perform, in itsfpllest extent, fhat service which they conceived to be their duty; and therefore, for the consequences of such a mistake, they were more to be pitied than condemnl^.
Of the same nature were the motives that inSnenoed the hosts of Israel, (considering only the letter of the law,) to submit themselves tamely to the swords of their enemies, rather than defend their lives, at the hazard of offending heaven, by what, iheY conceived, would be a breach of the sabbath day. But Mattathias, and his heroic sons^ more enlightened—^ot less re^ ligious than their mistaken countrymen, stood forth, and said, (f If we all do as our brethi^n have done, aod fight not for our
POSK. OF THB CHASS. 125
^< li?es and our laws^ against the heathen ; they will now quickly ^ root us oat of the earth. Whoever shall come to make battle *^ with ns, on the sabbath day, we will fight against him ; neither *' will we die all, as did onr brethren !"*— And the consequence was, that *^ the work prospered in their hands, and they reco. '* Tered the law out of the hands of the Gentiles, and out of the ** hands of Kings, and suffered not sinners to triumph." Macm eakeeiy b. 1« ch. %
. Bat the Irish, less instructed in the spirit of true religion than the sons of Israel had been, did not so soon perceive, and reco. ▼er from their error; an error to which, Mr. O'Halloran tliinks, we may in part attribute the success of Danish invasions, and of English arms, in Ireland ; for, while such numbers of their princes and chiefs abandoned the government, and the de. fence of their country, for the barren duties of a cloister, the remaining patriots, who said, ^^ Let us fight for our lives and ^^ our laws against the heathen," were not always sufficient to the task. Those of their princes and nobility, who were led awaj by a noble, but unhappy mistake, had they entertained the true sense of what Christian duty demanded, would have been the bravest defenders, the firmest friends of their country; bnf, deprived of them, she remained, for the most part, a prey to foreign invaders ; or else, torn by the tumults of her own fac- tions sons,— too few of her nobler offiipring remaining for her d^fepce.
Note XVII. Or an the chequered field of chess.— ^^r. 3. p. 00.
j^1CC]U is the Irish name for Chess. ^^ I have not been able *^ to find the Irish names of the men of this game, but it was ^^ universally played by the ancient nobility of Ireland. Or. ^ Htok says, the old Irish were so greatly addicted to chess, ** that, amongst them, the possession of good estates has been ^^ often decided by it: and, adds lie, there are some estates, at ^* this very time, the property whereof still depends upon the ^^ issue of a game at chess. For example, the heirs of two cer. ^^ tain noble Irish families, whdm we could name, (to saj nothing ^j of others,) l|old their lands upon this tenure, vis. that one of
126 KOTEI OK THX
^^ them shall encouD(er the other at chess, io this naiiiMr; Ukat ^^ whichever of them conqaered, should seise and poMess the '^ estate of the other. Therefore, (says the doctor,) I am Md ^^ they manage the affair prudently among themselfes; once a ^^ year they meet, by appointment, to play at chess; one of ^^ them makes a more, and the other says, I will consider bow *^ to answer you next year. This being done, a public notary ^^ commits to writing the situation of the gaAe; by whidi m^ ^^ thod, a game that neither has won, has been, and will be con. ^' tinued far some hundreds of years.
^^ I find, in the old Brehon Laws, that one tax, iaried by ^^ the Monarch of Ireland, on erery proTinoe, was to be paid Id ^^ chess-boards, and complete sets of men : and that every hruigh^ ^' or inn.holder of the states,) waft obliged to furnish travellers ^' with salt provisions, lodging, and a chess-board, graiiM.** Vallancey's Irish Grammar^ Es$a^on the Celiic Ltmg* p. 85*
Note XVni. Or Sjflvan tporis. — ver. 6. p. 00.
See 0'CoN0ft*s Disieriaiionty p. Ill, Srd edit.
Note XIX. From LochUn's King of Ships, his bride,
llis lovely Queen thetf bore, Through whom unnumbered warriors dy^d.
And bath'd in blood our shore. — ver. 17, &c. p. 09.
A note for this passage was furnished from I'dOl^ ^11^ ^eain lf)01ft, (i. e. the Poem of Airgeao the Great,) in the collection of J. C. Walker, Esq. the story of which is briefly this.
Two heroes, (MacConuacher and Ainle,) were forgotten hy Finn at his feast. They resented the neglect of their chief, de« ser ted from his standard, and went over to that of his enemy,' Airgean, King of Ijeinster.
The graceful beauty of Atnli's form, inspiring the yonog Queen of Locblin with a guilty and fatal passion, she fled with him and his friend to Ireland, whither they were pursued by the
POEM' OF T«S CtfASE. IS7
fttrious Kingy wbo determined^ if possible, to sacrifice all the Fenil, for the crime of a ailigle iMro. The poet expressly tells iis^ that Film woiiM haye comptlled the gaittjr pair to make all the reparatioD which the natare of the case would admit of; and further, offered from himself each eonditioBS of peace, as he thought might prerent the necessity of his fighting in so disho. norabfe a cause: — but Ida orertures were rejected with disdain, and he was constraioed to the issue of a battle. The slaughter on each side was dreadful; the Irish, in the end, werericto. rl6us* Aiul^ himself was killed in the eugagenMHit; but the poet does not ddgn to take any further notice of the unhappj partner of his crimes.
Note XX.
When TuUk't proud mighi
Invaded Erin^t coast, — rer. 1, &c. p. 100.
Tailk or Tailc Mac Trein.— A Poem on this subject is in the same collection with that of Airgean ihe Greai; tliere is also another copy of it, entftied l-40l6 iX)\X1C ^t) ^Ift, (i^e. the Poem of the Hill of Slaughter). It contains some beauties, but, upon the whole, is scarce worth translation. The story, howerer, is here extracted, to gradfy any curiosity that may be excited by the line to which this note refers*
A Grecian Prlilcess flies, in disgust, /from the brate, but ierce and deform^ Tailk Mac Trein, whom her father had compelled her to marry, and solicits the protection of the Finian commander. He grants it, of course, but his generosfty costs him dear. Tailk pursues his wife, and fights the Fians, who re. fuse to give her up to htm. After an incredible slaughter, he is at length subdued, and killed by Osgur, the grandson of Finn.
The Priacess beholds the haroc she has occasioned, and orer. come by the emotions of grief, terror, and suspence, which she had suffered, during the conflict, and shocked to see the num. bers of her generous protectors, that had fallen in her defence, she sinks beneath the pressure of her feelings, and expires in the midst of her surriring delirerers.
128 voTsg ON rutt
Note XXL Where wa$ thy God^ vthen Magntu eamef^^'^T. 9. p. lOO^
See Poem of Magnui the Greai.
Note XXH. Jtteany of dreadful fame.^-ifer* 18. p. 100.
No connected, or probable account, bas been learned of tUt^ kero, and hit conquests.
Note XXIIL Drop we our speech on either sidcy
Thou bald and semelets fool ! — rer. 9, 8cc. p. lOJ.
It must be owned,, this railing is rather of the coarsest; but our poet seems more partial to his heroes than to his saints, or lie would hardly hare put this language into the mouth of tlie good bishop.
Note XXIV. In iormente all thg race dbide.-^iet* 11. p. 101*
In the ?t J^lUtf) Ojflt) -d^ttf l^-dbltttJJ, (i. e, Dia. logue between Olsin and St. Patrick,) the Saint gires Us reasoa for supposing what he here asserts*
X'\e pup t)^ t^jol z^ 1^ l^f ttjut* jxit) f ttiuxijt)e-d6 ^ip T>Ur,
C^ ye Art) y^p^t) ^tp Ujm,
^t'Dewc -d cuttttjf Aip 6w,
C^ Ye A zz\% D4r tpUi) f ^ ^jiOT).
POkV OF THIS CtlASB^ 1^
BecauBe, conceWd for nobler aims,
For Tiews bejond il^\% finite scene, The Finian chi^ cpofin'd hia aims^
Nor broke the thraldom of his chain |
Becanse, while God's creation lAj^
In boundless glory to his Tiew, He meanly sought the sarage prey,
And man, more savage, to pursue :
For this, his wealth avails him not! .
The man who Hear'n^s award disdaids^ Shall find his last an awfuMot,
Replete with nerer^endlng pains*
To these lines immediately follows a passage, that f ei^ much resembles this part of Tke Chase.
Did Dermot of the dark-brown locks survire, Did glorious Gaul or Fallan now remain. Or dreadful Osgnr of the mighty arm ; No power of man or Deity should hold Their mucluloT*d monarch in disgraceful bands! Did Morulas tribe or Boisgne's heroes breathe. Thence would they bring their mighty Finn, or rend Th' infernal sceptre from its deathless lord!
loci irOTES OK Tlltf
Note XXV. ;
IVhen^ were thy Godhimieif conjin'd^
My King J ofmiid renown^ Would quickly all his chaim unbind^
And give him back hit crown.
For never did hit generous breast
Reject the feeling glawy Refuse to succour the distresty
Or slight the captroe*s woe.
His ransom loosed the pHsoner*s chains^
And broke the dire decree; Or, with his hosts, on glory^s plains.
He fought to set them free! — rer. 17. See. pi 101.
What a beautiful idea of the character of Finn, these wild stanzas tonrej t
Note XXVr. Nor books, nor crosiers should be found, Nor ever more a bell. — ?er. 13, &c, p. 102.
<< Small bells, (such, we mean, as were appended to the tnnie <^ of the Jewish high priest, and afterwards employed by the *^ Greeks and Romans, for various religions purposes, but par* *^ ticularly to frighten ghosts and demons from tb^ir temples,)-^ ^* were undoubted I j introduced with Christianity into this king* '^ dom ; being then universally, as now, tingled occasionally at <^ the altars of the Roman Catholics, by the officiating priest. ** Their use amongst the Christian clergy is supposed to be co» *^ eral with their religion ; and the missionaries, who were sent *< to convert the pagan Irish, would not omit bringing with them '^ an appendage of their profession which is still thought so ** necessary.
^^ but the period at which large bells, for belfries, were first ^ used here, is not so easy to determine. Primate Usher informs *^ OS, that bells were used in the churches of Ireland, in the latter
POSH OF TRX 6HA8X. 131
'•< end of die sereDth centnrj; but as he does not ascertain the ^' siie of the bells, nor mention belfries, we may conclude he <> only means .the small bells alluded to abo?e. Sir John Haw. ^ kins, on the authority of Polyd. Tirgil, ascribes the ahowp ^ ivrention of such bells as are suspended in the towers, to Pau^ ^ linns of Nola, about the year 400; but W. Strabo assure^ uf^ <^ that large suspended bells were in his time (in the ninth cen* ^* tttiy) but a late invention. Now, as the persecuted Christians^ ^< in the infancy of the church, d^reid not openly afow their ^^ profession, much less publicly summon a congregation by the ^^ sound of a beU, we are inclined to lean to Strabo's assurance; ^^ so that we cannot venture to give an higher antiquity to large ^^ suspended bells in this kingdom, than the calm which Imme- '^ diately succeeded th/e expplsipp of the Danes; at which time, *^ according to Wal^h^ the CJ^ristjan clergy couyerted the ^* round towers into steeple-houses .or belfries ; ^ from which ^* latter use of them (continues he) It is, that ever since, to this ^^ present time, they are called, in Irish, Clogiheachs; that is, ^^ belfries, or bell-houses, doc and dog signifying a bell, and ^^ tead^y a house, in that language.' " Hi§U Mem. off the Irish Bardsy p. 03.
Of the large susp^ded bell, Mr. \yALKEn certainly supposes the poet to speak, when he says, that " the mention of bells ^^ seems to bring the poem to more modem tiines.'' But this gentleman, not having the original of the passage now before us to consult, did not perfectly recollect the precise wor^s that must determine the distinction. There is not the least mention of a steeple or belfry ; — ^tlie words are simply these — tiO ClO^ n^ ZZt^St Art) t)0 C)U» (literally) <^ nor a bell of prayer ^^ time in thy church;" CCft^C is in the genitive case plural, yet I conceive that it must mean ^^ a bell ai prayer time," (of or during the time of prayer). The reader is, however, at liberty to decide.
Note XXVIL — Almhaiti^s tiaiely hali.^^rer. 10. p. 103.
Almhain, or Almhuin, (pronounced Alwin,) the palace of Finn MacC^mhal, in the proyince of Leinster: it was built
the top of tlie hitl, called, from it, << The Hill of Allen,'' ifi tke county of Kildare.
In the Duile OlflDi (i. e. Rhapsody of Oisin,) wlierein he gives an acconnt of the seven celebrated battalions of (lie Fenii, there is a passage, partly descriptiTe of the pMape of Almhain, Its oeconomy, feasts, &c.
t)o coD-ditie lie wp tn5,
^15 1Fm tie z^c Dol,
Dejc cceSt) cqpt) 50 ^i^le-df j
0 ^InittiD t)-A Ul^wij ttftr Po tJI 6^ V ^ cejDce
l^exifi It* ceSt> z^t) turner yiA z^i zeme 6joB tw.
In Fionas fair halls at banquets ha?e I been,
At banquets truly glorious to behold! A thousand goblets grac'd the festive scene.
Each goblet twined with wreaths of fi^h vroofht gold.
At Almhain, by the noble Fenii held, TweWe matchless palaces, to troops assigned
Of Tages' race, the pomp and splendor awell*d^ And spoke the greatness of the owner's mind.
Around twelve fires, in either palace placed, Twelve hundred heroes shar'd the genial board;
Where hospitality the joy increas'd. With all that wealth or plenty could aiford.
POSH or THB CHA8S. J33
Many of oor romances, and poems^ giT6 accountf of splendid •ntertainments at this palaee of Almlrain.
Note XXVfll, Thefemii wnfor ike Fenii ^^md.—JBT. 13. p. 103.
In tins description of the feast at Almhain, the poet accords exaetij with tlM accounts which onr Itistorj and annals ba?e fiven, of the manner in wliich the early Irish held their enter* tainmeBts. See O'Cokor on tills subject. ^^ Conformably/* says he, ^^ to the spirit of hospitality, their entertainments were ^^ freqoent, and rational; seldom disorderly, £Tery subject of ^^ the Ftleacht entered into their convivial associations ; peace, ^^ and war; science, and law; go?emment, and morals. These ^^ serious speculations gate way, in their turn, to sports and '* pastimes, wherein they sung the actions of their ancestors, ^* and ttie exploits of their heroes. Nothing could animate their ^ youth more. From these recitations they derived intrepidi<j ** of mind, and many noble feelings, which counteracted the ^* treachery and malevolence to which our human nature is '< otherwise subject." DitiertaHatu on the HisL of Ireland^ p. 110, 3d edit.
NoteXXIX. J%e FinUm king aro$e.-^reT. % p. 104.
Finn was not a king, though, indeed, few kings were possessed of more authority and power. Tl)^ t><i Ij^pi^t), (king of the Fenii,) means no more than general, or military sorereigfi PTer that formidable body.
0
Note XXX. SgeUan md Brm obeyed the sowMb.— ^er. 11. p. 104.
Sgeolan, mud Bran, were tiie two famed and fiifourlte dogs of
134 . N0T£8 ON THB
Note XXXL Lutto'8 blade, — ^rer, 15* p. 104.
Iq the origiBal, ttl^C ^1) lU}t), (the son of Lono). This 8Word, tradition tells ns, vas made by a smith of Lochlio, named Lano, and therefore it was called after him, poeticallj, tlie son of Luno. What makes this account the more probable is, that we do not find the swords of the Irish heroes distin- guished by names, as amongst those of the northern nations, and also of ancient Britain.
Anecdotes hare been sought for, in Tain, of tUs famons Lnn, or Luno; but, from the wonders recited of the product of his art, it seems probable, that he was one of those people, whom the Norwegians denominated dwarfs, and complimented with the reputation of Magie. See Northern AntiquUies^ Tol.ii. p. 46.
^^ Give me out of the tomb, (says Henror,) the hardened sword, <* which the dwarfs ffuuk for Snaftiriam«." Five Pieces of Run. Poetry J p. IS.
Note XXXII. Swtfi on to steep Slieve CruUlinUfoot. — ver. 17. p 104.
Here the muse has led our poet and his hero a Terj long dance indeed ; and so beguiled the way with the melody of her song, that he appears to have been quite insensible of the distance be« tween Almhain in Leinster, and SlieTe Gulllin in Ulster, and in the county of Armagh.
Note XXXIIL On her soft cheeky with tender bloom* — Ter. 17, &c. p. 105.
TIk Irish poets, both ancient and modem, abound, and excel in descriptions of female beauty. The one before us, though exquisitely charming, is not singly so; for the collection of songs, contained in this Tolnme, exhibit many instances of ihe same species of excellence; and many more are to t>e found in other songs and poems, in the Irish language.
■ II I
90EV or THE CHA8B. 13S
Note XXXIV- Gold gave iU rich and radiant die^ And in her tresses Jfow*d. — Ter. 5, &c. p. 106.
A laarned friend remarked, on this passage, that the poet here drew from his store of Eastern imagery, for that golden hair was unknown in these cold climates. It is certain, that the mention of jellow, or golden hsur, though it sometimes occurs, yet is not ▼ery common in tlie descriptions of our poets; — tibe '^ fair way. '^ ing tresses" are most genera] ; sometimes we are told of '^ hair ^' like the raven's wing," and often of ^^ locks of shining brown," which, from the brightness ascribed along with tlie colour, we may conclude to hare been auburn*
Note XXXV. And like a freezing star, her eye
With Heaoen^s own splendour glowed* — ^trer. 7, &c, p. 106.
For this description of eyes, the poet has indeed left our world— and every one in it — far beliind him*
In one of Carolan's songs, composed for Miss Mary O'Neil, he has given the following beantifol simile, which, though indeed not equal to the above, is yet well entitled to preservation.-— ^* Her eyes (says he) are, to her face, what a diamond is to a <^ ring, throwing its beams around, and adorning the beauty of << the setting."
Note XXXVf. Is it the husband of thy youth, — ^ver. 1, &c. p. 107*
We cannot too much admire the elegance and delicacy of this address 1 — Such tender refinement could not surely have existed amongst a nation of barbarians. The character of the Finian commander appears uniformly the same in all the Irish poems; and whether our bards, when they gave it, drew a faithful pic ture, or not, it is still a proof, that they must have had some good and perfect models before them, to show what Nature «nght to be; since, in their favourite character^ we see all the
136 VOTES OK VHS
mililnesf and tenderoess of female dispositioD, united with th* ardour of the warrior, the firmness of the patriot, and the calm- ness of the philosopher. In the son of Comhal we see eTery qua* ht^y that is either interesting, amiable, or great.
Note XXXVIL ^ Lei me eof^re tkee^ generous kmgl — ?er* 13, p. 107.
It has been already shown, that, amongst the ancient Irish, each knight was bound, by his military tows, to the protection and respectful serTlce of the fair: this is expressly recorded by our history* and our poctiy and romances throw further ligbt on the subject According to them, no danger or difficulty wae to deter a hero from the assistance of a distressed female, and her request was to be a law.
In the romance of 1p^1T ^1^^ CAt)Jipi), where the story of this poem is related, Finn tells his chieftains, that he had a kind of instinctive horror at the thoughts of entering that lake; yet he instantly obeyed the injunction of the damsel, '^ for (says ^ he) it was a matter that no hero could refuse." Many similar iustances of this respect and de?otion to the fair occur in our old romances and poems.
Note
lluUform where strength and beauty mety To conquer J or engage. — ^rer. 0, &c. p. 108.
Our Irish poets inform us, that Finn was married extremely young; yet even so, he must have been advanced in life at this period, since we find his grandson Osgnr introduced in the fol- lowing pages of the poem : it is true, he is mentioned only as a boy ; yet still, one would think his grandfather old enough to be grey, without the operation of sorcery, to make him so. At the very least, he must have been now, some years above fifty ; yet he is represented as retaining all the bloom, as well as the strength and activity, of youth, fiut we may well overlook a few faults of inadvertence, in favour of the numerous beauties with which this poem abounds. Our magical bard coigures op such delightftti euchaatm^tsy that our atl^rntion should be too
i
poBir dr '^Hk enksiRp f37
flivch ^ngrdssed by the grace and grandeur of his images, to coutit the knots on his poetical wand.
Note XXXIX.
Till Caoiltey ttruek with tudden dread, — yn,. 5.- p. 109.
We learn, from Irish romance, that the Fenii, and the chiefs of 4ie Daoanian race, were enemies, (see '^^VT ^t%^ C^t)2^V) ) I and as these people were supposed to be skilfni in magic, the jlperoes of Finn were naturally alarmed for the safety of their giniend, wheli they missed him. from the feast, and recollected the detefrmtned enmity and supernatural power of the.Tuatha de Banans.— Caoilte, in the passage before us, seems to apprehend that Finn was snatched away by enchantment from amongst them. For a particular account of these Tuatha de Danans, th/e reader is referred to the ancient Ifistory pf Ireland.
Note XL. f* Swift CaoiUe.—ref. 17. p. lOD.
Caoilte was remarkable for his speed in ninning.
Note XLI.
«
Where conquest once our arm$ array rf.-~Ter. 15. p. 110.
The battle here alluded to, is described in a poem, entitled } ^9f6 ^t) DU)^ W^C OlCfill) — ^The terrible MacDirive, after an obstinate combat, is at last slain by the hand of Osgnr.
Note XLli. f^ong e^er his hesitating tongue l%e cruel truth could fAess.— rer. 19, &c. p. HI.
It is but proper to acqnaiiit the reader, that, in this passage, the sense of the poem is a little extended, and brought nearer to that of the romance. — In the poem, we are only told, that Finn, when questioned by his chieftains, did not, at first, give a direct answer; but, after some time, imparted the secret to the ear of Caoifle. In the romance, Finn himself tells the story, and say^,
T
138 \ K0TS8 OH THS
tliat ^ he felt U grievous to his heart to acqnaiDt them^ that |i9 *^ WB8 the object of their search ;" oerertheleBS, when his faith, fnl bands sarrounded him, he at last informed them of his fatal adTentare.
Note XLIII. <f Si^nce Comhal of the Hosts was slain ^^ Upon the ensanguined field. — Ten 0, &c. p. IIJ.
Comhal, or Cumhal, the father of Finn, ^e was killed in a battle against the tribe of Morni} w^ find, hqweTfr, that th|9 tribe were afterwards reconciled to the ^enii, and obedient to t|ieir chief, who treated them with the utmost kindness. This complaint of Coiian^s is therefore ^o be ascribed to his owi| p^rrerse humour, and not to any injustice that he or his clai| bad met with from the Finian general.
Note XLIV. << Uprear^d his golden shi^ld.-^^ex* 1% p. 1)9.
Here we fin^ mention of agqlden shield ; but it Is not sup* posed that such were common in Ireland, because they do not often occur in our MSS. and very few of them hare been found in our bogs. But yie are not, fropi this, to conclude, that t|ie metal itself was scarce in the kingdom. — Cambremsis and Sta« y^liuRST bear testimony to the riches of our mines. Doctor Boat also, in his Natural History^ mentions the gojd and silver niinesof Ir^lapd| and Domatcs, Bishop of Fesule, a poet of the seventh century, in a beautiful description of our island^ does not omit to celebrate the natura) wealth of its soil.
The te^B^lt XeCAVrj, (or Book of Sligo,) informs fs, that in the reign of Tig)iearmas was flrst introduced the boiling and refining of gold ; that the refiner's name was Inachadan^ and he carried on the art at the east side of the IJffey. Besides the testimony of foreign writers, and our domestic annals, num* bers of utensils, arms, collars, chains, &c. of pure gold, hav9 been dug up in differpnt parts of the kingdom. But it would be epdless to multiply proofs upon this subject. If the reader yisbes any furiher testimonies, he will find them at large ijn^
POEM OF THk CriASS. 13^*
Mr. O'Hallobam's Introduction to the HUtorji and Aniiq. of Ireland.
Note XLV. ^< Did not fiig taut too keenly share * <* In our great caute of woe^ ^^ On aught Wee thee to waste its care, — rer. 17, &c. p« ilS.
We are liere^ at once, let into the character of Conan, and see that contempt alone it the cause of the forbearance with which his insolence is suffered to jpass.
Note XLVf- <* Cease thy vain babUingj senseless fooll ^^ Bald boaster. — ^rer. 5, &c. p. 114.
We could wish that this dialogue were not so coarsely con* ducted; but the heroes of Homer are still less acquainted with good bleeding, than those of our Irish Bard; and Conan is only the Thersites of Oisin. In justice, however, to the Finian cUefs, It should be observed, that it is the insolent folly of Conan which provokes abusive language, because they will not raise dieir arm against an idiot. To an enemy, they are never abu. sive; but, on tiie contrary, polite to a degree that might afford improved example, even to modem refinement* See Magnus.
Note XLVII. *( Ceau thoUf vain gcuth.-'-^n. 9. p. 114.
Conan, afraid to reply to Caoilte, yet ventures to discharge his spleen upon *^ Oisin's beardless son."
Note XLVIir. << fVhai doeshedoy but daHy dine^ << Upon his mangled thumb. — ^ver. 15, &c. p. 114.
This strange passage is explained by some lines in the poem of Ottl9 m^C OjCt^l^^ where Finn is reproached with deriv. tug all'liis courage from his foreknowledge of events, and chew«
140 M'otss out fait
iDg his thofflb for prophetic bfonnatioQ. The reader witl .eaaify perceive the source of this ridicaloas mistake of the wonder# lofing multitude; a habit taken up, when deep in thought, was construed into divination ; and we may conclude how great that wisdom, and that heroism, must have beep, which was supposed to other way to be accounted for, than b^^iftin^ the ppSftBSsor with inspiration.
In the romance of fp^P^ Cjje C-dt)4lt), among other cn« ^ous particulars, Finn is said to have derived a portion of hit knowledge from the waters of a i^agical foiuitaiu, tp the posset* sion of the Tuatha de Danans ; n single dr^vght of which WH* sold for three hundred ounces of gold.
Note XLIX. ^ Oisin^ ihU silken son of thine y
<< Who thus in words excels^ « Will learn of thee the psalming oAf ne,
^^ And bear whffe books and bells. — ^ver. ), 4^c. p« 115«
From this passage, it appears, t^t Qinn if^ sopposed i0 have been won over, at least in part, by some of the wssipoarict who preceded the arrival of St. Patrick in IrifUnd.— Here also tf e seem to have proof, tb^t the bells, m^pUoped in tb<9 course of the poem, were not, nor co.uld have bjeen, the lai-ge swpeodeA ones ; but ooly the smaller ones, that were bprme kj Ihe priests^ and tingled at the altars, in- the very first ages of Christianity. Conan could not possibly mean any other than these, when he says that Osgur would learn in time to bear or c»rry the©;— that is, leaving the profession of arms, to become a priest, by vfhich he plainly intends to repro^eh hm with f^QvardiCff} as desirous to excel in words alone*
Note L. « What curs'd Tuaihan's dfreful dk^m.-r-tpr. i}. p. l\9*
In the original, CU^C^ t>§ (i.e. TuaLtha.de.danan.) Most of the Irish rpmapces are filled with Dananian eni:bantipents; as wild as the wildest of A&ipyrp'f fictipn?, and not at aU h^Jl# then in beauty.
roaif 9^ tfm «9A8S. Hi
Note LI. ^ GuUkn'if&ir daughier^ (fmu repl^'d^) *' The ir€0dierou0 4f$furfi ^(e;#^|i'<2.— x«f . IJ, ^^. p. .1 16.
IQjs «|qp»reiit malice, fod iqg^CftUtude, Qf 4^ jEpc)(«Bti^s, is tfojXj i|CG0iuite4 for in the r^iQ^QCe. Fi^fi tififi ji^r kfefk ik$ •errant and protector, and, of coarse, tbe fsTonrite of the fair: he is scarce e? er mentioned, witliattt some epithet, expressiye of amiable attracti^Mi, ^jsch fks ^< t^ maje^tii:-H|»f grjM^^^^he
<< coQrteoufr«*-thegeiyefo^s^the|^tlfT«*thewiU^g-HtI^
^^ ing— *son of CorohaU" He surpassed hts cotemperaries as
jaw>k in 4jie manlj befiutf ^ an^ Wi^Mc ffr;M:es of ki^ 4;ei|nte*
naiice ^d /oTw» ^ bfi did in l;^e ^lyeMar s^rewth pf l|i# m^i
and the extra^^^ftiy ep4pwi|i€^ts of M^ t^M^
j^lqachrf, and Aipe^ the tW9 t^kJ^ /daiightei« of GimUm
Caalgne, of the Dananian race, saw, and fell in lo?^ wj^lk Mv>t
Milnachra was jealous of her sister's charms; and hearing her,
one day, take an oath, that she would nerer marry any man
whose hair was grey, she determined, if possible, to make this
rash TOW a bar to her union with Finn. She assembled her
friends of theTaatha.de*danans; and, by the power of their
enchantments, they called forth a magical lake, on the side of
Sliere-Goillen, which had the property of rendering auy person
f rey.headed, who should enter the waters thereof. This done^
she assumed the form of a beautiful doe, and appeared to Finn^
us already related: then followed the chase; but the romance
gites only three days and nights to the destruction of the £n«
chantres8*s cave; the poem gites eight. Also, in the romance^
the magical cup, which restored our hero to his former shape,
endowed him, at the same time, with added wisdom, and know*
ledge. His hair, however, remained grey; but the Enchantress,
after acknowledging, in much confusion and terror, the reason
of the trick she had played him, offered to restore that also: this
offer, we are told, he declined, choosing to continue grey ; but
the reason of his refusal does not appear*
14S
noriu, atc^
Note Ul. %B9U Guitten dearly thaU abid» M fbr dark om4 treaekeraui arH**—rer. 19, Ac. p. 110.
Her naiM^ «• we hare leeu, was Blilnachre, tliough she is her^ fidled 6iiilleii( as being daoghter to tiie Eocluuitress Guilleo.
Note UIL J%en our iiimi ihiekb witk thangi we hmndy Our kapkii King to bear^ — ^rer. 1, Ac. p. 117.
Tliift passage seems to throw some light on the size of the Irish shield. — It is spoken pf In the plnral tonmber here, bj which it should seem, that it most haje lieen the target; for, otiierwise, one alone would har^ l>eea sniiicient to have bomo Knn from the MA.
« > .
{. r . . 'S
« . ••
IV.
j^otta ^otb;
A
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE original of this poem is in the hands of Maarice Gorman: there is also another copy in Mr. Walker's collection, but not altogether so perfect as the one from ivfaich this translation has been made. Neither of these copies are dated, nor can we discover the author. Like most of the Finian poems, it is ascribed to Oisin ; but, though it may, possibly, have originated inrith him, it has certainly assumed, since that period, a dijQferent form from any that he could have given it. The poetry, in- deed, breathes all the spirit of the Finian Bard ; but the language is evidently not earlier than that of the middle ages.
MOIRA BORBS
A POEM.
A TALE of old,— of Finian deeds I sing t Of Erin's mighty hosts, the mighty King ! Great Comhal's son tiie lofty strain shall swells And on his fame the light of simg sh^U dweH«
Oft have I seen his arm destruction wield; Oft, with its deadly prowess, sweep the field I Then did the world his matchless deeds proclftim^ And my ear drank the music of his fame«
Once, while the careless day to sp<Art we gavCj Where fierce Mac-Bovar rolls his headlong wave. With deafning clamour pours up^i the plain, foams o^er his echoing banks, and seeks the main.
l48 tifittoic poeMs.
Careless ve rang'd along the sounding shore^ And heard the tumbling of the torrent's roar ; Thin was our host, no thought of danger nigh. When the near ocean caught our roving eye.
A white saird boat, that swiftly sought the shore. On its light plank, a lovely female bore ; To meet our host her rapid course was bent. And much we questioned on this strange event.
Fifty brave chiefs, around their braver RiAg. — Ah, why to mind, their deeds, their glories bring ! Since anguish must on bleeding memory wait. Comparing former fame with present fate.
Alas ! with them is quench'd the hero's flame. And glory, since, is but an empty name i Oh, after them, 'tis Misery's dire decree The chiefs of these degenerate days to see.
Oh, lost companions ! once your mighty sway Made the proud princes of the earth obey; Your conq'ring powers through every region led, And wide around victorious triumphs spread !
HEROIC poems/ 149
But to my tale,— Our woudering chiefts arose. To see the bark its beauteous freight disclose : Swift glanc'd its course through the divided wave. And the near stream a ready harbour gave.
As mom from ocean lifts her lovly light. Fresh from the wave, \idth gentle splendours bright ; So rose the maid, as she approach'd the shore. And her light bark to land its burden bore.
Deck'd by soft Love with sweet attractive grace^ And all the charms of mind-illumin'd face ; Before our host the beauteous stranger bow'd. And, liurown to earth, her eyes their glories shroud.
Her soft salute retum'd, with courteous air, Finn, by the hand of snow, conducts the fair. Upon his left, the valiant Gaul was plac'd. And on his right, her seat the stranger gracM.
And, oh, to tell the charms her form array 'd! The winning sweetness that her face display^ ! On her alone we could or think, or gaze. And our rapt souls were lost in sweet amaze !
150 HBRotc Msms*
^' Soft Mariner! (the son of Comfaal cryM,) What chance has torn thee from protection's gide ? Why com'et thouhere, and from what happy earth?
'' And whose the noble race that gave thee birth V^
it
tt
tt
««
tt
tt
Truth, O great chief! my artless story frames: A mighty King my filial duty claims. But princely birth no safety could bestow; And, royal as I am, I fly from woe*
** Long have I looked that mighty arm to see, '^ Which is alone of force to set me free : " To Erin's far fam'd chief for aid I fly, '' And on that aid my trembling hopes rdj.'*
*' Say, wherefore, loveliest ! art thou thus distrest? " Whom do'st thou fly I — ^by whom art thou opprest ? *' Why do'st thou seek me, o'er the rofling sea, " And from what peril Aall 1 set thee free?"
tt
tt
And art thou, then, that generous son of fame. Whose aid the wretched, and the helpless O then, to me that needful aid extend ! ' ' And, oh, thy strength to guard my weaknesslend V*
HEROIC POBMft. 151
With soolhiiig speech^ the pitying King reply 'd» Fear not, sweet maid 1 thy cause to me confide. Speak biiit thy sorrows ! whom do'st thou accuse? Who persecutes thee. Fair One ? — ^who purwes?**
4t
€i
<« O ! I am f<dk>w'd o'er the rolling wave ! '' O ! mighty Finn ! thy trembling suppliant save ! '' The son of Sora's King with wrath pursues, '* The Chief of Spears, whose arm the host subdues !
'' Dark Moira Borb is his tremendous name, '* And wide o'er earth exteods his dreadful fame ! '' From him I fly, with these unhappy charms, ** To shun the horror of his hateful armsl
'' To one delay his sullen soul agreed, ^' Nor can he from his promise now recede ; '' He will not f^ce me to become his bride, '' Until thy pow't shall in my cause be tary'd/^
Then spoke my Osgur, Erin's lovely beast. Pride of her fame, ajod glory of her host ! With generous seal his youthful bosom gtow'd; His fervent speech with rapid ardour flow'd.
152 HEROIC P0BM9.
*' Fearnot,(hecry*d) nopowershall force thee hence;
«
'' My arm, my life, O maid ! is thy defence !
*' No hateful union shall thy vows ccunpel,
'^ Nor shalt thou with the dreadful Sora dwell I*'
Then, by his side, the son of Momi rose ; Each champion equal to an host of foes ! Proudly they strode, exulting in their mi^t. The fierce, triumphant Deities of fight I
Before the host they stood, in arms array 'd. To guard, from her approiaching foe, the maid ; For now, swift riding on the subject wave, A wond'rous chief to sight his terrors gave I
In the same path the princess took, he came.
And more than human seem'd his monstrous frame i
A magic steed its giant burden bore.
And swiftly gain'd upon the trembling shore !
Fierce did he seem, as one in fight renown'd ; Dark on his head a gloomy helmet frown'd : Embo8s*d with art, he held a mighty shield, And well his arm its ponderous orb could wield !
HEROIC P0SM9. 153
Two «peani of victory^ on its front engrav'd, Stood threatening, as if every foe they bray'd ! Never our eyes had such a sight beheld, Kor ever chief so dreadfully excelled !
His heavy sword, of more tlian monstrous size. Next struck with wonder our admiring eyes ; When, bending forward, from his mighty thigh ' He drew, and wav'd its massy weight cm high I ^
Of princely sway the cloudy champion seemM, And terror from his eye imperial streamed ! A soul of fire was in his features seen. In his proud port, and his impetuous mien I
His wondrous steed was like the torrent's force ; White as its foam, and rapid as its course ! Proud, the defyer of our host he bore. And sprung with fury to the hostile shore.
A sight like this had never met our eyes. Or struck our senses with a like surprize; To see a steed thus coursing on the wave. And his fierce rider thus the ocean-brave t
0
X
»#
154 HSEOIC POEMS,
My Hing, .^^hoee arm would every peril dare. Then calm demanded of the trembling fair, ' Is this the chief of whom thy terror spoke, ' Against whose power thou didst our aid invoke?
' O that is he ! that is my deadly foe { ' Top well, alas ! his dreadful face I know { ' O Comhars geuerpus son ! I grieve for thee^ ^ Againttt thy host that fatal arm to see 1
' He comes ! he comes to tear his victim hence 1 ^ No power, alas, can now be my defence ! ■ No force, no courage can that sword abide, ^ And vainly will your generous aid be try'd!'*
While thus to Comhal's noble son she spoke, iPierce through the host, the foreign champion broke ! Glowing with rage, in conscious might array'd. Forward he rush'd, and seiz'd the trembling maid !
Swift flew the spear of Momi's wrathful son« And to the foe unerring passage won: Through his pierc'd shield the aim its fury guides Kends its proud bosses, and its orb divides.
uvbjoic poent!^. 155
Imjiatieiit O^ttr glow'd with ardent fire. With raging 8Coni> and with indignant ire ; And, darting fate from his im{>etuou8 hand. He stretched the dying conrser on the strand I
Unhors'd, and furions for his wounded steed. And breathing tenfold vengeance for the deed; With wrath augmented the fierce champion bumM, And mad with rage, on his assailants tnmM.
Dauntless he stood, with haughty ire Inflam'd, And load defiance to our host proclaimed : Against us all his single arm he rais'd. While in his hand the dreadful faulchion blaz*d !
Bnrag^d, our hosts the proud defiance hear; And rush to yengeance with a swift career. Finn and myself alone our arms withheld. And wut to see the strange event unfold.
When lo ! amazement to our wondering eyes 1 In vain each spear with rapid fury flies t In vain with might, the nearer swords assail. No spears can wound, no weapons can prevaiL
196 imu>ic POKM94
Those chiefs, who every foe till th«i excellMy Foil'd by his force, his single arm repell'd* Low on the blood-stain'd field with shame they lay. Bound by his hand, and victims of his sway !
Great Flan Mac-Momi fell beneath his sword ; By valour, frienddiip, and by song deplored 1 Of all the champions who his arm sustained, Not one unwounded on the field remained*
Had not our chiefs been all well arm'd for fight. They all had sunk beneath his matchless might ! Or had each, singly, met his dreadful force, Eafch, in his turn, had fall'n a mangled corse !
Now Gaul's brave bosom bums with frantic ire. And terror flashes from his eyes of fire ! Rending in wrath, he springs upon the foe ! High waves his sword, and fierce descends its blow!
Dire as when fighting elements engage.
Such is the war the dreadful champions wage !
Whoever had that fatal field beheld.
He would have thought all human force excelled.
HBROIC POBM0« 157
Load was the clash of anna that streamed with gore. And deep the wounds each dauntless bosom bore! Broke are their spears^ and rent each massy shield^ And steely and blood bestrew the deathful field* .
Never again shall two such chiefflL contend. Nor ever courage, as did theirs, transcend ! So great the havoc of each deadly blade ! So great the force each valiant arm display Ml
At length they slacked the fury of the fight. And vanquished Sora own'd superior might: No more he could the sword of Gaul sustain. But gashM with wounds, he suiJl upon the plain*
Woe was the day in which that strife arose. And dy 'd with blood the harbour of his foes f Woe to the champions of that lovely dame. Woe to the land to which her beauty came 1
The valiant Sora by the stream we laid. And while his last and narrow house we made^ We on each finger plac'd a gUtt'ring ring. To grace the foe, in honor of our King.
153 HXEOIC POBWS.
Thus fell the foreign champion on our coaat. And gave a dear-bought conquest fo our host The royal maid our courtesy embraced. And a whole year the Finian palace graced.
Six following months^ beneath the leeches hand. The wounds of Gaul our constant care d^nand: The Taliant Gaul, unvanquish'd in the fight, Gaul -of the weapons of resistless might.
*With Finn, the chief of princely cheer, he lay. Whose friendly 'tendance eas*d the tediout day* Finn, who was ever to the brave a friend, Finn, who the weak would evermore defend !
But why of heroes should I now relate ? Changed is my form, and changM is my estate I These alter'd looks, with age and sorrow pale. Should warn to cease from the hendc tale 1
NOTES
OK THB FOBM OF MOIRA BORB.
NoteL Where fierce MacJSonar rolls his headlong wave* — ^rer. 10, p. 147.
The words of the original are G'AY ItU^^^^CtJOtJ^tl t)A 1t)0}U» literally, the fiercely rushing Cataradj deafening son of the heap I This is a Tory beautiful fall of the river Erne, at Ballyshannon, and the principal salmon leap in Ireland. The scenery is extremely picturesque; a bold coast of perpendicular TOcks is covered to the very edge with the richest verdure, and projects, in unequal promontories, as it opens to the sea. This salmon leap is let at jf 400 a year.
Note ir. ^^ A mighty King my filial duty claims. — ^ver. 6. p. 150.
This passage is not translated literally, as it was difficult to know what turn to give it: the words in Irish are ^Y WQr lOte^t) til5 t^O Ctlinr). / am the daughter of the King under Waves : or it may be rendered, King of Waves^ or King of COt)t), (in the genitive) dlir)» Literally, a wave; but it may also mean some country, anciently called by that name; or possibly it may be a metaphorical phrase, to imply either an Island, or some of the low countries*
Note III. ^* The son ofSora^s King with wrath pursues. — ^ver. 7. p. If if
Tradition Informs us, that Moira^ or (as some write it> Boiry
V,
160 NOTES Oir THE
Borb^ was a Lusitanian Prince, of great fame and prowess, bat cruel, and extremely fierce, as the word borb (i. e. Jierce) im« plies. This admitted, it follows, of coarse, that Sora (in the original, Sarcha) must hare been, anciently, the Irish name for Portugal.
Note IV. fVoe to the champions of that lovely damCy Woe to the land to which her beauty came^^^ier. 15. p. 157.
It is probable, that this passage alludes to some subsequent consequences of the death of Moira Borb.
Note V. We on each finger pla&d a glitVring ting. To gr<ice thefoe^ in honor of our King. — ^rer. 19, &c. p. 157.
It has not been found that any particular custom of antiquity is here alluded to: the passage is translated literally, and it ap» pears that, by placing rings on the fingers of Moira Borb, they meant to show the generosity of their chief, in hononring a gallant foe.
Note VI. With Finny the chief qf princely cheer ^ he lay^ Whose friendly ^tendance eas^d the tedious day^ Finny who was ever to the brave afriendy Finnywhathe weak would evermore defend.^^^itT. 11, Ac. p. 158.
In the t>Ulle OtyHt) (Rhapsody of Olsin) we find the feU lowing beautiful character, and personal description, of this celebrated hero.
Xtr% woti64U(5 c^oitf?. T^ tii6tt xt6)ol t)ilt).
90SM OF MOIBA BOUB. 161
r^^iw 1115 1^^ ^"^^
t)o ©J 5^^ be.dt) ISt) t>^ f extttc
Translation.
• Saperior to all warriors, in war, 'Midst stars of glory Finn appeared a star: King of mild majesty and nnm'rous bards, His deeds of kindness brought their own rewards* His heart the seat of courage and of love. His mind was fraught with wisdom from abofe* Keen to discern the future from the past, O Finn, for ever shall thy glories last. — Bright his blue.rolling eyes, and hair of gold, . His cheeks the graces of the rose unfold ; Each female heart received the potent shock, Of him whose breast was as the chalky rock : Fame thus to thee her brightest page affords, — Mild son of Morua; King of glittering swords!
#ue0.
AK
INTRODUCTORY DISGOURSU
TO TCX
WAR CDE.
. THE military Odes of the ancient Celts have been noticed by numberless historians ;^ nothing amongst those people was left unsung : Poetry was their darling science^ and they introduced it into every scene^ and suited it to every occasion* One of the duties of the Bard was, to attend his chief to battle, and there exert his poetic powers, according to the fluctuations of victory, and the fortune of the fight« This fact is well attested by ancient Greek and Roman writers; also, Du Gauge, Meze- ray, and many other antiquaries and historians affirm^ that this custom continued amongst the GauH many centuries after their dereliction by
166 IVTftODUCTOftT DI8COVK8E
the Romans. Even at the battle of Hastings, the troops of Noimandy were accompanied by a Bard, animating them to conquest with warlike^ odes. The great number of Troubadours retained by the French noblesse^ in the different invasions of the Holy Land, prove how well this custom was sup- orted by civilized nations of the middle ages.
But it wiU, no doubt, appear angular, that, while France and Germany suffered no ruin or subversion of their states, from that epocha, yet so little care has been taken, by their antiquaries, for the preservation of ancient documents, that it is affirmed, there is not one of these Odes now extant amongst them; while Ireland, — ^harassed by war and rapine ; and her records plundered by foreign invaders, and envious policy, — ^yet still has pre- served a number of these original productions^ which throw many rays of light on the obscurest periods of Celtic antiquity.
But the War Ode was not peculiar to the Celtsfi alone; Scandinavia, too, sent her Scalds to battie» and her Chiefs were animated by their military songs: although indeed many centuries later than the period in which we find our Bards possessed of
TO THB WAR ODH. -^-
tkw office in Ireland. » Hacon, Earl of Norway, " (says MoM.MAx,MiT) had five celebrated poeti " along with him in that famous battle of which I " have been speaking, when the warriora of Joms- " bonrg were defeated; and history records that *• they rang each an Ode, to animate the soldiers, " before they engaged."*
We see here a remarkable difference between the Scandmavian and Celtic poet, m the execn- tion of this military duty: the Ode of the Scald wa« composed for the purpose, and sung Irfare the engagement: while the Irish Bard, glowing with the joint enthusiasm of the poet, and the warrior, frequently rushed amidst the ranks, and following his Chief through all the fu^ of the fight, conti^ nued, to the last, those subKme and elevating strains, which, inspired by the sight of heroic va^ lour, and caUed forth by, and suited to the instant occasion, wrought up courage to a pitch of frenzy,
• North Antiq. toI. 5. p. 38fi. See Toef. Barthohk, p. 172, who produces other instances to the same purpose; par. tl«darl7 that of Olave, king of Norway, who placed three of bis scalds about him to be eje-witnesses of bis exploits: these bards composed, each of them, a song upon the spot, which BAaTHOWK has printed, accompanied with a U&a Tersion.
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168. INTRODt; CTORir DISC0VR8S
and taught the warrior to triumph even hi the pangs of death. But it was only when yictofry was flonbtfhlj and occasion feqnired the Barda to ^xert «I1 Iheir powers, that we find them thus nishing through the carnage of the field. At other times marching at the head of the ariniesy arrayed in white flowing robes, harps glittering in their I' hands, and their persons giATotrnded with Qrfi- *' DiGH, or instrumental musicians; while ihebat- " tie raged, they stood apart, and watched irf seeuh " rity (for their persons were held sacred) etery ^' acti<^ of the Chief, in order to glean subjects *' for their lays/**
. Indeed, the enthtisiastic starts of passion; the broken^ unconnected, and irregular Wildness of those Odes whiqh have escaped the wreei: of anr eient literature in tMs kingdom, sufBfdiently and incontestibly point out their true originality to every ceth/dkd reader. It need not here be objected.
Other songs of the same kind may be found ia the same author.
lle)re is one instance ^^herein we find a Scaudinaviftn- war ode composed (as it appears) either during^ or after the engage^, ment; bat their established custom was, to sing the ode (as il re1at#fd above) ftc/orif the battle joirted.
• Walker's Uish Mem, of the IrUh Bardsj p. JO.
to tHD WAll OilJB. 16$
^t the eba?9cter xn which we find the copiei now extaut of these Odes^ i$ different frem that whleh was in us« among the pagan Irish, and thdt th^ language of them, also, is too intelligible to b? referred to so remote an asra. With the beftntief of these singular compositions, etf ry Irish reader^ of every age, must hare been eager to acquaint himself; and when acquainted with than, to com^ municate to others the knowledge, and the plea* sure thay afforded him : of covrse, when a word became too obsolete to be generally understood, it was changed for one more modem; and* for the same reason, when the anci^t character was ex- ploded, eyery ensuing copy of these Odes was written in the character of the t^mes. Indeed there are still a sufficient number of obsolete words among them, to make the language extremely diflficult; bnt I conceive that it is in the structure of the compositions, and the spirit which they breathe, rather than in a few unintelligible epithets, tiiat we are to look fw the marks of their antiquity. The copies from which the two following Odes are translated, I procured from Maurice GotiAfLit; there is also a copy of them in the coUeotion of
170 INTHODUCTOUT DtSCOt7R8B
Mr. O'Halloran of Limerick, and another, aa I am informed, in the G>Ilege collection. An accom* plished proficient in the learning and antiquities of this country, iK^hose name (had I permission) I should be proud to reveal, made the following elegant, and spirited remarks, on a literal transla- tion of the first of these Odes, upon which I had requested his judgment. ^' It is ( says he ) in my <' opinion, a very fine specimen of that kind of " poetry, and carries genuine originality on the *' face of it. It seems not only to have been com- *' posed on the occasion, but as if it was actually *' sung by the bard during the heat of the battle; ** which supposition is quite consonant with the *' accounts we have of the ancient Celtic warriors, ^' and the office of their Bards. The extreme sim- '' plicity of it is no small part of its merit, and has ^^ more in it of the true sublime, than all the flow- ers and images with which a modem poet would have embellished it. Imagination may follow it through all the changes that may be supposed to " have attended an obstinate engagement, in which ^'^ the hero was exerting hb valour to the utmost; •* with his bard standing close at his back, exhort-
«r
<c
<r
TO THS WAR ODS. 171
*• ing hiin to persevere, and giying, as it were, fresh «' energy and e£Pect to every stroke of his sword/'
It may appear strange to see a Bard rushing, fearless and unhurt, through the midst of contend-- ing warriors ; his hand encumbered with the harp, and unprovided with any arms for either defence or attack : but the character of the FiUa was held so sacred amongst the ancient Celtse, that they wanted no other defence, aqd were so protected and revered by foes, as well as friends, that eveii " the very whirl and rage of fight" respected t;he person of the Bard.
Irish history, indeed, affords one, and JnA one, instance -«f a sort of sacrilege offered to the life of a Bard ; the circumstances, however, which accom- pany the fact, as well as the manner in which it is told, present us with the strongest idea of the horror that so unusual a crime then excited. The te^G^fi lecSp)* (or Book ofSligo) has thus pre- served the relation ; Fierce wars were carried on, about the middle of the fourth century, betwe^i Eochaidh, Monarch of Ireland, and Eana, the Ring of l^einster* Cetmathach, the Monarch's layreat, had satyrized so severely the enemjr of his Rin^«
w to ]^h>roke the bltteihtet itieAlkneiit of ISAnh, who voWed lUiBpatin^ feV^n^^. In the battle 6f Ctttach^n> the Mettarch Was defeated ; and €etaia- ihAcl}; pursued by the fVirioUs King of (leiiiflter, fled for safety amidst the troops of the rictor> idioi though the eneteies of Eoichaidh, would haihs pro- tected his Bard : but the brutal Eana wrb not tb be appeased, and the Jiife of the laureat fell a sacrt- jlee to his art. Eana, for this atrocious deed, was e\Tr after branded with the opprobrious baine of Cin-salaeh, (foul, or dishonorable heiad.) It has descended down, through his immediate posterity, Id the present day; numbers of his race, of the name t( Cm or Kinsaiqk, now eicisting in Ireland.
Of the first of the following Odes, Osgur> tbe son of OisiH, is the hero, but We ate not told who the Bard was that composed it^ We have, however, efficient reason to eoncliide> that it was mmg by Fergus, the uncle of Osgur ; first, because he was the appointed AuD'-filea of the Fenii; and alap because that, in an ancient poem on the battle «f iSabhra, he is introduced «8 ethortii^ the troops, on that occasion, to the fights surrounded* by his Orfidigh^ or band uf musixnans.
TO nUB WAR OML 173
Me. Walksh^ in his Msmoirb of thb iRiitt BaiwS) Caked farticiil» notice of Fergus. *' Oisin ^' (says he) %ai not Finn's chirfBaid» or Oliamh- '^ re<4iAii. This honorable dtation was £tted by Fer- '^ gttB JPIbkeaili ( of the sweet lips ) another son of ^ th^ ^^aft Fiman eommander; a Bard on whom ^' mcceeding poets have bestowed almost as many '^ epithets, as Homer has given to his Jupiter.-^
in several poems, still extant, he is called Fergus
Fit^hlie, (&e truly ingeinous;) Habach, (sn- **)^<Mr in knowledge;) FooAl-^htw^ (skilled in ^ (be choice of words) &c. &c. So persuasive was ^Ms eloqu^ice, that, mniled with his rank, it ^' acquired him an almost universal ascendancy^
^' But it was in the fieU of battle liiat Fergus' ^' eloquence proved of real utility. In a fine heroic '^ poem* called Ae Ca% t^toWhCfi^ij-d (The hat-
* This composition is not written in versc^ ^vX it does indeed a1>0ttDd with all the omameBts of poetrj.
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174 niTRODVCTORY DISCOVR8S
" tie of Ventry^ ) Finn is often represented as call* ** ing on Fergus, to animate the drooping valour of his officers, ivhich the Bard never fails to do, eflfectually. In this battle, Oisin was beginning to yield in single combat ; which being observed by Fergus, he addressed some encouraging strains *' to him, in a loud voice : these were heard by '' Oisin, and his foe fell beneath his sword.^
'* Several admirable poems, attributed to Fergus, ^' are still extant; Dargo,f a poem, written on '' occasion of a foreign prince of that name in- " vading Ireland. Dargo encountered the Fenii, *' and was slain by Goll, the son of Morni. — C^C '* 5^Bt^^ (the batap of Gabhra.) This battle *^ was fought by the Fenii against Cairbre, the ** monarch of Ireland, whose aim ih provoking it, was ^' to suppress the formidable power of that legion. ^' Cairbre's life fell a sacrifice to this bold attempt.
* 0'Halloran*s Hist. Irel. toL i; p. 276.
+ A copy of this poem is now in my possession, and it glows wiHi all the fire of genius; but at the same time is debased hj such absurd impossibilities, that, as I could not ?enture to omit any part of the piece, I did not think it would answer for tran* station. From the character given of this poem, I am tempted to suppose that ^y copy is a corrupt and bad one ; perhaps a future day may enable me to procure a better.
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TO THE WAll CDS. 175
^ These Poems abound with all the imagery, fire, and glowing description 6{ the ancient Gaelic, and justify the praises bestowed on Fergus. Each poem concludes with Fergus't " attestation of his being the author. Besides these, *' there are, A Panegyric on GoU, the son of ** Momi,* and another on Osgur.f In the latter, ^^ the poet has interwoven an animating harangue ^ to the hero, who is the subject of it, in the batde « of Gabhra/'
In most of the Finian poems that I have seen, Fergus is honorably noticed, both for his poetical powers, and the peculiar sweetness of his temper and disposition: thus in Thb Chase,
'^ Did Fergus live, again to sing, ^< As erst, tlie Fenii's fame!"
Also in Magnus,
^^ Mild Fergus then, his errand done,
^^ Returned with wonted grace; ^^ His mind, like the unchanging sun,
^^ Still beaming in his face*"]:
* See the second War Ode in this collection* f This I suppose is the same with the original of the following Ode.
X Probably this extreme gentleness of Fergus' temper, was the reason why he was chosen ARi>«nLBA, orchief poet to the Fenii, though his brother Oisin was so eminently distinguished
176 INT1U>DUCT0RT DIsOOlTRgB
»
Thb Aknam or iKNisFALLBNf And other an- cient records and poems, inform us, th^t the battle of Gabhra was fought in the year of our Lord 396. The cause of this battle ( as well as I can collect from various accounts) was pretty nearly as fd* lows: — ^The celebrated body of the Fenii had grown to a formidable degree of power. Conscions of the defence they afforded their country, and the glory they reflected upon it, they became overweening and insolent, esteeming too hig^y of their merits, and too meanly of their rewards : 4md this the more, as they perceived the Mpnarch disposed to slight their se'rvices, and envy theit fame.
for his poetical talents. Oisfn, most Hkely, would not hafe ac« cepted of the laureatship: his high aud martial spirit would not be confined to the duties of that station, as they would often haTe necessarily withheld him from mixing in the combat, and taking a warrior^i share in the victory. The character of Fer- gus was much more adapted than that of Oisio, to fill the place he held, even supposing the poetic powers of Oisin superior to those of his brother. — Oisin, like the Caractatus of the inimi* table Mason, felt too much of
" (he hot tide
'* That flmhei crimioo on the conscious cheek '' Of him who bum for ^aryl"
And he would never haye borne to hold the harp, ia bftttk, while able to wield a sword.
TO THB WAK ODE. 177
" It would be tedious here to relate the various eauses assigned by different writers for the discon^ tents which occasioned this battle: Historians, in general, lay the chief blame upon the Fenii ; and the Poets, taking part with their favourite heroes, cast the whole odium upon Cairbre, then Monarch of Ireland. The fault most likely was mutual, and both parties severely suffered for it.' Cairbre himself was killed in the action, and a dreadful slaughter ensued among his troops; but those of the Fenii were almost totally destroyed ;♦ for, re- lying upon that valour which they fondly deemed invincible, they rushed into the field against odds, that madness alone would have encountered. In an ancient poem upon this subject, Oisin, relating the events of the battle to St. Patrick, tells him, that *' few in number were the Fenii, on that '' fatal day, opposed to the united forces of the *' kingdom, headed by their Monarch! Finn and '' his heroes were not there to assist them; they '* were absent on a Roman expedition." — Osgur,
♦ The Book of Iloafh affinns, that they were all destroyed^ Oisin excepted; and that he lired till the arriTal of St. Patrick, to whom he related the exploits of the Fenii.
2a
178 TNTBOBUCTOEnr DliCOUBSE, ETC.
the gnndaon of Finn, commanded the little bod;- that remained, and led ihem on to the attack; fired with the hope of increasing glisry, and wrought np to a frenzy of valour, bj the ani- mated exhortations of his Bard, he p^ormed pro- digies, he slew numbers, and Cairbre himself at laigth fell by his hand. Victory then seemed to declare for the Femi, till Osgur, coTcred with wounds, sunk upon the field. He died; with him died the h<^es of his adherents. And Epic story gives no further account of the few who sorTived the field.
Several poems have been composed upon tile subject of tius battle. I have never yet seen that one which is said to have been written by Fergus; but I have now before me two that bear the name of Oisin, and are possessed of considerable merit : I would gladly^ with the following Ode, have ^ven a translation of one of the mai^ poems which this celebrated battle gave rise to; but as I am told there are more perfect copies extant, than those in my possession, I am unwilling to give an inferior one to the public.
I.
^IKDlat £)t)e to €)dgut*
WAR ODE
TO OSGUR, THE SON OF OISIN,
Ur THE FBOMT 0» THE BATTIE OF GABBEM
RISE, might of Erin! riae! O! Osgur, of the generous soul! Now, on the foe's astonished eyes. Let thy proud ensigns wave dismay! Now let the tiiunder of thy battle roll. And bear the palm of strength and victory away!
Son of the sire, whose stroke is fate.
Be thou in might supreme ! Let conquest on thy arm await. In each conflicting hour ! Slight let the force of adverse numbers seem. Till, o'er their prostrate ranks, thy shouting squa- drons pour !
182 ODBS.
O hear the voice of lofty flong ! —
Obey the Bard !
Stop — stop M'Garaidh! check his pride. And rush resistless on each regal foe ! Thin their proud ranli^^ and give tiie smoaking tide Of hostile blood to flow ! Mark where Mac-Cormac pours along ! —
Rush on — ^retard His haughty progress ! — ^let thy might Rise, in the deathful fight. O'er thy prime foe supreme. And let the stream
Of valour flow,
»
Until thy brandidi'd awiffd Shall humble cv'ry haughty foe. And justice be restored.
Son of the Ring of spotless fiwtw.
Whose actions fill the world ! Like his, thy story and tiiy name Shall fire heroick song. And, with flic prowess of this day, the lofty rtraia
prolong ! •
oi>X9. 183
Shall tdl how oft, in GabhFa'8 plain.
Thy dreadful spear irat hurl'd : How high it heaped the field with slain. How wide its carnage spread. Till gorg'd upon the hiimaa feast, the glutted
ravens fed.
as the spirit of the night. In storms and terrors drest, Withering the force of ev'Tj- hostile breast. Rush on the ranks of fight!— Youth of fierce deeds, and noble soul! Rend — scatter wide the foe!— Swift forward rudi, — and lay the waring pride Of Jim high ensigns lorw! Thine be the batlie! — ^thine the -sway! — On — on to Cairbre hew thy conquering way. And let thy deathful arm dash safety from his side! As the proud wave, on whose broad back The storm its burden heaves. Drives on the scattered wreck Its ruin leaves ; So let Illy sweeping progress tM,
184 ODE9.
Fierce, resigtless, rapid^ strong. Pour, like the billow of the flood, . o'erwhelming^
might along!
From king to king, let death thy steps await.
Thou messenger of fate. Whose awful mandate thou art chosen to bear :
Take no vain truce, no respite yield,
'Till thine be the contested field; O thou, of championed fame the royal heir!
Pierce the proud squadrons of the foe. And o'er their sUughter'd heaps triumphant rise! Oh, in fierce charms, and lovely might array 'd I Bright, in the front of battle, wave thy blade! Oh, let ihy fury rise upon my voice! Rush on, and glorying in thy strength rejoice!
Mark where yon bloody enmgn flies! Rush! — seize it! — lay its haughty triumphs
low!
Wide around thy carnage spread 1 Heavy be the heaps of dead! Roll on thy rapid might. Thou roaring stream of prowess in the fight!
0DS8« 185
^What tiio' Finn be distant far.
Art thou not thyself a war ? —
Victory shall be all thy own. And this day's glory thine, and thine alone! Be thou the foremost of thy race in fame! So shall the bard e:xalt thy deathless name! So shall thy sword, supreme o'er numbers, rise. And vanquished Tamor's groans ascend the skies!
Tho' unequal be the fight, Tho' unnumber'd be the foe. No thought on fear, or on defeat bestow,
9
¥oT conquest waits to crown thy cause, and thy successful might! Rush, therefore, on, amid the battle's tage^
Where fierce contending kings engage. And powerless lay thy proud opponents low!
O lovely warrior! Form of grace.
Be not dismay 'd!
Friend of the Bards r think on thy valiant race J
O thou whom none in vain implore.
Whose soul by fear was never sway'd,
Now let the battle round thy ensigns war!
2b
186 ODES*
Wide the vengeful ruin spread! Heap the groaning field with deadf Furious be thy grinding sword. Death with every stroke descend! Thou to wliose fame earth can no match afford; That fame which shall thro^ time, as thro' the world, extend!
Shower thy might upon the foe!
Lay their pride, in Gabhra, low! Thine be the sway of this contested' field!
To thee for aid the Fenii fly; On that brave arm thy country's hopes rely. From every foe thy native land to shield!
Aspect of beauty! pride of praise! Sununit of heroick fame! O theme of Erin! youth of matchless deeds! Think on thy wrongs! now, now let vengeance
raise Thy valiant arm! — and let destruction flame, ^ill low beneath thy sword each chief of Ulster
lies! O prince of numerous hosts, and bounding steeds!
ODB8. , 187
Riuse thy red diield, Mith tenfold force endu'd! Forsake not the fam'd path thy fathers have pursu'd! But let, with theirs^ thy equal honours rise!
Hark! — ^Anguish groans! — ^the battle bleeds Before thy spear! — its flight is death! —
Now, o'er the heath.
The foe recedes 1 ' And wide the hostile crimson flows! — See how it dyes thy deathful blade! —
» ■
See, in dismay, each routed squadron flies! Now! — ^now thy havoc thins the ranks of fights And scatters o'er the field thy foes! —
O still be thy increasing force display 'd! Slack not the noble ardour of thy might! Pursue — ^pursue with death their flight!— Rise, arm of Erin! — ^Rise!—
NOTES
ON THE WAR ODE TO OS CUE*
Note I. tifi,mighi of Erin, rUe!—^ex. 1. p. ISl.
6')jt^6! literally, ari$e!—li meaos here, rame thyielfl €xeri all thy powers!
Note IL Son of tke sire, whose stroke is fate. — ^ver. 7. p. 181.
Oisin, the father of Osgur, was as much celebrated for his valour, as for his poetical talents.
Note III. Stop — stop M^Garaidh. — ^?er, 3« p. 183*
This son of Garaidh was then King of Connanght, and he led a chosen band to the battle of Gabhra.
Note IV. Mark where MacmCormac pours along f-^ier. 7. p. 18^
Cairbre, Monarch of Ireland; he was son to Cormac, the preceding Monarch, and it was in his quarrel that the allied Princes were assembled, in this day^s battle, against the little band of the Fenii. He was also nearly related to the chiefs of the party he opposed, bis sister having been the wife of Finn MacCumhal.
190 K0TE8 ON THS
NoteV. Shail humble ev^ry haugkiyfoCj And justice be re$tor'd, — ver. 15. p. 182.
iDJustice was the complaint, and the cause of quarrel, assigned both by the King's forces, and the Fenii : Tlie Book of Hoatk has preserved a speech of Osgnr's on this occasion; probably just as authentic as most other speeches of the kind, that history grafely tells ns have been spoken at such times. It sets forlli the gross injustice and ingratitude with which they had been treated by the Monarch ; and that they only fought to maintaiQ those privileges which they had honorably won, and which Were granted to their ancestors by those faithless Princes, now in arms against them. That they and their predecessors had been the guardians of the nation, protecting its harbours, and refleli* ing its invaders; and also increasing its glory by the splendonr of foreign conquests, and the rich trophies of foreign tributes to its power ; but that now, after so many battles fought, and so many honors and advantages derived to the Monarch by tiieir valour, he wished to acquit himself of the obligation, by putting his benefactors to the sword, or banishing them for erer from tlie land.
Note VI. Son of the King of spotless famCj
Whose actions fill the jDorld! — rer. 17. p. 182.
It is uncertain, here, what Ring the poet means, whether the father, or the grandfather of his hero ; either of them might have been called King by the bard, as the word Righ is frequently made use for any great commander, or military soTereign; and Osgur might have been stiled son to either, because Mac (son) signifies also grandson, and often only a descendant.
Note VII. ShtOl tell how ofl^ in Crabhra's plainy
77ky dreadful spear was hurled: Vow high it heap'd the field zsith slasn^
WAB ODB TO OSfi^UB. 191*
Haw wide Hi carnage spread, TUl gorged iipen the human f east ^ the gluiied ravens fed.---' Ter. 4^ &c p. 18&
The po«ts tell vs of an incredible slanghter, made in this bat. tie, by the sword of Osgur: the brave and fierce MacGaraidh, King of Connanghty of the tribe of Morni, and Cairbre, Monarch of Ireland, besides numbers of inferior chieftains, leli by his single arm*
Note VIII. jIs ike proud wave^ an whose broad back
The storm its burden heaves- — ver. 17, &c. p. 183.
It is impossible that the.ntmost stretch of human imagination and genius could start an image of greater sublimity than this! Had Fergus ne?er given any further proof of his talents than what is exhibited in the ode now before us, this stanza alone had been sufficient to hare rendered his name immortal !
Note IX. From king to king^ let death thy steps await. — ^ver. 3. p. 184.
The monarch, and the proTincial kings, who were united iigainst the Fenii.
Note IX. Mark where yon bloody ensign flies t Rush! — seize it! — lay its haughty triumphs /b»?— rer. 15. p. 184.
The taking of the enemy's standard was, we find, an object of great importance ; for we see the bard repeatedly point it oat in the battle, and urge his hero to the capture of it. The striking of a standard among the Irish troops, was, in general, a token of defeat. See O^Halloram.— ^< The duty of the '^ hereditary standard-bearer was, to preserve the royal ban. ^^ ner; to be amongst the foremost of the troops in action, and ^^ in the rear on a retreat; fof the troops had ever their eye on
192 IfOTKf Oir THS
*^ the standard, and when the prince was killed (for their princef <( seldom sarrived a defeat) the standard was struck, which ** was the signal for a retreat." Thus, had Osgur been able to seize npon the enemy's banner, they might have mistaken its disappearing for the usoal signal, and so been thrown into confusion.
Note X. What iho' Finn be distant far ^ Art not thou thyself a war? — ?er. 1. p. 185.
Finn, at the time of this baUle, was absent on a Roman expe- dition, and Cairbre took advantage of this circumstance, to hasten the issue of the contest. A beautiful and most affectfng poem (ascribed to Oisip) on (his subject, informs ns, that Finn, with his troops, returned on the eve of the battle, and that ho arrired just time enough to talce a last adieu of his dying grand- ton. Theif meeting is described, and is deeply pathetic. The poet also adds, that ^^ Finn never after was known to smile t *^ peace, after that, had no sweets, nor war any triumphs, that '^ could restore joy to his breast, or raise oue wish for ambition *^ or for glory, even though the empire of Heaven itself were to <^ be won by his arm, or were offered to his acceptance!'^
Note XL And vanquished Tamor'^s groans ascend the skies l^-^rer, 8^ p. 185.
Tamor, or Teamor, the royal seat of the Monarch of Ireland '^ Its chief court (says O'Conoe) was three hundred feet in *^ length, thirty in height, and fifty in breadth. Jt had access '^ by fourteen doors, which opened on their several apartments, *' fitted up for the kings and deputies of each province: the ^^ royal seat was erected in the middle of the hduse, where the *' monarch sat in state, with his Asionn^ or imperial cap, on *^ his head. The kings of the two Munsters took their seats on ^^ his left; those of Ulster, on his right; the king of Leioster, *^ in his front ; and the king .of Connaught, together with the f^ OllamhaiHy behind the throne. The particular reasons for
WAE ODE TO O90UR. 193
f^ sucb a disposition are not set down in any MSS. come to our ^^ hands.
^^ This high court of conrention was sorronnded by fonr other ^^ large houses, fitted tip for the lodging and accommodation of '^ the 8e?eral provincial kings and deputies, during the session ; ^^ close to these were other booses; one for state prisoners, ano. ^' ther for Fileas, and another for the princesses, and the women f ^ who attended at court
- '^ Teamor was the royal seat of the kings of Ireland, and the ^^ principal court of legislation, from the days of CHIamh Fodla, <« down to the reign of Qermod Mac Ceryaill ; so that the Fes ^^ of Teamor continued, from time to time, through k series of *' more than eleten hundred year^.'' Dt^seriations on the Hist. of '/rffofftf, p. 117, 9rd edit.
T^e fear of exteia«liiig this note to too great a Length, has obliged me, Chough reluctantly^ to glare only Extracts from Mr, 0*CoiroB*s description. For a more enlarged account of th^s celebrated place, see Collectanea^ toI. i.
Note XII. Tko* uftequal be thejlghty Th&* unnumbered be the foe, — ^rer. 9. p. 185.
Hie f enti vere greatly ont«numbered in this battle. In ano. ther poem on the subject, attributed to Oisin, and addressed to St. Patrick, we find this passage. ^' There was Cairbre Liffe. f ' car, at the head of Erin's mighty hosts, marching against our <' forces, to the field of Gabhra, the battle of fatal strokes { f' There was also Mac Garaidh, and a thousand champions, *^ assembled against the powers of my son : — nine battalions ^^ also from Ulster, and the Munster troops, against our Lein. ^^ ster legion; besides the king of Connaught, and his valiant ^' bands, who joined with the monarch against us, in that day's ^^ engagement. Unfair and unequal was that division of our *^ forces, for small was the band of the Feuii.*'
%c
194 iroTss, KTC.
Note XIIL O lately warrior! Farm of graee^ Be not di$mmf*d! — ^¥er. 10, 9cc. p. 185.
Here it appears that Osgor begins for a moment to yield; but quickly after, animated and renoTatrd by the exhortations of his bard, we find him again dealing death around.
Note XIV. To thee for aid the Feniijl^.'--^er. 10. p. Ig6.
The Irish, in general, were frequently called Feniansy or Phenians^ from their great ancestor Phenius FarsOy or, per. haps, in allusion to their Phoenician descent But the Leinster legions proudly arrogated that name entirely to themselves, an4 called their celebrated body, ezclusirely, FenUy or Fiamnm Eireann.
Note XV. Forsake not the fani'd path thy fathers have pursued t-^rer, % p. 187.
All of the tribe of Boisgne were particularly famed for prowess, and celebrated by our ancient poets.
n.
d)t)e to <BmU
ADVERTISEMENT.
TO throw light oa the subject of the following Ode,
»
I have endeavoured, in vain, to procure a copy of the legend of t>tttt1^e^D Be^J D-4 l^tiltfTttJDe, mentioned in Mr. Walker^s Irish Bards; in which, he sajs, is related the ^^ celebrated contention for precedence, be« << tween Finn and Gauly near Finn^s palace at Almhain^ <^ The attending Bards, (continues he,) observing the << engagement to grow very sharp, were apprehensive of << the consequences, and determined, if possible, to cause ^^ a cessation of hostilities. To effect this, thej shook << The Chain of Silence^ and flung tliemselves among the ^^ ranks, extolling the sweets of peace, and the atchieve- << ments of the combatants* ancestors. Immediately both ^< parties, laying down their arms, listened, with mute << attention, to the harmonious lays of their Bards, and << in the end rewarded them with precious gifls«'^*
I regret much that I have never seen this legend, and therefore can only conjecture, that the Ode before us was composed, or rather recited, extempore, upon the same occasion. There is frequent mention made, in our ro- mances and poems, of a memorable contest between the rival tribes ofMomi and Boisgne^ of which Gaul and linn were the leaders ; and that, by the mediation of the
* Hist, Mem* Irish Bards^ p. 44. The legend here alladed to h not in the possetsioa of Mb^Waimer; if it was, his polite, ness and public spirit would not faaf# sviered \Am to refase it. -
198 ADVEBTIUMBHT*
BaidS) it was finally concluded in peace: but I bare never seen anj particular account of the dispute, or description of tlie combat : nor been able to obtain anj further information upon the subject, than the little I hare here given to the public*
ODE
TO GAUL, THE SON OF MORNL
HIGH-MINDED Gaul, whose daring aoid Stoops not to our ChieTs controull ChamjMon of the navy's pride !
Mighty ruler of the tide 1
Rider of the stormy wave.
Hostile nations to enslave I
Shield of freedom's glorious boast! Head of her nnconquer'd host ! Ardent son of Momi's might 1 Terror of the fidds of fight! Long renown'd and dreadful name! Hero of auspicious fame I
200 ODES.
Champion^ in our cause to ami !
Tongue^ with eloquence to charm ! With depth of sense, and reach of manly thought ! With every grace, and every beauty fraught !
Girt with heroic mighty When glory, and thy country call to arms. Thou go\it to miagk In the loud alarms.
And lead the rage of fight ! Thine, hero! thine "the princely sway
Of each conflicting hour ;
Thine ev^ry brigiht cwiewmeiitto displsjr, The smile of beaulty, and ilie mnn of pfvr'r f
Science, beneath our hero^ diade. Exults, in all her pictrmr's f^tfiks.ariay'^d : Her Chief, the soul cf '<^ery (fighting ffisMI The arm, — the heart, alike unknown to yidldj
Hear, O Finta'! tbf'p6DpIe'atv«icei
Trembling on our Ulli we plead ;
O let our fears to peace incline ibsy iohoioe I
Divide the spoil, and give 4Ke3ieio'«>meed !
dDSi^ 201
¥or t)riglit and Varidus is hk wide renown^ * And war and science weare his glorious crown !
Did all the hosts of all the earth unite. From pole to pole, from ^^ate to waTei
Exulting in thdir inight : His is that monarchy of soul To fit him for the wide controuli The empire of the brare I
Friend of learning;' 1 mighty flame 1 Havoc of hosts, and pride of fame ! Fierce as the foaming strength of ocean's rage. When liature^s powers in strife engage. So does his dreadful progress roll> And such the force that lifts his soul I
Fear him, chief of Erin's might !
And his fOe no longer be ; Sun of honor's sacred light.
Rending storm of death is he !
Finn of the flowing locks, O hear my voice !
No more with Gaul conttod (
2d
902 oi>s9.
Be peace, henceforth, thy happy chdice. And gain a valiant fiiend !
Secure of victory, to th^ fieU.
^is conquering standard goes; 'Tis his the powers of fight to wields
And woe awaits his' foes!
Not to mean insidious drt Does the great name of Gaul its terrors owe; But frdm a brave undaunted heart His glories flow I
Stature sublime, and awful mien!
Arm of strength, by valour steel'd I Sword of fate, in battle keen.
Sweeping o'er the deadly field !
Finn of the dark-brown hair, O hear my voice ! No more with Gaul contend ! Be peace sincere henceforth thy choice. And gain a valiant friend ! In peace, tho* inexhausted from his breast Each g^entle virtue flows.
In war, no force his fury can arrest. And hopeless are his foes.
Leader of the shock of arms. Loudest in the loud alarms ! Friend of princes, princely friend. First in bounty to transcend I Patron of the schools encreasei Sword of war, and shield of peace!
Glory of tiie fields of fame 1 Pride of hosts! illustrious name! Strengtii of pow'r ! truimphant might ! Firm maintainer of Ihe fight ! Fierce in the conflicting hour ; Bulwark of tiie royal pow*r!
O generous charm of all-accomplish 'd love 1 — Iiocks of bright redundant shade ! Breast where strengtii and beauty strove 1 White as the hue the chalky cliffi display'df To thee glad Erin should her homage
pay*
And joy to own thy glorious swayj
804 D0BS.
Spirit reflolute to^ dare ! Aspect sweet beyond eompare. Bright with inspiring soul ! with blooming beauty
fair! Warrior of majestic charms I High in fame and great in arms ) Well thy daring soul may tow% Nothing is above thy pow'r j
Hear, O Finn ! my ardent zealj
While' his glories I reveal !
Fierce as ocean's angry wave.
When conflicting tempests rave ; As still, with the encreasing storm. Increasing ruin clothes its dreadful form. Such is the Chiefs overwhelming in his force, Unconquer^d in hfs swfft, redstless course !
Tho' in the smiles of blooming grace amray 'd, And bright in beauty's every charm;
Yet think not, therefore, that his soul will bend, Nor with the Chief contend;
for well he knows to wield the glittering blade. And. fatal is his arm !
Bounty in Ids iHMmn dwells; High his soul of courage gwella! ileroe the dreadful war to wage« Mix in the whirl of fightj, and guide the battle's rage !
IVide^ wide around triumphant ruin wields Roar through the ranhs of death, and thunder o*er
the field]
Many a ehief of mighty sway Fights beneath his high command; Marshals his troops in bright array> And spreads his banners o'er the land.
Cham]non of unerring aim ! Chosen of Kings> triumphant name ! Bounty's hand, and Wisdom's head. Valiant arm, and lion soul. O'er red heaps of sLaugfater'd dead, Jhim^ering on to Glory's goal f
IPride of Finian fame, and anns ! Mildness of majestic charms ! Swiftness of the battle's rage I Jheipe of the heroic pag^ !
206 oi>s0*
in purpose! fierce in fight! Arm of slaughter ! soul of might ! Glory's light ! illustrious name ! Splendour of the paths of fame ! Bom bright precedent to yield. And svreep with death the hostile field!
Leader of sylviin sports ; the hound, the horn.
The early melodies of mom! Love ef the feir, and favourite of the muse. In peace, each peaceful science to diffuse : Prince of the noble deeds! accomplish^ name! Increasing bounty! comprehensive fame!
Ardent, bold, unconquer'd Knight!
Breaker of the bulwark's might!
Chief of war's resistless blade. With spears of wrath, and arms of death
array 'd! Heroic Gaul! beneath thy princely sway. The earth might bend, and aU her host obey!
Hear, O Gaul! the poet's voice! O be peace thy gen'rous choice!
t)i)E«. 207
Yield thee to the Bard's desire! Calm the terrors of thine ire! Cease we here our mutual strife; And peaceful be our future life!
Gaul. I yields O Fergus! to thy mild denre;
Thy words, O Bard! are sweet; Thy wish I freely meet. And bid my wrath expire. No more to discontent a prey, I give to peace the future day : To thee my soul I bend, ' O guileless friend! The accents of whose glowing lip well know that
soul to sway.
Bakp. O swift in honor's course! thou generous
name! dastriotts Chief, of neyer-dying fame!
N0TE9
OK TlUl .WA» 0M( TO. AAVA*
Note h Oaulj whose darfmg^fout Stoops mot to our ChkfH coniroul.'^rtr* h p. 199«
SfaiB MacXmliali Umo gMenil ol die Irbh mllHia.
Note IL Chamfkt^ sf^ na»y^$prkhf JM^mfer oftho tUM Rider ofihe Hormy woiooy- HotMb nattomto emhwel^-^et, 3, ftc. p. 199*
<< Besides HMr sttndfaig armies, we find the Iri^ kept up a ^^ considerable Band forte, whereby, from time to time, they *^ poured troops into Britain and Gaul, which countries thejr ^ long kept nnder contribution. To this, howeier, many ob- ^^ jections IwTe l>een made; as if a people, who iniaded Irriand *^ in thirty large ships, could ewer be condemned to make use of ^^noerogs, and currachs!— ^Their migrations from Egypt to ^ Greece^ and from thence to Spain, have also been doubted, ^' from the supposed dificuUy of proeuring shippings whilst at ^ the same periodof time no objections haie l>een made to the ^ aecounts of the Phssnicians, ike Tyrians, and, after them, tho *< Greeks, haying rery considerable fleets, and making very << distant settlemenU." O'Haix. Introd* to the Hist, and Jniiq. of Ireland^ p. 1S5.
The same learned author proceeds to bring forward sud^
2a
210 KOTR# ON TM«
proofs of the naval power of onr early ancestors, as must do away every donbt, in minds of any reason or candour; but a qaotation of fliem at large would exceed Che limits of a note; my readers are therefore referred to the Taluable work from which the above is taken. In many parts of Colonel Vallait. cET's inestimable ColleeianeOy they may also find proofs of the knowledge of the early Irish in naval affairs: — indeed, the asto* nishing number of names (no less than between forty and fifty) for a ship, in die Irish language, appears to have given ground for concluding, that there must have been some degree of pro- portionable variety in their structure.
Note in. IJear^ O Finn! thypeopUU voice! TVemblh^ on our hills we plead. — ^ver. 17. p. 200.
This alludes to a custom which prevailed, amongst the early Irish, of holding all their public meetings, and frequently their feasts, on the tops of lofty eminences. In the few prefatory liniBS, annexed to this ode, I have hazarded a conjecture, that it Was one of the extemporaneous compositions, so celebrated in the romance of ^pUlieM) Be^J t)A hUlmx^tye; yet this passage seems an objection, unless we suppose, that an entertainment, or a peaceable meeting, ended in a battle, (which indeed might have been the case) for the mention of ^^ hills" here, implies peace, and the quotation from the romance ex« pressly tells us, that the ode was sung ai the combat.
Note IV. Divide the spoUj and give the hero's meed! — ^ver. 90. p. iOa
Possibly it might have been about the division of the booty, gained in some British, or perhaps continental expedition, that the tribes of Morni aad Bolsgne were at variance : at least it appears by this passage, that a part of their discontents arose from some such occasion.
yvAU OPS TO GAVL. 211
NoteV. Finnof the Jiawmglocki.— jet. 19. p, 901.
The natural and beantifnl ornament of hair was mncli che. risKed and esteemed amongst the ancient Irish. I knovr not whence the idea of their matted locks (so often mentioned by English chroniclers) had its rise: — certain it is, that we meet with no SQch expression, in an j of our Irish annals, legends, or poems:— on the contrary, the epithets ^^ flowing — curling — waring locks,'' perpetually occur, and are apparently esteemed fs essential to the beauty of the warrior, as to that of the fair.
Note yi. Not to mean insidiom arty Doe$ the great name of Gaul Us terrors ove.— Ter. 7, p. 903.
*^ What added lustre to the natire Talour, was, the extreme ^^ openness, candour, and simplicity of this people (the Irish) ; f ^ not eren to gratify that insatiable thirst for power, the source ^^ of such derastations, ^o we often read of indirect or dishd. ^* norable means used* Heralds were sent to denounce fair, << open war, and the place, time and action were previously ^^ settled. If any unforeseen accident disappointed either party, f ^ as to the number of troops, &c. notice was sent to his oppo« '* nent, and a further day was appointed, and generally granted."* 0*Hall. Int. to the Hist, and Antiq. of Ireland^ p. 233.
Indeed, for a spirit of honor, and a natural rectitude^f mind, the Irish were remarked, even by the writers of a nation, once their bitter enemies. Their lore of justice, and attachment to the laws, was thus acknowledged by Baron Finolas, in the days of Henry the Eighth. ^< The l^ws and statutes made by ^^ the Irish, on their hills, they keep firm and stable, without ^ breaking them for any foronr or reward.'* Baron Fimglas's Breviate of Ireland. Sir John Dayies too, (Attorney General In the reign of James the First) acknowledges, that *^ there is ** no nation under the sun that lore equal and indiflerent justice '* better than the Irish ; or will rest better satisfied with the l^ execution thefeof, although it be against themselTes." Dat]£8*|
sit - iroTBf mrTHA
flt^/. 0/ Ireland. Also Cooksj treating of oar laws, aayt, ^^ For I bare been iDformed by many of tbem tbat bare bad *^ judicial places tbere, and pm'U^ of mine mim kn^wUdge^ tbat ^< tbere is no nation of tbe Cbristtan world, that are greater ^' lofers of justice tbaip tbey are ; wbicb Tirtae most of neces- ^ sjty be accompanied by many ^otbers." Cooeia'a hUiiyie$^ cbap. 76.
Note VII. SUdure mblmej tmd atef«/ tmfn ! — fer. I L {k 990.
Amongst oar early ancestors, not only personal strength, and courage, but also beauty, — a graceful figure, an elegant address, imd majestic stature, were lequisite in th^ candidates for knight- hood. See O'Hallora^. Keatinp*
Note VIII, Pidrort of the echoole enerea»el — ^rer. T. p. 203.
To be esteemied the patrons of (ciepce, was (next to military renown) the chief object of ambition, with the^ princes, an4 chieftains, of the ancient Irish.
Note iX. fVhiie as ike hue (he chalky cliffs (fisplay^dl—irer. 18. p. 903.
«< The breast like the chalky cliff."— <^ The hero with the f^ breast of snow." — ^^ The sjde, white as the fQam of the falU *^ ing stream," — frequently occur in our Irish poets' descrip- tions of |])eir youthful warriors. The ideas which these pas. sages conrey, ^re rather inconsistent wjth the disgusting on^ that must be conceived of tbe early Irish, by those who give credit to the accounts of writers who tell us, they wore shirts dyed in saffron^ for the convenience of hiding the dirt^ and further add, that they never pulled them off until fairly worn out. — In this case, whatever nature might have done in the blanching of their skins — habit must hare counteracted all her good intentions. Whence then did the bard derive his idea? — ^o false a compliment, one would thiuk,'must rather have draws
wABi<ii>i(.iro «Ari. $IS
opon Ua tii^ ikiakf,. by nmlDdiac Ui aloftriy heroes wliat filtlij creatures thej were. But indeed the asset* tion seems too absnrd for argument, and is most worthily aa- swered bj a smile. The .bet is, that the ancient Irish were so r^wuarkabfy cleanl^^ as never to res( froot.fatigpe^ o? itt down io meat, after exercise, vaiil ii^ hlMl first.nefrtsbed and cleauied themselTes by ablutions. See Keativo, Warnee, &c«
, Note X. Fierce ae ocean's engfif »09c, Whef^ cet^kimgUti^Hf^roDe^'^^eu. 10. p, 904.
Hero wo find a repetition of tlie same image tliat occurs a few ftansas before: the language is indeed a little varied, jet still the image Is the sane. I have already apologised for tliis fre« quent repetition, and entreat my readers to recollect wbat has been said upon the subject But an extemporaneous composi. Hon, lihe this, ooght to be exempt from that severity of criti. dsm which may with justice be exercised on the productions of study, and tlie labours of time.
Note Xr. Pride of Fiidanfamej and arms ! Mildnea ofmqje$tic charms I — ver. 17. p. 305.
'' The knowledge of arms was but a pari of the education of *' the Celtic warrior. In Ireland, tbey were Well informed in *^ history, poetry, and the polite arts; they were sworn to l>e f* the protectors of the fair, and the avengers of their wrongs; ^ and io be polite in words and address j even io their greaHesi ^^ enemies.^* O'Halloeav.
Note XII. Love ofihefairj andfaoouriie of the muse, — ver. 9. p. 200.
Irish history informs us, that those of their Monarchs or CUeDi, who, besides the accustomed patronage of science and •ong, were ihemsehes possessed of tht gifts of the muse, ob« ^ned, on that account, from their Fileas, and from their coun.
214 nonn, ktc.
tfjmeo ia geiiffra]| « diitingvlslied poiiioii of konor, vmptet sod celebrity.
Note XIII. To ihee mg wui I bendy
11. p. Wf.
A cliaracter ^4.1) 'f^tie^lt, (without guUe or deeeU^^ wis esteemed tbe highest that eenld be giTen, amongst the ancieDt Irish: aod the faToarite panegjric of a Bavd, to his faTOvrite hero, would be, thai he had a Aeorl inofoble ofguiie.
m.
to 4 JSi)tp«
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE following descriptive Ode was written by a gentleman of the name of Fitt'Geraldj in the reign of Elizabeth^ as appears from passages in some other pieces^ i^omposed by the same author. The subject of it, we see^ is a voyage to Spain; but the idea of thus celebra- ting the subject^ was probably suggested by the third Ode of Horace: for though the Irish poet can by no means be said to have copied the Roman one, yet he seems to have, in some measure, adopted his design.
J should be accused of treason to the majesty of Jloraccy did I say that he is siurpassed by our Irish bard upon this subject: — I shall not, therefore, risk the cen- sure: but, my readers are at liberty to do it, if they please.
For the original of the following Ode, I am indebted to Mr. O^ Flanagan^ of Innity College. There is also another copy of it in Mr, O^HaUoran^s collection.
2f
ODE,
BY FITZGERALD,
WRiTtnr ON mt isttino ooy oh a totagk to irAnr.
IBLESS my good ship« protecting powV of grace! And o'er the winds, the waves, the destined coasts Breathe benign spirit! — Let thy radiant host
Spread their angelic shields! Before ns, the bright bulwark let them place. And fly beside us, through their azure fields!
O calnrthe voice of winter's storm! Rule the wrath of angry seas! The fury of the rending blast appease. Nor let its rage fair ocean's face deform! O check the biting wind of spring.
And, from before our course. Arrest the fury of its Ming, And terrors of its force!
So may we safely pass the dangerous cape» And from the perils of the deep escape I
I grieve to leaye the s{dendid seats
Of Teamor's ancient fame ! Mansion of heroes^ now farewell ! Adieu> ye sweet retreats. Where the fam'd hnnters of your ancient vale, YHio swelled the high heroic tale. Were wont of old to dwell 1 And yon, bright tribes of Bunny streams, adieu ! While my sad feet their mournful path pursue,
■
Ah, well their lingering steps my grieTtng soul
proclaim !
Receive me now, my ship! — hoist now thy sailsj
To catch the favouring gales. O Heaven I before thine awful throne I bend ! O let thy power thy servants now protect t Increase of knowledge and of wisdom knd; Our course, through ev'ry peril to direct;
To steer us safe through ocean's rage. Where angry storms their dreadful strife main* tain;
OBBf^ 201
O may thy po^v'r their wrath jfusuage! May smiliBg suns, and gentle bteez^s reign !
Stout is my well-built ship^ the Btorm to braye^ Majestic in its loightj Her bu^, tremendous on the wave^
Erects its stately height !• From her strong bottom^ tall in air Her branching masts aspiring ripe i Aloft their cords^ and curling heads they bear^ And give their sheeted ensigns to the skies; While her proud bulk frowns awful on the main^ And seems the fortress of the liquid jdain !
ft
Dreadful in the shock of fight. She goes — she cleayes the storm!
Where ruin wear# its most tremendous form She sails> exulting in her might :
On the fierce necks of foaming billows rides. And through the roar
Of angry ocean, to i|ie destin'd shore Her course triumphant guides;
As though beuMth her frown the winds were dead.
And each blue yalley was their silent bed !
222 6tii.
Through all the perils of the main She knows her dauntless progress to maintain! Through quicksands, flats, and breaking
waves. Her dangerous path she dares explore ; Wrecks, storms, and calms, alike she braves. And gains, with scarce a breeze, the wish'd-for
shore ! Or in the hour of war. Fierce on she bounds, in conscious might. To meet the promised fight ! While, distant far. The fleets of wondering nations gaze. And view her course with emulous amaze. As like some champion'd son of fame. She rushes to the shock of arms. And joys to mingle in the loud alarms, Impeird by rage, and fir'd with glory's
flame.
Sailing with pomp upon the watery plain. Like some huge monster of the main. My ship her speckl'd bosom laves.
And high in air her curling ensign waves;
0DC8. 223
Her stately rides, with polish'd beauty gay, And gunnel, bright with gold's efiulgent ray.
As the fierce griffin's dreadful flight Her monstrous bulk appears. While o^er the seas her towering height. And her wide wings, tremendous shade ! she rears. Or, as a champion, thirsting after fame, — The strife of swords, — ^the deathless name, — So does she seem, and such her rapid course !
Such is the rending of her force ; Whenher sharp keel,where dreadful splendoursplay. Cuts through the foaming main its liquid way. like the red bolt of Heaven, she shoots along, Dire as its flight, and as its fury strong !
God of the winds ! O hear my pray'r !
Safe passage now bestow ! Soft, o'er the slumbering deep, may fair
And prosperous breezes flow ! O'er the rough rock, and swelling wave.
Do thou our progress guide ! Do thou from angry ocean save, .
And o'er its rage preside.
224 oDss.
Speed my good ship, along the rolling sea, O Heaven! and smiling skies, and fayourmg gales*
decree ! Speed the high-masted ship of dauntless force. Swift in her glittering flight, and sonnding course ! Stately moving on the main. Forest of the azure plain ! Faithful to c<mfided trust, To her promised glory just ;
Swift frpm afar, In peril's fearful hour. Mighty in force, and bounteous in her power. She comes, kind aid she lends. She frees her supplicating friends, And fear before her flies, and dangers cease I
Hear, blest Heaven ! my ardent pray'r ! My ship — my crew — O take us to thy care !
O may no peril bar our way! Fair blow the gales of each propitious day ! Soft swell the floods, aiid gently roll the tides. While from Dunboy, along the smiling main We sail, until the destined coaist we gain, And safe in port our gallant vessel rides !
Clejiejg.
2*
I.
Clenri^
TO THE PAUGHtER OF OWEN.
ADVERTISEMENT.
OF the Ihsh ^^pdt)xi, or Fmmr^i Elegy ^ I fam been able to procure but few good origuiak; bDwevor, there are, doubtless, manj of them atilleKtaut; m mho, many other beautiful composition^ of Ottr«ncie«tcouiitrjr« men, Which I have ne^er seen.
The Irish language, perhaps beyond all othens, is pe» culiarly suited to every subject of £legy ; and, aooeni-' ingly, we find it exc^ in plaintive and sentimental poetry* The Lave Elegies of the I<ish are <cxquisitely pathetic, and breathe an artless tenderness, that is infinitely more afiecting than all the laboured pomp ^ declamatory woe.
The public are hete presented with a few specimens of both kinds. To the following, on the Daughter ofOweft^ the foremost plaoe is assigned, because (though without a date) it bears the appearance of belonging to an earlier period than any other of the Elsies contained in this volume. The original of it is in the hands of Mr. O^IJa* fUigan^ who has in vain endeavoured io procure soma anecdotes of the author, and of the fair subjects that it was written by a poet of the name of O^Geran^ is all that can be collected from enquiry.
In the Irish, it is one of the most beautiful compositions I have ever seen : it is, of all my originals, the one I most iviiibed to give in its expressions, as well as its thoughts.
290 ADTERTISSMmr.
to the English reader; bat in this, notwithstandii^ idl ■ij efforts^ I am conscioiu that I have failed.
Either I am wery mihappy in mj abnioe of words, or it is next io impossible to conTey the spirit of this poem into a liberal translation; I tried, to the utmost of my power, but, to toy extreme regret, I found myself unequal to the task, though I chose an irregular measure, that I might be more at liberty io adhere closely to the ezpres* sioM of my original, which are comprehensiye, and strike lag J beyond the power of any one to conceiYe,who is unacquainted with the genius of the Irish language. In some passages, a single word conveys the meaning and force of a sentence ; it was, therefore, impossible to trans*^ late it without periphrasis, and, of course, many of its native graces are lost; I shall be most happy to see some abler pen restore them, as I really lament sincerely my inability io do all the justice I wished, to that tender sira» plicity, and those beautiful expressions, which I read with so much delight.
Determined, however, to give the Poem, in the best manner I could, to the public, I have conveyed its thoughts into the following version ; and, for those pas* sages wherein the language is thought io be too diffuse, I rely on the candour of my readers to accept of this apology.
In the original there are some repetitions, and also a few entire lines, which are not given in the English ver- sion. I apprehended it might, otherwise, be too long^ and have therefore omitted what I thought could best be spared.
£legy
TO
THE DAUGHTER OF OWEN.
DAUGHTER of Owenj behold my grief 1 Look Boft pity's dear relief! Oh ! let the beams of those life-giving ej-es Bid m J fainting heart arise^ And, from the now opening graye^ Thy faithful lover save J •
Snatch from death his dire decree 1 What is impossible to thee ? Star of my life's soul-cheering lighti Beam of mildness, soft as bright! Do not, like others of thy sex. Delight the wounded heart to vex I
But hedr» O hear ihy lorer's sigjli^, And with true pity, hither turn thine eyes t
Still, tho' wasted with despair. And pale with pining^ care, iStill, O soft maid 1 this form may meet thy si^ht/ No object yet of horror, or afi)ight.
Long unregarded have I sighed, liove's soft retttm deny^dj
No nmtual heart, no fdithful fair.
No sympathy to soothe my care !
O thou, to every bosom dear !
Uniyersal charmer I — ^hear ! No more sweet pity's gentle power withstand t
Reach the dear softness of thy hand! O let it be the beauteous pledge of peace. To bless my love, and \nd my sorrows cease !
llaste, haste ! — no more the kind relief delay ! Come, speak, and look, and smile my woes awayf
O haste, e'er pity be too late !
Haste, and intercept my fate ! Or soon behold life, love, and sorrow end. And see^me to An early tomb descend I —
t*or, ah» what medicine can my cure impartj, Or what physician heal a broken heart?
'Tis thine alone the soyerei^ balm to giye^ Bind the soul's wound, and bid the dying live I 'Tis thine, of right, my anguish to assuage. If love can move, or gratitude engage ! For thee alone, all others I forsake ! For thee alone, my cares, my wishes wak^, O locks of Beauty's bright redundant flow. Where waving softness, curling fragrance grow !
Thine is the sway of soul-subduing charms. That eyery breast of all defence disarms! With thee my will, enamoured, hugs its chaii^ And Love's dear ardours own thy potent reign ! Take then the heart my coi&tant passion gave. Cherish its faith, and from its anguish save ! Take the poor trembler to thy gentle breast. And hush its fears, and soothe its cares to
rest!
For all I haye, in timid silence borne,
For all the pangs that haye this bosom tom^
2n
334 miKoiEs.
Speak I10W the word, and heal my pain. Nor be n^y sufferings vain ! For now, on life itself their anguish preys. And heavy on my heait the burden weighs !
O first, and fairest of thy sex i
Thou whose bright form the sun of beauty decks !
Once more let Love that gentle bosom sway, O give the dear enchantment way ! Raise, — ^fondly raise those snowy arms. Thou branch of blooming charms ! Again for me thy fragrance breathe. And thy fair tendrils round me wreath !
Again be soft affection's pow'r displayM, While sweetly wand'ring in. the secret shade: Reach forth thy lip,— ^the honeyM kiss bestow ! Reach forth thy lip, where balmy odours
^ow!
»
Thy lip, whose sounds such rapture can impart. Whose words of sweetness sink into the heart !
Again, at gentle Love's command, Reach forth thy snowy hand !
«LB6lEd. 235
Soft into mine its Whiteness steal. And its dear pressure let me feel { Unveil the bashful radiance of thine eyes, { Bright trembling gems ! ) and let me see them rise, lift the fair lids where their soft glories roll. And send their secret glances to my soul !
O what delight, thus hand in hand to rove !
To breathe fond vows of mutual love ! To see thee sweet affection's halm impart. And smile to health my almost broken heart ! Ah ! let me give the dear idea scope ! Ah ! check not yet the fondly-trembling hope !-r- Spent is the rock by which my )ife was fed. And spun by anguish to a sightless thread ! A little more, — and all in death will ^ end. And fiuijbless pity o'er my grave will 1)end !
IVheii I am dead, shun thou my cruel fate, Lest equal harms on equal perils wait. Hear my last words, their fond request declare. For even in death, thy safety is my care ! No more, O maid ! thy polish 'd glass invite, To give that fatal beaii^y to thy sight !
236 BLEQIBSr
Enough one life its dangers to enthral ! Enough that I its hapless victim fall ! —
O thoU; more bright^ more cheering to our eyes. Than the joung beams that warm the dawning
skies I Hast thou not heard the weeping muse relate The mournful tale of young Narcissus' fate ? — r How, as the Bards of ancient days have sun^. While fcmdly o'er the glassy stream he hung. Enamoured he his lovely form surveyed, ^nd dy'd, at length, the victim of a shade.
Sweet ! do not thou a like misfortune prove ! O be not such thy fate, nor such thy love I Let peril rather warn, and wisdom guide. And from thyself thy own attractions hide I No more on that bewitching beauty gaze. Nor trust thy sight to meet its dazzling blaze i
Hide, hide that breast so snowy fair !
Hide the bright tresses of thy hair ! And oh ! those eyes of radiant ruin hide ! What heart their killing lustre can abide I
suseiBS. 237
Slow where their soft and tender glances roU^ They steal its peace from the unwary soul I
Hide the twin berries of thy lip's perfume^ Their breathing fragrance, and their deepening
bloom. And those fair cheeks, that glow like radiant
mom, When soFs bright rays his blushing east adorn! No more to thy incautious sight displayed. Be that dear form, in tender grace array'd I
The rosy finger's tap'ring charms;
The slender hand, the snowy arms;
The little foot, so soft and fair ;
The timid step, the modest air; No more their graces let thine eye pursue. But bide, O hide the peril frcmi thy view I
This done, — ^in safety may'st thou rest.
And peace possess thy breast. For who can with thy charms compare, And who but thee is worth a care ? — 0 ! from thyself thine eyes, thy heart protect. And none beside, thy fjuiet can affect
238 SLiBeiss&
-^ For thee, while all the youths of Erm sigh. And, .Btrack beneath thine eye-beam, die; Still peace within thy bosom reigns, Unfelt by thee their pains 1 O gracefnl meehneas ! ever new delight 2 Sweet bashful charm of captivated eight ! Why, while my heart, (fond subject! ) bless'd thy
sway. Why did^st thou steal its vital soul away ? Ah ! with the theft the life of life is fled^ And leaves me almost numbered with the dead !
While thus, in vain, my anguish I bewail. Thy peace no fears assail ; ' None in my hapless cause will move; Each partial jheart is fetter'd to thy love ! Thou whose fair hand bids the soft harp com- plain, ^ Flies o'er tjlie string, and wakes the tender strain. Wilt thou not some — some kind return impart. For my lost quiet, and my plundered heart ?
O thou dear angel-^mUing face ! Fair form of fascinating grace !
£LE0IE8. 239
Bright as the gentle moon's soft splendours rise. To light her steps of beauty through the skies ! O tuml — OB me those tender glances roll. And dart their cheering lustre on my soul i Be dear compassion in their beams exprest. And heal with, love the sorrows of my breast !
IL
CUJ?
2i
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE original of the following pathetic little elegj, vaa taken down from the dictation of a young woman, in the county ofMqyoy by Mr. O^Flanagany who was struck with the tender and beautiful simplicity which it breathes. No account can be obtained, either of the writer, or of the period in which it was written.
This elegy was translated long since, without any view to publication; and the language is, therefore, rather IBiore diffuse, than that of my pther translations.
ELEGY.
lYHEN oaths confirm a loyer'B vow. He thinks I believe him true : —
Nor oaths, nor lovers heed I now. For memory dwells on you !
The tender talk, the face like snow On the dark monntain's height ;
Or the sweet blossom of the sloe. Fair blooming to the sight !
But false as £sir, alas, you prove.
Nor aught but fortune prize ; The youth who gained my heart's first love.
From truth-«-tQ wealth he flies 1
346 XLB0IC9.
Ah that he could bat still deceiTe^ And I stUl think him tme !
Still fondl J, as at first, believe. And each dear scene renew !
Again, in the sequester'd vale. Hear love's sweet accents flolr^
And quite forget the tender tale. That fill'd my heart with woe !
See tiiis dear trifle,— (kept to prove
How I the giver prize ; ) More precious to mj faithful love»
Than all thy sex's sighs !
What tears for thee in secret flow. Sweet victor of the gre^n I —
For maiden jride would veil my wo€^ And seek to weep unseen*
Return ye days to love consigned. Fond confidence, and joy !
The crowded fair, where tokens kind The lover's cares employ I
slsdixi. 247
Hetum once more, mine eyes to bleso.
Thou flower of £rin*8 youth ! Return «weet proofs of tendernesSi
And vows of endless truth !
And flymen at Love's altar stand.
To sanctify the shtine, J(»n the fond heart, and pHgfated hand.
And make thee firmly mine.
Ere envious ocean snatch thee hence, And — Oh ! — to distance bear
My love ! — my comfort ! — ^my defence ! And leave me — to despair I
Yes, — yes, my only love thou art !
Whoe'er it may displease, I will avow my captive heart.
And speak its master's praise !
Ah, wert thou here, to grace my side With dear, protecting love!
Envy might rage, and spight deride, And friends in vain repr6ve!
248
May pangs nimnmber^d pierce the breait That cruel envy arms.
That joys in constancy distresB'd,
*
And sports with its alarms !
star of love-attracting light! For thee these terrors sway : Chief steeps in tears the sleepless nightj And clouds the joyless day!
Ah God!, ah how, when thou art gone. Shall comfort reach my heart!
Thy dwelling, and thy fate unknown. Or where thy steps depart!
s
Mj father grieving at my choice!
My mother drown'd in woe I While friends uphraid, and foes rejoice
To see my sorrows flow!
And thou, with all thy manly charms. From this sad bosom torn!
»
Thy soothing voice, — thy sheltering arms. Far — far to distance borne I
ELBaiKtf. 249
Alas! — ^my dim and 8leeple» eyes
The clouds of death obscure! And nature, in exhausted sighs.
No longer can endure!
I can no more I — sad world farewell I
And thou> dear youth 1 adieu ! Bear, tho' forsworn! — ^yet, cruel ! tell
Why faldiood dwells with you?
Sc
Jit
€Uffp,
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE ftlhmiiig Ekgj^ wat mritlen, nmrly a centarf ago, by a reiy celebrated personage, of the imme of ^imnd Mymtj concerning wbom many stiMries are stilt drcnlatod, bat no connected acconnt has been obtaioed^ ftnrther than that be eommanded a company of thone unhappy free-booters, called BappareeSf who, after the defeat of the BoynCj were obliged to abandon their dwelU ings and possessions, <^ hoping (says Mr* O^HaUoran) << for safety within the precincts of the Irish quarters; ^^ bnt they were too nnmerons io be employed in the ^^ army, and their miseries often obliged them to prey ^^ alike upon friend and foe : at length some of the most <^ dairiag of tliem formed themselves into independent ^^ companies, whose subsistence chiefly arose from depre« f f dations committed on the enemy,
^^ It was not choice, but necessity, that drove them to ^^ this extreme; I have heard ancient people, who were f^ witnesses to the calamities of those days, affirm, that f ^ they remembered vast numbers of these poor Ulster ^^ Irish, men, women and children, io hare no other beds ^^ but the ridges of potatoe-gardens, and little other co- ^ vering ttian the canopy of heaven ; they dispersed ^^ themselves over the counties of Limmcky Clare and f* Kerry i and flie hardness of the times at length shut
254 ADYS&TISBMSVT^
<^ up all bowels of hamanitj, so that most oi them pe« *< rished by the swofd, cold, or faminer'*
From passages in this Elegy y we may infer^ that, to the misfortunes of its author alone, the desertion of his mis* tress was owing; but I have not been able to discover the name of this fair inconstant.
After the translation was made from the copy first eb« tained of this pathetic little poem, a friend transmitted to me the following stanzas, as a part of the original Ek^. They appeared well entitled to preservation^ and are here given to the public, who may admit or reject them af pleasure.
?ijt^ ^Mt-41^ t)o xijit caeB iDo^ce
t)o ttjt)e-d6 tno ctte^iiJ, f i^jtui Jexi6 tw t)e-db
tijttf bf^-dije-dd tt)§ 5-ar) et) t)e-dc
% fiiithye-dttc wo ^e/im^cz t^ejt) le^ic.
7Vait#tofoii,
Ah ! what woes are sitne to bear, Life's fair morn with clouds o'ercastingl
Doom'd the Tictim of despair 1
Yoath'8 gay bloom, pale sorrow blasting!
"^ 0'Hai.lob4n'8 ItU. to (he UiH. and 4ni. oflrelandy p. SUL
ABVSIITISEMSHT. 255
Sad the bird tbat siogs alone,
Flies to wilds, unseen to languish, Ponrs, unheard, the ceaseless moan,
And wastes, on desert air, its anguish I
Mine, O hapless bird! thy fate!«—
The plnnder'd nest, — ^the lonely sorrow ! —
The lost'-Iov'd— harmonious mate ! — The wailing night, — the chearless morrow !
O thou dear hoard of treasured love !
Though these fond arms should ne'er possess thee, Still--still my heart its faith shall prove.
And its last sighs shall breathe to bless thee !
•
1 am told there are several beautiful elegiac Songs still extant, composed by Edmond Ryan^ or Edmand of the Hilly (as he is called, from his rqving life,) but the fol- lowing is the only one of them that I have ever met witfa« The air to which it is sung << dits in every ntile^ and the Poem, though usually stiled a Scngy I have here classed «nder the title of Elegy ^ because it seemed more properljr Co belong to that species of composition.
ELEGY.
BRIGHT her locke of beauty greMr, Ciurling fair, and sweetly flowing;
And her eyes of smiling bltte» Oh how soft! how heay'nly glowing!
Ah! poor plundered heart of pain!
When wilt thou have end of mourning ? This long, long year^ I look in vain
To see my only hope returning.
Oh ! would thy promise faithful prore.
And to my fond, fond bosom give thee;
Lightly then my steps would more.
Joyful should my arms receiye theei
2l
5258 SLE61B8.
Then, once more, at early mom. Hand in hand we should be straying^,
"Where the dew-drop decks the thorn. With its pearls the woods arraying.
Cold and scornful as thou art.
Love's fond vows and faith beljdng.
Shame for thee now rends my heart. My pale cheek with blushes dying !
■
Why art thou false to me and love?
(While health and joy with tkee are vamili'd) Is it because forlorn I rove. Without a crime, ui^ustly banished ?
Safe thy charms with me should rest.
Hither did thy pity send thee. Pure the love that fills my breast.
From itself it would defend thee.
'Tis thy Edmond calls thee love. Come, O come and heal his anguiidit
Driven from his home, bdthold hhn rove> Condemned in exile here to kuigtiish !
m^Eum^. 259
O thou dear cawe of all my paiiM !
With thy diarms each heart wibdiiijig. Come, — on Mimater^B lonely plains.
Hear ag&in faiid pat sioh auiiig.
Music, mirth and sports, are here, Chearful friends the hours beguiling ;
Oh wouldat thou, my love I appear. To joy my hosom reconciling !
Sweet would seem 1^ holly's shade, •
Bright the cbufring berries glowing I
And, in scented bloom array'd, Apple-blossoms round us blowing.
Cresses waving in the stream. Flowers its gentle banks perfuming :
Sweet the verdant psrihs would seem. All in rich luxuriaaiee bloomittg.
O bright in every grace of youth !
Gentle charmer ! — -lovely wonder ! Break not fond vows and tender truth !
O rend nat ties so dear asuiider !
260 ELStflBS.
For thee all dangen would I brare.
Life with jo^, witii pride expomig; Breast for thee the stormy wave,
and tides in vain opposing.
O might I call thee now my own !
No added rapture joy could borrow: ^Twould be, like heav'n, when life is flown.
To chear the foul and heal its sorrow.
See thy falsehood, cruel
See my cheek no longer glowing ! Strength departed, health decayed;
Life in tears of sorrow flowing!
Why do I thus my anguish tell
Why pride in woe, and boast of ruin
O lost treasure ! — ^fare thee well! — Lov'd to madness— —to undoing*
Yet, O hear me fondly swear !
Though thy heart to me is frozen. Thou alone, of thousands fair.
Thou alone should'st be my chosen.
)BLB€(ISS. 261
Ererj f cene with thee would please I Eyery care and fear would fly me !
lYintery storms^ and raging seas^
Would lose their gloom, if thou wert nigh me!
Speak in time, while yet I liy e 1 Leave not faithful love to languish!
O soft breath to pity give.
Ere my heart quite break with anguish*
Pale, distracted, wild I roye.
No soothing yoice tof woes allaying;
Sad and deyious, through each groye. My lone steps are weary straying.
O sickness, past all medicine's art!
O sorrow, eyery grief exceeding! O wound that, in my breaking heart.
Cureless, deep, to death art bleeding!
Such, O Loyel thy cruel power,
Fond excess and fatal ruin! Such — O Beauty's fairest flower!
Such thy charms, and my undoing^
How the swan adomi tkat nttk.
There her dowm aad whilciici^ grava^;
Hov its mow thgie tnmcB deck. Bright im finr IwDDrianoe flownig.
Mine, of right, are all fliMe charms!
Cease with cokbKss then to griewB me! Take — O take me to thy anns.
Or thoae of death y/vQl soon reoeire me.
IV.
Cle02>
ON THE DEATH OF JOHN BURKE CASH
RENTRYLE, ESQ.
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE following funeral Elegy was composed b j Contlae Common, << who (says Mr. Walker) was bom in May, << 1703, at Woodstock^ near Ballindangan, in the county ^< of Mayo. His parents were P9or, and honest; re* ^ markable for nothing but the innocence, and simplicity ** of their lives*
<< Before he had completed the first year of his life,;the ^ small-pox deprived him of his sight. This cirCum- << stance, together with the indigence of his parents, pre* ^ vented him from receiving any of the advantages of ^^ education; but, though he could not read himself, he '< could converse with those who had read ; therefore, if ^ he wants learning, he is not without knowledge.
^ Shewing an early fondness for music, a neighbouring ^ gentleman determined to have him taught to play on <^ the harp t a professor of that instrument was accordingly ^ provided, and Gormac received a few lessons which he ^ practised eon amare; but his patron dying suddenly, << the harp dropped from his hand, and was never after << taken up. — It is probable he could not afford to
** string it.
«
<< Bat poetry was the muse of whom he was most ^< enamoured. This made him listen eagerly to the Irisk
2m
^6 ADTBilTISEMfiN'r.
<< songs, and metrical tales, which he heard sung and <' recited around the < crackling faggots* of his father, << and his neighbours. These, by frequent recitation, be- ^< came strongly impressed upon bis memory. His mind <^ being thus stored^ and having no other avocation, he «« commenced a Man of talk, or a TeJe TeUei. « He left <^ no calling, for the idle trade,' as our English Montaigne ^* observes ef Pope.
<< He was now employed in relating legendary tales, << and reciting genealogies, at rural wakes, or in the hos* << pitable halls of country squires. Endowed with a sweet << voice, and a good ear, his narrations were generally ^< graced with the charms of melody; (I say were geme* *' rally graced, because at his age, < nature sinks in years,' << and we speak of the man, with respect to his powers, ai << if actually a tenant of the grave.) He did not, like the <' Tale Teller mentioned by Sir William Temple, chaunt '^ his tales in an uninterrupted even<*tone; the monotony << of his modulation was frequently broken by cadences, << introduced with taste, at the close of each stanza. In *^ rehearsing any of Oisin's poems (says Mr. Ousley) he << chaunts them pretty much in the manner of Cathedral '< Service.
<< But it was in singing some of our native airs that << Cormae displayed the powers of his voice; on this occa- <^ sion his auditors were always enraptured* I have been << assured that no singer ever did Garolan's airs, or Oisin's '^ celebrated Hunting Song, more justice than Cormae.
'< Cormac's musical powers were not confined to his ^* voice ; h^ composed a few airs, one of which is extremely
ADVERTISEMENT. 267
<^ sweet. It is to be feared that those musical effusions ^< will die with their author.
^< But it was in poetry Cormac delighted to exercise <^ his genius; he has composed several songs and elegies '^ that have met with applause^ As his muse was generally << awakened by the call of gratitude, his poetical produc- ^' tions are mosfly panegyrical, or elegiac;* they extol '^ the living, or lament the dead. Sometimes he indulged << in satire, but not often, though richly endued with that ^^ dangerous gift.
<< Cormac was twice married, but is now a widower. " By both his wives he had several children; he now re« '< sides at Sorrell-town, near Dunmore, in the county of '' Galway, with one of his daughters, who is happily << married; Though his utterance is materially injured '^ by dental losses, and though his voice is impaired by << age, yet he continues to practise his profession : so sel- '^ dom are we sensible of our imperfections. It is probable '^ that where be was once admired, be is now only endured. <' One of ^is grandsons leads him about to the houses of ^^ the neighbouring gentry, who give him money, diet, ^< and sometimes clothes. His apparel is commonly de- <' cent, and comfortable, but he is not rich, nor does be << seem solicitous about wealth : his person is large an^ -' <' muscular, and his moral character is unstained."
* I hare never been so fortunate as to meet with any of Cormac's compositions, except the following elegy.
ELEGY
on VBE Dm^m «»
JOHN BURKE CARRENTRYLE, ESQ.
Y£S« Erin^ for her Burke, a wreath shall twine. And Britain own tKe honors of his name!
O hence with tasteless joy! — ^with mirth and wine! All thoughts, but those of woe, I now disclaim!
Te scms of science! — see your friend depart!
Ye sons of song! — ^your patron is no more ! Ye widow'd virtues! (cheridi'd in his heart.
And wedded to his soul) your loss deplore!
Grief sheds its gloom on erery noble breast.
And streaming tears his worth, — ^his death pro- claim.
270 KLEGIES.
Gen'roiu and braye^ with eveiy Tirtue blest! Flow'r of the tribes of honorable fame!
Alas! to the cold grave he now is borne!
No more to wake the huntsman to the chase ; No more, with early sports, to rouse the mom.
Or lead the sprightly courser to the race.
The leam'd, and eloquent in honor's cause !
Of soul enlightened, and of fame unstain'd! The friend of justice, — to expound our laws.
Or yield the palm, by song or science gain'd!
O death! — i«ince thou. hast laid our glory low;
Since our lov'd Burke, alas! is now no more; What bliss can now each rising mom bestow;
The race, the chase, and every joy is o'er!
O grave! — ^thy debt, thy crael debt is paid!
No more on earth shall his fair virtues bloom! Death! thou hast hewn the branch of grateful shade.
And laid its fragrant honors in the tomb !
ELfiCfrIES« 271
Sublime his soul! — ^yet gentle was his heart;
His rural sports, his gay conyiyial hour Avow'd each elegant, each social art ;
Each manly grace, and each attractiye power.
r
Friend of the friendless, patron of distress;
Ah, none, like him, the poor man's cause would plead! With sweet persuasion to ensure success.
Or soothe his sorrows, or supply his need!
O tomb that shroudest his belov'd remains I O death, that did'st our dearest hope destroy!
Thy dreary confine all our bliss contains. And thy cold gates are clos'd upon our joy!
"Who, now, will to the race the courser train?
Who gain, for Connaught, the disputed prize ? From riyal proyinces the palm obtain ? —
Alasl with him our fame, our triumph dies!
Our light is quenchM, our glory pass'd away. Our Burke snatch'd from us, neyer to return.
272 sLEaiisfl.
Whose name bright honor's fsirert gifts amy, And science hangs her wreath upon his urn.
Eternal pleasures fill'd his social haH,
And sweetest music charm'd, with magic sound; Science and song obeyed his friendly call.
And raried joys still danc'd their endless round!
But now, alas! nor sport, nor muse is there!
No echoes now the sprightly notes await ; But wailing sounds of sorrow and despair.
That mourn the stroke of unrelenting fate!
He is for ever gone! — ^weep, wretched eyes!
Flowl flow my tearsi — my heart with anguish bleed! In the cold grave the staidly hunter lies,
Chirf m the manage of Ae bounding steed!
O bitter woe!-^-0 sorrow unoontrovl'd!
O death remorseless that has seal'd his doom! Thy plains^ O Munster! — all our glory hold.
I
And fame lies buried with lua, in the tomb
Thy nrA, ilbml(:Mjt^EdmdiA) p3k VBoik
Hiff deathv^ tothee; jbatt now' the plate resign ;
His Uiii^;^ eite^ Jbouiievandnmld'st liaye wom^ Nor hBiilftasptne of nMlal^riportibeen thine.
See MnuteriponrterJiiDivemen^om their plains, Tdl tite. lov^d deadr the:lait> sad ritea* to pa j;
Nor ThombncE .toe inhabitant contains^ Ta ^ard her treamres on this fatal day!
Respectful sorrow ^des their solemn pace,
( Their steeds in moumingi slow procession led : )
'Till in the tomb their much-loy'd Burke they place, And o'er his earth their copious anguish shed*
The serente^i hundred six and fortieth year» Of him who died a sinful world to save,
Peath came, our Burke from our fond arms to tear^ And la J, with him, our pleasures in the grave!
How oft his loss pale memory shall regret!
How oft our tears shall flow, our sighs ascend!
The social band, where mirth conyivial met.
Now meet to mourn for their departed friend!
2n
274
No more the mdody of hounds he leads!
No more mom echoes to their cheaifkd i^riesl A gloomy stiUness through the land succeeds^
For low in earth the soul of pleasure liesl
To the dear spot my, frequent steps I^ bend. Which all my joy » — ^which all my woe cimtains;
My tears shall, each returning month, descend. To bathe the earth that holds his lov^d remainsl
NOTES
THE BUST ON THB DEATH OF JOHN BUEKB
Note I.
ff Thii gentleman (says Mr. Walker) was pre-eminent in his f^ day, as a sportsman, and in his private character there were '< many amiable traits."— iffirl. Mem. ofihelriih Bardi^ App. p. 58.
Note II. Thy rioaiy thou (sir Edward) wilt not mourn, — ^rer. 1. p. 9V3.
Sir Edward O'Brien, father to the present Sir Lucias.
Note III. TT^ir steedi in mourning^ slow processionled. — ^rer.lO. p. i73.
In the original, — ^they came leading their steeds,— or more literally, the horsemen came, bnt not mounted on their steeds.
V.
€le0p
ON THE DEATH OF CAROLAN.>
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE following is the Elegy mentioned in Mr. Walker^s Life of Carolan, composed on the death of that Bard, by hU friend M<Cabe.«
M^Cabe was rather of a hamorons, than a sentimental tnm ; he was a wit, bat not a poet* It was therefore his grief, and not his muse, that inspired him, on the present Occasion.
The circnmstances which gave rise to this Elegy, are striking, and extremely affecting. M^Cabe had been an tmnsnal length of time without seeing his friend, and Went to pay him a visit. As he approached near the end t>f his journey, in passbg by a church-yard, he was met by a peasant, of whom he inquired for Carolan. The peasant pointed to his grave, and wept.
M ^Cabe, shocked and astonished, was for some time unable to speak; his frame shook, his knees trembled, he had just power to totter to the grave of his friend, and then sunk to the ground. A flood of tears, at last, came to his relief; and, still further to disburden his mind, he vented its angubh in the following lines. In the original, they are simple and unadorned, but pathetic to a great
* Vide Hi8i. Mem. of the IrUh Bards, Append, p. 07.
880 ABTxannmirT.
degree; and this is a species of beauty, ia composition^ extremely difficalt to transfuse into any other language. I do not pr^nd, in this, to have entirely succeeded, but I hope the effort will not be unacceptable;— much of the simplicity is unavoidably lost ;— the pathos which remains, may, perhaps^ in some measure, atone for it.
Cleup
ON THE DEATH OF CAROLAN.
I CAME^ with friendship's face, to glad mj hearty But sad, and sorrowful my steps depart I In my friend's stead — a, spot of earth was shown. And on his grave my woe-struck eyes were thrown! No more to their distracted sight remained. But the cold clay that all they lov 'd contained : And there his last and narrow bed was made. And the drear tomb-stone for its covering laid I
Alas! — for this my aged heart is wrung!
Grief choaks my voice, and trembles on my iongiieu
Lonely and desolate, I mourn the dead.
The friend with whom my every comfort fled!
2o
282 SLSdifei.
There is no tngnidi can with thb cbmpare! No pains^ diseaseit sufferings or despair, Like that I feel, while such a low I moum> My hearths companion from its f<»idne88 torn! Oh insupportable, distracting grief! Woe, that through life, can never hope relief! Sweet-singing* harp! — ^thy melody is o'er! Sweet friendship's voice! — I hear thy sound no more! My bliss, — my wealth of* poetry is fled. And every joy, with him Tlov'd, is dead! Alas! what wonder, (while my heart drops blood Upon the woes that drain its vital fldod,) If maddening grief no longer can be borne; And frenzy fill the breast, with anguish torn.
♦ Both of these expressions are ezactljc literal — ^tW>*C60l*
Fl
^0n00*
THOUGHTS ON IRISH SONG.
IT 18 scarcely possible that anj lan^age can be more adapted to Ljric poetry than the Irish* The poetry of many of our Songs is indeed already Music, without the aid of a tune ; so great is the smoothness and harmony of its cadences. Nor is this to be wondered at, when we consider the ad- vantage the Irish has, in this particular, beyond eyery other langpiage, of flowing off, in Towels, upon the ear.
I will just instance the two following lines :
286 V THOUOHTs oir
Here, out of fifty-four letters, but twenty-two are pronounced as consonants, ( the rest being rendered quiescent by their aspirates) whereas, in English, and I believe in most other languages, the Italian excepted, at least two-thirds of poetry as well as prose, is necessarily compMed of consonants: the Irish being singular in the happy art of cutting off, by aspirates, every sound that could injure the melody of its cadence; ^ the same time that it preserves its radicals, and, of course, secures etymology.
But it is not in 9o«nd ^lone that this language i^ fo peculiarly adapted to the species of composi- ^^ now under consideration ; it is also possessed ^ a refined delicacy of descriptive power, and an i^xiqiiisiteLy tender simplicity of expression ; two or three Utile artless words, or perhaps only a single ;qpii^t, will aosdetimes convey such an image of jBmti»^tf or of suffering, to the mind, that one lays down the book, to look at the jncture. Bnt the b^^uty of many of these passages is coMderably impaired by translation ; indeed, so senable was I of this, that it influenced me to give up, in despair, many a sweet stanza to which I found myself quite
mmr $01x0. ' 287
uneqiud. I wiihedj among others, to have titai** dated thrfoUo^vfing lin^ of a favourite song; bat it presented' ideais, of which my pien could draw w reaemblBnee that pleased me:
r
^^ejl^ i«e4U, ^ 1>f«iil b^l46 1)^ Thyme -djtti
I need not g^ve any comment upon these lines; the English reader would not understand it^ and the Irish reader could not want it, for it is imposh sible' to peruse them without being senaide of their beauty.
There are many Irish smigs; now in common use, that contttn, in scattered, passages, the most exquisite thouglrts, ifaongh on the whole too un- equal' for translation. This, I suppose, is chiefly occasioned by the ignorance, or inattention of those who leutn them^ and fh>m whom alone they are to be procured. They are mnendiered and sung by the village maid, perhaps merely for the sake of the tones that accompany thrm; of course, if recol^
THOUaHTf oir
lection fails, it is made up with inventicm; any words, in this case, will senre, if they answer to the air of the Song ; and thns, often, not words alone, but entire lines, are substituted, so totally unlike the rest of the composition, that it is easy to see whence the difference proceeds. Sometimes too, if a line or a stanza be wanting to a silly song, the first of any other one that occurs, is pressed into the service ; and by this means, among a heap of lyric nonsense, one often finds a thought that would do honour to the finest compotttion.
In these incongruous poems, where a line seems to plead for its rescue, it would be a pity to refuse it. Among many others, the following is an image rich in beauty: a forsaken maid compares her heart to a burning coal, bruised black ; thus retain- ing the heat*that consumed, while it loses the light that had cheered it. In another Song, a Lover, tesa- derly reproaching his Mistress, asks her. Why she keeps the morning so long within doors ? and bids her come out, and bring him the day. The second of the two following stanzas struck me, as being so particularly beautiful, that I was tempted to translate them both for its sake.
lie li^W4i#e ^liftU
?f ^ tno dttJTle ri wo fi^t) j
Tramlation.
Afihe fjff^t blt^kberry*s mo^jest ^loom Fair floweriDg, greets the sight;
Fragrance and bloom unite: So this fair-plant of tender youth,
In QiiXw^d cbai:n^ c^n ne, And^ from within, the soul of truth
Soft beaming, .fills b^r eje.
Pulse of my heart! — dear source of care,
Stol'n Mghs, and lore-breath^d tows I Sweeter than when, through scented air.
Gay blo^m Ab appkbQ«gbs4 With thee no days can wiiitejr seem.
Nor frost, nor blast can chill ; IThon t)b^ ipft !^r«i^e, ikff cbe^iiDg Jhvi{ii
That kee[«i it summer still !
Xbe fur «f .these flkiWfB il ^rqvi^tety chft^mg.
2p
240 TiiotreHf i 6v
At prtgebt^ almoM as little known v thdne of its poetry. And yet there is no other music in the lirorld so calculated to make its way dif ectly to the heart : it is the yoice of Nature and Sentiment, and every fibre of the feeling breast is in uniscm with it
But I be^ pilrdon tot this digression ; — ^Music is not the subject notir under consideration.
I regret much that I have not been able to diver- sify this collection with some pieces of a sprightlier stl*ain; but I have sought in vain for songs of wit and humour, that were worthy of the public eye.
It has been often observed that a strain of tender pensiveness is discernible throughout, in most of tiie music of this nation : a circumstance which has been variously accounted for; and the same re* marks, and the same reasons h<dd good in regard to its poetry.
'' We see (says MnWALKnn) that music main* " tained its ground in this country, even after the ** invasion of the English, but its style suffered a " change; for the sprightly Phrygian gave place «' to the grave Doric, or soft Lydian measure. ** Such was the nice sensibility of the Bards, such
% •
IRI8M iON«. 291
44
€€ €€ €i
was their tender aflfection for their cduntry^ that ^the subjection to which the kingdom was re* ^' duced^ aflfected ihtaoL with the heaviest sadness. Sinking beneath this weight of sympathetic sor^ row^ they became a prey to melanchgly; hence the piaintiyeness of their music; for the ideas that arise in the mind are always congenial to, '' and receive a tincture from, the influencing pas- '' sion. Another cause njight have concurred with '' the one just mentioned, in promoting a chaqge in the style of our music : the Bards, often driven, together with their patipns^ by the sword of opr pression, from the busy haunts of men, were obliged to lie concealed in marshes, in gloomy ** forests, amongst rugged mountains, and in glynns " and valleys resounding with the noise of falling waters, or filled with portentous echoes. Such scenes as these, by throwing a settled gloom '' over the fancy, must have considerably encreased ** their melancholy; so that when they attempted ^' to sing, it is not to be wondered at that their " voices, thus weakened by struggling against heavy mental depresnon, should rise rather by minor thirds, which consist bjit of f^ur semf-r
U 4t
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tt
t€
€€
** Mneij mth hj nMjdr IkMb, t»feM( cMalil «f '' fiy«. NblN^, AlnoM *U ttrt; aifi oflfeif p^fM ftrtf *' foMiA io be ««t M the tnilia# tklrd, Md to btf of '* fte itt^^ Hhd ttAtMSL mttite ot tbe lAxaie IvMcIl *' Mdtoii f«4i«}^«« in &i« Ii, PxirfBMio.*" to illtutrite hit |kMiftio«i, Mt.YfAtmttk 'mbv
** ttniitA hHkt CBiUbig^Cmi, LonMi. HU hoiud '< WU inticb ^«4ttMkt«d, nid hig niieaniman diill *' id playing db the hotp, wtA M additloiMl ittcea- *' fifc! : «Viin the Dhlie «f Newetelle, and feerefatl '^ 6f thii teinitftry, Mmetiitt«8 eoiidacetided te tUI '* H. Ba i^as Oik« iught tailed ispaa to play mu< ** IfilA itmes ; he did M ; tliey urittt ^afaitlTe and ** Mlemn. Ifi« gtieMs demanded Uie reason, and he ** ibid them, thdi the Mtiye cMipdsen were tod *' difitirete^ at th^ tittiatien of tbek conntry, and '' het gallant smsi to ht able to cumpoet othef^ '' iride. fitii) idded he, tnke <lfftii« teitMusts luidtf '' which they iabottir, tod yoa UHll not hare fta« *' son to eoihplalti df the t)l^htilreile«l«rthefariiMe(.
* f//>f. ilffm. d/^ibe /y^^ft ti^rik^ p. li.
'^ OSBokce was tekei^ «t tlM^e wtum effiumu; *' 1m beuee beeaaie grsduatty Hef lectedj and kv '^ died^ fieon after, ef a bMken beav t Ab Iiidi bajrper^ wke was a eatemfkiFaty <tf Mayiur^^ and, Uke hm»y felt fiur tka 8ttfibni]^s of kis oaun- try, bad this durtieh cnf^aven aa hie karp :
'^ Sicat amissum sen Dtadema gemit!
94
4i
^' But ptrh&fB the melaneholj ipirit ^kick ^'brtetiiei throttgh the Irish mvsic and poetlrjr ** Inajr be attributed te another cause; a cauil^ irhich operated abteridf and subseqtient totiie invasion of the English : we mean the remark-" '' able sascet>tilHlity of the Irish of the pasiiott of ^' lore ; a passioni wkiek the munificent establisk- '' ments of the bards left them at liberty fredy to ^' mdnl^* Whfle the mmd is enddring Ibe tor- '' ments of hope^ fear, of despair, its efiilsiolis can* '' not be g^y. The greater nilmber of the produc '' tions of these amorous poets, Tibullus, Catullus^ '' Petrarch, and Hammond, are elegiac. The ano- '' nymoua traveller, irkom we kive already had
iM Taou0HTf on
^^ occasion to mention^ after speaking of tiie amo- ^' roiM dbposition of the Irish^ ptursaes the mbjeet, '' in his acconnt of their poetry/' < The subject of ' these (their songs) is always love, and they seem ' to understand poetry to be designed for no other ' purpose than to stir up that passion in the mind.*'
I haye never read the TraVels here cited, but it should seem that their author intended not to ex- tend his remarks beyond that species of poetry which may be classed under the title of Songs. So £ur his observations are perfectly just; but the he- roic poetry of our countrymen was designed for the noUest purposes ; — ^love indeed was still its ob- ject,— but it was the sublime love of country that those compositions inspired.
Besides the reasons and remarks I have quoted, and which are, of themselves, amply sufficient to account for the almost total absence of humorous poetry in our language, there are still further rea- sons, which appear to me to deserve attention, and which I therefore beg leave to lay before the reader.
* Hist. Mem. of the Ifiih Bar4$f p. 125.
IRISH fova* 295
I am not sufficiently conversant in the state of the ancient music of this country^ to say -whcf that m^ht once have been, or what decree of change it might have snflfered; but it does not appear to me that the ancient poetry of Irdand was €oer composed in a very Uvely strain. I by no means would assert that this is certainly the case; for, as yet, I am but young in researclies : I only conceive a probability of its being so, from my never hav* kig met with an instance to the contrary.
Low and War were the two favourite objects 0f pasdon and pursuit, with our ancient country- men, and of course, became the constant inqnrers of ihdir muse. — In love, they appear to have been always too much in earnest to trifle with their attachments; — and " the strife of swords^' — '^ the field of dealh" — ^presented no subject to sport with. To them, also, both art and nature came arrayed in rimple dignity; and aflforded not that variety of circumstance, and appearance, so calculated to call forth fancy, and diversify ideas*
This seems to me to be one cause, why scarcely any thing bnt plaintive tendemcBs, or epic majesty, is to be found in the compontions of our Bards :
Mie&er TMsm 0^ ^ttwm, irUcii I^vffl gt^e to 4lie rettder^i infhdgeBce.
The trae |)Mt is erer «b ai<h«iliMt ia t& i»t, fuid emtfiuiriami ie «dhlMi*iwMy • The Ffenoh ^hmuA In "works of wU a&d httmour ; — the EngfiA am itoMt in earnest, nad therefore lUl shert of the ^ ▼acitj of the Gattc mnse, hvA inAntely excel her Sn 2CB 'tiiat lends 40 eonstitute 4be ^tal efniit ^ poetiy. In Ireland, 4kii fascinatfaig «i4 ^ros ftil more nniiKefsally in practice, and 0IAII more enlj^ik- 'OastieaHy admireC The muse ^a^as here (he god* dess of niiboanded 4dolatrj-, «nd frer vonhi|i ivas 4he hnsiness of life. Our Irish Bavds, ^' in «fae <ne frenzy of exalted thought,*^ were iost 4o 4hat |>Iaf of fancy, w4iieh only ^povts with freodiMn w|ken it 4s not interrupted by the 4eart, 4Nr awed to valence by tbcHwAiime oonoeptions of <he sold.
Fancy is, in generd, the ▼diide of wat; imagi* nation that of genius. The iiappiest &ong^ mqr -flow in -ihe most ^afmoniouf, and highly adapted measure, without one apaik rfpoetie Sre. At least one half of liiose who hear the ^ Ae of English Poe(f, ore mordy ^nen -of ^t «»! H^^e; «i|d I believe it will beoohnoniedged Aat <those«non||it
IBI8H 80NG. 297
them yfho possessed the sublimest genius, descended but seldom to sport with it. Young, Rowe, Thom* son. Gray, &c. are instances of this. It Is by n9 means supposed necessary for a poet to be always pensive, philosophical or sublime ; he may sport with Fancy, — he may laugh with Humour, he may be gay in every company, — except that of the Muse: in her awful presence, her true adorer ii too much possessed by his passion to be gay; he maybe approved, — ^happy, — eloquent, — ^but hardly witty.
Perhaps there are few subjects that afford a more copious field for observation thatf that of Irish song^ but the limits of my work confine me to a narrow compass, and will not allow these few. remarks to assume the title of Essay. The subject ot^j^g, fa general, has been already so well, and copiously treated of by the pens of Aikin, and Ritson, that it has nothing in store for me; but that of Irish song seemed to demand some notice, and had neyer before received it.
2a
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE two first of the following Songs are the compo« sitions of Turlough O'Carolan, a man much and deser- vedly celebrated for his poetical talents, as well as for the incomparable sweetness of all his musical pieces.
As his life has been already given to the public bjr Mr. Walker, in his Historical Memoirs of the Irish Bards^ I have nothing left to saj upon the subject: however, for the benefit of such of my readers as have not yet had the pleasure of perusing that learned and elegant work, I will insert a few extracts from it, to gratify immediate curio-
»
sity ; and the public will doubtless be better pleased to see them in Mr. Walker^s words than in mine.
<< Carolan was born in the year 1670, in the village of << Nobber, in the county of Westmeath, on the lands of << Carolanstown, which were wrested from his ancestors by << the family of the Nugents, on their arrival in this king* << dom, in the reign of Henry the Second. His fiither was << a poor farmer, the humble proprietor of a few acres, <^ which yielded him a scanty subsbtence; of his mother *^ I have not been able to collect any particulars.
<^ He must have been deprived of sight at a very early '^ period of his life, for he remembered no impression of « colours. Thus was < knowledge at one entrance quite
800 ADTEftTISfiBClKt.
« shut out/ before he had taken eren a cursory riew <tt << the creation. From this misfortune, however, he felt << no uneasiness ; he used merrilj to say, < my ejes are '< transplanted into my ears.'
<^ His musical genius was soon discovered, and his ** friends determined to cultivate it; about the age of ^< twelve, a proper master was engaged to instruct him '^ in the practice of the Harp ; but though fond of that ^^ instrument^ he never struck it with a master^s hand. <^ Genius and diligence are seldom united; and it is prac<* << tice alone that can perfect us in any art^ Yet his harp <^ was rarely unstrung : but, in general, he only used it to ^^ assist him in composition; his fingers wandered among << the strings, in quest of the sweets of melody.
^^ At what period of his life Carolan commenced itin^' << rant musician, is not known, nor is it confidently told '^ whether^ like Arnauld Daniel, < II n'eut abord d'autre <^ Ap<dloo que le besoin;^ or whether his fondness fdr ^^ music mdnced hiikt to betake himself to that profession. '< Dr. Campbell indeed seems to attribute his choice to << an early disappointment in love;* but we will leave << thosls points unsettled, and follow our Bard in his pere« ^^ grinations.
^ Wherever he goes, the gates of the nobility smd gen- << try are thrown open to him. Like the Demodocus of <^ Homer, ha is received with respect, and a distinguished ^ place assigned him at the table. Near him is seated his << harper, ready to accompany his voice, and supply hb
• Phil. Survey of Sooth of Ireland, -f Hist. Essay on National Song.
<« want of skill in practical music* < Carolan (says Mr. ^ RitsoDf) seemsi from the descriptioQ we hare of hlm^ << to be a genuine representetive of tbe ancient Bards.^
<< It was daring his peregrinations^ that Carolan com- ^ posed all those airs that are stiU the delight of his << countrymen* He thought the tribute of a Song doe to ^< erery house where he was entertained, and he nerer ^ foiled to pay it ; choosing for his subject, either the << head of the family, or one of the lovdiest of its << branches/'
The Biographer pf our Bard, after informing us of many curious and interesting particulars, for which (fear* ing to exceed the limits of my work) I must refer my readers to the book from which these extracts are taken^ proceeds to acquaint us, that in the year I7SS he lost a beloved, and tenderly lamented wife ; and he subjoins a beautiful monody, composed by the mourning Bard on the occasion : he also adds, that Carolan did not long furvive her.-r^< He died in the month of March, 1738,^ in ^ the sixty-eighth year of his age, and was interred in ^< the parish chnrch of Kilronan, in the diocese c^Ardagh; << but ^ not a stone tells where he liesf His grave indeed ^< is still known to his few surviving friends, and the << neighbouring hinds; and his skull is distinguished from << the other skulls^ which are promiscuously scattered ^* about the churcb*yard, by a perforati<m in the fore* <^ head, through which a small piece of ribband is drawn.
*< Though Carolan died universally lamented, he would << have died unsung, had not the humble muse of M^Cabe << poured a few elegiac strains over his cold remains.
902 ABvsiRTisBiofiirr*
^ This fiiitlifttl friend composed a short Elegy on his ^^ death, which is evidently the effusion of unfeigned ^ grief: unadorned with meretricious ornaments, it is the ^ picture of a mind torn with anguish."^
Mr* Walker here subjoins a character of our Bard, from- the elegant pen of Mr. O'Conor.
^ Very few have I ever known who had a more vigo« '^ rotts mind, but a mind undbciplined, through the de-* ^< feet, or rather the absence of CMltivation. Absolutely « the child of nature, he wasr governed by the indulgent << cies, and at times, by the caprices of that mother. His <^ imagination, ever on the wing, was eccentric in its poe- <^ tic ffight; yet, as far as that faculty can be employed ^^ in the harmonic art, it was steady and collected. In *^ the variety of his musical numbers, he knew how to <^ make a selection, and was seldom content with medio- << crity. So happy, so elevated was -he, in some of hi» «« compo6itions,^thai be excited the wonder, and obtained ^ the approbation, of a great master, who never saw him} '< I mean Geminiani.
^< He outstripped his predecessors in the three species ^^ of composition used among the Irish; but he never <^ omitted giving due praise to several of his countrymen, *^ who excelled before him in his art. The Italian com« << positions he preferred to all others : Vivaldi charmed << him; and with Corelli he was enraptured. He spoke <^ elegantly in his maternal language, but had advanced << in years before he learned English ; he delivered
* For this Elegj, see page 377.
ADYfiRTISSMENT. 303
<< self but indiffereDtly in that Ifinguage, and yet he did ^^ not like to be corrected in his solecisms. It need not << be concealed, that he indulged in the use of spirituous << liquors : this habit, he thought, or affected to think, ^< added strength to the flights of his genius; but, in jus- << tice, it must be observed that he seldom was surprised ^^ by intoxication.
<< Constitutionally pious, he never omitted daily prayer, ^' and fondly imagined himself inspired, when he com- << posed some pieces of church music. This idea contri* ^^ buted to his devotion, and thanksgiving; and, in this ^< respect, his enthusiasm was harmless, and perhaps use* << ful. Gay by nature, and cheerful from habit, he was ^< a pleasing member of society ; and his talents, and his ^< morality, procured him esteem and friends every where.**
Besides the two following Songs, there are more of the compositions of Carolan possessed of considerable merit; but as it was not in my power to give them all a place in my collection, I have selected, for translation, two that appeared to be the best amongst them ; which, together with some other songs of modern date, I give, to show of what the native genius and language of this country, even now, are capable; labouring, as they do, under every disadvantage.
SONG,
FOR iSEACEY NUGENT.
OF Ghracey^i ciimn eamptur'd wHl I 8Ui;{ FiagnBt aiid fiur, as bloflfonis of the spriii^ z
To her sweet maimen^ ftod accomplub'd mind^ Each ri^al Fair the paint of Lore rerign'd.
How bkflt her flweet wciety to share!
To mariL the nagiets «f her flowing hair;
Her gentle accents, — ^her comj^aoent Boieni
Supremein charms, she looks,~shia jeigns a Qaeen]
2it
/
806 tfOKG^.
That alabaster forDi--^that graceful iieck. How do the Cygnet's down and whiteness deck!— How does that aspect shame the cheer of day. When summer suns their brightest beams display.
Blest is the youth whom fay'ring* fates ordain The treasure of her l6ye» and charms to gain! The fragrant branch, with curling tendrils bound. With brealhing odours — ^blooming beauty crown'd.
Sweet is the cheer her sprightly wit supplies! Bright is the sparkling azure of her eyes! Soft o'er her neck her lovely tresses flow! Warm in her praise the tongues of rapture glow!
Her^s ii the voice«-*tun'd by harmonious Love, Soft as the Songs that warble through the grove! Oh! Sweeter joys her converse can impart! Sweet to the sense, and grateful to the heart!
Gay pleasures dance where'er her foot-steps bend; And smiles and rapture round the fair attend : Wit forms her speech, and Wisdom fills her mind. And sight and soul in her their object find.
yONGS. 307
Her pearly teeth, in beauteous grder plac-d; Her neck with bright, and curling treeses grac'd:-^ But ah, 80 fair! — ^in wit and charms supreme. Unequal song must quit its darliiig theme.
Here break I off; — le^ sparkling goblets flow, And my full heart its cordial wishes show * To her dear health thi^ friendly draught I pour, Long be her Ufe, and blesj its every hour!—
NOTES
TO THE 80Nq FOR 0&AGBT NVaKHT.
<' The fair subject of this Song was sister to the late Joha *< Nugent, Eaq. of Castle.Nagent, Calambre. She lived with '^ her sister, Mrs. Conmee, near Balenagar, in tlie county of '* Roscommon, at the time she inspired onr Bard.'* Htif. Mem. of Irish Bards, Append, p. 78.
Note L Ham blest her sweei society to share i To mark the ringlets of her ^flawing hair. — ^rer. 5. p. 905.
Hair is a faronrite object with all the Irish Poefs, and end* less is the f ariety if their description :*-^^ Soft misty curls." — ^^ Thick branching tresses of bright rednndance.'*— <^ Locks of .'^ fair waf ing beanty.*'— '^ Tresses flowing on the wind like the '^ bright waging flame of an inrerted torch." They even afiect to inspire It with expression: — as ^^ Locks of gentle lustre."— ^< Tresses of tender beauty."— *< The Maid with the mildly '^ flowing hair," &c. &c.
A friend to whom I shewed this Song, observed, that I had omitted a very lively thought in the conclusion, which they had seen in Mr. Walker's Memoirs. As that version has been / much read and admired, it may perhaps be necessary, to rlnJ dicate my fidelity, as a translator, that I should here give 4 literal translation of the Song, to shew that the thoughts have suffered very little, either of increase or diminution from the poetry.
'* I will sing with rapture of the Blossom of Whiteness! ^* Gracey, the young and beautiful woman, who bore away the '* palm of excellence in sweet manners and accomplishments^ " from all the Fair.ones of the proriuces."
/
310 KOTES*
^^ Whoefer enjoys her constant society, no apprehension of
<^ any ill can assail lum. The Qneen of soft and winning
*^ mind and manners, with her fair branching tresses flowing In " ringlets."
^^ Qer side like alabaster, and her neck like the swan, and ^^ her countenance like the San in summer. How blest is it for ^^ him who is promised, as riches, to be united to her, the *< branch of fair curling tendrils.'?
<^ Sweet and pleasant is your loTely conversation ! — ^bright ^' and sparkling your blue eyes ! — and erery day do I hear all ^' tongues declare your praises, and how gracefully your bright ^5 tresses wave down your neckT'
f5 I say to tl^ Maid of youthful mildness, that her Toice and *' her converse are sweeter than the songs of the birds ! There '* Is no delight or charm that imagination can conceive but ^^ what is found ever attendant on Gracey.''
^^ Her teeth arranged in beautiful order, and her locks flow* *^ lug in soft waving curls ! But though it delights me to sing of ^^ thy charms, I must quit my theme ! — With > sincere heart I *^ fill to thy health !"
The reader will easily perceive, that in this literal translation I have not sought for elegance of expression, my only object being to put it in his power to judge how closely my version has adhered to my original.
u.
SONG.
FOR MABLE KELLY.
Sr CAMOLAVm
THE youth whom fay'ring Heaven's decree To join his fate^ my Fair! with thee; And see that lovely head of thine With fondness on his arm recline :
No thought but joy can fill his Nor any care can entrance find. Nor sickness hurt, nor terror shake, — And Death will spare him, for thy sake
313 SONGS.
For the bright flowing of thy hair. That decks a face so heavenly fair ; And a fair form, to match that face. The rival of the Cygnet's grace.
When with cahn dignity she moves. Where the clear stream her hue improves ; Where she her snowy bosom laves. And floats, majestic, on the waves*
Grace gave thy form, in beauty gay. And ranged thy teeth in bright array ; All tongues with joy thy praises tell. And love delights with thee to dwell*
To thee harmonioms powers bdong. That add to v.enie the channs of song; Soft melody to numbers joia. And make the Poet h^f drnne.
As when the softly Unsbing Tom Close by some neigUiouring lily gnws; Such is the glow thy cheeks difibae. And such timr bright and blended hves!
The timid lustte of thine e jre "With Nature's purest tints can vie ; With the sweet blue^bell's azure gem. That droops upon its modest stem!
tlie Poets of lerHe's plains To thee detote their choicest strains ; And dft their harps for thee are strung^ And oft thy matchless charms are sung !
Thjr voice, that binds the listening soul^-^ That can the wildest rage controul ; Bid the fierce Crane its powers obey, And charm hun from his finny prejr.
*
Nbr doubt I of its wondVous art \ Nor hear with unimpassion'd heart ; Thy health, thy beauties, — ^ever dear! Oft crown my glass with sweetest cheer!
Since the fam'd Fair of ancient days. Whom Bards and Worlds conspir'd to praise^ Not one like thee has since appeared, thee^ to every heart endear'd)
dl4 80Ne««.
How blest the Bard, O lovely Maid! To find thee in thy charms aitay'd!- Thy pearly teeth,— thy flowihg^ fiair,- Thy neck, beyond the Cygnet, fairl^-
■*•
As nehen the simple birds, 4t ni^ht, Fly round the totch's fatjd light,— Wild, and with extacy elate. Unconscious of approaching fate.
So the soft sfilendours of thy filcei And thy fair form's enchanting grace. Allure to death unwary Love, And thousands the bright ruin prove!
Ey'n he whose hapless eyes no ray Admit from Beauty's cheering day; Yet, though he cannot see the light. He feels it warm, and knows it bright.
In beauty, talents, taste refined. And all the graces of the mind. In all unmatched thy charms remain, Nor meet a rival on the plain.
SONGS. 315
Thy slender foot, — thine azure eye, — Thy smiling lip, of scarlet dye, — Thy tapering hand, so soft and fair,— The bright redundance of thy hair! —
O blest be the auspicious day TI)at gaye them to thy Poet's lay} O'er riyal Bards to lift his name^ Inspire his verse^ and swell hfs fame I
NOTES
TO THE fONG FOR MABI.3B KS:i.|^T,
Note I. J%e timid lustre of thine eye IVkh Nature^ 9 purest tints can vie.^^jer, 1. p. 319.
It is genenilly beliered that Carolan, (as his Biographer tells us) ^* remembered no impression of colottrs."*-*But I canoot acquiesce ia this opinion: I think it must hare been formed without sufllcient grounds, for how was it possible that his de« fcription could be thus glowing, without he retained the clearest recoUectioUy and the most animated i4«a8, qf ef ery beauty that sight pan conrey iq the mfud i
Note II. Pv^n he whose hapless eyes no ray Admit from BeautyU cheering day; Vetj though he cannot see the lighty fie feels it wormy and knows it bright, — ^rer. 13. p. 314.
Erery Reader of taste or feeling must surely be struck with the beauty of this passage.^i-*Can any thing be more elegant, Qr inore pathetic, than the manner in which Carolaa alludes to hit / want of sight !^— bat, indeed, his little pieces abound in all the riches of natural genius.
Note III. Q*er rival Bards to lift his name^ Inspire his verse j ar^d swell his fame I — Ter. 7. p. 315.
How modestly the Poet here introduces a prophesy of his ft|tiir« reputation for genius !
IIL
SONG.
BY PATRICK LINDEN.
O FAIRER than the mountain flnow^ YHien o'er it north's pnre breezes blow! In all its dazzling lustre drest. But purer^ softer is thy breast!
CoUa* the Great, whose ample sway Beheld two kingdoms homage pay. Now gives the happy bard to see Thy branch ad<Nm the royal tree!
* He was monarch of Ireland in the beginning of the fourth century. By the second kingdom, ve must suppose the poet means the Dal-Riadas of Scotianil.
320 ion&i.
^b fateiga graft's inferior shoot Hftfl dar'd iiifitdt the mighty root! Pure from its stem thy bloom ascends. And from its height in fragrance bends f
Hadst thou been present, on the day lYhen beauty bore the prize away. Thy charms had won the royal swain. And Venus 'self had su'd in vain I
With soften'd fire, imperial bloodl Potirs through thy frame its generous flood ; Rich in thy azure yeins it flows. Bright in thy blushing cheek it glows!
That blood whence noble Sat age sprung. And he whose deeds the bards have sullg,' Great Conall-Cearnach, conquering name! The champion of heroic fame!
Fair offipring of the royal race! Mild fragrance! fascinating grace! tVhose^iouch with magic can inspire The tender harp's melodious wire ^
.VONAS. 321
See how the swan preaumptuous strives, Where glowing Majesty revives, With proud contention, to bespemk The soft dominion of that cheek!
Beneath it, sure, with subtle heed. Some rose by stealth its leaf convey 'd; To shed its bright and beauteous dye. And still the varying bloom supply.
The tresses of thy silken hair As curling mists are soft and fair. Bright waving o'er thy graceful neck. Its pure and tender snow to deck!
But O! to speak the rapture found In thy dear voice's magic sound ! Its powers could death itself controul. And call back the expiring soul!
The tide that filPd the veins of Rings,
From whom thy noble lineage springs;
The royal blood of CoUa, see
Renewed, O charming maid! in thee.
2t
322 soKGs/
Nor in th j bosom slacks its paecj Nor fades it in th j loyely face ; But there ivith soft enchantment glows^ And like the bloiflBom's tint it shows;
How does thy needle's art pourtray Each pictnrM form, in bright array! With Nature's self maintaining strife^ It gives its own creation life!
O perfect, all-accomplish'd maid!. In beauty's every charm array 'd: Thee ever shall my numbers hail^ Fair lily of the royal vale!
IV.
SONG.
THE MAID OF THE VALLEY,
HAVE you not seen the charmer of the vale I Nor heard her praise, in Love's fond accents drest ?
Nor liow that Love has turned my youth so pale! — Nor how those graces rob my saul of rest!-^
That softest chee^ where dimp'ling cherubs play!
That bashful eye^ whose beams dissolve the heart! — Ah, gaze no mcnre, fond wretchl — ^no longer stay! —
'TIS deathl — ^but ah, 'tis worse thao death to part!
324 soNfts.
My blessings round the happy mansion wait. That guards that form, in tender beauty drest!
Those lips, of truth and smiles the rosy seat! Those matchless charms, by every bard confest!
That slender brow!— that huid so dazzling fair. No silk its hue or softness can express!
No feather'd songsters can their down compare With half the beauty those dear hands possess!
Love in thy every feature couch'd a dart !
O'er thy fair face, and bosom's white he play'd; Love in thy golden tresses chained my heart.
And heaven's own smile thy 'wttcMne face array 'dt
Not Deirdre^B charms that on each bosom stole. And led the ehampioM of our isle i^way ;
Nor she whose eyes threw fetters o*er the soul. The fam'd Blanaide like thee the heart could sway!
Of beauty's garden, oh thou fiurest flower! Accept my vows^ and truth for tfeaSHre teke!
SONGS. 325
Oh dei^ to share -with me Loye's blissful power^ Nor constant faith, for fleeting wealth, forsake I
My muse her harp shall at thy bidding bring, And roll th' heroic tide of verse along ;
And Finian Qiiefs, and arms shall wake the stringy, And Love and War divide the lofty song I
NOTES
TO THE ftONa OF THB MAID OF THB YALLSt*
Note r. Not Deirdre't ckarmt thmt an each bosom 9iok^ And led the champions of onr isle ama^.^ftr. IS. p. 3^4.
See notes to the poem of ConlocK
Note II. Iter she vchose eyes threw fetters o^r the sout^ The fam*d Blanaide like thee the heart could swayi*^ ▼er. 15. p. 324.
As the storj to which this passage alludes is striking to a great degree, and related in a few words, I will quote it at large for the reader. ^
<* Feircheirtne was Ollamb Filea to Conrigh, a celebrated ^' chieftain, who lived in splendour on the banks of the Fionn* ^' glaise, in the conntj of Kerry. This warrior was married to *^ Blanaide, a ladj of transcendant beauty, who had been the ^^ meed of his prowess in single combat with Congcnlionne, a ^< knight of the red branch. Bat the lady was secretly attached *^ to the knight; and in an accidental Intenriew which she Had <^ with him, offered to follow his fortunes, if he would, at a *' certain time, and on receiving a certain signal (both of which ^^ she mentioned) storm the castle, and put her husband, and ^' his attendants, to the sword. Congcnlionne promised to follow *^ her directions, and did so, inundating the castle with the ^^ blood of its inhabitants. Feircheirtne, however, escaped the ^' slaughter, and pursued, at a distance, Blanaide and her para*
326 NOTES, ETC.
<^ mour, to the court of Concovar MacNessa, determined to ^^ sacrifice his perfidioas mistress to the manes of his patron.
*^ When the Bard arrtred at Emauia, he found Concorar, ^^ and his conrt| together with the amorous fugitires, walking ^^ on the top of a rock, called Rinchin Beara^ enjojing the ex- ^^ tensi?e prospect which it commanded. Blanaide, happening ^^ to detach herself from the rest of the company, stood, wrapped ^^ in deep meditation, on that part of the cliff which orerhnng a <( deep precipice. The Bard^ stepping up to her, began an ado. ^^ latory conrersation; then suddenly springing forward, he *< seized her in his arms, and throwing himself, with her, head- (' long down the precipice, both were dashed to pieces.*' HUi. Mem. of the Iri$h Burds^ p. 32. See also Keatino.
• •
W^OUt
An hush tale.
iv
ADVERTISEMENT.
THE storjr of the following Tale is to be foand in the ancient hbtory of Ireland^ and is related by KsATii^Oy O'Halloban, Warneb, &c.
TO
MR. AND MRS. TRANT,
THIS TALE
IS anPKCTFDU,T ADDRESSSO,
1 9
^T THEIR OBLIOEOi
AND MO&T OBEDIENT SEftTAMT,
r »
CHARLOTTE BROOKE.
INTRODUCTION.
ACCOMPLISH*!) P*irl «tMte ample Ityh
Witii favoar's eye peniae : And take from m^, ia artiest jtiXB»ei,
The message of the Muse.
A Mu8Q^ who nt'cr, on Pmdiis^ mouBt,
Trod inspiration's growtd ; Nor drank tweet frenzy firom the fount,
1/Vhere raptures breathe woiutd*
But a bright Powen iHuun Nature fornix .
And Nature's scenes isflpire ; Who mounts the ymA^ and rides the stonns.
And glows with heaven's own. if e!
336 iNTlidDucTioir.
Who trained, of M, our nres to fame.
And led them to the field; Taught them to glow with Freedom's flame^
And Freedom's arms to wield.
With the wild War-Son o firM the soul.
And sped the daring blowl — Or, bow'd to Pity's soft controul.
Wept o'er a dying fee.
Or search'd all Nature's treasures round.
To deck a favourite fair ; Or tun'd to love a tendet sound.
And sang a faithful pair.
This power, while late my couch I press'd^
To mental sight appear'd ; To my charm'd soul sweet words address'd.
By waking Fancy heard.
Shrin'd in the form of reverend age.
The friendly vision came; Rob'd as of old, a Bardic Sage,
And took Craf tine's name.
iirTEiM>FCTioir«r 337
^< O ihou, (he ci7U)/wlio0e tunid mmd
** Its purpose would delay] • ' " Half shrinking from it,— yet iaclin'd^-r-
" Half daring, to essay.
'* Let not this fxown of critic wrath^
'' Or smile of critic Bcom, ** Afiright thee from the splendid path,
«< Fame and the Muse adorn.
" The critic storm, that proudly rends
" The oaks of Learning's Hill, *' Will pass thy shrubs tiiat lowly bends,
" Nor deign its growth to kiflL
*' Shine, while thou can'^t, pale trembling beam^
*' Ere suns eclipse thy ray; *' Thy little star awhile may gleam,
€€ »xai Phoebus brings the day.
'< For ofl; the Muse, a gentle guest,
" Dwells in a female form;
** And patriot fire, a female breast,
*' May sure imquestion'd warm.
2x
538 iHTROBirCTioir.
'^ No more thy glorious task refuse, *^ Nor durink from fancy'd hanns. But, to the eye of Britain's Muse, '' Present a sister's charms*
• •■■^
%€
** Thee hath the ^eet enchantress taught ** The accents of her tongue ;
^ Pour'd on thine ear her lofty thought, ^* Celestial as she su^g.
€€
Now let her see thy grateful heart ** With fond ambition bum, '' Proud if thou can'st, at least in part, ** Her benefits return.
'' Long, her neglected harp unstrung, ** With glooms encircl'd round;
'* Long o'er its silent form she hung, '' Nor gave her soul to sound.
" Roused from her trance, again to reign,
" And re-assert her fame, '' She comes, and deigns thy humble strain
** The herald of her claim.
iNTRaDvcTioir; 839
^^ Swells not thy soul with noble pride,
*^ This honor to embrace^ " "Which partial fates for thee decide,
*' With such distinguished grace?— ^x
'' Coward! — ^from the bright path assigned,
" Thy feet had tum'd away, ^' From the bright prize thine eye declined,
" Too weak for Glory's ray:
** Did not a steadier soul exhort,
'' A steadier counsel guide, '^ With zeal thy timid mind support,
'^ And its vain terrors chide.
^' I know the Pair by Genius lov'd,
" By every Muse inspired, ^* Who thy unpractised strains approv*d^
'^ And thy ambition fir'dl
" To (hem the Muse of ancient days
" Avows the tribute due; ^' To them her grateful thanks she pays,
" And — cowardi~-net to you.
340 IHTRODVCTIOir.
*' What should she do her love to shew?—
'* From all her ample store, *' What favours can lier hand bestow
" That were not thdrs before?
'' Yes, she can add those generous joys,
" That sympathy of hearts, '' Which kindred saitiment employs,
'' And worth to worth imparts.
4S
it
Go then to thy accompUdi'd friends ; '' The Muse commands thee go; Bear them the grateful gift she sends, " 'Tis all she can bestow.
'' Bear them the pride of ancient days;
" Truth, science, virtue, fame; '* The lover's faith, the poet's praise,
«
'* The patriotic flame!
t€
€^
All in the royal Pair confess'd, '' Whose Tale the Bard pursues; Like them, united, grac'd and bless'd " By Virtue, and the Muse."
THE TALE.
BOWD to dark Cobthach's fierce conuaand^ "When struggling Erin groan'd ;
And, crusb'd beneath hiB bloody hand. Her slaughtered sons bemoan'd;
Of all -whose honest pity dar'd
One tear humane to shed; My life alone the savage qpar'd.
Nor touch'd the sacred head.
Protected by the Muse's pow'r^ And the Bard's hallow'd name,
I 'scap'd the death-devoted hour. The hour of blood and shamel
343 THS TALK.
When Mature pleaded^ Pity wept. And Conscience cry 'd in vain ;
"When all the powers of yengeance slept Upon a monarch slain.
Shocked History, from the dreadful day,
Recoil'd with horror pale. And, shrinking from the dire display.
Left half untold the tale!
But I, sad witness of the scene!
Can well its woes attest ; l/Vhen the dark blade, with murder keen,
Spar'd not a brother's breast.
When Nature, prescient as my soul. With earthquakes rock'd the ground ;
Air bade its deepest thunders roll. And lightnings flash'd around!
While, on each blasting beam, their forms, ( The sons of death ) were rear'd ;
And, louder than the mingling storms, 7^0 shrieks of ghosts were heard!
THS TALK. 343
Till, oh! dark, chearless, slow and late.
The burden'd mom arose ; When forth, to meet impending fate.
Alone the monarch goes.
In vain some guard do I conjure ;
No heed will he bestow : I follow to the fatal door, —
I hear the deadly blow! —
Hold, yillain, hold! — ^but shortening breath
Arrests my feeble cries : And seals awhile, in transient death.
My light-detesting eyes.
Yet soon, to further horrors doom'd,
I rais'd my sickening head ; And life her languid powers resumed, —
To see Life's comfort fled.
The groans of Death around me rise. Scarce yet distinctly heard!
While Fate, to my unclosing eyes. In bloody pomp appear 'd!
344 TBK:TAIJt»
As when the Spirit of Ae ]>ee|v His dreadful coarse maintains^
While his looB'd winds-o'er Oeean sweqi. And gloomy horror reigns!
with groans, and fierce wiA blood. The dark malignant power Rides, in grim triumph; o'er the flood. And rules the deathM hour I
So the dire Cobthaeh, drunk with gore.
And glorying to destroy. Aloft victorious horrors bore.
And smird with hideous joy*
Oose by the murder'd Monarch's side. The earth brave OllioU pressed ;
A dagger, bath'd in life's warm tide. Yet quivering in his breast.
Oasp'd round the dying Prince's neck. His little Maon lay;
While the third dagger rose to strike- Its unreristing prey.
THB TALB. 918
Roua'd at that: sight; to madness stung^
I Tush'd amid the foe ; And^ o'er the trembling victim flung,
I met the destin'd blow.
O happy wound! close to my breast, ( Tho' streaming from the knife )
My precious charge, thus sav'd, I press'd. And guarded him with life*
Shocked at the sacrilegious stroke.
The arm of death recoil'd ; While from the crowd the passions broke
That in their bosoms boU'd.
The royal blood, that round them streamed, They could with calmness view ;
But, for the Bard, their frenzy deem'd. The fiercest vengeance due!
A thousand swords to guard me rose.
Amid the conflict's roar ;
lYhile safe, from his surrounding foes.
My trembling charge I bore«^
2y
346 THB tAti«w
Long while he teem'd^ with life ftlone^
To 'scape that fatal day; For Reason, frMn his litUe throne,
In terror fled away.
While thus bereft of sense he grew.
No fears the court inrade. And safe in the Usurper's view.
The beauteous maniac play'd.
Reason, at length, a second dawn,
With cheering lustre, shed ; And, from the Tyrant's pow'r withdrawn.
To Munster's King we fled.
There, long concealed from every foe.
Beneath the royal care, I saw my lovely scion grow.
And shoot its branch in air.
Oh, while I view'd his blooming face, And watch'd his opening mind ;
While, in a form of matchless grace, I saw each virtue shrin'd ;
THIS TALS. 947
With more than a parental pride. My throbbing he^rt o'erflow'd;
And each fond thought^ to hope aUy*d^ With sweet prediction glow'di
One daughter, bright in beauty's dawn^
The royal cares beguil'd; All sportiycras the gladsome faMm,
And as the moon-beam mild*
Like the first infants of the spring*
Sweet opening to the view ; Fanned by the breezes tender wing,
And fresh with morning dew.
Such were fair Moriat's growing charms*
So bright her dawning sky; > And beauty* young* with early harms*
Was cradled in her eye.
By ties of sweet attraction drawn*
And pair'd by infant love* Oft* lightly sporting o'er the lawn*
The royal children rove ;
d48 THE TALK.
Together chase the gilded fly. Or pluck the blooming flower;
Or boaghfl, with busy hauds, supply. To weave the little bower.
But now, as years and stature grow,
Matorer sports arise ; Now Maon bends the strongest bow,
Aiid Moriat gives the prize.
Light dance the happy hours along.
To love's enchanting lay: And pleasure tunes the sweetest song !
And every scene is gay.
But soon each beauteous vision flies
That blissful fancy forms ; As the soft smile of azure skies
ft
. Is chas'd by chiding storms.
Again fate lours, and dangers frown — The bloody Cobthach hears —
Once more the dagger threats to drow|i In Maon's blood his fears.
THE TAIiS. 349
And must we flj? — ^must Maon's heart
Its Moriat then forego ? — Mnst he with every comfort part^
To shnn his cmel foe ? —
He must ; there are no other means
Of life or safety nigh ; Our only hope on Gallia leans.
And thither must he fly.
What tears! — ^what anguish! — ^what despair!
At length he bade adieu : Ah when again his faithful fair.
His native land to view ? —
^^ Yes, soon again! (he proudly cries;) '* In vengeance too arrayed!
^' On this right arm my hope relies, '' And GalUa's friendly aid.''
But Maon knew not yet, how near.
How tenderly ally'd. To his own blood ; — how very dear
The victims that had dy'dL
350 TBX TALB.
Firstj his ireak health, and tender years.
Bade the dire truth conceal. Which after, (thong^h from differait fears,)
We did not dare reveal.
For when, as strength and knowledge grew.
He heard the tale unfold ; But half its horrors giv'n to view.
And half his wrongs untold :
When, bat as kindred to his sire, The Monarch's dealii he heard ;
Then, in his soul's quick mounting fire. His royal race appeared.
Indignant passions fill'd his eye. And from his accents broke;
While the pale lip, ajid bursting sigh. His burdened soul bespoke.
In vain, his fury to assuage,
I every art bestow'd ; Still, with the rasli resolves of rage,l
His restless bosom glow*d.
THE TALK. 351
In such a cause, hk ami alone
Of ample ybrce he deems; And, to pluck murder from its thnae,
A slight adventure seems.
His youth,. his rashness I bewail'd,-*-
I trembled to behold; And fear, and pitying love preyail'd
To leave dire truths unt(dd.
To Gallia now fate call'd — still, still His birth we dar 'd not shew ;
We dreaded lest some fatal ill Should from his knowledge flow.
Youth's headlong pasnons m#^/d our fears
The secret to secure. Till practised thou^t, and manlier years.
His mind and arm mature.
IVhen, from his weepuig Moriat torn.
He bade the last adieu ; When from her sight — ^her palace borne.
He ceas'd its walls to view ;
352 THE TA1«.
Then fresh distractions fill'd his breast^
The fears of anxious love ; Ah! — ^by some happier youth addrest^ —
Should Moriat faithless prove!
He stopp'd — ^his frame with anguish shook;
Wiih groans his bosom rose ; The wildness of his air and look
My soul with terror froze.
*' Dear guardian of my orphan statef ( At length he faultering cry 'd, )
" Thee too — thee* too his cruel fate '' From Maon must divide!
'* To tend thy lovelier pupil's youth,
^* Do thou behind remain ; '' Remind her of her Maon's truth,
'' His constancy^ his pain.
*' Thou who hast form'd my Moriat's heart, *' With sweet and happy skill ;
*' Obedient to thy gentle art, *' And fashion'd ta thy will :
THE TALB. 353
'^ O 8till that heart, those ^vishes guide ** Beneath 8oft Loye's ccmtroul ;
'* Whatever m absence may betide, '* To shake me from her soul*
*^ Should ever, from that beauteous breast,
*' Its fond impression stray; '* Should aught e'er chase the tender guest,
'' With thoughtless mirth away;
^' Then let thy sweet and melting hand '* On the soft harp complain,
'* More skilful than the magic wand, ** Awake the powerful strain.
** To call, like spirits from their sphere, '' Each trembling passion round,
'* Its spellful potency to hear, ** And sigh to ey'ry sound!
" The moomful sweetness soon will bring
'' To mind her Maon's woe ;
'' And mem'ry, o'er the tender string,
'' In faithful tears will flow.
2z
354 THX TilUB.
** Alas, thine eye rejecto my pnjerl
" O yet, let pity swayl '' Or see vain life no more my ewc;^
** Or now consent to stayl*'
Distracted, — shock'd at his oommaad;
In vain all arts I try'd. His cruel purpose to withstand^
And with him stall
In vain all arguments addrest.
In yain did I implore; He wept — he strain'd me to his breast/
But left me on the shore.
Sad, devious, careless of their coarse^
My lonely steps returu'd. While sorrow drain'd its weeping source.
And age's anguish moum'd.
Bereft of him for whom alone
Life deign'd to keep a care. For him I heav'd the ceaseless groan.
And breath'd the ceaseless pray 'r.
THB TALS. 955
I only liv'd at his request^
His bidding to obey; And chear his Mimat's faithfU breart.
To wasting grief a prej.
From her fair eye to wipe the tear, Her guardian and her guide :
Dear to my heart! but doubly dear^ As Maon's destined bride.
O, absence! tedious thy delay.
And sad thy hours appear.; lYhile numbmng sighs recount each day
That fills the long, long yean
Yet not devoid of hope we griev'd. For oft glad tidings came ;
Oft our reviving souls received The news of Maon's fame.
The prince ef Gallia^s fertile land.
To Erin's throne ally'd^ Grac'd his young kinsman with command.
And plac'd him near his ride. .
356 THE TALS.
Together o'er the martial field The J chase the routed foe ;
Together war's fierce terrors wield. And strike the glorious blowl
At length, to him the sole command
Of Gallia's armies feU> For now, his train'd and valiant hand
Well knew her foes to quell.
The terror of the Gallic arms To east— rto west he spread.
And, safe retum'd from fierce alarms. His conquering powers he led.
All tongues his prowess now attest;
Exulting M oriat hears : The sounds bring rapture to her breast.
And music to her ears.
'* Now, now, (she cry'd) what hinders now '* The work his virtue plann'd?
f* What hinders to perform his vow, " And free his captive land?"
THE TALE. 357
** Ah Moriat! bright in every chann " That Nature's power could give I
** Ah^ haste thy tender breast to arm, " Hear the dire news — and livel
'^ Prepare thy Maon to disown;
, *' Thy thoughts from love divide; '' The daughter of the Gallic throne '' Is destined for his bride/'
Ah sounds of death! — she faints, she faUs!
Down sinks the beauteous head. — At length our care to life recals.
But peace, alaftj is fled
" Where now is Virtue? — where is Love?
'• O Faith! O Pity!— where? " Can Maon cruel, — ^perjur'd prove,
*' And false as fondly swear?
*' Ah no, ah no! — ^it cannot be!—
" Too well that heart I know! — *' Alas! — now, now the cause I sec Whence all my sorrows flow!
tt
358 THS TALK.
4i
€i
Fly, fly Craftinc!— to thy Lord " My soul's entreaty bear! And O! may Heaven calm seas affiurd^ '' And swiftest winds prepared
** Tell him, it is my trae request,
'' It is my firm command, *' That Love, a fond imprudent guests
*' No more restrain bis hand.
ft
it
Tell him, he freely may espouse ** My happy rivars charms: Tell him, I give him back his vows, '' I yield him to her arms. «-
ti
So may the strength of Gallia's throne ^' Attend a filial prayer, ** And force our tyrant to atone ' ^' For all the wrongs we bear.
** Alas! I fear it will not bej—
»
'' Too faithful is his heart! " From vows so dear, — from Love and me " He never will depart.
THE TALK. 359
«' Even now, periia]i8« his eoftening 6oial
** The fond ideal moye, '^ And yield it to the sweet controul
€i Of— ah, too mighty Love!
^' Friends, kindred, country, honor, fame,
'' And vengeance are forgot; '' And, with a fond, ill-omen'd flame,
'' His sighing soul is fraught.
'^ O haste thee then, ere yet too late, ** To shield thy pupil's fame ;
'' To snatch it from impending £ite^ '* And from impending shamel
'< Tell him his country claimfi him now.-*^
'* To her his heart he owes; '^ And shall a love-breath'd wish, or vow^
'' That glorious claim oppoae ^-*
'' Tell him to act the patriot part
" That Erin's woes demand; " Tell him, would he secure my heart,
'* He must resign my hand« —
360 THE TALC.
•• Haste, haste thee hence! — ^tell him — ^yet stay!-
'' O Heaven! my heart inspire! " O what — ^what further shall I say,
** His soul with fame to fire ? —
*' Soft — soft — 'tis mine! — O happy hour!
'' It cannot fail to move! " O blest be Erin's guardian pow'r!
** And blest be patriot love!"
While thus the sweet Enthusiast speaks.
She seems o'er earth to rise; Sublime emotions flush her cheeks.
And fill her radiant eyes!
In her soft hand the style she takes. And the beech tablet holds ; ^
And there the soul of glory wakes. And all her heart unfolds.
" 'Tis done! — ^now haste thee hence, (she cry'd)
'* With this to Gallia fly;— " And O! let all thy power be try'd,
** To gain him to comply!
THB TALK. 961
^* O fire hie soul with glory's flam^!
'' O send me from his heartl ^^ Before his countiy^ and his fame,
*' Let blushing love depart! —
^' For me, — on duty I rely, " My firm support to prove;
'' And Erin shall the room supply ** Of Maon and of love/'
it
44
Blest be thy soul! O peerless maidi '' Bright sun of virtue's heaven! For 0!^to thee, her light, her aid, " And all her powers are given!*'
I went : — ^I bounded o'er the wave. To Gallia's verdant shore ;
The winds a swift conveyance gave^ And soon to harbour bore.
And soon, at Gallia's splendid couft,
I lowly bent the knee.
While fondest hopes my heart transport.
Again my Prince to see,
3a
960 THE TAUI.
Mj hopes were just* — ^SuUime he ctme.
Array 'd in glory's charms ! I panted to unfold my namej-^
To rush into his anxul--**
It must not be ; — a close disguise My face and form conceals;
No token, to my Maon's eyes. As yet, his Bard reveals*
Patient, as Morlat bade, I wait. Collecting all my power,
'TiU, to the busy forms of state. Succeeds the festiye hour.
The feast is o'er : — ^the light'ned board With sparkling shells is crown'd ;
And numbers next their aid afford. And give new soul to sound.
Then, then my harp I trembling take.
And touch its lofty string, While Moriat's lines its powers awake.
And, as she bade I sing.
THE tALlff. 06$
Maon! bright and deatUaw namel Heir of (Hory! — aon (MTfame! Hear, O hear the MtEse'» strain f Hear the monming Bard comptaiii! Hear hha, while hi» anguish flows 0*er thy bleeding cotintrj's woes. Hear, by him, her Genius speak ! Hear her, aid and pity seek I
^* Maon, (she cries) behold my ruiu'd land!
" The prostrate wall«-^e blood-staitt'd field:- '' Behold my slaughtered sons, and captire sires, *' Thy vengeance imprecate, thy aid demand! '* (From reeking swords and raging fires,
'' No arm but thine to shield. ) '' Come see what yet remains to tell " Of horrors that befel! ** Come see where death, in bloody pomp arrayed, ** Triumphed o'er thy riaughter'd race I " Where murder shewed his darmg face, " And AooL his deadly blade.
S64 THB TALl^^
" Hark!— harkl— that deep-drawn ogh!— " Harkl^rom the tomb my slaughtered Princei cry! ** Still Attention! hold thy breath!— '' Listen to the words of death! — " Start not Maon! — arm thy breast! Hear thy royal birth confest. Hear the shade of Laoghaire tell " All the woes his house befel/'
•I
€i
** Son of my son ! ( he crieSj ) O Maon! hear! — '* Yes, yes, — our child thou art! ** Well may the unexpected tale ** Thus turn thy beauty pale! ** Yet chear, my son, thy fainting heart, '' And silent, give thine ear.
** Son of Ollioll's love art thou,
'* OiSspring of his early vow. *' One dreadful mom our fall beheld, ** One dagger drank our kindred blood; " One mingling tide the slaughter swelled, *' And murder bath'd amid the royal flood*
€t
THE TALK* 365
" Again, — ^again they rise to sight! — *' The horrors of that fatal day! —
^ Encircling peril! >vild afiright! ** Groans of death, and deep dismay !
See Erin's dying Princes press the ground!
'' See gasping patriots bleed around!
'* See thy grandsire's closing eye!
" Hear his last expiring sigh!
*' Hear thy murdered sire, in death,
** Bless thee ivith his latest breath! —
<(
ti
Tears! — shall tears for blood be paid ? — Vengeance hopes for manly aid! There — ^to yon tomb direct thine eyes! — • '' See the shade of OUioU rise! " Hark! — ^he groans! — his airy side ** Still shews the wound of death! " Still, from his bosom, flows the crimson
tide, ^* As when he first resigned his guiltless breath!
** Maon! (he cries,) O hear thy sire! '' See, from the tomb, his mangled form arise!
366 THX TAI^K.
** Vengeance — ^vengeance to inspire, " It meets thine aching eyes!
'' Speak I to an infant's ears^ " With shuddering blood and flowing tears? ** Rouse thee! — rouse thy daring soul! " Start at once for glory's goal !
'' Rush on Murder's blood*stainM throne!
" Tear from his brow my crown! ^' Pluck, pluck the fierce barbarian down! '' And be triumphant vengeance all thy own!"
Ha! — I behold thy sparkling eyes! Erin! — 'tis done! — thy Tyrant dies! Thy M aon comes to free his groaning land! To do the work his early virtue planned. He comes, the heir of Laoghaire's splendid
crown! He comes, the heir of OUioU's bright renown! He comes, the arm of Gallia's host ; Valour's fierce and lovely boast! Gallia's grateful debt is paid; See, she gives her generous aid!
THE TALE. 367
Her warriors round their hero press ; They rushj his wrongs, his country to redress.
But^ ah! what star of beauty's sky Beams wonder on my dazzled eye ? What form of light is here ? And wherefore falls that softly trembling tear ! — ¥air vision! do thy sorrows flow. To balm a stranger's woe! —
Those dear drops that Pity brings. How bright, how beauteous they appear! The radiance of each tender tear Might gem the diadems of kings!
Ah, 'tis Gallia's royal fair! — Her sole and lovely heir! — O Nature! see thy power confest! See that dear, that beauteous breast Beat with thy mystic throb ! Hear the big sob Heave the soft heart, and shake the tender
frame!
S68 THE TALX.
O bright abode of Pity's power!
Sweet altar of her trembling flame?
Well (fairest! ) in this fateful hour. Well may thy tears thy kindred race proclaim ! Well may'st thou weep for Erin's woes. Since, in thy veins, the blood of Laoghaire flows!
Monarch of the Gallic throne. List to my voice! — An union that might make the world thy own, Now courts thy choice.
See the bright daughter of thy love! Yet unmated is thy dove. Can that soft hand a sceptre wield? — Can that fair breast a nation shield ? —
No, — ^but with our prince ally'd,
Erin*s lov'd and lovely bride. Then, our joint empire, how might it extend! And wide our glittering standards be unfurFd! To our united power the earth might bend. And our high sceptre, then, should sway a world I
THE TALS. 369
Thus, delegated^ while I spoke.
My mandate to obey; Swift on my words the Princess broke,
And rapt my powers away.
•* Never 'will I consent ( she cry 'd )
" To wear thy country's crown ; ^* Nor ever be thy M aon's bride,
** Tho' splendid his renownl
'' Yet think not. Bard, my senseless breast " Quite dead to Glory's flame ;
" Think not I slight a Prince, confest '' The favourite son of fame.
'* Once, Bard, — ^I do not blush to own,
'' Tho* Gallia's royal heir, '* I would have given the world's high throne,
'^ A G>t with him to share* .
*^ But, when I heard the tender tales
** His gentle accents told ;
" How sweet a rose the royal vales
'' Of Fearmorka hold ;
3b
916 THB TALC*
" I shrunk from the ungenerous thought " That might their loves destroy;
'' And, in his dearer peace, I sought " To find reflected joy.
'* Nor now could worlds my heart persuade
'* To be thy M'aon's bride, '' Or, from his blest Momonian maid,
^' His faithful vows divide.
** But who art thou, whose wishes tower ** Wide empire, thus, to wield ;
" Who, to Ambition's haughty power^ " Would Love a victim yield V* —
*' O maid of Heaven!'* — I could no more.
For tears my words arrest ; And joy the garb of sorrow wore.
Big heaving in my breast.
With rapture mute, the close disguise Quick from my limbs I threw;
And straight, to Maon's wondering eyes, Craftine stood to view.
TUS TALE. 371
Forward^ with lightning's speed, he spnmg.
And caught me to hiB heart ; While eager round my neck he clung.
As if no more to'pBxt.
Then sudden, starting from mj breast.
His' eye my form surveyed; Its searching beams his doubts exprest.
And struggling soul displayed.
" And is it then Crafting speaks?
(At length he fault 'ring cry'd,) '' Is it that honoured sage who seeks
" His pupil to misguide ?
'< Can then Craftine bid me ily ** Froih Virtue's firm controul ;
'' And bid the breath of fame supply ** Her empire in my soul I
'' Does the sage guide of Miion's youth " Now teach the traitor's art; —
'* Teach, with the smiles of seeming truths ^' To veil a yenal heart ?
972 THB TALK*
^* One loTelj maid of heavenly channs, ** Betrothed, and won, to leave ;
'' And, wedded to another^s anns, ** Her generous soul deceivH
'' A double traitor shall I prove, '' And stain with guilt my name! —
'' Lost both to honour, and to love, ** To virtue, and to shame! -r-
'' No, royal Aide, formM to bless!
** Thou would'st disdain the art ; ** And charms like thine should sure possess
** An undivided heart*
\* Sweet maid! with each endowment blest ^' That favouring Heaven could give,
" O! ever in my grateful breast, " Shall thy dear image live!
€i
But further, by a form so bright, ^' Had my fond soul been won; ^' Won by thy charms, thou lovely light '^ Of Virtue's sacred sun!
THE TALE. 373
•
<< To thee had changing* passion straj'd ** From vows of earlier youth ;
'' Thy bright example^ glorious maid! ** Had sham'd me into truth.
^* Yet think me not, tho' true to lore,
" So dead to virtuous fame^ " To prize a selfish joy above
** The patriot's hallow'd flame.
fl
" Q Erin! that I hold thee dear,
'' This arm shall soon attest; '* For now revenge — revenge draws near,
** In death and terrors dresti
f*
And, O rever'd and royal shadesl " Ye dwellers of my soul! ^' "Whose memory this sad heart pervades, '' With limitless controull
^' Bend from your clouds each radiant face, '' While, firm as fate^s decrees,
'* I swear, thje manes of my race, '' With vengeance to appease!
374 THS TALK.
'* But Moriat! — never from my breast '' Shall thy mild virtues part!
'* There ever shalt thou rei^, confert *' The govVeign of my heart!
" Say Bardj who thus thy soul has sway'd?
** Who could thy sense misguide^ " To bid me leave my lovely
" And seek another bride?''
'* No art, O Maon* sway'd my breast, '' But Po WEU the mandate gave ;
'' Deny'd my age its needful rest, '* And sped me o'er the wave."
** What haughty power could thus assume
f' An empire o'er my soul ? — '' O'er Love and Virtue thus presume
" To arrogate controul ?
'* A power, to whom thy humble vow '' Ere long shall be addrest;
'' A power to whom thy soul shall bow, ^' And stoop its lofty crest/'
THE TALK. 375
"Ha! tell me then, — ^who, who shall dare
*' To dictate to my heart ? '^ To bid it from its \»ish forbear,
" And from its love depart? —
" Earnest, O Prince! was my command,
'' And urgent was my speed ; '' A mandate from thy Moriat's hand
" This fruitless voyage decreed/'
'* Moriat! — ^away — it cannot be!
" Shame on thy cruel art! — '* Hence, hence away, while yet thou'rt free,
'* And with thy tale depart/' ^
4t
Unjustly, Prince, am I disgraced, *' And guiltless do I stand ; ** Behold the characters she trac'd ; ** Behold her well known hand/'
" Ha! — blindness to my tortur'd sight!
'* O hope! behold thy grave!— *' O death to every fond delight
'' That Love to promise gave!
376
^' Say, Bard, while saue yet liTes to hear, '' Whence came this cruel change ?
'' O what, from vows w fimd, w dear, '< Coold such a sonl estrange?
'^ What happy rival, in her heart, '' Now holds her Maon's place,
** Who thus, with such successful art, ** His image could e£Pace?"
** Mistaken Prince! no second flame " Thy Moriat's heart can prove ;
** And it is only Maon's fame ** Can rival Maon's fore.
'' O haste, (she cry'd) haste to thy Lord, *' My soul's entreaty bear!
»
** And O may Heaven calm seas afford, ** And swiftest winds prepare!
" Tell him his country claims him now,
*' To her his heart he owes; '' And shall a love-breath'd wish or vow
** That glorious claim oppose.
THX TALS« 377
'* Tell him ta act the jMitriot part '^ That Erin's iieoes demand;
*' Tell him, would he secure my heart, '' He must rengn my hand.
*' For me, on duty I rely '* My firm support to prove,
'' And Erin shall the room supply " Of Maon and of Love,
" Tell him he freely may espouse
" My happy rival's charms; ** Tell him I give him back his vows,
** I yield him to her arms*
** So may the strength of Gallia's throne,
" Attend a filial prayer, '' And force one tyrant to atone
'* For all the wrongs we bear/*
** Now Prince,— -now judge thy MoriaVs heart;
*^ Now blame her de^ff command ;
" Now, if thon wilt, condemn lihe part
*' Her patriot virtue plann'dl"
3c
With rapturotu wonder's sweet alann,- With speecUesB joy opprest.
The trembling Maon reaeh'd his annt— And sunk upon my breast.
Dissoly'd in the applauding tear
That heart to virtue pays. The wondering melting crowd appear.
While on tiie scene they gaze.
Low at the feet of Gallia's throne
The lovely Aide bow'd ; Sweet in persuasive charms she shone.
And thus her suit avow'd:
" Now, now a boon, my royal sire !
" If ever I was dear, ^' O grant me now one sole desire,
'' One fond petition hear.
" Let now the flower of Gallia's host
** Our Maon's arm attend, *' And speed him hence to Erin's coast, is country to defend.
THB TALK* 979
** To tear the murderer of his race
" From his insulted throne, '' His wrongs, with yengeanee, to efface^
*' And blood with blood atone/'
Propitious to the warm request
Of his enchanting child. Her suit the royal Father blest.
And with acceptance smilM,
Then rising, on the Prince she turn'd
Her more than angel face ; Her eye with heav'rily radiaijce bum'4
And beam'd benignant grace.
" Now go ; — ^to Erin's happy shore
'* Direct thy course, (she cry*d) " Peace to thy native land restore,
'' And o'er its realms preside;
** And tell that sister of my soul,
" Thy loy'd Momonian Maid, " Like her, I strain to Virtue's goal,
'* On Glory's wings cppvey'd.
980 THE TALK.
*' Tell her, though oceans roll between
'' Our shores, at distance plac'd* " Yet is she hy my Bfint seen,
'' And by my heart embrac'd*
^' And say, — ^when death dissolves tmr fnones;-
" When free to -ffitiier's wing, ** And borne aloft on purest flames,
'' Our souls exulting spring ;
^^ Rivals no more, we then shall meet;
'' In air's bright chariot's move; " And joyful join in union sweet,
" And eyerlasting love."
Thus while she spoke, tears dimm'd her sight;
Her cheek its rose whhdrew ; And quick as lightning's radiant flight.
She yanish'd from our view:
Maon, pale, mute, o'erwhefan'd, distressed.
Had sunk before the Maid, And, to the spot her feet had press'd
His grateful lips he laid«
THE TALB. 381
A while the pitying Monarch gaz'd.
And dropt a tender tear ; Then from the earth the youth he rais'd, [is drooping soul to chear.—
Now, snatch'd from every trophied wall. Bright standards float in air^
And, to their Champion's glorious call. The Gallic Chiefs repair.
Fate wing'd, along the rolling wave.
Their ships exulting flew ; * And Erin soon her harbours .gave
To our enraptured view.
Then Retribution's dreadfiil hour
Appaird the guilty breast! Stem frown'd the terror-giving power^
In blood and vengeance drest.
As when fierce Nbith mounts liis car, With dreadful splendours bright ;
And, thundering in the front of war. Sweeps o'er the fields of fighti
382 THB T^Lir.
Dismayed befoVe the withering God,
The routed armies fly; Death in his arm, fate in his nod.
And battles in h|s eye!
So his bright car ear Maon graced.
In martial charms array 'd : So his young arm, by vengeance brac'd.
Shook high its deadly bladef
But the soft muse, of war no more
Will undelighted teU : She loves the calm, the peaceful diore.
Where geptler virtues dwell.
Haste we from the avenging powers
Of Justice and of fate ; Haste we to Fearmorka's bowers.
With Love's fond hopes elate.
Ah Moriat! how will thy soft breast
The mighty joy sustain? Ah gently, rapture! — see, opprest
3he sinks upon tV plain.
THE TAtB* 383
She sinks — ^but Love's extended arms
From earth her beauties raise; And Love's soft voice awakes her charms
And cordial cheer conveys.
Speechless awhile, she looks,*— she sighs
Unutterable joy; Nor memory yet a thought supplies
The transport to destroy.
At length, her recollected breast
Recals the Gallic Bride, When shuddering, back she shrinks distress'd.
Nor seeks her soul to hide.
" Ah Maonl go! (she trembling cries, ) '' Another claims thee now :
" Go, go where fame with love allies '* To plight thy nobler vow/'
•' No, my soul's treasure! never more '' From thy dear arms to part ;
''Here will I kneel, and here adore " With a devoted heart.
384 THS TALC.
'' Ah, could'st thou think with empij fame
" Thine image to eiSkce ? — *' Or bid me, with another flame,
** This bosom to disgrace!
^' Bright Aide would with scorn have yiew'd
*' The wretch, to honour dead ; ** And shame and hatred had pursued
'' This base and guilty head.
'^ Come, dearer than the world's renown I " (And now, at length, my own!'*) —
" Come, with thy virtues gem my crown, '* And consecrate my throne!
How shall the Muse the tale pursue ?-^ What words her strain shall swell?
Or paint to sympathy's fond view What language fails to tell ?
Think all that Glory iMi be^t^W!
That Virtue's soul impartsl Conceive the nameless joys Hiat flow
¥rom Love's selected heaths*
THE TAtS. 333
Conceive the Patriot's glowing breast Whom grateful nations crown!
With virtue, love, and empire blest. And honor's clear renown. —
Here let me end. — And now, O Maid!
Receive the Bard's adieu ; — Invoke the favouring Muse's aid.
And still thy task pursue.
'Twill give new objects to thy ken?
Of care thy breast beguile ; And, on the labours of thy pen
Thy country's eye will smile.
m
I came thy ardour to excite. — • Once more, O Maid! adieu. —
He spoke, and, lost in splendid light, 'Ue vanished from my view.
an
NOTES
TO MA09> AN IRIIH TALS.
Note L SMn*d in the form of reverend age^
Thie friendly vision eame; Rob^d at ofoldj u Bardic Sage^
And took Crafting $ name.-^^et. 17, &c. p. 330*
CX^At^Vn^f a celebrated Iiish Bard who floarished ia A.BL 3648. Vide Kbatiho.
Note II. ^^ To them ike Muse of ancient days ^ Aoaws the tribute dite^-^er. 17. p. 330.
The mention of the Muse^ ia this place, maj appear rather too claflricd, bat the ancient Irish had their Mose, as well ai the Greeks and Rimians, and her name was be-^fi^^-
Note III. When the dark biadcj with murder keen^ Spared not a brother* s breast. — ^rer. 11. p. 343.
Cobthach, a prince of an entions and aspiring temper, repL. ning at Hm greatness of his brother, Laoghaire Lork, then mo. narch of Ireland, determined to wade through murder to the throne. To effect this purpose, he pretended illness, and was constantly and aibctionatelj Tisited by his nnsospecting brother;
dS8 VOtSS to MAON, an IRISH fAtC.^
but findiDg that he still came aittended, and, therefore, gaTe no opportunity for the meditated blow, he requested a prirate inter* Tiew with him ; it was granted, and the following day appointed for the purpose; Laoghaire came, but found his brother aj^pa. rently dead ; and bending OTer him, in the bitterness of his sor* row, was stabbed, bj the perfidious and ungrateful Cobthach^ to the heart See Keatin<Ij Wa.wifte, &c.
Note IV. Clote by the murdered Monarchy iidcy The earth brave OUioU pres$^a.^t^f. tS. p. 344,
Ollioll Aine, son to Laoghaire Lore, who was thus murdered bj his brother Cobthach.
NoteV. Cloip'd round the dging Prhu»^$ neckj Hi* tittle Mdon tmy.^ ver. 17. p* 344i
MaoD, son t« Ollioll Aine*
Note VI. In her soft hand the ityte she tdkee. — ^rer. 13. p. SGO.
« Before the use of paper or parchment, the iuitter da which ^' the Irish wrote their letters was on tables cut out of a beech *' tree, and smoothed by a plane, which they iusoribed with an ^' iron pencil, called a style; the letters t^emselfea w«tfe mm <^ ciently termed Feadha (woods) from tin matter on wliidi ^* they were written, as well as because they were the names of '* trees; and this was the practice of other nations before paper <^and parchment were discoTered.** Wauhbb^ HiH, IreL Ini* p. 65,
Note Vir. '^ How iweet a rose the royai vales « Of Fearmorka hold.— iter. 19. p. 309.
In the west of Monster.
ii
irOTES TO MAOir, AH IRIIH TALB« 389
Note VIII. Ai when farce Nkith mounts his car^
With dreadful splendours brighi.^^yet. 19, p. 381.
Tbe God of Batfles of tlie Pagan Irish.
IRISH ORIGINALS
OF VBM
l^etolc potms.
THE
9ttd|) iDtigimlB
OF THE
HEROIC POEMS.
I.
It* cot*«rttfl te bo ce-af rj^t* t)to^jl
3k
394 nisH ofticnrAU o»
Conne-4t> -ad p-a^d aza ftotrntiG v^t* ^uk; wopiAoc^ib ad Wbum
Cojt^ffe we tixfA too ^ic1» 0 Diot "SO l^ -**> ^^J*' ^Sit
CODlAOCh 1fffl40ClD-4 •pOttttilWCl)
po p*t* ce-4DSl<»6 c^^to to4|i fixui^ ptr
^D t*JO CAD^Y CofKttCaf* fie cSch Cio6 ^e^Btnlott* too tout rvi ixSfl Do B-<»Jt*f&-Ato e4ffi<t t)0 t^S^t )t* tu ccjocftA^ ft4 6]0fti64t ti^]6e ^tt*tJ^ CotuU lUft Uj litiii t)o %4if) t*^^^iU toon ttMC^ift Xe 6e.<tftButm le letuw ^t) ldOj<5 Jut* <^e^raU6 Cot><ttt le Cot)t'^ox5
THIS tiCllOIC fOKMS. 39S
y%^4U tt^jf) Ajp de^mf tH Cot)
Z^ CcD4ll flufi fce^t) -dinbfioib )f ce-iD t>-<»ft t*lo3t n<t <5$itfjbe-<tf
It* tyeACAip^ oCtjfjf) tJttl ^w c^ixt lejt* 'AD l-<toc let* ce4r)^6 Corwtt IJ4 t*«itwjr) 54t) t)ttl XH 104)1
%Utfi cfte^t* i><tt* ^1* t)e4«5 ■podt*^!! ^O0e 6 <*tt|6t^4tc1i %D cdt) ctutl^)? Cun^t Unr)
rffojt) Wxt bo lieje^tyj tmjc IJo fjeiU nuft ^4t^4)b l)ejti t>o tio^ -4 dUBttf6e ditjjr T*ttl in* he^j^l wiic cemfiAC
396 imiSH OMtflKAtf OF
Pi tu^Y Item) cm cufutcb
If ^^ ccuj^if) *>o De^ic pa netm
tit) tin cfiojb0 1^ c^ile X!^e^tic cottiti.^ t)Ob ^j6m^jle
Re f IJOf iM cpSot^%e coihlojt) ^DOir^ 65I401C c^t) t)0 t^e^l
If t)>d cejl i^e-<tvt)-d cjwce^f 1^15 6-4W cujrjtti 4)t^ ^n it)>ij5
1-<tjti bejf 50 ^eicjt> i^t^ -^^Sil
If 1D& ConUocI) ni.4C t)4 Con 0)tpe tojle-df tMin-be^l^^n ^e -itn p<xt) to'f liiljtittjf -4 wbtwjf)
^n txin-f 5^c^jt ^^^ 6^ttoiw.
^t) Uc-djtt ctt-<tc too iJofj^jt^ Po 50 ix^jttnse-46 f J t)e>itt-4 l^-cit> ^lig^^f 4. jf c& 5onc4
TMB HEROIC POSMS. 397
^5 ^^tkiajT) le DO cle4t»4)B ^0 tn<tlUf ^jft t)0 tfwclujtt
If cfie tiieiito n<i t)olc jnnce
Bejfi tit) ^5 tlle^^ be^fi^d
If we Conl40cT) t^JOfi le \i^'6a.
P^t* cejb ttl-att) $ Be-il Cfiob^
jJ-oc ccttj fje^l bo ve^ ^St) Dip^m
^CmnA iribefc cp^^f no, con njiejce
?i Ctt^jljDf) r)<t D^t^Wnje^t* If wajftj 66jc n^ift 4icjt) it)§
?tD cti>2ic t>o c^jcmn JO leUt* i^^n ?if) cf le^t A Tfouy% ^hufti -inn) <D4 wb^nf e 'f ' wo CTionUocT) ciotfj ^5 jitnt*c cle^f 4jft 40t)c.<to6 I'lt* ^ite^tn) 0 cttjDt) JO cttjtn) t>o ft^b tn-ioff afi^dot) e.4t>ttttn)i)- 90xtfi DO clwt) xttittu U6|c tpiici) xtjttf Utrn 1110 ciiof)t40jc
If null fjf) DO bjw ^5 c^oj
^A i^Ai^ j4t) inoc j^t) De^ jijm^oi
THX UZKOIC VOVMS. 3S9
«0o contfiMAc tte Com-^oaitsne %zS, ^jft CC01U6 DO ciU^Bf^e
^t>4itftt)4 ftjj 5<w) iiot)tof IJxicI) dnio Biif* t)0 t>e4ft^46 Tttl bo cjteiijbtti* t>o diotftdofip ^4jc &01) c&4J;Ucli on CctiiioBiiu^d T «>o ce^nt) o^otfif'ltt^)!; i><t ccuft^^ |J^ f)e-<u5 6j6b1) t)o vt^\iMi\ miontfuu; Id cf -iotifUc cxt mo pt*^t» ?>Oxiic t)0 t^o^Jt^ ^iitAcM
400 IRISH 0&I6IKAI.S OP
p^c VOX'S *^*»' V^<i^P) axnui ?)0^ic no X>hdbt^Ach t>40l liUt
p^ utr t>o nomne lutunr-*
P-d<5 § t«*^»f* wttt* bli^il jotvt ^t) r^jiic cofictt^, t)o'n Utwf ^
Do cute tno Cot)t40c ciiotwf ^
Do cujc^dccowcttow cfiOb-a IJo ^11-41)1) ej^it) t>ot) both-dt) •f^t) e^tp^jt) 1)6 r^ t)jrbejtit)
TRX HBftOtC POKMg. 401
*60 DiUjtll t)4tt)f4 ^^Wttf
% C1tmUo\6 x)4' Y^e^t 5C0ttctt4 ^0 Bejc t£4t Btt4i6 541) xi4meA\iz
r^ti-ejt* €0infi4tic fie w&ntfj^tc ?*do <Jti§cT)C4. 4t)of Jt» iotn6xt Pt H ot)5n46 wo btjejc utjiire-dc T^t) tneic Ujft^e^^ bo Uc^jtf ?^5 rm we bejf tvi niojice^fi
8r
402 nnaH oftieiirA.La ov
^eic SAD pioiri S*»> ^wHe
THK HBAOIC V0MU94 403
tt
N
t)^fi Ijotf) iceif) tw njAjc M) dUn
5e tmw le-Ac ce-*f ^n* .dt) B|»git) 3r fr nn IT c^ol t)xtif) if&jt)
^! A 6Ve^r% Jt* tit) olc Ijott)
p. Ctt1tWJt*C OftC A ojUojc tf)6|tt
404 imi«H oftiaiNALs or
Cj^wiojt) at)ojtv Y^ f>vit*
Zri,iM^t> t^o tfj4C t)j^ ciij6s 1i|» § at) jlofv t)o chat) ttittn
•pjot) t:fclt)|6e ^Ujc 41) crl^it Cj4 DO tt^<?4D t)jiitit»^ f ^Jl Jo ^ictti^e ie§lt) -4 BUc Y-* Wuii^ ^t) fit) t)0 ti^j6 CotySt) w-iol
^f*4f* itieic Cttttwil n<t CC4C cu Uj-So -4t)t) 4f ttt<ti6 no t*jj ?tt)tttJ-4itic Cor)4f) 4t*Tr ^ iDe^i; 1^ hint) cu ti^dttso -Am)
0 1*^ <5le4cc too loot n<t cce^w ^4lUf oftc 4 C1)or)4jt) iftiioiV t5o tt4r6 IfeAppif -pa C40)m cttu6
TltE HBKOIC VOBm. 405
?it) f^ ti^D A'$c6fti DA ^e^ti
^V'OWt lOCUtm CBAt) DA CCflfOd
510IU DAd vm yrtodh ty icextft^ CpeAX> ya'pP^iy' ^t) ^foeAD Bofib f a tt^it tocUi>n iM tOT)^ ttit>t»e4c
It* pomait A CC0JV5 ^^Jt» l^^t* ^ttbttjj lodUnn tH Ions mbfie^tc VArnfoem Aip, cttjt>n» ^51*1* ^^n
It* cuittl^ T10W <^'At A DoV^Y
%t* 4t) Btfgit) ^e fli^tt t>o teADf)
400 iKiSH ox<oiKAi.s or
po cotf^ftac t>iiif) c^t^ >4. ce/tf)t)
Pj Beitt^^ bfuti) twjt) tAp xxmn ^ Iwtc^jft l^lwn) twi* cttfll 5^^
lOY^-**!* I^ t^-4d46 we ^5Cti§
'f t)j cju^t*^ wn^ W*-*^ *>'^tr
t)o t*^i6 w-dc Cuttuil t*e Jott r)lv<iti mop At) pot) xj^m Bejc ccof
D^jft -at) U)tf)|*jf) otic ^ iphnm 6 t)o cliji* w^t* zSom •<it)of
THX HXaOIC POBMI. 407
tilt coDD^-dftc t)^ ccomtxim ce-dfj X'^pp<jCo A 6eAm tie n* dofip.
Cojf5ifjo&f^ flit )r>fe cojtc T cUm AX) t>-a <5oiiujtile4<J 6e^^. t)j66 wo tfwirjoft ^ejf) t>-<t ccUcn t>o t*-<i6 itwc lttjt6e<tcl) At) 4jt Hit l^tomhiocUtw t>iiji 54t) to Cojr5i^o6 wjfe ^ t)Ott)' Ujtf) po t)4 B^&^rt)4jm) t)^ Bat* fn6
t>o itil6 t>}xttitmtit> tjofw) 5<tr) ot) <^oif 51^^46 wtye ^ txft) icejn IJo cttjcice.4t) tfiein x«t* <4 ton
Jttti YIA^AY 'YA ceAt) 6oXt)
t>ejfnt be^nn^tf . t>ejtijt ^-<ij6 Do tt^jG ttwc Ctwtvul stt<»iiid6e^fi^ ^-^twr tn4c *Cil»ej6it im floiit Cojt*5ice.dt>|»a^e w^t* ^ l^liextftj t^ipt> t>^ ejf t»|t) ^f) l^fjjiit)
ZeAXft)AtO 0ttC4 4t)4tt1t) 4jt
408 I»I«H OBtaiVALfl 9V
Xie4,% <4n* t^utm ^ unti' worn
^t) oiodhe Yin XMho %o U Pf^ tnat Ijtme Sejc 541) <56oi l^le-At), xtp*!* t^j^ Clinch n» c^
^eiV'ie pit locUiyt) m) ^r^
]otti6^ coc-it) fomb-A ctiia^ 1011164 rp^^» ir M*lt*fr-*c 6e-dti5 lettm^ c-<ton*^-4C ir w-ac ttiot Vlj jt^J^e U91C Xfjo^ z^t) ^m 3otWD-<t cl«i©iott» titopftDcU© i>oift 3ow6^ t*!*^*- '^ <^^ 1*^ cfufw
t)ob lowioA t^^t ^ 41* P<^??wn. T5ob jottna* -<tt)t) clo^4)> <efi«uM6 tiiob iofn6^ cttic /i^Y 54 ?itrf) f -4 cotnftxic t)tt l&j ^w t)ob lotnD^ 1^ -«sttr 1=^1^
t>t^^cxu5 "Khjin) ic^ 1^0(1 ^ cctte^f
THS REBOIC POEMS. 409
lit) too clod^ijB cjtie 'tx%>
pof ^t* ^iw imUns cofixt)6 t)t»-Ac^ tojU tfjojti tneic ^offitje
^ij cfioiti^tto 4 ctm) Y-At) cc<dc •Do titw 5-4<5 t^Uic trufi tw ^e^U
He <5§jie -djti xxnrcm f itt4t
Oct)! 4 Cl§jfl|^ Z\M4t 4f) bSH.
t)o finwe^tJuttt imtpe^Y ce^tyn
Cotf)ti4C t^uilce^^ M) t)4 ftjj "K^ 50t)C4<5 4i tvlbp^ X4, CC0I5 Ce-AOjU x^ Xo^vit) fxtT) cct*e4t* He voAC Cum^it n<t ccle^f wtjoftb
t)o <5e4r)54jl ^jODf) tte tH ^015 ?tt) tjt) ft^jde^i* CoDilf) w4ojJ 5jo1U do ^ x^^S,vt\ tte liolc
3ft
410 IRISH ORIGINALS OF
y-^ppO) -4 ce^tyt) pe t)^ cofip Ujoc -d 6otHm ifutoit j^r) cejU
5^B t>o popn 4 ^i^twrr ^0 ^^p PACiitp flSt) jt>' cjfi t^em
Cuttunt), c-46jt)e^t* ^S^V 5t^^^
^t) jejt) tfuit^t^^e^v-bljl -dill' <*^p J-^t) BujUe r4lJ-4j|tc ^t>' ^^)6 ^jc|ie.4c1i liow AtTioe4xptyaY opz
po i^ludj le caxpt\ %^c}) ^eo Chttt^jf) ^f jefi tf)6tt -d r^^Jt^w D-d IM t>^ tti-di|tU, DO to-d wbe6 ^5 rw 6ttict^ zupiXY yy)\t)X) ^ clejit J3 ^46n) t)^ tDbe4m) wbUjc
tHU HEBOIC POEMS. 411
Do mdc pjt lo<5Utn) TM fl^t
^j^ 4t) ^§jr) b^ wot* t>o the^t* %5 VJD b^ojB 50 be^f wo f j^^l
412 tiiisH oniGixA!.* or
m.
Oj|*n). tt pwt>twj5 AX) ccXiaU. ctt ao zye4X%% ptvrt). \M inx^Ux Avmc At) fijt
JtWJf tJUJOD If tH C4t) ^$ .
Cyom^x ^|tojt)e-46 leo -dt) cf e-dl^ ?
le ^gfie Yl^ tje^pz ^p Uw
Viot^ f uj^ fiwih clejtte^ -d ccjll 5^ J'i^ ^wn t)o c-diMjt) pY^ilit)
ViP n^P loc^ -4t)5lM* :§4tt3
THB HEROIC POEMS. 413
t>xl W-AJfte^* ttWC 5^fl4j6 1M l4T)
Oyc^P do W-4C tlotj-Ajt) tnjtjo
Po O-djfte |'l>jf)t)ext6 j-At) lof
tu m^ifie^ <4o6 be-45 tfuc tcitw Po 1? iioUt) jftitw n^p ^4tp t)e-dc Po Corut) tniol th ^t) ^fuais
t)n)f)e Ijotti icoj^t* 4 tieil
P4 B|Wn IDO ^J§J|t If bO COAJC
4l4 IRISH ORIGINALS OF
Du-djl t)*uf ^^Y 111 t>^ ^^^ Ctiejb t>0D z^zS OYt>o cjom
0. Uc or) oc Ojt^jT) ttK> tS^-^l cjiddj; V) hint) liowY^ pt^w t)o jloit*
^f 5-at) -dt) 'phjiir) t>o Bejc b§o ^'Ciofi' -dt) ceAir)t)^c Ijow ^Jt^ 6j<i
J'^tt) Uj46 j-ar) e-4t)^^ ^t) ri>6tic 5-41) ^ftor>r)AJi6 ojft ^j|i f^-doti x>^)m
5-41) cojtne-dt)-d po|ir r)^ oxax) ^ btntdft t)'octt-df Jt* t)0 6jc ^^ic)tt) t>ot)* t^i^ f e -d lu-dcT) p. lei^e-dt) t)joni-d|tB-djt> Jt* edit* Ojfjt) tftoiji' nd ccfte-dt^ cciie-dt) l^joDD nd ^Ujc Y^ t^^i^ *>^ cjieoit)
Pj corfjott ne nJS nd r)eult
THB HBROIC POEMS. 415
e bj^ t>o can) tye^th it c-^Utfi ^t*§ bo Bejti ve^pz im l-dCxJ
^f e DO ^eifi bUc t^-d cc^tott. ?ir^ Bejtt ze^Uc ir ZPUt)
^l^e 'pm z6pt^ ty bUc
Pioti tijot)-<ir)D cft^c Jt^ euf -d fjDt)
%f -4l|t CO|*5-4j|tC cotip-4 UicTi
?i cotn)^fn c\i)6c Y-4 cuji cl66
^m t>of ^6 weifts -dbcur fl^jj
%iti cojti)e.dt) C4ic x:t cc|t-dc jleojb % PVbfiUjj c-d it4I^ t>o bj-4 Ctt-4C CdJDIS 4^ "^^^Y ^^V^ l^-^t^
He tm)^oj ttJ5 locUtw t)^ lor)5 lett tujc fom) low^At) t*4 cctte^t" po't) U cxtjnit ^^Jl<^ W4C z\xe\t) Ve^xp A\p 4t) Uji^ejo t>o cixsp Sp \Jl leb p)% bo cujc -an li^e-dtt
416 IRISH ORiaiNALfi Or
^e-djt bofib ^loifi^ If TUtt run
He r)t>6jci6e re-anwiti tx4 cc|i§4t) Pi UttY 4ft Uim t>o %A^ xy\:S^
^r J0tn64 cle-dt* jww it* jteo ^hdojtocj^ Ite vl^5 t^j4t)4 V^jl
11)5 x)4X D§ttU-5tt|i ^e-dftj 4 Utt)
^f e-dDPitt w-doil C4 ^41) c&jll ?iC4 t)j4 4Jtt r)e4W t)4 r)iotn 't*c4 41) "pf^Mn tiile )!r4oi^§jn 0. "^ Ph4t>ttui5 cttiid^ n<ttt \oc t)j4 luf rw bpjit) t>o bx^ 4i)tt 1^1^10!) 1l* t)i4 t^^jf) t)4 wbj4^ 4r)4itie
Pj tmt)ic t)imUir)5 t^i5 1)4 BfiUt) §t) r)e4C ttwm 4D4ittc t)4 *r)5U4)f
54t) t)U4jf1 4Jlt5Jt> DO OJf.
THE HSROIC P0BM8. 417
YcAp^4xm let)' ciejjt t>o ^ccn)i)
?iffiejc ^t) cfte^jt) 4f -iilne* t>extl^ IJ^ cujfhn) le-dc tn-dfi :§e-dllttjt' ^^tno
Ciornut* pwit)e-A'6 leo -dtj cffrdlj
C\)Ot)att^c catse -Aim xa ti5b &Jt]b ^ ani 4ile)ni tu)c1) |;T)a)t^ ^jje rceoUt) Jt* t>tut) t5o lej5 iee.4») Oftft^ Ai^-am
m
* SHoe, properlj pronounced iljUe.
3h
418 i«nii oRitttifAi.» or
Pi t*-4jU lejT -df itMC -At) Ittjt) ?i6^ cliojt) ^jttt e lff©m ^m lofij n4 liejtee p t»iiD 50 riMlJ "Sniim t)xt ftMD ft^
%n* f)t)oi »ot) ejif&' r^ rrijA^
^K>t)r) IM t>j4}t VTAv:^ clwn C^ft j^tj 41) '^tiM AX) X4, canoe.
jttl 4jti tJtitwid 41) V><;1)4 flj&jir) ^Dt) t)0 tJi 4f) tfwc^otf) tw-i
t)o ^1 4 jfttwrd ttui* At) n^r
Do ^j xt cDexir itiAj* -At) iflbUcI) Y<t le4C4 ^4t) ttuti- AD -Jte^U
?i)|t 64c 41) OJfi ^J 4lfOlC
^4t* i^ettlrAjf) rei4C4 Atiat*5 tw t?j
TMB BBIUWC P0SN8. 410
t)o ^^x^A, t)0 x&4,V^ t>ot) itnvioi.
tit) t>jC4<;4j6 Ctt tTK) chow r-4 COi|tl
Pj ^luc^d tn^ t>o ^4 c\mo ^ fij n* 1^ ejne j^d cUr ^y tne4f4* liotn itic iw :§ttil
t)' iDje^D ilUjf), f)0 tK> nuxc
^it)biti cioiw HY -ijlne t>i*extcli
tXiB,<tci) iiow t)o ^jc teui^ c\m
1pM C^ t>0 tJJ 4Jt^ ttK> JUJC
CT)tt)cw bow Ujtt) y^t) ctiie^l? ttj t*w tn'-ibe^fi DO l;eic j bp^n Je^r-* t)4t* liltttUjt)^ 1? joft UocI)
420 IRISH 0RIC^IKAL8 OF
^^h<iitme t)o c^U^Jt^c ZAP Aty
IJocc^f .i ct)e^f bo ^extl jle C1)tt^j6 50 b^ttt^ -41) toc-4 tt)iitt)i t5' ^T)Utt4ile-dtt) tw)^ n^ Wb-4f fi§|6 Do cu-djic-dj^ -dt) loch f^-d ciiij Pjoit ^h-dJ5 t^e -4t)t) cMijt) t)^i ce-dfit) Jo ccuj -dt) p<mt)e Z4xp A)Y Zhxjz 0 suit) ty^ D^t^ttdb T)t>e^t^5
Vi t^-djr)jc lejt* ce-dcc 50 btttuc Cfi^c ttjt)r)e^6 t*e-dr)OJtt cttjot) ii2cc t)o 1^15 D-d ^t^D je-dfi cejw qtod^ <0o tJi66mdjttDe y^^:in<x Xvnn %x) VAxmrn yim tn v^tt^t Y^^
^ do ceoil t^xt DttODDd^ |*&-d& ejt^^e-dv Cilojlce -d we-drs ^^K (D'fj^l^-djj 0|* -dftt) bo 5^ iffe-dji ^D th^^c-d ttixtc Chtttfi-djl -pl^ejl % ^j6e-dD t^Jtt) Dd r l^-dj ve-dD ' '
^'V^t^^Y CODdD w^c ^O^tDd
THB HEROIC POSMft. 4^1
Jo ti-djB -d wWidW)^ ^i Chiiojlce
?i CT)^o)lce <5tttt^)t ^-<* ^^^ cciiol 5^tJ-4iwt*e Ofi^w bo Ujtfll) Of ciom) c^ich t>o Bejc t)-d ejy
t)o Bw^t^ ^t) 1^1)Wt) t^4. BftOt)
1^4. cY>m 4X\i floj^ Bejc b-dfi t)t)jc Jutt tf)iioi6 oftttim) jextt) ^ifte If t>&)f) b.d61ixttt t)0 Bejc ^cilo). Jltuufceofi lim) ttjle -dtnocT)
^m ^op^z ^ <^^>^ ^v^T V^nrn
Zp)^p jftlDt) too ^eifve-dto tnui6 t>1w f -It If Ciojlce ^Jt^ cc&f
Jo Vli^B Jttiljtwe o rodi^ Jo rcttj^nwtt bu^i6 ^ft cilch
^t^^t^Odcl) ^t) lochd 1^^ ^t^ ttf f e^DOjfi wott 'f§ Ijdc t)o ctt.iwtt^|i ttHe t)-d 6^il
42S IftlSH OmiAIHAM vw
Jut* 41) jirS^W^ ^ 1^ T?o C4jt)j5 4cc^ le n>«c
^t) ^^^4X> x^ UOKh JO D^oH
It* Viome 4tii4cti 411* if'^ol eiiit) 65 4piv 6ii cindn)
P)Oti tt4j6 1^ j«)r) b'|c(Kft4:siw6 4ti rs&4l ^utt4b e ^sefi) mt i>* ^icw Sttft lejs le -C-ioitofr ^ f*^t)
^t) t^e4tt ll»t;4 2>0 ^ t>}4D
?ini cclot* Wilt) txe4ti$4t>}) 4r) fXi^l 5utt4tJ e 1^ |0w IKeit) tij *4t)o lei5e4W4^)t) rtij ^fiCA 5|io«>
(Dejit^e Con4f) hujOI ^ bo^
It* DOf 4r ^015 ^0 t»j4»)
t>o tf)4U4it r^ 1^K>W) 50 bfi^tf
t)o tfwiui j lio r^"^ ^♦J t^>*it)
t)o t)43f)|wi) ^t) cyotio t*IO t>]OC
TUB nsaoxG romif. 4S3
5^t) t)* iHAt) ttjle ^ejc ttwft c4m ^0 D&e^fts^it) wo f^ewt^ 'fttio Um
0 nuttl'-do Cti.in4}t tM- cclup He ituc ^idOftnA t>^ rS^* WW Pj ^1iaitiiixtO]t>f)e ^f ^p tfcffc X^ bphxU bed irm m t>U f)t>e$m
^twmv& t)0 1J#^4l 50 ct)4jm
P^ puz b§w ^t)4t<*J*>^ S^eoj6
^tfijc Ojt*Jt) b^ fi0fi b.<tojf Tt)4<5 ti^jB 00 malt ^^icjow ■fJ§jt) ^f coyrH* ^ tf)6iti so fWiiojf l^jtwe fi^tt) t)0 t»)i6 4t) IjtMOth
424 IRISH OBiaiMALS OF
^eudm4d|t)t)e -ar coifixtjit cijcl) ft)© i^itti Con4t) 4tne4t*S ^-^^icli
no eiftte ^t) l^hut) 50 jaftj How tno irwc jt* ci)on-^D itutol
t)0 tfuC Cuiiuit 1Mt>' ^l&-<tf ciltt
C^o. C)4 "Haca t>o Zlm^tA t>6 t)o njjtt too ^6 itwti xtcii?
I^rt). Inte^^tt) 51wjiit)t) (too ttiij6 Tiwn)
'^e4,XA AWi' deMtt) too <5ttJit ti t)ttl 1C4 tTf^iia^ -At) loclvt fn^nib T>*^S%Ail M) f:h^il too cttjc tiot* Pxtfi ic1)tUtti.dOitoT)e YlSi) 01) ccDOC
t)o tiiij6 ChoD^t) tHp ^oic m^it)
THE HEROIC POEMS. 425
Jo Di6cp^it5 ^ixHexxtyt) 5-4t) thoill
^ifv i^6^6 of xHOfoce 'yodo IS
t)o B) -dUiw t^jXit)!) coifi Do n)AC Cumjl t)^it mju ^e 5tt|l coitiBjfi ti ^t) cottt) <^ ?il1t t)Ol t)i^ 66 4XY M) ccoftf)
Te n<t itti^ ^p i^hob JO i^dd C^mic ^ ^itttc -pern v-^^^ rH^th
T*t)0 <5ttJitiq6 bfiojc ^Y i^ t^e^m
3i
426 iMSR oitiei!r4&s or
IV.
C15 ^t^lDt) 1^ f eol ZAii lextft
THS HBAOIC POJBMg. 427
"Odb* fi})$^pp A m^ IV* -4 toe^l^
%yp Uw 6etK l^^wn i»»c CuifMit 5-4^ ^ot) 610^ toa't) tfmio) 6ftAt*<^
C^ 1)^tfvt> t>o't) tfit^oi i^Uin uitt lnt)ii* DO rs^l 50 ttw-jtb 6&ii)t)J
P^t^ Mt^t^^t* 1^^»)t>o te1)Ulc1) t^AjV
4S8 IRISH OaiGINALS OF
t)tt'|j t)0 fTttb-4jl 'Am z^ t^
t)o p^ioh ftjt)!) -dt) in<uuotfi im)-*
J^ti mo duttt-djttc 50 l^c zpSt t)o itilj6 wo t*JJ; ^^ ^t-^J^ lejof
^ijCtllf C)4 c-ioi ^ft t>o clo
S^B-AW t)0 cunwituj ^ Be^t) ^j|i ^xtcl) ice^it t)4 ^icttjl ) cell ^C4 t^jotti tie iciocli too iwnn
T>h6 b^ lujtw ^oi5tte t)ot* Je^v^ too cttjtte^t* iw <5|0t)t) 50 wheimrm ^p t^bjof) too t^i
t)o fi-iito Oi*s^t* *>o t^ wjti •pe^itt ^ojr^ce l^nwe ^-4^ U01 Po 50 tJf:6jt*^^to>) )f )Ot)t) too teit>
|3j t*^^^ ^^ Mt* too im)^<»I«
THE HEROIC POEMS. AE^
ejDjt* -^^ ^e.4tv woft V-*t) ^e^4t) '5^t) ^tf ©^1* n<tt* cjm YtK) t^ ctt^t)
Pj ^4<;4t tiJe^ft ve\A\i, tit) ^f §
CtOfDlOtf) COJtt^^-^Wttjl t)L*11 $<lt) t)bj dftll ^Jt*^ C-40^ 4t) ^iJlutt tfj^t*
*r^)5 jwjttc ^le-Af* ^ ^ ^e^tn)
"PO 4t) ^tf&4t^ f-ilf) ic<t CxtOllft cttttc,
l-^ice a f c^tm DO 54^ ti^uc
490 iai£H OKIGIVAI.S OF
'f^ ^extft tH^ «»«w i«ir M) i^m
Cextf 50 WJ^^ tT*> -* ^^
01) catnt) tti^t* ^WiZ 1 ^^'cit*
tt}ct>jptti ^ wejc Cuitwil jjtnm
C-4it*51fl6 wn*^ t)0 Bttefc fiif Cw tnoft t)0 cfien*e lelijn lel^^il d5 xit) Uo<5 f 0 ^ w^ cUf He i£jo<5 'vfte T)e4.fvc t>* .4f^ cceuirTi) If to'lcWJu&^j^ ttilt) .4D t?e4D t)o Bj 'r)z^p t>o jiiaUum) jctun
^0 C|i66^ na ©lilit *>-* f l^JlS
t)o C41C Oi'^xiit hA m6t* fte-^ns % cft^orve^ de^frj txa. Uiw ^l^
He -dfi tn4^B f^ V^o*> ■*<) l^^t* ^$tt -4T) b^ut) t)0 t»oif)e 16
nCE BEV.0IC B0BM9. 431
Tie wujcl) 6j<>W|^-4 tc§tn ^ b't^ory C^05-4t> tdoc twt* ciw t)-d 6>iil
T^t) lott^ttjl ct^Cun6 ful bo TSWP Cep.* "ooc^p ce^t)s^l cciijs ccaoI ^Jt^ 5^<5 ^ot) t>Joti no too cujt*
l^tunfi-d b>dt* s^' w6|t ^T) c§ttf ^^fi 'tnbeis xit) C-40S-46 liioc j^itB
t)^ Bt?^546 uijf) 41) ce^fic coi^t Do Bejfte^b 64 BSnti jo we^fi ^0 t>Ut) 4)tt s^c i^e-dft^ toio^ nn Do Bejstn^ojt* ttile ym) ix^i% t>4i li^hApco ixSpifj comp^xc -pjp
432 IRISH omaiNALS or
Ciu be ^6^6 i4t> 4fw t*Jt>
t)1>4t>4|v 4 cclojothcbe ^41) cot* ^5 ytHOfoeA'o copp ^juy r^^
Pj |;1wjcitjot) 4tiH* 1*ew* t^-ii© 0 zoficn^'o tte joll t>4 TMttw t)iit
^■SUfcte^P pirn ^rz at) e^t*
^D U06 pA^' teMTt) zpe^Y ir 5W>tf) D^t» cujciotna M) t:t)jt* wSjfi
?itP ^Ottt) at) COdJt), cttOa j at) c§iw
Do Bj w^eat) Hit t^o tanrn
t)ltd6ajt) aJ5 Viow JT -**) ^1^^ leic tjljaioaji) 00 j;i)OU atitn t)-<i)t Do't) laoc t)Ot)t) t)4tv cUjc j ccact) Pa Ittj^e 1^0 6eatKl))0f t*jt)t) Da lejtear aJ5 t^jot)r) Da ^teat
THS HEROIC P0BH8. 433
%f ttwclie 64tf) fjttt* t>ow' t^6t
8k
TUB
3tist^ )^ttjortnal0
OV THB
ODES.
I.
5^^ btiot*t>4D $1) t>^e|lfD, 50 t)Of ptfi iiwc ^^t^xt}6
436 IEI8H ORIGINALS Of
DOJttle-dch ^ wicftjt 54i)Ciij|ta^t>o$nr&5iMom t>tt6 t)e^t^^c-ct DO t15^4U, 50 tDe-dtnmwct) ^th
t) j6 tf)^|t cttjDD -d ccttiie, jjoi) pi|t zfum m zetpe
Z^15^)p tciU>i6e-d6 jotd, 0 jaci) Uj 50 fioile P^ -^Vb OY^i> iX4xt^s coY'Satp ^ Iti^ce ^ Oy^)P ^Ifilt 1^^^* Cdit^^-d -djuv cfijodct ^ Jwir II* cSophe cpozS, §Jti)^ -d t)r&v ^ cc^ta. le^D le i^eti*^ wo t^t^, 4Wejt*^Tf Dextfij i>:dCct t)g--^n4 tfwfiBcd i5|totn4, t>j6 -4i|i cot)ffcA» joile
Cmt) ^tp t>o Ituic ic^U, 'rs^D t^jODD -dto* ^oitte Ce*4i)wtt^ t>otH yr\M)4.fo, »o le-aiMV t>'5^f j^^aU Cof -4it) \4$ ^pif Sype^xn), z^Ji^jp ZSpptA -*
^ O^^Jt^ c|ittc.4ch -2llujtw, t^ 30 yttfcicc t^ 6tt)f)
VBE ODS8 437
C-^B^jft i^^l^^ c|i§-4rM, x^B Cfieit^ ^ DS^Bfi-d 9l7il)t> f^i^na t>^f)$4i, Ofic ^x Ul^ftui^ c^Bji^
-dchttttj^e
tttlODt)
tto clojwfte ^0 tibjojttim), too <5Uoi6e^6 tJ^ce^jt t>o t^ifse D-d "f^up^aoK pfie^fb^xil idto tr ^Wt-
438 i&isH o&ieiKALt or
n.
P) I^lt* t)0 f^f ItWft' C§Jt) -4 CCdC
U^jn) teidc^ t^-dO), ce trim -4 cne^f •
ir r^ JT siow^ t>tiinoti, ome t)-4 tjoi
t^-4 he^j^il ijTw, -^t c-4jti^ t^joc t^hmU'
THE ODES. 439
CAlofteAW tut Db-iif», le^&fvxt^ im Y\$f% f ftxiod initlce 4 t)e4f(c If ttuifi^ Cxt^jttjttf pty^, ^ cc^t vn cjtn %Uc»eit»iin Moc -4 -^yiim, cotfwii jf ^e^lL P^ t)t)ttjclit» t)t)or)r), t)i6 xnt* e^jU pxHl
m
Coif(Be4ttC443 ct»^, cofs C4C4. if btun.
t)on)t)e m<t icTk)U;, ^ ^t^]i)t)e w^t* ^^c
0jt*© "M cjof , t>tt6 cojt*- 1)'-* ^Vt-
If tt)e4t)ttn)4^ Bj6f , jf x>e4X!bAt 4. tn^lf-
440 IRISH ORIGINALS Of
P) ieilMt) opz i^hjnr), IT c|ieit*e e na cow
?4iti toll t)4 cijYf tn Y^w ^ cctie-df • ^He^r^ woti, btiorwc^ji^ ^ 6-dil.
Cle-41^ coDttt" ^^^» t^^tMf n4 Bjcidt)
fr-djnctc -d fcdjtt. Hut) tt6t) -dt) i?l»ifi. t>tt-dj6 cotf}ldt)t) -djft, lejDwe^ d ^-d^
TOD^t* D-d flOD, t^ldV ^ oe-dt)
Cujfn6 ye le-dt), ^jfi ^-dch zp^Aty b-d in^4&.
(Do 3r)^C D-d td|t, OtiS^D D-d CCOD
Ho ZpSx) Dd itib-dDf t)jOD t)iiiw map tw "pUjc le-di^j^ c^ow, -pldccledc (itt. fe^t* cl)Yt>e Y^op, t^e-djt t^flrre «&i^ Pd cc|t-doj|*e^ ccottft'i le-dC-dD aUdd* C-dc^jft Joll, ftic-dojf e-dc ce-dDD* ^n&JS tyrtoc xt Jttill, t>j6 vpc6^ ftjDD Xle t>o fi§j6 j-dD tf^ejD J, cfiidD -pfoto-dit^ 6 t^1noi% IJj idi^ft wo tftejD, rfi^j^Wfe w'f^ocT).
TMB ODB8. 441
TM^ A t? lie^tt jttJT l^^i* *>o W^v^ w* ^^m
m.
cjrwc, -4JH D-4 t*ct*^^^6 xnt* luji>5 45 t)Ol ©on
t)jo6 c<t)t7^l 'D^fi ccletc t>Ap cc5ft^, ff ti^^od At) eApAft catp Atp ec^l,
X>iWtm ZO WXl ZAP CeAfiA0 CttAI}
Cfie^S m YpeA^ ir^piAiri^pvt'^ trJ;Uf^
3l
44Sf lUlSU OE&I0INAX9 OF
Cttifi we ^ re4?c4fli Am reogu
6' t) cr jot) t^ti<> ie1t«wifitfw?ti tf»f*, He cojtt ^lojD zo ccolttittiD co&jt).
lOt)5 t^^Z^ 601)654^ 6&4t),
lOT>5 5-4t) tl^ ^ XX^xH\i -dlfW, 5-41) VC4C 4 fCAVMb 1)4 IXOftW.
|^eolc>ijti rite clSp n^ cce^t) t)^ftB ^iCi-att tJubl) Y^^ W4|tB 54c Sle4f) jOfiW-
«
Ctte 5iti4t)^4c ;54c bu}t5e tttit*
^1t^ 1^4til4t) t)4 t<fl^ -^fl t^OC
llt)3e4t)1) C4iti 64SUC f)4 cctifoc, ^t^W4<5 4 "f^rjod tf 4 fti46g THoy l^4t^ti -pojlejDf)e4d 'c|i&4l) Rojr)jfni)e4C tiwT^ bT)tt4s6n bljlG^^ t)tie4Clofj5 1)4 veol^4C4C f^dOp, C40IJ cfie4dotn ottfl4C4C dfi.
t>tt(it t>1)e4lB4C t)46t^4C't)5|qO'B4C 51^4115 tJe4t)e4Cl4C ^Cjlid^ t)4 C<50l5,
Tijof |*t)4VC46w Jt* l^oBti4id t^e4tt^,
IJ4 trKli-<^40ti iTtefc4|is ififxad^Ud) tfjftofl^
THE ODB8. 443
C106U1C yfn ^ l^ls t>4 PAX) 'Cap ijt) If" 540 Dj6 ^t* ^^^ 5-4T) B-4054I c^t^ ^ly^jB na ccotv
?i DOT) t^frxic })OpOAib 1)4 wbe-dt).
ttt) r4^4t) ceMY^il.
t)e4tn>4j^ 41) lot)5t*o 41)01)1) ZAP ySHe At^ bttl 1>f)4C4t<u5 tputnpA6 lixmpAi Ut) cljybe, ' ttt) 6peAZAlA6 i^t)f 4C tti^r)C4<5 Ut) ctiot*WMC 9C^1)4tiDc4d ^t)t)C4C cuB4tiC4<3 ilice4Y'4d
tijcdjti) 4Jtt jor^ Cfvjofc r)OC t>'px\Amz At) pS^yy, V^Ap }>pi;\'zeAp t>ot) ^s6w) t)A (t>or)) lajtyj na
t)ttjlle46 VMit 540jce jv C45j)&e jv uiile4)6 't)4 Q cminr^i^ 6&W t>40ip C40)ti t)4 ctittjDt)e t>of)
TSX
OF THS
ELEGIES.
I.
tu ^t^-^w cecmfc.
^4 t>-*oi w^it 6Sd A* ifl* <iu)i)e, ie§4<5 t>4niie1i|(te ^f t^'«*>'* ^D cft^imf e ^ciift) t*of), ^t) -djfie -ojj
446 i&isH ORiaivALfl or
Ottl fA, cpi4,i> Jt» dftjo^ t»oi«' ie^Y, twft t^ioc p Cotutit>e *)c lei^iof wo lujc, bo ctt^js^xtf j-dd Ofic ^6t^ ^)t^4«t>if>4fi tie Ciu5, 4 leliotc ftTiOf*
t)T)40jBf , ftot^ 4^ BftMc^ti w-it*, t)0 {ixtb^t* coil
AY rttomSf^-^C). Cojtne-dt) wo ^|K)j6e t^e a 6otY» cttj we toajcfj
le tqo^fion*.
wo cfie^ljluit)
ctor Ai4ir« 1^ ct»«ti>||M& sei t>0 ^ um a
<jcu)t)e 4 <5§ile ctiilc -*' w' ciw^e-dll.
TMB EX.&6.IEK. 44S7
ColGaift M^ te^b Edif ^Mn$ ipJuitcsib '09d» 4,ixif t!)0 iDe-4f lijm
Ofl.4t>
448 lEMH ORISIHAU OV
tilfi ty^^SH bo (t>u bo \)4SU) U ^tsm fte C406
Oo 6e4t^ 'r'<w rottc D4tt yeAp^ YP^'*^* ^
Ttt^ ^tiil6 ^eiodtfuii leoUib, ^o bitocdt(0|6e4e b^ituifutiU
«
6oir§jD
tt' y<i2A leSiD t>o ifnll 4.1) ^4C, t>o B<40f fc^ b^ ^0 ccttj Wf t)0 ix\AXk beifiT^^i^* S* I^JO <^^f *>*•*
tl^ ie1)jot)^1)OlC4^ Jt* t*^ l!*o<5c, t>o rciiif} lons^
t)C4^ e<tccftodc (Do 6il ^ corftbilf) t»e Uo^ leojl}^ i4b, xt ^^^f^
B4fu540l T'i^n t>e4fk; ^ft ifie^ftBftof C4^ ituU, Y4f) cl»l
1^ oilj$ ie$f 41) *§4l itwi* fttl>, Y^O *** tP**^ yioexomox)tx.
THE BLEGIE9. 449
Chofbie^piy nd yth^ opt^, 'j^aca. tme tne^ft-
COfipxi,
Zpoio -^e^xl tfulU zp^St -41* twjt), ySU t*e-4t) j-
t)-4 tfie^Ur4 t^e YHe4X> xyx y^X, lejfi e^iftjor) a,
0' t) toil) s^ je-dtH^t-40|;t4<J tne, De^trlbAOpii
t4c4 At) XMAz zo letp puif9, iY t>A vdbefo Aorfoutne
\M imc t)AC c(mpS,t)A& eill, a iput titmp^S.t)Ad
CttS^td twjt> At^AC wo ^no)6e, A p^vc ^ ikiAyyeAi A\ty^ibe,
•(cjoiitt^>^6 '^€^a6ai6.
3m
450 iiiiSH oftiGiNALf or
n.
Y'fle4C\) -40t)ic1)e^fi sat* *>Jl ^ 1^^ w*-. 'vuAip luifyiij t)ow' ttjjot),
Tceit> -A 6^ ccf^Ut) riot* bjom*, Du^ift ^ ftn^nnin
^ifi t>o <5otf»tut)D tiotn.
f IM^ uj ttt)loji) Y50 -ppxH mo %pSi)f/^ nuip BUicf>4T)4]ttD)6e,
Aft^ At) t>tioi6neAt) "oot). ^hl we -Kh&jt) ndc 4. ceAy^^xto ypt^ ofiw, it-4C-
1^6 ;t^46 flip cT»|ioj6e Tt)4C tsi^e-<i^ Y^ t>4 6ej5 me, nwit t^-all -difi
tn40jt);—
U n^le-drjc-di) rlejBe, 't*we t^^t> 0 -4eTH)e4C, thCA hfie^t) toot),
t>jit) A z^to^ ^w .4otw^ )r ^z ortMVzozpottj.
THE BLE61E8. 451
^0 t?K46 we i^ejti)t), U ad /xothts ow' ^Ai^H
t*e -41)01). Ce jttt^ Bole leiY^ §, niolie-46 itnye ZP^^ wo
cttoj6e; Ce sttfi Bole lejf §^, f ^j6ff e iti^len^ i/iofi ; — Ce jttfi Bole lejt* ^, ttrfLe -4 ctt-4ir) cfij Utt xt
<5ttoit>e, T-^ It^-dlc -dt) ct^oldjf , -4 itib^^X -4 'pob^il, jy ctt
B|teoj6 wo et^6e. 'f -4 6t4 tqltf efte.4t> DO 6jor)tc4i>, w^ 1 wte-4r) ca
U41W?
pjl eoUf* daw t>o cj^e -45ttw, euw t)0 cji)i6 tX4
t)0 elCijt) : C4 wo 6>4jDi ic:40j le-4Cttow, -45Uf wo thiiwj
1^40j Bjior) ;— Ci wo ^Ic^ 50 woit -4 lei^eifvy Ijow, a^y wo
511-46 B^-4t) U41W-
Za t*w&ic ^jt^ wo f iijlle 'xmop co&^il we t)6^tl,
458 IRISH OttlGl^ALS OF
ate ^ YttidmeMh 0}icr^, ce4& jfiit) ; mS B^4»^
ujle 50 leitt; — ^y^ cpf^xedm 6u94ttC4, <:4t> 4t 4 cuCi^^mc^^i too le^B-dtt 4 whtierz ?
III.
•^i t1lb(te4C4m V4D §mK)t) rh40*t^4|5 t)4 C4|lt>«
4iti ccfil % ch4tuito t)4 cc\iSp too t^)4lt4tol) to^im ^0 fi&fi Pjoi* B4ir)C|te4B4Ch 4t) f:§ile z^p e45 cu 4
yhe4jt) toe bttttc ^i|* touB4c1) too 6i45ye ri4^tii)4n> Ui) too ^iif» ^pl(^ f)4 toctt§4to btttoh ^40ttt)4ti cilfl jy <^16; tott^ Y^Z^ f ^w 41) ciittto04jc 're-i4t) toe
t)tttic
^50 tHiDrWOIt 6 Ctll4U fe C4 41) ict4)6 1*-* ^^t*
4J|t jcul
THE ELCGIM. 453
l^jAjJ ct«ce ifiiil, 'Yf)^ H^lt* ^rt) )w$n5 xtjt* ccU 0 €pM M) hSY 4itfiX^'^^ W4C Chomt)eil ^^\ic ^ le^AC 41ZA. -oD tfr4ii-cI)Wil& 4)t* t^rs ttit* <^^-
Ci^ bo cttJtitce4t*clttjctfa6et)^Tlilt*-dJtilwB^l?
DO bilfH^ ^^c1i dii Ch ^^^ppxY chttjdiDD le ctttiMf At) plSzA on
)Y ^^n *>^ l^^ T)-alU hfxbh jD^cT) Aice^Y ty t)tt- -4jt>l)exicl)c-c§ojl
/
/
^ 454 I&lStt ORtGIlVAtt ov
tiCittti ^ch ^ttfi ^4xz fX4xvm ^ty i^e-dji fs^nne^inait
Jo ce^ftc -d X^, t)0 ftejti' -dt) oilc-d ixtdbh
0 ce^chc tnjc t)§ to-dji t^ilefui* 0 cTvijt) ^t) uG^fU
Joce^f -dt) Ue i^OLdJti 6^45 c(i -dl^he-i^jD bet)Cittc
tit* tW^xtcT) -dt) Green club 4^5 C40n)e4itob 0 b^- C-d -dt) |^^4|bTi t^fit^t^jc ^0 IJ654 iflo cT)fi4t>
THE EI.E6IEi< 455
IV.
If t>tteilb1) jatt, Y^t* S^l* ^ t^ite!
Vzo ft^tt^W 5^ r5^Jt*^^5 §-4lo6 lew* f e^t**^
y^o tyetam ftem ^ ^e^t), ce njofi- ^x>o itje-df. If D-ijft ijotn ctt t)ot»)' t>1i^tC4t>f)i Ce tyfii's ctt we j-ai) fUjtjce AZ^vnl
|*5<tT) file D-A COJH- Al\i wo f)U^.4lC4.
Pi tutT>4. wo Utf), 'ffto f Wjce-dcl) wo zP'^^f 'SpSx>}) t>t)jl! W4 ^OT>t) ctt fjttB^l le^w.
ii5d IRISH OKieiNALr OF
*X4X XiAexk ^DOir ^t)t) A loWicWjb^ ^T) ccttj4tUi£4 r^-*l t)Of) ^utiwjt) le-dtn?
Cilott^ cufUnt). r^«V4 ^p*r twtdtt, 0 t)ie45B-4ir itie -*lft 6)6 nd c^e.
TfiX MhKQlES, 457
CUOt)T),
'TZ9 ccfieisimiT) -41) botn-AT) 50 l§fft otic. 9Cidti -dDbe-dji ctt -dt) ^w 50 t>§lot)h ctt lextti»
?'C)^t^etiteitc-dt)5le4r>n,5-4t)&Jtijw,5-4i)tf)^4B^^
T^^jwn Up If w' chfiojbfje z^i^i) dhrjeM
*X^ ¥y>^ w^ft e-4td xijti -det)loof>.
ti bt Ao)ce bEdice ck^fcui c^ff b4»
"ri)0W4cti ftHfb-4 cfiileB^cli!
Tw^li ^ 6i2ui^e we a cTie-^tic tiejc tince le^c.
V,
w' 4xtYze4x\i 't^e -djiv ejt* wp fi^B-^ijl,
^Jjt ttiljj wo c-dji-db Y*>o we-4ttxi)$ tiD 1^-46^1^
wof6l
3n
458 ntisH oRieiHAM.
^t) bo^ YZ^lce me ^ coille^t wo dit bilif^, ymtyuxt), mlpeMHI^ftrfl z^lp^ cox>fum-6pSKe^ le hew^ n4 cc^t^ti, do fs^i^^ n4 ccompilt)4^. ^C^oteut)! tno 6e.dCxt}ti.' wo tfnUe^ot)! moBftoot
t' wo ^t^46!
?k;io ceol-cf^iijc tfijlif I wo ^ntye-^t*' wo f^fS^f
Ci^ coi^t^e^6 4X)p inxttye 9e]u ^itt buile^6, f)0 a
hpem tnap zSmi po t>eott4 t^oU too filexi6 4to* oejj ^445 IS.
THt
3tiBf^ €>tt0ttiaU
or THS
SONGS.
I.
ttf Mdv te^flj quf -Afl* ^l^'c *u icjwe
IJj b4tot<it t>o ^tcatpT^ 6AOi6de r)0 btwi) ^ C40iB itMii jxel YA t>)ob itut^ ^^^
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