• >J\JJf »lllll J i ■ en ->' -/i..O> ENGLISH VUl PREFACE. plain, a river, and a lake. The persons are Sir Ulick Harvey, an old landed proprietor ; his nephew, Mr. Bloomfield, a young one ; Mr. Pigot, agent to both ; tenants upon each estate ; with so much as seemed proportionate respecting their wives, families, and friends, neighbouring landlords, clergy, Ribbon- men, politicians, &c. The parish is named Kilmoylan ; the hamlet, Ballytullagh, on Tullagh Hill ; the town, Lisnamoy ; Sir Ulick's mansion, Lisnamoy House ; Mr. Bloomfield's, Croghan Hall, under Croghan Mountain, and near Lough Braccan. In an Irish whirlwind of contending interests and opinions, Bloomheld finds his own Avay to a central spot of peace in the heart of the storm. Ireland, be it remembered, with two thousand miles of coast-line, inclosing thirty-two counties, is not a very small country, and is far from an homogeneoiis one. To be doctrinaire on so large and complex a subject is the fiu^thest possible thing from the present writer's intention. March, 1864. THE BOOK TO THE READER. Good Sir, of whatsoever class or creed, I am no wicked little Book indeed. Preserve a kindly temper as you read. We're one at heart, if you be Ireland's friend, Though leagues asunder our opinions tend. There are but two great parties in the end. EREATA. In Chapter I, for " Lord Crasher," read, Lord Crashton." , "Tom Stanley," ,, "Ned Stanley." ERRATA. Page 11, line IGl, for " Fwdcviok" put "gay Ned." „ 12, at top, insert tliis line, omitted — " Your Blessed Island I liave also seen." And strike out the third line down, namely, '•And semi-savage — that is, high and low ; " Page 25, 26, 40, for "Crasher" put " Crasliton." „ 92, line 92, read— "On Ballytullagh, Muse of mine disclose !' Page 205, line 1, for " Now" put "Whilst." -7 .< . >• n » ,, ., 5, i(/^'/' "white" (■ii.svc/ ••loads." / LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN lEELAND. CHAPTER I. LAUKENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. A MODERX POEM. IN TWELVE CHAPTERS. LAURENCE. Autumnal sunshine spread on Irish hills Imagination's bright'ning mirror fills, Wherein a Horseman on a handsome grey- Along the high road takes his easy way, Saluted low by every ragged hat. Saluting kindly every Teague and Pat Who plods the mud or jolts on lazy wheels, Or loudly drives a patient ass with creels,' 1 creels, panniers. B 2 4 CHAPTER ONE. (Short pipe removed Ijefore obeisance made) Or checks, regardant, his potato-spade; 10 '■' Fine day," the young man says with friendly nod, " Fine day, your honour, — glory be to God ! " Then, too polite to stare, they talk their fill Of Minor Bloorafield (so they call him still. Though six-and-twenty now) come back of late 15 From foreign countries to his o^vn estate, And who in turn has no incurious eye For each, and all the world, in passing by ; The cornstacks seen through rusty sycamores. Pigs, tatter'd children, pools at cabin doors, 20 Unshelter'd rocky hill-sides, browsed by sheep. Summer's last flow'rs that nigh some brooklet creep. Black flats of bog, stone-fences loose and rough, A thorn-branch in a gap thought gate enough. And all the wide and groveless landscape round, 25 Moor, stubble, aftermath, or new-plough'd ground, "Wliere with the crows white seagulls come to pick ; Or many a wasteful acre crowded thick LAURENCE. "With docken, coltsfoot; aud the hoary weed Call'd fairy-horse, and tufted thistle-seed 30 Which for the farm, against the farmer tells ; ( )r -WTinkled hawthorns shading homestead wells, Or, saddest sight, some ruin'd cottage-wall, The roof-tree cut, the rafters forced to fall From gables with domestic smoke embrown' d, 35 "Where Poverty at worst a shelter found, The scene, perhaps, of all its little life, Its humble joys, and unsuccessful strife. Th' observant rider pass'd too many sucli ; Let them do more (he thought) who do so much, 40 Xor, where they've kill'd a human dAvelling-place, Unburied leave the skeleton's disgrace. Though Irish, he was of the absentees, And unaccustom'd yet to sights like these. At twelve years old his birthplace he had left, 45 A child endow'd with mucli, of much bereft ; lie turn' d a boy — a lad — the third time noAv 6 CHAPTER ONE. Keturns, a man, with Inroad and serious brow. A younger son (the better lot at first), And by a Celtic peasant fondly nurst, 50 Eloomfield is Irish born and English bred, Surviving heir of both his parents dead ; One who has studied, travell'd, lived, and thought, Is brave, and modest, as a young man ought ; Calm — sympathetic ; hasty — fuU of tact ; 55 Poetic, but insisting much on fact ; A comjilex character and various mind. Where all, like some rich landscape, lies combined. From school to Ireland, Laurence first return'd A patriot vow'd ; his soul for Ireland burn'd. 60 w ; ' Not unamusing for a month or so ; 165 ' But fancy living in the place ! — take care ' And don't get shot, old fellow, whilst you're there.' So Stanley. Meanwhile, fain are other some To keep the youth in Ireland, now he's come. Greatly his friends and relatives desire 170 To colour staruig blue the rich young Sqiiire, With vivid streaks of orange, to describe A noble chieftain of their loyal tribe, That in such war-paint he may lead their van To fight the county with a fierce Green Man. 175 But soon they find this Bloomfield less and more Than lived in their philosophy before ; Direct and frank in motive, plan, and deed, Cautious and mild in theory and creed, There friendly, here reserved, but not by rule, I8O LAURENCE. 13 Like those who send their cordial smile to school ; Cold upon interests where the rest grow hot, Intent, where they have never given a thought ; Too apt to lightly leap ' the usual course,' Turn, look ahout, — he may perhaps do worse ; 185 He visits Phelim's farm, and Pat's, and Mike'sj And questions Pigot more than Pigot likes ; Each tenant's history foin would understand. Examines every corner of his land, Day after day has freely seen and heard, 190 But of his general thought avows no word ; Perhaps, in secret, striving to arrange Experiences so multiform and strange. Thus much of Laurence Bloomfield, on his way From Croghan Hall, this bright autumnal day, 195 Quickly, hy turns, and slowly, man and beast. To where Sir UKck Harvey spreads the feast, Twice, a well-arm'd police patrol he met, To guard the dinner-party duly set. 14 CHAPTER ONE. , Beyond the dirty town an Irish mile, 200 Thick laurels round Sir Ulick's gateway smile ; A mail'd arm cut on either piUar-stone Defends the Harvey motto, doubly shown, Meis, ut placet, zitens; gravel-spread, And dusk with boughs that whisper overhead, 205 A private drive at everj' turn displays The vista'd park where sillcy cattle graze, Through clumps of flow'rs and greensward sweeping wide Unfolds the heavy mansion's front of pride, And whirls, if such felicity be yours, 210 V Your chariot to the gently awful doors, AVhere men of soft address and portly frame. With gorgeous garments, wait to breathe your name. Lisnamoy House can see far summits rise In azure bloom, or cold on misty skies, 215 Above the broad plantation set to screen Those dismal wastes of bog that stretch between ; The Village, northward, only shows a spire, LAURENCE. 1 5 As humbly conscious of the haughty Squire, Wliose Lady visits but the Vicar's wife, 220 Each meaner building crouchant for its life ; And groves yet thick, though change is on the trees, Their first light losses borne on every breeze, Shut out from view a thousand vulgar fields, Whose foison great Sir Ulick's grandeur yields, 225 With many a roof of thatch, where daily toil Extorts the bread of man from earth's dull soil. ' This must be : and if Toil receive his share, Nor Gather'd Power be selfish and unfair, 'Toil will not grudge Inheritance or Gain, 230 ecify young ladies — they are tall. Dark-hair' d, and smile in speaking, that is all. NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 25 Joining Sir Ulick's at the river's bend, Lord Crasher's acres east and west extend ; Great owner here, in England greater still. 70 As poor folk say, 'The world's divided ill.' On every pleasure men can buy with gold He surfeited ; and now, diseased and old, He lives abroad; a firm in Molesworth Street Doing what their attorneyship thinks meet. 75 The rule of seventy j^roperties have they. Wide waves the meadow on a summer day, Far spread the sheep across the swelling hill, And horns and hooves the daisied pasture fill ; A stout and high enclosure girdles all, 80 Built up with stones from many a cottage wall; And, thanks to Phinn & Wedgely's thrifty pains, Not one unsightly ruin there remains. Phinn comes half-yearly, sometimes with a friend, Who writes to Mail or Warder to commend 85 These vast improvements, and bestows the term 26 CHAPTER TWO. Of 'Ireland's benefactors' on tlie firm, A well-earii'd title, in the firm's own mind. Twice only in tlie memory of manlcind Lord Crasher's proud and noble self appear'd ; 90 Up-river, last time, in liis yacht he steer'd. With crew of seven, a valet, a French cook, And one on whom askance the gentry look. Although a pretty, well-dress'd demoiselle, — Xot Lady Crasher, who, as gossips tell, 95 Goes her own -wicked way. They stopp'd a week ; Then, with gay ribbons fluttering from the peak, And snowy skirts spread mde, on either hand The Aphrodite curtsied to the land, And glided off. ]\Iy Lord, with gouty legs, lOO Drinks Baden-Baden water, and life's dregs, "With cynic jest inlays his black despair, And curses all things from his easy chair. Yearly, the Honourable George, his son. To L-eland brings his game-subduing gun; 105 NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 27 Who labours hard and hopes he shall succeed To make the pheasant in those copses breed. Finlay, next landlord (I'll abridge the tale), Prince of Glenawn, a low and fertile vale, No fool by birth, but hard, and praised for no ■wise The more he learn'd all softness to despise, Married a shrew for money, louts begot, Debased his wishes to a vulgar lot. To pence and pounds coin'd all his mother-wit, And ossified his nature bit by bit. 115 A dull cold home, devoid of every grace, Distrust and dread in each dependent's face, Bullocks and turnips, mighty stacks of grain. Plethoric purse, impoverish'd heart and brain, — Such Finlay's life ; and when that life shall end, 120 He'll die as no man's debtor, no man's friend. Wlio duns 1 — who loves him ? he can pay his way ; ' A hard but honest man,' as people say. 28 CHAPTER TWO. Unlike this careful management (between The two, Su' Ulick's townlands intervene) 125 Is that of Termou on the river-side, Domain and mansion of insolvent pride. Where Dysart, drawing from ancestral ground One sterling penny for each phantom pound Of rent-roU, lives, when all the truth is known, 130 Mere factor in the place he calls his own ; Through mortgages and bonds, one wide-spread maze, Steps, dances, doubles round by devious ways. While creditor, to creditor a foe. Hangs dubious o'er the vast imbrogho. 135 And thus, minute in bargain where he can, There, closing quick with ready-money man. Despised for cunnmg, and for malice fear'd. Yet still by custom and old name endear'd To Celtic minds, who also better like 140 A rule of thumb than Gough's arithmetic, — Dysart has shuffled on, to this good day, Let creditors and courts do what they may. NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 29 The house is wondrous large, and wondrous mean ; Its likeness year by year more rarely seen ; 145 A ragged bilHard-table decks the hall, Abandon'd long ago of cue and ball, "With whips and tools and garments litter'd o'er, And lurking dogs possess the dangerous floor. Ghost, from Proconsul Eutland's time, show in 150 To this great shabby room, which heard the din Of bet and handicap, oath, toast, and song. From squires and younger sons, a vanish'd throng, Who drank much wine, who many foxes slew, Hunted themselves by creditors all thi'ough, 155 And caught at last, or fairly run to earth ; A cold and ghastly room of bygone mirth. Above the dusty fox's-brush see hung Our grandpapa the Major, spruce and young, In faded scarlet ; on that other side 160 The needy Viscount's daughter, his fau' bride ; And many portraits with once-famous names, Of ancestors and horses, dogs and dames, 30 CHAPTER TWO. Now damp, or smutcli'd, or dropping from tlieir frames. Big doleful house it is, with many a leak; 165 "With dingy passages and bedrooms bleak ; "With broken window-panes and mildew'd walls ; With grass-gi'own courtyard and deserted stalls That proudly echoed to the hunting-stud, "Where still one stable shows its ' bit of blood.' 170 Tom is not wed ; long wed is brother Hugh ; They seldom meet, and quarrel when they do. Tom is a staunch good Protestant by creed, But half a Mormon, judged by act and deed ; A dozen wives he has, but underhand, 175 Sub rosa, not confess' d, you understand, And this makes all the difference, of course. His pretty little babes, except perforce, He never knows, and never wants to know ; Yet, clippings of his purse must that way go. 180 Pass on to Isaac Brown, a man elect, Wesleyan stout, our wealthiest of his sect; NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 31 Who bouglit and still buys land, none quite sees how, Whilst all his shrewdness and success allow. On Crasher's mortgage he has money lent, 185 He takes a quiet bill at ten per cent., The local public business much he sways, He's learn'd in every neighbour's means and ways. For comfort cares, for fashion not a whit, Kor if the gentry to their ranks admit. 190 All preachers love him ; he can best afford The unctuous converse and the unctuous board ; Ev'n the poor nag, slow-rattling up the road In ancient rusty gig a pious load. Wags his weak tail, and strikes a brisker trot, 195 Approaching Brownstown, Isaac's pleasant lot. For though at Poor-House Board was never known A flintier Guardian-angel than good Brown, As each old hag and shivering child can tell, — Go dine with Isaac, and he feeds you weU, 200 32 CHAPTER TWO. And hear liiin pray, with fiercely close-shut eyes ! Gentle at first the measured accents rise, But soon he waxes loud, and storms the skies. Deep is the chest, and powerful bass the voice, The language of a true celestial choice ; 205 Handorgan-wise the holy phrases ground, Go turning and returning round and round ; The sing-song duly runs from low to high ; The choruss'd groans at intervals reply ; Till after forty minutes' sweat and din, 210 Leaving perhaps too little jDrayer within. Dear Brother Brown, athletic babe of grace, Eesumes liis bench, and wipes his reeking face. And if among his audience may be found One who received two shillings in the i^ound 215 When merchant Isaac, twenty years ago, — Then talking pious too, but meek and low, Was chasten'd by the Lord, — with Avliat delight Must he behold the comfortable plight And sacred influence of this worthy man. 220 NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 33 Isaac can put in awe, he only can, The very preachers ; oily though his lip, His will and temper have a stubborn grip. His son, a scamp, and always in disgrace, Skulks from the father's unforgiving face. 225 His timid, sickly wife is sore afraid. His three stout daughters dare not go array' d Too smartly, but read novels unconfess'd. Brown, of all neighbouring owners handles best Conacre and subletting ; he can boast 230 That poorest tenants profit him the most. One other Landlord, to conclude our list : O'Hara, — The O'Hara, some insist, — Of princely Irish race, which sounds full well ; But what an Irish prince was, who can tell 1 235 It more imports to study wisely how They rule the world who stand for Princes now. The present Chief, a thin-faced man of care, Keeps here his Bailiff, but resides elsewhere ; 34 CHAPTER TWO : A ■^^ddower he, some fifty-two years old, 240 A rigid Catholic, mild, formal, cold. Children he had, but death removed his sons, He lock'd his youthful daughters up as nuns; An heir for half liis wealth he may select ; His Clergy use him with profound respect. 245 O'Hara, once ambitious, all in vain. And indisposed for action or for gain. Disgusted long since with a public life. Hates England's name, but censures noisy strife ; Is proud, dyspeptic, taciturn, and shy, 250 Learn' d in forgotten trifles, dead and dry ; Secluded from the troublous world he lives, And secret help to church and convent gives. Low-let, ill-till'd, and unimproved, his lands Are left in lazy, sneaking flatterers' hands, 255 Most of them of his Bailiff-steward's tribe, K"or any who withhold that rascal's bribe. Lord Crasher, The O'Hara, Isaac Brown, NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. 35 Sir Ulick, Dysart, Finlay, — here set down With touch of rapid pencil, not untrue, 260 Are one horizon's dominatmg few, "With Pigof s name to add, and Bloomfield's own : Eight Lords of Land, terrestrial gods, are shown. Some part of whom, with others not so great. Consulting on the country's dreadful state, 265 Sir Ulick Harvey towering in the chair, Impressively, resolved, that then and there They sat assembled : that resolved they were That something should be done : and what to do — But this was more than they exactly knew. 270 From first to last 'twas cordially agreed That tenants had been kindly used indeed By every landlord roimd. Who justly blamed? With modest boldness for themselves they claim' d Approval of the world : their simple rights. 275 Were never half enforced. Warm days and nights d2 36 CHAPTER TWO : NEIGHBOURING LANDLORDS. Fulfill'd the harvest to the reaper's hook; But souls of men dismay and passion shook. It should have been a peaceful, gi-ateful time ; 280 But o'er this landscape enmity and crime Like shadow lay. The harvesting is done ; , That shadow stays, in spite of moon or sun. LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IKELAND. CHAPTER III. A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. LAURENCE BLOOMEIELD IN IRELAND., III. A DmNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. Chilly and dim tli' autumnal fields; but bright i Sir Ulick's table glows witli waxen light ; Alternate fair and brown, the seemly guests With smiling nonsense aid the varied zests ; The solemn liveries with observance wait, 5 And smoothly pour the wine and shift the plate ; Each thing fulfils a justly measured part, And aU like nature seems, where all is art. The steps of banquet keeping time and place, With bland succession and unconscious grace, 10 The dishes circle in a savoury train, The small-talk bubbles with the brisk champagne ; 40 CHAPTER THREE : Till Beauty now glides rustling from the room, And men in freer groups their chairs resume. 'Say "vvho they are, whom Irish Fates combine 15 To crack those filberts and to sip that wine? The pompous Head of all the Harvey clan ; Shrewd Vicar Boyd, who seems a simple man ; Lord Crasher's son, with whiskers large and fair, His chief distmction, and his fondest care ; 20 Hard Finlay ; Laurence Bloom field next in place ; Fat Agent Pigot with his joking face ; James Duff, a northern tory, big and coarse ; Dysart, who shrewdly bets on dog and horse ; With these, great ISTassau Blunderbore, whose fame 25 Fills all the journals, — hear liim now declaim, Wlien Bloomfield, sifting out some little fact, "Would fain have answer quiet and exact : " All Papists are but rebels in disguise, " And if they dared, this very night would rise ; 30 " The law from mere compulsion they obey. A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 41 " Their priests and demagogues have genuhie sway ; " Mainly the first, a dark and dangerous band, *' The creei^ing rulers of this wretched land, " Their faith a lie, their purity a cheat, 35 " (Want of detection proves their plans complete) " Dogmatic vassals of insidious Eome, " Courted by coward governments at home, " Ambitious, ciuining, false, yet firm of will, — " Improve them, you but help their power of ill. 40 " Each Papist is his Queen's and Landlord's foe, " And every Priest conspires to keep him so ! " Such is the well-worn theme. Such theme to- night Great ISTassau pounds wdth fourfold main and might ; For Eibbonism has flourish'd high its head, — 45 Has sworn a trembling farmer, dragg'd from bed. To quash his lawsuit, — promised mortal harm To him who ventures on the vacant farm Snatch'd from a poor industrious innocent, Whose only fault was owing five years' rent, — 50 42 CHAPTER THREE : Puts fear and hate, acknowledged or conceal'd, To haunt each hearth, and lurk in every field, Boyd listens blandly, Boyd the shrewd divine, "WHio loves his money, and who likes his wine. Who travels, has a house in Mountjoy-square, 55 And to his parish comes for change of air, Blames, ex-officio, popery and dissent. Though doctrines breed him little discontent. Lets parish questions to the Curate go, (The Ciu'ate's views are 'high,' his pay but low) — 60 A trim old parson, Boyd ; whose smile urbane AVill soothe, although perhaps you talk in vain ; Blest with four daughters, and, as fame resounds. For each a fortune of five thousand pounds. The first is clever — writeth books, be sure ; 65 The second Sunday-schools the drowsy poor By rote, on unintelligible things ; Another of the damsels plays and sings ; A DINNER AT LISNAMOT HOUSE. 43 The fourth professes, merely, flaxen curls. What is their mother'? — slave to these four girls. 70 " I can't think ill of every popish priest," Bays Boyd, — " our own are harmless men, at least ; " Vulgar no doubt, and very wrong, of course, " But still, admit the truth, we might have worse." " Sir ! " responds JSTassau, (Bloomfield in his eye) 75 " We live amidst one huge conspiracy ! " For Papal Ireland hates, in common cause, " The church, the constitution, and the laws. " Priest, politicians, with their cunning views, " The blindfold passions of the peasants use ; 80 " Tliis wicked league if once their Altar spoke " Would break and vanish, like a ring of smoke. " Some feign rebuke, — the clients comprehend, "And feel them twitch the blood-stain' d Eibbon's end." 44 CHAPTER THREE : " Why !" angry Duff breaks in, " to crown it all, 85 " Here's Pigot threaten'd in a niurder-scrawl. " Sooner than let this Ballytullagh stand, "I'd tear it down, by Jove, with my own hand, — " For in such times as these, we, by the Lord ! " Must do our duty, and with one accord. 90 " Elections too draw near, and if we flinch "They'll seize an ell — a mile — for every inch. " By George 1 leave no man of mine in doubt, — "Vote as I bid you, or I turn you out!" True Orangemen were Blunderbore and Duff, 95 Each sj)oke his mind, and each made noise enough ; The one on force of argument relied, The argument of force was all the other's pride. " These people, on the side of Tullagh Hill," Says Agent Pigot, "merely hold at will 100 " Some spots of tillage in a mountain tract, " O'er which they stray'd, and deem'd it theirs in fact, " Half-savage long, reduced to bounds at last, A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 45 " From grumbling to defiance they have pass'd ; " With men and money help the Pdbbon Lodge; 105 " Full time, I think, to ask our friends to budge ! " To get his own, Sir Ulick would have paid, " But this have I, on principle, gainsaid ; " These folk deserve no kindness, have no claim ; " Count down fee-simple, they would yell the same. " Faith, gentlemen, this country sorely needs ill " A quicker clearance of its human weeds ; " But still, the proper system is begun, " And forty holdings we shall change to one." Bloomfield, his inexperience much confess' d, 115 Doubts if the large dispeopled farms be best, — Best in a wide sense, best for all the world, (At this expression sundry lips were cuii'd) — " I wish, but know not how, each peasant's hand " Might work, nay, hope to win, a share of land ; 120 k " For ownership, however small it be, V*' Breeds diligence, content, and loyalty. 46 CHAPTER THREE : " And tirelessly compels the rudest field, "Inch, after inch, its very most to yield. " Wealth might its true prerogatives retain ; 125 " And no man lose, and all men greatly gain." This, Bloomfield chiefly to the Vicar said. Who courteously demurr'd with shake of head. " Ah, my dear sir, our philanthropic dreams " Are fine — but human nature mars our schemes ! " 130 If Boyd had such, he well knew how to shake Those dreams away, and thus live wide-awake. Loud hemm'd Sir UHck, in his pompous tone, A ]5latitudinarian too-well known, Wliom meetings with respectful torpor heard, 135 And all his private circle duly fear'd. How polished, grave, and dignified he is, Strutting along in dull periphrasis. With mental back impossible to bend ! Pinchbeck he quotes, his economic friend, 140 That 'tenant-right' is robbery or worse; A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 47 That ' little holdings ' are a country's curse ; Does he that merely tills turn owner ? Why, Who could inherit land, who sell or buy ? — Which may have reason in it : but at best 145 Pinchbeck in some poor scrap of truth is drest, And, like the Kaffir who has chanced to find A coat of Europe, dons it front-behind. N'ow Finlay, of the cold sarcastic eye, And voice for ever tuneless, hard, and dry : 150 " Land is of course, like other things you buy, " Investment for your money. Find or make " A contract, — law will punish if you break. " Supposing legal contract there be none, " Then, he who occupies your house in town, 155 " Or country farm (what matters which) must knoAv " That when the owner bids him, he should go. •' He has no lease, though he desires to stay, " Why, then, so much the worse for him, you say. " He has a lease, and pays but little rent, 160 48 CHAPTER THREE : " A lucky man ! and you must bide content ; " He wants a lease ; then, such and such the terms, "Or you declare you will not let your farms. " Contracts are contracts ; law is law ; and land " Is property : thus much I understand.' 165 Fat Pigot turn'd to every one who spoke, And laugh'd when each was done, as at a joke. His fun is somewhat tlireadbare, but you half Believe it rich, so hearty is his laugh ; And not ill-furnish'd he with jest and tale. 170 Beetroot beside his glowing cheek were pale. Kind to his household, jolly with his friends, Business begun, all Pigot's feeling ends ; With jovial voice and look, his hand, like Pate's Can freeze the dwellers upon four estates, 175 Whose slavish flattery finds a self-redress, A sort of freedom, in its own excess. Their mother-wit, — debased through dismal years Of rapine and oppression, blood and tears, A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE, 49 To craft and cunning, — twists in reptile form, i80 A slimy, soft, and poison-bearing worm. • Be silent, noisy tongues on either shore ! Denounce, defend, recriminate no more ! In history's record England reads her blame, Ireland her grief, her folly, and her shame ; 185 Let each peruse with humble soul and sage, And, from the past, amend the future page. But, meanwhile, of the Present shall be reiM One dirty leaf, — a coffin decks its head, — From Bigot's bulky pocket, by desire, 190 Emitted, for the table to admire : ' Take IvTotis, Big gut, if one claw you lay ' On Tullah, you'U for ever roo the day — 'So change your tune, and quickly, or by God 'This warnin is your last — we'll have your blud. 195 'Sined, Captin Starlite.' —"Funny letter, eh?" The Honourable George is heard to say. £ 50 CHAPTER THREE : " Good mark " — says Dysart, with a nod and laugh. " For pot-shots," Duif observes, " too good by half." "Got a six-shooter?" Tom rejoins: "let's see." 200 " !N"o ! " cry the rest. Says Pigot, " Trust to me," And hides the weapon. Tom approves not such : " I'll bet, with j^our revolver, you don't touch " My hat at twenty yards, two shots in five. "You must have daily practice, man alive! 205 " Practice is everything, and firing quick, " Before a lazy finger does the trick ; " That's how my uncle finish'd Major Crowe, " A splendid marksman, only rather slow. "Fire from the hip !" cries Tom in cheerful mood, 210 And cracks a nut in proper attitude. — " Mayn't get the chance," growls Finlay. It was time, Sir Ulick thought, to meet this growtli of crime. But how 1 — shall counter-terror bid it cease By Proclamation and more big Police 1 215 Spies and rewards, thought Dysart ; turning out A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 51 All tenants, Duff said, in one rabble-rout. " Where should they go to?" " They may go to h— ." But Bloomfield to his own reflections fell : * Owners are owners we decide in haste, — 220 ' Might three men choose to keep a county waste ? ' Is there no spirit in the world of things ' Whereon his gyve in vain the lawyer flings 1 ' Can we, by politics of coin or birth, ' Own, like a house or hunter, God's round earth? 225 ' Or, is that difierent property ? We're tried * In turn as leaders. Families subside, * As they have risen, like billows of a tide, — ' Heirs. lifted to the top-surge one by one. ' But continuity from sire to son, 230 ' JSTo further, quibbles in the N'orth-star's face : ' One man is dead — another's in his place. ' A trust, to help our fellow-men, we own ; * True right of property is this alone. ' Chieftains there must be ; and the low man clings 235 E 2 52 CHAPTER THREE : ' With long affection to unwortliy kings ; ' Ev'n here, wonld fain be faithful to his lord ' — And Bloomfield sigh'd and look'd around the board. ' To throw my life to loss Avith men like these 1 — ' Why should 1 1 ' — of a sudden this brought ease. 240 ' Where earth gives most of what to me is best ' To live is mine, my privilege confess'd, * My duty too ' — but here some side-wind caught The sail out-spread of his quick-moving thought : Duty with duty it is hard to weigh, 245 To rule the very power you must obey. Doubt Judgment, of your doubting doubtful too. The pain of too much freedom Bloomfield knew. For all the choice was in his proper hand ; Xo shadow-barrier in his road to stand 250 Of others' expectation ; none could say, Parting next week, that he had plann'd to stay, Nor wonder if th' ensuing seven years' rent In banker's bills should over sea be sent. A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 53 While Pigot, well-accustom'd viceroy, reign'd, 255 And far off tenants fruitlessly complain' d. WhUe Bloomfield's mind experienced this unrest, His face was calm, his converse self-possest ; The noble sprig heside him sees no gloom ; ^'Come down to shoot the country, I presume? 260 "Good cocking in Sh Ulick's upper wood — " Cover for grouse on Croghan, doocid good. ''Queer fellows, though, the common fellows round — " And every one a poacher — does your ground "Touch on the river?" So we sit and talk, 265 A finger round the crystal flower-hell-stalk Brimm'd with cool claret, fruit and biscuits munch, And some in secret pine for whisky-punch, Or vapour of the soothing weed. But soon All reassemble in the White Saloon, 270 With decent forms of speech and gestures fit. Which clothe mere dulness with a kmd of wit. 54 CHAPTER THREE : Though press'd to stay, and bid with serious brow Eemember he is not in England now, Laurence will homeward ride, and ride alone ; 275 Deaf, blind, insensible as stock or stone To three Miss Harveys and to four Miss Boyds, The charm of song and every smile avoids, Yielding that bower of beauty and of tea To George's whiskers, and our mild A.B., 280 Too busy Curate to present more soon His well-brush' d hair and voice's gentle croon. How does a man with seventy pounds a-year In virgia linen every day appear 1 Spotless his shirts are, spotless too his life ; 285 Stiff in cravat, and dialectic strife, He shuns the popish priests, and flogs the Pope, Nor may the Methodist for mercy hope ; Much milk of human kindness, too, he carries, A little sour'd with dogma, through the parish, 290 And plays a half-divine, half-human part With many a pious flirting female heart. A DINNER AT L18NAM0Y HOUSE. 55 Enough — oil dangerous matter we presume ; vShut smoothly, door of silken drawuig-room ! Let Lady Harvey lead the reverend man 295 Profoundly to discuss his favourite j)lan Whereby we might convert all Papists, in Say three short years, and crush the Man of Sin : " Dear Lady Harvey ! this benighted land " — "Ah, yes! your trials we can understand ... 300 "Those dreadful Priests" — "The cause of Scriptural Truth . . . " Our Church hi danger . . . Government . . . Maynooth" — And leaving lovely damsels as they may To qnote' Hvanffeline, Traviata play, We move with Laurence on his homeward way. 305 All down the leafy way as Bloomfield rode. O'er man and horse the latticed moonshine flow'd, Like films of sorcery, or sacred rite Of sprinkling by the holy priestess, Night ; Strange pools of mist were on the lower ground, 310 56 CHAPTER THREE : Moonlight above, and silence deep around, Except the measured footfalls. In a shade By thicker growths of laurustinus made, Our young Squire heard not, or unheeding heard. One whispering bough that stealthily was stuT'd ; 315 Saw not the glitter of an ambush' d eye That glared upon the landlord moving by. In meditation through the leaves he rode ; O'er man and horse the web of moonshine flow'd ; Then on the open highway swiftlier sped, 320 Where spectral gates and walls behind liim fled. Within, his soul was seething. Should he stay, — Toil, WTangle, risk his blood, from day to daj^ ? Or from the tumult quietly withdraw, And soon forget what he no longer saw? 325 Was all his duty to his rental bound? Might he not better serve on other ground 1 It matters not for whom, or how, or where — Be what you're fit for, all the w'orld has share. A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 57 ' These men are in their element, and do 330 ' Much work ; it may be, are victorious too. ' Novels and newspapers alone afford ' Th' angehc peasant and his fiendish lord. ' EVn Duff has kindness ; Harvey's wit is small ' Yet leaves liim average mortal after all ; 335 ' Pigot is business-like and bold, not base, — ' One looks not there for Shelley's muid or face. * Such have a manly spirit of their own, ' Which roughly i* a rugged world is shown. ' And what know I of tenants or of land 1 ' — 340 Here conscience took once more the upper hand : ' Somewhat you know of men, and Heavenly Laws ; ' Permit not selfish sloth to win the cause ; ' The right choice wins a strength, wrong choice a plea.' Perplex'd in mood, his mansion enters he, 345 With varying step along the lonely floors And dismal dark neglected corridors. A long discussion may, for good or ill. 58 CHAPTER THREE : Be sharply ended by despotic will. ' I'll quit the place before to-morrow night ! 350 ' Party with party, church with church may fight, * Rich fools with poor, — I cannot set them right' But to the council-chamber of his head (X. Eush'd in a tale that he had long since re^d, An ancient story, putting all astray, 355 As Cassar's self was stopt upon his way. Imperial Hadrian, with his lofty knights, Prancing through pillar'd gateway,* Dion writes, There saw a Widow kneeling to implore, Since none could rescue save her emperor, 260 An audience of her suit ; to whom he said " I have no time to hearken." Hope and dread Together gone, she cried " Then cease to reign ! " Whereat, amidst a cheek'd and wondering train, The Eoman wheel' d his horse and heard. 36^ This wrought Another change of hue upon his thought. i > Twere hard to reign, to abdicate more hard. A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. 59 * Is living free, like other men, debarr'd '? ' Shut eyes, and open (says the World) your mouth, ' And take what fortune sends you, foolish youth ! 370 ' Wovdd things go better here, supposing T, ' i^Tot Pigot, govern'd ? ought I not to try 1 ' Or are they dreams, my poetry and art, ' And love and faith too, all life's finer })art — ' Fit but for conversation, books, the stage, 375 ' And not for men whom actual toils engage I ' His heart beat, and he felt as faint within As one who has a whole day fasting been, — Irresolution's sickness ; so combined Are all the powers of body and of mind. 380 Moreover, looking on himself, he saw A crisis of his life. I'here was Heaven's Law, Cloudy, but firm and sure. He saw the crime (Touching all future pleasures with a slime) To stand before a true task face to face, 38.5 Then turn away, though secret the disgrace. 60 CHAP. THREE : A DINNER AT LISNAMOY HOUSE. ("Man's life is double : hard its dues to give (AVitliin, Without, and thus completely live. Custom of pra/r with wandering soul he kept ; Desired to sleep, but not till daylight slept. 390 LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN lEELAND. CHAPTER IV. THE JDORANS. LAUEENCE BLOOMEIELD IN IRELAND. IV. THE DORANS. .Jack Doran's cottage, from a bare hillside, Look'd out across the bogland black and wide, \\'liere some few ridges broke the swarthy soil, A patch of culture, won with patient toil. The walls were mud, around an earthen floor, Straw ropes held on the thatch, and by his door A screen of wattles fenced the wdnd away, For open wide from morn till dusk it lay, A stool perhaps across, for barring out The too familiar porker's greedy snout. 10 Thieves were undreamt-of, vagrants not repell'd, The poor man's dole the pauper's budget swell'd, 64 CHAPTER FOUR A gift of five potatoes, gently given, Or fist of meal, repaid with hopes of Heaven. There Jack and Maureen, ISTeal their only son, 15 And daughter Bridget, saw the seasons run ; Poor but contented peasants, warm and kind. Of hearty manners, and religious mind ; Busy to make their little corner good, And full of health, upon the homeliest food. 20 They tasted flesh-meat hardly thrice a-year, Crock-butter, when the times were not too dear, Salt herring as a treat, as luxury For Sunday mornings and cold weather, tea ; Content they were if milk the noggins crown' d, 25 What time their oatmeal-stirabout went round. Or large potatoes, teeming from the pot, Descended to the basket, smoking hot, — Milk of its precious butter duly stript. Wherewith to Lisnamoy young Biddy tripp'd. 30 Not poor they seem'd to neighbours poorer still, THE DORANS. 6-5 As Doran's father was, ere bog and hill Gave something for his frugal fight of years 'Gainst marsh and rock, and furze with all its spears, And round the cottage an oasis green 35 Amidst the dreary wilderness was seen. Two hardy cows the pail and churn supplied, Short-legg'd, big-boned, with rugged horns and wide, That each good spot among the heather knew, And every blade that by the runnels grew, 40 ' Koved on the moor at large, but meekly came With burden'd udders to delight the dame, And in its turn the hoarded stocking swell'd Which envious neighbours in their dreams beheld ; At thought whereof were bumpkins fain to cast 45 Sheep's eyes at comely Bridget as she pass'd With napkin-shaded basket many a morn ; Eut every bumpkin Bridget laugh'd to scorn. \Vho at an evening dance more blithe than she 1 — With steps and changes, modest in their glee, 50 F 66 CHAPTER FOUR : So true she foots it, and so hard to tire, Whilst Phil the Fiddler's elbow jerks like fire. That courting couples turn their heads to look, And elders praise her from the chimney-nook Amidst their pipes, old stories, and fresh news. 55 From twenty decent boys might Bridget choose ; For, put the jigs aside, her skill was known To help a neighbour's work, or speed her own. And where at kemp or kayley could be found One face more welcome, all the country round ? 60 Mild oval face, a freckle here and there, Clear eyes, broad forehead, dark abundant hair. Pure j)lacid look that show'd a gentle nature, Firm, unperplex'd, were hers ; the Maiden's stature Graceful arose, and strong, to middle height, 65 With fair round arms, and footstep free and light ; She Avas not showy, she was always neat. In every gesture native and comj^lete, temp, a meeting of girls for sewing, spinning, 'or otiier worl<, ending ■with a dance. kayley, a casual gathering of neighbours for gossip. THE DOBANS. 67 Disliking noise, yet ueitlicr dull nor slack, Could throw a rustic banter briskly back, 70 Eeserved but ready, innocently shrewd*, — In brief, a charming flower of Wonaanhood, The gii'l was rich, in health, good temper, beauty, "Work to be done, amusement after duty. Clear undistracted mind, and tranquil heart, 75 Well-wishers, in whose thoughts she had her part, A decent father, a religious mother. The pride of all the parish in a brother, And Denis Coyle for sweetheart, where the voice Of Jack and Maureen praised their daughter's choice. 80 More could she ask for 1 grief and care not yet. Those old tax-gatherers, dunn'd her for their debt ; Youth's joyous landscape round her footsteps lay. And her own sunshine made the whole world gay. Jack and his wife, through earlier wedded years, 85 f2 68 CHAPTER FOUR : Untroubled Avitlx fai'-siglited hopes and fears, Within their narrow circle not unskill'd , Their daily duties cautiously fulfill'd Of house and farm, of bargain and of pray'r ; And gave the Church and gave the Poor a share ; 90 Each separate gift by angels put in score As plain as thoi:gh 'twere chalk'd behind the door. The two themselves coidd neither write nor read, But of their children's lore were proud indeed, And most of Neal, who step by step had pass'd 95 His mates, and trod the master's heels at last. "When manly, godly counsels took the rule, And open'd to her young a freer school, Poor Erin's good desire was quickly proved ; Learning she loves, as long ago she loved. loo The peasant, sighing at his own defect. Would snatch his children from the same neglect ; From house and hut, by hill and plain, they pour In tens of thousands to the teacher's floor ; THE DORANS. 69 Across the general island seems to come 105 Their blended voice, a pleasing busy hum. Our little Bridget, pretty child, was there, And ISTeal, a quick-eyed boy with russet hair, Brisk as the month of March, yet with a grace Of meditative sweetness in his face ; 110 To Learning's Temple, which made shift to stand In cowhouse form on great Sir UHck's land (Who vex'd these schools with all his pompous might ^OT would, for love or money, grant a site), Each morn with merry step they cross'd the hill, 115 And soon could read with pleasure, write with skill, Amaze from print their parents' simple wit, Decypher New-world letters cramply writ ; But Xeal, not long content with primers, redd " Eings round him," as his mother aptly said ; 120 Sought far for books, devour'd whate'er he found, And peep'd through loopholes from his narrow bound. Good Maureen gazed with awe on pen and ink, 70 CHAPTER FOUR : On. books with blindest reverence. Whilst we think The Dark and INTiddle Ages flown away, 125 Their population crowds us round to-day ; So slowly moves the world. Our dame believed, Fu-mly as saints and angels she received, In witchcraft, lucky and unlucky times, Omens and charms, and fairy-doctors' rhymes isi) To help a headache, or a cow fall'n dry ; Strong was the malice of an evil eye ; She fear'd those hags of dawn, who skimm'd the well, And robb'd the churning by their May-day spell; The gentle race, whom youngsters now neglect, 1-35 From Mary never miss'd their due respect; And when a little Avhirl of dust and straws Eose in her pathvray, she took care to j^ause And cross herself; a twine of rowan-spray, An ass's shoe, might keep much harm away ; 140 Saint Bridget's candle, which the priest had blest, "Was stored to hght a sick-bed. For the rest, She led a simple and contented life, THE DORANS. 71 Sweet-temper d, dutiful, as maid and wife ; Her husband's wdsdom from her heart admired, 145 And in her children's praises never tired. Jack was a plodding man, who deem'd it best To hide away the wisdom he possess' d ; Of scanty words, avoiding all dispute; But much experience in his mind had root ; 150 Most deferential, yet you might surprise A secret scanning in the small grey eyes ; Short, active, though with labour's trudge, his legs; His knotted lingers, like rude wooden pegs, Still firm of grip ; his breath was slow and deep ; 155 His hair unbleach'd with time, a rough black heap. Fond, of a night, to calmly sit and smoke, "While neighbours plied their argaiment or joke. To each he listen'd, seldom praised or blamed, All party-spirit prudently disclaim' d, 160 Eepeating, with his wise old wrinkled face, 72 CHAPTER FOUR : "I never knew it help a poor man's case;" And when they talk'd of "tyrants," Doran said N'othing, but suck'd his pipe and shook his head. In patient combat with a barren soil, 165 Jack saw the gradual tilth reward his toil, "Where first his father as a cottier came On patch too poor for other man to claim. Jack's father kept the hut against the hill With daily eightpence earned by sweat and skill ; 1 70 Three sons grew up ; one hasted over sea, One married soon, fought hard with poverty, Sunk, and died young ; the eldest boy was Jack, Young herd and spadesman at his father's back, With every hardship sturdily he strove, 175 To fair or distant ship fat cattle drove, (Not theirs, his father had a single cow), And cross'd the narrow tides to reap and mow. A fever burn'd away the old man's life ; Jack had the land, the hovel, and a wife ; I80 THE DOEANS. 73 And in the chimney's warmest corner sat His good old mother, with her favourite cat. Manus, now dead, (long since, on ' cottier-take,' Allow'd cheap lodgment for his labour's sake) Contriving days and odd half-days to snatch, 185 By slow degrees had tamed the savage patch Beside his hnt, driven back the stubborn gorse, Whose pounded prickles meanwhile fed his horse. And crown'd the cut-out bog with many a sheaf Of speckled oats, and spread the dark-green leaf 190 "Where plaited white or purple blooms unfold To look on summer with an eye of gold, Potato-blossoms, namely. Now, be sure, A larger rent was paid ; nor, if secure Of footsole-place where painfully he wrought, 195 Would Manus grumble. Year by year he sought A safeguard ; but the Landlord still referr'd Smoothly to Agent, Agent merely heard, And answer' d — ' We'll arrange it by and by ; 7i CHAPTEE FOUR : Meanwhile, you're well enough, man ; let it lie,' — 200 Eesolved to grant no other petty lease, The ills of petty farming to increase. Old Manus gone, and Bloomfield's father gone, Sir Ulick Harvey's guardian rule came on ; And so at last Jack found his little all 205 At Viceroy Pigot's mercy, which was small. With more than passive discontent he look'd On tenacies like Jack's, and ill had brook'd The whisper of their gains. He stood one day. Filling the petty household with dismay, 210 "Within their hut, and saw that Paudeen Dhu, The bailiff, when he call'd it 'snug,' spoke true. The patch' d, unpainted, but substantial door, The well-fiird dresser, and the level floor. Clean chairs and stools, a gaily-quilted bed, 215 The weather-fast though grimy thatch o'erhead. The fishing rods and reels above the fire, THE DORANS. 75 Ideal's books, and comely Bridget's neat attire, Express'd a comfort wliicli tlie rongh neglect That reign'd outside forbade him to expect. 220 Indeed, give shrewd old cautious Jack his way. The house within had shown less neat array. Who held the maxim that, in prosperous case, 'Tis wise to show a miserable face ; A decent hat, a wife's good shawl or gOAvn 225 For higher rent may mark the farmer down ; Beside your window shun to plant a rose Lest it should draw the prowling bailiff's nose, Xor deal with whitewash, lest the cottage lie A target for the bullet of his eye ; 230 Eude be your fence and field— if trig and trim A cottier shows them, all the worse for him. To scrape, beyond expenses, if he can, A silent stealthy penny, is the plan Of him who dares it — a suspected man ! 235 AYith tedious, endless, heavy-laden toil, Judged to have thieved a pittance fi'om the soil. 76 CHAPTER FOUR But close in reach of Bridget's busy liaad Dirt and untidiness could scarcely stand ; And N'eal, despite Ms father's sense of guilt, 240 A dairy and a gable-room had built, And by degrees the common kitchen graced With many a touch of his superior taste. The peasant draws a low and toilsome lot ; Poorer than all above him ? — surely not. 245 "Conscious of useful strength, untaught to care For smiling masquerade and dainty fare, With social pleasures, warmer if less bland, Companionshij:) and converse nigh at hand, If sad, with genuine sorrows, well-deiined, SoO His life brought closer to a simpler mind ; He's friends with earth and cloud, plant, beast and bird ; His glance, by oversubtleties unblurr'd, At human nature, flies not much astray ; Afoot he journeys, but enjoys the way. 255 THE DORANS. 77 Th' instinctive faith, perhaps, of such holds best To that ideal truth, the jiower and zest Of all appearance ; limitation keeps Their souls compact ; light cares they have, sound sleeps ; Their day, within a settled course begun, 2G0 Brings wholesome task, advancing with the sun, The sure residt with satisfaction sees, And fills with calm a well-earn'd hour of ease. l!^ay, gold, whose mere possession less avails. Far-glittering, decks the world with fairy-tales. 265 "Who grasp at poison, trigger, cord, or knife 1 — Seldom the poorest peasant tires of life. Mark the great evil of a low estate ; Not Poverty, but Slavery, — one man's fate Too much at mercy of another's will. 270 Doran has prosper'd, but is trembling still. Our Agent's lightest word his heart can shake, The Bailiff's bushy eyebrow bids him quake. 78 CHAPTER FOUR : Jack liad 1)een urged, and thought the counsel good, " Go, delve the prairie, clear the Western wood ; 275 There, "vvith your little purse and vigorous arm, Be king (for so you may) of house and farm." But khidly to his native nook he clung, — Too old his mother, and his hahes too young, His "svife too timid, — till he fonnd at last 280 His own brisk day for enterjirise gone past, And hoped with trembling, that, without a lease. The Lord would let them pass their days in j^eace, And leave the children settled well in life : Such was the prayer of Doran and his wife. 285 School-teachiug some, and some the Church advised For Xeal ; but Jaclc, from lifelong habit, prized His hard-won and uncertain 'bit o' ground,' And in his son's increasmg vigour found A welcome help, till soil and seasons claim'd 290 Jfeal's constant hand. But far too high it aini'd, THE UORANS. 79 On house and field improvement bravely bent. "My boy," said Jack, "you'll only me the rent, *■ Or get us hunted from too good a place," — And back'd his fears from many a well-known case. 295 He praised their added room, but shook his head, The small new dairy fill'd his soul with dread. To cut a drain might dig their own pitfall, 'Twas ostentation to rebuild a wall, And did they fiu'ther dare to stub the whhis, 300 The Great-Folk soon woidd visit all theii- sins. "We'U buy."— "But they won't seU."— " More ren^T we'll pay." " They'll charge three prices, or snap all away." What could I^eal do 1 — his parents getting old, Detain'd him ; but his early hopes were cold. 305 Improve they must not ; if permitted still To merely stay, 'tis at their Agent's -will. They long have struggled, with some poor success, But well they know, should harder fortunes press, 80 CHAPTER FOUR : Tlieir slow prosperity is thin aud poor, 310 And may not even petty rubs endure. From day to day tk' unresting finger steals Of Heaven's great clock, with, all the stars for wheels, Transmuting worlds, and every small thing too ; The boy to man, the girl to woman grew; 315 Jack stiifen'd ; Maureen's hair was streak'd with white ; The good old grandame vanish'd from their sight. And day by day, on both estates, Jack sees Old tenants losing place by slow degrees ; JSTo leases granted or rencAv'd ; the serf 320 Hemm'd from his former space of moor and turf ; To grazing, here, the various tillage yields ; There wide-spread farms absorb the petty fields ; Gain, luxury, and love of power, inspire !N"ew selfish schemes, that more and more require 325 All privilege and profit from the land To rest completely in the Great-Folk's hand, Accorded, changed, withheld, at their command. THE DORANS. 81 N"eal sometimes argues that, whilst yet in plight, 'Twere well to dare at last the distant flight. 330 " Let's go while go we may ; if things get worse " They soon must leave us empty byre and purse. " You're fresh, thank God, and lively, mother dear ; " Father, we'd work and prosper well, no fear ; " And rise to something, anywhere but here. 335 " There's Coyle, besides, in tiptoe haste to start ; " One word, and Coyle is with us, hand and heart." But age's caution, added to their own, Stdl held the parents back from risks unknown. One cool and grey autumnal night — the same 340 That sees Sir Ulick's banquet — round the flame Of fragrant fir that branch'd a waving tree Before the human form began to be, And countless years lay sunk in black morass. Are drawn this humble household. SloAvly pass 345 Their quiet evening hours. If Maureen doze, Her needles fail not, adding rows to rows G 82 CHAPTER FOUR : Of knitted wool; nor less untiring spins Her daughter, who with skilful finger wins Tlie flowing yellow flax from rock to reel, 350 And chants a ditty to her murmuring wheel ; The son and father bask, as weU they may Who handle flails as these have done to-day, — The sweet-milk-and-potato supper done. Their out-door creatures cared for, every one, 355 The cat and dog, too, comrades old and tried ; In drowsy warmth reposing side by side. Jack thmks the times look bad, "God help the poor ! " Sighs Maureen ; " We're not cowld or hungry sure, " The Lord be praised ! — but rising rints, mavrone, 360 " And failing crops, Avould soon scrape flesh from bone." The gu'l had met a keeper, hung with grouse ; She talks of banquet at the Moy Big House : "They're at their dinner now, — and so polite, — THE DORANS. 83 " With lovely dresses, — to see the sight !" 365 " A glorious wish !" — arousing, mutters Neal, " Though envy's pang he could not choose but feel. " Our Landlord's on the start again, they say." — " To us what matter, let him go or stay?" — " Well now," says Bridget, "he's a fine young man." Her thoughts on Bloomiield's recent visit ran. 371 — "A gintleman o' plain discoorse, in troth, "Good hick to him!" says Maureen. — "Chips and froth !" Cries Neal : " I half began to speak my mind, " But ." " All no use, no use, my son, you'd find. 375 " 'Twould only," Jack thinks, " drive our Agent mad." The young man sat fire-gazing, sullen-sad. " Maychance you'd read us somethin', JS'ail asthore ?" — The less 'twas understood, believed the more. Her son's vast learning made Maureen rejoice ; 380 g2 84 CHAPTER FOUR : THE DORANS. Her 'heart was aisy, listenin' to his voice.' " Goin' out you are avic ? You won't be late 1 " "No, mother dear." They heard the garden gate Clap loud behind him. " He's across the hill " To Ballytullagh," — which but pleased them ill ; 385 This neighbouring hamlet being a noted place, By Pigot, their Pasha, cast out from grace. Jack lit his pipe ; the mother deeply sigh'd ; The girl in thought her humming spindle plied ; Yoimg Neal, the while, on glooming path, well-known, That winds by clump of gorse and boulder-stone, 391 Mounted the ridge, and saw in shadowy skies A red enormous moon begin to rise. LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. CHAPTER V. BALL TTULLAGH. LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. y. BALLYTULLAGH. The hamlet Ballytullagli, small and old, 1 Lay negligently cluster'd in a fold Of TuUagli Hill, among the crags and moor ; A windy dwellmg-place, rough, lonesome, poor ; So low and weather-stain' d the walls, the thatch 5 So dusk of hue, or spread with mossy patch, A stranger journeying on the distant road Might hardly guess that human hearts abode In those wild fields, save when a smoky wreath Distinguish'd from huge rocks, above, beneath, 10 Its huddled roofs. A lane goes up the hill. 88 CHAPTER FIVE Cross'd, at one elbow, by a crystal rill, Between tbe stepping-stones gay tripping o'er In shallow brightness on its gravelly floor. From crags above, with falls and rocky urns, 15 Through sward below, in deep deliberate turns, .Where each fine evening brought the boys to play At football, or with canmns drive away The whizzing nagg ; a crooked lane and steep, Older than broad highways, you find it creep, 20 Fenced in with stooping thorn-trees, bramble-brakes. Tall edge-stones, gleaming, gay as spotted snakes, With gold and silver lichen ; till it bends Between two rock-based rough-built gable ends. To form the street, if one may call it street, 25 Wliere ducks and pigs in filthy forum meet ; A scrambling, careless, tatter'd place, no doubt ; Each cottage rude withm-doors as without ; All rude and poor; some wretched, — black and bare And doleful as the cavern of Despair. 30 camwjw, sticks bent at oue end. lot^rg, wooden ball. BALLYTULLAGH. 89 And yet, when crops were good, nor oatmeal high, A famine or a fever-time gone by, The touch of simple pleasures, even here, In rustic sight and sound the heart could cheer. With voice of breezes moving o'er the hills, 35 Wild birds and four-foot creatures, falling rills, Mingled the hum of huswife's wheel, cock-crow, The whetted scythe, or cattle's evening low, Or laugh of children. Herding went the boy. The sturdy diggers wrought with spade and Iot/, 40 The tether'd she-goat browsed the rock's green ledge, The clothes were spread to dry on sloping hedge, The colleens did their broidery in the shade Of leafy bush, or gown-skirt overhead. Or wash'd and beetled by the shallow brook, 45 Or sung their ballads round the chimney-nook To speed a winter night, when song and jest And dance and talk and social game are best : For daily life's material good enough loy, a half-spade. beetling, thumping clothes with a truncheon (beetW). 90 CHAPTER FIVE : Sucli trivial incidents and homely stuff. 50 Here also could those miracles befall Of wedding, new-born babe, and funeral ; Here, every thought and mood and fancy rise From common earth, and soar to mystic skies. This ancient Woman crown'd with snow-white hair, With burden of a hundred years to bear,— 56 The marvels and enchanting hopes of youth. The toil of life, and disappointing truth. Delights and cares that wives and mothers know. The turns of wisdom, folly, joy, and woe, 60 The gradual change of all things, year by year. While she to one Great Doorway still draws near, All good and ill from childhood to old-age, For her have moved on this poor narrow stage. A cottage built ; farm shifting hands ; big thorn 65 By midnight tempest from its place uptorn ; The Church's rites, the stations, and the priests ; Wakes, dances, faction-fights, and wedding-feasts ; BALLYTULLAGH. 91 Good honest neighbours ; crafty wicked rogues ; The wild youth limping back without his brogues ; 70 The mone/d man returning from the West With beard and golden watch-chains on his breast ; He that enlisted ; she that went astray ; Landlords and agents of a former day ; The time of raging floods ; the twelve weeks' fro.5t ; 75 Dear summers, and how much their oatmeal cost ; The Tullagh baby- daughters, baby-sons. Grown up, grown grey ; a crowd of buried ones ; These little bygones Oona would recall In deep-voiced Gaelic, — faltering now they fall, 80 Or on her faint lips murmur unaware ; And many a time she lifts her eyes in pray'r. And many an hour her placid spirit seems Content as infant smiling through its dreams, In solemn trance of bodv and of mind : 85 As though, its business with the world resign'd, The soul, withdrawn into a central calm, brogues, rougli shoes. 92 CHAPTER FIVE : Lay hush'd, in foretaste of immortal balm. — Secluded Ballytullagh, small, unknown, Had place and life and history of its own. 90 Great Pigot's wrath, which brought unnumber'd woes On Ballytullagh\ Muse of mine disclose ! These upland people, paupers as they were, Eetain'd almost an independent air. Drawn from old times, for clearly could they trace 95 Long generations in the self-same place ; Game-laws they scorn' d, and mearings on the moor, And all new-fangled things could ill endure ; Landlord and agent were their natural foes ; Old custom for their simple guide they chose ; loo All Pigot's plans appear'd to them unjust ; They murmur' d ; and he only said, "You must!" So, when he took away their mountain-run, Enclosing half the heath for dog and gun, And half to feed a stranger's herds and flocks, 105 A sturdy coarse disciple of Johii Knox, — BALLYTULLAGH, 93 Sheep were soon missing, cattle niglit by night Dock'd of their tails, hamstrung, or kill'd outright ; The grazier too, at last, was waylaid, left Of breath and blood and all but life bereft ; no And every witness question' d in the case Mere falsehood swore, with calm unblushing face. Pigot, and Pigot's bailiff, Paudheen Dhu, Are still prepared for war, and lilve it too ; Costs, fees, drop in, and profitable 'takes,' 115 While every change the rental higher makes, Clears petty claims aside, a vexing swarm. And brings estates to new and better form. Herein Sir Ulick, for himself and ward, Was soon with Pigot's plans in full accord ; 120 One half this upland being Sir Ulick's ground. One half engirt by nephew Bloomfield's bound. A day was fix'd, arrears must then be paid ; For more police a tax on all was laid, — Paudheen Dhu, Little Black FarUly. 94 CHAPTER FIVE : ITew little barracks dropt in lonely spots 125 Where moping constables bewail'd their lots, — For now the Eibbon- Snake was known to glide With secret venom ronnd this country-side; Till Tullagh Hill became a place accurst, And Bally tullagh stood for blot the worst 130 On Magisterial map. In two year's time The tranquil nook was grown a nest of crime, A den of were-wolves to a landlord's sight ; — And Pigot only ask'd for legal right. Rich neighbouring farmers, noway ill-disposed, 135 Their cautious lips, if not their eyes, keep closed ; They dread revenge, they dread the public shame That clings and reeks aroimd th' informer'' s name ; For Ireland's long tradition, lingering yet. Hath in two scales the Law, the People set. 140 Nay, Ribbonism keeps Landlordism in check : They blame, they fear, but will not break its neck ; To them belongs no sense of commonweal. BALLY TULLAGH. 95 Authority as alien still tliey feel, Ruled, without partnership or wholesome pride, 145 By Government that governs from outside. Their native Church, where peasant sons might rise, The rulers first despoil'd, and now despise. Trade, wealth, flow elsewhere, why they cannot guess. Save by constraint of ruling selfishness. 150 In their own narrow bound, the constant fight For land goes on, with little ruth or right. So far as they can see ; but every man Takes all advantage that he safely can. And so, as in the chamber of a mist 155 Moving as they move, sadly they persist. And let the puzzling world be as it list. Our Agent twice a year sent forth a show'r Of Notices to Quit, and kept his power Suspended in terrorem: now at length 160 Shall these atrocious tenants feel his strength. 96 CHAPTER FIVE : On two or three a swift eviction falls, And then on Pigot Captain Starlight calls, High on the gatepost nailing up his card. But sturdy Pigot perseveres : 'twere hard 165 If rampant ruffianism could overfrown All right and rule, and grossly beat them down ! For desperate ill a desperate remedy. Some suffer guiltless, that must always be ; Ev'n in fair war the necessary blow 170 Sets distant hearts to weep ; but here the foe From general sympathy his courage draws. In that alone lies ambush'd from the laws. A plain sharp lesson, read to all and each, Is here the true and only way to teach. 175 Therefore let BallytuUagh's natives know, In due and legal form, that — out they go. The priesthood, meanwhile, gave its usual aid, Fulfill'd its wonted rounds and duly pray'd, Condoled in general words, and censured crime, 180 BALLYTULLAGH. 97 And watch'd with care the movements of the time. For this alone its mystic flag unfurl'd — The warfare of the Church against the World, Each Ti n' n or human interest has a claim So far as mingling with the one great aim. 185 Imagination to the Church must cling, A grand, accustom' d, venerable thing. Which dignifies the chief events of life. Securing Heav'n, avoiding vulgar strife ; The more withdrawn from regions of dispute, 190 The more within its bounds made absolute ; The citadel impregnably maintain'd. So bit by bit may all the rest be gain'd. Priests' characters are various — priests are men ; The system single to a bird's-eye ken ; 195 The method changing with the world's events, And still providing needful instruments, Which may, as men, do nothing, bad or good, And their own work have seldom understood. Blame if you must, but scorn not, over-bold, 200 H 98 CHAPTER FIVE : This Great Association, deep and old ; With guidance for the wandering soul of man ; Sure dogmas to believe, for those who can ; One step, one blindfold step, and all goes right, Your weakness guarded by celestial might, 205 Tliis wide Kilmoylan Parish own'd the care — Hills, plain, and town — of Father John Adaii\ And Father Austin was his curate now, A strong-built man of thirty, black of brow, A silent man, with heavy jaws and cliin, 210 Close-shaven, and a heavy soul within ; You look, and guess him dangerous and deep, Full of dark plans that make your flesh to creep, A mine of mystic secrets ; but alas ! The narrow bounds he never may outpass 215 Constrict him, and it eats his heart to know How short a way his seeming power can go. The tedious years will slowly wear him tame. Or else some channel for the smouldering flame BALLYTULLAGH. 99 Give altar, platform, journal, one more voice 220 To bid the foolish, furious moh rejoice, But those above him, on sharp watch to stand, And gather up the reins with cautious hand. Adair the priest is bland and dignified ; The curate Austin sullen, sidelong-eyed ; • 225 Both do their office punctually and well, And duly are revered ; but, truth to tell, The people, when their crimes they plan and plot, Eegard the blessed clergy scarce one jot. Some few, the leading scoundrels and the worst, 230 Would laugh at Pio Nono if he curs'd ; From under conscience many slip aside, Transgress, and somehow back to ' duty' glide ; While others meeting form with form (no more Demanded), by interpretation's lore 235 And casuistry to equal Dens's own Arrange what's best to be conceal'd and shown. duty, observance of the niles of the Clmrch, especially as to Confession. h2 1 00 CHAPTER FIVE : From either side of tliat mysterious screen Of plain fir-boards, in every cliapel seen, Tlie usual whisper flows in much routine ; 240 It were not wise the suppliant soul to press Which now, being there, is yielding, more or less ; The Mother keejjs on terms, can watch and wait, Expecting full submission, soon or late. And overlooking much, if, on the whole, 245 A man will not refuse to save his soul. Life's daily details, coittited great or small, The Church absorbs and dominates them all. Takes her own silent course with conscious might. As earthly Judge Supreme of "vvrong and right, 250 To rule at last, in great and trivial things, — The Servants' Servant growii to King of Kings. Hot grew men's passions : golden harvest came And ended : hotter wax'd this evil flame. Turning all wholesome thoughts to dread and hate. Jack to his own. fireside kept close of late, 256 BALLYTULL^GH. 101 But ^eal was not afraid to cross their hill To Ballytullagh, welcomed with good-will, When nightfall shadow'd mountain, moor, and glen. To chat the girls and argue with the men, 260 Or study in the Firebrand, Dublin print, Seditious rhetoric and murderous hint. Best scholar there, with skill and force he re^d, Explain' d, declaim' d, and on their flattery fed ; Until at last, however iinprepared, 265 To lead an army would the Youth have dared. One dismal Sunday morning, such a day As brings the message, 'summer's past away,' Neal with a sigh awoke ; nor when awake Could free his bosom from a nameless ache, 270 The misery of his slumber; ill-content Into the damp and sunless air he -went. The fowls, with stretching wings and eager screech, liun up in vain his bounty to beseech ; He rests his arms upon a wall, to gaze 275 102 CHAPTER FIVE : Across the scene, not sad in other days, But now, all round, with dark and doleful hues A sombre sky the sluggish bog imbues ; Black pit and pool, coarse tuft and quaking marsh, Stretch far away to mountains chill and harsh 280 Under the lowering clouds ; wlrile, near at hand, The waters grey ui trench and furrow stand. Beneath those mountains dim Lough Braccan lies, A stream wherefrom to join the river hies, Around their northern buttress bends a vale, 285 Where ocean's breath is blown in every gale, And o'er the lake, far-seen from many a road, Is Bloomfield's long-untenanted abode. To Lisnamoy from Tullagh, either side, Eough hiUs descend, and mingle with the wide 290 Grove-tufted, house-and-viUage-sprinkled plain ; And far from north to south a roof of rain Hangs heavily this morning; dark and dead The dismal view, and JS^eal's own heart like lead. BALLYTULLAGH. 103 Call'd in to breakfast by a mother's care, 295 His sister and himself for j\Iass prepare ; But Mary is not well, and doubts the -weather; She and her husband bide at home together. Tranquil, at Xeal and Bridget's pausing feet (Yet there is discontentment's chosen seat) 300 The little hamlet lies in sheltering bend, Whereto Avith quicker steps they now descend ; The sister carrying in a jug her boon Of precious milk for sickly Eose Muldoon. Inside the poorest hovel of the place, 305 The seal of death was on a young gui's face, ' Far through in the decline,' beside whose bed Her haggard father sat with drooping head ; A neighbour woman, taking turn as nurse, Upheld the sufferer when her cough grew worse. 310 "God save you, kindly. How is she to-day?" Then Eosy's feeble voice was heard to say, "Is that you, Bridget darlin'1" White and thin 1 04 CHAPTER FIVE : Her fingers rested clammily within The other maiden's healthy palm j death-hright 315 Her eyes met Bridget's, brimm'd with living light. Bai'B grimy walls, a roof with many a flaw, Tliis corner strewn with turf, and that with straw, A borrow' d bedstead, two old stools^ no more, To furnish round the damp uneven floor, 320 Three plates, three broken cups, an iron pot, A batter'd black tin-porringer kept hot Beside the gaping hearth, enough to choke The unaccustom'd lungs with lazy smoke, — Such was the house : yet Eose with many a tear 325 Implored "0 not the Poorhouse, father dear!" Quick with her broidery needle once was she. The youngest and the busiest girl of three. And now her father's last companion left ; Long sickness had his home of every comfort reft. 330 Most of these peasants, (portion out the blame Who can : on whom have such a rightful claim ?) B ALL YT ULLAGE. 105 When all goes well, are one degree, no more, From want; grim Hunger, always at the door, 334 With scarce a push comes in when aught goes wrong. — Why hold their land 1 Why marry 1 Why this throng Of nS,ked children? Would you heap the rates By help beyond the loathsome Poorhouse gates? Why not take other work 1 — I tell you why : There is no work : they needs must beg, or fly, 340 (0 happy chance !) or else lie down and die. Soon from each doorwaj'' issue comrades, drest, Both 'boys and girls,' in humble Sunday best, And all together, laughing, down the lane 345 They pick their steps, a smoother road to gain ; The trailing cloud has falling drops at edge, But not enough to ask a sheltering hedge ; Discourse curtails the league to Lisnamoy, And Bloom field's doings many a tongue employ, Till near the Town they draw, and each cross-road 350 Gives friendly increase to the moving crowd. 106 CHAPTER FIVE : Old Father Flynn and liis plain chapel walls Are both no more ; from a great steeple calls A bell that dins the rival church to shame, And pseudo-gothic art asserts its claim 355 For pence and wonder in the nnfinish'd pile, A dull burlesque on mediaeval style, Stoue nightmare, lumpish, set with eye and horn, Of architectural indigestion born. Eoofless and ruin'd each old stately fane, 360 Or if a living voice in some remain. The rich usurper's, — now on Irish skies These new-born proofs of ancient faith arise. Adair, the zealous, careful parish-priest, Is gentle, smooth, and mild to man and beast, 365 With comely presence and colloquial skiU, Of secret thoughts, and cool tenacious will ; An Irish mitre is perhaps his hope ; A proper man for cardinal or pope. Outside the Church, all teaching is a crime, 370 All strength diabolism : he bides his time BALLTTULLAGH. 107 To gain at last the public purse for schools In strict accordancy with holy rules ; The dark unlawful oath he blames no less Than Pigot; all must One Great Power confess. 375 (What Power 1 — enough ! each wandering thought suppress.) He likes not England's rule, nor will he curse; The Church's children's ofttimes please liim worse ; Dark oaths and alien bonds are things of sin; Yet agitation doth concession win ; 380 He favours loyalty of much that kind \Miich in a doubtful-temper'd dog you find, That fawns and growls, obeys and shows his teeth, — Servihty with danger underneath ; For so must selfish England understand 385 That Ireland is not wholly in her hand. Yet want that old excuse to knit a frown. Cry 'rebel!' and with fury smite her down. Irish Eepublic 1 — Irish Kingdom 1 — none Could less desire such thing beneath the sun 390 108 CHAPTER FIVE : Than Father John Adair : your ship may roll, But will you run her straight on rock or shoal For mere impatience? Of all men that live, Such clerics are the most conservative ; Perusing somewhat bitterly, no less, 395 Their map and daily roll-call of distress, "When scores around them, with the name of land. Staring on hungry wife and children stand, Unused by beggars' art to seek and shift. And dreading from their only hold to drift. 400 To pay their clergy these are ill-prepared ; The clergy's hard- Avon purse Avith them is often shared. BetAveen the Latin prayers the small quire sings; In silence deep a tinkling handbell rings ; The little altar-boys in Avhite array 405 Kneel round the altar ; heads, black, fair, and grey. Through all the croAvded chapel, roAv on row, BoAV trembling and expectant : and Avitli slow And solemn gesture, mystic-robed, the Priest BALLYTULLAGH. 109 Lifting the body and the blood of Christ, 410 Hath once again the mii'acle renew'd Of that old sacrifice on Holy Eood. The Mass completed, all prepare to go ; " Bnt hush ! the Father will not have it so. He speaks ; th' arrested crowd is turn'd to stone ; 415 Familiar, but commanding, is his tone ; The subject, Ribbonism ; and, word by word, His fervour kindles, and his strength is stirr'd, To caution, warn, implore, denounce, forbid. " Think not," says he, " that what you plan is hid : 420 "The spy, the stagg, the traitor's at your heels!" The straining throng its interest now reveals By stirs and murmurs. " Picture, every one, " Your husband, or your brother, or your son, " March'd off to Carrick jail — " here women's cries 425 And och ! och ! och ! through all the building rise. " Whisht ! hold your tongues ! attend to what I say ! stagg, infonner. 110 CHAPTER FIVE : " My cliildren, shun the dark and dangerous way. " Have any stray'd 1 let these, while yet there's time, " "Withdraw. To swear a wicked oath's a crime ; 430 " To keep it, worse. The Church, to whom is given " All power to bind and loose in Earth and Heaven, " Declares such oath is void, of no effect. " And mark me well, you sinners that neglect " This warning, — from God's altar I declare 435 " You are not Catholics; you cannot share " The Holy Sacraments ; and he that dies " In this condition " sobs and groans and cries Eing through the chapel. « On their homeward way, By reddening hedge, bare stubble, heather gay, 440 To distant hamlet, or thatch'd cottage lone, Or through the street and byways of the town (Some to the ruin'd abbey first repair. Among its graves to breathe a special pra/r), BALLYTULLAGH. Ill The scatter'd congregation closely sift 445 The reverend Father's lecture, and its drift. Here are the sage remarks of Bill M'Cann, Oracular and disputatious man, Who, while he stitch'd and hammer'd at a shoe, Would argue with the Pope, and 'sack' him too : — 450 " Some things a Parish Priest is bound to say. " The clergy, mind you, have their game to play ; " And whilst they always take the people's part, " Keep in with powers that be, — no aisy art. " Adair himself. Sir, has in private said 455 " That England gives us nothing but from dread ; " And I myself heard Father Austin, say, " At Jack O'Reilly's door last market-day, " 'Eject them all! — It's bad, and far too bad! " No wonder if they drive our people mad ! ' " 460 And Curate Austin teas at times too rash ; He mourn'd the peasants' sufferings ; and the lash Of Protestant contempt which made him sore, sack, overcome in argument. 112 CHAPTER FIVE : Impatiently, being young and proud, he bore. Perhaps he said it, — and perhaps said more 465 In dingy room above the grocery shop, No senior's eye liis rhetoric to stop, With Curate Michael of the neighbouring parish, (He sole familiar there, and he was rarish, Church keeping always, like a ship at sea, 470 Its hands all busy), quaffing dreary tea. At least our Crispin Critic did not fail To clap the Curate in th' opposing scale ; And though the elder folk and womankind Found this day's lecture greatly to their mind, 475 Young me a and politicians, not a few. Discussed the words, and freely blamed them too. Among the rest oiu' Neal and Denis talk'd. Then both to Tullagh Hill with Bridget walk'd ; A flask of holy water carrying she, 480 And Neal two ounces of the best black tea. For Maureen. Though the miles were long and rough, They seem'd to Denis short and smooth enough, BALLYTULLAGH. 113 Nor cared he when the rain at nightfall flow'd And made a torrent of his downward road, 485 A stout young cartman, whistling bold and gay, "Well used to vanquish weather and the way. Priests, Ribbonmen, and Landlords, — what are these? At every turn a girl's bright face he sees ; Rich — poor — the dead unmeaning phrases ! — Love 490 Is monarch, earthly kings how far above ! LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IBELAND. CHAPTER YI. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. LAUEENCE BLOOMEIELD IN IRELAND. CHAPTER VI. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 80 fared it with the folk behind the hill 1 From Doran's — who did all his Agent's Avill, And bade his son the same wise course pursue But Xeal had thoughts his father never knew. Old Jack is cautious, as a beast that knows 5 His little burrow, watch'd by natural foes ; But Neal is rash, and some there are who bring To Bigot's Bailiff stories with a sting, To seat themselves, perchance, in Doran's place, Or at the least enjoy the Viceroy's grace. 10 118 CHAPTER SIX : Private and patriotic griefs combined To trouble and perplex Weal's youthful mind. At loose imagination's utmost pitch He rates the powers and graces of the rich, Not life in Saturn more beyond his grasp ; 15 And pictures, till the thought is like a wasp, The narrow toils and hardships of the poor, Which no kind hand assists them to endure ; For rich and i:)Oor, contrasted lots at best, Here plainly mean oppressors and opprest. 20 With this, Old Ireland's glories, and her wrongs, Her famous dead, her landscapes, and her songs. Were fever'd fancy's beverage, — things well known Mingled with names and dreams confus'dly shown. Poetic visions hover'd ; every page 25 For Erin's glory, every fireside sage Wliose shanahus a brooding audience drew, Were pleasant to his soul, and gospel-true. Since dumb her school-books upon Ireland's tale, sTianahus, old stories. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 119 Other and looser teaching must prevail, 30 And ardent boyhood drink its greedy fill Of every wild-sprung legendary rill And holy fount — not in their virgin shade So oft as lower channels, hot and clay'd. But better thus, than dry and dusty live, 35 Devoid of all th' ancestral past can give, And every human touch from hill and shore Being blotted out, let memory claim no more In this her ancient realm, than where, exiled, The shepherd sadly tracks th' Australian wild. 40 By fits, moreover, hide them as we may. It frets us all, this tedious every-day ; A longing throb, a germ of bold romance. Is deep in every l^osom ; thirst for chance And change, and rich adventure. Sadly brave 45 This sends us wandering on the dismal wave. Or earth's remotest mountains ; this gives war Its frenzied life, and sths more crime by far 120 ■ CHAPTER SIX : Than moralist or lawyer ever guess'd ; Soul-ferrQentation, anxious blind imrest, -50 That, sick of all the barren hours afford, Will seize on dice, the tankard, or the sword ; Or burst its limits in a headlong flood, A mmgling overflow of fixe and mud, To do a deed, — of glory, or of shame, 55 As outward things take hue from vulgar fame. To this unquiet, lawless, dangerous mood, The present seems a prison-house ; all good (Though mainly shadows from our fancies cast) ■ Being in the boundless future, boundless past ; 60 ' Great things that have been, greater things to be ; As if a man could, save in soul, be free. Neal fain would join that secret brotherhood. The rich men's terror; but his father shrewd, Who saw the 'I^inety-eight, and blamed alike 65 The yeoman's pitch-cap, and the rebel's pike, Whose earliest memories were of houses burnin", NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 121 Dead men from branches hung, and slowly turning, Jack oft admonish'd him ; and on her knees . Maureen implored her son from thoughts like these. 70 Yet still he hanker'd for the fruit forbid : A thousand gliding scenes the curtain hid Of plot profound, and daring enterprise ; And he himself, acknowledged brave and wise. Head of the mystic band was seen to rise. 75 Great, too, tliis charm of mystery ; to swear, Fling stealthy signs, enchant the common air. When whispering schoolboys to a corner creep. Bedim their shallow plans and call them deep, Whilst uninitiates vainly pry and dodge, '80 Behold in bud the sacred cryptic lodge, — For evil or for good, a power confess'd In that old east, as in our modern west. To check the tyrant Eich ; perchance to see His injured country 'glorious, great, and free'; 85 122 CHAPTER SIX : To help ' tlie patriot cause ' ^vitli heart and hand ; So Neal aspired; and all was vague and grand. Not always prisoner by the dull bog-side Was he ; not always heavy skies abide. Among those mountain-skirts a league away 90 Lough Braccan spread, with many a silver bay And islet green ; a dark cHff, tall and bold, Half-muffled in its cloak of ivy old, Bastion'd the southern brink, beside a glen Where birch and hazel hid the badger's den, 95 And through the moist ferns and firm hollies play'd A rapid rivulet from light to shade. Above the glen, and wood, and cliff, was seen, Majestically simple and serene, Like some great soul above the various crowd, lOO A purple mountain-top, at times in cloud Or mist, as in celestial veils of thought. Abstracted heavenward. Creeps a little boat. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 123 Along the j^ath of evening's golden smile, To where the shatter' d castle on its isle 105 May seem a broad-wing'd ship ; two massive tow'rs Lifted against the yellow light that pours On half the lough and sloping fields, — half-laid, Creek, bush, and crag, within the mountain shade. Dark bramble-leaves now show a curling fringe, no And sallies wear the first autumnal tinge ; "With speckled plumes high wave the crowded reeds, Amongst whose watery stems the mallard feeds. Full many a time, on deep Lough Braccan's wave, Has Neal inveigled from its liquid cave, 115 With youthful comrades, in a fragile keel, The pike, the perch, the trout, the twisting eel ; Alone, and musingly, he glides to-day. Has fish'd an hour in vain, and coil'd his line away. The coble beach' d at lonely Innisree 120 High at a rifted window, musing free ' sallies,' or sallows {salix.) 124 CHAPTER SIX : On ancient sky and water, freshly fair, A poet's or a painter's rich, despair, And on the fame of olden times, which threw Across the firm world a transcendent hue, 125 Xo more with petty toils and cares dismay'd, The young man watch'd that glowing landscape fade. South-westward, where th' autumnal sun went down, A lake-reflected headland heaved its crown Of darkling trees, and, knew you where to search, 130 The hoary ruins of a little church, That mingled there with human skulls and bones The mossy downfall of its sculptured stones ; While, like one poem scatheless and sublime Amid the vast forgetfuluess of Time, 135 Slender and tall a Round Tower's pointed crest Rose dimly black against the gorgeous west. Methinks I stand with ISTeal, and, wide-eyed, gaze Far through the wondrous world of former days. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. ] 25 In clear-obscure extends th.' Ogygian Isle, 140 Deep-forested, but lit with many a smile Of lake and river, and empurpling air, The mantle of its mountains ; wolf and bear In rocky cave and wild-wood shadow skulk ; Free rove the stag and heavy-headed elk; 145 Broad plain and valley spread their brilliant green, With pathless fen and sombre moor between ; The changeful waste of ocean circling all ; Whose tides in frith and channel flow and fall To dance the wild man's curragh, — till, some day, 150 Poops of strange wing are gliding up his bay ; An era, whilst he stares with dread and wonder, Closes its portals, without crash of thunder ; Portals to us (yet siin and moon were bright) That seem the barriers of a realm of night. 155 At history's dawn, the sons of the great east, Gigantic, spectral, doubtful, move in mist, Old Afi'ic, Scythic, or Phenician fames, ' curragh,' or coracle, a little boat of hide stretched on wicker. 126 CHAPTER SIX : N'emidians and Fomorians, dusky names, Firbolgs, Danaans, and Milesians proud, — 160 Fair shadowy queens, like floating forms of cloud, With rugged Kings, Druids white-raimented, A thin gold crescent on each awful head, Sage Brehons, Bards, and Minstrels ; and a roar Of hattles, like a sea on distant shore, 165 Sounds from the mighty hollow of the Past. Let the huge stones be desolate ; the last Man's blood smoke up to Crom. That solemn night Of Beltane, when King Layorie's hand must light The mystic blaze on Tara first of all, 170 Behold on distant hill, at twilight-fall, A fire, — for which the penalty is death. Whilst frowning Druids pour i3rophetic breath. Spears bring the malefactor ; on whose face Of heavenly calm, doth every prince in place 175 Mute-wondering stare, until with awe-struck sense 'Crom,' a pagan deity. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 127 Horc, son of Dego, 'boAvs in reverence Before Saint Patrick. Slave, he herded swine In Dalaradia once ; the will divine, By messengers at midnight when he dream'd, 180 Bade him return to Ireland, and it seem'd, At Tours within Saint Martin's cloister-waU, He heard the voices of the Irish call, — ' "We pray thee come to us ! ' loving, mild, And docile people ! — as to parent, child, 185 To Patrick, Bridget, fearless ColumhkiU, Knelt aU the land. 'Their bones one grave do fill,' A luckless land at length ; a grave much wrong'd. Meantime, for learning and religion throng'd All Europe to the furthest western isle, 190 With many a studious and monastic pile Thick-sown, and many a blessed man she sent To bring the souls of people nourishment Tii kingdoms far away. But ships came forth 128 CHAPTER SIX : For plunder, from the pagan pii'ate North, 195 Who tore this isle ; and these were not the worst. Dermot MaclSIurrough, be thy name accurst ! And, wert thou Pope (as Pope thou wast indeed), Thine, JSTicholas Breakspeare ! who to N'orman greed Sold what to neither could belong of right. 200 Strongbow, De Courcy, many a mail-clad knight, Drive in the wedge of steel with stalwart blows ; Vainly the saffron-shirted kerns oppose With axe and sling, their feet and bosoms bare, No helmet but their matted glibbs of hair; 205 Vain the swift javelin, vain the furious rush On bareback'd horses from deep woods, to crush The Sassenach j slow lives of plotting pain, Outbursts of fever'd frenzy, all are vain. King Brian he is dead, who smote the Dane. 210 Alas, no bond the troubled chieftains know To weld their strength against the common foe ; • 'glibb,' the natural hair grown in a thick mass. NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 129 Each power in turn promoted and suppress' d, Through Desmond, Thomond, Brefney, and the West. Edwards and Henrys waste the land by turns, 215 The bloated king her ancient worship spurns, Entrench'd within the fortress of her frill His sour-faced daughter works her shrewish will, Cajoles or strikes, unpitying, to destroy Fraternal patriotism, her worst annoy. 220 Ultonia last its undulating fields And dark-blue mountains to th' invader yields ; From far Tyrconnell, like a northern gale, O'Donnell sweeps upon the English Pale ; O'Neill defends the passes of Tyrone ; — 225 Last of the princes, these are also gone. Let pedant James now part the plunder' d lands, And chaffer out his bag of Bloody Hands ; Let slippery Charles depute his squire, Black Tom ; The blacker 'Curse of Cromwell' spread its gloom; 230 From Orange "William sneaking Shemus fly, K 130 CHAPTER SIX : And brave men for a coward vainly die ; Where slaughter ends let treachery begin ; Ireland must lose, no matter who may win ; Derided in her torture and her tears, 235 In sullen slavery dragging hopeless years ; Of social ties mere cruel scoui'ges made ; A ban upon her learning and her trade ; Possessions, rights, religion, language, torn And crush'd by Law — a word to hate and scorn 240 For those taught English in oppression's school, And reading good words by the witches' rule ; A name for powerful wrong, with no appeal ; Since law at every moment made them feel To live an Irishman on Irish ground 245 The solo unpardonable crime was found. Island of bitter memories, thickly sown From winding Boyne to Limerick's treaty-stone, Bare Connaught Hills to Dublin Castle wall. Green Wexford to the glens of Donegal, 250 NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 131 Through, sad six hundred years of hostile sway, From Strongbow fierce to cunning Castlereagh ! These will not melt and vanish in a day. These can yet sting the patriot thoughts which turn To Erin's past, and bid them weep and burn. 255 The dusk has gather'd, vapour chill unfurls Down all the mountain-height, and creeps and curls Along the glens and edges of the lake, Like slumber on a mind still half-awake ; "While round the small and broken winding-stair 260 In the Avail's thickness, ^Neal descends with care, And stooping through the pointed arch Ijelow Is strongly seized by some expectant foe. He struggles hard, his elbows pinion' d tight, Bursts up, and writhes, and strains with all his might ; 265 Till now the hat from his assailant flies, And shows Tim lenity's merry-twinkling eyes, A Ribbonman of note, who oft has fill'd K 2 132 CHAPTER SIX : The stripling's ear with flattery not iinskiU'd. " Yourself, man ! — searchin' for the pot o' gold ? 270 " By japers, you're no aisy bird to hold ! " 'Tis you, Il^ail, not a spy, — I'm glad to see it. "Luck's in our meeting: now or never be it!" Tall, in the shadow of the ruin, stood A silent Stranger, draped in cloak and hood. 275 "Sir, I have heard of you!" — he took Ideal's hand; " We count on you to join our patriot band." " I'll join, sir 1 "— " On the minute ? "— " Yes ! "— " Well said !— " Doran, there's powerful interest at our head, " As by degrees you'll know, — but that must wait. 280 " I'm from the Grand Lodge, County Delegate. "Hats off! gi-ip tight the Gospels! — now attend, " And word for word say with me, to the end : "'I swear by the Most Holy Trinity " * A true and faithful Eibbonman to be ; 285 NEAL AT THE LOUGH. 133 " ' To do my best to strike off England's chain j " ' The poor against the rich man to sustain ; " ' Ever to help and never to betray " ' My brethren ; my superiors to obey " ' At all times, without question or delay, 290 " ' Pity or mercy. If I break this oath, " ' Destruction seize my soul and body both ! " ' Amen, by kiss ! Amen, by cross ! Amen ! ' " Here is your card. To-morrow night at ten. " The place Shawn Roe's. King Malachi the pass." 29.'5 "Il^ow come," the other says, "one christnin' glass. " Brother, your noble health ! — You've done what's right. "There's more to tell you, ISTeal, to-morrow night. " We'll then admit, in form and order due ; "And proud the boys will be, at sight of you." .300 Both boats lay dark where ivy-trailers hid A little cavern, whence the coble slid Into the dim expansive lough, and broke 134 CHAPTER SIX. Its hush'd and starry dream with rippling stroke, No other sonnd between the earth and sky 305 Save trom the misty shore, the plover's cry. But shortening days that flit on silent wing Xear and more near the fate of Tullagh bring. Has Pigot shown relentment? "Out they go!" Says Pigot, and will keep his tryst they know. .310 When Bloomfield sought to move his uncle's mind, ^ 'Twas vainly : " Pigot's views are right, you'll find. ■> "Pigot has vast experience — thirty years'. ■ '}!N^o wise man with his agent interferes > "At such a crisis; strengthen well his hands, 315 'v,. " Good sense . advises, honour too demands. -I "Your trusty general, Avith the foe in face, "Would you, on little cause or none, disgrace? "Ihis is no time — " "But /be," said Laurence, " why?" — "Such is the world," Sir Flick made reply, 320 "At least in Ireland here: I wish I knew " j\[uch less about it : how I envy you ! " LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IX IRELAND. CHAPTER YII. TENANTS AT WILL. LAITPvENCE BLOOMEIELD IN lUELAND. VII. TENANTS AT WILL.- The steady world pursued its common way Yet some good luck, before that evil day, Might intercept the hand outstretch'd to tear Those cottage roofs, and leave their hearthstones bare. If coming ills be distant half a mile, 5 Poor Paddy can forget, and gaily smile. From carelessness, or fatalism, or sense Profound of overruling Providence. But Pigot's ruddy cheek and sharp black eye Display no softer hint, as months go by ; 10 138 CHAPTER SEVEN : And now tlie trembling tenants whisper sad, — " Queen of Heaven ! and would lie be so bad ? •' And will they send us begging, young and old, " And seize the fields, and make the fixesides cold, " Wbere, God's our witness, poor enough we live, 15 " But still content with what the Lord may give, " Our hearts with love and veneration tied " To where our fathers' fathers lived and died?" Or else more fiercely, — '"Tis our native land! " But cruel tyrants have us at command, 20 " To let us grow, if best it serves their needs, " Or tear and cast us forth like poison-weeds. " The law's their implement : who make the law 1 '• The rich men for the rich, and leave no flaAV. " And what's the poor man's part ? to drudge and sweat 25 " For food and shelter. Does the poor man get " Bare food and shelter 1 — praties, cabin, rags. '' Now fling him out to famish — or he drags " His weary body to that gaol and grave TENANTS AT WILL. 139 " The Poorliouse ; — he must live and die a slave, 30 " Toil; starve, and suffer, creep, and crouch, and crawl, " Be cursed and trampled, and submit to all, " "Without one murmur, one rebellious trace " Among the marks of misery on his face!" Each tongue around old Oona feared to tell 35 The great misfortune, worse than yet befeU. In all her length of journey. When they tried To move her — "Would they take her life V she cried ; At which it rested, hap what happen might. And scarcely one, in trutli, prepared for flight ; 40 Contempt of prudence, anger, and despair. And vis inertice, kept them as they were ; " God and the world will see it," — so they said, " Let all the wrong be on the doer's head ! " In early morning twilight, raw and chill, 45 Damp vapours brooding on the barren hill, Through miles of mire in steady grave array uo CHAPTER SEVEN Tlireescore well-arm'd police pursue their way ; Each tall and bearded man a rifle swings. And under each greatcoat a bayonet clings ; 50 The Sheriff on his sturdy cob astride Talks with the Chief, who marches by their side, And, creeping on behind them, Paudeen Dhu Pretends his needful duty much to rue. Six big-boned labourers, clad in common frieze, 55 Walk in the midst, the Sheriff"s staunch allies; Six crow-bar-men, from distant county brought, — Orange, and glorying in their work, 'tis thought. But wrongly, — churls of Catholics are they. And merely hired at half-a-crown a day. 60 The Hamlet clustering on its hill is seen, A score of petty homesteads, dark and mean ; Poor always, not despairing until now ; Long used, as well as poverty knows how. With life's oppressive trifles to contend. 65 This day will bring its history to an end. TENANTS AT WILL. 141 Moveless and grim against the cottage walls Lean a few silent men : but some one calls Far off; and then a child 'without a stitch' Euns out of doors, flies back with piercing screech, 70 And soon from hou^se to house is heard the cry Of female sorrow, swelling loud and high, Which makes the men blaspheme between their teeth. Meanwhile, o'er fence and watery field beneath. The little army moves through drizzling rain ; 75 A ' Crowbar ' leads the Sheriff's nag ; the lane Is enter' d, and their plashing tramp draws near ; One instant, outcry holds its breath to hear ; "Halt!" — at the doors they form in double line. And ranks of polish' d rifles wetly shine. 80 The Sheriff's painful duty must be done ; He begs for quiet — and the work's begun. The strong stand ready ; now appear the rest, Girl, matron, grandsire, baby on the breast, And Kosy's thin face on a pallet borne ; 85 142 CHAPTER SEVEN : A motley concourse, feeble and forlorn. One old man, tears upon liis wrinkled cheek, Stands trembling on a threshold, tries to speak, But, in defect of any word for this, Mutely upon the doorpost prints a kiss, 90 Then passes out for ever. Through the crowd The children run bewilder' d, wailing loud ; Wliere needed most, the men combine their aid ; And, last of all, is Oona forth convey' d, Reclined in her accustom'd strawen chair, 95 Her aged eyelids closed, her thick white hair Escaping from her cap ; she feels the chill. Looks round and murmurs, then again is still. Xow bring the remnants of each household tire ; On the wet ground the hissing coals expire ; 100 And Paudeen Dhu, with meekly dismal face, Eeceives the full possession of the place. Whereon the Sheriff, " We have legal hold. TENANTS AT WILL. 143 " Eeturn to shelter with the sick and okl. " Time shall be given ; and there are carts below 105 " If any to the workhouse choose to go." A young man makes him answer, grave and clear, " We're thankful to you ! but there's no one here " Going back into them houses : do your part. " 'Nov we won't trouble Pigot's horse and cart." iio At which name, rusliing into th' open space, A woman flings her hood from off her face, Falls on her knees upon the miiy ground. Lifts hands and eyes, and voice of thrilHng sound, — "Vengeance of God Almighty fall on you, 115 " James Pigot ! — may the poor man's curse pursue, " The widoAv's and the orphan's curse, I pray, " Hang heavy round you at your dying day!" Breathless and fix'd one moment stands the crowd To hear this malediction fierce and loud. 120 Meanwhile (our neighbour Neal is busy there) On steady poles be lifted Oona's chair. 144 CHAPTER SEVEN : Well-heap'd with borrow'd mantles ; gently bear The sick girl in her litter, bed and all ; Whilst others hug the children weak and small 125 In careful arms, or hoist them pick-a-back ; And, 'midst the unrelenting clink and thwack Of iron bar on stone, let creep away The sad procession from that hill-side gray. Through the slow-falling- rain. In three hours more 130 You find, where Ballytullagh stood before, Mere shatter' d walls, and doors with useless latch, And firesides buried under fallen thatch. The Doran household, shadow'd with dismay, Can still perform a pious part to-day ; 135 Jack Doran's mother, now deceased a year, Was Oona's cousin ; Oona's welcomed here ; !N"or will her grandson in his duty fail, Though now across the sea compell'd to sail. TENANTS AT WILL. 145 " Man, woman, child, — they're gone, dear ! " Mary said, 140 " And here we sit and mourn them like the dead. " It falls like death, as cowld upon the heart, " For kin and kindly neighbours thus to part. '• There won't be one face left we used to know, " 'Not one companion out of long-ago. 145 " The good oul' people ! — why should this befall ? " Och, murneen boys and girls, where are ye aU 1 " Through the wide world they're scatter'd, farcer gair ! " Sarch for them, barrin' Ireland, everywhere. " Sure Ireland once was blest, — and was she curst 150 " Since thenl or what has made her last and worst 1 " The Heretics that robb'd the Church, some say : " But glory be to God, aniin, this day !" — For gentle Maureen seldom said so much ; And this was theme too perilous to touch. 15-5 murneen, darling. fareer ga ir .' bitter grief ! L 146 CHAPTER SEVEN : So was tlie little Hamlet's crowd at last WhiiTd off like leaves before misfortune's blast. Some from a seaport, and tlieir lot the best, On Ifeptune's Highway foUoVd, east or west, The myriads of their kindred gone before, — 160 If Irish still, yet Ireland's nevermore. Some Avander'd through the country; some went down. Like Eose, to back-lane lodgings in the Town ; And some to those high-built repulsive walls Where Doctor Larmour paid his daily calls. 165 Dispensary and workhouse own'd his care, An Antrim Presbyterian, short and spare. Quick, busy, cool ; with lancet or with pill Acknowledged first in ^^sculapian skill. Catholicism he openly despised, 170 But ailing Papists cleverly advised. And men of every creed his talent prized. Him Bloomfield knew. For Ballytullagh's fall The Doctor's pity, Bloomfield found, was small. TENANTS AT WILL. 147 " They lived in filth, perpetual sickness bred, 175 " Lazy of hand, and obstinate of head ; " Gave rent too much for all they really made, " Being well-nigh savage in the farming trade, " Too small for what they w^asted and o'erran. " At risk of bloodshed let another plan 180 " Improvement, lawful owner though he be, — " Mere owner ! what the devil right has he ? " Poorer, of course, they could not fail to grow ; " But humble, willing to be taught ? no ! " See vice and crime and folly now array'd 185 " Conspirators, in ragged masquerade ; " Erin-go-hragh ! — yet, scoundrels ten times worse, " And more deserving the true patriot's curse " Than these poor scurvy rogues, are some who claim " With public voice the patriot's lofty name ; 190 " That mimber, soaring on the rabble's yell ; " This journalist, his rotten page to sell ; " Or briefless barrister, whose frantic word, " A cry for victuals, must and will be heard. L 2 1 48 CHAPTER SEVEN : "Ireland, forsooth, 'a nation once again!' 195 " If Ireland was a nation, tell me when? " For since the civil modern world began " What's Irish History ? Walks the child a man 1 " Or strays he still perverse and immature, " Weak, slothful, rash, irresolute, unsure; 200 '• Right bonds rejecting, hugging rusty chains, " Nor one clear view, nor one bold step attains 1 " What Ireland might have been, if wisely school' d, " I know not : far too briefly Cromwell ruled. " We see the melting of a barbarous race, 205 " Sad sight, I grant, sir, from their ancient place ; " But always, everywhere, it has been so ; " Red-Indians, Bushmen, Irish, — they must go !" The Doctor harshly spoke ; yet did his best To cure the sick, and comfort the distress'd ; 210 And tended Rosy kindly, — to whose aid A rill of Bloomfield's bounty he convey'd. TENANTS AT WILL. 149 Those, too, with less to spare, and those with nought, To this poor girl their friendly succour brought. Here in a neighbouring house, but whence no noise 215 Can reach her, some well-wishing girls and boys Have clubb'd their moneys, raffling for a shawl ; Of Rose's other shreds the pawn has all. Three simple pence entitle to a throw ; Down on a slate the names and numbers go ; 220 The wooden cubes mark'd with a red-hot Avire (No better dice or dice-box they require) In old tin porringer flung rattling fast, A warmer interest watches every cast ; " Follie' your han' !" "You're lucky, throw for me !" 225 " More power !" "Tim Eyan has it— fifty-three !" Then silver, copper, mix'd, a bulky pound Makes haste to Eosy, feebly turning round With grateful smile ; and back the shawl comes too, The winner swearing 'twas for her he threw. 230 150 CHAPTER SEVEN : Meanwliile, no raffle ends without a dance : ]\Iy boy, choose out a partner, and advance To ask the fiddler for her favourite tune, Slipping into his hand the penny boon ; PoWioge, or Washerwoman, let him play, 235 Heart of my Kitty, or The Fields in May ; She makes a pretty quibbling with her toes, But he his agile power untiring shows In many a double-shuffle, stamp and fling ; Xor slack in praises are the crowded ring, — 240 " Success to both ! — my boul' you Avor' ! — ay that I " Don't spare him, Peggy dear! — Hurroo for Pat!" They meet, change sides, the rapid steps renew, A second wind insjiires the fiddler too, Till Colleen Dhas, well-flush'd in cheek, but grave 245 As courtly dames in minuets behave. Signals ; when hand in hand the two give o'er, Bow to the music, and resign the floor ; Where other pairs achieve with equal zeal The busy jig, or winding four-hand reel. 250 TENANTS AT WILL. 151 The dance-house, all the better for being bare, Its broken roof admitting fresher air, This poor and merry company befits ; With jest and mimicry and clash of wits Con 'Pastime' keeps them laughing long and loud ; 255 Sweethearts di-aw close together in the crowd ; Gay groups of damsels, gather'd near the door Banter to death each awkward bachelor, And dart some flying jokes at Denis Coyle, Whose travell'd wit such weapons well can foil, 2G0 For, do their utmost, Denis wiU not dance. And slips away upon the earliest chance. But all is not amusement. jSTear to these Stands one at watch; and ever when he sees A man expected, pushing through the line, 265 By look or touch conveys a rapid sign. As Denis goes, the grip salutes his hand Wliich greets a Brother of the Midnight Band; And soon the whisper none may safely slight 152 CHAPTER SEVEX : TENANTS AT WILL. Commands his presence on to-morrow niglit 270 With hour and place ; for Neal and Denis both Have sworn the Eibbonman's unla'W'ful oath. The dark and lonely street yonng Denis treads, With mind confused, and fill'd with shapeless dreads ; Where Doctor Larmonr's lamp shoots forth a ray, 275 He shuns the light, and slinks across the way. LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. CHAPTER VTII. 4 A RIBBON LODGE. LAUEENCE BLOOMEIELD IN lEELAND. VIII. A RIBBON LODGE. At Lisnamoy, my friendly reader, deign 1 To pick your steps along a narrow lane, And stop at Matthew Gorman's dirty door. A sow is lodger upon Mat's ground-floor, And grunts a welcome ; foUow me with care, 5 I'll guide you up the dark, the shaky stair ; And here is MattheAv's schooboom, — rather say It was, for now its glory's past away, Though still a night-school struggles to exist For boys of larger growth, a bearded list. 10 Not merely copybooks are written there, 156 CHAPTER eight: J^ot much for reading do the students care, Except the Firebrand, redd aloud by Mat, A lazy, pompous man, unclean, and fat ; And oft goes round, when learning proves too dry, 15 A jar that never met the ganger's eye. Big is the hearth, the fire is mostly small, Eough desks and benches range along the wall, The panes are patch'd with inky leaf and clout ; A useiul though unsavoury pile without 20 May help again, as it has help'd before, Eetreat more quick and private than by door, 'Mong filthy narrov/ yards and tumbling walls. To Matthew's house to-night, as twilight falls, With passwords, from the lane, and grip of hand, 25 By ones and twos arrive a secret band, — " Where are you from?" " South-aist." "The night is dark." " A star will shortly rise." " You know the mark"?" ** Milesius must be ready." "AYhat's your sign?" A RIBBON LODGE. 157 '• Lamhdearg an onghUr V ^'- Tuhhermore is mine: 30 " Pass, brother." Past the sow, and up the stair, They grope through darkness into ruddy glare, The two old grimy windows, looking back. Being curtain'd for the nonce -with plies of sack. The Lodge is filling fast ; in various groups 35 Lounge Captain Starlight's famed and dreadful troops ; Two score in count at last, the most of whom Are young and brainless, till the stifling room. Beside the door, a knot of ' labour in'-boys,' The farmer these, and those the squire employs, 40 Yawn wide and mope, till whiskey in their brain Kindle its foolish fire, with flashes vain Wrapt in dull smoke, to" send them blundering back O'er field and fence upon their homeward track. From outhouse loft, at need, or barnfloor bed, 45 The clumsy body and the stupid head Lainh dearg an mighier, the red hand uppermost. Tubbermore, the Great Well (name of a place). 1 58 CHAPTEE EIGHT : Escape, with matchljox, or with stick in fist, To burn or batter as their leaders list, With knife to maim the cows, or loaded gun To rake a peaceful window, and to run. 50 A broken tradesman's aspect of disgrace, Torn coat, big eyes, and pale unwashen face, Shrink in a corner. Bold sits Bill McCann, The keen, small, wither' d, disputatious man, With spectacles on nose, and cpid in jaw, 55 Eeady to argue histh'ry, po'thry, law, Eeligion, science, or the latest news. Bill earns his frugal crust by making shoes; Debate his recreation, — most of all With 'Lordy' Mullan glad to try a fall. 60 But now to Diihlin Firebrand Bill gives heed. As Mat in solemn voice goes on to read : " Who plotted for a famine 1 who was gay " To see the Celtic millions melt away, ' Lord}',' a hunchback. A RIBBON LODGE. 159 " Foodless and fever'd, wliile tlieir native soil 65 " Outpour'd the wealthy produce of their toil? " Answer, Lord Eiissell, answer ! — King of Heav'n ! " Must Ireland's flocks and herds be always driv'n " To glut the maw of England 1 must our corn " To her huge bursting granaries be borne 1 70 " And each hard penny saved from Paddy's rent " On Indian corn and English ships be spent 1 " "While year by year the London Rulers count " So many less in Ireland's gross amount " Of human beings, — on the other score, 75 " So many thousand sheep and oxen more. " England has no religion, has no heart ; " By force and fraud she plays a tyrant part ; " Fat in the purse, and torpid in the brain, ' Her prayer is pudding, and her God is gain ; 80 " By all mistrusted, and abhorr'd by all ; "In power unblest — unpitied be her fall!" Some harken'd well ; but others, growling round. The voice of Mat in rising murmurs drown'd. 1 60 CHAPTER EIGHT : " It's grand, by japers ! " — "But the night gets late." 85 " Is it for Coyle and Doran we must wait ? " " I dunno', Barney ; be du hiist ! see yonder — " What can thim two be talkin' of, I wonder." Captain and Delegate, in muttering speech, With cool but searching glances, each at each, 90 Stand by the hearth. Big, elderly, and spare, With serious begging-letter-writer's air, Some thin locks train' d across his yeUow skull, His features large, yet all the lines are dull. Small watery eyes, but not a watery nose, 95 Huge fungoid ears, harsh skin befitting those, O'er many countries has the ' Delegate,' Through by-paths foul, by unheroic fate Been hounded ; greedy, discontented, coarse, Mean, bragging, cringing, full of bad resource ; lOO A man that never could have turn'd to good, (But might have been to harmlessness subdued) And to a base perfection rankly grew, A living lie, a falsehood through and through. A RIBBON LODGE. 161 Alone by natural cowardice restrain'd, 105 "VVitli blood no less his trembling hands are stain' d, By murderer, hangman, he in turn has gain'd. 'None trusts him less than he with whom he speaks, That light-built, long-neck'd man with 'brocket' cheeks. Spoilt priest, attorney's extra clerk, and then no Sub-tax-collector, handy with his pen, But self-conceited, and too sharp of tongue, Chance after chance Tim Xulty lost, while young, And now upon a farm (too dear at best), His brother's transfer when he sail'd out West, 115 Tim poorly keeps a spouse and children fiv^e, And also keeps perpetual war alive "With all above him, caring not the least For landlord, agent, lawyer, parson, priest ; Yet talk with Tim, as any stranger might, 120 You'd find him pleasant, lively, shrewd, polite. With liberal notions, and could scarcely guess The Eibbon Parish-Master, — Tim's no less. M 162 CHAPTER EIGHT : Who next among the various crowd are seen? That brisk old hoy, distiller of x)otheen, 125 A Connaught-iQan, mellifluous of tongue, Most plausible of cheating knaves unhung. Supple, inquisitive, and tough as wire. Son Jack, a heavy youth in coarse attire, Begotten by the evil in his sire, 130 Sits next his father, resolute but tame ; His mode of life adventurous in its frame, He's still no better than a lumpish clod, (As doth a mu^le through alpine passes j^lod) "Well train'd on moonless nights to watch the still, 135 When light peat-smoke upon the heathery hill Creeps among rocks and brambles from its cave, And o'er the dark world, silent as a grave. The sentry strains his ear for warning shout Or whistle shrill from valley-guarding scout, i4o Till now the moment long-delay'd bids rush Theu" fiery liquor forth in fragrant gush, Full quickly tasted. All to-night shall taste A RIBBON LODGE. 163 The recent venture. Eoger cries, "Make haste!" A i^erilons ruffian, black-broVcl, strongly built, 145 And through whose face the demon of his guilt AVith bulldog's winking eyes of sulky flame Scowls at the world, and knows not fear or shame. His voice, like all the man, is coarse and rough, — " Why bluranages, Mattha' ! where's th.e stuff?"— 150 "A lad or two that jined us t'other day, " We're waitin' for."—" Ismail Doran ? "— " So they say,"— " And Dinis Coyle." — To blazes wid the pair ! " — " Doran," — says one, " consated cub, I'd swear. — " Larnin ! " say others, "What is he to Dan 1 155 "And sure he's giandson to a beggarman." " See Phil — where are you, Phil 1 — descinded straight, " Or crooked, from King Flanthach ; what consate " Has Phil at any time 1 he'll stand a trate M 2 164 CHAPTER eight: " All roun' if lie has money, — won't yon, Pliil 1 " 160 — " We'll taclie them better manners, so we will." "Dan, "ivhisper, are yon bringin' down the jarl" "The divil saze them both!" — "Wliisht! here they are." Sharp-toned his voice, decision on his brow, "With sndden gesture stepping forward now, 165 Their Captain ('Order ! silence !') takes the chair, And keeps his hat, while other heads are bare. " All doors well-tiled and truly 1 — I declare " The Lodge is ojien. Murty, call the roll. " I'll punish all defaulters, by my soul ! 170 " And now, reports : Young Pat Devanny saw " Our friend the Scotchman, Alexander Shaw, " Buying a gun in Lisnamoy last week. " James Houlahan, the Bear, intends to seek " For part of Tullagh ; James must get a hint ; 175 " We'll write him on a coffin, in large print. " Four boys will execute the sentence pass'd A RIBBON LODGE, 165 " On Jemmy Burke, convicted at our last " Of sending in proposals for a farm " At Meenabo ; they'll do him little harm ; ISO " Dry-beating only, this time. Next fair-day " Help from, beyond is coming down our- way. " Burke, with his two brown colts will stand the faii', " You, Quigly, you, O'Toole, must both be there, " To keep aU day a cat's eye on your man, 185 " And put some whiskey in him if you can. " You, Doran, that he won't suspect, must draw, " With two strange lads (they're men you never saw) " Alongside Jemmy, take him by the hand, " Call out his name, you know, and make him stand, 190 " Until the boys are sure of Mister Burke ; " Then go your ways for once ; they'll do the work." Some brethren laugh' d, but all turn'd round to stare On Doran's face with keen and hideous glare. " This was submitted and approved. All's right. 195 ' You'll get your passwords upon Tuesday night ; 166 CHAPTER EIGHT: " Next day at three o'clock attend the scout." Say some, " He hardly likes the job, I doubt." " Why, blood an' ouns, !N"ail Doran, you're afear'd !"— " Are you a stagg V — and so they scowl'd and jeer'd. " No stagg ! " says fiery Denis ; " on my troth 201 " The word, Jack Farry, ill becomes your mouth." "Who cares for you?" Jack Farry quick replies. " Be done, you blasted fool !" the Captaia cries, " Attention ! silence all ! — I now declare 205 " The Lodge is closed. Be lively Mat, and share, " The little drop of whiskej^ ; glorious news " Next night, plase God, — and then we'll have a booze." " What news,"—" Oul' Bigot's wages tv^II be paid,"— 209 " Ay, troth ! well arn'd, and long enough delay' d." —"When is it?" some one whispers. "Be du hust ! Be du hust, be silent. A RIBBON LODGE. 167 " The Grand Heads must approve it, so they must. — " And what about young Larry 1 " — " Soon we'll hear. " He's well-watch' d in the manetime, niver fear." The Captain show'd impatience, but the rest 215 Would fain have linger' d o'er the fiery zest. " Come, Dan, at all evints, a toast, a toast ! " Dan Mullan being as orator their boast ; A little man with shoulders set awry. Huge head, flat nose, a grey and furious eye ; 220 Lame in one leg, he limps upon a stick, Yet few with all their limbs can move so quick; Daniel's chief joy is hearing Daniel speak ; Strong words are his, though utter'd in a squeak ; And first he flings a fiery glance around, 225 Like chief to warriors on the battle-ground. " Spake up, Dan ! " — " Mount him on a chair ! " — " Whirroo ! " " Audience for Danel ! " " Drink, ye pathriot crew. 168 CHAPTER eight: " Our frinds in sweet Ameriky an' France ! "To liberate us may -they quick advance, 230 " An' with five hundre' tliousan' Paddies bould, " The Sunburst on their great green flag unrowl'd, " Sweep every Enghshman from say to say " Into perdition ! — trice glorious day ! — " Immortal cause of Ayrin ! — ^broadsoord, pike, 235 " An' faugh-a-hallagh, boys ! we'U nobly strike " For libertee, for " So the shrill-voiced Dan, . "With furious gestures like a frantic man ; When lo, the crazy chair whereon he stood (Wliich also felt oppress' d, although but wood) 240 Eesolving suddenly to bear no more, Demosthenes lay sprawlmg on the floor. His friends approved the soaring words employ 'd, The speaker's downfall they still more enjoy' d, With shouts of laughter each prolong'd the fvm ; 245 But shatter' d lay theu' glass, their only one. fcmgh-a-hallagh, clear the way A RIBBON LODGE. 1G9 • A broken teacup soon supplied the want; Then oozed the mob away, as drink was scant. The Delegate, the Captain, and three more, Eemain'd behind : they lock'd and barr'd the door : Wheels within wheels. The others into night, 251 Some to the merry wakehouse took their flight. The crowded wake of Rose Muldoon, poor child, Whose face upon the pillow, pale and mild. On all her troubles now serenely smiled. 255 Meantime the secret Five their business do. And quickly, for the Captain's words are few. He pulls a scrap of paper from Ms breast. And beckons round him, with a nod, the rest, — " Here is our answer,' boys," — (below his breath) 260 " Verdict approved on Pigot : sentence Death : " Ourselves to fix a proper time and way. " Our spies, you know, are watchin' every day, " Moreover, trusty help is close at hand ; " The sirangei'S are in town : you understand. 265 170 CHAPTER EIGHT : " They only have a certain while to stop ; " First chance that conies, we'll take it at the hop. " Meet the Fair-day, my boys, in any case ; " Pass number twenty — usual hour and place." The night before, when Eose was * taken bad, 270 * The crathur ! ' off her father ran like mad For Father Austin. " Blessed Saints ! " they say, " He'll hardly overtake her ! — that he may ! — " Och Wirrastrua !" — and this awe increased Moment by moment, till the grave young jiriest 275 Arriving quickly, set their minds at rest. Alone with him, the dying girl confess'd Her slender sins ; then touch' d with sacred oil. The timid soul from terror to assoyle, In Bridget's arms her weary head reposed, 280 And Bridget's hands ere long her eyelids closed. All knew, all cross'd themselves with pious care. And help'd the parting spirit wdth a prayer, Wirrastrua ! Mary who art merciful ! A RIBBON LODGE 171 The candles soon were liglited for the wake ; The father saw the tedious morning break, 285 "With Bridget, and old women two or three. Who propp'd their eyelids with perpetual tea. But this night is the great night ; throng enough In two small rooms, with pipes and plates of snufF, Laughter and conversation without end. 290 Young Keal, and Denis Coyle his sturdy friend. Have separate chairs, in token of respect. Dan MuUan warms upon the sad effect Of landlords' and their agents' cruel sway In Eosy s early death, — " Look round, I say ! 295 " A white and purty corpse she's lying there, — " By these five crosses solemnly I swear " The girl was murther'd ! " Eeason as you will, You could not have escap'd the sudden thrill "Which aU who heard, and JSTeal not slightliest felt. Yet cautiously his cooler judgment dealt, 301 five crosses— made by laying together the fingers of both hands. 172 CHAPTEB EIGHT ; While hasty rhetoric in confused debate, HeajD'd on its bulky rubbish, of no weight. Their own affairs, he saw, they managed ill; Their cliief projGlciency, to lie with sldll, 805 Ev'n to each other. For this very wake, To which he gave his mite for Eosy's sake, Her lazy father, Doran knew full well, What came to hand would never fairly tell. «' Eloomfield 1 Avho'd ax the tyrant's help ! "— " My plan 310 " Would be to take it aff them where we can." " Whisper ! — he ax'd, and got it too." — " How much ? "— " Wliat signifies it ] aisy thing for such, " Danderin' about the worl' wid pockets full " 0' what they niver arn'd, to sometimes pull 315 " Their han' out." — " True enough ; but don't ye think " Muldoon is boun' to show a drop o' drink 1 " — " Av coorse he is, and that we'll make him do, A RIBBON LODGE. 173 "But later in the evenin' — thigemthu?^' — Though Xeal and Denis had thought well to come, 320 They never tried to make themselves at home With this Muldoon, an idle craving sot, Complaining always of his self-made lot. View'd from above, the People, widely spread, Appear a vast and level plain, but tread 325 The lower country, hill and vale are found, Brooks, thickets, fences, intersect the ground j The Many, if with careful eyes you seek. Among themselves show also class and clique ; Xor fail'd the friends of Bridget to oppose, 330 At first, her playing nurse's part by Eose. *' I thought so," said the Doctor. " Hum ! — I see — " You gave it, Mr. Bloomfield, on the plea " Of burial charges ; but it went astray. " One can't believe a single word they say. 335 " Muldoon had quite enough for proper ends ; 4 thigemtMij do you understand. 174 CHAPTER EIGHT : " You made him drimk with all his mourning friends. "The child was long upon my hands ; and now " I've plaster'd up the foolish father's brow, " Who ran his useless head against a wall 340 '-' When staggering homewards from the funeral. " Heed him no further ; let him go his gate, " And reach the workhouse, better soon than late, " His lawful refuge, and his fitting fate." The corpse from door of poverty was borne, 345 And yet, of fimeral honours not forlorn. Although ]\Iuldoon himself was never sworn, There march'd the Lodge, from greatest man to least. Her coffin lifted, and would pay the priest. The heavy bell, which stopt the hearer's breath, 350 At every boom loaded the day with death. His Curate on his right hand, Priest Adair Sprinkled the water, said the rapid pray'r. Clay fell on clay. Some laielt by cross or stone Before they too departed, leaving lone 355 A RIBBON LODGE. 175 The riiin'd cloisters, haunted of the wind, Low-murmuring secrets which no man can find. Tim Nulty hasted homewards, to compose A timely burst of dithyrambic prose, ' Another Victim' ; will he sign the letter 360 ' Eman-ac-knuck ?' would * Nemesis ' be better? — Proudly shall Tim l^ehold his eloquent rage Emblazon' d on the Firebrand's classic page, Abeady fierce on Ballytullagh's woe, And 'Tiger Pigot ' or 'The Poor Man's Foe.' 365 Eman-ac-kiiuck,' Ned of the Hills, an Irish brigand. LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. CHAPTER IX. THE FA IB. N LAURENCE BLOOMEIELD IN IRELAND. IX. THE FAIE. Ere yet the sun has dried on hedge and furze i Their silver veils of dewy gossamers, Along the winding road to Lisnamoy The drover trudges and the country hoy, With cows that fain would crop its fringe of sward, 5 And pigs, their hindfoot jerldng in a cord, And bleating sheep ; the farmer jogs his way, Or plies his staff, and legs of woollen gray ; The basket-hearing goodwives sloAvly move, White-capp'd, with colour'd kerchief tied above, 10 On foot, or in the cart-front placed on high N 2 180 CHAPTER NINE : To jolt along in lumbering luxury ; Men, women, pigs, cows, sheep, and horses tend One way, and to the Harvest Fair they wend ; Jack Doran with the rest, with sorry cheer, 15 Condemned at Pigot's Office to appear, — To him a place of awe, and doubt, and fear. 'Tis where the road-side rivulet expands, And every stone upon its image stands. The country maidens finish their attire, 20 Screen'd by the network of a tangled briar ; On grassy bank their shapely Hmbs indue With milk-white stocking and the well-black'd shoe, And court that mirror for a final grace With dazzHng ribbons nodding round their face. 25 Eehold our Bridget tripping to the fair; Her shawl is splendid, but her feet are bare ; Till, quick the little bundle here untied. The shoes come forth, the skirts are shaken wide, And Biddy enters Lisnamoy in pride; 30 THE FAIR. 181 Nor be it long ere Denis slie espies, To read her triumph, in his joyful eyes. But first of all, with calm submissive face, Beads in her hand, within the Holy Place She kneels, among the kneelers who adore 35 In sUent reverence on that mystic floor ; Then with a curtsey, and with symbol meet On brow and breast, returning to the street. Crowds push through Lisnamoy, shop, street, and lane, Archway, and yard, corn-store, and butter-crane. 40 Say, as we push, could anywhere be found A Town more ugly, ev'n on Irish ground 1 — With dwellings meanly low or meanly tall, With ragged roads, and harsh straight workhouse wall, With foul decrepit huts, and here and there 45 A roof half-stript and smoky rafters bare ; With churches that on rival mounts encamp, 182 CHAPTER NINE : One praised for neatness, one admired for pomp; This, which combines the gaudy and the mean, (Alas ! the white okl chapel on its green) 50 With misplaced ornament that leads your eye To note the baldness, like a wig awry ; Thcd, less prodigious, odious not the less, All prim and trim in tidy ugliness, A square box with a tall box at the end, 55 While through the wall a stove-pipe's arms extend. What more 1 these gates are wide, the passing pray'r Finds when it will a solemn welcome there ; Those gates are lock'd, the sexton lets you through, And shows for sixpence every empty pew ; 60 Here climbs a gilded cross above the roof, There turns a glittering weathercock aloof; Here, every day, the watchful power of Eome, The English rite on Sundays there at home. Clean police-barrack perch'd a-top the hill, C5 At foot the dusty slating of a mill, Townhall betwixt, with many a broken pane, THE PAIR. 183 A squat "Wesleyan chapel down a lane, Make up the total — which, though yoa despise, Kindles admiring awe in rustic eyes. 70 Mud hovels fringe the 'Fair-green' of this town, A spot misnamed, at every season brown, O'erspread with countless man and beast to-day, Which beUow, squeak, and shout, bleat, bray, and neigh. The 'jobbers' there, each more or less a rogue, 75 JSToisy or smooth, with each his various brogue, Cool wiry Dublin, Connaught's golden mouth. Blunt Northern, plaintive sing-song of the South, Feel cattle's ribs, or jaws of horses try For truth, since men's are very sure to lie, 80 And shun with parrying blow and practised heed The rushing horns, the wildly prancing steed. The moisten'd penny greets with sounding smack The rugged palm, which smites the greeting back ; Oaths fly, the bargain like a quarrel burns, 85 '184 CHAPTER KINE : And oft the buyer turns, and oft returns ; Now mingle Sassenach and Gaelic tongue ; On either side are slow concessions wrung ; An anxious audience interfere ; at last The sale is closed, and whiskey binds it fast, 90 In cave of quilting upon oziers bent. With many an ancient patch and breezy rent. This afternoon, within the largest tent Our Bridget sat, with Dem's by her side, A burly boy in youth's full strength and pride ; 95 A froth of poetry his ale-cup bore, For Bridget's sal^e he fierier draughts forswore ; Love over whiskey joying to prevail. She sipp'd a cordial, and he quaff'd strong ale. Her lover's trade was weeldy to escort 100 Dead pigs and butter to an eastern port, To glut the maw of England. "Could we keep " AU food at home, our food would then be cheap," Dan Mullan cried in oratorio flow, — THE FAIR. 185 "The very eggs we lay to England go!" 105 But Denis meanwhile profited, and crept From less to more while patriots groan'd and slept ; Three busy carts and horses of his OAvn Along the fifty miles of road were known, And village after village on the route . 110 Heard his loud whip fire oif a gay salute ; Farmer and housewife trusted him to sell, He sold and traded for himseK as well ; A sturdy generous nature, noway mean, All saw in him — 'tis ever gladly seen. 115 Children love truth, and men, though train' d to, lie, \jConfess the glowing power of honesty. /-> Thus let them rest in comfort, happy pair, While pedlars, tinkers, gamblers, 'work the fair,' Merchants of apples, cakes, and spoleen beef, 120 Most eloquent old-clothesman, silent thief; And beggars, thrusting out a blind man's chin, ' Or hideous crooked arm or leg, begin. 18G CHAPTER NINE : " Li Jesus', Mary's, and Saint Joseph's name, " Bestow your cliaritee ! I ax the same 125 " For your dear father's sowl, for your dear mother's, " If they have parted you — and for your brother's " And for your sister's sowl ; and that it may " Appear before the throne o' God this day " To draw thim out o' Purgathory's flame ! 130 "I ax it in the Holy Vargin's name ! " I pray that all your sins may be forgiven ! " And may the comfort and the light of Hiven " Eesave you and your people!" — few would miss For one poor ha'p'ny such a prayer as this. 135 Murder, and love, and treason, chanted strong By voices hoarsen' d with pterpetual song Draw each its group ; and ere the rustic buys, With open mouth to catch the strain he tries. Then pushing in a rudely bashful fist, 140 Crumples the ill-spelt paper. "\^lio'll enlist 1 Make way ! the Queen's recruiting party come. Red fluttering flag, assiduous fife and drum, THE PAIR. 187 The liauglity sergeant with drawn sword upright, And two bold swains, their caps with ribbons dight. 145 E'ow pass the Showmen, with a stronger noise Of music, and a greater rush of boys, To mount anew the platform, and invite Our tardy pence with all their main and might ; The small boy bangs the loud big drum again, 150 The wheezy pipes renew their shrill refrain, The shining ladies waltz with wondrous grace. Loud laughs Tom Fool, and twists his painted face, Till Irish Damon and his PhUlis do ' Walk up ' at last. In turn, well pleased, we view 155 The Peepshow, IsTut-gun, Loop, and. Fortune's Wheel, We daflf away young chapmen's fly-like zeal. Whips, pins, bootlaces, crying shrDl and loud. And slowly penetrate th' increasing crowd. To that worst corner of the noisy Fair 160 In which the furious Tinkers thump and swear. Who lays thick cudgel upon ass's hide ? 188 CHAPTER NINE : Wlio shouting gallops, leg on either side Grazing the ground 1 his head behind is shorn, Thiii cujls the lean and cunning cheek adorn ; 165 Short coat of frieze, cord breeches to the knee, A low-cro-wn'd hat, a shirt-neck flying free, Declare the Tinker, gipsy of our isle, Tramping with rude black budget many a mile ; His tribe a partner yields ; his donkey bears 170 At need his children, furniture, and wares ; Donkeys at many a fair he buys and sells, And here, among his like, swears loud and yells. Beyond them are the horses ; there, sweet kine ; There, flocks of sheep; there, fulsome-smelling swine. 175 Observe Neal Doran. Two in pushing past Give signal due ; the dreadful day runs fast. He knows the torture now Avhich books reveal ; Thus, thus it is that malefactors feel ; "Weak, angry, full of fears, condemn'd to know I80 Himself his ovm inexorable foe. THE FAIR. 189 In front he sees thick tempest, and behind, The sunny country of his peace of mind, As from daxk billows a receding shore; The simple busy days, now his no more, 185 The perfect slumber in a tranquil bed, Tlie conscience free of guUe and free of dread, The heart that look'd on every face with love. The soul that childlike turn'd to God above. With downcast or unquiet eyes he slinks 190 Among the crowd ; in tent and tavern drinks Unusual draughts; then to the Tair-green strides, Eegardless of th' opposing human tides, To mark the bludgeon's victim. Jemmy Burke, ]\Iost Judas-like : ' the boys will do their work.' 195 The horse-fah Xeal is bound for, and his road Lies through the tinkers, where to shout and goad The dullest ass his lazy hooves must ply. 'Tis three o'clock ; each noble tinker's eye Is wet ; tlie trim shillehighs wave on high ; 200 190 CHAPTER NINE : Woe to the skull of him who now offends ! In harsh and high-strung temper Doran wends Amid the tumult ; jostled there, he smites The intrusive donkey ; fervent word excites A sharp retort ; all turn to watch the fun ; 205 " Come, hit me !" — 'tis no sooner said than done. Our Youth ('tis all a dream) with rapid blow And cunning fence, stands foe at face with foe, Nor, peaceful though his life, unskill'd to wield The Paddy's wooden pistol, sword, and shield. 21 "With planted feet the men are in the lists. The blackthorns twirl around their nimble wrists, The meeting weapons play, crick-crack, crick -crack ; Whilst all push forward, all exclaim ' Stand back !'— More tinkers join ; ISTeal's partisans poiir in ; 215 A wider conflict rages ; fierce the din, Loud the men's oaths, and sharp the women's screams ; The general fair to this mad whirlpool streams. THE FAIR. 191 At first the tinkers have it all their way ; Till carman Denis flings apart like spray 220 The clustering mob, and two tremendous blows "Whirls right and left at ideal's two foremost foes ; On either hand, to earth a tinker goes. Then shouted Doran's party, pressing on ; Then shrunk the tinker band, their leaders gone ; 225 'Not had they not been routed, man and ass, Save for a new event that came to pass, Lo ! the tall green-coat Guardians of the Law "Wedge through the fight, which feels a sudden awe, And force away six prisoners to the cells, 230 Deaf to entreaties, protestations, yells. Regardless of the mob whose stumbling paces Trot alongside Avith eager half-turn' d faces. One tinker's faithfid wife pursues their track, A dirty baby on her dirty back, 235 The bright tin porringers that round her cling Clashing and flashing gaily as they swing. She's used to scenes like this ; but not so Neal 192 CHAPTER NINE ; And Denis. What a black disgrace they feel, In marching thus along the public street! 240 Their misery, for the moment, is complete. Since Neal is Pigot's man, the Justice sends For him ; the brother Justice quick attends ; Pigot is at his ofiice in the town, And gladly comes, for reasons of his own. 245 " Eeceive the tinkers' bail ; — detain these two. " I'll show you grounds enough for what we do." — " Your "Worship, why keep Denis Coyle and me." — " Drunk, drunk, you're drunk, sir," says the old J.P. " Lock, lock them up !" and jerks his bunch of seals. 250 They go; th' untiring rabble at their heels. In Pigot's gig came Bloomfield to the fair. " Evictions please me little, I declare," Says Pigot ; " but if men won't pay the rent, " Or fix conditions, forcing our consent ; 255 THE FAIR. 193 " Claiming, when once let in, a better right ''Than ours, for ever, in the law's despite ; " If still you find to cheat and overreach " The study, the delight, of all and each ; " A servile, plausible, and lying brood, 260 " Devoid of honesty, of gratitude ; " If among people ignorant and misled " Worse lawlessness begins to grow and spread, " Till from chicane to murder they aspire, " And all the foolish mass is catching fire ; 265 " WTiat then 1 are we to sit with folded hands, " And yield ourselves to Captain Eock's commands ? — " Though Tullagh was a sad affair, I know, " 'Twill do great good. Your lands of Meenabo " Must follow next. These Dorans, whom you praise, 270 " I once thought well of, till I knew then: ways. " I'll show you at the office now (as far " As may be quickly shown) how these things are ; " A certain List you also shall peruse, o 194 CHAPTER NIXE : " The wliicli I only bide my time to use. 275 " To manage folk like these is hard indeed ; " 'Tis well for you, sir, that escape the need ! " Pigot's fast mare by thickening crowds restrain'd By slow degrees the office-door has gain'd ; " Eoom ! " cries the stable-boy, and backward tread 280 Th' obsequious throng, hats fly off every head ; But ere a tenant's foot may j)ass the door The private talk endures an hour or more. ' Outside, old Paudheen waits to say his say ; A short thick man, with sleek head wiry-gray, 285 Projecting underlip, and stunted nose, Whereon the huge horn-spectacles repose, When to the service of a writ he swears. Or ' copy ' with ' original ' compares ; A sneaking, dauntless man, who disregards 290 Menace or flattery, smoothly plays his cards. And might perhaps have soar'd, in wider sphere, Lord Chancellor, Archbishop, or Premier, THE FAIR. 195 But now, victorious in a meaner form, Has built a nest, and works to line it warm. 295 'Tis Paudlieen carries in the message sent By brother Justice. Bloomfield's ear is bent To Pigot's statements ; and he understands This chiefly — plotting heads and violent hands, Mad foUy, discontentment, fear and hate, 300 In servile seeming, on their footsteps wait. In public-house, upon an upper floor, A thin keen watchful man and some few more Sit round their drink, but not with laugli or song. The Parish-Master's simimons through the throng 305 Is flitting darkly up and down the street, And one by one he sees his best men meet ; The sign said urgent business. No delay A certain case admits of — not one day. " Let Jemmy Burke go home ; far higher game 310 " Our sportsmen mark, — with license for the same. 2 196 CHAPTER NINE : THE PAIR, " The young bird promised fair and smooth at first ; " But he can't change things — won't, in case he durst, " And now the old one's u}) — has all our names, " The List lies in his pocket. Burning flames 315 " To bed the traitor ! — that comes by-and-by," Glasses were fill'd, refill'd, the quart ran dry; Then fist caught fist, and eye shot flame to eye. " Bail, too, for Coyle and Doran they refuse ! " If we're for action, there's no time to lose, 320 " Well said, my boys ! for though the hazard's great, " The ball's with Pigot if we hesitate. " They came to Lisnamoy, but don't go home " Together ; Minor Bloomfield's horse is come. ■' Bill keeps our friend in talk. I understand 325 " Grimes has his noble Honour's gig in hand, — " Some tmst — the patent axle to unscrew — "A job 'twill take him just an hour to do. " Tis four at present. To your places, boys !" The whisper done, they vanish without noise. 330 LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. CHAPTER X. PIGOT. LAUKENCE BLOOMFIELD IN lEELAND. PIGOT. i Alas, you count me a prosaic bard, S Good reader! Think what Horace says, how hard :^ It is to sing of every-day affairs. •=« More wilhngly by far the minstrel dares --■ Three flaming dragons than a single pig ; 5 ^ Knights in full armour, giants church-tower big Are easy folk to handle, by the side t_ Of one policeman. I have sometimes cried, ' Afford my verse a little touch of aid, ' Thou grave, good-humour' d, venerable Shade, 10 ' Who once Comptroller of the Customs wast, ' JEdwardo Rege /' but my pray'r is lost ; ■g> I 200 CHAPTEE TEN : For tliougli our modern telegraph extends Into that Other "World's extremest ends, Old Chaucer deigns no syllable to say, And I must only do the best I may. Bloomfield is also Justice of the Peace, But has not used his power, but for increase Of knowledge ; he lets Pigot go alone To hear this case, its merits not yet known; 20 And meanwhile in the office musing sits, Or glancing towards the Eibbon Eoll by fits; Yet, as it sometimes falls that when we meet Some wondrous thing, the quest of high conceit, See, touch, possess, we hardly care to look, 25 To other paths his thought itseK betook ; And still the spy's Black List he chose to hold As Pigot gave, unloosen'd from its fold. What he must do, determined, — Bloomfield now Perplex'd is puzzhng over 'when?' and 'how?' 30 PIGOT. 201 The careful faces of the tenant throng • Sank with new sense of pity and of wrong Deep in his heart, their anxious courtesies, The timid movements of their watchful eyes, Their air of suffering, which was no pretence, 35 Their piteous lack of manly confidence ; And most of all, Jack Doran's toilworn face. Who knows that he has lost his Agent's grace. Tight has he clung to that poor spot of earth Wliich, sixty years since, saw his humble birth. 40 Tliis patch first yielded to his father's spade; Those barren hills his life's horizon made \ To this, a poor, and yet a happy home. His kindly Maureen, fair young bride, had come; Their children here were born, here long reposed 45 His mother's age, and here her eyes were closed. Content with constant toil and slender gain, If he and his might there in peace remain. Old Jack has trudged this morning- to the town 202 CHAPTER TEN : To meet 'bad news ; his heart is sore cast down. 50 Jack had been * noticed;' 'twas a usual thing/ Familiar as a dash of haU in Spring; A mode of keeping tenants under thumb : To-day he hears his fate ; his turn is come. In short three weeks, Black Paddy tells him so, 55 The Mighty Man has wiU'd it, — ^he must go. In vain the tenant asks to learn his crime, ♦ In vaui seeks hope at least of winning time ; Paudheen is mild, and shakes his cunning pate, " You'll see himself," — and sad old Jack must wait 60 In crowded hall, tlirough many weary hours, His mind, deserted now hy half its powers, Struggling to set itself in some array. What can he do 1 first^ what to Pigot say 1 If every other hope and chance should fail, 65 May plea, perhaps, for longer time prevail ? Not whoUy bare, as some do, must he fly, Yet, seasons have been bad and taxes high, Wasting away their little store ; let all PIGOT. 203 Be gather' d, and 'tis pitifully small. 70 Not much has half a century's labour giv'n This prudent man, who well has watch'd and striv'n, Industrious, patient, peaceful ; in a land Less cruel to her sons, his strenuous hand Had won some better comfort for old age ; 75 The tedious fight he well knew how to wage With wind and flood, with stubborn rock and clay ; But selfish men are fiercer foes than they. Poor useful wrestlers with the rugged soil, Children of narrow poverty and toil, 80 Who spread the waving plenty o'er the land, And give the sumptuous palace room to stand. How much ye do and suffer, to supply Some easy man with careless luxury ! The wife, the babes, that Heavenly Bounty gave 85 Increase his load of fetters on the slave ; His sweat absorb'd into a patch of earth. His life-long labours held of little worth, 204 CHAPTER TEN : Dependent hourly on a rich man's whim, Wliose busy idleness regards not him. 90 No foot of ground, however wild, he owns, Till in the graveyard rest his weary bones, Too haj^py if beside his fathers laid, Nov coldly cover'd by a poor-law spade. Z' Ireland ! home of hardship ! why do yet 95 Thy children cling to thee? thin cheeks are wet, Hearts long opprest with care feel poignant woe As hence from gloom to brighter climes they go. ^ To each the country of his birth belongs, Its landscapes, seasons, faces, memories, songs, loo And he to it; removed to foreign scene, Though fat in purse, his life is poor and lean; Forget the past, and flourish as he may, An exile now, his home is far away. Shall Jack to Bloomfield speak? — a tempting thought, 105 piGOT : 205 Dismiss'd with terror; what could thus be wrought But swift destruction of his every hope ? 'Twere dragging tight around his neck the rope ; High-treasonable conduct, merely mad ; Training, experience, custom, all forbade. 110 No, the young Landlord neither would, nor could : — If Jack had only guess'd his Landlord's mood ! So there the Tenant stands disconsolate. There sits the sturdy Bailiff, big with fate, Within, the Landlord, thinking; all await, 115 These and the rest, their Agent's quick return. With various minds, and faces sad or stern. But Bloomfield hears a whispering in the hall, An exclamation, and a sudden fall, — '■' 'Tis oul' Jack Doran fainted, 'cause his son 120 " Is taken up on Eibbon business." None Was quick enough with help when th' old man's brain. Quite overtroubled, strove no more in vain ; Anxiety, fatigue, and frugal fast 206 CHAPTER TEN : Had worn him ; then tliis new blow, and at last 125 From all his limbs the vital vigour fled, And on the flagstone smote his grey unconscious head. Strange was the sight before the tenants' eyes : Young Bloonifield, kneeling on the hall-floor, ties His handkerchief, a bloodied bandage now, 130 To staunch the wound on old Jack Doran's brow ; Then to an arm-chair heljjs him ; soon convey'd To neighbouring house, where in a bed he's laid; While Bloomfield calls to audience Paddy Dhu In private, which was also something new, 135 When Pigot's eyes met Bloomfield's, instantly Each felt a moment come, they knew not why. What's accident ? Aware or unaware. We to a verge have drawn, reposing there. Or balanced fine; until a moment flashes — 140 Down from its level seat firm custom dashes, PIGOT. 207 Broken, destroy'd, — imprison'd powers escape, And lo ! our life is in a different sliape. "These two young men?" — "Are on tliat Ribbon List." — " Much better proof, a lawyer would insist, 145 " Were needful, ere we clapt them into jail ; " The present charge is trifling, take their bail." — " Full informations will be laid to-night." — " So be it — meanwhile, do them legal right." Pigot, his landmarks of a sudden lost, 150 His mind with novel pertui-bation tost, Consented to a message of release ; When more his rage and wonder to increase. With quiet voice and look, but grave and steady, Bloomfield spoke thus, and held his papers ready, 155 " All things consider' d, it perhaps were best " This tenant Doran be not dispossess'd, " "Not any men of mine, in fact, but three, " And those are " " Mr. Bloomfield, pardon me, 160 208 CHAPTER TEN : " I cannot be half-agent for your lands. 160 " Unless you leave such, business in my hands, " Allow me to resign the whole to you. " This I have long, indeed, desired to do." — " I take your offer." Half an hour is flown, And Pigot in his gig has left the town ; 165 While Bloomfield, with his tenants face to face, Sees hope and joy, unwonted in that place. Alive in every look. They warmly felt ^Vhen by the poor old man their landlord knelt ; Tis known that ISTeal and Denis are set free; 170 And Pigot's gone, — dismissed ? — but that could never be! If Bloomiield were an angel from the skies They could not hunger more with ears and eyes. " I am your Agent and no other man. ' I'll try to do you justice if I can. 175 'Easy for me to live abroad, content PIGOT. 209 " To see of my estate the half-year's rent ; " But with the help of Heaven I'll take in hand, iso " As mine it is by law, this piece of land, " Think first of men, think second of the soil, " Disconrage lies and sloth, hack honest toil, " The good folk ranged on my side, let me trust, " At war with knaves and fools, if so we must. 185 " If threat'ning letters fly as thick as snow, " If murderers dog me evfery step I go, •' They shall not turn me from a settled course, — " Unless I fall, and then you may have worse. "Here are the names, within this folded ^heet, 190 " Of Eihbon Lodge Two-Sixty, all complete. " I have not redd it— I'm not fond of spies — " Now ! see it burn : in ashes there it lies. " This paper is my list of tenants' names, " Their families, their holdings, debts, and claims, i v.r, " Slowly we must proceed ; but with good will " We may, perhaps, together climb the hill." 210 CHAPTER TEN : Pigot of late, iu health or soul deprest, Had felt a frequent wish for change or rest As pictured by his wife, but would not yield 200 To her, still vanquish'd in discussion's fielcL He will not o^vn what sometimes he suspects, — " 'Tis but my wife's timidity infects. " Hard work these hyppish fogs will soon dispel ; " I know my business, and I do it well. 205 " Let others please their fancy and their taste, " Let others fling their idle days to waste, — " This is no more than fog, by sleep or dinner chased." Yet sometimes, in his own despite, began The shrewd, experienced, unromantic man, 210 Since now the newness of success was fled. And years were numbering thickly on his head. And sense of power had lost its pungency. To say, what profits it? what comes to me? What is indeed accomplish'd by my life 1 215 The fears and sad forebodings of his wife. PIGOT. 211 Renew'd by every tale of peasant crime, Struck heavier ou his spirit time by time : " ThroAV off this yoke — we've money and to spare, " Come, let us travel, pitch our tent elsewhere, 22o " And for our children and ourselves enjoy " A wider world, a life without annoy." Still, Pigot knows, though discontentment lurk. He's most at ease in his habitual work, Within his line, courageous, strong, and tall, 225 Beyond it, even timid, weak, and small ; His narrow education, flowerless mind. By no artistic faculty refined. Are then exposed, himself can partly see. Like ancient groom or stableman is he, 230 At home on horseback, spite of prance and bound, A waddling cripple, place him on the ground. And now — a vile vexation, bitter sting! — He, both of landlords and of tenants King, Intending by-and-by to abdicate, 235 p2 212 CHAPTER TEX : "With fitting dignitj^, liis power and state, For private wealth and ease — sudden shame ! Dismiss'd by one he thought so mild and tame ; Dismiss' d, discharged, ejected as it were On shortest notice — this was hard to bear. 240 Himself, no doubt, had in a moment's heat Flung out the startling hint, but self-conceit Expected never such response to meet. Long years he has been shaping to his mind The Harvey-Bloomfield properties combined : 245 Xow all his plans are snapt, with bitter sense Of broken power— of standing on defence. True, the Young Man, with cautioiis words and kind, "NMiich well announced a gravely settled mind, Left to his easy choice the time and mode : 250 T>ut, all things alter' d, and with guard and goad Tormenting liim, can Pigot trace the threads Of that intricate web that round liim spreads, And disengage it smoothly? -well aware. PIGOT. 213 Amid his mind's perturbed and formless care, 255 Of many questions asking quick replies, Of many dubious doings that arise From dusty corners where they lay forgot. Small days of judgment bring forth many a blot. Yet here too came experience to his aid, 260 And whisper'd, this confusion once allay' d, To-morrow's light a clearer path wiU show, And all go well enough, as such things go. " Come up, old mare ! " with cheery voice he cried ; And Doyle the under-bailiff, by Iris side, 265 At Pigot's moody silence wondering much. Felt comforted ; as, to the light-thrown touch Of whip and voice, the bay- mare quickly stept. And from the high-road to the bye-road swept. Pigot had seen his fine new house arise, 270 With promise of an earthly paradise, Amidst a broad, well-cultivated plain, 214 CHAPTER TEN : Trimm'd oif with new plantation, feuce^ and drain ; Window and door in city-villa taste, "With, stucco-ornaments and columns graced, 275 Square spacious rooms, fill'd full of splendid things, Bright rosewood tables, gilded curtain-rings ; But, ten years old, the place shines rawly still, Th' instinctive touch of strong yet tender skiU Quite absent, which we name artistic sense ; 280 Glaring the want, for glaring the pretence ; Harsh lights upon discordant colours fall, Large, costly, dull engravings deck the wall ; Chair, ottoman, by some unlucky doom, Poor, window, fire, stand wrong in every room ; 285 Lawn, green-house, garden, wear no magic beauty, Shrub, flower-bed, border, stand as though on duty ; Best thing the farm-yard, practical and neat. With swine, calves, jDoultry, stacks of hay and wheat ; With huge farm horses, and sleek, patient cows, 290 Byres, sheds, and new machines, carts, tools, and ploughs. PIGOT. 215 See at the window Mrs. Pigot stand, The latest empty novel in her hand ; A fading woman, but she once was fair, Whose wealth and pride have many a thorn of care ; 295 A full-dress visit to receive or pay, Her chief engrossment, — 'tis a chalk-white day That gives a chance to study well the style Of Lady Harvey's toilette, tone, and smile. Her servants plague her; and her children vex, 300 Tearing their clothes, imperilling their necks. On shaggy Sheltie in and out through trees Flits Percy at full gallop ; noAv she sees Bold Jem and little Ulick at the pond Sailing forbidden ships ; then looks beyond, 305 With sigh at such perversities, to catch (Behind the tune a full hour by her watch) The coming gig. Her husband's jolly face, Fond of his Bess, his children, and his place, Good-humoured and indulgent for the most, 310 E'er tender pleasure from his glances lost. ^16 CHAPTER TEN : 8till makes for her the sweetness of her life ; In short, he is her husband, she his wife ; Whatever teasing troubles they endure. The gentle bond is always firm and sure. 315 To Newbridge House the pretty bye-way goes, ^Tween scarlet-berried hawthorn and wild rose, liowan and woodbine ; the dark-fruited briar Bends to its bordering grass, througli which aspire The yellow hawk- weed and blue scabious-ball; 320 Grass full of grasshoppers, and flies, and small Innumerable things. You sometimes hear A distant voice, or warbling near and clear Poor-Robin's plaintive melody, at one With the mild glory of the sinking sun, 395 Which now, completing tliis autumnal day, Looks from the great world's end with parting ray, U'er all the golden landscape with its sheaves, And through the curtain of the wayside leaves. PIGOT, 217 Across the road a new-cut holly lay. 330 Doyle must alight to drag it from their way. Through Pigot's heart and brain a sudden gush AVhirl'd all his life to fever : mad thoughts rush Around then* burning prison : " I am caught !" — And hasty fingers liis revolver sought. 335 One terrible moment — courage all drawn dry To earthquake-ebb— and ere the wave pour high Eetiu-ning, from the hedge beside him broke Two sharp explosions, two white puffs of smoke; The mare leap'd round, and gallop'd off pell-mell, 340 But heavily to earth her master fell. Xo longer Mrs. Pigot bears to wait; She sends a horseman by the lower gate ; AVho rides not far. A man came running fast; 'Twas bailiff Doyle, i^ale, breathless, all aghast; 345 " He's shot! they've kill'd him!" — and the servants found. Three furlongs distant, prostrate on the ground 218 CHAPTER TEN : Amidst a pool of blood, James Pigot's form, A dreadful burden, lifeless, tliougb still warm. James Pigot's race is run : and shall we call 350 This man a victim, or a criminal? Or one who with men's natures coarsely dealt, Drew out their evil, and its fury felt? He did so; but not his alone the blame. Elsewhere he might in peace have lived the same, 355 And breathed away at last a quiet breath. No worse than most men in his life and death. But Avhere the subtle powers of Circumstance, ]\Iultii")lex operations that advance Out of the boimdless Eygone World, and make 360 The Present with the flitting forms they take, Are in an evil seethe like wizard's pot, "Who stirs the same, 'tis now and then his lot To catch the spurted venom. "V\^iere one dies, Hundreds escape ; and danger ever tries 365 PIGOT. '219 To wear a mask of innocence ; no less, They cook and finger a strong poison-mess. Fair-evening as it was, no friendly hand Lifted the dead; the people chose to stand Far-oif, or take the fields, or else turn back, 370 But not to follow on the murderers' track ; Xot one made haste to give policemen word ; By special message first the news Avas heard. For many weeks from every wall and gate Stared 'Murder' and 'Eeward' in letters great, 375 Two Hundred Pounds the Lord Lieutenant's bribe, One Thousand which the gentry round subscribe, But all in vain ; for, his employer dead, The Spy took mortal fear to heart, and fled. Few even dared to read the bills, and they 380 Walk'd off in silence ; if they said their say, 'Twas said with caution and in secrecy. A huge converging crowd of low and high '220 CHAPTER TEN : PIGOT. Had swell'd the costly funeral, and flow'd In solemn pomp, outstreteh'd along the road. 385 The native press was vocal, and the Times Anew said something old on Irish crimes. And meanwhile, bringing softly night and day, Tlie round Earth roll'd on her appointed way, With dead and living, 'mid the starry quire, 390 Brimm'd with material and celestial fire, And to and fro, with emmets' briskness, ran Tlie shifting, multifarious brood of Man. LAUKENCE BLOOMFIELD IN lEELAXD. CHAPTER XI. LOUD AND LADY. LAURENCE BLOOMFIELD IN IRELAND. XL LORD AND LADY. YiRGiL, Tom Tusser after him, have sung The rules of farmmg -mth. melodious tongue ; And shall my Muse make venture ? not afraid, If need there were, to call a spade a spade. Too oft, neglecting fashion, she incurs 5 The public's coldness and the publisher's ; Yet now she will not rival Martin Doyle On farms, and drains, on light and heavy soil. Clod-crushing, ploughing, and rotation meet Of grass, potatoes, barley, tui'nips, wheat, 10 Ovine and bovine breeds — Thou youngest Grace ! 224 CHAPTER ELEVEN : Dear Maiden of the shy and eager face In drooping darkness framed, or ripply gold, And spirit like the fresh bud half unroll'd To morning's light ! — Boy of many dreams, 15 Through sacred woods and by enchanted streams Far wandering forth in reverie divine ! — Ye cannot love such dismal verse as mine. Sweet friends, forgive me ! I have sung for you EreAvhile, if but a little song or two ; 20 Eor you I dearly hope to sing again; Though now, perhaps, with labour all in vain, Striving to melt and mould of stubborn stuff (It could be roimded, were there foe enough) A living shape harmonious, part and whole 25 Completed fitly by th' informing soul. And yet I will not rival Martin Doyle, ]\Iechi, or Stephens ; 'twere a thankless toil. For, every rule and detail strictly given Whereby our Laurence in his course has thriven, 30 LORD AND LADY : 225 (With labour, and with stumbling, and mistake, And disappointments and defeats, that break The fragile purpose, but confirm the strong) Another man were scarcely help'd along, "Who deals with different people, different facts. 35 Mere sons of action, piecing up their acts Of work and life, incalculable deem The soul, or quite omit it from their scheme, Or, like Napoleon, use it, while they scorn : A miracle as itpie as birth of morn, 40 As simple as the imperial sun's broad light Bathing earth's planet ; with as vast a might It works in silence on the spaces vast And crowds of things within its influence cast. Bloomfield had plunged, as though into the sea ; 45 But soon recover'd equanimity Amidst the new demands and powers unknown, Nor any force to help him save his own. Confused, and dim, and dangerous appear'd Q 226 CHAPTER ELEVEN: His enterprise, but soon tlie prospect clear' J : 50 Most men can do as much, for duty, gain, Opinion, pleasure ; call it a campaign At worst, but that's too serious ; travel brings More toil and risk ; or fifty other things. Arithmetic's plain rules his purse shall guard, 55 And every lesser luxury he'll discard Till this of playing king be fairly tried. Of Indolence, for ever at our side, Subtlest of demons, Laurence knew full well The sleepy goblet, drugg'd and dregg'd with hell, go And hung upon his neck the counterspeli Of daily work sufficient for his force, And so set bravely forward on his course, "With much to hinder, but -with nought to stay, Finding undreamt-of help along the way. 6.5 For still to him who on himself depends The lumbering, veering world its succour lends ; The bold are help'd by poison, storm, and fire, Against the weak, flow'rbuds and lambs conspire. LORD AND LADY. 227 Thus, when young Bloomfield had surveyd his ground, He certain chances in his favour found. No legal right existed but his own, He was the State, like Lewis, he alone, Or rather raised to an autocracy Temper'd with murder, as in Muscovy ; 75 There, sole, stood he, there lay his subject lands, To do, or not do, resting in his hands. Moreover, if the Celt be rash and wild, ^i Quick, changeful, and impulsive, like a child, ) ". He looks with somewhat of a childlike trust 80 . To those above him, if they're kind and just; Be tender to his moods, allow a whim, No surly independence lurks in him ; Content with little, easy^to persuade, The man who knows him speaks and is obey'd. 85 If sprung from history, circumstance, or race, Or all together, Bloomfield well could trace. With aid from childliood's memory, manhood's thought — Q 2 ^ "o" 228 CHAPTER ELEVEN : And into every plan his knowledge wrought — A special Irish character. With those 90 Of higher station, harder to oppose, His even temper, frank and courteous speech, And true unselfisliness, with all and each, His firmness and concession, sped him well; His sense and knowledge soon began to tell; Till all who dealt with public plans descried The need to weigh him, on whatever side. To men and books an open ear he lent, He studied silent Xature mucli, and went With careful tireless footstep after hers; , loo The cheer which knowledge flowing in confers Was his, and then the artisit's joy, to find The rugged world take pressure from his mind. His rental, even, to his own surprise, Eeach'd its old mark, and then began to rise; io5 A sort of proof he could have done without, Yet good firm hold against the twitch of doubt. LORD AND LADY. 229 Look round from Croghan Lodge, and not in vain You seek tlie records of a seven years' reign ; So long have Laurence and his Queen borne rule, no The smoky hovel with its fetid pool Has disappear'd — poor Paddy's castle-moat, Which kept the foidness, let the use run out; WTiite walls, gay rustic gardens meet your eyes, Trim gates and fences, haggarts, barns and styes ; 115 Down the wet slope a net of drainage spreads ; The level marsh waves wide with, ozier-beds ; Among the barren folds of windy hills. Round solitary loughs, by rock-strewn rills, And up to crags that crown the heathery steep, 120 Larch, pine, and sycamore begin to creep; Old bog and scraggy moorland, parcell'd out. Have busy hands at work, — no fear or doubt To di-y up half their strength, for Bloomfield chose The likeliest people, lent waste ground to those, 126 " The first year so much done — so nmch in five — " Push onwards, win the battle, you shall thrive 230 CHAPTER ELEVEN : " Rent-free so long — so long at little rent — " And then a leaae that makes us both content." New roads run round the hills, and to the shore ; iso By-lanes engulf the hapless wheel no more ; While certain paths defended tooth and nail By Pigot, often sending men to jail, Without another word of wrong or rio;ht Lie free as air is to the swallow's flight. 135 Broad open too lies Bloomfield's own domain, Park, fields, and wood, from mountain-top to plain ; The lough*s green isles in wavy silver set ; The cool crypts of the rocky rivulet. iSimk fence, light pahng, leave the prospect free; ho Fair run the road and path, by sward and tree ; No churlish prison-wall defeats your eye, Eobs of the landscai^e every passer-by. Shuts up the great horizon in a box, Boon ligature's beauty in a harem locks 145 For one rich Turk ; no board devoid of shame LORD AND LADY. 231 Tickets tke world with, one poor selfish, claim ; For no proud porter must you ring and wait ; The stile is low, and easy sAvings the gate ; The devious wood-walk, far-commanding hill, 150 The ferny dingle, these are yours at will ; Or in that high fir-temple would you be, Wliich makes perpetual music like the sea, And on tlie sunset lifts its pillars black? Across the lough, across the plain look back. 155 Look back : no single cottage-roof is there In Bloomfield's charge, that knows not Bloomfield's care. In spots the best for landscape or for shade You find the solid rustic-benches laid ; And on the highroads, also, weary feet 160 Api)roach with grateful haste the new stone seat, Here, nigh a well, or there, with slanting shed To guard from rain or sun the traveller's head. In Croghan Hall, when new, the famous Dean, 232 CHAPTER ELEVEN : Upon his journeys, moody guest hath been. i65 Well-built at first, but mouldy with neglect. Young Laurence as his own chief architect ('hose out the shrewdest workmen that he might, And made the mansion safe and weather-tight, Improving all, yet zealous to retain 170 Each stone and tile, each form, each weather-stain. His own true touch alive on every part Gave without cost the luxury of Art, Which foolish Wealth on ostentation set Can dearly pay for, but can rarely get. 175 'Tween lough and mountain, grove on either hand, A solid, stately House you see it stand. Of broad, low stairs, and windows deep recess'd ; In front, a boundless prospect to the west, In rear, a terraced garden. Order reigns, 180 But not with costly and elaborate pains, A disproportion of the means and end, Whereby so often wealthy homes offend, — With vile adornment oft offending worse, LORD AND LADY. 233 Slapping across our teeth, a lieavy purse. 185 Good sense, refinement, naivety, reconcile Man's work and nature's, and tlie genial smile Is brotherhood's, not condescension's, here ; No bitterness flows in, but strength and cheer From every aspect ; 'tis a kindly place, 190 That does not seem to taunt you with its grace, But, somehow, makes you happy, stray or stay. And pleased to recollect it when away ; For manners thus extend to house and field. And subtle comfort or discomfort yield. 195 Enter : you find throughout the spacious rooms. If bright, or mellow'd with dehcious glooms, Instead of gaudy paper, silk, and paint, . Statues and pictures, books, wood-carvings quaint, Dim-splendid needlework of Hmdostan, 200 Grave solid furniture of useful plan ; Here a soft blaze of flow'rs in full daylight. There, ivied casement, shadowing aright 234 CHAPTER ELEVEN : The inoiirnM relics of the secret Past, AVaifs, liftings, from that ocean deep and vast, 205 The tliought and work of many a vanish'd race ; The life of ancient Erin you may trace In Druid's torque, moon-shaped, of thinnest gold, Square Ijell that to St. Patrick's preaching toll'd, Cups, coins, and fibulte, and ogham-stones, 210 Spear, axe, and arroAV-heads, of flint or bronze. \Miatever knowledge (at the best but small) Of such is extant, Laurence knows it all. And sometimes to his neighbours far and near Imparts a modest lecture, short and clear, 215 On things Hibernian, chiefly those around, The Giant's Grave, the Fort, the Fairy-Mound, The crumbling Abbey-wall, the Round-Tower grey, Still rising smooth and firm as on the day Its taper cap received the topmost stone ; 220 The mountain Cau'n, to distant counties shown; The IS''orman- English Keep on river brink ; His light firm hand connecting link with link LORD AND LADY. 235 Of Irish history, so that none complain To find it gall them like a rusty chain. 225 This large room is for music ; violin, Piano, voice, at times the merry din Of Bloomfield's rustic hand, its echoes wake, And rustic hearers oft an audience make. » ^Tay, all with ears to hear, with eyes to see, 230 To every sight and sound have welcome free. To make our costly luxuries right and fair All human beings who are fit must share. So Bloomfield said, was laugh'd at, yet he tried. Found all come easy, nor the rule too wide. 235 But haste we ! — 'Tis that merry time of year. Once more brought round upon our whirling sphere, (The days of darkness and of snow gone past, Of chilly sunbeams and the freezing blast), "When eager skylarks at the gate of morn 240 Keep singing to the sower of the corn 236 LORD AND LADY. Ill his brown field below ; the noisy rooks Hold council in the grove-top ; shelter'd nooks Bring forth young primroses and violets ; The woodland swarms with buds, the ash-tree sets 2i5 Dark lace upon his bough, — with tenderest green The larch-spray tufted, loallid leaflets seen TJnfoldiug and uncrumpling day by day. ]^igh Croghan Hall the herons lean and grey Hover and float upon those wide-spread wings 250 Around their lofty cradles, with the Spring's Breath rockirig slowly ; braird is pushing through ; The clever mavis and the soft cuckoo Untiring sing their olden songs anew ; In fields of freshest grass the bold young lambs 255 Jump lightly round their anxious bleating dams ; And little Mary Bloomfield, bhthe as they, Greeting a happy morn of holiday, The sunshine glittering on her golden head, Runs races through the lawn with brother Fred 260 ("He's but a child," says Mary; he is four,^ CHAPTER ELEVEN : 237 His comrade and protectress two years more,) Among the clumps of yellow daffodils. Light blows the breeze, a vernal freshness fills The morning sky, green plain, and dappled hills, 265 As run the merry babes with floating hair, Watch'd by their parents. After morning pray'r And breakfast, and while busy hands complete A children's banquet-hall with flow'r and sweet, — " What say you, Jenny, young folk, shall we drive ? 270 "'Tis four long hours before our guests arrive." Smoothly the simple carriage speeds along Behind two chestnut ponies brisk and strong, By Laurence guided : he looks older now, But bears his candid, smooth, and open brow 275 Uncreased with petty cares, fine mouth unseam'd With policy ; the ripening years have spread His tall and goodly frame ; free lifts his head Its brownish clusters. By him sits Queen Jane. 'No queen 1 — look closer — she deserves to reign. 280 How is she drest ? Madam, in shawl cream- white, 238 CHAPTER ELEVEN : Straw bonnet, trimmed with purple, if I'm right. She is not tall, and rather dark than fair, Her forehead fitted close with soft black hair, Brows sloped the right way, over eyes so true, 285 Eyes darkly clear, I cannot tell their hue, That "faith and courage kindle where they gaze, Earth is not vulgar, lighted with those rays ; Fine ear, a nostril flexible and thin. Lips mildly proud, a fall but gentle chin, 290 Compact and firmly-moulded foot and hand. Gesture and look accustom'd to command, Or rather to be willingly obey'd As having never o'er the boundary stray'd "Of others' rights and feelings, — such is she ; 295 A trustier human creature cannot be ; Mild, gracious, and undaunted, every line Of soul and body nobly feminine. Instinctive wisdom, humour swift and gay, A simple greatness, sure to do and say 300 The best, belong to her, and in her voice LORD AND LADY. 239 A tone to make the dullest heart rejoice. No marvel if the servants of her home Are humble friends, if cordial blessings come To every peasant's lip that forms her name, 305 If my poor stumbling pen forebears for shame. happy Husband ! — happy Wife no less ! In perfect mutual trust and tenderness. Whatever joys await the Blest above, No boon below like happy wedded love. 310 Down the park-slope, Lough Braccan full in view, Boss'd with green islands floating on the blue. Through well-kept farms, by neat white cottages, Boglands reclaimed, new belts of rising trees, Paddock and croft, with many a featherd brood, 315 Lambs, calves and foals, (life everywhere renew'd) That send their voices on the lightsome air, And of the vernal day enjoy their share, Gay speed we. That's the steward's house, — his name Neal Doran (he's the same, and not the same) ; 320 240 CHAPTER ELEVEN : His wife and he are up at Croghan Hall, Best aids to trim our little festivaL There's Lisnamoy church-spire, and further down The Eoniish steeple ; midway in the town Stands up the clock-tow'r, whose melodious tongue 325 Calls noon, a civic voice to old and young To draw them in a, circle, voice of Time To each and all — hearken ! says the chime : Reckless, who will now and then respect That preaching, if all others they neglect. 330 There, to new Market-place a pipe conveys A cold perpetual water-vein, which plays All day and night with cheerful soothing tone, Falling into its shallow tank of stone In curving crystal fringed with showery spray ; 335 Where sometimes, doubtless, gMs and dames delay With rested pitchers, till a warning stroke Cuts short at last the gossip and the joke. Carved shamrocks, mixt with field-flow'rs, grass, and corn. LORD AND LADY. 24] The stone rim of the dial-face adorn; 340 Atop, a sleeping infant, left and right Stout peasant-man and woman, holding tight A sickle and a basket ; rudely true, The sculpture to a rustic hand is due And Bloomfield's brain, who, whilst his neighbours smiled, 345 With jutting balcony and roof red-tiled, Built his Town-hall at less than half the cost (The wliich in sooth impress'd his neighbours most) Of Pigot's plan, in classic British taste, With sequences of scroll and bracket graced, 350 Each year the town receives improvements, plann'd By no expensive, by no vulgar hand ; New hoiise with window'd gable to the street, Euin displaced, and ragged wall made neat. Good drains, and whitewash, footwalks, and young trees ; The change in Lisnamoy each traveller sees, 356 And almost sings aloud with joy to win ' The Bloomfield Arms,' a clean and cosy inn, B 242 CHAPTER ELEVEN : "Where Denis Coyle and Bridget welcome you; iS'ot as the dismal 'Eoyal' wont to do, 360 With shabby waiter, old and drunk, proud host And sluttish chambermaid, poor fare, high cost. We drive through Lisnamoy. "Wlio bows so low ? Father Adair : but well does Bloomfield know Of Bloomfield's favourite School the deepest foe. 365 There stands the building, comely brick and stone, A little backward from the causeway thrown, Flower-beds and j^aths in orderly array, And greensward for the noon's half-hour of play ; All empty noAv, for eldest child and least 370 Must share at Croghan Hall the Vernal Feast. The School has prosper' d, and is prospering still. Though absent every clergyman's good-will, Who each would make a primer of his creed, Since now the vulgar must be taught to read, 375 The bigot duly Avith the scholar train, Weed out man's brotherhood from breast and brain, LORD AND LADY. 243 Twist every thought and feeling as they grow, — Neighhour baptized to live his neighbour's foe. Eome's churchmen seized the new scholastic dower, Secure to swell by just so much their power, 381 While haughty shepherds of the legal rite Declared this vulgar partnership a slight, And loud demanding separate purse and place, Flung a big Bible in the statesman's face, 385 Who handed back the volume with a bow. So wrath was kindled, and is burning now, In minds too Christian or perhaps too proud To fiU the legal hour for them allow'd, Since Popish pastors that same right enjoy'd 390 With their own lambs, nor left it unemploy'd. But now the people's alphabet in tiu-n Must from its first supporters feel the spurn. How, for one day, could we, shrewd Men of Eome, Forget th' experience, now again brought home, 393 That Knowledge acts as poison, if 'tis not Cook'd in the black ecclesiastic pot, R 2 244 CHAPTER ELEVEN : From cardinals' and bishops' high discoui'se Down to the a b c oi babes at nurse ? As Spain puts garlic into every mess, 400 So must the sacred flavour more or less Be mix'd in every atom of the food, To dye the bones and circle with the blood; Arithmetic the one true Church must own, And Grammar have its orthodoxy known ; 405 Or else, keep free from learning's dangerous leaven. Guided, in blessed ignorance, to Heaven. But well the People know how great the boon : We must not drive, but lead and coax them : soon. Whene'er the wind political turns fair, 410 Help'd by our foes, who also seek their share, We pull the pagan system down perforce. Its wealth and strength made chiefly ours, of course. Meanwhile, Avherever possible, let schools In strict accordance with our holy rules, 415 With every fitting gesture, form, and phrase, Supplant these others, yet no war-cry raise. LORD AXD LADY. 245 Pigol, who did but little know or care, Was wrought upon by Father Jolm Adair, Slighted the 'I^ational,' and had almost 420 (For keeping with the clergy was his boast) Promised the ' Christian Brotherhood ' a site. But Bloomfield came, and alter'd things outright, Obtain'd a Model School for Lisnamoy, Built other schools, and saw that girl and boy 425 Wlio might go, did go, for he knew his ground, And soon the Peoj)le in his party found ; WTiereon Adair, the smooth and patient man, Howe'er he felt, lock'd up his favourite plan, And neither bann'd nor bless'd the Model School, Paying due visits, as by legal rule. 431 The parish was improved, his income raised ; He oft (perhaps sincerely) Bloomfield praised. Inn, fountain, clock, we pass, and quit the town Close by the Workhouse, where with Isaac Brown 435 Hath Bloomfield many a tedious battle fought, 246 CHAPTEE ELEVEN : Aiid many a good reform full slowly wrought ; For weekly there, sat once a Guardian Board To guard the landlords' purse from pauper horde, To guard the bed where age and sickness lie 440 From touch of comfort — let them live or die, — "What matter how their drop of life runs by 1 To guard poor children, trembling little slaves, Cast on our pity by misfortune's waves. From spade and needle, watching lest they learn 445 The skill that might a scantest living earn, Using, faith, hope and charity being dead. Political- economy instead. Training with anxious negligence a race To live theu" country's burden and disgrace. 450 Sad without guUt, and punish' d without crime, Those joyless children dragg'd their weary time, Or issuing from their prison two by two Distress'd the road with cheeks of ghastly hue, — Unlike the brisk though tatter'd urchins there, 455 i^ot highly fed, but free from Guardians' care. LORD AND LADY. 247 Now much is alter' d : it were long to tell,- But now both young and old are nourish'd well, The Master's not a drunkard or a fool, No roguish dunce pretends to teach the school, 460 Each boy or girl receives an honest trade, And starts in life with small sufficient aid. Not is it found to swell the pauper list : The Board on steady discipline insist. Make all those work who can, and seldom fail 465 Where punishment is due. 'Tis worse than jail For all the bad and lazy ; but the cliild. The sick, the hoary head, meet liberal hand and mild. Next the neat Vicarage gate we swiftly reach. Where Eeverend Mr. Jones's little speech 470 Upon the weather gives a moment's pause, Dehver'd sweetly with due hems and haws. The gout one day despatch'd old Vicar Boyd ; Wliereon — since craft had vainly been employ' d To draw from Laurence Bloomfield what he meant, 248 CHAPTER ELEVEN ; For he, lay-rector, could his choice * present,' 476 And two far cousins of the reverend class, And ten times more their lady wives, alas ! Had loathed each other on this ground for years — Behold an aguish time of hopes and fears. 480 " What will you do, then?" " Clothing ! "—with a smile. " I leave it with the Bishop." (Is this guile, Or idiot folly, or unfeeling jest ?) " With him, entirely, — Bishop must know best." His Lordship sent a parson mild and tame, 485 Glad of the glebe ; and when his Lordship came On confirmation tour, with whom was he So cordial as with Bloomfield, or so free? At Croghan Hall, too, did the great man dine, And made himself delightful o'er the wine. 490 But now for home. Our merry wheels forsake Close hedgerows for the margin of the lake, Edged with these water-gnawn fantastic stones LORD AND LADY. 249 That show its winter level, white as bones. The unimprison'd eye skims, miles on miles, 495 The silver distance, and the verdurous isles That slumber on their shadows in the smooth, And back to where fine lipping ripples soothe Its nearer beach. High snort the ponies proud, Fish leap, young Fred and Mary laugh aloud 500 For very joy of life. We quit the shore, Wind up the hill, and halt at Croghan door. At two all's ready. Gathering, trooping fast, Bright happy faces, all are here at last ; Clad, boy .and girl, blue, red or duflfel-grey, 505 In homespun garments most, a trim array. Their entertainers greet them, recognise One here, one there : now break we, and devise All merry games among the grass and trees, 509 ' Tig,' * Hide & Seek,' ' High Windows,' — what we please ; Till, like a bee-drum, sounds the welcome call To tea and dainties in the music-hall ; 250 CHAPTER ELEVEN : Nor music silent, of the rustic band ; Laurence and Jane with friendliest eye and hand To each in turn attentive. Banquet done, 515 Forth draws them once again the westering sun, Some dancing in the many-circle i mound, Tliick with primroses, others seated round ; And there they sing in chorus, till the light At last begins to ftide. Lo ! rushing bright, 520 A cuhninating rocket bursts aloft In gold and crimson meteors, drooping soft ; Another follows ; wondrous wheel and gyre Spin on the grovy background shapes of fire ; A blue ecstatic splendour, mildly strong, . 525 Bathes tree and mansion, mound and gazing throng; Then dusk, as of a sudden, wraps the scene, — All memory now ; remembered well, I ween. In careful cart and wagon home are sent The smaller children, sleepily content ; 530 The rest, drawn up in order at the door, March with their trusty Captains as before. LORD AND LADY. 251 " All children can be govern' d : with the best " Much may be done; and something with the rest. " Of men, to help you or be help'd, clioose first 535 "The best you know of; and avoid the worst:" Thus Bloomfield, — though, like Dunstan, he could dare To pinch the Devil's nose, if need there were. He found, being active yet averse from strife, 'Twas not so hard to live a manly life ; 540 Or call it godly life, and thereto read The learn'd and holy necromantic Swede ; Wildest and Avisest of the dreamers he. All dream, but foolish visions most men see. LAUEENCE BLOOMFIELD IX lEELAND. CHAPTER XI I. M 1 DS U M M E R. LAUUENCE BLOOMEIELD IN IRELAND. XII. j I MIDSUMMER. Xow early sink away the starry Twins, Pursuing sunset ; eastern heaven begins To lift Arctiu'us, with that Coronet Upon the brow of Summer glittering set; And rich the country now, with shady roads And hollow lanes embank' d with fern ; white 5-^ Of fragrant hawthorn-bloom, but when this bloom Grows fainter, bramble-roses in its room ; And sunny paths for milkmaids, winding through The grass thick-set with yellow flow'rs and blue, jq MilUons of little blue and yellow flow'rs j Eich are the warm, long, lustrous, golden hours, 256 CHAPTER TWELVE : That nourish the green javelins of the wheat, The delicate flax, the tufted clover sweet, And barley's drooping beard, and speckled oats, 15 The yorlin's trembling sigh of pleasure floats On sultry wind ; the landrail's hoarse crake-crake Still keeps the meadows and cornfields awake When two clear twilights mingle in the sky Of glomng June. A broad white margin dry 20 Around Lough Braccan, yet our foiu'-oar'd boat At this long jetty's end lies well afloat. Your hand, fair London girl; your hand, my Jane; Lord Camlin lifts wee Molly; Ered is fain Of Pictor's hand, the glowing P. Pt. B. 25 Two elder guests embark more leisui-ely. Grave William Downing, an official man, George Eoe, as grave, but on a different plan. Our Irish antiquary, — both exact, Elaborate and minute, but every fact 30 Turns here to poetry, and there to prose. MIDSUMMER. 257 Bloomfield himself is steersman : off she goes, Cleaving the glassy flood; blue summer smiles Above, below ; green headlands, wooded isles Shift past them ; and the mountain's royal folds, 35 With shadows such as purple velvet holds. A softer landscape and a fairer sky Around the moving boat in mirror'd beauty lie. Bloomfield and Camlin talk, old friends and dear. Of much ; of horses, flax-mills, home-brew'd beer ; 40 Of London ; of Ned Stanley, said to be Lazy and hlase in sublime degree; And of elections. Laurence said, " You know, " My rebel grandsire, sixty years ago, " With Grattan gave his vote in College-gi-een, 45 " Or else Lord Lisnamoy I might have been." — " Stand for the county, Bloomfield."— "So I might. ** Under what banner would you have me fight V — "They ask'd you?" — "Yes, with watchword Tenant-right: ' * <' But what had I to promise 1 All my lore 50 s 2 58 CHAPTER TWELVE : " Leaves tliis a darker matter than before. " Tory I'm not ; yet have no pocket plan " To re-divide the world. Besides, a man " "With place and soHd work, had better stay " And do what comes to hand the best he may." 55 — " You have done much." — " To make good tenants sure, " And weed away the bad ; attempt a cure " Of sloven habits, ignorance, and waste, " (All step by step, for such things bear not haste ;) " To teach the children ; to forbear to mix 60 " With Church affau'S, or party pohtics — " The simple programme, less or more fulfill'd." — " And here you are, not ruiu'd yet, nor kill'd." — " So has it happen'd. Still, I never saw, ." Xor yet can see, foundation for a law, 65 " Amidst our manifold complexities, " Perplexities, (and what a web are these !) *' But here alone : waste and indebted lands " Being wisely bought into the nation's hands, MIDSUMMER. 259 " You miglit thereon create a novel class 70 " Of Irishmen, to leaven all the mass " With hope, and industry, and loyalty, " (My favourite crotchet — well, so let it be) " Small Owners, namely. North, south, east, and west, " I'd plant them, and they'd surely do their best ; 75 " With great and permanent results, if slow." — "I wish it had been thought-of years ago!" — " I mean to try it now, on petty scale. " Dysart's estate was brought at last to sale " A week since, and one good-sized lot is mine, 80 " Which, parceU'd out with care, I shall assign " To various peasant purchasers. 'Tis plain " Already that I shall not lose 1)ut gain " On the mere bargain. Money must be paid, " But part may on the land itself be laid. 85 " No burdensome conditions I inflict, " And all on both sides shall be clear and strict." Dowunig has listen'd ; liis dry cautious mind a 2 260 CHAPTER tweh^ve: Can many doubts and difficulties find. ** Ireland and England, make the two as one." 90 — " May Heaven forfend, in case it could be done," Says Eoe, and gently shakes his silver'd head; And Bloomfield, " As some measure England's thread, " (Do nations last for ever 1) 'tis a date " For closer partnership a day too late ! " 95 Qtioth Downing, "What can Ireland singly do?" — " Nothing as yet : to-morrow's always new. " Small nations to conglomerates I prefer ; S" Ireland has individual character ; " But with her very rudiments to learn lOO " Of self-command. Blind Fortune's wheel must turn " In vain, till much be alter'd. I for one, " Save my own task, see nothing to be done." — "1^0 patriotism?" says Camlin. — " Eire and sword " In a fool's hands ! Could Ireland now afford 105 " One footplace for Astrsea ? "Will our Age " On ground like this her noblest battle wage ? " We suffer ; pow rful England suffers too ; MIDSUMMER. 261 " Hot writhing France has still her work to do. " Eegard the nations ; name them one by one ; lio " More pregnant time than ours th' all-seeing Sun " Has not beheld. But Ireland — what of her 1 " She's nothing by herself : amidst the stir " Flung under foot or bandied to and fro, " What comes at last? — Our grandsons, they may know. 115 " Scarce worth a struggle now to re-arrange " AVhat's old, effete, departing, — let it change ! " I would that Irishmen could Ireland rule. " They cannot — Irishmen are still at school ; " Their master, England, unbelov'd 'tis true, 120 "But can we find a better one? can you? " Things must (in Pistol's words) be as they may, — " Time and the hour wear out the .longest day. " We'll do our best, because the best is best, ^' (The only reason) and let slide the rest." 125 From grassy slope the Round Tower springs aloft, 262 CHAPTER TWELVE : With grey and orange lichen tinted soft, Like some huge tree-trunk; its long shadow falls Across the rough and ruin'd Abbey- walls, And creeps o'er headstone, cross, and weedy mound. The dial of tliis consecrated ground ; 131 While near the shinmg margin of the lake, Where crooked elder-shrubs an arbour make, (Grotesquely stuck with many-coloured rags By grateful devotees, as pilgrim-flags) 135 At noon its linger finds the Holy Well, Nature's pure hermit of a rocky cell. To this in few days more, with one consent, Throngs of devout, of sick, of penitent. Will come to do their prayerful pilgrimage, 140 As hath been since the good Columba's age. " Much longer," guesses Roe ; " for Pagan shrines " Were Christianized — old bottles held new wines." " Forms — faiths," Lord Camlin murmurs, " old and new 1 " " See," exclaims Pictor, " how that mantle's blue 145 MIDSUMMER. 263 " Comes out against the grey-green slirubs and rocks." " A Pilgrim surely ! " cries fair Goldy locks, And claps her pretty cockney hands for joy. It is indeed a woman, with a boy, A ten-year baby, pined in face and limb, 150 "Whose mother many a mile has carried him. And now bends low in pray'r, her sick one laid Gasping and white within the elder-shade. " Let's go," says Bloomfield, and they turn away. Great awe to see a human being pray 155 Had Laurence ; but in thought and word and deed He stood aloof from every stated creed ; Aloof, yet, if you question' d, fairly dealt, Had thought your thoughts, had felt as you have felt, And many men were cheer'd at inmost heart 160 That some-one dared an independent part. The vulgar Scripture-Eeader, meddling Priest, One could not argue which he loved the least ; Subscription-lists of theologic kind, 264 CHAPTER TWELVE : Whate'er their party, found him deaf and blind ; 165 j!^o wish he harbour' d to convert the Jews, Turks, Russians, Catholics, Chinese, Hindoos, Cared not a pin for High Church or for Low, ]!^or by what various names Dissenters go. At last the world made up its mind to say: 170 "An odd man truly ! — he must have his Avay," For thus old habitudes themselves protect, As our own body, failing to eject, Sheathes an intrusive particle. " What plan " With Irish Priests'?" — "Why, talking as a man, 175 " T say, avoid them. But a statesman might " Have in his calculations found it right " To yield them a less humble place at home ; " Since now they're nothing save as part of Eome." Bloomfield to Downing thus : and Eoe agreed, — 18O " Of countries Catholic we find indeed " Ireland most Popish ; poor and trodden-down, " She claims the glories of the Triple Crown, MIDSUMMER. 265 " The famous temple of Saint Peter shines, " For head-cathedral of her humhle shrines." 185 — " Ireland," said Bloomfield, " too much tends to cast " Her thought upon the distant and the past, " Amidst intangibilities to live, " Her sad imagination scope to give " In longings, in regrets, to make her boast 190 " Of fine things due or coming, fine things lost " That once were hers, and hers would still be found " If but the rolling world had kept its ground." — " And yet," sigh'd Koe, " 'tis gentle heart that clings " To hope's and memory's fond ideal things. 195 " Poor Erm with her harp ! — Tliis very night " The ghosts of immemorial ages light, " From Howth to Connemara, Donegal " To furthest Kerry, for their festival, " On every hill and head a mystic flame." 200 The time of evening-conversation came 266 CHAPTER TWELVE With new and various talk. A question starts Of Meyerbeer's stage-cunning, and Mozart's, For Jane's a good musician feminine, A connoisseur Lord Camlin, skill'd and fine; 205 Of Scotch and Irish music, whereof Eoe Doth more than any living mortal know ; The modest, mild, and gravely cheerful man, Who with the race of statisticians can Converse as well. The ' facts ' for which they care, 210 His mind will group, distinguish, blend ; as air And light do landscapes. !N"ow we shoot a glance Into the heart of Poland, China, France, America, — or aim at least ; return To handle Ireland, yet no fingers burn. 215 Amelia thinks Pre-Eaphaelites are wrong, Complains of Eobert Browning's knotty song. And Pictor, hot in cheek, confutes the fair, But soon forgives her for her gold-red hair. The voice of Bloomfield — " Search the world around, 220 " Where are you safer than on Irish ground 1 MIDSUMMER. 26/ ' No burglar reconnoitres your abode, " ISTo footpad dogs you on the lonely road, " No ruffian's arm or cowardly garotte, " Walk where you please, is flung across your throat ; 225 " No pistol-pointing mask, with stealthy light, " Across your slumber stoops at dead of night ; " No friendly neighbour, spouse, or next of kin, " Mixes your glass, to drop the powder in ; <' Confess, when you have search'd the wide world round, 230 " You're nowhere safer than on Irish ground. " We Paddies, Downing, you must understand, " Count England as a dangerous heathen land!" " I own, though we of Irish things complain " Your native manners are of gentler strain. 235 " Your Scotch and English settlers still I find " Of boorish bearing and slow stubborn mind." " Yet these, per contra" Bloomfield must admit, " Are loyal, trutliful, though of sluggish wit. 268 CHAPTER twelve: " I like them, sturdy, sulky, jealous tribe, 240 " Though to their Orange Hall I can't subscribe. — "And Eibbonism?" — "How much I used to hear " Of Eibbonism, the landlord's hourly fear!" — "And you have quell'd it — 'twas a noble task!" — "I know not if I have ; I never ask. 245 " It sometimes said, Talce Notice, I took none, " And what we plann'd was resolutely done ; "■ My own folk saw me willing to be just " And something more ; I told them, ' I intrust " * My life to you.' When any lost his land, 250 " 'Twas mildly managed ; all could understand " The need ; and so on." — " Would you not be loth " To trust a man wiio took the Eibbon oathl" — " Men's lives, and human character, are such, " Perhaps it puzzles most to know too much ; 255 " I ask no questions." No : but Laurence knew Some things unsought, as frank men always do. Whilst yet his reign was but a few weeks old, MIDSUMMER. 269 The Doran's lifelong heartburn he consoled With much-desiderated lease, and more 260 Of moorland joined to what they had before. Warmly towards their youthful king they felt, Who also his especial favour dealt To Neal, but knew not what a burden lay On the boy's mind. I^eal told the truth one day. 265 " A Eibbonman am I, — send me to jaO, " Or where you will, sir." Laurence heard his tale, And sent him round by Ailsa Craig, to watch Awhile how Sandy farms, and learn broad Scotch. Much happens in a year. A spy betray'd 270 The poteen-still, and by the heels was laid The cunning Connaughtman, who in his turn. Enraged and ruin'd, thought it well to earn The public money, not indeed for blood. He could not prove enough ; but much he could, 275 Which sent Tim Nulty, and five other men. To fifteen years of punishment, and ten, And broke the Lodge in pieces, with dismay 270 CHAPTER TWELVE : And heavy dread, not passing soon avray. First Bloomfield's folk, then nearly all the rest, 280 At ' God's Tribunal ' now their sin confess'd, And from theu" oath absolved, with penance due, Felt thankful great relief, and started new ; Some, if not all, upon a wiser course. Of these was Denis ; who with generous force 285 His gratitude to generous Laurence gave, And Laurence liked the sturdy man and brave, Steadfast to Bridget, made at last his wife When iNeal return' d to prop the old folks' life. Since Laurence built his Inn, the bustling pair 290 With honest pride are host and hostess there, — Small show, much comfort, and each liquor's name The one it has authentic right to claim ; 'No vitriolic whiskey, fit to sear Youi" vitals up, no sour malignant beer. 295 Poor Paddy of all Christian men I think On basest food pours down the vilest drink ; ' God's Tribunal,' the confessional. MIDSUMMER. 271 But not in Bloomfield's kingdom ; long did Jane Endeavour, and at last not all in vain, That wives and daughters should know how to cook. 300 Upwards, they both say, bid the humbler look; Appropriate wishes breed not discontent ; For strength's renewal petty hopes are lent; So Kve we, so improve. A tidy cottage, Garb of stout homespun, mess of savoury pottage, 305 Such grows the fashion; him that duly tries His Honour helps with all goodwill to rise. " And what then," Downing ask'd, "is Eibbonism?" — " A morbid sign, a proof of social schism. " No one can tell you is it widely spread ; 310 " All tails I guess it, and without a head ; " A sort of stinging zoophite, that breeds " In rotten places, and from vagrant seeds." — " Well, comfort and contentment baud in hand " Grow strong or feeble over every land: 31.^ " And your folk are contented 1" — " Why, so far 272 CHAPTER TWELVE : " As Sons of Erin may, perhaps they are. *' But common evils which to life belong " Patricius will account a personal wrong ; " Suckled on grievances, liis mind is bent 320 " To charge on others all his discontent ; " Half curses England when his tooth-ache stings, " Half blames th' Established Church for frosty springs " And rainy summers ; thinks it passing hard " From any joy of life to live debarr'd, 325 " As though the English, French, or German poor " Lead plenteous lives, with nothing to endure." — " What's this !" said Jane ; " yes they are, I'm sure, " Contented," — " Well, perhaps they are, my dear; " As much as may be ; yet I always hear 330 " The human discontent in murmuring motion " Round every limit, like the murmuring ocean. " Come, let us go. The bonfires are alight. " I'll hold you safe from Captain Eock to-night. " Now, Miss Amelia ; — " From the fir-grove mound 335 MIDSUMMER. 273 They view the shadowy country, leagues around, Spotted with fires ; upon the mountain ridge One like a rising star; and one a bridge Of quivering gold across the dusky lake ; Successive torches, like a fiery snake, 340 Wind creeping tlu^ough the foliage, in and out, With black figures athwart, whose muffled shout Hurts not the wliispering airs that come and go Among the fir-boughs and warm grass below. Now by sweet-scented j^atli they take their way 345 Between the dusky swathes of new-mown hay, Down to the cross-roads' patch, enclosed with trees And flower-girt walls of peeping cottages. To find the nearest Bonfire — crumbled wide In glowing ruins, and on every side 350 The women snatching ruddy coals, for fear Their hearth should miss good luck throughout the year. But quickly now approach, with clamorous noise, The torches, in a mob of men and boys, Who draw to Bloomfield's gazing group, extend 355 T 274 CHAPTER TWELVE : The loose array to left and right, and bend All round them, not too closely, in a ring, From which the huge reed-flambeaux towering fling Wild flare upon the crowd, with shadows wild, And on the trees' dark wall above them piled. 360 Amelia shrinks to Jane's courageous arm, Who smiles away her pretty friend's alarm. Forth steps a torch-man. " Hats off, boys ! be ready ! " God bless his Honour, and his darlin' Lady ! — " God bless the two fine childre', that's not here ! — 865 " Gead viillia faltia, noble guests ! " — a cheer Thrice o'er the glimmering lake swells out and dies. Faint echo from the mountain-land replies. Gaze from the Hall : the fires are well-nigh dead, But in the clear dark summer vault o'erhead 370 A mild three-quarter moon and stars a few Burn quenchless, and the heav'n is lighted through With faintest daylight, whereof none can say Cead mlUia faltia, a hundred thousand welcomes. MIDSUMMER. 27.'5 If that it be the old or newborn day. Alas ! the year has touched its height of hope, 37.'; And lessening day on day begin to slope To gloomy winter. All, we know, must die : Jjut when we feel it, who forbears to sigh ] — To bed, to bed ! amidst the doubtful gleam ; And mingle Past and Future in a dream. 380 Says Downing, brought by Eloomfield round tlie land Next morning, — "Now at last I understand. " I knew your liberal notions, never knew " How you contrived to raise your rental too. " I see you have, as groundwork^ study made, 38fi " Close, persevering, of the farmer's trade. " Hard work, no doubt, at first." " Plans fail'd, beside, " And many cheated, more to cheat me tried ; " All has Avork'd round by slow and sure degi'ee!<, " To something doubtless, — but one never sees 39 (i " His hope come true ; in daylight disappear t2 21 G CHAPTER twelve: " The vision's glories. , . . Let me sliow you here " A solid thing enough. Seven years ago " "With gorse above, and plashy bog below, " This was a dreary wilderness and wide, 395 " With one poor cottage on the moorland- side. " Twelve little households now possess a place, " And each the centre of a widening space "Of useful ground. Besides their work at home, " The men and youths to farming labour come 400 " In Spring or Harvest on the neighbouring lands, " But not as once, with slavish hungry hands, " Toiling for husks, and as they toil'd the more, " More helpless, pinch'd, and poorer than before." — ""Wages are higher 1" — "Yes, I gladly say, 405 " And far more work too finish'd in a day. " Every day-labourer, if worthy found, " Ere long obtains a cheap small bit of ground ; " Help with a house ; with more ambitious eyes, " May look to win a Avaste-plot if he tries ; 410 " But first probationary powers must show, MIDSUMMER. . 277 " And on the list witli all liis rivals go. " There should he, as the soldiers have in France, " In humhlest work an opening to advance. " Best government gives every man his chance. 41 r, " That's justice, — hut still more the weak may claim, " And merely justice in the strong were hlame," " This house is Doran's, who was pioneer " Amid the waste, and lived in constant fear " Of those ahove liim. He and his at length 420 " To other shores had turn'd their heart and strength : " But here remain the old man and his wife, " A healthy couple still, of easy life. " A year ago their son, so things hefell, " Essa/d my stewardship, and does it well. 42.5 " Their daughter, married, lives at Lisnamoy, " Fair hostess of the Inn ; her six-year hoy " Lives mainly with the old folk, who employ " A sturdy youth's assistance for their land, " And keep their place, you see, with tidy hand." 430 278 CHAPTER TWELVE : Trim on its farm tlie little mansion stood, Amidst, e'en yet, a seeming solitude Of craggy liills above, brown bog below. (Jheap all-enriching ivy (sure to grow Where Bloomfiekl's likings are a law of love) 435 Clasping the gable, show'd its sprays above White wall and well-kept thatch ; field, fence, and lane. Once vile as beggar's garb, now carried plain The look of thrift and hopeful industry. Proud, not ashamed, to toil successfully. 440 A regiment of young trees stood well in rank, To guard from swooping gale an open flank, And here and there, with due entrenchment round, Green larches held the rugged bits of ground. They entered : rows of dish and cup shone bright 445 Along the dresser; and a warm delight Made Maureen's good old face more shining still As Bloonifield shook her hand with right good- will; While grandson Johnny timidly must creep MIDSUMMER. 279 And sidle oS, and round a corner peep. 450 Would they sit do'mi 1 — And, oh it was too much, But could their Honours any one thing touch? " Your hunya-rowa to my friend I've praised," And each the milky bowl rejoicing raised. They saw the garden, with its homely space 455 Of onions, parsley, cabbage, catching grace From bordering marigolds, high hollyhocks, Tufted queen-daisies ; under mossy rocks Stood beehives ranged along its upper end, And willows to a bow'r were taught to bend; 460 Then passing to the door were met by Jack, A sturdy toiler still, though bow'd in back, Who shoVd his fields and methods, old and new, Yet with a lingering touch of caution too. With humble cough he prefaced each reply, 4G5 And glanced at Downing with suspicious eye. Next to Neal Doran's house, in central site, hunya-rowa, thick milk. 280 CHAPTER TWELVE : Warm brick emboss' d with roses red and white. His wife, a comely, smiling little dame, AVas busy with her baby when they came ; 470 And soon arrived the Steward, young and stout, With face of active boldness looking out Through calm intelligence; his words but few, Eespectful, grave, and confidential too. Master and servant lived in mutual trust. 475 How sweet is life when men are kiud and just ! " A fortnight hence we go, l!^eal, — must prepare," — And so they talked of this and that affair. The guests are gone. Midsummer time is past. Laurence and Jane a longing wish have cast 480 To Thor and Odin's land, resolved to see (Bold travellers they iu many a far countrie) The rough and jagged edge of Europe, where White Sulitelma looks through purest air Over pine-forests, cataracts, deej) still fiords; 485 And Gulbrandsdal hath for its peasant-lords MIDSUMMER. 281 Maintaiii'd tlieir old inheritances; each "Warm in his fir-huilt palace, out of reach Of winter and the wolf, on those long nights That arch the waste of snow with mystic Hghts. 490 A country poor and perilous; yet kind, As Gamle Norges grateful children find. Mary and Fred to Jane's good sister go, In Dublin; one whose marriage fails to know The joy of hlest maternity, but scant 495 In no good office that becomes an aunt. Sir Ulick's house the children seldom see; Infirm in body and in mind is he; My Lady Harvey, as a woman can. Makes Avretched aU around her. On her plan 500 One daughter's married; one remains to fret; Richard, her eldest son and former pet, Has mingled wormwood in her bowl of life By choosing for himself a charming wife. Dick, when he comes, of Bloomficld's talk is ftiin, 505 282 CHAPTER TWELVE : And Mary Harvey hosom-friencis with Jane. Meanwhile the ohl regime creaks himbering on, — A crawling flattering creature, hight Malone, Once clerk to Pigot, now for agent placed ; Some think a cheat, and sure to be disgraced. 510 Sir Ulick's younger daughter, so they say. Was jilted by Lord Crashton — well-a-day ! I mean the young Lord, when the old Lord died. He to the last on Satan loudly cried. And cursed his only son with parting breath, 515 A son right joyful of his father's death. The young Lord's ways 'tis wisdom not to know; The firm in Dublin, meanwhile, smoothly go From year to year with all his bonds and lands, Which rest completely in their skilful hands; 520 And Phinn and Wedgely well their secrets keep. A slice is theirs of every ox and sheep. Or, some think, lion's share. For good or harm, This broad estate is one huge grazing farm. MIDSUMMER. 283 How fare the other neighbours of oiir Squire ? 525 Dysart, sold up, to Dublin will retire, And live there, Heaven, or else the Deuce, knows how. O'Hara died at Eome : trustees have now His large bequest, to found a nunnery. And college, when convenient; squeezing dry 530 The land and tenants meanwhile. Finlay, cold And hard at all times, now is too-too old, Is turn'd a very walking icicle. From wliich no sun or fire can coax one rill. One drop of kindness. With his silent spouse 535 And cloddish sons he keeps a dismal house, Bargains at every fair, and has not thought How he is with his cattle sold and bought. Tough Isaac Brown, because the times grew bad, Much conflict with his petty tenants had, 540 And, beef and mutton rising every day, Drove men and women by the score away ; Some on the Um'on (his Division) came. Which vex'd him. Twice his rick-yard roar'd in flame. 284 . CfiAPTER TWELVE : / \ He tliiiil<:s assassins on liis footsteps wait, 545 And four policemen live beside his gate. His wife, long-lingering, dead, this tough old Browai Soon made a young and florid lass his own; And for the purse-strings they have many a fight. His son enlisted ; daughter N'ell took flight 550 With stolen money, and a labouring lad. Old Isaac's temper now is bitter-bad; Ghoul-greedy grows his appetite for gain ; Some think him softening, not in heart but brain. Has Bloomfield niov'd these men? Small sign appears. 555 They learn but little from the days and years. " I thought," said he to Jane, " that by degrees " Persuasive reason would have wrought on these " To join for some good ends : with what disgust, " What rage they always listen, if they must, 560 " To mere proposals for the general good ! " A stupid rich man's gross tyrannic mood I » MIDSUMMER. 285 " Enrages one in turn, and goads to fight, " And some wrong things have thus heen twisted right " With weary work. What pleasure (here's reward) 565 " In one's own limits to make some accord " Of wish and fact, with aidance always near " From speckless mind and loving heart, most dear ! . . . " How little can be done, my Jane, at hest ! — ''The landscape here is noble; shall we rest?" 570 Thus on Croghmore said Laurence, just a day Before they started on their nortliern way. Two mountain ponies bore them up as far As that grey limestone crag, with rift and scar, Wliich keeps the summit like a castle-wall, 575 Titanic, dreadful. Sunshine over all The world was spread, and on a knoll or crown Warm-scented with wild thyme, these two sat down. The verdant mountain slopes from stair to stair ; A cottage whitely nestling here and there ; 580 286 CHAPTER TWELVE : Atop stands built the dizzy limestone ledge ; Below, smootli curves embrace the water's edge, And round tlie clear lougli, gemm'd with islands green, Else lower crags, with darkling glens between, Thick-gi-own with nut and fern and rowan-spray, 585 Through which the falling streamlets find their wa}'. Far-distaut, clothed in soft aerial blue, A peaky summit bounds the wider view, A brother mountain, swept by ocean-gales. Where fishers' roofs are hid in wider vales ; 590 Mountain to mountain looks, as king to king, Axid embassies of clouds high message bring ; Great thunders roll between, when storm-eclipse Shuts either landmark from arriving ships ; The starry dome suspended high aloof 595 Bows on these pillars its perennial roof. But now, bright sunshine broods upon the world, With silence ; save the boom of bee uncurl' d From bed of thyme ; or when a marvellous thing, Horns, beard, and yellow eyes, with sudden spring 600 MIDSUMMER, 287 Cresting some fragment like a hippogriff, Is gone, its goat-bleat eclioiiig from the cliff. They see the lake and islands mapp'd below, Through broad green plains the river's glittering flow, Partition'd farms, and roofs where men abide, 605 The Town's light smoke, on grovy hill descried; Corn-fields and meadows, rocky mounts they see, Dale, sheep-walk, moorland, bog, and grassy lea; But all, from mountaiu-skirts to distant coast, In one expanse and one impression lost ; 610 A wavy ten-league landscape, light and large. Lonely and sad, on Europe's furthest marge, " * A plenteous place of hospitable cheer " ' Is Holy Ireland ! ' — often did I hear " That song in Gaelic from my nurse. Poor land ! 615 " ' There's honey where her misty vales expand.' " Her sons and daughters love her; yet they fly " As from a city of the plague ; and why 1 — " Poor ]\Iadge herself, when I was still a boy, 288 CHAPTER TWELVE : " Sail'd westward, beyond search : at Lisnamoj' 620 " I could not find one creature of her race, " The people flee by myriads, and their place " Knows them no more. On whom or what to blame " "We disagree, and struggle without aim. " Some wish us joy; we're losers aU the same. 625 " Yet would I merely stop the current 1 'No. " How many I myself have help'd to go, " 'Tis best for them — and sad it should be so." — " But, Laurence, you in this desponding mood ! " Who've done your land and people so much good, — " In joy of work accomplish' d, — on this eve 631 " Of happy holiday ! "— " 'Tis sad to leave " One's home, on gayest journey : Shall we find " Again the very things we've left behind'? . ,' . " But past our bounds my thought o'er Ireland flew, " And only saw" a dreary dismal view, 636 " This mild green country in the western sea, " With guardian mountains, rivers fuU and free, MIDSUMMER. 289 " Home of a brave, ricli-brain'd, warm-hearted race,— " This Ireland should have been a noble place 640 " It will be," Jane replied. And so they left Their purple couch, and clomb a rocky cleft, Steep, narrow, known to mountaineers, and stood On the bare summit, — kingly solitude, Apart, yet pubhc to the earth and sky. 645 Drunken with bUss, the proud exulting eye iSwept o'er the billowy hills, cloud-shadow'd, roU'd Like spotted sultan-serpent, fold on fold ; Faint violet valleys; specks of burning gold On brook or tarn; a world below spread fine 650 Of dehcate rainbows, to the far-off shine Intense but dim of Ocean, like Heaven's gate; All over-canopied with pomp and state Of clouds, pure gulfs, and glowing light profound "Wherewith the Sun o'erflow'd th' horizon round. 655 u 290 CHAPTER TWELVE : MIDSUMMER, Their bosoms with a wordless rapture swell'd, Gazing upon these glories. Laurence held The wifely hand, with little ring wherethro' Her life-stream coursed in wandering veins of blue, And press'd it to his lips with perfect love, A psalm was in their souls to God above. 660 Earth, ocean, spreading round them, and on high The regions of the everlasting sky. FINIS. B. CLAY, SON, AND TAYLOR, PRINTERS, LONDON. BOOKS OF POETRY. Fcap. 8vo. cloth, 7s. 6d. THE INFANT BEIDAL, and Other Poems. By Aubrey de Vere. Second Edition, fcap. 8vo. cloth, 55. MY BEAUTIFUL LADY. By Thomas Woolner. "The poem is remarkable for its gi'avity of feeling, its tender touches of beauty, and its oneness. . . . The many loving thoughts and beautiful fancies evidently blossom out of the real facts of life, and ' My Beautiful Lady' is the work of a thorough artist." — Athenceum. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. KILMAHOE, a Higliland Pastoral, with other Poems. By John Campbell Shairp. " ' Kilmahoe' is a Higlilaud Pastoral, redolent of the warm, soft air of the Western lochs and moors, sketched out with peculiar gi-ace and picturesque- ness. . . . Mr. Campbell Shairp is gifted with high poetical quallltles. . . . Whoever reads 'Kilmahoe' for himself can hardly fail to recognise Mr. Shairp's accuracy and force in painting the scenes he loves so well. Bve'ry sharp stroke of outline, every delicate touch of colour, is given with the truth of a mind which has concentrated its imagination and its enjoyments upon the particular life and landscape of the Scotch hiHs."— Saturday Review. Seventh Thousand, handsomely printed on toned paper, and bound in extra cloth. AVitli Vignette and Frontispiece from designs by the Author. Engraved on Steel by C. H. Jeens. 4s. 6d. THE LADY OF LA GAEAYE. By The Hon. Mrs. Norton; Dedicated to the Marquis of Lansdowne. "The poem \s a pure, tender, touching, tale of pain, sorrow, love, duty, piety, and death." — EcUnhunjh Review. " A true poem, noble in -subject and aim, natural in Uow, worthy in expression, witli the comnion soul of humanity thiobbing in every page, through wholesome words." — Examinw. Fcap. Svo. cloth 5^. GOBLIN I^IAPtKET, and Other Poems. By Christina G. Ro.ssetti. With Two Illustrations from designs by D. G. Ros.setti. " As faultless in expression, as picturesque in effect, and as high in purity of tone, as any modern poem that can be named.."— Haiurday Review. MACMILLAN & CO. LONDON AND CAMBRIDGE. Fifth Edition, Fcap, 8vo. 6s. THE STOEY OF JUSTIIS" MAETYE, and Other , Poems. By Richakd Ciienevix Trench, D.D. Arch- bisliop of Dublin. Second Edition, Fcap. 8vo. 5s. 6^. POEMS FEOM EASTEEN SOUECES, GENOVEVA, AND Other Poems. By Eichard Chenevix Trench, D. D. Archbishop of Dublin. » Third Edition, Fcap. 8vo. 2s. 6d. ELEGIAC POEMS. By Eichard Chenevix Trench, D. D. Archbishop of Dublin. Third Edition, Fcap. 8vo. cloth, 5s. THE SAINTS' TEAGEDY; or, the True Story of Elizabeth of Hungary. By Charles Kixgsley, M.A. Kector of Eversley, and Professor of Modern History in the TJniversity of Cambridge. Third Edition, Fcap. 8vo. 5s. ANDEOMEDA, and Other Poems. By Charles KiNGSLEY, M.A. Fcap. 8vo. cloth, 6s. THE POEMS OF AETHUE HUGH CLOUGH, Sometime • Fellow of Oriel College, Oxford. With a Memoir by F. T. Palgrate. "Few, if any, literary men of larger, deeper, and more massive mind, have lived in tliis generation tlian the author of these few poems, and of this the volume before us bears ample e\-idence. . . - There is notliing in it that is not, in some sense, rich either in thought or beauty, or ioth."— Spectator. Fcap. 8vo. cloth, 7s. BEHIND THE VEIL, and Other Poems. By The Hon. Roden Noel. "... There is about most of the poems a thoroughly true vein of feeling, which occasionally touches on the deepest tones of human pathos." — John Bull. / MACMILLAN & CO. LONDON AND CAMBRIDGE. r kA UNIVERy/A ..in^sMrriPr. „it iiTvj-dO^" %03iiVj-dO>' -J J 0E{^ ^OFCAIIFO/?^ <^\V> ^"^ -a^ jfa^ '"^ 'i^i r-1 >• CO JO ^ UN1VER% ^>:IC C - 3 ^- ,>• — ■ ns ~ - UNIVER%. ,vv'nvAK'r.f[fj^ u.0^ - ■. ( i ,\rc\ t" ^ .\> 3 1 58 1223 3 68 III UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 369 369