KW^a■3gl^m'f^^^aa^'^'^^■'(;^lW»;^^^^t^^)'•»w'>'i*^3C':':';^.■l«l^^ aiifcHBiiaBiiiaiiffiiiai LIBRARY UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA RIVERSIDE c / > >h / i V/ (o The Cabinet of Irish Literature LAURENCE STERNE After the Painting by SIR JOSHUA RE Y MOLDS /ijier me t^amting oy i>iK juiitiU^ A'ii ii\uj^uo The Cabinet of Irish Literature Selections from the Works of The Chief Poets, Orators, and Prose Writers of h'eland With Biographical Sketches and Literary Notices by CHARLES A. READ, f.rh.s. Author of "Tales and Stories of Irish Life" "Stories from the Ancient Classics" &c. NEW EDITION Revised and greatly Extended by KATHARINE TYNAN HINKSON Author of "Poems" "The Dear Irish Girl" "She Wallts in Beauty" "A Girl of Galway" &c. Volume I LONDON THE GRESHAM PUBLISHING COMPANY 34 SOUTHAMPTON STREET, STRAND 1902 Preface to the Second Edition The Cabinet of Irish Literature was first published in the early eighties, at a moment of storm and stress in Ireland, when there was little sign of the pleasant industry presently to be in the field of literature. So many have been the workers since then, and so considerable the work, that it is thought fitting that a new edition should now be issued, to include the new- comers. In arranging this new edition it seemed best to follow the manner of the old, in making it consist of the same number of parts and of volumes. To do this a sifting of the Cabinet as it stood was necessary. The first editor's scheme had included a good many names which seemed to the present editor to belong rather to other forms of energy than to that of literature. She has fol- lowed her own judgment in excluding a good many of the early inclusions, which is not to say so much that she dissents from the first admirable editor's judg- ment, as that her sympathies necessarily are narrower. Some orators have gone because she thought that the fire had died out of the speeches with the passing of the man; and that it was a poor service to represent an illustrious name by many pages of dulness. Many military memoirists have gone because their work was merely special. Many divines, because their discourses failed like the speeches of the orators, or because they appealed only to special circles. The scholars are her grief, because their magnificent work, unless they were poets and story-tellers as well, is so difficult of representation in a book for popular reading; and one has to let them stand by dry-as-dust. Here and there she has added, where she considered that a poet or romancist was inadequately repre- sented, and taken away where there was over-representation. In a few instances she has altered the quotations. She has included in an Appendix the names of many distinguished writers, an extract from whose work did them little justice. Otherwise, except in the mere matter of detail, the Cabinet stands pretty much as it was. She has not quarrelled with her predecessor's literary opinions, though she has often not agreed with them; and she desires to be held responsible only for the added matter of the new edition. a Preface to the First Edition A Roman historian in a well-known passage rebuked an ancient people for ignorance of their own land and their own race. Strong as is the attachment of the Irish people to their country, they cannot be wholly acquitted of the same charge. It is only within the last half century that a real attempt has been made to subject early Irish literature to severe and systematic investiga- tion; and German scholars at one period seemed likely to anticipate Irishmen in the study of the Celtic tongue. The rise of men like O'Donovan, O'Curry, Petrie, and others, fortunately averted this national discredit, and an impetus has now been given to Celtic research which, so to speak, secures the future of that department of Irish literature. But it is not the ancient literature or the elder generations of Irish litterateurs that alone have been neglected by the Irish people. There are few Irishmen, I venture to think, who have any conception of the number of well-known literary names which belong to Ireland. Accustomed to read and hear of many writers as belonging to English literature, we are liable to forget their connection with Ireland; and thus many eminent authors pass for being English who were born on Irish soil. Apart, however, from this consideration, the want has long been felt for a work in which the prose, the poetry, and the oratory of great Irishmen might be found in a collected and accessible form. Such a book is primarily necessary for the purpose of enabling the literary history of Ireland to be traced in a systematic manner; and not the literary history only, but also the historical and social development of the people. In Ireland, as in other countries, literature is the mirror wherein the movements of each epoch are reflected, and the study of literature is the study of the country and the people. Most Irishmen, more- over, have felt the desire for a work in which they could readily find access to the gems of literary effort which rest in their memory, and would be gladly seen again. I have made ample confession of the neglect of Irish literature among Irish- men themselves, and with the greater freedom I can make complaint of the astonishing ignorance of Irish literature among Englishmen. It is no exagger- ation to say that many London writers of comparatively small importance are better known than some Irish writers of genius. So much for the ideas which led to this Work; I now pass on to the plan on which it has been prepared. As will be seen, a biographical sketch is first given of each author, and this is followed by selections from his works. The memoirs are not, as a rule, of great length, for the book is meant to be a cabinet of literature and not a biographical dictionary. In the selection of extracts the choice has been guided by a desire to present those specimens of an author which best iii iv PEEFACE illustrate his style. Other considerations had also to be taken into account. It would be obviously absurd to give a passage which was not intelligible without full knowledge of all by which it was preceded or followed. As a consequence it was necessary to seek for an extract which stood out in something like relief, and which required no acquaintance with the context, or only such acquaintance as could be conveyed in a short preliminary note. This consideration has neces- sitated occasionally the selection of passages which Avere not, perhaps, the most brilliant in the author's works. Finally, it has been the constant aim to avoid the quotation of anything that had become hackneyed or that could wound the feelings or offend the taste of any class or creed. As will be seen from the final memoir in the last volume, I have had no large share in the preparation of the Work. Well nigh the whole of the first three volumes were prepared by the late Mr. Read, whose life-history Mr. Charles Gibbon has so touchingly told, and were carried through the press by Mrs. Read, who supplemented by various contributions what was necessary to their completion. I am responsible for the fourth volume only. Finally, Mrs. Read unites with me in thanking the many authors and publishers who have so readily and courteously accorded permission to use extracts from the various works quoted. T. P. O'CONNOR, M.A. Contents of Volume I PAGE Introduction, xi Eakly Irish Writers — Geoffry Keating (1570- leso), xxv Michael O'Clery (isso-igw), xxv James Usher (isso-ieso), xxvi Maurice Fitzgerald (dr. 1012), xxix Sir James Ware (1594-1G66), xxix Maurice Dugan (cir. i64i), xxx Richard Stanihurst (1545-1618), xxxi LuDOViCK Barry (cU-. ion), xxxi Teige Macdaire (1570-iCoo), xxxi Duald MacFirbis (i585-i6ro), xxxi Nicholas French (i604-i678), xxxii RODERIC O'FlAHERTY (1628-1718), XXxii William Molyneux (1606-1 698), xxxiii Nahum Tate (I652-1715), xxxv Nicholas Brady (lesg-me), .. xxxv Andrew Magrath (1723- ), xxxv Sir John Denham (1615-1669), 1 Cooper's Hill, 2 Of a Future Life, 3 To Sir Richard Fanshawe, 4 On Cowley's Death, 4 Owen Ward (icoo-ieio), 5 Lament for the Tyronian and Tyrconnellian Princes, 5 Richard Flecknoe (160o-1678), 7 Silence, 7 Of Drinking, 7 On Travel, 8 To Dryden, 8 On the Death of Our Lord, 8 Extract from " Love's Kingdom ", . ... 8 One Wlio Turns Day into Night, .... 8 A Sower of Dissension, 9 Roger Boyle, Earl of Orrery (1621-1679),... 9 On Christmas Day, 10 On the Day of the Crucifixion, 10 The Hon. Mrs. Monk (i677-m5), 11 On Providence, 11 On a Statue of a Lady, 11 Epitaph on a Gallant Lady, 11 Orpheus and Eurydice, 11 Runaway Love, 12 PAGE Earl of Roscommon (1633-1684), 13 The Day of Judgment, 14 Ode upon Solitude, 14 Imitation of Twenty-Second Ode, First Book of Horace, 15 Essay on Translated Verse, 15 The Hon. Robert Boyle (i626-i69i), 16 Fishing with a Counterfeit Fly, 17 On a Glow-worm in a Phial, 18 Thomas Duffet (cir. i676), 19 Since Coelia's my Foe, 19 Come all you Pale Lovers, 19 Uncertain Love, 20 George Farquhar (i678-17C7), 20 A Woman of Quality, 21 A Gentlemanly Caning, 23 The Counterfeit Footman, 24 Father and Son, 25 Count Hamilton (1646-1720), 27 Portrait of Grammont, 28 Fiddlestick, 28 The Enchanter Faustus, 33 Thomas Parnell (1679-1717), 35 A Fairy Tale, 36 The Hermit, 38 Robert Viscount Molesworth (1656-i725), . . . 40 The Court of Denmark, 41 SUSANNNA CeNTLITRE (1667-1723), 43 The Busybody, 43 Marplot's Cleverness, 44 Miss Lovely and her Guardians, .... 45 Father and Daughter, 49 John O'Neachtan (cir. 1695-1720), 51 Maggie Laidir, 51 A Lament, 52 Sir Richard Steele (1672-1729), 53 The Ci^^l Husband, 55 Inkle and Yarico, 56 Sir Roger de Coverley's Wooing, .... 58 Charity, 60 The Old Style and the New, 62 A Romantic Young Lady, 63 Mrs. Constantly Grierson (1706-1733), 67 At a Country Assize, 67 VI CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. PAGE William Congreve (1672-1729), 68 Amoret, 69 Letter to a Friend, 69 Talking of Lovers, 69 Settling the Contract, 71 A Literary Lady, 72 Extracts from "The Mourning Bride", . . 73 TUBLOUGH O'CaROLAN (1670-1738), 73 Peggy Browne, 75 Gentle Brideen, 75 Bridget Cruise, 75 Why, Liquor of Life ? 76 Grace Nugent, 77 Mild Mabel Kelly, 77 O'More's Fair Daughter, 77 Jonathan Swift (1667-1745), 78 Extract from " The Journal to Stella", . . 84 On the Death of Mrs. Johnson, 84 Thoughts on Various Subjects, 88 Prometheus, 90 Wishes and Realities, 91 The Happy Life of a Country Parson, . . 92 Stella's Birthday, 92 In Sickness, 93 The Furniture of a Woman's Mind, ... 93 Lawyers, 94 Samuel Botse (1708-1749), 94 Hope's Farewell, 96 The Home of Content, 96 The Golden Eule, 97 Justice, Why Blind? 97 Sir Hans Sloane (166O-1752), 98 The Coco Tree, 99 Thomas Southerne (1660-1746), 100 Extract from "Oroonoko", 100 Matthew Concanen (died 1749), 103 The Advice, 10.3 A Love Song, 104 October Ale, 104 Cupid's Revenge 104 The Football Match, 105 Bishop Berkeley (1684-1753), 106 On America, 107 LaETITIA PiLKINGTON (1712-1760), 108 Mrs. Pilkington's Patrons, 108 Expostulation, HO Contentment, HO Written on her Death-bed, HI John Boyle, Earl of Cork (1707-1702), Ill Mrs. Muzzy on Duelling, 112 rxor. John MacDonnell (1691-1754), 113 Granu Wail and Queen Elizabeth, .... 113 Claragh's Lament, 114 Old Erin in the Sea, 114 Claragh's Dream, 115 Charles Molloy (1706-1707), 116 Miser and Maid 117 A Candid Beauty, 118 Mrs. Barber (1712-1-57), 119 Apology for the Rich, 120 The Oak and the Ivy, 120 Stella and Flavia, 120 Laurence Sterne (m3-i76S), 121 Widow Wadman's Eye, 122 The Bastile v. Liberty, 123 The Story of Yorick 124 The Story of Le Fevre, 128 Philip Francis (1719-1773), 131 Horace's Epistle to Aristius Fuscus in Praise of a Country Life, 131 John Cunningham (1729-1773), 132 Morning, 132 Noon, 133 Evening, 133 The Ant and the Caterpillar, 133 The HoUday Gown, 134 A Pastoral, 134 Patrick Delany (lese-nes), 135 The Duties of a Wife, 136 The Duty of Paying Debts, 138 Frances Sheridan (1724-1766), 141 Ode to Patience, 141 A Wonderful Lover, 142 A Romantic Love Match, 144 Oliver Goldsmith (1728-1774), 147 The Deserted Village 152 Switzerland and France, 156 Description of an Author's Bed-chamber, . 157 Hope, 157 The Budding Rose, 157 Extracts from " The Good-natured Man", . 157 Mrs. Hardcastle, 161 The Gentleman in Black, 163 Advice to the Ladies, 166 The Vicar's Home 167 Moses at the Fair, 169 A City Night Piece, 171 Hugh Kelly (1739-1777), 172 In Debt and in Danger, 173 A Hollow Victory, 175 Extract from "Thespis", 177 All Her Own Way, 177 CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. Vll James Delacour (i709-178i), 179 How Lovo was Born, 180 Euphrates, 1^0 A Moonlit Night, ISO How to Praise, 180 The Poor Poet, 180 On Seeing a Lady at an Opposite Window, . 181 William Havard (i7io-i778), 181 Charles I. in Prison, 182 Fairfax and Cromwell, 182 Kane O'Hara (d. 1782), 184 A Most Tragical Tragedy, 185 Pan's Song to Apollo, 186 Push about the Jorum, 186 ThOM.\8 LeLAND (1722-1785), 186 The Battle of Aughrim, 187 Henry Brooke (i706-i783), 189 Essex and Elizabeth, 190 Essex and Nottingham, 190 Gone to Death, 191 Nature's Skill and Care, 192 Francis Gentleman (1728-i784), 193 The Birthday, 193 Two Opposites, 194 Thomas Sheridan (mi-irss), 196 Captain O'Blunder : a Farce, 197 General Burgotne (cir. 1728-1792), 199 The Lady and the Cynic, 200 An Old Rascal, 201 Rural Simplicity, 203 Charlotte Brooke (mo- 1793), 205 To a Warrior, 205 Oh, Give me Sight ! 205 Henry Flood (1732-1791), 206 Flood's Reply to Grattan's Invective, . . . 208 A Defence of the Volunteers, 210 On a Commercial Treaty with France, . . 211 Extract from "Pindaric Ode to Fame", . . 212 Charles Macklin (1690-1797), 213 A Mischief-maker, 214 How to get on in the World, 215 A Bevy of Lovers, 218 Walter Hussey Burgh (1742-1783), 220 Extract from Speech on Money Grant, . . 222 The Wounded Bird, 222 See ! Wicklow's Hills, 222 The Toupee, 223 Edmund Burke (1730-1797), 223 Gradual Variation, 226 Queen Marie Antoinette, 227 Extracts from the Impeachment of Warren Hastings, 228 Chatham and Townshend, 232 The Desolation of the Camatic, .... 233 Elizabeth Ryves (d. 1797), 234 Ode to SensibiHty, 235 Ode to Friendship, 235 Song, fi The Sylph Lover, '•^^ Extract from "The Hermit of Snowden", . 236 Theobald Wolfe Tone (i703-i798), 236 Essay on the State of Ireland in 1720, . • 239 Interviews with Buonaparte, 241 Charles Johnstone (1719-1800), 243 Poet and Publisher, 243 Isaac Bickerstafk (1735-1800), 245 A Noble Lord, 246 Hoist with his own Petard 247 Mr. Mawworm, 249 Two Songs, 250 What are Outward Forms? 251 Hope, 251 Thomas Dermody (1775-1802), 251 When I sat by my Fair, 253 Evening Star, 253 The Sensitive Linnet, 254 Jealousy, -'^■* Lines to the Countess of Moira, 254 Contentment in Adversity 254 On Songs, ^55 Robert Jephson (1736-1803), 255 A Mighty Fighter, 256 Most Seeming False, 257 Joseph Cooper Walker (mr-mo), 260 Dress of the Ancient Irish, 261 Arthur Murphy (1727-1805), 264 How to Fall Out, 265 . Edward Lysaght (i763-i8io), 266 ! Kate of Garnavilla, 266 The Sprig of Shillelah, 267 Our Island, 267 Sweet Chloo, 268 Thy Spirit is from Bondage Free, .... 268 To Henry Grattan, 268 Kitty of Coleraine, 269 Robert Emmet (i778.i803) 269 Last Speech, .270 Lines on the Burying-ground of Arbour Hill, DubUn, 273 The Hon. George Ogle (1739-1814), 274 The Banks of Banna, 274 Banish Sorrow, 2/4 Molly Astore, 274 Vlll CONTENTS OF VOLUME I. PAGE RiCHAKD BkINSLEY ShERIDAN (1751-1816), 275 Bob Acres' Duel, 278 The Money-hunter, 282 The Happiest Couple, 284 An Art Sale, 285 Sir Fretful Plagiary's Play, 287 The Desolation of Oude, 289 Drinking Song, 290 By Coelia's Ai'bour, 290 MkS. MaBY TiGHE (1772-1810), 290 Praise of Love, 291 Sympathy, 292 The Lily, 292 CalmDeHght, 293 Edmund Malone (1741-1812), 293 The Early Stage, 294 Ancient Moralitie- and Mysteries, .... 295 Stage Scenery, 296 PAGE Andrew Cherry (1762-1812), 297 Two of a Trade, 298 Desperate Rivals, 299 Famed for Deeds of Arras, 301 The Green Little Shamrock of Ireland, . . 301 The Bay of Biscay, 301 Tom Moody, 302 Richard Alfred Millikin (1707-1815), 302 The Groves of Blarney, 303 Convivial Song, 304 A Prologue, 304 Sir Philip Francis — Junius (1740-18I8), 304 Letter LVn.— To the Duke of Grafton, . . 306 William Drennan, m.d. (1754-1820), 308 The Wake of William Orr, 309 When Erin first rose, 309 sweeter than the fragrant Flower, . . . 310 The Wild Geese, 310 My Father, 310 A Song from the Irish, 311 List of Illustrations PAOB Laurence Sterne — After the painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds, .frontispiece A Gentlemanly Caning, 24 Sir Richard Steele — After the painting by Sir Godfrey Kneller, 54 Talking of Lovers, 70 Jonathan Swift — After the painting by Markham, 78 "My Uncle Toby sat himself down upon the chair by the bed-side", 130 Oliver Goldsmith — After the painting by Sir Joshua Reynolds, 148 Edmund Burke — After the painting by G. Romney, 224 A Noble Lord, 247 Richard Brinsley Sheridan — After the painting by Sii' Joshua Reynolds, 276 ix INTRODUCTION. Literature in ancient Ireland seems to have been the enviable profession. The person of the bard was as sacred as the person of the priest, and, like the priest, the bard called down lightnings on those who offended him. It was a less easy profession, as befitted one so privileged, than it is nowadays, when staff and scrip, or pen, inkhorn, and fair white paper, are the only equipment, plus brains more or less. The old bard, the old story-teller, trained worthily for a noble profession ; the profession of letters indeed, it deserved its stately title. There was no monstrous regiment of ready writers in those days. The craft had vigil and ordeal like any knighthood, and was protected by its pains. Nowadays literature is the easiest of all the professions, as it is the most open, the most unprotected, and the most saddled Avith incompetence. Dr. Douglas Hyde, the true brother of the ancient great scholars, in his monumental Irish Literary History, tells us how an ollamh or chief bard, was made. He had to know by word of mouth three hundred and fifty romances. It took him from nine to twelve years' time to learn the two hundred and fifty prime stories, the hundred secondary ones, and the lesser matters that became a bard. The prime stories, combinations of novel and epic, prose and poetry, ranged over the folloAving subjects: — Destruction of fortified places, cow-spoils (i.e. cattle -raiding expeditions), courtships, battles, cave-stories, navigations, tragical deaths, feasts, sieges, adventunes, elopements, slaughters, water-eruptions, expeditions, progresses, and feasts. The bards were trained in bardic colleges, which survived, Dr. Hyde tells us, though with greatly diminished prestige, till nearly the end of the seventeenth century. He describes these schools or colleges in a passage so interesting that I transcribe it. " The session of the bardic schools began about Michaelmas, and the youthful aspirants to bardic glory came trooping about that season from all quarters of the four provinces to offer with trembling hearts their gifts to the ollamh of the bardic college, and to take possession of their new quarters. . . . The college usually consisted of a long low group of whitewashed buildings, excessively warmly thatched, and lying in the hollow of some secluded valley, or shut in by a sheltering wood, far removed from noise of human traflnc and the bustle of the great world. But what most struck the curious beholder was the entire absence of windows or partitions over the greater portion of the house. According as each student arrived he was assigned a windowless room to himself, with no other furniture in it than a couple of chairs, a clothes-rail, and a bed. When all the students had arrived, a general examination of them was held by the professors and oUamhs, and all who could not read and write Irish well, or who appeared to have an indiflferent memory, were usually sent away. The others were divided into classes, and the mode of procedure was as follows. The students were called together into the gi-eat hall or sitting-room, amply illuminated by candles and bog-torches, and we may imagine the xii INTRODUCTION. head ollamh addressing them upon their chosen profession, and finally proposing some burning topic for the higher class to compose a poem on, while for the second class he sets one more commonplace. . . . The students retired after their break- fasts to their own warm, but perfectly dark compartments, to throw themselves each upon his bed, and there think and compose till supper-hour, when a servant came round to all the rooms with candles, for each to write down what he had composed. They Avere then called together into the great hall, and handed in their written compositions to their professors, after which they chatted and amused themselves till bed-time. On every Saturday, and the eve of every holiday, the schools broke up, and the students dispersed themselves over the country. They were always gladly received by the land-owners of the neighbourhood, and treated hospitably till their return on the Monday morning. The people of the district never failed to send in, each in turn, large supplies to the college, so that between this and the presents brought by the students at the beginning of the year, the professors are said to have been fairly rich. The schools always broke up on the 25th of March, and the holidays lasted for six months, it not being considered judicious to spend the Avarm part of the year in the close college, from which all light and air-draughts had been so carefully excluded." Great was the power of the bards with the lords and chiefs who were their patrons and fosterers. The anger of a bard was almost as terrible as the anger of a saint; and their songs could make men's blood run like lava through their veins. One remembers that gallant Geraldine, Silkur Thomas, nearly turned from the rebellion that Avas his ruin by the tender wisdom of the aged chancellor, till his Irish harper, breaking into an impassioned chant upon the glories of the Geraldines, maddened him anew against the king, and in his crusade " for valiantesse and liberty ". Long afterAvards, when the Irish harpers were under protection in the houses of the gentry, there occurred this delightful passage between O'Carolan, or Carolan, the last of the bards, and M'Cule, another harper in the house of Charles O'Conor of Belnagar, Avhither he had wandered in his blindness. "I think", said Carolan, as his fingers strayed over the harp-strings, "that I must be in the house of O'Conor, for the harp has the old fire in it." " Nay," replied M'Cule, " but your soul has the old madness in it." But, reverenced and feared as they were among their OAvn people, they Avere hunted doAvn as mercilessly as wolves by those Avho desired the subjection or de- struction of the island race. By the Statute of Kilkenny it Avas made penal for the English settlers " to entertain the bards, who perverted the imagination by romantic tales ". Dangerous fellows, who not only influenced the Irish, but made the English, suckled at the breast of that softest of motherlands, more Irish than the Irish ! Henry Tudor, though be quartered the harp of Ireland in the arms of England, was a bitter enemy to the Irish bards. "Elizabeth," says that fine historian, Mrs. Atkinson, "albeit shoAving a decided preference for the Irish tunes as perfox-med at court galas, ferociously pursued in Ireland the bards and rhymers, placing them in the same category as monks, friars, Jesuits, and such like, as 'a traitorous kind of people'. Cromwell's soldiers broke the harp Avherever they found it." To the power of this bardic instrument are many testimonies. Giraldus Cara- brensis, who had no love for these traitor harpers, Avrote: "They are incomparably more skilful than any other nation I have ever seen. They delight so delicately, and soothe Avith such gentleness, that the perfection of their art appears in the INTRODUCTION. xiii concealment of art." Dante had an Irish harp, and deh'ghted in its construc- tion. "No harp hath a sound so melting and prolonged as the Irish harp", said Lord Bacon. While Evelyn, after listening to the performance of his friend Clerk on the Irish harp, says: "Such music before or since did I never hear"; and goes on to declare this neglected instrument far superior to the lute itself, or Avhatever speaks with strings. But all that was later. The splendour of the bards was swept away in that war of extermination of Queen Elizabeth's day that destroyed the Desmonds, and left Munster the place of desolation which Spenser described so terribly. The bards were as little to be spared as any Desmond of them. Their songs and stories made men's hearts rebellious, and they were very hot-gospellers of sedition. So, enactments of Elizabeth's reign were directed against them. The nobles were forbidden to entertain them, in the hope that they might starve and die out. "Item," says the Act, "for that those rhymours by their ditties and rhymes made to divers lords and gentlemen in Ireland to the commendation and high praise of extortion, rebellion, rape, ravin, and other injustice, encourage those lords and gentlemen rather to follow those vices than to leave them, and for making of the said rhymes rewards are given by the said lords and gentlemen, for abolishing of so heinous an abuse orders be taken." "Orders were taken, and taken so thoroughly," says Dr. Hyde, "that O'Brien, Earl of Thomond, obliged to enforce them against the bards, hanged three distinguished poets." Nor were the bards more mercifully treated by some whose sympathy they should have had. Spenser, who was in Ireland as a soldier of fortune, and had his share of the Desmond inheritance, has no good to say of his Irish brother. "There are", he writes, "among the Irish a certain kind of people called bards, the which are had in so high regard and estimation among them that none dare displease them, for fear to run into reproach through their offence, and to be made infamous in the mouths of all men." Upon which his friend Eudoxus remarks that he had thought poets persons rather to be encouraged than to be put down. To which the poet replies: "Yes, they should be encouraged when they desire honour and virtue; but these Irish bards are for the most part of another mind, and so far from instructing young men in moral discipline, that whomsoever they find to be most licentious of life, most bold and lawlesse in his doings, most dangerous and desperate in all parts of disobedience and rebellious disposition, him they set up and glorify in their rhythmes, him they praise to the people, and to young men make an example to follow". "Tell me, I pray you," asks Eudoxus, "have they any art in their compositions, or be they anything wittie and well-mannered as poems should be'?" "Yea truly," answers the author of Ejnthalamium, the most beautiful of all marriage poems, " I have caused divers of them to be translated unto me that I might understand them, and surely they savoured of sweet art and good invention, but skilled not in the goodly ornaments of poesie, yet were they sprinkled with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and comeliness unto them; the which it is a great pity to see abused to the gracing of wickedness and vice which with good usage would serve to adorn and beautify virtue." Spenser's indictment against the morals of the bards may pass. He was an enemy Avriting of enemies, and no doubt it is the gist of his arguments against them that their poems are tending for the most part to the hurt of the English or maintenance of their own "lewde libertie, they being most desirous thereof". Dr. Hyde says he has read many hundreds of xiv INTRODUCTION. the poems written by the bards in the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries, but has never come across a single syllable in praise of "extortion, rape, ravin, and other injustice", though many inciting to rebellion. One has a curiosity about these poems which Spenser had translated to him. That they deserved his praises at least, one believes, reading some of them in Dr. Sigerson's masterly Bards of the Gael and the Gall, and the translations of Mangan and others. Mangan no doubt translated freely, and may well have given us sometimes a poem more precious than he found; but the two of his poems in which his inspiration is most certain, by which his genius stands as something more than an idle report — for Irish criticism of poetry especially is not to be trusted — these two poems have at least their foundation in the poetry of those contemned Elizabethan bards. "Dark Rosaleen", which is spirit and fire indeed, and that extraordinary concentration of pity and passion, elemental in its forces, "O'Hussey's Ode to the Maguire", had never stood, two forest trees of Anglo- Irish poetry, but for these same bards. However, " the annoying " of the Desmonds swept them away like leaves before the blast, and there were none powerful enough to protect them, so they took their songs and their turbulence, their love and their little wars, to a kinder world. A century or so later they lifted their heads again at the report of the coming of Charles Edward, but they were no longer the children of the patriarchal system of the Irish clans, they no longer sat by the knees of the chiefs, with gold and honours and cherishing in return for their songs. They were now schoolmasters, labourers, pedlars, publicans, sometimes settled, but more often wandering men. To the Irish schoolmaster, by the way, Irish letters owe a debt not lightly to be estimated. Who but he kept the lamp alight in dark days, and preserved the Irish intellect from the inevitable dulling and degradation that must come after generations of disuse? Learning perhaps never flourished under stranger and more difficult conditions. The freedom of the mind as well as the freedom of the soul was denied these Irish Celts, and the schoolmaster was often enough the martyr of his calling. He followed Learning in the rain and the wind, under inclement skies, and exposed to the blasts of winter. Surely never was she so wooed; and it is certain that she rewarded her devout disciple. Arthur Young saw " ditches full of scholars " when he travelled in Ireland, and there are many other authentic records of the like. In July, 1779, the artist Beranger, having visited Ballintubber Abbey and made a sketch of it, entered in his Journal: "Found a schoolmaster in the abbey with a parcel of children; his desk was a large monument, and the children sat on stones arranged". Another author mentions that the tomb- stones with their inscriptions sometimes served as books, while a bit of chalk and the gravestone served for writing materials. Says Mrs. Atkinson: "Master and scholars assembled in the safest spot they could find — on the sheltered side of a hedge, in a dry ditch, or on the edge of a wood, and worked away at the three E's, the classics, and their native tongue, prepared in dangerous times to hide their books and disperse over the country at a moment's notice. The hunted schoolmaster had one chance more than the hunted priest; for while the latter dared not fly from the altar, the pedagogue had only to throw his Horace into a thorn-bush, walk away with his hands in his pocket, and devote his attention to farming operations in adjacent fields. ... In those days Latin was freely spoken, especially in Kerry. Boys were often met with on the lonely hillsides conning their Homer, and runners INTRODUCTION. xv and stable-boys in the service of the Protestant gentry could quote for you a verse of Horace, or season their remarks with a line from Virgil." No wonder that Learn- ing is precious and venerated among the Irish peasants to-day. Their schoolmasters were invariably Jacobites, as they were always to be found on the side of the lost causes. King James had had his minstrels, but he excited no such romantic personal attachment as his grandson, and certainly no such flowering of poetry. Of this Jacobite poetry a deal has been happily retained in the inspired renderings of Ferguson, Walsh, Callanan, Mangan, Dr. Sigerson, and others, as well as in the academic — correct no doul)t, but quite uninspired — renderings of those admiral^le workers. Miss Brooke and the translators of Hardimau's Irish Minstrelsy. The Cabinet contains a goodly selection from these Jacobite poems. Here is one translated by Mangan from Egan O'Eeilly, which is an excellent specimen of an exquisite school. It is, of course, allegorical, and the lady is Ireland, she who was typified under many names, Kathaleen-ni-Houlahan, Celia Connellan, The Silk of the Kine, &c., as her royal lover was the Blackbird. The brightest of the bright met me on my path so lonely. The crystal of all crystals was her flashing dark blue eye; Melodious more than music was her spoken language only, And glories were her cheeks of a brilliant dye. With ringlets above ringlets her hair in many a cluster Descended to the earth and swept the dewy flowers; Her bosom shone as bright as a mirror in its lustre; She seemed like some fair daughter of celestial powers. She chanted nie a chant, a beautiful and grand hymn, • Of him who should be shortly Eire's reigning king ; She prophesied the fall of the wretches who had banned him : And somewhat else she told me which I dare not sing. Trembling with many fears, I called on Holy Mary, As I drew nigh this fair, to shield me from all harm; When, wonderful to tell, she fled far to the fairy Green mansion of Slieb Luachra in much alarm. O'er mountain, moss, and marsh, by greenwood, lough, and hollow I tracked her distant footsteps with a throbbing heart ; Through many an hour and day did I follow on and follow Till I reached the magic palace reared by Druid art. Then a wild wizard band, with mocking cries of laughter, Pointed out her I sought, seated low by a clown ; And I felt that I never could dream of pleasure after, Wlien I saw the maid so fallen who deserved a crown. Then with burning speech and soul I looked at her and told her That to wed a churl like that was for her shame of shames. When a bridegroom such as I was longing to enfold her To a heart that her beauty had kindled in flames. But answer made she none ; she wept with bitter weeping ; Her tears ran down in rivers, but nothing could she say : She gave me a guide for my safe and better keeping, The Brightest of the Bright whom I met on my way. xvi INTRODUCTION. O my misery and woe, my sorrow and my anguish, My bitter source of dolor is evermore that she. The LoveUest of the Lovely, should thus be left to languish Amid a ruffian horde till the Heroes ci'oss the sea. So nearly always is the belle dame sans merci of the Irish bard, the country, herself enslaved, that has him in bonds, represented as a fair damsel whom the poet meets on the way, and with whom he holds converse. That Egan O'Eeilly is not over- praised by Mangan's flowing version of him we see in Dr. Sigerson's translation of the same poem: , Brightness of Brightness came in loneliness advancing, Crystal of Crystal her clear gray eyes were glancing, Sweetness of Sweetness her soft words flowed entrancing. Redness and Whiteness her cheek's fair form enhancing. Sui-ely Mangan has attenuated the image, has diluted the thought. Instead of the old bardic schools, and the ollamhs and their emulous fellow- students, the bards had now the circle by the fireside, to which they were welcomed, being yet hedged by that sacredness which in Ireland has long attached to learning or to intellectual gifts. One of the most famous of them, O'Toomey, had a hostelry in Limerick, above the door of which was written a Gaelic verse : Poor poet, do not pass me by; For though your tongue is always dry. And not a thraneen in your purse, O'Toomey welcomes you no worse. No doubt there were many such places for sessions of the bards, though the hospitable O'Toomey was soon " broke out of " his establishment, and had to take to being an assistant hen-wife, and to recei\dng as many blows and buffets from the owner of the hens as King Alfred did from the owner of the burnt cakes. However, wherever they went, or on what low days and ways they were fallen, they carried "my Lady Beauty" in their hearts, as their translators have shown. They were treason-mongers like their predecessors, and most often, as the respectable hold it, they were ne'er-do-weels, usually in opposition to all authority, and with authority's hand against them. They are fascinating fellows to linger over, but one must get on. They call Turlough O'Carolan the last of the bards. I think the last of the bards was one Edward Walsh, a poor schoolmaster of a penal settlement. You will read in the body of the Cabinet how exquisitely he rendered into English the songs of his Irish-speaking fellows. This surely is the song of the last of the bards, and never was brooding and sorrowful passion imagined more tenderly. It is from the unknown Irish, but it is the genius of Edward Walsh that is in it. SONG OF THE PENAL DAYS. Mouthful men and elders hoary, Listen to the harper's song ! My clarseach weeps my true love's story In my true love's native tongue. She's bound and bleeding 'neath the oppressor; Few her friends and fierce her foe; And brave hearts cold that would redress her, Ma chreevin evin, alga 0/ INTRODUCTION. xvii My love had riches once and beauty — Want and woe have paled her cheek ; And stalwart hearts for honour's duty — Now they crouch like cravens sleek. Ah heaven, that e'er this day of rigour Saw sons of heroes abject, low ! And blood and tears thy face disfigure, Ma chreevin evin, alga 0! I see young virgins on the mountain, Graceful as the bounding fawn, With cheeks like heath-flowers by the fountain, Breasts like downy canavan} Shall bondsmen share these beauties ample? Shall their pure bosoms' currents flow To nurse new slaves for them that trample. Ma chreevin evin^ alga 0? Around my clarseach's speaking measures Men like their fathers tall arise, Their heart the same deep hatred treasures, I read it in their kindling eyes. The same proud brow to frown at danger. The same dark coolun's graceful flow. The same dear tongue to curse the stranger. Ma chreevin evin, alga ! I'd sing ye more, but age is stealing O'er my pulse, and tuneful fires. Far bolder woke my chord appealing For craven Shemus to your sires. Arouse to vengeance, men of braA^ery, For broken oaths, for altars low. For bonds that bind in bitter slavery. Ma chreevin evin, alga 0! Meanwhile side by side with this Irish literature the Anglo-Irish was haA-ing its beginnings, though it is long till the writings of the Anglo-Irish bear any trace that their makers were born on Irish soil. Sir John Denham, Richard Stanihurst, Sir James Ware, Usher, Congreve, Farquhar, were only Irish by the accident of birth; and the same may be said of practically the whole Anglo-Irish school down to Swift and Goldsmith. It may have been to S\vift that his Irish birth and connection with Ireland seemed his inalienable misfortune; but whether that is so or not, his whole character and genius derived from the place of his birth. The profound and hopeless melancholy of the Celt was his bitter inheritance. His soe,va indignatio, his pity and love and rage, were for this people whom he would break to make nearer to his heart's desire. Who can doubt that among those fine ladies and gentlemen of the Journal to Stella his soul walked alone 1 Ireland was not his Laputa; and in his furious proposal that the Irish children should be killed and eaten, the inhuman lash of his sarcasm is for the nation in high places that had laid his in the dust. Granted that he was brutal to the Irish. He would have scourged them to be what they were not; and the sceva indignatio is not incompatible with 1 The flower of the bog cotton. Vv Vol-- I- * xviii INTRODUCTION. much love of this country and this people. So goaded was he by his own melancholy that he had left us only savage things if it were not for that extraordinary revelation of himself in the Journal to Stella. I would, as a mere matter of personal preference, give all the Anglo-Irish literature of that day for the Journal. To us who know the tremendous tragedy of Swift's life, while we fail to unriddle its meaning, the poignant tenderness and playfulness of the Journal are intolerable. The charming figure of Stella at the other end of the Journal looks roguishly through every line of it; and black above the love and the gaiety and the yearning for the one creature to whom Swift was all softness, hangs the cloud that was to envelop Swift in impenetrable night. Goldsmith, with his sunny temperament, was of course very Irish; and from Swift and Goldsmith on, the Irish influence begins to show in the Anglo-Irish literature. Indeed, to certain fine gentlemen associated with fashion and the Court in the Dublin of the last century, we owe some exquisite additions to our poetry. There was the Hon. George Ogle, who wrote " Molly Astore" and "The Banks of Banna". And again, there was the Hon. George Fox, who translated from the Irish one of the most beautiful poems we possess. Strange enough that he should have remained the author of a single song. THE COUNTY OF MAYO. On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat I sit in woeful plight. Through my sighing all the weary day and weeping all the night ; "Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I go. By the blessed sun, 'tis royally I'd sing thy praise, Mayo I When I dwelt at home in plenty and my gold did much abound. In the company of fair young maids the Spanish ale went round. 'Tis a bitter change from those gay days that I am forced to go. And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz, far from my own Mayo. They are altered girls in Irrul now ; 'tis proud they've grown and high, With their hair-bags and their top-knots, for I pass their buckles by. But it's little now I heed their airs, since God will have it so. That I must depart for foreign lands and leave my sweet Mayo. 'Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin is not Earl in Irrul still ; And that Brian Duff no longer rules as Lord upon the hill ; And that Colonel Hugh O'Grady should be lying cold and low, And I sailing, sailing swiftly, from the County of Mayo. Never has a song of lamentation been more beautifully rendered. What simplicity, what directness, what grief! Again, there is that ballad of the Brigade that Stevenson loved; but its makers are unknown, and to feel its full beauty you must hear it sung to its yearning music. SHULE AROON. I would I were on yonder hill, 'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill. Till every tear would turn a mill. 7s go de tu mo vuirnin! sldn. I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel, I'll sell my only spinning-wheel. INTRODUCTION. six To buy for my love a sword of steel, Is go de tu mo vuirnin! sldn. I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red, Around the world I'll beg my bread, Until my parents shall wish me dead, Is go de tu mo vuirnin! sldn. I wish, I wish, I wish in vain, I wish I had my heart again, And vainly think I'd not complain, Is go de tu mo vuirnin! sldn. But now my love has gone to France To try his fortune to advance. If he e'er come back 'tis but a chance, Is go de tu mo vidrnin! sldn. The Irish refrain means " Mayst thou go safe, darling!" The song belongs to the time when the Irish who had fought against King William, when his cause was triumphant sailed away and took service in France and Austria and Spain. They were knoAvn as the Wild Geese. Another of these beautiful things, dropped into the Irish literature from whence one knows not, is " Savourneen Deelish ". This, too, has the music to draw the heart out of the breast. Ah ! the moment was sad when my Love and I parted, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! As I kissed off her tears I was nigh broken-hearted, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! Wan was her cheek when she hung on my shoulder. Damp was her hand, no marble was colder ; And I felt that I never again should behold her, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! When the word of command put our men into motion, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! I buckled on my knapsack to cross the wild ocean, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! Brisk were our troops, all roaring like thunder, Pleased with the voyage, impatient for plunder, My bosom with grief well-nigh torn was asunder, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! Long I fought for my country, far, far from my true love, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! All my pay and my booty I hoarded for you, love, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! Peace was proclaimed : escaped from the slaughter, Landed at home, my sweet girl I sought her ; But sorrow, alas ! to the cold grave had brought her, Savourneen deelish, Eileen Oge ! Another of these artlessly artful things, and I am done. Since there is no place for them in the body of the Cabinet with its authenticities, they are well here, for no collection of Irish poetry should be without them. "Kathleen O'More", perfect of its kind, belongs also to the latter half of the eighteenth century, when English poetry, awaiting the coming of Shelley and Keats and AVordsworth, was cold and artificial. This is by George Nugent Reynolds, an else-forgotten song-Avriter. XX INTRODUCTION. KATHLEEN O'MORE. My love, still I think that I see her once more, But, alas ! she has left me her loss to deplore, My own little Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen, My Kathleen O'More. Her hair glossy black, her eyes were dark blue, Her colours still changing, her smiles ever new. So pretty was Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen, My Kathleen O'More. She milked the dun cow that ne'er offered to stir ; Though wicked to all it was gentle to her. So kind was my Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen, My Kathleen O'More. She sat at the door one cold afternoon. To hear the wind blow and to gaze on the moon, So pensive was Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen, My Kathleen O'More. Cold was the night-breeze that sighed round her bower, It chilled my poor Kathleen, she drooped from that hour ; And I lost my poor Kathleen, my own little Kathleen, My Kathleen O'More. The bird of all birds that my heart loves the best Is the robin that in the churchyard builds his nest ; For he seems to watch Kathleen, hops lightly o'er Kathleen, My Kathleen O'More. Meanwhile, interest in the ancient Irish poetry had awakened. Walker's Histori- cal Memoirs of the Irish Bards was the first sign. To this Miss Charlotte Brooke contributed her first translations. Her Beliques of Irish Poetry was the next note- worthy event; and later came Hardiman's Irish Minstrelsy, with the contributions of Furlong and others. This was all excellent scholarship; but the translators who were capable of thinking in Irish and writing in English were yet to come. Moore's advent makes a little blaze of glory in those end-of-the-century days. He had the excellent good fortune to marry a pretty gift of song-writing to the beautiful old Irish airs. Without the music it is doubtful whether even his own countrymen would persist in thinking Moore a great poet. Anyhow, he overshadowed every- one else in his day. He had a great opportunity, and took it, and he remains the idol of his country-people while other poets languish in cold neglect. Among English people he made Ireland and her woes fashionable; and he is even yet singing in many English homes where Ireland and the Irish sentiment are in little favour. Still, though he was not a great poet, he wrote some exquisite songs, the most exquisite " Through Darkness and Danger ", and " At the Mid-Hour of Night ". A very remarkable poet, George Darley, lived and wrote contemporaneously with Moore, but only the most literary of Irish people know even his name. However, real sincerity in Irish literary work was on its way. Davis was perhaps too deter- mined to be Irish, and poetically Irish, and he was a spendthrift of his gift. Both in his own case and that of others he insisted upon the Muse being the handmaid of politics, frequently with disastrous results to the poetry. He had no time himself INTRODUCTION. xxi to be anything but fluent and careless; he had bigger things to do than the making of literature, and he insisted rather on quantity than quality in the poets of the Nation. No doubt the fascination of Davis and Mitchel and their ideals gave the impulse to a movement in poetry that else would never have been heard of. Mitchel was the one big literary figure of the '48 movement, and his medium, of course, was prose. Davis was not exacting with himself or others. Why should he have been indeed? He came to bring a new soul into Eri; and though the arts were to serve, it was no time for men to sit polishing their work and listening to the still small voice of the artistic conscience. With Davis, oratory, history, and poetry were the drums and fifes of his movement; and he himself showed them how the playing should be done. So there is plenty of fine and even splendid rhetoric in the poetry of those days; nobly inspiriting as it is, it crashes and cries against the ear, is heard, not overheard, as someone says poetry should be. Poetry is not to be pressed into causes however ideal, and the spirit not seldom fled from the exaltations and energies of the Nation to quieter places. Of subtle and essential poetry there is little in the Spirit of the Nation, or in the published volumes of the Nation poets. Of fine ballads and tender love-songs there are many ; but Davis himself did not always rise to the level of his beautiful "Lament for the Death of Owen Eoe". Davis the poet was lost in Davis the leader of men. Of the essentially political poets of the time D'Arcy M'Gee seems to me the best. Of course there were men on the fringe of the movement who were poets first — nay, poets altogether. There was Mangan, whose inspiration only failed him when he became political or ceased to be Irish. There was Walsh, who must have felt as his brothers of a century earlier had felt if they had seen " the Blackbird " come home at last. And there was Ferguson, quite alien in politics, whose "Lament for the Death of Thomas Davis " is perhaps the truest poetry Davis ever inspired. It comes very easy to the Irishman to write. Give him a Cause, and he is as much a ready writer as a ready speaker. '98 had its scores of poets as it had its scores of historians. '48 had Davis to fuse it all, to set it a thousand paths, though but one way, for its energy. Meanwhile the simplicity, the sincerity, the directness, the purity of style, which came in with Callanan, had found others to emulate them. In that year '46, which was dark enough with Davis's light prematurely blown out, there was published a little book of excellent augury for Irish jDoetry. This was Specimens of the Early Native Poetry of Ireland, edited by Montgomery. The translators included Ferguson, Walsh, Mangan, Anster, and D'Alton, with the older translators; and the volume would be memorable if only because it published Mangan's translation of O'Hussey's "Ode to the Maguire", one of the finest poems in our literature. Meanwhile, outside any general movement, and in some cases anterior to it, a few poets had been making their poetry with entire sincerity and success. There was John Keegan, the peasant poet, who is altogether delightful, though with characteristic Irish carelessness he makes the dog in "Caoch the Piper" to have nearly the life of a man; or at least the piper and the piper's dog seem to grow old at the same pace. There was that most winning writer, Gerald Griffin. And again there was John Banim, who laid the Irish priesthood under an immeasurable debt by his "Soggarth Aroon", a poem which holds the very heart of the attachment the people have for their priests. And there were others, though these names occur most readily. But now the names of Banim and Griffin remind me that I have been writing xxii INTRODUCTION. as if the Irish literature were but the Irish poetry. As a matter of fact, the art of romance and story-telling had become natural to the Irish people in the English tongue much sooner than the art of poetry. Of course Miss Edgeworth, our one acknowledged name of the first magnitude, came of a stock originally "planted". But like some Irish writers of to-day, the Edgeworths had become strongly Irish, and no doubt the extraordinary wit and observation of the great Maria owed something to that aloofness of race and blood which enabled her to see and to interpret dispassionately. Carleton, however, was altogether Irish; and while Miss Edgeworth displayed to the world the topsy-turvy life of the gentry in Castle Rackrent and The Absentee, Carleton showed us the Irish peasant from within as no one else has done. He was no gentle idealist. He was a big, coarse peasant of genius; and while the genius in him enabled him at times to paint the soft and beautiful side of the Irish peasant character, especially as it is sometimes seen in a peasant mother, soft as Ireland herself, yet the very genius of the man was for some- thing grinding and melancholy. He had his own mother for a revelation of soft beauty, and his own father for a revelation of a spiritual life which no needs of the body could cloud or alienate. One phrase used by Carleton in speaking of his father's piety is a grosser revelation of character than the coarsest of Carleton's pages. His father prayed incessantly, on his way to Mass, at Mass, on his way from Mass, as if he had not had enough of it, wrote his son ! Some malignant fairy must have been at Carleton's christening to steal away the little sa\n[ng salt of spirituality which would have made his genius beautiful. He rendered the tragedy of Irish peasant life wonderfully. He had the peasant hate of hate, the peasant long memory, which, as we see in that astounding human document the Autobiography, made him impale every one who had ever done him a real or fancied injury. These were potent ingredients when it came to the painting of peasant wrong and peasant oppression. About the absolute monumental value of Fardarougha the Miser and The Black Prophet one has not the slightest doubt. They belong to the primal things of life and literature. John Banim had something of Carleton's gloomy power, but was a bourgeois, not a peasant, and had a lighter, sweeter side to his character. Like Carleton with " The Churchyard Bride ", John Banim produced one beautiful poem, " Soggarth Aroon ", with others less beautiful. Michael Banim, working in the same genre as his brother, is less powerful and more pleasing. Father Connell is a charming book; and both brothers had a gift of humour, which one needs in describing a life so often concerned with things melancholy and tragic. Griffin, with The Collegians, is another memorable novelist; and one cannot but be sorry that he did not produce more novels instead of training the young mind of Ireland as a Christian brother. Lever and Lover were also excellent in their kind. To my mind it is a good kind. The high spirits of Charles O^Malley, Harry Lorrequer, Jack Hinton, and all that gay company, seem to me genius; and while Luitrell of Arran has perhaps more serious literary qualities. Lever seems destined to immortality by reason of his roisterers, as high of heart and courage, as adventurous, as gay almost as the Mousquetaires. After all, there is another life than the peasant in Ireland, and no doubt Lever depicted truly enough the irresponsible, rackety, pleasant life of the Irish gentry before the Encumbered Estates Act came to make it dull. Lover is frankly farcical, the professional humorist, and very successful at his trade. In memoirs Irish literature is especially strong, or in things that are of the nature of memoirs. I take a few books at random, and I declare that no literature INTRODUCTION. xxiii can produce better than these. There is Swift's Journal to Stella, for which I wovild give all the literature, including Swift's own, and only excepting Steele's, of Queen Anne's reign. There is Tone's Diary, which exhilarates and saddens more than any novel of adventure I have ever read. There are Lord Edward Fitzgerald's gay, tender, and manly Letters in Moore's Life, for which I would certainly give all the Melodies. And yet they talk of '48 as the literary epoch of Irish revolutionary life! Then the Autobiography of Carleton, with its terrible frankness, its amazing egoism, its colossal vanity — why, as mere literature it is beyond price. I name but these four books that stand out; but of Memoirs, Biographies, and Recollections there is no end. '98 alone produced so great a number that one is forced to believe that every Irish soldier of fortune carried writing materials in his knapsack. As for drama, the Anglo-Irish mind seems to have always run to that; and the Cabinet has more than its share of dramatists, though their number is fewer in our own day. Since '48 Irish and English have fused rapidly. Even our scholars and anti- quaries are oftener than not of English extraction. An O'Curry indeed led the way, an O'Donovan followed, and O'Grady is a famous name in our own day; but what of the un-Celtically-named Gilbert Stokes and Hyde 1 But the country takes them all in in time. To Eugene O'Curry more than to any man "let the greater praise belong" for the latest development of Irish literature; for the distinction between Irish and Anglo-Irish is fast ceasing. In the years between '48 and '78 there was not much doing in general literature in Ireland. The Fenian time pro- duced no one more interesting than Kickham, whose peasant ballads are faultless, and who has written in Knocknagow a beautiful but too gentle novel of Irish life. Aubrey de Vere of course was working in poetry, and so was Allingham. Ferguson also produced his Epics, so that in poetry the time was memorable enough. Indeed, if one had to make a selection, instead of a collection, of Irish poems, and of the choicest kind, one would certainly draw largely on the work of those years, in which Ferguson wrote so much that was virile and romantic, De Vere that was beautiful and dignified, and Allingham that was exquisite and perfectly right. If one had to make a selection! It would begin with The Burial of Sir John Moore, the one immortal poem of Charles Wolfe, and would go on with — But no, it is a selection in the clouds; and we have yet the last twenty years unaccounted for. Since The Cabinet of Irish Literature was first published new Irish writers have arisen thick as leaves in Vallombrosa. Scholars indeed have no close time in Ireland, and their labours are not disturbed by the noise of more or less peaceful revolutions. But the respite from strong passions, particularly of the last decade, has allowed more sensitive people to collect their thoughts; and the literary acti\nty has been very remarkable. It has seemed as though all at once the Anglo-Irish, by reason of descent, had found a pride and a pleasure in being Irish, and the educated and privileged class — not one here and there more enlightened and generous than the rest, but in numbers — had discovered that their very reason for being was their Irishism. To be an Irish writer nowadays has its advantages, though they are not those of pelf. Even a humble writer may hope for a little 400 out of the Irish trea- sury. On entering upon the labours of his diocese he found matters, religious and political, in an excited condition, but though he took part in them vigorously he was not to be prevented from following his beloved studies. Aided by his increased income he employed a British merchant residing at Aleppo to purchase oriental writings, and through this person he soon obtained several rare and curious, as well as valuable and important, manuscripts. One of these was a copy of the Samaritan Pentateuch, another a copy of the Old Testament in Syriac. All these treasures he liberally placed at the disposal of other scholars, and many of them are now to be found in the Bodleian Library at Oxford. In 1634 there arose again the ever-recurring dispute as to precedence be- tween the Archbishops of Armagh and Dublin. This time the prelate of Armagh asserted his right to first place with such clearness and vigour that it was decided in his favour, a decision which forty years later XXVlll EAELY IRISH WRITERS. was confirmed at a full meeting of cardinals in Rome. In 1640, just before the outbreak of the troubles in Ireland, Usher and his family — he had only one child, a daughter — came to England. Prevented from returning to Ireland by the rebellion of 1641, he was appointed to the bishopric of Carlisle; but from this, owing to the successes of the Parliamentarians, he derived no benefit, though afterwards parliament voted him a pension of ^400 a year, which he received once or twice. Shortly before King Charles came to Oxford he removed there, and in 1643 he was appointed one of the Assembly of Divines at Westminster, but refused to sit, his principles leading him not only to preach against, but refuse to be present at the revision and remodelling of the Church which the Assembly contemplated. For this refusal and for some expressions in his ser- mons parliament ordered his library to be seized. Dr. Featly, however, obtained it for his own use, and so preserved it to its right- ful owner. In the midst of the political and religious turmoil and rancour of the age he lived quietly at Oxford for some time, and there he published his tracts On the Lawful- ness of Levying War against the King; Historical Disquisition touching Lesser Asia; and The Epistles of Saint Ignatius. Just before the siege he left Oxford and retired to Cardiif Castle, commanded by Sir T. Tyrrel, who had married his daughter. Here he continued in quietness for some months, still engaged in study, and here he was visited by the king shortly after the fatal fight of Naseby. From Cardiff he pre- sently moved to the castle of St. Donats, to which he was invited by the Dowager Lady Stradling. On his way thither he and his party were set upon, and the chests contain- ing the most dearly beloved of his books and manuscripts were broken open, and their contents flung about. A few gentle- men of the country, however, appeared on the scene, and prevented further outrage. At St. Donats he was attacked with a dan- gerous illness, the first premonitions of the end. From St. Donats he moved to London to the house of Lady Peterborough in 1646, and in 1647 he was chosen preacher of Lin- coln's Inn. In 1648 he was sent for by the king, who was confined in Carisbrooke Castle in the Isle of Wight, to give his advice in several important matters; and in 1649, from the roof of Lady Peterborough's house, he saw with horror the execution of the unfortunate Charles. In 1650 he published the first part of his Annals of the Old Testament, and the second in 1654. In this last year, in answer to an invitation, he paid Cromwell a visit, and again in 1655 he ap- peared before him to plead the cause of the Church of England clergy, when he received a promise that they should not be molested if they kept clear of politics. This promise Cromwell afterwards refused to ratify — a refusal which greatly pained the prelate. On March 20th, 1656, while at the house of Lady Peterborough at Reigate, he was taken ill, and died on the next day. While pre- parations were being made to bury him privately, Cromwell ordered him to be in- terred in Westminster Abbey, which was done accordingly with great pomp on the 17th of April. His library, which consisted of over ten thousand volumes, was eagerly sought after, the King of Denmark and Cardinal Mazarin offering large sums for it. Cromwell interfered, however, and it was soon after purchased by the army in Ireland, and stored in Dublin Castle, from whence on the Restoration it was moved to Trinity College. The works of Usher are well known to all scholars for the breadth of view, deep learning, and wide research which they dis- play. His chronology of the Bible is still the chronology adopted in the authorized version ; his work on the Solar Calculations of the Syrians, a work On the Apostles^ Creed and other Ancient Confessions of Faith, and his work De GrcBca Septuaginta, are remarkable as displaying his wide range of reading. Of his Ecclesiastical Antiquities of the British Churches Gibbon says, "All that learning can extract from the rubbish of the dark ages is copiously stated by Archbishop Usher". Bishop Jebb says he was "the most pro- foundly learned offspring of the Reforma- tion " ; and Dr. Johnson says, " Usher is the great luminary of the Irish Church ; and a greater no church can boast of". The Body of Divinity, we are told, was published with- out his approbation, and of it Bickersteth says, "Usher's Body of Divinity, though never revised by him, is full of valuable theology". Such was the universal esteem of his char- acter and literary reputation that he was offered a professorship at Leyden, and Car- dinal Richelieu invited him to settle in EARLY IRISH WRITERS. XXIX France, promising liim perfect freedom as to the exercise of his religion, although his notions of church government had a con- siderable leaning towards Presbyterianism. He was wont to hold learned conferences with Dr. John Preston, " the most celebrated of the Puritans"; and at the conclusion of these interviews it was very common with the good archbishop to say, "Come, doctor, let us say something about Christ before we part". " He hath a great name deservedly", says Edward Leigh, "among the Reformed Churches for his skill in ecclesiastical anti- quities, his stout defence of the orthodox religion, frequent and powerful preaching, and unblamable life." It is remarkable, as has been pointed out in Irish Writers of the Seventeenth Century, "that though living in an age when even Waller was lured from his flute, and Milton from his high dreams of Paradise to fight on affairs of church and state. Usher only once used his pen in defence of the king and his cavaliers". MAURICE FITZGERALD. About 1612. Maurice Fitzgerald was the son of David duff (the black) Fitzgerald, and, as his poems testify, lived in Munster in the time of Eliza- beth. Though several works of his are extant the facts of his life are shrouded in darkness. It is supposed that he died in Spain, where many of the most eminent Irishmen of his time found an exile's home. His journey thither probably suggested the Ode on his Ship, though, as Miss Brooke says in her Reliques of Irish Poetry, it is possible the third ode of Horace deserves that credit. In O'Reilly's Irish Writers is a list of seven poems by Fitzgerald which were in O'Reilly's possession in 1820. Fitzgerald seems to have been a man of considerable education and of refined taste. SIR JAMES WARE. Born 1594 — Died 1666. Ware was born in Castle Street, Dublin, on the 26th November, 1594, his father being then auditor-general of Ireland after having already served as secretary to two different lord deputies. At sixteen he entered Trinity College as a student, and while there, much to his advantage, made the acquaintance of Usher, who had already started on the road to fame. Like Usher, Ware was quick at learning, and in regular course he took his degrees of Bachelor and Master of Arts. Like Usher also, he had already commenced the labours which were to make him famous, and before he was thirty years of age his collection of books and manuscripts was any- thing but contemptible. In 1626 he visited London, and in that same year the Antiquities of Ireland began to appear. It was published in parts, as were almost all his works, and, as Magee observes, still bears the external evidences of profound patchwork. In London he was introduced by Usher to Sir Robert Cotton, who gave him every help in his power, and who placed his library and collection at his service. He availed himself largely of the treasures thus placed before him, and he also made considerable researches among the state papers in the Tower and elsewhere. Soon after his return to Ireland he commenced the publication of his Lives of the Irish Bishops ; and two years later, in 1628, he again visited London, where he this time made theacquaint- ance of Selden, and from whence he brought back to Ireland large additions to his collec- tion. In 1629 he was knighted, and in 1632, when his father died, he succeeded to both the fortune and office of his parent. In 1639 he was made one of the privy-council, and the same year, despite the labours of his office and the distractions by which he was sur- rounded, he managed to publish his most quoted work, the Writers of Ireland. In this year also he was elected member of parliament for the University of Dublin, and in 1640, as the friend of Strafford, he strongly opposed the election of the Irish committee which was sent to London to assist in the accusation of the unlucky viceroy. During the rule of Borlase and Parsons and the suc- ceeding viceroyalty of Ormond, the conduct of Ware was such as to be admired by friend and foe. In 1644 Ware left Dublin for Oxford as one of the deputies from Ormond to the king, and while in Oxford he still continued his favourite studies, and was made a Doctor of Laws by the university. On his way back to Ireland the vessel in which he sailed was captured by a Parliamentarian vessel, and he was sent a prisoner to the Tower of London, where he XXX EAELY lEISH WRITERS. remained ten months, until exchanged, and returned to Dublin. In 1647, on the surrender of Dublin, he was given up as one of the hos- tages and despatched to London, where he was detained two years. On his again returning home he lived privately for a time, but in 1649 the Puritan deputy ordered him to quit the kingdom, and with one son and a single servant he departed for France. In France Ware resided chiefly at Caen and Paris, and at both places busied himself, as might be expected, in his favourite pursuits of hunting for manuscripts and making extracts from those lent to him or which he was allowed to see. In 1651 he was permitted to return to London on family business, and in 1653 he was allowed to return to Ireland to visit his estate, which was then in a sad condition. In 1654 he published his final instalment of the A rdiquities of Ireland, of which a second and improved edition appeared in 1659. In 1656 appeared his Works Ascribed to St. Patrick, in 1664 his Aiinals of Ireland, and in 1665 he saw the completion of his Lives of the Irish Bishops. The Restoration brought restoration of his previous ofl&ces to Ware, and at the election for parliament he was again chosen member for the university. He was soon also appointed one of the four commissioners for appeals in excise cases, and he was offered the title of viscount, which he " thankfully refused ". Two blank baronetcies were then presented to him, and these he filled up with the names of two friends. A little later, on the 1st December (Wills says the 3rd), 1666, he died, famed for uprightness and benevolence. He was buried in the family vault in the church of St. Wer- burgh, Dublin. Ware's works were all written and pub- lished in Latin, but in the following century they were translated into English by Walter Harris, who married Ware's great-grand- daughter, and thereby inherited his manu- scripts. His translation filled two massive folio volumes, which are to be found on the shelves of every library deserving the name. The very excellence of these important works — their brief accuracy and minute compre- hensiveness — render them almost as un- quotable as a dictionary. In them, also, the author rarely falls into theorizing, for which, says Wills, " he had too little genius, yet too much common sense ". Magee speaks of him as " a great, persevering bookworm, a sincere receiver and transmitter of truth ". Bishop Nicolson says of htm, "To Sir James Ware (the Camden of Ireland) this kingdom is everlastingly obliged for the great pains he took in collecting and preserving our scattered monuments of antiquities ". MAURICE DUGAN. ABOtTT 1641. [All that we can discover of Maurice Dugan or O'Dugan is that he lived near Benburb, in county Tyrone, about the year 1641, and that he wrote the song here given to the air of the " Coolin ", which was even in his time old, and which is, as Hardiman says, considered by manv " the finest in the whole circle of Irish music ". He was supposed to be descended from the O'Dugans, hereditary bards and his- torians, one of whom wrote the Topography of A ncien t Irela rid, which was extensively used by the "Four Masters" in theii'^?i«a/5. O'Reilly, in his Irish TTriVers, mentions four other poems the production of O'Dugan, namely. Set your Fleet in Motion, Ov:en was in a Rage, Erin has Lost her Lawful Spouse, Fodhla {Ireland) is a Woman in Decay. These productions are not to be found in English, and are supposed to be lost. We incline to the belief, how- ever, that many bardic remains, in their original and almost unreadable IrLsh, may yet be discovered in unsuspected and out-of- the-way hiding-places.] THE COOLUN.i [Tbasslated by Sib Samuel Febguson.] Oh, had you seen the Coolun Walking down by the cuckoo's street, With the dew of the meadow shining On her milk-white twinkling feet. Oh, my love she is and my colleen oge, And she dwells in Balnagar ; And she bears the palm of beauty bright From the fairest that in Erin are. In Balnagar is the Coolun, Like the berry on the bough her cheek ; Bright beauty dwells for ever On her fair neck and ringlets meek. Oh, sweeter is her mouth's soft music Than the lark or thrush at dawn, Or the blackbird in the greenwood singing Farewell to the setting sun. 1 The head of fair curK EARLY lEISH WRITERS. XXXI Rise up, my boy, make ready, To horse, for I forth would ride To follow the modest damsel Where she walks on the green hill-side. For ever since our youth were we plighted In faith, truth, and wedlock true. Oh, sweeter her voice is nine times over Than organ or cuckoo. And ever since my childhood I've loved the fair and darling child; But our people came between us And with lucre our pure love defiled. Oh, my woe it is and my bitter pain, And I weep it night and day. That the colleen bawn of my early love Is torn from my heart away. Camden : Eruditissimu* ille nobilis Richardtu Stanihurstus. RICHAKD STANIHUEST. Born 1545— Died 1618. Richard Stanihurst was born in Dublin, and in his eighteenth year became a com- moner of University College, Oxford. After graduating he pursued his law studies at Furnival's Inn and Lincoln's Inn ; but, re- turning to Ireland, married a daughter of Sir Charles Barnewell. About 1579 he took up his residence in Leyden, entered holy orders, and became chaplain to Albert, Arch- duke of Austria, and Governor of the Spanish Netherlands. A great portion of his writings are in Latin. His first work, which was pub- lished in London in 1570, in folio, is entitled Harmonia, seu catena dialectica Porphyrium, and is spoken of with particular praise by Edmund Campion, then a student of St. John's College, Oxford. His other works are De rebus in Hibernia gestis (Antwerp, 1584, 4to); Descriptio Hiberniae, which is to be found in HoUnsheds Chronicle, of which it formed a part of the second volume ; De Vita S. Patricii (Antwerp, 1587, 12mo); Hebdomada Mariaiia (Antwerp, 1609, 8vo); Hebdomada Eucharistica (Douay, 1614, 8vo); Brevis pre- monitio pro futxira commentatione cum Jacobo Csserio (Douay, 1615, Svo); The Principles of the Catholic Religion ; The First Four Books of Virgil's Aeneis in English Hexameters (1583, small Svo, black letter), with which are printed the four first psalms, "certayne poetical conceites " in Latin and English, and some epitaphs. The friend of Sir Philip Sidney, he deserved the description of LUDOVICK BARRY. ABOtrr 1611. The first Irish dramatist who wrote in English. His comedy, Ram Alley or Merry Tricks, "is, for liveliness of incident, and spirit and humour in dialogue and character, one of the best of our old English dramas". Lamb quoted the Prologue to Ratn Alley in his Speci- mens of English Dramatic Poets, and the play itself was reprinted in 1636, and is con- tained in Dodsley's collection of old plays. TEIGE MACDAIRE. BoBN 1570— Died 1650. He was principal poet to Donogh O'Brien, fourth Earl of Thomond, and held as his appanage the Castle of Dunogan, in Clare, with its lands. In accordance with the bardic usages, he wrote his elegant Advice to a Prince to his chief when he attained to the title. This is the most elaborate of his poems. A stilted translation into English, from which we do not quote, as not preserving the spirit of the original, exists. MacDaire was assassi- nated bv a marauding soldier of Cromwell's army, who, as he treacherously flung the poet over a precipice, mocked him in Irish, crying: "Gro, make your songs now, little man ! " This would be one of MacDaire's own countr^-men. The bards, from their position and privileges, as well as from their haughty insistence on their rights, made, no doubt, many enemies. DUALD MACFIRBIS. Born 15S5— Died 1670. This famous scholar was born in county Sligo. He was the author of The Branches of Relationship, OT Volumes of Pedigrees. The XXXll EAELY IRISH WRITERS. autograph copy of this vast compilation, generally known as The Book of MacFirbis, is now in the library of the Earl of Roden. He assisted Sir James Ware by transcribing and translating from the Irish for him. His Collection of Glossaries has been published by Mr. Whitley Stokes. His autograph Martyrology, or Litany of the Saints in verse, is preserved in the British Museum. The fragment of his Ti'eatise on Irish Authors is in the Royal Irish Academy. His transcrip- tion of the Chronicum Scotorum was translated by the late Mr. W. M. Hennessy, and pub- lished in 1867. His Annals of Ireland has been translated and edited by O'Donovan, and published by the Irish Archaeological Society. A transcript of his Catalogue of Extinct Irish Bishoprics, by Mr. Hennessy, is in the collection of the Royal Irish Academy. In the Transactions of the Kilkenny Archceolo- gical Society may be found his English version of the Registry of Clonmacnoise, compiled in the year 1216. NICHOLAS FRENCH. BoBN 1604— Died 1678. Nicholas French, afterwards Bishop of Ferns, was born in the town of Wexford in 1604, from which he was sent early in life to the Irish College at Louvain. There before long he distinguished himself, and "there also he was received into holy orders". Soon after, hearing of the troubles of his country, he de- termined to return thither, and having been appointed parish priest of Wexford, " he be- came of such repute both for elocution, be- haviour, prudence, and integrity that he was chosen one of the representatives of that town in the assembly of the confederate Catholics at Kilkenny ". Before this time French had already completed his first work, A System of Philosophy, which so far as we can discover yet remains unpublished. In 1643 French was appointed Bishop of Ferns, and in 1645 his election to the assembly at Kilkenny took place as stated. For the next few years he laboured busily in connec- tion with political matters, giving good ad- vice to the party to which he belonged, and not wanting courage to strike out against those he opposed. In 1651 he went as am- bassador for his party to the Duke of Lor- raine at Brussels, in which negotiation he was successful, though in the end, owing to no fault of the ambassador, all came to nought. In 1652, the year of the downfall of his political hopes, he published at Brussels his celebrated work. The Unkiiide Desertor of Loyall Men and True Friends. In this he mercilessly belaboured the Duke of Ormond, to whom he attributed the ulti- mate failure of his mission. Soon after we find him at Paris, where he was appointed coadjutor to the archbishop; but from this post he was shortly driven by the intrigues of Ormond and the exiled Charles II. In 1662 and 1665 he was at Santiago in Spain, as we know from some letters written by him from that place. In the latter year he writes also from Paris, and a little later he returned to the cloisters of St. Anthony's at Louvain. He had scarcely settled down in his old quarters before he took up his pen again, and in quick order appeared his numerous tracts upon Irish affairs, among which were "Thirty Sheets of Reasons against the Re- monstrance", "The Due Obedience of Catho- lics", and "A Dissertation Justifying the Late War". In 1668 appeared his best work, from a literary point of view. The Settlement and Sale of Ireland; and in 1674 The Bleeding Iphigenia. Before this he became president of the Irish College, but about this time he moved to Ghent, where he was appointed coadjutor bishop, and where he died in the year 1678. In addition to the works named, French also wrote The Doleful Fall of Andrew Sail and The Friar Disciplined, as well as a larger work entitled Religion in England. RODERIC O'FLAHERTY. Born 1628— Died 1718. Among antiquarians and historical writers and students the name of Roderic O'Flaherty, the author of Ogygia, stands deservedly high. His life was passed in a time full of miseries and disasters to his country, of wars and rumours of wars, yet none of these could draw him aside from the path he had marked out for himself. He saw the race of which he was writing melting away before him, and it might well seem that the day might EARLY IRISH WRITERS. XXXIU come when there would be none of it left to read his writings. Still he held on his way, and laboured as only those labour who enjoy their work for itself more than for the fame it brings. As a result he has left us works "entitled to rank among the most learned and agreeable that have been bequeathed to any country ". O'Flaherty was born at the paternal man- sion of Park, near Galway, in the year 1628, his father being then principal proprietor of the barony of Moycullen. Soon after his father died, and in 1630 he was declared a king's ward — the equivalent of our present ward in Chancery. Before he became of age the king had been beheaded, the Cromwellian wars had spread into Connaught, and he had retired to Sligo for shelter from the storm. There he met with Duald MacFirbis, with whom he studied the Irish language and literature. After the Restoration he re- turned to Galway to find the lands of his family in the possession of one Martin, or "Nimble Dick Martin", as he was called. " I live ", O'Flaherty said, " a banished man within the bounds of my native soil; a spec- tator of others enriched by my birthright; an object of condoling to my relatives and friends, and a condoler of their miseries." He immediately entered into legal warfare with Martin, and somehow managed to get pos- session of the family mansion, but it was not until seventeen years after his death that his son finally ejected the usurpers from the patrimonial lands. Before this he had made the acquaintance of John Lynch, author of Cambrensis Eversits, who induced him to undertake the labour of his great work Ogi/gia. This was, it seems, completed about 1665, but did not appear in print till 1684, when it was issued in the original Latin. From the Latin the work was afterwards translated into English by J. Hely, and pub- lished in Dublin in 1693. Very soon after its appearance it came under the notice of Sir George Mackenzie, lord-advocate of Scot- land, who strove to make light of its au- thority. This caused O'Flaherty to produce his Ogygia Vindicce, which, though much spoken of as settling the question in dis- pute, was not printed until 1775, when it was issued under the care of Chai^les O'Conor. In 1709 Sir Thomas Molyneux, brother of the celebrated William Molyneux, made a journey to Connaught and called upon O'Flaherty, whom he found "very old and in miserable condition ", though proud- VOL. I. spirited and fond of his studies. Nine years later, at the age of ninety, the old man passed away, the last of the ancient race of Irish historians and chronologers. In addition to his Ogygia and Ogygia Vin- dicce, O'Flahei'ty wrote A Chorograpkical De- scription of West or Il-Iar Connaught, Ogygia Christiance, which it is feared is lost, and several smaller pieces, the very names of which have perished. The Description of H-Iar Connaught has been edited by Mr. J. Hardiman for the Irish Archaeological Society, and published in 1846. Allibone says, "O'Flaherty was something like an antiquarian: the Christian era was with him quite a modern date ". In O'Flaherty's works as they originally appeared there is a purity of style not very usual in his age. Though the author shows himself to be a man of imagination, he is never credulous, and he never forgets the nobility of the calling to which he has de- voted himself. "At times", says Magee, "he smothers a point in illustrations. But there is great dignity in his embellishments." All his works are agreeable reading to anyone who likes the old-world flavour that pervades them. Among English writers he is spoken of by Belling and quoted with approbation by the clear-headed Stillingfleet. WILLIAM MOLYNEUX. Born 1656— Died 1698. William Molyneux, the first of the great trio, Molyneux, Swift, and Grattan, that commenced, continued, and brought to a perfect end the battle of the Irish parlia- ment for independence, was born in Dublin on the 17th April, 1656. His father was a gentleman of good family and fortune, a master of the ordnance, an officer of the Irish exchequer, and a man of intellect and culture. His grandfather had been Ulster king-at-arms, and had used his pen in the production of a continuation of Hanmer^s Chronicle. Owing to his tender health William Molyneux was educated at home by a tutor till he reached the age of nearly fifteen, when he was placed in the Univer- sity of Dublin, under the care of Dr. Palliser, afterwards Archbishop of Cashel. Here he was distinguished, as a biographer says, " by XXXIV EARLY IRISH WRITERS. the probity of his manners as well as by the strength of his parts; and having made a remarkable progress in academical learning, and especially in the new philosophy, as it was then called, he proceeded to his Bachelor of Arts degree". After taking his degree, which he did in his nineteenth year, he was sent to London, where he entered the Middle Temple in June, 1675. At the Middle Temple he remained for three years engaged in the diligent study of the law, but not forgetting his beloved studies in the mathematical and physical sciences, which had received such a mighty impulse just then owing to the many discoveries and exertions of the members of the Royal Society. In 1678 Molyneux returned to Ireland, where he soon after married Lucy, the daughter of Sir William Domville, attorney- general. As he possessed a private fortune, and was therefore under no necessity of earning a living, he continued his philo- sophical studies ; and astronomy gaining a strong hold on his mind, he began in 1681 a correspondence with Flamstead, which was continued for many years with benefit to both. In 1683 he managed to bring about the establishment of a philosophical society in Dublin on the model of the Royal Society, and prevailing on Sir William Petty to be- come its first president, he accepted the office of secretary. His labours in connection with this society soon made Molyneux's learning and abilities well known. Being introduced to the Duke of Ormond, and after performing some literary labour for that nobleman, he was appointed one of the two chief engineers and surveyors of crown buildings and works. In 1685 he was elected a member of the Royal Society, and in the same year was sent to survey the fortresses on the Flemish coast. While on the Continent he travelled through Flanders and Holland, part of Germany and France, and paid a visit to the celebrated Cassini with letters of introduction from his friend Flamstead. On his return from abroad Molyneux published his first work of any importance, Sciothericum Telescopium, 1686, a description of a telescopic dial and its uses which he had invented. In 1687 Halley, with whom he had established a correspondence, sent him the proof-sheets of Newton's Principia as they were produced, and Molyneux, though struck with admiration and astonishment at the work, confessed himself, like many other astronomers of the time, unable to wholly understand it. In 1689, owing to the wars of William and James, he left Ireland and removed to Chester, where he busied himself in the preparation of a work which, under the revision of Halley, appeared in 1692 with the title of Dioptrica Nova: a Treatise of Dioptrics in Two Parts. During his resi- dence in Chester, his son Samuel was born to him, and his wife died. As soon as tran- quillity was restored in Ireland he returned thither, and in the year in which his Dioptrics was published, 1692, he was elected one of the members of parliament for the city of Dublin. This event, which seemed unimpor- tant at the time, was the originating cause of the production of the great work by which the name of Molyneux will be for ever re- membered in Ireland. In the parliament of 1695 he was chosen to represent the univer- sity, which he continued to do till his death, and a little later he was created Doctor of Laws. About this time also he was nomi- nated one of the commissioners of forfeited estates, with a salary of £500 a year, but, as a biographer states, "looking upon it as an invidious office, and not being a lover of money, he declined it ". In his place in the Irish parliament Molyneux now began to take notice of and study the fight for inde- pendence which that body had begun in 1690 by the rejection of a money bill which had not originated with themselves. In 1696 and 1697 the English parliament, desiring to de- stroy the Irish woollen manufactures, then in a most thriving state, introduced prohibi- tory laws to prevent their exportation. These enactments seemed to Molyneux not only cruel and unwise, but unjust and tyrannical, and he immediately set himself to produce his Case of Ireland Stated. This appeared in 1698 with a manly yet respectful dedication to William III. The work, which in size is little more than a pamphlet, created a great sensation in Eng- land. The English House of Commons, losing its head in a fit of irritation, declared, " that the book published by Mr. Molyneux was of dangerous tendency to the crown and people of England, by denying the authoi'ity of the king and parliament of England to bind the kingdom and people of Ireland, and the sub- ordination and dependence that Ireland had, and ought to have, upon England, as being united and annexed to the imperial crown of England ". An address was presented to the king, who readily promised to enforce the laws binding the parliament of Ireland to EARLY IRISH WRITERS. XXiV dependence, and the book itself was com- mitted to the hands of the common hang- man, by whom it was glorified by being " burnt with fire ". The reception his work met with caused little astonishment to Moly- neux, who, in his preface, seemed to antici- pate something like what occurred. "I have heard it said", he writes, "that perhaps I might run some hazard in attempting the argument; but I am not at all apprehensive of any such danger. We are in a miserable condition, indeed, if we may not be allowed to complain when we think we are hurt." Before the great stir had subsided Moly- neux journeyed into England to visit Locke, with whom he had kept up a most intimate correspondence for some time. This visit began in July, 1698, and lasted to September, and it was arranged that it should be re- peated the next spring. But by the next spring the daisies were blooming unseen by the patriot philosopher. The fatigues of his journey bi'ought on an attack of a disease from which he suffered (calculus), and after reaching Dublin his retchings broke a blood- vessel, and he died, after two days' illness, on the 11th of October, 1698. In addition to the works we have named, Molyneux wrote a reply to one of Hobbes's works under the title of Metaphysical Medi- tations on God and Mind, and a considerable number of articles and papers which appeared in Philosophical Transactions and elsewhere. NAHUM TATE. BoBN 1652— Died 1715. Was the son of a county Cavan clergyman. He was born in Dublin, whither his parents were driven by the Northern rising of 1641. He was at the University of Dublin; after- wards drifted to London, where he found a patron in the Earl of Dorset and a friend in Dryden. Is known chiefly of course by the metrical translation of the Psalms of David, which he made in collaboration with Dr. Brady. He wrote several plays — Brutus of Alba, a tragedy; The Royal General, a tragedy; The Island Princess, a tragi -comedy; and Richard III, or Sicilian Vespers. His other works included Poems on Several Occasions, JephthaKs Vow, and Miscellanea Sacra, or Poems on Divine and Other Subjects. He also collaborated with Dryden in the second part of Absalom and Achitophel. He was laureate for a considerable time. Except for his acci- dental prominence as the co-maker of the metrical Psalter, he is of little importance. NICHOLAS BRADY. Born 1659— Died 1726. Was born at Bandon, county Cork. Went to Westminster School, and received Student- ship of Christ CTiurch, Oxford. However, he took his degrees at Dublin University ; was a prebendary of Cork Cathedral. He was a Williamite in the Revolution, but had so much influence with the Jacobite general, M'Carthy, that he three times saved his native town from being burned. He finally settled in London, held several livings in and about the metropolis, and filled the position of chaplain to William and Mary. Besides his share in The New Version of the Psalms he published several volumes of sermons, made a translation of t\ie ^neid in four volumes, and was the author of a tragedy. ANDREW MAGRATH. 1723— Andrew Magrath, one of the most gay, careless, and rollicking of the Jacobite poets writing in Iiish, was born in Limerick about 1723. He was the author of a great many songs and poems of politics, of love, and of drinking. He was, like so many of his fel- lows, a wild liver ; and his name survives yet among the peasantry of his native Mun- ster, among whom he is remembered as the Mangaire Sugach, or Merry Monger. None of his poems have been adequately rendered into English. The date of his death is not known. THE CABINET OF IRISH LITERATURE. SIR JOHN DENHAM. Born 1615 — Died 1669. [Sir John Denham, the first Irish poet of repute that wrote in English, was born in Dublin in the year 1615. His father, at that time chief baron of the exchequer in Ireland, and also one of the lords commissioners for that kingdom, was of Little Horksley in Essex. His mother was Eleanor, daughter of Sir Garrett More, baron of Mellefont in Ireland. When the poet was only two years of age, his father, being appointed one of the barons of exchequer in England, removed to that coun- try, carrying with him his family. In 1631 the youth was entered a gentleman commoner of Trinity College, Oxford, where it seems he was "looked upon as a slow and dreaming young man by his seniors and contemporaries, and given more to cards and dice than his study ; they could never then in the least imagine that he would ever enrich the world with his fancy or issue of his brain, as he afterwards did ". At the end of three years he underwent his B.A. examination, and was sent to Lincoln's Inn to study law, which he did so far as his vice of gaming would allow him. After having been plundered by game- sters and severely reproved by his parents he acquired a sudden abhorrence of the evil practice, and wrote an essay against it, which he presented to his father. He also about this time added the study of poetry to that of laws, and produced a translation of the second book of Virgil's JEneid. In 1638 his father died, and immediately after Denham gave himself up to his old vice, and lost the money — several thousand pounds — that had been left him. Vol. I. In 1641, like a lightning flash out of a clear sky, appeared his tragedy called The Sophy, which was at once admired by the best judges, and gave him fast hold of the public attention. Speaking of the poet in connection with this piece, Waller said that " he broke out like the Irish rebellion, threescore thousand strong, when nobody was aware or in the least sus- pected it". Soon after this he was made high- sheriff of Surrey and governor of Farnham Castle for the king, but not caring for, or not being skilled in military affairs, he quitted the post before long and retired to Oxford, where, in 1643, he published Cooper's Hill, a poem of some three hundred lines, on which his fame chiefly rests. Of this work Dryden says it is "a poem which for majesty of style is, and ever will be, the standard of good writing ". An attempt was made to rob Denham of his laurels by what Johnson calls " the common artifice by which envy degrades excellence ". In the " Session of the Poets ", in some lum- bering verses, it is said that the work was not his own, but was bought of a vicar for forty pounds. In 1647 Denham began to mix in political matters, and in 1648 he conveyed James, Duke of York, into France, or at least so say Johnson and others ; though Clarendon affirms that the duke went off with Colonel Bamfield only, who conti'ived his escape. Certain it is anyhow that Denham went to France, from whence he and Lord Crofts were sent ambassadors to Poland from Charles II. In that kingdom they found many Scotchmen wandering about as traders. SIK JOHN DENHAM. and from these they obtained £10,000 as a contribution to the king. About 1652 he returned to England, where he was enter- tained by Lord Pembroke, with whom, liaving no home of his own, he lived for about a year. At the Eestoration he was appointed to the office of surveyor-general of the king's build- ings, and at the coronation received the order of the Bath. After his appointment he gave over his poetical works to a great extent, and " made it his business ", as he himself says, " to draw such others as might be more serviceable to his majesty, and, he hoped, more lasting". Soon after this, when in the height of his reputation for poetry and genius, he entered into a second marriage, in which he was so unhappy that for a time he became a lunatic. For this misfortune he was cruelly and un- generously lampooned by Butler, but fortun- ately it did not last long, and he was again restored to his full health and vigour of mind. A few months after, he wrote one of his best poems, that on the death of Cowley. This was his last work, for on March 19, 1669, he died at his office in Whitehall. He was laid in Westminster Abbey by the side of the poet he had just panegyrized. Dr. Johnson says that " Denham is justly considered as one of the fathers of English poetry. . . . He is one of the writers that improved our tasteandadvanced our language, and whom we ought, therefore, to read with gratitude, though, having done much, he left much to do." Dryden, speaking of Waller's, Cowley's, and Denham's translations of Virgil, declares that " it is the utmost of his ambition to be thought their equal, or not much inferior to them ". Prior places Denham and Waller side by side as improvers of our versification, which was perfected by Dryden. Pope in his Essay on Criticism speaks of " the easy vigour of a line Where Denham's strength and Waller's sweetness join"; and in his Windsor Forest, within the compass of a few lines, he calls Denham " lofty " and "majestic", and, talking of Cooper's Hill, he prophesies — " On Cooper's Hill eternal wreaths shall grow, While lasts tbo mountain, or while Thames shall flow ". There can be little doubt that Cooper's Hill is an almost perfect model of its kind, not- withstanding the factthat Johnson, character- istically enough, declares that " if it be mali- ciously inspected it will not be found without its faults ". Denham's works have been several times reprinted in one volume under the title of Poems and Translations, with the Sophy, a Tragedy. In addition to what appeals in this collection there are other things attributed to him. The most important of these is a New Version of the Book of Psalms, which is now little known. A panegyric on General Monk, printed in 1659, is generally ascribed to him, and his name appears on the poem " The True Presbyterian without Disguise ", as well as two pieces called "Clarendon's House Warming", and "His Epitaph". These last are, however, believed to be by Marvell, and are printed in the late American edition of that author's works. Strange to say, Denham has been rather overlooked and forgotten of late years, and his name does not appear in any of the later popular editions of the poets.] COOPER'S HILL. Through untraced ways and airy paths I fly, More boundless in my fancy than my eye : My eye, which swift as thought contracts the space That lies between, and first salutes the place Crowned with that sacred pile,i so vast, so high, That whether 'tis a part of earth or sky Uncertain seems, and may be thought a proud Aspiring mountain, or descending cloud. . . Under his proud survey the city lies, And like a mist beneath a hill doth rise ; Whose state and wealth, the business and the crowd, Seem at this distance but a darker cloud : And is, to him who rightly things esteems, No other in effect than what it seems : Where, with like haste, through several ways they run, Some to undo, and some to be undone. . . . My eye, descending from the Hill, surveys AVhere Thames among the wanton valleys strays ; Thames ! the most loved of all the Ocean's sons By his old sire, to his embraces runs, Hasting to pay his tribute to the sea, Like mortal life to meet eternity. Though with those streams he no remembrance hold, Whose foam is amber and their gravel gold ; His genuine and less guilty wealth to explore. Search not his bottom, but survey his shore, O'er which he kindly spreads his spacious wing, And hatches plenty for the ensuing spring. And then destroys it with too fond a stay. Like mothers who their infants overlay ; Nor with a sudden and impetuous wave, 1 St. Paul's, as seeu from Cooper's Hill. SIR JOHN DENHAM. Like profuse kings, resumes the wealth he gave. No unexpected inundations spoil The mower's hopes, nor mock the ploughman's toil. But godlike his unwearied bounty Hows; First loves to do, then loves the good he does. Nor are his blessings to his banks confined, But free and common as the sea or wind. When he, to boast or to disperse her stores, Full of the tribute of his grateful shores, Visits the world, and in his flying towers Brings home to us, and makes both Indies ours : Finds wealth where 'tis, bestows it where it wants. Cities in deserts, woods in cities plants ; So that to us no thing, no place is strange, While his fair bosom is the world's Exchange. 0, could I flow like thee, and make thy stream My great example, as it is my theme ! Though deep, yet clear; though gentle, yet not dull; Strong without rage ; without o'erflowing full ! Heaven her Eridanus no more shall boast; Whose fame in thine, like lesser current, 's lost. . The stream is so transparent, pure, and clear. That had the self-enamour'd youth gaz'd here. So fatally deceived he had not been, While he the bottom, not his face had seen. But his proud head the airy mountain hides Among the clouds ; his shoulders and his sides A shady mantle clothes; his curled brows Frown on the gentle stream, which calmly flows. While winds and storms his lofty forehead beat: The common fate of all that's high or great. Low at his foot a spacious plain is plac'd. Between the mountain and the stream embrac'd. Which shade and shelter from the Hill derives. While the kind river wealth and beauty gives. And in the mixture of all these appears Variety, which all the rest endears. This scene had some bold Greek or Roman bard Beheld of old, what stories had we heard Of fairies, satyrs, and the nymphs, their dames. Their feasts, their revels, and their amorous flames! 'Tis still the same, altho' their airy shape All but a quick poetic sight escape. There Faunus and Sylvanus keep their courts. And thither all the horned host resorts To graze the ranker mead ; that noble herd On whose sublime and shady fronts is rear'd Nature's great masterpiece, to show how soon Great things are made, but sooner are undone. Here have I .seen the king, when great affairs Gave leave to slacken and unbend his cares. Attended to the chase by all the flower Of youth, whose hopes a nobler prey devour; Pleasure with praise and danger they would buy, And wish a foe that would not only fly. The stag, now conscious of his fatal growth. At once indulgent to his fear and sloth. To some dark covert his retreat had made. Where nor man's eye nor heaven's should invade His soft repose, when th' unexpected sound Of dogs and men his wakeful ear does wound. Roused with the noise, he scarce believes his ear. Willing to think tiie illusions of his fear Had given this false alarm, but straight his view Confirms, that more than all he fears is true. Betray'd in all his strengths, the wood beset. All instruments, all arts of ruin met; He calls to mind his strength, and then his speed. His winged heels, and then his armed head; With these t' avoid, with that his fate to meet; But fear prevails and bids him trust his feet. So fast he flies that his reviewing eye Has lost the chasers, and his ear the cry; Exulting till he finds their nobler sense Their disproportioned speed doth recompense; Then curses his conspiring feet, whose scent Betrays that safety which their swiftness lent: Then tries his friends; among the baser herd, Where he so lately was obeyed and feared, His safety seeks. The herd, unkindly wise, Or chases him from thence, or from him flies; Like a declining statesman, left forlorn To his friends' pity and pursuers' scorn, With shame remembers, while himself was one Of the same herd, himself the same had done. Then to the stream, when neither friends nor force, Nor speed nor art avail, he shapes his course. Thinks not their rage .so desperate to essay An element more merciless than they. But fearless they pursue, nor can the flood Quench their dire thirst; alas! they thirst for blood. So tow'rds a ship the oar-finn'd galleys ply. Which, wanting sea to ride, or wind to fly. Stands but to fall revenged on those that dare Tempt the last fury of extreme despair. So fares the stag; among the enraged hounds Repels their force, and wounds returns for wounds: And as a hero whom his baser foes In troops surround, now these assails, now those, Though prodigal of life, disdains to die By common hands; but if he can descry Some nobler foe approach, to him he calls And begs his fate, and then contented falls. So when the king a mortal shaft lets fly From his unerring hand, then, glad to die. Proud of the wound, to it resigns his blood. And stains the crystal with a purple flood. This a more innocent and happy chase Than when of old, but in the self-same place, ^ Fair Liberty, pursu'd, and meant a prey To lawless power, here turn'd and stood at bay. OF A FUTURE LIFE. These to his sons (as Xenophon records) Of the great Cyrus were the dying words: 1 Runuymede, where the Magna Charta was first sealed. SIR JOHN DENHAM. "Fear not when I depart (nor therefore mourn) 1 shall be no where, or to nothing turn; That soul, which gave me life, was seen by none, Yet by the actions it design'd was known; And though its flight no mortal eye shall see. Yet know, for ever it the same shall be. That soul which can immortal glory give To her own virtues must for ever live. Can you believe that man's all-knowing mind Can to a mortal body be confin'd? Though a foul foolish prison her immure On earth, she (when escap'd) is wise and pure. Man's body, when dissolv'd, is but the same With beast's, and must return from whence it came; But whence into our bodies reason flows None sees it, when it comes, or when it goes. Nothing resembles death as much as sleep, Yet then our minds themselves from slumberskeep; When from their fleshly bondage they are free, Then what divine and future things they see I Which makes it most apparent whence they are, And what they shall hereafter be declare." This noble speech the dying Cyrus made. Me, Scipio, shall no argument persuade Thy grandsire, and his brother, to whom fame Gave, from two conquer'd parts o' th' world their name,i Nor thy great grandsire, nor thy father Paul, Who fell at Cannse against Hannibal, Nor I (for 'tis permitted to the ag'd To boast their actions) had so oft engag'd In battles, and in pleadings, had we thought That only fame our virtuous actions brought; 'Twere better in soft pleasure and repose Ingloriously our peaceful eyes to close: Some high assurance hath possest my mind, After my death a happier life to find. Unless our souls from the Immortal came. What end have we to seek immortal fame? All virtuous spirits some such hope attends. Therefore the wise his days with pleasure ends. The foolish and short-.sighted die with fear That they go no where, or they know not where; The wise and virtuous soul, with clearer eyes. Before she parts, some happy port descries. My friends, your fathers I shall surely see, Nor only those I lov'd, or who lov'd me; But such as before ours did end their days. Of whom we hear, and read, and write their praise. This I believe: for were I on my way None should persuade me to return, or stay: Should some god tell me, that I should be born, And cry again, his offer I would scorn; Asham'd, when I have ended well my race, To be led back to my first starting-place. . . . Hence from an inn, not from my home I pass, Since nature meant us here no dwelling-place. Happy when I, from this turmoil set free, I .Scipio Africanus and Scipio Asiaticus. That peaceful and divine assembly see. . . . Then cease to wonder that I feel no grief From age, which is of my delights the chief. My hopes, if this assurance hath deceiv'd (That I man's soul immortal have belie v'd). And if I err no power shall dispossess My thoughts of that expected happiness: Though some minute philosophers pretend, That with our days our pains and pleasures end. If it be so I hold the safer side, For none of them my error shall deride; And if hereafter no rewards appear. Yet virtue hath itself rewarded here. TO SIR RICHARD FANSHAWE, ON HIS TRANSLATION OF "PASTOR FIDO", Such is our pride, our folly, or our fate, ! That few but such as cannot write, translate. j But what in them is want of art or vice, ! In thee is either modesty or choice. . . . j That servile path thou nobly dost decline I Of tracing word by word, and line by line; These are the labour'd birth of slavish brains, Not the effect of poetry, but pains; Cheap vulgar arts, whose narrowness affords No flight for thoughts, but poorly sticks at words- A new and nobler way thou dost pursue, To make translations and translators too: They but preserve the ashes, thou the flame, True to his sense, but truer to his fame. Fording his current, where thou find'st it low, Let'st in thine own to make it rise and flow. Wisely restoring whatsoever grace It lost by change of times, or tongue, or place. Nor fetter'd to his numbers and his times, Betray 'st his music to unhappy rhymes; Nor are the nerves of his compacted strength Stretch'd and dissolv'd into unsinew'd lengths Yet after all (lest we should think it thine), Thy spirit to his circle does confine. ON COWLEY'S DEATH. Old Chaucer, like the morning star. To us discovers day from far; His light those mists and clouds dissolv'd Which our dark nation long in vol v'd: But he descending to the shades. Darkness again the age invades. Next (like Aurora) Spenser rose, Whose purple blush the day foreshows; The other three with his own fires Phoebus, the poet's god, inspires; By Shakspere's, Jonson's, Fletcher's lines, Our stage's lustre Rome's outshines: These poets near our princes sleep. And in one grave their mansion keep. OWEN WARD. They liv'd to see so many days, Till time had blasted all their bays: But cursed be the fatal hour That pluck'd the fairest, sweetest flower That in the Muses' garden grew, And amongst wither'd laurels threw. Time, which made them their fame outlive. To Cowley scarce did ripeness give. Old mother-wit and nature gave Shakspere and Fletcher all they have; In Spenser, and in Jonson, art Of slower nature got the start; But both in him .so equal are. None knows which bears the happier share: To him no author was unknown, Yet what he wrote wa.s all his own; He melted not the ancient gold. Nor, with Ben Jonson, did make bold To plunder all the Roman stores Of poets and of orators: Horace's wit and Virgil's state He did not steal, but emulate ! And when he would like them appear, Their garb, but not their clothes, did wear. OWEN WARD. Flourished about 1600-1610. [Of Owen Eoe Mac an Bhaird, or Red Owen Ward, little is known beyond the fact that he was the bard of the O'Donnells, and accompanied the princes of Tyrconnell and Tyrone when they fled from Ireland in 1607. In O'Reilly's Irish Writers the names of nine lengthy and still extant poems of his are given. The elegy which we give here is addressed to Nuala, sister of O'Donnell, the prince of Tyrconnell, who died in Rome, and was interred in the same grave with O'Neill, prince of Tyrone. Ward was the descendant of a long line of bards and poets of the same name.] LAMENT FOB THE TYRONIAN AND TYRCONNELLIAN PRINCES BURIED AT ROME. 0, Woman of the Piercing Wail, Who mournest o'er yon mound of clay With sigh and groan. Would God thou wert among the Gael ! Thou would'st not then from day to day Weep thus alone. 'Twere long before, around a grave In green Tirconnell, one could find This loneliness ; Near where Beann-Boirche's banners wave Such grief as thine could ne'er have pined Compassionless. Beside the wave, in Donegall, In Antrim's glens, or fair Dromore, Or Killilee, Or where the sunny waters fall. At Assaroe, near Erna's shore, This could not be. On Berry's plains — in rich Drumclieff — Throughout Armagh the Great, renowned In olden years. No day could pass but woman's grief Would rain upon the burial-ground Fresh floods of tears ! 0, no ! — from Shannon, Boyne, and Suir, From high Dunluce's castle-walls. From Lissadill, Would flock alike both rich and poor. One wail would rise from Cruachan's halls To Tara's hill ; And some would come from Barrow-side, And many a maid would leave her home, On Leitrim's plains, And by melodious Banna's tide. And by the Jlourne and Erne, to come And swell thy strains ! 0, horses' hoofs would trample down The ilount whereon the martyr-saint ^ Was crucified. From glen and hill, from plain and town, One loud lament, one thrilling plaint, Would echo wide. There would not soon be found, I ween. One foot of ground among those bands For museful thought, So many shriekers of the keen ^ Would cry aloud and clap their hands, All woe-distraught ! Two princes of the line of Conn Sleep in their cells of clay beside O'Donnell Roe : Three royal youths, alas ! are gone, Who lived for Erin's weal, but died For Erin's woe ! 1 St. Peter. This passage is not exactly a blunder, though at first it may seem one : the poet supposes the grave itself transferred to Ireland, and he naturally in- cludes in the transference the whole of the immediate locality around the grave. — J. C. M. - The funeral wail. OWEN WARD. Ah ! could the men of Ireland read The names those noteless burial-stones Display to view, Their wounded hearts afresh would bleed, Their tears gush forth again, their groans Resound anew ! The youths whose relies moulder here Were sprung from Hugh, high Princeand Lord Of Aileach's lands ; Thy noble brothers, justly dear. Thy nephew, long to be deplored By Ulster's bands. Theirs were not souls wherein dull Time Could domicile decay or house Decrepitude ! They passed from earth ere manhood's prime. Ere years had power to dim their brows Or chill their blood. And who can marvel o'er thy grief. Or who can blame thy flowing tears, That knows their source? O'Donnell, Dunnasava's chief. Cut off amid his vernal years, Lies here a corse Beside his brother Cathbar, whom Tirconnell ot the Helmets mourns In deep despair — For valour, truth, and comely bloom, For all that greatens and adorns A peerless pair. 0, had these twain, and he, the third, The Lord of Mourne, O'Niall's son. Their mate in death — A prince in look, in deed, and word — Had these three heroes yielded on The field their breath, 0, had they fallen on Criffan's plain, There would not be a town or clan From shore to sea, But would with shrieks bewail the slain. Or chant aloud the exulting rann^ Of jubilee ! When high the shout of battle rose, On fields where Freedom's torch still burned Through Erin's gloom. If one, if barely one of those Were skin, all Ulster would have mourned The hero's doom ! If at Athboy, where hosts of brave Ulidian horsemen sank beneath The shock of spears. Young Hugh O'Neill had found a grave. Long must the North have wept his death With heart-rung tears ! If on the day of Ballach-myre The Lord of Mourne had met thus young A warrior's fate, 1 A SOUL'. In vain would such as thou desire To mourn, alone, the champion sprung From Niall the great! No marvel this — for all the dead. Heaped on the field, pile over pile, At Mullach-brack, Were scarce an eric^ for his head. If death had stayed his footsteps while On victory's track ! If on the Day of Hostages The fruit had from the parent bough Been rudely torn In sight of Munster's bands — Mac-Nee's- Such blow the blood of Conn, I trow, Could ill have borne. If on the day of Ballach-boy Some arm had laid, by foul surprise, The chieftain low. Even our victorious shout of joy Would soon give place to rueful cries And groans of woe ! If on the day the Saxon host Were forced to fly — a day so great For Ashanee — The chief had been untimely lost, Our conquering troops should moderate Their mirthful glee. There wovild not lack on Lifford's day, From Galway, from the glens of Boyle, From Limerick's towers, A marshalled file, a long array Of mourners, to bedew the soil With tears in showers I If on the day a sterner fate Compelled his flight from Athenree, His blood had flowed, What numbers all disconsolate. Would come unasked, and share with thee Affliction's load ! If Derry's crimson field had seen His life-blood oflTered up, thougJi 'twere On Victory's shrine, A thousand cries would swell the keen, A thousand voices of despair Would echo thine ! 0, had the fierce Dalcassian swarm That bloody night on Fergus' banks But slain our chief. When rose his camp in wild alarm — How would the triumph of his ranks Be dashed with grief! How would the troops of Murbach mourn If on the Curlew Mountains' day, Which England rued. Some Saxon hand had left them lorn. By shedding there, amid the fray. Their prince's blood ! A compensation or fine. RICHARD FLECKNOE. Red would have been our warrior's eyes Had Roderick found on Sligo'a field A gory grave, No northern chief would soon arise So sage to guide, so strong to shield, So swift to s'ive. Long would Leith-Cuinn have wept if Hugh Had met the death he oft had dealt Among the foe ; But, had our Roderick fallen too, All Erin must alas have felt The deadly blow ! What do I say ? Ah, woe is me ! Already we bewail in vain Their fatal fall ! And Erin, once the great and free, Now vainly mourns her breakless chain And iron thrall ! Then, daughter of O'Donnell ! dry Thine overflowing eyes, and turn Thy heart aside ; For Adam's race is born to die. And sternly the sepulchral urn Mocks human pride ! Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne, Nor place thy trust in arm of clay — But on thy knees Uplift thy soul to God alone. For all things go their destined way As he decrees. Embrace the faithful crucifix. And seek the path of pain and prayer Thy Saviour trod ! Nor let thy spirit intermix With earthly hope and worldly care Its groans to God ! And thou, mighty Lord ! whose ways Are far above our feeble minds To understand. Sustain us in these doleful days. And render light the chain that binds Our fallen land ! Look down upon our dreary state. And through the ages that may still Roll sadly on. Watch thou o'er hapless Erin's fate, And shield at least from darker ill The blood of Conn ! RICHARD FLECKNOE. Born 1600 — Died 1678. [Richard Flecknoe was born probably about the end of the sixteenth or beginning of the seventeenth century. His first work, Uierothalamium ; or, the Heavenly Nuptials, appeared in 1626; and Marvel, who met him in Rome about 1643, speaks of him as then an old man. He also calls him " priest, poet, and musician ". His place of birth was Ireland, and in early life he was a Jesuit, if not a priest. This last character he ceased to assume after the Restoration. From Rome, Flecknoe, who was a considerable traveller, moved to Lisbon, where he re- mained some time, and was kindly treated by King John of Portugal. From Lisbon, in 1646, he made a voyage to Bi-azil, by per- mission of the king, who presented him with two hundred crowns as a contribution to- wards his expenses. In 1650 he returned again to Lisljon, and began to write his Travels of Ten Years in Europe, Asia, Afrique, arid America. In 1654 he printed his Love's Dominion, a Dramatick Piece, and dedicated it to Lady Elizabeth Claypole. This was afterwards reprinted in 1664 under the title of Lov(^s Kingdom. In 1667 appeared his comedy Demoiselles a la Mode, and in 1670 his Moral Epigrams, dedicated to the queen, daughter of the King of Portugal. Of the other works of Flecknoe those most deserv- ing mention are, Ermina, or the Chaste Lady, and his Diarium, or Journal, in burlesque verse. He died in 1678.] SILENCE. Still-born Silence, thou that art Floodgate of the deeper heart. Offspring of a heavenly kinde. Frost o' th' mouth, and thaw o' th' mind ; Secrecy's confidant, and he Who makes religion mystery. OF DRINKING. The fountains drink caves subterren. The rivulets drink the fountains dry ; Brooks drink those rivulets again, And then some river gliding by ; Until some uulphing sea drink them. And ocean drinks up that again. 1 This and the next piece are from Miscellanea, or Poems of All Soi'ts. EICHAED FLECKNOE. Of ocean then does drink the sky ; When having brew'd it into rain, The eartli with drink it does supply, And plants do drink up that again. When turned to liquor in the vine, 'Tis our turn next to drink the wine. By this who does not plainly see, How into our throats at once is hurl'd- Whilst merrily we drinking be — The quintessence of all the world? Whilst all drink then in land, air, sea, Let us too drink as well as they. ON TRAVEL.i It is not travel makes the man, 'tis true, Unless a man could travel, sir, like you. By putting off the worst and putting on The best of every country where they come ; Their language, manners, fashions, and their use, Purg'd from the dross, and stript from the abuse, Until at last in manners they become New men and creatures at their coming home; Wliilst your pied traveller, who nothing knows Of other countries' fashions but their clothes, And speaks their language but as parrots do. Only at best a broken word or two. Goes and returns the same he went again, By carrying England still along with him ; Or else returns far worse by bringing home The worst of every land where he does come. TO DRYDEN. Dryden, the Muse's darling and delight. Than whom none ever Hew so high a flight ; Nor ever any's muse so high did soar Above th' poets' empyrium before. Some go but to Parnassus' foot, and there Creep on the ground, as if they reptiles were : Others but water poets, who have gone No further than the fount of Helicon ; And they're but airy ones, whose muse soars up No higher than to Mount Parnassus' top. Whilst thou with thine dost seem t' have mounted higher Than he who fetcht from heaven celestial fire ! ON THE DEATH OF OUR LORD. Oh blessed Lord ! and wouldst thou die For such a wretched worm as I ! This of thy love's so great a proof. Angels can ne'er admire enough ; And all the love by far transcends Of parents and of dearest friends. 1 This and the two pieces folhiwiiif; are from A Col- lection of the Choicest Epigratnn and Characters, 1673. To have such benefit bestow'd Would undo any but a God ; And love itself make bankrupt too. By leaving nothing more to do. Had any king done this for me, What wondering at it there would be ! And wondering at it now there's none When by a God himself 'tis done. Strange blindness ! man should more esteem A benefit bestow'd on him By earthly kings, than what is given Unto him by the King of Heaven ! EXTRACT FROM "LOVE'S KINGDOM". Palemon. Now here. Love, at thy sacred shrine I offer up these vows of mine. — Father of dear and tender thoughts, Thou who the hardest bosom softs ; Soften Bellinda's heart, and make Her but thy dear impression take. So shall I burn Arabian gums. And oflTer up whole hecatombs Upon thy altar, whilst thy fires Shall shine as bright as my desires. First Priest. Whilst he the deity does invoke The flame ascends in troubled smoke. Philander. What sort of offering mine shall be, Divinest Love, 's best known to thee ; Nor spices nor Arabian gums. Nor yet of beasts whole hecatombs : These are too low and earthly, mine Are far more heavenly and divine ; An adamantine faith, and such As jealousy can never touch ; A constant heart and loyal breast, These are the offerings thou lovest best. Second Priest. Love's fires ne'er brighter yet appeared. Whoe'er thou art thy vows are heard. ONE WHO TURNS DAY INTO NIGHT.^ He is the antipodes of the country where he lives, and with the Italian begins his day with tlae first hour of night ; he is worse than those that call light darkness and darkness light, for he makes it so, and con- tradicts that old saying that the day was made for man to labour in and the night to rest. He thinks that sentence of Solomon nothing concerning him, that all is vanity underneath the sun, for all his is underneath the moon ; for the sun's rising only serves him to go to bed by ; and as foiiuerly they measured time by water, he measures it only - This and the following extract are from Choicest Epi