rr
 
 LAYS OF THE WESTERN GAEL.
 
 LAYS OF THE WESTERN GAEL, 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY SAMUEL FERGUSON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEET STREET. 
 1865.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 LAYS OF THE WESTERN GAEL. 
 
 Page 
 
 E Tain-Quest 1 
 
 The Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy " 27 
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach . . 36 
 
 The Burial of King Cormac ... 53 
 
 Aideen's Grave ........ 61 
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley 70 
 
 Owen Bawn 89 
 
 Grace O'Maly 94 
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS. 
 
 The Fairy Thorn 105 
 
 Willy Gilliland 110 
 
 The Forging of the Anchor 119 
 
 The Forester's Complaint 126 
 
 The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan 130 
 
 Hungary 134 
 
 Adieu to Brittany 138 
 
 Westminster Abbey . 143 
 
 VERSIONS AND ADAPTATIONS. 
 
 The Origin of the Scythians 149 
 
 The Death of Dermid 153 
 
 The Invocation .... . . 161 
 
 Archytas and the Mariner . . . . . . 163 
 
 2061259
 
 vi Contents. 
 
 VERSIONS FROM TUE IRISH. 
 
 Page 
 
 Introductory Note 169 
 
 Deirdra's Farewell to Alba 175 
 
 Deirdra's Lament for the Sons of Usnach . . . 177 
 
 The Downfall of the Gael 181 
 
 O'Byrne's Bard to the Clans of Wicklow . . . 186 
 
 Lament over the Ruins of the Abbey of Timoleague . 190 
 
 To the Harper O'Connellan 195 
 
 Grace Nugent 197 
 
 Mild Mabel Kelly 199 
 
 The Cup of O'Hara .201 
 
 The Fair-hair'd Girl 202 
 
 Pastheen Finn 204 
 
 Molly Astore 207 
 
 Cashel of Munster , . 209 
 
 TheCoolun - .- 211 
 
 Youghall Harbour .-. 214 
 
 Cean Dubh Deelish -. 216 
 
 Boatman's Hymn . . . . . . . 217 
 
 The dear Old Air 219 
 
 The Lapful of Nuts . . . . . . . 220 
 
 Mary's Waking ....... 222 
 
 Hopeless Love . . . . . . . . 224 
 
 The Fair Hills of Ireland 225 
 
 NOTES 229
 
 THE TAIN-QUEST. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 HE Tain, in Irish Bardic phrase, was an 
 heroic poem commemorative of a foray or 
 plundering expedition on a grander scale. 
 It was the duty of the bard to be pre- 
 pared, at call, with all the principal Tains, among which 
 the Tain-Bo- Cuailgne, or Cattle- Spoil of Quelny, oc- 
 cupied the first place ; as in it were recorded the exploits 
 of all the personages most famous in the earlier heroic 
 cycle of Irish story, Conor Mac Nessa, Maev, Fergus 
 Mac Roy, Conall Carnach, and Cuchullin.* Conor, King of 
 Ulster, contemporary and rival of Maev, Queen of Con- 
 naught, reigned at Emania (now the Navan), near 
 Armagh, about the commencement of the Christian era. 
 He owed his first accession to the monarchy to the arts 
 of his mother Nessa, on whom Fergus, his predecessor in 
 the kingly office and step-father, doated so fondly that 
 she had been enabled to stipulate, as a condition of be- 
 stowing her hand, that Fergus should abdicate for a year 
 
 * Pronounced Ku-kullin. 
 B
 
 2 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 in favour of her youthful son. The year had been in- 
 definitely prolonged by the fascinations of Nessa, aided 
 by the ability of Conor, who, although he concealed a 
 treacherous and cruel disposition under attractive graces 
 of manners and person, ultimately became too popular to 
 be displaced ; and Fergus, whose nature disinclined him 
 to the labours of government, had acquiesced in accepting 
 as an equivalent the excitements of war and the chase, 
 and the unrestricted pleasures of the revel. Associating 
 with Cuchullin, Conall Carnach, Neesa son of Usnach, 
 and the other companions of the military order of the 
 Red Branch, he long remained a faithful supporter of the 
 throne of his stepson, eminent for his valour, generosity, 
 and fidelity, as well as for his accomplishments as a 
 hunter and a poet. 
 
 At length occurred the tragedy which broke up these 
 genial associations, and drove Fergus into the exile in 
 which he died. Deirdra, a beautiful virgin, educated 
 by Conor for his own companionship, saw and loved 
 Neesa, who eloped with her, and dreading the wrath of 
 the king, fled to Scotland, accompanied by his brothers 
 and clansmen. Conor contemplating the treachery he 
 afterwards practised, acquiesced in the entreaty of his 
 councillors that the sons of Usnach should be pardoned 
 and restored to the service of their country ; and to 
 Fergus was confided the task of discovering their retreat 
 and escorting them to Emania under security of safe- 
 conduct. The hunting-cry of Fergus was heard and 
 recognized by the exiles where they lay in green booths
 
 The Tain- Quest. 3 
 
 in the solitude of Glen Etive. On their return to Ireland, 
 a temptation prepared for the simple-minded convivial 
 Fergus detached him from his wards ; and Deirdra and 
 the clan Usnach proceeded under the guardianship of 
 his sons, Buino and Ulan, to Emania. Here they were 
 lodged in the house of the Red Branch, where, although 
 it soon became apparent that Conor intended their 
 destruction, they repressed all appearance of distrust 
 in their protectors, and calmly continued playing 
 chess until, Buino having been bought over, and Ulan 
 slain in their defence, they were at length compelled to 
 salley from the burning edifice, and were put to the sword ; 
 Deirdra being seized again into the king's possession. 
 On this atrocious outrage Fergus took up arms as well to 
 regain his crown as to avenge the abuse of his safe -con- 
 duct ; but Cuchullin and the principal chiefs remain- 
 ing faithful to Conor, the much injured ex -king betook 
 himself with others of the disgusted Ultonian nobles to the 
 protection of Maev and Ailill, the Queen and King con- 
 sort of Connaught. Thus strengthened, the warriors of 
 Maev made frequent incursions into the territories of 
 Conor, in which Keth and Bealcu on the one hand, and 
 Cuchullin and Conall Carnach on the other, were the most 
 renowned actors. After many years of desultory warfare, 
 a pretext for the invasion of the rich plain of Louth arose 
 in consequence of a chief of the territory of Cuailgne 
 having ill-treated the messengers of Maev, sent by her to 
 negociate the purchase of a notable dun bull, and the 
 great expedition was thereupon organized which forms
 
 4 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 the subject of the Tain-Bo-Cuailgne. The guidance of 
 the invading host, which traversed the counties of Ros- 
 common, Longford and Westmeath, was at first confided 
 to Fergus; and much of the interest of the story turns on 
 the conflict in his breast between his duty towards his 
 adopted sovereign, and his attachment to his old com- 
 panions in arms and former subjects. On the borders 
 of Cuailgne the invaders were encountered by Cuchullin, 
 who alone detained them by successive challenges to 
 single combat, until Conor and the Ultonian chiefs were 
 enabled to assemble their forces. In these encounters 
 Cuchullin also had the pain of combatting former com- 
 panions and fellow-pupils in arms ; among others, Fer- 
 dia, who had received his military education at the same 
 school and under the same amazonian instructress at 
 Dun Sciah, in view of the Cuchullin hills, in Skye. In 
 the respites of their combat the heroes kiss in memory 
 of their early affection. The name of the ford in which 
 they fought (Ath-Firdiadh, now Ardee in the county of 
 Louth) perpetuates the memory of the fallen champion, 
 and helps to fix the locality of these heroic passages. 
 Maev, though ultimately overthrown at the great battle of 
 Slewin in Westmeath, succeeded in carrying off the spoils 
 of Louth, including the dun bull of Cuailgne ; and with 
 Fergus, under the shelter of whose shield she effected 
 her retreat through many sufferings and dangers, re- 
 turned to Croghan, the Connacian royal residence, near 
 Elphin in Roscommon. Here she bore to the now 
 aged hero (at a birth, says the story) three sons, from
 
 The Tain- Quest. 5 
 
 whom three of the great native families still trace their 
 descent, and from the eldest of whom the county of 
 Kerry derives its name. A servant of Ailill, at the com- 
 mand of the king, avenged the injury done his master's 
 bed by piercing Fergus with a spear, while the athlete 
 poet swam, defenceless, bathing in Loch Ein. The 
 earliest copies of the Tain-Bo-Cuailgne are prefaced 
 by the wild legend of its loss and recovery in the time of 
 Guary, King of Connaught, in the sixth century, by 
 Murgen, son of the chief poet Sanchan, under circum- 
 stances which have suggested the following poem. The 
 Ogham characters referred to in the piece, were formed 
 by lines cut tally-wise on the corners of stone pillars, and 
 somewhat resembled Scandinavian Runes, examples of 
 which, carved on squared staves, may still be seen in 
 several museums. The readers of the Tain-Bo- Cuailgne, 
 as it now exists, have to regret the overlaying of much 
 of its heroic and pathetic material by turgid extrava- 
 gances and exaggerations, the additions apparently of 
 later copyists.
 
 THE TAIN-QUEST. 
 
 |E AR the cup to Sanchan Torpest ; yield 
 
 the bard his poet's meed; 
 What we've heard was but a foretaste ; 
 lays more lofty now succeed. 
 Though my stores be emptied well-nigh, twin bright 
 
 cups there yet remain, 
 
 Win them with the Raid of Cuailgne ; chaunt us, 
 Bard, the famous Tain!" 
 
 Thus, in hall of Gort, spake Guary ; for the king, 
 
 let truth be told, 
 Bounteous though he was, was weary giving goblets, 
 
 giving gold, 
 Giving aught the bard demanded; 1 but, when for 
 
 the Tain he call'd, 
 Sanchan from his seat descended ; shame and anger 
 
 fired the Scald.
 
 The Tain- Quest. 7 
 
 " Well," he said, " 'tis known through Erin, known 
 
 through Alba, main and coast, 
 Since the Staff-Book's disappearing over sea, the 
 
 Tain is lost : 
 For the lay was cut in tallies on the corners of the 
 
 staves 
 Patrick in his pilgrim galleys carried o'er the Ictian 
 
 waves. 
 
 " Well 'tis known that Erin's Ollaves, met in Tara 
 
 Luachra's hall, 2 
 Fail'd to find the certain knowledge of the Tain 
 
 amongst them all, 
 Though there there sat sages hoary, men who in 
 
 their day had known 
 All the foremost kings of story ; but the lay was 
 
 lost and gone. 
 
 " Wherefore from that fruitless session went I forth 
 
 myself in quest 
 Of the Tain ; nor intermission, even for hours of 
 
 needful rest, 
 Gave I to my sleepless searches, till I Erin, hill 
 
 and plain,
 
 8 The Tain- Quest. 
 
 Courts and castles, cells and churches, roam'd and 
 ransack'd, but in vain. 
 
 " Dreading shame on hardship branded, should I 
 
 e'er be put to own 
 Any lay of right demanded of me was not rightly 
 
 known, 
 Over sea to Alba sped I, where, amid the hither 
 
 Gael, 3 
 Dalriad bards had fill'd already all Cantyre with 
 
 song and tale. 
 
 " Who the friths and fords shall reckon ; who the 
 
 steeps I cross'd shall count, 
 From the cauldron-pool of Brecan eastward o'er the 
 
 Alban mount; 4 
 From the stone fort of Dun Britan, set o'er circling 
 
 Clyde on high, 5 
 Northward to the thunder-smitten, jagg'd Cuchullin 
 
 peaks of Skye ? 
 
 " Great Cuchullin's name and glory fill'd the land 
 
 from north to south ; 
 Deirdra's and Clan Usnach's story rife I found in 
 
 every mouth ;
 
 The Tain-Quest. 9 
 
 Yea, and where the whitening surges spread below 
 
 the Herdsman Hill, 6 
 Echoes of the shout of Fergus haunted all Glen 
 
 Etive still. 
 
 " Echoes of the shout of warning heard by Usnach's 
 exiled youths, 
 
 When, between the night and morning, sleeping in 
 their hunting booths, 
 
 Deirdra dreamt the death-bird hooted ; Neesa, wak- 
 ing wild with joy, 
 
 Cried, * A man of Erin shouted ! welcome Fergus, 
 son of Roy ! ' 
 
 " Wondrous shout, from whence repeated, even as 
 
 up the answering hills 
 Echo's widening wave proceeded, spreads the sound 
 
 of song that fills 
 All the echoing waste of ages, tale and lay and 
 
 choral strain, 
 But the chief delight of sages and of kings was still 
 
 the Tain, 
 
 " Made when mighty Maev invaded Cuailgnia for 
 her brown-bright bull ;
 
 10 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 Fergus was the man that made it, for he saw the 
 
 war in full, 
 And in Maev's own chariot mounted, sang what 
 
 pass'd before his eyes, 
 As you'd hear it now recounted, knew I but where 
 
 Fergus lies. 
 
 " Bear me witness, Giant Bouchaill, herdsman of 
 
 the mountain drove, 
 How with spell and spirit-struggle many a midnight 
 
 hour I strove 
 Back to life to call the author ! for before I'd hear 
 
 it said, 
 ' Neither Sanchan knew it,' rather would I learn it 
 
 from the dead; 
 
 " Ay, and pay the dead their teaching with the one 
 
 price spirits crave, 
 When the hand of magic, reaching past the barriers 
 
 of the grave, 
 Drags the struggling phantom lifeward : but the 
 
 Ogham on his stone 
 Still must mock us undecipher'd ; grave and lay 
 
 alike unknown.
 
 The Tain -Quest. 11 
 
 " So that put to shame the direst, here I stand and 
 
 own, O King, 
 Thou a lawful lay requirest Sanchan Torpest cannot 
 
 sing. 
 Take again the gawds you gave me, cup nor 
 
 crown no more will I ; 
 Son, from further insult save me : lead me hence, 
 
 and let me die." 
 
 Leaning on young Murgen's shoulder Murgen 
 
 was his youngest son 
 Jeer'd of many a lewd beholder, Sanchan from the 
 
 hall has gone : 
 But, when now beyond Loch Lurgan, three days 
 
 thence he reach'd his home, 7 
 " Give thy blessing, Sire," said Murgen. "Whither 
 
 wouldst thou, son?" " To Rome; 
 
 " Rome, or, haply, Tours of Martin ; wheresoever 
 
 over ground 
 Hope can deem that tidings certain of the lay may 
 
 yet be found." 
 Answered Eimena his brother, " Not alone thou 
 
 leav'st the west,
 
 12 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 Though thou ne'er shouldst find another, I'll be 
 comrade of the quest." 
 
 Eastward, breadthwise, over Erin straightway tra- 
 vell'd forth the twain, 
 
 Till with many days' wayfaring Murgen fainted by 
 Loch Ein : 
 
 " Dear my brother, thou art weary : I for present 
 aid am flown ; 
 
 Thou for my returning tarry here beside this Stand- 
 ing Stone." 
 
 Shone the sunset, red and solemn : Murgen, where 
 
 he leant, observed 
 Down the corners of the column letter-strokes of 
 
 Ogham carved. 
 " 'Tis, belike, a burial pillar," said he, " and these 
 
 shallow lines 
 Hold some warrior's name of valour, could I rightly 
 
 spell the signs." 
 
 Letter then by letter tracing, soft he breathed the 
 
 sound of each ; 
 Sound and sound then interlacing, lo, the signs 
 
 took form of speech ;
 
 The Tain -Quest. 13 
 
 And with joy and wonder mainly thrilling, part 
 
 a-thrill with fear, 
 Murgen read the legend plainly, " FERGUS, SON 
 
 OF ROY is HERE." 
 
 " Lo," said he, " my quest is ended, knew I but 
 
 the spell to say ; 
 Underneath my feet extended, lies the man that 
 
 made the lay : 
 Yet, though spell nor incantation know I, were the 
 
 words but said 
 That could speak my soul's elation, I, methinks, 
 
 could raise the dead. 
 
 " Be an arch-bard's name my warrant. Murgen, 
 
 son of Sanchan, here, 
 Vow'd upon a venturous errand to the door-sills of 
 
 Saint Pierre, 
 Where, beyond Slieve Alpa's barrier, sits the Coarb 
 
 of the keys, 8 
 I conjure thee, buried warrior, rise and give my 
 
 wanderings ease. 
 
 " 'Tis not death whose forms appalling strew the 
 steep with pilgrim's graves,
 
 14 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 'Tis not fear of snow-slips falling, nor of ice-clefts' 
 
 azure caves 
 Daunts me ; but I dread if Homeward I must travel 
 
 till the Tain 
 Crowns my quest, these footsteps homeward I shall 
 
 never turn again. 
 
 " I at parting left behind me aged sire and mother 
 
 dear; 
 Who a parent's love shall find me ere again I ask 
 
 it here ? 
 Dearer too than sire or mother, ah, how dear these 
 
 tears may tell, 
 I, at parting, left another; left a maid who loves 
 
 me well. 
 
 " Ruthful clay, thy rigours soften ! Fergus, hear, 
 
 thy deaf heaps through, 
 Thou, thyself a lover often, aid a lover young and 
 
 true ! 
 Thou, the favourite of maidens, for a fair young 
 
 maiden's sake, 
 I conjure thee by the radiance of thy Nessa's eyes, 
 
 awake !
 
 The Tain -Quest. 15 
 
 " Needs there adjuration stronger? Fergus, thou 
 
 hadst once a son : 
 Even than I was Ulan younger when the glorious 
 
 feat was done, 
 When in hall of Red Branch biding Deirdra and 
 
 Clan Usnach sate, 
 In thy guarantee confiding, though the foe was at 
 
 their gate. 
 
 " Though their guards were bribed and flying, and 
 
 their door-posts wrapp'd in flame, 
 Calmly on thy word relying bent they o'er the 
 
 chessman game, 
 Till with keen words sharp and grievous Deirdra 
 
 cried through smoke and fire, 
 ' See the sons of Fergus leave us: traitor sons of 
 
 traitor sire ! ' 
 
 " Mild the eyes that did upbraid her, when young 
 
 Ulan rose and spake, 
 * If my father be a traitor 5 if my brother for the 
 
 sake 
 Of a bribe bewray his virtue, yet while lives the 
 
 sword I hold,
 
 16 The Tain -Quest 
 
 Ulan Finn will not desert you, not for fire and not 
 for gold ! ' 
 
 " And as hawk that strikes on pigeons, sped on 
 
 wrath's unswerving wing 
 Through the tyrant's leaguering legions, smiting 
 
 chief and smiting king, 
 Smote he full on Conor's gorget, till the waves of 
 
 welded steel 
 Round the monarch's magic target rang their loudest 
 
 larum peal. 
 
 " Rang the disc where wizard hammers, mingling 
 in the wavy field, 
 
 Tempest-wail and breaker-clamours, forged the won- 
 drous Ocean shield, 
 
 Answering to whose stormy noises, oft as clang'd 
 by deadly blows, 
 
 All the echoing kindred voices of the seas of Erin 
 rose. 
 
 " Moan'd each sea-chafed promontory ; soar'd and 
 
 wail'd white Cleena's wave ; 9 
 Rose the Tonn of Inver Rory, and through column'd 
 
 chasm and cave
 
 The Tain -Quest. 17 
 
 Reaching deep with roll of anger, till Dunseverick's 
 
 dungeons reel'd, 
 Roar'd responsive to the clangour struck from 
 
 Conor's magic shield. 
 
 " Ye, remember, red wine quaffing in Dunseverick's 
 
 halls of glee, 
 Heard the moaning, heard the chafing, heard the 
 
 thundering from the sea ; 
 Knew that peril compass'd Conor, came, and on 
 
 Emania's plain 
 Found his fraud and thy dishonour; Deirdra 
 
 ravish'd, Ulan slain. 
 
 " Now, by love of son for father, son, who ere he'd 
 
 hear it said 
 f Neither Sanchan knew it,' rather seeks to learn it 
 
 from the dead ; 
 Rise, and give me back the story that the twin gold 
 
 cups shall win ; 
 Rise, recount the great Cow-Foray ! rise for love of 
 
 Ulan Finn ! 
 
 " Still he stirs not. Love of woman thou regard' st 
 not Fergus, now : 
 c
 
 18 The Tain- Quest. 
 
 Love of children, instincts human, care for these 
 
 no more hast thou : 
 Wider comprehensions, deeper insights to the dead 
 
 belong : 
 Since for Love thou wakest not, sleeper, yet awake 
 
 for sake of Song ! 
 
 " Thou, the first in rhythmic cadence dressing life's 
 
 discordant tale, 
 Wars of chiefs and loves of maidens, gavest the 
 
 Poem to the Gael ; 
 Now they've lost their noblest measure, and in 
 
 dark days hard at hand, 
 Song shall be the only treasure left them in their 
 
 native land. 
 
 " Not for selfish gawds or baubles dares my soul 
 
 disturb the graves : 
 Love consoles, but song ennobles ; songless men are 
 
 meet for slaves : 
 Fergus, for the Gael's sake, waken ! never let the 
 
 scornful Gauls 
 'Mongst our land's reproaches reckon lack of Song 
 
 within our halls ! "
 
 The Tain -Quest. 19 
 
 Fergus rose. A mist ascended with him, and a flash 
 
 was seen 
 As of brazen sandals blended with a mantle's wafture 
 
 green ; 
 But so thick the cloud closed o'er him, Eimena, 
 
 return' d at last, 
 Found not on the field before him but a mist-heap 
 
 grey and vast. 
 
 Thrice to pierce the hoar recesses faithful Eimena 
 essay'd ; 
 
 Thrice through foggy wildernesses back to open air 
 he stray'd j 
 
 Till a deep voice through the vapours fill'd the twi- 
 light far and near, 
 
 And the Night her starry tapers kindling, stoop'd 
 from heaven to hear. 
 
 Seem'd as though the skiey Shepherd back to earth 
 had cast the fleece 
 
 Envying gods of old caught upward from the dark- 
 ening shrines of Greece ; 
 
 So the white mists curl'd and glisten'd, so from 
 heaven's expanses bare,
 
 20 The Tain- Quest. 
 
 Stars enlarging lean'd and listen'd down the emptied 
 depths of air. 
 
 All night long by mists surrounded Murgen lay in 
 
 vapoury bars ; 
 All night long the deep voice sounded 'neath the 
 
 keen, enlarging stars : 
 But when, on the orient verges, stars grew dim and 
 
 mists retired, 
 Rising by the stone of Fergus, Murgen stood, a man 
 
 inspired. 
 
 " Back to Sanchan ! Father, hasten, ere the hour of 
 
 power be past, 
 Ask not how obtain'd, but listen to the lost lay 
 
 found at last ! " 
 " Yea, these words have tramp of heroes in them ; 
 
 and the marching rhyme 
 Rolls the voices of the Era's down the echoing 
 
 steeps of Time." 
 
 Not till all was thrice related, thrice recital full 
 
 essay 'd, 
 Sad and shame-faced, worn and faded, Murgen 
 
 sought the faithful maid.
 
 The Tain -Quest. 21 
 
 " Ah, so haggard ; ah, so altered ; thou in life and 
 
 love so strong ! " 
 " Dearly purchased," Murgen falter'd, " life and 
 
 love I've sold for song !" 
 
 " Woe is me, the losing bargain ! what can song 
 
 the dead avail?" 
 " Fame immortal," murmur'd Murgen, " long as 
 
 lay delights the Gael." 
 " Fame, alas ! the price thou chargest not repays 
 
 one virgin tear." 
 " Yet the proud revenge I've purchased for my sire, 
 
 I deem not dear." 
 
 So, again to Gort the splendid, when the drinking 
 boards were spread, 
 
 Sanchan, as of old attended, came and sat at table- 
 head. 
 
 " Bear the cup to Sanchan Torpest: twin gold 
 goblets, Bard, are thine, 
 
 If with voice and string thou harpest, Tain-Bo- 
 Cuailgne, line for line." 
 
 " Yea, with voice and string I'll chant it." Murgen 
 to his father's knee
 
 22 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 Set the harp: no prelude wanted, Sanchan struck 
 
 the master key, 
 And, as bursts the brimful river all at once from 
 
 caves of Cong, 
 Forth at once, and once for ever, leap'd the torrent 
 
 of the song. 
 
 Floating on a brimful torrent, men go down and 
 
 banks go by : 
 Caught adown the lyric current, Guary, captured, 
 
 ear and eye, 
 Heard no more the courtiers jeering, saw no more 
 
 the walls of Gort, 
 Creeve Roe's meads instead appearing, and Emania's 
 
 royal fort. 
 
 Vision chasing splendid vision, Sanchan roll'd the 
 rhythmic scene ; 
 
 They that mock'd in lewd derision now, at gaze, 
 with wondering mien, 
 
 Sate, and, as the glorying master sway'd the tight- 
 ening reins of song, 
 
 Felt emotion's pulses faster fancies faster bound 
 along.
 
 The Tain -Quest. 23 
 
 Pity dawn'd on savage faces, when for love of cap- 
 tive Crunn, 
 
 Macha, in the ransom-races, girt her gravid loins, 
 to run 10 
 
 'Gainst the fleet Ultonian horses ; and, when Deirdra 
 on the road 
 
 Headlong dash'd her 'mid the corses, brimming 
 eyelids overflow'd. 
 
 Light of manhood's generous ardour, under brows 
 
 relaxing shone ; 
 When, mid-ford, on Uladh's border, young Cu- 
 
 chullin stood alone, 
 Maev and all her hosts withstanding : 
 
 love of knightly play, 
 Yield the youth his soul's demanding ; 
 
 their marchings stay, 
 
 " Now, for 
 let the hosts 
 
 " Till the death he craves be given ; and, upon his 
 
 burial stone 
 Champion-praises duly graven, make his name and 
 
 glory known ; 
 For, in speech-containing token, age to ages never 
 
 save
 
 24 The Tain -Quest. 
 
 Salutation better spoken, than, ' Behold a hero's 
 grave.' " 
 
 What, another and another, and he still for combat 
 
 calls ? 
 Ah, the lot on thee, his brother sworn in arms, 
 
 Ferdia, falls ; 
 And the hall with wild applauses sobb'd like women 
 
 ere they wist, 
 When the champions in the pauses of the deadly 
 
 combat kiss'd. 
 
 Now, for love of land and cattle, while Cuchullin 
 
 in the fords 
 Stays the march of Connaught's battle, ride and 
 
 rouse the Northern Lords ; 
 Swift as angry eagles wing them toward the plun- 
 
 der'd eyrie's call, 
 Thronging from Dun Dealga 11 bring them, bring 
 
 them from the Red Branch hall ! 
 
 Heard ye not the tramp of armies ? Hark ! amid the 
 
 sudden gloom, 
 'Twas the stroke of Conall's war-mace sounded 
 
 through the startled room ;
 
 The Tain- Quest. 25 
 
 And, while still the hall grew darker, king and 
 courtier chill'd with dread, 
 
 Heard the rattling of the war-car of Cuchullin over- 
 head. 
 
 Half in wonder, half in terror, loth to stay and loth 
 
 to fly, 
 Seem'd to each beglamour'd hearer shades of kings 
 
 went thronging by : 
 But the troubled joy of wonder merged at last in 
 
 mastering fear, 
 As they heard, through pealing thunder, " Fergus, 
 
 son of Roy is here ! " 
 
 Brazen-sandall'd, vapour-shrouded, moving in an 
 
 icy blast, 
 Through the doorway terror-crowded, up the tables 
 
 Fergus pass'd : 
 " Stay thy hand, oh harper, pardon ! cease the 
 
 wild unearthly lay ! 
 Murgen, bear thy sire his guerdon." Murgen sat, 
 
 a shape of clay. 
 
 ' Bear him on his bier beside me : never more in 
 halls of Gort
 
 26 The Tain- Quest. 
 
 Shall a niggard king deride me ; slaves, of Sanchan 
 
 make their sport ! 
 But because the maiden's yearnings needs must also 
 
 be condoled, 
 Hers shall be the dear-bought earnings, hers the 
 
 twin-bright cups of gold." 
 
 " Cups," she cried, " of bitter drinking, fling them 
 
 far as arm can throw ! 
 Let them, in the ocean sinking, out of sight and 
 
 memory go 
 
 Let the joinings of the rhythm, let the links of sense 
 
 and sound 
 Of the Tain-Bo perish with them, lost as though 
 
 they'd ne'er been found !" 
 
 So it comes, the lay, recover'd once at such a deadly 
 
 cost, 
 Ere one full recital suffer'd, once again is all but 
 
 lost: 
 For, the maiden's malediction still with many a 
 
 blemish-stain 
 Clings in coarser garb of fiction round the fragments 
 
 that remain.
 
 THE ABDICATION OF FERGUS 
 MAC ROY. 
 
 NCE, ere God was crucified, 
 I was King o'er Uladh wide : 
 King, by law of choice and birth, 
 O'er the fairest realm of Earth. 
 
 I was head of Rury's race ; 
 Emain was ray dwelling-place ; 12 
 Right and Might were mine ; nor less 
 Stature, strength, and comeliness. 
 
 Neither lack'd I love's delight, 
 Nor the glorious meeds of fight. 
 All on earth was mine could bring 
 Life's enjoyment to a king.
 
 28 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 
 
 Much I loved the jocund chase, 
 Much the horse and chariot race : 
 Much I loved the deep carouse, 
 Quaffing in the Red Branch House. 13 
 
 But, in Council call'd to meet, 
 Loved I not the judgment seat ; 
 And the suitors' questions hard 
 Won but scantly my regard. 
 
 Rather would I, all alone, 
 Care and state behind me thrown, 
 Walk the dew through showery gleams 
 O'er the meads, or by the streams, 
 
 Chanting, as the thoughts might rise, 
 Unimagined melodies ; 
 While with sweetly-pungent smart 
 Secret happy tears would start. 
 
 Such was I, when, in the dance, 
 Nessa did bestow a glance, 
 And my soul that moment took 
 Captive in a single look.
 
 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 29 
 
 I am but an empty shade, 
 Far from life and passion laid ; 
 Yet does sweet remembrance thrill 
 All my shadowy being still. 
 
 Nessa had been Fathna's spouse, 
 Fathna of the Royal house, 
 And a beauteous boy had borne him ; 
 Fourteen summers did adorn him : 
 
 Yea ; thou deem'st it marvellous, 
 That a widow's glance should thus 
 Turn from lure of maidens' eyes 
 All a young king's fantasies. 
 
 Yet if thou hadst known but half 
 Of the joyance of her laugh, 
 Of the measures of her walk, 
 Of the music of her talk, 
 
 Of the witch'ry of her wit, 
 Even when smarting under it, 
 Half the sense, the charm, the grace, 
 Thou hadst worshipp'd in my place.
 
 30 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 
 
 And, besides, the thoughts I wove 
 Into songs of war and love, 
 She alone of all the rest 
 Felt them with a perfect zest. 
 
 " Lady, in thy smiles to live 
 Tell me but the boon to give, 
 Yea, I lay in gift complete 
 Crown and sceptre at thy feet." 
 
 " Not so great the boon I crave : 
 Hear the wish my soul would have ;" 
 And she glanc'd a loving eye 
 On the stripling standing by : 
 
 " Conor is of age to learn ; 
 Wisdom is a king's concern ; 
 Conor is of royal race, 
 Yet may sit in Fathna's place. 
 
 " Therefore, king, if thou wouldst prove 
 That I have indeed thy love, 
 On the judgment-seat permit 
 Conor by thy side to sit,
 
 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 31 
 
 " That by use the youth may draw 
 Needful knowledge of the Law." 
 I with answer was not slow, 
 " Be thou mine, and be it so." 
 
 I am but a shape of air, 
 Far removed from love's repair ; 
 Yet, were mine a living frame 
 Once again I'd say the same. 
 
 Thus, a prosperous wooing sped, 
 Took I Nessa to my bed, 
 While in council and debate 
 Conor daily by me sate. 
 
 Modest was his mien in sooth, 
 Beautiful the studious youth, 
 Questioning with earnest gaze 
 All the reasons and the ways 
 
 In the which, and why because, 
 Kings administer the Laws. 
 Silent so with looks intent 
 Sat he till the year was spent.
 
 32 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 
 
 But the strifes the suitors raised 
 Bred me daily more distaste, 
 Every faculty and passion 
 Sunk in sweet intoxication. 
 
 Till upon a day in court 
 Rose a plea of weightier sort : 
 Tangled as a briary thicket 
 Were the rights and wrongs intricate 
 
 Which the litigants disputed, 
 Challenged, mooted, and confuted ; 
 Till, when all the plea was ended, 
 Naught at all I comprehended. 
 
 Scorning an affected show 
 Of the thing I did not know, 
 Yet my own defect to hide, 
 I said " Boy-judge, thou decide." 
 
 Conor, with unalter'd mien, 
 In a clear sweet voice serene, 
 Took in hand the tangled skein 
 And began to make it plain.
 
 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 33 
 
 As a sheep-dog sorts his cattle, 
 As a king arrays his battle, 
 So, the facts on either side 
 He did marshal and divide. 
 
 Every branching side-dispute 
 Traced he downward to the root 
 Of the strife's main stem, and there 
 Laid the ground of difference bare. 
 
 Then to scope of either cause 
 Set the compass of the laws, 
 This adopting, that rejecting, 
 Reasons to a head collecting, 
 
 As a charging cohort goes 
 Through and over scatter'd foes, 
 So, from point to point, he brought 
 Onward still the weight of thought 
 
 Through all error and confusion, 
 Till he set the clear conclusion 
 Standing like a king alone, 
 All things adverse overthrown, 
 
 D
 
 34 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 
 
 And gave judgment clear and sound :- 
 Praises fill'd the hall around ; 
 Yea, the man that lost the cause 
 Hardly could withhold applause. 
 
 By the wondering crowd surrounded 
 I sat shamefaced and confounded. 
 Envious ire awhile oppress'd me 
 
 Till the nobler thought possess'd me ; 
 
 
 
 And I rose, and on my feet 
 Standing by the judgment-seat, 
 Took the circlet from my head, 
 Laid it on the bench, and said, 
 
 " Men of Uladh, I resign 
 That which is not rightly mine, 
 That a worthier than I 
 May your judge's place supply. 
 
 " Lo, it is no easy thing 
 For a man to be a king 
 Judging well, as should behove 
 One who claims a people's love.
 
 Abdication of Fergus Mac Roy. 35 
 
 " Uladh's judgment-seat to fill 
 I have neither wit nor will. 
 One is here may justly claim 
 Both the function and the name. 
 
 " Conor is of royal blood ; 
 Fair he is ; I trust him good ; 
 Wise he is we all may say 
 Who have heard his words to-day. 
 
 " Take him therefore in my room, 
 Letting me the place assume 
 Office but with life to end 
 Of his councillor and friend." 
 
 So young Conor gain'd the crown j 
 So I laid the kingship down ; 
 Laying with it as it went 
 All I knew of discontent.
 
 THE HEALING OF CONALL CARNACH. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 ?ONOR is said to have heard of the Passion 
 of our Lord from a Roman captain sent to 
 demand tribute at Emania. He died of a 
 wound inflicted by Keth, son of Magach, 
 and nephew of Maev, with a ball from a sling; having 
 been inveigled within reach of the missile by certain 
 Connaught ladies. His son Forbaid characteristically 
 avenged his death by the assassination of Maev, whom 
 he slew, also with a sling, across the Shannon, while she 
 was in the act of bathing. Notwithstanding the repul- 
 sive character of many of the acts ascribed to Conor, 
 such as the cruel enforcement of the foot-race upon 
 Macha (O licentiam furoris, agree reipuUica gemitupro- 
 seqwndam /)* and the betrayal of the sons of Usnach, 
 and abduction of Deirdra, the best part of Irish heroic 
 tradition connects itself with his reign and period, pre- 
 
 * VAL. MAX. lib. ix. De Improb. diet, etfact.
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 37 
 
 ceding by nearly three centuries the epoch of Cormac 
 Mac Art, and the Fenian or Irish Ossianic romances. 
 The survivor of the men of renown of Conor's era was 
 Conall Carnach, the hero of many picturesque legends, 
 one of the most remarkable of which affords the ground- 
 work for the following verses. 
 
 THE HEALING OF CONALL CARNACH. 
 
 j'ER Slieve Few, 14 with noiseless tramping 
 
 through the heavy-drifted snow, 
 Bealcu,* Connacia's champion, in his 
 chariot tracks the foe ; 
 And anon far off discerneth, in the mountain-hollow 
 
 white, 
 
 Slinger Keth and Conall Carnach mingling, hand 
 to hand, in fight. 
 
 Swift the charioteer his coursers urged across the 
 
 wintry glade : 
 Hoarse the cry of Keth and hoarser seem'd to come 
 
 demanding aid ; 
 
 * Pronounced Bayal-kv..
 
 38 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 But through wreath and swollen runnel ere the car 
 
 could reach anigh, 
 Keth lay dead, and mighty Conall bleeding lay at 
 
 point to die. 
 
 Whom beholding spent and pallid, Bealcu exulting 
 
 cried, 
 " Oh thou ravening wolf of Uladh, where is now 
 
 thy northern pride ? 
 What can now that crest audacious, what that pale 
 
 defiant brow, 
 Once the bale-star of Connacia's ravaged fields, avail 
 
 thee now?" 
 
 " Taunts are for reviling women;" faintly Conall 
 
 made reply : 
 " Wouldst thou play the manlier foeman, end my 
 
 pain and let me die. 
 Neither deem thy blade dishonour'd that with Keth's 
 
 a deed it share, 
 For the foremost two of Connaught feat enough and 
 
 fame to spare." 
 
 " No, I will not ! bard shall never in Dunseverick 
 hall make boast
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 39 
 
 That to quell one northern riever needed two of 
 
 Croghan's host. 15 
 But because that word thou'st spoken, if but life 
 
 enough remains, 
 Thou shalt hear the wives of Croghan clap their 
 
 hands above thy chains. 
 
 " Yea, if life enough but linger, that the leech may 
 
 make thee whole, 
 Meet to satiate the anger that beseems a warrior's 
 
 soul, 
 Best of leech-craft I'll purvey thee; make thee whole 
 
 as healing can ; 
 And in single combat slay thee, Connaught man to 
 
 Ulster man." 
 
 Binding him in five-fold fetter, 16 wrists and ankles, 
 
 wrists and neck, 
 To his car's uneasy litter Bealcu upheaved the 
 
 wreck 
 Of the broken man and harness ; but he started with 
 
 amaze 
 When he felt the northern war-mace, what a weight 
 
 it was to raise.
 
 40 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 Westward then through Breiffny's borders, with 
 
 his captive and his dead, 
 Track'd by bands of fierce applauders, wives and 
 
 shrieking widows, sped ; 
 And the chain'd heroic earcass on the fair-green of 
 
 Moy Slaught ' 7 
 Casting down, proclaim'd his purpose, and bade 
 
 Lee the leech be brought. 
 
 Lee, the gentle-faced physician from his herb-plot 
 
 came, and said, 
 " Healing is with God's permission: health for 
 
 life's enjoyment made : 
 And though I mine aid refuse not, yet, to speak 
 
 my purpose plain, 
 I the healing art abuse not, making life enure to 
 
 pain. 
 
 " But assure me, with the sanction of the mightiest 
 
 oath ye know, 
 That in case, in this contention, Conall overcome 
 
 his foe, 
 Straight departing from the tourney by what path 
 
 the chief shall choose,
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 41 
 
 He is free to take his journey unmolested to the 
 Fews. 
 
 " Swear me further, while at healing in my charge 
 
 the hero lies, 
 None shall through my fences stealing, work him 
 
 mischief or surprise ; 
 80, if God the undertaking but approve, in six 
 
 months' span 
 Once again my art shall make him meet to stand 
 
 before a man." 
 
 Crom their god they then attested, Sun and Wind 
 
 for guarantees, 
 Conall Carnach unmolested by what exit he might 
 
 please, 
 If the victor, should have freedom to depart Con- 
 
 nacia's bounds ; 
 Meantime, no man should intrude him, entering on 
 
 the hospice grounds. 
 
 Then his burthen huge receiving in the hospice- 
 portal, Lee, 
 
 Stiffen'd limb by limb relieving with the iron fetter 
 key,
 
 42 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 As a crumpled scroll unroll'd him, groaning deep, 
 
 till laid at length, 
 Wondering gazers might behold him, what a tower 
 
 he was of strength. 
 
 Spake the sons to one another, day by day, of 
 
 Bealcu 
 " Get thee up and spy, my brother, what the leech 
 
 and northman do." 
 " Lee, at mixing of a potion : Conall, yet in no wise 
 
 dead, 
 As on reef of rock the ocean, tosses wildly on his 
 
 bed." 
 
 " Spy again with cautious peeping : what of Lee 
 
 and Conall now ? " 
 " Conall lies profoundly sleeping : Lee beside with 
 
 placid brow." 
 " And to-day ?" " To-day he's risen ; pallid as his 
 
 swathing sheet, 
 He has left his chamber's prison, and is walking on 
 
 his feet." 
 
 " And to-day?" " A ghastly figure, on his javelin 
 propp'd he goes."
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 43 
 
 " And to-day?" " A languid vigour through his 
 larger gesture shows." 
 
 " And to-day?" " The blood renewing mantles all 
 his clear cheek through." 
 
 " Would thy vow had room for racing, rashly- 
 valiant Bealcu ! " 
 
 So with herb and healing balsam, ere the second 
 
 month was past, 
 Life's additions smooth and wholesome circling 
 
 through his members vast, 
 As you've seen a sere oak burgeon under summer 
 
 showers and dew, 
 Conall, under his chirurgeon, fill'd and flourish'd, 
 
 spread and grew. 
 
 " I can bear the sight no longer : I have watch'd 
 
 him moon by moon : 
 Day by day the chief grows stronger : giant-strong 
 
 he will be soon. 
 Oh my sire, rash-valiant warrior! but that oaths 
 
 have built the wall, 
 Soon these feet should leap the barrier : soon this 
 
 hand thy fate forestall."
 
 44 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 " Brother, have the wish thou'st utter'd : we have 
 
 sworn, so let it be ; 
 But although our feet be fetter'd, all the air is left 
 
 us free. 
 Dying Keth with vengeful presage did bequeath thee 
 
 sling and ball, 
 And the sling may send its message where thy 
 
 vagrant glances fall. 
 
 " Forbaid was a master-slinger : Maev, when in her 
 bath she sank, 
 
 Felt the presence of his finger from the further 
 Shannon bank ; 
 
 For he threw by line and measure, practising a con- 
 stant cast 
 
 Daily in secluded leisure, till he reach'd the mark 
 at last. 18 
 
 " Keth achieved a warrior's honour, though 'twas 
 
 mid a woman's band, 
 When he smote the amorous Conor bowing from 
 
 his distant stand. 19 
 Fit occasion will not fail ye: in the leech's lawn 
 
 below,
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 45 
 
 Conall at the fountain daily drinks within an easy 
 throw." 
 
 " Wherefore cast ye at the apple, sons of mine, with 
 
 measured aim?" 
 " He who in the close would grapple, first the distant 
 
 foe should maim. 
 And since Keth, his death-balls casting, rides no 
 
 more the ridge of war, 
 We, against our summer hosting, train us for his 
 
 vacant car." 
 
 " Wherefore to the rock repairing, gaze ye forth, 
 
 my children, tell." 
 " 'Tis a stag we watch for snaring, that frequents 
 
 the leech's well." 
 " I will see this stag, though, truly, small may be 
 
 my eyes delight." 
 And he climb'd the rock where fully lay the lawn 
 
 exposed to sight. 
 
 Conall to the green well-margin came at dawn and 
 
 knelt to drink, 
 Thinking how a noble virgin by a like green 
 
 fountain's brink
 
 46 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 Heard his own pure vows one morning, far away 
 
 and long ago : 
 All his heart to home was turning ; and his tears 
 
 began to flow. 
 
 Clean forgetful of his prison, steep Dunseverick's 
 
 windy tower 
 Seem'd to rise in present vision, and his own dear 
 
 lady's bower. 
 Round the sheltering knees they gather, little ones 
 
 of tender years, 
 Tell us mother of our father and she answers but 
 
 with tears. 
 
 Twice the big drops plash'd the fountain. Then he 
 
 rose, and, turning round, 
 As across a breast of mountain sweeps a whirlwind, 
 
 o'er the ground 
 Raced in athlete-feats amazing, swung the war-mace, 
 
 hurl'd the spear ; 
 Bealcu, in wonder gazing, felt the pangs of deadly 
 
 fear. 
 
 Had it been a fabled griffin, suppled in a fasting 
 den,
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 47 
 
 Flash'd its wheeling coils to heaven o'er a wreck of 
 
 beasts and men, 
 Hardly had the dreadful prospect bred his soul 
 
 more dire alarms ; 
 Such the fire of Conall's aspect, such the stridor of 
 
 his arms ! 
 
 " This is fear," he said, " that never shook these 
 
 limbs of mine till now. 
 Now I see the mad endeavour ; now I mourn the 
 
 boastful vow. 
 Yet 'twas righteous wrath impell'd me ; and a sense 
 
 of manly shame 
 From his naked throat withheld me when 'twas 
 
 offer'd to my aim. 
 
 " Now I see his strength excelling: whence he 
 buys it : what he pays : 
 
 'Tis a God who has his dwelling in the fount, to 
 whom he prays. 
 
 Thither came he weeping, drooping, till the Well- 
 God heard his prayer : 
 
 Now behold him, soaring, swooping, as an eagle 
 through the air.
 
 48 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 " O thou God, by whatsoever sounds of awe thy 
 
 name we know, 
 Grant thy servant equal favour with the stranger 
 
 and the foe ! 
 
 Equal grace, 'tis all I covet; and if sacrificial blood 
 Win thy favour, thou shalt have it on thy very 
 
 well-brink, God ! 
 
 " What and though I've given pledges not to cross 
 
 the leech's court ? 
 Not to pass his sheltering hedges, meant I to his 
 
 patient's hurt. 
 Thy dishonour meant I never: never meant I to 
 
 forswear 
 Right divine of prayer wherever Power divine 
 
 invites to prayer. 
 
 " Sun that warm'st me, Wind that fann'st me, ye 
 
 that guarantee the oath, 
 Make no sign of wrath against me : tenderly ye 
 
 touch me both. 
 Yea, then, through his fences stealing ere to-morrow's 
 
 sun shall rise,
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 49 
 
 Well-God ! on thy margin kneeling, I will offer 
 sacrifice." 
 
 " Brother, rise, the skies grow ruddy : if we yet 
 
 would save our sire, 
 Rests a deed courageous, bloody, wondering ages 
 
 shall admire : 
 Hie thee to the spy-rock's summit: ready there 
 
 thou'lt find the sling ; 
 Ready there the leaden plummet ; and at dawn he 
 
 seeks the spring." 
 
 Ruddy dawn had changed to amber : radiant as the 
 
 yellow day, 
 Conall, issuing from his chamber, to the fountain 
 
 took his way : 
 There, athwart the welling water, like a fallen pillar, 
 
 Smitten by the bolt of slaughter, lay Connacia's 
 champion dead. 
 
 Call the hosts ! convene the judges ! cite the dead 
 
 man's children both ! 
 Said the judges, " He gave pledges; Sun and 
 
 Wind ; and broke the oath,
 
 50 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 
 
 And they slew him : so we've written : let his sons 
 
 attend our words." 
 " Both, by sudden frenzy smitten, fell at sunrise on 
 
 their swords." 
 
 Then the judges, " Ye who punish man's pre- 
 varicating vow, 
 
 Needs not further to admonish : contrite to your 
 will we bow, 
 
 All our points of promise keeping : safely let the 
 chief go forth." 
 
 Conall to his chariot leaping, turned his coursers to 
 the north : 
 
 In the Sun that swept the valleys, in the Winds' 
 
 encircling flight, 
 Recognizing holy allies, guardians of the Truth and 
 
 Right; 
 While, before his face, resplendent with a firm faith's 
 
 candid ray, 
 Dazzled troops of foes attendant, bow'd before him 
 
 on his way. 
 
 But the calm physician, viewing where the white 
 neck join'd the ear,
 
 The Healing of Conall Carnach. 5 1 
 
 Said, " It is a slinger's doing : Sun nor Wind was 
 
 actor here. 
 Yet till God vouchsafe more certain knowledge of 
 
 his sovereign will, 
 Better deem the mystic curtain hides their wonted 
 
 demons still. 
 
 11 Better so, perchance, than living in a clearer light, 
 
 like me, 
 But believing where perceiving, bound in what I 
 
 hear and see ; 
 Force and change in constant sequence, changing 
 
 atoms, changeless laws ; 
 Only in submissive patience waiting access to the 
 
 Cause. 
 
 " And, they say, Centurion Altus, when he to 
 
 Emania came, 
 And to Rome's subjection calPd us, urging Caesar's 
 
 tribute claim, 
 Told that half the world barbarian thrills already 
 
 with the faith 
 Taught them by the godlike Syrian Caesar lately 
 
 put to death.
 
 52 The Healing of Conall Carnack. 
 
 " And the Sun, through, starry stages measuring 
 
 from the Ram and Bull, 
 Tells us of renewing Ages, and that Nature's time is 
 
 full: 
 So, perchance, these silly breezes even now may 
 
 swell the sail, 
 Brings the leavening word of Jesus westward also 
 
 to the Gael."
 
 THE BURIAL OF KING CORMAC. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 I ORMAC, son of Art, son of Con Cead-Catha,* 
 enjoyed the sovereignty of Ireland through 
 the prolonged period of forty years, com- 
 mencing from A.D. 213. During the latter 
 part of his reign, he resided at Sletty on the Boyne, 
 being, it is said, disqualified for the occupation of 
 Tara by the personal blemish he had sustained in the 
 loss of an eye, by the hand of Angus " Dread- Spear," 
 chief of the Desi, a tribe whose original seats were in the 
 barony of Deece, in the county of Meath. It was in the 
 time of Cormac and his son Carbre, if we are to credit 
 the Irish annals, that Fin, son of Comhal, and the Fenian 
 heroes, celebrated by Ossian, flourished. Gormac has 
 obtained the reputation of wisdom and learning, and 
 appears justly entitled to the honour of having provoked 
 the enmity of the Pagan priesthood, by declaring his 
 faith in a God not made by hands of men. 
 
 * t. e. Hundred-Battle.
 
 54 
 
 THE BURIAL OF KING CORMAC. 
 
 ROM Cruach and his sub-gods twelve," 
 Said Cormac, " are but carven treene; 
 The axe that made them, haft or helve, 
 Had worthier of our worship been. 
 
 " But He who made the tree to grow, 
 
 And hid in earth the iron-stone, 
 And made the man with mind to know 
 
 The axe's use, is God alone." 
 
 Anon to priests of Crom was brought 
 Where, girded in their service dread, 
 
 They minister'd on red M oy Slaught 
 Word of the words King Cormac said. 
 
 They loosed their curse against the king ; 
 
 They cursed him in his flesh and bones ; 
 And daily in their mystic ring 
 
 They turn'd the maledictive stones, 20
 
 The Burial of King Cormac. 55 
 
 Till, where at meat the monarch sate, 
 
 Amid the revel and the wine, 
 He choked upon the food he ate, 
 
 At Sletty, southward of the Boyne. 
 
 High vaunted then the priestly throng, 
 And far and wide they noised abroad 
 
 With trump and loud liturgic song 
 The praise of their avenging God. 
 
 But ere the voice was wholly spent 
 That priest and prince should still obey, 
 
 To awed attendants o'er him bent 
 
 Great Cormac gather'd breath to say, 
 
 " Spread not the beds of Brugh for me 21 
 When restless death-bed's use is done : 
 
 But bury me at Rossnaree 
 And face me to the rising sun. 
 
 " For all the kings who lie in Brugh 
 Put trust in gods of wood and stone ; 
 
 And 'twas at Ross that first I knew 
 One, Unseen, who is God alone.
 
 56 The Burial of King Cormac. 
 
 " His glory lightens from the east ; 
 
 His message soon shall reach our shore ; 
 And idol-god, and cursing priest 
 
 Shall plague us from Moy Slaught no more." 
 
 Dead Cormac on his bier they laid : 
 " He reign'd a king for forty years, 
 
 And shame it were," his captains said, 
 11 He lay not with his royal peers. 
 
 " His grandsire, Hundred-Battle, sleeps 
 Serene in Brugh : and, all around, 
 
 Dead kings in stone sepulchral keeps 
 Protect the sacred burial ground. 
 
 " What though a dying man should rave 
 
 Of changes o'er the eastern sea ? 
 In Brugh of Boyne shall be his grave, 
 
 And not in noteless Rossnaree." 
 
 Then northward forth they bore the bier, 
 And down from Sletty side they drew, 
 
 With horseman and with charioteer, 
 To cross the fords of Boyne to Brugh.
 
 The Burial of King Cormac. 57 
 
 There came a breath of finer air 
 
 That touch'd the Boyne with ruffling wings, 
 It stirr'd him in his sedgy lair 
 
 And in his mossy moorland springs. 
 
 And as the burial train came down 
 
 With dirge and savage dolorous shows, 
 
 Across their pathway, broad and brown 
 The deep, full-hearted river rose ; 
 
 From bank to bank through all his fords, 
 
 'Neath blackening squalls he swell'd and boil'd; 
 
 And thrice the wondering gentile lords 
 Essay' d to cross, and thrice recoil'd. 
 
 Then forth stepp'd grey-hair'd warriors four : 
 They said, " Through angrier floods than these, 
 
 On link'd shields once our king we bore 
 From Dread-Spear and the hosts of Deece. 
 
 " And long as loyal will holds good, 
 And limbs respond with helpful thews, 
 
 Nor flood, nor fiend within the flood, 
 Shall bar him of his burial dues."
 
 58 The Burial of King Cormac. 
 
 With slanted necks they stoop'd to lift ; 
 
 They heaved him up to neck and chin ; 
 And, pair and pair, with footsteps swift, 
 
 Lock'd arm and shoulder, bore him in. 
 
 'Twas brave to see them leave the shore ; 
 
 To mark the deep'ning surges rise, 
 And fall subdued in foam before 
 
 The tension of their striding thighs. 
 
 'Twas brave, when now a spear-cast out, 
 Breast-high the battling surges ran ; 
 
 For weight was great, and limbs were stout, 
 And loyal man put trust in man. 
 
 But ere they reach'd the middle deep, 
 Nor steadying weight of clay they bore, 
 
 Nor strain of sinewy limbs could keep 
 Their feet beneath the swerving four. 
 
 And now they slide, and now they swim, 
 And now, amid the blackening squall, 
 
 Grey locks afloat, with clutchings grim, 
 They plunge around the floating pall.
 
 The Burial of King Cormac. 59 
 
 While, as a youth with practised spear 
 
 Through justling crowds bears off the ring, 
 
 Boyne from their shoulders caught the bier 
 And proudly bore away the king. 
 
 At morning, on the grassy marge 
 Of Rossnaree, the corpse was found, 
 
 And shepherds at their early charge 
 Entomb'd it in the peaceful ground. 
 
 A tranquil spot : a hopeful sound 
 
 Comes from the ever youthful stream, 
 
 And still on daisied mead and mound 
 The dawn delays with tenderer beam. 
 
 Round Cormac Spring renews her buds : 
 
 In march perpetual by his side, 
 Down come the earth-fresh April floods, 
 
 And up the sea-fresh salmon glide ; 
 
 And life and time rejoicing run 
 
 From age to age their wonted way ; 
 
 But still he waits the risen Sun, 
 For still 'tis only dawning Day.
 
 AIDEEN'S GRAVE. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 'IDEEN, daughter of Angus of Ben-Edar 
 (now the Hill of Howth), died of grief for 
 the loss of her husband, Oscar, son of Ossian, 
 who was slain at the battle of Gavra 
 (Crotrra, near Tara in Meath), A.D. 284. Oscar was 
 entombed in the rath or earthen fortress that occupied 
 part of the field of battle, the rest of the slain being cast 
 in a pit outside. Aideen is said to have been buried 
 on Howth, near the mansion of her father, and poetical 
 tradition represents the Fenian heroes as present at her 
 obsequies. The Cromlech in Howth Park has been sup- 
 posed to be her sepulchre. It stands under the summits 
 from which the poet Atharne is said to have launched 
 his invectives against the people of Leinster, until, by 
 the blighting effect of his satires, they were compelled 
 to make him atonement for the death of his son.
 
 61 
 
 AIDEEN'S GRAVE. 
 
 heaved the stone; they heap'd the 
 cairn : 
 
 Said Ossian, " In a queenly grave 
 We leave her, 'mong her fields of fern, 
 Between the cliff and wave. 
 
 " The cliff behind stands clear and bare, 
 And bare, above, the heathery steep 
 
 Scales the clear heaven's expanse, to where 
 The Danaan Druids sleep. 28 
 
 " And all the sands that, left and right, 
 
 The grassy isthmus-ridge confine, 
 In yellow bars lie bare and bright 
 
 Among the sparkling brine. 
 
 " A clear pure air pervades the scene, 
 
 In loneliness and awe secure ; 
 Meet spot to sepulchre a Queen 
 
 Who in her life was pure.
 
 62 Aideerfs Grave. 
 
 " Here, far from camp and chase removed, 
 
 Apart in Nature's quiet room, 
 The music that alive she loved 
 
 Shall cheer her in the tomb. 
 
 " The humming of the noontide bees, 
 The lark's loud carol all day long, 
 
 And, borne on evening's salted breeze, 
 The clanking sea bird's song 
 
 " Shall round her airy chamber float, 
 
 And with the whispering winds and streams 
 
 Attune to Nature's tenderest note 
 The tenor of her dreams. 
 
 " And oft, at tranquil eve's decline 
 
 When full tides lip the Old Green Plain, 23 
 
 The lowing of Moynalty's kine 
 Shall round her breathe again, 
 
 " In sweet remembrance of the days 
 When, duteous, in the lowly vale, 
 
 Unconscious of my Oscar's gaze, 
 She fill'd the fragrant pail,
 
 Aideerfs Grave. 63 
 
 " And, duteous, from the running brook 
 Drew water for the bath ; nor deem'd 
 
 A king did on her labour look, 
 And she a fairy seem'd. 84 
 
 " But when the wintry frosts begin, 
 And in their long drawn, lofty flight, 
 
 The wild geese with their airy din 
 Distend the ear of night, 
 
 " And when the fierce De Danaan ghosts 
 At midnight from their peak come down, 
 
 When all around the enchanted coasts 
 Despairing strangers drown ; 
 
 " When, mingling with the wreckful wail, 
 From low Clontarf's wave-trampled floor 
 
 Comes booming up the burthen'd gale 
 The angry Sand-Bull's roar ; 25 
 
 " Or, angrier than the sea, the shout 
 Of Erin's hosts in wrath combined, 
 
 When Terror heads Oppression's rout, 
 And Freedom cheers behind :
 
 64 Aideeri's Grave. 
 
 " Then o'er our lady's placid dream, 
 
 Where safe from storms she sleeps, may steal 
 
 Such joy as will not misbeseem 
 A Queen of men to feel: 
 
 " Such thrill of free, defiant pride, 
 
 As rapt her in her battle car 
 At Gavra, when by Oscar's side 
 
 She rode the ridge of war, 
 
 " Exulting, down the shouting troops, 
 And through the thick confronting kings, 
 
 With hands on all their javelin loops 
 And shafts on all their strings ; 
 
 " E'er closed the inseparable crowds, 
 No more to part for me, and show, 
 
 As bursts the sun through scattering clouds, 
 My Oscar issuing so. 
 
 " No more, dispelling battle's gloom 
 Shall son for me from fight return ; 
 
 The great green rath's ten-acred tomb 
 Lies heavy on his urn. 26
 
 AideerCs Grave. 65 
 
 " A cup of bodkin-pencill'd clay 
 
 Holds Oscar ; mighty heart and limb 
 
 One handful now of ashes grey : 
 And she has died for him. 
 
 " And here, hard by her natal bower 
 On lone Ben Edar's side, we strive 
 
 With lifted rock and sign of power 
 To keep her name alive. 
 
 " That while, from circling year to year, 
 
 Her Ogham-letter'd stone is seen, 
 The Gael shall say, ' Our Fenians here 
 
 Entomb'd their loved Aideen.' 
 
 " The Ogham from her pillar stone 
 
 In tract of time will wear away ; 
 Her name at last be only known 
 
 In Ossian's echo'd lay. 
 
 " The long forgotten lay I sing 
 
 May only ages hence revive, 
 (As eagle with a wounded wing 
 
 To soar again might strive,) 
 F
 
 66 Aideen's Grave. 
 
 " Imperfect, in an alien speech, 
 
 When, wandering here, some child of chance 
 Through pangs of keen delight shall reach 
 
 The gift of utterance, 
 
 " To speak the air, the sky to speak, 
 
 The freshness of the hill to tell, 
 Who, roaming bare Ben Edar's peak 
 
 And Aideen's briary dell, 
 
 " And gazing on the Cromlech vast, 
 And on the mountain and the sea, 
 
 Shall catch communion with the past 
 And mix himself with me. 
 
 " Child of the Future's doubtful night, 
 Whate'er your speech, whoe'er your sires, 
 
 Sing while you may with frank delight 
 The song your hour inspires. 
 
 " Sing while you may, nor grieve to know 
 The song you sing shall also die ; 
 
 Atharna's lay has perish'd so, 
 Though once it thrill'd this sky
 
 Aideen's Grave. 67 
 
 " Above us, from his rocky chair, 
 
 There, where Ben Edar's landward crest 
 
 O'er eastern Bregia bends, to where 
 Dun Almon crowns the west : 
 
 " And all that felt the fretted air 
 
 Throughout the song-distemper' d clime, 
 
 Did droop, till suppliant Leinster's prayer 
 Appeased the vengeful rhyme. 27 
 
 " Ah me, or e'er the hour arrive 
 
 Shall bid my long-forgotten tones, 
 Unknown One, on your lips revive, 
 
 Here, by these moss-grown stones, 
 
 " What change shall o'er the scene have cross'd ; 
 
 What conquering lords anew have come ; 
 What lore-arm'd, mightier Druid host 
 
 From Gaul or distant Rome ! 
 
 " What arts of death, what ways of life, 
 What creeds unknown to bard or seer, 
 
 Shall round your careless steps be rife, 
 Who pause and ponder here ;
 
 68 Aideeri's Grave. 
 
 " And, haply, where yon curlew calls 
 
 Athwart the marsh, 'mid groves and bowers 
 
 See rise some mighty chieftain's halls 
 With unimagined towers : 
 
 " And baying hounds, and coursers bright, 
 And burnish'd cars of dazzling sheen, 
 
 With courtly train of dame and knight, 
 Where now the fern is green. 
 
 " Or, by yon prostrate altar-stone 
 
 May kneel, perchance, and, free from blame, 
 Hear holy men with rites unknown 
 
 New names of God proclaim. 
 
 " Let change as may the Name of Awe, 
 
 Let rite surcease and altar fall, 
 The same One God remains, a law 
 
 For ever and for all. 
 
 " Let change as may the face of earth, 
 
 Let alter all the social frame, 
 For mortal men the ways of birth 
 
 And death are still the same.
 
 Aideen's Grave. 69 
 
 " And still, as life and time wear on, 
 
 The children of the waning days, 
 (Though strength be from their shoulders gone 
 
 To lift the loads we raise,) 
 
 " Shall weep to do the burial rites 
 Of lost ones loved ; and fondly found, 
 
 In shadow of the gathering nights, 
 The monumental mound. 
 
 " Farewell ! the strength of men is worn ; 
 
 The night approaches dark and chill : 
 Sleep, till perchance an endless morn 
 
 Descend the glittering hill." 
 
 Of Oscar and Aideen bereft, 
 
 So Ossian sang. The Fenians sped 
 
 Three mighty shouts to heaven ; and left 
 Ben Edar to the dead.
 
 THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLEY. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 SEVERAL Welsh Families, associates in the 
 invasion of Strongbow, settled in the west 
 of Ireland. Of these, the principal whose 
 names have been preserved by the Irish 
 antiquarians were the Walshes, Joyces, Heils (a quibus 
 Mac Hale), Lawlesses, Tomlyns, Lynotts, and Barretts, 
 which last draw their pedigree from Walynes, son of 
 Guyndally, the Ard Maor, or High Steward of the 
 Lordship of Camelot, and had their chief seats in the 
 territory of the two Bacs, in the barony of Tirawley, and 
 county of Mayo. Clochan-na-ri'att, i. e., " the Blind 
 Men's Stepping-stones," are still pointed out on the 
 Duvowen river, about four miles north of Crossmolina, 
 in the townland of Garranard ; and Tubber-na-Scorney, 
 or " Scrag's Well," in the opposite townland of Cams, 
 in the same barony. For a curious terrier or applot- 
 ment of the Mac William's revenue, as acquired under
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 71 
 
 the circumstances stated in me legend preserved by 
 Mac Firbis, see Dr. O'Donovan's highly-learned and 
 interesting " Genealogies, &c. of Hy Fiachrach," in the 
 publications of the Irish Archaeological Society a great 
 monument of antiquarian and topographical erudition. 
 
 THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLEY. 
 
 (CORN A BOY, the Barretts' bailiff, 
 
 lewd and lame, 
 
 To lift the Lynotts' taxes -when he came, 
 Rudely drew a young maid to him ; 
 Then the Lynotts rose and slew him, 
 And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him 
 Small your blame, 
 Sons of Lynott ! 
 Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 Then the Barretts to the Lynotts proposed a choice, 
 Saying, " Hear, ye murderous brood, men and boys, 
 For this deed to-day ye lose 
 Sight or manhood : say and choose
 
 72 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 Which ye keep and which refuse ; 
 
 And rejoice 
 
 That our mercy 
 Leaves you living for a warning to Tirawley." 
 
 Then the little boys of the Lynotts, weeping, said, 
 
 " Only leave us our eyesight in our head." 
 
 But the bearded Lynotts then 
 
 Made answer back again, 
 
 " Take our eyes, but leave us men, 
 
 Alive or dead, 
 
 SonsofWattin!" 
 Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 So the Barretts, with sewing-needles sharp and 
 
 smooth, 
 
 Let the light out of the eyes of every youth, 
 And of every bearded man 
 Of the broken Lynott clan ; 
 Then their darken'd faces wan 
 Turning south 
 To the river 
 Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 73 
 
 O'er the slippery stepping-stones of Clochan-na-n'all 
 They drove them, laughing loud at every fall, 
 As their wandering footsteps dark 
 Fail'd to reach the slippery mark, 
 And the swift stream s wallow' d stark, 
 
 One and all, 
 
 As they stumbled 
 From the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 Of all the blinded Lynotts one alone 
 Walk'd erect from stepping-stone to stone : 
 So back again they brought you, 
 
 And a second time they wrought you 
 
 * 
 With their needles ; but never got you 
 
 Once to groan, 
 Emon Lynott, 
 For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 But with prompt-projected footsteps sure as ever, 
 Emon Lynott again cross'd the river, 
 Though Duvowen was rising fast, 
 And the shaking stones o'ercast 
 By cold floods boiling past ;
 
 74 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 Yet you never, 
 Emon Lynott, 
 Faltered once before your foemen of Tirawley ! 
 
 But, turning on Ballintubber bank, you stood, 
 And the Barretts thus bespoke o'er the flood 
 " Oh, ye foolish sons of Wattin, 
 Small amends are these you've gotten, 
 For, while Scorna Boy lies rotten, 
 
 I am good 
 
 For 'vengeance ! " 
 Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 For 'tis neither in eye nor eyesight that a man 
 
 Bears the fortunes of himself and his clan, 
 
 But in the manly mind, 
 
 These darken'd orbs behind, 
 
 That your needles could never find 
 Though they ran 
 Through my heart-strings ! " 
 
 Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 " But, little your women's needles do I reck : 
 For the night from heaven never fell so black, 
 But Tirawley, and abroad 
 From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod, 28
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 75 
 
 I could walk it, every sod, 
 
 Path and track, 
 
 Ford and togher, 
 Seeking vengeance on you, Barretts of Tirawley ! 
 
 "The night when Dathy O'Dowda broke your camp, 
 What Barrett among you was it held the lamp 
 Show'd the way to those two feet, 
 When through wintry wind and sleet, 
 I guided your blind retreat 
 
 In the swamp 
 
 Of Beal-an-asa ? 
 O ye vengeance-destined ingrates of Tirawley !" 
 
 So leaving loud-shriek-echoing Garranard, 
 The Lynott like a red dog hunted hard, 
 With his wife and children seven, 
 'Mong the beasts and fowls of heaven 
 In the hollows of Glen Nephin, 
 
 Light-debarr'd, 
 
 Made his dwelling, 
 Planning vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley. 
 
 And ere the bright-orb'd year its course had run, 
 On his brown round-knotted knee he nurs'd a son,
 
 76 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 A child of light, with eyes 
 As clear as are the skies 
 In summer, when sunrise 
 
 Has begun ; 
 
 So the Lynott 
 Nursed his vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley. 
 
 And, as ever the bright boy grew in strength and 
 
 size, 
 
 Made him perfect in each manly exercise, 
 The salmon in the flood, 
 The dun deer in the wood, 
 The eagle in the cloud 
 
 To surprise, 
 
 On Ben Nephin, 
 Far above the foggy fields of Tirawley. 
 
 With the yellow-knotted spear-shaft, with the bow, 
 With the steel, prompt to deal shot and blow, 
 He taught him from year to year 
 And train'd him, without a peer, 
 For a perfect cavalier, 
 
 Hoping so 
 
 Far his forethought 
 For vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 77 
 
 And, when mounted on his proud-bounding steed, 
 Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed ; 
 Like the ear upon the wheat 
 When winds in Autumn beat 
 On the bending stems, his seat ; 
 
 And the speed 
 
 Of his courser 
 Was the wind from Barna-na-gee 29 o'er Tirawley ! 
 
 Now when fifteen sunny summers thus were spent, 
 (He perfected in all accomplishment) 
 The Lynott said, " My child, 
 We are over long exiled 
 From mankind in this wild 
 
 Time we went 
 
 Through the mountain 
 To the countries lying over-against Tirawley." 
 
 So, out over mountain-moors, and mosses brown, 
 And green stream-gathering vales, they journey'd 
 
 down; 
 
 Till, shining like a star, 
 Through the dusky gleams afar,
 
 78 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 The bailey of Castlebar, 
 
 And the town 
 
 Of Mac William 
 Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley. 
 
 " Look southward, my boy, and tell me as we go, 
 
 What seest thou by the loch-head below." 
 
 " Oh, a stone-house strong and great, 
 
 And a horse-host at the gate, 
 
 And their captain in armour of plate 
 
 Grand the show ! 
 
 Great the glancing ! 
 High the heroes of this land below Tirawley ! 
 
 " And a beautiful Woman-chief by his side, 
 Yellow gold on all her gown-sleeves wide ; 
 And in her hand a pearl 
 Of a young, little, fair-hair'd girl." 
 Said the Lynott, " It is the Earl ! 
 
 Let us ride 
 
 To his presence ! " 
 And before him came the exiles of Tirawley. 
 
 " God save thee, Mac William," the Lynott thus 
 
 began ; 
 " God save all here besides of this clan ;
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 79 
 
 For gossips dear to me 
 Are all in company 
 
 For in these four bones ye see 
 
 A kindly man 
 
 Of the Britons 
 Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley. 
 
 " And hither, as kindly gossip-law allows, 
 I come to claim a scion of thy house 
 To foster ; for thy race, 
 Since William Conquer's 30 days, 
 Have ever been wont to place, 
 
 With some spouse 
 
 Of a Briton, 
 A Mac William Oge, to foster in Tirawley. 
 
 " And to show thee in what sort our youth are 
 
 taught, 
 
 I have hither to thy home of valour brought 
 This one son of my age, 
 For a sample and a pledge 
 For the equal tutelage, 
 
 In right thought, 
 
 Word, and action, 
 Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley."
 
 80 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 When Mac William beheld the brave boy ride and 
 
 run, 
 
 Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spun 
 With a sigh, and with a smile, 
 He said, " I would give the spoil 
 Of a county, that Tibbot * Moyle, 
 
 My own son, 
 
 Were accomplish'd 
 Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley." 
 
 When the Lady Mac William she heard him speak, 
 
 And saw the ruddy roses on his cheek, 
 
 She said, " I would give a purse 
 
 Of red gold to the nurse 
 
 That would rear my Tibbot no worse ; 
 
 But I seek 
 
 Hitherto vainly 
 
 Heaven grant that I now have found her in 
 Tirawley ! " 
 
 So they said to the Lynott, " Here, take our bird ! 
 And as pledge for the keeping of thy word, 
 Let this scion here -remain 
 Till thou*comest back again : 
 
 * Tibbot, that is, Theobald.
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 81 
 
 Meanwhile the fitting train 
 
 Of a lord 
 
 Shall attend thee 
 With the lordly heir of Connaught into Tirawley." 
 
 So back to strong-throng-gathering Garranard, 
 Like a lord of the country with his guard, 
 Came the Lynott, before them all. 
 Once again over Clochan-na-n'all, 
 Steady-striding, erect, and tall, 
 
 And his ward 
 
 On his shoulders ; 
 To the wonder of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 Then a diligent foster-father you would deem 
 The Lynott, teaching Tibbot, by mead and stream, 
 To cast the spear, to ride, 
 To stem the rushing tide, 
 With what feats of body beside, 
 
 Might beseem 
 
 A Mac William, 
 Foster'd free among the Welshmen of Tirawley.
 
 82 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 But the lesson of hell he taught him in heart and 
 
 mind; 
 
 For to what desire soever he inclined, 
 Of anger, lust, or pride, 
 He had it gratified, 
 Till he ranged the circle wide 
 
 Of a blind 
 
 Self-indulgence, 
 Ere he came to youthful manhood in Tirawlev. 
 
 Then, even as when a hunter slips a hound, 
 Lynott loosed him God's leashes all unbound 
 In the pride of power and station, 
 And the strength of youthful passion, 
 On the daughters of thy nation, 
 
 All around, 
 
 Wattin Barrett ! 
 Oh ! the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley ! 
 
 Bitter grief and burning anger, rage and shame, 
 Fill'd the houses of the Barretts where'er he came ; 
 Till the young men of the Bac 
 Drew by night upon his track,
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 83 
 
 And slew him at Cornassack 31 
 
 Small your blame, 
 
 Sons of Wattin ! 
 Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 Said the Lynott, " The day of my vengeance is 
 
 drawing near, 
 
 The day for which, through many a long dark year, 
 I have toil'd through grief and sin 
 Call ye now the Brehons in, 
 And let the plea begin , 
 
 Over the bier 
 Of Mac William, 
 For an eric upon the Barretts of Tirawley. 32 
 
 Then the Brehons to Mac William Burk decreed 
 An eric upon Clan Barrett for the deed ; 
 And the Lynott' s share of the fine, 
 As foster-father, was nine 
 Ploughlands and nine score kine ; 
 
 But no need 
 
 Had the Lynott, 
 Neither care, for land or cattle in Tirawley.
 
 84 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 But rising, while all sat silent on the spot, 
 
 He said, " The law says doth it not ? 
 
 If the foster-sire elect 
 
 His portion to reject, 
 
 He may then the right exact 
 
 To applot 
 
 The short eric." 
 " 'Tis the law," replied the Brehons of Tirawley. 
 
 Said the Lynott, " I once before had a choice 
 
 Proposed me, wherein law had little voice ; 
 
 But now I choose, and say, 
 
 As lawfully I may, 
 
 I applot the mulct to-day ; 
 
 So rejoice 
 
 In your ploughlands 
 
 And your cattle which I renounce throughout 
 Tirawley. 
 
 " And thus I applot the mulct : I divide 
 The land throughout Clan Barrett on every side 
 Equally, that no place 
 May be without the face
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 85 
 
 Of a foe of Wattin's race 
 
 That the pride 
 
 Of the Barretts 
 
 May be humbled hence for ever throughout 
 Tirawley. 
 
 " I adjudge a seat in every Barrett's hall 
 
 To Mac William : in every stable I give a stall 
 
 To Mac William : and, beside, 
 
 Whenever a Burke shall ride 
 
 Through Tirawley, I provide 
 
 At his call 
 
 Needful grooming, 
 Without charge from any hosteler of Tirawley. 
 
 " Thus lawfully I avenge me for the throes 
 Ye lawlessly caused me and caused those 
 Unhappy shamefaced ones, 
 Who, their mothers expected once, 
 Would have been the sires of sons 
 
 O'er whose woes 
 
 Often weeping, 
 I have groan'd in my exile from Tirawley.
 
 86 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 " I demand not of you your manhood ; but I 
 
 take 
 For the Burkes will take it your Freedom ! for the 
 
 sake 
 
 Of which all manhood's given, 
 And all good under heaven, 
 And, without which, better even 
 Ye should make 
 Yourselves barren, 
 Than see your children slaves throughout Tirawley ! 
 
 " Neither take I your eyesight from you ; as you 
 
 took 
 
 Mine and ours : I would have you daily look 
 On one another's eyes, 
 When the strangers tyrannize 
 By your hearths, and blushes arise, 
 
 That ye brook, 
 
 Without vengeance, 
 
 The insults of troops of Tibbots throughout 
 Tirawley ! 
 
 " The vengeance I design'd, now is done, 
 And the days of me and mine nearly run
 
 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 87 
 
 For, for this, I have broken faith, 
 Teaching him who lies beneath 
 This pall, to merit death ; 
 
 And my son 
 
 To his father 
 Stands pledged for other teaching in Tirawley." 
 
 Said Mac William " Father and son, hang them 
 
 high !" 
 
 And the Lynott they hang'd speedily ; 
 But across the salt sea water, 
 To Scotland, with the daughter 
 Of Mac William well you got her ! 
 
 Did you fly, 
 
 Edmund Lindsay, 
 The gentlest of all the Welshmen of Tirawley ! 
 
 'Tis thus the ancient Ollaves of Erin tell 33 
 How, through lewdness and revenge, it befell 
 That the sons of William Conquer 
 Came over the sons of Wattin, 
 Throughout all the bounds and borders 
 Of the land of Auley Mac Fiachra ; * 
 Till the Saxon Oliver Cromwell, 
 
 * Pronounced Mac Eeara.
 
 88 The Welshmen of Tirawley. 
 
 And his valiant, Bible-guided, 
 Free heretics of Clan London 
 Coming in, in their succession, 
 Rooted out both Burke and Barrett, 
 And in their empty places 
 New stems of freedom planted, 
 With many a goodly sapling 
 Of manliness and virtue ; 
 Which while their children cherish, 
 Kindly Irish of the Irish, 
 Neither Saxons nor Italians, 
 May the mighty God of Freedom 
 
 Speed them well, 
 
 Never taking 
 Further vengeance on his people of Tirawley. 

 
 OWEN BAWN. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 'ILLIAM DE BURGHO, third Earl of 
 
 Ulster, pursued the Anglican policy of his 
 day with so much severity, that the native 
 Irish generally withdrew from the counties 
 of Down and Antrim, and established themselves in 
 Tyrone with Hugh Boy O'Neill. William's rigid prohi- 
 bition of intermarriages with the natives led to his 
 assassination by his own relatives, the Mandevilles, at 
 the Ford of Belfast, A.D. 1333. The Irish then returned 
 from beyond the river Bann, and expelled the English 
 from all Ulster, except Carrickfergus and the barony of 
 Ards in Down ; and so continued until their subjugation 
 by Sir Henry Sidney and Sir Arthur Chichester, in the 
 reign of Queen Elizabeth. 
 
 Simultaneously with the return of the Clan Hugh-Boy 
 in the north, the great Anglo-Norman families of Con- 
 naught adopted Irish names and manners, the De Burghos 
 assuming the name of Mac William, and all accommodating
 
 90 Owen Sawn. 
 
 themselves to the Irish system of life and government, in 
 which, with few exceptions, they continued until their 
 subjugation by Sir Richard Bingham, in the reign of 
 King Henry the Eighth. 
 
 OWEN BAWN. 
 
 Owen Bawn's hair is of thread of gold 
 
 spun; 
 
 Of gold in the shadow, of light in the 
 sun ; 
 
 All curl'd in a coolun the bright tresses are 
 They make his head radiant with beams like a 
 star! 
 
 My Owen Bawn's mantle is long and is wide, 
 To wrap me up safe from the storm by his side ; 
 And I'd rather face snow-drift and winter-wind 
 
 there, 
 Than lie among daisies and sunshine elsewhere. 
 
 My Owen Bawn Quin is a hunter of deer, 
 
 He tracts the dun quarry with arrow and spear
 
 Owen Baton. 91 
 
 Where wild woods are waving, and deep waters 
 
 flow, 
 Ah, there goes my love with the dun-dappled roe. 
 
 My Owen Bawn Quin is a bold fisherman, 
 He spears the strong salmon in midst of the Bann ; 
 And rock'd in the tempest on stormy Lough Neagh, 
 Draws up the red trout through the bursting of 
 spray- 
 
 My Owen Bawn Quin is a bard of the best, 
 
 He wakes me with singing, he sings me to rest; 
 
 And the cruit 'neath his fingers rings up with a 
 sound, 
 
 As though angels harp'd o'er us, and fays under- 
 ground. 
 
 They tell me the stranger has given command, 
 That crommeal and coolun shall cease in the land, 
 That all our youths' tresses of yellow be shorn, 
 And bonnets, instead, of a new fashion, worn ; 
 
 That mantles like Owen Bawn's shield us no more, 
 That hunting and fishing henceforth we give o'er,
 
 92 Owen Sawn. 
 
 That the net and the arrow aside must be laid, 
 For hammer and trowel, and mattock and spade ; 
 
 That the echoes of music must sleep in their caves, 
 That the slave must forget his own tongue for a 
 
 slave's, 
 That the sounds of our lips must be strange in our 
 
 ears, 
 And our bleeding hands toil in the dew of our tears. 
 
 Oh sweetheart and comfort ! with thee by my side, 
 I could love and live happy, whatever betide ; 
 But thou, in such bondage, wouldst die ere a day 
 Away to Tir-oen, then, Owen, away ! 
 
 There are wild woods and mountains, and streams 
 
 deep and clear, 
 
 There are loughs in Tir-oen as lovely as here ; 
 There are silver harps ringing in Yellow Hugh's 
 
 hall, 
 And a bower by the forest side, sweetest of all ! 
 
 We will dwell by the sunshiny skirts of the brake, 
 Where the sycamore shadows glow deep in the lake ;
 
 Owen Bawn. 93 
 
 And the snowy swan stirring the green shadows 
 
 there, 
 Afloat on the water, seems floating in air. 
 
 Away to Tir-oen, then, Owen, away ! 
 
 We will leave them the dust from our feet for a 
 
 And our dwelling in ashes and flames for a spoil 
 'Twill be long ere they quench them with streams 
 of the Foyle !
 
 GRACE O'MALY. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 return to English rule and habits of the 
 Anglo-Norman families of Connaught who 
 had Hibernicised after the murder of William 
 de Burgho, was not effected without a long 
 alienation of the popular affections which had been be- 
 stowed upon them as freely as on native rulers : " for," 
 to use the words of a contemporary Irish chronicler, " the 
 old chieftains of Erin prospered under these princely 
 English lords who were our chief rulers, and who had 
 given up their foreignness for a pure mind, and their sur- 
 liness for good manners, and their stubbornness for sweet 
 mildness, and who had given up their perverseness for 
 hospitality." * During this troubled period of transition, 
 Grace O'Maly, lady of Sir Rickard Burke, styled Mac 
 William Eighter, distinguished herself by a life of way- 
 ward adventure which has made her name, in its Gaelic 
 form, Grana Uaile (i.e. Grana Ua Mhaile,) apersonifica- 
 
 * O'Donovan, Tr. and Cust. of Hy Many, p. 136.
 
 Grace O'Maly. 95 
 
 tion, among the Irish peasantry, of that social state which 
 they still consider preferable to the results of a more 
 advanced civilization. The real acts and character of 
 the heroine are hardly seen through the veil of imagina- 
 tion under which the personified idea exists in the popu- 
 lar mind, and is here presented. 
 
 GRACE O'MALY. 
 
 HE left the close-air'd land of trees 
 
 And proud Mac William's palace, 
 For clear,bare Clare's health-salted breeze, 
 Her oarsmen and her galleys : 
 And where, beside the bending strand 
 
 The rock and billow wrestle, 
 Between the deep sea and the land 
 She built her Island Castle. 
 
 The Spanish captains, sailing by 
 
 For Newport, with amazement 
 Beheld the cannon'd longship lie 
 
 Moor'd to the lady's casement ; 
 And, covering coin and cup of gold 
 
 In haste their hatches under,
 
 96 Grace CPMaly. 
 
 They whisper'd " Tis a pirate's hold ; 
 She sails the seas for plunder ! " 
 
 But no : 'twas not for sordid spoil 
 
 Of barque or sea-board borough 
 She plough'd, with unfatiguing toil, 
 
 The fluent-rolling furrow ; 
 Delighting, on the broad-back' d deep, 
 
 To feel the quivering galley 
 Strain up the opposing hill, and sweep 
 
 Down the withdrawing valley : 
 
 Or, sped before a driving blast, 
 
 By following seas uplifted, 
 Catch, from the huge heaps heaving past, 
 
 And from the spray they drifted, 
 And from the winds that toss'd the crest 
 
 Of each wide-shouldering giant, 
 The smack of freedom and the zest 
 
 Of rapturous life defiant. 
 
 For, oh ! the mainland time was pent 
 In close constraint and striving : 
 
 So many aims together bent 
 On winning and on thriving;
 
 Grace O'Maly. 97 
 
 There was no room for generous ease, 
 
 No sympathy for candour ; 
 And so she left Burke's buzzing trees, 
 
 And all his stony splendour. 
 
 For Erin yet had fields to spare, 
 
 Where Clew her cincture gathers 
 Isle-gemm'd ; and kindly clans were there, 
 
 The fosterers of her fathers : 
 Room there for careless feet to roam 
 
 Secure from minions' peeping, 
 For fearless mirth to find a home 
 
 And sympathetic weeping ; 
 
 And generous ire and frank disdain 
 
 To speak the mind, nor ponder 
 How this in England, that in Spain, 
 
 Might suit to tell ; as yonder, 
 Where daily on the slippery dais 
 
 By thwarting interests chequer'd, 
 State gamesters play the social chess 
 
 Of politic Clanrickard. 
 
 Nor wanting quite the lonely isle 
 In civic life's adornings : 
 
 H
 
 98 Grace O'Maly. 
 
 The Brehon's Court might well beguile 
 
 A learned lady's mornings. 
 Quaint though the clamorous claim, and rude 
 
 The pleading that convey'd it, 
 Right conscience made the judgment good, 
 
 And loyal love obey'd it. 
 
 And music sure was sweeter far 
 
 For ears of native nurture, 
 Than virginals at Castlebar 
 
 To tinkling touch of courtier, 
 When harpers good in hall struck up 
 
 The planxty's gay commotion, 
 Or pipers scream'd from pennon'd poop 
 
 Their piobroch over ocean. 
 
 And sweet to see, their ruddy bloom 
 
 Whom ocean's friendly distance 
 Preserved still unenslaved ; for whom 
 
 No tasking of existence 
 Made this one rich, and that one poor, 
 
 In gold's illusive treasure, 
 But all, of easy life secure, 
 
 Were rich in wealth of leisure.
 
 Grace G'Maly. 99 
 
 Rich in the Muse's pensive hour, 
 
 In genial hour for neighbour, 
 Rich in young mankind's happy power 
 
 To live with little labour ; 
 The wise, free way of life, indeed, 
 
 That still, with charm adaptive, 
 Reclaims and tames the alien greed, 
 
 And takes the conqueror captive. 
 
 Nor only life's unclouded looks 
 
 To compensate its rudeness ; 
 Amends there were in holy books, 
 
 In offices of goodness, 
 In cares above the transient scene 
 
 Of little gains and honours, 
 That well repaid the Island Queen 
 
 Her loss of urban manners. 
 
 Sweet, when the crimson sunsets glow'd, 
 
 As earth and sky grew grander, 
 Adown the grass'd, unechoing road 
 
 Atlanticward to wander, 
 Some kinsman's humbler hearth to seek, 
 
 Some sick-bed side, it may be, 
 Or, onward reach, with footsteps meek, 
 
 The low, grey, lonely abbey :
 
 100 Grace CfMaly. 
 
 And, where the storied stone beneath 
 
 The guise of plant and creature, 
 Had fused the harder lines of faith 
 
 In easy forms of nature ; 
 Such forms as tell the master's pains 
 
 'Mong Roslin's carven glories, 
 Or hint the faith of Pictish Thanes 
 
 On standing stones of Forres ; 
 
 The Branch ; the weird cherubic Beasts ; 
 
 The Hart by hounds o'ertaken ; 
 Or, intimating mystic feasts, 
 
 The self-resorbent Dragon ; 
 Mute symbols, though with power endow'd 
 
 For finer dogmas' teaching, 
 Than clerk might tell to carnal crowd 
 
 In homily or preaching ; 
 
 Sit; and while heaven's refulgent show 
 
 Grew airier and more tender, 
 And ocean's gleaming floor below 
 
 Reflected loftier splendour, 
 Suffused with light of lingering faith 
 
 And ritual light's reflection, 
 Discourse of birth, and life, and death, 
 
 And of the resurrection.
 
 Grace O'Maly. 101 
 
 But chiefly sweet from morn to eve, 
 
 From eve to clear-eyed morning, 
 The presence of the felt reprieve 
 
 From strangers' note and scorning : 
 No prying, proud, intrusive foes 
 
 To pity and offend her : 
 Such was the life the lady chose ; 
 
 Such choosing, we commend her.
 
 BALLADS AND POEMS.
 
 THE FAIRY THORN. 
 
 AN ULSTER BALLAD. 
 
 *ET up, our Anna dear, from the weary 
 
 spinning-wheel ; 
 For your father's on the hill, and your 
 
 mother is asleep : 
 
 Come up above the crags, and we'll dance a high- 
 land reel 
 Around the fairy thorn on the steep." 
 
 At Anna Grace's door 'twas thus the maidens cried, 
 Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green ; 
 
 And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside, 
 The fairest of the four, I ween. 
 
 They're glancing through the glimmer of the quiet 
 
 eve, 
 Away in milky wavings of neck and ancle bare ;
 
 106 The Fairy Thorn. 
 
 The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they 
 
 leave, 
 And the crags in the ghostly air : 
 
 And linking hand and hand, and singing as they go, 
 The maids along the hill-side have ta'en their 
 
 fearless way, 
 Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely 
 
 beauty grow 
 Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey. 
 
 The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and 
 
 slim, 
 Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at 
 
 her knee ; 
 The rowan berries cluster o'er her low head grey 
 
 and dim 
 In ruddy kisses sweet to see. 
 
 The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row, 
 Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem, 
 
 And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds 
 
 they go, 
 Oh, never caroll'd bird like them !
 
 The Fairy Thorn. 107 
 
 But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze 
 
 That drinks away their voices in echoless repose, 
 
 And dreamily the evening has still'd the haunted 
 
 braes, 
 And dreamier the gloaming grows. 
 
 And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the 
 
 sky 
 When the falcon's shadow saileth across the open 
 
 shaw, 
 Are hush'd the maiden's voices, as cowering down 
 
 they lie 
 In the flutter of their sudden awe. 
 
 For, from the air above, and the grassy ground be- 
 neath, 
 
 And from the mountain-ashes and the old White- 
 thorn between, 
 A Power of faint enchantment doth through their 
 
 beings breathe, 
 And they sink down together on the green. 
 
 They sink together silent, and stealing side to side, 
 They fling their lovely arms o'er their drooping 
 necks so fair,
 
 108 The Fairy Thorn. 
 
 Then vainly strive again their naked arras to hide, 
 For their shrinking necks again are bare. 
 
 Thus clasp'd and prostrate all, with their heads to- 
 gether bow'd, 
 Soft o'er their bosom's beating the only human 
 
 sound 
 They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy 
 
 crowd, 
 Like a river in the air, gliding round. 
 
 No scream can any raise, nor prayer can any say, 
 But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless three 
 
 For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away, 
 By whom they dare not look to see. 
 
 They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks 
 
 of gold, 
 
 And the curls elastic falling, as her head with- 
 draws ; 
 They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms 
 
 unfold, 
 But they may not look to see the cause :
 
 The Fairy Thorn. 109 
 
 For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment 
 
 lies 
 Through all that night of anguish and perilous 
 
 amaze ; 
 And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering 
 
 eyes 
 Or their limbs from the cold ground raise, 
 
 Till out of night the earth has roll'd her dewy side, 
 With every haunted mountain and streamy vale 
 
 below ; 
 When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning 
 
 tide, 
 The maidens' trance dissolveth so. 
 
 Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may, 
 And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in 
 vain 
 
 They pined away and died within the year and day, 
 And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again.
 
 WILLY GILLILAND. 
 
 AN ULSTER BALLAD. 
 
 in the mountain solitudes, and in a 
 
 rebel ring, 
 
 He has worshipp'd God upon the hill, 
 in spite of church and king ; 
 And seal'd his treason with his blood on Bothwell 
 
 bridge he hath ; 
 So he must fly his father's land, or he must die the 
 
 death ; 
 For comely Claverhouse has come along with grim 
 
 Dalzell, 
 
 And his smoking rooftree testifies they've done their 
 errand well. 
 
 In vain to fly his enemies he fled his native land ; 
 Hot persecution waited him upon theCarrick strand;
 
 Willy Gilliland. Ill 
 
 His name was on the Carrick cross, a price was on 
 
 his head, 
 A fortune to the man that brings him in alive or 
 
 dead! 
 And so on moor and mountain, from the Lagan to 
 
 the Bann, 
 From house to house, and hill to hill, he lurk'd an 
 
 outlaw'd man. 
 
 At last, when in false company he might no longer 
 
 bide, 
 He stay'd his houseless wanderings upon the Collon 
 
 side, 
 There in a cave all underground he lair'd his heathy 
 
 den, 
 Ah, many a gentleman was fain to earth like hill 
 
 fox then ! 
 With hound and fishing-rod he lived on hill and 
 
 stream by day ; 
 At night, betwixt his fleet greyhound and his bonny 
 
 mare he lay. 
 
 It was a summer evening, and, mellowing and still, 
 Glenwhirry to the setting sun lay bare from hill to 
 hill;
 
 112 Willy Gilliland. 
 
 For all that valley pastoral held neither house nor 
 
 tree, 
 But spread abroad and open all, a full fair sight to 
 
 see, 
 From Slemish foot to Collon top lay one unbroken 
 
 green, 
 Save where in many a silver coil the river glanced 
 
 between. 
 
 And on the river's grassy bank, even from the 
 morning grey, 
 
 He at the angler's pleasant sport had spent the 
 summer day : 
 
 Ah ! many a time and oft I've spent the summer 
 day from dawn, 
 
 And wonder'd, when the sunset came, where time 
 and care had gone, 
 
 Along the reaches curling fresh, the wimpling pools 
 and streams, 
 
 Where he that day his cares forgot in those delight- 
 ful dreams. 
 
 His blithe work done, upon a bank the outlaw 
 rested now,
 
 Willy Gilliland. 113 
 
 And laid the basket from his back, the bonnet from 
 
 his brow; 
 And there, his hand upon the Book, his knee upon 
 
 the sod, 
 He fill'd the lonely valley with the gladsome word 
 
 of God ; 
 And for a persecuted kirk, and for her martyrs 
 
 dear, 
 And against a godless church and king he spoke up 
 
 loud and clear. 
 
 And now, upon his homeward way, he cross'd the 
 
 Collon high, 
 And over bush and bank and brae he sent abroad 
 
 his eye ; 
 But all was darkening peacefully in grey and purple 
 
 haze, 
 The thrush was silent in the banks, the lark upon 
 
 the braes 
 When suddenly shot up a blaze, from the cave's 
 
 mouth it came ; 
 And troopers' steeds and troopers' caps are glancing 
 
 in the same ! 
 
 i
 
 114 Willy Gilliland. 
 
 He couch'd among the heather, and he saw them, 
 
 as he lay, 
 With three long yells at parting, ride lightly east 
 
 away: 
 Then down with heavy heart he came, to sorry 
 
 cheer came he, 
 For ashes black were crackling where the green 
 
 whins used to be, 
 And stretch'd among the prickly coomb, his heart's 
 
 blood smoking round, 
 From slender nose to breast-bone cleft, lay dead his 
 
 good greyhound ! 
 
 " They've slain my dog, the Philistines ! they've 
 
 ta'en my bonny mare ! " 
 He plung'd into the smoky hole ; no bonny beast 
 
 was there 
 He groped beneath his burning bed, (it burn'd him 
 
 to the bone,) 
 Where his good weapon used to be, but broadsword 
 
 there was none ; 
 He reel'd out of the stifling den, and sat down on a 
 
 stone, 
 And in the shadows of the night 'twas thus he made 
 
 his moan
 
 Willy Gilliland, 115 
 
 " I am a houseless outcast ; I have neither bed nor 
 
 board, 
 Nor living thing to look upon, nor comfort save the 
 
 Lord: 
 
 Yet many a time were better men in worse extremity ; 
 Who succour'd them in their distress, He now will 
 
 succour me, 
 He now will succour me, I know ; and, by His 
 
 holy Name, 
 I'll make the doers of this deed right dearly rue the 
 
 same ! 
 
 " My bonny mare ! I've ridden you when Claver'se 
 
 rode behind, 
 And from the thumbscrew and the boot you bore me 
 
 like the wind ; 
 And, while I have the life you saved, on your sleek 
 
 flank, I swear, 
 
 Episcopalian rowel shall never ruffle hair ! 
 Though sword to wield they've left me none yet 
 
 Wallace wight, I wis, 
 Good battle did on Irvine side wi' waur weapon 
 
 than this."
 
 116 Witty Gilliland. 
 
 His fishing-rod with both his hands he griped it as 
 
 he spoke, 
 And, where the butt and top were spliced, in pieces 
 
 twain he broke ; 
 The limber top he cast away, with all its gear 
 
 abroad, 
 But, grasping the tough hickory butt, with spike of 
 
 iron shod, 
 He ground the sharp spear to a point ; then pull'd 
 
 his bonnet down, 
 And, meditating black revenge, set forth for Carrick 
 
 town. 
 
 The sun shines bright on Carrick wall and Carrick 
 
 Castle grey, 
 And up thine aisle, St. Nicholas, has ta'en his 
 
 morning way, 
 And to the North-Gate sentinel displayeth far and 
 
 near 
 Sea, hill, and tower, and all thereon, in dewy 
 
 freshness clear, 
 Save where, behind a ruin'd wall, himself alone to 
 
 view, 
 Is peering from the ivy green a bonnet of the blue.
 
 Willy Gilliland. 117 
 
 The sun shines red on Carrick wall and Carrick 
 
 Castle old, 
 And all the western buttresses have changed their 
 
 grey for gold ; 
 And from thy shrine, Saint Nicholas, the pilgrim 
 
 of the sky 
 
 Has gone in rich farewell, as fits such royal votary ; 
 But, as his last red glance he takes down past black 
 
 S lie ve-a- true, 
 He leaveth where he found it first, the bonnet of the 
 
 blue. 
 
 Again he makes the turrets grey stand out before 
 the hill ; 
 
 Constant as their foundation rock, there is the bon- 
 net still ! 
 
 And now the gates are open'd, and forth in gallant 
 show 
 
 Prick jeering grooms and burghers blythe, and 
 troopers in a row ; 
 
 But one has little care for jest, so hard bested 
 is he, 
 
 To ride the outlaw's bonny mare, for this at last is 
 she!
 
 118 Willy Gilliland. 
 
 Down comes her master with a roar, her rider with 
 
 a groan, 
 The iron and the hickory are through and through 
 
 him gone ! 
 He lies a corpse ; and where he sat, the outlaw sits 
 
 again, 
 And once more to his bonny mare he gives the spur 
 
 and rein ; 
 Then some with sword, and some with gun, they 
 
 ride and run amain ; 
 But sword and gun, and whip and spur, that day 
 
 they plied in vain ! 
 
 Ah ! little thought Willy Gilliland, when he on 
 
 Skerry side 
 Drew bridle first, and wiped his brow after that 
 
 weary ride, 
 That where he lay like hunted brute, a cavern'd 
 
 outlaw lone, 
 Broad lands and yeoman tenantry should yet be 
 
 there his own : 
 Yet so it was ; and still from him descendants not 
 
 a few 
 Draw birth and lands, and, let me trust, draw love 
 
 of Freedom too.
 
 119 
 
 THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR. 
 
 ' OME, see the Dolphin's anchor forged 
 
 'tis at a white heat now : 
 The bellows ceased, the flames de- 
 creased though on the forge's brow 
 The little flames still fitfully play through the sable 
 
 mound, 
 And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths 
 
 ranking round, 
 All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only 
 
 bare: 
 
 Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the 
 windlass there. 
 
 The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black 
 
 mound heaves below, 
 And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every 
 
 throe :
 
 120 The Forging of the Anchor. 
 
 It rises, roars, rends all outright O, Vulcan, what 
 a glow ! 
 
 "Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright the high 
 sun shines not so ! 
 
 The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fear- 
 ful show, 
 
 The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy 
 lurid row 
 
 Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men be- 
 fore the foe, 
 
 As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the 
 sailing monster, slow 
 
 Sinks on the anvil : all about the faces fiery grow; 
 
 " Hurrah ! " they shout, " leap out leap out ; " 
 bang, bang the sledges go : 
 
 Hurrah ! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and 
 low 
 
 A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing 
 blow; 
 
 The leathern mail rebounds the hail, the rattling 
 cinders strow 
 
 The ground around ; at every bound the sweltering 
 fountains flow, 
 
 And thick and loud the swinking crowd at every 
 stroke pant " ho!"
 
 The Forging of the Anchor. 121 
 
 Leap out, leap out, ray masters ; leap out and lay 
 
 on load ! 
 Let's forge a goodly anchor a bower thick and 
 
 broad ; 
 
 For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode : 
 I see the good ship riding all in a perilous 
 
 road 
 The low reef roaring on her lee the roll of ocean 
 
 pour'd 
 From stem to" stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by 
 
 the board, 
 The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats 
 
 stove at the chains ! 
 But courage still, brave mariners the bower yet 
 
 remains, 
 And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye 
 
 pitch sky high ; 
 Then moves his head, as though he said, " Fear 
 
 nothing here am I." 
 Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand 
 
 keep time ; 
 Your blows make music sweeter far than any 
 
 steeple's chime : 
 But, while you sling your sledges, sing and let 
 
 the burthen be,
 
 122 The Forging of the Anchor. 
 
 The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen 
 
 we ! 
 Strike in, strike in the sparks begin to dull their 
 
 rustling red ; 
 Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will 
 
 soon be sped. 
 Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich 
 
 array, 
 For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy 
 
 couch of clay ; 
 Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry 
 
 craftsmen here, 
 For the yeo-heave-o', and the heave-away, and the 
 
 sighing seaman's cheer ; 
 When, weighing slow, at eve they go far, far from 
 
 love and home ; 
 And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the 
 
 ocean foam. 
 
 In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at 
 
 last: 
 A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was 
 
 cast:
 
 The Forging of the Anchor. 123 
 
 O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life 
 
 like me, 
 What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the 
 
 deep green sea ! 
 O deep-Sea-diver, who might then behold such 
 
 sights as thou ? 
 The hoary monster's palaces ! methinks what joy 
 
 'twere now 
 To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of 
 
 the whales, 
 And feel the churn'd sea round me boil beneath 
 
 their scourging tails ! 
 Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea 
 
 unicorn, 
 And send him foil'd and bellowing back, for all his 
 
 ivory horn : 
 To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade 
 
 forlorn ; 
 And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his 
 
 jaws to scorn : 
 To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid 
 
 Norwegian isles 
 He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallow 'd 
 
 miles ;
 
 124 The Forging of the Anchor. 
 
 Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he 
 
 rolls ; 
 Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished 
 
 shoals 
 Of his back-browsing ocean-calves ; or, haply, in a 
 
 cove, 
 Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undine's 
 
 love, 
 To find the long-hair'd mermaidens ; or, hard by 
 
 icy lands, 
 To wrestle with the Sea-serpent, upon cerulean 
 
 sands. 
 
 O broad-arm'd Fisher of the deep, whose sports can 
 
 equal thine ? 
 The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy 
 
 cable line ; 
 And night by night, 'tis thy delight, thy glory day 
 
 by day, 
 Through sable sea and breaker white the giant 
 
 game to play 
 But shamer of our little sports ! forgive the name I 
 
 gave 
 A fisher's joy is to destroy thine office is to save.
 
 The Forging of the Anchor. 125 
 
 O lodger in the sea-kings' halls, couldst thou but 
 
 understand 
 Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that 
 
 dripping band, 
 Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about 
 
 thee bend, 
 With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their 
 
 ancient friend 
 Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with 
 
 larger steps round thee, 
 Thine iron side would swell with pride ; thou'dst 
 
 leap within the sea ! 
 Give honour to their memories who left the pleasant 
 
 strand, 
 
 To shed their blood so freely for the love of Father- 
 land 
 Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy 
 
 churchyard grave, 
 
 So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave^ 
 Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly 
 
 sung, 
 Honour him for their memory, whose bones he 
 
 goes among !
 
 126 
 
 THE FORESTER'S COMPLAINT. 
 
 our wild wood-walks here, 
 Sunbright and shady, 
 Free as the forest deer 
 Roams a lone lady : 
 Far from her castle-keep, 
 
 Down in' the valley, 
 Roams she, by dingle deep, 
 
 Green holm and alley, 
 With her sweet presence bright 
 
 Gladd'ning iny dwelling 
 Oh, fair her face of light, 
 Past the tongue's telling ! 
 Woe was me 
 E'er to see 
 Beauty so shining ; 
 
 Ever since, hourly, 
 Have I been pining !
 
 The Forester's Complaint. 127 
 
 In our blithe sports' debates 
 
 Down by the river, 
 I, of my merry mates, 
 
 Foremost was ever ; 
 Skilfullest with my flute, 
 
 Leading the maidens 
 Hearkening, by moonlight, mute, 
 
 To its sweet cadence : 
 Sprightliest in the dance 
 
 Tripping together 
 Such a one was I once 
 
 Ere she came hither ! 
 Woe was me 
 E'er to see 
 Beauty so shining ; 
 
 Ever since, hourly, 
 Have I been pining ! 
 
 Loud now my comrades laugh 
 
 As I pass by them ; 
 Broadsword and quarter-staff 
 
 No more I ply them : 
 Coy now the maidens frown 
 
 Wanting their dances ;
 
 128 The Forester's Complaint. 
 
 How can their faces brown 
 
 Win one, who fancies 
 Even an angel's face 
 
 Dark to be seen would 
 Be, by the Lily-grace 
 
 Gladd'ning the greenwood ? 
 Woe was me 
 E'er to see 
 Beauty so shining ; 
 
 Ever since, hourly, 
 Have I been pining ! 
 
 Wolf, by my broken bow 
 
 Idle is lying, 
 While through the woods I go, 
 
 All the day, sighing, 
 Tracing her footsteps small 
 
 Through the moss'd cover, 
 Hiding then, breathless all, 
 
 At the sight of her, 
 Lest my rude gazing should 
 
 From her haunt scare her 
 Oh, what a solitude 
 
 Wanting her, there were !
 
 The Forester's Complaint. 
 
 Woe was me 
 
 E'er to see 
 Beauty so shining ; 
 
 Ever since, hourly, 
 Have I been pining ! 
 
 129
 
 130 
 
 THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN. 
 
 shades of eve had cross'd the glen 
 That frowns o'er infant Avonmore, 
 When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men, 
 We stopp'd before a cottage door. 
 
 " God save all here," my comrade cries, 
 And rattles on the raised latch-pin ; 
 
 " God save you kindly," quick replies 
 A clear sweet voice, and asks us in. 
 
 We enter ; from the wheel she starts, 
 
 A rosy girl with soft black eyes ; 
 Her fluttering court' sy takes our hearts, 
 
 Her blushing grace and pleased surprise. 
 
 Poor Mary, she was quite alone, 
 
 For, all the way to Glenmalure, 
 Her mother had that morning gone 
 
 And left the house in charge with her.
 
 The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan. 131 
 
 But neither household cares, nor yet 
 The shame that startled virgins feel, 
 
 Could make the generous girl forget 
 Her wonted hospitable zeal. 
 
 She brought us in a beechen bowl 
 
 Sweet milk that smack'd of mountain thyme, 
 Oat cake, and such a yellow roll 
 
 Of butter it gilds all my rhyme ! 
 
 And, while we ate the grateful food, 
 (With weary limbs on bench reclined,) 
 
 Considerate and discreet, she stood 
 Apart, and listen'd to the wind. 
 
 Kind wishes both our souls engaged, 
 From breast to breast spontaneous ran 
 
 The mutual thought we stood and pledged 
 THE MODEST ROSE ABOVE LOCH DAN. 
 
 " The milk we drink is not more pure, 
 Sweet Mary bless those budding charms ! 
 
 Than your own generous heart, I'm sure, 
 Nor whiter than the breast it warms ! "
 
 132 The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan. 
 
 She turn'd and gazed, unused to hear 
 Such language in that homely glen ; 
 
 But, Mary, you have nought to fear, 
 Though smiled on by two stranger men". 
 
 Not for a crown would I alarm 
 Your virgin pride by word or sign, 
 
 Nor need a painful blush disarm 
 
 My friend of thoughts as pure as mine. 
 
 Her simple heart could not but feel 
 
 The words we spoke were free from guile ; 
 
 She stoop'd, she blush'd she fix'd her wheel, 
 'Tis all in vain she can't but smile ! 
 
 Just like sweet April's dawn appears 
 Her modest face I see it yet 
 
 And though I lived a hundred years, 
 Methinks I never could forget 
 
 The pleasure that, despite her heart, 
 Fills all her downcast eyes with light, 
 
 The lips reluctantly apart, 
 
 The white teeth struggling into sight,
 
 The Pretty Girl of Loch Dan. 133 
 
 The dimples eddying o'er her cheek, 
 The rosy cheek that won't be still ! 
 
 Oh ! who could blame what flatterers speak, 
 Did smiles like this reward their skill ? 
 
 For such another smile, I vow, 
 
 Though loudly beats the midnight rain, 
 
 I'd take the mountain-side e'en now, 
 And walk to Luggelaw again !
 
 134 
 
 HUNGARY. 
 
 AUGUST, 1849. 
 
 'WAY ! would you own the dread rapture 
 
 of war, 
 
 Seek the host-rolling plain of the mighty 
 Magyar; 
 Where the giants of yore from their mansions come 
 
 down, 
 O'er the ocean- wide floor play the game of renown. 
 
 Hark ! hark ! how the earth 'neath their armament 
 
 reels, 
 
 In the hurricane charge in the thunder of wheels ; 
 How the hearts of the forests rebound as they pass, 
 In their mantle of smoke, through the quaking 
 
 morass ! 
 
 God ! the battle is join'd ! Lord Sabaoth, rejoice ! 
 Freedom thunders her hymn in the battery's voice
 
 Hungary. 135 
 
 In the soaring hurrah in the blood-stifled moan 
 Sends the voice of her praise to the foot of thy 
 throne. 
 
 Oh hear, God of freedom, thy people's appeal ; 
 Let the edges of slaughter be sharp on their steel, 
 And the weight of destruction and swiftness of fear, 
 Speed death to his mark in their bullets' career ! 
 
 Holy Nature, arise ! from thy bosom in wrath 
 Shake the pestilence forth on the enemy's path, 
 That the tyrant invaders may march by the road 
 Of Sennacherib invading the city of God ! 
 
 As the stars in their courses 'gainst Sisera strove, 
 Fight, mists of the fens, in the sick air above; 
 As Scamander his carcasses flung on the foe, 
 Fight, floods of the Theiss, in your torrents below ! 
 
 As the snail of the Psalmist consuming away, 
 Let the moon-melted masses in silence decay ; 
 Till the track of corruption alone in the air 
 Shall tell sicken'd Europe the Scythian was there !
 
 136 Hungary. 
 
 Stay ! stay ! in thy fervour of sympathy pause, 
 
 Nor become inhumane in humanity's cause ; 
 
 If the poor Russian slave have to wrong been 
 
 abused, 
 Are the ties of Christ's brotherhood all to be loosed? 
 
 The mothers of Moscow who offer the breast 
 
 To their orphans, have hearts, as the mothers of 
 
 Pest; 
 
 Nor are love's aspirations more tenderly drawn 
 From the bosoms of youth by the Theiss than the 
 
 Don. 
 
 God of Russian and Magyar, who ne'er hast 
 
 design'd 
 
 Save one shedding of blood for the sins of mankind, 
 No demon of battle and bloodshed art thou, 
 To the war-wearied nations be pitiful now ! 
 
 Turn the hearts of the kings let the Magyar again 
 Reap the harvests of peace on his bountiful plain ; 
 And if not with renown, with affections and lives, 
 Send the driven serfs home to their children and 
 wives !
 
 Hungary. 137 
 
 But you fill all my bosom with tumult once more 
 What ! Gorgey surrendered ! What ! Bern's battles 
 
 o'er ! 
 
 What ! Haynau victorious ! Inscrutable God ! 
 We must wonder, and worship, and bow to thy rod.
 
 138 
 
 ADIEU TO BRITTANY. 
 
 |UGGED land of the granite and oak, 
 
 I depart with a sigh from thy shore, 
 And with kinsman's affection a blessing 
 invoke 
 On the maids and the men of Arvor. 
 
 For the Irish and Breton are kin, 
 
 Though the lights of Antiquity pale 
 In the point of the dawn where the partings begin 
 
 Of the Bolg, and the Kymro, and Gael. 
 
 But, though dim in the distance of time 
 Be the low-burning beacons of fame, 
 
 Holy Nature attests us, in writing sublime 
 On heart and on visage, the same.
 
 Adieu to Brittany. 139 
 
 In the dark-eye-lash'd eye of blue-grey, 
 
 In the open look, modest and kind, 
 In the face's fine oval reflecting the play 
 
 Of the sensitive, generous mind, 
 
 Till, as oft as by meadow and stream 
 With thy Maries and Josephs I roam, 
 
 In companionship gentle and friendly I seem, 
 As with Patrick and Brigid at home. 
 
 Green, meadow-fresh, streamy-bright land ! 
 
 Though greener meads, valleys as fair, 
 Be at home, yet the home-yearningheart will demand, 
 
 Are they blest as in Brittany there ? 
 
 Demand not repining is vain : 
 
 Yet, would God, that even as thou 
 In thy homeliest homesteads, contented Bretagne, 
 
 Were the green isle my thoughts are with now ! 
 
 But I call thee not golden : let gold 
 Deck the coronal troubadours twine, 
 
 Where the waves of the Loire and Garomna are 
 
 roll'd 
 Through the land of the white wheat and vine,
 
 140 Adieu to Brittany. 
 
 And the fire of the Frenchman goes up 
 To the quick-thoughted, dark-flashing eye : 
 
 While Glory and Change quaffing Luxury's cup, 
 Challenge all things below and on high. 
 
 Leave to him to the vehement man 
 
 Of the Loire, of the Seine, of the Rhone, 
 
 In tfa& Idea's high pathways to march in the van, 
 To o'erthrow, and set up the o'erthrown : 
 
 Be it thine in the broad beaten ways 
 
 That the world's simple seniors have trod, 
 
 To walk with soft steps, living peaceable days, 
 And on earth not forgetful of God. 
 
 Nor repine that thy lot has been cast 
 With the things of the old time before, 
 
 For to thee are committed the keys of the past, 
 Oh grey monumental Arvor ! 
 
 Yes, land of the great Standing Stones, 
 
 It is thine at thy feet to survey, 
 From thy earlier shepherd-kings' sepulchre- thrones 
 
 The giant, far-stretehing array ;
 
 Adieu to Brittany. 141 
 
 Where, abroad o'er the gorse-cover'd lande 
 Where, along by the slow-breaking wave, 
 
 The hoary, inscrutable sentinels stand 
 In their night-watch by History's grave. 
 
 Preserve them, nor fear for thy charge j 
 
 From the prime of the morning they sprung, 
 
 When the works of young Mankind were lasting 
 
 and large, 
 As the will they embodied was young. 
 
 I have stood on Old Sarum :* the sun, 
 With a pensive regard from the west, 
 
 Lit the beech-tops low down in the ditch of the 
 
 Dun, 
 Lit the service-trees high on its crest : 
 
 But the walls of the Roman were shrunk 
 
 Into morsels of ruin around, 
 And palace of monarch, and minster of monk, 
 
 Were effaced from the grassy-foss'd ground. 
 
 * Sorbiodunum, i.e. Seryice-tree-fort.
 
 142 Adieu to Brittany. 
 
 Like bubbles in ocean, they melt, 
 
 O Wilts, on thy long-rolling plain, 
 And at last but the works of the hand of the Celt 
 
 And the sweet hand of Nature remain. 
 
 Even so : though, portentous and strange, 
 With a rumour of troublesome sounds, 
 
 On his iron way gliding, the Angel of Change 
 Spread his dusky wings wide o'er thy bounds, 
 
 He will pass : there'll be grass on his track, 
 
 And the pick of the miner in vain 
 Shall search the dark void: while the stones of 
 Carnac 
 
 And the word of the Breton remain. 
 
 Farewell : up the waves of the Ranee, 
 
 See, we stream back our pennon of smoke ; 
 
 Farewell, russet skirt of the fine robe of France, 
 Rugged land of the granite and oak !
 
 143 
 
 WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 
 
 ON HEARING WEEK-DAY SERVICE THERE, 
 SEPTEMBER, 1858. 
 
 ROM England's gilded halls of state 
 I cross'd the Western Minster's gate, 
 And, 'mid the tombs of England's dead, 
 I heard the Holy Scriptures read. 
 
 The walls around and pillar'd piers 
 Had stood well-nigh seven hundred years ; 
 The words the priest gave forth had stood 
 Since Christ, and since before the Flood. 
 
 A thousand hearts around partook 
 
 The comfort of the Holy Book ; 
 
 Ten thousand suppliant hands were spread 
 
 In lifted stone above my head.
 
 144 Westminster Abley. 
 
 In dust decay'd the hands are gone 
 
 That fed and set the builders on ; 
 
 In heedless dust the fingers lie 
 
 That hew'd and heav'd the stones on high ; 
 
 And back to earth and air resolv'd 
 
 The brain that plann'd and pois'd the vault 
 
 But undecay'd, erect, and fair, 
 
 To heaven ascends the builded Prayer, 
 
 With majesty of strength and size, 
 With glory of harmonious dyes, 
 With holy airs of heavenward thought 
 From floor to roof divinely fraught. 
 
 Fall down, ye bars : enlarge, my soul ! 
 To heart's content take in the whole ; 
 And, spurning pride's injurious thrall, 
 With loyal love embrace them all ! 
 
 Yet hold not lightly home ; nor yet 
 The graves on Dunagore forget ; 
 Nor grudge the stone-gilt stall to change 
 For humble bench of Gorman's Grange.
 
 Westminster Abbey. 145 
 
 The self-same Word bestows its cheer 
 On simple creatures there as here ; 
 And thence, as hence, poor souls do rise 
 In social flight to common skies. 
 
 For in the Presence vast and good, 
 That bends o'er all our livelihood, 
 With humankind in heavenly cure, 
 We all are like, we all are poor. 
 
 His poor, be sure, shall never want 
 For service meet or seemly chant, 
 And for the Gospel's joyful sound 
 A fitting place shall still be found ; 
 
 Whether the organ's solemn tones 
 Thrill through the dust of warriors' bones, 
 Or voices of the village choir 
 From swallow-haunted eaves aspire, 
 
 Or, sped with healing on its wings, 
 The Word solicit ears of kings, 
 Or stir the souls, in moorland glen, 
 Of kingless covenanted men. 
 L
 
 Westminster Abbey. 
 
 Enough for thee, indulgent Lord, 
 The willing ear to hear Thy Word, 
 The rising of the burthen'd breast 
 And thou supplies! all the rest.
 
 VERSIONS AND ADAPTATIONS.
 
 THE ORIGIN OF THE SCYTHIANS. 
 
 HERODOTUS ("MELPOMENE"). 
 
 N, o'er Riphaean wastes the son of 
 
 Jove 
 Slain Geryon's beeves from Erytheia 
 
 drove, 
 
 Sharp nipp'd the frost, and feathery whirls of snow 
 FilPd upper air and hid the earth below. 
 The hero on the ground, his steeds beside, 
 Spread, shaggy-huge, the dun Nemean hide, 
 And, warmly folded, while the tempest swept 
 The dreary Hyperborean desert, slept. 
 
 When Hercules awoke and look'd around, 
 The milk-white mares were nowhere to be found. 
 Long search'd the hero all the neighbouring plain, 
 The brakes and thickets ; but he search'd in vain.
 
 150 The Origin of the Scythians. 
 
 At length he reach'd a gloomy cave, and there 
 He found a woman as a goddess fair ; 
 A perfect woman downward to the knee, 
 But all below, a snake, in coil'd deformity. 
 
 With mutual wonder each the other eyed : 
 He question'd of his steeds, and she replied : 
 " Hero, thy steeds within my secret halls 
 Are safely stabled in enchanted stalls ; 
 But if thou thence my captives wouldst remove, 
 Thou, captive too, must yield me love for love." 
 
 Won by the price, perchance by passion sway'd, 
 Alcides yielded to the monster maid. 
 
 The steeds recover'd, and the burnish'd car 
 Prepared, she said, " Remember, when afar, 
 That, sprung from thee, three mighty sons shall 
 
 prove 
 
 Me not unworthy of a hero's love. 
 But when my babes are grown to manhood, where 
 Would'st thou thy sons should seek a father's, 
 
 care?"
 
 The Origin of the Scythians. 151 
 
 The soft appeal e'en stern Alcides felt : 
 
 And, " Take," he said, " this bow and glittering 
 
 belt:" 
 
 From his broad breast the baldrick he unslung, 
 (A golden phial from its buckle hung ;) 
 " And, when my sons are grown to man's estate, 
 Him whom thou first shalt see decline the weight 
 Of the great belt, or fail the bow to bend, 
 To Theban Hercules, his father, send 
 For tutelage ; but him whom thou shalt see 
 Thus bear the belt, thus bend the bow, like me, 
 Nought further needing by thy side retain, 
 The destined monarch of the northern plain." 
 
 He went : the mighty mother, at a birth, 
 
 Gave Gelon, Agathyrs and Scyth* to earth. 
 
 To early manhood grown, the former twain 
 
 Essay'd to bear the belt and bow in vain ; 
 
 And, southward banish'd from their mother's 
 
 face, 
 Sought lighter labours in the fields of Thrace : 
 
 * In Celtic tradition, the progenitors of the Firbolgs, Picts, 
 and Scots respectively.
 
 152 The Origin of the Scythians. 
 
 While, far refulgent over plain and wood, 
 Herculean Scyth the glittering belt indued, 
 And, striding dreadful on his fields of snow, 
 With aim unerring twang'd his father's bow. 
 From him derived, the illustrious Scythian name, 
 And all the race of Scythian monarchs came.
 
 153 
 
 THE DEATH OF DERMID. 
 
 IRISH ROMANCE. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 flNG CORMAC had affianced his daughter 
 Grania to Finn, son of Comhal, the Finn 
 Mac Coole of Irish, and Fingal of Scottish 
 tradition. In addition to his warlike accom- 
 plishments, Finn was reported to have obtained the gifts 
 of poetry, second-sight, and healing in the manner re- 
 ferred to below. On his personal introduction, his age 
 and aspect proved displeasing to Grania, who threw her- 
 self on the gallantry of Dermid, the handsomest of Finn's 
 attendant warriors, and induced him reluctantly to fly 
 with her. Their pursuit by Finn forms the subject of 
 one of the most popular native Irish romances. In the 
 course of their wanderings, Dermid, having pursued a 
 wild boar, met the fate of Adonis, who appears to have 
 been his prototype in the Celtic imagination. Finn, 
 arriving on the scene just before his rival's death, gives 
 occasion to the most pathetic passage of the tale, which, 
 at this point, is comparatively free from the charac- 
 teristics of vulgarity and extravagance attaching to
 
 154 The Death of Dermid. 
 
 the rest of the composition. The incidents of the 
 original are followed in the piece below, which, however* 
 does not profess to be a translation. The original may 
 be perused in the spirited version of Mr. O'Grady, 
 " Publications of the Irish Ossianic Society," vol. iii. 
 p. 185. It is from this Dermid that Highland tradition 
 draws the genealogy of the clan Campbell, 
 
 " The race of brown Dermid who slew the wild boar." 
 
 THE DEATH OF DERMID. 
 
 INN on the mountain found the mangled 
 
 man, 
 
 The slain boar by him. " Dermid," 
 said the king, 
 
 " It likes me well at last to see thee thus. 
 This only grieves me, that the womankind 
 Of Erin are not also looking on : 
 Such sight were wholesome for the wanton eyes 
 So oft enamour'd of that specious form : 
 Beauty to foulness, strength to weakness turn'd."
 
 The Death of Dermid. 155 
 
 " Yet in thy power, if only in thy will, 
 Lies it, oh Finn, even yet to heal me." 
 
 "How?" 
 
 " Feign not the show of ignorance, nor deem 
 I know not of the virtues which thy hand 
 Drew from that fairy's half-discover'd hall, 
 Who bore her silver tankard from the fount, 
 So closely follow'd, that ere yet the door 
 Could close upon her steps, one arm was in ; 
 Wherewith, though seeing nought, yet touching all, 
 Thou grasped'st half the spiritual world ; 
 Withdrawing a heap'd handful of its gifts, 
 Healing, and sight prophetic, and the power 
 Divine of poesy : but healing most 
 Abides within its hollow : virtue such 
 That but so much of water as might wet 
 These lips, in that hand brought, would make me 
 
 whole. 
 
 Finn, from the fountain fetch me in thy palms 
 A draught of water, and I yet shall live." 
 
 " How at these hands canst thou demand thy life, 
 Who took'st my joy of life ?"
 
 156 The Death of Dermid. 
 
 " She loved thee not : 
 
 Me she did love and doth ; and were she here 
 She would so plead with thee that, for her sake, 
 Thou wouldst forgive us both, and bid me live." 
 
 " I was a man had spent my prime of years 
 In war and council, little bless'd with love ; 
 Though poesy was mine, and, in my hour, 
 The seer's burthen not desirable ; 
 And now at last had thought to have man's share 
 Of marriage blessings ; and the King supreme, 
 Cormac, had pledged his only daughter mine ; 
 When thou, with those pernicious beauty-gifts, 
 The flashing white tusk there hath somewhat 
 
 sppil'd, 
 
 Didst win her to desert her father's house, 
 And roam the wilds with thee." 
 
 "It was herself, 
 
 Grania, the Princess, put me in the bonds 
 Of holy chivalry to share her flight. 
 ' Behold,' she said, ' he is an aged man, 
 (And so thou art, for years will come to all ;) 
 And I, so young ; and, at the Beltane games,
 
 The Death of Dermid. i57 
 
 When Carbry Liffacher did play the men 
 Of Brea, I, unseen, saw thee snatch a hurl, 
 And thrice on Tara's champions* win the goal ; 
 And gave thee love that day, and still will give/ 
 So she herself avow'd. Resolve me, Finn, 
 For thou art just, could youthful warrior, sworn 
 To maiden's service, have done else than I ? 
 No : hate me not restore me give me drink," 
 
 " I will not." 
 
 " Nay, but, Finn, thou hadst not said 
 ' I will not,' though I'd ask'd a greater boon, 
 That night we supp'd in Breendacoga's lodge. 
 Remember : we were faint and hunger-starved 
 From three day's flight ; and even as on the board 
 They placed the viands, and my hand went forth 
 To raise the wine-cup, thou, more quick of ear, 
 O'erheard'st the stealthy leaguer set without; 
 And yet should'st eat or perish. Then 'twas I, 
 Fasting, that made the sally ; and 'twas I, 
 Fasting, that made the circuit of the court ; 
 
 * " On Tara's champions," ar ghasra Teamhrach, The 
 idiom is preserved.
 
 158 The Death of Dermid. 
 
 Three times I cours'd it, darkling, round and round ; 
 From whence returning, when I brought thee in 
 The three lopp'd heads of them that lurk'd without 
 Thou hadst not then, refresh'd and grateful, said 
 * I will not/ had I ask'd thee, ' Give me drink.' " 
 
 " There springs no water on this summit bald." 
 
 " Nine paces from the spot thou standest on, 
 
 The well-eye well thou knowest it bubbles clear." 
 
 Abash'd, reluctant, to the bubbling well 
 Went Finn, and scoop'd the water in his palms ; 
 Wherewith returning, half-way, came the thought 
 Of Grania, and he let the water spill. 
 
 " Ah me," said Dermid, " hast thou then forgot 
 Thy warrior-art that oft, when helms were split, 
 And buckler-bosses shatter'd by the spear, 
 Has satisfied the thirst of wounded men ? 
 Ah, Finn, these hands of thine were not so slack 
 That night, when, captured by the king of Thule, 
 Thou layest in bonds within the temple gate 
 Waiting for morning, till the observant king
 
 The Death of Dermid. 159 
 
 Should to his sun-god make thee sacrifice. 
 Close-pack'd thy fingers then, thong-drawn and 
 
 squeezed, 
 
 The blood-drops oozing under every nail, 
 When, like a shadow, through the sleeping priests 
 Came I, and loos'd thee : and the hierophant 
 At day-dawn coming, on the altar-step, 
 Instead of victim straighten'd to his knife, 
 Two warriors found, erect, for battle arm'd." 
 
 Again abash'd, reluctant to the well 
 Went Finn, and scoop'd the water in his palms, 
 Wherewith returning, half-way, came the thought 
 That wrench'd him ; and the shaken water spill'd. 
 
 " False one, thou didst it purposely ! I swear 
 I saw thee, though mine eyes do fast grow dim. 
 Ah me, how much imperfect still is man ! 
 Yet such were not the act of Him, whom once 
 On this same mountain, as we sat at eve 
 Thou yet mayst see the knoll that was our couch, 
 A stone's throw from the spot where now I lie 
 Thou showedst me, shuddering, when the seer's fit, 
 Sudden and cold as hail, assail'd thy soul
 
 160 The Death of Dermid. 
 
 In vision of that Just One crucified 
 
 
 
 For all men's pardoning, which, once again, 
 Thou sawest, with Cormac, struck in Rossnaree." 
 
 Finn trembled ; and a third time to the well 
 Went straight, and scoop'd the water in his palms ; 
 Wherewith in haste half-way return'd, he saw 
 A smile on Dermid's face relax'd in death.
 
 161 
 
 THE INVOCATION. 
 
 LUCRETIUS. 
 
 [OY of the world, divine delight of Love, 
 Who with life-sowing footsteps soft dost 
 
 move 
 
 Through all the still stars from their sliding stands 
 See, fishy seas, and fruit-abounding lands ; 
 Bringing to presence of the gracious sun 
 All living things : thee blights and vapours shun, 
 And thine advent : for thee the various earth 
 Glows with the rose : for thee the murmurous mirth 
 Of ocean sparkles; and, at thy repair, 
 Diffusive bliss pervades the placid air. 
 For, see, forthwith the blandness of the Spring 
 Begins, and Zephyr's seasonable wing 
 Wantons abroad in primal lustihood, 
 Smit with sweet pangs the wing'd aerial brood 
 M
 
 162 The Invocation. 
 
 Of pairing birds proclaim thy reign begun ; 
 Thence through the fields where pasturing cattle 
 
 run, 
 
 Runs the soft frenzy, all the savage kind, 
 Touch'd with thy tremors in the wanton wind, 
 Prancing the plains, or through the rushing floods 
 Cleaving swift ways ; thou, who through waving 
 
 woods, 
 
 Tall mountains, fishful seas, and leafy bowers 
 Of nestling birds, keep'st up the joyous hours, 
 Making from age to age, bird, beast, and man 
 Perpetuate life and time ; aid thou my plan.
 
 163 
 
 ARCHYTAS AND THE MARINER. 
 
 HORAT. OD. I. 28. 
 MARINER. 
 
 HEE, of the sea and land and unsumm'd 
 
 sand 
 
 The Mensurator, 
 The dearth of some poor earth from a friend's hand 
 
 Detains, a waiter 
 For sepulture, here on the Matine strand ; 
 
 Nor aught the better 
 
 Art thou, Archytas, now, in thought to have spann'd 
 Pole and equator ! 
 
 ARCHYTAS. 
 
 The sire of Pelops, too, though guest and host 
 Of Gods, gave up the ghost : 
 
 Beloved Tithonus into air withdrew :
 
 164 Archytas and the Mariner. 
 
 And Minos, at the council-board of Jove 
 Once intimate above, 
 
 Hell holds ; and hell with strict embrace anew 
 Constrains Pantho'ides, for all his lore, 
 Though by the shield he bore 
 
 In Trojan jousts, snatch'd from the trophied fane, 
 He testified that death slays nought within 
 The man, but nerve and skin ; 
 
 But bore his witness and his shield in vain. 
 For one night waits us all ; one downward road 
 Must by all feet be trod : 
 
 All heads at last to Proserpine must come : 
 The furious Fates to Mars's bloody shows 
 Cast these : the seas whelm those : 
 
 Commix'd and close the young and old troop 
 
 home. 
 
 Me also, prone Orion's comrade swift, 
 The South-wind, in the drift 
 
 Of white Illyrian waves, caught from the day : 
 But, shipmate, thou refuse not to my dead 
 Bones and unburied head, 
 
 The cheap poor tribute of the funeral clay ! 
 So, whatsoe'er the East may foam or roar 
 Against the Hesperian shore, 
 
 Let crack Venusia's woods, thou safe and free ;
 
 Archytas and the Mariner. 165 
 
 While great God Neptune, the Tarentine's trust, 
 And Jupiter the just, 
 
 With confluent wealth reward thy piety. 
 Ah ! wouldst thou leave me ? wouldst thou leave, 
 
 indeed, 
 Thy unoffending seed 
 
 Under the dead man's curse ? Beware ! the day 
 May come when thou shalt suffer equal wrong : 
 Give 'twill not keep thee long 
 
 Three handfuls of sea-sand, and go thy way.
 
 VERSIONS FROM THE IRISH. 
 
 r
 
 VERSIONS FROM THE IRISH. 
 
 INTRODUCTORY NOTE. 
 
 'N apology is needed for the rudeness of some 
 of the following pieces. Irish poetical re- 
 mains consist chiefly of bardic compositions 
 and songs of the country, of which the 
 examples here given could not be candidly rendered 
 without some reflection of certain faults of the origi- 
 nals. The former class have inherent vices resulting 
 from the conditions of their production. The office 
 of the bard required skill in music, a retentive memory, 
 and a knowledge of the common forms of panegyric, 
 rather than original genius. A large proportion of 
 these compositions consisted of adulatory odes addressed 
 to protectors and patrons. Many of the best musical 
 performances of Carolan are associated with words 
 of this character, and exhibit an incongruous union of 
 noble sounds and mean ideas. It has been usual, in 
 giving him and the later harpers the credit which they 
 well merit for originality and fertility in the production
 
 1 70 Introductory Note. 
 
 of melodies, to include their odes and songs, as efforts of 
 poetic genius, in the commendation ; but these portions 
 of the compositions are generally made up of gros 
 flatteries and the conventionalities of the Pantheon. 
 The images and sentiments are in all much alike ; 
 and it is rarely that an original thought repays the 
 trouble of the translator. In celebrating some of the 
 ladies of families who patronized him, Carolan has, how- 
 ever, produced a few pieces in which the words are not 
 unworthy of the music. He was sensible of the charms 
 of grace and virtue, and although incapable of dis- 
 tinguishing between elegant and vulgar forms of praise, 
 has in these instances expressed genuine sentiments of 
 admiration with a great degree of natural and affectionate 
 tenderness united, it must be remembered, with original 
 and beautiful music. One of these pieces, " Grace 
 Nugent," * although too full of the stock phrases of the 
 adulatory school, is perhaps the most pleasing of its 
 class. In addressing one of his male patrons also, in 
 " The Cup of O'Hara,"f he exhibits some originality in 
 transferring to his friend's wassail-cup the praises which 
 were usually lavished on personal excellencies. It is 
 among the country songs, however, that the greatest 
 amount and variety of characteristic composition is found. 
 In these we must not expect quite so much refinement as 
 is found in the pieces composed by the bards and harpers, 
 most of which have been transmitted in writing : for the 
 
 * See page 197. f See page 201.
 
 Introductory Note. 171 
 
 songs have only been preserved orally by the peasantry, 
 who would naturally prefer such versions as suited their 
 more homely tastes. If others of a more refined character 
 have ever existed, they are not now forthcoming : but it 
 is probable that at all times the songs of the native Irish 
 have been of the same homely description as those which 
 remain : for, before the introduction of English manners, 
 there existed an almost complete personal equality among 
 individuals of all ranks. It is still usual in some parts of 
 the west of Ireland for the native population to use the 
 Christian names of those to whom they speak, what- 
 ever may be the rank of the person addressed. These 
 primitive manners admitted of but little difference in 
 the modes of expressing ideas common to all ; and, if 
 we make a moderate allowance for the corruptions which 
 most of these pieces have undergone in their transmission 
 through more or less numerous generations of the popu- 
 lace, we shall probably be safe in taking them as ap- 
 proximate indexes of the tone and taste of native Irish 
 society, in the castle as well as in the cabin. It has been 
 the opinion of many judges in criticism that such a state 
 of manners is the one most favourable to the development 
 of the poetic faculty. Certainly, the lyrical pieces pro- 
 duced during such a phase of society afford a fuller in- 
 sight into the humours and genius of a people than the 
 offspring of any other period in its progress. It is not 
 probable that the rural populace will ever again produce 
 anything comparable to these effusions of a ruder age ; 
 though the cultivated intellect and taste of the upper
 
 172 Introductory Note. 
 
 class, using the vehicle of a more copious though less 
 fluent language, and applying itself to the wider range of 
 ideas incident to an advanced state of civilization, may 
 fairly hope to attain a much greater excellence : for, to 
 say the truth, notwithstanding the strength of passion 
 and abundance of sentiment and humour expressed in 
 the country songs of the Irish, they have little vigour of 
 thought and but a moderate degree of art in their 
 structure : but not even the songs of Burns express 
 sentiment more charmingly. Even in those dedicated 
 to festivity and the chase, a sweet and delicate pathos 
 mingles with the ordinary topics, which it is as difficult 
 to catch in translation, as it is in music to define or 
 analyse the characteristic tones and turns of the 
 melody. The general structure of the melody is, with 
 few exceptions, the same in all. A writer to whom 
 Ireland is largely indebted in almost all the departments 
 of art and literature, Dr. Petrie, thus describes their 
 peculiar arrangement. " They are formed, for the 
 most part, of four strains of equal length. The first soft, 
 pathetic, and subdued ; the second ascends in the scale, 
 and becomes bold, energetic, and impassioned; the 
 third, a repetition of the second, is sometimes a little 
 varied and more florid, and leads, often by a graceful or 
 melancholy passage, to the fourth, which is always a re- 
 petition of the first." The same writer has beautifully 
 and truly compared the effect of the last part following 
 the bold and surcharged strains of the second and third, 
 to the dissolution in genial showers of a summer cloud.
 
 Introductory Note. 173 
 
 This progress of the melody is often reflected in the 
 structure of the song, which, beginning plaintively and 
 tenderly mounts with the music in vehemence, and sub- 
 sides with it in renewed tenderness at the conclusion of 
 the stanza. This analogy between the sentiment and 
 melody runs through many of the following pieces, 
 as, for example, the naive and rustic but tender song 
 of " The Coolun,"* and may be observed in the pas- 
 sionate old strain " Cean Dubh Deelish,"f where the 
 energy of the middle part of the piece is also asso- 
 ciated with one of those duplications of the rhythm 
 which constitute a peculiar characteristic of Irish song- 
 writing. It is difficult in English to imitate these dupli- 
 cations and crassitudes, which give so much of its effect 
 to the original, where, owing to the pliancy of the 
 sounds, several syllables are often, as it were, fused to- 
 gether, and internal rhymes and correspondences pro- 
 duced within the body of the line : such as, for example, 
 in " The Boatinan."J 
 
 Oh Whillan, rough, bold-faced rock, that stoop'st o'er the bay, 
 Look forth at the new barque beneath me cleaving her way ; 
 Saw ye ever, on sea or river, 'mid the mounting of spray, 
 Boat made of atree that urges through thesurges like mine to-day, 
 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top? 
 
 " I remember," says Whillan, " a rock I have ever been ; 
 And constant my watch, each day, o'er the sea-wave green ; 
 But of all that I ever of barques and of galleys have seen, 
 This that urges through the surges beneath you to-day is queen 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top." 
 
 * See page 211. \ See page 216. J See page 217.
 
 174 Introductory Note. 
 
 It is a significant fact that some of the best of the 
 native amatory songs appear to have been the compo- 
 sitions of men in outlawry and in misery. In the 
 " County Leitrim," the fear of famine mingles with the 
 ardour of desire ; and scarcity and poverty enter largely 
 into the sentiment of " Cashel of Munster."* A large 
 number also of this class of compositions are songs of 
 humble life. Some of these, such as " Youghall 
 Harbour ,"f despite the rusticity of the topics, bespeak 
 much generous feeling and sensibility ; and, as regards 
 all, the observation may be made that they are wedded 
 to strains of music wonderfully various, expressive, and 
 sweet to native ears. The production either of melodies 
 or of accompanying words has now wholly ceased; and the 
 language itself, within another generation, will probably 
 be no longer spoken in Ireland. 
 
 * See page 209. t See page 214.
 
 175 
 
 DEIRDRA'S FAREWELL TO ALBA. 
 
 OLD IRISH ROMANCE.* 
 
 H&AREWELL to fair Alba, high house of 
 
 the sun, 
 Farewell to the mountain, the cliff, and 
 
 the dun ; 
 
 Dun Sweeny adieu ! for my love cannot stay, 
 And tarry I may not when love cries away. 
 
 Glen Vashan ! Glen Vashan ! where roebucks run 
 
 free, 
 Where my love used to feast on the red deer with 
 
 me, 
 Where rock'd on thy waters while stormy winds 
 
 blew, 
 My love used to slumber, Glen Vashan adieu ! 
 
 * The tale of the tragical fate of the sons of Usnach, from 
 which this and the following piece have been taken, may be 
 seen in the " Transactions of the Iberno -Celtic Society," 
 Dublin, 1808 ; and in the " Atlantis," Dublin, 1860.
 
 176 Deirdra's Farewell to Alba. 
 
 Glendaro ! Glendaro ! where birchen boughs weep 
 Honey dew at high noon o'er the nightingale's sleep, 
 Where my love used to lead me to hear the cuckoo 
 'Mong the high hazel bushes, Glendaro, adieu ! 
 
 Glen Urchy ! Glen Urchy ! where loudly and long 
 My love used to wake up the woods with his song, 
 While the son of the rock,* from the depths of the 
 
 dell, 
 Laugh'd sweetly in answer, Glen Urchy, farewell ! 
 
 Glen Etive ! Glen Etive ! where dappled does 
 roam, 
 
 Where I leave the green sheeling I first call'd a 
 
 home; 
 
 Where with me and my true love delighted to dwell, 
 The sun made his mansion, Glen Etive, farewell ! 
 
 Farewell to Inch Draynach, adieu to the roar 
 Of the blue billows bursting in light on the shore ; 
 Dun Fiagh, farewell ! for my love cannot stay, 
 And tarry I may not when love cries away. 
 
 * Son of the rock, i. e. Echo.
 
 177 
 
 DEIRDRA'S LAMENT FOR THE SONS 
 OF USNACH. 
 
 OLD IRISH ROMANCE. 
 
 lions of the hill are gone, 
 And I am left alone alone 
 Dig the grave both wide and deep, 
 For I am sick, and fain would sleep ! 
 
 The falcons of the wood are flown, 
 And I am left alone alone 
 Dig the grave both deep and wide, 
 And let us slumber side by side. 
 
 The dragons of the rock are sleeping, 
 Sleep that wakes not for our weeping : 
 Dig the grave, and make it ready ; 
 Lay me on my true-love's body. 
 
 N
 
 178 Lament for the Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Lay their spears and bucklers bright 
 By the warriors' sides aright ; 
 Many a day the three before me 
 On their linked bucklers bore me. 
 
 Lay upon the low grave floor, 
 'Neath each head, the blue claymore ; 
 Many a time the noble three 
 Redden'd these blue blades for me. 
 
 Lay the collars, as is meet, 
 Of their greyhounds at their feet ; 
 Many a time for me have they 
 Brought the tall red deer to bay. 
 
 In the falcon's jesses throw, 
 Hook and arrow, line and bow ; 
 Never again by stream or plain 
 Shall the gentle woodsmen go. 
 
 Sweet companions ye were ever 
 Harsh to me, your sister, never ; 
 Woods and wilds and misty valleys 
 Were, with you, as good's a palace.
 
 Lament for the Sons of Usnach. 179 
 
 Oh ! to hear my true love singing, 
 Sweet as sound of trumpets ringing : 
 Like the sway of ocean swelling 
 RolFd his deep voice round our dwelling. 
 
 Oh ! to hear the echoes pealing 
 Round our green and fairy sheeling, 
 When the three, with soaring chorus, 
 Pass'd the silent skylark o'er us. 
 
 Echo now, sleep, morn and even 
 Lark alone enchant the heaven ! 
 Ardan's lips are scant of breath, 
 Neesa's tongue is cold in death. 
 
 Stag, exult on glen and mountain 
 Salmon, leap from loch to fountain 
 Heron, in the free air warm ye 
 Usnach's sons no more will harm ye ! 
 
 Erin's stay no more you are, 
 Rulers of the ridge of war ; 
 Never more 'twill be your fate 
 To keep the beam of battle straight !
 
 180 Lament for the Sons of Usnach. 
 
 Woe is me ! by fraud and wrong, 
 Traitors false and tyrants strong, 
 Fell clan Usnach, bought and sold, 
 For Barach's feast and Conor's gold ! 
 
 Woe to Eman, roof and wall ! 
 Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall !- 
 Tenfold woe and black dishonour 
 To the foul and false clan Conor ! 
 
 Dig the grave both wide and deep, 
 Sick I am, and fain would sleep ! 
 Dig the grave and make it ready, 
 Lay me on my true-love's body !
 
 181 
 
 THE DOWNFALL OF THE GAEL. 
 
 O'GNIVE,* BARD OF O'NEILL. 
 
 Cir. 1580. 
 
 |Y heart is in woe, 
 And my soul deep in trouble, 
 
 For the mighty are low, 
 And abased are the noble : 
 
 The Sons of the Gael 
 Are in exile and mourning, 
 
 Worn, weary, and pale, 
 As spent pilgrims returning ; 
 
 Or men who, in flight 
 From the field of disaster, 
 
 Beseech the black night 
 On their flight to fall faster ; 
 
 O'Gniye, now Agnew.
 
 182 The Downfall of the Gael 
 
 Or seamen aghast 
 When their planks gape asunder, 
 
 And the waves fierce and fast 
 Tumble through in hoarse thunder ; 
 
 Or men whom we see 
 That have got their death-omen 
 
 Such wretches are we 
 In the chains of our foemen ! 
 
 Our courage is fear, 
 Our nobility vileness, 
 
 Our hope is despair, 
 And our comeliness foulness. 
 
 There is mist on our heads, 
 And a cloud chill and hoary 
 
 Of black sorrow, sheds 
 An eclipse on our glory. 
 
 From Boyne to the Linn 
 Has the mandate been given, 
 
 That the children of Finn 
 From their country be driven.
 
 The Downfall of the Gael 183 
 
 That the sons of the king 
 Oh, the treason and malice ! 
 
 Shall no more ride the ring 
 In their own native valleys ; 
 
 No more shall repair 
 Where the hill foxes tarry, 
 
 Nor forth to the air 
 Fling the hawk at her quarry : 
 
 For the plain shall be broke 
 By the share of the stranger, 
 
 And the stone-mason's stroke 
 Tell the woods of their danger ; 
 
 The green hills and shore 
 Be with white keeps disfigured, 
 
 And the Mote of Rathmore 
 Be the Saxon churl's haggard ! 
 
 The land of the lakes 
 Shall no more know the prospect 
 
 Of valleys and brakes 
 So transformed is her aspect !
 
 184 The Downfall of the Gael. 
 
 The Gael cannot tell, 
 In the uprooted wild-wood 
 
 And red ridgy dell, 
 The old nurse of his childhood : 
 
 The nurse of his youth 
 Is in doubt as she views him, 
 
 If the wan wretch, in truth, 
 Be the child of her bosom. 
 
 We starve by the board, 
 And we thirst amid wassail 
 
 For the guest is the lord, 
 And the host is the vassal ! 
 
 Through the woods let us roam, 
 Through the wastes wild and barren ; 
 
 We are strangers at home ! 
 We are exiles in Erin ! 
 
 And Erin's a bark 
 O'er the wide waters driven ! 
 
 And the tempest howls dark, 
 And her side planks are riven !
 
 The Downfall of the Gael 
 
 And in billows of might 
 Swell the Saxon before her, 
 
 Unite, oh, unite ! 
 Or the billows burst o'er her ! 
 
 185
 
 186 
 
 O'BYRNE'S BARD TO THE CLANS OF 
 WICKLOW. 
 
 Cir. 1580. 
 
 be with the Irish host, 
 Never be their battle lost ! 
 For, in battle, never yet 
 Have they basely earn'd defeat. 
 
 Host of armour red and bright, 
 May ye fight a valiant fight ! 
 For the green spot of the earth, 
 For the land that gave you birth. 
 
 Who in Erin's cause would stand, 
 Brothers of the avenging band, 
 He must wed immortal quarrel, 
 Pain and sweat and bloody peril.
 
 O' Byrne's Bard to the Clans of WicUow. 187 
 
 On the mountain bare and steep, 
 Snatching short but pleasant sleep, 
 Then, ere sunrise, from his eyrie, 
 Swooping on the Saxon quarry. 
 
 What although you've fail'd to keep 
 Liffey's plain or Tara's steep, 
 Cashel's pleasant streams to save, 
 Or the meads of Croghan Maev ; 
 
 Want of conduct lost the town, 
 Broke the white-wall'd castle down, 
 Moira lost, and old Taltin, 
 And let the conquering stranger in. 
 
 'Twas the want of right command, 
 Not the lack of heart or hand, 
 Left your hills and plains to-day 
 'Neath the strong Clan Saxon's sway. 
 
 Ah, had heaven never sent 
 Discord for our punishment, 
 Triumphs few o'er Erin's host 
 Had Clan London now to boast !
 
 188 O'Byrne's Bard to the 
 
 Woe is me, 'tis God's decree 
 Strangers have the victory : 
 Irishmen may now be found 
 Outlaws upon Irish ground. 
 
 Like a wild beast in his den 
 Lies the chief by hill and glen, 
 While the strangers, proud and savage, 
 Criffan's richest valleys ravage. 
 
 Woe is me, the foul offence, 
 Treachery and violence, 
 Done against my people's rights 
 Well may mine be restless nights ! 
 
 When old Leinster's sons of fame, 
 Heads of many a warlike name, 
 Redden their victorious hilts 
 On the Gaul, my soul exults. 
 
 When the grim Gaul, who have come 
 Hither o'er the ocean foam, 
 From the fight victorious go, 
 Then my heart sinks deadly low.
 
 I 
 
 Clans of WicUow. 189 
 
 -rJi 
 
 Bless the blades our warriors draw, 
 God be with Clan Ranelagh ! 
 
 But my soul is weak for fear, 
 
 Jl 
 Thinking of their danger here. 
 
 Have them in thy holy eeping, 
 God be with them lying sleeping, 
 God be with them standing fighting, 
 Erin's foes in battle smiting !
 
 190 
 
 LAMENT OVER THE RUINS OF THE 
 ABBEY OF TIMOLEAGUE. 
 
 JOHN COLLINS, died, 1816. 
 
 [ONE and weary as I wander'd 
 
 By the bleak shore of the sea, 
 Meditating and reflecting 
 On the world's hard destiny ; 
 
 Forth the moon and stars 'gan glimmer, 
 
 In the quiet tide beneath, 
 For on slumbering spray and blossom 
 
 Breathed not out of heaven a breath. 
 
 On I went in sad dejection, 
 
 Careless where my footsteps bore, 
 
 Till a ruin'd church before me 
 Open'd wide its ancient door,
 
 The Abbey of Timoleague. 191 
 
 Till I stood before the portals, 
 
 Where of old were wont to be, 
 For the blind, the halt, and leper, 
 
 Alms and hospitality. 
 
 Still the ancient seat was standing, 
 
 Built against the buttress grey, 
 Where the clergy used to welcome 
 
 Weary travellers on their way. 
 
 There I sat me down in sadness, 
 'Neath my cheek I placed my hand, 
 
 Till the tears fell hot and briny 
 Down upon the grassy land. 
 
 There, I said in woeful sorrow, 
 
 Weeping bitterly the while, 
 Was a time when joy and gladness 
 
 Reign'd within this ruin'd pile ; 
 
 Was a time when bells were tinkling, 
 Clergy preaching peace abroad, 
 
 Psalms a-singing, music ringing 
 Praises to the mighty God.
 
 192 Lament over the Ruins of the 
 
 Empty aisle, deserted chancel, 
 Tower tottering to your fall, 
 
 Many a storm since then has beaten 
 On the grey head of your wall ! 
 
 Many a bitter storm and tempest 
 Has your roof-tree turn'd away, 
 
 Since you first were form'd a temple 
 To the Lord of night and day. 
 
 Holy house of ivied gables, 
 
 That wert once the country's pride, 
 
 Houseless now in weary wandering 
 Roam your inmates far and wide. 
 
 Lone you are to-day, and dismal, 
 Joyful psalms no more are heard 
 
 Where, within your choir, her vesper 
 Screeches the cat-headed bird. 
 
 Ivy from your eaves is growing, 
 
 Nettles round your green hearth-stone, 
 
 Foxes howl, where, in your corners, 
 Dropping waters make their moan.
 
 Abley of Timoleague. 193 
 
 Where the lark to early matins 
 
 Used your clergy forth to call, 
 There, alas ! no tongue is stirring, 
 
 Save the daw's upon the wall. 
 
 Refectory cold and empty, 
 
 Dormitory bleak and bare, 
 Where are now your pious uses, 
 
 Simple bed and frugal fare ? 
 
 Gone your abbot, rule and order, 
 Broken down your altar stones ; 
 
 Nought see I beneath your shelter, 
 Save a heap of clayey bones. 
 
 Oh ! the hardship, oh ! the hatred, 
 
 Tyranny, and cruel war, 
 Persecution and oppression, 
 
 That have left you as you are ! 
 
 I myself once also prosper'd ; 
 
 Mine is, too, an alter'd plight ; 
 Trouble, care, and age have left me 
 
 Good for nought but grief to-night. 
 o
 
 194 The Abbey of Timoleague. 
 
 Gone, my motion and my vigour, 
 Gone, the use of eye and ear ; 
 
 At my feet lie friends and children, 
 Powerless and corrupting here : 
 
 Woe is written on my visage, 
 In a nut my heart would lie 
 
 Death's deliverance were welcome 
 Father, let the old man die.
 
 195 
 
 TO THE HARPER O'CONNELLAN. 
 
 NCHANTER who reignest 
 Supreme o'er the North, 
 Who hast wiled the coy spirit 
 Of true music forth ; 
 In vain Europe's minstrels 
 
 To honour aspire, 
 When thy swift slender fingers 
 Go forth on the wire ! 
 
 There is no heart's desire 
 
 Can be felt by a king, 
 That thy hand cannot match 
 
 From the soul of the string, 
 By its conquering, capturing, 
 
 Magical sway, 
 For, charmer, thou stealest 
 
 Thy notes from a fay !
 
 196 To the Harper O' Connellan. 
 
 Enchanter, I say, 
 
 For thy magical skill 
 Can soothe every sorrow, 
 
 And heal every ill : 
 Who hear thee they praise thee ; 
 
 They weep while they praise ; 
 For, charmer, from Fairyland 
 
 Fresh are thy lays !
 
 197 
 
 GRACE NUGENT. 
 
 CAROLAN. 
 
 RIGHTEST blossom of the Spring, 
 Grace, the sprightly girl I sing : 
 Grace, who bore the palm of mind 
 
 From all the rest of womankind. 
 
 Whomsoe'er the fates decree, 
 
 Happy fate ! for life to be 
 
 Day and night my Coolun near, 
 
 Ache or pain need never fear ! 
 
 Her neck outdoes the stately swan, 
 Her radiant face the summer dawn : 
 Ah, happy thrice the youth for whom 
 The fates design that branch of bloom ! 
 Pleasant are your words benign, 
 Rich those azure eyes of thine : 
 Ye who see my queen, beware 
 Those twisted links of golden hair !
 
 198 Grace Nugent. 
 
 This is what I fain would say 
 To the bird-voiced lady gay, 
 Never yet conceived the heart 
 Joy which Grace cannot impart : 
 Fold of jewels ! case of pearls ! 
 Coolun of the circling curls ! 
 More I say not, but no less 
 Drink you health and happiness !
 
 199 
 
 MILD MABEL KELLY. 
 
 CAROLAN. 
 
 'HOEVER the youth who by Heaven's 
 
 decree 
 Has his happy right hand 'neath that 
 
 bright head of thine, 
 'Tis certain that he 
 From all sorrow is free 
 Till the day of his death, if a life so divine 
 Should not raise him in bliss above mortal degree : 
 Mild Mabel-ni-Kelly, bright Coolun of curls, 
 
 All stately and pure as the swan on the lake ; 
 Her mouth of white teeth is a palace of pearls, 
 And the youth of the land are love-sick for her 
 sake! 
 
 No strain of the sweetest e'er heard in the land 
 That she knows not to sing, in a voice so en- 
 chanting,
 
 200 Mild Mabel Kelly. 
 
 That the cranes on the strand 
 Fall asleep where they stand ; 
 Oh, for her blooms the rose, and the lily ne'er 
 
 wanting 
 
 To shed its mild radiance o'er bosom or hand : 
 The dewy blue blossom that hangs on the spray, 
 
 More blue than her eye, human eye never saw, 
 Deceit never lurk'd in its beautiful ray, 
 Dear lady, I drink to you, slainte go bragh !
 
 201 
 THE CUP OF O'HARA. 
 
 CAROLAN. 
 
 ERE I west in green Arran, 
 
 Or south in Glanmore, 
 Where the long ships come laden 
 With claret in store ; 
 Yet I'd rather than shiploads 
 
 Of claret, and ships, 
 Have your white cup, O'Hara, 
 Up full at my lips. 
 
 But why seek in numbers 
 
 Its virtues to tell, 
 When O'Hara's own chaplain 
 
 Has said, saying well, 
 " Turlogh,* bold son of Brian, 
 
 Sit ye down, boy, again, 
 Till we drain the great cupaun 
 
 In another health to Keane."t 
 
 * Turlogh Carolan, the composer, 
 t Keane O'Hara, the patron.
 
 202 
 
 THE FAIR-HAIR'D GIRL. 
 
 IRISH SONG. 
 
 sun has set, the stars are still, 
 The red moon hides behind the hill ; 
 The tide has left the brown beach bare, 
 The birds have fled the upper air ; 
 Upon her branch the lone cuckoo 
 Is chaunting still her sad adieu ; ' 
 And you, my fair-hair'd girl, must go 
 Across the salt sea under woe ! 
 
 I through love have learn'd three things, 
 Sorrow, sin, and death it brings ; 
 Yet day by day my heart within 
 Dares shame and sori-ow, death and sin : 
 Maiden, you have aim'd the dart 
 Rankling in my ruin'd heart : 
 Maiden, may the God above 
 Grant you grace to grant me love !
 
 The Fair-hair'd Girl 203 
 
 Sweeter than the viol's string, 
 And the notes that blackbirds sing ; 
 Brighter than the dewdrops rare 
 Is the maiden wondrous fair : 
 Like the silver swans at play 
 Is her neck, as bright as day ! 
 Woe is me, that e'er my sight 
 Dwelt on charms so deadly bright ! 

 
 204 
 
 PASTHEEN FINN. 
 
 IRISH RUSTIC SONG. 
 
 |H, my fair Pastheen is my heart's de- 
 light, 
 Her gay heart laughs in her blue eye 
 
 bright ; 
 
 Like the apple blossom her bosom white, 
 And her neck like the swan's, on a March morn 
 
 bright ! 
 Then, Oro, come with me ! come with me ! 
 
 come * with me ! 
 
 Oro, come with me ! brown girl, sweet ! 
 And, oh ! I would go through snow and sleet, 
 If you would come with me, brown girl, 
 sweet ! 
 
 Love of my heart, my fair Pastheen ! 
 Her cheeks are red as the rose's sheen, 
 
 * The emphasis is on " come."
 
 Pastheen Finn. 205 
 
 But my lips have tasted no more, I ween, 
 Than the glass I drank to the health of my queen ! 
 Then, Oro, come with me ! come with me ! 
 
 come with me ! 
 
 Oro, come with me ! brown girl, sweet ! 
 And, oh ! I would go through snow and sleet, 
 If you would come with me, brown girl, 
 sweet ! 
 
 Were I in the town, where's mirth and glee, 
 Or 'twixt two barrels of barley bree, 
 With my fair Pastheen upon my knee, 
 'Tis I would drink to her pleasantly ! 
 
 Then, Oro, come with me ! come with me ! 
 come with me ! 
 
 Oro, come with me ! brown girl, sweet ! 
 
 And, oh ! I would go through snow and sleet, 
 
 If you would come with me, brown girl, 
 sweet ! 
 
 Nine nights I lay in longing and pain, 
 Betwixt two bushes, beneath the rain,
 
 206 Pastheen Finn. 
 
 Thinking to see you, love, once again ; 
 But whistle and call were all in vain ! 
 
 Then, Oro, come with me ! come with me ! 
 
 come with me ! 
 
 Oro, come with me ! brown girl, sweet ! 
 And, oh ! I would go through snow and gleet, 
 If you would come with me, brown girl, 
 sweet ! 
 
 I'll leave my people, both friend and foe ; 
 From all the girls in the world I'll go ; 
 But from you, sweetheart, oh, never ! oh, no ! 
 'Till I lie in the coffin, stretch'd cold and low ! ^ 
 
 Then, Oro, come with me ! come with me ! 
 come with me ! 
 
 Oro, come with me ! brown girl, /sweet! 
 
 And, oh ! I would go through snow and sleet, 
 
 If you would come with me, brown girl, 
 sweet !
 
 207 
 
 MOLLY ASTORE. 
 
 IRISH SONG. 
 
 H, Mary dear, oh, Mary fair, 
 
 Oh, branch of generous stem, 
 White blossom of the banks of Nair, 
 Though lilies grow on them ! 
 
 o o 
 
 You've left me sick at heart for love, 
 
 So faint I cannot see, 
 The candle swims the board above, 
 
 I'm drunk for love of thee ! 
 Oh, stately stem of maiden pride, 
 
 My woe it is, and pain, 
 That I, thus sever'd from thy side, 
 
 The long night must remain ! 
 
 Through all the towns of Innisfail 
 
 I've wander'd far and wide ; 
 But from Downpatrick to Kinsale, 
 
 From Carlow to Kilbride,
 
 208 Molly Astore. 
 
 'Mong lords and dames of high degree, 
 
 Where'er my feet have gone, 
 My Mary, one to equal thee 
 
 I've never look'd upon ; 
 I live in darkness and in douht 
 
 Whene'er my love's away, 
 But, were the blessed sun put out, 
 
 Her shadow would make day ! 
 
 'Tis she indeed, young bud of bliss, 
 
 And gentle as she's fair, 
 Though lily-white her bosom is, 
 
 And sunny-bright her hair, 
 And dewy-azure her blue eye, 
 
 And rosy-red her cheek, 
 Yet brighter she in modesty, 
 
 More beautifully meek ! 
 The world's wise men from north to south 
 
 Can never cure my pain ; 
 But one kiss from her honey mouth 
 
 Would make me whole again !
 
 209 
 
 CASHEL OF MUNSTER. 
 
 IRISH RUSTIC BALLAD. 
 
 ; 'D wed you without herds, without money, 
 
 or rich array, 
 And I'd wed you on a dewy morning at 
 
 day-dawn grey; 
 
 My bitter woe it is, love, that we are not far away 
 In Cashel town, though the bare deal board were 
 our marriage-bed this day ! 
 
 Oh, fair maid, remember the green hill side, 
 Remember how I hunted about the valleys wide ; 
 Time now has worn me; my locks are turn'd to 
 
 The year is scarce and I am poor, but send me not, 
 love, away ! 
 
 Oh, deem not my blood is of base strain, my girl, 
 Oh, deem not my birth was as the birth of the churl ; 
 
 F
 
 2 1 Cashel of Munster. 
 
 Marry me, and prove me, and say soon you will, 
 That noble blood is written on my right side still ! 
 
 My purse holds no red gold, no coin of the silver 
 white, 
 
 No herds are mine to drive through the long twi- 
 light ! 
 
 But the pretty girl that would take me, all bare 
 though I be and lone, 
 
 Oh, I'd take her with me kindly to the county 
 Tyrone. 
 
 Oh, my girl, I can see 'tis in trouble you are, 
 And, oh, my girl, I see 'tis your people's reproach 
 
 you bear : 
 
 " I am a girl in trouble for his sake with whom I fly, 
 And, oh, may no other maiden know such reproach 
 
 as I!"
 
 211 
 
 THE COOLUN. 
 
 IRISH RUSTIC BALLAD. 
 
 H, 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. 
 My love she is, and my coleen oge, 
 
 And she dwells in Bal'nagar ; 
 And she bears the palm of beauty bright 
 From the fairest that in Erin are. 
 
 In Bal'nagar is the Coolun, 
 
 Like the berry on the bough her cheek ; 
 Bright beauty dwells for ever 
 
 On her fair neck and ringlets sleek : 
 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.
 
 212 The Coolun. 
 
 Rise up, my boy ! make ready 
 
 My 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, troth, and wedlock true 
 She is sweeter to me nine times over 
 
 Than organ or cuckoo ! 
 
 For, ever since my childhood 
 
 I 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 coleen barvn of my early love 
 
 Is torn from my heart away. 
 
 Sweetheart and faithful treasure, 
 
 Be constant still, and true ; 
 Nor for want of herds and houses 
 
 Leave one who would ne'er leave you : 
 I'll pledge you the blessed Bible, 
 
 Without and eke within,
 
 The Coolun. 213 
 
 That the faithful God will provide for us, 
 Without thanks to kith or kin. 
 
 Oh, love, do you remember 
 
 When we lay all night alone, 
 Beneath the ash in the winter-storm, 
 
 When the oak wood round did groan? 
 No shelter then from the blast had we,] 
 
 The bitter blast or sleet, 
 But your gown to wrap about our heads, 
 
 And my coat round our feet.
 
 214 
 
 YOUGHALL HARBOUR. 
 
 IRISH RUSTIC BALLAD. 
 
 NE Sunday morning, into Youghall 
 
 walking, 
 
 I met a maiden upon the way ; 
 Her little mouth sweet as fairy music, 
 
 Her soft cheeks blushing like dawn of day ! 
 I laid a bold hand upon her bosom, 
 
 And ask'd a kiss : but she answer'd, " No : 
 Fair sir, be gentle ; do not tear my mantle ; 
 'Tis none in Erin my grief can know. 
 
 " 'Tis but a little hour since I left Youghall, 
 
 And my love forbade me to return ; 
 And now my weary way I wander 
 
 Into Cappoquin, a poor girl forlorn : 
 Then do not tempt me ; for, alas ! I dread them 
 
 Who with tempting proffers teach girls to roam, 
 Who'd first deceive us, then faithless leave us, 
 
 And send us shame-faced and bare-foot home."
 
 Youghall Harbour. 215 
 
 " My heart and hand here ! I mean you marriage ! 
 
 I have loved like you and known love's pain ; 
 And if you turn back now to Youghall Harbour, 
 
 You ne'er shall want house or home again : 
 You shall have a lace cap like any lady, 
 
 Cloak and capuchin, too, to keep you warm, 
 And if God please, maybe, a little baby, 
 
 By and bye, to nestle within your arm."
 
 216 
 
 CEAN DUBH DEELISH.* 
 
 'UT your head, darling, darling, darling, 
 Your darling black head my heart 
 
 above ; 
 
 Oh, mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance, 
 
 Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love? 
 
 Oh, many and many a young girl for me is pining, 
 
 Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free, 
 For me, the foremost of our gay young fellows ; 
 But I'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee ! 
 Then put your head, darling, darling, darling, 
 
 Your darling black head my heart above; 
 Oh, mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance, 
 Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love ? 
 
 * Pronounced Cawn dhu deelish, i.e., dear black head.
 
 217 
 
 BOATMAN'S HYMN. 
 
 |ARK that bear me through foam and 
 
 squall, 
 
 You in the storm are my castle wall : 
 Though the sea should redden from bottom to top, 
 From tiller to mast she takes no drop ; 
 On the tide-top, the tide- top, 
 
 Wherry aroon, my land and store ! 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top, 
 She is the boat can sail go leor.* 
 
 She dresses herself, and goes gliding on, 
 Like a dame in her robes of the Indian lawn ; 
 For God has bless' d her, gunnel and whale, 
 And oh ! if you saw her stretch out to the gale, 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c. 
 
 Whillan,t ahoy ! old heart of stone, 
 Stooping so black o'er the beach alone, 
 
 * go leor, i e. abundantly well. 
 
 f Whillan, a rock on the shore near Blacksod Harbour.
 
 218 Boatman's Hymn. 
 
 Answer me well on the bursting brine 
 Saw you ever a bark like mine ? 
 
 On the tide- top, the tide-top, &c. 
 
 Says Whillan, " Since first I was made of stone, 
 I have look'd abroad o'er the beach alone 
 But till to-day, on the bursting brine, 
 Saw I never a bark like thine," 
 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top, &c. 
 
 " God of the air ! " the seamen shout, 
 When they see us tossing the brine about : 
 " Give us the shelter of strand or rock, 
 Or through and through us she goes with a shock!" 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top, 
 
 Wherry aroon, my land and store, 
 On the tide-top, the tide-top, 
 She is the boat can sail go leor!
 
 219 
 
 THE DEAR OLD AIR. 
 ISFORTUNE'S train may chase our 
 
 But not our love ; 
 And I those pensive looks will prize, 
 
 The smiles of joy above : 
 Your tender looks of love shall still 
 
 Delight and console ; 
 Even though your eyes the tear-drops fill 
 
 Beyond your love's control. 
 
 Of troubles past we will not speak, 
 
 Or future woe : 
 Nor mark, thus leaning cheek to cheek, 
 
 The stealing tear-drops flow : 
 But I'll sing you the dear old Irish air, 
 
 Soothing and low, 
 You loved so well when, gay as fair, 
 
 You won me long ago.
 
 220 
 
 THE LAPFUL OF NUTS. 
 
 HENE'ER I see soft hazel eyes 
 
 And nut-brown curls, 
 I think of those bright days I spent 
 Among the Limerick girls ; 
 When up through Gratia woods I went, 
 
 Nutting with thee ; 
 
 And we pluck'd the glossy clustering fruit 
 From many a bending tree. 
 
 Beneath the hazel boughs we sat, 
 
 Thou, love, and I, 
 And the gather'd nuts lay in thy lap, 
 
 Beneath thy downcast eye : 
 But little we thought of the store we'd won, 
 
 I, love, or thou ; 
 For our hearts were full, and we dare not own 
 
 The love that's spoken now.
 
 The Lapful of Nuts. 22 1 
 
 Oh, there's \vars for willing hearts in Spain, 
 
 And high Germanic ! 
 And I'll come back, ere long, again, 
 
 With knightly fame and fee : 
 And I'll come back, if I ever come back, 
 
 Faithful to thee, 
 That sat with thy white lap full of nuts 
 
 Beneath the hazel tree.
 
 222 
 
 MARY'S WAKING. 
 
 OFT be the sleep, and sweet the dreams, 
 
 And bright be the awaking, 
 Of Mary this mild April morn, 
 On my pale vigil breaking: 
 May weariness and wakefulness 
 
 And unrepaid endeavour, 
 And aching eyes like mine this day, 
 Be far from her for ever ! 
 
 The quiet of the opening dawn, 
 
 The freshness of the morning, 
 Be with her through the cheerful day, 
 
 Till peaceful eve returning 
 Shall put an end to household cares 
 
 And dutiful employment, 
 And bring the hours of genial mirth 
 
 And innocent enjoyment. 
 
 And whether in the virgin choir, 
 A joyous sylph, she dances,
 
 Mary's Walling. 223 
 
 Or o'er the smiling circle sheds 
 
 Her wit's sweet influences ; 
 May he by favouring fate assign'd 
 
 Her partner or companion, 
 Be one that with an angel's mind 
 
 Is fit to hold communion. 
 
 Ah me ! the wish is hard to frame ! 
 
 But should some youth, more favour'd, 
 Achieve the happiness which I 
 
 Have fruitlessly endeavour'd, 
 God send them love and length of days, 
 
 And health and wealth abounding, 
 And long around their hearth to hear 
 
 Their children's voices sounding ! 
 
 Be still, be still, rebellious heart ; 
 
 If he have fairly won her, 
 To bless their union I am bound 
 
 In duty and in honour : 
 But, out alas ! 'tis all in vain ; 
 
 I love her still too dearly 
 To pray for blessings which I feel 
 
 So hard to give sincerely.
 
 224 
 
 HOPELESS LOVE. 
 
 INCE hopeless of thy love I go, 
 Some little mark of pity show ; 
 And only one kind parting look bestow. 
 
 One parting look of pity mild 
 
 On him, through starless tempest wild, 
 
 Who lonely hence to-night must go, exiled. 
 
 But even rejected love can warm 
 The heart through night and storm : 
 And unrelenting though they be, 
 Thine eyes beam life on me. 
 
 And I will bear that look benign 
 
 Within this darkly-troubled breast to shine, 
 
 Though never, never can thyself, ah me, be mine !
 
 225 
 
 THE FAIR HILLS OF IRELAND. 
 
 OLD IRISH SONG. 
 
 PLENTEOUS place is Ireland for hos- 
 pitable cheer, 
 Uileacan dubh O ! 
 Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the 
 yellow barley ear ; 
 
 Uileacan dubh O ! 
 There is honey in the trees where her misty vales 
 
 expand, 
 \nd her forest paths, in summer, are by falling 
 
 waters fann'd, 
 There is dew at high noontide there, and springs 
 
 i'the yellow sand, 
 On the fair hills of holy Ireland. 
 
 Curl'd he is and ringletted, and plaited to the 
 knee, 
 
 Uileacan dubh 1 
 Q
 
 226 The Fair Hills of Ireland. 
 
 Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish 
 
 sea; 
 
 Uileacan dubh O I 
 And I will make my journey, if life and health but 
 
 stand, 
 Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant 
 
 strand, 
 And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and 
 
 high command, 
 For the fair hills of holy Ireland. 
 
 Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground, 
 
 Uileacan dubh ! 
 The butter and the cream do wondrously abound, 
 
 Uileacan dubh O I 
 
 The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand, 
 And the cuckoo's calling daily his note of music 
 
 bland, 
 And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song i'the 
 
 forests grand, 
 On the fair hills of holy Ireland.
 
 NOTES. 
 
 r
 
 NOTES. 
 
 i. Page 6. " Giving avgJit the bard demanded" 
 
 HE exactions of the bards were so intolerable, 
 that the early Irish more than once endeavoured 
 to rid themselves of the order, but without suc- 
 cess. The Aeir or satire of the bard was deemed 
 an instrument of physical mischief, capable of destroying the 
 life and property, as well as the peace of mind, of the person 
 against whom it was directed. Rather than incur its terrors, 
 the early Irish submitted to bardic exactions which would 
 appear incredible, if we did not know that even within the 
 present generation the same belief in the power of the Bhat 
 (votes) existed in the East. 
 
 2. Page 7. " Tara Luachra's hall."" 
 
 The seat of the early kings of West Munster, in the moun- 
 tainous region of Desmond, site unknown : the scene t of a 
 session of the bards in the Sixth, and of an exploit similar to the 
 burning of Persepolis (magna componere parvis), by Cuchullin 
 and the Companions of the Red Branch, in a fit of intoxica- 
 tion, in the First Century. 
 
 3. Page 8. " TTie hither Gael" 
 lar-Gael Argyle.
 
 230 Notes. 
 
 4. Page 8. " The cauldron-pool of Brecan." 
 
 Corrievreakan, the maelstrom of the Orcades. Like other 
 famous whirlpools, it no longer answers to the ancient account 
 of its terrors. The picturesque force of the description in 
 Cormac's Glossary is enhanced by our inability to translate 
 the whole of some of the similes. 
 
 " Coire-Srecain, i. e., a great vortex between Ere and Alba 
 to the north, i.e., the conflux of the different seas, viz., 
 the sea which encompasses Ere at the north-west, the sea 
 which encompasses Alba at the north-west, and the sea to the 
 south, between Ere and Alba. They rush at each other after 
 the likeness of a luaithrinde, and each is buried into the other 
 like the dircel tairechta, and they are sucked down into the 
 gulph so as to form a gaping cauldron, which would receive 
 all Ere into its wide mouth. The waters are again thrown 
 up, so that their belching, roaring, and thundering are heard 
 amid the clouds, and they boil like a cauldron upon a fire." 
 
 5. Page 8. " The stone fort of Dun-Britan." 
 Dumbarton, formerly Ail-Clyde, the stone fort of the Clyde. 
 
 6. Page 9. " Where the ivhitening surges spread below 
 the Herdsman Hill." 
 
 A feeble effort to convey something of the solitary 
 grandeur of the valley around Loch Etive. Had M'Culloch 
 known the details of the noble romance, the traces of which 
 he still found surviving in this retreat of the sons of Usnach, 
 it might have added something to his own enjoyment of the 
 scene, but it could not have increased the impressiveness of 
 his description. " There is a gigantic simplicity about the 
 whole scene, which would render the presence of these objects 
 and of that variety which constitute picturesque beauty,
 
 Notes. 231 
 
 intrusive and impertinent. I know not if Loch Etive could 
 bear an ornament without an infringement on that aspect 
 of solitary vastness which it presents throughout ; nor is there 
 one. The rocks and bays on the shore, which might else- 
 where attract attention, are here swallowed up in the enormous 
 dimensions of the surrounding mountains, and the wide and 
 simple expanse of the lake. Here also, as at Loch Coruisk 
 and Glen Sanicks, we experience the effect arising from 
 simplicity of form. At the first view, the whole expanse 
 appears comprised within a mile or two ; nor is it until we 
 find the extremity still remote and misty as we advance, and 
 the aspect of everything remaining unchanged, that we begin 
 to feel and comprehend the vast and overwhelming magnitude 
 of all around. It is hence also, perhaps, as in that singular 
 valley (Glen Sanicks) that there is here that sense of eternal 
 silence and repose, as if in this spot creation had for ever slept. 
 The billows that are seen whitening the shore are inaudible, 
 the cascade pours down the declivity unheard, and the clouds 
 are hurried along the tops of the mountains before the blast, 
 but no sound of the storm reaches the ear. There is some- 
 thing in the colouring of this spot which is equally singular, and 
 which adds much to the general sublime simplicity of the whole. 
 Rocks of grey granite, mixed with portions of a subdued brown, 
 rise all round from the water's edge to the summits of 
 Cruachan and Buachaill Etive, (i.e. the Herdsman of Etive) 
 which last, like a vast pyramid, crowns the whole. The un- 
 apprehended distance lends to these solar tints an atmospheric 
 hue which seems as if it were the local colouring of the 
 scenery, and this brings the entire landscape to one tone of 
 sobriety and broad repose. As no form protrudes, so no 
 colour intrudes itself to break in upon the consistency of the 
 character ; even the local colours at our feet partake of the 
 general tranquillity ; and all around, water, rock, and hill, and 
 sky, is one broadness of peace and silence, a silence that 
 speaks to the eye and to the mind. The sun shone bright,
 
 232 Notes. 
 
 yet even the sun seemed not to shine : it was as if it had never 
 penetrated to this spot since the beginning of time ; and, if its 
 beams glittered on some grey rock, or silvered the ripple of 
 the shore, or the wild flowers that peeped from beneath their 
 mossy stones, the effect was lost amid the universal hue, as of 
 a northern endless twilight that reigned around." Tour in 
 the Western Highlands, Vol. 2. p. 151. 
 
 7. Page 11. " When now beyond Loch Lurgan, three 
 days thence he reach 'd his Jwme." 
 
 Loch Lurgan, the present Bay of Galway. The residence 
 of Sanchan was in Sligo. 
 
 8. Page 13. " The Codrb of the keys." 
 
 The successor in an episcopal seat is designated Coarb, as 
 the Coarb of Patrick, Coiirb of Columb Kill, &c. 
 
 9. Page 16. " Soar'd and wail'd white Cleena's wave." 
 
 In the Irish triads, compositions in the Welsh taste, the 
 three waves (tonna) of Erin are, " the wave of Tuath, and the 
 wave of Cleena, and the fishy-streaming wave of Inver-Rory." 
 The site of the first is supposed to be the great strand of 
 the bay of Dundalk ; that of the wave of Cleena (cliodhna) is 
 Glandore Harbour, in the County of Cork. " It emanates from 
 the eastern side of the harbour's entrance, where the cliffs 
 facing the south and south-west are hollowed into caverns, of 
 which Dean Swift has given in his poem, Carberice Rupes, an 
 accurate though general description. When the wind is 
 north-east, off shore, the waves resounding in these caverns, 
 send forth a deep, loud, hollow, monotonous roar, which in a 
 calm night is peculiarly impressive on the imagination, pro- 
 ducing sensations either of melancholy or fear." O'DONOVAN,
 
 Notes. 233 
 
 Annals of the Four Masters, A.D. 1557. The wave of Inver 
 Rory is now represented by the " Tonns," which send forth 
 their warning voices in almost all weathers from the strand 
 of Magilligan, near the mouth of the river Bann. The sym- 
 pathy between the royal shield and the surrounding seas of 
 the kingdom, is one of those original fancies only to be found 
 amongst a primitive arid highly poetic people, 
 
 10. Page 23. " Macha, in the ransom-races, girt Tier 
 gravid loins." 
 
 No more striking instance of the cruelty of savage manners 
 can be conceived than this story of Macha, which is told with 
 much pathetic force and simplicity in a poem in the Dinnsenchas, 
 one of the tracts preserved in the Book of Lecan, in the Royal 
 Irish Academy. The Dinnsenchas itself is alleged to be, in 
 part at least, a compilation of the Sixth Century. 
 
 One day there came with glowing soul, 
 
 To the assembly of Conchobar, 
 
 The gifted man from the eastern wave, 
 
 Crunn of the flocks, son of Adnoman. 
 It was then were brought 
 
 Two steeds to which I see no equals. 
 
 Into the race-course, without concealment, 
 
 At which the king of Uladh then presided. 
 Although there were not the peers of these, 
 
 Upon the plain, of a yoke of steeds, 
 
 Crunn the rash hairy man said 
 
 That his wife was fleeter, though then pregnant. 
 Detain ye the truthful man, 
 
 Said Conor the chief of battles, 
 
 Until his famous wife comes here, 
 
 To nobly run with my great steeds. 
 Let one man go forth to bring her, 
 
 Said the king of levelled stout spears,
 
 234 Notes. 
 
 Till she comes from the wavy sea, 
 To save the wise-spokeii Crunn. 
 
 The woman reached without delay, 
 
 The assembly of the greatly wounding chiefs, 
 Her two names in the west without question, 
 Were Bright Grian and Pure Macha. 
 
 Her father was not weak in his house, 
 Midir of Bri Leith, son of Celtchar ; 
 In his mansion in the west 
 She was the sun of women-assemblies. 
 
 When she had come in sobbing words, 
 She begg'd immediately for respite, 
 From the host of assembled clans, 
 Until the time of her delivery was past. 
 
 The Ultonians gave their plighted word, 
 Should she not run no idle boast 
 That he should not have a prosperous reign, 
 From the hosts of swords and spears. 
 
 Then stript the fleet and silent dame, 
 
 And cast loose her hair around her head, 
 
 And started without terror or fail, 
 
 To join in the race, but not its pleasure. 
 
 The steeds were brought to her eastern side, 
 To urge them past her in manner like : 
 To the Ultonians of accustomed victory, 
 The gallant riders were men of kin. 
 
 Although the monarch's steeds were swifter 
 At all times in the native race, 
 The woman was fleeter with no great effort, 
 The monarch's steeds were then the slower. 
 
 As she reached the final goal, 
 
 And nobly won the ample pledge, 
 She brought forth twins without delay, 
 Before the hosts of the Bed Branch fort. 
 
 A son and a daughter together.
 
 Notes. 235 
 
 She left a long-abiding curse 
 On the chiefs of the Red Branch. 
 
 * * ^ * * * * 
 
 REEVES'S Ancient ChurcJies of Armagh, App. p. 42. 
 
 11. Page 24. " Thronging from Dun Dealga bring 
 them." 
 
 Dun-Dealga, giving name to Dundalk, the residence of 
 Cuchullin. There are few better ascertained sites in Irish 
 topography than that of the actual place of abode of this hero. 
 It is the great earthen mound, now called the moat of Castle- 
 town, which rises conspicuously over the woods of Lord 
 Roden's demesne, on the left of the traveller leaving Dundalk 
 for the north. 
 
 12. Page 27. " / was head of Rury's race ; 
 Emain was my dwelling -place." 
 
 The petty kings of Uladh (Ulster) who reigned at Emania, 
 claimed to derive their pedigree through Rory More, of the 
 line of Ir, one of the fabled sons of Milesius, as other provincial 
 Rcguli traced theirs to Eber and Heremon. A list of thirty- 
 one of these occupants of Emania before its destruction, in 
 A.D. 332, compiled from the oldest of the Irish annals, has 
 been published by O'Conor (Rer. Hib. SS. vol. ii. p. 66), in 
 which Fergus, son of Leide, the fourteenth in succession from 
 Cimbaeth the founder, has twelve years assigned to him, ending 
 in the year B.C. 31 ; after whom appears Conor, son of Nessa, 
 having a reign of sixty years. 
 
 Dr. Reeves, in his learned tract, " The Ancient Churches 
 of Armagh," has collected the native evidences of the early 
 existence of Emania, and of the transition of its original name 
 Emain, (appearing as Hewynna in 1374, as Eawayn in 1524, and 
 N-awan in 1633,) into its present corrupt form of " the Navan." 
 The remains, situate in the towuland of Navan and parish of
 
 236 Notes. 
 
 Eglish, about two miles west from Armagh, are now becoming 
 rapidly obliterated. A few years ago, the external circum- 
 vallation, enclosing a space of about twelve acres, was com- 
 plete. Now, through one third of the circuit, the rampart 
 has been levelled into the ditch, and the surface submitted to 
 the plough. Application was made in vain to those who might 
 have stayed the destruction : they could not be induced to 
 believe that any historic monument worth preserving existed 
 in Ireland. Yet a place with a definite history of six hundred 
 years, ending in the Fourth Century of the Christian era, is 
 not easily found elsewhere on this side of the Alps. 
 
 13. Page 28. " The Red Branch House." 
 
 This appears to have been a detached fortress, in the 
 nature of a military barrack and hospital, depending on the 
 principal fort. The townland of Creeve Roe, i.e., " Eed 
 Branch," adjoining the Kavan on the west, still preserves the 
 name. 
 
 u. Page 37. " O'er Slieve Few." 
 
 A mountainous district, the name of which is preserved in 
 the baronies of Upper and Lower Fews, on the borders of the 
 counties of Louth and Armagh, the scene of many of the 
 northern bardic romances. 
 
 is. Page 39. " Croghan's Jiost." 
 
 Eath Croghan, the residence of the Reguli of Connaught, 
 erected by Eochaid, father of Maev. Its remains, including 
 stones inscribed in the Ogham character, and apparently of 
 coseval date, exist, two miles north-west of Tulsk, in the 
 county Roscommon. 
 
 16. Page 39. " Binding him in Jive-fold fetter." 
 
 This, in the expressive form of the Irish idiom, is termed " the 
 fettering of the five smalls." The quaint translator of Keating
 
 Notes. 237 
 
 (MS. Lib. R. I. A.) thus describes the performance of a similar 
 operation on Cuchullin by the hero Curoi, from whom he had 
 carried off the beautiful Blanaid : " Chury forthwith pursued 
 him into Mounster, and overtaking them both at Sallchoyde, the 
 two matchless (but of themselves) champions edged of either 
 syde by the stinge of love towards Blanait, and impatient, 
 each, of the competition of a corrival about her, fell to a single 
 combat in her presence, which soe succeeded (as the victory 
 n duells tryed out to a pointe usually falleth out of one side) 
 that Chury, favoured by fortune, and not inferior for valour 
 to any that till that time ever upon equall tearmes mett him, 
 gaining the upperhand of Cuchulluynn, he bound him vpp hand 
 indfoote with such a perllgation that, trymming of his tresses 
 .vith his launce (as a marke of his further disgrace and dis- 
 comfiture) he took Blannait from thence quietly into West 
 Mounster." Elsewhere he uses the forcible expression in 
 reference to the same proceeding " leaving him so jugamented, 
 he went," &c. Of all the translations of Keating this has 
 most of the characteristic simplicity and quaintness of the 
 Irish Herodotus. 
 
 17. Page 40. " On the fair-green of Hoy Slaught" 
 
 A very ancient place of assembly among the Pagan Irish, 
 
 and scene of the worship of their reputed principal idol called 
 
 Crom Cruach. From the story of Crom's overthrow by Saint 
 
 Patrick, found in what is called the tripartite life of the saint, 
 
 it would appear that the stones which represented Crom and 
 
 his twelve inferior demons were still in situ at the time of the 
 
 composition of that work, which is said to be of the Sixth 
 
 Century. " When Patrick saw the idol from the water, which 
 
 is called Guthard, and when he approached near the idol, he 
 
 aised his arm to lay the staff of Jesus on him, and it did not 
 
 each him, he (i.e. Crom) bent back from the attempt upon 
 
 ns right side; for it was to the south his face was: and the
 
 238 Notes. 
 
 mark of the staff lives (exists) on his left side still, although 
 the staff did not leave Patrick's hand ; and the earth swallowed 
 the other twelve idols to their heads ; and they are in that 
 condition in commemoration of the miracle :" a pregnant piece 
 of evidence to show that even at this early time the stone 
 cromleac, or monumental stone circle, had been disused as a 
 mode of sepulture : for it is plainly to a monument of that 
 kind the writer of the tripartite life alludes in this passage. 
 Dr. O'Donovan has identified the plain of Moy Slaught with 
 the district around the little modern village of Bally macgour an, 
 in the parish of Templeport and county of Cavan. 
 
 18. Page 44. " Practising a constant cast 
 
 Daily in secluded leisure, till he reach'd the mark at 
 last." 
 
 " Oillioll, the last husband that Meauffe had, being killed by 
 Conall Carnath, she retyred herself to Inish Clothran, an island 
 lying within Loch Ryve, and afterward used dayly to bath 
 herself in a well standing neere the entry of the same lake, 
 and that timeli every morning ; and though shee thought her 
 like washing was secrettly carried (on), yet, it comeiug to 
 the hearing of fforbuidhe vie Conchuvair, he privatly came 
 to the well, and from ye brym thereof taking by a lynnen 
 thrid, which for that purpose he carryed with him, the right 
 measure and length from thence to the other side of that lake 
 adioneing to Ulster, and carrying that measure with him into 
 Ulster, and by the same setting forth justly the like distance 
 of ground, and at either end of that lyne fixing two wooden 
 stakes, with an apple at the top of one of them, he daily after- 
 ward made it his constant exercise with his hand-bowe to 
 shoot at ye apple, till bi continuance he learned his lesson so 
 perfect, that he never missed his aymecl marke ; and shortly 
 afterward, some generall meeting being appointed betweene 
 them of Ulster and those of Connaght, on the side of the river
 
 Notes. 239 
 
 Shannon at Innish Clothrain, to be near Meauff, to receive 
 her resolutions to the propositions moved of the other part 
 unto them, fforbuid coming thither with the Ulidians, his 
 countrymen, and watching his opportunity, of a certain morn- 
 ing spyed over ye lake Meauffe bathing of herself, as she 
 formerly accustomed to doo in the same well, and thereupon 
 he, to be spedd of his long-expected gaine, fitting his hand- 
 bowe with a stone, he therewith so assuredly pitched at his 
 mark, that he hitt her right in the forehead, and by that 
 devised sleight instantly killed her, when she little supposed 
 or feared to take leave with the world, having (as formerly is 
 declared) had the power and command of all Connaght 88 
 years in her owne handes." KEATING, O'Kearney's Version, 
 Lib. R.LA. 
 
 Inis Clothrain, the scene of this shocking treachery, is now 
 known as Quaker's Island. Tradition preserves the place of 
 Maev's assassination, but the well has disappeared . See 
 O' Donovan's MS. Collections for the Ordnance Survey of Ireland, 
 Lib. R.I. A., vol. " Roscommon." 
 
 19. Page 44. " When Tie smote the amorous Conor, 
 bowing from his distant stand." 
 
 The late professor O'Curry has fixed with laudable accuracy 
 the locality of this act of savage warfare, at Ardnurchar, i.e., 
 " the height of the cast," in the county of Westmeath. The 
 whole story of the sling-ball, of its nature and materials, of 
 the chance by which it came into Keth's possession, and of the 
 use he made of it, forms a remarkable chapter in the history 
 of barbarian manners. Vide O'CuRRT, Lectures on the MS. 
 Materials of Ancient Irish History, p. 593. 
 
 20. Page 54. " They turn'd the maledictive stones." 
 
 A pagan practice in use among the Lusitanian as well as the 
 Insular Celts, and of which Dr. O'Donovan records an instance,
 
 240 Notes. 
 
 among the latter, as late as the year 1836, in theisland of Inish- 
 murray, off the coast of Sligo. Among the places and objects of 
 reverence included within the pre-christian stone Cashel, or cy- 
 clopean citadel of the island, he mentions the clocha breca, i.e., 
 the speckled stones. " They are round stones of various sizes, and 
 arranged in such order as that they cannot be easily reckoned, 
 and, if you believe the natives, they cannot be reckoned at all. 
 These stones are turned, and, if I understand them rightly, 
 their order changed by the inhabitants on certain occasions, 
 when they visit this shrine to wish good or evil to their neigh- 
 bours." MS. Collections for Ordnance Survey, Lib. It. I. A. 
 
 21. Page 55. "Spread not the beds of Brughfor me." 
 
 The principal cemetery of the pagan Irish kings was at 
 Brugh, which seems to have been situated on the northern 
 bank of the Boyne. A series of tumuli and sepulchral cairns 
 extends from the neighbourhood of Slane towards Drogheda, 
 beginning, according to the ancient tract preserved in the 
 book of Ballymote (Petrie, R. T. Trans, R.I. A. vol. xx. 
 p. 102), with the imdae in Dagda, or " Bed of the Dagda," 
 a king of the Tuath de Danaan, supposed, with apparently 
 good reason, to be the well-known tumulus now called 
 New Grange. This and the neighbouring cairn of Dowth 
 appear to be the only Megalithic sepulchres in the west 
 of Europe distinctly referable to persons whose names are 
 historically preserved. The carvings which cover the stones 
 of their chambers and galleries correspond very closely with 
 those of the Gavrinis tomb near Locmariaker, in Brittany. 
 The Breton Megalithic monuments appear to belong to a 
 period long anterior to the Roman Conquest ; and this resem- 
 blance between one of the latest of that group and these quasi 
 pyramids on the Boyne ascribed by Irish historic tradition to 
 an early ante-christian epoch, goes far to show that a founda- 
 tion of fact underlies the early history of Ireland.
 
 Notes. 241 
 
 22. Page 61. " to where 
 
 The Danaan Druids sleep." 
 
 Irish historic tradition abounds with allusions to the Tuatha- 
 de-Danaans, i.e., the god-tribes of the Danaans, an early race of 
 conquerors from the north of Europe, versed in music and poetry, 
 as well as in the other then reputed arts of civilised life. They 
 are said to have reached the shores of the Baltic from Greece 
 by the same route supposed by the pseudo Orpheus to have 
 been taken by the Argonauts, and by which Homer also seems to 
 have conducted Ulysses. A Greek taste, however derived, is 
 certainly discoverable in the arms and monuments ascribed 
 to this people. Popular mythology regards the race of fairies 
 and demons as of Danaan origin. 
 
 23. Page 62. " When full tides lip the Old Green 
 Plain." 
 
 The plain of Moynalty, Magh-n'ealta, i.e, the plain of the 
 (bird) flocks, is said to have been open and cultivable from the 
 beginning ; unlike the other plains which had to be freed from 
 their primaeval forests by the early colonists. Hence its ap- 
 pellation of the Old Plain. It extends over the north-eastern 
 part of the county of Dublin, and eastern part of Meath. 
 
 24. Page 63. " A Icing did on her labour look, 
 And she a fairy seem'd." 
 
 A liberty has here been taken with the traditionary rights 
 of king Cormac and his wife Eithne, with whose memories the 
 picturesque idyll preserved by Keating ought properly to be 
 associated. The garrulous simplicity of the original is well 
 reflected in the quaint version of O'Kearny. 
 R
 
 242 Notes. 
 
 " Eithne Ollaffdha the daughter of Duynluing Vic Enna 
 Niad was the mother of Cairebry Leoffiochair, she being the 
 adopted daughter of Buickiodd a remarkable and much spoken 
 off ffearmor (for his great wealth, ability and bountifull dispo- 
 sition of entertaining all sortes of people comeing to his house) 
 who ly ved in those dayes in Leinster, and was soe addicted to 
 oppen hospitality that he constantly kept a cauldron in his 
 house still on the fire boyling of meate, both night and day 
 indifferently for all them that came to his house, which 
 doubtlesse by an invitation of that kind procured to bee 
 many. 
 
 " This Buickiodd together with his other wealth and sub- 
 stance had seven day ryes of one hundred and forty cowes 
 a peece, with an answerable proportion of horsses, mares, 
 gearrans, and other cattle thereunto ; and at length this hos- 
 pitable and free man was soe played upon in abuseing his 
 plainenesse and liberality by the chieftaines and nobles of 
 Leinster, that they frequenting with their adherents his house, 
 some would take away with them a drove of his kyne, others 
 a great number of his stood mares and gearrans and others a 
 great many of his horses, that, in requital of his free heart, 
 they soe fleeced bare the good man, that they left him only 
 seaven cowes and a bull of all the goods that he ever possessed ; 
 and finding himselfe soe ympoverished he, by a night stealth, 
 removed from Dun Boickyodd, where in his prosperity he re- 
 sided, to a certain wood lying neere Keananas in Meath, ac- 
 companyed only with his wife and his said adopted daughter 
 Eithne, and carryed thither his feew heades of cattle. 
 Cormock the king lyving comonly at Keananas in those 
 days, this honest Baickiod for to shelter himself under his 
 wynges and protection, erected a poor cabyn or booly cott for 
 himself his wife and daughter in that wood, where ly vinge a 
 good while in a contented course of life, Eithne did as humbly 
 and diligently serve him and his wife as, if she had been their 
 slave or vassall, their service and attendance could not be with
 
 Notes. 243 
 
 better care performed, and contynuing in that state, on a day 
 that Cormock (the king) did ryde abroad alone by himselfe to 
 take y e aire, and the prospect of the adiacent landes and 
 valleyes to his said mannor (as he was accustomed for his 
 pleasure often to do) by chance he saw that beautiful! and lovely 
 damsell Eithne milking of her said ffosterfather's few cowes, 
 which she performed after this manner. She had two vessells 
 and with one of them she went over the seven cowes, and filling 
 the same with the first parte of their milck (as the choysest 
 parte thereof) she again went over them with the second 
 vessell, and milked therein their second milck till by that all- 
 ternate course she drew from them all the milck that they 
 could yield, the K. all the whyle being ravished with his good 
 liking of her care and excellent beauty and perfections, be- 
 holding of her with admiration and astonishment, and she not 
 neglecting her service for his presence, bringing the milk into 
 the cabyn where Baickiodd and his wife layd, returns forth 
 from thence again with two other cleane vessells and a boule 
 in her hand, and repayring to the water next adioining to the 
 house she filled one of those vessels with y e water running 
 next to the bancke of y e ry ver and the other with the water 
 running in the middest of that streame or watercourse, and 
 brought them both soe filled into the cabyn, and coming forth 
 the third tyme with a hook in her hand, she began therewith 
 to cutt ruishes parting (them) still as they fell in her way into 
 severall bundells the long and short rushes asunder, and Cor- 
 mock all the while beholding her (as one taken with the 
 comaunding power and captivity of love) at length asked of 
 her for whom shee made that selection both of milck, water, 
 and rushes ; whereunto she answered that it was done for one 
 that shee was bound to tender with better respects if it lay in 
 her power to perform, and that her performances that way 
 were but fryday requitalls to the effectual obligation of love 
 and beholdingnesse wherein she was inviolably bound unto 
 him, and thereupon the king being both desirous to continue
 
 244 Notes. 
 
 his further talking with her (such is the wonted effect pro- 
 duced by love and liking when they take any firme footing) 
 and withall willing to finde out whom she soe kindly favoured, 
 asked her what his name was that she soe respected, who an- 
 sweared that he was Baickiodd Brugh, and the king further 
 questioning her whether he was the same man of that name 
 that in Leinster was famous for his wealth and oppen hospita- 
 lity, and she telling him that he was the very same man, then 
 replyed the king you are Eithne his adopted daughter. I am 
 sir, said shee. In a good hour sayed the king for you shall be 
 my maryed wife. Nay, sayed Eithne, my disposall lyeth not 
 in mine owne hand, but in my ffosterfather's power and 
 comaund, unto whom they both forthwith repayring, the king 
 expressed his said intention to Baickiod and obtaining his 
 good allowance marryed Eithne and gratified her ffosterfather 
 with a territory of land lying neare Tharragh (Tara) called 
 Tuaith Othraim which he held during his life, and that 
 marryage with all requisite solemnityes being celebrated, 
 Eithne afterward bore unto Cormocke a son called Cairebry 
 Lioffachair who grew to be worthily famous and illustrious in 
 his tyme." MS. Lib. R.I. A. 
 
 The townland of Dunboyke, near Blessington, in the county 
 of Wicklow, still retains the name of the hospitable Franklin. 
 
 25. Page 63. " The angry Sand-Bull's roar." 
 
 The sand-banks on either side of the estuary of the Liffey 
 have obtained the names of the North and South Bulls, from 
 the hollow bellowing sound there made by the breakers, in 
 easterly and southerly winds. The North Bull gives name 
 to the adjoining district of Clontarf Cluain Tarbh, i.e. Bull's 
 Meadow, celebrated for the overthrow of the Danes, A.D. 
 1014, by the native Irish under king Brian Bora.
 
 Notes. 245 
 
 26. Page 64. " The great green rath's ten-acred tomb 
 Lies heavy on his urn." 
 
 At this day there is a difficulty in distinguishing th$ remains 
 of the Rath of Gavra. It appears to have stood on the slope 
 between the hill of Tara and the river Boyne on the west. 
 Several heroes of the name of Oscar perished in the battle of 
 Gavra, The Ossianic poem which celebrates the battle, 
 whatever be its age, assigns the rath or earthen fortress as 
 the grave of Oscar, the son of the bard. 
 
 We buried Oscar of the red arms 
 
 On the north side of the great Gavra : 
 
 Together with Oscar son of Garraidh of the achievements, 
 
 And Oscar son of the king of Lochlann. 
 
 And him who was not niggardly of gold, 
 
 The son of Lughaide the tall warrior : 
 
 We dug the cave of his sepulchre, 
 
 Very wide as became a king. 
 
 The graves of the Oscars, narrow dwellings of clay, 
 
 The graves of the sons of Garraidh and Oisin ; 
 
 And the whole extent of the great rath 
 
 Was the grave of the mighty Oscar of Baoisgne. 
 
 Transactions Oss. Soc. vol. i. p. 135. 
 
 27. Page 67. " Atharna's Jay has perish? d so, 
 Though once," fyc. 
 
 The story of Atharna is found in the traditionary collections 
 under the title Ath-eliath, i.e., Hurdle-ford. It was by him, 
 and for the use of his flocks, that the ford or weir of wicker- 
 work was constructed across the Liffey, which anciently gave 
 name to Dublin. The Leinster people who inhabited the 
 right bank of the Liffey, resented the invasion of their pas- 
 tures, and great strifes ensued between their king Mesgedra,
 
 246 Notes. 
 
 and Conor Mac Nessa king of Ulster, who espoused the cause 
 of Atharna. Mesgedra was ultimately slain by Conall Car- 
 nach, who was sent into Leinster in aid of the bardic tres- 
 passer : but Atharna's own poetical denunciations were even 
 more terrible to the Leinstermen than the swords of the Red 
 Branch champions. " He continued," says the tract in the 
 Book of Ballymote, " for a full year to satirize the Leinster- 
 men, and bring fatalities upon them; so that neither corn, 
 grass, nor foliage grew for them that year." The miraculous 
 pretensions of the class were continued down to the Fifteenth 
 Century, when Sir John Stanley, Lord Lieutenant of Ireland, 
 was popularly believed to have been despatched within a space 
 of no more than five weeks by an Aeir composed against him 
 by Niall " Rimer " O'Higgin, head of a bardic family in West- 
 meath, whose cattle had been driven by the English of 
 Dublin. See Annals of the Four Masters, ad. an. 1414, and 
 HARDIMAN'S Stat. of Kilk. 55, n. The plain of Bregia com- 
 prised the flat district of Meath, Dublin, Kildare, and Wicklow. 
 In its modern form, Bray, the name is now confined to the 
 well-known watering-place and its fine promontory of Bray 
 Head. Dun Almon was, it is said, the residence of Fion, son 
 of Comhal, the Fin Mac Cool of Irish, and Fingal of Scottish 
 tradition. Its name is still preserved in the hill of Allen, and 
 bardic tradition affects to give the name of the builder by whom 
 it was constructed. O'CoRRY, App. 578. 
 
 28. Page 74. " Tirawley, and abroad 
 
 From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod. 
 
 That is from the river Moy to Blacksod Haven, in Irish, 
 Cuan-an-foid-duibh. The names of the baronies in this part of 
 Mayo and Sligo are taken from the son and grandson of Dathi, 
 the progenitor of the families of O'Dowda. Tir Eera, in 
 Sligo, is so called by a softened pronunciation from Fiachra, 
 son of Dathi ; and Tir-Awley in like manner from Amhalgaid 
 son of Fiachra.
 
 Notes. 247 
 
 29. Page 77. " Was the wind from Bama-na-gee 
 o'er Tirawley" 
 
 Barna-na-gee, i.e., the gap of the winds, is a pass on the 
 southern side of Nephin mountain, on the road to Castlebar. 
 
 30. Page 79. " Since William Conquer's days" 
 
 " William Conquer," i.e, William Fitz Adelm de Burgho, 
 conqueror of Connaught. 
 
 31. Page 83. " And sleiv him at Cornassack" 
 
 " This is still vividly remembered in the country, and the 
 spot is pointed out where Teaboid Maol Burke was killed by 
 the Barretts. The recollection of it has been kept alive in 
 certain verses which were composed on the occasion, of which 
 the following quatrain is often repeated in the barony of 
 Tirawley : 
 
 Tangadar Baireadaigh, &C. 
 
 The Barretts of the country came ; 
 They perpetrated a deed which was not just ; 
 They shed blood which was nobler than wine, 
 At the narrow brook of Cornasack." 
 
 O'DONOVAN, Tr. and Oust. Hy. Fiach. 338 n. 
 
 The territory of the Bac lies over against Nephin mountain, 
 along the eastern shore of Loch Con between it and the river 
 Moy. 
 
 32. Page 83. " For an eric upon the Barretts of 
 
 Tirawley." 
 
 The eric was the fine for maim ings and homicides. When 
 the first sheriff was sent into Tyrone, O'Neill demanded to
 
 248 Notes. 
 
 know his eric beforehand, in the event, reasonably anticipated, 
 of personal injury befalling him. Singular, that while modern 
 tenderness of human life would abolish the punishment of 
 death in cases of homicide, it ignores the barbarian wisdom 
 which gave compensation to the family of the victim. 
 
 33. Page 87. " 'Tis thus the ancient Ollaves of Erin 
 tell," $c. 
 
 The writer has hardly caught the full pathos of that re- 
 markable passage translated below, with which Duald Mac 
 Firbis, the chronicler of Lecan, winds up his account of the 
 retribution thus singularly brought on the descendants of 
 Wattin Barrett. " It was in eric for him (Teaboid Maol 
 Burke) that the Barretts gave up to the Burkes eighteen 
 quaters of land ; and the share which Lynott, the adopted 
 father of Teaboid, asked of this eric, was the distribution of 
 the mulct, and the distribution he made of it was, that it should 
 be divided throughout all Tir-Amhalgaidh, in order that the 
 Burkes might be stationed in every part of it as plagues to the 
 Barretts, and to draw the country from them. And thus the 
 Burkes came over the Barretts in Tir-Amhalgaidh, and took 
 nearly the whole of their lands from them ; but at length the 
 Saxon heretics of Oliver Cromwell took it from them all in 
 the year of our Lord 1652 ; so that now there is neither 
 Barrett nor Burke, not to mention the Clan Fiachrach, in pos- 
 session of any lands there." O'DoNOVAN, Tr. and Cust. Hy. 
 Fiach. p. 339. 
 
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