THE 
 
 POEMS 
 
 J. J. CALLANAN 
 
 A NEW EDITION, 
 
 WITH 
 
 A BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION AND NOTES. 
 
 CORK: 
 MESSRS. BOLSTER, 70, PATRICK-STREET. 
 
 MDCCCXLVII. 
 

CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 Recluse of Inchidony, 1 
 
 Accession of George the Fourth, 23 
 
 Restoration of the Spoils of Athens, 33 
 
 Revenge of Donal Comin, 38 
 
 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Gougane Barra, $9 
 
 To a Sprig of Mountain Heath, 61 
 
 Spanish War Song, 63 
 
 Last Song of Henry Kirk White, 64 
 
 SONGS AND LYRIC PIECES. 
 
 fl Si je te perds, je suis perdu," 66 
 
 How keen the pang, 68 
 
 To a young Lady on entering a Convent, 69 
 
 Lines on a Deceased Clergyman, 70 
 
 Lines on the Death of an amiable and highly talented -x 
 
 young Man, who fell a victim to fever in the West 7 1 
 
 Indies, ) 
 
 And must we part, 73 
 
 Pure is the DeWy Gem, 74 
 
 To , 75 
 
 Stanzas, 76 
 
 The night was still, 77 
 
 Serenade, 78 
 
 Rousseau's Dream, 80 
 
 Tho' dark fate hath reft me, 81 
 
 397343 
 
iv CONTENTS. 
 
 PA GE. 
 
 When each bright star is clouded, 82 
 
 'Hussa tha measg na realtan more, 83 
 
 SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 The Virgin Mary's Bank, 84 
 
 Mary Magdalen, 87 
 
 Saul, 88 
 
 The Mother of the Maccabees, 89 
 
 Moonlight, , 91 
 
 TRANSLAIIOzNS. 
 
 Dirge of O'Sullivan Bear, 95 
 
 The Girl I love, , 99 
 
 The Convict of Clonmel, 101 
 
 The Outlaw of Loch Lene, 104 
 
 Jacobite Songs, - 105 
 
 O say my Brown Drimin, 106 
 
 The White Cockade, 108 
 
 The Avenger, 109 
 
 The Lament of O'Gnive, , Ill 
 
 On the Last Day Ill 
 
 NOTES. 
 
 Notes to the Recluse of Inchidony, 115 
 
 Notes to Donal Comm, 118 
 
MEMOIR OF THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. 
 
 THE subject of the following brief notice is alas ! another 
 instance, in addition to the innumerable ones on record, of the 
 premature extinction of worth and genius : we say premature, 
 of course, in reference to the wants and wishes of the sur- 
 vivors, rather than to any abridgment of the prospects or the 
 fame of the deceased. All that life is worth living for, all 
 for which the infirmities and decay of old age ought to be en- 
 countered, is sure to have been already grasped and enjoyed by 
 him on whom the gift of " high-sounding poesy" has descend- 
 ed ; who cherishes in his bosom the Promethean fire produc- 
 tive alike of peril and of glory which throws forth, for 
 others, its vivid creations of beauty, of magnificence, and of 
 tenderness, while it is fast consuming himself. Besides the 
 sensitiveness and irritability incident, on poetic genius, amount- 
 ing in many cases to a morbid character, the very intensity 
 and fervour with which the mind to use a strong term 
 wreaks itself on the frail and delicate organization of the vehi- 
 cle that enshrines it, and crowds into brief space whole ages of 
 alternate agony and bliss, must conduce to a rapid waste of the 
 material of mere animal life. There, too. as if what has been 
 enumerated were not enough, often falls on the devoted head 
 and heart of the poet, the cold neglect of the world, and some- 
 times the stroke of unforeseen calamity, and not unfrequently, 
 the worse than galling pressure of pecuniai y difficulties and 
 distress, precipitate the fall of that, which was already totter- 
 ing on the brink of an early grave : the cheerless sanctuary 
 of misfortune, scarcely darker than the scowling and bleak 
 wilderness of the world, from which it is the only shelter that 
 A3 
 
TI MEMOIR OF 
 
 remains to the child of song and sorrow. Next come tears and 
 tributes to his memory ; the idle profusion of kindred genius, 
 the spontaneous out-breaking of sincere regret at his doom, 
 and of admiration for his talents ; perhaps, too, the selfish ob- 
 lation of whining mediocrity, strewing its artificial flowers, 
 and shedding its hypocritical grief, over the sacred ashes 
 which it vainly hopes will infuse beauty and life into the one> 
 and dignity into the other. To console us for our loss, for 
 the blotting out of so much of the true " light from heaven," 
 and the withering up of so much of earth's intellectual beauty, 
 we obtain an elegy, a sonnet, a sermon, an epitaph ; the lite- 
 rary remains lie scattered perhaps here and there, breathing 
 their fragrance in some obscure corners, exalting the mind, 
 aad purifying the affections, of many an unnoticed mourner, 
 who never knew the poet and scarcely heard of his name ; or 
 they may be collected by the industry of friendship, or the 
 prudence of the trade, and slowly win their way into general 
 notice, and earn at last that posthumous fame for which ge- 
 nius has thirsted^ and nothing short of true genius ever wins. 
 Many circumstances, however, independent of, and extraneous 
 to the real and s stantial merits of the poet, must combine, 
 before he can have even a chance of accomplishing this grand 
 object of his desires and his 'labours. Accidents beyond his 
 control ; " tides in the affairs of men" of which he may have 
 neglected to avail himself, lucky moments suffered to elapse, 
 which once gone will never return to him : the timely escape 
 from the narrow barriers of a provincial reputation ; the op- 
 portunity, not easily gained, of obtaining, as a first and indis- 
 pensable .stepj the ear of the public, through the medium of 
 the riches, and influential portion of the publishing world in 
 the metropolis : all this, and more than this, nay, it may be 
 added, amidst the glut of an overstocking market, and the 
 weariness and satiety of the reading public, a total and start- 
 ling originality of views, a hitherto unsounding depth of thought 
 and feeling, following up by a corresponding brilliancy and 
 power of style, and harmony of versification, would be neces 
 sary, over and above the intrinsic richness of the poetic talent, 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. vii 
 
 to ensure to a man any thing lik-3 a British celebrity setting 
 aside altogether a European fame. These advantages, which, 
 in a greater or lesser degree, respectively, have conspired to 
 give eclat and elasticity to the exertions and performances of 
 Scott, Moore, Byron, Campbell, Southey, and the rest of that 
 fraternity who have more than forestalled the award of poste- 
 rity, at once in solid cash and in dazzling reputation, have been 
 altogether wanting to the amiable and highly gifted young 
 gentleman, who displayed in his life, the characteiistic excel- 
 lencies and the prevailing defects of an Irishman and a poet : 
 the generosity, improvidence, recklessness and ardour of the 
 one ; the tenderness, the sensibility and waywardness of the 
 other. His poems have been lately published ; but it is diffi- 
 cult to conjecture, whether for the reasons above stated, they 
 are likely to obtain that extensive circulation which their beau- 
 ty, delicacy, purity, and majestic gracefulness so well deserve. 
 If the partiality of friendship has not unconsciously warped 
 the rigour, and smoothed the sternness of criticism, we hesitate 
 not to affirm, that his compositions are worthy of ranking next 
 to the elegant and matchless lyrical pieces of Campbell and 
 Moore. 
 
 He was born in this city, in the year 179$. His infancy was 
 passed in the country, and to this circumstance he was indebt- 
 ed for the advantage of a knowledge of the Irish language, and 
 a copious store of legendary lore, of which he afterwards made 
 so much u?e. We have not ascertained that in the period 
 preceding his departure for college, he was at all distinguished 
 by any of those proofs of precocious talent, which mark almost 
 the infancy of other men of genius. His career at school, it 
 is presumed, was precisely similar to, and perhaps less remark- 
 able in merit, than that of boys of the same age and pursuits. 
 The same indolence, which became the characteristic of his 
 more advanced life, probably at that time, prevented him dis- 
 playing the talent, to the development of which the necessities 
 of his short and eccentric career finally compelled him. That 
 wonderful precocity which is so lauded, and which is dwelt on 
 with such enthusiasm by the admirers of genius, is very often 
 
viii MEMOIR OF 
 
 delusive, and if nothing but the earlier productions of cele- 
 brated writers were preserved, we should find little to praise 
 and much to condemn. Had nothing remained of Cowley but 
 his performances at the age of ten, and of the poetry of Pope, 
 nothing but his verses at the age of twelve, posterity would be 
 far from allotting them that high place in the literature of their 
 country, which they now occupy. Successful writers are also 
 often misled with respect to the merit of their juvenile efforts. 
 Lord Byron imagined there was as much fine poetry in his 
 " Hours of Idleness" as in any work which the maturity of his 
 gigantic genius brought forth ; and Pope often thought with 
 regret, on the destruction of the long Epic, which he had 
 almost completed at the age of fourteen, and which by the 
 adrice of an individual competent to pass judgment on its 
 defects, he committed to the flames. To the philosopher it 
 belongs to explain the cause of this apparent inconsistency in 
 genius, in estimating the merits of its own productions, to the 
 Biographer belongs the task of relating it. 
 
 Mr. Callanan entered College under auspices somewhat dif- 
 ferent from the generality of persons who are admitted at May- 
 nooth ; his choice of an ecclesiastical life not being made for 
 the sole purpose of obtaining a lucrative and respectable pro- 
 fession, but, as he imagined, in the spirit of a true vocation ; 
 it was expected by his friends, that his course there would be a 
 distinguished one, and its issue successful. A restless spirit, 
 which afterwards became the bane of his existence, and which 
 often led him to abandon real good for some vain and shadowy 
 prospect, urged him however, after a residence of two years, 
 (the later part of which he spent in a very unquiet state of 
 mind,) to quit Maynooth, and voluntarily surrender all his fu- 
 ture prospects in the clerical profession. We have riot been 
 able to discover, that while at College, more than at school, he 
 was distinguished in his different classes for any striking supe- 
 riority of intellect ; and we know, that for some time, the 
 divining wand of acute judgment was unable to discover in his 
 mind, the spot where the spring lay, whose waters were after 
 wards to gush out with so sparkling a tide, and so sweet a tone. 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. ix 
 
 For the first year he was not even known as the composer of a 
 single rhyme. 
 
 It was in 1816, and before his leaving College, that the muse 
 was first invoked. The occasion, as well as the strain to which 
 it gave birth, are now equally unknown, owing to his habitual 
 carelessness. This is more to be regretted, as the mind which 
 took so long a time to mature its powers and to foster its 
 strength for its first parturition, could not have brought forth 
 any thing very inferior to its later productions. It was proba- 
 bly some effusion occasioned by the interesting events which 
 occurred about that period, and which were well qualified to 
 excite even mediocrity of talent. By his departure from Col- 
 lege he lost the affections and the protection of his nearest 
 relatives. In vain he defended himself on the plea that his 
 vocation was not directed to that peculiar state, and that he 
 felt it dishonourable to embrace a profession, for which such 
 purity of intention, and such exclusive devotedness of mind 
 and conduct are deemed to be necessary, with a heart alienated 
 from its first desires, and unwilling to support the important 
 and responsible burthen of such a station. Uncomfortable, 
 and chilled in heart, he was driven into society, though natu- 
 rally of a shy and reserved disposition, and compelled there to 
 seek the pleasure such as it was, that was denied him at home. 
 Had he been encouraged at that time, when there was no re- 
 medy for what had happened, to foster the talents he possessed, 
 he might not have afterwards sunk into utter supineness, but 
 have become a useful member of society, and an honour to the 
 literature of his country. 
 
 During the years 1817-18 he did little or nothing in the way 
 of composition, at least there are no remains bearing that 
 date, though he might have planned, and even composed in 
 mind, much of that poetry which has since appeared. Towards 
 the close of 1818, an influential friend regretting his inactivity, 
 and abating somewhat of that rigour which led him to blame 
 his infatuation in quitting College, procured for him in this 
 City, a respectable situation as Tutor to a young gentleman, 
 who has since embraced the Medical Profession. 
 
x MEMOIR OF 
 
 In this situation he continued during two years, chiefly oc- 
 cupied in its duties ; a few occasional fugitive pieces of poetry, 
 which enjoyed only a partial circulation among his intimate 
 acquaintances, are all the exertions of his almost inert muse 
 that have escaped of this period. They are much inferior in 
 merit, to the poorest of his after productions, and exhibit none 
 of that fire and spirit which subsequently distinguished his 
 writings. Their only merit is an ease and harmony of versifi- 
 cation, in which he seems never to have been deficient. The 
 following is the earliest production of his which we have been 
 able to discover, it was certainly written about this time, and 
 affords an illustration of our observation 
 
 SONG. 
 Air The Bench of Rushes. 
 
 Adieu my own dear Erin, 
 
 Receive my fond my last adieu ; 
 I go, but with me bearing 
 
 A heart that still is true to you ; 
 The charms that nature gave thee 
 
 With lavish hand, shall cease to smile, 
 And the soul of friendship leave thee 
 
 E're 1 forget my own green Isle. 
 
 Ye fields where heroes bounded 
 
 To meet the foes of liberty ; 
 Ye hills that oft resounded 
 
 The joyful shouts of victory ; 
 Obscured is all your glory, 
 
 Forgotten all your former fame, 
 And the minstrel's mournful story, 
 
 Now drops a tear at Erin's name. 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xi 
 
 But still the day may brighten, 
 
 When those tears shall cease to flow ; 
 And the shouts of freedom lighten, 
 
 Those spirits now so drooping low, 
 Then should the glad breeze blowing, 
 
 Convey this echo o'er the sea ; 
 My heart with transport glowing, 
 
 Shall bless the hand that made thee free. 
 
 But the ill requited duties of a Tutor were as little congenial 
 to his disposition, as their reward was unsuitable to his wants, 
 or desires. A more eligible occupation was to be sought for ; 
 the literary market was overstocked with competitors in every 
 department, and the choice that remained to him, was one of 
 the learned professions. Divinity he had already renounced, 
 for Physic he felt no yearnings, and that for Law the driest 
 and most laborious, as well as the most uncertain, he fixed his 
 desire. With the concurrence of his friends therefore, he left 
 Cork for Dublin, and with exalted hope, and high expectation 
 in his breast, he entered Trinity College as an out-pensioner, 
 and with a zeal and devotedness, but too short-lived, entered 
 on studies, which he hoped were to open up to him the El- 
 Dorado of future advancement at the Bar. 
 
 It is very difficult to calculate what might have been his 
 success in his profession, had he persevered in his intention of 
 studying for it, but we are amongst those who believed and do 
 believe, that Callanan in this instance mistook his vocation 
 and his abilities, and that had he persevered and surely perse- 
 verance or firmness of purpose was not one of his virtues, he 
 would have eaten out his Terms, and gone his Circuits, indulg- 
 ing in that hope deferred which bringeth sickness to the 
 heart, and finally settling down into that most unenvied of 
 professionals a briefless Barrister* 
 
 Two years more did he remain at Trinity College, and at the 
 same time that he passed some examinations, continued his 
 studies of the common law. An event occurred about this 
 time which aroused all the poet within the embryo Barrister, 
 and promised to afford Mr. Callanan a better opportunity of 
 
xii MEMOIR OF 
 
 atchieving that celebrity, after which he panted, than either 
 his academical studies, or his legal knowledge ; this was the 
 accession of his present Majesty to the throne. The impor- 
 tant occurrence was announced as the subject of , the College 
 Prize Poem, with a sum of twenty guineas to be awarded for 
 the best poetical composition on the subject. It was here that 
 Callanan felt at home. It was natural that, entertaining the 
 sentiments he did, he should have made his poem the vehicle 
 of his strong and warm emotions, and ardent enthusiasm, and 
 permitted his feelings to outrun the measured and subdued 
 gratification felt by the " silent sister" on the occasion. The 
 aspirations of the college, did not rise beyond a mere laureate 
 adulation, and it was expected, that the successful candidate 
 for the wreath which they had at their disposal, should assert 
 his double capacity of prophet and poet, and whilst celebrating 
 the glories of the hero of the piece, should also merely con- 
 tent himself with a general prediction of the splendour, which 
 this rising sun should hereafter, in the maturity of his meri- 
 dian, shed upon the country on which he was to shine. But 
 Callanan's genius could acknowledge no such restrictions to 
 his career, his Pegasus soared higher than the jaded hack 
 whose provant is an annual butt of sack, and in no composi- 
 tion does he take a nobler flight, than in the poem written on 
 this occasion. As to its poetical merits, abstracted from its 
 politics, a finer composition on a similar subject could not be 
 imagined. It unites conciseness, pathos, energy, and the ve- 
 ry soul of fervour, especially towards the conclusion. He 
 seemed in this poem, more than in any other to have taken Sir 
 Walter Scott as a model, and the song introduced into the 
 piece, is in the same metre as that in the " Lady of the Lake." 
 The subject for the second prize, was the restoration, by 
 Alexander the Great, after his conquests in the East, of the 
 spoils of Athens. And upon this short, but exquisitely fi- 
 nished production, the very spirit of antiquity seems to have 
 descended. It resembles one of those beautiful statues which 
 the youthful conqueror had restored one of the 
 " Marble busts, where vigour breathed, 
 And beauty's living ringlets wreathed." 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xiii 
 
 The merit of the poems secured for them the favourable 
 judgment of the College. But immediately after Mr. Callanan 
 withdrew his name from the books of the University. He had, 
 by a residence of two years in Dublin, exhausted the funds he 
 had saved from his earnings ; and leaving that City, commit- 
 ted an act, the remembrance of which, ever after filled him 
 with bitterness and shame ; in a fit of despair, he enlisted in 
 a regiment then on the point of embarkation for Malta. Its 
 name of the " Royal Irish," had, for his enthusiastic and truly 
 patriotic mind, an attraction \vliich he declared he v/as unable 
 to resist. The depot of this regiment was then stationed in the 
 Isle of Wight, and thither our new soldier was forv.'ardcd. It 
 was with some difficulty his friends could discover whit>-; ; he 
 had gone after leaving Dublin, as he had given them no intima- 
 tion of his purpose, or of the act he had committed. When at 
 length, after prolonged enquiry, they discovered his situation, 
 the influence of friends, and the operation of the means usually 
 found effectuafin such cases, procured his release ; and Callanan 
 was allowed to bid adieu to the Isle of Wight and dreams of 
 military emprize for ever, after an inglorious psriod of a fort- 
 night in his Majesty's service. To no other part of his life 
 was he ever less willing to recur than to this ; whenever it was 
 remotely hinted at, or alluded to in his presence, he was accus- 
 tomed to evince the strongest symptoms of uneasiness, and 
 every repugnance to the subject. On his return to Cor 
 stay was but for a very short time, having entered into an ci 
 gagement as Tutor with a gentleman named McCarthy, who 
 resided in the neighbourhood of Mill-street in the County. In 
 this situation he remained about two years ; what the mystical 
 number seven was with the Ancients, the number two seems to 
 have been with Callanan sacred. To fulfil that limit of time 
 was to him the sufficient discharge of his duties, to exceed it in 
 any one employment, or on any given purpose was not a thing 
 to be entertained. During his residence at the house of this 
 gentleman, his poetical temperament was nourished by the 
 vicinity of the Killarney and Muskerry mountains, which were 
 visible from hi,s window. 
 
 B 
 
xiv MEMOIRS OF 
 
 In this place he imbibed a strong taste for the legendary lore 
 of his native country, which he afterwards, on every favourable 
 occasion, took an opportunity of gratifying. 
 
 In 1822 he again returned to Cork under less favourable cir- 
 cumstances than before, owing to family embarrassments 
 and some inconsiderate causes of a domestic nature. At this 
 time the all engrossing subjects of public attention were the 
 Spanish and Neapolitan revolutions, which commenced so glo- 
 riously but which had so disgraceful a termination. He wrote 
 some fugitive pieces on this interesting occasion, which the 
 present writer remembers to have seen, but which, from some 
 unexplained cause, have not appeared in the published col- 
 lection. He also meditated a large poem on Naples, but it is 
 to be regretted, that he only meditated it. Little of interest 
 remains to be related of Mr. Callanan during the time he spent 
 in idleness ; amongst the fugitive productions of this year is 
 the very beautiful Spanish War Song, which is to be found in 
 page 63, and which he wrote in the course of a Yew moments^ 
 at the suggestion of a friend, in whose house he was residing 
 at the time. In this song there is rather an unaccountable 
 omission of two stanzas, fully equal at least in merit to any of 
 the others. As we are desirous of their preservation, not alone 
 because of their own intrinsic worth, but also in the hope that 
 in some future edition they may be placed in their proper 
 situation, we think no apology necessary for their insertion 
 here; they form the concluding stanzas. 
 
 " Long, long, each Spanish father his kindling toys shall tell 
 
 How gallantly Gerona fought and Saragosa fell 
 
 Long, long above the waves of time those deathless names 
 
 shall be 
 A beacon light to all who fight for home and liberty. 
 
 Oh ! offspring of that Hero by Spanish hearts adored, 
 
 \Yho on the proud Morescoe bands his mountain vengeance 
 
 poured 
 Cnce more to waste your lovely fields rush down the hordes of 
 
 F ranee, 
 Descendants of Pelayo ! to freedom's fight advance !" 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLAXAN. xv 
 
 In 1S23 he engaged as an assistant in the school of Dr. Ma- 
 ginn. In this situation he remained only some months, and in 
 exploring the west of the County of Cork, for the purpose of 
 the summer vacation he fulfilled his long entertained design of 
 collecting its legends and hitherto ohscure poetry. With the 
 sum of twelve pounds he commenced his ramhles, and for some 
 short period took up his residence in Bantry, in which town 
 the writer of this Memoir first had the pleasure of personally 
 knowing him. Though then young and unreflecting, yet the 
 quiet, unassuming gentleness of Mr. Callanan's manners, which 
 threw an indescribable fascination about every thing he did or 
 said, made an impression on him, for which he was unable to 
 account, but which he never wiil forget ; and even still when 
 impressions are less vividly stamped, and when the feelings 
 must be rendered more dull from the cares of the world than 
 they were during those u winged days," his mind is filled with 
 the pleasure of those hours, and his heart is warmed at the re- 
 collection. In the society of .Callanan he then felt that rapture, 
 which he was afterwards given to understand a happy lover 
 might enjoy in the presence of his mistress. There was a kind 
 of feminine attraction in his manners which no one could resist. 
 It has been generally felt by those who knew him. In illus- 
 tration of this feeling, I shall take leave to give an extract of a 
 letter from a talented friend, to whom I, a few years after, hap- 
 pened to mention Mr, Callanan's name, and whose energetic 
 and eloquent words will afford a much higher idea of this feei- 
 ng than mine possibly can ; " There must be something si- 
 milar in our minds, as I am inclined to think it is on the same 
 grounds we love and admire Callanan. My love is founded 
 I was going to say, by the fixedness and nobility of his prin- 
 ciples, but it is they have cherished it, as it certainly was 
 the amiability, the purity of the halo that encircled his heart 
 and intellect that first won my devotion ; for years before 1 
 saw him the hope of being permitted to sit in thQ same room, 
 to have him to speak kindly to me, was one of those indistinct 
 but delightful visions on which my mind ardently dwelt we 
 had mutual friends. I do not know whether I should express 
 B 2 
 
xvi MEMOIR OF 
 
 myself thus before the vulgar but you, I suppose, are capable 
 of feeling the same idolatry for the few, or for those qualities 
 or powers in the abstract, of which the possession gives a claim 
 for our homage." 1 shall make no apology for dwelling on this 
 topic; the indulgent reader will pardon the egotism for the 
 sincerity. 
 
 He intended to have resided for some time in Bantry, for the 
 purpose of translating and arranging for publication the poetry 
 and legends he had been employed in collecting. The spirit of 
 rambling-, however, again returned with moie force, and he 
 abandoned his intention of a stationary residence. Instead of 
 publishing a volume for which he had now sufficient materials 
 both in original and translated poems, he communicated some 
 pieces of the latter kind to the editor of " Blackwood's Maga- 
 zine," which proves him to have been a skilful adept in the 
 Irish language, and an elegant as well as spirited and faithful 
 translator of its poetry. He felt the total decay into which the 
 literature of his native island was suffered to fall, and no man 
 was better qualified by inclination and talent, or worse by his 
 great want of exertion, to wake her dormant muse and tc 
 
 " Mingle once irore with the voice of those fountains 
 The songs even echo forgot on her mountains, 
 And glean each grey legend that darkly was sleeping 
 Where the mist and the rain o'er their beauty were weeping." 
 
 Gougane Barra, p. CO. 
 
 Though Mr. Moore has done a great deal for the Irish muse, 
 yet it is to be regretted, that he did not employ his powerful 
 talents in illustrating the traditionary lore of his country ; 
 few, very few of his songs are employed on national stories, 
 and we know not, if the subject of most of his lyrics is so in- 
 teresting as that which he could find at home. 
 
 The persecution which every where awaited the demonstra- 
 tion of Irish talent, especially in the poetic department, during 
 the last two or three centuries, caused a melancholy and last- 
 ing dearth in this respect. Like the tract of ground, \yhich 
 had been blasted by the residence of infernal spirits, or been 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xvii 
 
 the theatre of unhallowed incantations, no footstep dared to 
 approach the unholy precincts ; and though the power of the 
 demoniac ministers had departed, and the sway of the malig- 
 nant enchanter had passed away, the knee still tottered, and 
 the heart yet quailed at the recollection of what had been done 
 there. 
 
 The name of Carolanj who flourished about the commence- 
 ment of the last century, and who was immeasurably the 
 most copious and pathetic of the bards who wrote in the 
 native tongue, at least of those who are celebrated, is well 
 known even in Italy. Since his time, an itinerant devotee 
 of the name of O'Sullivan, better known by the appellation 
 of Taidhe Gaeligh, has left some productions which are of an 
 inferior description. The earlier part of his life was spent 
 in dissipation, and in those hours of love and mellowness 
 of heart, he composed many pieces, which might have contain- 
 ed some merit from their being written in the feeling of the 
 moment, but which are in great measure now unknown, except 
 to the pains- taking antiquary. The greater portion of his de- 
 votional productions are possessed of little merit ; as if the sud 
 denness of the change in his mental climate, as in Ovid's case, 
 had stricken a coldness into his numbers. One, however, is a 
 very fine exception, and that, a poem on the last day ; it has 
 been translated and published by Mr. Callanan in the present 
 Tolume, page 138. To Miss Brooke, in the latter part of the 
 last century, we owe a great deal, for her efforts in per- 
 petuating the relics of ancient Irish poetry ; and the early, 
 and then undeveloped talent of Lady Morgan was employed in 
 translating some of our finest songs. It is unnecessary to speak 
 here of the merits of " Eman Na Knoc." Almost contempo- 
 rary with Sidney Owenson, flourished a Mr. Theophilus O' Fla- 
 nagan, who published a translation of a few poems in the 
 "Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Dublin ;" but whether 
 from intrinsic demerit, or from the unfitness of the gentleman 
 for the task he had undertaken, we could well afford and endure 
 their loss. Mr. O'Flanagan, we suspect, will be better remem- 
 bered in future time by his antiquarian lucubrations, and his 
 B3 
 
xviH MEMOIR OF 
 
 announcement at least, if not discovery, of the celebrated 
 Ogham inscription on Mount Callan in the County Clare, a 
 fact that has done more to embroil Irish antiquaries, and set 
 them by the ears, than all translations since the days of Gs- 
 sian. Mr. Crofton Croker, well known by his efforts for the 
 " Legends of the South of Ireland" has entertained an intention 
 of making a collection of Irish poetry, to be entitled "Min- 
 strelsy of the South of Ireland," but we have not learned that 
 he has as yet published any thing on the subject. Mr. Hardi- 
 man, the talented writer of the " History of Galway," &c. is 
 we understand employed in a similar collection, and his merit 
 as a historian gives promise of considerable success. 
 
 To a mind so peculiarly under the influence of generous im- 
 pulse as was CzLlanan's, and so accessible to allurements, mo- 
 ney was never an object the possession of which could be long 
 calculated on ; and the fund with which he encountered the 
 highways and byeways of the west, and by whose agency he 
 was to rescue from neglect all the the stores of antique fiction 
 and poesy scattered through its glens and vales, may be pre- 
 sumed to have liad no very prolonged existence. The failure 
 of his finances, and the hopelessness of aid from home, hinted 
 to him, pretty forcibly, the necessity of seeking for some em- 
 ployment, and he found himself constrained at length to settle 
 quietly down to a tuition in the family of Mr. Alexander 
 O'Driscollof Clover Hill. The situation happened to be one 
 of little or no labour, and left him considerable leisure to in- 
 dulge his favourite inclination. Sketches of rude beauty and 
 mountain grandeur will depict the peculiarities of the neigh- 
 bourhood in which he was now placed ; Callanan did not 
 neglect the facilities of this wild and picturesque situation, and 
 every legendary haunt and fairy dell, its crags and lakes, be- 
 came in a short time familiar to his footsteps. The secluded 
 and beautiful Lough Ine was a favourite haunt which he loved 
 to explore, and the wildness of its traditions fired his muse. 
 The writer has seen a considerable portion of a tale in prose, 
 founded on one of its legends, which he had written, though 
 not completed, and which is now lost. But this indeed scarcely 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xix 
 
 calls for an expression of our regret as save the story, it was of 
 little literary value. At Mr. O'Driscoll's he did not continue 
 longer than a few months. 
 
 Having returned to Cork in 1824 with the intention of pub- 
 lishing his poems by subscription, for this purpose he adver- 
 tised, and published a prospectus, announcing among those 
 tieces really written, others as yet only dreamed of, or ac- 
 tually composed, but unwritten, and preserved only in his 
 powerful and tenacious memory. Amongst these, were " The 
 Outlaw of Ca-o-mene," " the Bridegroom of Carragaonar," and 
 a beautiful poem on the subject of a Wreck off the Mizzen head, 
 besides others, of which his most intimate friends could never 
 see a line, although he sometimes repeated passages of their 
 fervid poetry, full of fire and spirit. The announcement was 
 received with pleasure by numbers, and he received many sub- 
 scriptions ; but the intention was soon abandoned, from the 
 absurd idea, that his publishing by subscription would have the 
 effect of rendering his productions less respectable in the eyes 
 of the public ; and he determined to make an effort to dispose 
 of the copy-right to a London Publisher. Procrastination, 
 that source of many evils, was a favourite and cherished weak- 
 ness of Callanan's, and it did not fail him here, as a year elaps- 
 ed before he made even this effort. 
 
 From this period forward, his life was one of much disappoint- 
 ment, and every day, every hour, brought privation and embar- 
 rassment. The kindness of friends, and they were numerous 
 and sincere, perhafps fostered that tendency to a habitual indo- 
 lence which was his bane 5 were he less certain of their assis- 
 tance, he might have made those exertions, which, with his 
 powerful talents, would have assured to him a respectable 
 independence, and placed his name beside the proudest and the 
 brightest. He felt the necessity for the effort, but he possessed 
 not the resolution to make it ; whatever were his aspirations, 
 and they were not those of the mean or grovelling, or sor- 
 did, his resolution, or power of action, never received the im- 
 pulse. His social habits too, his local and personal attach- 
 ments, kept him in fetters which he seldom wished to break ; 
 
xx MEMOIR OF 
 
 and as his society was sought after with eagerness, he was too 
 unresisting to tear himself from the pleasures or enjoyments 
 into which he suffered himself to be plunged. If he fell into 
 some temporary errors, or indulged in some of those follies, 
 which the malevolent, the ill-judging, and the misinformed 
 construed against his character : yet those who knew him 
 felt, that these lapses sprang from no evil temperament, and 
 saw, that over this darkness of soul gleamed, now and then, a 
 few rays of his better nature. 
 
 It was in the summer of 1824, whilst in the neighbourhood of 
 Clonakilty, that he composed his inimitable stanzas entitled 
 the " Recluse of Inchidony." A strain of melancholy feeling, 
 quite in character with the natural temperament of the man, 
 runs through this poem. In an old blotted manuscript which 
 contains a few fragments of this production, as well as others 
 never finished, there occurs a note respecting the apparent 
 resemblance between it and " Childe Harold." In it he ob- 
 serves li the following stanzas are a fragment of an unfinished 
 poem, called "Thoughts of a Recluse," I fancy a resemblance 
 can be observed, however feeble or remote, to some passages in 
 Byron's Childe Harold, the writer begs leave to say that he 
 is perfectly innocent of such coincidental imitation, these 
 stanzas having been composed before he read that work." 
 Mr. Callanan was, as we have before observed, generally 
 accustomed to compose in mind all, or at least the greatest 
 part of every work long before he committed it to writing, 
 and his memory was so very powerful as to retain for years 
 these unwritten productions of thought. It is probable, there- 
 fore, that the plan of the poem alluded to, might have been 
 formed, and many stanzas composed, before he read and dis- 
 covered the similarity in the train of thought, with the magni- 
 ficent work of Lord Byron. Through both poems runs the 
 same melancholy flow of feeling in them is the same contempt 
 for the flat and unprofitable pleasures of the world the same 
 sickness of heart at disappointment in the search of happiness, 
 and the same high communing with the sublimity of creation. 
 The contempt for worldly pursuits in " The Recluse," does 
 
THE LATE Mil. CALLANAN. xxi 
 
 not, however, amount to that stern tone of misanthropy which 
 so strongly characterizes the <J Chllde." In Callanan, it is 
 softened down and suhdued into a tenderness, which shows 
 that he is still a human being, and has not entirely lost the re- 
 collection of his class, or the milk of human kindness. In 
 Byron, it is a high, morose, unbending and tremendous ab- 
 straction from the pursuits and cares of his fellow man which 
 dazzles and astonishes but does not conciliate. 
 
 On his return from Clonakilty, the year following, he ac- 
 cepted a situation at Everton school near Carlow, where he 
 remained about twelve months, and though possessed of a suf- 
 ficient leisure for literary amusement, this period was a poetier.l 
 blank : varied only by the simple but exquisite lines " To a 
 sprig of mountain heath," and which alone would compen- 
 sate for the idleness of a season. On his return he availed 
 himself of an invitation, long previously given by Doctor 
 Burke of Bantry, and remained with him for nearly three 
 months. The writer of this memoir cannot mention the name 
 of this gentleman, and feel cold to those feelings, which gra- 
 titude of the deepest kind must awaken. But the deepest 
 streams glide along in silence, and he must content himself 
 in hoarding up within his heart, what his pen is unable per- 
 fectly to trace. 
 
 During Mr. Callanan's residence in Bantry, he made many 
 excursions to visit the surrounding scenery, which is of the 
 most romantic and interesting character. The beautiful lines 
 on Gougane Barra were written in that secluded hermitaga 
 during a thunder storm, which had overtaken him there. 
 
 Shortly after his return from Bantry he received a letter from 
 Mr. Crofton Croker, the diligent and industrious coilecter of 
 " the Irish Fairy Legends," which gave him a momentary im- 
 pulse, and suggested the idea of a work, as novel in this coun- 
 try, as the materials for it were abundant, and his fitness for 
 the task unquestionable. " 1 have been for some time past" Mr. 
 Croker says " engaged in collecting and arranging for publica- 
 tion, the various songs and ballads, connected with, or relating 
 to the south of Ireland, from the year 1400 to the present time, 
 
xxii MEMOIIl OF 
 
 both in Irish and English. These with the notes and illustra- 
 tions, which I purpose adding, will probably occupy three vo- 
 lumes octavo, and I am inclined to think, will form an interest- 
 ing work. Having stated my plan, I must request your per- 
 mission, to enrich my collection with some translations from 
 the Irish, from your pen, which appeared in Blackwood's Ma- 
 gazine, having no doubt of procuring Mr. Blackwood's leave ; 
 and you would add much to their value, for my purpose, if you 
 could give me in Irish the first verse of each, or of any idio- 
 matic expressions which are difficult to give in verse, and may 
 merit a prose explanation. I should wish also to avail myself, 
 (but not to any extent,) of some translations which have ap- 
 peared with your initials in Bolster's Magazine. But a chief 
 point in which it is evident you could materially assist me, 
 would be in the direct communication of any picturesqe tradi- 
 tions of the country, connected with snatches of song ; any 
 traditions which would illiiRtrate the state of the country, of 
 the peasantry, or gentry, between the years 1700 and 1800 
 These would be particularly serviceable to me, and, if not ask- 
 ing too much, I should esteem such as a most particular favour, 
 and be willing to make you any suitable return. The title of 
 my collection will be, " the Minstrelsy of the South of Ireland," 
 and I intend it to include the modern slang songs, such as 
 <k the Groves of de Pool," &c. Of the latter by the bye, I have 
 not a copy, though it can be easily procured. It was written 
 by poor Milliken, but there is another song about Blackpool 
 by Delacour." 
 
 If industry, unwearied exertion, patient research extensive 
 reading, and close acquaintance with the "Nugae Antiquae" of 
 Ireland, be qualifications for the interesting work above con- 
 templated, no man could enter on it with greater advantages 
 than Mr. Croker : but he was deficient in a knowledge of the 
 Irish language, the great key to the treasures which he was 
 about to explore, and without which complete success was un- 
 attainable ; whilst on the other hand, Mr. Callanan, though 
 not a master, was certainly no mean proficient, and added to 
 his knowledge in this and other respects, local advantages un- 
 
THE LATE Mil. CALLANAN. xxiii 
 
 attainable by Mr. Croker. He declined that gentleman's re- 
 quest, intending, himself, to enter upon an *' Anthology/' for 
 which he had some materials collected ; but the circumstances 
 in which he was placed, the difficulties which then pressed 
 upon him, and his departure for Lisbon and subsequent death, 
 prevented the accomplishment of an object, which he once 
 very warmly entertained, and thus left to Mr. Croker, or Mr. 
 Hardiman an open field for the prosecution of their honorable 
 and interesting competition. 
 
 His friends perceived, and deeply regretted the difficulties 
 and embarrassments of his situation, and suggested many plans 
 for their removal. They saw th'at literary employment at that 
 present juncture, afforded the most immediate chance of ex- 
 tricating him, but that a provincial town was not the best place 
 to afford the chances of procuring it, and suggested a trial of 
 London. Their opinion fell in with his own notion and desire, 
 but obstacles lay in the way of this project, insurmountable to 
 him, for exertions were to be made which he was not equal to, 
 and the idea, though not totally abandoned, was laid aside for 
 another, the establishment of a schooU From the assurance of 
 the support of influential persons which he had received, 
 his hopes of success were considerably excited ; but his Pa- 
 trons were more ardent than active, and this scheme he was 
 finally compelled to relinquish. A friend having, by his kind 
 and considerate advances, superceded it for the present, the 
 project of a school was laid aside, and the projector for awhile 
 bade adieu to the city, and hurried once more to the rallies, 
 and lakes, and shores of the west. Here he lived the life of a 
 wandering minstrel in this favourite region j a welcome visi- 
 tor wherever he appeared, and courted, and sought after by 
 the hospitable Gaels of a district as famous for its love, as its 
 tenacious preservation of song. Callanan left but few Planxties 
 in his Bardic tour, to repay the warm attentions he received ; 
 but they are amongst his best. Some tributes of gratitude have 
 been preserved : tributes too, expressive of a stronger and 
 warmer emotion ; for it was rumoured and believed at this time, 
 that the heart of the barcl had become susceptible of the softer 
 
rsxiv MEMOIR OF 
 
 passion ; and his long absence from his native city was attribut- 
 ed, and perhaps justly, to other causes besides a wish to listen 
 to the plash of waves around Inchidony,or the contemplation of 
 the heathy solitudes of Ivera. Whatever were the attractions 
 that enchained him in the neighbourhood of Clonakilty and 
 Bandon, he forgot for months, amidst its society, those objects 
 and pursuits of more immediate advantage, which his friends 
 could have wished him to entertain. The occasional ap- 
 pearance of the " Virgin Mary's bank," or the " Lament of 
 O'Gnieve," in some of the Cork publications, were amongst the 
 faint indications of his existence which he suffered to appear. 
 Though few were gifted with a kinder heart, and none could 
 more freely unbosom himself where he felt his confidence was 
 due, yet the medium of communication was seldom epistolary. 
 A short note written from Bandon, the scene of his willing 
 thraldom at this time, gives us a hurried glimpse at his then 
 existence 
 
 Ban-du-0un t plain of the Black-water. 
 
 Wednesday \ January \7th. 1827. 
 Dear 
 
 I am much indebted to you for the manner in which my 
 " O'Gnieve" came to light, your deep reading in our history, 
 and acquaintance with the past of Ireland, enable you to eluci- 
 date it very satisfactorily ; though you are king of the A s 
 
 you are also king of antiquarians. I am fairty jaded from an- 
 swering, who's the author of the " O's and Macs ?" 'tis not 
 only by many degrees the best article in the number, but Black- 
 wood or the New Monthly could not match it ; this is every 
 one's opinion. I have made a gre^t harvest in the Irish way. 
 If I'm not before Croker in one way, I think I shall in another. 
 I'm living here a la J. O. L. Priests and Doctors, Police Offi- 
 cers and Bourgeois are feeding me, and looking out for raj ; I 
 must get visiting cards at last Go voire Dia oruing ; but I'll 11 y 
 
 to the mountains 
 
 Yours affectionately, 
 
 J. J. C. 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xxv 
 
 The remainder of his story is brief and consistent. He 
 continued in the country until the beginning of the summer, a 
 measure sufficiently necessary from the very exhausted state 
 of his finances, for his residence in the city afforded no pros- 
 pect of improvement in his circumstances, and, notwithstand- 
 ing the generous sympathy of friends, and occasional pecunia- 
 ry assistance, tended only to the increase of debts, where there 
 was no immediate chance of their discharge. Gloomy and em- 
 barrassing seemed his situation at this time. His earlier friends, 
 had forsake** him, or looked on with cold indifference at his 
 struggle with his fate, and while some affected to pity, the 
 herd observed and blamed with little measure in their condem- 
 nation. It was left to strangers to those who could appre- 
 ciate his merits admire his genius, and commisserate his mis- 
 fortunes, to lend the helping hand at this trying crisis. They 
 too could blame, for he was not blameless, but they felt that 
 his faults sprung from no inherent ill disposition ; that they 
 were weaknesses, but weaknesses which were net alien to vir- 
 tue. Many of them being persons of business, and impressed 
 with the idea that every man should exercise the talents with 
 which he is endowed, could not understand how Mr. Callanan's 
 qualifications should, alone, be useless and unprofitable for 
 himself. They had made many efforts to assist him, and to 
 rouse him to a sense of the impropriety of his being an in- 
 efficient member of society ; they had endeavoured to awaken 
 his pride even at the risk of doing violence to the sensitiveness 
 of his feelings, by representing to him the state of degrading 
 dependance on the casual benevolence of strangers, to which 
 he had reduced himself; but disappointment in various schemes 
 which the fickleness of his fancy had suggested, broke his spi- 
 rit and depressed the buoyancy of his mind. After a short 
 residence in Cork, he was glad to accept the offer made him by 
 a Mr. Hickcy, an Irish gentleman engaged in commerce in Lis- 
 bon, to go out with him as tutor to his children, and in the 
 begining of the autumn of this year he prepared to embark 
 for Portugal, never again to return to his native land. The 
 terms were far from tempting but such as they were, in his 
 C 
 
xxvi MEMOIR OF 
 
 situation, their acceptance was deemed advisable. Before his 
 departure he disposed of the copy-right of his poems to Mr. 
 Bolster ; and the sum which he had agreed to accept for them, 
 he directed should be paid over, as far as it went, in the dis- 
 charge of his debts ; great and pressing as were his own im- 
 mediate necessities, preferring an act of honourable justice to 
 their supply or removal. 
 
 Even to the last moment of his sojourn in his native city, his 
 prevalent disposition evinced itself in the extraordinary reluc- 
 tance which he exhibited, to break through those ties of affec- 
 tion and habit which had grown around him, and became as it 
 were interwoven with his nature. The few friends to whom 
 he was anxious to bid adieu he had visited and seen, and only 
 one other scene of leave-taking remained for him, but this 
 was to be designedly the last. This farewell night as he called 
 it, was destined to be spent in the Hermitage amongst his fa- 
 vourite Anchorites, the humorous and literary club to which 
 he was exclusively attached in toxvn. Here every mode of 
 cordial and affectionate encouragement had been adopted to 
 sustain and strengthen him in his resolution, to support with 
 firmness what they hoped and represented to him would be 
 notwithstanding his forebodings only a temporary exile. All 
 however seemed to be unavailing ; although the bland and gen- 
 tle sweetness of his manners, and his natural relish for enli- 
 vening and literary conversation seemed to assist their en- 
 creasing and considerate efforts to enliven him, he frequently 
 relapsed into fits of despondency. There was a presentiment 
 which he said seemed to be clinging about him, that he would 
 never return to his native country ; and much as he laughed 
 at the idea of such notions altogether in the abstract, it was 
 frequently recurring to him and annoyed him exceedingly. In 
 consequence of his evident unwillingness to fulfil his engage- 
 ment with Mr. Hickey, a few friends considered it prudent to 
 accompany him from town, and see him on board the vessel 
 which was to convey him to Lisbon, They reached Cove ac- 
 cordingly in good time ; and all looked prosperous for his dcs - 
 tinaticn. Every thing was ready for departure, his few leave- 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xxvii 
 
 takings were now soon over, and the beautiful Schooner danc- 
 ed on the waters as if impatient to start upon her voyage. 
 His friends had now been gone for some time, when to his in- 
 expressible delight, he learned that the wind was not expected 
 to veer round to the favourable point for some hours, and he 
 suddenly availed himself of some excuse to pass the interval 
 on shore. Late that night when most of the Anchorites had 
 departed from the Hermitage, and the few who lingered behind 
 were in most anxious discussion of the 'probable distance 
 which the schooner with its minstrel freight might have reach- 
 ed at sea, to their surprise and regret in walked the Poet 1 
 There he stood before them full of almost boyish delight at what 
 he considered his miraculous escape from exile, and the inge- 
 nious slip he had given the Portuguese ! For the short period 
 which intervened until the sailing ofjthe next vessel for Lisbon, 
 one of his customary and well-told stories, was the narrative 
 of this day's excursion, and the trick which he played in thus 
 doubling on his escort to Cove. 
 
 During the time he spent in Portugal he does not seem to 
 have occupied himself in the cultivation of poetry, but to have 
 entirely devoted his leisure hours to the study of the language of 
 the country. In one of his letters to his friends, he states appa- 
 rently with considerable gratification, the ease with which he 
 mastered the difficulties which appeared to strike him at the 
 commencement, but to one who had acquired such a proficiency 
 in the Roman tongue, this should not be a matter of surprise. 
 There is one remarkable feature in his communications of this 
 period, that throughout the entire, though they are by no 
 means numerous, there is a total absence of any tone of des- 
 pondency, as if his soul had acquired a perfect spirit of self 
 reliance, which neither time nor circumstances could disturb 
 or lessen. He looked forward with sanguine expectations to his 
 return under better auspices to his native country, though on 
 what flattering foundation such hopes could have been based 
 it is really difficult to conjecture. Yet that his spirit never 
 gave way to the last moment, until finally subdued by the con- 
 tinuance and acceleration of his complaint, is clearlv mani- 
 
 c'i 
 
xxviii MEMOIR OF 
 
 fested in the feeling of confidence and unruffled equanimity 
 of temper in which he invariably addressed his correspondents. 
 His residence in Lisbon was not conducive to his health. 
 He had left his native shores, suffering from severe indispo- 
 sition ; and he arrived in the Portuguese Capitol, with spirits 
 little elated by the prospects which opened on his residence in a 
 strange land, and which he found deficient of all interest for him. 
 He was then unacquainted with its language ; and the state in 
 which he found society a society in its best state possessing 
 nothing congenial to his feelings, tended little to cheer the 
 gloom and sickness of heart, which were fast settling on him* 
 He had arrived in Lisbon in the worst period of its political 
 disorder, when it was convulsed amidst the early horrors of 
 Miguel's usurpation, and it was at least a gratification to him 
 to find his residence removed some miles inland from that dis- 
 graceful scene. But here he found little to nurse his genius ; as 
 he says himself, speaking of it in one of his letters It was 
 a bad country for the poet or the antiquarian, possessing no 
 traditions ; there were some remains of Moorish fortresses, 
 lioman Aqueducts, &c. in his neighbourhood, but he saye> 
 " they want the legend and the song of our land to speak for 
 them in their desolation. Since 1 came fc^ere," he continues, 
 " I have not seen a spot of green, save the trees, which were 
 not very numerous, there is no such thing as a meadow or grass 
 field in Portugal, Besides the harvest crop of corn, they rear 
 two others which they cut down green for cattle ; except at 
 these periods the face of the country presents but a scorched 
 brown waste. In the deep vallies, where alone they will thrive 
 on account of the water, are orange and lemon trees, on the 
 hills, scattered plantations of vine and olives. In Lisbon, which 
 ]ike Home is built on seven hills, when I visit it, the eye is an- 
 noyed by troops of hungry dogs and the ear by incessant bells, 
 I have done little in the way of poetry since I came here, and 
 it is probable I shall be able to do less, as I have a promise of 
 two other situations, which if I get, will render it impossible 
 for me to do any thing. I shall in my next send you a few 
 short pieces, &c." The hope of additional situations failed him : 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xxix 
 
 one however he obtained, but held only for a month ; per- 
 haps his health would not permit him to accept or hold them, 
 and his spirits, from his few subsequent communications, seem 
 indeed to have lost all their buoyancy. Even in song, with 
 which in other times he might have cheered his solitude and 
 vacant hours, he found little relief. Society, narrow and cir- 
 cumscribed as it necessarily must have been in his new situa- 
 tion, seems to have lost all charms for him. Two short pieces 
 as he had promised, are all that have reached this country, 
 of whatever he may have written during the period of his 
 residence in Portugal. They are " subjects from sacred sto- 
 ry," published in this volume. He contemplated others 
 which we trust may not be lost to the public. His latest 
 anxiety seems to have been about the success of those pieces, 
 which he had transferred to Mr. Bolster, and the entire fulfil- 
 ment to the letter of his undertaking with him, either express- 
 ed or implied. He says in a letter written the 30th March, 
 
 1828 " Amo'.ig some books just arrived to Mr. H , I saw 
 
 the last Quarterly Magazine (No. 8,) and my poems announc- 
 ed for publication, I much regret the necessity that premature- 
 ly brings them before the public, and the disagreeable task I 
 imposed upon you, of having any eye after them. I don't know 
 exactly the number of lines ; I thought it was about 3000 ; I 
 told B. so ; among them I included such short pieces as J * * 
 U * * e had not got ; a translation from the Spanish which 
 you could get on the " Chronicle" of that period, with one 
 horrible error in it, " favoured" instead of " faintest," and an 
 Irish song" Loch Lene," which you have, " The Lament, or 
 last Song of Kirke White," which M * * has, or w r hich you 
 can get in Miss F * * 's album, and the " lay of Mizzeu head" 
 which I intended to have given myself, had the manuscript 
 come sooner from J. R. beside other small things. Now what- 
 ever I am short of three thousand lines, I feel myself bound to 
 make good, and if on receipt of this, you will be kind enough 
 to tell me all that's necessary for me further to perform, I shall 
 most readily do it. * * * May I trouble you to make two era- 
 sures. In a note to Carriganass Castle, there is an ill placed 
 C3 
 
xxx MEMOIR OF 
 
 compliment to the present proprietor ; and in one on the 
 Avondu a quotation from Virgil given from memory, and, I 
 think, on the same authority, wrongly ; I believe ll Rexfluvio- 
 rum Eridanus" should be ' Fluviorum rex Eridanus.*' If the 
 volume is likely to be too small, I wish it may be held over for 
 some short time until J find an opportunity of sending some- 
 thing more excuse my dwelling so long on so unimportant a 
 subject. I see you have immortalized the " storeen" but the 
 exquisite " says he says she" a e lost to all but the initiated- 
 so are the characters of your fellow travellers; even to the 
 " enlightened few" they are only faintly pourtrayed. Though 
 your " Gougane Barra" wanted the charm of novelty for me, 
 I read it with a deal of pleasure ; I was better able to judge of 
 its merits, from * * * enjoying it very much ; being acquaint- 
 ed with most part of the scene of your rambles, they readily 
 recognized the fidelity of the description. I suppose the fairy 
 Tale is J R n's 'tis well done, but too short. 
 
 " This country is in a state of great distraction ; the nobili- 
 ty, many of them, flying to England or Brazil, and the men of 
 wealth in a great panic for the safety of their properties. No 
 decisive blow has been struck yet ; but in a few days more, 
 \vhen the rest of the English troops shall have been drawn 
 away, the policy of Don Miguel will begin to develope itself. I 
 suspect he is secretly countenanced by France and Spain. 
 His character has been always bad. 
 
 " April 2nd. No ship stirring yet ; I have time to tell you 
 something about Cintra Lord Kyron's Cintra The first land 
 I saw after leaving Cove were the mountains of Cintra, or 
 rather the mountain, for it is one long ridge, shooting up into 
 peaks, and the distant view of it would remind you of the 
 Reeks, as 1 saw them about fifteen miles from Killarney. The 
 mountain presents two sides to the sea ; one as you approach 
 from the main ocean, and another, as you turn a projection of 
 the land to enter the mouth of the Tagus, which is completely 
 hidden until you are in it. With a glass, I could distinctly see 
 the numberless rocks that are confusedly scattered over its top, 
 all loose and immensely large scattered like the missiles of 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xxxi 
 
 the Titans, hurled back upon themselves. This is the appear- 
 ance the mountain presents. On the top of the highest rock, 
 of the highest peak, visible by the help of a telescope, is the 
 convent of " Nossa Senhora da Penha" our Lady of the Rock 
 which Byron calls " Our Lady's house of woe'* mistaking pen- 
 ha for pena. It is 3000 feet above the sea at its base. On one 
 side is a tremendous precipice ; on every other, it is surround- 
 ed by rocks, with narrow steep paths. Upon the mountain are 
 the remains of a Moorish fort, Castello do& Mauros -pre- 
 senting nothing but the foundations, and the ruins of several 
 towers, with a small Mosque of two apartments, one large, 
 seemingly for religious purposes, the other inside, as if for 
 the use of the Priests. Upon the end wall of the latter, are 
 engraved several stars, and Arabic characters. One of those 
 peaks I have mentioned, is called the Penha Verda, the 
 green rock ; amid the naked rocks around it, being itself 
 green to the very summit. It is well planted, and many of 
 the trees are evergreens : it is watered by a thousand foun- 
 tains. Do not suppose that the entire of Portugal is like 
 this ; it is the very contrary ; except in a few favoured spots, 
 all the rest is one unvarying brown surface, without verdure, 
 wood, or water. In Our Lady of the rock, there are but two 
 Fathers ; they are of the order called Jeromites. Cintra, for 
 its green spots for its shady trees here and there, for its cool- 
 ness and abrupt change of hill and vale, has been called by 
 some here, a little Ireland ; it is also more moist than the rest 
 of Portugal. The English troops are all gone, and all is still 
 quiet, and I think will be so, if France has not a finger in the 
 pye." 
 
 It is to be regretted, that the suggestions in this letter, 
 could not be possibly rendered available in the Notes to the 
 Poems on their publication, in consequence of their having 
 been mislaid at the time. " The lay of the Mizen head," men- 
 tioned in it, we fear has been irrecoverably lost : not so the 
 Spanish translation, which, although omitted in the Poems, 
 we gladly now publish. It would have been a pity indeed to 
 have left it to the obscurity of the poet's corner of a Newspaper. 
 
MEMOIR OF 
 
 DE LA VIDA DEL CIELO. 
 
 (From the Spanish of Luis de Leon.) 
 
 Clime for ever fair and bright, 
 
 Cloudless region of the blest, 
 Summer's heat, or winter's blight, 
 Comes not o'er thy fields of light, 
 Yieldcr of endless joy and home of endless rest. 
 
 There his flock while fondly tending, 
 
 All unarmed with staff or sling, 
 Flowers of white or purple blending, 
 O'er his brow of beauty bending, 
 The heavenly shepherd walks the breathing fields of spring. 
 
 Still his look of love reposes 
 
 On the happy sheep he feeds, 
 With thine own undying roses, 
 Flowers no clime but thine discloses 
 And still the more they feast, more freshly bloom thy meads. 
 
 To thy hills in glory blushing, 
 
 Next his charge the shepherd guides ; 
 And in streams all sorrow hushing 
 Streams of life in gladness gushing, 
 His happy flocks he bathes, and their high food provides. 
 
 And when sleep their eye encumbers 
 
 In the noontide radiance strong, 
 With his calumet's sweet numbers, 
 Lulls them in delicious slumbers. 
 And wrapt in holy dreams, they hear that trancing song. 
 
 At that pipe's melodious sounding, 
 Thrilling joys transfix the soul, 
 And in visions bright surrounding, 
 Up the ardent spirit bounding, 
 Springs on her pinions free to love's eternal gaol. 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xxxiii 
 
 Minstrel of Heaven ! if earthward stealing, 
 
 This ear might catch thy faintest tone, 
 Then would thy voice's sweet revealing, 
 Drown my soul in holy feeling, 
 And this weak heart that strays, at length be all thine own. 
 
 Then with a joy that knows no speaking, 
 I'd wait thy smile from yon high shore, 
 And from earth's vile bondage breaking, 
 Thy bright home, good shepherd seeking, 
 Live with thy blessed flock nor darkly wander more. 
 
 We have now traced Mr. Callanan through his brief and in- 
 teresting career alas too brief, and too clouded and obscured 
 for its early promise, a career which his friends had reason- 
 ably hoped might have been one of success and brilliancy, but 
 he lived to blight these hopes ; and whilst he saw others with 
 much less of genius, of talent, or of abilities, pursue a course 
 of fame, and wealth, and honour which he might have trodden, 
 he, like the hare in the fable, but too conscious of his strength, 
 neglected its use, and was far out-distanced in the course. 
 Whilst fully impressed with the justice of admitting great 
 allowances for the bitter disappointment of such early friends 
 as had manifested a sincere anxiety for '-he young student's 
 welfare, I cannot conceal the lasting regret which oppresses 
 me, when I recollect how little of remonstrance had been used 
 with him in the sudden abandonment of his collegiate course. 
 IJis resolution had been very hastily formed and on very incon- 
 siderate grounds. Doubts of a sincere vocation will sometimes 
 obtrude themselves in the most virtaotis and best regulated 
 minds, which the reasonings of a kind and sensible counsellor 
 will, if persevered in, assuredly remove ; and in Mr. Callanan's 
 case, they appear not to have been of a deeper or more pro- 
 found character than the majority of such instances, in which 
 considerate explanation an;.! salutary advice have been emi- 
 nently successful. It has happened to myself to be one of 
 the recipients of doubts of a similar nature which agitated the 
 
xxxir MEMOIR OF 
 
 heart of a clerical neophyte, and which under the pure and 
 sedulous teachings of a superior mind were happily overcome, 
 when he became ere many years an ornament to his pro- 
 fession, anJ a worthy dispenser of the Gospel Truth. How- 
 ever, Mr. Callanan had his apprehensions, and he was allowed 
 to retain them. 
 
 There seemed to be. in one respect, a singular inconsistency 
 in the character of the Minstrel, but on searching to its 
 source so far from its being not only reconcileable in its con- 
 trariety, it would appear to have been a substantial ingredient 
 in the eccentric composition. In the midst of those occasional 
 aberrations from any steady pursuit which he frequently exhi- 
 bited in his short career, whether arising from indolence or ir- 
 resolution, there gleamed forth betimes an indomitable wil- 
 fulness and energy of purpose, which if it had been properly 
 directed, and that habit had been brought to render that direc- 
 tion familiar or agreeable, would have doubtless insured him an 
 eminent position in society. In other words, habit had from 
 whatever cause it may have been acquired, the supreme maste- 
 ry of his spirit, and unfortunately it was suffered to take an ri- 
 regular, and injudicious direction. There are some sweet and 
 thrillingly pathetic stanzas of the Poet in illustration of the 
 legend of a seal which appear to have been peculiarly indica- 
 tive of his own feelings, and touchingly applicable to the cir- 
 cumstances of his life. The Seal exhibited a boat at sea, and 
 the north star solely visible in the Heavens, with the scroll, 
 " Si je te perds, je suis perdu." He had himself neglected to 
 keep a steady eye on the polar star, which should have been the 
 object of his guidance through the waves of a strange and 
 uncertain world, and the bark of his fortunes was prema- 
 turely overwhelmed in the carelessness of its career. He 
 has been seldom indeed, known to utter a word in the way 
 of complaint, of the coldness or inconstancy of such as were 
 supposed to have manifested neglect towards him, or of the 
 very embarrassing uncertainty and growing anxieties of his 
 cheerless position in life. But he has often repeated those sweet 
 and simp)c strains in his own fervid and impassioned manner, 
 
THE LATE MR. CALLANAN. xxxv 
 
 until the sense of their peculiar application to his personal cir- 
 cumstances became almost too painful for endurance. He 
 would then break off with some favourite joke, or humorous 
 exclamation of forced hilarity, in order to dissipate the busy 
 and embittering recollections of the moment. In such efforts 
 it was easy to recognize the spirit that was struggling within 
 whilst he seemingly disdained to give it expiession. 
 
 The length to which this notice has run, checks our wish 
 to enlarge on the subject, and the remainder of what we have 
 to say, must be necessarily concise. Mr. Callanan's com- 
 plaint, from which he had at various intervals more or less 
 suffered for the last two years, had become so alarming, that, 
 several months before his death, he was obliged to remove to 
 Lisbon for the benefit of medical advice, but the virulence of 
 the disorder, ulceration in the throat, defied all attempts for 
 its removal ; and hopeless of the struggle, he at length resolved 
 to return to his native Isle, and at least have the melancholy 
 consolation of breathing his last in the land of his birth. 
 With this intent, he actually had gone on board a vessel about 
 sailing for Cork, when the symptoms of his disorder became so 
 alarming, that he was obliged to abandon the attempt and re- 
 turn on shore, where, in a few days after, on the 19th Sep- 
 tember 1829, be expired, in the 34th year of his age. 
 
 Thedate of his death, was almost simultaneous with that of 
 the appearance and publication of his poems in Cork ; and it 
 is melancholy to reflect, that the period, which may in some 
 measure be regarded as the commencement of his literary re- 
 putation, should be also noted as the termination of his earth- 
 ly career. 
 
 In person Mr. Callanan was not remarkable. A finely form* 
 ed head, a forehead high, ample, and beautifully fair, and a 
 cast of countenance, finely intellectual, gave him an air of dig^ 
 nity that was peculiarly impressive. His voice was gentle and 
 bland, and though its tones were low and soft, he recited poe- 
 try with great effect. His acquirements were considerable ; 
 his reading having extended, not only through the Greek and 
 Roman Classics, but also over the wide and ample field of 
 
rxxvi MEMOIIl OF THE LATE MR. CALLANAN, 
 
 French, Spanish, Portuguese, and Irish Literature. His pa- 
 triotism was sincere, and his disposition and manners kind and 
 conciliating. If the conduct of those with whom he sometimes 
 came in contact, often left an unfavourahle impression on his 
 mind, its influence was but transient, for he was one always 
 more disposed to regard the lights than the shadow's of huma- 
 nity. An ill word of a human being never escaped his lips ; if 
 he could not speak favourably, he spoke not at all. He was an 
 excellent critic, and a kind adviser of his less gifted literary 
 friends. On a general review of his life, one grand fault will 
 be seen entirely absorbing, and almost rendering nugatory, the 
 possession of the splendid gifts nature had bestowed upon him. 
 If his industry had been equal to his genius, few stood a better 
 chance of atchieving greatness. As it is, his country has cause 
 to weep for him ; since his Tyrtean strains like those of Moore, 
 would have been a source of pride and gratification to her chil- 
 dren. A further proof they would have likewise afforded the 
 world, that her songs were the sweetest, and her lamenta- 
 tions the most pathetic of all the nations whose unhappy fate 
 it has been to hang their harps upon the willows, and mourn 
 amidst the ruins and recollections of their olden times. 
 
THE 
 
 RECLUSE OE INCHIDONY. 
 
 ONCE more I'm free the city's din is gone, 
 And with it wasted days and weary nights ; 
 But bitter thoughts will sometimes rush upon 
 The heart that ever lov'd its sounds or sights, 
 "f"^ To you 1 fly, lone glens and mountain heights, 
 From all I hate and much I love no more 
 Than this I seek, amid your calm delights, 
 To learn my spirit's weakness to deplore, 
 To strive against one vice, and gain one virtue more. 
 
 How firm are our resolves, how weak our strife, 
 We seldom man ourselves enough to brave 
 *7 The s^ren tones that o'er the sea of life, 
 
 Breath dangerously sweet from pleasures cave ; 
 False are the lights she kindles o'er the wave, 
 Man knows her beacon's fatal gleam nor flies, 
 But as the bird which flight alone could save 
 Still loves the serpents fascinating eyes, 
 Man seeks that dangerous light and in th' enjoyment dies. 
 
2 THE RECLUSE 
 
 But even when pleasures cup the brightest glow'd 
 And to her revel loudest was the call, 
 I felt her palace was not my abode, 
 I fear'd the hand-writing upon the wall, 
 And said amid my blindness and rny thrall, 
 Could J, as he of Nazareth did do, 
 But grasp the pillars of her dazzling hall, 
 And feel again the strength that once I knew 
 I'd crumble her proud dome, tho' I should perish too. 
 
 Is it existence 'mid the giddy throng 
 Of those who live but o'er the midnight bowl, 
 To revel in the dance, the laugh, the song, 
 And all that chains to earth th' immortal soul, 
 To breathe the tainted air of days that roll 
 In one dark round of vice to hear the cries 
 Indignant virtue lifts to Glory's goal, 
 When with unfettered pinion she would rise 
 To deeds that laugh at death and live beyond the skies? 
 
 Not such at least should be the poet's life, 
 Heaven to his soul a nobler impulse gave, 
 His be the dwelling where there is no strife, 
 Save the wild conflict of the wind and wave, 
 His be the music of the ocean cave 
 When gentle waves forgetful of their war, 
 Its rugged breast with whispering fondness lave, 
 And as he gazes on the evening star, 
 His heart will heave with joys the world can never mar. 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 3 
 
 O Nature what art Jthou that thus can'st pour, 
 Such tides of holy feeling round the heart ? 
 In all thy various works at every hour, 
 "How sweet the transport which thy charms impart, 
 But sweetest to the pensive soul thou art, 
 In this calm time to man in mercy given, 
 When the dark mists of Passion leave the heart, 
 And the free soul, her earthly fetters riven, 
 Spreads her aspiring wing and seeks her native heaven. 
 
 There is a bitterness in man's reproach, 
 Even when his voice is mildest, and we deem 
 That on our heaven-born freedom they encroach, 
 And with their frailties are not what they seem, 
 But the soft tones in star, in flower, or stream, 
 O'er the unresisting bosom gently flow, 
 Like whispers which some spirit in a dream, 
 Brings from her heaven to him she loved below, 
 To chide and win his heart, from earth and sin and woe. 
 
 Who, that e'er wandered in the calm blue night, 
 To see the moon upon some silent lake, 
 And as it trembled to her kiss of light, 
 Heard low soft sounds from its glad waters break, 
 Who that look'd upward to some mountain peak, 
 That rose disdaining earth or o'er the sea 
 Sent eye, sent thought in vain its bounds to seek, 
 Who thus could gaze, nor wish his soul might be 
 Like those great works of God, sublime and pure and free"? 
 B 2 
 
4 THE RECLUSE 
 
 Do I still see them, love them, live at last 
 Alone with Nature here to walk unseen ? 
 To look upon the storms that I have pass'd 
 And think of what I might be or have been ? 
 To read my life's dark page ? O beauteous queen 
 That won my boyish heart, and made me be 
 Thy inspiration's child if on this green 
 And sea-girt hill I feel my spirit free, 
 Next to yon ocean's God, the praise be all to thee 
 
 Spirit of Song ! since first I wooed thy smile, 
 How many a sorrow hath this bosom known, 
 How many false ones did its truth beguile, 
 From thee and nature, while around it strgwn 
 Lay shattered hopes and feelings, thou alone 
 Above my path of darkness brightly rose, 
 Yielding thy light when other light was gone, 
 O be thou still the soother of my woes, 
 'Till the low voice of Death shall call me to repose. 
 
 I've seen the friend whose faith I thought was prov'd, 
 Like one he knew not, pass me heedless by, 
 I've marked the coldness of the maid I lov'd, 
 And felt the chill of her once beaming eye, 
 The bier of fond ones has received my sigh, 
 Yet am I not abandoned if among 
 The chosen few whose names can never die, 
 Thy smile shall light me life's dark waste along, 
 No friend but this wild lyre no heritage but song. 
 
OF 1NCHIDONY. 
 
 'Tis a delightful calm ! there is no sound, 
 Save the low murmer of the distant rill, 
 A voice from heaven is breathing all around 
 Bidding the earth and restless man be still, 
 Soft sleeps the moon on InchidonyV hill, 
 And on the shore the shining ripples ba.k, 
 Gently and whispeiingly at Nature's will, 
 Like some fair child that on its mother's cheek, 
 Sinks fondly to repose in kisses pure and meek. 
 
 Tis sweet when Earth and Heaven such silence keep, 
 With pensive step to gain some headland's height, 
 And look across the wide extended deep, 
 To where its farthest waters sleep in light, 
 Or gaze upon those orbs so fair and bright, 
 
 * Still burning on in Heaven's unbounded space, 
 Like Seraphs bending o'er life's dreary night, 
 And with their look of love their smile of peace, 
 
 Wooing the weary soul to her high resting place. 
 
 Such was the hour the harp of Judah pour'd 
 Those strains no lyre of earth had ever rung, 
 When to the God his trembling soul adored 
 O'er the rapt chords the minstrel monarch hung 
 Such was the time when Jeremiah sung 
 With more than Angel's grief the sceptre toj;n 
 From Israel's land, the desolate streets among 
 Ruin gave back his cry 'till cheerless morn, 
 Return thee to thy God, Jerusalem return. 
 B3 
 
6 THE RECLUSE 
 
 Fair moon I too have lov'd thee, love thee still, 
 Tho' life to me hath been a chequered scene 
 Since first with boyhood's bound I climb'd the hill 
 To see the dark wave catch the silvery sheen, 
 Or when I sported on my native green 
 With many an innocent heart beneath thy ray, 
 Careless of what might come or what had been 
 When passions slept and virtue's holy ray 
 Shed its unsullied light round childhood's lovely day. 
 
 Yes I have loved thee, and while others spent 
 This hour of Heaven above the midnight bowl, 
 Oft to the lonely beach my steps were bent 
 That I might gaze on thee without controul, 
 That I might watch the white clouds round thee roll 
 Their drapery of Heaven thy smiles to ygil, 
 As if too pure for man, 'till o'er my soul 
 Came that sweet sadness none can e'er reveal, 
 But passion'd bosoms know for they alone can feel. 
 
 O that I were once more what I was then 
 With soul unsullied and with heart unsear'd, 
 Before I mingled with the herd of men 
 In whom all trace of man had disappear'd ; 
 Before the calm pure morning star that cheer'd, 
 And sweetly lured me on to virtue's shrine 
 Was clouded or the cold green turf was rear'd 
 Above the hearts that warmly beat to mine, 
 Could I be that once more I need not now repine. 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 7 
 
 What form is that in yonder anchor'd bark 
 Pacing the lonely deck, when all beside 
 Are hush'd in sleep ? tho' undefined and dark 
 His bearing speaks him one of birth and pride : 
 Now he leans o'er the vessel's landward side, 
 This way his eye is turn'd hush did I hear 
 A voice as if some lov'd one just had died. 
 "Pis from yon ship that wail comes on mine ear, 
 And now o'er ocean's sleep it floats distinct and clear. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 On CleadaV hill the moon is bright, 
 Dark Avondu 8 still rolls in light, 
 All changeless is that mountain's head 
 That river still seeks ocean's bed, 
 The calm blue waters of Loch Lene 
 Still kiss their own sweet isles of green, 
 But where's the heart as firm and true 
 As hill, or lake, or Avoridu ? 
 
 It may not be, the firmest heart 
 From all it loves must often part, 
 A look, a word will quench the flame 
 That time or fate could never tame, 
 And there are feelings proud and high 
 That thro' all changes cannot die, 
 That strive with love and conquer too ; 
 I knew them all by Avondu. 
 
 How cross and wayward still is fate 
 I've learn'd at last but learn'd too late,, 
 I never spoke of love, 'twere vain, 
 I knew it, still I dragg'd my chain, 
 
THE RECLUSE 
 
 I had not, never had a hope 
 But who 'gainst passion's tide can cope. 
 Headlong it swept this hosom thro' 
 And left it waste by Avondu. 
 
 Avondu I wish I were 
 
 As once upon that mountain bare, 
 Where thy young waters laugh and shine 
 On the wild breast of Meenganine, 
 
 1 wish I were by Cle*ada's hill, 
 Or by Glenluachra's rushy rill, 
 But no! I never more shall view 
 Those scenes I loved by Avondu. 
 
 Farewell ye soft and purple streaks 
 Of evening on the beauteous Reeks* 
 Farewell ye mists that lov'd to ride 
 On Cahir-bearna's stormy side, 
 Farewell November's moaning breeze, 
 Wild Minstrel of the dying trees, 
 Clara ! a fond farewell to you 
 No more we meet by Avondu. 
 
 No more but thou O glorious hill 
 Lift to the moon thy forehead still, 
 Flow on, flow on, thou dark swift river 
 Upon thy free wild course for ever, 
 Exult young hearts in lifetime's spring 
 And taste the joys pure love can bring, 
 But wanderer go they're not for you ! 
 Farewell, farewell, sweet Avondu. 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 9 
 
 Stranger thy lay is sad, I too have felt 
 That which for worlds T would not feel again, 
 At beauty's shrine devoutly have T knelt, 
 And sighed my prayer of love but sigh'd in vain ; 
 Yet 'twas not coldness, falsehood, or disdain 
 That crush'd my hopes and cast me far away, 
 Like shatter'd bark upon a stormy main 
 'Twas pride, the heritage of sin and clay 
 Which darkens all that's bright, in young Love's sunny 
 day. 
 
 'Tis past I've conquered and my bonds are broke, 
 Tho' in the conflict well nigh broke my heart, 
 Man cannot tear him from so sweet a voke 
 Without deep wounds that long will bleed and smart. 
 Lov'd one, but lost one ! yes to me thou art 
 As some fair vision of a dream now flown, 
 A wayward fate hath made us meet and part, 
 Yet have we parted nobly ; be mine own 
 The grief that e'er we met that e'er I live alone ! 
 
 But man was born for suffering, and to l^ear 
 Even pain is better than a dull repose, 
 'Tis noble to subdue the rising tear, 
 'Tis glorious to outlive the heart's sick thrpjes ; 
 Man is most man amid the heaviest woes, 
 And strongest when least human aid is given, 
 The stout bark founders when the tempest blows, 
 . The mountain oak is by the lightning riven, 
 But what can crush the mind that lives alone with heaven? 
 
10 THE RECLUSE 
 
 Deep in the solitude of his own heart 
 With his own thoughts he'll hold communion high, 
 Tho' with his fortune's ebb false friends depart 
 And leave him on life's desart shore to lie 
 Tho' all forsake him and the world belie 
 The world, that fiend of scandal, strife, and crime, 
 Yet has he that which cannot change or die, 
 His spirit still thro' fortune, fate and time, 
 Lives like an Alpine peak, lone, stainless, and sublime* 
 
 Well spoke the Moralist who said " the more 
 I mixed with men the less a man I grew ;" 
 Who can behold their follies nor deplore 
 The many days he prodigally threw 
 Upon their sickening vanities ye few 
 In whom 1 sought for men, nor sought in vain, 
 Proud without pride in friendship firm and true, 
 Oh ! that some far off island of the main 
 Held you and him you love the wish is but a pain. 
 
 My wishes are all such no joy is mine 
 Save thus to stray my native wilds among 
 On some lone hill an idle verse to twine 
 Whene'er my spirit feels the gusts of song, 
 They come but fitfully nor linger long, 
 And this sad harp ne'er yields a tone of pride, 
 Its voice ne'er pour'd the battle-tide along 
 Since freedom sunk beneath the Saxon's stride, 
 And by the assassin's steel the grey-hair'd DesmondMied. 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 11 
 
 Ye deathless stories and immortal songs, 
 That live triumphant o'er the waste of time, 
 To whose inspiring breath alone belongs 
 To bid man's spirit walk on earth sublime, 
 Know his own worth and nerve his heart to climb 
 The mountain steeps of glory and of fame : 
 How vainly would my cold and feeble rhyme 
 Burst the deep slumber, or light up the'shame, 
 Of men who still are slaves amid your voice of flame. 
 
 Yet outcast of the nations, lost one yet 
 How can I look on thee nor try to save, 
 Or in thy degradation all forget, 
 That 'twas thy breast that nurs'd me tho* a slave ; 
 Still do I love thee for the life you gave, 
 Still shall this harp be heard above thy sleep, 
 Free as the wind and fearless as the wave, 
 Perhaps in after days thou yet may'st leap, 
 At strains unheeded now when I lie cold and deep. 
 
 Sad one of Desmond, could this feeble hand 
 But teach thee tones of freedom and of fire, 
 Such as were heard o'er Hellas' glorious land, 
 From the high L_esbian harp or Chian lyre, 
 Thou should' st not wake to sorrow, but aspire 
 To themes like theirs ; but yonder see where hujjld 
 The crescent prostrate lies the clouds retire 
 From freedom's heaven the cross is wide unfurl'd, 
 There breaks again that light the beacon of the \\ferjd. 
 
12 THE RECLUSE 
 
 I 
 
 Is it a dream that mocks thy cheerless doom ? 
 Or hast thou heard, .fair Greece, her voice at l&st, 
 And brightly bursting from thy mouldering tomb, 
 Hast thou thy shroud of ages from thee cast ? 
 High swelling in Cantabria's mountains blast, 
 And Lusitanian hills that summons rung 
 Like the Archangel's voice, and as it past, 
 Quick from their death- sleep many a nation sprung 
 With hearts by freedom fir'd and hands for freedom 
 strung. 
 
 Heavens ! 'tis a lovely soul entrancing sight 
 To see thy sons careering o'er that wave, 
 Which erst in Salamis' immortal fight, 
 Bore their proud gallies 'gainst the Persian slave : 
 Each billow then that was a tyrant's grave 
 Now bounds exulting round their gallant way, 
 Joyous to feel once more the free the brave 
 High lifted on their breast as on that day 
 When Hellas' shout peal'd high along her conquering bay. 
 
 Nurseling of freedom ! from her mountain nest 
 She early taught thine eagle-wing to soar, 
 With eye undazzled and with fearless breast 
 To heights of glory never reached before. 
 Far on the cliff of time all grand and hoar. 
 Proud of her charge thy lofty deeds she rears 
 With her own deathless trophies blazon' d o'er, 
 As mind-marks for the gaze of after years 
 Vainly they journey on no match for thee appears. 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 13 
 
 But be not thine, fair land, the dastard strife 
 Of yon degenerate race along their plains 
 They heard that call they started into life, 
 They felt their limbs a moment free from chains : 
 The foe came on : but shall the minstrel's strains 
 Be sullied by the story hush my lyre 
 Leave them amidst the desolate waste that reigns 
 Round tyranny's dark march of lava fire 
 Leave them amid their shame their bondage to expire. 
 
 Oh be not thine such strife there heaves no sod 
 Along thy fields but hides a hero's head, 
 And when you charge for freedom and for God, 
 Then then be mindful of the mighty dead ! 
 Think that your field of battle is the bed 
 Where slumber hearts that never fear'd a foe, 
 And while you feel at each electric tread 
 Their spirit thro' your veins indignant glow 
 Strong be your sabres sway for Freedom's vengeful blow. 
 
 O, sprung from those who by Eurotas dwelt, 
 Have ye f&xgfti their deeds on yonder plain 
 When pouring through the pass, the Persian felt 
 The band of Sparta was not there in vain 
 Have ye forgot how o'er the glorious slain 
 Greece bade her bard the immortal story write 
 O if your bosoms one proud thought retain 
 Of those who perished in that deathless fight, 
 Awake, like them be free, or sleep with names as bright. 
 c 
 
14 THE RECLUSE 
 
 Relics of heroes, from your glorious bed 
 Amid your broken slumbers do ye feel 
 The rush of war loud thundering o'er your head? 
 Hear ye the sound of Hellas' charging steel 
 Hear ye their victor cry the Moslem's reel ? 
 On Greeks, for freedom on, they fly they fly ; 
 Heav'ns how the aged mountains know that peal, 
 Thro' all their echoing tops while grand and high 
 Thermopylae's deep voice gives back the proud reply. 
 
 Oh for the pen of him whose bursting tear 
 Of childhood told his fame in after days, 
 Oh for that Bard to Greece and Freedom dear, 
 The Bard of Lesbos with his kindling lays, 
 Tojhymn, regenerate land, thy lofty praise, 
 Thy brave unaided strife to tell the shame 
 Of Europe's free^est sons who 'mid the rays 
 Thro' time's far vista blazing from thy name, 
 Caught no ennobling glow from that immortal flame. 
 
 Not even the deeds of him who late a|ar 
 Shook the astonished nations with his might, 
 Not even the deeds of her whose wings of war 
 Wide o'er the ocean stretch their victor flight, 
 Not they shall rise with half the unbroken light 
 Above the waves of time fair Greece as thine ; 
 Earth never yet produced in Heaven's high sight, 
 Thro' all her climates offerings so divine 
 As thy proud sons have paid at Freedom's sacred shrine. 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 15 
 
 Ye isles of beauty from your dwelling blue 
 Lift up to Heaven that shout unheard too long, 
 Ye mountains steep'd in glory's distant hue 
 If with you lives the memory of that song 
 Which freedom taught you, the proud strain prolong', 
 Echo each name that in her cause hath died 
 'Till grateful Greece enrol them with the throng 
 Of her illustrious sons who on the tide 
 Of her immortal verse eternally shall glide. 
 
 And be not his forgot, the ocean bard 
 Whose heart and harp in Freedom's cause were strung, 
 For Greece self-exiled, seeking no reward, 
 Tyrtseus of his time for Greece he sung : 
 For her on Moslem spears his breast he flung. 
 Many bright names in Hellas met renown 
 But brighter ne'er in song or story rung 
 Than his, who late for freedom laid him down 
 And with the Minstrel's wreath entwined her martyr's 
 crown. 
 
 That Minstrel sings no more ! from yon sad isles 
 A voice of wail was heard along the deep, 
 Britannia caught the sound amid her smiles 
 Forgot her triumph songs and turned to weep. 
 Vainly her grief is pour'd above his sleep, 
 He feels it, hears it not ! the pealing roar 
 Of the deep thunder and the tempest's sweep 
 That call'd his spirit up so oft before, 
 May shout to him in vain ! their Minstrel wakes no more ! 
 c 3 
 
16 THE RECLUSE 
 
 That moment heard ye the despairing shriek 
 Of Missolonghi's daughters ? did ye hear 
 That cry from all the Islands of the Greek, 
 And the wild yell of Suli's mountaineer, 
 Th' Illyrian starting dropp'd his forward spear, 
 The fierce Chimariot leant upon hi* gun, 
 From his stern eye of battle dropp'd the tear 
 For him who died that Freedom might be v^gp 
 For Greece and all her race. 'Tis gain'd, but he is gone. 
 
 Too short he dwelt amongst us and too long, 
 Where is the bard of earth will now aspire 
 To soar so high upon the wing of song 1 
 Who shall inherit now his soul of fire ? 
 
 ' His spirit's dazzling light! vain man retire 
 Mid the wild heath of Albyn's loneliest glen, 
 Leave to the winds that now forsaken lyre, 
 Until some angel-bard come down again 
 
 And wake once more those strains, too high, too sweet 
 for men. 
 
 The sun still sets along Morea's hill, 
 The moon still rises o'er Cithseron's height ; 
 But where is he, the bard whose matchless skill 
 Gave fresher beauty to their march of light ? 
 The blue ^Egean o'er whose waters bright 
 Was pour'd so oft the enchantment of his strain 
 Seeks him ; and thro' the wet and starless night 
 The Peaks- of- thunder flash and shout in vain*, 
 For him who sung their strength he ne'er shall sing 
 again * 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 1.7 
 
 What tho' descended from a lofty line 
 Earth's highest honours waited his command, 
 And bright his father's coronet did shine 
 Around his brow, he scorn'd to take his stand 
 With those whose names must die a nobler band, 
 A deathless fame his ardent bosom fired, 
 From Glory's mount he saw the promised land 
 To which his anxious spirit long aspired, 
 And then in Freedom's arms exulting he expired* 
 
 You who delight to censure feeble man, 
 Wrapt in self-love to your own failings blind, 
 Presume not with your narrow view to scan 
 The aberrations of a mighty mind ; 
 His course was not the path of human -kind, 
 His destinies below were not the same, 
 With passions headlong as the tempest- wind 
 His spirit wasted in its own strong flame, 
 A wandering star of Heaven, he's gone from whence he 
 came. 
 
 But while the sun looks down upon those Isles 
 That laugh in beauty o'er the ^Egean deep, 
 Long as the moon shall shed her placid smiles 
 Upon the fields where Freedom's children sleep 
 T.ong as the bolt of Heaven the tempest's sweep 
 
 ^ With Rhodope or Athos war shall wage, 
 And its triumphant sway the cross shall keep 
 Above the crescent, even from age to age 
 
 Shall Byron's name shine bright on Hellas' deathless 
 
 c3 
 
18 THE RECLUSE 
 
 Bard of my boyhood's love, farewell to thee ; 
 I little deemed that o'er ir,v feeble lay 
 Should wait thy doom the;ie eyes so soon should see 
 The clouding of thy spirit's glorious ray ; 
 Fountain of beauty, on life's desert way, 
 Too soon thy voice is hush'd thy waters dried : 
 Eagle of song too short thy pinion's sway 
 Career'd in its high element of pride, 
 Weep! blue ey ed Albjrji, weep! with him thy glory died! 
 
 O ! could my lyre, this inexperienced hand 
 Like that high master- bard thy spirit sway, 
 Not such weak tribute should its touch command, 
 Immortal as the theme should be thy lay 
 But meeter honours loftier harps shall pay, 
 The harps of freeborn men enough for me 
 If as I journey on life's weary way 
 Mourner I rest awhile to weep with thee, 
 O'er him who lov'd our land, whose voice would make 
 her free. 
 
 My country, must I still behold thy tears 
 And watch the sorrows of thy long dark night? 
 No sound of joy thy desolation cheers, 
 Thine eyes have look'd in vain for freedom's light ; 
 Then set thy sun and wither'd all thy might, 
 When first you stooped beneath the Saxon yoke, 
 And thy high harp that called to Freedom's fight, 
 Since then forgot the strains that once it woke, 
 And like the Benshee's cry, of death alone hath spoke, 
 
OF INCHIDONY. 
 
 Is this the Atlantic that before me rolls 
 In its eternal freedom round thy shore ? 
 Hath its grand march no moral yet for souls ? 
 Is there no sound of glory in its roar? 
 Must man alone be abject evermore ? 
 Slave ! hast thou ever gaz'd upon that sea? 
 When the strong 1 wind its wrathful billows bore 
 'Gainst earth, did not their mission seem to be, 
 To lash thee into life, and teach thee to be free ? 
 
 But no ! thine heart is broke, thine arm is weak 
 Who thus could see God's image not to sigh, 
 Famine hath plough'd his journeys on thy cheek, 
 Despair hath made her dwelling in thine eye, 
 The lordly Churchman rides unheeding by, 
 He fattens on the sweat that dries thy brain, 
 The very dogs that in his kennel lie 
 Hold revels to thy fare ! but don't complain 
 He has the cure of souls the law doth so ordain. 
 
 Could England's sons but see what I have seen, 
 Thy wretched fare when home at night you go, 
 Thy cot of mud where never sound has been 
 But groans of famine, of disease and woe, 
 Thy naked children shivering in the snow, 
 The wet cold straw on which your limbs recline, 
 Saw they but these their wealth they would forego, 
 To know you still retained one spark divine, 
 To hear your mountain shout and see your charging line. 
 
20 THE RECLUSE 
 
 England ! thou free'st noblest of the world, 
 
 may the minstrel never live to see 
 Against thy sons the flag of green unfurl' d, 
 Or his own land thus aim at liberty ; 
 
 May their sole rivalry for ever be 
 
 Such as the Gallic despot dearly knew, 
 
 When English hearts and Irish chivalry 
 
 Strove who should first be where the eagle flew, 
 
 And high their conquering shout arose o'er Waterloo. 
 
 But prison'd winds will round their caverns sweep 
 Until they burst them, then the hills will quake. 
 The lava- rivers will for ages sle,ep 
 But nations tremble when in wrath they wake. 
 Erin has hearts by mountain, glen and lake, 
 That wrongs or favors never can forget, 
 If lov'd they'll die for you, but trampled, break 
 At last their long dark silence you have met 
 Their steel in foreign fields, they've hands can wield it 
 yet. 
 
 Too long on such dark themes my song hath run ; 
 Eugenio 'tis meet it now should end, 
 It was no lay of gladness but 'tis done, 
 
 1 bid farewell to it and thee my friend : 
 
 I do not hope that the cold world will lend 
 To sad and selfish rhymes a patient ear, 
 Enough for uie if while I darkly bend 
 O'er my own troubled thoughts, one heart is near 
 That feels my joy or grief, with sympathy sincere. 
 
OF 1NCHIDONY. 21 
 
 I have not suffer'd more than worthier men, 
 Nor of my share of ill do I complain, 
 But other hearts will find some refuge when 
 Above them lower the gathering clouds of pain, 
 The world has vanities and man is vain, 
 The world has pleasures~and to these they fly, 
 I too have tried them but they left a stain 
 Upon my heart, and as their tide roll'd by, 
 The cares I sought to drown, emerged with sterner eye. 
 
 Thou hast not often seen my clouded brow ; 
 The tear I strove with, thou hast never seen, 
 The lo-ad of life that did my spirit bow 
 Was hid beneath a calm or mirthful mren ; 
 The wild flowers blossom and the dew-drops sheen 
 Will fling their light and beauty o'er the spot, 
 Where in its cold dark chamber all unseen 
 The water trickles thro' the lonely grot, 
 And weeps itself to stone such long hath been my lot.. 
 
 It matters not what was, or is the cause, 
 I wish not even thy faithful breast to know 
 The grief which magnet-like my spirit draws 
 True to itself above life's waves of woe,. 
 The gleams of happiness I feel below, 
 Awhile may play around me and depart 
 Like sunlight on the eternal hills of snow, 
 It gilds their brow but never warms their heart, 
 Such cold and cheerless beam doth joy to me impav*. 
 
22 THE RECLUSE OF INCHIDONY. 
 
 The night is spent, our task is ended now, 
 See yonder steals the srreen and yellow light, 
 The lady of the morning lifts her brow 
 Gleaming thro' dews of Heaven, all pure and bright, 
 The calm waves heave with tremulous delight, 
 The far Seven- Heads 6 thro' mists of purple smile, 
 The lark ascends from Inchidony's height, 
 'Tis morning sweet one of my native Isle, 
 Wild voice of Desmond hush go rest thee for awhile. 
 
ACCESSION 
 
 GEORGE THE FOURTH, 
 
 ON Albion's cliffs the sun is bright, 
 
 And still Saint George's sea, 
 O'er her blue hills emerging height 
 Hover soft clouds of silvery light, 
 
 As in expectancy ; 
 The barks that seek the sister shore 
 Fly gallantly the breeze before, 
 
 Like messengers of joy, 
 And light is every bosom's bound, 
 And the bright eyes that glance, around, 
 
 Sparkle with transport high, 
 Hark ! the cannon's thundering voice 
 Bids every British heart rejoice, 
 
 Upon this glorious day. 
 Slowly the lengthened files advance 
 Mid trumpet swell and war-horse prance, 
 While sabre's sheen and glittering lance 
 
 Blaze in the noontide ray, 
 Streamer and flag from each mast head 
 
 On the glad breeze their foldings fling, 
 
24 ACCESSION OF 
 
 The bells their merry peals ring out, 
 And kerchiefs wave and banners flout 
 And joyous thousands loudly shout, 
 Huzza for George our King ! 
 
 "Tis night calm night, and all around 
 The listening. ear can catch no sound, 
 The shouts that with departing day 
 Less frequent burst have died away, 
 The moon slow mounts the cloudless sky 
 With modest brow and pensive eye, 
 Thames owns her presence with delight 
 And trembles to her kiss of night, 
 Far down along his course serene, 
 The liquid flash of oars is seen 
 Advancing on with measured sweep, 
 Lovely to view is the time they keep, 
 And hark ! the voice of melody 
 Comes o'er the waters joyously, 
 It is from that returning boat 
 Those sweet sounds of triumph float, 
 And nearer as she glides along 
 Mingling with music swells the song. 
 
 SONG. 
 
 Britannia exult on thy throne of blue waters, 
 In the midst of thine Islands thou queen of the sea, 
 And loud be the hymn of thy fair bosom'd daughters 
 To hail the high chief of the brave and l;he free. 
 
GEORGE THE FOURTH. 25 
 
 While o'er the subject deep 
 
 Proudly your navies sweep, 
 Tars of old England still shout o'er the main, 
 
 Till the green depths of ocean ring, 
 
 God save great George our King, 
 Honor and glory and length to his reign. 
 
 Hush'd be your war song ye sons of the mountain, 
 Pibroch of Donald Dhu mute be thy voice, 
 Wizard that slept by Saint Fillan's grey fountain, 
 With loyalty's rapture bid Scotia rejoice, 
 
 Then to your stayless spear 
 
 AlJ^n's brave mountaineer, 
 Should foemen awake your wild slogan again, 
 
 And loud o'er the battle sing 
 
 God save great George our King, 
 Honor and glory and length to his reign. 
 
 Strike thy wild harp yon green Isle of the ocean, 
 And light as thy mirth be the sound of its strain, 
 And welcome with Erin's own burst of emotion, 
 The Prince that shall loose the last links of thy chain, 
 
 And like the joyous cry 
 
 Hellas' sons raised on high, 
 When they stood like their fathers all free on the plain, 
 
 Up the glad chorus fling 
 
 God save great George our King, 
 Honor and glory and length to his reign. 
 
 Chief of the mighty and the free 
 Thy joyous Britain welcomes thee, 
 Her longing eyes have watcli'd afar 
 The mounting of thy promised star, 
 D 
 
26 ACCESSION OF 
 
 Beneath its influence benign 
 
 Long- may she kneel at Freedom's shrine. 
 
 Its rising o'er Saint George's main 
 
 lerne hails with glad acclaim, 
 
 Dear as to Hellas' weary few 
 
 Their own blue wave roll'd full in view, 
 
 Such Erin's song of Jubilee 
 
 And such her hopes O Prince from thee.*- 
 
 From thee, for thy young steps have stray 'd 
 In converse with the Athenian maid, 
 Listen' d to Virtue's high reward 
 As taught by sage or sung by bard, 
 Smil'd at Anacreon's sportive lyre 
 Or glow'd at Pindar's strain of fire, 
 Or heard the flood of Freedom roll'd 
 From lips that now alas ! are cold, 
 For ever cold in that dark tomb 
 Where Britain mourns her Fox's doom. 
 Nurtur'd with these, by these refin'd, 
 She watch'd with joy thy opening mind, 
 Young as thou wert she then could see 
 That Erin's weal was dear to thee, 
 And look'd with transport to the day 
 Would yield the sceptre to thy sway. 
 
 'Tis done on yonder deathless field 
 Ambition clos'd her bloody game, 
 
 Bent darkly o'er her shatter'd shield 
 And'dropp'd her tear of flame, 
 
GEORGE THE FOURTH. 27 
 
 Europe beheld with glistening eye 
 
 Her wrongs aveng'd her fetters riven, 
 
 And peace and mercy from on high, 
 Diffus'd once more the gifts of Heaven, 
 
 With Britain's genius hand in hand, 
 
 Long may they wait on thy command, 
 
 Long to our vows may they remain 
 
 To bless O Prince thy prosperous reign, 
 
 And waft Britannia's halcyon day 
 
 To every land that owns thy sway. 
 
 Yes even to those stranger-lands 
 Where Niger rolls thro' burning sands ; 
 Where fragrant spirits ever sigh 
 On the fresh breeze of Yemen's sky, 
 Or where indulgent nature smiles 
 On her Pelew or Friendly Isles, 
 Commerce and Peace shall waft thy fame 
 And teach the world their George's name. 
 
 In yon fair land of sunny skies 
 Where Brahma hears her children's sighs 
 And Avarice with her demon crew 
 Drains to the life the meek Gentoo, 
 Justice no more shall plead in vain 
 But point to thine avenging reign. 
 
 Ganges now no more shall hear, 
 As on he rolls his sacred water, 
 
 The clash of arms the shout of fear 
 Redden no more with kindred slaughter ; 
 D 2 
 
28 ACCESSION OF 
 
 The Hindoo maid shall fearless stray 
 
 At eve his peaceful banks along, 
 And dance to Scotia's sprightly lay 
 
 Or weep at Erin's plaintive song, 
 Or sit amid Ocacia bowers 
 
 That hang their cooly shade above her , 
 And as she twines the fairest flowers 
 
 To deck the brows of her young lover, 
 She'll think from whence these pleasures came, 
 Look to the west and bless thy name. 
 
 Far o'er the wave where Erin draws 
 The sword in Heaven's best, holiest cause, 
 And sees her green flag proudly sail 
 Aloft on Chili's mountain gale, 
 When swells her harp with freedom's sound 
 And freedom's bowl goes circling round, 
 Then shall the cup be crown'd to thee 
 Sparkling with smiles of Liberty. 
 
 The glorious task O Prince be thine 
 To guard thy Britain's sacred shrine, 
 To watch o'er Freedom's vestal fire, 
 Call forth the spirit of the lyre, 
 Bid worth and genius honor'd be. 
 Unbind the slave defend the free, 
 And bring again o'er ocean's foam 
 The wandering Pargiot to his home. 
 Children of Parga are ye gone 
 Children of Freedom shall her song 
 Echo no more your cliffs among I 
 
GEORGE THE FOURTH. 
 
 Shall barbarous Moslem rites profane 
 The shrines that bow'd to Tssa's name, 
 To guard your shores from despot's tread 
 Was it in vain your fathers bled, 
 'Till every rock, and every wave 
 Around them, was a Parglot's grave? 
 Oh ! that their sons should ever roam 
 O'er ocean's waste to seek a home, 
 Oh ! that the dwelling of the free 
 Parga ! that thou should'st sullied be, 
 By tread of Moslem tyranny. 
 
 Oh Greece thou ever honored name, 
 Even in thy bondage and thy shame 
 Fondly around each youthful mind, 
 By all thy classic ties entwined, 
 How shall this lay address the free 
 Nor turn aside sweet land to thee, 
 Mother of arts and Liberty. 
 From thy bright pages first I drew 
 The soul that makes me part of you, 
 There caught that spark of heavenly fire 
 If such e'er warms the minstrel's lyre, 
 If e'er it breathes one wakening tone 
 O'er freedom's slumbers 'tis thine own. 
 
 Oh ! after bondage dark and long 
 Could I but hear young freedom's song, 
 And scattered see the Moslem's pride 
 Before thy battle's whelming tide, 
 On that red field I'd gladly lie, 
 My requiem thy conquering cry. 
 D3 
 
30 ACCESSION OF 
 
 Heavens ! mid the sons of godlike sires, 
 Is there no soul whom freedom fires, 
 And is the lyre of Lesbos hung 
 In slavery's hall, unswept unstrung, 
 Is every glorious relic lost 
 
 Of that immortal patriot's ashes, 
 That on the winds of freedom tost, 
 
 Where Salamis' blue billow dasEes, 
 Floated all burning from their pile 
 And slept on continent and isle, 
 As if to fire with that embrace 
 His native land and all her race 1 
 It cannot be there yet remain 
 Some sparks of that high spirit's flame ; 
 Oh wake them with thy kindling breath 
 Oh call a nation back from death. 
 Yes captives ! yes, at his command 
 Methinks I see Britannia stand,. 
 Where stood and died the Spartan band, 
 Where rising o'er Thermopylae 
 Thessalia's mountains view the sea, 
 Sparkling with all its sunny isles"*" 
 Oh how can slavery wear such smiles ? 
 And Marathon's, Platsea's plain 
 And Thebes whose heroes died in vain, 
 To each immortal scene about 
 The Queen of ocean sends her shout, 
 While hill and plain and isle around 
 Answer to freedom's long lost sound. 
 
 Sons of the mighty and the wise, 
 Sons of the Greeks, awake ! arise ! 
 
GEORGE THE FOURTH. 31 
 
 By all your wrongs by all your shame, 
 By freedom's self, that blessed name, 
 Think of the fields your fathers fought : 
 Think of the rights they dying bought, 
 Hark ! hark ! they call you from their skies 
 Sons of the mighty, wake arise ! 
 
 And oh my country shall there be 
 From these wild chords no prayer for thee I 
 Land of the minstrel's holiest dream, 
 Land of young beauty's brightest beam, 
 The fearless heart the open hand 
 My own my dear my native land ! 
 
 And can the noble and the wise, 
 A nation's rightful prayer despise, 
 Can they who boast of being free, 
 Refuse that blessed boast to thee 1 
 See yonder aged warrior brave 
 Whose blood has been on sward and wave, 
 Is he refused his valour's meed 
 Because he loves his father's creed ? 
 Or is there in that creed alone, 
 What Valour, Genius, should disown ; 
 To its found votary is there given 
 Less of the mounting flame of Heaven, 
 When his young hand essays the lyre, 
 Oh ! can he wake no tone of fire ? 
 Does war's stern aspect blanch his cheek 
 Does foeman find his arm more weak, 
 His eye less bright ? Oh let them say 
 Who saw the sabre's fearful sway, 
 
32 ACCESSION OF GEORGE THE FOURTH, 
 
 Cleave its red path thro' many a fray, 
 Who saw his minstrel banner waving 
 Where war's wild din was wildest raving, 
 And heard afar the onset cry 
 Of hearts that know to win, or die. 
 
 Oh Britain had we never known 
 The kindling breath of Freedom zone, 
 Or vanquish'd, had we still remained 
 In slavery's deepest dungeon chained, 
 Without one ray of freedom's sjm 
 To wake our sighs for glories gone. 
 Such cheerless thraldom we might bear 
 With the dark meekness of despair ; 
 But the chained Eagle when he sees 
 His mates upon the mountain breeze, 
 And marks their free wing upward soar 
 To heights his own oft reach'd before, 
 Again that kindred clime he s_eeks, 
 Bold bird 'tis vain thy wild heart breaks ! 
 
 Oh monarch ! by a monarch's name, 
 By the high line from whence you came, 
 By that, to each proud spirit dear, 
 The lofty name that dies not here, 
 With life's short day bat round the tomb 
 Breathes Immortality's perfume, 
 By Royalty's protecting hand, 
 Look on my dear my native land. 
 
RESTORATION 
 
 SPOILS OF ATHENS, 
 
 RAISE, Athens, raise thy loftiest tone, 
 Eastward the tempest cloud hath blown, 
 Vengeance hung darkly on its wing, ~j 
 
 It burst in ruin ; Athens ring > 
 
 Thy loudest peal of triumphing ; J 
 
 Persia is fallen : in smouldering heaps, 
 Her grand, her stately City sleeps ; 
 Above her towers exulting high 
 Susa has heard the victor's cry, 
 And Ecbatana, nurse of pride, 
 Tells where her best, her bravest died. 
 Persia is sad, her virgin's sighs 
 Thro' all her thousandstates ^arise 9 
 Along Arbela's purple plain 
 Shrieks the wild wail aboye the slain ; 
 Long, long shall Persia curse the day, 
 When at the voice of despot sway, 
 Her millions marched o'er Helle's wave* 
 To chain vain boast the free, the brave. 
 
34 RESTORATION OF 
 
 Raise, Athens, raise thy triumph song ! 
 Yet louder yet, the peal prolong ! 
 Aveng'd at length our slaughter'd sires ; 
 Aveng'd the waste of Persian fires, 
 And these dear relics of the brave, 
 Torn from their shrines by Satrap slave, 
 The spoils of Persia's haughty King 
 Again are thine ring, Athens ring ! 
 
 Oh ! Liberty, delightful name, 
 The land that once hath felt thy flame, 
 That lov'd thy light, but wept its clouding, 
 Oh ! who can tell her joy's dark shrouding ; 
 But if to cheer that night of sorrow 
 Mem'ry a ray of thine should borrow, 
 That on her tears and on her woes, 
 Sheds one soft beam of sweet repose, 
 Oh ! who can tell her bright revealing, 
 Her deep her holy thrills of feeling. 
 
 So Athens felt, as fix'd her gaze, 
 On her proud wealth of better days ; 
 'Twas' not the Tripod's costly frame, 
 Nor vase that told its artist's fame, 
 Nor veils high wrought with skill divine, 
 That graced the old Minerva's shrine, 
 Nor marble bust where vigour breath' d, 
 And beauty's living ringlets wreath'd, 
 Not these could wake that joyous tone, 
 Those transports long unfelt unknown 
 . 'Twas memory's vision robed in light, 
 That rush'd upon her raptured sight, 
 
THE SPOILS OF ATHENS. 35 
 
 Warm from the fields where freedom strove, 
 Fresh with the wreaths that freedom wove, 
 This hless'd her then, if that could be, 
 If ought is blest that is not free. 
 
 But did no voice exulting raise 
 To that high Chief the song of praise, 
 And did no peal of triumph ring, 
 For Macedon's victorious King, 
 Who from the foe those spoils had won ; 
 Was there no shout for Philip's son ? 
 No Monarch ^no what is thy name, 
 What is thine high career of fame, 
 From its first field of youthful pride 
 Where Valour failed and Freedom died, 
 Onward by mad ambition fired 
 'Till Greece beneath its march expired ? 
 Let the base herd to whom thy gold 
 Is dearer than the rights they sold, 
 In secret, to their Lord and King 
 That foul unholy incense fling ; 
 But let no slave exalt his voice 
 Where hearts in glory's trance rejoice : 
 Oh breathe not now her tyrant's name 
 Oh wake not yet Athense's shame. 
 
 Would that the hour when Xerxes' ire 
 Wrapt fair Athense's walls in fire, 
 All, all had perished in the blaze 
 And that had been her last of days ! 
 Gone down in that bright shroud of glory 
 The loveliest wreck in after story ; 
 
3S RESTORATION OF 
 
 Or when her children forced to roam, 
 Freedom their star the waves their home, 
 Near Salamis' immortal isle 
 Would they had slept in victory's smile ; 
 Or Cheronea's fatal day 
 While fronting Slavery's dark array, 
 Had seen them 1 bravely, nobly die, -\ 
 
 ~ Bosom on gushing bosom lie, \ 
 
 Piling fair freedom's breast work high, ) 
 Ere one Athenian should remain 
 To languish life in captive chain, 
 Or basely wield a freeman's sword 
 Beneath a Macedonian lord. 
 Such then was Greece, tho* conquer'd, chain'd, 
 Some pride, some virtue, yet remain'd ; 
 And as the sun when down he glides 
 Slowly behind the mountains' sides, 
 Leaves in the cloud that robes the hill, 
 His own bright image burning still, 
 Thus freedom's lingering flushes shone 
 O'er Greece, the freedom's self was gone. 
 
 Such then was Greece ! how fallen, how low, 
 Yet great even then, what is she now ? 
 Who can her many woes deplore, 
 Who shall her freedom's spoils restore, 
 Darkly above her slavery's night 
 The crescent sheds its lurid light ; 
 Upon her breaks no cheering ray, 
 No beam of freedom's lovely day ; 
 
THE SPOILS OF ATHENS. 37 
 
 But there deep shrouded in her doom, 
 There now is Greece a living tomb, 
 Look at her sons and seek in vain, 
 The indignant brow, the high disdain, 
 With which the proud soul drags her chain : 
 The living spark of latent fire 
 That smoulders on, but can't expire, 
 That bright beneath the lowering lashes 
 Will burst at times in angry flashes, 
 Like Etna, fitful slumbers taking, 
 To be but mightier in its waking, 
 Spirits of those whose ashes sleep 
 
 For freedom's cause in glory's bed ! 
 Oh do you sometimes come and weep 
 
 That, that is lost for which ye bled, 
 That e'er barbarian flag should floai. 
 
 O'er your own home, in victory's pride, 
 That e'er should ring barbarian shout 
 
 Where Wisdom taught and Valour died. 
 Oh for that Minstrel's soul of fire 
 
 That breath'd, and Sparta's arm was strong ! 
 Oh for some master of the lyre 
 
 To wake again that kindling song ! 
 And if sweet land aught lives of thee, 
 What Hellas was she yet may be, 
 Freedom, like her to Orpheus given, 
 May visit yet her home her heaven. 
 
THE REVENGE 
 
 DONAL COMM. 
 
 'Tis midnight, and November's gale 
 Sweeps hoarsely down Glengarav's ( ! ) vale, 
 Thro' the thick rain its fitful tone 
 Shrieks like a troubled Spirit's moan, 
 The Moon that from her cloud at eve 
 Looked down on Ocean's gentle heave, 
 And bright on lake and mountain shone, 
 Now wet and darkling, journeys on ; 
 .From the veiled Heaven there breaks no ray 
 To guide the traveller on his way, 
 Save when the lightning gilds awhile, 
 The craggy peak of Sliav-na-goil, 
 Or its far- streaming flashes fall 
 Upon Glengarav's mountain wall, 
 And kindles with its angry streak 
 The rocky zone it may not break 
 At times is heard the distant roar 
 Of billows warring 'gainst the shore, 
 And rushing from their native hills 
 The voices of a thousand rills, 
 Come shouting down the mountain's side, 
 When the -deep thunder's peal hath died. 
 
THE REVENGE OF DONAL COMM. 39 
 
 How fair at sunset to the view 
 On its lov'd rock th' Arbutus grew, 
 How motionless the heather lay 
 In the deep gorge of that wild bay, 
 Thro' the tall forest not a breeze 
 Disturbed the silence of the trees, 
 O'er the calm scene their foliage red 
 A venerable glory shed, 
 And sad and sombre beauty gave 
 To the wild hill and peaceful wave. 
 
 To-morrow's early dawn will find 
 That beauty scatter'd on the wind ; 
 To-morrow's sun will journey on, 
 And see the forest's glory gone, 
 Th' Arbutus shiver'd on the rock 
 Beneath the tempest's angry shock, 
 The monarch Oak all scatch'd and riven 
 By the red arrowy bolt of heaven, 
 While not a leaf remains behind 
 Save some lone mourner of its kind, 
 Wither' d and drooping on its bough 
 Like him who treads that valley now. 
 
 Alone he treads still on the blast 
 The sheeted rain is driving fast, 
 And louder peals the thunder's crash, 
 Louder the ocean's distant dash 
 Amid the elemental strife 
 He walks as reckless, as if life 
 Were but a debt he'd freely pay 
 To the next flash that crossed his way ; 
 E 2 
 
40 THE REVENGE 
 
 Yet is there something in his air 
 Of purpose firm that mocks despair, 
 What that, and whither he would go 
 Thro' storm and darkness none may know, 
 But his unerring steps can tell, 
 There's not a deer in that wild dell, 
 Can track its mazy depths so well. 
 
 He gains the shore his whistle shrill 
 Is answer'd ready at his will, 
 In a small cove his pinnace lay, 
 *' Weigh quick my lads, I cross the bay/' 
 No question ask they, But a cheer 
 Proclaims their bosoms know not fear. 
 Sons of the mountain and the wave, 
 They shrink not from a billowy grave, 
 Those hearts have oft braved death before, 
 'Mid Krin's rocks and Biscay's roar, 
 Each lightly holds the life he draws, 
 If it but serve his Chieftain's cause ; 
 And thinks his toil full well he pays, 
 If he bestow one word of praise. 
 
 At length they've clear'd the narrow bay, 
 Up with the sails, away ! away ! 
 O'er the broad surge she flies as fleet 
 As on the tempest's wing the sleet, 
 And fearless as the sea-bird's motion 
 Across his own wild fields of ocean. 
 Tho' winds may wave and seas o'erwhelm, 
 There is a hand upon that helm* 
 
OF DONAL COMM. 
 
 -T . Yliat can controul its trembling pow'r, 
 And quits it not in peril's hour ; 
 Full frequently from sea to sky 
 That Chieftain looks with anxious eye, 
 But nought can he distinguish there 
 More desperate than his heart's despair. 
 
 On yonder shore what means that light 
 
 That flings its murky flame thro' night ? 
 
 Along the margin of the ocean 
 
 It moves with slow and measured motion .; 
 
 Another follows, and behind 
 
 Are torches flickering in the wind. 
 
 Hark ! heard you on the dying gale 
 
 From yonder cliffs the voice of wail? 
 
 'Twas but the tempest's moaning sigh, 
 
 Or the wild sea-bird's lonely cry. 
 
 Hush ! there again, I know it well, 
 
 It is the sad Ululla's < 9 ) swell, 
 
 That mingles with the death-bell's toll 
 
 Its grief for some departed soul. 
 
 Inver-na-marc ( 3 ) thy rugged shore 
 Is altered since the days of yore, 
 Where once ascending from the town 
 A narrow path looked fearful down, 
 O'er the bleak cliffs which wildly gave 
 Their rocky bosom to the wave, 
 A beauteous and unrivalled sweep 
 Of beach, extends along the deep ; 
 Above is seen a sloping plain, 
 With princely house and fair domain, 
 E 3 
 
42 THE REVENGE 
 
 Where erst the deer from covert dark 
 Gazed wildly on the anchored bark, 
 Or listened the deep copse among 
 To hear the Spanish (*) seaman's song, 
 Come sweetly floating up the bay, 
 With the last purple gleam of day. 
 All changed, even yon projecting steep 
 That darkly bends above the deep, 
 And mantles with its joyless shade 
 The waste that man and time have made ; 
 There mid its tall and circling wood. 
 In olden times an abbey stood ; 
 It stands no more no more at even 
 The vesper hymn ascends to Heaven ; 
 No more the sound of Matin bell 
 Calls forth each father from his cell, 
 Or breaks upon the sleeping ear 
 Of Leim-a-tagart's ( 5 ) mountaineer, 
 And bids him on his purpose pause, 
 Ere yet the foraying brand he draws. 
 
 Where are they now *ga climb that height, 
 Whose depth of shade yields scanty light, 
 Where the dark alders droop their head 
 O'er Ard-na-mrahar's ( 6 ) countless dead, 
 And nettle tall and hemlock waves 
 In rank luxuriance o'er the graves ; 
 , There fragments of the sculptur'd stone, 
 Still sadly speak of grandeur gone, 
 And point the spot, where dark and deep 
 The fathers and their abbey sleep* 
 
OF DONAL COMiVf. 43 
 
 That train hath reach'd the abbey ground, 
 The flickering lights are ranged around, 
 
 And resting on the bier, 
 Amid the attendants' broken sighs, 
 And pall'd with black the coffin lies ; 
 
 The Monks are kneeling near. 
 The abbot stands above the dead, 
 With grey and venerable head, 
 
 And sallow cheek and pale, 
 The Miserere hymn ascends, 
 And its deep solemn sadness blends 
 
 With the hoarse and moaning gale. 
 The last " Amen" was breath'd by all, 
 And now they had removed the pall, 
 
 And up the coffin reared ; 
 When a stern " hold" was heard aloud, 
 And wildly bursting thro' the crowd, 
 
 A frantic form appeared. 
 
 He paused awhile and gasped for breath : 
 His look had less of life than death, 
 
 He seemed as from the grave ; 
 So all unearthly was his tread 
 And high above his stately head, 
 
 A sable plume did wave. 
 Clansmen and fathers looked aghast, 
 But when the first surprise was past, 
 
 Yet louder rose their grief ; 
 For when he stood above the dead, 
 And took the bonnet from his head, 
 
 All knew Ivera's( 7 ) Chief; 
 No length of time could e'er erase, 
 Once seen, that Chieftain's form and face, 
 
44 THE REVENGE 
 
 Calmly he stood amid their gaze, 
 While the red torches shifting blaze, 
 As strong it flickered in the breeze 
 That wildly raved among the trees, 
 Its fitful light upon him threw, 
 And Donal Comm stood full to view, 
 
 His form was tall, but not that height 
 Which seems unwieldy to the sight ; 
 His mantle, as it backward flowed, 
 An ample breadth of bosom shewed ; 
 His sabre's girdle round his waist 
 A golden buckle tightly braced ; 
 A close set tigws displayed a frame 
 You could not all distinctly name 
 If it had more of strength or grace ; 
 But when the light fell on his face, 
 The dullest eye beheld a man 
 Fit to be Chieftain of his clan. 
 
 His cheek tho* pale retained the hue 
 Which from Iberian blood it drew ; 
 His sharp and well form'd features bore 
 Strong semblance to his sires of yore ; 
 Calm, grave and dignified, his eye 
 Had an expression proud and high, 
 And in its darkness dwelt a flame 
 Which not even grief like his could tame ; 
 Above his bent brow's sad repose, 
 A high heroic forehead rose ; 
 But o'er its calm you marked the cloud 
 That wrapp'd his spirit in its shroud ; 
 
OF DONAL COMM. 45 
 
 His clustering locks of sable hue, 
 Upon the tempest wildly flew ; 
 Un/ecked by him the storm may blow, 
 His feelings are with her below. 
 
 " Remove the lid" at length he cried ; 
 None stirred, they thought it strange, beside 
 Her kinsmen mutter'd something, " haste 
 I have not breath or time to waste 
 In parley now Ivera's chief 
 May be permitted one, last, brief 
 Farewell with her he loved, and then, 
 Eva is yours and earth's again." 
 
 At length, reluctant they 
 Slowly he turned aside his head, 
 And presa'd his hand against his brow. 
 Tis done at last, he knows not hew : 
 But when he heard one piercing shriek, 
 A deadlier paleness spread his cheek, 
 Sidelong he looked, and fearfully, 
 Dreading the sight he yet would see ; 
 Trembled his knees, his eye grew dim, 
 His stricken brain began to swim, 
 He stagger'd back against a Yew 
 That o'er the bier its branches threw ; 
 Upon his brows the dews of death 
 Collected, and his quick low breath 
 Seem'd but the last and feeble strife, 
 Ere yet it yield, of parting life. 
 
46 THE REVENGE 
 
 There lay his bride death hath not quite 
 O'ershadowed all her beauty's light ; 
 Still on her brow and on her cheek, 
 It linger'd, like the sun's last streak 
 On Sliav-na-goila's head of snow 
 When all the vales are dark below 
 Her lids in languid stillness lay 
 Like lilies o'er a stream's parched way, 
 Which kiss no more the wave of light 
 That flashed beneath them purely bright ; 
 Above her forehead fair and young, 
 Her dark brown tresses clustering hung, 
 Like summer clouds, that still shine on 
 When he who gilds their folds is gone 
 Her features breath'd a sad sweet tone 
 Caught ere the spirit left her throne, 
 Like that the night-wind often makes 
 When some forsaken lyre it wakes, 
 And minds us of the master hand 
 That once could all its voice command. 
 
 " Cold be the hand and curst the blow" 
 Her kinsmen cried, " that laid thee low ; 
 Curst be the steel that pierced thy heart." 
 Forth sprung that Chief with sudden start, 
 Tore off the scarf that veiled her breast, 
 That dark deep wound can tell the rest. 
 He gazed a moment, then his brand 
 Flashed out so sudden in his hand, 
 His boldest clansmen backward reeled, 
 Trembling the aged abbot kneeled. 
 
OF DONAL COMM. 47 
 
 " Is this a time for grief he cried 
 "And thou thus low, my murder'd bride, 
 Fool ! to such boyish feelings bow, 
 Far other task hath Donal now ; 
 Hear me thou thunder up on high ! 
 And thou blest ocean hear my cry ! 
 Hear me ! sole resting friend, my sword, 
 And thou dark wound, attest my word ! 
 No food, no rest, shall Donal know, 
 Until he lay thy murderer low 
 Until each sever'd quivering limb 
 In its own lustful blood shall swim ; 
 When my heart gains this poor relief, 
 Then Eva wilt thou bless thy chief 
 Bless him ! no, no, that word is o'er, 
 My sweet one ! thou can'st bless no more ; 
 No more returning from the strife 
 Where Donal fought, to guard thy life 
 And free his native land, shalt thou 
 Wipe the red war-drops from his brow, 
 And hush his toils and cares to rest 
 Upon thy fond and faithful breast/' 
 
 He gazed a moment on her face 
 And stooped to take the last embrace, 
 And as his lips to her's he prest, ** - ^^ 
 The coffin shook beneath his breast 
 That heaved convulsive as t'would break ; 
 Then in a tone subdued and meek, 
 " Take her" he said, and calmly rose, 
 And thro' the friends that round him close, 
 
48 THE REVENGE 
 
 Unheeding what their love would say, 
 All silently he urged his way, 
 Then wildly rushing down the steep 
 He plunged amid the breakers sweep. 
 
 Awfully the thunder 
 
 Is shouting thro* the night, 
 And o'er the heaven convulsed and riven 
 
 The lightning, streams are bright, 
 Beneath their fitful flashing, 
 
 As from hill to hill they leap, 
 In ridgy brightness dashing 
 
 Comes on loud ocean's sweep. 
 
 Fearfully the tempest 
 
 Sings out his battle-song, 
 His war is with the unflinching rocks 
 
 And the forests tall and strong ; 
 His war is with the stately bark ; 
 
 But ere the strife be o'er, 
 Full many a pine, on land and brine, 
 
 Shall rise to Heaven no more. 
 
 The storm shall sink in slumber, 
 
 The lightning fold its wing, 
 And the morning star shall gleam afar, 
 
 In the beauty of its king ; 
 But there are eyes shall sleep in death 
 
 Before they meet its ray, 
 Avenger ! on thine errand speed, 
 
 Haste Donal on thv wav. 
 
OF DONAL COMM. 49 
 
 Carriganassig ! ( 8 ) from thy walls 
 No longer now the warder calls ; 
 No more is heard o'er goblets bright, 
 Thy shout of revelry at night ; 
 No more the bugle's merry sound 
 Wakes all thy mountain echoes round, 
 When for the foray, or the chase, 
 At morn rush'd forth thy hardy race, 
 And northward as it died away 
 Roused the wild deer of Kaoim-an-e. 
 All bare is now thy mountain's side, 
 Where rose the forest's stately pride ; 
 No solitary friend remains 
 Of all that graced thy fair domains ; 
 But that dark stream still rushes on 
 Beneath thy walls, thou swift Quvan, 
 And kisses with its sorrowing wave, 
 The ruins which it could not save ; 
 Fair Castle, I have stood at night, 
 When summers's moon gave all her light, 
 And gaz*d upon thee till the past, 
 Came o'er my spirit sad and fast ; 
 To think thy strength could not avail 
 Against the Saxon's iron hail, 
 And thou at length didst cease to be 
 The shield of mountain liberty. 
 
 From Carriganassig shone that night 
 Thro' storm and darkness many a light, 
 And loud and noisy w r as the din 
 Of some high revelry within ; 
 F 
 
50 THE REVENGE 
 
 At times was heard the warder's song 
 Upon the night- wind borne along, 
 And frequent burst upon the ear 
 The merry soldier's jovial cheer : 
 For their dark Chieftain in his Jhall 
 That day held joyous festival, 
 And showed forth all his wealth and pride 
 To welcome home his beauteous bride. 
 
 Hush'd was the music's sprightly sound ; 
 The wine ha4 ceased to circle round, 
 And to their chambers, one by oije, 
 The drowsy revellers had gone, 
 Alone that Chieftain still remains, 
 And still by starts the goblet drains : 
 He paced the hall with hurried tread 
 Oft look'd behind and shook his head, 
 And paused and listened as the gale 
 Swell' d on his ear with wilder wail, 
 And where the tapers faintly flung 
 Their light, and where the arras hung, 
 He'd start and look with fearful glance 
 And quivering lip, then quick advance, 
 And laugh in mockery of his fear 
 And drink again. 
 
 " Fitz-Eustace ! here, 
 " Close well that door and sit awhile, 
 " Some foolish thoughts I would beguile, 
 " Fill to my bride and say did'st e'er 
 " See form so light, or face so fair 1 
 " I little deem'd this savage land 
 " Such witching beauty could command ; 
 
OF DONAL COMM. 51 
 
 *' That rebel Erin's mountains wild 
 " Could nurse McCarthy's matchless child ; 
 " Then drink with me in brimming flow 
 " The heiress of Clan-Donal-Roe."( 9 ) 
 Fitz-Eustace quafFd the cup and said, 
 " I saw one more she's with the dead, 
 " You best know how" 
 
 That Chieftain frown* d 
 And dash'd the goblet to the ground ; 
 " Curse on thy tongue, that deed is past, 
 " But one word more and 'tis thy last ; 
 " Art thou t' upbraid me also doom'd ;" 
 He paused awhile then thus resum'd. 
 
 " Eustace forgive me what I say, 
 In sooth, I'm not myself to-day, 
 Some demon haunts me, since my pride 
 Urged me to stab that outlaw's bride, 
 Each form 1 see, each sound I hear, 
 Her dying threat assails my ear, 
 Which warn'd me I should shortly feel 
 The point of Donal's vengeful steel ; 
 I know that devil's desperate ire 
 Would seek revenge thro' walls of fire, 
 Even now upon the bridal night, 
 When bridegroom's heart beats ever light, 
 No joy within my bosom beams : 
 Beside, yon silly maiden deems, 
 That 'twas thro' love I sought her hand. 
 No Eustace 'twas her father's land j 
 He hath retainers many a one 
 Who with this wench to us are won, 
 F2 
 
52 THE REVENGE 
 
 You know our cause, we still must aid 
 As well by policy as blade ; 
 I loath each one of Irish birth, 
 As the vile worm that crawls the earth ; 
 But come, say canst thou aught impart 
 Could give some comfort to my heart, 
 Fell Donal Comm into our snare 
 Or does the wolf still keep his lair ?" 
 
 " Neither ; the wolf now roams at large, 
 " Twas but last evening that a barge 
 " Well mann'd, was seen at close of day 
 " To make Glengarav's lonely bay, 
 " Tis said ; but one who more can tell 
 " Now lodges in the eastern cell ; 
 ** A monk who loudiy doth complain 
 ' ' Of plunder driven and brethren slain 
 " By Donal Comm, and from the strife 
 " This night fled here with scarcely life." 
 
 " Now dost thou lend my heart some cheer, 
 
 " Good Eustace thou await me here ; 
 
 " I'll see him straight and if he show 
 
 " Where I may find my deadly foe, 
 
 " That haunts my ways the rebel's head 
 
 " Shall grace my walls. " 
 
 With cautious tread 
 He reached the cell and gently drew 
 The bolts, that monk then met his view. 
 
 Within that dungeon's farthest nook 
 He lay ; one hand contained a book, 
 The other propp'd his weary head : 
 Some scanty straw supplied his bed ; 
 
OF DONAL COMM. S3 
 
 His order's habit coarse and grey 
 Told he had worn it many a day, 
 Threadbare and travel- soil' d ; his beads 
 And cross hung o'er the dripping weeds, 
 Whose ample folds were tightly brac'd 
 By a rough chord around his waist; 
 No wretch of earth seem'd lower than 
 That outcast solitary man. 
 
 He spoke not mov'd not from the floor : 
 But calmly look'd to where the door 
 Now clos'd behind th' intruding knight, 
 Who slow advanced and held the light 
 Close to the captive's pallid face 
 Who shrunk not from his gaze ; a space 
 St. Leger paused before he spoke, 
 And thus at length his silence broke. 
 
 " Father thy lodging is but rude, 
 " Thou seem'st in need of rest and food, 
 *' If but escaped from Donal's ire, 
 " And wasting brand and scathing fire ; 
 " But prudent reasons still demand 
 " And stern St. Leger's strict command, 
 " That every stranger, friend or foe, 
 " Be held in durance, 'till he show 
 " What, whence, and whither he would go. 
 " For thee ; if thou canst tell us right, 
 " Where that fierce outlaw strays to-night, 
 " To-morrow's sun shall see thee free'd 
 " With rich requital for thy meed, 
 " If false thy tale, then father hope 
 " For a short shrift and shorter rope." 
 F3 
 
54 THE R AVENGE 
 
 He ceased, and as the chief he eyed 
 
 "With searching glance, the monk replied, 
 
 " I fear no threat, no meed I crave, 
 
 " I ask no freedom but the grave ; 
 
 " There was a time when life was dear ;, 
 
 " For Saxon tho' this garb I wear, 
 
 " This hand could once uplift the steel, 
 
 " This heart could love and friendship feel ; 
 
 " That love is sever'd, friends are gone, 
 
 " And I am left on earth alone. 
 
 " Curs'd be the hand that sear'd my heart 
 
 " And smote me in the tenderest part, 
 
 " Lay'd waste my lands and left me roam 
 
 " On the wide world without a home, 
 
 " I took these weeds ; but why relate 
 
 " The spoiler's ravage and my hate, 
 
 " Vengeance I would not now forego. 
 
 " For saint above or man below, 
 
 " Yes, Dona! Cbmm ; but let me hear* 
 
 " Fling the glad story to mine ear, 
 
 " How fell the outlaw's beauteous bride ; 
 
 " Say was it by thy hand she died ; 
 
 " Twill be some solace, and I swear 
 
 " By the all- saving sign I wear, 
 
 " Before to-morrow's sun to show 
 
 " To thine own eyes-; thy bitterest foe." 
 
 " Tis well," exclaimed the exulting chief, 
 
 " Have now thy wish, the tale is brief 
 
 " Some few days since as I pursued 
 
 " A stately stag from yonder wood, 
 
 " Straight northward did he bend his way 
 
 *' Thro* the wild pass of Kaoim-an-e, 
 
OF DONAL COMM. 55 
 
 " Then to the west with hoof of pride 
 
 '* He took the mountain's heathery side, 
 
 *' And evening saw him safely sleep 
 
 " In far Glenrochty's forest deep ; 
 
 " Returning from that weary chase, 
 
 " We met a strange and lonely place ; 
 
 " Dark bosom'd in the hills around, 
 
 " From its dim silence rose no sound;, 
 
 " Except the dreary dash and flow 
 
 " Of waters to the lake below ; 
 
 " There was an island in that lake, 
 
 " (What ails thee monk ? why dost thou shake ? 
 
 " Why blanch' d thy cheek ?)~-from thence I brought 
 
 "*' A richer prey than that I sought, 
 
 ** It were but feeble praise to swear 
 
 " That she was more thun heavenly fair ; 
 
 " I tore her from Finbarra's( io ) shrine 
 
 " Amid her tears, and she was mine; 
 
 " I woo'd her like a love -sick swain ; 
 
 " I threaten'd, would have forc'd, in vain, 
 
 " She proudly scorned my fond embrace, 
 
 if She curs'd my land and all its race, 
 
 " And bade me hope for vengeance from 
 
 " The sure strong arm of Donal Comm. 
 
 ' ' I stabb'd' her ! 'twas a deed of guilt;, 
 
 " But then 't^as. Donalds blood I spilt." 
 
 That Monk sprung forward from the bed, 
 Flung back his cowl and furious said, 
 " Monster, behold my promise free, 
 'Tis Donal Comm himself you see."r 
 
56 THE REVENGE 
 
 He started back with sudden cry, 
 
 And rais'd the lanthern ; O that eye 
 
 And vengeful smile he knew too well ; 
 
 For him not all the fiends of hell 
 
 With tortures from their burning place, 
 
 Had half the horrors of that face. 
 
 One rush he made to gain the door, 
 
 'Twas vain, that monk stood there before. 
 
 He shouted loud, and sudden drew 
 
 A dagger which lay hid from view, 
 
 At Donal's breast one plunge he made ; 
 
 That watchful arm threw off the blade 
 
 But hark ! what noise comes from below, 
 
 Surely that cry hath rous'd the foe ; 
 
 They come, they come, with hurrying tramp 
 
 And clashing steel, the fallen lamp, 
 
 That mountaineer snateh'd from the ground, 
 
 A moment glanc'd his prison round, 
 
 Heav'd quickly back a massy bar, 
 
 A narrow door- way flew ajar ; 
 
 A moment cast the lights red glow 
 
 Upon the flood, far, far below, 
 
 " No flight is there," St. Leger cried, 
 
 " Thou'rt mine/'--" Now, now my murder'd bride,'* 
 
 He answer'd, and with furious bound 
 
 One arm hath clasp'd his foeman round ; 
 
 A moment with a giant's might, 
 
 He shook him o'er that dreadful height ; 
 
 Saxon I 'tis Eva gives this grave" 
 
 He said, and plung'd him in the wave. 
 
 One piercing shriek was heard, no more, 
 Up flashed the billow dyed with gore ? 
 
OF DONAL COMM. - r >7 
 
 When in they burst. O where to fly ! 
 He fix'd his foot and strain'd his eye, 
 And o'er that deep and fearful tide 
 Sprung safely to the farther side. 
 
 Above they crowd in wild amaze, 
 And by the hurrying torches' blaze 
 They saw where fearlessly he stood, 
 And down, far toslt upon the flood 
 St. Leger's body ; " quick to horse 
 " Pursue the fiend with all your forjge, 
 " Tis Donal Comm." Light held he then 
 Pursuit, while mountain, wood and glen 
 Before him lay ; a moment's space 
 He ran, and in th* appointed place 
 His courser found ; then as his hand 
 Drew from the copse his trusty brand, 
 " Twas well I left thee here my blade, 
 " That search my purpose had betray 'd ; 
 " But here they come, now, now my steed 
 " Son of the hills ! exert thy speed." 
 He said, and on the moaning wind 
 Heard their faint foot-tramp die behind. 
 
 'Tis morning, and the purple light 
 On Noc-na-ve( H ) gleams coldly bright, 
 And from his heathery brow, the streams 
 Rush joyous in the kindling beams ; 
 O'er hill, and wave, and forest red, 
 One wide blue sea of mist is spread ; 
 Save where more brightly, deeply blue 
 Ivera's mountains meet the view, 
 
58 THE REVENGE OF DONAL COMM. 
 
 And falls the sun with mellower streak 
 On Sliv-na-goilas's( 12 ) giant peak. 
 Still as its dead, is now the breeze, 
 In Ard~na-mrahir's weeping trees, 
 So deep its silence, you might tell 
 Each plashing rain- drop as it fell ; 
 Beneath its brow, the waters wild 
 Are sleeping, like a weary child 
 That sinks from fretful fit to rest, 
 On its fond mother's peaceful breast. 
 
 On yonder grave cold lies the turf 
 Besprent with rain and ocean's surf, 
 
 So purely, freshly green, 
 And kneeling by that narrow bed, 
 With pallid cheek and drooping head, 
 
 A lonely form i$ seen. 
 Long kneels he there in speechless woe, 
 Silent as she who lies below 
 
 In her cold and silent room ; 
 The trees hang motionless above, 
 There's not a breath of wind to move 
 
 The dripping eagle- plume ; 
 Well might you know that man of grief 
 To be Ivera's widow'd chief. 
 
 He rose at last, and as he took 
 Of that dear spot, his last sad look, - 
 Convulsive trembled all his frame, 
 He strove to utter Eva's name ; 
 Then wildly rushing to the shore, 
 Was never seen or heard of more.( 13 ) 
 
MISCELLANEOUS, 
 
 GOUGANE BARRA. (") 
 
 There is a green island in lone Gougane Barra, 
 Where Allua of songs rushes forth as an arrow ; 
 In deep- rallied Desmond a thousand wild fountains 
 Come down to that lake, from their home in the moun- 
 tains. 
 
 There grows the wild ash, and a time- stricken willow 
 *-"-Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow ; 
 As, like some gay child, that sad monitor scorning, 
 It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning. 
 And its zone of dark hills oh ! to see them all bright - 
 
 ning, 
 
 When the tempest flings out its red banner of lightning ; 
 And the waters rush down, mid the thunder's deep rattle, 
 Like clans from their hills at the voice of the battle ; 
 And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming, 
 And wildly from Mullagh the eagles are screaming. 
 Oh ! where is the dwelling in valley, or highland, 
 So meet for a bard as this lone little island ! 
 
 How oft when the summer sun rested on Clara, 
 
 And lit the dark heath on the hills of Ivera, 
 
 Have I sought thee, sweet spot, from my home by the 
 
 ocean, 
 And trod all thy wilds with a Minstrel's devotion, 
 
60 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 And thought of thy bards, when assembling together, 
 In the cleft of thy rocks, or the depth of thy heather ; 
 They fled from the Saxon's dark bondage and slaughter 
 And waked their last song by the rush of thy water. 
 High sons of the lyre, oh ! how proud was the feeling, 
 To think while alone through that solitude stealing, 
 Though loftier Minstrels green Erin can number, 
 I only awoke your wild harp from its slumber, 
 And mingled once more with the voice of those fountains, 
 The songs even echo forgot on her mountains, 
 And glean'cl each grey legend, that darkly was sleeping 
 Where the mist and the rain o'er their beauty %as creep- 
 ing. 
 
 Least bard of the hills ! were it mine to inhjerit, 
 The fire of thy harp, and the wing of thy spjrit, 
 With the wrongs which like thee to our country has 
 
 bound me, 
 
 Did your mantle of song fling its radiance around me, 
 Still, still in those wilds may young liberty rally, 
 And send her strong shout over mountain and valley, 
 The star of the west may yet rise in its glory, 
 And the land that was darkest, be brightest in story. 
 I too shall be gone ; but my name shall be spoken 
 When Erin awakes, and her fetters are broken ; 
 Some Minstrel will come, in the summer eve's gleaming, 
 When Freedom's young light on his spirit is beaming, 
 And bend o'er my grave with a tear of emotion, 
 Where calm Avon-Buee seeks the kisses of ocean, 
 Or plant a wild wreath, from the banks of that river, 
 O'er the heart, and the harp, that are sleeping for ever. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 61 
 
 TO A SPRIG OF MOUNTAIN HEATH. 
 
 Thou little stem of lowly heath ! 
 Nursed by the wild winds hardy breath, 
 Dost thou survive, unconquer'd still, 
 Thy stately brethren of the hill ? 
 
 No more the morning mist shall break, 
 Around Clogh-grcnans towering oak ; 
 The stag no more with glance of pride, 
 Looks fearless from its hazle side ; 
 But there thou livest lone and free 
 The Hermit plant of Liberty. 
 
 Child of the mountain ! many a storm 
 
 Hath drench'd thy head and shook thy form, 
 
 Since in thy depths Clan-muire lay, 
 
 To wait the dawning of that day ; 
 
 And many a sabre, as it beamed 
 
 Forth, from its heather scabbard gleamed, 
 
 When Leix its vengeance hot did slake 
 
 In yonder city of the lake, 
 
 And its proud Saxon fortress bore, 
 
 The banner green of Reiry More. 
 
 Thou wert not then as thou art now, 
 Upon a bondsman-minstrel's brow ; 
 But wreathing round the harp of Leix, 
 When to the strife it fired thee free, 
 G 
 
62 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Or from the helmet hattle spent, 
 Waved where the cowering Saxon bent. 
 Yet blush not, for the bard you crown, 
 Ne'er stooped his spirits homage down, 
 And he can wake tho* rude his skill, 
 The songs you loved on yonder hill. 
 
 C Repine not, that no more the spring 
 vlts balmy breath shall round thee fling : 
 No more the heath- cock's pinion sway, 
 Shall from thy blossom dash the spray, 
 More sweet, more blest, thy lot shall prove, 
 Go to the breast of her I love, 
 And speak for me to that blue eye ; 
 J3reathe to that heart my fondest sigh ; 
 And tell her in thy softest tone 
 That he who sent thee is her own. 
 
 NOTE. The Fortress alluded to is the Castle of Carlow, built 
 in the time of King JOHN, and still an imposing ruin. RIERY 
 Mo RE was the Chief tain of Liex (the present Queen's County) 
 in the time of ELIZABETH- he was brave, politic, and accom- 
 plished above his ruder countrymen of that period ; he stormed 
 the Castle of Carlow, which being within the pale, belonged to 
 the English ; they never had a more skilful enemy in the coun- 
 try. RIERE, Anylice ROGER. Carlow, or Cahir-lough, literally 
 the City of the Lake. Clough-grenna, the sunny hill. It is 
 near Carlow but in the Queen's County, and was formerly 
 thickly covered with oak. 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 63 
 
 SPANISH WAR. SONG. 
 
 Ye sons of old Iberia, brave Spaniards up arise, 
 
 Along your hills, like distant rills the voice of battle flies ; 
 
 Once more, with threats of tyranny, come on the hosts 
 of France ; 
 
 Ye men of Spain awake again, to Freedom's fight ad- 
 vance. 
 
 Like snow upon your mountains, they gather from afar, 
 To launch upon your olive fields the Avalanche of war ; 
 Above the darkening Pyrenees their cloud of battle flies. 
 To burst in thunder on your plains ; brave Spaniards 
 up, arise. 
 
 O sons of Viriatus, Hispania's boast and pride, 
 
 Who long withstood, in fields of blood, the Roman's 
 
 battle tide ; 
 
 Arise again to match his deeds and kindle at his name, 
 And let its light thro' Freedom's fight, still guide you en 
 
 to fame. 
 
 Descendants of those heroes, in Roman song renown'd, 
 Whose glorious strife for Liberty with deathless name 
 
 was crown' d, 
 Come down again unconquer'd men, like Biscay's ocean 
 
 roar, 
 And show yourselves the Cantabers your fathers were of 
 
 yore. 
 
 G 2 
 
64 MISCELLANEOUS. 
 
 Saguntum's tale of wonder, shines bright upon your page, 
 And old Numantia's story shall live thro' every age ; 
 Her children sjing their farewell song, their own lov'd 
 
 homes they fir'd, 
 And in the blaze, 'mid Freedom's rays, all gloriously 
 
 expir'd. 
 
 THE LAST SONG OF HENRY KIRK WHITE. 
 
 Yet once again my lyre, I wake the slumber of thy 
 
 strings, 
 
 Ere yet the gush of song is dry in its fast fading springs ; 
 I hear a voice, it speaks within the midnight of my 
 
 breast, 
 Yet once again my lyre awake, and then I sink to rest. 
 
 And must I die 1 well be it so, since thus 'tis better far, 
 Than with the world and adverse fate, to wage unequal 
 
 war. 
 Come then thou long unwaking sleep, to thy cold clasp 
 
 I %, 
 From shattered hopes and blighted heart and pangs that 
 
 cannot die. 
 
 Yet would I live for other times ; I feel the tide of 
 
 song 
 
 1 1 In swells of light, flow strong and bright, my heaving 
 breast along ; 
 
MISCELLANEOUS. 65 
 
 Yet would I live in happier years, to wake with master 
 
 hand 
 A lay, that should embalm my name in Albion's beau* 
 
 teous land. 
 
 *Tis past ! they've won, my sun is set, I see my com- 
 ing night, 
 
 And hope and fame no longer lend their soft delusive 
 light ; 
 
 Among fair Albion's future bards no song of mine shall 
 rise, 
 
 Go sweet one ! thus we sadly part, go leave me to my 
 sighs. 
 
 Yet from this breast, my Clara, thy love they cannot 
 
 part, 
 
 All freshly green it lingers round the ruin of my heart ; 
 A thought of me, may cloud thy soul, a tear may dim 
 
 thine eye, 
 That I have sung and loved in vain, forsaken thus to die. 
 
 England my country ! despite of all my wrongs, 
 
 1 love thee still, my native land, thou land of sweetest 
 
 songs ! 
 One thought still cheers my life's last close, that I shall 
 
 rest in thee, 
 And sleep, as minstrel heart should sleep, among the 
 
 brave and free. 
 
 G3 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &<, 
 
 SI JE TE PERDS, JE SUIS PERDU." 
 
 These Stanzas were suggested by an impress on a Seal, repre- 
 senting a boat at sea, and a man at the helm looking up at a 
 solitary star, with a motto " Si Je tepcrds, Je suis perdu." 
 
 Shine on thou bright beacon 
 
 Unclouded and free, 
 From thy high place of calmness 
 
 O'er life's troubled sea ; 
 It's morning of promise, 
 
 Its smooth waves are gone, 
 And the billows rave wildly, 
 
 Then bright one shine on. 
 
 The wings of the tempest 
 
 May rush o'er thy ray ; 
 But tranquil thou smilest, 
 
 Undimm'd by its sway ; 
 High, high o'er the worlds 
 
 Where storms are unknown, 
 Thou dwellest all beauteous, 
 
 All glorious, alone. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 67 
 
 From the deep womb of darkness 
 
 The lightning-flash leaps, 
 O'er the hark of my fortunes 
 
 Each mad billow sweeps ; 
 From the port of her safety, 
 
 By warring winds driven, 
 And no light o'er her course : 
 
 But yon lone one of Heaven. 
 
 Yet fear not thou frail one, 
 
 The hour may be near, 
 When our own sunny head-land 
 
 Far off shall appear ; 
 When the voice of the storm 
 
 Shall be silent and past, 
 In some island of Heaven 
 
 We may anchor at last. 
 
 But bark of Eternity, 
 
 Where art thou now, 
 The wild waters shriek 
 
 O'er each plunge of thy prow ; 
 On the worlds dreary Ocean, 
 
 Thus shattered and tost ; 
 Then lone one shine on, 
 
 " IF I LOSE THEE I'M LOST/' 
 
68 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 HOW KEEN THE PANG. 
 
 How keen the pang when friends must part, 
 And bid the unwilling last adieu; 
 
 When every sigh that rends the heart, 
 Awakes the bliss that once it knew. 
 
 He that has felt, alone can tell 
 The dreary desert of the mind, 
 
 When those whom once we loved so well, 
 Have left us weeping here behind. 
 
 When every look so kindly shed, 
 And every word so fondly spoken, 
 
 And every smile is faded, fled, 
 
 And leaves the heart alone and broken. 
 
 Yes dearest maid ! that grief was mine, 
 When bending o'er thy shrouded bier, 
 
 I saw the form that once was thine ; 
 My Mary was no longer there. 
 
 But on the relics pale and cold 
 There sat a sweet seraphic smile, 
 
 A calm celestial grace that told 
 Our parting was but for a while. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 69 
 
 WRITTEN TO A YOUNG LADY, 
 On entering a Convent. 
 
 'Tis the rose of the desert, 
 
 So lovely, so wild, 
 In the lap of the desert 
 
 Its infancy smiled ; 
 In the languish of beauty 
 
 It droops o'er the thorn, 
 And its leaves are all wet 
 
 With the bright tears of morn. 
 
 Yet 'tis better thou fair one, 
 
 To dwell all alone, 
 Than recline on a bosom 
 
 Less pure than thine own ; 
 Thy form is too lovely 
 
 To be torn from its stem, 
 And thy breath is too sweet 
 
 For the children of men. 
 
 Bloom on thus in secret, 
 
 Sweet child of the waste, 
 Where no lips of profaner, 
 
 Thy fragrance shall taste ; 
 Bloom on where no footsteps 
 
 Unhallowed hath trod, 
 And give all thy blushes 
 
 And sweets to thy God, 
 
70 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 LINES ON A DEC RASED CLERGYMAN. 
 
 Breathe not his honor'd name, 
 
 Silently keep it ; 
 Hush'd be the sadd'ning theme, 
 
 In secrecy weep it ; 
 Call not a warmer flow 
 
 To eyes that are aching 1 ; 
 Wake not a deeper throe 
 
 In hearts that are breaking. 
 
 Oh 'tis a placid rest ; 
 
 Who should deplore it? 
 Trance of the pure and blest, 
 
 Angels watch o'er it ; 
 Sleep of his mortal night, 
 
 Sorrow can't break it, 
 Heaven's own morning light 
 
 Alone shall awake it. 
 
 Nobly thy course is run ; 
 
 Splendour is round it ; 
 Bravely thy fight is won ; 
 
 Freedom hath crown'd it ; 
 In the high warfare 
 
 Of heaven, grown hoary, 
 Thou'rt gone like the summer- sun, 
 
 Shrouded in glory. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 71 
 
 Twine, twine the victor wreath, 
 
 Spirits that meet him ; 
 Sweet songs of triumph breath, 
 
 Seraphs to greet him ; 
 From his high resting place 
 
 Who shall him sever, 
 With his God, face to face, 
 
 Leave him for ever. 
 
 LINES, 
 
 On the Death of an amiable and highly talented 
 
 Young Man, who fell a victim to fever 
 
 in the West Indies. 
 
 All rack'd on his feverish bed he lay, 
 
 And none but the stranger were near him ; 
 
 No friend to console, in his last sad day ; 
 No look of affection to cheer him. 
 
 Frequent and deep were the groans he drew, 
 
 On that couch of torture turning ; 
 And often his hot, wild hand he threw 
 
 O'er his brows, still wilder burning. 
 
 But, Oh ! what anguish his bosom tore, 
 
 How throbbed each strong pulse of emotion, 
 
 When he thought of the friends he should .never see more, 
 In his own green Isle of the Ocean. 
 
72 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 When he thought of the distant maid of his heart, 
 
 Oh, must they thus darkly sever ; 
 No last farewell, ere his spirit depart ; 
 
 Must he leave her unseen, and for ever ! 
 
 One sigh for that maid his fond heart heaved, 
 
 One pray'r for her weal he breathed ; 
 And his eyes to that land for whose woes he had grieved 
 
 Once looked, and for ever were sheathed. 
 
 On a cliff that by footstep is seldom prest, 
 
 Far sea- ward his dark head rearing, 
 A rude stone marks the place of his rest ; 
 
 ' Here lies a poor exile of Erin.' 
 
 Yet think not, dear Youth, tho' far, far away 
 From thy own native Isle thou art sleeping, 
 
 That no heart for thy slumber is aching to-day, 
 That no eye for thy mem'ry is weeping. 
 
 Oh yes! when the hearts that have wailed thy young 
 blight, 
 
 Some joy from forgetfulness borrow, 
 The thought of thy doom will come over their light, 
 
 And shade them more deeply with sorrow. 
 
 And the maid who so long held her home in thy breast, 
 As she strains her wet eye o'er the billow, 
 
 Will vainly embrace, as it comes from the west, 
 Every breeze that has swept o'er thy pillow. 
 
 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 73 
 
 AND MUST WE PART. 
 
 And must we part ? then fare thee well ; 
 But he that wails it, he can tell 
 How dear thou wert, how dear thou art 
 And ever must be to this heart ; 
 But now 'tis vain, it cannot be ; 
 Farewell ! and think no more on me. 
 
 Oh yes, this heart would sooner break, 
 
 Than one unholy thought awake ; 
 
 I'd sooner slumber into clay, 
 
 Than cloud thy spirits beauteous ray ; 
 
 Go free as air, as Angel free, 
 
 And lady think no more on me. 
 
 did we meet when brighter star 
 Sent its fair promise from afar, 
 
 1 then might hope to call thee mine, 
 
 The Minstrel's heart and harp were thine ; 
 But now 'tis past, it cannot be ; 
 Farewell and think no more on me. 
 
 Or do ! but let it be the hour, 
 When Mercy's all atoning power, 
 From his high throne of glory hears 
 Of souls like thine the prayers, the tears, 
 Then whilst you bend the suppliant knee; 
 Then, then O Lady think on me. 
 H 
 
74 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 PURE IS THE DEWY GEM. 
 
 Pure is the dewy gem that sleeps 
 Within the roses fragrant bed, 
 
 And dear the heart-warm drop that steeps 
 The turf where all we loved is laid ; 
 
 But far more dear, more pure than they, 
 
 The tear that washes guilt away. 
 
 Sweet is the morning's balmy breath 
 Along the valley's flowery side; 
 
 And lovely on the Moon-lit heath, 
 
 The lute's soft tone complaining wide ; 
 
 But still more lovely, sweeter still, 
 
 The sigh that wails a Jife of ill. 
 
 Bright is the morning's roseate gleam 
 Upon the Mountains of the East, 
 
 And soft the Moonlight silvery beam, 
 Above the billow's placid rest ; 
 
 But O ! what ray ere shone from Heaven 
 
 Like God's first smile on a soul forgiven. 
 
 KOTE. This trifle was composed before the Author read 
 MOORE'S Paradise and the Peri. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 TO 
 
 Lady the lyre thou bid'st me take, 
 
 No more can breathe the minstrel strain ; 
 The cold and trembling notes I wake, 
 
 Fall on the ear like plashinjjj^in ; 
 For days of suffering and of pain, 
 
 And nights that lull'd no care for me, 
 Have tamed my spirit, then in vain 
 
 Thou bid'st me wake my harp for thee. 
 
 But could I sweep my ocean lyre, 
 
 As once this feeble hand could sweep, 
 Or catch once more the thought of fire, 
 
 That lit the Mi^en's stormy steep, 
 Or bid the fancy cease to sleep, 
 
 That once could soar on pinion free, 
 And dream I was not borne to weep ; 
 
 O then I'd wake my harp for thee. 
 
 And now 'tis only friendship's call, 
 
 That bids my slumbering lyre awake, 
 It long hath slept in sorrow's hall, 
 
 Again that slumber it must seek ; 
 Not even the light of beauty's cheek, 
 
 Or blue eye beaming kind and free, 
 Can bid its mournful numbers speak ; 
 
 Then lady, ask no lay from me. 
 H 2 
 
70 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 Yet if on Desmond's mountain wild, 
 
 By glens I love, or ocean cave, 
 Nature once more should own her child, 
 
 And give the strength that once she gave ; 
 If he who lights my path should save 
 
 And what I was I yet may be ; 
 Then lady, by green Erin's wave, 
 
 I'll gladly wake my harp for thee. 
 
 STANZAS. 
 
 Hours like those I spent with you, 
 
 So bright, so passing and so few. 
 
 May never bless me more, farewell ! 
 
 My heart can feel but dare not tell, 
 
 The rapture of those hours of light, 
 
 Thus snatched from sorrow's cheerless night. 
 
 *Tis not thy cheek's soft blended hue ; 
 *Tis not thine eye of heavenly blue ; 
 Tis not the radiance of thy brow, 
 That thus would win or charm me now, 
 It is thy heart's warm light that glows, 
 Like sun-beams on December snows. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 77 
 
 It is thy wit that flashes bright, 
 As lightning on a stormy night, 
 Illuming even the clouds that roll 
 Along the darkness of my soul, 
 And bidding with an Angel's voice, 
 The heart that knew no joy, rejoice. 
 
 Too late we met, too soon we part, 
 
 Yet dearer to my soul thou art ; 
 
 Than some whose love has grown with years, 
 
 Smiled with my smile, and wept my tears ; 
 
 Farewell ! but absent thou shalt seem, 
 
 The vision of some heavenly dream, 
 
 Too bright on child of earth to dwell ; 
 
 It must be so, my friend farewell. 
 
 THE NIGHT WAS STILL. 
 
 The night was still, the air was balm, 
 
 Soft dews around were weeping ; 
 No whisper rose o'er ocean's calm, 
 
 Its waves in light were sleeping , 
 With MARY on the beach I stray'd ; 
 
 The stars beam'd joy above me ; 
 I prest her hand and said, " sweet maid 
 
 " Oh tell me do you love me?" 
 G3 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c, 
 
 With modest air she drooped her head, 
 
 Her cheek of beauty veiling ; 
 Her bosom heav'd, no word she said ; 
 
 I mark'd her. strife of feeling; 
 " Oh speak my doom dear maid," I cried, 
 
 " By yon bright Heaven above thee ;" 
 She gently raised her eyes and sighed, 
 
 " Too well you know I love thee/' 
 
 SERENADE, 
 
 The blue waves are sleeping ; 
 
 The breezes are still ; 
 The light dews are weeping 
 
 Soft tears on the hill ; 
 The moon in mild beauty, 
 
 Looks bright from above ; 
 Then come to the casement, 
 
 Oh MARY my love. 
 
 Not a sound, or a> motion 
 
 Is over the lake, 
 But the whisper of ripples, 
 
 As shoreward they break ; 
 My skiff wakes no ruffle 
 
 The waters among, 
 Then listen dear maid 
 
 To thy true lover's song-. 
 
S0NG&, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 79 
 
 No form from the lattice 
 
 Did ever recline, 
 Over Italy's waters, 
 
 More lovely than thine.; 
 Then come to the window 
 
 And shed from above, 
 One glance of thy dark eye, 
 
 One smile of thy love. 
 
 Oh ! the soul of that eye 
 
 When it breaks from its shroud, 
 Shines beauteously but, 
 
 Like the Moon from a cloud ; 
 And thy whisper of love 
 
 Breathed thus from afar, 
 Is sweeter to me 
 
 Than the sweetest guitar. 
 
 From the storms of this world 
 
 How gladly I'd fly, 
 To the calm of that breast, 
 
 To the heaven of that eye ; 
 How deeply I love thee 
 
 'Twere useless to tell ; 
 Farewell then my dear one, 
 
 My MARY, farewell*.- 
 
80 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 ROUSSEAU'S DREAM.* 
 
 AIR Rousseau's Dream. 
 
 Life for me is dark and dreary ; 
 
 Every light is quenched and gone ; 
 O'er its waste all lone and weary, 
 
 Sorrow's child I journey on. 
 Thou whose smile alone can cheer me ; 
 
 Whose bright form still haunts my breast ; 
 From this world in pity bear me, 
 
 To thy own high home of rest. 
 
 Hush ! o'er Leman's sleeping water, 
 
 Whispering tones of love T hear; 
 'Tis some fond unearthly daughter, 
 
 Woo's me to her own bright sphere. 
 Immortal beauty i yes, I see thee, 
 
 Come, oh ! come to this wild breast ; 
 O ! I fly I burn to meet thee, 
 
 Take me to thy home of rest. 
 
 * wild Rousseau, 
 
 Th' Apostle of affliction, &c. 
 
 His was not the love of mortal dame 
 
 * # * * 
 
 But of ideal beauty, &c. CHIXDE HAROLD. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 81 
 
 THO' DARK FATE HATH. REFT ME. 
 
 Tho' dark Fate hath reft me 
 
 Of all that was sweet, 
 And widely we sever, 
 
 Too widely to meet, 
 O yet while one life pulse 
 
 Remains in this heart, 
 'Twill remember thee, MART, 
 
 Wherever thou art. 
 
 How sad were the glances 
 
 At parting we threw, 
 No word was there spoken 
 
 But the stifled adieu ; 
 My lips, o'er thy cold cheek 
 
 All raptureless past, 
 'Twas the first time 1 ^rest it, 
 
 It must he the last. 
 
 But why should I dwell thus 
 
 On scenes that but pain, 
 Or think on thee, MARY, 
 
 When thinking is vain j 
 Thy name to this bosom, 
 
 Now sounds like a knell ; 
 My fond one, my dear one, 
 
 For ever, Farewell ! 
 
82 SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 
 
 WHEN EACH BRIGHT STAR IS CLOUDED. 
 AIR-" Clilr Bug Dale." 
 
 When each bright star is clouded that illumin'd our way, 
 And darkly thro* the bleak night of life we stray, 
 What joy then is left us : but alone to weep 
 O'er the cold dreary pillow where loved ones sleep. 
 
 This world has no pleasure that is half so dear, 
 
 That can soothe the widow'd bosom, like memory's 
 
 tear, 
 
 Tis the desert rose drooping in moon's soft dew, 
 In those pure drops looks saddest, but softest too. 
 
 Oh if ever death should sever fond hearts from me, 
 And I linger, like the last leaf on Autumn's tree, 
 While pining o'er the dead mates all sear'd below, 
 How welcome will the last blast be that lays me low. 
 
SONGS, LYRICAL PIECES, &c. 83 
 
 HUSSA THA MEASG NA REALTAN MORE.* 
 
 My love, my still unchanging love, 
 As fond, as true, as hope above ; 
 Tho' many a year of pain passed by 
 Since last I heard thy farewell sigh, 
 This faithful heart doth still adore 
 Hussa tha measg na realtdn more. 
 
 What once we hoped might then have been, 
 But fortune darkly frown'd between : 
 And tho' far distant is the ray 
 That lights me on my weary way, 
 I love, and shall 'till life is o'er, 
 Hussa tha measg na realtdn more. 
 
 Tho' many a light of beauty shone 
 Along my path, and lured me on, 
 I better lov'd thy dark bright eye, 
 Thy witching smile, thy speaking sigh ; 
 Shine on, this heart shall still adore 
 Hussa tha measg na realtdn more. 
 
 Thou who art amongst the greater Planets. 
 
SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 THE VIRGIN MARY'S BANK. 
 
 From the foot of Inchidony Island, an elevated tract of sand 
 runs out into the sea, and terminates in a high green hank, which 
 forms a pleasing contrast with the little desert behind it, and 
 the black solitary rock immediately under. Tradition tells that 
 the Virgin came one night to this hillock to pray, and was dis- 
 covered kneeling there by the crew of a Vessel that was com- 
 ing to anchor near the place. They laughed at her piety, and 
 made some merry and unbecoming remarks on her beauty, 
 upon which a storm arose and destroyed the Ship and her crew. 
 Since that time no vessel has been known to anchor near the spot. 
 
 Such is the story upon which the following Stanzas are 
 founded. 
 
 The evening star rose beauteous above the fading day, 
 As to the lone and silent beach the Virgin came to pray, 
 And hill and wave shone brightly in the moonlight's 
 
 mellow fall ; 
 But the bank of green where Mary knelt was brightest 
 
 of them all. 
 
SACRED SUBJECTS. 85 
 
 Slow moving o'er the waters, a gallant bark appear'd, 
 And her joyous crew look'dfrom the deck as to the land 
 
 she near'd ; 
 To the calm and shelter'd haven she floated like a 
 
 swan, 
 And her wings of snow o'er the waves below in pride 
 
 and beauty shone. 
 
 The Master saw our Lady as he stood upon the prow, 
 And mark'd the whiteness of her robe and the radiance 
 
 of her brow ; 
 
 Her arms were folded gracefully upon her stainless breast, 
 And her eyes look'd up among the stars to Him her soul 
 
 lov'd best. 
 
 He show'd her to his sailors, and he hail'd her with a 
 
 cheer ; 
 And on the kneeling Virgin they gazed with laugh and 
 
 jeer; 
 
 And madly swore, a form so fair they never saw before ; 
 And they curs'd the faint and lagging breeze that kept 
 
 them from the shore. 
 
 The ocean from its bosom, shook off the moonlight 
 
 sheen, 
 
 And up its wrathful billows rose to vindicate their Queen ; 
 And a cloud came o'er the heavens, and a darkness o'er 
 
 the land, 
 And the scoffing crew beheld no more that Lady on the 
 
 strand. 
 
 I 
 
86 SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 Out burst the pealing thunder, and the lightening leap'd 
 
 about ; 
 And rushing with his watery war, the tempest gave a 
 
 shout ; 
 And that vessel from a mountain wave came down with 
 
 thund'ring shock ; 
 And her timbers flew like scatter 'd spray on Inchidony's 
 
 rock. 
 
 Then loud from all that guilty crew one shriek rose wild 
 
 and high : 
 But the angry surge swept over them and hush'd their 
 
 gurgling cry ; 
 And with a hoarse exulting tone the tempest pass'd 
 
 away, 
 And down, still chafing from their strife, the indignant 
 
 waters lay. 
 
 When the calm and purple morning shone out on high 
 
 Dunmore, 
 Full many a mangled corpse was seen on Inchidony's 
 
 shore ; 
 And to this day the fisherman shows where the scoffers 
 
 sank : 
 And still he calls that hillock green, " the Virgin Mary's 
 
 bank." 
 
SACRED SUBJECTS. 87 
 
 MARY MAGDALEN. 
 
 To the hall of that feast came the sinful and fair ; 
 She heard in the City that Jesus was there ; 
 She mark'd not the splendour that blaz'd on their board : 
 But silently knelt at the feet of the Lord. 
 
 The hair from her forehead so sad and so meek, 
 Hunk dark o'er the blushes that burn'd on her cheek ; 
 And so still and so lowly she bent in her shame, 
 It seem'd as her spirit had flown from its frame. 
 
 The frown and the murmur went round thro' them all, 
 That one so unhallow'd should tread in that hall, 
 And some said the poor would be objects more meet, 
 For the wealth of the perfumes she shower'd on his feet* 
 
 She mark'd but her Saviour, she spoke but in sighs, 
 She dar'd not look up to the heaven of his eyes, 
 And the hot tears gush'd forth at each heave of her breast. 
 As her lips to his sandal were throbbingly prest. 
 
 On the cloud after tempests, as shineth the bow ; 
 In the glance of the sun-beam, as melteth the snow, 
 He look'd on that lost one ; her sins were forgiven ; 
 And Mary went forth in the beauty of Heaven. 
 12 
 
S3 SACilED SUBJECTS. 
 
 SAUL 
 Holding the Garments of the Murderers of Stephen. 
 
 The soldier of Christ to the stake was bound, 
 And the foes of the Lord had beset him round ; 
 But his forehead beamed with unearthly light, 
 As he looked with joy to his last high fight, 
 
 Beyond that circle of death was one 
 
 Whose hand was unarmed with glaive or stone : 
 
 But the garments he held, as apart he stood, 
 
 Of the men who were bared for the work of blood. 
 
 His form was tall and his bearing high, 
 And courage sat in his dark deep eye ; 
 His cheek was young, and he seemed to stand, 
 Like one who was destined for high command. 
 
 But the hate of his spirit you well might learn, 
 From his pale high brow so bent and stern, 
 And the glance that at times shot angry light, 
 Like a flash from the depth of a stormy night. 
 
 'Twas Saul of Tarsus ! a fearful name, 
 
 And wed in the land with sword and flame ; 
 
 And the faithful of Israel trembled all, 
 
 At the deeds that were wrought by the furious Saul. 
 
SACRED SUBJECTS. 89 
 
 Tis done ! the martyr hath slept at last, 
 And his victor soul to the Lord hath past, 
 And the murderers' hearts waxed sore with guilt, 
 As they gazed on the innocent blood they spilt. 
 
 But Saul went on in his fiery zeal ; 
 The thirst of his fury no hlood could quell ; 
 And he went to Damascus with words of doom 
 To bury the faithful in dungeon -gloom. 
 
 When lo ! as a rock by the lightning riven, 
 His heart was smote by a voice from Heaven ; 
 And the hater of Jesus lov'd nought beside, 
 And died for the name of the crucified. 
 
 THE MOTHER OF THE MACABEES. 
 
 That mother viewed the scene of blood ; 
 
 Her six unconquered sons were gone ; 
 Tearless she viewed, beside her stood 
 
 Her last, her youngest, dearest one ; 
 He looked upon her and he smiled, 
 Oh ! will she save that only child ? 
 
 13 
 
90 SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 " By all my love, my son," she said, 
 
 " The breast that nursed, the womb that bore,- 
 Th' unsleeping care that watched thee, fed, 
 
 Till manhood's years required no more ; 
 By all I've wept and prayed for thee, 
 Now, now, be firm and pity me. 
 
 " Look I beseech thee on yon heaven 
 
 With its high field of Azure light, 
 Look on this earth, to mankind given 
 
 Array 'd in beauty and in might, 
 And think, nor scorn thy mother's pray'r, 
 On him who said it, and they were ! 
 
 " So shall thou not this tyrant fear, 
 Nor rec eant shun the glorious strife ; 
 
 Behold ! thy Battle field is near, 
 Then go my son, nor heed thy life ; 
 
 Go ! like thy faithful brothers die, 
 
 That I may meet you all on high." 
 
 Like arrow from the bending bow, 
 
 He sprang upon the bloody pile ; 
 Like sun-rise on the morning's snow, 
 
 Was that Heroic mother's smile ; 
 He died! nor feared the tyrant's nod, 
 For Judah's law, and Judah's God. 
 
SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 MOONLIGHT. 
 
 'Tis sweet at hush of night 
 
 By the calm moon to wander, 
 And view those isles of light 
 That float so far beyond her 
 In that wide sea 
 Whose waters free 
 Can find no shore to bound them, 
 On whose calm breast 
 Pure spirits rest 
 
 With all their glory round them ; 
 Oh ! that my soul all free 
 
 From bonds of earth, might sever ; 
 Oh ! that those isles might be 
 Her resting place for ever. 
 
 When all those glorious spheres 
 
 The watch of Heaven are keeping, 
 And dews, like Angel's tears, 
 Around are gently weeping ; 
 O who is he 
 That carelessly 
 On virtue's bound encroaches : 
 
SACRED SUBJECTS. 
 
 But then will feel 
 
 Upon him steal 
 
 Their silent sweet reproaches ? * 
 Oh ! that my soul all free, 
 
 From bonds of earth, might sever ; 
 Oh ! that those isles might be 
 
 Her resting place for even 
 
 And when in secret sighs 
 
 The lonely heart is pining, 
 If we but view those skies 
 
 With all their bright host shining, 
 While sad we gaze 
 On their mild rays, 
 They seem like seraphs smiling, 
 To joys above, 
 With looks of love, 
 The weary spirit wiling 1 ; 
 Oh ! that my soul all free 
 
 From bonds of earth, could sever ; 
 Oh ! that those isles might be 
 Her resting place for ever. 
 
TRANSLATIONS FROM THE IRISH. 
 
 'Though the Irish are undoubtedly of a poetic temperament, 
 yet the popular Songs of the lower order are neither numerous, 
 nor in generai possessed of much beauty. For this various 
 causes may be assigned ; but the most prominent is the division 
 of language which prevails in Ireland. English, 'though of late 
 years it is gaining ground with gre&u rapidity, is not even yet 
 the popular language in many districts cf the country, and 
 thirty years since it was still lees so. Fsv/ songs therefore were 
 composed in English by humble minstrels, and the few that I 
 know, are of very little value indeed hi any point of view. 
 The Poets cf the populace confined themselves chiefly to 
 Irish ; a tongue which, v/h?,tover r.ir.y be its capabilities, had 
 ceased tc be the language of the great and polished, for centu- 
 ries before the poetic taste revived in Europe. They were com- 
 pelled to use a despised dialect, which, moreover, the political 
 divisions of the country had rendered an object of suspicion to 
 the ruling powers. The government and populace were indeed 
 so decidedly at variance, that the topics which the village Bard 8 
 were obliged to select, were such as often to render the indul- 
 gence of their poetic powers rather dangerous. Their heroes 
 were frequently inmates of jails or gibbets, and the severe cri- 
 ticism of the Cat-o-nine tails might be the lot of the panygerist. 
 
 Wales to be sure has produced, and continues to produce her 
 Bards, 'though the Welsh also use a language differing from 
 that of their conquerors. But Wales is so completely dove- 
 tailed into England, that resistance to the victorious power was 
 hopeless, and therefore after the first struggles not attempted. 
 The Welsh language was consequently no distinguishing mark 
 
94 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 of a cast detenninately hostile to the English domination, and 
 continually the object of suspicion. It was, and is still culti- 
 vated by all classes 'though I understand not as much as for- 
 merly. The case was quite different in Ireland. No gentle- 
 man has used Irish as his common language for generations ; 
 multitudes do not understand a word of it ; it was left to the 
 lower orders exclusively, and they were depressed and unedu- 
 cated, and consequently wild and illiterate. 
 
 Let no zealons countryman of mine imagine that 1 am going 
 to impeach the ancient fame of our Bards and Senachies, or to 
 abandon our claims, or the glories, such as they are, of the 
 Ossianic fragments. I merely speak of the state of popular 
 Irish poetry during the last century, or century and a half. 
 With our ancient Minstrels I meddle not. Ossian I leave to 
 his wrangling commentators, and still more wrangling antiqua- 
 ries ; and for the bards of more modern times, (those for in- 
 ^tance who flourished in the days of Elizabeth,) 1 accept the 
 compliment of Spencer, who knew them well and hated them 
 bitterly. But the poetic sympathies of the mighty Minstrel of 
 Old Mole, could not allow his political feelings to hinder him 
 from acknowledging in his View of Ireland that he had caused 
 several songs of the Irish bards to be translated that he might 
 understand them, "and surely" he says " they savoured of 
 sweet wit and good invention, but skilled not of the goodly or- 
 naments of poetry ; yea, they were sprinkled with some pretty 
 flowers of their natural device which gave good grace and 
 comelinesse unto them, the which, it is great pity to see abused 
 to the gracing of wickedness and vice, which with good usage 
 would serve to adorne and beautifie virtue." 
 
 The following songs are specimens of the popular poetry of 
 later days, I have translated them as closely as possible and 
 present them to the Public more as literary curiosities than 
 on any other account. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. ' 
 
 DIRGE OF O'SULLIVAN BEAU, 
 
 In 17 , one of the O'SULLIVANS of Bearhaven who went 
 
 by name of Morty Oge, fell under the vengeance of the Law. 
 He had long been a turbulent character in the wild district 
 which he inhabited, and was particularly obnoxious to the 
 local authorities, who had good reason to suspect him of en- 
 listing men for the Irish Brigade in the French service, in which 
 it was said he held a Captain's Commission. 
 
 Information of his raising these " wild geese," (the name by 
 which such recruits were known) was given by a Mr. PUXLKY, 
 on whom in consequence O'SULLIVAN vowed revenge, which 
 he executed by shooting him on Sunday, while on his way 
 to church. This called for the interposition of the higher 
 powers, and accordingly a party of military were sent round 
 from Cork to attack O'SULLI VAN'S house. He was daring and 
 well armed, and the house was fortified, so that he made an 
 obstinate defence. At last a confidential servant of his, named 
 SCULLY, was bribed to wet the powder in the guns and pistols 
 prepared for his defence, which rendered him powerless. He 
 attempted to escape : but while springing over a high wall in 
 the rere of his house, he received a mortal wound in the back. 
 They tied his body to a boat and dragged it in that manner 
 through the sea, from Bearhaven to Cork, where his head was 
 cut off and fixed on the county jail, where it remained for se- 
 veral yeais. 
 
 Such is the story current among the lower orders about 
 Bearhaven. In the version given of it in the rude chronicle of 
 the local occurrences of Cork, there is no mention made of 
 SCULLY'S perfidy, and perhaps that circumstance might have 
 been added by those to Whom O'SULLIVAN was deemed a hero, 
 in order to save his credit as much as possible. The dirge was 
 composed by his nurse who has made no sparing use of the 
 energy of cursing, which the Irish language is by all allowed 
 to possess. 
 
90 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 (In the following song, Morty, in Irish, Muiertach, or Muir- 
 chcartach, is a name very common among the old families ot 
 Ireland. It signifies expert at sea ; Og, or Oge is young. 
 Where a whole district is peopled in a great measure by a sept 
 of one name, such distinguishing titles are necessary, and in 
 some cases even supercede the original appellation. I-vera or 
 Aoi-vcra is the original name of Bearhaven ; Aoi, or I signify- 
 ing an ta^and, or territory.) 
 
 The sun upon Ivera 
 
 No longer shines brightly ; 
 The voice of her music 
 
 No longer is sprightly ; 
 No more to her maidens 
 
 The light dance is dear, 
 Since the death of our darling 
 
 O'SULLIVAN Bear. 
 
 SCULLY ! thou false one, 
 
 You basely betray'd him ; 
 In his strong hour of need 
 
 When thy right hand should aid him : 
 He fed thee ; he clad thee ; 
 
 You had all could delight thee ; 
 You left him ; you sold him ; 
 
 May Heaven requite thee ! 
 
 SCULLY ! may all kinds 
 
 Of evil attend thee ; 
 On thy dark road of life 
 
 May no kind one befriend thee ; 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 97 
 
 May fevers long burn thee, 
 
 And agues long freeze thee ; 
 May the strong hand of God 
 
 In his red anger seize thee* 
 
 Had he died calmly, 
 
 I would not deplore him, 
 Or if the wild strife 
 
 Of the sea- war closed o'er him ; 
 But with ropes round his white limbs 
 
 Through ocean to trail him, 
 Like a fish after slaughter ! 
 
 Tis therefore I wail him. 
 
 Long may the curse 
 
 Of his people pursue them ; 
 SCULLY that sold him, 
 
 And soldier that slew him, 
 One glimpse of Heaven's light 
 
 May they see never ; 
 May the hearth- stone of hell 
 
 Be their best bed for ever ! 
 
 In the hole which the vile hands 
 
 Of soldiers had made thee, 
 Unho.noured, unshrouded 
 
 And headless they laid thee ; 
 No sigh to regret thee, 
 
 No eye to rain o'er thee, 
 No dirge to lament thee, 
 
 No friend to deplore thee. 
 K 
 
98 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 Dear head of my darling 
 
 How gory and pale, 
 These aged eyes see thee 
 
 High spiked on their gaol ; 
 That cheek in the summer sun 
 
 Ne'er shall grow warm, 
 Nor that eye e'er catch light : 
 
 B^t the flash of the storm. 
 
 A curse, blessed ocean, 
 
 Is on thy green water, 
 From the haven of Cork 
 
 To Ivera of slaughter, 
 Since the billows were dyed 
 
 With the red wounds of fear, 
 Of Muiertach Oge, 
 
 Our O'SULLIVAN Bear. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE GIRL I LOVE. 
 Sad i sios an caoin ban dlain 6g. 
 
 A large proportion of the songs I have met with are love 
 songs. Some how or other, truly or untruly, the Irish have 
 obtained a character for gallantry, and the peasantry beyond 
 doubt do not belie the soft impeachment." Their modes of 
 Courtship, are sometimes amusing. The * malo me Galatea 
 petit y of Virgil would still find a counterpart among them 
 except that the missile of love (which I am afraid is not so 
 poetical as the apple of the pastoral, being neither more or less 
 than a potato,) comes first from the gentleman. He flings it 
 with aim, designedly erring at his sweet heart, and if she re- 
 turns the fire, a warmer advance concludes the preliminaries 
 and establishes the suitor. Courtships, however, are some- 
 times carried on among them with a delicacy worthy of a more 
 refined stage of society, and unchastity is very rare. This per- 
 haps is in a great degree occasioned by their extremely early 
 marriages, the advantage or disadvantage of which 1 give to be 
 discussed by Mr. Malthus and his antagonists. 
 
 At their dances, (of which they are very fond,) whether a- 
 field, or in ale-house, a piece of gsllantry frequently occurs 
 which is alluded to in the following song. A young man, smit- 
 ten suddenly by the charms of a danseuse t belonging to a com- 
 pany to which he is a stranger, rises, and with his best bow 
 offers her his glass and requests her to drink to him. After 
 due refusal it is usually accepted and is looked on as a good 
 omen of successful wooing. Goldsmith alludes to this custom 
 of his country in the Deserted Village. 
 
 The coy maid, half willing to be prest, 
 Shall kiss the cup, and pass it to the rest. 
 K2 
 
100 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 The parties may be totally unacquainted, and perhaps never 
 meet again ; under which circumstances it would appear that 
 this song was written. 
 
 The girl I love is comely, straight and tall ; 
 Down her white neck her auburn tresses fall : 
 Her dress is neat, her carriage light and free ; 
 Here's a health to that charming maid whoe'er she be ! 
 
 The rose's blush but fades beside her cheek ; 
 
 Her eyes are blue her forehead pale and meek ; 
 
 Her lips like cherries on a summer tree ; 
 
 Here's a health to the charming maid whoe'er she be ! 
 
 When I go to the field no youth can lighter bound, 
 And I freely pay when the cheerful jug goes round; 
 The barrel is full : but its heart we soon shall see ; 
 Come here's to that charming maid whoe'er she be ! 
 
 Had I the wealth, that props the Saxon's reign ; 
 Or the diamond crown that decks the King of Spain, 
 I'd yield them all if she kindly smiled on me ; 
 Here's a health to the maid I love whoe'er she be ! 
 
 Five pounds of Gold for each lock of her hair I'd pay, 
 And five times five, for my love one hour each day ; 
 Her voice is more sweet than the trush on its own green 
 
 tree ; 
 Then my dear may I drink a fond deep health to thee ! 
 
TRANSLATIONS. . 11)1 
 
 ''*,, .- 
 
 THE CONVICT OF CLONMEL. 
 Is dubac e mo cds. 
 
 Who the hero of this song is, I know not ; but convicts from 
 obvious reasons, have been peculiar objects of sympathy in 
 Ireland. Hurling which is mentioned in one of the verses, is 
 the principal national diversion, and is played with intense zeal 
 by parish against parish, barony against barony, county against 
 county, or even province against province. It is played not 
 only by the peasant, but by the patrician students of the Uni- 
 versity, where it is an established pastime. Twiss, the most 
 sweeping calumniator of Ireland, calls it, if I mistake not, the 
 cricket of barbarians ; but though fully prepared to pay every 
 tribute to the elegance of the English game, 1 own that 1 think 
 the Irish sport fully as civilized, and much better calculated for 
 the display of vigour and activity. Perhaps I shall offend Scot- 
 tish nationality if I prefer either to golf, which is I think but 
 trifling compared with them. In the room belonging to the 
 Golf Club on the Links of Leith, there hangs a picture of an 
 old Lord (Rosslyn) which I never could look at without being 
 struck with the disproportion between the gaunt figure of the 
 Peer and the petty instrument in his hand. Strutt, in " Sports 
 and Pastimes," (page 78) eulogizes the activity of some Irish- 
 men, who played the game about 25 years before the publica- 
 tion of his work, (1801,) at the back of the llritish Museum, 
 and deduces it from the Roman harpastum. It was played in 
 Cornwall formerly, he adds : but neither the Romans nor the 
 Cornishmen used a bat, or, as we call it in Ireland a hurly. 
 The description Strutt quotes from old Carew is quite graphic. 
 The late Dr. Gregory I am told used to be loud in panegyric on 
 K3 
 
102. ' TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 iity of this ^ame when played by the Irish students, 
 over that adopted by his young countrymen north and south of 
 the Tweed, particularly over golf, which he called " fiddling wi' 
 a pick," but enough of this 
 
 How hard is my fortune 
 
 And vain my repining ; 
 The strong rope of fate 
 
 For this young neck is twining ; 
 My strength is departed, 
 
 My cheeks sunk and sallow ; 
 While I languish in chains 
 
 In the gaol of Clonmala.* 
 
 No boy of the village 
 
 Was ever yet milder ; 
 I'd play with a child 
 
 And my sport would be wilder ; 
 I'd dance without tiring 
 
 From morning 'till even, 
 And the goal -ball I'd strike 
 
 To the light'ning of Heaven. 
 
 At my bed foot decaying 
 
 My hurl-bat is lying ; 
 Through the boys of the village 
 
 My goal -ball is flying ; 
 
 * Clonmala^ i. e. the solitude of deceit, the Irish name of 
 Clonrnel. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 103 
 
 My horse 'mong the neighbours 
 
 Neglected may fallow ; 
 While I pine in my chains 
 
 In the gaol of Clonmala. 
 
 Next Sunday the patron * 
 
 At home will be keeping, 
 And the young active hurlers 
 
 The field will be sweeping ; 
 With the dance of fair maidens 
 
 The evening they'll hallow, 
 While this heart once so gay 
 
 Shall be cold in Clonmala. 
 
 * Patron, Irish Pat ruin t a festive gathering of the pocpk 
 on tented ground. 
 
104 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE. 
 
 O many a day have I made good ale in the glen, 
 
 That came not of stream, or malt ; like the brewing of 
 
 men. 
 
 My bed was the ground ; my roof, the greenwood above, 
 And the wealth that I sought one far kind glance from 
 
 my love. 
 
 Alas ! on that night when the horses I drove from the 
 
 field, 
 
 That I was not near from terror my angel to shield. 
 She stretched forth her arms, her mantle she flung to 
 
 the wind, 
 And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find. 
 
 would that a freezing sleet-wing' d tempest did sweep, 
 And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep ; 
 
 I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or pinnace, to save, 
 With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind 
 or the wave. 
 
 Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides, 
 The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides ; 
 
 1 think as at eve she wanders its mazes along, 
 
 The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 105 
 
 JACOBITE SONGS. 
 
 That the Roman Catholics of Ireland should have been Jaco- 
 bites almost to a man, is little wonderful, indeed the wonder 
 would be were it otherwise. They had lost every thing fighting 
 for the cause of the Stuarts, and the conquerors had made stern 
 use of the victory. But while various movements in favor of 
 that unhappy family were made in England and Scotland, Ire- 
 land was quiet not indeed from want of inclination : but from 
 want of power. The Roman Catholics were disarmed through- 
 out the entire island, and the Protestants, who retained a fierce 
 hatred of the exiled family, were armed and united. The per- 
 sonal influence of the Earl of Chesterfield, who was Lord Lieu- 
 tenant in 1745, and who made himself very popular, is gene- 
 rally supposed to have contributed to keep Ireland at peace in 
 that dangerous year ; but the reason I have assigned is perhaps 
 more substantial. 
 
 But 'though Jacobitical, even these songs will suffice to prove, 
 that it was not out of love for the Stuarts that they were anxious 
 to take up arms, but to revenge themselves on the Saxons, 
 (that is the English generally : but in Ireland the Protestants,) 
 for the defeat they experienced in the days of William III, and 
 the subsequent depression of their party and their religion. 
 James If, is universally spoken of by the lower orders of Ire- 
 land with the utmost contempt, and distinguished by an ap- 
 pellation which is too strong for ears polite, but which is uni- 
 versally given him. His celebrated expression at the battle of 
 the Boyne. " O spare my English subjects," being taken in 
 the most perverse sense, instead of obtaining for him the praise 
 of wishing to shew some lenity to those whom he still cosider- 
 ed as rightfully under his sceptre, even in opposition to his 
 cause, was, by his Irish prtizans construed into a desire of pre- 
 fering the English, on all occasions, to them. The celebrated 
 
106 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 reply of the captive Officer to William, that " if the armies 
 changed Generals, victory would take a different side," is care- 
 fully rememhered ; and every misfortune that happened in the 
 War of the Revolution, *is laid to the charge of James's want 
 of courage. The truth is, he appears to have displayed little 
 of the military qualities which distinguished him in former days. 
 The first of these three songs is a great favorite, principally 
 from its beautiful air. I am sure there 13 scarcely a peasant in 
 the South of Ireland who has not heard it. The second is the 
 White Cockade, of which the first verse is English. The third 
 is, (at least in Irish,) a strain of higher mood ; and from its 
 style and language, evidently written by a man of more than 
 ordinary information. 
 
 O SAY MY BROWN DRIMIN ! 
 A Drimin down dills no sioda* na mbo. 
 
 (Drimin is the favourite name of a cow, by which Ireland is 
 here allegorically denoted. The five ends of Erin are the five 
 Kingdoms ; Munster, Leinster, Ulster, Connaught and Meath, 
 into which the Island was divided under the Milesian dynasty.) 
 
 O say, my brown Drimin, thou silk of the kine, 
 Where, where are thy strong ones, last hope of thy line ? 
 Too deep and too long: is the slumber they take, 
 At the loud call of freedom why don't they awake ? 
 
 * Silk of the Cows an idiomatic expression for the most 
 beautiful of Cattle, which I have preserved in translating. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 107 
 
 My strong ones have fallen from the bright eye of day, 
 All darkly they sleep in their dwelling of clay ; 
 The cold turf is o'er them ; they hear not my cries, 
 And since Louis no aid gives I cannot arise. 
 
 O ! where art thou Louis our eyes are on thee ? 
 Are thy lofty ships walking in strength o'er the sea? 
 In freedom's last strife if you linger or quail 
 No morn e'er shall break on the night of the Gael. 
 
 But should the King's son, now bereft of his right, 
 Come proud in his strength for his Country to fight ; 
 Like leaves on the trees, will new people arise. 
 And deep from their mountains shout back to my cries. 
 
 When the Prince, now an exile, shall come for his own, 
 The isles of his father, his rights and his throne ; 
 My people in battle the Saxons will meet, 
 And kick them before, like old shoes from their feet. 
 
 O'er mountains and valleys they'll press on their rout, 
 
 The five ends of Erin shall ring to their shout ; 
 
 My sous all united shall bless the glad day, 
 
 When the flint-hearted Saxons they've chased far away. 
 
108 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 THE WHITE COCKADE. 
 Taid mo gra fir fi breataib du. 
 
 King Charles he is King James's son, 
 And from a royal line is sprung ; 
 
 Then up with shout, and out with blade, 
 
 ^_*,j. * ->.> . - 
 
 And we'll raise once more the white cockade. 
 O ! my dear, my fair-hair'd youth, 
 Thou yet hast hearts of fire and truth ; 
 Then up with shout, and out with blade ; 
 "We'll raise once more the white cockade. 
 
 My young men's hearts are dark with woe ; 
 On my virgins' cheeks the grief-drops flow ; 
 The sun scarce lights the sorrowing day, 
 Since our rightful prince went far away ; 
 He's gone, the stranger holds his throne ; 
 The royal bird far off is flown : 
 But up with shout, and out with blade ; 
 We'll stand or fall with the white cockade. 
 
 No more the cuckoo hails the spring, 
 
 The woods no more with the staunch-hounds ring ; 
 
 The song from the glen, so sweet before, 
 
 Is hush'd since Charles has left our shore. 
 
 The Prince is gone : but he soon will come, 
 
 With trumpet sound, and with beat of drum, 
 
 Then up with shout, and out with blade ; 
 
 Huzza for the right and the white cockade. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 109 
 
 THE AVENGER. 
 
 Da bfeacin sen la sin bo seasta bfcic mint'ui. 
 
 O ! Heavens, if that long-wish'd-for morning I spied, 
 As high as three kings I'd leap up in my pride ; 
 With transport I'd laugh, and my shout should arise, 
 As the fires from each mountain blazed hright to the 
 skies. 
 
 The Avenger shall lead us right on to the foe ; 
 
 Our horns should sound out, and our trumpets should 
 
 blow ; 
 
 Ten thousand huzzas should ascend to high heaven, 
 When our Prince was restored, and our fetters were 
 
 riven. 
 
 O ! Chieftains of Ulster, when will you come forth, 
 And send your strong cry to the winds of the north ] 
 The wrongs of a King call aloud for your steel, 
 Red stars of the battle O'Donnel, O'Neal ! 
 
 ! Bright house of O'Connor, high offspring of kings, 
 Up, up, like, the eagle, when heavenward he springs ! 
 O, break ye once more from the Saxon's strong rule, 
 Lost race of Mac Murchad, O'Byrne, and O'Toole ! 
 
 f Momqnia of Druids, green dwelling of song! 
 Where, where are thy minstrels 1 why sleep they so long ? 
 Does no bard live to wake, as they oft did before, 
 M'Carthy, O'Brien, O'Sullivan More ? 
 L 
 
110 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 O come from your hills, like the waves to the shore, 
 When the storm-girded headlands are mad with the roar ! 
 Ten thousand hurras shall ascend to high heaven, 
 When our Prince is restor'd and our fetters are ri\en. 
 
 The names, in this last song, are those of the principal fami- 
 lies in Ireland, many of whom, however, were decided enemies 
 to the house of tuart. The reader cannot fail to observe the 
 strange expectation which these writers entertained of the na* 
 ture of the Pretender's designs : they call on him not to come to 
 reinstate himself on the throne of his fathers, but to aid them 
 in doing vengeance on the "flint-hearted Saxon." Nothing, 
 however, could be more natural. The Irish Jacobites, at least 
 the Romon Catholics, were in the habit of claiming the Stuarts 
 as of the Melisian line, fondly deducing them from Fergus, and 
 the Celts of Ireland. Who the avenger is, whose arrival is 
 prayed for in the last song, I am not sure ; but circumstances^ 
 too tedious-to be detailed, make me think that the date of the 
 song is 1708, when a general impression prevailed that the 
 field would be taken, in favour of the Pretender, under a com- 
 mander of more weight and authority than had come forward 
 before. His name was kept a secret. Very little has been 
 written on the history of the Jacobites of Ireland, and yet I 
 think it would be an interesting subject. We have now arrived 
 at a time when it could be done, without exciting any angry 
 feelings. 
 
 In Momonia, (Munster,) Druidism appears to have flourish- 
 ed most, as we may conjecture, from the numerous remains of 
 Druidical workmanship, and the names of places indicating that 
 worship. The records of the province are the best kept of any 
 in Ireland, and it has proverbially retained among the peasan- 
 try a character for superior learning. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. Ill 
 
 THE LAMENT OF O'GNIVE. 
 
 (FEARFLJLTHA O'GNIAMH was family Olarnh, or Bard, to 
 the O'Neil of Clanoboy about the year 1556. The Poem, of 
 which the following lines aie the translation, commences with 
 " Ma thruagh mar ataid' GoadniL" 
 
 How dimn'd is the glory that circled the Gael, 
 And fall'n the high people of green Innisfail ; * 
 The sword of the Saxon is red with their j^ore ; 
 And the mighty of nations is mighty no more ! 
 
 Like a bark on the ocean, long shattered and tost, 
 On the land of your fathers at length you are lost ; 
 The hand of the spoiler is stretched on your plains, 
 And you're doom'd from your cradles to bondage and 
 chains. 
 
 O where is the beauty that beam'd on thy brow ? 
 Strong hand in the battle ! how weak art thou now ; 
 That heart is now broken that never would quail, 
 And thy high songs are turned into weeping and wail. 
 
 * Innisfail the Island of destiny, one of the names of Ireland. 
 L2 
 
112 TRA>:SLAT1ONS. 
 
 .Bright shades of our sires ! from your home in the skies 
 O hlast not your sons with the scorn of your eyes ! 
 Proud spirit of Gollam* how red is thy cheek, 
 For thy freemen are slaves, and thy mighty are weak ! 
 
 O'Neil t of the Hostages ; Con J whose high name, 
 On a hundred red battles has floated to fame, 
 Let the long grass still sigh undisturbed o'er thy sleep ; 
 Arise not to shame us, awake not to weep. 
 
 In thy broad wing of darkness enfold us O night ; 
 Withhold, O bright sun, the reproach of thy light ; 
 For freedom, or valour no more canst thou see, 
 In the home of the Brave, in the isle of the Free. 
 
 Affliction's dark waters your spirits have bow'd, 
 
 And oppression hath wrapped all your land in its 
 
 shroud, 
 
 Since first from the Brehon's|| pure justice you stray'd, 
 And bent to those laws the proud Saxon has made. 
 
 * Gollamh A name cf Milesius the Spanish Progenitor of 
 the Irish O's and Macs. 
 
 f Nial of the Nine Hostages, the Heroic Monarch of Ire- 
 land, in the 4th Century and ancestor of the O'Neil family. 
 
 Con Cead Catha Con of the Hundred Fights, monarch of 
 the Island in the 2nd Century; although the fighter of a hun- 
 dred battles, he was not the victor of a hundred fields ; his 
 valorous Rival, Owen King of Munster, compelled him to a 
 division of the Kingdom. 
 
 II Brehons The hereditary Judges of the Irish Septs. 
 
TRANSLATIONS. 11$ 
 
 We know not our country, so strange is her face ; 
 Her sons once her glory are now her disgrace ; 
 Gone, gone is the beauty of fair Innisfail, 
 For the stranger now rules in the land of the Gael. 
 
 Where, where are the woods that oft rung to your 
 cheer, 
 
 Where you waked the wild chase of the wolf and the 
 deer? 
 
 Can those dark heights with ramparts all frowning and 
 riven, 
 
 Be the hills where your forests wav'd brightly in Hea- 
 ven? 
 
 O bondsmen of Egypt ! no Moses appears 
 
 To light your dark steps thro* this desert of tears ; 
 
 Degraded and lost ones, no Hector is nigh 
 
 To lead vou to freedom, or teach you to die ! 
 
1 14 TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 ON THE LAST DAY. 
 
 Oh ! after life's dark sinful way, 
 How shall I meet that dreadful day, 
 When heaven's red hlaze spreads frightfully 
 Above the hissing with'ring sea, 
 And earth thro' all her regions reels, 
 With the strong shiv'ring fear she feels. 
 
 When that high trumpet's awful sound, 
 Shall send its deep-voiced summons round,- 
 And starting from their long, cold sleep, 
 The living-dead shall wildly leap ! 
 Oh ! hy the painful path you trod, 
 Have mercy then my Lord ! my God ! 
 
 Oh ! thou who on that hill of blood, 
 Beside thy Son in anguish stood ; 
 Thou, who above this life of ill, 
 ^rt the bright star to guide us still ; 
 Pray that my soul, its sins forgiv'n, 
 IV" av find some lonelv home in heav'n. 
 
KOTES 
 
 TO 
 
 THE RECLUSE OF INCHIDONY. 
 
 (It will be at once seen that these Poems have all been writ- 
 ten long before the passing of the relief Bill. To none more 
 than to the writer could the pleasing prospects opened up by 
 the enactment of this hdtling measure be more truly, or sin- 
 cerely gratifying. To behold the unworthy fetters of a noble 
 and gallant nation riven, her energies unbound, her centu- 
 ries of strife and disunion terminated, and the day of her libe- 
 ration and repose arrived, was a consummation, which, though 
 devoutly desired, was scarcely to be looked for in his genera- 
 tion ; and were these Poems to be now re-written, doubtless 
 the tone of sorrow and despondency which perhaps too much 
 pervades them, would give place to one more cheerful and con- 
 genial to the altered circumstances of Ireland. 
 
 In the East, as well as in the West of Europe, the prospect 
 is equally cheering. While Ireland has been unsealing and 
 purging her long abused vision, the cause of Freedom has not 
 stood still in a country too much a-kin to her, in fate and mis- 
 rule. Greece has happily shaken off her Iron Bondage, her inde- 
 pendencejnay now be considered as achieved, and the shout 
 of Freedom once more be heard on the mountains of Hellas 
 in the pass of Thermopylae. This is a pleasing state of things ; 
 but how shall we speak of those degenerate nations of the south, 
 of Naple and of the Peninsula ? They have permitted the j'oung 
 hope of their freedom to be strangled in its cradle, and submit- 
 ted their necks to a yoke, as baneful and contemptible, as ever 
 bowed down a people. In these countries the tide of liberty 
 was setting in with impetuous strength, when these Poems were 
 written. That it has been partially checked, he must lament ; 
 but that it must eventually prevail, need admit of little fear or 
 question.) 
 
116 NOTES. 
 
 NOTE 1, page 5, line 5. 
 " Soft sleeps the mion on IncJiidony's hill" 
 
 Inchidony, An Island at the entrance of Clonakilty bay : 
 The channel lies between it and the eastern shore. 
 
 Note 2, page 7, line 10. 
 " On Cicada's hill the moon is bright" 
 
 Cleada, and Cahirbearna, (the hill of the four gaps,) form part 
 of the chain of mountains which stretches westward from Mill- 
 street to Killarney. 
 
 NOTE 3, page 7, line 11. 
 " Dark Avondu still rolls in light." 
 
 Avondu, The Blackwater, (Avunduff of Spenser.) There 
 are several rivers of this name in the counties of Cork and 
 Kerry, but the one here mentioned is by far the most conside- 
 rable. It rises in a boggy mountain called Meenganine, in the 
 latter County, and discharges itself into the sea at Foughal. 
 For the length of its course and the beauty and variety of sce- 
 nery through which it flows, it is superior I believe to any river 
 in Munster. It is subject to very high floods, and from its great 
 rapidity and the havoc which it commits on those occasions, 
 sweeping before it corn, cattle, and sometimes even cottages, 
 one may, not inaptly, apply to it what Virgil says of a more 
 celebrated river. 
 
 Froluit insano contorquens vortice silvas, 
 
 Rex fluviorum Eridanus. 
 
 Spenser thus beautifully characterizes some of our principal 
 Irish rivers, though he has made a mistake with regard to the 
 JUlo > It is the Blackwater that passes through Sliav-logher. 
 There was the Liffie rolling down the lea, 
 
 The sandy Slane, the stony Au-brian, 
 The spacious Shenan, spreading like a sea, 
 
 The pleasant Boyne, the fishy, fruitful Ban, 
 Swift Awniduff, which of the Englishman 
 
NOTES. 117 
 
 Is call'd Blackwater, and the Liffar deep, 
 Sad Tiowis, that once his people over-ran, 
 
 Strong Allo tumbling from Slew-loghcr steep, 
 And Mulla mine whose waves I whilom taught to weep. 
 
 NoTG~4jpage 8, line 16. 
 
 " the beauteous Reeks." 
 
 Macgillacuddy's Reeks in the neighbourhood of Killarney, 
 are the highest mountains in Munster for a description of 
 these, and of the celebrated lakes of that place, see Weld's Kil- 
 larney ; by far the best and most correct work on the subject. 
 
 NOTB 5 page 10, line 29. 
 
 " And ly the Assassin's steel the grey-hair* d Desmond died." 
 Gerald, Earl of Desmond, The vast estate of this nobleman, 
 in Desmond, (south Minister) was the cau-e of his ruin; it 
 held out to his enemies too strong a temptation to be resisted, 
 and the chief governors of Ireland determined to seize upon it 
 by any means. Without having committed any overt act of 
 high treason, or done any thing inconsistent with the duty and 
 peaceful demeanour of a subject (unless some private quarrels 
 with the rival house of Ormond could be construed into such) 
 he was declared a traitor, and driven, in his own defence, into 
 a rebellion, which, by letters expressive of his unshaken loy- 
 alty to her Majesty, and by every possible means, he endea- 
 voured to avoid. After having undergone incredible hardships 
 and privations, he was surprised by night in a cabin near Tra. 
 lee, by one Kelly of Morierta, and twenty five of his kerns, 
 employed for the purpose by Ormond. Kelly struck off his 
 head, which was sent to the Queen, by whose order it was im- 
 paled on London bridge. For this barbarous murder of a help- 
 less and persecuted old man, Kelly received a pension of forty 
 pounds a year, but was afterwards hanged at Tyburn. 
 
 NOTE 6, page 22, line 6. 
 
 The Jar Seven-Heads thro' mists of purple smile." 
 Seven heads ; Dundeedy, Dunowen, Dunore, Duneene, Du- 
 noeowig, Dunworly and Dungorly. On all these headlands the 
 Irish formerly had duns, or castles. 
 
NOTES TO DONAL COMM. 
 
 NOTE 1, page 38, lines 1 and 2. 
 
 " 'Tis Midnight, and November's gale 
 
 " Sweeps hoarsely down Glengarav's vale.'* 
 
 The following beautiful description of Glengarav and the bay 
 of Bantry, is taken from the Rev. Horace Townsend's Statisti- 
 cal Survey of the County of Cork. 
 
 " The bay of Pantry from almost any point of view, exhibits 
 one of the noblest prospects, on a scale of romantic magnitude, 
 that imagination can well conceive. The extent of this great 
 body of water, from the eastern extremity to the ocean, is about 
 twenty-five miles ; the breadth, including the islands, from six 
 to eight. It contains, beside some sins.]!, two very large islands, 
 differing extremely from each ether in quality and appearance ; 
 but perfectly suited to the respective purposes of their different 
 situations. Bear Island, very high rocky and coarse, standing 
 a little within the mouth of the bay, braves the fury of the 
 western waves, and forms, by the shelter of its large body, a 
 most secure and spacious haven. Safe in its more retired 
 situation, at the upper end of the bay, the Island of Whiddy pre- 
 sents a surface of gentle inequalities, covered by a soil of un- 
 common richness and fertility. The grandeur of the scene in 
 which this noble expanse of water bears so conspicuous a part, 
 is greatly enhanced by the rugged variety of the surrounding 
 mountains, particularly those on the west side, which far ex- 
 ceed the rest in altitude and boldness of form. Among these, 
 Hungry -hill rising with a very steep ascent from the water, 
 raises his broad and majestic head, easily distinguishable from 
 a great distance, and far surpassing all the other mountains 
 of this county in height and grandeur. The effect produced by 
 
NOTES. l|9 
 
 such an assemblage of objects, can hardly be conceived and 
 is impossible to be described. I he mind filled and overborne 
 by a prospect so various, so extended, and so sublime, sinks 
 beneath its magnitude, and feeling the utter incapability of ade- 
 quate expression, rests upon the scene in silent and solemn ad- 
 miration. The soul must be insensible indeed, which will not 
 be moved by such a contemplation to adore the God of nature, 
 from whom such mighty works proceed. Large as the ground 
 of this great picture is, it comes within the scope of human sight, 
 a circumstance upon which the powerfulness of its impression 
 materially depends. A greater extension of the parts, by 
 throwing them far from view, would diminish their eifect, and 
 a reduction of their scale would lessen their grandeur. Much, 
 and justly, as Killarney is celebrated for the beauty of its scenes, 
 no single view it affords can vie with this in sublimity of cha- 
 racter, and greatness of effect, * * * * 
 
 " But the place mqst celebrated for combining the softer 
 graces of the waving wood, with the wildest rudeness of moun- 
 tain aspect, is GlengarifF, (the rough glen) situated on the 
 north side of the bay, at the head of a small harbour or cove. 
 The hills that enclose this romantic glen, rise in great variety 
 of rocky forms : their sides and hollows being covered profusely 
 with trees and shrubs, among which the arbutus, rarely found 
 to adorn our native woods, appears in a flourishing state. Here, 
 as at Killarney, nature seems to have been at wanton variance 
 with herself, and after exciting a war between two rival powers, 
 to have decided in favor of the weaker party. Among stones of 
 an immense size, thrown together in the wildest confusion, and 
 apparently forbidding the possibility of useful produce ; among 
 bare and massive rocks, that should seem destined to reign for 
 ever in barren desolation, arises aluxuiianceof sylvan growth, 
 which art would hardly hope for in the happiest situations. 
 The extent of this woody region, winds through the mountains 
 for some miles, is veiy considerable. Iron was formerly smelted 
 in this neighbourhood, when timber was more abundant and 
 less valuable. A river abounding with salmon and sea-trout, 
 
120 NOTES. 
 
 runs through this glen : in dry weather,(as Johnson observes of 
 a similar situation,) 'fretting over the asperities of a rocky 
 bottom j* when swollen with rains, rolling a torrent of frighful 
 magnitude into the bay. It is passed by a good stone bridge, 
 attributed to Cromwell, and still bearing his name." 
 
 " The last of nature's uncommon and astonishing displays 
 that remains to be mentioned, is the waterfall, or cateract of 
 Hungry-hill, in comparison with which, O'Sullivan's Cascade at 
 Killarney, and the waterfall at Power's-court near Dublin, 
 shrink into insignificance. The eye accustomed to the various 
 wonders of Alpine scenery, may doubtless view this stupendous 
 fall with less emotion ; but what will the lowland inhabitant 
 think of a river tumbled from the summit of a mountain, ele- 
 vated more than 2000 feet above its base, and almost perpen- 
 dicular in its ascent. In the first part of its progress, the side 
 of the hill is so steep as to suffer the water to fall from a vast 
 height, unimpeded by the rocky protections which the spread- 
 ing base of the mountain opposes to its descent in approaching 
 the bottom. It thus assumes the double character of a fall and 
 cateract. At the back of this great mountain are several lakes, 
 one of which supplies the water of the fall. This grand and 
 singular spectacle, often to be plainly distinguished from the 
 town of Bantry, fourteen miles distant, appears in full majesty 
 only after heavy falls of rain, sufficiently frequent in this dis- 
 trict to give the inhabitants numerous opportunities of seeing 
 it in all its glory." 
 
 This is very clear and graphic ; but it would be injustice to 
 the reader, to omit the following picture of Glengariff, by a 
 gentleman a resident of Bantry, whose fine poetical feeling, 
 and almost intuitive perception of the beautiful in natural sce- 
 nery, had happily fitted him for the task, of describing this 
 magnificent region, which he had undertaken in the Ninth 
 Number of BOLSTER'S Magazine. 
 
 "After visiting some of the most picturesque parts of the south- 
 western coast, we lingered a few days amid the enchanting 
 wilds of Glengariff. We had the advantage of reviewing its 
 wood- crowned steeps, gleaming under a cloudless sky, in all 
 
NOTES. ]21 
 
 the rich variety of tints, which the fading glory of Autumn left 
 upon tlie frail but beautiful foliage. Less imposing in its 
 mountain barriers than Killarney, and less enriched by the 
 fanciful variety of sparkling islands in its sea-views, the in- 
 land scenery exhibits a character equally magical, and partakes 
 as much of the seclusion,- the loneliness, and the flowery 
 wilds of fairy- land, as any portion of the country on the bor- 
 ders of the lakes. The summer tourist who pays a hurried 
 visit of a few hours to the Glen, is by no means competent to 
 pronounce an opinion upon its peculiar attractions. His eye 
 may wander with delight over the startling irregularity of its 
 hills and dales ; but h has not time sufficient to explore the 
 depts and recesses of its woodland solitude, in which the witch- 
 ing charms of this romantic region operates most forcibly on 
 the mind. It is by treading its tangled pathways, and wander- 
 ing amid its secret dells, that the charms of Glengariff become 
 revealed in all their power. There, the most fanciful and pic- 
 turesque views spread around on every side. A twilight grove 
 terminatiug in a soft vale, whose vivid green appears as if it 
 had been never violated by mortal foot ; a bower rich in the 
 fragrant woodbine, intermingled with a variety of clasping 
 evergreens, drooping over a miniature lake of transparent 
 brightness ; a lonely wild suddenly bursting on the sight, 
 girded on all sides by grim and naked mountains ; a variety of 
 natural avenues, leading through the embowered wood to re- 
 treats, in whose breathless solitude the very genius of medita- 
 tion would appear to reside, or to golden glades, sonorous with 
 the songs of a hundred foaming rills. But what appears 
 chiefly to impress the mind in this secluded region is the deep 
 conviction you feel, that there is no dramatic effect in all you 
 behold, no pleasing illusion of art ; that it is nature you 
 comtemplate, such as she is in all her wildness and all her 
 beauty. 
 
 The situation of Lord Bantry's lodge is very picturesque, the 
 verdant swell on which it rises, and the tasteful arbours that 
 surround it, appear in fine relief to the frowning hills in the 
 M 
 
122 NOTES. 
 
 rerc. But although I consider what may be called the inland 
 beauties of Glengariff 1 , the most striking and characteristic, 1 
 am far from depreciating its coast scenery. The view of Mr. 
 White's castellated mansion and demesne from the water, is 
 very imposing. The architecture of the house, which corres- 
 ponds with its situation, is an admirable keeping with the 
 mountains in the back ground. The demesne is laid out in 
 very good taste, exhibiting no violent triumph of art over na- 
 ture ; but that inimitable carelessness, that touching simpli- 
 city, which shews that, she has not been subdued and conquer- 
 ed, but gently wooed and won. From a wooded steep on the 
 old Berehaven road, to the north of Cromwell's bridge, you 
 may command the most comprehensive view that is afforded by 
 any spot in the neighbourhood of the Glen. 
 
 On the left you have the entire woodland sweep of Glengariff, 
 stretching far to the south and east, and clothing many a hill 
 in its imposing verdure, but disclosing most agreeable vistas, 
 through which the mountain streams may be seen wildly rush- 
 ing and sparkling in their course ; to the west, you have the 
 lofty mountains of Berehaven, with their graceful outline ter- 
 minated by the " waste of waters wild," whilst Lord Bantry's 
 demesne lies to the south in dim perspective. The sunset over 
 Goul and Hungry, the most prominent in the western chain of 
 mountains, as seen from Glengariff, or r.ny of the heights in 
 the neighbourhood of Kantry, is particularly gran'3. The wa- 
 terfall which takes a leap of some hundred feet from the crest 
 of the former, can sometimes be plainly distinguished at a dis- 
 tance of twenty miles, with its illuminated iris. The white 
 mists with which its brows are frequently wreathed, give this 
 mountain a peculiarly soft and graceful character. On a few 
 occasions it has exhibited an aspect of transcendant glory, 
 having its entire figure veiled in a transparent curtain of the 
 rainbow tint. As you may suppose, the majority of the moun- 
 tains in the neighbourhood of the Glen are crowned with lakes; 
 no less than 365 of these alpine reservoirs, are to be found on 
 the summit of one of them. 
 
NOTES. 123 
 
 NOTE 2, page 41, line 18. 
 " It is the sad Ululla's swell." 
 
 Though Byron has Wulwulla and Campbell Ollolla, I have 
 not hasitated to use the word, as no one has a better claim to 
 it than an Irishman. 
 
 Note 3, page 41, line 21. 
 " In,ver~na-?narc thy rugged shore.'* 
 
 Inver-na-marc, (the bay of ships) the old name for Bantry 
 bay. Inver, (properly spelled, In-mar,) gives name to many 
 places in Ireland ; it signifies a creek or bay ; Inverary, In- 
 verness, c. in Scotland; have the same origin. This bay is 
 so large and well sheltered, that all the ships in Europe might 
 lie there in perfect security. In 1689 there was a partial en- 
 gagement here between the English fleet under Admiral Her- 
 bert, and the French, commanded by Mons. Renault, in which 
 the former had the worst of it, owing to a great part of the 
 ships being unable to come into action. See Wilson's Naval 
 History. The division of the French fleet which came to an- 
 chor here in the winter of 1796$ never attempted a landing. 
 A Bantry pilot who ventured on board one of their ships, and 
 remained with them far a week, said that they spent the time 
 in every species of amusement ; their bands were continually 
 playing, and they were often seen from the shore dancing on 
 deck. It is remarkable that it was in Irish they conversed 
 with this person They questioned him about the state of the 
 roads, which some of them appeared to know very well, and 
 the disposition of the people. He was treated with the great- 
 est kindness, and nothing but his having a family could have 
 induced him to leave them. By his account which we have 
 had lately verified in the Autobiography of Napper Tandy there 
 was a great number of Irishmen in the expedition. 
 
 NOTE 4, page 42, lines 3 and 4. 
 
 " Or listened the dee}) copse among 
 ** To hear the Spanish seaman's song'* 
 M 2 
 
124 NOTES. 
 
 This place was formerly much frequented by the Spaniards. 
 It carried on a very extensive trade in pilchards with Spain* 
 Portugal, and Italy ; but for these last 70 or 80 years, not a 
 pilchard has appeared on the coast. The following two instan- 
 ces, taken from Smith's History of Cork, prove what an inex- 
 haustable source of wealth and comfort the Irish fisheries 
 would be, if properly encouraged. 
 
 "In 1749, Mr. Richard Mead of Bantry, proved to the Dub- 
 lin Society, that he had in that year caught and cured 380, SCO 
 fish of different kinds, six score to the hundred ; and in the 
 preceding year, Mr. James Young of the same place, caught 
 and cured 482,500 herrings, and 231 barrels of sprats. 
 
 One year with another, fish is as plentiful on this coast as at 
 the above period. 
 
 NOTE 5, page 42, line 18. 
 " Of Lelm-a-iagarVs mountaineer.' 1 * 
 
 Leim-a-tagart, (the Priest's leap,) is a wild and dangerous 
 mountain pass from Bantry into Kerry. The people dwelling 
 about this spot, have been from time immemorial, noted creach- 
 drivers, or forayers ; they go by ttie name of Glannies, or the 
 Glen boys, and so unsubdued, even at this day, is the spirit of 
 their ancestors in them, that rather than lead an inactive life, 
 they make frequent descents upon a clan of lowlanders called 
 Kohanes, or boys of the mist, not for the purpose of driving 
 cattle, for that would not be quite so safe in these times ; but 
 for the mere pleasure of fighting, or to revenge some old af- 
 front. This gave rise to numerous conflicts until very lately, 
 when the unwearied and persevering exertions of the Rev. Mr. 
 Barry, Parish Priest of Bantry, effected what the law might 
 attempt in vain ; for these mountaineers, though not living 
 exactly beyond the leap, come within the application of the 
 proverbial saying, " beyond the Leap, beyond the Law." 
 
 NOTE 6, page 42, line 24. 
 
 "go climb that height, 
 
 Whose depth of shade yields scanty light, 
 Where the dark elders droop their head 
 O'er Ard-na -mrahar's countless dead." 
 
NOTES. 125 
 
 Ardna-mrahar, the brethrens, or monks' height, so called 
 from an abbey which once stood there. The Ilibcrnia Domi* 
 nicana in its enumeration of the Monasteries of friars Minors, 
 thus speaks of it, " Bantry in agro Corcagicnsi, Cctnobivm 
 fundatum a Dermito 0* Sullivan, circa A, 146'0. 
 
 NOTE 7, page 43, line 30. 
 " All knew Ivera's chief." 
 
 ivera tue barony of Bear. I-bera is the Irish word, the /;, 
 having the sound of v. Smith thinks the place so called from 
 the Iberi, a Spanish colony which settled originally in this 
 quarter. 
 
 NOTE S, page 49, line 1. 
 
 " Carriganassig ! jrom thy walls 
 No longer now the warder calls'' 
 
 The castle of Cariganass, situated upon the river Ouvane, 
 (the fair river,) five miles from Bantry, was built by one of the 
 O'Sullivans, who formerly possessed the entire of the country. 
 It was a high structure with four round flanking towers and a 
 square court. In Queen Elizabeth's time, it was obstinately 
 defended against the English forces, by Daniel O'Sullivan, sur- 
 named Comm. In the Pacata Hibernia, its surrender is thus 
 related. 
 
 <{ Sir Charles (Wilmot) w T ith the English regiments, over-ran 
 all Beare and Bantry, destroying all they couLl find meet for 
 the reliefe of men, so as the countrey was entirely wasted. 
 He sent also Captain Flemming with his pinnace, and certaine 
 souldiers into O'Sulli van's Island ; he tooke there certaine 
 boats, and an English barke, which O'Sullivan had gotten for 
 his transportation into Spaine, when he should be enforced 
 thereunto ; they took also from thence, certaine cows and 
 sheepe which were reserved there, as in a secure storehouse, 
 and put the churles to the sword that inhabited therein. The 
 warders of the castles of Ardea, and Carrickness, on the sixth 
 of the same month, dispayring of their master, O'Sulli van's 
 M 3 
 
f2$ NOTES. 
 
 returne, rendered both their castles and their lives to the 
 Queene's mercy ; so that although he shoiud have animum re~ 
 vertendi, he had neither place of safetie whereunto he might 
 retire, nor corn, nor cattle to feed hhnselfe, much less to uphold 
 or renew any \varre against the state." 
 
 William O'Sullivan, Esq. had an idea of restoring this noble 
 edifice of his ancestors ; but its ruinous state presented too 
 many difficulties for the undertaking. The entire country 
 around it was formerly very thickly wooded, and had plenty of 
 red deer. 
 
 NOTE 9, page 51 , line 4. 
 
 " The heiress of Clan-Donal-Boe." 
 
 Clandonalroe is a small tract in Carbery once the property 
 of the M'Carthys. 
 
 NOTE 10, page 53, line 17. 
 " 1 tore her from Finlarrd's shrine" 
 
 The Lake of Gougaune ITarra, i. e. the hollow or recess of 
 Saint Finn Barr, in the rugged territory of Ibh-Laoghaire, (the 
 O'Learys country,) in the west of the county of Cork, is the 
 parent of the river Lee. It is rather of an irregular oblong 
 form, running from N. E. to S. YV. and may cover about twen- 
 ty acres of ground. Its waters embrace a small but verdant 
 island, of about half an acre in extent, which approaches its 
 eastern shore. The lake, as its name implies, is situate in a 
 deep hollow, surrounded on every side, (save the east, where 
 its superabundant waters are discharged,) by vast and almost 
 perpendicular mountains, whose dark inverted shadows are 
 gloomily reflected in its waters beneath. The names of those 
 mountains are Dereen, (the little oak wood,) whore not a tree 
 now remains ; Maolagh, which signifies a country a region 
 - a map, perhaps so called from the wide prospect which it af- 
 fords ; Nad an* uillar, the Eagle's Nest, and Faoilte na Gougaune 
 i. e. the cliffs of Gougaune, with its steep and frowning preci- 
 pices, the home of an hundred echoes. I;etween the bases of 
 
NOTES. 1219 
 
 these mountains and the margin of the lake, runs a narrow 
 strip of land, which at the N. E. affords a few patches for 
 coarse meadow and tillage, which support the little hamlet of 
 Rossalucha, i. e. the lake inch.. Two or three houses at this 
 place in some sort redeem the solitude of the scene. 
 
 "As we approached the causeway leading to the island," 
 says a writer in the VIII. Number of BOLSTER'S Magazine, 
 who describes this place with great minuteness, " \vc passed a 
 small slated fishing lodge, beside it lay a skiff bawled up on 
 the strand, and at a small distance, on a little green eminence, 
 a few lowly mounds without stone or inscription, point out the 
 simple burying place of the district ; their number and the 
 small extentr of ground covered, give at a glance, the census and 
 the condition of a thinly peopled mountain country ; and yet, 
 this unpretending spot is as effectually the burial place of human 
 hopes, and feelings, and passions ; of feverish anxieties, of 
 sorrows and agitations ; it affords as saddening a field for con- 
 templation, as if it covered the space, and was decked'out with 
 all the cypresses, the willows, and the marbles' of a Pcre la 
 chaise. It is- a meet and fitting station for the penitentiary 
 pilgrim, previous to his entry on his devotions within the is- 
 land. Some broken walls mark the grave of a clergyman, of 
 the name of O'Mahony, who in the beginning of last century, 
 closed a life of religious seclusion here : considering how rever- 
 ed is still his memory amongst these mountains, the shame- 
 ful state of neglect in which we found lii. grave astonished us. 
 We sought in vain for the flag mentioned by Smith, in his 
 History of i'ork, from which he copied this inscription, " Hoc 
 sibi et successoribus suisin eadem vocatione monument um imposuit 
 Dominus Doctor Dionisius O'Mahony presbyter licet incliymis;" 
 either it has been removed, or buried under the rubbish of the 
 place. 
 
 " A rude artificial causeway led us into the holy island ; at 
 the entrance stands a square, narrow, stone enclosure, nagged 
 everhead. This encloses a portion of the water of the lake, 
 which finds admission beneath. In the busy season of the pat 
 tern, this Well is frequented by pressing crowds of men, women 
 
128 NOTES. 
 
 and cows ; the lame, the blind, the sick, and the sore ; the bar- 
 icn and unprofitable ; the stout boccauyh of either gender, re- 
 pair to its healing water, in the sure hope of not getting rid of 
 those lamentable maims and afflictions of person, which form 
 their best source of profit, and interest the charity of the pea- 
 santry. 
 
 41 We found the greater portion of the island covered by the 
 ruins of the small chapel with its appurtenant cloisters, and a 
 large square court containing eight cells arched over. This 
 square faces the causeway, from which a passage leads, through 
 an avenue of trees, to a terrace about five feet in height, to 
 which we ascended by a few steps. In the middle of the court, 
 on a little mound, with an ascent at each side of four stone 
 steps, stands the shattered and time W 7 orn shaft of a wooden 
 cross. The number of hair and hay tethers, halters, and span- 
 eels, tyed round it, prove that the cattle passed through the 
 waters, have done so to their advantage. This court is beauti- 
 fully shaded with trees. Each side contains two circular cells, 
 ten feet deep 1 and eight feet high, by four broad, la two of 
 these we found some poor w r omcn at their devotions, preparing 
 to pass the night in watching and penitence, for which purpose 
 they had lighted up fires within them, and on enquiry we found 
 that the practice w r as quite common. 
 
 " The terrace leads by a few steps down to the chapel, which 
 adjoins it at the north side. This little oratory together with 
 the buildings belonging to it, are all in complete ruin ; they 
 were built on the smallest scale, and with the rudest materials, 
 solidity not appearing to have been at all looked to in the con- 
 struction. They are evidently very ancient. How, in so re- 
 mote and secluded a situation, the hand of the desecrator could 
 have ever reached them. I cannot conceive ; but he has done 
 his work well and pitilessly. Though here, we may reasonably 
 presume, was none of the pride of the churchman, none of the 
 world's wealth, nothing to tempt rapacity : though in this re- 
 treat, sacred " to ever musing melancholy," dwelt none of the 
 agitators of the land, yet the blind and reckless fury of the 
 
NOTES. 129 
 
 fanatic found its way through the wild and rocky land that 
 encloses it, and carried his polemical rancour into the hut of 
 the hermit. 
 
 "The oratory runs east and west ; the entrance is through 
 a low arched door-way in the eastern wall ; the interior is 
 about thirty-six feet long, by fourteen broad, and the side walls 
 but four feet" high, so that when roofed it must have been 
 extremely low, being at the highest, judging from the broken 
 gables, about twelve feet, and then the entire lighted by the 
 door and two small windows, one in each gable. The walls of 
 the four small chambers adjoining are all of a similar height 
 to those of the chapel. The entire extent is fifty -six feet in 
 length, by thirty-six in breadth, one or two of these consist of 
 extremely small cells, so that when we consider their height, 
 extent, and the light they enjoyed, we may easily calcu- 
 late that the life of the successive anchorites who inhabited 
 them, was riot one of much comfort or convenience, but much 
 the reverse of silence, gloom and mortification. Man else- 
 where loves to contend with, and, if possible, emulate nature 
 in the greatness and majesty of her works ; but here, as if 
 awed by the sublimity of surrounding objects, and ashamed of 
 his own real littleness, the humble founder of this desecrated 
 shrine constructed it on a scale peculiarly pigmy and diminu- 
 tive. 
 
 " The buildings stand at the south-east side, and cover near- 
 ly half the island. The remainder, which is cloathed with the 
 most beautiful verdure, is thickly shaded to the waters* edge 
 by tall ash trees. Two circular furrows at the north side of 
 the cloisters, are pointed out as the sites of tents, pitched here 
 during the pattern by the men of Bantry and their servants. 
 
 " In this island, the holy anchorite and Bishop, St. Fin 
 Barr, who flourished, I conceive contrary to the opinion of 
 Ware, early in the (ith century, wishing to lead a life of pious 
 retirement, found a situation beyond all others most suitable to 
 his desire : a retreat as impenetrable as the imagination could 
 well conceive, and seemingly designed by nature for the abode 
 of some sequestered anchorite, where, in undisturbed solitude, 
 
130 NOTES. 
 
 he might pour out his soul in prayer, and hold converse " with 
 nature's charms, and see her stores unrolled." St. Fin Barr, 
 however, w r as reserved for purposes more useful to society, and 
 for a scene where the example of his virtuous life might prove 
 more extensively beneficial. He became the founder, not only 
 of the Cathedral, but of the City of Cork, and laboured succes- 
 sively in the conversion of the people of the adjacent country. 
 A long line of successive anchorites occupied his retreat at 
 Gougaune, who, by their piety and virtues, rendered its name 
 celebrated through the island, and a favourite pilgrimage and 
 scene of devotion to the people. The last of these ereinetical 
 occupants was father Denis O'Mahony, whose grave on the 
 main land I have before spoken of. The succession seems to 
 have failed in him. He found this place a ruin, and the times 
 in which he lived were not calculated for its re-edification ; and 
 a ruin has it since continued. A large tomb-stoned-shaped 
 slab, which lies at the foot of a tree, contains, together with a 
 short history of this hermitage, directions for the devotions of 
 the penitent pilgrims ; but Dr. Murphy, the Catholic Bishop of 
 Cork, and his Clergy, have so thoroughly discountenanced the 
 religious visitations to this place", that its solitude stands little 
 chance of much future interruption. 
 
 " Old people remember with fond regret, the time when 
 Gougaune was inaccessible to horses, and almost to man ; when 
 it was no small probationary exercise to pilgrim or palmer to 
 overcome the difficulties of the way; when the shores of the 
 lake, and even some portions of the surrounding mountains 
 now naked and barren, were a continued forest, which lent its 
 gloomy shade to deepen the natural solitude of the place.- 
 Rossalucha had then no houses, and no clumsy white-washed 
 fishing- hut destroyed the effect of the surrounding solitude and 
 scenery ; but man, with his improvements, has even approach- 
 ed this desolate spot, and familiarly squatted himself down 
 beside its waters cut down its woods, smoothed its road, and 
 given an air of society to its solitude. 
 
 " The view frcm the summit of Derreen, the highest point 
 of the mountain-enclosure of the lake, is beautifully magnifi- 
 
NOTES, 131 
 
 cent. Though other mountains that I have seen, may hoast a 
 prospect of greater extent, yet it is reserved for Derreen to 
 take in a reach of mountain and of flood, of crag and glen, as 
 wildly diversified, as bold and as rugged, as any over which 
 the lofty Reeks may look down from his royal eminence : it is 
 a splendid panoramic picture, of the grandest dimensions and 
 outline. 
 
 " From the Faoilte, on the preceding evening, we had ob- 
 tained a view of the high outline of the Killarney mountains 
 to the north-west ; but here, now, from our superior height, 
 they arose before us in all their purple grandeur, visible almost 
 from their basis, in one long and splendid range, from Clara to 
 the lordly Reekach. To the South-west, appeared in the dis- 
 tant horizon, the trackless Atlantic, bounding the blue hilly 
 shores of Ivera, and reaching inland the fine estuary of Bantry, 
 chequered with " Islets fair," spread its still waters to meet 
 the long brown valley, which extends from the foot of Derreen, 
 skirting Hungry hill and Glengariff to the right. Wheeda, or 
 Whiddy island, appeared prominent in this calm and reposing 
 picture, and near the head of the bay lay bright and sparkling, 
 the small mountain lake of Loch-a-derry-fadda ; the Lough of 
 the long oaken wood but the wood was gone ; cultivated gar- 
 dens and brown pastures covered its site. Before us lay the 
 infant Lee, a long winding silver thread, stealing through ste- 
 rile glens, until, in the distance, it reached the lakes of Incha - 
 geela, and spread itself along their rocky shores, brightening 
 in the morning rays. Between the chain of lakes and the head 
 of the Bay of Bantry, lay three dark disconnected and cone- 
 figured mountains ; Sheha* the farthest South, feeding at its 
 hase a blue lake, called Luch an Ithric dearig : the loch of the 
 red trout or charr ; the other two mountains are Douchil, i. e. 
 dark wooded, and Donah, a name which also occurs amongst 
 the mountains of Wicklow. Beneath us, apparently at the 
 mountain's foot, we could observe for a considerable distance* 
 a dark tortuous line, proceeding inwards from the course of the 
 Lee, and resembling the irregular and fretted course of a small 
 
132 NOTES. 
 
 mountain stream. This was the celebrated pass of Kaoim-an- 
 eigh, i, e. the pass of Deer, through which a good road winds 
 now to Bantry. 
 
 " We had heard so much of Kaim-an-cigh, that we were im- 
 patient to see it, and after having bade our long farewell to 
 Derreen and Gougaune, we descended the steep side of the 
 former. We had arrived on the vergcof a cliff, and on looking 
 down, beheld the road winding at a great distance below, at the 
 bottom of a narrow strait, the deepest, the most abrupt and ro- 
 mantic imaginable. To get on tjiis road we found a matter of 
 difficult)', from the great general steepness and abtruptness of 
 its deep overhanging sides, and it was after considerable time 
 and exertion, that we effected our descent from rock to crag, 
 through thorn and tangled briar, grasping at times the long 
 heath, and furze, and brambles, or holding the dwarfy branches 
 of the underwood, which grew abundantly in the interstices. 
 
 " Nothing that ever I beheld in mountain scenery of glen, or 
 dell, or defile, can at all equal the gloomy pass in which we now 
 found ourselves. The separation of the mountain ground at 
 either side is only just sufficient to afford room for a road of 
 moderate breadth, with a fretted channel at one side for the wa- 
 ters, which, in the winter season, rush down from the high 
 places above, and meeting here, find a passage to pay a first 
 tribute to the Lee. A romantic or creative imagination, would 
 here find a grand and extensive field for the exercise of its 
 powers ; every turn of the road brings us to some new ap- 
 pearance of the abrupt and shattered walls, which, at either 
 side, arise up darkling to a great height ; and the mind is con- 
 tinually occupied with the quick succession and change of ob- 
 jects so interesting ; resolving and comparing realities, some- 
 times giving form and substance to " airy nothings." 
 
 " The enthusiasm of my companions was unbounded as they 
 slowly strided along, every faculty intent on the scene before 
 them; their classic minds found ready associations every 
 where each crag and cliff renewed classical reminiscenses, 
 and "infames scopvli," " Alia" and " Nemorosa," were flying 
 
NOTES. 133 
 
 out between them without intermission. They found no diffi- 
 culty in fancying themselves in Thermopylae's far famed strait, 
 and having decided on the resemblance, the location of the 
 Polyandrium, or tomb of the mighty Leonidas, and his asso- 
 ciate heroes that grave : " whose dwellers shall be themes to 
 verse for ever," was quickly settled ; and so was the temple of 
 Ceres Amphyctionis. The fountain, where the Persian horse- 
 man found the advanced guard of the Spartans occupied in 
 combing their hair, was easily discovered in one of the placid 
 pools of the trickling stream. The Phocian wall was also ma- 
 nifest ; and to perfect the picture, they ascended again to the 
 head of the pass, to catch another glimpse of the Maliac gulf, 
 as they called the bay of Bantry. Time and space became 
 annihilated before them ; and a brace of thousands of years, 
 were but as a day in their imagination. Their eager eyes 
 sought oat and found every where, monuments of the unfor-- 
 gotten brave of Greece, and all the burial places of memory 
 sent forth their phantoms of the olden demigods, to people the 
 scene. 1 confess, I could not see things in the same light. 
 The place reminded me of nearer times our own classic mid- 
 dle ages, and of a different people ; their arches were grey 
 ruins, keeps, and dungeons to me ; I saw but " bristling walls," 
 battlemented courts, turrets and embrazures, to which their 
 perverted judgments gave other names : 
 
 " While memory ran 
 
 " O'er many a year of guilt and strife/' 
 
 and Creaghadoir and Bonnoght, Kern and Gallowglass, Tory 
 and Rapparee, passed before me, sweeping the encumbered 
 pass, driving their prey of lordly cattle down the defile : and 
 loudly in my mind's ear, rung the hostile shouts of the wild 
 O'Sullivans and the O'Learys. Their fierce hurras, and Far- 
 raffffa, and aboos, mingling with the ringing of their swords, 
 and their lusty strokes on helm and shield. It is with associa- 
 tions of spoil, adventure, and daring of chasing the red deer, 
 the wolf, or the boar, with horn and hound, that this place 
 N 
 
i:u NOTES. 
 
 Is properly connected. To behold it Tvith other eye than that 
 of an Irish senachie, is a deed, less worthy assuredly, than to 
 drink, as my friend Falstaff says. 
 
 " I think I may say, that at its entrance from the Gougaune 
 side, this pass is seen with best effect ; there its high cliffs are 
 steepest, and the topling crags assume their most picturesque 
 forms and resemblances of piles and ancient ruins. These re- 
 ceive beauty and variety from the various mosses which en- 
 crust them, and the dwarf shrubs and underwood, ivy and 
 creeping plants, which lend their mellow hues to soften and 
 give effect to the whole. The Arbutus, a plant almost indige- 
 nous to Killarney and Glerigariff, (into the first of which 
 places it has been plausibly conjectured it had been brought 
 from the Continent by the Monks who settled in the islands cf 
 its lakes,) is not even uncommon among the rocks of Kaoim- 
 an-eigh. We behold itself and the ash, and other hardy 
 plants and shrubs with wonder, growing at immense heights 
 overhead, tufting crags inaccessible to the human foot, where 
 we are astonished to think how they ever got there. The 
 London pride grows here, and on the surrounding mountains, 
 as well as amongst the ruins of Gougaune Barra, in most as- 
 tonishing profusion. I have seen it in great abundance on 
 Turk and Mangerton, near Killarney, but its plenty in the 
 neighbourhood of the Lee, far exceeds all comparison. 
 
 " A number of lesser defiles formed by many a headlong 
 torrent, or shelving cascade, shoot inward from the pass in 
 deep and gloomy hollows, as you wind along, which greatly 
 increase the interest of the place ; and these forming at their 
 entrance high round headlands, thickly covered with the most 
 luxuriant cloathing of long flowering heath, have, at a distance, 
 the appearance of rich overhanging woods. As we proceeded 
 we found the channel of the stream which winds along with 
 the road, blocked up in various places with vast fragments of 
 rock, rent in some violent convulsion or tempest from the cliffs 
 around ; or hurled downward in wild sport by the presiding 
 genius of the scene, Trophied evidences of his giant energies, 
 
NOTES, 133 
 
 long choaked up the now uniucumbered defile, and told the his- 
 tory of his fierce pastime during the many ages that he conti- 
 nued its uninterrupted lord. But the road maker has success- 
 fully encroached upon his savage dominions, and crumbled his 
 ponderous masses, and smoothed down the difficulties which he 
 had accumulated. The present diminished number of these 
 vast fragments remain, however, as a sufficient record of the 
 rocky chaos which Smith spoke of eighty years ago, and which 
 long remained the astonishment of successive travellers." 
 
 Dr. Smith's description of this place is far from being cor- 
 rect, and is too highly coloured ; a person visiting the place 
 after having read it, would feel a little disappointed, though it 
 is in reality, as may be seen from the above extracts, one of the 
 wildest and most romantic retreats that can well be imagined. 
 
 NOTE 11, page 57, line 24. 
 " 'Tis morning , and the purple light 
 " On Noc-na-ve gleams coldly bright' 9 
 Noc-na-ve (the hill of deer) is the name of the hill over the 
 town of Bantry. 
 
 NOTE 12, page 58, line 2. 
 " And falls the sun with mellower streak 
 " On Sliav-na-ffoila's giant peak." 
 
 Sliav-na-goil (the mountain of the wild people) now Sugar- 
 loaf-hill, appears, from its proximity and conical form, to be 
 the highest of that chain of mountains which runs all along 
 the western side of Bantry Bay, and divides the counties of 
 Cork and Kerry. 
 
 NOTE 13, page 58, last line. 
 " Then wildly rushing down the shore, 
 " Was never seen or heard of more. 9 ' 
 
 Donal Comm made his escape into Spain. 
 
 THE END. 
 
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