THE BOOK lEISH BALLADS. EDITED BT D^Fy MCCARTHY. NEW YOEK : FELIX E. OK O UK KE, 9 BAKCIAY STKEET. 1873. h/^ -^1^%*"° ■A^^.. CoT H 7 TO SAMUEL FERGUSON, Esq., M.R.I.A, BARBTSTKE-Al-LA.\r, t H 8 COLLECTIOSr IRISH BALLADS. •KWCHED BY BO MANY BEAUTIFUL EFFORTS ©3 HIS GENIUS, ^ RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED THE EDITOR. CONTENTS. Dedication, Indkx of Authoss, - Advertisement iNTKODUCTIOS, BALLADS ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE FAIRY MYTHOLOGY AND TKADITIOXS OF UlELAND. Ncmeiaughter. - Anonymous, - 169 O'Sullivan Beare, - - Thomas D'Arcy M'Gee, - 173 The Robber of Femey, - Anonymous, - 176 O'Donoghue'3 Bride, - Anonymous, - 178 The Virgin Mary'a Bank, - - J. J. Callanan, - - 179 CONTENTS, BALLADS OF THE AFFECTIONS. Jfamea of Songs. Authors^ Ncmn. i»*N The Partig from Slemiah, - - Samuel Ferguson, - IS I Ailleen, - - J. Banim, - 183 F.man-ac-Knuck to Eva, - J. B. Clarke, - - 184 O'Donnell and the Fair Fitzgerald, - Charles Gavan Duffy - 186 The Cdoliin, - Samuel Ferguson, - 183 Briarhidin IJan Mo Stor, - Edward Walsh, - 1.90 ITie Lamentation of Felix M'Carthy, - J. J. Callanan, - - 191 Tastlicen I'ion, - Samuel Ferguson, - 194 The Patriots Bride, - Charles Gayan Dufiy, - 196 The Coulin, - CaroU .Malone, • - 199 Mauryeen, - Anonymous, - 201 A Lament, - D. F. M'Carthy, - 202 Younj? Kate of Kilconuner, - - Anonymous, 205 The Mountain Dew, - Samuel Lover, - - 806 POLITICAL BALLADS. The Muster of the North, Dark Rosaleen, Drimin Dhu, Shane Bwee, The Voice of Labour, The Dream of John M'Donnell, The Wexford Insurgent, The Orangeman's Wife, The Irish Chiefs, - Charles Gavan Dufljr, James C. Mangan, Samuel Ferguson, James C. Mangan, Charles Gavan Duffy, James C Alangan, Anonymous, CaroU Malone, Charles Garan Duffy 907 U\ •214 U . 219 222 223 225 jnSCELLANEOUS BALLADS. The Saint's Tenant, - Thomas Furlonff, -22S Lament for the Sv,ns of Usnach, - Samuel Ferguson, . 236 The Penal Days, - - Anonymous, - 239 Caroian and Bridget Cruise, - Samuel Lover, - - 243 The Streams, - Mrs. Downing, - - 24* Irish Mary, - J. Banim, . 246 The Last Friends, - Frances Browne, - 247 Th« Iriah Exiles. - - Martin MacDermott • 249 lEDEX OF AUTHORS. Pace. I Pegi ASONTMOUS: The City of Gold 36 Callanan, J. J. Fairy Revels 40 Cusheen Loo 78 The Enchanted Island 41 Avondhu I3fi The Banshee 76 The Outlaw of Loch Lene 165 The O'NelU . 80 The Virgin Marj-s Bank 17 i* KatMeen's Fetch . 85 TheLamentation of Fslix Earl Desmond and th« iM'Carthy . 191 lianshee 92 Caeleton, William: Battle of Cnoctuadh 107 A Sigh for Knocknany 151 Battle of Ardnocker 11!) Clarke, J. B.: Grainne Jlaol and Eliza Eman-ac-Knuck to Eva 184 beth . 122 Crokek, Crofton: Loch Ina . 140 The Caoine 96 The ^lountain Fern 145 Crolt, Rev. GEORftK: Tipperaiy . 152 The Island of Auant»t . 67 Shane 1 )ymas Daughtffl r 169 Ihe IJobber of Femey 176 O'DonoKhue's Bride 178 Wauryeen . 201 u Kate of Kilcammer 205 The \\'exford Insurgent 222 The Penal Days 2sa DOWNEP, W. M : B The iMagic WeU . Downing, Mrs.: 4» *k.wiM, Jomf: Tlie Streams . %^ The Fetch 75 Duffy, Charles GAVAiir: Ailleen . 18a O'Donnell and tha Ffcir Irish Mary . 246 Fitzgerald 18 Blackkh, Colonel: Tlie Patriot's Bride 196 Tlie Battle of the Boyne 129 The Cluster of tlie N"orth 207 Browne, Frances: The Voice of Labour . 21« The Last friends 247 The Irish Chiefs . 221 INDEX OF AUTHORS Page. LOTER, SAsrcEL: Tlie Haunted Spring 59 The Mountain Uew . 206 Cu-olan and Bridget Cruise . . 243 Pa^ Fbbgcpon, Samtf.l, M.R.I, a. Malone, Carroll: TheFairy Well of Lagnan 31 '. The Coulin 199 Timoleague 133 The Orangeman's Wife . 2it Deirdres !• arewell to Alba 150 Mangan, Jamks Clarence: The Welshmen of Tiraw- Lamentation of MacLiag ley 154 for Kincora 102 The Parting fromSlemish 181 A Vision of Connaught The Coolun . 188 in tlie 13th Century . 114 Pastheen Fion 194 Darlc liosaleen 211 Drimin Dhu . 214 Shane Bwee . 214 Lament for the Sons of The Dream of John Mac Usnach . 236 DonneU 219 FtTELONG, Thomas: MooBE, Thomas: ITie Saint's Tenant 228 The Mountain Sprite . 35 Arranmore 56 G MxniRAT.liEV. Dr.: The Rock of Caahel 137 6BIFFIN, Gerald: Hy Brasail 34 The I'hantom City 48 The ^\ake of the Absent 84 O'LsART, Joseph: The Bridal Wake 95 Glenfinishk 143 Adare . 140 P H Paehkll, Thomas: Hknrt, Alexander. A. Fairy Tale • 2 The Fairy Rath of Loch Innin . • . 42 S SnoioKs, B. The Doom of the Mirror The Returned Exile Stabket, Digby Pilot- The Death of Schomberg TwBLiNQ, James: Thubber-na-Shie, or the 87 142 127 M*Cabtht, D. F.; Fairy WeU . 37 Alice and Una 60 The Vale of Shanganah 148 W A Lament 202 MacDermott, Martin: • "Walsh, Edward The Irish Exiles . 249 The Faiiy Nnrw , 91 M'Gee, Thomas D'Arct: Battle ot Creiran 116 The Saga ot King Olaf Ailleen the lluiiixess 166 and his Dog 97 Briffhidiir Ban-mo- Stor 190 Tlie Death of King Mag- Wills, Rev, J. : nus Barefoot 104 The Burial . •la O'SulUvan Beare 1T6 ADFEETISEMENT. "Thb Book of Irish Ballads" is intended as a sequel to^Tin Ballad Poetky of Irelanx>." I trust it will not be found unworthy of takinfT its place beside that volume. It has been my most anxious wish that this collection of native ballads should be altogether divested of a sectarian or party complexion, and that every class of which Thb Irish Nation is composed should be poetically represented therein. Should there be, in those ballads which admit of the introductioji of religions or political sentiment, a preponderance of one kind over another, the inequality is to be attributed to the abundance or scan- tiness of my materials— and not to any prejudice or bias of my own. I trust that the classification which I have made will be found correct aad useful. In all but the Historical Ballads, I have endeavoured to an-ange them with as much variety as possible ; in that division thejr are placed in chronological order. As I have stated at the conclusion of my introduction, I h&ve endeavoured to make this volume as original as possible; and I have therefore avoided, a« much as I could, collec- tions which had been previously made.. It is for tlys reason that I have not included any of the poems of my lamented and revered friend, Thomas Duns,— forming, as the public are aware, a separate rolome of " The Library of IreUuid." INTKODUCTION. It has been said, by a well-known autliority, that the Ballads of a people are more influential than their laws, and perhaps he might have added, more valuable than their annals. The most comprehensive survey that the eye of genius can take in — the most ponderous folio that ever owed its existence to the united efforts of industry and dulness, must fail in giving a perfect idea of thi character of a people, unless it be based upon the reve- lations they themselves have made, or the confessions they have uttered. Without these, history is indeed but the "old almanack" that an illustrious countryman of OUTS * has called it ; a mere dry dead catalogue of dates and facts, useless either as a picture of the past, or as a lesson for the future. A people of passionate impulses, of throbbing affections, of dauntless heroism, ^iU invariably not only have done things worthy of being recorded, but will also have recorded them. Myriads of human beings cannot be moved about noise- lessly, like an army of shadows. The sullen sound of their advancing will be heard afar off; and those who see them not, will listen to the shrill music of their fifes and the merry echoes of their bugles. The great heav- ings of a people's heart, and, from time to time, the necessary purifying of the social atmosphere, will make themselves felf and heard and seen, so that all men maj • Lord Plunkett 12 IWTRODUCTIOW. take cognizance thereof—as the mighty -vraves of the roused ocean dash against each other with a war-cry, or as the electric spirit proclaimeth its salutary mission in a voice of thunder. In almost all countries the Ballad has been the in- strument by which the triumphs, the joys, or the sor- rows of a people have been proclaimed. Its uses have been numerous; its capabilities are boundless. Long ago, in the fresh youth and enthusiasm of the world, how harmonious were its modulations — its* ."eve- lations hoAv divine ! Then it sang of gods and heroes, and the milk-expanded warm breasts of the beneficent mother ; and the gift of Ceres, aud the olive of Minerva, and the purple clusters of the son of Semele. Then it was, that, " standing on a pleasant lea," men could •' Have glimpses that would make them less forlorn, Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn."* Then it was that the earth was truly peopled. Neither was the air void, nor were the waters desolate. Shapes of beautj — " Schone wandered familiarly with men ; and nymphs and shep- herds, and fauns and hamadryads, danced together beneath the eye of Jove himself in the shadow of blue Olympus, or beside the Venus-bearing foam of tlie sparkling isle-surrounding Hellespont. Had not poetry preserved this memory of the golden age — had not Hesiod and Homer built their beautiful and majestic structures on the original ballads that were probably floating among the people, — how dark, and gloomy, and indistinct would be our ideas of the old world: What visions that have been delighting the eye of man these three thousand years would have been lost : Of • Wordsworth. ♦ " Lovely beings from tlie Fable land."— Schilmb. INTRODUCTION. 13 what examples of devotion, of heroism, of love of country, would the sincere and zealous of all nations have been deprived. Poetry, after all, is the only indestructible gift that genius can bequeath to the world. The shield of Achilles, though the work of a god, has disappeared from the world, but the bounding words in which it has been described are immortal. This very shield itself, as Schiller remarks, is the type of the poet's mind, and of all true poetry.* On it, we are told, were figured, not only representations of cities, implements of hus- bandry, corn fields and vineyards, sheep and oxen, and other things adapted to particular localities, and Avhich may vary under different circumstances, — but the great fabricator had also introduced representations of the un, changeable wonders of creation, wliich are the same yesterday, to-day, and to-morrow, — " For in it he represented earth — in It the sea and sky — • rn it the never wearied sun — the moon, exactly round; And all those stars with which the brows of ample heaven are crown'd!" \ Thus a genuine poem must be true not only to the cha- racter of the age in which it is written, but in accord- ance with the principles of nature and of truth, which are unchangeable. The Latins, a people very different from the Greeks, added but little to the beauty of the mythology they borrowed, or to the literature they imitated. With the exception of Egeria, — "a beautiful thought, and softly bodied forth," — there are none of their native divinities that interest us much. Their early history, so full of atern, unbending justice, self-denial and heroism, is ♦ " As the goA and the genius, whose birth was of Jove, In one tj-pe all creation reveald, V.'hen the "ocean, the earth, and the star- realm above, Lay compressd in the orb of a shield, — So the poet, a shape and a type of the AU, From a soimd, that is mute in a moment, can call!" [From " The Four A^esof the ^Vo^ld." — lulwer's Translation ^ Iliad. Book xviii., Chapmans Translation. 14 INTRODUCTION. considered cither allegorical or wholly fabulous, aud founded upon the memory of rude ballads, which had ceased to exist even at the time when their earliest annala were written.* In their latter years, the lyrics of Horace redeemed the cliaracter of their literature from the reproach of servile imitation ; and some of these, and a few of the shorter tales of Ovid, are the only poems they have left us partaking, however remotely, of the character of Ballad Foetry, but much closer to the modern than to the ancient Homeric standard After this there is no trace of the ballad spirit in Latin literature. Its writers became more servile and less rigorous in their imitation, until, in the reign of Theo- doaius, the race of old Roman poets became extinct in the person of Claudian. While this lamentable but natural decline of intellec- tual vigour, consequent upon the effeminacy and ex- cesses of Imperial Rome, was developing itself along the sunny shores of the Mediterranean, a new order of things was maturing amid the mountains and forests of northern and western Europe. The human mind — which, in these remote regions, like their wintry seas, had been perpetually frozen — now began to melt and dissolve into brilliancy and activity. Those who lived upon the stormy shores of the ocean followed the sea-kings in their adventurous expeditions among the islands. Those who lived amid the dark forests of the interior, marched in search of brighter skies and more fruitful plains, towards the genial regions of the south. And it was in these expeditions, particularly the former, that the Bards of the Sea Kings gave the Ballad its modern shape and character. The sagas composed by them, to com- memorate the triumphs or to bewail the disasters of their chiefs in "Icy lerne" — the Scottish islands and Iceland — strongly resemble, both in structure and de- sign, the more vigorous of the modern ballads. A new * 'NTr. Macaulay's "Lays and Legends of Ancient Rome" are founded on this supposition. I am glad that 1 have this opportunity of expre» fug my admiration of these splendid and vigorous ballads, and of tb( other writings of their g'*"*«^I and accomplislied author. INTRODUCTION. 15 race of divinities and a new race of heroes superseded the old classical models. Thor and Wodin succeeded Mars and the son of Priam, and, like the songs in which they were commemorated, what they lost in interest and beauty was compensated for by vigour and durability, Tlie black and chilly waters of the northern seas were not a fitting birth-place for tlie Aphrodisian Venus; instead of the queen of love and gladness, the mighty kraken and the winged dragon were their children, who in many a stormy ballad have played their fearful and im- portant parts ever since. Again, in the sunny South, but not in exhausted Italy, did tlie harmony of song arise. Spain, that magnificent country, combining together the grandeur and the beauty of the North and the South — the bold mountains and caverned shores of Norway, and the enchanting graces of Parthenope — had already, even in the most palmy days of Latin literature, contributed some of the most boasted names to the catalogue of Eoman writers. Lucan, who sang of Pharsalia ; the two Senecas, the younger of whom is the only Roman tragic writer who has come down to us ; and Martial, whose wit and licen- tiousness at once enlivened and disgraced the reign of Domitian — were natives of Spain ; the three former of Carduba, and the latter of Arragon. But it was in the eiglith century that the splendour and interest of Spanish history commences. In that century the Saracens con- quered Spain, and introduced into it, along with a knowledge of letters and the sciences superior to what was possessed by any other people then in Europe, all the splendour and imagination of Oriental poetry. About the end of the twelfth century the celebrated poem of "TheCid" was written, commemorating the valorous exploits and adventures of the hero, Eodrigo de Bivar. Since that period, Spain has been pre-emi- nently rich in ballad poetry. Its grand, sonorous language, so musical as to have earned the epithet of " the poetry of speech," has been employed to good purpose ; and nobler ballads than the Spanish, in praise of heroism, of virtue, of piety, and of love, the world has never seen. The capabilities of the Ballad have 16 INTRODUCTION. there been put to the severest test. Those of the heroic class, which detail tlie struggles of tlie old Spaniards with the Goth or with the Siiracen, like Chevy Chase, "stir the heart as if with a trumpet;" while the sigh- ing of a summer l)reeze in Andalusia is not more soft and gentle than the harmony of tlie passionate hallads tliat to this day are sung beneath the curtained balconies of moon-lit Sevilla. Garcilasso, Lope, Calderon, Cer- vantes — great names are these, of which Spain and human nature may be proud. Tlie Ballad Poetry of England and Scotland has been very copious and very excellent for several centuries ; and the Ballads of each contrast not so much in merit as in character. In tlie Song, which may be called tlie very essence and spirit of the Ballad, or the musical ut- terance of feeling and passion in the very paroxysm of tlieir presence, Scotland has immeasurably the supe- riority. In that Pythian moment, when the mind is in its state of utmost activity, and the dominancy of passion is supreme, the concentrated expression of both is Song ; and its appearance and the frequency of its return de- pend principali}^ upon the character and constitution of each people. The Ballad, on the contrary, requires not the same degree of excitement, — Narrative, which is almost an essential portion of it, being incompatible with that mental and sensuous excitation which gives both to the song, and which is but momentary in its abiding. And tlius the different success of the two, in the different nations of Europe, is as marked and dis- tinct as the races of which they are compost- d. In Italy and France, in Scotland and Ireiand — all nations sprung from the one family — the Song has been cultivated with the greatest success ; whereas in the northern nations, in Germany and in England, the natural expression of tliC poetical instincts of the people has been through the calmer and more lengthened channel of the Ballad Spain has succeeded better in both, perhaps, than any other nation ; — the dominion of the Goths leaving aftei it mucli of the solemnity of thought and feeling of ttee Germanic races, — while the lyric capabilities of the language are such as to render tl^e expression of IVTmODUCTION. 17 high-wrought sentiment easy and obvious. In England the ballads are generally of a quiet and pastoral beauty — %3.ite in character with the rural and sylvan charms of its scenery. The Robin Hood ballads, which so delight us in boA'hood, and which give us visions of " Alerrj^ Sherwood" — In summer time, when leaves grow green, And birds sing on every tree, that we never forget, and which are only replaced by the still more exquisite glimpses that Shakspeare opens to us of The Forest of Ardennes — all partake of thia character — in them there is many a merry trick played, and many a mad adventure — " Of brave little Jonn, Of Fryer Tuck and Will Scarlet, Loxley, and Maid ilariou." Bold Robin and AlIin-a-Dale, or the *' Jolly Tanner," Arthur-a-Bland, have many a good contest with stout quarter-staflfs — right merry to read and well described — but the writers scarcely ever forget, even for a few stanzas, the beauty of the summer woods where their heroes dwell, and satisfy their own hearts, and will delight their readers for ail time, by this frequent re- currence to the unchangeable and everlasting delights of nature. Indeed, this continued reference to the beauty of the external world, which we meet in the old English poets, particularly in Chaucer (whose pictures of many a "May Morn-ing" are still so fresh after many years), may be the reason that the\' are read even now, notwithstanding the difficulties of an antiquated and obsolete dialect. The Scotcli Ballads are less numerous and less varied than the English ; but in point of perfection — in the particular class, at least, of sentiment and the affec- tions - they are not only superior to these, but, as I humbly conceive^ to any Ballads that have ever been written. Their simplicity never degenerates into bold commonplace, nor their homeliness into vulgarity ; anc* they are as far removed from maudlin sentimentality in their passionate heartiness, as from frigid conceit? •«" ^ 18 INTRODUCTION. prettinesses in their illustrations. The very lieart of the So.ottish people hounds in their hallads ; we can listen to the ever- varying chano^es of its pulsation — now- heavy and slow as tlie tides of Loch Lomond — now rapid ftnd bounding as the billows of the Clyde. The "bonny blue e'en" of the lassie glance through her waving hair like a stream through the overhanging heather; and her arch reply or her merry laugh rings on our ears like the song of the mavis or the throssil. The ballads of a few of her humblest cliildren have rendered Scotland dear to the hearts of all whose affections are worth possess- ing : they have converted (to the mind at least) her desolate heaths and barren mountains, into smiling gardens and olive-bearing hills ; and have constructed among mists and storms, and tlie howling of the lashed Northern Ocean, an Arcadia dearer tlian that of yore, where "the shepherd's boy piped as though he should never be old."* Although my space here is very limited, I cannot refrain from presenting, to some of my readers perhaps for the first time, a specimen of these Ballads, taken almost at random, in support of what I have as- serted, and as a model (in connexion with those written in a kindred spirit by some of our own countrymen — Griffin, Callanan, Davis, and Mr. Ferguson) of thia most exquisite department of Ballad Poetry : — MARY OF CASTLE-CARY.t Saw ye my wee thing, saw ye my ain thing, Saw ye my true love down on yon lea — Crossed she the meadow yestreen at the gloaming, Sought she the bumie where flowers the haw-tree? Her hair it is lint-wliite, her skin it is milk-white, Dark is the blue of her soft rolling e'e; Red, red are her ripe lips, and sweeter than roses. Where could my wee thing wander frae me? I saw nae your wee tiling, I saw nne your ain thing. Nor saw I your true love down by yon k'«; Bnt I met my bonnle thing late in the gloaming, Down by the bumie where flowers the haw-tre*. ■-Sir Philip Sidney. * written hy Hector MacNeJll; INTRODDCTION. [$ Htr hair It was lint-white, her skin it was mUk-whitCi Dark was the blue of her soft rolling e'e; Red, red were her ripe lips, and sweeter tli;m rosee, Sweet were the kisses that she gave to me. It was nae my wee thing, it was nae my ain things It was nae my true love ye met by the tree; Proud is her leal heart, and modest her nature, She never loved ony till ance she loved me. Her name it is Mary— she's frae Castle-Cary, Aft has she sat when a bairn on my knee; Fair as your face is, weret fiftj- times fairer, Young bragger, she ne er wad gie kisses to thea. It was then yom- Mary ; she's frae Castle-Cary It was then your tiaie love I met by the tree Proud as her heart is. and modest her nature, Sweet were the kisses that she gave to mo. Sair gloomed his dark brow, blood red his cheek grew, Wild fiiished the fire frae liis red rollinsr e'e; Ye'se nie sair this morning your boasts and your scomliif, Defend ye, fause traitor, fu' loudly ye lie. Away wl" beguiling, cried the youth, smiling — Off went the bonnet, the lint white locks flea The belted plaid faing, her white bosom shawing, Fair stood the loved maid wi" the dark rolling e'e. Is it my wee thing, is it my ain thing, Is It my true love here that I see "' .lamie, forgi e me, your hearts constant to nle, 111 never mair wander, dear laddie, frae thee. The most modern, and perhaps the most important class of ballads, remains to be alluiled to — namely, the German. The sudden awakening, the rapid maturity, the enduring vitality, and the acknowledged supremacy of German literature, are facts as wonderful as tliey are consoling. Little better than a century ago, with tlie exception of a few theological and historical writers, the Germans were more destitute of a native literature, and were more dependant on other countries, particularly France, for intellectual supplies, than we have ever been ; and now their works crowd the book markets of the vorld. Little more than a century ago a great German prince, called Frederick, a philosopher and a patron ol philosophers, pronounced his native language but fit for 20 iNTito:;ocTiON. horses, — little dreaming of the angels and angelic wo. men — of the Katherines, the Theklas, and the Undines — from whose inspired lips that rough, nervous language would flow so harmoniously that all men would listen to the melody thereof. In no intellectual field have the Germans of the past and present centuries been de- feated. Their drama is superior to any otlier that has appeared m Europe during the same period — for I pre- rume there can be no comparison between the Shnkspe. rian power of Schiller and the soft graces of Metestatio or even the more masculine classicalities of Alfieri. Their histories are the mines in which even the most in- dustrious writers search for the precious ore of trr th. Tiieir philosophy has been either a beacon or an iynis fatuus to the inquiring intellects of Europe; while some of their artists have come oiF victorious even in tlie Eternal Metropolis of art itself. In every department of litera- ture German intellect has been renewmg tlie almost ex- hausted fountains of the world. Like the Egyptian river, the great German Kliine has been overfloM'ing the earth, and, fruits, andHoweriS and waving t:orn are spring- ing" luxuriantly in all lands. In the ballad the Germans have pre-eminently succeeded. It is with them some- what of a short epic, in which the romance and chivalry of the middle ages find a suitable vehicle for their illus- tration. They seldom treat of humble life and simple I)assion, like tlie Scotch ; or individual heroism, like the Spanish. They are more historical and legendary tiian directly sentimental or heroic; but through all runs a vein of philosophical abstraction and thouglitful melan- choly, which imparts to them a peculiar and enduring charm. There is scarcely an historical event of any im- portance — a legend possessing the slightest interest — a superstition, not destitute of grace, sublimity, or t'^rror — a river or a mountain that has anything to recommend '\, that has not found an illustrator, an admirer, and a laureate among the German Balladists. And the consc« quence is, that not only is the German intellect honoured ami respected, but the German land is also strengthened and enriched. The separate though confederated na- tions of Germany have been bound together as one peo- INTRODUCTION 21 plo. by the universal language of their poetry ;* :in(l year after year pilgrims and students from strange lands wander tliither, not attracted so much by the gloom of her woody mountains and the magic windings of her Rhine, as because (thanks to poetry) through the former the wild Jager still hunts and the witches dance on Wal- })urgisf nights, and because the latter has been made tlie crystal barrier of a free people, and the emblem, in its depth, its strength, and its beauty, of the German character and intellect. It only remains for me to advert to what has been done, and what I conceive may be done, in Ireland with the ballad. If we recollect the constant state of war- fare — the revolution upon revolution — the political strug- gles, and the generally unhappy condition of the people ever since the invasion, it is matter of surprise that there could be found any persons with hearts or intellects suf- ficiently strong to escape from the realities around them into the abstractions and idealities of poetry; but that there were many who did so, and with a power and beauty for which they get little credit, must be evident from Mr. Duffy's ''Ballad Poetry," and, I trust, also from this volume. I speak now, of course, of our r.A- tive Irish writers. To us there can scarcely be anything more interesting or more valuable than these snatches and fragments of old songs and ballads, which are chap- ters of a nation's autobiography. Without these how difficult would it be for the best disposed and the most patriotic amongst us to free our minds from the false impressions which the study (^superliciai as it was) of the history of our country, as told by those wh.o were not her children or her friends, had made upon us. In- stead of the rude savage kerns tliat anti-Irish historians represent our lorefathers to have been, for ever hovering * " Where er resounds the German tongue — \\ here German hymns to God are sung— There, gaHant brother, take thy standi That is the Germans Fatherland!" [Mangan's " Anthologia Geraianica," vol. ii., p. ISO.] t \\a?purgis is the name of a saint to whom the first of May ia dedi- iZ INTRODUCTt!>i». jrith murderous intent round the fortresses of the Pale, we see them, in their own balhuls, away in their green vallies and inaccessible mountains, as fathers, as brothers, as lover?, and as husbands, leading the old patriarchal life with their wives and children, while 'the air is musical with the melody of their harps and the lowing of their cattle; — we see them hunting the red deer over the brown mountains, or spearing the suhuon in the pleasant rivers, — or, borne on their swift horses, descending in many a gallant foray on the startled intruders of the Pale. What is of more importance, Ave look into the hearts and minds of these people — we see what tiiey love with such passion — what they hate with such intensity — what they revere with such sacred fidelity. We find they had love — they had loyalty — they had religion — ihey had constancy — they had an umlying devotion for the "green hills of holy Ireland," and as such they are entitled to our respect, our atiiections, and our imitation. Thebest ballads they have left us are those of the atfections, and tliey are, according to Mr. Ferguson, of the utmost possible in- tensity of passion, compatible with the most i)erfect purity. Even in their political ballads, where a thin Jisguise was necessary, the allegory has been so perfect, and the wail of sorrow, or the yearning of atiection, so exquisitely imitated, (as in the instance of the Roisin Dhu, or "Dark Rosaleen,") as to make so excellent a critic and so true a poet as Mr. Ferguson doubt if they be in reality political ballads at all. Upon the subject of our Anglo-Irish Ballads, I have nothing to add to what Mr. Dufiy has so ably and so truly written in his introduction to the " Ballad Poetry of Ireland." That there is a distinct character and a pecu- liar charm in the best ballads of this class which the highest genius, unaccompanied by thorough Irish feel- ing, and a thorough Irish education, would fail to lav part to them, — must be evident to everyone who has. read that volume. To those among us, and to the gene- rations who are yet to be among us, whose mother tongue is, and of necessity must be, the English and not the Irish, the establi^ihjng of this fact is of the utmost iNTRODUCTION. 23 importance, and of the greatest consolation: — tliat wa can be thoroughly Irish in our writings witliout ceasing to be Englisli ; that we can be faithful to the land of our birth, without being ungrateful to that hterature ■which has been "the nursing mother of our minds," that we can develop the intellectual resources of our country, and establish for ourselves a distinct and sepa- rate existence in the world of letters, without depriving ourselves of the advantages of the widely-diffused and genius-consecrated language of England, are facts tliat I conceiA''e cannot be too widely disseminated. This pe- culiar character of our poetry is, however, not easily im- parted. An Irisli word or an Irish phrase, even appo- sitely introduced, will not be sufficient ; it must pervade the entire poem, and must be seen and felt in the con- struction, the sentiment, and the expression. Our writers would do well to consider the avlvantages, even in point of success and popularity, Avhich would be likely to attend the working of this peculiar vein of Anglo-Irish literature. If they write, as they are too much in the habit of doing, in the weak, worn-out style of the majority of coteuiporary English authors, they will infallibly be lost in the crowd of easy writers and smooth versifiers, whose name is legion, on the other side of the channel ; whereas, if they endeavour to be racy of their native soil, use their native idiom, illus- trate the character of their country, treasure her legends, eternalize her traditions, people her scenery, and enno- ble her superstitions, the very novelty will attract atten- tion and secure success. * In conclusion I have only to state that I have endea- voured to draw the materials of this volume as much as » So one can douj. the truth of this, who regards the state of the ntfrarj- world in p:ncrland at present. Every native topic and every native mode of authorship seem so thoroughly exhausted (or, to use the expressive cant phrase, so completely " used up") that we find the great London book merchants drawing from Sweden and I'enmark, from Iceland, from Russia, and the far Kast, some teraporiiiy suj)ply for the literary wants of the day. This, of course, is not the motive that should influence our writers; but tlie suggestion in this age may dl«4 be without its use. ti INTRODUCTION. possible from hitherto unused sources. It was my ori. ^filial intention to have extracted copiously from the quarto edition of " The Spirit of the Nation," as it con- tains many exquisite ballads, by Mr. Duffy, Mr. Wil^ liams, Mr. Barry, Mr. Lane, Mr. Drennan, and other writers, which have never been published in any very cheap or very accessible form. I found, however, the number of poems which were still even newer to the public than those, so abundant, tliat I liave confined myself to the selection of two from that work — one of them (The Muster of the North)* principally because I believe it to be the best historical ballad the country has yet produced; and the other, as illustrating the most remarkable period of political excitement within my own memory, 1 have to regret that this volume does not contain a greater number of the poems of our greatest Poet — Thomas Moore. I would liave been proud to have testified my admiration of him as a Poet and a Man, by extracting largely from his works — as, to ray mind, many of his songs are perfect ballads — as faultless in design as they are exquisitely conceived and executed. In publishing these ballads, however, I considered I would be but giving most of my readers what they have already possessed, so that in reality no one suffers by the omissions but myself, a very humble but a very willing victim to the unbounded popularity of Thomas MooRE. J blusli to allude to myself, so soon after such a name, but I fear I owe some apology to the reader for the in- troduction into this collection of three of my own poems — '' the wish of friends" in this, as in so many other in- gtances, has of course prevailed. D. F. M'CARTHY. 88, Upper Baggot-street, September, 1846. • By an accident " The Cluster of the Korth' is p!&ced among th* Political instead of the llistoiical Ballads. BOOK OF IRISH BALLADS. BALLADS ILLUSTRATIVE OF THE FAIRY MYTHOLOQY AXD TKADITIOXS OF IRELAND. A FAIRY TALE. BY THOMAS FARNELL. [T have been Induced to retain this Ballad of Parnell, notwithstand- mg its unmistiikable Knglish dress — to some extent for the simple grace and beautj' of its style — hut principally because tlie story, how- ever disguised, is essentially Irisli, and illustrates very pleasingly some of tlie pranlis and mingled benevoence and malice of "the good people." '1 here is scarcely a child in the country, old enough to have its imagination or its taste for the manellous developed, that is not familiar with some vereion of this story, leamed in many iustancee where Pamell himself first heard it in ivn Irish nurse s arms. This he confesses in the stanza of the ballad which precedes the last. Parnell, In imitating the old Knglish style — in placing the scene of his poem "in Hritains Isle and Arthurs days" — (Spenser, so skilled in all the clironology and topography ot faiiy land, had already settled the ques- tion of time and place), and in adding a new flower to the already beautiful faii-y garland of Kngland. was actuated 1 believe by no con- scious dislike for his native country ; but his doing so was qui:e in keeping with the habits of his life. For being, as Goldsmith inform? us, al way? "very much elated or depressed, and his whole life spent in agony or rapture," he invariably gave his Knglish friends the bfuefit of his rapture and elation; but when the gloomy tit retumed, he would fly back to Ireland, and vent his spleen and agony in satirical songa, dn the sceneiy and people that surrounded him. These songs I believe lure not becai preserved, at least tliey are not given in any e'of (iold," "Hy-Prasail,"and other poems in this cMlection are founded, except in point of locality; the scene of the latter ballads being placed in the Atlantic, to the west of the Isles ol Arran, while "the Knchanted Island" is supposed to be in the neigh- bourhood of Kathlin IsUnd. off tlie north coast of the county Antrim. '1 he name or th.c island, which has been spe'led a different way by almost ever}' writer on the subject, is supposed to be derived ft-om Ragherin. or " the Fort of Erin." as its situation, commanding the Iri&h coast, might make it, not unaptly, be styled " the fortress of Ire- land." — bee Leonard's Topographia Hibemica.'\ To Rathlin's Isle I chanced to sail. When summer breezes softly blew, And there I heard so sweet a tale. That oft I wished it could be true. They said, at eve, when rude winds sleep, And hushed is ev'ry turbid swell, A mermaid rises from the deep, And sweetly tunes her magic shell. And while she plays, rock, dell, and cave. In dying falls the sound retain. As if some choral spirits gave Their aid to swell her witching straii^ BOOK 07 xTien suTTiTTJoned by that dulcet nc^^ Uprising to th' admiring view, A fairy island seems to float With tints of many a gorgeous hue. And glittering fanes, and lofty towers. All on this fairy isle are seen ; And waving trees, and shady bowers. With more than mortal verdure greaE* And as it moves, the western sky Glows with a thousand varying rays ; And the calm sea, tinged with each dye. Seems like a golden flood of blaze. They also say, if eartli or stone. From verdant Erin's hallowed land, Were on this magic island thrown, For ever fixed, it then wouki stand. But, when for thi3, some little boat In silence ventures from the shore — The mermaid sinks — hushed is the note, The fairy isle is seen no more 1 THE FAIRY RATH OF LOCH INNIN. BY ALEXANDER HENRY. (The Avild steed mentioned in this tallad is, I presume, the Pliooka, a species of being which, perhaps, more than any other in the Fairy Mytholofo' of Ireland, is capable of poetic illustration; and yet, with the exception of this, 1 have not been able to meet with any modem poem in which it is described. M hen I wrote my owa ballad of " Alice and Una" (which I have placed last in tliis division), I was not aware of the existence even of this one. It was to supply, however inadequately, a deficiency that appeared to me extraorilinaiy, and with the hope of inducing some person more competent than myself to undertake the illustration of our nefilectedor vulgarised tra- ditlons, that that ballad wos written. The Phooka ia of the niAlif IBISH BALLADS. 4^ lant class of fairy belnffs, and he Is as wild and capricious In his cha- racter as he is changeable in his form. At one time an eajjle or an ignis fatuus, at another a horse or a bull, while occasionally he figures as •' two single animals rolled into one,'' exhibiting a compound of the calf and goat- When he assumes the form of a horse, his gieut ob- Je'.t, according to a recent writer, seems to be " to obtain a rider, and then he is in his most malignant glory. Headlong he dashes through briar and brake, tlirough flood and fell, over mountain, val ley, moor, or river indiscriminately: up or down precipice is alilie to him, pnmded he gratifies the malevolence tliat seems to inspire him. He bounds and flies over and beyond them, gratified by the distress, and utterly reckless and ruthless of the cries and danger and suffer- ing of the luckless wight who bestrides him. As tlie "Tinna Geo- lane," or " \ViU-o-the-\Visp," he lures but to berray. Like the Hanove- rian " Tuckbold" he deludes the night wanderer into a bog, and leads him to liis destniction in a quagmire or pit. Macpliersons spirit of Loda is eYidently founded on the tiadition of the Phooka; and in the Fixmlan Tales he is repeatedly mentioned as the " Puka (gruagach, or hairy spirit} of tlie blue valley." — Choker's Faiet Legends — Hall's Ireland.] The fair was o'er, the moon was high. The badger purr'd, the bog-sprite shone ; From the dark cairn the beansliie's cry Had told some favoTirite friend was gone ; Tlie plover Flew over The dark dewy wood : Each rath-fay His path way Row'd o'er the night flood. Jack Finn now bid his friends good night. And staggered towards his woodland cot : A wild, good hearted, cheery wight As e'er smok'd pipe, or drained a pot. Tliro' rushes And bushes He whistled loud, to show The bog-sprite With red light He fear'd not as a foe. But now he passed a lonely tower, WTiere once bright mirth and splendour shone j But now. with mirth, with pride and pother. Its very name was nearly gone. The Leprechauns beneath it dwelt, Poor Jack now missed the beaten })a$h, And soon, poor wiglit 1 he trembling felt What * twas to pass a Fairy rath : As o'er its hollow sounding sod His heavy step now loudly rang, A tiny form before him trod, And thus with wildest accents sang: *' When moonlight Near midnii^ht Tips the rock and waving wood : When moonlight Near midnight Silvers o'er the sleeping flood : When yew-tops ^ With dew-drops Sparkle o'er deserted graves . 'Tis then we fly Thro' welkin high, Then we sail o'er yellow waves." On his head he wore a round plum'd hat, Form'd of fur of the old black rat ; His scarlet coat and purple breeches Were finely sown by fairies" stitches. His stockings were made of the fine white down . That tufted the soft, bloated night-moth's breast • And the green golden -crested wren's bright crown Was stolen by elfins to trim his light vest ; His steed was a wild-bounding bearded goat. Whose trappings were made of the sanguine SKin Of a dead man's wrist, on which he could float Thro' water or air, as the wing or fin : His jack-boots were made of the bat's tann'd wings ; His. spurs were the bright golden queen-bees' stings; The whistle that headed kis wild flax whip Was reav'd from a cricket; his pigmy hip Was girt with a well-tempered sharp, long blade Which once darn'd tiie hoso of some fair housemaid Tims equipp'd, he gallopp'd o'er lull and mead. And now to the Fairy Kath doth lead. IRISH BALLADS. The Rath was nigh deep Tnnin's lake, Well fenced with rook-pine bush and brake ; The brown-back'd rabbit o'er it fed. And in its soft sand furrowed — But there (the red-ray'd evening's sun When down) the fowler's niurd'rous gun Was heard no more — for woe the wiglit Would tread it 'neatli the lone moooiight. Beside it lay the dreamless bed Of those forgotten — long since dead; For from the tombstones o'er them cast Their names were worn by winter's blast. Howe'er it be. Jack Finn got there — The Fairy King surrounded stood. Amidst the moon's reflected glare. Of polish'd blades upon the flood, (Which calmly sleeping on the sand. Did scarcely njove the floating weed,) And thus address'd his list'ning band, And thus Jack Finn's sad fate decreed :— " That mortal wiglit, Who roves by night, To dare the sprite, Who rides the light Of moonbeams bright. Shall feel his might : For this, I say, Till break of day, Jack Finn so gay, For this shall pay, — Help, witches gray, Ope* graves Obey!" 'Twas now the fearful magic spell Did strongly work against Jack Finn, For all the dead began to yell. And death's heads on the tombs to grin; The coffins rose from moving graves. And burst their red-worm — sliining staves, And each from whole or crumbling shroud 8*»id, "Jack, good night." then slowly bow'd. 40 BOOK OB And in theii dark graves ya^rning fell, Onler'd by fearful mao^ic spell ; And now the troops of fairy-land, Grown to Jack's size, before him stand; Jack's joy was great to see the crowd ; He cauglit their King's false proffered hasd Then to him love and friendship vow'd. And join'd the seeming peasant band. But little reck'd their leader's horse Was once a goat or speckled cat ; His fears were for the grinning corse Half ate by worms or charnel rat. He mounted quick a sloe-black steed. Noted in fairj'-land for speed, And joyous bade the ghosts good night, Then with the elfins wing'd his flight— The signal given, away he flew O'er the gray weedy charnel wall, "Poor luckless Jack," slirill cried the crew, " Be silent when the fairies call." They leap the scented hawthorn hedge, And gallop thro* the wavy mead, And thro' the black bog, Sags and sedge, Poor Jack now guides his magic steed : Now the tall lonely tower of Slane Rises o'er the dark demesne. Which by the distance seem'd to shroud Its ruined head in russet cloud ; But soon the creeping ivy's seen. To cloak its breast with moon-ray'd green ; And fir, and oak, and shining holly, Bedeck this throne of melancholy ; And sighing, shade alike the head Of prince or begger mouldered, Who 'neath the silent village lie, Close fenc'd witli pale mist-covered grovc%. Wiiere soaring goshawks proudly fly. Where i)rowling fox securely roves. Ajid now the lordly Castle's seen, As if the tower it sought to join. .w i*ob it forth — the barge is fled, "' > listening night wind followed — With trembling Jack, the fairies pranc'd O'er Bective, and oer old Bellsoon ; In Creasetown's vale, round Jack they daiic*<£« Beneath the yellow setting moon. Then towards the Shannon flew away. And leap'd the Shannon every Fay. But Jack, who thought it ne'er was in A fiend or mortal horse's skin To cross a full half mile of flood. In the De'il's stirrups gazing stood. But, hark! that distant whistle shrill That's echoed from yon moon-lit hill ; Now hark ! Jack's courser's answering neigh. Now see him wheel vvith Jack away, And like a swift ball from a cannon Leap with poor Jack the river Shannon, "Cuirlen)0 Clioi-De,"* said Jack, "you are. Away flew steed like meteor star With fiery tail, and shook poor Jack Upon the bank from off Ills back. THE PHANTOM CITf. BY GERALD GRIFFIN. A STORY I heard on the cliffs of the west, Tliat oft, through the breakers dividing, A city is seen on the ocean's wild breast In turreted majesty riding. But brief is the glimpse of that phantom so bright. Soon close the white waters to screen it; And the bodement, they say, of the wonderful sighti la death to the eyes that have seen it. JBI6H BAXI.AI3S. e. a And there she Bate — the well beside. As o'er the vale the niglit-shade stole; Wliile bitterly the maiden cried — For saddening sorrow swell 'd her soul 1 From heaven's bright vault the moonlight's gleam Glanc'd downward on the fountain clear ; O'er Norah's cheek its radiance came — And chang'd to pearl her falling tear. ** Oh come not here — again to me," (Exclaim'd the maid in sorrow deep !) ** Alas, why did I ever see One — who has taught me how to weep ?** ** Ah dearest Norah ! say not so ; My love, my life are only thine 1 Could I have caus'd thy tear to flow ? Depart with me — nor thus repine." The maid replied — " Ko ! never — no ! With thee I've proniis'd not to meet : But yet, where'er I turn or go, Still dost thou trace my wandering feet.* She rose — nor yet the tear was dried, That late stole down her pallid cheek; Her cares to lull, the soldier tried. And soothingly began to speak. Her hand the lover fondly grasp'd. Like one who felt a pang to part ; And then with warm affection clasp'd The maiden to his throbbing heart. Now treading swift the beaten track, They left the well — that lonely spot ! Thus spoke the youth while pacing back With Norah to her father's cot: ** Thy parents will forgive," said he, " Our close attachment, when the>' know The tender love I bear to thee ; To me thy hand thej will bestow ! ** Thou could'st not leave for scenes more gsj. Them, and thy native valley too : Oh then, thy Coolin here shall stay ! What would he not resign for you ? ** Thy smile a desert's gloom would cheer And make it seem enchanting, bright; And T)ow, my love, thy home is near ; Give me that smile, and so good night." The maiden did as he requir'd ; In hope of bliss, no more she wept. Then softly to her couch retir'd, And wrapt in pleasing vision slept. "W^hen lo — as from some frightful dream Of hideous fiends — or demons fell — She started with a shrill wild scream! And loud exclaimed — " the well 1 the well f '• I have not fix'd the shading stone. Perhaps as yet 'tis not too late ; The morning beam not yet hath shone I I'll haste — I'll run and know my fate." Along the well-known path she flew, (With swiftness like a hunted roe: — ) The eastern hills rose on her view, And in the sun-rise seem'd to glow 1 As one by magic power subdued — (Or by a spectral sight amaz'd) At length — she like a statue stood, As downward on the well she gaa'r the Enchanted lalaBii, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish, and conceniinu whicli tliey rr'late a nomber of romantic stories." — Beaufort's Ancient Tcypography ^ Ireland.} Oh ! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, How oft I dream of thee ; And of tliose days wlien, by thy shore, I wander'd young and free. Full many a path I've tried, since then. Through pleasure's flow'ry maze. But ne'er could find the bliss again I felt in those sweet days. IBISH BALLADS. flow blithe ppon thy breezy cliffs At sunny nmrn I've stood, With heart as bounclinG: as the skiffs Tiiat danred alonor thy flood ; Or v\-hen the western wave grew bright With daylight's parting wing, Have sought that Eden in its light, Which dreaming poets sing. That Eden, where th' immortal brave Dwell in a land serene, — Whose bowers beyond tlie shining -vrave. At sunset oft are seen ; Ah, dream, too full of saddening truth 1 Those mansions o'er tlie main Are like the hopes I built in youth, As sunny and as vain 1 THE ISLAND OF ATLANTIS. BY THE REV. G. CROLY. [" For at that time the Atlantic Sea was navisrable, and had an island before that mouth which is called by you the pillars of Hercules. Bat this island was greater than both Libya and all Asia together, and af- forded an easy passage to other neighbouring ishmda. as it was easy to pass from those islands to all the Continent which borders on thia Atlantic Sea. * * * But, in succeeding times, prodigious earth- quakes and deluges taking place, and bringing with them desolatioa in the space of one day and night, all that warlike race of Athenian! was at once merged under tiie earth; and the Atlantic island itself b# log absorbed in the sea, entirely disappeared.' — Plato's 2'iniatMS.] Oh ! thou Atlantic, dark and deep. Thou wilderness of waves. Where all the tribes of earth might sleep In their uncrowded graves 1 The sunbeams on thy bosom wake. Yet never light thy gloom ; The tempests burst, yet never shake Thy depths, thou miithty tomb 1 m Thou thing of mystery, stern and drear^ Thy secrets who liath toM ?~ . Tlie warrior and his sword are there, Tiie merchant and his gold. Tliere lie their myriads in thy pall. Secure from steel and storm ; And he, the feaster on them all, The canker-worm. Yet on this wave tlie mountain's brow- Once glow'd in morning's beam ; And, like an arrow from the bow, Out sprang the stream : And on its bank the olive grove. And the peach's luxury, And the damask rose — the nightbird'a lOTfroc Perfumed the sky. Where art thou, proud Atlantis, now ? Where are tliy briglit and brave? Priest, people, warriors' living flow ? Look on that wave I Crime deepen'd on the recreant land, Long guilty, long forgiven ; There power uprear'd the bloody band. There scofi"d at Heaven. The word went forth — the word of woo-* The judgment-thunders pealed ; The fiery earthquake blazed below ; Its doom was seal'd. Now on its halls of ivory Lie giant weed and ocean slime, Burying from man's and angel's ejO The land of crime. IRISH BALLADS, d0 THE HAUNTED SPRING. BY SAMUEL LOVER. [}t Ib said, Fays have the power to assume various shapes for tha pnrpoBe of lurin<; mortals into Tain-land; hunters seem to have been particularly tlie objects of the lady lairies' fancies.} Gaily through the mountain glen Tlie hunter's horn did ring, As the milk-white doe Escaped his bow, Down by the haunted spring. In vain his silver horn he wound, — 'Twas echo answer'd back ; For neither groom nor baying hound Were on the hunter's track ; In vain he sought the milk-white doe That made him stray, and 'scaped his bot7. For, save himself, no living thing Was by the silent haunted spring. Tlie purple heath-bells, blooming fair. Their fragrance round did fling. As tlie hunter lay At close of da3% Down by the haunted spring. A lady fair, in robe of white, To greet the hunter came ; She kiss'd a cup with jewels bright. And pledged him by his name ; ** Oil, lady fair," the hunter cried, *' Be thou my love, my blooming bride. *' A bride that well might grace a king ! "Fair lady of the haunted spring." in the fountain clear she stoop'd, And forth she drew a ring ; And that loved Knight His faith did pliylit Xlown by the haun ted spring. 00 BOOK Ot But since that day his chase did stray. The hunter ne'er was seen, And legends tell, he now doth dwell AVithin the hills so g^reen;* But still tlie milk-white doe appears. And wakes the peasants' evening fears, While distant bugles faintly ring Around the lonely haunted spring. ALICE AND UNA. ATALE0F"Ce)rii-4]i-eic."t BY D. F. M'CARTHY. [The pass of Cpim-an-eich (the path of the deer) lies to the sonth- west of Inchafceela. hi the (Hrection of I^antry Bay. The tourist will com-.nit a g-rievons enor if lie omit to visit it. Perhaps in no part of the kingdom is tliere to be found a place so utterly desolate and gloomy. A mountain has been divided by some convulsion of nature; and the narrow pass, about two miles in length, is overhung on either Bide by pei-pendicular masses clothed in wild i\'y and underwooil, with, occasionally, a stunted yew tree or arbutus growing among tliem. At every step advance seems impossible— some huge rock jutting out into the path; and, on sweeping round it, seeming to conduct only to some barrier stiK more insunnountable ; while from all sides rush dowTi the " wild fountains," and. foi-ming for themselves a rugired channel make their way onward — the first tributary offering to the gentle and fiTiitful Lee: " Here, amidst heaps Of mountain wrecks, on either side thrown high, The wide-spread traces of its watery might. The tortuous channel wound.'' Nowhere has nature assumed a mo' j appalling aspect, or manifested » more stern resolve to dwell in her own loneliness and grandeur uudia- turhed by any living thing: for even the bi'-ds seem to siiun a solitude 80 awful, and tlie hum of bee or chirp of grasshopper is never heard within its precincts. — IIuW s Ireland, vol. i., p. 117.] Ah \ tlie pleasant days have vanished, ere our wretched doubtings banished ♦ Fays and fairies, are supposed to have their dwelling places within ^ /reen liills. t Ceim-an-eich (the path of the deeri. IRISH BALLADS. 01 All the graceftil spirit people, children of the earth and They whom often, in the olden time, when earth waa fresh and f^^olden. Every mortal could behold in haunted tower, and flower, and tree — They have vanislied, they are banished — ah I howiwd the loss for thee. Lonely Ceim-an-eich I Still some scenes are yet enchanted by the charms that Nature granted, Still are peopled, still are haunted by a graceful spirit band. Peace and Beauty hare their dwelling where the infant streams are welling — Where the mournful waves are knelling on Glengariff's coral strand ; * Or where, on Killarney's mountains, Grace and Terr : smiling stand. Like sisters, hand in hand ! Still we have a new romance in fire-ships, through the tamed seas glancing. And the snorting and the prancing of the mighty engine steed ; Still, Astolpho-like, we wander through the boundless azure yonder, Realizing what seemed fonder than the magic tales we read — Tales of wild Arabian wonder, where the fancy all ia freed — Wilder far, indeed ! Now that Time, with womb unfolded, shakes the palsy from her old head. Cries, "Oh 1 Earth, thou hast no soul dead, but a liv;^ _ soul hast thoul" • In the bay of GlengarifF, and towards the N.W. parts of BjuiITt Bay, they dredge up large quantities of mrai MUUL — Staim'a CcaM ToL i.. p' 266. 02 BOOK OF Could we — oould we only see all, blended with the lost Ideal, These the glories of the Eeal, happy were the old world now — Woman in its fond believing — man with iron arm and brow — Faith and Work its vow ! Yes ! the Past shines clear and pleasant, and there's glorv in tlie Present ; And the I^'uture, like a crescent, lights the deepening sky of Time ; And that sky will yet grow brighter, if the "Worker and and the Writer Err not — as tliey surely might err — but unite in bonds sublime. With two glories shining o'er them, up the coming years they'll climb Earth's great evening as its prime I With a sigh for what is fading, but, oh ! earth, with no upbraiding. For we feel tliat time is braiding newer, fresher flowers for thee — We will speak, despite our grieving, words of Loving and Believing, Tales we vowed when we were leaving awful Ceim-an- eich — \Vliere the sever'd rocks resemble fragments of a frozen sea, And the wild deer flee ! fis the hour when flowers are shrinking, when the weary sun is sinking, And his thirsty steeds are drinking in the cooling Wes- tern sea ; When young Maurice lightly goeth, where the tin] streamlet floweth. IRISH BALLADS. tt And the struergling moonlight shoAveth where his path must be — Patli whereon tiie wild goats wander fearlessly and free Tnrough dark Oeim -an-eich. A-S a hunter, danger daring, with his dogs the brown moss sharing, Little thinking, little caring, long a wayward youth lived he; But his bounding heart was regal, and he looked as looks the eagle, And he tiew as flies the beagle, who the panting stag dotli see — Love, who spares a fellow-archer, long had let him wan- der tree Through wild Ceim-an-eich 1 But at length th« hour drew nigher waen his heart should feel that fire ; Up the mountain high and higher had he hunted from the dawn ; Till the weeping fawn descended, where the earth and ocean blended, And with hope its slow way wended to a little grassy lawn — It is safe, for gentle Alice to her saving breast hath drawn Her almost sister fawn. Alice was a chieftain's daughter, and, though many suitors sought her, She so loved Glengariflf's water that she let her lovers pine ; Her eye was beauty's palace, and her cheek an ivory chalice, Through which the blood of Alice gleamed soft as rosiest wine. And her lips like lusmore blossoms which the fairiei intertwine, f And her heart a golden mine. t The lusmore (or fairy cap)— literally, the groat herb — DifptaUt 64 BOOK OF She WH? gtritler ^_^,(j shyer than the sweet fawn that stood ' . iier, And her eyes emit a fire soft and tender as her soul; Love's dewy liglit doth drown her, and the braided locks that crown her Than autumn's trees are browner, when the golden sha- dows roll Througli the forests in the evening, when cathedral tur- rets toll, And the purple sun advanceth to its goal. Her cottage was a dwelling all regal homes excelling, But, ah 1 beyond the telling was the beauty round it spread — The wave and sunshine playing, like sisters- each array- ing — Far down the sea-plants swaying upon their coral bed As languid as the tresses on a sleeping maiden's head. When the summer breeze is dead. Need we say that Maurice loved her, and that no blosk reproved her When her throbbing bosom moved her to give the heart she gave ; That by dawn-light and by twilight, and oh ! blessed moon, by thy light^ — Wlien the twinkling stars on high light the wanderer o'er the wave — His steps unconscious led him where Glengariff's waters lave Each mossy bank and cave. He thitherward is wending — o'er the vale is night de- scending — Quick his step, but quicker sending his herald thoughts before ; By rocks and streams before him, proud and hopeful on he bore him ; One star was shining o'er him — in his heart of hearta two more — And two otiier eyes, far brighter than a human hea»..J, as a lath! Kow and then the moon looks out, but, alas ! its pale face hath A dreadful look of wrath. In vam his strength he squanders — at each step he wider wanders — Now he pauses — now he ponders where his present path may lead ; And, as he roimd is gazing, he sees — a sight amazing 1 — "beneath Mm, calmly grazing, a noble jet-black steed. ^ '* No^, Heaven be praised I" cried Maurice, " thi» ia fiorinnate indeed — From this labyrinth I'm freed I" IRISa BALLADS. 8] dpon its back he leapetli, but a shudder through liim creepeth, As the mighty monster swcepeth like a torrent through the dell ; nis mane, so softl}' flowiuf^r, is now a meteor blowing, And his burning eves are glowing with the light of an inward hell — And the red breath of his nostrils, like steam where the lightning fell, And his hoofs have a thunder knell ! "What words have we for painting the momentary fai/Vins That the rider's heart is tainting, as decay doth ta\nt a corse ? But who will stoop to chiding, in a fancied courage priding. When we know that he is riding the fearful Phooka Horse ? * Ahl his heart beats quick and faster than the smitinga of remorse As he sweepeth through the wild grass and gorse 1 As the avalanch comes crashing, 'mid the scattered streamlets splashing. Thus backv^-ard wildly dashing, flew the horse through Ceim-an-eich — Through that glen so wild and narrow, back he darted like an arrow — Round, round by Gougane Barra, and the fountains of the Lee, O'er the "giant's grave" he leapeth, and he seems to own in fee The mountains and the rivers and the sea I • For a description of th« Pbooka, ko introdoetion to " Tlie FstBf Batb flf Loeb Iniiin," p. ii. From his flashing hbofs who shall lock the eagle homci of Malloc* When he bounds, as bounds the Mialloch f in its wild and murmuring tide ? But as winter leadeth Flora, or the night leads on Aurora, Or as shines green Glashenglora % along the black hill's side — Thus, beside that demon monster, white and gentle as a bride, A tender fawn is seen to glide. It is the fawn that fled him, and that late to Alice led him — But now it does not dread him, as it feigned to do before. When down the mounting gliding, in that sheltered meadow hiding — It left Ills heart abiding by wild Glengarifl"s shore — For it was a gentle Fairy who the fawn's liglit form wore, And who watched sweet Alice o'er. But the steed is backward prancing where late it was advancing, And his flashing eyes axe glancing, like the sun upon Loch Foyle — The hardest granite crusliing, through the thickest bram- bles brushing — Now like a shadow rushing up the sides of Slieve-na- goilI§ • " Wildly from Malloc the eagles are screaraing." — Callanau's GOUOANE Barra. ♦ Mialloch, 'the murmuring river" at Glengariff. — Siirrn's Cork. \ Glaslienglora, a mountain toiTent, whicli finds its way into the Atlantic < icean through (jlengar'tf. in the west of the county of Cork. The name, literally translated, (Ugniflea "the noisy green water." — Barry's Songs of Ireland, p. ITS. § The most remarkable and beautiful moimtain at Glengariff is thb Ooble conical one whose ancient name is Sliabh-na-go^ (" the mountain IBISH BALLADS 69 And the fawn beside him gliding o'er the rough and broken soil, Without fear and without toil. Through woods, the sweet birds' leaf home, he rusheth to the sea foam — Long, long the fairies' chief home, when the summer nights are cool, And the blue sea like a Syren, with its waves the steed environ. Which hiss like furnace iron when plunged within a pool. Then along among the islands where the water nympha bear rule, Through the bay to Adragool. Now he rises o'er Bearhaven, where he hangeth like a raven — Ah ! Maurice, though no craven, how terrible for thee? To see tlie misty shading of the mighty mountains fading, And thy winged fire-steed wading through the clouds as tlirough a sea ! Now he feels the earth beneath him — he is loosen'd — he is free. And asleep in Ceim-an-eich. Away the wild steed leapeth, while his rider calmly sleepeth Beneath a rock which keepeth the entrance to the glen. Which standeth like a castle, where are dwelling lord and vassal. Where witliin are wine and wassail, and without are warrior men — of the wild people") The miserable, nnimaginative epithet of " Sugar Loaf has liere, as elsewhere, ilisffracet'ully usui^ped the tine old musi- cal names which our ancestors gave to their hills. It is to be hoped tiiat the people, if they have ears, not to talk of affections, recollections, or imagination, will get rid of their •' Sugar Loaves ' (which, they may be sure, were made in a - siave market) as soon as potsible, aad c&D their mooataioa by the names their fathers g>ive tiieu. 70 BOOK OF Bat save the sleeping Maurice, this castle cliff had then No mortal denizen !* Now Maurice is awaking, for the solid earth is shaking, And a sunny light is breaking through the slowly open, ing stone — ind a fair page at the portal, crieth ** Welcome, wel- come ! mortal, " Leave thy world (at best a short ill), for the pleasant world we own — "There are joys by thee untasted. there are elories yet unknown — " Come kneel at Una's throne." With a sullen sound of thunder, the great rock falls asunder, He looks around in wonder, and with ravishment awhile — For the air his sense is chaining, with as exquisite a paining. As when summer clouds are raining o'er a flowery In- dian isle — And the faces that surround him, oh! how exquisite their smile. So free of mortal care and guile. These forms, oh ! they are finer — these faces are diviner Than Phidias even thine are, with all tljy magic art ; For beyond a lover's guessing, and beyond a biird's ex- pressing. Is the lace that truth is dressing with the feelings of the heart ; £■^0 worlds are there together — Earth and Heaven have each a part — And such, divinest Una, thou art I • There is a great square rock, literally resembling the description B the tert, which stands aear the Glengariff entrance to the paw o1 ;6tm-aa eich. 1 IRISn BALLADS. n And then the dazzling lustre of the hall in which thej muster — Where brightest diannonds cluster on the flashing -walli around ; And the flying and advancing, and the sighing and the glancing, And the niucsic and the dancing on the flower-inwoven ground. And the laughing and the feasting, and the quaffing and the sound. In which their voices all are drowned. But the murmur now is hushing — there's a pushing and a rushing, There's a crowding and a crushing, through that golden, fairy placei Wliere a snowy veil is lifting, like the slow and silent shifting Of a shining vapour drifting across the moon's pale face — For there sits gentle Una, fairest queen of fairy race. In her beauty, and her majesty, and grace. The moon by stars attended, on her pearly throne ascended. Is not more purely splendid than this fairy-girted queen ; And when her lips had ?poken, 'mid the charmed silence broken. You'd think you had awoken in some bright Elysian scene ; For her voice than the lark's was sweeter, that sings io joy between The heavens and the meadows green. But lier cheeks — ah ! what are roses ? What are clouds where eve reposes ? What are hues that dawn discloses ? to the bluehes spreading there : And what the sparkling motion of a star within the ocean, f2 BOOS OF To the crystal soft eniotion that her lustrous dark eyei wear? And the tresses of a moonless and a starless night are fair To the blackness of her raven hair. *'Ah ! Mortal, hearts have panted for what to thee ia granted — To see the halls enchanted of the spirit world revealed ; And yet no glimpse assuages the feverish doubt that rages In the hearts of bards and sages wherewith they may be healed ; For this have pilgrims wandered — for this have votaries kneeled — For this, too, has blood bedewed the field. * And now that thou beholdest, what the wisest and tht oldest, Vf hat the bravest and the boldest, have never yet de scried — Wilt thou come and share our being, be a part of what thou'rt seeing. And flee, as we are fleeing, through the boundless ether wide? Or along the silver ocean, or down deep where pearls liide ? And I, who am a queen, will be thy bride. ** As an essence thou wilt enter the world's mysteriouB centre" — And then the fairy bent her, imploring to the youth — •' Thou'lt be free of death's cold ghastness, and, with a comet's fastness. Thou can'st wander through the vastness to the Para- dise of Truth, Eaeh day a new joy bringing, which will never leave, in sooth, Tlie slightest stain of weariness and ruth." IRISH BALLADS. 73 / 1 he listened to tlie speaker, his heart grew weak and weaker — Ah ! nieiiiory go seek her, that maiden by tlie wave, Who with terror and amazement is looking from her casement. Where tlie billows at the basement of her nestled cottage rave At the moon, which struggles onward through the tem- pest, like the brave. And which sinks within the clouds as in a grave. All maidens will abhor us — and it's very painful for us To tell how fiiithless Maurice forgot his plighted vow; He thinks not of the breaking ot the heart he late was seeking — He but listens to her speaking, and but gazes on her brow — And his heart has all consented, and his lips are ready now With the awful, and irrevocable vow. While the word is there abiding, lo ! the crowd is now dividing, Aad, with sweet and gentle gliding, in before him came a fawn ; It was the same that fled him, and that seemed so much to dread him. When it down in triumrh led him to Glengariflf's grassy lawn. When, from rock to rock descending, to sweet Alice he was drawn. As til rough Ceim-an-eich he hunted from the dawn. The magic chain is broken — no fairy vow is spoken — From his trance he hath awoken, and once again is free ; 74 BOOK OF And gone is Una's palace, and vain the wild steed's malice, And ayain to gentle Alice down he wends through Ceim-an-eich : The moon is calmly shining over mountain, stream, and tree, And the jtliow sea-piants glisten through the sea. The sun his gold is flinging, the happy birds are singing, And bells are gaily ringing along Glengariff' s sea ; And crowds in many a galley to the happy marriage rally Of the maiden of the valley and the youth of Ceim-an- eich ; Old eyes with joy are weeping, as all ask, on bendoi kae€, A blef^sing, gencle Alice, upon thei« I BAUAD3 ILLUaTRATlVE Oh' THE SUPERSTITIONS AWu Cn9T(\ll3 0§ IRELAND. THE FETCH. BY JOHN BANIM. [In Ireland, a Fetch is the supernatural /ac *fm!7e of some iDcUvidaal, •vrhich ccnies to insure to its oricrinr.l, a happy longevity, or immediata dissolution. If seen in the morning, the one event is predicted; if In the evening, the other. — Banim.] The mother died when the child was bcm. And left me her baby to keep ; I rocked its cradle the night and morn. Or, silent, hung o'er it to weep. 'Twas a sicklv child through its infancy, Its cheeks were so ashy pale ; Till it broke from my arms to walk in glc^ Out in the sharp, fresh gale. And then my little girl grew strong. And laughed the hours away ; Or sung me the merry lark's mountain song, Wliich he tauglit her at break of day. When she wreathed her hair in thicket bowers, With the hedge-rose and liare-bell blue, I called her my May, in her crown of flowers, And her smile so soft and new. And the rose, I thought, never shamed her cheek. But rosy and rosier made it ; And her eye of blue did more brightly break. Through the bluebell that strove to shade it. One evening I left her asleep in her smiles. And walked through the mountains lonely ; I was far from my darling, ah ! many long milea. And I thoughtof her, and her only I She darkened my path, like a troubled dream. In that solitude far and drear ; I spoke to my child ! but she did not seem To hearken with human ear. She only looked with a dead, dead eye. And a wan, wan cheek of sorrow : I knew her Fetch ! — she was called to die. And she died upon the morrow. 2li) Be4r)n5e^«* [The superstition of the BCAtlf )3e is well known. It is believed to be an unearthly attendant on certain ancient families in this coun- try.t and it is only seen or heard previous to the decease of some of its members. It appears in a variety of shapes, but usually as a small and beautiful woman, who. with a peculiarly mournful cry, bewails the mi*- fortune about to fall upon the family she loves.] Fair Eveleen sat in her tower high, On a calm and silent night ; • The Tmishee ♦ " For the high Wilesian race alone Ever flows the music of her woe." IRISH BALLADS. 77 And she or^^ed on the twinkling lamps of the sky, Tliar ii-'i' own blue eyes less bright. And the silver moonbeams bathed her brow. But her cheek was as cold and pale : "Dearmidh's fleet foot is loitering now— Ah 1 whence is that dreadful wail 1" For wofuUy sad was the thrilling strain. Now borne upon the breeze ; And it fell on her brain like an icy chain, Aj^'I her heart's blood began to freeze. And still as the dying pauses swept, In their wailing sounds of fear, The sobs and the plaints of one that wept Hose sadly upon her ear. It was the 'Be^nxii^ • and she came to te!l A tale of sorrow and death ; For Dearmidh that night 'neath a rival fell. Upon Afuin-mor's* dreary heath. *: Qy/^h unearthly sounds !" poor Eveleen w»ll iiieir meaning could dis over. For soon the morning sunbeams fell On her corse, beside her lovor I • It.e ereel Vx? TS CUSHEEN LOO. CBLVSLATBI) FBOM THE lit!a&, BV J. J. CALLANAN. [This 80BR is (itipposed to have been sung by a yonng bride, irha was forcibly detained in one of those forts which are so common 1& Ireland, and to which the good people are very fond of resortin? . Under pretence of hushing her child to rest, she retired to tfce ou".*ii« margin of the fort, and addressed the burthen of her song to a yorinKf woman whom she saw at a short distance, and whom she requested to inform her husband of her condition, and to desire Mm to tring the •teel knife to dissolve the enchantment.] Sleep ray child ! for the rustling trees Stirr'd by the breath of summer breeze, And fairy songs of sweetest note, Around U8 gently float. Sleep ! for the weeping flowers have shed Their fragrant tears upon thy head, The voice of love hath sooth'd thy rest. And thy pillow is a mother's breast. Sleep my child 1 Weary hath pass'd the time forlorn, Since to your mansion I was borne, Tho' bright the feast of its airy Imlls, And the voice of mirth resounds from its walls. Sleep my child ! Full many a maid and blooming bride Within that splendid dome abide, — And many a hoar and shrivell'd sage. And many a matron bow'd with age. Sleep my child \ Oh ! tliou who hearest this song of fear, To the mourner's liome these tidings bear. Bid him bring the knife of the magic blade. At whose lightning flash the charm will fade. Sleep my child I Haste ! for to-morrow's sun will see The hateful spell renewed for me ; Nor can I from that home depart. Till life shall ieiTe my withering heart. Sleep my child I crieep my child 1 for the rustling trees, Stirr'd by the breath of summer breeze. And fairy songs of sweetest note. Around us gently float. THE BURIAL. BY THE REV. JAMES WILLS. A FAINT breeze is playing with flowers on the hill. The blue vault of summer is cloudless and still ; And the ral'j with the wild bloom of nature is gay. But the far hills are breathing a sorrowful lay I As winds on the Clairseaclis sad chords when they stream, As the voice of the dead on tne mourner's dark dream 1 Far away, far away, from gray distance it breaks, First known to the breast by the sadness it wakes 1 Kow lower, now louder, and longer it mourns Now faintly it falls, and now fitful returns ; Now near, and now nearer, it swells on the ear. The wild ululua, the death song is near 1 80 BOOK OF With slow steps, sad burthen, and wild uttered wail. Maid, matron, and cotter wind up from the vale ; And loud lamentations salute the gray hill. Where their fathers are sleeping, the silent and still I Wild, wildly that wail ringeth back on the air, From that lone place of tombs, as if spirits were there, O'er the silent, the still, and the cold they deplore. They weep for the tearless, wliose sorrows are o'er. THE O'NEILL. [Since this ballad was wiltten, all necessary light has been thrown upon the character and exploits of Aodh ONeii.l, by Mr. Mitchel in his most admirable and fearless life of that prince. To some of my readers, however, the original explanation given by the autlior of the ballad (in the Belfast Magazine) may be useful, and 1 therefore retaia it with some abridgment. It is to the latter part of the traditis thy mortal mother nearly ; Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest, That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest. Shuheen sho, lulo lo 1 Rest thee, babe ! for soon thy slumbers Shall flee at the magic CoeL Sl4's f numbers ; In airy Dower I'll watch thy sleeping. Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping. Shuheen sho, lulo lo ! • Sl«agh sliee— A Fairy hosf . t Koelshie's— Fairy Muaic BOOK OF EARL DESMOND AND THE BeAl)n3e* Now cheer thee on, my gallant steed. There's a weary way before us — Across the mountain swiftly speed, For the storm is gathering o'er us. Away, away, the horseman rides ; His bounding steed's dark form Seem'd o'er the soft black moss to glide— A spirit of the storm I Now, rolling in the troubled sky, The thunder's loudly crashing; And through the dark clouds, driving by. The moon's pale light is flashing. In sheets of foam the mountain flood Comes roaring down the glen ; On the steep bank one moment stood The horse and rider then. One desperate bound the courser gave. And plunged into the stream ; And snorting, stemm'd the boiling wav^ By the lightning's quivering gleam. The flood is past — the bank is gain'd-. Away with headlong speed ; A fleeter horse than Desmond rein'd Ne'er serv'd at lover's need. His scatter'd train, in eager haste. Far, far behind him ride ; Alone he's crossed the mountain tr&^s. To meet his promised bride. * Bazuhee. IRISH BALLADS. The clouds across the moon's dim focM Are fast and f-jster sailing, And sounds are heard on the sweeping storc^^ Of wild uneartlily wading. At first low moanings seem'd to dio Away, and faintly languish ; Then swell into the piercing cry Of deep, heart -bursting anguish. Beneath an oak, whose branches bare Were crashing in the storm. With wringing hands and streaming hiui» There sat a female form. To pass that oak in vain he tried; His steed refus'd to stir. Though furious 'gainst his panting aids Was struck the bloody spur. The moon, by driving clouds o'ercast, Witidield its titful gleam ; And louder than tlie tempest blase Was heard the be4r)r)5^'s scream. And, when the moon unveiled once mor^ And show'd her paly light, Tlien nought was seen save the branciu* ufif Of the oak-tree's blasted might. That shrieking lorm liad vanished From out tliat lonely place; And, like a dreamy vision, fled, Mor left one single trace. Earl Desmond ga^ u — n.s uiSS-^S E<7^*d With grief and sad forebodifig ; Then on his fiery way he held, Hij courser madly goading. 84 BOOK OF THE WAKE OF THE ABSENT. BY GERALD GRIFFIN [It is a castom amongj the peasantry in some parts of Ireland, when any member of a family htu been lost at sea (or in any other way which renders the peifonnance of the ciistomarj' funeral rite impos- flbie), to celebrate the " wake," exactly in tlie same way, as if th« corpse wei'e actually present.] The dismal yew, and cypress tall. Wave o'er the churchyard lone, "Where rest our friends and fathers all. Beneath the funeral stone. Unvexed in holy ground they sleep, Oh early lost ! o'er thee No sorrowing friend sliall ever weep. Nor stranger bend the knee, Wo Curii4 ! * loin am I! Hoarse dashing rolls the salt sea wave. Over our perislied darling's grave — The winds the sullen deep that tore, His death song chanted loud. The weeds that line the clifted shore Were all his burial shroud. For friendly wail and holy dirge. And long lament of love. Around him roared the angry surge. The curlew screamed above, ' Wo Cun)4! lorn am 1 1 My grief would turn to rapture now, Miglit I but touch that pallid brow. The stream-born bubbles soonest burst That earliest left the source : Buds earliest blown are faded first, In nature's wonted course : • Mo Clnima~My grie^ or, Woo la is«I— It-* IRISH BALLADS. tt THE BRIDAL WAKE. BY GERALD GRIFFIN. The priest stood at tlie marriage boara, The niarriaire cake was made, Witli meat the marriage chest was stored. Decked was the marriage bed. The ohl man sat beside the fire, The mother sat by him, The wliite bride was in gay attire. But her dark eye was dim. Ululah! Ulul&h" The night falls quick, the sun is set, Her love is on the water yet. I saw a red cloud in the west. Against the morning light, Heaven sliield the youth that she loves bc^ From evil chance to-night. The door flings wide ! loud moans the galc. Wild fear lier bosom fills. It is, it is the Banshee's wail ! Over the darkened hills. Ululah! Ululah S The day is past ! the night is dark 1 The waves are mouwting round his bark. The guests sit round the bridal bed. And break the bridal cake ; But they sit by the ilead man's he£d. And hold his wedding wake. The briut: is praying in lier room. The place is silent all 1 A fearful call ! a sudden doom I Bridal and funeral. Ululah! UlulaSlI A youth to Kilfieheras' * ta'en. That never will return again. • The name of a cliurchyard near Kilkea M SOOKOff 9Xr) C40jr)e.* BY CROFTON CROKER. Maidens, sing no more in gladness To .your merry spinning wlieels Join the keener's voice of sadness — Feel for what a mother feels ! See the space within my dwelling — 'Tis the cold, blank space of death ; Twas the be41ir)3er's f voice came si^eOil^ Slowly o'er the midnight heath. Keeners, let your song not falter — He was as the hawthorn fair. Lowly at the Virgin's altar Will his mother kneel in prayer. Prayer is good to calm the spirit, When the C40)T}e is sweetly sung: Death, though mortal flesh inherit. Why should age lament the young ? *Twas the he^XTOXl'Se's lonely waiang>*« Well I knew tlie voice of death. On the night-wind slowly sailing O'er the bleak and gloomy heath I filStOKICAL BALLADS. THE SAGA OF KING OLAF OF NORWAY, AND HIS DOG. \. D. lOno BT THOMAS d'aRCY M'GES. [Olaf Tryggvesson was King over all Norway from about a.d. S9S to A.D. "xOK.Ki. His Saga, the sixth in SnoiTO Sturleson's Heimsicringli*, Is very curious and suggestive. Among other incidents it contains the episode wliich suggested tliis Ballad. It may be remarked tliat the Chronicles of the Korth-men, of the several nations, throw mibch reflected light on our own more statisticfd annals. All through thv ytii, Ijiti, and 11th centuiies, tliat restless race fiown along the back- groimd of our history, filling us with the same awful interest we feel in watching the advance of one thimder cloud towards another. They certainly destroyed many native materials for our early history, but in their own accounts of their expeditions into Ireland they have left at much we may tise.] [Of the Early Reign of King Olaf; sumamed Trj'ggresson.] Ejng Olaf, Harald Haarfager's heir, at last had reached the Throne, Though his mother bore him in the wilds by a mountain lakelet lone ; Through many a land and danger to his right the King had past, Cprearing still thro* darkest days, as pinea a^Juinst iJbui blast; Yet now, when Peace smiled on hi3 Throne, lie cast hi« thoughts afar. And sailed from out the Baltic Sea in search of wcsteir war — His Galley was that *' Sea-Serpent" renowned in Sagaa old. His banner bore two ravens grim — liis green mail gleamed with gold — The King's ship and the King himself were glerioiss to behold. [Of the Sea-King's manner of Life.] King Olaf was a rover true, his throne was in his- barque, The Blue-sea was his royal hath, stars gemm'd his cur- tains dark ; The red Sun woke him in the morn, and sailed he e'er so far. The Untired Courier of his way was the ancient Polar Star. It seemed as though the very winds, the clouds, tlie tides, and waves. Like the sea-side smiths and vikings, were his lieges and his slaves. His Premier was a Pilot oid, of bronzed cheek and falcon eye, A Man, albeit wlio well loved life, yet nothing fear'd to die. Who little knew of Crowns or Courts, and less to crouch or lie. [How King Olaf made a descent on Antiim, and carried off the Herda thereof.] Where Antrim's adamantine shore defies the northern deep. O'er lied Bay's broad and buoyant breast, how s'-rift the galleys sweep. The moon is hidden in her height, the night clouds y« may see IRISH BALLADS. 90 Flitting like ocean owlets, from the cavern'd shore set free. The fall tide slumbers by the cliffs a-weary of its toil. The goat-herds and their flocks repose upon the upland soil : — The sea-king slowly walks the shore unto his instincts true. While lap and down the valley'd landclimbeth his corsair crew. Noiseless as morning mist ascends, or falls the evening dew. [The King Is addressed by a Clown, having a marvellous cunning dog in his company.] Now looking to land, and now to sea, the King walked on his way. Until the faint face of t-he morn gleam'd on the dark- some Bay ; A noble herd of captured kine rank round its ebb-dried beach ; The galleys fast received them in, when lo I with eager speech, A Clown comes headlong from the hills, begging his oxen three, And two white-footed heifers, from the Sov'ran of the Sea. His hurried prayer the King allowed as soon as it he heard. The wolf-hound of the dauntless herd, obedient to hii word. Counts out and drives apart his five from the many- headed herd. IKing Olaf offereth to purchase the Peasant's dog, who bestows it on hira with a condition.] •' By Odin, King of Men !" marvelling, the Monarch spoke, •' I'll give thee Peasant for thy dog, ten steers of better yoke ton BOOK OF Than thine own five." Tlie liearty Peasant said : " King of the Ships, the dog is tliine ; yet if I must be paid, V^ow, by your raven banner, never again to sack ■..•ur Tallies in the hours of nigHt ; we dread no day attack." More wondered the fierce Pagan still to hear a clown sc say, \nd mused he for a moment, as was his kingly way, j^ that he should not carry both the man and dog away. King Olaf taketh the Vow, and saileth from the shore with the dog.] J. lie ea-King to the clown made vow, and on his finger placed An olden ring, the sceptred hand of his great sires had graced. And round his neck he flung a chain of gold, pure from the mine, iV^hicb, ere another moon, was laid upon St. Colomb'a shrine. xhen with his dog he left the shore : his sails swell to the blast; i'oor •• Vig" hath howled a mournful cry to the bright i>liL.re as they past. Jow brighter beamed the sunrise, and wider spread the tide ', Away, away to the Scottish shore the Danish galleys iTiere, revelling with their kindred, six da)"» they did abide. [The treason of the Jomsburg Vikings calleth home the King.] ["he seventh* news came from Norwjiy, the Vikings had rebelled, ilomeward, homeward, fast as fate, tlie royal sails are swelled. Off Halogaland, Jarl Thorer, and RauJ the Witch they meet; * Tht Seventh, meaning the Seventli day. IRIfiH BALLADS. 10] But a mystic wind bears the evil one. unharmed, far froL, .^L f^cet. Jarl Thorcr to the land retreats, the fierce King ibllowi on, Shtying the Traitors' compeer, who fiist and far dotb run. After hin^ flung King Olaf, his never-missing spear ; But Thiy.v,. ^ha was named Hiort,* and swifter than the deer,) In the distance took it up, and answered with a jeer. [Thorer Hiort txeacherously killeth the Kit,*, s Dog.] The Wolf-Dog then the Monarch loosed, the Traitor trembled sore, Vig hoiua him on the forest's verge, the King speeds from the shore. TremNed yet more the Caitiff, to think what he should uo, He drew his glaive, and with a blow, pierced his captor through ; And wiiea the King came to the place, his noble dog lay dead. His red mouth foamy white, and his white breast crimson red. ' * Gfvd's curse upon you, Thorer " — 'twas from the heart, I ween, Of the grieved King this ban burst out beside the forest green. The Traitor vanished into the woods, and never again was seen. [How King Olaf and his Dog were buried nigh unto each other, by the Sea.] Two cairns rise by Drontheim-fiord, with two grey stones hard by. Sculptured with Runic characters, plain to the lor&- read eye, • Literalij, a Deer. 102 BOOK Off And there the King and here his Do j: from all their toili repose. And over their cairns the salt sea vrind night and day it blows ; And close to these they point you the ribs of a galley's wreck. With a forked tongue in the curling crest, and half of a scaly neck. And some late sailing scalds have told that along the shore side grey They have often heard a kindly voice and a huge hound's echoing bay, And some have seen the Traitor to the pine woods run- ning away. Cioiin C1)0|1|141'd1).* LAMENTATIOK OF MAC LIAG FOB KINCORA. — A. D. 1015. TBANSLATED FROM THE IRISH. BY JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. I^This poem is ascribed to the celebrated poet Mac Ltag, the secretary of the renowned monarch Hrian Horn, wlio, as is well known, fell at the battle of Clontarf in 1014, and the subject of it is a lamentation for the fallen condition of Kincora, the palace of that monarch, consequent on his death. The decease of JIac Liag is recorded, ia the " Annals of the Four Masters,' as having taken place in 1015. A great number of his poem^ are still in existence, but none of them have obtained a popularity sc widely extended as his " Lament." Of the palace of Kincoisa, which was situated on the banks of tha Shannon, near Killaloe, there are at present no vestiges.] Oh, where, Kincora! is Brian the Great? And where is the beauty that once was thine ? Oh, rhere are the princes and nobles that sate At the feast in thy halls, and drank \.t.>: led wine Where, oh, Kincora? • Einccfa. IRISH BALLADS. 108 Ob, where, Kincora! are thy valorous lords? Oh, whither, thou Hospitable ! are they gone .' Oh, where are the Dalcassians of tiie gcilden swords ?* And wlicre are the warriors Brian Jed on ? Where, oh, Kincora? And where is Morogh, the descend-mt of kings ; The defeater of a hundred — the daringly brave — Who set but slight store by jewels and rings ; Who swam down the torrent and laughetl at its warel Where, oh, Kincora? And where is Donogh, King Brian's son ? And where is Conaing, the beautiful chief? And Kian and Core ? Alas ! they are gone ; They have left me this night alone with my grief 1 Left nie, Ivincora I And where are the chiefs with whom Brian went forth; The never- vanquished sons of Evin the brave. The great King of Onaght, renowned for his worth, And the hosts of Baskiun from the western wave? Where, oh, Kincora? Oh, where is Duvlann of the S\vift-footed Steeds ? And w here is Kian, who was son of ^MoUoy ? And where is King Lonergan, the fame of whose deeds In the red battle-field no time can destroy ? Where, oh, Kincora? And where is that youth of majestic height, '*'he fa.th-keeping Prince of the Scots ? Even he. As wide as his fame was, .^ m.i-j»; as was his might. Was tributary, oh Ivincora, lo thee ! Thee, oh, Kincora! * C0I5 t)-Ol) (Colgn-or) or the Sworda of GoU, i.t.€t \ €MH^kiUed Swords. ICH Tbey are gone, those heroes of royal birth. Who plundered no churches, and broke no trust $ 'Tis weary for me to be living on earth When they, oh Kincora, lie low in the dust I Low, oh, Kincora ! Oh, never again will Princes appear, To rival the Dalcassians of the Cleaving Swords: I can 'never dream of meeting afar or anear, In the east or the west, such heroes and lords ! Never, Kincora ! Oh, dear are the images my memory calls up Of Brian Boru ! — how he never would miss To give me at the banquet the first bright cup! All I why did he heap on me honour like this ? Why, oh, Kincora? I am Mac Liag, and my liome is on the Lake : Thither often, to that palace whose beauty is Aed, Caiue Brian, to ask me, and I went for his sake, Oh, my grief! that 1 should live, and Brian be dead! Dead, oh, Kincora ! THE DEATH OF KING MAGNUS BAREFOOT. A.D. 1102. Bl THOMAS D'aRCY M'GEE. (King Magnus Barefoot became joint king of Nonray with Hakoa OJatson, in 109-3, l;ut Hakon, in chasing a ptannigan ovVr the Dovre- fiekl, caught an ague, of which he died. After this, Magnus reigned alone for ten years. In tliis time he made wmy voyages hito the west, conquering all he attacked, whether in the Is'es or on t!ie Scottish or English shores. In 1102 he was slain in Llste. V)y an Irish force, ne&s (te wssL shore. In Miss Br'-okc's " Keliques of Mih Poetry" is a trans- IRISH BALLADS. IQfl latlon of an Irish i)cen on this evtnt, " the author of which " that lady observes, "is said tn liave belonged to the family of the O'Neills."' This poem aj^ees with Stiirlesou as to the date of the nffht, and its re- sult, but dift'ers in the details. 1 have follo%ved the latter for the facta of Magnus s previous life, as well as for the immediate cause of hia death. It is scarcely necessary to add that at this period the Dauea were Chjistians, in doctrine, if not in practice.] ••On the eve of St. Bartholomew ofl' Ulil'-'a shore w. lay," (Thus the importuned Scall began his tale of Avoe.) ••And faintly round our fleet fell the August evening gray, And sadly the sunset winds did blow. ••I stood beside our Monarch then — deep care was on his brow — ' I hear no horn,* he signed, ' from the shore : Why tarry still my errand-men ? — 'tis time they were here ncvr And that to some less guarded coast we bore.* •' Into the vernal west our errand-men had gono-^ To Muirkeartach, the ally of the King, (Whose daughter late was wed to Earl Sigurd, his soa,; The duwer of the bridegroom to bring. ** 'Twas midnight in the firmament, ten thousand stars were there, And from the darksome sea looked up other ten, I lay beside our .Monarch, he was sleepless, and the care On liis brow had grown gloomier then. ♦•As the sun awaking bright its beaming lustre shed, From his couch rose the King slowly up, ' EUdiarn, what! — thou awake! I must landward go, he said, • And with you or the saints I shall sup.' ' The *hile the sun arose, in his galley thro* the fleet Our noble Magnus went, and the earis all awoke. 106 BOK*Ji Of Ajx^ eac!i prepared for land — the I-mq errq5»IOB OF "THE MONKS OF KLLCBIA." [About this time (1189) the Anglo-Norman power in Ireland receired a scTcre check by the death of Mr Armoi icus Tristram, bn)ther-inla\r, and. after tlif. ciiivalrous fashion of the day, sworn comrade of Mr John De Courcey Having gone with a strong force to Connr, gramercy for the thought 1" calm Sir Ilugolin replied, And with a steadfast Look and mien that wrathful chief he eyed : — ^10 BOOK. OF *• Yet, shonld your wild birds covet not the dainty fare you name. Then, by the rood, our Norman swords shall carve them better game !" Then turned his horse, and back he rode unto the little band That, halted on the hiH, in firm and martial order stand ; When told his tale, then divers knights began to coun- sel take, H®w best tliey could their peril shun, and safe deli- veranye make. '* Against such odds, all human might is valueless 1" they cried ; ** And better 'twere at once lo turn, and thro' the thicket ride." When, high o'er all, Sir Tristram spake, in accents bold and free : — "Let all depart who fear to fight this battle out with me; '* For never yet shall mortal say, I left him in his need. Or brought him into danger's grasp — then trusted to my steed 1 And, come what will, whate'er betide, let all depart who- mar, I'll share my comrades' lot, and with them stand or fall this day!" Then drooped with burning shame full many a knightly crest, And nobler feelings answering swell'd throughout each throbbing breast; And stout Sir Hugolin spoke first : — " Whate'er our lot may be. Come weal, come woe, 'fore Heaven, we'll stand or fall this day with thee 1" Then from his horse Sir Tristram lit, and drew his uliiuiug blad*" IRISH BALLADS. 1 I I And gazing on the noble beast, right mournfullj' he said : — **Thro' many a bloody field thou hast borne me safe and well, And never knight had tmer friend than thou, tieet iioancelle ! "When wounded sore, and left for dead, on far Knock- gara's ])lain, No friendly aid or vassal near — yet, thou did'st still remain I Close to thy master there thou madest thy rough and fearful bed, And on tliy side, that night, my steed, I laid my aching head ! ** Yet now, my gallant liorse, we part I thy proud career is o'er, And never slialt thou bound beneath an armed rider more." He spoke, and kist the blade — then pierced his charger's gl()S!?y side. And madly plunging in the air, the noble courser died! Then every horseman in his band, dismounting, did the same, And in that company no steed alive was left, but twain; On one tliere rode De Courcey's squire, who came from Ulster wild ; Upon the other young Oswald sate, Sir Tristram's only child. The father kist his son, then spake, while tears his eye- HdsfiU: " Good Haino, take my boy, and spur with him to yon- der hill; Go, watch from thence, till all is o'er; then, north- ward Haste in llight, And say, that Tristram in Ms harness died, like a worthy knight." 112 BOOK OF Now pealed along the foeman's ranks a shrill and wild halloo! While boldly back defiance loud the Norman bugles blew ; And bounding up the hill, like hounds, at hunted quarry set. The Irish kernes came fiercely on, and fiercely were they met. Then rose the roar of battle loud — the shout — the cheer — the cry ! The clank of ringing steel, the gasping groans of those who die ; Yet onward still the Norman band, right fearless cut their way, As move the mowers o'er the sward upon a summer's day. For round them there, like shorn grass, the foe in hun- dreds bleed ; Yet, fast as e'er they fall, each side, do hundreds more succeed With naked breasts, undaunted meet the spears of steel- clad men. And sturdily, with axe and skein, repay their blowf again. Now, crushed with odds, their phalanx broke, each Nor- man fights alone. And few are left throughout the field, and they are fw- ble grown ; But, high o'er all. Sir Tristram's voice is like a trumpet heard. And still, where'er he strikes, the foemen sink beneath bis sword. But once he raised his beaver up — alas ! it was to t'-y If Hamo and his boy yet tarried on the mouataiii nigh; I&I8U BALLADS. US ^Vlien sharp an arrow from the foe, picrc'd right thro' his brain. And sank the gallant knight a corpse upon the bloody plain. Then failed the fight, for gathering round his lifeless body tliere. The remnant of his gallant band fought fiercely in de- si)air ; And one by one they wounded fell — yet with their latest breath, Their Norman war-cry shouted bold — then sank in silent death. And thus Sir Tristram died ; than whom no mortal knight could be More brave in list or battle-field, — in banquet-hall more free ; The flower of noble courtesy — of Norman peers the pride ; Oh, not in Christendom's wide realms can be his loss supplied. Sad tidings these to tell, in far Downpatrick's lofty towers. And sadder news to bear to lone Ivora's silent bowers ; Yet shout ye not, ye Irish kernes — good cause have ye t«> rue ; Pf* ft mood V fi gift and stern was the battl;^ if ClK5C U4 BOOK o? A VISION OF Cor)4CT;* IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTUKY. BY JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN. "P.t moi, j"ai ete aussi en Arcadie." — And I, I, too, liavc \»cns dreamer. — Inscription on a Painting by Poussin. I WALKED entranced Tlirough a land of morn ; The sun, with wondrous excess of light, Shone down and glanced Over seas of corn, And lustrous gardens aleft and right. Even in the clime Of resplendent Spain Beams no such sun upon such a land: But it was tlie time, 'Twas in the reign. Of Cahal Mor of the Wine-red Hand.f Anon stood nigli By my side a man Of princely aspect and port sublime. Him queried I, "O, my Lord and Khan, J What clime is this, and what goldeu time?" When he — " The chnie Is a clime to praise. The clime is Enin's, the green and bland ; And it is the time, These be the days, Of Cahal Mor of the Wine-red Hand I" • Connaught. t The Irish and Oriental poets both agree in att^i)T)dn^ favourable or nnfavourable weatlier and abundant or deficient harvests to the gooc! or bad qualities of tlie reiofning monarch. What the character ol Cahal was will be seen below. t Identical with the Irish Ceann, Head, or Cliief; but 1 thft rathe* gave him the (Jjiental title, as really fancying myself in one of the re- gions of Araby the Bicst. IBI8H BALLAOe. I ]5 Then I saw thrones, And circlln^f tires, Ajid a dome rose near me, as by a Bpf^ Wlience flowed the tones Of silver lyres And many voices in wreathed swell ; And their thrilling chime Fell on mine ears As the heavenly hynm of an angel"b«B*^— " It is now the time, These be the years. Of Cahal Mor of the Wine-red HandT I sought the hall, And, behold ! — a change From liglit to darkness, from joy to woe • Kings, nobles, all, Looked agliast and strange ; The minstrei-grou{) sate in dumbest shov-^ Had some great crime Wrought this dread amaze. This terror ? None seemed to understand I 'Twas then the time, We were in the days. Of Cahal Mor of the Wine-red Hand. I again walked forth ; But lo ! the sky Showed tleckt with blood, and an alien sun Glared from the north. And there stood on high. Amid his shorn beams, a skeleton!* * " It wasbnt natural that these portentous appearances should thug be exl'.ibited on this occasion, for they were the heralds ©f a tp y gre:tl caliimitj- tliat befe the Connacians in this year — namely, tlie death oJ Cathal ol the lied Hand, son of Jorlogli .Mor of the Wine, an^! kiiip of Connauglit a piince of most amiable qualities, and into wfiv/se heart a«D Lad infused more pietj' and froodness than into the lieaits of acy ttbiaoot^mpomriisi."— A nruils i/the Fowr Maiteei, A D. ii24. 116 BOOK OF It was by the stream Of the castled Maine, une autumn eve, in the Teuton's lan'i. That I dreamed this dream Of the time ana reign Of C^hal Mor of the Wine-red Hand I BATTLE OF CREDRAN. A.D. 1257. BY EDWARD WALSH. [A brilliant battle was fought by Geoffrey O'Donnell, Lord of Tircon- ndl, against the Lord Justice of Ireland, Maurice Fitzgerald, and ths Engiisli of Connaufflit, at Crcrlran Cille, Roseede, in the territory ©1 Carlmrry, north of Slionegal, aod its chiefe were the O'Donnella. IRISH BALLADS. 117 Through Inis-Mac-Durin,* through Derry's darK brakes, Glentocher of tempests, Sleibh-sneacht of the lakes, Buudoran of dark s^pells, Loch Suileach's rich glen. The red deer rush wild at the war-shout of meu 1 01 \fhy through Tir-Chonaill, from Cuil-dubh's dark steep. To Samer'sf green border the fierce masses sweep, Living torrents o'er-leaping their own river shore, In the red sea of battle to mingle their roar? Stretch thy vision far southward, and seek for reply Wliere blaze of the hamlets glares red on the sky — Where the shrieks of the hopeless rise high to theii God, Where the foot of the Sassanach spoiler has trod 1 Sweeping on like a tempest, the Gall-Oglach J stem Contends for the van with the swift-footed kern — Tliere's blood lor that burning, and joy for that wail — The avenger is hot on the spoiler's red trail ! The Saxon Hath gather'd on Credran's far heights. His groves of long lances, the flower of his kniglits— His awful cross-bowmen, whose long iron hail Finds, through Cota§ and Sciath, the bare heart of tha Gael! The long lance is brittle — the mailed ranks reel Where the Gall-Oglach's axe hews the harness of steel, A.nd tru'jr to its aim in the breast of a foeman, ig the pike of a kern than the shaft of a bowman. » Districts in Donegal. 1 SanifT — The ancient name of I och Eame. t Gall-Oglach, or Galloirglass—The heavy -armed foot soldier. Rern, •r Ceit/nmarh — Tlie lifrht-armcd solilier. { Cola — Ihe saffron-dyed shirt of the kern, consteting of many yarda of yellow linen tliickly plaited. Sciath — The wickr* shield, aa ita Bams ImportB. S18 BOOK OP Dne prayer to St. Columb* — the battle-steel clashes — The tide of fierce conflict tuniultuously dashes ; Surging onward, high-heaving its billow of blood, While war-shout and death-groan swell high o'er the flood 1 As meets the wild billows the deep-centr'd rock, Met glorious Clan Chonaill the fierce Saxon's sliock ; As the wrath of the clouds flash'd the axe of Clan. Chonaill, Till the Saxon lay strewn 'neath the might of O'Don- nell! One warrior alone holds the wide bloody field, With barbed black charger and long lance and shield- Grim, savage, and gory he meets their advance, liis broad shield up-lifting and crouching his lance. Then forth to the van of that fierce rushing throng Rode a chieftain of tall spear and battle-axe strongs liis bracca,f and gcochal, and cochal's red fold. And war-horse's housings, were radiant in gold 1 Say who is this chief spurring forth to the fray, Tiie wave of whose spear holds yon armed array ? And he who stands scorning tlie thousands that sweep, An army of wolves over sheplierdless sheep ? » St. Colum, or ColumCilU. the dove «/ the Church-^ The patron saint of TjTconnoU, desceiulcd from Cim.iU (iulban. t Bracca—'^i) called, from being striped with various colours, was the tight titting Iruis. It covered the ancles, le;!:s, and thighs, rising as high as the loins, and fitted so tight to the limbs as to discover every muscle and motion of the parts which it covered. — Walker on Dreu of llie Irish. f Thick as bees, round the heather, on the side of SUere To the trysting the" ^nier by the light of the moon. For The Butler from Ormond with a hosting he came, And harried Mwyeashel with havoc and flame, Not ? hoof or a hayriclc, nor corn blade to feed on. Had he left in the wide laud, right up to Dunbreedon. Then gathered MacGeoghegan, the high prince of Do- nore, With O'Connor from Croghan, and O'Dempsys 30 led|l ; * And, my soul, how we shouted, as dash'd in with their nien. Bold MacCoglilan from Clara, O'MuUoy from the glen And not long did we loiter where the fimr TJOCA jlTt met. But his saddle each tightened, and his spurs closer set. By the skylight tha^ flashes all their red burnings back. And by black gore ai*a ashes fast the reivers we track. 'Till we came to Ardnocher, and its steep slope we gain, And stretch'd there, beneath us, saw their host in the plain ; And high shouted our leader ('twas the brave William Roe)_ " By the red hand of Nial, 'tis the Sassanach foe !" " Now, low level your spears, grasp each battle-axe firm. And for God and our Ladye strike ye downright and stern ; For our homes and our altars chirge ye steadfast and true. And our wa chword be vengeance, and l-4ri) rt, county Mayo), wliich was her chief residence and strongliold ; and there was a hole to be seen in the ruined walls through which a cable was run fi'om one of her siiips, for the purpose of co.nmunicuring an alana to her fipartinent on -nv sndiien danger. It is said tliat Iftr piracies became so frequent that she was proclaimed, and X'oOO otTered as a reward for her apprehension, and troops were sent irom Galway to take the Castle of Carrigahooly, but after a siege of more than a foTt- niglit, they were forced to retire, being defeated by the valour of Grace and her men. These exploits were performed by her before iind afier her marriage v/ith O'Flahei ty, but after his deatii, and her marriage with Sir liichard I'urke, she became reconciled to the government, amd, witli her followers, assisted the English forces in Connaught, and for her services it is said that Queen f^lizabeth wrote her a letter of invitation to the court, in consequence of which (^Jrace, with some ot her galleys, set sail for London, about the year 1575, and she was re. * Oraicnc Maol — pronounced Grar.u V/ail, ♦ See " Ballad Poetry of Ireland," p. 227. JC4|l|l4)CC-A-Ujle. (Carricli-t-U-Jt— th« Eock In the Elbow.) IRISH BALLAD8. 12S eeived at coort with great honours by the Queen, who offered to create her a Countess, which honour Grace declined, aiisweiinff that both of them Lcinj? Princesses, they were equal in rank, and tliey could there- fore confer no lionours on eacli other: but Grace said that her M»- Jeaty mi<,'lit confer any title she pleased on her young son, a child which Wrt>) bom on ship board during; lier voyaj^e to ICnjiland; and it is said that tt.e Queen kni;ihted tlie cliild. who was called by the Irish Tiobold- na-I.ung. " sisnifyins: Tlieobald of the Ships, fi-om the circunuitanceof hi« beinjr bora on ship-uoard, and this Sir Theobald Buike was created Viscount of Mayo by Gharles I. The well-known circumstance of her carrying off the young heir of St. Laurence from Howth, as a punishment for liis father's want of hospitality in having the Castle gates closed during dinner time, oc- cutTed on her return ft-om En8. 129 He said : fate granted half his prayer. His steed he straight bestrode, And fell, as on the routed rear of James's host he rode. He sleeps in a cathedral's gloom, * amongst the mighty dead. And frequent, o'er his hallow'd tomb, redeedful pilgrimf tread. The otlier half, though fate deny, we'll strive for, one and all. And William's — Schomberg's spirits nigh, we'll gain .qr, fighting, fall 1 id33. THE BATTLE OF THE BOYNB. A.D. 1690. BY COLONEL BLACKER. It was upon a summer's morn, unclouded rose the sun, And lightly o'er the waving corn their way the breezei won ; Sparkling beneath that orient beam, 'mid banks of ver- dure gay. Its eastward course a silver stream held smilingly away. A kingly host upon its side a monarch camp'd around. Its southern upland far and wide their white pavilions crowned ; Not long that sky unclouded show'd, nor long beneath the ray That gentle stream in silver flowed, to meet the new- born day. • St Patrick's, Dublin. 130 Throufe.a yonder fairy -haunted glen, from out that daxk ravine,' Is heard the tread of marcliing men, the gleam of aruM is seen ; And plashing forth in bright array along yon verdant banks, All eager for the coming fray, are rang'd the martial ranks. Peals the loud gun — its thunders boom the echoing vale« along, While curtain'd in its sulph'rous gloom moves on the gallant throng ; And foot and horse in mingled mass, regardless all of hfe, With furious ardour onward pass to join the deadlj strife. Nor strange that with such ardent flame eaoh glowing heart beats high, Tlieir battle word was William's name, and "Death os Liberty !" Then, Oldbridge, then thy peaceful bowers with sounds unwonted rang, And Treilagh, 'mid thy distant towers, was heard the mighty clang ; The silver stream is crimson'd wide, and clogg'd with many a corse, As floating down its gentle tide come mingled man and horse. Now fiercer grows the battle's rage, the guarded stream is cross'd. And furious, hand to hand engage each bold contending host; He falls — the veteran hero falls, f renowned along the iihine — • King William's Glen, near Townley HaQ. f Doke bchomberg. IRISH BALLADS. 131 And K*\ whose name, while Derry's walls endure, shaU oritilitly shine.* Oh! would to heav'n that churchman bold, his ajras with triumph blest. The soldier spirit had controU'd that fir'd his pious breast. And ho, the chief of yonder brave and persecuted band.f Who foremost rush'd amid the wave, and gain'd the hostile strand ; — He bleeds, brave Caillemote — he bleeds — 'tis clos'd, his brifjht career, Yet still that band to glorious deeds his dying accents cheer. And now that well contested strand successive columns gain. While backward James's^yielding band are borne across the plain. in vain tlie sword green Erin draws, and life away doth fling— Oh ! worthy of a better cause and of a bolder king. In vain thy bearing bold is shown upon that blood- stain'd ground ; Thy tow'ring hopes are overthrown, thy choicest fall around. Nor, sham'd, abandon thou the fray, nor blush, though conquer'd there, A power against thee fights to-day no mortal arm may dare. Nay, look not to that distant height in hope of coming aid — The dastard thence has ta'en his flight, and left ^is men betray'd. • Walker, the grallant defender of ! 'erry. ♦ Caillemote, who cammanderl a regimeat a* 132 BOOK OF Itturrah ! hurrah 1 the victor shout iy heard on high Don ore; r)own riatten's rale, in hurried rout, thy shattered masses pour. But many a gallant spirit there retreats across the plain. Wlio, cliange but kings, would gladly dare tliat battle field again.* Enough I enough ! the victor cries ; your fierce pursuit forbear, Let grateful prayer to heaven arise, and vanquished freemen spare. Hurrah! hurrah! for liberty, for her the sword we drew. And dar'd the battle, while on high our Orange banners flew; Woe worth the hour — ^woe worth the state, when mev shall cease to join With grateful hearts to celebrate the glorie* '^ the Boyne 1 • 'ims minni^ m the expreaslon attributed to SarR4l4?4~-* ttti^ kii;^. &£.(! we will flght the battle otst er«.'n. " DESCRIPTIYE BALLADS. LAMENT OVER THE RUINS OP THB ABBEY OF "oe^C 21)01434.* TRA.KSL.VTE1> FROM THB. lEISIZ. BY SAMUEL FERGUSON, M.B.I.A. Lone and weary as I wander'd by the bleak shore of the sea, Meditating and reflecting on the world's hard destiny. Forth tlie moon and stars 'gan glimmer, in the quiet tide beneath. For on slumbering spring and blossom breathed not out of lieaven a breath. On I went in sad dejection, careless where my footsteps bore. Till a ruined church b ft re me opened wide its an nt door, — Till I stood before the portals, where ot old were wont to be. For the blind, the halt, and leper, alms and ho«p:ta!'*y • Teach Molaga — " The Tlonse of St. Molaga" — now f-allsd Tlmo leaffuc Ja Munster. Mangan has also tran.sl.ited his poem very finely According to him. the author was Jolm Cullen, a native of Cork, who lied in the year 1816. i34 BOOK OF Still the ancient seat was standing, built against the buttress gray, Where the clergy used to welcome weary trav'llers on their way ; There I sat me down in sadness, 'neath my cheek I phiced my hand. Till the tears fell hot and briny down upon the grassy land There, I said in wofiil sorrow, weeping bitterly the while. Was a time when joy and gladness reigned witliin tlua ruined pile ; — Was a time when bells were tinkling, clergy preaching peace abroad, Psalms a-singing, music ringing praises to tne mighty God. Empty aisle, deserted chancel, tower tontering to your fall, Many a storm since then has beaten on the gray liead of your wall 1 Many a bitter storm and tempest has your roof-tree turned away, Since you first were formed a temple to the Lord of night and day. Holy house of ivied gables, that were once the country's Ujast, Houseless now in weary wandering are you scattered, saintly host ; Lone you are to-day, and dismal, — ^joyful psalms no more are heard. Where, within your choir, her vesper screeches the oat- headed bird. Ivy i'O'ai your eaves is growing, nettles round your green hearthstone, "V\iudshowl\vhere, in your corners, dropping waters make tlieir moau • IBI8H BALLADS. 115 Where the lark to early matins used your clergy forth to cili. There, alas ! no tongue is stirring, save the daws upon Ine wall. Refectory cold and empty, dormitory bleak and bare. Where are now your pious uses, simple bed and frugal fare ? Gone your abbot, rule and order, broken down your altar stones ; Kought 1 see beneath your shelter, save a heap of clayey bones. Oh ! the liardship — oh 1 the hatred, tyranny, and cruel war, Persecution and oppression that have left you as you are ! I myselt' once also prospered ; — mine is, too, an altered plight ; Trouble, tare, and age have left me good for nought but grief to-night. Gone, my motion and my vigour, — gone, the use of eye and ear ; At my feet lie friends and cliil'iren, powerless and cor- rup'ting here ; Wo is written on my visage, in a nut my heart would lie- Death's deliverance were welcome — Father, let th« old man die. dd BOOK or AVONDHU. BY J. J. CALLANAN. [Avondhu — The Blackwater, Avunrtiiff of Spenser. There areM^ei ral rivers of this name in the counties of Cork and Kern.', but the om here me:itioned is by far the most considerable. It rises in a mona- tain called Meenffanine. in the latter county, and discharges itself In'O the sea at Youtchal. For the leni^th of its course, and the beauty «a i rariety of scenery i:1ir<»\igh which it flows, it Ls superior to any riyer In Monster.] Oh, Avondhu, I wish I were As once upon that mountain bare, Wliere thy young waters laus^h and shins Or tl^.e wild breast of Meenrn altars burned the sacrea Hame, Or rose the chant sublime. Thy glory in a crimson tide went down. Beneath the cloven hoof — Altar and priest, mitre, and cope, and crown. And choir, and arch, and roof. O, but to see thee, when thou wilt rise again — For thou again wilt rise, And with the splendours of thy second reign Dazzle a nation's eyes ! Children of those who made thee what thou wast, Shall lift thee from the tomb, And clothe thee, for the spoiling of the past. In more celestial bloom. And psalm, and hymn, and gold, and precious stones And gems beyond all price. And priest, and altar, o'er the martyr'a oonea, And daily sacrifice. "JtO BOOK or And endless prayer, and crucifix, and shrine» And all religion's dower, And thronging worsliippers siiall yet be thine— O, but to see that hour ! And who shall smite thee then? — and who shall see Tliy second glory o'er ? "Wneu liiey who make thee free themselves are free. To fall no more. LOCH INA. A BEAUflFUL SALT-WATER LAKK, IN THE COUNTl Ol CORK, NKAR BALTIMORE. 1 KNOW a lake where the cool waves break. And softly fall on the silver sand — And no steps intrude on tliat solitude. And no voice, save mine, disturbs the strand. ° And a mountain bold like a giant of old Tun. :?d to stone by some magic spell, Uprears in might his misty height. And his craggy sides are wooded well. In the midst doth smile a little Isle, And its verdure shames the emerald's green — On its grassy side, in ruined pride, A casde of old is darkling seen. On its lofty crest the wild crane's nest, In its halls the sheep good shelter find ; And the ivy shades where a hundred blades Were hung, when the owners in sleep recliued. That chieftain of old could he now behold His lordly tower a shepherd's pen, His corpse, long dead, from its narrow bed Would rise, with anger and >3haine again. IRISH BALJ.AI>R. 141 Tig sweet to gaze wlien tlie sun's briglit raya Are cooling themselves in the trembling wave—. But 'tis sweeter far when the evening star Shines like a smile at Friendship's grave. There the hollow shells, through their wreathed cells, ;Make music on the silent shore, As the summer breeze, through the distant trees, Murmurs in fragrant breathings o'er. And the sea-weed shines, like the hidden minea Of the fairy cities beneath the sea ; And the wave- washed stones are bright as thethronef Of the ancient Kings of Araby. If it were my lot in that fairy spot To live for ever, and dream 'twere mine. Courts might woo, and kings pursue. Ere I would leave thee — Loved Loch-Ine. THE RETURNED EXILE. BY B. SIl^jtfONS. Blue Corrin ! how softly the evening light goes. Fading far o'er tiiy summit from ruby to rose, As if loth to deprive the deep woodlands below Of the love and the glory they drink in its glow : Oh, home-looking Hill! how belored dost thou rini Once more to my sight through the shadowy skies , Watching still, in thy sheltering grandeur unfurled. The landscape to me that so long was the world. Fair evening — blest evening ! one moment delay Till the tears of the Pilgrim are dried in thy ray — Till he feels that through years of long absence, not one Oi his friends — the lone rock and gray ruin — is gone. 143 BOOK or Not one : — as I wind tlie sheer fastnesses throagij, The valley of boyliood is bright in my view ! Once again my glad spirit its fetterless flight May wing through a sphere of unclouded delight, O'er one maze of broad orchard, green meadow, and slope — From whose tints I once pictured the pinions of hope ; Still the hamlet gleams white — still the church yews are weeping, Where the sleep of the peaceful my fathers are sleeping; Tlie vane tells, as usual, its fib from the mill. But the wheel tumbles loudly and merrily still. And the tower of the Roches stands lonely as ever. With its grim shadow rusting the gold of the river. My own pleasant River, bloom-skirted, behold, Now sleeping in sliade, now refulgently rolled, Where long through the landscape it tranquilly flows, Scarcely breakinii, Gleu-coorah, thy glorious repose! By the Park's lovely patliways it lingers and shines. Where the cushat's low call, and the niurmur of pines. And the lips of the lily seem wooing its stay *iMid their odorous dells ; — but 'tis off and away, Rusliing out through the clustering oaks, in whoso shade, Like a bird in the branches, an arbour I made. Where the blue eyes of Eve often closed o'er the book. While I read of stout Sindbad, or voyaged with Cook. Wild haunt of the Harper ! I stand by thy spring, Whose waters of silver still sparkle and fling riieir wealth at my feet, — and I catch the deep glow, As in long-vanished hours, of the lilacs that blow By tlie low cottage porch — and the same crescent moon That then ploughed, like a pinnace, the purple of June, Is white on Glen-duff, and all blooms as unchanged As if years bad not passed since thy greenwood I ranged — As if ONE were not fled, who imparted a s )ul Of divinest enchantment and grace to tiie whole. Whose being was bright as that fair moou above, And all deep and ail pure as thy waters her love. fhou long-vanished Angel ! whose faithfulness threw O'er my gloomy existence one glorified hue! J)ost tliou still, as of yore, when the evening grows din-., And the blackbird by Downing is husliing its hymn, Remember the bower by the Funcheon's blue side Where the whispers were soft as the kiss of the tide ? Dost thou still think, wifh pity and peace on thy brow, Of liim wlio, toil-hafassed and time-shaken now, "While the last liglit of day, like his hopes, has departed, On the turf thou hast hallowed, sinks down weary- hearted, And calls on thy name, and the night-breeze that siglis Through tlie boughs that once blest thee is all tliat replies ? But thy summit, far Corrin, is fading in gray. And the moonlight grows mellow on lonely Cloughlea ; And the laugh of the young, as they loiter about Tiirough tlie elm-shaded alleys, rings joj-ously out; Happy souls ! tliey have yet the dark chalice to taste. And like others to wander life's desolate waste — To hold wassail with sin, or keep vigil with woe ; But the same fount of yearning, wherever they go. Welling up in their heart-depths, to turn at the last (As the stag when the barb in his bosom is fast) To tlieir lair in the hills, on their childhood that rose And find the sole blessing I seek for — repose ! GLENEINISHK.* BY JOSEPH o'LEAEY. Glbnfinishk! where thy waters mix with A^aglen'i wild tide, Tis sweet, at hush of evening, to wander by thy aide ! • Glenflnishk (tne glen of the fair waters), in the county of Co s. 'Tis sweet to hear the night- winds sigh along Macrona'i wood. And mingle their wild music with the murmur of thy flood! 'Tis swet^.t when in the deep blue vault the morn is shin- i.ig bright. To watcli where thy clear waters- are breaking into light; To mark the starry sparks that o'er thy smoother surface gleam, As if some fairy hand were flinging diamonds on thy itream I Oh 1 if departed spirits e'er to this dark world return, 'Tis in some lonely, lovely spot like this they would so- journ ; Whate'er their mystic rites may be, no human eye is here. Save mine, to mark their mystery — no human voice is near. At such an hour, in such a scene, I could forget nif birth— I could forget I e'er have been, or am, a thing of earth ; Shake off the fleshly bonds that hold my soul in thrall, and be Even like themselves, a spirit, as boundless and as free 1 Ye shadowy race ! if we believe the tales of legends old. Ye sometimes hold high converse with those of morta] mould : Oh! come, whilst now my soul is free, and bear me in your train, lat'er te return to misery and this dark world again ! IKISn BALLADS. ]4£ THE MOUNTAIN FERN. BT THE AUTHOR OF " THE MONKS OF KILCREA." Oh, the Fern ! the Fern !_the Irish hill Fern ! — That girds our blue lakes from Lough Ine * to Lough Erne, That waves on our crags, like the plume of a king, And bends, like a nun, over clear Avell and spring I The fairy's tall palm tree ! the heath bird's fresh nest, And tlie couch the red deer deems the SAveetest and best, With the free winds to fsin it, and dew drops to gem, — Oh, what can ye match with its beautiful stem ? From the shrine of Saint Finbar, by lone Avonbuie, To the halls of Diinluce, with its towers by the sea. From the hill of Knockthu to the rath of jNIoyvore, Like a chaplet it circles our green island o'er, — In the bawn of the chief, by the anchorite's cell. On the hill top, or ^r^reenwood, by streamlet or well, With a spell on each leaf, which no mortal can learnt— Oh, there never was plant like the Irish hill Fern ! Oh, the Fern ! the Fern !— the Irish hill Fern !_ That shelters tlie weary, or wild roe, or kern. Thro* the glens of Kilcoe rose a shout on the gale, As the Saxons ruslied forth, in their wrath, from the Pale, With bandog and bloodhound, all savage to see, To hunt thro' Clunealla the wild Rapparee ! Hark ! a cry from yon dell on the startled ear rings, And forth from the wood the young fugitive springs, Thro' the copse, o'er the bog, and, oh, saints be his guide 1 His fleet step now falters — there's blood on his side — Yet onward he strains, climbs the cliif, fords the stream And sinks on the hill top, mid brachen leaves green, • I.oi gn Ine, a sinsrularly romantic lake in the western mountains Ot Cork; jt Lotrch Kme, I hope to Iris'iraen it is imiiecessar)' to speak. t Ine fortunate discoverer oi" the ftm seed is supposed to obtaiadbc pr^'er of readering himself mviaible *»• Dleasnrp. K U6 BOOK Off And thick o'er his brow are their fresh clusters piled. And they cover his form, as a mother her child ; And the Saxon is baffled ! — tliey never discern Where it slielters and saves him — the Irish hill Fern I Oh, the Fern ! the Fern ! — the Irish hill Fern ! — That pours a Avild keen o'er the hero's gray cairn ; Go, hear it at midnight, when stars are all out. And the wind o'er the hill side is moaning about. With a rustle and stir, and a low wailing tone That thrills thro' the heart with its whispering lone, And ponder its meaning, when haply you stray Where the halls of the stranger in ruin decay. With night owls for warders, the goshawk for guest. And their dais* of honor by cattle-hoofs prest — With its fosse choked with rushes, and spider-webs flung, Over walls where the marchmen their red weapons hung. With a curse on their name, and a sigh for the hour That tarries so long — look! what "waves on the tower? With an omen and sign, and an augury stern, 'Tis the Green Flag of Time 1 — 'tis the Irish hill Fern \ ADARE.f UV GERALD GRIFFIN. Oh, sweet Adare I oh, lovely vale ! Oh, soft retreat of sylvan splendour 1 Nor summer sun, nor morniny ?ale E'er hailed a scene more softly tender. • The dais was an elevated portion of the great hall or dining-room Bet apart in feudal times for those of gentle blood, and was, in conao quenci*, regarded with peculiar feelings of veneration and respect- t This beautiful and interesting locality ia about eijiht miles fros Limerick. IRISH BALLAD3. 147 ^icm shall I tell the thousand clianns Within tliy verdant bosom dwelling, Where, lulled in Nature's fost'ring arms, 'joft peace abides and joy exceilios: ! Ye morning airs, how sweet at dawu The slumbering boughs yo^r song awaken, Or linger o'er the silent lawn,. With odour of the harebell taken. Thou rising sun, how richly gleams Thy smile from far Knockflerna's mountain, O'er waving woods and bounding streams. And many a grove and glancing fountain. Ye clouds of noon, how freshly there, When summer heats the open meadows. O'er parched hill and valley fair. All cooly lie your veiling shadows. Ye rolling shades and vapours gray. Slow creeping o'er the golden heaven. How soft ye seal the eye of day, And wreath the dusky brow of even. In sweet Adare, the jocund spring His notes of odorous joy is breathing, The wild birds in the woodland sing, The wild flowers in the vale are breathing, There winds the Mague, as silver clear, Among the elms so sweetly flowing, Tliere fragrant in the early your, Wild roses on the banks are blowing. The wild duck seeks the sedgy bank. Or dives beneath the glistening billow. Where graceful droop and clustering dank The osier-bright and rustlmg willow. The hawthorn scents the leafy dale. In thicket lone tlie stag is belling. And sweet along the echoing vale The sound of vernal joy is sweliiag. sm THE VALE OF SHANGAJJAIL BY D. F. MCCARTHY. [By the " Vale of Shanganah," I understand the entire of thatbes» tiful panorama which stretclies out from the foot of Killiney Hill %> Bray liead, and from the " White Strand" to the Sut^ar 1 oaf Moun- iains. Few inhabitants of Dublin require to be infonned that tns ancient Irish n;ime of these picturesque mountains is a word which Beans " The Golden Spears," and that by Ben Heder is meant the lliU of llowth.] When I have knelt in the Temple of Duty, Worshipping honour and valour and beauty — When, like a brave man, in fearless resistance, I have fought the good fight on the field of existence j When a home I have won by a long life of labour. By the thoughts of my soul or the steel of my sabre- Be that home a calm home where my old age may rally, A home full of peace in this sweet pleasant valley » Sweetest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah I Greenest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah I May tlie accents of love, like the droppings oi manna. Fall sweet on my heart in the Vale of Shanganah ! Fair is this isle — this dear child of the ocean — Nurtured with more tlian a mother's devotion ; For see ! iu what rich robes has Nature arrayed her. From the waves of the west to the cliffs of Ben Heder^ By Glengariif 's lone islets — Loch Lene's fairy water, So lovely was each, that then matchless I thought lier j But I feel, as I stray through each sweet-scento'^ alley, Less wild but more fair is this soft verdant valley ! Sweetest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah ! Greenest of vales is the Vale of Shanganali ! No wide-spreading prairie — no Indian savanna. So dear to the eye as the Vale of Shanganah ! IBI8H BALLADS. 14S How pleased, how delighted, the rapt eye reposes On the picture of beauty tliis valley discloses, From that margin of silver, whereon the blue water Dotli glance like the eyes of the ocean foam's daughter I To wliere, with the red clouds of morning combining, The tall '* Golden Spears" o'er the mountains are shining, With the hue of their heather, as sunlight advances. Like purple flags furled round the staffs of the lances I Sweetest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah ! Greenest of vales is tlie Vale of Shanganah I Ko lands far away by the calm Susquehannah, So tranquil and fair as the Vale of Shanganah I But here, even here the lone heart were benighted, No beauty could reach it, if love did not light it ; 'Tia that makes the Earth, oh ! what mortal can doubt it? A garden witli it — ^but a desert without it I With the lov'd one, to whom, thoughtful feeling doth teach her, That goodness of heart makes the beauty of feature ' How glad, through this vale, would 1 float down jfe'« river. Enjoying God's bounty, and blessing the Giver! Sweetest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah ! Greenest of vales is the Vale of Shanganah 1 May the accents of love, like the droppings of manna. Fall sweet on \uy iieart iu the Yale of Sbangaizah I ism DEIRDRE'S FAREWELL TO ALBA.- BY SAMUEL FERGUSON, M.B.I. A. Farewell to fair Alba, high house of the sun. Farewell to the mountain, the cliti", and the dun ; Dun Sweeny adieu 1 for my love cannot stay. And tarry I may not when love cries away. Glen Vashan 1 Glen Vashan ! where roe-bucks run free. Where my love used to feast on the red deer with me. Where rocked on thy waters while stormy winds ble^. My love used to slumber, Glen Vashan adieu I Glendaro ! Glendaro 1 where birchen boughs weep Honey dew at high noon oer the nightingale's sleep. Where my love used to lead me to hear the cuckoo Mong the high hazel bushes, Glendaro, adieu I Glen Urchy ! Glen Urchy! where loudly and Ivng My love used to wake up the woods with his song, While the son of the rock, from the depths of the dell. Laughed sweetly in answer, Glen Urchy, farewell* Glen Etive! Glen Etive ! where dappled does roam. Where I leave the green sheeling I first called a home Where with me and my true love delighted to dwell. The sun made his mansion, Glen Etive, farewell 1 Farewell to Inch Draynach, adieu to the roar Of the blue billows bursting in light on the shore; Dun Fiagh, farewell 1 for my love cannot stay, 4ad tarry I may not when love 'cries away. * Scotlaai. IRISH BALLADS. UH A SIGH FOR KXOCKMANY- BY WILLIAM CARLETON. Take, proud ambition, take thy fill Of pleasures won through toil or crime; Go, learning, climb thy rugged liili. And give thy name to future time : Philosophy, be keen to see Whate'er is just, or false, or vain, Take each thy meed, but, oh ! give me To range my mountain glens again.. Pure was the breeze that fann'd ray cheek« As o'er Knockmany's brow I went; When every lonely dell could speak In airy music, vision sent: False world, I hate thy cares and thee, I hate the treacherous haunts of men; Give back my early heart to me. Give back to me my mountain glen. How light my youthful visions shone, When spann'd by fancy's radiant form ; But now her glittering bow is gone, And leaves me but the cloud and storm. With wasted form, and cheek all pale — With heart long scared by grief and pfiin | Dunroe, I'll seek thy native gale, I'll tread my mountain glens again. Thy breeze once more may fan my blood. Thy vallies all, are lovely still ; And I may stand, where oft I stood, la lonely musings on thy bill. 152 But ah ! the spell is prone ; — ^no art In crowded town, or native plain. Can teach a crus>> n muy oreaking heart To pipe the song of youth again. TIPPERARY. Were you ever in sweet Tipperary, where the fields an so sunny and green, And the heath-brown Slieve-hloom and the Galtees look down with so proiid a mier ' 'Tis there you would see more beauty tnan is on all Irish ground — God bless you, my sveet 'llpperary, lor where could your match be found ? They say that your hand is fearful, that darkness is in your eye : But I'll not let them dare to talk so black and bitter a lie. Oh ! no, macushla storin ! bright, bright, and warm are you. With hearts as bold as the men of old, to yourselves and your country true. And when there is gloom unon you, bid them think who has brought it tnere — Sure a frown or a word of hatred was not made for your face so fair ; You've a hand for the grasp of friendship — another to make them quake. And they're welcome to wnichsoever it pleasea theo) most tc takp. IRISH BALLADS. )5S Shall our homes, like the huts of Connaught, be crunv bled before our eyes? Shall we fiy, like a tiock of wild geese, from all that we love and prize ? No ! by those wlio were here before us, no churl shall our tyrant be ; Our land it is theirs by plunder, but, by Brigid, our- selves are free. No 1 we do not forget the greatness did once to sweet Eire belong ; No treason or craven spirit was ever our race among; And no frown or no word of hatred we give — but to pay them back ; In evil we only follow our enemies' darksome track. Oh ! come for a while among us, and give us the friondly hand ; And you'll see that old Tippera*y is a loving and glad« some land ; From Upper to Lower Orraond, bright welcomea and it'^'s will sprinff-- Oa the plains of Tipperary tiie stranger is like a /.ZaENDARY BALLADS. THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLBT. DT GAMUEL FERGUSON, M.R.I. A. [Several Welsh families, associates In the invasion of" Strorgtiov, settled in the west of Ireland. Of tliese, the principal whose namci Lavfc been preserved by the Irish antiquarians were the WalsliRt, Joyces, lleWs {a quibus Macllale), Lawlesses, Tolmvns, Lynotts, and Barretts, wliich last draw their pedi^'ree from \Valy:ui, son of Guyn- dally. the Ard Maor, or Hitrli Steward of the l.ordship of Caiiiclot. and had their cliief sea'-s in the territory of tlie two Bacs, in the barony of Tirawley, and county of Mayo. ClogliananndaU, i "the lUind Men's Stepping stones," are still pointed out on tlie Duvowen river, about four miles north of C/ossmolina. in tlie townland of (iiiTanard : and Tuttberna Scarnet/, or "Scraj,'s Well," in the opposite townland oi Cams, in the same barony. For a curious terrier or applotment of the Mac William s revenue, as acquired under tlie circumstances stated ia the legend preserved by Mac Firbis, see Mr. O'ltono\an's hitilily- leamed and interesting "Genealogies, &c. of Hy Fiachrach," in tha pubhcations of tlie Irish Archceological Society— a. great mouumcat of antiquarian and topographical erudition.] ScoRNEY BwEK, the Barretts' bailiff, le^yd and Lam®, To lift the Lynott's taxes when he came, Rudely drew a young maid to him ; riita tne Lynotts rose and slew him, And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him — Small your blame. Sons of Lynott ! Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of TirawUy. IRISH BALLADS. 155 Then the Barretts to the Lynotts gave a choice. Saying, "He;ir, ye murderous brood, men and hoy*, Clioose ye now, without delay, Will ye lose your eyesight, say. Or your mauhoods, here to-day ?" Sad your choice, Sous of Lynr.fi 1 Sing the ven^c^ance of tlie VYelshuien of I^rawley. Then the little boys of the Lynotts, weeping, said, " Only leave us our eyesight in our head." But the bearded Lynotts then Quickly answered back again, •* Take our eyes, but leave us men, Alive or dead, Sons of Wattin!" Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. So the Barretts, with sewing-needles sharp and smooth, Let the light out of tlie eyes of every youth. And of every bearded man Of the broken L^'nott clan ; Then their darkened faces wan Turning south To the river — Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. O'er the slippery stepping-stones of Clochan-a-n'dall They drove them, laughing loud at every fall, As their wandering footsteps dark Failed to reach the slippery mark. And the swift stream swallowed stark. One and all, As they stumbled — Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of TiTa7»l97, Out of all the blinded Lynotts, one alone Walked erect from stepping-stone to stono ; So back again they brought you, And a second time they wrought you 156 With their needles ; but never got you Once to groan, Enion Lynott, For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawl^. But with prompt-projected footsteps sure as eve?, Emon Lynott again crossed the river, Tliough DuvoAven was rising fast, And the sliaking stones o'ercast By cold floods boiling past ; Yet you never, Emon Lynott, Faltered once before your foemen of Tirawiey I But, turning on Ballintubber bank, you stood. And the Barretts thus bespoke o'er the flood — " C)h, ye foolish sons of Wattin, Small amends are tliese you've gotten, tor, while Scornoy Bwee lies rotten, I am good For vengeance I" Sing the vengeance of the Welshmeu of Tiruwlt^ -. ♦' For 'tis neither in eye nor eyesight that a man Bears the fortunes of himself or of his clan; But in tlie manly mind And in loins with vengeance lined, That your needles could never ii'd, Though they y- n Through my heartstrings !" Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. " But, little your wom«»« ». ..etedles do I reck ; For the night from heaven never fell so black. But Tirawley, and abroad From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod, I could walk it every sod. Path and track. Ford and togher. Seeking vengeance on you, Barretts of Tirawlsy 1 IRISH BALLADS. 167 " The nio^ht when Pathy O'Dowda broke /our camj\ What Barrett among you was it held the lamp — Showed the way to those two feet, When througii wintry wind and sleet, I guided your blind retreat In tlie swamp Of Beal-an-asa? O ye vengeance-destined ingrates of Tirawley !" So leaving loud-shriek-echoing Garranard, The Lynott like a red dog hunted hard. With his wife and children seven, 'Mong the beasts and fowls of heaven In the hollows of Glen Nephin, Light-debarred, Made his dwelling. Planning vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley. And ere the bright-orb'd year its course had run, On his brown round-knotted knee he nursed a son, A child of light, with eyes As clear as are the skies In summer, when sunrise Has begun ; So the Lynott Nursed his vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley And, as ever the bright boy grew in strength and sizo^ Made him perfect in each manly exercise, The salmon in the flood, The dun deer in the wood, The eagle in the cloud To surprise. On Ben Nephin, ' Far above the foggy fields of Tirawley. With the yellow-knotted spear-shaft, with the bOF, With the steel, prompc to deal shot and blovr, He taught him from year to year And trained liim, without a peer. For a perfect cavalier. Hoping Par his forethousrht — For vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley. And, when rhounted on his proud-bounding stesd. Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed; Like tlie ear upon the wheat Wlien winds in autumn beat On the bending stems, his seat; And the speed Of liis courser "Was the wind from Barna-na-gee o'er Tirawley I Now when fifteen sunny summers thus were spen^ (lie perfected in all accomplishment) — The Lynott said, '* My child. We are over long exiled From mankind in this wild — — Time we went O'er the mountain To the countries lying over-against Tirawley ," So out over mountain-moors, and mosses brown. And green stream-gathering vales, they ioumc\'©d duH n ; Till, shining like a star. Through the dusky gleams afar, Tlie bailey of Castlebar, And the town Of Mac William Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley. "Look (Southward, my boy, and tell me as vre gO| What seest -thou by the loch-head below." ** Oh, a stone-house strong and great, And a horse-host at the gate. And their captain in armour of plate — Grand tlie show ! Great the glancing I High the heroes of this land below Tirawtey^ iKfSH BAIXADS. 159 " And a beautiful Bantierna by liis side. Yellow gold on all her gown-sleev*33 v/iue ; And in her hand a pearl Of a young, little, fair-haired girl Said the Lynott, " It is the Earl! Let us ride To his presence." And before him came the exiles of Tirawley. "God save thee, Mac William," the Lynott thusbegaj; •' God save all here besides of tliis clan ; For gossips dear to me Are all in company — For in these four bones ye see A kindly man Of the Britons — Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley. •' And hither, as kindly gossip-law allows, I come to claim a scion of thy house To foster ; for thy race, Since William Conquer's* days, lla,ve ever been wont to place. With some spouse Of a Briton, A Mac William Oge, to foster in Tirawley. *• And to show thee in what sort our youth are taught, I have hither to thy home of valour brought This one son of my age. For a sample and a pledge For the equal tutelage. In right thought. Word, and action. Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley." When Mac William beheld the brave boy ride and niTj Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spi * William Fiti Adelm de BorgDOv the conqnerer of 150 Book o» With a sigh, and with a smile. He said, — " I would give the spoil Of a county, that Tibbot Moyle, My own son, Were accomplished Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley " When the Lady Mac William she heard him speak And saw the ruddy roses on his chock, Slie said, " I would give a purse Of red gold to the nurse That would rear my Tibbot no worse ; But I seek Hitlierto vainly — Heaven grant that I now have found her in Tirawley I" So they said to the Lynott, *' Here, take our bird 1 And as pledge fir the keeping of thy word. Let this scion here remain Till tliou comest back again : Meanwhile the fitting train Of a lord Shall attend thee With the lordly heir of Cannaught into Tirawley." So back to strong-throng-gathering Garranard, Like a lord of the country with his guard, Came tlie Lynott, before them all. Once again over Clochan-an' dall. Steady-striding, erect, and tall. And his ward On his shoulders; To the wonder of the Welshman of Tirawley. Then a diligent foster-father you would deem The Lynott, tencldng Tibbot, by mead and stream. To cast the spear, to ride. To stem the rushing tide, IHISa BALLADS. lf\ With what feats of body beside, Mijjht beseem A xMac William, Fostered free among the Welshmen of Tirawlej. But the lesson of liell he taugfht him in heart and mindj For to what desire soever he inclined, Of an.ijer, hist, or pride. He had it gratified, Till he ranged the circle wide Of a blind Self-indulgence. Ere he came to youthful manhood in Tirawley. Then, even as when a hunter slips a hound, Lynott loosed him — God's leashes all unbound— In the pride of power and station, And the strength of youthful passion, On the daughters of thy nation. All around, Wattin Barrett ! Oh 1 the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawlej I Bitter grief and burning anger, rage and shame. Filled the houses of tlie Barretts where'er he came ; Till the young men of the Ba^ Drew by night upon his track. And slew him at Cornassack — Small your blame, Sons of Wattin I Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. Said the Lynott, "The day of my vengeance is draii ing near, The day for which, tlirough many a long dark year, I have toiled through grief and sin — Call ye now the Brehons in, And let the plea begin Over the bier Of :Mac William, For an eric upon the Barretts of Tirawlar." 1C2 BOOK ov Then the Brehons to Mac William Burk decre^ An eric upon Clan Barrett for the deed ; And the Lynott's share of the fine, As foster-father, was nine Ploughlands and nine score kine ; But no need Had the Lynott, Neither care, for land or cattle in Tirawley. But rising, while all sat silent on the spot, He said, " The law says — doth it not ? — If the foster-sire elect His portion to reject. He may then the right exact To applot The sliort eric." •• 'Tis the law," replied the Brelions of Tirawley. Said the Lynott, '• I once before had a choice Proposed nie, wherein law had little voice ; But now I choose, and say. As lawfully I may, I applot the mulct to-day ; So rejoice In your ploughlands And your cattle which I renounce throughout Tirawley *' And thus I applot the mulct : I divide The land throughout Clan Barrett on every side Equally, that no place May be without the fiice Of a foe of "Wattin's race — That the pride Of the Barretts May be humbled hence for ever throughout Tirawley. ** I adjudge a seat in every Barrett's hall To Mac William : in every stable I give a stall I&IUU BAL2.AIM. 10| To IMac William: and, beside, W henever a Burk shall ride Through Tirawlej, I provide At his call Needful grooming', Without charge from any Brughaidh of Tirawlcy. •• Thus lawfully I avenge me for the throes Ye lawlessly caused me and caused those Unhaj)py shamefaced ones, Wlio, their mothers expected once, Would have been the sires of sons — O'er whose woes Often weeping, I have groaned in my exile from Tirawley. ** I demand not of you your manhoods; but I take For the Burks will take it — ^your Freedom 1 toi the sake Of which all manhood's given And all good under heaven. And, without which, better even Ye should make Yourselves barren, Than see your children slaves throughout Tirawley ! ♦• Neither take I your eyesight from you ; as you took Mine and ours : 1 would have you daily look On one another's eyes, When the strangers tyrannize By your hearths, and blushes arise. That ye brook Without vengeance Tlie insults of troops of Tibbots throughout Tirawley J •• The vengeance I designed, now is done. And the days of me and mine nearly cu.i — For, fur this, I have broken faith, Teaching him who lies beneath Ifi4 Eooa OF This pall, to merit death ; And my son To his father Stands pledged for other teaching in Tirawlej." Said IVIac William — '• Father and son, han^ H^ss high!" And tlie Lynott they hanged speedily ; But across the salt-sea water, To Scotland with the daughter Of Mac William — well you got her I — Did you fly, Edmund Lindsay, The gentlest of all the Welshmen of Tirawley ♦ 'Tis thus the ancient Ollaves of Erin tell How, tlirougk lewdness and revenge, it befe* That the sons of William Conquer Came over the sons of Wattin, Throughout all the bounds and borders Of the land of Auley J\Iac Eiachra ; Till the Saxon Oliver Cromwell And his valiant, Bible-guided, Eree heretics of Clan London Coming in, in their succession, Rooted out both Burk and Barrett, And in their empty places New stems of freedom planted, With many a goodly sapling Of manliness and virtue ; Which wliile their children chrtv'fb. Kindly Irish of the Irish, Neither Saxons nor ItahHns, May the mighty God of Free^l^JJ* Speed them WcL . Never taking Further vengeance on his people off 'iisswi^ lllbH BAi.LAI>g. 165 THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE. BY J. J. CALLANAN. MANY a day have I made good ale in tlie 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 wealtli tliat I sought one far kind glance from my love. Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from tlie field, That I was not near from terror my angel to shield. She stretched forth her arms, — her nrantle she tiung to the wind, And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find. O would that a freezing sleet-wing'd tempest did sweep, And I and my love were alone, far oflf on the deep ; I'd ask not a sliip, 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 ;— I think as at eve she wanders its mazes nlong. The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of bar song. lae AILEEN THE PIUNTRESS. BY EDWARD WALSH, [The incident related in the followinj? ballad happened about the year 1781. Aileen, or Ellen, was daughter of M'Cartie, of Clidane, an estate oridnally bestowed upon this respectable branch of the family of M'Cartie More, by James, the seventh Earl of Desmond, and which, passing: safe through the contiscations of Elizabeth. Cromwell, and William, remaiaed in their possession until the bcjrinning of the present century. Aileen, who is celebrated in the traditions of the people for her love of hunting):, was the wife of James OX'onnor, of Cluain-Tairbh, grandson of I)a\id, the founder of the Siol t Da, a well- known sept at this day in Kerry. Tliis I 'avid was grandson to Thomas MacTeige O'Connor, of Ahalahanna. head ot the second house of Connor Kerry, who, forfeiting in 1C66, escaped destruction by taking shelter among his relations, the Nagles of Jlonanimy.] Fair Aileen M'Cartie, O'Connor's young bride, Forsakes her white pillow with matronly pride, And calls forth her maidens (their number was nine) To the bawn of her mansion, a-milking the kine. They came at her bidding, in kirtle and gown. And braided hair, jetty, and golden, and brown, And form like the palm-tree, and step like the fawn. And bloom like the wild rose that circled the bawn. As the Guebre's round tower o'er the fane of Ardfert— As the white hind of Brandon by young roes begirt — As the moon in her glory 'mid bright stars outhung— Stood Aileen M'Cartie her maidens among. Beneath the rich kerchief, which matrons may wear, Stray'd ringleted tresses of beautiful hair ; They wav'd on her fair neck, as darkly as though 'Twere the raven's wing shining o'er Mangerton's snow I A circlet of pearls o'er her white bosom lay. Erst worn by thy proud Queen, O'Connor the gay, • * O'Coi.nor, suniamed "/SMgroc/i," or the Gay, was a celebndsi QeH^I ilSMs' race, wLo nourished ii^ tjie fifteenth century. IRISH BALLADS. ItH ikad no'w to the beautiful Ailcen come down. The rarest that ever shed light in tlie Lauiie.* The mar^y -fr'mg'd falluinn-f that floated behind, Gave its hues to the sun-light, its tbUls to the wind — The bruuch tliat refrain'd it some forefather bold Had torn from a sea-king in hattle-tield old ! Around her went bounding two wolf-dogs of speed. So tall in tlieir stature, so pure in their breed ; While the maidens awake to the new-milk's soft fall A soug of O'Connor in Carraig's proud hall. As the milk came outpouring, and the song came out- sung, O'er the wall 'mid the maidens a red-deer out-sprung— Then cheer'd the fair lady — then rusli'd the mad hound- • And away with the wild stag in air-lifted bound 1 The gem-fasten'd/a//Minn is dash'd on the bawn — One spring o'er the tall fence — and Aileen is gone I But morning's rous'd echoes to the deep dells prc?claim The course of that wild stag, the dogs, and the dame ! By Cluain Tairbh's green border, o'er moorland and height. The red-dter shapes downward the rush of his flight — In sunlight his antlers all gloriously flash. And onward the wolf-dogs and fair huntress dashl By Sliabh-Mis now winding, (rare hunting I weenl) He gains the dark valley of Scota the queen J * The river Laone flows from the Lakes of Killamey, and the cele brated KeiTy Pearls are fuund in its waters. t *■ Fulluinn" — The Irish mantle. j Tlie tirst battle fouuht between the Milesians and the Tuatha de Danans for the emjiire of Ireland was at Sliabh-Mis, in Kerry. \n which Sco a, sui Kgyptian princess, and the relict of Mile-suus, was slain. A Talley on thenorihsideof .sliabh-.Mis, called (ilean Scoithin. orthevaJ.* of Scota, is said to be the pl.ice of her interment. J he ancient clirt* nicies aaeart that this battle was fought ioOO yeai-s before the Chri^JtiaA 168 BOOK Of WTio fouJiJ in its bosom a cairn-lifted grave, Wiien Sliabii-Mis first flow'd wilii tlie blood of the brave ! By Coill-Cuaigh's* green shelter, the hollow rocks riJig — Coill-Cuaigli, of the cuckoo's first song in the spring, Coill-Cuaigh of the tall oak and gale-scenting si)ray — . God's curse on the tyrants that wrought thy decay ! Now Maing's lovely border is gloriously won, Kow the towers of the islandf gleam bright in tlie sun, And now Ceall-an Amanach'sJ portals are pass'd, Where headless the Desmond found refuge at last 1 By Ard-na gcreach§ mountain, and Avonmore's head. To the Pearl's proud pavilion the panting deer fled — Where Desmond's tall clansmen spread banners of pride, And rusli'd to the battle, and gloriously died I The huntress is coming, slow, breathless, and pale, Her raven locks streaming all wild in the gale ; She stops — and the breezes bring balm to her brow — But wolf-dog and wild deer, oh 1 where are tliey now ? On Reidhlan-Tigh-an-Earla, by Avonmore's well, His bounding heart broken, the hunted deer fell, * " Coill-Cualgh"— T/^e Wood of the Cuckoo, so called from bein? the favourite haunt of the bird of summer, is now a bleak desolate moor. The axe of the stranger laid its honors low. t •' Castle Island" or the " Island of Keiry" — The stronghold of tho Fitzgeralds. X It was in this churchyard that the headless remains of the un- fortunate Gerald, the ICth larl of Desmond, were privately interred. The liead was carefully pickled, and sent over to the Knglish queen, wlio ha"] it f.xed on London-bridge, 'liiis mighty chieftain possessed more than 670,()UU acres of land, and had a train of o(»0 gentlemen of his own name and r.ice. At the source of tlic iU.ickwater, where he Bought refuge from his mexorable foes, is a mountain called " lieidhlan Tigh-an-Earla," or " The I'lain of tiie Earls House." He was slatn near Caatle Island on 11th November, 15S3. fi " Ard-na gcreach" — The height of the spoils or armies. IRISH BALLADS. 16$ And o'er him the brave hounds all gallantly died, la death still victorious — their fangs in his side 1 'Tis evening — the breezes beat cold on her breast. And Aileen must seek her far home in the west; Yet weeping, she lingers where the mist-wreathes 4X9 cliill. O'er the red-deer and tall dogs tliat lie on the hill 1 Whose harp at the banquet told distant and -wide, This feat of fair Aileen, O'Connor's young bride? O'Daly's — whose c:uerdon tradition hath told, Was a purple-crow a d wine-cup of beautiful gold I SHANE DYMAS' DAUGHTER. It was the eve of hcly St. Bride, The Abbey bells were ringing, And the meek-eyed nuns at eventide The vesper hymns were singing. Alone, by the well of good St. Bride, A novice fair was kneeling ; And there seem'd not o'er her soul to glld« One "shade of earthly feeling." For ne'er did that clear and sainted well Eeflect, from its crystal water, A form more fair than the shadow that fell Ifrora O'Niall's loveiy daughter. Her eye was bright as the blue concaTe, And beaming with devotion ; Her bosom fair as the foam on the wav* Of Erin's rolling ocean. m Tet O ! forgive her that starting tear; From home and kindred riven. Fair Kathleen, many a long, long year. Must be the Bride of Heaven. Her beads were told, and the moonlight shotlft Sweetly on Callan Water, When her path was cross 'd by a holy nun ;— " Beuedicite, fair daughter 1" Fair Kathleen started — well did she know — () what will not love discover! Her country's scourge, and her father's foe,— *Twas the voice of her Saxon lover. ♦♦ Raymond 1" — " Oh hush, my Kathleen dcar» My path's beset with danger; But cast not, love, those looks of fear Upon thy dark-hair'd stranger. «* My red roan steed's in yon Culdee groTe, My bark is out at sea, love ! My boat is moored in the ocean cove ; Then haste away with me, love I ** My father has sworn my hand shall be To Sidney's daugliter given ; And thine, to-morrow, will offer thee A sacrifice to heaven. ** But away, my love, away with me 1 The breeze to the west is blowing; And thither, across the dark-blue sea. Are England's bravest going.* " To a land where the breeze from the orange boirtw Comes over the exile's sorrow, i AttesSing to the settlement oT virgial». by Sir Walter Raldgbt IRISH BALLADS. IJl like the light-'w^int^'d dreams of his early houn^ Or his hope of a happier morrow. *' And there, in some valley's loneliness. By wood and mountain shaded. We'll live in the li