THE KEEN 
 
 OF THE 
 
 SOUTH OF IRELAND 
 
 AS ILLUSTRATIVE OF IRISH POLITICAL AND 
 DOMESTIC HISTORY, MANNERS, MUSIC, 
 AND SUPERSTITIONS. 
 
 COLLECTED, EDITED, 
 
 AND CHIEFLY TRANSLATED BY 
 
 T. CROFTON CROKER. 
 
 “But tell me (I pray you) have they any art in their compositions? 
 
 Or be they any thing witty or well savoured, as poems should be ? 
 
 “ Yea truly, I have caused divers of them to be translated unto me, that I 
 might understand them ; and surely they savoured of sweet wit and good inven- 
 tion, but skilled not of the goodly ornaments of poetry; yet were they sprinkled 
 with some pretty flowers of their natural device, which gave good grace and 
 comeliness unto them.” Spenser’s View of the State of Ireland. 
 
 LONDON. 
 
 PRINTED FOR THE PERCY SOCIETY, 
 
 BY T. RICHARDS, 100, ST. MARTIN’S LANE. 
 
 M.DCCC.XLIV. 
 
RICHARDS, 100 , ST. M A H TIN’S LANE. 
 
COUNCIL 
 
 OF 
 
 ClK per cp g>ocitty* 
 
 President. 
 
 The Rt. Hon. LORD BRAYBROOKE, F.S.A. 
 
 THOMAS AMYOT, Esq. F.R.S. Treas. S.A. 
 WILLIAM HENRY BLACK, Esq 
 WILLIAM CHAPPELL, Esq. F.S.A. 
 
 J. PAYNE COLLIER, Esq. F.S.A. 
 
 C. PURTON COOPER, Esq. Q.C., F.R.S., F S.A. 
 PETER CUNNINGHAM, Esq. 
 
 J. H. DIXON, Esq. 
 
 WILLIAM JERDAN, Esq. F.S.A, M.R.SL. 
 CAPTAIN JOHNS, R.M. 
 
 T. J. PETTIGREW", Esq. F.R.S, F.S.A. 
 
 LEWIS POCOCK, Esq. F.S.A. 
 
 SIR CUTHBERT SHARP. 
 
 WTLLIAM SANDYS, Esq. F.S.A. 
 
 WILLIAM J. THOMS, Esq. F.S.A. 
 
 THOMAS WRIGHT, Esq. M A, F.S.A., Secretary and 
 Treasurer . 
 

 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 ■ ’ 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 
 * 
 
 
 
 ' > . 
 
TO 
 
 THE VISCOUNTESS GUILLAMORE. 
 
 Deign to accept these lays ! how rude so e’er ; 
 
 For once the chieftains of ray native land 
 Bent in attention mute the strains to hear, 
 
 While the rapt minstrel's modulating hand 
 Moved o’er the sounding harp — or damsel bland, 
 With cheek soft blushing, listened to the song 
 
 Which told her beauties, — her attractions scanned, — 
 Flowing in liquid measures from the tongue 
 Of yellow-vested youth, Momonia’s groves among. 
 
 Even he, that master spirit of old Mole, 
 
 The mighty minstrel of “ the Fairy Queen,” 
 
 Heard the sweet ditties with delighted soul, 
 
 Though much the ha rd who sung, he loathed, I ween. 
 Yet spite of all the hatred them between — 
 
 Spite of discordant creed, detested race, — 
 
 Still, when he heard the melancholy keen, 
 
 Or the proud song old deeds of arms retrace, 
 
 His poet’s soul extolled their “ comeliness and grace.” 
 
 Rosamond's Bower, Fulham. 
 2 5th May 1844. 
 

INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Keen^ . which is here written according to its 
 sound to the English ear, is, in its correct modern 
 orthography, Cadine ; — “ anciently and properly,” 
 says O’Brien, “ Cine^l And, he adds, “ it is 
 almost equal in letters and pronunciation to the 
 Hebrew word cina, which signifies lamentation, 
 or crying, with clapping of hands, — lamentatio, 
 plane tus, ploratus, vide 2 Sam. i. 17, and in 
 its plural, Cinim , lamentations, Ez. ii. 10. In 
 Welsh, Kuyn is a complaint.” And according 
 to the Armoric vocabulary of the Jesuit Julian 
 Manoir, Queini signifies to bewail or bemoan, and 
 queinean , a moan or lamentation. 
 
 The word Caoine is explained by Lloyd in his 
 Archmologia Britannica as “ a sort of verse used 
 in elegies or funeral poems, and sometimes also in 
 panegyricks and satyrs.” Dr. O’Brien, in his 
 Irish Dictionary, describes the Caoine as “ the 
 Irish lamentation for the dead, according to cer- 
 tain loud and mournful notes and verses, wherein 
 the pedigree, land, property, generosity, and good 
 
 h 
 
X 
 
 actions of the deceased person, and his ancestors, 
 are diligently and harmoniously recounted, in order 
 to excite pity and compassion in the hearers, and 
 to make them sensible of their great loss in the 
 death of the person whom they lament 
 
 Each versicle (line) of a keen, according to 
 Lloyd, consisted “ of only four^fg^^and each fg,QjL 
 most commonly of t^^s}j kibles. T he^throcufirst 
 require^ no correspondence, but the fourth ought^ 
 to correspond with the terminations of all the 
 following versicles, as in this example : — 
 
 Ruarcach , rathmar , rachtmhar , eaclitach , 
 
 Crodha , creachaeh y cathach , ceadthach , fyc.* 
 
 Sometimes the middle feet are allowed three 
 syllables. 
 
 Mointeach , machaireach , abhuinneach , eigneach” 
 
 To these rules given by Lloyd many others may 
 be added ; but as all I desire to shew the English 
 reader is, that the Irish keen, or funeral elegy, was 
 constructed according to system, it will be, per- 
 haps, best attained by writing, according to the 
 ear, the first verse of a keen on Mr. Hodder, of 
 which a translation will be found in the present 
 little work ; and requesting the reader to sound 
 it with as much of the guttural as can be conve- 
 niently accomplished. 
 
 * A series of complimentary epithets applied to the deceased. 
 
 4 
 
XI 
 
 Ma horr ahow , ma ’ sthore a chree 
 A Vorcig , ror a chree 
 Agus , hredagh a yokee. 
 
 Agus,Jir oge a chorde. 
 
 Mr. Beauford, in a communication to the Royal 
 Irish Academy, published in the 4th volume of 
 the Transactions of that Society, justly observes, 
 “ that the modes of lamentation, and the expres- 
 sions of grief by sounds, gestures, and ceremonies, 
 admit of an almost infinite variety ; so far as 
 these are common to most people, they have very 
 little to attract attention ; but where they consti- 
 tute a part of national character, they then be- 
 come objects of no incurious speculation. The 
 Irish,’ 1 continues that gentleman, “ have been 
 always remarkable for their funeral lamentations, 
 and this peculiarity has been noticed by almost 
 every traveller who visited them and he adds 
 that “ it has been affirmed of the Irish that to 
 cry was more natural to them than to any other 
 nation, and at length the Irish cry became pro- 
 verbial. 11 
 
 The editor is not inclined further to follow Mr. 
 Beauford’s elaborate paper ; it is sufficient here to 
 refer the curious to it for a musical notation of a 
 keen ascribed to the fifteenth century. 
 
 But it is “ no incurious speculation 11 respecting 
 national history and character in connexion with 
 
 b 2 
 
Xll 
 
 the antiquarian discoveries constantly made in 
 Ireland, and the spirit of antiquarian research 
 which is now kindling, to direct attention to the 
 great similarity which exists between Abyssinian 
 and Irish customs, in their respective funeral 
 ceremonies. And this is readily done, by placing 
 before the reader the following passages from the 
 life of Nathaniel Pearce, a seaman, who having de- 
 serted from H.M.S. Antelope at Mocha, embraced 
 the Mahometan religion, and accompanied the late 
 Mr. Salt to Abyssinia, where he was left with the 
 Ras, or sovereign of Tigre, on the return of the 
 expedition to Massowa in 1810. Pearce married 
 an Abyssinian wife, by whom he had a son who 
 died. In 1819 Pearce made his way to Cairo, 
 where he joined Mr. Salt, and arranged the 
 papers from which his life was subsequently pub- 
 lished. In the early part of June 1820, he died at 
 Alexandria. 
 
 When Pearce lost his child, he tells us that 
 “ The priests came, and the customary prayers 
 were read, and my poor child was carried away 
 to be buried, his mother following in a distracted 
 manner. After the funeral, the people returned 
 to my house ; and after they had cried for about 
 half an hour, I begged they would leave off, and 
 let me have a little rest, as I found myself unwell. 
 They complied, and left me with only a few 
 
Xlll 
 
 friends ; but, in a few minutes, the people of 
 Antalo, my acquaintances, hearing of my mis- 
 fortunes, came flocking and began their cry ; and 
 I was obliged to sit and hear the name of my 
 dead boy repeated a thousand times, with cries 
 that are inexpressible, whether feigned or real. 
 Though no one had so much reason to lament as 
 myself, I could never have shown my grief in so 
 affected a manner, though my heart felt much 
 more. Before the cry was over, the people with 
 devves were standing in crowds about my house, 
 striving who should get in first ; and the door 
 was entirely stopped up, till at last my people 
 were obliged to keep the entrance clear by force, 
 and let only one at a time into the house. Some 
 brought twenty or thirty cakes of bread, some a 
 jar of maize, some cooked victuals, fowls, and 
 bread, some a sheep, &c. ; and in this manner I 
 had my house filled so fpll that I was obliged to 
 go out into the yard, until things were put in 
 order and supper was ready. The head priest 
 came with a jar of maize and a cow. What 
 neighbours and acquaintances bring in the man- 
 ner above mentioned is called devves ; the bringers 
 are all invited to eat with you ; they talk and 
 tell stories to divert your thoughts from the sor- 
 rowful subject ; they force you to drink a great 
 deal : but I have remarked that at these cries. 
 
XIV 
 
 when the relatives of the deceased become a little 
 tranquil in their minds, some old woman, or some 
 person who can find no one to talk to, will make 
 a sudden dismal cry, saying, c Oh, what a fine 
 child ! and is he already forgotten \ ’ This puts 
 the company into confusion, and all join in the 
 cry, which perhaps will last half an hour, during 
 which the servants and common people, standing 
 about, drink out all the maize, and, when well 
 drunk, will form themselves into a gang at the 
 door and begin their cry ; and if their masters 
 want another jar of maize to drink, they must 
 pour it out themselves, their s ervants being so 
 intoxicated that they cannot stand. In this 
 manner they pass awYiy a day without taking 
 rest. I must say, however, that the first part of 
 the funeral is very affecting ; and the only fault 
 I can find is, that they bury their dead the in- 
 stant they expire. If a grown person of either 
 sex, or a priest, is by them when they expire, j;he 
 moment the breath departs, the cries and shouts 
 which have been kept up for hours before, are 
 recommenced with fury ; the_priests_read prayers 
 of forgiveness while the body is washed, and the 
 hands put across one another upon the low r er part 
 of the belly, and tied to keep them in that posi- 
 tion, the jaws tied as close as possible, the eyes 
 closed^ thc'Two great toes tied together, and the 
 
XV 
 
 body is wrapped in a clean cloth and sewed up ; 
 after which the skin call eHjieet, the only bed an 
 Abyssinian has to lie upon, is tied over the cloth, 
 and the corpse laid upon a couch and carried to 
 the church, the bearers walking at a slow pace. 
 According to the distance of the house from the 
 church, the whole route is divided into seven 
 equal parts ; and when they come to the end of 
 every seventh part, the corpse is set down, and 
 prayers of forgiveness offered to the Supreme 
 Being for the deceased. Every neighbour helps 
 to dig the grave, bringing their own materials for 
 the purpose, and all try to outwork one another. 
 Indeed, when a stranger happens to die where he 
 has no acquaintances, numbers always flock to 
 assist in burying him ; and many of the towns- 
 people will keep an hour’s cry, as if they had 
 been related. There is no expense for burying, 
 as every one assists his neighbour, as I have men- 
 tioned above. But the priests demand an exor- 
 bitant sum, from those who have property, for 
 prayers of forgiveness ; and I have seen two 
 priests quarrelling over the cloth of a poor dead 
 woman, the only good article she had left. If a 
 man dies and leaves a wife and child, the poor 
 woman is drained of the last article of value she 
 possesses, to purchase meat and drink for those 
 priests, for six months after her misfortune ; 
 
XVI 
 
 otherwise they would not bestow a prayer upon 
 her husband, which would disgrace her, and ren- 
 der her name odious amongst the lowest of the 
 populace. In this manner I have known many 
 families ruined. An Agow servant of Mr. Coffin's, 
 who had been left behind with me on account of 
 ill health, died at Chelicut, where he had formerly 
 taken a wife ; and the little wages he had saved 
 had enabled him and his wife to keep a yoke of 
 oxen, she having a piece of land of her own. 
 Knowing the man to be very poor, and the great 
 regard he had for his master, I was induced to 
 give a fat cow and a jar of maize to the priests, to 
 pray for the poor man’s soul ; this they took, and 
 the poor woman made what corn she had into 
 bread and beer for them ; after which they re- 
 fused to keep their weekly fettart [prayers of for- 
 giveness] for a month, unless she paid them more ; 
 to complete which, and to satisfy these wretches, 
 she was obliged to sell her two oxen ; and the 
 poor woman was again reduced to work and 
 labour hard with the pickaxe. 
 
 64 There are numbers of men and women who 
 get a living by making rhymes and attending at 
 cries, who are often sent for from a great distance 
 to attend the cry of a person of distinction ; and 
 if they are noted .poe ts, they rec eive, higlijiayjTi” 
 corn, cattle, or cloth. I am acquainted with a 
 
XVII 
 
 very handsome middle-aged woman, who, though 
 she has a large estate to live upon, has studied 
 poetry from her infancy, and attends gratuitously 
 at all cries that are very public, and for no other 
 purpose than to distinguish herself. She is 
 reckoned the best poet, either in the Amhara 
 or Tigre language, in the country ; her name is 
 Welleta Yasous ; she was born in Gondar, but 
 her father was a Tigrean. Many great men have 
 offered to marry her, but she could never be per- 
 suaded to listen to their proposals, though I do 
 not mean to say she led a chaste life — a very rare 
 virtue indeed in Ethiopia. The Amhara people 
 differ from the Tigre in their manner of crying 
 and weeping : that of the latter is very affecting, 
 but that of the former is really ridiculous. They 
 dress themselves as fine as possible, and cry, sing, 
 and dance to the beat of a drum. When the 
 cry is over, those who have not far to return to 
 their homes, in general feast with the relatives of 
 the deceased. When such great people as Ito 
 Debbib die, a general cry is held throughout the 
 whole country, both in Amhara and Tigre, and 
 for three days’ journey around, the people will 
 bring devves to the relations. The natives of 
 Tigre are more accustomed to wear mourning 
 than the Amhara ; and some, instead of making 
 mourning cloths, wear their cloth until it is 
 
XV111 
 
 entirely black with dirt, and this serves them for 
 a mourning suit. They in general go into mourn- 
 ing for sixty days. Some wear a piece of blue 
 Surat cloth, such as the merchants bring from 
 the East ; but the true mourning suit of the 
 people of rank is a new white cloth, first dyed 
 yellow with leaver, the wood of a tree which the 
 monks use to dye their garments. When the 
 cloth is dyed yellow, it is again buried in a black 
 mud, common in all plains, called walJcar ; after 
 remaining buried three days, it is taken out and 
 washed, but still remains black. Such suits of 
 mourning will last in a family for many years ; 
 they borrow and lend them also among friends.” 
 
 Now in the very district of Ireland from which 
 the greater portion of the following keens or 
 cries are derived, it is, — at least it was the custom 
 in 1810, and I speak from my own knowledge, — for 
 the peasantry to wear mourning upon the death 
 of any relative or friend, by dying their stockings 
 black. The usual colour of the stockings being 
 yellowish, or light blue, the change to a rusty kind 
 of black, was effected by steeping them in bog 
 water for some days. 
 
 My attention was first attracted to the keen in 
 18 13, by the following circumstance. — In the sum- 
 mer of that year I visited in company with Mr. 
 Joseph Humphreys, recently the principal of the 
 
XIX 
 
 Deaf and Dumb Institution at Claremont, near 
 Dublin, the lake of Gougane barra, in the west of 
 the county of Cork. The object of our little 
 excursion was to witness what is called the “Pat- 
 tern” held on St. John’s eve, when many thou- 
 sands of the peasantry usually assembled there for 
 the purposes of piety! and mirt h, penance and 
 This combination of purposes may 
 sound odd to an English ear, but it nevertheless 
 correctly describes this, and similar meetings in 
 Ireland. We reached the lake about three o’clock 
 in the afternoon of the 23rd June, and spent 
 between four and five hours in observing the pro- 
 ceedings and ceremonies used by the pilgrims 
 upon and about the 
 
 “ green island in lone Gougane barra 
 
 Whence Allua of songs rushes forth like an arrow.” 
 
 After having satisfied our mental craving, we 
 felt it necessary to attend to our bodily appetites, 
 and for this purpose adjourned to a tent where 
 some tempting slices of curdy Kerry salmon had 
 attracted our notice. In this tent, with the ex- 
 ception of about half an hour, we remained located 
 from half-past seven in the evening, until two 
 o’clock the following morning, when we took our 
 departure for Cork. 
 
 After discussing the merits of this salmon, and 
 washing it down with some of “ Beamish & Craw- 
 
XX 
 
 ford's Porter," we whiled away the time by drink- 
 ing whiskey-punch, observing the dancing to an 
 excellent piper, and listening to the songs and 
 story-telling which were going on about us. 
 
 As night closed in, the tent became crowded 
 almost to suffocation, and dancing being out of 
 the question, our piper left us for some other sta- 
 tion, and a man, who I learned had served in the 
 Kerry militia, and had been flogged at Tralee 
 about five years before as a White-boy, began to 
 take a prominent part in entertaining the assem- 
 bly, by singing Irish songs in a loud and effective 
 voice. These songs were received with shouts of 
 applause, and as I was then ignorant of the Irish 
 language, and anxious to know the meaning of 
 what had elicited so much popular approbation, I 
 applied to an old woman near whom I sat, for an 
 explanation or translation, which she readily gave 
 me, and I found that these songs were rebellious 
 in the highest degree. Poor old King George was 
 execrated without mercy ; curses were also dealt 
 out wholesale on the Saxon oppressors of Banna 
 the blessed (an allegorical name for Ireland) ; 
 Buonaparte's achievements were extolled, and 
 Irishmen were called upon to follow the example 
 of the French people. 
 
 Upon the conclusion of one these songs, the old 
 woman, who was a native of Bantry, observed to 
 
XXI 
 
 me, — “Well, if God is just and good to us all, 
 we may live to see the end of that old schemer, 
 Mori arty, and his trason songs, as we did of that 
 poor boy, Flory Sullivan and she proceeded to 
 tell me some particulars about Sullivan, of which 
 all that I now recollect is, that he was her 
 nephew, and was hanged about fifteen years 
 before, 44 for nothing in life — no harm at all, only 
 for singing a song that was not one quarter so 
 bad.” Another old woman who sat near us, con- 
 firmed this by nods of assent ; looking at me and 
 nodding expressively, as much as to say, 44 I know 
 all this to be true, perfectly true and she then 
 began reciting, or rather, murmuring, with a mo- 
 notonous modulation of voice, about a dozen Irish 
 verses, clapping her hands and rocking her body 
 backwards and forwards between each verse. I 
 asked my translator to explain the meaning of what 
 the other old woman said. She told me that it 
 was a keen which Flory Sullivan’s mother had com- 
 posed upon him ; and from her dictation I noted 
 a translation of three of the verses in my sketch- 
 book, which I now accurately transcribe : — 
 
 44 Cold and silent is thy bed. Damp is the 
 blessed dew of night ; but the sun will bring 
 warmth and heat in the morning, and dry up the 
 dew. But thy heart cannot feel heat from the 
 
XXII 
 
 morning sun : no more will the print of your foot- 
 steps be seen in the morning dew, on the moun- 
 tains of Ivera, where you have so often hunted 
 the fox and the hare, ever foremost amongst young 
 men. Cold and silent is now thy bed. 
 
 44 My sunshine you were. I loved you better 
 than the sun itself ; and when I see the sun going 
 down in the west, I think of my boy and of my 
 black night of sorrow. Like the rising sun, he had 
 a red glow on his cheek. He was as bright as the 
 sun at midday ; but a dark storm came on, and 
 my sunshine was lost to me for ever. My sun- 
 shine will never again come back. No ! My boy 
 cannot return. Cold and silent is his bed. 
 
 44 Life-blood of my heart — for the sake of my 
 boy I cared only for this world. He was brave ; 
 he was generous ; he was noble-minded ; he was 
 beloved by rich and poor ; he was clean-skinned. 
 But why should I tell what every one knows ? why 
 should I now go back to what never can be more ? 
 He who was everything to me is dead. He is 
 gone for ever ; he will return no more. Cold and 
 silent is his repose.” 
 
 I have been thus far extremely minute and cir- 
 cumstantial in my account, because, having men- 
 
XX111 
 
 tioned this keen to a lady, she requested a copy 
 of it for her album ; and, with the bad taste of a 
 school-boy (as I then was), I attempted to refine 
 upon some, and to embellish other, expressions. 
 Several versifications, however, were made by 
 various hands, some of which gradually found 
 their way into the poet's corner of local periodi- 
 cals and newspapers long since defunct. But 
 a versification of mine appeared in the Morning 
 Post , in 1815, — having been forwarded, without 
 my knowledge, to that newspaper by a friend 
 (Mr. Sainthill, then of London, and now of 
 Cork), who, I cannot help thinking, has shewn 
 more partiality than cool judgment, in the esti- 
 mate which he has ever formed respecting my 
 productions. And I mention the fact, as, 
 some time afterwards, this keen attracted, from 
 what cause I know not, the notice of the poet 
 Crabbe, who, in a letter to Mr. Sainthill, dated 
 Trowbridge, May 13, 1817, thus refers to it: 
 “ Thank you, too, for the translation from the 
 Irish Lamentation ; it is pathetic, I agree, and 
 the more because there is none of the Christian 
 consolation, none of the meeting again in some 
 quiet country, though quiet is not the heaven of 
 such heroes. But this is all unqualified grief, and 
 certainly more deeply melancholy on that account. 
 I doubt much if it would be improved by any 
 
XXIV 
 
 versification. It is verse, at least it is, in a cer- 
 tain degree, measured ; the sentences are all of 
 nearly equal length, and the close is uniform. 
 No ! I do not think it improvable ; but you have 
 proof, one way or the other, and can judge. At 
 any rate, its simplicity must be in part sacrificed.” 
 The notice bestowed upon the keen, thus acci- 
 dentally procured, induced me to make inquiries 
 for a professional keener, from whom I might 
 procure more than this fragment ; but, from my 
 living at the time in a comparatively civilized dis- 
 trict, I did not, until May 1818, succeed in finding 
 a true representative of the expiring race of 
 Bardic Ireland. This woman, whose name was 
 Harrington, had come from the south-west part 
 of the county of Cork. She led a wandering 
 kind of life, travelling from cabin to cabin about 
 the county, and though, in fact, subsisting upon 
 charity, found everywhere not merely a welcome, 
 but had numerous invitations, on account of the 
 vast store of Irish verses she had collected, and 
 could repeat. Her memory was, indeed, extra- 
 ordinary ; and the clearness, quickness, and 
 elegance, with which she translated from the Irish 
 into the English, though unable to read or write, 
 was almost incredible. Before she began to re- 
 peat, she usually mumbled for a short time (pro- 
 bably the commencement of each stanza, to assure 
 
XXV 
 
 herself of the arrangement)* with her eyes closed, 
 rocking her body backward and forward, as if 
 keeping time to the measure of the verse. She then 
 commenced in a kind of whining recitative ; but, 
 as she proceeded, and as the composition required 
 it, her voice assumed a variety of deep and fine 
 tones, and the energy with which many passages 
 were delivered, proved her perfect comprehension 
 and stron g feelin g of the subject; but her eyes 
 always continued shut, perhaps to prevent inter- 
 ruption to her thoughts, orvher attention being 
 engaged by any surrounding\ object. From the 
 keens which I took down afteAthis woman's reci- 
 tation, literal translations of four were published 
 in “ Researches in the South of Ireland.” 
 
 In November 1818 the editor left Ireland, and 
 with the exception of a short excursion in the sum- 
 mer of 1821, did not revisit that country until the 
 spring of 1825, when he made enquiries afte r Mrs. 
 Harrington. He was told that she had been dead 
 four or five years; but, added the woman who gave 
 him this information, “ there was a gathering of 
 
 all the keeners of Munster at her funeral, and 
 
 ~ - • ••• ... 
 
 they all to be sure keened their best, for the loss 
 of their queen as one might call Mrs. Harrington 
 over them — and one strove again’ the other, and 
 above all there was a widow woman — one Mrs. 
 Leary — that none of them could come near.” — 
 
 c 
 
XXVI 
 
 The editor eagerly sought an introduction to 
 Mrs. Leary, which however was not accomplished 
 until 1829, when upon paying her travelling ex- 
 penses from Bantry to Cork, and promising her 
 a new shawl, she was induced to attend him, and 
 to recite keens and “ old talk” for him. She 
 had a peculiarly sharp and quick expression of 
 countenance — exactly the reverse of Mrs. Har- 
 rington, who was far more dignified and solemn 
 in her manner. Mrs. Leary’s memory was much 
 less retentive, but her utterance was wonderfully 
 rapid; it was evident that Mrs. Harrington adopted 
 an artificial system for the arrangement of her 
 thoughts, and also that she had studied the keen 
 as a poetical composition, and possessed to a 
 certain extent a cultivated mind ; but Mrs. Leary 
 appeared to recite completely independant of 
 memory, and her extemporaneous verses, which in 
 cases of a break down she fluently supplied, always 
 appeared to me to be far superior to those she had 
 learned and attempted to repeat. — She. seldom 
 succeeded in getting beyond three or four verses, 
 but if urged to proceed would improvise intermin^ 
 ably. Through Mrs. Leary’s instrumentality the 
 editor subsequently became acquainted with an 
 old man named Murray, who styled himself “ a 
 land surveyor and philomath,” and who had some 
 knowledge of the Irish language. — From these oral 
 
XXV11 
 
 sources and from three or four manuscripts, for 
 the communication of which the editor is indebted 
 to Dr. Lee of Hartwell, to Sir Lucius O’Brien, 
 Bart., and to Sir William Betham, the present 
 selection of specimens of the keen of the South 
 of Ireland has been made, and is now with some 
 diffidence submitted for the indulgent considera- 
 tion of the members of the Percy Society. As 
 some apology for various defects and blemishes in 
 the translations made by the editor, he has to 
 plead that the versification has been hastily exe- 
 cuted amid active public employment, so much so 
 as scarcely to permit a second reading before the 
 passage was committed to the press. There are 
 many lines which the editor could have improved, 
 such as the line at p. 27, — 
 
 “If by them one could gain,” 
 
 which would unquestionably read better — 
 
 “ If by them there was gain.” 
 
 But this and similar blemishes he hopes will not 
 be severely criticized. The notes might readily 
 have been extended, and possibly with advantage. 
 The passage, p. 19, 
 
 “ On stormy Slieve Mis 
 
 Spread the cry far and wide,” 
 
 will remind the reader of Stanihurst’s translation 
 of Virgil : 
 
XXV111 
 
 u And nymphs in mountains high typ doe squeak hullelo 
 yearning, 
 
 That day cros and dismal,” 8tc. 
 
 Some keens which have come into my possession 
 are so spirit-stirring, that I do not consider it 
 prudent to print them under the sanction of the 
 Council of the Percy Society ; enough, it is pre- 
 sumed, will be fonnd in the present collection of 
 specimens to shew that private and political feeling 
 are often strongly infused into these compositions ; 
 and a reference to a manuscript volume, chiefly 
 of Irish poetry (about 300 pages), which is in 
 the possession of Sir William Betham, will at 
 once illustrate this assertion. It appears to 
 have been principally written in the years 1773 
 and ’74, and contains, among other curious verses, 
 a keen in Irish upon Thomas Maude, which 
 is followed by a very poor translation into English 
 by Patrick Beddan, who was probably the author 
 of the original, and seems to have been a school- 
 master. My translation is made from another 
 copy, in which Thomas Maude is styled Sir ; and 
 there seems little doubt that the person keened 
 was Lord de Montalt. Sir Thomas Maude (the 
 second baronet of that name), resided at Dun- 
 drum in the county of Tipperary, and represented 
 that county in parliament in 1761. He was made 
 governor of the county in June 1770, and in 1776 
 
XXIX 
 
 was created a peer, with the title of Baron de 
 Montalt, of Hovenden, in the county of Tipperary. 
 He died 17th of May, 1777. 
 
 Hail, happy year! hail, happy day 
 That Maude’s vile corse consigned to clay ; 
 
 And blessed be the heavenly dart 
 That pierced a passage to his heart. 
 
 In Dun drum’s vale his mansion stood, 
 
 The seat of falsehood, fraud, and blood, — 
 Hell-hound accursed, whose murderous trade 
 The oaths of perjured wretches made. 
 
 Thro’ iron bars, and walls of stone, 
 
 Burst the heart-broken prisoner’s groan,— 
 
 The orphan’s cry,— the widow’s grief, 
 
 Our God has heard, and grants relief. 
 
 Disgorge, fair earth, his filthy frame, 
 
 That savage dogs may gnaw the same ; 
 
 Let ravens, crows, and eagles come 
 To tear the monster from his tomb. 
 
 The sparkling rills proclaim their joy, 
 
 Nor murmuring brooks the sound alloy ; 
 
 The fields put on a smile of mirth, 
 
 Since cruel Maude was laid in earth. 
 
 By angels wafted to the skies, 
 
 The martyred Sheehy “Vengeance” cries*— • 
 
 Proud dweller with the heavenly choir, 
 
 Whilst thou art doomed to endless fire. 
 
 Pluto and Nero, fiend and man, 
 
 In hellish deeds thy acts outran ; 
 
XXX 
 
 Cromwell and Judas, two in one 
 
 Thou wert, and where they went thou’rt gone. 
 
 Perfidious Maude, thy long farewell, 
 
 To Dundrum’s plain, and sweet Clonmel, 
 
 Gives peace and hope, and all around, 
 
 Rejoice that flames thy soul surround. 
 
 Earth, yield at once thy hell-doom’d dead, 
 
 Too cold thou art to be the bed 
 Of hands by blessed blood profaned, 
 
 Of heart with guilt of malice stained. 
 
 It may be asked* how this display of unchris- 
 tian feeling can be accounted for ? and to answer 
 this it is necessary to go a little into the secret 
 political history of the year 1760 , when Thurot, 
 it may be remembered, in command of a small 
 French squadron, surprised and captured the town 
 of Oarrickfergus, in the North of Ireland. Pre- 
 vious to this a large irregular military force in the 
 pay of France had been organized in the South 
 of Ireland. This body (now recollected as <c the 
 White boys”), was officered and disciplined by 
 intrepid young Irishmen who held commissions in 
 the French service, and wore (for the editor has 
 seen one of the uniform jackets) a white coat 
 with green collar, cuffs, and lining, and the buttons 
 of which were of white metal, and bore the arms 
 of France, — three fleurs de lys. These troops were 
 paid with French coin, which was regularly im- 
 
XXXI 
 
 ported through the custom house in Dublin, and 
 the reason for which fact seems to have puzzled 
 Lord Charlemont (see Hardy's memoir of him.) 
 A Father Sheehy was the chaplain to this foreign 
 force, and contemporary accounts of their turbu- 
 lent proceedings exist in the Gentleman's Maga- 
 zine, and in honest John Wesley's J ournal. Some 
 of the affidavits respecting Sheehy’s conduct, are 
 preserved in the appendix to Sir Bichard Mus- 
 grave’s history of the Irish Eebellions. Sheehy, 
 who appears to have been prosecuted by Mr. or 
 Sir Thomas Maude, was convicted of the murder 
 of an idiot lad named Bird, who it is now gene- 
 rally believed was sent out of the country — at 
 least there is no evidence of the body of Bird ever 
 having been found, and it is said that he was seen 
 (I think) in Newfoundland, alive about the year 
 1802. Although the defeat of Conflans by Hawke 
 had terminated all immediate prospect of an 
 invasion of Ireland by France, Father Sheehy 
 continued to preach the boldest treason to his 
 flock, and the jury, under excited feelings, found 
 him guilty of the murder of Bird, for which 
 he was hanged, as it is still popularly asserted, 
 innocently, and he thus died with the reputation 
 of a martyr. From his tomb, which is in the quiet 
 little church yard of Clogheen, 1 copied the follow- 
 ing inscription. — 
 
XXX11 
 
 HERE LIETH 
 
 THE REM S OF THE REV D . 
 
 NICHOLAS SHEEHY, PARISH 
 PRIEST OF SHANRAHEN, BALLYSHEE han , 
 AND TEMPLETINNY, HE DIED 
 MARCH 15TH 1766, AGED 38 Y RS . 
 ERECTED BY HIS SISTER, CATHERINE BURKE, 
 ALIAS SHEEHY. 
 
 S. JACKSON, FECIT. 
 
 This statement will account for the bitterness 
 of feeling displayed toward Sir Thomas Maude, 
 who is traditionally said to have refused his in- 
 terference with the government in representing 
 Sheehy’s case, as one deserving of merciful con- 
 sideration. And tradition also asserts, that every 
 member of the jury by whom Sheehy was found 
 guilty, died violent or accidental deaths, within 
 a very short space of time. The last is said to 
 have been a Mr. or Colonel Bagwell, who was 
 thrown from his horse, and was found, after being 
 dragged in the stirrup, with the toe of his boot 
 in his mouth. Indeed, the circumstance has 
 passed into a common saying in the county of 
 Tipperary : “ May he die the death of a Bagwell, 
 with the toe of a boot in his mouth.” 
 
 In my note-book I find the following observa- 
 tion, made at the time (15th April, 1825) I 
 copied the inscription from Father Sheehy’s tomb : 
 
XXX111 
 
 “ A hole is left in the side of the tomb to enable 
 the peasantry to procure earth from the grave ; 
 and it is still visited for that purpose by the 
 superstitious, who drink this earth in water as a 
 charm for various diseases, &c.” “ People have 
 
 been known to come from Belfast and beyond 
 Dublin to obtain some of this earth.” 
 
 Circumstances (I think the idea of writing a 
 novel) induced me, in 1834, to apply to Mr. 
 Maurice O’Connell for some additional particulars 
 respecting O’Sullivan Bear or Morty Oge, which 
 application was answered in the kindest manner ; 
 and the particulars which were then furnished 
 to me will be found printed at p. 54. But the 
 letter from that gentleman, inclosing this com- 
 munication, opened a new field of enquiry. 
 
 “ My dear Sir, — I send you Morty Oge’s his- 
 tory as told me by my father ; this version accounts 
 for the mention made of “ the Sloop” in your 
 printed extract. He says you will find Father 
 Sheehy’s story in a book published by one Amyas 
 Griffith, a guager in Ireland, who was dismissed 
 for perjuring himself in the service of the Cun- 
 ningham family, and getting nothing from them, 
 published a history of his own sufferings, in part 
 of which he alludes to Sheehy’s case, and gives a 
 full account thereof. Bird, the man for whose 
 
XX XIV 
 
 murder Sheehy was hanged, lived until 1805. My 
 fatliQr degires me mention that one of the finest. 
 Irish keens, is- that of his aunt, the widow of Arthur 
 O’Leary, who was shot near Carrig-a-nimmy, on 
 the road from Cork to Mill-street. He was the 
 last person shot as an outlaw in Ireland : of course 
 1 you have heard of his case. 
 
 “ Truly yours, 
 
 “ Maurice O’Connell. 
 
 “ Dr. Baldwin, M.P. for Cork, can, I believe, let 
 you have the keen for O’Leary.” 
 
 Acting upon the suggestion thus made to me 
 by Mr. Maurice O’Connell, I wrote to Doctor 
 Baldwin, and received from him the following 
 reply 
 
 “ Camden Place , Cork, July 9th, 1834. 
 
 “ Sir, — I had the honour of receiving your letter 
 and should feel most happy to be able to contri- 
 bute to your collection, but assure you never had, 
 nor do recollect having ever heard the keen of 
 Mrs. O’Leary for her husband. I do not possess 
 any manuscript Irish poems, although I have seen 
 and heard many of them in my younger days. I 
 shall make enquiries when I next go to Muskerry, 
 
XXXV 
 
 and if I succeed in procuring any, shall transmit 
 them to you. 
 
 “ I have the honour to be, Sir, 
 
 <c Your obedient Servant, 
 
 “ Herbert Baldwin.” 
 
 This keen, by Mrs. O’Leary, the editor has not 
 been able to obtain ; but the story of the circum- 
 stances under which it was composed has long 
 been familiar to him, and is thus minutely related 
 by Mr. Windele, in his “ Historical and Descrip- 
 tive Notices of the City of Cork and its Vicinity.” 
 “ I n the south-east angle of the , .jfcik 
 
 crea Abbey] is a low altar-tomb, covering the 
 burial-place of Arthur O’Leary, the 4 outlaw,’ 
 whose name is given as Cornelius in Burke’s 
 4 Commoners. The inscription upon it reads : 
 
 “ Lo ! Arthur Leary, generous, handsome, brave, 
 
 Slain in his bloom, lies in this humble grave. 
 
 Mr. O’Leary was a gentleman of considerable per- 
 sonal property (the then laws not allowing Roman 
 Catholics to hold real estates), and fell a victim 
 to the atrocity of the old penal enactments against 
 the Catholics. He had been an officer in the 
 Hungarian service, and was married to a da ughter 
 of Daniel O’Connell, Esq. of Darrynane (grand- 
 
XXXVI 
 
 father of the Liberator). On his becoming resi- 
 dent in Ireland, his influence over the peasantry 
 of his old patrimonial district excited the jealousy 
 of Mr. Morris, one of its landed proprietors, — a 
 jealousy increased in consequence of one of his 
 horses having won a race against a horse of 
 Morris's. This led to a quarrel. Mr. Morris, 
 probably a gentleman in other respects of honour 
 and character, disdained not to avail himself of 
 the oppressive weapons afforded him by the then 
 existing laws against the Catholics, and attempted 
 a legalized robbery, by publicly claiming from 
 O'Leary, after the race, the very horse which had 
 won it ! tendering him at the same time the price, 
 five pounds, awarded for a papist V horse.* 
 
 “ O’Leary refused compliance, saying c he 
 would surrender his horse only with his life,' and 
 a scuffle ensued, out of which he was glad to escape 
 by flight. A somewhat summary mode of pro- 
 claiming him an outlaw on the spot by magisterial 
 
 authority was instantly adopted, and soldiers 
 were sent out to intercept him on his return to 
 his residence near Mill-street. Two men were 
 placed in ambuscade near Carrig-a-nimmy, who, 
 on O'Leary’s approach fired at him. The first shot 
 
 * “By the 7th William III (cap. 5) Roman Catholics were 
 disabled from having or keeping any horse exceeding £o in 
 value.” 
 
XXXV11 
 
 was without effect, and O’Leary returned the fire 
 from a loaded gun which he carried, at the same 
 time directing his servant to make home with the 
 horses. Another shot fired from the soldiers laid 
 him dead on the road. The penal laws followed 
 him in death ; it was prohibited then to bury him 
 within monastic ground, and O’Leary was buried 
 in a field outside the abbey, where the body lay 
 several years before it was removed into the church. 
 It seems that Morris was tried at Cork for 
 O’Leary’s death but was acquitted. The relatives 
 of the deceased, animated now by the wild justice 
 of revenge, watched their opportunity, and on the 
 7th of July, 1773, the Cork Remembrancer records 
 that c three shots were fired at Abraham Morris, 
 Esq. at his lodgings in Mr. Boyce’s House, Ham- 
 mond’s Marsh. The balls entered a little below 
 the window, but did no mischief.’ Those shots 
 were fired by the brother of the slain gentleman. 
 He had been seen to advance deliberately up 
 Peter’s Church Lane, a gun in his hand. Boyce’s 
 was the corner house, north side of Peter-street. 
 Morris was near the window, and one of the shots, 
 contrary to the statement in the Remembrancer, 
 inflicted such a wound on his side, that he never 
 left that house alive. O’Lear y, the brother, 
 escaped after this act ; and it is said died a few 
 years ago 
 
 * A . » 
 
 in America. 
 
XXXV111 
 
 But the editor’s obligations to Mr. Maurice 
 O’Connell did not terminate here, as he subse- 
 quently forwarded to him a versification of “ the 
 Fisherman’s Keen for his sons” (see p. 77), made 
 by a lady, and to whom the editor takes this 
 opportunity of expressing his thanks. It is a 
 singular coincidence, that at the moment this 
 reached my hands, Mr. Harrison Ainsworth, the 
 popular novelist, had begun a versification of the 
 same keen, which in consequence he abandoned 
 after having written the three following verses. 
 
 THE LAMENTATION OF THE FISHERMAN AT ROARING WATER. 
 
 <t5 Twas on a Monday morning, and fresh the gale it blew, 
 My sons left shore an hour before the night to morning grew : 
 My children they were driven away to perish in the sea, 
 This year has proved a year indeed of ruin unto me. 
 
 “ Cormac, my eldest boy, with his fowling-piece could kill 
 The wild duck, partridge, growse, and black plover of the 
 hill ; 
 
 And every bird that flew in air ; oh, my Cormac ! oh, my son ! 
 Flower of young men, a joy it was to see thee with thy gun. 
 
 u Cormac, my dear, oh thou who wert well-educated, mild, 
 Who wert just and pure, and free from vice, as innocent as 
 a child ; 
 
 Oh ! glorious King of heaven, hadst thou spared to me the 
 best — 
 
 It breaks my heart entirely, I — might have parted with the 
 rest.” 
 
XXXIX 
 
 Another curious coincidence, is, that a copy of 
 an ingenious and well known periodical — “ The 
 Mirror” (for 21st May, 1825, No. cxli, vol. v. p. 
 334) should have accidentally come under the 
 editor’s observation, after the present selection of 
 specimens of the keen of the South of Ireland 
 had been printed, in which may be clearly traced, 
 through a prose translation, a different version of 
 the “Keen on young Ryan” at p. 84. 
 
 The similarity of 
 
 “ Maidens, sing no more in gladness 
 To your merry spinning-wheels,” 
 
 and — “ Lay aside the wheel and flax, and sing 
 not in joy, for there’s a space left in my cabin!” — 
 together with 
 
 “ See the space within my dwelling, 
 
 ’Tis the cold, blank space of death !” 
 
 the mention also of the Banshee — 
 
 “ ’Twas the Banshee’s voice came swelling 
 Slowly o’er the midnight heath,” 
 
 and the corresponding prose passage — “ Did ye 
 not hear the cry of the Banshee crossing the lonely 
 Kilcrumper ?” shew the identity. 
 
 The name of Ryan has also been faithfully 
 preserved. But the whole is too remarkable not 
 to demand here a complete transcript. — 
 
xl 
 
 “ SHELAH lea’s LAMENTATION : AN ANCIENT IRISH 
 KEEN. 
 
 (To the Editor of the Mirror.) 
 
 “ Sir, — I send you the annexed trifle as printed 
 from an original MS. ; it has not come from the 
 press for the purpose of circulation, except amongst 
 the friends of the gentleman who possesses the 
 writing. Should you think it has sufficient inter- 
 est to occupy a column in the Mirror , it is at your 
 service. I am, sir, your obedient servant, 
 
 J. P. 
 
 “ Sing the wild keen of my country, ye whose 
 heads bend in sorrow, in the house of the dead ! — 
 Lay aside the wheel and flax, and sing not in joy, 
 for there’s a space left in my cabin ! — Oweneen the 
 pride of my heart is not here ! — did ye not hear 
 the cry of the Banshee crossing the lonely Kil- 
 crumper ? Or was there a voice from the tomb, 
 far sweeter than song, that whistled in the moun- 
 tain wind, and told ye that the young oak was 
 fallen? Yes, he’s gone! — He went off in the 
 spring of life, like the blossom of the prickly haw- 
 thorn, scattered by the merciless wind, on the cold 
 clammy earth; — never again will he lift in his 
 clasp’d hands the cross of the Holy Virgin, or 
 bend his strong limbs before her altar. — The Gor- 
 soons may hurl now in the mountains, but the 
 strong arm of my Oweneen is not there ! — the 
 
xli 
 
 cold dew of death is upon it, and his eyes which 
 were bright lights to his poor mother’s soul, are 
 closed and sunk in darkness for ever ! — The Ban- 
 shee will come on the morrow, when ye are keening 
 the last keen of sorrow over his head, — its cry 
 will drown your death-song, for Oweneen was the 
 pride of all ! — The howl will be heard in the heath, 
 on the mountain, and o’er the grave of his foster 
 brother, who’s gone before him. — Raise the keen 
 ye whose notes are well known, tell your beads ye 
 young women who grieve ; — lie down on his narrow 
 house in mourning, and his spirit will sleep and be 
 at rest ! — Plant the shamrock and wild fir near his 
 head, that strangers might know who is the fallen ! 
 Soon again will your keen be heard on the moun- 
 tain, for before the cold sod is clodded over the 
 breast of my Oweneen, Shelah the mother of 
 keeners will be there ! the voice which before was 
 loud and plaintive, will be still and silent, like the 
 ancient harp of her country ! — Let the long green 
 grass grow thickly near the graves of my fore- 
 fathers, that the little mountain daisy might not 
 sprout up alone. — Let Eileen Bawn, the best of all 
 keeners, lay me clean on my death-bed, that the 
 last of the Ryans might go in peace to her grave. 
 — See that the lights at my wake be as many as 
 my grey hairs, which I’ll carry in pride to 
 my tomb ; for I am Shelah- Lea, the grey-headed 
 
 cl 
 
xlii 
 
 keener. — ThePillabeen-meek will scream round my 
 cabin door, when your song of grief is singing. — 
 There will be lights seen dancing on Cairn Thierna, 
 and moving quickly across the wet bog, and let ye 
 not follow, for the evil spirit is the guide, and will 
 lead you to darkness. — Come to my grave when 
 the yellow leaves off the trees are upon it, and 
 say, “ rest, the soul of Shelah the keener ! whose 
 tongue is now silent in the place where the rain 
 nor the storms cannot enter.” — Take your rounds 
 at my head-stone, count your beads, that my ghost 
 might be quiet in the shroud, that was made by 
 Eileen. — There’s a tree in Kilcrumper that hangs 
 over the lonely, in its branches the dark bird of 
 night keens the whole night long. — I go there when 
 Shain Ogen has done ploughing, when the bat flaps 
 its wings round the hill, when all is dark as the 
 silence of night. — Once I went as the moon shone 
 upon the bed of my Oweneen, — the grey stone that 
 marked his head was bright, yet my soul was as 
 dark as before. — Moss and weeds flourished around 
 me, and the wind was not heard on the hill— there 
 was a voice from the furze- brake close by me, that 
 howled like a funeral keen ; and I knew that the 
 Banshee had warning that Shelah was soon to 
 come there. — The croak of the raven was heard 
 thrice in the barn that Oweneen built, and I felt 
 that I soon would be borne to the grave of my 
 White-headed Boy.” 
 
xliii 
 
 What has been stated, when taken in connexion 
 with the following pages, will show that the 
 custom of keening has materially tended to keep 
 alive the memory of past circumstances in the 
 heart of the Irish peasant, which it were better 
 for his sake, and for the honour of England, should 
 be buried in oblivion. But there they rankle; and 
 some documentary evidence will probably shortly 
 be laid before the public, to shew the kind of jus- 
 tice that Ireland has had meted out to her at the 
 hands of England, and the means by which some 
 of the boldest castles and fairest acres have been 
 obtained. 
 
 “ My gossips, the ways of the world I’ll explain ; 
 
 They are falsehood, and meanness, and cheating and 
 squeezing,” &c. — p. 97. 
 
 The hour has arrived when all men of all parties, 
 who love their common country, must make up 
 their mind upon an important question, — that of 
 the repeal of the Act of Union between the two 
 countries. A nation’s voice cannot be stifled, nor 
 can the strongest army that England ever mus- 
 tered, subdue, in the mind, a conviction based on 
 truth. In this point of view, Mr. O’Connell has 
 done a great permanent good to Ireland, by 
 forcing the tardy attention of England towards her 
 people and her resources. He is, indeed, a great 
 moral conqueror, and the blessed steps of Father 
 
 d 2 
 
xliv 
 
 Mathew have materially aided him in his progress. 
 O’Connell has had to lead, as well as to contend 
 with, fierce and stormy spirits ; but the path of 
 Mathew has been love and good will towards all. 
 And it must be the sincere prayer of all honest 
 men, that the elements of discord will now 
 
 “ mingle in peace.” 
 
 The fact is, justice can only be rendered to Ire- 
 land, by Englishmen of all classes making them- 
 selves better acquainted with her people, and 
 acquiring even so slight a glimmering of know- 
 ledge, as to be able to perceive that the Irish, with 
 certain superstitions — ideas, if the reader pleases, 
 — have feelings much like those of other persons of 
 other countries, with hearts much readier to forgive 
 than to forget wrongs by which humanity has been 
 outraged. 
 
 The editor’s object is, however, not to write a 
 political essay, but to shew how powerful an aid 
 the keen has been, not merely in political, but in 
 religious warfare in Ireland. At a meeting of the 
 Irish Society held in Cork on the 14th October, 
 1842, the Rev. W. L. Beaufort in the chair, the 
 following statement with reference to the keen was 
 made by Mr. Michael Moriarty : 
 
 “Sometime since, in his brother’s parish, a po- 
 tato boat, while conveying potatoes from Tralee to 
 
xlv 
 
 Dingle, was wrecked. The captain and crew, who 
 were all converts, were providentially saved, but 
 the poor captain, from the effects of the wrecking 
 became ill, and subsequently died. While on his 
 death-bed he was attended by his two sisters, 
 clever women, commonly called ‘ Keeners.’ Every 
 entreaty was used by these women to induce the 
 poor man to recant from the religion he had 
 adopted, and have the priest to attend him, but 
 unavailingly, and so earnest was one of the sisters 
 in her entreaties, that during six nights previous 
 to his death, she never undressed herself. God, 
 however, did not permit her wishes to be carried 
 into effect, and the poor man died in the faith he 
 had adopted. After his death there was some 
 work about the spot he was to be interred in, and 
 it became necessary to swear an affidavit before a 
 magistrate in order to get the assistance of the 
 police to prevent a breach of the peace. The 
 poor man was buried, and one of the sisters com- 
 posed the following 4 Keen,’ which has been 
 translated by a lady acquainted with the Irish 
 language : — 
 
 ‘ In the deep mighty ocean the dark night it found thee, 
 The tides and the billows were foaming around thee, 
 When, doubling the headland — oh ! here’s the sad token, 
 Thy heart and thy vessel together were broken. 
 
 ‘ My sorrow, my sorrow, it drives me to madness, 
 
 Oh ! never again shall my sad heart know gladness, 
 
xlvi 
 
 Oli ! sorely it grieves me, to think that those dangers 
 
 And troubles came o’er thee when toiling for strangers. 
 
 4 Oh ! would that thy grave were made imder the billow ! 
 
 And would that the wild shark himself were thy pillow ! 
 
 Than thus on thy bed in thy senses to die, 
 
 And our Church and her priesthood so boldly deny.’ 
 
 44 The other sister composed the following: — 
 
 ‘ Oh ! Denis, Denis, can it be ? 
 
 And hast thou left us so ? 
 
 The gem, the flower of all thy race, 
 
 With heretics to go.’ 
 
 44 The annexed verse alludes to the custom in 
 Catholic countries, of placing a new coffin when 
 put into the ground, under the old coffins which 
 had been previously in the grave : — 
 
 ‘ We’ll lay thee in thy father’s grave, 
 
 Beneath thy mothers head ; 
 
 No parson o’er thee e’er shall pray. 
 
 Or Bible e’er be read. 
 
 ‘No children of Dunlevy’s line 
 Are ye, nor of his race ; 
 
 Beneath him ye shall never lie. 
 
 Nor in his tomb find place. 
 
 4 His gatherings and his earnings all 
 They may belong to thee, 
 
 But we his kindred, flesh, and blood, 
 
 Deep, deep, in him are we.’ ” 
 
xlvii 
 
 The power of the keen as a vehicle for conveying 
 the sentiments of the heart, seems to have been 
 completely misunderstood in England from the 
 time of Elizabeth to the days of Victoria. 
 
 44 Now, lastly (says Barnabie Rich, in his 44 De- 
 scription of Ireland,” 1610), M. Stanihurst seem- 
 eth to find fault at the manner of the Irish 
 burials, and sayeth : 4 They follow the dead corps 
 to the grave, with houling and barbarous outcries, 
 pittifull in apparanee, whereoff grew (as I suppose) 
 To weep Irish 
 
 44 1 think it would be admired in any part of 
 Christendom, to see the manners of the Irish, how 
 they used to carry their dead to their graves, in 
 the remote parts of the countrey ; so a straunger 
 that had never seen the sight before, at the first 
 encounter, would beleeve that a company of hags 
 or hellish fiendes were carrying a dead body to 
 some infernall mansion ; for what with the un- 
 seemlinesse of their shewes, and the il-faring 
 noyse they doe make, with their howling and 
 crying, an ignorant man would sooner beleeve 
 they were devils of hell, then Christian people* 
 But as M. Stanihurst saith, it is pittifull in ap- 
 pearance, pittifull indeed, that a people so many 
 yeares professing Christianitie, should yet shew 
 themselves more heathen-like, then those that 
 never heard of God. 
 
xlviii 
 
 “ M. Stanihurst farther supposeth, that the 
 proverbe, to weepe Irish, had heere the first 
 beginning : It may be so, and it is troth, that in 
 kitties and townes where any deceaseth that is 
 of worth or worthinesse, they wil hyre a number 
 of women to bring the corps to the place of buriall, 
 that for some small recompence given them, will 
 furnish the cry, with greater shrieking and howl- 
 ing, then those that are grieved indeede, and 
 have greatest cause to cry ; and hereupon ariseth 
 this proverbe, to weepe Irish, that is to say ; To 
 weepe at pleasure, without cause or griefe.” 
 
 John Wesley, in his Journal dated 31 May, 
 1750, records that he — 
 
 “ Rode to Rathcormuck. There being a great 
 burying in the afternoon, to which people came 
 from all parts ; Mr. Loyd read part of the burial 
 service in the church, after which I preached on 
 ‘ The end of all things is at hand/ I was ex- 
 ceedingly shocked at (what I had only heard of 
 before) the Irish howl which followed. It was 
 not a song, as I supposed, but a dismal inarticu- 
 late yell, set up at the grave, by four shrill-voiced 
 women, who (we understood) were hired for that 
 purpose ; but I saw not one that shed a tear, for 
 that, it seems, was not in the bargain/ 1 
 
 And this is the general impression on the En- 
 glish mind respecting keens and keeners almost to 
 the present hour. 
 
xlix 
 
 A writer under the signature of O’G., in the 
 Dublin Penny Journal, (Yol. i. No. 30, January 
 1838), states, that cc the learned Jezreel Jones, in 
 speaking of the Shillah or Tarmazeght, a language 
 or dialect of the inhabitants of the mountainous 
 parts of south-western Barbary, in a letter to 
 John Chamberlayn, dated 4 Westmonasterii, 24 
 December, 1714,’ declares that 4 the Shilhenses 
 have the same custom as the Arabs, the Jews, and 
 the Irish, of lamenting over the dead, uttering 
 various cries of grief, tearing their hair, and asking 
 the deceased why did he die ? why did he leave 
 them ? and desiring that death would seize them 
 also, in order that they might rejoin him whom 
 they lamented ! According to an old work, Arm- 
 strong’s History of Minorca, the peasantry of that 
 island, in their lament, ask the dead 4 if he had not 
 food, raiment, and friends, and wherefore, then, 
 did he die 
 
 The writer in the Dublin Penny Journal thus 
 describes the effect produced on his mind by the 
 keen ; and his conduct on the occasion. 
 
 44 The first time I ever heard the funeral cry, I 
 was greatly struck by it, owing, perhaps, in some 
 degree to its coming upon me quite unexpectedly. 
 I was riding along an unfrequented road in one of 
 the most retired parts of the County of Meath ; 
 I well remember it was a lovely morning early in 
 
1 
 
 spring : the trees were rapidly assuming their most 
 brilliant clothing of green, there was a genial 
 warmth in the air, the sun shone out brightly, and 
 the lively songs of the birds added their animating 
 influence at once to cheer and tranquillize the 
 feelings, and I sauntered on in that delightful state 
 of mind which one enjoys, when, all the cares and 
 anxieties of life for a few short moments utterly 
 forgotten, one is engaged solely in drinking in a 
 variety of undefinable, but yet highly pleasurable 
 emotions from every quarter. A faint wailing 
 sound, so wild and indescribable, that it seemed 
 almost something unearthly, came floating on the 
 light morning breeze, but so indistinct and so faint 
 from distance, that it was repeated more than once 
 before I could be quite certain it was more than 
 mere imagination. However, I heard it again 
 and again at intervals of a few seconds, the sound 
 becoming each time more distinct as I approached 
 the quarter from whence it came, or the wind bore 
 it a little more strongly towards me. From a sort 
 of murmur it swelled out into a full tone, and 
 then died away into silence ; I know nothing it 
 resembled so much as the sounds of an Eolian 
 harp, as they rise gradually in strength, and then 
 sink into the softest cadences. At length reach- 
 ing a turn in the road, I perceived at some dis- 
 tance a vast crowd of people advancing towards 
 
li 
 
 me, and stretching along a considerable extent of 
 ground : part of them only I was able to see, the 
 remainder were concealed from my view by the 
 windings of the road. In the front, where the 
 crowd was most dense, I distinguished by their 
 cloaks (several of which being scarlet gave a 
 highly pictorial effect to the group) twenty or 
 thirty females, and in the midst of them a bier 
 carried by men, who were occasionally relieved by 
 others of those nearest to them. I soon perceived 
 that the funeral song was begun by some of these 
 women, that it was gradually swelled by the voices 
 of the remainder, and the men joined occasionally 
 their deeper tones. The effect of the whole was 
 most striking, and had something even grand in 
 it ; the song was guttural, but by no means mono- 
 tonous, and whether the contrast with the bright 
 and joyous spring morning may not have rendered 
 it more melancholy and lugubrious I know not, 
 but it certainly struck me as the most singularly 
 plaintive and mournful expression of excessive 
 grief that could well be imagined. 
 
 “ As I drew nearer I perceived that the persons 
 who composed the cortege were affected by very 
 different feelings indeed. Some few of those who 
 followed close to the coffin were evidently overcome 
 by the most heartfelt and poignant affliction. 
 Some of the women especially gave way to the 
 
lii 
 
 most unrestrained and vehement expression of the 
 liveliest sorrow, weeping loudly, throwing up their 
 hands and clapping them together, or striking 
 them violently against their bosoms. It occurred 
 to me involuntarily that it was no small trial of the 
 true pathos of this ancient melody to see that it 
 bore with undiminished effect so close a juxta- 
 position with the real demonstration of genuine and 
 unartificial grief ; indeed I fancied at times that 
 some of them, even in the utmost abandonment 
 of their sorrow, joined in the wail of the other 
 women, who, by their undisturbed countenances, 
 and unagitated demeanour, pointed themselves 
 out as the professional keeners who assisted on the 
 occasion. 
 
 “ As soon asthe foremost persons came up to me, 
 I raised my hat for a moment, and turned my 
 horse’s head about, aware that it is deemed unlucky 
 if any person meeting a funeral passes it without 
 turning back to accompany it at least some short 
 distance. I am always anxious to yield to such 
 prejudices as this among my countrymen ; it costs 
 not much trouble to show some slight respect to 
 their feelings, and I think one is especially called 
 on so to do upon such occasions. It always ap- 
 peared to me that trifles like these serve greatly 
 to draw together the bonds of charity and friendly 
 feeling between the different classes in this much 
 
liii 
 
 divided country, which it is to be lamented are 
 often heedlessly and rudely broken through by 
 many who, unobservant of mankind, know not that 
 it is one of those immutable laws inherent in our 
 very nature, and nowhere of more force than in 
 the bosoms of our warm-hearted countrymen, that 
 a far deeper feeling of gratitude and affection is 
 engendered by an expression of sympathy or par- 
 ticipation either in sorrow or joy, than by laboured 
 kindnesses, which in truth are often felt as 
 absolutely oppressive. 
 
 “ By reining in my horse, I gradually allowed the 
 whole crowd to pass me by, though it seemed al- 
 most to be interminable ; I was astonished at find- 
 ing that it extended probably along upwards of a 
 mile of the road and consisted of not less than two 
 thousand people. I then resumed my journey, 
 and in a few minutes the intervening ground hid 
 the entire procession from my view, and the funeral 
 wail gradually became distant, and at last totally 
 died away. 
 
 “ I subsequently learned that the deceased was a 
 very extensive farmer, claiming to be a descendant 
 of one of the old native families, who derive their 
 lineage from the ancient princes of our land ; 
 that he had just terminated a long life spent from 
 his childhood on his paternal inheritance, in con- 
 stant intercourse with the poor peasantry, by whom 
 
liv 
 
 he was much beloved, not only in consequence of 
 his ancient descent, but from his having had the 
 character of exercising lavishly the hospitality of 
 the olden time, besides possessing pre-eminently 
 in his own person many of the other virtues and 
 qualities which stand highest in the estimation of 
 our countrymen. 
 
 “ It is an interesting fact that Curran, who was 
 from his infancy familiar with the language of his 
 country, and in his youthful days took especial 
 pleasure in constantly mixing in the social meet- 
 tings of the peasantry, has been known to declare 
 that he derived his first notions of poetry and 
 eloquence from the compositions of the hired 
 mourner over the dead.” 
 
 This circumstance is somewhat floridly related 
 by Mr. Regan, one of the biographers of Curran. 
 
 “ The wakes in the country parts of Ireland, 
 present an odd assemblage of different characters, 
 and of different passions. The real genius of the 
 people is nowhere so well or so openly displayed, 
 as at those nightly meetings. It is a theatre on 
 which tragedy, comedy, broad farce, match-mak- 
 ing, speech-making, &c. — all that is bizarre and 
 comical in the genuine Irish character — develope 
 themselves with a freedom truly fantastic. Here 
 the scenes are shifted with a rapidity of change, 
 and an unrestrained succession, quite surpassing 
 
lv 
 
 any other drama. The transitions from the 
 deepest and most impassioned tones of sorrow, to 
 mirth and humour, are quick as thought. There 
 is a melancholy in their mirth, and a mirth in 
 their melancholy, which is often found to prevail 
 in their music, and which was a character im- 
 pressed on national sensibility by successive 
 changes of ill fortune ; and, as no one passion is 
 permitted to continue very long, they mingle and 
 vary like shades of light and darkness, playing 
 upon the surface of a sullen stream ; or like those 
 blazes intermittingly shot forth by the Persian 
 fire-flies on the meinham tree, which, glittering in 
 their confusion, shed their most beautiful lights 
 in regular irregularity. 
 
 u At one of those national carnivals, where 
 the common excitements of snuff, tobacco, and 
 whiskey, and the fruits of plundered orchards, are 
 abundantly supplied, Mr. Curran felt the first 
 dawn, the new-born light and favourite transport, 
 which almost instantly seized upon his imagina- 
 tion, and determined his mind to the cultivation 
 and pursuit of oratory. It was produced by the 
 speech of a tall, finely-shaped woman, with long 
 black hair, flowing loosely down her shoulders ; 
 her stature and eye commanding ; her air and 
 manner austere and majestic. On such occasions, 
 nothing is prepared ; all arises out of the emotion 
 
liv 
 
 he was much beloved, not only in consequence of 
 his ancient descent, but from his having had the 
 character of exercising lavishly the hospitality of 
 the olden time, besides possessing pre-eminently 
 in his own person many of the other virtues and 
 qualities which stand highest in the estimation of 
 our countrymen. 
 
 “ It is an interesting fact that Curran, who was 
 from his infancy familiar with the language of his 
 country, and in his youthful days took especial 
 pleasure in constantly mixing in the social meet- 
 tings of the peasantry, has been known to declare 
 that he derived his first notions of poetry and 
 eloquence from the compositions of the hired 
 mourner over the dead.” 
 
 This circumstance is somewhat floridly related 
 by Mr. Regan, one of the biographers of Curran. 
 
 “ The wakes in the country parts of Ireland, 
 present an odd assemblage of different characters, 
 and of different passions. The real genius of the 
 people is nowhere so well or so openly displayed, 
 as at those nightly meetings. It is a theatre on 
 which tragedy, comedy, broad farce, match-mak- 
 ing, speech-making, &c. — all that is bizarre and 
 comical in the genuine Irish character — develope 
 themselves with a freedom truly fantastic. Here 
 the scenes are shifted with a rapidity of change, 
 and an unrestrained succession, quite surpassing 
 
lv 
 
 any other drama. The transitions from the 
 deepest and most impassioned tones of sorrow, to 
 mirth and humour, are quick as thought. There 
 is a melancholy in their mirth, and a mirth in 
 their melancholy, which is often found to prevail 
 in their music, and which was a character im- 
 pressed on national sensibility by successive 
 changes of ill fortune ; and, as no one passion is 
 permitted to continue very long, they mingle and 
 vary like shades of light and darkness, playing 
 upon the surface of a sullen stream ; or like those 
 blazes intermittingly shot forth by the Persian 
 fire-flies on the meinham tree, which, glittering in 
 their confusion, shed their most beautiful lights 
 in regular irregularity. 
 
 “ At one of those national carnivals, where 
 the common excitements of snuff, tobacco, and 
 whiskey, and the fruits of plundered orchards, are 
 abundantly supplied, Mr. Curran felt the first 
 dawn, the new-born light and favourite transport, 
 which almost instantly seized upon his imagina- 
 tion, and determined his mind to the cultivation 
 and pursuit of oratory. It was produced by the 
 speech of a tall, finely-shaped woman, with long 
 black hair, flowing loosely down her shoulders ; 
 her stature and eye commanding ; her air and 
 manner austere and majestic. On such occasions, 
 nothing is prepared ; all arises out of the emotion 
 
lvi 
 
 excited by surrounding circumstances and objects; 
 and, if the Corinne has been highly celebrated by 
 Madame De Stael, this woman has found in Mr. 
 Curran an eulogist not surpassed even by the en- 
 thusiastic and rapturous descriptions of the French 
 novelist, by a recorder not less national, certainly 
 not less touching. 
 
 “ Some of the kindred of the deceased had 
 made funeral orations on his merits ; they mea- 
 sured their eulogies by his bounties; he was 
 wealthy ; his last will had distributed among his 
 relations his fortune and effects ; but to this 
 woman, who married without his consent, to her, 
 his favourite niece, a widow, and with many 
 children, he carried his resentment to the grave, 
 and left her poor and unprovided for. She sat 
 long in silence, and at length, slowly and with a 
 measured pace approaching the dead body from 
 a distant quarter of the room, with the serenest 
 calm of meditation, laying her hand on his fore- 
 head, she paused ; and, whilst all present expected 
 a passionate and stormy expression of her anger 
 and disappointment, she addressed these few 
 words to him : 4 Those of my kindred who have 
 uttered praises, and poured them forth with their 
 tears to the memory of the deceased, did that 
 which, by force of obligation, they were bound 
 to do. They have been benefited ; they have, in 
 
 
 
lvii 
 
 their different degrees, profited by that bounty 
 which he could no longer withhold. He forgot 
 in his life the exercise of that generosity by which 
 his memory might now be held regarded and em- 
 balmed in the hearts of a disinterested affection. 
 Such consolation, however, as these purchased 
 praises could impart to his spirit, I would not by 
 any impiety tear from him. Cold in death is this 
 head, not colder than that heart when living, 
 through which no thrill of nature did ever vibrate. 
 This has thrown the errors of my youth, and of 
 an impulse too obedient to that affection which I 
 still cherish, into poverty and sorrow, heightened 
 beyond hope by the loss of him who is now in 
 heaven, and still more by the tender pledges he 
 has left after him on earth. But I shall not add 
 to these reflections the bitter remorse of inflicting 
 even a merited calumny ; and, because my blood 
 coursed through his veins, I shall not have his 
 memory scored or tortured by the expression of 
 my disappointment, or of the desolation which 
 sweeps through my heart. It therefore best be- 
 comes me to say, his faith and honour in the other 
 relations of life were just and exact ; and that 
 these may have imposed a severity on his principles 
 and manners. The tears which now swell my eyes 
 are those I cannot check ; but they rise like bubbles 
 
 e 
 
Iviii 
 
 on the mountain stream, — they burst, never more 
 to appear.’ ” 
 
 The editor has only, in concluding this lengthy 
 but he hopes not uninteresting preface, to acknow- 
 ledge the many marks of polite attention which 
 he has received from several parties to whom he 
 had occasion to apply for information, especially 
 from the Right Hon. the Knight of Kerry and 
 the Knight of Glin. 
 
lix 
 
 TO 
 
 CROFTON CROKER. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 0 well fed scholar, of the cheerful face, 
 
 How neat your hand to plane and polish verse is ! 
 To English turning, with a silken grace, 
 
 The branchy Irish, that so sweet and terse is. 
 
 Early and late, once proudly sung the bard, 
 
 The glowing strains his busy brain created ; 
 
 And surely on such honied fame ’twas hard 
 
 That none his valued stores should have translated. 
 
 But Erin’s long neglected minstrelsy, 
 
 Thy skill will save — nor shall it be neglected ; 
 
 A merry champion has it found in thee, 
 
 Who seeks to make our country’s name respected. 
 
 CEANGAL. 
 
 Go on ! and prosper, make a glorious gleaning, 
 
 1 pray the Fays may aid you in your keening. 
 
 David Murphy. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Fage 
 
 The Lament of O’Gnive . . . .1 
 
 Dr. Geoffry Keating . . . .4 
 
 The Exile’s Farewell . . . G 
 
 On the Miseries of Ireland . . . .7 
 
 Keen on Maurice Fitzgerald, knight of Kerry . .12 
 
 Keen by Felix Mac Carthy for the loss of his four children 36 
 Keen on John Fitzgerald, Esq., son of the knight of Glin . 43 
 
 Keen for O’Sullivan Bear . . . .52 
 
 The Fair Keen on Edmond Walsh, and Arthur Leary . 60 
 
 Keen on Mr. Hugh Power . . . .66 
 
 Keen on Sir Richard Cox . . . .75 
 
 The Fisherman’s Keen for his sons . , .77 
 
 The Widow Lane’s Keen on her daughter . . 80 
 
 Keen on young Ryan . . . . .84 
 
 The Smith’s Keen . . . . .87 
 
 Keen on Mr. Samuel Hodder . . . .90 
 
 Keen on young Drinan . . . .95 
 
 The Convict of Clonmel . . . .98 
 
 Keen on the Editor’s departure from Ireland . .100 
 
SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN OF THE 
 SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 THE LAMENT OF O’GNIYE. 
 
 VERSIFIED FROM THE IRISH BY MR. CALLANAN. 
 
 After a literal translation in O’Connor’s Dissertations on Irish 
 History. Here reprinted from the “ Recluse of Inchidony, and 
 other Poems, by J. J. Callanan.” (London, 1830), in which 
 volume it is thus prefaced : — 
 
 “Fearflatha O’Gniamh, was family olamh, or bard, to the 
 O’Neil of Clanaboy, about the year 1556. The poem, of which 
 the following lines are the translation, commences w r ith ‘ Mo 
 thruaid mar atdid gaoidhil ,’ ” p. 135. 
 
 Mr. Callanan’s versification was first printed in Bolster’s Maga- 
 zine (Cork, No. 5, January 1827), and in a letter, addressed to 
 the author of a memoir of Mr. Callanan in a subsequent No. of 
 the same publication, upon the appearance of these verses, 
 Callanan says — “ I am much indebted to you for the manner in 
 which my ‘ O’Gnive’ came to light ; your deep reading in our 
 history, and acquaintance with the past state of Ireland, enabled 
 you to elucidate it very satisfactorily.” The notes to be ascribed 
 to this source are distinguished by a star at the end. 
 
 As it is stated in the Transactions of the Iberno- Celtic Society, 
 that this poem “ Upon the miserable condition of the Irish in those 
 parts of the country where the power of the English prevailed,” 
 
 B 
 
2 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 consists of ninety-two verses, it is evident that Mr. Callanan has 
 versified only a very small portion of it, and the first line, which 
 signifies literally “ Alas for the state of the Gathelians,” is suffi- 
 cient to shew how much in his version he has embellished the 
 original. 
 
 An imperfect translation may be seen in O’Connor’s Disser- 
 tations on the History of Ireland (p. 72, Christie’s Ed. Dublin, 
 1812). “ Copies of the original are in the hands of almost every 
 
 Irish scholar.” Trans. Ib. Celtic Soc. 4to. Dublin, 1820, p. 
 cxxxvii. 
 
 How dimm’d is the glory that circled the Gael, 
 
 And fall’n the high people of green Innisfail ;* 
 
 The sword of the Saxon is red with their gore ; 
 
 And the mighty of nations is mighty no more ! 
 
 Like a bark on the ocean, long shattered and tost 
 On the land of your fathers at length you are lost ; 
 The hand of the spoiler is stretched on your plains, 
 And you’re doom’d from your cradles to bondage and 
 chains. 
 
 0, where is the beauty that beam’d on thy brow ? 
 Strong hand in the battle ! — how weak art thou now ! 
 That heart is now broken that never would quail, 
 
 And thy high songs are turned into weeping and wail. 
 
 Bright shades of our sires ! from your home in the 
 skies, 
 
 O blast not your sons with the scorn of your eyes ! 
 
 * Innisfail — the island of destiny, one of the names of Ireland.* 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 3 
 
 Proud spirit of Gollam,* * * § how red is thy cheek, 
 
 For thy freemen are slaves, and thy mighty are weak! 
 
 O’Nealf of the Hostages ; — ConJ whose high name, 
 On a hundred red battles has floated to fame, 
 
 Let the long grass still sigh undisturbed o’er thy sleep ; 
 Arise not to shame us, awake not to weep. 
 
 In thy broad wing of darkness enfold us, O night ! 
 Withhold, 0 bright sun, the reproach of thy light ; 
 For freedom, or valour, no more canst thou see, 
 
 In the home of the brave, in the isle of the free. 
 
 Affliction’s dark waters your spirits have bow’d, 
 
 And oppression hath wrapped all your land in its 
 shroud, 
 
 Since first from the Brehon’s§ pure justice you stray’d, 
 And bent to those laws the proud Saxon has made. 
 
 We know not our country, so strange is her face ; 
 
 Her sons, once her glory, are now her disgrace ; 
 
 * Gollamh — a name of Milesius, the Spanish progenitor of the 
 Irish O’s and Macs.* 
 
 t Nial — of the Nine Hostages, the heroic monarch of Ireland 
 in the 4th century, and ancestor of the O’Neil family.* 
 
 f Con Cead Catha — Con of the Hundren Fights, monarch of 
 the Island in the 2nd century ; although the fighter of a hundred 
 battles, he was not the victor of a hundred fields ; — his valorous 
 rival, Owen, king of Mnnster, compelled him to a division of the 
 kingdom.* 
 
 § Brehons— the hereditary judges of the Irish Septs.* 
 
 B 2 
 
4 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Gone, gone is the beauty of fair Innisfail, 
 
 For the stranger now rules in the land of the Gael. 
 
 Where, where are the woods that oft rung to your 
 cheer, 
 
 Where you waked the wild chace of the wolf and the 
 deer ? 
 
 Can those dark heights with ramparts all frowning and 
 riven, 
 
 Be the hills where your forests wav’d brightly in 
 heaven ? 
 
 O bondsmen of Egypt ! no Moses appears 
 
 To light your dark steps thro’ this desert of tears ; 
 
 Degraded and lost ones, no Hector is nigh, 
 
 To lead you to freedom, or teach you to die ! 
 
 DR. GEOFFRY KEATING. 
 
 Geoffry Keating, well known as the author of a History of 
 Ireland, appears to deserve consideration as a poet. Besides the 
 poems of which the two following specimens are fragments, he 
 was the author of thirty-six verses in praise of Teige O’Coffey, 
 a celebrated performer on the harp, beginning: 
 
 “ Cia an tsaoi le seinntear an chruit." 
 
 “(Who is the sage by whom the harp is struck?)” 
 
 In Ryan’s Worthies of Ireland, an elegy on the death of Lord 
 Decies is ascribed to Keating, and also a burlesque poem on his 
 servant Simon, whom he compares with the heroes of antiquity. 
 Keating was a Roman Catholic priest, and took his degree of 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 5 
 
 D.D. at a foreign university. Little is known respecting him, 
 beyond the fact recorded in an inscription over the chapel door of 
 Tubrid, near Cahir in Tipperary, of which county he is believed 
 to have been a native. From this it appears, that the chapel 
 was built by the Rev. Eugene Duhy, vicar of Tubrid, and Doctor 
 Geoffry Keating, in 1644 ; about six years after which period 
 Keating is supposed to have died. 
 
 Keating’s exile from Ireland is traditionally said to have been 
 occasioned by the persecution of Sir William Parsons (one of 
 the Lords Justices of Ireland in 1640) which originated from a 
 sermon preached by Keating against Sir William’s mistress ; 
 although, judging from the period, and the tone of Keating’s 
 writings, it is more probable that his offence was of a political 
 nature. On his return to Ireland, Keating is believed to have 
 wandered through the country in disguise, and to have collected 
 the romantic fictions and ballads from which he afterwards com- 
 posed his History of Ireland. 
 
 The Editor remembers a singular chasm in the Galtee moun- 
 tains, which was pointed out to him, in 1816, by an old man who 
 abounded in local traditions, as the place where “ Father Keating 
 remained concealed for three days without food, when Cromwell’s 
 soldiers were hunting him.” The spot was called “ Poul 
 Grainead” (the Ugly Hole), and afterwards became celebrated 
 as the retreat of a rapparee or freebooter named Halfpenny. It 
 is about seven or eight miles west of Cahir, and not far from the 
 ruins of an old tower called Cappagh, which may be seen from 
 the road leading by Bansha to Tipperary. 
 
 The History of Ireland by Keating commences at the remotest 
 era, and comes down to the invasion of the English in the time of 
 Henry the Second. The original title was “ Forusfeasa air Eirinn ,” 
 or Rudiments of Knowledge on Ireland. Many transcripts appear 
 to have been made of this work. Mr. Walker, in his Essay on 
 Irish Dress, speaks of an illuminated copy in the possession of 
 Dr. Archer (1787), which was executed by William Lynch in 
 1698. This history was first printed in translation by Dermod 
 
6 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 O’Connor, in 1723, in 1 vol. folio. Another edition appeared in 
 1738, with plates of the arms of the principal Irish families, and 
 other additions. In 1809 it was republished in 2 vols. 8vo. 
 Dublin ; and a new and more correct translation, as far as the 
 Christian era, was published in 1 vol. 8vo. Dublin, 1811, with 
 the original Irish on the opposite pages, by Mr. William Hali- 
 day, whose premature death prevented him from completing the 
 undertaking. 
 
 Keating also wrote a treatise on the mass, called “ Eocair sciatk 
 an Aifrionn ” (a Key to the Shield of the Mass), and a moral 
 treatise on death, “ Tri biorghaoithe an bdis" (Three-pointed 
 Shafts of Death), both of which are unpublished. 
 
 The following translations from Keating were printed in 
 Frasers Magazine , No. VII, for August 1830. 
 
 THE EXILE’S FAREWELL. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The Editor has been able to obtain only six verses of this poem 
 which is said to consist of four-and-twenty. It commences “ Mo 
 bheannact leat a sgribhinn , transposed in the translation into the 
 third line. 
 
 Forced by fraud and by Saxon oppression 
 Without its green border to rest ; 
 
 Bear with thee, O letter, my blessing, 
 
 For the beautiful Isle of the West. 
 
 To the nobles who cherish the Bard, 
 
 Bear with thee my grateful farewell ; 
 And may peace be thy clergy’s reward, 
 
 Not laws that proscribe and expel. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 7 
 
 To thy vallies, thy fields, and thy hills, 
 
 My heart sends a thousand farewells ; 
 
 To thy smooth lakes, and swift rushing rills, 
 
 To thy mountains — their crags and their dells. 
 
 Farewell to thy fruit-bearing trees — 
 
 Farewell to thy murmuring weirs, 
 
 That gave a sweet voice to the breeze, 
 
 Like the song of the Women of Tears. * 
 
 Dear Island ! may plenty be thine ! 
 
 May the sky that is o’er thee be calm ! 
 
 Thy mornings with dew freshly shine, 
 
 And thy evenings breathe only of balm. 
 
 Holy Isle— tho’ within thee now dwell 
 False traitors to God, and to me, 
 
 Take my blessing — my fondest farewell — 
 
 Across the broad waves of the Sea. 
 
 ON THE MISERIES OF IRELAND. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 Of this poem on the enactment of penal laws, and the ty- 
 ranny of the English over the Irish, which is said to have 
 consisted of twenty verses, a fragment of seven only has come 
 into the Editor’s hands. It commences, “ On sgeoil do chradh Magh 
 Fail ni chodlaim oidhche." 
 
 * Keeners, or mourners for the dead. 
 
8 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 When it is remembered that Keating was of English extrac- 
 tion, the indignation displayed by him in the following poem 
 may appear singular, were it not a matter of notoriety in the 
 history of Ireland, that English settlers and their descendants, 
 or, as they are termed, “ the degenerate English,” have always 
 been more inimical to English government than the genuine 
 Irish. 
 
 In the measure chosen by the Translator, eight lines are gene- 
 rally required to render a four-line verse of the original ; although 
 in one instance a verse has been translated in the same number 
 of lines, yet in another (that of the first verse), the translation 
 has extended to twelve. 
 
 The news I hear from distant Erin 
 
 Destroys my peace, and breaks my sleep ; 
 
 Fresh chains and fetters for her wearing 
 Are forged, and she must wear and weep. 
 
 It makes my life-blood chill and sicken 
 To see again the times of old, 
 
 As Israel’s sons, her children stricken, 
 
 Their birth-right lost, their freedom sold. 
 
 To see how party strife and wrangle 
 To Saxon laws have made her yield ; 
 
 That, like to tares, the wheat will strangle 
 And spread their mast’ry o’er the field. 
 
 O, Ireland ! base and shameless woman 
 As hooded harlot* false and vile, 
 
 * The epithet “ hooded” appears intended to add treachery to 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 9 
 
 With breast to every stranger common, 
 
 No mother’s love is in thy smile ! 
 
 Thy bosom, Erin ! soft and swelling, 
 
 No milk affords thy offspring now ; 
 
 For in thy arms securely dwelling, 
 
 Are litters of a foreign sow. 
 
 And greedy herds that from the Ocean, 
 
 Have sought thy pastures bright and green, 
 
 Now rove abroad in wild commotion, 
 
 And in thy golden vales are seen. 
 
 Strong-handed soldiers boldly seize on 
 Each chieftain’s hall — his ancient home ; 
 
 Let sword be drawn — ’tis death or treason — 
 Outlawed the rightful lord must roam. 
 
 Fierce squadrons like the armed bramble 
 Now overrun each wasted plain 
 
 For houses, mills, and parks they gamble,* * 
 And God’s own holy walls profane.f 
 
 infamy. “Hooded men,” says Mr. Walker, in his Essay on Irish 
 Dress, “ I think are mentioned somewhere in the Irish statutes, 
 under the description of assassins." 
 
 * Literally, trump at cards (ManadK). It was a common 
 practice among Elizabeth’s and Cromwell’s soldiery to decide the 
 choice of the forfeited possessions granted to them, by playing 
 at cards, or drawing lots. An estate in the South of Ireland, at 
 present worth upwards of a thousand a year, was won by a fol- 
 lower of Cromwell’s army from a trooper, by the turn up of a 
 card ; an adjoining estate, of nearly the same value, was sold by 
 
10 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Where are thy young men — lion hearted ! 
 
 Their fathers, where ? — who once were free. 
 Have all the brave and sage departed 
 By force and fraud exiled from thee ?* * 
 
 Be still — be still — my heart’s high bounding, 
 Gone is the race of Eogan Mor ;f 
 But vanquished spirits now are found in 
 My country — all her pride is o’er. 
 
 0 ! to the strangers this is glory; 
 
 But it is shame for me to sing 
 That all the fame of FinnianJ story 
 Is bubble-like — an empty thing. 
 
 his comrade to the same party for “ five Jacobuses (five pounds) 
 and a white horse.” 
 
 •f Would be more correctly rendered — despoil, or prey on 
 (Faobh). 
 
 * “ Thirty thousand went over sea unto different countries, in 
 the time of Cromwell.” — English Note on the Original. 
 
 f Owen, or Eogan Mor, was king of Munster in the second cen- 
 tury. During his minority, three chiefs, who were supported by 
 the northern powers, seized on his kingdom, and divided it among 
 them. But Eogan Mor not only recovered his kingdom from 
 the usurpers, but forced the northern princes, whom he defeated 
 in ten successive battles, to divide Ireland with him. There are 
 several romantic ballads and traditions extant in Ireland con- 
 cerning the adventures of Eogan Mor, which abound with super- 
 natural agency. ( ceird-thosaighe ). 
 
 { “ The Finii are, in Ireland, what the race who fought at 
 Thebes and Troy were in Greece ; Sigurd and his companions 
 in Scandinavia ; Dietrich and his warriors in Germany ; Arthur 
 and his knights in Britain ; and Charlemagne and the Paladins 
 in France ; that is, mythic heroes, conceived to have far exceeded 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 11 
 
 That Erin, great as Brian* * made her, 
 
 By triumph ever Lochland’s host,*j* 
 
 Lies trampled by a new invader, 
 
 Her honour gone — her freedom lost. 
 
 0 that my voice could rouse each valley, 
 Then would I make its children free ! 
 
 O that mine eyes could see them rally, 
 But that mine eyes shall never see. 
 
 If God — the gracious God of Heaven 
 No succour gives — a race of slaves, 
 
 To death disgraced, will soon be driven, 
 Or banished o’er Cliona’s waves.f 
 
 in strength and prowess the puny beings who now occupy their 
 place.” 
 
 * Brian Boru, King of Munster, who fell in the battle of Cion- 
 tarf, a.d. 1014, by which the Danes were expelled from Ireland. 
 
 t Lochlonnach , a Dane, is explained by Dr. O’Brien, in his Irish 
 Dictionary, as a name arising out of the maritime power of the 
 nation; from loch , the sea, and lonringhadh , to dwell or abide. 
 “ The words,” adds the Doctor, “ were originally loch-lannach , 
 from loch , a lake, and lan or lann , land, a Germano -Celtic word ; 
 so that loch-lannach literally signifies a lake-lander, or one from 
 the land of lakes. All the countries about the Baltic are full of 
 lakes. Hence George Fournier, in his geographical description 
 of the world, says that Dania literally signifies terra aquatilis 
 which is the same thing as the land of lakes. It was doubtless 
 from the Danes themselves the Irish did learn this circumstance 
 of the nature of their country, which made them give them the 
 Irish name of Loch-lannaico .” 
 
 t “ Cliona,” says a note on the original, “ is an enchantress 
 that lives in the Bay of Dublin, who cries whenever a Milesian 
 dies.” 
 
12 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 KEEN ON MAURICE FITZGERALD, KNIGHT OV 
 KERRY. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The original is in an Irish MS. volume (p. 65), belonging to Dr. 
 Lee of Hartwell, lent to me by Lieutenant Hall, of the 17 th 
 Foot, and in which the author is stated to have been Pierce 
 Ferriter. To Sir William Betham I am indebted for the following 
 sketch of the pedigree of the Knights of Kerry. 
 
 John Fitzgerald, Knight = Shela, daughter of 
 of Kerry, 1573 I O’Sullivan More, 
 
 first wife 
 
 William Fitzgerald, Knight = 
 of Kerry, died 6 Nov. 1640 
 
 Mary, daughter of Charles 
 O’Conor of Ophaly 
 
 Maurice Fitzgerald, Knight 
 of Kerry, died in Flanders 
 without issue, about 1642. 
 ( The subject of the following 
 Keen ) 
 
 John Fitzgerald, Knight of= 
 Kerry, heir to his brother 
 
 i 
 
 Thomas Fitzgerald, Esq. died = 
 before his father, about 1667 
 
 Jane 
 
 John Fitzgerald, Knight of = Honor, daughter of Daniel 
 Kerry, heir to his grand- O’Brien, Lord Viscount Clare 
 father, died 1682 
 
 Maurice Fitzgerald, Knight = Elizabeth, daughter of David 
 
 of Kerry, fought at the Boyne 
 a Cornet in Lord Clare’s 
 Regiment 
 
 Crosbie of Ardfert (1703) 
 
 John Fitzgerald = 
 Knight of Kerry, 
 died 1741 
 
 Robert Fitzgerald, = 
 Esq. second son 
 
 I 
 
 
 Maurice Fitzgerald, late 
 Knight of Kerry, died 
 without male issue. 
 
 The Right Hon. Maurice 
 Fitzgerald, now Knight 
 of Kerry. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 13 
 
 Pierce Ferriter took an active part, on the Irish side, in the 
 warfare which commenced in 1641 and terminated in 1650. 
 Among the Crosbie MSS. there is a curious letter, dated “ Corke, 
 y e last of June, 1641,” addressed to him by Lady Kerry, which, 
 by the permission of Mr. Sainthill, who is about to edit these 
 papers for the Camden Society, was printed by Lady Chatterton 
 in her “ Rambles in the South of Ireland.” In this letter Lady 
 Kerry earnestly dissuades “ Honest Pierce” from taking any 
 part in the military movements of the day, and in a P.S. tells 
 him, “ Here is news com of a mightie armie, a preparing in 
 England for to com over.” Notwithstanding, Ferriter appears 
 to have immediately and actively espoused the Irish cause, and 
 to have been ultimately hanged, in company with a Roman 
 Catholic bishop and a priest. O’Connell, a Kerry poet, in a long 
 poem about Ireland and Irish matters, thus records the circum- 
 stance in the 106th verse of his composition : — 
 
 “ Why should I not lament the glorious dead ? 
 
 Pierce Ferriter, whose fame was widely spread, 
 
 Connor Tayg, and the pious Bishop Pount, 
 
 A blessed trio hanged upon Sheeps Mount.” 
 
 My woe and my dullness 
 For ever and ever ; 
 
 O Chieftain of Kerry! 
 
 Is that death should us sever. 
 That in Flanders you’re coffined 
 Far away from my sight 
 O Maurice ! brave son 
 
 Of the Florentine Knight.* 
 
 * That the Fitzgeralds came originally from Florence is a very 
 ancient tradition. Stanihurst, in Holinshed’s Chronicles, says, 
 “ This house was of the nobilitie of Florence , came from thence 
 
14 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Though envy may blacken 
 Both fortune and fame, 
 
 No stain, spot or speck 
 Has it left on thy name. 
 
 For with words of bright praise 
 That through time will not fade 
 Was the news of thy death 
 To my sad heart conveyed. 
 
 That heart which with dreams 
 Of the future throbbed high 
 As it saw the proud council* 
 
 In humbleness lie ; 
 
 Now resembles the hill 
 
 Which for seven long years 
 Swell’d up, when a small mouse 
 Its offspring appears. 
 
 into Normandie,” and so into Wales. He adds, that “The 
 familie is verie properlie toucht in a Sonnet of Surries [Henry 
 Howard, Earl of Surrey, beheaded in 1546-7] made upon the 
 Earl of Kildare’s sister, now Countess of Lincolne.” 
 
 “From Tuscane came my ladie’s worthie race, 
 
 Fair Florence was sometime hir ancient seat : 
 
 The western ile, whose pleasant shore doth face 
 Wild Camber’s cliffes, did give hir livelie heat; 
 
 Fostred she was with milk of Irish brest,” &c. 
 
 Peter Lombard, the Roman Catholic Primate of Armagh in 
 James the First’s reign, adds his testimony in the following 
 words : “ Geraldini ex Britannia hue venerunt, origine vero sunt 
 l tali , nempe vetustissimi Florentine” 
 
 * The Parliament of England. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 15 
 
 When I heard lamentations 
 And sad warning cries, 
 
 From the Banshees* of many 
 Broad districts arise. 
 
 I besought thee, 0 Christ, 
 
 To protect me from pain. 
 
 I prayed ; but my prayers 
 They were offered in vain. 
 
 Ainaf from her closely - 
 Hid nest did awake 
 
 * Banshees , i. e. Mnd-sighe , singular bean-sighe. “ She fairies 
 or women fairies, credulously supposed by the common people 
 to be so affected to certain families, that they are heard to sing 
 mournful lamentations about their houses by night, whenever 
 any of the family labours under a sickness which is to end by 
 death ; but no families which are not of an ancient and noble 
 stock, are believed to be honoured with this fairy privilege; 
 pertinent to which notion a very humorous quartain is set down 
 in an Irish elegy on the death of one of the knights of Kerry, 
 importing that when the fairy -woman of the family was heard 
 to lament his death at Dingle (a sea-port town, the property of 
 those knights), every one of the merchants was alarmed, lest 
 the mournful cry should be a forewarning of his own death ; but 
 the poet assures them, in a very humorous manner, that they 
 may make themselves very easy on that occasion.” — Sith-Bhrog, 
 O’Brien’s Irish Dictionary _ 
 
 Sir Walter Scott, no mean judge of superstitious fancies and 
 their effects on the human mind, has classed among the “leading 
 superstitions of Europe, but now restricted to those places which 
 continue to be inhabited by an undisturbed and native race,” that 
 of a belief in the spiritual agency of the banshee, and he calls 
 it “ one of the most beautiful” of “ Irish fiction.” 
 
 f “ Ainn, a great circle, hence Bel ain ( Bliaghain ) the great 
 
16 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 The woman of wailing 
 At Gur’s voicy lake.* * * * § 
 From Glen Fogra of wordsf 
 Came a mournful whine ; 
 And all Kerry’s hags 
 Wept the lost Geraldine. 
 
 The Banshees of YoughaHJ 
 And of stately Mogeely,§ 
 
 circle of Belus, Le. of the sun, or the annual course of that 
 planet through the ecliptic.” — O'Brien's Irish Dictionary , where 
 to this Celtic monosyllable is referred the Latin word ajinus. 
 Ain-a means from out of this mysterious circle. 
 
 * Lough Gur, in the county of Limerick, is perhaps that above 
 all other spots in Ireland to which a careful antiquarian research 
 should be directed at the present moment. The data which 
 forced this conviction on the Editor’s mind are curious, and re- 
 quire to be more minutely detailed than the present space 
 admits ; probably no where in the world exists such an extended 
 and connected series of stone circles with similar works. 
 
 t Literally, the glen of warning — proclamation — decree. [Fo- 
 gradh ] from a proclamation against the Earl of Desmond having 
 been published there in the reign of Elizabeth. It is now called 
 Glenogra. In the county of Limerick, about a mile and a half 
 N.W. of Lough Gur. 
 
 J Thomas Fitzjames, the eighth earl of Desmond, procured 
 the incorporation of Youghall in 14152. He founded the colle- 
 giate church of that town in 1464, and in 1467 he was beheaded 
 at Drogheda. It is generally believed that his tomb is that now 
 commonly pointed out in Dublin as the tomb of Strongbow. 
 
 § A castle in the county of Cork, on the river Bride, two 
 miles west of Tallow, and the favourite seat of Thomas the 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 17 
 
 Were joined in their grief 
 By wide Imokilly.* * 
 Carah Monaf in gloom 
 Of deep sorrow appears, 
 And all Kinalmeaky ’s J 
 Absorbed into tears. 
 
 eighth earl of Desmond. In Smith’s History of Cork, a romantic 
 story is told illustrative of Irish hospitality, respecting the earl’s 
 determination to burn this castle, that his guests might not be 
 aware of his want of provisions for their support, and which the 
 timely arrival of an old and faithful steward with supplies, pre- 
 vented. This incident would seem to have suggested to Sir 
 Walter Scott the character of Caleb Balderstone in the Bride 
 of Lammermuir ; the act has been transferred from the master 
 to the man, but the idea is the same. 
 
 * In the original, this word is written Aoibh mac caiUe. A 
 barony in the south-east of the county of Cork, containing about 
 50,000 acres. “Aoi or I,” says O’Brien, means “ a country, as 
 aoi mac Cuille , the territory of Mac Cuille, or the barony of Imo- 
 killy and he adds that the Irish word aoi “ is quite analogous 
 to the Hebrew ai or y , insula, regio, provincia. Vid. Opitius’s 
 and BuxtorPs Lexicons.” Imokilly gave the title of Seneschal 
 to a branch of the Fitzgerald family which settled at Cloyne 
 and were men of considerable note in the south of Ireland. 
 
 + A parish, I am informed, distant six miles from the town 
 of Skibereen, in the county of Cork. Smith says Caragh is a 
 parish in the barony of Carberry, and Mohanagh is mentioned 
 by him as a mile south of D unmanway, the seat of Roger 
 Fenwick, Esq. [1750.] 
 
 J Kinalmeaky is a barony in the south-west of the county of 
 Cork, which contained nearly twenty thousand acres of unprofit- 
 able bog; the literal translation being “ Kinalmeaky is drained 
 
 C 
 
18 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 The prosperous Saxons 
 Were seized with affright, 
 In Tralee they packed up, 
 And made ready for flight. 
 For there a shrill voice 
 At the door of each hall, 
 Was heard, and they fancied 
 Foretelling their fall. 
 
 At Dingle the merchants 
 In terror forsook 
 Their ships and their business; 
 
 They trembled and shook. 
 Some fled to concealment, 
 
 The fools — thus to fly ! 
 
 For no trader a Banshee 
 Will utter a cry.* * 
 
 The Banshee of Dunqueenf 
 In sweet song did deplore, 
 
 from crying,” I cannot help feeling that I have conveyed the idea 
 very imperfectly. 
 
 * This is the verse quoted by Dr. O’Brien in his Irish Dic- 
 tionary, to show that the Banshee is solely a spiritual aristocratic 
 appendage. 
 
 f So written by Dr. Smith in his History of Kerry ; in the 
 original it is Duncaoin. The extreme western point of Ireland, 
 and the south side of that “ tongue” of land which the county of 
 Kerry shoots forth into the Atlantic, and which, to use the words 
 of Camden, “ is beaten on by the barking billows on both sides.” 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 19 
 
 To the spirit that watches 
 On dark Dun-an-oir.* 
 
 And Ennismore’s maid 
 
 By the Feal’s gloomy wave,f 
 With her clear voice did mourn 
 For the fall of the brave. 
 
 On stormy Slieve MisJ 
 
 Spread the cry far and wide, 
 
 The point of this tongue of land, which is about four miles 
 across, with the Blasket Islands, which lie immediately off it, 
 were held by the Ferriter family under the earls of Desmond, 
 upon condition of supplying a certain number of hawks annually. 
 The Blaskets indeed, are sometimes called Ferriter’s Islands, and 
 Ferriter’s Creek is upon the main land nearly opposite to them. 
 In this creek are the ruins of Castle Sybil, which was the resi- 
 dence of the author of this keen. 
 
 * There is a castle of this name, which literally signifies “ the 
 Golden Fort,” upon Cape Clear Island; but from the juxtaposi- 
 tion of Dunqueen it is evident that Fort del Ore upon Smerwick 
 Bay is meant, which stands on the north side of the “tongue” 
 of land so graphically described by Camden. 
 
 f “ Inis-mor , on the river Feil [or Feal] in the county of 
 Kerry.” — O'Brien’s Irish Dictionary. Moore’s verses “By the 
 Feal’s wave benighted,” have exquisitely embalmed a romantic 
 historical anecdote respecting Thomas Fitzgerald, the 6th Earl 
 of Desmond, who died in exile at Rouen, in Normandy, 10th 
 August 1420. Henry V is stated to have attended his funeral, 
 at Paris. 
 
 f “ Between the bays of Castlemain and Tralee are a range of 
 considerable high mountains, which divide these arms of the sea ; 
 they go by the general name of Slieve Mis , near to which, 
 according to Keating, the Milesians fought their first battle with 
 
 c 2 
 
20 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 From steep Slieve Finnaleun* * 
 The wild eagle replied. 
 
 ’Mong the Reeks, f like the 
 Thunder-peal’s echoing rout, 
 It bursts, and deep bellows 
 Bright BrandonJ gives out. 
 
 Such warning I thought 
 Could be only for him ; 
 
 The blood shower that made 
 The gay harvest field dim, — 
 
 the natives after their landing. The highest pike of these 
 mountains, as measured by a good instrument, by means of two 
 stations, taken on the level strand in Tralee bay, was seven 
 hundred and fifty yards perpendicular above the sea.” — Smith’s 
 Kerry. 
 
 * I believe this is the Irish name for Mount Eagle, a very high 
 hill west of Dingle, and from whence the title recently familiar to 
 the English public in connexion with their Exchequer documents. 
 
 | Carran Tual (the highest of the Reeks), is, according to Mr. 
 Nimmo’s report, 3410 feet above the level of the sea, and the 
 highest mountain in Kerry. 
 
 { “ About five miles north of Dingle stands St. Brandons Hill ; 
 it is esteemed one of the highest in this county, being little, if at 
 all, inferior to Mangerton or the Reeks , it being often covered 
 with clouds when the tops of these others are clear. The foot 
 of this mountain is washed by the sea on the north, and Dingle 
 bay lying on the south of it, may also occasion it to be so fre- 
 quently covered with a cap, by its retarding the vapours that 
 ascend from the ocean on almost every side of it ; and sometimes 
 the clouds may be seen to descend on the sides of this mountain, 
 when its top is quite clear.” — Smith's Kerry. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 21 
 
 The fiery-tailed star 
 
 That a comet men call, — 
 
 Were omens of his, 
 
 As of great Caesar’s fall. 
 
 But O skilful wrestler ! — 
 
 0 captain most brave ! — 
 Whose death comes to me 
 As a dream of the grave, 
 
 Had the time but arrived 
 
 When your skill could be seen, 
 Further spread would your fame 
 Than proud Caesar’s have been. 
 
 Like a poet unchecked 
 In out-pouring of song, 
 
 The burst of whose feeling 
 Sweeps flood-like along ; 
 
 I pause not to study 
 The verses between, 
 
 For the thoughts of the heart 
 Will gush forth in a keen. 
 
 O chief ! whose example 
 On soft-minded youth, 
 
 Like thy signet impress’d 
 Honor, glory and truth. 
 
 The youth who once grieved 
 If unnoticed passed by, 
 
 Now deplore thee in silence 
 With sorrow-dimm’d eye. 
 
22 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 And many a maiden 
 
 Will weep with her lover, 
 
 Who as her own shadow 
 Beside her doth hover ; 
 
 Who has never destroyed 
 By cruel deceit, 
 
 The first vows he murmur’d 
 And she thought so sweet. 
 
 But oh ! there’s one lady, 
 
 Whose soul-rending cries 
 Ascend from this cold earth 
 And pierce into the skies ; 
 
 She knew thee — she valued 
 Thy seraph-like mind ; 
 
 She knew, that no purer 
 On earth could she find. 
 
 And many fair dames 
 
 Who in chariots are drawn ; — 
 Not from love of display, 
 
 For they blush like the dawn ; — 
 At your death have put off 
 All their holiday gear, 
 
 And in deep weeds of silk 
 Mourning rivals appear. 
 
 O wild woman of tears ! 
 
 Who with musical hands, 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 23 
 
 From your bright golden hair 
 Has combed out the long bands.* 
 Let those golden strings loose ; 
 
 Speak your mind — let your mind 
 Fling abroad its full light, 
 
 Like a torch to the wind. 
 
 There’s many a maiden, 
 
 The proud and chaste-minded, 
 Shut up in her chamber, 
 
 With weeping half blinded; — 
 They do not lament thee 
 With clamorous art ; 
 
 But silently gush forth 
 The floods of the heart. 
 
 Say, whence flow those bright tears ? 
 
 From the depth of their gloom ; 
 They have lost thee, and now 
 They first think of the tomb. — 
 For love to a maiden, 
 
 A maiden’s young heart, 
 
 Is like to a cold spear — 
 
 To Death’s icy dart. 
 
 And now like a prophet 
 I can clearly foresee 
 All minds, and all memories 
 Are haunted by thee. 
 
 * The action of dishevelling the hair preparatory to keening. 
 
24 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Thy spirit communing 
 With spirits of earth ; 
 
 To visions of Heaven 
 Give wonderful birth. — 
 
 Tho’ Venus did fondly 
 Adonis adore, 
 
 Yet the daughters of Erin 
 They loved thee still more. 
 
 Through the green wood he followed 
 His game without fear ; 
 
 But you rushed on the red field 
 ’Mid gun, pike, and spear. 
 
 Thy valour shed round thee 
 A halo of glory ; 
 
 And the deeds of your sharp sword 
 Will long live in story. 
 
 King Philip’s own white hand* 
 
 That weapon presented, 
 
 In a case set with blue stones, 
 
 And royally scented. 
 
 Like a beacon to brave men, 
 
 In warfare and science, 
 
 On thy judgment and right mind 
 The soul fixed reliance ; 
 
 Quick, active, and zealous, 
 
 Without noise or riot, 
 
 Philip IY of Spain. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 25 
 
 Or boasting, your hand did 
 It’s work, and in quiet. 
 
 In whom now is found 
 
 Youthful beauty like thine ? 
 
 The skin that resembles 
 The foam of the brine ; 
 
 The cheek whose red blaze 
 With the snow doth unite, 
 
 And the diamond-like eyes 
 That flash fire’s varied light. 
 
 What mortal had ever 
 
 Such luxuriance of tresses ? 
 
 A golden net only 
 
 Their richness expresses. 
 
 On the son of fair Venus 
 And on thy loved head 
 
 Were ringlets and curls 
 As bounteously spread. 
 
 Thine the broad chest of power 
 And the sinewy arm ; 
 
 The tongue slow to move 
 In dissension or harm ; 
 
 The vigorous foot, 
 
 And the white satin skin, 
 
 The lip like the ruby, 
 
 The nail clear and thin. 
 
26 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Without equal in skill 
 On the back of a steed, 
 
 With a pedigree blazoned,* 
 Which few could exceed, 
 Correctly recorded, 
 
 And carefully penned, 
 
 And full of proud knowledge 
 From beginning to end. 
 
 Whate’er you foretold, 
 
 Of no boast was the token, 
 For glorious your words were, 
 As words meekly spoken. 
 
 In the cause of the soul — 
 
 In that cause for division, 
 
 Did the rights of thine own 
 Lead to sword-drawn decision. 
 
 Who now shall inherit 
 Thy rich jewel’s store ? 
 
 * This is more than the present knight of Kerry possesses. 
 In July 1834, he told me that all his family memoranda, which 
 he had collected and brought to Dublin for the purpose of getting 
 them arranged, were left by him in a closet of his bedroom at 
 an hotel, when he went on an excursion for a few days into the 
 county of Wicklow. Upon his return, he had the mortification 
 to find that the chambermaid, considering these precious docu- 
 ments as waste paper, had used them for lighting the fires of the 
 hotel ; and I think the knight of Kerry added, that all he was 
 able to recover, were two or three fragments from the fireplace 
 of his bedroom, sufficient to convince him of the truth of the 
 chambermaid’s story, and of the irreparable loss he had sustained. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 27 
 
 Who thy poem complete 
 Now that thou art no more ? 
 Alas ! that a goose-quill 
 Was not thy hand’s bride, 
 
 To keep thee composing 
 Sweet verse by her side. 
 
 Say, who with thy art now 
 Can knowledge advance, 
 Ingeniously breaking 
 With rivals a lance ? 
 
 Who can fill a small pen 
 
 With the tongue of command, 
 Or wake the mute harp 
 With so skilful a hand.* 
 
 The strength of thy bonds 
 Like the power of thy gold, 
 Were ready to aid 
 
 Both the young and the old ; 
 No payment but thanks 
 Did you seek to obtain, 
 
 And those thanks were resigned 
 If by them one could gain. 
 
 Without ostentation 
 
 Was your bounty to all, 
 
 * The original, literally rendered, is, “ Who can give a voice 
 sweetly to a dead willow ?” 
 
SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 The prayers of the clergy 
 Rose up in your hall. — 
 
 The fool there was sheltered 
 As soon as an Earl, 
 
 Nor rejected was there 
 The disdain’d, outcast girl. 
 
 Behold your reward — 
 
 In the fullness of grief. 
 
 The reward for your wines, 
 
 And your meat and relief ! 
 For the joy of your feasts 
 The sad tribute is paid, 
 
 In the full burst of keening 
 That for thee is made. — 
 
 Your kindred with zeal 
 And sincerity mourn, 
 
 And old men and young men 
 Raise their voices forlorn ; 
 Old women, distracted, 
 
 Madly shout forth their pain ; 
 And maidens lament thee 
 In heart-rending strain. 
 
 And now that you’re laid 
 In the silence of death, 
 
 Still they fondly prolong 
 Their last musical breath ; 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 29 
 
 Like the string of a harp 
 That keeps vibrating on, 
 
 Though the hand that has waked it 
 For ever is gone. — 
 
 The dark muzzled muskets 
 Reversed, — soldiers sustain, 
 
 And the sharp pointed halberts 
 Point down to the plain. 
 
 The banners in broad plaits 
 Are gathered and bound, 
 
 Near slaughter’s gorged field 
 With death’s triumph crowned. 
 
 And your sword, which in battle 
 Was restless and keen, 
 Unsheathed on your coffin 
 Is peacefully seen. 
 
 Your swift horse accoutered 
 Is solemnly led, 
 
 And your golden spurs borne, 
 
 For their master is dead. 
 
 Then followed commanders 
 Of skill and of fame, 
 
 And captains from all parts 
 Of Europe that came ; 
 
 Who marched slowly on 
 And in order appear, 
 
 As silently moving 
 
 As the men ’neath thy bier. 
 
30 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Your attendants are there, 
 
 In deep mourning of black — 
 Save the herald who carries 
 His fame on his back. 
 
 And the honours you gained 
 Now displayed on your hearse, 
 To others these trophies 
 Will the herald disperse. 
 
 As your coffin was laid 
 In the gloom of the grave, 
 
 The smoke of the vollies 
 Fired over the brave, 
 
 Had the sunrise that morning 
 Been cloudlessly bright, 
 
 Would have changed the clear sky 
 To the darkness of night. 
 
 Each soldier, to prove 
 
 How sincere was his grief, 
 In doubling his charge 
 Sought a stunning relief. 
 But that vivid fire-flash. 
 
 The peasants around 
 In fast flowing tears 
 As instantly drowned. 
 
 When the news was reported 
 At break of the day, 
 
 The priests, tho’ not far 
 Was their dwelling away, 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 31 
 
 Through the spur of great haste 
 It was needful should be, 
 
 At noontide performing 
 Their service for thee. 
 
 Ninety priests for thy soul, 
 
 Did that sad morning pray, 
 
 In their rich robes of state, 
 
 To the close of the day ; 
 
 And choristers chaunted, 
 Unnumbered the throng, 
 
 And bishops of tithes 
 
 Chimed in with their song. 
 
 To tell all about thee, 
 
 For me what a task ! 
 
 The power of an Ovid 
 I surely should ask ; 
 
 Though his Muse is not mine 
 Yet you shall not depart — 
 Without, in a clear voice, 
 
 My speaking my heart. 
 
 Oh ! sun-beam of evening 
 Gone down in the west, 
 
 Your refulgence has sunk 
 In the wild waves to rest. 
 And storm clouds are up 
 In the grey twilight sky 
 And the wind is abroad — 
 
 Tho’ as yet with a sigh. 
 
32 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Rise — rise on my mind, 
 
 Like a bright blessed star, 
 
 Let me see thee — though shining, 
 Ever, ever so far ; 
 
 Thou guide of my path-way 
 Thro’ life’s thorny field, 
 
 Thou door of my dwelling, 
 
 My armour, — my shield. 
 
 My comfort, my hope, 
 
 And my solace from fear ; 
 
 The rudder by which 
 
 My bold course I would steer, 
 The staff that at home 
 I could use when abroad, 
 Whose knowledge and skill, 
 
 Could be never outlawed. 
 
 My casket of jewels, 
 
 My great diamond ring ; 
 
 My honey bee’s store, 
 
 My swan’s glossy wing ; 
 
 My sunshine in winter, 
 
 My drop of pure gold, 
 
 My white-handed champion, 
 
 My marshal so bold. 
 
 My fierce-fighting bear ; 
 
 My loud-sounding horn ; 
 
 My fiery-mouthed dragon ; 
 
 My own Goll Mac Morn ; 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 33 
 
 My hero ; my lion ; 
 
 My true lady’s knight ; 
 
 Quick- sighted ; swift-footed ; 
 My life’s beacon light. 
 
 Despoiled my heart’s wealth, 
 With deep sorrow I see ; 
 
 Lost my freedom and joy, 
 Which all centered in thee. 
 
 As a treacherous wound 
 Thy loss do I mourn ; 
 
 The end of all hope, 
 
 Without fame in return. 
 
 My black Monday’s spoil,* 
 
 My peril from war’s art, 
 
 My prison ; my death blow, 
 
 My soul’s cruel dart ; 
 
 My grief thousand-fold, 
 
 And sting never failing, 
 
 My sorrowful deluge 
 
 Of groans, tears, and wailing. 
 
 * Black Monday was so called, on account of the slaughter 
 committed by the Irish, in 1209 , on a great number of Bristol 
 settlers in Dublin (above five hundred men besides women and 
 children it is said) who went out to make holiday in Cullenwood 
 on Easter Monday, where they were attacked and butchered by 
 the Mountaineers of Wicklow. 
 
 D 
 
34 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 My flood-burst of grief, 
 
 My heart’s pang and sprain, 
 Deep stab in my breast, 
 
 My desire and its pain ; 
 
 My limb without power, 
 
 My blood drawn by blade, 
 
 My assassin -like wound 
 
 Is — in death that you’re laid. 
 
 The ruin of my life, 
 
 The deep cause of my woe, 
 My cancer-like gnawing, 
 
 My fairy-like blow ;* 
 
 My bitter misfortune, 
 
 Without aid or cure, 
 Fore-runner of downfall, 
 
 Which I must endure. 
 
 Refreshing thy mirth 
 
 As the light summer shower ; 
 
 * Tumours or swellings are supposed, by the ignorant Irish 
 peasantry, to proceed from a stroke or blow given by an invisible 
 hand ; and hence a blow is commonly termed “ a Puck.” From 
 some observations, by a physician of Cork, on the Medical Super- 
 stitions of the South of Ireland (1828), I extract the following 
 remarks : “ The other inflictions ascribed to fairies, besides 
 
 pucks or strokes, are 4 blasts ’ and 4 darts.’ Erysipelas of the 
 face is called 4 a blast,’ and is attributed to their ‘whirling’ a 
 blast of wind in the person’s face. Sudden swellings, or anchy- 
 losis of a joint, are 4 darts.’ ” 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 35 
 
 While firm was thy valour 
 As the rock ’neath a flower. 
 Thy bounty was broader 
 Than Ireland’s expanse ; 
 And Europe seem’d small 
 To thy eagle-eyed glance. 
 
 In thy fall, is my fall, 
 
 My life’s final blow, 
 
 To lose thee is my loss, 
 
 And great loss I trow. 
 Doomed vainly to struggle 
 Without hope to strive, 
 Thou art quietly dead, 
 
 I am dead though alive. 
 
 Subdued is my spirit 
 
 The grave ends my career, 
 It’s muteness will cover 
 My pride, once so dear! 
 
 Oh ! Phoenix of glory 
 
 Whose far spreading rays, 
 With destruction’s red glare, 
 Light up my last days. 
 
 d 2 
 
36 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 KEEN, BY FELIX MAC CARTHY, FOR THE LOSS 
 OF HIS FOUR CHILDREN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH, BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 A translation of this Keen, by Mr. Callanan, appeared in 
 Bolster’s Magazine, No. 3 (Cork 1826), but the Editor is inclined 
 to prefer his version (perhaps, with an undue partiality), as 
 more terse. 
 
 Mr. Callanan, writing with the Editorial we, thus prefaces 
 his translation. “ From the enquiries we have made concerning 
 the tragical circumstance that gave rise to the following effusion, 
 we learn that Felix Mac Carthy had been compelled, during a 
 period of disturbance and persecution, to fly for safety to a 
 mountainous region, in the western part of this county [Cork.] 
 He was accompanied in his flight by a wife and four children, 
 and found an asylum in a lone and secluded glen, where he 
 constructed a rude kind of habitation, as a temporary residence. 
 One night, during the absence of himself and his wife, this ill 
 contrived structure suddenly gave way, and buried the four 
 children, who were asleep at the time, in its ruins. What the 
 feelings of the father were will be best learned from the following 
 lamentation. We have been most anxious to give as clear an 
 idea of the original as possible, to the English reader, and for this 
 reason we have rendered some passages verbatim, and have 
 endeavoured, as much as possible, to transfer the powerful feeling 
 and energy of the original, at the expense of those lighter graces 
 of composition which are of very subordinate importance.* * In 
 
 * With this sentiment the Editor perfectly agrees, and in order 
 to contrast, at a glance, Mr.Callanan’s translation with his, he gives 
 the fifth, sixth, seventh, eighth, and ninth verses as rendered by 
 that poet, which are rendered by the fifth, sixth, seventh, and 
 eighth verses of the Editor’s translation. 
 
 “ Yes ! I will sing this song of woe, 
 
 *Tis life’s last spark shall glow, 
 
OP THE SOUTH OP IRELAND. 
 
 37 
 
 point of style the merits of the original are very considerable. 
 It is superior to any specimen of Irish poetry we have seen as 
 yet, both in chasteness of expression and harmony of language. 
 Of these, however, the English reader can form no idea. In 
 speaking of the process of translating Irish poetry into English, 
 we shall not use Alfieri’s figure, by saying that it resembles 
 transferring an air from the harp to the hurdy-gurdy, but we 
 think it has been the impression of all who have attempted the 
 matter, that at best they merely succeeded in rendering the 
 energy of the original, to the exclusion of those graces which 
 are peculiar to the Irish tongue, and which form a part of its 
 mechanical structure. The lament which we subjoin, concludes 
 with a fearful curse on the glen where the accident occurred. 
 He prays that the sun and stars may never shed their light on it ; 
 that the curse of the Most High may wither it up ; that the 
 4 poison of its treachery’ towards him may ever adhere to it, 
 and he baptizes it, ‘ the glen of ruin’ from that day forward, 
 
 Like the swan floating on the surge 
 That murmurs its unwilling dirge. 
 
 “ Thou Callaghan devoid of sin, 
 
 And Charles of the silky skin, 
 
 Mary, and Ann my peerless flower, 
 Entombed within an hour. 
 
 “ My four sweet children fair and brave, 
 Laid in one grave ; 
 
 Wound of my soul that I should say, 
 Your death song in one day ! 
 
 “ Vain was the blood Eiver’s race, 
 
 And every opening grace, 
 
 And youth uudarkened by a cloud, 
 Against an early shroud ! 
 
 “ Mute are the tongues that sang for me 
 In joyful harmony ; 
 
 Cold are the lips whose welcome kiss 
 To me was heavenly bliss.” 
 
38 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 because, in one night, it made an old man of him in the bloom of 
 his youth.” 
 
 Felix Mac Carthy appears, like “ Ned of the Hills” (Edward 
 Ryan), to have been one of those unfortunate outlaws whom the 
 political struggle between James II and William III compelled 
 to take up arms ; and though he was evidently a partizan of the 
 former, few, if any of those whose forefathers supported the 
 latter, will now object to his having espoused “ the right cause.” 
 But, to use the words of Sir John Harrington, 
 
 “ Treason can never prosper : what’s the reason ? 
 
 Why, if it did, none dare to call it treason.” 
 
 The accomplished Miss Brooke, in her “Reliques of Irish 
 Poetry” (Dublin, 1789), speaking of Ryan, states, that concern- 
 ing him “ many stories are still circulated, but no connected 
 account has been obtained, further than that he commanded a 
 company of those unhappy freebooters called Rapparees, who 
 after the defeat of the Boyne, were obliged to abandon their 
 dwellings and possessions, ‘ hoping’ (says Mr. O’Halloran) ‘ for 
 safety within the precincts of the Irish quarters ; but they were j 
 too numerous to be employed in the army, and their miseries j 
 often obliged them to prey alike upon friend and foe. At length 
 some of the most daring of them formed themselves into inde- , 
 pendent companies, whose subsistence chiefly arose from depre- 
 dations committed on the enemy. 
 
 “ ‘ It was not choice but necessity, that drove them to this I 
 extreme. I have heard ancient people, who were witnesses to 1 
 the calamities of those days, affirm, that they remembered vast 
 numbers of these poor Irish, men, women, and children, to have 1 
 no other beds but the ridges of potato gardens, and little other 1 
 covering than the canopy of heaven; they dispersed themselves I 
 over the counties of Limerick, Clare, and Kerry, and the hard- | 
 ness of the times at length shut up all bowels of humanity, so j 
 that most of them perished by the sword, cold, or famine.’ ”* 
 
 * O’Halloran's Int. to the Hist, and Ant. of Ireland, 382. 
 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 39 
 
 KEEN, BY FELIX MAC CARTHY. 
 
 Tho’ choaked by tears — I’ll try to keen 
 My heart’s beloved, in heart-felt woe, 
 
 Mine is the heavy loss I ween, 
 
 And nature’s fullness will o’erflow. 
 
 Small is my prop, this Easter day, 
 
 This day that pierces through my breast ! — 
 
 From friends, from all I love, away, 
 
 A lonely wanderer in the West. 
 
 By bursting pangs compelled to speak, 
 
 Let me deplore my endless grief ; 
 
 With rambling head from pain grown weak 
 And heart that throbs without relief. 
 
 To mine, what is the widow’s wail ? 
 
 Or bridegroom’s, for his lonely bed ? — 
 
 I face alone the winter’s gale 
 
 A nestless bird — my young ones, dead ! — 
 
 So, like the swan, on stormy waves 
 Sad, sweet, and sullen be my dirge, 
 
 The song of death — that dying braves, 
 
 And murmurs music thro’ the surge. 
 
 My Callaghan — 0 dark downfall — 
 
 And Charles of the silky skin, 
 
 Mary ; — and Ann, best loved of all — 
 
 All crushed, a ruined heap within. 
 
40 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 My children four — as pure as light. 
 
 Of lineage fair — in one sad day 
 I saw them dead — oh fatal sight, 
 
 That rends my heart with sore dismay. 
 
 Branches, from Heber’s noble tree* 
 
 In life’s spring time — all love and truth — 
 My children ! — gone are they from me 
 In the full joyousness of youth. 
 
 Though of a prouder stock — yet they 
 
 With Sythia’s kings could kindred claim ; — 
 And kings of Spain in pride array 
 
 As of the stock from whence they came.| 
 
 With many a true Milesian bold 
 
 A near connexion could they trace ; J 
 
 * In a poem of a hundred and twenty-four verses, composed 
 by Teige Mac Daire (a bard of the seventeenth century) during 
 the memorable contest of the bards, he endeavoured to show that 
 the Munster tribes had a right to precedence before those of the 
 other provinces, as being descended from Heber, the eldest son 
 of Milesius, while the latter are the progeny of Ereman and Ir, 
 the younger sons. 
 
 t Milesius, the colonizer or conqueror of Ireland, is said, in a 
 poem supposed to be composed in the middle of the seventh 
 century, to have departed from Scythia, “ Do luidh Golamh ( Mi- 
 lesius ) asm Scitia ,” for Spain, from whence he went into Ireland. 
 — See Iberno- Celtic Transactions , xlvii. 
 
 X “ The peasantry of Kerry are generally tall and well-pro- 
 portioned. Swarthy complexions, dark eyes, and long black 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 41 
 
 And they from chronicles of old 
 
 To Saxon kings could link their race. 
 
 Sweet were their voices to my ear, 
 
 As they would sport in childhood’s mirth, 
 
 But now no merry words I hear — 
 
 Their lips are silent as the earth. 
 
 And who can tell their mother’s smart ? 
 
 For children loved with ardent love, 
 
 Nursed at the fountain of her heart — 
 
 Her’s is all other grief above. 
 
 The white palms of her hands are sore 
 From striking them in her despair, 
 
 Great tears her eyes unceasing pour, 
 
 And wild her heart is, as her hair. 
 
 Yet strange ’twould be if less her wail — 
 
 She who the prop of life has lost ; 
 
 Nor is there one in Innisfail 
 
 By sorrows crosses so much cross’d. — 
 
 Upon that valley sad and dark, 
 
 When nearly maddened grew my brain, 
 
 hair, are common amongst them ; in which features some persons 
 pretend to trace the origin of their race from Spain ; and the 
 appellation of Milesians, from Milesius, who led a colony from 
 that country, is given to them ; this reputed distinction from the 
 other inhabitants of Ireland is eagerly maintained amongst the 
 lower orders.” — Weld's Killarney . 
 
42 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 May the Almighty set his mark 
 In memory of my endless pain. 
 
 The Glen of Slaughter from this hour 
 I name the place for ever more ; 
 
 May poison fall in blackest shower, 
 
 And flood that glen with ruin o’er. 
 
 There may the sun ne’er shed his light, 
 
 Nor light of star, nor moon-beam come ; — 
 
 Bud, leaf, and flower find withering blight, 
 Nor bird nor insect have a home. 
 
 May voice of triumph never wake 
 The echoes of that dismal glen ; 
 
 But death-like gloom and hunger make 
 Its name a curse in mouths of men. 
 
 CEANGAL.* * 
 
 The cause of my weakness and grief so distressing, 
 That to me would make death appear sent like a 
 blessing ; 
 
 Is the loss of my children, all buried one tomb in, 
 
 Ann, Mary, fair Charles, and Callaghan blooming. 
 
 _ 
 
 * Or Ceangail, explained by Irish scholars as “ the binding 
 verses,” signifies literally an addition, or annexation. It is a j 
 summing up or moral, and is usually in a different metre from I 
 the poem. 
 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 43 
 
 One layer* of Mac Carthy’s, at one blow death had ’em, 
 And a credit they were to the race of old Adam. — 
 But their parted souls now with bright angels are 
 winging, 
 
 Thro’ the high halls of heaven, where the blessed are 
 singing. 
 
 My pain, and my loss, and my heart’s bitter sorrow, 
 The cause of my grief on each coming to-morrow, 
 
 Is my children four ; that in one heap have perished, 
 Far from home, and the kind friends by whom they 
 were cherished. 
 
 KEEN ON JOHN FITZGERALD, ESQ. SON OF THE 
 KNIGHT OF GLIN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The original is in the MS. volume, mentioned at p. 12, as be- 
 longing to Dr. Lee, of Hartwell, in which it is entitled “ The 
 Elegy of the Kt. of Glen, who died in Cork, in the year 1737.” 
 The Editor should state, as he is informed that this volume is 
 not at present in the possession of Dr. Lee, that it contains the 
 following note by him. “ John Lee , Colworth. These poems were 
 written for me from old MSS . during the winter of 1806 and 1807, at 
 Cork , by the favor and assistance of Mr. Flyn , a learned grocer of 
 that town , who introduced me to an old schoolmaster well skilled in 
 ancient Irish history and mythology .” 
 
 In a communication which the Editor received from the pre- 
 
 * Spaith , the word used, although it means a layer, is here 
 intended to convey the image of graves placed side by side, as 
 the rows of hay or corn, cut down by a mower or reaper, for 
 which it is the common expression. 
 
44 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 sent Knight of Glin (Sept. 27, 1834), he says, “Having lately 
 received the pedigree and papers from Mr. Spring Rice to which 
 I referred you, in answer to your queries respecting the descent 
 of John Fitzgerald, &c. and fearing you may not have had an 
 opportunity of seeing them, I beg to furnish you with the follow- 
 ing information, which appears to be fully authenticated by the 
 pedigree duly certified from the Herald’s Office. The John 
 Fitzgerald alluded to by you was son of Gerald Fitzgerald, 13th 
 Knight of Glin, and brother of Thomas, 14th Knight of Glin, 
 who married Mary, daughter of Edmond Fitzgerald, of Castle 
 martyr. John died without issue. He went to France in some 
 official capacity. There is a tradition of his having fought with 
 some person high in office in that country who was cased in 
 armour. I have a portrait of him, full length, receiving the chal- 
 lenge from his servant.” 
 
 Between this statement, however, and the following sketch of 
 the pedigree of the Knight of Glin, there appears to be some 
 confusion ; but a little investigation would, I have no doubt, soon 
 clear up the difference.” 
 
 Thomas Fitzgerald, Knight = 
 of Glin, executed 1568 and 
 attainted 
 
 Edmond Fitzgerald, Knight 
 of Glin, pardoned and 
 restored in blood 
 
 Honora Mac Carthy, daughter of 
 Owen Reagh. 
 
 Thomas, Knight of = Joane O’Brien Gerald = 
 Glin, died without Fitzgerald 
 
 issue before 1678, 
 
 Thomas Fitzgerald, 
 Knight of Glin 
 
 = Mary, daughter of John Fitzgerald 
 
 Edmond Fitzgerald, ( mentioned above ) 
 
 of Castle-martyr, 
 in the County of 
 Cork. Her will dated 
 Nov. 13 1753. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 45 
 
 John Fitz- 
 gerald, 
 
 (, subject of 
 the Keen) 
 died before 
 his father 
 
 Edmond, 
 Knight of 
 Glin, died 
 without 
 issue 
 
 Richard, Thomas, = 
 Knight of Knight of 
 Glin, heir Glin, heir 
 to his to his bro- 
 brother ther Rich d . 
 
 Will dated 
 1781 ; proved 
 1801 
 
 Mary, daughter 
 of John Bate- 
 man of Oak 
 Park, in Co. of 
 Kerry, Esq. 
 
 John Fitzgerald, = Margarita Maria, daughter of John 
 
 Knight of Glin J Frauncis Gwyn, of Ford Abbey, in 
 
 Devonshire, Esq. 
 
 I 
 
 John Frauncis Fitzgerald, 
 now Knight of Glin (1844). 
 
 I believe the Knight of Glin, or the Heralds, have confounded 
 John Fitzgerald, the brother of Thomas, Knight of Glin, who 
 married Mary, the daughter of Edmond Fitzgerald of Castle 
 martyr, with his nephew, John Fitzgerald, who, it appears from 
 the keen, died in Cork, and, according to tradition, was interred 
 in the church-yard of the Cathedral there (St. Fin bar’s) where 
 this inscription records the circumstance : — 
 
 “ HERE LIES A BRANCH OF DESMOND’S RACE 
 
 in thomas Holland's burial place.” 
 
 Among some Irish MSS. which were collected by Sir Lucius 
 O’Brien, and by him placed in the Editor’s hands in 1828, there 
 was a fragment of three verses composed by “ James Fitzgerald, 
 on the death of Thomas, the son of John, the son of the Knight 
 of Glin,” of which the following is a translation. 
 
 0 Ireland ! vile woman, how shameless thou art, 
 To force thy own offspring away from thy heart; 
 The noble and brave into exile are driven, 
 
 And the milk of thy breast is to foreigners given. 
 
 ** The true sons of Heber, — the free-bom of Nial, — 
 The descendants of kings that once ruled Innisfail, — 
 
46 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Now freedom and fame seek abroad o’er the earth, 
 
 To valour denied in the isle of its birth. 
 
 “ The destruction of conquest on Erin attends, — 
 
 No lands have her children, no justice, no friends, — 
 
 The red-s worded Saxon , flushed with triumph and lust, 
 Strikes them down to the grave, and then tramples their dust.’ ’ 
 
 My loss and my pain, — and of hundreds the pain, 
 
 The cause of a tear-mist through Erin, like rain, 
 
 Is the death of the good man, the high-minded chief, 
 Of the feeble the prop, when they needed relief. 
 
 ’Tis the sorrow of all, East and West— everywhere 
 There are cries of bereavement, with wild streaming 
 hair, 
 
 From Dublin to Beer,* * * § quickly clapping their hands, 
 The keeners lament thee, in loud wailing bands. 
 
 When sickness hung o’er thee, all creeds and all clans 
 Were united in prayer ; all were thy partizans. 
 
 The Gael and the Gaul,f young and old in one strain 
 They prayed for thy life, but alas, prayed in vain. 
 
 Thy death by its side has Lee,J swollen with tears 
 And the Shannon a broad spreading flood now appears ;§ 
 
 * Or Beara, — Bearhaven in Bantry Bay. — 
 f The Irish and the English.— The Irish were commonly term- 
 ed Gaels, the English were called Gauls, from the invaders under 
 Strongbow being of Norman French descent. 
 
 X Cork is on the River Lee. 
 
 “ that like an island fair 
 
 Encloseth Cork with his divided flood.’’ — Spenser. 
 
 § Glin Castle, the residence of the Knights of Glin, is near 
 the mouth of the River Shannon, in the county of Limerick. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 47 
 
 Loch Leun* * * § rolls in billows to echoes of woe ; 
 
 And moans the sad Feal,f with a musical flow. 
 
 Together the PapsJ as in widow-hood mourn, 
 
 The shadow of death o’er the dark Reeks § is borne ; 
 Knock an Oir[| the majestic, and Brandon^f the high, 
 Are festooned with black clouds from the low-bending 
 sky. 
 
 * Or Lough Lane, commonly called the Lake of Killarney. 
 Nenius, who wrote in the 9th century, calls it Lochlenius. And 
 the River Lane, or Laune as Smith writes it, is the exit of the 
 waters of Killarney to the sea. The Doctor tells us that “ Lan 
 or Laun in the old Irish signifies full. Leun means, in Irish, woe, 
 and Lough Leun, is literally the Lake of Woe, and this gives a 
 double meaning to the original line, which it is impossible to 
 convey in translation. The lake of Killarney is traditionally said 
 to have received its Irish name of Leun from having overwhelmed 
 a great city. 
 
 f The Feal, mentioned at p. 19, rises in the mountains which 
 bound the counties of Limerick and Kerry. It runs through the 
 towns of Abbey Feal and Listowel, in the latter county, and 
 being joined by the rivers Galey and Brick, their united waters 
 fall into the sea under the name of Cashin. 
 
 { “A long range of continuous hills extends from the boundary 
 of the county of Cork to the lakes of Killarney, two of these, 
 called the Paps, are particularly remarkable for the regularity of 
 their convex or conical form,” and receive their name from a 
 fancied resemblance to a woman’s breast. The higher of the 
 two is 2280 feet. 
 
 § Mac Gilla Cuddy’s Reeks, mentioned at p. 20. 
 
 || So pronounced, correctly written Cnoc an Fhomhar , i.e. the Hill 
 of Harvest, or Autumn— probably from its brown or yellow colour. 
 
 If A remarkable hill, between Tralee and Smerwick Bays ; men - 
 
48 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 They grieve for the hero of Grecian-like blood, 
 
 Who when sharp swords were gleaming, undauntedly 
 stood. 
 
 They lament for the loss they have suffered in you, 
 The bright, the majestic, the valiant, the true. — 
 
 The cousins to lords and to chiefs of great fame, 
 
 To the Earl of Kildare, and to scores of his name ; 
 
 Of the Fears loved Fitzmaurice, the cousin most dear, 
 And to Kerry’s proud knight, of the skin smooth and 
 clear. 
 
 The cousin of Sir John, of great Edmond the son, 
 Whose housekeeping the praise of all Ireland has won ; 
 Who made a bell ring from sun rise to night's fall, 
 The traveller to guide to the cheer of his hall.* * — 
 
 tioned at p. 20. “ By monkish authors it (Kerry) was called the 
 country of St. Brandon, who was the patron saint, and to whom 
 the principal Cathedral church was dedicated. From this saint a 
 very high and remarkable mountain in the western part of the 
 county, was named Brandon-hill, there being the remains of a 
 oratory on its summit that also bears his name ; and Camden small 
 likewise calls that part of the Western Ocean into which the 
 river Shannon discharges itself, Mare Brendanicum.” — Smith’s 
 Kerry . 
 
 * Sir John Fitz Edmond Fitzgerald of Cloyne. His harp, 
 which was in the possession of Noah Dalway, Esq. was engraved 
 in Bunting’s Irish Melodies, vol. i. (1809). “ The remaining frag- 
 ments of this harp consist of the most important parts, the har- 
 monic curve orpin-board, and the fore arm; the sound-board 
 alone being lost. It has long been in the possession of Noah 
 Dalway, Esq. of Bellahill, near Carrickfergus, and appears, by 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 49 
 
 Among your relations why should there not be 
 The great lord of Decies, without flattery from me, 
 Since the true sons of Heber are all of thy kin, 
 
 All those who in fame with Milesius begin. — 
 
 The cousin of Mac Carthy — the honoured of kings, 
 
 notices engraved on it, to have been made for the house of 
 Fitzgerald, viz. for John Mac Edmond Fitzgerald of Cluain, 
 whose arms are handsomely chased on the front of the fore pil- 
 lar, surmounted by the arms of England. Every part of the 
 remaining fragments is covered with inscriptions in Latin and in 
 the Irish character ; the former containing mottos and the name 
 of the maker [Donatus Filius Thadei] ; the latter, the year it 
 was made in, A. D. 1621 , and the servants’ names of the house- 
 hold, &c. According to an old custom, the instrument is sup- 
 posed to be animated ; and among other matters, informs us of 
 two harpers who had produced the finest music on it : these were, 
 it seems, Giolla Mac Credan and Diarmad Mac Credan. 
 
 “ In the enumeration of the servants of Fitzgerald, we find 
 James Mac Morris, steward ; James Ross, marshal of the house- 
 hold ; Morris Mac Thomas and Morris Mac Edmond, running 
 footmen ; Philip Mac Teague, distributor of provisions ; Bren- 
 nach, superintendent ; Diarmad Mac Seain, wine butler; John 
 Ryan, beer butler ; Philip Mac Donnel, cook ; and Teague 
 O’Ruairk, chamberlain.” 
 
 “ By the pins, which remain almost entire, [this harp] is found 
 to have contained in the row forty-five strings, besides seven in 
 the centre, probably for unisons to others, making in all fifty-two, 
 and exceeding the common Irish harp by twenty-two strings.” 
 
 “ The fore pillar appears to be of sallow ; the harmonic curve 
 of yew. The instrument, in truth, deserves the epithet claimed 
 by the inscription, on itself. — “ Ego sum Regina Cithararum," 
 
 E 
 
50 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 And to lord Clare whose line from Dalcassian blood 
 springs,* 
 
 To O’Sullivan Bear, of Eugene’s glorious line — 
 
 Who gave his one eye as a proverb to shine. 
 
 But thy pedigree further I’ll cease to display, 
 
 Lest its boast from thy own deeds should lead me astray; 
 From the fullness of weeping, weak and dim is my sight, 
 And tears sadly blot the words out as I write. 
 
 Bold and fearless thy heart, though thy speech it was 
 calm, 
 
 Breathing comfort and charity, blushes and balm ; 
 
 * Joane O’Brien made him related to Lord Clare ; and 
 Edmond Fitzgerald, Knight of Glin, married Mac Carthy Reaghs’ 
 daughter. — Observation by Sir William Betham. 
 
 f Owen, or Edgan Mor, see p. 10. The unbounded hospitality 
 of his descendants is said, in Irish tradition (most probably 
 drawn from the contention of the bards), to have been so mag- 
 nificent, that no one representing that royal race could refuse 
 any request made under their own roof by a guest. This was put 
 to the test by a stranger who was informed of the circumstance, 
 in a drunken freak requesting Sullivan (or the one-eyed), to 
 permit him to thrust his finger into the other and remaining eye ; 
 to which absurd proposition Sullivan, from whom the O’Sullivans 
 are descended, consented, and “ gave his one eye as a proverb to 
 shine.” 
 
 “Nulla manus 
 Tam liberalis, 
 
 Atque generalis, 
 
 Atque universalis, 
 
 Quam Sullivanus!” 
 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 51 
 
 Yet fierce as a lion in the hot battle field 
 No weapon or foeman could force thee to yield. 
 
 Far over the sea had thy fame gone abroad ; 
 
 Fame, gallantly earned without vaunting or fraud ; 
 And great was the love of all hearts towards thine, 
 Nor did any in merit thy merits outshine. 
 
 As a strong shield thou wert to the cause of the weak, 
 The support of the clergy, the honest — the meek. — 
 Oh chieftain ! who ever did talent regard, 
 
 And gave wine and due tribute to cherish the bard. 
 
 In the dearest of taverns he was free as the wind, 
 
 No miserly cloud ever sullied his mind ; 
 
 To a friend in distress, he ne’er turned a deaf ear, 
 And the cause of the wronged would he patiently 
 hear. — 
 
 If honour through danger, “for death ” gave the word, 
 The first death would be John’s at the point of the 
 sword. — 
 
 ’Twas my hope that the valorous strength of his arm 
 Would have quelled life’s dread tyrant from very alarm. 
 
 But Death’s cruel shaft has my champion laid low, 
 John, the son of the Knight, is struck down by the blow; 
 My friend and adviser in each worldly deed, 
 
 And the staff that I threatened with when there was 
 need. 
 
52 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 I pity your mother, the beautiful dame, 
 
 With her meek mouth, from loved Bally-martyr that 
 came; 
 
 Who is sunk in distress, which no art can allay, 
 
 Since her darling is laid in the tomb to decay. 
 
 To the house of distress, may our crucified Lord 
 Who died to save sinners, some comfort afford ; 
 
 Thro’ him, may the soul that is gone be forgiven, 
 
 And this night rest with saints and with angels in 
 heaven. 
 
 Blessed Lord, I beseech thee to hear my heart’s prayer; 
 And, 0 Holy Spirit, take thou in thy care 
 Both Richard and Edmond, and give them thy grace, 
 With Thomas, the tenderest branch of his race. — 
 
 KEEN FOR O’SULLIVAN BEAR. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY MR. CALLANAN. 
 
 This was originally printed in Blackwood’s Magazine for Feb. 
 1823 (Vol. xiii. p. 209), and subsequently in the Collection of 
 Callanan’s Poems, entitled “ The Recluse of Inchidony,” 1830. 
 It is thus prefaced : 
 
 “In 17 — , one of the O’Sullivans, of Bearhaven, who went by 
 the name of Morty Oge, fell under the vengeance of the law. 
 He had long been a turbulent character in the wild district which 
 he inhabited, and was particularly obnoxious to the local autho- 
 rities, who had good reason to suspect him of enlisting men for 
 the Irish Brigade in the French service, in which, it was said, 
 he held a captain’s commission. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 53 
 
 “ Information of his raising these ‘ wild geese,’ (the name by 
 which such recruits were known), was given by a Mr. Puxley, 
 on whom, in consequence, O’Sullivan vowed revenge, which he 
 executed by shooting him on Sunday, while on his way to 
 church. This called for the interposition of the higher powers, 
 and accordingly a party of military were sent round from Cork 
 to attack O’Sullivan’s house. He was daring and well armed, 
 and the house was fortified, so that he made an obstinate defence. 
 At last, a confidential servant of his, named Scully, was bribed 
 to wet the powder in the guns and pistols prepared for his de- 
 fence, which rendered him powerless. He attempted to escape, 
 but while springing over a high wall in the rear of his housed he 
 received a mortal wound in the back. They tied his body to a 
 boat and dragged it in that manner through the sea, from Bear- 
 haven to Cork, where his head was cut off and fixed on the 
 County gaol, where it remained for several years. 
 
 “ Such is the story current among the lower orders about 
 Bearhaven. In the version given of it in the rude chronicle of 
 the local occurrences of Cork,* there is no mention made of 
 Scully’s perfidy, and perhaps that circumstance might have been 
 added by those by whom O’Sullivan was deemed a hero, in order 
 to save his credit as much as possible. The dirge was composed 
 by his nurse, who has made no sparing use of the energy of 
 cursing, which the Irish language is by all allowed to possess.” 
 
 Morty, in Irish Muiertach, or Muirchaertach , is a name very 
 common among the old families of Ireland. It signifies expert 
 at sea ; Oge , is the younger. Where a whole district is peopled 
 in a great measure by a clan of one name, such distinguishing 
 titles are necessary, and in some cases even supersede the original 
 appellation. I-vera, or Aoi-vera, is the original name of Bear- 
 haven ; Aoi, or I, signifying an island or territory. 
 
 * The account referred to by Mr. Callanan, occurs in “ the 
 Cork Remembrancer, by John Fitzgerald,” a volume now rarely to 
 
54 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 To Mr. Maurice O’Connell, the Editor is indebted for the fol- 
 lowing version of the history of Morty Oge, as related to him 
 by his father : 
 
 “Morty Oge Sullivan, was the head of a junior branch of the 
 house of O’Sullivan Bear, and had been a captain of Hungarian 
 grenadiers, in the Austrian service, but on the death of his father 
 had retired to reside on his property. His house was situated at 
 a place called Inch, on the southern shore of the River Ken- 
 mare. Smuggling then, as until lately, prevailed to a great ex- 
 tent in that part of the country, and Morty Oge took his full 
 share of the risks and profits of the contraband trade. On re- 
 turning from one of his expeditions, his vessel, a sloop, or large 
 
 be met with, and is as follows. “ 1754. Thursday, May 9th. The 
 party of soldiers returned, that went in pursuit of Morty Oge 
 O’Sullivan, on Thursday, from Cork to Bearhaven. On Saturday 
 night about 12 o’clock, the party under the command of Lieut. Ap- 
 pleton, arrived at Bearhaven, and in a small time afterwards was 
 discovered by the sentinels belonging to said Sullivan ; but the 
 party being too far advanced towards the house, the sentinels 
 had not time to warn the house of their approach, but made the 
 best of their way to save themselves ; immediately the party 
 surrounded the house, but Sullivan and his party being alarmed 
 by the barking of a dog which they had in the house, took the 
 alarm directly ; Sullivan came to the door and opened it in his 
 shirt, with a blunderbuss in his hand ; at the same time they 
 might have taken away his life, but the commanding officer 
 choosing rather to take him alive, did not fire at him. Sullivan 
 and his men fired several blunderbusses out of the house at the 
 party, but finding them too strong, he thought on a stratagem, by 
 sending them out one man at a time, thinking by that means, the 
 party would have left the house to follow them, by which he 
 may get off, but he was prevented by the officer, who only fired 
 at the men as they went off. At length, Sullivan’s wife with her 
 child and nurse, came out and asked for quarters, which was 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 55 
 
 hooker, was attacked by the revenue officers. Morty and his 
 party resisted, fired upon and killed some of the assailants, and 
 drove off the rest. The sheriff for the county of Cork at that 
 period was a Mr. Puxley, the descendant of one of Cromwell’s 
 officers, who had obtained large grants of land in Bearhaven. 
 He resided at Dunboy, near the site of the ancient castle of the 
 O’Sullivan Bear, in the neighbourhood of Morty Oge. The 
 defeated revenue men fled to his house and demanded assist- 
 ance. Though Puxley had surrounded himself with a body 
 guard, in the persons of a number of protestant settlers whom 
 he had brought from Ulster, he did not think himself strong 
 enough to attack Morty Oge ; but, in the discharge of his duty, 
 had him outlawed. Morty, as soon as he became aware of Pux- 
 
 granted. The officer asked her who was in the house, she 
 answered no one but her husband and some of his men, upon 
 which he ordered the house to be set on fire, which they were a 
 long time doing, the men’s arms being rendered quite useless 
 from the heavy rains, but the house being at last set on fire, they 
 were obliged to come out. Sullivan behaved with great bravery, 
 as did his men ; he stood and snapped his blunderbuss twice at 
 the party, and missed fire ; likewise the party snapped at him 
 twice and missed fire, and cocking the third time, they shot him 
 through the heart dead on the spot, with some others ; som& 
 more were wounded, and only the body of Sullivan was brought 
 away dead, and two prisoners, Sullivan and Connel, alive. The 
 King’s boat at the same time went round and sunk the sloop 
 belonging to him. Had it not been for the wetness of the night, 
 the party would have been sooner. He had not his usual senti- 
 nels out, as not expecting anything to disturb him. The two 
 prisoners that were brought alive, were put into the South Gaol, 
 and the body of Sullivan was lodged in the Barrack -yard, till 
 further orders ; he was afterwards taken to the County Court, 
 his head spiked on the South Gaol, and his remains interred on 
 the Battery in the New Barrack.” 
 
56 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 ley’s proceedings, sent him a challenge, and on the sheriff’s 
 refusing to meet him, declared he would force him to fight. 
 Puxley had been in Cork, and on his road homewards on horse- 
 back, having his wife on a pillion behind him and followed by a 
 mounted servant, was met by Morty Oge, accompanied by one 
 of his foster brothers, who had been waiting his approach at a 
 forge, not far from the entrance to Dunboy House. Both Puxley 
 and his servant had pistols, and Morty and his companion were 
 similarly armed. Morty stopped Puxley’s horse, and saying 
 they were equally armed, called upon him to alight and fight 
 him, adding that his foster brother would fight the servant. The 
 invitation was declined ; Puxley saying he would have nothing to 
 do with him, at the same time endeavouring to pass him by, and 
 putting his hand to one of his own pistols. As he drew it from 
 the holster, O’Sullivan fired and shot him through the head. 
 He and his foster brother then withdrew, and left the widow and 
 servant with the body. On the news of this affair reaching 
 Cork, a party was immediately dispatched to seize O’Sullivan, and 
 a price set on his head. However, he was always accompanied 
 by twenty or thirty armed men, and had his spies so posted that 
 he was easily able to remove in time before the military could 
 reach him. Several attempts were made to seize him, but he 
 always either beat off, or avoided the officers of the law ; and 
 continued for some years to live in Bearhaven (as it was termed), 
 
 ‘ on his keeping.’ The widow Puxley, who was indefatigable 
 in her efforts to revenge the murder of her husband, at length 
 found means to corrupt one of Morty’s sentinels, and by his as- 
 sistance a military party, accompanied by the armed protestant 
 tenants of the late sheriff, were enabled to surround O’Sullivan’s 
 house. The garrison were then summoned to surrender; but 
 answered by firing a volley, and a regular battle commenced. 
 During the engagement, some of the soldiers contrived to get 
 close under the wall of the house at the rear, and were prepar- 
 ing to set fire to the thatch, when they were seen from a small 
 window over their heads by one of Morty’s foster brothers, who 
 informed him of the fact. “ Let me see,” said he, “ whether 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 57 
 
 they are Ulster men or soldiers.” Having satisfied himself that 
 they were soldiers, he desired that they might not be molested, 
 saying, “ that had they been Puxley’s Ulster men, he would have 
 shot the whole of them ; but did not wish to kill the other poor 
 devils, who were fighting for sixpence a day.” This piece of 
 generosity was fatal to him, for in a moment after, these very 
 men succeeded in setting fire to the thatch. The battle, how- 
 ever, still continued, until the house was nearly burnt, when one 
 of Morty’s foster brothers determined to sacrifice himself for the 
 safety of the rest of the party. “ Give me your gold laced hat,” 
 said he to his chief, “ and I will rush out, fire among them, and 
 then endeavour to break through them. They will take me for 
 you, and follow, and in the confusion you can all rush out and 
 escape.” Accordingly he made his sortie with a pistol in each 
 hand, shot a man to the right and left, and broke through the 
 ranks of the assailants. All turned to pursue him ; but he had 
 not gone far, before he was pierced by several bullets and fell. 
 The house now blazed so brightly, that on coming up to the 
 body, it was immediately known by the light not to be Morty’s, 
 and the party returned just as he himself rushed forth. He fired 
 two shots at them, and fled by the end of the house towards the 
 River Kenmare. Several shots were fired after him, but fruit- 
 lessly ; and in all probability he would have escaped, for he had 
 reached a large furze-bush, which once passed, would have shut 
 him from the view of the soldiers ; but instead of going on 
 either side thereof, he made a jump over, and while in the air, 
 received a ball through the body and fell dead at the other side. 
 Of his garrison, two were taken ; the rest fled to the mountains. 
 His head was cut off and fixed on the gaol of Cork. A heap of 
 stones marks the place where he fell, and another is piled on the 
 spot where Puxley fell dead by his hand.” 
 
 The sun on* Ivera 
 
 No longer shines brightly ; 
 
 Upon , edition of 1830. 
 
SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 The voice of her music 
 No longer is sprightly ; 
 
 No more to her maidens 
 The light dance is dear, 
 
 Since the death of our darling 
 O’Sullivan Bear. 
 
 Scully ! thou false one 
 You basely betrayed him ; 
 
 In his strong hour of need 
 
 When thy right hand should aid him 
 
 He fed thee ; — he clad thee ; 
 
 You had all could delight thee ; 
 
 You left him ; — you sold him ; — 
 
 May heaven requite thee ! — 
 
 Scully ! may all kinds 
 Of evil attend thee ; 
 
 On thy dark road of life 
 
 May no kind one befriend thee ; 
 
 May fevers long burn thee ; 
 
 And agues long freeze thee ; 
 
 May the strong hand of God 
 In his red anger sieze thee. 
 
 Had he died calmly 
 
 I would not deplore him, 
 
 Or if the wild strife 
 
 Of the sea-war closed o’er him ; 
 
 But with ropes round his white limbs 
 Through ocean to trail him, 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 59 
 
 Like a fish after slaughter ! — 
 Tis therefore I wail him. 
 
 Long may the curse 
 
 Of his people pursue them, — 
 
 Scully that sold him, 
 
 And soldier that slew him. 
 
 One glimpse of heaven’s light 
 May they see never ; 
 
 May the hearth- stone of hell 
 Be their best bed for ever ! 
 
 In the hole which the vile hands 
 Of soldiers had made thee. 
 
 Unhonoured, unshrouded 
 And headless they laid thee ; 
 
 No sigh to regret thee, 
 
 No eye to rain o’er thee, 
 
 No dirge to lament thee, 
 
 No friend to deplore thee. 
 
 Dear head of my darling 
 How gory and pale, 
 
 These aged eyes see thee 
 High spiked on their gaol ; 
 
 That cheek in the summer sun 
 Ne’er shall grow warm, 
 
 Nor that eye e’er catch light 
 But the flash of the storm. 
 
60 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 A curse, blessed ocean, 
 
 Is on thy green water, 
 
 From the haven of Cork 
 To Ivera of slaughter, 
 
 Since thy billows were dyed 
 With the red wounds of fear, 
 Of Muiertach Oge, 
 
 Our O’Sullivan Bear. 
 
 THE FAIR KEEN ON EDMOND WALSH AND ARTHUI 
 LEARY. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 This Keen, or rather dialogue respecting the dead, was taken 
 down from the recitation of Mrs. Leary, and the following 
 traditionary particulars obtained from her, are necessary to ex- 
 plain the subject. 
 
 About eighty years since, Edmond Walsh, a farmer, in the dis- 
 trict of Kinalea, was hanged and beheaded at Cork, for the mur- 
 der of Arthur Leary, his neighbour and gossip.* 
 
 * Although gossip is a familiar English word from the Saxon 
 Godsibbe , it may be necessary to explain its Irish and primitive 
 meaning to the English reader, which is best done in the words 
 of Yerstegan : — “Our Christian ancestors, understanding a spi- 
 ritual affinity to grow between the parents, and such as under- 
 tooke for the child at baptisme, called each other by the name of 
 Godsib , that is of kin together through God : and the child in 
 like manner, called such his godfathers and godmothers.” 
 
 The spiritual affinity of Gossipred was considered to be among 
 the strongest feudal ties, and is frequently alluded to by histo- 
 rians. — A common and solemn threat of vengeance still used in 
 Ireland, is, “ By the right hand of my gossip.” ( dar lamha mo 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 61 
 
 Walsh was married to a respectable young woman, by whom 
 he had two children, when he became enamoured of another 
 woman, named Mary Fahey. She urged him to murder his wife 
 in order that he might marry her. The infatuated man at length 
 agreed to her proposal ; but Mary Fahey, fearing that his better 
 feeling might return and overcome his resolution, accompanied 
 Walsh home that night, and held a candle while he sharpened a 
 razor for the purpose of committing the murder. 
 
 When Walsh and his paramour entered the room in which his 
 wife and children slept, he stopped for a moment, — conscience 
 struck at the act he was about to perpetrate. 
 
 “ Why don’t you go on ?” asked his companion in guilt. 
 
 Thus urged forward, Walsh advanced to the side of the bed. 
 Again he hesitated, and beholding his children calmly sleeping 
 by their mother’s side, he turned away. 
 
 “ What, what !” exclaimed the fiend in woman’s shape. “ Since 
 you have no heart (courage), Edmond, give me the razor out of 
 your hand.” 
 
 Stepping back from the bed, Walsh replied, “I have done my 
 wife enough of wrong. Heaven will not let me murder her, 
 guarded as she is by those two little angels at her side.” And 
 he rushed forth wildly from the house, followed by Mary Fahey, 
 in an agony of rage and disappointment. 
 
 A violent altercation ensued in consequence, at a gate near 
 the high road, along which Walsh’s neighbour and gossip, Arthur 
 Leary, happened at the moment to pass. It was evident to Walsh 
 that Leary must have overheard sufficient to criminate him ; and 
 acting upon the impulse of the moment, he wrenched a bar from 
 
 chardais Criost, literally, by the hand planted through Christ in 
 mine), which although now an empty expression, was formerly 
 sufficient to implicate the fellow sponsors in the quarrel. As 
 gossips therefore were bound to succour each other, the murder 
 of one, was popularly regarded in the same light as that of a 
 parent or blood-relation. 
 
62 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 
 the gate, and following Leary, struck the unoffending man a 
 murderous blow on the back of the head, which felled him to the 
 ground. 
 
 Whilst Walsh held a consultation with his profligate com- 
 panion as to the best mode of disposing of Leary’s body, the 
 parish priest came up, and Walsh, to prevent discovery, ran 
 madly at him with the intention of murdering him also ; but the 
 priest, roused by the furious demeanour of Walsh, who bran- 
 dished the murderous bar of the gate, stuck spurs into his horse, 
 and plunging into the river Ownabuoy escaped by swimming 
 across it. 
 
 “ Ah, you have escaped me,” shouted Walsh in Irish. “God 
 is good to you, to have inspired you to ride with blessed spurs. 
 For the skin of my neck has been tanned to-night to make 
 leather for the spurs of the devil which last remarkable sen- 
 tence has since become an idiom in the district. 
 
 The priest, to whom Walsh’s person was well known, could 
 only believe, from his extraordinary and furious conduct, coupled 
 with this expression, that he had become suddenly deranged. 
 And it was so reported on the following morning ; a supposition 
 which Walsh’s excited and agitated appearance was well calcu- 
 lated to confirm. 
 
 Arthur Leary having left his home with the intention of being 
 absent two or three days, his disappearance caused no uneasiness 
 for his safety to be felt until after the expiration of that time. 
 But when at the end of a week he neither returned home, nor 
 was heard of, and enquiry after him was made in vain at the 
 place for which he had set out, serious apprehensions began to be 
 entertained for his fate ; and as the rivers had been much swollen 
 by heavy rains, it was believed that he must have been drowned 
 in attempting to pass some ford. As, however, the body had 
 not been found, a rumour got abroad respecting the possibility 
 of Leary having been murdered, for it was known that he had 
 left home with the intention of making some purchases at a fair, 
 and was therefore supposed to have had a sum of money about 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 63 
 
 him. This rumour becoming more general, some gentlemen of 
 the barony, whether in their love of justice or sport may be 
 questioned, proposed a hunt with a good pack of fox hounds, as 
 the most likely mode of discovering Leary’s body if it lay con- 
 cealed in any obscure or secret nook. The proposition was 
 eagerly received, and, to use the words of the narrator of these 
 circumstances, “ every man and boy in the six parishes, gentle 
 and simple, assembled at the hunt which was given out for Ar- 
 thur Leary.” 
 
 By the dogs, the body of Leary was discovered in what is 
 locally termed “ a double ditch,” that is, a high broad bank of 
 earth planted with a double row of trees. A fox earth in this 
 double ditch had been widened, and the body of the murdere d 
 man thrust into it, and no further effort at concealment was 
 made than that of placing a few loose stones and sods over the 
 entrance. 
 
 The body was removed, and a coroner’s inquest held upon it. 
 That robbery was not the murderer’s object, was evident from 
 the money which Leary was known to have had about him 
 being found in one of the pockets ; and from the testimony of the 
 priest, together with the place where the body was found being 
 close to Walsh’s farm, and other circumstances which transpired, 
 strong suspicion attached to Walsh as the murderer of his 
 gossip. 
 
 On Walsh being brought into the presence of the murdered 
 man, the corpse is said to have gushed out blood at the ears and 
 nose. Such is, at least, the popular version of the story. Walsh 
 was immediately made a prisoner, and sent to Cork, where he 
 was tried at the ensuing assizes. Upon the evidence of Mary 
 Fahey, who became approver, he was found guilty, and, pursuant 
 to his sentence, was hanged at Gallows Green, and his head 
 spiked on the South Gaol of Cork. 
 
 Some years after the murder of her husband the widow Leary 
 met Walsh’s daughter at the fair of Carrigaline, when the fol- 
 lowing Keen or dialogue took place : — 
 
61 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 MRS. LEARY. 
 
 Is not that Ned Walsh’s daughter, 
 
 In the cloak blood-money* bought her ? 
 
 walsh’s daughter. 
 
 Yes, I am she — Ned Walsh’s name 
 Is one that makes me feel no shame ; 
 
 Yes, I’m his child — though you have seen 
 My father hung at Gallows green! 
 
 The Lord be good unto his soul ; 
 
 It was no horse nor cow he stole, 
 
 Nor was it for arrears of rent 
 That Edmond Walsh to gaol was sent. 
 
 MRS. LEARY. 
 
 If not for these, it was for worse ; 
 Your father had the country’s curse. — 
 By him was killed the best of men ; 
 He, at one blow, made orphans']* ten, 
 
 * Blood-money, literally “ red silver,” is the name given to a 
 reward offered for the apprehension, and paid upon the convic- 
 tion of a murderer or other criminal ; and to have received it (in 
 other words, to have turned informer), is considered among the 
 Irish peasantry to be so great a stigma upon the character, that 
 an informer is generally obliged to leave the country. 
 
 It is difficult to understand Mrs. Leary’s allusion, unless it 
 means, that as Walsh’s property became forfeited with his life, 
 it might be considered in the light of a reward as the gift of the 
 Crown to his innocent widow and children. 
 
 f The Editor has endeavoured to preserve in the translation, 
 the Anglo-Irish idiom. In Ireland, the word orphan is com- 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 65 
 
 And changed to grief their infant mirth 
 Beside the mournful widow’s hearth ; 
 
 One heavy blow with bar of gate 
 My heart and home made desolate. 
 Huntsmen and hounds at break of day 
 Went forth to search all Kinalea, 
 
 And by the dogs was Arthur found, 
 
 Not fairly buried in the ground, 
 
 But his bruised body heedless thrown 
 Like carcass that no friend would own: 
 Murdered he was by Gossip’s hand, 
 
 For whom he would have staked his land. 
 
 walsh’s daughter. 
 
 Small would have been the risk of ground, 
 When no one need for Walsh be bound ; 
 
 My father had so much of pride 
 Ten thousand deaths he would have died 
 Before a favour he would take 
 Or ask a boon for friendship’s sake. — 
 
 A blow in passion that was given 
 Through Christ may mercy find in Heaven. 
 
 MRS. LEARY. 
 
 If I had silver and had gold 
 As much as in this fair is told, 
 
 monly applied to children who have lost either parent. “ Father- 
 less orphans,” or “ motherless orphans ” is the phrase made use 
 of. The addition of “fatherless and motherless orphans,” is 
 requisite to convey the English meaning of the word. 
 
 F 
 
66 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 I’d give it all, and think I’d be 
 A gainer, could I Arthur see. — 
 
 I’d give it, if ’twas ten times more, 
 
 My two best cows, the gown I wore, — 
 
 Aye all I had — I’d freely give 
 To see again my husband live. — 
 
 walsh’s daughter. 
 
 Alas, alas, my father dear, 
 
 No sign he shewed of guilt or fear, 
 
 When on the car I saw him bound, 
 
 I saw the rope his neck around ; 
 
 And on a spike I saw his head 
 When he was sleeping with the dead. — 
 
 His corpse in Temple-breedy* lies, 
 
 Keen’d by the white-wing’d sea gull’s cries. — - 
 
 KEEN ON MR. HUGH POWER, 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 And obtained by him from the recitation of an old man, named 
 Murray, an itinerant surveyor. The author was said to be Edmond 
 Wall ; and, to use Murray's words, “ Mr. Hugh Power was one 
 of the brightest men in Munster, and was the champion of all 
 sorts of learning. He lived midway between our times and the 
 sieges of Limerick, at a place called Knockastocaune (the Hill 
 
 * Or Temple breada,Le. Bridget’s Church, which stands perched 
 on a bleak height at the western entrance of Cork harbour, and 
 is a valuable landmark to seamen. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 67 
 
 of the Stake), east of Castle Lyons, and north of the river Bride, 
 in the county of Cork.” 
 
 This translation was printed in Fraser's Magazine , No. II, for 
 March 1830. 
 
 Last night, to my sorrow, 
 
 I heard through my dreaming 
 The voice of the women 
 
 Cf fate* sadly screaming ; — 
 Around me they flitted, 
 
 With mourning and weeping ; 
 And the loss of my comfort 
 I knew through my sleeping. 
 
 I found it this morning — 
 
 My best friend was taken ; — 
 From the stock of the Powers 
 The best limb had been shaken — 
 Hugh, the manly in heart 
 And the princely in spirit, 
 
 Who, from lofty descent, 
 
 Did these virtues inherit. 
 
 O Death ! you’re my ruin, 
 
 My woe and distraction ; — 
 
 You have crushed all my hopes 
 By this cruel action. 
 
 As a hive full of honey, 
 
 My heart you have rifled ; 
 
 F 2 
 
 * The Banshee, see p. 15. 
 
68 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 And within it all joys, 
 
 Like bees have been stifled. 
 
 0 Death ! you have robbed me, 
 And taken my treasure ; 
 
 You’ve made me a bankrupt 
 For ever in pleasure ; — 
 
 You’ve struck down and trampled, 
 My prop and protection, 
 
 And left me the victim 
 Of grief and dejection. 
 
 The darning of needles 
 Red-hot I’m enduring, 
 
 Through my heart’s inward core, 
 Without hope of curing. 
 Through my lungs and my liver 
 I feel my disaster ; — 
 
 Where’s the doctor can cure it 
 With physic or plaister ? 
 
 Hugh, the loved son of Pierce — 
 Who, for bright conversation, 
 All scholars exceeded 
 Of this learned nation — 
 
 Seven weeks at one sitting, 
 Without thought of tiring, 
 
 1 could hear you discourse, 
 
 In silent admiring. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 69 
 
 There’s grief and confusion, 
 
 Both above us and under, • 
 
 In the voice of the Heaven 
 
 That speaks with its thunder — 
 
 In the fall of the waters 
 Tumultuously rushing, 
 
 Through their deep -furrowed channels 
 So furiously gushing. 
 
 The earth that we tread on 
 To its centre doth tremble, 
 
 At the cry, — that no cry 
 
 Of this earth doth resemble ; 
 
 For the keen of the dwellers 
 Of dark Cairn Thierna* 
 
 Has reached Una’s palace, 
 
 On misty Knockfierna. 
 
 With the gust of the night-wind 
 So dolefully sweeping, 
 
 To Knocklienah and Cashel 
 Is carried the weeping ; 
 
 Thence onward it travels 
 To high Knockahannah, 
 
 Till the accents of wailing 
 Reach gray Slievenagranna. 
 
 * The fairies supposed to inhabit Cairn Thierna, a hill near 
 Fermoy, in the county of Cork. Knockfierna is a well-known 
 mountain in the county of Limerick, over which a fairy queen 
 named Una, is said to preside. Spenser wrote his “ Fairy 
 Queen” between these two hills. 
 
70 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 From her rocky bed starting, 
 
 The hag of that mountain 
 With her shrill voice awakens 
 Hill-cries beyond counting. 
 Loud and long is the screaming — 
 The land’s in commotion — 
 
 Till the full song of Death 
 Is spread over the ocean. 
 
 In its caves and recesses — 
 
 For Hugh there is mourning — 
 The deep moaning of waves, 
 
 And their heavy returning, 
 Comes back on Cairn Thierna 
 With mighty sound swelling, 
 Where the women of fate 
 Have their mystical dwelling. 
 
 Then raising their voices 
 Beyond all believing, 
 
 They send forth three wild shrieks 
 Of uttermost grieving ; — 
 
 For Hugh was their neighbour, 
 And he would not vex ’em 
 By the crossing of straws, 
 
 Or such tricks to perplex ’em.* 
 
 Hugh Power was of horsemen 
 The best and the boldest ; 
 
 * It was a superstitious notion that two straws put across in 
 the path of the fairies, caused them to stumble. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 71 
 
 He heeded not weather 
 The wettest or coldest. 
 
 At the tail of the hounds, 
 
 When the horn ceased sounding, 
 Over hedges and ditches 
 Away he went bounding. 
 
 From their dens and their burrows 
 Fox and badger he’d follow ; 
 
 No man was his equal 
 At giving the hallo ! 
 
 To a field of true sportsmen, 
 
 As the view it was cheering, 
 
 To see Hugh’s red jacket 
 Among them appearing. 
 
 Hugh Power was a dealer 
 In wine, to small profit ; 
 
 For he gave more away 
 Than he ever sold of it. 
 
 His house was a refuge 
 To the harper and poet ; — 
 
 But why need I tell this, 
 
 When all men must know it ? 
 
 Hugh’s death is a great blow 
 To science and knowledge ; — 
 The Latin he’d construe 
 
 With the head of a college ; — 
 The wit of the English, 
 
 Of Irish the sweetness, 
 
72 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 No one understood with 
 His critical neatness. 
 
 Where now is the music 
 That dwelt in his finger ? 
 Which so often has made me 
 Delighted to linger. 
 
 From three strings of catgut* 
 More sweetness he’d saw out, 
 Than from fortyf a harper 
 Could manage to claw out. 
 
 Then the pipes so melodious — 
 
 He made them quite speaking ; 
 
 And not like an old sow — 
 
 Now grunting — now squeaking. 
 
 No churl of his labour, 
 
 Without once refusing, 
 
 He’d play for the asking 
 
 The tunes of your choosing. 
 
 Who now will be foreman 
 
 Of Conogh’s Quarter Sessions ? 
 
 To visit with justice 
 
 All lawless transgressions. 
 
 The poor man his equal 
 Will not find in another, 
 
 * The double bass. 
 
 f The Irish harp of this period was strung w ith wire, and the 
 performers on it let their nails grow very long ; as to the number 
 of strings, see p. 49. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 73 
 
 Who’d bring in as guilty 
 His father or brother. 
 
 Many great lords and chieftains 
 To him were near cousins ; 
 
 I could number them up 
 
 By the scores and the dozens. 
 
 There was Sarsfield* the valiant, 
 
 Who bade William defiance, 
 
 And the Lord Barrymore 
 Of the grand Castle Lyons. 
 
 The proud Duke of Ormond 
 Of the lofty Kilkenny ; 
 
 Lord Power, and the Roches 
 Of Creg and of Renny ; 
 
 The chief of the Barretts, 
 
 With the Smiths of Molanna, 
 
 And the Lord Grandison 
 Of the lovely Dromanna. 
 
 The Condons of Cloughlea,| 
 
 That was soldj by a piper ; — - 
 
 May he caper in hell 
 
 To his tune — the false viper ; — 
 
 * Lord Lucan, of James the Second’s creation, 
 f Cloughlea Castle, now in the grounds of Moor Park, the seat 
 of Lord Mountcashel. 
 
 J Betrayed in 1649. 
 
74 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Then the honest Mac Donougb,* 
 The Lord Cahir, and Mac Carties, 
 And the Cusheens who bullied 
 All men and all parties. 
 
 Pierce Powerf has this morning 
 My heart-felt compassion — 
 
 In the hunt with his brother 
 Again he’ll not dash on. 
 
 Hugh's wife has no husband — 
 
 Her children no father — 
 
 But the corpse round whose coffin 
 With loud cries they gather. 
 
 Hugh’s greatness and glory 
 Lies fallen and humbled, 
 
 * “ Donnoch and Donnocha, rectius Donnchu , the proper name 
 of a man, very common among the old Irish. Hence Mac Don- 
 nocha, English Mac Donogh, the family name of a branch of the 
 Mac Carties descended from Dermod Mac Carty, the second 
 son of Cormac-fion, who was Mac-Carty-More and Prince of 
 Desmond, a.d. 1242. The large estate of this family was situate 
 in the country called Duhalla, westward of Mallow, in the county 
 of Cork, where their grand seats and castles are still to be seen, 
 all in the possession of the Earl of Egmont ; another family of 
 the name of Mac Donogh, but of a different stock, had a consi- 
 derable estate in the barony of Coran, county of Sligo, in Con- 
 naught; a barony which belonged first to the O'Haras, ever 
 since the third century (vid. Ogyg. p. 334), a branch of this 
 ancient family of Mac Donoghs of Connaught removed to the 
 county of Clare, of whom descended Doctor Mac Donogh, the 
 late Bishop of Kilaloue.” — O'Briens Irish Dictionary. 
 
 + Of Clonmult. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 75 
 
 Like the strong-holds of Erin, 
 To silent dust crumbled. 
 Again can I never, 
 
 For friend or relation, 
 
 Feel anguish so bitter 
 As on this occasion. 
 
 KEEN ON SIR RICHARD COX. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH, BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 And was taken down by him, from Mrs. Harrington, a pro- 
 fessional keener, in 1818. This keen is versified after the literal 
 translation published in “ Researches in the South of Ireland,” 
 where he has stated that it was composed on Sir Richard Cox, 
 the historian. 
 
 Sir Richard Cox, the historian, “ was successively Lord Chief 
 Justice of both Benches, Lord High Chancellor of Ireland, and 
 three times one of the Lords Justices and General Governors of 
 that Kingdom.”* He died in 1733, and from him the title 
 descended to his grandson, Richard, whose nephew, Michael, 
 succeeded to it ; Sir Michael’s son, Sir Richard Eyre Cox, was 
 drowned in the lake opposite to his seat, at Dunmanway, on the 
 20th August, 1783, at the age of twenty. f 
 
 * According to the monument placed in the parish church of 
 Dunmanway, about 1716, by Sir Richard Cox, in memory of his 
 wife. Smith has it “ this kingdom,” but the expression of that 
 kingdom,” which is recorded on the monument, may be consi- 
 dered an ebullition of English party feeling, which has been so 
 fairly met by the demand of “Justice for Ireland.” A common 
 saying, which I remember as a child, was, “ Any one from Dun- 
 manway can tell you the difference, and the wide difference too, 
 between this and that” 
 
 | The Editor entertains no doubt of the accuracy of the above 
 

 76 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 As there were at least three Baronets named Richard, I am 
 inclined to think that this Keen was composed, not as I have stated 
 on Sir Richard the historian, but on his grandson and successor, 
 because, if it had been upon the first Sir Richard, some allusion 
 would probably have been made to the distinguished offices 
 held by him, and if on the last Sir Richard, to his accidental and 
 premature death. 
 
 My love and my darling ! — tho’ I never was there, 
 
 An account most exact have I heard of your kitchen ; 
 Brown roast meat the cook would continually bear ; 
 The black boilers were never without a good flitch 
 in, 
 
 The cock of the beer barrel never ceased flowing, 
 
 And should there of strangers walk in a whole score 
 N o person would ask them, whence coming, where going ? 
 
 But place them at table without a word more ; 
 
 And there they might eat of whatever they pleased, 
 Nor would they in the morning be with a bill teazed. — 
 
 My love and my friend ! —through my light morning 
 slumbers, 
 
 I dream’d that your castle fell into decay ; 
 
 dates, although, according to Archdafl’s edition of Lodge’s 
 Peerage of Ireland, vol. vii. 164, Sir Richard Eyre Cox married 
 Maria, daughter of John O’Brien of Limerick, Esq. brother to 
 Murrogh, Earl of Inchiquin, “ and he lost his life in a boat which 
 he was rowing on a lake adjoining his seat of Dunmanway, by 
 the pin which keeps the oar of the boat in its berth breaking, 
 which accident happened 6th September, 1784.” 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 77 
 
 That no one remain’d in it, out of the numbers 
 That once were its pride — all had vanished away ! 
 The birds they sung sweetly no longer ; and leafless 
 The shrubs were. — No porter replied to my knocks ! 
 Our loss the dream told me, that we were left chiefless, 
 That our horseman* had perished — the noble squire 
 Cox. 
 
 My love and my darling ! — was nearly connected 
 With O’Donovan, Lord Clare, and Cox of the blue 
 eyes, 
 
 And with Townsend of White Court, — this day’s the 
 selected, 
 
 Yet none I see coming, of those I expected, 
 
 To mark with a green sod the grave w T here he lies. 
 
 THE FISHERMAN’S KEEN FOR HIS SONS. 
 
 VERSIFIED BY A LADY, 
 
 And communicated to the Editor by Mr. Maurice O’Connell. 
 A literal translation, which the Editor obtained in 1818 from 
 Mrs. Harrington, was printed by him in “ Researches in the 
 South of Ireland,” where it is described as “ the lamentation of 
 a man named O’Donoghue, of Affadown, or Roaring Water, in 
 the west of the county of Cork, for his three sons and son-in- 
 law, who were drowned." 
 
 * Ridire , the word used in the original, is equally applied in 
 Ireland to a knight or a baronet; — I have therefore given its 
 primitive meaning. 
 
78 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 O loudly wailed the winter wind, the driving sleet fell 
 fast, 
 
 The ocean billows wildly heaved beneath the bitter 
 blast; 
 
 My three fair sons, ere break of day, to fish had left 
 the shore, 
 
 The tempest came forth in its wrath — they ne’er 
 returned more. 
 
 Cormac, ’neath whose unerring aim the wild duck fell 
 in flight, 
 
 The plover of the lonesome hills, the curlew swift as 
 light ! 
 
 My first-born child I the flower of youth ! the dearest 
 and the best ! 
 
 O would that thou wert spared to me, though I had 
 lost the rest ! 
 
 And thou, my handsome Felix ! in whose eye, so dark 
 and bright, 
 
 The soul of courage and of wit looked forth in laughing 
 light ! 
 
 And Daniel too, my fair-haired boy, the gentle and 
 the brave, — 
 
 All, all my stately sons were ’whelmed beneath the 
 foaming wave. 
 
 Upon the shore, in wild despair, your aged father 
 stood, 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 79 
 
 And gazed upon his Daniel’s corse, too late snatched 
 from the flood ! 
 
 I saw him pale and lifeless lie, no more to see the 
 light — 
 
 And cold, and dumb, and motionless my heart grew at 
 the sight. 
 
 My children, my loved children! do you view my 
 bitter grief ? 
 
 Look down upon your poor old sire, whose woe knows 
 no relief. 
 
 The sunshine of mine eyes is gone — the comfort of 
 my heart ; 
 
 My life of life, my soul of soul, I’ve seen from earth 
 depart ! 
 
 What am I now ? An aged man, to earth by sorrow 
 bowed, 
 
 I weep within a stranger’s home ; alone e’en in a 
 crowd ; 
 
 There is no sorrow like to mine, no grief like mine 
 appears, 
 
 My once blithe Christmas is weighed down with an- 
 guish and with tears. 
 
 My sons, my sons ! abandoned to the fury of the 
 waves ! 
 
 Would I could reach the two who lie in ocean’s dark- 
 some caves, 
 
80 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 ’T would bring some comfort to my heart in earth to see 
 them laid, 
 
 And hear in AfFadown the wild lamentings for them 
 made. 
 
 O would that like the gay wild geese* my sons had left 
 this land, 
 
 From their poor father in his age, to seek a foreign 
 strand ; 
 
 Then might I hope the Lord of heaven in mercy 
 would restore 
 
 My brave and good and stately sons some time to me 
 once more ! 
 
 E. F. 
 
 THE WIDOW LANE’S KEEN ON HER DAUGHTER. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 And printed in Frasers Magazine , No. II, for March 1830, where 
 it was thus prefaced. “ The following lamentation was composed, 
 about thirty or forty years since, by a poor widow who resided near 
 Bandon, on the death of Betty Lane, her only daughter, a cele- 
 brated rustic beauty. The tradition, which, if true, is a melancholy 
 one, states, that a Mr. Henry Beamish paid particular attentions 
 to the unfortunate girl ; and at an interview one morning, spoke 
 to her of marriage, when he offered to pay the rent of her mother’s 
 
 * This was the popular name given to young men who left 
 Ireland to join the Irish brigade in France, or who entered into 
 other foreign services. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 81 
 
 cabin, as is hinted at in the second and third verses. A quarrel 
 appears to have subsequently taken place between the lovers ; 
 and, on that very evening, Betty Lane was discovered hanging 
 from a tree in a neighbouring plantation, having probably, under 
 the excitement of strong feelings, committed suicide. However, 
 the popular belief was, that Mr. Beamish had caused her to be 
 murdered, and had bribed his groom with three guineas to decoy 
 her into a lonesome place, and there hang her. This is the cir- 
 cumstance alluded to in the sixth verse. 
 
 In the seventh verse, the phrase “ guns wrapped in straw” may, 
 perhaps, require explanation. The Irish peasantry being obliged 
 to secrete their fire-arms, it is a common practice with the posses- 
 sor of a gun to deposit the lock, which occupies but little room, 
 in some secure place, and then, after greasing the barrel, and 
 securing the touch-hole with a small plug, and the muzzle with a 
 cork, to wrap it tightly up in straw or hay-bands. Thus pro- 
 tected, it is buried in the ground, or hid in the bank of a river. 
 Dean Story, the historian of William’s Wars, gives precisely the 
 same account of the manner in which the rapparees, or free- 
 booters of that time, concealed their arms ; and I well remember 
 my father describing the capture of a large quantity of muskets, 
 which was made by a party of the 38 th Regiment under his 
 command, in the north of Ireland, in 1793, by carefully prodding 
 all suspected ground with iron rods. 
 
 My pet and my darling, 
 
 My gentle housekeeper, 
 
 For whose death, full of sadness, 
 
 I’m this day a weeper ; 
 
 Your long yellow tresses 
 ’Twas a comb and hot water 
 Kept them in nice order, 
 
 My beautiful daughter. 
 
 G 
 
82 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 But Henry the faithless, 
 
 ’Twas he who betray’d thee — 
 Twas his cruel deceit 
 That a lifeless corpse made thee 1 
 ’Twas he who admired them — 
 
 Your tresses so yellow, 
 
 As he spoke of the rent 
 To me — the base fellow ! 
 
 The rent of our cabin, 
 
 ’Twas easy to pay it ; 
 
 If you look in the depth 
 
 Of my pocket, you’ll say it. 
 
 But what’s gold or silver, 
 
 From all we love parted ; 
 
 And left weak and lonely, 
 
 To die broken-hearted ? 
 
 Yet, though weak there’s a strength 
 That the feeble may borrow, 
 
 Like the flash of despair 
 
 From the black cloud of sorrow. 
 Revenge will I have — 
 
 Should I fail in a halter, 
 
 I’ll try a true gun, 
 
 And its aim shall not falter. 
 
 Oh, Henry ! you black rogue 
 And limb of the devil ! 
 
 The day that you’re hanged, 
 
 That day will I revel ; 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 83 
 
 I’ll have thousands to dance, 
 
 And to drink, and be frisky, 
 
 And to speed you to hell 
 
 With huge bumpers of whisky. 
 
 My curse on that villain, 
 
 Who took from his master 
 A bribe of three guineas, 
 
 To cause my disaster. 
 
 I’ll hunt as a ferret — 
 
 His fate I’ll determine, 
 
 And hang him, though hanging’s 
 Too good for such vermin 
 
 Ask ye where are my people — 
 
 The true and the trusty ? 
 
 Are their guns wrapped in straw ; 
 
 Or their swords are they rusty ? 
 They but bide for a little, 
 
 And wait for my telling — 
 
 Till they’ve laid my poor child 
 In her last silent dwelling. 
 
 Then will follow the season, 
 
 The time of my pleasure, 
 
 When my cup of revenge 
 
 Shall be filled brimming measure — 
 When my friends and my faction 
 Around me shall rally, 
 
 g 2 
 
84 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 And drive the -destroyer 
 Asa wolf from the valley. 
 
 The summer is coming, 
 
 And with it is bringing 
 Fine crops — God be praised 
 
 For the hemp that is springing ! 
 But I pray to His throne, 
 
 That the rope now is making. 
 Which, before the year’s gone, 
 Will be Henry’s life taking ! 
 
 KEEN ON YOUNG RYAN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR, 
 
 And was procured by him in July 1821. It appears to be an 
 address from a mother to the keeners, who were hired to attend 
 her child’s funeral, and was probably delivered as the procession 
 was about to depart from her house to the burial-ground. 
 
 The name of the subject of this lamentation was said to be 
 Ryan ; and, judging from the allusion to the River Dowr, it may 
 be presumed that he was a resident in the eastern part of the 
 county of Cork. Some of the verses were printed in the first 
 volume of “ The Fairy Legends and Traditions of the South of 
 Ireland,” as illustrative of the superstitious belief in the Banshee. 
 
 Maidens, sing no more in gladness 
 To your merry spinning wheels ; 
 Join the keeners’ voice of sadness ; 
 Feel for what a mother feels ! 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 85 
 
 See the space within my dwelling, 
 
 ’Tis the cold, blank, space of death ! 
 
 ’Twas the Banshee’s voice came swelling 
 Slowly o’er the midnight heath. 
 
 Keeners — let your voices blending 
 Long and loudly mourn my boy, 
 
 Through six counties* proudly sending 
 Song as great as that of Troy.f 
 
 He was as the Christmas mummer,^ 
 Bounding like a ball in play ; 
 
 He was as the dancing summer, 
 
 Bright and merry as the May. 
 
 What was motion, now is starkness 
 What was comfort, now is none ; 
 
 What was sunshine, now is darkness : 
 My heart’s-music — it is gone ! 
 
 There’s a grief that few can measure, 
 
 All absorbing — deep and dim, 
 
 ’Tis a grief makes death a pleasure. 
 
 And that grief I feel for him. 
 
 * A literal translation — probably meaning the province of 
 Munster. 
 
 t Or as lasting as Homer’s verse. The comment made upon 
 this line to the Editor, by the reciter, a miserably poor country 
 schoolmaster, was, “ Opus vatum durat — Glory be to God for 
 that same.” 
 
86 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Dark as flows the buried Dowr* 
 
 Where no ray can reach its tide, 
 
 So no bright-beam has the power 
 Thro’ my soul’s cold stream to glide. 
 
 Did your eyes like holy fountain 
 Gush with never-failing spring ;f 
 
 Had ye voices like the mountain, 
 
 Then my lost child ye might sing ! 
 
 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 keen is sweetly sung ; 
 
 Death, though mortal flesh inherit, 
 Why should age lament the young ? 
 
 * Dr. Smith, in his History of Cork, mentions, that “ about a 
 mile south-east of Castle -martyr, a river called the Dowr breaks 
 out from a limestone rock, after taking a subterraneous course 
 near half a mile, having its rise near Mogeely.” It has been 
 remarked, that “ the original” (of this verse) “ would seem to 
 have suggested to Mr. Moore the notion of that touching song 
 in his Irish melodies : 
 
 “ As a beam o'er the face of the waters may glow, 
 
 While the tide runs in darkness and coldness below,' ” &c. 
 f A holy well or fountain, is supposed never to dry up. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 87 
 
 ’Twas the Banshee’s lonely wailing, 
 Well I knew the voice of death, 
 
 On the night wind slowly sailing 
 O’er the bleak and gloomy heath. 
 
 Thro’ the holy Mother Mary, 
 
 And her babe — our Saviour bless’d, 
 Hearts that of this world are weary, 
 Will in Heaven find joy and rest. 
 
 THE SMITH’S KEEN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The original was obtained from Mrs. Harrington, in 1818 , and 
 is here versified after the prose translation which appeared in 
 “ Researches in the South of Ireland,” where the following intro- 
 duction was prefixed to it : — “ The account given of this la- 
 mentation, called ‘ the Smith’s Keenan,’ is at once simple and 
 romantic. A young man (a smith), left his widowed mother 
 and sisters, who resided at Killavullen on the Blackwater, and 
 married in a distant part of the country. Some time after, one 
 of his sisters, hearing that he was ill, set out to see him ; but 
 before she reached her destination, the night came on, which 
 compelled her, being ignorant of the way, to seek shelter at a 
 cottage on the road side ; here she found the inmates preparing 
 to proceed to a wake in the village where her brother resided, 
 and going forward with them, on arrival discovered it to be her 
 brother’s wake, at the sight of whose lifeless body she burst into 
 the following exclamations. The conclusion is singular, nor is 
 it possible for a translation to do justice to the strain of power- 
 ful sarcasm of the original, directed against the wife of the de- 
 ceased.” 
 
88 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 The Editor has found it impossible to convey in verse the con- 
 clusion of this Keen, which in plain prose stands thus after the 
 line 
 
 “ But I can never find again, a dear and darling brother.” 
 
 (“ The priest comes forward and speaks .) 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, stubborn stranger. Why will you provoke 
 your brother’s wife ? 
 
 ( She answers.') 
 
 “ Hold your tongue, stubborn priest ! read your Litany and 
 Confiteor ; earn your half-crown and begone. — I will keen my 
 brother.” 
 
 Oh, brother dear! oh, brother dear! your absence long 
 from home 
 
 It did not raise you into ease — you left us but to roam, 
 
 And found a wife — to plague your life, who knew not 
 how to prize 
 
 Your mother’s boy, your sister’s joy — the darling of 
 our eyes. 
 
 Come from afar, unknown you are — unknown your 
 family, 
 
 For those who stand, on either hand, are strangers all 
 to me ; 
 
 They only know you were a Smith, and of a Smith 
 the son, 
 
 And that he dwelt where Blackwater* her beauteous 
 course doth run. 
 
 Swift Awniduff, which of the Englishman 
 Is called Blackwater.” Spenser. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 89 
 
 Oh if I had, your cold limbs sad — by the Blackwater’s 
 side, 
 
 Or on the banks of the Awbeg,* or by the gentle Bride, f 
 
 Then Mary, Kate, and Julia would, cry for your sad 
 downfall, 
 
 Your mother too, would sweetly cry— and Fd cry more 
 than all. 
 
 Oh brother dear — oh brother dear, I might have guessed 
 my woes 
 
 When brother dear, I did not hear, your strong and 
 heavy blows, 
 
 Fall sharp and quick, and close and thick,, upon the 
 anvil’s head, 
 
 Oh brother dear — oh brother here — I should have 
 thought you dead. — 
 
 My darling one — my hope that’s gone — you had the 
 cruel mark 
 
 Of a bad wife — who lived in strife — she left you in 
 the dark ; 
 
 In summer dry, in winter cold, without a Sunday dress. 
 
 And fasting long — with patient song, your sorrow to 
 express. — 
 
 * The Mulla of Spenser. 
 
 “ And Mulla mine whose waves I whilom taught to weep.” 
 
 J Called the North Bride, to distinguish it from another river 
 of the same name, in the" county of Cork, which falls into the 
 Lee. 
 
90 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 You woman there, my brother’s wife — you woman wdth 
 dry eyes, 
 
 You woman who are deaf and dumb, nor heed a sister’s 
 cries, — 
 
 Go home — go home — go any where — your husband 
 leave to me, 
 
 And I will mourn my brother’s loss and keen hi in 
 bitterly. — 
 
 You woman there, who in that chair, with tearless eye 
 is seen, 
 
 Come down, come down, and I will sing for you a 
 proper keen, 
 
 A husband you, if young enough, perhaps may find 
 another, 
 
 But I can never find again, a dear and darling brother. 
 
 KEEN OX ME. SAMUEL HODDER 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 And taken down by him from the recitation of Mrs. Leary, 
 April 1829, at Blackrock, near Cork. According to Mrs. Leary, 
 it was composed about twelve or fourteen years before, by Mrs. 
 Mary Hodder, on the death of her husband, Mr. Samuel Hodder, 
 
 of (the name has escaped my memory), near Carrigaline, 
 
 who was generally called Frank, and is so designated in the 
 keen, probably after his father, to distinguish him from some 
 other Samuel Hodder — a name which abounds in that district. 
 
 To explain the circumstances alluded to, it may be necessary 
 to state, that ^Mr. Hodder was killed by a fall from his horse at 
 the fair of Carrigaline, a small village in the county of Cork ,* 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 91 
 
 and that Mrs. Hodder having gone there soon after, with the 
 intention of joining him, made her way towards a crowd, near 
 which she saw her husband’s horse standing, when she found 
 that it had collected around his dead body. On the corpse being 
 laid out in the evening for “ waking,” she is said to have spoken 
 the following keen, which is singular, because the Hodder family 
 hold a highly respectable rank among the gentry of the county, 
 and, at that time, the custom of keening had fallen into disrepute , 
 and was practised only by the peasantry. 
 
 This keen has been printed in Frasers Magazine , No. H, 
 for March 1830. The first verse of the original, according to its 
 sound on the English ear, may be found at p. xi. of the Intro- 
 duction. 
 
 My heart’s love and darling, 
 
 My horseman so fearless, 
 
 Whose good word has redeemed 
 From the stone pound so cheerless 
 The poor widow’s cattle, 
 
 And has saved from the halter 
 Young men, who their courses 
 From evil would alter. 
 
 I see you, my darling, 
 
 In the hall of your mansion, 
 
 Or your grounds, that were small 
 To your heart in expansion. 
 
 I see you surrounded 
 
 By the guests you’ve invited, 
 
 And I see all the windows 
 Are joyously lighted. 
 
92 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN, 
 
 There are ladies so stately, 
 
 In rich silken dresses, 
 
 With sweet smiles on their lips, 
 
 And with beautiful tresses. 
 
 There is mirth and there’s feasting, 
 There’s all that’s entrancing — 
 The sweetest of music, 
 
 And the gayest of dancing. 
 
 From that house hath departed 
 Its strength and its splendour, 
 Since the loss of my darling, 
 
 With his eyes full and tender. 
 
 The flowers of the valley 
 In sadness they languish ; 
 
 Their heads droop with dew -tears 
 Of sorrow and anguish. 
 
 The cuckoo is silent, 
 
 Though the summer’s returning — 
 The fish in the river 
 
 Partake of the mourning ; 
 
 And all that was pleasant, 
 
 And made sport and rejoicing, 
 Lies still — for that mansion 
 There’s now no lord’s voice in. 
 
 Frank, my heart’s love and darling, 
 
 I saw you this morning, 
 
 With your head neatly powdered, 
 Your fine horse adorning. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 93 
 
 From Cork to Ivera 
 
 That horse would have bounded ; 
 But before the day’s ended, 
 
 With grief I’m surrounded. 
 
 I went to the fair ground, 
 
 All mirth and all gladness, 
 
 Nor dream’d that I’d there find 
 My life’s bitter sadness ; — 
 
 I went where a great crowd 
 Had gathered together. 
 
 With a heart that was light 
 As the eider-duck’s feather. 
 
 When I saw what had happened, 
 And what was before me ! 
 
 My husband stretched out there ! 
 
 A numbness came o’er me. 
 
 I spoke not — I wept not — 
 
 For tears were too common; 
 
 But I stood without motion, 
 
 A statue -like woman. 
 
 Then came the strong struggle 
 Between silence and weeping ; — 
 No sound could I utter — 
 
 For the blow sunk too deep in ! 
 And that which looked brightly 
 Now seem’d my eyes dim in — 
 All, all was unsightly, 
 
 And reeling and swimming. 
 
49 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 At last, when I roused me 
 And burst into sorrow, 
 
 No mock -grief I needed 
 From keeners to borrow. 
 
 I looked on my husband — 
 
 I looked on him only — 
 
 And I thought on his children, 
 
 With me left so lonely. 
 
 Frank, my own love and darling, 
 
 You had every blessing — 
 
 A wife and two daughters 
 Your bosom to press in ; — 
 
 A plentiful table, 
 
 With green China dishes, 
 
 And a cellar of wine 
 
 That could answer all wishes. 
 
 The best bed and blankets, 
 
 The finest of sheeting, 
 
 And a quilt richly covered 
 
 With birds and flowers meeting. 
 
 You might lie of a morning, 
 
 Asleep, or in seeming, 
 
 Till the sun’s light came in 
 
 Through each small crevice streaming. 
 
 You did not forget me 
 
 At the Spaw,* when near dying, 
 
 Of Mallow. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 95 
 
 But will’d me your fortune 
 As I sat by you crying. 
 
 Your wife and your cousin, 
 
 I was doubly related, 
 
 And your lands and your money 
 Make me doubly estated. 
 
 Frank, my true love and darling, 
 Again I’ll not marry ; 
 
 But, for your sake, a widow 
 Will evermore tarry. 
 
 And all you’ve bequeath’d me, 
 And to me confided, 
 
 Shall between your two daughters 
 Be fairly divided. 
 
 KEEN ON YOUNG DRINAN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. 
 
 The original was obtained from the Editor’s nurse, in April 1829, 
 and he was told by her, that it was composed about forty years 
 before by the nurse of a boy named Drinan, as she accompanied 
 his funeral from Cork to Carrigaline. 
 
 A woman, said to be the nurse’s sister-in-law, and who appears 
 to have entertained an enmity towards her husband’s family, 
 excited by the boast in the sixth verse respecting her father- 
 in-law’s abundant table, replied in a severe commentary. But 
 whether this produced a rejoinder from the prima donna, or 
 whether, as is very improbable, she remained silent under the 
 insult, the Editor is unable to state, having faithfully translated 
 all (and apparently it is a mere fragment) that he has obtained. 
 
 For the amusement of the English reader, the sixth verse, 
 
96 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 which called forth the sister-in-law’s retort, is here written 
 according to the sound on the ear. It will be however suf- 
 ficient to enable the Irish scholar to recognize the closeness of 
 the translation. The first line, which forms the burden, and 
 signifies, “ My darling, you were without doubt,” is used indif- 
 ferently at the commencement or close of every verse : in Irish it 
 is termed “ the consequence of the verse.” By the Editor it is 
 omitted in his translation, being merely required in an extem- 
 poraneous composition, to allow time for the mental arrangement 
 of the verse which is to follow, and as it is often repeated twice 
 or thrice over, without system, to the evident injury of the keen 
 when transferred to paper. 
 
 Ma harrow though gan doubt 
 Angus shrovagh de vahig , ma haddeen a chlun 
 La konnost apratee rowr , esk eur aw noun, 
 
 Le mill augus le mau l, 
 
 Le fien own Vrarik an owl. 
 
 The pulse of my heart, and the prop of my years 
 The child of my breast, whom its softness had 
 cherish’d, 
 
 Lies there — and I see through the mist of my tears 
 In the darkness of death, that my sunshine* has 
 perished. 
 
 Had he lived, open home he ’d have kept for all men, 
 Tho’ a child, who that mark’d his high spirit could 
 doubt him ? 
 
 But he now lies as cold as the snow in the glen, 
 
 And what is this world to be left in without him? 
 
 * Mo grianach (my sunshine) is the usual term applied in the 
 south of Ireland by mothers to their children. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 97 
 
 My gossips, the ways of the world I’ll explain : 
 
 They are falsehood, and meanness, and cheating, and 
 squeezing, 
 
 Since small bits of sheep-skin, will great rents obtain, 
 And the agent is warm, while the tenant is freezing. 
 
 The rents they are heavy, then look at the ground, 
 Every foot is twice measured by learned surveyors. 
 No landlord in Ireland is now to be found 
 
 Who will give the odd acre to gain a man’s prayers. 
 
 With clothing and victuals the needy and poor 
 
 My child would have help’d through the cold of the 
 winter ; 
 
 In summer the thirsty would have drank at his door ; 
 And his nurse, in no manner of thing would he stint 
 her. 
 
 She never was stinted — fresh fish every day 
 With potatoes the largest, her father was able 
 To give her; and honey, and butter and whey, 
 
 And the best wine of France he could put on his 
 table. 
 
 THE speaker’s SISTER-IN-LAW REPLIES. 
 
 May a heart raw and scalding be yours for the boast, 
 Your father, poor man, to his wit’s end was driven ; 
 Your fresh fish — the limpet, picked up on the coast ; 
 Your potatoes — the small things to pigs only given.* 
 
 * Literally, the cut or wounded potatoes ( creadhach ) put aside 
 
 H 
 
98 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Your butter — slocaune* * — that’s the scum of the strand, [ 
 Your honey — from sea combf flung up by the 
 ocean ; 
 
 Your whey — the sour milk of a dead woman’s hand,f 
 And the best wine of France ? — you’re a fool I’ve ! 
 a notion ! 
 
 THE CONVICT OF CLONMEL. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY MR. CALLANAN. 
 
 Although these verses are not precisely a lamentation for the 
 dead, they nevertheless possess so much of the character of the 
 Keen, that they are here introduced. 
 
 They first appeared with the Keen for O’Sullivan Bear (p. 52), 
 
 for pigs’ food. To be fed on small potatoes is considered as little 
 short of actual starvation. Thus a damsel in the popular song 
 tells her lover : 
 
 “ I’m none of your Looneys nor half-famished Mooneys , 
 
 That picked out and sold the big minions [a species of potato'], 
 
 To portion off ‘Joane: — the Crehas eat at home, 
 
 With a dip [ relish ] made of salt and boil’d inions.” [onions.] 
 
 * Correctly written Sleabhacan, Anglice , lever. The word 
 appears to the Editor to be compounded of Sleabh or Slaib, and 
 Can , that is, mud butter. 
 
 t Muirineach , literally sea- weft, — the name given to a common 
 marine production thrown up on the shore, and not unlike a 
 wasp’s nest. 
 
 •? J A superstitious fancy of a most disgusting kind prevails in 
 some districts of Ireland, namely, that stirring the milk with the 
 hand of a dead person will cause it to produce an extraordinary 
 quantity of cream. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 99 
 
 in Blackwood’s Magazine, and they were afterwards reprinted in 
 the Collection of Mr. Callanan’s Poems, called, “ The Recluse of 
 Inchidony,” 1830. 
 
 “ Who the hero of this song (7r dubac e mo cas ) is, I know 
 not,” remarks the translator, “ but convicts, from obvious reasons, 
 have been peculiar objects of sympathy in Ireland. Hurling, 
 which is mentioned in one of the verses, is the principal national 
 diversion, and is played with intense zeal by parish against pa- 
 rish, barony against barony, county against county, or even pro- 
 vince against province. It is played not only by the peasant, 
 but by the patrician students of the University, where it is an 
 established pastime.” 
 
 Mr. Callanan proceeds with some observations respecting the 
 game, which, as they do not illustrate the song, the Editor deems 
 it unnecessary to repeat. 
 
 How hard is my fortune 
 And vain my repining ! 
 
 The strong rope of fate 
 
 For this young neck is twining ; 
 
 My strength is departed 
 My cheek sunk and sallow ; 
 
 While I languish in chains 
 In the gaol of Clonmala.* 
 
 No boy in the village 
 Was ever yet milder, 
 
 I’d play with a child 
 
 And my sport would be wilder. 
 
 I’d dance without tiring 
 From morning till even, 
 
 * Irish for Clonmell. 
 
100 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 And the gaol-ball I’d strike 
 To the lightning of heaven. 
 
 At my bed-foot decaying 
 My hurl-bat is lying, 
 
 Through the boys of the village 
 My gaol ball is flying ; 
 
 My horse ’rnong the neighbours 
 Neglected may fallow, 
 
 While I pine in my chains 
 In the gaol of Clonmala. 
 
 Next Sunday the patron 
 At home will be keeping, 
 
 And the young active hurlers 
 The field will be sweeping ; 
 With the dance of fair maidens 
 The evening they’ll hallow, 
 While this heart once so gay 
 Shall be cold in Clonmala. 
 
 KEEN ON THE EDITOR’S DEPARTURE FROM 
 IRELAND. 
 
 TRANSLATED FROM THE IRISH BY THE EDITOR. — MAY 1829. 
 
 I trust I shall not be accused of egotism for giving a keen, or 
 rather some impromptu verses on my leaving Ireland, as they 
 afford a specimen of the improvisatory power of the professional 
 keener. 
 
 The evening previous to leaving my mother’s cottage at 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 101 
 
 Blackrock, near Cork, for England, as I sat after dinner, the 
 well-known face and hooded head of Mrs. Leary appeared before 
 the open window. After a cough, to attract attention, Mrs. Leary 
 thus proceeded : — 
 
 “ ’Twas last night I came back, sir, from a great funeral that 
 I was sent for to, down into Muskerry ; and ’twas this morning 
 I heard your honour was going from us away ; so I just made 
 bold to step up to wish you a safe journey, and that luck and 
 grace may attend you wherever you go.” 
 
 Here the further good wishes of Mrs. Leary were checked by 
 a glass of wine being offered to her. 
 
 “ Your health, and long life to you, sir, and the same to the 
 good ladies that are there with you, and the gentleman — sure I 
 ought to know him, I’m thinking ; but my eyes, you see, are 
 getting very weak from all the crying I have to do.” 
 
 “ Your nurse?” inquired the gentleman alluded to. 
 
 “ No, not my nurse, but a far more extraordinary woman in 
 her way — a keener. Well, Mrs. Leary, have you picked up any 
 new keens for me in Muskerry ?” 
 
 “ May be ’tis a funning of me you want to make this evening 
 for the ladies and gentleman there. Sure ’tis to no use keening 
 unless the corpse was stretched out before one ; and, praise be to 
 God for it ! ’tis only the best of wine that is laid out there.” 
 
 “ But, Mrs. Leary,” said the writer, who, like Sir Condy in 
 Castle Rackrent, had taken a great fancy to hear what would be 
 said of him after his departure, “ now suppose that I am dead, 
 and that you were sent for to keen me.” 
 
 “ Glory be to the Almighty for it, ’tis alive and hearty you 
 are this blessed day, and not in want of keening,” replied Mrs. 
 Leary. 
 
 “ But suppose I was dead, Mrs. Leary ; or suppose I should 
 be drowned going to England, you surely then would keen me ?” 
 
 “ The Lord forbid” 
 
 “But if it did so happen” 
 
 “ Oh, then, indeed, no one would keen you as I would ; and 
 
102 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 good right I have, and ’tis much pleasure I’d have in so doing. 
 I’d keen you for three days and three nights without stopping.” 
 “ Come, then, suppose you begin at once.” 
 
 This proposition, which was accompanied by a couple of 
 shillings, produced, almost without a moment’s consideration, the 
 following verses in Irish, which the Editor took down as recited, 
 and has since translated with the greatest fidelity. This keen 
 has been printed in Fraser's Magazine , vol. ii. for March 1830. 
 
 Master Crofton, you see me 
 In trouble, from fearing 
 That you leave us to-morrow 
 And sail from Old Erin : 
 
 That you’ll part from your mother, 
 The mother that bore you, 
 
 And all of the comforts 
 
 Spread out there before you. 
 
 From the moment I saw you 
 I liked your appearance : 
 
 Of your pocket your heart has 
 Made many a clearance. 
 
 I liked your dark eye-brows 
 And eyes bright and merry, 
 
 And your cheeks, that resemble 
 The hawthorn berry. 
 
 Of hearing your voice, too, 
 
 I never would weary, 
 
 When you’d say, “ Here’s a shilling 
 For you, Mrs. Leary. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 103 
 
 Come sit here beside me, 
 
 A keen I delight in ; 
 
 While you sing one, I’ll take it 
 Down from you in writing.” 
 
 Master Crofton, your country 
 You leave but for dangers — 
 
 To meet with false Saxons* 
 And cold-hearted strangers. 
 
 Yet if my entreaties 
 
 Can’t stop you from going, 
 
 I pray that the wind may 
 Be fair for you blowing : 
 
 That no storm may arise 
 On the perilous ocean ; 
 
 Nor may you sea-sickness 
 Feel from the ship’s motion ; 
 
 That when you are landed 
 A coach may be waiting 
 
 To bear you to London, 
 
 The greatest of state in. 
 
 The country of Saxons 
 Takes all of our quality, 
 
 And I’ve heard it from many, 
 Has small hospitality. 
 
 * I need scarcely state that Sassenagh, or Saxon, is the term 
 used in Ireland for an Englishman. 
 
104 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 That small is the welcome 
 For the Irish among them ; 
 
 But their only delight is 
 
 To cheat and to wrong them. 
 
 And such is the country 
 For which you’ve forsaken 
 
 Your own, that supplies it 
 With butter and bacon ; 
 
 Where the biggest potato 
 To the stranger is given,* 
 
 Without hope of reward 
 
 Save the blessing of Heaven ! 
 
 Master Crofton, a moment 
 I’d have you consider, 
 
 If you go, there are hearts 
 
 That will pine and will wither : 
 
 I’d wish you among us 
 Contented to tarry ; 
 
 And some beautiful lady 
 To woo and to marry. 
 
 I know that your notions 
 Are high and aspiring ; 
 
 And that ’tis not beauty 
 Alone you’re requiring : 
 
 * To present a stranger with the largest potato is considered 
 among the Irish peasantry to be one of the strongest marks of 
 hospitality. 
 
OF THE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 105 
 
 For with it there must be 
 Both money and breeding, 
 
 And indeed it’s not easy 
 All three to succeed in. 
 
 There’s one I could mention, 
 
 Though she might be offended — 
 So the less that is spoken 
 The soonest is mended. 
 
 But I’ve seen — like the tide, 
 
 Ever ebbing and flowing — 
 
 In her cheeks, at your name, 
 Blushes coming and going.* 
 
 * The same idea occurs in a song by Owen McCarthy, begin- 
 ning with “ A merchant rare, who dealt in ware.” This dealer 
 is represented as becoming enamoured of a fair shepherdess at 
 the first glance, and forthwith he offers to be “ her tender swain.” 
 
 “ When she perceived he viewed her so, 
 
 Her colour it did come and go ; 
 
 Vermilion now — then winter snow — 
 
 Her blushing cheeks did ebb and flow." 
 
 The shepherdess, who proves to be a very cruel one, rejects the 
 poor merchant’s proposal in the most scornful manner, which so 
 much affects his mind, that he, 
 
 “ In wild despair, broke all his ware, 
 
 Nor went that day to Mallow fair 
 
 And thus ends this tragical ditty. Owen M‘Carthy’s songs were 
 generally written in alternate verses of English and Irish, or 
 sometimes alternate lines ; and a few composed entirely in Irish 
 have been very skilfully translated by him. 
 
 I 
 
10G 
 
 SPECIMENS OF THE KEEN 
 
 Who she is — but no matter, 
 Perhaps you can guess it ; 
 Should a hint fail, I hate 
 Any further to press it. 
 
 No doubt you’ll remember 
 I met you both walking, 
 
 When you seem’d about something 
 Most earnestly talking. 
 
 Whatever you then said 
 
 Appeared sweet and pleasing. — 
 But I’ve spoken enough, 
 
 And I hate to keep teasing : 
 
 Not a syllable more 
 
 Will I say about marriage, 
 Though I saw you last week 
 In her father’s new carriage. 
 
 Think — think, I conjure you, 
 
 Of your good aunts and mother, 
 With the sister who loves you — 
 And you have no other — 
 
 Who now lies in sickness, 
 
 Her restless bed keeping ; 
 
 And when you have left us 
 You’ll leave her to weeping. 
 
 Think on that dear aunt, too, 
 
 Who plays to perfection 
 Of the real tunes of Erin 
 The noble collection : 
 
OF TIIE SOUTH OF IRELAND. 
 
 107 
 
 Whose music could make me 
 Spring up in a hurry, 
 
 And caper about as 
 
 It did Mister Murray.* 
 
 Yet, if there’s no stopping 
 
 The course of your journey — 
 
 If nothing that I say 
 
 From your own will can turn ye — 
 I pray the Almighty 
 
 To guard and watch o’er you, 
 
 Till you find here again 
 Open arms before you. 
 
 * To explain this verse, it it necessary to state that my “ dear 
 aunt” (now, alas, the late Miss Dillon) had once or twice played 
 for Mrs. Leary several Irish melodies from Bunting’s collection, 
 at which she appeared to be very much delighted. Old Murray, 
 from whom I obtained the keen on Mr. Hugh Power (p. 66), had 
 been so inspired a few evenings before by a similar performance, 
 that, on hearing a well-known jig, forgetful of his age, his heavy 
 brogues, and his being in a drawing-room, he began capering 
 about with the nimbleness of a lad of fifteen. 
 
108 
 
 TO 
 
 MISS MARIA DICKSON. 
 
 Yes, I have gathered them together ! 
 
 They should be precious songs to thee ; 
 
 For, like the breeze o’er mountain heather, 
 
 They breathe a spirit wild and free. 
 
 Though in the memory lingers yet the dread 
 Of songs that once could rouse to battle-field, 
 
 Their power of ill is gone, — the bard is dead, 
 
 And Ireland’s harp now lives on England’s shield 
 There never may its strings a discord yield, 
 
 But its past murmurs, fearless, true, and bold, — 
 
 Why should the honest heart or hand withhold ? 
 
 T. C. C. 
 
 FINIS. 
 
 RICHARDS, PRINTER, 100 , ST. MaRTIN’S LANE.