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PREFACE. 
 
 Clontarf, the village which gives a title to the fol- 
 lowing Poem, stands on a low promontory, about 
 three miles distant from the city of Dublin, on the 
 northern side of the bay. It derives its name from 
 the Irish, Cluain Taribh* the recess or bay of the 
 Eull.t It is composed of one street, running at 
 right angles to the shore, and unlike the majority 
 of Irish villages, is distinguished by its neatness, 
 cleanliness, and regularity. The church, the castle, , 
 
 * Walsh's History of Dublin. 
 
 f This is the name given to a sand bank of considerable 
 extent, lying in a direction from West to East, along the 
 Liffey. Dining the prevalence of southerly or easterly 
 storms, it presents a very formidable appearance to the 
 mariner. It has been the scene of many shipwrecks, as 
 the remains of vessels yet to be seen on its banks at low 
 water, too plainly demonstrate. The loud bellowing of the 
 waves, naturally suggested the appellation by which this 
 sand bank is known. A promontory in the island of 
 Rathlin, on the coast of Antrim, has the name of Taribh 
 IlagJiana from the same circumstance ; and its propriety 
 can be justified by the highest classical authority. 
 
 OvTi &6t\XT5"A$ XVpcC BOAA 7T(>6rt XitTOV 
 
 II. 2. 394 
 A 2 
 
ri PREFACE. 
 
 and many cf the houses, being embosomed in trees, 
 have a pleasing and romantic appearance. 
 
 The " Sheds of Ciontarf " is the name given to 
 a village prettily situated en the shore, about a quar- 
 ter of a mile farther east. It is so named from 
 some temporary huts or sheds, which were formerly 
 erected in it for the convenience of curing fish. 
 The neighbouring country is intersected by roads, 
 appropriately denominated the "Green Lanes/' on 
 account of their verdant and umbrageous foliage, 
 and also thickly studded with cottages and villas. 
 The prospect is every where beautiful and extensive. 
 The eye reposes with pleasure on highly cultivated 
 fields, or roves delighted over a magnificent expanse 
 of aquatic and mountain scenery. On one side it 
 surveys a long sweep of level coast, the romantic 
 little island of Ireland's Eye, and the bold promon- 
 tory of Howth ; and on the other, Dalkey Isle, the 
 
 P. 265. 
 ■ reboant sglvceque et longus Olympus. 
 
 VlRG. 
 
 The bank is said to be increasing in height. The Author 
 has been informed, that some years ago not a blade 
 of grass was to be seen on it. It now affords a scanty 
 provender for a few cattle, during the summer months. 
 A narrow channel called Crab's Lake, which children 
 can wade across at low water, separates it from the main- 
 land. It abounds in cockles, razors, and other shell- 
 fish ; among its vegetable productions are the salicornia 
 and eryngc, or sea-holly. The present pier was not com- 
 menced when the poem was written. 
 
PREFACE. vii 
 
 Rochestown hills, covered with obelisk and tele- 
 graphy and the pyramidal mountains of Wicklow. 
 These objects form the outline of a circle, which 
 comprehends much to gratify a taste for natural 
 beauty. A capacious bay, girdled by a shore adorn- 
 ed with hamlets and groves to the, water's edge ; 
 the light-house, rising fair and majestic from the 
 azure surface of the deep ; the pigeon-house, with 
 its piers and fortifications, almost insulated by the 
 tide ; the vessels spreading their sails to the wind, 
 and the city of Dublin in the distance, with its 
 spires and domes illumined by the rising sun; — 
 all together form a picture whose richness and va- 
 riety being seldom equalled, may well excuse the 
 enthusiastic admiration which it is frequently known 
 to elicit. 
 
 During the bathing season, the shores are greatly 
 frequented, and the scene is full of animation. 
 Vehicles of all descriptions, from the curricle of the 
 peer to the jingle of the plebeian, are seen passing 
 rapidly along the road ; and numerous groups of 
 bathers are enjoying the refreshing coolness of the 
 waves. Few cities, indeed, are more happily circum- 
 stanced than Dublin, with respect to the health and 
 recreation of their inhabitants, or more disposed to 
 avail themselves of the pleasure and advantage, 
 which the vicinity of an inviting bay presents. 
 
 An abbey was founded here A.D. 550, the site of 
 which is now occupied by the village church, as 
 was also a commandery for knights hospitallers, in 
 the reign of Henry II. In 1534^ Allen, Archbishop 
 of Dublin, the implacable enemy of the Geialdines, 
 in endeavouring to make his escape to England, was 
 stranded on these shores, and having fled to Ar- 
 taine, was inhumanly butchered by the vassals of 
 Thomas Fitzgerald, Ciontarf was also the scene of 
 
*iii PREFACE. 
 
 a desperate conflict between this Fitzgerald and a 
 party of troops under the command of two valiant 
 leaders, named Ham er ton, one of whom wounded 
 Fitzgerald on the head. In 1641, the village was 
 burned, under the orders of the Duke of Ormond, 
 by Sir Charles Coote, who is justly described as a 
 6 ' hot-headed and bloody man."* This severe chas- 
 tisement was inflicted for the alleged participation 
 of the villagers in the plunder of an English bark 
 which had been cast upon the beach. 
 
 Ciontarf derives its chief interest from being the 
 scene of the battle in which the Danes received their 
 most signal overthrow. They had drawn out all 
 then* forces, with auxiliaries from the isles of Man, 
 the Hebrides, and the Orkneys, marshalled in three 
 columns, under the command of Sitricus, a valiant 
 son of the King of Denmark, Carrol and Anrud, 
 sons of the King of Norway, Dolatus, Commo- 
 laus, and Broder, admiral of the fleet. The last 
 brought into the field 1,000 men covered with coats 
 of brass. Maolmordha, the rebel King of Leinster, 
 joined their standard. 
 
 Brian Boroihme, the Monarch of Ireland, led 
 his forces from Kilmainham, where he had been 
 encamped, to give them battle. Having observed 
 the enemy's array, he divided his troops into three 
 corresponding columns. The first was composed of 
 Dalcassians, under the command of Mortagh and 
 his other sons, Connor, Flaun, Tiege, and Donnal. 
 The second division consisted of the Conatians, 
 under the command of Teige, son of Cathal, son 
 of Connor, principal King of Connaught. The 
 third division was formed of the Eugenians and 
 
 * See Carte's Life of Ormond. 
 
PREFACE. U 
 
 Desians, with the forces of Ulster, led by Cian and 
 Carrol. 
 
 While Brian was employed in marshalling his 
 troops, he employed all his eloquence to stimulate 
 their courage. He reminded them of the wrongs 
 they had suffered, and exhorted them to improve 
 the opportunity now presented to them of freeing 
 their country for ever from the yoke of a relentless 
 foe. He called in the aid of religion to kindle their 
 valour, and told them that Providence itself seemea 
 to have ordained that that day, the anniversary of 
 the Saviour's crucifixion, should witness the extir- 
 pation of his sacrilegious enemy. At the same time 
 he displayed the crucifix, and waving his sword, 
 gave the signal of battle. 
 
 Malachy and the forces of Meath, instead of 
 obeying the signal, retired from the field. This 
 base desertion might have proved fatal to the cause 
 of Ireland. But it only animated Brian and his 
 warriors to more heroic daring. The conflict, which 
 was long and bloody* terminated, according to the 
 most popular accounts, in the complete overthrow Gf 
 the Danes. Their principal leaders fell, with 
 11,000 of their troops. Many of the Irish also 
 were slain, and among them, their revered and 
 patriotic king, 
 
 II. III. 1. 179. 
 
 After many acts of valour, he was struck down by the 
 battle-axe of Broder ■ not however till he had in- 
 flicted a mortal wound on his antagonist. But Mor- 
 tagh, or Murchad, his son, was the hero of the 
 field. He slew Carrol, and cleft Sitricius from the 
 head to the waist, by a single blow of his battle- 
 
x PREFACE. 
 
 axe. Being engaged with Anrud, and his hand dis- 
 abled by the repeated blows which he had given, 
 he seized him in his arms, shook him out of his 
 mail, and placing his breast on the hilt of his sword, 
 transfixed the Norwegian to the ground. But this 
 was not effected with impunity ; Anrud in his fall 
 snatched the dirk which hung by the side of his 
 foe, and gave him a deadly wound. 
 
 " The monks of the Abbey of Swords, as soon 
 as they were informed of the melancholy event, 
 came and took the bodies of Brian Boroimhe and 
 Murchad his son, with the heads of Conaing his 
 nephew, and of Mothlan prince of the Desies, and 
 carried them to the Abbey of Duleek (Doulough) 
 and there committed them to the care of the religious 
 of St. Cienain, who conveyed them with great fu- 
 neral pomp to Swords and thence to Armagh. The 
 king was interred on the north side of the great 
 church, in a stone coffin by itself, and Murchad and 
 the head of Conaing, in another coffin on the south. 
 The clergy were for twelve nights waking the 
 corpses, with reading of psalms and prayers, and 
 chaunting hymns for their souls. Brian's other son 
 Doncha returning to Kilmainham with great prey, 
 sent a large treasure with jewels and other offerings 
 to the successor of St. Patrick, and to the Clergy of 
 Armagh/'* 
 
 In the hurry with which the good monks bore 
 away the dead, it seems they left part of the regalia be- 
 hind them, for ee Brian Boroimhe's sceptre was found 
 near Clontarf by Thomas Cornwall, as he was digging 
 in his garden, a few years after the battle of the 
 Boyne. It remained in his possession till his death, 
 and afterwards in that of his son John. About the 
 
 * ArchdalTs Monasticon, pp. 21—256. 
 
PREFACE. xi 
 
 year 1769 the late Rev. Dean Richardson, of Bel- 
 turbet in the County of Cavan, construed some cha- 
 racters on it, ■signifying that it belonged to Brian 
 Boroimhe Monarch of Ireland."* A harp, also said 
 to be his, is shewn in the Museum of Dublin Col- 
 lege. The eurious reader may see a history and 
 description of this harp in the 4th vol. of Gough's 
 Camden's Britannia. Credai Jitdcens Ajpella. 
 
 The Monarch, who was a poet and a musician as 
 well as a warrior, composed the air " Thugamvir 
 fein an Samhra lin" we bring the summer with us — 
 in allusion to the season of the year, or the prospe- 
 rity winch he anticipated from the expulsion of the 
 Danes.t The battle was fought on Good Friday, 
 A.D. 1014. The exact scene has not been ascer- 
 tained. The inhabitants of Clontarf say it was 
 fought near the Sheds — others lay it in the imme- 
 diate vicinity of Dublin. " Knockbrush, near 
 Finglass, so corrupted from c Knoc an brise/ the 
 hill of the breach or overthrow, has been conjectured 
 to be the spot where the greatest number fell. Part 
 of the hill is evidently artificial, and tradition says, 
 it was raised over those w T ho fell on the spot at the 
 battle of Clontarf. Human bones, with those of 
 horses, and the remains of military weapons are 
 frequently dug up there/'J 
 
 * Foley Ant. June 24, 1787. 
 
 f Walsh. | Idem. 
 
 \ A writer, whom I understand to be Ledwich, in the 
 Dublin Magazine for June 1763, supposes the site of the 
 battle lay in the New Gardens or Rutland-square, in the 
 city of Dublin. He founds his opinion on the circum- 
 stance of vast quantifies of bones being found in a trench 
 nearly half a mile in length, and intersected by other 
 trenches. These bones were mixed with quicklime, 
 
xii PREFACE. 
 
 - Finibus illis 
 
 Agricola, ia curvo teiTam molitus aratro, 
 
 Exesa inveniet scabra rubigine tela, 
 
 Aut gravibus rastris galeas pulsabit inanes, 
 
 Grandiaque efFosis mirabitur ossa sepulcris. 
 
 Geosg. lib. 1. 495 
 The labouring swains 
 
 Who turn the turf of those unhappy plains ; 
 
 Shall rusty piles from the ploughed furrows take, 
 
 And over empty helmets pass the rake, 
 
 Amazed at antique titles on the stones, 
 
 And mighty relics of gigantic bones. — DftYDEN. 
 
 The greater part of the following poem was written 
 during a short residence at Clontarf, in the summer 
 of 1819. The beauty of the scenery,, combined with 
 its historical recollections and local interests, natu- 
 rally gave rise to the descriptions and reflections 
 
 which he says the Danes always used to hasten the de- 
 composition of the dead.- — It would have served his argu- 
 ment better to shew, that the Irish used quicklime for 
 this purpose : for the Danes being all routed or slain, the - 
 Irish must have celebrated their funeral rites. — " A large 
 sword, with a spear of about two feet in length, with num- 
 berless pieces of iron, resembling broad rivets, have been 
 found among the bones. These rivets, he adds, correspond 
 with those described by Ware, as employed to strengthen 
 and bind together the military coat of the natives. — Fi- 
 ll illy, we have no account in Irish history of any other 
 battle in which so great a number fell, as is indicated by 
 this vast human debris. — Aware of the objection, that this 
 supposed site of the battle is too remote from the place 
 which gives it a name, he observes, that it is the custom 
 both of ancients and moderns, to name their battles from 
 their head quarters; and that those of the Irish army 
 were at Clontarf. This is however a mistake. Tne 
 Danes, and not the Irish, were encamped there. 
 
PREFACE. siii 
 
 which it contains. The battle itself was too impor- 
 tant a circumstance, not to claim particular atten- 
 tion. The preceding abridged account of it, is taken 
 from the first volume of Vallancey's Collectanea. The 
 original authorities are the annals of Tighernach, 
 the annals of Innisfallen, and the Chroniccn Sco- 
 torum. 
 
 Loco-descriptive Poetry, though considered as the 
 creation of modern times, is coeval with poetry itself. 
 The fine pictures of natural scenery which we meet 
 in the earliest poets, as that of Calypso's Grotto, 
 in the Odyssey, had all their prototypes in nature. 
 Horace's account of his farm, and the poem of 
 Ausonius en the Moselle, correspond very closely 
 with Johnson's description of local poetry, — " The 
 fundamental subject of which," he says, " is some 
 particular landscape to be poetically described, with 
 the addition of such embellishments as may be sup- 
 plied by historical retrospection or incidental medi- 
 tation." Helicon and Parnassus had been repeatedly 
 celebrated by the muse before Cooper's hill ; — and 
 Denham truly observes^ " They made not poets, but 
 the poets those." Denham, however, has the honor 
 of being the first among English poets who have 
 cultivated this species of composition, as a distinct 
 province of the muse. He has had a host of imita- 
 tors, insomuch that in our sister island, 6i not a 
 mountain rears its head unsung." 
 
 The poetical description of scenery on which we 
 have been accustomed to gaze with delight, is as 
 pleasing to the imagination, as its representation 
 in a painting is to the eye. But repetition wearies, 
 and mere beauty of scene, unless accompanied with 
 some singular phenomena, which may afford room 
 for the speculations of the philosopher, or the re- 
 searches of the antiquary, and are, at the same time, 
 
 A 3 
 
xir PREFACE. 
 
 susceptible of poetical embellishment, does not afford 
 sufficient materials, nor is it capable of exciting a 
 powerful enough interest for the objects of the poet. 
 Description soon satiates the reader. Tired with the 
 contemplation of woods and lakes, of rocks and 
 mountains, he longs for subjects of higher moment ; 
 and unless the scene described, be mingled with 
 historical, fabulous, and romantic associations, turns 
 from it with indifference or disgust. The actions of 
 human beings stamp true importance on every cele- 
 brated region : and hence a barren plain, or rocky 
 pass, from the circumstance of its having once been 
 the theatre of some mighty struggle, shall possess 
 more power in awakening the imagination, than the 
 most beautiful landscape in nature. The spot which 
 witnessed the atchievements of the hero, and the 
 triumph of liberty, become hallowed in his estimation. 
 He sees the spirits of the mighty dead hovering 
 around him, or he transports himself back to the 
 age which their actions have immortalized. He be- 
 comes an actor in the scene, and a participator in the 
 triumph. 
 
 Such are the impressions which every native of 
 Ireland, who takes an interest in the history of his 
 country, must feel on the shores of Clontarf. 
 
 Juvat ire et Dorica castra 
 
 Desertosquc videre locos, littusque relic turn ; 
 
 Hie Dolopum manus. hie saevus tendebat Achilles, 
 Classibus hie locus, hie acies certare solebat. 
 
 .En. 2d. 
 
 With delight survey 
 
 The cr.mp deserted where the Grecians lay, 
 The quarters of the several chiefs they shewed, 
 Here Phcenix, here Achilles made abode, 
 Here joined the battles, there the navy rode. 
 
 Dry den. 
 
PREFACE. xv 
 
 The past history of Ireland contains so little to 
 gratify a patriotic pride, that the mind receives 
 peculiar pleasure from the contemplation of the 
 solitary page which records her glory. The age too 
 which imagination can invest with the mantle of 
 fiction, assumes a double splendour from its contrast 
 with the surrounding ages of darkness and crime. 
 He who has nothing to admire in the present, and 
 little to expect from the future, may be permitted 
 to gaze with rapture on the glorious visions of the 
 past. 
 
 But let us hope that better times await this 
 unfortunate country. The genius of improvement 
 has gone forth, and a benevolent spirit is at work 
 for her melioration. The great have felt a powerful 
 impulse stimulating them to consider the wants, and 
 redress the grievances of the poor. Education has 
 become a subject of serious thought and active 
 employment, from which we may anticipate the hap- 
 piest consequences. New sources of industry may 
 be opened by the wisdom of a patriotic legislature, 
 and Ireland, availing herself of her natural advan- 
 tages, become flourishing and happy. She may even 
 acquire distinction in scienee, literature, and the 
 fine arts, for she is rich in all the nobler elements 
 of mind. Give her only due cultivation, and it will 
 be found that her intellectual soil is most fertile 
 and exuberant. It may be compared to the poet's 
 original state of nature, before her strength was 
 exhausted, and her prolific energy effete. 
 
 Prseterea nitidas fruges, vinetaque Iseta, 
 Sponte sua primum mortalibus ipsa creavit. 
 Ipsa dedit dulces foetus, et pabula laeta 
 Qusd nunc vix nostra grandescunt ancta labore. 
 
 Lucret. Lib. II. 1. 1157. 
 
xvi PREFACE. 
 
 Then earth prolific bade rich verdure shoot, 
 The joy-inspiring vine, and glossy fruit ; 
 And gave, spontaneous, what the laboured soil 
 Now yields reluctant to the hands of toil. 
 
 Under every disadvantage she occasionally gives 
 birth to some gigantic minds, as specimens of her 
 innate powers and immense capabilities. Her Usher 
 and her Boyle, — her Swift and her Goldsmith, — her 
 Berkley. Burke, Grattan and Plunket, — her Welling- 
 ton and her Welle-sley, show what she is capable of 
 atchieving in the walks of science and the muse, 
 in the senate, the cabinet, and the field. Let Ire- 
 land only be made what she is capable of becoming, 
 and what country shall rank higher in every thing 
 that constitutes the true happiness and glory of a 
 ]and> 
 
CLONTARF. 
 
 BOOK FIRST. 
 
 Ast ego despectis, quae census opesque dedemnt, 
 Naturae mirabor opus, non cura nepotum, 
 Lietaque jacturis ubi luxuiiatur egestas. 
 Hie solidae sternunt-humentia littora arenas, 
 Nee retinent memores vestigia pressa figuras. 
 
 Ausonii Mosella. 
 
 A 4 
 
CLONTARF. 
 
 BOOK FIRST, 
 
 SCENERY — AND SHIPWRECK, 
 
 Escaped the city din, with joy, Clontarf, 
 I hail thee. In thy pure and fragrant breeze 
 Aly soul feels buoyant. The reviving breath 
 Of health is round me. As a bird let loose 
 From tedious thraldom, I revisit glad 
 Thy fields and shores, 'till my emotions burst 
 Spontaneous into song.— Thou seem'st from far, 
 A wood-crowned island, floating on the waves : 
 Such as, of old, might bards have deemed th' abode 
 Of some blight goddess, offspring of the sun 
 Or sea-born Tethys, anxious to detain 
 Her wandering hero, by sweet spells of love. 
 £ 
 
2 CLONTARF. 
 
 Fair are thy daughters : — strong in heart and hand 
 Thy sons, true race of ocean, skilled to war 
 "With all his tempests. Ever to their toils 
 Be heaven benignant. May thy waters flow- 
 Clear and salubrious, furrowed by the keel 
 Of many a bark with pleasure's streamers gay. 
 Here, never more, may pirate Dane unfurl 
 His raven ensign : — nor a ruthless Coote 
 Kindle the torch of ruin. But may peace 
 With downy wing brood o'er thee ; spring adorn 
 With all her blooms, and ever round thy bower* 
 May sweetest visions float of love and joy ! 
 
 Hither, as oft as summer suns glow bright, 
 Swarms forth the city hive, to taste the sweets 
 Of rural life. Then fervid grows the beach- 
 Wheels smoke on wheels, and crouds amid the wave* 
 Seek health and recreation. To the eye 
 Of poet, all the ocean deities 
 
 Seem congregating here. Nor wants there aught 
 Of Neptune's equipage, the plunging steed, 
 The bending car, and Triton's sounding shell. 
 
 All-potent nature ! o'er the heart of man, 
 How by a thousand, and ten thousand ties 
 Of subtlest texture, yet more strong than links 
 Of adamant, dost thou preserve thy reign ? 
 How, with each sweet returning spring, revive 
 His native instinct, — maugre all the wiles 
 0f artificial life, renew the taste 
 
CLONTARF. 
 
 Derived from our first parents, when they culled 
 The flowers of Eden ? wide thou spread' st for him 
 Thy vast munificence, and with a sound 
 That wakes and warms his spirit, bid'st him come 
 To worship at thy shrine by mountain top, 
 Forest or ocean. Loud thy welcome voice 
 Swells in the breeze — it carols in the woods, 
 It murmurs in the streams, it peals more loud 
 In thunders, billows, cataracts, and storms ; 
 Celestial music ! echoing to the heart, 
 And tingling every nerve with extasy. 
 
 Too much, I own, has art on nature here, 
 Forced her dominion.— To the eye of taste 
 Yon castle walls were fairer in the hues 
 Of time-strewed lichen, and of ivy green 
 Hung o'er the battlements with broken arch, 
 And loop-hole dark and close, than thus disguised^ 
 Like some trim cottage in a white-washed coat. * 
 The ruin's charm is gone : no fancy's power 
 Can e'er restore it. — But though graceless art 
 Has trodden here, and with division quaint, 
 And mural fence, deformed the soil which God 
 Made beautiful, enough may Nature boast 
 To claim the homage of the Muse's son. 
 Ah ! sure to him, who cooped in city walls, 
 
 * Quanto preestantius esset 
 
 Numen aquae, viridi si margine clauderct undas 
 Uerba, nee ingenuirai violent marmora tophum. 
 
 Juvenal. 
 
4 CLONTARF. 
 
 Has numbered sad the winter's tedious hours, 
 
 'Tis precious, though but once, to see the fields 
 
 In vernal robes, rich glistering with dews, 
 
 The pearls and gems of heaven ; to feel the cool 
 
 Delicious fragrance of the morning air, 
 
 Fresh breathed from paradise, or view from far 
 
 The ocean reddening with Aurora's fires ;— 
 
 To hear the carols of the soaring lark, 
 
 The insect's buzz, or hum of merry bee. 
 
 Dear is the joy to eyes long tired like mine, 
 
 (For still from contrast man's chief pleasure springs,) 
 
 With scenes monotonous, brick, slate, or stone, 
 
 All forms quadrangular, in street or lane, 
 
 To trace by lakes and seas, in flower and tree. 
 
 Coral or wreathed shell, the magic line 
 
 Of beauty ever varying, ever new. 
 
 Here Nature still presides, and still she reigns 
 
 In solitary wildness, where the tides, 
 
 In silvery folds, enchase yon sounding sands. 
 
 Blue rolls yon ocean, as when first it gushed 
 
 New from creation's urn. Yon mountain cones, 
 
 How beautiful their outline, as it flows 
 
 Continuous, pictured on the dark-blue sky ! 
 
 Have stood unchanged, since hands omnipotent 
 
 Heaved them from chaos, Lo ! a mighty page, 
 
 In its primeval lustre, here displays 
 
 The glories of th s Eternal. Man may raze 
 
 Art's strongest fabrics ; — woods or harvests spring 
 
 Where stood the rampired fortress ;— couch the deer 
 
 °3DA the wild heath wliich hides the ancient site 
 
CLONTARF. 
 
 Of mighty capital ; — but Nature smiles 
 At change and dissolution. Works of man 
 Are fragile bubbles on the tide of time, 
 They burst and disappear : — but Nature stands 
 Unchanged, imperishable — aye the same. 
 
 Yet be not Art unhonoured. — Yon fair mole 
 That o'er the azure lifts its mural sides, 
 May tell what homage man should pay to Art. 
 Its broad foundations on the sands she spread, 
 To limit their invasion:— dense and strong 
 She reared its fabric, stable as the walls 
 Of fenced metropolis, Piraean port, 
 Or causeway, work of Finnian giants old. 
 The neaj: extreme, where once the dove-cot stood, 
 She strengthened as a citadel of war, 
 With towers and bastions, rampires, embrasures, 
 And magazines of death.— -But there she raised 
 A beauteous Pharos of colossal height, 
 Pyramidal, with alabaster brow, 
 Encircled by a crystal diadem, 
 Radiant with living fire from night till morn : 
 Meet dwelling for the Genius of the scene, 
 For thence around, as from a central throne, 
 His eye may all his wide domain survey. 
 Majestic structure, ever may'st thou stand, 
 Firm-seated as the rock that weaves his roots 
 Round the earth's centre. 'Mid the roaring storms 
 That gather o'er thee, tranquil may'st thou shine, 
 As the bright planet that from azure skies 
 
6 CLONTARF. 
 
 Looks placid down, and smiles to sudden peace 
 The elemental war. To reason's view 
 More beautiful art thou, and more sublime. 
 Than proudest monument that e'er arose 
 To hero's glory. Thou record'st no tale 
 Of blood or crime. Defiance on thy walls 
 Hangs no proud banner ; but Benevolence greets 
 A temple in thee, and thy sacred fires 
 Are kindled from her altar. As a friend 
 Found faithful 'mid the faithless, thou art warm, 
 And bright, and cheering, when the world is dark, 
 And cold, and comfortless. O'er howling seas, 
 Through coilied night, when peers no star in heaven^ 
 Thou fling' st thy radiance, grateful to the soul 
 Of lorn sea-pilgrim. Hope is in the ray, 
 And at its magic touch a thousand joys 
 Are springing to his heart: — he grasps in thought 
 His parents, wife, or children to his breast:— 
 He calls the gathering winds, — the vessel bounds 
 As if his wish inspired her, and with morn 
 She sweeps thy base, and anchors in thy waves. 
 
 Glorious the scene that bursts upon the sight 
 Of weary wanderer, when with orient day 
 His ship salutes the waves of green Clontarf. 
 Tranced by its beauty, fondly does he deem 
 The land of faery nigh. Not Bail's shores^ 
 Nor gay Neapolis, nor Corinth's gulf, 
 Nor Hellespontine strait, nor eastern isle, 
 Rising rich- wooded o'er her coral rocks, 
 
CLONTARF. 7 
 
 Exhaling spices " many a league to sea," 
 Can match the glories of this noble bay. 
 If o'er the waters no volcano flings 
 A purple radiance ; no mephitic airs 
 Pollute the atmosphere ; no thunders roar 
 Beneath the firm-set hills ; but zephyrs bland 
 I Breathe health and fragrance through the winding vales j 
 Perennial verdure clothes them ; crystal rills 
 Are bounding musical from rock to rock ; 
 And all the mountain Genii see their realms 
 Stand as they stood when first the vocal winds 
 Awoke their echoes. — Roves th' excursive glance 
 From Dalkey islet o'er Martello tower, 
 Spire or tall obelisk, till high it climbs 
 Yon peaks that swell o'er Dargle's fay-loved stream. 
 Now round Athcliath's* hilly ridge it sweeps, 
 O'er many a rural glen, o'er rivers, woods, 
 Turret, and windmill whose revolving anus 
 Woo every breeze, and every scene enrich 
 With animation. On Marino's groves, 
 Loved of each Muse, it lingers with delight ; 
 Then darts along the cottage-studded beach, 
 To the Ipw isthmus, o'er whose sandy bed 
 The isle of holy Nessan lifts its brow ; 
 Nessan, whose arm transfixed and turned to stone, 
 The minister of Satan* Thence it climbs 
 The eagle's ancient haunt, Beneider'sf height, 
 Whose wavy outline marks the form supine 
 
 $ Dublin hills, f The ancient jiame of the hill of Howth, 
 
§ CLONTARF. 
 
 Of some Typhoeus, whose enormous limbs* 
 Immortal hands have fettered to the rock, 
 By links infrangible. Or say, if there, 
 Thy spell-bound genius locked in iron sleeps 
 Erin, be imaged ? High the throbbing heart 
 Expands with rapture ; odours sweet of flowers 
 Load the soft zephyrs, while the chant of birds, 
 Music extatic to an ear long tired 
 With the hoarse murmurs of the surges, steals 
 On the charmed sense as harmony from heaven. 
 | Bright from the opal portals of the morn 
 Has rolled the car of day. In gorgeous robes, 
 Tiiick starred with gems, and diademed with light, 
 The god, the god appears. The silvery waves 
 Exulting dance. The rocks and woods assume 
 The tints of heaven, and now the city stands 
 Glittering in fluid gold. The towers and spires 
 Like burnished shafts of fire, with glory stream 
 Up to the crystal vault, while domes and bowers 
 Of glassy fabric, kindling in the ray, 
 As if with vital spirit, o'er the tide 
 With long reflections glance. Transporting sight !- 
 O fair illumination ! what could man, 
 In celebration of high festival, 
 E'er do to rival this ? The stranger's heart 
 Thrills with sweet extasy, and he could wish 
 To linger long, and feast his ravished eye 
 On these Elysian prospects ; — such he deems 
 The scenes around him, — such th' abodes of bliss 
 Seen by the prophet in celestial trance. 
 
CLONTARF. 
 
 Nor less the joy, at evening's tranquil hour, 
 When flames the western clime with all the tint* 
 Of many-coloured light, to guide the skiff 
 O'er the smooth waters, and around survey 
 The scene magnificent. The city bell 
 Now tolls "the death of day," a solemn sound, 
 That in the Muse's pensive bosom wakes 
 Sweet recollections. Now no vapour's breath 
 Dims the pure sky, nor in confusion throws 
 The forms of things ; but one unblending line, 
 With nice precision, stamps the bound distinct, 
 Of light and shadow. Yon lone tree so marked 
 Stands in the crystal air, that eve*y branch, 
 And each particular leaf, the copyist's hand 
 Might well depict. So rides yon anchored bark, 
 Defined as clear as if an angel's hand 
 Had stamped her dark impression on a sheet 
 Of burnished ore. Another bark as fair, 
 In beauty, shape, and magnitude, the same, 
 With masts down pointing to the nether sky, 
 Beneath her floats. How in a moment thus, 
 In playful mood, does nature emulate 
 The proudest works of art ? Her own fair forms 
 Thus 'tis her joy to multiply, and trace 
 Their bright similitude in lake or stream. 
 For this, as now, she smooths the placid tide, 
 Nor lets a breeze with winnowing plume disturb 
 An image in its mirror. 
 
 When the star 
 Of eve exalts her crescent, that sweet hour 
 
10 CLOXTARF. 
 
 By bards and sages loved, Oh ! let me rove 
 
 Thro' yon green bowers where oft with long-drawn sighs? 
 
 The owl alarms th' unconscious passenger, 
 
 "Who starts, and turns, and thinks unearthly sounds 
 
 Are muttering round him. — Oft to future worlds 
 
 Let my thoughts soar, from where the village church 
 
 In shade embosomed, hides its modest head, 
 
 An emblem fair of unobtrusive worth. 
 
 There, 'mid the wrecks of death, appropriate site ! 
 
 The fane of Immortality proclaims 
 
 Her deathless triumphs. — Yet while here I muse 
 
 Beneath these towering elms, I ask no aid 
 
 Of architectural pomp, to lift my soul 
 
 To the great source of good. I here behold 
 
 The grand primeval temple, — here can trace 
 
 The archetype sublime ef Gothic arch, 
 
 Of clustering pillar, and the fretted roof : 
 
 Nor wants there storied window to reflect 
 
 The " dim religious light," nor dulcet sound 
 
 Of organ, to exalt the thought devout ; 
 
 Since through long vistas in the ebon sky, 
 
 Now gemmed with stars, a present deity 
 
 Reveals his glories, while the whispering winds 
 
 Fill with melodious breath, the breath of heaven, 
 
 Each branch and leaf, 'till with symphonious burst. 
 
 They chant their halleluiah more sublime, 
 
 Than e'er re-echoed through Cathedral aisle. 
 
 But oft a music peals sublimer still, 
 From yonder sands, when round them wildly roars 
 The storm-swept ocean.— Lcves the Muse to rove 
 
CLONTARF. 11 
 
 Along their margin, when the ebbing waves 
 Breathe their last murmurs, while the mid-day sun 
 Flames in the sky, and in his golden ray 
 Smile the crisped seas. Not unprolific deem 
 These tide- encircled sands, though such they seem 
 To minds ne'er tuned sweet sympathy to hold 
 With Nature's harmonies. To souls like mine, 
 As now attempered, not the gay parterre, 
 With rich carnations dight, seems half so fair, 
 For here I stand upon creation's floor, 
 Swept by the winds, and garnished by the floods, 
 And commune sweet with Nature's ministers ; 
 The spirits benign, of ocean, earth, and air, 
 That love to breathe unutterable thoughts, 
 Sublime, devout, and with man's spirit claitn 
 Kindred immortal. 
 
 In those small ridged sands 
 Imagination shapes the works of man, 
 Cities and towers, raised by one tide of time, 
 And by another swept from earth away ; 
 E'en as those tiny furrows which the surf 
 Is flowing to efface. And now afar 
 To Afric's billowy wilderness of sands, 
 She wafts me, where beneath the fiery drift, 
 Whole caravans, and legions' armed array 
 Have sunk and perished. But these ridges lie 
 A Ann set rampire, to secure the beach 
 From mining surges, nor in columns raised 
 Stalk forth terrific, nor in eddying whirls, 
 
12 CLONTARF. 
 
 Borne by the tempests, e'er on fertile lands 
 
 Descend with barrenness ; though oft in streams 
 
 Before the wind, with rapid course they run, 
 
 Amusive, like the streamers in the sky. 
 
 High on their topmost ridge the bent grass twines 
 
 Its binding roots, and rustles to the blast. 
 
 Euphorbia, here, concocts her acrid juice, 
 
 And in yon saltmarsh Salicornia rears 
 
 Her jointed branches, leafless, but replete 
 
 With spirit alkaline, whose chymic spell 
 
 Turns stubborn flint, relenting in the flames, 
 
 To purest crystal. The Eryngo too 
 
 Here sits a queen among the scanty tribes 
 
 Of vegetable race. Around her neck 
 
 A gorgeous ruff of leaves with arrowy points 
 
 Averts all rough intrusion. On her brow 
 
 She binds a crown of amethystine hue, 
 
 Bristling with spicula, thick interwove 
 
 With clustering florets, whose light anthers dance 
 
 In the fresh breeze, like tiny topaz gemsJ 
 
 Here the sweet rose would die : but she imbibes 
 
 From arid sands, and salt-sea dew-drops, strength : 
 
 The native of the beach, by nature formed 
 
 To dwell among the ruder elements. 
 
 So have I known a youthful genius schooled 
 
 By stern misfortune, and though seldom fanned 
 
 By breath of praise, or freshened by the dew 
 
 Of balmy favour, yet collect a strength 
 
 And rich adornment, foreign to the clime, 
 
 Languid and breezeless, of luxurious ease,-- • 
 
CLONTARF. 13 
 
 Here congregate the ocean-loving birds, w 
 Mew, plover, curlew, with the sand lark fleet, 
 Lorn nightingale of ocean, whose shrill plaint, 
 Heard in deep darkness, bids the pilot flee 
 The leeward shore. In many an airy round 
 They wheel aloof, or quick descending, dash 
 The spray, that round them curdles like a surge 
 Of fluid silver. When the storm has spent 
 | His fury, here may Nature's votary cull 
 I Spoils of the deep, that strew the beach, as wrecks 
 Of men and horses strew some battle field. 
 May here admire the tints profusely spread, 
 Of universal beauty ; — how they glow 
 In every streak that rays th' enamelled shell j 
 Float in the beaded wreck ; with emerald light, 
 Or burning crimson paint the sea nymph's bow^r, 
 Sparkle in foam, and twinkle in the sand. 
 Torn from his mooring here the shell fish lies 
 Stranded, with sea mouse fulgent in Iris mail 
 Of bristly gold ; with sponge and cqraline, 
 And urchin's fragile dome. Here too, alas ! 
 Far other spoils, oars, masts, and keels, have told 
 More sad disaster. Croud your canvas wings, 
 Far from this fatal shore, ye vessels fly. 
 Here Shipwreck dwells ; here spreads her cruel snares ; 
 Gaunt giant fiend, in mists she wraps her form, 
 And stalks among the breakers ; new she sleeps ; 
 She wakes but in the storm. — Securely now 
 Hence may ^e view, disporting in the waves, 
 The finny tribes — and lo ! the fisher draw$ 
 B 2 
 
14 CLONfARF. 
 
 His net, deep laden with the mullet shoal, 
 That vainly strove, like terror-stricken deer, 
 T' o'erleap the snare. Along the yellow slopei 
 The fishers household, women, children, rove, 
 E'en as the race of Zebulqn, to suck 
 Th' abundance of the seas, and treasure seek 
 Hid in the sand.* 
 
 Fond Memory here revives 
 Xach dream-like image of the days gone by ; 
 What time, on other shores, with Attic Hay 
 I chaced the scaly brood, or 'mid the throng 
 Of giddy schoolboys, 6ported in the waves, 
 Or, with young triumph, saw the tiny ship, 
 Fair miniature of such as bear afar 
 The thunder of Britannia, in the race 
 Shoot past her rivals. Oft we traced the mark 
 Of sea-fowl in the sand, or wished for wings 
 Their flight to follow, and among them float 
 On the smooth swell. The live-long summer day 
 "vVe whiled in wandering by the giant cliffs, 
 Or ^Nereid's grottos, gathering as we strayed 
 Pebble or flower. Anon we stood amazed 
 Beside some monster of the ocean, wedged 
 Among the rocks ; and, with insatiate eye,f 
 
 * Deuteronomy xxxiii. 19. 
 
 -nequeunt expleri corua tuendo 
 
 Terribiles ocuios. vuiium, ▼iilosaqhe setis 
 Peetora semiferi, atque extinctos fcuicibi s i^ner. 
 
 viRr.n. rue 
 
CLONTARF. 15 
 
 Scanned the leviathan, that erst had stormed 
 The hoary deep, with coriaceous fin, 
 And jaw enormous. Oft we heard the tale 
 Of mermaids rising from their coral grots, 
 And as they combed their oozy tresses green, 
 Chanting such strains of witching harmony, 
 As in oblivion wrapt the sailor's soul : 
 While the tranced pilot, guided by the strain, 
 Full on the hidden rocks his vessel steered, 
 And rued, too late, that e'er he bowed his ear 
 To such enchantment. — Those were days of bliss, 
 By Memory loved, she lives them o'er again. 
 
 How beautifully still is all around ! 
 Calm as the couch where slumber seals the eye 
 Of infant innocence, in deep repose 
 These sandy ridges and the waters sleep, 
 Wrapt in the golden effluence of day. 
 Far different the scene, when wintry winds 
 Rush from their frozen caves, and Eurus rides 
 On the dark clouds, when by her powerful spell 
 Th' attractive moon has called around her throne 
 The congregated floods. Then roars the might 
 Of ocean, sheeted all in raging foam ; 
 The labouring vessels fly ; the thundering surge 
 Rolls o'er the piers, and mariners thank Heaven 
 That they are not at sea. 
 
 Yet Memory weeps 
 Tnat night's sad horrors, when a luckless bark 
 
X6 CLONTARF. 
 
 Was hurled upon these sands. Elate with hope, 
 Some hundred warriors, who in many a field 
 Had gathered laurels, in this bark re-sought 
 Their native Erin. Nearer as they drew, 
 Each spell of /country, with magnetic power, 
 "Wrought in their souls, and all the joys of home 
 Hushed on their fancy. Some, in thought, embraced 
 Their happy parents, and the lover clasped 
 His fair one to his breast. Another morn, 
 And all these joys are real ! Onward speed 
 Thou fleet-winged bark ! More fleet than sea-bird skim* 
 The floods, she sped. Soon Erin's shores arose :— 
 Howth glimmered in the west, and Wicklow's hills 
 Were blue in the horizon. Then they hailed 
 Their own green island, and they chanted loud 
 Their patriot gratulations, 'till the sun 
 Gave them his last farewell. He sank in clouds 
 Of red portentous glare ; when dreary night 
 Condensed around them, and a mountain swell 
 Announced the coming tempest. Wrapt in sleet, 
 And arrowy Are it came. The cutting blast 
 Smote sore: — yawned the precipitous abyss ;— 
 Roared the torn surges. — From his slippery stand 
 In vain the pilot cast a wistful look, 
 Some friendly light to spy ; — but all wassajark,— • 
 Nor moon, nor star, nor beacon light was seen, 
 Wiiile in the yeasty foam half-buried toiled 
 The reeling ship. — At length that dreadful sound 
 Which mariners most dread, the fierce wild din 
 Of breakers, — raging on the leeward shore, 
 
CLONTARF. IT 
 
 Appalled the bravest. — On the sands she struck* 
 Shivering, as in the cold and deadly grasp 
 Of dissolution. Agonizing screams 
 Were heard within, which told that hope was fled. 
 Then might some counsel sage, perchance, have wrought 
 A great deliverance. But what shipwrecked crew 
 E'er list to counsel ? Where 'tis needed most, 
 'Tis most despised. In such a fearful hour, 
 Each better feeling dies, and cruel self 
 Sears all of human in the heart of man. 
 None counselled safety — but a fell design 
 Rose in the captain's breast, above the throng 
 To close the hatches, while himself and crew 
 Flee to the boat, and hope or chance to 'scape, 
 Leave to the captives none. The recreant slaves 
 Their ship deserting, in the faithful skift^ 
 For once too faithful, sweep the foaming gulf, 
 And reach the strand. But ahi the gallant throngs 
 Locked in the dungeon hold, around them hear 
 The roaring cataracts ;— -their shrieks and groans, 
 With threats and prayers, and mingled curses, speak 
 Their soul's last agonies. What boots their prayers, 
 Their groans, or rage to madness by their wrongs 
 Exasperated high ? Will storms grow cairn, 
 Or warring surges hear the suppliant's voice, 
 When man has steeled his heart ? Oh ! now to die 
 Amid the strife of arms were extasy ! 
 Aye — e'en to perish in the conflict rude 
 With seas and storms, beneath the cope of heaven, 
 Where their last breath might mingle with the winds ' 
 B 3 
 
IS CLONTARF. 
 
 But thus to die inglorious ! thus immured, 
 
 As in some den of hell ! They chafe in vain,—* 
 
 So chafes the lion in the hunter's trap, 
 
 So in his coiHn turns, with dire dismay, 
 
 The wretch unwittingly entombed alive. 
 
 Now torn and wrecked — deep-cradled in the sands, 
 
 The vessel lies. Through all her yawning sides 
 
 She drinks the flood. Loud o'er her roars the surge, 
 
 But all within — is still. 
 
 "When morn arose, 
 The neighbouring villagers with pity saw 
 The relics of the storm. The ebbing tide 
 High on the sand had left the shattered bark, 
 And from her sides by many a cranny dripped 
 The oozing brine. Her deck they quickly climbed ; — 
 But oh ! what horror shocked them when they saw 
 The scene of death within ! All ghastly pale, 
 Corse upon corse lay piled, as in a grave 
 Dug to receive the -victims of a plague, 
 In some vast city, where the numerous dead 
 Exceed the living. Deep contusions some 
 Bore on their limbs ;— some yet retained the scowl 
 Of wrathful indignation ; — one had clenched 
 His useless faulchion ; others more resigned, 
 JIad closed their lives with prayer, and on their brow. 
 As on a wintry cloud, yet unefFaced, 
 Shone faint, or seemed to slnne, some waning beasns 
 Of heaven's warm radiance. In one small recess 
 A female lay, as placid as if sleep, 
 
CLONTARF. 19 
 
 With dewy finger, just had closed her eyes> 
 
 And steeped her senses in some happy dreams 
 
 A lovely smile was lingering on her lip, 
 
 As loth to quit a tenement so fair. 
 
 A face so mild, so exquisitely sweet, 
 
 So full of heaven, would skilful artist choose 
 
 A model for the features he would carve 
 
 Of resignation. To her bosom clung 
 
 A tender babe, close nestled in the folds 
 
 Of her fond arms. Its little marble cheek 
 
 Might seem an angel's, such as sculptor's hand 
 
 Forms beautiful, to grace the early tomb 
 
 Of some loved child. Caressing and caressed, 
 
 Lovely in death they slept : — and of their sleep 
 
 A third partook, the husband and the sire : 
 
 For such he seemed, and o'er them had he spread 
 
 His warrior cloak, and round them twined his arm 
 
 In close embrace, as if resolved that death 
 
 Should ne'er divide them,— 
 
 In one grave they lie, 
 No marble speaks, nor muse records their name. 
 
 END OF THE FJRST BOOK, 
 

CLONTARF. 
 
 BOOK SECOND. 
 
 -Karttifot yaiccv og%qcrry)$ i/ Agvis, 
 
 Lycophron 254, 
 
 NuJlius addictus jurare in verba magistri. 
 
 Ifor. 
 
CLONTARF. 
 
 BOOK SECOND, 
 
 THE BATTLE — HISTORIC RETROSPECT — PRAISE OF ERIN 
 
 "Wake, harp of Erin, wake ! my hand once more 
 Is on thy chords, and from her secret cell 
 Evokes the spirit of song. Oh ! wake, and breathe 
 Heroic numbers, such as thou wast wont, 
 When mighty minstrels in the olden time, 
 To themes heroic strung thee. Let Clontarf, 
 That field of glory, now the spirit stir 
 That yet within thee lives. — 2%ot stream, nor wood, 
 Nor rock, nor mountain, but the deeds of men 
 Adorn a land. The crag where burned the strife 
 For liberty or empire, to the Muse 
 Exhales an odour sweeter than the gale 
 £2 
 
n CLONTARF, 
 
 From aromatic bowers. The vagrant winds 
 
 Delight to linger on the hallowed spot, 
 
 And with its redolence perfume their breath. 
 
 A spirit issues from the very rocks 
 
 Once tinged with patriot blood, to fire with thoughts 
 
 Devout, ineffable. — Who e'er has trod 
 
 The field of Marathon, nor felt his heart 
 
 So swell and throb, as if it longed to bursi 
 
 Its narrow confines ?—» Such a spirit now, 
 
 Ciontarf, is on me ; such emotions swell 
 
 My panting bosom, as I hail thy soil 
 
 Where Erin's sabre foiled the martial pride 
 
 Of Lochlim= — Far around the winding beach, 
 
 I see, I see, in splendid vision, rise, 
 
 The Danish ranks : — their banners float on high , 
 
 Their plumy crests are dancing in the wind ; 
 
 Their spears, innumerous as the biaded grass, 
 
 Glance in the sun, above the close array 
 
 Of corselets, coats of brass, and blazoned shields, 
 
 The burnished scales of angry dragon war 
 
 Now rampant for the fight. The chieftains move 
 
 With martial port exultant in the van ; 
 
 Defiance in their looks, and in their arms 
 
 The sinewy strength of battle. O'er the host 
 
 Towers Sitricus, and with a warrior's eye 
 
 Surveys the field, well practised where to guide 
 
 The steely tempest. There with Carrol comes 
 
 The dark-plumed Anrud, Norway's royal sons, 
 
 Stern in their hearts of pride, and flushed with hope 
 
 Of conquest and renown In bannered ranks, 
 
CLONTARF. 25 
 
 Dolatus, Commolaus, 'and the might 
 
 Of Broder, bring their native squadrons on ; 
 
 Broder, grim leader of the Danish fleet. 
 
 He wields a ponderous mace, with iron spikes 
 
 Thick studded — in the blood of heroes dyed, 
 
 And potent as a thunderbolt to burst 
 
 The close- wedged phalanx. He surveys with joy 
 
 His sea-born warriors, clothed in shining brass, 
 
 Poising the keen-barbed pike. — Next, Orkney's earl, 
 
 Sigurd, the lawless royer of the deep, 
 
 With Mar and Lennox, and the islands' lord, 
 
 Unhappy not to find a grave at home, 
 
 Lead on their tartaned clans. The distant rear, 
 
 Pale Maolmordha, Leinster's rebel prince, 
 
 Closes, ashamed in such a cause to stand 
 
 Bold in the van.— But darker shades shall soon 
 
 O'erwhelm the traitor, when his country's sword 
 
 Is revelling in his ranks ; and paler hues 
 
 Shall cloud his visage, when he sinks to earth, 
 
 Beneath its vengeful stroke. — Now wide unfurled 
 
 The raven standard, dark terrific sign 
 
 Of spoil and carnage, spreads its charms accursed 
 
 O'er Lochlin's ranks, inspiring fearless rage 
 
 And confidence in fate ; — but on the foe 
 
 Lowering in terror, as a cloud exhaled 
 
 From Hela, ready with careering fires 
 
 To sweep thro' earth and heaven. The fair-haired youth* 
 
 The choice of all their thousands, round it form 
 
 A bristly bulwark : but they strive in vain 
 
26 CLONTARF. 
 
 To avert the doom inexorable fate 
 Decrees its bearers. 
 
 Soon, that fair array, 
 Fair as the rebel host that warred in heaven, 
 Shall rough confusion mar. For sweeping on 
 The might cf Erin comes. So comes a storm 
 Of mingled hail and fire. In three dense bands 
 To Lochlin's hosts opposed, with beamy crests 
 And bristling spears they move. Who leads the van, 
 Towering in steel, refulgent as the sun ? 
 A helmet starred with gems, and crested high 
 With royal plumes, that oft in fields of death 
 Have shone the guiding star, invests his brow : 
 Deep flows his beard, a stream of silvery light, 
 Majestic as the locks of Phidian Jove, 
 Bright-blazoned and orbicular his shield 
 Of adamantine frame, embossed with gold, 
 A glorious meteor, shoots portentous fires 
 Far o'er the field. His sword, a massy beam 
 Of fixed blue lightning, maddens to descend 
 In thunder on the foe. His gait proclaims 
 The hero and the king. Hail ! great Boroinihe,* 
 Monarch of Erin ! fame this day shall grave, 
 With style of adamant, thy deathless name 
 Upon her brightest page. Beside him, lo ! 
 Young Tirlogh lowers defiance from his brow, 
 And ?vIortagh shakes red terrors from his lance, 
 The full-plumed eagles of the royal nest, 
 * Pronounced Boron, 
 
CLONTARF. 2T 
 
 That come to pounce the vultures of the land. 
 
 The spirit of the isle is forth to-day ; 
 
 And Erin's warriors from her farthest shores, 
 
 E'en from Benmore to Lane's romantic waves, 
 
 Croud to the conflict : true Milesian hearts, 
 
 The blood of mighty Fionn, and the race 
 
 Of Conn, victorious in a hundred fights : 
 
 The soldiery of Dalcais, Cathol's son, 
 
 And Maolruna, with Momonia's line, 
 
 There lift their banners : with the Desian youth, 
 
 The famed Eugenians, and rough Ullin's pride, 
 
 That chivalry renowned, the red-branch knights. 
 
 Who spur their foamy steeds, and pant to try 
 
 The temper of their blades on Danish crests. 
 
 See, nearer as they move, the bloody hand 
 
 Waves stern defiance to the raven's pride ; 
 
 And Connaught's leopard bids his spots assume 
 
 A sanguine dye. One mighty spirit breathes 
 
 Through all their ranks, — one impulse drives them on, 
 
 Oh ! 'tis a sight to whirl the languid blood 
 
 Of age quick-dancing through the shrivelled veins. 
 
 They come ! — they come ! — I see their dark-green plumes 
 
 Wave in the wind, with many a shamrog wreath, 
 
 And quilted habergeon, and purfied stole, 
 
 And saffron- tinctured girdle, that with charms 
 
 Unearthly guards the wearer, — crimson shields, 
 
 With emerald corslets, bows and blades of steel. 
 
 The galloglass to-day has sharpened well 
 
 The broad-eyed spear of battle — well the kern, 
 
 Whose matted locks more strong than cap of proof 
 
28 CLONTARF. 
 
 Resist the sabre's edge, his sling has trained, 
 
 With quick gyration, on the distant foe 
 
 To hurl his missile deaths. Now many a bard, 
 
 At intervals, along th' extended line, 
 
 In robes of green, by broach of virgin gold 
 
 Close-cinctured, stirs the genius of his harp, 
 
 Kindling Bellona's fury. In the mood 
 
 Of frenzied inspiration, hark ! they wake 
 
 The battle hymn. " On, men of Erin, on !" — 
 
 The monarch taught it to the sons of song. 
 
 u On, warriors, on ! — a summer's day we bring, 
 
 A day of victory, of fair renown, 
 
 And liberty to Erin."— 
 
 Well the part 
 Both of a soldier and a king to-day 
 Does Erin's monarch fill. With eagle eye 
 He marks the quarry, and the fatal swoop 
 Premeditates. His better hand sustains 
 The trusty falchion, while his left displays 
 The holy rood, and thus with ardor fired, 
 He breathes through all his own heroic soul. 
 
 u Warriors of Erin ! — lo ! — the wished-for day, 
 To drive yon ruthless robbers from the land ; — 
 The day of vengeance for your ravaged fields, 
 Your flocks devoured, your desolated halls, 
 Your temples robbed with sacrilegious hands, 
 Your wives insulted, and your children slain. 
 By this blest emblem of the power which broks 
 
CLONTARF. 29 
 
 Death's iron sceptre, — oh ! by him who died 
 
 For man's salvation on this sacred morn, 
 
 Crush these idolaters, whose steps pollute 
 
 Your parent soil, erst hallowed by the tread 
 
 Of holy saints, whose spirits hover now 
 
 Round us invisible. I hear their wings 
 
 Sound musical, as o'er our heads they float, 
 
 To note our deeds. — In such a cause to die 
 
 Is bliss the highest ; — heaven but grant me this, 
 
 With victory, my soul can ask no more ! 
 
 Who falls, falls glorious ; — all his country's tears 
 
 Embalm his memory, while his spirit mounts 
 
 Exultant on the wings of cherubim, 
 
 To meet the gratulations of the brave 
 
 Who for their country died. — By all your wrongs, 
 
 By all your hopes, like fire and tempest sweep 
 
 Through their rent columns. Let the patriot's rage 
 
 Burn in your souls, with triple strength invest 
 
 Your well-strung nerves, and edge your hungry steel. 
 
 Now, men of Erin, for your hoary sires, 
 
 Your wives, your children, and your fathers' graves. 
 
 Impetuous smite. Like wrecks upon the beach 
 
 Strew their scathed corses ; with unsparing flame 
 
 Seize on their fleets, and let them blaze aloft, 
 
 A sacrifice to freedom. Warriors on ! 
 
 For God and Erin !" 
 
 Instant at the word, 
 Gallgrena, sun-burst banner, like a sheet 
 Of crimson light, waves o'er th' embattled host, 
 
30 CLONTARF. 
 
 Each arm has poised the shield, and every hand 
 Has grasped the trenchant steel, and every breast 
 Is burning with a fierce and wild delight. 
 Rattles the quiver, — rings the plaited mail,— 
 Hums the tight bow-string as the archer tries 
 The music of its voice. — The levelled spear 
 Protruded glances : the impetuous rush 
 Of steps is on the field, — and on they come 
 In strong, compact, and terrible array, 
 A cataract of flame that marks its path 
 With desolation, fear, despair, and death. 
 
 Twangs the tough bow — the flint-head arrow flies ; 
 Showered from the sling the leaden hail of fate, 
 And iron sleet of javelin, from each host, 
 Clash in mid air, and challenge closer fight. 
 They meet— they close — so on the whirling surge 
 By adverse currents urged, two icebergs tilt 
 With wild encounter, 'till their crystal towers, 
 Spires, and tall battlements all shivering sink 
 With horrid din, while ocean far around, 
 Torn by the fierce concussion, roars and foams* 
 Kow foot to foot, — and hand to hand the toil 
 Of battle is begun : — shield upon shield 
 Clashes:— aloud the stricken helm resounds: 
 Spears shiver ; — swords, with fierce resistance edged. 
 Ring upon swords, and far from right to left 
 The conflict rages. Mid the hewing brands 
 Hurry the feathered shafts. The hard blue steel 
 Darts through the wicker targe. Again in gore, 
 
CLONTARF. SI 
 
 The sea-horse tusk that hilts the warriors blade 
 
 Its white enamel stains. The vernal grass 
 
 Is sprent with crimson dew. The stunning din 
 
 To heaven re-echoes— here the victors' shouts, 
 
 There deep expiring groans. Now many a crest, 
 
 And many a riven targe has strewed the dust. 
 
 Each chief of Erin through the Danish lines 
 
 Makes desperate breach. See — Tirlogh leads the way, 
 
 And Mortagh raging like a lion's dam 
 
 Robbed of her whelps, has burst their serried files. 
 
 The monarch's arm though touched by envious age, 
 
 Now seems all vigorous with immortal youth, 
 
 As mid the forest of opposing spears 
 
 He hews his course, o'er splintered shafts and swords, 
 
 Corslets and shields, the dying and the dead. 
 
 E'en as the spirit of the wintry wind 
 
 Sweeps through the leafless wood, and marks his path 
 
 With fractured icicle and shivered branch, 
 
 And many a wreath of snow. 
 
 Nor less the rage 
 Of Lochlin's chiefs. — They wield no pointless lance # 
 Nor bloodless sabre, nor is Albyn's glaive 
 With no red glories gilt. Not idle hangs 
 The mace of Broder, nor do feeble hands 
 Brandish his reddening pikes. Stern Sitric there, 
 Here dauntless Anrud with tempestuous force, 
 Resistless as the roaring avalanche, 
 On Erin's ranks his might precipitates. 
 Now, sons of Media, now close lock vour shields, 
 
 c 3 
 
32 CLONTARF. 
 
 Grasp firm your spears, for yours the glorious post 
 Of danger and renown. Upon the foe 
 Roll back the surge of battle, and o'er whelm 
 Beneath his own recoil. — Confusion J— death !— 
 Can Tara undulate ? — Does treason own 
 False-hearted Malachy ? — Oh ! recreant king ! 
 Will no swift javelin from his country's hand 
 Transfix him to the dust ? — May burning pangs 
 Of grief, remorse, and everlasting shame, 
 Cling to the traitor that in hour like this, 
 From selfish policy or party hate, 
 Declines to share the glory or the wounds 
 That wait his country ! 
 
 Fired with high disdain, 
 Mortagh beholds his faithless allies flee, 
 And, as though Erin on Ins single arm 
 Now fixed her trust, his brave Dalcassians leads 
 To stem the torrent, wielding, as he moves, 
 His brand, that; like the thunder's bolting fires, 
 Falls terrible. Nought stands its deadly dint.— - 
 Helm, shield, and gorge of steel dissevering burst 
 Beneath its strokes. Unhappy are the sires 
 Whose sons dare meet them. Bold Conmaol falls, 
 And Sitricus ; — one swift-descending rush 
 Of Mortagh' s blade has cleft him to the waist. 
 Now Lochlin yields. — Ho ! Anrud, dar'st thou meet 
 The arm of Mortagh ? See, his gory steel 
 Smites down thy broken files, —Kis rage withstand. 
 Or flee inglorious, and the day is lost !— 
 
CLONTARF. S3 
 
 The chiefs have met ; — so meet two bounding rocks, 
 Shaken by earthquake from opposing hills. 
 
 No time for parle— ^but well their looks declare 
 Desperate resolves and ire implacable. 
 The combatants, around, their lifted blades 
 Suspend to mark the fight. — The dirge of death 
 "Rings on their angry steel. They turn, they wind, 
 And many a feint is made, by equal skill 
 Turned frustrate. Long the scale of battle hangs 
 In equipoise, 'till Mortagh's wounded hand, 
 Wounded, and wearied by incessant toil, 
 Its energy has lost. The triumph now 
 Proud Anrud deems his own. That stunning blow 
 Sent fulminating down on Mortagh's crest, 
 Repels him staggering. Erin for her chief 
 Now pales and trembles. But his fearless soul 
 Unbending shrinks not. Lo ! elate he bounds 
 With renovated strength, and on the foe, 
 Now feeble by his own puissant deed, 
 Springs swift as falcon on the feathered game, 
 Or serpent coiling round the mountain goat, 
 And grasps and heaves him struggling from the ground; 
 E'en as Alcides when aloft he raised 
 The giant son of earth, and in mid air 
 Crushed out his shrieking soul. The bursting mail 
 From Anrud drops- — drops from his nerveless hand 
 The passive sword, and through his naked breast 
 Has Mortagh's falchion sluiced the tide of life. 
 Proud Anrud falls,— and with him falls the hope 
 
34 CLONTARF. 
 
 Of Lochlin's armies. Now let Erin's sword, 
 
 Keen as the scythe of death, among the Danes 
 
 Reap glorious harvest. Fight, ye stars of heaven, 
 
 Fight in your course for Erin ! Shoot dismay 
 
 Through Lochlin's bosom. Clan-na-Mome, on ! 
 
 Oh, sons of Fion ! Lochlin's eyes grow dim 
 
 Beneath your smiting brands ; — she reels — she flees — 
 
 Now, on their broken rear ! — th' enchanted bird 
 
 Stoops to the dust — and never more his wing. 
 
 With blood denied, shall float upon the wind. 
 
 Now blest are those whose adamantine frames, 
 
 Like Balder's are impassive to the sword ; 
 
 Or who, like Lodbrog, own a wond'rous stole, 
 
 Through which no steel can bite ; or who can sing 
 
 Great Odin's Runic song, of power to turn 
 
 The sabre's falling edge. — But Erin's arm 
 
 Bursts each charmed spell, nor dreads she aught the curse 
 
 Of Lok or Hela. Lochlin's seers may see, 
 
 In doleful trance, the choosers of the slain, 
 
 Dread sisterhood ! their coal-black chargers spur 
 
 O'er shields and corses, trampling deep in gore, 
 
 The pride of Scandia. Drip their goary manes, 
 
 Their matted fetlocks smoke — their iron jaws 
 
 Champ the red foam, and from their nostrils steam 
 
 The mists of slaughter. Each dire sister scowls 
 
 With tresses twisted like the viper's brood 
 
 O'er her grim visage, while she whirls around 
 
 Her ruthless falchion reeking to the hilt, 
 
 And ranks on ranks, insatiate, sheers to earth. 
 
 The fateful loom, whose warp and woof are formed 
 
CLONTARF. S$ 
 
 Of human entrails, weary with its toil, 
 
 Has wove the tissue of defeat and death 
 
 To Lochlin' s thousands. Shrieks of sad dismay 
 
 Reach e'en Valhalla, and indignant Thor, 
 
 Foiled by the arm of Erin, turns his car 
 
 To flight inglorious. — Mona mourns aloud 
 
 Her warriors slain, and Ila rues the hour 
 
 She sent her sons to Erin. On the rocks 
 
 Expectant long shall wives and mothers sit 
 
 To hail their husbands and their sons return, 
 
 Enriched with glittering spoil. — All pale they lie, 
 
 Low on the purple sands. Their shrieking ghosts 
 
 Are clustering in the clouds. Their tartan robes 
 
 Grace Erin's daughters well. — Mourn, Lochlin, mourn ! 
 
 Lost is thy proud array. The feast of wolves 
 
 Is spread upon Clontarf. The raven's beak 
 
 Is reddening in thy gore. The vulture cowers 
 
 Dark o'er thy princes slain. Round Sitric's keel 
 
 Ne'er wave shall whiten more— nor Anrud's sail 
 
 Swell to the laughing breeze. Mourn, Lochlin, mourn ! 
 
 The flames have climbed thy ships. The pirate's dirge 
 
 Howls o'er the floods, and Erin's genius shouts 
 
 from lull to hill the song of victory. 
 
 But ah ! what cloud of grief o'ercasts the joy 
 Of Erin's triumph ? With her dearest blood 
 Drenched is the field ; — the royal race have fallen ! 
 The stream of life from Mortagh's numerous wounds 
 Ebbs fast away. Young Tirlogh's eagle eye 
 Is quenched in night. Though on his beardless chin 
 C 4? 
 
S<5 CLONTARF. 
 
 Not thrice five summers shone, he dared to brave 
 
 Each peril of the field, 'till Broder's arm. 
 
 Nerved by superior strength, his bright career 
 
 Cut short. — In vain the monarch rushed to save 
 
 The hapless youth. He saw him fall in death,— 
 
 A beauteous flowret from its slender stem 
 
 Lopped by coarse fingers, ere its roseate hues • 
 
 Are half expanded to the eye of day. 
 
 By grief and vengeance urged, he smote the Dane 
 
 To earth more quickly than the feathered reed 
 
 Brings down the soaring hern. But Broder's arm, 
 
 That instant, high his battle-mace had raised, 
 
 And in the last dread energy of death 
 
 It fell tempestuous, as a rock descends 
 
 Down some huge steep, and through the battered mail 
 
 Rived the red gates of life. — Sad Erin weeps 
 
 Her monarch slain — the great, the good, the wise,-— 
 
 Borcimlie— has fallen ! — fallen is the pride 
 
 Of Erin's arms ! — Her sword is cast away, 
 
 Dimmed is her shield, and bowed to earth her crest ! 
 
 The fairest star of chivalry is set ! 
 
 Set the bright sun of Erin ! 
 
 Ah ! too great 
 Had been the triumph, and for mortal man 
 Too exquisite to bear, if tempered not 
 By some embittering cordial to correct 
 Th' ebriety of joy. — Yet who but deems 
 The monarch's lot thrice happy, thus to fall 
 In arms, in glory } when his hand had wrought 
 
 
CLONTARF* 37 
 
 His country's freedom, and the robber D^ane 
 Uprooted as a weed ? By heroes' tears 
 Dewed be his tomb,— by all the people's tongues 
 His virtues blazoned ! minstrelsy and song, 
 With voice of praise and benediction, greet 
 His passing spirit !— Age to age shall sing 
 His name and honors ; and with reverent steps 
 Shall strangers come to press thy hallowed soil, 
 Leuctra of Erin ! 
 
 Musing as I rove 
 These shores along, to days yet more remote 
 Fond fancy bears me, — to the golden age 
 Of Innisfail, when sacred truth diffused 
 Bright halos round her — while the world beside 
 Was Wrapt in gloom. When all the Muses fled 
 Far from their ancient haunts, before the storni 
 Of Gothic desolation, here they found 
 Secure asylum, and in Erin's bowers 
 Forgot their Tempe, and th' inspiring gales 
 Of Pindus and Parnassus. Justice ruled 
 With equal balance. Loyalty and zeal 
 Glowed in each bosom. Peace and concord dwelt 
 In hall and bower, and in the richest hues 
 Of cultivation, hill and valley smiled. 
 'Then might the tender virgin all alone, 
 Though clothed in robes costly with gems aiid golf!, 
 Wander around the isle, secure of harm 
 As seraph heaven-deputed to receive 
 The homage of the world. But that fair age^ 
 P 
 
$$ CLONTARR 
 
 E*fcn as a glorious vision, quickly fled. 
 Then storms arose, and soon a night of gloom } 
 Starless and palpable, hung o'er the land, 
 Like darkness upon chaos. With Boroimhe 
 Died Erin's glory. By her traitor kings 
 Sold was her freedom. By her children's hands, 
 Fell parricides — she bled. The Saxcn came, 
 And every stream ran red. — But who shall tell 
 The wrongs of Erin ? Tis a dreadful tale ; 
 Of crimes a tissue saturate with blood; 
 Of woes a record steeped in bitter tears. 
 Deep in herself she lodged the baleful roots 
 Of anarchy and ruin ; barbarous laws 
 Of Tanistry and Eric, that ne'er left . 
 Possession sure, but gave to murder foul 
 Impunity and impulse. What availed 
 The arm of valour in the private cause 
 Of Ormond, or the haughty Geraldine ? 
 The partial triumph was the general bane :— 
 Erin still wept and bled. The grinding laws 
 Of Coyne and Livery, imposts of the sword, 
 Like dragon's teeth, from every furrowed glebe 
 Bade warriors start. But in their sworded ranks 
 A random pebble kindled deadly rage, 
 And urged to mutual slaughter. Sept on sept 
 That ne'er felt sentiment of public good, 
 Waged, for revenge, exterminating war, 
 Till all was lost. For her no Wallace drew 
 The independent sword ;-^-no dauntless Tell 
 E'er bent the patriot bow of Liberty ; 
 
CLONTARF. 39 
 
 But plots and massacres their desperate game 
 Oft played and lost in Erin. Ill-starred land, — 
 Ill-governed — much-abused — by Numerous wrongs, 
 The fine, the gaol, the scaffold and the scourge, 
 Goaded to arms ; — in many a well-fought field 
 Vainly triumphant; — sold, betrayed, and hewn 
 To pieces by the sword, — then cast a prey 
 To hungry spoilers !— ^-Thus the lordly bull 
 Urged by ferocious dogs, upon his horns 
 Transfixes some, and some in bloody dust 
 Tramples victorious, till he falls subdued 
 By his own strength, the helpless mangled prize 
 Of new devourers. — Equal law for her 
 Held forth no sceptre — But the iron mace 
 And bloody truncheon of deputed power 
 Misruled and paralyzed her. In the march 
 Of mind she moved not — for the curse of Rome 
 Sat heavy on her soul. With eyes and ears 
 She saw not, heard not — shewed no healthful sign 
 Of true vitality, but living lay 
 E'en as if dead. — When from his death-like trance 
 Europe's proud genius woke, and burst the chains 
 Whose subtle links by popish spells were drawn 
 Round every limb and joint, so fine, so tight 
 As e'en to shackle thought and paralyze 
 Each working of the brain ; when by a spark 
 Of light ethereal touched, he felt those chains 
 Burst and dissolve, tho' ri vetted down deep 
 E'en to the roots of hell, and with a shout 
 That roused the nations, thundering deep dismay 
 
40 CLONTARF. 
 
 To Antichrist tottering upon his throne, 
 
 Bade them awake to liberty and joy, 
 
 And dash to earth Rome's ignominious yoke :-— 
 
 Why did not Erin in the triumph share ? 
 
 No Knox for her the gospel thunder hurled, 
 
 To clear away the atmosphere of death 
 
 That brooded o'er her, No Melancthon shed 
 
 The holy gospel dew upon her soul. 
 
 No Luther from her eyes the bandage tore, 
 
 To shew the monstrous idol papal pride 
 
 Had tricked in frippery and tinsel rags, 
 
 For man to worship. Knowledge still to her 
 
 Was fruit forbidden. Dark she lay in thrall 
 
 Of hell-sprung bigotry. While other lands 
 
 Basked in the beams of heaven-descended truth ; 
 
 When e'en Batavia's swamps and the bleak hills 
 
 Of Caledonia, in the golden ray 
 
 Beamed joyful with a germination rich 
 
 Of fair improvement, piety and truth ; 
 
 The sacred isle, the muses' old abode 
 
 Was all a wilderness, a dark morass 
 
 Sterile and bare, — in knowledge, virtue, arts, 
 
 Last of the nations. 
 
 Wherefore such reproach 
 Yet branded on her name ; and wherefore roves 
 Fell famine howling o'er her plenteous soil? 
 Whence comes disease to taint her airs of health? 
 Whence the loud cries of unrequited toil, 
 And all the wretchedness that man must feel 
 
CLONTARF. 41 
 
 When placed, like Tantalus, lip-deep in joys 
 "Which fly the touch, and to derision turn 
 The very thirst they kindle in the soul ? 
 Whence is the land a theatre of crime, 
 Of cruelty and death — where stalks abroad 
 The armed assassin in the face of day, 
 To mark his victim ; and when sleep has wrapt 
 The hamlet in repose, with wasting fire 
 Converts it to a dreadful funeral pile, 
 Where all its inmates perish, son and sire, 
 Women and children? Whence such deeds of hell 
 As horrify the damned? Come, answer it, 
 Ye who love Erin, as the leech loves blood, 
 Or as th' insatiate vampire loves the heart 
 On which he gorges : — Come and answer it, 
 Lords of the soil that never felt your tread, 
 Nor heard your voice, save in th' echoing yell 
 Of your grim satellites let loose for prey. 
 Ye Absentees, who give to alien lands 
 Your country's rights, the treasures foully wrung 
 Prom her heart's agonies, your rack-rents dire, 
 And blood-consuming tithes, — come, answer it. 
 Ye statesmen too, who see her wrongs unmoved,—^ 
 Ye who of Erin nought e'er represent 
 But her blind confidence in things like you ; 
 Who when your country's weal demands your care 
 In frequent senate, when her crying wrongs 
 Should fire your frozen blood, and burst the chains 
 Of tongue-tied dumbness, why with recreant step 
 And craven spirit, skulk ye from the field ? 
 D 2 
 
42 CLONTARF. 
 
 Ye silken slaves of pleasure, wo betide 
 
 The land that trusts you ! Whelming shame pursue 
 
 The selfish thought that meritless would wear 
 
 The palm of merit ! What your claims declare 
 
 To Erin's gratitude ? — No patrons ye 
 
 Of arts or letters. Genius here may droop 
 
 And die and rot, ere ye would stretch a hand 
 
 To save him from despair. No muse proclaims 
 
 Your fostering love ; no pencil's tints grow warm 
 
 Beneath your smiles ; no chisel's magic touch, 
 
 That turns the marble to a god, obeys 
 
 Your friendly guidance. Hence in other lands 
 
 Your country's genius breathes th' inspiring air 
 
 Denied at home, Say, what can e'en the eye 
 
 Of partial friendship, in the works of mind 
 
 Behold at home, save penury and shame? 
 
 Oh ! to my bosom's core it stings me deep 
 
 To heai such sad reproach, yet want the power 
 
 Of refutation.— But, my muse, no more. 
 
 Cease this indignant strain,— -to brighter stars 
 
 Turn thy prophetic gaze— and heaven invoke 
 
 That fair improvement, like the Grient sun, 
 
 3\lay rise upon the land, her high career 
 
 To run rejoicing. May sage History's voice, 
 
 Fraught with the wisdom of a thousand years, 
 
 Teach not in vain, whence springs a nation's good, 
 
 And whence her misery. Let Erin learn 
 
 Not on the past, but on the days to come, 
 
 To found her glory. On her bright has shone 
 
 The star of Brunswick, shedding copious down 
 
CLONTARF. 43 
 
 Benignant influence. Her heart has warmed 
 
 And gladdened in the ray. Her shore has felt 
 
 The patriot monarch's tread, and heard his voice, 
 
 Breathing the spirit of paternal love, 
 
 Command her factions—peace. Oh ! may that voice 
 
 To harmony and order soon reduce 
 
 Her jarring elements ; controul the pride 
 
 Of arrogant misrule ; to darkest night 
 
 Consign th' oppressor ; — but amid the sphere 
 
 Of power and honor modest worth exalt. 
 
 What land more blest than Erin, did the love 
 Of man with God's cooperate to bless ?— 
 Lovely her aspect, — graced with all the charms 
 Of hill and dale, of forest, lake, and stream,— 
 Whate'er delights the poet or the sage. 
 Rich are her mineral beds, bituminous, 
 Calcareous, metalline, with silvery threads 
 Reticulate, or starred with gems and gold. 
 Her ports capacious for the proudest fleets 
 Of war or commerce. Charged with odours sweet, 
 Ker balmy zephyrs. Her no tropic fires, 
 No polar tempests ravage. In the wars 
 Of nature she is spared as holy ground. 
 No noxious reptile breathes her air and lives. 
 Green are her bowers, and sweet her woodland song : 
 Her fields with flocks and herds and wind-hoofed steeds, 
 Her waters crystalline with finny tribes 
 Thick-peopled ; — loud the thy my heath resounds 
 The bees mellifluous hum. With heroes' bloo4 
 
44 CLONTARF. 
 
 Fat is her soil, and precious is the meed 
 
 She yields to industry. Beneath the weight 
 
 Of vegetable gold her harvests bend. 
 
 Rich as a garden sacred to the Lord, 
 
 Watered by amber streams, and fanned by airs, 
 
 And fructified with dews of Paradise, — 
 
 What land more blest, did she her bliss but know ?— 
 
 Sweet is her harp and eloquent her tongue ; 
 
 Generous her heart, to everlasting love 
 
 By kindness won, — by steel invincible. 
 
 Her daughters lovely as the nymphs of yore, 
 
 By poets feigned the children of the gods. 
 
 Noble her sons, true scions of the stock 
 
 Of nature's first-born, theirs the heart's pure ore, 
 
 And bullion of the mind, prepared to take 
 
 The stamp of all the majesty of man. 
 
 Ye statesmen, peers, and great ones of the land, 
 Think kindly of the worth of Erin's sons, 
 With all their claims of nature, country, blood, 
 Upon your patriot love. Around them pour 
 The light of truth divine ; dissolve the chains 
 That cramp their spirit ; new incentives give 
 To industry ; inspire the virtuous love 
 Of independence, and on home bestow 
 Your hearts and minds, your love and energy, 
 But ill bestowed on thankless alien lands. 
 Bid the fair garden bloom amid the wild ; 
 Adorn the barren waste with bower and tree ; 
 Explore new paths where commerce thro' the hills 
 
CLONTARF. 45 
 
 May shape her liquid course ; — the fisher's bark 
 Send forth to reap the harvest of the seas ; 
 Pierce the deep mine ; the roaring torrent bridge ; 
 To ocean's rage the mural bound oppose. 
 O'er the drained swamp let cultivation spread 
 Her broidered robe, and give to idle hands 
 The mattock, trowel, shuttle, spade, or oar, 
 The instruments whence springs a nation's wealth. 
 Her peace, her grandeur, and her true renown. 
 Then from the willow tree, where long it poured 
 Its spirit to the winds, shall Erin snatch 
 Her golden harp, and all its chords retime 
 To dulcet sounds of jubilee and praise, 
 Reverberating loud round all her shores, 
 Waking symphonious music in the heart, 
 Pouring such strains as virtue joys to hear, 
 Wisdom applaud, and innocence rechant. 
 Her benefactor's praise from every string 
 Shall then re-echo, till with Grattan's name, 
 Or, Wellesley, thine, it reach the vault of heaven, 
 And what to this are all the joys of wealth, 
 Of luxury and pride? they fade — they die;— •» 
 But love to man has an immortal root, 
 And bears celestial fruitage in the skies. 
 
NOTES. 
 
NOTES TO EOOK FIRST. 
 
 NOTE 1— p; 7. 
 
 — Roves tti excursive glance 
 From, Dalkey islet, 
 
 " The island of Dalkey forms the south-eastern ex- 
 tremity of the Bay of Dublin, which from hence to the 
 south-eastern point of Howth is six miles broad.— It con- 
 tains about eighteen acres of good marsh land for cattle. 
 The island was formerly dedicated to St. Benedict, and 
 there are still to be seen on it the ruins of a church, and 
 kistvaens, or receptacles of human bones are found near 
 the shore. Tradition says, the citizens of Dublin retired 
 here when the city was visited by the great plague in 
 1575. In modern times they resorted to it for convivial 
 purposes. It was the custom to elect here a mock-king 
 and officers of state, whose proceedings were recorded in a 
 newspaper called the Dalkey Gazette. A society called 
 the Druids, established about 1790, also held their anni- 
 versary meetings on this island. To the east are a num- 
 ber of small rocks called the Muglins, in whose cavities 
 are found abundance of fish. Dalkey island is separated 
 from the main by a channel called the Sound, 3650 feet 
 long, 1000 feet wide, at its S. E. and 700 feet wide at its 
 N. W. extremity, with a sunken rock near its centre, and 
 a rocky shore on each side. This place had been surveyed 
 among others, as affording a proper site for an asylum 
 harbour, and a plan was proposed by the Committee of 
 Inland Navigation, but from the objections to which it 
 was liable, it was abandoned. It was considered, how- 
 ever, in former times, a very safe and convenient harbour? 
 
 r\ Q 
 
50 NOTES 
 
 where vessels lay secure in ten fathoms water, protected 
 from the N. E. wind, and ready to sail at any hour. 
 Hence the port of Dalkey was that used on state occa. 
 sions. In 1538 Sir Edward Belhngham landed here and 
 proceeded to Dublin. In 1553 Sir Anthony St. Leger 
 also landed here, and in 1558 the Earl of Sussex shipped 
 his army from this port, and proceeded to oppose the Scotch 
 invaders at the island of Raghery on the coast of An> 
 Uim."— fPo&ft's History of Dublin. 
 
 NOTE 2— p. 7. 
 
 ■ Marino's groves, 
 Loved of each Muse. 
 
 " This beautiful demesne was once the resort of the 
 citizens of Dublin, to whom its liberal proprietor freely 
 threw it open. It had then a number of attractions ; it 
 was the favourite of Lord Charlemont, who exhausted his 
 large fund of classic taste in embellishing it. The Cassino 
 stands naked and simple in the middle of an open lawn, 
 forming the most striking and beautiful model of the 
 chastest style of Doric architecture to be found in Ireland. 
 Contrasted with this is Rosamond's bower, erected at die 
 upper extremity of a lake, in a dark sequestered retreat, 
 embosomed in trees. Its stained glass, fretted mouldings, 
 and pointed ornaments, giving as pure a model of a Go- 
 thic, as the other of a Grecian temple." 
 
 " The motive for erecting this edifice was as amiable as 
 the building is beautiful. When Lord Charlemont came 
 to Ireland in 1773, he built Marino, not merely from a 
 love of architecture, but from a sense of duty as a citizen, 
 who was bound to cultivate the interests of the country 
 that gave him birth. " I was sensible," said this excellent 
 man, " that it was my indispensable duty to live in Ire- 
 land, and I determined by some means or other to attach 
 myself to my native land, and principally with this view I 
 began those improvements at Marino, as without some 
 attractive employment I doubted whether I should have 
 resolution to become a resident*"— Hardy'* Lift, roll. j>. 
 
NOTES. 51 
 
 325. For this purpose he invited to Ireland Simon Ver* 
 poyle, to make models and ornaments for his new build- 
 ing, and in this way contributed to encourage that taste 
 for architecture which distinguishes Dublin. Verpoyle 
 was the master of Smith. He was also assisted by Sir 
 William Chambers." — Walsh's History of Dublin. 
 
 NOTE 3— p. 7. 
 
 The isle of holy Nessan* 
 
 Hirlandsie, vulgarly called " Ireland's eye, stands 
 about one mile from the North side of the hill of Howth, 
 and is about one mile in circumference. There are still 
 to be seen on it the ruins of a church, appertaining to an 
 abbey founded here by St. Nessan, in the year 570, in 
 which the saint passed his life in fasting and prayer. 
 Here he was assailed by an evil spirit, who to terrify him 
 the more, assumed a frightful gigantic form. The saint 
 by good luck was reading the holy book called " the gar- 
 land of Howth," which rendered him invincible by any 
 thing unearthly and unholy. As his enemy approached,, 
 lie struck him on the forehead with the book, and drove 
 him with such force against the opposite coast, that he 
 split the rock, and impaled the evil spirit in the fissure, 
 where he remains to this hour struggling to extricate him- 
 self. In the course of centuries he has nearly disengaged 
 his body and arms, but one leg still remains firmly wedged 
 in the rock. This imaginary figure is frequently viewed 
 from boats, but few have courage to venture into the 
 chasm of the rock within. It was, however, a noted 
 haunt of smugglers. " — Walsh's History of Dublin* 
 
 NOTE 4— p. 7. 
 
 The eagle's ancient haunt, Ben-eider s height* 
 
 " Howth is called in Irish M.S. S. Ben-eider, or the Cliff 
 of the Eagle. Its circuit includes an area of 1500 square 
 acres, Irish measure. It is noted as an extraordinary 
 circumstance, that it has continued for 600 years in the 
 
52 NOTES. 
 
 family of Lord Howth, without increase or diminution, 
 we might also add, without improvement or alteration. 
 The greater part of the hill seems to be in the state in 
 v hich it emerged from the ilood. The line iimestone with 
 which it abounds is exported to fertilize distant fields ; 
 and travellers view with surprise this bold and beautiful 
 promontory, within a few miles of the metropolis, with 
 scarcely a single habitation to mark its surface, while the 
 opposite coast at a greater distance is covered with villas 
 to the summit of the mountains." 
 
 " The south extremity of Howth consists of a small 
 promontory, nearly insulated, called the Green Bajlle, 
 which in Irish signified a town or enclosed habitation. 
 Here, it is said, a remnant of the Danish army retired 
 after the battle of Clontarf, insulated the promontory, and 
 defended themselves till they were carried off in their 
 vessels. It is certain that the excavation had all the ap- 
 pearance of an artificial fosse, before the ancient marks 
 were obliterated by the road, and the works of the present 
 light house constructed upon it." — Walsh. 
 
 From some points of view, the outline of Howth pre- 
 sents to the eye of the fanciful observer, that of a gigantic 
 figure, lying supine, with the head towards the north. It 
 is by no means, however, so striking as the gigantic profile 
 of the Cave-hill near Belfast, thus described in Read's 
 admired poem " The Hill of Caves :"— 
 
 " Dull were that vision, to the Arctic thrown, 
 From Lagan's southern bank, which did not trace. 
 By nature sculptured in the living stone, 
 The sleeping semblance of a giant face ; 
 Touched with a godlike, seeming conscious grace, 
 Crowning the summit's Alpine majesty : 
 In dreams of fancy, gazing on that place, 
 jMethought the Mountain Genius thus might lie, 
 Struck to an arid rock beneath th' offended sky." 
 
 In such formations nature outstrips the imaginations 
 of man. Dinocrates proposed to cut Mount Atlas into a 
 
NOTES. 53 
 
 statue of Alexander the Great. Pope thought such a 
 project not impracticable, and said that "if any body 
 would make him a present of a Welsh mountain, and pay 
 the workmen, he would undertake to see it executed." 
 " There are still persons who dream of such extravagant 
 and fruitless undertakings. Some modern Dinocrates 
 had suggested to Buonaparte to have cut from the moun- 
 tain, the Simplon, an immense colossal figure, as a sort of 
 genius of the Alps. This was to have been of such an 
 enormous size, that all passengers should haze passed be- 
 tween its legs in a zig-zag direction."— Mrs* BattHe's tour 
 on the Continent. 
 
 JtfOTE 5— -p. 13. 
 
 — — — Sea mouse fulgent in his mail 
 Of bristly gold. 
 
 Aphrodita aculeata. This animal is about four inches 
 and a half in length. The hair at the sides is of beautiful 
 green and orange colours, and mixed with sharp black 
 prickles. See the 2nd volume of the Anthologia Hiber- 
 nica, for a description and engraving of this animal. 
 
 It has been found by the author on the North Bull, 
 
 D 4 
 
NOTES TO BOOK SECOND. 
 
 NOTE 1— p. 24. 
 
 Where Erins sabre foiled the martial pride 
 Of Lochlin. 
 
 The following passage from CK Connor's " Rerum 
 Hiberni^arum sciiptores veteres," is worthy the attention 
 of those (if such are still to be found) who give credence 
 to the authenticity of Macpherson's Centos. 
 
 " Nomen Lochlan, quod in iisdem Carminibus (Oissino 
 a recentioribus Scotis adscriptis) fictis centies pro Danis 
 pon'itur, penitus ignotnm fuit, & inauditum ante sseculum 
 Xmiiffl, quo tempore Danis ab Hiberniae incolis imposi-p 
 turn fuit, quia in lacubus Eachense, Ribhense, Feabha- 
 lense, Orbienense, &c. hiemare solebant, ut eo, commodius 
 mediterraneas Insulse regiones & Monasteria infestarent. 
 Hae itaque voces, & alias plures, a veterum auribus ab- 
 horrentes, itemque versuum & Rythmorum veterum me- 
 thodus antiqua, ab his fictis carminibus prorsus absona & 
 aliena, Carmina ista non modo saeculo nono recentiora, 
 sed a saeculo conficta, sive interpolata esse et penitus eli- 
 minanda contestantur. Pro Canone enim irrefragabile sta- 
 tuendum esse, nullum esse, non modo Codicem, verum 
 etiam Carmen, aut opus quodcimque, in quo vox Lochlan 
 pro Dano vel Norwego ponitur, quod non sit saeculo 
 xmo recentior, cum antea nuilo alio vocabulo quam Gal, 
 ullo unquam tempore, Hibernici designati fuerint. "•!— 
 Rerum Hib. Ep. p. cxxii. 
 
 When Macpherson was shewn a manuscript about 400 
 years old in the Bodleian library, he declared that he 
 could neither interpret nor read a v> ord of it, on account 
 of its numerous contractions. 
 
NOTES. 55 
 
 The curious reader may find much more to the same 
 purpose in the above cited author, clearly demonstrating 
 the imposition of the modern Ossian. O'Reilly in his 
 chronological account of Irish writers observes, " that if 
 the genuine poems of Oisin were extant, their language 
 would be unintelligible to the generality of Irish readers, 
 and completely so to the vulgar. The language of those 
 poems which the Highland Society has given to the world 
 as the originals of Oisin, is the living language of the 
 Highlanders of the present day, and if properly spelled 
 and read by an Irish scholar, would be intelligible to the 
 most illiterate peasant in Ireland*" 
 
 NOTE 2— p. 25. 
 Sigurd the lawless rover of the deep* 
 
 " Sigurd, one of the most daring and successful of the 
 Earls of Orkney, allured by great promises, and flushed 
 with the hopes of augmenting his fame, entered into 
 an alliance against Brian, king of Dublin. * * * 
 After he had displayed his wonted bravery in the support 
 of his ally, he fell in the famous battle of Clontarf, to 
 the unspeakable loss of his friends, and much lamented 
 by his countrymen." 
 
 - His death, according to the credulity of the age, was 
 attended with prodigies. He had promised to his friend 
 Harcus, that he would give him the earliest intelligence 
 of the success of his Irish expedition. " Much about the 
 time of the battle, this man, with several other , saw 
 plainly, as he imagined* the Earl at no great distance 
 riding towards him, at the head of a troop of horse ; 
 upon which, Harcus mounted his own horse on purpose 
 to meet him ; they were seen to approach each other, to 
 meet, to embrace, and, afterwards, riding up to a rising 
 ground, they disappeared ; and no vestige of either of 
 thvm was ever seen afterwards." 
 
 That in Caithness was still more remarkable. " About 
 the same time, a native there, of the name of Darradus, 
 imagined that he saw a number of men riding up to, ai.d 
 E 
 
55 NOTES 
 
 entering a hill near his dwelling ; and that he might be 
 in no mistake, he went to the place, and perceiving a 
 chink in the side of the hill, he looked through it, and saw 
 twelve women weaving a web in a very strange loom, and 
 of as strange materials ; and as they wrought, they sung, 
 in the Danish language, a dreadful song — * How hapless 
 has been the fate of the Earl of Orkney.' "«— Barry's His- 
 tory of the Orkney Islands, pp. 136, 137. 
 
 This "dreadful song" may be seen in the original 
 Norse, with a Latin translation in the volume from which 
 this passage is extracted ; and also in Johnstone's Antiqui- 
 tates Celto-Scandicae. It is taken from the Orcades of 
 Thormodus Torfaeus, and is nobly translated into Eng- 
 lish by Gray. 
 
 NOTE 3— p 32. 
 
 Can Tara undulate ? Does treason own 
 False-liearted Malachy /*— 
 
 The defection of Malachy, king of Tara, at this critical 
 juncture, was in conformity to a preconcerted plan. 
 Brian had sent off a detachment of his forces to annoy 
 the Lagenians who were friendly to the Danes ; Malachy 
 apprized the enemy of the circumstance, urged the ex- 
 pediency of an immediate attack, and as a farmer encou- 
 ragement, promised to join the Danish standard— a pro* 
 mise which he too faithfully kept, 
 
 NOTE 4— p. 34. 
 
 — The choosers of the slain, 
 Dread sisterhood / 
 
 61 The Valkyriae, female divinities, servants of Odin, in 
 the Gothic mythology. 
 
 " Habent Valkyris 
 Caedis potestatem. 
 
 11 In the throng of battle they selected such as were 
 destined to slaughter, and conducted them to Valhalla, 
 
NOTES. 57 
 
 the hall of Odin, or paradise of the brave, where they 
 attended the banquet, and served the departed heroes with 
 horns of mead and ale." 
 
 NOTE 5— p. §4, 35. 
 The fateful loom, whose warp and woof are formed 
 Of human entrails. 
 
 Texitur haec tela 
 Intestinis humanis. 
 
 Ode from Torfieus 
 NOTE 6— p. 35. 
 — With her dearest blood 
 Drenched is the field, 
 
 '•' The annals of Innisfallen make the number of the 
 Danes and Lagenians who fell amount to 13,800, that 
 is to say, 4,000 of the Danes of Dublin and Ireland, 
 6,700 of the auxiliary Danes, and 3,100 of the forces of 
 Leinster. The Chronicon Scotorum, which gives but a 
 short account of this battle, still gives us a very good idea 
 of the obstinacy with which it was fought, by saying, that 
 " the like battle or any equal to it, had not been fought in 
 Ireland for many ages." But the account that chronicle 
 gives of the number of Danes slain in this battle, falls 
 short of the above computation, as it positively mentions 
 that there were in all but 4,000 Danes : among them 
 were 1,000 brass coated combatants. It is quite silent 
 concerning the loss of the Lagenians. According to the 
 Innisfallen annals there were 4,000 of Brian's forces 
 killed during the engagement, and many wounded ; but 
 the Chronicon Scotorum gives no farther account of it r 
 than that the loss of Brian was considerable." — Collectanea, 
 
 NOTE 7— p. 37. 
 
 He smote the Dane 
 
 To earth. 
 
 According to the account given of the battle in John- 
 stone's " Antiquitates Celto-Scandicse," Broder^ after 
 
53 NOTES. 
 
 
 displaying signal bravery, met with a more severe and 
 less honourable fate. Being taken prisoner, he was 
 bound to a tree, and eviscerated. 
 
 Broder agmen hostium perrumpit, quotquot primi ste- 
 terunt, omnes dejicit, at nihil ipsi nocebat ; ne ferrum qui- 
 dem. Gradum in eum conferens Ulfus Hrasda, ternis 
 hominem ictibus tanta \iolentia ferit, uti toties corrueret, 
 ac propius nihil factum quam utin pedes eniti nequiverit : 
 sed simul atque erigi contigit, fuga se abripuit in silvam. 
 
 Interea Broder milites Brianis Regis fugientibus in- 
 stantes conspicatus, paucis hominibus ad praesidium 
 regium remanentibus, se silva erupit ; ac toto praesidio 
 disturbato, regem gladio impetivit : puero Tacto manus, 
 quam sub ictuin exporrexerat, regique caput amputantur, 
 Scinguis antem regius adspergebatur trunco pueri membro, 
 eique statim obducta cicatrix est. Turn Broder sic ex- 
 clamare ; referet homo homini Brianem a Brodere dejec~ 
 turn. Mox ad eos qui in tergis fugientium hasrebant, 
 decurritur, usque occasus regis nunciatur, reversi cppido 
 Ulfus Hraeda & Kerthialfadus Broderem ac suos corona 
 circumdant ingesta in eos undique materia, sic Broder 
 vivus capitur, rescindit homini ventrem Ulfus Hraeda, turn 
 arbori circumducit eum, itaque cmnia intestina corpori 
 extrahit ; nee ille prius exspirabat, quarn penitus fuit 
 #visceratus : milites Broderis ad unum contrucidantur. 
 
 NOTE 8— p. S7. 
 
 Minstrelsy and song. <|;c. 
 
 Brian, it may well be supposed, did not fall unwept or 
 unsung. 
 
 " Long his loss shall Erin weep, 
 Ne'er again his likeness see ; 
 Long her strains in sorrow steep, 
 Strains of immortality. " 
 
 Grays Ode from Torfceus. 
 
 There is still extant an elegiac poem on the death of 
 Czan, Brian, and his son JVIorogh, by Mac Gioila 
 
NOTES. 59 
 
 Gaoimh, a poet who flourished in the time of Brian 
 Boroimhe, and who lived some time after the battle of 
 Clonfarf. His fate was also lamented by Mac Liag, his 
 secretary, who wrote his life, and eulogized his memory, 
 One of his elegies contains forty-four verses, and is spo- 
 ken of by O'Reilly, as being beautiful and pathetic. 
 See his Chronological account of Irish writers, page lxxi. 
 It is much to be wished that one so deeply versed in 
 Irish literature as Mr. O'Reilly, would oblige the world 
 with a translation of some of the valuable Irish poems in 
 his collection. 
 
 Brian is thus mentioned in an Irish poem, " Gildae 
 Modudii Ardbracanensis," translated by Dr. O'Connor 
 in his " Rerum Hibernicarum Scriptores Veteres." 
 
 Corvus maris, unda velox, 
 
 Brianus judex supra Hiberniam famse variae, 
 
 Sine mcestitia, sine luctu, sine macula, 
 
 Duobus annis (et) decern in debita prosperitate ; 
 
 Usque ad prselium Dubliniense facinorum, 
 
 Quo expulsit Heroas Danorum ; 
 
 Haud multum (abfuit) quin vincerent alienigense, 
 
 Occiderunt Brianum Boroineum. 
 
 NOTE 9— -p. 37. 
 Then might the tender virgin all alone, <Jr. 
 This is recorded as a fact by some Irish historians. 
 Our exquisite Lyric poet Moore, in whom the genius of 
 Irish minstrelsy has revived in all the spirit of the " olden 
 time,' 1 and with all the additional graces of classical learn- 
 ing and taste, has made it the subject of one of his justly 
 admired songs. 
 
 " Rich and rare were the gems she wore," &c. 
 
 NOTE 10— p. 38. 
 
 Wlio shall tell 
 
 TJie wrongs of Erin ? ' Tis a dreadful tale ! 
 The two following passages from Tacitus and Livy, co 
 tain an epitome of Irish history :— 
 
 E 2 
 
60 NOTES, 
 
 " Sseva jussa, contimias accusationes, fallaces amicitian, 
 perniciem irmocentium. " — Annul, lib. iv. 
 
 " Et ne tot annorum clades utriusque gentis laboresque 
 actos nunc referara, quibus nenuiverint tamen dura ilia 
 pectora vinci * * * nee suis, nee extemis viribus 
 jam stare poterant; tamen bello non abstinebant; adeo 
 ne infdiciter quidem defenses libertatis Lcedehat j <|- vinci, quani 
 non tentare victoriam, malebant. Qui nam sit ille, quern 
 non pigeat longinquitates bellorum scribendo legendoque, 
 cjuse gerentes non fatigaverunt?"-^— Livy, lib, x. chap. 31, 
 
 NOTE 11— p. 38. 
 
 ' ' •' Barbarous Lairs 
 Of T artistry and Eric. 
 
 l< It we consider the nature of the Irish customs, we 
 shall find that the people which doth use them, must of 
 necessity be rebels to all good government, destroy the 
 commonwealth wherein they live, and bring barbarism 
 and desolation upon the richest and most fruitful land of 
 the world. For, whereas by the just and honourable law 
 of England, and by the laws of all other well governed 
 kingdoms and commonwealths, murder, manslaughter, 
 rape, robbery, and theft, are punished with death ; by the 
 Irish custom or Brehon law, the highest of these offences 
 was punished only by fine, which they called an eric. 
 Therefore, when Sir William Fitzwilliams (being Lord 
 Deputy) told Maguyre that he was to send a sheriff into 
 Fermanagh, being lately before made a county ; " Your 
 sheriff (said Maguyre) shall be welcome to me, but let me 
 know his eric (or the price of his head) aforehand, that if 
 my people cut it off, I may cut the eric upon the country.'* 
 As for oppression, extortion, and other trespasses, the 
 weaker had never any remedy against the stronger ; 
 whereby it came to pass that no man could enjoy his life, 
 his wife, his lands, or goods in safety, if a mightier man 
 than himself had an appetite to take the same from him. 
 Wherein they were lit ;ie better than cannibals, who d9 
 
NOTES. 61 
 
 hunt one another, and he that hath most strength and 
 swiftness doth eat and devour a]l his fellows." 
 
 " Again, in England, and all well ordered common- 
 wealths, men have certain estates in their lands and pos- 
 sessions, and their inheritances descend from father to 
 son, which doth give them encouragement to build and 
 to plant, and to improve their lands, and to make them 
 better for their posterities ; but by the Irish custom of 
 Tanistry, the chieftains of every country, and the chief of 
 every Sept, had no longer estate than for life as their 
 chiefries, the inheritance whereof did rest in no man. 
 And these chiefries, though they had some portions of 
 land allotted unto them, did consist chiefly in cuttings 
 and cosheries, and other Irish exaetions, whereby they 
 did spoil and impoverish the people at their pleasure. 
 And when these chieftains were dead, their sons or next 
 heirs did not succeed them, but their Tanistres, who were 
 elective, and purchased their elections by strong hand ; 
 and by the Irish custom of Gavelkind, the inferior tenan- 
 ties were partable amongst all the males of the Sept, both 
 bastards and legitimates : and after partition made, if any 
 one of the Sept had died,his portion was not divided among 
 his sons, but the chief of the Sept made a new partition of 
 all the lands belonging to that Sept, and gave every one 
 his part according to his antiquity." 
 
 " These two Irish customs made all their possessions 
 uncertain, being shuffled and changed, and removed so 
 often from one to another, by new elections and parti- 
 tions ; which uncertainty of estates hath been the true 
 cause of such desolation and barbarism in this land, as the 
 like was never seen in any country that professed the 
 name of Christ."' — Sir John Buvies's Discovery of the true 
 cause why Ireland ivas never brought under obedience of the 
 crown of England. 
 
 NOTE 12— p. 38. 
 Coyne and Livery, 
 
 i. e. free quarters. " In the time of king Edward II. 
 Maurice Fitz Thomas of Desmond being chief com* 
 
62 NOTES. 
 
 mander of the army against the Scots, began that wicked 
 extortion of Coyne and Livery and pay, that is, he and his 
 army tooke horsemeate and mansmeate and money at 
 their pleasure, without any ticket, or any other satisfaction. 
 And this was after that time, the general fault of all the 
 governors and commanders of the army in this land." — 
 " By this it appeareth, why the extortion of Coyne 
 and Livery is called in the old statutes of Ireland a 
 damnable custome, and the imposing and taking thereof, 
 high treason. And it is said in an ancient discourse Of 
 the decay of Ireland, that though it were first invented in 
 hell, yet if it had been used and practised there, as it hath 
 been in Ireland, it had long since destroyed the very king- 
 dom of Beelzebub." 
 
 u This extortion was originally Irish, for they used to 
 lay Bonaght upon their people, and never gave their soldier 
 any other pay. But when the English had learned it, 
 they used it with more insolence, and made it more intole- 
 rable ; for this oppression was not temporary, or limited 
 either to place or time ; but because there was every where 
 a continual war, either offensive or defensive, and every 
 lord of a country, and every marcher, made war and peace 
 at his pleasure, it became universal and perpetual, and 
 was indeed the most heavy oppression that ever was used 
 in any Christian or heathen kingdom : and therefore, vox 
 oppressorum, this crying sin did draw down as great or 
 greater plagues upon Ireland, than the oppression of the 
 Israelites did draw upon the land of Egypt. For the 
 plagues of Egypt, though they were grievous, were but of 
 a short continuance ; but the plagues of Ireland lasted 
 four hundred years together. This extortion of Coyne 
 and Livery produced two notorious effects :— first, it 
 made the land waste ; next, it made the people idle : for 
 when the husbandman had laboured all the year, the 
 soldier in one night consumed the fruits of all his labour, 
 longique pent labor hiritus anni. Had he reason then to 
 manure the land for the next year ? or rather, might he not 
 complain as the shepherd in Virgil ?-- 
 
NOTES. 63 
 
 Impius h<ec tarn culta novalia miles habebit ? 
 JBarbarus has segetes ? En quo discordia ewes 
 Perduxit miseros ?~En quels cunsevimus agros ? 
 
 NOTE IS— p. 40. 
 
 The bleak hills 
 
 Of Caledonia. <|-c. 
 
 " The effects of the Reformation, the collision of con- 
 tending intellects, and the mental strength and vigour 
 produced by the religious discussions which at this period 
 engrossed the attention of the nation — the sources of in- 
 formation and improvement derived from the intercourse 
 of our ablest reformers with the continent — and above all, 
 the admission of the lower classes, whose ignorance under 
 the Roman Catholic church was equally profound and 
 hopeless, to a participation in this increasing intelligence 
 and freedom which accompanied the doctrines of the 
 Reformation ; all these causes co-operated to render 
 the sixteenth century a period of no less eminence in the 
 history of Scotland, than in that of Italy. The single 
 names of Knox, Buchanan, and Napier, are sufficient to 
 prove the truth of these observations, and were it neces- 
 sary, many others, though not of equal eminence, might 
 be added to this triumvirate of talent." — Tytlers Life of 
 Crichton,p* 179. 
 
 Far different was the state of unhappy Ireland. " When 
 Europe had declared almost unanimously against the yoke 
 of ecclesiastical power, a slight attempt made in one pro- 
 vince of Ireland to circumscribe the privileges of the 
 clergy, raised a most violent and insolent clamour among 
 the order ; although it amounted to nothing more than 
 empowering the civil magistrate to imprison ecclesiastical 
 debtors." 
 
 " Prelates of the more eminent dioceses slept in mo- 
 nastic tranquillity, while all Europe resounded with the 
 tumult of theological dispute. It is ridiculous to find an 
 Irish bishop renowned for the composition of an hymn in 
 Laibarous Latin rhymes, in praise of a saint Macartin, 
 
64 NOTES. 
 
 while his brethren in other countries were engaged in 
 discussion of the most important points of religion ; or 
 others depending for salvation, on being wrapt, at their 
 dying hour, in the cowl of saint Francis, when Rome 
 herself had confessed with shame, the follies and enor- 
 mities which had disgraced her communion." — Leland's 
 Ireland, Hen. viii. 
 
 " As to the inferior orders of men, no measures appear 
 to have been taken, from the first beginnings of the refor- 
 mation, to enlighten their ignorance or correct their pre- 
 judices. '■ Hard it is," saith a Chancellor of Ireland in 
 this reign, " that men should know their duties to God, 
 and to the king, when they shall net hear teaching or 
 preaching throughout the year." And at a time when 
 the mechanic in England could hear and convey instruc- 
 tion, and was habituated to religious inquiry, the same 
 minister complains that in Ireland " preaching we have 
 none, which is our lack, without which the ignorant can 
 have no knowledge." " 
 
 END OE THE NOTES. 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 t0WE Lf ^-K'^STOWN HARBOL-R-THE DmN . c 
 MLL-THE DEPAM CR E OF KtNG 6E0 R GE IV. 
 
 VVhat may not Art atcbieve ? _ H er mighty hand 
 ] 0k T t0 h « ci -"'ot the tamed elements, 
 And swift she soars among the stars of heaven, 
 Or sweeps the howling wilderness of waves. 
 *rom the eloud-borne artillery of the skies 
 She nngs the re d bolt, harmless. Monntains how 
 Itar hoary heads, and deep sunk vallies rise 
 In homage to her power. 'Midst f,e and storm 
 And fierce combusUon, through the rock-ritb.d earth 
 She nnnes her passage ; _f rom his ^ £^** 
 
 LmeS ° Cea " cha *H -d builds amid the fj£ 
 
 What plans he „ 0W) where rol]s ^ Meak 
 On Kmgstown's, erst Dunlea^s, rocky slm ^ 
 E 3 
 
S8 POETICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 The sounding surf? — The neighbouring hills she rends 
 
 With mattock, wimble, sledge, and nitrous dust 
 
 Exploding oft and loud, — strong enginry, 
 
 More potent than a giant's hundred hands, 
 
 Or that of Svracusan sage renowned, 
 
 Which on the deep the warlike galley trussed, 
 
 As kite the dove, — hung dangling in the air, 
 
 Then ruthless dashed loud-crashing on the beach ; 
 
 As eagle from the clouds on pointed crags 
 
 Bolts the mailed tortoise. — Ponderous waggons drive 
 
 Down the long rail- way, and their frequent loads 
 
 Hurl thundering in the deeps. — The deeps recoil, 
 
 And see indignant o'er their bosom rise 
 
 A mole, deep-seated, — solid as the dyke 
 
 Of iron frame that closely girds and binds 
 
 The strata of the world. Its wide-spread arms 
 
 Circle a bay w T here fleets may safely ride. 
 
 Soon by its broad foundations shall be heard 
 
 The builder's sledge, as in th' iEolian cave 
 
 Deep he descends, and lays the chiseled stone 
 
 For use and ornament. Not more secure 
 
 Sits favoured lover in his jessamine bower, 
 
 Than sits the diver in his airy hall 
 
 With ocean round him. Calmly he respires 
 
 Fresh streams of air, by art pneumatic driven 
 
 Through flexile conduits, while the noxious streams 
 
 Escape beneath, with ebullition high, 
 
 As from a boiling cauldron. He pursues 
 
 His task at ease, nor dreads th' untimely fate 
 
 Of hapless Spalding, On the ocean bed, 
 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. 69 
 
 As on dry ground, he treads. So, safely trod 
 
 The host of Israel, when the Red-sea waves 
 
 Obedient to the prophet's powerful rod, 
 
 On either side rose crystalline, and left 
 
 The midway passage bare. He there explores 
 
 The mysteries of Nature, though involved 
 
 In deepest night ; — beholds the dismal caves 
 
 Of Scylla and her sea-dogs, — or the fanes 
 
 Of Neptune, bearing high their coral roofs, 
 
 Floored with rich pearl, and clear with emerald sheen ; 
 
 Or views the finny shoals in burnished mail, 
 
 Bedropped with geld, and rich with crimson dyes, 
 
 Or silvery, oaring smooth their liquid way* 
 
 I ? rom the abyss he buoys the foundered ship ; 
 
 Or lodges in the bark-destroying reef 
 
 The earthquake's elements, and from its roots, 
 
 With fierce explosion, Shipwreck's battery rends. 
 
 All-conquering Art ! in works like this, so grand, 
 
 So durable, benevolent, and wise, 
 
 Thou shew'st a people's greatness. When thou wield' st 
 
 The arms of Nature thus, she hails thee friend, 
 
 Handmaid, and sister— and approves thy toils. 
 
 Oh ! 'twas a thrilling sight, when Erin saw 
 Her monarch on these shores, the first of kings 
 That e'er with helmless brow and sandaled foot 
 Trod them in peace. Ker heart of heart was touched, 
 And every pulse beat high. From all her gates 
 She poured her eager population forth, 
 In homage to her king. Her knights and squires, 
 
70 POETICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 
 Statesmen and counsellors, lords and ladies bright, 
 
 With all their glittering equipage came forth. 
 
 The bed-rid patient on his couch was borne ; 
 
 And one who long had fed en grief was there. 
 
 Thronged was each roof and tower. The sloping rocks 
 
 Far round, a mighty theatre, were filled 
 
 With thousands and ten thousands of her sons 
 
 And daughters, wanned with loyalty and zeal. 
 
 O'er the crisped waters glancing in the sun, 
 
 Skimmed the light barges with their gilded oars, 
 
 While stately and majestic as a queen, 
 
 The royal yacht in all her bravery rode ; 
 
 And many a gallant ship that bore long tiers 
 
 Of sleeping thunder, sat in towery strength, 
 
 With yards well-manned, and all her pennants gav, 
 
 Like the red streamers in the boreal sky, 
 
 Loose-noating to the wind. Impatient long 
 
 To see and greet their king th' assemblage sat, 
 
 Till down the western sky the car of day 
 
 Sped rapid,— Then came rolling on the breeze 
 
 The gathering acclamation long and loud 
 
 That told his coming. At the signal fire 
 
 Each war-ship bade her bold artillery speak 
 
 In well-timed cadence, such as honors most 
 
 The hare and the king. 'Twas grand to see 
 
 The frequent Hash like lightning from the clouds, 
 
 And each proud vessel wrapt in sudden night, 
 
 Like some indignant spirit of the deep 
 
 Come forth in smoke and fire. 'Tvras grand to hear 
 
 The hollow-echoing, deep-resounding roar 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. 71 
 
 Reverberated loud from ship to ship, 
 
 From cliff to cliff, from battery, pier, and tower. 
 
 Such is the grandeur of the battle storm, 
 
 When fleets dispute the empire of the deep. 
 
 That day a spirit ruled the people's hearts, 
 
 With such contagious sympathy as ne'er 
 
 'Till then had touched them. One pervading soul 
 
 Gave motion to the many-headed throng, 
 
 And loyalty, and love, and gratitude, 
 
 Throbbed in each breast, and dwelt on every tongue. • 
 
 Their king, their friend, their father, loud they hailed, 
 
 As their benignant genius that at last 
 
 Had come to heal, to succour, and to bless. 
 
 Grim Discord stood aloof, and in despair 
 
 Dropped her reverted torch. — What time the barge 
 
 Left the thronged wharf, majestic in the stern 
 
 The monarch stood, and with the matchless grace 
 
 Befitting royalty, bowed kind adieu 
 
 To all around. Then rose the farewell cheer, 
 
 An universal shout from land and sea; 
 
 The very rocks seemed animate that hour ; 
 
 And 'kerchiefs waved, and beavers shook their plumes, 
 
 In friendly salutation. Through the waves 
 
 Some fearless plunged, and in the barge's wake 
 
 Adventurous swam, to see their king more nigh. 
 
 In beauty's eye-lid hung the tremulous tear ; 
 
 And little children in their nurses' arms 
 
 Were seen from very sympathy to clap 
 
 Their tiny hands, as glorying in the scene. 
 
 E 4? 
 
THE STEAM BOAT. 
 
 — — rotis summas levibus perlabitur undas* 
 
 VlRG. 
 
 Yox sail-less bark that sterns the adverse tide, 
 
 Nor asks the aid of oar or canvas wing. 
 
 May tell what homage man should pay to Art.— 
 
 Steady her course ;• — with rapid keel she cleaves 
 
 The flood- — as if the hands invisible 
 
 Of Deris and the sea-nymphs urged her course. 
 
 Sparkles the foam before her, — and behind 
 
 She leaves an eddying wake. Though roaring winds 
 
 And wild careering torrents lashed her bows, 
 
 Yet would she move right on, as if with life, 
 
 Instinct, and voluntary speed endued. 
 
 Nor wants she powers, by nought on earth surpassed, 
 
 Save by those vital energies alone 
 
 Which God inspires. A soul of fire and steam 
 
 Breathes in her sides, and to her sea-girt wheels 
 
 Gives quick rotation, with impulsive might 
 
 Bolting her on, smooth-gliding, like the car 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. 75 
 
 Of trident-bearing God. — She hangs aloft 
 
 A smoky streamer, to th' horizon's verge 
 
 Floating redundant, seen far off at sea 
 
 By wondering sailors. — Ignorant what Art 
 
 Is able to atchieve, they fondly deem 
 
 Such sail-less, oar-less, wind-opposing bark 
 
 The Demon's pleasure boat, and God invoke 
 
 To save and guide them.* Loud the voice of glee, 
 
 Of song and minstrelsy resounds within ; 
 
 Nor fear of adverse winds, or tedious course, 
 
 Barred by rough controversy with the waves, 
 
 O'ercasts her joy ; — but forward still she moves* 
 
 So moves along some huge Leviathan 
 
 Of strength enormous. Round his jetty sides 
 
 The hoary surges boil. The finny tribes 
 
 Trembling recede to let their monarch pass ; 
 
 While mingled fear and admiration seize 
 
 The seaman's heart, as near his vessel drives 
 
 The king of ocean tempesting the surge* 
 
 * Steam boats are now too familiar to the sight of sailors to creatt 
 any such sentiments ; but their first appearance at sea is said to have 
 excited no small astonishment among those who had never heard of aa 
 invention which could set both winds and waves at defiance. 
 
 " The following is a description of the steam boat Western Engi . 
 neer, engaged in conveying troops in the military expedition at pre- 
 sent on foot to the Upper Missouri. 
 
 '•The bow of the vessel exhibits the form of a huge serpent, black and 
 «caly, rising out of the water from under the boat, his head as high as 
 the deck, darted forward, his mouth open, vomiting smoke, and ap- 
 parently carr ying the boat on his back; From under the boat, at its 
 gtern, issues a stream of foaming water, dashing violently along. All 
 the machinery is hid, Three small brass field pieces, mounted on 
 
 F 
 
wheel carriages, stand on the deck. The boat is ascending the rapid 
 stream at the rate of three miles an hour. Neither wind nor human 
 hands are seen to help her ; and, to the eye of ignorance, the illusion 
 i s complete, that a monster of the deep carries her on his back, smoking 
 with fatigue, and lashing the waves with violent exertion. 
 
 " Her equipment is at once calculated to attract and to awe the sa- 
 vage. Objects pleasing and terrifying are at once before him j artil- 
 lery ; the flag of the republic ; portraits of a white man and an Indian 
 shaking hands ; the calumet of peace ; a sword ; then the apparent 
 monster, with a painted vessel on his back, the sides gaping with 
 port holes, and bristling with guns. Taken altogether, and with- 
 out intelligence of her composition and design, it would require a. 
 daring savage to approach and accost her with Hamlet's speech." 
 
 " Be thou a spirit of health, or goblin damned, 
 
 Bring with thee airs from heaven, or blasts from hell, 
 
 By thy intents wicked or charitable, 
 
 Thou com'st in such a questionable shape, 
 
 That I will speak to thee." 
 
 American paper, July 2Cth, 1819. 
 
THE PATRIOT SHIP. 
 
 
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 ApolL Rhodius. 
 
 Majestically slow, as loth to leave 
 Her native shores, the patriot vessel comes 
 With crowded decks and floating streamers gay. 
 Rolls round the wharf the thrice repeated cheer, 
 A mingled sound of praise, soul-stirring hope, 
 
76 POETICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 And anguish deep that from the secret heart 
 
 Of parting friends has forced its stubborn way, 
 
 Spite of the borrowed smile and cheerful tone 
 
 Assumed to hide it. — With that vessel go 
 
 The hearts of thousands. Many an anxious praye* 
 
 Of many a mother, many a love- sick maid, 
 
 Is hovering round her. For she bears the flower 
 
 Of Erin's youth, as th' Argo once of Greece, 
 
 Speed on, fair vessel ! may each prayer bring down 
 
 Some guardian angel with auspicious airs 
 
 To wake iEolian music in thy shrouds. — 
 
 Speed on, fair vessel ! — in the cause of man, 
 
 Far o'er the roarings of th' Atlantic surge, 
 
 Thou bear' st th' auxiliar sword of Erin's sons. 
 
 Let valour edge it ; — rapid may it fall, 
 
 Like red- winged lightning, on the craven ranks 
 
 Of slaves, that bar its passage to the shrine 
 
 Of holy freedom. May the tyrant know, 
 
 The vilest he of all the vilest things 
 
 That e'er dishonoured royalty, what might 
 
 Is in the arm of Erin, when she strikes 
 
 E'en for a stranger's rights. — Fair vessel go !— « 
 
 May prosperous breezes waft thee swiftly on ; 
 
 May favouring currents ever round thee sweep ; 
 
 May stars the fairest in the brow of heaven 
 
 With radiant streams of glory shape thy way. 
 
 More precious is the freight thou bearest now 
 
 Than if the treasures of the land thou seek'st 
 
 Had sunk thee to the brim. Yes, every drop 
 
 Of patriot blood is,, in this righteous cause, 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. 77 
 
 More costly than the tyrant's rubied crown. 
 Speed on, fair ship ! — around thy gallant prow 
 May curling billows play, and in thy wake 
 Swift-following dance, while voice of harp and song 
 Swells o'er thy poop, and cheers thee on the deep. 
 Speed on, fair ship ! — the Genius of the West, 
 From hills and valleys rich with all the stores 
 Of bounteous nature — from the golden streams 
 Of sea-like Plata, and from Andes throned 
 Among the stars, invokes thee to approach, 
 And share the triumph and renown that wait 
 His patriot ranks. — Haste, gather all the winds, 
 And may exultant acclamations loud 
 Soon in thy destined haven greet thee safe. 
 
 * 2 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 THE CHRISTIAN PREACHER, 
 
 A LIVING CHARACTER. 
 
 Aye, there's a preacher ! — No declaimer he, 
 
 "With noise, and start, and wild theatric stare, 
 
 With chill conception, sanctimonious cant, 
 
 And marrowless verbiage of a yeasty brain, 
 
 Dishonouring sacred texts ; and for the bread 
 
 Of life, dispensing to the hungry flock 
 
 Unhallowed garbage. No polemic he, 
 
 Roaring defiance from the throne of peace ; 
 
 Nor holy gladiator, whom the hope 
 
 Of lawn and mitre fires with godless zeal. 
 
 Though strong as truth, and matchless in the gam$ 
 
 Of warring arguments, he wields his powers 
 
 "With such a graceful gentleness as shows 
 
 The Christian temper. — Full, profound, and clear, 
 
 Fresh-welling from his mind the living streams 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. T» 
 
 Of sweet instruction flow. His themes sublime. 
 
 Life, death, and judgment — or the gentle laws 
 
 Of kindness, love, and peace. Upon his brow 
 
 Sits sanctity enthroned ; his accents breathe 
 
 Heaven's dulcet harmonies, while o'er his face 
 
 Lighten the coruscations of a soul 
 
 With fire from heaven impregnate. His the task 
 
 To soothe affliction, — to dispel the gloom 
 
 Of dark despondence, — or with stunning sounds 
 
 Of salutary dread, awake the soul 
 
 From sin's deep lethargy. — The evening dews 
 
 More grateful fall not on the drooping fiower 3 
 
 With life and fragrance, than his voice distils 
 
 Balm on the weary heart. Anon, it comes 
 
 Like deep-toned thunder from a seraph's hand, 
 
 Bursting and blazing on the withering front 
 
 Of conscious guilt. With renovated power 
 
 He arms the soul to break the chains of vice, 
 
 And unimpeded run the high career 
 
 That leads to worlds of bliss beyond the stars. 
 
 Oft have I seen his congregated throng 
 Rapt by his theme, and hushed in silence deep, 
 Deep as the solemn, still, and midnight air, 
 When expectation all impatient sits 
 To hear th' approaching step of friend or foe, 
 Breathless and tremulous, lest one rude air 
 Should waft a sound away, as on the ear- 
 Nay, on the heart and soul — he poured the strain 
 Of eloquence divine. How warm it glowed ! 
 
80 POETICAL SKETCHES. 
 
 How bright and thrilling, like ethereal fire, 
 Of power to soften, elevate, subdue ! 
 With what conviction stonn the strongest holds 
 Of prejudice and pride ! — Religion then 
 Might boast her triumphs ; while exultant faith, 
 "With hope and charity, the queen supreme 
 Of all the Christian graces, in each breast 
 Raised a pure shrine, and kindled holy flame. 
 
 Immortal glories crown the pastor's brow 
 "Who in his bosom feeds th' eternal fires 
 Of universal love ; who joys to clothe 
 The social virtues in the garb of heaven ; 
 And paint devotion as the cheerful friend 
 And comforter, whose winning face and mien 
 Invite to love her;— not as oft pourtrayed 
 By erring friends, with stem repulsive brow, 
 Cold and austere, and more in shape and guise 
 A demon from below, with ghastly scowl 
 To spoil the music of the bounding heart, 
 Than heaven-sent seraph, whose celestial look 
 Shoots joy and rapture, Idndling in their beam 
 The high aspirings of th' immortal mind. 
 Mine be the man of God, whose visual ray 
 By no cold mist of bigotry obscured, 
 In God beholds the parent of mankind, 
 And in mankind his brethren. Precious ties ! 
 Hallowed relations ! w-hich, well understood, 
 Above each low conception that restricts 
 To sects or creeds the mercies of the skies, 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES. SI 
 
 Exalt the soul, and bid it wide expand 
 
 As heaven's great circle, with o'erflowing love. 
 
 Such pastor worthy of the sacred name 
 
 Of minister to Him who died for all, 
 
 Fulfils his mission best. By silken ties 
 
 He draws th' assenting heart. The starting tear 
 
 Of sympathy, the sob, the panting breast 
 
 Thrilled by sublime emotion, to his words 
 
 Yield charmed assent. The breathings of the blest 
 
 Seem on the spirit poured ; the earth no more 
 
 Draws her reverted gaze, but high she soars 
 
 To pay her homage at the eternal throne, 
 
A FRAGMENT. 
 ADDRESS TO THE SUN, 
 
 — Thou peerless Sun, 
 O let me hail thee, as in gorgeous robes 
 Blooming thou leav'st the chambers of the East, 
 Crowned with a gemmed tiara, thick embossed 
 With studs of living light. The stars grow dim 
 And vanish in thy brightness : but on earth 
 Ten thousand glories sparkling into life 
 Their absence well repay. The mists dispersed 
 Flit o'er the mountain tops. Cliffs, glens, and woods^ 
 And lakes, and oceans, now are burnished o'er 
 With scintillating gold. Where'er the eye 
 Erratic turns, it greets thee : for thy form, 
 Nature, delighted, multiplies, and makes 
 Each sand, eacn dew-drop, the small floret's crown, 
 The tiny orbit of the insect's eye, 
 And the rayed texture of the sparry rock, 
 A mirror for thy glory. — Life awakes 
 From dewy slumber. — Hark ! the jocund lark 
 
POETICAL SKETCHES, S3 
 
 Awakes her carols ; now their morning hymn 
 The birds are chanting, and the voice of joy 
 Has filled th' ethereal vault. Reflection fair 
 Of thy Creator ! strange had heathen worlds 
 Not paid thee rites divine ! Should'st thou refuse 
 Thy wonted smile, or stay, thy chariot wheels, 
 Soon Nature's mighty pulse would cease to beat, 
 And, all her powers collapsing, might she dread 
 Sad dissolution.. But th' Eternal's breath 
 Has kindled thee with fires that never know 
 Extinction nor exhaustion. His command 
 Proud to fulfil^ thou measurest days and weeks, 
 Months, years, and cycles, to the sons of men, 
 And seest their generations rise and bloom, 
 Wax old and die ; — thyself unchanged by Time, 
 Ne'er has his hand thy golden tresses shorn, 
 Nor on thy dazzling forehead has he left 
 Trace of his wrinkling breath, nor aught thy speed 
 And juvenile strength abated. Matchless orb, 
 Roll ever glorious, ever round thee pour 
 The streams of life and joy, thy Maker's praise- 
 Exalting high, his noblest image thou ! 
 
 M. Goodwi.x, Printer^ 
 29, Denmark-street. 
 
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 Treatment Date: April 2009 
 
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