-NRLF 
 
THE JAMES D. PHELAN 
 CELTIC COLLECTION 
 
^ ^*^ s * 
 
POEMS. 
 
ERRATA. 
 
 e 7, line 25th, for fond endeavor ; read fond endeavor, 
 140, line 6th, for horded, read hoarded. 
 
THE 
 
 O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES, 
 
 AND OTDEll 
 
 NICHOLAS J. GANNON. 
 
 LONDON: 
 BOSWORTH AND HARRISON, 215, REGENT STREET. 
 
 DUBLIN: M'GLASHAN AND GILL. 
 1858. 
 
PHEUN 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Gr. J. PALMER, 27, Lamb's Conduit Street. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 
 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES . . .1 
 
 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH CORRIN . . 44 
 
 THE FAIKY WELL . . . .57 
 
 THE COURT OF APOLLO . . . .72 
 
 THE GREY MAN . . . . .93 
 
 AN EPILOGUE TO THE PLAY OF " MONEY " . .97 
 
 THE KILLERIES . . . . .99 
 
 LINES ON THE LATE WAR . . . . 104 
 
 THE ABBEY OF MAYO . . . .111 
 
 A CONFERENCE . . . . .121 
 
 LINES ON CLEW BAY REGATTA . . . 126 
 
 TO THE RIVER HODDER . . . .130 
 
 810276 
 
VI CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE. 
 LINES WRITTEN ON THE IRISH FAMINE OF 1848 
 
 AND 1849 . . . . .134 
 
 ARROGANCE CONFOUNDED .... 140 
 
 THE BANSHEE ..... 145 
 
 A REMEMBRANCE OF THE RHINE . . . 147 
 
 CAWNPORE . . ... 153 
 
 HAYELOCK .... . 156 
 
 THE MOUNTAIN ASH ..... 158 
 ART MACMURROUGH . . 160 
 
PEOEM TO THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE 
 LAKES. 
 
 I. 
 
 WHAT, though this lay which clothes a tale of old, 
 Can give the world no minstrelsy sublime ! 
 What, though the lines no wizard charms unfold, 
 No soul entrancing thoughts which heav'nward 
 
 climb, 
 
 No matchless harmony in verse or rhyme ! 
 Yet still my muse would seek to furl its wing 
 Within some heart where hope with hope might 
 
 chime, 
 Whose union o'er them both its strength would 
 
 fling, 
 
 And to the aims of both a true precision bring. 
 
 B 
 
2 PROEM TO THE DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 li. 
 
 And thus metliinks the end would consecrate, 
 And place a worthy chaplet on my brow ; 
 For aught that tends though slightly to create 
 Fair Freedom's spark, or make its embers glow, 
 And cause our blood in livelier tide to flow, 
 Must chisel out itself a statue grand, 
 Whose deathless form in majesty will grow, 
 Beck'ning us onward like a glorious brand, 
 T' achieve heroic deeds for holy fatherland. 
 
 III. 
 
 Is it not straage that in an isle like ours 
 So :rew. to iiymn its praise have struck the lyre ? 
 Does beauty lavish thus her golden dowers, 
 And for the gifts no gratitude desire ? 
 Does generous largess no response inspire ? 
 Alas ! we most are mute, whom most beseem 
 The grateful odes in universal choir, 
 For all the glories of earth, wood, and stream, 
 For all the raptures of the Poet's loveliest dream ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 Let censure then avert its venom'd dart, 
 From one who loving his ancestral hills, 
 Aspires to take a small and lowly part 
 In picturing the splendor which instils 
 
PROEM TO THE O DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 3 
 
 Its wild, bright light into the soul, and fills 
 Its chambers with a fascinating train, 
 Till with joy undefined the bosom thrills. 
 To these dear visions, which my heart enchain, 
 I wake my humble harp, and dedicate its strain ! 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 A POEM IN TWO PARTS, (a) 
 
 PAKT I. 
 
 OF all Killarney's mountain host, 
 
 The wood-crown'd Glena charms the most. 
 
 Nor deem it strange, for here the hues 
 
 That o'er the rest their light diffuse, 
 
 Before the gazer's ravish'd sight, 
 
 In rainbow loveliness unite ; 
 
 And all the traits that deck the rest, 
 
 The rounded peak, the heath'ry crest, 
 
 The awful gorge, the deep ravine, 
 
 The nodding torrent's dazzling sheen, 
 
 The steep and tow'ring precipice, 
 
 O'erhanging the profound abyss, 
 
 In all their native grace and pride 
 
 Adorn this mountain's rugged side ! 
 
 There bloom the sweetest flowers that blow 
 
 On Toomies ridge, or wildly glow 
 
 On Carrantual's dizzy steep ; 
 
THE DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 E'en those delicious plants that weep 
 
 Within the blue lake's waters clear, 
 
 Distil their pearly tear drops here. 
 
 The yew in rich luxuriance drest, 
 
 That shoots aloft on Dinis' breast, 
 
 The green Arbutus' mighty shade, 
 
 Which weaves its gloom o'er Tore cascade, 
 
 The ash of Innisfallen's isle, 
 
 The hawthorns gay in Eoss that smile, 
 
 The holly trees of dread Coome Dhuv, 
 
 The pines whose tops so darkly move 
 
 By Laune's swift flood, all feast the eye, 
 
 In Glena's fairy scenery ! 
 
 But this sweet spot hath power to please, 
 
 Through spells more strong than even these ; 
 
 Approach the mountain, and behold 
 
 Before your ken the view unroll'd : 
 
 Far downward see the gentle lake 
 
 Its winding bays, and channels make, 
 
 Begemm'd with isles so bright and fair, 
 
 They seem from heav'n t' have wander'd there ! 
 
 Thus blest, the pure and holy gleam 
 
 Of angel forms might o'er them stream ; 
 
 These spirits bright might calmly rove 
 
 By dewy bank, through bow'ry grove ; 
 
 Or by their noiseless shores could gjide, 
 
 And bathe their pinions in the tide ! 
 
 How broad the crystal waters swell ! 
 
THE ODONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 Stretching by mount and bosky dell, 
 
 By the green " Isle of Beauty's " wood, 
 
 And abbey grey that eyes the flood, 
 
 By the rich pastures of Mucross, 
 
 By the trim bowers and tower of Boss, 
 
 By verdant copse and rocky bay, 
 
 Melting in airy space away ! 
 
 Or turn where Tore his daughter dowers, (&) 
 
 With constant gifts in snowy showers, 
 
 Or onward where the Sugar-Loaf 
 
 Hangs out in air his gloomy woof, 
 
 Upon whose sharp ascending peak 
 
 The golden eagle whets his beak, 
 
 Where on the valley darkly frown 
 
 The beetling crags of Cromagloun, 
 
 Where Purple-Mount and Toomies' forms 
 
 Bear their jagg'd fronts, and stretch their arms 
 
 To guard the lake that gave them birth, 
 
 And from her bosom sent them forth, (c) 
 
 From these to mighty Mangerton, 
 
 Encircled with his misty crown, 
 
 Sweet Glena, smiling like a queen, 
 
 Enjoys the whole delicious scene, 
 
 While the fond waves in homage meet, 
 
 Scatter their off rings at her feet ! 
 
 In ancient times, ere foreign hosts, 
 In hostile bands sought Erin's coasts, 
 
THE DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 When native kings our valleys rul'd, 
 In martial feats and daring school'd, 
 A warrior chief of high degree 
 Sweet Glena's mountain held in fee. 
 Perch 'd o'er the lake his castle tall, 
 With donjon, fosse, and outer wall, 
 High in the air its towers uprear'd, 
 And in the pride of strength appear'd. 
 This Chieftain had an only child, 
 As fair as Eden when it smil'd, 
 A maiden lovelier than the light 
 The moon sheds in an autumn night, 
 And purer than the beams that quiver 
 From stars, on Laune's fast flowing river ; 
 Her tresses darker than the plume 
 That nods on midnight's helm of gloom, 
 Her neck like snow, her form divine 
 As straight and graceful as the pine ; 
 Her step more swift than Glena's deer, 
 Her silv'ry voice so sweetly clear 
 That when the neighboring minstrels heard 
 The maiden speak one single word, 
 They tried to teach their harps in vain, 
 To catch the music of its strain, 
 And failing in their fond endeavor ; 
 Forsook the tuneless strings for ever ! 
 But Eva's charms were all outshone 
 By one that grac'd her like a crown, 
 
THE DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 In which, as in a coat of mail, 
 Proof against all that could assail, 
 The maiden safely might rely ; 
 This armour bright was modesty ! 
 Such is the pure unpurchas'd grace, 
 The shining heir-loom of her race, 
 Which, lovelier than the gem whose blaze 
 Emits the hue our Isle displays, 
 In sorrow's most distressful hour, 
 Evinc'd its blest undying power, 
 And o'er Hibernia's daughter's fame 
 Hath pour'd the lustre of its name ! 
 
 With all affection's quenchless fire 
 
 She fill'd the bosom of her sire : 
 
 He lov'd to think how suitors proud, 
 
 To seek the lovely girl would crowd ; 
 
 And in imagination's glass 
 
 A vision would before him pass, 
 
 In which a prince of noble air, 
 
 Swaying some province vast and fair, 
 
 Would ask fair Eva for his bride, 
 
 And to his house become allied. 
 
 With joy o'erwhelm'd he seem'd to say, 
 
 " May heaven soon send that bounteous day, 
 
 Which to my clans, when death shall come 
 
 To show my aged limbs a tomb, 
 
 Will give a brave and noble Lord, 
 
THE ODONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 Their rights and liberties to guard !" 
 Yet strange, with all this loveliness, 
 The maiden's purpose none could guess ; 
 A solemn shade was wont to roam 
 O'er her fair forehead's marble dome, 
 As though it there had found a home. 
 She never prais'd the warlike game, 
 Where chiefs in flashing armour came 
 To hurl on high the flying spear, 
 Or stay their steeds in mid career ! 
 The brilliant panoply of war 
 No glory had, no pride for her ; 
 Nay e'en those gallants bold, whose blood 
 Was shed in cause of womanhood, 
 With all their deeds of high emprise, 
 Could find no favor in her eyes ! 
 But well she lov'd when gentle Even 
 Appear'd upon the brow of Heaven, 
 When the grey owl his pinion waves, 
 And dusky bats have left their caves, 
 Down at the foot of Eagle's nest 
 To take her solitary rest, 
 Or, by the water's pebbly brink, 
 On mossy bank to sit and think, 
 While the pale moth his labor plies, 
 And swarms of the green dragon flies, 
 And grey midge rising from the brake, 
 Float on the surface of the lake. 
 
10 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 'Twas then her joy to hear on high 
 The rapid curlew's plaintive cry, 
 Or listen to the blue hawk's scream, 
 Sailing above some mountain stream, 
 Varied by fox's bark, the wail 
 Of plover, or the pipe of quail, 
 And, filling all the heath'ry glen, 
 The cackling din of brown moor-hen. 
 But more than these she loved to hear 
 The solemn belling of the deer, 
 Which, when the evening 'gins to close, 
 Upon the brooding stillness grows, 
 Till by the wand'ring zephyr caught, 
 It wakes sweet echo in her grot, 
 Who swiftly sending back the sound, 
 Her sisters answer all around. 
 And first the cliff rings with the peal, 
 Then soft notes o'er it mildly steal, 
 Still later yet its murm'rings seem 
 Th' aerial whispers of a dream, 
 Which at the first approach of day 
 In heav'n-born music melt away. 
 But, hark ! again more loudly swell 
 The mystic sounds o'er hill and dell, 
 Nearer and nearer now they creep, 
 Now rise in thunder up the steep, 
 Each moss-grown crag prolongs the note, 
 As though to each were giv'n a throat ; 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 11 
 
 It seems as if from out earth's womb 
 The myriad Elves and Fays had come, 
 And mingling in a choral strain, 
 With their weird brethren of the plain, 
 Satyrs, Dryads, and bounding Fauns, 
 Who lead the dance on flow'ry lawns, 
 Rais'd their shrill voices loud and long, 
 And fill'd the mountains with their song ! 
 
 Communing with these sounds sublime, 
 The maid was wont to pass her time, 
 Till o'er her meditations sweet, 
 The sable shades of night would fleet ; 
 And oft hath Cynthia's silv'ry noon 
 Upon her pensive form look'd down, 
 And seen the strange and wild delight, 
 So startling, so unearthly bright, 
 Which rob'd her features in its light ! 
 Time fled, but not fair Eva's love 
 For shelter'd vale or bow'ry grove, 
 Which with her years still stronger grew, 
 And like her beauty ripen'd too. 
 Her anxious sire, while yet the maid 
 In childhood's simple garb had played, 
 Deem'd her coy ways and bearing shy, 
 The proof of native modesty. 
 But when maturing years had shed 
 Their crowning roses on her head, 
 
2 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 With radiant bloom her cheek had grac'd, 
 
 And on her lip their vermeil trac'd, 
 
 He thought through pleasure's magic thrall 
 
 To tempt the girl in festive hall. 
 
 Then did he spread the banquet gay, 
 
 Then flocking came in rich array, 
 
 The youthful nobles of the plain, 
 
 With warrior vassals in their train. 
 
 Full many a chief the maiden woo'd, 
 
 Full many in falt'ring accents sued 
 
 To win her hand ; and gems and gold 
 
 Before her father's eyes unroll'd. 
 
 But useless all their wily art 
 
 To gain the lovely Eva's heart ; 
 
 And when her sire in suppliant voice 
 
 Besought his child to make a choice, 
 
 Of all her suitors rich and proud, 
 
 She turn'd her head, and wept aloud ! 
 
 The holy nuns who oft had seen 
 
 Fair Eva, and had mark'd her mien, 
 
 When now they heard the wondrous tale, 
 
 How wealth and rank could not prevail 
 
 To win her heart, would gravely say, 
 
 " The veil is her's no distant day !" 
 
 But those more shrewd had watch'd the care 
 
 With which she bound her raven hair, 
 
 Had caught the blaze of em'rald green, 
 
 The gems and diamonds glitt'ring sheen, 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 13 
 
 Whose brilliance well might grace a queen, 
 
 And vow'd no veil that face would hide, 
 
 Save such as decks the sparkling bride ! 
 
 Her maidens wond'ring much the while, 
 
 Were wont to shake their heads and smile, 
 
 As though they wish'd that each should know, 
 
 They would not treat their lovers so. 
 
 But Una, she whose locks of jet 
 
 Like Eva's, down her shoulders met, 
 
 Her chosen friend, companion dear, 
 
 In all her mystic wand 'rings near, 
 
 With solemn brow, and silent tongue, 
 
 The livelier maidens sate among. 
 
 Sometimes fair Eva and her maid, 
 
 Would walk adown the flow'ry glade, 
 
 Or in a gold-embroider'd barge, 
 
 Skim o'er the broad lake's mimic surge. 
 
 The awe-inspired fishermen, 
 
 When Eva's boat had met their ken, 
 
 Plying the dripping oar, would leave 
 
 The maids alone their dreams to weave ; 
 
 Then when o'er hill, and lake, and plain, 
 
 The night commenc'd its drowsy reign, 
 
 Along the silv'ry path where shines 
 
 The moon's calm light in twinkling lines, 
 
 Una would row the bark, and there 
 
 The maids would sing some plaintive air, 
 
 Or meditate till early day 
 
 Appear'd above the mountains grey. 
 
14 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 One eve as fickle April's sun, 
 His latest course had well-nigh run, 
 Tinging with beams of crimson hue 
 The quiet lake's translucent blue, 
 Eva, in accents soft and clear, 
 Pour'd these grave words in Una's ear ; 
 " Beloved friend, let balmy sleep, 
 To-night your grateful senses steep, 
 Let winged dreams your mind delight, 
 With glowing cenes, with visions bright, 
 That in the arms of rapture borne, 
 Your soul may feast on joys till morn. 
 For when to-night the wolf will howl, 
 And o'er the lake shall whoop the owl, 
 When the wild fox shall roam the dell, 
 I mean to work a wondrous spell ! 
 My potent charm will seek to make 
 The glorious spirit of the lake 
 From out its breast his form unfold, 
 And converse with a mortal hold !" 
 Fill'd with surprise and secret dread, 
 The trembling Una nothing said ; 
 But when the evening reach'd its close, 
 She press'd her couch and sought repose. 
 The fluttering at her anxious breast 
 Deterr'd the coy approach of rest ; 
 And wild fears coursing through her brain, 
 Made every hope of slumber vain. 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 15 
 
 With noiseless footstep Una glides 
 From out her couch, and down the sides 
 Of Glena, speeds her quick pursuit, 
 Till she had reach'd the mountain's foot ; 
 When there arriv'd and crouching low, 
 Beneath a hroad Arbutus bough, 
 She saw fair Eva on the strand, 
 Waving aloft a starry wand. 
 Eftsoons a noise came thund'ring on, 
 Like mountain waves, when tempests strong 
 Sweep the blue surface of the sea, 
 And lash it in their savage glee ! 
 Nearer and nearer came the sound 
 Which made the mountain cliffs rebound, 
 When lo ! a scene unearthly bright, 
 Burst on astonish'd Una's sight ! 
 
 First o'er the tide from crystal bowers, 
 
 The lake-Sylphs came enwreath'd with flowers, 
 
 Then mountain Sprites with crowns of heather, 
 
 Came tripping o'er the waves together, 
 
 And then a band of Elves arrive, 
 
 As thick as swarms around a hive, 
 
 And Phooka's wild, and gloomy Ghouls, 
 
 Filling the air with hideous howls, 
 
 And sprightly Fays from raths and dells, 
 
 From wooded slopes and mountain cells. 
 
 But last a noble Knight there came, 
 
16 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 With brow of pride, and lip of flame, 
 More radiant than the light which shone 
 Upon the fam'd Hyperion ! 
 His armour lac'd with flashing gems, 
 Brighter than monarch's diadems, 
 Seen through the pale moon's silv'ry haze, 
 In quenchless splendor seem'd to blaze. 
 His plumes were whiter than the speck 
 Of foam upon his charger's neck, 
 Or e'en than that which on the lake, 
 In breezes fresh the wavelets make. 
 A sable steed the knight bestrode, 
 With nostrils spread, and eye so proud, 
 As conscious of its princely load : 
 A flood of varied lustre pour'd 
 From the rich gems that deck'd his lord, 
 And all around the trappings wide, 
 Stream 'd in a broad and brilliant tide, 
 Till Una' deem'd, so mix'd the glow, 
 The knight's brave steed was Iris' bow ! 
 When the procession glitter'd nigh, 
 Glad sounds of festive melody, 
 From fairy harps, fill'd all the air 
 With softest strains and hymnings rare, 
 Till e'en the dusky brow of night, 
 Belax'd its frown in grim delight. 
 Arriv'd upon the tawny strand, 
 The graceful leaders of the band, 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 17 
 
 With figures bow'd in regal state, 
 A passage for the knight create ; 
 Who, as his bounding courser stood 
 At the white margin of the flood, 
 Leap'd to the earth, and o'er his mane, 
 Flinging the richly jewell'd rein, 
 Left the steed panting by the tide, 
 And sprang to lovely Eva's side ! 
 At the first impress of his tread 
 Old Glena's mountain bowed its head ! 
 And to their prince in homage low, 
 Each tree bent down on Glena's brow ! 
 
 'Twas now that Una's eye survey'd 
 The pure ennobling fire that played 
 O'er that tall knight's majestic face, 
 And marked his lofty, martial grace, 
 His manly form, his bearing high, 
 The speaking language of his eye, 
 Which own'd the power to kill with fear, 
 Or draw the sympathetic tear, 
 To shine a star when battle calls, 
 Or melt to love in festive halls, 
 To burn with matchless eloquence, 
 To beam a grand intelligence, 
 To flash in scorn, or passion wild, 
 And gaze as mildly as a child ! 
 Such was the knight that Una viewed, 
 
 c 
 
18 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 With all a man can boast endued, 
 A type of those whom long since gone, 
 Poor Erin mourns so sad, and lone ! 
 Of princely mien, of giant size, 
 In battle brave, in counsel wise, 
 Ardent in love, though quick to feel, 
 And draw in hate th' avenging steel, 
 But swift to quench fell rancor's brand, 
 And give the foeman friendship's hand ! 
 Frank in each feature, warm in heart, 
 Possessing that untutor'd art, 
 Which made him first among the free 
 For generous hospitality, 
 His faith's, his country's joy sublime, 
 An Irish chief of olden time ! 
 
 First Eva gazed upon the knight 
 
 With wonder mingled with affright, 
 
 As though her strange, and mystic course 
 
 Had stung her heart with late remorse; 
 
 But soon her groundless fears had flown, 
 
 So soft his looks, so mild his tone. 
 
 Una, conceal'd not far above, 
 
 Could catch the words which told his love, 
 
 Could hear sweet Eva's charms obtain 
 
 The knight's high praise in meetest strain, 
 
 And listen to the pledge he made, 
 
 As forth he drew his polish'd blade, 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 19 
 
 And calling hill, and lake, and shore, 
 
 To hear the solemn oath he swore, 
 
 That, " If for seven successive years, 
 
 On each May morn this maid appears 
 
 To meet me here, and loves but me, 
 
 She, on the seventh, my hride shall be!" 
 
 What anguish fills poor Una's heart, 
 
 What gives the girl that sudden start ? 
 
 What mean those tears, that drooping head ? 
 
 Eva has given the promise dread ! 
 
 And Una weeps to think that earth, 
 
 Which gave this lovely creature birth, 
 
 Must one day to the waters blue, 
 
 Consign that form, that heart so true ! 
 
 Eva in answer scarce did speak, 
 
 When on her beauteous, dimpled cheek, 
 
 The knight impress'd a kiss, then flew 
 
 To where his charger stood in view, 
 
 And as he vaulted to his seat, 
 
 The Sylphs and Elves their master meet, 
 
 And all that strange, unearthly train 
 
 Resumes its former ranks again. 
 
 Now o'er the wide lake's snowy foam 
 
 Its glowing monarch seeks his home, 
 
 Then rose from myriad tiny throats, 
 
 In swelling strain, aerial notes, 
 
 And as his steed careers along, 
 
 The banded spirits chaunt this song. 
 
 c 2 
 
SO THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 I. 
 
 " All the sweet radiant flowers come let us intwine, 
 And plait into a wreath while we sing, 
 
 Whose rare dazzling tints may be worthy to shine 
 On the brow of our bright Water King ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Let us pluck the rich heath-blooms on Toomies 
 that grow, 
 
 And gay blue bells from Dinis's glade, 
 Let us gather the primrose and cowslips that blow, 
 
 In the depths of the ' black valley's ' shade. 
 
 III. 
 
 Come weave in the rose that so richly adorns 
 
 Fair Mucross's verdurous vale, 
 And the apple's lush bud which bursts forth on 
 May morns, 
 
 We will braid with the violet pale. 
 
 IV. 
 
 We'll dive for some drops from the deep crystal 
 cells, 
 
 The sweet odorous leaves to begem, 
 And well rifle the caves of the lake for their shells, 
 
 To hang down from each delicate stem ! 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 31 
 
 V. 
 
 There shall mingle the heaven's empyrean blue, 
 With the meadow's most exquisite green, 
 
 And the beautiful opal's changeable hue, 
 With the diamond's, and ruby's pure sheen. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Haste we now, the grey morn with dew spangled 
 feet, 
 
 Is unlocking the portals of day, 
 And we to our lake-guarded homes must retreat 
 
 Ere the earth has been lit with its ray ! 
 
 CHOKUS OF SPIRITS. 
 
 Then all sweet radiant flowers come let us intwine, 
 And plait into a wreath while we sing, 
 
 Whose rare, dazzling tints may be worthy to shine 
 On the brow of our bright Water King!" 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 PAKT II. 
 
 To own a land where beauty reigns 
 O'er every province it contains, 
 And in so many changing lights 
 The ravish'd gazer's eye delights, 
 Till dazzled with its mysteries 
 He scarce can deem it earth he sees, 
 Must make the patriot bosom glow 
 With untold joys none else can know. 
 But does it want the kindred flame, 
 That burns at sound of country's name, 
 To make Killamey's scenes impart 
 Inspiring pleasure to the heart, 
 Or cause the quicken'd pulse to beat 
 With unexpected throbbings sweet ? 
 Oh ! dull the soul that cannot feel 
 The charms of rapture o'er it steal 
 In witnessing these glens, and groves ; 
 Or which no thrilling pleasure moves 
 In gazing on those dark blue piles, 
 The warders of the lake's bright isles. 
 Which having viewed we well may deem 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 23 
 
 Of Paradise we've caught a gleam ! 
 So softly bright, so heav'nly sweet, 
 The visions that before us fleet ! 
 
 What dreamer borne on airy wings, 
 In all his wild imaginings 
 Amid the starry realms of space, 
 Did ever in his wand'rings trace 
 Such picturings of loveliness, 
 Such matchless gorgeousness of dress ; 
 Or ever shew'd each wond'ring sense 
 Such blending of the light intense, 
 With all the mellow hues which grace 
 The lines of beauty's sparkling face, 
 As he on Mangerton who stands, 
 Viewing the vale below, commands? 
 The musing eye should gaze upon 
 These scenes when up the sky the sun 
 He aching its noon, hath pour'd a blaz e, 
 Which glitt'ring in a golden haze, 
 Paints with a bright, transparent glow 
 The isles, and lakes, and plains below. 
 Then can the keen observing eye 
 Enchantment's wizard charms descry, 
 And revel in the harmony, 
 That with a brilliant brush imprints 
 Its form o'er all in deathless tints, 
 Till spreading wide its drowsy links, 
 
24 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 In sleep the soften'd landscape sinks. 
 What sombre, silent shadows creep 
 Along the lake-defending steep ! 
 What lazy mists are rising o'er 
 The pebbly margin of the shore ! 
 Now doth the isles which gem the tide, 
 Adown the waters seem to glide, 
 And on their breasts the tufted grove 
 Eesembles those dark clouds above, 
 Which with their edge of silver dye, 
 Are floating o'er the azure sky ; 
 And farther on see ocean laves 
 The rock-bound coast with angry waves, 
 Crowning each crag, and summit grey 
 With garlands of its snowy spray ; 
 And stretching far its myriad arms, 
 In wild diversity of forms, 
 Till melting dimly from the view 
 It mingles with the heaven's blue ! 
 
 Upon a more entrancing scene 
 No mortal ever gaz'd I ween, 
 Whether he roved 'mid Norway's pines, 
 Or where the Alpine torrent shines, 
 Or by the Rhine's fair banks had stray'd, 
 And e'en Italia's plains survey 'd ; 
 The rosy colour'd streak that glows 
 At set of sun on Jura's snows, 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 25 
 
 The crystal glacier's dazzling light, 
 Seen on some star-resplendent night, 
 The dread Niagara's mad foam, 
 The crater rending the earth's womb, 
 The sunrise in a southern clime, 
 All that the earth contains sublime, 
 Hath never struck the rapturous chord, 
 Which swells the bosom of the bard, 
 With mightier force, or sense more keen, 
 Than would these hills and lakes serene ! 
 A land where shine such scenes as these 
 Is not a land alone to please, 
 Nor was it meant by nature's God 
 That its bold shores, and em'rald sod, 
 In tranced sleep should ever lie, 
 To feast the passing stranger's eye. 
 Tis one with love's undying heat 
 To make her son's strong hearts to beat, 
 To fill their breasts with proud desire, 
 And kindle there each noble fire, 
 To rouse their minds to active good, 
 And make the quickly bounding blood 
 Assist the energetic soul 
 To reach prosperity's fair goal, 
 And with a strong, determin'd power, 
 Unheeding all the clouds that lour, 
 T*o show the isle that gave them birth, 
 They do not shame their native earth ! 
 
26 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 On lofty Glena's tufted head, 
 
 The summer's crimson blooms are shed, 
 
 And all the mountain's purple plumes, 
 
 The gorgeous summer sun illumes ; 
 
 Now flowers the yellow daffodil, 
 
 And od'rous honeysuckles fill 
 
 The air with perfume, hollyhocks 
 
 Are glitt'ring on their sturdy stalks, 
 
 The ever climbing jessamine, 
 
 Its tendrils with the rose intwine, 
 
 And out upon the dizzy crag, 
 
 The poppy lifts its blood-red flag. 
 
 The woods re-echo to the notes 
 
 Of music, from ten thousand throats, 
 
 On ashen branch, or apple's spray, 
 
 The speckled thrush outpours her lay ; 
 
 From out some thorn the blackbird's song, 
 
 In mellow flood is borne along, 
 
 The robin on the hazel sits, 
 
 Or nimbly o'er its branches flits, 
 
 While sailing placidly on high, 
 
 The eagle cleaves the liquid sky. 
 
 Amid these scenes with cheek more fair 
 Than all the flowers that scent the air, 
 Sat Eva in a pensive mood, 
 Gazing upon the lake's bright flood. 
 The solemn shadow on her brow 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 27 
 
 Assum'd a darker colour now, 
 
 And even the mystic air she wore, 
 
 Seem'd to have deepen'd more and more. 
 
 At times a bright, though transient flush, 
 
 Of wild unearthly joy would rush 
 
 Her features o'er, and light her eye 
 
 With a quick flash of ecstasy ; 
 
 Then fly, and leave behind no trace 
 
 Upon her calm and pensive face ! 
 
 Oft-times, as though in gloomy sleep, 
 
 Her looks were fasten'd on the deep ; 
 
 Then suddenly the eyeballs roll'd, 
 
 And her pure soul would seem to hold 
 
 Converse with those bright forms that glide, 
 
 And have their home beneath the tide. 
 
 Her harp again the maid would take, 
 
 And all the neighb'ring echoes wake, 
 
 Then while the strings her fingers swept, 
 
 And on the air sweet music crept, 
 
 Lifting her voice in silv'ry sound, 
 
 These strange, wild words went floating round. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Ye seasons roll your rapid flight, 
 Die out ye coming years ! 
 
 Until before my gladden'd sight, 
 The seventh May morn appears. 
 
28 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 II. 
 
 That blessed morn which is to make 
 
 A happy bride of me, 
 When on a bright steed o'er the lake, 
 
 I with my lord shall flee. 
 
 III. 
 
 To be my bridesmaids fair and gay, 
 All the blue waves will flock, 
 
 Their white attire will be the spray 
 That crowns the tide-worn rock. 
 
 IV. 
 
 The Naiads and the Sylphs who roam 
 'Mid amber-dropping bowers, 
 
 Will bid me welcome to my home, 
 And strew my path with flowers. 
 
 V. 
 
 The lake will chaunt the bridal prayer 
 
 In solemn harmony, 
 And zephyrs soft will fill the air, 
 
 With sounds of festal glee. 
 
 VI. 
 
 And I with crystal coronal 
 Upon my brow, thenceforth, 
 
 Will hold each fairy sprite in thrall, 
 Of wave, and air, and earth !" 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 29 
 
 Years sped, and still the mournful shade 
 O'er Eva's lovely features stray 'd, 
 Still did she tread her lonely path 
 By shore, and cliff, and ancient rath ; 
 Deep in the mountain's grey retreat, 
 The moss-grown cairn was still her seat, 
 And still she lov'd in twilight dim 
 To hear the murm'ring wavelets hymn. 
 Full often Una had to dry 
 The bitter tears that fill'd her eye, 
 For well she knew in magic chain, 
 Her mistress would for aye remain, 
 And that no power on earth could sever 
 The links that bound her fate for ever ! 
 Her sire, to whom the moonlit scene 
 And Eva's vow had ever been 
 A secret sealed, had never tir'd 
 To gain the wish he long desir'd, 
 And now that all his arts are tried, 
 And all his soft requests denied, 
 He seeks by varied threats to find 
 His pensive daughter change her mind ; 
 And summoning his child with looks, 
 Eevealing slumbering rebukes, 
 He thus discloses in her ear, 
 His purpose stern in tones of fear. 
 
 " Eva, by disobedience led, 
 
 How oft was turn'd away thy head, 
 
30 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 How oft thy sire a wish express'd, 
 Which found no echo in thy hreast ; 
 A breast which duty ne'er impels, 
 And which no grateful feeling swells. 
 Eva, then list to a decree, 
 As sternly fixed as destiny ! 
 A month shall roll its circling flight, 
 Ere beams the next May morning bright, 
 The night before that morn my halls 
 Shall show gay banners on their walls, 
 Upon the board rare meats be strewn, 
 Till 'neath the weight its sides shall groan, 
 And all that bridal feast e'er grac'd, 
 Along its massive length be plac'd. 
 Hither in bridal garments dress'd, 
 From far and near, each princely guest, 
 Of those young warrior chiefs whom fame 
 Hath taught to love your very name, 
 Coming, the costly bench shall line, 
 And gaily quaff the sparkling wine. 
 Then must thou tell at my command 
 What happy chief shall own thy hand, 
 Protect thyself, and kindred dear 
 When I shall sway no longer here !" 
 
 Now gently lifting the long lash, 
 'Neath which her eyes so darkly flash, 
 Eva outspoke ; " My sire rever'd ! 
 By all fond ties to me endear'd ! 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 31 
 
 How much by false conceits beguil'd, 
 Thou wrong's! thy unoffending child ! 
 Oh, never since my mind was taught 
 To form within its earliest thought, 
 Hath aught impair'd the harmony 
 With which my feelings throb for thee, 
 Or given that love the slightest chill, 
 Which warms my faithful bosom still ! 
 But, father, do not seek to know 
 Why hangs the cloud upon my brow, 
 Whene'er thou ask'st in suppliant voice 
 That I should name to thee my choice. 
 Twere better far thou should'st not hear 
 What might inspire a useless fear. 
 Enough to know that I obey, 
 And on the earliest morn of May, 
 Ere scales the sun up Glena's side, 
 Eva shall be a happy bride !" 
 Now joy its radiant mantle flings 
 O'er the old man's imaginings, 
 And calm contentment fills that mind 
 Which late no peace on earth could find ! 
 
 When Cynthia's silver-shining horn 
 Gave way to April's latest morn, 
 While the dove dreamt upon her nest, 
 Ere yet the deer arose from rest, 
 Or thrush to young had carried food, 
 
32 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 At Una's couch fair Eva stood ; 
 
 And when her sohs the maid awoke, 
 
 Thus in a stream of tears she spoke, 
 
 " Una, beloved ! ere sleep will close 
 
 The beam that in thy dark eye glows, 
 
 Eva a spirit's bride shall be, 
 
 Never again to visit thee ! 
 
 Ah ! ne'er again thy hand to hold, 
 
 Or round thy waist my arm to fold, 
 
 Never again t' enjoy the bliss 
 
 Of printing on thy lips a kiss, 
 
 Never with thee to roam the glade, 
 
 Or sit beneath the forest shade ! 
 
 No more beside her father's knee 
 
 Shall Eva kneel in sportive glee, 
 
 And with a daughter's tender care, 
 
 Comb smoothly down his snowy hair ! 
 
 Then Una let your constant heart 
 
 A faithful promise now impart, 
 
 That to my parent you will prove 
 
 A daughter in your anxious love ! 
 
 And that as strength and health decline, 
 
 Your thoughtfulness will brighter shine, 
 
 That so his dying hours may seem 
 
 As tranquil as a happy dream!" 
 
 Una a tearful effort makes 
 
 To answer, " Yes ;" the effort breaks ! 
 
 For now the anguish 'd sobs of each 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 83 
 
 Forbade the easy flow of speech ; 
 But well in glances eloquent 
 Does Eva read her friend's intent, 
 And never yet was promise made 
 In truer faith than they display'd ! 
 
 The evening sun has long gone down, 
 
 Behind the Toomies' mountain brown, 
 
 And midway up the starry sky 
 
 The night's dark coursers swiftly fly. 
 
 Within the chief of Glena's tower 
 
 The bell's loud peal proclaims the hour 
 
 When mirth, and song, and harmless jest, 
 
 Shall fill with joy each happy guest. 
 
 And in the halls what lustre streams ! 
 
 What pleasure in each visage beams ! 
 
 What gorgeous flags are floating o'er 
 
 The groined arch above the door ! 
 
 What pomp of spears, and helm, and shield, 
 
 Along the walls becomes reveal'd ! 
 
 But who could count the viands rare 
 
 That lay in princely order there? 
 
 Name all the fishes of the lakes, 
 
 Or all the birds that haunt the brakes, 
 
 And heath, and fen, that met the sight, 
 
 Pil'd on the chieftain's board that night ? 
 
 Who could describe the nobleness 
 
 Which stamp'd each guest, or paint their dress ? 
 
34 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 Whose splendor mock'd the rays that pour 
 From famed Golconda's glitt'ring ore ! 
 
 High in the midst of that gay crowd, 
 
 Among her suitors rich and proud, 
 
 Sat Eva, roh'd in bright attire, 
 
 Beside her joy o'erpower'd sire ! 
 
 And never since her natal day 
 
 Did beauty's fascinating ray 
 
 Illumine more that countenance, 
 
 Or add such sparkles to her glance, 
 
 As did it then in blending hues, 
 
 Over those features rare diffuse ! 
 
 But 'twas not now that Eva shone 
 
 In matchless loveliness alone ; 
 
 There was a spiritual air, 
 
 Which, stamp 'd upon her forehead fair, 
 
 Convey 'd a sense of mystery 
 
 To every wonder-gazing eye, 
 
 And made each puzzled mind o'erfraught 
 
 With undefin'd and airy thought ! 
 
 'Twas passing hard to reconcile 
 
 The cheerful looks and playful smile 
 
 Which wreath'd the maiden's lips, with all 
 
 That gloomy shade, which like a pall 
 
 At times (though rare) would shroud her face, 
 
 And every brilliant hue erase ! 
 
 Una alone the reason guess'd, 
 
 And much it rack'd her trembling breast. 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 35 
 
 When wine and joy-inspiring song, 
 Had fill'd with glee that noble throng, 
 And when his claims to win the maid, 
 Each chief before her aptly laid ; 
 The hoary host, while not a sound 
 Was heard the dazzling board around, 
 To Eva gives his stern command, 
 To name the chief who owns her hand ! 
 Now had arriv'd that mystic time, 
 Ere yet the morn was in its prime ; 
 When stars begin to fade on high, 
 And clouds are scatt'ring in the sky. 
 The aged Chieftain scarcely spoke, 
 When all the mountain echoes woke, 
 And thunder on the distant hills 
 Th' affrighted air with mutt'rings fills ! 
 Now dying slowly on the ear, 
 Now swelling loud, then traveling near, 
 Till all the castle seem'd. to shake, 
 And e'en the earth itself to quake ! 
 Strick'n with sore dismay and dread, 
 Each guest uprais'd his wond'ring head, 
 And chiefs who blanch'd not in the field, 
 The hue of pallid fear reveal'd ! 
 The gold-hair'd morning's earliest streak, 
 Began to light each tow'ring peak, 
 Nor did the torture of suspense, 
 Long captive hold each palsied sense. 
 
 D 2 
 
36 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 For on the lake, and near at hand, 
 Appear'd a glorious glitt'ring band, 
 Whose radiance like the noon-day sun, 
 No eye could bear to gaze upon ! 
 Each foremost Nymph had silver wand, 
 Which twinkl'd in her snowy hand ; 
 And o'er her drooping shoulders flung 
 A gold-embroider'd mantle hung, 
 Which just allow'd the eye to see, 
 A belt of figur'd ivory, 
 Inlaid with gem and precious stone, 
 Which form'd a star-resembling zone. 
 Next burst upon the view a troop 
 Of Maidens, in a graceful group, 
 Of beauty rare, with airy forms, 
 Bearing bright harps upon their arms ; 
 Which, ever as soft fingers swept, 
 Delicious music gently crept 
 Above, below, afar, around, 
 Breathing Enchantment in its sound ! 
 Behind, the dazzl'd eye survey 'd 
 Myriads of Sprites in rank array'd ; 
 Attir'd in motley colour'd dress, 
 The light form'd Fairies onward press, 
 And the gay Sylphs who live in caves 
 Far, far below the glassy waves. 
 Some wore as wreaths upon the brow, . 
 The verdurous Arbutus bough, 
 
THF O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 37 
 
 While other Fays their temples dress'd 
 With spray that tips the waves' white crest; 
 And every beauteous hue that glows, 
 And every bloom the summer knows, 
 To deck this train brought all their aid, 
 And heighten'd the charms it display'd ! 
 Now on a steed as black as jet, 
 A noble Knight the vision met, 
 His aspect brighten'd by a gleam 
 Of kingly dignity supreme, 
 Whose blazing armor flash 'd afar, 
 Like some intensely shining star! 
 Beside him tripping o'er the wave, 
 Whose crystal top her ankles lave, 
 Bearing a crown of sparkling sheen, 
 A lovely water Nymph was seen ; 
 Who, as across the tide she flew, 
 Brush'd from the crown the morning dew. 
 When Eva's eager glancing eye 
 Did in the throng the knight descry, 
 She rose from off her seat, and stood 
 In a majestic attitude ! 
 Then, pointing to the waters clear, 
 Where check'd the band its swift career, 
 While glist'ning tears begemm'd her cheek, 
 Thus to her sire did Eva speak. 
 " Father ! obeying thy command 
 To tell thee who shall own my hand, 
 
38 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 I answer, yonder chieftain brave, 
 
 Whose fiery steed disdains the wave, 
 
 Claims me as bride, his joys to share, 
 
 And reign within his palace fair !" 
 
 Thus ceasing, while each guest amaz'd, 
 
 In silence on the maiden rais'd 
 
 His eyes which (like that bird's whose gaze 
 
 From off the serpent never strays), 
 
 Fasten'd upon one object stay, 
 
 Owning no power to turn away ;, 
 
 Eva remov'd the gems which shone 
 
 Upon her white neck, one by one ; 
 
 And calling Una, bid her take 
 
 And wear the jewels for her sake. 
 
 Giving her friend a fond embrace, 
 
 As bitter grief convuls'd her face, 
 
 She kiss'd her senseless father's brow, 
 
 Whose head was bent in speechless woe ! 
 
 Then on her head a lily wreath, 
 
 More fragrant than the morning's breath, 
 
 She plac'd, whose cups like silver show'd, 
 
 Whose threads in yellow lustre glow'd. 
 
 And now her swift journey wending, 
 
 By the spiral stairs descending, 
 
 While still gaz'd on that wond'ring throng, 
 
 The lovely Eva rush'd along ! 
 
 More lightly nimble than the fawn 
 
 Does Eva bound across the lawn, 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 39 
 
 And soon the maiden's matchless charms 
 
 Are sparkling in her lover's arms ! 
 
 And now at last did fury fire 
 
 And rage those warrior hearts inspire, 
 
 For when the knight fair Eva clasp 'd, 
 
 Each hand a faithful weapon grasp 'd, 
 
 And rising up with one accord, 
 
 The chieftans hurried from the board. 
 
 But soon did soft Enchantment's spell, 
 
 The wildness of their passion quell, 
 
 And by its giant power enchain'd, 
 
 Like statue dull each guest remain'd ! 
 
 When the strange band had lin'd the shore, 
 
 The beauteous Nymph the crown who bore, 
 
 Near Eva stood, and bowing low, 
 
 Plac'd it upon her marble brow ! 
 
 And then the knight took Eva's hand 
 
 And walk'd adown the tawny sand, 
 
 To where his courser's silver shoe 
 
 Scarce seem'd to touch the waters blue ! 
 
 Now placing Eva on the steed, 
 
 He bounded on his back with speed. 
 
 Swifter than sunbeams from the sky, 
 
 Athwart the waves the lovers fly ! 
 
 And as outrunning the fleet wind, 
 
 The glitt'ring train swept on behind, 
 
 In tones of fairy melody 
 
 These words were heard to mount on high. 
 
40 THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 
 
 I. 
 
 " Come let us rejoice on this happy May morn, 
 For our King has at last won his bride, 
 
 Whose beauty so brilliant a throne shall adorn, 
 In his palace beneath the blue tide ! 
 
 II, 
 
 No flower ever bloom'd since the world had its birth, 
 Than our Queen more delightfully fair, 
 
 Nor did spirit more pure ever walk on the earth, 
 Or wander wide through the realms of air. 
 
 III. 
 
 The hue of the raven her dark ringlets show, 
 
 The blue violet sleeps in her eye, 
 The snow's softest tint, and the peach's pink glow, 
 
 Have pilfer'd her cheek for their dye. 
 
 IV. 
 
 With a sceptre of pearls, on a sapphire throne, 
 She will hold her belov'd airy sway, 
 
 And the rays which encircle her gem-sparkling 
 
 crown, 
 With a magical lustre will play ! 
 
THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKES. 41 
 
 V. 
 
 From far Ind we shall waft the scent laden gales, 
 Where sweet odorous plants ever bloom, 
 
 And daintily spice every breath she inhales, 
 With the essence of sweetest perfume. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Every Spirit of the earth, and the air, and the 
 streams, 
 
 Before their fair mistress shall bow, 
 And adore without ceasing the lustre that beams 
 
 From its home on her beautiful brow ! 
 
 CHORUS OF SPIRITS. 
 
 Come let us rejoice on this happy May morn, 
 For our King has at last won his bride, 
 
 Whose beauty so brilliant a throne shall adorn, 
 In his palace beneath the blue tide !" 
 
NOTES TO THE O'DONOGHUE OF THE 
 LAKES. 
 
 (a) The plot of this poem is taken almost altogether 
 from a beautiful legend in that highly interesting work, 
 " A Week at Killarney," hy Mr. and Mrs. S. C. HaU ; 
 the only difference heing in the assumption of one ban- 
 quet having occurred, and in the introduction of another at 
 which Eva should declare at her father's command, the 
 happy chieftain of her choice. This, with the appear- 
 ance of O'Donoghue and his train in the distance, and 
 the event which follows, would, I considered, constitute 
 a lively dramatic picture. I have developed the story to 
 the best of my ability, and the descriptions of nature, 
 spirits, &c., such as they are, have at least the merit of 
 being my own creations ; but I am indebted to the legend 
 for some of the traits in Eva's portrait, and in that of the 
 O'Donoghue. 
 
 (5) The middle lake, commonly called "The Tore 
 Lake," from the Tore Mountain which overhangs it, and 
 feeds it through its waterfall. 
 
 (<?) " The mountains, between which lies " the Gap," are 
 
NOTES TO THE o'DONOGHUE OF THE LAKHS. 43 
 
 directly behind him (the traveller) ; to the left are the 
 " tails " of the Purple Mountain ; to the right is rugged 
 Cromagloun ; all about him the mountains rise from the 
 lake, and seem as if they would shut him in for ever." 
 Mr. and Mrs. S. C. Hall's " A Week at Killarney." 
 
44 
 
 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COERIN. () 
 
 A FABLE, AND A VISION. 
 
 MID wastes of purple heath, deep fring'd with green, 
 Along whose slopes glides many a vigorous stream, 
 Topping the envious clouds dark Kesh is seen ; 
 And like a corslet on its bosom gleam 
 The sparkling caves, of which with cheek all pale 
 The peasant tells at eve a fearful tale ! 
 
 II. 
 
 How once in time gone by a mountaineer, 
 Wand 'ring among those high stupendous rocks, 
 
 Buoyed with the happy hope of finding near 
 Some truant member of his hardy flocks, 
 
 Was lured too far 'mid granite rocks to stray, 
 
 And well nigh ne'er again had seen the day. 
 
THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH CORRIN. 45 
 III. 
 
 Eve followed eve, and morn had followed morn, 
 Ere yet he issued from the mountain's womb, 
 
 And when at length he came forth, how forlorn 1 
 How wild his aspect ! what unearthly gloom 
 
 Descends in darkling shadows o'er his face, 
 
 That e'en his lineaments 'twere hard to trace ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 From thence until the grave did o'er him close, 
 In moody silence was he wont to roam, 
 
 Like unto one whose deep, mysterious woes 
 Dar'd seek no solace in the joys of home. 
 
 A self created outcast, lone and stern, 
 
 His food wild herbs, his bed the mountain fern ! 
 
 V. 
 
 His death was like his life, dull, dark, and strange, 
 And when the damp dew gather'd on his brow, 
 
 The sullen scowl that dwelt there did not change ; 
 Not e'en his grief worn mother did he know, 
 
 Whom whilom he adored ! 'tis o'er at last, 
 
 But still that look of horror has not pass'd ! 
 
46 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COEEIN. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Invention fram'd what facts could not supply, 
 And sanctified by time, the fable tells 
 
 How in the caves he met " the evil eye," 
 And fell a victim to those witches' spells, 
 
 Who hold their orgies in night's solemn noon, 
 
 And shock with impure rites the modest moon ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Once as the memory of my youth recall'd 
 This grey old legend to my musing mind ; 
 
 The scene itself, the caves so hoar and bald, 
 In fancy's mirror softly were defin'd ; 
 
 Illusion on illusion follow'd fast, 
 
 And in my awe-fill'd soul these scenes were glass'd. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Through the dread vaults I seem'd my steps to 
 guide, 
 
 Onward by necromantic power impell'd, 
 Through devious corridors, and chambers wide, 
 
 In silent fear my tortuous path I held ; 
 At last before my wonder-strick'n eyes 
 Appear'd in view a hall of mighty size ! 
 
THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COERIN. 47 
 IX. 
 
 The spacious floor was formed of shingly stone, 
 From which stupendous pillars upward sprung, 
 
 The roof of flinty rock a fossil cone, 
 
 Shew'd many a group of stalactites that hung, 
 
 Each like unto king Damocles' hlade, 
 
 Which through the gloom a glitt'ring horror made ! 
 
 X. 
 
 With jagged, huge ribb'd rock the walls did frown, 
 
 As dark as Ehlis chronicl'd of old, 
 And from their gnarl'd points depending down, 
 
 Bucklers, and shields, and helms of massive gold, 
 Keen flashing swords, with pike, and skein, and 
 
 lance, 
 And kingly robes all faded met my glance. 
 
 XL 
 
 A throne was rais'd upon the farthest side, 
 
 Of noble width, fram'd from the oak's dark 
 boughs, 
 
 To form a canopy the antlers wide 
 
 Of giant Elks, above their branches close, 
 
 And at its marble foot a grey Wolf hound 
 
 Crouch'd low, with burning eye-balls glar'd around ! 
 
48 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH CORRIN. 
 XII. 
 
 Stunn'd with amazement, scarcely had I gaz'd 
 Upon the scene, when stretching back his head, 
 
 With jaws apart, the dog a yell uprais'd, 
 Which like a wailing tempest quickly sped 
 
 Through all the lofty hall, in such a tone 
 
 As made the mountain tremble on its throne ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And yet the dying echoes had not ceas'd, 
 When in the distance faintly I could hear, 
 
 A sound of footsteps which anon increas'd, 
 Filling my soul with mingl'd awe and fear, 
 
 Still nearer does that solemn treading come, 
 
 And hark ! of voices low the stifl'd hum ! 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Behind a granite screen I lay conceal'd, 
 
 With bated breath, and trembling with alarm, 
 
 When lo ! a brilliant band became reveal'd, 
 
 Holding green flags, and dress'd in martial form, 
 
 Conducting slowly to that ebon throne, 
 
 A dark, colossal shape that wore a crown ! 
 
THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COEEIN. 49 
 
 XV. 
 
 When that at length it reach'd the topmost stair, 
 The figure wav'd aloft a gorgeous wand, 
 
 And at the instant every head was bare, 
 
 And all around that mighty presence stand ; 
 
 Then rose the cry from out those breasts of mail 
 
 All hail ! to Ossian, to our King all hail ! 
 
 XVL 
 
 Bright was the smile that pass'd across Ms face, 
 As stooping low he bow'd to that dense crowd, 
 
 And as they wateh'd their leader's manly grace, 
 Well might their loving subject hearts feel proud ; 
 
 For like a god he stood, in form and mien, 
 
 Such as by mortal eyes is never seen 1 
 
 XVIL 
 
 Stalwart his size, his shoulders broad and low, 
 Adown whose slope flow'd loose his coal black 
 
 hair, 
 Power sat enthroned upon his massive brow, 
 
 And lent to all his form its magic air ; 
 A flash of Celtic fire lit up his eye, 
 As keen as lightning in his native sky. 
 
 E 
 
50 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COEEIN. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 Seated, command was given that now be brought 
 The youthful stranger to his presence, straight, 
 
 Who late an interview had much besought, 
 To speak on subjects of the gravest weight. 
 
 The eager vassals soon obey the word, 
 
 And bring the awe-struck youth before their lord. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Dark was he, tall, and of athletic size, 
 And resolution stamp 'd him as its own, 
 
 He seem'd one form'd for deeds of high emprise, 
 To lead an army, or ftdorn a throne ; 
 To wave aloft the noble patriot's brand, 
 
 And shine the guiding star of freedom's band ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Obeisance made, and Ossian's gracious smile 
 Assurance giving, him the youth address'd, 
 
 " Loftiest spirit of our green old isle, 
 
 The boasted, bardic Monarch of the West ! 
 
 Forgive, I pray, the seeming rash conceit, 
 
 Which brings me here before thy kingly feet, 
 
THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COKKTN. 51 
 XXI. 
 
 " But musing deeply on my country's fate, 
 Her abject woe, and utter want of power 
 
 To rise in triumph from her fallen state, 
 And bid her prospects brighten from that hour, 
 
 To thee whose wisdom deeply I revere, 
 
 With grief-o'erladen heart I come, Seer ! 
 
 XXII. 
 
 " Thy mighty mind some project may devise, 
 By whose blest means poor Erin can redeem 
 
 Her former glorious name, and buoyant rise 
 To feel the warmth of Fortune's cheering beam. 
 
 Gifted with strength her former paths to shun, 
 
 And firmly nerv'd a golden course to run." 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Then Ossian answer'd in a mournful tone, 
 " patriot youth thy task is almost vain, 
 
 This theme has caus'd me many a bitter groan, 
 And tried the utmost efforts of my brain. 
 
 But still I ever fail'd to find a cure 
 
 For all the woes my country's sons endure. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COKKIN. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 " Full often has some notion undefin'd 
 
 A fitting remedy a moment seem'd, 
 But then the calmer judgment of my mind 
 
 Blasted the hope, and taught me that I dream'd, 
 Showing how futile is the wisest plan, 
 When fell disunion severs man from man. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 " Talk not to me of centuries of wrong, 
 Of cruel laws, of all the gloomy tales 
 
 Which to our dreary catalogue belong. 
 Such puling sorrow nought in life avails ! 
 
 On subjects such as these ye must be dumb, 
 
 If yet a nation ye would fain become ! 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 " But rather with an overflowing zeal, 
 
 With hearts that fail not, brains that never tire, 
 
 Labor to make the apathetic feel, 
 
 Nerve their dull frames, their frozen bosoms fire ; 
 
 And cause from shore to shore the isle to know 
 
 The cursed source from whence our sorrows flow. 
 
THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH CORRIN. 55 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 " Teach all at length to break the spell that bound 
 Their fated limbs, through many a weary age ; 
 
 Bid them dash down their weapons on the ground, 
 Let private feud and proud sectarian rage, 
 
 Buried for ever be in one deep grave, 
 
 And o'er them let the flag of union wave ! 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 " Tell the sad children of this weeping land, 
 
 The hour has sounded in the shell of time, 
 When foes transform'd to friends, join'd hand in 
 
 hand, 
 Each, helping each, the mount of Fame may 
 
 climb, 
 
 And shew the world what mighty things are done, 
 When hostile factions are dissolv'd in one ! 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 " Without this magic bond no power on earth 
 Can raise the ponderous Sysyphean stone, 
 
 Which since the moment of its first-born's birth, 
 Has press'd the spirit of this island down, 
 
 Casting its dark, funereal, hellish shade, 
 
 Around the awful ruins it has made. 
 
64 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH CORRIN. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 " But by the working of this potent charm, 
 Its dragon shape shall vanish from the isle, 
 
 And in its stead, glad Plenty's rosy form 
 In all the freshness of its health will smile ; 
 
 Glory will grace her with its brightest plume, 
 
 The sun of happiness dispel her gloom ! 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 " Go forth upon this mission, noble youth, 
 May all good powers befriend thee on thy way, 
 
 Brace on thy breast the shining mail of truth, 
 All black deceit shall cower beneath its ray ; 
 
 With purpose firm, and Hope's unfading star 
 
 Against all evil broods make open war. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 " Bring to thy aid those attributes of soul 
 
 Which form the heir-loom of our ancient race, 
 
 Our fiery genius subject to control, 
 
 In strong restraint our noble impulse place ; 
 
 But give our Herculean vigor rein, 
 Combat mean avarice, and all its train. 
 
THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH CORRIN. 55 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 " Direct tlie flame upon the Tribune's tongue, 
 The loathsome, wide-spread falsehood to devour ; 
 
 This is an enemy that long has clung, 
 
 It must depart ere dawns the wish'd for hour ; 
 
 And let sweet Poesy, on snowy wing, 
 
 To help the cause her heav'nly treasures bring. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 " Death to weak egotism, and foolish pride ; 
 
 Much harm was done by these low agencies ; 
 The general voice it is that should decide, 
 
 Who mid a host has prov'd himself most wise. 
 Unite, combine, and victory at last 
 Its golden radiance on thy toil must cast ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 " For me, within these realms I shall await 
 The issue which thy labors may attend, 
 
 And whether bright or gloomy be thy fate, 
 Whether thy efforts fail, or fortune lend 
 
 A welcome hand, my heart shall never cease 
 
 To wish green Erin, glory, joy and peace !" 
 
56 THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH COEKIN. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 In mute obedience low the young man bow'd, 
 And grasp 'd the friendly hand which Ossian 
 gave, 
 
 Then quietly dissolv'd that spectral crowd, 
 And all again was silent as the grave. 
 
 The dream was o'er, hut imag'd in my brain 
 
 The scene I saw for ever shall remain ! 
 
 NOTE TO " THE WHITE CAVES OF KESH 
 COKKIN." 
 
 (a) The tall mountain called Kesh, rises on one side in 
 the County of Sligo, and on the other in Leitrim. The 
 Caves, which have given a title to the preceding piece, 
 are situated along the Sligo side, at a distance from the 
 base, of about one-third the height of the mountain. 
 They are very numerous, one or two very lofty at the en- 
 trance ; and springing apparently from the same founda- 
 tion, form a continuous chain of granite arches, which, on 
 a bright day, and at a distance of many miles, are seen 
 showing their gleaming white outlines in marked con- 
 trast to the sombre nature of the hues which reign 
 around them. Many are the tales of Giants, Fairies, &c., 
 said to inhabit these caves, and which are held in reve- 
 rence by the mountaineers. 
 
THE FAIRY WELL. () 
 
 EMBOSOM'D in an ample zone 
 
 Of tow'ring mountains grand and lone, 
 
 In southern parts of Erin's Isle 
 
 A lovely vale was wont to smile. 
 
 Though many a glen, both rich and green, 
 
 Throughout our beauteous land is seen, 
 
 None equall'd this divine retreat, 
 
 So bright, so green, so softly sweet ; 
 
 Here peaceful groves and dewy glades 
 
 Made fragrant walks and cooling shades, 
 
 And trilling clear its simple song, 
 
 A crystal streamlet rov'd along. 
 
 From out their low and grassy beds, 
 
 Abrupt in shape, with fog crown'd heads, 
 
 All round, tall mountains rear'd their forms, 
 
 Like friendly giants linking arms ! 
 
58 THE FAIRY WELL. 
 
 The springing grain, or upturn'd soil, 
 
 Told of the hardy peasant's toil, 
 
 While yellow thatch o'er walls of clay, 
 
 Shew'd where a village hamlet lay. 
 
 The stranger's eye would rest upon 
 
 One cabin there where neatness shone ; 
 
 Along the walls the eglantine 
 
 And prickly thorn were wont to twine ; 
 
 The little garden dress'd with care, 
 
 Which well might suit some proud parterre, 
 
 The yellow sand before the door, 
 
 The cupboard bright, the well swept floor, 
 
 Bespoke an art whose magic power 
 
 Is woman's pure and priceless dower ! 
 
 Beauty's ripe bloom and nameless grace 
 
 Sparkl'd in modest Norah's face ; 
 
 And never was a child belov'd 
 
 By hearts more warm than those that mov'd 
 
 Her parent's happy breasts within, 
 
 And those of her admiring kin. 
 
 The other village girls essay'd 
 
 In vain to cope with this bright maid ; 
 
 And as some bird whose brilliant crest 
 
 Tells of the warm climes in the East, 
 
 Transported to our Northern sun 
 
 Shames with its hues the plumage dun 
 
 Of the wild tenants of the air, 
 
THE FAIRY WELL. 59 
 
 So did the splendor, wondrous rare 
 
 Of Norah shine, till all the rest 
 
 Her far excelling charms confess'd. 
 
 In this lone vale there was a spring 
 
 Whose clearness mock'd imagining ; 
 
 Into a basin marble white 
 
 Fell the pure waters bubbling bright, 
 
 And rising with a pearly glow 
 
 From out the golden sands below. 
 
 The waters which its sides did lave, 
 
 Wander 'd within this rock-bound cave, 
 
 From which no outlet left a way 
 
 Where e'en one drop was seen to stray ; 
 
 And while within in circling tide 
 
 The glassy lymph was wont to glide, 
 
 It never left th' enchanted cell, 
 
 For mark, it was a Fairy Well ! 
 
 A ponderous stone, moss-grown and grey, 
 
 Crowning the basin's surface lay. 
 
 Although it seem'd a mighty feat 
 
 To move that stone from out its seat, 
 
 So slight its weight, from off the lid 
 
 Push'd by a child's weak hand it slid. 
 
 The Fairy owning this lone well, 
 
 O'er which she wove a wondrous spell, 
 
 Had breath'd her wish that when the sun 
 
 His course through heaven's blue dome had run, 
 
 Thither the village maids should flock, 
 
60 THE FAIRY WELL. 
 
 And raising off the granite block, 
 
 Should dip their pitchers at their will, 
 
 Taking what each might want, until 
 
 Th' ensuing eve show'd Hesper pale, 
 
 Shedding his mild light on the vale. 
 
 But all that awe-inspired band 
 
 Were well impress'd with the command, 
 
 So deeply in their minds instill'd, 
 
 Which bade them all, their pitchers filFd, 
 
 Fail not the guardian stone to bring, 
 
 And gently place it o'er the spring. 
 
 And, if neglect or sad mistake 
 
 Caus'd any maid this rule to break, 
 
 They knew a dire appalling doom 
 
 Would wrap their beauteous vale in gloom. 
 
 For, if the morning sun e'er shone 
 
 That dark and stilly vale upon, 
 
 Or from his orb one tiny ray 
 
 Upon its waters 'gan to play, 
 
 Immediate ruin would assail 
 
 And crush each tenant of the vale ! 
 
 Norah, at eve, might oft be seen 
 
 Tripping across the meadows green 
 
 To this sweet spring ; a pitcher slung 
 
 Upon her graceful shoulder hung, 
 
 The Arbutus fruit and berries red 
 
 Of mountain ash, adorn'd her head, 
 
 Bright wild flowers, pluck'd among the rocks, 
 
THE FAIRY WELL. 61 
 
 Were braided in her sunny locks, 
 And as she lightly mov'd along, 
 She sang some olden plaintive song. 
 The vessel fill'd, she then would drop 
 The stone upon the basin's top, 
 And having nought her breast to rack, 
 Would take her blithesome journey back. 
 For many a year her eves were pass'd 
 In this employ ; but would it last ? 
 Such could not be the passive fate 
 Of one who born to fascinate, 
 Must surely reap the homage sweet, 
 To beauty and to virtue meet ! 
 
 A stranger came unto the vale, 
 His breast was clad in iron mail, 
 He talk'd of courts, of camps, of war, 
 Of beauteous lands that lay afar, 
 But ah ! he never saw so fair 
 A scene as that bright valley there ! 
 The soldier's looks and dazzling guise, 
 With wonder struck the maiden's eyes, 
 And soon her heart became his prize ; 
 And always when the sun was low, 
 And Norah to the well would go, 
 Coolin's fine form was seen to move 
 Beside the object of his love. 
 But all in vain the warrior's arts 
 
THE FAIKY WELL. 
 
 Were us'd to win her parents' hearts, 
 Who heard with looks of cold disdain, 
 Of glory won on battle plain, 
 And could not deem that even Fame 
 Had ought attractive in its name. 
 Their warning and reproving word 
 Now for the first time Norah heard, 
 And when the mandate stern and sore 
 Bade her hehold the youth no more, 
 Th' obeying girl could not repress 
 The scalding tears of bitterness, 
 Which by the might of anguish wrung 
 Swiftly from out her eyelids sprung. 
 What language is there apt and strong 
 To curse the act of those who wrong 
 The children of a common hearth, 
 And wreck their happiness on earth ? 
 Where can a fitting voice be found, 
 To utter to the nations round 
 A stern denouncement of that course, 
 Whose motive has its selfish source 
 In mean ignoble avarice, 
 And every base and grov'lling vice, 
 Which follows in the sordid wake 
 Of those who live for money's sake ? 
 How many a poison-laden blight 
 By parents' hands, on prospects bright 
 Flung ruthlessly, have chang'd a scene 
 
THE FAIEY WELL. 63 
 
 
 
 Where all was healthful, soft, and green, 
 
 Into a desert land of woes 
 
 Where nought but baleful cypress grows ! 
 
 And turn'd full many a noble mind, 
 
 Teeming with feeling for its kind, 
 
 Into a chaos dark and drear, 
 
 Of love the death, of hope the bier! 
 
 Resolv'd her solemn vow to keep 
 Whate'er her cause might be to weep, 
 That evening Norah sought the well, 
 Not by the old path through the dell, 
 For fear her lover there might stray, 
 But by a new untravell'd way. 
 Reaching the spot, she rais'd the stone 
 From off the spring, and sate her down, 
 All heedless of the hour, though now 
 The stars appear'd on night's dusk brow, 
 And Norah saw their pale beams quiver, 
 Glass 'd in the cold well's crystal mirror. 
 While bursting tears afford relief 
 To the deep seated pangs of grief, 
 Lo ! as she turns her sorrowing eye, 
 She sees her Coolin standing nigh ! 
 " Oh come not here," the maiden cried, 
 As Coolin bounded to her side, 
 " Oh come not here my word is given, 
 We ne'er can meet unless in heaven." 
 " Sweet Norah," spoke her ardent lover, 
 
64 THE FAIRY WELL. 
 
 "Say, rather thou art mine for ever ! 
 Come, trembling dove, a soldier's arm 
 Shall shield thee well from ev'ry harm, 
 We never more on earth shall part, 
 Come to me, life blood of my heart !" 
 "Never !" the tearful maid exclaim'd, 
 With agonizing grief inflam'd. 
 " My word ne'er given before in vain, 
 Upon this night has caught a stain. 
 These bitter tears ! this misery ! 
 Are all the fruits of loving thee ! 
 Would that the first glance on thee cast 
 Had been by me the very last, 
 Or each the other ne'er had seen, 
 Since such the rueful end hath been!" 
 This said, along the path she flew, 
 But Coolin swiftly follow'd too ; 
 In accents kind he tells the girl 
 She need not deem her vow in peril, 
 That merely chance, and not deceit, 
 Had caus-'d the twain that night to meet. 
 Quoth Coolin, " When your parents learn 
 For thee how lovingly I yearn, 
 Speedy forgiveness will be thine, 
 And you dear Norah will be mine ! 
 You say you cannot leave your home, 
 But I, sweet girl, care not to roam : 
 Here in this valley will I stay, 
 
THE FAIRY WELL. 65 
 
 And from it promise ne'er to stray ; 
 
 Your aged sire in strength decay 'd, 
 
 May find my vigorous youth an aid. 
 
 What is there that the earth contains, 
 
 E'en glory reap'd on battle plains, 
 
 Which I at once would not resign 
 
 To gaze upon thy charms divine, 
 
 And own the privilege to sip 
 
 The nectar of thy rosy lip ! 
 
 Dear Norah we have reach'd your door, 
 
 Grant me, my love, one soft smile more. 
 
 There ! Heaven's blessings on thee light, 
 
 Angelic maid, goodnight! goodnight!" 
 
 These words cheer'd Norah's sorrowing soul, 
 
 Who softly to her chamber stole, 
 
 Trusting her parents would approve 
 
 No distant day her ardent love, 
 
 And as such glad thoughts on her crept, 
 
 For hours the maiden soundly slept. 
 
 Suddenly waking with a cry, 
 
 She tore her hair in agony ! 
 
 " The well ! the well!" she shriek'd, "the stone 
 
 Is not replac'd, all are undone ! 
 
 No ! no ! it cannot yet be day, 
 
 That light is but the dawning grey ! 
 
 Yet time remains, swift will I run, 
 
 And gain the well ere peep of sun !" 
 
 Upon the oft-trod path as fleet 
 
THE FAIKY WELL. 
 
 As wind that drives the winter sleet 
 
 Did Norah fly ; the redd'ning streaks 
 
 Which ting'd the eastern mountains' peaks, 
 
 Proclaimed the advent in the skies 
 
 Of the approaching day-star's rise. 
 
 Can yonder faintly golden gleam, 
 
 Be the ascending sun's first heam ? 
 
 Oh no, there still is ample time 
 
 Before the morning's orient prime, 
 
 And panting Norah yet has power 
 
 To avert the woe-impending hour ! 
 
 Alas ! alas ! it is too late 
 
 To check the course of headlong fate, 
 
 And rarely since the world hegan, 
 
 Did want of caution hring on man 
 
 Such punishment as there hefell 
 
 All those who liv'd around that well ! 
 
 Now weary Norah reach'd a height, 
 
 From whence the spring appear'd in sight ; 
 
 Like one transfix'd the maiden stood 
 
 In such a strange, wild attitude, 
 
 That all her limhs in action set, 
 
 She seem'd as though in motion yet ! 
 
 Her hlue eye had a glassy stare, 
 
 One hand held tight her flowing hair, 
 
 The other outstretch'd, seem'd to show 
 
 The scene which rose to view helow. 
 
 Oh what a scene ! th' unclouded sun 
 
THE FAIRY WELL. 67 
 
 Sparkl'd the Fairy Well upon ! 
 And that pure spring which formerly 
 So still and mild was wont to he, 
 Now high o'erflow'd on every side, 
 And rising in a foaming tide, 
 Kush'd onwards in its mad career, 
 Filling the valley far and near ! 
 Already through the startl'd vale, 
 With trembling limh, and visage pale, 
 Each frighted peasant vainly tries 
 To escape the floods that round him rise. 
 Yet firmly rooted to the spot, 
 Th' astonish'd Norah waver'd not, 
 But pointed on before as though 
 A statue show'd the vale helow ! 
 Still rose the waters more and more, 
 The hills resounding to their roar, 
 O'er many a cahin mounting high 
 The madden'd waves triumphant fly, 
 And rushing onwards fast and strong, 
 Sweep herds, and trees, and men along. 
 Coolin, who long had Norah sought, 
 Soon as her Sylph-like form he caught, 
 Flew towards the maid, who hearing noise 
 Turn'd round, and in a piteous voice 
 Cried, " Coolin ! Coolin ! fond and brave, 
 Haste, haste, my drowning parents save !" 
 When that she utter 'd the last sound 
 
THE FAIEY WELL. 
 
 Falling to earth, the maiden swooned! 
 
 Subduing all his dire alarms 
 
 Then Coolin placed her in his arms, 
 
 Eush'd on, nor never ceas'd until 
 
 He gain'd the highest neighb'ring hill ; 
 
 He now betook himself to cheer, 
 
 And bid poor Norah banish fear. 
 
 But even did she feel inclined 
 
 To expel all sorrow from her mind, 
 
 No thoughts save those of woe and dread, 
 
 Could fill a gazing mortal's head. 
 
 For though the ascent they reach'd was steep, 
 
 The waters fierce began to sweep 
 
 Around the base in angry force, 
 
 And up the hill side take their course. 
 
 Near and more near the mighty flood 
 
 Approach'd the spot on which they stood, 
 
 And as they gaz'd a little while 
 
 They seem'd to tread a wooded isle, 
 
 And all around fresh islands grew, 
 
 Studded with trees upon the view ; 
 
 Which scarce before the eye appear'd 
 
 When o'er the whole the waves career'd, 
 
 And one by one they melt away 
 
 Like misty clouds at dawn of day ! 
 
 Cried Coolin wildly, " All is pass'd, 
 
 Each moment now may be our last !" 
 
 Then Norah shriek'd " My parents dear, 
 
THE FAIRY WELL. 69 
 
 Oh ! that at least they too were here ! 
 Alas, alas, this deluge wild, 
 Caus'd by a disobedient child 
 Forbids me e'en with them to die, 
 And by their side in death to lie !" 
 Clasp 'd in each other's fond embrace, 
 Hand holding hand, face meeting face, 
 The lovers calmly wait the wave 
 Which is to make their common grave 1 
 Higher, and higher mounts the flood, 
 Like forest monsters mad for blood 
 The furious billows white with spray, 
 Dart swiftly forward on their prey. 
 And now the speck grows less and less, 
 On, on the greedy waters press, 
 At last the land no more is seen, 
 All, all is dark, where all was green, 
 And mighty waves form fast above 
 The gentle Norah, and her love ! 
 The Fairy now, her vengeance o'er 
 Bid the vex'd billows rise no more ; 
 But ever since, as on they roll 
 The waves with those below condole, 
 And grieve their loss, whom to obey 
 A Fairy mistress, on that day 
 They robb'd of life, and scenes so fair ; 
 But most they mourn that loving pair, 
 Her of the softly radiant charms, 
 
70 THE FAIRY WELL. 
 
 And him the bright, bold child of arms ! 
 
 The boatman resting on his oar, 
 
 As the light skiff nears Toomies' shore, 
 
 Shows how those solemn waters make 
 
 Killarney's peerless upper lake, 
 
 And as he tells this sad old tale 
 
 His bronz'd and manly cheek grows pale, 
 
 And low he breathes a fervent prayer 
 
 For those who long lie buried there 1 
 
NOTE TO "THE FAIRY WELL." 
 
 (a) The plot of this poem is taken from a tale by J. H. 
 Bayley, published in the first volume of " The Dublin 
 Penny Journal," and called, " A Legend of Killarney." 
 T have adhered as faithfully as I could, to the descrip- 
 tion of the locality given by the author, and likewise to 
 the narrative, as I thought it would be far better to do so, 
 than to destroy their beautiful simplicity by any addi- 
 tions of my own. At the same time, as verse requires 
 occasional coloring, which can be dispensed with iri 
 prose, my amplifications are considerable, and will, I 
 trust, be deemed pardonable. 
 
THE OOUET OF APOLLO. 
 
 SCARCE had the bright wing'd host of Summer's 
 
 Queen 
 
 Troop'd in its splendor to the gladden'd earth, 
 Making the vallies quiver with delight, 
 Loos'ning the icy chains from mountain streams 
 Whose wintry sleep the spring had fail'd to awake, 
 And thrilling Nature's heart with joyous life, 
 When he who reigns upon Olympus' heights, 
 And rules the Sacred Nine with golden wand, 
 Sent forth this startling edict through his realm : 
 " Full many a circling season has revolved, 
 Robing the world with charms of varied kind, 
 Since I with grief most bitter and unfeign'd 
 Have watch'd a speck arise, which like a plague 
 Grew daily, spreading havoc far and wide, 
 Infecting all my subjects with its breath, 
 Quenching the fire of life within their veins, 
 And blighting truthful promise in their souls. 
 Now mark ye all, it is forthwith decreed 
 
THE COUET OF APOLLO. 73 
 
 When next the moon shall pale at day's approach, 
 And light shall gently tap at Heaven's gate, 
 On Ossa's brow a solemn court I hold ! 
 Thither my loyal votaries must bring 
 The wicked sowers of this evil seed, 
 Whose mission 'tis to erase the name of truth, 
 Expel all sense of beauty from the mind, 
 And propagate the noxious plants of wrong." 
 
 Scarce had the early Morn commenc'd to wake 
 With freshly glowing hand the drowsy East, 
 When in the air a noise of wings is heard ; 
 And lo ! upon a densely volum'd cloud, 
 In which the ruby, amethyst, and pearl, 
 The opal, amber, and the sapphire blend 
 Their many color'd hues, the King of Song 
 Crown'd with a myrtle wreath, to earth descends ! 
 The heav'nly muses on their chief attend, 
 And cleave on pinions light the parting air. 
 Both she who sings beside clear Hippocrene, 
 And that pure form Aonian shepherds know, 
 Castalides ! thy bright and tuneful queen, 
 With the sweet songstress of Parnassia's mount ; 
 That hallow'd spot where whosoe'er may sleep 
 Will wake a poet to delight the world ! 
 These, and their sisters fair, compose the train. 
 Now as the sun his golden form expands, 
 And like a happy bridegroom smiles for joy, 
 
74 THE COUKT OF APOLLO. 
 
 The gorgeous cortege nears the holy mount, 
 
 Hanging ahove its scarr'd and crested head, 
 
 Like the broad glory on a warrior's brow ! 
 
 The countless flashing of the mingled lights 
 
 Sparkle and dance adown the verdant slopes, 
 
 Chasing the sombre shadows from the cliffs, 
 
 And printing Heaven, Peneus ! on thy wave. 
 
 A golden throne is reared on Ossa's peak, 
 
 And as the God of Poesy descends 
 
 He seats himself in state, and all his train 
 
 Furl their white wings, and light upon the ground. 
 
 In front appears a motley visag'd crowd, 
 
 Who bend them lowly down before that throne, 
 
 And as an outstretch'd wand the signal gives, 
 
 A figure guarded well on either side 
 
 Advancing onwards, kneels before his king. 
 
 He holds a wreath of laurels in his hands, 
 
 Which whilom serv'd to grace his honour 'd brows, 
 
 But now he wears it not, for earthly crowns 
 
 Shine only in their low, contracted sphere. 
 
 In sooth, he hath a frank and manly mien, 
 
 Nor doth his face reveal a vulgar mind, 
 
 But rather bodies forth all lofty thoughts, 
 
 And shows the gen'rous heart that beats within. 
 
 Speaks too of deep reflection, a quick eye 
 
 To seize upon those charms which Nature veils 
 
 Most deeply from the aim of mortal ken, 
 
 And a rich brain to string those treasur'd pearls 
 
THE COUKT OF APOLLO. 75 
 
 Into a chain of the most matchless art ! 
 
 But still there burn'd within his restless orbs, 
 
 Which ever and anon he roll'd around, 
 
 A fire which like the light that flits through vaults, 
 
 Leads hut to gloom of deep intensity, 
 
 Such as the buried world no greater owns. 
 
 And oft from out his bright and flower-strewn path 
 
 The bard hath stepp'd, by such false flame beguil'd. 
 
 In this his sad captivity divine, 
 
 And from his abject woe a lesson take, 
 
 Oh ye ! who to the Poet's bays aspire, 
 
 And hope to travel in the ways of fame ! 
 
 Apollo thus commenced, " In thee, bard ! 
 
 Methinks I see the chief conspirator, 
 
 The grand transgressor of those sacred laws 
 
 Which for my subjects' welfare I have fram'd. 
 
 Thou art the fountain head from whence proceed 
 
 Those impure streams whose waters flood the 
 
 land, 
 
 Replacing bloom and promise by decay, 
 And changing fertile meads to sterile plains. 
 What pretext hast thou for th' abuses dire, 
 Th' invasions rash, the frauds, and base deceits 
 Of which thou hast been guilty prov'd so oft ? 
 Thy thoughts are sometimes kin to the sublime, 
 Fluent art thou in thy speech, melody 
 Weaves its soft notes through many a verse of 
 
 thine ; 
 
76 THE COUET OF APOLLO. 
 
 But answer, whence this dull obscurity, 
 This mystic, dark, impenetrable fog 
 Which casts its deadly shadow on thy page, 
 All life extinguishing like fell disease ?" 
 Then thus the culprit spoke, " Oh mighty god ! 
 Master omnipotent of heav'nly song ! 
 Most humbly do I own the grievous wrongs 
 Which I have done thee ; their great heinousness 
 Afflicts me sore, but when thou shall have learn'd 
 The pressing causes leading to those acts, 
 Th' o'erpowering nature of the tempting lures 
 Which held my senses subject to their thrall, 
 Your gracious mercy will extend itself 
 To one who is the prey of folly's brood. 
 Know then great King ! that Homer's, Shakes- 
 peare's art, 
 
 The strength of Goethe's mind, of Milton's wing, 
 Have no relation to these dwarfish times. 
 The lustre of our elder minstrel's lays 
 Would scorch the modern eye-lid ; and the fire 
 Which glow'd within them cannot now awake 
 One kindred spark in our ignoble souls. 
 Like Timour, in the cage of Bajazet 
 The muse constraint to suit the captor's will, 
 Must prove obedient to his dire behest, 
 Whether it be to strut in motley garb, 
 And wear the cap and bells of the buffoon, 
 Or rave like an imprison'd lunatic, 
 
THE COURT OF APOLLO. 77 
 
 And beat in senseless rage the bars of fate ! 
 
 The age of bardic glory is no more, 
 
 The thrilling strains inspiring deeds sublime 
 
 Can find no echo in the tuneless ears 
 
 Of the poor vulgar herd ; no poet need 
 
 Take up his harp unless to sound such notes 
 
 Of horrid discord, and unmeaning kind, 
 
 That 'twere as easy cleanse th' Augean crib, 
 
 Unloose the web of fair Penelope, 
 
 Or throw a light on Ariadne's clue, 
 
 Even from Prometheus' liver tear the bird, 
 
 Burst all the chains which held the sufferer down, 
 
 And bid him walk in happy freedom forth, 
 
 As catch the music of a single sound, 
 
 Or mark the sense existing in a line ! 
 
 At times when Nature's noble instincts lead 
 
 My willing muse to wander in those ways 
 
 Where all the joys of poesy abound, 
 
 'Tis with a fear lest all that watchful throng, 
 
 The venal critics of the present day, 
 
 Will hover o'er my track in ruthless haste, 
 
 Clutch me again with sharp remorseless claws, 
 
 And bear me back to their congenial gloom !" 
 
 " Oh, shame upon thy head," the god replied, 
 
 " A poet, nobly gifted ! ihou endowed 
 
 With splendid genius, and a gen'rous heart. 
 
 Is't thou who barters for the passing praise 
 
 Of the mean multitudes, whose appetites 
 
80 THE COURT OF APOLLO. 
 
 And anxious watching for expected treasure, 
 Joins to an anguish'd heart, and broken frame, 
 A foolish pride, which ruthlessly forbids 
 Its wretched victim to reveal the truth, 
 And start afresh upon a wiser course. 
 And yet there shone a light upon his brow, 
 And liv'd a lustre in his active eye, 
 Which index'd well a latent power to use 
 In no mean way the sickle of the mind, 
 And* reap rich harvests in the world of thought. 
 His was the matchless craft, whereby the brain 
 Forms miracles of beauty in its cells, 
 Fresh as an infant's face ere morn wakes it ! 
 Pouring the grand materials it has form'd 
 Into the crucible of fmish'd art, 
 Stamping its own creations with the seal 
 Of highest grace, and full perfectitude. 
 Perversity most strange, that such a soul 
 Would rather pine in noisome vaults and dens, 
 Than issue forth into the light of day, 
 Mount up on buoyant pinions to the clouds, 
 And stud the poet's path with lustrous stars. ! 
 He held in his right hand a little phial, 
 The only token of his pilgrimage, 
 Which when he shook o'er any earthly thing 
 Sent forth a liquid of such deadly kind, 
 As wither'd up at once whate'er it touch 'd, 
 Man, Beast, Fish, Bird, Hock, Herb, Fruit, Tree, or 
 Flower ! 
 
THE COURT OF APOLLO. 79 
 
 For thee, oh minstrel of the laurel crown ! 
 
 Be it decreed that thou shalt lose all claim 
 
 To win poetic honours, save indeed 
 
 That now thou makest a firm and wise resolve 
 
 To shun thy evil ways ; it serves thee not 
 
 Time was when thou didst own a golden name, 
 
 But rather tends to color thy defects 
 
 With a still darker, a more sinful dye. 
 
 If deep compunction fills thy humhled heart, 
 
 After an ordeal of tearful woe 
 
 Thy pardon may be granted, penitence 
 
 Might melt the ice, and mercy's healing tide 
 
 Flow freely forth, hut great indeed should he 
 
 That heart-horn grief ere its benignant stream 
 
 Shall flood thy soul, and wash its stains away !" 
 
 Scarce in the crowd the captive's form recedes 
 When issues forth another pinion'd bard, 
 With aspect quaint, in motley garb array 'd. 
 He seem'd as if in labyrinths of Crete, 
 He wander'd all his lifetime, so perplex'd 
 So sad, and wan he gaz'd ; haply indeed 
 Like one who threaded all the >\ 7 ays of space, 
 Borne bravely up on Hope's elastic wings, 
 And fill'd with high flown visions of the wealth 
 Which lay conceal'd amid its bleak domains, 
 Which on some day to come would crown his toil ; 
 But wearied out at last by voyaging, 
 
80 THE COURT OF APOLLO. 
 
 And anxious watching for expected treasure, 
 Joins to an anguish'd heart, and broken frame, 
 A foolish pride, which ruthlessly forbids 
 Its wretched victim to reveal the truth, 
 And start afresh upon a wiser course. 
 And yet there shone a light upon his brow, 
 And liv'd a lustre in his active eye, 
 Which index'd well a latent power to use 
 In no mean way the sickle of the mind, 
 And- reap rich harvests in the world of thought. 
 His was the matchless craft, whereby the brain 
 Forms miracles of beauty in its cells, 
 Fresh as an infant's face ere morn wakes it ! 
 Pouring the grand materials it has form'd 
 Into the crucible of finish'd art, 
 Stamping its own creations with the seal 
 Of highest grace, and full perfectitude. 
 Perversity most strange, that such a soul 
 Would rather pine in noisome vaults and dens, 
 Than issue forth into the light of day, 
 Mount up on buoyant pinions to the clouds, 
 And stud the poet's path with lustrous stars. ! 
 He held in his right hand a little phial, 
 The only token of his pilgrimage, 
 Which when he shook o'er any earthly thing 
 Sent forth a liquid of such deadly kind, 
 As wither'd up at once whate'er it touch'd, 
 Man, Beast, Fish, Bird, Hock, Herb, Fruit, Tree, or 
 Flower ! 
 
THE COURT OF APOLLO. 81 
 
 And left the object shapeless and deform'd ; 
 
 So that no human eye could penetrate 
 
 The mystic gloom which hid it from the world. 
 
 Him groping on unto the royal throne, 
 
 And bearing strong resemblance to a man 
 
 Who spends whole days in wand'ring up and down 
 
 In vain pursuit of what he bears with him, 
 
 The monarch keenly scans, and thus accosts. 
 
 " Thy conduct puzzles me, I must confess, 
 
 bard ! like Janus thou art double-fac'd, 
 
 Or rather own'st two minds within one brow ! 
 One wherewith to instruct, create, delight, 
 The other black and foul as hell's worst brood, 
 Begetting gloom and sore deformity. 
 Speak out, concealment will not now avail, 
 Dispel the mist which hitherto has hid 
 The motives of thy sad dull acts, and give 
 To open light thy life's full history !" 
 " king !" the trembling bard at length began, 
 " My tale is this ; I sought to reach the goal 
 Of loftiest fame, by ways untrod before, 
 Such rare idiosyncrasies revealing 
 As would enthrone my name above the crowd, 
 Each jostling each, upon the beaten tracks. 
 
 1 longed, I own it were great vanity, 
 To prove how great my acrobatic skill 
 In twisting language to the oddest ends, 
 Inventing phrases, choking thought with tropes, 
 
82 THE COURT OF APOLLO. 
 
 Contorting, changing, and involving all 
 
 The stream of words which issued from my mind ; 
 
 And as a spider stretches out its web 
 
 To catch the buzzing and unwary fly, 
 
 And gazes on with a most cruel pleasure 
 
 Whene'er the hapless insect tries to escape 
 
 From out th' entangl'd mesh in which it lies ; 
 
 So I an equal joy was wont to feel, 
 
 When in the artful foldings of my net 
 
 I witness'd sense a captive so secure, 
 
 That nought on earth could set the prisoner free. 
 
 So long too have these wicked arts been mine, 
 
 That now I fear not e'en the brightest hopes 
 
 Of future fame could make me change my ways, 
 
 Or break the fatal chain which ties me down 
 
 To such debas'd and wretched practices!" 
 
 "A melancholy tale !" replies the king, 
 
 " Is that thou hast narrated ; strange indeed, 
 
 That such conceits could fill a soul like thine ! 
 
 And that a spirit of thy lofty birth 
 
 Could stoop to wallow in this filthy mire. 
 
 But cheer thee, erring poet ! Thy great mind 
 
 May rise triumphant from this reeking pool, 
 
 This slimy slough in which thou hast been laid! 
 
 Courage ! let but thy bosom know one throb 
 
 Of honest pride, and thou canst burst with ease 
 
 The flimsy bands which have enthrall 'd thy power. 
 
 Let e'en one spark of true poetic flame 
 
 Within thy sluggish blood once scintillate, 
 
THE COURT OF APOLLO. 83 
 
 And thou will blithely sing again, and soar 
 
 On wings of light to realms of truth and joy ! 
 
 Thy course is plain, and thou canst follow it 
 
 With passing ease. If haply thou dost not, 
 
 Either beguil'd by that old Syren voice 
 
 Whose bland soft whispers have befool'd thee long, 
 
 Or in obedience to an idle will, 
 
 Then thou hast look'd thy last upon those hills, 
 
 Aonian breezes ne'er shall fan thy cheek, 
 
 Nor Helicon's sweet waters cool thy brow !" 
 
 With humbled mien the sorrowing bard withdrew, 
 And see advance another human form, 
 With eyes intent upon the distant stars ! 
 And arms expanded towards them, as though he 
 Did bid them leave their high ethereal thrones, 
 To meet his fond and passionate embrace. 
 His countenance indeed speaks not of earth, 
 And in his eye there dwells a restless fire, 
 Which has no sympathy with mundane things : 
 Save that at times it 'tells of thoughts within, 
 Which might find words in accents such as these. 
 " Nineteenth Century ! my darling wish, 
 The aspiration of my inmost soul, 
 Is to relax the rigor of your limbs, 
 And make you featly dance a Scottish reel ! 
 Or rather seize thy prominent events, 
 The well niark'd features in thy time-scarr'd face, 
 
 G 2 
 
84 THE COUET OF APOLLO. 
 
 And tearing them asunder one by one, 
 With a true artist's genius fashion them 
 Into a goodly group of divers notes, 
 Made up of semiquavers, flats, and sharps, 
 With quavers, crotchets, minims, and the rest!" 
 This new Timoleon hath in many ways 
 The noble king of Poesy offended, 
 Clothing his muse in meretricious dress, 
 Unsightly gambols, leaps, and somersaults, 
 Like Clown, or Pantaloon at Christmas times. 
 Long flights of rampant folly, sudden spasms 
 Of empty rhapsody ; these and the like 
 Compose the prisoner's catalogue of crime. 
 But the chief thing of which he stands accus'd, 
 Is that of treating lightly common faith, 
 At times reviling every sacred thing, 
 In covert form indeed, but in that mode 
 Which leaves no doubt of secret sympathy 
 Between the thought, and him who bodied it : 
 Thus rendering still more tempting all those hints, 
 Those impious theories, well baited lures, 
 And hollow frauds which issue from his brain. 
 " Whence comes it?" (thus the God of song began) 
 " That thou a poet gifted with a soul 
 Adorn'd by many a noble attribute, 
 Imagination wide and rich, fancy 
 Replete with grace and radiance, harmony 
 Most sweet, and various other happy gifts, 
 
THE COUET OF APOLLO. 85 
 
 By which a bard is nobly shadow'd forth, 
 
 With reckless folly never yet surpass'd, 
 
 Wilt every chance of reaping fame forego, 
 
 That thou mayest grovel in most loathsome mire 
 
 Of discontent, and rail at heav'nly things ? 
 
 If for thy conduct thou hast reasons just, 
 
 Unfold them all ; we shall with care attend." 
 
 " I do confess my sins," (the bard rejoin'd,) 
 
 "Their deep enormity lies not conceal'd 
 
 From my abash'd and conscience-stricken mind. 
 
 My vanity, like others, is the cause 
 
 In which behold the foolish origin 
 
 Of all my crimes ; I thought great bursts of rage, 
 
 In which all things on high would be assail'd 
 
 For wrongs imaginary done to man, 
 
 Would blazen forth my name, and raise a shout 
 
 Of high approval at the lofty spirit, 
 
 The daring, and the fortitude sublime, 
 
 Which for humanity's broad cause spoke out, 
 
 Telling the truth before both Earth and Heaven !" 
 
 Then spoke the tuneful God, " This bootless speech 
 
 The fullest evidence at once affords 
 
 Of thy weak, giddy mind ; acts such as these 
 
 Either proceed from harden'd villany, 
 
 Or from a brain where sense doth not reside. 
 
 But know, thou rash, audacious youth ! that we 
 
 Punish such crimes with rare severity ! 
 
 They bring down curses on the doer's head 
 
86 THE COUET OF APOLLO. 
 
 That he but slightly wots of, ruining 
 His every hope of happiness below, 
 Blasting his early dreams of brilliant fame, 
 And closing from him Heaven and all its joys ! 
 As 'tis thy first offence we pardon thee, 
 Thy solemn pledge being giv'n that ne'er again 
 Thou yieldest thus to such temptations vile ; 
 Depart, and ponder well on what thou'st heard !" 
 
 And now attir'd in dress fantastical, 
 In which each color of the rainbow shone, 
 Another form appear 'd before the throne. 
 What flaming ribbons flaunt around his brows, 
 What gorgeous jewels shed their flashing light 
 Along his breast, and down his flowing robes ! 
 Give but one glance ; it is enough to know 
 That he who struts so boldly on, has writ 
 What seem the offspring of an insane brain ! 
 To cite the cause which brings their author here 
 Demands no weighty labor at our hands ; 
 If pedantry, and artificial pomp, 
 Insipid tone, outrageous mockeries 
 Of grace, just taste, and elevated thought, 
 Inflated phrases, scenes where nothing real 
 E'en meet the eye of keenest scrutiny, 
 Themes that profess no sympathy with men, 
 Or mundane matters, and cannot be said 
 To have affinity to heav'nly things, 
 
THE COURT OF APOLLO. 87 
 
 Or with demoniac shapes, or their low realm ; 
 
 But look like webs elaborately woven 
 
 To enclose a vacuum in their sinuous folds : 
 
 If conduct such as this requires reproof, 
 
 Rebellious Poet, thou hast earn'd it well ! 
 
 Apollo thus address 'd him, " Thou art come ! 
 
 Thou whose chastisement is so long deserv'd ! 
 
 Whose deadly treasons 'gainst ourself, thy king, 
 
 Have been so great and wondrous manifold, 
 
 That with surprise o'erwhelm'd all must have been 
 
 At the extension of our clemency 
 
 In thy regard ; we do accuse thee now 
 
 Of every fault of style, and speech, and thought ; 
 
 With bombast, pedantry, and lavish dress, 
 
 Hyperbole, and mysticism profound, 
 
 Unreal pictures, fantasies most wild, 
 
 And self-coin'd words, both vain and impotent. 
 
 Nor do we seek to rob thee of thy rights, 
 
 And willingly admit thou own'st a mind, 
 
 Within whose chambers imagery lies, 
 
 And where a brilliant fancy holds her reign. 
 
 But these will not weigh down the scale where 
 
 guilt 
 
 In pent up masses tells thy hapless tale. 
 If now perchance thou canst assign a cause 
 Why speedy justice should not take its course, 
 We to thy story shall incline our ears." 
 " My Prince !" (replied the bard, while either 
 
 arm 
 
88 THE COURT OF APOLLO. 
 
 With many a sweeping gesture beats the air,) 
 
 " If crimes to me pertain, they are not those 
 
 Of preconceived malice, neither like 
 
 The rocks granitic, adamantine, or 
 
 Silicious, have they natures wondrous hard. 
 
 My aim was lofty, and till now I deem'd 
 
 Poetry regenerate had become, 
 
 Transformed by me into a peerless art. 
 
 But since my theories thou hast condemn 'd, 
 
 Another course I must forthwith pursue, 
 
 New, radiant with approaching starry beams." 
 
 " Go silly pedant," cried the wrathful god, 
 
 " The downright folly which has mark'd thy life, 
 
 Hath been to idiotcy too much akin 
 
 To call for punishment ; but if again 
 
 Thou dar'st to circulate such tawdry verse 
 
 As thou were wont to palm upon the world 
 
 For noble song, for wisdom most profound, 
 
 Thy works shall serve to fright the hawks and 
 
 kites, 
 
 Which hover o'er the two-peak'd mountain's crags, 
 And every echo in its rocky sides 
 Shall ring with jeers, and gibes, and bitter scorn, 
 Till men shall hear the noise, and swell the shout 
 Which blasts your every hope of fame for aye ! 
 And now the whole assembly I address, 
 Let all young votaries of the Muse attend ! 
 The path by which yon mountain must be trod, 
 
THE COURT OF APOLLO. 89 
 
 Is rough and difficult, and strewn with thorns ; 
 
 And he whose efforts to attain the top^ 
 
 Success would crown, should with good grace 
 
 submit 
 
 To those unerring laws which we have fram'd ; 
 Thus paying tribute to a higher power, 
 And reaping noblest laurels for his brows. 
 The evils which so thickly saturate 
 With deadly humours verse of modern times, 
 Have ow'd their wide extension to those men 
 Who at our feet have lately been arraign'd, 
 And find within their works most faithful types. 
 Dark mysticism and infidelity, 
 With harsh abruptness, want of classic grace, 
 And Heaven-born melody, comprise those chief 
 Conspicuous crimes for which they must atone. 
 'Twere just as silly to expect to win 
 The Poet's wreaths with instruments like these, 
 As try to change Astrea's face severe, 
 Or rival Hercules in mighty strength. 
 The Poet's works should be like crystal streams, 
 As free, as smooth, as shining, and as clear ; 
 No fatal shade should veil the golden light 
 Pouring for ever its immortal flood 
 Along each page, begemm'd with brilliant thought ! 
 When mists, or clouds, obscure the blessed Sun, 
 We eagerly await the wish'd for time 
 When they shall pass, and all be bright again ! 
 
90 THE COUET OF APOLLO. 
 
 And so with verse ; we loathe the pitchy gloom 
 
 Which hides the meaning from our anxious mind ! 
 
 Again, no harsh or jarring note should mar 
 
 The music hreathing softly in each line, 
 
 Which is to Poetry, what perfume is 
 
 To a most radiant, most attractive flower ; 
 
 Or like a virtue crowning loveliness, 
 
 Gives to a line a nameless grace, and charm ! 
 
 And for a motive stronger than all these, 
 
 The most imperative that man can know, 
 
 No hell-born slanders spoken against Heaven, 
 
 The vilest offspring of most harden'd sin, 
 
 Must ever stain that pure unsullied wing 
 
 On which the hard in triumph may ascend ! 
 
 When tyrant kings let loose their cursed hordes 
 
 Wide o'er the fields where Freedom loves to smile, 
 
 Blasting the fruits that hurst from Nature's breast, 
 
 Toppling to earth fair palaces, and towers, 
 
 And slaying thousands of each sex, and age ; 
 
 All noble bosoms throb indignantly, 
 
 Myriads of swords flash forth from out their 
 
 sheaths, 
 
 And myriad arms smite down the despot foe ! 
 And now when o'er those lustrous fields, where 
 
 Mind 
 
 Was wont to hold her much beloved sway, 
 The foul enemies of Truth, and Beauty, 
 Pursue uncheck'd their riotous career, 
 
THE COUET OF APOLLO. 91 
 
 Crushing each, healthy hud, each fragrant hloom, 
 Felling each tow'ring tree, each vigorous plant 
 Uprooting ; spreading desolation wide, 
 And scatt'ring hlacken'd ashes on the waste ; 
 Is there no champion found to espouse a cause, 
 Which adds to all the charms that man can 
 
 know, 
 
 The, grand attraction of its sacred hirth ? 
 O no ! it shall not he ! Some soul at length 
 By Heaven endow'd with light will yet appear, 
 Wielding a sceptre of such dazzling sheen, 
 That 'neath its rays alone all vice shall cower, 
 Skulking away to seek its kindred gloom ! 
 Its blessed power will sow the void with stars, 
 Enrich the sterile soil, and hid the flowers 
 Blossom again upon the desert scene ! 
 Mayhap among those hards whom we have chid 
 One breathes, within whose breast a fire doth 
 
 burn 
 
 Which yet may lead him on to noble deeds, 
 And 'gainst the foes of Poesy inspire 
 A brave Crusade, which Victory shall crown ! 
 If such there be, what honor shall be his ! 
 What glorious wreaths shall decorate his brow ! 
 As when the sky is hid by sable clouds, 
 And all the earth in thickest darkness mourns, 
 A lonely star sends forth its cheering light, 
 The splendor of whose beams more bright appear 
 
92 THE COURT OF APOLLO. 
 
 By reason of the gloom which spreads around : 
 
 So will the lustre of his genius shine, 
 
 Holy and glorious where the darkling forms 
 
 Flit black, and rayless through a wintry sky ! 
 
 Till all with jealous rivalry imbued, 
 
 Shall seek to blaze an envied orb like him; 
 
 And thus the " Sacred Art " become again 
 
 Th' etherial home of Beauty, Truth, and Love ! 
 
 Now to his own abode let each depart, 
 
 And long in deep remembrance may this morn, 
 
 And all it has disclos'd with you be held. 
 
 Nor can this knowledge be too dearly priz'd, 
 
 That in our eyes 'twere better far the shrine 
 
 Of Poesy no votary should see, 
 
 And all its tuneful harps be mute for aye, 
 
 Than that its hallow'd precincts should be made 
 
 A den for Knaves, or maudlin Hypocrites, 
 
 A mighty cauldron of dark sorcery, 
 
 A stage for Harlequins and motley Fools !" 
 
 By this the sun had scal'd the Heav'n's blue walls, 
 And rob'd in gold attire the dewy east. 
 A signal given dispell'd the awe-struck crowd ; 
 Up from his throne the God of Song arose, 
 And all the Muses stretch their wings for flight : 
 Again the gorgeous pageant cleaves the skies, 
 And bears Apollo to his native Heaven ! 
 
THE GREY MAN. () 
 
 ALONG the cliffs of Antrim's Northern coast, 
 Whose beetling brows frown horrent o'er the main. 
 There is a Cave yclad in darkest gloom ! 
 With high, fantastic arch it overhangs 
 The moaning tide, which ever and anon 
 Explores its lonely chambers, scatt'ring foam 
 In tribute wreaths along its flinty walls. 
 Down from the darkling roof like clumps of spears, 
 Or like those forms which in the wintry night 
 On Jura's heights gleam o'er the precipice, 
 Shaming with purer light the moon's dim ray, 
 White, dripping pendants hang ; within, fell sounds 
 Such as resounded on the Stygian shore 
 When Cerberus's howl rang through the night, 
 Are heard at times, infusing chilling fear 
 Into the listener's heart, and clothing all 
 The cave with Horror's startling robes ! 
 
94 THE GEEY MAN. 
 
 Without, the em'rald Sea with crown of snow 
 Eises in savage glory to the clouds, 
 Or, like a herd of madden 'd buffaloes, 
 Scouring the Prairie with the lightning's speed, 
 Trampling to dust all objects in their path, 
 The raving mountain billows sweep along, 
 And dash with frothing fury on the shore ! 
 
 Within the wild, deep cave " The Grey Man " lives, 
 
 And when the sun sinks in the Northern seas, 
 
 From out its depths his Giant form is seen 
 
 To stalk like Twilight o'er the leaping wave ! 
 
 And stern as column of basalt, which rears 
 
 Its cold proud form above the briny spray, 
 
 So issues from his grim and lone recess, 
 
 The huge Antaeus of our Western Isle ! 
 
 With mighty stride he walks the yielding surf, 
 
 And as a father fondles with his babes, 
 
 So plays he with the wavelets, that run up 
 
 To have their heads strok'd by his friendly hand ! 
 
 But most he loves to issue from his home, 
 
 When waves from Lapland brood upon the flood, 
 
 Then doth his eye glow with unwonted light, 
 
 And all his form a magic vigor show ; 
 
 Like storm-driv'n snow flakes wave his hoary 
 
 locks ! 
 
 His arm, a limb of Atlantean mould, 
 Is then employ 'd in raising ocean from 
 
THE GKEY MAN. 95 
 
 The peaceful, sandy bed on which it sleeps, 
 
 And hurling it in play upon the land ! 
 
 A strange wild man is he, and fitfully 
 
 His features change from anger to a smile, 
 
 And oft the pettiest wave which lips the shore 
 
 Can turn the frown which gathers on his brow 
 
 To mirth's ingenuous laugh, and make him print 
 
 Upon its cheek the likeness of the sun, 
 
 In colors not to be surpass'd on earth. 
 
 The Man is like the coast, bluff, bold, and grey, 
 
 And while it lasts, his form will there be seen ! 
 
NOTE TO "THE GEEY MAN." 
 
 (a) The idea of this fragment suggested itself after 
 reading the following passage, in a handbook called, 
 " The North, and the Giant's Causeway," when travelling 
 in the north of Ireland some years since : 
 
 " Fhir Leith, or ' The Grey Man's Path,' (a fissure in the 
 precipice,) viewed either from land or sea, is never to be 
 forgotten ; it seems as though some supernatural power, 
 determined to hew for itself a pathway through the won- 
 derful formations that tower along the coast so that it 
 might visit or summon the spirits of the deep, without 
 treading a road made by mortal hands had willed the 
 fearful chasm that divides the rocky promontory in two. 
 The singular passage, in its most narrow part, is barred 
 across by the fragment of a pillar, hurled, as it were, over 
 the fissure, and supported on both sides at a considerable 
 elevation. If you descend, you perceive the passage 
 widens, and becomes more important ; its dark sides as- 
 sume greater height, and a more wild and sombre magni- 
 ficence ; and at last they extend upwards, above two 
 hundred and twenty feet, through which the tourist 
 arrives at the massive debris which crowd the base of the 
 mighty promontory, where the Northern Ocean rolls his 
 threatening billows." 
 
AN 
 EPILOGUE TO THE PLAY OF " MONET." 
 
 ACTED AT PRIVATE THEATRICALS. 
 
 YE bright ey'd connoisseurs ! Ye critics clear ! 
 Whose presence grace our humble efforts here ; 
 There is not one of you I now behold, 
 Sage, scribe, wit, satirist, both young, and old, 
 Who having heard the magic word which we 
 Fondly invok'd to gain your sympathy, 
 Will not confess the aptness of the name 
 To hide our faults, and shield us from your blarne. 
 That name was Money ! Who will here gainsay 
 The dazzling grandeur of its mighty sway ? 
 Sound but the word, and straight our fancy gloats 
 O'er silv'ry peals, o'er sweetly changing notes, 
 And golden visions in the air are seen, 
 Eob'd in the solemn grandeur of a Queen ! 
 But tis not money in the sordid sense 
 That bodies forth, or fashions our defence ; 
 
 H 
 
98 AN EPILOGUE TO THE PLAY OF MONEY. 
 
 Which bas'd on loftier impulse takes no stain 
 From greed of gold, or grov'lling thirst of gain. 
 We've now seen Money in its brighter dress, 
 Teeming with power to gladden and to bless ; 
 In love with virtue, worshipping its cause, 
 Helping the poor, upholding honor's laws, 
 From Pomp's gilt forehead dashing off the crown, 
 And killing Fraud and Folly with a frown ! 
 Behold a truth to elevate the mind, 
 Thus only money elevates mankind ! 
 Just now obedient to the prompter's bell, 
 Confiding much in " Money's " potent spell, 
 Our little band in Thalia's robes array'd 
 Before your eyes have strutted undismay'd ; 
 And as the lesser Ajax in the field 
 Was wont to hide behind his brother's shield, 
 So we 'neath classic Lytton's segis wide, 
 Have hop'd short-comings and mistakes to hide ; 
 Love, Truth, Wit, Mirth, Philosophy, allies 
 Will blunt the barb of satire if it flies. 
 You smile forgiveness, I shall now retire, 
 Your gracious looks our comic Muse inspire, 
 Genius of Farce ! your stores of fun unlock, 
 And smile propitious on " The Weathercock !" 
 
THE KILLEKIES 
 
 i. 
 
 ANGELS who hover o'er its radiant tide, 
 
 And plume your wings in lone Kilsailyroe ! (b) 
 Ye holy spiritualized forms that glide 
 
 By Dhu-Loch, Tonabrick, and Muilrea's brow, 
 Brooding deep stillness in the glens below, 
 
 Blest is your fate, O children of the skies ! 
 From these white rocks to gather as they glow 
 
 The fruits of truth, the hopes, the joys that rise, 
 And float upon the air like bodied mysteries ! 
 
 II. 
 By Angel forms thou must be tenanted 
 
 Kilsailyroe ! for neither Banshee's wail, 
 The Fairy's dance, or fiery Phooka's tread, 
 
 Would suit the solemn awe that fills that vale, 
 Which in the noonbeam, or the moonlight pale, 
 
 Shows like the reflex of another sphere, 
 Dipt in the rarest hues of Innisfail ! 
 
 Nursing dark gloom in mountain, wave, and air, 
 Yet imaging the scenes that men have deem'd 
 most fair. 
 
 H 2 
 
100 THE KILLEEIES. 
 
 III. 
 
 Kilsailyroe ! magnificence hath dower'd 
 
 Thy mystic hills with gifts as mystic still, 
 These glist'ning treasures marvellously shower 'd, 
 
 Dimly defining forms fantastical, 
 Have stamp 'd the impress of her quaintest seal, 
 
 And shed her loneliest glories far and near. 
 The caves, the peaks, the deep ravines reveal 
 
 This grave originality, and wear 
 That splendor weirdly wild, which dazzles only 
 here! 
 
 IV. 
 To him essaying to describe thy worth 
 
 Though poor his skill to trumpet forth thy fame, 
 'Tis consolation pure to know that earth 
 
 No nohler spectacle than thee can raise 
 To drink the glory of its Maker's gaze, 
 
 Or tempt the lightning from the Poet's brain, 
 And wed its quiv'ring fire to beauty's blaze ! 
 
 Here solitude hath spun a soundless chain, 
 Sublimity is sleeping on thy dark deep main ! 
 
 V. 
 One brilliant truth illuminates and blesses 
 
 The holy traits which typify thy scene, 
 Here Nature in an ecstasy confesses 
 
 In primal hour hath God created green ! 
 A truth confirmed by the chaste deep sheen, 
 
THE K1LLEJUES. 101 
 
 Which weaves a wonder from the wave's white 
 
 swell 
 
 The mountain top o'erleaping ; yet scarce seen, 
 When through the bright woof shadow'd visions 
 
 tell 
 Beneath this magic wehthe Emerald's glories dwell ! 
 
 VI. 
 Oh yes, while o'er thy peaks our glad eyes roll 
 
 Convictions wing'd with light irradiate, 
 Arid pour this happy truth upon the soul ! 
 
 Whose kindred flames aspirant and elate, 
 Fann'd by quick thought, their; sfayry rays^await., , 
 
 To sweet reflection all arouiidiiivios,V .. 
 Loading the mind with Nature 
 
 Of all that deepest joy and 1 Icive* t 
 The charms that to the heart afford unmix VI 
 delights. 
 
 VII. 
 
 One word at parting, grey, mysterious hills ! 
 Your views to me with radiant lustre glow, 
 Ethereal love of ye my bosom thrills, 
 
 Your pictur'd memories my mind o'erflow ! 
 Ye form the glass, in which reflected grow 
 Those witching forms of light, and mournful 
 
 shade, 
 Which on our Isle the properties bestow 
 
 Of mirth, and sadness, equally pourtray'd, 
 Each fronting each, like deadly foes in war 
 array'd. 
 
103 THE KILLEEIES. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Adieu ! delicious solitude, adieu ! 
 
 I love thee well and deeply ; thou hast wrought 
 A change within my mind, and feelings too, 
 
 Which by the help of Heaven is fully fraught 
 With energy sustain'd, and train'd by thought, 
 
 To aid in heralding that day divine 
 By this old land so often vainly sought, 
 
 Which to oblivion shall its feuds consign, 
 And make its wet, sad cheek with Hope, and 
 Gladness shine ! 
 
NOTES TO " THE KILLEEIES." 
 
 (a) " The Killeries, two bays at the boundary between 
 the counties of Gal way and Mayo, in the Irish province 
 of Connaught." " Both bays are narrow, and overhung 
 with mountains, and closely resemble the fiords of Nor- 
 way, and the sea-lochs of the Western Highlands of 
 Scotland." " A Gazeteer of the World," by Messrs. A. 
 Fullarton and Co., Edinburgh. 
 
 (b) Anglice, the narrow red brine. 
 
LINES ON THE LATE WAR 
 
 AT last the horrid din of war is o'er, 
 
 On jarring hinge the door of Janus shuts : 
 
 The pregnant news of Victory or defeat, 
 
 By Science furnish'd with the lightning's wings, 
 
 Which made the Nation pause in taking breath, 
 
 And bid our pulses quicken in their speed, 
 
 Has ceas'd to travel from those storied heights 
 
 And plains by cannon pav'd, where deeds were 
 
 done 
 
 Whose fame shall live, and with expanding glow 
 Brighten each age that leaves the womb of Time ! 
 And now that swords are sheath 'd, and Mars has 
 
 ceas'd 
 
 To clad the earth in mourning ; and the flags 
 Whose honour'd folds were starr'd by whistling 
 
 balls, 
 
 In silent peace are furl'd ; Eeflection comes 
 With solemn mien, and brooding thoughtful brow, 
 
LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 105 
 
 To form her calm, ripe judgment on the past ! 
 
 And first the broad gleam of the Danube's wave 
 
 Arrests her eye ; she marks the glitt'ring lines 
 
 Which shine upon its banks, and pencils clear 
 
 Upon her tablets Oltenitza's name ! 
 
 Thou too, Silistria ! where the Turk's hot zeal, 
 
 His fiery courage and high energy 
 
 Were form'd and strengthen'd till they shone 
 
 sublime, 
 
 By him whose glory hovers round thy name, (a) 
 Reaps at her hand no stinted meed of praise, 
 But in the fulness of thy worth are shown, 
 A beacon to the brave of future times ; 
 Guiding the hero on that lofty path, 
 Ascending which he reaps a deathless crown, 
 Whose lustre fills the earth and mounts to 
 
 Heaven ! 
 
 'Tis vain to tell us that the Turkish race 
 Is now degen'rate in the arts of war : 
 Silistria, Oltenitza, Giurgevo, speak! 
 Such names as yours must wither up the lie ; 
 Confront your shameless libellers with the truth, 
 And shew that Turkish hearts are still as brave, 
 And Turkish swords as keen as in those days 
 When Europe fled before their fatal flash, 
 And trembled at the name of Solyman ! 
 
 A veil we cast above the direful scenes 
 
106 LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 
 
 Which Varna saw, nor shall we stain our page 
 With the recital of a Nation's shame. 
 The heights of Alma call up other thoughts 
 Than those of tearful woe, and deep regret ; 
 For never since the hour when side by side, 
 They first drew hlades together in the field, 
 Did English, Irish, Scotch achieve such fame 
 As on the day they climb 'd those gory steeps ! 
 And never since her earliest era dawn'd, 
 Did Gallia's children, nurs'd in War's red lap, 
 Pay ineeter homage at Bellona's shrine, 
 Than when they scal'd the Alma's dizzy crags, 
 And wav'd their Eagles on its frowning brow ! 
 Most glorious hour ! made brighter by the link 
 Which join'd two mighty Nations in one cause ; 
 And chang'd the scowling hate of Waterloo 
 Into a noble love by Conquest crown'd ! 
 What tongue shall eulogize in flowing speech, 
 What bard shall chronicle in fitting strain 
 The immortal hour when dash'd a little band 
 Of gallant horsemen to a yawning grave ? 
 While we remain a Nation, that death ride 
 Shall ever be remember'd by its sons ; 
 Who, with exulting pride will name the day 
 When but six hundred of their fathers charg'd 
 Down a red lane by iron whirlwinds swept, 
 A Kussian army in its massive might, 
 Eushing to death to dazzle all the world ! 
 
LINES ON THE LATE WAK. 107 
 
 To sing thy fame, O Inkermann ! no bard 
 
 Need tune his lyre, though magic it may be ; 
 
 Thy name has sounded loudly through the earth, 
 
 And all the Nations with one voice exclaim, 
 
 Eternal honor and renown are thine ! 
 
 In myriad numbers pitted against few, 
 
 Thermopylae alone resembles thee ; 
 
 And e'en Leonidas's little band 
 
 Did not outshine the scanty warrior host 
 
 That vanquish'd Tyranny upon that morn, 
 
 In valor, constancy, and lofty zeal ! 
 
 A country giving birth to men like these, 
 
 Whose actions seem too noble for this sphere, 
 
 Whose superhuman prowess, like a dream, 
 
 Dissolves our long accustom'd views of life, 
 
 And proudly elevates the race of Man, 
 
 Keflecting light upon his end sublime, 
 
 Need fear no Despot's overpowering arm, 
 
 No foe to wrest fair Freedom from its grasp. 
 
 Such hands as theirs have more than Titan strength, 
 
 Such hearts can never yield the freeman's prize. 
 
 Twere idle folly to oppose the ranks 
 
 Where every soldier owns a hero's soul ! 
 
 The eventful story of that mighty siege 
 Where Nature saw its deadliest foes drawn up 
 In darkling columns, such as ne'er before 
 In war, or famine, shew'd like awful strength, 
 
108 LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 
 
 And where appalling horrors never met 
 
 Such dauntless souls round whom to weave their 
 
 gloom, 
 
 Is writ in burning letters on our souls, 
 And History has hid it live for aye ! 
 But who that owns a breast where e'en one heave 
 Like Ocean-wave obedient to the Moon, 
 Can rise responsive to the call of glory, 
 Will not indulge the thoughts that are inspired 
 And brightly wing'd, Malakoff, by thee ! 
 Or by the crimson sea of noble blood 
 Which circled the Eedan with stubborn tide ! 
 
 Gallant warriors, all hail ! Ye have but died 
 To shine for ever radiant as the stars : 
 By dying ye have glorified your kind, 
 Investing mortals with new attributes, 
 Illuminating earth with golden truths, 
 Adorning Battle's brow with wreaths divine ! 
 Nor are the brilliant rays which light your names, 
 Shorn of their lustre by those splendid deeds 
 Which Russia's warlike children have achiev'd ; 
 The proud contempt of death, the hardihood, 
 The Stoic spirit they so oft display'd, 
 While show'ring praise upon their northern clime, 
 But serve to give new pinions to your fame ! 
 Nor must we cease without a word for thee 
 well defended Kars ! He hath no soul, 
 
LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 109 
 
 Nor is he worthy to be deemed a man, 
 Who ever heard thy sadly thrilling tale 
 And did not feel his bosom swell with pjide, 
 As all the deeds of self-endurance, toil, 
 The moral triumphs in the gloomiest hour 
 Pass'd brightly on, and with united light 
 Shone on thee, Ears ! and thy immortal band ! 
 
 All hail ! all hail ! ye matchless allied hosts, 
 Sardinians, British, French, and Moslem troops, 
 All glory, honor, and renown be thine ! 
 Long may the holy cause for which ye bled 
 Shed forth its light as pure as Vesta's flame ; 
 And oft as o'er the earth its Gorgon head 
 Fell Despotism rears, may your strength be join'd 
 By links in Heav'n forg'd, to crush the pow'r 
 Wielded to blast the glorious works of God ! 
 Long may it triumph o'er the tyrant Wrong ! 
 Long guard upon its throne the sacred Eight ! 
 
NOTE TO " LINES ON THE LATE WAR. 11 
 
 t 
 
 (a) The late lamented Captain Butler. The ensuing, 
 copied from "Nolan's History of the Russian War," 
 is taken from a letter written by the late Lord 
 Hardinge to Lieutenant-General the Hon. H. E. Butler, 
 the father of Captain Butler. It may not be out of 
 place here to remind our readers that two of Lieut.- 
 General Butler's sons fell during the late war : 
 
 " Horse Guards, July 17th, 1854. 
 " SIR, T have heard, with the deepest regret, of the 
 loss which you and the army have sustained by the 
 death of your distinguished son, Captain J. A. Butler, 
 of wounds and fatigue at the siege of Silistria. During 
 the whole of that memorable siege your son displayed 
 very rare qualities, combining, with the skill and intel- 
 ligence of an accomplished officer, the intrepidity of the 
 most daring soldier at one moment gaining the con- 
 fidence of the garrison (over which he had only the 
 authority of a very young volunteer) by the example 
 of his personal valour ; at another, prolonging the defence 
 of the place by the prudence and firmness of his counsel ; 
 and on all occasions infusing into those around him 
 that spirit of heroic resistance which led to its trium- 
 phant defence. I deeply deplore your affliction in losing 
 such a son; but your sorrow is felt by the country, 
 the army, and the sovereign." 
 
THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 
 
 THE wide Atlantic cannot boast 
 A more sublime, rock-guarded coast, 
 Than where its waves with wild caress 
 On Innisboffin Island press ; 
 Whose mighty cliffs hang dark and steep, 
 Watching the waters onward sweep, 
 Like aged parents gravely viewing 
 The games their children are pursuing. 
 Fronting the cliffs, and mounting nigh, 
 Kilsailyroe ! thy peaks on high, 
 With misty outlines dimly show 
 WTiere sleeps thy placid bay below ; 
 And lead the eager eye to trace 
 The solemn calmness, lonely grace, 
 The strange wild grandeur of that view 
 From mountain top to water blue ! 
 
THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 
 
 Once, in the light of Morning's smile (a) 
 A boat left Innisboffin's isle, 
 And as its white sail wooed the wind, 
 The craggy shore sunk fast behind. 
 Swiftly the bounding vessel flies 
 To where Killaura's (b) mountains rise : 
 Its flashing prow the wave divides, 
 As in the bay at length it glides, 
 And like a sea-bird skims adown 
 Those mountain- shadow'd deeps so lone. 
 And what a prospect burst before 
 The admiring human freight it bore ! 
 The noble scenes that met the eye 
 Could never in the memory die. 
 Surprise their stranger bosoms fills 
 As round they gaze on those grey hills : 
 With awe their mystic hues they mark, 
 Each frowning chasm, each glen so dark, 
 The stilly web so thickly spread 
 O'er all that mighty mass o'erhead ! 
 But see, they furl the snowy sail, 
 That courts no more the favoring gale, 
 And soon a simple little band 
 Walks forth on Leenane's golden sand ! 
 That warlike purpose is not theirs 
 From their plain dress at once appears ; 
 Their peaceful guise spreads no alanns 
 Of deeds of blood, of hostile arms, 
 
THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 113 
 
 That modest garb, those garments tell 
 
 They have not landed here to swell 
 
 The horrid shout of savage war, 
 
 But rather like the morning star, 
 
 To shed the holy light of Love, 
 
 Of heav'nly goodness from ahove ; 
 
 And as when all around is gloom 
 
 Its blessed rays the earth illume, 
 
 So, gifted from on high with power, 
 
 They come our rayless minds to dower, 
 
 And Faith's, and Learning's beams to shower ! 
 
 Onwards their devious course they track, 
 Through the wide vale of Bealnabrack, 
 Along thy verdant flats, Glenglass, (c) 
 In cheerful hope the pilgrims pass, 
 And on, still on, their journey make, 
 Until they reach wild Comb's Lake. 
 Launch'd on its breast a friendly oar 
 Soon wafts them to its Northern shore, 
 Forward their line they still pursue, 
 Through Cong,(d) o'er Lough Mask's waters blue, 
 Lough Carra's (e) waves uphold them now, 
 Which in the slanting sunbeams glow. 
 At length the further side was gain'd, 
 Where for the night the band remain'd. 
 When morn and night began to part, 
 Again upon their course they start, 
 
 i 
 
114 THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 
 
 And as at last the travellers came 
 
 To a lone spot that bore the name 
 
 Of Majo, gaz'd awhile around, 
 
 Then halted on a rising ground. 
 
 Their march was o'er, but not their toil, 
 
 A few years more and on this soil 
 
 Arose on high a splendid pile, 
 
 The boast and glory of our Isle ! 
 
 A noble Abbey whose vast girth 
 
 Shaded for roods around the earth, 
 
 Destin'd to be for many an age 
 
 Home of the sainted, and the sage ! 
 
 Eeligion's Temple, Learning's fane, 
 
 Long did this sacred work remain ; 
 
 And as a spring in desert wastes, 
 
 The grateful traveller's thirst that slakes, 
 
 Whose source he deeply sighs to gain 
 
 Toiling along some scorching plain, 
 
 Its halls an equal impulse gave 
 
 To those who dwelt beyond the wave, 
 
 Through Anglia's land, through Europe wide, 
 
 Hither to come across the tide ! 
 
 And as the draughts of desert-spring 
 
 To the faint traveller vigor bring, 
 
 His wearied energies revive, 
 
 And give his weaken'd frame new life, 
 
 That then until his journey done 
 
 With strength renew 'd he marches on ; 
 
THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 115 
 
 So did the blessed drops that dwell 
 In hallo w'd Learning's brimming well, 
 Within those domes with golden glow, 
 Into the minds of thousands flow ! 
 And when those minds became at length 
 Imbued with knowledge, truth, and strength ; 
 When that they burgeoned forth, and grew 
 Like flowers that taste the morning dew, 
 The willing exiles- bore their prize 
 To shine beneath their native skies, 
 And light the torch of Faith sublime 
 In many a rude, barbarian clime ! 
 
 Tis said that Alfred, he of fame, (/) 
 
 To visit Mayo's Abbey came, 
 
 And brought with him an infant son 
 
 To learn those arts which grace a throne ; 
 
 Who dying ere his manhood's bloom, 
 
 Found in this holy place a tomb. 
 
 The peasant still points out with pride 
 
 The very spot where, side by side, 
 
 Two royal sons of Gallia laid, 
 
 Sleep peacefully in death's cold shade ! 
 
 Eever'd tradition, justly dear, 
 
 Tells of the buried thousands here, 
 
 Speaks of the Saxon graves which show 
 
 Where their chill ashes rest below, (g) 
 
 Nor fails its sacred garb to spread 
 
116 THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 
 
 Above these relics of the dead ! 
 
 But we are faulty should we deem 
 
 The good which flow'd in plenteous stream 
 
 From Mayo's Ahhey, did not fire 
 
 Others like Colman with desire 
 
 To raise upon our fertile sod, 
 
 Fair shrines to Learning and to God. 
 
 To emulate this holy man 
 
 His ardent followers began, 
 
 And through the country far and nigh, 
 
 Arose the Gothic arch on high ; 
 
 The lofty aisle, the pillar tall, 
 
 The cloister dim, the spacious hall, 
 
 Moulded to grace by cunning hand, 
 
 In majesty adorn'd the land ; 
 
 Till such the myriad swarms that press 'd 
 
 To Erin o'er the Ocean's breast, 
 
 That soon of Piety and lore 
 
 The enviable name it bore ; 
 
 Where Faith and Art uprais'd their forms, 
 
 Showing their sweetly blended charms. 
 
 Mayo's hoar Abbey, grand in age, 
 
 Full oft defied the invader's rage, 
 
 And even when his thirsty sword 
 
 Spar'd not this temple of the Lord, 
 
 Its pious inmates built anew 
 
 The fabric which his ire o'erthrew. 
 
 Consum'd by fire it twice again (g) 
 
THE ABBEY OF MAYO. 117 
 
 Kose from its ashes o'er the plain, 
 
 And reign'd in majesty serene, 
 
 Of all the rest acknowledg'd Queen ; 
 
 Till dawii'd the hour when Cromwell came 
 
 To blast its strength but not its fame ! 
 
 An end of maudlin whining tears 
 
 For all the woes of byegone years ! 
 
 The sluggish heart may find relief 
 
 From this unworthy, coward grief ; 
 
 But manly bosoms should be steel'd 
 
 To puling sorrow, ne'er should yield 
 
 To vain regret, of no avail 
 
 Unless to swell a mournful tale. 
 
 True the despoiler hath laid bare 
 
 Our noble Shrines, our Abbeys fair ; 
 
 Did with his ruthless arm efface 
 
 Of all those piles the stately grace. 
 
 The hand that should be first to save, 
 
 Threw down the mould on Learning's grave, 
 
 But tried in vain that faith to kill, 
 
 Which beams with all its lustre still ! 
 
 Our future course is clear, and straight, 
 
 We must not weep our former fate, 
 
 But as we ponder on that time 
 
 When every European clime 
 
 Sent to our Isle to learn the arts, 
 
 And all that Christian faith imparts, 
 
 Their myriad youths, let's calmly keep 
 
118 THE ABBEY OF MAYO, 
 
 Within our minds this memory deep, 
 
 And when beset with scoffing foes, 
 
 Who pour their venom on our woes, 
 
 With those bright truths we'll blast the sneer, 
 
 Bid the long buried past appear, 
 
 And make the mocking host revere ! 
 
 Dazzling the world with all the sheen 
 
 That hallows yet what once hath been, 
 
 And tearing off the veil to show 
 
 The source from whence our sorrows flow. 
 
 But chiefly let their guiding ray 
 
 Serve to illume our arduous way, 
 
 Examples giving of how once more, 
 
 As in the golden days of yore, 
 
 Our Isle with equal treasures blest, 
 
 May beam the glory of the West ! 
 
 This is the path we should pursue 
 
 When our sad wrongs come forth to view, 
 
 Causing their bitter stings to serve 
 
 Like goads our energies to nerve, 
 
 And all old recollections bright, 
 
 To light like silver stars our night ! 
 
 Our trust in Him whose mercy guides 
 
 The struggling bark through angry tides, 
 
 Whose spirit in the whirling storm 
 
 Protects the weak, shorn lamb from harm. 
 
 And yet, as sure as Heav'n above 
 
 To our toss'd Ark will come the Dove I 
 
NOTES TO "THE ABBEY OF MAYO." 
 
 (a) " Bishop Colman, who, as we before observed, was 
 a native of Ireland, on his return home, took with him 
 all his countrymen, and about thirty Englishmen, who, 
 under his directions, had been educated in the Isle of 
 Lindisfarne; and leaving some English monks there, 
 he first went to the Isle of Hii, (called also lona 
 and Icombkille) from which he had formerly been 
 sent to preach the Christian faith to the English 
 nation ; and afterwards to a very small isle, which 
 lies at a distance from Ireland, to the west, and is called 
 by the Irish, Innisbovinde, that is, ' The Isle of the 
 White Calf,' (now Innisboffin)." " Colman travelled far 
 and near till at length he found a commodious place, 
 called by the Irish, Majo, for building another Monas- 
 tery in the island of Ireland. There he procured a plot 
 of ground from the proprietor to whom it belonged ; this 
 condition being also added, that the Monks, who should 
 reside in the Monastery should offer their prayers to God 
 for him who let them have the ground. Thus a new 
 Monastery being soon erected, by the assistance of the 
 proprietor and all their neighbours, he placed the Eng- 
 lish alone in it, the Irish being left at the above men- 
 tioned Isle. The same Monastery is, to this day, pos 
 sessed by the English Monks, and is now commonly 
 
120 NOTES TO "THE ABBEY OF MAYO." 
 
 called, Injuges, having been of late greatly enlarged/' 
 " Here resides a famous congregation of religious Monks 
 assembled from different parts of England, who are much 
 reformed in their institute, and, following the edifying 
 example of their venerable founder and patron, live by 
 the labour of their hands,, in the most sincere dispositions 
 of piety and virtue, under the direction of a Canonical 
 Abbot." Bede's History of the Primitive Church of Eng- 
 land, book iv., ch. 4. 
 
 (b) Another name for " The Killeries." 
 
 (c) " The vale here bears the characteristic name of 
 Glenglass, the Green Valley." A iveek in the West of 
 Ireland. ' 
 
 (d) The Town of Cong is situated at the junction of 
 Lough Corrib, with Lough Mask. 
 
 (e) " Lough Mask immediately adjoins Lough Carra, 
 and there is a communication between them." See 
 " Gazeteer of the World," by Messrs. A. Fullarton and 
 Co. Edinburgh. 
 
 (/) Speech of Eneas MacDonnell, at a meeting of the 
 inhabitants of Mayo, July 16th, 1826. 
 
 (g) " The Monastery of Mayo, called Magio na Sassan, 
 (Mayo of the English or Saxons,) was founded A.D., 665, 
 the building covered half an acre of ground. In the 9th 
 century it was pillaged and destroyed by Turgesius, the 
 Spanish invader. It was again rebuilt for the English 
 monks and students, but destroyed by fire in 909. It 
 was again rebuilt for them, but was consumed by fire a 
 second time in 1169." Archdall's " Monasticon Hiber- 
 nicon." 
 
A CONFERENCE. 
 
 UNDER the roof of classic Gottenburgh 
 
 Some youths did once a busy conclave hold, 
 
 Unto the worthy end that every power 
 
 Which to the mind belongs, deep ponder'd o'er, 
 
 The most that shone ripe judgment should declare. 
 
 When noisy tongues had utter 'd many views, 
 
 And gesture wild oft took the place of truth, 
 
 All paled at last before three attributes, 
 
 For each of which a separate champion fought. 
 
 The cause of warlike Genius one espous'd, 
 First rank bestowing on its dazzling might : 
 With skilful speech its claims were bodied forth, 
 And brilliant thought dress 'd out its awful charms. 
 The subtle influence of that giant soul 
 Where the vast magnet Concentration dwells, 
 Which to the use of one whole Nations brings, 
 And even unresisting Victory leads,] 
 
A CONFERENCE. 
 
 Was traced with glowing pencil ; then appear'd 
 The golden crowns War won for Freedom's brow, 
 The fields it dyed with crimson for its sake. 
 The superhuman courage it inspir'd, 
 Which gave the strength of thousands to an arm, 
 And made e'en. Death to quail beneath its frown ; 
 The noble wreaths which with chivalric hand 
 It placed of old upon Eeligion's shrine. 
 In every age the deeds it had achiev'd, 
 Civilisation's realms extending wide, 
 Advancing all the purposes of man, 
 Which come direct from Him who rules alone, 
 And doing so when all things else had fail'd ; 
 With vivid brush these thrilling scenes were 
 limned. 
 
 The Orator then form'd another's theme, 
 With noble zeal, and sympathy endued, 
 He to his subject breadth and vigor gave ; 
 That power which, breath'd through adamantine 
 
 lungs, 
 
 Enchains the thoughts of thousands at its will, 
 Sways all the stormy passions which are ours, 
 And every impulse of our inmost heart ; 
 That power which wins the battles of the mind, 
 And by its voice subdues, and fills with awe, 
 Or captivates the list'ner with its charms ; 
 Now causing tears adown the cheek to flow, 
 
A CONFERENCE. 12 
 
 Or joy to glisten in the trembling eye, 
 
 Horror to raise a dew upon the brow, 
 
 And like a serpent creep along the flesh ; 
 
 Mayhap to make the limbs to shake with rage, 
 
 The blood with indignation deep to seethe ; 
 
 Each phase of human feeling to arouse, 
 
 And with its potent wand to sway the tide, 
 
 To rule the emotions of the human soul ! 
 
 In life-like hues, with rare fidelity, 
 
 These varied shades of oratory pass'd 
 
 In swift succession o'er the mental view. 
 
 Nor did its eulogizer fail to show, 
 
 All it has done for Patriotism's cause, 
 
 For moral progress, an$ the public weal ; 
 
 And how, when under the oppressor's lash 
 
 The innocent victim sorely tortured writhes, 
 
 Or when fell Murder stalks the frighted land, 
 
 And grave suspicion summons to the bar 
 
 An unoffending creature ; Eloquence 
 
 Can wrench the whip from out the tyrant's hand, 
 
 Or dissipate the cloud that hangs around 
 
 Him who is free from shedding brother's blood ! 
 
 And then he spoke, who made the Poet first 
 In all the various ranks of mental worth ; 
 Discours'd he sweetly on his mission grand, 
 Spoke of that winged, all-pervading soul, 
 Whose glory is its universal sway ; 
 
124 A CONFERENCE. 
 
 Its rare affinity to all that is, 
 That hath been moulded by the hand of God, 
 Or lies as yet within the womb of Time ! 
 Which boasts the enviable attribute 
 Of pure, unbiass'd liberty of thought, 
 Untrammell'd by the paltry influences 
 Which chain down every other class of mind. 
 That soul which rises on the hurricane, 
 Mounts on the billow to the frighted sky, 
 And sinks again to Ocean's deepest caves ; 
 Which revels in the awful thunder peal, 
 And basks with pleasure in the Summer's heat, 
 Koams o'er the wastes of Winter's cheerless snows, 
 And laughs for joy among the buds of Spring. 
 Which penetrates like steel the hearts of men, 
 Reads at a glance the thoughts that fill their souls, 
 Knows every parent impulse of their deeds, 
 And sifts the solid gold that therein lies, 
 From out the clayey heaps that hold the grains. 
 That power divine, bright as the heaven's own 
 
 stars, 
 
 And which has come from heaven to gladden us, 
 And image to our minds its radiant realms ! 
 Which since the time when on Sinai's heights 
 Its sacred warblings taught the race elect, 
 E'en to the present hour hath been our guide 
 In all the muddy, sinuous ways of life : 
 Beck'ning us on to each ennobling goal, 
 
A CONFERENCE. 125 
 
 With pure light flooding us to see the course, 
 Where Honor, Righteousness, and Glory lie ! 
 Exhilarating by its fresh, warm breath 
 Our palsied energies and senses dull : 
 Quick'ning the stagnant blood within our veins, 
 And by a voice, gay, solemn, or severe, 
 Awaking our whole nature from its trance, 
 And making all her parts obey its call ! 
 
 List ! now is given judgment on the theme, 
 By him deputed, in a manner strange, 
 And novel in its unexpected form ; 
 For while he passed on all these attributes 
 Eulogiums lofty ; he forbore to give 
 Pre-eminence to one above the rest, 
 And seem'd to view all in an equal light, 
 As weapons useful for their various ends. 
 Given by God to bless our pilgrim path, 
 Each for its proper object aptly fram'd, 
 Though oft for basest motives sadly us'd, 
 With curses fraught instead of benisons ; 
 But bearing full impress'd the wielding hand, 
 Whether the stamp be noble or deform'd ! 
 
LINES WRITTEN ON THE APPROACHING 
 CLEW BAT REGATTA, IN 1855. 
 
 CLEW BAY REGATTA ! Ye whose eyes will share 
 The peerless banquet of a sight so fair, 
 Weigh well a scene, which will in truth impart 
 Light to the mind, and feeling to the heart ! 
 If that broad sheet of undulating blue 
 Bursts with such splendor on the gazer's view 
 Whenever seen, what painter's cunning hand, 
 Will trace in colors mystically grand 
 The glorious picture when above the tide, 
 On snowy wings the mimic fleet shall glide ; 
 And tapering mast, curv'd prow, and pennant gay, 
 Shall glass their forms upon the ample bay ? 
 Then would some patriot soul as it survey'd 
 The stirring pageant which the scene display 'd, 
 Mourn for the little Art hath done to improve 
 Those priceless gifts attesting Nature's love ; 
 
LINES ON CLEW BAY KEGATTA. 127 
 
 And weep to think how Commerce with her train, 
 Might long have sway'd upon that radiant plain, 
 Had worthy rulers giv'n the affirming nod 
 /To aid the noble purpose of their God ! 
 Mayhap the thought may strike one viewing Clare, 
 Like guardian Lion watching in his lair, (a) 
 And gazing on the clear and sparkling way, 
 The Sun's steeds traverse at departing day, 
 Along whose track his beams are wont to shine, 
 No spot of earth to break their level line, 
 Nor e'en a rock to check his bright career 
 Till Transatlantic cliffs at length appear, 
 *That heav'nly hands had mapp'd this path sublime, 
 Leading from Europe, to Columbia's clime ! 
 
 Clew Bay ! in thee an image I behold 
 
 Of Mayo's sons, ingenuous, and bold ! 
 
 And gazing on Croagh-Patrick's steep, brown side, 
 
 I see an emblem of their honest pride ! 
 
 The generous bay which ev'ry hour affords 
 
 Its various fishes in unnumber'd hordes, 
 
 Sounds in my ear, a word that cannot die, 
 
 Sacred to Mayo, Hospitality ! 
 
 Westport ! this thought in part inspir'd by thee, 
 
 Through many a dear, true kindness shown to me, 
 
 I fain could deify thy ev'ry hill, 
 
 And with my pray'rs thy beauteous valleys fill ! 
 
 0, how I wish that by the cloud-capp'd Keek, 
 
128 LINES ON CLEW BAY EEGATTA. 
 
 Some master spirit would at length outspeak, 
 Showing how Green might kiss the Orange flags, 
 And ev'ry creed unite beneath those crags 
 Where whilom Patrick banish'd from our coast 
 Each pois'nous reptile of the serpent host ! 
 In that fair spot where Patrick peace began, 
 An end to feuds, let Man shake hands with Man ! 
 God grant that Berthra, whose protecting arm 
 Saves Clew's three hundred islands from the storm, 
 Upon that day when many a swelling sail 
 Leaving its shore shall woo the frolic gale, 
 Willsee each member of that diverse throng 
 Join in this one grand, universal song, 
 " In that fair spot where Patrick peace began, 
 An end to feuds, let Man shake hands with Man !" 
 
NOTE TO "LINES ON THE APPBO ACH- 
 ING CLEW BAY EEGATTA IN 1855." 
 
 (a) Clare Island, from its shape and position has been 
 happily compared to a Lion in a sitting attitude, guarding 
 the hay. 
 
TO THE BIVEB HODDEE. (> 
 
 BEAUTEOUS Eiver ! so joyous and mazy, 
 
 So sparkling, so clear, and so strong, 
 How nobly thy mountain-fed waters 
 
 Go pensive, or blithely along ! 
 Now, under some rich leafy shadow 
 
 Pursuing thy gloom-covered way, 
 Then as from an eave a swift swallow, 
 
 Darting forth to the brightness of day. 
 In ease like a well finish'd courtier, 
 
 Slow rolls now thy deep, solemn tide, 
 Like the flash in the eye of an hero, 
 
 Anon do the swift currents glide ! 
 One moment no mother more gentle 
 
 Than thou with thy surface serene, 
 Another, and where is the warrior 
 
 Who wears a more terrible mien ? 
 
TO THE RIVER BOEDER. 131 
 
 Like the prattling of innocent childhood, 
 
 Thy gurgle through hard pebbly beds, 
 While down the tall crags thou descendest 
 
 As thunder that peals o'er our heads. 
 And onwards, still onwards thou movest 
 
 Through deeps, and through shallows so free, 
 As though all the efforts thou makest 
 
 Art nought but a pleasure to thee. 
 Thus teaching us mortals this lesson, 
 
 That severely though fortune do frown, 
 We should not allow the proud tyrant 
 
 To trample our energies down ; 
 But rather with hearts in our bosoms 
 
 As buoyant, as strong as thy wave, 
 March manfully into the future, 
 
 And let the past sleep in its grave ! 
 
 Bright Biver ! thy flood to my fancy 
 
 Mirrors forth every fresh warm phase, 
 Which the mind of her free born children 
 
 Through England's fair realms displays : 
 The solemn and thoughtful demeanor, 
 
 The placid contemplative brow, 
 The calm on the Englishman's features 
 
 Thy deeps, tree o'er-canopied show ; 
 While the frolicsome mirth of his gay youth, 
 
 All its playful, ingenuous moods, 
 Are glass'd on the sun-brighten 'd billows 
 
132 TO THE EIVEE HODDEE. 
 
 That rise on thy vigorous flood. 
 These image the Spirit of Freedom 
 
 Which nerves every heart-heat he gives, 
 Which he feels in each hreath he inhaleth, 
 
 'Neath whose heav'n-born guidance he lives. 
 But whenever thy sorely chaf d waters 
 
 So proudly disdaining control, 
 'Mid rock-ledges vainly opposing, 
 
 In foam- crested majesty roll ; 
 They seem like the heroes of Britain 
 
 When dauntless they march to the fight, 
 With courage their step so elastic, 
 
 Their brows with the hope of fame bright ! 
 Glide on thou fresh flowing river ! 
 
 Thou picture of Freedom's true fruits ! 
 While the tree which produc'd them through 
 England, 
 
 Sinks deeper and deeper its roots. 
 May it flourish, while moveth thy current 
 
 In healthy, perpetual youth, 
 Diffusing its golden endowments, 
 
 Prosperity, Honor, and Truth ! 
 
NOTE TO "THE BIVEB HODDEB." 
 
 (a) The Hodder is a river in Lancashire, which flows 
 to the Bibble, near Stonyhurst College. 
 
LINES WKITTEN ON THE IEISH 
 FAMINE OF 1848 AND 1849. 
 
 i. 
 
 Tis sadd'ning to the feeling heart 
 Upon these famine years to dwell, 
 
 The woeful tales their records tell 
 Make warm tears in the eyelid start. 
 
 II. 
 Yet still we cannot check our grief, 
 
 fNor bid its current cease to flow, 
 And giving vent to pent up woe 
 
 Full often brings a sweet relief. 
 
 III. 
 
 Nor can we on each landscape gaze 
 Which studs the surface of our Isle, 
 
 And fail to think their present smile 
 Traces of sorrow's breath betrays. 
 
THE IRISH FAMINE OF 1848 AND 1849. 135 
 IV. 
 
 Our thoughts we fain must backward cast, 
 No cheerful ray the path to illume, 
 
 To wander o'er those days of gloom, 
 To muse upon that dismal past ! 
 
 V. 
 And as in contemplation deep, 
 
 Unroll'd to view appears each scene, 
 Of all that time the memory keen, 
 
 What horrid visions o'er us sweep ! 
 
 VI. 
 Appalling sights that shock our eyes, 
 
 Grim phantoms, loathsome skeletons, 
 Whose piteous and despairing groans 
 
 Upon the frighted silence rise ! 
 
 VII. 
 The face of childhood stamp 'd with care, 
 
 And rohb'd by hunger's cruel tooth 
 Of the plump, rounded cheeks of youth, 
 
 Of all its frolic, reckless air ! 
 
 VIII. 
 And of its vigor manhood shorn, 
 
 By strength and energy forsook, 
 With staring eye and haggard look, 
 
 So listless, trembling, and forlorn ! 
 
136 THE IRISH FAMINE OF 1848 AND 1849. 
 
 IX. 
 The chimneys white that sparkling shone 
 
 Above the hamlets of the poor, 
 Send up the curling smoke no more, 
 
 For they who warm'd the hearths are gone ! 
 
 X. 
 
 No longer on the soft green hill, 
 On Sabhath days do rustics meet 
 
 To dance the jig with lively feet, 
 
 That blithesome band is cold and still ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 And the lone vale no longer rings 
 With laughter's oft-repeated peals, 
 
 For o'er its verdant bosom steals 
 Silence profound on soundless wings ! 
 
 XII. 
 Where Joy abounded, Sadness reigns, 
 
 Where Plenty gladden'd, Famine scowls, 
 And all its hideous train of Ghouls 
 
 Koam o'er those erewhile happy plains ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 But let us with a curtain hide 
 These startling horrors from the sight, 
 
 Which, praise to Heav'n ! have wing'd their flight, 
 And o'er our Isle no longer glide. 
 
THE IRISH FAMINE OF 1848 AND 1849. 137 
 XIV. 
 
 But be it our congenial theme 
 
 To point the experience which they brought, 
 To show the lesson they have taught, 
 
 And bask in its instructive beam. 
 
 XV. 
 Tracing the good from ill that came, 
 
 The light which bitter trouble show'd, 
 Like jewel of the ugly toad 
 
 Shining with brilliant, steady flame. 
 
 XVI. 
 Which has not fail'd our souls to stir 
 
 With zeal and energy sublime, 
 And power the upward ways to climb, 
 
 No drudging labor can deter. 
 
 XVII. 
 Why paint the progress we have made 
 
 In all the golden arts of peace, 
 Since our brave sons have gain'd release 1 
 
 From spectral Famine's ghastly shade ? 
 
 XVIII. 
 In various ways it is impressed 
 
 In our fond hopes and busy schemes ; 
 It lives in all our blissful dreams, 
 
 And in our actions is confess'd. 
 
138 THE IRISH FAMINE OF 1848 AND 1849. 
 
 XIX. 
 But still most strange, while day by day 
 
 Improvement all our efforts cheers, 
 As yet no social change appears, 
 
 Moral advancement sends no ray ! 
 
 XX. 
 
 Beligious feuds, low faction-strife, 
 Corruption in its vilest form, 
 
 Falsehood and base deceit deform 
 The aspect of our public life ! 
 
 XXI. 
 O ! that at length would dawn the hour 
 
 When some redeeming, mighty wand, 
 Should crush these Scorpions of the land, 
 
 And blast for aye their noxious power ! 
 
 XXII. 
 Replacing them by self-respect, 
 
 Truth, Honor, and a Christian love, 
 Fraternal feeling high above 
 
 All narrow prejudice of sect ! 
 
 XXIII. 
 With earnest and unfaltering hope, 
 
 With perseverance calm and strong 
 To battle with each crying wrong, 
 
 And give the finer feelings scope ! 
 
THE IRISH FAMINE OF 1848 AND 1849. 139 
 
 XXIV. 
 Without these aids mere wealth can never 
 
 Make Nations prosperous and great, 
 Uplift them from their fallen state, 
 
 Nor e'en one link of thraldom sever ! 
 
ARROGANCE CONFOUNDED, 
 
 IN that mysterious time when flourish'd wide 
 
 Astrology, the Alchemist's black art, 
 
 And all occult, Satanic agencies, 
 
 There liv'd a youth with massive mind endow'd, 
 
 Within whose depths as in a priceless mine, 
 
 The horded, mental wealth of ages lay. 
 
 The bounteous soil that gladdens Earth's green 
 
 breast, 
 
 Was not more fecund than that teeming brain ; 
 And as its divers forms our Planet shows 
 While in their course the circling seasons roll, 
 Now rob'd in gorgeous Summer's rich attire, 
 Then in the gentle Autumn's russet garb, 
 Next in the Winter's icy garments clad ; 
 So did each phase of Heav'n-born genius shine 
 Whene'er the stripling turn'd the veil aside. 
 
AKKOGANCE CONFOUNDED. 141 
 
 As manhood ripen'd on his lofty brow, 
 Deep'ning the thoughtful shade that rested there, 
 For days and weeks communion would he hold 
 With some out- world, through fancy's medium 
 
 seen; 
 
 Some region intellectually bright, 
 Where all he sigh'd for met his eager view. 
 At length he seem'd to have defin'd a plan, 
 To work out which he labor 'd zealously ; 
 From morn until the silent midnight hour 
 His eye por'd o'er the work of many a sage, 
 His soul deep musing on their golden words, 
 Culling from thence full many a precious truth, 
 Like bee that sucks the honey from a rose ! 
 Anon, in Speculation's chariot borne, 
 Beyond all former bounds he featly flew ; 
 Philosophy had ne'er before appear'd 
 In such a brilliant garb, ne'er look'd so fair ! 
 The system perfected, all bow'd the knee 
 To this Antaeus of the realms of thought. 
 But scarce had triumph deck'd his beaming brow, 
 When Justice tore away its glitt'ring crown, 
 And all his hollow art lay forth expos'd ! 
 For he had sought to gain e'erlasting fame 
 Without the aid of the eternal God. 
 Nursing the climbing hope, poor vain weak man, 
 That on his finite pinions he might soar 
 Into the depths of dark infinity, 
 
142 ARROGANCE CONFOUNDED. 
 
 And bring its hidden knowledge forth to view. 
 
 Again Ambition urged him to essay 
 In other fields his sorely baffled power ; 
 And next the heav'nly zodiac is his theme, 
 'Tis his to sail along that sea of light 
 Swath'd in the silver glory of its stars ! 
 As though with prophet's garb endued, to tell 
 The unborn wonders of a future age, 
 And image faithfully each twinkling phase 
 Of all the lustrous stars that stud the sky 
 When generations shall have ceas'd to be ! 
 Of no avail was all this potent art 
 To this high-vaulting youth, unless the power 
 Should seem the giant offspring of his mind, 
 Owing no homage to another throne ! 
 For this his soul most ardently did yearn 
 Through the long watches of the wintry nights ; 
 For this to tension rare he strung his brain 
 When the hot Solstice crack'd the thirsty earth. 
 For this he labor'd, and in this he fail'd ! 
 Fail'd at the time success appear'd most sure, 
 When all assembled to applaud his skill, 
 And not to triumph was a curse indeed ! 
 Colossal minds might bow beneath the weight 
 Of two defeats, so mark'd, and keen as these. 
 But yet this haughty spirit did not yield, 
 Nor in his wisdom did his Maker crush 
 
ARROGANCE CONFOUNDED. 143 
 
 His impious efforts ere they reached their full. 
 
 A Poet now, his fancy fills the earth, 
 And peoples space itself with myriad charms ! 
 He gives fresh splendor to the kingly Sun, 
 He clads the smiling plains in richer dress, 
 The ancient hills with novel hues he dowers ! 
 His honey'd words fall on the tranced ear 
 Like heav'nly manna on the desert plain, 
 His winged thoughts soar proudly from the earth, 
 Claiming near kindred with a loftier sphere, 
 Brimful of aspirations grand, of hopes 
 Ethereal, marshalling the upward way, 
 Inviting man to leave his grovelling slough, 
 And with the spirits pure high converse hold. 
 Pointing the paths by which he must ascend, 
 And flinging radiance o'er their pleasant tracks. 
 Like a strong flood his peerless eloquence 
 Bears all hefore it in its matchless force, 
 And never was the prize so near his grasp 
 Since first Amhition goaded him as now ! 
 But he who makes each shining orb to roll, 
 And keeps them moving in their proper spheres, 
 His wicked purpose seeing at a glance, 
 Deem'd the time come to crush the worm for aye. 
 And as the goal which gladden'd all his heart 
 Glowingly loom'd before his anxious soul, 
 The King of Kings drew forth his flaming sword, 
 And laid the proud blasphemer low in death ! 
 
144 ARROGANCE CONFOUNDED. 
 
 Apt lesson this for Folly's shallow brood, 
 That moon-struck band whose half defin'd conceits 
 Set wild our brains until we deem we rave. 
 'Twere well for them, and for their gaping train 
 To accept of this example as a proof 
 That nought avail^that is not trac'd from God, 
 That finds not anchorage in His holy laws ! 
 How poor the aspiring vanity of man ! 
 How weak his efforts, when they do not spring 
 From minds subservient to the eternal power ! 
 O silly mortals ! ye are ne'er so great 
 As when in lowly rev'rence to your Lord, 
 Ye use the noble gifts he gave to ye, 
 To sound in glowing strains His hallow'd might, 
 To chant His mighty praise in loudest voice, 
 Calling all earthly things to swell the song, 
 Till all the world re-echoes with the name ! 
 This is the field in which to seek for fame, 
 Fame of the real, and perennial kind ; 
 No fleeting shadow, joy ephemeral, 
 But such as won by you upon the earth, 
 Shall light your brows with Christ's own smile in 
 heav'n ! 
 
THE BANSHEE. 
 
 BY Comb's banks a bleak, lone hill ascends, 
 Which breeds the blinding fog, and driving mist ; 
 Upon its brow a bald stone meets the eye, 
 With creeping lichen, and white moss o'ergrown. 
 On summer eves when low the sinking Sun 
 Is seen descending to his ocean bed, 
 Lighting the whole hill top with fiery beam, 
 An ancient hag is oft-times seen to sit 
 On this grey stone, and place her wither'd arms 
 Upon her bony knees, supporting thus 
 On yellow hands, a face with wrinkles seam'd. 
 Hair like the mountain Badger's, grey, but long, 
 Falls loosely down in wiry, twisted locks. 
 From her bent shoulders hangs a tatter'd cloak 
 Which drapes but scantily her spectral frame. 
 Anon she moves her pale and bloodless lips, 
 And from her bosom sends forth a sad wail, 
 
 L 
 
146 THE BANSHEE. 
 
 Which shrilly piercing, shocks the echoes round. 
 This is the Banshee ! She whom children fear ; 
 And when amid their rosy play is heard 
 This piteous moan, each flushing cheek grows 
 
 pale, 
 
 The joyous game is done, and tiny feet 
 Seek with their utmost speed the cabin door. 
 Both old and young abhor the mournful dirge, 
 For well 'tis known whene'er the affrighted wind 
 Conveys the dismal tones to human ear 
 The hearer's death, or one of kin is nigh ! 
 All shun a meeting with this haggard crone, 
 And weird and awful doth she truly seem 
 When on some wintry night the rising moon 
 Appearing fitful through the storm-driven clouds, 
 Eeveals her ghastly presence on the heath ! 
 The sudden flashing of her wild, dark eye, 
 Her uncouth gestures, and her grief so strange, 
 The black locks waving in the angry gale, 
 The unearthly cry that drowns the tempest's moan, 
 All freeze the blood within the gazer's heart 
 Safe, if his life be left to tell the tale ! 
 
A REMEMBRANCE OF THE RHINE.. 
 
 i. 
 
 O STKEAM ! around whose magic name 
 Such mystic fascinations glide, 
 
 What tales of glory and of crime 
 Done by thy hanks in olden time, 
 
 Our calmly deep attention claim 
 While floating on thy silver tide ! 
 
 II. 
 
 Not thine alone the noble dower 
 Of grandeur and of beauty rare, 
 
 Full many a ruin'd castle, grey, 
 Hoar relics of a mighty day, 
 
 Telling of lawless chieftain's power 
 
 And rapine's uncheck'd sway are there ! 
 
 L 2 
 
148 A REMEMBRANCE OF THE RHINE. 
 
 III. 
 
 Tradition weaves around their walls 
 Pictures of feuds, and bloody frays, 
 
 Where Horror's ghastly train appear'd, 
 And Murder's treach'rous form was rear'd 
 
 Within those ivy-cover'd halls, 
 
 Where now the peaceful heifer strays ! 
 
 IV. 
 
 But yet a charm than these more bright 
 Hovers above thy sparkling flood, 
 
 And casts an air of sweet romance 
 Where 'er around we turn a glance, 
 
 Filling the soul with rich delight, 
 
 Which courses through the bounding blood! 
 
 V. 
 
 For when we gaze upon thy wave, 
 Or watch the sloping hills on shore, 
 
 The tranced mind, Chivalry ! 
 Beholds an image fair of thee, 
 
 And seems to see thee leave thy grave, 
 And proudly walk the earth once more ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 As when of old fair Gallia's sons 
 With thy ethereal spirit glow'd, 
 
A REMEMBRANCE OF THE RHINE. 149 
 
 And Bayard's valour shone a star 
 
 Whose lustrous ray ennobl'd war, 
 And suhtle Charles march'd his Huns 
 
 To fields where blood in rivers flow'd ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Or even when the fiery Dane 
 
 On Lutzen's flats resign'd his life, 
 
 Ere steel to steel their darling hope, 
 Proud Pappenheim and he could cope ; 
 
 He who on many a crimson'd plain 
 Had vanquish'd Wallenstein in strife ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 When brave Turenne, and Conde led 
 With daring skill their gallant bands, 
 
 And many a deed to glory gave 
 Upon the soil, thy waters lave ! 
 
 Till Carnage wav'd her banner red 
 O'er all the war-resounding lands ! 
 
 IX- 
 
 Thy form as then is imag'd clear, 
 
 Upon thy helm hangs down the plume, 
 
 Thy shield and burnish'd buckler's sheen, 
 In all their awful light are seen, 
 
 As when thou mad'st the base to fear, 
 
 And cloth'd the tyrant's brow with gloom ! 
 
150 A REMEMBRANCE OF THE RHINE. 
 
 X. 
 
 As when the hearts of men thou fill'd 
 With noble impulse, heav'nly fire, 
 
 For Honor's laws undying love, 
 And Mercy gave them from above, 
 
 Each gen'rous feeling deep instill'd 
 Which hero bosoms could inspire ! 
 
 XI. 
 
 When through the willing homage paid 
 
 By thee to lovely womankind, 
 Our nature felt the exalted flame, 
 
 Our fierce rough life transform'd became, 
 Till e'en the battle scene display'd 
 
 The courteous acts of minds refin'd ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 But vain deceit ! thy face is cold, 
 Thy form again will not appear, 
 
 That arm of might ! that front of light ! 
 Will ne'er appal the oppressor's sight, 
 
 Nor will the injur'd fair behold 
 
 The hand that dried her scalding tear ! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 The earth has lost that precious gem 
 Which whilom blaz'd with beams divine, 
 
A REMEMBRANCE OF THE RHINE. 151 
 
 And from grim War that charm alone 
 Which grac'd its savage deeds hath flown, 
 
 That charm which every force could stem, 
 Which made defeat itself to shine ! 
 
 XIV. 
 No more in mail, on prancing steed 
 
 To fight for maiden innocence, 
 Do Knights with lightning speed advance, 
 
 And hurl with skill the tapering lance ! 
 For sordid riches now they bleed, 
 
 But not in Woman's proud defence ! 
 
 XV. 
 Koll on thy course, princely stream, 
 
 Through all this fair, delightful land ! 
 And though chivalric days are fled, 
 
 And all their pride and glory sped, 
 Yet still upon thy breast we dream 
 
 Of the bright Goddess and her band ! 
 
 XVI. 
 
 And thank thee, dear romantic Ehine ! 
 
 Thy crumbling tow'rs, thy storied plains, 
 For giving us the clue to track 
 
 And bring the buried ages back ; 
 And may that power be ever thine 
 
 While feeling in the heart remains ! 
 
152 A BEMEMBEANCE OF THE KHINE. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 That so of gold the wretched greed, 
 
 The selfish hopes our breasts that swell 
 
 May as thy scenes the past recall, 
 
 Be held repress 'd, he hound in thrall ; 
 
 While triumph proudly in their stead 
 
 Such thoughts as in the soul should dwell ! 
 
CAWNPOEE, 
 
 i. 
 
 BRAVE Sons of our Isles ! at Cawnpore's bloody 
 
 name 
 
 Let Kevenge in your bosoms light up its red flame ; 
 Steel with courage your hearts, nerve your arms 
 
 with might, 
 Keep the slaughter'd of Oude in your memories 
 
 bright ! 
 
 IL 
 
 By all that is holy and priz'd on the earth, 
 By the throes of your Mothers in giving ye birth, 
 By each strong tie of Nature throw scabbards away 
 And let your souls yearn for the charms of the 
 
 fray! 
 
 III. 
 
 Ye Fathers ! whose children climb up at the knee, 
 Ye Brothers ! who have known what a Sister 
 can be, 
 
154 CAWNPOBE. 
 
 Ye Husbands ! who deem the fair fame of a Wife 
 More precious than riches, than glory, than life. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Ye who love the bright light of a Woman's soft eye, 
 Ye Men ! who to guard her would cheerfully die, 
 The voice of her wrongs rises up to the skies, 
 To avenge them gird tightly your swords at your 
 
 thighs ! 
 
 V. 
 In the name of the Babes ! of the dear, strangl'd 
 
 Maids ! 
 In the flesh of the Hell-Hounds go bury your 
 
 blades, 
 
 If mercy is call'd for, remember Cawnpore, 
 Its hair-matted walls, and its blood-spatter 'd floor ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 ! teach the assassins how they too can feel 
 When an Islander's arm directs the cold steel, 
 When the fires of wrath in his strain'd eye-balls 
 
 glow, 
 And brimful of vengeance he springs on his foe ! 
 
 VII. 
 
 Ye war not 'gainst Freedom, 'gainst Justice, and 
 
 Eight, 
 'Gainst Cowards, 'gainst Traitors, 'gainst Butchers 
 
 ye fight ! 
 
CAWNFORE. 155 
 
 In no age, in no clime, since the world began 
 Was the task of revenge render'd sweeter to Man ! 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Ye wish not the blood-thirsty Tiger to spare 
 When ye track the foul beast to his rock-guarded 
 
 lair, 
 
 Will he then who mankind, humanity loves, 
 Seek to spare the fell Fiends to whom Tigers are 
 
 Doves ? 
 
 IX. 
 Such were crime, and not mercy! will ye spare 
 
 their lives, 
 They whose arms have been bath'd in the blood of 
 
 your Wives, 
 Who have robb'd your fair Daughters of woman's 
 
 best prize, 
 Who have tortur'd your Children before your own 
 
 eyes ? 
 
 X. 
 
 no, by the bones in Cawnpore's gory well ! 
 By the shade of each dear, martyr'd angel who fell, 
 We swear to revenge every drop they have shed, 
 Till Oude's spreading meadows are putrid with 
 dead ! 
 
HAVELOCK, 
 
 HAVELOCK a word for thee ! thy name will yet 
 
 Inspire the verse of many a noble bard, 
 
 And not alone adorn History's page, 
 
 But shine for ever in immortal Song ! 
 
 An humble wreath is all that I can give, 
 
 Yet from the heart the cordial tribute springs, 
 
 As in a primal age the widow's mite ! 
 
 For many chiefs have swell'd the ode of praise, 
 
 Chanting the dazzling glory they have won 
 
 Embolden'd by Ambition's beck'ning hand, 
 
 Or by the promptings of full bloated pride ! 
 
 In other fields thy fame was sought and found, 
 
 In earth's most noble cause your spurs were gain'd, 
 
 Akin to Heav'n itself, Humanity ! 
 
 Like to the spirits of an elder day 
 
 Whose swords were drawn 'neath Honor's flag 
 
 alone, 
 
 Whose motto ever was, Defend, the weak 
 When strong in right, and threaten'd by its foes, 
 
HAVELOCK. 157 
 
 So does thy conduct show, so pure the sheen 
 That lights the coronal upon thy hrow ! 
 
 Can War's rich annals such example give 
 
 As thou didst furnish, when with dauntless soul 
 
 Through India wide you led your pigmy force, 
 
 Hewing at every step a path through foes ? 
 
 By Valor's might alone could myriad hosts 
 
 In terror fly hefore that hunch of men ; 
 
 But God was with thee on thy lightning march, 
 
 And all his Angels pointed thee thy way ! 
 
 Thou earn'd a rich reward, and it is thine, 
 
 The hearts of men, the -approving smile of Heav'n ! 
 
 No maid to whom thy pure renown is known 
 
 But softly hreathes her benison on thee ; 
 
 No parent hears thy honor'd name and fails 
 
 To invoke the Lord of all to give thee joy. 
 
 Thy deeds shall shine for ever on the earth 
 
 Bright as sweet moonlight on a summer sea ! 
 
 Feeding chivalric flame in every age ; 
 
 Like stars resplendent shedding lustre down 
 
 Through all the epochs of Futurity ! 
 
 But list ! thy death knell strikes upon the ear 
 And wets the Nation's cheek with hunting tears ! 
 This life thou hast resign'd to gain two more ; 
 One in the lustrous sphere of earthly fame ! 
 One in unfading realms of Light and Love ! 
 
THE MOUNTAIN ASH. 
 
 UPON the rugged mountain .side 
 
 When rosy Spring breathes all her charms, 
 What meets the eye in leafy pride ? 
 The Mountain Ash ! 
 
 II. 
 
 And when the Summer brings its bloom, 
 
 And all the heather crimsons o'er, 
 What crowns the whole with verdant plume ? 
 The Mountain Ash ! 
 
 III. 
 
 When gentle Autumn lifts her head 
 
 What brightest shines along the hills, 
 Who owns those glossy berries red ? 
 The Mountain Ash ! 
 
THE MOUNTAIN ASH. 150 
 
 IV. 
 
 When Winter comes with wrinkl'd front 
 
 And clads the Mountain peaks in snow, 
 What scatheless bears the tempests' brunt ? 
 The Mountain Ash ! 
 
 V. 
 
 Throughout our island wide what tree 
 
 The noblest lesson gives to Man, 
 Paints best the form of Liberty ? 
 The Mountain Ash ! 
 
ART MACMUBBOUGR () 
 
 How deep Vanessa's graceful willows lave 
 Their pensive branches in the Liffey's wave ! 
 Sobbing in secret sorrow o'er that stream 
 Where youthful Grattan dream'd his bright day 
 
 dream, 
 
 And from the boldness of its foaming course 
 First caught the vigor of his giant force ! 
 But not for Grattan only does the breeze 
 Convey the dirges of these plaintive trees, 
 Or sympathizing Liffey murmur low 
 Her simple accents of unfeigned woe. 
 They mourn the chief who by those grassy banks 
 Burst the stern phalanx of the stranger's ranks, 
 And forc'd their vaunting warriors to reel 
 Beneath the vengeful flashing of his steel ! 
 The Chief whom neither force, nor bribe, nor wile 
 Could from his manly majesty beguile ; 
 
ART MACMUKROUGH. 161 
 
 The brave MacMurrough ! noblest ever trod 
 The em 'raid surface of our fragrant sod, 
 The mightiest chieftain Erin's Isle could boast, 
 The scourge and terror of the English host ! 
 
 By the vex'd waters of the LifFey's flood 
 
 In olden times a lordly castle stood ; 
 
 Eais'd by the Norman Chieftains of the pale, 
 
 Its firm-set turrets dar'd the winter's gale, 
 
 And, sternly proud, upon the landscape frown'd 
 
 Like haughty rivals of the mountains round. 
 
 But though this fortress was a goodly view 
 
 When wintry winds adown the valleys blew, 
 
 More lovely far in Autumn's mellow light 
 
 Burstvits hoar presence on the gazer's sight ; 
 
 When glowing sunset softly interweaves 
 
 Its rainbow textures through the dying leaves, 
 
 Whose brilliant hues a magic charm impart, 
 
 Mocking the skill of emulative art ! 
 
 One eve like this the castle's stately hall 
 
 Blaz'd in the lustre of a festival, 
 
 Streams the red torch from bastion, tower, and 
 
 keep, 
 
 Scaring the night-bird from its lonely sleep, 
 The Harp's soft rapture, and the Lute's sweet thrill, 
 Sweep through the vale, and vibrate on the hill. 
 Why streams the torch, why echoes music's peal 
 Where late resounded the sharp din of steel ? 
 
162 ART MACMURROUGH. 
 
 Why ring the notes of wassail high and clear, 
 Where nought but war-song smote the peasant's 
 
 ear? 
 
 The answer list ! To night at festive board 
 King Art MacMurrough meets the English Lord ! 
 Since neither gold nor valor can restrain 
 The Chiefs wild daring, nor his homage gain, 
 And since the hardy soldier will not yield 
 To foes in council, or to foes in field, 
 The English Baron courteous to his name, 
 Loving a hero for a hero's fame, 
 Tenders the friendly hand ! His knightly word 
 Is pledg'd to sheathe again the hostile sword, 
 And give to Leinster what he own'd before 
 A Norman footstep trod his fertile shore ; 
 Hence King MacMurrough and the English lord 
 Shake hands this night across the festive board ! 
 
 But lo ! the lamps upon the drawbridge shine, 
 
 And either pathway burly Warders line, 
 
 He comes ! MacMurrough comes ! no train, no 
 
 guide, 
 
 Save ancient Harper tottering at his side ! 
 For some who old in honor's paths have grown, 
 Deem other hearts as noble as their own ! 
 And he who saw that chief, his candid air, 
 The massive brow, the man imprinted there, 
 Where warlike roughness, with meek peace com- 
 
 bin'd 
 
ART MACMURROUGH. 163 
 
 The Soldier's daring, and the Statesman's mind, 
 Would own that Honesty, and regal grace, 
 Were well embodied in that Celtic face '. 
 
 Now loud and louder does the trumpet call 
 Summon the Chieftains to the festive hall, 
 Bright beams the bogwood on the blazing hearth 
 Rings the oak-roof 'neath minstrelsy and mirth 
 The wine cup reddens with the juice of Spain, 
 Joy and content above the banquet reign. 
 High on a bench above that princely feast 
 The Norman noble eyes his warrior guest, 
 Swift at his mandate all the rev'llers stand, 
 He gx^sps MacMurrough with his jewell'd hand. 
 But list ! Whence comes, what means this thril- 
 ling lay, 
 
 Meeter for Battle than for Banquet gay ? 
 Well doth MacMurrough know from whence arise 
 Those fiery notes of terror and surprise, 
 And glancing round, in accents loud and stern, 
 He chides his aged but incautious Kern ! 
 
 Hush'd is the harp, again the feast is lit 
 With blaze of humour and with beams of wit, 
 The enchanter Pleasure gladdens every soul, 
 Basks in the smile, and sparkles in the bowl! 
 But hark, in accents tremulously grand, 
 T he harp notes quiver in the Minstrel's hand ! 
 
164 ART MACMURROUGH. 
 
 By heav'ns ! King Art MacMurrough's dread 
 
 war-song, 
 
 Rosg-Catha ! Catha ! bursts and rolls along ! 
 And while his ancient fingers sweep the lyre, 
 The Harper's eyeballs burn with liquid fire ! 
 Well may the Norman's color come and go, 
 Well may that damp chill sit on every brow ! 
 For oft the stranger hosts have turn'd to fly, 
 When loud upon the breeze was heard that cry ; 
 And oft hftve Leinster's warriors gain'd the day, 
 By the dread chanting of their Rosg Catha ! 
 Again MacMurrough turns, again he chides 
 The strain, but quickly o'er his visage glides 
 A flush, as though at length the cause he guess'd, 
 Which fill'd with fears his faithful Minstrel's 
 
 breast. 
 
 Seated hard by a window that survey'd 
 The castle parks, the grove, the hill, the glade, 
 MacMurrough's servant, with that watchful care 
 Which marks the man of years and hoary hair, 
 Looks on the feast ; his eye, that takes in all, 
 Wanders alike on things both great and small ; 
 Some dubious sounds had rous'd his latent fear, 
 Some hurried words had caught his eager ear, 
 And thus, (too far for gesture, or for word,) 
 He struck his harp as warning to his lord ! 
 
 And now again those joyous rev'llers stand, 
 Once more the Norman grasps MacMurrough's 
 hand, 
 
AET MACMURROUGH. 165 
 
 But while his guest's health trembles on his 
 
 tongue 
 
 The Minstrel's harp, as if with thunder strung, 
 Peals forth again that wild and fearful lay, 
 Eosg Catha, Catha, Catha, Eosg Catha ! 
 From out the window the old man had seen 
 Some troops of horse careering o'er the green ; 
 They reach the castle, and with sword in hand, 
 Surround the walls in firm and serried hand. 
 By danger rous'd, the Harper's fingers stray, 
 And o'er the harp-strings loud and louder play ; 
 Like the dread din when myriad sabres clash, 
 Like the fell boom when parks of cannon flash, 
 Lite-a strong earthquake bellowing at its birth, 
 So did Eosg Catha send its dread notes forth ! 
 Fear not, old Bard ! thy chief hath now divin'd 
 The deadly fear which agitates thy mind ; 
 With sadden'd gaze his eyes those strangers scan, 
 Those eyes that weep for Man, perfidious Man ! 
 One gaze they give, one gaze, and one alone, 
 Then from its sheath his trusty weapon shone ; 
 The courtly smile is past ! like fierce wolf hound, 
 That waits in ambush for a vigorous bound, 
 He stands, now forward leaps, shouts Eosg Catha! 
 Eeels one stout foeman 'neath his broad sword's 
 
 sway; 
 
 Another and another swell the heap, 
 No mortal power can stem that arm's strong 
 
 sweep, 
 
166 ART MACMUREOUGH. 
 
 His sword, a bloody Prophet, tells of doom, 
 And every flash is Lightning o'er a tomb ! 
 In vain the threats and frenzy of his foe, 
 That giant arm deals fatal blow on blow, 
 And as the meadows bend their tender heads 
 When the strong west wind o'er their light stalks 
 
 spreads, 
 
 Or as dark flocks of starlings seek the brake 
 When the keen blue-hawk follows in their wake, 
 So do his foes, corpse pressing upon corpse, 
 Fly from his ire, or perish 'neath its force. 
 He gains the portal with his faithful Bard, 
 He whirls aloft his life-devouring sword, 
 No horseman waits to feel MacMurrough's blade, 
 Their frighten'd chargers scamper o'er the mead, 
 In one wide bound he gains the outer wall, 
 And stalks indignant from that treach'rous hall. ! 
 
NOTE TO "ABT MACMUKBOUGH." 
 
 (a) The following extracts, which originated the pre. 
 ceding piece, are taken from the Life of "Art Mac- 
 Murrough," by Thomas Darcy Magee ; a histoiy which 
 formed one of that gentleman's contributions to Duffy's 
 '' Library of Ireland." 
 
 " Before the borders of * the pale,' however, could be 
 effectually enlarged and secured, it was necessary to try 
 if King Art could not be got into the power of the wise 
 
 men They invited him to a feast at the castle 
 
 of ^e of their number The King came, at- 
 tended only by his inseparable minstrel. 
 
 " MacMurrough in his hand his sword 
 And on his lip the courteous word." * 
 
 All without the castle spoke peace all within, cor- 
 diality. The flower of the Saxon chivalry were there 
 and he who had beaten their hosts in the field, was re- 
 solved not to be vanquished in the courtesies of the 
 banquet. The table was laid upon the dais fresh rushes 
 were spread upon the hall the " dresser," blazoned with 
 plate shone at the back of the host. The flesh of deer 
 and swine, of wild geese and cranes, favourite dishes of 
 the country, crowded the board. Foreign wine with the 
 hue of the roseate eastern sun abounded, and usque- 
 baugh tempered with fennel-seeds and honey, stood in 
 
 * " Bride of Imael." 
 
168 NOTE TO "ART MACMUEROUGH." 
 
 flagons on every hand. The ornamental ship laden with 
 spices perfumed the hall. Now the King's harper was 
 famous throughout all Leinster for his powers, and the 
 Saxon lords were anxious to hear his melodious per- 
 formance. His master requested him to play them some 
 strain of love or mirth, suited to the hour. He prepared 
 to comply, but, whether in reaching for his harp or in 
 changing his attitude, he saw from a window of the castle 
 that it was being gradually surrounded by armed men. 
 He seized the instrument and struck the thrilling notes 
 of the Eosg Catha, or Battle Song. The unsuspecting 
 King chid him for this breach of propriety, and he feigned 
 td change the air, but again,- sterner and wilder than 
 before, the battle song swept over the strings. Suspicion 
 like an electric blaze broke upon the mind of Art ; he 
 walked to the window and beheld his peril. His whole 
 form and countenance changed. That terrible fierceness 
 which struck so forcibly the attention of one whose au- 
 thority we will by-and-bye have to quote, came over him. 
 He seized his trusty sword, his shield, and his casque. 
 The treacherous guests stood appalled at the premature 
 discovery of their plot, and in their confusion he passed 
 unopposed from the banquet-room. They called aloud 
 on the armed men without to seize him, but "by the 
 strength of his hand and his bravery "* he escaped from 
 them, bringing safely away with him his faithful harper. 
 
 * Annals of the Four Masters. 
 THE END. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 Printed by Gr. J. Palmer, Lamb's Conduit Street. 
 
810276 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY