 | Lays of the Western Gael, and Other Poems |  |
47
LAYS OF THE WESTERN GAEL
THE BURIAL OF KING CORMAC.
[_]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. Cormac, son of Art, son of Con Cead-Catha. enjoyed the sovereignty of Ireland through the prolonged period of forty years, commencing from A.D. 213. During the latter part of his reign he resided at Sletty on the Boyne, being, it is said, disqualified for the occupation of Tara by the personal blemish he had sustained in the loss of an eye, by the hand of Angus “Dread-Spear,” chief of the Desi, a tribe whose original seats were in the barony of Deece, in the county of Meath. It was in the time of Cormac and his son Carbre, if we are to credit the Irish Annals, that Fin, son of Comhal, and the Fenian heroes, celebrated by Ossian, flourished. Cormac has obtained the reputation of wisdom and learning, and appears justly entitled to the honour of having provoked the enmity of the Pagan priesthood, by declaring his faith in a God not made by hands of men.
Crom Cruach and his sub-gods twelve,”
Said Cormac, “are but carven treene;
The axe that made them, haft or helve,
Had worthier of our worship been.
Said Cormac, “are but carven treene;
The axe that made them, haft or helve,
Had worthier of our worship been.
“But he who made the tree to grow,
And hid in earth the iron-stone,
And made the man with mind to know,
The axe's use, is God alone.”
And hid in earth the iron-stone,
And made the man with mind to know,
The axe's use, is God alone.”
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Anon to priests of Crom was brought—
Where, girded in their service dread,
They minister'd on red Moy Slaught—
Word of the words King Cormac said.
Where, girded in their service dread,
They minister'd on red Moy Slaught—
Word of the words King Cormac said.
They loosed their curse against the king;
They cursed him in his flesh and bones;
And daily in their mystic ring
They turned the maledictive stones,
They cursed him in his flesh and bones;
And daily in their mystic ring
They turned the maledictive stones,
Till, where at meat the monarch sate,
Amid the revel and the wine,
He choked upon the food he ate,
At Sletty, southward of the Boyne.
Amid the revel and the wine,
He choked upon the food he ate,
At Sletty, southward of the Boyne.
High vaunted then the priestly throng,
And far and wide they noised abroad
With trump and loud liturgic song
The praise of their avenging God.
And far and wide they noised abroad
With trump and loud liturgic song
The praise of their avenging God.
But ere the voice was wholly spent
That priest and prince should still obey,
To awed attendants o'er him bent
Great Cormac gather'd breath to say,—
That priest and prince should still obey,
To awed attendants o'er him bent
Great Cormac gather'd breath to say,—
“Spread not the beds of Brugh for me
When restless death-bed's use is done:
But bury me at Rossnaree
And face me to the rising sun.
When restless death-bed's use is done:
But bury me at Rossnaree
And face me to the rising sun.
“For all the kings who lie in Brugh
Put trust in gods of wood and stone;
And 'twas at Ross that first I knew
One, Unseen, who is God alone.
Put trust in gods of wood and stone;
And 'twas at Ross that first I knew
One, Unseen, who is God alone.
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“His glory lightens from the east;
His message soon shall reach our shore;
And idol-god and cursing priest
Shall plague us from Moy Slaught no more.”
His message soon shall reach our shore;
And idol-god and cursing priest
Shall plague us from Moy Slaught no more.”
Dead Cormac on his bier they laid:—
“He reign'd a king for forty years,
And shame it were,” his captains said,
“He lay not with his royal peers.
“He reign'd a king for forty years,
And shame it were,” his captains said,
“He lay not with his royal peers.
“His grandsire, Hundred-Battle, sleeps
Serene in Brugh: and, all around,
Dead kings in stone sepulchral keeps
Protect the sacred burial ground.
Serene in Brugh: and, all around,
Dead kings in stone sepulchral keeps
Protect the sacred burial ground.
“What though a dying man should rave
Of changes o'er the eastern sea?
In Brugh of Boyne shall be his grave,
And not in noteless Rossnaree.”
Of changes o'er the eastern sea?
In Brugh of Boyne shall be his grave,
And not in noteless Rossnaree.”
There northward forth they bore the bier,
And down from Sletty side they drew,
With horseman and with charioteer,
To cross the fords of Boyne to Brugh.
And down from Sletty side they drew,
With horseman and with charioteer,
To cross the fords of Boyne to Brugh.
There came a breath of finer air
That touched the Boyne with ruffling wings,
It stirr'd him in his sedgy lair
And in his mossy moorland springs.
That touched the Boyne with ruffling wings,
It stirr'd him in his sedgy lair
And in his mossy moorland springs.
And as the burial train came down
With dirge and savage dolorous shows,
Across their pathway, broad and brown
The deep, full-hearted river rose;
With dirge and savage dolorous shows,
Across their pathway, broad and brown
The deep, full-hearted river rose;
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From bank to bank through all his fords,
'Neath blackening squalls he swell'd and boil'd;
And thrice the wondering gentile lords
Essay'd to cross, and thrice recoil'd.
'Neath blackening squalls he swell'd and boil'd;
And thrice the wondering gentile lords
Essay'd to cross, and thrice recoil'd.
Then forth stepp'd grey-hair'd warriors four:
They said, “Through angrier floods than these,
On link'd shields once our king we bore
From Dread-Spear and the hosts of Deece.
They said, “Through angrier floods than these,
On link'd shields once our king we bore
From Dread-Spear and the hosts of Deece.
“And long as loyal will holds good,
And limbs respond with helpful thews,
Nor flood, nor fiend within the flood,
Shall bar him of his burial dues.”
And limbs respond with helpful thews,
Nor flood, nor fiend within the flood,
Shall bar him of his burial dues.”
With slanted necks they stoop'd to lift;
They heaved him up to neck and chin;
And, pair and pair, with footsteps swift,
Lock'd arm and shoulder, bore him in.
They heaved him up to neck and chin;
And, pair and pair, with footsteps swift,
Lock'd arm and shoulder, bore him in.
'Twas brave to see them leave the shore;
To mark the deep'ning surges rise,
And fall subdued in foam before
The tension of their striding thighs.
To mark the deep'ning surges rise,
And fall subdued in foam before
The tension of their striding thighs.
'Twas brave, when now a spear-cast out,
Breast-high the battling surges ran;
For weight was great, and limbs were stout,
And loyal man put trust in man.
Breast-high the battling surges ran;
For weight was great, and limbs were stout,
And loyal man put trust in man.
But ere they reach'd the middle deep,
Nor steadying weight of clay they bore,
Nor strain of sinewy limbs could keep
Their feet beneath the swerving four.
Nor steadying weight of clay they bore,
Nor strain of sinewy limbs could keep
Their feet beneath the swerving four.
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And now they slide, and now they swim,
And now, amid the blackening squall,
Grey locks afloat, with clutchings grim,
They plunge around the floating pall.
And now, amid the blackening squall,
Grey locks afloat, with clutchings grim,
They plunge around the floating pall.
While, as a youth with practised spear
Through justling crowds bears off the ring,
Boyne from their shoulders caught the bier
And proudly bore away the king.
Through justling crowds bears off the ring,
Boyne from their shoulders caught the bier
And proudly bore away the king.
At morning, on the grassy marge
Of Rossnaree, the corpse was found,
And shepherds at their early charge
Entomb'd it in the peaceful ground.
Of Rossnaree, the corpse was found,
And shepherds at their early charge
Entomb'd it in the peaceful ground.
A tranquil spot: a hopeful sound
Comes from the ever youthful stream,
And still on daisied mead and mound
The dawn delays with tenderer beam.
Comes from the ever youthful stream,
And still on daisied mead and mound
The dawn delays with tenderer beam.
Round Cormac Spring renews her buds:
In march perpetual by his side,
Down come the earth-fresh April floods,
And up the sea-fresh salmon glide;
In march perpetual by his side,
Down come the earth-fresh April floods,
And up the sea-fresh salmon glide;
And life and time rejoicing run
From age to age their wonted way;
But still he waits the risen Sun,
For still 'tis only dawning Day.
From age to age their wonted way;
But still he waits the risen Sun,
For still 'tis only dawning Day.
59
THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLEY.
[_]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. Several Welsh Families, associates in the invasion of Strongbow, settled in the west of Ireland. Of these, the principal whose names have been preserved by the Irish antiquarians were the Walshes, Joyces, Heils (a quibus Mac Hale), Lawlesses, Tomlyns, Lynotts, and Barretts, which last draw their pedigree from Walynes, son of Guyndally, the Ard Maor, or High Steward of the Lordship of Camelot, and had their chief seats in the territory of the two Bacs, in the barony of Tirawley, and County of Mayo. Clochan-na-n'all, i.e., “the Blind Men's Stepping-stones,” are still pointed out on the Duvowen river, about four miles north of Crossmolina, in the townland of Garranard; and Tubber-na-Scorney, or “Scrag's Well,” in the opposite townland of Carns, in the same barony. For a curious terrier or applotment of the Mac William's revenue, as acquired under the circumstances stated in the legend preserved by Mac Firbis, see Dr. O'Donovan's highly-learned and interesting “Genealogies, &c. of Hy Fiachrach,” in the publications of the Irish Archæological Society—a great monument of antiquarian and topographical erudition.
Scorna boy, the Barretts' bailiff, lewd and lame,
To lift the Lynotts' taxes when he came,
Rudely drew a young maid to him;
Then the Lynotts rose and slew him,
And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him—
Small your blame,
Sons of Lynott!
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
To lift the Lynotts' taxes when he came,
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Then the Lynotts rose and slew him,
And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him—
Small your blame,
Sons of Lynott!
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Then the Barretts to the Lynotts proposed a choice,
Saying, “Hear, ye murderous brood, men and boys,
For this deed to-day ye lose
Sight or manhood: say and choose
Which ye keep and which refuse;
And rejoice
That our mercy
Leaves you living for a warning to Tirawley.”
Saying, “Hear, ye murderous brood, men and boys,
For this deed to-day ye lose
Sight or manhood: say and choose
Which ye keep and which refuse;
And rejoice
That our mercy
Leaves you living for a warning to Tirawley.”
Then the little boys of the Lynotts, weeping, said,
“Only leave us our eyesight in our head,”
But the bearded Lynotts then
Made answer back again,
“Take our eyes, but leave us men,
Alive or dead,
Sons of Wattin!”
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
“Only leave us our eyesight in our head,”
But the bearded Lynotts then
Made answer back again,
“Take our eyes, but leave us men,
Alive or dead,
Sons of Wattin!”
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
So the Barretts, with sewing-needles sharp and smooth,
Let the light out of the eyes of every youth,
And of every bearded man
Of the broken Lynott clan;
Then their darken'd faces wan
Turning south
To the river—
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Let the light out of the eyes of every youth,
And of every bearded man
Of the broken Lynott clan;
Then their darken'd faces wan
Turning south
To the river—
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
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O'er the slippery stepping-stones of Clochan-na-n'all
They drove them, laughing loud at every fall,
As their wandering footsteps dark
Fail'd to reach the slippery mark,
And the swift stream swallow'd stark,
One and all,
As they stumbled—
From the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
They drove them, laughing loud at every fall,
As their wandering footsteps dark
Fail'd to reach the slippery mark,
And the swift stream swallow'd stark,
One and all,
As they stumbled—
From the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Of all the blinded Lynotts one alone
Walk'd erect from stepping-stone to stone:
So back again they brought you,
And a second time they wrought you
With their needles; but never got you
Once to groan,
Emon Lynott,
For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Walk'd erect from stepping-stone to stone:
So back again they brought you,
And a second time they wrought you
With their needles; but never got you
Once to groan,
Emon Lynott,
For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
But with prompt-projected footsteps sure as ever,
Emon Lynott again cross'd the river.
Though Duvowen was rising fast,
And the shaking stones o'ercast
By cold floods boiling past;
Yet you never,
Emon Lynott,
Faltered once before your foemen of Tirawley!
Emon Lynott again cross'd the river.
Though Duvowen was rising fast,
And the shaking stones o'ercast
By cold floods boiling past;
Yet you never,
Emon Lynott,
Faltered once before your foemen of Tirawley!
But, turning on Ballintubber bank, you stood,
And the Barretts thus bespoke o'er the flood—
“Oh, ye foolish sons of Wattin,
Small amends are these you've gotten,
For, while Scorna Boy lies rotten,
I am good
For vengeance!”
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
And the Barretts thus bespoke o'er the flood—
“Oh, ye foolish sons of Wattin,
Small amends are these you've gotten,
For, while Scorna Boy lies rotten,
I am good
For vengeance!”
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
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“For 'tis neither in eye nor eyesight that a man
Bears the fortunes of himself and his clan,
But in the manly mind,
These darken'd orbs behind,
That your needles could never find
Though they ran
Through my heart-strings!”
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Bears the fortunes of himself and his clan,
But in the manly mind,
These darken'd orbs behind,
That your needles could never find
Though they ran
Through my heart-strings!”
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
“But, little your women's needles do I reck:
For the night from heaven never fell so black,
But Tirawley, and abroad
From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod,
I could walk it, every sod,
Path and track,
Ford and togher,
Seeking vengeance on you, Barretts of Tirawley!
For the night from heaven never fell so black,
But Tirawley, and abroad
From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod,
I could walk it, every sod,
Path and track,
Ford and togher,
Seeking vengeance on you, Barretts of Tirawley!
“The night when Dathy O'Dowda broke your camp,
What Barrett among you was it held the lamp—
Show'd the way to those two feet,
When through wintry wind and sleet,
I guided your blind retreat
In the swamp
Of Beäl-an-asa?
O ye vengeance-destined ingrates of Tirawley!”
What Barrett among you was it held the lamp—
Show'd the way to those two feet,
When through wintry wind and sleet,
I guided your blind retreat
In the swamp
Of Beäl-an-asa?
O ye vengeance-destined ingrates of Tirawley!”
So leaving loud-shriek-echoing Garranard,
The Lynott like a red dog hunted hard,
With his wife and children seven,
'Mong the beasts and fowls of heaven
In the hollows of Glen Nephin,
Light-debarr'd
Made his dwelling,
Planning vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
The Lynott like a red dog hunted hard,
With his wife and children seven,
'Mong the beasts and fowls of heaven
In the hollows of Glen Nephin,
Light-debarr'd
Made his dwelling,
Planning vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
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And ere the bright-orb'd year its course had run,
On his brown round-knotted knee he nurs'd a son,
A child of light, with eyes
As clear as are the skies
In summer, when sunrise
Has begun;
So the Lynott
Nursed his vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
On his brown round-knotted knee he nurs'd a son,
A child of light, with eyes
As clear as are the skies
In summer, when sunrise
Has begun;
So the Lynott
Nursed his vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
And, as ever the bright boy grew in strength and size,
Made him perfect in each manly exercise,
The salmon in the flood,
The dun deer in the wood,
The eagle in the cloud
To surprise
On Ben Nephin,
Far above the foggy fields of Tirawley.
Made him perfect in each manly exercise,
The salmon in the flood,
The dun deer in the wood,
The eagle in the cloud
To surprise
On Ben Nephin,
Far above the foggy fields of Tirawley.
With the yellow-knotted spear-shaft, with the bow,
With the steel, prompt to deal shot and blow,
He taught him from year to year
And train'd him, without a peer,
For a perfect cavalier,
Hoping so—
Far his forethought—
For vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
With the steel, prompt to deal shot and blow,
He taught him from year to year
And train'd him, without a peer,
For a perfect cavalier,
Hoping so—
Far his forethought—
For vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.
And, when mounted on his proud-bounding steed,
Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed;
Like the ear upon the wheat
When winds in Autumn beat
On the bending stems, his seat;
And the speed
Of his courser
Was the wind from Barna-na-gee o'er Tirawley!
Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed;
Like the ear upon the wheat
When winds in Autumn beat
On the bending stems, his seat;
And the speed
Of his courser
Was the wind from Barna-na-gee o'er Tirawley!
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Now when fifteen sunny summers thus were spent,
(He perfected in all accomplishment)—
The Lynott said, “My child,
We are over long exiled
From mankind in this wild—
—Time we went
Through the mountain
To the countries lying over-against Tirawley.”
(He perfected in all accomplishment)—
The Lynott said, “My child,
We are over long exiled
From mankind in this wild—
—Time we went
Through the mountain
To the countries lying over-against Tirawley.”
So, out over mountain-moors, and mosses brown,
And green stream-gathering vales, they journey'd down;
Till, shining like a star,
Through the dusky gleams afar,
The bailey of Castlebar,
And the town
Of Mac William
Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley.
And green stream-gathering vales, they journey'd down;
Till, shining like a star,
Through the dusky gleams afar,
The bailey of Castlebar,
And the town
Of Mac William
Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley.
“Look southward, my boy, and tell me as we go,
What seest thou by the loch-head below.”
“Oh, a stone-house strong and great,
And a horse-host at the gate,
And their captain in armour of plate—
Grand the show!
Great the glancing!
High the heroes of this land below Tirawley!
What seest thou by the loch-head below.”
“Oh, a stone-house strong and great,
And a horse-host at the gate,
And their captain in armour of plate—
Grand the show!
Great the glancing!
High the heroes of this land below Tirawley!
“And a beautiful Woman-chief by his side,
Yellow gold on all her gown-sleeves wide;
And in her hand a pearl
Of a young, little, fair-hair'd girl.”—
Said the Lynott, “It is the Earl!
Let us ride
To his presence!”
And before him came the exiles of Tirawley.
Yellow gold on all her gown-sleeves wide;
And in her hand a pearl
Of a young, little, fair-hair'd girl.”—
Said the Lynott, “It is the Earl!
Let us ride
To his presence!”
And before him came the exiles of Tirawley.
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“God save thee, Mac William,” the Lynott thus began;
“God save all here besides of this clan;
For gossips dear to me
Are all in company—
For in these four bones ye see
A kindly man
Of the Britons—
Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley.
“God save all here besides of this clan;
For gossips dear to me
Are all in company—
For in these four bones ye see
A kindly man
Of the Britons—
Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley.
“And hither, as kindly gossip-law allows,
I come to claim a scion of thy house
To foster; for thy race,
Since William Conquer's days
Have ever been wont to place,
With some spouse
Of a Briton,
A Mac William Oge, to foster in Tirawley.
I come to claim a scion of thy house
To foster; for thy race,
Since William Conquer's days
Have ever been wont to place,
With some spouse
Of a Briton,
A Mac William Oge, to foster in Tirawley.
“And to show thee in what sort our youth are taught,
I have hither to thy home of valour brought
This one son of my age,
For a sample and a pledge
For the equal tutelage,
In right thought,
Word, and action,
Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley.”
I have hither to thy home of valour brought
This one son of my age,
For a sample and a pledge
For the equal tutelage,
In right thought,
Word, and action,
Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley.”
When Mac William beheld the brave boy ride and run,
Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spun—
With a sigh, and with a smile,
He said,—“I would give the spoil
Of a county, that Tibbot Moyle,
My own son,
Were accomplish'd
Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley.”
Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spun—
With a sigh, and with a smile,
He said,—“I would give the spoil
Of a county, that Tibbot Moyle,
My own son,
Were accomplish'd
Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley.”
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When the Lady Mac William she heard him speak,
And saw the ruddy roses on his cheek,
She said, “I would give a purse
Of red gold to the nurse
That would rear my Tibbot no worse;
But I seek
Hitherto vainly—
Heaven grant that I now have found her in Tirawley!”
And saw the ruddy roses on his cheek,
She said, “I would give a purse
Of red gold to the nurse
That would rear my Tibbot no worse;
But I seek
Hitherto vainly—
Heaven grant that I now have found her in Tirawley!”
So they said to the Lynott, “Here, take our bird!
And as pledge for the keeping of thy word,
Let this scion here remain
Till thou comest back again:
Mean while the fitting train
Of a lord
Shall attend thee
With the lordly heir of Connaught into Tirawley.”
And as pledge for the keeping of thy word,
Let this scion here remain
Till thou comest back again:
Mean while the fitting train
Of a lord
Shall attend thee
With the lordly heir of Connaught into Tirawley.”
So back to strong-throng-gathering Garranard,
Like a lord of the country with his guard,
Came the Lynott, before them all.
Once again over Clochan-na-n'all,
Steady-striding, erect, and tall,
And his ward
On his shoulders;
To the wonder of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Like a lord of the country with his guard,
Came the Lynott, before them all.
Once again over Clochan-na-n'all,
Steady-striding, erect, and tall,
And his ward
On his shoulders;
To the wonder of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Then a diligent foster-father you would deem
The Lynott, teaching Tibbot, by mead and stream,
To cast the spear, to ride,
To stem the rushing tide,
With what feats of body beside,
Might beseem
A Mac William,
Foster'd free among the Welshmen of Tirawley.
The Lynott, teaching Tibbot, by mead and stream,
To cast the spear, to ride,
To stem the rushing tide,
With what feats of body beside,
Might beseem
A Mac William,
Foster'd free among the Welshmen of Tirawley.
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But the lesson of hell he taught him in heart and mind;
For to what desire soever he inclined,
Of anger, lust, or pride,
He had it gratified,
Till he ranged the circle wide
Of a blind
Self-indulgence,
Ere he came to youthful manhood in Tirawley.
For to what desire soever he inclined,
Of anger, lust, or pride,
He had it gratified,
Till he ranged the circle wide
Of a blind
Self-indulgence,
Ere he came to youthful manhood in Tirawley.
Then, even as when a hunter slips a hound,
Lynott loosed him—God's leashes all unbound—
In the pride of power and station,
And the strength of youthful passion,
On the daughters of thy nation,
All around,
Wattin Barrett!
Oh! the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley!
Lynott loosed him—God's leashes all unbound—
In the pride of power and station,
And the strength of youthful passion,
On the daughters of thy nation,
All around,
Wattin Barrett!
Oh! the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley!
Bitter grief and burning anger, rage and shame,
Fill'd the houses of the Barretts where'er he came;
Till the young men of the Bac
Drew by night upon his track,
And slew him at Cornassack—
Small your blame,
Sons of Wattin!
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Fill'd the houses of the Barretts where'er he came;
Till the young men of the Bac
Drew by night upon his track,
And slew him at Cornassack—
Small your blame,
Sons of Wattin!
Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.
Said the Lynott, “The day of my vengeance is drawing near,
The day for which, through many a long dark year,
I have toil'd through grief and sin—
Call ye now the Brehons in,
And let the plea begin
Over the bier
Of Mac William,
For an eric upon the Barretts of Tirawley.
The day for which, through many a long dark year,
I have toil'd through grief and sin—
Call ye now the Brehons in,
And let the plea begin
Over the bier
Of Mac William,
For an eric upon the Barretts of Tirawley.
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Then the Brehons to Mac William Burk decreed
An eric upon Clan Barrett for the deed;
And the Lynott's share of the fine,
As foster-father, was nine
Ploughlands and nine score kine;
But no need
Had the Lynott,
Neither care, for land or cattle in Tirawley.
An eric upon Clan Barrett for the deed;
And the Lynott's share of the fine,
As foster-father, was nine
Ploughlands and nine score kine;
But no need
Had the Lynott,
Neither care, for land or cattle in Tirawley.
But rising, while all sat silent on the spot,
He said, “The law says—doth it not?—
If the foster-sire elect
His portion to reject,
He may then the right exact
To applot
The short eric.”
“'Tis the law,” replied the Brehons of Tirawley.
He said, “The law says—doth it not?—
If the foster-sire elect
His portion to reject,
He may then the right exact
To applot
The short eric.”
“'Tis the law,” replied the Brehons of Tirawley.
Said the Lynott, “I once before had a choice
Proposed me, wherein law had little voice;
But now I choose, and say,
As lawfully I may,
I applot the mulct to-day;
So rejoice
In your ploughlands
And your cattle which I renounce throughout Tirawley.
Proposed me, wherein law had little voice;
But now I choose, and say,
As lawfully I may,
I applot the mulct to-day;
So rejoice
In your ploughlands
And your cattle which I renounce throughout Tirawley.
“And thus I applot the mulct: I divide
The land throughout Clan Barrett on every side
Equally, that no place
May be without the face
Of a foe of Wattin's race—
That the pride
Of the Barretts
May be humbled hence for ever throughout Tirawley.
The land throughout Clan Barrett on every side
Equally, that no place
May be without the face
Of a foe of Wattin's race—
That the pride
Of the Barretts
May be humbled hence for ever throughout Tirawley.
69
“I adjudge a seat in every Barrett's hall
To Mac William: in every stable I give a stall
To Mac William: and, beside,
Whenever a Burke shall ride
Through Tirawley, I provide
At his call
Needful grooming,
Without charge from any hosteler of Tirawley.
To Mac William: in every stable I give a stall
To Mac William: and, beside,
Whenever a Burke shall ride
Through Tirawley, I provide
At his call
Needful grooming,
Without charge from any hosteler of Tirawley.
“Thus lawfully I avenge me for the throes
Ye lawlessly caused me and caused those
Unhappy shamefaced ones,
Who, their mothers expected once,
Would have been the sires of sons—
O'er whose woes
Often weeping,
I have groan'd in my exile from Tirawley.
Ye lawlessly caused me and caused those
Unhappy shamefaced ones,
Who, their mothers expected once,
Would have been the sires of sons—
O'er whose woes
Often weeping,
I have groan'd in my exile from Tirawley.
“I demand not of you your manhood; but I take—
For the Burkes will take it—your Freedom! for the sake
Of which all manhood's given,
And all good under heaven,
And, without which, better even
Ye should make
Yourselves barren,
Than see your children slaves throughout Tirawley!
For the Burkes will take it—your Freedom! for the sake
Of which all manhood's given,
And all good under heaven,
And, without which, better even
Ye should make
Yourselves barren,
Than see your children slaves throughout Tirawley!
“Neither take I your eyesight from you; as you took
Mine and ours: I would have you daily look
On one another's eyes,
When the strangers tyrannize
By your hearths, and blushes arise,
That ye brook,
Without vengeance,
The insults of troops of Tibbots throughout Tirawley!
Mine and ours: I would have you daily look
On one another's eyes,
When the strangers tyrannize
By your hearths, and blushes arise,
That ye brook,
Without vengeance,
The insults of troops of Tibbots throughout Tirawley!
70
“The vengeance I design'd, now is done,
And the days of me and mine nearly run—
For, for this, I have broken faith,
Teaching him who lies beneath
This pall, to merit death;
And my son
To his father
Stands pledged for other teaching in Tirawley.”
And the days of me and mine nearly run—
For, for this, I have broken faith,
Teaching him who lies beneath
This pall, to merit death;
And my son
To his father
Stands pledged for other teaching in Tirawley.”
Said Mac William—“Father and son, hang them high!”
And the Lynott they hang'd speedily;
But across the salt sea water,
To Scotland, with the daughter
Of Mac William—well you got her!—
Did you fly,
Edmund Lindsay,
The gentlest of all the Welshmen of Tirawley!
And the Lynott they hang'd speedily;
But across the salt sea water,
To Scotland, with the daughter
Of Mac William—well you got her!—
Did you fly,
Edmund Lindsay,
The gentlest of all the Welshmen of Tirawley!
'Tis thus the ancient Ollaves of Erin tell
How, through lewdness and revenge, it befell
That the sons of William Conquer
Came over the sons of Wattin,
Throughout all the bounds and borders
Of the lands of Auley Mac Fiachra;
Till the Saxon Oliver Cromwell,
And his valiant, Bible-guided,
Free heretics of Clan London
Coming in, in their succession,
Rooted out both Burke and Barrett,
And in their empty places
New stems of freedom planted,
With many a goodly sapling
Of manliness and virtue;
Which while their children cherish,
Kindly Irish of the Irish,
Neither Saxons nor Italians,
May the mighty God of Freedom
Speed them well,
Never taking
Further vengeance on his people of Tirawley.
How, through lewdness and revenge, it befell
That the sons of William Conquer
Came over the sons of Wattin,
Throughout all the bounds and borders
Of the lands of Auley Mac Fiachra;
Till the Saxon Oliver Cromwell,
And his valiant, Bible-guided,
Free heretics of Clan London
Coming in, in their succession,
Rooted out both Burke and Barrett,
And in their empty places
New stems of freedom planted,
With many a goodly sapling
71
Which while their children cherish,
Kindly Irish of the Irish,
Neither Saxons nor Italians,
May the mighty God of Freedom
Speed them well,
Never taking
Further vengeance on his people of Tirawley.
72
OWEN BAWN.
[_]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
William de burgho, Third Earl of Ulster, pursued the Anglican policy of his day with so much severity, that the native Irish generally withdrew from the counties of Down and Antrim, and established themselves in Tyrone with Hugh Boy O'Neill. William's rigid prohibition of intermarriages with the natives led to his assassination by his own relatives, the Mandevilles, at the Ford of Belfast, A.D. 1333. The Irish then returned from beyond the river Bann, and expelled the English from all Ulster, except Carrickfergus and the barony of Ards in Down; and so continued until their subjugation by Sir Henry Sidney and Sir Arthur Chichester, in the reign of Queen Elizabeth.
Simultaneously with the return of the Clan Hugh-Boy in the north, the great Anglo-Norman families of Connaught adopted Irish names and manners, the De Burghos assuming the name of Mac William, and all accommodating themselves to the Irish system of life and government, in which, with few exceptions, they continued until their subjugation by Sir Richard Bingham, in the reign of King Henry the Eighth.
My Owen Bawn's hair is of thread of gold spun;
Of gold in the shadow, of light in the sun;
All curl'd in a coolun the bright tresses are—
They make his head radiant with beams like a star!
Of gold in the shadow, of light in the sun;
All curl'd in a coolun the bright tresses are—
They make his head radiant with beams like a star!
73
My Owen Bawn's mantle is long and is wide,
To wrap me up safe from the storm by his side;
And I'd rather face snow-drift and winter-wind there,
Than lie among daisies and sunshine elsewhere.
To wrap me up safe from the storm by his side;
And I'd rather face snow-drift and winter-wind there,
Than lie among daisies and sunshine elsewhere.
My Owen Bawn Quin is a hunter of deer,
He tracks the dun quarry with arrow and spear—
Where wild woods are waving, and deep waters flow,
Ah, there goes my love with the dun-dappled roe.
He tracks the dun quarry with arrow and spear—
Where wild woods are waving, and deep waters flow,
Ah, there goes my love with the dun-dappled roe.
My Owen Bawn Quin is a bold fisherman,
He spears the strong salmon in midst of the Bann;
And rock'd in the tempest on stormy Lough Neagh,
Draws up the red trout through the bursting of spray.
He spears the strong salmon in midst of the Bann;
And rock'd in the tempest on stormy Lough Neagh,
Draws up the red trout through the bursting of spray.
My Owen Bawn Quin is a bard of the best,
He wakes me with singing, he sings me to rest;
And the cruit 'neath his fingers rings up with a sound,
As though angels harp'd o'er us, and fays underground.
He wakes me with singing, he sings me to rest;
And the cruit 'neath his fingers rings up with a sound,
As though angels harp'd o'er us, and fays underground.
They tell me the stranger has given command,
That crommeal and coolun shall cease in the land,
That all our youths' tresses of yellow be shorn,
And bonnets, instead, of a new fashion, worn;
That crommeal and coolun shall cease in the land,
That all our youths' tresses of yellow be shorn,
And bonnets, instead, of a new fashion, worn;
That mantles like Owen Bawn's shield us no more,
That hunting and fishing henceforth we give o'er,
That the net and the arrow aside must be laid,
For hammer and trowel, and mattock and spade;
That hunting and fishing henceforth we give o'er,
That the net and the arrow aside must be laid,
For hammer and trowel, and mattock and spade;
That the echoes of music must sleep in their caves,
That the slave must forget his own tongue for a slave's,
That the sounds of our lips must be strange in our ears,
And our bleeding hands toil in the dew of our tears.
That the slave must forget his own tongue for a slave's,
That the sounds of our lips must be strange in our ears,
And our bleeding hands toil in the dew of our tears.
74
Oh sweetheart and comfort! with thee by my side,
I could love and live happy, whatever betide;
But thou, in such bondage, wouldst die ere a day—
A way to Tir-oën, then, Owen, away!
I could love and live happy, whatever betide;
But thou, in such bondage, wouldst die ere a day—
A way to Tir-oën, then, Owen, away!
There are wild woods and mountains, and streams deep and clear,
There are loughs in Tir-oën as lovely as here;
There are silver harps ringing in Yellow Hugh's hall,
And a bower by the forest side, sweetest of all!
There are loughs in Tir-oën as lovely as here;
There are silver harps ringing in Yellow Hugh's hall,
And a bower by the forest side, sweetest of all!
We will dwell by the sunshiny skirts of the brake,
Where the sycamore shadows glow deep in the lake;
And the snowy swan stirring the green shadows there,
Afloat on the water, seems floating in air.
Where the sycamore shadows glow deep in the lake;
And the snowy swan stirring the green shadows there,
Afloat on the water, seems floating in air.
Away to Tir-oën, then, Owen, away!
We will leave them the dust from our feet for a prey,
And our dwelling in ashes and flames for a spoil—
'Twill be long ere they quench them with streams of the Foyle!
We will leave them the dust from our feet for a prey,
And our dwelling in ashes and flames for a spoil—
'Twill be long ere they quench them with streams of the Foyle!
75
GRACE O'MALY.
[_]
INTRODUCTORY NOTE. The return to English rule and habits of the Anglo-Norman families of Connaught who had Hibernicised after the murder of William de Burgho, was not effected without a long alienation of the popular affections which had been bestowed upon them as freely as on native rulers: “for,” to use the words of a contemporary Irish chronicler “the old chieftains of Erin prospered under these princely English lords who were our chief rulers, and who had given up their foreignness for a pure mind, and their surliness for good manners, and their stubbornness for sweet mildness, and who had given up their perverseness for hospitality.” During this troubled period of transition, Grace O'Maly, lady of Sir Rickard Burke, styled Mac William Eighter, distinguished herself by a life of wayward adventure which has made her name, in its Gaelic form, Grana Uaile (i.e. Grana Ua Mhaile,) a personification, among the Irish peasantry, of that social state which they still consider preferable to the results of a more advanced civilization. The real acts and character of the heroine are hardly seen through the veil of imagination under which the personified idea exists in the popular mind, and is here presented.
She left the close-air'd land of trees
And proud Mac William's palace,
For clear, bare Clare's health-salted breeze,
Her oarsmen and her galleys:
And where, beside the bending strand
The rock and billow wrestle,
Between the deep sea and the land
She built her Island Castle.
And proud Mac William's palace,
For clear, bare Clare's health-salted breeze,
Her oarsmen and her galleys:
76
The rock and billow wrestle,
Between the deep sea and the land
She built her Island Castle.
The Spanish captains, sailing by
For Newport, with amazement
Beheld the cannon'd longship lie
Moor'd to the lady's casement;
And covering coin and cup of gold
In haste their hatches under,
They whisper'd, “Tis a pirate's hold;
She sails the seas for plunder!”
For Newport, with amazement
Beheld the cannon'd longship lie
Moor'd to the lady's casement;
And covering coin and cup of gold
In haste their hatches under,
They whisper'd, “Tis a pirate's hold;
She sails the seas for plunder!”
But no: 'twas not for sordid spoil
Of barque or sea board borough
She plough'd, with unfatiguing toil,
The fluent-rolling furrow;
Delighting on the broad-back'd deep,
To feel the quivering galley
Strain up the opposing hill, and sweep
Down the withdrawing valley:
Of barque or sea board borough
She plough'd, with unfatiguing toil,
The fluent-rolling furrow;
Delighting on the broad-back'd deep,
To feel the quivering galley
Strain up the opposing hill, and sweep
Down the withdrawing valley:
Or, sped before a driving blast,
By following seas uplifted,
Catch, from the huge heaps heaving past,
And from the spray they drifted,
And from the winds that toss'd the crest
Of each wide-shouldering giant,
The smack of freedom and the zest
Of rapturous life defiant.
By following seas uplifted,
Catch, from the huge heaps heaving past,
And from the spray they drifted,
And from the winds that toss'd the crest
Of each wide-shouldering giant,
The smack of freedom and the zest
Of rapturous life defiant.
77
For, oh! the mainland time was pent
In close constraint and striving:—
So many aims together bent
On winning and on thriving;
There was no room for generous ease,
No sympathy for candour;—
And so she left Burke's buzzing trees,
And all his stony splendour.
In close constraint and striving:—
So many aims together bent
On winning and on thriving;
There was no room for generous ease,
No sympathy for candour;—
And so she left Burke's buzzing trees,
And all his stony splendour.
For Erin yet had fields to spare,
Where Clew her cincture gathers
Isle-gemm'd; and kindly clans were there,
The fosterers of her fathers:
Room there for careless feet to roam
Secure from minions' peeping,
For fearless mirth to find a home
And sympathetic weeping;
Where Clew her cincture gathers
Isle-gemm'd; and kindly clans were there,
The fosterers of her fathers:
Room there for careless feet to roam
Secure from minions' peeping,
For fearless mirth to find a home
And sympathetic weeping;
And generous ire and frank disdain
To speak the mind, nor ponder
How this in England, that in Spain,
Might suit to tell; as yonder,
Where daily on the slippery dais
By thwarting interests chequer'd,
State gamesters play the social chess
Of politic Clanrickard.
To speak the mind, nor ponder
How this in England, that in Spain,
Might suit to tell; as yonder,
Where daily on the slippery dais
By thwarting interests chequer'd,
State gamesters play the social chess
Of politic Clanrickard.
Nor wanting quite the lonely isle
In civic life's adornings:
The Brehon's Court might well beguile
A learned lady's mornings.
Quaint though the clamorous claim, and rude
The pleading that convey'd it,
Right conscience made the judgment good,
And loyal love obey'd it.
In civic life's adornings:
The Brehon's Court might well beguile
A learned lady's mornings.
78
The pleading that convey'd it,
Right conscience made the judgment good,
And loyal love obey'd it.
And music sure was sweeter far
For ears of native nurture,
Than virginals at Castlebar
To tinkling touch of courtier,
When harpers good in hall struck up
The planxty's gay commotion,
Or pipers scream'd from pennon'd poop
Their piobroch over ocean.
For ears of native nurture,
Than virginals at Castlebar
To tinkling touch of courtier,
When harpers good in hall struck up
The planxty's gay commotion,
Or pipers scream'd from pennon'd poop
Their piobroch over ocean.
And sweet to see, their ruddy bloom
Whom ocean's friendly distance
Preserved still unenslaved; for whom
No tasking of existence
Made this one rich, and that one poor,
In gold's illusive treasure,
But all, of easy life secure,
Were rich in wealth of leisure.
Whom ocean's friendly distance
Preserved still unenslaved; for whom
No tasking of existence
Made this one rich, and that one poor,
In gold's illusive treasure,
But all, of easy life secure,
Were rich in wealth of leisure.
Rich in the Muse's pensive hour,
In genial hour for neighbour,
Rich in young mankind's happy power
To live with little labour;
The wise, free way of life, indeed,
That still, with charm adaptive,
Reclaims and tames the alien greed,
And takes the conqueror captive.
In genial hour for neighbour,
Rich in young mankind's happy power
To live with little labour;
The wise, free way of life, indeed,
That still, with charm adaptive,
Reclaims and tames the alien greed,
And takes the conqueror captive.
79
Nor only life's unclouded looks
To compensate its rudeness;
Amends there were in holy books,
In offices of goodness,
In cares above the transient scene
Of little gains and honours,
That well repaid the Island Queen
Her loss of urban manners.
To compensate its rudeness;
Amends there were in holy books,
In offices of goodness,
In cares above the transient scene
Of little gains and honours,
That well repaid the Island Queen
Her loss of urban manners.
Sweet, when the crimson sunsets glow'd,
As earth and sky grew grander,
Adown the grass'd, unechoing road
Atlanticward to wander,
Some kinsman's humbler hearth to seek,
Some sick-bed side, it may be,
Or, onward reach, with footsteps meek,
The low, grey, lonely abbey:
As earth and sky grew grander,
Adown the grass'd, unechoing road
Atlanticward to wander,
Some kinsman's humbler hearth to seek,
Some sick-bed side, it may be,
Or, onward reach, with footsteps meek,
The low, grey, lonely abbey:
And, where the storied stone beneath
The guise of plant and creature,
Had fused the harder lines of faith
In easy forms of nature;
Such forms as tell the master's pains
'Mong Roslin's carven glories,
Or hint the fate of Pictish Thanes
On standing stones of Forres;
The guise of plant and creature,
Had fused the harder lines of faith
In easy forms of nature;
Such forms as tell the master's pains
'Mong Roslin's carven glories,
Or hint the fate of Pictish Thanes
On standing stones of Forres;
The Branch; the weird cherubic Beasts;
The Hart by hounds o'ertaken;
Or, intimating mystic feasts,
The self-resorbent Dragon;—
Mute symbols, though with power endow'd
For finer dogmas' teaching,
Than clerk might tell to carnal crowd
In homily or preaching;—
The Hart by hounds o'ertaken;
Or, intimating mystic feasts,
The self-resorbent Dragon;—
80
For finer dogmas' teaching,
Than clerk might tell to carnal crowd
In homily or preaching;—
Sit; and while heaven's refulgent show
Grew airier and more tender,
And ocean's gleaming floor below
Reflected loftier splendour,
Suffused with light of lingering faith
And ritual light's reflection,
Discourse of birth, and life, and death,
And of the resurrection.
Grew airier and more tender,
And ocean's gleaming floor below
Reflected loftier splendour,
Suffused with light of lingering faith
And ritual light's reflection,
Discourse of birth, and life, and death,
And of the resurrection.
But chiefly sweet from morn to eve,
From eve to clear-eyed morning,
The presence of the felt reprieve
From strangers' note and scorning:
No prying, proud, intrusive foes
To pity and offend her:—
Such was the life the lady chose;
Such choosing, we commend her.
From eve to clear-eyed morning,
The presence of the felt reprieve
From strangers' note and scorning:
No prying, proud, intrusive foes
To pity and offend her:—
Such was the life the lady chose;
Such choosing, we commend her.
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