Miscellaneous writings of the late Dr. Maginn :: :: University of Virginia Library

As I was sitting on the Shannon side,
Lull'd by the sound of that majestic flood,
A horseman on a sudden I espied,
Galloping by as quickly as he could;
I hail'd him, but he slacken'd not his pace,
Still urging on his steed, a gallant gray,
Until he passed me, then he turned his face,
Back towards his horse's tail, and thus did say,—
“I ride express with news to strike you dumb,
Our monarch has arrived at last—King George the Fourth is come!”

2

Which leaveth him in ane awkward doldrum, after the manner of W. Wordsworth, Esq.

He scarce had spoken, ere away he pass'd
Out of my sight as rapid as a bird,
And left me there in much amazement cast,
Looking, perhaps, in some degree absurd;
The noble river rolling calmly by,
The horse, the hasty rider, all did seem,
Even to the vision of my outward eye,
Like the thin shadowy figments of a dream;
I felt, in short, as Wordsworth did, when he
Chanced the leech gatherer on the moor all by himself to see.

3

Shaketh it off, and marcheth homewards.

By the exertion of judicious thought,
At last I from this mental trance awoke,
Marvelling much how in that lonely spot,
Upon my eyes so strange a vision broke;
From the green bank immediately I went,
And into Limerick's ancient city sped;

165

During my walk, with puzzled wonderment
I thought on what the rapid horseman said;
And, as is commonly the case, when I
Feel any way oppress'd in thought, it made me very dry.

4

When I arrived in brick-built George's-street,

Turneth star-gazer.

Instinctively I there put forth my hand
To where a bottle, stored with liquid sweet,
Did all upon an oaken table stand;
Then turning up my little finger strait,
I gazed like Doctor Brinkley on the sky,
Whence heavenly thought I caught—pure and elate
Of holy harpings of deep poesy;
And, ere a moment its brief flight could wing,
I threw the empty bottle down, to chant about the King.

Ode.

1

A very glorious day this is indeed!

He calleth upon Ireland to rejoice in the fashion of a pot of porter.

This is indeed a very glorious day!
For now our gracious monarch will proceed
On Irish ground his royal foot to lay.
Rejoice, then, O my country, in a tide
Of buoyant, foaming, overflowing glee;
As swells the porter o'er the gallon's side,
So let your joy swell up as jovially;
Shout, great and little people, all and some,
Our monarch has arrived at last—King George the Fourth has come!

2

Come down, the mountains, bend your numbsculls low,

Inviteth the mountains to ane saraband.

Ye little hills run capering to the shore,
Now on your marrow bones, all in a row,
From all your caves a royal welcome roar.
Howth is already at the water-side,
Such is that loyal mountain's duteous haste;
Come then to join him, come with giant stride,
Come, I repeat, there's little time to waste;
In your best suits of green depart from home,
For now our monarch has arrived—King George the Fourth has come!

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3

Makéth them ane catalogue most musical.

Down should despatch Morne's snowy-vested peaks,
And Tipperary, Knocksheogowna's hill,
Kerry, the great Macgillycuddy's reeks,
Cork, the Galtees, studded with many a still,
Gallop from Wicklow, Sugarloaf the sweet!
From Wexford, bloody Vinegar the sour!
Croagh must be there, from whose conspicuous seat
St. Patrick made the snakes from Ireland scour,—
All, all should march, tramp off to beat of drum,
For now our monarch has arrived—King George the Fourth has come!

4

A word of advice to the rivers, in the style of Master Edmund Spenser, late of Kilcolman.

Rivers, dear rivers, in meandering roll,
Move to your Sovereign merrily along;
Ye whom the mighty minstrel of old Mole
Has all embalmed in his enchanting song;
Liffey shall be your spokesman, roaring forth
A very neat Address from either Bull,
While all the rest of you, from south to north,
Shall flow around in currents deep and full,
Murmuring beneath your periwigs of foam—
“Our monarch has arrived at last—King George the Fourth has come!”

5

Anent lakes.

Killarney sulkily remains behind,
Thinking the King should come to wait on her;
And if he wont, she swears with sturdy mind,

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That not one step to visit him she'll stir.
But all the other loughs, where'er they be,
From mighty Neagh, the stone-begetting lake,
To Corrib, Swilly, Gara, Dearg, or Rea,
Or Googaun-Barra, when the Lee doth take
Its lovely course, join in the general hum—
“Our monarch has arrived at last—King George the Fourth has come!”

6

O ye blest bogs, true sons of Irish soil,

Lealty of the bogs.

How can I e'er your loyal zeal express?
You have already risen, despising toil,
And travell'd up, your Sovereign to address.
Clara has led the way, immortal bog,
Now Killmalady follows in his train;
Allen himself must soon to join them jog
From Geashil barony, with might and main,
In turfy thunders, shouting as they roam,
“Our Sovereign has arrived at last—King George the Fourth has come!”

7

Ha! what's this woful thumping that I hear?

Ane caution to the Giant's Causeway not to tread upon the learned weavers of Belfast.

Oh! 'tis the Giant's Causeway moving on,
Heavily pacing, with a solemn cheer,
On clumsy hoofs of basalt octagon.
(Gigantic wanderer! lighter be your tramp,
Or you may press our luckless cities down;
'Twould be a pity, if a single stamp
Smash'd bright Belfast—sweet linen-vending town.)
Why have you travelled from your sea-beat dome?
“Because our monarch has arrived—King George the Fourth has come!”

8

Last slopes in, sailing from the extremest south,

Showing how Cape Clear becometh ane Marcus Tullius.

Gallant Cape Clear, a most tempestuous isle;
Certain am I, that when she opes her mouth
She will harangue in oratoric style.

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So North, and South, and East, and West combine,
Ulster, and Connaught, Leinster, Munster, Meath,
To hail the King, who, first of all his line,
Was ever seen old Ireland's sky beneath.
All shall exclaim, for none shall there be mum,
“Our monarch has arrived at last—King George the Fourth has come!”

L'Envoy.

1

Mocke commendation on various folk.

How living people joy, I shall not tell,
Else I should make my song a mile in length;
Plebeian bards that theme may answer well,
Chanting their lays with pertinacious strength:
They may describe how all, both man and beast,
Have in the general glee respective shares;
How equal merriment pervades the breast
Of sharks and lawyers—asses and Lord Mayors—
Of whelps and dandies—orators and geese—
In short, of every living thing, all in their own degrees.

2

Where it is earnestly requested of the poets of Dublin, not to slay the King after the fashion of Ankerstroem or Ravillac.

But ye, remorseless rhymesters, spare the King!
Have some compassion on your own liege Lord!
Oh! it would be a most terrific thing
Were he to death by Dublin poets bored.
See three sweet singers out of College bray,
And all the aldermen have hired a bard,
The Castle, too, its ode, I ween, will pay,
And the newspapers have their pens prepared.
Be silent, then, and mute, ye unpaid fry!
Let none attempt to greet the King, save such great bards as I.

169

II. A Welcome to His Majesty.
[_]

Tune—Groves of Blarney.

Synoptical Analysis for the benefit af Young Persons studying this Song.

Stanza I. Welcome in general; in the following verses the specific excellencies of Ireland are stated. Stanza II. 1. National meat, and drink, and valour. Stanza III. 2. National riot in a superior style. Stanza IV. 3. National music. Stanza V. 4. National oratory. Stanza VI. 5. National gallantry. Stanzas VII. and VIII. National uproariousness. All these offered for the diversion of the King.

1

You're welcome over, my royal rover,
Coming in clover to Irish ground;
You'll never spy land, like this our island,
Lowland or Highland, up or down!
Our hills and mountains, our streams and fountains,
Our towns and cities all so bright,
Our salt-sea harbours, our grass-green arbours,
Our greasy larders will glad your sight.

2

'Tis here you'll eat, too, the gay potato,
Being a root to feed a king;
And you'll get frisky upon our whiskey,
Which, were you dumb, would make you sing;
And you'll see dashers, and tearing slashers,
Ready to face ould Beelzebub,
Or the devil's mother, or any other
Person whom you'd desire to drub.

3

Just say the word, and you'll see a riot
Got up so quiet, and polite,
At any minute you'd please to wish it,
Morning or evening, noon or night.
I'll lay a wager, no other nation
Such recreation to you could show,
As us, all fighting with great good manners.
Laying one another down so low.

4

And as for music, 'tis you'll be suited
With harp or bagpipe, which you please;

170

With woful melting, or merry lilting,
Or jovial quilting your heart to raise.
Sweet Catalani won't entertain you
With so much neatness of warbling tone,
As those gay swipers, or bold bagpipers,
Chanting in splendour over their drone.

5

Then there's our speaking, and bright speech-making,
Which, when you hear, 'twill make you jump;
When in its glory it comes before you,
'Twould melt the heart of a cabbage stump
'Tis so met'phoric, and paregoric,
As fine as Doric or Attic Greek,
'Twould make Mark Tully look very dully,
Without a word left in his cheek.

6

If any ladies, they should invade us,
The darling creatures, in your suite,
We'll so amuse them, and kindly use them,
That in ould Ireland they'll take root.
Our amorous glances, modest advances,
And smiling fancies, and all that,
Will so delight them, that they'll be crying,
Were you to part them away from Pat.

7

The mayors and sheriffs, in paunchy order,
And the recorders will go down
To gay Dunleary, all for to cheer ye,
And give you welcome to the town;
But though their speeching it may be pleasing,
All written out in comely paw,
'Twont be so hearty, as when all parties,
With million voices roar Huzza!

8

God bless your heart, sir, 'tis you will start, sir,
At that conspicuous thundering shout,
When Ireland's nation, with acclamation,
To hail their Sovereign will turn out.
England shall hear us, though 'tis not near us,
And the Scotch coast shall echo ring,
When we, uproarious, joining in chorus,
Shout to the winds, God Save the King!

171

III. Odoherty's Impromptu.

My landlady enter'd my parlour, and said,—
“Bless my stars, gallant Captain, not yet to your bed?
The kettle is drain'd, and the spirits are low,
Then creep to your hammock, Oh go, my love, go!
Derry down, &c.

“Do look at your watch, sir, 'tis in your small pocket
'Tis three, and the candles are all burn'd to the socket:
Come move, my dear Captain, do take my advice,
Here's Jenny will pull off your boots in a trice.
Derry down,” &c.

Jenny pull'd off my boots, and I turn'd into bed,
But scarce had I yawn'd twice, and pillow'd my head,
When I dream'd a strange dream, and what to me befell,
I'll wager a crown you can't guess ere I tell.
Derry down, &c.

Methought that to London, with sword at my side,
On my steed Salamanca in haste I did ride,
That I enter'd the Hall, 'mid a great trepidation,
And saw the whole fuss of the grand Coronation.
Derry down, &c.

Our Monarch, the King, he was placed on the throne,
'Mid brilliants and gold that most splendidly shone;
And around were the brave and the wise of his court,
In peace to advise, and in war to support.
Derry down, &c.

First Liverpool moved at his Sovereign's command;
Next Sidmouth stepp'd forth with his hat in his hand;
Then Canning peep'd round with the archness of Munden
And last, but not least, came the Marquis of London-
derry down, &c.

Then Wellington, hero of heroes, stepp'd forth;
Then brave Graham of Lynedoch, the cock of the north;

172

Then Hopetoun he follow'd, but came not alone,
For Anglesey's leg likewise knelt at the throne.
Derry down, &c.

But the King look'd around him, as fain to survey,
When the warlike departed, the wise of the day,
And he whisper'd the herald to summon in then
The legion of Blackwood, the brightest of men!
Derry down, &c.

Oh noble the sight was, and noble should be
The strain, that proclaims, mighty legion, of thee!
The tongue of an angel the theme would require,
A standish of sunbeams, a goose quill of fire.
Derry down, &c.

Like old Agamemnon, resplendent came forth,
In garment embroider'd, great Christopher North;
He knelt at the throne, and then turning his head,—
“These worthies are at the King's service,” he said.
Derry down, &c.

“Oh, Sire! though your will were as hard to attain,
As Gibraltar of old to the efforts of Spain,
The men who surround you will stand, and have stood,
To the last dearest drop of their ink and their blood.
Derry down, &c.

“From the Land's End to far Johnny Groat's, if a man,
From Cornwall's rude boors to Mac Allister's clan,
Dare raise up his voice 'gainst the church or the state,
We have blisters by dozens to tickle his pate.
Derry down, &c.

“We have Morris, the potent physician of Wales,
And Tickler, whose right-handed blow never fails,
And him, who from loyalty's path never wander'd,
Himself, swate Odoherty, knight of the standard.
Derry down, &c.

“We have sage Kempferhausen, the grave and serene;
And Eremus Marischall from far Aberdeen;
Hugh Mullion, the Grass-market merchant so sly,
With his brethren Malachi and Mordecai.
Derry down, &c.

173

We have also James Hogg, the great shepherd Chaldean,
As sweetly who sings as Anacreon the Teian;
We have Delta, whose verses as smooth are as silk;
With bold William Wastle, the laird of that ilk.
Derry down &c.

“We have Dr. Pendragon, the D.D. from York,
Who sports in our ring his huge canvass of cork;
And General Izzard, the strong and the gruff,
Who despatches his foes with a kick and a cuff.
Derry down, &c.

“We have Seward of Christchurch, with cap and with gown,
A prizeman, a wrangler, and clerk of renown;
And Buller of Brazen-nose, potent to seek
A blinker for fools, from the mines of the Greek.
Derry down, &c.

“Nicol Jarvie from Glasgow, the last, and the best
Of the race, who have worn a gold chain at their breast;
And Scott, Jamie Scott, Dr. Scott, a true blue,
Like the steel of his forceps as tough and as true.
Derry down, &c.

We have Cicero Dowden, who sports by the hour,
Of all the tongue-waggers the pink and the flower;
And Jennings the bold, who has challenged so long
All the nation for brisk soda-water, and song.
Derry down,” &c.

Methought that the King look'd around him and smiled;
Every phantom of fear from his breast was exiled,
For he saw those whose might would the demagogue chain,
And would shield from disturbance the peace of his reign.
Derry down, &c.

But the best came the last, for with duke and with lord,
Methought that we feasted, and drank at the board.
Till a something the bliss of my sweet vision broke—
'Twas the watchman a-bawling, “'Tis past ten o'clock.”
Derry down, &c.

But before I conclude, may each man at his board
Be as glad as a King, and as drunk as a lord;
There's nothing so decent, and nothing so neat,
As, when rising is past, to sit down on our seat.
Derry down, &c.

174

IV. Translation of the Royal “Adventus.”

1

Muse! take up your joyful fiddle,
And twang it pizzicato,
But don't attempt the folks to diddle,—
A fib I've nought to say to.

175

Where's the use of telling stories,
When you're to sing of so great glories,
As foreigners, both Whigs and Tories,
May wonder and cry “Nay!” to.

2

The coming of so great a King
Would need lore to tell on:
Madam! my tale's no common thing,
It is one to think well on.
For mighty powers it sure requires,
The Dukes and Barons, Knights and Squires,
Their grand processions and attires,
That graced that day, to dwell on.

3

But fear won't further my design,
Faint heart ne'er won fair lady,
And want of pluck's no crime of mine,
So I'll describe this gay day.—
There is a village called Dunleary,
Where all did crowd from far and near; I
Ne'er saw the like—so loud and cheery,
“God save the King!” they said aye.

4

Thither came Justices of Quorum,
To punish any rash one,
Who'd break the peace—and just before 'em
I saw Lord Talbot dash on.—
The Corporation tried to wedge in
Bellies so huge you can't imagine!
Midst men, wives, tailors, in a rage, in
Order to learn the fashion.

5

The crowd was great! in number more
Than sands upon the sea-shore!

176

So much the folks their King adore,
And love him without measure!
They came to see and know the worth
Of George the Good, of George the Fourth.
The roads were cramm'd from south to north
As full as they could be, sure.

6

Och! ye can't read the Book of Fate
While standing there so weary,
And thinking still, as it grows late,
The King must sure be near ye.
That King, whose much-desired arrival,
Would give your wearied bones revival,
Has changed his mind! Off ye may drive all,
He won't come to Dunleary.

7

There is a harbour, Howth by name,
That he'll for certain steam on;
Stewart and Fate ye have to blame,
For this which ye ne'er dream on.
But pleasure oft comes after pain,
You shall be christen'd o'er again;
When he returns, he'll not disdain
Your town his grace to beam on.

8

But now the ships began to fly
Like swallows through the sea, ma'am,
Or swim like fishes in the sky,
As swift as swift could be, ma'am.
And as they came still nigh and nigher,
Hope made our hearts beat high and higher,
And all cried out aloud, “I spy her;
That surely must be she, ma'am!”

177

9

But Murraboo! This crowd of folks
Will get a mighty take-in;
They might as well have worn their cloaks,
Their blue coats are mistaken.
Past them the fleet doth swiftly sail,
Their hopes and wishes can't prevail,
And born on wings of steam and gale.
Howth they their rest will make in.

10

Like hungry, disappointed Whigs,
In vain for places praying;
Like starving, desperate, gambling prigs
Losing each bet they're laying;
Like such, were all the doleful people—
Like them, the female sex did weep all,
When from their sight, they from the steeple
Saw George their King astraying.

11

About two hundred Irish lads,
Were standing on Howth height, ma'am,
Whose heart sufficiently it glads,
Far off to see the sight, ma'am,
Of all the frigates, yachts, and steamers,
And royal standards, flags, and streamers,
About the King—They were not dreamers
That he'd be there that night, ma'am.

12

But when they saw, that to their town,
The Royal Navigator
Approach'd—And when all bearing down
Came boat, sloop, ship, first-rater—
Lord! what a row the fellows raised!
And how his Majesty they praised!
The shout the very shores amazed!
No King e'er caused a greater.

13

At length with fav'ring steam and gale,
The Lightning safe did steer in;

178

The crowd the Royal Ensign hail,—
Each bright eye bore a tear in
Token of joy! The foremost ranks
Slid down a gangway from the banks:
With silk they carpeted the planks—
The King has stept on Erin!

14

Could I write melodies like Moore,
Or ballads like Sir Walter,
Or any such great poet, sure
My strain should be no halter.
I'd sing a song without a blunder,
Should make posterity all wonder,
And George's praise should sound like thunder,
Before my voice should falter!

15

But since poor I am not the least
Like them, a wight rhetorical,
My reader's precious time to waste
With Blarney a damn'd bore I call.
But yet I needn't hold my tongue,
I'll tell how round the King they hung,
Although this story be not sung
In language metaphorical.

16

Our gracious King to all the crowd
His willing hand extended,

179

And even the poorest Pat felt proud,
So much he condescended.
And willing hands the pockets picking,
Gold watches grabbing, brass ones nicking,
Made no distinction more than the King,
Lest folks should feel offended.

17

Mounting the carriage steps with grace,
“My friends,” he cried, “I thank ye!”—
The coachman takes his reins and says,
“My tits soon home shall spank ye.”—
Than came the horsemen on with pride,
Some of them their own chargers ride,
While some paid half a crown a-side,
And some had but a donkey.

18

The crowd increased as they went on,
Because their hearts were loyal;
They ran so fast their breath was gone,
They scarce could speak for joy all.
But of their great politeness judge,
When they came to the Porter's Lodge,
They not one other step would bodge,
Because the grounds were royal.

19

But when the King cried “Come along,
My friends, pray don't be frighted;”
No sooner said than all the throng
Rush'd on to where he lighted.
Again at stepping on the ground,
He shook the hands of all around,
And made their hearts with joy rebound,
When he with face delighted,

180

20

Exclaimed, “My soul is glad to day,
My own dear Irish nation;
I love you more than I can say,
So great my agitation.
I've loved you always—man and boy—
And here I'm come, and will employ,
To drink your health, without alloy,
Of whiskey a libation.”

21

Thus said the King, and then the stair
He royalty ascended.
God save the King! through all the air,
With four times four was blended!
This being all I had to say,
About this memorable day,
Contentedly my pen I lay
Down—for my tale is ended.

University of Virginia Library

Royal Visit to Ireland.

AUGUST XII., MDCCCXXI.

I. The King's Landing.

PROEMIUM.

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