[1]In Irish Oisín, pronounced "Esheen," or "Ussheen." However, the Scotch Gaelic form has, thanks to the genius of Macpherson, so overshadowed the Irish one that it may be allowed to remain.
[1]In Irish Oisín, pronounced "Esheen," or "Ussheen." However, the Scotch Gaelic form has, thanks to the genius of Macpherson, so overshadowed the Irish one that it may be allowed to remain.
[2]Standish Hayes O'Grady, in the third vol. of the Ossianic Society, gives the names of thirty-five of these poems, amounting to nearly 11,000 lines. The Ossianic Society printed about 6,000 lines. The Franciscans have shown me a MS. with over 10,000 lines, none of which has been printed.
[2]Standish Hayes O'Grady, in the third vol. of the Ossianic Society, gives the names of thirty-five of these poems, amounting to nearly 11,000 lines. The Ossianic Society printed about 6,000 lines. The Franciscans have shown me a MS. with over 10,000 lines, none of which has been printed.
[3]In the original Ossian asks—"An éagcóir nár mhaith le DiaÓr a's biadh do thabhairt do neach?Nior dhiultaigh Fionn treun ná truaghIfrionn fuar má 's é a theach."
[3]In the original Ossian asks—
"An éagcóir nár mhaith le DiaÓr a's biadh do thabhairt do neach?Nior dhiultaigh Fionn treun ná truaghIfrionn fuar má 's é a theach."
[4]Irish writers always describe Hell as cold, not hot. This is so even in Keating. The "cold flag of hell."
[4]Irish writers always describe Hell as cold, not hot. This is so even in Keating. The "cold flag of hell."
[5]In the original—"Glaodh Oscair ag dul do sheilgGotha gadhar ar leirg na bh FiannBheith 'na shuidhe ameasg na ndámhBa h-é sin de ghnáth a mhian.Mian de mhianaibh Oscair fhéilBheith ag éisteacht re béim sgiath,Bheith i gcath ag cosgar cnámhBa h-é sin de ghnáth a mhian."
[5]In the original—
"Glaodh Oscair ag dul do sheilgGotha gadhar ar leirg na bh FiannBheith 'na shuidhe ameasg na ndámhBa h-é sin de ghnáth a mhian.
Mian de mhianaibh Oscair fhéilBheith ag éisteacht re béim sgiath,Bheith i gcath ag cosgar cnámhBa h-é sin de ghnáth a mhian."
[6]Literally: "O Patrick, woful is the tale that the Fenian king should be in bonds, a heart devoid of spite or hatred, a heart stern in maintaining battles."Is it an injustice at which God is not pleased to bestow gold and food on any one? Finn never refused either the strong or the wretched, although cold Hell is his house."It was the desire of the son of Cúmhal of the noble mien to listen to the sound of Drumderg, to sleep by the stream of the Assaroe, and to chase the deer of Galway of the bays."The warbling of the blackbird of Letter Lee, the wave of Ruree [Dundrum Bay in the County Down] lashing the shore, the bellowing of the ox of Moy Meen, the lowing of the calf of Glendavaul."The cry of the hunting of Slieve Grot, the noise of the fawns around Slieve Cua, the scream of the seagulls over yonder Irris, the cry of the ravens over the host."The tossing of the hulls of the barks by the waves, the yell of the hounds at Drumlish, the voice of Bran at Knockinar, the murmur of the streams around Slieve Mis."The call of Oscar, going to the chase, the cry of the hounds at Lerg-na-veen—(then) to be sitting amongst the bards: that was his desire constantly."A desire of the desires of generous Oscar, was to be listening to the crashing of shields, to be in the battle at the hewing of bones: that was everhisdesire." (SeeOssianic Society, vol. iv. The Colloquy between Ossian and Patrick.)
[6]Literally: "O Patrick, woful is the tale that the Fenian king should be in bonds, a heart devoid of spite or hatred, a heart stern in maintaining battles.
"Is it an injustice at which God is not pleased to bestow gold and food on any one? Finn never refused either the strong or the wretched, although cold Hell is his house.
"It was the desire of the son of Cúmhal of the noble mien to listen to the sound of Drumderg, to sleep by the stream of the Assaroe, and to chase the deer of Galway of the bays.
"The warbling of the blackbird of Letter Lee, the wave of Ruree [Dundrum Bay in the County Down] lashing the shore, the bellowing of the ox of Moy Meen, the lowing of the calf of Glendavaul.
"The cry of the hunting of Slieve Grot, the noise of the fawns around Slieve Cua, the scream of the seagulls over yonder Irris, the cry of the ravens over the host.
"The tossing of the hulls of the barks by the waves, the yell of the hounds at Drumlish, the voice of Bran at Knockinar, the murmur of the streams around Slieve Mis.
"The call of Oscar, going to the chase, the cry of the hounds at Lerg-na-veen—(then) to be sitting amongst the bards: that was his desire constantly.
"A desire of the desires of generous Oscar, was to be listening to the crashing of shields, to be in the battle at the hewing of bones: that was everhisdesire." (SeeOssianic Society, vol. iv. The Colloquy between Ossian and Patrick.)
[7]Printed by O'Flanagan in the "Transactions of the Gaelic Society," 1808, and translated by Dr. Sigerson in his "Bards of the Gael and Gall." I cannot refrain from the pleasure of quoting the following verses from his beautiful translation:—"The tuneful tumult of that bird,The belling deer on ferny steep:This welcome in the dawn he heard,These soothed at eve his sleep.Dear to him the wind-loved heath,The whirr of wings, the rustling brake;Dear the murmuring glens beneath,And sob of Droma's lake.The cry of hounds at early morn,The pattering deer, the pebbly creek,The cuckoo's call, the sounding horn,The swooping eagle's shriek."
[7]Printed by O'Flanagan in the "Transactions of the Gaelic Society," 1808, and translated by Dr. Sigerson in his "Bards of the Gael and Gall." I cannot refrain from the pleasure of quoting the following verses from his beautiful translation:—
"The tuneful tumult of that bird,The belling deer on ferny steep:This welcome in the dawn he heard,These soothed at eve his sleep.
Dear to him the wind-loved heath,The whirr of wings, the rustling brake;Dear the murmuring glens beneath,And sob of Droma's lake.
The cry of hounds at early morn,The pattering deer, the pebbly creek,The cuckoo's call, the sounding horn,The swooping eagle's shriek."
[8]Seep. 59 of the Gaelic part of the book of the Dean of Lismore. The first verse runs thus in modern Gaelic:—"Binn guth duine i dtir an óir,Binn an glór chanaid na h-eóin,Binn an nuallan a gnidh an chorr,Binn an tonn i mBun-da-treóir."
[8]Seep. 59 of the Gaelic part of the book of the Dean of Lismore. The first verse runs thus in modern Gaelic:—
"Binn guth duine i dtir an óir,Binn an glór chanaid na h-eóin,Binn an nuallan a gnidh an chorr,Binn an tonn i mBun-da-treóir."
[9]See"Silva Gadelica," p. 109 of the English, p. 102 of the Irish volume. I retain Mr. O'Grady's beautiful translation of this and the following piece.
[9]See"Silva Gadelica," p. 109 of the English, p. 102 of the Irish volume. I retain Mr. O'Grady's beautiful translation of this and the following piece.
[10]"Oighebaethaar a bennaibMonainnmaethaar a mongaib,Uisce fuar inah-aibhnib,Mes ar adairghibdonnaib."Note the exquisite metre of this poem of which the above verse is a specimen.
[10]"Oighebaethaar a bennaibMonainnmaethaar a mongaib,Uisce fuar inah-aibhnib,Mes ar adairghibdonnaib."
Note the exquisite metre of this poem of which the above verse is a specimen.
[11]This, like most of the couple of thousand verses scattered throughout the "Colloquy of the Ancients," is inDeibhidhmetre, which would thus run in English:—"Cold the Winter, cold theWind,The Raging stag isRavin'd,Though in one Flag the Floodgatescling,The Steaming Stag isbelling."
[11]This, like most of the couple of thousand verses scattered throughout the "Colloquy of the Ancients," is inDeibhidhmetre, which would thus run in English:—
"Cold the Winter, cold theWind,The Raging stag isRavin'd,Though in one Flag the Floodgatescling,The Steaming Stag isbelling."
[12]This was Diarmuid of the Love-spot, who eloped with Gráinne, and was killed by the wild boar, from whom the Campbells of Scotland claim descent, as is alluded to in Flora Mac Ivor's song in "Waverley":—"Ye sons of Brown Diarmuid who slew the wild boar."
[12]This was Diarmuid of the Love-spot, who eloped with Gráinne, and was killed by the wild boar, from whom the Campbells of Scotland claim descent, as is alluded to in Flora Mac Ivor's song in "Waverley":—
"Ye sons of Brown Diarmuid who slew the wild boar."
[13]"Is fada anocht i n-Ailfinn,Is fada linn an oidhche aréir,An lá andhiu cidh fada dham,Ba leór-fhad an lá andé."Seep. 208 of my "Religious Songs of Connacht" for the original of this poem, which I copied from a MS. in the Belfast Museum. The Dean of Lismore in Argyle jotted this poem down in phonetic spelling nearly four hundred years ago, but the name of Elphin, being strange to him, he took the words to bena neulla fúm, "the clouds round me,"ni nelli fiymhe spells it. Elphin is an episcopal seat in the county Roscommon, where St. Patrick abode for a while when in Connacht. I often heard in that county the story of Ossian meeting St. Patrick when drawing stones in Elphin, but always thought that the people of Roscommon localised the legend in their own county. But the discovery of the Belfast copy—and I believe there is another one in the British Museum—shows that this was not so, and the Dean of Lismore's book proves the antiquity of the legend. That Ailfinn (Elphin) was the original word is proved by rhyming tolinn, sinnandFinn, whichFiym(= fúm) could not do.
[13]"Is fada anocht i n-Ailfinn,Is fada linn an oidhche aréir,An lá andhiu cidh fada dham,Ba leór-fhad an lá andé."
Seep. 208 of my "Religious Songs of Connacht" for the original of this poem, which I copied from a MS. in the Belfast Museum. The Dean of Lismore in Argyle jotted this poem down in phonetic spelling nearly four hundred years ago, but the name of Elphin, being strange to him, he took the words to bena neulla fúm, "the clouds round me,"ni nelli fiymhe spells it. Elphin is an episcopal seat in the county Roscommon, where St. Patrick abode for a while when in Connacht. I often heard in that county the story of Ossian meeting St. Patrick when drawing stones in Elphin, but always thought that the people of Roscommon localised the legend in their own county. But the discovery of the Belfast copy—and I believe there is another one in the British Museum—shows that this was not so, and the Dean of Lismore's book proves the antiquity of the legend. That Ailfinn (Elphin) was the original word is proved by rhyming tolinn, sinnandFinn, whichFiym(= fúm) could not do.
[14]I once saw a letter in an Irish-American paper by some one whose name I forget, in which he alleged that in his youth he had actually seen the Ossianic lays thus acted.
[14]I once saw a letter in an Irish-American paper by some one whose name I forget, in which he alleged that in his youth he had actually seen the Ossianic lays thus acted.
[15]Like the Book of Lismore and others.SeeSullivan's preface to O'Curry's "Manners and Customs."
[15]Like the Book of Lismore and others.SeeSullivan's preface to O'Curry's "Manners and Customs."
[16]"Ich vermuthe," says Windisch ("Irische Texte," I. i. p. 63), "dass Ossin (Ossian) auf dieser Wege zu einer Dichtergestalt geworden ist. Die Gedichte die ihm in der Sage in den Mund gelegt werden, galten als sein Werk und wurden allmählig zum Typus einer ganzen Literaturgattung." But the same should hold equally true of Caoilte, in whose mouth an equal number of poems are placed.
[16]"Ich vermuthe," says Windisch ("Irische Texte," I. i. p. 63), "dass Ossin (Ossian) auf dieser Wege zu einer Dichtergestalt geworden ist. Die Gedichte die ihm in der Sage in den Mund gelegt werden, galten als sein Werk und wurden allmählig zum Typus einer ganzen Literaturgattung." But the same should hold equally true of Caoilte, in whose mouth an equal number of poems are placed.
[17]The following Ossianic poems have been published in the "Transactions of the Ossianic Society." In vol. iii., 1857, "The Lamentation of Ossian after the Fenians," 852 lines. In vol. iv., 1859, "The Dialogue between Ossian and Patrick," 684 lines: "The Battle of Cnoc an Áir," 336 lines; "The Lay of Meargach," 904 lines; "The Lay of Meargach's Wife," 388 lines; "The names of those fallen at Cnoc an Áir," 76 lines; "The Chase of Loch Léin," 328 lines; "The Lay of Ossian in the Land of the Ever-Young," 636 lines; and some smaller pieces. Vol. vi., 1861, contains: "The Chase of Slieve Guilleann," 228 lines; "The Chase of Slieve Fuaid," 788 lines; "The Chase of Glennasmóil," 364 lines; "The Hunt of the Fenians on Sleive Truim," 316 lines; "The Chase of Slieve-na-mon," 64 lines; "The Chase of the Enchanted Pigs of Angus of the Boyne" [son of the Dagda], 280 lines; "The Hunt on the borders of Loch Derg," 80 lines; "The Adventures of the Great Fool" [which, however, is not an Ossianic poem], 632 lines.I have in my own possession copies of several other Ossianic poems, one of which, "The Lay of Dearg," in Deibhidh metre, consisting of 300 lines, is ascribed to Fergus, Finn's poet, not to Ossian."Is mé Feargus, file FhinnDe gnáith-fhéinn Fhinn mhic Cúmhail,O thásg na bhfear sin nár lagTrian a ngaisge ni inneósad."In the library of the Franciscans' Convent in Dublin there is a seventeenth-century collection of Ossianic poems, all in regular classical metres, containing, as I have computed, not less than 10,000 lines. Not one of these poems has been, so far as I know, ever published. The poems printed by the Ossianic Society are not in the classical metres, though I suspect many of them were originally so composed, but they have become corrupted passing from mouth to mouth.
[17]The following Ossianic poems have been published in the "Transactions of the Ossianic Society." In vol. iii., 1857, "The Lamentation of Ossian after the Fenians," 852 lines. In vol. iv., 1859, "The Dialogue between Ossian and Patrick," 684 lines: "The Battle of Cnoc an Áir," 336 lines; "The Lay of Meargach," 904 lines; "The Lay of Meargach's Wife," 388 lines; "The names of those fallen at Cnoc an Áir," 76 lines; "The Chase of Loch Léin," 328 lines; "The Lay of Ossian in the Land of the Ever-Young," 636 lines; and some smaller pieces. Vol. vi., 1861, contains: "The Chase of Slieve Guilleann," 228 lines; "The Chase of Slieve Fuaid," 788 lines; "The Chase of Glennasmóil," 364 lines; "The Hunt of the Fenians on Sleive Truim," 316 lines; "The Chase of Slieve-na-mon," 64 lines; "The Chase of the Enchanted Pigs of Angus of the Boyne" [son of the Dagda], 280 lines; "The Hunt on the borders of Loch Derg," 80 lines; "The Adventures of the Great Fool" [which, however, is not an Ossianic poem], 632 lines.
I have in my own possession copies of several other Ossianic poems, one of which, "The Lay of Dearg," in Deibhidh metre, consisting of 300 lines, is ascribed to Fergus, Finn's poet, not to Ossian.
"Is mé Feargus, file FhinnDe gnáith-fhéinn Fhinn mhic Cúmhail,O thásg na bhfear sin nár lagTrian a ngaisge ni inneósad."
In the library of the Franciscans' Convent in Dublin there is a seventeenth-century collection of Ossianic poems, all in regular classical metres, containing, as I have computed, not less than 10,000 lines. Not one of these poems has been, so far as I know, ever published. The poems printed by the Ossianic Society are not in the classical metres, though I suspect many of them were originally so composed, but they have become corrupted passing from mouth to mouth.
The first half of the seventeenth century saw an extraordinary re-awakening of the Irish literary spirit. This was the more curious because it was precisely at this period that the old Gaelic polity with its tribal system, brehon law, hereditary bards, and all its other supports, was being upheaved by main force and already beginning to totter to its ruin. This was the period when to aggravate what was already to the last degree bitter—the struggle for the soil and racial feuds—a third disastrous ingredient, polemics, stept in, and inflamed the minds of the opposing parties, with the additional fanaticism of religious hatred. Yet whether it is that their works have been better preserved to us than those of any other century, or whether the very nearness of the end inspired them to double exertions, certain it is that the seventeenth century, and especially the first half of it, produced amongst the Irish a number of most gifted men of letters. Of these the so-called Four Masters, Seathrun or Geoffrey Keating, Father Francis O'Mulloy, Lughaidh [Lewy] O'Clery, and Duald Mac Firbis were the most important of the purely Irish prose writers, whilst Phillip O'Sullivan Beare, Father Ward, and Father Colgan, John Lynch (Bishop of Killala), Luke Wadding,and Peter Lombard (Archbishop of Armagh), reflected credit upon their native country by their scholarship, and elucidated its history chiefly through the medium of Latin, as did Ussher and Sir James Ware, two great scholars of the same period produced by the Pale.
The century opened with an outburst of unexpected vigour on the part of the old school of Irish classical bards, over whose head the sword was then suspended, and whose utter destruction, though they knew it not, was now rapidly approaching. This outburst was occasioned by Teig mac Dairé,[1]the ollamh or chief poet of Donough O'Brien, fourth Earl of Thomond, (whose star, thanks to English influence, was at that time in the ascendant), making little of and disparaging in elaborate verse the line of Eremon,[2]and the reigning families of Meath, Connacht, Leinster, and Ulster, whilst exalting the kings of the line of Eber, of whom the O'Briens were at that time the greatest family. The form this poem took was an attack upon the poems of Torna Eigeas, a poet who flourished soon after the year 400, and who was tutor to Niall of the Nine Hostages, but whose alleged poems I have not noticed, not believing those attributed to him to be genuine, as they contain distinct Christian allusions, and as the language does not seem particularly antique. The bards, however, accepted these pieces as the real work of Torna, and Teig mac Dairé now attacks him on account of his partiality for the Eremonian Niall one thousand two hundred years before, and argues that he had done wrong, and that Eber, as the elder son of Milesius, should have had the precedency over Ir and Eremon, the younger children, and that consequently the princes of Munster, who were Eberians, should take precedency of the O'Nialls, O'Conors, and other Eremonians of the Northern provinces, and of Leinster. Teig asserts that itwas Eber or Heber, son of Milesius, from whom Ireland was called Hiber-nia. This poem, which contained about one hundred and fifty lines, began with the wordsOlc do thagrais a Thorna, "Ill hast thou argued, O Torna," and was immediately taken up and answered by Lughaidh [Lewy] O'Clery, the ollamh of the O'Donnells, in a poem containing three hundred and forty lines, beginning "O Teig, revile not Torna." To this Teig replied in a piece of six hundred and eighty-eight lines, beginningEist-se a Lughaidh rem' labhradh, "Listen to my speech, O Lewy," and was again immediately answered in a poem of about a thousand lines by O'Clery, beginning,Do chuala ar thagrais a Thaidhg, "I have heard all that thou hast argued, O Teig." In this poem O'Clery collects such facts as he can find in history and in ancient authors, to prove that the Eremonians had always been considered superior to the Eberians in past ages. This called forth another rejoinder from his opponent of one hundred and twenty-four lines, beginningA Lughaidh labhram go séimh, "Let us speak courteously, O Lewy," which was in its turn answered by O'Clery in a poem beginningNá broisd mise a Mhic Dhaire, "Provoke me not, O son of Dairé."
By this time the attention of the whole Irish literary world had been centred upon this curious dispute, and on the attacks and rejoinders of these leading poets representing the two great races of Northern and Southern Ireland respectively. Soon the hereditary poets of the other great Gaelic houses joined in, as their own descent or inclination prompted. Fearfeasa O'Cainte, Torlough O'Brien, and Art Og O'Keefe were the principal supporters of Teig mac Daire and the Southern Eberians, while Hugh O'Donnell, Robert Mac Arthur, Baoghalach ruadh Mac Egan, Anluan Mac Egan, John O'Clery, and Mac Dermot of Moylurg, defended Lewy and the Northern Eremonians. For many years the conflict raged, and the verses of both parties collected into a volume of about seven thousand lines, is known to this day as "The Contention of the Poets."
There is something highly pathetic in this last flickering up of the spirit of the hereditary classical bards, who conducted this dispute in precisely the same metre, language, tone, and style, as their forefathers of hundreds of years before would have done it, and who chose for the subject-matter of dispute an hereditary quarrel of twelve hundred years' standing. Just as the ancient history of the Irish began with the distinction between the descendants of the sons of Milesius, of which we read so much at the beginning of this volume, soon the self-same subject does the literary spirit of the ancient time which had lasted with little alteration from the days of St. Patrick, flare up into light for a brief moment at the opening of the seventeenth century, ere it expired for ever under the sword of Cromwell and of William.
It is altogether probable, however, that under the appearance of literary zeal and genealogical fury, the bards who took part in this contest were really actuated by the less apparent motive of rousing the ardour of their respective chiefs, their pride of blood, and their hatred of the intruder. If this, as I strongly suspect, were the underlying cause of the "Contention," their expiring effort to effect the impossible by the force of poetry—the only force at their command—is none the less pathetic, than would have been on the very brink of universal ruin, their quarrelling, in the face of their common enemy, upon the foolish old genealogies of a powerless past.
We know a good deal, however, about this Teig, son of Dairé, the ollamh of the O'Briens, of whose poetry, all written in elaborate and highly-wrought classical metres, we have still about three thousand four hundred lines. He possessed down even to the middle of the seventeenth century a fine estate and the castle of Dunogan with its appurtenances, which belonged to him by right of his office, as the hereditaryollamhof Thomond. He was hurled over a cliff in his old age by a soldier of Cromwell, who is said to have yelled after him with savage exultation as he fell, "Say your rann now, little man."[3]A beautiful inauguration ode to the English-bred Donogh O'Brien, fourth Earl of Thomond, proclaims him a bard of no ordinary good sense and merit.
"Bring thy case before Him (God) every day, beseech diligently Him from whom nothing may be concealed, concerning everything of which thou art in care, Him from whom thou shalt receive relief."Run not according to thine own desire, O Prince of the Boru tribute, let the cause of the people be thy anxiety, and that is not the anxiety of an idle man."Be not thou negligent in the concerns of each: since it is thy due to decide between the people, O smooth countenance, be easy of access, and diligent in thine own interests."Give not thyself up to play nor wine nor feast nor the delight of music nor the caresses of maidens; measure thou the ill-deeds of each with their due reward, without listening to the intervention of thy council."For love, for terror, for hatred, do not pass (be thou a not-hasty judge) a judgment misbecoming thee, O Donough—no not for bribes of gold and silver."[4]
"Bring thy case before Him (God) every day, beseech diligently Him from whom nothing may be concealed, concerning everything of which thou art in care, Him from whom thou shalt receive relief.
"Run not according to thine own desire, O Prince of the Boru tribute, let the cause of the people be thy anxiety, and that is not the anxiety of an idle man.
"Be not thou negligent in the concerns of each: since it is thy due to decide between the people, O smooth countenance, be easy of access, and diligent in thine own interests.
"Give not thyself up to play nor wine nor feast nor the delight of music nor the caresses of maidens; measure thou the ill-deeds of each with their due reward, without listening to the intervention of thy council.
"For love, for terror, for hatred, do not pass (be thou a not-hasty judge) a judgment misbecoming thee, O Donough—no not for bribes of gold and silver."[4]
In another poem, Mac Dairé warns the O'Briens to be advised by him, and not plunge the province into war, and to take care how they draw down upon themselves his animosity. Here are a few of these verses, translated into the exact equivalent of the Deibhidh metre in which they are written. They will give a fair idea of a poet's arrogance.
"'Tis not War we Want toWageWith THomond THinned byoutrage.SLIGHT not Poets' PoignantspurOf RIGHT ye Owe ithOnour.Can there Cope a Man with MeIn Burning hearts Bitterly,At my BLows men BLUSH Iwis,Bright FLUSH their FuriousFaces.[5]Store of blister-RaisingRannsThese are my WeightyWeapons,Poisoned, STriking STRONG throughmen,They Live not LONG sostricken.SHelter from my SHafts orrestIs not in FurthestForest,Far they FALL, words Soft asSnow,No WALL can Ward myarrow.[6]* * * * *To QUench in QUarrels gooddeeds,To Raise up WRongs inhundreds,To NAIL a NAME on aman,I FAIL not—FAME myweapon."
The men who most distinguished themselves in the extraordinary outburst of classical poetry that characterised the early seventeenth century were Teig Dall O'Hĭginn, a poet of the county Sligo, brother to the Archbishop of Tuam, and Eochaidh [Yohy] O'Hussey, the chief bard of the Maguire of Fermanagh. Teig Dall O'Hĭginn has left behind him at least three thousand lines, all in polished classical metres, andO'Hussey nearly four thousand. Teig Dall was the author of the celebrated poem addressed to Brian O'Rorke, urging him to take up arms against Elizabeth on the principle "si vis pacem para bellum:" it beginsD'fhior cogaidh comhailtear síothchain"to a man of war peace is assured," and it had the desired effect. The verses of these bards throw a great deal of light upon the manners customs and politics of the age. There is a curious poem extant by this Teig Dall, in which he gives a graphic account of a night he spent in the house of Maolmordha Mac Sweeny, a night which the poet says he will remember for ever.[7]He met on that memorable night in that hospitable house Brian mac Angus Mac Namee, the poet in chief to Torlogh Luineach O'Neill, Brian mac Owen O'Donnellan, the poet of Mac William of Clanrickard, and Conor O'Hĭginn, the bard of Mac William-Burke. Not only did the chieftain himself, Mac Sweeny, pay him homage, but he received presents—acknowledgment evidently of his admitted genius—from the poets as well. Mac Sweeny gave to him a dappled horse, one of the best steeds in Ireland, Brian mac Angus gave him a wolf-dog that might be matched against any; while from Brian mac Owen he received a book "a full well of the true stream of knowledge,"—in which were writ "the cattle-spoils, courtships, and sieges of the world, an explanation of their battles and progress, it was the flower of the King-books of Erin."[8]Where, he asks, are all those chiefs gone now? Alas! "the like of the men I found before me in that perfect rath of glistening splendour, ranged along the coloured sides of the purple-hung mansion, no eyeever saw before,"[9]but they are scattered and gone, and the death of four of them in especial seemed a loss from which Banba [Ireland] thought she could never recover. This great poet, in my opinion by far the finest of his contemporaries, came to a tragical end. Six of the O'Haras of Sligo calling at his house, ate up his provisions, and in return he issued against them a special satire. This satire, consisting of twelve ranns in Deibhidh [D'yevvee] metre,[10]stung them to such a pitch that they returned and cut out the tongue that could inflict such exquisite pain, and poor O'Hĭginn died of their barbarous ill-treatment some time prior to the year 1617. None of the bardic race had ever thought that such an end could overtake the great poet at the hands of the Gael themselves. It was only a short time before that, when some bard envying him his position at Coolavin in the west, far from the inroads of the murdering foreigner, had sung:—
"Would I Were in Cool-O-vinnWhere Haunteth Teig OHiginnThere my LEASE of LIFE werefreeFrom STRIFE in PEACE andPlenty."[11]
We find the poet O'Gnive, the author of the well-known poem, "The Stepping-down of the Gael,"[12]bitterly lamenting in Deibhidh metre, the death of O'Hĭginn, and that breaking-up of the Bardic schools which was even then beginning.
"Fallen the LAND of Learnedmen,The Bardic BAND isfallen;None now LEARN true SONG toSing,How LONG our FERN isFading!Fearful your Fates O'Higinn,And Yohy MacMelaughlinn,Dark was the DAY through FEUDFellThe GOOD, the GAY, theGENTLE.[13]Ye were Masters Made topleaseO'Higinnses, O'Dalys;GLOOMY ROCKS have WRought yourfates,Ye PLUMY FLOCKS ofPoets."
O'Hussey, probably the greatest contemporary rival of Teig Dall, is best known through Mangan's translation of his noble ode to Cuchonnacht Maguire, lord of Fermanagh,[14]who was caught by the elements on some warlike expedition and in danger of being frozen and drowned.
"Where is my chief, my master, this black night? movrone!Oh, cold, cold, miserably cold is this black night for Hugh,Its showery, arrowy, speary sleet pierceth one through and through,Pierceth one to the very bone.* * * * *An awful, a tremendous night is this, meseems,The floodgates of the rivers of heaven I think have been burst wide,Down from the overcharged clouds, like unto headlong ocean's tide,Descends grey rain in roaring streams.Though he were even a wolf ranging the round green woods,Though he were even a pleasant salmon in the unchainable sea,Though he were a wild mountain eagle, he could scarce bear, he,This sharp sore sleet, these howling floods."[15]
When it is remembered that O'Hussey composed this poem in that most difficult and artificial of metres, the Deibhidh, of which we have just given specimens, it will be seen how much Mangan has gained by his free and untrammelled metre, and what technical difficulties fettered O'Hussey's art, and lent glory to his triumph over them.
Both these great poets and their contemporaries had been reared in the bardic colleges, which continued to exist, though with gradually diminishing prestige, until near the close of the seventeenth century. I doubt if a single college survived into the eighteenth, to come under the cruel law which made it penal for a Catholic to teach a school. In the seventeenth century, however, several famous colleges of poetry are still found. They are frequently alluded to by the poets of that century, both in Ireland and Scotland, and always under the generic name of "the schools," by which they mean the bardic institutions. Few or none of those persons who did not themselves come of a bardic tribe were admitted into them, which accounts for the prevalence of the same surnames among the poets for several centuries, O'Dalys, O'Hĭginnses, O'Coffeys, Macgraiths, Conmees, Wards, O'Mulconrys,[16]etc. None of the students were allowed to come from the neighbourhood of the college, but only from far-away parts of Ireland, so as not to be distracted by the propinquity of friends and relations.This produced a certain unity of feeling among the bardic race, and to a great extent broke down all class prejudice, so much so, that the bards were almost the only people in later Ireland who belonged to their country rather than to their lord, or tribe, or territory. It may very well be, however, that the bardic race was not in the long run an advantage to Ireland, and that the elaborate system of pedigrees which they preserved, and their eulogies upon their particular patrons tended to keep the clan spirit alive to the detriment of the idea of a unified nationality, and to the exclusion of new political modes of thought.
However this may be, it is absolutely necessary to study the poets of the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries if one would come to a right understanding of the great transformation scene then being enacted. The feelings, aspirations, and politics of the Irish themselves are faithfully reflected in them, and though no Irish historian, except perhaps O'Halloran, has ever read them, yet no historian can afford to utterly neglect them. It has become common of late years to deny that there was any real national struggle of Ireland against England in the seventeenth century, and my friend Mr. Standish O'Grady, in particular, from a perusal of the English State Papers and other documents, has striven with eloquence and brilliancy to prove that the fight was a social and an economic one, a conflict between the smaller gentry and the great upper lords. But such a view of the case is flatly contradicted, indeed absolutely disproved, by a study of the Irish bards. The names of Erin, Banba, Fódhla, the Plain of Conn, the Land of the Children of Ir and Eber, are in their mouths at every moment, and to the very last they persisted in their efforts to combine the Gael against the Gall. Here, for instance, is a poem, one specimen out of scores, by an unknown poet of the sixteenth century, exhorting the Irish of all the provinces to resistance, and it would be impossible to tell to what tribe or even to what province the poet belonged. I translate the poem here into a modification of the Irish metre,and one which, it seems to me, could be very well taken over and adapted with a fairly good effect into English.[17]
"Fooboon upon you, ye hosts of the Gael,For your own Innisfail has been taken,And the Gall is dividing the emerald landsBy your treacherous bands forsaken.[18]Clan Carthy of Munster from first unto lastHave forsaken the past of their sires,And they honour no longer the men that are gone,Or the song of the God-sent lyres.The O'Briens of Banba whom Murrough led on,They are gone with the Saxon aggressor,They have bartered the heirloom of ages awayAnd forgotten to slay the oppressor.The old race of Brian mac Yohy[19]the stern,With gallowglass kerne and bonnacht,[20]They are down on their knees, they are cringing to-day,'Tis the way through the province of Connacht.In the valleys of Leinster the valorous bandWho lightened the land with their daring,In Erin's dark hour now shift for themselves,The wolves are upon them and tearing.And O'Neill, who is throned in Emania afar,And gave kings unto Tara for ages,For the earldom of Ulster has bartered, through fear,The kingdom of heroes and sages.[21]Alas for the sight! the O'Carrolls of BirrSwear homage in terror, sore fearing,Not a man one may know for a man, can be foundOn the emerald ground of Erin.And O'Donnell[22]the chieftain, the lion in fight,Who defended the right of Tirconnell,(Ah! now may green Erin indeed go and droop!)He stoops with them—Manus O'Donnell!"Fooboon for the court where no English was spoke,Fooboon for the yoke of the stranger,Fooboon for the gun in the foreigner's train,Fooboon for the chain of danger."Ye faltering madmen, God pity your case!In the flame of disgrace ye are singeing.Fooboon is the word of the bard and the saint,Fooboon for the faint and cringing."
The session of the bardic schools began about Michaelmas,[23]and the youthful aspirants to bardic glory came trooping, about that season, from all quarters of the four provinces to offer with trembling hearts their gifts to the ollamh of the bardic college, and to take possession of their new quarters. Very extraordinary these quarters were; for the college usually consisted of a long low group of whitewashed buildings, excessively warmly thatched, and lying in the hollow of some secluded valley, or shut in by a sheltering wood, far removed from noise of human traffic and from the bustle of the great world. But what most struck the curious beholder was the entire absence of windows or partitions over the greater portion of the house.
According as each student arrived he was assigned a windowless room to himself, with no other furniture in it than a couple of chairs, a clothes rail, and a bed. When all the students had arrived, a general examination of them was held by the professors and ollamhs, and all who could not read and write Irish well, or who appeared to have an indifferent memory, were usually sent away. The others were divided into classes, and the mode of procedure was as follows: The students were called together into the great hall or sitting-room, amply illuminated by candles and bog-torches, and we may imagine the head ollamh, perhaps the venerable and patriotic O'Gnive himself, addressing them upon their chosen profession, and finally proposing someburning topic such as O'Neill's abrogation of the title of O'Neill, for the higher class to compose a poem on, in perhaps the Great or Little Rannaigheacht [Ran-ee-ăcht] metre, while for the second class he sets one more commonplace, to be done into Deibhidh [D'yevvee] or Séadna [Shayna], or some other classic measure, and any student who does not know all about the syllabification, quartans, concord, correspondence, termination, and union, which go to the various metres, is turned over to an inferior professor.
The students retired after their breakfasts, to their own warm but perfectly dark compartments, to throw themselves each upon his bed,[24]and there think and compose till supper-hour, when a servant came round to all the rooms with candles, for each to write down what he had composed. They were then called together into the great hall, and handed in their written compositions to the professors, after which they chatted and amused themselves till bed-time.
On every Saturday and the eve of every holiday the schools broke up, and the students dispersed themselves over the country. They were always gladly received by the landowners of the neighbourhood, and treated hospitably until their return on Monday morning. The people of the district never failed to send in, each in turn, large supplies to the college, so that, what between this and the presents brought by the students at the beginning of the year, the professors are said to have been fairly rich.
The schools always broke up on the 25th of March, and the holidays lasted for six months, it not being considered judicious to spend the warm half of the year in the close college, from which all light and air-draughts had been so carefully excluded.
I can hardly believe, however, that the students of law, history, and classics—all the educated classes could speakLatin, which was their means of communication with the English[25]—were treated as here described, or enjoyed such long holidays. It was probably only a special class of candidates for bardic degrees who were thus dealt with, and the account above given may be somewhat exaggerated; the students probably composed in their dark compartments only on certain days.
In the seventeenth century we find that the three or four hundred metres taught in the schools of the tenth century had been practically restricted to a couple of dozen, and these nearly all heptasyllabic. It is quite probable, as Thurneysen asserts, that the metres of the early Roman hymns—themselves probably largely affected by Celtic models—exercised in their turn a reflex influence upon Irish poetry, and especially on that of the bards, in contradistinction to that of thefilés. Indeed, it is pretty certain that if the Roman metres had not before existed in Irish the bards would have made no scruple about copying them; and they may thus have come by these octosyllabic and heptasyllabic lines about which they were in after times so particular. Of the metres chiefly in vogue in the schools of the later centuries, the most popular was the Deibhidh, of which I have already given so many examples.[26]It was, as it were, the official metre—the hexameter of the Gael. All the seven thousand and odd lines of the "Contention of the Bards," for instance, are written in it. Great Rannaigheacht[27][Ran-ee-ăcht] was another prime heptasyllabic favourite. It ran thus—
"To Hear Handsome Women WEEP,In DEEP distress Sobbing Sore,Or Gangs of Geese scream for FAR,They sweeter ARE than ARTS snore."[28]
I may observe here that there has been on the part ofIrish Continental scholars an extraordinary amount of discordant theories as to the scansion of the Irish classical metres. None of them seem to be agreed as to how to scan them. Zimmer insists that the word-accent and the metrical accent in Irish are identical, which, as Kuno Meyer has shown, is plainly not the case. He would probably scan—
"Or wíld geese thát scream fróm fàr,"
while Kuno Meyer again would insist on reading—
"Ór wild geése that scréam from fár,"
because, as he says, all heptasyllabic lines are to be read as trochaic, a theory which may apply very well to some lines, as to the above, but which is almost certain to break down after a line or two, as in the very next line of this verse which I have taken for a model—
"Théy sweet / ér are / thán Arts / snóre,"
a scansion which does extraordinary violence to the natural pronunciation of the words. I, for my part, do not believe that there was ever any real metrical accent, that is, any real alternation of stressed and unstressed syllables in the classical Irish metres.[29]The one thing certain about them is the fixed number of syllables and the rhyme, but each verse was, as it were, separately scanned, if one may use such a term, on itsown merits. Thus the verse just quoted would be read some way thus—
"To hear handsomeWomenweepIndeepdistress,Sobbing sore,Or gangs of geeseScream fromfar,They sweeterareThan Arts snore."
I have frequently heard preserved in ranns or proverbs, even to this day, isolated quatrains in these classic metres pronounced by the people,[30]and they never dream of pronouncing them otherwise than according to the natural stress of the voice upon the words themselves, as if they were talking prose,—they never attempt to transform the seven-syllable lines into trochees, as Kuno Meyer would, nor the eight-syllable lines into iambics. Of this old Gaelic prosody there appears to be adistinct reminiscence in Burns. Take this verse of his for example—
"Blythe, blythe, and merry was she,Blythe was she but and ben,Blythe by the banks of Ern,And blythe in Glenturit glen."
This, supplying, say the syllable "and," in the second and third lines makes a good Rannaigheacht mór quatrain, which the poet evidently pronounced exactly as an old Irish bard would have done.
"Blythe, blythe,And merry was she,And blythe was sheBut and ben,Blythe byThe banks of Ern,And blythe inGlenturit glen."
Bonaventura O'Hussey was another fine classical poet of the beginning of the seventeenth century. He was educated for a bard, but afterwards became a Franciscan in Louvain, where he wrote and published an Irish work on Christian Doctrine in 1608, which was reprinted in Antwerp three years later. The Irish, having no press of their own in Ireland (though they had some outside it), were obliged to print and set up all their books abroad, chiefly at Louvain, Antwerp, Rome, and Paris. Any attempt to introduce founts of Irish type in the teeth of the English Government would, I think, have been futile, so that except for the works she was able to print in Irish type abroad, and afterwards to smuggle in, Ireland during the seventeenth century was thrown nearly a couple of hundred years out of the world's course, by having to use manuscripts instead of printed books. It is curious to find O'Hussey compressing the Christian doctrine into two hundred and forty lines of the most accurate Deibhidh metre. When leaving for his foreign home he bade farewell to Erin in a poem of great beauty.
"Slowlypass my AchingEye,HerHolyHills ofbeautyNeath me TOSSING To andfro,Hoarse CRies the CROSSINGbillow."[31]
In another poem he laments sorely at leaving the poets and the schools "to try another trade," that of a cleric, which he says he does, not because he thinks less of poetry, or because the glory that was once to be had from it was departing amongst the people of Erin, but from religious motives alone.
"Now Istandto Try aTradeMid Bardic BandlessfamèdThan the Partof PoetisHacked is my Heartinpieces.'Tis not that I Veer fromVerseSo Followed by myFathers,Lest thefameit Once didWinInvainbe Asked inErin."[32]
Fearfeasa O'Cainti was another well-known poet of this period who attempted to rouse the Irish to action. Here are a few of his verses to the O'Driscoll—
"Many a Mulct—requite theirsin—Fetch from them heir ofFinnin;Spare not to SPURN the bruteGallTo BURN the BEAR andjackal.[33]Ruthless Rapine leads them onSlaying CHief CHild CHampion!BLood they BLINDLYspilt, no lawBINDING theirguiltin Banba.Pour their BLood to BLEND with blood,Conor HAND of Hardihood,CALL for ransom not my King;Slay ALL, be Untransacting.Lies they Lie! their Love is oneWith TReachery and TReason,Nay! thou Needest NOT my spur;Revenge is HOT, Remember!"
The quantity of verse composed in these classic metres all through the seventeenth century was enormous, and amounts to at least twenty thousand lines of the known poets not to speak of the anonymous ones. Not more than a dozen of them have ever been published,[34]and yet no one can pretendto understand the inner history of Ireland at that period without a reference to them. Their chief characteristic is an intense compression which produces an air of weighty sententiousness. This was necessitated by the laws of their composition, which required at the end of every second line a break or suspension of the sense (such as in English would be usually expressed by a semi-colon or colon), and which absolutely forbade any carrying over of the sense from one stanza into another. Hence the thought of the poet had with each fresh quatrain to be concentrated into twenty-eight syllables (thirty syllables in Séadna metre), with a break or pause at the end of the fourteenth (or fifteenth). Accordingly O'Gnive calls the poets the "schoolmen of condensed speech,"[35]and the Scotch bard Mac Muirich in the Red Book of Clanranald speaks of Teig Dall O'Hĭginn as putting into less than a half-rann what others would take a whole crooked stanza to express.[36]The classical metres went, in Irish, under the generic name ofDán Direach, or "straight verse;" and O'Molloy, who wrote an Irish prosody in Latin in the seventeenth century, carried away by a contemplation of its difficulties, exclaims that it is "Omnium quæ unquam vidi vel audivi, ausim dicere quæ sub sole reperiuntur, difficilimum."
It was during the seventeenth century that the greatest change in the whole poetical system of the Irish and Scotch Gaels was accomplished, and that a new school of versification arose with new ideals, new principles, and new methods, which we shall briefly glance at in the following chapter.