Dermid; or, Erin in the days of Borū; a poem

Front matter

DERMID ; OK, ERIN IN THE DAYS OF BORU. % $otm. BY JOHN B'AJLTON, ESQ BARRISTER AT LAW. " Dear Erin, how sweetly thy green bosom rises, " An emerald set in the ring of the sea; Each blade of thy meadows my faithful heart prizes, " Thou Queen of the West, the world's Cush-la-ma-cbree ' " £onDon : PUBLISHED BY LONGMAN, HURST, REES, ORME & BROWNE, PATERNOSTER-ROW ; AND BY JOHN CUMMING, DUBLIN. 1814. '1HE DEDICATION Of a Book to some titled person seems long to have been looked upon, as a most important stride towards public admiration. A pass-port sends us forth into an enemy's country, without even a fear of beingmolested, and how often does it happen, that a dedication to some Prince, Duke, Earl, or Lord at the least, attracts the attention and often the applause of a whole file of ephemeral Review ers.

But what has the Book to encounter, that is sent into the world without a name to hallow its pages ? To be very candid with you, Reader ! though I have many noble men in my acquaint ance, not one of them happens to have a title, and it would be quite unfashionable to dedicate to a commoner, nay, in me it would be ungenerous. If I fall, I shall fall alone ! I will involve none in my ruin ! The period of the following Romance is that interesting epoch in the history of Ireland, when VI Danish oppression was driven from that country, by the check which it received at the memorable battle of Clontarf The manners and customs of that age are, I trust, preserved ; while many events connected with its history, are glanced at in the progress of the work, and the plot has been de signed to present as much variety of scenery as possible.

The Lakes of Killarney, the Isle of Man, the County Wicklow, &c. are successively the theatres of the action. The Danes not being entirely converted to Christianity at that period, afforded me an opportunity of introducing the superstitions and rites of Odin, and the other Deities of the Northern Mythology. The battle of Clontarf, in which the catastrophe is wound up, was fought in 1014, in April it is supposed, I have referred it to the 25th of March, as I was thus enabled the better to mark the time of the Cantos by festivals. I am conscious there must be many faults in the work, which I have not judgment to discover. Of many I am myself aware. There are too frequent interruptions of the main story. The introduction of two ballads is injudicious in a work of such native length. In the First Canto Ellen is perhaps left too long to her own reflections- The Second and Third Cantos appear at first too un connected.

Canto I

Successive lays, each feebler than the last, Have died away: — nor, e'en from Tara's* brow, (So has the voice of other ages past,) Is one dear echo wafted to us now. In other lands may spring the laurel bough, To wreath some native bard with fadeless bloom ; There may the legend wake the warrior's vow, Or cheer the solitary's peaceful home ; But, Erin ! silence reigns around thy minstrels' tomb. And is there not a kindred string to wake The patriot strain ? — or has some fatal spell Each record closed, that dared of him to speak, Who fought for liberty, who fought, and fell ? And yet oft-times a brightening smile shall steal O'er winter's face, — and cheer the dreariest scene ; And troubled skies through gloominess reveal A struggling beam, the darkest clouds between ; And shall no transient dawn to gild thy fate be seen ? * The hill of Tara in the County of Meath, was pretty much the Olympia o[ Ireland.

Vide post. Note 32 of Canto Eighth. canto i. DERMID. 14 Oh ! could the humble strain, I dared to sing In hour of youth, unknown to other care, Call forth some minstrel worthy of the string, Or startle energy from long despair ! Then might I love these lines, how rude soe'er, That could awake such votary of song j And while to him, alone, their noble heir, The fame of ancient bards might well belong ; I would abide in peace amid an humbler throng. DERMID. 15

CANTO I.

I. Pale rose the moon : Her haloed light Silvers Glanflesk's romantic height, 2 And, with a faint and fitful beam, Quivers athwart the winding stream That rapid rolls its waves beneath, Through borrowed gloom of hanging heath, Where gleam, in moon-light half arrayed, Two fortresses, — half wrapt in shade. 3 Ruined and desolate appears The one, a wreck of other years ; Yet Bards record there was a day, When, from the bosom of its wood, O'Donoghue has rolled away 4 The proudest waves of Lochlin's * flood. ■* A name well known to the readers of Ostian's poems, and usually applied to Scandinaua in general- DERMID.

CANTO I.

16 5 ii But, in unguarded midnight hour, It yielded to the foeman's power ; His lingering hopes of succour lost, The chieftain of the fortress fell, Where last he dared alone their host, In the polluted Uaigh cell ; Guarding till death his infant son, And with him buried in the burning dun. II. Thus, twice ten years ago, ('tis said) Loch Lane's * best — dearest monarch bled. His haughty nephew governs now Glanflesk : Upon its bannered brow His prouder fortress stands ; with mound, And foss, and rampart guarded round. Already on this sacred night, Had summoned he his clansmen true ; Morning shall bring the welcome fight For glory, in their childrens* view : And, ere another moon shall pour Its radiance on Noghaval's tower, * This was, once for all, the ancient name of the Lakes of Killarney.— — .It signifies " the inclosed Lake." DERMID. 17

CANTO I

7 Allo's dark stream shall waft afar The gladsome shout of Erin's war. III. Oh ! Erin ! is thy need so great ? Is thine such urgency of fate, That thus, to thoughts of deadly fight, Thy sons must dedicate this night ? And shields be struck — and swords be drawn, Even on the festive of Saint John Beloved of God ? — Alas ! the Dane Has desolated hill and plain : And stern oppression rears his head, Where beauty mourned, and valour bled. The warrior knows not hour of rest, When foemen wrong his native land ; Revenge lives sleepless in his breast, The sword gleams sheathless in his hand. Religion cannot bind his arm, When hope inspiring points the way ; The patriot feeling wild and warm, Slumbers not on the holiest day. DERMID. 18

CANTO I. IV.

From Cahirnane an hundred came This night, a small but fearless band, 8 All glowing with a generousflame, From Danish power to free the land j And many a valiant chief anon From Dunloe's chasm, and Mangerton ; Nor be the brave forgotten now, From Tomies, and Dunkerron's brow. Impatient of his country's lot, Aged O'Sullivan * still sought The welcome fight, where brand or bow (Even his) — might lay an Ostman f low. And gladly might he hail the field, When Glanflesk's bands had struck the shield : All the fair Ellen's prayers were vain, Her father loved the battle plain : Herself, when hope no more prevailed, When every fond entreaty failed, * Here, for prudential motives, I shall only say, that the O'Sullivans were an ancient family in the neighbourhood of Killarney. f The Danes were then often styled Ostmanni or East-men.

C Had with him come ;— it was her last sad pride, To follow him, 'till war should tear him from her side. V. How pleasing is that hour of night, When partial beams of pale moon-light Half nature's loveliness disclose ; While wild imagination throws Those soft enchantments o'er the view, That finish nature never knew : Then is it sweet to breathe the tale Of plaintive love ; — when wood and vale From many a secret cave prolong The streamlet's flow, or owlet's song. For such sad luxury of thought, The Flesk's fair windings Ellen sought ; Her softened soul but ill could bear The clang of helm, and shield, and spear, That echoes through the fort to-night, Dire prelude of to-morrow's fight. And many a care had Ellen known, Though scarce her eighteenth summer shone, On her fair fortune : — fair ! — tis past ! — They all were summers but the last ; DERMID. 20 canto i. 9 10 That was in truth a sad slow year, To season's change unknown, 'twas one long winter drear.

VI. Unfilleted her ringlets flowed, In fair confusion on her breast ; And oft her waving mantle showed The fineness of her kirtle vest : That mantle broad a brooch restrained, A gift her father's valour gained : (Prize of that day, when first he bled, And Berva's flood flowed slow and red ; When wooded Athardree was won, And dying Lochlin strewed the dun.) And, in her raven hair, was set A guardian golden amulet. While, round her snowy neck, was rolled That band, whose sympathetic fold (As mothers tell, and maidens deem,) Shrivels at even a guilty dream, Or wish profane, or secret sigh, That sullies virtue's purity. Though fair be yonder dimpled stream, Where sheds the moon her silver ray ; Though lovely be the stars that beam In spring's unclouded galaxy : Yet brighter once on Erin's plain, A fair enchantress Ellen shone : But her, whom many a knight in vain Had sought, — a simple peasant won.

And, ah ! the bloom has left her cheek, The beam has set, that lit her eye ; Each look of languor seems to speak Unconscious claim for sympathy. For Lochlin too successful proved, Usurpers reign in Tara's hall ; And he, whom first— whom last she loved, Had perished in his country's fall. VIII. Yet was it not that blush of youth, Which fixed her constant lover's truth ; Nor eye-brow arched, nor dimpled cheek, Nor snowy majesty of neck j DERMID. 21 canto i. Nor was it that her raven hair Curled, in contrasted ringlets, there ; Nor that the breeze oft brushed aside The robe, that veiled her bosom's pride : The tapering limb, the graceful arm Passion might wake more wild and warm, But, virtue ! 'tis alone for thee, To fix the heart to constancy ! And it was Ellen's virtues won The faithful youth, who well could prize The sweet angelic soul, that shone Revealed in her expressive eyes.

IX. Sometimes a transient hope would light Those pensive eyes, and then how bright They beamed ! — but soon were sunk on earth, In penance for that moment's mirth j As if the truant glance, they stole, Belied the feelings of the soul. Oh ! why has Ellen learned to sigh ? Or tear e'er trembled in an eye So bright ? — yet once she could be gay, But when shall Ellen smile again ? DERMID. 22

CANTO I

, Each tedious hour of life's dull day, More firmly, links the cherished chain Of sorrows unrevealed, that weigh, that wound unseen, X. Seductive spell ! — deceitful guest ! 'Tis memory fills her glowing breast ; Her fortune dimmed by many a tear, The tribute to a lover dear. " Oh! could Louiffa* bear the fleet, " That burst on liberty's retreat ? " Was there not one indignant wave, " To plunge it in a watery grave ?" Yes, Ellen ! thou indeed mayst weep, The dreadful day remembering well, When, on Benhadar's rugged steep, 11 For liberty thy lover fell ! Memory, sweet solace of the blest, Has little charm for misery -, She comes, an uninvited guest, To wring the last — last gem from sorrow's faded eye. * The first settlement of the Danes was at Dublin ; and the river Liffey, on which that city stands, was anciently called Louiffa. DERMID. 23

CANTO I.

■■> XL Thus sad remembered she the hour, When wearied, from the hard-fought field His prowess won, a peasant bore Her bleeding father on his shield ; Still could she trace what then she felt, When at her feet that peasant knelt. " Alas !" she cried, " my peace is o'er ! " Ne'er shalt thou cheer thy Ellen more ! " Whose life is now (bereft of thee) M But retrospective misery ! " Does not each sigh of mountain-blast " Seem like a dirge for pleasures past ? " My heart, — alas ! — 'twas all thine own — " But it is broken, — thou art gone " To other worlds for liberty. " I saw thee haste to fields of death, " Oft didst thou turn upon thy path, " To look farewell to me : " And, when thy shield's refulgent blaze u Had vanished from my wistful gaze, " When I thy form no more could see, u My anxious vows were breathed for thee. DERMID. 24

CANTO I

, " I prayed each guardian power, to rest " Upon thy shield and helmet's crest. " Alas ! — and is a maiden's prayer " Unheard in heaven ? — my heart — forbear ! " Resigned I bend, Almighty Power ! " 'Twere rash to tax thine high decree ; " 'Twere rash to seek, what embryo hour " Of grief is yet reserved for me. " But sure by thee the secret sigh, " That's breathed for love, shall be forgiven ; " A softened feeling from on high, " A virtue in the view of heaven. " Just Providence ! resigned I meet " The awful chastisement of fate. " One welcome day shall waft me, o'er " Life's troubled sea, to that blest shore, " Where constancy shall weep no more." XII. Oh ! why should lovers fear to die, Whose hearts can throb no more to pleasure j Whose life is but a stolen sigh. And misery their cherished treasure ? canto i. DERMID.

If dreams can soften lovers' grief, If locked in sleep they cease to languish ; How much more dear were that relief, Which leaves not e'en a trace of anguish. Some spirit of the hill shall spread The sweetest flowers, round true love's pillow ; And pity's tear shall dew their bed, And wood-nymphs wreath their funeral willow, Such bliss might stay the soul's last flight, The partial pride would be forgiven ; Transporting moment of delight, Though stolen from the joys of heaven ! XIII. Ellen long wandered through the vale, And thoughtful marked the river glide, Scarce ruffled by the gentle gale, That ravished, from the mountain's side, The hawthorn's breath : — the deer no more In gambols from the forests pour ; The birds have sought the mossy rock, Or hollow of the aged oak ; D DERMID. 26 CANTO r, Nor more " the finny people" break The calm of rivulet or lake ; Creation slept, nor sound was heard, Save the low humming of the guard, Or murmuring of the distant rills : When sudden from the western hills Deforming tempests burst, — and now Rolled down the Reeks on Tomies' brow ; The forests trembled far : The pregnant clouds, that veiled the sky, Menaced an heavenly mutiny, An elemental war.

Dark rolled the Lakes : * — and every scene, Of late so lovely and serene, Now seemed denouncing war and woe, In wrath of heaven, to worlds below. The scene could Ellen charm no more, And often swelled her bosom's snow : When softly, from Turk's distant shore, Echoed unwonted sounds — like signal of a foe. * Of Killarney. DERMID. 27

CANTO I. XIV.

Ellen shrunk back : — she heaved a sigh ; Yet 'twas not that the storm was high, Nor that the gathering horn wound nigh Softly, as fearful to betray Some secret enterprize. " Such sound " Swelled free, when, on his native ground, " My bleeding lover lay. " Oh ! God ! too true the Danish spear " Had gashed his breast : — nor could the shield " My prayers had blest, protect him there ; " He could not fly, — upon the field " His life-blood ebbed away. " Nor was I blest, to shed one tear " O'er him, or bind* one lock of hair " To his cold heart ; 'mid heaps of dead " He found, alas ! unhallowed bed," XV. Unmindful of the beaten path, Ellen had gained the nearest rath ; * In those days the last tribute of affection, to its departed object, DERMID.

CANTO I

, 12 For there the ruined fortress gave The shelter of an ancient cave; Where (legends say) from days of old, When storms and thunder-clouds are rolled, The harp of ancient minstrel sighs ; Who, restless in his lonely tomb, Oft comes to weep the warriors' doom, And call their spirits from the skies, And well he may ! In happier days His harp has loved to tell their praise ; When virtue listened to the bard, And beauty smiled a dear reward ; While valour clanged his shield and spear, To drown the praise, he would not hear. — Often they come, on the wings of the blast, To the hills, where the years of their glory were past; Still faithful thy sons after death love to dwell Where, Erin ! they fought for thy freedom, and — fell ! XVI. Sometimes a lonely moon-beam threw Its doubtful gleam, on Ellen's view • Anon the lightning would illume Each lengthened passage, vault, or cell ; canto i. DERMID. 29 And, flashing through the dizzy gloom, Make all its horrors visible.

And now the thunder's awful sound Is echoed, through the vales around, But, Ellen ! Providence is wise, The bolt commissioned leaves the skies ; Fear not the flash though broad and near ; Love still is Heaven's peculiar care ! XVII. Often, through cleft of cavern vast, Fearful inquiring looks she cast O'er troubled skies : — But on that night Horrors appalled her timid sight ; Nature, in each distorted form, Frowned in an universal storm, And all was darkness : — save when broke, Through yawning clouds, the lightning's ire ; Then gleamed distinct, each hill, each rock, Each branch, in the electric fire. And all those charms, that could endear Loch Lane, seemed lost in fairy dream ; Darkness embodied gathered there, Save when at times it rolled a mass of liquid flame DERMID. 30

CANTO I

, XVIII. Ellen, in that lone hour of thought, Scanned o'er her past — her present lot ; And tear succeeded smile and sigh, In mournful variety. Nor, unobserved by her, the stream Beneath oft caught a passing beam, Then flowed insensibly away, To darkness, from the partial ray, Emblem of human destiny. But, mark the chief! who, sad and slow, Glides fearful from the vale below ; 'Tis Maoldun, Glanflesk's proud Lord ! Pausing and listening as he moves, He trembles at the murmuring groves, And dreads his own unconscious word. He starts — 'twas but the wild wolf's howl, Lengthened along lone Turk's dark wood : He stares, as if a spectre's scowl- Had crossed him, in this solitude ; His waving mantle mocks his sight. Its flitting shadow seems some wizard of the night How dreary were the frozen breast, Where generous love ne'er glanced a ray ; Where virtue's genial flow has ceased, Locked in eternal apathy !

Is there an heart so numb and chill, That would not melt at others' woe ; That would not feel a softened thrill, For virtue spurned, or valour low ? But, no ! it is a fancy dream ; Or, if there be an heart so cold, Sure it should slumber in a frame, Of horror's most repulsive mould. XX. Would it were so ! — But ever still, In fairest form Vice steals abroad ; And man, by deed, and word, and will, Profanes the image of his God. Such has yon guilty chieftain been ; Yet ne'er more manly grace was seen DERMID. 32

CANTO I

In every motion, look, and limb, Than nature had combined in him. But oft the guilt, that filled his breast, Would burst forth through its fair disguise ; Then was ambition's fire expressed, Malignant in his rolling eyes ; And fiendish thoughts — and, lo ! even now, Convulsion knits his haggard brow ; As seeks he, through the winding path, The mystic Lady of the rath Erica, who, through many a year, Has loved yon cave, that peasant's fear And minstrel's song had tenanted, With many a form of heroes dead ; Yet there, a strange recluse, she dwelt, Nor gave belief to fears, her bosom never felt. XXI. To that dark cell, with hurried pace, Now hies the chief. His guilty gaze Oft conjures in the waving heath, Some imagery of former death : As if the shades of other day Were crowding on his dreary way.

Half-conscious, — fearful-half, he pressed His robe, like target to his breast : For heart like his sufficient shield, Were he on battle's hottest field. For who ere now, in hard-fought plain, More spoils could win, or count more slain ? But lightest sounds, at night that roll, Can paralyse the guilty soul ; And midnight breezes wake his fears, Who would have faced an host of spears. XXII. Reached Maoldun the rath, where stood A female form in pensive mood. " Erica 'tis !" with joy he cried, " My faithful fair, — my comrade tried !" Now near and undeceived he viewed The lengthened robe, the saffron hood ; " It is not she !" But well he thought, Some wandering fair had shelter sought, In those rude cells, whose windings break, Round Turk, upon the central Lake. The chief approached, — and bent his knee, And doffed his helm full gallantly.

E , DERMID. canto i 34 Her hood and mantle, round her prest, Concealed her face and swelling breast ; Yet, through her robes, his eye could trace A form of perfect loveliness. " Fair Lady ! the storm hangs dark o'er the dell, " The lightning gleams near, and the thunder rolls round; " Come to my hall, where the legend shall swell, " As the praise of thy beauty shall hallow the sound. " Yet, Lady ! if ever thine heart has been kind, " If the prayers of a lover thy bosom can move ; *' This mantle, this churlish concealer, unbind ; " And I'll pledge thee my truth, on the lip that I love.** XXIII. But quick she folded on her breast Her lily arms : He vainly pressed, With winning words, his fond request. " Famed warrior of Glanflesk !" she cried, And soon she checked his glowing pride j For sure, though faintly breathed, that tone To Maoldun was not unknown.

The cadence lengthened on the ear, As if some spirit echoed her. canto i. DERMID. 35 15 M Maoldun started from her side, Amazed : — " 'Tis but the breeze !" he cried, " It is but spirit of the hill ! " Often they come, with plaintive thrill, *' To soothe the hunter's hasty dream, " In cavern or by mountain-stream. " Oh ! Lady ! why should throb of fear " Disturb the quiet of that breast? " Sure, when a lover's aid is near, " Thy sighs, fair maid ! were well represt. " Would I were spirit of the hill, " To flit round thee, when shades decline I " My faithful voice should echo still " Only the melody of thine." XXIV. But now a strange, an awful sound, The cavern's vaulted roofs rebound : " Beware, fair maid ! of guilt unknown " To thee, — nor dream of friendship there ; " Think not that he, who's false to one " Would be more true to thee ! Beware I DERMID.

CANTO I.

Pale horror marked the chieftain's brow, Who, lost in wild amazement, now Stands motionless ; as if the sound Had fixed him in enchanted ground. One look of pity Ellen gave^ And hurried from the mystic cave. XXV. The moon, whose sacred light seems given, Like beacon at the porch of heaven, A while obscured, now steals more bright, Silvering the sombre robe of night ; Bright play its beams on Ellen's path, As glides she devious through the heath. Maoldun had not dared to stay Her step ;— or guide her on her way. He stood, regardless of her flight, Cursing his fate, — the cave, — the storm, Too late to ease her wounded pride ; In her last look and, parting form, He recognised his destined bride. — Already was she lost to sight, When, darting from the enchanted ground, Homeward he bends j oft staring round canto i. DERMID. 37 With ghastly gaze of doubtful fear, Expecting still again to hear The warning strange, the tones of death, That broke the silence of the rath.

XXVI. Anxious awhile o'er hill and plain^ Ellen he sought, but sought in vain. Whence is that shriek ? what voice breathes there ?■ Is it the whistling of the gale, That floats and swells upon the air ?. Or fairy strain from Flesk's lone vale ? What weapons those, that gleam afar ? Sees he some falling meteor-star, Foreboding death and future war ? Alas ! 'twas more than breath of air, Than fairy strain, or meteor-star ; Nor was a single guardsman there, Nor Hobiller* nor Sentinel j Yet it was more than he could tell ; u It is thy demon, Maoldun ! " That frights thee still," his conscience said ; * Vide Note 7 to this Canto, ad. ftn. DERMID. 38

CANTO I

" It meets thee in the brightest noon, " It haunts thee in the darkest shade !" XXVII. Homeward returned he now in haste, With knitted brow and look aghast ; And, when he reached the outer mound, Glanflesk rung back his bugle's sound. The blast was long ; — the summons shrill Swelled o'er each intervening hill ; The distant foeman snatched his spear, And thought green Erin's bands were near. But, Lochlin ! rest, — thy fears repelled ; For Maoldun would ne'er forego The glory of a well sought field, To rush upon a sleeping foe. END OF THE FIRST CANTO. Swontit The scene of this Canto is at Glanflesk. The time, the Might of tJie llth of March. £>econo* i. Night wanes apace ; and yet how slow her course Seems to the patriot, who but waits the morn, To meet oppression with resistless force, And live in light of song to years unborn : How willingly, surrounding clans to warn, Fires he the beacons on each mountain-height, And gladdens, as the distant brazen-horn * Tells him, the foe prepare for noble fight ; Where gleam their swords and shields through gloom a burnished light. * Vide note 1 to Canto first.

F So thought the chiefs, that gathered now, Glanflesk ! upon thy bannered brow. " Heard you that winding horn ?" They cried ; " And are we in our forts defied ? — " Again !" 'Twas echoed o'er the Lake. Now stand around the startled guard, When plain ascending steps are heard. Anon they seek, with hasty word, " Who is the midnight wanderer ? " So nigh the fortress of our Lord, " Who durst the brazen bugle wake ?" " It is that Lord !" was the reply j " 'Tis Maoldun !" the warriors cry, Sore wondering he was there. For, by a secret passage, known But to himself, he oft alone Had sought Erica's cave ; Nor could he now, far led away, And filled with horror and dismay, That gloomy winding brave. The guards drew back. He passed along, Through Beallagh, * Bawn and Mote, amid the murmuring throng. III.

Full many a look of mute surprise Marked him alone, — whose piercing eyes Seemed scanning, with malignant glare, The glance of every vassal there j As if long deeds of darkness taught An envy of their happier lot, Who clasping, as they looked abroad From the high fortress where they stood, Each to his breast a brazen spear, Waked slumbering recollections there ; In guiltless hearts, with many a sigh Sacred to fondest memory ; To days of youth beguiled with those, Who perished on the battle-plain ; And, as the startled passion woke, Distinctly to the heart it spoke ; * Vide note 5 to Cant« frst. DERMID. 44

Canto II

- " Revenge ! — Revenge ! — why live our foes, " Where fell our comrades ?— Shall the Dane " Not rouse us, as he strikes his shield ? " His beacon-fires should light us to the eventful field." IV. Anxious looks Maoldun around, As seeking some dear object : — now A transient smile illumes his brow, While lists he to the welcome sound, That hums from western hills afar ; From whose proud tops, through gloom of night, The watch-fires pour a stream of light ; And mark, where Erin's warriors bold By turns their anxious vigils hold, Waiting to-morrow's war. Then thoughtful, to the Ree-Ian* near, He passed ; where dwelt, in those rude days, A simple band, — a gallant race. And now the wild harp's thrilling tone Distinctly bursts upon his ear ; It tells of bright days long unknown ; * Vide note 5 to Canto first. canto ir.