Ballads, romances, and songs

Preface

Of the Ballads and Songs contained in this volume, it may be proper to say a few words.

In them I have designed to do for Ireland that which she would not have lacked had her old language remained dominant, and her customs, so favourable to bardic literature, inviolate, or modified by friendly hands alone. Her romantic legends would have been cared for, and the high feats and chivalrous deeds which illumine her story enshrined in poetry. At the present time, however, there remain to us, in Irish, few poems of any value, save those which treat of times remote; the wars and cruel laws which have troubled our history since the extension of the Pale, having to some extent either hindered the inspiration of the Bards, or caused their productions to be lost for ever. I have endeavoured, in another tongue, to supply their absence, with what fortune each reader will judge. The vm

PREFACE.

legends and fragments of song, dear to the peasantry of the glenns and mountains — tenacious of old things — have been long familiar, and served as guides: in some instances, I have adopted stray lines and old verses, beautiful but incomplete, and mated them to the martial, pathetic, and humorous airs which the people love.

In conclusion, I am not forgetful how much and how well others have before me wrought to popularize the chivalry and romance of our native land.

R. D. J.

Contents

BALLADS.

Crossing the Blackwater,

Dunboy, ....

I. One glorious Easter even

Under the mountain tree,

A young knight sat bereaven,

A-gazing up and down, —

Oh ! wearily and drearily Along the plains looked he,

And up the summits brown.

ii.

The birds were singing sweetly From the wild rowan grove,

The dun deer gambolled fleetly Beside the upland rills ;

Yet wearity and drearily He thought upon his love,

Young Bride of the castled hills.

in.

His wolf hound by him lying Looked up into his face,

As though he read the flying

Thoughts of his master’s brain, — How wearily, when drearily, Through the brain’s little space, Speeds thought’s black train !

BALLADS.

IV.

“Around my love’s hoar dwelling” — 5 Twas thus Sir Brian said —

“ The Norman host is swelling,

And I a banished man ; —

Oh ! wearily and drearily My mournful days have sped,

Under the outlaw’s ban ! ”

v.

Just then a white fawn darted Out from the rowan screen, And up the wolf-hound started, And after her away,

And suddenly, oh ! suddenly Under the copses green Soon vanished they !

VI.

Beside a cave’s hoar portal

The wolf-hound lost his chase ; — Oh ! was the white fawn mortal His keen eyes thus to blind ?

Yet eagerly, oh ! eagerly,

He still pursued the trace

Through the cave like the wind !

VII.

Now came the sunset gleaming O’er haunted crag and dell, —

The young knight stays his dreaming, And looks once more around ;

’Till eagerly, oh ! eagerly,

Across the silent fell,

Cometh his brave wolf-hound,

BALLADS.

VIII.

In his mouth a helmet golden He’d found in th’ ancient cave, With a scroll decayed and olden Fastened beside the crest — Who'll bear me , who'll wear mey Shall have an army brave To do at his behest!

IX.

Sir Brian placed^he helmet His plumed cap instead,

And scarce had cried, u Oh ! well met, My fenceless head and thou !”

When suddenly, oh ! suddenly He heard an army’s tread Over the mountain’s brow !

x.

And quickly filed before him A thousand mounted men ; High in the twilight o’er him Their gilded banners sail, And gallantly, oh ! gallantly They rode in that wild glen, All in their glittering mail !

XI.

One led unto Sir Brian

A mighty milk-white steed, And he has mounted high on The antique saddle-tree ; And eagerly, oh ! eagerly All cried, “In thy great need Oh ! now we’ll follow thee !”

BALLADS.

XII.

Away Sir Brian dashes

With those wierd warriors all :

The craggy road-way flashes

Beneath their horse-hoofs’ bound, ’Till rusliingly, oh ! rushingly,

They speed nigh his true love’s wall, By the Norman leaguered round.

XIII.

Behind Sir Brian kept they,

Their proud plumes dancing high ; With brave Sir Brian swept they Upon the Norman crew,

And fearfully, oh ! fearfully Rose their ancient battle cry,

Till every man they slew !

XIV.

His love came forth to meet him Beneath the midnight star,

His mountain friends to greet him, And those wierd warriors all, Joyfully, oh ! joyfully,

All crossed the fortress bar,

And feasted in the hall.

xv.

Till morn’s white planet lit them These champions could not wait ; The milk-white charger with them Towards the lone hills they bore ; Gallantly, oh ! gallantly They rode from the castle gate,

And ne’er were looked on more !

BALLADS.

XVI.

Long in that ancient castle,

’Neath the gray Cummeragh’s head, Bright over feast and wassail That golden helmet shone,

And joyfully, oh ! joyfully These lovers twain were wed,

Ere the next morn was gone !*

THE BATTLE OF BENBUEB.

i.

O’er the hills of Benburb rose the red beam of day, Gleaming bright from our foemen in battle array ; But as brightly again ’mid the greenwoods below Shone it back from the troops of our brave Owen Eoe.

ii.

Munroe had his thousands arrayed at his back,

With their Puritan mantles, steel morion, and jack, And with him Ardes, Blayney, and Conway had come,

To cut Irish throats at the tuck of the drum ! hi.

And who with O’Neill on that morn drew the brand ? Bold hearts as e’er beat by the Blackwater strand ; Sir Plielim, brave chief, with the bosom of fire, O’Donnell, MacSweeny, and gallant Maguire.

* The tradition of the enchanted warriors is not confined to one part of Ireland. The peasantry of the Cummeragh valleys say that a troop of those ancient and spell-bound warriors may frequently be seen at night performing their evolutions on the wild mountain tracks, and in the rocky cooms near their dwellings.

BALLADS.

IV.

From Derry’s wild woodlands, from Main’s sounding tide,

From Leitrim and Longford, chiefs came to our side, And stern in the front, with his sabre in hand, Stood bold Miles the Slasher, the pride of our band.* v.

The foemen at morn crossed the Blackwater’s wave, Where O’Ferrall’s live hundred a hot welcome gave ; But soon to our lines came his band pouring in, Just to tell us the news of Kinnard’s wild ravine.

VI.

Thus we kept all the noon the lean Scotsmen at play, Though we thought of their forays and burned for the fray ;

For our chief bade us wait ’till the eve had begun, Then rush on the foe with our backs to the sun !

VII.

Then down to our front with his chiefs spurred he fast, —

“ My brave men ! the day of our weakness is past : We have hearts now as firm as our sires had before, When Bagnall they slew by the Black water shore !

VIII.

Hark ! their cannon the foe for our columns have set ! Strike ! and have them to play ’mid their own columns yet ;

For God and green Erin sure and stern be your blow, As ye fight in my path !” said our brave Owen Roe.

* Maolmordha Mac Sweeny — commonly called Miles the Slasher, from his wonderful strength and bravery.

BALLADS.

IX.

Hurrah for the Red Hand ! And on to a man, Horse and fo.ot, poured we down like a storm in their van,

Where they listed a sermon to strengthen their zeal, And a sermon we gave them — the point of our steel !

x.

The Slasher looked round as we closed in the fight — “ Ho ! Sir Phelim”, he called, 6 4 reap your harvest ere night !”

Then he dashed at the foe with his long heavy blade, And, mavrone , what a lane through their columns he made !

XI.

There was panic before us and panic beside,

As their horsemen fled back in a wild broken tide, And we swept them along by the Blackwater shore Till we reddened its deep tide with Sassenach gore !

XII.

Few foemen escaped on that well-stricken day ;

O’er hillock and moorland by thousands they lay ; Fierce Blayney had fallen where he charged by the fen —

’Twas a comfort he slept by the side of his men !

XIII.

A kern by the river held something on high ; —

44 Saint Columb 1 is it thus that the Sassenachs fly? Perchance ’tis my coolun which they clipped long ago,—

Mille Gloria ! the rough wig of flying Munroe !”

BALLADS.

XIV.

And we took from the foe, ere that calm twilight fall, Their horses and baggage, and banners and all, Then we sat by our watch-fires, and drank in the glow

Merry healths to our leaders and brave Owen Roe !

THE GREEN DOVE AND THE RAVEN, i.

There was a dove with wings of green,

Glistening o’er so radiantly,

With head of blue and golden sheen,

All sad and wearily Sitting two red blooms between On lovely Barna’s wildwood tree.

H.

There was a letter ’neath its wing,

Written by a fair ladye,

Safely bound with silken string So light and daintily,

And in that letter was a ring,

On lovely Barna’s wildwood tree.

in.

There was a raven, black and drear,

Stained with blood all loathsomely,

Perched upon the branches near,

Croaking mournfully,

And he said, “ Oh! dove, what bring’st thou here, To lovely Barna’s wildwood tree ?”

BALLADS.

IV.

u I’m coming from a ladye gay,

To the young heir of sweet Glenore,

His ring returned, it is to say She’ll never love him more, —

Alas the hour ! alas the day !

By murmuring Funcheon’s fairy shore !”

V.

u Oh ! dove, outspread thy wings of green : Til guide thee many a wildwood o’er,

I’ll bring thee where I last have seen The young heir of Glenore,

Beneath the forest’s sunless screen,

By murmuring Funcheon’s fairy shore !”

VI.

O’er many a long mile did they flee,

The dove, the raven stained with gore, And found beneath the Murderer’s tree The young heir of Glenore, —

A bloody, ghastly corpse was he,

By murmuring Funcheon’s fairy shore !

VII.

“ Go back ! go back ! thou weary dove, — To the cruel maid tell o’er and o’er,

Tie’s Death’s and mine, her hate or love Can never reach him more —

To his ice-cold heart in Molagga’s grove,

By murmuring Funcheon’s fairy shore !”

BALLADS.

LITTLE THOMAS.

i.

’Neath the towers of old Ardfinnan, by the broad ford’s mossy stone,

Down sat the little Thomas, and thus he made his moan, —

“ He has perished, he has perished, oh ! my chieftain young and brave,

And my father too sleeps with him, underneath the rushing wave !

ii.

Many hearts for John of Desmond* thro’ the Mumhan valleys pine,

But there beats not one amongst them half so desolate as mine, —

I, the little page, that ever by my dear dead lord would stay, —

I, the orphan lone, whose father hath perished here to-day !”

in.

Died the purple of the sunset from the blue and watery sky,

Bose the moon in clear white splendour o’er the peaked mountains high,

But the little page sat weeping still beside the ford’s gray stone,

And to the waters sweeping thus again he made his moan.

* John, the young Earl of Desmond, was drowned at the Ford of Ardfinnan, on his return from a foray, in the year

BALLADS.

IV.

“Woe is me! that they have perished; here my home, until I find

A master like the Desmond, a lord so good and kind” —

Looked he on the curling water with a sudden throb of fear,

For the Desmond stood before him in the moonlight cold and clear !

v.

On his limbs the battle harness, on his head bright helm and plume,

But pale, pale were his features, marked that morn with youth’s fair bloom.

“ Stay thy lorn and bitter weeping, oh ! my little page”, he said,

“For beneath the waters sweeping it has waked the early dead !

VI.

The good sword that I gave thee on our last victorious day,

It shall carve thy path to glory, if bright honour light the way.—

One little maid there dwelleth by the green shores of the Lee,

Only she shall love thee fonder than my constant love for thee !”

VII.

Vanished the phantom warrior in the cold light of the moon,

And the little page now heareth but the Suir’s loud thundering tune ;

BALLADS.

Swift he rusheth from tile water, swift he springeth on his steed,

And thro’ the moonlit forest is he gone with lightning speed !

VIII.

Ten springs more have decked the mountains, and it is a morn of May ;

Knightly spurs the page now weareth, for bright honour lit his way ;

Before the bridal altar with a happy heart stands he,

And his bride is that fair maiden by the green shore of the Lee !

THE DYING BALLAD SINGER.

i.

Oh ! Thady dear, the way is long,

My heart and feet are sore and weary,

I’ll never sing another song

In tented Fair or Patron cheery ;

But since the day I met with you,

I never envied lord or lady ;

No care, nor woe, nor joy I knew

That was not shared by Rovin’ Thady.

ii.

It seems that now but days have flown

Since first you bade to me u Good-morrow”, Though many a year is past and gone, —

Ah ! many a year of want and sorrow.

It was a sunny morn in June,

The winds and waves were sweetly playing, And you struck up your favourite tune,

“ The Piper in the meadow straying !”

BALLADS.

hi.

Since th’ hour I ran from home away,

Oh ! many a pang my heart has riven :

The worst of all was that Fair day,

I saw my brother at Knockevan ;

’Twas at the dance — now, pause and mind,

What care, with sorrow, shame, and sin, does, — The feet were going like the wind,

For they were dancing 46 Smash the windows”.

IV.

He saw me, but he took no note, —

He knew me not, so changed and worn ;

The song I sung swelled in my throat —

’Twas worse than all that I had borne !

I stopped, I gazed upon them there,

I thought of happy hopes departed,

Then turned, and tottered thro’ the Fair,

And left the place all broken-hearted !

v.

Now wrap me in my old gray cloak,

And lay me by this path-side fountain :

I think on those whose hearts I broke,

Far, far away by Barna’s mountain ;

Long calm they lie where Barna’s stream Around the churchyard wall is flowing, —

Oh ! on their death-bed did they dream Of her that’s now so quickly going ?

VI.

I fear their bones in earth would stir

With grief, were their cold earth laid o’er me, Yet still I long to lie near her,

The mother dear, that nursed and bore me.

BALLADS.

I ask it with my latest breath,

You wont refuse your Maureen Grady — Oh ! take me, lay me near in death,

Near those I kilt, my Rovin’ Thady!

ROMANCE OF THE BLACK ROBBER.* i.

By a Mumhan mountain airy and stern, A well lies circled by rock and fern, And fiercely over a precipice near Rusheth a waterfall brown and clear.

ii.

In a hollow rent by that bright well’s foam A mighty robber once made his home, —

A man he was full sullen and dark As ever brooded on murder stark, —

in.

A mighty man of a fearful name,

Who took their treasures from all who came, Who hated mankind, who murdered for greed, With an iron heart for each bloody deed.

IV.

As he sat by the torrent ford one day,

A wierd-like beldame came down the way : Red was her mantle, and rich and fine,

But toil and travel had dimmed its shine.

v.

A war axe in his red hand he took,

And he killed the beldame beside the brook,

Partly from one of the ancient Fenian romances.

BALLADS.

And when on the greensward in death she rolled,

In her arms, lo ! a babe, clad in pearls and gold !

VI.

He buried the beldame beside the wave,

And he took the child to his mountain cave,

And the first jewel his red hand met,

A Fern and a Hound on its gem were set !

VII.

Yet darkly he raised his hand to kill,

But his fierce heart smote him such blood to spill ; Oh ! the rage for murder was there delayed By the innocent smile of that infant maid !

VIII.

He made it a bed of the fern leaves green,

And he nursed it well from that evening sheen,

And day by day, as the sweet child grew,

The heart of the Bobber grew softer too.

IX.

Ten long years were past and gone,

And the Bobber sat by the ford’s gray stone,

And there on the eve of a spring-tide day A lordly pageant came down the way.

x.

Before them a banner of green and gold,

With a Fern and a Hound on its glittering fold, Behind it a prince with a sad pale face, —

A mighty prince of a mighty race.

XI.

The Bobber looked on the Fern and Hound,

Then sprang toward the Prince with an eager bound, And u Why art thou sad, O long ?” said he,

In the midst of that lordly companie !

BALLADS.

XII.

His kindly purpose they all mistook,

For, though wan and worn, yet fierce his look, And sudden a noble drew out his glaive,

A nd cleft his skull on the beldame’s grave !

XIII.

a Sad”, said the pale Prince, “ my fate has been, Since the dark enchanters have ta’en my queen, Since they bore my child from the nurse’s hand, And keep her alway in tli’ enchanted land !”

XIV.

The dying robber half rose by the wave,

“ Oh ! enter”, he cried, “ yon lonely cave!” They entered, — the pale Prince found his child, And all was joy in that mountain wild !

THE SIEGE OF CLONMEL. a.d. 1650.

I.

I stood beside a gun upon the Western Gate At the rising of the sun, the battle to await :

In the morning’s ruddy glow showed the fires’ destroying tracks,

My brave comrades all below, with their harness on their backs.

II

Each with harness on his back, by rampart, street, and tower,

To repel the fierce attack in the sultry noontide hour ;

BALLADS.

Glittered lance and flashed the glaive, till the work of death begun ;

And one cheer my comrades gave, as the ruthless foe came on !

hi.

As the wild waves dash and vault ’gainst the cliffs of high Dunmore,

Fierce they mounted to th’ assault, up the breach, in sweat and gore ; —

As the billows backward flow at the ebbing of the main,

Back we drove the daring foe to his camp trench once again !

IV

Out burst each roaring gun, with its mouth of hissing flame,

From its war-cloud thick and dun, as again the foe» men came

For vengeance burning hot; but once more we mowed them down

With spear, and sword, and shot, ’till we drove them from the town.

v.

Cromwell kept the northern height ; — as a spectre pale was he,

When he saw his men of might twice before my comrades flee ;

And he pointed with his sword where the red breach smoking lay —

“ Go ! take it, and the Lord shall be on our side to-day!”