to Ireland what Burns is to Scotland, it is indisputable that the claim
may be made for him rather than for any other Irish poet of the Early
Victorian period. In fire and energy his faculty is unsurpassed by any
of his poetic countrymen, though we may dispute Sir Charles Gavan
Duffy’s assertion that Mangan “has not, and perhaps never had, any rival
in mastery of the metrical and rhythmical resources of the English
tongue.” Mangan was the child of a small tradesman of Dublin, where, in
1803, he was born. From childhood, fate dealt hardly with him. Abandoned
in his early boyhood, he was indebted to a relative for his education;
but when, in his fifteenth year, he became a copyist in a lawyer’s
office, at a small pittance, his kindred discovered him and compelled
him to share his meagre gains with them. For ten years thereafter he
toiled in this bitter bondage. In his own words:--“I was obliged to work
seven years of the ten from five in the morning, winter and summer, to
eleven at night; and during the three remaining years, nothing but a
special Providence could have saved me from suicide.” No wonder that,
from an early period in his life, he found relief from his misery in
drink; but it was misery and unbroken ill-fortune and adversity, much
more than the curse of his fatal habit, that really killed him. There is
a period in his life which is a blank, “a blank into which he entered a
bright-haired youth and emerged a withered and stricken man.” His first
chance for a happier life came with his appointment to a minor post in
the University Library of Dublin, and it was during this time that most
of his best work was done. His highest level is reached in his
brilliant free paraphrases of German originals: _Anthologia Germania_
(1845). His later years were darkened by the worst phases of his malady,
and he died (as in most part he had lived, in misery and poverty) in
Meath Hospital, in his forty-seventh year. He has written one lyric that
Irishmen will always account immortal: “Dark Rosaleen”--a wild and
passionate rhapsody on Ireland herself. “Dark Rosaleen,” “Silk of the
Kine,” “The Little Black Rose,” “Kathleen Ny Houlahan”--these were at
one time the familiar analogues of Ireland. Of his Oriental paraphrases
the most stirring is “The Karamanian Exile.” Strangely enough, Mangan’s
Irish renderings are less happy than those poems which he based upon
German and Oriental originals; but sometimes, as in the beautiful “Fair
Hills of Eiré, O!” after the Irish of Donough mac Con-Mara, he has
bequeathed a memorable lyric. Of poems that are strictly original,
nothing seems to me more characteristic of Mangan than “The One Mystery”
(see p. 142).
ROSA MULHOLLAND. PAGE 144
This accomplished prose-writer and poet was born in Belfast. Since her
_Vagrant Verses_ (1886) she has published many stories and poems, and is
a regular contributor to the leading Irish periodicals. Her “Fionnula”
is one of the happiest renderings of the legend of the Swan Daughters of
Lir; but is too long for quotation in the text. “The Wild Geese,” by
which she is represented here, is eminently characteristic. Her latest
poem, and one of her best, appears under the title “Under a Purple
Cloud” in the autumn number of _The Evergreen_. It is a vision of Earth
personified, and opens thus:
Under a purple cloud along the west
The great brown mother lies and takes her rest,
A dark cheek on her hand, and in her eyes
The shadow of primeval mysteries.
Her tawny velvets swathe her, manifold,
Her mighty head is coifed in filmy gold,
Her youngest babe, the newly-blossomed rose
Upon her swarthy bosom feeds and grows.
With her wide darkling gaze the mother sees
Her children in their homes, the reddening trees,
Roofing wet lawns, fruit-laden lattices,
Blue mountain domes, and the grey river-seas.
THE HON. RODEN NOËL. (1834-1894.) PAGE 146
Mr Roden Noël was son of the first Earl of Gainsborough, grandson of
Lord Roden of Tullymore in Ireland, and nephew to the present Marquis of
Londonderry. By birth, descent, training, and sympathy, he considered
himself an Irishman: though he was half English by blood, and lived the
greater part of his life in England, while his intellectual homage was
largely evoked by Hellenic mythology and lore, and by Teutonic mysticism
and speculation. It was this confused blending of influences which,
perhaps, militated so strongly against the concentration of his
brilliant abilities into long-sustained and organic creative effort.
With all his shortcomings, he still remains a poet of genuine impulse
and occasionally of high distinction; and some of his lyrics and
ballads, of a more essentially human interest than his more ambitious
work, are likely to be held in honourable remembrance. The “Lament for a
Little Child” (see p. 146) has passed into literature; as, indeed, may
perhaps be said of the book whence it comes: _A Little Child’s Monument_
(1881). In one of his Cornish poems he begins thus:--
“For me, true son of Erin, thou art rife,
Grand coast of Cornwall, cliff, and cave, and surge,
With glamour of the Kelt.”
I do not think there is much “glamour of the Kelt” in Roden Noël’s work,
but it may be discerned in one or two poems in each of his volumes, and
in many of his lyrics and irregular lyrical compositions there is much
of Celtic intensity and dream. Few poets have written of the sea with
more loving knowledge and profound sympathy; hence it is that he is
represented here by one characteristic sea-poem, called “The
Swimmer”--as autobiographical as anything of the kind can be. The
swimmer’s joy was Roden Noël’s chief physical delight. All who knew the
man himself remember him as one of the personalities of his time, and as
a man of individual distinction and charm. Besides the book already
mentioned, his chief poetic volumes are _Beatrice and Other Poems_
(1868); _Songs of the Heights and Deeps_ (1885); and _A Modern Faust_
(1888). See also the Selection from his poems published in the
Canterbury Poets Series (edited, with a Critical Introduction, by Mr
Robert Buchanan), and the posthumous volumes _My Sea_ and _Selected
Lyrics_ (Elkin Mathews).
CHARLES P. O’CONOR. PAGE 158
Besides this typical Irish song, Mr O’Conor has written other winsome
lyrics of the same kind. One of the best is that called “Erinn”
beginning--
“O, a lovely place is Erinn, in the summer of the year,
Roseen dhu ma Erinn.”
This and “Maura Du of Ballyshannon” are from his _Songs of a Life_
(Kentish Mercury Office, 1875).
JOHN FRANCIS O’DONNELL. PAGE 160
This pretty Spinning Song is characteristic of the always deft and
generally delicate and winsome lyrical writing of Mr Francis O’Donnell.
JOHN BOYLE O’REILLY. PAGE 161
This prolific writer, often designated an Irish-American poet, through
the accident of his enforced exile to, and long residence in, the United
States, is inadequately represented by the brief lyric, “A White Rose”;
but it is significant of his best achievement, for he is always at his
happiest in brief, spontaneous lyrics, often in a Heinesque vein. John
Boyle O’Reilly was born at Dowth Castle in Ireland. In his early manhood
he enlisted in a hussar regiment; and it was while as a hussar that he
was arrested on the charge of spreading republican principles in the
ranks, and was sentenced to be shot. This sentence was commuted to
twenty years of penal servitude; when the unfortunate man, victim of
that disastrous as well as iniquitous tyranny which has characterised
the English official attitude towards the Celtic populations, was taken
to the convict settlements of Western Australia. Thence, in time, he
escaped, and after hairbreadth escapes reached Philadelphia. From there
he went to Boston, where he settled; and in a few years, by virtue of
his remarkable gifts as a poet, a prose-writer, and a brilliant
journalist, became an acknowledged power in trans-Atlantic literature. A
novel of his, _Moondyne_, is widely and deservedly celebrated. Of his
poetical works, the best are _Songs of the Southern Seas_, _Songs,
Legends, and Ballads_, and _In Bohemia_.
ARTHUR O’SHAUGHNESSY. (1844-1881.) PAGE 162
O’Shaughnessy is to be ranked as an English rather than as an Irish
poet; for the national sentiment played a minor, indeed hardly a
perceptible part in his poetic life. The Celtic part of him found its
best expression in his translations of the _Lays of Marie_
(particularly the difficult and extraordinary “Bisclaveret”), powerful
paraphrases rather than translations. The poem by which he is
represented here shows the influence of Edgar Allan Poe, but is founded
upon a Celtic legend. In his early youth he was appointed to a
subordinate position in the Library of the British Museum, and was
afterwards promoted to the Natural History Department. His first
literary success was his _Epic of Women_ (1870), a volume of exceptional
promise, which, however, was never adequately fulfilled. His _Lays of
France_ (1872) was followed by _Music and Moonlight_ (1874) and a
posthumous volume, _Songs of a Worker_ (1881). Always delicate, his
death without any previous breakdown surprised none of his friends. I
recollect that on the Saturday preceding his death, which I think was on
a Wednesday, he came into the rooms of his brother-in-law, and
fellow-poet and friend, Philip Bourke Marston, and asked me to come to
his residence on the following Wednesday, to hear him read from the
proofs of his new book. That evening he went to a theatre, came home on
the top of an omnibus, caught a chill, and died before any of his
friends knew that he was seriously indisposed. The best critical and
biographical accounts of this charming if insubstantial poet, are to be
found in Dr Garnett’s memoir in Miles’ _Poets and Poetry of the
Century_, Vol. VIII., and in the biographical edition of his poems
recently put forth by Mrs Louise Chandler Moulton. Of the poem here
given, Dr Garnett speaks as a “miracle of melody,” and as one of the
pieces in which “the poet’s inward nature has perhaps most clearly
expressed itself.”
FANNY PARNELL. (1855-1883.) PAGE 165
A remarkable poem by a remarkable woman. Frances Isabelle Parnell was
the sister of Charles Stewart Parnell, and grand-daughter of Charles
Stewart (from whom the great Irish patriot derived his baptismal names),
the historic commander of the U.S. Frigate _Constitution_. Miss
Parnell’s poems, which always appeared above the signature of Fanny
Parnell, have not yet been published collectively. She was secretary of
the Ladies’ Land League, and was as intensely wrought by the fervour of
patriotism as was her famous brother.
T. W. ROLLESTON. PAGE 166
The sometime editor of the _Dublin University Review_, and one of the
most valued present members of the Irish Literary Society, was born at
Shinrone, King’s County, in 1857. Mr Rolleston has had a cosmopolitan
training since he left Trinity College, and has in particular been
influenced by his long residence in Germany; but he has remained a
Celtic poet and ardent Celticist through every intellectual development.
While resident in Germany and in London, he wrote his _Life of Lessing_
and his introductions to Epictetus and Plato. He is now responsibly
connected with the Irish Industries Association, but is more and not
less engrossed by his Celtic studies. If there were a few more
poet-scholars who could translate or paraphrase so beautifully as Mr
Rolleston has paraphrased the Irish of Enoch o’ Gillan (see p. 166) and
other poems, there would be a wider public in England for the lovely
work of early Irish poetry. “The Lament of Queen Maev,” given here in
the Ancient Irish section, is also a translation by Mr Rolleston.
DORA SIGERSON. PAGE 167
This young and promising writer comes of poetic stock. Her sister Hester
is also a writer of verse, and her father, Dr Sigerson, is one of the
foremost workers in the Gaelic Revival. Miss Dora Sigerson’s only
published book as yet bears the modest title _Verses_. It is, perhaps,
more significant in its promise than in its achievement; and I find
nothing in it so mature as the poem by which she is represented here,
taken from a recent issue of the _Chap Book_ (Stone & Kimball, Chicago).
The following lines, from _Verses_, may be given as an example of her
poetic first-fruits:--
IN SOUTHERN SEAS.
In southern seas we sailed, my love and I,
In southern seas.
Death joined no chorus as the waves swept by,
No storm hid in the breeze.
Low keeled our boat until her white wings dipped half wet with spray,
And seeking gulls tossed on the passing wave laughed on our way,
The rhyme of sound, the harmony of souls--of silence too;
Your silence held my thoughts, my love, as mine of you;
The wingèd whispering wind that blew our sails was summer sweet--
I found my long-sought paradise crouched at thy feet.
In northern seas I weep alone, alone,
In winter seas.
Death’s hounds are on the waves, with many moans
Death’s voice comes with the breeze,
My helpless boat, rocked in the wind, obeys no steadfast hand,
Her swinging helm and ashing sheet have lost my weak command;
The shrieking sea-birds seek the sheltering shore,
The writhing waves leap upward, and their hoar
Strong hands tear at the timbers of my shuddering craft.
I cry in vain, the Fates have seen and laughed,
Time and the world have stormed my summer sea--
I ate my fruit, the serpent held the tree.
DR GEORGE SIGERSON. PAGE 168
The distinguished translator and editor of _The Poets and Poetry of
Munster_ was born near Strabane, Co. Tyrone, in 1839. Much of his
original work has appeared above his Irish pen-name “Erionnach”; and
from first to last Dr Sigerson’s name is indissolubly associated with
the wide-reaching Celtic Renascence in Ireland.
DR JOHN TODHUNTER. PAGE 170
One of the foremost contemporary poets of Ireland, was born in Dublin in
1839, and, like so many of his literary compatriots, was educated at
Trinity. He then pursued his medical studies in Paris and Vienna;
returned to Dublin and practised awhile as a physician; succeeded Prof.
Dowden as Professor of English Literature in Alexandria College; and,
since 1875, has devoted himself exclusively to literature. Some of his
lyrical pieces are known to all lovers of poetry--_e.g._ “The Banshee”;
and for the rest he has won a distinctive place for himself by work at
once varied in theme and beautiful in treatment. Though he has won
deserved reputation as a playwright for the contemporary stage, as well
as in the poetic drama, he seems to me to be at his best when most
Celtic in feeling and expression. He is represented here, not by pieces
so well known as “The Banshee” or any part of _The Three Sorrows of
Story-Telling_, but by two typical Irish poems, and one lovely fragment
(see p. 173) from _Forest Songs_. Personally, I consider the “Love Song”
given at page 170 to be one of the finest compositions of its kind in
modern Celtic literature. I have regretfully refrained from quoting two
other poems by Dr Todhunter, one familiar to every Irishman, “The Shan
Van Vocht of ’87,” beginning--
There’s a spirit in the air,
Says the _Shan Van Vocht_,
And her voice is everywhere,
Says the _Shan Van Vocht_;
Though her eyes be full of care,
Even as Hope’s, born of Despair,
Her sweet face looks young and fair,
Says the _Shan Van Vocht_.--
and the other, which I think the strongest of his short lyrical poems,
“Aghadoe”--of which I may give the two concluding quatrains--
I walked to Mallow town from Aghadoe, Aghadoe;
Brought his head from the gaol’s gate to Aghadoe,
Then I covered him with fern, and I piled on him the cairn,
Like an Irish king he sleeps in Aghadoe.
Oh! to creep into that cairn in Aghadoe, Aghadoe!
There to rest upon his breast in Aghadoe,
Sure your dog for you could die with no truer heart than I,
Your own love, cold on your cairn, in Aghadoe.
KATHERINE TYNAN. PAGE 174
The author of _Louise de la Vallière_ (1885), _Shamrocks_ (1887),
_Ballads and Lyrics_ (1891), and later volumes in prose as well as
verse, is one of the best known representatives of the Irish poetic
fellowship. Mrs Hinkson (though best known by her maiden name) is
distinctively Irish rather than Celtic, and pre-eminently a Catholicist
in the spirit of her work. She has a St Francis-like love of birds and
all defenceless creatures and humble things, and has a most happy lyric
faculty in dealing with aspects and objects which excite her rhythmic
emotion. In lyric quality and in her all-pervading sense of colour, she
is, however, characteristically Celtic. Miss Tynan was born in Dublin in
1861, but since her marriage a few years ago to Mr Hinkson (himself one
of the Dublin University _Young Ireland_ men) she has resided in or near
London. Some of her work has a lyric ecstasy, of a kind which
distinguishes it from the poetry of any other woman-writer of to-day.
CHARLES WEEKES. PAGE 179
Mr Weekes is one of the small band of Irish poet-dreamers who may be
particularly associated with Mr W. B. Yeats and Mr G. W. Russell
(“A.E.”). His book, _Reflections and Refractions_, contains fine
achievement as well as noteworthy promise.
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS. PAGE 181
Born (of an Irish father, and of a Cornish mother come of a family
settled in Ireland) at Sandymount, Dublin, in 1866; but early life
chiefly spent in Sligo, and on the Connaught seaboard. Of late years, Mr
Yeats has passed much of his time in London, but is never absent from
Ireland for any long period--
“... for always night and day
I hear lake-water lapping with low sounds on the shore;
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.”
W. B. Yeats is the prince of contemporary Irish poets. While no one is
more essentially Celtic, and none is more distinctively national, his
poetry belongs to English literature. Mr Yeats himself would be the last
man to nail his flag to the mast of parochialism in literature. He is
one of the two or three absolutely poetic personalities in literature at
the present moment; and in outlook, and, above all, in atmosphere,
stands foremost in the younger generation. It is noteworthy that the two
most convincingly poetic of all our younger poets, since the giants who
(with the exception of George Meredith, A. C. Swinburne, and William
Morris) have gone from our midst, are predominantly Celtic; W. B. Yeats
and John Davidson--and noteworthy, also, that both are too wise, too
clear-sighted, too poetic, in fact, to aim at being Irish or
Scoto-Celtic at the expense of being English in the high and best sense
of the word. This, fortunately, is consistent with being paramountly
national in all else. In the world of literature there is no geography
save that of the mind.
Mr Yeats’ poetic work is best to be read, and perhaps best to be
enjoyed, in the revised collective edition of his poems, in one volume,
published recently by Mr Fisher Unwin. His first volume of verse, _The
Wanderings of Oisìn_, was published in 1889. This was followed (in 1892)
by _The Countess Kathleen: and Various Legends and Lyrics_; _The Land of
Heart’s Desire_, and two short prose tales (in the Pseudonym Library),
_John Sherman_ and _Dhoya_. Two new books are promised in 1896 (through
Mr Elkin Mathews), _The Shadowy Waters_ (a poetic play), and _The Wind
Among the Reeds_ (poems). He has also published several volumes of
selected Irish tales and legendary lore; edited, in conjunction with Mr
E. J. Ellis, the _Works of William Blake_ (3 vols., 1893); and _A Book
of Irish Verse_ (Methuen, 1895), an interesting rather than an
adequately representative anthology of nationalistic Irish poetry. All
that is most distinctive in Mr Yeats’ own original work is to be found
in his _Poems_ (Collective Edition, in 1 vol., Fisher Unwin, 1895), and
the prose volume entitled _The Celtic Twilight_ (Lawrence & Bullen,
1893), one of the most fascinating prose-books by a poet published in
our time.
LATER SCOTO-CELTIC
THE PROLOGUE TO GAUL. PAGE 189
Comes from the _Sean Dana_: _vide_ Dr John Smith’s _Collection of
Ancient Poems_ (1780), (_vide_ Note to page 13 _supra_, and also
Introduction).
IN HEBRID SEAS. PAGE 191
This stirring Hebridean poem is given as from the ancient Gaelic.
Probably by this is meant merely old Gaelic, mediæval or even later. The
translation is by Mr Thomas Pattison, and is included in his _Gaelic
Bards_. He has the following note upon it: “This effusion, although in
its original form it is only a kind of wild chant--almost indeed half
prose--yet it is the germ of the ballad. It occurs in many of the tales
contained in that collection, the repository of old Gaelic lore, the
_Popular Tales of the West Highlands_, sometimes more and sometimes less
perfect. The original will be found in the second volume of the
Tales.... The vigorous and elastic spirit that pervades these verses
must have strung the heart of many a hardy mariner who loved to feel the
fresh and briny breeze drive his snoring birlinn bounding like a living
creature over the tumbling billows of the inland loch or the huge swell
of the majestic main.”
LULLABY. PAGE 193
Supposed to be the composition of the wife of Gregor MacGregor after the
judicial murder of her husband.
DROWNED. PAGE 194
This folk-poem, the antiquity of which may be anywhere from a hundred to
two hundred years or more, is given in the translation of the Rev. Dr
Stewart of Nether Lochaber.
ALEXANDER MACDONALD. PAGE 195