O Boyne, once famed for battles, sports, and conflicts,
And great heroes of the race of Conn,
Art thou grey after all thy blooms?
O aged old woman of grey-green pools,
O wretched Boyne of many tears.
Where is the glory of thy sires?
The glory of Art with the swift arrow;
Of Meiltan, with the swift-darting spears
Of the lordly race of the O’Neil?
To thee belonged red victory,
When the Fenian wrath was kindled,
And the heroes in thousands rode to war,
And the bridles clanked on the steeds.
O river of kings and the sons of kings,
Of the swift bark and the silver fish,
I lay my blessing on thee with my tears,
For thou art the watcher by a grave—
My treasures lie in the earth at thy side—
O Boyne of many tears.
My sons lie there in their strength,
My little daughter in her beauty—
Rory, and Brian, and Rose—
These have I given against my will,
My blood, my heart, my bone and kin,
My love and my life, to the grave.
The blessing of men was on them,
The blessings of thousands that loved them,
From Kells of the Crosses to Drogheda—
Eight thousand blessings to Dowth of the Trees.
Peace be on the earth where they lie!
By the royal stream of the kings,
In the land of the great O’Neil.
The Bardic song amongst all nations was the first expression of the
human soul, with all its strong, passionate emotions and heroic
impulses. It is remarkable that, although several invasions of Ireland
are on record, yet but one language seems to have existed there from
the earliest times down to the coming of the Anglo-Normans in the
twelfth century. The Bards held it as their peculiar duty to raise
this language to the highest perfection, and the laws of Celtic
poetry, especially, were most elaborate and the structure of the verse
exceedingly difficult. Ten years of study were allowed the students at
the Druids’ College to gain perfection in the art, and also to practise
the memory; for at the royal festivals the Ard-Filé was expected to
recite fully and perfectly whatever heroic tale might be called for by
the king at the banquet. On great occasions also, when the meeting was
held in the open air, the chiefs sat round in a circle on mounds of
turf, to the accompaniment of the harp, the chorus joining in the while
the bards, standing in the centre, recited the heroic narrative lyrical
portions at intervals, and a circle of harpists at the outermost
ring of the assemblage introduced occasional symphonies of pure
instrumental music to give the bards time for rest between the parts of
the recitation.
There were three chief measures in music in use amongst the poets—“the
Sorrowful,” or the chant for the dead; “the Delightful,” reserved
for dances and festivities; and “the Reposing,” devoted entirely to
love sonnets and the plaintive softness of lyrical expression. But
the _Ross-Catha_, or battle-hymn, was the great war-song to which the
warriors marched to battle, and which inspired them with the heroic
madness that braved death for victory.
Everything connected with the bards is interesting. They were so
gifted, so learned, and so beautiful. For even genius was not
considered enough, without beauty, to warrant a young man being
enrolled in the ranks of the poets. A noble, stately presence was
indispensable, and the poet was required not only to be gifted, but
to be handsome. Then he was promoted through all the grades until he
reached the last and highest, called “The Wisdom of the Gods,” but
the knowledge then acquired by the initiated was kept sacred from the
crowd, and the adept swore by the sun, the stars, and the hosts of
heaven never to reveal the mysteries acquired by his initiation, to the
profane.
The high-born maidens amongst the noble families were also trained by
the Druids in poetry and music, and in the exercise of the chase, such
as archery and throwing the lance, to give their bodies health, vigour
and beauty, while those endowed with peculiar intellect were admitted
into the bardic orders, and became the priestess, prophetess, or
poetess of the tribe; who inspired men by her eloquence and had power
by her incantations over the deep mysteries of life. Such was Eodain,
the chief poetess of Erin, the guide and inspirer of Eugene, the king
of the South, the prophetess of her nation, who saved him and his
kingdom from ruin by her wisdom, and redeemed him by her counsels from
his dissolute and evil life.