Having promised early in this volume to identify our island with the
Insula Hyperboreorum of antiquity, I shall, without further tarrying,
produce the extract referred to, from Diodorus; and, lest I may be
suspected of adapting it to my own peculiar views, it shall appear
minutely in Mr. Booth’s translation, viz.:--
“Amongst them that have written old stories much like fables, Hecatæus and
some others say, that there is an island in the ocean, over against Gaul,
as big as Sicily, under the arctic pole, where the Hyperboreans inhabit,
so called because they lie beyond the breezes of the north wind. That the
soil here is very rich and very fruitful, and the climate temperate,
insomuch as there are two crops in the year.
“They say that Latona was born here, and therefore that they worship
Apollo above all other gods; and because they are daily singing songs in
praise of this god, and ascribing to him the highest honours, they say
that these inhabitants demean themselves as if they were Apollo’s priests,
who has here a stately grove and renowned temple of round form, beautified
with many rich gifts. That there is a city likewise consecrated to this
god, whose citizens are most of them harpers, who, playing on the harp,
chant sacred hymns to Apollo in the temple, setting forth his glorious
acts. The Hyperboreans use their own natural language, but, of _long_ and
ancient time, have had a special kindness for the Grecians; and more
especially for the Athenians and them of Delos; and that some of the
Grecians passed over to the Hyperboreans, and left behind them divers
presents[446] inscribed with Greek characters; and that Abaris formerly
travelled thence into Greece, and renewed the ancient league of friendship
with the Delians.
“They say, moreover, that the moon in this island seems as if it were near
to the earth, and represents, on the face of it, excrescences like spots
on the earth; and that Apollo once in nineteen years comes into the
island; in which space of time the stars perform their courses and return
to the same point; and therefore the Greeks call the revolution of
nineteen years the Great Year. At this time of his appearance they say
that he plays upon the harp, and sings and dances all the night, from the
vernal equinox[447] to the rising of the Pleiades,[448] solacing himself
with the praises of his own successful adventures. The sovereignty of this
city and the care of the temple, they say, belong to the Boreades, the
posterity of Boreas, who hold the principality by descent in the direct
line from that ancestor.”
When copying this narrative from the writings of Hecatæus, it is evident
that Diodorus did not believe one single syllable it contained. He looked
upon it as a romance; and so far was he from identifying it with any
actual locality, that he threw over the whole an air of burlesque. We are,
therefore, not at all obliged for the services he has rendered--yet shall
we make his labours subservient to the elucidation of truth. Little did he
dream that Ireland, which he, by and by, expressly mentions by the name of
Irin, and which he calumniates as cannibal, was one and the same with that
isle of which he read such encomiums in the writings of former
antiquaries; and, most unquestionably, it did require no small portion of
research to reconcile the contradiction which the outline involves, and
which is now further enhanced by his scepticism.
Unable to solve this difficulty, Mr. Dalton--wishing to retain, by all
means, the _Hyperborean isle_, which, indeed, he could not well discard,
yet not bring it in collision with the _Iranian libel_--does not hesitate
to throw at once overboard into the depth of the Atlantic the island of
Irin (alias _Ireland_), and affirm that it never was the place which the
historian had specified. “It is not quite certain,” says he, “what place
Diodorus means by Iris;[449] from the turn of the expression it would
_rather appear to be a part of Britain_,--perhaps the Erne, for which Mr.
James M’Pherson contends in another place,--while the island which
Diodorus does mention in the remarkable pages cited above, and which so
completely agrees with Ireland, is never called Iris by him, nor does the
name occur again in all his work, nor is it by any other author applied to
Ireland.”[450]
Mind, now, reader, how easily I reconcile the conflicting fact of
Diodorus’s incredulity with his positive defamation.
At the period when he flourished as an accredited historian, the occupancy
of Ireland had passed into new hands. The Scythians were the persons then
possessed of the soil; and they being a warlike tribe, averse to letters,
to religion, and to refinement,[451]--but overwhelming in
numbers,--obliterated every vestige of that primeval renown in which the
island had once gloried, and which afforded theme and material to the
learned of all countries for eulogy and praise.
Hecatæus was one of those who depicted in glowing colours the primitive
splendour and the ethereal happiness of Ireland’s first inhabitants. He
belonged to an age which was well called antiquarian, even in the day in
which Diodorus wrote, viz. B.C. 44; and when, therefore, this latter,
looking over the pages of his venerable predecessor, saw them so replete
with incidents,--at variance with our condition in his own degenerate
day,--he did not only not dream of considering Ireland as the place
described, but looked upon the whole story as the fiction of a dotard.
Let us, however, despite of Diodorus, establish the veracity of the
antiquarian Hecatæus. Then behold the situation of this island, just
opposite to France,--in size as large as Sicily,--at once corresponding to
the locality and size of Ireland, and subversive of the claims of those
who would fain make England, Anglesea, or one of the Hebrides, the island
specified.
Considering further the prolificacy of its soil, and with that compare
what the old poet has affirmed,--and what we know to be true,--of our own
country, viz.:--
“Illic bis niveum tondetur vellus in anno
Bisque die referunt ubera tenta greges.”
Then bring its propinquity to the “arctic pole,” and the high northern
latitude which Strabo[452] and other ancients have assigned to Ireland,
into juxtaposition with “Hyperborean,” the name given to its inhabitants
from the very circumstance of their lying so far to the north, and the
identity of the isle with that in which each true Irishman exults is
infallibly complete when I quote from Marcianus Heracleotes--who wrote in
the third century, and who, as he himself avows, only drew up a compendium
from the voluminous works of Artemidorus, who flourished in the hundred
and sixty-ninth Olympiad, or 104 years before Christ--the following
description of this sacred island, viz. “Iuvernia, a British isle, is
bounded on the north (ad Boream) by the ocean called the Hyperborean; but
on the east by the ocean which is called the Hibernian; on the south by
the Virginian ocean. It has sixteen nations and eleven illustrious cities,
fifteen remarkable rivers, five remarkable promontories, and six
remarkable islands.”
Here the sea, encompassing Ireland on the north, is called the Hyperborean
Ocean;[453] and when we are told that the priests officiating at the round
temples of Apollo were called Boreades, we can readily understand the
origin of the name, as derived from _Boreas_, the deity who presided over
the north-east wind, to which they offered their vows,--just as we find
the Emperor Augustus erecting a temple at Rome, many centuries after, to
the wind called Circius.
To this deification of the energies of nature, which, as before affirmed,
was but part and parcel of that form of worship called Sabaism, the author
of the Book of Enoch has alluded in the following mysterious episode:--
“Then another angel, who proceeded with me, spoke to me; and showed me the
first and last secrets in heaven above, and in the depths of the earth: in
the extremities of heaven, and in the foundations of it, and in the
receptacle of the winds. _He showed me_ how their Spirits were divided;
how they were balanced; and how both the springs and the winds were
numbered according to the force of the Spirit. _He showed me_ the power of
the moon’s light, that its power is a just one; as well as the divisions
of the stars, according to their respective names; _that_ every division
is divided; that the lightning flashes; that _their Host_ immediately
obey; and that a cessation takes place during thunder, in the continuance
of its sound. Nor are the thunder and the lightning separated; neither do
both of them move with one Spirit; yet are they not separated. For when
the lightning lightens, the thunder sounds, and the Spirit, at a proper
period, pauses, making an equal division between them; for the receptacle
of their times is what sand is. Each of them at a proper season is
restrained with a bridle, and turned by the power of the Spirit; which
thus propels them according to the spacious extent of the earth.”
Yet beautiful as is the above, it is not much more so than an almost
inspired little poem, which appeared some time ago, in one of the public
prints, as emanating from the pen of an American lady, named Goold,
personifying this element, viz.:--
“We come! we come! and ye feel our might,
As we’re hastening on in our boundless flight;
And over the mountains and over the deep,
Our broad invisible pinions sweep.
Like the Spirit of Liberty, wild and free!
And ye look on our works, and own ’tis we;
Ye call us the _winds_; but can ye tell
Whither we go, or where we dwell?
Ye mark as we vary our forms of power,
And fell the forest or fan the flower,
When the hare-bell moves, and the rush is bent,
When the tower’s o’erthrown and the oak is rent,
As we waft the bark o’er the slumbering wave,
Or hurry its crew to a watery grave:
And ye say it is we! but can ye trace
The wandering _winds_ to their secret place?
And whether our breath be loud and high,
Or come in a soft and balmy sigh,
Our threat’nings fill the soul with fear,
As our gentle whisperings woo the ear
With music aërial, still ’tis we,
And ye list, and ye look; but what do ye see?
Can ye hush one sound of our voice to peace,
Or waken one note when our numbers cease?
Our dwelling is in th’ Almighty’s hand,
We come and we go at His command;
Though joy or sorrow may mark our track,
His will is our guide, and we look not back;
And if, in our wrath, ye would turn us away,
Or win us in gentlest air to play,
Then lift up your hearts to Him who binds,
Or frees, as He will, the obedient _winds_!”
And now, as to those “temples” themselves, “of round form,” sacred to
Apollo, where will Borlasse in his championship for England, or Rowland in
his claims for the island of Anglesea, or Toland and Carte for the little
Hebrides isles, find a single vestige of a _rotund edifice_ of antiquated
consecration, appertaining to the age which Hecatæus described?--whereas,
in Ireland, of the two hundred and upwards, with which its surface was, at
one time, adorned, we have not only _vestiges_ of each and all to this
day; but, out of the sixty that _survive_,--after an interval of more than
three thousand years standing,--about twenty still display their Grynean
devotion and their Hyperborean tranquillity, and are likely so to do for
three thousand years more, should this world, or our portion of it, but
last so long!
To give soul to the solemnisation of this religious pomp, the Irish have
ever cultivated the mysteries of music. The harp more particularly had
enlisted the energies of their devotional regard, and their eminence in
its management made Hecatæus well observe, that “the inhabitants were
almost exclusively harpers.” This was a very suitable accompaniment to
their worship of Apollo, who was himself the reputed inventor of this
instrument; and accordingly we find that, even in the twelfth century,
broken down and obliterated as every vestige of the _real Irish_ then was,
by the ungenial amalgamation of the Scythian and Danish intruders, the
_harp_ was still preserved as the last remnant of their glory; while the
elegance of their compositions and performance upon it extorted this
reluctant acknowledgment from the prejudiced Cambrensis:--
“The attention,” says he, “of this people to musical instruments, I find
worthy of commendation; their skill in which is, _beyond comparison,
superior_ to that of _any nation_ I have seen. For in these the modulation
is not slow and solemn, as in the instruments of Britain, to which we are
accustomed, but the sounds are rapid and precipitate, yet, at the same
time sweet and pleasing. It is wonderful how, in such precipitate rapidity
of the fingers, the musical proportions are observed, and, by their art,
faultless throughout.
“In the midst of their complicated modulations and most intricate
arrangement of notes, by a rapidity so sweet, a regularity so irregular, a
concord so discordant, the melody is rendered harmonious and perfect,
whether the cords of the diatesseron or diapente are struck together. Yet
they always begin in a soft mood, and end in the same, that all may be
perfected in the sweetness of delicious sounds. They enter on, and again
leave, their modulations with so much subtlety, and the tricklings of the
small notes sport with so much freedom under the deep note of the bass;
they delight with so much delicacy, and soothe so softly, that the
excellency of their art seems to be in concealing it.”[454]
Clarsech and Cruit were both names which the Irish gave their harp, from
the musical board and the warbling of the strings respectively. But the
favourite designation was that of Orphean, an evident derivation from
Orpheus, the divine musician of the ancients, who is said to have stayed
the course of rivers, and lulled the listening woods,--to have moved the
stones into prescribed positions, and tamed the savage propensities of
man--all by the instrumentality of his speaking lyre!
“As regards Orpheus himself,” says the learned Barker, “he is stated by
some ancient authorities to have abstained from eating of flesh, and to
have had an abhorrence of eggs, considered as food, from a persuasion that
the egg was the principle of all being. Many other accounts are given of
him, which would seem to assimilate his character to that of the ancient
priests of India, or Brachmani. The ancients, however, unable to discover
any mode by which he could have obtained his knowledge from any other
source, pretended that he had visited Egypt, and had there been initiated
in the mysteries of Isis and Osiris. This appears, however, to be a
supposition purely gratuitous on the part of the ancient writers, since a
careful examination of the subject leads directly to the belief that
Orpheus was of Indian origin; that he was a member of one of those
_Sacerdotal Colonies, which professed the religion of Buddha_; and who
being driven from their home, in the northern parts of India, and in the
plains of Tartary, by the power of the rival sect of Brahma, moved
gradually onwards to the west, dispensing, in their progress, the benefits
of civilisation and the _mysterious tenets of their peculiar faith_.”
We know little or nothing at this remote day of the ancient music of the
Bardic order; that it was eminent, however, and transcendently superior to
that of all other countries, is evident from the fact of its having
maintained its character when all our other attributes had notoriously
vanished. Caradoc admits that his countrymen, the Welsh, borrowed all
their instruments, tunes, airs, and measures, from our favoured island.
Carr additionally says, that “although the Welsh have been for ages
celebrated for the boldness and sweetness of their music, yet it appears
that they were much indebted to the superior musical talents of their
neighbours, the Irish.” Selden asserts “that the Welsh music, for the most
part, came out of Ireland with Gruffydh ap Tenan, Prince of North Wales,
who was cotemporary with King Stephen.” I know not whether our brethren of
Scotland will be so ready to acknowledge the loan. But if anyone will
compare the spirit of their music with that which pervades the melodies of
our country, the identity will be as obvious as the inference is
irresistible.
Fuller, in his account of the Crusade, conducted by Godfrey of Boulogne,
says, “Yea, we might well think that all the concerts of Christendom in
this war would have made no music if the _Irish harp_ had been wanting.”
And _this_ is the instrument which Ledwich asserts we borrowed from the
Ostmen! Insolent presumption! Neither Ostman nor Dane ever laid eyes upon
such, until they saw it in the _sunny_ valleys of the Emerald Island. And
had they the shadow of a claim either to it or to the Round Towers, to
which its services were consecrated, Cambrensis could not fail
ascertaining the fact from any of the stragglers of those uncouth
marauders, who--having survived the carnage inflicted upon their army, in
the plains of Clontarf, under the retributive auspices of the immortal
Brien--were allowed to cultivate their mercantile avocations in the
various maritime cities, where they would naturally be proud to perpetuate
every iota of demonstrative civilisation which they could pretend to have
imported. Alas! they _imparted_ none, but _exported_ a great deal; and,
what is more to be lamented, annihilated its evidences!
But it is not alone of the _property_ of this national organ that the
_moderns_ would deprive us, but the very _existence_ of the instrument
they affirm to be of recent date! Why, sir, it is as old as the hills.
Open the fourth chapter of the Book of Genesis, and you will find it there
recorded that “Jubal was the father of all such as handle the _harp_ and
organ.”
And now to the empirics of the “Fine Arts,”[455] and the deniers of their
antiquity, I shall quote the next verse, namely, “Zillah, she also bare a
son, Tubal-Cain, an instructor of every artificer in brass and iron.”[456]
And in Job xxviii. 2 it is said that “iron is taken out of the earth, and
brass is molten out of the stone.”
“In the _north of Europe_,” says Herodotus, “there appears to be by far
the greatest abundance of gold; where it is found I cannot say, except
that _the Arimaspians, a race of men having only one eye_, are said to
purloin it from the griffins.[457] I do not, however, believe that there
exists any race of men born with only one eye!”
Had this esteemed author known the allegorical import of the word
Arimaspians (from _arima_, one, and _spia_, an eye), such as it has been
explained at page 86, he would not have committed himself by the
observation with which the above extract has terminated. No doubt he
thought it extremely _philosophical_, because it is _sceptical_! but let
us see if another instance of his _scepticism_ will redound more to his
_philosophy_:--“I cannot help laughing,” says he elsewhere, “at those who
pretend that the ocean flows round our continent: no proof can be given of
it.... I believe that Homer had taken what he believes about the ocean
from a work of antiquity, but it was without comprehending anything of the
matter, repeating what he had read, without well understanding what he had
read!”[458]
Now, without disputing with Siberia the honour of possessing all this
_ancient_ gold, I will take the liberty of inserting an extract from one
of Mr. Hamilton’s letters on the Antrim coast, which will show, at all
events, the antiquity of our mining.
“About the year 1770,” says he, “the miners, in pushing forward an adit
toward the bed of coal, at an unexplored part of the Ballycastle cliff,
unexpectedly broke through the rock into a narrow passage, so much
contracted and choked up with various drippings and deposits on its sides
and bottom, as rendered it impossible for any of the workmen to force
through, that they might examine it farther. Two lads were, therefore,
made to creep in with candles, for the purpose of exploring this
subterranean avenue. They accordingly pressed forward for a considerable
time, with much labour and difficulty, and at length entered into an
extensive labyrinth, branching off into numerous apartments, in the mazes
and windings of which they were completely bewildered and lost. After
various vain attempts to return, their lights were extinguished, their
voices became hoarse, and exhausted with frequent shouting; and, at
length, wearied and spiritless, they sat down together, in utter despair
of an escape from this miserable dungeon. In the meanwhile, the workmen in
the adit became alarmed for their safety, fresh hands were incessantly
employed, and, in the course of twenty-four hours, the passage was so
opened as to admit some of the most active among the miners; but the
situation of the two unhappy prisoners, who had sat down together in a
very distant chamber of the cavern, prevented them from hearing altogether
the noise and shouts of their friends, who thus laboured to assist them.
“Fortunately, it occurred to one of the lads (after his voice had become
hoarse with shouting), that the noise of miners’ hammers was often heard
at considerable distances through the coal works; in consequence of this
reflection, he took up a stone, which he frequently struck against the
sides of the cavern; the noise of this was at length heard by the workmen,
who, in their turn, adopted a similar artifice; by this means each party
was conducted towards the other, and the unfortunate adventurers
extricated time enough to behold the sun risen in full splendour, which
they had left the morning before just beginning to tinge the eastern
horizon. On examining this subterranean wonder, it was found to be a
complete gallery, which had been driven forward many hundred yards to the
bed of coal: that it branched off into numerous chambers, where miners had
carried on their different works: that these chambers were dressed in a
workmanlike manner: that pillars were left at proper intervals to support
the roof. In short, it was found to be an extensive mine, wrought by a set
of people at least as expert in the business as the present generation.
Some remains of the tools, and even of the baskets used in the works, were
discovered, but in such a decayed state, that on being touched, they
immediately crumbled to pieces. From the remains which were found, there
is reason to believe that the people who wrought these collieries
anciently, were acquainted with the use of iron, some small pieces of
which were found; it appeared as if some of their instruments had been
thinly shod with that metal.”
There is no question but that the era when those collieries were before
worked, was that in which the Tuath-de-danaans were masters of this
island. _Had it been at any later period, we could not fail having some
traditions relating thereto._ Iron, therefore, the last discovered of the
metals, as stated at page 115, must have been known to this people: and
the absence of any name for it in our vernacular language is accounted for
on the same principle as that by which those excavations themselves had
been so long concealed, namely, the distaste of their successors to such
applications, or the reluctance entertained to make them acquainted with
their worth.
It is probable, however, that the little minikin fineries of life were not
then in fashion--that our loaves were not baked in tin shapes, as at
present, nor our carriages constructed in so many different varieties of
form, excluding altogether those worked by steam; that our gunlocks were
not prepared with percussion caps, nor our sofas furnished with air-blown
cushions; that the routine of etiquette was differently negotiated, and
that twenty, or more, several hands were not employed in the finish of a
common pin, before it could be dignified with the honour of acting a
useful part in adjusting the habiliments of a modern dandy:--but in all
the grand essentials of life--in all its solid refinements and elegant
utilities,--the scholar will confess that those who have gone before us
have been fully our equals; and traces, too, are not wanting to
countenance the belief that even those knick-knack frivolities on which we
so pique ourselves in the present day, have not been at some period
without a prototype,--so that the majority of those boasted patents for
what are considered _discoveries_ or inventions of something new, should
more properly be for _recoveries_, or unfoldings of something old, and
illustrative of the adage, as remarkable as it is correct, “that there is
nothing new under the sun.”[459]