The name of Thomas Davis is identified with the rise and progress of
Irish ballad literature. The sound of his spirit-stirring lyre was the
irresistible summons that awoke the sleeping bards of Irish song, bade
them tune their harps in joyous accord, and fill the land with the
thrilling harmony of a new evangel. At the touch of O'Connell, his
country shook off the torpor produced by the drug of penal proscription,
under which she had so long lain listless, almost lifeless. It fell to
the lot of the young Irelanders to perfect the work so successfully
begun; to raise her from the ignoble dust; to teach her the lesson of
courage and self-confidence, and quicken her footsteps in the onward
march for national independence. Thomas Davis was the acknowledged
organizer and leader of this band of conspiring patriots. By birth and
education he was well fitted for the position which he held. His father
was the surviving representative of an honored line of English
ancestors. His mother's genealogy extended back in titled pedigree to
the Atkins of Forville, and to the great house of the O'Sullivans. Davis
was born at Mallow, County Cork, in the year 1814. His early life gave
little indication of future distinction. At school he was remarkable for
being a dull boy, slow to learn and not easy to teach; but in this
respect he resembled many of his countrymen, who, from being
incorrigible dunces, rose to subsequent eminence and repute as great
orators, great poets and great patriots. Goldsmith, while at school, was
seldom free from the cap of disgrace; Sheridan's future was spoken of by
his early preceptor with doleful misgivings and boding shakes of the
head; Curran, till late in life, was known as "Orator Mum." Even at the
Dublin University, from which he graduated in 1835, Davis was remarkable
for being shy and self-absorbed, a quiet devourer of books, and a
passive on-looker in the rhetorical contests, at that time so dear to
enthusiastic young Irishmen. Until the year 1840 he did not seem to be
influenced by any settled code of political convictions. Indeed, his
outward appearance and demeanor betokened more of the English
conservative than of the Irish enthusiast. But a friend, who, in 1836
sat by his side in an English theatre, remembered to have seen the tears
steal silently down his cheeks at some generous tribute paid on the
stage to the Irish character. In the year 1838, he was called to the
bar; and in 1840, became a member of the Repeal movement. During the
discussions which took place in Conciliation Hall, he still maintained
the policy of a simple listener; but in the intervals of debate his mind
was quietly developing new methods of work, new systems to be adopted in
promoting the national cause. The popular taste needed education. Once
made conversant with the history of their country, the people would
acquire a knowledge of their true position, would know how to act in
seconding the efforts of their leaders. The dull should be made
thoughtful, the thoughtful made studious, the studious made wise, and
the wise crowned with power. In the year 1842, his plans took practical
shape, when, in conjunction with Charles Gavan Duffy and John Dillon, he
founded the _Nation_ newspaper. This was the initiative step to his
subsequent brilliant career as a poet and patriot.
Popular poetry was one of the agents depended on by the new editors to
infuse a larger spirit of nationality among the people. There being none
at hand to suit the exact purpose, they set about making it for
themselves. In this way originated that beautiful collection of rebel
verse now known wherever the English language is spoken as the _Spirit
of the Nation_. Until necessity compelled him to write, Davis never knew
that he possessed the poetic faculty in a very high degree. The
following exquisitely Celtic ballad was his first contribution to the
poet's corner of the _Nation_, a lament for the ill-fated Irish
chieftain, Owen Roe O'Neill:
"Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Owen Roe O'Neill!"
'Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.'
"May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!
May they walk in living death, who poisoned Owen Roe.
Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words."
'From Derry against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords;
But the weapon of the Saxon met him on his way,
And he died at Clough-Oughter, upon St. Leonard's day.'
"Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! wail, wail ye for the Dead;
Quench the hearth, and hold the breath--with ashes strew the head.
How tenderly we loved him! how deeply we deplore!
Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more.
"Sagest in the council was he,--kindest in the hall,
Sure we never won a battle--'twas Owen won them all.
Had he lived--had he lived--our dear country had been free;
But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll ever be.
"O'Farrell and Clanrickard, Preston and Red Hugh,
Audley and McMahon, ye are valiant wise and true;
But--what, what are ye all to our darling who is gone?
The Rudder of our Ship was he, our Castle's corner-stone!
"Wail, wail him through the Island! weep, weep for our pride!
Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died!
Weep the victor of Benburb--weep him, young men and old;
Weep for him ye women--your Beautiful lies cold!
"We thought you would not die--we were sure you would not go,
And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow--
Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky--
O! why did you leave us, Owen? Why did you die?
"Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill! bright was your eye.
O! why did you leave us, Owen? why did you die?
Your troubles are all over, you're at rest with God on high;
But we're slaves and we're orphans, Owen!--why did you die?"
Unlike the ordinary poetaster, Davis wrote with a mission to fulfil,
with a set purpose to accomplish. He did not teach merely because he
wished to sing, but he sang because he wished to teach. His poetry was
to serve a purpose as distinctly within the domain of practical politics
as a party pamphlet, or a speech from the hustings. If the people had
hitherto depended almost exclusively for information on the spoken word
of a few popular orators, how much more effective would not the good
tidings of hope be, when given with rhetorical elegance, set in glorious
song, and placed within purchaseable reach of all. Hitherto the genius
of Melancholy presided over the fount of Irish song. The future was
looked forward to with hopeless dread, or sullen recklessness. The
present was only spoken of to enhance by shadowy contrast the grandeur
of a golden age, that seemed to have passed away forever. Moore's poetry
was the wail of a lost cause, the chronicle of a past, whose history was
yet recorded throughout the country in ruined abbeys, where the torch of
faith and learning was kept from dying out; in ivied castles, from which
the mustered manhood of a nation's strength had gone forth to scare the
Viking from her soil. Poor Mangan's vision of the past might be
predicated as an ideal picture of this lamented epoch:--
"I walked entranced
Through a land of morn,
The sun, with wondrous excess of light,
Shone down and glanced
O'er seas of corn,
And lustrous gardens aleft and right;
Even in the clime
Of resplendent Spain,
Beams no such sun upon such a land;
But it was the time
'Twas in the reign,
Of Cahal Mor of the Wine-red Hand."
Davis, and the school of poets whom he led, indulged little in
unpractical dreams and purposeless regrets. For the first time, the
longings of the present and the hopes of the future were spoken of
encouragingly. If, at judicious intervals, the pictures of Ireland's
golden era were uncovered, it was to stimulate existing ardor--not to
beget reverie; to develop latent faculties of work, and not to enfeeble
by discouragement the thews and sinews of national life already
beginning to thrive in busy usefulness. Freedom was to be purchased at
any risk. Davis might never live to see its realization, but he could
insure its nearer approach. His first duty, assisted by his zealous
co-partners, was to educate, to place in the hands of the people, the
means of enjoying those privileges which the leaders had set themselves
to win. Gradually but surely the good work progressed. The life of
"Treeney the Robber," the "Irish Rogues and Rapparees," the astounding
adventures of the "Seven Champions of Christendom," the pasquinades of
"Billy Bluff," and "Paddy's Resource," began to pall on the taste of the
peasantry, when, by degrees, they became acquainted with the authentic
history and the glorious traditions of their country. Sketches of Irish
saints and scholars, whose fame for sanctity and learning throughout
Christendom rivalled that of St. Benedict as a founder, and St. Thomas
of Aquino as a subtle doctor, appeared week by week in the characters of
Columbanus and Duns Scotus, Kilian and Johannes Erigena, Colman and
Columbkille. Among other schemes he planned the publication of one
hundred cheap books to be printed by Duffy, materials for which were to
be sought for in the State paper office of London, the MSS. of Trinity
College Library, and the valuable papers still preserved in Irish
convents at Rome, Louvain, Salamanca, and other places on the continent.
The great secret of Davis's success was his energy, which nothing could
suppress or diminish--neither the imprisonment of his co-laborers, the
fatigue and anxiety of unassisted endeavor, or the clash of party
strife. From his teachings sprang two schools of workers, alike in the
ends which each proposed to win, but differing in the methods adopted
for its attainment. The one, the pronounced literateurs of the _Nation_;
the other, the organizers who propounded throughout the country the
doctrines enunciated by the official organ. The historic _Nation_ was
the great channel through which the current of politics sped with a
precipitous force, that nothing could withstand. From the date of its
first edition it had become universally popular. Even those whose
political views were at variance with its teaching were glad to be able
to purchase a sheet whose literary excellence elicited their surprise
and admiration. But it was among the common people that it had its
widest circle of readers. On Sunday mornings while awaiting Mass before
the Chapel gate, or on winter evenings around the blacksmith's forge,
the peasants would assemble to hear one of their number read aloud rebel
verse and passionate prose, the high literary value of which they knew
almost instinctively how to appreciate. Though sold at sixpence a copy,
a high figure for a weekly newspaper, especially so for the people who
were to be its immediate supporters, it had a wonderful circulation,
even in the poorest districts. Dillon, one of its founders, writing to
its editor, Gavan Duffy, from a poor village in Mayo, said: "I am
astonished at the success of the _Nation_ in this poor place. There is
not a place in Ireland perhaps a village poorer than itself, or
surrounded by a poorer population. You would not guess how many
_Nations_ came to it on Sunday last! No less than twenty-three! There
are scarcely so many houses in the town!" Two of the greatest critics,
that ever presided over the domain of letters, spoke enthusiastically of
the poetry which was selected from its columns, and which has since been
printed and sold by the tens of thousands. Macaulay confessed he was
much struck by the energy and beauty of the volume. Lord Jeffrey, in a
fit of playful confidence, said that he was a helpless victim "to these
enchanters of the lyre." The "_Spirit of the Nation_" was as
uncontestably the typical poetry of Ireland, as the songs of Burns set
forth the national sentiment of Scotland. The poetry of Davis, in a
marked degree, is characterized by all the distinctive qualities of the
Celtic race,--impulsive ardor, filial affection, headlong intrepidity,
mirth and friendship, all imperceptibly interwoven with a thread of
chaste melancholy, and all subordinated to feelings of Christian faith
and reverence. It was his patriotic endeavor to restore the old Irish
names of places, and by degrees replace them in permanent usage. How
well he succeeded in handling phrases in the Irish vernacular, without
marring the most euphonious rhythm, may be seen in the following piece,
_O'Brien of Arra_.
"Tall are the towers of O'Kennedy--
Broad are the lands of MacCaura--
Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day;
Yet here's to O'Brien of Arra!
Up from the castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Clansmen and kinsmen are coming here
To give him the _cead mile failte_.
"See you the mountains look huge at eve--
So is our chieftain in battle;
Welcome he has for the fugitive,
Usquebaugh, fighting and cattle!
Up from the Castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Gossip and alley are coming here
To give him the _cead mile failte_.
"Horses the valleys are tramping on,
Sleek from the Sassenach manger;
Creaghts the hills are encamping on,
Empty the bawns of the stranger!
Up from the Castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Kern and bonaght are coming here
To give him the _cead mile failte_.
"He has black silver from Killaloe--
Ryan and Carroll are neighbors--
Nenagh submits with a fuililiu--
Butler is meat for our sabres!
Up from the castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
Ryan and Carroll are coming here
To give him the _cead mile failte_.
"T'is scarce a week since through Ossory
Chased he the Baron of Durrow--
Forced him five rivers to cross, or he
Had died by the sword of Red Murrough!
Up from the Castle of Drumineer,
Down from the top of Camailte,
All the O'Briens are coming here
To give him the _cead mile failte_.
"Tall are the towers of O'Kennedy--
Broad are the lands of MacCaura--
Desmond feeds five hundred men a-day;
Yet here's to O'Brien of Arra.
Up from the Castle of Drumineer.
Down from the top of Camailte,
Clansmen and kinsmen are coming here
To give him the _cead mile failte_."
_The Battle of Fontenoy_ is the corner-stone of the fame of Thomas Davis
as a poet. No greater battle-ballad has ever been written. Beside it the
ballads of Campbell are scarcely perfect. Davis and Campbell are each
typical of a distinct school of painting. Davis entered into minute
detail with the love of a pre-Raphaelite; Campbell wields the brush
after the manner of one of the old masters. Unhappily for his country
Davis died almost suddenly in the year 1845. He had not the happiness to
see the beneficial results, which ensuing years brought to the work,
which he was the first to begin. His character might be pithily
expressed in the words which he poetically wished might be inscribed on
his tomb: "He served his country, and loved his kind." A warm heart, and
a stainless name, shed lustre on the chivalrous patriot. An earnest
Protestant, he was no bigot. Of gentle birth and rearing, he never
narrowed his prejudices to petty distinctions of class or creed; but
threw in his individual help with the humbler striving of sturdy
commoner and frieze-coated peasant. The measure of national advancement,
which he accomplished, did not die with him, but lives to our time. It
would require little space to prove here that the literary societies,
the political club assemblies, the societies for the promotion of the
Irish language and industries, the discipline of national unity, which
controls the whole Irish movement in our day, are but the practical
sequence of the lessons which Davis and his party taught and
perpetuated. And if the hour is now at hand when the hard-fought battle
of a century is to be decided for us in glorious victory; if to us it is
given, through the efforts of the gallant patriots who still continue
the good fight, to set the banner of victory on the temple of national
independence, history yet survives and points its backward finger in
abiding gratitude to the unforgotten workers, who laid the foundation of
the citadel, which we are to open and inhabit.