II.
“When she enters the forest like the bounding doe, dispersing the dew with her airy steps, her mantle on her arm, the axe in her hand to cut the branches of flame; I know not which is the most noble—the King of the Saxons, ** or Cathbein Nolan.”
* Miss Brooks, in her elegant version of the works of some
of the Irish Bards, says, “’Tis scarcely possible that any
language can be more adapted to lyric poetry than the Irish;
so great is the smoothness and harmony of its numbers; it is
also possessed of a refined delicacy, a descriptive power,
and an exquisite tender simplicity of expression: two or
three little artless words, or perhaps a single epithet,
will sometimes convey such an image of sentiment or
suffering to the mind, that one lays down the book to look
at the picture.”
** The King of England is called by the common Irish “Riagh
Sasseanach.”
This little song is of so ancient a date, that Glorvina assures me, neither the name of the composer (for the melody is exquisitely beautiful) nor the poet, have escaped the oblivion of time. But if we may judge of the rank of the poet by that of his mistress, it must have been of a very humble degree; for it is evident that the fair Cathbein, whose form is compared, in splendour, to that of the Saxon monarch, is represented as cutting wood for the fire.
The following songs, however, are by the most celebrated of the modern Irish bards, Turloch Carolan, * and the airs to which he has composed them, possess the arioso elegance of Italian music, united to the heartfelt pathos of Irish melody.
* He was born in the village of Nobber, county of Westmeath,
in 1670, and died in 1739. He never regretted the loss of
sight, but used gaily to say, “my eyes are only transplanted
into my ears.” Of his poetry, the reader may form some
judgment from these examples. Of his music, it has been said
by O’Connor, the celebrated historian, who knew him
intimately, “so happy, so elevated was he in some of his
compositions, that he excited the wonder, and obtained the
approbation of a great master who never saw him, I mean
Geminiani.” His execution on the harp was rapid and
expressive—far beyond that of all the professional
competitors of the age in which he lived. The charms of
women, the pleasures of conviviality, and the power of poesy
and music, were at once his theme and inspiration; and his
life was an illustration of his theory, for until his last
ardour was chilled by death, he loved, drank and sung. He
was a welcome guest to every house, from the peasant to the
prince; but in the true wandering spirit of his profession,
he never staid to exhaust that welcome.