I saw nothing of Glorvina until evening, except for a moment, when I perceived her lost over a book, (as I passed her closet window) which, by the Morocco binding, I knew to be the Letters of the impassioned Heloise. Since her society was denied me, I was best satisfied to resign her to Rosseau. Apropos! it was among the books I brought hither; and they were all precisely such books as Glorvina had not yet should read, that she may know herself, and the latent sensibility of her soul. They have, of course, all been presented to her, and consist of “La Nouvelle Hel oise” de Rosseau—the unrivalled “Lettres sur la Mythologie” de Moustier—the “Paul et Virginie” of St. Pierre—the Werter of Goethe—the Dolhreuse of Lousel, and the Attilla of Chateaubriand. Let our English novels carry away the prize of morality from the romantic fictions of every other country; but you will find they rarely seize on the imagination through the medium of the heart; and as for their heroines, I confess, that though they are the most perfect beings, they are also the most stupid. Surely, virtue would not be the less attractive for being united to genius and the graces.
But to return to the never-to-be-forgotten first of May! Early in the evening the Prince, his daughter, the priest, the bard, the old nurse, and indeed all the household of Inismore, adjourned to the vale, which being the only level ground on the peninsula, is always appropriated to the sports of the rustic neighbours. It was impossible I should enter this vale without emotion; and when I beheld it crowded with the vulgar throng, I felt as if it were profanation for the
“Sole of unblest feet!”
to tread that ground sacred to the most refined emotions of the heart.
Glorvina, who walked on before the priest and me, supporting her father, as we entered the vale stole a glance at me; and a moment after, as I opened the little wicket through which we passed, I murmured in her ear—La val di Rosa!
We found this charming spot crowded with peasantry of both sexes and all ages. * Since morning they had planted a Maybush in the centre, which was hung with flowers, and round the seats appropriated to the Prince and his family, the flag, crocus, and primrose, were profusely scattered. Two blind fiddlers, and an excellent piper, ** were seated under the shelter of the very hedge which had been the nursery of my precious rose; while the old bard, with true druidical dignity sat under the shade of a venerable oak, near his master.
* In the summer of 1802, the author was present at a rural
festival at the seat of a highly respected friend in
Tipperary, from which this scene is partly copied.
** Although the bagpipe is not an instrument indigenous to
Ireland, it holds a high antiquity in the country. It was
the music of the Kearns, in the reign of Edward the Third.
[See Smith’s History of Cork, page 43.] It is still the
favourite accompaniment of those mirthful exertions with
which laborious poverty crowns the temporary cessation of
its weekly toil, and the cares and solicitudes of the Irish
peasant ever dissipate to the spell which breathes in the
humorous drones of the Irish pipes. To Scotland we are
indebted for this ancient instrument, who received it from
the Romans; but to the native musical genius of Ireland are
we indebted for its present form and improved state. ‘That
at present in use in Ireland,’ says Dr. Burney, in a letter
to J. C. Walker, Esq., is an improved bagpipe, on which I
have heard some of the natives play very well in two parts,
without the drone, which, I believe, is never attempted in
Scotland The tone of the lower notes resembles that of an
hautboy or clarionet, and the high notes, that of a German
flute: and the whole scale of one I heard lately was very
well in tune, which has never been the case of any Scottish
bagpipe that I have yet heard.”
The sports began with a wrestling match; * and in the gymnastic exertions of the youthful combatants there was something, I thought, of Spartan energy and hardihood.
* The young Irish peasantry particularly prize themselves on
this species of exertion: they have almost reduced it to a
science, by dividing it into two distinct species—the one
called “sparnaight,” engages the arms only; the other,
“carriaght,” engages the whole body.
But as “breaking of ribs is no sport for ladies,” Glorvina turned from the spectacle in disgust; which I wished might have been prolonged, as it procured me (who leaned over her seat) her undivided attention; but it was too soon concluded, though without any disagreeable consequences, for neither of the combatants were hurt, though one was laid prostrate. The victorious wrestler was elected King of the May; and, with “all his blushing honours thick upon him,” came timidly forward, and laid his rural crown at the feet of Glorvina. Yet he evidently seemed intoxicated with his happiness, and though he scarcely touched the hand of his blushing, charming nueen, yet I perceived a thousand saucy triumphs basking in his fine black eyes, as he led her out to dance. The fellow was handsome too. I know not why, but I could have knocked him down with all my heart.