Part 1

THE POEM-BOOK OF THE GAEL

The Poem Book

of the Gael

by

Eleanor Hull.

1913

Printed by BALLANTYNE, HANSON & CO. at Paul's Work, Edinburgh

THE POEM-BOOK OF THE GAEL

Translations from Irish Gaelic Poetry into English Prose and Verse

SELECTED AND EDITED BY

ELEANOR HULL

AUTHOR OF "THE CUCHULLIN SAGA IN IRISH LITERATURE," "A TEXT-BOOK OF IRISH LITERATURE," ETC.

WITH A FRONTISPIECE

LONDON CHATTO & WINDUS

1913

A NEW IMPRESSION

_All rights reserved_

CONTENTS

(_Where not otherwise indicated, the translation or poetic setting is by the author._)

PAGE INTRODUCTION XV

THE SALTAIR NA RANN, OR PSALTER OF THE VERSES

I. The Creation of the Universe 3

II. The Heavenly Kingdom 11

III. The Forbidden Fruit 20

IV. The Fall and Expulsion from Paradise 22

V. The Penance of Adam and Eve 31

VI. The Death of Adam 43

ANCIENT PAGAN POEMS

The Source of Poetic Inspiration (founded on translation by _Whitley Stokes_) 53

Amorgen's Song (founded on translation by _John MacNeill_) 57

The Song of Childbirth 59

Greeting to the New-born Babe 61

What is Love? 62

Summons to Cuchulain 63

Laegh's Description of Fairy-land 65

The Lamentation of Fand when she is about to leave Cuchulain 69

Mider's Call to Fairy-land 71

The Song of the Fairies _A. H. Leahy_ 73

The great Lamentation of Deirdre for the Sons of Usna 74

OSSIANIC POETRY

First Winter-Song _Alfred Percival Graves_ 81

Second Winter-Song 82

In Praise of May _T. W. Rolleston_ 83

The Isle of Arran 85

The Parting of Goll from his Wife 87

Youth and Age 91

Chill Winter 92

The Sleep-song of Grainne over Dermuid 94

The Slaying of Conbeg 97

The Fairies' Lullaby 98

Song of the Forest Trees _Standish Hayes O'Grady_ 99

EARLY CHRISTIAN POEMS

St. Patrick's Breastplate _Kuno Meyer_ 105

Patrick's Blessing on Munster _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 107

Columcille's Farewell to Aran _Douglas Hyde_ 109

St. Columba in Iona _Eugene O'Curry_ 111

Hymn to the Dawn 113

The Song of Manchan the Hermit 117

A Prayer 119

The Loves of Liadan and Curithir 121

The Lay of Prince Marvan 125

The Song of Crede, daughter of Guare _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 130

The Student and his Cat _Robin Flower_ 132

The Song of the Seven Archangels _Ernest Rhys_ 134

The Féilire of Adamnan _P. J. McCall_ 136

The Feathered Hermit 138

An Aphorism 138

The Blackbird 139

Deus Meus _George Sigerson_ 140

The Soul's Desire 142

Tempest on the Sea _Robin Flower_ 144

The Old Woman of Beare 147

Gormliath's Lament for Nial Black-knee 151

The Mother's Lament at the Slaughter of the Innocents _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 153

Consecration 156

Teach me, O Trinity 157

The Shaving of Murdoch _Standish Hayes O'Grady_ 159

Eileen Aroon 161

POEMS OF THE DARK DAYS

The Downfall of the Gael _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 165

Address to Brian O'Rourke "of the Bulwarks" to arouse him against the English 169

O'Hussey's Ode to the Maguire _James Clarence Mangan_ 172

A Lament for the Princes of Tyrone and Tyrconnell _James Clarence Mangan_ 176

The County of Mayo _George Fox_ 182

The Outlaw of Loch Lene _Jeremiah Joseph Callanan_ 184

The Flower of Nut-brown Maids 186

Roisín Dubh 188

My Dark Rosaleen _James Clarence Mangan_ 190

The Fair Hills of Éire _George Sigerson_ 194

Shule Aroon _(Traditional)_ 196

Love's Despair _George Sigerson_ 198

The Cruiskeen Lawn _George Sigerson_ 200

Eamonn an Chnuic, or "Ned of the Hill" _P. H. Pearse_ 202

O Druimin donn dilish 204

Do you Remember that Night? _Eugene O'Curry_ 206

The Exile's Song 208

The Fisherman's Keen (_Anonymous_) 210

Boatman's Hymn _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 213

Dirge on the Death of Art O'Leary 215

The Midnight Court (_Prologue_) 224

RELIGIOUS POEMS OF THE PEOPLE

Hymn to the Virgin Mary 229

Christmas Hymn _Douglas Hyde_ 231

O Mary of Graces _Douglas Hyde_ 232

The Cattle-shed 233

Hail to Thee, O Mary 234

O Mary, O blessed Mother 235

I rest with Thee, O Jesus 236

Thanksgiving after Food 236

The Sacred Trinity 237

O King of the Wounds 237

Prayer before going to Sleep 238

I lie down with God 239

The White Paternoster 240

Another Version 241

A Night Prayer 243

Mary's Vision 243

The Safe-guarding of my Soul be Thine 244

Another Version 244

The Straying Sheep 246

Before Communion 246

May the sweet Name of Jesus 247

O Blessed Jesus 248

Another Version 248

Morning Wish 249

On Covering the Fire for the Night 249

The Man who Stands Stiff _Douglas Hyde_ 250

Charm against Enemies _Lady Wilde_ 252

Charm for a Pain in the Side _Lady Wilde_ 252

Charm against Sorrow _Lady Wilde_ 253

The Keening of Mary _P. H. Pearse_ 254

LOVE-SONGS AND POPULAR POETRY

Cushla ma Chree _Edward Walsh_ 259

The Blackthorn 260

Pastheen Finn _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 263

She 265

Hopeless Love 266

The Girl I Love _Jeremiah Joseph Callanan_ 267

Would God I were _Katharine Tynan-Hinkson_ 268

Branch of the Sweet and Early Rose _William Drennan_ 269

Is truagh gan mise I Sasana _Thomas MacDonagh_ 270

The Yellow Bittern _Thomas MacDonagh_ 271

Have you been at Carrack? _Edward Walsh_ 273

Cashel of Munster _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 275

The Snowy-breasted Pearl _George Petrie_ 277

The Dark Maid of the Valley _P. J. McCall_ 279

The Coolun _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 281

Ceann dubh dhileas _Sir Samuel Ferguson_ 283

Ringleted Youth of my Love _Douglas Hyde_ 284

I shall not Die for You _Padraic Colum_ 286

Donall Oge 288

The Grief of a Girl's Heart 291

Death the Comrade 294

Muirneen of the Fair Hair _Robin Flower_ 296

The Red Man's Wife _Douglas Hyde_ 298

Another Version 299

My Grief on the Sea _Douglas Hyde_ 302

Oró Mhór, a Mhóirín _P. J. McCall_ 304

The little Yellow Road _Seosamh Mac Cathmhaoil_ 306

Reproach to the Pipe 308

Lament of Morian Shehone for Miss Mary Bourke _(Anonymous)_ 311

Modereen Rue _Katherine Tynan-Hinkson_ 314

The Stars Stand Up 316

The Love-smart 318

Well for Thee 319

I am Raftery _Douglas Hyde_ 320

Dust hath Closed Helen's Eye _Lady Gregory_ 321

The Shining Posy 324

Love is a Mortal Disease 326

I am Watching my Young Calves Sucking 328

The Narrow Road 329

Forsaken 332

I Follow a Star _Seosamh Mac Cathmhaoil_ 334

LULLABIES AND WORKING SONGS

Nurse's Song (_Traditional_) 337

A Sleep Song _P. H. Pearse_ 339

The Cradle of Gold _Alfred Perceval Graves_ 340

Rural Song 341

Ploughing Song 342

A Spinning-wheel Ditty 344

NOTES 349

INTRODUCTION

"An air is more lasting than the voice of the birds, A word is more lasting than the riches of the world."

The truth of this Irish proverb strikes us forcibly as we glance through any such collection of Gaelic poetry as this, and consider how these lays, the dates of whose composition extend from the eighth to the present century, have been preserved to us.

On the border of some grave manuscript, such as a Latin copy of St. Paul's Epistles or a transcript of Priscian, a stray quatrain may be found jotted down by the tired scribe, recording in impromptu verse his delight at the note of a blackbird whose song has penetrated his cell, his amusement at the gambols of his cat watching a mouse, or his reflections on a piece of news brought to him by some wandering monk, about the terror of the viking raids, or a change of dynasty "at home in Ireland."

Several of our Ossianic poems are taken from a manuscript of lays collected in 1626-27 in and about the Glens of Antrim, and sent out to while away the tedium of camp life to an Irish officer serving in the Low Countries, who wearied for the poems and stories of his youth. The religious hymns of Murdoch O'Daly (Muredach Albanach), called "the Scot" on account of his affection for his adopted country, though he was born in Connaught, are preserved in a collection of poems gathered in the Western Highlands, many Irish poems, even from so great a distance as Munster, being found in it.

The Saltair na Rann or "Psalter of the Verses," the most important religious poem of ancient Ireland, is preserved in one copy only. It seems as though a miracle had sometimes intervened to guard for later generations some single version of a valuable tract at home or abroad; but it is a miracle which we could have wished to have taken place more often, when we reflect upon the large number of manuscripts forever lost to us.

Many of the most beautiful of the ancient poems, as well as of the popular songs, are anonymous; they are frequently found mixed up with material of the most arid description, genealogies, annals, or miscellaneous matter. It is easier to guess from the tone of the poems under what mood of mind they were composed than to tell exactly who wrote them. Even when they come down to us adorned with the name of some well-known saint or poet, we have an uncertain feeling about the accuracy of the ascription, when we find a poem whose language cannot be earlier than the tenth or eleventh century confidently connected with a writer who lived two or three centuries earlier. In some cases, no doubt, the versions we possess, though modernised in language and rhythm, are in reality old; in others the ascription probably bears witness to the desire of the author or his public to win esteem for his work by adorning it with some famous name. Some of these poems, of which only one copy has come down to us, were, however, well known in an earlier day, and are quoted in old tracts on Irish metric as examples of the metres used in the bardic schools. It is evident that though standards of taste may change, the recognition of what is really beautiful in poetry remains as a settled instinct in man's nature. Many of those poems which now appeal most strongly to ourselves took rank as verses of acknowledged merit nearer to the time of their composition. This we can deduce from their use as examples worthy of imitation in these mediaeval Irish text-books, where the names of songs we still admire are quoted as specimens of good poetry.

It is remarkable that a very large proportion of fine poetry comes to us from the period of the Norse invasions, a time which we are accustomed to think of as one continuous series of wars, raids, and burnings; but which, if we may judge by what has come down to us of its verse, shows us that the Irish gentleman of that day had ideas of refinement that raise him far above the mere fighting clansman; his critical view of literature was a severe one. The fine freedom shown in many of these poems is surprising, both as regards the sentiments and the metres. They possess a mastery of form that argues a high cultivation, not only of the special art of poetry, but of the whole intellectual faculties of the writers.

Some of these poems are strangely modern, even _fin de siècle_ in their tone. The poem of the "Old Woman of Beare" has often been compared to Villon's "Regrets de la Belle Heaulmière ja parvenue à viellesse," or to Béranger's "Grand'mère." But the Irish poem is far more artistically wrought than either of these comparatively modern poems. For in the ancient verses, the old woman is set, a lonely and forsaken figure, against the background of the ebbing tide, and the slow throbs of her heart, worn with age and sin, beat in unison with the retreating motion of the wave. There is also a further significance in the poem which we must not miss. It is the earliest of the long series of allegorical songs in which Ireland is depicted under the form of a woman; though, unlike her successors of a later day, she is here represented, not as a fair maiden, a Grainne Mhaol, or Kathleen ni Houlahan, or Little Mary Cuillenan, but as an aged joyless hag, forlorn and censorious, bemoaning the loss of bygone pleasures, and the gravity of her nun's veil. The "Cailleach Bheara," the "Hag" or "Nun of Beare" is known in many place-names in Ireland. It is on Slieve na Callighe, or the "Hill of the Hag" or "Nun," in Co. Meath that the great cairns and tumuli of Lough Crew are found; it was evidently, like the neighbourhood of the Boyne, a place of pagan sanctity; and such names as Tober na Callighe Bheara, the "Well of the Hag of Beare," are found in different parts of the country. The "Hag of Beare" seems to be symbolic of pagan Ireland, regretting the stricter regime of Christianity, and the changes that time had brought about. The curious legend which prefaces the poem suggests the same idea. She is said to have seen seven periods of youth, and to have outlived tribes and races descended from her. For a hundred years of old age she wore the veil of a nun. "Thereupon old age and infirmity came upon her." We catch the same note of regret for the days of paganism through many legends and poems. It is mystical and veiled in such stories as that of "King Murtough and the Witch-woman"; it is fierce, but also often touched by the grotesque, in the innumerable colloquies between Patrick and Oisín (Ossian), the last of the ancient pagan heroes. But in all this there is a note of apology. It is not so outspoken in its revolt against the new system of life and thought as are the Norse chronicles and the Icelandic Sagas. After all, Christianity was an accomplished thing; quietly but persistently it took its place, sweeping into its fold chiefs and common folk alike. No resistance could stop this universal progress. And the literary man or the peasant, dwelling on his early legends, the outcome of a state of thought passed or passing away, dared only half-heartedly bemoan the former days, when wars and raids, the "Creach" and the "Táin" were the highest way of life for a brave man, and no Christian doctrine of forgiveness of enemies and charity to foes had come in to perplex his thoughts and confuse their issues. The Raid remained, it was an essential part of actual life; and burnings and wars went on as before, but they were no longer, theoretically, at least, matters to win praise and honour, they were condemned beforehand by the Christian ethic. A chief, to hold his own, must still throw open doors of hospitality to his tribe, must dispense largesse to all-comers, must gather about his board the neighbours and dependents in riotous assemblies and festivals. But all this the Christian monk and priest looked upon with suspicion; they bade him fill his thoughts with a future Kingdom, rather than with the earthly one to which he had been born, and to keep his soul in humble readiness by prayers and fastings, by seclusion and self-sacrifice. The great disjointure is everywhere apparent; chiefs are seen flying from their plain duties to their clans in order to win a heavenly chiefdom, not of this world; kings retire into hermitages, and whole villages take on the aspect and system of life of the monastery. To escape a network of religious service so closely spread throughout the country was impossible; all that the half-convinced could do was to relieve his soul in legend and song and jest. Hence the large amount of this literature of protest, coming to us curiously side by side with poems breathing the very spirit of religious devotion, the work of peaceful recluse or retired monk.

For the movement had its other aspect. If the warrior or chief resigned much in becoming a Christian monk, there is no doubt that he gained as well. Contemporaneous religious poetry in the Middle Ages is elsewhere overshadowed by the cast of theologic thought. The "world" from which the saint must flee is no mere symbol, denoting the perils of evil courses; it is the actual visible earth, its hills and trees and flowers, and the beauty of its human inhabitants that are in themselves a danger and a snare. St. Bernard walking round the Lake of Geneva, unconscious of its presence and blind to its loveliness, is a fit symbol of the tendency of the religious mind in the Middle Ages. Sin and repentance, the fall and redemption, hell and heaven, occupied the religious man's every thought; beside such weighty themes the outward life became almost negligible. If he dared to turn his mind towards it at all, it was in order to extract from it some warning of peril, or some allegory of things divine. In essence, the "world" was nothing else than a peril to be renounced and if possible entirely abandoned.

But the Irish monk showed no such inclination, suffered no such terrors. His joy in nature grew with his loving association with her moods. He refused to mingle the idea of evil with what God had made so good. If he sought for symbols, he found only symbols of purity and holiness. The pool beside his hut, the rill that flowed across his green, became to his watchful eye the manifestation of a divine spirit washing away sin; if the birds sang sweetly above his door, they were the choristers of God; if the wild beasts gathered to their nightly tryst, were they not the congregation of intelligent beings whom God Himself would most desire? The friendly badgers or foxes of the wood that came forth, undismayed by the white or brown-robed figure who seemed to have taken up his lasting abode amongst them, became to his mind fellow-monks, authorised members of his strange community. Amongst his feathered and furred associates, he read his Psalms and Hours in peace; sang his periodic hymn to St. Hilary or St. Brigit, and performed his innumerable genuflexions and "cross-vigils." Here, from time to time, he poured forth in spontaneous song his joy in the life that he had elected as his own. When King Guaire of Connaught stands at the door of the hermitage in which his brother Marvan had taken refuge from the bustle of court life, and asks him why he had sacrificed so much, Marvan bursts forth into a poem in praise of his hermit life, and the King is fain to confess that the choice of the recluse was the wiser one; when St. Cellach of Killala is dragged into the forest by his comrades and threatened with death, not even the sight of the four murderers lying at his feet with swords ready drawn in their hands to slay him can prevent him from greeting the Dawn in a beautiful song.

The saint who, like St. Finan, lived shut up within his cell, in many cases lost his mental balance, and degenerated into a mere Fakir, winning heaven by the miseries of his self-imposed mortifications; but the monk who trusted himself to untrammelled intercourse with nature, preserved his underlying sanity. For whether or no the hundreds of daily genuflexions were performed, the patch of ground around the solitary's cell must be ploughed or sown or reaped; the apples must be gathered or the honeysuckles twined. The salmon or herring must be netted or angled for. Thus nature and its needs kept the hermit on the straight and simple paths of physical and mental healthfulness, however he might try to escape into a wilderness of his own imaginings.