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an impression that there exists no such
thing as indigenous modern Irish composition
deserving the name of poetrya
belief which has been thoughtlessly
sustained and confirmed by the unconscion…
able literary perverseness of Irishmen
themselves； who have preferred the easy
task of concocting humorous extravaganzas；
which caricature with merciless exaggeration
the pedantry； bombast； and blunders
incident to the lowest order of Hibernian
ballads； to the more pleasurable and
patriotic duty of collecting together the
many； many specimens of genuine poetic
feeling； which have grown up； like its wild
flowers； from the warm though neglected
soil of Ireland。
In fact； the productions which have
long been regarded as pure samples of
Irish poetic composition； such as 'The
Groves of Blarney；' and 'The Wedding
of Ballyporeen；' 'Ally Croker；' etc。； etc。；
are altogether spurious； and as much like
the thing they call themselves 'as I to
Hercules。'
There are to be sure in Ireland； as in all
countries； poems which deserve to be
laughed at。 The native productions of
which I speak； frequently abound in
absurditiesabsurdities which are often；
too； provokingly mixed up with what is
beautiful； but I strongly and absolutely
deny that the prevailing or even the
usual character of Irish poetry is that of
comicality。 No country； no time； is
devoid of real poetry； or something
approaching to it； and surely it were a
strange thing if Ireland； abounding as she
does from shore to shore with all that is
beautiful； and grand； and savage in
scenery； and filled with wild recollections；
vivid passions； warm affections； and keen
sorrow； could find no language to speak
withal； but that of mummery and jest。
No； her language is imperfect； but there
is strength in its rudeness； and beauty in
its wildness； and； above all； strong feeling
flows through it； like fresh fountains in
rugged caverns。
And yet I will not say that the
language of genuine indigenous Irish
composition is always vulgar and uncouth：
on the contrary； I am in possession
of some specimens； though by no means
of the highest order as to poetic merit；
which do not possess throughout a single
peculiarity of diction。 The lines which
I now proceed to lay before you； by way
of illustration； are from the pen of an
unfortunate young man； of very humble
birth； whose early hopes were crossed by
the untimely death of her whom he loved。
He was a self…educated man； and in after…
life rose to high distinctions in the Church
to which he devoted himselfan act which
proves the sincerity of spirit with which
these verses were written。
'When moonlight falls on wave and wimple；
And silvers every circling dimple；
That onward； onward sails：
When fragrant hawthorns wild and simple
Lend perfume to the gales；
And the pale moon in heaven abiding；
O'er midnight mists and mountains riding；
Shines on the river； smoothly gliding
Through quiet dales；
'I wander there in solitude；
Charmed by the chiming music rude
Of streams that fret and flow。
For by that eddying stream SHE stood；
On such a night I trow：
For HER the thorn its breath was lending；
On this same tide HER eye was bending；
And with its voice HER voice was blending
Long； long ago。
Wild stream！ I walk by thee once more；
I see thy hawthorns dim and hoar；
I hear thy waters moan；
And night…winds sigh from shore to shore；
With hushed and hollow tone；
But breezes on their light way winging；
And all thy waters heedless singing；
No more to me are gladness bringing
I am alone。
'Years after years； their swift way keeping；
Like sere leaves down thy current sweeping；
Are lost for aye； and sped
And Death the wintry soil is heaping
As fast as flowers are shed。
And she who wandered by my side；
And breathed enchantment o'er thy tide；
That makes thee still my friend and guide
And she is dead。'
These lines I have transcribed in order
to prove a point which I have heard
denied； namely； that an Irish peasant
for their author was no moremay write
at least correctly in the matter of measure；
language； and rhyme； and I shall add
several extracts in further illustration of
the same fact； a fact whose assertion； it
must be allowed； may appear somewhat
paradoxical even to those who are
acquainted； though superficially； with
Hibernian composition。 The rhymes are；
it must be granted； in the generality of
such productions； very latitudinarian
indeed； and as a veteran votary of the
muse once assured me； depend wholly
upon the wowls （vowels）； as may be seen
in the following stanza of the famous
'Shanavan Voicth。'
' 〃What'll we have for supper？〃
Says my Shanavan Voicth；
〃We'll have turkeys and roast BEEF；
And we'll eat it very SWEET；
And then we'll take a SLEEP；〃
Says my Shanavan Voicth。'
But I am desirous of showing you that；
although barbarisms may and do exist in
our native ballads； there are still to be
found exceptions which furnish examples
of strict correctness in rhyme and metre。
Whether they be one whit the better for
this I have my doubts。 In order to
establish my position； I subjoin a portion
of a ballad by one Michael Finley； of
whom more anon。 The GENTLEMAN spoken
of in the song is Lord Edward Fitzgerald。
'The day that traitors sould him and inimies bought him；
The day that the red gold and red blood was paid
Then the green turned pale and thrembled like the dead leaves in
Autumn；
And the heart an' hope iv Ireland in the could grave was
laid。
'The day I saw you first； with the sunshine fallin' round ye；
My heart fairly opened with the grandeur of the view：
For ten thousand Irish boys that day did surround ye；
An' I swore to stand by them till death； an' fight for you。
'Ye wor the bravest gentleman； an' the best that ever stood；
And your eyelid never thrembled for danger nor for dread；
An' nobleness was flowin' in each stream of your blood
My bleasing on you night au' day； an' Glory be your bed。
'My black an' bitter curse on the head； an' heart； an' hand；
That plotted； wished； an' worked the fall of this Irish hero
bold；
God's curse upon the Irishman that sould his native land；
An' hell consume to dust the hand that held the thraitor's
gold。'
Such were the politics and poetry of
Michael Finley； in his day； perhaps； the
most noted song…maker of his country； but
as genius is never without its eccentricities；
Finley had his peculiarities； and among
these； perhaps the most amusing was his
rooted aversion to pen； ink； and paper； in
perfect independence of which； all his
compositions were completed。 It is
impossible to describe the jealousy with
which he regarded the presence of writing