"Dormitat Homerus,'-but you never nap at all"— "Such subjects as you do,-'tis only a childish thing Yclept The following lay "THE GREAT HIBERNIAN STEAM RAIL-WAY." I. It was a lovely eve in spring- And rested, now his work was done, He had been ploughing in since morn II. His little son, young Hodgy, stood He had been feeding all the day III. The old man asked the youngster then, IV. Old Peter peered, then shook his head— "An iron bar, my son. "Many like this I've met before V. "Now tell me, father," Hodgy cries, "It was, as I've heard old men say, VI. "My grandsire lived at Bantry here, "The Railway lines to lay "These iron bars o'er which 'twould seem "They drove great carriages by steam, "But still. "In truth," says Froth, "it is exceeding sweet, "And an elaborately simplified conceit, -" and then he looked up with a leer, A half triumphant, half malignant sneerCain-like he envied much his innocent brother His knack of stringing rhymes one to another— "But is not quite original, I must say, "You have read Southey's Battle of Blenheim'-Eh?” This cut to the quick past all power of healing, He replied somewhat tartly, "Sir, it may be we have jumped on the same notions partly, "But I'm not such a sot as to borrow my plot, "And my scenes, and my characters, language and thought, "From some German Tom-foolery, like one that I wot.' Hollo! As bottles of "brown stout," when the weather is hot, The two Poets engage, white and foaming with rage, And bitter jibes uttering, As Fortune should have it, it happened just then, Came out to arrange something wrong in the sluice, And hearing quite near them a horrible rout, They fell straightway a wondering what 'twas about : But the Miller, a man very sober and surly, Soon discovered the cause of this grand hurly-burly, And seizing a pale full of water, like winking Cried, "Gadzooks! but I'll soon cool their hot blood I'm thinking." Splash! Swift and bright like a flash Comes the cataract down on the pair with a crash! Bespattering and battering, On their pates and necks pattering, Sets them sobbing and shaking with all their teeth chattering, At each other, then shook The wet from their clothes and new Paris silk hats, OLD IRELAND AND YOUNG. 66 TRACTS EDITED BY THE ARCHEOLOGICAL SOCIETY. THE Irish Archaeological Society has given satisfactory proofs of its existence, in the disinterment of some Remains," which have been presented to its members in two slim volunes, creditable to the society for the learning with which they have been edited, and, it should not be omitted, for their typographical beauty also. The volumes contain an Irish poem, with a translation-historical annals-and a description such as might be looked for from an emigrant to one of our new colonies, by an English settler. As these selected pieces are not likely to be read very generally, having been printed for distribution to the members only of the Archæological Society, whose numbers, we regret to say, do not amount to three hundred; and as with much of little value, they contain matter which it may be seasonable to make known, we shall lay before our readers some notice of their contents, and append a few observations suggested by them. The poem, a composition of the tenth century, is entitled, "A Circuit of Ireland, by Muircheartach M'Neil;" and professes to narrate a very memorable enterprise of that aspiring prince. He had defeated the Danes in a pitched battle-had reduced some tributary chiefs to the obedience which they owed the supreme ruler of Ireland; and in order to prove himself worthy of being elected sovereign, after the demise of the reigning king, undertook an expedition which was to make his power and his military genius generally felt and acknowledged. With this view he set forth on the "Circuit of Ireland," at the head of a thousand warriors, and enforced upon every suf fragan prince submission to his authority. The army was small, but it was composed of chosen men. It was a selection from the forces at the young bled; but, at the muster, none were enlisted into the army of the expedition, except those who proved their hardihood, by a trial, which none but the stout-hearted could have endured without shrinking. Each warrior was commanded to pass, alone, through a tent, where he had to meet, suddenly, the assault of an armed man, stationed at one side, and a ferocious dog at the other. The number who withstood these menacing surprises, without quailing or shrinking, was one thousand; and at the head of this intrepid band the young prince took the field, (or the road, if roads were then,) against all refractory vassals. His enterprise was successful, and he returned with many hostages, some gold,† and not a little glory to his regal residence. The return of the warriors is thus recorded: Tracts relating to Ireland. Two volumes; 1841, 1842, 4to. Dublin. Printed at the University press. So at least might be inferred from the presents offered by Muircheartach to his queen. "Out of the plunder of the cold Dalaradia, In gold, in oxen, in good cows."-p. 230. "The small lake of the horses." But When the reader is assured that he can form a fair, perhaps the most favourable judgment of the "Circuit of Ireland," from this extract, he will not think it a sore privation to be denied any further specimens of its poetical merits. The poem (if rhythm may assign the name to an itinerary such as, if there were hotels in those days, a travelling courier might have compiled from the tavern bills furnished on the way) contains the names of Muircheartach's resting places during his expedition; and the briefest possible notice of his successes. it has its peculiarities. The prince appears to have conducted his expedition with admirable prudence, having achieved all that he desired without the loss of a single soldier; and the bard has brought his story to a close, without the record (unless an obscure and passing notice* may be considered Such was such) of a single battle. the Ireland of the tenth century. We do not believe that, in any century since, it could have merited the praise of furnishing occasion for so peaceloving a poem. Once, and once only, we seem on the eve of a conflict: "A night at Cashel of Munster, There were arrayed against us three So that each party confronted the other, As became the subjects of a good king." This wears a promising air enough; the soldiers have disencumbered themselves of heavy cloaks, and if they wore swords, we can imagine that they have drawn them. "A very pretty quarrel as it stands ;" but the result is not answerable--the Sir Lucius O'Trigger spirit seems of a more recent originthe battle is prevented. While the soldiers on the one side and the other are ready for action, their chiefs appear to have little sympathy with them. The poem proceeds thus: "The comely, the bright Muircheartach Engaged in playing his chess. O men of Munster, men of renown! They will kill man for man, The noble people of Muircheartach.' We took with us, therefore, Callaghan the Just, Who received his due honour,"&c.—p.45. An honour which the Poet slyly explains * "We were a night at the rapid Siul Daimh, And we were not defeated, Through the valour with which we fought."-p. 51. †These cloaks appear to have no little importance assigned to them among the "properties" of the expedition. The king has one of his titles from them-he was called Muircheartach of the Cloaks. The circumstance of casting them off when there was a fight expected, and wearing them upon more peaceful occasions, seems to prove that war entered far less than weather into the king's thoughts when he was preparing for his enterprise. "In the plain of the Hy-Cairbre Our only shelter, our only woods, Music we had on the plain and in our tents, By the shaking of our hard cloaks."-p. 45. The plain of Hy-Cairbre, where the leather cloaks were found so serviceable, was, the editor inform us, "the level country extending from the river Shannon to the town of Kilmallock, in the present county of Limerick." |