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.