Part 2
This remarkable rock, O, presents its principal front to the North, and the river, making an abrupt turn, passes directly under it. It has that bold freedom in its general outline which sets at naught description, and demands the pencil of Salvator himself to express justly. From the ruggedness of its impending cliffs, which almost overshadow the river, it would be truly aweful, if the trees and shrubs which cover them, did not counteract the effect, by diffusing an air of festivity over the whole, which strips it of its terrors. The parts of it, considered singly, are beautiful; their strange combination produces surprise. The effect of a musket or peterara discharged against this mountain, exceeds every thing I had conceived possible. The report is encreased to a degree almost incredible, and returning upon the ear in redoubled peals, now from the neighbouring, now from the more distant mountains, imperceptibly dying away, and again reviving, till it finally expires in hollow, interrupted murmurs, bears a nearer resemblance to natural bursts of thunder, than any thing artificial. The mountain is inhabited by Eagles, which build their nests on the craggs, and inaccessible heights, and are continually hovering round it: like true birds of Jove, they seem to have chosen it for their abode, from the allurements of its pealing echoes.
The mountain which runs from the Eagle’s Nest, to the upper lake, is two miles in length. It is one continued ridge without break, or rising; and from its figure, and inclination, is with singular propriety called the Great Range, P. Near the upper end of it is the seat of the musical echo. The spot where it resides is a hollow bosom in the mountain, covered on all sides with trees. The sounds are reverberated from the several parts of it, and are softened upon every repetition, so as to terminate in the sweetest cadences. A single horn produces a concert, and is multiplied into as many instruments as there are echoes; these mellowing in their tones, from the original notes of the leading instrument, to the dying falls of the last repetitions, and mingling together in a wild, but harmonious confusion, afford the finest specimen of natural music in the world. The power of the echoes might easily be ascertained by breathing a single note on any instrument, or by the voice; and afterwards, it would be an easy matter, at any period in a passage of music, to determine the number and quality of the sounds, which are employed in expressing it.
The southern lake, which is entered by a narrow pass called Colman’s Eye, stretches East and West for above a league; but does not any where exceed three quarters of a mile in breadth. It has a different air from the others, being encompassed on all sides by high grounds and mountains.
Ghirmeen, Q, one of the most considerable of these, forms a right angle with the Great Range, and bounds the lake to the North. It is partially covered with trees, and on the whole has rather a pleasing, than a bleak appearance. Arbutus Bay is the finest it affords; it derives its name, as well as a great share of its beauty, from an island contiguous to it. The mountain is the property of Mr. Herbert.
M’Gilly Cuddy’s Ricks take their rise from Ghirmeen, and encircling a valley, R, of pretty large compass to the West of the lake, form an extensive amphitheatre. These mountains are very numerous, and, as if Nature meant to exhaust her varieties, are broken into the most irregular, whimsical, shapes, imaginable. They seem to be quite destitute of planting, and indeed their fertility, at the distance most of them lie, would contribute little to their beauty. They are plentifully stocked with grouse, or, in the language of the natives, the hen of the heath, notwithstanding the depredations of their joint commoners the eagles. They furnish the lake with its principal supplies of water, which tumbling down in a multiplicity of channels, unites in one stream at bottom, and enriches the valley. The valley owes nothing to culture, though to all appearance capable of it: a few wretched cottagers derive from its borders a penurious subsistance. Its shore is distinguished by one of those singular rocks already described; to those who see it at a distance, it has the appearance of an island; and by a small elevation of the water would actually become one. The whole circuit is now possessed by Mr. Herbert; it formerly belonged to the ancient family of M’Gilly Cuddy, whose name it still bears. The mountains are called Ricks, in allusion to their shape, which approaches nearer to a cone than any other regular figure.
The southern boundary of the lake is formed by a range of high mountains. Cahirnee, S, which joins the Ricks, is the largest of them, and belongs to Lord Shelburne: it is distinguished by a waterfall, but is no otherwise remarkable. Towards the eastern angle this range terminates in a sloping bank, which forms one side of the Glynn of Derry-Cannihy. This Glynn, T, gradually contracting as it retires from the lake, loses itself in another, still more extensive, about a mile distant. Its sides are covered with very stately timber, particularly oaks; and it affords a delightful repose to the eye, fatigued with reiterated mountain prospects. The Kavoge rolls a considerable stream through the center, which, tumbling down a rocky channel, where it forms a variety of lesser falls, makes the woods and caverns vocal. The Glynn belongs to Lord Kenmare, who is now preparing to disrobe it of its trees, as well as the adjoining mountain Derry-Dimna. Whether the Genius of the lakes, or some more persuasive Divinity, will have power to stay his uplifted axe, time will determine. The determination, with respect to his Lordship’s taste, will be final.
May no future traveller have occasion to quote here the mournful lines of Virgil!
_Itur in antiquam silvam, stabula alta ferarum._ _Procumbunt piceæ, sonat icta securibus ilex,_ _Fraxineæque trabes; cuneis et fissile robur_ _Scinditur: advolvunt ingentes montibus ornos._
Crom-a-glaun[3], which belongs to Lord Kenmare also, confines the lake to the East, U. It extends from Derry-Cannihy to within a mile of Turk, and, though no where lofty, is one of the largest mountains in the neighbourhood. Its sides are covered with a luxuriant copse, which reaches down to the water’s edge: and its modest height, compared with the aspiring cliffs over-against it, gives it the appearance of a larger hill. The foot of this mountain is washed for a considerable length by a narrow confined bay, lying parallel to the river. This bay has no beauties to boast of; its western side is bleak and barren, and it is quite destitute of islands.
The Purple Mountain, though not immediately touching upon the lakes, is an object of curiosity not to be passed over, W. It rises from behind the Great Range, in a conical shape, and is strongly characterised by its deep indigo colour. It abounds with a kind of heath, found in no other part of the country, which produces purple berries; but receives its prevailing tinct from another herb, used by the natives in dying. This is probably the _Lichenoides saxatile foliis pilosis purpureis_, found by Doctor Smith in an adjoining Barony, though overlooked by him here. It affords shelter to a bird, so little known in Kerry, that as yet it has no popular name. This bird, as it was described to me, is somewhat larger than a grouse; its breast red, the rest of its plumage a clear shining black, except the wings, and tail, which are interspersed with white feathers. Whether this be of the same species with the heath cock, so common in Scotland under the name of the black game, I know not: I am sure I have heard, that the heath cock of the Highlands delights in the purple-berried heath, and resembles our rara avis in colour.
SECTION II.
I have now given a general sketch of the confines of the lakes, and their most remarkable bays. The islands are no less worthy of notice; though, from their number, situation, and varieties, so difficult to describe, that I despair of conveying any distinct conception of them.
The number of islands in the lower lake exceeds thirty. They are dispersed, without order, along the level shores to the East and North; for to the South and West, there is one unbroken sheet of water. A few of them lie unconnected, but the greater number is distributed into two irregular clusters, or archipels, on the opposite sides of Ross, X, Y. This island is the largest in the lake: it lies to the East of Reen Point, about a mile from the village of Killarney. A very narrow gut, scarcely navigable for boats, separates it from the shore; and over this there is a bridge thrown, for the conveniency of the castle. The castle stands on the land side on the island, and was formerly a royal residence; being the seat of the Lords of the Lake, who assumed the title of Kings. The family of O’Donahue was the last that bore this title: its present representative enjoys a degree of respect from the country-people in right of his ancestors, but their power has been long extinct, and their property is now passed into other hands. The great O’Donahue, the hero of this ancient race, still survives in the praises of his countrymen; who set off his virtues with all the colourings of enthusiasm. They represent him like the Demi-gods of old, a contemner of danger, a sworn foe to oppression, a passionate admirer of whatever is great and honourable. The severity of his warlike virtues was tempered, say they, by a generous hospitality, which embraced a Friend in every Stranger: The rigour of the Legislator was blended and lost in the endearing condescension of the Friend; the Prince was the Father of his country. His court was the seat of joy and festivity: worth took its place at the board by inherent birthright, grey hairs received their reverence, distressed innocence had a peculiar plea of admission, for humanity was paramount, and suspicious policy absolutely unknown. He was wise too, and the Gods sped his councils, for his subjects were happy. Fruitful seasons crowned the year with plenty, and undisturbed tranquillity led the way to enjoyment. ’Twas the reign of Pan in Arcadia: nor were the shepherds ungrateful; for every valley resounded with his praises: nor was their patron unpropitious; for death, that extinguished his earthly lamp, seemed to rekindle his love. And still he reigns to bless them; and to his unseen protection do they hold themselves indebted, for every gift of fortune. Often as the hind returns to his cottage, by the favour of the moon’s pale light, are his eyes blessed by the figure of the good old King amidst a train of his attendants; his silver locks floating in the breeze, his limbs invested with a robe of regal dignity, and superbly mounted, like the twin brothers of Helena, upon a milk-white courser. Such a vision is considered as the happiest omen of good; it is reported with ecstasy, and listened to with transport: there are no unbelievers; even to hesitate were heresy: and why should we wonder? O’Donahue is the Hercules and Quirinus of this retired people, their _San Januario_, their _Julium Sidus_. The ancient tribute of the kings of Munster to this prince, was ten dun horses, ten coats of mail, and ten ships[4]: This gives us the idea of a powerful chieftain, possessed of a navy, in these days, truly formidable. The castle, which has a non-resident governor, now serves as a barrack for infantry. From the top of it there is a good view of the island, which appears low and swampy, and rather narrow for its length. It is every where covered with trees, unless where it has been industriously cleared; which is the case around the castle, and from thence to the opposite shores. The winding Peninsula towards Innisfallen is particularly pleasant: The bays and creeks are much like those at Mucrus, but the happy situation of the surrounding islands gives them many additional beauties.
Innisfallen lies at a small distance to the Westward. It is not so extensive as Ross, but much more beautiful. Its shape is triangular, and its sides, from promontory to promontory, are hollowed into bays. The soil is exceedingly rich, and the verdure perpetual. The cattle which feed upon it testify to its fertility. Its surface is naturally molded into a variety of sweeps and banks, which are cleared of the underwood, and shaded by well-grown trees. Near the north-east promontory are the ruins of an abbey, and what the boatmen call a banqueting-house. The abbey is a very paltry building, and was probably rather an occasional retreat to the good Fathers at Mucrus, than the seat of a distinct Brotherhood. Such retreats, with all reverence be it spoken, are no less agreeable to the Anchorite, than Caprea was of old to the Roman Emperor. Whether it is, that the extremes of vice, and the rigours of virtue, equally decline observation; or that affected sanctity, and avowed sensuality, though looking different ways, aim at the same objects; or that a suspension, and perversion, of the human powers, produce similar effects; I leave to the curious to determine. Certainly here might Virgil find the realities of his beautiful descriptions,
——_Hic lætis otia fundis,_ _Speluncæ, vivique lacus; hic frigida Tempe,_ _Mugitusque boum._—
and, looking upon the distant mountains, he might still subjoin,
_Non absunt illic, saltus, ac lustra ferarum._
The Hermit I have before mentioned, frequently shut himself up here; subsisting, as he made the country-people believe, upon rats and other vermin: but they were deceived as usual; for the bounty of strangers, who almost daily touched on his island, supplied him with food better suited to his palate, and his private resources made up their deficiencies.
The low island to the Westward is inferior to Innisfallen in every thing but extent. It is called Brown Island, from its colour, and Rabbit Island, from its being stored with those animals. There are no trees upon it, and its only covering is fern: It seems to be placed here as a foil to the others.
The remaining islands of the western cluster, are of a less size, and more contiguous to the shore, than those I have spoken of. Lamb’s Island is the largest of them: It is finely wooded, and is indeed Innisfallen in miniature. Hern Island lies South East of Lamb’s: it is small, but wooded. O’Donahue’s Prison, and Mouse Island, complete the cluster; and, tho’ naked rocks, are not destitute of beauties: they derive their names, the one, from its resemblance in some views to a house; the other, from its diminutive size.
The islands which compose the eastern cluster, Y, though smaller, are more numerous. Garvillan, or Rough Island, at the east point of Ross; and Alexander’s, nearer the shore; are very little raised from the surface of the water. O’Donahue’s Table is a naked cragg, by gradual dilapidation worn into cavities. The other islands rise boldly to a point, and are counter parts of the vegetating heights at Mucrus. They are in general finely fringed with evergreens, which cover their angles and unevennesses; and are peopled by distinct tribes of birds, that feed on land in the day, and return at the dusk of evening: The jackdaw, pigeon, hern, eagle, and osprey, have all their separate habitations.
Besides these which lie in irregular groupes, there are several single islets scattered along the shores of Mucrus. Friars Island is contiguous to the abbey; Oak Island more distant; and another, which produces junipers, still farther to the South. Cannon Island, a white rock off Camillan, is remarkably well situated for shewing the power of the echoes. A gun mounted here, and pointed against Glená, must produce a striking effect; for Turk, the Eagle’s nest, and the several mountains on the opposite sides of the river, would serve as so many conveyances to transmit the undulations to the upper lake, and multiply the repetitions.
Brickeen, and Dinish, which lie in the mouth of Turk Lake, have been already described: the only other island in this lake is Illanan-Deoul, the Devil’s Island: it is lofty, steep, but not wooded.
The upper lake contains eight islands, which are all worthy of notice. The Oak Islands, or Rossburkree, separated only in winter, are the most considerable; and lie in the south-east part of the lake, opposite the mouth of the river. They are richly covered with timber, but particularly the eastern, which must yield up its oaks at the same time with the adjoining Glynn: they are rugged, and uneven, though no where hilly, and stretch away in length.
Arbutus Island lies over-against Rossburkree, half encompassed by a shady bay. Its shape is pyramidical, and its rocky sides are covered with strawberry-trees. In the latter end of October, when I first visited Killarney, they were in high beauty: many of their bells and blossoms still remaining, the fruit on some just forming, and on others nearly ripe. The same bough often exhibited all these varieties. The ordinary height of the tree is ten, or twelve feet; but I have seen some of a happier growth which rose to eighteen, or twenty. The blossom is shaped like a goblet, and the fruit nearly spherical: it is at first of a pale yellow, which deepens as it advances to ripeness, and gradually gives place to a rich scarlet. It equals the largest garden strawberry in size, but must be eaten with more caution, for those who are unaccustomed to it, and indulge too freely, are seized with an oppression little less than lethargic: This I take upon the credit of the country-people, who use it themselves without reserve, generally accompanying it with a hearty draught of water, to qualify its juices. The elder Pliny calls this fruit Unido, because no more than one berry can be eaten at a time with safety: but Virgil makes it the common food of the first inhabitants of the earth, following Lucretius, who ranks it with the acorn itself, and tells us that in the earlier ages it grew to an extraordinary size, and was found in greater abundance.
_Glandiferas inter curabant corpora quercus_ _Plerumque; et quæ nunc, hiberno tempore, cernis_ _Arbuta, pœniceo, fieri matura, colore,_ _Plurima, tum tellus, etiam majora, ferebat._
LUCRET. Lib. V.
The arbutus was no less esteemed among the ancients for its pleasant shade, than its fruit; as may be discovered from the poets, and particularly from Horace, the admirer, and best judge, of whatever is elegant in retirement.
The remaining islands to the number of five, lie together in a cluster, Z, at the west end of the lake, about half a mile from the shore. They are beautiful in themselves, and are so grouped as to form a delightful assemblage: They are all lofty, all wooded; and the bold broken craggs, and angles, in many places overhanging the lake, seem to forbid the approach of human footsteps, and consecrate them to their native ospreys and eagles. But man has notwithstanding intruded; for in the central one, which is only accessible in one spot, there is a cottage raised under shelter of the rocks, and trees, which is occupied every season. The cottage is composed of timber, interwoven with boughs; and is so matted, and covered in, with leaves, and sedge, as to form a comfortable habitation. The gentleman to whom it belongs, visits it twice a year, for the benefit of shooting and fishing: he sometimes continues for two entire months, as much secluded from the world as an Indian in Ontario, or Mishigan: He is a man of independent fortune, and, as I have been told, a batchelor.
In traversing his little island, I observed it was carpeted over with a thick covering of decayed leaves, and boughs. I could easily discover the strata of the several past years, by the different degrees of putrefaction; till near the bottom, where the dissolution was more complete, they were cemented into one uniform mass, condensed by the pressure above, and so swoln by the rains and moisture, as not to be at all distinguishable. As the decay was more perfect, the colours declined more perceptibly from the original lighter tints, ending, in the bottom, in as perfect a black, as I ever saw in any of our bogs. The similitude of the contexture, as well as the colour, convinced me, that the black bogs with which Ireland abounds, have been formed by the same process: a process which is probably forwarded, by the continual moisture, and rains, in a climate, neither burnt up by scorching heats, nor congealed by the rigours of cold.
This inhabited islet is the center of the groupe; to the South-west of it lie Stag, and Hind; and M’Carthy’s, and the Eagles Rock, to the North and North-west.
SECTION III.
The objects we have just taken a review of, gave me such pleasure in the contemplation, that I cannot help wondering at those, who profess themselves disappointed in them, and affect to decry them: Men should be cautious in admitting preconceptions. If they expect to see something altogether great, and stupendous, in a circuit of ten or twelve miles; the variety of objects, and the narrow limits of the scene, must necessarily disappoint them: for greatness in natural objects requires an unbroken uniformity of appearance, and that uniformity reigning over a wide extended surface. If they look for the aweful and terrible; the happy temperature of the climate, which cloaths even the rocks and precipices with a rich covering, and overspreads the rugged face of the mountains with luxuriance, is a natural bar to it. But if beauties will content them, in every degree of the scale, from wild magnificence, downwards; it is strange to me if they go away unsatisfied. Indeed what can be more beautiful, than the several views of a fine piece of water, studded with islands, encompassed by mountains, resounding with waterfalls, and reflecting, on all sides, the umbrageous trees, and evergreens, that adorn its banks? What can be more surprising than the fertility of the rocks, where the trees, too ponderous for their feeble roots, are often bent towards the earth, and flourish thus distorted? What more curious than different species of shrubs springing from the same decayed stock; which, no longer able to push forth leaves itself, serves as a nidus to others? And is there any thing more wonderful than the power of the echoes; which not only multiplies and reiterates the most ordinary sounds, but swells them to the pitch of natural thunder?
To hazard an opinion: The prevailing character of Killarney is Variety; the second Beauty; Magnificence is subordinate. Here Beauty, by her magic, and diffusive influence, gives a grace to Variety; whilst Variety furnishes her benefactress with flattering contrasts: United, they present the fancy with the most delightful images, of repose, tranquillity, unstudied order, natural wildness, and rural magnificence.
Objects, desirable in themselves, derive new beauties from their position with respect to others; and even such as excite no pleasing emotions when viewed singly, have often an agreeable effect in combination. But these relative beauties, as they result from the harmonious proportion of a number of parts, are entirely lost by an injudicious jumble of them; so that to see a multiplicity of objects to advantage, it is necessary to class them with taste, and consider them in those lights, and points of view, where they neither run into a perplexing confusion, on the one hand, nor a tiresome sameness, on the other.