HISTORY OF IRELAND.*

IN speaking of this volume, we do not intend to enter into the question of its value from an archaeological point of view ; nor

does the author's manner of dealing with his subject seem to invite such criticism. The real importance of the book under notice lies in this,—that the writer has given to the general reader,

in a bold and spirited manner, a succession of wild and poetic stories, each forming a part of that picturesque romance called

the heroic period of the history of Ireland. The author explains that he sees in the origin of history something analogous to the dawn of day. In the dawn of the history of all nations arise the same glorious and unearthly shapes ; "before Grecian history, the gods and demi-gods who fought around Ilium ; before Roman,

the strong legends of Virginias and Brutus ; in the dawn of Irish history, the Knights of the Red Branch, and all the glory that surrounded the Court of Concobar M'Nessa, High King of the Ultonians." He begins his history therefore with a resume in

popular form of the prehistoric legends of Ireland, and the following is his justification for the course he has taken:—

" A nation's history is made for it by circumstances, and the irresistible progress of events ; but their legends they make for themselves. In that dim twilight region, where day meets night, the intellect of man, tired by contact with the vulgarity of actual things, goes back for rest and regeneration, and there sleeping, projects its dreams against the waning light and before the rising of the sun The legends represent the imagination of the country ; they are that kind of history which a nation desires to possess. They betray the ambition and desires of the people, and in this respect, have a value far beyond the tale of actual events and duly recorded deeds, which are no more history than a skeleton is a man. Nay, too, they have their own reality. They fill the mind with an adequate and satisfying pleasure. They present a rhythmic completeness and a beauty not to be found in the fragmentary and ragged succession of events in time. Achilles and Troy appear somehow more real than Histileus and Miletus, Caculain and Emain Macha than Brian Boromh and Kincorah.'

Our author thinks that to trace from small beginnings the gradual growth of the Ard-Rieship of Erin would be a noble work, though one "which would necessitate the consenting labours of many

minds." The golden ore of historic inquiry is usually only obtained by patient toil in the dark under-world of the past. Yet in Irish history the whole surface of the ground is strewn with the glittering metal, unnoticed and ungathered, from the very gleanings of which less fortunate people might trick out their past with a barbaric splendour :-

" For myself. I lay no claim to the discovery of subterranean treasures, nor are times ripe.for that co operation of thought and study of associated and ardent inquirers from whom alone such results may be expected. Till men recognise the greatness of the heroic period of their history, the labours of the patient brood of scholars will be feebly conducted and inadequately rewarded. Enthusiasm itself must chill in the presence of a hard and enduring apathy. Irish archaeology is now, and has been hitherto, a flickering flame, whose intermittent flashes only serve to reveal its own sad state. The task which I have set before myself is • History of Ireland : the Heroic Period. By Standish O'Grady. Vol. I. London: Biunpeon Low, Searle, Marston, and Rivington. different ; it is to recast in a literary form that old heroic history, taking typical characters from each period, infusing into the tale, with a freedom unknown to the bards, the civilisation of their own times, which now, at least, is sufficiently poetical, using for a foundation that chronology which the bards and monks agreed upon, and which has not yet been overthrown. But before commencing, I desire to write a few words concerning one strong fact that looms for ever through the wild, bardic traditions, a fact still, whether true of the times concerning which the bards wrote; or whether the reflection of one of the prime elements of their own civiisation In ancient Erin, we find at Tara, a spot for over sacred, the locus of the plastic and formative principle, the centre upon which the chaos of the septal struggles was destined to subside, a palace, a strength, a city, a piston of rude parliaments and conventions of the justest law and the wisest brehons, the most frequented fair-green, best place for the jeweller to sell his rings and brooches, the annourer his weapons, where the harper found his art best judged and best rewarded, where the chronicler could best display and best correct his dry antiquities, the bard find the most liberal and appreciative audience. Who can tell the number of brave men whose blood has reddened those green plains warring to keep or gain for their own chief those sacred and king-making 'laths ? "

Mr. O'Grady has come to the conclusion that the superior prosperity of Ulster is not a thing of modern growth, for Ultonia, patrimony of the Knights of the Red Branch, was from the dawn of history inhabited by a tougher and more masterful breed, while the physical and mental type more distinctively termed " Irish " has always had its home in the south. To the warlike or material predominance of the north, the south has ever been able to oppose imagination, sprightliness, and art. He also considers it positively established that before Eire became the Insula Sanctorum and School of the West, she had for centuries main- tained her freedom, and that of her ally, the Picts, in the face of Rome, conquered Alba and West Britain, occupied London, and twice, if not oftener, invaded Gaul ; and that the spiritual pre- eminence of the island had been preceded by success in arms, an exodus of Irish conquerors, an influx of captives and booty having preceded the exodus of missionaries, and the influx of students,- and artists :-

" It was in this second and scholastic period that the genealogies and annals of the Bards, their poems and romances, were elaborated into that history which we find in the pages of Keating and of the Lowr Gawla. Succeeding centuries wore satisfied to accept the histories which the sixth and seventh delighted to construct."

In this volume, then, we have a group of those legends with which such writers as Keating have prefaced the historic annals, and of which an elaborate account is to be found in O'Curry's Lectures on the antiquities of Ireland ; but with a difference : the present author treats them as pure poetry, woven, it is true, round heroes- who actually lived :—

" Keating believed that all this ancient bardic lore represented pure historic fact, which caused him to commit ror.iy grave errors, artistic and archtelogical, by which the value of his beautiful treatise is much impaired. Even his anecdotes lose their importance, by being deprived of their substance, colour, and life, so that each under his handling has. become the mere residuum and anatomy of the old bardic tale, whose essential elements ho desired to represent. Treating these tales as- history, ho attached no importance to those qualities which have alone value to me, viz., the epic and dramatic."

The most important of the legends given in this volume are,. " The Fianna Eireen," of whom D'Arcy Magee wrote,—

" Long, long ago, beyond the misty space Of twice a thousand years,

In Erin old there dwelt a mighty race, Taller than Roman spears ;"

" The Coming of the Milesians," "The Fairy Bride," "The Death.

of Conairey More," "The Tuatha de Danan," " Deirdre," and the most noble and striking of all, the heroic and pathetic "Story

of Cuculain." Our space will not allow us to notice any of these save the latter, which glistens with the dew of poetry, and rings with the clangour of martial music. From the moment when, a boy of ten years, Cuculain steals from his father's thin with his little wooden shield and sword of lath, seeking for Emain Macha,.

the city and school of war of the warrior king of Ultonia, through all the scenes of his heroic career, he draws the heart of the reader with him. The strange boy, who is pronounced a very demon of war, developer into a youth so powerful that no man can with- stand him. Innumerable are the instances of his prowess, generosity, and tenderness of heart ; but the story begins to• become thrilling when the great Queen Meave declares war against the King of Ulla and his Knights of the Red Branch, and by the machinations of Faithleen, an enchantress, Cuculain, champion of Ulla, "swift hound" and youth of the deadly sling, is left solitary on the mountains, to defend his province from the

approach of the invaders. Looking down into the province behind him, he sees a cloud, like white fleece, lying thick upon the land, but does not know that it is a magic mist which has poisoned the brains of the brave chiefs of the Red Branch, holding them in a trance of idiotcy, from which nothing can arouse them. No figure in legend or history was ever more striking than this of Cuculain, forlorn and unconquerable in his lair among the mountains, from which he issues every day to strive with a fresh champion from the enemy's camp. His grief and amazement at the desertion of his friends, his tender care for his old, half-silly father, who has tracked him out, but can give him no help, his generosity towards those who persist in assailing him, the love he inspires in many of those who are forced to be his enemies, the admiration he wrings even from the baffled and vexed Queen ➢leave when, in an hour of truce, he visits her camp, all these traits, taken with his terrible strength, unfailing skill, and indomitable endurance, as revealed by turns in the progress of the narrative, produce an indescribable effect upon the reader. The love borne Cuculain by Fergus MacRoy, who is at once first General in war and Prime Minister of State with Meave, the meetings between them by night in the mountains, when the hero's strength and endurance are gradually ebbing away, and the friendly enemy can do nothing to assist him, give rise to situations as striking as are to be found in the poetry of any country. Fergus is again and again the bearer of friendly overtures to him from the queen, the acceptance of which would involve treachery to the Red Branch, but power and glory for Cuculain himself. Fergus, leaving his charioteer behind :— "Clemb an eminence and lifted up his voice on high, calling Cuculain by his old name, Setanta ; and Cuculain heard him in his secret place, and he cast aside his arms, and ran through the forest, and he threw himself upon Fergus, and kissed him, and wept. Then Fergus told him the conditions which he came bearing, and Cuculain answered resolutely that he would not forsake the Red Branch nor the King. Then Cuculain led Fergus along with him, and brought him to his secret place, and there were his horses feeding, and his chariot, and uo wheel-tracks lending thither. Then he arranged skins for Fergus, and went down to the stream below and speared two salmon, and with his sling he slew two wild geese in the marshes of the river ; and he returned to Fergus and cooked them, and he took mend and ale out of his chariot, and they caroused and conversed until the evening star arose. Then Fergus went away to where was his chariot, and returned to the camp."

Meave, having searched all her territory for champions, and having seen all her picked heroes destroyed, except those who, for old friendship's sake, will not fight with Cuculain, at last by bribes prevails on the mighty Fardia, the Firbolg, to engage with him in combat. Fardia had been one of Cuculain's dearest companions, and very vividly depicted are the shame, amazement, and anguish of the hero, when he sees his olden friend come forth to meet him. Tenderly he pleads with him to go back and allow another to take his place, but Fardia's brain is intoxicated by the promises of Meave, and he insists that the struggle shall proceed. When, after a bloody fight, he is slain, then the war-demons pass out of the conqueror, and he moans and laments over the body of the companion of his boyhood. But this unequal warfare begins to press too heavily upon Cuculain, and the enchantress who is leagued with his enemies oppresses his spirit with her spells :—

" All that night Cuculain's mind was clouded and disturbed, and he said that his clan had conspired against him, seeing that he was aban- doned and alone, warring now for many days against the whole host of Meave, keeping ward over the gates of the province. And now, too, he knew that he should die, for the thought of flight and of the surrender of Martheruney to the waster came not at all into his noble mind. But he called upon the Red Branch by name, lamenting loud Kenai Karns, dearest of all, and his voice penetrated the starry night, for ho cried out as a woman cries when one she loves has forsaken her ; so in ltis agony, Cuculain, the son of Sualtam, lifted up his voice ; and the men of Meave heard him, for he said that he was forsaken, and all men leagued against him. Moreover, as the moon set, he saw faces that moved amongst the trees, mocking him, and horrid things, formless and cold, estrays out of the fold of hell, wan- dering blots of the everlasting darkness, and there was laughter in the hollow chambers of the forest, and again the Ban- -Shoe of Lok 3facFava,h smiled at him and beckoned, and the cold water-serpent clung round his feet, and all the sweet chords of his mind were torn or unstrung, and the Shee delivered him over to great

affliction Now the horses, affrighted, pulled madly at their tethers, but anon, when ho sank down like a stone they approached him wondering, and he felt their warm breath on his face. Then the demons that affrighted him gave back, and he arose and put an arm around the neck of either steed, and he stood between thorn trembling.

His countenance was hollow and wan, dull were his splendid eyes, and there was a wound in his band, and in his leg, and in his left side, and his noble breast was mangled, and all his body black with dried gore."

But already succour was on its way to the hero. The forlorn cry of Cuculain's anguish reached over the wide land, over mountain and valley, and penetrated to the ear of Laeg, his loving and faith- ful servant, breaking the spell of the enchantress. Laeg, in his war-chariot, dashes frantically to the diins and homes of the various chiefs, but fails to arouse even one of them from the deadly stupor of madness in which they are sunk. In the end, he is obliged to seek Cuculain alone, and after much searching and many adven- tures,— " On a sudden, lo ! a grassy glade open to the stars, and the yellow steeds of Emer Munfada and Rayleen Gall, and one standing between them, as it were a tall and noble warrior, but drooping down with his head. Cuculain looked sorrowfully without recognition upon Laeg, with wild eyes full of suffering. But Laeg uttered a loud and bitter cry, and fell upon the ground and tore his auburn hair, and he remained at the feet of Cuculain, weeping till a third part of the night was passed, grovelling low upon the ground ; and the divine steeds, too, of Cuculain were distressed, bowing their splendid heads, and the long fair mane of Lia 3facha flowed upon the ground, grieving for the noble Cuculain. But after that Laeg arose, still weeping ; and he let down the war-car, spreading rugs and skins, and he washed the blood from Cuculain, and bound up his wounds, and took from the other chariot clean linen and made a bed for Cuculain ; and Cuculain obeyed him in all things like a young child, being very gentle and submissive ; and Laeg took the head of Cuculain and laid it in his breast,—the head that all Erin could not abase or dishonour, and he wept anew over Cuculain. [Then) all the blessed Shee throughout Erin came that night to honour the hound of Murthemney, and Cuculain saw them all plainly, face to face, as a man speaking with his friend, benign countenances and venerable,

high hearts made pure and noble by death And Laeg saw them not, but he felt the awful presence, and crouched back among the shadows."

The story is left unfinished in the present volume, and we hope that in the next we may find its completion, as well as a satis- factory rendering of others which we need not mention. We

should be glad to see, perfect in its details, the exquisite tragedy of the Children of Lir. There are indeed scattered through the various tales of this volume certain slight though touching traces of the wanderings of the three wild swans. We hear of places to which the unhappy Children of Lir were wont to come for shelter, and where their melancholy singing was heard when they were last seen by the Gael ; and we are told of gentle warriors who were beloved by the Shee because they had always been kind to these lonely wanderers.

Laying down this volume, it will naturally occur to the reader to ask why Irish poets have left so long unwrought this rich mine of the virgin poetry of their. country. Why does not some one arise among them aspiring to do for these legends what Tennyson has done for the legends of King Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table ? Moore went to the East for a subject for his pen ; Denis Florence McCarthy bestows years of labour upon transla- tions of Calderon ; Aubrey de Vere has written some exquisite poetry, and much which is peculiarly Irish in subject and feeling, yet he, too, forbears to enter this untenanted palace of art. Of

living men, Sir Samuel Ferguson, in his " Congal" and R. D. Joyce, in his "Deirdre," alone have shown a disposition to do such service to the literature of their country. D'Arcy Magee left some noble ballads, as witness of what he might have

done, had he lived, but we look around inquiringly for one who will sing us the story of Cuculain. Will the Irish Muse sleep on

till the foreign invader pounces upon her treasures ? The author of the present work is doing something to bring these beautiful

legends under the notice of the world, and he deserves all honour for an attempt which we sincerely hope may be successful.