Fairy Legends and Traditions of The South of Ireland Part 15

It was, in truth a lovely moonlight night; nothing was to be seen around but the dark rocks, and the white pebbly beach, upon which the sea broke with a hoa.r.s.e and melancholy murmur. Connor, notwithstanding his frequent draughts, felt rather queerish, and almost began to repent his curiosity. It was certainly a solemn sight to behold the black coffin resting upon the white strand. His imagination gradually converted the deep moaning of old ocean into a mournful wail for the dead, and from the shadowy recesses of the rocks he imaged forth strange and visionary forms.

As the night advanced, Connor became weary of watching; he caught himself more than once in the fact of nodding, when suddenly giving his head a shake, he would look towards the black coffin. But the narrow house of death remained unmoved before him.

It was long past midnight, and the moon was sinking into the sea, when he heard the sound of many voices, which gradually became stronger, above the heavy and monotonous roll of the sea: he listened, and presently could distinguish a Keen, of exquisite sweetness, the notes of which rose and fell with the heaving of the waves, whose deep murmur mingled with and supported the strain!

The Keen grew louder and louder, and seemed to approach the beach, and then fell into a low plaintive wail. As it ended, Connor beheld a number of strange, and in the dim light, mysterious-looking figures, emerge from the sea, and surround the coffin, which they prepared to launch into the water.

"This comes of marrying with the creatures of earth," said one of the figures, in a clear, yet hollow tone.

"True," replied another, with a voice still more fearful, "our king would never have commanded his gnawing white-toothed waves to devour the rocky roots of the island cemetery, had not his daughter, Durfulla, been buried there by her mortal husband!"

"But the time will come," said a third, bending over the coffin,

"When mortal eye--our work shall spy, And mortal ear--our dirge shall hear."

"Then," said a fourth, "our burial of the Cantillons is at an end for ever!"

As this was spoken the coffin was borne from the beach by a retiring wave, and the company of sea people prepared to follow it; but at the moment one chanced to discover Connor Crowe, as fixed with wonder and as motionless with fear as the stone on which he sat.

"The time is come," cried the unearthly being, "the time is come: a human eye looks on the forms of ocean, a human ear has heard their voices; farewell to the Cantillons; the sons of the sea are no longer doomed to bury the dust of the earth!"

One after the other turned slowly round, and regarded Connor Crowe, who still remained as if bound by a spell. Again arose their funeral song; and on the next wave they followed the coffin. The sound of the lamentation died away, and at length nothing was heard but the rush of waters. The coffin and the train of sea people sank over the old church-yard, and never, since the funeral of old Flory Cantillon, have any of the family been carried to the strand of Ballyheigh, for conveyance to their rightful burial-place, beneath the waves of the Atlantic.

THE LORD OF DUNKERRON.

XXIV.

The lord of Dunkerron[20]--O'Sullivan More, Why seeks he at midnight the sea-beaten sh.o.r.e?

His bark lies in haven his hounds are asleep; No foes are abroad on the land or the deep.

Yet nightly the lord of Dunkerron is known On the wild sh.o.r.e to watch and to wander alone; For a beautiful spirit of ocean, 'tis said, The lord of Dunkerron would win to his bed.

When, by moonlight, the waters were hush'd to repose, That beautiful spirit of ocean arose; Her hair, full of l.u.s.tre, just floated and fell O'er her bosom, that heaved with a billowy swell.

Long, long had he loved her--long vainly essay'd To lure from her dwelling the coy ocean maid; And long had he wander'd and watch'd by the tide, To claim the fair spirit O'Sullivan's bride!

The maiden she gazed on the creature of earth, Whose voice in her breast to a feeling gave birth; Then smiled; and, abashed as a maiden might be, Looking down, gently sank to her home in the sea.

Though gentle that smile, as the moonlight above, O'Sullivan felt 'twas the dawning of love, And hope came on hope, spreading over his mind, Like the eddy of circles her wake left behind.

The lord of Dunkerron he plunged in the waves, And sought through the fierce rush of waters, their caves; The gloom of whose depth studded over with spars, Had the glitter of midnight when lit up by stars.

Who can tell or can fancy the treasures that sleep, Entombed in the wonderful womb of the deep?

The pearls and the gems, as if valueless, thrown To lie 'mid the sea-wrack concealed and unknown.

Down, down went the maid,--still the chieftain pursued; Who flies must be followed ere she can be wooed.

Untempted by treasures, unawed by alarms, The maiden at length he has clasped in his arms!

They rose from the deep by a smooth-spreading strand, Whence beauty and verdure stretch'd over the land.

'Twas an isle of enchantment! and lightly the breeze, With a musical murmur, just crept through the trees.

The haze-woven shroud of that newly born isle, Softly faded away, from a magical pile, A palace of crystal, whose bright-beaming sheen Had the tints of the rainbow--red, yellow, and green.

And grottoes, fantastic in hue and in form, Were there, as flung up--the wild sport of the storm; Yet all was so cloudless, so lovely, and calm, It seemed but a region of sunshine and balm.

"Here, here shall we dwell in a dream of delight, Where the glories of earth and of ocean unite!

Yet, loved son of earth! I must from thee away; There are laws which e'en spirits are bound to obey!

"Once more must I visit the chief of my race, His sanction to gain ere I meet thy embrace.

In a moment I dive to the chambers beneath: One cause can detain me--one only--'tis death!"

They parted in sorrow, with vows true and fond; The language of promise had nothing beyond.

His soul all on fire, with anxiety burns: The moment is gone--but no maiden returns.

What sounds from the deep meet his terrified ear-- What accents of rage and of grief does he hear?

What sees he? what change has come over the flood-- What tinges its green with a jetty of blood?

Can he doubt what the gush of warm blood would explain?

That she sought the consent of her monarch in vain!

For see all around him, in white foam and froth, The waves of the ocean boil up in their wroth!

The palace of crystal has melted in air, And the dyes of the rainbow no longer are there; The grottoes with vapour and clouds are o'ercast, The sunshine is darkness--the vision has past!

Loud, loud was the call of his serfs for their chief; They sought him with accents of wailing and grief: He heard, and he struggled--a wave to the sh.o.r.e, Exhausted and faint, bears O'Sullivan More!

[20] The remains of Dunkerron Caslle are distant about a mile from the village of Kenmare, in the county of Kerry. It is recorded to have been built in 1596, by Owen O'Sullivan More.--[_More_, is merely an epithet signifying _the Great_.]

THE WONDERFUL TUNE.

XXV.

Maurice Connor was the king, and that's no small word, of all the pipers in Munster. He could play jig and planxty without end, and Ollistrum's March, and the Eagle's Whistle, and the Hen's Concert, and odd tunes of every sort and kind. But he knew one, far more surprising than the rest, which had in it the power to set every thing dead or alive dancing.

In what way he learned it is beyond my knowledge, for he was mighty cautious about telling how he came by so wonderful a tune. At the very first note of that tune, the brogues began shaking upon the feet of all who heard it--old or young it mattered not--just as if their brogues had the ague; then the feet began going--going--going from under them, and at last up and away with them, dancing like mad!--whisking here, there, and every where, like a straw in a storm--there was no halting while the music lasted!

Not a fair, nor a wedding, nor a patron in the seven parishes round, was counted worth the speaking of without "blind Maurice and his pipes." His mother, poor woman, used to lead him about from one place to another, just like a dog.

Down through Iveragh--a place that ought to be proud of itself, for 'tis Daniel O'Connell's country--Maurice Connor and his mother were taking their rounds. Beyond all other places Iveragh is the place for stormy coast and steep mountains: as proper a spot it is as any in Ireland to get yourself drowned, or your neck broken on the land, should you prefer that. But, notwithstanding, in Ballinskellig bay there is a neat bit of ground, well fitted for diversion, and down from it towards the water, is a clean smooth piece of strand--the dead image of a calm summer's sea on a moonlight night, with just the curl of the small waves upon it.

Here it was that Maurice's music had brought from all parts a great gathering of the young men and the young women--_O the darlints!_--for 'twas not every day the strand of Trafraska was stirred up by the voice of a bagpipe. The dance began; and as pretty a rinkafadda it was as ever was danced. "Brave music," said every body, "and well done,"