The Irish Fairy Book Part 36

"Paddy an' the wife now came in laughin' to scould Harry, who no doubt was a great wag in his way when he wished. 'Musha, bad scran to you, Harry----' and they had time to say no more, howandiver, for, as they were goin' into the door, they met him comin' out of it, wid a reek of smoke out of his tail like a lime-kiln.

"'Harry,' shouted Bridget, 'my sowl to glory, but the tail of your cothamore's afire--you'll be burned. Don't you see the smoke that's out of it?'

"'Cross yourselves three times,' said Harry, widout stoppin' or even lookin' behind him, 'for, as the prophecy says, Fill the pot, Eddy----'

They could hear no more, for Harry appeared to feel like a man that carried something a great deal hotter than he wished, as anyone might see by the liveliness of his motions, and the quare faces he was forced to make as he went along.

"'What the d.i.c.kens is he carryin' in the skirts of his big coat?' asked Paddy.

"'My sowl to happiness, but maybe he has stolen the pudden,' said Bridget, 'for it's known that many a sthrange thing he does.'

"They immediately examined the pot, but found that the pudden was there, as safe as tuppence, an' this puzzled them the more to think what it was he could be carryin' about with him in the manner he did. But little they knew what he had done while they were sky-gazin'!

"Well, anyhow, the day pa.s.sed, and the dinner was ready, an' no doubt but a fine gatherin' there was to partake of it. The Prosbytarian ministher met the Methodist praycher--a divilish stretcher of an appet.i.te he had, in throth--on their way to Jack Rafferty's, an' as he knew he could take the liberty, why, he insisted on his dinin' wid him; for, afther all, in thim days, the clargy of all descriptions lived upon the best footin' among one another, not all at one as now--but no matther. Well, they had nearly finished their dinner, when Jack Rafferty himself axed Katty for the pudden; but, jist as he spoke, in it came, as big as a mess-pot.

"'Gintlemen,' said he, 'I hope none of you will refuse tastin' a bit of Katty's pudden; I don't mane the dancin' one that took to its thravels to-day, but a good solid fellow that she med since.'

"'To be sure we won't,' replied the priest. 'So, Jack, put a thrifle on them three plates at your right hand, and send them over here to the clargy, an' maybe,' he said, laughin'--for he was a droll, good-humoured man--'maybe, Jack, we won't set you a proper example.'

"'Wid a heart an' a half, your riverence an' gintlemen; in throth, it's not a bad example ever any of you set us at the likes, or ever will set us, I'll go bail. An' sure, I only wish it was betther fare I had for you; but we're humble people, gintlemen, an' so you can't expect to meet here what you would in higher places.'

"'Betther a male of herbs,' said the Methodist praycher, 'where pace is----' He had time to get no further, however; for much to his amazement, the priest an' the ministher started up from the table, jist as he was goin' to swallow the first mouthful of the pudden, and, before you could say Jack Robinson, started away at a lively jig down the floor.

"At this moment a neighbour's son came runnin' in, and tould them that the parson was comin' to see the new-married couple, an' wish them all happiness; an' the words were scarcely out of his mouth when he made his appearance. What to think, he knew not, when he saw the ministher footin' it away at the rate of a weddin'. He had very little time, however, to think; for, before he could sit down, up starts the Methodist praycher, an', clappin' his fists in his sides, chimes in in great style along wid him.

"'Jack Rafferty,' says he, and, by the way, Jack was his tenant, 'what the d.i.c.kens does all this mane?' says he; 'I'm amazed!'

"'The not a particle o' me can tell you,' says Jack; 'but will your reverence jist taste a morsel o' pudden, merely that the young couple may boast that you ait at their weddin'; for, sure, if _you_ wouldn't, who _would_?'

"'Well,' says he, 'to gratify them, I will; so, just a morsel. But, Jack, this bates Bannagher,' says he again, puttin' the spoonful of pudden into his mouth; 'has there been drink here?'

"'Oh, the divle a spudh,' says Jack, 'for although there's plenty in the house, faith, it appears the gintlemen wouldn't wait for it. Unless they tuck it elsewhere, I can make nothin' o' this.'

"He had scarcely spoken when the parson, who was an active man, cut a caper a yard high, an' before you could bless yourself, the three clargy were hard at work dancin', as if for a wager. Begad, it would be unpossible for me to tell you the state the whole meetin' was in when they see this. Some were hoa.r.s.e wid laughin'; some turned up their eyes wid wondher; many thought them mad; and others thought they had turned up their little fingers a thrifle too often.

"'Be goxty, it's a burnin' shame,' said one, 'to see three black-mouth clargy in sich a state at this early hour!' 'Thundher an' ounze, what's over them at all?' says others; 'why, one would think they were bewitched. Holy Moses, look at the caper the Methodist cuts! An' as for the Recthor, who would think he could handle his feet at sich a rate! Be this, an' be that, he cuts the buckle, an' does the threblin' step aiquil to Paddy Horaghan, the dancin'-masther himself! An' see! Bad cess to the morsel of the parson that's not too hard at _Peace upon a trancher_, and it upon a Sunday, too! Whirroo, gintlemen, the fun's in yez, afther all--whish! more power to yez!'

"The sorra's own fun they had, an' no wondher; but judge of what they felt when all at once they saw ould Jack Rafferty himself bouncin' in among them, an' footin' it away like the best of them. Bedad, no play could come up to it, an' nothin' could be heard but laughin', shouts of encouragement, an' clappin' of hands like mad. Now, the minute Jack Rafferty left the chair, where he had been carvin' the pudden, ould Harry Connolly come over and claps himself down in his place, in ordher to sent it round, of coorse; an' he was scarcely sated when who should make his appearance but Barney Hartigan, the piper. Barney, by the way, had been sent for early in the day, but bein' from home when the message for him went, he couldn't come any sooner.

"'Begorra,' says Barney, 'you're airly at the work gintlemen! But what does this mane? But divle may care, yez shan't want the music, while there's a blast in the pipes, anyhow!' So sayin' he gave them _Jig Polthogue_, and afther that, _Kiss My Lady_, in his best style.

"In the manetime the fun went on thick and threefold, for it must be remembered that Harry, the ould knave, was at the pudden; an' maybe, he didn't sarve it about in double-quick time, too! The first he helped was the bride, and before you could say chopstick she was at it hard and fast, before the Methodist praycher, who gave a jolly spring before her that threw them into convulsions. Harry liked this, and made up his mind soon to find partners for the rest; so he accordianly sent the pudden about like lightnin'; an', to make a long story short, barrin' the piper an' himself, there wasn't a pair of heels in the house but was as busy at the dancin' as if their lives depended on it.

"'Barney,' says Harry, 'jist taste a morsel o' this pudden; divle the sich a bully of a pudden ever you ett. Here, your sowl! thry a snig of it--it's beautiful!'

"'To be sure I will,' says Barney. 'I'm not the boy to refuse a good thing. But, Harry, be quick, for you know my hands is engaged, an' it would be a thousand pities not to keep them in music, an' they so well inclined. Thank you, Harry. Begad, that is a fine pudden. But, blood an' turnips! what's this for?'

"The word was scarcely out of his mouth when he bounced up, pipes an'

all, and dashed into the middle of the party. 'Hurroo! your sowls, let us make a night of it! The Ballyboulteen boys for ever! Go it, your reverence!--turn your partner--heel an' toe, ministher. Good! Well done, again! Whish! Hurroo! Here's for Ballyboulteen, an' the sky over it!'

"Bad luck to sich a set ever was seen together in this world, or will again, I suppose. The worst, however, wasn't come yet, for jist as they were in the very heat an' fury of the dance, what do you think comes hoppin' in among them but another pudden, as nimble an' merry as the first! That was enough; they had all heard of it--the ministhers among the rest--an' most of them had seen the other pudden, an' knew that there must be a fairy in it, sure enough. Well, as I said, in it comes to the thick o' them; but the very appearance of it was enough. Off the three clargy danced, and off the whole weddiners danced afther them, everyone makin' the best of their way home; but not a sowl of them able to break out of the step, if they were to be hanged for it. Throth, it wouldn't lave a laff in you to see the parson dancin' down the road on his way home, and the ministher and Methodist praycher cuttin' the buckle as they went along in the opposite direction. To make short work of it, they all danced home at last wid scarce a puff of wind in them; the bride an' bridegroom danced away to bed; an' now, boys, come an' let us dance the _Horo Lheig_ in the barn widout. But, you see, boys, before we go, and in order to make everything plain, I had as good tell you that Harry, in crossin' the bridge of Ballyboulteen, a couple o' miles between Squire Bragshaw's demesne wall, saw the pudden floatin' down the river--the truth is, he was waitin' for it; but, be this as it may, he took it out, for the wather had made it as clane as a new pin, an'

tuckin' it up in the tail of his big coat, contrived to bewitch it in the same manner by gettin' a fairy to get into it, for, indeed, it was purty well known that the same Harry was hand an' glove wid the _good people_. Others will tell you that it was half a pound of quicksilver he put into it, but that doesn't stand to raison. At any rate, boys, I have tould you the adventures of the Mad Pudden of Ballyboulteen; but I don't wish to tell you many other things about it that happened--_for 'fraid I'd tell a lie_!"

WILLIAM CARLETON.

The Voyage of Maeldune

I was the chief of the race--he had stricken my father dead-- But I gathered my fellows together; I swore I would strike off his head.

Each of them looked like a king, and was n.o.ble in birth as in worth, And each of them boasted he sprang from the oldest race upon earth.

Each was as brave in the fight as the bravest hero of song, And each of them liefer had died than have done one another a wrong.

_He_ lived on an isle in the ocean--we sail'd on a Friday morn-- He that had slain my father the day before I was born.

And we came to the isle in the ocean, and there on the sh.o.r.e was he.

But a sudden blast blew us out and away through a boundless sea.

And we came to the Silent Isle that we never had touched before, Where a silent ocean always broke on a silent sh.o.r.e, And the brooks glittered on in the light without sound, and the long waterfalls Poured in a thunderless plunge to the base of the mountain walls, And the poplar and cypress unshaken by storm flourished up beyond sight And the pine shot aloft from the crag to an unbelievable height, And high in the heaven above it there flickered a songless lark, And the c.o.c.k couldn't crow, and the bull couldn't low, and the dog couldn't bark.

And round it we went, and thro' it, but never a murmur, a breath, It was all of it fair as life, it was all of it quiet as death, And we hated the beautiful Isle, for whenever we strove to speak Our voices were thinner and fainter than any flittermouse shriek; And the men that were mighty of tongue, and could raise such a battle-cry That a hundred who heard it would rush on a thousand lances and die-- Oh, they to be dumb'd by the charm!--so fl.u.s.ter'd with anger were they They almost fell on each other; but, after, we sailed away.

And we came to the Isle of Shouting, we landed, a score of wild birds Cried from the topmost summit with human voices and words; Once in an hour they cried, and whenever their voices peal'd The steer fell down at the plough and the harvest died from the field, And the men dropt dead in the valleys and half of the cattle went lame, And the roof sank in on the hearth, and the dwelling broke into flame; And the shouting of these wild birds ran into the hearts of my crew, Till they shouted along with the shouting, and seized one another and slew; But I drew them the one from the other; I saw that we could not stay, And we left the dead to the birds and we sail'd with our wounded away.

And we came to the Isle of Flowers, their breath met us out on the seas, For the Spring and the middle Summer sat each on the lap of the breeze; And the red pa.s.sion-flower to the cliffs, and the dark-blue clematis clung And starr'd with a myriad blossom, the long convolvulus hung; And the topmost spire of the mountain was lilies in lieu of snow, And the lilies like glaciers winded down, running out below Thro' the fire of the tulip and poppy, the blaze of gorse, and the blush Of millions of roses that sprang without leaf or thorn from the bush; And the whole isle-side flashing down from the peak without ever a tree Swept like a torrent of gems from the sky to the blue of the sea; And we roll'd upon capes of crocus and vaunted our kith and kin, And we wallowed in beds of lilies, and chanted the triumph of Finn, Till each like a golden image was pollen'd from head to feet And each was as dry as a cricket, with thirst in the middle-day heat.

Blossom, and blossom, and promise of blossom, but never a fruit!

And we hated the Flowering Isle, as we hated the isle that was mute, And we tore up the flowers by the million and flung them in bight and bay.

And we left but a naked rock, and in anger we sail'd away.

And we came to the Isle of Fruits: all round from the cliffs and the capes, Purple or amber dangled a hundred fathom of grapes, And the warm melon lay, like a little sun, on the tawny sand, And the fig ran up from the beach, and rioted over the land, And the mountain arose, like a jewelled throne thro' the fragrant air, Glowing with all-coloured plums, and with golden ma.s.ses of pear, And the crimson and scarlet of berries that flamed upon bine and vine, But in every berry and fruit was the poisonous pleasure of wine: And the peak of the mountain was apples, the hugest that ever were seen, And they prest, as they grew, on each other, with hardly a leaflet between.

And all of them redder than rosiest health, or than utterest shame, And setting, when Even descended, the very sunset aflame.

And we stay'd three days, and we gorged and we madden'd till everyone drew His sword on his fellow to slay him, and ever they struck and they slew; And myself I had eaten but spa.r.s.ely, and fought till I sunder'd the fray, Then I bade them remember my father's death, and we sail'd away.

And we came to the Isle of Fire: we were lured by the light from afar, For the peak sent up one league of fire to the Northern Star; Lured by the glare and the blare, but scarcely could stand upright, For the whole isle shudder'd and shook, like a man in a mortal affright; We were giddy, besides, with the fruits we had gorged, and so crazed that at last, There were some leap'd into the fire; and away we sail'd, and we past Over that undersea isle, where the water is clearer than air: Down we look'd: what a garden! Oh, bliss, what a Paradise there!

Towers of a happier time, low down in a rainbow deep Silent palaces, quiet fields of eternal sleep!

And three of the gentlest and best of my people, whate'er I could say, Plunged head down in the sea, and the Paradise trembled away.

And we came to the Bounteous Isle, where the heavens lean low on the land, And ever at dawn from the cloud glitter'd o'er us a sun-bright hand, Then it opened, and dropped at the side of each man, as he rose from his rest, Bread enough for his need till the labourless day dipt under the West; And we wandered about it, and thro' it. Oh, never was time so good!

And we sang of the triumphs of Finn, and the boast of our ancient blood, And we gazed at the wandering wave, as we sat by the gurgle of springs, And we chanted the songs of the Bards and the glories of fairy kings; But at length we began to be weary, to sigh, and to stretch and yawn, Till we hated the Bounteous Isle, and the sun-bright hand of the dawn, For there was not an enemy near, but the whole green isle was our own, And we took to playing at ball, and we took to throwing the stone, And we took to playing at battle, but that was a perilous play, For the pa.s.sion of battle was in us, we slew and we sail'd away.

And we pa.s.sed to the Isle of Witches, and heard their musical cry-- "Come to us, Oh, come, come," in the stormy red of a sky Dashing the fires and the shadows of dawn on the beautiful shapes, For a wild witch, naked as heaven, stood on each of the loftiest capes, And a hundred ranged on the rocks, like white sea-birds in a row, And a hundred gambled and pranced on the wrecks in the sand below, And a hundred splashed from the ledges, and bosomed the burst of the spray.

But I knew we should fall on each other, and hastily sail'd away.

And we came in an evil time to the Isle of the Double Towers, One was of smooth-cut stone, one carved all over with flowers, But an earthquake always moved in the hollows under the dells, And they shock'd on each other and b.u.t.ted each other with clashing of bells, And the daws flew out of the Towers, and jangled and wrangled in vain, And the clash and boom of the bells rang into the heart and brain, Till the pa.s.sion of battle was on us, and all took sides with the Towers, There were some for the clean-cut stone, there were more for the carven flowers, And the wrathful thunder of G.o.d peal'd over us all the day, For the one half slew the other, and, after, we sail'd away.

And we came to the Isle of a Saint, who had sail'd with St. Brendan of yore, He had lived ever since on the isle, and his winters were fifteen score, And his voice was low as from other worlds, and his eyes were sweet, And his white hair sank to his heels, and his white beard fell to his feet, And he spake to me, "Oh, Maeldune, let be this purpose of thine!

Remember the words of the Lord, when He told us 'Vengeance is Mine!'

His fathers have slain thy fathers, in war or in single strife, Thy fathers have slain his fathers, each taken a life for a life, Thy father had slain his father, how long shall the murder last?

Go back to the Isle of Finn and suffer the Past to be Past."

And we kiss'd the fringe of his beard, and we pray'd as we heard him pray, And the Holy Man he a.s.soil'd us, and sadly we sail'd away.