IT is recorded of a wise and learned philosopher of the middle ages, when remonstrated with by a friend as to his persevering and unceasing labours, and advised to allow his mind to rest, that, though age pressed heavily on him, and touched his hair with its silver fingers, his spirit stirred within him to utter a noble reply, "Have I not all eternity to rest in ?" We may well adapt this anecdote to the talented and indefatigable author, whose last work is now before us; for, nearly fifty years ago, he won his first laurels in the field of literature, and successive years have but added to his well-earned fame, which his Ancient Irish Minstrelsy will serve to increase, and, we trust, be but a prelude to other works on the same or kindred subjects from his able pen.

Since the time when Miss Brooke first drew the attention of the public to the treasures of poetry, and the charms of song, which lay hidden in old Irish manuscripts, or which, handed from father to son, from mother to daughter, were sung around the turf fires in the cottages of Munster, and the bogs of Mayo, or the mountains of Donegal, depending for their preservation on the affections and the memories of the peasants of our country, very little, comparatively, has been done to render those important historical ballads better known to the general reader. Hardiman's Irish Minstrelsy, Clarence Mangan's small Collection of Ballads, Montgomery's Specimens of Early Irish Bards, are almost the only books on the subject; and such a work as the one which Dr. Drummond has given us here, was much required, in order to enable us to form a clear idea of the peculiar beauty of our old Irish poetry. To him were open, not only the fine collection of manuscripts in the Royal Irish Academy, but the principal private libraries of Ireland; and he has well availed himself of his opportunities, bringing to his task the learning of the scholar and the imagination of the poet.

War and love are the themes of the

thirty lays in this volume, and some of the battle scenes are described with much force and vigour. The poet seems to have been a warrior himself in youth, and participates in the furious joy of an onset, the glory of a victory, the sorrows of a retreat. Like Shelley, he seems to have "learnt in suffering, what he taught in song;" for there is an unequalled pathos in the reflections on a defeat, which convinces us of the strength of the real feelings of the narrator, while nothing can be more accurate or magnificent than the occasional bursts of joy in the excitement of the moment of victory. What can be finer, or more sublime, than some of the passages in the first lay in the volume, that of "Magnus the Great?" That at page 9, for example, or the following from the conclusion of the poem :—

66

"Such furious onslaught then we made,
As ne'er before these eyes surveyed;
With sword and lance, we on them broke,
Impetuous as the thunder-stroke.
As comes a cloud upon the gale,
Surcharged with lightning, storm, and hail,
And smites the earth beneath;
So dauntless on our foes we rushed,
Their helmets, shields, and corslets crushed,
And trampled on the heath.
And fiercely as our anger burned,
Ranks upon ranks we overturned;
And like the whirlwind's rapid sweep

Through withered trees that crown
The headland-rock, or mountain steep,
We struck the warriors down;
And down their fallen ranks we trod,
Beneath our feet on the blood-drenched sod."
(Page 17.)

A prophetic spirit seems to have inspired the bard in the second Duan of the Lay of the Battle of Gavra❞—a bat tle, one of the most memorable and bloody ever fought in Ireland, and one which was long the theme of poets' song; it was fought near the celebrated Hill of Tara, and by it the Fenian power was annihilated. After describing the position of the contending armies, and the proceedings of a council of war, in the first Duan, the second opens with a glowing passagea companion-picture to the one we have already quoted; and then occurs that

B

"But soon among our Fenians rose, That first and last of Erin's woes, Discord-sad source of bitter strife, That poisons all the sweets of life; That reason, justice, truth defies, Asunder rends all nature's ties,

And love to hatred turns ; Makes man a savage, fierce and wild; Against the parent, arms the child; And while his anger burns, With venom barbs the patriot dart, To fester in his country's heart; And rolls in one commingling flood, The peasant's and the noble's blood."

(Page 94.)

The remainder of this lay will amply repay perusal it is one of the finest in the book. The translation is vivid and spirited, and the battle is depicted with strange force and intensity. To mutilate such a picture, by extracting portions of it, would be the same as if we cut and carved one of Raphael's cartoon's into portions, in order to convey an idea of the marvellous beauty of the whole. As we read these stanzas, rolling along like the waves of the sea, we felt that we more nearly realised a battle-field than ever before. Not even Walter Scott's" Flodden Field," nor Byron's "Waterloo," are comparable to it in reality or stern sublimity; and higher praise than this we cannot give. And this is only one of the many spirit-stirring scenes in these historic ballads to which we would direct the attention of our readers, assured of the pleasure their perusal will afford. The boarhunt in the" Lay of Slieve-na-man," the "Cattle Prey of Tara," and the "Combat between Conn and Gaul," might all be instanced as examples of the vigour and force found in these poems; but we only mean to point them out, not to analyse or extract from them.

In that most remarkable and admirable work, which is at once an honour to the century and its author-we mean Humboldt's Cosmos-among the vivid descriptions of nature, in her several aspects, mingled with the magnificent views of creative skill unfolded in its pages, and, illustrating or explaining its theories, we find everywhere remarks evincing such profound knowledge, such extensive reading, and such unceasing research, that we can never cease to wonder at the genius which not only explains all we see and know, not only carries us along with him through the

recesses of earth, but quotes to us the poetry of our country, remarks on the fairy legends of our childhood, reflects on the history of every known country, and tells to every heart, in its own language, "the wonderful works of God.'

We have been led into this train of reflection by the recollection of a pas sage in that part of the second volume of Cosmos, entitled, "Incitements to the Study of Nature," where Humboldt remarks, "That although the enjoy ment derived from the contemplation of ancients, the feeling was, nevertheless, nature was not wholly unknown to the much more rarely and less vividly expressed than in modern times; and those profound investigators of the literature of the middle ages, the Brothers Grimn, remark, that in the famous popular historical poem, the "Niebelungen Lied," there is no description of natural scenery to be found even where the occasion seems to require its introduction. We question whether Humboldt would have made the assertion, that ancient poets love not to dwell on nature, if he had read any of our old Irish minstrels; and we are proud that our historical poems, as important as the German epic, do not exhibit that shunning of the influences of natural scenery which the learned Grimns deplore. In the different Irish poems which Dr. Drummond has so well translated in the volume before us, there is evidenced an intense feeling and appreciation of the beautiful in nature, such, as Baron Humboldt has so justly and truly observed, we do not find in the works of the ancients, restricting the use of that word to the poets of Greece and Rome. In the lay of the "Chase of Glennasmol," the following beautiful passage occurs :—

"Soon passed we, with our merry men,
O'er the green hill that tops the glen,
Where woods, in verdant bloom arrayed
Give rich variety of shade;

Sweet birds their carol soft prolong,
Far cliffs repeat the Cuckoo's song;
And oft, as down the valley floats
The music of the Thrush's notes,
The Hunter, though in full career,
Stops short in extacy to hear."

This is perfect, not requiring another touch to bring before our mind a scene of quiet loveliness and holy tranquillity. It is quite in the manner of Sir Walter Scott, who seems to be a

favourite with Dr. Drummond, as most of these translations are executed in the metres made familiar to our ears by the Wizard of the North in his " Lady of the Lake" or " Marmion." From the "Lay of Beann Gulban," a mountain situated near the town of Sligo, and whose picturesque beauty always attracts the eye of the traveller in that desolate yet magnificent region, we select another passage, also exemplifying the feeling for the charms of natural scenery existing throughout these poems, and which has been very gracefully rendered by the translator:

"Thou hill of battles, stained with gore,
How oft thy fortress strong around,
Where dwelt a hero bold of yore,

Rose music sweet of horn and hound!
The Bittern, round thee boomed at night,
The Grouse, loud whirring in her flight,
Peopled thy heath, and every tree
Rang with the small birds' melody.
Sweet, too, by source of lonely stream,
To see aloof the Eagle sail,
To hear her solitary scream

Burst startling o'er the vale.
To hear the Otter's whining note;
Or, mid the hollow mountain rocks,
The barking of the wary Fox;
Or mellow song of Blackbird float

From bower and grove, o'er wood and lawn, To evening hour from early dawn.' The old Irish minstrels seem to have appreciated female beauty with as much zest as the sweet Bard of Erin-Tom Moore and to dwell on the varied charms of woman's loveliness with rap ture. Hearken to this highly-coloured description from the " Lay of the Chase of Slieve Guillin :"

"Her cheeks wore the rose's crimson light,
Her lips the red-berry's glow,
Her neck, as the sea-cliff's marble bright,
In the sunny ray was soft and white

As a wreath of driven snow. More fair than the water-lily's vest, Or Cona's down, rose her full orb'd breast; Curling gold were her locks, and her sparkling eyes Like radiant stars on the freezing skies." The epithet," sea-cliff's marble," in this exquisite and very poetical passage,means literally, as Dr. Drummond informs us in a note, lime; but no one can question the propriety of the change made, when it is recollected that alabaster, or gypsum, is found in the cliffs at Whitehead and Castle Chichester, in the Lough of Belfast; and, as the author of the poem, as well as the translator, are evidently Northerns, they were both, doubtless, familiar with the occurrence of lime in this dazzling and attractive form in their own country. We have mentioned this, because we have heard it remarked that the more literal a

translation is, the better for the reader; but we consider it infinitely preferable to throw one's self into the times of the author you are translating, to catch his spirit, to feel as he felt, and see as he saw. Language is faint and weak to express emotions; and if a translator does not clothe himself with the mantle of the dead poet, he fails in giving the full meaning and expression to the recorded utterances of the spirit of poetry. A poem must inevitably lose somewhat by translation. Changing from one language to another, some of the beauty is lost, some of the peculiarities disappear; and we consider that Dr. Drummond has been eminently successful in this volume of Ancient Irish Minstrelsy, in assuming the spirit and ideas of the age, and walking in the steps of the authors he translates. What licenses he does take, we presume, are unavoidable; even Bulwer, in his unrivalled translations of Schiller's Poems and Ballads, sometimes amplifies a thought, and fills in a sketch, and we do not quarrel with him for so doing; nor do we blame Dr. Drummond for those additions and corrections which he has made, because we see he set about his work in earnest, and in a right spirit. A judicious restorer is often to be as much praised as an original designer.

Dr.

It would occupy too much time, and more space than we can afford here, to touch on the Ossianic controversy. Drummond does not, like many others, slight Macpherson's fair claims to honour and distinction. In his preface, he speaks of him justly and with candour, and we beg to refer our readers to that part of the work for information on the subject.

Not the least interesting or important portions of the volume are the useful explanatory notes and suggestions of the translator. The number of parallel passages, from both ancient and modern poets, the elucidations given of historical subjects, and the antiquarian notices, are especially valuable.

Though these narrative tales bear a certain similarity to each other—a family likeness which, from over repetition would, we are afraid, become rather wearisome-yet, merely as well-written metrical romances, they will interest the general reader; while, to the poet, they offer new modes of thought and expres