قراءة كتاب The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 2, July 11, 1840

تنويه: تعرض هنا نبذة من اول ١٠ صفحات فقط من الكتاب الالكتروني، لقراءة الكتاب كاملا اضغط على الزر “اشتر الآن"

‏اللغة: English
The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 2, July 11, 1840

The Irish Penny Journal, Vol. 1 No. 2, July 11, 1840

تقييمك:
0
No votes yet
المؤلف:
دار النشر: Project Gutenberg
الصفحة رقم: 6

instruments, and could play upon it.

In the same laws, to prevent slaves from pretending to be gentlemen, it was expressly forbidden to teach or to permit them to play upon the harp; and none but the king, the king’s musicians, and gentlemen, were allowed to have harps in their possession. A gentleman’s harp was not liable to be seized for debt, because the want of it would have degraded him from his rank, and reduced him to a slave.

The harp was in no less estimation and universal use among the Saxons and Danes; those who played upon this instrument were declared gentlemen by law; their persons were esteemed inviolable, and secured from injuries by very severe penalties; they were readily admitted into the highest company, and treated with distinguished marks of respect wherever they appeared.


Anecdote of Jerome Duigenan, a Harper.—Some curious tales are told of Jerome Duigenan, a Leitrim harper, born in the year 1710. One is of so extraordinary a character, that, were it not for the particularity of the details, which savour strongly of an origin in fact, the editor would hesitate to give it publicity. He is, however, persuaded that he has it as it was communicated to O’Neill, between whose time and that of Duigenan there was scarcely room for the invention of a story not substantially true. It is as follows:—“There was a harper,” says O’Neill, “before my time, named Jerome Duigenan, not blind, an excellent Greek and Latin scholar, and a charming performer. I have heard numerous anecdotes of him. The one that pleased me most was this. He lived with a Colonel Jones, of Drumshambo, who was one of the representatives in parliament for the county of Leitrim. The colonel, being in Dublin, at the meeting of parliament, met with an English nobleman who had brought over a Welsh harper. When the Welshman had played some tunes before the colonel, which he did very well, the nobleman asked him, had he ever heard so sweet a finger? ‘Yes,’ replied Jones, ‘and that by a man who never wears either linen or woollen.’ ‘I bet you a hundred guineas,’ says the nobleman, ‘you can’t produce any one to excel my Welshman.’ The bet was accordingly made, and Duigenan was written to, to come immediately to Dublin, and bring his harp and dress of Cauthack with him; that is, a dress made of beaten rushes, with something like a caddy or plaid of the same stuff. On Duigenan’s arrival in Dublin, the colonel acquainted the members with the nature of his bet, and they requested that it might be decided in the House of Commons, before business commenced. The two harpers performed before all the members accordingly, and it was unanimously decided in favour of Duigenan, who wore his full Cauthack dress, and a cap of the same stuff, shaped like a sugar loaf, with many tassels; he was a tall, handsome man, and looked very well in it.”—Bunting’s Ancient Music of Ireland.

THE MOUNTAIN WALK.

BY J. U. U.

From the haunts of busy life,
Homes of care, and paths of strife,
Up the breezy mountain way,
’Mid the upper fields of day,
Let me wander, far and lonely,
Without guide, save nature only;
And still ever as I go,
Lose all thought of things below,
Cast all sorrow to the wind,
While the low vales sink behind:
Fetterless and spirit free
As the merry mountain bee.
Like a spirit, thought and eye
Buoyant between earth and sky,
There to bask in free pure light
On the joyous mountain height;
Dallying with the breeze and shower,
Claiming kin with every flower,
Catching iris dreams that glance
On the breath of circumstance.
Changing with the changeful scene—
Solemn, sombre, gay, serene:
As each change fresh wonders bring,
Weaving thought from every thing.
Oft let shadowy hollows fall,
And grey cliffs’ embattled wall
Crown the gloom with hoary height,
Where the raven wheels his flight.
Or green vale unfolding soft,
In the lonesome crags aloft
Shut the far down world from view.
There, long up ether’s darkening blue,
The eye may gaze for worlds unseen,
In the skyey void serene,
And weave visions strange and fair,
Of the starry empires there—
Spirits changeless, pure, and bright,
In their glorious vales of light;
Till some wild note break the spell
From sequester’d rural dell
Where the mountain goatherds dwell:
So to break the wild fond dream,
And to man bring down the theme;
For all earthly things impart
Thoughts of Man to human heart.
Then from towery crag on high,
If far city win the eye,
Glittering through the misty air,
’Twere a prospect meet and fair
For the lone sequestered gaze
O’er its wide uncertain maze,
Then to muse on wealth and fame,
And on every specious name
That gilds the dross of earth below,
Till, from reflection, wisdom grow.
Wisdom:—not that sense which cleaveth
To the world where all deceiveth;
Not grave prudence, hard, yet hollow—
In the beaten round to follow
Lengthened aims, in life’s short day,
While the ages glide away:—
But that moral, old and sage,
Said and sung in every age;
Old as man—yet ever new,
Heard by all, and known to few;
Murmur of Being’s wave, that still,
Unheeded as the babbling rill,
In the world’s noise, makes music only
’Midst the hush of deserts lonely.
Last, from o’er the seaward steep,
Let me view the spacious deep,
While the billows break and flow
In the caverned gloom below.
There let cloud and sunbeam flee
O’er the sunned and shadowy sea—
Light and dark in fleeting strife,
Like the vanities of life;
So to dream of joy and woe,

Pages