THE FAIRY BOY. SAMUEL LOVER. When a beautiful child pines and dies, the Irish peasant believes the healthy infant has been stolen by the fairies, and a sickly elf left in its place. A MOTHER came when stars were paling, "O'er the mountain, through the wild wood, There I wander, growing fonder On the echoes wildly calling, "But in vain my plaintive calling, THE DEAR IRISH BOY. MY CONNOR, his cheeks are as ruddy as morning, Cheering, endearing, Together how oft o'er the mountains we stray'd; And fondly united, I have listened all day to my dear Irish boy. No roebuck more swift could fly over the mountain, He's sightly, he's sprightly, he's clear as the fountain, The soft tuneful lark, his notes changed to mourning, The war being over, and he not returned, I fear that some dark envious plot has been laid; Smiling, beguiling, &c. I often heard this song, in my boyhood, sung to a very sweet and plaintive melody. Its ambitious style of imagery, as "Cupid's bow-strings"-and absurdities, as "dark screaming owl," &c., stamp it at once as the work of the hedge schoolmaster. If any doubt remained as to the source of its authorship, after these remarks, the "cruel goddess" that "has him captivated," would settle the matter. Nevertheless, with all its faults, there is something pleasing in this song. The note of the lark "changed to mourning" is good, and the words are, generally, well suited to vocalization-a great merit; the successive ringing of rhymes, too, in the refrain "Smiling, beguiling, Cheering, endearing," falls pleasantly on the ear, and is a grace (as I think) peculiarly Irish. A more modern song, founded on the above and sung to the same air, follows. MY CONNOR. OH! weary's on money,-and weary's on wealth, 'Twas they tempted Connor far over the sea, And I lost my lover-my cushla ma chree.* Smiling-beguiling, Cheering endearing, Oh! dearly I lov'd him, and he loved me. And fondly united My heart's in the grave with my cushla ma chree. * Vein, or pulse of my heart. My Connor was handsome, good-humoured, and tall ; So true was his heart and so artless his mind, Yet still I told Connor that I'd be his bride- The morning he left us I ne'er will forget; Smiling, &c. Sad as I felt then, hope was mixed with my care,- Oh! dearly I loved him and he loved me. By each other delighted And fondly united My heart's in the grave with my cushla ma chree. * My darling. In this song there is more simplicity and greater truth of feeling, than in the foregoing. The leading couplet of the third verse "So true was his heart and so artless his mind, He could not think ill of the worst of mankind." is deserving of mark, and the going "bail for his cousin," however homely the illustration, is a truthful characteristic of a confiding nature, * For the convenience of the English reader the sound of the Irish title is given, in this spelling of it. In its native form it is spelt Eibhlin a ruin—meaning "Ellen my secret love." A closer approximation to the pronunciation would be obtained by the spelling Ile-yeen; but that is too far removed from the native orthography. The old Irish air to which this is written is called "Eileen Aroon;" is very ancient and of great beauty. The Scotch claim it under the title of "Robin Adair;" but it is altered, much for the worse, a lilting character, or what Dr. Burney calls the Scotch snap, being given to the third and seventh bars of the first part of the air, and the seventh bar of the second part. Burns, whose ear was so finely attuned to sweet measures, objects to it, on this very account; here are his words: "I have tried my hand on 'Robin Adair,' and you will probably think with little success: but it is such a cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, that I despair of doing anything better to it."-Burns to Mr. Thomson, August, 1793. Now, the Irish air, in its original purity, is as smooth as an unbroken ascending and descending scale can make it; it is anything but the "cursed, cramp, out-of-the-way measure, of which Burns' sensitive ear was so painfully conscious in the Scottish form. THE BLUSH OF MORN. Translated from the Irish by Miss BALFOUR. THE blush of morn at length appears ; |