FROM THE GREEN GLENS OF ERIN.

Otago Witness, Volume 02, Issue 2420, 2 August 1900, Page 57

FROM THE GREEN GLENS OF ERIN.

SONGS OF THE GLENS OF ANTRIM By Moira O'Neill.

(Third Impression.)

William Blackwood and Sons : Edinburgl and London, 1900.— 3s 6d. (By Dinornis.) When we were little childer we had a quare we< house, Away up in the heather by the head o' Brabla' Burn ; The hares we'd see them scootin', an' we'd hear the crowin' grouse, . An' when we'd all be in at night ye'd not geii room to turn. The youngest two" She'd put to bed, their faceg to thy} wall, An' the lave of us could sit aroun', just anjr« where we might ; Herself 'ud take the rush-dip an' light it foi us all, An' "God be thankid!" she would say — "now we have a light." Then we be to quet the laughin' an' pushiu' on the floor, An' think on one who called us to come and be forgiven ; Himself 'ud put his pipe doun, an' say ths good word more, "May the Lamb o God lead its all to the Light o' Heaven !" There's a Avheen thing 3 that used to be an' now has had their day, The nine Glens of Antrim can show ye many a sight; But not the quare wee house where we lived ur> Brabla/ "Way, Nor a child in all the nine Glens that knowa the giaoe for light. It is not every clay, nor every year for that matter, that one has the pleasure of meeting with such gems of purest poetia ray as are enshrined in this artistically beautiful, wee volume of Irish ballads. Moira O'Neill is a sweet singer, whose songs evidently come straight from a heart surcharged with the very finest attributes of human kind. Ireland has other true singers among her sons and daughters, but admirable as ar& many of their outpourings; I know of none le&s open to critical blame and more deserving of unstinted praise? thjin the writer of these gently melancholy and soul-haunting, yet delightful lyrics. In truth, I have read them all half-a-dozen times over, and like them yet the better the nearer I ' get to - memorising them. It is a positive joy to be able to quote and praise rather than be provoked to express blame, and it would, indeed, be difficult to find any cause for adverse remark from first to last of this budget, of tenderly wistful [ and melodious verse. Musical as the skylark's song, Moira O'NeiU's lines flow as smoothly as a brook through a meadow, [ and her work as such comes so near I to perfect artistry as to be practically beyond criticism. Rhymes which have been used so often as to be justly considered hackneyed, she uses with such dexterity as to make appear like new combinations, and : they drop from her honeyed tongue ai naively and naturally as dewdnxps from i blades of grass. Withal, there is not a : trace of effort visible in any of the 25 i Songs composing the volume. Let those 1 who doubt read again the " Grace for [ Light," which I have placed above these notes, and judge for themselves. Nowhere is the fine humanity, sincerity, and simplicity of Moira O'Neill better seen than in " Corrymeela " — the longing thoughts of a temporary exile from Erin: Over here in England I'm helpin' wi' the hay, An' I wisht I was in Ireland the livelong day ; Weary on the English hay, an' sorra take the wheat ! Och ! Corrymeela un the blue slcy over it. There' a deep dumb river flowin' by beyont the heavy trees, This lii'in' air is moithered wi' the bummia' o' the bees ; I wisht I'd hear the Claddagh Burn go runnin' through the heat Past Oorryinceta, xvt the blue iky over it. D'ye mind me now, the song at night is inortial hard to rpise, The girls are heavy goin' here, the boys are ill to plase ; When onest I'm out this worlrin' hive, 'tis I'll be back again — j Ay, Corrymeela, in the same soft rain. ' The puff- o' smoke from one ould roof before an ! English town! For a shaugh wid Andy Feelan here I'd give asilver crown, For a curl o' hair like Mollies yell ask the liko I in vain, Sw et Corrymeehi , an the same soft rain. Gould anything be more brimful of limpid melody 'I In truth these poems are , likely to find their way to the hearts of readers as unerringly as they have com© i from the heart of their author. Not the least noteworthy thing about the Songs is the fact that they are entirely devoted to what may be called old-fashioned themes. Full of the beauty of Nature as exhibited in her own countryside ; of human love and loss in life, of religion and ambition in humble surroundings, there is not a single allusion in them to any " problem of the hour." For that, negative feature as it is, we have reason to feel deeply thankful. In a few pieces — "The Grand Match" j; "The Sailor Man"; " Johneen," etc., we find enough of gently playful humour tot spice without spoiling the pensive charm of the Songs as a whole. There is some- ■ thing very characteristic of the hard-shelly I old bachelor in these lines from " The Oukl . Lad " : — ' A man, they say, in spite 'oi all, is better for a wife, In-undher this ould roof I live me lone; I never seen the woman yet I wanted all mo i life, ' An' I never made me pillow on a Btone»

This may be called the gospel, or creed j rather,, of .comfort, -as distinguished from the ideal of lore, which keeps the heart pourig at least as long as it lasts. Take this, from. " Cuttin' Rushes": — Di, maybe it was yesterday, or fifty years

ago! iMeself was lisin' eajrly on a day for cuttin*

rushes ; .W'alkin' tip the Brabla' Bum, still the sun was low, ' Now I'd hear the burn run, an' then I'd hear

the thrashes. Young, still young! — an drenchin' wet the grass, , ,"Wet the golden honeysuckle hangin' sweetly down'; .Here, lad, here! will ye follow where I pass? An' find me cuttin' rushes on the mountain.

Intensely Irish, sprightly in part, but predominately breathing forth a tempered melancholy, these seemingly artless and homely poems are certain to receive warm welcome from lovers of song -wherever our common English tongue is spoken, and genuine pathos rightly appreciated. Judging from, the man encomiums heaped upon them by the leading Home reviewers these gentry seem for once to have met with the gently seem for once to have met with that raxe bird, a poet, in estimating whose work they find it possible for once to express unanimous approval.