Abbildungen der Seite
PDF
EPUB

ST. PATRICK WAS A GENTLEMAN.

THE purgation of Ireland from noxious animals has been the subject of the old alliteration" Ubi nulla venena veniunt, nec serpens serpit in herbâ ;" and this, the most famous of the miracles of St. Patrick, is celebrated in the following song. The introductory verse assures us that St. Patrick was a gentleman. Moore, in the "History of Ireland," vol. i. p. 211, speaking of St. Patrick, merely says, "His family was, he informs us, respectable." This is mere modesty; and, as every Irish gentleman should have a pedigree, that of our Saint has been judiciously introduced by the lyrists to prevent any question about the gentility of one who has performed a noble act.

Jocelyn, indeed-though all that the monk of Furness asserts must not be received as gospel-would have us believe that St. Patrick's father, whose name he asserts was Calphurnius, married his servant-maid, a French damsel, who became the mother of our Saint. And we find the various biographers of St. Patrick claiming him as an Armoric Gaul, a Welshman, a Cornishman, a Scotch Highlander, and a Lowlander. But this is all nonsense. St. Patrick was an Irish gentleman. The Gallaghers were a family of consideration in Donegal; the Bradys were the same in Cavan; the O'Shaughnessy, ditto in Galway; and the O'Gradys "possessed that part of Clare which is now called the Barony of Bunratty." Vide" Irish State Papers," 1515, vol. ii. p. 3. This "respectable" pedigree settles the matter.

Nor are authorities wanted to support the assertion that St. Patrick was an Irishman. an Irishman. Dempster, in his

"Ecclesiastical History," states that the Irish contended for having St. Patrick as their countryman, and born in Ireland. Both Possevinus and Baronius, who, by interested parties, are represented to have been misled by the annals of Matthew of Westminster-that "flower-culling monk," make our saint an Irishman; so do Mariana and others. But, in short, it is quite clear, from the fifth verse, that the story about the French damsel is altogether an invention; as Miss Brady-St. Patrick's mother, upon her marriage with Mr. O'Gallagher, was anxious that her husband should remove from the "black north" to her native county, Cavan. He, unwilling to quit his paternal inheritance, Donegal, objected; and the matter was amicably compromised, by both parties agreeing to go half way to meet the other, whereupon the town of Enniskillen was selected as the future residence of the happy pair. And here, it appears, Mr. O'Gallagher (much to his credit must the fact be stated), disdaining to eat the bread of idleness, opened a spirit store, or whisky shop; and therefore it seems, most probably, that St. Patrick was born in Enniskillen.

Of the elevation of the various hills mentioned in connexion with that on which "St. Patrick preached his sarmint," an accurate idea cannot be formed from the words of the song. The fact is, that Lugnaquilla, the highest of the Wicklow hills, exceeds Croagh Patrick by 500 feet; whereas, the words of the lyrist would lead us to believe that Croagh Patrick was far loftier than any of the Wicklow hills, even with the Hill of Howth, which measures upwards of 500 feet more, piled upon the summit, like Pelion and Ossa of old. Poets, however, are

privileged persons, and due allowance should be made for them when they endeavour to exalt their subject. The elevation of Croagh Patrick is stated to be 2530 feet.

Mr. John Barrow, who ascended it in 1835, describes the top as oval in shape, flat, and, perhaps, containing "about an acre of level ground, although, when viewed from the bottom, it appears to come quite to a peak. The cone itself is composed of loose stones, on which little or no heath or grass seems to grow. On the summit, heaps of stones have been piled up in different places; to serve, probably, the double purpose of altars and sheltering spots from the wind: they are of three sides, open at the top, and in front. This mountain," continues our lively traveller, "is held in great veneration, perhaps more so than any other in all Ireland. I was duly assured that St. Patrick gave himself the trouble to ascend the reek, ever since which it has taken the name of Croagh Patrick — that from this elevation, stretching out his hand, he blessed the surrounding country; and, it is added, that it was in this spot the Saint bestowed his curses on all venomous reptiles, so that from thenceforth they should never more infest the Emerald Isle. On noticing this to our guide in a manner that implied a doubt on the subject, he replied, And, sure, your honour believes that St. Patrick could asily do all this, and a mighty dale more!' To be sure, as is confirmed by the song

'Twas on the top of this high hill St. Patrick preach'd his sarmint,

That drove the frogs into the bogs, and bother'd all the varmint.'"

The editor has only to add, that this song consisted

originally of three verses (the 1st, 2d, and 5th), which were the impromptu joint production of the late Mr. Henry Bennett and Mr. Toleken, of Cork, and were sung by them in alternate lines at a masquerade in that city, where they appeared as ballad-singers in the winter of 1814 or 1815. The song becoming a favourite, the 6th verse, as now printed, was added by Mr. Toleken, at the request of Webbe the comedian, then the popular representative of Irish characters on the stage, who usually said that the song was written for him. The 3d and 4th verses were subsequent additions by other hands, and the consequence of the encore with which this admirable national lyric has been generally received.

Oh! St. Patrick was a gentleman,
Who came of decent people;
He built a church in Dublin town,
And on it put a steeple.
His father was a Gallagher,
His mother was a Brady;
His aunt was an O'Shaughnessy,

His uncle an O'Grady.

So, success attend St. Patrick's fist,

For he's a saint so clever;

Oh! he gave the snakes and toads a twist,
He bothered them for ever!

The Wicklow hills are very high,
And so's the Hill of Howth, sir;
But there's a hill, much bigger still,

Much higher nor them both, sir.

'Twas on the top of this high hill

St. Patrick preached his sarmint, That drove the frogs into the bogs,

And banished all the varmint.

Oh, success, &c.

There's not a mile in Ireland's isle
Where dirty varmin musters,
But there he put his dear fore-foot,
And murdered them in clusters.
The toads went pop, the frogs went hop,
Slap dash into the water,

And the snakes committed suicide

To save themselves from slaughter.

Oh, success, &c.

Nine hundred thousand reptiles blue
He charmed with sweet discourses,
And dined on them at Killaloe

In soups and second courses.

Where blind worms crawling in the grass
Disgusted all the nation,

He

gave them a rise, which opened their eyes To a sense of their situation.

Oh, success, &c.

No wonder that those Irish lads

Should be so gay and frisky,
For sure St. Pat, he taught them that,

As well as making whisky;

No wonder that the Saint himself

Should understand distilling,

« ZurückWeiter »