Musæ O’Connorianæ. — Letter From Patrick O’Connor, Esq. — Enclosing Metrical Versions in the Greek and Latin Tongues
Dear Mr. Courtenay,—It is both a shame and a sin that no attempt is made to perpetuate the memory of those excellent ballads with which the languages of Ireland, England, and Scotland abound. For whereas the said languages are allowed by all men of real taste to be Gothic and semi-barbarous, it is incumbent upon us to endeavour to preserve whatever good they do contain by putting it into another dress. You know Mr. O’Doherty has preceded me in this praiseworthy attempt by his admirable version of Chevy Chace, “Persæus ex Northumbriâ,” &c., which I have compared with the English ballad so often that I can hardly tell which is the original. When about to exercise my talents in this line, I held much question with myself whether I should assimilate my metre to that of my original, as is the case in the above-mentioned admirable work, or embody the ideas of my author in the rhythm of the ancient Greeks. For of the former design I do not consider myself altogether incapable; in proof of which I enclose a brief specimen of my abilities in this line—viz., a song from a MS. collection of poems in the possession of John Jackson, Esq., rendered by Patrick O’Connor, with all the original rhymes miraculously preserved.
| I weep, girl, before ye, | Premore dolore, |
| I kneel to adore ye, | Uror amore, |
| My bosom is torn asunder, | Anima fit furibunda; |
| Maiden divine, O, | Madeo vino, |
| In generous wine, O, | Et tibi propino |
| I pledge thee, Rosamunda! | Salutem, Rosamunda. |
| To a pipe of tobacco, | Victa tabaco, |
| And plenty of sack, O, | Victaque Baccho, |
| Passions and flames knock under; | Flamma mi fit moribunda; |
| I’m hasty and heady | Ebrius dedi |
| With lots of the deady; | Venerem et te Diabolo, |
| Hang thyself, Rosamunda! | Rosamunda. |
I trust this sample will be sufficient to convince you that when I turn my talents to the monkish style which the author above alluded to has chosen I shall come very little behind my prototype. For the present, however, I have judged that the metres of antiquity are more classical, and consequently more worthy of a place in the Etonian.
With regard to the poem itself, it is not, I believe, generally understood that Looney, the hero of it, is the descendant of the celebrated Phelim MacTwolter, who, in the year 1750 A.D., fought that celebrated pugilistic encounter with Patrick MacNevis, which is the subject of admiration and encomium in the sporting circles of Carrickfergus. It is gratifying to me to be able to notice this genuine son of Hibernia, because the Boxiana of modern criticism, dwelling with delight upon the minor glories of a Corcoran, a Randall, or a Donnelly, have by some strange neglect omitted all mention of the surpassing brilliancy of the merits of Phelim MacTwolter. This is the more remarkable as the above-mentioned fight was made the subject of a stanzaic heroic poem, remarkable for the animation and geniality which is preserved throughout. MacNevis, who it seems was little better than a braggadocio, gave the challenge. This is described with great force and simplicity. The landlord’s daughter of the Shamrock public-house, who is said to have had a penchant for little Phelim, had been boasting of her lover’s pugilistic fame.
| MacNevis leaped up from his seat, | Surgebat MacNevisius, |
| And made his bow and told her, | Et mox jactabat ultro, |
| “Kathleen, I’ll fight for your dear sake | “Pugnabo tui gratiâ |
| Along with fierce MacTwolter.” | Cum fero MacTuoltro.” |
Does not this remind us strongly of Homer’s Paris?
Ἀυτὰρ ἔμ’ ἐν μέσσῳ καὶ άρηίφιλον Μενέλαον
Συμβάλετ’, ἀμφ’ Ἑλένῃ καὶ κτήμασι πᾶσι μάχεσθαι.
The address of MacNevis to his antagonist upon meeting him in the ring is conceived in the same style of ferocious grandeur. He sees him applying himself to the bottle, and exclaims—
| While you can see blue ruin, joy! | Frater, dum tibi manet lux, |
| Pull deeper yet and deeper; | Bibe ruinæ poculum: |
| By George! you shall return from hence, | Redibis hinc, per Georgium! |
| Without an open peeper. | Utrumque cassus oculum. |
Observe that the expression “blue ruin” is very poetical, but my version of it is also prophetical—a charm unknown to the original. Phelim’s reply is beautiful—
| Don’t tip me now, my lad of wax, | Ne sis, Ο cerâ mollior, |
| Your blarney and locution, | Grandiloquus et vanus; |
| Och! sure you ar’n’t a giant yet, | Heus bone! non es gigas tu, |
| Nor I a Lilliputian. | Et non sum ego nanus. |
Here again the author, of course, had Homer in his eye—
Μήτι μευ, ἠύτε παιδὸς ἀφαυροῦ, πειρήτιζε.
And again—
Πηλείδη, μὴ δή μ’ ἐπέεσσί γε, νηπύτιον ὥς,
Ἐλπεο δειδίξεσθαι.
The contest, which, it is possible, I may by-and-by transmit to you at length, is described with a minuteness which far exceeds Virgil’s Dares and Entellus, or even the pugilism of the Sporting Magazine. The modest MacTwolter is, as he deserves to be, the victor. The poem concludes in a high strain of triumph—
| So Victory to Phelim gave | Victoria dedit Phelimo |
| A wife of fair renown; | Uxorem valde bonam; |
| And with that wife she gave besides | Et dedit cum uxore hâc |
| To him a silver crown. | Argenteam coronam. |
I must now cease to comment upon this fascinating character, and proceed, without further delay, to the celebration of the amour of his descendant. Looney MacTwolter is well known to you, as you have frequently heard the identical ballad from the lips of Frederick Golightly. I shall therefore give you my promised translation of it, without note or preface. Give it a classical name—“an Eclogue,” or “an Idyll,” or “an Elegy,” or what you will.
Ι
Oh, whack! Cupid’s a mannikin,
Smack on my heart he hit me a polter;
Good lack, Judy O’Flannikin!
Dearly she loves nate Looney MacTwolter.
Judy’s my darling, my kisses she suffers;
She’s an heiress, that’s clear,
For her father sells beer;
He keeps the sign of the Cow and the Snuffers;
She’s so smart,
From my heart
I cannot bolt her.
Oh, whack, Judy O’Flannikin!
She is the girl for Looney MacTwolter.
II
Oh, hone! good news I need a bit!
We’d correspond, but larning would choke her.
Mavrone!—I cannot read a bit;
Judy can’t tell a pen from a poker.
Judy’s so constant, I’ll never forsake her;
She’s true as the moon—
Only one afternoon
I caught her asleep with a humpbacked shoemaker.
She’s so smart, &c.
ά
Ἀλαλη· τι μικρον ἐστι
βρεφος οὐλιον Κυθηρης,
ἐμε δ’ ἐγκρατει βελεμνῳ
προς καρδιαν ένυξεν.
ἀλαλη· τι φημ’; Ιουδιθ
ἀπο Φλαννικιν φιλεῖ με,
τον Λουνιαν φιλεῖ με,
τοκον εὐπρεπη Τυολτρου.
μελι και το νεκταρ ἀμον
ἀπαλη πεφυκ’ Ιουδιθ·
το δ’ ἐμον, χαριεσσα θυμῳ,
γλυκερον φιλημα πασχει.
ἐφανη δ’ ἀρ’, oὐκ ἀδηλως,
μεγαλου λαχουσα κληρου.
ὀ πατηρ γαρ, εὐ τοδ’ οιδα,
πομα κριθινον πιπρασκει.
ὑπο σημα δ’ ἡ καθηται
βοος ἡδε και πυραγρας.
Χαριεσσα δ’ ἡ πεφηνε·
τοσον, ὡς νιν οὑ δύναιμην
ἀπο καρδιας ἀπωσαι·
ἀλαλη· μαλιστ’ Ιουδιθ
ἀπο Φλαννικιν με τερπει,
τον Λουνιαν με τερπει,
τοκὸν εὺπρεπη Τυολτρου.
β’
‘Οτοτοι· τι γραμμ’ ἀπ’ αὐτης
καλος ἀγγελος γενοιτ’ ἀν·
ἀποροισι δ’ ἀν πλοκαισιν
σοφια νιν ἀγχονωη.
‘Οτοτοι· τα γραμματ’ οὐδεις
ἐδιδαξε μ’, ἡ δ’ Ιουδιθ
γραφιδ’ οὐτι και σιδηρον
πυροσειστικον διεγνω·
μελι και το νεκταρ ἀμον
ἀπαλη πεφυκ’ Ιουδιθ·
οὐδ’ εὐφρονως ἐγωγε
καταλειψομαι ποτ’ αὐτην·
ἐφανη γαρ, άς σεληνη,
παναληθινη νεανις·
ἀλλ’, ἑσπερας πεσουσης,
ἐληψαμην ποτ’ αὐτης
ὐποδεμνιας ξυνευνου
σκολιῳ γε βυρσοδεψῃ·
χαριεσσα δ’ ἠ πεφηνε, κ. τ. λ.
Patrick O’Connor.
Port St. Dermid, near Ballinocrasy,
December 28, 1820.
[Note.—The Greek Version, to which this paper was written as a preface, was the composition of the late John Louis Petit, subsequently Vicar of Uplands, Shifnal, Salop.]