贝壳电子书 > 英文原著电子书 > the purcell papers-2 >

第27章

the purcell papers-2-第27章

小说: the purcell papers-2 字数: 每页4000字

按键盘上方向键 ← 或 → 可快速上下翻页,按键盘上的 Enter 键可回到本书目录页,按键盘上方向键 ↑ 可回到本页顶部!
————未阅读完?加入书签已便下次继续阅读!



 And we'll eat it very SWEET;

 And then we'll take a SLEEP;〃

     Says my Shanavan Voicth。'





But I am desirous of showing you that;

although barbarisms may and do exist in

our native ballads; there are still to be

found exceptions which furnish examples

of strict correctness in rhyme and metre。

Whether they be one whit the better for

this I have my doubts。 In order to

establish my position; I subjoin a portion

of a ballad by one Michael Finley; of

whom more anon。 The GENTLEMAN spoken

of in the song is Lord Edward Fitzgerald。



 'The day that traitors sould him and inimies bought him;

     The day that the red gold and red blood was paid

 Then the green turned pale and thrembled like the dead leaves in

Autumn;

     And the heart an' hope iv Ireland in the could grave was

laid。



 'The day I saw you first; with the sunshine fallin' round ye;

     My heart fairly opened with the grandeur of the view:

 For ten thousand Irish boys that day did surround ye;

     An' I swore to stand by them till death; an' fight for you。



 'Ye wor the bravest gentleman; an' the best that ever stood;

     And your eyelid never thrembled for danger nor for dread;

 An' nobleness was flowin' in each stream of your blood

     My bleasing on you night au' day; an' Glory be your bed。



 'My black an' bitter curse on the head; an' heart; an' hand;

     That plotted; wished; an' worked the fall of this Irish hero

bold;

     God's curse upon the Irishman that sould his native land;

 An' hell consume to dust the hand that held the thraitor's

gold。'





Such were the politics and poetry of

Michael Finley; in his day; perhaps; the

most noted song…maker of his country; but 

as genius is never without its eccentricities;

Finley had his peculiarities; and among

these; perhaps the most amusing was his

rooted aversion to pen; ink; and paper; in

perfect independence of which; all his

compositions were completed。 It is

impossible to describe the jealousy with

which he regarded the presence of writing

materials of any kind; and his ever wakeful

fears lest some literary pirate should

transfer his oral poetry to paperfears

which were not altogether without warrant;

inasmuch as the recitation and singing of

these original pieces were to him a source

of wealth and importance。 I recollect

upon one occasion his detecting me in the

very act of following his recitation with

my pencil and I shall not soon forget his

indignant scowl; as stopping abruptly in

the midst of a line; he sharply exclaimed:



'Is my pome a pigsty; or what; that you

want a surveyor's ground…plan of it?'



Owing to this absurd scruple; I have been

obliged; with one exception; that of the ballad 

of 'Phaudhrig Crohoore;' to rest satisfied

with such snatches and fragments of his

poetry as my memory could bear awaya

fact which must account for the mutilated

state in which I have been obliged to

present the foregoing specimen of his

composition。



It was in vain for me to reason with

this man of metres upon the unreasonableness

of this despotic and exclusive assertion

of copyright。 I well remember his

answer to me when; among other arguments;

I urged the advisability of some

care for the permanence of his reputation;

as a motive to induce him to consent to

have his poems written down; and thus

reduced to a palpable and enduring

form。



'I often noticed;' said he; 'when a mist

id be spreadin'; a little brier to look as big;

you'd think; as an oak tree; an'

same way; in the dimmness iv the nightfall;

I often seen a man tremblin' and crassin'

himself as if a sperit was before him; at

the sight iv a small thorn bush; that he'd

leap over with ase if the daylight and

sunshine was in it。 An' that's the rason why

I think it id be better for the likes iv me

to be remimbered in tradition than to be

written in history。'



Finley has now been dead nearly eleven

years; and his fame has not prospered by

the tactics which he pursued; for his

reputation; so far from being magnified; has

been wholly obliterated by the mists of

obscurity。



With no small difficulty; and no inconsiderable

manoeuvring; I succeeded in procuring;

at an expense of trouble and

conscience which you will no doubt

think but poorly rewarded; an accurate

'report' of one of his most popular

recitations。 It celebrates one of the many

daring exploits of the once famous

Phaudhrig Crohoore (in prosaic English;

Patrick Connor)。 I have witnessed

powerful effects produced upon large

assemblies by Finley's recitation of this

poem which he was wont; upon pressing

invitation; to deliver at weddings; wakes;

and the like; of course the power of

the narrative was greatly enhanced by

the fact that many of his auditors

had seen and well knew the chief actors in

the drama。





'PHAUDHRIG CROHOORE。



 Oh; Phaudhrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy;

     And he stood six foot eight;

 And his arm was as round as another man's thigh;

     'Tis Phaudhrig was great;

 And his hair was as black as the shadows of night;

 And hung over the scars left by many a fight;

 And his voice; like the thunder; was deep; strong; and loud;

 And his eye like the lightnin' from under the cloud。

 And all the girls liked him; for he could spake civil;

 And sweet when he chose it; for he was the divil。

 An' there wasn't a girl from thirty…five undher;

 Divil a matter how crass; but he could come round her。

 But of all the sweet girls that smiled on him; but one

 Was the girl of his heart; an' he loved her alone。

 An' warm as the sun; as the rock firm an' sure;

 Was the love of the heart of Phaudhrig Crohoore;

 An' he'd die for one smile from his Kathleen O'Brien;

 For his love; like his hatred; was sthrong as the lion。



 'But Michael O'Hanlon loved Kathleen as well

 As he hated Crohoorean' that same was like hell。

 But O'Brien liked HIM; for they were the same parties;

 The O'Briens; O'Hanlons; an' Murphys; and Cartys

 An' they all went together an' hated Crohoore;

 For it's many the batin' he gave them before;

 An' O'Hanlon made up to O'Brien; an' says he:

 〃I'll marry your daughter; if you'll give her to me。〃

 And the match was made up; an' when Shrovetide came on;

 The company assimbled three hundred if one:

 There was all the O'Hanlons; an' Murphys; an' Cartys;

 An' the young boys an' girls av all o' them parties;

 An' the O'Briens; av coorse; gathered strong on day;

 An' the pipers an' fiddlers were tearin' away;

 There was roarin'; an' jumpin'; an' jiggin'; an' flingin';

 An' jokin'; an' blessin'; an' kissin'; an' singin';

 An' they wor all laughin'why not; to be sure?

 How O'Hanlon came inside of Phaudhrig Crohoore。

 An' they all talked an' laughed the length of the table;

 Atin' an' dhrinkin' all while they wor able;

 And with pipin' an' fiddlin' an' roarin' like tundher;

 Your head you'd think fairly was splittin' asundher;

 And the priest called out; 〃Silence; ye blackguards; agin!〃

 An' he took up his prayer…book; just goin' to begin;

 An' they all held their tongues from their funnin' and bawlin';

 So silent you'd notice the smallest pin fallin';



 An' the priest was just beg'nin' to read; whin the door

 Sprung back to the wall; and in walked Crohoore

 Oh! Phaudhrig Crohoore was the broth of a boy;

 Ant he stood six foot eight;

 An' his arm was as round as another man's thigh;

 'Tis Phaudhrig was great

 An' he walked slowly up; watched by many a bright eye;

 As a black cloud moves on through the stars of the sky;

 An' none sthrove to stop him; for Phaudhrig was great;

 Till he stood all alone; just apposit the sate

 Where O'Hanlon and Kathleen; his beautiful bride;

 Were sitting so illigant out side by side;

 An' he gave her one look that her heart almost broke;

 An' he turned to O'Brien; her father; and spoke;

 An' his voice; like the t

返回目录 上一页 下一页 回到顶部 0 0

你可能喜欢的