The Irish standard., 1909-04-10

Ia man and. a. Reason, complet-
III Snks the circle by which mans spirit
hs..a 6intsSat last to unity with God. No
Mop of the creeping Saxon in the veins
W John the Irish born. And IL In the
gins OF the poetic idealist of the l8tl,
6Sntury. the Bishop Of Cloyne. there
Moved some slower strain Of Saxon
patience, IT retarded not the subtle
fitness of his, spiritual intuition.
Born in q sceptical age; he gave 70 the
world that subjective philosophy upon
ihiohs all higher speculation since has
Igstnrned. He who foresaw the westward
u course OF empire, and after whom 10
az,aed the site Of our University of
lsgCalifornia-th the greatest Of. Irish ahil-
Bishop Berkeley.
III poetry, may not the Irish genius
n NJ accorded the encomiun~ Of success:
N Fora statement Of the characteristic
ssof Celtic that is to say e-eminently
irish, poetry, what better can We do
n than turn again to the English. and
therefore to the would-be unbiased
critic? The note Of Celtic poetry is
IL found, says Arnold, in its style. its
& poignant passion, its tense melancholy,
Il Its constant aspiration toward the
haysterious, its natural magic: that in
Inmate charm OF spirit in fiowery
glade. and brook, and woodland soil
& tude. To the poetry of the Celt, Eng
n lish poetry owes the intoxication Of
style. And to it's fervent passions, its
melancholy, it's constant yearning for
the heart Of mystery, there are his
Z xtorians who have said that medieval
Europe owed that spirit OF chivalry
which inspired the, devotion Of the CRU
ysaders in their efforts to win the Holy
sSepulchre for Christendom; which
taught Europe that radiant worship Of
woman from which springs modern ro-
II nance. Let us not claim everything
on Gods earth, however. Perhaps the
& French and Germans and Italians do
mot owe their chivalry to Ireland, after
!. alls But Of this much we may be sure.
+ shat without that ancient impulse
sfthe natural magic and the sweetness,
the Titanic measure, the melancholy
!, ana the mystery OF Ossfan and the
early bards Of Ireland, Goethe and
Hugo, Byron and Shelley. nay even
Milton and Shakespeare, would not
D have written as they wrote. Modern
poetry would not have known, as now.
sassthe passion ana the pain of finite
hearts that yearn.'
& # Maybe the Robert Burns Of Ireland
lacked measure and balance. and pa
tience, but SO did Bobby Burns OF
\ Scotland Does Scotland think less Of
Burns, or do we of Tom Moore, for the
iuntempered aspiration. the sayety,
and impatient melancholy 81 his po-
etry who sthat calls to mind 81 Tho
/ Last Rose of summer Left Blooming
\ saans. u lovely s companioas-
iadsds and ZONE, 81 The Harp THAT
Once Through Tara's HALL IS mot
melted nv the charm y The worth of
ppatfy hes not in its volume. or its
caution, or its creeping patience. Is
Here not; the quality OF distinction. of
Nigh success In that brief outburst.
NE Dark Rosaleen' Of Clarence Man
lAn-; "a poem perfect in beauty ard In
EXn timent? Do not the chords Of every
Irish heart in exile CULVER at the voice
Hui that granddaughter of Sheridan,
94dy Dufferin. when Is heard the La
jiiaSnt Of the irish Emigrant? What
/ measure Of balance is lacking to Faith.
Frout's Bells Of shandon That
9ound So Grand on the Pleasant Wat
9Ssgs ~ the River Lee? And what to
SColdsmith's dear Deserted Village
ia which all pastorals since have owed !
aa debt and to which, with the Vicar |
sof Wakefeld.' Goethe owed the inspir-
alton Of his immortal idyll, Hermann
saInd Dorothea. And If the quality Of
high success be not In these things, /
what shall we say OF the masterpiece
'cf the greatest Of our poets. the Irish
beet Of Persian philosophy Edward
ittsgerald. whose Rubaiyat Of Omar ,
silShayyam Is Infinitely more than a
modern creation
ma tchless marriage Of thought and art. I
sa poem to be reckoned with and en-
s1oyed 81 long as Tennyson and Brown
ing endure. OF the poets Of the PRES
Ant iay. cannot speak: but few there
q srs Ia English that far excel the best
Sef William Butler Yeats.
M :Tske the dran,atists: Dick Steele.
ssfirsy, overnight and writing Conscious
Isovers or penitehtial poems In the /
shcrniag; Oliver Goldsmith. with his
neenly comedy, She Stops to Con-