AN GAODHAL
603
THE LATE MICHAEL BURKE.
The readers of the Gael some time since, were
treated to a Gaelic poem on "The Night of the
Big Wind," by Mr M. Burke, and through the
courtesy of his daughter, Mrs. C. M. B. Kelly, we
give the following detached pieces in the English
Language. Mr. Burke was a profound classical
scholar, and very unlike a large number of
his countrymen, was proud to enumerate among
his linguistic lore the language of his infancy.
He like the majority of scholars was of an unassum¬
ing retiring manner, and the volume of manu¬
script, on various subject, which he has left behind
him testifies to his large range of knowledge. His
epic and didactic poems are quite length and per¬
vaded by that religious and philosophical cast
which gained for his native land the title of "Is¬
land of Saints and Scholars."
Although Mr. Burke occupied many prominent
positions of trust, as superintendent, custom house
officer, tax collector, school teacher, estate agent,
&c, he found time to be a valuable contributor,
under various nom de plumes, to the current per¬
iodicals of the day, his prolific mind was wonderful
and no passing event escaped his notice or his
pen.
It is proposed to collect Mr. Burke's writings in
book form. His poetic compositions alone would
fill a good sized volume, and we expect to be able
to give lengthy extracts from them from time to
time, Apart from the intrinsic value of the poems,
a large number of our readers had a personal ac¬
quaintance with Mr Burke, and it is only in keep¬
ing with the Gael's principles that it should be the
means of perpetuating the memory of a man who
loved his language and his country as he did.
Some ninety years ago, about the time of Mr.
Burke's birth, the only persons who spoke the
English language in the county of Galway or
throughout Connaught generally, were the Eng¬
lish officials and their servants. The poor who
were obliged to go to earn their living to the "big
houses," as the residences of the English were call¬
ed, learned a smattering of English. But the resp¬
ectable portion of the Irish people knew no English
at that time, and we have Bishop Gallagher's word
for it that even in Uster, fifty years previously,
not one Irish person knew a word of English.
We emphasize this statement because some of our
shoddy Irish of the present day would fain make
one believe that their forefathers knew no Irish,
and in such a manner as to insinuate that they
were of a more respectable class than those who
did and do speak their national tongue. Now,
those people proclaim their own and their fore-
fathers degradation, and that they are so degraded
in the eyes of the intelligent foreigner the foll¬
owing incident will clearly demonstrate. We so¬
licited a foreigner doing business in N. Y. and
who advertises extensively, for an ad. in the Gael
a few days ago. He examined the Gael, we ex¬
plained it, and he said: "This paper must be
patronized by the better and more intelligent
class of the Irish and an ad. in it would do me no
good". The reason the ad. was solicited was that
it appeared in all the Irish American weeklies.
We have a personal knowledge of priests and
doctors (we particularize priests and doctors because
they are supposed to come from the cream of soci¬
ety) in Connaught whose parents could not con¬
verse in English for five minutes, though the la¬
borers on their farms who had to go to
England and to the aforesaid "big houses" to earn
their bread, could talk the nails of their toes in
English. Yet some of our "educated" Anglicised
Irish would insist that the English language was
spoken in Ireland in St. Bridget's time, though the
mere schoolboy could tell them that it is not yet
500 years since the English was formulated and
spoken in England, and that the introduction of it
into the Royal Household is of a very recent date.
During the persecutions, the Irish parents who
could afford it sent their children to France or
Italy to be educated, to avoid being proselytised
in the government schools. So that at the time
of which we write the old people knew more of
Latin and French than they did of English. To
put the matter in a nutshell. Suppose the Italian
rag pickers and organ grinders who traverse our
streets returning to Italy in a few years and bring¬
ing a smattering of English with them to be the
elite of Italian society and you have the very
class of the Irish people who introduced English
into Ireland.
Mr. Burke has left a very interesting poem de¬
scriptive of his first days at the English school.
THE IRISH LANGUAGE.
(By M BURKE.)
The Irish Language doomed for years to sleep,
Awoke of late in manly features young,
In radiance fair from out the torpid deep,
To wake the lyre in Ireland's classic tongue,
And sing the lays her hoary minstrels sung,
Or tell the tales of Warriors and the deeds,
Of sept and clan and how their fathers clung
With death like grapple thro' the direst need,
To what they prized the most, their language and
their creed.
The gloom is past that vailed the Nation's lore,
And morning dawns as flies the shades of night;
A voice is heard along the Western shore,
And Jarlath sheds its beams of joyous light,
McHale exists to teach and speak and write,
To daunt the foe, and guard the fold and pen.
The tocsin sounds from vale and mountain height,
Resounding still, resounding o'er again,
Till echoes back the same from mountain, lake
and glen.
The East as well displays its learned crops,
Rare, lustrous stars in Ireland's ancient Gael,
Profoundly versed in Sanskrit and its lore;
Its Poets, Bards and Ollamhs in detail,
With such adjuncts and sons of Graine Weal,
The Gaelic tongue its beauties wide unfold,
Conveying in its vehicle of tale,
A source of pleasure to the young and old,
More precious rendered as the oftener told.
And here beside majestic waters, where
The noble Hudson meets the briny wave,
A million pages Celtic impress bear,
In prose and verse of chiefs and warriors brave,
Who fought and bled and to their country gave
A list of Heroes and a fearless band;
All this we owe to those now in the grave,
Who freely tendered head and heart and hand,
To brother exiles far, far from native land.
Irishmen are like the Dog in the Fable — they
grab at the Shadow and lose the Substance — the
Language is the foundation and preservator of a
nation — At least Bismarck thinks so. — Is he an
authority?
