THE FEASTE OF ALLE DEUILES.*-AN ANCIENT BALLAD.

BY LORD NUGENT.

A GOODLYE romaunte you shal heere, I wis,
'Tis ycleped of Alle Deuiles Halle,
Likewyse of the Feaste of Alle Deuiles it is,
And of what dyd there befalle.

For a pleasaunte thinge is this historye,
And much delyte doe I

In one so straunge, yett so true perdie
That noe man can ytt denye.

O the boarde is sett, and the guestes are mett
To drinke in Alle Deuiles' Halle,

The guestes are drye, but the walles are wett,
And the doores are barred on alle.

And why are the tables in ordere sett,
And why is the wassaile spredd,

And why are they mett while the walles are wett
To carouse o'er the uaultes of the dedd ?

The Baronne of Hawkesdenne rose wyth the sunne
On the daye of Alle Sayntes in the morne,

A terrible feate hee had thoughte uponne,

And a terrible oathe he had sworne.

From holye Church full manie a roode
Hee had ravishede of landys fayre,

And where Alle Saintes' Abbaye had latelye stoode
Hys holde hee had builded there.

For to hym oure good Kinge Harrye had giuen
For hys fee that riche Abbaye,

When the angels bequeathed for the seruice of heuen
Were ta'en from the Church awaye.

Yett firmlye and well stoode the proude Chappell,
Though ne monk ne preeste was there,

Butt for festival nowe was hearde the bell
That wont to be hearde for prayere.

And those sayntelye walles of olde gray stone
Did witnesse foul revelrye,

And they shooke to heare theire echoes owne
Wordes of ribaulderie.

"Now builde mee a Halle," the Baronne sayde,
"And builde ytt both wide and high,

And builde ytt mee ouer the moulderinge dedde,
As they rotte in cemeterye.

To those who are well read in the interesting work of autobiography lately published by Sir Jonah Barrington, so singular will the coincidence appear between the relation he gives of the strange fate of Mr. Joseph Kelly and Mr. Peter Alley, in My Brother's Hunting Lodge," and the catastrophe of the following tale, that, if a doubt could be entertained of the authenticity of the first-mentioned narrative, it might almost he thought to be founded on this ancient ballad, which appears to have been written about the middle of the sixteenth century by a person who was himself a witness of the event he celebrates. As it is, the two stories will probably be taken as strongly confirmatory of each other.

"For longe haue I lacked a banquettinge Halle,
Meete for my feeres and me,

For our mirthe the olde Chappell is alle too smalle,
Soe our butterye-hatch ytt shal bee.

Thys aunciente place I wyl newlye calle,

And christene ytt in goode wyne,

Thys Church of Alle Sayntes shall be Alle Deuiles' Halle,

And the daye, too, Alle Deuiles' and myne.

"On the firste of Nouembere thys lordeshippe fayre

My heritage was made,

From noe Saynte dydd I craue ytt by vowe or by prayere,
But I called to the Deuile for ayde.

"Longe, longe did I striue, and on hope I leaned,
And att courte dyd uainlye toyle,

And hys highnesse was harde, tyll I uowed to the fiende
A share in the Churche's spoyle.

"Nowe onn thys daye beginneth a moneth of cloudes,
And of deedes that maye not bee forgiuen,

When the self-sleyne dedde looke upp from theire shroudes, See no blew, and despaire of heuen.

"And eache yeare thys our festiuall daye wee wyl keepe,
Saynte nor angelle a place shal haue,

Butt darke spiritts wyth us shal carouse pottle deepe,
And we'll welcome suche from the graue.

"O there wyll wee mocke the skulles belowe,
And we'll grinne more wyde than theye,

And we'll synge more loude thann the owletts doe,
And louder than preestes wolde praye.

"And our dogges wyth eache pate that is bleached and bare Shal sporte them rounde and rounde,

Or tangle theire jaws in the drye dedde haire,

As theye route in the hollowe grounde.

"Att the wildered batte wee wyl loudlye laugh,

As hee flitts rounde hys mansyons olde,

And the earthe worme shal learne redde wyne to quaff,

As he reeles in his slymie folde.

"We wyl barre oute the blessede lyghte fulle welle,
And we'll heare noe larke to disturbe us,

For the larke synges to heuen, butt wee to helle,
Noe hymninge fooles shal curbe us.

"For a frend in our neede is indeede a frend,

And suche frend wus the Deuile to mee;

And thys halle I wyll builde to thys dutyfulle ende,
That my cuppe fellowe hee maye bee."

O Nouembere is neare wyth the closinge yeare,

And the Halle is unfinishede quite,

And what liuinge menne dyd reare in the day, ytt dyd appeare That dedde handes dyd undoe at nighte.

O the ceilinge and walles theye are rough and bare,

And the guestes theye are comynge nowe;

O how shal the Baronne feaste them there,

And how shal hee keepe hys vowe?

Att the builders he raued furiouslye,

Nor excuse wolde hee graunte att alle;
Butt, as one poore wretch low bent on hys knee,
He strake oute hys braynes wyth hys malle.

And highe as hee raysed hys bloudie hande
Ryght fearfullie thus spake hee:
"Yff att eue thys halle unfinishede stande,
Not one knaue of yee liuinge shal bee!"

Thenn the builders theye playstered dilligentlye,
For lyfe or deth playstered theye,

And, a dagger's depthe, thicke coates three
Theye had spredde on the walles that daye.

"Sore feare worketh welle!" quoth the proude Baronne,
As he strode to the festall chayre,

And loude laughed the guestes to looke uponne

The worke so smoothe and fayre.

The pine torches rounde a braue lighte dydd flynge,

A redd moone through the darke nighte streaminge,

And smalle thoughte hadd the guestes of the waynscottinge
Howe wett, and softe, and steaminge.

Nowe theye haue barred faste the doores belowe,

And eke the windowes on highe;

And withoute stoode tremblinge the vassailes a rowe
Att the bolde impietie.

O wee tremblede to heare theire reuelrie,

For I was there that nighte,

A sabbath ytt seemede of Deuilrie,

And of Witches att theyre delyte.

There was chauntinge thenne amayne,butt the pure and holie strayne

Of sweete musicke hadde loste ytt's feelinge,

And there was harpe and lute, but lyttel dydd ytt boote,

For the daunce was butt beastlie reelinge.

And the feates were ille tolde of chiualrye olde

Amiddste dronkennesse and dinne,

And the softe laye of loue colde noe tendernesse moue

Ynn hartes of ryott and sinne.

Three nightes ytt endured, and the staringe owle
Was scared from hys ivie throne,

And the poor currs dismallie answered a howle
More senselesse thanne theyre own.

And dronker theye waxed, and dronker yett,
And each manne dyd uainly laboure,

By reasone of manie speakers, to gett

Meet audience from his neyboure.

These wordes thenn stammerede the loude Baronne, 'Maye I ne'er quitt thys goode cheere,

66

Tyll our maystere come to feaste wyth hys owne!"

And thatt was the laste wee colde heare.

The third morne rose fulle fayre, and the torches ruddye glare Through the windowes streamed noe more,

And when the smalle birde rose from hys chambere in the boughes The festiuall shout was o'er.

Sept.-VOL. XXIII. NO. XCIII.

S

The smalle birde gaylye sunge, and the merrye larke uppe sprunge And the dewe droppe spangled the spraye,

And the blessede sunne thatt stille shines the same on goode and ille,
Smyled thatt morne onn the olde Abbaye.

O longe dydd we listene in doubte and feare
Att thatt unholye doore,

And ere wee essayed to entere there

Ytt was fulle highe noone and more.

Butt stille colde wee gaine noe answere att alle,
Though wee askede continuallye;

And I that telle was the urchinne smalle

That was thruste through the windowe to see.

OI hadde quayled in Saynte Quentin's fighte,
Where I rode in that Baronne's trayne,
And hadde shrunke to see the slayne att nighte,
As theye laye onn the bloudye playne.

I hadde sick ennede to see eache pale face bare,
And eache staringe glassie eye,

As the moone was dimmlye reflectede there,
Farre from agreeablye.

Butt ne'er hadde I seene suche a syghte before
As thatt whyche dydd thenn befalle,

Of grimme and ghastlye dedd heddes a score
Mortared into a walle.

Theye were helde as theye dronkenlye backe dydd leane,
Ynn deadlye payne and despayre,

And the redd wyne was clottede theire jawes betwene,
And the mortare was growne to the hayre.

Full ofte haue I hearde thatt wyse menne doe saye
Manie heddes are bettere thanne one,

Butt O thanne wyth suche gaunt heddes as theye
Ytt were bettere to liue wyth none.

And stille the gaye fruites blushede on the boarde,
'As in scorne of the sadde arraye,

And the sparklinge flaggons, wyth wyne halfe stored,
Beamed oute to the sunne alwaye.

Nowe Time hath rolled onne for three score yeare,
And the olde walle standeth yett;

And deepe in rowes, rounde thatt dred chambere,
Eache darke browne skulle is sett.

The ivye hath wreathede a coronett grene
For the grimlye Baronne's browe;

And where once the dais carpett flaunted shene,
The ranke grass waveth nowe.

In the sockett where rolled eache dronken eye
Hath the martlett builded her holde;

And aye midde the whyte teeth gallantlye
The walle flowere twisteth ytt's folde.

And, in place of the torches of pine-tree made,
The pale moone quivereth o'er themme,
And the scritch owle, wyth sorrye serenade,
Mocketh the mynstrell before themme.

And there muste they staye tyll the dredful daye
When theire maystere claymeth hys dole !
O Gentles beeware of suche doome, and praye
Grammercye onne eache poore soule.

Butt euermore, to your dyinge hower,
Remembere, whate'er befalle,

Keepe free your hartes from the foule fiende's power,
And your heddes from newe mortared-walle.

Thenne of Alle Deuiles' Daye thys the storye is,
And of Alle Deuiles' Halle lykewyse;

A wonderous tales, yett soe trewe ytt is,
That noe manne it denyes.

SKETCHES OF THE IRISH PRIESTHOOD, NO. I.

THE priests of Ireland have often shaped the political destinies of their country, and at present they hold much of its fate in their hands. At the very first contest between Anglo-Norman lances and Milesian sparthes and battle-axes, their voice directed the issue of the strife in favour of the invaders. Subsequently, in all the most important struggles between the same antagonists, they were equally the arbiters of national independence. When the Reformation occurred, they kept Ireland Catholic. Amid the thunders of the English statute-book, dooming them to outlawry in their native land, or else to expatriation and the gibbet, they contrived that no religious identity, and, in consequence, no identity of any kind, then took place, or has since taken place, or perhaps ever will take place, between the two islands. Upon almost every political event in Ireland, from that day to this, they have had great influence and meantime the minds, the hearts, and the morals of a people, so far as penal law permitted, have been formed by them. At present they control the physical force, and they are the political power of Ireland. The Catholic Association seems to set them in motion, but they set it in motion. What would be its most popular orator without their good-will? Mr. O'Connell knows, and "honest Jack Lawless," as Le Globe calls him, can tell. They return members to Parliament against Ascendency interests as old as the Battle of the Boyne. In every little parish nook throughout their country, they are the rallying-points for organizing the sentiments of millions of discontented men. They assess "the rent." At their beck the starving peasant sends in (Heaven knows in what vague feelings) his farthing a fortnight. By their local agency, the other day, fifteen hundred public meetings took place, all over Ireland, at the same hour. He that runs may read.

It seems a matter of interest to become somewhat intimately acquainted with this peculiar and not unimportant body: with the structure of their minds, with their habits, with their manners. They have been much talked of, in one way or another; but for men who almost preside over the future of Ireland, perhaps in some degree over the future of England, little is distinctly known at this side of the Irish Channel. They do not stand out before an Englishman's mind. A unique species of the clerical genus he admits them to be, but why