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Article CHAPTER IX. ← Page 3 of 10 →
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Chapter Ix.
Let them tell me where , in the whole circle of languages , will they find another so sweet , or so energetic as it is . " Take , for example , any of our ordinary terms of familiarity—suppose gra-ma-cliree—where will you find another so fraught with those endearments ivhich gave zest to life . Translate it into English—love of my heart —how meagre ! how imbecile ' . how strikingly deficient in all that rich , that unctuous freshness of cordial and sustaining mutuality which exalts and vivifies the other .
" Or this , cushla-ma-chrcc—put that into an English garb . You cannot , I defy you . The puhr . of my heart . Yes ; but do you feel the throbs of emotion there which the other resuscitates ? Do you feel the current of your existence bubbling forth from its spring , and identifying you and your happiness with the interests and the happiness of the beloved object ? No—¦ then it does not convey to you the conception which the Irish impartsthat indefinable idea evoked by the original . " Sullis-ma-huil , or light of my eyes , is another of those blandishments
whicli evaporate in the transfusion;—and though last , not feast , where , m the catalogue of tongues , can you find anything so omnipotent either to express our raptures at the sight of ' a friend , or to remove the doubts of the timid stranger , by the assurance of a welcome as in that ccad-mcilefcaltlie , or hundred thousand welcomes , which you have yourself shown in your recognition of my call , at a very unseasonable moment , but two days since . Methinks I hear every door of the dwelling , whether cottage or courtfly open at the inspiration of its encouraging sounds .
, " And yet these are , as it were , but semitones , semiclauses , or but scraps of phrases . Go to our literature—but I forgot—alas ! that is no more . Go , then , to the few fragments that have survived the wreck , and if you do not find in them the very genius of poetry , stalking with noble ease , and wieldingyour emotions with absolute magic , why you may then concur in the fashionable outcry , that our language is a jargon , and its votaries barbarians and savages . "
CHAPTER X . O'Sullivan , all this while , swallowed with ecstacy every syllable that escaped from the youthful speaker . " Yes , Thurlogh , " says he , " they knew well it was no jargon ; nor did
their aversion to it arise from any over delicacy of their ears . No , it was all policy , a mistaken , misguided , and unprincipled policy—they disliked our creed not less than our pride ; and knowing how intertwined " with , and inseparable from our language these were , they thought to extirpate all at once by subjecting them and their advocates to degradation . " The fact , however , is that it is the old system still under a new and more deceptive shape . Conversion and proselytism were of old and are still the object . Experience has shown them that the Irish character was too
buoyant to succumb to benightment ; and having witnessed the elasticity , ivith ivhich they recovered from the constraint , they come now in the morning of our light , to cheer our re-ascending sun by the evanescent glimmer of their meretricious tapers . " Tracts ! tracts , indeed ! No , it will not do ! Our injured , our famished , peasantry understand well their crusading . Did St . Patrick , think you , when he planted his holy footsteps upon our ' sacred isle , ' to transmit to us that faith which we have since retained inviolate , —did he , I say , bring with him
a load of tracts for the purpose ? or did he not rather confide in his credentials and the simple evidences of the Word ? And is not his memory with us too reverential not to perpetuate his example ?
Note: This text has been automatically extracted via Optical Character Recognition (OCR) software.
Chapter Ix.
Let them tell me where , in the whole circle of languages , will they find another so sweet , or so energetic as it is . " Take , for example , any of our ordinary terms of familiarity—suppose gra-ma-cliree—where will you find another so fraught with those endearments ivhich gave zest to life . Translate it into English—love of my heart —how meagre ! how imbecile ' . how strikingly deficient in all that rich , that unctuous freshness of cordial and sustaining mutuality which exalts and vivifies the other .
" Or this , cushla-ma-chrcc—put that into an English garb . You cannot , I defy you . The puhr . of my heart . Yes ; but do you feel the throbs of emotion there which the other resuscitates ? Do you feel the current of your existence bubbling forth from its spring , and identifying you and your happiness with the interests and the happiness of the beloved object ? No—¦ then it does not convey to you the conception which the Irish impartsthat indefinable idea evoked by the original . " Sullis-ma-huil , or light of my eyes , is another of those blandishments
whicli evaporate in the transfusion;—and though last , not feast , where , m the catalogue of tongues , can you find anything so omnipotent either to express our raptures at the sight of ' a friend , or to remove the doubts of the timid stranger , by the assurance of a welcome as in that ccad-mcilefcaltlie , or hundred thousand welcomes , which you have yourself shown in your recognition of my call , at a very unseasonable moment , but two days since . Methinks I hear every door of the dwelling , whether cottage or courtfly open at the inspiration of its encouraging sounds .
, " And yet these are , as it were , but semitones , semiclauses , or but scraps of phrases . Go to our literature—but I forgot—alas ! that is no more . Go , then , to the few fragments that have survived the wreck , and if you do not find in them the very genius of poetry , stalking with noble ease , and wieldingyour emotions with absolute magic , why you may then concur in the fashionable outcry , that our language is a jargon , and its votaries barbarians and savages . "
CHAPTER X . O'Sullivan , all this while , swallowed with ecstacy every syllable that escaped from the youthful speaker . " Yes , Thurlogh , " says he , " they knew well it was no jargon ; nor did
their aversion to it arise from any over delicacy of their ears . No , it was all policy , a mistaken , misguided , and unprincipled policy—they disliked our creed not less than our pride ; and knowing how intertwined " with , and inseparable from our language these were , they thought to extirpate all at once by subjecting them and their advocates to degradation . " The fact , however , is that it is the old system still under a new and more deceptive shape . Conversion and proselytism were of old and are still the object . Experience has shown them that the Irish character was too
buoyant to succumb to benightment ; and having witnessed the elasticity , ivith ivhich they recovered from the constraint , they come now in the morning of our light , to cheer our re-ascending sun by the evanescent glimmer of their meretricious tapers . " Tracts ! tracts , indeed ! No , it will not do ! Our injured , our famished , peasantry understand well their crusading . Did St . Patrick , think you , when he planted his holy footsteps upon our ' sacred isle , ' to transmit to us that faith which we have since retained inviolate , —did he , I say , bring with him
a load of tracts for the purpose ? or did he not rather confide in his credentials and the simple evidences of the Word ? And is not his memory with us too reverential not to perpetuate his example ?