Poets and Dreamers | Page 7

the cradle till she'd come back. But she never came back
till morning, and there he was rocking the cradle still; and he had a
song composed while she was away about the time of a man's life, and

the hours of the day, and the seasons of the year; how when a man is
young he is strong, and then he grows old and passes away, and goes to
the feast of the Saviour; and about the day, how bright the morning is,
and the birds singing; and a man goes out to work, and he comes in
tired out, and sits by the fire to talk with his neighbour; and the night
comes on, and he says his prayers, and thinks of the feast of the Saviour;
and about the seasons, the spring so nice, and the summer for work;
and autumn brings the harvest, and winter brings Christmas, the feast
of the Saviour. In Irish and English he made that.' And this is another
story: 'A carpenter made a plough for Callinan one time, and when it
came, it was the worst ever made; and he said to his brother: "I'll make
a song that will cut him down altogether." But his brother said: "Do not,
for if you cut him down, it will take his means of living from him, but
make a song in his praise." And he did so, for he wouldn't like to do
him any harm.' I have asked if he made any love-songs, and was told of
one he had made 'about a girl he met going to a bog. He praised herself
first, and then he said he had information as well that she had fifty gold
guineas saved up.'
His having been well off seems to make his poetic merit the greater in
the eyes of farmers; for one says: 'He was as good a poet, for he had a
plough and horses and a good way of living, and never sang in any
public-house; but Raftery had no way of living but to go round and to
mark some house to go to, and then all the neighbours would gather in
to hear him.' Another says: 'Raftery was the best poet, for he had
nothing else to do, and laid his mind to it; but Callinan was a strong
farmer, and had other things to think of;' and another says: 'Callinan
was very apt: it was all Raftery could do to beat him;' and another sums
up by saying: 'The both of them was great.' But a supporter of Raftery
says: 'He was the best; he put his words so strong and stiff, following
one another.'
I had been often told, by supporters of either side, that there was one
contest between the two, at which Callinan 'made Raftery cry tears
down;' and I wondered how it was that his wit had so far betrayed him.
It has been explained to me lately. Raftery had made a long poem, 'The
Hunt,' in which he puts 'a Writer' in the place of the fox, and calls on all

the gentlemen of Galway and Mayo, and even on 'Sarsfield from
Limerick,' to come and hunt him through their respective
neighbourhoods with a pack of hounds. It contains many verses; and he
seems to have improvised others in the different places where he sang it.
In the written copy I have seen, Burke is the 'Writer' who is thus hunted.
But he probably put in the name of any other rival from time to time.
This is the story: 'He and the Callinans were sometimes vexed with one
another, but they'd make friends after; but there was one day he was put
down by them. There was a funeral going on at Killeenan, and Raftery
was there; and he was asked into the corpse-house afterwards, and the
people asked him for the song about Callinan, and he began hunting
him all through the country, and the people were laughing and making
him go on; but Callinan's brother had come in, and was listening to him,
and Raftery didn't see him, being blind; and he brought him to
Killeenan at last, and he said: "Where can the rogue go now, unless
he'll swim the turlough?" And at that Callinan's brother stood up and
said, "Who is it you are calling a rogue?" And Raftery tried to laugh it
off, and he said, "You mustn't expect poetry and truth to go together."
But Callinan said: "I'll give you poetry that's truth as well;" and he
began to say off some verses his brother had made on Raftery; and
Raftery was choked up that time, and hadn't a word.' This story is
corroborated by an eye-witness who said to me: 'It was in this house he