The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years AgoLever, Charles
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The O'Donoghue: Tale of Ireland Fifty Years Ago
Lever, Charles
Ireland -- Fiction
The night was calm and star-lit: a stillness almost painful reigned
around. It seemed as if exhausted nature, tired with the work of storm
and hurricane, had sunk into a deep and wearied sleep. Thousands of
bright stars speckled the dark sky; yet the light they shed upon the
earth, but dimly distinguished mountain and valley, save where the'
calm surface of the lake gave back their lustre, in a heaven, placid
and motionless as their own. Now and then, a bright meteor would shoot
across the blue vault, and disappear in the darkness; while in tranquil
splendour, the planets shone on, as though to say, the higher destiny
is to display an eternal brightness, than the brilliancy of momentary
splendour, however glittering its wide career.
The young man gazed upon the sky. The lessons which, from human lips, he
had rejected with scorn and impatience, now sunk deeply into his nature,
from those silent monitors. The stars looked down, like eyes, into his
very soul, and he felt as if he could unburthen his whole heart of its
weary load, and make a confidence with heaven.
“They point ever downwards,” said he to himself, as he watched the
bright streak of the falling stars, and moralized on their likeness to
man's destiny. But as he spoke, a red line shot up into the sky, and
broke into ten thousand glittering spangles, shedding over glen and
mountain, a faint but beauteous gleam, scarce more lasting than the
meteor's flash. It was a rocket sent up from the border of the Bay, and
was quickly answered by another from the remote end of the Glen. The
youth started, and leaning out from the window, looked down the valley;
but nothing was to be seen or heard--all was silent as before, and
already the flash of the signals, for such they must have been he could
not doubt, had faded away, and the sky shone in its own spangled beauty.
“They are smugglers!” muttered Mark, as he sank back in his chair; for
in that wild district such signals were employed without much fear, by
those who either could trust the revenue as accomplices, or dare them
by superior numbers. More than once it had occurred to him to join this
lawless band, and many a pressing invitation had he received from the
leaders to do so; but still, the youth's ambition, save in his darkest
hours, took a higher and a nobler range: the danger of the career was
its only fascination to him. Now, however, all these thoughts were
changed: he had given a solemn pledge to his father never to leave him;
and it was with a feeling of half apathy he sat, pondering over what
cutter it might be that had anchored, or whose party were then preparing
to land their cargo.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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