James Clarence Mangan, the poet

References:

The Dubliner - the lives, times and writings of James Clarence Mangan, Brendan Clifford, Athol Books, Belfast, 1988.
Sources yet to be consulted:
- Life of James Clarence Mangan, John McCall, Dublin, 1887 (poss.1882), fascimile repub by Carraig Books.
- James Clarence Mangan, D.J. O'Donoghue, 1912.
- Nationalism and Minor Literature - James Clarence Mangan and the Emergence of Irish Cultural Nationalism, David Lloyd, University of California Press.
- James Clarence Mangan Collected Works (7 Vols), Irish Academic Press.

Bust of James Clarence Mangan, St. Stephen's Green, Dublin.
Photo 2005. See full size. From here.

James Mangan,
native of Shanagolden, Co.Limerick,
mar Apr 1798 to Catherine Smith [grand-dau of John Smith, publican, of 3 Fishamble St, Dublin (which in the 1600s was the residence of the Ussher family)] and had issue:

James Clarence Mangan, the tragic poet,
born 1st May 1803, 3 Fishamble St, Dublin,
"a prolific and uneven writer of almost every kind of verse whose best work, inspired by love of Ireland, ranks high in Irish poetry" [Enc.Britannica],
wrote for the Nation and United Irishman,
died 20th June 1849, Dublin, age 46 yrs, bur Glasnevin Cemetery, see grave.
There is a memorial to him in St.Stephen's Green, and a Clarence Mangan Road in the Liberties. See lecture.

2006 photo of the bust above.
Photo by Dominic Tavassoli. From here.

A Lamentation - For the Death of Sir Maurice Fitzgerald, Knight, of Kerry, who was killed in Flanders, 1642

by Pierce Ferriter [see Hickson, 1872].
Translated from the Irish by James Clarence Mangan in the 19th century.
Taken from the web.
Sir Maurice is unidentified. He is NOT the Knight of Kerry.

There was lifted up one voice of woe,
One lament of more than mortal grief,
Through the wide South to and fro,
for a fallen Chief.
In the dead of night that cry thrilled through me,
I looked out upon the midnight air?
My own soul was all as gloomy,
As I knelt in prayer.

O'er Loch Gur, that night, once-twice--yea, thrice--
Passed a wail of anguish for the Brave
That half curled into ice
Its moon-mirroring wave.
Then uprose a many-toned wild hymn in
Choral swell from Ogra's dark ravine,
And Mogeely's Phantom Women
Mourned the Geraldine!

Far on Carah Mona's emerald plains
Shrieks and sighs were blended many hours,
And Fermoy in fitful strains
Answered from her towers.
Youghal, Keenalmeaky, Eemokilly,
Mourned in concert, and their piercing keen
Woke to wondering life the stilly
Glens of Inchiqueen.

From Loughmoe to yellow Dunanore
There was fear; the traders of Tralee
Gathered up their golden store,
And prepared to flee;
For, in ship and hall from night till morning,
Showed the first faint beamings of the sun,
All the foreigners heard the warning
Of the Dreaded One!

"This," they spake, "portendeth death to us,
If we fly not swiftly from our fate!"
Self-conceited idiots! thus
Ravingly to prate!
Not for base-born higgling Saxon trucksters
Ring laments like those by shore and sea!
Not for churls with souls like hucksters
Waileth our Banshee!

For the high Milesian race alone
Ever flows the music of her woe!
For slain heir to bygone throne,
And for Chief laid low!
Hark! ... Again, methinks, I hear her weeping
Yonder! Is she near me now, as then?
Or was but the night-wind sweeping
Down the hollow glen?

Return to Mangan page.

Send me additions and corrections to this site