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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/16839-8.txt b/16839-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..4e2acc5 --- /dev/null +++ b/16839-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1453 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Sixteen Poems, by William Allingham + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sixteen Poems + +Author: William Allingham + +Release Date: October 9, 2005 [EBook #16839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +SIXTEEN POEMS BY WILLIAM +ALLINGHAM: SELECTED BY +WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS + + + + +THE DUN EMER PRESS +DUNDRUM +MCMV + + + + +CONTENTS Page + +Let Me Sing of What I Know 1 +The Winding Banks of Erne 1 +Abbey Asaroe 7 +A Dream 10 +The Fairies 12 +The Lepracaun or Fairy Shoemaker 14 +The Girl's Lamentation 17 +The Nobleman's Wedding 20 +Kate O' Belashanny 22 +Four Ducks on a Pond 24 +Ĉolian Harp 24 +The Maids of Elfin Mere 25 +Twilight Voices 26 +The Lover and Birds 28 +The Abbot of Innisfallen 30 +The Ruined Chapel 34 + + + + +LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOW + + + A wild west Coast, a little Town, + Where little Folk go up and down, + Tides flow and winds blow: + Night and Tempest and the Sea, + Human Will and Human Fate: + What is little, what is great? + Howsoe'er the answer be, + Let me sing of what I know. + + + + +THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE + + + Adieu to Belashanny! + where I was bred and born; + Go where I may, I'll think of you, + as sure as night and morn. + The kindly spot, the friendly town, + where every one is known, + And not a face in all the place + but partly seems my own; + There's not a house or window, + there's not a field or hill, + But, east or west, in foreign lands, + I'll recollect them still. + I leave my warm heart with you, + tho' my back I'm forced to turn-- + Adieu to Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + No more on pleasant evenings + we'll saunter down the Mall, + When the trout is rising to the fly, + the salmon to the fall. + The boat comes straining on her net, + and heavily she creeps, + Cast off, cast off--she feels the oars, + and to her berth she sweeps; + Now fore and aft keep hauling, + and gathering up the clew, + Till a silver wave of salmon + rolls in among the crew. + Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit, + and many a joke and 'yarn';-- + Adieu to Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + The music of the waterfall, + the mirror of the tide, + When all the green-hill'd harbour + is full from side to side, + From Portnasun to Bulliebawns, + and round the Abbey Bay, + From rocky Inis Saimer + to Coolnargit sandhills gray; + While far upon the southern line, + to guard it like a wall, + The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue + gaze calmly over all, + And watch the ship sail up or down, + the red flag at her stern;-- + Adieu to these, adieu to all + the winding banks of Erne! + + Farewell to you, Kildoney lads, + and them that pull an oar, + A lug-sail set, or haul a net, + from the Point to Mullaghmore; + From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League, + that ocean-mountain steep, + Six hundred yards in air aloft, + six hundred in the deep, + From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge, + and round by Tullen strand, + Level and long, and white with waves, + where gull and curlew stand; + Head out to sea when on your lee + the breakers you discern!-- + Adieu to all the billowy coast, + and winding banks of Erne! + + Farewell, Coolmore,--Bundoran! and + your summer crowds that run + From inland homes to see with joy + th' Atlantic-setting sun; + To breathe the buoyant salted air, + and sport among the waves; + To gather shells on sandy beach, + and tempt the gloomy caves; + To watch the flowing, ebbing tide, + the boats, the crabs, the fish; + Young men and maids to meet and smile, + and form a tender wish; + The sick and old in search of health, + for all things have their turn-- + And I must quit my native shore, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + Farewell to every white cascade + from the Harbour to Belleek, + And every pool where fins may rest, + and ivy-shaded creek; + The sloping fields, the lofty rocks, + where ash and holly grow, + The one split yew-tree gazing + on the curving flood below; + The Lough, that winds through islands + under Turaw mountain green; + And Castle Caldwell's stretching woods, + with tranquil bays between; + And Breesie Hill, and many a pond + among the heath and fern,-- + For I must say adieu--adieu + to the winding banks of Erne! + + The thrush will call through Camlin groves + the live-long summer day; + The waters run by mossy cliff, + and banks with wild flowers gay; + The girls will bring their work and sing + beneath a twisted thorn, + Or stray with sweethearts down the path + among the growing corn; + Along the river-side they go, + where I have often been, + Oh, never shall I see again + the happy days I've seen! + A thousand chances are to one + I never may return,-- + Adieu to Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + Adieu to evening dances, + when merry neighbours meet, + And the fiddle says to boys and girls, + 'Get up and shake your feet!' + To 'seanachas' and wise old talk + of Erin's days gone by-- + Who trench'd the rath on such a hill, + and where the bones may lie + Of saint, or king, or warrior chief; + with tales of fairy power, + And tender ditties sweetly sung + to pass the twilight hour. + The mournful song of exile + is now for me to learn-- + Adieu, my dear companions + on the winding banks of Erne! + + Now measure from the Commons down + to each end of the Purt, + Round the Abbey, Moy, and Knather,-- + I wish no one any hurt; + The Main Street, Back Street, College Lane, + the Mall, and Portnasun, + If any foes of mine are there, + I pardon every one. + I hope that man and womankind + will do the same by me; + For my heart is sore and heavy + at voyaging the sea. + My loving friends I'll bear in mind, + and often fondly turn + To think of Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne. + + If ever I'm a money'd man, + I mean, please God, to cast + My golden anchor in the place + where youthful years were pass'd; + Though heads that now are black and brown + must meanwhile gather gray, + New faces rise by every hearth, + and old ones drop away-- + Yet dearer still that Irish hill + than all the world beside; + It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam + through lands and waters wide. + And if the Lord allows me, + I surely will return + To my native Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne. + + + + +ABBEY ASAROE + + + Gray, gray is Abbey Asaroe, + by Belashanny town, + It has neither door nor window, + the walls are broken down; + The carven-stones lie scatter'd + in briar and nettle-bed; + The only feet are those that come + at burial of the dead. + A little rocky rivulet + runs murmuring to the tide, + Singing a song of ancient days, + in sorrow, not in pride; + The boortree and the lightsome ash + across the portal grow, + And heaven itself is now the roof + of Abbey Asaroe. + + It looks beyond the harbour-stream + to Gulban mountain blue; + It hears the voice of Erna's fall,-- + Atlantic breakers too; + High ships go sailing past it; + the sturdy clank of oars + Brings in the salmon-boat to haul + a net upon the shores; + And this way to his home-creek, + when the summer day is done, + Slow sculls the weary fisherman + across the setting sun; + While green with corn is Sheegus Hill, + his cottage white below; + But gray at every season + is Abbey Asaroe. + + There stood one day a poor old man + above its broken bridge; + He heard no running rivulet, + he saw no mountain-ridge; + He turn'd his back on Sheegus Hill, + and view'd with misty sight + The Abbey walls, the burial-ground + with crosses ghostly white; + Under a weary weight of years + he bow'd upon his staff, + Perusing in the present time + the former's epitaph; + For, gray and wasted like the walls, + a figure full of woe, + This man was of the blood of them + who founded Asaroe. + + From Derry to Bundrowas Tower, + Tirconnell broad was theirs; + Spearmen and plunder, bards and wine, + and holy abbot's prayers; + With chanting always in the house + which they had builded high + To God and to Saint Bernard,-- + where at last they came to die. + At worst, no workhouse grave for him! + the ruins of his race + Shall rest among the ruin'd stones + of this their saintly place. + The fond old man was weeping; + and tremulous and slow + Along the rough and crooked lane + he crept from Asaroe. + + + + +A DREAM + + + I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night; + I went to the window to see the sight; + All the Dead that ever I knew + Going one by one and two by two. + + On they pass'd, and on they pass'd; + Townsfellows all, from first to last; + Born in the moonlight of the lane, + Quench'd in the heavy shadow again. + + Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd + At soldiers once--but now more staid; + Those were the strangest sight to me + Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea. + + Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too; + Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to; + Some but a day in their churchyard bed; + Some that I had not known were dead. + + A long, long crowd--where each seem'd lonely, + Yet of them all there was one, one only, + Raised a head or look'd my way: + She linger'd a moment--she might not stay. + + How long since I saw that fair pale face! + Ah! Mother dear! might I only place + My head on thy breast, a moment to rest, + While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest! + + On, on, a moving bridge they made + Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade, + Young and old, women and men; + Many long-forgot, but remember'd then. + + And first there came a bitter laughter; + A sound of tears the moment after; + And then a music so lofty and gay, + That every morning, day by day, + I strive to recall it if I may. + + + + +THE FAIRIES + + + Up the airy mountain, + Down the rushy glen, + We daren't go a-hunting + For fear of little men; + Wee folk, good folk, + Trooping all together; + Green jacket, red cap, + And white owl's feather! + Down along the rocky shore + Some make their home, + They live on crispy pancakes + Of yellow tide-foam; + Some in the reeds + Of the black mountain lake, + With frogs for their watch-dogs, + All night awake. + + High on the hill-top + The old King sits; + He is now so old and gray + He's nigh lost his wits. + With a bridge of white mist + Columbkill he crosses, + On his stately journeys + From Slieveleague to Rosses; + Or going up with music + On cold starry nights, + To sup with the Queen + Of the gay Northern Lights. + + They stole little Bridget + For seven years long; + When she came down again + Her friends were all gone. + They took her lightly back, + Between the night and morrow, + They thought that she was fast asleep, + But she was dead with sorrow. + They have kept her ever since + Deep within the lake, + On a bed of flag-leaves, + Watching till she wake. + + By the craggy hill-side, + Through the mosses bare, + They have planted thorn-trees + For pleasure here and there. + Is any man so daring + As dig them up in spite, + He shall find their sharpest thorns + In his bed at night. + + Up the airy mountain, + Down the rushy glen, + We daren't go a-hunting + For fear of little men; + Wee folk, good folk, + Trooping all together; + Green jacket, red cap, + And white owl's feather! + + + + +THE LEPRACAUN OR FAIRY SHOEMAKER + + + Little Cowboy, what have you heard, + Up on the lonely rath's green mound? + Only the plaintive yellow bird + Sighing in sultry fields around, + Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!-- + Only the grasshopper and the bee?-- + 'Tip-tap, rip-rap, + Tick-a-tack-too! + Scarlet leather, sewn together, + This will make a shoe. + Left, right, pull it tight; + Summer days are warm; + Underground in winter, + Laughing at the storm!' + Lay your ear close to the hill. + Do you not catch the tiny clamour, + Busy click of an elfin hammer, + Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill + As he merrily plies his trade? + He's a span + And a quarter in height. + Get him in sight, hold him tight, + And you're a made + Man! + + You watch your cattle the summer day, + Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay; + How would you like to roll in your carriage, + Look for a duchess's daughter in marriage? + Seize the Shoemaker--then you may! + 'Big boots a-hunting, + Sandals in the hall, + White for a wedding-feast, + Pink for a ball. + This way, that way, + So we make a shoe; + Getting rich every stitch, + Tick-tack-too!' + Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks + This keen miser-fairy hath, + Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks, + Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath, + And where the cormorants build; + From times of old + Guarded by him; + Each of them fill'd + Full to the brim + With gold! + + I caught him at work one day, myself, + In the castle-ditch where foxglove grows,-- + A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf, + Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose, + Silver buckles to his hose, + Leather apron--shoe in his lap-- + 'Rip-rap, tip-tap, + Tick-tack-too! + (A grasshopper on my cap! + Away the moth flew!) + Buskins for a fairy prince, + Brogues for his son,-- + Pay me well, pay me well, + When the job is done!' + The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt. + I stared at him; he stared at me; + 'Servant, Sir!' 'Humph!' says he, + And pull'd a snuff-box out. + He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased, + The queer little Lepracaun; + Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace,-- + Pouf! he flung the dust in my face, + And while I sneezed, + Was gone! + + + + +THE GIRL'S LAMENTATION + + + With grief and mourning I sit to spin; + My Love passed by, and he didn't come in; + He passes by me, both day and night, + And carries off my poor heart's delight. + + There is a tavern in yonder town, + My Love goes there and he spends a crown; + He takes a strange girl upon his knee, + And never more gives a thought to me. + + Says he, 'We'll wed without loss of time, + And sure our love's but a little crime;'-- + My apron-string now it's wearing short, + And my Love he seeks other girls to court. + + O with him I'd go if I had my will, + I'd follow him barefoot o'er rock and hill; + I'd never once speak of all my grief + If he'd give me a smile for my heart's relief. + + In our wee garden the rose unfolds, + With bachelor's-buttons and marigolds; + I'll tie no posies for dance or fair, + A willow-twig is for me to wear. + + For a maid again I can never be, + Till the red rose blooms on the willow tree. + Of such a trouble I've heard them tell, + And now I know what it means full well. + + As through the long lonesome night I lie, + I'd give the world if I might but cry; + But I mus'n't moan there or raise my voice, + And the tears run down without any noise. + + And what, O what will my mother say? + She'll wish her daughter was in the clay. + My father will curse me to my face; + The neighbours will know of my black disgrace. + + My sister's buried three years, come Lent; + But sure we made far too much lament. + Beside her grave they still say a prayer-- + I wish to God 'twas myself was there! + + The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed; + To look at them puts me much in dread, + They mark the good time that's gone and past: + It's like this year's one will prove the last. + + The oldest cross it's a dusty brown, + But the winter winds didn't shake it down; + The newest cross keeps the colour bright; + When the straw was reaping my heart was light. + + The reapers rose with the blink of morn, + And gaily stook'd up the yellow corn; + To call them home to the field I'd run, + Through the blowing breeze and the summer sun. + + When the straw was weaving my heart was glad, + For neither sin nor shame I had, + In the barn where oat-chaff was flying round, + And the thumping flails made a pleasant sound. + + Now summer or winter to me it's one; + But oh! for a day like the time that's gone. + I'd little care was it storm or shine, + If I had but peace in this heart of mine. + + Oh! light and false is a young man's kiss, + And a foolish girl gives her soul for this. + Oh! light and short is the young man's blame, + And a helpless girl has the grief and shame. + + To the river-bank once I thought to go, + And cast myself in the stream below; + I thought 'twould carry us far out to sea, + Where they'd never find my poor babe and me. + + Sweet Lord, forgive me that wicked mind! + You know I used to be well-inclined. + Oh, take compassion upon my state, + Because my trouble is so very great. + + My head turns round with the spinning wheel, + And a heavy cloud on my eyes I feel. + But the worst of all is at my heart's core; + For my innocent days will come back no more. + + + + +THE NOBLEMAN'S WEDDING + + + I once was a guest at a Nobleman's wedding; + Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been kind, + And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the shedding + Her former true lover still runs in her mind. + + Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover + Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings; + And there among strangers, his grief to discover, + A fair maiden's falsehood he bitterly sings. + + 'Now here is the token of gold that was broken; + Seven long years it was kept for your sake; + You gave it to me as a true lover's token; + No longer I'll wear it, asleep or awake.' + + She sat in her place by the head of the table, + The words of his ditty she mark'd them right well: + To sit any longer this bride was not able, + So down at the bridegroom's feet she fell. + + 'O one, one request, my lord, one and no other, + O this one request will you grant it to me? + To lie for this night in the arms of my mother, + And ever, and ever thereafter with thee.' + + Her one, one request it was granted her fairly; + Pale were her cheeks as she went up to bed; + And the very next morning, early, early, + They rose and they found this young bride was dead. + + The bridegroom ran quickly, he held her, he kiss'd her, + He spoke loud and low, and listen'd full fain; + He call'd on her waiting-maids round to assist her + But nothing could bring the lost breath back again. + + O carry her softly! the grave is made ready; + At head and at foot plant a laurel-bush green; + For she was a young and a sweet noble lady, + The fairest young bride that I ever have seen. + + + + +KATE O' BELASHANNY + + + Seek up and down, both fair and brown, + We've purty lasses many, O; + But brown or fair, one girl most rare, + The Flow'r o' Belashanny, O. + As straight is she as poplar-tree + (Tho' not as aisy shaken, O,) + And walks so proud among the crowd, + For queen she might be taken, O. + From top to toe, where'er you go, + The loveliest girl of any, O,-- + Ochone! your mind I find unkind, + Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + One summer day the banks were gay, + The Erne in sunshine glancin' there, + The big cascade its music play'd + And set the salmon dancin' there. + Along the green my Joy was seen; + Some goddess bright I thought her there; + The fishes, too, swam close, to view + Her image in the water there. + From top to toe, where'er you go, + The loveliest girl of any, O,-- + Ochone! your mind I find unkind, + Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + My dear, give ear!--the river's near, + And if you think I'm shammin' now, + To end my grief I'll seek relief + Among the trout and salmon, now; + For shrimps and sharks to make their marks, + And other watery vermin there; + Unless a mermaid saves my life,-- + My wife, and me her merman there. + From top to toe, where'er you go, + The loveliest girl of any, O,-- + Mavrone! your mind I find unkind, + Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + 'Tis all in vain that I complain; + No use to coax or chide her there; + As far away from me as Spain, + Although I stand beside her there. + O cruel Kate! since that's my fate, + I'll look for love no more in you; + The seagull's screech as soon would reach + Your heart, as me implorin' you. + Tho' fair you are, and rare you are, + The loveliest flow'r of any, O,-- + Too proud and high,--good-bye, say I, + To Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + + + +FOUR DUCKS ON A POND + + + Four ducks on a pond, + A grass-bank beyond, + A blue sky of spring, + White clouds on the wing; + What a little thing + To remember for years-- + To remember with tears! + + + + +ĈOLIAN HARP + + + What is it that is gone, we fancied ours? + Oh what is lost that never may be told?-- + We stray all afternoon, and we may grieve + Until the perfect closing of the night. + Listen to us, thou gray Autumnal Eve, + Whose part is silence. At thy verge the clouds + Are broken into melancholy gold; + The waifs of Autumn and the feeble flow'rs + Glimmer along our woodlands in wet light; + Within thy shadow thou dost weave the shrouds + Of joy and great adventure, waxing cold, + Which once, or so it seemed, were full of might. + Some power it was, that lives not with us now, + A thought we had, but could not, could not hold. + O sweetly, swiftly pass'd:--air sings and murmurs; + Green leaves are gathering on the dewy bough; + O sadly, swiftly pass'd:--air sighs and mutters; + Red leaves are dropping on the rainy mould. + Then comes the snow, unfeatured, vast, and white. + O what is gone from us, we fancied ours?-- + + + + +THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE + + + When the spinning-room was here + Came Three Damsels, clothed in white, + With their spindles every night; + One and Two and three fair Maidens, + Spinning to a pulsing cadence, + Singing songs of Elfin-Mere; + Till the eleventh hour was toll'd, + Then departed through the wold. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + Three white Lilies, calm and clear, + And they were loved by every one; + Most of all, the Pastor's Son, + Listening to their gentle singing, + Felt his heart go from him, clinging + Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere. + Sued each night to make them stay, + Sadden'd when they went away. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + Hands that shook with love and fear + Dared put back the village clock,-- + Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock, + Flow'd the song with subtle rounding, + Till the false 'eleven' was sounding; + Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere + Swiftly, softly, left the room, + Like three doves on snowy plume. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + One that night who wander'd near + Heard lamentings by the shore, + Saw at dawn three stains of gore + In the waters fade and dwindle. + Never more with song and spindle + Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere, + The Pastor's Son did pine and die; + Because true love should never lie. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + + + +TWILIGHT VOICES + + + Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals + Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere, + Heaven and Hell from invisible portals + Breathing comfort and ghastly fear, + Voices I hear; + I hear strange voices, flitting, calling, + Wavering by on the dusky blast,-- + 'Come, let us go, for the night is falling; + Come, let us go, for the day is past!' + + Troops of joys are they, now departed? + Winged hopes that no longer stay? + Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted? + Powers that have linger'd their latest day? + What do they say? + What do they sing? I hear them calling, + Whispering, gathering, flying fast,-- + 'Come, come, for the night is falling; + Come, come, for the day is past!' + + Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted; + Mortal, thy sands of life run low; + Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted: + Time is ending;--we go, we go.' + Sing they so? + Mystical voices, floating, calling; + Dim farewells--the last, the last? + Come, come away, the night is falling; + 'Come, come away, the day is past.' + + See, I am ready, Twilight voices! + Child of the spirit-world am I; + How should I fear you? my soul rejoices, + O speak plainer! O draw nigh! + Fain would I fly! + Tell me your message, Ye who are calling + Out of the dimness vague and vast; + Lift me, take me,--the night is falling; + Quick, let us go,--the day is past. + + + + +THE LOVER AND BIRDS + + + Within a budding grove, + In April's ear sang every bird his best, + But not a song to pleasure my unrest, + Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love; + Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest. + To every word + Of every bird + I listen'd, and replied as it behove. + + Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet! + Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!' + 'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb awhile, in fear + Thy darling prove no better than a cheat, + And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.' + Yet from a twig, + With voice so big, + The little fowl his utterance did repeat. + + Then I, 'The man forlorn + Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.' + 'And what'll he do? What'll he do?' scoff'd + The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn, + Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft + With cackling laugh; + Whom I, being half + Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn. + + Worse mock'd the Thrush, 'Die! die! + Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay! + Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!' (went his lay.) + 'Take heed! take heed!' then 'Why? why? why? why? why? + See-ee now! see-ee now!' (he drawl'd) 'Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!' + O Thrush, be still! + Or at thy will, + Seek some less sad interpreter than I. + + 'Air, air! blue air and white! + Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!' + (Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea) + 'Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright, + Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see, + see!' + 'Gay Lark,' I said, + 'The song that's bred + In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.' + + 'There's something, something sad, + I half remember'--piped a broken strain. + Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again. + 'Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!' + Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad, + Till now, grown meek, + With wetted cheek, + Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had. + + + + +THE ABBOT OF INNISFALLEN + + + The Abbot of Innisfallen + awoke ere dawn of day; + Under the dewy green leaves + went he forth to pray. + The lake around his island + lay smooth and dark and deep, + And wrapt in a misty stillness + the mountains were all asleep. + Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac + when the dawn was dim and gray; + The prayers of his holy office + he faithfully 'gan say. + Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac + while the dawn was waxing red; + And for his sins' forgiveness + a solemn prayer he said: + Low kneel'd that holy Abbot + while the dawn was waxing clear; + And he pray'd with loving-kindness + for his convent-brethren dear. + Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot + while the dawn was waxing bright; + He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, + he pray'd with all his might. + Low kneel'd that good old Father + while the sun began to dart; + He pray'd a prayer for all men, + he pray'd it from his heart. + His blissful soul was in Heaven, + tho' a breathing man was he; + He was out of time's dominion, + so far as the living may be. + + The Abbot of Innisfallen + arose upon his feet; + He heard a small bird singing, + and O but it sung sweet! + It sung upon a holly-bush, + this little snow-white bird; + A song so full of gladness + he never before had heard. + It sung upon a hazel, + it sung upon a thorn; + He had never heard such music + since the hour that he was born. + It sung upon a sycamore, + it sung upon a briar; + To follow the song and hearken + this Abbot could never tire. + Till at last he well bethought him; + he might no longer stay; + So he bless'd the little white singing-bird, + and gladly went his way. + + But, when he came to his Abbey, + he found a wondrous change; + He saw no friendly faces there, + for every face was strange. + The strange men spoke unto him; + and he heard from all and each + The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, + not wholesome Irish speech. + Then the oldest monk came forward, + in Irish tongue spake he: + 'Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, + and who hath given it to thee?' + 'I wear the Augustine's dress, + and Cormac is my name, + The Abbot of this good Abbey + by grace of God I am. + I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; + and when my prayers were said, + I hearken'd awhile to a little bird, + that sung above my head.' + The monks to him made answer, + 'Two hundred years have gone o'er, + Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, + and never was heard of more. + Matthias now is our Abbot, + and twenty have pass'd away. + The stranger is lord of Ireland; + we live in an evil day.' + 'Days will come and go,' he said, + 'and the world will pass away, + In Heaven a day is a thousand years, + a thousand years are a day.' + 'Now give me absolution; + for my time is come,' said he. + And they gave him absolution, + as speedily as might be. + Then, close outside the window, + the sweetest song they heard + That ever yet since the world began + was utter'd by any bird. + The monks look'd out and saw the bird, + its feathers all white and clean; + And there in a moment, beside it, + another white bird was seen. + Those two they sang together, + waved their white wings, and fled; + Flew aloft, and vanish'd; + but the good old man was dead. + They buried his blessed body + where lake and green-sward meet; + A carven cross above his head, + a holly-bush at his feet; + Where spreads the beautiful water + to gay or cloudy skies, + And the purple peaks of Killarney + from ancient woods arise. + + + + +THE RUINED CHAPEL + + + By the shore, a plot of ground + Clips a ruin'd chapel round, + Buttress'd with a grassy mound; + Where Day and Night and Day go by, + And bring no touch of human sound. + + Washing of the lonely seas, + Shaking of the guardian trees, + Piping of the salted breeze; + Day and Night and Day go by + To the endless tune of these. + + Or when, as winds and waters keep + A hush more dead than any sleep, + Still morns to stiller evenings creep, + And Day and Night and Day go by; + Here the silence is most deep. + + The empty ruins, lapsed again + Into Nature's wide domain, + Sow themselves with seed and grain + As Day and Night and Day go by; + And hoard June's sun and April's rain. + + Here fresh funeral tears were shed; + Now the graves are also dead; + And suckers from the ash-tree spread, + While Day and Night and Day go by; + And stars move calmly overhead. + + + + +Here end sixteen poems, written by William Allingham, and +selected for re-printing by William Butler Yeats. Printed +upon paper made in Ireland, and published by Elizabeth Corbet +Yeats at the Dun Emer Press, in the house of Evelyn Gleeson +at Dundrum, in the county of Dublin, Ireland, finished on the +fifteenth day of September, in the year 1905. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sixteen Poems, by William Allingham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 16839-8.txt or 16839-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/8/3/16839/ + +Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sixteen Poems + +Author: William Allingham + +Release Date: October 9, 2005 [EBook #16839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + +<h1>SIXTEEN POEMS BY WILLIAM<br /> +ALLINGHAM: SELECTED BY<br /> +WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS</h1> + + + + + +<h2> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +THE DUN EMER PRESS<br /> +DUNDRUM<br /> +MCMV +</h2> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> +<table summary="This table helps format the book's table of contents"> + +<tr><td></td><td><span class="toc">Page</span></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#LET_ME_SING_OF_WHAT_I_KNOW"><span class="toc">Let Me Sing of What I Know</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_WINDING_BANKS_OF_ERNE"><span class="toc">The Winding Banks of Erne</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#ABBEY_ASAROE"><span class="toc">Abbey Asaroe</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_7">7</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#A_DREAM"><span class="toc">A Dream</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_10">10</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_FAIRIES"><span class="toc">The Fairies</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_12">12</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_LEPRACAUN_OR_FAIRY_SHOEMAKER"><span class="toc">The Lepracaun or Fairy Shoemaker</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_14">14</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_GIRLS_LAMENTATION"><span class="toc">The Girl's Lamentation</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_17">17</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_NOBLEMANS_WEDDING"><span class="toc">The Nobleman's Wedding</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_20">20</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#KATE_O_BELASHANNY"><span class="toc">Kate O' Belashanny</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_22">22</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#FOUR_DUCKS_ON_A_POND"><span class="toc">Four Ducks on a Pond</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#AEOLIAN_HARP"><span class="toc">Æolian Harp</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_24">24</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_MAIDS_OF_ELFIN-MERE"><span class="toc">The Maids of Elfin-mere</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_25">25</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#TWILIGHT_VOICES"><span class="toc">Twilight Voices</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_26">26</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_LOVER_AND_BIRDS"><span class="toc">The Lover and Birds</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_28">28</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_ABBOT_OF_INNISFALLEN"><span class="toc">The Abbot of Innisfallen</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_30">30</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#THE_RUINED_CHAPEL"><span class="toc">The Ruined Chapel</span></a></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> +</table> + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1"></a>[1]</span></p> +<h2><a name="LET_ME_SING_OF_WHAT_I_KNOW" id="LET_ME_SING_OF_WHAT_I_KNOW"></a>LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOW</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">A wild west Coast, a little Town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where little Folk go up and down,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tides flow and winds blow:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Night and Tempest and the Sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Human Will and Human Fate:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What is little, what is great?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Howsoe'er the answer be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Let me sing of what I know.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WINDING_BANKS_OF_ERNE" id="THE_WINDING_BANKS_OF_ERNE"></a>THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Adieu to Belashanny!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where I was bred and born;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Go where I may, I'll think of you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">as sure as night and morn.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The kindly spot, the friendly town,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where every one is known,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And not a face in all the place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">but partly seems my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">There's not a house or window,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">there's not a field or hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But, east or west, in foreign lands,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I'll recollect them still.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I leave my warm heart with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">tho' my back I'm forced to turn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu to Belashanny,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2"></a>[2]</span><span class="i0">No more on pleasant evenings<br /></span> +<span class="i2">we'll saunter down the Mall,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the trout is rising to the fly,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the salmon to the fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boat comes straining on her net,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and heavily she creeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cast off, cast off—she feels the oars,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and to her berth she sweeps;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now fore and aft keep hauling,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and gathering up the clew,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till a silver wave of salmon<br /></span> +<span class="i2">rolls in among the crew.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and many a joke and 'yarn';—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu to Belashanny,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The music of the waterfall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the mirror of the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When all the green-hill'd harbour<br /></span> +<span class="i2">is full from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Portnasun to Bulliebawns,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and round the Abbey Bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From rocky Inis Saimer<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to Coolnargit sandhills gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While far upon the southern line,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to guard it like a wall,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3"></a>[3]</span> +<span class="i0">The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue<br /></span> +<span class="i2">gaze calmly over all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And watch the ship sail up or down,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the red flag at her stern;—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu to these, adieu to all<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell to you, Kildoney lads,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and them that pull an oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A lug-sail set, or haul a net,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">from the Point to Mullaghmore;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">that ocean-mountain steep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Six hundred yards in air aloft,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">six hundred in the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and round by Tullen strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Level and long, and white with waves,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where gull and curlew stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Head out to sea when on your lee<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the breakers you discern!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu to all the billowy coast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell, Coolmore,—Bundoran! and<br /></span> +<span class="i2">your summer crowds that run<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4"></a>[4]</span> +<span class="i0">From inland homes to see with joy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">th' Atlantic-setting sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To breathe the buoyant salted air,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and sport among the waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To gather shells on sandy beach,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and tempt the gloomy caves;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To watch the flowing, ebbing tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the boats, the crabs, the fish;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young men and maids to meet and smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and form a tender wish;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sick and old in search of health,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">for all things have their turn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I must quit my native shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell to every white cascade<br /></span> +<span class="i2">from the Harbour to Belleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And every pool where fins may rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and ivy-shaded creek;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The sloping fields, the lofty rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where ash and holly grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The one split yew-tree gazing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">on the curving flood below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Lough, that winds through islands<br /></span> +<span class="i2">under Turaw mountain green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Castle Caldwell's stretching woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">with tranquil bays between;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5"></a>[5]</span> +<span class="i0">And Breesie Hill, and many a pond<br /></span> +<span class="i2">among the heath and fern,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For I must say adieu—adieu<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The thrush will call through Camlin groves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the live-long summer day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waters run by mossy cliff,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and banks with wild flowers gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The girls will bring their work and sing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">beneath a twisted thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or stray with sweethearts down the path<br /></span> +<span class="i2">among the growing corn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the river-side they go,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where I have often been,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, never shall I see again<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the happy days I've seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thousand chances are to one<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never may return,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu to Belashanny,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Adieu to evening dances,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">when merry neighbours meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the fiddle says to boys and girls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Get up and shake your feet!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To 'seanachas' and wise old talk<br /></span> +<span class="i2">of Erin's days gone by—<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6"></a>[6]</span> +<span class="i0">Who trench'd the rath on such a hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and where the bones may lie<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of saint, or king, or warrior chief;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">with tales of fairy power,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And tender ditties sweetly sung<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to pass the twilight hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The mournful song of exile<br /></span> +<span class="i2">is now for me to learn—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Adieu, my dear companions<br /></span> +<span class="i2">on the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now measure from the Commons down<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to each end of the Purt,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round the Abbey, Moy, and Knather,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I wish no one any hurt;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Main Street, Back Street, College Lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the Mall, and Portnasun,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If any foes of mine are there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I pardon every one.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hope that man and womankind<br /></span> +<span class="i2">will do the same by me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my heart is sore and heavy<br /></span> +<span class="i2">at voyaging the sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My loving friends I'll bear in mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and often fondly turn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To think of Belashanny,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and the winding banks of Erne.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7"></a>[7]</span><span class="i0">If ever I'm a money'd man,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I mean, please God, to cast<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My golden anchor in the place<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where youthful years were pass'd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Though heads that now are black and brown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">must meanwhile gather gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">New faces rise by every hearth,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and old ones drop away—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet dearer still that Irish hill<br /></span> +<span class="i2">than all the world beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam<br /></span> +<span class="i2">through lands and waters wide.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if the Lord allows me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I surely will return<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To my native Belashanny,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and the winding banks of Erne.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="ABBEY_ASAROE" id="ABBEY_ASAROE"></a>ABBEY ASAROE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Gray, gray is Abbey Asaroe,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">by Belashanny town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It has neither door nor window,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the walls are broken down;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The carven-stones lie scatter'd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">in briar and nettle-bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The only feet are those that come<br /></span> +<span class="i2">at burial of the dead.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8"></a>[8]</span> +<span class="i0">A little rocky rivulet<br /></span> +<span class="i2">runs murmuring to the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing a song of ancient days,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">in sorrow, not in pride;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The boortree and the lightsome ash<br /></span> +<span class="i2">across the portal grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And heaven itself is now the roof<br /></span> +<span class="i2">of Abbey Asaroe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">It looks beyond the harbour-stream<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to Gulban mountain blue;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It hears the voice of Erna's fall,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Atlantic breakers too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High ships go sailing past it;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the sturdy clank of oars<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Brings in the salmon-boat to haul<br /></span> +<span class="i2">a net upon the shores;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And this way to his home-creek,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">when the summer day is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Slow sculls the weary fisherman<br /></span> +<span class="i2">across the setting sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While green with corn is Sheegus Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">his cottage white below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But gray at every season<br /></span> +<span class="i2">is Abbey Asaroe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There stood one day a poor old man<br /></span> +<span class="i2">above its broken bridge;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9"></a>[9]</span> +<span class="i0">He heard no running rivulet,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he saw no mountain-ridge;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He turn'd his back on Sheegus Hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and view'd with misty sight<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Abbey walls, the burial-ground<br /></span> +<span class="i2">with crosses ghostly white;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under a weary weight of years<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he bow'd upon his staff,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Perusing in the present time<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the former's epitaph;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For, gray and wasted like the walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">a figure full of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This man was of the blood of them<br /></span> +<span class="i2">who founded Asaroe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From Derry to Bundrowas Tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tirconnell broad was theirs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spearmen and plunder, bards and wine,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and holy abbot's prayers;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With chanting always in the house<br /></span> +<span class="i2">which they had builded high<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To God and to Saint Bernard,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where at last they came to die.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At worst, no workhouse grave for him!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the ruins of his race<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shall rest among the ruin'd stones<br /></span> +<span class="i2">of this their saintly place.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10"></a>[10]</span> +<span class="i0">The fond old man was weeping;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and tremulous and slow<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the rough and crooked lane<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he crept from Asaroe.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="A_DREAM" id="A_DREAM"></a>A DREAM</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I went to the window to see the sight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the Dead that ever I knew<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Going one by one and two by two.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On they pass'd, and on they pass'd;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Townsfellows all, from first to last;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Born in the moonlight of the lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At soldiers once—but now more staid;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those were the strangest sight to me<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some but a day in their churchyard bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some that I had not known were dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11"></a>[11]</span><span class="i0">A long, long crowd—where each seem'd lonely,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Yet of them all there was one, one only,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Raised a head or look'd my way:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She linger'd a moment—she might not stay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">How long since I saw that fair pale face!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ah! Mother dear! might I only place<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On, on, a moving bridge they made<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Young and old, women and men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Many long-forgot, but remember'd then.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And first there came a bitter laughter;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A sound of tears the moment after;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And then a music so lofty and gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That every morning, day by day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I strive to recall it if I may.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12"></a>[12]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_FAIRIES" id="THE_FAIRIES"></a>THE FAIRIES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up the airy mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the rushy glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We daren't go a-hunting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fear of little men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wee folk, good folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trooping all together;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green jacket, red cap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white owl's feather!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down along the rocky shore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some make their home,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They live on crispy pancakes<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of yellow tide-foam;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some in the reeds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the black mountain lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With frogs for their watch-dogs,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All night awake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">High on the hill-top<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The old King sits;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He is now so old and gray<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He's nigh lost his wits.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With a bridge of white mist<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Columbkill he crosses,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On his stately journeys<br /></span> +<span class="i0">From Slieveleague to Rosses;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or going up with music<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13"></a>[13]</span> +<span class="i0">On cold starry nights,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sup with the Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of the gay Northern Lights.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They stole little Bridget<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For seven years long;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When she came down again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her friends were all gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They took her lightly back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Between the night and morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They thought that she was fast asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But she was dead with sorrow.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They have kept her ever since<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Deep within the lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On a bed of flag-leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Watching till she wake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the craggy hill-side,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the mosses bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They have planted thorn-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For pleasure here and there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Is any man so daring<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As dig them up in spite,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He shall find their sharpest thorns<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In his bed at night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Up the airy mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Down the rushy glen,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14"></a>[14]</span> +<span class="i0">We daren't go a-hunting<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For fear of little men;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wee folk, good folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Trooping all together;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green jacket, red cap,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And white owl's feather!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LEPRACAUN_OR_FAIRY_SHOEMAKER" id="THE_LEPRACAUN_OR_FAIRY_SHOEMAKER"></a>THE LEPRACAUN <br /> +OR FAIRY SHOEMAKER</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Little Cowboy, what have you heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Up on the lonely rath's green mound?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the plaintive yellow bird<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sighing in sultry fields around,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Only the grasshopper and the bee?—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Tip-tap, rip-rap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tick-a-tack-too!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Scarlet leather, sewn together,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This will make a shoe.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Left, right, pull it tight;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Summer days are warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Underground in winter,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Laughing at the storm!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lay your ear close to the hill.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Do you not catch the tiny clamour,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Busy click of an elfin hammer,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15"></a>[15]</span> +<span class="i0">As he merrily plies his trade?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He's a span<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And a quarter in height.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Get him in sight, hold him tight,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And you're a made<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Man!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">You watch your cattle the summer day,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">How would you like to roll in your carriage,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Look for a duchess's daughter in marriage?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seize the Shoemaker—then you may!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Big boots a-hunting,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Sandals in the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">White for a wedding-feast,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pink for a ball.<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This way, that way,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">So we make a shoe;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Getting rich every stitch,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tick-tack-too!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks<br /></span> +<span class="i0">This keen miser-fairy hath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And where the cormorants build;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">From times of old<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Guarded by him;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16"></a>[16]</span> +<span class="i2">Each of them fill'd<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Full to the brim<br /></span> +<span class="i4">With gold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I caught him at work one day, myself,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the castle-ditch where foxglove grows,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Silver buckles to his hose,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Leather apron—shoe in his lap—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Rip-rap, tip-tap,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Tick-tack-too!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">(A grasshopper on my cap!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Away the moth flew!)<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Buskins for a fairy prince,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Brogues for his son,—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Pay me well, pay me well,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">When the job is done!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I stared at him; he stared at me;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Servant, Sir!' 'Humph!' says he,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And pull'd a snuff-box out.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The queer little Lepracaun;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And while I sneezed,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Was gone!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17"></a>[17]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_GIRLS_LAMENTATION" id="THE_GIRLS_LAMENTATION"></a>THE GIRL'S LAMENTATION</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">With grief and mourning I sit to spin;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Love passed by, and he didn't come in;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He passes by me, both day and night,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And carries off my poor heart's delight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">There is a tavern in yonder town,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My Love goes there and he spends a crown;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He takes a strange girl upon his knee,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never more gives a thought to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Says he, 'We'll wed without loss of time,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And sure our love's but a little crime;'—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My apron-string now it's wearing short,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And my Love he seeks other girls to court.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O with him I'd go if I had my will,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd follow him barefoot o'er rock and hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd never once speak of all my grief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If he'd give me a smile for my heart's relief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">In our wee garden the rose unfolds,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With bachelor's-buttons and marigolds;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll tie no posies for dance or fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A willow-twig is for me to wear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18"></a>[18]</span><span class="i0">For a maid again I can never be,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the red rose blooms on the willow tree.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of such a trouble I've heard them tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now I know what it means full well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As through the long lonesome night I lie,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd give the world if I might but cry;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I mus'n't moan there or raise my voice,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tears run down without any noise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">And what, O what will my mother say?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">She'll wish her daughter was in the clay.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My father will curse me to my face;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The neighbours will know of my black disgrace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My sister's buried three years, come Lent;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But sure we made far too much lament.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Beside her grave they still say a prayer—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I wish to God 'twas myself was there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To look at them puts me much in dread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They mark the good time that's gone and past:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It's like this year's one will prove the last.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The oldest cross it's a dusty brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the winter winds didn't shake it down;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19"></a>[19]</span> +<span class="i0">The newest cross keeps the colour bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When the straw was reaping my heart was light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The reapers rose with the blink of morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And gaily stook'd up the yellow corn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To call them home to the field I'd run,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through the blowing breeze and the summer sun.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the straw was weaving my heart was glad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For neither sin nor shame I had,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the barn where oat-chaff was flying round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the thumping flails made a pleasant sound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now summer or winter to me it's one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But oh! for a day like the time that's gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'd little care was it storm or shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">If I had but peace in this heart of mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Oh! light and false is a young man's kiss,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a foolish girl gives her soul for this.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh! light and short is the young man's blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a helpless girl has the grief and shame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">To the river-bank once I thought to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And cast myself in the stream below;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I thought 'twould carry us far out to sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where they'd never find my poor babe and me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20"></a>[20]</span><span class="i0">Sweet Lord, forgive me that wicked mind!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You know I used to be well-inclined.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, take compassion upon my state,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because my trouble is so very great.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My head turns round with the spinning wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And a heavy cloud on my eyes I feel.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But the worst of all is at my heart's core;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For my innocent days will come back no more.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_NOBLEMANS_WEDDING" id="THE_NOBLEMANS_WEDDING"></a>THE NOBLEMAN'S WEDDING</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I once was a guest at a Nobleman's wedding;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the shedding<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her former true lover still runs in her mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And there among strangers, his grief to discover,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A fair maiden's falsehood he bitterly sings.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Now here is the token of gold that was broken;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Seven long years it was kept for your sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You gave it to me as a true lover's token;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No longer I'll wear it, asleep or awake.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21"></a>[21]</span><span class="i0">She sat in her place by the head of the table,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The words of his ditty she mark'd them right well:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To sit any longer this bride was not able,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So down at the bridegroom's feet she fell.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'O one, one request, my lord, one and no other,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O this one request will you grant it to me?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To lie for this night in the arms of my mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And ever, and ever thereafter with thee.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Her one, one request it was granted her fairly;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pale were her cheeks as she went up to bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the very next morning, early, early,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They rose and they found this young bride was dead.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The bridegroom ran quickly, he held her, he kiss'd her,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He spoke loud and low, and listen'd full fain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He call'd on her waiting-maids round to assist her<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But nothing could bring the lost breath back again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O carry her softly! the grave is made ready;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">At head and at foot plant a laurel-bush green;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For she was a young and a sweet noble lady,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fairest young bride that I ever have seen.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></a>[22]</span></p> +<h2><a name="KATE_O_BELASHANNY" id="KATE_O_BELASHANNY"></a>KATE O' BELASHANNY</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seek up and down, both fair and brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We've purty lasses many, O;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But brown or fair, one girl most rare,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Flow'r o' Belashanny, O.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As straight is she as poplar-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Tho' not as aisy shaken, O,)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And walks so proud among the crowd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For queen she might be taken, O.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From top to toe, where'er you go,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The loveliest girl of any, O,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ochone! your mind I find unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One summer day the banks were gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Erne in sunshine glancin' there,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The big cascade its music play'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And set the salmon dancin' there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Along the green my Joy was seen;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some goddess bright I thought her there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The fishes, too, swam close, to view<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Her image in the water there.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From top to toe, where'er you go,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The loveliest girl of any, O,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Ochone! your mind I find unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></a>[23]</span><span class="i0">My dear, give ear!—the river's near,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And if you think I'm shammin' now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To end my grief I'll seek relief<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Among the trout and salmon, now;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">For shrimps and sharks to make their marks,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And other watery vermin there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Unless a mermaid saves my life,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My wife, and me her merman there.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">From top to toe, where'er you go,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The loveliest girl of any, O,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Mavrone! your mind I find unkind,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Tis all in vain that I complain;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">No use to coax or chide her there;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As far away from me as Spain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Although I stand beside her there.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O cruel Kate! since that's my fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I'll look for love no more in you;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The seagull's screech as soon would reach<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Your heart, as me implorin' you.<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Tho' fair you are, and rare you are,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">The loveliest flow'r of any, O,—<br /></span> +<span class="i4">Too proud and high,—good-bye, say I,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">To Kate o' Belashanny, O!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></a>[24]</span></p> +<h2><a name="FOUR_DUCKS_ON_A_POND" id="FOUR_DUCKS_ON_A_POND"></a>FOUR DUCKS ON A POND</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Four ducks on a pond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A grass-bank beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A blue sky of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">White clouds on the wing;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What a little thing<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To remember for years—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To remember with tears!<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="AEOLIAN_HARP" id="AEOLIAN_HARP"></a>ÆOLIAN HARP</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">What is it that is gone, we fancied ours?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh what is lost that never may be told?—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">We stray all afternoon, and we may grieve<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Until the perfect closing of the night.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listen to us, thou gray Autumnal Eve,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whose part is silence. At thy verge the clouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Are broken into melancholy gold;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The waifs of Autumn and the feeble flow'rs<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Glimmer along our woodlands in wet light;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Within thy shadow thou dost weave the shrouds<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Of joy and great adventure, waxing cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which once, or so it seemed, were full of might.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some power it was, that lives not with us now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A thought we had, but could not, could not hold.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sweetly, swiftly pass'd:—air sings and murmurs;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Green leaves are gathering on the dewy bough;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O sadly, swiftly pass'd:—air sighs and mutters;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></a>[25]</span> +<span class="i0">Red leaves are dropping on the rainy mould.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then comes the snow, unfeatured, vast, and white.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O what is gone from us, we fancied ours?—<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MAIDS_OF_ELFIN-MERE" id="THE_MAIDS_OF_ELFIN-MERE"></a>THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When the spinning-room was here<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Came Three Damsels, clothed in white,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their spindles every night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">One and Two and three fair Maidens,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Spinning to a pulsing cadence,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Singing songs of Elfin-Mere;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the eleventh hour was toll'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then departed through the wold.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Years ago, and years ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Three white Lilies, calm and clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they were loved by every one;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Most of all, the Pastor's Son,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Listening to their gentle singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Felt his heart go from him, clinging<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sued each night to make them stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sadden'd when they went away.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Years ago, and years ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26"></a>[26]</span><span class="i0">Hands that shook with love and fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dared put back the village clock,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flow'd the song with subtle rounding,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till the false 'eleven' was sounding;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Swiftly, softly, left the room,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Like three doves on snowy plume.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Years ago, and years ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">One that night who wander'd near<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heard lamentings by the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw at dawn three stains of gore<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the waters fade and dwindle.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Never more with song and spindle<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Pastor's Son did pine and die;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Because true love should never lie.<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Years ago, and years ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="TWILIGHT_VOICES" id="TWILIGHT_VOICES"></a>TWILIGHT VOICES</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Heaven and Hell from invisible portals<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Breathing comfort and ghastly fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Voices I hear;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27"></a>[27]</span> +<span class="i0">I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Wavering by on the dusky blast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, let us go, for the day is past!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Troops of joys are they, now departed?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Winged hopes that no longer stay?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Powers that have linger'd their latest day?<br /></span> +<span class="i6">What do they say?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">What do they sing? I hear them calling,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whispering, gathering, flying fast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Come, come, for the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, come, for the day is past!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Sing they to me?—'Thy taper's wasted;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mortal, thy sands of life run low;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Time is ending;—we go, we go.'<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Sing they so?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Mystical voices, floating, calling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Dim farewells—the last, the last?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Come, come away, the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Come, come away, the day is past.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">See, I am ready, Twilight voices!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Child of the spirit-world am I;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></a>[28]</span> +<span class="i0">How should I fear you? my soul rejoices,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">O speak plainer! O draw nigh!<br /></span> +<span class="i6">Fain would I fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Tell me your message, Ye who are calling<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Out of the dimness vague and vast;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Lift me, take me,—the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Quick, let us go,—the day is past.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LOVER_AND_BIRDS" id="THE_LOVER_AND_BIRDS"></a>THE LOVER AND BIRDS</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Within a budding grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In April's ear sang every bird his best,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But not a song to pleasure my unrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.<br /></span> +<span class="i12">To every word<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Of every bird<br /></span> +<span class="i8">I listen'd, and replied as it behove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb awhile, in fear<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.'<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Yet from a twig,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">With voice so big,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">The little fowl his utterance did repeat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></a>[29]</span><span class="i8">Then I, 'The man forlorn<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'And what'll he do? What'll he do?' scoff'd<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft<br /></span> +<span class="i12">With cackling laugh;<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Whom I, being half<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">Worse mock'd the Thrush, 'Die! die!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!' (went his lay.)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Take heed! take heed!' then 'Why? why? why? why? why?<br /></span> +<span class="i0">See-ee now! see-ee now!' (he drawl'd) 'Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!'<br /></span> +<span class="i12">O Thrush, be still!<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Or at thy will,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Seek some less sad interpreter than I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">'Air, air! blue air and white!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">(Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea)<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see, see!'<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></a>[30]</span> +<span class="i12">'Gay Lark,' I said,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">'The song that's bred<br /></span> +<span class="i8">In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i8">'There's something, something sad,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I half remember'—piped a broken strain.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">Till now, grown meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i12">With wetted cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_ABBOT_OF_INNISFALLEN" id="THE_ABBOT_OF_INNISFALLEN"></a>THE ABBOT OF INNISFALLEN</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Abbot of Innisfallen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">awoke ere dawn of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Under the dewy green leaves<br /></span> +<span class="i2">went he forth to pray.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The lake around his island<br /></span> +<span class="i2">lay smooth and dark and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And wrapt in a misty stillness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the mountains were all asleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac<br /></span> +<span class="i2">when the dawn was dim and gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The prayers of his holy office<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he faithfully 'gan say.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac<br /></span> +<span class="i2">while the dawn was waxing red;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></a>[31]</span> +<span class="i0">And for his sins' forgiveness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">a solemn prayer he said:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low kneel'd that holy Abbot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">while the dawn was waxing clear;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And he pray'd with loving-kindness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">for his convent-brethren dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot<br /></span> +<span class="i2">while the dawn was waxing bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he pray'd with all his might.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Low kneel'd that good old Father<br /></span> +<span class="i2">while the sun began to dart;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He pray'd a prayer for all men,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he pray'd it from his heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">His blissful soul was in Heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">tho' a breathing man was he;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He was out of time's dominion,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">so far as the living may be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The Abbot of Innisfallen<br /></span> +<span class="i2">arose upon his feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He heard a small bird singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and O but it sung sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It sung upon a holly-bush,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">this little snow-white bird;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A song so full of gladness<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he never before had heard.<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></a>[32]</span> +<span class="i0">It sung upon a hazel,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">it sung upon a thorn;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He had never heard such music<br /></span> +<span class="i2">since the hour that he was born.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">It sung upon a sycamore,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">it sung upon a briar;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To follow the song and hearken<br /></span> +<span class="i2">this Abbot could never tire.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Till at last he well bethought him;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he might no longer stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So he bless'd the little white singing-bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and gladly went his way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">But, when he came to his Abbey,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">he found a wondrous change;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">He saw no friendly faces there,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">for every face was strange.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The strange men spoke unto him;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and he heard from all and each<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The foreign tongue of the Sassenach,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">not wholesome Irish speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then the oldest monk came forward,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">in Irish tongue spake he:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and who hath given it to thee?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'I wear the Augustine's dress,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and Cormac is my name,<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></a>[33]</span> +<span class="i0">The Abbot of this good Abbey<br /></span> +<span class="i2">by grace of God I am.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and when my prayers were said,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hearken'd awhile to a little bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">that sung above my head.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monks to him made answer,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Two hundred years have gone o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and never was heard of more.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Matthias now is our Abbot,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">and twenty have pass'd away.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The stranger is lord of Ireland;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">we live in an evil day.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Days will come and go,' he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'and the world will pass away,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In Heaven a day is a thousand years,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">a thousand years are a day.'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Now give me absolution;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">for my time is come,' said he.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And they gave him absolution,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">as speedily as might be.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Then, close outside the window,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">the sweetest song they heard<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That ever yet since the world began<br /></span> +<span class="i2">was utter'd by any bird.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The monks look'd out and saw the bird,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">its feathers all white and clean;<br /></span><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34"></a>[34]</span> +<span class="i0">And there in a moment, beside it,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">another white bird was seen.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Those two they sang together,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">waved their white wings, and fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Flew aloft, and vanish'd;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">but the good old man was dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They buried his blessed body<br /></span> +<span class="i2">where lake and green-sward meet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A carven cross above his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">a holly-bush at his feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where spreads the beautiful water<br /></span> +<span class="i2">to gay or cloudy skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And the purple peaks of Killarney<br /></span> +<span class="i2">from ancient woods arise.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RUINED_CHAPEL" id="THE_RUINED_CHAPEL"></a>THE RUINED CHAPEL</h2> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">By the shore, a plot of ground<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Clips a ruin'd chapel round,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Buttress'd with a grassy mound;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Where Day and Night and Day go by,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And bring no touch of human sound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Washing of the lonely seas,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shaking of the guardian trees,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Piping of the salted breeze;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Day and Night and Day go by<br /></span> +<span class="i0">To the endless tune of these.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35"></a>[35]</span><span class="i0">Or when, as winds and waters keep<br /></span> +<span class="i0">A hush more dead than any sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Still morns to stiller evenings creep,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And Day and Night and Day go by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Here the silence is most deep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The empty ruins, lapsed again<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Into Nature's wide domain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Sow themselves with seed and grain<br /></span> +<span class="i0">As Day and Night and Day go by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And hoard June's sun and April's rain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here fresh funeral tears were shed;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Now the graves are also dead;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And suckers from the ash-tree spread,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">While Day and Night and Day go by;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And stars move calmly overhead.<br /></span> +</div></div> + + + +<p class="endcomment"> +<br /><br /><br /><br /> +Here end sixteen poems, written by William Allingham, and +selected for re-printing by William Butler Yeats. Printed +upon paper made in Ireland, and published by Elizabeth Corbet +Yeats at the Dun Emer Press, in the house of Evelyn Gleeson +at Dundrum, in the county of Dublin, Ireland, finished on the +fifteenth day of September, in the year 1905. +</p> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sixteen Poems, by William Allingham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 16839-h.htm or 16839-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/8/3/16839/ + +Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Sixteen Poems + +Author: William Allingham + +Release Date: October 9, 2005 [EBook #16839] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + +SIXTEEN POEMS BY WILLIAM +ALLINGHAM: SELECTED BY +WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS + + + + +THE DUN EMER PRESS +DUNDRUM +MCMV + + + + +CONTENTS Page + +Let Me Sing of What I Know 1 +The Winding Banks of Erne 1 +Abbey Asaroe 7 +A Dream 10 +The Fairies 12 +The Lepracaun or Fairy Shoemaker 14 +The Girl's Lamentation 17 +The Nobleman's Wedding 20 +Kate O' Belashanny 22 +Four Ducks on a Pond 24 +AEolian Harp 24 +The Maids of Elfin Mere 25 +Twilight Voices 26 +The Lover and Birds 28 +The Abbot of Innisfallen 30 +The Ruined Chapel 34 + + + + +LET ME SING OF WHAT I KNOW + + + A wild west Coast, a little Town, + Where little Folk go up and down, + Tides flow and winds blow: + Night and Tempest and the Sea, + Human Will and Human Fate: + What is little, what is great? + Howsoe'er the answer be, + Let me sing of what I know. + + + + +THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE + + + Adieu to Belashanny! + where I was bred and born; + Go where I may, I'll think of you, + as sure as night and morn. + The kindly spot, the friendly town, + where every one is known, + And not a face in all the place + but partly seems my own; + There's not a house or window, + there's not a field or hill, + But, east or west, in foreign lands, + I'll recollect them still. + I leave my warm heart with you, + tho' my back I'm forced to turn-- + Adieu to Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + No more on pleasant evenings + we'll saunter down the Mall, + When the trout is rising to the fly, + the salmon to the fall. + The boat comes straining on her net, + and heavily she creeps, + Cast off, cast off--she feels the oars, + and to her berth she sweeps; + Now fore and aft keep hauling, + and gathering up the clew, + Till a silver wave of salmon + rolls in among the crew. + Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit, + and many a joke and 'yarn';-- + Adieu to Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + The music of the waterfall, + the mirror of the tide, + When all the green-hill'd harbour + is full from side to side, + From Portnasun to Bulliebawns, + and round the Abbey Bay, + From rocky Inis Saimer + to Coolnargit sandhills gray; + While far upon the southern line, + to guard it like a wall, + The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue + gaze calmly over all, + And watch the ship sail up or down, + the red flag at her stern;-- + Adieu to these, adieu to all + the winding banks of Erne! + + Farewell to you, Kildoney lads, + and them that pull an oar, + A lug-sail set, or haul a net, + from the Point to Mullaghmore; + From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League, + that ocean-mountain steep, + Six hundred yards in air aloft, + six hundred in the deep, + From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge, + and round by Tullen strand, + Level and long, and white with waves, + where gull and curlew stand; + Head out to sea when on your lee + the breakers you discern!-- + Adieu to all the billowy coast, + and winding banks of Erne! + + Farewell, Coolmore,--Bundoran! and + your summer crowds that run + From inland homes to see with joy + th' Atlantic-setting sun; + To breathe the buoyant salted air, + and sport among the waves; + To gather shells on sandy beach, + and tempt the gloomy caves; + To watch the flowing, ebbing tide, + the boats, the crabs, the fish; + Young men and maids to meet and smile, + and form a tender wish; + The sick and old in search of health, + for all things have their turn-- + And I must quit my native shore, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + Farewell to every white cascade + from the Harbour to Belleek, + And every pool where fins may rest, + and ivy-shaded creek; + The sloping fields, the lofty rocks, + where ash and holly grow, + The one split yew-tree gazing + on the curving flood below; + The Lough, that winds through islands + under Turaw mountain green; + And Castle Caldwell's stretching woods, + with tranquil bays between; + And Breesie Hill, and many a pond + among the heath and fern,-- + For I must say adieu--adieu + to the winding banks of Erne! + + The thrush will call through Camlin groves + the live-long summer day; + The waters run by mossy cliff, + and banks with wild flowers gay; + The girls will bring their work and sing + beneath a twisted thorn, + Or stray with sweethearts down the path + among the growing corn; + Along the river-side they go, + where I have often been, + Oh, never shall I see again + the happy days I've seen! + A thousand chances are to one + I never may return,-- + Adieu to Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne! + + Adieu to evening dances, + when merry neighbours meet, + And the fiddle says to boys and girls, + 'Get up and shake your feet!' + To 'seanachas' and wise old talk + of Erin's days gone by-- + Who trench'd the rath on such a hill, + and where the bones may lie + Of saint, or king, or warrior chief; + with tales of fairy power, + And tender ditties sweetly sung + to pass the twilight hour. + The mournful song of exile + is now for me to learn-- + Adieu, my dear companions + on the winding banks of Erne! + + Now measure from the Commons down + to each end of the Purt, + Round the Abbey, Moy, and Knather,-- + I wish no one any hurt; + The Main Street, Back Street, College Lane, + the Mall, and Portnasun, + If any foes of mine are there, + I pardon every one. + I hope that man and womankind + will do the same by me; + For my heart is sore and heavy + at voyaging the sea. + My loving friends I'll bear in mind, + and often fondly turn + To think of Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne. + + If ever I'm a money'd man, + I mean, please God, to cast + My golden anchor in the place + where youthful years were pass'd; + Though heads that now are black and brown + must meanwhile gather gray, + New faces rise by every hearth, + and old ones drop away-- + Yet dearer still that Irish hill + than all the world beside; + It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam + through lands and waters wide. + And if the Lord allows me, + I surely will return + To my native Belashanny, + and the winding banks of Erne. + + + + +ABBEY ASAROE + + + Gray, gray is Abbey Asaroe, + by Belashanny town, + It has neither door nor window, + the walls are broken down; + The carven-stones lie scatter'd + in briar and nettle-bed; + The only feet are those that come + at burial of the dead. + A little rocky rivulet + runs murmuring to the tide, + Singing a song of ancient days, + in sorrow, not in pride; + The boortree and the lightsome ash + across the portal grow, + And heaven itself is now the roof + of Abbey Asaroe. + + It looks beyond the harbour-stream + to Gulban mountain blue; + It hears the voice of Erna's fall,-- + Atlantic breakers too; + High ships go sailing past it; + the sturdy clank of oars + Brings in the salmon-boat to haul + a net upon the shores; + And this way to his home-creek, + when the summer day is done, + Slow sculls the weary fisherman + across the setting sun; + While green with corn is Sheegus Hill, + his cottage white below; + But gray at every season + is Abbey Asaroe. + + There stood one day a poor old man + above its broken bridge; + He heard no running rivulet, + he saw no mountain-ridge; + He turn'd his back on Sheegus Hill, + and view'd with misty sight + The Abbey walls, the burial-ground + with crosses ghostly white; + Under a weary weight of years + he bow'd upon his staff, + Perusing in the present time + the former's epitaph; + For, gray and wasted like the walls, + a figure full of woe, + This man was of the blood of them + who founded Asaroe. + + From Derry to Bundrowas Tower, + Tirconnell broad was theirs; + Spearmen and plunder, bards and wine, + and holy abbot's prayers; + With chanting always in the house + which they had builded high + To God and to Saint Bernard,-- + where at last they came to die. + At worst, no workhouse grave for him! + the ruins of his race + Shall rest among the ruin'd stones + of this their saintly place. + The fond old man was weeping; + and tremulous and slow + Along the rough and crooked lane + he crept from Asaroe. + + + + +A DREAM + + + I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night; + I went to the window to see the sight; + All the Dead that ever I knew + Going one by one and two by two. + + On they pass'd, and on they pass'd; + Townsfellows all, from first to last; + Born in the moonlight of the lane, + Quench'd in the heavy shadow again. + + Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd + At soldiers once--but now more staid; + Those were the strangest sight to me + Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea. + + Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too; + Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to; + Some but a day in their churchyard bed; + Some that I had not known were dead. + + A long, long crowd--where each seem'd lonely, + Yet of them all there was one, one only, + Raised a head or look'd my way: + She linger'd a moment--she might not stay. + + How long since I saw that fair pale face! + Ah! Mother dear! might I only place + My head on thy breast, a moment to rest, + While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest! + + On, on, a moving bridge they made + Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade, + Young and old, women and men; + Many long-forgot, but remember'd then. + + And first there came a bitter laughter; + A sound of tears the moment after; + And then a music so lofty and gay, + That every morning, day by day, + I strive to recall it if I may. + + + + +THE FAIRIES + + + Up the airy mountain, + Down the rushy glen, + We daren't go a-hunting + For fear of little men; + Wee folk, good folk, + Trooping all together; + Green jacket, red cap, + And white owl's feather! + Down along the rocky shore + Some make their home, + They live on crispy pancakes + Of yellow tide-foam; + Some in the reeds + Of the black mountain lake, + With frogs for their watch-dogs, + All night awake. + + High on the hill-top + The old King sits; + He is now so old and gray + He's nigh lost his wits. + With a bridge of white mist + Columbkill he crosses, + On his stately journeys + From Slieveleague to Rosses; + Or going up with music + On cold starry nights, + To sup with the Queen + Of the gay Northern Lights. + + They stole little Bridget + For seven years long; + When she came down again + Her friends were all gone. + They took her lightly back, + Between the night and morrow, + They thought that she was fast asleep, + But she was dead with sorrow. + They have kept her ever since + Deep within the lake, + On a bed of flag-leaves, + Watching till she wake. + + By the craggy hill-side, + Through the mosses bare, + They have planted thorn-trees + For pleasure here and there. + Is any man so daring + As dig them up in spite, + He shall find their sharpest thorns + In his bed at night. + + Up the airy mountain, + Down the rushy glen, + We daren't go a-hunting + For fear of little men; + Wee folk, good folk, + Trooping all together; + Green jacket, red cap, + And white owl's feather! + + + + +THE LEPRACAUN OR FAIRY SHOEMAKER + + + Little Cowboy, what have you heard, + Up on the lonely rath's green mound? + Only the plaintive yellow bird + Sighing in sultry fields around, + Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!-- + Only the grasshopper and the bee?-- + 'Tip-tap, rip-rap, + Tick-a-tack-too! + Scarlet leather, sewn together, + This will make a shoe. + Left, right, pull it tight; + Summer days are warm; + Underground in winter, + Laughing at the storm!' + Lay your ear close to the hill. + Do you not catch the tiny clamour, + Busy click of an elfin hammer, + Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill + As he merrily plies his trade? + He's a span + And a quarter in height. + Get him in sight, hold him tight, + And you're a made + Man! + + You watch your cattle the summer day, + Sup on potatoes, sleep in the hay; + How would you like to roll in your carriage, + Look for a duchess's daughter in marriage? + Seize the Shoemaker--then you may! + 'Big boots a-hunting, + Sandals in the hall, + White for a wedding-feast, + Pink for a ball. + This way, that way, + So we make a shoe; + Getting rich every stitch, + Tick-tack-too!' + Nine-and-ninety treasure-crocks + This keen miser-fairy hath, + Hid in mountains, woods, and rocks, + Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath, + And where the cormorants build; + From times of old + Guarded by him; + Each of them fill'd + Full to the brim + With gold! + + I caught him at work one day, myself, + In the castle-ditch where foxglove grows,-- + A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf, + Spectacles stuck on his pointed nose, + Silver buckles to his hose, + Leather apron--shoe in his lap-- + 'Rip-rap, tip-tap, + Tick-tack-too! + (A grasshopper on my cap! + Away the moth flew!) + Buskins for a fairy prince, + Brogues for his son,-- + Pay me well, pay me well, + When the job is done!' + The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt. + I stared at him; he stared at me; + 'Servant, Sir!' 'Humph!' says he, + And pull'd a snuff-box out. + He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased, + The queer little Lepracaun; + Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace,-- + Pouf! he flung the dust in my face, + And while I sneezed, + Was gone! + + + + +THE GIRL'S LAMENTATION + + + With grief and mourning I sit to spin; + My Love passed by, and he didn't come in; + He passes by me, both day and night, + And carries off my poor heart's delight. + + There is a tavern in yonder town, + My Love goes there and he spends a crown; + He takes a strange girl upon his knee, + And never more gives a thought to me. + + Says he, 'We'll wed without loss of time, + And sure our love's but a little crime;'-- + My apron-string now it's wearing short, + And my Love he seeks other girls to court. + + O with him I'd go if I had my will, + I'd follow him barefoot o'er rock and hill; + I'd never once speak of all my grief + If he'd give me a smile for my heart's relief. + + In our wee garden the rose unfolds, + With bachelor's-buttons and marigolds; + I'll tie no posies for dance or fair, + A willow-twig is for me to wear. + + For a maid again I can never be, + Till the red rose blooms on the willow tree. + Of such a trouble I've heard them tell, + And now I know what it means full well. + + As through the long lonesome night I lie, + I'd give the world if I might but cry; + But I mus'n't moan there or raise my voice, + And the tears run down without any noise. + + And what, O what will my mother say? + She'll wish her daughter was in the clay. + My father will curse me to my face; + The neighbours will know of my black disgrace. + + My sister's buried three years, come Lent; + But sure we made far too much lament. + Beside her grave they still say a prayer-- + I wish to God 'twas myself was there! + + The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed; + To look at them puts me much in dread, + They mark the good time that's gone and past: + It's like this year's one will prove the last. + + The oldest cross it's a dusty brown, + But the winter winds didn't shake it down; + The newest cross keeps the colour bright; + When the straw was reaping my heart was light. + + The reapers rose with the blink of morn, + And gaily stook'd up the yellow corn; + To call them home to the field I'd run, + Through the blowing breeze and the summer sun. + + When the straw was weaving my heart was glad, + For neither sin nor shame I had, + In the barn where oat-chaff was flying round, + And the thumping flails made a pleasant sound. + + Now summer or winter to me it's one; + But oh! for a day like the time that's gone. + I'd little care was it storm or shine, + If I had but peace in this heart of mine. + + Oh! light and false is a young man's kiss, + And a foolish girl gives her soul for this. + Oh! light and short is the young man's blame, + And a helpless girl has the grief and shame. + + To the river-bank once I thought to go, + And cast myself in the stream below; + I thought 'twould carry us far out to sea, + Where they'd never find my poor babe and me. + + Sweet Lord, forgive me that wicked mind! + You know I used to be well-inclined. + Oh, take compassion upon my state, + Because my trouble is so very great. + + My head turns round with the spinning wheel, + And a heavy cloud on my eyes I feel. + But the worst of all is at my heart's core; + For my innocent days will come back no more. + + + + +THE NOBLEMAN'S WEDDING + + + I once was a guest at a Nobleman's wedding; + Fair was the Bride, but she scarce had been kind, + And now in our mirth, she had tears nigh the shedding + Her former true lover still runs in her mind. + + Attired like a minstrel, her former true lover + Takes up his harp, and runs over the strings; + And there among strangers, his grief to discover, + A fair maiden's falsehood he bitterly sings. + + 'Now here is the token of gold that was broken; + Seven long years it was kept for your sake; + You gave it to me as a true lover's token; + No longer I'll wear it, asleep or awake.' + + She sat in her place by the head of the table, + The words of his ditty she mark'd them right well: + To sit any longer this bride was not able, + So down at the bridegroom's feet she fell. + + 'O one, one request, my lord, one and no other, + O this one request will you grant it to me? + To lie for this night in the arms of my mother, + And ever, and ever thereafter with thee.' + + Her one, one request it was granted her fairly; + Pale were her cheeks as she went up to bed; + And the very next morning, early, early, + They rose and they found this young bride was dead. + + The bridegroom ran quickly, he held her, he kiss'd her, + He spoke loud and low, and listen'd full fain; + He call'd on her waiting-maids round to assist her + But nothing could bring the lost breath back again. + + O carry her softly! the grave is made ready; + At head and at foot plant a laurel-bush green; + For she was a young and a sweet noble lady, + The fairest young bride that I ever have seen. + + + + +KATE O' BELASHANNY + + + Seek up and down, both fair and brown, + We've purty lasses many, O; + But brown or fair, one girl most rare, + The Flow'r o' Belashanny, O. + As straight is she as poplar-tree + (Tho' not as aisy shaken, O,) + And walks so proud among the crowd, + For queen she might be taken, O. + From top to toe, where'er you go, + The loveliest girl of any, O,-- + Ochone! your mind I find unkind, + Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + One summer day the banks were gay, + The Erne in sunshine glancin' there, + The big cascade its music play'd + And set the salmon dancin' there. + Along the green my Joy was seen; + Some goddess bright I thought her there; + The fishes, too, swam close, to view + Her image in the water there. + From top to toe, where'er you go, + The loveliest girl of any, O,-- + Ochone! your mind I find unkind, + Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + My dear, give ear!--the river's near, + And if you think I'm shammin' now, + To end my grief I'll seek relief + Among the trout and salmon, now; + For shrimps and sharks to make their marks, + And other watery vermin there; + Unless a mermaid saves my life,-- + My wife, and me her merman there. + From top to toe, where'er you go, + The loveliest girl of any, O,-- + Mavrone! your mind I find unkind, + Sweet Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + 'Tis all in vain that I complain; + No use to coax or chide her there; + As far away from me as Spain, + Although I stand beside her there. + O cruel Kate! since that's my fate, + I'll look for love no more in you; + The seagull's screech as soon would reach + Your heart, as me implorin' you. + Tho' fair you are, and rare you are, + The loveliest flow'r of any, O,-- + Too proud and high,--good-bye, say I, + To Kate o' Belashanny, O! + + + + +FOUR DUCKS ON A POND + + + Four ducks on a pond, + A grass-bank beyond, + A blue sky of spring, + White clouds on the wing; + What a little thing + To remember for years-- + To remember with tears! + + + + +AEOLIAN HARP + + + What is it that is gone, we fancied ours? + Oh what is lost that never may be told?-- + We stray all afternoon, and we may grieve + Until the perfect closing of the night. + Listen to us, thou gray Autumnal Eve, + Whose part is silence. At thy verge the clouds + Are broken into melancholy gold; + The waifs of Autumn and the feeble flow'rs + Glimmer along our woodlands in wet light; + Within thy shadow thou dost weave the shrouds + Of joy and great adventure, waxing cold, + Which once, or so it seemed, were full of might. + Some power it was, that lives not with us now, + A thought we had, but could not, could not hold. + O sweetly, swiftly pass'd:--air sings and murmurs; + Green leaves are gathering on the dewy bough; + O sadly, swiftly pass'd:--air sighs and mutters; + Red leaves are dropping on the rainy mould. + Then comes the snow, unfeatured, vast, and white. + O what is gone from us, we fancied ours?-- + + + + +THE MAIDS OF ELFIN-MERE + + + When the spinning-room was here + Came Three Damsels, clothed in white, + With their spindles every night; + One and Two and three fair Maidens, + Spinning to a pulsing cadence, + Singing songs of Elfin-Mere; + Till the eleventh hour was toll'd, + Then departed through the wold. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + Three white Lilies, calm and clear, + And they were loved by every one; + Most of all, the Pastor's Son, + Listening to their gentle singing, + Felt his heart go from him, clinging + Round these Maids of Elfin-Mere. + Sued each night to make them stay, + Sadden'd when they went away. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + Hands that shook with love and fear + Dared put back the village clock,-- + Flew the spindle, turn'd the rock, + Flow'd the song with subtle rounding, + Till the false 'eleven' was sounding; + Then these Maids of Elfin-Mere + Swiftly, softly, left the room, + Like three doves on snowy plume. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + One that night who wander'd near + Heard lamentings by the shore, + Saw at dawn three stains of gore + In the waters fade and dwindle. + Never more with song and spindle + Saw we Maids of Elfin-Mere, + The Pastor's Son did pine and die; + Because true love should never lie. + Years ago, and years ago; + And the tall reeds sigh as the wind doth blow. + + + + +TWILIGHT VOICES + + + Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals + Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere, + Heaven and Hell from invisible portals + Breathing comfort and ghastly fear, + Voices I hear; + I hear strange voices, flitting, calling, + Wavering by on the dusky blast,-- + 'Come, let us go, for the night is falling; + Come, let us go, for the day is past!' + + Troops of joys are they, now departed? + Winged hopes that no longer stay? + Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted? + Powers that have linger'd their latest day? + What do they say? + What do they sing? I hear them calling, + Whispering, gathering, flying fast,-- + 'Come, come, for the night is falling; + Come, come, for the day is past!' + + Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted; + Mortal, thy sands of life run low; + Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted: + Time is ending;--we go, we go.' + Sing they so? + Mystical voices, floating, calling; + Dim farewells--the last, the last? + Come, come away, the night is falling; + 'Come, come away, the day is past.' + + See, I am ready, Twilight voices! + Child of the spirit-world am I; + How should I fear you? my soul rejoices, + O speak plainer! O draw nigh! + Fain would I fly! + Tell me your message, Ye who are calling + Out of the dimness vague and vast; + Lift me, take me,--the night is falling; + Quick, let us go,--the day is past. + + + + +THE LOVER AND BIRDS + + + Within a budding grove, + In April's ear sang every bird his best, + But not a song to pleasure my unrest, + Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love; + Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest. + To every word + Of every bird + I listen'd, and replied as it behove. + + Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet! + Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!' + 'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb awhile, in fear + Thy darling prove no better than a cheat, + And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.' + Yet from a twig, + With voice so big, + The little fowl his utterance did repeat. + + Then I, 'The man forlorn + Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.' + 'And what'll he do? What'll he do?' scoff'd + The Blackbird, standing, in an ancient thorn, + Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft + With cackling laugh; + Whom I, being half + Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn. + + Worse mock'd the Thrush, 'Die! die! + Oh, could he do it? could he do it? Nay! + Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!' (went his lay.) + 'Take heed! take heed!' then 'Why? why? why? why? why? + See-ee now! see-ee now!' (he drawl'd) 'Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!' + O Thrush, be still! + Or at thy will, + Seek some less sad interpreter than I. + + 'Air, air! blue air and white! + Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!' + (Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea) + 'Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright, + Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see, + see!' + 'Gay Lark,' I said, + 'The song that's bred + In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.' + + 'There's something, something sad, + I half remember'--piped a broken strain. + Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again. + 'Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!' + Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad, + Till now, grown meek, + With wetted cheek, + Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had. + + + + +THE ABBOT OF INNISFALLEN + + + The Abbot of Innisfallen + awoke ere dawn of day; + Under the dewy green leaves + went he forth to pray. + The lake around his island + lay smooth and dark and deep, + And wrapt in a misty stillness + the mountains were all asleep. + Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac + when the dawn was dim and gray; + The prayers of his holy office + he faithfully 'gan say. + Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac + while the dawn was waxing red; + And for his sins' forgiveness + a solemn prayer he said: + Low kneel'd that holy Abbot + while the dawn was waxing clear; + And he pray'd with loving-kindness + for his convent-brethren dear. + Low kneel'd that blessed Abbot + while the dawn was waxing bright; + He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, + he pray'd with all his might. + Low kneel'd that good old Father + while the sun began to dart; + He pray'd a prayer for all men, + he pray'd it from his heart. + His blissful soul was in Heaven, + tho' a breathing man was he; + He was out of time's dominion, + so far as the living may be. + + The Abbot of Innisfallen + arose upon his feet; + He heard a small bird singing, + and O but it sung sweet! + It sung upon a holly-bush, + this little snow-white bird; + A song so full of gladness + he never before had heard. + It sung upon a hazel, + it sung upon a thorn; + He had never heard such music + since the hour that he was born. + It sung upon a sycamore, + it sung upon a briar; + To follow the song and hearken + this Abbot could never tire. + Till at last he well bethought him; + he might no longer stay; + So he bless'd the little white singing-bird, + and gladly went his way. + + But, when he came to his Abbey, + he found a wondrous change; + He saw no friendly faces there, + for every face was strange. + The strange men spoke unto him; + and he heard from all and each + The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, + not wholesome Irish speech. + Then the oldest monk came forward, + in Irish tongue spake he: + 'Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, + and who hath given it to thee?' + 'I wear the Augustine's dress, + and Cormac is my name, + The Abbot of this good Abbey + by grace of God I am. + I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; + and when my prayers were said, + I hearken'd awhile to a little bird, + that sung above my head.' + The monks to him made answer, + 'Two hundred years have gone o'er, + Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, + and never was heard of more. + Matthias now is our Abbot, + and twenty have pass'd away. + The stranger is lord of Ireland; + we live in an evil day.' + 'Days will come and go,' he said, + 'and the world will pass away, + In Heaven a day is a thousand years, + a thousand years are a day.' + 'Now give me absolution; + for my time is come,' said he. + And they gave him absolution, + as speedily as might be. + Then, close outside the window, + the sweetest song they heard + That ever yet since the world began + was utter'd by any bird. + The monks look'd out and saw the bird, + its feathers all white and clean; + And there in a moment, beside it, + another white bird was seen. + Those two they sang together, + waved their white wings, and fled; + Flew aloft, and vanish'd; + but the good old man was dead. + They buried his blessed body + where lake and green-sward meet; + A carven cross above his head, + a holly-bush at his feet; + Where spreads the beautiful water + to gay or cloudy skies, + And the purple peaks of Killarney + from ancient woods arise. + + + + +THE RUINED CHAPEL + + + By the shore, a plot of ground + Clips a ruin'd chapel round, + Buttress'd with a grassy mound; + Where Day and Night and Day go by, + And bring no touch of human sound. + + Washing of the lonely seas, + Shaking of the guardian trees, + Piping of the salted breeze; + Day and Night and Day go by + To the endless tune of these. + + Or when, as winds and waters keep + A hush more dead than any sleep, + Still morns to stiller evenings creep, + And Day and Night and Day go by; + Here the silence is most deep. + + The empty ruins, lapsed again + Into Nature's wide domain, + Sow themselves with seed and grain + As Day and Night and Day go by; + And hoard June's sun and April's rain. + + Here fresh funeral tears were shed; + Now the graves are also dead; + And suckers from the ash-tree spread, + While Day and Night and Day go by; + And stars move calmly overhead. + + + + +Here end sixteen poems, written by William Allingham, and +selected for re-printing by William Butler Yeats. Printed +upon paper made in Ireland, and published by Elizabeth Corbet +Yeats at the Dun Emer Press, in the house of Evelyn Gleeson +at Dundrum, in the county of Dublin, Ireland, finished on the +fifteenth day of September, in the year 1905. + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Sixteen Poems, by William Allingham + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK SIXTEEN POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 16839.txt or 16839.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/8/3/16839/ + +Produced by David Starner, Sigal Alon and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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