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diff --git a/16839.txt b/16839.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..eced8bf --- /dev/null +++ b/16839.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: 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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