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+Project Gutenberg Etext Ballads of Peace in War, by Michael Earls
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+Title:  Ballads of Peace in War
+
+Author:  Michael Earls
+
+Release Date: July, 2002  [Etext #3305]
+[Yes, we are about one year ahead of schedule]
+[The actual date this file first posted = 03/26/01]
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+Edition: 10
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+Language: English
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+Project Gutenberg Etext Ballads of Peace in War, by Michael Earls
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+
+
+
+
+This Etext Prepared by Alan Earls <alanearls@mediaone.net>
+
+
+
+
+
+Ballads of Peace in War
+
+by Michael Earls
+
+
+
+
+HIS LIGHT
+
+Gray mist on the sea,
+And the night coming down,
+She stays with sorrow
+In a far town.
+
+He goes the sea-ways
+By channel lights dim,
+Her love, a true light,
+Watches for him.
+
+They would be wedded
+On a fair yesterday,
+But the quick regiment
+Saw him away.
+
+Gray mist in her eyes
+And the night coming down:
+He feels a prayer
+>From a far town.
+
+He goes the sea-ways,
+The land lights are dim;
+She and an altar light
+Keep watch for him.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+1
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE COUNTERSIGN
+
+
+Along Virginia's wondering roads
+While armies hastened on,
+To Beauregard's great Southern host,
+Manassas fields upon,
+Came Colonel Smith's good regiment,
+Eager for Washington.
+
+But Colonel Smith must halt his men
+In a dangerous delay,
+Though well he knows the countryside
+To the distant host of grey.
+He cannot join with Beauregard
+For Bull Run's bloody fray.
+
+And does he halt for storm or ford,
+Or does he stay to dine?
+Say, No! but death will meet his men,
+Onward if moves the line:
+He dares not hurry to Beauregard,
+Not knowing the countersign.
+
+Flashed in the sun his waving sword;
+"Who rides for me?" he cried,
+"And ask of the Chief the countersign,
+Upon a daring ride;
+Though never the lad come back again
+With the good that will betide.
+
+"I will send a letter to Beauregard,"
+The Colonel slowly said;
+"The bearer dies at the pickets' line,
+But the letter shall be read
+When the pickets find it for the Chief,
+In the brave hand of the dead."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+2
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Countersign
+
+
+"Ready I ride to the Chief for the sign,"
+Said little Dan O'Shea,
+"Though never I come from the picket's line,
+But a faded suit of grey:
+Yet over my death will the road be safe,
+And the regiment march away."
+
+"In a mother's name, I bless thee, lad,"
+The Colonel drew him near:
+"But first in the name of God," said Dan,
+"And then is my mother's dear---
+Her own good lips that taught me well,
+With the Cross of Christ no fear."
+
+Quickly he rode by valley and hill,
+On to the outpost line,
+Till the pickets arise by wall and mound,
+And the levelled muskets shine;
+"Halt!" they cried, "count three to death,
+Or give us the countersign."
+
+Lightly the lad leaped from his steed,
+No fear was in his sigh,
+But a mother's face and a home he loved
+Under an Irish sky:
+He made the Sign of the Cross and stood,
+Bravely he stood to die.
+
+Lips in a prayer at the blessed Sign,
+And calmly he looked around,
+And wonder seized his waiting soul
+To hear no musket sound,
+But only the pickets calling to him,
+Heartily up the mound.
+
+For this was the order of Beauregard
+Around his camp that day---
+The Sign of the Cross was countersign,
+(And a blessing to Dan O'Shea)
+And the word came quick to Colonel Smith
+For the muster of the grey.
+
+
+3
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A HILL O' LIGHTS
+
+
+Turn from Kerry crossroads and leave the wooded dells,
+Take the mountain path and find where Tip O'Leary dwells;
+Tip O'Leary is the name, I sing it all day long,
+And every bird whose heart is wise will have it for a song.
+
+Tip O'Leary keeps the lights of many lamps aglow,
+Little matters it to him the seasons come or go,
+Sure if spring is in the air his hedges are abloom,
+And fairy buds like candles shine across his garden room.
+
+Roses in the June days are light the miles around,
+Tapers of the fuchsias move along the August ground,
+Sumachs light the flaming torches by October's grave
+And like the campfires on the hills the oaks and maples wave.
+
+All the lights but only one die out when summer goes,
+One that Tip O'Leary keeps is brighter than the rose,
+Through the window comes the bloom on any winter night,
+And every sense goes wild to it, soft and sweet and bright.
+
+Lamps are fair that have the light from flowers all day long,
+When the birds are here and sing the Tip O'Leary song,
+But a winter window is the fairest rose of all,
+When Tip O'Leary's hearth is lit and lamps upon the wall.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+4
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OFF TO THE WAR
+
+(For Jack)
+
+
+In a little ship and down the bay,
+Out to the calling sea,
+A young brave lad sailed off today,
+To the one great war went he:
+The one long war all men must know
+Greater than land or gold,
+Soul is the prince and flesh the foe
+Of a kingdom Christ will hold.
+
+With arms of faith and hope well-wrought
+The brave lad went away,
+And the voice of Christ fills all his thought,
+Under two hands that pray:
+The tender love of a mother's hands
+That guarded all his years,
+Fitted the armor, plate and bands,
+And blessed them with her tears.
+
+
+Older than Rhodes and Ascalon
+And the farthest forts of sea,
+Is the Master voice that calls him on
+>From the hills in Galilee:
+>From hills where Christ in gentle guise
+Called, as He calls again,
+With His heart of love and His love-lit eyes
+Unto His warrior men.
+
+Christ with the brave young lad to-day
+Who goes to the sweet command,
+Strengthen his heart wherever the way,
+Whether he march or stand:
+And whether he die in a peaceful cell,
+Or alone in the lonely night,
+The Cross of Christ shall keep him well,
+And be his death's delight.
+
+
+
+
+
+5
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TOWERS OF HOLY CROSS
+
+(For W. M. Letts)
+
+
+The roads look up to Holy Cross,
+The sturdy towers look down,
+And show a kindly word to all
+Who pass by Worcester Town;
+And once you'd see the boys at play,
+Or marching cap and gown.
+
+The gallant towers at Holy Cross
+Are silent night and day,
+A few young lads are left behind
+Who still may take their play;
+The Cross and Flag look out afar
+For them that went away.
+
+And mine are gone, says Beaven Hall,
+To camps by hill and plain,
+And mine along by Newport Sea,
+Says the high tower of O'Kane;
+I follow mine, Alumni calls,
+Across the watery main.
+
+Their sires were in the old Brigade
+That won at Fontenoy,
+Stood true at Washington's right hand,
+that were his faith and joy:
+>From Holy Cross to Fredericksburg
+Is many a gallant boy.
+
+Then God be with you, says the Cross,
+And the brave towers looking down;
+I'll be your cloth, sings out the Flag,
+For other cap and gown,
+And may we see you safe again,
+On the hills of Worcester Town.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+6
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ALWAYS MAYTIME
+
+   (for  Gerry)
+
+
+When May has spent its little song,
+And richer comes the June,
+Through former eyes the heart will long
+For May again in tune;
+Though large with promise hope may be,
+By future visions cast,
+Our memoried thoughts will yearn to see
+The happy little past.
+
+And you, my loyal little friend,
+(From May to June you go),
+What years of loyalty attend
+Great comradeship we know;
+Yet joy have me in place of tears
+To see your road depart,
+For whether east or west your years,
+A friend stays home at heart.
+
+Then gladly let the Springtime pass
+And Summer in its wake;
+Ahead are fields of flower and grass
+All fragrant for your sake:
+With hearts of joy we say farewell,
+With laughter, wave and nod,
+It's always May for us who dwell
+In seasons close to God.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+7
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE STORYTELLER
+
+
+Tim of the Tales they call me,
+With a welcome heart and hand;
+But little they hold my brother
+For all his cattle and land.
+
+If I be walking the high road
+>From Clare that goes to the sea,
+A troop of the young run leaping
+To gather a story from me.
+
+Tim of the Tales, the folk say,
+Is known the world around,
+For children by taking his stories
+To their homes in foreign ground.
+
+I pity my brother his fortunes,
+And how he sits alone,
+With the money that keeps his body,
+But leaves his heart a stone.
+
+And sometimes do I be feeling
+A dream of death in my ear,
+And a heaven of children calling,
+"Tim of the Tales is here."
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+8
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+MY FATHER'S TUNES
+
+
+My father had the gay good tunes, the like you'd seldom hear,
+A whole day could he whistle them, an' thin he'd up an' sing,
+The merry tunes an' twists o'them that suited all the year,
+An' you wouldn't ask but listen if yourself stood there a king.
+Early of a mornin' would he give "The Barefoot Boy" to us,
+An' later on "The Rocky Road" or maybe "Mountain Lark,"
+"Trottin' to the Fair" was a liltin' heart of joy to us,
+An' whin we heard "The Coulin" sure the night was never dark.
+
+An' what's the good o' foolish tunes, the moilin' folks 'ud say,
+It's better teach the children work an' get the crock o' gold;
+Thin sorra take their wisdom whin it makes them sad an' gray,--
+A man is fitter have a song that never lets him old.
+A stave of "Gillan's Apples" or a snatch of "Come Along With Me"
+Will warm the cockles o' your heart, an' life will keep its prime.
+Yarra, gold is all the richer whin it's "Danny, sing a song for me"
+Or what's the good o' money if you're dead afore your time.
+
+It's sense to do your turn o' work, it's healthy to be wise,
+An' have the little crock o' gold agin the day o' rain;
+But whin the ground is heaviest, your heart will feel the skies,
+If you know a little Irish song to lift the road o' pain.
+The learnin' an' the wealth we have are never sad an' gray with us,
+The dullest times in all the year are merry as the June:
+For we've the heart to up an' sing "Arise, an' come away with us,"
+The way my father gave it, an' we laughin' in the tune.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+9
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A SONG
+
+(For John McCormack)
+
+
+June of the trees in glory,
+June of the meadows gay!
+O, and it works a story
+To tell an October day.
+
+Blooms of the apple and cherry
+Toil for the far-off hours;
+Never is idleness merry,
+In song of the garden bowers.
+
+Brooks to the sea from mountains,
+Yea, and from field and vine:
+Rain and the sun are fountains
+That gather for wheat and wine.
+
+Cellar and loft shall glory,
+Table and hearth shall praise,
+Hearing October's story
+Of June and the merry days.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+10
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A BALLAD OF FRANCE
+
+
+Ye who heed a nation's call
+And speed to arms therefor,
+Ye who fear your children's march
+To perils of the war,--
+Soldiers of the deck and camp
+And mothers of our men,
+Hearken to a tale of France
+And tell it oft again.
+
+*     *     *
+
+In the east of France by the roads of war,
+(God save us evermore from Mars and Thor!}
+Up and down the fair land iron armies came,
+(Pity, Jesu, all who fell, calling Thy name).
+
+Pleasant all the fields were round every town,
+Garden airs went sweetly up, heaven smiled down;
+Till under leaden hail with flaming breath,
+Graves and ashen harvest were the keep of death.
+
+One little town stood, white on a hill,
+Chapel and hostel gates, farms and windmill,
+Chapel and countryside met the gunner's path,
+Till no blade of kindly grass hid from his wrath.
+
+Lo! When the terrain cleared out of murky air,
+When mid the ruins stalked death and despair,
+One figure stood erect, bright with day,--
+Christ the Crucified, though His Cross was shot away.
+
+Flame and shot tore away all the tender wood,
+Yet with arms uplifted Christ His Figure stood;
+Out reached the blessing hands, meek bowed the head,
+Christ! The saving solace o'er the waste of dead.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+11
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A Ballad of France
+
+
+France tells the story, make our hearts know well,
+Christ His Figure stands against the gates of hell:
+Flame and shot may rive the fortress walls apart,
+Christ the Crucified will heal the breaking heart.
+
+Wear Him day and night, wherever be the war,
+(God save us evermore from Mars and Thor!)
+Flag and heart that keep Him fear not shot and flame,
+(Strengthen, Jesu, all who stand, calling Thy name).
+
+     *     *     *
+
+Ye who guard a nation's call
+And speed to arms therefor,
+Ye who pray for brave lads gone
+To perils of the war;
+Soldiers of the fleet and fort
+And mothers of our men,
+In the shadow of the Cross
+Shall we find peace again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+12
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+TO ONE IN SUCCESS
+
+
+A world's new faces greet you,
+Ten thousand quick with praise,
+But truer stay to meet you
+Old friends and other days:
+Let fickle changes hurt you,
+(The new go quick apart)
+One fame shall ne'er desert you
+In true hearts like this heart.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+13
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE LIFELONG WAR
+
+
+Still goes the strife; the anguish does not die.
+Stronger the flesh is grown from earthy years,
+In siege about my soul that upward peers
+To see and hold its Good.  The spirit's eye
+Approves the better things; but senses spy
+The passing sweets, spurning the present fears,
+And take their moment's prize.  Ah, then hot tears
+Deluge my soul, and contrite moans my cry!
+
+Courage, my heart: bright patience to the end!
+Few years remain; then goes the warring wall
+Of sensely flesh, that men will throw to earth.
+So be it; so the contrite soul shall wend
+A homeward way unto the Captain's call,
+Eternally to know contrition's worth.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+14
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+LINDEN LANE
+
+ HOLY CROSS: MAY, 1917
+
+(For Major Joseph W. O'Connor, '03)
+
+
+Birds are merry and the buds
+Come along with May:
+Lonely is the linden land
+For lads that went today.
+
+What calls the May of song
+But the fair young spring?
+Heard our boys another tune
+Sterner voices sing.
+
+Bugles blew by land and sea,
+And the tocsin drum;
+See, brave hearts go down the hill,
+Shouting, "Hail, we come."
+
+>From the towers that show the Cross,
+Staunch the Flag waved out,
+And the royal Purple shook
+Joyous with the shout.
+
+Heigh-ho! And a lusty cheer,
+Down the linden lane:
+The pine grove looked but cannot tell
+If they'll come home again.
+
+Few may take the homeward road
+When the war is done:
+Where they fall or when they come,
+Hail, to the cause they won.
+
+Till the buds and the merry birds
+Come another May,
+Cross and Flag aloft shall bless
+Brave lads who went today.
+
+
+
+
+
+15
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE BOUNDARIES OF A HOUSE
+
+
+Along the north a mountain crest,
+A row of trees runs towards the west;
+The south is all a field for play,
+For work the east has marked a way;
+The night shows all the stars above,
+And the long, long day, a mother's love.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+16
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+ATTAINMENT
+
+
+Let me go back again.  There is the road,
+O memory! The humble garden lane
+So young with me.  Let me rebuild again
+The start of faith and hope by that abode;
+Amend with morning freshness all the code
+Of youth's desire; remap my chart's demesne
+With tuneful joy, and plan a far campaign
+For better marches in ambition's mode.
+
+Ah, no, my heart! More certain now the skies
+For joy abide: the cage of tree and sod,
+Horizons firm that faith and hope attain,
+Far realms of innocence in children's eyes,
+And hearts harmonious with the will of God:--
+These might I miss if I were back again.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+17
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE PHILOSOPHERS
+
+
+The best of true philosophers
+Are the children, after all,--
+The children with laughing hearts
+And the serious field and ball:
+They have a bowl and bubbles,
+And hours where rainbows are;
+They find, if ever the sun is hid,
+In every dark a star.
+
+But, O, the sorry men that make
+The wise books of our day!
+They cannot smile athwart a cloud,
+When black thoughts lead astray;
+They cannot add a simple sum,
+But talk like drunken men,
+And shut their eyes to keep out God
+When spring comes in again.
+
+Far simpler than the Rule of Three
+Are the laws of earth and sky;
+Yet fools will muddle all true thought,
+And pride will have its cry;
+The banners with their deadly words
+Go reeling on unfurled,
+And sin and sadness march along
+To the heartbreak of the world.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+18
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+The Philosophers
+
+
+But the children are the wise men,
+With the clearest heart and mind;
+If two and one are three, they say,
+Then truth is near to find;
+If this be now that once was not,
+If things must have a cause,
+Then very simple is the sum
+That God is in His laws.
+
+The world's men that are fools enough,
+They will not speak that way,
+But with a cloud of muddled thought
+They hide the light of day;
+Yet laughing words and candid truth
+Abide by field and hall,
+Where the best of true philosophers
+Are the children, after all.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+19
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+PREPAREDNESS
+
+~~~~~~~~~~
+
+I.
+
+THE DRUMMER BOY
+
+You never know when war may come,
+And that is why I keep a drum:
+	For if all sudden in the night
+	From east or west came battle fright,
+	And you were sound asleep in bed,
+	And very soon to join the dead,
+	You then would gladly wish my drum
+	Would warn you that the war had come.
+
+So that is why on afternoons
+I tell the neighborhood my tunes:
+	Sometimes behind a fortress bench,
+	Or where the hedges make a trench,
+	I beat the drum with all my might,
+	While people look with awful fright,
+	Just as they would if war had come,
+	And heard the warning of my drum.
+
+	They must be thankful, I am sure,
+	Because they now may feel secure,
+	And rest so safe and sound in bed,
+	Without wild dreams of fearful dread;
+	For now they hear me all the day,
+	As round the yard I march and play,
+	To let them know if war should come
+	They'll get the warning of my drum.
+
+
+~~~~~~~~~~
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+20
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Preparedness
+
+
+II.
+
+THE SAILOR
+
+A sailor that rides the ocean wave,
+And I in my room at home:
+	Where are the seas I fear to brave,
+	Or the lands I may not roam?
+	At the attic window I take my stand,
+	And tighten the curtain sail,
+	Then, ahoy!  I ride the leagues of land,
+	Whether in calm or gale.
+
+Tree at anchor along the road
+Bow as I speed along;
+	At sunny brooks in the valley I load
+	Cargoes of blossom and song;
+	Stories I take on the passing wind
+	From the plains and forest seas,
+	And the Golden Fleece I yet will find,
+	And the fruit of Hesperides.
+
+	Steady I keep my watchful eyes,
+	As I range the thousand miles,
+	Till evening tides in western skies
+	Turn gold the cloudland isles;
+	Then fast is the hatch and dark the screen,
+	And I bring my cabin light;
+	With a wink I change to a submarine
+	And drop in the sea of Night.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+21
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+WAR IN THE NORTH
+
+
+Not from Mars and not from Thor
+Comes the war, the welcome war,
+Many months we waited for
+To free us from the bondage
+Of Winter's gloomy reign:
+Valor to our hope is bound,
+Songs of courage loud resound,
+Vowed is Spring to win her ground
+Through all our northern country,
+>From Oregon to Maine.
+
+All our loyal brave allies
+In the Southlands mobilize,
+Faith is sworn to our emprise,
+The scouting breezes whisper
+That help is sure today:
+Vanguards of the springtime rains
+Cannonade the hills and plains,
+Freeing them from Winter's chains,
+So birds and buds may flourish
+Around the throne of May.
+
+Hark! and hear the clarion call
+Bluebirds give by fence and wall!
+Look!  The darts of sunlight fall,
+And red shields of the robins
+Ride boldly down the leas;
+Hail!  The cherry banners shine,
+Onward comes the battle line,--
+On!  White dogwood waves the sign,
+And exile troops of blossoms
+Are sailing meadow seas.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+22
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+War in the North
+
+
+
+Winter's tyrant king retires;
+Spring leads on her legion choirs
+Where the hedges sound their lyres;
+The victor hills and valleys
+Ring merrily the tune:
+April cohorts guard the way
+For the great enthroning day,
+When the Princess of May
+Shall wed within our northlands
+The charming Prince of June.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+23
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE HAPPY TIME
+
+
+Two gloomy scenes may be,
+Or count you three:
+	A building hope all crushed at morn,
+	A bridal day in clouds of rain,
+	And night that keeps a mother's pain
+	For tidings of a child forlorn.
+
+Of happy times count more,
+Admit these four:
+	A flower of promise rich with day,
+	A son with victories that wear
+	A halo on his mother's way:
+	And friends whose hearts ring like a chime
+	Across the world at Christmas time.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+24
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TIME OF TRUCE
+
+
+Two young lads from childhood up
+Drank together friendship's cup:
+Joe was glad with Bill at play,
+Bill was home to Joe alway.
+
+On their friendship came the blight
+Of a little thoughtless fight;
+Then, alas! each passing day
+Farther bore these friends away.
+
+There was grief in either heart,
+Bleeding deep from sorrow's dart,
+When in thoughtfulness again
+Each beheld the other's pain.
+
+But the shades of night are furled
+When the morning takes the world,
+And the Christmas days of peace
+Make our little quarrels cease.
+
+Bill and Joe on Christmas Day
+Met as in the olden way;
+Bill put out his hand to Joe,--
+It was Christmas Day, you know.
+
+Bill and Joe are friends again,
+And to them long years remain;
+Time may take them far away,
+They keep Christmas every day.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+25
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+BETHLEHEM
+
+
+O ye who sail Potomac's even tide
+To Vernon's shades, our Chieftain's hallowed mound;
+Or who at distant shrines high paeans sound
+In Alfred's cult, old England's morning pride;
+Or seek Versailles, conceited as a bride,
+With garish memories of kins strewn round;
+Or lay your spirit's cheek on Forum ground,
+For here a mighty Caesar lived and died:
+To these and other stones, O ye who speed,
+Since there, forsooth, a prince was passing great,
+More zealous let your heart's adoring heed
+The Child most Royal in a crib's estate.
+No poor so poor, no king more king than He:
+Come, better pilgrims, to this mystery.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+26
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A VOW-DAY FLOWER
+
+(POVERTY, CHASTITY, OBEDIENCE)
+
+
+Three little leaves like shamrock,
+And the trefoil's love-lit eyes,
+Whether it takes the sunshine
+Or the shadows from the skies.
+
+And richer than rose or lily
+Is the flower he wears today,
+With triune bloom and fragrance
+>From earth to heaven alway.
+
+Poverty is the low leaf,
+And one is chastely white,
+And the red love of obedience
+Goes up to God a light.
+
+Grow, good flower, and keep him
+Who wears your bloom today,
+Shadow and sunshine bless him,
+And the trefoil's heavenward way.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+27
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE TREE IN THE TENEMENT YARD
+
+(For T. A. Daly)
+
+
+America, Ireland and Italy,
+All have known this poor old tree.
+
+*     *     *
+
+A rickety fence goes round the yard
+And the noisy streets stand high:
+The grassless ground is brown and hard,
+And the cinder pathways, lined with shard,
+Sees but a bit of sky.
+
+Once the yard was fertile and fair,
+And lilac bushes near:
+And a Yankee counted with fretful care,
+Under the solacing shadows there,
+The gain of every year.
+
+The crowded walls of trade arose
+And gloomed the avenue:
+But a Munster man at each day's close
+Built in the tree his hope's rainbows,
+And saw his dreams come true.
+
+The years have thickened the darkened air,
+But the tree is still on guard:
+It comforts the young Italian there,
+Who sees the future blossoming fair
+>From the tree in the tenement yard.
+
+*     *     *
+
+America, Ireland and Italy
+All have loved this poor old tree.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+28
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+OLD HUDSON ROVERS
+
+(For Joyce Kilmer)
+
+
+When the dreamy night is on, up the Hudson river,
+And the sheen of modern taste is dim and far away,
+Ghostly men on phantom rafts make the waters shiver,
+Laughing in the sibilance of the silver spray.
+Yea, and up the woodlands, staunch in moonlit weather,
+Go the ghostly horsemen, adventuresome to ride,
+White as mist the doublet-braize, bandolier and feather,
+Fleet as gallant Robin Hood in an eventide.
+
+Times are gone that knew the craft in the role of rovers,
+Fellows of the open, care could never load:
+Unalarmed for bed or board, they were leisure's lovers,
+Summer bloomed in story on the Hyde Park Road.
+Summer was a blossom, but the fruit was autumn,
+Fragrant haylofts for a bed, cider-cakes in store,
+Warmer was a cup they know, when the north wind caught 'em
+Down at Benny Havens' by the West Point shore.
+
+Idlers now-and loafers pass, joy is out of fashion,
+Honest fun that fooled a dog or knew a friendly gate,
+Now the craft are vagabonds, sick with modern passion,
+Riding up and down the shore, on an aching freight;
+Sullen are the battered looks, cheerless talk or tipsy,
+Sickly in the smoky air, starving in the day,
+Pining for a city's noise at Kingston or Po'keepsie,
+Eager more for Gotham and a great White Way.
+
+Rich is all the countryside, but glory has departed,
+What if yachts and mansions be, by the river's marge!
+Dim though was a hillside, lamps were happy-hearted,
+Near the cove of Rondout in a hut or barge.
+Silken styles are tyrants, fashion kills the playtime,
+Robs the heart of largess that is kindly to the poor,
+Richer were the freemen, welcome as the Maytime,
+Glad was boy or maiden, seeing Brennan of the moor.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+29
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+Old Hudson Rovers
+
+
+Send us back the olden knights, tell no law to track 'em,
+Give to boy and maid the storytellers as of yore,
+Millionaires in legend-wealth, though no bank would back 'em,
+But old Benny Havens by the West Point Shore.
+Off with lazy vagabonds, social ghosts that shiver,
+Give to worthy road-men the great green way,
+And we'll hear a song again up the Hudson river,
+Ringing from a drifting raft, set in silver spray.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+30
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A WINTER MINSTER
+
+(For Fr. C. L. O'Donnell)
+
+
+The interlacing trees
+Arise in Gothic traceries,
+As if a vast cathedral deep and dim;
+And through the solemn atmosphere
+The low winds hymn
+Such thoughts as solitude will hear.
+To lead your way across
+Gray carpet aisles of moss
+Unto the chantry stalls,
+The sumach candelabra are alight;
+Along the cloister walls,
+Like chorister and acolyte,
+The shrubs are vested white;
+The dutiful monastic oak
+In his gray-friar cloak
+Keeps penitential ways
+And solemn orisons of praise;
+For beads upon the cincture-vine
+Red berries warm with color shine,
+And to their constant rosary
+The bedesmen firs incline;
+And fair as frescoes be
+Among the shrines of Italy,
+These lights and shadows are,
+Impalpable in gray and green
+Upon the hills afar
+And the gold westering sun between.
+The music!  Hark!
+Oh, an it be no rapturous lark,
+Yet has the lesser chant
+The blessedness of song.
+The snowbird mendicant
+Intones the antiphon-
+Et laboremus nos;
+
+
+
+
+
+31
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+A Winter Minster
+
+
+And all the grottoed aisles along,
+Where servitors rejoice,
+The chorused echoes run-
+
+Oremus nos.
+
+The inspiration of the breeze
+Gives every reed a voice
+>From tenebrae and silences;
+Over the valleys borne,
+Come organ harmonies;
+And when the low winds call,
+The pines with miserere mourn
+A requiem musical,
+Softer than moonbeams fall
+Across the starry oriels of night,
+Flooding the azure round
+With hushed delight
+And sanctity of sound.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+32
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+THE DARK LITTLE ROSE
+
+IRELAND
+
+
+When shall we find the spring come in,
+And the fragrant air it blows?
+And when shall the bounty of summer win
+Fairer than fields of Camolin
+For the dark little Rose?
+
+Long was the winter, the storms how long!
+What flower may live i' the snows!
+No bloom shall last under heels of wrong,
+If the heart-blood be not deathless strong,
+As the dark little Rose.
+
+Sing hers the culture sweeter than rain
+That healed old Europe's woes;
+Older than bowers of Lille and Louvain
+Grew by the Rhine and the towns of Spain
+>From the dark little Rose.
+
+Leagues in the sunlight never shall fail
+While the broad, round ocean flows;
+Though never a fleet goes up Kinsale,
+See, all the world is within the pale
+Of the dark little Rose.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
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+33
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+THE MONK MAELANFAID
+
+
+Maelanfaid saw a tiny bird
+A-grieving on the ground,
+And O, the sad lament he heard,
+That sorrow's self might sound:
+He could not read a note or word
+The song of grief inwound.
+
+Maelanfaid went within his cell
+To keep a fast and pray,
+To listen to a voice would tell
+The mystery away:
+What was the red long pain befell
+The bird of grief all day?
+
+"Maelanfaid," airy voices call,
+"MacOcha Molv is dead,
+Who killed no creature great or small,
+Who helped all life instead:
+Now griefs of bird and blossom fall
+Around his funeral bed."
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+34
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+THE YOUNG ADVENTURERS
+
+
+We will go adventuring, will you come adventuring,
+Hail, to all who sail with us the seven pleasant seas:
+All the shores with lily bells, all the flutes of woodland dells
+Are calling like a legend upon a fragrant breeze.
+
+Throw away the haughty cares, children here are millionaires,
+Laughter take for baggage and give your laugh a song;
+We must sail the seas of grass, round the isles of clover pass,
+And delve in leagues of shadowland, when clouds come along.
+
+Caves are walled with treasure trove, rich as any south-sea cove,
+Bullion of the meadow where the gold sun flows;
+
+Round the reefs of mignonette, up the waves of violet,
+Fragrant go our sails and spars with attar of the rose.
+
+On, gay adventurers, bravely ride the billowy furze,
+Golden foil and dewy pearls are swaying to a tune:
+Quaff the brew of red raspberry through the vine veils gossamery.
+Till we turn when night comes down alleys of the moon.
+
+Yea, with laughter in our sails and our hearts a book of tales,
+Down the silver roadways, a homeward hymn we say:--
+Praise the Lord ye great and small, flower and weed majestical,
+For pleasant seas that God gave adventurers today.
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+35
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+THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH
+
+(For Osceola and Pocahontas)
+
+
+Was it a hundred years ago,
+Or was it but yesterday,
+When we found the roads that grow
+Blossom and song of May?
+Maybe it was but yesterday,
+Or a hundred years ago.
+
+The roads from Bersabee to Dan
+Are old and quickly tire,
+But to the heart of child or man
+Youth is a fairy fire:
+Our youthful roads, they never tire
+>From Bersabee to Dan.
+
+Ponce de Leon found no spring,
+But legend's long, long ruth;
+But the grace of God is a magic thing
+Abides with chivalrous youth:
+The grace of God that brings no ruth
+For them who find the spring.
+
+There is a land, there is a May
+Beyond the graveyard tree;
+Ten thousand years are like a day
+Of a youth that we shall see:
+Our young hearts pass the graveyard tree
+To a land forever in May.
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+36
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+THE BONNIE PRINCE O' SPRING
+
+
+The little green soldiers are here at last,
+With their waving blades and spears;
+And across the hills they are marching fast
+With the drill of a thousand years:
+And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah!
+Till I hear their echoing cheers.
+
+A bonnie prince is at their head,
+And his love the legions know:
+For he gives them rest where the twigs are red
+At the hedges cool in a row:
+And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune
+On the northward march to go.
+
+Oh, I am leal to the marching men,
+To my bonnie Prince I'm true;
+For he tells me the way to his tented glen,
+And the secret password too:
+And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear,
+Like his own good horsemen do.
+
+Then I will follow on all the day
+Where the bonnie Prince has led,
+Till we drive the Winter foeman away
+And throne my Prince instead:
+And sing willaloo! With the birds, willaloo!
+For the Winter King is dead.
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+37
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+ON A TRAIN
+
+(For Christine and Tom)
+
+
+Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands,
+Beautiful is summer after rain;
+But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands,
+And two playful children on a train.
+
+Aileen and her brother, home from holiday,
+Left behind them Narragansett town;
+Innocence like music followed all the way,
+Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.
+
+She that was their escort read a magazine:
+They were young, and trains are dull at night;
+All the passing signals, red and blue and green,
+Counted up the miles for young delight.
+
+I was there behind them, earnest in a book:
+Lo, the journey turned to fairyland,
+When, like magic mirrors, dusty windows took
+Aileen's dancing eyes and waving hand!
+
+That is how it happened on a creeping train,
+How a play began without a word,--
+Peekaboo reflections in a window-pane,
+Such a story-hour was never heard.
+
+Aileen and her brother, strangers were to me;
+They were friendly for the cloth I wore;
+And through leagues of window, youthful play could see
+We were friends to be for evermore.
+
+So we passed the hamlets, passed the miles of night
+In a fairyland of silent games,
+Till the travel ended in the Worcester light,--
+Yet we parted, strangers in our names.
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+On a Train
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+But   a fortnight later, by an autumn tree,
+Aileen and her brother came my way,
+And another, glad to tell the names of them and me,
+And to hear how travellers can play.
+
+Life is but a journey, say we evermore,
+Passing lights the years have, like a train;
+Three good friends will travel up to heaven's door,
+With the world a merry window-pane.
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+39
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+THE COLUMBINE
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+Gray lonely rocks about thee stand,
+Ignored of sun and dew,
+Yet is thy breath upon the land,
+To thy vocation true.
+
+So come they character to me
+That works in sunless ways,
+And I shall learn to give with thee
+Dark hills a constant praise.
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+40
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+TWO SEANICHIES
+
+(For Aedh)
+
+
+'Tis the queerest trade we have, the two of us that go about,
+I that do the talkin', and the little lad that sings,
+We to tell the story of a Land you ought to know about,--
+The wonder land of Erin and the memories it brings.
+
+Sure it is a wonder land, richer than the books it is,
+Full of magic stories and a hopeful heart of song;
+Faith, and near the mountains and the sunny lakes and brooks it is,
+Like the olden seanichies, the pair of us belong.
+
+Far and broad our journeyin' , up and down the land we go,
+Today among the mountains and tomorrow by the sea;
+Pleasant are the roads with us, and to a welcome grand we go,
+Erin wins the heart of you, whoever you may be.
+
+Erin's heart will capture you, if you will but listen now,
+Great she was afore the Danes and all her Saxon foes,
+After that the sorrows came, sure your eyes will glisten now,
+Up, my lad, and sing for them "The Dark Little Rose."
+
+Rest awhile and I will tell the fame of Tara's Hall to them,
+All the deeds of valor and a thousand scenes of joy,
+Wicklow hills and Derry fields where Killarney calls to them.
+Come, my lad, it's Ninety-Eight and sing "The Croppy Boy."
+
+Long ago the stranger came and learned to love the ways of her,
+Irish more than Irish the Norman foe became;
+Sure and here across the sea you give your hearts to praise of her,
+The tear and smile within her eyes that ever are the same.
+
+Not for gold or little fame the two of us to go about,
+I that do the talkin', and the little lad that sings,
+We to win your love for her, the Land you're glad to know about,
+The wonder land of Erin and the memories it brings.
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+41
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+THE GREEN BRIGADE
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+ON THE FIELD OF CORN
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+Where is the war ye march unto,
+>From the early tents of morn?
+And what are the deeds ye hope to do,
+Brave Grenadiers of Corn?
+Pearls of the dew are on your hair,
+And the jewels of morning light,
+Pennants of green ye fling to the air,
+And the tall plumes waving bright.
+
+Gaily away and steady ye go,
+Never a faltering line:
+Forward!  I follow and try to know
+Word of your countersign:
+Hist!  The spies of the tyrant sun
+Eagerly watch your plan,
+Lavish with bribes of gold, they run
+Down to your outmost man.
+
+Steady, good lads, go bravely on
+By the parching hills of pain,
+An armor of shade ye soon may don
+And meet the allies of rain:
+And night in the bivouac hours will sing
+Praise of the march ye made,
+And into your pockets good gold will bring,
+Men of the Green Brigade.
+
+Yea, and upon September's field,
+When the long campaign is done,
+With arms up-stacked, your hearts will yield
+Conquest of rain and sun:
+The pennants and plumes will then be sere,
+Your pearls delight no morn,
+But tents of plenty will bless the year,
+Brave Grenadiers of Corn.
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+42
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+ALLELUIA HEIGHT
+
+
+Obedience to the seasons' marshall-rod,
+That is a law of God,
+Here beauty passes with her gorgeous train,
+On paths that range from bud to grain.
+O, here the searching eyes
+In traffic for the soul's good gain
+Earn wealth of rare delight.
+Far pathways of surprise,
+In color's frumenty bedight,
+Lead off from avenues of day
+Through miles of pageantries:
+And from the starry chancels of the night
+And the inscrutable farther skies,
+Beyond where trackless comets stray,
+Outspreads a world in thought's array.
+And lo!  the heart's true voices sing
+>From the exulting reverent breast,
+And lips proclaim, with adoration blessed,
+Glad Alleluias to the King.
+
+Prompt is our praise unto a jewelled queen
+In all her courtly splendor set,
+(Fair as those fairylands are seen
+By childhood's other sight):
+But if in pauper mien,
+Too poor for stray regret
+Where crowded streets affright
+She stood in beggary,
+Unknown, though faithful to her high degree,--
+O, then her praise  'twere easy to forget.
+Yet ever here,
+For all of time's prompt fickleness-
+>From plenteous June and wide largess
+Of full midsummer days,
+To dwarf December pitiless
+Amid the earth's uncomplimented ways-
+
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+43
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+Alleluia Height
+
+
+Yea, constant through the changeful year,
+This queenly Height commands our praise.
+To stand in meek unflinching hardihood
+When fortune blows its storm of fright,
+And work to full effect that good
+Resolved in open days of clearer sight-
+O, this is worth!
+That daily sees the soul
+To braver liberties give birth,
+That heeds not time's annoy,
+And hears surrounding voices roll
+Perennial circumstance of joy.
+Then come not only when the springtime blows
+The old familiar strangeness of its breath
+Across the long-lain snows,
+And chants her resurrected songs
+About the tombs of death;
+Nor yet when summer glows
+In roseate throngs
+And works her plenitude of deeds
+By tangled dells and waving meads,
+Come here in beauty's pilgrimage:
+Nor when the autumn reads
+Illuminate her page
+With tints of magicry besprent
+Of iridescent wonderment-
+(As scrolls in old monastic towers,
+Done in an earnest far-off age).
+But choose to come in winter hours
+To see how character can live,
+How noble character will give
+Through desolate distress
+And cold neglect's duress,
+The fulness of its powers
+And win the soul its victor sign.
+Yea, come when in a peasant gown,
+Amid the ample banners of the pine,
+
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+44
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+Alleluia Height
+
+
+And the resounding harpers of the vine,
+Lone winter holds upon the Height
+Her court in full renown.
+Obedient her courtiers go,
+Their gonfalons aloft and bright,
+And scatter pearls of snow;
+Her sturdy knighthood wear for crown
+Prismatic sheen in young delight,
+And wave the cedar oriflamme on high;
+While windward heralds cry,
+Across the battlements of earth
+To parapets along the sky,
+The lauds of character's full worth.
+
+The winter passes and the days come in
+Vibrant with spring.
+And men find welcome at the Easter tomb,
+Reward they win,
+Who make their hearts with courage sing
+Through Lenten opportunity of gloom:
+(Not as the Pharisees,
+With faces lacrimose,
+Who wear pretence of ashen woes,
+And murmur like the tuneless bees,
+Whose honies are hypocrisies),
+But men of character's delight,
+Who like this valiant Height
+Still serving through the bleakest day,
+With humble offerings of sound and sight,
+Do steadfast stand and pray:
+O, count those souls of noble worth,
+And God's good pleasure on His earth,
+Who still, if joy or pain
+Brings sun or rain,
+Heroic sing
+The law of Alleluia to the King.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg Etext Ballads of Peace in War, by Michael Earls
+
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