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| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:55 -0700 |
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| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-14 20:08:55 -0700 |
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diff --git a/37845-h/37845-h.htm b/37845-h/37845-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..a473fc7 --- /dev/null +++ b/37845-h/37845-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8811 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<!-- $Id: header.txt 236 2009-12-07 18:57:00Z vlsimpson $ --> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=iso-8859-1" /> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of A Book Of Irish Verse, by W.B. Yeats. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> + +body { + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; +} + + h1,h2,h3,h4 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; +} + +p { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; +} +.ind { + margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + text-indent: 1em; +} + +.p4 {margin-top: 4em;} +.p6 {margin-top: 6em;} + + + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + + .tdc {text-align: center;} + +.pagenum { /* uncomment the next line for invisible page numbers */ + /* visibility: hidden; */ + position: absolute; + left: 1em; + font-size: 80%; + text-align: right; + text-indent: 0em; +} /* page numbers */ + +h1 { text-align:center; line-height:1.5; } + +.smaller {font-size: 90%;} + +table { + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; +} + + + + + /* poetry number */ + +.center {text-align: center;} + +.smcap {font-variant: small-caps; + font-size: 110%;} + +/* Poetry */ +.poemblocks {margin: auto; width: 16em;} +.poemblocks2 {margin: auto; width: 20em;} +.poemblock {margin: auto; width: 24em;} +.poemblock1 {margin: auto; width: 28em;} +.poemblock2 {margin: auto; width: 32em;} +.poemblock3 {margin: auto; width: 38em;} +.poemblock4 {margin: auto; width: 42em;} +.poem { + margin-left: 15%; + margin-right: 5%; + text-align: left; +} + + +.poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + + +.poem span.i0 { + display: block; + margin-left: 0.25em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} +.poem span.i1 { + display: block; + margin-left: .5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + +.poem span.i2 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} +.poem span.i3 { + display: block; + margin-left: 1.5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + +.poem span.i4 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i5 { + display: block; + margin-left: 2.5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i7 { + display: block; + margin-left: 3.5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i8 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i9 { + display: block; + margin-left: 4.5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + .poem span.i11 { + display: block; + margin-left: 5.5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + + .poem span.i13 { + display: block; + margin-left: 6.5em; + padding-left: 3em; + text-indent: -3em; +} + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of A Book of Irish Verse, by William Butler Yeats + +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: A Book of Irish Verse + Selected from modern writers with an introduction and notes + by W. B. Yeats + +Author: William Butler Yeats + +Release Date: October 25, 2011 [EBook #37845] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF IRISH VERSE *** + + + + +Produced by Brian Foley, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + + + + + +</pre> + +<h1>A BOOK OF</h1> + +<h1>IRISH VERSE</h1> + + +<h3>SELECTED FROM MODERN WRITERS</h3> +<h3>WITH AN INTRODUCTION</h3> +<h3>AND NOTES</h3> +<h2>BY W.B. YEATS</h2> +<div class="p6" /> +<h3>METHUEN AND CO.</h3> +<h3>36 ESSEX STREET, W.C.</h3> +<h3>LONDON</h3> +<h3> +1900</h3> + +<h4><i>Revised Edition</i></h4> + +<div class="p6" /> +<p class="center"> +W.H. WHITE AND CO. LTD.<br /> +RIVERSIDE PRESS, EDINBURGH<br /> +</p> +<div class="p6" /> + +<p class="center"><big>TO THE MEMBERS</big> + +<br />OF<br /> + +THE NATIONAL LITERARY SOCIETY OF DUBLIN<br /> + +AND THE<br /> + +IRISH LITERARY SOCIETY OF LONDON</p> +<div class="p6" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + + + + +<div class="center"> +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" summary="TOC"> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><span class="smcap">PAGE</span></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Preface</td><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#PREFACE">xiii</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Modern Irish Poetry</td><td align="left"></td><td align="right"><a href="#MODERN_IRISH_POETRY">xvii</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Old Age</td><td align="left"><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i> (1725-1774)</td><td align="right"><a href="#OLD_AGE">1</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Village Preacher</td><td align="left"><i>Oliver Goldsmith</i> (1725-1774)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_VILLAGE_PREACHER">2</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Deserter's Meditation</td><td align="left"><i>John Philpot Curran</i> (1750—1817)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_DESERTERS_MEDITATION">3</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'Thou canst not boast'</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan</i> (1751-1816)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THOU_CANST_NOT_BOAST">4</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kathleen O'More</td><td align="left"><i>James Nugent Reynolds</i> ( -1802)</td><td align="right"><a href="#KATHLEEN_OMORE">5</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Groves of Blarney</td><td align="left"><i>Richard Alfred Milliken</i> (1767-1815)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_GROVES_OF_BLARNEY">6</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Light of other Days</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Moore</i> (1779-1852)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_LIGHT_OF_OTHER_DAYS">10</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'At the Mid Hour of Night'</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Moore</i> (1779-1852)</td><td align="right"><a href="#AT_THE_MID_HOUR_OF_NIGHT">11</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Burial of Sir John Moore</td><td align="left"><i>Rev. Charles Wolfe</i> (1791-1823)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_BURIAL_OF_SIR_JOHN_MOORE">12</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Convict of Clonmel</td><td align="left"><i>Jeremiah Joseph Callanan</i> (1795-1839)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_CONVICT_OF_CLONMELL">14</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Outlaw of Loch Lene</td><td align="left"><i>Jeremiah Joseph Callanan</i> (1795-1839)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_OUTLAW_OF_LOCH_LENE">16</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dirge of O'Sullivan Bear</td><td align="left"><i>Jeremiah Joseph Callanan</i> (1795-1839)</td><td align="right"><a href="#DIRGE_OF_OSULLIVAN_BEAR">17</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Love Song</td><td align="left"><i>George Darley</i> (1795-1846)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LOVE_SONG">20</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Whistlin' Thief</td><td align="left"><i>Samuel Lover</i> (1797-1868)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_WHISTLIN_THIEF">22</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Soggarth Aroon</td><td align="left"><i>John Banim</i> (1798-1842)</td><td align="right"><a href="#SOGGARTH_AROON">24</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dark Rosaleen</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#DARK_ROSALEEN">27</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lament for the Princes</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">of Tyrone and Tyrconnell</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LAMENT_FOR_THE_PRINCES_OF_TYRONE_AND">31</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Lamentation for the</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Death of Sir Maurice</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Fitzgerald</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#A_LAMENTATION_FOR_THE_DEATH_OF_SIR">41</a> </td><td align="left"><span class="pagenum">[viii]</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">The Woman of Three Cows</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS">43</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Prince Alfrid's Itinerary</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">through Ireland</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#PRINCE_ALFRIDS_ITINERARY_THROUGH">47</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O'Hussey's Ode to The</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Maguire</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#OHUSSEYS_ODE_TO_THE_MAGUIRE">50</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Nameless One</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_NAMELESS_ONE">55</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Siberia</td><td align="left"><i>James Clarence Mangan</i> (1803-1849)</td><td align="right"><a href="#SIBERIA">57</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Hy-Brasail</td><td align="left"><i>Gerald Griffin</i> (1803-1840)</td><td align="right"><a href="#HY-BRASAIL">59</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mo Craoibhin Cno</td><td align="left"><i>Edward Walsh</i> (1805-1850)</td><td align="right"><a href="#MO_CRAOIBHIN_CNO">61</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mairgréad Ni Chealleadh</td><td align="left"><i>Edward Walsh</i> (1805-1850)</td><td align="right"><a href="#MAIRGREAD_NI_CHEALLEADH">63</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">From the Cold Sod</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">that's o'er you</td><td align="left"><i>Edward Walsh</i> (1805-1850)</td><td align="right"><a href="#FROM_THE_COLD_SOD_THATS_OER_YOU">65</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fairy Nurse</td><td align="left"><i>Edward Walsh</i> (1805-1850)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_FAIRY_NURSE">67</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A cuisle geal mo chroidhe</td><td align="left"><i>Michael Doheny</i> (1805-1863)</td><td align="right"><a href="#A_CUISLE_GEAL_MO_CHROIDHE">69</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lament of the Irish</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Emigrant</td><td align="left"><i>Lady Dufferin</i> (1807-1867)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT">71</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Welshmen of</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Tirawley</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_WELSHMEN_OF_TIRAWLEY">74</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Aideen's Grave</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#AIDEENS_GRAVE">91</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Deirdre's Lament for</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">the Sons of Usnach</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#DEIRDRES_LAMENT_FOR_THE_SONS_OF">99</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fair Hills of Ireland</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_FAIR_HILLS_OF_IRELAND">102</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lament over the Ruins</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">of the Abbey of Timoleague</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LAMENT_OVER_THE_RUINS_OF_THE_ABBEY">104</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fairy Well of Lagnanay</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_FAIRY_WELL_OF_LAGNANAY">107</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">On the Death of Thomas</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Davis</td><td align="left"><i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i> (1810-1886)</td><td align="right"><a href="#ON_THE_DEATH_OF_THOMAS_DAVIS">111</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The County of Mayo</td><td align="left"><i>George Fox</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_COUNTY_OF_MAYO">115</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Wedding of the</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Clans</td><td align="left"><i>Aubrey de Vere</i> (1814)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_WEDDING_OF_THE_CLANS">117</a> </td><td align="left"><span class="pagenum">[ix]</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">The Little Black Rose</td><td align="left"><i>Aubrey de Vere</i> (1814)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_LITTLE_BLACK_ROSE">119</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Song</td><td align="left"><i>Aubrey de Vere</i> (1814)</td><td align="right"><a href="#SONG1">120</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Bard Ethell</td><td align="left"><i>Aubrey de Vere</i> (1814)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_BARD_ETHELL">121</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lament for the Death</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">of Eoghan Ruadh</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O'Neill</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Davis</i> (1814-1845)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LAMENT_FOR_THE_DEATH_OF_EOGHAN">135</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Maire Bhan Astór</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Davis</i> (1814-1845)</td><td align="right"><a href="#MAIRE_BHAN_ASTOR">138</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">O! the Marriage</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Davis</i> (1814-1845)</td><td align="right"><a href="#O_THE_MARRIAGE">140</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Plea for Love</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas Davis</i> (1814-1845)</td><td align="right"><a href="#A_PLEA_FOR_LOVE">142</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Remembrance</td><td align="left"><i>Emily Brontë</i> (1818-1848)</td><td align="right"><a href="#REMEMBRANCE">143</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Fragment from 'The</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Prisoner: a Fragment'</td><td align="left"><i>Emily Brontë</i> (1818-1848)</td><td align="right"><a href="#A_FRAGMENT_FROM_THE_PRISONER_A">145</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Last Lines</td><td align="left"><i>Emily Brontë</i> (1818-1848)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LAST_LINES">147</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Memory of the Dead</td><td align="left"><i>John Kells Ingram</i> (? 1820)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_MEMORY_OF_THE_DEAD">148</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Winding Banks of</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Erne</td><td align="left"><i>William Allingham</i> (1824-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_WINDING_BANKS_OF_ERNE_OR_THE">150</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fairies</td><td align="left"><i>William Allingham</i> (1824-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_FAIRIES">157</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Abbot of Inisfālen.</td><td align="left"><i>William Allingham</i> (1824-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_ABBOT_OF_INISFALEN">160</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Twilight Voices</td><td align="left"><i>William Allingham</i> (1824-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#TWILIGHT_VOICES">164</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'Four Ducks on a Pond'</td><td align="left"><i>William Allingham</i> (1824-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#FOUR_DUCKS_ON_A_POND">166</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lover and Birds</td><td align="left"><i>William Allingham</i> (1824-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_LOVER_AND_BIRDS">167</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Celts</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas D'Arcy McGee</i> (1825-1868)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_CELTS">169</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Salutation to the Celts</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas D'Arcy McGee</i> (1825-1868)</td><td align="right"><a href="#SALUTATION_TO_THE_CELTS">172</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Gobban Saor</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas D'Arcy McGee</i> (1825-1868)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_GOBBAN_SAOR">174</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Patrick Sheehan</td><td align="left"><i>Charles J. Kickham</i> (1825-1882)</td><td align="right"><a href="#PATRICK_SHEEHAN">176</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Irish Peasant Girl</td><td align="left"><i>Charles J. Kickham</i> (1825-1882)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_IRISH_PEASANT_GIRL">180</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To God and Ireland True</td><td align="left"><i>Ellen O'Leary</i> (1831-1889)</td><td align="right"><a href="#TO_GOD_AND_IRELAND_TRUE">182</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Banshee</td><td align="left"><i>John Todhunter</i> (1836)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_BANSHEE">183</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Aghadoe</td><td align="left"><i>John Todhunter</i> (1836)</td><td align="right"><a href="#AGHADOE">186</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Mad Song</td><td align="left"><i>Hester Sigerson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#A_MAD_SONG">188</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lady Margaret's Song</td><td align="left"><i>Edward Dowden</i> (1843)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LADY_MARGARETS_SONG">188</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Song</td><td align="left"><i>Arthur O'Shaughnessy</i> (1844-1881)</td><td align="right"><a href="#SONG2">189</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Father O'Flynn</td><td align="left"><i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i> (1846)</td><td align="right"><a href="#FATHER_OFLYNN">191</a> </td><td align="left"><span class="pagenum">[x]</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">Song</td><td align="left"><i>Rosa Gilbert</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#SONG3">192</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Requiescat</td><td align="left"><i>Oscar Wilde</i> (1855)</td><td align="right"><a href="#REQUIESCAT">193</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Lament of Queen</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Maev</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas William Rolleston</i> (1857)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_LAMENT_OF_QUEEN_MAEV">195</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dead at Clonmacnois</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas William Rolleston</i> (1857)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_DEAD_AT_CLONMACNOIS">197</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Spell-struck</td><td align="left"><i>Thomas William Rolleston</i> (1857)</td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_SPELL-STRUCK">198</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'Were you on the</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Mountain?'</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Hyde</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#WERE_YOU_ON_THE_MOUNTAIN">199</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">'My Grief on the Sea'</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Hyde</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#MY_GRIEF_ON_THE_SEA">200</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">My Love, O, she is my</td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Love</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Hyde</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#MY_LOVE_O_SHE_IS_MY_LOVE">201</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">I shall not die for thee</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Hyde</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#I_SHALL_NOT_DIE_FOR_THEE">204</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Riddles</td><td align="left"><i>Douglas Hyde</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#RIDDLES">205</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lough Bray</td><td align="left"><i>Rose Kavanagh</i> (1861-1891)</td><td align="right"><a href="#LOUGH_BRAY">206</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Children of Lir</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_CHILDREN_OF_LIR">209</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">St. Francis to the Birds</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#ST_FRANCIS_TO_THE_BIRDS">212</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sheep and Lambs</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#SHEEP_AND_LAMBS">215</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Gardener Sage</td><td align="left"><i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_GARDENER_SAGE">216</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Dark Man</td><td align="left"><i>Nora Hopper</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_DARK_MAN">218</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Fairy Fiddler</td><td align="left"><i>Nora Hopper</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_FAIRY_FIDDLER">219</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Our Thrones Decay</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#OUR_THRONES_DECAY">220</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Immortality</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#IMMORTALITY">221</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Great Breath</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_GREAT_BREATH">221</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Sung on a By-way</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#SUNG_ON_A_BY-WAY">222</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Dream Love</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#DREAM_LOVE">223</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Illusion</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#ILLUSION">223</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Janus</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#JANUS">224</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Connla's Well</td><td align="left"><i>A.E.</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#CONNLAS_WELL">225</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Names</td><td align="left"><i>John Eglinton</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#NAMES">226</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">That</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Weekes</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THAT">227</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Think</td><td align="left"><i>Charles Weekes</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THINK">227</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Te Martyrum Candidatus</td><td align="left"><i>Lionel Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#TE_MARTYRUM_CANDIDATUS">228</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Church of a Dream</td><td align="left"><i>Lionel Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_CHURCH_OF_A_DREAM">229</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Ways of War</td><td align="left"><i>Lionel Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#WAYS_OF_WAR">230</a><small>A</small></td><td align="left"><span class="pagenum">[xi]</span></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">The Red Wind</td><td align="left"><i>Lionel Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_RED_WIND">231</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Celtic Speech</td><td align="left"><i>Lionel Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#CELTIC_SPEECH">232</a><small>A</small></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">To Morfydd</td><td align="left"><i>Lionel Johnson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#TO_MORFYDD">225</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Can Doov Deelish</td><td align="left"><i>Dora Sigerson</i></td><td align="right"><a href="#CAN_DOOV_DEELISH">226</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td><td align="left"><big>ANONYMOUS</big></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left"></td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Shule Aroon</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#SHULE_AROON">231</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Shan Van Vocht</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_SHAN_VAN_VOCHT">232</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Wearing of the Green</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_WEARING_OF_THE_GREEN">235</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Rakes of Mallow</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_RAKES_OF_MALLOW">237</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Johnny, I hardly knew ye</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#JOHNNY_I_HARDLY_KNEW_YE">238</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Kitty of Coleraine</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#KITTY_OF_COLERAINE">241</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Lament of Morian Shehone for Miss Mary Bourke</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#LAMENT_OF_MORIAN_SHEHONE_FOR_MISS">242</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">The Geraldine's Daughter</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#THE_GERALDINES_DAUGHTER">246</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">By Memory Inspired</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#BY_MEMORY_INSPIRED">247</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">A Folk Verse</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#A_FOLK_VERSE">249</a> </td></tr> +<tr><td align="left">Notes</td><td align="right"></td><td align="right"><a href="#NOTES">250</a> </td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[xii]</span></p> +<h2><a name="PREFACE" id="PREFACE"></a>PREFACE</h2> + + +<p><big>I</big> HAVE not found it possible to revise this book +as completely as I should have wished. I have +corrected a bad mistake of a copyist, and added +a few pages of new verses towards the end, and +softened some phrases in the introduction which +seemed a little petulant in form, and written in +a few more to describe writers who have appeared +during the last four years, and that is +about all. I compiled it towards the end of a +long indignant argument, carried on in the committee +rooms of our literary societies, and in +certain newspapers between a few writers of our +new movement, who judged Irish literature by +literary standards, and a number of people, a +few of whom were writers, who judged it by its +patriotism and by its political effect; and I hope +my opinions may have value as part of an argument +which may awaken again. The Young +Ireland writers wrote to give the peasantry a +literature in English in place of the literature<span class="pagenum">[xiv]</span> +they were losing with Gaelic, and these methods, +which have shaped the literary thought of Ireland +to our time, could not be the same as the methods +of a movement which, so far as it is more than +an instinctive expression of certain moods of the +soul, endeavours to create a reading class among +the more leisured classes, which will preoccupy +itself with Ireland and the needs of Ireland. The +peasants in eastern counties have their Young +Ireland poetry, which is always good teaching and +sometimes good poetry, and the peasants of +the western counties have beautiful poems and +stories in Gaelic, while our more leisured classes +read little about any country, and nothing about +Ireland. We cannot move these classes from an +apathy, come from their separation from the land +they live in, by writing about politics or about +Gaelic, but we may move them by becoming +men of letters and expressing primary emotions +and truths in ways appropriate to this country. +One carries on the traditions of Thomas Davis, +towards whom our eyes must always turn, not +less than the traditions of good literature, which +are the morality of the man of letters, when one +is content, like A.E. with fewer readers that one +may follow a more hidden beauty; or when one<span class="pagenum">[xv]</span> +endeavours, as I have endeavoured in this book, +to separate what has literary value from what +has only a patriotic and political value, no matter +how sacred it has become to us.</p> + +<p class="ind">The reader who would begin a serious study +of modern Irish literature should do so with Mr +Stopford Brooke's and Mr Rolleston's exhaustive +anthology.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +W.B.Y. +</p> + +<p><i>August 15, 1899</i></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[xvii]</span></p> +<h2><a name="MODERN_IRISH_POETRY" id="MODERN_IRISH_POETRY"></a>MODERN IRISH POETRY</h2> +<p><big>T</big>HE Irish Celt is sociable, as may be known +from his proverb, 'Strife is better than loneliness,' +and the Irish poets of the nineteenth +century have made songs abundantly when +friends and rebels have been at hand to applaud. +The Irish poets of the eighteenth century found +both at a Limerick hostelry, above whose door +was written a rhyming welcome in Gaelic to +all passing poets, whether their pockets were +full or empty. Its owner, himself a famous +poet, entertained his fellows as long as his +money lasted, and then took to minding the +hens and chickens of an old peasant woman for +a living, and ended his days in rags, but not, +one imagines, without content. Among his +friends and guests had been O'Sullivan the +Red, O'Sullivan the Gaelic, O'Heffernan the +blind, and many another, and their songs had +made the people, crushed by the disasters of the +Boyne and Aughrim, remember their ancient +greatness. The bardic order, with its perfect +artifice and imperfect art, had gone down<span class="pagenum">[xviii]</span> +in the wars of the seventeenth century, and +poetry had found shelter amid the turf-smoke +of the cabins. The powers that history commemorates +are but the coarse effects of influences +delicate and vague as the beginning of twilight, +and these influences were to be woven like a +web about the hearts of men by farm-labourers, +pedlars, potato-diggers, hedge-schoolmasters, and +grinders at the quern, poor wastrels who put +the troubles of their native land, or their own +happy or unhappy loves, into songs of an extreme +beauty. But in the midst of this beauty was +a flitting incoherence, a fitful dying out of the +sense, as though the passion had become too +great for words, as must needs be when life is +the master and not the slave of the singer.</p> + +<p class="ind">English-speaking Ireland had meanwhile no +poetic voice, for Goldsmith had chosen to celebrate +English scenery and manners; and Swift was but +an Irishman by what Mr Balfour has called the +visitation of God, and much against his will; and +Congreve by education and early association; +while Parnell, Denham, and Roscommon were +poets but to their own time. Nor did the coming +with the new century of the fame of <a name="Moore" id="Moore"></a>Moore set +the balance even, for all but all of his Irish +melodies are artificial and mechanical when<span class="pagenum">[xix]</span> +separated from the music that gave them wings. +Whatever he had of high poetry is in 'The Light +of other Days,' and in 'At the Mid Hour of +Night,' which express what Matthew Arnold has +taught us to call 'the Celtic melancholy,' with so +much of delicate beauty in the meaning and in +the wavering or steady rhythm that one knows +not where to find their like in literature. His +more artificial and mechanical verse, because +of the ancient music that makes it seem natural +and vivid, and because it has remembered so +many beloved names and events and places, has +had the influence which might have belonged to +these exquisite verses had he written none but +these. An honest style did not come into +English-speaking Ireland, until Callanan wrote +three or four naïve translations from the +Gaelic. 'Shule Aroon' and 'Kathleen O'More' +had indeed been written for a good while, +but had no more influence than Moore's best +verses. Now, however, the lead of Callanan +was followed by a number of translators, and +they in turn by the poets of 'Young Ireland,' +who mingled a little learned from the Gaelic +ballad-writers with a great deal learned from +Scott, Macaulay, and Campbell, and turned poetry +once again into a principal means for spreading<span class="pagenum">[xx]</span> +ideas of nationality and patriotism. They were +full of earnestness, but never understood that +though a poet may govern his life by his +enthusiasms, he must, when he sits down at his +desk, but use them as the potter the clay. Their +thoughts were a little insincere, because they +lived in the half illusions of their admirable +ideals; and their rhythms not seldom mechanical, +because their purpose was served when they had +satisfied the dull ears of the common man. They +had no time to listen to the voice of the insatiable +artist, who stands erect, or lies asleep waiting +until a breath arouses him, in the heart of every +craftsman. Life was their master, as it had been +the master of the poets who gathered in the +Limerick hostelry, though it conquered them +not by unreasoned love for a woman, or for +native land, but by reasoned enthusiasm, and +practical energy. No man was more sincere, +no man had a less mechanical mind than Thomas +Davis, and yet he is often a little insincere and +mechanical in his verse. When he sat down to +write he had so great a desire to make the +peasantry courageous and powerful that he half +believed them already 'the finest peasantry upon +the earth,' and wrote not a few such verses +as<span class="pagenum">[xxi]</span></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Lead him to fight for native land,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His is no courage cold and wary;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The troops live not that could withstand<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The headlong charge of Tipperary,'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p>and to-day we are paying the reckoning with +much bombast. His little book has many +things of this kind, and yet we honour it for +its public spirit, and recognise its powerful +influence with gratitude. He was in the main +an orator influencing men's acts, and not a poet +shaping their emotions, and the bulk of his influence +has been good. He was, indeed, a poet +of much tenderness in the simple love-songs +'The Marriage,' 'A Plea for Love,' and 'Mary +Bhan Astór,' and, but for his ideal of a Fisherman, +defying a foreign soldiery, would have +been as good in 'The Boatman of Kinsale'; and +once or twice when he touched upon some historic +sorrow he forgot his hopes for the future and his +lessons for the present, and made moving verse. +His contemporary, <a name="Clarence_Mangan" id="Clarence_Mangan"></a>Clarence Mangan, kept out +of public life and its half illusions by a passion +for books, and for drink and opium, made an +imaginative and powerful style. He translated +from the German, and imitated Oriental poetry, +but little that he did on any but Irish subjects +is permanently interesting. He is usually classed<span class="pagenum">[xxii]</span> +with the Young Ireland poets, because he contributed +to their periodicals and shared their +political views; but his style was formed before +their movement began, and he found it the more +easy for this reason perhaps to give sincere +expression to the mood which he had chosen, +the only sincerity literature knows of; and with +happiness and cultivation might have displaced +Moore. But as it was, whenever he had no fine +ancient song to inspire him, he fell into rhetoric +which was only lifted out of commonplace by +an arid intensity. In his 'Irish National Hymn,' +'Soul and Country,' and the like, we look into a +mind full of parched sands where the sweet dews +have never fallen. A miserable man may think +well and express himself with great vehemence, +but he cannot make beautiful things, for Aphrodite +never rises from any but a tide of joy. Mangan +knew nothing of the happiness of the outer man, +and it was only when prolonging the tragic +exultation of some dead bard, that he knew the +unearthly happiness which clouds the outer man +with sorrow, and is the fountain of impassioned +art. Like those who had gone before him, he +was the slave of life, for he had nothing of the +self-knowledge, the power of selection, the +harmony of mind, which enables the poet to<span class="pagenum">[xxiii]</span> +be its master, and to mould the world to a +trumpet for his lips. But O'Hussey's Ode +over his outcast chief must live for generations +because of the passion that moves through its +powerful images and its mournful, wayward, and +fierce rhythms.</p> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">'Though he were even a wolf ranging the round green woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though he were even a pleasant salmon in the unchainable sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though he were a wild mountain eagle, he could scarce bear, he,<br /></span> +<span class="i4">This sharp, sore sleet, these howling floods.'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p class="ind">Edward Walsh, a village schoolmaster, who +hovered, like Mangan, on the edge of the Young +Ireland movement, did many beautiful translations +from the Gaelic; and Michael Doheny, while out +'on his keeping' in the mountains after the +collapse at Ballingarry, made one of the most +moving of ballads; but in the main the poets +who gathered about Thomas Davis, and whose +work has come down to us in 'The Spirit of the +Nation,' were of practical and political, not of +literary importance.</p> + +<p class="ind">Meanwhile Samuel Ferguson, William Allingham, +and Mr Aubrey de Vere were working apart +from politics, Ferguson selecting his subjects<span class="pagenum">[xxiv]</span> +from the traditions of the Bardic age, and Allingham +from those of his native Ballyshannon, and +Mr Aubrey de Vere wavering between English, +Irish, and Catholic tradition. They were wiser +than Young Ireland in the choice of their models, +for, while drawing not less from purely Irish +sources, they turned to the great poets of the +world, Mr de Vere owing something of his gravity +to Wordsworth, Ferguson much of his simplicity +to Homer, while Allingham had trained an ear, +too delicate to catch the tune of but a single +master, upon the lyric poetry of many lands. +Allingham was the best artist, but Ferguson had +the more ample imagination, the more epic aim. +He had not the subtlety of feeling, the variety +of cadence of a great lyric poet, but he has +touched, here and there, an epic vastness and +naïveté, as in the description in 'Congal' of +the mire-stiffened mantle of the giant spectre +Mananan macLir, striking against his calves with +as loud a noise as the mainsail of a ship makes, +'when with the coil of all its ropes it beats the +sounding mast.' He is frequently dull, for he +often lacked the 'minutely appropriate words' +necessary to embody those fine changes of feeling +which enthral the attention; but his sense of +weight and size, of action and tumult, has set<span class="pagenum">[xxv]</span> +him apart and solitary, an epic figure in a lyric +age. Allingham, whose pleasant destiny has +made him the poet of his native town, and put +'The Winding Banks of Erne' into the mouths +of the ballad-singers of Ballyshannon, is, on the +other hand, a master of 'minutely appropriate +words,' and can wring from the luxurious sadness +of the lover, from the austere sadness of old age, +the last golden drop of beauty; but amid action +and tumult he can but fold his hands. He is the +poet of the melancholy peasantry of the West, +and, as years go on, and voluminous histories and +copious romances drop under the horizon, will +take his place among those minor immortals who +have put their souls into little songs to humble +the proud. The poetry of Mr Aubrey de Vere +has less architecture than the poetry of Ferguson +and Allingham, and more meditation. Indeed, +his few but ever memorable successes are enchanted +islands in grey seas of stately impersonal +reverie and description, which drift by and leave +no definite recollection. One needs, perhaps, to +perfectly enjoy him, a Dominican habit, a cloister, +and a breviary.</p> + +<p class="ind">These three poets published much of their best +work before and during the Fenian movement, +which, like 'Young Ireland,' had its poets, though<span class="pagenum">[xxvi]</span> +but a small number. Charles Kickham, one of the +'triumvirate' that controlled it in Ireland; John +Casey, a clerk in a flour-mill; and Ellen O'Leary, +the sister of Mr John O'Leary, were at times very +excellent. Their verse lacks, curiously enough, +the oratorical vehemence of Young Ireland, and +is plaintive and idyllic. The agrarian movement +that followed produced but little poetry, and of +that little all is forgotten but a vehement poem +by Fanny Parnell, and a couple of songs by +Mr T.D. Sullivan, who is a good song-writer, +though not, as the writer has read on an election +placard, 'one of the greatest poets who ever +moved the heart of man.' But while Nationalist +verse has ceased to be a portion of the propaganda +of a party, it has been written, and is being +written, under the influence of the Nationalist +newspapers and of Young Ireland societies and +the like. With an exacting conscience, and +better models than Thomas Moore and the +Young Irelanders, such beautiful enthusiasm +could not fail to make some beautiful verses. +But, as things are, the rhythms are mechanical, +and the metaphors conventional; and inspiration +is too often worshipped as a Familiar who +labours while you sleep, or forget, or do many +worthy things which are not spiritual things.<span class="pagenum">[xxvii]</span> +For the most part, the Irishman of our times +loves so deeply those arts which build up a +gallant personality, rapid writing, ready talking, +effective speaking to crowds, that he has no +thought for the arts which consume the personality +in solitude. He loves the mortal arts +which have given him a lure to take the hearts +of men, and shrinks from the immortal, which +could but divide him from his fellows. And in +this century, he who does not strive to be a +perfect craftsman achieves nothing. The poor +peasant of the eighteenth century could make +fine ballads by abandoning himself to the joy +or sorrow of the moment, as the reeds abandon +themselves to the wind which sighs through them, +because he had about him a world where all was +old enough to be steeped in emotion. But we +cannot take to ourselves, by merely thrusting +out our hands, all we need of pomp and symbol, +and if we have not the desire of artistic perfection +for an ark, the deluge of incoherence, vulgarity, +and triviality will pass over our heads. If we +had no other symbols but the tumult of the sea, +the rusted gold of the thatch, the redness of +the quicken-berry, and had never known the +rhetoric of the platform and of the newspaper, +we could do without laborious selection and<span class="pagenum">[xxviii]</span> +rejection; but, even then, though we might do +much that would be delightful, that would inspire +coming times, it would not have the +manner of the greatest poetry.</p> + +<p class="ind">Here and there, the Nationalist newspapers and +the Young Ireland societies have trained a writer +who, though busy with the old models, has some +imaginative energy; while Mr Lionel Johnson, +Mrs Hinkson, Miss Nora Hopper, and A.E., +the successors of Allingham and Ferguson and +Mr de Vere, are more anxious to influence +and understand Irish thought than any of their +predecessors who did not take the substance of +their poetry from politics. They are distinguished +too by their deliberate art, and with their preoccupation +with spiritual passions and memories. +Mr Lionel Johnson and Mrs Hinkson are both +Catholic and devout, but Mr Lionel Johnson's +poetry is lofty and austere, and, like Mr de Vere's, +never long forgets the greatness of his Church +and the interior life whose expression it is, while +Mrs Hinkson is happiest when she embodies +emotions, that have the innocence of childhood, +in symbols and metaphors from the green world +about her. She has no reverie nor speculation, +but a devout tenderness like that of S. Francis +for weak instinctive things, old gardeners, old<span class="pagenum">[xxix]</span> +fishermen, birds among the leaves, birds tossed +upon the waters. Miss Hopper belongs to that +school of writers which embodies passions, that +are not the less spiritual because no Church has +put them into prayers, in stories and symbols from +old Celtic poetry and mythology. The poetry +of A.E., at its best, finds its symbols and its +stories in the soul itself, and has a more disembodied +ecstasy than any poetry of our time. +He is the chief poet of the school of Irish +mystics, which has shaped Mr Charles Weekes, +who published recently, but withdrew immediately, +a curious and subtle book, and Mr John Eglinton, +who is best known for the orchestral harmonies +of his 'Two Essays on the Remnant,' and certain +younger writers who have heard the words, 'If +ye know these things, happy are ye if ye do +them,' and thought the labours that bring the +mystic vision more important than the labours +of any craft.</p> + +<p class="ind">Except some few Catholic and mystical poets +and Prof. Dowden in one or two poems, no +Irishman living in Ireland has sung excellently +of any but a theme from Irish experience, Irish +history, or Irish tradition. Trinity College, which +desires to be English, has been the mother of many +verse-writers and of few poets; and this can<span class="pagenum">[xxx]</span> +only be because she has set herself against the +national genius, and taught her children to imitate +alien styles and choose out alien themes, for it +is not possible to believe that the educated +Irishman alone is prosaic and uninventive. Her +few poets have been awakened by the influence +of the farm-labourers, potato-diggers, pedlars, and +hedge-schoolmasters of the eighteenth century, +and their imitators in this, and not by a scholastic +life, which, for reasons easy for all to understand +and for many to forgive, has refused the ideals of +Ireland, while those of England are but far-off +murmurs. An enemy to all enthusiasms, because +all enthusiasms seemed her enemies, she has +taught her children to look neither to the world +about them, nor into their own souls where +some dangerous fire might slumber.</p> + +<p class="ind">To remember that in Ireland the professional +and landed classes have been through the mould +of Trinity College or of English Universities, +and are ignorant of the very names of the best +writers in this book, is to know how strong a +wind blows from the ancient legends of Ireland, +how vigorous an impulse to create is in her +heart to-day. Deserted by the classes from +among whom have come the bulk of the world's +intellect, she struggles on, gradually ridding<span class="pagenum">[xxxi]</span> +herself of incoherence and triviality, and slowly +building up a literature in English which, whether +important or unimportant, grows always more +unlike others; nor does it seem as if she would +long lack a living literature in Gaelic, for the +movement for the preservation of Gaelic, which +has been so much more successful than +anybody foresaw, has already its poets. Dr +Hyde, who can only be represented here by +some of his beautiful translations, has written +Gaelic poems which pass from mouth to mouth +in the west of Ireland. The country people +have themselves fitted them to ancient airs, +and many that can neither read nor write, +sing them in Donegal and Connemara and +Galway. I have, indeed, but little doubt that +Ireland, communing with herself in Gaelic more +and more, but speaking to foreign countries in +English, will lead many that are sick with +theories and with trivial emotion, to some sweet +well-waters of primeval poetry.</p> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +W.B.Y.</p> +<p><span class="pagenum">[xxxii]</span></p> + + +<p class="ind"><span class="smcap">The</span> editor thanks Mr Aubrey de Vere, Mr T.W. +Rolleston, Dr J. Todhunter, Mr Alfred Perceval Graves, +Dr Douglas Hyde, Mr Lionel Johnson, A.E., Mr Charles +Weekes, Mr John Eglinton, Mrs Hinkson, Miss Dora +Sigerson (Mrs Clement Shortes), and Miss Nora Hopper +for permission to quote from their poems, Lady Ferguson +and Mrs Allingham for leave to give poems by Sir +Samuel Ferguson and William Allingham, and Messrs +Chatto & Windus for permission to include a song of +Arthur O'Shaughnessy's. Two writers are excluded whom +he would gladly have included—Casey, because the copyright +holders have refused permission, and Mr George +Armstrong, because his 'Songs of Wicklow,' when interesting, +are too long for this book.</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[1]</span></p> +<h2><a name="OLD_AGE" id="OLD_AGE"></a>OLD AGE</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the '<a name="Deserted_Village" id="Deserted_Village"></a>Deserted Village'</i></p> + + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In all my wanderings round this world of care,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In all my griefs—and God has given my share—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I still had hopes my later hours to crown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Amidst these humble bowers to lay me down;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To husband out life's taper at the close<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And keep the flame from wasting by repose;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I still had hopes, for pride attends us still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Amidst the swains to show my book-learned skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around my fire an evening group to draw,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tell of all I felt, and all I saw;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, as a hare whom hounds and horns pursue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pants to the place from whence at first he flew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I still had hopes, my long vexations past,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here to return—and die at home at last.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Oliver Goldsmith</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /><p><span class="pagenum">[2]</span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_VILLAGE_PREACHER" id="THE_VILLAGE_PREACHER"></a>THE VILLAGE PREACHER</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the 'Deserted Village'</i></p> + + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Near yonder copse, where once the garden smil'd,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And still where many a garden flower grows wild;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The village Preacher's modest mansion rose.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A man he was to all the country dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And passing rich with forty pounds a year;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Remote from towns he ran his godly race,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor e'er had changed, nor wish'd to change, his place;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unpractis'd he to fawn, or seek for power,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By doctrines fashion'd to the varying hour;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far other aims his heart had learn'd to prize,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">More skill'd to raise the wretched than to rise.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His house was known to all the vagrant train,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He chid their wanderings, but reliev'd their pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The long-remember'd beggar was his guest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whose beard descending swept his aged breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allow'd;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sat by his fire, and talked the night away;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[3]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wept o'er his wounds, or tales of sorrow done,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shouldered his crutch, and showed how fields were won.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And quite forgot their vices in their woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Careless their merits or their faults to scan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He pity gave ere charity began.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Oliver Goldsmith</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DESERTERS_MEDITATION" id="THE_DESERTERS_MEDITATION"></a>THE DESERTER'S MEDITATION</h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If sadly thinking, with spirits sinking,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could, more than drinking, my cares compose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A cure for sorrow from sighs I'd borrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And hope to-morrow would end my woes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But as in wailing there's nought availing,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And Death unfailing will strike the blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then for that reason, and for a season,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let us be merry before we go!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">To joy a stranger, a wayworn ranger,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In every danger my course I've run;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now hope all ending, and death befriending,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His last aid lending, my cares are done;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[4]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No more a rover, or hapless lover—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My griefs are over—my glass runs low;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then for that reason, and for a season,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Let us be merry before we go!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>John Philpot Curran</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THOU_CANST_NOT_BOAST" id="THOU_CANST_NOT_BOAST"></a>THOU CANST NOT BOAST</h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou canst not boast of Fortune's store,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My love, while me they wealthy call:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I was glad to find thee poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">For with my heart I'd give thee all,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And then the grateful youth shall own,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I loved him for himself alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But when his worth my hand shall gain,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">No word or look of mine shall show<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I the smallest thought retain<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Of what my bounty did bestow:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yet still his grateful heart shall own,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I loved him for himself alone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Richard Brinsley Sheridan</i></p> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<p><span class="pagenum">[5]</span></p> +<h2><a name="KATHLEEN_OMORE" id="KATHLEEN_OMORE"></a>KATHLEEN O'MORE</h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My love, still I think that I see her once more,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But, alas! she has left me her loss to deplore—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own little Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My Kathleen O'More!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Her hair glossy black, her eyes were dark blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her colour still changing, her smiles ever new—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So pretty was Kathleen, my sweet little Kathleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My Kathleen O'More!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She milked the dun cow, that ne'er offered to stir;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though wicked to all, it was gentle to her—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So kind was my Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My Kathleen O'More!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She sat at the door one cold afternoon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To hear the wind blow, and to gaze on the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So pensive was Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My Kathleen O'More!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Cold was the night-breeze that sighed round her bower,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It chilled my poor Kathleen, she drooped from that hour:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And I lost my poor Kathleen, my own little Kathleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My Kathleen O'More.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Bird of all birds that I love the best,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is the Robin that in the churchyard builds his nest;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For he seems to watch Kathleen, hops lightly o'er Kathleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">My Kathleen O'More.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Nugent Reynolds</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GROVES_OF_BLARNEY" id="THE_GROVES_OF_BLARNEY"></a>THE GROVES OF BLARNEY</h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The groves of Blarney<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They look so charming<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down by the purling<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of sweet, silent brooks,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Being banked with posies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That spontaneous grow there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Planted in order<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By the sweet rock close.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[7]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis there's the daisy<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the sweet carnation,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The blooming pink,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the rose so fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The daffydowndilly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Likewise the lily,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All flowers that scent<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The sweet, fragrant air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Tis Lady Jeffers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That owns this station;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like Alexander,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or Queen Helen fair.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's no commander<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In all the nation,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For emulation,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Can with her compare.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such walls surround her<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That no nine-pounder<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Could dare to plunder<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her place of strength;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Oliver Cromwell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her he did pommell,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[8]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And made a breach<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In her battlement.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i1">There's gravel walks there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For speculation<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And conversation<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In sweet solitude.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis there the lover<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May hear the dove, or<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gentle plover<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the afternoon;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if a lady<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would be so engaging<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As to walk alone in<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Those shady bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis there the courtier<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He may transport her<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Into some fort, or<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All under ground.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For 'tis there's a cave where<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No daylight enters,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But cats and badgers<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are for ever bred;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[9]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Being mossed by nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That makes it sweeter<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than a coach-and-six or<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A feather bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis there the lake is,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Well stored with perches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And comely eels in<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The verdant mud;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beside the leeches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And groves of beeches,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Standing in order<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For to guard the flood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There's statues gracing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This noble place in—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All heathen gods<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And nymphs so fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bold Neptune, Plutarch,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Nicodemus,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All standing naked<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the open air.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So now to finish<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This brave narration,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[10]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which my poor genii<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Could not entwine;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But were I Homer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or Nebuchadnezzar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis in every feature<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would make it shine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Richard Alfred Milliken</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LIGHT_OF_OTHER_DAYS" id="THE_LIGHT_OF_OTHER_DAYS"></a>THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS</h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Oft in the stilly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere slumber's chain has bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fond Memory brings the light<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of other days around me:<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The smiles, the tears<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of boyhood's years,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The words of love then spoken;<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The eyes that shone<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Now dimm'd and gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The cheerful homes now broken!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then in the stilly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere slumber's chain hath bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad memory brings the light<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of other days around me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[11]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When I remember all<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The friends so linked together<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I've seen around me fall<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Like leaves in wintry weather,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">I feel like one<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Who treads alone<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some banquet-hall deserted,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Whose lights are fled,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Whose garlands dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And all but he departed.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then in the stilly night,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere slumber's chain hath bound me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sad Memory brings the light<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of other days around me.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas Moore</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="AT_THE_MID_HOUR_OF_NIGHT" id="AT_THE_MID_HOUR_OF_NIGHT"></a>AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT </h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[12]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tell me our love is remembered even in the sky!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then I sing the wild song it once was rapture to hear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When our voices, commingling, breathed like one on the ear;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And as Echo far off through the vale my sad orison rolls,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I think, O my love! 'tis thy voice from the kingdom of souls<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas Moore</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BURIAL_OF_SIR_JOHN_MOORE" id="THE_BURIAL_OF_SIR_JOHN_MOORE"></a>THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE</h2> + + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Not a drum was heard, not a funeral-note,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As his corse to the rampart we hurried;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O'er the grave where our hero we buried.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[13]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We buried him darkly at dead of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The sods with our bayonets turning,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the struggling moonbeam's misty light,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the lantern dimly burning.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No useless coffin enclosed his breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But he lay like a warrior taking his rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With his martial cloak around him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Few and short were the prayers we said,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And we spoke not a word of sorrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But we steadfastly gazed on the face that was dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And we bitterly thought of the morrow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And smooth'd down his lonely pillow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And we far away on the billow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But little he'll reck, if they let him sleep on<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the grave where a Briton has laid him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[14]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But half of our heavy task was done,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the clock struck the hour for retiring;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And we heard the distant and random gun<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That the foe was sullenly firing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Slowly and sadly we laid him down,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From the field of his fame fresh and gory;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We carved not a line, and we raised not a stone—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But we left him alone in his glory.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"><br /> +<i>Rev. Charles Wolfe</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CONVICT_OF_CLONMELL" id="THE_CONVICT_OF_CLONMELL"></a>THE CONVICT OF CLONMELL</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish </i></p> + + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">How hard is my fortune,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And vain my repining!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The strong rope of fate<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For this young neck is twining.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My strength is departed;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My cheek sunk and sallow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While I languish in chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the gaol of <i>Cluanmeala</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[15]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No boy in the village<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Was ever yet milder,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'd play with a child,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And my sport would be wilder.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'd dance without tiring<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From morning till even,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the goal-ball I'd strike<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To the lightning of Heaven.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">At my bed-foot decaying,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My hurlbat is lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the boys of the village<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My goal-ball is flying;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My horse 'mong the neighbours<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Neglected may fallow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While I pine in my chains,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the gaol of <i>Cluanmeala</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Next Sunday the patron<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At home will be keeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the young active hurlers<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The field will be sweeping.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[16]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the dance of fair maidens<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The evening they'll hallow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While this heart, once so gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall be cold in <i>Cluanmeala</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"><br /> +<i>Jeremiah Joseph Callanan</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_OUTLAW_OF_LOCH_LENE" id="THE_OUTLAW_OF_LOCH_LENE"></a>THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, many a day have I made good ale in the glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That came not of stream or malt;—like the brewing of men.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My bed was the ground; my roof, the greenwood above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the wealth that I sought one far kind glance from my love.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I was not near from terror my angel to shield.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She stretched forth her arms,—her mantle she flung to the wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And swam o'er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to find.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[17]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O would that a freezing sleet-wing'd tempest did sweep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'd ask not a ship, or a bark, or pinnace, to save,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With her hand round my waist, I'd fear not the wind or the wave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I think as at eve she wanders its mazes along,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"><br /> +<i>Jeremiah Joseph Callanan</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="DIRGE_OF_OSULLIVAN_BEAR" id="DIRGE_OF_OSULLIVAN_BEAR"></a>DIRGE OF O'SULLIVAN BEAR</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The sun on Ivera<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No longer shines brightly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The voice of her music<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No longer is sprightly;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[18]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No more to her maidens<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The light dance is dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since the death of our darling<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O'Sullivan Bear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Scully! thou false one,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You basely betrayed him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his strong hour of need,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When thy right hand should aid him;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He fed thee—he clad thee—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You had all could delight thee:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You left him—you sold him—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May Heaven requite thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Scully! may all kinds<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of evil attend thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On thy dark road of life<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May no kind one befriend thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May fevers long burn thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And agues long freeze thee!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May the strong hand of God<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In His red anger seize thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Had he died calmly,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I would not deplore him;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[19]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or if the wild strife<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the sea-war closed o'er him:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But with ropes round his white limbs<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Through ocean to trail him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a fish after slaughter—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Tis therefore I wail him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Long may the curse<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of his people pursue them;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scully, that sold him,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And soldier that slew him!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One glimpse of heaven's light<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May they see never!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May the hearthstone of hell<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Be their best bed for ever!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In the hole which the vile hands<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of soldiers had made thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unhonour'd, unshrouded,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And headless they laid thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No sigh to regret thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No eye to rain o'er thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No dirge to lament thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No friend to deplore thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[20]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dear head of my darling,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How gory and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">These aged eyes see thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">High spiked on their gaol!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That cheek in the summer sun<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ne'er shall grow warm;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor that eye e'er catch light,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But the flash of the storm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A curse, blessed ocean,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is on thy green water,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the haven of Cork<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To Ivera of slaughter:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since thy billows were dyed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With the red wounds of fear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Muiertach Oge,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Our O'Sullivan Bear!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Jeremiah Joseph Callanan</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LOVE_SONG" id="LOVE_SONG"></a>LOVE SONG</h2> + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i1">Sweet in her green dell the flower of beauty slumbers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lulled by the faint breezes sighing through her hair;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sleeps she and hears not the melancholy numbers<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[21]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Breathed to my sad lute 'mid the lonely air.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Down from the high cliffs the rivulet is teeming<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To wind round the willow banks that lure him from above;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O that in tears, from my rocky prison streaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I too could glide to the bower of my love!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah, where the woodbines with sleepy arms have wound her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Opes she her eyelids at the dream of my lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Listening, like the dove, while the fountains echo round her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To her lost mate's call in the forests far away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Come then, my bird! For the peace thou ever bearest,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Still heaven's messenger of comfort to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come, this fond bosom, O faithfulest and fairest<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Bleeds with its death-wound its wound of love for thee!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>George Darley</i> +<span class="pagenum">[22]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WHISTLIN_THIEF" id="THE_WHISTLIN_THIEF"></a>THE WHISTLIN' THIEF</h2> + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i1">When Pat came over the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His colleen fair to see,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His whistle low, but shrill,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The signal was to be;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">(<i>Pat whistles.</i>)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Mary,' the mother said,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Some one is whistling sure;'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Says Mary, '‘Tis only the wind<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is whistling through the door.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">(<i>Pat whistles a bit of a popular air.</i>)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I've lived a long time, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In this wide world, my dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But a door to whistle like <i>that</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3">I never yet did hear.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'But, mother, you know the fiddle<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Hangs close beside the chink,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the wind upon the strings<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is playing the tune I think.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">(<i>The pig grunts.</i>)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[23]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Mary, I hear the pig,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Unaisy in his mind.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'But, mother, you know, they say<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The pigs can see the wind.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'That's true enough <i>in the day</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But I think you may remark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That pigs no more nor we<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Can see anything in the dark.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">(<i>The dog barks.</i>)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The dog is barking now,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The fiddle can't play the tune.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'But, mother, the dogs will bark<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whenever they see the moon.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'But how could he see the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When, you know, the dog is blind?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blind dogs won't bark at the moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nor fiddles be played by the wind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I'm not such a fool as you think,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I know very well it is Pat:—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shut your mouth, you whistlin' thief,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And go along home out o' that!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[24]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'And you be off to your bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Don't play upon me your jeers;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For though I have lost my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I haven't lost my ears!'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Samuel Lover</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SOGGARTH_AROON" id="SOGGARTH_AROON"></a>SOGGARTH AROON</h2> + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i1">Am I the slave they say,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since you did show the way,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Their</i> slave no more to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While they would work with me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Ireland's slavery,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Why not her poorest man,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Try and do all he can,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[25]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her commands to fulfil<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of his own heart and will,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Side by side with you still<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Loyal and brave to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet be not slave to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor, out of fear to you—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stand up so near to you—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Och! out of fear to <i>you</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Who, in the winter's night,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the cold blast did bite,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came to my cabin-door,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, on my earthen-floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Knelt by me, sick and poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Who, on the marriage day,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[26]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made the poor cabin gay,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And did both laugh and sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Making our hearts to ring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At the poor christening,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Who, as friend only met,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never did flout me yet,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when my heart was dim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gave, while his eye did brim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What I should give to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Och! you, and only you,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And for this I was true to you,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In love they'll never shake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When for old Ireland's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We a true part did take,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Soggarth aroon!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>John Banim</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[27]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="DARK_ROSALEEN" id="DARK_ROSALEEN"></a>DARK ROSALEEN</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O my Dark Rosaleen,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Do not sigh, do not weep!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The priests are on the ocean green.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They march along the deep.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's wine from the royal Pope,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Upon the ocean green;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Spanish ale shall give you hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall give you health, and help, and hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Over hills, and through dales,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Have I roamed for your sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All yesterday I sailed with sails<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On river and on lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Erne, at its highest flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I dashed across unseen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For there was lightning in my blood,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[28]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O there was lightning in my blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Red lightning lightened through my blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All day long in unrest<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To and fro do I move,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The very heart within my breast<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is wasted for you, Love!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The heart in my bosom faints<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To think of you, my queen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My life of life, my saint of saints,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To hear your sweet and sad complaints,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My life, my love, my saint of saints,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Woe and pain, pain and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are my lot night and noon;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To see your bright face clouded so,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Like to the mournful moon.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[29]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But yet will I rear your throne<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Again in golden sheen:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis you shall have the golden throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis you shall reign, and reign alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Over dews, over sands,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Will I fly for your weal:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your holy, delicate white hands<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall girdle me with steel.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At home, in your emerald bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From morning's dawn till e'en,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You'll pray for me, my flower of flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My fond Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You'll think of me through daylight's hours,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I could scale the blue air,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I could plough the high hills,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[30]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, I could kneel all night in prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To heal your many ills.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And one beamy smile from you<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would float like light between<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My toils and me, my own, my true,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My fond Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would give me life and soul anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A second life, a soul anew,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O! the Erne shall run red<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With redundance of blood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The earth shall rock beneath our tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And flames wrap hill and wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gun-peal, and slogan cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wake many a glen serene,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own Rosaleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Judgment Hour must first be nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere you can fade, ere you can die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Dark Rosaleen!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[31]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LAMENT_FOR_THE_PRINCES_OF_TYRONE_AND" id="LAMENT_FOR_THE_PRINCES_OF_TYRONE_AND"></a>LAMENT FOR THE PRINCES OF TYRONE AND</h2> +<h2>TYRCONNELL +</h2> +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O woman of the Piercing Wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who mournest o'er yon mound of clay<br /></span> +<span class="i9">With sigh and groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would God thou wert among the Gael!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thou wouldst not then from day to day<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Weep thus alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twere long before, around a grave<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In green Tyrconnell, one could find<br /></span> +<span class="i9">This loneliness;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Near where Beann-Boirche's banners wave<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Such grief as thine could ne'er have pined<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Companionless.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Beside the wave in Donegal,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In Antrim's glens, or fair Dromore,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Or Killillee.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or where the sunny waters fall<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At Assaroe, near Erna's shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">This could not be.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p32" id="p32"></a>[32]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On Derry's plains—in rich Drumclieff—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Throughout Armagh the Great, renowned<br /></span> +<span class="i9">In olden years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No day could pass but woman's grief<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would rain upon the burial-ground<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Fresh floods of tears!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, no!—from Shannon, Boyne, and Suir,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From high Dunluce's castle-walls,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">From Lissadill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would flock alike both rich and poor,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One wail would rise from Cruachan's halls<br /></span> +<span class="i9">To Tara's hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And some would come from Barrow-side,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And many a maid would leave her home,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">On Leitrim's plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And by melodious Banna's tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And by the Mourne and Erne, to come<br /></span> +<span class="i9">And swell thy strains!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, horses' hoofs would trample down<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Mount whereon the martyr-saint<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Was crucified.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From glen and hill, from plain and town,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One loud lament, one thrilling plaint,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[33]<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Would echo wide.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There would not soon be found, I ween,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One foot of ground among those bands<br /></span> +<span class="i9">For museful thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So many shriekers of the <i>keen</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would cry aloud and clap their hands,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">All woe distraught!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Two princes of the line of Conn<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sleep in their cells of clay beside<br /></span> +<span class="i9">O'Donnell Roe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Three royal youths, alas! are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who lived for Erin's weal, but died<br /></span> +<span class="i9">For Erin's woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! could the men of Ireland read<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The names these noteless burial-stones<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Display to view,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their wounded hearts afresh would bleed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Their tears gush forth again, their groans<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Resound anew!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The youths whose relics moulder here<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were sprung from Hugh, high Prince and Lord<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Of Aileach's lands;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[34]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy noble brothers, justly dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy nephew, long to be deplored<br /></span> +<span class="i9">By Ulster's bands.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Theirs were not souls wherein dull Time<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Could domicile Decay or house<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Decrepitude!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They passed from Earth ere Manhood's prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere years had power to dim their brows<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Or chill their blood.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And who can marvel o'er thy grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or who can blame thy flowing tears,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">That knows their source?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'Donnell, Dunnasava's chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cut off amid his vernal years,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Lies here a corse<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beside his brother Cathbar, whom<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Tirconnell of the Helmets mourns<br /></span> +<span class="i9">In deep despair—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For valour, truth, and comely bloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For all that greatens and adorns<br /></span> +<span class="i9">A peerless pair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, had these twain, and he, the third,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Lord of Mourne, O'Niall's son,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[35]<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Their mate in death—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A prince in look, in deed and word—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had these three heroes yielded on<br /></span> +<span class="i9">The field their breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, had they fallen on Criffan's plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There would not be a town or clan<br /></span> +<span class="i9">From shore to sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But would with shrieks bewail the slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or chant aloud the exulting <i>rann</i><br /></span> +<span class="i9">Of Jubilee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">When high the shout of battle rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On fields where Freedom's torch still burned<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Through Erin's gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If one, if barely one of those<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were slain, all Ulster would have mourned<br /></span> +<span class="i9">The hero's doom!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If at Athboy, where hosts of brave<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ulidian horsemen sank beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i9">The shock of spears,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Young Hugh O'Neill had found a grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Long must the North have wept his death<br /></span> +<span class="i9">With heart-wrung tears!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[36]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If on the day of Ballach-myre<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Lord of Mourne had met thus young,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">A warrior's fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In vain would such as thou desire<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To mourn, alone, the champion sprung<br /></span> +<span class="i9">From Niall the Great!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No marvel this—for all the dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Heaped on the field, pile over pile,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">At Mullach-brack,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were scarce an <i>eric</i> for his head,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">If death had stayed his footsteps while<br /></span> +<span class="i9">On victory's track!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If on the Day of Hostages<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The fruit had from the parent bough<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Been rudely torn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In sight of Munster's bands—Mac-Nee's—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Such blow the blood of Conn, I trow,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Could ill have borne.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If on the day of Ballach-boy<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some arm had laid, by foul surprise,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">The chieftain low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Even our victorious shout of joy<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[37]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would soon give place to rueful cries<br /></span> +<span class="i9">And groans of woe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If on the day the Saxon host<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were forced to fly—a day so great<br /></span> +<span class="i9">For Ashanee—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Chief had been untimely lost,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Our conquering troops should moderate<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Their mirthful glee.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There would not lack on Lifford's day,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From Galway, from the glens of Boyle,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">From Limerick's towers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A marshalled file, a long array<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of mourners to bedew the soil<br /></span> +<span class="i9">With tears in showers!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If on the day a sterner fate<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Compelled his flight from Athenree,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">His blood had flowed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What numbers all disconsolate,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would come unasked, and share with thee<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Affliction's load!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If Derry's crimson field had seen<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His life-blood offered up, though 'twere<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[38]<br /></span> +<span class="i9">On Victory's shrine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A thousand cries would swell the <i>keen</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A thousand voices of despair<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Would echo thine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, had the fierce Dalcassian swarm<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That bloody night on Fergus' banks<br /></span> +<span class="i9">But slain our chief,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When rose his camp in wild alarm—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How would the triumph of his ranks<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Be dashed with grief!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How would the troops of Murbach mourn<br /></span> +<span class="i3">If on the Curlew Mountains' day,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Which England rued,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some Saxon hand had left them lorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By shedding there, amid the fray,<br /></span> +<span class="i8">Their prince's blood!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Red would have been our warriors' eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had Roderick found on Sligo field<br /></span> +<span class="i9">A gory grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No Northern Chief would soon arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So sage to guide, so strong to shield,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">So swift to save.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[39]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long would Leith-Cuinn have wept if Hugh<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had met the death he oft had dealt<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Among the foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But, had our Roderick fallen too,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All Erin must, alas! have felt<br /></span> +<span class="i9">The deadly blow!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What do I say? Ah, woe is me!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Already we bewail in vain<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Their fatal fall!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Erin, once the Great and Free,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Now vainly mourns her breakless chain,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">And iron thrall!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then, daughter of O'Donnell! dry<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thine overflowing eyes, and turn<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Thy heart aside;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Adam's race is born to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And sternly the sepulchral urn<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Mocks human pride!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Look not, nor sigh, for earthly throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nor place thy trust in arm of clay—<br /></span> +<span class="i9">But on thy knees<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Uplift thy soul to God alone,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[40]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For all things go their destined way<br /></span> +<span class="i9">As He decrees.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Embrace the faithful Crucifix,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And seek the path of pain and prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Thy Saviour trod!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor let thy spirit intermix<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With earthly hope and worldly care<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Its groans to God!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And Thou, O mighty Lord! whose ways<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are far above our feeble minds<br /></span> +<span class="i9">To understand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sustain us in these doleful days,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And render light the chain that binds<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Our fallen land!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Look down upon our dreary state,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And through the ages that may still<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Roll sadly on,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Watch Thou o'er hapless Erin's fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And shield at least from darker ill<br /></span> +<span class="i9">The blood of Conn!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i> +<span class="pagenum">[41]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="A_LAMENTATION_FOR_THE_DEATH_OF_SIR" id="A_LAMENTATION_FOR_THE_DEATH_OF_SIR"></a>A LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF SIR</h2> +<h2>MAURICE FITZGERALD, KNIGHT OF KERRY</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There was lifted up one voice of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One lament of more than mortal grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the wide South to and fro,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For a fallen Chief.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the dead of night that cry thrilled through me,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I looked out upon the midnight air;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mine own soul was all as gloomy,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And I knelt in prayer.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O'er Loch Gur, that night, once—twice—yea, thrice—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Passed a wail of anguish for the Brave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That half curled into ice<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The moon-mirroring wave.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then uprose a many-toned wild hymn in<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Choral swell from Ogra's dark ravine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Moguly's Phantom Women<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mourned the Geraldine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Far on Carah Mona's emerald plains,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shrieks and sighs were blended many hours,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[42]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Fermoy, in fitful strains,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Answered from her towers.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Youghal, Keenalmeaky, Eemokilly,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mourned in concert, and their piercing <i>keen</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Woke to wondering life the stilly<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Glens of Inchiqueen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">From Loughmoe to yellow Dunanore<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There was fear; the traders of Tralee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gathered up their golden store,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And prepared to flee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For, in ship and hall, from night till morning<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Showed the first faint beamings of the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All the foreigners heard the warning<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the Dreaded One!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'This,' they spake, 'portendeth death to us,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">If we fly not swiftly from our fate!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Self-conceited idiots! thus<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ravingly to prate!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not for base-born higgling Saxon trucksters<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ring laments like those by shore and sea!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not for churls with souls of hucksters<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Waileth our Banshee!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[43]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the high Milesian race alone<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ever flows the music of her woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For slain heir to bygone throne,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And for Chief laid low!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hark!... Again, methinks, I hear her weeping<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yonder! Is she near me now, as then?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or was but the night-wind sweeping<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Down the hollow glen?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS" id="THE_WOMAN_OF_THREE_COWS"></a>THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, Woman of Three Cows, <i>agragh!</i> don't let your tongue thus rattle!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, don't be saucy, don't be stiff, because you may have cattle.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have seen—and, here's my hand to you, I only say what's true—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A many a one with twice your stock not half so proud as you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Good luck to you, don't scorn the poor, and don't be their despiser;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[44]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For worldly wealth soon melts away, and cheats the very miser;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And death soon strips the proudest wreath from haughty human brows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then don't be stiff, and don't be proud, good Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">See where Momonia's heroes lie, proud Owen More's descendants, <br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis they that won the glorious name, and had the grand attendants!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If <i>they</i> were forced to bow to Fate, as every mortal bows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can <i>you</i> be proud, can <i>you</i> be stiff, my Woman of Three Cows?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The brave sons of the Lord of Clare, they left the land to mourning;<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Mavrone!</i> for they were banished, with no hope of their returning—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who knows in what abodes of want those youths were driven to house?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet <i>you</i> can give yourself these airs, O Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[45]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, think of Donnel of the Ships, the Chief whom nothing daunted—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See how he fell in distant Spain, unchronicled, unchanted!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He sleeps, the great O'Sullivan, where thunder cannot rouse—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then ask yourself, should <i>you</i> be proud, good Woman of Three Cows?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O'Ruark, Maguire, those souls of fire, whose names are shrined in story—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Think how their high achievements once made Erin's greatest glory—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet now their bones lie mouldering under weeds and Cyprus boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And so, for all your pride, will yours, O Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Th' O'Carrols, also, famed when fame was only for the boldest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rest in forgotten sepulchres with Erin's best and oldest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet who so great as they of yore in battle or carouse?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[46]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Just think of that, and hide your head, good Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Your neighbour's poor, and you, it seems, are big with vain ideas,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Because, <i>inagh!</i> you've got three cows, one more, I see, than <i>she</i> has;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That tongue of yours wags more at times than charity allows—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But, if you're strong, be merciful, great Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<p class="center">THE SUMMING-UP.</p> + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now, there you go! You still, of course, keep up your scornful bearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I'm too poor to hinder you; but, by the cloak I'm wearing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If I had but <i>four</i> cows myself, even though you were my spouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'd thwack you well to cure your pride, my Woman of Three Cows!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[<a name="p47" id="p47"></a>47]</span></p> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="PRINCE_ALFRIDS_ITINERARY_THROUGH" id="PRINCE_ALFRIDS_ITINERARY_THROUGH"></a>PRINCE ALFRID'S ITINERARY THROUGH</h2> +<h2>IRELAND</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in Innisfail the fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Ireland, while in exile there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Women of worth, both grave and gay men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many clerics and many laymen.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I travelled its fruitful provinces round<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in every one of the five I found,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alike in church and in palace hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Abundant apparel, and food for all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Gold and silver I found, and money,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Plenty of wheat and plenty of honey;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I found God's people rich in pity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Found many a feast and many a city.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I also found in Armagh, the splendid,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Meekness, wisdom, and prudence blended,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fasting, as Christ hath recommended,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And noble councillors untranscended.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in each great church moreo'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whether on island or on shore<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[48]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Piety, learning, fond affection,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Holy welcome and kind protection.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found thy good lay monks and brothers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ever beseeching help for others,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in their keeping the holy word<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pure as it came from Jesus the Lord.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in Munster unfettered of any,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kings and queens and poets a many—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Poets were skilled in music and measure,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Prosperous doings, mirth and pleasure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in Connaught the just, redundance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of riches, milk in lavish abundance,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hospitality, vigour, fame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Cruachan's land of heroic name.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in the county of Connall the glorious<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bravest heroes, ever victorious;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fair-complexioned men and warlike,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ireland's lights, the high, the starlike.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in Ulster, from hill to glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hardy warriors, resolute men;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[49]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beauty that bloomed when youth was gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And strength transmitted from sire to son.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in the noble district of Boyle<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + + +<span class="i8">(<i>MS. here illegible.</i>)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + + +<span class="i1">Brehons, erenachs, weapons bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And horsemen bold and sudden in fight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in Leinster the smooth and sleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Dublin to Slewmargy's peak;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flourishing pastures, valour, health,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long-living worthies, commerce, wealth.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found, besides, from Ara to Glea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the broad rich country of Ossorie,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet fruits, good laws for all and each,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Great chess players, men of truthful speech.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found in Meath's fair principality,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Virtue, vigour, and hospitality;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Candour, joyfulness, bravery, purity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ireland's bulwark and security.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I found strict morals in age and youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I found historians recording truth;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[50]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The things I sing of in verse unsmooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I found them all—I have written sooth.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="OHUSSEYS_ODE_TO_THE_MAGUIRE" id="OHUSSEYS_ODE_TO_THE_MAGUIRE"></a>O'HUSSEY'S ODE TO THE MAGUIRE</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Where is my Chief, my Master, this bleak night, <i>mavrone</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, cold, cold, miserably cold is this bleak night for Hugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its showery, arrowy, speary sleet pierceth one through and through,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pierceth one to the very bone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rolls real thunder? Or was that red, livid light<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Only a meteor? I scarce know; but through the midnight dim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pitiless ice-wind streams. Except the hate that persecutes <i>him</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nothing hath crueler venomy might.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">An awful, a tremendous night is this, meseems!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The flood-gates of the river of heaven, I think, have been burst wide—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[51]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down from the overcharged clouds, like unto headlong ocean's tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Descends grey rain in roaring streams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Though he were even a wolf ranging the round green woods,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though he were even a pleasant salmon in the unchainable sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though he were a wild mountain eagle, he could scarce bear, he,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This sharp, sore sleet, these howling floods.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O mournful is my soul this night for Hugh Maguire!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Darkly, as in a dream he strays! Before him and behind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Triumphs the tyrannous anger of the wounding wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wounding wind, that burns as fire!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">It is my bitter grief—it cuts me to the heart—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That in the country of Clan Darry this should be his fate!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, woe is me, where is he? Wandering, houseless, desolate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone, without or guide or chart!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[52]<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Medreams I see just now his face, the strawberry-bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Uplifted to the blackened heavens, while the tempestuous winds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blow fiercely over and round him, and the smiting sleet-shower blinds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The hero of Galang to-night!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Large, large affliction unto me and mine it is,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That one of his majestic bearing, his fair, stately form,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should thus be tortured and o'erborne—that this unsparing storm<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should wreak its wrath on head like his!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">That his great hand, so oft the avenger of the oppressed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should this chill churlish night, perchance, be paralyzed by frost—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While through some icicle-hung thicket—as one lorn and lost—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He walks and wanders without rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The tempest-driven torrent deluges the mead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It overflows the low banks of the rivulets and ponds—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[53]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lawns and pasture-grounds lie locked in icy bonds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So that the cattle cannot feed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The pale bright margins of the streams are seen by none,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rushes and sweeps along the untamable flood on every side—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It penetrates and fills the cottagers' dwellings far and wide—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Water and land are blent in one.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Through some dark wood, 'mid bones of monsters, Hugh now strays,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As he confronts the storm with anguished heart, but manly brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, what a sword-wound to that tender heart of his were now<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A backward glance of peaceful days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But other thoughts are his—thoughts that can still inspire<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With joy and onward-bounding hope the bosom of Mac-Nee—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[54]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thoughts of his warriors charging like bright billows the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Borne on the wind's wings, flashing fire!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And though frost glaze to-night the clear dew of his eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And white ice-gauntlets glove his noble fine fair fingers o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A warm dress is to him that lightning garb he ever wore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lightning of the soul, not skies.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + + +<span style="margin-left: 10em;">AVRAN<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> + +<span class="i1">Hugh marched forth to the fight—I grieved to see him so depart;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And lo! to-night he wanders frozen, rain-drenched, sad, betrayed—<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>But the memory of the limewhite mansions his right hand hath laid</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>In ashes, warms the hero's heart</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p55" id="p55"></a>[55]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_NAMELESS_ONE" id="THE_NAMELESS_ONE"></a>THE NAMELESS ONE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Roll forth, my song, like the rushing river,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That sweeps along to the mighty sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God will inspire me while I deliver<br /></span> +<span class="i13">My soul to thee!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Tell thou the world, when my bones lie whitening<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Amid the last homes of youth and eld,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That there was once one whose blood ran lightning<br /></span> +<span class="i13">No eye beheld.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Tell how his boyhood was one drear night-hour,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How shone for <i>him</i>, through its griefs and gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No star of all heaven sends to light our<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Path to the tomb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Roll on, my song, and to after ages<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Tell how, disdaining all earth can give,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He would have taught men, from wisdom's pages,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">The way to live.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And tell how trampled, derided, hated,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And worn by weakness, disease, and wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He fled for shelter to God, who mated<br /></span> +<span class="i13">His soul with song—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[56]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With song which alway, sublime or vapid,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Flowed like a rill in the morning-beam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Perchance not deep, but intense and rapid—<br /></span> +<span class="i13">A mountain stream.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Tell how this Nameless, condemned for years long<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To herd with demons from hell beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Saw things that made him, with groans and tears, long<br /></span> +<span class="i13">For even death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Go on to tell how, with genius wasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Betrayed in friendship, befooled in love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With spirit shipwrecked, and young hopes blasted,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">He still, still strove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Till, spent with toil, dreeing death for others,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And some whose hands should have wrought for <i>him</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(If children live not for sires and mothers,)<br /></span> +<span class="i13">His mind grew dim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And he fell far through that pit abysmal<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The gulf and grave of Maginn and Burns;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And pawned his soul for the devil's dismal<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Stock of returns.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[57]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But yet redeemed it in days of darkness,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And shapes and signs of the final wrath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When death, in hideous and ghastly starkness,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Stood on his path.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And tell how now, amid wreck and sorrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And want, and sickness, and houseless nights,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He bides in calmness the silent morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">That no ray lights.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And lives he still, then? Yes! Old and hoary<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At thirty-nine, from despair and woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He lives enduring what future story<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Will never know.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Him grant a grave to, ye pitying noble,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Deep in your bosoms! There let him dwell!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He, too, had tears for all souls in trouble,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Here and in hell!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SIBERIA" id="SIBERIA"></a>SIBERIA</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In Siberia's wastes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Ice-wind's breath<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[58]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Woundeth like the toothèd steel.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lost Siberia doth reveal<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Only blight and death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Blight and death alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No Summer shines.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Night is interblent with Day.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Siberia's wastes alway<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The blood blackens, the heart pines.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In Siberia's wastes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No tears are shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For they freeze within the brain.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nought is felt but dullest pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Pain acute, yet dead;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Pain as in a dream,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When years go by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Funeral-paced, yet fugitive,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When man lives, and doth not live,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Doth not live—nor die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In Siberia's wastes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are sands and rocks.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nothing blooms of green or soft,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p59" id="p59"></a>[59]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the snowpeaks rise aloft<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the gaunt ice-blocks.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And the exile there<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is one with those;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are part, and he is part,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the sands are in his heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the killing snows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Therefore, in those wastes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">None curse the Czar.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each man's tongue is cloven by<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The North Blast, who heweth nigh<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With sharp scymitar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And such doom he drees,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till hunger gnawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And cold-slain, he at length sinks there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet scarce more a corpse than ere<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His last breath was drawn.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>James Clarence Mangan</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="HY-BRASAIL" id="HY-BRASAIL"></a>HY-BRASAIL</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">On the ocean that hollows the rocks where ye dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A shadowy land has appeared, as they tell;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[60]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Men thought it a region of sunshine and rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they called it <i>Hy-Brasail</i> the isle of the blest.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From year unto year on the ocean's blue rim,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The beautiful spectre showed lovely and dim;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The golden clouds curtained the deep where it lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And it looked like an Eden, away, far away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A peasant who heard of the wonderful tale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the breeze of the Orient loosened his sail;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Ara, the holy, he turned to the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For though Ara was holy, <i>Hy-Brasail</i> was blest.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He heard not the voices that called from the shore—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He heard not the rising wind's menacing roar;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Home, kindred, and safety, he left on that day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he sped to <i>Hy-Brasail</i>, away, far away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Morn rose on the deep, and that shadowy isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the faint rim of distance, reflected its smile;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Noon burned on the wave, and that shadowy shore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seemed lovelily distant, and faint as before;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lone evening came down on the wanderer's track,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to Ara again he looked timidly back;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! far on the verge of the ocean it lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet the isle of the blest was away, far away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p61" id="p61"></a>[61]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rash dreamer, return! O ye winds of the main,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bear him back to his own peaceful Ara again.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bash fool! for a vision of fanciful bliss<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To barter thy calm life of labour and peace.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The warning of reason was spoken in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He never re-visited Ara again!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Night falls on the deep, amidst tempest and spray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he died on the waters, away, far away!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Gerald Griffin</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="MO_CRAOIBHIN_CNO" id="MO_CRAOIBHIN_CNO"></a>MO CRAOIBHIN CNO</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My heart is far from Liffey's tide<br /></span> +<span class="i7">And Dublin town;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It strays beyond the Southern side<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Of Cnoc-Maol-Donn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where Capa-chuinn hath woodlands green,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where Amhan-Mhor's waters flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where dwell unsung, unsought, unseen<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low clustering in her leafy screen,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[62]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The high-bred dames of Dublin town<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Are rich and fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With wavy plume and silken gown,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">And stately air;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Can plumes compare thy dark brown hair?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Can silks thy neck of snow?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or measur'd pace thine artless grace?<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When harebells scarcely show thy trace,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I've heard the songs by Liffey's wave<br /></span> +<span class="i7">That maidens sung—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They sung their land the Saxon's slave,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">In Saxon tongue—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! bring me here that Gaelic dear<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which cursed the Saxon foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When thou didst charm my raptured ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And none but God's good angels near,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I've wandered by the rolling Lee!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">And Lene's green bowers—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[63]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I've seen the Shannon's wide-spread sea<br /></span> +<span class="i7">And Limerick's towers—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Liffey's tide, where halls of pride<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Frown o'er the flood below;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My wild heart strays to Amhan-mhor's side,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With love and thee for aye to bide,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Mo craoibhin cno</i>!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Edward Walsh</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="MAIRGREAD_NI_CHEALLEADH" id="MAIRGREAD_NI_CHEALLEADH"></a>MAIRGRÉAD NI CHEALLEADH</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">At the dance in the village thy white foot was fleetest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy voice in the concert of maidens was sweetest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The swell of thy white breast made rich lovers follow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thy raven hair bound them, young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thy neck was, lost maid, than the <i>ceanabhan</i> whiter,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the glow of thy cheek than the <i>monadan</i> brighter;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p64" id="p64"></a>[64]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But death's chain hath bound thee, thine eye's glazed and hollow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That shone like a sunburst, young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No more shall mine ear drink thy melody swelling;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor thy beamy eye brighten the outlaw's dark dwelling;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or thy soft heaving bosom my destiny hallow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When thine arms twine around me, young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The moss couch I brought thee to-day from the mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Has drank the last drop of thy young heart's red fountain—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For this good scian beside me stuck deep and run hollow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In thy bosom of treason, young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">With strings of rich pearls thy white neck was laden,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thy fingers with spoils of the Sassanach maiden:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such rich silks enrob'd not the proud dames of Mallow—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[65]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such pure gold they wore not as Mairgréad ni Chealleadh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Alas! that my loved one her outlaw would injure—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alas! that he e'er proved her treason's avenger!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That this right hand should make thee a bed cold and hollow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When in Death's sleep it laid thee, Young Mairgréad ni Chealleadh!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And while to this lone cave my deep grief I'm venting,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Saxon's keen bandog my footstep is scenting,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But true men await me afar in Duhallow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Farewell, cave of slaughter, and Mairgréad ni Chealleadh.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Edward Walsh</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="FROM_THE_COLD_SOD_THATS_OER_YOU" id="FROM_THE_COLD_SOD_THATS_OER_YOU"></a>FROM THE COLD SOD THAT'S O'ER YOU</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">From the cold sod that's o'er you<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I never shall sever;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were my hands twined in yours, Love,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I'd hold them for ever.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[66]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My fondest, my fairest,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We may now sleep together!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I've the cold earth's damp odour,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And I'm worn from the weather.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">This heart filled with fondness<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is wounded and weary;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A dark gulf beneath it<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yawns jet-black and dreary.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When death comes, a victor,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In mercy to greet me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the wings of the whirlwind<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the wild wastes you'll meet me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">When the folk of my household<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Suppose I am sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On your cold grave till morning<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The lone watch I'm keeping.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My grief to the night wind<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the mild maid to render,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who was my betrothed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Since infancy tender.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Remember the lone night<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I last spent with you, Love,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[67]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beneath the dark sloe-tree<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the icy wind blew, Love.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High praise to thy Saviour<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No sin-stain had found you,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That your virginal glory<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shines brightly around you.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The priests and the friars<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are ceaselessly chiding,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I love a young maiden<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In life not abiding.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! I'd shelter and shield you<br /></span> +<span class="i3">If wild storms were swelling!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And O, my wrecked hope,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That the cold earth's your dwelling.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Edward Walsh</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FAIRY_NURSE" id="THE_FAIRY_NURSE"></a>THE FAIRY NURSE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Sweet babe! a golden cradle holds thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And soft the snow-white fleece enfolds thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In airy bower I'll watch thy sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Shuheen sho, lulo lo<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[68]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When mothers languish broken-hearted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When young wives are from husbands parted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah! little think the keeners lonely,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They weep some time-worn fairy only.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Shuheen sho, lulo lo!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Within our magic halls of brightness,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trips many a foot of snowy whiteness;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stolen maidens, queens of fairy—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And kings and chiefs a sluagh shee airy.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Shuheen sho, lulo lo!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rest thee, babe! I love thee dearly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And as thy mortal mother nearly;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ours is the swiftest steed and proudest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That moves where the tramp of the host is loudest.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Shuheen sho, lulo lo!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rest thee, babe! for soon thy slumbers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall flee at the magic koelshie's numbers;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In airy bower I'll watch thy sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where branchy trees to the breeze are sweeping.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 7.5em;">Shuheen sho, lulo lo!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Edward Walsh</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p69" id="p69"></a>[69]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="A_CUISLE_GEAL_MO_CHROIDHE" id="A_CUISLE_GEAL_MO_CHROIDHE"></a>A CUISLE GEAL MO CHROIDHE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The long, long wished-for hour has come,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yet come, astor, in vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And left thee but the wailing hum<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of sorrow and of pain:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My light of life, my lonely love!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy portion sure must be<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Man's scorn below, God's wrath above—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A cuisle geal mo chroidhe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I've given thee manhood's early prime,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And manhood's teeming years;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I've blessed thee in my merriest time,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And shed with thee my tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, mother, though thou cast away<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The child who'd die for thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My fondest wishes still should pray<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For cuisle geal mo chroidhe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For thee I've tracked the mountain's sides,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And slept within the brake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">More lonely than the swan that glides<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O'er Lua's fairy lake.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[70]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rich have spurned me from their door,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Because I'd make thee free;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet still I love thee more and more,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A cuisle geal mo chroidhe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I've run the Outlaw's brief career,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And borne his load of ill;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His rocky couch—his dreamy fear—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With fixed, sustaining will;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And should his last dark chance befall,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Even that shall welcome be;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Death I'd love thee best of all,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A cuisle geal mo chroidhe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Twas prayed for thee the world around,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Twas hoped for thee by all,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That with one gallant sunward bound<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thou'dst burst long ages' thrall;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy faith was tried, alas! and those<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who'd peril all for thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were curs'd and branded as thy foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A cuisle geal mo chroidhe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What fate is thine, unhappy Isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When even the trusted few<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[71]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would pay thee back with hate and guile,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When most they should be true!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas not my strength or spirit failed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or those who'd die for thee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who loved thee truly have not failed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A cuisle geal mo chroidhe!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Michael Doheny</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT" id="LAMENT_OF_THE_IRISH_EMIGRANT"></a>LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I'm sittin' on the stile, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where we sat side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On a bright May mornin', long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When first you were my bride:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The corn was springin' fresh and green,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the lark sang loud and high—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the red was on your lip, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the love-light in your eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The <i>place</i> is little changed, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The day is bright as then,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lark's loud song is in my ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the corn is green again;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[72]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I miss the soft clasp of your hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And your breath, warm on my cheek;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I still keep list'nin' for the words<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You never more will speak.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Tis but a step down yonder lane,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the little church stands near—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The church where we were wed, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I see the spire from here.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the graveyard lies between, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And my step might break your rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For I've laid you, darling! down to sleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With your baby on your breast.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I'm very lonely now, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the poor make no new friends;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But, O! they love the better still,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The few our Father sends!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And you were all <i>I</i> had, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My blessin' and my pride!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's nothin' left to care for now,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Since my poor Mary died.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Yours was the good, brave heart, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That still kept hoping on,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[73]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the trust in God had left my soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And my arm's young strength was gone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There was comfort even on <i>your</i> lip,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the kind look on your brow—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I bless you, Mary, for that same,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though you cannot hear me now.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I thank you for the patient smile<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When your heart was fit to break,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the hunger pain was gnawin' there,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And you hid it for <i>my</i> sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I bless you for the pleasant word,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When your heart was sad and sore—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! I'm thankful you are gone, Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where grief can't reach you more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I'm biddin' you a long farewell,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Mary—kind and true!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I'll not forget <i>you</i>, darling,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the land I'm goin' to:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They say there's bread and work for all,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the sun shines always there—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I'll not forget old Ireland,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were it fifty times as fair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p74" id="p74"></a>[74]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And often in those grand old woods<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I'll sit and shut my eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And my heart will travel back again<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To the place where Mary lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I'll think I see the little stile<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where we sat side by side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the springin' corn, and the bright May morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When first you were my bride.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lady Dufferin</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WELSHMEN_OF_TIRAWLEY" id="THE_WELSHMEN_OF_TIRAWLEY"></a>THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLEY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Scorney Bwee, the Barretts' bailiff, lewd and lame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To lift the Lynott's taxes when he came,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rudely drew a young maid to him!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then the Lynotts rose and slew him,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in Tubber-na-Scorney threw him—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Small your blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Sons of Lynott!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then the Barretts to the Lynotts gave a choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Saying, 'Hear, ye murderous brood, men and boys,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[75]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Choose ye now, without delay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will ye lose your eyesight, say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or your manhoods, here to-day?<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Sad your choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Sons of Lynott!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then the little boys of the Lynotts, weeping, said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Only leave us our eyesight in our head.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the bearded Lynotts then<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Quickly answered back again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Take our eyes, but leave us men,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Alive or dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Sons of Wattin!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So the Barretts with sewing-needles sharp and smooth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let the light out of the eyes of every youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And of every bearded man,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the broken Lynott clan;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then their darkened faces wan<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Turning south<br /></span> +<span class="i11">To the river—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[76]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the slippery stepping-stones of Clochan-na-n'all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They drove them, laughing loud at every fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As their wandering footsteps dark<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Failed to reach the slippery mark,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the swift stream swallowed stark,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">One and all<br /></span> +<span class="i11">As they stumbled—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Of all the blinded Lynotts one alone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Walk'd erect from stepping-stone to stone:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So back again they brought you,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a second time they wrought you<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With their needles; but never got you<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Once to groan,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Emon Lynott,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But with prompt-projected footsteps sure as ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Emon Lynott again cross'd the river.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though Duvowen was rising fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the shaking stones o'ercast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By cold floods boiling past;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[77]<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Yet you never,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Emon Lynott,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Faltered once before your foemen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But, turning on Ballintubber bank, you stood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Barretts thus bespoke o'er the flood—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'O, ye foolish sons of Wattin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Small amends are these you've gotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For, while Scorna Boy lies rotten,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">I am good<br /></span> +<span class="i11">For vengeance!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'For 'tis neither in eye nor eyesight that a man<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bears the fortunes of himself and his clan,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But in the manly mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">These darken'd orbs behind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That your needles could never find<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Though they ran<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Through my heart-strings!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'But, little your women's needles do I reck;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the night from heaven never fell so black,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Tirawley, and abroad<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[78]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I could walk it every sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Path and track,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Ford and togher,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seeking vengeance on you, Barretts of Tirawley!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The night when Dathy O'Dowda broke your camp,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What Barrett among you was it held the lamp—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Showed the way to those two feet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When through wintry wind and sleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I guided your blind retreat<br /></span> +<span class="i11">In the swamp<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of Beäl-an-asa?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O ye vengeance-destined ingrates of Tirawley!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So leaving loud-shriek-echoing Garranard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Lynott like a red dog hunted hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With his wife and children seven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Mong the beasts and fowls of heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the hollows of Glen Nephin,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Light-debarred,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Made his dwelling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Planning vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And ere the bright-orb'd year its course had run,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On his brown round-knotted knee he nursed a son,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[79]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A child of light, with eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As clear as are the skies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In summer, when sunrise<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Has begun;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">So the Lynott<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nursed his vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And, as ever the bright boy grew in strength and size,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Made him perfect in each manly exercise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The salmon in the flood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The dun deer in the wood,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The eagle in the cloud<br /></span> +<span class="i11">To surprise<br /></span> +<span class="i11">On Ben Nephin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far above the foggy fields of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">With the yellow-knotted spear-shaft, with the bow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the steel, prompt to deal shot and blow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He taught him from year to year<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And train'd him, without a peer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a perfect cavalier,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Hoping so—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Far his forethought—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For vengeance on the Barretts of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[80]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, when mounted on his proud-bounding steed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the ear upon the wheat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When winds in Autumn beat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the bending stems, his seat;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And the speed<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of his courser<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was the wind from Barna-na-gee o'er Tirawley!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now when fifteen sunny summers thus were spent,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(He perfected in all accomplishment)—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Lynott said, 'My child,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We are over long exiled<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From mankind in this wild—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">—Time we went<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Through the mountain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the countries lying over-against Tirawley.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So, out over mountain-moors, and mosses brown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And green steam-gathering vales, they journey'd down:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till, shining like a star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the dusky gleams afar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bailey of Castlebar,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[81]<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And the town<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of MacWilliam<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Look southward, my boy, and tell me as we go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What see'st thou by the loch-head below?'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'O, a stone-house strong and great,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a horse-host at the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a captain in armour of plate—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Grand the show!<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Great the glancing!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">High the heroes of this land below Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And a beautiful Bantierna by his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yellow gold on all her gown-sleeves wide;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in her hand a pearl<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a young, little, fair-haired girl.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Said the Lynott, 'It is the Earl!<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Let us ride<br /></span> +<span class="i11">To his presence.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And before him came the exiles of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'God save thee, MacWilliam,' the Lynott thus began;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'God save all here besides of this clan;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For gossips dear to me<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[82]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Are all in company—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For in these four bones ye see<br /></span> +<span class="i11">A kindly man<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of the Britons—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And hither, as kindly gossip-law allows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I come to claim a scion of thy house<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To foster; for thy race,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since William Conquer's days,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have ever been wont to place,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">With some spouse<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of a Briton,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A MacWilliam Oge, to foster in Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And to show thee in what sort our youth are taught<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have hither to thy home of valour brought<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This one son of my age,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a sample and a pledge<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the equal tutelage,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">In right thought,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Word, and action,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">When MacWilliam beheld the brave boy ride and run,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spun—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[83]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a sigh, and with a smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He said,—'I would give the spoil<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a county, that Tibbot Moyle,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">My own son,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Were accomplish'd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">When the Lady MacWilliam she heard him speak,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And saw the ruddy roses on his cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She said, 'I would give a purse<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of red gold to the nurse<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That would rear my Tibbot no worse;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">But I seek<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Hitherto vainly—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heaven grant that I now have found her in Tirawley!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So they said to the Lynott, 'Here, take our bird!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And as pledge for the keeping of thy word,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let this scion here remain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till thou comest back again:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Meanwhile the fitting train<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of a lord<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Shall attend thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the lordly heir of Connaught into Tirawley.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[84]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So back to strong-throng-gathering Garranard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a lord of the country with his guard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came the Lynott, before them all,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once again over Clochan-na-n'all<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Steady and striding, erect and tall,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And his ward<br /></span> +<span class="i11">On his shoulders<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the wonder of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then a diligent foster-father you would deem<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Lynott, teaching Tibbot, by mead and stream,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To cast the spear, to ride,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To stem the rushing tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With what feats of body beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Might beseem<br /></span> +<span class="i11">A MacWilliam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fostered free among the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But the lesson of hell he taught him in heart and mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For to what desire soever he inclined,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of anger, lust, or pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He had it gratified,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till he ranged the circle wide<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[85]<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of a blind<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Self-indulgence,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere he came to youthful manhood in Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then, even as when a hunter slips a hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lynott loosed him—God's leashes all unbound—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the pride of power and station,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the strength of youthful passion,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the daughters of thy nation,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">All around,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Wattin Barrett!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Bitter grief and burning anger, rage and shame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Filled the houses of the Barretts where'er he came;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till the young men of the Back,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drew by night upon his track,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And slew him at Cornassack.<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Small your blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Sons of Wattin!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Said the Lynott, 'The day of my vengeance is drawing near,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[86]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The day for which, through many a long dark year,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have toiled through grief and sin—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Call ye now the Brehons in,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And let the plea begin<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Over the bier<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of MacWilliam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For an eric upon the Barretts of Tirawley!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then the Brehons to MacWilliam Burke decreed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An eric upon Clan Barrett for the deed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Lynott's share of the fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As foster-father, was nine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ploughlands and nine score kine;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">But no need<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Had the Lynott,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Neither care, for land or cattle in Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But rising, while all sat silent on the spot,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He said, 'The law says—doth it not?—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If the foster-sire elect<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His portion to reject,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He may then the right exact<br /></span> +<span class="i11">To applot<br /></span> +<span class="i11">The short eric.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'‘Tis the law,' replied the Brehons of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[87]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Said the Lynott, 'I once before had a choice<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Proposed me, wherein law had little voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But now I choose, and say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As lawfully I may,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I applot the mulct to-day;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">So rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i11">In your ploughlands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And your cattle which I renounce throughout Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And thus I applot the mulct: I divide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The land throughout Clan Barrett on every side<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Equally, that no place<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May be without the face<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of a foe of Wattin's race—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">That the pride<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of the Barretts<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May be humbled hence for ever throughout Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I adjudge a seat in every Barrett's hall<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To MacWilliam: in every stable I give a stall<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To MacWilliam: and, beside,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whenever a Burke shall ride<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[88]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through Tirawley, I provide<br /></span> +<span class="i11">At his call<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Needful grooming,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Without charge from any Brughaidh of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Thus lawfully I avenge me for the throes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ye lawlessly caused me and caused those<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unhappy shame-faced ones<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who, their mothers expected once,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would have been the sires of sons—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">O'er whose woes<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Often weeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have groaned in my exile from Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I demand not of you your manhoods; but I take—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the Burkes will take it—your Freedom! for the sake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of which all manhood's given<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And all good under heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, without which, better even<br /></span> +<span class="i11">You should make<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Yourselves barren,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Than see your children slaves throughout Tirawley!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[89]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Neither take I your eyesight from you; as you took<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mine and ours: I would have you daily look<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On one another's eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the strangers tyrannize<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By your hearths, and blushes arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">That ye brook<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Without vengeance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The insults of troops of Tibbots throughout Tirawley!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The vengeance I designed, now is done,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the days of me and mine nearly run—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For, for this, I have broken faith,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Teaching him who lies beneath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This pall, to merit death;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And my son<br /></span> +<span class="i11">To his father<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stands pledged for other teaching in Tirawley.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Said MacWilliam—'Father and son, hang them high!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Lynott they hang'd speedily;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But across the salt water,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Scotland, with the daughter<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum"><a name="p90" id="p90"></a>[90]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of MacWilliam—well you got her!<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Did you fly<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Edmund Lindsay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gentlest of all the Welshmen of Tirawley!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Tis thus the ancient Ollaves of Erin tell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How, through lewdness and revenge, it befell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That the sons of William Conquer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Came over the sons of Wattin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Throughout all the bounds and borders<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the lands of Auley Mac Fiachra;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till the Saxon Oliver Cromwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And his valiant, Bible-guided,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Free heretics of Clan London<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Coming in, in their succession,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rooted out both Burke and Barrett,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And in their empty places<br /></span> +<span class="i1">New stems of freedom planted,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With many a goodly sapling<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of manliness and virtue;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which while their children cherish,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Kindly Irish of the Irish,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Neither Saxons nor Italians,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[91]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May the mighty God of Freedom<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Speed them well,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Never taking<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Further vengeance on his people of Tirawley.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="AIDEENS_GRAVE" id="AIDEENS_GRAVE"></a>AIDEEN'S GRAVE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">They heaved the stone; they heap'd the cairn.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Said Ossian, 'In a queenly grave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We leave her, 'mong her fields of fern,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Between the cliff and wave.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The cliff behind stands clear and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And bare, above, the heathery steep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scales the clear heaven's expanse, to where<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Danaan Druids sleep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And all the sands that, left and right,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The grassy isthmus-ridge confine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In yellow bars lie bare and bright<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Among the sparkling brine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'A clear pure air pervades the scene,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[92]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In loneliness and awe secure;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Meet spot to sepulchre a Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who in her life was pure.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Here, far from camp and chase removed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Apart in Nature's quiet room,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The music that alive she loved<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall cheer her in the tomb.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The humming of the noontide bees,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The lark's loud carol all day long,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, borne on evening's salted breeze,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The clanking sea-bird's song,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Shall round her airy chamber float,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And with the whispering winds and streams,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Attune to Nature's tenderest note<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The tenor of her dreams.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And oft, at tranquil eve's decline,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When full tides lip the Old Green Plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lowing of Moynalty's kine<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall round her breathe again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'In sweet remembrance of the days<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When, duteous, in the lowly vale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unconscious of my Oscar's gaze,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She fill'd the fragrant pail,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[93]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'And, duteous, from the running brook<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Drew water for the bath; nor deem'd<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A king did on her labour look,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And she a fairy seem'd.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'But when the wintry frosts begin,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And in their long-drawn, lofty flight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wild geese with their airy din<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Distend the ear of night,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And when the fierce De Danaan ghosts<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At midnight from their peak come down,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When all around the enchanted coasts<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Despairing strangers drown;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'When, mingling with the wreckful wail,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From low Clontarf's wave-trampled floor<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Comes booming up the burthen'd gale<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The angry Sand-Bull's roar;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Or, angrier than the sea, the shout<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of Erin's hosts in wrath combined,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When Terror heads Oppression's rout,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Freedom cheers behind:—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Then o'er our lady's placid dream,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[94]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where safe from storms she sleeps, may steal<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such joy as will not misbeseem<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A Queen of men to feel:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Such thrill of free, defiant pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As rapt her in her battle-car<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At Gavra, when by Oscar's side<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She rode the ridge of war,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Exulting, down the shouting troops,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And through the thick confronting kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With hands on all their javelin loops<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And shafts on all their strings;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'E'er closed the inseparable crowds,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No more to part for me, and show,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As bursts the sun through scattering clouds,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My Oscar issuing so.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'No more, dispelling battle's gloom,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall son for me from fight return;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The great green rath's ten-acred tomb<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lies heavy on his urn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'A cup of bodkin-pencill'd clay<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Holds Oscar; mighty heart and limb<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One handful now of ashes grey:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And she has died for him.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[95]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'And here, hard by her natal bower<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On lone Ben Edar's side, we strive<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With lifted rock and sign of power<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To keep her name alive.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'That while from circling year to year,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her Ogham-letter'd stone is seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Gael shall say, "Our Fenians here<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Entombed their loved Aideen."<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The Ogham from her pillar-stone<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In tract of time will wear away;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her name at last be only known<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In Ossian's echo'd lay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'The long-forgotten lay I sing<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May only ages hence revive,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(As eagle with a wounded wing<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To soar again might strive,)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Imperfect, in an alien speech,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When, wandering here, some child of chance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through pangs of keen delight shall reach<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The gift of utterance,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'To speak the air, the sky to speak,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[96]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The freshness of the hill to tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who, roaming bare Ben Edar's peak<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Aideen's briary dell,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And gazing on the Cromlech vast,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And on the mountain and the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall catch communion with the past<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And mix himself with me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Child of the Future's doubtful night,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whate'er your speech, whoe'er your sires,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sing while you may with frank delight<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The song your hour inspires.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Sing while you may, nor grieve to know<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The song you sing shall also die;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Atharna's lay has perish'd so,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though once it thrill'd this sky,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Above us, from his rocky chair,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There, where Ben Edar's landward crest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er eastern Bregia bends, to where<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dun Almon crowns the west:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And all that felt the fretted air<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Throughout the song-distempered clime,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Did droop, till suppliant Leinster's prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Appeased the vengeful rhyme.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[97]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Ah me, or e'er the hour arrive<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall bid my long-forgotten tones,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unknown One, on your lips revive<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Here by these moss-grown stones,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'What change shall o'er the scene have crossed;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">What conquering lords anew have come<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What lore-arm'd, mightier Druid host<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From Gaul or distant Rome!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'What arts of death, what ways of life,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">What creeds unknown to bard or seer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall round your careless steps be rife,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who pause and ponder here;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And, haply, where yon curlew calls<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Athwart the marsh, 'mid groves and bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See rise some mighty chieftain's halls<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With unimagined towers:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And baying hounds, and coursers bright,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And burnish'd cars of dazzling sheen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With courtly train of dame and knight,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where now the fern is green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Or, by yon prostrate altar-stone<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[98]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May kneel, perchance, and, free from blame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">New holy men with rites unknown<br /></span> +<span class="i3">New names of God proclaim.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Let change as may the Name of Awe,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Let right surcease and altar pall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The same One God remains, a law<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For ever and for all.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Let change as may the face of earth,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Let alter all the social frame,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For mortal men the warp of birth<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And death are still the same.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'And still, as life and time wear on,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The children of the waning days,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Though strength be from their shoulders gone<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To lift the loads we raise,)<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Shall weep to do the burial rites<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of lost ones loved; and fondly found,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In shadow of the gathering nights,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The monumental mound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Farewell! the strength of men is worn:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The night approaches dark and chill:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sleep, till perchance an endless morn<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Descend the glittering hill.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[99]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Oscar and Aideen bereft,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So Ossian's song. The Fenians sped<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Three mighty shouts to heaven; and left<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ben Edar to the dead.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="DEIRDRES_LAMENT_FOR_THE_SONS_OF" id="DEIRDRES_LAMENT_FOR_THE_SONS_OF"></a>DEIRDRE'S LAMENT FOR THE SONS OF</h2> +<h2>USNACH</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The lions of the hill are gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I am left alone—alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dig the grave both wide and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For I am sick, and fain would sleep!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The falcons of the wood are flown,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I am left alone—alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dig the grave both deep and wide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And let us slumber side by side.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The dragons of the rock are sleeping,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sleep that wakes not for our weeping—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dig the grave, and make it ready,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay me on my true-love's body.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lay their spears and bucklers bright<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[100]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the warriors' sides aright;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many a day the three before me<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On their linkèd bucklers bore me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lay upon the low grave floor,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Neath each head, the blue claymore;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many a time the noble three<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Reddened these blue blades for me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lay the collars, as is meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of their greyhounds at their feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many a time for me have they<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brought the tall red deer to bay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In the falcon's jesses throw,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hook and arrow, line and bow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never again, by stream or plain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall the gentle woodsmen go.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Sweet companions, ye were ever—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Harsh to me, your sister, never;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Woods and wilds, and misty valleys,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were with you as good's a palace.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, to hear my true-love singing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet as sound of trumpets ringing;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the sway of ocean swelling<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rolled his deep voice round our dwelling.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[101]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! to hear the echoes pealing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Round our green and fairy sheeling,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the three, with soaring chorus,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Passed the silent skylark o'er us.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Echo now, sleep, morn and even—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lark alone enchant the heaven!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ardan's lips are scant of breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Neesa's tongue is cold in death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Stag, exult on glen and mountain—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Salmon, leap from loch to fountain—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heron, in the free air warm ye—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Usnach's sons no more will harm ye!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Erin's stay no more you are,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rulers of the ridge of war;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never more 'twill be your fate<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To keep the beam of battle straight!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Woe is me! by fraud and wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Traitors false and tyrants strong,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fell Clan Usnach, bought and sold,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Barach's feast and Conor's gold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Woe to Eman, roof and wall!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[102]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Woe to Red Branch, hearth and hall!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tenfold woe and black dishonour<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the foul and false Clan Conor!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Dig the grave both wide and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sick I am, and fain would sleep!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dig the grave and make it ready,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay me on my true-love's body.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FAIR_HILLS_OF_IRELAND" id="THE_FAIR_HILLS_OF_IRELAND"></a>THE FAIR HILLS OF IRELAND</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A plenteous place is Ireland for hospitable cheer,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em"><i>Uileacan dubh O!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow barley ear;<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em"><i>Uileacan dubh O!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fanned;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There is dew at high noontide there, and springs i' the yellow sand,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On the fair hills of holy Ireland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[103]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Curled he is and ringleted, and plaited to the knee,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em"><i>Uileacan dubh O!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each captain who comes sailing across the Irish sea;<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em"><i>Uileacan dubh O!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I will make my journey, if life and health but stand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And leave your boasted braveries, your wealth and high command,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the fair hills of holy Ireland.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Large and profitable are the stacks upon the ground;<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em"><i>Uileacan dubh O!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">The butter and the cream do wondrously abound,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em"><i>Uileacan dubh O!</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cresses on the water and the sorrels are at hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the cuckoo's calling daily his note of music bland,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the bold thrush sings so bravely his song 'i the forest grand,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On the fair hills of holy Ireland.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[104]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LAMENT_OVER_THE_RUINS_OF_THE_ABBEY" id="LAMENT_OVER_THE_RUINS_OF_THE_ABBEY"></a>LAMENT OVER THE RUINS OF THE ABBEY</h2> +<h2>OF TIMOLEAGUE +</h2> +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lone and weary as I wander'd by the bleak shore of the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Meditating and reflecting on the world's hard destiny,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forth the moon and stars 'gan glimmer, in the quiet tide beneath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For on slumbering spring and blossom breathed not out of heaven a breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">On I went in sad dejection, careless where my footsteps bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till a ruined church before me opened wide its ancient door,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till I stood before the portals, where of old were wont to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the blind, the halt, and leper, alms and hospitality.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Still the ancient seat was standing, built against the buttress grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the clergy used to welcome weary trav'llers on their way;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[105]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There I sat me down in sadness, 'neath my cheek I placed my hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till the tears fell hot and briny down upon the grassy land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There, I said in woful sorrow, weeping bitterly the while,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was a time when joy and gladness reigned within this ruined pile;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was a time when bells were tinkling, clergy preaching peace abroad,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Psalms a-singing, music ringing praises to the mighty God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Empty aisle, deserted chancel, tower tottering to your fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many a storm since then has beaten on the grey head of your wall!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many a bitter storm and tempest has your roof-tree turned away,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since you first were formed a temple to the Lord of night and day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[106]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Holy house of ivied gables, that were once the country's boast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Houseless now in weary wandering are you scattered, saintly host;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lone you are to-day, and dismal,—joyful psalms no more are heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where, within your choir, her vesper screeches the cat-headed bird.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ivy from your eaves is growing, nettles round your green hearth-stone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Foxes howl, where, in your corners, dropping waters make their moan.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the lark to early matins used your clergy forth to call,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There, alas! no tongue is stirring, save the daw's upon the wall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Refectory cold and empty, dormitory bleak and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where are now your pious uses, simple bed and frugal fare?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gone your abbot, rule and order, broken down your altar stones;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nought see I beneath your shelter, save a heap of clayey bones.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[107]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! the hardship, O! the hatred, tyranny, and cruel war,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Persecution and oppression, that have left you as you are!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I myself once also prosper'd;—mine is, too, an alter'd plight;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trouble, care, and age have left me good for nought but grief to-night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Gone my motion and my vigour—gone the use of eye and ear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At my feet lie friends and children, powerless and corrupting here;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Woe is written on my visage, in a nut my heart could lie—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Death's deliverance were welcome—Father, let the old man die.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FAIRY_WELL_OF_LAGNANAY" id="THE_FAIRY_WELL_OF_LAGNANAY"></a>THE FAIRY WELL OF LAGNANAY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Mournfully, sing mournfully—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'O listen, Ellen, sister dear:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is there no help at all for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But only ceaseless sigh and tear?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[108]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Why did not he who left me here,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With stolen hope steal memory?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O listen, Ellen, sister dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Mournfully, sing mournfully)—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I'll go away to Slemish hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'll pluck the fairy hawthorn-tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And let the spirits work their will;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I care not if for good or ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So they but lay the memory<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which all my heart is haunting still!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Mournfully, sing mournfully)—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Fairies are a silent race,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And pale as lily flowers to see:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I care not for a blanchèd face,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nor wandering in a dreaming place,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So I but banish memory:—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I wish I were with Anna Grace!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mournfully, sing mournfully!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hearken to my tale of woe—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Twas thus to weeping Ellen Con,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her sister said in accents low,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her only sister, Una bawn:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[109]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Twas in their bed before the dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Ellen answered sad and slow,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'O Una, Una, be not drawn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Hearken to my tale of woe)—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To this unholy grief I pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which makes me sick at heart to know,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And I will help you if I may:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">—The Fairy Well of Lagnanay—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lie nearer me, I tremble so,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Una, I've heard wise women say<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Hearken to my tale of woe)—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That if before the dews arise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">True maiden in its icy flow<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Three lady-brackens pluck likewise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And three times round the fountain go,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She straight forgets her tears and sighs.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hearken to my tale of woe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All, alas! and well-away!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'O, sister Ellen, sister sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Come with me to the hill I pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And I will prove that blessed freet!'<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They rose with soft<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[110]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They left their mother where she lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Their mother and her care discreet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(All, alas! and well-away!)<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And soon they reached the Fairy Well,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mountain's eye, clear, cold, and grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wide open in the dreary fell:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How long they stood 'twere vain to tell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At last upon the point of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Bawn Una bares her bosom's swell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(All, alas! and well-away!)<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thrice o'er her shrinking breasts she laves<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The gliding glance that will not stay<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of subtly-streaming fairy waves:—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And now the charm three brackens craves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She plucks them in their fring'd array:—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Now round the well her fate she braves,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All, alas! and well-away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Save us all from Fairy thrall!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ellen sees her face the rim<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Twice and thrice, and that is all—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fount and hill and maiden swim<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All together melting dim!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[111]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Una! Una!' thou may'st call,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sister sad! but lith or limb<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Save us all from Fairy thrall!)<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Never again of Una bawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where now she walks in dreamy hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall eyes of mortal look upon!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O! can it be the guard was gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That better guard than shield or wall?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who knows on earth save Jurlagh Daune?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Save us all from Fairy thrall!)<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Behold the banks are green and bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No pit is here wherein to fall:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Aye—at the fount you well may stare,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But nought save pebbles smooth is there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And small straws twirling one and all.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Hie thee home, and be thy prayer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Save us all from Fairy thrall.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_THOMAS_DAVIS" id="ON_THE_DEATH_OF_THOMAS_DAVIS"></a>ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS DAVIS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I walked through Ballinderry in the Spring-time,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[112]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the bud was on the tree;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I said, in every fresh-ploughed field beholding<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The sowers striding free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Scattering broad-cast forth the corn in golden plenty<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On the quick seed-clasping soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Even such, this day, among the fresh-stirred hearts of Erin,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thomas Davis, is thy toil!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I sat by Ballyshannon in the summer,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And saw the salmon leap;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I said, as I beheld the gallant creatures<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Spring glittering from the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the spray, and through the prone heaps striving onward<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To the calm clear streams above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So seekest thou thy native founts of freedom, Thomas Davis,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In thy brightness of strength and love!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I stood on Derrybawn in the Autumn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I heard the eagle call,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a clangorous cry of wrath and lamentation<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[113]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That filled the wide mountain hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the bare deserted place of his plundered eyrie;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And I said, as he screamed and soared,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So callest thou, thou wrathful-soaring Thomas Davis,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For a nation's rights restored!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And, alas! to think but now, and thou art lying,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dear Davis, dead at thy mother's knee;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I, no mother near, on my own sick-bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That face on earth shall never see:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I may lie and try to feel that I am not dreaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I may lie and try to say 'Thy will be done'—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But a hundred such as I will never comfort Erin<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the loss of the noble son!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Young husbandman of Erin's fruitful seed-time,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the fresh track of danger's plough!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who will walk the heavy, toilsome, perilous furrow<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Girt with freedom's seed-sheets now?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who will banish with the wholesome crop of knowledge<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The flaunting weed and the bitter thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now that thou thyself art but a seed for hopeful planting<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Against the resurrection morn?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[114]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Young salmon of the flood-time of freedom<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That swells round Erin's shore!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou wilt leap against their loud oppressive torrent<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of bigotry and hate no more:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Drawn downward by their prone material instinct,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Let them thunder on their rocks and foam—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou hast leapt, aspiring soul, to founts beyond their raging,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where troubled waters never come!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But I grieve not, eagle of the empty eyrie,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That thy wrathful cry is still;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And that the songs alone of peaceful mourners<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are heard to-day on Erin's hill;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Better far, if brothers' war be destined for us<br /></span> +<span class="i3">(God avert that horrid day I pray!)<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ere our hands be stained with slaughter fratricidal<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy warm heart should be cold in clay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But my trust is strong in God, who made us brothers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That He will not suffer those right hands<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which thou hast joined in holier rites than wedlock,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[115]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To draw opposing brands.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, many a tuneful tongue that thou madest vocal<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would lie cold and silent then;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And songless long once more, should often-widowed Erin<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mourn the loss of her brave young men.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, brave young men, my love, my pride, my promise,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Tis on you my hopes are set,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In manliness, in kindliness, in justice,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To make Erin a nation yet:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Self-respecting, self-relying, self-advancing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In union or in severance, free and strong—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if God grant this, then, under God, to Thomas Davis<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Let the greater praise belong.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Sir Samuel Ferguson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_COUNTY_OF_MAYO" id="THE_COUNTY_OF_MAYO"></a>THE COUNTY OF MAYO</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish of Thomas Lavelle</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">On the deck of Patrick Lynch's boat I sat in woful plight,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[116]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Through my sighing all the weary day, and weeping all the night;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Were it not that full of sorrow from my people forth I go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">By the blessed sun! 'tis royally I'd sing thy praise, Mayo!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">When I dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did much abound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In the company of fair young maids the Spanish ale went round—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now I'm forced to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And must leave my bones in Santa Cruz, far from my own Mayo.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">They are altered girls in Irrul now; 'tis proud they're grown and high,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">With their hair-bags and their top-knots, for I pass their buckles by—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But it's little now I heed their airs, for God will have it so,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">That I must depart for foreign lands, and leave my sweet Mayo.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[117]<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Tis my grief that Patrick Loughlin is not Earl of Irrul still,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that Brian Duff no longer rules as Lord upon the hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And that Colonel Hugh MacGrady should be lying dead and low,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And I sailing, sailing swiftly from the county of Mayo.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>George Fox</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WEDDING_OF_THE_CLANS" id="THE_WEDDING_OF_THE_CLANS"></a>THE WEDDING OF THE CLANS</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Girl's Babble</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span>I go to knit two clans together;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Our clan and this clan unseen of yore:—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Our clan fears nought! but I go, O whither?<br /></span> +<span class="i2">This day I go from my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Thou, red-breast, singest the old song over,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Though many a time thou hast sung it before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They never sent thee to some strange new lover:—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I sing a new song by my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I stepped from my little room down by the ladder,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The ladder that never so shook before;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I was sad last night; to-day I am sadder,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[118]<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because I go from my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">The last snow melts upon bush and bramble;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The gold bars shine on the forest's floor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Shake not, thou leaf! it is I must tremble<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because I go from my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">From a Spanish sailor a dagger I bought me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I trailed a rose-tree our grey bawn o'er;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The creed and my letters our old bard taught me;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My days were sweet by my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">My little white goat that with raised feet huggest<br /></span> +<span class="i2">The oak stock, thy horns in the ivies frore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Could I wrestle like thee—how the wreaths thou tuggest!—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I never would move from my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">O weep no longer, my nurse and mother!<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My foster-sister, weep not so sore!<br /></span> +<span class="i0">You cannot come with me, Ir, my brother—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Alone I go from my mother's door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Farewell, my wolf-hound that slew MacOwing<br /></span> +<span class="i2">As he caught me and far through the thickets bore:<br /></span> +<span class="i0">My heifer, Alb, in the green vale lowing,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[119]<br /></span> +<span class="i2">My cygnet's nest upon Lorna's shore!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">He has killed ten chiefs, this chief that plights me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His hand is like that of the giant Balor;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But I fear his kiss, and his beard affrights me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the great stone dragon above his door.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had I daughters nine, with me they should tarry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">They should sing old songs; they should dance at my door;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">They should grind at the quern;—no need to marry;<br /></span> +<span class="i2">O when will this marriage-day be o'er?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Had I buried, like Moirín, three mates already,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">I might say: 'Three husbands! then why not four?'<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my hand is cold and my foot unsteady,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Because I never was married before!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Aubrey de Vere</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LITTLE_BLACK_ROSE" id="THE_LITTLE_BLACK_ROSE"></a>THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Little Black Rose shall be red at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">What made it black but the March wind dry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the tear of the widow that fell on it fast?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[120]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">It shall redden the hills when June is nigh.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Silk of the Kine shall rest at last;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">What drove her forth but the dragon-fly?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the golden vale she shall feed full fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With her mild gold horn and her slow, dark eye.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The wounded wood-dove lies dead at last!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The pine long bleeding, it shall not die!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This song is secret. Mine ear it passed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In a wind o'er the plains at Athenry.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Aubrey de Vere</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SONG1" id="SONG1"></a>SONG</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She says: 'Poor Friend, you waste a treasure<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which you can ne'er regain—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Time, health, and glory, for the pleasure<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of toying with a chain.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But then her voice so tender grows,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So kind and so caressing;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each murmur from her lips that flows<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Comes to me like a blessing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Sometimes she says: 'Sweet Friend, I grieve you—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[121]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Alas, it gives me pain!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What can I? Ah, might I relieve you,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You ne'er had mourned in vain!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And then her little hand she presses<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Upon her heart, and sighs;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While tears, whose source not yet she guesses,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Grow larger in her eyes.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Aubrey de Vere</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BARD_ETHELL" id="THE_BARD_ETHELL"></a>THE BARD ETHELL</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Ireland in the Thirteenth Century</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I am Ethell, the son of Conn:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Here I bide at the foot of the hill:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I am clansman to Brian, and servant to none:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whom I hated, I hate: whom I loved, I love still.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Blind am I. On milk I live,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And meat, God sends it, on each Saint's Day;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though Donald Mac Art—may he never thrive—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Last Shrovetide drove half my kine away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">At the brown hill's base by the pale blue lake<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I dwell and see the things I saw:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The heron flap heavily up from the brake;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[122]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The crow fly homeward with twig or straw<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wild duck a silver line in wake<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cutting the calm mere to far Bunaw.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the things that I heard, though deaf, I hear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the tower in the island the feastful cheer;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The horn from the wood; the plunge of the stag,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the loud hounds after him down from the crag.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet is the chase, but the battle is sweeter,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">More healthy, more joyous, for true men meeter!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My hand is weak! it once was strong:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My heart burns still with its ancient fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If any man smites me he does me wrong,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For I was the bard of Brian Mac Guire.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If any man slay me—not unaware,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By no chance blow, nor in wine and revel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have stored beforehand, a curse in my prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For his kith and kindred; his deed is evil.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There never was king, and never will be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In battle or banquet like Malachi!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The seers his reign had predicted long;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He honoured the bards, and gave gold for song.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[123]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If rebels arose, he put out their eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">If robbers plundered or burned the fanes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He hung them in chaplets, like rosaries,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That others beholding might take more pains!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There was none to women more reverent-minded,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For he held his mother, and Mary, dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If any man wronged them, that man he blinded,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or straight amerced him of hand or ear.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There was none who founded more convents—none;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In his palace the old and poor were fed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The orphan might walk, or the widow's son,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Without groom or page to his throne or bed.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In his council he mused, with great brows divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And eyes like the eyes of the musing kine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upholding a sceptre o'er which men said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seven spirits of wisdom like fire-tongues played.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He drained ten lakes, and he built ten bridges;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He bought a gold book for a thousand cows;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He slew ten princes who brake their pledges;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With the bribed and the base he scorned to carouse.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was sweet and awful; through all his reign<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God gave great harvests to vale and plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From his nurse's milk he was kind and brave;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[124]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when he went down to his well-wept grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the triumph of penance his soul arose<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To God and the saints. Not so his foes.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The King that came after, ah woe, woe, woe!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He doubted his friend, and he trusted his foe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He bought and he sold: his kingdom old<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He pledged and pawned, to avenge a spite:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No Bard or prophet his birth foretold:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He was guarded and warded both day and night:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He counselled with fools and had boors at his feast:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was cruel to Christian and kind to beast:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Men smiled when they talked of him far o'er the wave:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Well paid were the mourners that wept at his grave.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God plagued for his sake his people sore:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They sinned; for the people should watch and pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That their prayers like angels at window and door,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May keep from the King the bad thought away!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The sun has risen: on lip and brow,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He greets me—I feel it—with golden wand:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah, bright-faced Norna! I see thee now:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where first I saw thee I see thee stand!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the trellis the girl looked down on me:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[125]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her maidens stood near; it was late in spring;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The grey priest laughed, as she cried in glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Good Bard, a song in my honour sing.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I sang her praise in a loud-voiced hymn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To God who had fashioned her face and limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the praise of the clan, and the land's behoof:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So she flung me a flower from the trellis roof.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere long I saw her the hill descending,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O'er the lake the May morning rose moist and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She prayed me, her smile with the sweet voice blending,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To teach her all that a woman should know.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Panting she stood; she was out of breath;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The wave of her little breast was shaking;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From eyes still childish, and dark as death,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Came womanhood's dawn through a dew-cloud breaking.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Norna was never long time the same;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By a spirit so strong was her slight form moulded,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The curves swelled out from the flower-like frame<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In joy; in grief to a bud she folded:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As she listened, her eyes grew bright and large,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like springs rain-fed that dilate their marge.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[126]</span> +<span class="i1">So I taught her the hymn of Patrick the Apostle,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the marvels of Bridget and Columbkille;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere long she sang like the lark or the throstle,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sang the deeds of the servants of God's high will:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I told her of Brendan, who found afar<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Another world 'neath the western star;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of our three great bishops in Lindisfarne isle;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of St. Fursey the wondrous, Fiacre without guile;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Sedulius, hymn-maker when hymns were rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Scotus the subtle, who clove a hair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Into sixty parts, and had marge to spare.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To her brother I spake of Oisin and Fionn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they wept at the death of great Oisin's son.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I taught the heart of the boy to revel<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In tales of old greatness that never tire;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the virgin's, up-springing from earth's low level,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To wed with heaven like the altar fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I taught her all that a woman should know,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And that none should teach her worse lore, I gave her<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A dagger keen, and taught her the blow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That subdues the knave to discreet behaviour.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A sand-stone there on my knee she set,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[127]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And sharpened its point—I can see her yet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I held back her hair and she sharpen'd the edge,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the wind piped low through the reeds and sedge.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She died in the convent on Ina's height:—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I saw her the day that she took the veil:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As slender she stood as the Paschal light,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As tall and slender and bright and pale!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw her: and dropped as dead: bereaven<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is earth when her holy ones leave her for heaven.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her brother fell in the fight at Begh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May they plead for me both on my dying day!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All praise to the man who brought us the Faith!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis a staff by day and our pillow in death!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All praise I say to that blessed youth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who heard in a dream from Tyrawley's strand<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That wail, 'Put forth o'er the sea thy hand:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the dark we die: give us hope and Truth!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Patrick built not on Iorras' shore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That convent where now the Franciscans dwell:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Columba was mighty in prayer and war:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the young monk preaches as loud as his bell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That love must rule all, and all wrongs be forgiven,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[128]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or else he is sure we shall reach not heaven!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This doctrine I count right cruel and hard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when I am laid in the old churchyard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The habit of Francis I will not wear:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor wear I his cord or his cloth of hair<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In secret. Men dwindle: till psalm and prayer<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had softened the land no Dane dwelt there!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I forgive old Cathbar who sank my boat:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Must I pardon Feargal who slew my son:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or the pirate, Strongbow, who burned Granote,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They tell me, and in it nine priests, a nun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And worse—St. Finian's old crozier staff?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">At forgiveness like that, I spit and laugh!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My chief in his wine-cups forgave twelve men:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And of these a dozen rebelled again.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There never was chief more brave than he!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The night he was born Loch Gar up-burst:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was bard-loving, gift-making, fond of glee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The last to fly, to advance the first.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was like the top spray upon Uladh's oak,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He was like the tap-root of Argial's pine:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was secret and sudden: as lightning his stroke:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There was none that could fathom his hid design.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[129]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He slept not: if any man scorned his alliance<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He struck the first blow for a frank defiance,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With that look in his face, half night, half light,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like the lake just blackened yet ridged with white!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There were comely wonders before he died:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The eagle barked, and the Banshee cried,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The witch-elm wept with a blighted bud,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The spray of the torrent was red with blood:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The chief returned from the mountains bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Forgot to ask after Bran his hound.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We knew he would die: three days were o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He died. We <i>waked</i> him for three days more:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One by one, upon brow and breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The whole clan kissed him: In peace may he rest!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I sang his dirge, I could sing that time<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Four thousand staves of ancestral rhyme:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To-day I can scarcely sing the half:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of old I was corn, and I now am chaff!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My song to-day is a breeze that shakes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Feebly the down on the cygnet's breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas then a billow the beach that rakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or a storm that buffets the mountain's crest.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whatever I bit with a venomed song,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[130]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Grew sick, were it beast, or tree, or man:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wronged one sued me to right his wrong<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With the flail of the Satire and fierce Ode's fan.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I sang to the chieftains: each stock I traced,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lest lines should grow tangled through fraud or haste.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To princes I sang in a loftier tone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Moran the just who refused a throne;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Moran, whose torque would close, and choke<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wry-necked witness that falsely spoke.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I taught them how to win love and hate,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not love from all; and to shun debate.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To maids in the bower I sang of love:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And of war at the feastings in bawn or grove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Great is our Order: but greater far<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were its pomp and power in the days of old,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the five Chief Bards in peace or war<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had thirty bards each in his train enrolled:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When Ollave Fodla in Tara's hall<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fed bards and kings; when the boy King Nial<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was trained by Torna; when Britain and Gaul<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sent crowns of laurel to Dallan Forgial.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To-day we can launch the clans into fight;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That day we could freeze them in mid career!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[131]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whatever man knows was our realm by right:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The lore without music no Gael would hear.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Cormac the brave blind king was bard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ere fame rose yet of O'Daly and Ward.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The son of Milesius was bard—'Go back<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My People,' he sang, 'ye have done a wrong!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nine waves go back o'er the green sea track,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Let your foes their castles and coasts make strong.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the island you came by stealth and at night:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She is ours if we win her, in all men's sight;'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For that first song's sake let our bards hold fast<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To Truth and Justice from first to last!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis over! some think we erred through pride,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though Columba the vengeance turned aside.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Too strong we were not: too rich we were:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Give wealth to knaves: 'tis the true man's snare.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But now men lie: they are just no more;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They forsake the old ways; they quest for new;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They pry and they snuff after strange false lore,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As dogs hunt vermin: it never was true:—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have scorned it for twenty years—this babble,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That eastward and southward, a Saxon rabble<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have won great battles and rule large lands,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[132]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And plight with daughters of ours their hands.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We know the bold Norman o'erset their throne<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Long since. Our lands! let them guard their own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">How long He leaves me—the great God—here!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Have I sinned some sin, or has God forgotten?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">This year, I think, is my hundredth year;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I am like a bad apple unripe and rotten!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They shall lift me ere long, they shall lay me—the clan,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the strength of men on Mount Cruachan!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God has much to think of! How much He hath seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And how much is gone by that once hath been!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On sandy hills where the rabbits burrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are Raths of Kings' men, named not now;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On mountain-tops I have tracked the furrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And found in forests the buried plough.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For one now living the strong land then<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gave kindly food and raiment to ten.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No doubt they waxed proud and their God defied:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So their harvest He blighted and burned their hoard;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or He sent them plagues, or He sent the sword,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or He sent them lightning and so they died,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[133]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like Dathi the King on the dark Alp's side.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah me! that man who is made of dust,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Should have pride towards God! 'Tis a demon's spleen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have often feared lest God the All-just,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Should bend from heaven and sweep earth clean:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Should sweep us all into corners and holes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like dust of the house-floor both bodies and souls!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have often feared He would send some wind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In wrath; and the nation wake up stone blind.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In age or in youth we have all wrought ill:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I say not our great King Nial did well,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Although he was Lord of the Pledges Nine,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where besides subduing this land of Eire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He raised in Armorica banner and sign,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And wasted the British coast with fire.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Perhaps in His mercy the Lord will say,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'These men, God's help, 'twas a rough boy-play!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He is certain, that young Franciscan Priest—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God sees great sin where men see least;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet this were to give unto God the eye—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unmeet the thought, of the humming fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I trust there are small things He scorns to see<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[134]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the lowly who cry to Him piteously.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our hope is Christ: I have wept full oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He came not to Eire in Oisin's time;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though love and those new monks would make men soft,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">If they were not hardened by war and rhyme.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I have done my part: my end draws nigh:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I shall leave old Eire with a smile and sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She will miss me not as I missed my son,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet for her and her praise were my best deeds done.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Man's deeds! Man's deeds! they are shades that fleet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or ripples like those that break at my feet.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The deeds of my chief and the deeds of my king<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Grow hazy, far seen, in the hills in spring.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nothing is great save the death on the cross!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But Pilate and Herod I hate, and know<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had Fionn lived then he had laid them low,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though the world thereby had sustained great loss.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My blindness and deafness and aching back<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With meekness I bear for that suffering's sake;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Lent-fast for Mary's sake I love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the honour of Him, the Man Above!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[135]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My songs are all over now:—so best!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are laid in the heavenly Singer's breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who never sings but a star is born:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May we hear His song in the endless morn!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I give glory to God for our battles won<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By wood or river, on bay or creek:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Norna—who died; for my father, Conn:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For feasts, and the chase on the mountains bleak:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I bewail my sins, both unknown and known,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And of those I have injured forgiveness seek.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The men that were wicked to me and mine<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Not quenching a wrong, nor in war nor wine),<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I forgive and absolve them all, save three:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May Christ in His mercy be kind to me!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Aubrey de Vere</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LAMENT_FOR_THE_DEATH_OF_EOGHAN" id="LAMENT_FOR_THE_DEATH_OF_EOGHAN"></a>LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF EOGHAN</h2> +<h2>RUADH O'NEILL</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Did they dare, did they dare, to slay Eoghan Ruadh O'Neill?'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[136]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Yes, they slew with poison him they feared to meet with steel.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'May God wither up their hearts! May their blood cease to flow!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May they walk in living death, who poisoned Eoghan Ruadh!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Though it break my heart to hear, say again the bitter words.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'From Derry, against Cromwell, he marched to measure swords:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the weapon of the Sassanach met him on his way,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he died at Cloch Uachtar, upon St. Leonard's day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Wail, wail ye for the Mighty One! Wail, wail ye for the Dead!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Quench the hearth, and hold the breath—with ashes strew the head.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How tenderly we loved him! How deeply we deplore!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Holy Saviour! but to think we shall never see him more!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[137]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Sagest in the council was he, kindest in the hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sure we never won a battle—'twas Owen won them all.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Had he lived—had he lived—our dear country had been free;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But he's dead, but he's dead, and 'tis slaves we'll ever be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'O'Farrell and Clanricarde, Preston and Red Hugh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Audley and MacMahon—ye are valiant, wise, and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But—what are ye all to our darling who is gone?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Rudder of our Ship was he, our Castle's corner stone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Wail, wail him through the Island! Weep, weep for our pride!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Would that on the battle-field our gallant chief had died!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Weep the Victor of Beinn Burb—weep him, young and old;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Weep for him, ye women—your Beautiful lies cold!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[138]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'We thought you would not die—we were sure you would not go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell's cruel blow—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sheep without a shepherd, when the snow shuts out the sky—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! why did you leave us, Eoghan? Why did you die?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Soft as woman's was your voice, O'Neill! bright was your eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! why did you leave us, Eoghan? Why did you die?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your troubles are all over, you're at rest with God on high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But we're slaves, and we're orphans, Eoghan!—why did you die?'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas Davis</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="MAIRE_BHAN_ASTOR" id="MAIRE_BHAN_ASTOR"></a>MAIRE BHAN ASTÓR</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In a valley far away,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With my <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Short would be the summer-day,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[139]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ever loving more and more;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Winter days would all grow long,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With the light her heart would pour,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With her kisses and her song,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And her loving <i>mait go leór</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Fond is <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Fair is <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Sweet as ripple on the shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Sings my <i>Maire bhan astór</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O! her sire is very proud,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And her mother cold as stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But her brother bravely vowed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She should be my bride alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For he knew I loved her well,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And he knew she loved me too,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So he sought their pride to quell,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But 'twas all in vain to sue.<br /></span> +<span class="i5">True is <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Tried is <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Had I wings I'd never soar<br /></span> +<span class="i5">From my <i>Maire bhan astór</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There are lands where manly toil<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[140]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Surely reaps the crop it sows,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glorious woods and teeming soil,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where the broad Missouri flows:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through the trees the smoke shall rise,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From our hearth with <i>mait go leór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There shall shine the happy eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of my <i>Maire bhan astór</i>.<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Mild is <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Mine is <i>Maire bhan astór</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Saints will watch about the door<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Of my <i>Maire bhan astór</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas Davis</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="O_THE_MARRIAGE" id="O_THE_MARRIAGE"></a>O! THE MARRIAGE</h2> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Air</span>—<i>The Swaggering Jig</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O! the marriage, the marriage,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With love and <i>mo bhuachaill</i> for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ladies that ride in a carriage<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Might envy my marriage to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For Eoghan is straight as a tower,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And tender and loving and true,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He told me more love in an hour<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Than the Squires of the county could do.<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Then, O! the marriage, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[141]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His hair is a shower of soft gold,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His eye is as clear as the day,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His conscience and vote were unsold<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When others were carried away;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His word is as good as an oath,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And freely 'twas given to me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! sure 'twill be happy for both<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The day of our marriage to see.<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Then, O! the marriage, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">His kinsmen are honest and kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The neighbours think much of his skill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Eoghan's the lad to my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though he owns neither castle nor mill.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But he has a tilloch of land,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A horse, and a stocking of coin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A foot for a dance, and a hand<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the cause of his country to join.<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Then, O! the marriage, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">We meet in the market and fair—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We meet in the morning and night—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He sits on the half of my chair,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[142]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And my people are wild with delight.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet I long through the winter to skim,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though Eoghan longs more, I can see,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When I will be married to him,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And he will be married to me.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then, O! the marriage, the marriage,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With love and <i>mo bhuachaill</i> for me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The ladies that ride in a carriage<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Might envy my marriage to me.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas Davis</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="A_PLEA_FOR_LOVE" id="A_PLEA_FOR_LOVE"></a>A PLEA FOR LOVE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The summer brook flows in the bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The winter torrent tore asunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The skylark's gentle wings are spread<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where walk the lightning and the thunder;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And thus you'll find the sternest soul<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The gayest tenderness concealing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And minds that seem to mock control,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are ordered by some fairy feeling.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then, maiden! start not from the hand<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[143]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That's hardened by the swaying sabre—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The pulse beneath may be as bland<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As evening after day of labour:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, maiden! start not from the brow<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That thought has knit, and passion darkened—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In twilight hours, 'neath forest bough,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The tenderest tales are often hearkened.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas Davis</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="REMEMBRANCE" id="REMEMBRANCE"></a>REMEMBRANCE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Cold in the earth—and the deep snow piled above thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Far, far removed, cold in the dreary grave!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Have I forgot, my only Love, to love thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Severed at last by Time's all-severing wave?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now, when alone, do my thoughts no longer hover<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Over the mountains, on that northern shore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Resting their wings where heath and fern-leaves cover<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy noble heart for ever, ever more?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Cold in the earth—and fifteen wild Decembers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From these brown hills, have melted into spring!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Faithful, indeed, is the spirit that remembers<br /></span> +<span class="i3">After such years of change and suffering!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[144]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet Love of youth, forgive, if I forget thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">While the world's tide is bearing me along;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Other desires and other hopes beset me,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Hopes which obscure, but cannot do thee wrong;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No later light has lighted up my heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No second morn has ever shone for me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All my life's bliss from thy dear life was given,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All my life's bliss is in the grave with thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But, when the days of golden dreams had perished,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And even Despair was powerless to destroy;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then did I learn how existence could be cherished,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Strengthened and fed without the aid of joy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then did I check the tears of useless passion—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Weaned my young soul from yearning after thine;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sternly denied its burning wish to hasten,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Down to that tomb already more than mine.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And, even yet, I dare not let it languish,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dare not indulge in memory's rapturous pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once drinking deep of that divinest anguish<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How could I seek the empty world again?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Emily Brontë</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[145]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="A_FRAGMENT_FROM_THE_PRISONER_A" id="A_FRAGMENT_FROM_THE_PRISONER_A"></a>A FRAGMENT FROM 'THE PRISONER: A</h2> +<h2>FRAGMENT'</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Still, let my tyrants know, I am not doomed to wear<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Year after year in gloom, and desolate despair;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A messenger of Hope comes every night to me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And offers for short life, eternal liberty.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">He comes with Western winds, with evening's wandering airs,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With that clear dusk of heaven that brings the thickest stars.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Winds take a pensive tone, and stars a tender fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And visions rise, and change, that kill me with desire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Desire for nothing known in my maturer years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When Joy grew mad with awe, at counting future tears.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When, if my spirit's sky was full of flashes warm,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I knew not whence they came, from sun or thunderstorm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But first, a hush of peace—a soundless calm descends;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[146]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The struggle of distress, and fierce impatience ends.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mute music soothes my breast—unuttered harmony<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That I could never dream, till Earth was lost to me.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then dawns the Invisible; the Unseen its truth reveals;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My outward sense is gone, my inward essence feels:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Its wings are almost free—its home, its harbour found,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Measuring the gulf, it stoops, and dares the final bound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, dreadful is the check—intense the agony—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the ear begins to hear, and the eye begins to see;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the pulse begins to throb,—the brain to think again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The soul to feel the flesh, and the flesh to feel the chain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Yet I would lose no sting, would wish no torture less,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The more that anguish racks, the earlier it will bless;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And robed in fires of hell, or bright with heavenly shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If it but herald death, the vision is divine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Emily Brontë</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[147]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LAST_LINES" id="LAST_LINES"></a>LAST LINES</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">No coward soul is mine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I see Heaven's glories shine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">O God, within my breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Almighty, ever-present Deity!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Life—that in me has rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As I—undying Life—have power in Thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Vain are the thousand creeds<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That move men's hearts: unutterably vain;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Worthless as withered weeds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">To waken doubt in one<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Holding so fast to Thine infinity;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So surely anchored on<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The steadfast rock of immortality,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">With wide-embracing love<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy spirit animates eternal years,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Pervades and broods above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[148]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though earth and man were gone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And suns and universes ceased to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Thou were left alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Every existence would exist in Thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">There is not room for Death,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor atom that his might could render void:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thou—Thou art Being and Breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And what Thou art may never be destroyed.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Emily Brontë</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_MEMORY_OF_THE_DEAD" id="THE_MEMORY_OF_THE_DEAD"></a>THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Who fears to speak of Ninety-eight?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who blushes at the name?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When cowards mock the patriot's fate,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who hangs his head for shame?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He's all a knave or half a slave<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who slights his country thus;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But a true man, like you, man,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Will fill your glass with us.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">We drink the memory of the brave,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[149]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The faithful and the few—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some lie far off beyond the wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some sleep in Ireland, too;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All, all are gone—but still lives on<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The fame of those who died;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All true men, like you, men,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Remember them with pride.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Some on the shores of distant lands<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Their weary hearts have laid,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And by the stranger's heedless hands<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Their lonely graves were made;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But, though their clay be far away<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Beyond the Atlantic foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In true men, like you, men,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Their spirit's still at home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The dust of some is Irish earth;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Among their own they rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the same land that gave them birth<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Has caught them to her breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And we will pray that from their clay<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Full many a race may start<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of true men, like you, men,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To act as brave a part.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[150]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They rose in dark and evil days<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To right their native land;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They kindled here a living blaze<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That nothing shall withstand.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alas! that Might can vanquish Right—<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>They</i> fell, and passed away;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But true men, like you, men,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Are plenty here to-day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then here's their memory—may it be<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For us a guiding light,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To cheer our strife for liberty,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And teach us to unite!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through good and ill, be Ireland's still,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though sad as theirs your fate;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And true men, be you, men,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Like those of Ninety-Eight.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>John Kells Ingram</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WINDING_BANKS_OF_ERNE_OR_THE" id="THE_WINDING_BANKS_OF_ERNE_OR_THE"></a>THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE; OR, THE</h2> +<h2>EMIGRANT'S ADIEU TO BALLYSHANNY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Adieu to Ballyshanny! where I was bred and born;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[151]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Go where I may, I'll think of you, as sure as night and morn;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The kindly spot, the friendly town, where every one is known,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And not a face in all the place but partly seems my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's not a house or window, there's not a field or hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But East or West, in foreign lands, I'll recollect them still.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I leave my warm heart with you, tho' my back I'm forced to turn—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So adieu to Ballyshanny, and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No more on pleasant evenings we'll saunter down the Mall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the trout is rising to the fly, the salmon to the fall.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The boat comes straining on her net, and heavily she creeps,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cast off, cast off—she feels the oars, and to her berth she sweeps;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now fore and aft keep hauling, and gathering up the clew,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[152]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till a silver wave of salmon rolls in among the crew.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then they may sit, with pipes a-lit, and many a joke and 'yarn':—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Adieu to Ballyshanny, and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The music of the waterfall, the mirror of the tide,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When all the green-hill'd harbour is full from side to side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Portnasun to Bulliebawns, and round the Abbey Bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From rocky Inis Saimer to Coolnargit sandhills gray;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While far upon the southern line, to guard it like a wall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue gaze calmly over all,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And watch the ship sail up or down, the red flag at her stern;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Adieu to these, adieu to all the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Farewell to you, Kildoney lads, and them that pull an oar,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A lug-sail set, or haul a net, from the Point to Mullaghmore;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Killybegs to bold Slieve-League, that ocean-mountain steep,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[153]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Six hundred yards in air aloft, six hundred in the deep;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Dooran to the Fairy Bridge, and round by Tullen strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Level and long, and white with waves, where gull and curlew stand;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Head out to sea when on your lee the breakers you discern!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Adieu to all the billowy coast, and winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Farewell, Coolmore,—Bundoran! and your summer crowds that run<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From inland homes to see with joy th' Atlantic setting sun;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To breathe the buoyant salted air, and sport among the waves;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To gather shells on sandy beach, and tempt the gloomy caves;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To watch the flowing, ebbing tide, the boats, the crabs, the fish;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[154]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Young men and maids to meet and smile, and form a tender wish;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sick and old in search of health, for all things have their turn—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I must quit my native shore, and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Farewell to every white cascade from the Harbour to Belleek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And every pool where fins may rest, and ivy-shaded creek;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sloping fields, the lofty rocks, where ash and holly grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The one split yew-tree gazing on the curving flood below;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Lough that winds through islands under Turaw mountain green;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Castle Caldwell's stretching woods, with tranquil bays between;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Breesie Hill, and many a pond among the heath and fern;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For I must say adieu—adieu to the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[155]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thrush will call through Camlin groves the live-long summer day;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The waters run by mossy cliff, and banks with wild flowers gay;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The girls will bring their work and sing beneath a twisted thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or stray with sweethearts down the path among the growing corn;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Along the river-side they go, where I have often been,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O never shall I see again the days that I have seen!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A thousand chances are to one I never may return,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Adieu to Ballyshanny, and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Adieu to evening dances, when merry neighbours meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the fiddle says to boys and girls, 'Get up and shake your feet!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To <i>shanachus</i> and wise old talk of Erin's days gone by—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who trench'd the rath on such a hill, and where the bones may lie<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[156]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of saint, or king, or warrior chief; with tales of fairy power,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tender ditties sweetly sung to pass the twilight hour.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mournful song of exile is now for me to learn—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Adieu, my dear companions on the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now measure from the Commons down to each end of the Purt,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Round the Abbey, Moy, and Knather,—I wish no one any hurt;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Main Street, Back Street, College Lane, the Mall, and Portnasun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If any foes of mine are there, I pardon every one.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For my heart is sore and heavy at voyaging the sea.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My loving friends I'll bear in mind, and often fondly turn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To think of Ballyshanny and the winding banks of Erne!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If ever I'm a money'd man, I mean, please God, to cast<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[157]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My golden anchor in the place where youthful years were past;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though heads that now are black and brown must meanwhile gather gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">New faces rise by every hearth, and old ones drop away—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It's home, sweet home, where'er I roam, through lands and waters wide.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And if the Lord allows me, I surely will return<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To my native Ballyshanny, and the winding banks of Erne.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>William Allingham</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FAIRIES" id="THE_FAIRIES"></a>THE FAIRIES</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Up the airy mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Down the rushy glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We daren't go a-hunting<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For fear of little men;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wee folk, good folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Trooping all together;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Green jacket, red cap,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[158]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And white owl's feather!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Down along the rocky shore<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some make their home,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They live on crispy pancakes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of yellow tide-foam;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some in the reeds<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the bleak mountain lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With frogs for their watch-dogs,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All night awake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">High on the hill-top<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The old King sits;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He is now so old and gray<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He's nigh lost his wits.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With a bridge of white mist<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Columbkill he crosses,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On his stately journeys<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From Sleeveleague to Rosses;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or going up with music<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On cold starry nights,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To sup with the Queen<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the gay Northern Lights.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">They stole little Bridget<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[159]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For seven years long;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When she came down again<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her friends were all gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They took her lightly back,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Between the night and morrow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They thought that she was fast asleep,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But she was dead with sorrow.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They have kept her ever since<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Deep within the lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On a bed of flag-leaves,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Watching till she wake.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">By the craggy hillside<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Through the mosses bare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They have planted thorn-trees<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For pleasure here and there.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If any man so daring<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As dig them up in spite,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He shall find their sharpest thorns<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In his bed at night.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Up the airy mountain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Down the rushy glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">We daren't go a-hunting<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[160]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For fear of little men;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wee folk, good folk,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Trooping all together;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Green jacket, red cap,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And white owl's feather!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>William Allingham</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_ABBOT_OF_INISFALEN" id="THE_ABBOT_OF_INISFALEN"></a>THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>A Killarney Legend</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock4"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Abbot of Inisfālen awoke ere dawn of day;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Under the dewy green leaves went he forth to pray.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lake around his island lay smooth and dark and deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And wrapped in a misty stillness the mountains were all asleep.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac when the dawn was dim and gray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The prayers of his holy office he faithfully 'gan say.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low kneel'd the Abbot Cormac while the dawn was waxing red;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And for his sins' forgiveness a solemn prayer he said:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[161]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low kneel'd that holy Abbot while the dawn was waking clear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he prayed with loving-kindness for his convent-brethren dear.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low kneel'd the blessed Abbot while the dawn was waxing bright;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He pray'd a great prayer for Ireland, he pray'd with all his might.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low kneel'd that good old Father while the sun began to dart;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He pray'd a prayer for all men, he pray'd it from his heart.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His blissful soul was in Heaven, tho' a breathing man was he;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was out of time's dominion, so far as the living may be.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Abbot of Inisfālen arose upon his feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He heard a small bird singing, and O but it sung sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It sung upon a holly-bush, this little snow-white bird;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A song so full of gladness he never before had heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It sung upon a hazel, it sung upon a thorn;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[162]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He had never heard such music since the hour that he was born.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It sung upon a sycamore, it sung upon a briar;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To follow the song and hearken the Abbot would never tire.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Till at last he well bethought him, he might no longer stay;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So he bless'd the little white singing-bird, and gladly went his way.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But, when he came to his Abbey, he found a wondrous wondrous change;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He saw no friendly faces there, for every face was strange.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The strange men spoke unto him; and he heard from all and each<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The foreign tongue of the Sassenach, not wholesome Irish speech.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then the oldest monk came forward, in Irish tongue spake he:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Thou wearest the holy Augustine's dress, and who hath given it to thee?'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'I wear the holy Augustine's dress, and Cormac is my name,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[163]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Abbot of this good Abbey by grace of God I am.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I went forth to pray, at the dawn of day; and when my prayers were said,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I hearken'd awhile to a little bird, that sang above my head.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The monks to him made answer, 'Two hundred years have gone o'er,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Since our Abbot Cormac went through the gate, and never was heard of more.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Matthias now is our Abbot, and twenty have pass'd away.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The stranger is lord of Ireland; we live in an evil day.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Days will come and go,' he said, 'and the world will pass away:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Heaven a day is a thousand years, a thousand years are a day.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Now give me absolution; for my time is come,' said he.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they gave him absolution, as speedily as might be.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[164]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then, close outside the window, the sweetest song they heard<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That ever yet since the world began was utter'd by any bird.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The monks look'd out and saw the bird, its feathers all white and clean;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And then in a moment, beside it, another white bird was seen.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Those two they sang together, waved their white wings, and fled;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flew aloft and vanish'd; but the good old man was dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They buried his blessed body where lake and green-sward meet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A carven cross above his head, a holly-bush at his feet;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where spreads the beautiful water to gay or cloudy skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the purple peaks of Killarney from ancient woods arise.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>William Allingham</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="TWILIGHT_VOICES" id="TWILIGHT_VOICES"></a>TWILIGHT VOICES</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[165]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Heaven and Hell from invisible portals<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Breathing comfort and ghastly fear,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Voices I hear;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wavering by on the dusky blast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Come, let us go, for the day is past!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Troops of joys are they, now departed?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Winged hopes that no longer stay?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Powers that have linger'd their latest day?<br /></span> +<span class="i9">What do they say?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What do they sing? I hear them calling,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whispering, gathering, flying fast,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Come, come, for the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Come, come, for the day is past!'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Sing they to me?—'Thy taper's wasted;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mortal, thy sands of life run low;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Time is ending;—we go, we go.'<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Sing they so?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mystical voices, floating, calling;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[166]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dim farewells—the last, the last?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Come, come away, the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Come, come away, the day is past.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">See, I am ready, Twilight voices!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Child of the spirit-world am I;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How should I fear you? my soul rejoices,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O speak plainer! O draw nigh!<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Fain would I fly!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tell me your message, Ye who are calling<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Out of the dimness vague and vast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lift me, take me,—the night is falling;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Quick, let us go,—the day is past.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>William Allingham</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="FOUR_DUCKS_ON_A_POND" id="FOUR_DUCKS_ON_A_POND"></a>FOUR DUCKS ON A POND</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Four ducks on a pond,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A grass-bank beyond,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A blue sky of spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">White clouds on the wing:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What a little thing<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To remember for years—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To remember with tears!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>William Allingham</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[167]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LOVER_AND_BIRDS" id="THE_LOVER_AND_BIRDS"></a>THE LOVER AND BIRDS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Within a budding grove,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In April's ear sang every bird his best,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But not a song to pleasure my unrest,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or touch the tears unwept of bitter love;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some spake, methought, with pity, some as if in jest.<br /></span> +<span class="i13">To every word<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Of every bird<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I listen'd, or replied as it behove.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Scream'd Chaffinch, 'Sweet, sweet, sweet!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pretty lovey, come and meet me here!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Chaffinch,' quoth I, 'be dumb awhile, in fear<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy darling prove no better than a cheat,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And never come, or fly when wintry days appear.'<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Yet from a twig,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">With voice so big,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The little fowl his utterance did repeat.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Then I, 'The man forlorn<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hears Earth send up a foolish noise aloft.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'And what'll <i>he</i> do? What'll <i>he</i> do?' scoff'd<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[168]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Blackbird, standing, in ancient thorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then spread his sooty wings and flitted to the croft<br /></span> +<span class="i13">With cackling laugh;<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Whom I, being half<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Enraged, called after, giving back his scorn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">Worse mock'd the Thrush, 'Die! die!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, could he do it? could he do it? Nay!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be quick! be quick! Here, here, here!' (went his lay).<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Take heed! take heed!' then, 'Why? why? why? why? why?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">See-ee now! see-ee now!' (he drawl'd) 'Back! back! back! R-r-r-run away!'<br /></span> +<span class="i13">O Thrush, be still!<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Or at thy will<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Seek some less sad interpreter than I.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">'Air, air! blue air and white!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whither I flee, whither, O whither, O whither I flee!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">(Thus the Lark hurried, mounting from the lea)<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Hills, countries, many waters glittering bright<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whither I see, whither I see! deeper, deeper, deeper, whither I see, see, see!'<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[169]<br /></span> +<span class="i13">'Gay Lark,' I said,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">'The song that's bred<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In happy nest may well to heaven make flight.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i3">'There's something, something sad<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I half remember'—piped a broken strain.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Well sung, sweet Robin! Robin sung again.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Spring's opening cheerily, cheerily! be we glad!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which moved, I wist not why, me melancholy mad,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Till now, grown meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">With wetted cheek,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Most comforting and gentle thoughts I had.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>William Allingham</i> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CELTS" id="THE_CELTS"></a>THE CELTS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Long, long ago, beyond the misty space<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of twice a thousand years,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In Erin old there dwelt a mighty race<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Taller than Roman spears;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like oaks and towers, they had a giant grace,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were fleet as deers:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With winds and waves they made their biding-place,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[170]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The Western shepherd seers.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Their ocean-god was <i>Mananan Mac Lir</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whose angry lips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In their white foam full often would inter<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whole fleets of ships:<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Crom</i> was their day-god, and their thunderer<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Made morning and eclipse:<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Bride</i> was their queen of song, and unto her<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They pray'd with fire-touch'd lips.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Great were their acts, their passions, and their sports;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With clay and stone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They piled on strath and shore those mystic forts,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Not yet undone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On cairn-crown'd hills they held their council courts;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">While youths—alone—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With giant-dogs, explored the elks' resorts,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And brought them down.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Of these was <i>Finn</i>, the father of the bard<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whose ancient song<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Over the clamour of all change is heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sweet-voiced and strong.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Finn once o'ertook Granu, the golden-hair'd,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[171]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The fleet and young:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From her, the lovely, and from him, the feared,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The primal poet sprung—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1"><i>Ossian!</i>—two thousand years of mist and change<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Surround thy name;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy Finnian heroes now no longer range<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The hills of Fame.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The very name of Finn and Gael sound strange;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yet thine the same<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By miscall'd lake and desecrated grange<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Remains, and shall remain!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The Druid's altar and the Druid's creed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We scarce can trace;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There is not left an undisputed deed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of all your race—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Save your majestic Song, which hath their speed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And strength, and grace:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In that sole song they live, and love, and bleed—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">It bears them on through space.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Inspirèd giant, shall we e'er behold,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In our own time,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One fit to speak your spirit on the wold,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[172]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or seize your rhyme?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">One pupil of the past, as mighty-soul'd<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As in the prime<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were the fond, fair, and beautiful, and bold—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">They of your song sublime?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas D'Arcy McGee</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SALUTATION_TO_THE_CELTS" id="SALUTATION_TO_THE_CELTS"></a>SALUTATION TO THE CELTS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hail to our Celtic brethren wherever they may be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the far woods of Oregon, or o'er the Atlantic sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whether they guard the banner of St. George, in Indian vales,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or spread beneath the nightless North experimental sails—<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">One in name, and in fame,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Are the sea-divided Gaels.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Though fallen the state of Erin, and changed the Scottish land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though small the power of Mona, though unwaked Llewellyn's band,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[173]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though Ambrose Merlin's prophecies are held as idle tales,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though Iona's ruined cloisters are swept by northern gales:<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">One in name, and in fame,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Are the sea-divided Gaels.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In Northern Spain and Italy our brethren also dwell,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And brave are the traditions of their fathers that they tell:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Eagle or the Crescent in the dawn of history pales<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before the advancing banners of the great Rome-conquering Gaels.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">One in name, and in fame,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Are the sea-divided Gaels.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A greeting and a promise unto them all we send;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their character our charter is, their glory is our end—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their friend shall be our friend, our foe whoe'er assails<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The glory or the story of the sea-divided Gaels.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9em;">One in name, and in fame,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 11em;">Are the sea-divided Gaels.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas D'Arcy McGee</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[174]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GOBBAN_SAOR" id="THE_GOBBAN_SAOR"></a>THE GOBBAN SAOR</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">He stepped a man, out on the ways of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And no one knew his sept, or rank, or name;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a strong stream far issuing from a glen,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From some source unexplored the Master came;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gossips there were who, wondrous keen of ken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Surmised that he must be a child of shame;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Others declared him of the Druids, then—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thro' Patrick's labours—fallen from power and fame.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">He lived apart, wrapt up in many plans;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He wooed not women, tasted not of wine;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He shunned the sports and councils of the clans;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nor ever knelt at a frequented shrine.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His orisons were old poetic ranns<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which the new Olamhs deem'd an evil sign;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To most he seemed one of those Pagan Khans<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whose mystic vigour knows no cold decline.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">He was the builder of the wondrous Towers,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[175]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which, tall and straight and exquisitely round,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rise monumental round this isle of ours,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Index-like, marking spots of holy ground.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In glooming silent glens, in lowland bowers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On river banks, these <i>Cloichteachs</i> old abound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where Art, enraptured, meditates long hours<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Science ponders, wondering and spell-bound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lo, wheresoe'er these pillar-towers aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Heroes and holy men repose below;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The bones of some, gleaned from a Pagan pyre,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Others in armour lie, as for a foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It was the mighty Master's life-desire<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To chronicle his great ancestors so;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What holier duty, what achievement higher<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Remains to us, than this he thus doth show?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Yet he, the builder, died an unknown death;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His labours done, no man beheld him more;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas thought his body faded like a breath—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or, like a sea-mist, floated off Life's shore.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Doubt overhangs his fate—and faith—and birth:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His works alone attest his life and love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are the only witnesses he hath,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[176]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All else Egyptian darkness covers o'er.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Men called him Gobban Saor, and many a tale<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yet lingers in the byways of the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of how he cleft the rock, and down the vale<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Led the bright river, child-like, in his hand;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of how on giant ships he spread great sail<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And many marvels else, by him first planned,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tho' these legends fail, in Innisfail<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His name and Towers for centuries still shall stand.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Thomas D'Arcy McGee</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="PATRICK_SHEEHAN" id="PATRICK_SHEEHAN"></a>PATRICK SHEEHAN</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My name is Patrick Sheehan,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My years are thirty-four,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Tipperary is my native place,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Not far from Galtymore;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I came of honest parents,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But now they're lying low;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And many a pleasant day I spent<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the Glen of Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My father died; I closed his eyes<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[177]<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Outside</i> our cabin-door;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The landlord and the sheriff too<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were there the day before!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And then my loving mother,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And sisters three also,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Were forced to go with broken hearts<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From the Glen of Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For three long months, in search of work,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I wandered far and near;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I went then to the poor-house,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For to see my mother dear;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The news I heard nigh broke my heart;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But still, in all my woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I blessed the friends who made their graves<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the Glen of Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Bereft of home and kith and kin,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With plenty all around,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I starved within my cabin,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And slept upon the ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But cruel as my lot was,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I ne'er did hardship know<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Till I joined the English army,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[178]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Far away from Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Rouse up, there,' says the Corporal,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'You lazy Hirish hound;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why don't you hear, you sleepy dog,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The call "to arms" sound?'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alas, I had been dreaming<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of days long, long ago;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I woke before Sebastopol,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And not in Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I groped to find my musket—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How dark I thought the night!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O blessed God, it was not dark,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">It was the broad daylight!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when I found that I was <i>blind</i>,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My tears began to flow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I longed for even a pauper's grave<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the Glen of Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O blessed Virgin Mary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mine is a mournful tale;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A poor blind prisoner here I am,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In Dublin's dreary gaol;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Struck blind within the trenches,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[179]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where I never feared the foe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And now I'll never see again<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My own sweet Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A poor neglected mendicant,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I wandered through the street;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My nine months' pension now being out,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I beg from all I meet:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As I joined my country's tyrants,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">My face I'll never show<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Among the kind old neighbours<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the Glen of Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then, Irish youths, dear countrymen,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Take heed of what I say;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For if you join the English ranks,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You'll surely rue the day;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And whenever you are tempted<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A-soldiering to go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Remember poor blind Sheehan<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the Glen of Aherlow.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Charles J. Kickham</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[180]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_IRISH_PEASANT_GIRL" id="THE_IRISH_PEASANT_GIRL"></a>THE IRISH PEASANT GIRL</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She lived beside the Anner,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At the foot of Sliev-na-mon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A gentle peasant girl,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With mild eyes like the dawn;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her lips were dewy rosebuds;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her teeth of pearls rare;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And a snow-drift 'neath a beechen bough<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her neck and nut-brown hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">How pleasant 'twas to meet her<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On Sunday, when the bell<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Was filling with its mellow tones<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lone wood and grassy dell!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when at eve young maidens<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Strayed the river-bank along,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The widow's brown-haired daughter<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Was loveliest of the throng.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O brave, brave Irish girls—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We well may call you brave!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sure the least of all your perils<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[181]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is the stormy ocean wave,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When you leave our quiet valleys,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And cross the Atlantic's foam,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To hoard your hard-won earnings<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the helpless ones at home.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Write word to my own dear mother—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Say, we'll meet with God above;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tell my little brothers<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I send them all my love;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">May the angels ever guard them,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is their dying sister's prayer'—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And folded in the letter<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Was a braid of nut-brown hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah, cold, and well-nigh callous,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">This weary heart has grown<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For thy helpless fate, dear Ireland,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And for sorrows of my own;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet a tear my eye will moisten<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When by Anner's side I stray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the lily of the mountain foot<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That withered far away.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Charles J. Kickham</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[182]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="TO_GOD_AND_IRELAND_TRUE" id="TO_GOD_AND_IRELAND_TRUE"></a>TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I sit beside my darling's grave,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who in the prison died,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tho' my tears fall thick and fast,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I think of him with pride:—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ay, softly fall my tears like dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For one to God and Ireland true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I love my God o'er all,' he said,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'And then I love my land,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And next I love my Lily sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who pledged me her white hand:—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To each—to all—I'm ever true,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To God—to Ireland and to you.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No tender nurse his hard bed smoothed<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or softly raised his head:—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He fell asleep and woke in heaven<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere I knew he was dead;—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet why should I my darling rue?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He was to God and Ireland true.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, 'tis a glorious memory;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[183]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I'm prouder than a queen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To sit beside my hero's grave<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And think on what has been:—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And O, my darling, I am true<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To God—to Ireland and to you!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Ellen O'Leary</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_BANSHEE" id="THE_BANSHEE"></a>THE BANSHEE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Green, in the wizard arms,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the foam-bearded Atlantic,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">An isle of old enchantment,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A melancholy isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Enchanted and dreaming lies;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And there, by Shannon's flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the moonlight, spectre thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The spectre Erin sits.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">An aged desolation<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She sits by old Shannon's flowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A mother of many children,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of children exiled and dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In her home, with bent head, homeless,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Clasping her knees she sits,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Keening, keening!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[184]</span> +<span class="i1">And at her keene the fairy-grass<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trembles on dun and barrow;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around the foot of her ancient crosses<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The grave-grass shakes and the nettle swings;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In haunted glens the meadow-sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Flings to the night-wind<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her mystic mournful perfume;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sad spearmint by holy wells<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Breathes melancholy balm.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Sometimes she lifts her head,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With blue eyes tearless,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And gazes athwart the reek of night<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon things long past,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon things to come.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And sometimes, when the moon<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brings tempest upon the deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And roused Atlantic thunders from his caverns in the West,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The wolf-hound at her feet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Springs up with a mighty bay,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[185]</span> +<span class="i1">And chords of mystery sound from the wild harp at her side,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Strung from the heart of poets;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And she flies on the verge of the tempest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around her shuddering isle,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With grey hair streaming:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A meteor of evil omen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The spectre of hope forlorn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Keening, keening!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She keenes, and the strings of her wild harp shiver<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the gusts of night:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the four waters she keenes—over Moyle she keenes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the Sea of Milith, and the Strait of Strongbow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Ocean of Columbus.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And the Fianna hear, and the ghosts of her cloudy hovering heroes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the swan, Fianoula, wails o'er the waters of Inisfail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Chanting her song of destiny,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rune of the weaving Fates.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And the nations hear in the void and quaking time of night,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[186]</span> +<span class="i1">Sad unto dawning, dirges,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Solemn dirges,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And snatches of bardic song;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their souls quake in the void and quaking time of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they dream of the weird of kings,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And tyrannies moulting, sick<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the dreadful wind of change.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Wail no more, lonely one, mother of exiles, wail no more,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Banshee of the world—no more!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy sorrows are the world's, thou art no more alone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy wrongs, the world's.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>John Todhunter</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="AGHADOE" id="AGHADOE"></a>AGHADOE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock4"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There's a glade in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's a green and silent glade in Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where we met, my Love and I, Love's fair planet in the sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er that sweet and silent glade in Aghadoe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There's a glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe, Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[187]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's a deep and secret glen in Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where I hid from the eyes of the red-coats and their spies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That year the trouble came to Aghadoe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O! my curse on one black heart in Aghadoe, Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On Shaun Dhuv, my mother's son in Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When your throat fries in hell's drouth salt the flame be in your mouth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For the treachery you did in Aghadoe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For they tracked me to that glen in Aghadoe, Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When the price was on his head in Aghadoe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O'er the mountain through the wood, as I stole to him with food,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When in hiding lone he lay in Aghadoe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But they never took him living in Aghadoe, Aghadoe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the bullets in his heart in Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There he lay, the head—my breast keeps the warmth where once 'twould rest—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gone, to win the traitor's gold, from Aghadoe!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I walked to Mallow Town from Aghadoe, Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[188]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brought his head from the gaol's gate to Aghadoe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then I covered him with fern, and I piled on him the cairn.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like an Irish King he sleeps in Aghadoe.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O! to creep into that cairn in Aghadoe, Aghadoe!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There to rest upon his breast in Aghadoe!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sure your dog for you could die with no truer heart than I,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your own love, cold on your cairn in Aghadoe.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>John Todhunter</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="A_MAD_SONG" id="A_MAD_SONG"></a>A MAD SONG</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">I hear the wind a-blowing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear the corn a-growing,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear the Virgin praying,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">I hear what she is saying.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Hester Sigerson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LADY_MARGARETS_SONG" id="LADY_MARGARETS_SONG"></a>LADY MARGARET'S SONG</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Girls, when I am gone away,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">On this bosom strew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Only flowers meek and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the yew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[189]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lay these hands down by my side,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Let my face be bare;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bind a kerchief round the face,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Smooth my hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Let my bier be borne at dawn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Summer grows so sweet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Deep into the forest green<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where boughs meet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then pass away, and let me lie<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One long, warm, sweet day<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There alone, with face upturned,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One sweet day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">While the morning light grows broad,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">While noon sleepeth sound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While the evening falls and faints,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">While the world goes round.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Edward Dowden</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SONG2" id="SONG2"></a>SONG</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I made another garden, yea,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[190]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For my new Love.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I left the dead rose where it lay<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And set the new above.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why did my Summer not begin?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Why did my heart not haste?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My old Love came and walked therein<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And laid the garden waste.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She entered with her weary smile,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Just as of old:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She looked around a little while<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And shivered with the cold.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her passing touch was death to all,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Her passing look a blight;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She made the white rose-petals fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And turned the red rose white.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Her pale robe clinging to the grass<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Seemed like a snake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That bit the grass and ground, alas!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And a sad trail did make.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She went up slowly to the gate,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And then, just as of yore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She turned back at the last to wait<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And say farewell once more.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Arthur O'Shaughnessy</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[191]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="FATHER_OFLYNN" id="FATHER_OFLYNN"></a>FATHER O'FLYNN</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Of priests we can offer a charming variety,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far renowned for larnin' and piety,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still I'd advance you, without impropriety,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Father O'Flynn as the flower of them all.<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Here's a health to you, Father O'Flynn,<br /></span> +<span class="i7"><i>Slainte</i>, and <i>slainte</i>, and <i>slainte</i> agin.<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Powerfullest preacher,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And tindherest teacher,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And kindliest creature in Old Donegal.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Talk of your Provost and Fellows of Trinity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Far renowned for Greek and Latinity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gad! and the divils and all at Divinity,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Father O'Flynn would make hares of them all.<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Come, I venture to give you my word,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Never the likes of his logic was heard,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Down from mythology,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Into thayology,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Troth and conchology, if he'd the call.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Father O'Flynn, you've the wonderful way with you,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[192]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All the old sinners are wishful to pray with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All the young children are wild for to play with you,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You've such a way with you, Father <i>avick</i>!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Still for all you're so gentle a soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Gad, you've your flock in the grandest control;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Checking the crazy ones,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Coaxing unaisy ones,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lifting the lazy ones on with the stick.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And though quite avoiding all foolish frivolity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still at all seasons of innocent jollity,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where is the play-boy can claim an equality<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At comicality, Father, with you?<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Once the Bishop looked grave at your jest,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Till this remark set him off with the rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i11">'Is it leave gaiety<br /></span> +<span class="i11">All to the laity?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cannot the clargy be Irishmen too?'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Alfred Perceval Graves</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SONG3" id="SONG3"></a>SONG</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The silent bird is hid in the boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[193]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The scythe is hid in the corn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The lazy oxen wink and drowse,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The grateful sheep are shorn.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Redder and redder burns the rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The lily was ne'er so pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Stiller and stiller the river flows<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Along the path to the vale.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A little door is hid in the boughs,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A face is hiding within;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When birds are silent and oxen drowse,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Why should a maiden spin?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slower and slower turns the wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The face turns red and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Brighter and brighter the looks that steal,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Along the path to the vale.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Rosa Gilbert</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="REQUIESCAT" id="REQUIESCAT"></a>REQUIESCAT</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Tread lightly, she is near<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Under the snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Speak gently, she can hear<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The daisies grow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[194]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All her bright golden hair,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Tarnished with rust,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She that was young and fair<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fallen to dust.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lily-like, white as snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She hardly knew<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She was a woman, so<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sweetly she grew.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Coffin-board, heavy stone<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lie on her breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I vex my heart alone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She is at rest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Peace, Peace, she cannot hear<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lyre or sonnet,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All my life's buried here,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Heap earth upon it.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Oscar Wilde</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_LAMENT_OF_QUEEN_MAEV" id="THE_LAMENT_OF_QUEEN_MAEV"></a>THE LAMENT OF QUEEN MAEV</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish of the Book of Leinster</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Raise the cromlech high!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[195]<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Mac Moghcorb is slain,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And other men's renown<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Has leave to live again.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Cold at last he lies<br /></span> +<span class="i2">'Neath the burial stone.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">All the blood he shed<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Could not save his own.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Stately, strong he went,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Through his nobles all,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">When we paced together<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Up the banquet-hall.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Dazzling white as lime,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Was his body fair,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Cherry-red his cheeks,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Raven-black his hair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Razor-sharp his spear,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And the shield he bore,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">High as champion's head—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">His arm was like an oar.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Never aught but truth<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[196]<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Spake my noble king;<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Valour all his trust<br /></span> +<span class="i2">In all his warfaring.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">As the forkèd pole<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Holds the roof-tree's weight,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">So my hero's arm<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Held the battle straight.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Terror went before him,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Death behind his back,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">Well the wolves of Erinn<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Knew his chariot's track.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Seven bloody battles<br /></span> +<span class="i2">He broke upon his foes,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">In each a hundred heroes<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fell beneath his blows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Once he fought at Fossud,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Thrice at Ath-finn-fail.<br /></span> +<span class="i0">'Twas my king that conquered<br /></span> +<span class="i2">At bloody Ath-an-Scail.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">At the Boundary Stream<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[197]<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Fought the Royal Hound,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">And for Bernas battle<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Stands his name renowned.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">Here he fought with Leinster—<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Last of all his frays—<br /></span> +<span class="i0">On the Hill of Cucorb's Fate<br /></span> +<span class="i2">High his cromlech raise.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>T.W. Rolleston</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DEAD_AT_CLONMACNOIS" id="THE_DEAD_AT_CLONMACNOIS"></a>THE DEAD AT CLONMACNOIS</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish of Enoch O'Gillan</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">In a quiet watered land, a land of roses,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Stands Saint Kieran's city fair;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the warriors of Erin in their famous generations<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Slumber there.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There beneath the dewy hillside sleep the noblest<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of the clan of Conn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Each below his stone with name in branching Ogham<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the sacred knot thereon.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There they laid to rest the seven Kings of Tara,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[198]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">There the sons of Cairbrè sleep—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Battle-banners of the Gael, that in Kieran's plain of crosses<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Now their final hosting keep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And in Clonmacnois they laid the men of Teffia,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And right many a lord of Breagh;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Deep the sod above Clan Creidè and Clan Conaill,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Kind in hall and fierce in fray.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Many and many a son of Conn the Hundred-Fighter<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the red earth lies at rest;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Many a blue eye of Clan Colman the turf covers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Many a swan-white breast.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>T.W. Rolleston</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SPELL-STRUCK" id="THE_SPELL-STRUCK"></a>THE SPELL-STRUCK</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She walks as she were moving<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some mystic dance to tread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So falls her gliding footstep,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">So leans her listening head;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For once to fairy harping<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She danced upon the hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And through her brain and bosom<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The music pulses still.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[199]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Her eyes are bright and tearless,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But wide with yearning pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She longs for nothing earthly,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But O! to hear again<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The sound that held her listening<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Upon her moonlit path!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rippling fairy music<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That filled the lonely rath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Her lips, that once have tasted<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The fairy banquet's bliss,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall glad no mortal lover<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With maiden smile or kiss.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She's dead to all things living<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Since that November Eve;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when she dies in autumn<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No living thing will grieve.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>T.W. Rolleston</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="WERE_YOU_ON_THE_MOUNTAIN" id="WERE_YOU_ON_THE_MOUNTAIN"></a>WERE YOU ON THE MOUNTAIN?</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, were you on the mountain, or saw you my love?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[200]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or saw you my own one, my queen and my dove?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or saw you the maiden with the step firm and free?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And say, is she pining in sorrow like me?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I was upon the mountain, and saw there your love,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw there your own one, your queen and your dove;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw there the maiden with the step firm and free<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And she was <i>not</i> pining in sorrow like thee.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Douglas Hyde</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="MY_GRIEF_ON_THE_SEA" id="MY_GRIEF_ON_THE_SEA"></a>MY GRIEF ON THE SEA</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My grief on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How the waves of it roll!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For they heave between me<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the love of my soul!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Abandoned, forsaken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To grief and to care,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will the sea ever waken<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Relief from despair?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">My grief and my trouble<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[201]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Would he and I wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the province of Leinster,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or County of Clare?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Were I and my darling—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O, heart-bitter wound!—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On board of the ship<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For America bound.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">On a green bed of rushes<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All last night I lay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I flung it abroad<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With the heat of the day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And my love came behind me—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He came from the south;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">His breast to my bosom,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His mouth to my mouth.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Douglas Hyde</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="MY_LOVE_O_SHE_IS_MY_LOVE" id="MY_LOVE_O_SHE_IS_MY_LOVE"></a>MY LOVE, O, SHE IS MY LOVE</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She casts a spell, O, casts a spell,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[202]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which haunts me more than I can tell.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dearer because she makes me ill,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Than who would will to make me well.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She is my store, O, she my store,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whose grey eye wounded me so sore,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who will not place in mine her palm,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who will not calm me any more.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She is my pet, O, she my pet,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Whom I can never more forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who would not lose by me one moan,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nor stone upon my cairn set,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She is my roon, O, she my roon,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who tells me nothing, leaves me soon;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who would not lose by me one sigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Were death and I within one room.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She is my dear, O, she my dear,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who cares not whether I be here.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who would not weep when I am dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who makes me shed the silent tear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hard my case, O, hard my case,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[203]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How have I lived so long a space,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She does not trust me any more,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But I adore her silent face.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She is my choice, O, she my choice,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who never made me to rejoice;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who caused my heart to ache so oft,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who put no softness in her voice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Great is my grief, O, great my grief,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Neglected, scorned beyond belief,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By her who looks at me askance,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By her who grants me no relief.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She's my desire, O, my desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">More glorious than the bright sun's fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Who more than wind—blown ice more cold,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Had I the boldness to sit by her.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">She it is who stole my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But left a void and aching smart,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But if she soften not her eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Then life and I shall surely part.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Douglas Hyde</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[204]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="I_SHALL_NOT_DIE_FOR_THEE" id="I_SHALL_NOT_DIE_FOR_THEE"></a>I SHALL NOT DIE FOR THEE</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For thee I shall not die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Woman high of fame and name;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Foolish men thou mayest slay,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I and they are not the same.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Why should I expire<br /></span> +<span class="i3">For the fire of any eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Slender waist, or swan-like limb,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Is't for them that I should die?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The round breasts, the fresh skin,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cheeks crimson, hair so long and rich;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Indeed, indeed, I shall not die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Please God, not I, for any such.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The golden hair, the forehead thin,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The chaste mien, the gracious ease,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rounded heel, the languid tone,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fools alone find death from these.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thy sharp wit, thy perfect calm,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[205]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy thin palm like foam of sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy white neck, thy blue eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I shall not die for thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Woman, graceful as the swan,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A wise man did nurture me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Little palm, white neck, bright eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I shall not die for ye.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Douglas Hyde</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="RIDDLES" id="RIDDLES"></a>RIDDLES</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>From the Irish</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A great, great house it is,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A golden candlestick it is,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Guess it rightly,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let it not go by thee.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;"><i>Heaven</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">There's a garden that I ken,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Full of little gentlemen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Little caps of blue they wear,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And green ribbons very fair.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;"><i>Flax</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">He comes to ye amidst the brine<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[206]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The butterfly of the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The man of the coat so blue and fine,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With red thread his shirt is done.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;"><i>A Lobster</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">You see it come in on the shoulders of men,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a thread of the silk it will leave us again.<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 9.5em;"><i>Turf</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Douglas Hyde</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LOUGH_BRAY" id="LOUGH_BRAY"></a>LOUGH BRAY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A little lonely moorland lake,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Its waters brown and cool and deep—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The cliff, the hills behind it make<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A picture for my heart to keep.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">For rock and heather, wave and strand,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wore tints I never saw them wear;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The June sunshine was o'er the land,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Before, 'twas never half so fair!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The amber ripples sang all day,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And singing spilled their crowns of white<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Upon the beach, in thin pale spray<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That streaked the sober sand with light.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[207]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The amber ripples sang their song,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When suddenly from far o'erhead<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A lark's pure voice mixed with the throng<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of lovely things about us spread.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Some flowers were there, so near the brink<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Their shadows in the waves were thrown;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While mosses, green and gray and pink,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Grew thickly round each smooth dark stone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And, over all, the summer sky,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shut out the town we left behind;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas joy to stand in silence by,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One bright chain linking mind to mind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O, little lonely mountain spot!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Your place within my heart will be<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Apart from all Life's busy lot<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A true, sweet, solemn memory.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Rose Kavanagh</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHILDREN_OF_LIR" id="THE_CHILDREN_OF_LIR"></a>THE CHILDREN OF LIR</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Out upon the sand-dunes thrive the coarse long grasses,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[208]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Herons standing knee-deep in the brackish pool,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Overhead the sunset fire and flame amasses,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the moon to Eastward rises pale and cool:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rose and green around her, silver-grey and pearly,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Chequered with the black rooks flying home to bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For, to wake at daybreak birds must couch them early,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the day's a long one since the dawn was red.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">On the chilly lakelet, in that pleasant gloaming,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">See the sad swans sailing: they shall have no rest:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never a voice to greet them save the bittern's booming<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where the ghostly sallows sway against the West.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Sister,' saith the grey swan, 'Sister, I am weary,'<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Turning to the white swan wet, despairing eyes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'O,' she saith, 'my young one.' 'O,' she saith, 'my dearie,'<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Casts her wings about him with a storm of cries.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Woe for Lir's sweet children whom their vile step-mother<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Glamoured with her witch-spells for a thousand years;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Died their father raving—on his throne another—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Blind before the end came from his burning tears.<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[209]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She—the fiends possess her, torture her for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Gone is all the glory of the race of Lir;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gone and long-forgotten like a dream of fever:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But the swans remember all the days that were.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hugh, the black and white swan with the beauteous feathers;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fiachra, the black swan with the emerald breast;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Conn, the youngest, dearest, sheltered in all weathers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Him his snow-white sister loves the tenderest.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">These her mother gave her as she lay a-dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To her faithful keeping, faithful hath she been,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With her wings spread o'er them when the tempest's crying,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And her songs so hopeful when the sky's serene.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Other swans have nests made 'mid the reeds and rushes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lined with downy feathers where the cygnets sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dreaming, if a bird dreams, till the daylight blushes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Then they sail out swiftly on the current deep,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the proud swan-father, tall, and strong, and stately,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[210]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the mild swan-mother, grave with household cares,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All well-born and comely, all rejoicing greatly:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Full of honest pleasure is a life like theirs.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But alas! for my swans, with the human nature,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sick with human longings, starved with human ties,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With their hearts all human, cramped in a bird's stature,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the human weeping in the bird's soft eyes.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Never shall my swans build nests in some green river,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Never fly to southward in the autumn grey,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rear no tender children, love no mates for ever,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Robbed alike of bird's joys and of man's are they.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Babbled Conn the youngest, 'Sister, I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i3">At my father's palace how I went in silk,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ate the juicy deer-flesh roasted from the ember,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Drank from golden goblets my child's draught of milk.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Once I rode a-hunting, laughed to see the hurly,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shouted at the ball-play, on the lake did row;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You had for your beauty gauds that shone so rarely':<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Peace,' saith Finnuola, 'that was long ago.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Sister,' saith Fiachra, 'well do I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i3">How the flaming torches lit the banquet hall,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the fire leaped skyward in the mid-December,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[211]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And amid the rushes slept our staghounds tall.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By our father's right hand you sat shyly gazing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Smiling half and sighing, with your eyes aglow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As the bards sang loudly, all your beauty praising';<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Peace,' saith Finnuola, 'that was long ago.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Sister,' then saith Hugh, 'most do I remember<br /></span> +<span class="i3">One I called my brother, you, earth's goodliest man,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Strong as forest oaks are where the wild vines clamber,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">First at feast or hunting, in the battle's van.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Angus, you were handsome, wise and true and tender,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Loved by every comrade, feared by every foe:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Low, low lies your beauty, all forgot your splendour':<br /></span> +<span class="i3">'Peace,' saith Finnuola, 'that was long ago.'<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Dews are in the clear air, and the roselight paling,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Over sands and sedges shines the evening star,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the moon's disk high in heaven is sailing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Silvered all the spear-heads of the rushes are—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Housed warm are all things as the night grows colder,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Water-fowl and sky-fowl dreamless in the nest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the swans go drifting, drooping wings and shoulder,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Cleaving the still waters where the fishes rest.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[212]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="ST_FRANCIS_TO_THE_BIRDS" id="ST_FRANCIS_TO_THE_BIRDS"></a>ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Little sisters, the birds,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">We must praise God, you and I—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You with songs that fill the sky;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I, with halting words.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All things tell His praise,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Woods and waters thereof sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Summer, winter, autumn, spring,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the nights and days.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Yea, and cold and heat,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the sun, and stars, and moon,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sea with her monotonous tune,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rain and hail and sleet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And the winds of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the solemn hills of blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the brown earth and the dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the thunder even,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And the flowers' sweet breath,—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">All things make one glorious voice;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Life with fleeting pains and joys<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And our brother—Death.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[213]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Little flowers of air,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With your feathers soft and sleek<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And your bright brown eyes and meek,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He hath made you fair.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">He hath taught to you<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Skill to weave on tree and thatch<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nests where happy mothers hatch<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Speckled eggs of blue.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And hath children given:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When the soft heads overbrim<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The brown nests; then thank ye Him<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the clouds of heaven.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Also in your lives,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Live His laws who loveth you.<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Husbands, be ye kind and true;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be homekeeping wives.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Love not gossiping;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Stay at home and keep the nest;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fly not here and there in quest<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of the newest thing.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Live as brethren live;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Love be in each heart and mouth;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Be not envious, be not wroth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be not slow to give.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[214]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When ye build the nest<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Quarrel not o'er straw or wool;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He who hath, be bountiful<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the neediest.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Be not puffed or vain<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of your beauty or your worth,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of your children or your birth,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or the praise you gain.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Eat not greedily:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sometimes, for sweet mercy's sake,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Worm or insect spare to take;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let it crawl or fly.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">See ye sing not near<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To our church on holy day,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lest the human-folk should stray<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From their prayer to hear.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now depart in peace,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In God's name I bless each one;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">May your days be long i' the sun<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And your joys increase.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And remember me,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Your poor brother Francis, who<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Loveth you, and thanketh you<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For this courtesy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[215]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sometimes when ye sing,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Name my name, that He may take<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Pity for the dear song's sake<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On my shortcoming.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SHEEP_AND_LAMBS" id="SHEEP_AND_LAMBS"></a>SHEEP AND LAMBS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All in the April morning,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">April airs were abroad;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sheep with their little lambs<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Passed me by on the road.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The sheep with their little lambs<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Passed me by on the road;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All in the April evening,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I thought on the Lamb of God.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The lambs were weary, and crying<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With a weak human cry,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I thought on the Lamb of God<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Going meekly to die.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Up in the blue, blue mountains<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Dewy pastures are sweet:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rest for the little bodies,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Rest for the little feet.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[216]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rest for the Lamb of God<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Up on the hill-top green,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Only a cross of shame<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Two stark crosses between.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">All in the April evening,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">April airs were abroad;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw the sheep with their lambs,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And thought on the Lamb of God.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GARDENER_SAGE" id="THE_GARDENER_SAGE"></a>THE GARDENER SAGE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Here in the garden-bed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Hoeing the celery,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wonders the Lord has made<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Pass ever before me.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw the young birds build,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And swallows come and go,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And summer grow and gild,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And winter die in snow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Many a thing I note,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And store it in my mind;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For all my ragged coat,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[217]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That scarce will stop the wind.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I light my pipe and draw,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And, leaning on my spade,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I marvel with much awe<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O'er all the Lord hath made.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now, here's a curious thing:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Upon the first of March,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The crow goes house-building,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In the elms and in the larch.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And be it shine or snow,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Though many winds carouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That day the artful crow<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Begins to build his house.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But then—the wonder's big!—<br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>If Sunday fall that day</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Nor straw, nor scraw, nor twig,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i3"><i>Till Monday will he lay.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">His black wings to his side,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">He'll drone upon his perch,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Subdued and holy-eyed,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As though he were at church.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The crow's a gentleman<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Not greatly to my mind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He'll steal what seeds he can,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[218]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And all you hide he'll find.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet though he's bully and sneak,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To small birds bird of prey—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">He counts the days of the week,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And keeps the Sabbath day.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Katharine Tynan Hinkson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_DARK_MAN" id="THE_DARK_MAN"></a>THE DARK MAN</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rose o' the world, she came to my bed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And changed the dreams of my heart and head:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For joy of mine she left grief of hers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And garlanded me with a crown of furze.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rose o' the world, they go out and in,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And watch me dream and my mother spin:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And they pity the tears on my sleeping face<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While my soul's away in a fairy place.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rose o' the world, they have words galore,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And wide's the swing of my mother's door:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But soft they speak of my darkened eyes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But what do they know, who are all so wise?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rose o' the world, the pain you give<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is worth all days that a man may live:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Worth all shy prayers that the colleens say<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the night that darkens the wedding day.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[219]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rose o' the world, what man would wed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When he might dream of your face instead?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Might go to his grave with the blessed pain<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of hungering after your face again?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rose o' the world, they may talk their fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For dreams are good, and my life stands still<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While their lives' red ashes the gossips stir,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But my fiddle knows: and I talk to her.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Nora Hopper</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_FAIRY_FIDDLER" id="THE_FAIRY_FIDDLER"></a>THE FAIRY FIDDLER</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Tis I go fiddling, fiddling,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By weedy ways forlorn:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I make the blackbird's music<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Ere in his breast 'tis born:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sleeping larks I waken<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Twixt the midnight and the morn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No man alive has seen me,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But women hear me play<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sometimes at door or window,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fiddling the souls away,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The child's soul and the colleen's<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Out of the covering clay.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[220]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">None of my fairy kinsmen<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Make music with me now:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone the raths I wander<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or ride the whitethorn bough;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But the wild swans they know me,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the horse that draws the plough.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Nora Hopper</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="OUR_THRONES_DECAY" id="OUR_THRONES_DECAY"></a>OUR THRONES DECAY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I said, my pleasure shall not move;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">It is not fixed in things apart:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Seeking not love—but yet to love—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">I put my trust in mine own heart.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I knew the fountain of the deep<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Wells up with living joy, unfed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Such joys the lonely heart may keep,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And love grow rich with love unwed.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Still flows the ancient fount sublime;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But, ah, for my heart shed tears, shed tears;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not it, but love, has scorn of time;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">It turns to dust beneath the years.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[221]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="IMMORTALITY" id="IMMORTALITY"></a>IMMORTALITY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">We must pass like smoke or live within the spirit's fire;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For we can no more than smoke unto the flame return<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If our thought has changed to dream, our will unto desire,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">As smoke we vanish though the fire may burn.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Lights of infinite pity star the grey dusk of our days:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Surely here is soul: with it we have eternal breath:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In the fire of love we live, or pass by many ways,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By unnumbered ways of dream to death.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GREAT_BREATH" id="THE_GREAT_BREATH"></a>THE GREAT BREATH</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Withers once more the old blue flower of day:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There where the ether like a diamond glows<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Its petals fade away.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The great deep thrills for through it everywhere<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The breath of Beauty blows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[222]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I saw how all the trembling ages past,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Moulded to her by deep and deeper breath,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Neared to the hour when Beauty breathes her last<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And knows herself in death.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SUNG_ON_A_BY-WAY" id="SUNG_ON_A_BY-WAY"></a>SUNG ON A BY-WAY</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What of all the will to do?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">It has vanished long ago,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For a dream-shaft pierced it through<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From the Unknown Archer's bow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What of all the soul to think?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some one offered it a cup<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Filled with a diviner drink,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And the flame has burned it up.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What of all the hope to climb?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Only in the self we grope<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To the misty end of time:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Truth has put an end to hope.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What of all the heart to love?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sadder than for will or soul,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No light lured it on above;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Love has found itself the whole.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[223]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="DREAM_LOVE" id="DREAM_LOVE"></a>DREAM LOVE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I did not deem it half so sweet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To feel thy gentle hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">As in a dream thy soul to greet<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Across wide leagues of land.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Untouched more near to draw to you<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where, amid radiant skies,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Glimmered thy plumes of iris hue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My Bird of Paradise.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Let me dream only with my heart,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Love first, and after see:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Know thy diviner counterpart<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Before I kneel to thee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">So in thy motions all expressed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy angel I may view:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I shall not in thy beauty rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But Beauty's ray on you.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="ILLUSION" id="ILLUSION"></a>ILLUSION</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What is the love of shadowy lips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That know not what they seek or press,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From whom the lure for ever slips<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And fails their phantom tenderness?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[224]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The mystery and light of eyes<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That near to mine grow dim and cold;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They move afar in ancient skies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Mid flame and mystic darkness rolled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O beauty, as thy heart o'erflows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In tender yielding unto me,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A vast desire awakes and grows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Unto forgetfulness of thee.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="JANUS" id="JANUS"></a>JANUS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Image of beauty, when I gaze on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Trembling I waken to a mystery,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How through one door we go to life or death<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By spirit kindled or the sensual breath.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Image of beauty, when my way I go;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No single joy or sorrow do I know:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Elate for freedom leaps the starry power,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The life which passes mourns its wasted hour.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And, ah, to think how thin the veil that lies<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Between the pain of hell and paradise!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where the cool grass my aching head embowers<br /></span> +<span class="i1">God sings the lovely carol of the flowers.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[225A]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CONNLAS_WELL" id="CONNLAS_WELL"></a>CONNLA'S WELL</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A cabin on the mountain side hid in a grassy nook,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With door and windows open wide where friendly stars may look;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The rabbit shy can patter in; the winds may enter free<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who throng around the mountain throne in living ecstasy.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And when the sun sets dimmed in eve and purple fills the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I think the sacred hazel tree is dropping berries there<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From starry fruitage waved aloft where Connla's well o'erflows;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For sure the immortal waters run through every wind that blows.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I think when night towers up aloft and shakes the trembling dew,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">How every high and lonely thought that thrills my spirit through<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is but a shining berry dropped down through the purple air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And from the magic tree of life the fruit falls everywhere.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>A.E.</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[226A]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="NAMES" id="NAMES"></a>NAMES</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">No temple crowned the shaggy capes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">No safety soothed the kind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The clouds unfabled shifted shapes,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And nameless roamed the wind.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The stars, the circling heights of heaven,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The mountains bright with snows<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Looked down, and sadly man at even<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Lay down and sad he rose.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Till ages brought the hour again,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">When fell a windless morn,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And, child of agonistic pain<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And bliss, the Word was born.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Which grew from all it gazed upon,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And spread thro' soil and sphere,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And shrunk the whole into the one,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And fetched the farthest here.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">High is the summer's night, but deep<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The hidden mind unfolds:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Within it does an image sleep<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of all that it beholds.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Alas! when man with busy brow,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[227A]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">His conquering names hath set<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To planet, plant, and worm, who now<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Will teach us to forget?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What poet now, when wisdoms fail,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Another theme shall dare—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Nameless, and remove the veil<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Which hides it everywhere?<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>John Eglinton</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THAT" id="THAT"></a>THAT</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">What is that beyond thy life,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And beyond all life around,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which, when thy quick brain is still,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nods to thee from the stars?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Lo, it says, thou hast found<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Me, the lonely, lonely one.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Charles Weekes</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THINK" id="THINK"></a>THINK</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Think, the ragged turf-boy urges<br /></span> +<span class="i3">O'er the dusty road his asses;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Think, on sea-shore far the lonely<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Heron wings along the sand;<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Think, in woodland under oak-boughs<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Now the streaming sunbeam passes;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And bethink thee thou art servant<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To the same all-moving hand.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Charles Weekes</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[228A]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="TE_MARTYRUM_CANDIDATUS" id="TE_MARTYRUM_CANDIDATUS"></a>TE MARTYRUM CANDIDATUS</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Ah, see the fair chivalry come, the companions of Christ!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">White Horsemen, who ride on white horses, the Knights of God!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They, for their Lord and their Lover who sacrificed<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All, save the sweetness of treading, where he first trod!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">These through the darkness of death, the dominion of night,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swept, and they woke in white places at morning tide:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They saw with their eyes, and sang for joy of the sight,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They saw with their eyes the Eyes of the Crucified.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Now, whithersoever He goeth, with Him they go:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">White Horsemen, who ride on white horses, oh fair to see!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They ride, where the Rivers of Paradise flash and flow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">White Horsemen, with Christ their Captain: for ever He!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lionel Johnson</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[229A]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_CHURCH_OF_A_DREAM" id="THE_CHURCH_OF_A_DREAM"></a>THE CHURCH OF A DREAM</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Sadly the dead leaves rustle in the whistling wind,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Around the weather-worn gray church, low down the vale:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The Saints in golden vesture shake before the gale;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The glorious windows shake, where still they dwell enshrined;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Old Saints, by long dead, shrivelled hands, long since designed:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There still, although the world autumnal be, and pale,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still in their golden vesture the old saints prevail;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Alone with Christ, desolate else, left by mankind.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Only one ancient Priest offers the sacrifice,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Murmuring holy Latin immemorial:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swaying with tremulous hands the old censer full of spice,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">In gray, sweet incense clouds; blue, sweet clouds mystical:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To him, in place of men, for he is old, suffice<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Melancholy remembrances and vesperal.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lionel Johnson</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[230A]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="WAYS_OF_WAR" id="WAYS_OF_WAR"></a>WAYS OF WAR</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A terrible and splendid trust<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Heartens the host of Inisfail:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their dream is of the swift sword-thrust,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">A lightning glory of the Gael.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Croagh Patrick is the place of prayers,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And Tara the assembling place:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But each sweet wind of Ireland bears<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The trump of battle on its race.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">From Dursey Isle to Donegal,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">From Howth to Achill, the glad noise<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Rings: and the heirs of glory fall,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Or victory crowns their fighting joys.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A dream! a dream! an ancient dream!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yet, ere peace come to Inisfail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Some weapons on some field must gleam,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Some burning glory fire the Gael.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">That field may lie beneath the sun,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Fair for the treading of an host:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That field in realms of thought be won,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And armed minds do their uttermost:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Some way, to faithful Inisfail,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[231A]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Shall come the majesty and awe<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of martial truth, that must prevail,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To lay on all the eternal law.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lionel Johnson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RED_WIND" id="THE_RED_WIND"></a>THE RED WIND</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Red Wind from out the East:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Red wind of blight and blood!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ah, when wilt thou have ceased<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thy bitter, stormy flood?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Red Wind from over sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Scourging our holy land!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What angel loosened thee<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Out of his iron hand?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Red Wind! whose word of might<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Winged thee with wings of flame?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O fire of mournful night!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">What is thy Master's name?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Red Wind! who bade thee burn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Branding our hearts? Who bade<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thee on and never turn,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Till waste our souls were laid?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Red Wind! from out the West<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Pour Winds of Paradise:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Winds of eternal rest,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That weary souls entice.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[232A]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wind of the East! Red Wind!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Thou scorchest the soft breath<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of Paradise the kind:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Red Wind of burning death!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O Red Wind! hear God's voice:<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Hear thou, and fall, and cease.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let Inisfail rejoice<br /></span> +<span class="i3">In her Hesperian peace.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lionel Johnson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CELTIC_SPEECH" id="CELTIC_SPEECH"></a>CELTIC SPEECH</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Never forgetful silence fall on thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Nor younger voices overtake thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor echoes from thine ancient hills forsake thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Old music heard by Mona of the sea:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And where with moving melodies there break thee,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Pastoral Conway, venerable Dee.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Like music lives, nor may that music die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Still in the far, fair Gaelic places:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The speech, so wistful with its kindly graces,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Holy Croagh Patrick knows, and holy Hy:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The speech, that wakes the soul in withered faces,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And wakes remembrance of great things gone by.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Like music by the desolate Land's End,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[225]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Mournful forgetfulness hath broken:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No more words kindred to the winds are spoken,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Where upon iron cliffs whole seas expend<br /></span> +<span class="i1">That strength, whereof the unalterable token<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Remains wild music, even to the world's end.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lionel Johnson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="TO_MORFYDD" id="TO_MORFYDD"></a>TO MORFYDD</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblocks"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">A voice on the winds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A voice on the waters,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Wanders and cries:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1"><i>O! what are the winds?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And what are the waters?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Mine are your eyes.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Western the winds are,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And western the waters,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Where the light lies:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1"><i>O! what are the winds?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And what are the waters?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Mine are your eyes.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[226]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Cold, cold, grow the winds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And dark grow the waters,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Where the sun dies:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1"><i>O! what are the winds?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And what are the waters?</i>/<br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>Mine are your eyes.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And down the night winds,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And down the night waters<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The music flies:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1"><i>O! what are the winds?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And what are the waters?</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Cold be the winds,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>And wild be the waters,</i><br /></span> +<span class="i5"><i>So mine be your eyes.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Lionel Johnson</i><br /> +</p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="CAN_DOOV_DEELISH" id="CAN_DOOV_DEELISH"></a>CAN DOOV DEELISH</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Can doov deelish, beside the sea<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I stand and stretch my hands to thee<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[227]<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Across the world.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The riderless horses race to shore<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With thundering hoofs and shuddering, hoar,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Blown manes uncurled.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Can doov deelish, I cry to thee<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beyond the world, beneath the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Thou being dead.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where hast thou hidden from the beat<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Of crushing hoofs and tearing feet<br /></span> +<span class="i13">Thy dear black head?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">God bless the woman, whoever she be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the tossing waves will recover thee<br /></span> +<span class="i13">And lashing wind.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who will take thee out of the wind and storm,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dry thy wet face on her bosom warm<br /></span> +<span class="i13">And lips so kind?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I not to know. It is hard to pray,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But I shall for this woman from day to day,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">'Comfort my dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sport of the winds and the play of the sea.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I loved thee too well for this thing to be,<br /></span> +<span class="i13">O dear black head!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p style="text-align: right;"> +<i>Dora Sigerson</i><br /> +<span class="pagenum">[228]</span></p> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h1>ANONYMOUS</h1> +<p><span class="pagenum">[231]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="SHULE_AROON" id="SHULE_AROON"></a>SHULE AROON</h2> + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I would I were on yonder hill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis there I'd sit and cry my fill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And every tear would turn a mill,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.</i><br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shule, shule, shule aroon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shule go succir, agus shule go cuin,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shule go den durrus agus eligh lum,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'll sell my only spinning-wheel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To buy for my love a sword of steel,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 13em"><i>Chorus.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I'll dye my petticoats, I'll dye them red,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And around the world I'll beg my bread,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Until my parents shall wish me dead,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 13em"><i>Chorus.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[232]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I wish I had my heart again,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And vainly think I'd not complain,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 13em"><i>Chorus.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">But now my love has gone to France,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To try his fortune to advance;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If he e'er come back 'tis but a chance,<br /></span> +<span class="i1"><i>Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span style="margin-left: 13em"><i>Chorus.</i><br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_SHAN_VAN_VOCHT" id="THE_SHAN_VAN_VOCHT"></a>THE SHAN VAN VOCHT</h2> + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O! the French are on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The French are on the sea,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! the French are in the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They'll be here without delay,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And the Orange will decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[233]<br /></span> +<span class="i13"><i>Chorus.</i><br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">O! the French are in the bay,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">They'll be here by break of day,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And the Orange will decay,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And their camp it shall be where?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their camp it shall be where?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On the Currach of Kildare,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The boys they will be there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With their pikes in good repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">To the Currach of Kildare<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The boys they will repair,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And Lord Edward will be there,<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then what will the yeomen do?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What will the yeomen do?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[234]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What <i>should</i> the yeomen do<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But throw off the red and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And swear that they'll be true<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To the <i>shan van vocht</i>?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">What <i>should</i> the yeomen do<br /></span> +<span class="i5">But throw off the red and blue,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">And swear that they'll be true<br /></span> +<span class="i7">To the <i>shan van vocht</i>?<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And what colour will they wear?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What colour will they wear?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What colour should be seen<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where our fathers' homes have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But our own immortal Green?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">What colour should be seen<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Where our fathers' homes have been,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">But our own immortal Green?<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">And will Ireland then be free?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[235]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Will Ireland then be free?<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yes! Ireland <span class="smaller">SHALL</span> be free,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From the centre to the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then hurra! for Liberty!<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i5">Yes! Ireland <span class="smaller">SHALL</span> be free,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">From the centre to the sea;<br /></span> +<span class="i5">Then hurra! for Liberty!<br /></span> +<span class="i7">Says the <i>shan van vocht</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_WEARING_OF_THE_GREEN" id="THE_WEARING_OF_THE_GREEN"></a>THE WEARING OF THE GREEN</h2> + +<p class="center">THE WEARING OF THE GREEN</p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that's going round?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">St. Patrick's day no more we'll keep, his colours can't be seen,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[236]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For there's a bloody law agin the wearing of the green.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And he said, 'How's poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">She's the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They are hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then if the colour we must wear be England's cruel red,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You may take the shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But 'twill take root and flourish there, though under foot 'tis trod.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And when the leaves in summer-time their verdure dare not show,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then I will change the colour that I wear in my caubeen,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But 'till that day, please God, I'll stick to wearing of the green.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> +<p><span class="pagenum">[237]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_RAKES_OF_MALLOW" id="THE_RAKES_OF_MALLOW"></a>THE RAKES OF MALLOW</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock1"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Breaking windows, damning, sinking,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ever raking, never thinking,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em">Live the rakes of Mallow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Spending faster than it comes,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Bacchus's true-begotten sons,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em">Live the rakes of Mallow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">One time nought but claret drinking,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then like politicians thinking<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To raise the sinking funds when sinking,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em">Live the rakes of Mallow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">When at home with dadda dying,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Still for Mallow water crying;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But where there's good claret plying,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em">Live the rakes of Mallow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Living short, but merry lives;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[238]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Going where the devil drives;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Having sweethearts, but no wives,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em">Live the rakes of Mallow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Racking tenants, stewards teasing,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Swiftly spending, slowly raising,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wishing to spend all their days in<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 12em">Raking as at Mallow.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Then to end this raking life<br /></span> +<span class="i1">They get sober, take a wife,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Ever after live in strife,<br /></span> +<span style="margin-left: 10em">And wish again for Mallow.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="JOHNNY_I_HARDLY_KNEW_YE" id="JOHNNY_I_HARDLY_KNEW_YE"></a>JOHNNY, I HARDLY KNEW YE</h2> + +<p class="center"><i>Street Ballad</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">While going the road to sweet Athy,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While going the road to sweet Athy,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While going the road to sweet Athy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A stick in my hand and a drop in my eye,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A doleful damsel I heard cry:—<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[239]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With drums and guns and guns and drums<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The enemy nearly slew ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">My darling dear, you look so queer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Where are your eyes that looked so mild?<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where are your eyes that looked so mild?<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where are your eyes that looked so mild,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When my poor heart you first beguiled?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Why did you run from me and the child?<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With drums, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Where are the legs with which you run?<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where are the legs with which you run?<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Where are the legs with which you run,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When you went to carry a gun?—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Indeed, your dancing days are done!<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With drums, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[240]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'It grieved my heart to see you sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It grieved my heart to see you sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">It grieved my heart to see you sail,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Though from my heart you took leg bail,—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Like a cod you're doubled up head and tail.<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With drums, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You haven't an arm and you haven't a leg,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You're an eyeless, noseless, chickenless egg;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You'll have to be put in a bowl to beg:<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With drums, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'I'm happy for to see you home,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm happy for to see you home,<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[241]<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">I'm happy for to see you home,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">All from the island of Sulloon,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So low in flesh, so high in bone,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With drums, etc.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'But sad as it is to see you so,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But sad as it is to see you so,<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Hurroo! hurroo!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But sad as it is to see you so,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And to think of you now as an object of woe,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Your Peggy'll still keep ye on as her beau;<br /></span> +<span class="i9">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'With drums and guns and guns and drums,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">The enemy nearly slew ye,<br /></span> +<span class="i5">My darling dear, you look so queer,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Och, Johnny, I hardly knew ye!'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="KITTY_OF_COLERAINE" id="KITTY_OF_COLERAINE"></a>KITTY OF COLERAINE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">As beautiful Kitty one morning was tripping<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[242]<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With a pitcher of milk from the fair of Coleraine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When she saw me she stumbled, the pitcher down tumbled,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And all the sweet buttermilk watered the plain.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! what shall I do now! 'Twas looking at you, now;<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Sure, sure, such a pitcher I'll ne'er meet again;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas the pride of my dairy! O Barney O'Cleary,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">You're sent as a plague to the girls of Coleraine!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">I sat down beside her, and gently did chide her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">That such a misfortune should give her such pain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A kiss then I gave her, and ere I did leave her,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">She vowed for such pleasure she'd break it again.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas haymaking season—I can't tell the reason—<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Misfortunes will never come single 'tis plain;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For very soon after poor Kitty's disaster<br /></span> +<span class="i3">The devil a pitcher was whole in Coleraine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="LAMENT_OF_MORIAN_SHEHONE_FOR_MISS" id="LAMENT_OF_MORIAN_SHEHONE_FOR_MISS"></a>LAMENT OF MORIAN SHEHONE FOR MISS</h2> +<h2>MARY ROURKE</h2> + +<p class="tdc"><i>From an Irish keen</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[243]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'There's darkness in thy dwelling-place, and silence reigns above,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And Mary's voice is heard no more, like the soft voice of love.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yes! thou art gone, my Mary dear! and Morian Shehone<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Is left to sing his song of woe, and wail for thee alone.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! snow-white were thy virtues—the beautiful, the young,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The old with pleasure bent to hear the music of thy tongue:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The young with rapture gazed on thee, and their hearts in love were bound,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For thou wast brighter than the sun that sheds its light around.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">My soul is dark, O Mary dear! thy sun of beauty's set;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The sorrowful are dumb for thee—the grieved their tears forget;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And I am left to pour my woe above thy grave alone;<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[244]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For dear wert thou to the fond heart of Morian Shehone.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Fast-flowing tears above the grave of the rich man are shed,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But they are dried when the cold stone shuts in his narrow bed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Not so with my heart's faithful love—the dark grave cannot hide<br /></span> +<span class="i1">From Morian's eyes thy form of grace, of loveliness, and pride.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou didst not fall like the sere leaf, when autumn's chill winds blow—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Twas a tempest and a storm-blast that has laid my Mary low.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hadst thou not friends that loved thee well? hadst thou not garments rare?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Wast thou not happy, Mary? wast thou not young and fair?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then why should the dread spoiler come, my heart's peace to destroy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Or the grim tyrant tear from me my all of earthly joy?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! am I left to pour my woes above thy grave alone?<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[245]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thou idol of the faithful heart of Morian Shehone!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sweet were thy looks and sweet thy smiles, and kind wast thou to all;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The withering scowl of envy on thy fortunes dared not fall;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For thee thy friends lament and mourn, and never cease to weep—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! that their lamentations could awake thee from thy sleep!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! that thy peerless form again could meet my loving clasp!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! that the cold damp hand of Death could loose his iron grasp!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Yet, when the valley's daughters meet beneath the tall elm tree,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And talk of Mary as a dream that never more shall be,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then may thy spirit float around, like music in the air,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And pour upon their virgin souls a blessing and a prayer.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! am I left to pour my wail above thy grave alone?'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Then sinks in silence the lament of Morian Shehone!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[246]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="THE_GERALDINES_DAUGHTER" id="THE_GERALDINES_DAUGHTER"></a>THE GERALDINE'S DAUGHTER</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Speak low!—speak low—the banshee is crying;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Hark! hark to the echo!—she's dying! 'she's dying.'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What shadow flits dark'ning the face of the water?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis the swan of the lake—'tis <i>the Geraldine's Daughter</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Hush, hush! have you heard what the banshee said?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O! list to the echo! she's dead! 'she's dead!'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">No shadow now dims the face of the water;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Gone, gone is the wraith of <i>the Geraldine's Daughter</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The step of yon train is heavy and slow,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">There's wringing of hands, there's breathing of woe;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">What melody rolls over mountain and water?<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'Tis the funeral chant of <i>the Geraldine's Daughter</i>.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">The requiem sounds like the plaintive moan<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Which the wind makes over the sepulchre's stone;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">'O, why did she die? our hearts' blood had bought her!<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[247]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O, why did she die, <i>the Geraldine's Daughter</i>?'<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The thistle-beard floats—the wild roses wave<br /></span> +<span class="i1">With the blast that sweeps over the newly-made grave;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The stars dimly twinkle, and hoarse falls the water,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">While night-birds are wailing <i>the Geraldine's Daughter</i>.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="BY_MEMORY_INSPIRED" id="BY_MEMORY_INSPIRED"></a>BY MEMORY INSPIRED</h2> + +<p class="tdc"><i>Street Ballad</i></p> + + + +<div class="poemblock3"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">By Memory inspired,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And love of country fired,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The deeds of Men I love to dwell upon;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And the patriotic glow<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Of my spirit must bestow<br /></span> +<span class="i1">A tribute to O'Connell that is gone, boys, gone!<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's a memory to the friends that are gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">In October 'Ninety-seven—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">May his soul find rest in Heaven—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">William Orr to execution was led on:<br /></span> +<span class="i11">The jury, drunk, agreed<br /></span> +<span class="i11">That Irish was his creed;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">For perjury and threats drove them on, boys, on:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[248]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's the memory of John Mitchell that is gone.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">In 'Ninety-Eight—the month July—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">The informer's pay was high;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When Reynolds gave the gallows brave MacCann;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">But MacCann was Reynolds' first—<br /></span> +<span class="i11">One could not allay his thirst;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">So he brought up Bond and Byrne, that are gone, boys, gone.<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's the memory of the friends that are gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">We saw a nation's tears<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Shed for John and Henry Shears;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Betrayed by Judas, Captain Armstrong;<br /></span> +<span class="i11">We may forgive, but yet<br /></span> +<span class="i11">We never can forget<br /></span> +<span class="i1">The poisoning of Maguire that is gone, boys, gone—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Our high Star and true Apostle that is gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">How did Lord Edward die?<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Like a man, without a sigh;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">But he left his handiwork on Major Swan!<br /></span> +<span class="i11">But Sirr, with steel-clad breast,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">And coward heart at best,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Left us cause to mourn Lord Edward that is gone, boys, gone:<br /></span> +<span class="pagenum">[249]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's the memory of our friends that are gone!<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i11">September, Eighteen-three,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">Closed this cruel history,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">When Emmett's blood the scaffold flowed upon<br /></span> +<span class="i11">O, had their spirits been wise,<br /></span> +<span class="i11">They might then realize<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Their freedom—but we drink to Mitchell that is gone, boys, gone:<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Here's the memory of the friends that are gone!<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="A_FOLK_VERSE" id="A_FOLK_VERSE"></a>A FOLK VERSE</h2> + + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">When you were an acorn on the tree top,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Then was I an eagle cock;<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now that you are a withered old block,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Still am I an eagle cock.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[250]</span></p> + + + +<div class="p6" /> +<h2><a name="NOTES" id="NOTES"></a>NOTES</h2> + + +<p>Page xxi, lines 21 to 25. <a href="#Clarence_Mangan">A well-known poet</a> of the +Fenian times has made the curious boast—'Talking of +work—since Sunday, two cols. notes, two cols. London +gossip, and a leader one col., and one col. of verse for the +<i>Nation</i>. For <i>Catholic Opinion</i>, two pages of notes and a +leader. For <i>Illustrated Magazine</i>, three poems and a five col. +story.'</p> + +<p>Page 1. '<a href="#Deserted_Village">The deserted village</a>' is Lissoy, near Ballymahon, +and Sir Walter Scott tells of a hawthorn there +which has been cut up into toothpicks by Goldsmith +enthusiasts; but the feeling and atmosphere of the poem +are unmistakably English.</p> + +<p>Page xix. Some verses in 'The Epicurean' were put into +French by Théophile Gautier for the French translation, +and back again into English by Mr. Robert Bridges. If +any Irish reader who thinks <a href="#Moore">Moore</a> a great poet, will compare +his verses with the results of this double distillation, +and notice the gradual disappearance of their vague +rhythms and loose phrases, he will be the less angry with +the introduction to this book. Moore wrote as follows—</p> + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">You, who would try<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Yon terrible track,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">To live or to die,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">But ne'er to turn back.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[251]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">You, who aspire<br /></span> +<span class="i3">To be purified there,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">By the terror of fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Of water, and air,—<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If danger, and pain,<br /></span> +<span class="i3">And death you despise,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">On—for again<br /></span> +<span class="i3">Into light you shall rise:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Rise into light<br /></span> +<span class="i3">With the secret divine,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Now shrouded from sight<br /></span> +<span class="i3">By a veil of the shrine.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p>These lines are certainly less amazing than the scrannel +piping of his usual anapæsts; but few will hold them to be +'of their own arduous fullness reverent'! Théophile +Gautier sets them to his instrument in this fashion,</p> + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Vous qui voulez courir<br /></span> +<span class="i1">La terrible carrière,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Il faut vivre ou mourir,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Sans regard en arrière:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Vous qui voulez tenter<br /></span> +<span class="i1">L'onde, l'air, et la flamme,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Terreurs à surmonter<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Pour épurer votre âme,<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Si, méprisant la mort,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Votre foi reste entière,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">En avant!—le cœur fort<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Reverra la lumière.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="pagenum">[252]<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Et lira sur l'autel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Le mot du grand mystère,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Qu'au profane mortel<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Dérobe un voile austère.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p>Then comes Mr. Robert Bridges, and lifts them into the +rapture and precision of poetry—</p> + + +<div class="poemblocks2"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">O youth whose hope is high,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Who dost to truth aspire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Whether thou live or die,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">O look not back nor tire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Thou that art bold to fly<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Through tempest, flood, and fire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Nor dost not shrink to try<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Thy heart in torments dire:<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">If thou canst Death defy,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">If thy faith is entire,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Press onward, for thine eye<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Shall see thy heart's desire.<br /></span> +</div><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">Beauty and love are nigh,<br /></span> +<span class="i1">And with their deathless quire—<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Soon shall thine eager cry<br /></span> +<span class="i1">Be numbered and expire.<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + + +<p>Page 27. <a href="#DARK_ROSALEEN">'Dark Rosaleen</a>' is one of the old names of +Ireland. Mangan's translation is very free; as a rule when +he tried to translate literally, as in 'The Munster Bards,' all +glimmer of inspiration left him.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p32">32</a>, line 20. 'This passage is not exactly a blunder, +though at first it may seem one: the poet supposes the +grave itself transferred to Ireland, and he naturally includes<span class="pagenum">[253]</span> +in the transference the whole of the immediate locality about +the grave' (Mangan note).</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p47">47</a>, line 6. The two Meaths once formed a distinct +province.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p55">55</a>, line 7. This poem is an account of Mangan's +own life, and is, I think, redeemed out of rhetoric by its +intensity. The following poem, 'Siberia,' describes, perhaps, +his own life under a symbol.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p59">59</a>. Hy Brasail, or Teer-Nan-Oge, is the island of +the blessed, the paradise of ancient Ireland. It is still +thought to be seen from time to time glimmering far off.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p61">61</a>. <i>Mo Craoibhin Cno</i> means my cluster of nuts, +and is pronounced <i>Mo Chreevin Knò</i>.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p64">64</a>. Mr. O'Keefe has sent the writer a Gaelic +version of this poem, possibly by Walsh himself. A correspondent +of his got it from an old peasant who had not a +word of English. A well-known Gaelic scholar pronounces +it a translation, and not the original of the present poem. +<i>Mairgréad ni Chealleadh</i> is pronounced <i>Mairgréd nei +Kealley</i>. The <i>Ceanabhan</i>, pronounced <i>Kanovan</i>, is the +bog cotton, and the <i>Monadan</i> is a plant with a red berry +found on marshy mountains.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p69">69</a>. <i>A cuisle geal mo chroidhe</i>, pronounced <i>A cushla +gal mo chre</i>, means 'bright pulse of my heart.'</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p74">74</a>. Sir Samuel Ferguson introduces the poem +as follows:—</p> + +<p>Several Welsh families, associates in the invasion of +Strongbow, settled in the West of Ireland. Of these, the +principal, whose names have been preserved by the Irish +antiquarians, were the Walshes, Joyces, Heils (<i>a quibus</i> +MacHale), Lawlesses, Tolmyns, Lynotts, and Barretts, +which last draw their pedigree from Walynes, son of<span class="pagenum">[254]</span> +Guyndally, the <i>Ard Maor</i>, or High Steward of the +Lordship of Camelot, and had their chief seats in the +territory of the two Bacs, in the barony of Tirawley, and +county of Mayo. <i>Clochan-na-n'all</i>, i. e. 'The Blind Men's +Stepping-stones,' are still pointed out on the Duvowen +river, about four miles north of Crossmolina, in the townland +of Garranard; and <i>Tubber-na-Scorney</i>, or 'Scrags +Well,' in the opposite townland of Carns, in the same +barony. For a curious <i>terrier</i> or applotment of the Mac +William's revenue, as acquired under the circumstances +stated in the legend preserved by Mac Firbis, see Dr. +O'Donovan's highly-learned and interesting 'Genealogies, +&c. of Hy. Fiachrach,' in the publications of the <i>Irish +Archæological Society</i>—a great monument of antiquarian +and topographical erudition.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#p90">90</a>, line 6. 'William Conquer' was William Fitzadelm +De Burgh, the Conqueror of Connaught.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#AIDEENS_GRAVE">91</a>, line 4. Sir Samuel Ferguson introduces the +poem as follows:—</p> + +<p>Aideen, daughter of Angus of Ben-Edar (now the Hill +of Howth), died of grief for the loss of her husband, Oscar, +son of Ossian, who was slain at the battle of Gavra (<i>Gowra</i>, +near Tara in Meath), A.D. 284. Oscar was entombed in +the rath or earthen fortress that occupied part of the field +of battle, the rest of the slain being cast in a pit outside. +Aideen is said to have been buried on Howth, near the +mansion of her father, and poetical tradition represents the +Fenian heroes as present at her obsequies. The Cromlech +in Howth Park has been supposed to be her sepulchre. It +stands under the summits from which the poet Atharne is +said to have launched his invectives against the people of +Leinster, until, by the blighting effect of his satires, they<span class="pagenum">[255]</span> +were compelled to make him atonement for the death of +his son.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#DEIRDRES_LAMENT_FOR_THE_SONS_OF">99</a>. 'There was then no man in the host of Ulster +that could be found who would put the sons of Usnach to +death, so loved were they of the people and nobles. But +in the house of Conor was one called Mainé Rough Hand, +son of the king of Lochlen, and Naesi had slain his father +and two brothers, and he undertook to be their executioners. +So the sons of Usnach were then slain, and the men of +Ulster, when they beheld their death, sent forth their +heavy shouts of sorrow and lamentation. Then Deirdre +fell down beside their bodies wailing and weeping, and she +tore her hair and garments and bestowed kisses on their +lifeless lips and bitterly bemoaned them. And a grave was +opened for them, and Deirdre, standing by it, with her +hair dishevelled and shedding tears abundantly, chanted +their funeral song.' (<i>Hibernian Nights' Entertainment</i>.)</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_FAIR_HILLS_OF_IRELAND">102</a>. <i>Uileacan Dubh O</i>', pronounced <i>Uileacaun +Doov O</i>, is a phrase of lamentation.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_FAIRY_WELL_OF_LAGNANAY">108</a>, line 16. 'Anna Grace' is the heroine of another +ballad by Ferguson. She also was stolen by the Fairies.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#ON_THE_DEATH_OF_THOMAS_DAVIS">112</a>, line 6. Thomas Davis had an Irish father +and a Welsh mother, and Emily Brontë an Irish father +and a Cornish mother, and there seems no reason for +including the first and excluding the second. I find, +perhaps fancifully, an Irish vehemence in 'Remembrance.' +Several of the Irish poets have been of mixed Irish-Celtic +and British-Celtic blood. William Blake has been recently +claimed as of Irish descent, upon the evidence of Dr. +Carter Blake; and if, in the course of years, that claim +becomes generally accepted, he should be included also in +Irish anthologies.<span class="pagenum">[256]</span></p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_LITTLE_BLACK_ROSE">119</a>, line 13. 'The little Black Rose' is but another +form of 'Dark Rosaleen,' and has a like significance. 'The +Silk of the Kine' is also an old name for Ireland.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#MAIRE_BHAN_ASTOR">138</a>. <i>Maire Bhan Astór</i> is pronounced <i>Mauria +vaun a-stór</i>, and means 'Fair Mary, my treasure.'</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#O_THE_MARRIAGE">140</a>. <i>Mo bhuachaill</i>, pronounced <i>mo Vohil</i>, means +'my boy.'</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_GOBBAN_SAOR">174</a>. The Goban Saor, the mason Goban, is a +familiar personage in Irish folk-lore, and the reputed +builder of the round towers.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#FATHER_OFLYNN">191</a>. <i>Slainté</i>, ['your] health.'</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_CHILDREN_OF_LIR">207</a>. 'And their step-mother, being jealous of their +father's great love for them, cast upon the king's children, +by sorcery, the shape of swans, and bade them go roaming, +even till Patrick's mass-bell should sound in Erin; but no +farther in time than that did her power extend.'—<i>The Fate +of the Children of Lir</i>.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_GREAT_BREATH">222</a>. The wind was one of the deities of the +Pagan Irish. 'The murmuring of the Red Wind from the +East,' says an old poem, 'is heard in its course by the strong +as well as the weak; it is the wind that wastes the bottom +of the trees, and injurious to man is that red wind.'</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#CAN_DOOV_DEELISH">226</a>. <i>Can Doov Deelish</i> means 'dear black head.'</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#SHULE_AROON">231</a>. The chorus is pronounced <i>Shoo-il, shoo-il, +shoo-il, a rooin, Shoo-il go socair, ogus shoo-il go kiune, +Shoo-il go den durrus ogus euli liom, Iss go de too, mo +vourneen, slaun</i>, and means—</p> + + +<div class="poemblock"><div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i1">'Move, move, move, O treasure,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Move quietly and move gently,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">Move to the door, and fly with me,<br /></span> +<span class="i2">And mayest thou go, my darling, safe!'<br /></span> +</div></div></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum">[257]</span></p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_SHAN_VAN_VOCHT">232</a>. <i>Shan van vocht</i>, meaning 'little old woman', +is a name for Ireland.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_WEARING_OF_THE_GREEN">235</a>. This is not the most ancient form of the +ballad, but it is the form into which it was recast by +Boucicault, and which has long taken the place of all +others.</p> + +<p>Page <a href="#THE_RAKES_OF_MALLOW">237</a>, line 2. 'Sinking,' violent swearing.</p> +<div class="p4" /> +<p class="tdc">THE END</p> +<div class="p6" /> + +<p class="tdc"><b>IRISH BOOKS BY THE SAME AUTHOR.</b></p> + +<p class="tdc"><i>VERSE.</i></p> + +<p class="tdc"> +THE COUNTESS KATHLEEN.<br /> +THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE.<br /> +THE WANDERINGS OF OISIN.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="tdc"><i>PROSE.</i></p> + +<p class="tdc"> +THE CELTIC TWILIGHT.<br /> +JOHN SHERMAN AND DHOYA.<br /> +</p> + +<p class="tdc"><i>ANTHOLOGIES.</i></p> + +<p class="tdc"> +IRISH FAIRY AND FOLK TALES.<br /> +IRISH FAIRY STORIES.<br /> +STORIES FROM CARLETON.<br /> +IRISH TALES.<br /> +</p> +<div class="p6" /> +<p class="tdc"><span class="smcap">Richard Clay & Sons, Limited,<br /> +London & Bungay.</span></p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's A Book of Irish Verse, by William Butler Yeats + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK A BOOK OF IRISH VERSE *** + +***** This file should be named 37845-h.htm or 37845-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/7/8/4/37845/ + +Produced by Brian Foley, Ron Stephens and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This +file was produced from images generously made available +by The Internet Archive/American Libraries.) + + +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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