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diff --git a/38135-8.txt b/38135-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed687a3 --- /dev/null +++ b/38135-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2402 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Etain the Beloved and Other Poems, by James Henry Cousins + +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: Etain the Beloved and Other Poems + +Author: James Henry Cousins + +Release Date: November 25, 2011 [EBook #38135] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ETAIN THE BELOVED AND OTHER POEMS *** + + + + +Produced by David E. Brown, Bryan Ness 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.) + + + + + + + + + + ETAIN THE BELOVED + AND OTHER POEMS + + + + +_BY THE SAME AUTHOR_ + + + The Quest + The Bell-Branch + The Awakening + The Wisdom of the West + Ben Madighan (out of Print) + Sung by Six " + The Legend of the Blemished King (out of Print) + The Voice of One " + + + + + [Illustration: JAMES H. COUSINS + _From a pencil sketch by Florence Gillespie_] + + + + + ETAIN THE BELOVED + + AND OTHER POEMS + + BY JAMES H. COUSINS + + MAUNSEL & COMPANY, LIMITED, + 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN + 1912 + + + + +CONTENTS + + + ETAIN THE BELOVED 1 + + POEMS AND LYRICS + + DEATH AND LIFE 49 + + A SCHOOLBOY PLAYS CUCHULAIN 54 + + HOW THE MOUNTAINS CAME TO BE 56 + + LOVE IN ABSENCE 58 + + TREES IN WINTER 60 + + A SPRING CAPRICE 62 + + A SPRING RONDEL 63 + + THE FAIRY RING 64 + + LABORARE EST ORARE 65 + + PARAPHRASES AND INTERPRETATIONS + + DAEDALUS AND ICARUS 69 + + A PARAPHRASE 71 + + HOSPITALITY 72 + + THE STUDENT 73 + + AT A HOLY WELL 74 + + THE PRIEST'S LAKE 75 + + SONNETS + + A PAPER-SELLER 79 + + TO ONE IN PRISON 80 + + A HOME-COMING 81 + + LOVE, THE DESTROYER 82 + + ENVOY + + THE LOVING CUP 84 + + NOTES 87 + + + + +ETAIN THE BELOVED + + + + +_TO PENROSE MORRIS_ + + + + +ETAIN THE BELOVED + + + I + + Strong in the strength that finds in gentleness + A way to peace, King Eochaidh on the throne + Of Erin sits. Around his footstool press + Clansmen and chiefs. Some wind of thought has blown + Their eyes to flame. Some purpose, in the stress + Of travailing tongues, to birth finds not a way: + What all would utter, none has wit to say. + + Into their midst one came, an agéd bard + Upon whose flowing hair Wisdom had laid + Her gift of silver. On those faces, scarred + From old forgotten fights, he looked, and weighed + The meaning in their eyes, though sorely marred; + And from the tangled fibre of their thought + Into the web of speech their purpose wrought. + + "Thy word, O King, has passed by hill and dale + Throughout all Erin, bidding to the Feast + Of Tara all thy people, with the tale + Of tribute due from greatest and from least. + Nor should this word than others less prevail, + But that the herald-spear thy will hath sent, + Against the shield of custom has been bent. + + "Thou knowest, O King, that from most ancient years + No chieftain wifeless rules for thee the land, + Nor mateless at a festival appears; + But fixed in all experience doth stand: + And thus, made master of all human fears, + Fears not, but strongly round the camp-fires goes, + Full sharer of thy people's joys and woes. + + "Equal in yoke and honour, as the day + And night, that are but breathings of the soul, + They on life's crooked journey take their way + Diverse in gift, in essence one and whole. + This is the custom, King! Yet custom may, + If but of man, be as a smith who twists + An iron chain to bind upon his wrists. + + "But custom may, if fashioned to the Law + That made the world, be as the straitened string + From which the Master of the Feast may draw + Majestic speech, a living, wondrous thing + To rid the brow of pale contention's flaw, + And passing like the honey-cup along, + Gather their wandering lips to one great song. + + "And such the custom that thy people plead: + For when of old the deathless Lord of Life + Dagda came forth, and knew the immortal need + That burned within his heart, he took to wife + Dana the Mother of all human seed. + In her his breath found music and a name. + In her his fire has blossomed into flame. + + "Throughout the world that fire and music run + One sings within the maiden's wondering heart: + One stirs the veins of manhood, as the sun + Sets the spring's fingers thrilling with the smart + Of keen, ecstatic life that's but begun. + In every seed that breaks and wind that blows, + Each in the other seeks and finds repose. + + "Wherefore, O King, since thou art yet unwed, + And thus in kingship standest incomplete, + Unfurnished in thy heart, from whence are fed + The streams of power and wisdom, it is not meet + That unto thee thy people bow the head, + And here thy sovereignty with tribute own + Till thou hast set a Queen upon thy throne." + + He ceased, and all the faces of the crowd + Shone with the light that kindles when the boon + Of speech has eased the heart; as when a cloud + Falls from the labouring shoulder of the moon, + And all the world stands smiling silver-browed. + King Eochaidh for a moment bent his head + In thought; then smiling he arose and said: + + "I am not careless of the ancient need + That moves your minds. Within my own it moves + Like a long-hidden, unforgotten seed + The spring has touched uneasily: like hooves + Long captive, when the trumpet has decreed + A royal pilgrimage, and in the liss + They dance to taste the highway's ringing bliss. + + "So have I watched for that sure sign that fills + The horn of fate, that bending this our realm + Unto the Will that works behind our wills, + It may remain; as when storms overwhelm, + And leafy spray whirls over the roaring hills, + The swaying pine bends as the storm wars by, + And lives to shake proud arms against the sky. + + "But now the horn is full, the hour is here. + Our wills as one move onward to their end. + Here now I lift on high the royal spear, + And thus through Erin proclamation send: + 'Search for the promised maiden far and near + Whom the high Gods have destined at my side + To reign.' Go forth. The King awaits his bride. + + "She shall be found in some most quiet place + Where Beauty sits all day beside her knee + And looks with happy envy on her face; + Where Virtue blushes, her own guilt to see, + And Grace learns new, sweet meanings from her grace; + Where all that ever was or will be wise + Pales at the burning wisdom of her eyes. + + "When you at last, far off like worshippers + Within some holy circle, bow your heads, + You shall await till on that face of her's + A smile like spring's first morning slowly spreads; + And when her lip with wondrous music stirs, + Bear hither like the wind her deathless name, + That I may light my heart at its white flame." + + Scarce had he ceased when from the royal tent + Broke the full tide of their loud ecstacy, + And through the woods like summer thunder went, + Full of great rumour of mighty things to be + That died far off like twilight breezes spent. + Then sang the bard in hidden wisdom skilled: + "Thus is the purpose of the Gods fulfilled. + + "_Lift now the hands that may not bless + A wifeless feast, a queenless throne, + A court or council womanless, + Or life one-limbed and sideways grown, + That holds the hands that may not bless._ + + "_The starry Virgin of the east + Steps up the sky to lead the sign + Where most has kissed and mixed with least, + And one-in-twain life's torches shine + Behind the Virgin of the east._ + + "_Then lift the hands that gladly bless + Full life, to life's great fulness grown, + A power to stand through shock and stress, + And rear an everlasting throne + Held high on hands that gladly bless._" + + Then on a night when on his hearth the gleam + Of crackling faggots flung a wavering glow + Along his red-yew roof from beam to beam + Like glancing eyes, King Eochaidh to and fro + Turned on his couch, dreaming a happy dream + Of snapping stems, and crisp leaves crushed by feet + With high desire made musical and fleet. + + Out of the fire a swift and slender shaft + Of yellow flame pierced through the King's dropped lids, + And woke a murmur of bees whose eager craft + Rifled the treasures of blossomy pyramids; + Whereat the King, raising his hand, low laughed, + Then passed like some worn swimmer on the sweep + Of strong waves toward the unfathomed gulf of sleep. + + At length in that white hour when dewy wings + Stir with new day's delight, there came a sound + As though a passion of voices and smitten strings + Mingled and swelled and flew along the ground, + Till at the utmost of its triumphings, + Through the King's sleep and on his door the dawn + Broke, and a mighty shout: "Etain! Etain!" + + + II + + Thereafter, on a morning rich with spring, + When round his feet new-opened flowers looked up + Wide-eyed and wet at some most wondrous thing, + And crystal draughts from many an odorous cup + Were spilled by winds in playful rioting, + King Eochaidh stood beside a quiet shore, + Dumb with a joy he never knew before. + + From league to league alone his path had lain + On windy hills, through forests dark, or deep + In dank, sonorous glens. Through every vein + A burning joy had drunk the mists of sleep, + And sung "Etain, Etain," till the refrain + Irked, and he slept, and when he sprang awake + Saw that which made his heart with rapture shake. + + There by the sea, Etain his destined bride + Sat unabashed, unwitting of the sight + Of him who gazed upon her gleaming side, + Fair as the snowfall of a single night; + Her arms like foam upon the flowing tide; + Her curd-white limbs in all their beauty bare, + Straight as the rule of Dagda's carpenter. + + Her cheeks were like the foxglove when it glows + At noon: her eyes blue as the hyacinth. + Like moonlight struck to marble, nobly rose + Her neck upon her shoulder's polished plinth; + And like the light that swiftly comes and goes + Through breaking waves, among her hair her hands + Broke into wavy gold its plaited strands. + + Then came her maidens, bright and blossoming + With beauty, and before her beauty bowed, + And stood around her in a laughing ring + To robe her starry splendour like a cloud. + And as her hair they twined, the hidden king + Scarce knew if on her lips, that knew no wrong, + Or in his own hushed heart he heard this song. + + _The king comes riding from the north, + From battles won, with marching men. + Ah, whose white eager arms go forth + To bid him welcome home again + When he comes riding from the north?_ + + _The king comes riding from the south, + And halts beside the royal liss. + Ah, whose the happy smiling mouth + That gives and takes a long warm kiss + When he comes riding from the south?_ + + _The king comes riding from the east. + O night how dark! O way how long! + Ah, whose dear eyes shall light the feast? + Ah, who shall lift his heart with song + When he comes riding from the east?_ + + _The king comes riding from the west, + And smiles unto himself, and sighs. + Ah, whose the white and easeful breast + Where he shall close his kingly eyes + When he comes riding from the west?_ + + Small wonder now that Eochaidh's leaping heart + Strained like a hound in leash: yet through his bliss + There passed a thin cold blade with sudden smart + Of doubt that he but dreamed, of dread that this + Was but a vision that would soon depart: + But when the song had ceased, there stood the maid + Flushed with keen joy, and like a queen arrayed. + + A mantle of bright purple, waving, wound + Her form, and from her shoulders white as milk + Fell in reluctant folds and touched the ground. + Upon her breast the flash of emerald silk-- + As though the glory of earth had wrapped her round-- + Mixed with the glow of red embroidered gold + That seemed with light her body to enfold. + + A sudden breeze came singing from the sea + And broke with sunlight through the leafy shade. + Then came King Eochaidh forth, and on his knee + Bent low before the silent, trembling maid. + "The king," he said, "has come, and kneels to thee, + Foredoomed to share the burden of his throne, + And glorify its glory with thine own." + + Then through her frame a gentle tremor went + And lit her face with exquisite swift fire + That woke forgotten dreams, whose shaken scent + Sweetened the quiet winds of her desire + With some divine, unuttered ravishment, + Some earnest of great doom that filled her heart + With sorrow, joy's majestic counterpart. + + Upon his head she gently laid her hand, + And said, "Arise! To thee my heart has bowed + When minstrel after minstrel, tired and tanned, + Has supped beside our hearth, and sung the proud + High song that bears thy greatness through the land. + For thee from life's clear dawn my love remained + Fixed, and at length to thee I have attained." + + + III + + Across the woods of Meath the bird of day + Fell from the boughs of noon with bleeding wing, + While dark-browed Balor strode the eastern way, + And scattered darkness from his cloudy sling, + Till at his feet the hosts of Erin lay + Smitten with sleep; then round their dreams he cast + The chains wherewith he binds his prisoners fast. + + From dawn till dark, in many a hero-game + Glad eyes had flashed, or bent in pride august + To hear the chant of some undying name + Whose deeds were strong as wine. Anon the dust + Of festive feet stormed in a wild acclaim + Around the royal place where, side by side, + Sat Eochaidh and Etain his new-made bride. + + Now ancient Sleep, with Silence for his queen, + Reigns o'er those palaces of stately fir + That drowse in curtained moonlight's misty sheen. + Within, the arras hardly seems to stir + Its languorous folds of purple, blue and green, + Whose colours part or mix, as rise and fall + The pine fire's odorous gleams on roof and wall. + + No sound, no life, save where with soft salute + The wide-eyed sentinels a moment wait + And listen sidelong to the passing bruit + Of ghostly winds, that murmur at their state + And pass, with peevish cry and soundless foot, + Where the dead fly upon the waveless moat + Makes of the dead dropped leaf a funeral boat. + + Yet in the midst of silence so profound, + One stirred his rushy couch as though in pain, + For through his dreams a torrent of swift sound + Stumbled in foam about his echoing brain, + And all his thought in loud confusion drowned + And bore him toward a dim and perilous steep + That flung its shadow on a writhing deep. + + Then like the sun obscured by valley smoke, + With some vague trouble glooming in his eye, + Ailill the brother of the king awoke + And scanned the portents of the morning sky, + Till on his mind a mellowing radiance broke, + And in his heart there dawned a wondrous face + That lit his world with Love's exalted grace. + + Often in dreams a shadow by his side + Had sung of one who came in some great hour + With Love--and woe. Now came his brother's bride; + And when he bent before her in her bower, + Within his heart the shadow rose and cried, + And passed away, while all his being shook, + Stricken with joy and sorrow in a look. + + Among the clamours of the festal time + His love for ease he hid, again pursued, + Finding a solace in the chanted rhyme + Of agéd bards, or youths in merry mood + Where angry words were counted as a crime; + And fireside friendship staunched his hungry sighs + When she no more was banquet for his eyes. + + But when the marriage festival was past, + And restless day gave place to torturing night, + His captive passion burst its chains, and cast + Its ardours from his brain in living light; + Then like the thin voice of a spell-raised blast, + A dissonant note from hidden harp-strings drawn + Troubled the dreams of Eochaidh and Etain. + + By day the dream had faded to a mist + In some far-folded valley of the mind; + But when, heart-charmed in evening's amethyst, + The labouring world grew wonderfully kind, + And upturned lips by brooding love were kissed; + Like silent rain in summer twilight spilled, + A wandering thought King Eochaidh touched and chilled. + + Meanwhile with steps that would and would not shun + Bliss craved and spurned; with tongue that might not speak + The pain that some strange sweetness now had won, + Ailill moved to and fro; and soon his cheek + Paled like the austere Servants of the Sun; + And day by day his passion's famished flame + Nourished itself upon his wasting frame. + + In vain the king's diviners daily strove + To find the spring of Ailill's gathering ill; + In vain Etain by stream and murmuring grove + Sought for the shadowy hand that held his will; + And when dark Balor cracked his whip, and drove + His winter herd across the bounds of day, + Ailill upon his couch in weakness lay. + + So when a year had passed, and through the land + The king went forth on royal pilgrimage, + Unto Etain he gave his last command + That she, his brother's sickness to assuage, + Withhold no gift, but give with regal hand; + And should chill death blow out his flickering blaze, + His funeral-stone with honour she should raise. + + + IV. + + From day to day Etain with eager thought + Outran sick Ailill's fleetest-footed needs; + From sun and wind a subtle medicine caught, + And charmed swift healing from the fresh-strewn reeds + Upon his floor, which her own hands had brought + From ferny hollows, where cool waters laughed + That Ailill from her cup with gladness quaffed. + + Yet with each dawn that came with growing power + There grew a cloudy thought in Ailill's mind + That gloomed the joy of health's returning hour, + And put a sigh in evening's gentle wind, + And touched with ill-timed frost life's opening flower, + And turned to poverty the proffered wealth + In hands that wrought his sickness and his health. + + And she, in service, found a hidden way + To strange new meanings in the eyes of life; + And reached a joy beyond the shrill affray + Of horns and harps loud with the songs of strife + Or little triumphs of a passing day; + And grasped, in giving, life's most perfect gift-- + Love that is raised by that which it doth lift. + + So moved the twain through sunshine barred with gloom, + Finding in each twin solace and despair: + He, like a frail and gently tended bloom, + Grudged each day's health that took him past her care; + And she, o'ershadowed by approaching doom, + Watching his need of her grow less and less, + Sickened with grief her lips dare not express. + + Tossed thus on hidden billows of the soul, + And swept by winds that warred against the will, + They drained the little draught in life's poor bowl, + And all unwitting wrought each other ill; + Until at last, stung past the heart's control, + Marking Etain's white brow and pensive eye, + Thus Ailill broke the silence with a cry. + + "O bitter joy! O sorrow passing sweet! + O blossoming life that leads to love's pale death! + O gain that speeds to loss on laggard feet! + O living voice that kills the word it saith! + O cooling touch that kindles quenchless heat! + How shall I all my heart's dear burden speak, + Or how keep silence at thy paling cheek? + + "I love thee, Queen Etain, but in such wise + As never man loved woman heretofore: + Not with the love that lives upon her eyes, + And counts her breast the summit and the shore + Of all desire, and with tempestuous sighs + Flings to the winds the spoils of reason's thrift + In barter for her body's utmost gift. + + "My love, O queen, is that serener kind + Whose word outruns the lumbering wain of speech, + And springs in light from mind to answering mind; + And takes its bliss beyond the body's reach, + Thought mixed with thought, as sunlight with sweet wind; + And crowds the ways, where human sorrow pleads, + With generations of exalted deeds. + + "Ah, then take back the life that thou hast spent + In vain, since thou dost slay and heal my heart; + And let quick death beat down my failing tent, + And its lone habitant be blown apart + Through the wide wastes of night's black firmament, + Where move the Powers in whose dread hands may be + The source and end of dreams and destiny. + + "There past the chain of hours my faithful ghost + May through thy dreams move silently and dim; + And needing then the least, may serve thee most; + Or crying seaward from life's misty rim, + Call forth thy heart beyond its mortal coast: + Happy if in thy spirit's wakening sigh + My name one murmured moment live and die." + + Thus Ailill spoke; and like a summer shower + His eager words, tingling on heart and brain, + Stirred many a leaf to life, and many a flower; + And sank beneath her spirit's thirsty plain, + Till hidden springs, touched with a strange new power, + Welled in her eyes with flash of sudden streams + From hills that crowned some far-off world of dreams. + + Clear-visioned in her meditative eye + Rolled the great world, and lo! a silent moth + Shredded its mighty frame, till down the sky + It fluttered like a poor discarded cloth + From some dead face flung out by hands that die; + And thinned like vapours round the lips of day, + And like a breath passed utterly away. + + And as it passed she knew that nevermore + Life would be life again; yet in her mind + Lurked the dim fear of one who leaves the shore, + And on the sightless hazard of the wind + Moves into doubt and darkness. O'er and o'er + She turned her thought, till softly on her ear + There broke a song a bard was chanting near. + + _Because the strong are fallen low, + Who deems that Strength himself is slain? + Through depth and height his arm shall go, + And he shall rear his house again, + Although the strong are fallen low._ + + _Because the living all are dead, + Who deems that Life has found a grave? + Among the stars she lifts her head, + She dances lightly on the wave, + Although the living all are dead._ + + _Because the beautiful has passed, + Was Beauty but a passing word? + Behold, the dust through chaos cast + With lovelier loveliness is stirred, + Although the beautiful has passed._ + + _And if earth's lovers love amiss, + Who deems that Love has perished quite? + Lo, cloudy lips the mountains kiss, + And day is bosomed on the night, + Although earth's lovers love amiss._ + + Swiftly and silently her thought's faint wing + Sought between wind and wind a certain way; + For one was keen with glad awakening + In perfumed morn of some ecstatic day; + And one was loud with song, and quivering string, + And all life's pageantry and noisy breath + Wherewith men strive to drown the voice of death. + + Then said Etain: "King Eochaidh in his might + Drew me to bonds of happiness; but thou + Art as a voice that calls across the night + To where some dawn blows freshly on the brow, + And love with love moves freely as the light, + Mingling in happy dreams their shadowy wings + Beyond these perishing substantial things. + + "Ah, me, the pain in joy, the joy in grief! + Who tells the end when once has moved the foot? + Thy hand is on my life's new-opened leaf: + Who knows the hand may pluck its ripened fruit? + To thee--and past, the journey may be brief. + Yet I the king's behest shall all fulfil-- + 'Nothing withhold to heal my brother's ill.' + + "So in the gaze of dawn and wondering flowers + We shall keep tryst by stream and whispering tree; + Perchance to win from life's controlling powers + The healing of thy heart's infirmity; + Perchance--" "Oh! speed the hazard of those hours," + He cried, "that blind the flame of low desire + In the white light of Love's transmuting fire." + + + V + + Hard by the swift-winged star, the moth-like moon + Sheds golden dust on waves of day that ebb + Into the deep beyond life's wan lagoon. + The spider Night now spins his monstrous web, + And spots the dark with many a pale cocoon + Hung in his vaporous cave, whose phantoms creep + In visions round the heavy brain of sleep. + + Yet one, among the sleepers, never turns + To ease his shoulder of the weight of night; + But with the shield of sweet oblivion spurns + Those wandering shafts that tease with sound and sight; + Till in a quiet, deep as kingly urns + In buried places, Ailill deadly lies, + Blind to the spreading signal of the skies. + + Now the thick dark, that pressed Etain's calm face + Like softest wool, thins out, and moves, and lifts; + And like a memory's vague recovered trace + The silent world, looming through cloudy rifts, + Floats greyly on the grey abyss of space, + Then slowly forms, and stands at last in light + Built on the crumbled ruins of the night. + + Soon on a cloud o'erhung with heliotrope + Day's harp is lifted, wire on golden wire; + And now great Dagda's burning fingers grope + From string to string, then reaching high and higher + Unto the utterance of some eager hope, + Break through the vibrant silences, and spring + Into one living voice of leaf and wing. + + Somewhere the snipe now taps his tiny drum; + The moth goes fluttering upward from the heath; + And where no lightest foot unmarked may come, + The rabbit, tiptoe, plies his shiny teeth + On luscious herbage; and with strident hum + The yellow bees, blustering from flower to flower, + Scatter from dew-filled cups a sparkling shower. + + The meadowsweet shakes out its feathery mass; + And rumorous winds, that stir the silent eaves, + Bearing abroad faint perfumes as they pass, + Thrill with some wondrous tale the fluttering leaves, + And whisper secretly along the grass + Where gossamers, for day's triumphal march, + Hang out from blade to blade their diamond arch. + + Forth came Etain, and with a little cry + Scattered the councils of the feathery brood; + And faced unblenched the red sun's winkless eye + That hawk-like hung above the quivering wood; + And passed with stately step and head on high + Toward a secluded place--where one doth wait + Silent and imperturbable as fate. + + Sweetly the wizard palms of morning sleek + Her brow with spells; and when a butterfly + Brushes with soft familiar wing her cheek, + Through the deep woods she hears a ghostly sigh, + As if a hidden god were fain to speak + An ancient ageless love that, fold by fold, + Wraps her with joy in throbbing arms of old. + + Now is her sandalled foot upon the edge + Of a loud-leaping stream, that flings its damp + To cool the sorrel shaking on its ledge + Under the squirrel's pine, and in a swamp + Goes dumb among the heron-haunted sedge, + Where the swift kingfisher, a moment seen, + Flashes and fades, a flame of sudden green. + + At length she stands within the appointed place, + Where leafy boughs in odorous dusk are blent. + But wherefore now across her trancéd face + Pass the quick fingers of bewilderment, + And doubt on doubt like shadows shadows chase? + Faintly she speaks, "Ailill I came to see. + Who art thou--for thou art yet art not he?" + + From her soft eye no loosened glances tell + Desire or dread, to him whose cloudless gaze + Knows from what heights of old her footsteps fell + Out of clear light, into this web of days + And nights and mystery inscrutable, + And marks how in the calm of inner power + She moves unmoved to meet her destined hour. + + "Etain," he whispered, and again, "Etain." + Such utter love went throbbing through her name + That nigh beyond her doubt her foot had gone; + Yet stood she wavering like a lonely flame + Outburning night, that feels the shake of dawn; + Then said, "Thy name, that doubt aside he cast?" + "Mider," he answered, "come for thee at last." + + "Mider?" she echoed, "Mider?" and the sound + Smote upon hidden doors, and roused from sleep + Faint eyes that dreamed, vague hands that groped around + The thought behind her thought, and from the deep + Beneath her thought climbed upward, to the bound + Whose shadowy marge like midnight gloom is cast + Between the passing moment and the past. + + Then Mider said, "For no poor worm's desire, + Nor aught of earth, thou comest, O beloved! + But for another's good thy thoughts conspire; + And far from self thy feet have hither moved + To the high purpose of the sacred fire + That burns thine upward path through joy and pain, + Through birth, through life, through death, to me again." + + Then asked she all bewildered: "Who art thou + Whose eyes have read my soul?" And answered he, + "Thine am I by the immemorial vow + That made thee mine, beloved! eternally, + When for a bride-price, on thy peerless brow + I set a diadem beyond the worth + Of all the crowns of all the queens of earth." + + Swiftly her thought divining, "Where, and when, + And wherefore parted, thou, beloved! shalt know. + That land which gleams in the rapt poet's ken, + Set in a sea that has no ebb or flow, + Beyond the spear-cast of the dreams of men, + Is mine, and from all changings far withdrawn + There spreads the realm of Mider--and Etain. + + "And there we loved, till that Almighty Power + Who set the heavens wheeling with a nod, + Blew thee, a butterfly, from flower to flower, + Until beyond our realm, a splendid God + Knew thee and cherished in a blossomy bower, + And nightly thy fair form in purple laid, + And at thy side his couch of slumber made. + + "But thee again the breath of tempest found, + And swept thee forth, and whirled from field to field, + And dashed thee where a roar of festal sound + Shook brazenly doffed helm and resting shield, + And flung thee in a cup that passed around + To one who drank it deep in bridal mirth-- + And thou wert born a daughter of the earth. + + "From year to year life's pleasures round thee played, + And fell behind the question of thine eyes + That searched the mysteries of leafy shade, + And the blue heron sailing in the skies + Cutting the silence with the rusty blade + His voice, and sought to spy the subtile might + That killed your gathered iris in a night. + + "Ah, soon I saw sweet longing on thy face, + And love's compelling poppy on thy mouth, + And watched thee robe thy maiden blossoming grace + And dream a king came riding from the south; + Yet in thy sigh in Eochaidh's royal place, + Unseen I saw the waft of hidden wings + Set past these perishing substantial things. + + "For thou wert born for love whose windless sail + Moves on great deeps beyond life's shallow range. + Love linked in flesh with failing flesh shall fail: + Love knit in thought with changing thought shall change, + Nor all desire against slow Time prevail; + For that old worm all dreams shall gnaw and rend, + And love that finds an end--itself shall end. + + "Oh! not for thee the little irking chain + That frets the bark on life's expanding bole; + Nor love that maketh free, though it contain + All earth's white loves and thee supreme and sole + Beloved beneath all heaven; for who shall gain, + Since between love and love most subtly mixed + Untrodden silence stands forever fixed? + + "My love would brood upon the holy thing + Within thine inmost being folded far, + Till it at length come forth on perfect wing + To brush with sweet eclipse the morning star, + And in high heaven its utter rapture sing, + Filling the universe with golden sound + Of love immortal, measureless, unbound! + + "How shall immortal love find mortal bliss, + Or measureless be bound in narrow speech, + Or free and forge the bondage of a kiss? + Nay, but its end is ever out of reach, + Its life, of fairer life the chrysalis; + And all its days, desirable and fleet, + But prints of unseen Beauty's passing feet. + + "Ah! Love is thine whose all-transfusing sun + Burns out the mystery of life and death; + And all thine hours but blossom unto one + That us in utter bondage compasseth. + Now to that timeless hour Time's footsteps run + To rear our throne, whose foot shall never know + The chafe of life's eternal ebb and flow. + + "And he whose heart long time was scarred and swept + By hungering winds that robbed him of repose, + Wrapt in deep joy, beyond his joy has slept + Into a passionless calm, that wakes and knows + Love's highest bliss in honour stainless kept. + Farewell, and when a little while has flown + I come again." He ceased. She stood alone. + + Far through the morn the horn of Eochaidh blew, + Outspeeding runners hot with glad return. + From post to post goes welcoming halloo: + Far off the shouldered spear-heads dance and burn + Through smother of wheels, and marching men that strew + Their wake with dust and song, and storm at last + Round dun and liss, their prosperous journey past. + + And all that day go question and reply, + Twin bodkins looping up the stuff of life: + And all that dusk, warm cheek and glancing eye + Blow up love's ruddy peat in man and wife: + And all that night, harps throb and warpipes cry + Around the king, enthroned in joy complete, + Etain beside him, Ailill at his feet. + + But through the songs of praise that round him swell, + One voice to him has music sweeter far. + Close to his heart she now the tale doth tell + Of duty done, and love escaped a scar;-- + But not of that deep hour, unspeakable + With visitation from beyond the world, + Shut in her heart, a blossom closely curled. + + On Eochaidh's royal brow sits glad content + That she, fate's minister to Ailill's pain, + Who dared in faith the perilous descent, + Now stands more white against averted stain. + And Ailill, all his heart in service spent, + Fills their glad hours with tender friendship's light + Sweet as the beam that silvers quiet night. + + + VI + + Now at life's wheel Etain the day-long sings; + Not loud, but low as one who musing waits + An hour, whose promise in her deep eye springs + In keen transfiguring light that contemplates + The mystery of small, familiar things + Made great with gleams from past the verge of sight, + And strange with rumours of the infinite. + + In that bright realm glimpsed through the shade of this + She sees great peace resolve earth's little strife; + And deepening vision sounds a deeper bliss, + Till joy rolls round the fretted shores of life; + And in swift stroke of hate, and love's long kiss, + She marks one law work out one hidden Will, + And life and death one happy doom fulfil. + + So pass her days in labour sped with peace. + And now the king, heart-eased in her repose, + Gathers warm love about him like a fleece; + And through the land his joy wide-circling goes, + Stirring swift hands that bid the earth increase + Her gift of good, till wealth and fatness throng + Their duns with praise, and fill their mouths with song. + + Life's labour widely shared the lightlier lies + Along the days; and when its tumults cease, + Free brain and limb are swift in rivalries + Upon the bloodless battlefields of peace + In thought's affray, or deed of strength whose prize + Scarce more adorneth him whose power prevails, + Than him who strongly dares and greatly fails. + + And in long nights, when age and childhood sleep, + Bright eyes that flicker round the rushlit board + Mark how the chess-players, in silence deep, + Meet skill with skill, until delight is roared + At cunning scheme, or swift unreckoned leap: + But, cute as fox or quick as tern awing, + No hand is found to mate King Eochaidh's king. + + Loudly his fame rolls through the echoing land; + But in his dreams, in some high tourney met, + He feels a strong inexorable hand + Counter his craft with calm unwavering threat + By an unseen far-seeing player planned, + That haunts his thoughts with hint of some deep strife + Waged vastly on the board of death and life. + + Then from his couch, with apprehensive eye, + Forth goes the king for solace. Mile on mile + His happy realms in dawn's pale radiance lie + Secure in his great strength; so with a smile + He tramples out the night's thin troubling cry, + Then toward his palace turns, lo! at its door + There stands a chieftain never seen before. + + Straightly he stands, nor from his pride's full height + Bends he from neck to knee one purple fold; + Nor dips his spear, nor casts his shield whose light + Glinting from snowy boss and bead of gold, + Strikes from the king some memory of the night, + So that his quickened eye is swift to trace + A touch of challenge in the stranger's face. + + "Welcome, O stranger! and doubly were thy name + To me revealed." "Mider: to thee unknown. + No far-sung dun is mine, lineage or fame; + Yet in my realm I keep a steadfast throne, + And for my pleasure play a subtle game + With pawn and puissant knight and watching queen. + Fame trumpets far thy skill: now be it seen." + + On swift-set piece and jewelled chessboard break + Slant arrows from the scarcely risen sun. + Rank faces rank. "Play, king!"... "Not without stake + I play; nor bate the forfeit quickly won,-- + Thine?" "Fifty steeds whose hooves shall Erin shake." + Then Eochaidh, lightly at light-seeming task, + "And mine," he smiled, "whatever thou shalt ask!" + + Matchless in skill, King Eochaidh moves elate ... + One moment ... then ... straight lip and slow-drawn breath + Yield sullenly to sure on-coming fate. + Behind his eyes vast shapes of Life and Death + Move hand to hand.... Soon ends the struggle--"Mate!" + The stranger calls.... King Eochaidh's boast is gone! + "The stake?" he vaguely asks.... "Thy wife, Etain." + + Now like a spider wrapped in his own snare, + The king turned to and fro to rend the spell + Of ghastly loss. Pride stricken to despair + Tugged at life's roof-tree. Round him ruining fell + Puffed hopes and brittle joys that broke in air; + And high desires, reined short in sight of goal, + Stumbled to earth and snapped life's chariot-pole. + + Then in that other's eye some glance revealed + Faint pity.... "Nay, not this!" King Eochaidh cried. + "Take thou the treasures won on hard-fought field, + Spoils of the furrow, tribute of the tide: + These for thy forfeit here I freely yield; + Not her whose smile makes festive life's poor crust, + But lost would turn its glories into dust!" + + The stranger calmly answered, "King, the bird + Poised on a little trick within the brain, + Soars sunward. Kings on honour's lightest word + Unshaken, rear a realm that shall remain. + Snaps a small string: lo! all the song that stirred + With beauty and joy, sinks like storm-swallowed ships, + And bards unborn harp a high-king's eclipse. + + "But fear not thou. Thy fame shall feel no wind + Of cold rebuke; for when these shadows lift, + Thou in life's loss the Spirit's gain shalt find: + Thou to thyself shalt give thine utmost gift; + And know thou only hast what is resigned. + I go--but come on one clear-omened day, + And thou shalt pay thy debt." He went away. + + In that same hour the hungry nestling's cheep + Floods Etain's drowsing ear with gentle woe. + Sleep stirred by waking, waking soothed by sleep, + Around her heart in linking eddies flow; + Till at some passing wind that shakes the deep + Of dream, she wakes with eyes that strain to see + A haunting face behind life's mystery. + + And in lone hours of many a moonless night, + Through jetting poplars and the shooting snags + Of wrinkled oaks, the king doth seek a light + From his heart's questionings, whose purpose flags + Before her face, lest in her eye's clear sight + One thought of faithlessness a moment read + Should bring to birth the thing he most doth dread. + + + VII + + Strong in the strength that finds in gentleness + A way to peace, King Eochaidh on the throne + Of Erin sits. Around his footstool press + High cares of sovereignty, that crowd his own + Like gossips out of doors, and ease the stress + Of storming thought which, held from question clear, + Fears its mute doubt, yet vaguely doubts its fear. + + In silent step, hushed pulse, and listening gaze, + He marks expectancy behind her smile, + Like some faint gleam from half-remembered days + Ere the high Gods had blown them to this isle + Among inscrutable divided ways, + Some hidden destiny to mar or make + In hands as strong to give as quick to take. + + Now to the king the hollow moments haste + Across his heart to some heart-emptied hour: + And now he frets to leap with sinews braced + Through lagging days and meet the threatening power. + Yet from his conflict, inner lips now taste + The mingled wine of sweet and bitter fate-- + Strength to withstand, Endurance to await. + + These not as gifts the shadowy troublers bear, + But on his table spread what is his own. + So mused the king: "Not all from spade and share + The harvest comes: seed to its fruit has grown, + Self-shaped, though stirred by smart of sun and air; + And in life's myriad hands beaten and pressed, + Man is not made, but man made manifest." + + So finding gain in threatened loss, his mind + Self-poised, through sorrow and joy makes even way, + Content if, toiling past, his fingers find + Her fingers, and in trembling silence say, + "Here in unstable circumstance entwined + We two have kissed, and whither we may tend, + Once mixed, must find each other at the end." + + And she within her heart's most secret place + Has nursed a thought that grew from day to day, + Like wind-borne seed that on a rocky face + Finds root and strength to shatter ancient sway, + A thought of Love that chafes at time and space, + And moves from Love that was through Love to be + To some exalted end no eye can see. + + Yet nought of this was uttered each to each; + But when, like forest monarchs strong and proud, + A silver birch beside a sinewy beech, + They stood at feast to hail the gathering crowd, + Swift winds of joy came full of happy speech, + And through the host light raptures laughed and played, + Witless of yellowing leaf or sodden shade. + + Then came a day when on the bare flag-stone + The slow snail crawled; the chestnut's candles turned + Downward as dead; the wolf-hound with a groan + Gazed in King Eochaidh's eyes through eyes that burned + Great threat; the spear-grass hither and thither blown + Bent on the sand and traced its rings awry, + And sun and moon slid sideways down the sky. + + Swiftly to Eochaidh the dread omens tell + The day of forfeiture; yet to Etain + No word he speaks. Her eyes so softly well + With wondrous beauty, all his heart is drawn + In love to hold her from the coming spell. + Pushed past its hour, the unspoken doom may break, + And love and honour stand without a shake. + + On windy gap and boggy mountain path + He sets his watchers. Knee-deep where the fists + Of bracken fronds are clenched in tiny wrath, + Stern guards now stand, and where in sculptured cists + Old kings are harvested in Death's long swathe. + Closed from alarm the shingled roofs now rise + Ringed through the dark with flaming searching eyes. + + The word has passed, "The king shall have his whim: + No stranger looks upon the queen to-night." + Around the feasting board men great of limb + Shut fast each door, and blind the hope of sight + With shining shields that turn the torches dim. + Throned firm in strength defying power or guile, + He joys, and hopes--yet fears Etain's faint smile. + + Now harp and song have touched their utmost height, + And fall in sudden silence at a sound + Deeper than sound, and pale before a light + Clearer than light. Above, beneath, around, + All heaven and earth are shaken with a might + Past might, swift chariots clash, and mixed with these, + Far thunderings and the roar of distant seas! + + And in their midst is Mider, a shining God + From whose majestic presence swiftly spreads + Peace not of earth. Before his face, unflawed + By shadow of taint, brave warriors bow their heads. + And now the king, snapping his silver rod + Of power, with sudden eyes made clear, with cheeks + Flamed by swift vision, through the silence speaks. + + "Now have I seen the shining hand of Him + Who sifts the world for His divine desire; + And gathers, and within His quern's wide rim + Grinds all things meet for His transforming fire, + And kneads them to a purpose far and dim; + Who fashions all things to His growing plan, + And breaks ... and moulds ... and breaks the heart of man. + + "Take Thou Thy will--so it be her's?..." A hope + Shoots a faint arrow instantly--no more. + A blinding fire falls from night's glimmering slope. + Flame-like the twain meet on the rushy floor-- + And vanish. King and clansmen blindly grope + Into cool air. Across the sky two swans + Fly slowly toward the day that palely dawns. + + + + +POEMS AND LYRICS + + + + +DEATH AND LIFE + +_To the memory of Eveleen Nicolls_ + + + I + + The long, dark slope is topped with mist, + But here the sun is on the grass: + Beneath, the sea-waves break, and twist + Backward like snakes of molten glass. + + Across an ancient sand-heaped wall + The foot thro' graves forgotten goes, + And stops where old, old voices call + Thro' generations of repose. + + But where a sorrow of to-day + Has set a freshly-fashioned mound, + A bird slides down his airy way + And makes the silence ring with sound. + + + II + + What gloom might now our spirits balk + Fades out before that high reproof; + And thro' the fabric of your talk + Go light and shadow, warp and woof, + + With something deeper than the word,-- + Some stately certitude of faith + Whose eye at Life had never blurred, + Nor quivered at the eye of Death, + + But saw, in that swift, woman's way, + Thro' changings to the changeless Whole, + And Life and Death as waves that sway + Across the ocean of the Soul. + + + III + + Then when the hill was lost in mist, + And in the sea the sky was glassed, + We wandered home in amethyst; + And you upon the morrow passed + + On that last journey to the West + Whose end was in the Atlantic wave, + Where, on your youth's triumphant crest, + One stroke, another's life to save, + + With glory crowned your life complete, + Proud as the horsed and pluméd seas + That laid your body at my feet-- + A wonder past Praxiteles. + + + IV + + Oh! bear her by the weeping crest, + And past the fields of fallen ears, + On her last journey from the West, + This holy Lady Day of tears. + + But yet, tho' heads are bared and bowed, + And down the road the keeners keen, + Some spirit-music, deep and proud, + Slips out their thin, shrill cries between + + And, like the bird that other day, + That made the silence ring with sound, + It floats along the sun-set way, + A joy above our sorrow's mound. + + + V + + What grief might now our spirits balk + Fades out before that high reproof; + And thro' the hushed and wavering talk + That fills the streets from roof to roof, + + A fire from your high altar shines, + And kindles thro' our dusk of strife + A faith whose inner eye divines + That Death is minister to Life, + + And all our years a moment's dream + In one great Mind that grasps the whole, + And Life and Death but waves that gleam + Along the ocean of the Soul. + + + + +A SCHOOLBOY PLAYS CUCHULAIN + + + 'Way there! for one who hastens forth + To guard the Marches of the North, + Where Connacht's hosts with flame and brand + Hurl menace toward his native land, + And Macha's Curse on arm and will + Hangs dreadfully from hill to hill. + + 'Way there! Four valorous feet of height, + Twelve long, long years of age and fight, + He fronts without a thought of fear + Ten thousand with his wooden spear. + Soon shall he fling the charging field + Back on his puissant pasteboard shield, + And soon shall haughty Maeve bend down + A vassal to his tinsel crown. + + 'Way there! Who laughs has hardly heard + A hidden trumpet's secret word, + Or glimpsed through those poor arms he bears + The weapons that the spirit wears. + In that wild breast a thousand years + Rise up from ineffectual tears, + And kindle once again the flame + Of Freedom at a burning name. + + What if for him no flag unfurled + Should shake red battle on the world; + On other fields, in other mood, + The ancient conflict is renewed, + And Michael and his warring clan + Tramp onward through the heart of man. + At Life's loud fires he shall anneal + A subtler blade than transient steel, + When Love, invincible in Faith, + Shall smile upon the face of Death, + And Will and Heart, as one, conspire + To dare the utmost of desire. + Then shall be, with his spirit's lance, + Unhorse cold Pride and Circumstance, + Shake Wrong's old strongholds to the ground, + And Right's victorious trumpet sound, + And light Earth's ramparts with the gleam + Of Ireland's unextinguished Dream + That burned in him who hastened forth + To guard the Marches of the North, + When Macha's Curse on arm and will + Hung dreadfully from hill to hill. + + + + +HOW THE MOUNTAINS CAME TO BE + + + A bird once came and said to me, + "Hear how the mountains came to be. + An angel from his crystal sphere + Fell to the earth. A chilly fear + Shot thro' his wings from tip to tip, + For there was neither boat nor ship, + Mountain nor stream, nor maid nor man, + Far as the angel's eye could scan; + Dead flatness far as he could see + Before the mountains came to be. + He stretched his wings to fly away, + But round his feet the oozy clay + Gripped fast, and held him to the ground. + He stretched and strove until a sound + Went thro' him from he knew not where + And said, 'The only way is prayer.' + He dropped his wings and raised his eyes, + And sent his soul into the skies. + He prayed and prayed, and as he prayed + A wind among his plumage played + And bore him upward toward his sphere. + Around his feet from far and near + There came a sound that seemed to say, + 'Pray on! pray on! we too would pray. + Thy prayer has touched the sleeping Powers: + Pray on, thy prayer shall yet be ours; + We too have wings that pine for flight, + We too have eyes that long for light.' + Upward he moved, and still his eyes + Were fastened on the distant skies, + And as he rose toward heaven dim + He drew the earth up after him. + About his feet the oozy clay + Gripped fast, but could not stop or stay + His course, till on his skyey stair + He paused beyond the need for prayer, + While from the air beneath, around, + There rose a tumult of glad sound. + The angel turned the sound to seek, + And lo! his foot was on a peak + That fell away to where the world + Lay like a painted flag unfurled + And shaken out from sea to sea,-- + And thus the mountains came to be." + So said the bird, and what the masque + Of meaning hid, I meant to ask; + But off he flew before I knew-- + And yet I think the tale is true + If one could only hear aright, + And see with something more than sight. + + + + +LOVE IN ABSENCE + + + Hills crowned with age, + And solemn seas, + Are full of sage + Philosophies. + Yet, lacking thee, + I am not wise: + I need thine eyes + That I may see! + + Insect and bird + Chant prose and verse, + God's passion-stirred + Interpreters. + Howe'er I seek, + Their meaning slips: + I need thy lips + That they may speak! + + Long days that shine, + Or richly weep; + The dreamful mine + Of happy sleep, + Without thee, give + A slender part: + I need thy heart + That life may live! + + Hear then my cry, + And hasten, sweet! + The world and I + Are incomplete; + Poor with all pelf; + Bound most when freed: + Thy Self I need, + To be my Self! + + + + +TREES IN WINTER + + + Gaunt and spare, + The silly trees + Strip them bare + To winter's breeze; + + Yet when July + Sweltered red, + Dressed unduly + Heel to head! + + Who will whisper + Unto me, + Why is this + Perversity? + + Bent his head + A stately beech: + Slowly said + In gentle speech: + + "Why, O man! not + Find a moral + (Though you cannot + In the laurel,) + + "In our vigour + And our pelf, + Type and figure + Of yourself? + + "Sun-kissed amity + Conceals + What calamity + Reveals: + + "Summer glozes + Stain and scar; + Winter shows us + As we are. + + "Well if thou, + In trying hour, + Stand, or bow, + In naked power, + + "Like the spare + But sinewy trees + Standing bare + To winter's breeze!" + + + + +A SPRING CAPRICE BY A ROBIN + +_Rubato_ + + + Who, on such a day of spring, + Would be careful how he sing? + Let the overflowing heart + Get a start, + Who shall care if no one knows + How to find a perfect close + To his strain, + When the brain-- + Drunk with sun and hyacinth, + Primroses and bursting oak, + And the sower's puffs of smoke + Over fields of brown-- + Stumbling down + A melodious labyrinth, + Somehow, nohow, finds a way out, + Has his say out-- + And begins it all again, + Caring nothing how he sing + When the brain, + Wild with Spring, + Gives a start + To his mad, melodious, overflowing heart? + + _Kilcarberry, Wexford._ + + + + +A SPRING RONDEL BY A STARLING + + + I clink my castanet, + And beat my little drum; + For spring at last has come, + And on my parapet + Of chestnut, gummy-wet, + Where bees begin to hum, + I clink my castanet, + And beat my little drum. + + "Spring goes," you say, "suns set." + So be it! Why be glum? + Enough, the spring has come; + And without fear or fret + I clink my castanet, + And beat my little drum. + + + + +THE FAIRY RING + + + Enfolded in the Fairy Ring + My loved one sleeping lies, + To simple souls a dreadful thing, + For half a hundred eyes + Peep out from where among the grass + Floats up a magic lay + To call the souls of all who pass, + To fairyland away. + + But I who know her heart's desire, + Fear neither spell nor frown; + For not till fire shall stifle fire, + Or water water drown, + Or love hate love, can any harm + In kindred hearts abide. + Oh! she can combat charm with charm, + My elfin-hearted bride! + + And ye, whose minds are set to win + Fame's leaf or fortune's prize! + Beware the spell that lurks within + The circle of her eyes; + For she has power to blow like straws + Earth's baubles from the hand, + And call the souls of all who pause, + Away to fairyland. + + + + +"LABORARE EST ORARE," + +A RONDEAU OF FIELD-LABOURERS + + + "To labour is to pray." We heave + The heavy clay; we dig and cleave; + And knees and hands deep in the sod, + Search out and shape the Will of God + Creation's purpose to achieve. + + Slant showers may wound, sharp winds bereave-- + We lift no soiled and suppliant sleeve: + (Sure God and Mary bless the rod:) + To labour is to pray. + + And so we are content to leave + Prayers for long-headed folk to weave. + We work His Will in ear and pod; + And when His harvest-eyes applaud, + We know--what others but believe-- + To labour is to pray. + + _Ballymore, Donegal._ + + + + +PARAPHRASES AND +INTERPRETATIONS + + + + +DAEDALUS AND ICARUS + +_The Builder of the Cretan Labyrinth and his Son_ + + + Quote Daedalus to Icarus: + "With rule and plumbline,--thus, and--thus, + We space and build our labyrinth, + And build, besides, a graven plinth + To bear the future fame of Us," + Quote Daedalus to Icarus. + + Quoth Icarus to Daedalus: + "Before these Cretans make a fuss, + And set our names up with a shout, + Perhaps we'd better first get out, + And show the master-mind of Us," + Quoth Icarus to Daedalus. + + Then round and round went Daedalus, + And out and in went Icarus. + They parted for an hour's whole space.... + They met upon the selfsame place! + "I think we're stuck," quoth Icarus, + "I think we are," quoth Daedalus. + + In short, to be perspicuous, + Like this old tale of Daedalus; + 'Spite of our mouths with freedom filled, + From life's poor trivial things we build + A maze about the feet of us + That shuts us in like Daedalus. + + But Daedalus and Icarus + Made wings, and set them--thus, and--thus; + And that blind maze that hemmed them in + They sloughed, as drops the snake its skin: + And so at last shall all of us, + Like Daedalus and Icarus. + + + + +A PARAPHRASE + +_From the Prose of Jeremy Taylor_ + + + As the silk-worm, shut from sight, + Cuts a pathway into light; + Makes on mottled leaves repast + Till its wormy coat is cast; + Winds itself in silken weed; + Sheds the future's pearly seed; + Leaves behind its dower of silk, + And with wings as white as milk + Spread for flight, completes its span; + So evolves the soul of man. + + + + +HOSPITALITY + +_From the Irish, Seventh to Tenth Century_ + + + O king of stars that watch the night! + Whether my house be dark or bright, + Its door to none shall barréd be, + Lest Christ should close his house to me. + + And if thy house shall hold a guest, + And aught from him thou hast suppressed, + Not all to him the wrong is done: + Thou hast concealed from Mary's Son. + + + + +THE STUDENT + +_From the Irish, Seventh to Tenth Century_ + + + High on my hedge of bush and tree + A blackbird sings his song to me, + And far above my linéd book + I hear the voice of wren and rook. + + From the bush-top, in garb of grey, + The cuckoo calls the hours of day. + Right well do I--God send me good!-- + Set down my thoughts within the wood. + + + + +AT A HOLY WELL + + + He dragged his knees from flag to flag, + And prayed for health with awe-struck brow, + Then hung his ill's discarded rag + On the o'erhanging hawthorn bough. + + And in the adoring hush that fell, + I, from the form set inly free, + Knelt at my heart's most holy well + And worshipped mine own mystery. + + _Templemanaghan, Kerry._ + + + + +THE PRIEST'S LAKE + + + Beneath the bridge, with noisy rout, + The Atlantic fills the quiet lake ... + A pause ... a turn ... then with a shout + Seaward the brimming waters break. + + "Open thy gates," the Spirit saith, + "O Soul! My wave thy shore shall sweep, + Then back across the pause of death + Draw thee with shoutings to the deep!" + + _Ardbear, Connemara._ + + + + +SONNETS + + + + +A PAPER-SELLER + + + Clearly, and iterant as a swinging bell, + I heard across the surges of the Strand + A woman's voice, and saw a woman's hand + With "Votes for Women." A sudden vision fell + Across my path, and made my pulses swell + With agony of joy: I seemed to stand + At some far hill, from whence was faintly fanned + A whisper, "He descended into Hell." + + Sister! with foot in gutter, foot on kerb, + Tasting humiliations's bitter herb + In thy great calm of self laid wholly down! + Thine are the thorns of Christly souls who bend + To lift the world; and thou too shalt ascend + To thine own Heaven and everlasting crown! + + _Strand, London._ + + + + +TO ONE IN PRISON + + + Dear! on Love's altar thou hast laid thee down, + Priestess and Victim of such Sacrifice + As might melt praise from very hearts of ice, + But wins the scoff of sycophant and clown. + Yet in that band, whose glory is the frown + Of sceptred tyranny and stained device, + Thou hast a place; and thee it shall suffice + To tread with them the path to high renown. + + And I--even I, unworthy though I be-- + For these my wounds of utter loneliness, + Tired head and sleepless eyes, some part would claim + In the deep rubric of thy mystery; + So may I, in proud years that rise to bless, + Stand in the shadow of thine honoured name. + + _Nov. 23--Dec. 23, 1910._ + + + + +A HOME-COMING + + + What flags are these?... what trumpets?... Oh! what drums? + What pride august?... what solemn minstrelsy? + Hush! drums, ecstatic drums: say who is she + That in the midst majestically comes. + Is she some queen whose haughty eye benumbs + Proud potentates; whose word can lift the sea + Of shattering war, and fling red misery + Across the world?... Speak, drums! Oh! aching drums! + + Hush! hush! wild drums, drums in my happy heart! + Not thus she comes, my life's exalted queen, + But in sweet silence far outlauding praise. + Her's not the flaming sword that puts apart, + But Right's resistless blade, whose stroke unseen + Wounds but to heal, and crown with Freedom's bays! + + + + +LOVE, THE DESTROYER + + + Come from behind those eyes, that I may see + Thyself, beloved! not lip, or hand, or brain. + These are not thou. These are the servile train + That crowd me from thine inmost mystery. + Show me thy naked soul!... or it may be + That, lacking this, I shall, in Love's mad strain, + Shatter the form, and sift it grain by grain + To find thine utter Self--thee--very Thee!... + + Ah! Love, forgive!... Be this my penitence + That in my passion I have glimpsed the goal + Of all calamity, and surely scanned + In flood and flame, earthquake and pestilence, + Love raging forth, to find Love's inmost soul, + With bridal gifts in Ruin's awful hand! + + + + +ENVOY + + + + +_THE LOVING CUP_ + + + _I_ + + _I raise to you, O Queen, this Loving Cup, this Mether, + Filled with Mead + Made from honey of the heather, + Brought by many a humming wing, + And with water from the spring; + Mixed by cunning hands together + In a foamy ferment + Thou would lead + Sullen tongues to song, + If along + Harpstrings now a rousing air went._ + + + _II_ + + _But in this our souls' espousal + Axe nor skeen + Throb and bleed + For the spear-clash of carousal, + Spoils of slaughter + Ravening: + No, for peace has mixed our mether, + With its Mead, + O my Queen, + Made from honey of the heather, + And with water + From the spring._ + + + _III_ + + _Ah! but what avail + Song and ale, + If beneath our quaffing + Moves not something deeper than our laughing?_ + + + _IV_ + + _So to you, O Queen, + Here with hands unseen + I raise my Heart's deep Mether, + Where together, + Sweetness brought on Fancy's wing + From the flowers + Of happy hours, + And a draught from Thought's cool spring, + Blend in song's melodious ferment, + With an undertone + Caught in deeper hours alone, + When along Life's solemn harp the Spirit's air went._ + + + + +NOTES + + +_Etain the Beloved_:--This poem is founded on an ancient Irish myth. It +is not a translation from the Gaelic; but rather is an attempt at +transfiguration, by seeking to "unfold into light" the spiritual vision +that was the inspiration, and is the secret of the persistence and +resilience, of the Celt. Such modifications as I have made in the story +have neither archćological nor philological significance: they arise +entirely from whatever measure of insight into artistic necessity, on +the side of pure literature, has been granted to me; and also from +obedience to a view of the universe which is embodied in the ancient +Irish mythology, and whose operations the personages of the story body +forth as Psyche bodied forth the soul of humanity to the Greek. + +The names of the personages may be pronounced thus: Etain--Etawn', +Eochaidh--Yo'hee, Ailill--Al'yil, Mider--Mid'yir. + +Dagda is the Irish God of Day, Balor the Irish God of Night. + +A dun is a fortified dwelling, a liss is a place for domestic animals. + +_Death and Life_:--On Friday, August 13, 1909, the author went by +currach from Dunquin to the Great Blasket Island, Kerry, to visit Miss +Eveleen Nicolls, M.A., who was spending a holiday on the island. Instead +of joining her, as was intended, in music and conversation amongst the +islanders, he had to participate in an endeavour, alas! unsuccessful, to +restore her to life. She had been bathing with a fisher-girl. The latter +got into difficulties in the strong Atlantic current, and an effort by +Miss Nicolls to save the girl ended in the heroic sacrifice of her own +life. + +_A Schoolboy plays Cuchulain_:--Cuchulain, the supreme hero of Celtic +romance, who, single-handed, defended his province against the army of +Queen Maeve. Maeve had chosen for a foray the time when the Ulster +chiefs lay in weakness under a curse by the warrior Goddess, Macha. + +_Hospitality_: _The Student_:--Put into verse from the literal +translations of Kuno Meyer in "Ancient Irish Poetry." + +_To One in Prison_: _A Home-coming_:--Occasioned by the imprisonment of +the author's wife for taking part in the active movement for the +political enfranchisement of women. + + + + +_BOOKS BY JAMES H. COUSINS_ + + + THE QUEST. Cr. 8vo. Cloth, 2s. 6d. net; paper-cover, 1s. net. + + "Rarely is it the fortune of the reviewer to meet with verse of such + distinction."--_New Ireland Review._ + + "An imagination filled with haunting and refreshing images."--_Black + and White._ + + "His extraordinary imaginative powers, his skill in painting + word-pictures, and the glamour which he throws over all, are + marvellous."--_Irish Independent._ + + + THE AWAKENING. Royal 16mo. Cloth, gilt, 1s. net; paper, 6d. net. With + decorative borders and cover designed by T. SCOTT. + + "Unique mastery of the sonnet."--_Irish News._ + + "Ripe thought fitly expressed. A new pleasure on each + page."--_Glasgow Herald._ + + + THE BELL-BRANCH. Foolscap 8vo. Boards, Irish linen back, 1s. net. + + "Artistically Mr. Cousins can only be put below the two leaders of + his movement; he has the calm intensity, the subtle strangeness of + simplicity, which seem to be as easy as breathing to an Irish + poet."--_The Nation._ + + "Mr. Cousins has gradually perfected a method of self-expression, + and his verse, exquisitely fashioned, delights with its individual + note."--_Northern Whig._ + + "Many an English poet would willingly sacrifice a page or two of his + consummate verse if he might but catch the charm of such a lullaby + as this."--_The Times._ + + +MAUNSEL AND COMPANY, LIMITED, 96 MIDDLE ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN. + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES: + + + Text in italics is surrounded with underscores: _italics_. + + Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Etain the Beloved and Other Poems, by +James Henry Cousins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ETAIN THE BELOVED AND OTHER POEMS *** + +***** This file should be named 38135-8.txt or 38135-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/3/8/1/3/38135/ + +Produced by David E. 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