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+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Mountainy Singer, by Seosamh MacCathmhaoil
+
+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: The Mountainy Singer
+
+Author: Seosamh MacCathmhaoil
+
+Release Date: February 18, 2012 [EBook #38927]
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAINY SINGER ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by Jana Srna
+
+
+
+
+
+  [ Transcriber's Notes:
+
+    Every effort has been made to replicate this text as faithfully
+    as possible, including any inconsistencies in the original.
+
+    Italic text has been marked with _underscores_.
+  ]
+
+
+
+
+THE MOUNTAINY SINGER
+
+
+
+
+  BY THE SAME AUTHOR:
+
+  THE GARDEN OF THE BEES
+  THE RUSHLIGHT
+  THE MAN-CHILD
+  THE GILLY OF CHRIST
+
+
+
+
+  THE MOUNTAINY SINGER
+
+  BY SEOSAMH MacCATHMHAOIL
+
+
+  MAUNSEL AND COMPANY, LTD.
+  96 MID. ABBEY STREET, DUBLIN
+  1909
+
+  All Rights Reserved
+
+
+
+
+  Dedit pauperibus.
+          Lib. Psalm.
+
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+                                           PAGE
+
+  I am the Mountainy Singer                   1
+
+  When Rooks Fly Homeward                     2
+
+  I Spin my Golden Web                        2
+
+  Cherry Valley                               3
+
+  Darkness                                    3
+
+  My Fidil is Singing                         4
+
+  The Goat Dealer                             4
+
+  Why Crush the Claret Rose                   5
+
+  Lament of Padraic Mor Mac Cruimin           6
+
+  To a Town Girl                              8
+
+  A March Moon                                8
+
+  A Thousand Feet Up                          9
+
+  The Dark                                    9
+
+  Reynardine                                 11
+
+  Snow                                       11
+
+  I am the Gilly of Christ                   12
+
+  Go, Ploughman, Plough                      13
+
+  Go, Reaper                                 14
+
+  The Good People                            14
+
+  The Storm is Still, the Rain hath Ceased   15
+
+  Scare-the-Crows                            16
+
+  A Cradle Song                              17
+
+  Twine the Mazes Thro' and Thro'            18
+
+  The Fighting-Man                           19
+
+  My Mother has a Wee Red Shoe               20
+
+  By a Wondrous Mystery                      21
+
+  I Gather Three Ears of Corn                22
+
+  The Tinkers                                23
+
+  As I Came over the Grey, Grey Hills        24
+
+  A Northern Love-Song                       24
+
+  To the Golden Eagle                        25
+
+  A Prophecy                                 26
+
+  I Met a Walking-Man                        27
+
+  The Ninepenny Fidil                        28
+
+  Grasslands are Fair                        29
+
+  Winter Song                                30
+
+  I Follow a Star                            30
+
+  The Silence of Unlaboured Fields           31
+
+  The Beggar's Wake                          32
+
+  The Besom-Man                              36
+
+  Every Shuiler is Christ                    38
+
+  I Wish and I Wish                          39
+
+  I am the Man-Child                         40
+
+  Fragment                                   41
+
+  At the Whitening of the Dawn               42
+
+  Who are My Friends                         43
+
+  O Glorious Childbearer                     44
+
+  Coronach                                   44
+
+  Twilight Fallen                            45
+
+  The Dawn Whiteness                         45
+
+  The Dwarf                                  46
+
+  I See all Love in Lowly Things             47
+
+  'Tis Pretty tae be in Baile-Liosan         48
+
+  Ciaran, the Master of Horses and Lands     49
+
+  Deep Ways and Dripping Boughs              50
+
+  Night, and I Travelling                    50
+
+  Night-Piece                                51
+
+  At Morning Tide                            51
+
+  The May-Fire                               52
+
+  I Love the Din of Beating Drums            54
+
+  Three Colts Exercising in a Six-acre       54
+
+  The Natural                                55
+
+  On the Top-Stone                           55
+
+  The Women at their Doors                   56
+
+  My Little Dark Love                        57
+
+  I Heard a Piper Piping                     58
+
+  The Clouds go By and By                    58
+
+  Davy Daw                                   59
+
+  Black Sile of the Silver Eye               62
+
+  A Sheep-Dog Barks on the Mountain          63
+
+  Dead Oakleaves Everywhere                  64
+
+  A Night Prayer                             64
+
+  I am the Mountainy Singer                  65
+
+  The Rainbow Spanning a Planet Shower       66
+
+  I will Go with My Father A-Ploughing       67
+
+  The Shining Spaces of the South            68
+
+  Like a Tuft of Ceanabhan                   68
+
+  The Herb-Leech                             69
+
+  Who Buys Land                              70
+
+  The Poet Loosed a Wingèd Song              71
+
+  Sic Transit                                72
+
+
+This book is made up of a selection from the Author's early books, with
+many new poems added.
+
+
+
+
+A LINE'S A SPEECH
+
+
+  A line's a speech;
+  So here's a line
+  To say this pedlar's pack
+  Of mine
+  Is not a book--
+  But a journey thro'
+  Mountainy places,
+  Ever in view
+  Of the sea and the fields,
+  With the rough wind
+  Blowing over the leagues
+  Behind!
+
+
+
+
+I AM THE MOUNTAINY SINGER
+
+
+  I am the mountainy singer--
+  The voice of the peasant's dream,
+  The cry of the wind on the wooded hill,
+  The leap of the fish in the stream.
+
+  Quiet and love I sing--
+  The carn on the mountain crest,
+  The cailin in her lover's arms,
+  The child at its mother's breast.
+
+  Beauty and peace I sing--
+  The fire on the open hearth,
+  The cailleach spinning at her wheel,
+  The plough in the broken earth.
+
+  Travail and pain I sing--
+  The bride on the childing bed,
+  The dark man labouring at his rhymes,
+  The ewe in the lambing shed.
+
+  Sorrow and death I sing--
+  The canker come on the corn,
+  The fisher lost in the mountain loch,
+  The cry at the mouth of morn.
+
+  No other life I sing,
+  For I am sprung of the stock
+  That broke the hilly land for bread,
+  And built the nest in the rock!
+
+
+
+
+WHEN ROOKS FLY HOMEWARD
+
+
+  When rooks fly homeward
+  And shadows fall,
+  When roses fold
+  On the hay-yard wall,
+  When blind moths flutter
+  By door and tree,
+        Then comes the quiet
+        Of Christ to me.
+
+  When stars look out
+  On the Children's Path
+  And grey mists gather
+  On carn and rath,
+  When night is one
+  With the brooding sea,
+        Then comes the quiet
+        Of Christ to me.
+
+
+
+
+I SPIN MY GOLDEN WEB
+
+
+  I spin my golden web in the sun:
+  The cherries tremble, the light is done.
+
+  A sudden wind sweeps over the bay,
+  And carries my golden web away!
+
+
+
+
+CHERRY VALLEY
+
+
+  In Cherry Valley the cherries blow:
+  The valley paths are white as snow.
+
+  And in their time with clusters red
+  The scented boughs are crimsonèd.
+
+  Even now the moon is looking thro'
+  The glimmer of the honey dew.
+
+  A petal trembles to the grass,
+  The feet of fairies pass and pass.
+
+  By _them_, I know, all beauty comes
+  To me, a habitan of slums.
+
+  I sing no rune, I say no line:
+  The gift of second sight is mine!
+
+
+
+
+DARKNESS
+
+
+  Darkness.
+  I stop to watch a star shine in the boghole----
+  A star no longer, but a silver ribbon of light.
+  I look at it, and pass on.
+
+
+
+
+MY FIDIL IS SINGING
+
+
+  My fidil is singing
+  Into the air;
+  The wind is stirring,
+  The moon is fair.
+
+  A shadow wanders
+  Along the road;
+  It stops to listen,
+  And drops its load.
+
+  Dreams for a space
+  Upon the moon,
+  Then passes, humming
+  My mountain tune.
+
+
+
+
+THE GOAT-DEALER
+
+
+  Did you see the goat-dealer
+  All in his jacket green?
+  I met him on the rocky road
+  'Twixt this and Baile-doirin.
+
+  A hundred nannies ran before,
+  And a she-ass behind,
+  And then the old wanderer himself,
+  Burnt red with sun and wind.
+
+  He gave me the time-a-day
+  And doitered over the hill,
+  Walloping his gay ashplant
+  And shouting his fill.
+
+  I think I hear him yet,
+  Tho' it's a giant's cry
+  From where I hailed him first,
+  Standing up to the sky.
+
+  Is that Puck Green I see beyond?
+  It is, and the stir is there.
+  By the holy hat, I know then--
+  He's making for Puck Fair!
+
+
+
+
+WHY CRUSH THE CLARET ROSE
+
+
+  Why crush the claret rose
+  That blows
+  So rarely on the tree?
+  Wherefore the enmity, dear girl,
+  Betwixt the rose and thee?
+  Art thou not fair enough
+  With that dark beauty given thee,
+  That thou must crush the rose
+  That blows
+  So rarely on the tree!
+
+
+
+
+LAMENT OF PADRAIC MOR MAC CRUIMIN OVER HIS SONS
+
+
+  I am Padraic Mor mac Cruimin,
+  Son of Domhnall of the Shroud,
+  Piper, like my kind before me,
+  To the household of MacLeod.
+
+  Death is in the seed of Cruimin--
+  All my music is a wail;
+  Early graves await the poets
+  And the pipers of the Gael.
+
+  Samhain gleans the golden harvests
+  Duly in their tide and time,
+  But my body's fruit is blasted
+  Barely past the Bealtein prime.
+
+  Cethlenn claims the fairest fighters
+  Fitly for her own, her own,
+  But my seven sons are stricken
+  Where no battle-pipe is blown.
+
+  Flowers of the forest fallen
+  On the sliding summer stream--
+  Light and life and love are with me,
+  Then are vanished into dream.
+
+  Berried branches of the rowan
+  Rifled in the wizard wind--
+  Clan and generation leave me,
+  Lonely on the heath behind.
+
+  Who will soothe a father's sorrow
+  When his seven sons are gone?
+  Who will watch him in his sleeping?
+  Who will wake him at the dawn?
+
+  Seven sons are taken from me
+  In the compass of a year;
+  Every bone is bose within me,
+  All my blood is white with fear.
+
+  Seven youths of brawn and beauty
+  Moulder in their mountain bed,
+  Up in storied Inis-Scathach
+  Where their fathers reaped their bread.
+
+  Nevermore upon the mountain,
+  Nevermore in fair or field,
+  Shall ye see the seven champions
+  Of the silver-mantled shield.
+
+  I will play the "_Cumhadh na Cloinne_"
+  Wildest of the rowth of tunes
+  Gathered by the love of mortal
+  From the olden druid runes.
+
+  Wail ye! Night is on the water;
+  Wind and wave are roaring loud--
+  _Caoine_ for the fallen children
+  Of the piper of MacLeod.
+
+
+
+
+TO A TOWN GIRL
+
+
+  Violet mystery,
+  Ringleted gold,
+  Whiteness of whiteness,
+  Wherefore so cold?
+
+  Silent you sit there--
+  Spirit and mould--
+  Darkening the dream
+  That must never be told!
+
+
+
+
+A MARCH MOON
+
+
+  A March moon
+  Over the mountain crest,
+  _Ceanabhan_ blowing:
+  Her neck and breast.
+
+  Arbutus berries
+  On the tree head:
+  Her mouth of passion,
+  Dewy and red.
+
+  Cold as cold
+  And hot as hot,
+  She loves me . . . .
+  And she loves me not!
+
+
+
+
+A THOUSAND FEET UP
+
+
+  A thousand feet up: twilight.
+  Westwards, a clump of firtrees silhouetted against a bank of blue
+    cumulus cloud;
+  The June afterglow like a sea behind.
+  The mountain trail, white and clear where human feet have worn it,
+    zigzagging higher and higher till it loses itself in the southern
+    skyline.
+  A patch of young corn to my right hand, swaying and swaying
+    continuously, tho' hardly an air stirs.
+  A falcon wheeling overhead.
+  The moon rising.
+  The damp smell of the night in my nostrils.
+
+  O hills, O hills,
+  To you I lift mine eyes!
+  I kneel down and kiss the grass under my feet.
+  The sense of the mystery and infinity of things overwhelms me,
+    annihilates me almost.
+  I kneel down, and silently worship.
+
+
+
+
+THE DARK
+
+
+  This is the dark.
+  This is the dream that came of the dark.
+  This is the dreamer who dreamed the dream that came of the dark.
+  This is the look the dreamer looked who dreamed the dream that came of
+    the dark.
+
+  This is the love that followed the look the dreamer looked who dreamed
+    the dream that came of the dark.
+
+  This is the breast that fired the love that followed the look the
+    dreamer looked who dreamed the dream that came of the dark.
+
+  This is the song was made to the breast that fired the love that
+    followed the look the dreamer looked who dreamed the dream that came
+    of the dark.
+
+  This is the sword that tracked the song was made to the breast that
+    fired the love that followed the look the dreamer looked who dreamed
+    the dream that came of the dark.
+
+  This is the rope that swung the sword that tracked the song was made
+    to the breast that fired the love that followed the look the dreamer
+    looked who dreamed the dream that came of the dark.
+
+  This is the dark that buried the rope that swung the sword that tracked
+    the song was made to the breast that fired the love that followed the
+    look the dreamer looked who dreamed the dream that came of the dark.
+
+  This is the dark, indeed!
+
+
+
+
+REYNARDINE
+
+
+  _If by chance you look for me_
+  _Perhaps you'll not me find,_
+  _For I'll be in my castle--_
+  _Enquire for Reynardine!_
+
+  Sun and dark he courted me--
+  His eyes were red as wine:
+  He took me for his leman,
+  Did my sweet Reynardine.
+
+  Sun and dark the gay horn blows,
+  The beagles run like wind:
+  They know not where he harbours,
+  The fairy Reynardine.
+
+  _If by chance you look for me_
+  _Perhaps you'll not me find,_
+  _For I'll be in my castle--_
+  _Enquire for Reynardine!_
+
+
+
+
+SNOW
+
+
+  Hills that were dark
+  At sparing-time last night
+  Now in the dawn-ring
+  Glimmer cold and white.
+
+
+
+
+I AM THE GILLY OF CHRIST
+
+
+  I am the gilly of Christ,
+  The mate of Mary's Son;
+  I run the roads at seeding time,
+  And when the harvest's done.
+
+  I sleep among the hills,
+  The heather is my bed;
+  I dip the termon-well for drink,
+  And pull the sloe for bread.
+
+  No eye has ever seen me,
+  But shepherds hear me pass,
+  Singing at fall of even
+  Along the shadowed grass.
+
+  The beetle is my bellman,
+  The meadow-fire my guide,
+  The bee and bat my ambling nags
+  When I have need to ride.
+
+  All know me only the Stranger,
+  Who sits on the Saxon's height;
+  He burned the bacach's little house
+  On last Saint Brigid's Night.
+
+  He sups off silver dishes,
+  And drinks in a golden horn,
+  But he will wake a wiser man
+  Upon the Judgment Morn!
+
+  I am the gilly of Christ,
+  The mate of Mary's Son;
+  I run the roads at seeding time,
+  And when the harvest's done.
+
+  The seed I sow is lucky,
+  The corn I reap is red,
+  And whoso sings the Gilly's Rann
+  Will never cry for bread.
+
+
+
+
+GO, PLOUGHMAN, PLOUGH
+
+
+  Go, ploughman, plough
+  The mearing lands,
+  The meadow lands,
+  The mountain lands:
+  All life is bare
+  Beneath your share,
+  All love is in your lusty hands.
+
+  Up, horses, now!
+  And straight and true
+  Let every broken furrow run:
+  The strength you sweat
+  Shall blossom yet
+  In golden glory to the sun.
+
+
+
+
+GO, REAPER
+
+
+  Go, reaper,
+  Speed and reap,
+  Go take the harvest
+  Of the plough:
+  The wheat is standing
+  Broad and deep,
+  The barley glumes
+  Are golden now.
+
+  Labour is hard,
+  But it endures
+  Like love:
+  The land is yours:
+  Go reap the life
+  It gives you now,
+  O sunbrowned master
+  Of the plough!
+
+
+
+
+THE GOOD PEOPLE
+
+
+  The millway path looks like a wraith,
+  The lock is black as ink,
+  And silently in stream and sky
+  The stars begin to blink.
+
+  I see them pass along the grass
+  With slow and solemn tread:
+  Aoibheall, their queen, is in between--
+  A corpse is at their head!
+
+  They wander on with faces wan,
+  And dirges sad as wind.
+  I know not, but it may be that
+  The dead's of human kind.
+
+
+
+
+THE STORM IS STILL, THE RAIN HATH CEASED
+
+
+  The storm is still, the rain hath ceased
+  To vex the beauty of the east:
+  A linnet singeth in the wood
+  His hermit song of gratitude.
+
+  So shall I sing when life is done
+  To greet the glory of the sun;
+  And cloud and star and stream and sea
+  Shall dance for very ecstasy!
+
+
+
+
+SCARE-THE-CROWS
+
+
+  Twopence a day for scaring crows--
+  Tho' the rain beats and the wind blows!
+
+  The scholars think I've little wit,
+  But, God! I've got my share of it.
+
+  Why does the gorbing land-shark
+  Leave ploughed rigs for the green park?
+
+  Where little's to find, and nothing's to eat
+  But rabbits' droppings and pheasants' meat.
+
+  He knows better than come my way
+  Between the mouth and the tail of day.
+
+  For one lick of my hurding wattle
+  Would lay him out like a showman's bottle!
+
+  And the thoughts that rise in my crazed head
+  When the cloud is low and the wind's dead.
+
+  Where you see only clay and stones
+  I see swords and blanching bones. . . .
+
+  But I'll leave you now--it's gone six,
+  And the smoke is curling over the ricks.
+
+  And it's hardly like that the land-shark
+  Will trouble the furrows after dark.
+
+
+
+
+A CRADLE-SONG
+
+
+  Sleep, white love, sleep,
+  A cedarn cradle holds thee,
+  And twilight, like a silver-woven coverlid,
+  Enfolds thee.
+  Moon and star keep charmèd watch
+  Upon thy lying;
+  Water plovers thro' the dusk
+  Are tremulously crying.
+        Sleep, white love mine,
+        Till day doth shine.
+
+  Sleep, white love, sleep,
+  The daylight wanes, and deeper
+  Gathers the blue darkness
+  O'er the cradle of the sleeper.
+  Cliodhna's curachs, carmine-oared,
+  On Loch-da-linn are gleaming;
+  Blind bats flutter thro' the night,
+  And carrion birds are screaming.
+        Sleep, white love mine,
+        Till day doth shine.
+
+  Sleep, white love, sleep,
+  The holy mothers, Anne and Mary,
+  Sit high in heaven, dreaming
+  On the seven ends of Eire.
+  Brigid sits beside them,
+  Spinning lamb-white wool on whorls,
+  Singing fragrant songs of love
+  To little naked boys and girls.
+        Sleep, white love mine,
+        Till day doth shine.
+
+
+
+
+TWINE THE MAZES THRO' AND THRO'
+
+
+  Twine the mazes thro' and thro'
+  Over beach and margent pale;
+  Not a bawn appears in view,
+  Not a sail!
+
+  Round about!
+  In and out!
+  Thro' the stones and sandy bars
+  To the music of the stars!
+  The asteroidal fire that dances
+  Nightly in the northern blue,
+  The brightest of the boreal lances,
+  Dances not so light as you,
+        Cliodhna!
+  Dances not so light as you.
+
+
+
+
+THE FIGHTING-MAN
+
+
+  A fighting-man he was,
+  Guts and soul;
+  His blood as hot and red
+  As that on Cain's hand-towel.
+
+  A copper-skinned six-footer,
+  Hewn out of the rock.
+  Who would stand up against
+  His hammer-knock?
+
+  Not a sinner--
+  No, and not one dared!
+  Giants showed clean heels
+  When his arm was bared.
+
+  I've seen him swing an anvil
+  Fifty feet,
+  Break a bough in two,
+  And tear a twisted sheet.
+
+  And the music of his roar--
+  Like oaks in thunder cleaving;
+  Lips foaming red froth,
+  And flanks heaving.
+
+  God! a goodly man,
+  A Gael, the last
+  Of those that stood with Dan
+  On Mullach-Maist!
+
+
+
+
+MY MOTHER HAS A WEE RED SHOE
+
+
+  My mother has a wee red shoe--
+  She bought it off a bacach-man;
+  And all the neighbours say it's true
+  He stole it off a Leath-brogan.
+        Bacach-man, bacach-man,
+        Where did you get it?
+        Faith now, says he,
+        In my leather wallet!
+
+  My father has an arrow-head--
+  He begged it off poor Peig na Blath;
+  And Mor, the talking-woman, said
+  She found it in a fairy rath.
+        Peig na Blath, Peig na Blath,
+        Where did you get it?
+        Faith now, says she,
+        In my wincey jacket!
+
+  My brother has a copper pot--
+  He tryst' it wi' a shuiler-man;
+  And gossip says it's like as not
+  He truff'd it from a Clobhair-ceann.
+        Shuiler-man, shuiler-man,
+        Where did you get it?
+        Faith now, says he,
+        In my breeches' pocket!
+
+
+
+
+BY A WONDROUS MYSTERY
+
+
+  By a wondrous mystery
+  Christ of Mary's fair body
+  Upon a middle winter's morn,
+  Between the tides of night and day,
+  In Ara's holy isle was born.
+  Mary went upon her knee
+  Travailing in ecstasy,
+  And Brigid, mistress of the birth,
+  Full reverently and tenderly
+  Laid the child upon the earth.
+  Then the dark-eyed rose did blow,
+  And rivers leaped from out the snow.
+  Earth grew lyrical: the grass,
+  As the light winds chanced to pass--
+  Than magian music more profound--
+  Murmured in a maze of sound.
+  White incense rose upon the hills
+  As from a thousand thuribles,
+  And in the east a seven-rayed star
+  Proclaimed the news to near and far.
+  The shepherd danced, the gilly ran,
+  The boatman left his curachan;
+  The king came riding on the wind
+  To offer gifts of coin and kind;
+  The druid dropped his ogham wand,
+  And said, "Another day's at hand,
+  A newer dawn is in the sky:
+  I put my withered sapling by.
+  The druid Christ has taken breath
+  To sing the runes of life and death."
+
+
+
+
+I GATHER THREE EARS OF CORN
+
+
+  I gather three ears of corn,
+  And the Black Earl from over the sea
+  Sails across in his silver ships,
+  And takes two out of the three.
+
+  I might build a house on the hill
+  And a barn of the speckly stone,
+  And tell my little stocking of gold,
+  If the Earl would let me alone.
+
+  But he has no thought for me--
+  Only the thought of his share,
+  And the softness of the linsey shifts
+  His lazy daughters wear.
+
+  There is a God in heaven,
+  And angels, score on score,
+  Who will not see my hearthstone cold
+  Because I'm crazed and poor.
+
+  My childer have my blood,
+  And when they get their beards
+  They will not be content to run
+  As gillies to their herds!
+
+  The day will come, maybe,
+  When we can have our own,
+  And the Black Earl will come to us
+  Begging the bacach's bone!
+
+
+
+
+THE TINKERS
+
+
+  "One _ciarog_ knows another _ciarog_,
+  And why shouldn't I know you, you rogue?"
+  "They say a stroller will never pair
+  Except with one of his kind and care . . ."
+  So talked two tinkers prone in the shough--
+  And then, as the fun got a trifle rough,
+  They flitted: he with his corn-straw bass,
+  She with her load of tin and brass:
+  As mad a match as you would see
+  In a twelvemonth's ride thro' Christendie.
+  He roared--they both were drunk as hell:
+  She danced, and danced it mighty well!
+  I could have eyed them longer, but
+  They staggered for the Quarry Cut:
+  That half-perch seemed to trouble them more
+  Than all the leagues they'd tramped before.
+  Some'll drink at the fair the morrow,
+  And some'll sup with the spoon of sorrow;
+  But whether _they_'ll get as far as Droichid
+  The night--well, who knows that but God?
+
+
+
+
+AS I CAME OVER THE GREY, GREY HILLS
+
+
+  As I came over the grey, grey hills
+  And over the grey, grey water,
+  I saw the gilly leading on,
+  And the white Christ following after.
+
+  Where and where does the gilly lead?
+  And where is the white Christ faring?
+  They've travelled the four grey sounds of Orc,
+  And the four grey seas of Eirinn.
+
+  The moon it set and the wind's away,
+  And the song in the grass is dying,
+  And a silver cloud on the silent sea
+  Like a shrouding sheet is lying.
+
+  But Christ and the gilly will follow on
+  Till the ring in the east is showing,
+  And the awny corn is red on the hills,
+  And the golden light is glowing!
+
+
+
+
+A NORTHERN LOVE-SONG
+
+
+  Brigidin Ban of the lint-white locks,
+  What was it gave you that flaxen hair,
+  Long as the summer heath in the rocks?
+  What was it gave you those eyes of fire,
+  Lip so waxen and cheek so wan?
+  Tell me, tell me, Brigidin Ban,
+  Little white bride of my heart's desire.
+
+  Was it the Good People stole you away,
+  Little white changeling, Brigidin Ban?
+  Carried you off in the ring of the dawn,
+  Laid like a queen on her purple car,
+  Carried you back 'twixt the night and the day;
+  Gave you that fortune of flaxen hair,
+  Gave you those eyes of wandering fire,
+  Lit at the wheel of the southern star;
+  Gave you that look so far away,
+  Lip so waxen and cheek so wan?
+  Tell me, tell me, Brigidin Ban,
+  Little white bride of my heart's desire.
+
+
+
+
+TO THE GOLDEN EAGLE
+
+
+  Wanderer of the mountain,
+  Winger of the blue,
+  From this stormy rock
+  I send my love to you.
+
+  Take me for your lover,
+  Dark and fierce and true--
+  Wanderer of the mountain,
+  Winger of the blue!
+
+
+
+
+A PROPHECY
+
+
+  "The loins of the Galldacht
+   Shall wither like grass"--
+   Strange words I heard said
+   At the Fair of Dun-eas.
+
+  "A bard shall be born
+   Of the seed of the folk,
+   To break with his singing
+   The bond and the yoke.
+
+  "A sword, white as ashes,
+   Shall fall from the sky,
+   To rise, red as blood,
+   On the charge and the cry.
+
+  "Stark pipers shall blow,
+   Stout drummers shall beat,
+   And the shout of the north
+   Shall be heard in the street.
+
+  "The strong shall go down,
+   And the weak shall prevail,
+   And a glory shall sit
+   On the sign of the Gaodhal.
+
+  "Then Emer shall come
+   In good time by her own,
+   And a man of the people
+   Shall speak from the throne."
+
+   Strange words I heard said
+   At the Fair of Dun-eas--
+  "The Gaodhaldacht shall live,
+   The Galldacht shall pass!"
+
+
+
+
+I MET A WALKING-MAN
+
+
+  I met a walking-man;
+  His head was old and grey.
+  I gave him what I had
+  To crutch him on his way.
+  The man was Mary's Son, I'll swear;
+  A glory trembled in his hair!
+
+  And since that blessed day
+  I've never known the pinch:
+  I plough a broad townland,
+  And dig a river-inch;
+  And on my hearth the fire is bright
+  For all that walk by day or night.
+
+
+
+
+THE NINEPENNY FIDIL
+
+
+  My father and mother were Irish,
+  And I am Irish, too;
+  I bought a wee fidil for ninepence,
+  And it is Irish, too.
+  I'm up in the morning early
+  To meet the dawn of day,
+  And to the lintwhite's piping
+  The many's the tune I play.
+
+  One pleasant eve in June time
+  I met a lochrie-man:
+  His face and hands were weazen,
+  His height was not a span.
+  He boor'd me for my fidil--
+  "You know," says he, "like you,
+  My father and mother were Irish,
+  And I am Irish, too!"
+
+  He took my wee red fidil,
+  And such a tune he turned--
+  The Glaise in it whispered,
+  The Lionan in it m'urned.
+  Says he, "My lad, you're lucky--
+  I wish t' I was like you:
+  You're lucky in your birth-star,
+  And in your fidil, too!"
+
+  He gave me back my fidil,
+  My fidil-stick, also,
+  And stepping like a mayboy,
+  He jumped the Leargaidh Knowe.
+  I never saw him after,
+  Nor met his gentle kind;
+  But, whiles, I think I hear him
+  A-wheening in the wind!
+
+  My father and mother were Irish,
+  And I am Irish, too:
+  I bought a wee fidil for ninepence,
+  And it is Irish, too.
+  I'm up in the morning early
+  To meet the dawn of day,
+  And to the lintwhite's piping
+  The many's the tune I play.
+
+
+
+
+GRASSLANDS ARE FAIR
+
+
+  Grasslands are fair,
+  Ploughlands are rare.
+  Grasslands are lonely,
+  Ploughlands are comely.
+  Grasslands breed cattle,
+  Ploughlands feed people.
+  Grasslands are not wrought,
+  Ploughlands swell with thought.
+
+
+
+
+WINTER SONG
+
+
+  'Twould skin a fairy
+  It is so airy,
+  And the snow it nips so cold:
+  Shepherd and squire
+  Sit by the fire,
+  The sheep are in the fold.
+
+  You have your wish--
+  A reeking dish,
+  And rubble walls about;
+  So pity the poor
+  That have no door
+  To keep the winter out!
+
+
+
+
+I FOLLOW A STAR
+
+
+  I follow a star
+  Burning deep in the blue,
+  A sign on the hills
+  Lit for me and for you!
+
+  Moon-red is the star,
+  Halo-ringed like a rood,
+  Christ's heart in its heart set,
+  Streaming with blood.
+
+  Follow the gilly
+  Beyond to the west:
+  He leads where the Christ lies
+  On Mary's white breast.
+
+  King, priest and prophet--
+  A child, and no more--
+  Adonai the Maker!
+  Come, let us adore.
+
+
+
+
+THE SILENCE OF UNLABOURED FIELDS
+
+
+  The silence of unlaboured fields
+  Lies like a judgment on the air:
+  A human voice is never heard:
+  The sighing grass is everywhere--
+  The sighing grass, the shadowed sky,
+  The cattle crying wearily!
+
+  Where are the lowland people gone?
+  Where are the sun-dark faces now?
+  The love that kept the quiet hearth,
+  The strength that held the speeding plough?
+  Grasslands and lowing herds are good,
+  But better human flesh and blood!
+
+
+
+
+THE BEGGAR'S WAKE
+
+
+  I watched at a beggar's wake
+  In the hills of Bearna-barr,
+  And the old men were telling stories
+  Of Troy and the Trojan war.
+
+  And a flickering fire of bog-deal
+  Burned on the open hearth,
+  And the night-wind roared in the chimney,
+  And darkness was over the earth.
+
+  And Tearlach Ban MacGiolla,
+  The piper of Gort, was there,
+  And he sat and he dreamed apart
+  In the arms of a sugan chair.
+
+  And sudden he woke from his dream
+  Like a dream-frightened child,
+  And his lips were pale and trembling,
+  And his eyes were wild.
+
+  And he stood straight up, and he cried,
+  With a wave of his withered hand,
+  "The days of the grasping stranger
+  Shall be few in the land!
+
+  "The scrip of his doom is written,
+  The thread of his shroud is spun;
+  The net of his strength is broken,
+  The tide of his life is run. . . ."
+
+  Then he sank to his seat like a stone,
+  And the watchers stared aghast,
+  And they crossed themselves for fear
+  As the coffin cart went past.
+
+  . . . . . . . .
+
+  "At the battle of Gleann-muic-duibh
+  The fate the poets foretold
+  Shall fall on the neck of the stranger,
+  And redden the plashy mould.
+
+  "The bagmen carry the story
+  The circuit of Ireland round,
+  And they sing it at fair and hurling
+  From Edair to Acaill Sound.
+
+  "And the folk repeat it over
+  About the winter fires,
+  Till the heart of each one listening
+  Is burning with fierce desires.
+
+  "In the Glen of the Bristleless Boar
+  They say the battle shall be,
+  Where Breiffne's iron mountains
+  Look on the Western sea.
+
+  "In the Glen of the Pig of Diarmad,
+  On Gulban's hither side,
+  The battle shall be broken
+  About the Samhain tide.
+
+  "Forth from the ancient hills,
+  With war-cries strident and loud,
+  The people shall march at daybreak,
+  Massed in a clamorous crowd.
+
+  "War-pipes shall scream and cry,
+  And battle-banners shall wave,
+  And every stone on Gulban
+  Shall mark a hero's grave.
+
+  "The horses shall wade to their houghs
+  In rivers of smoking blood,
+  Charging thro' heaps of corpses
+  Scattered in whinny and wood.
+
+  "The girths shall rot from their bellies
+  After the battle is done,
+  For lack of a hand to undo them
+  And hide them out of the sun.
+
+  "It shall not be the battle
+  Between the folk and the Sidhe
+  At the rape of a bride from her bed
+  Or a babe from its mother's knee.
+
+  "It shall not be the battle
+  Between the white hosts flying
+  And the shrieking devils of hell
+  For a priest at the point of dying.
+
+  "It shall not be the battle
+  Between the sun and the leaves,
+  Between the winter and summer,
+  Between the storm and the sheaves.
+
+  "But a battle to doom and death
+  Between the Gael and the Gall,
+  Between the sword of light
+  And the shield of darkness and thrall.
+
+  "And the Gael shall have the mastery
+  After a month of days,
+  And the lakes of the west shall cry,
+  And the hills of the north shall blaze.
+
+  "And the neck of the fair-haired Gall
+  Shall be as a stool for the feet
+  Of Ciaran, chief of the Gael,
+  Sitting in Emer's seat!"--
+
+  . . . . . . . .
+
+  At this MacGiolla fainted,
+  Tearing his yellow hair,
+  And the young men cursed the stranger,
+  And the old men mouthed a prayer.
+
+  For they knew the day would come,
+  As sure as the piper said,
+  When many loves would be parted,
+  And many graves would be red.
+
+  And the wake broke up in tumult,
+  And the women were left alone,
+  Keening over the beggar
+  That died at Gobnat's Stone.
+
+
+
+
+THE BESOM-MAN
+
+
+  Did you see Paidin,
+  Paidin, the besom-man,
+  Last night as you came by
+  Over the mountain?
+
+  A barth of new heather
+  He bore on his shoulder,
+  And a bundle of whitlow-grass
+  Under his oxter.
+
+  I spied him as he passed
+  Beyond the carn head,
+  But no eye saw him
+  At the hill foot after.
+
+  What has come over him?
+  The women are saying.
+  What can have crossed
+  Paidin, the besom-man?
+
+  The bogholes he knew
+  As the curlews know them,
+  And the rabbits' pads,
+  And the derelict quarries.
+
+  He was humming a tune--
+  The "Enchanted Valley"--
+  As he passed me westward
+  Beyond the carn.
+
+  I stood and I listened,
+  For his singing was strange:
+  It rang in my ears
+  The long night after.
+
+  What has come over
+  Paidin, the besom-man?
+  What can have crossed him?
+  The women keep saying.
+
+  They talk of the fairies--
+  And, God forgive me,
+  Paidin knew _them_
+  Like his prayers!
+
+  Will you fetch word
+  Up to the cross-roads
+  If you see track of him,
+  Living or dead?
+
+  The boys are loafing
+  Without game or caper;
+  And the dark piper
+  Is gone home with the birds.
+
+
+
+
+EVERY SHUILER IS CHRIST
+
+
+  Every shuiler is Christ,
+  Then be not hard or cold:
+  The bit that goes for Christ
+  Will come a hundred-fold.
+
+  The ear upon your corn
+  Will burst before its time;
+  Your roots will yield a crop
+  Without manure or lime.
+
+  And every sup you give
+  To crutch him on his way
+  Will fill your churn with milk,
+  And choke your barn with hay.
+
+  Then when the shuiler begs,
+  Be neither hard nor cold;
+  The share that goes for Christ
+  Will come a hundred-fold.
+
+
+
+
+I WISH AND I WISH
+
+
+  I wish and I wish
+  And I wish I were
+  A golden bee
+  In the blue of the air,
+  Winging my way
+  At the mouth of day
+  To the honey marges
+  Of Loch-ciuin-ban;
+  Or a little green drake,
+  Or a silver swan,
+  Floating upon
+  The stream of Aili,
+  And I to be swimming
+  Gaily, gaily!
+
+
+
+
+I AM THE MAN-CHILD
+
+
+  I am the man-child. From a virgin womb,
+  Begot among the hills of virgin loins,
+  The generation of a hundred kings,
+  I come. I am the man-child glorious,
+  The love-son of the second birth foretold
+  By western bards, the fruit of form and strength
+  By nature's prophylactic forethought joined
+  In marriage with their kind, the crown, the peak,
+  The summit of the scheme of things, the pride
+  And glory of the hand of God.
+
+                                    Behold!
+  Where in the spaces of the morning world
+  The sunrise shines my harbinger, the hills
+  Leap up, the young winds sing, the rivers dance,
+  The leaving forests laugh, the eagles scream;
+  For I am one with them, a mate, a brother,
+  Bound by nature to the human soul
+  That thro' the accidents of nature runs.
+  And wherefore do they leap and laugh and sing,
+  And dance like vestals on a holyday?
+  Because their hearts are glad, and mænad-like,
+  They fain would share the frenzied cup they drink
+  With me, the man-child glorious.
+
+                                    I am he,
+  Even he, the master-mould, the paragon!
+  Behold me in my nonage, child and man:
+  The ripest grape on beauty's procreant vine,
+  The reddest apple of ingathering:
+  Perfect in form, of peerless strength, and free
+  As Caoilte when he roamed the primal hills
+  (Those "wildernesses rich with liberty"),
+  A hero that the shocks of chance might strike,
+  But never tame, a giant druid-ringed,
+  A god-like savage of the golden days
+  Ere service shackled action: free itself
+  As Oisin when he strayed in Doire-cairn,
+  His hand upon the mountain top, his feet
+  Fixt in the flowing sea, his holy head
+  Crowned by a flight of birds, acclaiming him
+  The singer of the dawn.
+
+
+
+
+FRAGMENT
+
+
+  I stand upon the summit now:
+  The falcon, flying from the heath,
+  Trails darkly o'er the mountain brow
+  And drops into the gloom beneath.
+  Night falls, and with it comes the wind
+  That blew on Fionn time out of mind,
+  When weary of love-feasts and wars
+  He left his comrades all behind
+  To dream upon the quiet stars.
+  Here on the lonely mountain height
+  Is ecstasy and living light--
+  The living inner light that burns
+  With magic caught from those white urns
+  That wander thro' the trackless blue
+  Forever, touching those they know
+  With beauty, and the things that come
+  Of beauty. Earth lies at my feet,
+  A dumb, vast shadow, vast as dumb.
+
+
+
+
+AT THE WHITENING OF THE DAWN
+
+
+  At the whitening of the dawn,
+  As I came o'er the windy water,
+  I saw the salmon-fisher's daughter,
+  Nuala ni Cholumain.
+        Nuala ni Cholumain,
+        Nuala ni Cholumain,
+        Palest lily of the dawn
+        Is Nuala ni Cholumain.
+
+  In the dark of evendown
+  I went o'er the quiet water,
+  Dreaming of the fisher's daughter
+  And her bothy in the town.
+        And I made this simple rann
+        Ere the whitening of the dawn,
+        Singing to the beauty wan
+        Of Nuala ni Cholumain.
+
+
+
+
+WHO ARE MY FRIENDS
+
+
+  Who are my friends,
+  Faithful and true?
+  Who but the stars
+  That burn in the blue.
+
+  Who but the sun
+  That sinketh so red,
+  Who but the clay
+  That giveth me bread.
+
+  Who but the hills,
+  Who but the sea,
+  Who but the flowers
+  That fold on the tree.
+
+  Who but the moths
+  That flutter and pass,
+  Who but the lambs
+  That cry in the grass.
+
+  Who but the darkness,
+  Who but the rain,
+  Who but the grave, the grave--
+  All else are vain!
+        All else are vain!
+
+
+
+
+O GLORIOUS CHILDBEARER
+
+
+  O glorious childbearer,
+  O secret womb,
+  O gilded bridechamber, from which hath come the sightly Bridegroom forth,
+  O amber veil,
+  Thou sittest in heaven, the white love of the Gael.
+  Thy head is crowned with stars, thy radiant hair
+  Shines like a river thro' the twilight air;
+  Thou walkest by trodden ways and trackless seas,
+  Immaculate of man's infirmities.
+
+
+
+
+CORONACH
+
+
+  Come, pipes, sound
+  A crooning coronach round,
+  Till hill and hollow glen and shadowed lake o'erflow
+  With welling music of our woe.
+  Beat, beat, ye muffled drums, ye drones and chanters wail,
+  With heartbreak of the baffled, battle-broken Gael.
+  The clay is deep on Ireland's breast:
+  Her proud and bleeding heart is laid at last to rest . .
+      To rest . . to rest!
+
+
+
+
+TWILIGHT FALLEN
+
+
+  Twilight fallen white and cold,
+  Child in cradle, lamb in fold;
+  Glimmering thro' the ghostly trees,
+  Gemini and Pleiades.
+        Wounds of Eloim,
+        Weep on me!
+
+  Black-winged vampires flitting by,
+  Curlews crying in the sky;
+  Grey mists wreathing from the ground,
+  Wrapping rath and burial mound.
+        Wounds of Eloim,
+        Weep on me!
+
+  Heard, like some sad Gaelic strain,
+  Ocean's ancient voice in pain;
+  Darkness folding hill and wood,
+  Sorrow drinking at my blood.
+        Wounds of Eloim,
+        Weep on me!
+
+
+
+
+THE DAWN WHITENESS
+
+
+  The dawn whiteness.
+  A bank of slate-grey cloud lying heavily over it.
+  The moon, like a hunted thing, dropping into the cloud.
+
+
+
+
+THE DWARF
+
+
+  Look at him now, the son,
+  And the churchyard twist in his foot,
+  Standing there by his mother's door,
+  As if he had taken root!
+
+  She crossed a grave, they say,
+  On a black day in spring,
+  And bore him in the seventh month--
+  A poor, misshapen thing.
+
+  Kneeling down in the dark
+  She travailed without a cry,
+  And gave him the mothering kiss
+  Between the earth and the sky.
+
+  He licks cuckoo-spittle, they say,
+  And eats the dung of the roads,
+  Mocking the journeymen
+  As they pass by with their loads.
+
+  Look at his little face--
+  As grey as wool is grey--
+  And the cast in his green eye,
+  So wild and far away.
+
+  Does he see Magh-meala?
+  Is his breath human breath?
+  Are his thoughts of the hidden things
+  Untouched by time and death?
+
+  Hanging there by the half-door,
+  Dangling his devil's foot,
+  Stock-still on the threshold,
+  As if he had taken root!
+
+
+
+
+I SEE ALL LOVE IN LOWLY THINGS
+
+
+  I see all love in lowly things,
+  No less than in the lusts of kings:
+  All beauty, shape and comeliness,
+  All valour, strength and gentleness,
+  All genius, wit and holiness.
+
+  Out of corruption comes the flower,
+  The corn is kindred with the clay;
+  The plough-hand is a hand of power,
+  Nobler than gold, brighter than day.
+
+  Then let the leper lift his head,
+  The cripple dance, the captive sing,
+  The beggar reap and eat his bread--
+  He is no baser than a king!
+
+
+
+
+'TIS PRETTY TAE BE IN BAILE-LIOSAN
+
+
+  'Tis pretty tae be in Baile-liosan,
+  'Tis pretty tae be in green Magh-luan;
+  'Tis prettier tae be in Newtownbreda,
+  Beeking under the eaves in June.
+  The cummers are out wi' their knitting and spinning,
+  The thrush sings frae his crib on the wa',
+  And o'er the white road the clachan caddies
+  Play at their marlies and goaling-ba'.
+
+  O, fair are the fields o' Baile-liosan,
+  And fair are the faes o' green Magh-luan;
+  But fairer the flowers o' Newtownbreda,
+  Wet wi' dew in the eves o' June.
+  'Tis pleasant tae saunter the clachan thoro'
+  When day sinks mellow o'er Dubhais hill,
+  And feel their fragrance sae softly breathing
+  Frae croft and causey and window-sill.
+
+  O, brave are the haughs o' Baile-liosan,
+  And brave are the halds o' green Magh-luan;
+  But braver the hames o' Newtownbreda,
+  Twined about wi' the pinks o' June.
+  And just as the face is sae kindly withouten,
+  The heart within is as guid as gold--
+  Wi' new fair ballants and merry music,
+  And cracks cam' down frae the days of old.
+
+  'Tis pretty tae be in Baile-liosan,
+  'Tis pretty tae be in green Magh-luan;
+  'Tis prettier tae be in Newtownbreda,
+  Beeking under the eaves in June.
+  The cummers are out wi' their knitting and spinning,
+  The thrush sings frae his crib on the wa',
+  And o'er the white road the clachan caddies
+  Play at their marlies and goaling-ba'.
+
+
+
+
+CIARAN, THE MASTER OF HORSES AND LANDS
+
+
+  Ciaran, the master of horses and lands,
+  Once had no more than the horn on his hands.
+
+  But Ciaran is rich now, and Ciaran is great,
+  And rides with the air of a squire of estate.
+
+  O Christ! and to see the man up on the back
+  Of a thoroughbred stallion, a bay or a black!
+
+  There's not a horsebreeder from Banna to Laoi
+  Can handle the snaffle so pretty as he!
+
+  And Ciaran, for all, has the wit of a child,
+  A heart just as soft, and an eye just as mild.
+
+  No maker of ballads puts curse at his door:
+  He handsels the singer, and harbours the poor.
+
+  For Ciaran, the master of horses and lands,
+  Once had no more than the horn on his hands.
+
+
+
+
+DEEP WAYS AND DRIPPING BOUGHS
+
+
+  Deep ways and dripping boughs,
+  The fog falling drearily;
+  Cowherds calling on their cows,
+  And I crying wearily,
+  Wearily, wearily, out-a-door,
+  Houseless, hearthless, coatless, kindless,
+  Poorest of the wandering poor.
+
+  I am the beggar Christ--
+  Christ that calmed the castling flood!
+  Cross and thorn have not sufficed
+  To punish me as you would;
+  But out-a-door in wind and rain,
+  Houseless, hearthless, coatless, kindless,
+  You keep me wandering in pain.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT, AND I TRAVELLING
+
+
+  Night, and I travelling.
+  An open door by the wayside,
+  Throwing out a shaft of warm yellow light.
+  A whiff of peat-smoke;
+  A gleam of delf on the dresser within;
+  A woman's voice crooning, as if to a child.
+  I pass on into the darkness.
+
+
+
+
+NIGHT-PIECE
+
+
+  Fill me, O stars,
+  As with an olden tune.
+  Look thro' your cloudy bars,
+  O summer moon;
+  Look thro', and drench in silver light
+  My soul this night.
+
+  O brief, enchanted dream
+  Of sea and sky,
+  Of ploughland, meadow, stream,
+  And twilight loth to die,
+  Of fire and dew--
+  My soul is one with you!
+
+
+
+
+AT MORNING TIDE
+
+
+  At morning tide,
+  Upon the hill of Sliabh-na-mBan,
+  I saw the dead Christ glorified!
+  His body, like the risen sun,
+  Was all too bright to look upon:
+  The blue air burned
+  About him: in his side
+  And hands and feet there shone
+  (Thro' stabs and gashes gaping wide)
+  The golden glory of his blood:
+  The gilly stood
+  Upon his right hand: at his feet
+  The fishers, Peter, James and John,
+  Knelt worshipping
+  With outstretched arms, and eyes
+  To heaven turned:
+  And Maria, his mother sweet,
+  (The partner of his mysteries),
+  And Magdalen and Salome
+  Came thro' the doorway of the day
+  Behind him, weeping.
+  . . . . Then a cloud came o'er
+  My senses, and I saw and heard no more!
+
+
+
+
+THE MAY-FIRE
+
+
+  Come away, O Maire Ban,
+  Come away, come away
+  Where the heads of _ceanabhan_
+  Tremble in the twilight air,
+  And the rushes nod and sway,
+  And no other sound is heard
+  But the swaying of the rushes,
+  And the shouts from Croc-an-air,
+  And the singing of the fidils,
+  And the laughing of the dancers
+  Round about the yellow fire,
+  And the scream of the water-bird.
+
+  Come away, O life of me,
+  O bone of me, O blood of me--
+  Feilim has a tale to tell:
+  He would own his love for thee,
+  Smitten first at Mura's well,
+  Bitten at the Lammas pattern,
+  By the blessed Mura's well.
+  He would tell thee, Maire Ban,
+  How his pulses leap and thrill
+  Quicker than the old men's fidils,
+  Singing out from yonder hill.
+
+  Come away, O heart's desire,
+  From the ruddy-featured circle,
+  From the story-telling circle,
+  By the wreathing Bealtein fire.
+  Come away, come away,
+  Come away, O Maire Ban,
+  Where the heads of _ceanabhan_
+  Tremble in the twilight air,
+  And the voice of love is heard
+  Whispering o'er the bending rushes
+  Like a hidden, holy bird.
+  Come away, O Maire Ban--
+  Feilim's face is fairy-wan,
+  Feilim's heart is sick and pale,
+  Languishing for love of thee.
+
+
+
+
+I LOVE THE DIN OF BEATING DRUMS
+
+
+  I love the din of beating drums,
+  The bellowing pipe, the shrieking fife:
+  The discord and the dissonance is my blood, my breath, my life!
+  The discord and the dissonance is my life!
+
+  Away with flutes and dancing lutes--
+  Such music likes but lovers' ears:
+  Give me the beating battledrum,
+  The gunpeal and the cheers!
+  The bellowing pipe and battledrum,
+  The gunpeal and the cheers!
+
+
+
+
+THREE COLTS EXERCISING IN A SIX-ACRE
+
+
+  Three colts exercising in a six-acre,
+  A hilly sweep of unfenced grass over the road.
+
+  What a picture they make against the skyline!
+  Necks stretched, hocks moving royally, tails flying;
+  Farm-lads up, and they crouching low on their withers.
+
+  I have a journey to go--
+  A lawyer to see, and a paper to sign in the Tontine--
+  But I slacken my pace to watch them.
+
+
+
+
+THE NATURAL
+
+
+  "Lend us the loan of a halfpenny, sir!"--
+  And he passed with his splendid nose in the air.
+
+  A gaunt, grey carcase of skin and bones,
+  As cold as the river, as hard as the stones.
+
+  To him the highway was table and bed,
+  Shift for the newborn and sheet for the dead.
+
+  The wind that blew from Beola crest
+  Seemed fire to fetter his wild unrest.
+
+  The rain that beat on his neck and face,
+  A goad to quicken him in his pace.
+
+  But sorrow a step he changed, and his prayer
+  Was still--"Lend us the loan of a halfpenny, sir!"
+
+
+
+
+ON THE TOP-STONE
+
+
+  On the top-stone.
+  A nipping wind blowing.
+  Winter dusk closing in from the south Ards.
+  The moon rising, white and fantastic, over the loch and the town below.
+  I take off my hat, salute her, and descend into the darkness.
+
+
+
+
+THE WOMEN AT THEIR DOORS
+
+
+   The babes were asleep in their cradles,
+   And the day's drudge was done,
+   And the women brought their suppers out
+   To eat them in the sun.
+
+  "To-night I will set my needles, Aine,
+   And Eoghan will have stockings to wear:
+   I spun the wool of the horny ewe
+   He bought at the hiring fair. . . .
+
+  "But what is that sound I hear, Nabla?--
+   It is like the cheering of men.
+   God keep our kind from the devil's snare!"
+   And the women answered, "Amen!"
+
+   Then the moon rose over the valley,
+   And the cheering died away,
+   And the women went within their doors
+   At the mouth of the summer day.
+
+   And no men came in at midnight,
+   And no men came in at the dawn,
+   And the women keened by their ashy fires
+   Till their faces were haggard and wan.
+
+   For they knew they had gone to the trysting
+   With pike and musketoon,
+   To fight for their hearths and altars
+   At the rising of the moon!
+
+
+
+
+MY LITTLE DARK LOVE
+
+
+  My little dark love is a wineberry,
+  As swarth and as sweet, I hold;
+  But as the dew on the wineberry
+  Her heart is a-cold.
+
+  I would her love were as warm as the light
+  That lives in her eye of grey,
+  And then my heart would know the peace
+  It dreams in the hills away.
+
+  I would her love were as red as the rose
+  That blows on her cheek of brown,
+  And then my sunless soul would laugh
+  At the woe that weighs it down.
+
+  She dwells in the valley, my little dark love,
+  Where the river sings to the sea,
+  And an ogham-stone sits by her door,
+  And nigh to it hazels three.
+
+  And oft when the purple twilight comes,
+  And the blind bats flit in the air,
+  I wander down from the quiet hills
+  To seek my sweetheart there.
+
+  But she comes never--she loves not me,
+  Nor ever will love, I hold;
+  For tho' my heart is a peat of fire,
+  Her heart is a-cold!
+
+
+
+
+I HEARD A PIPER PIPING
+
+
+  I heard a piper piping
+  The blue hills among--
+  And never did I hear
+  So plaintive a song.
+
+  It seemed but a part
+  Of the hills' melancholy:
+  No piper living there
+  Could ever be jolly!
+
+  And still the piper piped
+  The blue hills among,
+  And all the birds were quiet
+  To listen to his song.
+
+
+
+
+THE CLOUDS GO BY AND BY
+
+
+  The clouds go by and by,
+  The heron sings in the blue--
+  And I lie dreaming, dreaming
+  Ever of you.
+
+  The stag on the hill is free,
+  And the wind is blowing sweet--
+  But I lie bound a prisoner
+  At your feet.
+
+
+
+
+DAVY DAW
+
+
+  Woa! are you there my bonny mare?
+  Your whinny seems to say--
+  "By Bealach forge and Creagach fair
+  We'll gallop hard to-day!"
+  You champ your snaffle all to foam,
+  And fleck your counter bright;
+  But now we bid adieu to home
+  Until the fall of night.
+      Davy Daw, Davy Daw, with his early horn,
+      His hunting-crop and bag of corn--
+      His heart's as merry as a mottle-thrush
+      That sings all day in the hawthorn bush.
+
+  Come hither, Bran of ancient seed,
+  And lick your master's hand;
+  I swear no dog of purer breed
+  Is found in all the land.
+  Brave scion of Cuchullain's branch,
+  Well do you, hound, uphold
+  The prowess and the courage staunch
+  That marked your line of old.
+      Davy Daw, Davy Daw, my merry man,
+      I love toast crab in a pewter can.
+      Our tastes are like as like can be--
+      But a measure of ale in the can for me!
+
+  The wind is low and scent is good,
+  And Mada's on the green:
+  He hid his head in Cratla Wood
+  Since early yestere'en.
+  You beat the bush from peep of light,
+  And set the whins afire;
+  And now the tory is in sight,
+  You've got your heart's desire.
+      Davy Daw, Davy Daw, for a crab well-browned
+      In the smiling flood of a cruiscin drowned.
+      Give me, sirree, my crab and ale,
+      And bog or batter, my heart won't fail!
+
+  The sun is out, and Davy's up,
+  And hounds are on the run:
+  It's hard he'll earn his stirrup-cup
+  Before the day is done!
+  A jolly life we hunters lead
+  Upon the saddle high:
+  We see no devil in the bead,
+  And drain our noggins dry.
+      Davy Daw, Davy Daw is a huntsman bold;
+      He's more to me than a kingdom's gold.
+      A hind for dinner and a hare to sup--
+      O that's what I get when Davy's up!
+
+  The fox is fast upon the hill,
+  He's wary in the dale;
+  But I will ride to Penny Mill
+  Before I lose his tail.
+  That brush was born to make a cap
+  For gallant Eoin Og;
+  And I will have it, hang-or-hap,
+  As sure as I'm a rogue.
+      Davy Daw, Davy Daw, for a morning chase,
+      With an Irish blood to make the pace:
+      He's last to check and first to view,
+      And hard to the death he leads his queue.
+
+  Day in we hunt the spinney fox,
+  Day out the rapparee;
+  _His_ cave is in the broken rocks
+  Above the Correi-buidhe.
+  A shameful thing, the ladies say,
+  To hunt your fellow-man;
+  But follow him till hard at bay
+  It's just the ladies can!
+      Davy Daw, Davy Daw, the brush is won!
+      A good job, sir, our work is done.
+      Whitefoot went lame this side o' the mill,
+      And I'm as dry as an old lime-kiln.
+
+  Red rogue, he'll kill his goose no more:
+  Close work it was, for the light is o'er.
+  Just _close_ work, sir, but the Dub's _close to_,
+  With a can for me and a crab for you!
+
+
+
+
+BLACK SILE OF THE SILVER EYE
+
+
+  As I rode down to Gartan fair
+  I met a girl upon the way:
+  The winter night was on her hair,
+  The summer dawn was in her eye.
+
+  And O, she stepped with such a gait,
+  And bore her round black head so high,
+  And tossed it so, I knew her straight
+  For Sile of the Silver Eye.
+
+  "God save you, Sile, love," says I:
+  "God save you kindly," murmured she--
+  And love was welling in her eye
+  As she dropped me the courtesy.
+
+  The mountain boys upon the road
+  Were at themselves for jealousy
+  When they saw Seamus win the nod
+  From Sile of the Silver Eye.
+
+  We rode together to the fair,
+  We danced together on the green;
+  And, faith, they say a suppler pair
+  Was ne'er before a piper seen.
+
+  Black Sile of the Silver Eye
+  Has been my wife for twenty year,
+  And still her sloe-black head is high,
+  And still her eye is silver clear.
+
+  And, God be praised, we have a girl,
+  As like her as like well can be--
+  The round black head, the roguish curl,
+  The soft tongue and the silver eye.
+
+  God bless the old, God bless the new,
+  And send them stout posterity--
+  Old Sile and young Sile, too--
+  Both "Sile of the Silver Eye!"
+
+
+
+
+A SHEEPDOG BARKS ON THE MOUNTAIN
+
+
+  A sheepdog barks on the mountain,
+  The night is fallen cold;
+  The shepherd blinks at his fire,
+  The sheep are in the fold.
+
+  The moon comes white and quiet
+  Into the winter sky;
+  And nothing walks the valley
+  To-night but you and I.
+
+
+
+
+DEAD OAKLEAVES EVERYWHERE
+
+
+  Dead oakleaves everywhere
+  Under my feet,
+  Filling the forest air
+  With odours sweet.
+
+  Acorns, three, four and five,
+  Falling apace.
+  Thank God I am alive
+  This day of grace!
+
+
+
+
+A NIGHT PRAYER
+
+
+  Pray for me, Seachnal,
+  Pray for me, Mel:
+  Save me from sin
+  And the cold stone of hell!
+
+  Brigid and Ita
+  And Eithne the Red,
+  Spread out your mantles
+  And cover my bed!
+
+  For rann and gospel
+  Have gone from my mind,
+  And devils are walking
+  Abroad in the wind!
+
+
+
+
+I AM THE MOUNTAINY SINGER
+
+
+  I am the mountainy singer,
+  And I would sing of the Christ
+  Who followed the paths thro' the mountains
+  To eat at the people's tryst.
+
+  He loved the sun-dark people
+  As the young man loves his bride,
+  And he moved among their thatches,
+  And for them he was crucified.
+
+  And the people loved him, also,
+  More than their houses or lands,
+  For they had known his pity
+  And felt the touch of his hands.
+
+  And they dreamed with him in the mountains,
+  And they walked with him on the sea,
+  And they prayed with him in the garden,
+  And bled with him on the tree.
+
+  Not ever by longing and dreaming
+  May they come to him now,
+  But by the thorns of sorrow
+  That bruised his kingly brow.
+
+
+
+
+THE RAINBOW SPANNING A PLANET SHOWER
+
+
+  The rainbow spanning a planet shower,
+  The sloe in berry, the flax in flower.
+
+  The scholar's satchel, the beggar's staff,
+  The ploughman's whistle, the tinker's laugh.
+
+  The stranded hooker, the breaking wave,
+  The sunrise gilding the carn of Medb.
+
+  The strength of mountains, the swiftness of wind
+  Blowing over the leagues behind.
+
+  The hot lips sealing the spoken word,
+  The song in gentle places heard.
+
+  The wildgoose trumpeting in the blue,
+  The postcar stuck in a drift of snow.
+
+  The bogslide moving, the seaward leap,
+  The cry, the townland whelmed in sleep.
+
+  The sock on the anvil, the thread in the loom,
+  The Host on the altar, the child in the womb.
+
+  The wayside murder, the whispered name,
+  The hanging body, the hidden shame.
+
+  And more--if you but listen and look--
+  In this, my elemental book!
+
+
+
+
+I WILL GO WITH MY FATHER A-PLOUGHING
+
+
+  I will go with my father a-ploughing
+  To the green field by the sea,
+  And the rooks and the crows and the seagulls
+  Will come flocking after me.
+  I will sing to the patient horses
+  With the lark in the white of the air,
+  And my father will sing the plough-song
+  That blesses the cleaving share.
+
+  I will go with my father a-sowing
+  To the red field by the sea,
+  And the rooks and the gulls and the starlings
+  Will come flocking after me.
+  I will sing to the striding sowers
+  With the finch on the greening sloe,
+  And my father will sing the seed-song
+  That only the wise men know.
+
+  I will go with my father a-reaping
+  To the brown field by the sea,
+  And the geese and the crows and the children
+  Will come flocking after me.
+  I will sing to the tanfaced reapers
+  With the wren in the heat of the sun,
+  And my father will sing the scythe-song
+  That joys for the harvest done.
+
+
+
+
+THE SHINING SPACES OF THE SOUTH
+
+
+  The shining spaces of the south,
+  The circle of the year, the sea,
+  The blowing rose, the maiden's mouth,
+  The love, the hate, the ecstasy,
+  The golden wood, the shadowed stream,
+  The dew, the light, the wind, the rain,
+  The man's desire, the woman's dream,
+  The bed embrace, the childing pain,
+  The sound of music heard afar,
+  The breathing grass, the broken sod,
+  The sun, the moon, the twilight star--
+  Do all proclaim the mind of God.
+  Then why should I, who am but clay,
+  Think otherwise, or answer nay?
+
+
+
+
+LIKE A TUFT OF CEANABHAN
+
+
+  Like a tuft of _ceanabhan_
+  Blowing in the wind
+  Is my slender Aine Ban--
+  White and soft and kind.
+
+  Kind her heart is, but her clann's
+  Cold as clay or stone.
+  Would that I had herds and lands
+  To take her for my own!
+
+
+
+
+THE HERB-LEECH
+
+
+  I have gathered _luss_
+  At the wane of the moon,
+  And supped its sap
+  With a yewen spoon.
+  I have sat a spell
+  By the carn of Medb,
+  And smelt the mould
+  Of the red queen's grave.
+  I have dreamed a dearth
+  In the darkened sun,
+  And felt the hand
+  Of the Evil One.
+  I have fathomed war
+  In the comet's tail,
+  And heard the crying
+  Of Gall and Gael.
+  I have seen the spume
+  On the dead priest's lips,
+  And the "holy fire"
+  On the spars of ships;
+  And the shooting stars
+  On Barthelmy's Night,
+  Blanching the dark
+  With ghostly light;
+  And the corpse-candle
+  Of the seer's dream,
+  Bigger in girth
+  Than a weaver's beam;
+  And the shy hearth-fairies
+  About the grate,
+  Blowing the turves
+  To a whiter heat.
+  All things on earth
+  To me are known,
+  For I have the gift
+  Of the Murrain Stone!
+
+
+
+
+WHO BUYS LAND
+
+
+  Who buys land buys many stones,
+  Who buys flesh buys many bones;
+  Who buys eggs buys many shells,
+  Who buys love buys nothing else.
+
+  Love is a burr upon the floor,
+  Love is a thief behind the door;
+  Who loves leman for her breath
+  May quench his fire and cry for death!
+
+  Love is a bridle, love is a load,
+  Love is a thorn upon the road;
+  Love is the fly that flits its hour,
+  Love is the shining venom-flower.
+
+  Love is a net, love is a snare,
+  Love is a bubble blown with air;
+  Love starts hot, and waning cold,
+  Is withered in the grave's mould!
+
+
+
+
+THE POET LOOSED A WINGÈD SONG
+
+
+  The poet loosed a wingèd song
+  Against the hulk of England's wrong.
+  Were poisoned words at his command,
+  'Twould not avail for Ireland.
+
+  The soldier lifted up a sword,
+  And on the hills in battle poured
+  His life-blood like an ebbing sea--
+  And still we pine for liberty.
+
+  The friar spoke his bitter hope,
+  And danced upon the gallows rope.
+  Were he to dance that dance again
+  A hundred times, 'twould be in vain.
+
+  Christ save us! only thou canst save!
+  The nation staggers to the grave.
+  Can genius, valour, faith be given,
+  And win no recompense of heaven?
+
+  No, Christ! by Ireland's martyrs, no!
+  'Twas not for this we suffered so.
+  Die, die again on Calvary tree,
+  If needs be, Christ, to set us free!
+                To set us free!
+
+
+
+
+SIC TRANSIT
+
+
+  I lit my tallow
+  An hour ago,
+  And now it is burning
+  Dark and low.
+
+  The glimmer lengthens
+  And turns about,
+  Sinks in the sconce--
+  Then flickers out!
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of Project Gutenberg's The Mountainy Singer, by Seosamh MacCathmhaoil
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MOUNTAINY SINGER ***
+
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