From the Land of Dreams By John Todhunter. With an introduction by T. W. Rolleston |
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TIR-N'AN OG
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 | From the Land of Dreams |  |
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VII
TIR-N'AN OG
TIR N'AN OG.
The legend of Tir n'an Og, “The Land of the
Young,” is the Irish version of the legend of the
Island Atlantis. The Irish tradition is that there
was once an Island in the Atlantic, sometimes
visible from the West Coast of Ireland. It was
inhabited by a race of happy magicians, beautiful
and unscathed by evil, who never grew old.
Sometimes their Island floated on the surface of
the Atlantic, and sometimes it sank under the
waters; but when the Sun of the Earth mingled
his beams with those of his sunken brother, the
Island rose and floated on the waves. And many
who saw it went mad, and sailed in search of it;
but were lost or shipwrecked. But some who
saw the vision were content with that, and became
Poets.
TIR N'AN OG. The legend of Tir n'an Og, “The Land of the Young,” is the Irish version of the legend of the Island Atlantis. The Irish tradition is that there was once an Island in the Atlantic, sometimes visible from the West Coast of Ireland. It was inhabited by a race of happy magicians, beautiful and unscathed by evil, who never grew old. Sometimes their Island floated on the surface of the Atlantic, and sometimes it sank under the waters; but when the Sun of the Earth mingled his beams with those of his sunken brother, the Island rose and floated on the waves. And many who saw it went mad, and sailed in search of it; but were lost or shipwrecked. But some who saw the vision were content with that, and became Poets.
I
On a cliff in the West, the shy wild West,The ecstatic, tender, desolate West,
Sits, in a nook where the sea-pink shakes to the surges
Thundering far down, a Boy.
II
Far before him,Thronging the dusk-blue waste of waters,
Foam on their way, like untamed sea-horses,
Rearing, plunging, the giant waves.
Over the waves uncouthly careering
Loom in the gleaming amber sky
Grey clouds: in their smouldering fringes
Fiery embers of sunset, fading,
Turn ashen pale.
III
All alone sits the Boy, and gazes,Dumb, with the wistful eyes of a peasant—
Sits, while the memoried blood of Kings,
Long lines of legendary Kings,
Whispers to his heart that listens
Wordless magic lore, as he gazes,
Dumbly dreaming.
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IV
Far below him,Landward, with heaving, gleaming shoulders,
Charge, with a thousand miles of onset,
In crested legions, the ocean-rovers,
The huge Atlantic waves.
V
Bellowing, foaming, the ocean-rovers,The moon-adoring, fanatic waves,
Armed with the sea's eternal thunder,
Swoln with the sea's mad conqueror's lust,
Storm at the bastions of the land,
Ever shattered, advancing ever.
VI
Fresh blows the wind, the wind of the West,The Irish wind! Like a lusty lover
He woos on the crags the tufted sea-pink,
With sea-salt kisses;
And high on the cliff's brow he overmasters
With fierce caresses the lissome cliff-grass,
That quivers and bends, as she vainly wrestles,
Faintly hissing.
VII
O wizard wind, alchemic wind,Seed-bearing wind of change! O wind whose seeds are dreams!
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The Boy too feels it over him swooping,
With downy wing-strokes and gentle buffets,
And moan in his ears, as of far sea-music,
A vast, invisible owl of the sea;
And his Irish blood exults in the wind,
And sings in his veins as the wind blows through him.
It comes, through sad farewells of day,
From the Land of the Sunken Sun,
Tir-n'an Og, fathoms down, whelmed by the insolent sea,
A thousand fathoms down.
VIII
But, when the Magian Sun, to walk the Western waters,Dons his enchanter's robe, and pacing the cold waves,
From Ireland turns his face, Tir-n'an Og, fathoms down,
Feels his faint smile of dawn, and rises dim, and sits
A spectre on the waters—the Land no voyage makes,
The Land of Youth!
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IX
The West-wind blows, blowsOver Ireland, The Land of Dreams,
Bearing dreams from the Land of Youth;
And the Boy sits there, and dreams
Till the spirit of youth within him
Goes forth on airy wings, a measureless way,
As he dreams—dreams.
X
Twilight comes, and the starsShyly peep through the purpling heavens
And the lone Evening Star,
Thridding the waning, withering clouds,
In gentle splendour, slowly,
Follows, dreaming, the steps of the Sun;
And she casts her silver spell
On the roaring waves, and their giant voices
Boom with a drowsier thunder.
Then, leaving the sea, the ghostly sea-gulls
Gleam, and fade, and suddenly vanish;
And high in air, unseen, the curlews
Pass with a desolate cry; and shyly
Sad-eyed seals, brown dogs of the ocean,
Sleek from the sea on the rocks come landing.
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XI
And the Boy feels deep within himLongings vague, like eerie harp-notes,
Wake at the curlew's whistle bleak,
And the soft bark of the seal; and with longing
Swells his heart, as he sits and gazes,
Alone with his dreams, and the murmuring sea,
And the beautiful, sad stars.
| From the Land of Dreams | |