Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
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 | VII. |
TO BAKKI. |
 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
TO BAKKI.
O Bakki, Bakki! Necromancer! Sun and Soul of Poetry!
What bosom not of granite but is melted at thy song?
Even as the Storm with equal ease will waft a leaf or blow a tree
From North to South, thy spell can move the weak heart and the strong.
I know of nothing vast enough to liken thy bold verses to,
Except Iskander's mighty hosts, and those of Artaxerxes too,
Or some enormous river, spouting now colossal columns,
Now thundering over jaggèd rocks, now holding a calm course
Between two banks of golden sands (the margins of thy volumes),
But everywhere and ever the same Giant in its force.
What bosom not of granite but is melted at thy song?
Even as the Storm with equal ease will waft a leaf or blow a tree
From North to South, thy spell can move the weak heart and the strong.
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Except Iskander's mighty hosts, and those of Artaxerxes too,
Or some enormous river, spouting now colossal columns,
Now thundering over jaggèd rocks, now holding a calm course
Between two banks of golden sands (the margins of thy volumes),
But everywhere and ever the same Giant in its force.
O Bakki, Bakki! in my days of joy and juvenility,
Armed with my silver-bowled tchibook and all I had of thee,
My glory was to revel in the wonderful fertility
Of thy luxuriant genius underneath a citron-tree:
But now that years have conquered me, and sicknesses have shaken me,
And Fancy hath forsaken me, and Age hath overtaken me,
I find some stiffer harness indispensable for yoking
My spirit to the Plough of Life—in short I must resign
My silver bowls for china cups, my Poetry and Smoking,
My snaky pipes and bakki-leaves for fiery Madjar wine.
Armed with my silver-bowled tchibook and all I had of thee,
My glory was to revel in the wonderful fertility
Of thy luxuriant genius underneath a citron-tree:
But now that years have conquered me, and sicknesses have shaken me,
And Fancy hath forsaken me, and Age hath overtaken me,
I find some stiffer harness indispensable for yoking
My spirit to the Plough of Life—in short I must resign
My silver bowls for china cups, my Poetry and Smoking,
My snaky pipes and bakki-leaves for fiery Madjar wine.
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |