 | The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") |  |
THE LADY OF THE ROCK.
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There are several versions of this grotesque legend current among the Munster peasantry. In one of these, the host is a gentleman named Barry, who long years before is said to have dwelt on the top of Cairn Thierna. In another, it is Cliodhna, the queen of the Daoine Maith, or “good people,” i.e., fairies, who entertains the traveller. The student will observe, not alone much resemblance between Irish and Welsh folk-lore, not strange, since they spring from kindred races, but between the former and some of the Sanskrit and Russian popular tales, a fact not so readily accounted for. This legend, however, smacks of the soil.
The sun was sinking to the hills, the twilight growing fast,
When in the dusty yellow road a band came riding past—
A squadron of the foeman's horse, whose presence brought no joy—
Grim-visaged troops of Cromwell these, unwelcome to Fermoy.
When in the dusty yellow road a band came riding past—
A squadron of the foeman's horse, whose presence brought no joy—
Grim-visaged troops of Cromwell these, unwelcome to Fermoy.
They halted in the village street, for food and rest inclined,
And so the billet-master there they eager sought to find;
And whatsoever hate was felt, none near dare say them nay,
For in their camp, a mile beyond, more black Malignants lay.
And so the billet-master there they eager sought to find;
And whatsoever hate was felt, none near dare say them nay,
For in their camp, a mile beyond, more black Malignants lay.
'Squire Considine could hold his own, whichever side arose—
Who stood above, he held as friends, who lay below, as foes—
And so the men he billeted, and sent them here and there;
It was for him to find the hosts—the hosts must find the fare.
Who stood above, he held as friends, who lay below, as foes—
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It was for him to find the hosts—the hosts must find the fare.
They left, all save the youngest one, who in the hall had stayed,
Caught by the roguish smile and glance of Kate, a serving-maid;
In years scarce more than boy he was, and handsome, frank and free—
Unlike his comrades—and he said: “A billet, sir, for me.”
Caught by the roguish smile and glance of Kate, a serving-maid;
In years scarce more than boy he was, and handsome, frank and free—
Unlike his comrades—and he said: “A billet, sir, for me.”
Beyond the town a pile of rock rose upward, bleak and bare;
'Twas said the fairies haunted it; no trace of dwelling there;
And Considine, who liked at times some meaner man to mock—
“I'll billet you,” he said, “upon the Lady of the Rock.
'Twas said the fairies haunted it; no trace of dwelling there;
And Considine, who liked at times some meaner man to mock—
“I'll billet you,” he said, “upon the Lady of the Rock.
“The lady's name is Cleena, and such house you never knew;
It's walls are of the ivied stone, its vaulted roof is blue;
And you may tell her ere you're guest within that mansion fine,
That I shall furnish her with meat, and she shall furnish wine.”
It's walls are of the ivied stone, its vaulted roof is blue;
And you may tell her ere you're guest within that mansion fine,
That I shall furnish her with meat, and she shall furnish wine.”
Dick Ashmore started off at once, his billet in his hand,
Straight onward he was told to go, and so obeyed command;
The path was clear to reach the rock, but though he made no stay,
So dark the night, the road he left, and thus he lost the way.
Straight onward he was told to go, and so obeyed command;
The path was clear to reach the rock, but though he made no stay,
So dark the night, the road he left, and thus he lost the way.
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A clouded night, and not a star; just then there came a sound—
The cheery clink of horse's hoofs upon the stony ground.
He turned; a noble cavalcade, and at its head there rode
A lady on a palfry white, and light around her glowed.
The cheery clink of horse's hoofs upon the stony ground.
He turned; a noble cavalcade, and at its head there rode
A lady on a palfry white, and light around her glowed.
He doffed his morion at the sight, and made a lowly bend;
The lady reined her steed, and said: “What do you here, my friend?”
Dick Ashmore bent his head again. “An please you then,” said he,
“I seek the Lady of the Rock.” “Good soldier, I am she!”
The lady reined her steed, and said: “What do you here, my friend?”
Dick Ashmore bent his head again. “An please you then,” said he,
“I seek the Lady of the Rock.” “Good soldier, I am she!”
He gave the words of Considine. Said she, with courtly air:
“Our thanks are due this gentleman for courtesy so fair.
No fairer offer could be made than this of Considine;
His meat shall smoke upon the board, and we will find the wine.”
“Our thanks are due this gentleman for courtesy so fair.
No fairer offer could be made than this of Considine;
His meat shall smoke upon the board, and we will find the wine.”
Then up the rock the cavalcade with merry laughter pressed—
Dick Ashmore found it harder work to gain the stony crest;
But, gaining that, a mansion saw, reared grandly and alone,
From out whose many casements tall the lights in brilliance shone.
Dick Ashmore found it harder work to gain the stony crest;
But, gaining that, a mansion saw, reared grandly and alone,
From out whose many casements tall the lights in brilliance shone.
Dick, hat in hand, was ushered in; they sat him at the board
With wines of choicest vintage, and with rarest dainties stored;
He ate and drank; but chief of all, to hungry Dick's delight,
A mighty joint of beef, which soon appeased his appetite.
With wines of choicest vintage, and with rarest dainties stored;
He ate and drank; but chief of all, to hungry Dick's delight,
A mighty joint of beef, which soon appeased his appetite.
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“Now,” said the lady, as he rose, “to-morrow when you leave
I'll see you not; but, ere you rest, three gifts of mine receive.
Yon black cow's hide, this goblet bright; give those to Considine,
To show that while he furnished meat, 'twas I who furnished wine.
I'll see you not; but, ere you rest, three gifts of mine receive.
Yon black cow's hide, this goblet bright; give those to Considine,
To show that while he furnished meat, 'twas I who furnished wine.
“And for yourself, this sprig of furze upon your breast to wear;
'Twill bring you health and wealth and love while you shall keep it there.
Now seek your couch; be sweet your sleep; it was not yours to mock,
But his, and his has been the loss,—the Lady of the Rock.”
'Twill bring you health and wealth and love while you shall keep it there.
Now seek your couch; be sweet your sleep; it was not yours to mock,
But his, and his has been the loss,—the Lady of the Rock.”
Sound slept the soldier all that night, sleep drowned till noon his care;
He woke, and gazed around amazed; nor bed nor mansion there;
His couch was on the barren ground; but by his side there lay
The cow's hide and the goblet, and he bore them both away.
He woke, and gazed around amazed; nor bed nor mansion there;
His couch was on the barren ground; but by his side there lay
The cow's hide and the goblet, and he bore them both away.
Loud laughed the billet-master when his eye on Ashmore fell—
“And did you find the lady fair, and did she treat you well?
But sad has been your pleasure, man; your comrades long have gone,
And hold you as deserter, for the army moved at dawn.”
“And did you find the lady fair, and did she treat you well?
But sad has been your pleasure, man; your comrades long have gone,
And hold you as deserter, for the army moved at dawn.”
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But to a look of wonder changed the sly, malicious grin,
When Dick the lady's message gave, and with it cup and skin.
“'Tis ill to vex the Dinah Magh!” said startled Considine;
“That hide was hers, my favorite cow, the chiefest of my kine.”
When Dick the lady's message gave, and with it cup and skin.
“'Tis ill to vex the Dinah Magh!” said startled Considine;
“That hide was hers, my favorite cow, the chiefest of my kine.”
Dick Ashmore never left Fermoy; all people liked him well;
And all the Lady of the Rock had promised him befell,
Health, wealth, and love: but ill there came to him who dared to mock
The gentle Bean Sighe, Cleena, the Lady of the Rock.
And all the Lady of the Rock had promised him befell,
Health, wealth, and love: but ill there came to him who dared to mock
The gentle Bean Sighe, Cleena, the Lady of the Rock.
| The select poems of Dr. Thomas Dunn English (exclusive of the "Battle lyrics") | |