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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THE SONG OF GLADNESS. |
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 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
THE SONG OF GLADNESS.
It was on a balmy evening, as June was departing fast,
That alone, and meditating in grief on the times a-past,
I wandered through the gloomsome shades
Of bosky Aherlow,
A wilderness of glens and glades,
When suddenly a thrilling strain of song
Broke forth upon the air in one incessant flow;
Sweeter it seemed to me (both voice and word)
Than harmony of the harp, or carol of the bird,
For it foretold fair Freedom's triumph, and the doom of Wrong.
That alone, and meditating in grief on the times a-past,
I wandered through the gloomsome shades
Of bosky Aherlow,
A wilderness of glens and glades,
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Broke forth upon the air in one incessant flow;
Sweeter it seemed to me (both voice and word)
Than harmony of the harp, or carol of the bird,
For it foretold fair Freedom's triumph, and the doom of Wrong.
The celestial hymns and anthems, that far o'er the sounding sea
Come to Erin from the temples of bright-bosomed Italy;
The music which from hill and rath
The playful fairy race
Pour on the wandering warrior's path,
Bewildering him with wonder and delight,
Or the cuckoo's full note from some green sunless place,
Some sunken thicket in a stilly wood,
Had less than that rich melody made mine Irish blood
Bound in its veins for ecstasy, or given my soul new might!
Come to Erin from the temples of bright-bosomed Italy;
The music which from hill and rath
The playful fairy race
Pour on the wandering warrior's path,
Bewildering him with wonder and delight,
Or the cuckoo's full note from some green sunless place,
Some sunken thicket in a stilly wood,
Had less than that rich melody made mine Irish blood
Bound in its veins for ecstasy, or given my soul new might!
And while as I stood I listened, behold, thousand swarm of bees,
All arrayed in gay gold armour, shone red through the dusky trees;
I felt a boding in my soul,
A truthful boding, too,
That Erin's days of gloom and dole
Will soon be but remembered as a dream,
And the olden glory show eclipsèd by the new.
Where the Usurper then be? Banished far!
Where his vile hireling henchmen? Slaughtered all in war!
For blood shall rill down every hill, and blacken every stream.
All arrayed in gay gold armour, shone red through the dusky trees;
I felt a boding in my soul,
A truthful boding, too,
That Erin's days of gloom and dole
Will soon be but remembered as a dream,
And the olden glory show eclipsèd by the new.
Where the Usurper then be? Banished far!
Where his vile hireling henchmen? Slaughtered all in war!
For blood shall rill down every hill, and blacken every stream.
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I am Heffernan of Shronehill: my land mourns in thraldom long;
And I see but one sad sight here, the weak trampled by the strong,
Yet if to-morrow underneath
A burial-stone I lay,
Clasped in the skeleton arms of death,
And if a pilgrim wind again should waft
Over my noteless grave the song I heard to-day,
I would spring up revivified, reborn,
A living soul again, as on my birthday morn,
Ay! even though coffined, over-earthed, tombed-in, and epitaphed!
And I see but one sad sight here, the weak trampled by the strong,
Yet if to-morrow underneath
A burial-stone I lay,
Clasped in the skeleton arms of death,
And if a pilgrim wind again should waft
Over my noteless grave the song I heard to-day,
I would spring up revivified, reborn,
A living soul again, as on my birthday morn,
Ay! even though coffined, over-earthed, tombed-in, and epitaphed!
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |