 | The Poems of Thomas Davis |  |
108
THE FATE OF THE O'SULLIVANS.
I
“A baby in the mountain gap—Oh! wherefore bring it hither?
Restore it to it's mother's lap,
Or else 'twill surely wither.
A baby near the eagle's nest!
How should their talons spare it?
Oh! take it to some woman's breast,
And she will kindly care it.”
109
II
“Fear not for it,” M`Swiney said,And stroked his cul-fionn slowly,
And proudly raised his matted head,
Yet spoke me soft and lowly—
“Fear not for it, for, many a day,
I climb the eagle's eyrie,
And bear the eaglet's food away
To feed our little fairy.
III
“Fear not for it, no Bantry birdWould harm our chieftain's baby”—
He stopped, and something in him stirred—
'Twas for his chieftain, may be.
And then he brushed his softened eyes,
And raised his bonnet duly,
And muttered “the Beantighearna lies
Asleep in yonder buaili.”
IV
He pointed 'twixt the cliff and lake,And there a hut of heather,
Half hidden in the craggy brake,
Gave shelter from the weather;
The little tanist shrieked with joy,
Adown the gulley staring—
The clansman swelled to see the boy,
O'Sullivan-like, daring.
110
V
Oh! what a glorious sight was there,As from the summit gazing,
O'er winding creek and islet fair,
And mountain waste amazing;
The Caha and Dunkerron hills
Cast half the gulfs in shadow,
While shone the sun on Culiagh's rills,
And Whiddy's emerald meadow—
VI
The sea a sheet of crimson spread,From Foze to Dursey islands;
While flashed the peaks from Mizenhead
To Musk'ry's distant highlands—
I saw no kine, I saw no sheep,
I saw nor house nor furrow;
But round the tarns the red deer leap,
Oak and arbutus thorough.
VII
Oh! what a glorious sight was there,That paradise o'ergazing—
When, sudden, burst a smoky glare,
Above Glengarriff blazing—
The clansman sprung upon his feet—
Well might the infant wonder—
His hands were clenched, his brow was knit,
His hard lips just asunder.
111
VIII
Like shattered rock from out the ground,He stood there stiff and silent—
Our breathing hardly made a sound,
As o'er the baby I leant;
His figure then went to and fro,
As the tall blaze would flicker—
And as exhausted it sunk low,
His breath came loud and thicker.
IX
Then slowly turned he round his head,And slowly turned his figure;
His eye was fixed as Spanish lead,
His limbs were full of rigour—
Then suddenly he grasped the child,
And raised it to his shoulder,
Then pointing where, across the wild,
The fire was seen to smoulder;—
X
“Look, baby !—look, there is the sign,Your father is returning,
The ‘generous hand’ of Finghin's line
Has set that beacon burning.
‘The generous hand’—Oh! Lord of hosts—
Oh, Virgin, ever holy!
There's nought to give on Bantry's coasts—
Dunbwy is lying lowly.
112
XI
“The halls, where mirth and minstrelsyThan Bêara's wind rose louder,
Are flung in masses lonelily,
And black with English powder—
The sheep that o'er our mountains ran,
The kine that filled our valleys,
Are gone, and not a single clan
O'Sullivan now rallies.
XII
“He, long the Prince of hill and bay!The ally of the Spaniard!
Has scarce a single cath to-day,
Nor seaman left to man yard”—
M'Swiney ceased, then fiercely strode,
Bearing along the baby,
Until we reached the rude abode
Of Bantry's lovely lady.
XIII
We found her in the savage shed—A mild night in mid winter—
The mountain heath her only bed,
Her dais the rocky splinter!
The sad Beantighearn' had seen the fire—
'Twas plain she had been praying—
She seized her son, as we came nigher,
And welcomed me, thus saying—
113
XIV
“Our gossip's friend I gladly greet,Though scant'ly I can cheer him;”
Then bids the clansman fly to meet
And tell her lord she's near him.
M`Swiney kissed his foster son,
And shouting out his faire—
“O'Suillebháin abú”—is gone
Like Marchman's deadly arrow!
XV
An hour went by, when, from the shoreThe chieftain's horn winding,
Awoke the echoes' hearty roar—
Their fealty reminding:
A moment, and he faintly gasps—
“These—these, thank heav'n, are left me”—
And smiles as wife and child he clasps—
“They have not quite bereft me.”
XVI
I never saw a mien so grand,A brow and eye so fearless—
There was not in his veteran band
A single eyelid tearless.
His tale is short—O'Ruarc's strength
Could not postpone his ruin,
And Leitrim's towers he left at length,
To spare his friend's undoing.
114
XVII
To Spain—to Spain, he now will sail,His destiny is wroken—
An exile from dear Inis-fail,—
Nor yet his will is broken;
For still he hints some enterprise,
When fleets shall bring them over,
Dunbwy's proud keep again shall rise,
And mock the English rover.
XVIII
I saw them cross Slieve Miskisk o'er,The crones around them weeping—
I saw them pass from Culiagh's shore,
Their galleys' strong oars sweeping;
I saw their ship unfurl its sail—
I saw their scarfs long waven—
They saw the hills in distance fail—
They never saw Berehaven!
After the taking of Dunbwy and the ruin of the O'Sullivan's county, the chief marched right through Muskerry and Ormond, hotly pursued. He crossed the Shannon in curachs made of his horses' skins. He then defeated the English forces and slew their commander, Manby, and finally fought his way into O'Ruare's country, During his absence his lady (Beantighearna) and infant were supported in the mountains, by one of his clansmen, M`Swiney, who, tradition says, used to rob the eagles' nests of their prey for his charge. O'Sullivan was excepted from James the First's amnesty on account of his persevering resistance. He went to Spain, and was appointed governor of Corunna and Viscount Berehaven. His march from Glengarriff to Leitrim is, perhaps, the most romantic and gallant achievement of his age.—Author's Note.
| The Poems of Thomas Davis | |