Ballads of Irish chivalry :: :: University of Virginia Library

As I sat at the cross in the village, it was on a bright summer day,
An old man came silently thither, was drooping and bearded and grey;
There was dust on his shoon and his garments, the sore dust of many a mile;—
“O, where are you going, grey pilgrim? Come rest 'neath this green tree a while.”

II

“May God's holy blessing be on you, an hour from my journey I'll steal:
I have wandered from morning till noontide, and footsore and weary I feel;
I am going fast fast to the graveyard, and wish I may reach it full soon,
Till under its green grass, untroubled, I sleep by my Eileen Aroon.

III

“Eileen was an Orangeman's daughter, but deep was her fondness for me;
She dwelt where in glory and splendour broad Barrow sweeps down to the sea:
She was fair as the roses of summer and mild as a May morning bland;
A maiden so bright in her beauty was never like her in the land.

IV

“Ah! sorely and well I remember, it was in the year Ninety-eight,
When peace from our land was uprooted and sad was the poor peasant's fate;
I'd scarce numbered twenty fair summers, the blood ran like fire in my veins,
And I rose with the rest for old Ireland to free her from bondage and chains.

V

“I had a strange power 'mong my neighbours,—my sires had been chiefs in the land,—
And soon on the hills gathered round me a valiant, a wild daring band.

Through many a brave fight I led them by lone cot and strife-ruined hall,
Till a dark hour of doom saw me faithless to God and my country and all.

VI

“We had camped in a gorge of the mountains; the redcoats and yeomen were near:
I said, ‘If I wait for the morning her sire will encounter me here;
Can I calm the dark foeman who hates me, with love for his child pure and bright?
Can I spare him in battle's mad fury?’—I fled from my comrades that night!

VII

“I fled like a deer through the mountains to the home of my Eileen Aroon;—
Ah, great God of glory and mercy, the black fate that met us so soon!
She lay in her grave-clothes, down-stricken by a death-sickness sudden and sore,
And my name was the name of a traitor and my bright hopes were quenched evermore.

VIII

“From the old pilgrim places around me to grey holy Derg of the Lake,
Since that wild time of trouble and vengeance my slow yearly pathway I take;
And I pray that my sins be forgiven, by many a lone ruined wall,
And I sleep,—but I'll soon sleep beside her, the long sweetest slumber of all.”

IX

Then mournful stood up that old pilgrim, and mournful took me by the hand,—
“The blessings of love be upon you, and freedom and peace in the land!”
Then he drank at the spring in the village and silently went on his way:—
May God and His mercy go with him, a sure prop by night and by day!