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

“I am weary, I am weary of the lagging hours alway,
The wound I got last autumn, it pains me sore to-day—
It is burning, it is throbbing worse than when 'twas wet with gore,
And the joy of peace or battle I never shall see more.”

II

Thus spoke the brave Sir Thomas, the knight of Imokeel:
Beneath the Desmond's banner he had drawn his conquering steel;
But out beneath that banner he never more may ride,
With that shot-maimed arm of valour and that lance-wound in his side.

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III

“My gallant boy, come hither: I give thee my brave steed;
My trusty blade I give thee to serve thee in thy need;
Then don thy battle harness and with thy following ride
To join the noble Desmond by Imokilly's side.”

IV

Then out and spake the mother, a fond and fair ladye,
“If I should lose my Gerald what in life can comfort me?
If I should lose my Gerald—if slain my boy should be,
One hour of peace or happiness I nevermore shall see!”

V

But nathless her beseeching, and nathless sigh and tear,
Young Gerald's gone to battle with many a gallant spear;
And in the early morning by Bride's translucent wave,
They mark the sunbeams glancing from hostile helm and glaive.

VI

“Come hither, come thou hither, thou stripling young and gay,”—
'Twas thus upon the hill-side the Desmond bold did say,—
“We'll down upon yon army: God wot we'll give them play:
Go thou and take their castle and win thy spurs to-day!”

VII

It was above the bridge-end that castle proud did stand;
It was a gallant fortress as e'er was in the land;
And downward dashed young Gerald at his valiant lord's command,
With his fearless ranks behind him and his long glaive in his hand.

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VIII

He has leaped the fosse so bravely amid shot and smoke and wrack;
He has mounted to the ramparts, his brave men at his back;—
They have taken that strong fortress at the good point of the steel,
But where is he, their leader, the Boy of Imokeel?

IX

They search round fosse and rampart but cannot find him there;
They've searched the battered chambers and up the gory stair;
Till by the turret window 'mid a circle of the slain,
They have found the youthful Geraldine, his helmet cleft in twain.

X

It was a day of triumph to the Desmond by that shore,
And yet a day of sorrow, when young Gerald up they bore—
Up they bore unto the hill-side where the noble Desmond stood—
Their valiant young commander—face and armour stained with blood.

XI

Then out and spoke the Desmond: “Now list ye all to me;
This boy has won the castle—this boy a knight shall be;
But the hue of death is on him and he cannot speak or kneel:
Here, page, my spurs: unbrace them and fix them on his heel.”

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XII

I wis the sight was woeful, even in that blood-stained place,
With the red gash on his forehead and the blood on his pale face,
With the golden spurs braced on him glittering in the sunlight clear,
Beneath the rustling banner, stretched upon his gory bier.

XIII

Through Imokeel they bore him over many a plain and dell,—
They bore him to his father and told him how he fell;
The old man's wound burst open and the blood welled from his side,
And he kissed his pale young champion, and down he sank and died.

XIV

“Now leave me,” said the mother, as wild she made her moan,—
“Now leave me in this chamber to my great grief alone.”
And she raised her voice in wailing till the twilight gathered down
Upon the leafy forests, and the hills and moorlands brown.

XV

It was the starry midnight ere the mother's tones sank low,
And she prayed unto Our Lady with a broken voice and slow:—
“O! thou who once wert stricken worse than I, long long ago,
Prop me up in this great trial, give me strength to bear my woe.”

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XVI

What breaks the heavy stillness? what in the chamber stirs?
Sure she hears the clank of armour and the clink of those bright spurs!
And she looks upon her Gerald with a thrill of joy and fear,
For he's rising, slowly rising, in his armour from the bier.

XVII

O! not slain, but sorely wounded!—Many a field of fire and steel
Saw those sharp spurs' golden brightness dimmed with gore upon each heel;
For in aftertime for Erin never one so brave and leal
As Sir Gerald of the Forest, the Knight of Imokeel.