 | Lays of the Western Gael, and Other Poems |  |
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BALLADS AND POEMS.
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THE FAIRY THORN.
AN ULSTER BALLAD.
“Get up, our Anna dear, from the weary spinning-wheel;
For your father's on the hill, and your mother is asleep:
Come up above the crags, and we'll dance a highland-reel
Around the fairy thorn on the steep.”
For your father's on the hill, and your mother is asleep:
Come up above the crags, and we'll dance a highland-reel
Around the fairy thorn on the steep.”
At Anna Grace's door 'twas thus the maidens cried,
Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;
And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,
The fairest of the four, I ween.
Three merry maidens fair in kirtles of the green;
And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside,
The fairest of the four, I ween.
They're glancing through the glimmer of the quiet eve,
Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare;
The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,
And the crags in the ghostly air:
Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare;
The heavy-sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave,
And the crags in the ghostly air:
And linking hand in hand, and singing as they go,
The maids along the hill-side have ta'en their fearless way,
Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.
The maids along the hill-side have ta'en their fearless way,
Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow
Beside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.
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The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim,
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;
The rowan berries cluster o'er her low head grey and dim
In ruddy kisses sweet to see.
Like matron with her twin grand-daughters at her knee;
The rowan berries cluster o'er her low head grey and dim
In ruddy kisses sweet to see.
The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,
And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds they go,
Oh, never caroll'd bird like them!
Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem,
And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds they go,
Oh, never caroll'd bird like them!
But solemn is the silence of the silvery haze
That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
And dreamily the evening has still'd the haunted braes,
And dreamier the gloaming grows.
That drinks away their voices in echoless repose,
And dreamily the evening has still'd the haunted braes,
And dreamier the gloaming grows.
And sinking one by one, like lark-notes from the sky
When the falcon's shadow saileth across the open shaw,
Are hush'd the maiden's voices, as cowering down they lie
In the flutter of their sudden awe.
When the falcon's shadow saileth across the open shaw,
Are hush'd the maiden's voices, as cowering down they lie
In the flutter of their sudden awe.
For, from the air above, and the grassy ground beneath,
And from the mountain-ashes and the old Whitethorn between,
A Power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe,
And they sink down together on the green.
And from the mountain-ashes and the old Whitethorn between,
A Power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe,
And they sink down together on the green.
They sink together silent, and stealing side by side,
They fling their lovely arms o'er their drooping necks so fair,
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,
For their shrinking necks again are bare.
They fling their lovely arms o'er their drooping necks so fair,
Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide,
For their shrinking necks again are bare.
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Thus clasp'd and prostrate all, with their heads together bow'd,
Soft o'er their bosom's beating—the only human sound—
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,
Like a river in the air, gliding round.
Soft o'er their bosom's beating—the only human sound—
They hear the silky footsteps of the silent fairy crowd,
Like a river in the air, gliding round.
No scream can any raise, no prayer can any say,
But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless three—
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,
By whom they dare not look to see.
But wild, wild, the terror of the speechless three—
For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,
By whom they dare not look to see.
They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks of gold,
And the curls elastic falling as her head withdraws;
They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold.
But they may not look to see the cause:
And the curls elastic falling as her head withdraws;
They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold.
But they may not look to see the cause:
For heavy on their senses the faint enchantment lies
Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes
Or their limbs from the cold ground raise,
Through all that night of anguish and perilous amaze;
And neither fear nor wonder can ope their quivering eyes
Or their limbs from the cold ground raise,
Till out of night the earth has roll'd her dewy side,
With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;
When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,
The maidens' trance dissolveth so.
With every haunted mountain and streamy vale below;
When, as the mist dissolves in the yellow morning tide,
The maidens' trance dissolveth so.
Then fly the ghastly three as swiftly as they may,
And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—
They pined away and died within the year and day,
And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again.
And tell their tale of sorrow to anxious friends in vain—
They pined away and died within the year and day,
And ne'er was Anna Grace seen again.
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WILLY GILLILAND.
AN ULSTER BALLAD.
Up in the mountain solitudes, and in a rebel ring,
He has worshipp'd God upon the hill, in spite of church and king;
And seal'd his treason with his blood on Bothwell bridge he hath;
So he must fly his father's land, or he must die the death;
For comely Claverhouse has come along with grim Dalzell,
And his smoking rooftree testifies they've done their errand well.
He has worshipp'd God upon the hill, in spite of church and king;
And seal'd his treason with his blood on Bothwell bridge he hath;
So he must fly his father's land, or he must die the death;
For comely Claverhouse has come along with grim Dalzell,
And his smoking rooftree testifies they've done their errand well.
In vain to fly his enemies he fled his native land;
Hot persecution waited him upon the Carrick strand;
His name was on the Carrick cross, a price was on his head,
A fortune to the man that brings him in alive or dead!
And so on moor and mountain, from the Lagan to the Bann,
From house to house, and hill to hill, he lurk'd an out-law'd man.
Hot persecution waited him upon the Carrick strand;
His name was on the Carrick cross, a price was on his head,
A fortune to the man that brings him in alive or dead!
And so on moor and mountain, from the Lagan to the Bann,
From house to house, and hill to hill, he lurk'd an out-law'd man.
At last, when in false company he might no longer bide,
He stay'd his houseless wanderings upon the Collon side,
There in a cave all underground he lair'd his heathy den,
Ah, many a gentleman was fain to earth like hill fox then!
With hound and fishing-rod he lived on hill and stream by day;
At night, betwixt his fleet greyhound and his bonny mare he lay.
He stay'd his houseless wanderings upon the Collon side,
There in a cave all underground he lair'd his heathy den,
Ah, many a gentleman was fain to earth like hill fox then!
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At night, betwixt his fleet greyhound and his bonny mare he lay.
It was a summer evening, and, mellowing and still,
Glen whirry to the setting sun lay bare from hill to hill;
For all that valley pastoral held neither house nor tree,
But spread abroad and open all, a full fair sight to see,
From Slemish foot to Collon top lay one unbroken green,
Save where in many a silver coil the river glanced between.
Glen whirry to the setting sun lay bare from hill to hill;
For all that valley pastoral held neither house nor tree,
But spread abroad and open all, a full fair sight to see,
From Slemish foot to Collon top lay one unbroken green,
Save where in many a silver coil the river glanced between.
And on the river's grassy bank, even from the morning grey,
He at the angler's pleasant sport had spent the summer day;
Ah! many a time and oft I've spent the summer day from dawn,
And wonder'd, when the sunset came, where time and care had gone,
Along the reaches curling fresh, the wimpling pools and streams,
Where he that day his cares forgot in those delightful dreams.
He at the angler's pleasant sport had spent the summer day;
Ah! many a time and oft I've spent the summer day from dawn,
And wonder'd, when the sunset came, where time and care had gone,
Along the reaches curling fresh, the wimpling pools and streams,
Where he that day his cares forgot in those delightful dreams.
His blithe work done, upon a bank the outlaw rested now,
And laid the basket from his back, the bonnet from his brow;
And there, his hand upon the Book, his knee upon the sod,
He fill'd the lonely valley with the gladsome word of God;
And for a persecuted kirk, and for her martyrs dear,
And against a godless church and king he spoke up loud and clear.
And laid the basket from his back, the bonnet from his brow;
And there, his hand upon the Book, his knee upon the sod,
He fill'd the lonely valley with the gladsome word of God;
And for a persecuted kirk, and for her martyrs dear,
And against a godless church and king he spoke up loud and clear.
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And now upon his homeward way, he cross'd the Collon high,
And over bush and bank and brae he sent abroad his eye;
But all was darkening peacefully in grey and purple haze,
The thrush was silent in the banks, the lark upon the braes—
When suddenly shot up a blaze, from the cave's mouth it came;
And troopers' steeds and troopers' caps are glancing in the same!
And over bush and bank and brae he sent abroad his eye;
But all was darkening peacefully in grey and purple haze,
The thrush was silent in the banks, the lark upon the braes—
When suddenly shot up a blaze, from the cave's mouth it came;
And troopers' steeds and troopers' caps are glancing in the same!
He couch'd among the heather, and he saw them, as he lay,
With three long yells at parting, ride lightly east away:
Then down with heavy heart he came, to sorry cheer came he,
For ashes black were crackling where the green whins used to be,
And stretch'd among the prickly comb, his heart's blood smoking round,
From slender nose to breast-bone cleft, lay dead his good greyhound!
With three long yells at parting, ride lightly east away:
Then down with heavy heart he came, to sorry cheer came he,
For ashes black were crackling where the green whins used to be,
And stretch'd among the prickly comb, his heart's blood smoking round,
From slender nose to breast-bone cleft, lay dead his good greyhound!
“They've slain my dog, the Philistines! they've ta'en my bonny mare!”
He plunged into the smoking hole; no bonny beast was there—
He groped beneath his burning bed (it burn'd him to the bone,)
Where his good weapon used to be, but broadsword there was none;
He reel'd out of the stifling den, and sat down on a stone,
And in the shadows of the night 'twas thus he made his moan—
He plunged into the smoking hole; no bonny beast was there—
He groped beneath his burning bed (it burn'd him to the bone,)
Where his good weapon used to be, but broadsword there was none;
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And in the shadows of the night 'twas thus he made his moan—
“I am a houseless outcast: I have neither bed nor board,
Nor living thing to look upon, nor comfort save the Lord:
Yet many a time were better men in worse extremity;
Who succour'd them in their distress, He now will succour me,—
He now will succour me, I know; and, by His holy Name,
I'll make the doers of this deed right dearly rue the same!
Nor living thing to look upon, nor comfort save the Lord:
Yet many a time were better men in worse extremity;
Who succour'd them in their distress, He now will succour me,—
He now will succour me, I know; and, by His holy Name,
I'll make the doers of this deed right dearly rue the same!
“My bonny mare! I've ridden you when Claver'se rode behind,
And from the thumbscrew and the boot you bore me like the wind;
And, while I have the life you saved, on your sleek flank I swear,
Episcopalian rowel shall never ruffle hair!
Though sword to wield they've left me none—yet Wallace wight, I wis,
Good battle did on Irvine side wi' waur weapon than this.”—
And from the thumbscrew and the boot you bore me like the wind;
And, while I have the life you saved, on your sleek flank I swear,
Episcopalian rowel shall never ruffle hair!
Though sword to wield they've left me none—yet Wallace wight, I wis,
Good battle did on Irvine side wi' waur weapon than this.”—
His fishing-rod with both his hands he griped it as he spoke,
And, where the butt and top were spliced, in pieces twain he broke;
The limber top he cast away, with all its gear abroad,
But, grasping the thick hickory butt, with spike of iron shod,
He ground the sharp spear to a point; then pull'd his bonnet down,
And, meditating black revenge, set forth for Carrick town.
And, where the butt and top were spliced, in pieces twain he broke;
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But, grasping the thick hickory butt, with spike of iron shod,
He ground the sharp spear to a point; then pull'd his bonnet down,
And, meditating black revenge, set forth for Carrick town.
The sun shines bright on Carrick wall and Carrick Castle grey,
And up thine aisle, St. Nicholas, has ta'en his morning way,
And to the North-Gate sentinel displayeth far and near
Sea, hill, and tower, and all thereon, in dewy freshness clear,
Save where, behind a ruin'd wall, himself alone to view,
Is peering from the ivy green a bonnet of the blue.
And up thine aisle, St. Nicholas, has ta'en his morning way,
And to the North-Gate sentinel displayeth far and near
Sea, hill, and tower, and all thereon, in dewy freshness clear,
Save where, behind a ruin'd wall, himself alone to view,
Is peering from the ivy green a bonnet of the blue.
The sun shines red on Carrick wall and Carrick Castle old,
And all the western buttresses have changed their grey for gold;
And from thy shrine, Saint Nicholas, the pilgrim of the sky
Has gone in rich farewell, as fits such royal votary;
But, as his last red glance he takes down past black Slieve-a-true,
He leaveth where he found it first, the bonnet of the blue.
And all the western buttresses have changed their grey for gold;
And from thy shrine, Saint Nicholas, the pilgrim of the sky
Has gone in rich farewell, as fits such royal votary;
But, as his last red glance he takes down past black Slieve-a-true,
He leaveth where he found it first, the bonnet of the blue.
Again he makes the turrets grey stand out before the hill;
Constant as their foundation rock, there is the bonnet still!
And now the gates are open'd, and forth in gallant show
Prick jeering grooms and burghers blythe, and troopers in a row;
But one has little care for jest, so hard bested is he,
To ride the outlaw's bonny mare, for this at last is she!
Constant as their foundation rock, there is the bonnet still!
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Prick jeering grooms and burghers blythe, and troopers in a row;
But one has little care for jest, so hard bested is he,
To ride the outlaw's bonny mare, for this at last is she!
Down comes her master with a roar, her rider with a groan,
The iron and the hickory are through and through him gone!
He lies a corpse; and where he sat, the outlaw sits again,
And once more to his bonny mare he gives the spur and rein;
Then some with sword, and some with gun, they ride and run amain!
But sword and gun, and whip and spur, that day they plied in vain!
The iron and the hickory are through and through him gone!
He lies a corpse; and where he sat, the outlaw sits again,
And once more to his bonny mare he gives the spur and rein;
Then some with sword, and some with gun, they ride and run amain!
But sword and gun, and whip and spur, that day they plied in vain!
Ah! little thought Willy Gilliland, when he on Skerry side
Drew bridle first, and wiped his brow after that weary ride,
That where he lay like hunted brute, a cavern'd outlaw lone,
Broad lands and yeoman tenantry should yet be there his own:
Yet so it was; and still from him descendants not a few
Draw birth and lands, and, let me trust, draw love of Freedom too.
Drew bridle first, and wiped his brow after that weary ride,
That where he lay like hunted brute, a cavern'd outlaw lone,
Broad lands and yeoman tenantry should yet be there his own:
Yet so it was; and still from him descendants not a few
Draw birth and lands, and, let me trust, draw love of Freedom too.
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THE FORGING OF THE ANCHOR.
Come, see the Dolphin's anchor forged—'tis at a white heat now:
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased—though on the forge's brow
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound,
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round,
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare:
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.
The bellows ceased, the flames decreased—though on the forge's brow
The little flames still fitfully play through the sable mound,
And fitfully you still may see the grim smiths ranking round,
All clad in leathern panoply, their broad hands only bare:
Some rest upon their sledges here, some work the windlass there.
The windlass strains the tackle chains, the black mound heaves below,
And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe:
It rises, roars, rends all outright—O, Vulcan, what a glow!
'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright—the high sun shines not so!
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show,
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row
Of smiths that stand, an ardent band, like men before the foe,
As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster, slow
Sinks on the anvil:—all about the faces fiery grow;
“Hurrah!” they shout “leap out—leap out;” bang, bang the sledges go:
Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low—
A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow;
The leathern mail rebounds the hail, the rattling cinders strow
The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow,
And thick and loud the swinking crowd at every stroke pant “ho!”
Leap out, leap out, my masters: leap out and lay on load!
Let's forge a goodly anchor—a bower thick and broad;
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode;
I see the good ship riding all in a perilous road—
The low reef roaring on her lee—the roll of ocean pour'd
From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the board,
The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains!
But courage still, brave mariners—the bower yet remains,
And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch sky high;
Then moves his head, as though he said “Fear nothing—here am I.”
Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time;
Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime;
But, while you sling your sledges, sing—and let the burthen be,
The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we!
Strike in, strike in—the sparks begin to dull their rustling red;
Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped.
Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array,
For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay;
Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here,
For the yeo-heave-o', and the heave away, and the sighing seaman's cheer;
When, weighing slow, at eve they go—far, far from love and home;
And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.
And red and deep a hundred veins burst out at every throe:
It rises, roars, rends all outright—O, Vulcan, what a glow!
'Tis blinding white, 'tis blasting bright—the high sun shines not so!
The high sun sees not, on the earth, such fiery fearful show,
The roof-ribs swarth, the candent hearth, the ruddy lurid row
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As, quivering through his fleece of flame, the sailing monster, slow
Sinks on the anvil:—all about the faces fiery grow;
“Hurrah!” they shout “leap out—leap out;” bang, bang the sledges go:
Hurrah! the jetted lightnings are hissing high and low—
A hailing fount of fire is struck at every squashing blow;
The leathern mail rebounds the hail, the rattling cinders strow
The ground around; at every bound the sweltering fountains flow,
And thick and loud the swinking crowd at every stroke pant “ho!”
Leap out, leap out, my masters: leap out and lay on load!
Let's forge a goodly anchor—a bower thick and broad;
For a heart of oak is hanging on every blow, I bode;
I see the good ship riding all in a perilous road—
The low reef roaring on her lee—the roll of ocean pour'd
From stem to stern, sea after sea, the mainmast by the board,
The bulwarks down, the rudder gone, the boats stove at the chains!
But courage still, brave mariners—the bower yet remains,
And not an inch to flinch he deigns, save when ye pitch sky high;
Then moves his head, as though he said “Fear nothing—here am I.”
Swing in your strokes in order, let foot and hand keep time;
Your blows make music sweeter far than any steeple's chime;
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The anchor is the anvil-king, and royal craftsmen we!
Strike in, strike in—the sparks begin to dull their rustling red;
Our hammers ring with sharper din, our work will soon be sped.
Our anchor soon must change his bed of fiery rich array,
For a hammock at the roaring bows, or an oozy couch of clay;
Our anchor soon must change the lay of merry craftsmen here,
For the yeo-heave-o', and the heave away, and the sighing seaman's cheer;
When, weighing slow, at eve they go—far, far from love and home;
And sobbing sweethearts, in a row, wail o'er the ocean foam.
In livid and obdurate gloom he darkens down at last:
A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast:
O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me,
What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!
O deep-Sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou?
The hoary monster's palaces! methinks what joy 'twere now
To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of the whales,
And feel the churn'd sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails!
Then deep in tangle-woods to fight the fierce sea unicorn,
And send him foil'd and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn:
To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn;
And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn:
To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles
He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallow'd miles;
Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls;
Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished shoals
Of his back-browsing ocean-calves; or, haply, in a cove,
Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undiné's love,
To find the long-hair'd mermaidens; or, hard by icy lands,
To wrestle with the Sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands.
A shapely one he is, and strong, as e'er from cat was cast:
O trusted and trustworthy guard, if thou hadst life like me,
What pleasures would thy toils reward beneath the deep green sea!
O deep-Sea-diver, who might then behold such sights as thou?
The hoary monster's palaces! methinks what joy 'twere now
To go plumb plunging down amid the assembly of the whales,
And feel the churn'd sea round me boil beneath their scourging tails!
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And send him foil'd and bellowing back, for all his ivory horn:
To leave the subtle sworder-fish of bony blade forlorn;
And for the ghastly-grinning shark, to laugh his jaws to scorn:
To leap down on the kraken's back, where 'mid Norwegian isles
He lies, a lubber anchorage for sudden shallow'd miles;
Till snorting, like an under-sea volcano, off he rolls;
Meanwhile to swing, a-buffeting the far astonished shoals
Of his back-browsing ocean-calves; or, haply, in a cove,
Shell-strown, and consecrate of old to some Undiné's love,
To find the long-hair'd mermaidens; or, hard by icy lands,
To wrestle with the Sea-serpent, upon cerulean sands.
O broad-arm'd Fisher of the deep, whose sports can equal thine?
The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line;
And night by night, 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day,
Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to play—
But shamer of our little sports! forgive the name I gave—
A fisher's joy is to destroy—thine office is to save.
O lodger in the sea-kings' halls, couldst thou but understand
Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band,
Slow swaying in the heaving wave, that round about thee bend,
With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend—
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee,
Thine iron side would swell with pride; thou'dst leap within the sea!
Give honour to their memories who left the pleasant strand,
To shed their blood so freely for the love of Fatherland—
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave,
So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave—
Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,
Honour him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!
The Dolphin weighs a thousand tons, that tugs thy cable line;
And night by night, 'tis thy delight, thy glory day by day,
Through sable sea and breaker white the giant game to play—
But shamer of our little sports! forgive the name I gave—
A fisher's joy is to destroy—thine office is to save.
O lodger in the sea-kings' halls, couldst thou but understand
Whose be the white bones by thy side, or who that dripping band,
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With sounds like breakers in a dream blessing their ancient friend—
Oh, couldst thou know what heroes glide with larger steps round thee,
Thine iron side would swell with pride; thou'dst leap within the sea!
Give honour to their memories who left the pleasant strand,
To shed their blood so freely for the love of Fatherland—
Who left their chance of quiet age and grassy churchyard grave,
So freely, for a restless bed amid the tossing wave—
Oh, though our anchor may not be all I have fondly sung,
Honour him for their memory, whose bones he goes among!
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THE FORESTER'S COMPLAINT.
Through our wild wood-walks here,
Sunbright and shady,
Free as the forest deer,
Roams a lone lady:
Far from her castle-keep,
Down in the valley,
Roams she, by dingle deep,
Green holm and alley,
With her sweet presence bright
Gladd'ning my dwelling—
Oh, fair her face of light,
Past the tongue's telling!
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
Sunbright and shady,
Free as the forest deer,
Roams a lone lady:
Far from her castle-keep,
Down in the valley,
Roams she, by dingle deep,
Green holm and alley,
With her sweet presence bright
Gladd'ning my dwelling—
Oh, fair her face of light,
Past the tongue's telling!
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
In our blithe sports' debates
Down by the river,
I, of my merry mates,
Foremost was ever;
Skilfullest with my flute,
Leading the maidens
Heark'ning, by moonlight, mute,
To its sweet cadence:
Sprightliest in the dance
Tripping together—
Such a one was I once
Ere she came hither!
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
Down by the river,
I, of my merry mates,
Foremost was ever;
Skilfullest with my flute,
Leading the maidens
Heark'ning, by moonlight, mute,
To its sweet cadence:
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Tripping together—
Such a one was I once
Ere she came hither!
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
Loud now my comrades laugh
As I pass by them;
Broadsword and quarter-staff
No more I ply them:
Coy now the maidens frown
Wanting their dances;
How can their faces brown
Win one, who fancies
Even an angel's face
Dark to be seen would
Be, by the Lily-grace
Gladd'ning the green wood?
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
As I pass by them;
Broadsword and quarter-staff
No more I ply them:
Coy now the maidens frown
Wanting their dances;
How can their faces brown
Win one, who fancies
Even an angel's face
Dark to be seen would
Be, by the Lily-grace
Gladd'ning the green wood?
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
Wolf, by my broken bow
Idle is lying,
While through the woods I go,
All the day, sighing,
Tracing her footsteps small
Through the moss'd cover,
Hiding then, breathless all,
At the sight of her,
Lest my rude gazing should
From her haunt scare her—
Oh, what a solitude
Wanting her, there were!
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
Idle is lying,
While through the woods I go,
All the day, sighing,
98
Through the moss'd cover,
Hiding then, breathless all,
At the sight of her,
Lest my rude gazing should
From her haunt scare her—
Oh, what a solitude
Wanting her, there were!
Woe was me
E'er to see
Beauty so shining;
Ever since, hourly,
Have I been pining!
99
THE PRETTY GIRL OF LOCH DAN.
The shades of eve had cross'd the glen
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore,
When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopp'd before a cottage door.
That frowns o'er infant Avonmore,
When, nigh Loch Dan, two weary men,
We stopp'd before a cottage door.
“God save all here,” my comrade cries,
And rattles on the raised latch-pin;
“God save you kindly,” quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.
And rattles on the raised latch-pin;
“God save you kindly,” quick replies
A clear sweet voice, and asks us in.
We enter; from the wheel she starts,
A rosy girl with soft black eyes;
Her fluttering court'sy takes our hearts,
Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.
A rosy girl with soft black eyes;
Her fluttering court'sy takes our hearts,
Her blushing grace and pleased surprise.
Poor Mary, she was quite alone,
For, all the way to Glenmalure,
Her mother had that morning gone
And left the house in charge with her.
For, all the way to Glenmalure,
Her mother had that morning gone
And left the house in charge with her.
But neither household cares, nor yet
The shame that startled virgins feel,
Could make the generous girl forget
Her wonted hospitable zeal.
The shame that startled virgins feel,
Could make the generous girl forget
Her wonted hospitable zeal.
She brought us in a beechen bowl
Sweet milk that smack'd of mountain thyme,
Oat cake, and such a yellow roll
Of butter—it gilds all my rhyme!
Sweet milk that smack'd of mountain thyme,
Oat cake, and such a yellow roll
Of butter—it gilds all my rhyme!
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And, while we ate the grateful food,
(With weary limbs on bench reclined,)
Considerate and discreet, she stood
Apart, and listen'd to the wind.
(With weary limbs on bench reclined,)
Considerate and discreet, she stood
Apart, and listen'd to the wind.
Kind wishes both our souls engaged,
From breast to breast spontaneous ran
The mutual thought—we stood and pledged
The Modest Rose above Loch Dan.
From breast to breast spontaneous ran
The mutual thought—we stood and pledged
The Modest Rose above Loch Dan.
“The milk we drink is not more pure,
Sweet Mary—bless those budding charms!
Than your own generous heart, I'm sure,
Nor whiter than the breast it warms!”
Sweet Mary—bless those budding charms!
Than your own generous heart, I'm sure,
Nor whiter than the breast it warms!”
She turn'd and gazed, unused to hear
Such language in that homely glen;
But, Mary, you have nought to fear,
Though smiled on by two stranger men.
Such language in that homely glen;
But, Mary, you have nought to fear,
Though smiled on by two stranger men.
Not for a crown would I alarm
Your virgin pride by word or sign,
Nor need a painful blush disarm
My friend of thoughts as pure as mine.
Your virgin pride by word or sign,
Nor need a painful blush disarm
My friend of thoughts as pure as mine.
Her simple heart could not but feel
The words we spoke were free from guile;
She stoop'd, she blush'd—she fixed her wheel,
'Tis all in vain—she can't but smile!
The words we spoke were free from guile;
She stoop'd, she blush'd—she fixed her wheel,
'Tis all in vain—she can't but smile!
Just like sweet April's dawn appears
Her modest face—I see it yet—
And though I lived a hundred years,
Methinks I never could forget
Her modest face—I see it yet—
And though I lived a hundred years,
Methinks I never could forget
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The pleasure that, despite her heart,
Fills all her downcast eyes with light,
The lips reluctantly apart,
The white teeth struggling into sight,
Fills all her downcast eyes with light,
The lips reluctantly apart,
The white teeth struggling into sight,
The dimples eddying o'er her cheek,—
The rosy cheek that won't be still!—
Oh! who could blame what flatterers speak,
Did smiles like this reward their skill?
The rosy cheek that won't be still!—
Oh! who could blame what flatterers speak,
Did smiles like this reward their skill?
For such another smile, I vow,
Though loudly beats the midnight rain,
I'd take the mountain-side e'en now,
And walk to Luggelaw again!
Though loudly beats the midnight rain,
I'd take the mountain-side e'en now,
And walk to Luggelaw again!
102
HUNGARY.
AUGUST 1849.
Away! would you own the dread rapture of war.
Seek the host-rolling plain of the mighty Magyar;
Where the giants of yore from their mansions come down,
O'er the ocean-wide floor play the game of renown.
Seek the host-rolling plain of the mighty Magyar;
Where the giants of yore from their mansions come down,
O'er the ocean-wide floor play the game of renown.
Hark! hark! how the earth 'neath their armament reels,
In the hurricane charge—in the thunder of wheels;
How the hearts of the forests rebound as they pass,
In their mantle of smoke, through the quaking morass!
In the hurricane charge—in the thunder of wheels;
How the hearts of the forests rebound as they pass,
In their mantle of smoke, through the quaking morass!
God! the battle is join'd! Lord Sabaoth, rejoice!
Freedom thunders her hymn in the battery's voice—
In the soaring hurrah—in the blood-stifled moan—
Sends the voice of her praise to the foot of thy throne.
Freedom thunders her hymn in the battery's voice—
In the soaring hurrah—in the blood-stifled moan—
Sends the voice of her praise to the foot of thy throne.
Oh hear, God of freedom, thy people's appeal;
Let the edges of slaughter be sharp as their steel,
And the weight of destruction and swiftness of fear,
Speed death to his mark in their bullets' career!
Let the edges of slaughter be sharp as their steel,
And the weight of destruction and swiftness of fear,
Speed death to his mark in their bullets' career!
Holy nature, arise! from thy bosom in wrath
Shake the pestilence forth on the enemy's path,
That the tyrant invaders may march by the road
Of Sennacherib invading the city of God!
Shake the pestilence forth on the enemy's path,
That the tyrant invaders may march by the road
Of Sennacherib invading the city of God!
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As the stars in their courses 'gainst Sisera strove,
Fight, mists of the fens, in the sick air above;
As Scamander his carcasses flung on the foe,
Fight, floods of the Theiss, in your torrents below!
Fight, mists of the fens, in the sick air above;
As Scamander his carcasses flung on the foe,
Fight, floods of the Theiss, in your torrents below!
As the snail of the Psalmist consuming away,
Let the moon-melted masses in silence decay;
Till the track of corruption alone in the air
Shall tell sicken'd Europe the Scythian was there!
Let the moon-melted masses in silence decay;
Till the track of corruption alone in the air
Shall tell sicken'd Europe the Scythian was there!
Stay! stay!—in thy fervour of sympathy pause,
Nor become inhumane in humanity's cause;
If the poor Russian slave have to wrong been abused,
Are the ties of Christ's brotherhood all to be loosed?
Nor become inhumane in humanity's cause;
If the poor Russian slave have to wrong been abused,
Are the ties of Christ's brotherhood all to be loosed?
The mothers of Moscow who offer the breast
To their orphans, have hearts, as the mothers of Pest;
Nor are love's aspirations more tenderly drawn
From the bosoms of youth by the Theiss than the Don.
To their orphans, have hearts, as the mothers of Pest;
Nor are love's aspirations more tenderly drawn
From the bosoms of youth by the Theiss than the Don.
God of Russian and Magyar, who ne'er hast design'd
Save one shedding of blood for the sins of mankind,
No demon of battle and bloodshed art thou,
To the war-wearied nations be pitiful now!
Save one shedding of blood for the sins of mankind,
No demon of battle and bloodshed art thou,
To the war-wearied nations be pitiful now!
Turn the hearts of the kings—let the Magyar again
Reap the harvest of peace on his bountiful plain;
And if not with renown, with affections and lives,
Send the driven serfs home to their children and wives!—
Reap the harvest of peace on his bountiful plain;
And if not with renown, with affections and lives,
Send the driven serfs home to their children and wives!—
But you fill all my bosom with tumult once more—
What! Görgey surrender'd! What! Bem's battles o'er!
What! Haynau victorious!—Inscrutable God!
We must wonder, and worship, and bow to thy rod.
What! Görgey surrender'd! What! Bem's battles o'er!
What! Haynau victorious!—Inscrutable God!
We must wonder, and worship, and bow to thy rod.
104
ADIEU TO BRITTANY.
Rugged land of the granite and oak,
I depart with a sigh from thy shore,
And with kinsman's affection a blessing invoke
On the maids and the men of Arvôr.
I depart with a sigh from thy shore,
And with kinsman's affection a blessing invoke
On the maids and the men of Arvôr.
For the Irish and Breton are kin,
Though the lights of Antiquity pale
In the point of the dawn where the partings begin
Of the Bolg, and the Kymro, and Gael.
Though the lights of Antiquity pale
In the point of the dawn where the partings begin
Of the Bolg, and the Kymro, and Gael.
But, though dim in the distance of time
Be the low-burning beacons of fame,
Holy Nature attests us, in writing sublime
On heart and on visage, the same.
Be the low-burning beacons of fame,
Holy Nature attests us, in writing sublime
On heart and on visage, the same.
In the dark-eye-lash'd eye of blue-grey,
In the open look, modest and kind,
In the face's fine oval reflecting the play
Of the sensitive, generous mind,
In the open look, modest and kind,
In the face's fine oval reflecting the play
Of the sensitive, generous mind,
Till, as oft as by meadow and stream
With thy Maries and Josephs I roam,
In companionship gentle and friendly I seem,
As with Patrick and Brigid at home.
With thy Maries and Josephs I roam,
In companionship gentle and friendly I seem,
As with Patrick and Brigid at home.
Green, meadow-fresh, streamy-bright land!
Though greener meads, valleys as fair,
Be at home, yet the home-yearning heart will demand,
Are they blest as in Brittany there?
Though greener meads, valleys as fair,
Be at home, yet the home-yearning heart will demand,
Are they blest as in Brittany there?
105
Demand not—repining is vain:
Yet, would God, that even as thou
In thy homeliest homesteads, contented Bretagne,
Were the green isle my thoughts are with now!
Yet, would God, that even as thou
In thy homeliest homesteads, contented Bretagne,
Were the green isle my thoughts are with now!
But I call thee not golden: let gold
Deck the coronal troubadours twine,
Where the waves of the Loire and Garomna are roll'd
Through the land of the white wheat and vine,
Deck the coronal troubadours twine,
Where the waves of the Loire and Garomna are roll'd
Through the land of the white wheat and vine,
And the fire of the Frenchman goes up
To the quick-thoughted, dark-flashing eye:
While Glory and Change quaffing Luxury's cup,
Challenge all things below and on high.
To the quick-thoughted, dark-flashing eye:
While Glory and Change quaffing Luxury's cup,
Challenge all things below and on high.
Leave to him—to the vehement man
Of the Loire, of the Seine, of the Rhone,—
In Idea's high pathway to march in the van,
To o'erthrow, and set up the o'erthrown:
Of the Loire, of the Seine, of the Rhone,—
In Idea's high pathway to march in the van,
To o'erthrow, and set up the o'erthrown:
Be it thine in the broad beaten ways
That the world's simple seniors have trod,
To walk with soft steps, living peaceable days,
And on earth not forgetful of God.
That the world's simple seniors have trod,
To walk with soft steps, living peaceable days,
And on earth not forgetful of God.
Nor repine that thy lot has been cast
With the things of the old time before,
For to thee are committed the keys of the past,
Oh grey monumental Arvôr!
With the things of the old time before,
For to thee are committed the keys of the past,
Oh grey monumental Arvôr!
Yes, land of the great Standing Stones,
It is thine at thy feet to survey,
From thy earlier shepherd-kings' sepulchre-thrones
The giant, far-stretching array;
It is thine at thy feet to survey,
From thy earlier shepherd-kings' sepulchre-thrones
The giant, far-stretching array;
106
Where, abroad o'er the gorse-cover'd lande
Where, along by the slow-breaking wave,
The hoary, inscrutable sentinels stand
In their night-watch by History's grave.
Where, along by the slow-breaking wave,
The hoary, inscrutable sentinels stand
In their night-watch by History's grave.
Preserve them, nor fear for thy charge;
From the prime of the morning they sprung,
When the works of young Mankind were lasting and large,
As the will they embodied was young.
From the prime of the morning they sprung,
When the works of young Mankind were lasting and large,
As the will they embodied was young.
I have stood on Old Sarum:
the sun,
With a pensive regard from the west,
Lit the beech-tops low down in the ditch of the Dun,
Lit the service-trees high on its crest:
With a pensive regard from the west,
Lit the beech-tops low down in the ditch of the Dun,
Lit the service-trees high on its crest:
But the walls of the Roman were shrunk
Into morsels of ruin around,
And palace of monarch, and minster of monk,
Were effaced from the grassy-foss'd ground.
Into morsels of ruin around,
And palace of monarch, and minster of monk,
Were effaced from the grassy-foss'd ground.
Like bubbles in ocean, they melt,
O Wilts, on thy long-rolling plain,
And at last but the works of the hand of the Celt
And the sweet hand of Nature remain.
O Wilts, on thy long-rolling plain,
And at last but the works of the hand of the Celt
And the sweet hand of Nature remain.
Even so: though, portentous and strange,
With a rumour of troublesome sounds,
On his iron way gliding, the Angel of Change
Spread his dusky wings wide o'er thy bounds,—
With a rumour of troublesome sounds,
On his iron way gliding, the Angel of Change
Spread his dusky wings wide o'er thy bounds,—
107
He will pass: there'll be grass on his track,
And the pick of the miner in vain
Shall search the dark void: while the stones of Carnac
And the word of the Breton remain.
And the pick of the miner in vain
Shall search the dark void: while the stones of Carnac
And the word of the Breton remain.
Farewell: up the waves of the Rance,
See, we stream back our pennon of smoke;
Farewell, russet skirt of the fine robe of France,
Rugged land of the granite and oak!
See, we stream back our pennon of smoke;
Farewell, russet skirt of the fine robe of France,
Rugged land of the granite and oak!
108
WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
ON HEARING WEEK-DAY SERVICE THERE, SEPTEMBER, 1856.
From England's gilded halls of state
I cross'd the Western Minster's gate,
And, 'mid the tombs of England's dead,
I heard the Holy Scriptures read.
I cross'd the Western Minster's gate,
And, 'mid the tombs of England's dead,
I heard the Holy Scriptures read.
The walls around and pillar'd piers
Had stood well-nigh seven hundred years;
The words the priest gave forth had stood
Since Christ, and since before the Flood.
Had stood well-nigh seven hundred years;
The words the priest gave forth had stood
Since Christ, and since before the Flood.
A thousand hearts around partook
The comfort of the Holy Book;
Ten thousand suppliant hands were spread
In lifted stone above my head.
The comfort of the Holy Book;
Ten thousand suppliant hands were spread
In lifted stone above my head.
In dust decay'd the hands are gone
That fed and set the builders on;
In heedless dust the fingers lie
That hew'd and heav'd the stones on high;
That fed and set the builders on;
In heedless dust the fingers lie
That hew'd and heav'd the stones on high;
And back to earth and air resolv'd
The brain that plann'd and pois'd the vault:—
But undecay'd, erect, and fair,
To heaven ascends the builded Prayer,
The brain that plann'd and pois'd the vault:—
But undecay'd, erect, and fair,
To heaven ascends the builded Prayer,
109
With majesty of strength and size,
With glory of harmonious dyes,
With holy airs of heavenward thought
From floor to roof divinely fraught.
With glory of harmonious dyes,
With holy airs of heavenward thought
From floor to roof divinely fraught.
Fall down, ye bars: enlarge, my soul!
To heart's content take in the whole;
And, spurning pride's injurious thrall,
With loyal love embrace them all!
To heart's content take in the whole;
And, spurning pride's injurious thrall,
With loyal love embrace them all!
Yet hold not lightly home; nor yet
The graves on Dunagore forget;
Nor grudge the stone-gilt stall to change
For humble bench of Gorman's Grange.
The graves on Dunagore forget;
Nor grudge the stone-gilt stall to change
For humble bench of Gorman's Grange.
The self-same Word bestows its cheer
On simple creatures there as here;
And thence, as hence, poor souls do rise
In social flight to common skies.
On simple creatures there as here;
And thence, as hence, poor souls do rise
In social flight to common skies.
For in the Presence vast and good,
That bends o'er all our livelihood,
With humankind in heavenly cure,
We all are like, we all are poor.
That bends o'er all our livelihood,
With humankind in heavenly cure,
We all are like, we all are poor.
His poor, be sure, shall never want
For service meet or seemly chant,
And for the Gospel's joyful sound
A fitting place shall still be found;
For service meet or seemly chant,
And for the Gospel's joyful sound
A fitting place shall still be found;
Whether the organ's solemn tones
Thrill through the dust of warriors' bones,
Or voices of the village choir
From swallow-haunted eaves aspire,
Thrill through the dust of warriors' bones,
Or voices of the village choir
From swallow-haunted eaves aspire,
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Or, sped with healing on its wings,
The Word solicit ears of kings,
Or stir the souls, in moorland glen,
Of kingless covenanted men.
The Word solicit ears of kings,
Or stir the souls, in moorland glen,
Of kingless covenanted men.
Enough for thee, indulgent Lord,
The willing ear to hear Thy Word—
The rising of the burthen'd breast—
And Thou suppliest all the rest.
The willing ear to hear Thy Word—
The rising of the burthen'd breast—
And Thou suppliest all the rest.
| Lays of the Western Gael, and Other Poems | |