 | From the Hills of Dream |  |
91
THE LOVE SONGS OF IAN MÒR
93
Alona.
Thou art the Daughter of the Sun,
Alona!
Even as the sun in a green place,
The light that is upon thy face!
When thou art gone there is dusk on my ways,
Alona!
Alona!
Even as the sun in a green place,
The light that is upon thy face!
When thou art gone there is dusk on my ways,
Alona!
Thy soul is of sun-fire wrought in clay,
Alona,
The white warm clay that hath for name,
Alona—and for word of fame,
Eilidh—and is for me a Flame
To burn against the Eternal Day,
Alona!
Alona,
The white warm clay that hath for name,
Alona—and for word of fame,
Eilidh—and is for me a Flame
To burn against the Eternal Day,
Alona!
The hills know thee, and the green woods,
Alona,
And the wide sea, and the blue loch, and the stream:
On thy brow, Daughter of the Sun, is agleam
The mystery of Dream,—
Alona!
Alona,
And the wide sea, and the blue loch, and the stream:
On thy brow, Daughter of the Sun, is agleam
The mystery of Dream,—
Alona!
The fires of the sun that burn thee,
Alona,
O, heart of my heart, are in me!
Thy fire burns, thy flame killeth, thy sea
Of light blazeth continually—
Is there no rest in joy, no rest, no rest for me
Whom rapture slayeth utterly,
Alona, Alona!
Alona,
O, heart of my heart, are in me!
Thy fire burns, thy flame killeth, thy sea
Of light blazeth continually—
Is there no rest in joy, no rest, no rest for me
Whom rapture slayeth utterly,
Alona, Alona!
94
Eilidh.
Come to my life that is already yours, and at one with you:Come to my blood that leaps because of you,
Come to my heart that holds you, Eilidh,
Come to my heart that holds you as the green earth clasps and holds the sunlight,
Come to me! Come to me, Eilidh!
95
Silk o' the Kine.
Eilidh, Eilidh, heart of my life, my pulse, my flame,
There are two men loving thee and two who are calling thee wife:
There are two men loving thee and two who are calling thee wife:
But only one husband to thee, Eilidh, that art my wife, and my joy;
Ay, sure, thy womb knows me, and the child thou bearest is mine.
Ay, sure, thy womb knows me, and the child thou bearest is mine.
Thou to me, I to thee, there is nought else in the world, Eilidh Silk o'the Kine;
Nought else in the world, no, no other man for thee, no woman for me!
Nought else in the world, no, no other man for thee, no woman for me!
97
Eilidh, my Fawn.
O far away upon the hills at the lighting of the dawn
I saw a stirring in the fern and out there leapt a fawn:
And O my heart was up at that and like the wind it blew
Till its shadow hovered o'er the fawn as 'mid the fern it flew.
I saw a stirring in the fern and out there leapt a fawn:
And O my heart was up at that and like the wind it blew
Till its shadow hovered o'er the fawn as 'mid the fern it flew.
And Eilidh! Eilidh! Eilidh! was the wind song on the hill,
And Eilidh! Eilidh! Eilidh! did the echoing corries fill:
My hunting heart was glad indeed, at the lighting of the dawn,
For O it was the hunting then of my bonnie bonnie Fawn!
And Eilidh! Eilidh! Eilidh! did the echoing corries fill:
My hunting heart was glad indeed, at the lighting of the dawn,
For O it was the hunting then of my bonnie bonnie Fawn!
99
Love in Absence.
“And dost thou love me not a whit the less:
And is thy heart as tremulous as of yore,
And do thine eyes mirror the wonderfulness,
And do thy lips retain their magic lore?”
What, Sweet, can these things be, ev'n in thy thought,
And I so briefly gone, so swiftly come?
Nay, if the pulse of life its beat forgot
This speaking heart would not thereby be dumb.
And is thy heart as tremulous as of yore,
And do thine eyes mirror the wonderfulness,
And do thy lips retain their magic lore?”
What, Sweet, can these things be, ev'n in thy thought,
And I so briefly gone, so swiftly come?
Nay, if the pulse of life its beat forgot
This speaking heart would not thereby be dumb.
I love thee, love thee so, O beautiful Hell
That dost consume heart, brain, nerves, body, soul,
That even my immortal birthright I would sell
Were Heaven to choose, or Thee, as my one goal.
Sweet love fulfilled, they say, the common lot!
He, who speaks thus, of real love knoweth not!
That dost consume heart, brain, nerves, body, soul,
That even my immortal birthright I would sell
Were Heaven to choose, or Thee, as my one goal.
Sweet love fulfilled, they say, the common lot!
He, who speaks thus, of real love knoweth not!
101
The Closing Doors.
Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh, heart of me, dear and sweet!
In dreams I am hearing the whisper, the sound of your coming feet:
The sound of your coming feet that like the sea-hoofs beat
A music by day and night, Eilidh, on the sands of my heart, my sweet!
In dreams I am hearing the whisper, the sound of your coming feet:
The sound of your coming feet that like the sea-hoofs beat
A music by day and night, Eilidh, on the sands of my heart, my sweet!
O sands of my heart, what wind moans low along thy shadowy shore?
Is that the deep sea-heart I hear with the dying sob at its core?
Each dim lost wave that lapses is like a closing door:
'Tis closing doors they hear at last who soon shall hear no more,
Who soon shall hear no more.
Is that the deep sea-heart I hear with the dying sob at its core?
Each dim lost wave that lapses is like a closing door:
'Tis closing doors they hear at last who soon shall hear no more,
Who soon shall hear no more.
Eilidh, Eilidh, Eilidh, come home, come home to the heart o'me:
It is pain I am having ever, Eilidh, a pain that will not be:
Come home, come home, for closing doors are as the waves o'the sea,
Once closed they are closed for ever, Eilidh, lost, lost, for thee and me,
Lost, lost, for thee and me.
It is pain I am having ever, Eilidh, a pain that will not be:
Come home, come home, for closing doors are as the waves o'the sea,
Once closed they are closed for ever, Eilidh, lost, lost, for thee and me,
Lost, lost, for thee and me.
102
Home.
O heart that is breaking,
Breaking, breaking:
O for the home that I canna, canna win!
The weary aching,
The weary, weary aching
To be in the home that I canna, canna win!
Breaking, breaking:
O for the home that I canna, canna win!
The weary aching,
The weary, weary aching
To be in the home that I canna, canna win!
For O the long home sickness,
The long, long home sickness!
'Tis slow, slow death for me who longs for home, for home!
And a heart is breaking,
I know a heart that's breaking,
All to be at home at last, to be at home, at home,
O Eilidh, Eilidh,
Home, Home, Home!
The long, long home sickness!
'Tis slow, slow death for me who longs for home, for home!
And a heart is breaking,
I know a heart that's breaking,
All to be at home at last, to be at home, at home,
O Eilidh, Eilidh,
Home, Home, Home!
| From the Hills of Dream | |