Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
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| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
 | V. |
THE SAW-MILL. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
271
THE SAW-MILL.
My path lay towards the Mourne again,
But I stopped to rest by the hillside
That glanced adown o'er the sunken glen,
Where the Saw- and Water-mills hide,
Which now, as then,
The Saw- and Water-mills hide.
But I stopped to rest by the hillside
That glanced adown o'er the sunken glen,
Where the Saw- and Water-mills hide,
Which now, as then,
The Saw- and Water-mills hide.
And there, as I lay reclined on the hill,
Like a man made by sudden qualm ill,
I heard the water in the Water-mill,
And I saw the saw in the Saw-mill!
As I thus lay still,
I saw the saw in the Saw-mill!
Like a man made by sudden qualm ill,
I heard the water in the Water-mill,
And I saw the saw in the Saw-mill!
As I thus lay still,
I saw the saw in the Saw-mill!
The saw, the breeze, and the humming bees,
Lulled me into a dreamy reverie,
Till the objects round me, hills, mills, trees,
Seemed grown alive all and every,
By slow degrees
Took life as it were, all and every!
Lulled me into a dreamy reverie,
Till the objects round me, hills, mills, trees,
Seemed grown alive all and every,
By slow degrees
Took life as it were, all and every!
Anon the sound of the waters grew
To a very Mourne-ful ditty,
And the song of the tree that the saw sawed through,
Disturbed my spirit with pity,
Began to subdue
My spirit with tenderest pity!
To a very Mourne-ful ditty,
And the song of the tree that the saw sawed through,
Disturbed my spirit with pity,
Began to subdue
My spirit with tenderest pity!
272
“O, wand'rer! the hour that brings thee back
Is of all meet hours the meetest.
Thou now, in sooth, art on the Track,
Art nigher to Home than thou weetest;
Thou hast thought Time slack,
But his flight has been of the fleetest!
Is of all meet hours the meetest.
Thou now, in sooth, art on the Track,
Art nigher to Home than thou weetest;
Thou hast thought Time slack,
But his flight has been of the fleetest!
“For thee it is that I dree such pain
As, when wounded, even a plank will;
My bosom is pierced, is rent in twain,
That thine may ever bide tranquil,
May ever remain
Henceforward untroubled and tranquil.
As, when wounded, even a plank will;
My bosom is pierced, is rent in twain,
That thine may ever bide tranquil,
May ever remain
Henceforward untroubled and tranquil.
“In a few days more, most Lonely One!
Shall I, as a narrow ark, veil
Thine eyes from the glare of the world and sun
'Mong the urns in yonder dark vale,
In the cold and dun
Recesses of yonder dark vale!
Shall I, as a narrow ark, veil
Thine eyes from the glare of the world and sun
'Mong the urns in yonder dark vale,
In the cold and dun
Recesses of yonder dark vale!
“For this grieve not! Thou knowest what thanks
The Weary-souled and Meek owe
To Death!”—I awoke, and heard four planks
Fall down with a saddening echo.
I heard four planks
Fall down with a hollow echo.
The Weary-souled and Meek owe
To Death!”—I awoke, and heard four planks
Fall down with a saddening echo.
I heard four planks
Fall down with a hollow echo.
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |