Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
 | I. |
LOVE BALLAD |
 | II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VII. |
 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
LOVE BALLAD
Lonely from my home I come,
To cast myself upon your tomb,
And to weep.
Lonely from my lonesome home,
My lonesome house of grief and gloom,
While I keep
Vigil often all night long,
For your dear, dear sake.
Praying many a prayer so wrong
That my heart would break!
To cast myself upon your tomb,
And to weep.
Lonely from my lonesome home,
My lonesome house of grief and gloom,
While I keep
Vigil often all night long,
For your dear, dear sake.
Praying many a prayer so wrong
That my heart would break!
Gladly, O my blighted flower,
Sweet Apple of my bosom's Tree,
Would I now
Stretch me in your dark death-bower
Beside your corpse, and lovingly
Kiss your brow.
But we'll meet ere many a day,
Never more to part,
For even now I feel the clay
Gathering round my heart.
Sweet Apple of my bosom's Tree,
Would I now
Stretch me in your dark death-bower
Beside your corpse, and lovingly
Kiss your brow.
But we'll meet ere many a day,
Never more to part,
For even now I feel the clay
Gathering round my heart.
66
In my soul doth darkness dwell,
And through its dreary winter caves
Ever flows,
Ever flows with moaning swell,
One ebbless flood of many Waves
Which are Woes.
Death, love, has me in his lures,
But that grieves not me,
So my ghost may meet with yours
On yon moon-loved lea.
And through its dreary winter caves
Ever flows,
Ever flows with moaning swell,
One ebbless flood of many Waves
Which are Woes.
Death, love, has me in his lures,
But that grieves not me,
So my ghost may meet with yours
On yon moon-loved lea.
When the neighbours near my cot
Believe me sunk in slumber deep,
I arise—
For, O! 'tis a weary lot,
This watching aye, and wooing sleep
With hot eyes—
I arise, and seek your grave,
And pour forth my tears;
While the winds that nightly rave,
Whistle in mine ears.
Believe me sunk in slumber deep,
I arise—
For, O! 'tis a weary lot,
This watching aye, and wooing sleep
With hot eyes—
I arise, and seek your grave,
And pour forth my tears;
While the winds that nightly rave,
Whistle in mine ears.
Often turns my memory back
To that dear evening in the dell,
When we twain
Sheltered by the sloe-bush black,
Sat, laughed, and talked, while thick sleet fell,
And cold rain.
Thanks to God! no guilty leaven
Dashed our childish mirth.
You rejoice for this in Heaven,
I not less on earth!
To that dear evening in the dell,
When we twain
Sheltered by the sloe-bush black,
Sat, laughed, and talked, while thick sleet fell,
And cold rain.
Thanks to God! no guilty leaven
Dashed our childish mirth.
You rejoice for this in Heaven,
I not less on earth!
Love! the priests feel wroth with me,
To find I shrine your image still
In my breast.
Since you are gone eternally,
And your fair frame lies in the chill
Grave at rest;
But true Love outlives the shroud,
Knows not check nor change,
And beyond Time's world of Cloud
Still must reign and range.
To find I shrine your image still
In my breast.
67
And your fair frame lies in the chill
Grave at rest;
But true Love outlives the shroud,
Knows not check nor change,
And beyond Time's world of Cloud
Still must reign and range.
Well may now your kindred mourn
The threats, the wiles, the cruel arts,
They long tried
On the child they left forlorn!
They broke the tenderest heart of hearts,
And she died.
Curse upon the love of show!
Curse on Pride and Greed!
They would wed you “high”—and woe!
Here behold their meed!
The threats, the wiles, the cruel arts,
They long tried
On the child they left forlorn!
They broke the tenderest heart of hearts,
And she died.
Curse upon the love of show!
Curse on Pride and Greed!
They would wed you “high”—and woe!
Here behold their meed!
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |