Ballads of Irish chivalry

'Tis Meergal of the Mountain that sighs so mournfully,
With tearful eyes far gazing o'er the star-bespangled sea;
All alone, alon in sorrow, by the Rock of Brananmor,
Behind her loves calm planet, and the sinking moon before.

II

Nought beholds she as she gazes through the dim and windless west,
Save the diamond star-beams dancing o'er the sea's resplendent breast,
And the glorious changeful glitter of the shimmering splendour train,
From the shore, to where the bright moon hangs above the silent main.

III

And she cries, “He is not coming! I have waited many a day
To see his white sail gleaming o'er the blue waves far away;
Many a midnight have I wept him with a sad heart mournfully,
But he cometh not, he cometh not, across the weary sea!”

IV

The moon hangs o'er the water, with its face so calm and pale,
Now the lady looks beneath it, and she sees a rising sail,
And along that line of splendour comes a boat as bright as flame,
With a wondrous sheen all sparkling, as if out from Heaven it came!

V

As a fragment from the morning in its light sail gleaming o'er,
Glow its smooth sides like the sunset, glitter diamonds in its prore;

By its mast a youth is sitting with an angel's beauty crowned,
And the lady shrieks with gladness, for her long-lost love is found!

FYTTE THE SECOND.

I

Young Meergal of the Mountain, she sits all fond and fain,
With her own betrothed Garmon by the star-bespangled main,
And she cries: “Oh! long lost rover, oh, beloved Garmon, tell
Why thou comest thus so strangely, in what bright land did'st thou dwell!

II

For I've searched by strand and forest, I have waited many a day
By the deep, to see thy white sail o'er the blue waves far away;
Many a midnight have I wept thee, with a sad heart mournfully
Thinking, fearing thou wert lying 'neath the weary, weary sea!”

III

“There was silence on the forest and the wide-spread burnished deep,
To the westward I was gazing from Brananmor the steep,
And I saw the Land of Glory through that sunset of the May,
Oh! the beautiful Hy Brasil”, answered Garmon of the Bay.

IV

“I pulled a blessed shamrock by the old saint's carven stone,
And I took my boat and faced her to Hy Brasil all alone,
And a gentle wind 'gan blowing as I left this iron shore,
And the sea grew ever brighter as I wafted swiftly o'er!

V

Before me in the water, with a face like Heaven so fair,
Up rose the smiling Mermaid with her glossy golden hair,
And she gazed all gently on me, and she raised her queenly hand,
Pointing thro' the amber sunset to that far off heavenly land!

VI

Still on, and on before me went that maiden of the wave,
My soul all drunk with pleasure at each piercing glance she gave,
And my heart all wildly throbbing at the witching smiles she wore,
'Till five boat-lengths scarce before me spread Hy Brasil's golden shore!

VII

But 'twas all a land of shadows with the rainbow's radiance wove,
From the green sky-piercing mountain, to the sunny lowland grove;

Its lovely shore receded as my boat went swiftly on,
And the maiden of the ocean with the witching smiles was gone!

VIII

I bethought me of the shamrock in its emerald glories drest,
With the earth still fresh upon it, and I took it from my breast;
I threw it to the breezes, and they bore it to the strand,
And it never more receded;—I trod the Enchanted Land!

IX

A wild ecstatic wonder fills my soul since that strange day,
For I've walked with those enchanted in the ages past away;
And I've brought this boat of glory, oh! my lady love, for thee,
And we'll sail to calm Hy Brasil, and be blest eternally!”

FYTTE THE THIRD.

I

'Tis Meergal of the Mountain that never more may weep,
For she sits beside her Garmon on the star-bespangled deep;
And in that boat of beauty are they sailing to the west,
With a love that lives eternal, toward the regions of the blest.

II

And its many-tinted dwellers rose from out the deep's still domes,
To see what moving radiance glittered o'er their sparry homes;
And the dolphin heaved and gambolled around their glorious track,
With the sea one blaze of splendour where he showed his prismy back.

III

Behind them rose the morning o'er a green and golden sea,
And that swift boat seemed its herald, it moved so gloriously;
And a sweet, unearthly music filled the atmosphere around,
On their ears for ever falling with a soul-entrancing sound.

IV

It was the purple sunset when the breeze blew warm and bland,
And they saw a shore beyond them by its breath of fragrance fanned,
And within a heavenly harbour under hills serenely grand,
They have moored that boat of wonder in Hy Brasil's golden land.

V

Up they wandered thro' the mountains from the broad cerulean sea,
'Till they reached a beauteous valley decked with many a fragrant tree.

As the countless stars that glitter on a cold December night,
Shone the flow'rs' gay-tinted blossoms o'er that valley of delight.

VI

There a crystal stream danced downward with a wild melodious song,
And like children of the rainbow flew the warbling birds along;
Sang they sweetly as the wild harp when a master sweeps its wire,
As they flew from shore to greenwood, like gay sparks of heav'nly fire.

VII

Like the deep blue depths of Heaven, when the April hours come on,
A lake, broad, calm, and glorious, 'mid that valley's bosom shone,
With its splendour-tinted islands, and their music-murmuring groves,
With its green encircling mountains, and its fairy strands and coves!

VIII

On shore and shining island gleamed hall and palace gay,
Where dwell the blest Enchanted in cloudless joy alway;
Where roam the Fairy People thro' the scenes they like so well;
And, “Oh, love! oh, love!” said Garmon, “here for evermore we dwell!”

IX

When the stars are on the waters, and the peasants by the shore,
Oft they see that boat of beauty with the sparkling diamond prore,
Sailing, sailing with the lovers o'er the silent midnight sea,
To the beautiful Hy Brasil, where they're blest eternally!

Hy Brasil—the Island of Atlantis—the Western Land, etc., is supposed to be identical with Tir-n-a-n Oge, the Paradise of the Pagan Irish. The peasantry believe they can still see it at sunset from the coasts of Clare, Galway, and Donegal. Brananmor is one of the highest pinnacles of the great precipice of Moher, on the coast of Clare.

University of Virginia Library

ROMANCE OF MEERGAL AND GARMON.

FYTTE THE FIRST.

I

II

III

IV

V

FYTTE THE SECOND.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX

FYTTE THE THIRD.

I

II

III

IV

V

VI

VII

VIII

IX