Irish Songs and Poems By William Allingham: Second Edition: With Nine Airs for Voice and Pianoforte, and a Permanent Photograph of the Waterfall of Asaroe |
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| THE LADY OF THE SEA.
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 | Irish Songs and Poems |  |
5
THE LADY OF THE SEA.
A LEGEND OF ANCIENT ERIN.
TO DEAR GEORGE PETRIE.
The Sea-Maid, Moruach, of Irish tradition, wears a Cohnleen Driuth—magical (Druidic?) little cap, on which depends her power of living under water. The scene of this poem is laid in Pagan Ireland. Parthalon and Balor are two of the traditional ancestors of the Irish: Parthalon, a Greek who landed with a small body of colonists; Balor, a giant, with one eye in the middle of his forehead and one in the back of his head. Raths were the usual habitations of the wealthier; they were very numerous, and varied much in size, the most important being distinguished by the name of Dūn. A Rath occupied a hill or mound, and consisted of circular earthworks palisaded, enclosing the wooden dwellings (sometimes large), the cattle-byres, etc. Remains of the earthworks are very common all over Ireland (near Belashanny they abound), and are much the same in character as the ‘British Camps’ and ‘Rings’ in England.
Lake-houses, mostly of wood, on artificial islands, were anciently very numerous in Ireland, and are often spoken of in the Annals. The island was commonly made by a ring of oaken piles filled in with stones, earth, etc. The Irish name for such a dwelling-place is Crannog (Crann=a tree). The first examined in modern times was that of Lagore (properly Loch Gabhair), County Meath, in or about the year 1839. A good account of the crannoges is given by Sir William Wilde in the Royal Irish Academy Museum Catalogue, pp. 220-235. In 1853-54 similar structures were discovered in Switzerland, the water being unusually low, in the Lakes of Zurich, Biel, Sempach, Neufchatel, and Geneva. Some of these have been described by Professor F. Keller, under the name of Keltische Psahlbauten (Trans. Antiq. Soc., Zurich, vol. ix.).
In this piece an interval of several lines is sometimes allowed, with definite metrical intention, between a rhyme and its fellow; but, with proper elocution, it is believed that no stitch will be dropt to the ear—which is the final judge of all metre.
I.
When summer days are hot and blue,
How well for thee that mayst pursue
Far from the city's crowded street
The winding brook with wandering feet,
Conquer the mountain's airy crest,
Lose thee in woodland glade; or, best,
Breathe ocean-wind where curl'd waves roar,
Dart from the land in merry boat,
Dive into crystal green, swim, float,
Watch, on your cliff-sward stretch'd at rest,
Cloud-shadows cross the mighty floor,
Or pleated crimsons dye the west
As bit by bit the great Sun goes,
And soft the lazy ripple flows
Like sleep upon a wearied brain.
How well for thee that mayst pursue
Far from the city's crowded street
The winding brook with wandering feet,
Conquer the mountain's airy crest,
Lose thee in woodland glade; or, best,
Breathe ocean-wind where curl'd waves roar,
Dart from the land in merry boat,
Dive into crystal green, swim, float,
Watch, on your cliff-sward stretch'd at rest,
Cloud-shadows cross the mighty floor,
Or pleated crimsons dye the west
As bit by bit the great Sun goes,
And soft the lazy ripple flows
Like sleep upon a wearied brain.
Suppose it thus; suppose thee fain
Of song or story, some wild thing
Reported from the mystic main,—
Of Dalachmar now hear me sing,
Son of a long-forgotten king.
Of song or story, some wild thing
Reported from the mystic main,—
Of Dalachmar now hear me sing,
Son of a long-forgotten king.
6
King Erc the Fortunate was dead,
Diarmad ruled the clans instead,
Of West Ierné, strong in war,
Generous in peace; and Dalachmar,
His younger brother, dwelt with him.
Nor showed the sun and moonlight dim
In those long-faded seasons; bright
Was many a fresh new morrow's light
Along the mountains, evening gold
Fell on the wave, in times of old.
Diarmad ruled the clans instead,
Of West Ierné, strong in war,
Generous in peace; and Dalachmar,
His younger brother, dwelt with him.
Nor showed the sun and moonlight dim
In those long-faded seasons; bright
Was many a fresh new morrow's light
Along the mountains, evening gold
Fell on the wave, in times of old.
Their Fortress-Hill, a mighty mound,
With houses built of the strong oak-tree,
Entrench'd and palisaded round,
Ring within ring, o'erlook'd the sea
And rugged woods of wolf and bear;
A land of gloomy pathways where
Wild men crept also to and fro
To snatch a prey with club and bow;
Till sharply blew the signal-horn
The warriors of the Rath to warn,
And bid them smite the plunderers back
With blood upon their hasty track.
Or sometimes ocean-rovers fierce
Dared with their waspish navy pierce
A river-mouth or guardless bay
And sting the land with fire and sword;
Then sped the warriors forth, to slay
And chase and scatter, and drive aboard.
With houses built of the strong oak-tree,
Entrench'd and palisaded round,
Ring within ring, o'erlook'd the sea
And rugged woods of wolf and bear;
A land of gloomy pathways where
Wild men crept also to and fro
To snatch a prey with club and bow;
Till sharply blew the signal-horn
The warriors of the Rath to warn,
And bid them smite the plunderers back
With blood upon their hasty track.
Or sometimes ocean-rovers fierce
Dared with their waspish navy pierce
A river-mouth or guardless bay
And sting the land with fire and sword;
Then sped the warriors forth, to slay
And chase and scatter, and drive aboard.
But when the battle spoil was won,
Or when the hunting-day was done,
They heard, o'er fragrant cups of mead,
Their bards rehearse each daring deed
To ringing harps, or duly count
Those high ancestral steps that mount
To Balor and to Parthalon,
Or some thrice-famous story tell
Of war, or dark Druidic spell
(To-day no weaker), or how well
A Spirit loved a mortal Youth;
And all was heard and held for truth.
Or when the hunting-day was done,
They heard, o'er fragrant cups of mead,
Their bards rehearse each daring deed
To ringing harps, or duly count
Those high ancestral steps that mount
To Balor and to Parthalon,
7
Of war, or dark Druidic spell
(To-day no weaker), or how well
A Spirit loved a mortal Youth;
And all was heard and held for truth.
Archpoet Conn was old and blind.
No whiter to the autumnal wind
Marsh-cotton waves on rushy moor
Than flow'd his hair and beard, and pure
His raiment when he sat in hall
As torrent-foam or seagull's breast.
The King, in seven rich colours drest,
Pledged him at feast and festival,
And gladly to his master's voice
Conn bow'd the snowy, sightless head.
Young Dalachmar, in robe of red,
Sat next the Bard, of kindly choice,
And spake to him and carved his dish,
And fill'd the goblet to his wish,
That love for loss might make amends;
For youth and age were steadfast friends.
And many a time with careful hand
He led the Sage to the salt sea-sand,
Slow-pacing by the murmurous flood,
Or to a shelter'd glen where stood
One sacred oak-tree, broad and low,
Firm as the rocks that saw it grow,
A cromlech, and a pillar-stone.
And, year by year, of things unknown
He learn'd.
No whiter to the autumnal wind
Marsh-cotton waves on rushy moor
Than flow'd his hair and beard, and pure
His raiment when he sat in hall
As torrent-foam or seagull's breast.
The King, in seven rich colours drest,
Pledged him at feast and festival,
And gladly to his master's voice
Conn bow'd the snowy, sightless head.
Young Dalachmar, in robe of red,
Sat next the Bard, of kindly choice,
And spake to him and carved his dish,
And fill'd the goblet to his wish,
That love for loss might make amends;
For youth and age were steadfast friends.
And many a time with careful hand
He led the Sage to the salt sea-sand,
Slow-pacing by the murmurous flood,
Or to a shelter'd glen where stood
One sacred oak-tree, broad and low,
Firm as the rocks that saw it grow,
A cromlech, and a pillar-stone.
And, year by year, of things unknown
He learn'd.
In shadow of that oak
Conn taught the Prince of fairy-folk
Who dwell within the hollow hills,
In founts of rivers and of rills,
In caves and woods, and some that be
Underneath the cold green sea;
The spells they cast on mortal men,
And spells to master these again;
And Dalachmar all that strange lore
Longing heard and lonely ponder'd,
Musing, wondering, as he wander'd
Through the forest or by the shore.
And when his elder Brother said,
‘My Brother, with the brow of care!
O Dalachmar! I rede thee, wed;
No lack of noble maids and fair;’—
Ever the younger Chief replied,
‘Yea—but I have not seen my bride,
Though many beauties; when I see,
Know her I shall, and she know me.’
—‘I dread lest thou have turn'd thy mind
To something man may never find,
Some love the wide earth cannot give.’
—‘So must I ever loveless live!’
Nor thought his pensive fortune hard,
Communing with the wise old Bard.
Conn taught the Prince of fairy-folk
Who dwell within the hollow hills,
In founts of rivers and of rills,
8
Underneath the cold green sea;
The spells they cast on mortal men,
And spells to master these again;
And Dalachmar all that strange lore
Longing heard and lonely ponder'd,
Musing, wondering, as he wander'd
Through the forest or by the shore.
And when his elder Brother said,
‘My Brother, with the brow of care!
O Dalachmar! I rede thee, wed;
No lack of noble maids and fair;’—
Ever the younger Chief replied,
‘Yea—but I have not seen my bride,
Though many beauties; when I see,
Know her I shall, and she know me.’
—‘I dread lest thou have turn'd thy mind
To something man may never find,
Some love the wide earth cannot give.’
—‘So must I ever loveless live!’
Nor thought his pensive fortune hard,
Communing with the wise old Bard.
But winter came, and Conn no more
Slow enter'd hall, or paced on sand,
Or sat in shadow of oak-tree bough;
If you should search the sea and land
You could not find his white head now,
Unless beneath a cairn of stones
Where round Slieve Rann the north-wind moans.
And young Prince Dalachmar thought long
The nights of darkness; tale or song,
Or maiden's eyes, to youth so dear,
Banquet, or jest, or hunting-spear,
He nothing prized, or warrior-fame
Once green with promise round his name.
Though gentle, he could wield a sword,
And plunge into the waves of war;
Lorcan, who spake an evil word,
Hand to hand in fight he slew;
And when a wildboar overthrew
His elder brother, Dalachmar
Leapt from his horse with ready knife
And found the fierce brute's throbbing life
In one sharp stroke. But weary pass'd
Midwinter now. The barren sea
Roar'd, and the forest roar'd, and he
Was lonely in his thoughts.
Slow enter'd hall, or paced on sand,
Or sat in shadow of oak-tree bough;
If you should search the sea and land
You could not find his white head now,
Unless beneath a cairn of stones
Where round Slieve Rann the north-wind moans.
And young Prince Dalachmar thought long
The nights of darkness; tale or song,
Or maiden's eyes, to youth so dear,
Banquet, or jest, or hunting-spear,
He nothing prized, or warrior-fame
Once green with promise round his name.
Though gentle, he could wield a sword,
And plunge into the waves of war;
9
Hand to hand in fight he slew;
And when a wildboar overthrew
His elder brother, Dalachmar
Leapt from his horse with ready knife
And found the fierce brute's throbbing life
In one sharp stroke. But weary pass'd
Midwinter now. The barren sea
Roar'd, and the forest roar'd, and he
Was lonely in his thoughts.
At last
One day 'twas spring. Dim swelling buds
Thicken'd the web of forest boughs,
Bird and beast began to arouse,
Caper'd and voiced in glad relief;
The salmon cleft the river-floods,
The otter launch'd from his hole in the bank,
Away went the wild swans' airy rank
From salt lagoon; far out on the reef
The seals lay basking; broadly bright
Ocean glitter'd in morning light;
And the young Chief sprang to his little boat
And paddled away on the deep afloat,
By dreadful precipice and cave,
Where slumbers now the greedy wave
Lull'd by that blue heav'n above.
One day 'twas spring. Dim swelling buds
Thicken'd the web of forest boughs,
Bird and beast began to arouse,
Caper'd and voiced in glad relief;
The salmon cleft the river-floods,
The otter launch'd from his hole in the bank,
Away went the wild swans' airy rank
From salt lagoon; far out on the reef
The seals lay basking; broadly bright
Ocean glitter'd in morning light;
And the young Chief sprang to his little boat
And paddled away on the deep afloat,
By dreadful precipice and cave,
Where slumbers now the greedy wave
Lull'd by that blue heav'n above.
Then, so it chanced, his coracle
Glided into a rocky cove
And up a lonely little strand;
And out he stept on sunny sand
Whereon a jagged shadow fell
From the steep o'erhanging cliff,
And drew ashore his fragile skiff.
Glided into a rocky cove
And up a lonely little strand;
And out he stept on sunny sand
Whereon a jagged shadow fell
From the steep o'erhanging cliff,
And drew ashore his fragile skiff.
What spies he on the tawny sand?
A cold sea-jelly, cast away
By fling of ebbing water?——nay!
A little Cap, of changeful sheen,
A seamless Cap of rippled green
Mingling with purple like the hue
Of ocean weeds.
A cold sea-jelly, cast away
By fling of ebbing water?——nay!
A little Cap, of changeful sheen,
10
Mingling with purple like the hue
Of ocean weeds.
He stoop'd; its touch
Like thinnest lightning ran him through
With blissful shiver, sharp and new!
What might it mean? for never such
A chance had come to Dalachmar;
He felt as when, in dream, a star
Flew to him, bird-like, from the sky.
Like thinnest lightning ran him through
With blissful shiver, sharp and new!
What might it mean? for never such
A chance had come to Dalachmar;
He felt as when, in dream, a star
Flew to him, bird-like, from the sky.
But then he heard a sad low cry,
And, turning, saw five steps away—
Was it a Woman?—strange and bright,
With long loose hair, and her body fair
Shimmering as with watery light;
For nothing save a luminous mist
Of tender beryl and amethyst
Over the living smoothness lay,
Statue-firm from head to feet,—
A breathing Woman, soft and sweet,
And yet not earthly.
And, turning, saw five steps away—
Was it a Woman?—strange and bright,
With long loose hair, and her body fair
Shimmering as with watery light;
For nothing save a luminous mist
Of tender beryl and amethyst
Over the living smoothness lay,
Statue-firm from head to feet,—
A breathing Woman, soft and sweet,
And yet not earthly.
So she stood
One marvellous moment in his sight;
Then, lapsing to another mood,
Her mouth's infantine loveliness
Trembling pleaded in sore distress;
Her wide blue eyes with great affright
Were fill'd; two slender hands she press'd
Against the roundlings of her breast,
Then with a fond face full of fears
She held them forth, and heavy tears
Brimm'd in silence and overflow'd.
One marvellous moment in his sight;
Then, lapsing to another mood,
Her mouth's infantine loveliness
Trembling pleaded in sore distress;
Her wide blue eyes with great affright
Were fill'd; two slender hands she press'd
Against the roundlings of her breast,
Then with a fond face full of fears
She held them forth, and heavy tears
Brimm'd in silence and overflow'd.
He, doubting much what this might be,
Watch'd her.
Watch'd her.
Swiftly pointed she;
Utter'd some sound of foreign speech;
But Dalachmar held out of reach
The Cap, behind-back,—and so each
Regarded other.
Utter'd some sound of foreign speech;
But Dalachmar held out of reach
11
Regarded other.
Then she flung
Her arms aloft,—stood straight,—her wide
Eyes gazed on his, and into him;
And she began a solemn song,
Of words uncouth, slow up and down;
A song that deepen'd as she sung,
That soon was loud and swift and strong
Like the rising of a tide,
With power to seize and drench and drown
The senses,—till his sight grew dim,
A torpor crept on every limb.
What could he do?—an ocean-spell
Was on him.
Her arms aloft,—stood straight,—her wide
Eyes gazed on his, and into him;
And she began a solemn song,
Of words uncouth, slow up and down;
A song that deepen'd as she sung,
That soon was loud and swift and strong
Like the rising of a tide,
With power to seize and drench and drown
The senses,—till his sight grew dim,
A torpor crept on every limb.
What could he do?—an ocean-spell
Was on him.
But old wisdom rush'd
Into his mind, and with a start,
One gasp of breath, one leap of heart,
He pluck'd his dagger from its sheath,
Held forth the little Cap beneath
Its glittering point. The song was hush'd.
Prone on the yellow sand she fell.
Into his mind, and with a start,
One gasp of breath, one leap of heart,
He pluck'd his dagger from its sheath,
Held forth the little Cap beneath
Its glittering point. The song was hush'd.
Prone on the yellow sand she fell.
He kneels, he takes her hands, with gentle,
Tender, passionate words—in vain;
Then with a heart of love and pain
Wraps her in his crimson mantle,
Lifts her, lays her down with care,
As she a one-year infant were,
Within his woven coracle,
And o'er the smooth sea guides it well,
And bears her up the rocky path,
And through the circles of the Rath,
To Banva's bower, his sister dear.
There, half in pity, half in fear,
The women tend her, till she sighs
And opens wide her wondrous eyes.
Tender, passionate words—in vain;
Then with a heart of love and pain
Wraps her in his crimson mantle,
Lifts her, lays her down with care,
As she a one-year infant were,
Within his woven coracle,
And o'er the smooth sea guides it well,
And bears her up the rocky path,
And through the circles of the Rath,
To Banva's bower, his sister dear.
There, half in pity, half in fear,
The women tend her, till she sighs
And opens wide her wondrous eyes.
Dalachmar alone of all
In his deep heart understood
Of this Damsel dimly bright
Wafted from the salt-sea flood;
Like a queen when cloth'd aright.
Only a little web, more light
Than any silk, that halfway goes
Between the fingers and the toes,
Her under-ocean breeding shows.
She hath wept and ceased to weep;
Slow her wearied eyelids fall;
Lay her softly, let her sleep.
12
Of this Damsel dimly bright
Wafted from the salt-sea flood;
Like a queen when cloth'd aright.
Only a little web, more light
Than any silk, that halfway goes
Between the fingers and the toes,
Her under-ocean breeding shows.
She hath wept and ceased to weep;
Slow her wearied eyelids fall;
Lay her softly, let her sleep.
(Sleep! while Banva sings)
From caves and waves of the fishful sea,
From swell and knell of the rolling tide
(Slumber! while we sing to thee),
Borne forlorn to our fortress-mound
(Sleep! while Banva sings).
Fairest maiden, sea-blue-eyed,
Sea-shell-tinted, thy unbound
And wavy-flowing hair is dried
And comb'd away on either side
(While Banva sings, and Derdra sings),
Down from smoothly pillow'd head;
Safe art thou on shadowy bed;
Sleep now—safe art thou
In the Dūn of Kings.’
She slept. They heard a thrush outside
Clear across vernal woods, the tide
Searching among his rocks below,
And the spearman pacing to and fro.
13
II.
Along the level sands I heard
The mystic water, how it stirr'd
And whisper'd of the days of old,
While Sun touch'd ocean, sank,—and soon
Eastward a tawny vaporous Moon
Rose ghostlike, to that solemn tune
Of waves. A path of ruddy gold,
Of yellow gold, in turn unroll'd
Full to my feet. Without a word,
I heard an ancient story told.
The mystic water, how it stirr'd
And whisper'd of the days of old,
While Sun touch'd ocean, sank,—and soon
Eastward a tawny vaporous Moon
Rose ghostlike, to that solemn tune
Of waves. A path of ruddy gold,
Of yellow gold, in turn unroll'd
Full to my feet. Without a word,
I heard an ancient story told.
A Princess of the sea, a Prince
Of the West Isle,—and never since
Was any fairer couple wed
Or loved each other more. As fled
Month after month, year after year,
Their love grew every day more dear,
Glad, sad, together, or apart;
Tender they were, and true of heart.
Of the West Isle,—and never since
Was any fairer couple wed
Or loved each other more. As fled
Month after month, year after year,
Their love grew every day more dear,
Glad, sad, together, or apart;
Tender they were, and true of heart.
Askest what love is? Hast thou known
Love's true religion? from thy own
Learn all true lovers' creed; there is
No other way to learn but this.
The best things thou hast found or dream'd—
Howso they new and special seem'd,
Most intimately thine,—are part
Of Man's inheritance; thou art
Co-heir with many. That bright Road,
Where only wingèd Fancy trode,
Stretch'd on the wave by moon or sun,
Did over darkling waters run
Directly to the gazer's feet,—
And was not thus; and yet no cheat.
If any radiancy divine
Doth straight into thy spirit shine,
Lo, it is thine—not singly thine.
The wondrous light that shone to thee
A child, the children saw, and see;
And Love's wide-spread celestial glow
To each peculiarly doth flow.
If thou hast been a lover, so
These loved in by-gone days.
Love's true religion? from thy own
Learn all true lovers' creed; there is
No other way to learn but this.
The best things thou hast found or dream'd—
Howso they new and special seem'd,
Most intimately thine,—are part
Of Man's inheritance; thou art
Co-heir with many. That bright Road,
14
Stretch'd on the wave by moon or sun,
Did over darkling waters run
Directly to the gazer's feet,—
And was not thus; and yet no cheat.
If any radiancy divine
Doth straight into thy spirit shine,
Lo, it is thine—not singly thine.
The wondrous light that shone to thee
A child, the children saw, and see;
And Love's wide-spread celestial glow
To each peculiarly doth flow.
If thou hast been a lover, so
These loved in by-gone days.
Befell
One spring-day, from the circling mound,
Where her Sun-chamber builded well
Look'd wide on all the prospect round,
Fair Merraunee watch'd the sea
(For thus she chose her name to be),
Her two young sons beside her knee.
Her solemn eyes of changeful blue
Larger, it seem'd, and darker grew,
And mournful as they never were
Till now. The children gazed on her,
With awe of that strange mournfulness,
The sense whereof they might not guess.
But youth still turns to thoughts of joy,
And quickly spake the younger Boy,
‘O Mother! would we had a boat
Upon these merry waves afloat,
To sail away and leave the land!’
The elder Brother shouted—‘I
Would dive beneath the waves, and spy
Who live there!’
One spring-day, from the circling mound,
Where her Sun-chamber builded well
Look'd wide on all the prospect round,
Fair Merraunee watch'd the sea
(For thus she chose her name to be),
Her two young sons beside her knee.
Her solemn eyes of changeful blue
Larger, it seem'd, and darker grew,
And mournful as they never were
Till now. The children gazed on her,
With awe of that strange mournfulness,
The sense whereof they might not guess.
But youth still turns to thoughts of joy,
And quickly spake the younger Boy,
‘O Mother! would we had a boat
Upon these merry waves afloat,
To sail away and leave the land!’
The elder Brother shouted—‘I
Would dive beneath the waves, and spy
Who live there!’
Nothing did she say,
But stared upon them, seized a hand
Of each, and hurried them away.
Then, to her husband, ‘Grant me grace!’
She said, ‘and take me from this place!
The moaning restless water kills
All peace within me, day or night,
And soon will be my death outright;
Take me to inland woods and hills.
I love the quiet grassy earth,
Calm lakes, tree-shadows, wild birds' mirth,
I hate this heaving watery floor,
Its ceaseless voices, more and more.
Take me away!—O love, forgive!’
He marvell'd; but he loved her best
Of all things, and on this behest
Sought out an inland place to live.
But stared upon them, seized a hand
15
Then, to her husband, ‘Grant me grace!’
She said, ‘and take me from this place!
The moaning restless water kills
All peace within me, day or night,
And soon will be my death outright;
Take me to inland woods and hills.
I love the quiet grassy earth,
Calm lakes, tree-shadows, wild birds' mirth,
I hate this heaving watery floor,
Its ceaseless voices, more and more.
Take me away!—O love, forgive!’
He marvell'd; but he loved her best
Of all things, and on this behest
Sought out an inland place to live.
Amid the hills, wide-forested,
With rocky pastures interspread,
The sky is in a placid lake,
Steep-shored, transparent-water'd, lonely,—
A bed of reeds at one place only,
'Twixt the water and the brake.
There, driving many an oaken stake
Into the shallow, skilful hands
A stedfast island-dwelling make,
Seen from the hill-tops like a fleet
Of wattled houses; beams of oak
Fix them; and soon a light blue smoke
Goes up across the crowd of trees,
Where greening Spring is busy anew,
Dark holly intermixt, and yew,
And here and there a hoary rock.
With rocky pastures interspread,
The sky is in a placid lake,
Steep-shored, transparent-water'd, lonely,—
A bed of reeds at one place only,
'Twixt the water and the brake.
There, driving many an oaken stake
Into the shallow, skilful hands
A stedfast island-dwelling make,
Seen from the hill-tops like a fleet
Of wattled houses; beams of oak
Fix them; and soon a light blue smoke
Goes up across the crowd of trees,
Where greening Spring is busy anew,
Dark holly intermixt, and yew,
And here and there a hoary rock.
The wolf, the wild-cat, and the bear
Prowl'd in these woods or made their lair;
Strange yells at midnight came, or oft
At dead of night, while safe and soft
Within their Island-Houses slept,
On rushy mat and woollen cloak
And fur of beast, the Prince's folk,
Save who in turn the nightwatch kept;
The Prince himself, and Merraunee,
And two brave Boys, where they should be;
While, underneath, the ripple crept,
And morning rose behind the hills.
Prowl'd in these woods or made their lair;
Strange yells at midnight came, or oft
At dead of night, while safe and soft
Within their Island-Houses slept,
On rushy mat and woollen cloak
16
Save who in turn the nightwatch kept;
The Prince himself, and Merraunee,
And two brave Boys, where they should be;
While, underneath, the ripple crept,
And morning rose behind the hills.
There bide they while the Spring refills
Earth's cup with life-wine to the brink,
And every creature joys to drink.
They fish'd, they hunted, ranged afar
Through labyrinthine woods, made war
On catamount and cruel wolf;
And, three times, Dalachmar himself
Spear-smote the spreading-antler'd elk
And dash'd to ground his mighty bulk.
They drove the milky kine to feed
In forest lawn and marshy mead,
Or swam their wolf-hounds, pure of breed,
Or hollow'd the tree-trunk for canoe,
Made nets and lines, and bows of yew,
Goblets, and other things of wood
For a hundred uses good,
Nor bare of carving. Merraunee,
Span with her tall handmaidens three,
Taught her sons whate'er she could,
Tended the household well, prepared
The evening feast which all folk shared;
Then gladly heard the minstrel sing
His tales, or touched herself the string
(But seldom this) to music strange
Floating through many a subtle change;
And thus fled summertime away.
Earth's cup with life-wine to the brink,
And every creature joys to drink.
They fish'd, they hunted, ranged afar
Through labyrinthine woods, made war
On catamount and cruel wolf;
And, three times, Dalachmar himself
Spear-smote the spreading-antler'd elk
And dash'd to ground his mighty bulk.
They drove the milky kine to feed
In forest lawn and marshy mead,
Or swam their wolf-hounds, pure of breed,
Or hollow'd the tree-trunk for canoe,
Made nets and lines, and bows of yew,
Goblets, and other things of wood
For a hundred uses good,
Nor bare of carving. Merraunee,
Span with her tall handmaidens three,
Taught her sons whate'er she could,
Tended the household well, prepared
The evening feast which all folk shared;
Then gladly heard the minstrel sing
His tales, or touched herself the string
(But seldom this) to music strange
Floating through many a subtle change;
And thus fled summertime away.
‘Art thou at peace?’ he said one day,
Kissing her lips. ‘O Dalachmar!
Lov'st thou me yet? Thou dost, I know,
But still I'd have thee tell me so!’
Kissing her lips. ‘O Dalachmar!
Lov'st thou me yet? Thou dost, I know,
But still I'd have thee tell me so!’
I loved thee first ten years ago;
And now I love thee better far.
Nay, thou hast kept thy bloom of youth
All perfect.’
17
Nay, thou hast kept thy bloom of youth
All perfect.’
‘Dalachmar, in sooth,
There is my sorrow! I can see
A touch or two of time on thee,
Dearer for this,—but—may thy wife
Now tell thee somewhat of the life
Of those beneath the waves, and teach
What I have always shunn'd in speech,
Nay, shunn'd in thought?—but year by year
Brings the inevitable near.
There is my sorrow! I can see
A touch or two of time on thee,
Dearer for this,—but—may thy wife
Now tell thee somewhat of the life
Of those beneath the waves, and teach
What I have always shunn'd in speech,
Nay, shunn'd in thought?—but year by year
Brings the inevitable near.
‘In those vast kingdoms under sea,
Dusky at noontide, some there be
Of mine, a magic race, that dwell,
And how we came there none can tell,
Imperial mid the monstrous forms
Of Ocean's creeping, gliding swarms;
We live three hundred years or more,
Three hundred years, and sometimes four,
And then—ah misery! and then—
Dusky at noontide, some there be
Of mine, a magic race, that dwell,
And how we came there none can tell,
Imperial mid the monstrous forms
Of Ocean's creeping, gliding swarms;
We live three hundred years or more,
Three hundred years, and sometimes four,
And then—ah misery! and then—
‘I said, It is not so with men
Of that bright Upper World, who breathe
Crystalline ether, live beneath
The great dominion of the Sun
And Starry Night—(O Night with Stars!).
Sure nothing there, I said, debars
Or daunts them, be it life or death,
Inspired with such transcendent breath,
And clear Infinity begun!
Of that bright Upper World, who breathe
Crystalline ether, live beneath
The great dominion of the Sun
And Starry Night—(O Night with Stars!).
Sure nothing there, I said, debars
Or daunts them, be it life or death,
Inspired with such transcendent breath,
And clear Infinity begun!
‘Fearful our visits, short and rare,
To your unbounded World of Air,
By an old secret, told to few,
And perilous of proof. I knew
The danger, but I loved it too;
And sometimes, good or evil hap,
Would even doff that precious Cap
Which all beneath the sea must wear,
Because I thus felt greater share
Of earth-life, an unwonted sense
Of fearful hope and joy intense
Commingling,—seem'd almost to rise
And float immortal through those skies
Without a limit.
To your unbounded World of Air,
By an old secret, told to few,
And perilous of proof. I knew
The danger, but I loved it too;
And sometimes, good or evil hap,
Would even doff that precious Cap
18
Because I thus felt greater share
Of earth-life, an unwonted sense
Of fearful hope and joy intense
Commingling,—seem'd almost to rise
And float immortal through those skies
Without a limit.
‘I have proved
Earth's life and love, through thee, Belov'd
And through thee, happy. Former days
Withdrew into a distant haze;
First I had Thee, then twofold bliss,
And threefold: better lot than this
Heart could not dream of—might it stay.
Earth's life and love, through thee, Belov'd
And through thee, happy. Former days
Withdrew into a distant haze;
First I had Thee, then twofold bliss,
And threefold: better lot than this
Heart could not dream of—might it stay.
‘It smote me suddenly one day,
Like arrow from an unseen bow,
A poison'd arrow—He must go,
And thou remain! He shall wax old
Ere fifth part of thy life be told,
And die, and leave thee desolate,
With all the endless years to wait!
My sons too—'tis not death I fear;
If we all die, then death is dear;
But long sad lonely life. O Sea,
At least thou hast a death for me!
Nay, husband, kiss me, clasp me tight,
Albeit I lack the human right
Of growing old along with thee!’
Like arrow from an unseen bow,
A poison'd arrow—He must go,
And thou remain! He shall wax old
Ere fifth part of thy life be told,
And die, and leave thee desolate,
With all the endless years to wait!
My sons too—'tis not death I fear;
If we all die, then death is dear;
But long sad lonely life. O Sea,
At least thou hast a death for me!
Nay, husband, kiss me, clasp me tight,
Albeit I lack the human right
Of growing old along with thee!’
She wept; he sooth'd her as he could
And cheer'd her to a brighter mood.
But grief came shadowing back; and when
Dark autumn gain'd on wood and fen
She felt the moaning of the trees
Was worse to suffer than the sea's.
‘It taunts us with the distant shore—
Return we!’
And cheer'd her to a brighter mood.
But grief came shadowing back; and when
Dark autumn gain'd on wood and fen
She felt the moaning of the trees
Was worse to suffer than the sea's.
‘It taunts us with the distant shore—
Return we!’
19
They return'd. Once more
The salt gale stirr'd her robes and hair,
But could not breathe away her care;
The trouble grew, the sad unrest,
And most of all when moony nights
Whiten'd the surf, or spread afar
O'er lonely tracts of sea. His best
Of comforting tried Dalachmar;
Beyond the hour availing nought,
For in their lives a change was wrought.
The salt gale stirr'd her robes and hair,
But could not breathe away her care;
The trouble grew, the sad unrest,
And most of all when moony nights
Whiten'd the surf, or spread afar
O'er lonely tracts of sea. His best
Of comforting tried Dalachmar;
Beyond the hour availing nought,
For in their lives a change was wrought.
One dreamy afternoon, while She
Sat gazing on the doleful sea,
She saw her Husband by her stand,
The Cap of Magic in his hand,
His face was ashy, his voice low
And hollow, and his words came slow:
‘My strange dear Lady of the Sea,
If thou hast mind to part from me
And live no longer on the land,
Take this, and let thy choice be free.’
She did not speak, she did not look;
As in a trance the Cap she took.
At its touch a tremor shook
Suddenly through her, from head to feet,
And back she lay in the carven seat,
With staring eyes and visage wan,
As though she were at point to die;
Then started up with sudden cry—
‘O Dalachmar!’—but he was gone.
Sat gazing on the doleful sea,
She saw her Husband by her stand,
The Cap of Magic in his hand,
His face was ashy, his voice low
And hollow, and his words came slow:
‘My strange dear Lady of the Sea,
If thou hast mind to part from me
And live no longer on the land,
Take this, and let thy choice be free.’
She did not speak, she did not look;
As in a trance the Cap she took.
At its touch a tremor shook
Suddenly through her, from head to feet,
And back she lay in the carven seat,
With staring eyes and visage wan,
As though she were at point to die;
Then started up with sudden cry—
‘O Dalachmar!’—but he was gone.
And none saw Her go; nor found trace;
Nor henceforth look'd upon her face.
From that hour, empty was her place.
Nor henceforth look'd upon her face.
From that hour, empty was her place.
20
III.
On a winter night, when the fire burn'd bright,
After flocks of years had flown away,
Voiceful O'Kennedy sung his lay,
And his yearning harp was tuned aright
For ripples of music that keep afloat
The little tale like a gliding boat:
‘Who will hearken to harp and rhyme,
Of things that befell in olden time?
After flocks of years had flown away,
Voiceful O'Kennedy sung his lay,
And his yearning harp was tuned aright
For ripples of music that keep afloat
The little tale like a gliding boat:
‘Who will hearken to harp and rhyme,
Of things that befell in olden time?
For one more voyage Prince Dalachmar sail'd;
His two bold sons in the ship with him;
Tho' his beard was white, and his eyesight dim,
And his strength was fail'd.
His two bold sons in the ship with him;
Tho' his beard was white, and his eyesight dim,
And his strength was fail'd.
Weary was he with endless quest
By watery way and island bay;
Never seeing by night or day
One he loved best.
By watery way and island bay;
Never seeing by night or day
One he loved best.
‘For he had wedded a fairy wife,
And she had left him, he knew not why,
And till he had found her he would not die,
Though sad was life.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
And she had left him, he knew not why,
And till he had found her he would not die,
Though sad was life.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
21
‘A sunset over mid-ocean spread,
Where the ship, becalm'd, did gently sway:
And there on deck Prince Dalachmar lay,
As well nigh dead.
Where the ship, becalm'd, did gently sway:
And there on deck Prince Dalachmar lay,
As well nigh dead.
‘Closed were his eyes, and pallid his face,
His sons and his sailors standing round;
They thought, “He is far from the burial-mound
Of his chieftain-race.”
His sons and his sailors standing round;
They thought, “He is far from the burial-mound
Of his chieftain-race.”
‘But he opens his eyes, he lifts his hands,
Like one who sees some wonderful sight;
He raises himself, his eyes grow bright;
Straight up he stands.
Like one who sees some wonderful sight;
He raises himself, his eyes grow bright;
Straight up he stands.
‘He sighs, “Long-while have I lived alone.”
He smiles, “It is Thou!” and then, with one leap
Into the heave of the glassy deep,
Sinks like a stone.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
He smiles, “It is Thou!” and then, with one leap
Into the heave of the glassy deep,
Sinks like a stone.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
‘Swifter than cormorants plunged the men,
Rose for breath, and dived anew;
But they swam to the ship when dark it grew,
All silent then.
Rose for breath, and dived anew;
But they swam to the ship when dark it grew,
All silent then.
‘Voyaging homewards, often a gleam
Encompass'd the vessel, and with the light
A waft of music. One still midnight
There came a Dream.
Encompass'd the vessel, and with the light
A waft of music. One still midnight
There came a Dream.
‘At full moon, full tide,—to each Brother the same:
His Father and Mother, hand in hand,
Immortally fair, beside him stand,
And speak his name.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
His Father and Mother, hand in hand,
Immortally fair, beside him stand,
And speak his name.
22
This befell in olden time.)
“‘Child! I left what I loved the most,
Feeling a fire within me burn,
For a day, an hour,—but not to return:
My sea-life was lost.
Feeling a fire within me burn,
For a day, an hour,—but not to return:
My sea-life was lost.
“‘Love brings all together at last.
Keep love safe, it will guide thee well.
We watch thee,—more I may not tell,
Till the years be past.”
Keep love safe, it will guide thee well.
We watch thee,—more I may not tell,
Till the years be past.”
‘Softly the vision seem'd to rise,
Enclosed in a radiant atmosphere,
And to float aloft, and disappear
Into the skies.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
Enclosed in a radiant atmosphere,
And to float aloft, and disappear
Into the skies.
(Hush a little for harp and rhyme:
This befell in olden time.)
‘The ship sail'd fast in the morning sun
By point and cave, as the fair wind blew,
And into a little port she knew,
And her voyage was done.
By point and cave, as the fair wind blew,
And into a little port she knew,
And her voyage was done.
‘Where the mounded Rath overlooks the sea
The Pillar-Stone is a beacon afar;
Graven in ogham, “Dalachmar—
Merraunee.”
(This was all in olden time;
And here is the end of harp and rhyme.)’
The Pillar-Stone is a beacon afar;
Graven in ogham, “Dalachmar—
Merraunee.”
(This was all in olden time;
And here is the end of harp and rhyme.)’
But this too is a bygone song.
The Rath has been for ages long
A grassy hill; the Standing-stone
Looks on a country bare and lone,
And lonelier billows,—half a word
Of ogham
at the edge, all blurr'd
With crust of lichens yellow and gray.
There you may sit of a summer day,
And watch the white foam rise and fall
On rampart cliffs of Donegal,
And the wild sheep on the greensward stray,
And the sea-line sparkle far away.
The Rath has been for ages long
A grassy hill; the Standing-stone
Looks on a country bare and lone,
And lonelier billows,—half a word
23
(the O pronounced long) ‘consists of lines or groups of lines variously arranged with reference to a single stem-line, or to an edge of the substance on which they are traced.’ Examples may be seen in the Museum of the Royal Irish Academy, Dublin. They were in use after the Christian era, but probably descended from a remote antiquity.
With crust of lichens yellow and gray.
There you may sit of a summer day,
And watch the white foam rise and fall
On rampart cliffs of Donegal,
And the wild sheep on the greensward stray,
And the sea-line sparkle far away.
| Irish Songs and Poems | |