 | Songs and Poems by George Sigerson |  |
1
FAREWELL TO SLIGO
I'll drink no more on the roads to Sligo
I will raise my sail from the shelving shore,—
Yet here's one toast to my love ere I go
From the dear old island, I'll see no more.
I will raise my sail from the shelving shore,—
Yet here's one toast to my love ere I go
From the dear old island, I'll see no more.
Farewell my life 'mid the pleasant flowers
That oped so fair in its morning light,
Farewell my youth 'mid the leafy bowers
That summer showers made ever bright.
That oped so fair in its morning light,
Farewell my youth 'mid the leafy bowers
That summer showers made ever bright.
Green leaves in Spring will deck vale and mountain,
The sun with gold crown yon summit hoar,
And flowers will bloom by the foamy fountain—
But joy to me comes again no more.
The sun with gold crown yon summit hoar,
And flowers will bloom by the foamy fountain—
But joy to me comes again no more.
Farewell my country, with sorrow laden,
Farewell my home high on Knock-na-ree,
And you, farewell, O young fair false maiden!
Who were home and country and life to me.
Farewell my home high on Knock-na-ree,
And you, farewell, O young fair false maiden!
Who were home and country and life to me.
2
WHEN THE SWANS OF LIR COME HOME
We gaze with loving, longing eyes,
We gaze our hearts away,
No sign, in near or farther skies
From dawn till death of day.
'Tis cloud that flecks the blue, above,
Below, 'tis flash of foam,—
'Tis not the bright glad glowing light
When the Swans of Lir come home!
We gaze our hearts away,
No sign, in near or farther skies
From dawn till death of day.
'Tis cloud that flecks the blue, above,
Below, 'tis flash of foam,—
'Tis not the bright glad glowing light
When the Swans of Lir come home!
They rose on high in azure air,
Wide waved their wings of snow,
And thrice they flew around us there
Till Fate compelled them go.
We followed, and their sweet song heard
From Lake to leafy loam;—
We'll camp no more on Sorrow's shore,
When the Swans of Lir come home!
Wide waved their wings of snow,
And thrice they flew around us there
Till Fate compelled them go.
We followed, and their sweet song heard
From Lake to leafy loam;—
We'll camp no more on Sorrow's shore,
When the Swans of Lir come home!
They rose again, and took their flight
With faltering wings afar,
Their trailing song fell down the night
As falls a dying star.
Too far—too far!—The wandering soul
May see them where they roam,
And eyes that dream the orient gleam
When the Swans of Lir come home!
With faltering wings afar,
Their trailing song fell down the night
As falls a dying star.
Too far—too far!—The wandering soul
May see them where they roam,
And eyes that dream the orient gleam
When the Swans of Lir come home!
3
Now some go east, and some go west,
And some to feuds have gone,
And men forget their lofty quest
But still, the Swans live on:
And still their song is in our souls—
O'er seas of freezing foam
We see the bright glad glowing light
When the Swans of Lir come home!
And some to feuds have gone,
And men forget their lofty quest
But still, the Swans live on:
And still their song is in our souls—
O'er seas of freezing foam
We see the bright glad glowing light
When the Swans of Lir come home!
June, 1898.
THE GUEST
Fling wide your doors! Without is standing
A beauteous guest,
In waiting patient, in mien commanding
In whiteness drest.
Fling wide your doors! Strew fragrant flowers
Before the Bride,
Ere ye grow listless in your darkened bowers
Drunk with the wine of pride.
A beauteous guest,
In waiting patient, in mien commanding
In whiteness drest.
Fling wide your doors! Strew fragrant flowers
Before the Bride,
Ere ye grow listless in your darkened bowers
Drunk with the wine of pride.
Ere ye grow slaves within a prison
And know it not,
Ere ye grow sightless till, when even arisen,
Ye see her not.
Fling wide your doors! Scourge forth the riot
And sullen din
They have defiled the pure Temple's quiet
Let now the Bride pass in.
And know it not,
Ere ye grow sightless till, when even arisen,
Ye see her not.
Fling wide your doors! Scourge forth the riot
And sullen din
They have defiled the pure Temple's quiet
Let now the Bride pass in.
4
THE LAKE-MEETING
Calmly Loch Érne sleeps, while in her lucid deeps
Lurking in crystal keeps, fairy hosts guard her.
Great is her beauty's dower, green is her woodland bower,
O'er her the island Tower looks, a tall warder;
Lurking in crystal keeps, fairy hosts guard her.
Great is her beauty's dower, green is her woodland bower,
O'er her the island Tower looks, a tall warder;
Ha! did you mark that glance? Helmet and shield and lance
Flashing through glade advance, as to the battle.
Now from the leafy land forth rides the armed band,
Hark! on the stony strand how the hoofs rattle!
Flashing through glade advance, as to the battle.
Now from the leafy land forth rides the armed band,
Hark! on the stony strand how the hoofs rattle!
Onward they prance and dash, into Loch Erne they splash,
See, in its foam and flash welcome is found them!
Halt! they have stayed their march, horses no more need parch,
Riders with keen eyes search all the scene round them.
See, in its foam and flash welcome is found them!
Halt! they have stayed their march, horses no more need parch,
Riders with keen eyes search all the scene round them.
Silent they pause to hear, listening they bend the ear,
What is't they hate or fear?—Outbursts their “Fáilte.”
Heard you the horn's wild note? Back o'er the waters float
“Fáilte” from every throat, “fáilte, kind fáilte!”
What is't they hate or fear?—Outbursts their “Fáilte.”
Heard you the horn's wild note? Back o'er the waters float
“Fáilte” from every throat, “fáilte, kind fáilte!”
5
Swift from the farther side, swift o'er the shining tide,
Swift the stout rowers glide straining the gunnel,
Who stands amid them all, stately and young and tall?
“Welcome to Dún-na-Gall, welcome, O'Donnell!”
Swift the stout rowers glide straining the gunnel,
Who stands amid them all, stately and young and tall?
“Welcome to Dún-na-Gall, welcome, O'Donnell!”
Loud bursts the cry again, tears fall from warrior men;
“Come from the cheat and chain, come to Tir-Conaill,
Come from the foeman's hand, come to thy people's band,
Chief of our mountain land, welcome, O'Donnell!”
“Come from the cheat and chain, come to Tir-Conaill,
Come from the foeman's hand, come to thy people's band,
Chief of our mountain land, welcome, O'Donnell!”
Hark, as the boats come near, outrings the royal cheer
Lakeward each cavalier quick his steed urges,
Out of the waves they bear bark and its rowers there,
Chieftain so young and fair, out of the surges.
Lakeward each cavalier quick his steed urges,
Out of the waves they bear bark and its rowers there,
Chieftain so young and fair, out of the surges.
Then at the shout they raise, up bursts the bonfire's blaze
From peak to peak, its rays flame o'er Tir-Conaill,
From Erne to the norward foam, Chief from the dungeon come,
Wild is your welcome home, “Fáilte, O'Donnell!”
From peak to peak, its rays flame o'er Tir-Conaill,
From Erne to the norward foam, Chief from the dungeon come,
Wild is your welcome home, “Fáilte, O'Donnell!”
6
PEASANT-PHILOSOPHER
Crippled and worn he was—a trunk
Of writhen Elder, gnarled and gray,
The muscles of his limbs were shrunk
And served no longer, where he lay.
Muscles and man were quick, of old,
But months went by, and nought would thrive
In pallid face, now growing cold,
Only the eyes appeared alive.
Of writhen Elder, gnarled and gray,
The muscles of his limbs were shrunk
And served no longer, where he lay.
Muscles and man were quick, of old,
But months went by, and nought would thrive
In pallid face, now growing cold,
Only the eyes appeared alive.
Living indeed!—two desert pools
Where twinkled still the setting sun,—
Against all laws of Fate and fools
They beamed, lit up with Irish fun.
“Going am I?—'Tis time to stir!—
One must not tire good company;
We just come for a cailey, Sir,
And then “good night” and go away.
Where twinkled still the setting sun,—
Against all laws of Fate and fools
They beamed, lit up with Irish fun.
“Going am I?—'Tis time to stir!—
One must not tire good company;
We just come for a cailey, Sir,
And then “good night” and go away.
7
THE TRUE CAVALIER
O Love it is the Lark of Life, and lives in sunny skies,
And Fortune is the Swallow fleet that with the summer flies,
But Honour is the faithful Thrush that sings at cloudy eve—
And my heart is now a leafless wood, where all the winds do grieve.
And Fortune is the Swallow fleet that with the summer flies,
But Honour is the faithful Thrush that sings at cloudy eve—
And my heart is now a leafless wood, where all the winds do grieve.
How often from my castle wall, a wounded man, I gazed
To see if through yon mountain-pass my comrades' lances blazed—
I saw their wives and maidens kneel and watch, at gleam of morn,
In hope that Joy would top the hill and wind his faery horn!
To see if through yon mountain-pass my comrades' lances blazed—
I saw their wives and maidens kneel and watch, at gleam of morn,
In hope that Joy would top the hill and wind his faery horn!
At last it came: the beat of hoofs!—low-throbbing from afar,
Like pulses through the silent night from the red heart of War!
Then flashed a flame on every hearth,—then leaped the beacon fire
Then babes were waked to welcome home the gallant victor sire!
Like pulses through the silent night from the red heart of War!
Then flashed a flame on every hearth,—then leaped the beacon fire
Then babes were waked to welcome home the gallant victor sire!
8
The throbbing swelled, the throbbing sank; and now it seemed to die,
Now, gathering strength, it rose and rolled, the hoped-for home is nigh—
They gallop—gallop—hark, now mark each horse's eager head!
They've come,—Great God! all riderless!—the Horses of the Dead!
Now, gathering strength, it rose and rolled, the hoped-for home is nigh—
They gallop—gallop—hark, now mark each horse's eager head!
They've come,—Great God! all riderless!—the Horses of the Dead!
Now who will pine in misery, and who will bondage dree?
Or who will hail the Morning Star, on tossing waves with me?
Those hoofs that beat my heart must bear my sword to fields unknown,
The Lark is dead, the Swallow fled, the true Thrush sings alone!
Or who will hail the Morning Star, on tossing waves with me?
Those hoofs that beat my heart must bear my sword to fields unknown,
The Lark is dead, the Swallow fled, the true Thrush sings alone!
Note—According to local tradition, after the “Break of Aughrim,” a number of horses, whose riders had fallen in battle, travelled homeward over mountain and moor, for a hundred miles, to the Kerry town from which they had come. S.
9
THE HEATHER GLEN
There blooms a bonnie flower
Up the heather glen,
Though bright in sun—in shower
'Tis just as bright again!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
Up the heather glen,
Though bright in sun—in shower
'Tis just as bright again!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
Sing, O, the blooming heather!
O the heather glen!
Where fairest fairies gather
To lure in mortal men!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
O the heather glen!
Where fairest fairies gather
To lure in mortal men!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
There sings a bonnie linnet
Up the heather glen,
The voice has magic in it
Too sweet for mortal men!
It brings joy down before us,
With winsome mellow chorus,
But sings far, too far, o'er us
Up the heather glen!
Up the heather glen,
The voice has magic in it
Too sweet for mortal men!
It brings joy down before us,
With winsome mellow chorus,
But sings far, too far, o'er us
Up the heather glen!
10
Sing, O, the blooming heather!
O the heather glen!
Where fairest fairies gather
To lure in mortal men!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
O the heather glen!
Where fairest fairies gather
To lure in mortal men!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
O might I pull that flower
Blooming in the glen,
No sorrow that could lower
Would make me sad again!
And might I catch that linnet,—
My heart—my hope are in it!
O heaven itself I'd win it
Up the heather glen!
Blooming in the glen,
No sorrow that could lower
Would make me sad again!
And might I catch that linnet,—
My heart—my hope are in it!
O heaven itself I'd win it
Up the heather glen!
Sing, O, the blooming heather!
O the heather glen!
Where fairest fairies gather
To lure in mortal men!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
O the heather glen!
Where fairest fairies gather
To lure in mortal men!
I never can pass by it,—
I never dare go nigh it,—
My heart it won't be quiet
Up the heather glen!
11
THE ANGELUS
Within the hamlet, sad and drear,
Pondering his sorrows mournfully,
A youth lay, longtime sickness sere
Drooping into his home of clay.
He said: “My cottage-friends, to-night
The hour of prayer tolls from the lea,
The eve is sinking, red and bright;
List to the chimes,
So sad at times,
Ye who are praying, pray for me!”
Pondering his sorrows mournfully,
A youth lay, longtime sickness sere
Drooping into his home of clay.
He said: “My cottage-friends, to-night
The hour of prayer tolls from the lea,
The eve is sinking, red and bright;
List to the chimes,
So sad at times,
Ye who are praying, pray for me!”
“But when you see the water-fall
Half-veiled by foliage-bended bough,
You'll say: ‘The poor youth's freed from all
His grief and weary sickness now.’
Come back, then, 'neath the whispering leaves
My quiet painless home to see;
And when, upon those golden eves,
The vesper chimes
Toll, sad at times,
Ye who are praying, pray for me!”
Half-veiled by foliage-bended bough,
You'll say: ‘The poor youth's freed from all
His grief and weary sickness now.’
Come back, then, 'neath the whispering leaves
My quiet painless home to see;
And when, upon those golden eves,
The vesper chimes
Toll, sad at times,
Ye who are praying, pray for me!”
12
“Against the hate of lying men,
My deeds and time be my defence,
The hour comes nigh and nigher, when
Shall cease a life of innocence.
A short sad pilgrimage was mine,
I die, and scarce my Springtime see:
But welcome be the Will divine.
When vesper chimes
Toll, sad at times,
Ye who are praying, pray for me!”
My deeds and time be my defence,
The hour comes nigh and nigher, when
Shall cease a life of innocence.
A short sad pilgrimage was mine,
I die, and scarce my Springtime see:
But welcome be the Will divine.
When vesper chimes
Toll, sad at times,
Ye who are praying, pray for me!”
MOVOURNEEN MINE.
How silent moves the flowing tide
That bears our swift bark on her way;
The clouds with quiet darkness hide
The last soft lingering beam of day.
And now, afar,
One trembling star
Looks down, our guide, above the brine:
One thought of thee
Comes thus to me
From some celestial height divine!
That bears our swift bark on her way;
The clouds with quiet darkness hide
The last soft lingering beam of day.
And now, afar,
One trembling star
Looks down, our guide, above the brine:
One thought of thee
Comes thus to me
From some celestial height divine!
For now, no more, on sea or shore,
Thine eyes will smile, Movourneen mine!
Thine eyes will smile, Movourneen mine!
13
Sometimes a lonely fisher sees,
When laying down his lines at night,
A boat approach against the breeze,
A radiant form that proffers light!
If his heart fail,
The veering sail
Will swiftly into dark decline;
If true and brave,
Then o'er the wave
'Twill lead where Isles of Beauty shine.
When laying down his lines at night,
A boat approach against the breeze,
A radiant form that proffers light!
If his heart fail,
The veering sail
Will swiftly into dark decline;
If true and brave,
Then o'er the wave
'Twill lead where Isles of Beauty shine.
Ah! thou no more, on sea or shore,
My life shalt light, Movourneen mine!
My life shalt light, Movourneen mine!
Away, away, through storm and strain,
The streaming sea still draws our keel;
We bear our message o'er the main,
And must not fail, howe'er we feel.
Though heart should break,
Our course we take,
While yon fair star shall o'er us shine;
With banner high
Against the sky,
And souls too steadfast to repine.
The streaming sea still draws our keel;
We bear our message o'er the main,
And must not fail, howe'er we feel.
Though heart should break,
Our course we take,
While yon fair star shall o'er us shine;
With banner high
Against the sky,
And souls too steadfast to repine.
For evermore, on sea and shore,
Thy love abides, Movourneen, mine!
Thy love abides, Movourneen, mine!
14
CONSOLATION
O heart, be not afflicted
By foeman's scoff and fraud,
The Lord will well direct it
For He is Freedom's God!
By foeman's scoff and fraud,
The Lord will well direct it
For He is Freedom's God!
Let still the tyrants threaten—
They cannot reach to Him
Who Freedom's flame hath set in
His glory, ne'er to dim.
They cannot reach to Him
Who Freedom's flame hath set in
His glory, ne'er to dim.
Smouldering through longest sorrows
At Death's touch—lo! it starts!
As radiant fuel borrows
The blood of noble hearts!
At Death's touch—lo! it starts!
As radiant fuel borrows
The blood of noble hearts!
'Twill split red thrones asunder,
Thy fetters melt away,
And where our Brave lie under
To Glory's palm give sway.
Thy fetters melt away,
And where our Brave lie under
To Glory's palm give sway.
Then, heart, be not afflicted
By foeman's scoff and fraud,
The Lord will well direct it,
For He is Freedom's God!
By foeman's scoff and fraud,
The Lord will well direct it,
For He is Freedom's God!
15
THE CAILIN DEAS
The gold rain of eve was descending,
And purple robed forest and lea,
As I, through Glenmornin was wending
A wanderer from over the sea,
'Twas the lap of a west-looking mountain,
Its woody slope bright with the glow,
Where sang by a murmuring fountain
An Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó.
And purple robed forest and lea,
As I, through Glenmornin was wending
A wanderer from over the sea,
'Twas the lap of a west-looking mountain,
Its woody slope bright with the glow,
Where sang by a murmuring fountain
An Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó.
Yon cloud where a sun-ray reposes
Might picture her brown wavy hair,
And her teeth look, as if, in a rose's
Red bosom a snow-flake gleamed fair.
As her tones down the valley went ringing
The listening thrush mimicked them low,
And the brooklet harped soft to the singing
Of Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó.
Might picture her brown wavy hair,
And her teeth look, as if, in a rose's
Red bosom a snow-flake gleamed fair.
As her tones down the valley went ringing
The listening thrush mimicked them low,
And the brooklet harped soft to the singing
Of Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó.
“At last, o'er thy long night, sad Eirinn!”
She sang: “the bright dawning appears;
But thy mountaineers still are despairing,
The valley is dreary with fears:
Ah, my Diarmuid, the patriot-hearted,
Who would fire them with hope for the blow,
Far, Eirinn, from thee is he parted
Far from Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó.
She sang: “the bright dawning appears;
But thy mountaineers still are despairing,
The valley is dreary with fears:
Ah, my Diarmuid, the patriot-hearted,
Who would fire them with hope for the blow,
Far, Eirinn, from thee is he parted
Far from Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó.
16
Her tears, on a sudden, brimmed over,
Her voice trembled, low and less clear;
To listen I stepped from my cover,
But the bough-rustle broke on her ear;
She started—she reddened—“A Stóirín!”
My Diarmuid!—O, can it be so?”
And I clasped to my glad heart sweet Móirín,
Mo Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó!
Her voice trembled, low and less clear;
To listen I stepped from my cover,
But the bough-rustle broke on her ear;
She started—she reddened—“A Stóirín!”
My Diarmuid!—O, can it be so?”
And I clasped to my glad heart sweet Móirín,
Mo Cailin deas crúidhte na m-bó!
THE ENNISKILLEN DRAGOON
Farewell, Enniskillen, farewell for a while
To all your fair waters and every green isle,
Your green isles will flourish and your fair waters flow,
And I from old Ireland an exile must go.
To all your fair waters and every green isle,
Your green isles will flourish and your fair waters flow,
And I from old Ireland an exile must go.
Her hair is as brown as the young raven's wing,
Her eyes are as clear as the blue bells of Spring,
And light was her laugh like the sun on the sea,
Till the weight of the world came between her and me.
Her eyes are as clear as the blue bells of Spring,
And light was her laugh like the sun on the sea,
Till the weight of the world came between her and me.
17
O what can man do when the world is his foe,
And the looks of her people fall on you like snow?
But bend the brow boldly and fare away far
To follow good fortune and win fame in the War.
And the looks of her people fall on you like snow?
But bend the brow boldly and fare away far
To follow good fortune and win fame in the War.
They'll tell how we fought on a far foreign shore,
And she'll know that in danger I loved her the more,
When the swords flashed aloft and the swift bullets flew—
I saw your sweet countenance and dear eyes of blue!
And she'll know that in danger I loved her the more,
When the swords flashed aloft and the swift bullets flew—
I saw your sweet countenance and dear eyes of blue!
If the worst should befall—sure 'tis only to die,
And the true lass that loved me can hold her head high,—
Can hold her head high, though the fond heart may break,
For her lover loved bravely and died for her sake.
And the true lass that loved me can hold her head high,—
Can hold her head high, though the fond heart may break,
For her lover loved bravely and died for her sake.
Then, farewell Enniskillen, farewell for a while
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle,—
But, if Fortune do favour, I'll return again soon
And you'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoon.
And all around the borders of Erin's green isle,—
But, if Fortune do favour, I'll return again soon
And you'll all welcome home the Enniskillen Dragoon.
18
O SISTER DEAR
O Sister, Sister, O Sister dear!
Cut no more rushes by yon green mere,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
Cut no more rushes by yon green mere,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
The sun rose fair upon yester morn,
The land was golden as yellow corn,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
The land was golden as yellow corn,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
The sun shone bright in the summer noon,
I knew my true love would come full soon,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
I knew my true love would come full soon,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
I knew my true love would cross the sea,
Thro' clouds of danger or death to me,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
Thro' clouds of danger or death to me,
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
The sun went down in a storm of red,
And in my bosom my heart lies dead!
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
And in my bosom my heart lies dead!
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
O sister, sister, O sister dear!
I met my true love by yon green mere;
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
I met my true love by yon green mere;
O sister, sister, O sister dear.
19
FAR-AWAY
As chimes that flow o'er shining seas
When Morn alights on meads of May,
Faint voices fill the western breeze
With whispering songs of Far Away.
O dear the dell of Doonanore,
A home is odorous Ossory;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
When Morn alights on meads of May,
Faint voices fill the western breeze
With whispering songs of Far Away.
O dear the dell of Doonanore,
A home is odorous Ossory;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
There grows the Tree whose summer breath,
Perfumes with joy the azure air;
And he who feels it fears not Death,
Nor longer heeds the Hounds of Care.
O soft the skies of Seskinore,
And mild is meadowy Mellary;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
Perfumes with joy the azure air;
And he who feels it fears not Death,
Nor longer heeds the Hounds of Care.
O soft the skies of Seskinore,
And mild is meadowy Mellary;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
There sings the Voice whose wond'rous tune
Falls, like a diamond-shower above
That, in the radiant dawn of June
Renews a world of Youth and Love.
O fair the founts of Farranfore,
And bright is billowy Ballintræ;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
Falls, like a diamond-shower above
That, in the radiant dawn of June
Renews a world of Youth and Love.
O fair the founts of Farranfore,
And bright is billowy Ballintræ;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
20
Come, Fragrance of the Flowering Tree,
O sing, sweet Bird, thy magic lay,
Till all the world be young with me,
And Love shall lead us Far Away.
O dear the dells of Doonanore,
A home is odorous Ossory;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
O sing, sweet Bird, thy magic lay,
Till all the world be young with me,
And Love shall lead us Far Away.
O dear the dells of Doonanore,
A home is odorous Ossory;
But sweet as honey, running o'er,
The Golden Shore of Far-Away!
THE BONNIE BRIG O' MALEZAN
O bonnie brig o' Malezan, my heart is with you still,
And wanders down the rocky ridge unto your rushing rill,
And sees your trailing ivy sway, the tall trees o'er you wave,
But your wind's sigh,—it wounds my heart, like a low cry by a grave.
And wanders down the rocky ridge unto your rushing rill,
And sees your trailing ivy sway, the tall trees o'er you wave,
But your wind's sigh,—it wounds my heart, like a low cry by a grave.
O bonnie brig o' Malezan! 'tis I that loved you well,
And loved each spot your river roves by moor and mead and dell
With the great stream far below you, and the kindly mountains o'er
O bonnie brig o' Malezan—I may never see you more.
And loved each spot your river roves by moor and mead and dell
With the great stream far below you, and the kindly mountains o'er
O bonnie brig o' Malezan—I may never see you more.
21
Still early, early in the Spring, and late of Autumn eves,
I gladdened to the opening flower, and to the goldening sheaves,
All through the leafy Summer time, and through the winter's snow
My heart was high 'mid woods and hills or frosty vales below.
I gladdened to the opening flower, and to the goldening sheaves,
All through the leafy Summer time, and through the winter's snow
My heart was high 'mid woods and hills or frosty vales below.
Blow, leafy odours of the woods, from my far and fair countrie,
Lift up your gladsome voices, ye rivers rippling free,
While dawns the day o'er Balliskay, and sets on Barnusmore,
May happy hearts be near you still, though mine is sad and sore.
Lift up your gladsome voices, ye rivers rippling free,
While dawns the day o'er Balliskay, and sets on Barnusmore,
May happy hearts be near you still, though mine is sad and sore.
O snowy cloudlet, whither through the blue deep do you roam?
I dream I saw you long ago in the mountain lake at home.
My soul arises out of me, O shining silent star,
And trembles in your holy ray o'er slumbering scenes afar.
I dream I saw you long ago in the mountain lake at home.
My soul arises out of me, O shining silent star,
And trembles in your holy ray o'er slumbering scenes afar.
Ah, tell me, ye who still may dwell, beside the river bright,
Feel ye no wandering memories, in the still time of the night?
Deep in your heart no echo when my spirit passes nigh,
Whilst even they, beneath the grass, give answer to my cry?
Feel ye no wandering memories, in the still time of the night?
22
Whilst even they, beneath the grass, give answer to my cry?
My heart lives back in childhood, I weary much of life,
But love and longing cannot hide the battle-scars of strife,
And, crown of all unworthiness! from out the ranks to fail,
A sentry in a noble cause to falter and grow pale!
But love and longing cannot hide the battle-scars of strife,
And, crown of all unworthiness! from out the ranks to fail,
A sentry in a noble cause to falter and grow pale!
O ancient brig of Malezan, O grey with many storms,
From rock to rock your crescent springs, defiant all of harms,
Time has but made you, too, a rock, and with each passing day,
Still to your garland adds a leaf, and to your lays a lay.
From rock to rock your crescent springs, defiant all of harms,
Time has but made you, too, a rock, and with each passing day,
Still to your garland adds a leaf, and to your lays a lay.
Between your ramparts shadowy, how many feet have gone,
How many changing travellers your river has looked on,
My soul is struck with silence for the visions that sweep by
Between your ramparts shadowy, across your rills low cry.
How many changing travellers your river has looked on,
My soul is struck with silence for the visions that sweep by
Between your ramparts shadowy, across your rills low cry.
23
O lonely brig o' Malezan, O grey with sun and rime,
O symbol of the life that spans the hurrying flood of Time,
The Joys and Woes troop over you, they beat upon your breast,
Unheeded and uncared for, yet, in serving, not unblest.
O symbol of the life that spans the hurrying flood of Time,
The Joys and Woes troop over you, they beat upon your breast,
Unheeded and uncared for, yet, in serving, not unblest.
ON THE MOUNTAIN
O bright shines the summer sun, sweet blows the breeze
O'er the bloom-brimming meadows and whispering trees,
Where the river lilts liquidly all the day long
To see the broom blossom and hear the lark's song.
O'er the bloom-brimming meadows and whispering trees,
Where the river lilts liquidly all the day long
To see the broom blossom and hear the lark's song.
No purple of palace with this can compare,
No dome like the dome of the infinite air,
No worship more pure where the multitudes throng
Than to see the broom blossom and hear the lark's song.
No dome like the dome of the infinite air,
No worship more pure where the multitudes throng
Than to see the broom blossom and hear the lark's song.
What phantoms man's tumults and torrents of sound
When we stand, with the Silence of Universe round!
The clamours of conquest pass shamefaced along
When we see the broom blossom and hear the lark's song.
When we stand, with the Silence of Universe round!
The clamours of conquest pass shamefaced along
When we see the broom blossom and hear the lark's song.
24
THE FRAGRANT DEW
I
Ah sing, Lady fair,Once more that sweet old air,
Some fairy voice sang it when the world was new:
It falls upon the heart,
All worn with sorrow's smart,
As on sultry flowers at eve falls the fragrant dew.
II
Again, through the night,The radiant stars give light,
The great sky above them is soft and blue
And near are happy eyes,
And hope on hopes arise
As incense from the flowers greets the fragrant dew.
III
Old times pass away,Old friendships decay,
They vanish, the bright hopes, that once seemed true,
But, in that magic strain,
They all take life again,
As the faded flowers revive 'neath the fragrant dew.
IV
Such fortune be mineThat this dear air divine
May recall once my name to the faithful few,
And evoke in memory,
A silent tear from thee—
As on broken flowers at night falls the fragrant dew.
25
O HUSH O!
Slumber, Blue-eyes, slumber Sweet,
Nestle closer rosy feet,
O hush O!
Nestle closer rosy feet,
O hush O!
Lullaby, lullaby, baby dear,
Flee away, flee away, phantom fear,
O hush O!
Flee away, flee away, phantom fear,
O hush O!
Rest you, Fair head, gently now,
Dimpling cheek, and sunny brow,
O hush O!
Dimpling cheek, and sunny brow,
O hush O!
Lullaby, lullaby, baby dear,
Love is the guard that is round you here,
O hush O!
Love is the guard that is round you here,
O hush O!
Slumber, Sweet lips, smiling bliss,
Laughing still from dear love's kiss,
O hush O!
Laughing still from dear love's kiss,
O hush O!
Lullaby, lullaby, baby bright,
Fair be your dreams as the lilies white,
O hush O!
Fair be your dreams as the lilies white,
O hush O!
Will you lay me thus some day,
Cradled in kind Irish clay,—
O hush O!
Cradled in kind Irish clay,—
O hush O!
Lullaby, lullaby, baby gay,—
Still to watch over you, if I may—
O hush O!
Still to watch over you, if I may—
O hush O!
26
THE BLACKBIRD
O hark to the soaring of clear song outpouring!
The Voice of the lovely green valley, I hear!
Half-craving and crying, half-sobbing and sighing
Triumphing and dying, afar off and near.
Now all the vale over it goes, like a lover,
A-calling and re-calling the years fled away—
Now behold! it comes bringing the Past with its singing
The music of Youth is the Blackbird's sweet lay!
The Voice of the lovely green valley, I hear!
Half-craving and crying, half-sobbing and sighing
Triumphing and dying, afar off and near.
Now all the vale over it goes, like a lover,
A-calling and re-calling the years fled away—
Now behold! it comes bringing the Past with its singing
The music of Youth is the Blackbird's sweet lay!
How softly at morning its pure note gave warning,
Awaking all hearts with the lyric of love,
And, making more tender the opening splendour
Illumined all looks with a light from above.
And hear the soft laughter now following after—
The meetings and the greetings, the gay dawn of day!
O what friends flit and dally throughout the glad valley,
Their voices all blend in the Blackbird's soft lay!
Awaking all hearts with the lyric of love,
And, making more tender the opening splendour
Illumined all looks with a light from above.
And hear the soft laughter now following after—
The meetings and the greetings, the gay dawn of day!
O what friends flit and dally throughout the glad valley,
Their voices all blend in the Blackbird's soft lay!
Ah, hear the imploring of sad song deploring!—
The wail of the lonely gray valley I hear.
Now craving and crying, now sobbing and sighing
Appealing and dying, afar and a-near,
The glory, the gladness, to sorrow and sadness—
The light unto the night-cloud,—all, all fade away!
Ah, how vain the recalling!—to tears slowly falling
The Blackbird at eve sings its lonely sad lay!
The wail of the lonely gray valley I hear.
Now craving and crying, now sobbing and sighing
Appealing and dying, afar and a-near,
The glory, the gladness, to sorrow and sadness—
The light unto the night-cloud,—all, all fade away!
Ah, how vain the recalling!—to tears slowly falling
The Blackbird at eve sings its lonely sad lay!
27
MO CHAILIN DONN
(May, 1859).
I.
The blush is on the flower, and the bloom is on the tree,
And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are carolling their glee;
And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun,
All to deck a path of glory for my own Cailin donn!
And the bonnie, bonnie sweet birds are carolling their glee;
And the dews upon the grass are made diamonds by the sun,
All to deck a path of glory for my own Cailin donn!
O, fair she is! O, rare she is! O, dearest still to me!
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is the coming of my true love—my own Cailin donn!
More welcome than the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is the coming of my true love—my own Cailin donn!
II.
O, Sycamore! O, Sycamore! wave, wave your banners green—
Let all your pennons flutter, O, Beech! before my queen!
Ye fleet and honied breezes, to kiss her hand ye run,
But my heart has past before ye—to my own Cailin donn!
Let all your pennons flutter, O, Beech! before my queen!
Ye fleet and honied breezes, to kiss her hand ye run,
But my heart has past before ye—to my own Cailin donn!
28
III.
Ring out, ring out, O, Linden! your merry, leafy bells!
Unveil your brilliant torches, O, Chestnut! to the dells;
Strew, strew the glade with splendour, for morn—it cometh on!
O, the morn of all delight to me—my own Cailin donn!
Unveil your brilliant torches, O, Chestnut! to the dells;
Strew, strew the glade with splendour, for morn—it cometh on!
O, the morn of all delight to me—my own Cailin donn!
IV.
She is coming where we parted, where she wanders every day;
There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away!
O, like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of Freedom's won,
Is the joy around your footsteps—my own Cailin donn!
There's a gay surprise before her who thinks me far away!
O, like hearing bugles triumph when the fight of Freedom's won,
Is the joy around your footsteps—my own Cailin donn!
O, fair she is! O, rare she is! O, dearest still to me!
More welcome that the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is your coming, O, my true love—my own Cailin donn!
More welcome that the green leaf to winter-stricken tree,
More welcome than the blossom to the weary, dusty bee,
Is your coming, O, my true love—my own Cailin donn!
29
A SNOW SONG
The heathery hills are covered with snow,
The flakes are floating and falling slow,
The tame, wee robin is cheeping low—
Bare hedges give no cover;
The ice-pond chirps, the cold winds sweep,
I pity the poor little mountain sheep,
So slumber, baby, slumber and sleep
Till winter days are over!
The flakes are floating and falling slow,
The tame, wee robin is cheeping low—
Bare hedges give no cover;
The ice-pond chirps, the cold winds sweep,
I pity the poor little mountain sheep,
So slumber, baby, slumber and sleep
Till winter days are over!
The bore-trees creak, the woods deplore,
Long icicles hang the panes before,—
I wonder what sound has come to the door,
Or who may be the rover?—
Thou shivering snow-child! come to the heat,—
I pity all poor little naked feet,
That wander and tremble through snow and sleet
Till winter days are over.
Long icicles hang the panes before,—
I wonder what sound has come to the door,
Or who may be the rover?—
Thou shivering snow-child! come to the heat,—
I pity all poor little naked feet,
That wander and tremble through snow and sleet
Till winter days are over.
Now, baby dearie, what think you
To clothe each poor cold foot in a shoe?
You need not crow, for yours will not do—
My merry little lover!
Your one last brother, my baby fair!
His shoes will never and never wear,
They'll be this little one's gladdening share
Till winter days are over.
To clothe each poor cold foot in a shoe?
You need not crow, for yours will not do—
My merry little lover!
Your one last brother, my baby fair!
His shoes will never and never wear,
They'll be this little one's gladdening share
Till winter days are over.
30
For swine are housed, and kine are warm,
The dog by the fireside dreads no harm—
And ah! to see Christ's child in the storm,
A wanderer without cover.
'Tis sweet to have, but not all to keep,
And 'tis good, sometimes, to know to weep,
And I pity the heart that would slumber and sleep
Till winter days are over.
The dog by the fireside dreads no harm—
And ah! to see Christ's child in the storm,
A wanderer without cover.
'Tis sweet to have, but not all to keep,
And 'tis good, sometimes, to know to weep,
And I pity the heart that would slumber and sleep
Till winter days are over.
THE ROWAN TREE
'Tis long, 'tis long, my Love, 'tis long—
'Tis long as death to me—
Since we, Glenara's woods among,
Stood neath the Rowan Tree,
You told me then of faith and fame,
And glorious deeds afar,
You vowed me here an honoured name
Won 'mid the storm of war!
'Tis long as death to me—
Since we, Glenara's woods among,
Stood neath the Rowan Tree,
You told me then of faith and fame,
And glorious deeds afar,
You vowed me here an honoured name
Won 'mid the storm of war!
“Remain, remain, remain, remain!”
Implored the Rowan Tree,
And every height, and every plain
And this poor heart in me!
Implored the Rowan Tree,
And every height, and every plain
And this poor heart in me!
31
But Fame took up her trump, and blew
A clear cold blast on high,
And lonely all the valley grew
With you no longer nigh.
The woodland veered from green to gold
For many a year and day,
But still that blast came loud and cold—
And still you are away!
A clear cold blast on high,
And lonely all the valley grew
With you no longer nigh.
The woodland veered from green to gold
For many a year and day,
But still that blast came loud and cold—
And still you are away!
“Return, return, return, return!”
Implores the Rowan Tree
And all the desert dells that mourn
With this sick heart in me.
Implores the Rowan Tree
And all the desert dells that mourn
With this sick heart in me.
'Tis long, 'tis long, my Love, 'tis long,—
'Tis death in life to me—
And all the woes of earth now throng
Around the Rowan Tree,
A crown of gold it well may twine
From sunshine of lost years,
And bright the bitter fruit may shine
So watered with my tears.
'Tis death in life to me—
And all the woes of earth now throng
Around the Rowan Tree,
A crown of gold it well may twine
From sunshine of lost years,
And bright the bitter fruit may shine
So watered with my tears.
“Farewell, farewell, farewell, farewell.”
Bare grows the Rowan Tree,
The trump that sounds your name, may knell
For this dead heart in me.
Bare grows the Rowan Tree,
The trump that sounds your name, may knell
For this dead heart in me.
May, 1898.
32
THE FIRST LOVE-SONG OF DUBLIN
[_]
(By King Magnus Barford, 1103, when advised to return to Norway before the Winter. From the Norse).
Why should I home depart?
Dublin now holds my heart:
Autumn comes,—but we cross
Not then to Nidaros.
Dublin now holds my heart:
Autumn comes,—but we cross
Not then to Nidaros.
Glad am I now to feel
My darling's true and leal
Youth rules,—my Irish dove
More than myself I love.
My darling's true and leal
Youth rules,—my Irish dove
More than myself I love.
THE CALLING
O Sigh of the Sea, O soft lone-wandering sound,
Why callest thou me, with voice of all waters profound,
With sob and with smile, with lingering pain and delight,
With mornings of blue, with flash of thy billows at night.
Why callest thou me, with voice of all waters profound,
With sob and with smile, with lingering pain and delight,
With mornings of blue, with flash of thy billows at night.
The shell from the shore, though borne far away from thy side,
Recalls evermore the flowing and fall of thy tide,
And so, through my heart thy murmurs gather and grow—
Thy tides, as of old, awake in its darkness, and flow.
Recalls evermore the flowing and fall of thy tide,
And so, through my heart thy murmurs gather and grow—
Thy tides, as of old, awake in its darkness, and flow.
33
O Sigh of the Sea, from luminous isles far away,
Why callest thou me to sail the impassable way?
Why callest thou me to share the unrest of thy soul—
Desires that avail not, yearnings from pole unto pole.
Why callest thou me to sail the impassable way?
Why callest thou me to share the unrest of thy soul—
Desires that avail not, yearnings from pole unto pole.
Still call, till I hear no voice but the voice of thy love,
Till stars shall appear the night of my darkness above,
Till night to the dawn gives way, and death to new life—
Heart-full of thy might, a-stir with thy tumult and strife.
Till stars shall appear the night of my darkness above,
Till night to the dawn gives way, and death to new life—
Heart-full of thy might, a-stir with thy tumult and strife.
ON THE MOUNTAINS OF POMEROY
The morn was breaking bright and fair,
The lark sang in the sky,
When the maid she bound her golden hair,
With a blithe glance in her eye.
For who beyond the gay greenwood
Was waiting her with joy?
Who but her gallant Renardine,
On the Mountains of Pomeroy?
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
The lark sang in the sky,
When the maid she bound her golden hair,
With a blithe glance in her eye.
For who beyond the gay greenwood
Was waiting her with joy?
Who but her gallant Renardine,
On the Mountains of Pomeroy?
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
34
Full often in the dawning hour,
Full oft in the twilight brown,
He met the maid in the twilight bower,
Where the stream comes foaming down.
For they were faithful in a love
No wars could e'er destroy,
Nor tyrant's law touch Renardine
On the Mountains of Pomeroy.
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
Full oft in the twilight brown,
He met the maid in the twilight bower,
Where the stream comes foaming down.
For they were faithful in a love
No wars could e'er destroy,
Nor tyrant's law touch Renardine
On the Mountains of Pomeroy.
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
“Dear love,” she said, “I'm sore afraid,
For the foeman's force and you;
They've tracked you in the lowland glade,
And all the valley through.
My kinsmen frown when you are named,
Your life they would destroy;
‘Beware’ they say, ‘of Renardine
On the Mountains of Pomeroy.’”
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
For the foeman's force and you;
They've tracked you in the lowland glade,
And all the valley through.
My kinsmen frown when you are named,
Your life they would destroy;
‘Beware’ they say, ‘of Renardine
On the Mountains of Pomeroy.’”
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
35
“Fear not, fear not, sweetheart,” he said,
Fear not the foe for me;
No chains shall fall, whate'er betide,
On the arm which will be free.
O, leave your cruel kin, and come
When the lark is in the sky;
And 'tis with my gun I'll guard you,
On the Mountains of Pomeroy!”
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
Fear not the foe for me;
No chains shall fall, whate'er betide,
On the arm which will be free.
O, leave your cruel kin, and come
When the lark is in the sky;
And 'tis with my gun I'll guard you,
On the Mountains of Pomeroy!”
An outlawed man in a land forlorn,
He scorned to turn and fly,
But kept the cause of Freedom safe
Upon the Mountains high.
IN THE CITY
Beside the smithy window
A thrush sings all day long—
All in the murky city
A carolling greenwood song!
And ever as I come nigh it,
My spirit is filled with glee,
And ever as I go by it,
My heart grows sad in me.
While ringingly the hammer,
Ringingly within,
Maketh a merry clamour
And a busy din.
A thrush sings all day long—
All in the murky city
A carolling greenwood song!
And ever as I come nigh it,
My spirit is filled with glee,
And ever as I go by it,
My heart grows sad in me.
While ringingly the hammer,
Ringingly within,
Maketh a merry clamour
And a busy din.
36
Therein, the Ever-Worker
Is seen from early day,
With the glow of forge and iron
Upon his locks of grey.
Therein, the ancient workman
Works ever and aye, so lone,
And none have heard his laughter—
To no man he makes moan.
While ringingly the hammer,
Ringingly within,
Maketh a merry clamour
And a busy din.
Is seen from early day,
With the glow of forge and iron
Upon his locks of grey.
Therein, the ancient workman
Works ever and aye, so lone,
And none have heard his laughter—
To no man he makes moan.
While ringingly the hammer,
Ringingly within,
Maketh a merry clamour
And a busy din.
Two friends he hath—two only—
Good hammer and sweet bird,
O sorrowful eyes! you tell not
Who may have been the third,
Or whether the thrush is singing
Of summers that bore no gloom,
Or whether it promiseth, sweetly,
A green bough o'er a tomb.
When stilled shall lie the hammer,
Silent all within,
Hushed the weary clamour,
And the noisy din.
Good hammer and sweet bird,
O sorrowful eyes! you tell not
Who may have been the third,
Or whether the thrush is singing
Of summers that bore no gloom,
Or whether it promiseth, sweetly,
A green bough o'er a tomb.
When stilled shall lie the hammer,
Silent all within,
Hushed the weary clamour,
And the noisy din.
37
THE EXILE'S RETURN
Look forth grand Peaks of Connaught,
Ye Wardens of the West!
What thing is this ariseth
From the farther ocean's breast?
What ghostly Shape appeareth
That stays the setting day,
And marshals to the right and left
The clouds in long array?
Against the sun what Shadow looms?
Behold!—a ship!—behold!
Now has it borne our life away
And come with alien's gold,
Or brings it news of battles lost,
Of freedom trampled o'er,
That it flaunts no flag upon its mast,
No pennon at the fore?
Ye Wardens of the West!
What thing is this ariseth
From the farther ocean's breast?
What ghostly Shape appeareth
That stays the setting day,
And marshals to the right and left
The clouds in long array?
Against the sun what Shadow looms?
Behold!—a ship!—behold!
Now has it borne our life away
And come with alien's gold,
Or brings it news of battles lost,
Of freedom trampled o'er,
That it flaunts no flag upon its mast,
No pennon at the fore?
Long, long, grand Peaks of Connaught,
Expectant ye keep guard;
Is this, then, whom ye hope for—
For whom you watch and ward?
Upon the deck what see ye,
The night is gathering fast;
O, see ye, say, a blaze of spears
To make a dawn at last?
And steal they all so silently
The false foe to surprise?
No, no, not so, it cannot be—
This is not for your eyes;
The waves of the windy ocean
Would leap in their joy and sing;
But now their wail knells down the gale,
For the burden that they bring.
Expectant ye keep guard;
Is this, then, whom ye hope for—
For whom you watch and ward?
Upon the deck what see ye,
The night is gathering fast;
O, see ye, say, a blaze of spears
To make a dawn at last?
38
The false foe to surprise?
No, no, not so, it cannot be—
This is not for your eyes;
The waves of the windy ocean
Would leap in their joy and sing;
But now their wail knells down the gale,
For the burden that they bring.
Yet, veil not, Peaks of Erinn!
Your royal brows in mist,
And let them, by the dying sun,
With radiance soft be kist:
And cast a look of welcome
Across the seas afar
To those who come, of whom the light,
The life, the soul ye are!
O, they have come through wilds and waves
Across a great half-world,
And they have come from Freedom's flag
To ours so sadly furled.
With burning hearts for Freedom,
Beneath an alien's sway,
Unforced they come and fetterless!—
Now, who of men be they?
Your royal brows in mist,
And let them, by the dying sun,
With radiance soft be kist:
And cast a look of welcome
Across the seas afar
To those who come, of whom the light,
The life, the soul ye are!
O, they have come through wilds and waves
Across a great half-world,
And they have come from Freedom's flag
To ours so sadly furled.
With burning hearts for Freedom,
Beneath an alien's sway,
Unforced they come and fetterless!—
Now, who of men be they?
Look forth, look forth, ye Warders!
Say, what on board is seen?
A group that guards all silently
A banner of the Green;
Our ancient flag of freedom,
Low-lying 'mid them all,
And the shroud of our nation's glory
Her last brave hero's pall.
O, mountain Peaks of Europe!
O, mountains of our land!
Saw ye ever sight so mournful
Since God gave you to command—
Since Ith sailed lifeless back to Spain,
Or dying they went forth,
Each sea-king in the barque of fire,
With prow that sought the North?
Say, what on board is seen?
A group that guards all silently
A banner of the Green;
39
Low-lying 'mid them all,
And the shroud of our nation's glory
Her last brave hero's pall.
O, mountain Peaks of Europe!
O, mountains of our land!
Saw ye ever sight so mournful
Since God gave you to command—
Since Ith sailed lifeless back to Spain,
Or dying they went forth,
Each sea-king in the barque of fire,
With prow that sought the North?
A Wail comes from the famine graves,
A Wail from the loved and lost,
“O, why have ye stirred his ashes,
Why have ye the wild seas crossed—
Why brought ye the martyr hither,
Where his corpse will bear the brand,
Why brought ye a freeman hither
From a free and friendly land?”
“In the Golden States Lone Mountain
His heart could find no rest,
So we brought him home o'er the white seafoam,
To his Erinn of the blest.”
A Wail from the loved and lost,
“O, why have ye stirred his ashes,
Why have ye the wild seas crossed—
Why brought ye the martyr hither,
Where his corpse will bear the brand,
Why brought ye a freeman hither
From a free and friendly land?”
“In the Golden States Lone Mountain
His heart could find no rest,
So we brought him home o'er the white seafoam,
To his Erinn of the blest.”
A Wail comes from the lonely hills,
A Wail from the desert plains,
“Not here! not here! no blessing is here,
With the early or latter rains,
O, bury him not in a landward spot,
'Mid the gloom of the ruined home,
But e'en if you will by the deep lake still,
Or the free sea's flashing foam.”
A Wail from the desert plains,
“Not here! not here! no blessing is here,
With the early or latter rains,
40
'Mid the gloom of the ruined home,
But e'en if you will by the deep lake still,
Or the free sea's flashing foam.”
Two Cries from the Land and Sea
Commingle and wail aloud;
“Bury him not by the deep lake still,
Our long-lost glory's shroud;
Bury him not by the breakers,
On the wild sea-beach alone,
Dark-shadowed by alien banners
Eternally they make moan.”
Commingle and wail aloud;
“Bury him not by the deep lake still,
Our long-lost glory's shroud;
Bury him not by the breakers,
On the wild sea-beach alone,
Dark-shadowed by alien banners
Eternally they make moan.”
But Living Erinn arising
Went down to her farthest strand,
And welcomed her lifeless hero,
And knelt to his pallid hand;
Her children from hill and hollow
Streamed forth in long array,
And before the Voice of Erinn,
The wailing died away.
“In God,” she cried, “is my hope will tried,
The Lord of sea and land,
No fetters bind the martyr's mind—
No chains his high soul brand.
God alone,” she cried, and the wailing died,
“Is Lord of the land and sea,
The tyrant in vain guards hill and plain,
The spirit itself is free!”
Went down to her farthest strand,
And welcomed her lifeless hero,
And knelt to his pallid hand;
Her children from hill and hollow
Streamed forth in long array,
And before the Voice of Erinn,
The wailing died away.
“In God,” she cried, “is my hope will tried,
The Lord of sea and land,
No fetters bind the martyr's mind—
No chains his high soul brand.
God alone,” she cried, and the wailing died,
“Is Lord of the land and sea,
The tyrant in vain guards hill and plain,
The spirit itself is free!”
Terence Bellew MacManus, a prominent young Irelander who died in California, and whose remains were brought over to Ireland and buried in Glasnevin in 1861.
41
WHENCE?
Have you come from the Castle,
Or where have you been,
With the King at the wassail,
At the dance with the Queen?
There's a light in your eye,
And a smile upon your mouth—
What star has shone on you,
North star or south?
Or where have you been,
With the King at the wassail,
At the dance with the Queen?
There's a light in your eye,
And a smile upon your mouth—
What star has shone on you,
North star or south?
O the King were my vassal,
I know not the Queen,
'Mid the birds of Hy-Brasail,
'Tis there I have been;
I heard the high song
Of the fair isle of Youth,
And the Lady of the Land
Laid a kiss on my mouth.
I know not the Queen,
'Mid the birds of Hy-Brasail,
'Tis there I have been;
I heard the high song
Of the fair isle of Youth,
And the Lady of the Land
Laid a kiss on my mouth.
SORROW
(A Sonnet).
Even as falls the gentle winter-snow
On the sere earth, late drencht with turbid rains,
Falls, and till green springtime, o'er-clothes all stains—
So seem the sorrows on the soul to flow.
On the sere earth, late drencht with turbid rains,
Falls, and till green springtime, o'er-clothes all stains—
So seem the sorrows on the soul to flow.
42
Even as, mid the frosty winter-air,
The human frame relax has ever felt
Strength in each fibre where late weakness dwelt,
So may the soul, from grief, gain vigour fair.
The human frame relax has ever felt
Strength in each fibre where late weakness dwelt,
So may the soul, from grief, gain vigour fair.
Sorrow has led me nearer unto God;
The sorrow past, my footsteps erred again;
The sorrow past, I joyed at loss of pain.
The sorrow past, my footsteps erred again;
The sorrow past, I joyed at loss of pain.
Forgetting, ah, poor heart! how kind the rod—
A levite rod, that fairest blossoms bore,
Which, dewed with tears, had flourisht evermore.
A levite rod, that fairest blossoms bore,
Which, dewed with tears, had flourisht evermore.
THE HOME RILL
Welcome, O little Rill!
Bright be thou ever,
Green be thy border still,
Twinkling thy quiver.
Thee I can never pass
All unrejoiceful,
Where, thro' the meadow-grass,
Making it voiceful,
Thou comest, by thyself, dancing and dimpling,
Down by the meadow's edge,
Domed by the drooping sedge,
Over a lichened ledge,
Under a whispering hedge
Winding and wimpling!
Bright be thou ever,
Green be thy border still,
Twinkling thy quiver.
Thee I can never pass
All unrejoiceful,
Where, thro' the meadow-grass,
Making it voiceful,
Thou comest, by thyself, dancing and dimpling,
Down by the meadow's edge,
Domed by the drooping sedge,
Over a lichened ledge,
Under a whispering hedge
Winding and wimpling!
43
Where, through the little arch,
Mossy and olden,
Close by a taper larch,
Under a golden
Bough of sweet-scented furze,
Softly out-flowing,
Out in clear amber stirs
Pulsing and glowing,
Thou comest, by thyself, from the mead welling;
Out of the dusty way,
Edging its margin gray,
With a green broidery,
And a low melody
Liquidly knelling!
Mossy and olden,
Close by a taper larch,
Under a golden
Bough of sweet-scented furze,
Softly out-flowing,
Out in clear amber stirs
Pulsing and glowing,
Thou comest, by thyself, from the mead welling;
Out of the dusty way,
Edging its margin gray,
With a green broidery,
And a low melody
Liquidly knelling!
There, in the mossy brink,
Warding thy entry,
Sits a wee white and pink
Daisy-bud, sentry;
There, in a shady nook,
Sunned by their lustre,
Laugh in a cluster,
Primroses, summer-sweet, radiant and yellow:
While in the linden-grove,
Cooeth the brooding dove,
While from the sky above
Showereth a shower of love
Tinklingly mellow!
Warding thy entry,
Sits a wee white and pink
Daisy-bud, sentry;
There, in a shady nook,
Sunned by their lustre,
Laugh in a cluster,
Primroses, summer-sweet, radiant and yellow:
While in the linden-grove,
Cooeth the brooding dove,
While from the sky above
Showereth a shower of love
Tinklingly mellow!
44
Years ago—years ago—
Far in the old days,
When things on high and low
Beamed through a gold haze,
Thee, as a child, I met,
Large-eyed in wonder,
Traced thee, with small feet wet,
Up-hill and under,
Lured by thy peaceful voice child-like and lonely—
Nay, I can pass thee not,
Memories haunt the spot,
Shadows come, long forgot,
Shades of Some who are not
Shades, alas, only.
Far in the old days,
When things on high and low
Beamed through a gold haze,
Thee, as a child, I met,
Large-eyed in wonder,
Traced thee, with small feet wet,
Up-hill and under,
Lured by thy peaceful voice child-like and lonely—
Nay, I can pass thee not,
Memories haunt the spot,
Shadows come, long forgot,
Shades of Some who are not
Shades, alas, only.
Still grows the iris here,
Shall I not take one?
Leaf-shallops launched we here,
Shall I not make one?
Float away, plaited prow,
'Mong the cress islets,
Now in mid-stream, and now
Coasting the violets;
Gone are the soft hands that clasped mine to guide me,
Gone the sweet silver shout—
Gone the laugh ringing out—
Gone the half-smiling pout—
Gone all the merry rout
Running beside thee!
Shall I not take one?
Leaf-shallops launched we here,
Shall I not make one?
Float away, plaited prow,
'Mong the cress islets,
Now in mid-stream, and now
Coasting the violets;
Gone are the soft hands that clasped mine to guide me,
Gone the sweet silver shout—
Gone the laugh ringing out—
Gone the half-smiling pout—
Gone all the merry rout
Running beside thee!
45
In my heart, lonely Brook,
Yearns a vague sadness,
Canst not one little nook
Fill with old gladness?
While the chill grass that forms
Thy floating fringes,
Thrilled by thy ripple warms
Into rose tinges.
Share me, lone wanderer, share me thy quiet;
O'er thee the bough that bore
Snows but a month before,
Buds in green stars all o'er,
Shakes to its gladdened core
With the birds riot!
Yearns a vague sadness,
Canst not one little nook
Fill with old gladness?
While the chill grass that forms
Thy floating fringes,
Thrilled by thy ripple warms
Into rose tinges.
Share me, lone wanderer, share me thy quiet;
O'er thee the bough that bore
Snows but a month before,
Buds in green stars all o'er,
Shakes to its gladdened core
With the birds riot!
Whispering thyself unto
Peaceful communings,
Through my soul, gently too
Flow thy sweet croonings.
Fare thee well, little Rill!
Singing through even,
While all other sounds grow still
'Neath the starred heaven.
Thou goest, by thyself, all thy tones blending,
Far by the dusty way,
Far in the farness gray,
In a soft harmony,
And a low melody
Till the last ending.
Peaceful communings,
Through my soul, gently too
Flow thy sweet croonings.
Fare thee well, little Rill!
Singing through even,
While all other sounds grow still
'Neath the starred heaven.
Thou goest, by thyself, all thy tones blending,
Far by the dusty way,
Far in the farness gray,
In a soft harmony,
And a low melody
Till the last ending.
46
AN INVOCATION
Heart of the Lark! in the high sky singing,
Sunshine above you, under you, love,
Summer around in the new grass springing,
Blushes of blossom over the grove:
Sunshine above you, under you, love,
Summer around in the new grass springing,
Blushes of blossom over the grove:
Flash of the Stream! all the bare rock brightening,
Filling the glen with luminous bees,
Sending your murmurous thunder and lightning
Far on the echoing breath of the breeze:
Filling the glen with luminous bees,
Sending your murmurous thunder and lightning
Far on the echoing breath of the breeze:
Flower of the May! on the fair boughs showing,
Robing them round, like brides, in white—
Visions of Violets! gleaming and glowing,
Odours of Eden, and all delights:
Robing them round, like brides, in white—
Visions of Violets! gleaming and glowing,
Odours of Eden, and all delights:
Splendour of Ocean! whose wild waves measure
Wrath great as worlds, worlds to defy,—
Splendour a-glow in its tremulous azure
Brimming with love to earth and to sky:
Wrath great as worlds, worlds to defy,—
Splendour a-glow in its tremulous azure
Brimming with love to earth and to sky:
Musing of Mountains! veterans gravely
Warding the ways to th' infinite blue,
Scarred with all storms immemorial, bravely,
Rugged and bronzed and tender and true:
Warding the ways to th' infinite blue,
Scarred with all storms immemorial, bravely,
Rugged and bronzed and tender and true:
Silence of Snow! a hovering whiteness
Floating and falling, fold over fold,
Clothing the busy earth over with brightness,
Softness and purity, woodland and wold:
Floating and falling, fold over fold,
Clothing the busy earth over with brightness,
Softness and purity, woodland and wold:
47
Come to us swiftly, O Silence that frees us!
Lights that deliver, Sights that illume,
Song that would save when the world-clouds seize us,
Shrouding our hearts in cerement of gloom.
Lights that deliver, Sights that illume,
Song that would save when the world-clouds seize us,
Shrouding our hearts in cerement of gloom.
We are compact of you! Hence this yearning
Love for the life of earth and of skies,
Fain would our atoms—exiles returning—
Fly as the freed bird home to you flies.
Love for the life of earth and of skies,
Fain would our atoms—exiles returning—
Fly as the freed bird home to you flies.
Flash in your founts, in your soft snow hushing,
Roll in your thunders, surge in your seas;
Thrill in your song, in your bright blooms flushing,
Rove in the rapturous breath of your breeze.
Roll in your thunders, surge in your seas;
Thrill in your song, in your bright blooms flushing,
Rove in the rapturous breath of your breeze.
Are they not of you?—even as ember
Flames into light from its covering ash,
Still, in their prison, they sometimes remember,
And gleams through its darkness fitfully flash.
Flames into light from its covering ash,
Still, in their prison, they sometimes remember,
And gleams through its darkness fitfully flash.
Then, as in chamber obscure, we behold them,—
Live o'er again the free life of the air,
Shine, till the darkness once more shall enfold them:
Singing inaudible melodies there.
Live o'er again the free life of the air,
Shine, till the darkness once more shall enfold them:
Singing inaudible melodies there.
Shall they not rise, through the red earth springing,
Called by a Voice of new Summer above;
Till, Spirit-led, o'er the high sky singing,
They live in the Life of Infinite Love!
Called by a Voice of new Summer above;
Till, Spirit-led, o'er the high sky singing,
They live in the Life of Infinite Love!
48
THE WOODS OF LISNARA
Scene: By the Rio de la Plata.
Beside me fair Rio flows down,
A broad-bosomed bride of the ocean,
The palm lifts aloft its plumed crown,
The fire-flies gleam, myriads in motion:
They light the dark depths of the trees
With fitful flash, quick as an arrow,
More bright came the thyme-scented breeze
In the woods of Lisnara.
A broad-bosomed bride of the ocean,
The palm lifts aloft its plumed crown,
The fire-flies gleam, myriads in motion:
They light the dark depths of the trees
With fitful flash, quick as an arrow,
More bright came the thyme-scented breeze
In the woods of Lisnara.
Like a shower of gems dreamt of at nights,
That shine with the rainbows gay tinting,
Through the chequering shadows and lights
The brilliant bird-jewels are glinting:
And at times a wild choir will rejoice
With music as mighty as sorrow,
More sweet the blue eyes and low voice,
In the woods of Lisnara.
That shine with the rainbows gay tinting,
Through the chequering shadows and lights
The brilliant bird-jewels are glinting:
And at times a wild choir will rejoice
With music as mighty as sorrow,
More sweet the blue eyes and low voice,
In the woods of Lisnara.
This clime is a child of the sun
Where luxuriance sparkles with splendour,
I mind of a less lustrous one
With dewy skies, kindly and tender.
Here wreaths of bright flowers sway around,
I mind of a mound, cold and narrow,
My heart lies away, 'neath the ground
In the woods of Lisnara.
Where luxuriance sparkles with splendour,
I mind of a less lustrous one
With dewy skies, kindly and tender.
Here wreaths of bright flowers sway around,
I mind of a mound, cold and narrow,
My heart lies away, 'neath the ground
In the woods of Lisnara.
49
THE THREE LAMENTING LOCHS
There are three Lochs, 'mid norland heights,
Girt round with green and gold;
Three mirrors where the moon, of nights
May ancient scenes behold:
Aissha, Una, lucid Loch Mor,
Their trembling tones float round the shore
Still lowly murmuring, o'er and o'er,
Their tale of Times of Old.
Girt round with green and gold;
Three mirrors where the moon, of nights
May ancient scenes behold:
Aissha, Una, lucid Loch Mor,
Their trembling tones float round the shore
Still lowly murmuring, o'er and o'er,
Their tale of Times of Old.
The blanched brows of the Mists appear,
They glide as Warders nigh,
Their wan, cold, silent forms draw near
To close out earth and sky;
They stretch across their long gray wands
To still the whispering with the strands,—
The Three Lochs shiver against the sands,
But still we hear them sigh.
They glide as Warders nigh,
Their wan, cold, silent forms draw near
To close out earth and sky;
They stretch across their long gray wands
To still the whispering with the strands,—
The Three Lochs shiver against the sands,
But still we hear them sigh.
There flit strange gleams through norland heights
When winter woods grow cold,
They shine in shielings oft, of nights,
Star-beams from times of old;
Illumed by this slow-dimming star,
I once the casket could unbar,
And read the legend-scroll, where are
Their grief and secret told,
When winter woods grow cold,
They shine in shielings oft, of nights,
Star-beams from times of old;
Illumed by this slow-dimming star,
I once the casket could unbar,
And read the legend-scroll, where are
Their grief and secret told,
50
There were Three Maidens, beautiful,
Beyond the dreams of man,
Three sisters, whose great Sire bore rule
The Sea-God, Manannan.
His palace, in a crystal cave,
The deep green quiet waters lave,
While o'er it, oft, the Northern Wave
In roaring rapids ran.
Beyond the dreams of man,
Three sisters, whose great Sire bore rule
The Sea-God, Manannan.
His palace, in a crystal cave,
The deep green quiet waters lave,
While o'er it, oft, the Northern Wave
In roaring rapids ran.
Three dowers he gave his daughters three,
With each a fortress fair,
And came, at times, across the Sea
With all his glory there;
And O to watch the wonders made,
When through the flashing forest glade
Advanced the Fairy Cavalcade
With fluttering flags in air!
With each a fortress fair,
And came, at times, across the Sea
With all his glory there;
And O to watch the wonders made,
When through the flashing forest glade
Advanced the Fairy Cavalcade
With fluttering flags in air!
To Una, first, he gave her dower,
That heart of tender ruth!
So she might reign o'er every flower
And tribute take, in sooth,
He gave a Bee-home bright, whose bees,
Star-sparkles, sped o'er all the seas,
And brought her on the honeyed breeze,
Sweets from the Isles of Youth.
That heart of tender ruth!
So she might reign o'er every flower
And tribute take, in sooth,
He gave a Bee-home bright, whose bees,
Star-sparkles, sped o'er all the seas,
And brought her on the honeyed breeze,
Sweets from the Isles of Youth.
51
To queenly Mor, whose lucid eyes
Gazed, brightest of things bright,
That caught the hue of April skies
At passing of the night!
He gave an Ocean-gem which showed
Full radiance, from a heart that glowed
As though all lights that live abode
Within its snow-pure Light!
Gazed, brightest of things bright,
That caught the hue of April skies
At passing of the night!
He gave an Ocean-gem which showed
Full radiance, from a heart that glowed
As though all lights that live abode
Within its snow-pure Light!
Where Aissha came the birds began,—
The birds of Brasail sang,
The Music-maid of Manannan,
For whom each heart-chord rang!
With her he left, to save from spells,
The guarded, golden Branch of Bells,—
Where'er its voice of magic swells
All discords cease their clang.
The birds of Brasail sang,
The Music-maid of Manannan,
For whom each heart-chord rang!
With her he left, to save from spells,
The guarded, golden Branch of Bells,—
Where'er its voice of magic swells
All discords cease their clang.
Men came from far and over seas,
And fain through life had stayed,
To share the sweets of gold-tongued bees
And serve a Marvel-Maid.
To feel through hearts the flush of Light
To hear the charm of Bells aright,
To see, for once—Life's wondrous sight—
The Fairy Cavalcade!
And fain through life had stayed,
To share the sweets of gold-tongued bees
And serve a Marvel-Maid.
To feel through hearts the flush of Light
To hear the charm of Bells aright,
To see, for once—Life's wondrous sight—
The Fairy Cavalcade!
52
There came, at last, a wind that whirled,—
A Cloud that Wizards launch,
And thus They entered that fair world,
And did its beauty blanch.
Their bolts at Mor's great light fell dead,
In vain their shafts at Una sped,
Till through a greater spell of dread,
They broke the Golden Branch!
A Cloud that Wizards launch,
And thus They entered that fair world,
And did its beauty blanch.
Their bolts at Mor's great light fell dead,
In vain their shafts at Una sped,
Till through a greater spell of dread,
They broke the Golden Branch!
Then Una's bees went forth no more,
Mor's light grew sudden black,
Then storms would roughly rise and roar
With ruin in their track.
Then bade the Foes these Maidens Three
Their ban to bear, their doom to dree,
In three sad Lochs their lives should be
Till ancient Times come back.
Mor's light grew sudden black,
Then storms would roughly rise and roar
With ruin in their track.
Then bade the Foes these Maidens Three
Their ban to bear, their doom to dree,
In three sad Lochs their lives should be
Till ancient Times come back.
Yet, saith the Scroll of norland height,
This shall not always hold,
If any seventh year, at night,
Comes forth a champion bold,
The waves recede,—then should his hand
Cast Fire upon th' Enchanted Land,
The Queen-Maids shall delivered stand
Triumphant as of old.
This shall not always hold,
If any seventh year, at night,
Comes forth a champion bold,
The waves recede,—then should his hand
Cast Fire upon th' Enchanted Land,
The Queen-Maids shall delivered stand
Triumphant as of old.
53
THE OLD PATH BY THE RIVER
Grow, grow—rude brier and bramble
And long wild weed, across,
There is nought but an old man's footstep
Now on the pathway's moss.
And long wild weed, across,
There is nought but an old man's footstep
Now on the pathway's moss.
The old path by the river,
That was once all bright with flowers,
The mournful pines have o'er-arched it
With dusk, like evening hours!
That was once all bright with flowers,
The mournful pines have o'er-arched it
With dusk, like evening hours!
The flowers have fallen that flourisht,
With the radiant sun shut out,
And the echoes are never wakened
By childhood's merry shout.
With the radiant sun shut out,
And the echoes are never wakened
By childhood's merry shout.
The fair young brows of childhood
And the clustering, sunny hair
And soft eyes that would ever brighten
The gloom, come never there.
And the clustering, sunny hair
And soft eyes that would ever brighten
The gloom, come never there.
O lone path by the river!
O, long wild weed across!
There is nought but an old man's footstep
Upon the rank, grey moss.
O, long wild weed across!
There is nought but an old man's footstep
Upon the rank, grey moss.
54
The Temple of Life is in ruins,
Its lamps quencht, one by one,
No light, save a ray thro' the broken roof,
Falleth his brow upon.
Its lamps quencht, one by one,
No light, save a ray thro' the broken roof,
Falleth his brow upon.
The one most sorrowful Mourner
In the aisle when all depart,
And ah—the unspeakable loneliness
That presses around his heart!
In the aisle when all depart,
And ah—the unspeakable loneliness
That presses around his heart!
THE SILENT ABBEY
The abbey stands knee-deep in graves,
Mouldering bones bestrew its naves,
Ivy-gloomed, its cells are caves,
Starved fern from the gable waves,
Fallen roof the chancel paves,
Man cannot enter in, for graves,—
The Ruin is so old!
Mouldering bones bestrew its naves,
Ivy-gloomed, its cells are caves,
Starved fern from the gable waves,
Fallen roof the chancel paves,
Man cannot enter in, for graves,—
The Ruin is so old!
Lone-looming 'mid the living plains,
Black with ancient fire its fanes,
Grey its tower with million rains,
Splasht its walls with lichen stains,
Lime adown the dark arch drains,
Restless aye the wind complains
Through the dull-resounding fanes—
The Ruin is so old!
Black with ancient fire its fanes,
Grey its tower with million rains,
Splasht its walls with lichen stains,
Lime adown the dark arch drains,
Restless aye the wind complains
Through the dull-resounding fanes—
The Ruin is so old!
55
Thither, on a noon, a child
Came, through splinters sparse and piled,
Something there his heart beguiled:
Lo, 'mid desolation wild,
Through the portal, grave-defiled,
Where man could not, goes the child—
The Ruin is so old!
Came, through splinters sparse and piled,
Something there his heart beguiled:
Lo, 'mid desolation wild,
Through the portal, grave-defiled,
Where man could not, goes the child—
The Ruin is so old!
On a Sabbath noon, and so,
Far-off chimes float to and fro,
Now, all dying, cease to go.
He makes sudden start, for lo!
Faint sweet chimes awake and flow,
Serving Mass as long ago
In the lonesome fane,—although
The Ruin is so old!
Far-off chimes float to and fro,
Now, all dying, cease to go.
He makes sudden start, for lo!
Faint sweet chimes awake and flow,
Serving Mass as long ago
In the lonesome fane,—although
The Ruin is so old!
THE CHURCH OF THE APPLE TREE
In Penal Times
Alone within a lonely glen,
Still stands the flowering Apple Tree,
Beloved of birds, revered by men,
The haunt of many a bee.
Still stands the flowering Apple Tree,
Beloved of birds, revered by men,
The haunt of many a bee.
56
From heathy hills, a living brook
Soft-singing comes by night and day,
Then goes, with farewell lilt and look,
Its far sea-seeking way.
Soft-singing comes by night and day,
Then goes, with farewell lilt and look,
Its far sea-seeking way.
This is the Temple Beautiful
Where our forefathers kneeling prayed
Though Death ran near, yet dutiful
They worshipped undismayed.
Where our forefathers kneeling prayed
Though Death ran near, yet dutiful
They worshipped undismayed.
The years recede: and now a sun,
More youthful than the star we know,
Has touched with light the summits dim—
The Hills of Long Ago.
More youthful than the star we know,
Has touched with light the summits dim—
The Hills of Long Ago.
Now Shadows through the shadowy Vale
Come silent round from far and near,
And through the twilight silence pale
The priest's low voice we hear.
Come silent round from far and near,
And through the twilight silence pale
The priest's low voice we hear.
“Introibo—I will go
Unto the Altar of my God”—
It stands beneath the branches low
A grey rock on the sod.
Unto the Altar of my God”—
It stands beneath the branches low
A grey rock on the sod.
“To God”—quick comes the answer back—
“Who maketh my youth glad!” they cry:
Their feet may tread the felon's track
Their hearts are lifted high.
“Who maketh my youth glad!” they cry:
Their feet may tread the felon's track
Their hearts are lifted high.
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The lark shoots up—a thrill of love!
The sweet-toned robin softly calls,
And from the flowery dome above
A shower of fragrance falls.
The sweet-toned robin softly calls,
And from the flowery dome above
A shower of fragrance falls.
The seasons pass, the summer's spent
The frozen leaves drop, dead and sere;
Through wailing woods the winds lament
The waning of the year.
The frozen leaves drop, dead and sere;
Through wailing woods the winds lament
The waning of the year.
Now snow-flakes shroud the Apple Tree,
But through its branching bars,
Those kneeling there, look up and see
The shining midnight stars.
But through its branching bars,
Those kneeling there, look up and see
The shining midnight stars.
“Come, O ye Faithful! gladly sing”—
What reck they now of storm or swords—
“Good tidings of great joy we bring
This day was born our Lord!”
What reck they now of storm or swords—
“Good tidings of great joy we bring
This day was born our Lord!”
The Angels answer from the sky—
Their white wings guard the lonely glen—
“O glory unto God on High
And Peace on Earth to Men!”
Their white wings guard the lonely glen—
“O glory unto God on High
And Peace on Earth to Men!”
The scenes recede: the visions pass;
Hate dies as dies a darksome pest,
And still love flowers above the grass
Where our forefathers rest.
Hate dies as dies a darksome pest,
And still love flowers above the grass
Where our forefathers rest.
In earlier penal times Mass was said in secret places in Ireland, with sentries posted to give alarm of the persecutors. I know this old wild apple tree: it was shown me when a child, by the sons of some who had worshipped there. G.S.
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THE LEANNAN SIHE
Amid the mountain airy,
City, vale or sea,
There wandereth a fairy
Oft times with me
If then I be in gladness
Still it maketh gay,
If sad, the pang of sadness
Passeth away.
For it is a blessing, ever near and dear,
With carolling of Springtime singing thro' the year.
City, vale or sea,
There wandereth a fairy
Oft times with me
If then I be in gladness
Still it maketh gay,
If sad, the pang of sadness
Passeth away.
For it is a blessing, ever near and dear,
With carolling of Springtime singing thro' the year.
When cloud on cloud is falling
Sunny days are o'er,
The black-wing'd rooks are calling—
Song birds sing no more;
When every flower is dying
Leafless every tree,
And Winter winds are crying,
Sing thou to me.
For thou art a blessing, ever near and dear,
With carolling of Springtime singing thro' the year.
Sunny days are o'er,
The black-wing'd rooks are calling—
Song birds sing no more;
When every flower is dying
Leafless every tree,
And Winter winds are crying,
Sing thou to me.
For thou art a blessing, ever near and dear,
With carolling of Springtime singing thro' the year.
Though dark the night of sorrow,
Bright the morning star,
Thou singest of the morrow
When friends remembered are.
Who heareth thee can never
Wholly turn to clay,
Who heareth thee for ever
Liveth alway!
For thou art a blessing, ever near and dear,
With carolling of Springtime singing thro' the year.
Bright the morning star,
Thou singest of the morrow
When friends remembered are.
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Wholly turn to clay,
Who heareth thee for ever
Liveth alway!
For thou art a blessing, ever near and dear,
With carolling of Springtime singing thro' the year.
THE PAISTIN FIONN
A Voice of new music floats over the air,
The boughs are all blossoms that were pining and bare,
The glad laughing rivers now her presence declare—
She comes forth in beauty young Paistin the Fair!
The soft skies that love her grow brighter above her
The waves leap to welcome the feet of our Queen;
The cuckoo awakes, o'er the valleys and brakes,
For summer is come with the eyes of Paistin!
The boughs are all blossoms that were pining and bare,
The glad laughing rivers now her presence declare—
She comes forth in beauty young Paistin the Fair!
The soft skies that love her grow brighter above her
The waves leap to welcome the feet of our Queen;
The cuckoo awakes, o'er the valleys and brakes,
For summer is come with the eyes of Paistin!
More fair is her form than the swan on the sea,
Her cheeks bear the bloom from the bright apple tree,
O heart of my heart still the Paistin shall be—
The lark-song of life is her love unto me!
Like birds in the forest, when winter is sorest,
Our souls were all songless when She was unseen
One hope kept them bright through the storm and the night
The soft summer light of the eyes of Paistin!
Her cheeks bear the bloom from the bright apple tree,
O heart of my heart still the Paistin shall be—
The lark-song of life is her love unto me!
60
Our souls were all songless when She was unseen
One hope kept them bright through the storm and the night
The soft summer light of the eyes of Paistin!
They love her who know her,—'tis not all who may know—
They find her who seek her,—'tis not all who may go—
She flees from the revel, she walks beside Woe,—
The wine of her banquet is purer than snow!
Like fragrance that flowers send forth after showers,
Like lifting of larks when the first ray is seen,
Our hearts take their flight to our Dawn of Delight,
For summer shines bright in the eyes of Paistin!
They find her who seek her,—'tis not all who may go—
She flees from the revel, she walks beside Woe,—
The wine of her banquet is purer than snow!
Like fragrance that flowers send forth after showers,
Like lifting of larks when the first ray is seen,
Our hearts take their flight to our Dawn of Delight,
For summer shines bright in the eyes of Paistin!
NIGHT
(A Sonnet.)
Thou comest, Night divine! to free once more
From money-changer's din, from selfish riot,
And dower with peace and deep cathedral quiet
This Temple grand. Thou comest, come once more!
From money-changer's din, from selfish riot,
And dower with peace and deep cathedral quiet
This Temple grand. Thou comest, come once more!
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We had forgot the whispers of the shore,
We had forgot the greenwood's solemn voices,
Our smiles were ready, but the heart rejoices
Not with the soul-delighting thrill of yore.
We had forgot the greenwood's solemn voices,
Our smiles were ready, but the heart rejoices
Not with the soul-delighting thrill of yore.
Wave o'er this fruit whereof we perish, eating,
Thy disenchanting wand, that we may know
The dead-sea flavour 'neath the luscious glow.
Thy disenchanting wand, that we may know
The dead-sea flavour 'neath the luscious glow.
O come, that we may hear once more the greeting,
And hearing live, of Hy-Brasilian lays
Whose voice we dreamt of, in the early days!
And hearing live, of Hy-Brasilian lays
Whose voice we dreamt of, in the early days!
AN EYRIE IN ARRAN
We sailed away, from Galway Bay,
A-top the swelling billows,
Our taper spars, slant to the stars,
Bent to and fro, like willows.
The sun's first beam came down the stream
And lit our tall sail brightly,
In breezy dance the waves advance
To the bark that's bounding lightly.
A-top the swelling billows,
Our taper spars, slant to the stars,
Bent to and fro, like willows.
The sun's first beam came down the stream
And lit our tall sail brightly,
In breezy dance the waves advance
To the bark that's bounding lightly.
With diamond flash, in showers they splash
About the prow, swift-gliding,
The boat thrills through, with tremor new,
As in their conquest priding!
The leagues fly past, we come at last
Where looms a murky highland,
And tack to seek a sheltered creek
'Mid rocks of Arran Island.
About the prow, swift-gliding,
The boat thrills through, with tremor new,
As in their conquest priding!
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Where looms a murky highland,
And tack to seek a sheltered creek
'Mid rocks of Arran Island.
I climbed the beach, in haste to reach
The ruins shrined in story,
The moated mound I sought and found
In grey traditions hoary.
There, standing high beneath the sky
I viewed the wastes of Arran—
'Tis holy ground, I thought, around,
But bare, and bleak, and barren.
The ruins shrined in story,
The moated mound I sought and found
In grey traditions hoary.
There, standing high beneath the sky
I viewed the wastes of Arran—
'Tis holy ground, I thought, around,
But bare, and bleak, and barren.
A sound like cheers came on my ears,
Small, faint, and few, but merry—
From sea-gull's young have those out-sprung?
Or mock me notes of Faery?
With curious look I scanned each nook
From where the sea was dashing,
The secret found, beside the Mound
Where stood—a woman washing!
Small, faint, and few, but merry—
From sea-gull's young have those out-sprung?
Or mock me notes of Faery?
With curious look I scanned each nook
From where the sea was dashing,
The secret found, beside the Mound
Where stood—a woman washing!
And graceful, lithe, and bright, and blithe,
No courtly dame more slender,
She seemed as fair, whilst working there
As they in all their splendour.
Could she, thought I, have raised that cry?
She glanced up, dark and merry,
Then down with pride, for at her side
Two babelings in her eyrie!
No courtly dame more slender,
She seemed as fair, whilst working there
As they in all their splendour.
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She glanced up, dark and merry,
Then down with pride, for at her side
Two babelings in her eyrie!
Two, dark and fair, with nut-brown hair,
Two, red-cheeked as the berry,
'Mid rocks all grey, they sat at play,
All three were very merry!—
My boat below filled sail to go,
I left the land—once barren,
Nor hope to find 'neath sun and wind
A fairer isle than Arran!
Two, red-cheeked as the berry,
'Mid rocks all grey, they sat at play,
All three were very merry!—
My boat below filled sail to go,
I left the land—once barren,
Nor hope to find 'neath sun and wind
A fairer isle than Arran!
BLARNEY TOWER
Sun and shower on the castle old,
Blarney tower is true and bold,
Through its halls, in the dark of night,
Floats the voice of a Lady bright.
Blarney tower is true and bold,
Through its halls, in the dark of night,
Floats the voice of a Lady bright.
“Who will hinder the wind to blow,
Or who will hinder the grass to grow,
Or who will hinder my Cavalier
To keep his tryste with his true love here?”
Or who will hinder the grass to grow,
Or who will hinder my Cavalier
To keep his tryste with his true love here?”
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Fern and flower in the sweet Rock-close,
Blarney bower hath many a rose,
Many birds on the leafy tree—
Sweeter than lady's song to me.
Blarney bower hath many a rose,
Many birds on the leafy tree—
Sweeter than lady's song to me.
Lord and vassal no more are seen,
Blarney castle still guards its queen,
Ivy covers the ramparts grey
Still its heart is a roundelay.
Blarney castle still guards its queen,
Ivy covers the ramparts grey
Still its heart is a roundelay.
Knights shall never awake the lute,—
Minstrel ever that castle mute!
Love and Hope with a mystic power
Watch and ward upon Blarney tower!
Minstrel ever that castle mute!
Love and Hope with a mystic power
Watch and ward upon Blarney tower!
“Who will hinder the wind to blow,
Or who will hinder the grass to grow,
Who will hinder my Cavalier
To keep his tryste with his true love here?”
Or who will hinder the grass to grow,
Who will hinder my Cavalier
To keep his tryste with his true love here?”
SLAN LEIS AN CHORRAN
Like men who wade through seas of gold
The reapers move, and, fold on fold,
Along the shorn and sunny mould,
The sheaves of harvest fall.
The reapers move, and, fold on fold,
Along the shorn and sunny mould,
The sheaves of harvest fall.
But, who is he who holds command,
Who wields the sickle like a brand?
No peasant this—a champion banned,
Whose eyes for combat call!
Who wields the sickle like a brand?
No peasant this—a champion banned,
Whose eyes for combat call!
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And, sudden, through the mist of morn,
Loud throbs the call of martial horn
The reapers shrink behind the corn,
He stands with stately head.
Loud throbs the call of martial horn
The reapers shrink behind the corn,
He stands with stately head.
Then comes with escort riding fast,
A Herald asking: “Hath there past,
A Chieftain, straight as Nephin mast,
Whose strong right hand is red?”
A Herald asking: “Hath there past,
A Chieftain, straight as Nephin mast,
Whose strong right hand is red?”
Prince Cathal spoke, with flashing eye,
“Your traitor tyrant I defy—
Who comes to capture comes to die.”
And raised his red right hand.
“Your traitor tyrant I defy—
Who comes to capture comes to die.”
And raised his red right hand.
Their lances glittered in the light,
The Herald cried with voice of might
“Twice welcome, Champion of the Right,
And Chieftain of our Land.
The Herald cried with voice of might
“Twice welcome, Champion of the Right,
And Chieftain of our Land.
“For he is dead, who wrought thee wrong
The clans for thee have suffered long,
They send this golden glaive and strong
To speak thy people's call.”
The clans for thee have suffered long,
They send this golden glaive and strong
To speak thy people's call.”
One glance he gave the harvest-hoard
Then Cathal kissed the glaive adored,
“Now, Farewell Sickle, Welcome Sword,
Till Sheaves of Foemen fall.”
Then Cathal kissed the glaive adored,
“Now, Farewell Sickle, Welcome Sword,
Till Sheaves of Foemen fall.”
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O'DWYER OF THE GLENN
I.
When sing the Birds of Morning,Welcome is the warning!
Dawn, the Darkness scorning,
Rose-crown'd does appear,
Life is all before us,
Blue the skies are o'er us,
In our hearts a chorus
Of joy-bells we hear!
Blow, huntsman, we will follow,
Stag, now flee the fallow,
Cry, Echo, holloa, holloa,
Repeat the day's delight!
Thereafter cometh quiet,
Laughter dies and riot,
Around us reigns in silence
The great Peace of Night!
One of the most exquisite, wildest, and most popular of Irish airs bears the name of Sean O'Duibhir a' Ghleanna (pronounced Shaun O'Deer a Glanna) after Colonel Sean O'Dwyer (as the name is now written,) of the Glen of Aherlo, a chivalrous champion in the Jacobite Wars. G.S.
67
II.
How splendid was the Vision,Flame-like, fair, elysian,
When, for War's decision,
Our bright weapons flash!
Hope showed Erinn's glory,
Fame our place in story;
Gay to combat gory
True comrades we dash!
Crash, cannon, we go onward,
Flag, now flutter sunward,
Let Victory lead vanward,
For Honour holds the field!—
Alas, the King who led us,
Failed, forsook, and fled us,—
We strove with Patrick Sarsfield,
Men who could not yield!
III.
Now fall on Lim'rick towersEvening's stormy showers,
Murky midnight lowers
Round each breaking heart.
Vain was all the daring,
Exiles, far we're faring,
From you—from you, Erinn!
Farewell, we do part.
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Crag, behold us leaving!
If we return not, grieving
Till death, beyond the foam.
“Farewell!”—we hear you calling,
Farewell!—the clouds are falling,
Ah, Shaun O'Deer a Glanna!
You now have no Home.
IV.
One bird sings at evenTo the soul bereaven,
Still one star in heaven
Will shine through the night.
Life is all behind us,
Dark the skies that bind us,
Bitter tears do blind us—
But, we stand upright!
Fly, fortune, who will follow?
Brag, Foe, your Treaty hollow,
All story still shall hallow
The men to Honour true.
And this be our upbearing,—
For you,—for you!—Erinn!
To strike, with Patrick Sarsfield,
One more blow for you.
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THE SPLENDOUR OF ALL SPLENDOURS
The Sorrow of all Sorrows fell on me,
And Fate bore me in whirl-wind, o'er the sea;
And, heart-wreckt on a strange shore, I was thrown,—
Where I stand, scourged by the tempest, and alone!
O sea-gull! through the shadows fly afar,
And bring news of the rising of a star!—
O sea-gull through the long night fly away,
And bring joy with the bright dawn of the day!
And Fate bore me in whirl-wind, o'er the sea;
And, heart-wreckt on a strange shore, I was thrown,—
Where I stand, scourged by the tempest, and alone!
O sea-gull! through the shadows fly afar,
And bring news of the rising of a star!—
O sea-gull through the long night fly away,
And bring joy with the bright dawn of the day!
The Morrow of all Morrows that shall be—
Her Phantom walks the tumult of the sea;
A gold cloud is her garment on the wave,
And her white hands are out-reaching now to save!
O sky-lark! through the dark air haste on high,
Her blue eyes are more radiant than the sky!—
O sky-lark! from the night-cloud sing thy lay—
Her bright face is more welcome than the day!
Her Phantom walks the tumult of the sea;
A gold cloud is her garment on the wave,
And her white hands are out-reaching now to save!
O sky-lark! through the dark air haste on high,
Her blue eyes are more radiant than the sky!—
O sky-lark! from the night-cloud sing thy lay—
Her bright face is more welcome than the day!
The Splendour of all Splendours with her goes,
The ocean at her foot-fall thrills and glows!
Low music fills the wide air with delight
For now Wonder strikes the myriad chords of Night!
O speed, Love! through the shadows from afar,
Thy coming is the coming of a star!—
O speak, Love! and the night-storm flees away,
For thy smile is the sunshine of the day!
The ocean at her foot-fall thrills and glows!
Low music fills the wide air with delight
For now Wonder strikes the myriad chords of Night!
O speed, Love! through the shadows from afar,
Thy coming is the coming of a star!—
O speak, Love! and the night-storm flees away,
For thy smile is the sunshine of the day!
| Songs and Poems by George Sigerson | |