 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
73
SONGS OF MANY WATERS
CREDHE'S LAMENT FOR CAIL
O'er thy chief, thy rushing chief, Loch da Conn,Loud the haven is roaring;
All too late, her deadly hate for Crimtha's son
Yonder deep is deploring.
Small comfort, I trow, to Credhe is her wail,
Slender solace now, oh, my Cail!
Ochone! och, wirrasthrue! can she who slew
Bid thee back, Spirit soaring!
Hark, the thrush from out Drumqueen lifts his keen
Through the choir of the thrushes;
With his mate, his screaming mate, o'er the green
See! the red weasel rushes.
Crushed on the crag lies Glensilen's doe,
O'er her yon stag tells his woe,
Thus, Cail, och, ochonee! for thee, for thee
My soul's sorrow gushes.
O, the thrush, the mourning thrush, mating shall sing,
When the furze bloom is yellow;
O, the stag, the grieving stag, in the spring
With a fresh doe shall fellow!
But love for me 'neath the ever-moving mound
Of the scowling sea lieth drowned;
While och, och, ollagone! the sea fowl moan
And the sea beasts bellow.
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BALTIMORE BOAT SONG
With swelling sail away, away!
Our bark goes bounding o'er the bay.
“Farewell, farewell, old Baltimore,”
She curtseys, curtseys to the shore.
Our bark goes bounding o'er the bay.
“Farewell, farewell, old Baltimore,”
She curtseys, curtseys to the shore.
Farewell, fond wives and children dear,
From ev'ry ill Heav'n keep you clear;
Till thro' the surge we stagger back,
As full of herring as we'll pack.
From ev'ry ill Heav'n keep you clear;
Till thro' the surge we stagger back,
As full of herring as we'll pack.
For when we've sowed and gardened here,
Far off to other fields we'll steer;
Our farm upon the distant deep,
Where all at once you till and reap.
Far off to other fields we'll steer;
Our farm upon the distant deep,
Where all at once you till and reap.
There, there the reeling ridge we plough,
Our coulter keen the cutter's prow;
While fresh and fresh from out the trawl
The fish by hundreds in we haul.
Our coulter keen the cutter's prow;
While fresh and fresh from out the trawl
The fish by hundreds in we haul.
Thou glorious sun, gleam on above
O'er Erin, Erin, of our love.
Ye ocean airs, preserve her peace,
Ye night dews, yield her rich increase.
O'er Erin, Erin, of our love.
Ye ocean airs, preserve her peace,
Ye night dews, yield her rich increase.
Until, one glittering realm of grain,
She waves her wanderers home again;
And we come heaping from our hold
A silver crop beside the gold.
She waves her wanderers home again;
And we come heaping from our hold
A silver crop beside the gold.
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THE WRECK OF THE AIDEEN
Is it cure me, docther, darlin'? an ould boy of siventy-four,
Afther soakin' off Berehaven three and thirty hour and more,
Wid no other navigation underneath me but an oar.
Afther soakin' off Berehaven three and thirty hour and more,
Wid no other navigation underneath me but an oar.
God incrase ye, but it's only half myself is livin' still,
An' there's mountin' slow but surely to my heart the dyin' chill;
God incrase ye for your goodness, but I'm past all mortial skill.
An' there's mountin' slow but surely to my heart the dyin' chill;
God incrase ye for your goodness, but I'm past all mortial skill.
But ye'll surely let them lift me, won't you, docther, from below?
Ye'll let them lift me surely—very soft and very slow—
To see my ould ship Aideen wanst agin before I go?
Ye'll let them lift me surely—very soft and very slow—
To see my ould ship Aideen wanst agin before I go?
Lay my head upon your shoulder; thank ye kindly, docther, dear.
Take me now; God bless ye, cap'n! now together! sorra fear!
Have no dread that ye'll distress me—now, agin, ochone! I see her.
Take me now; God bless ye, cap'n! now together! sorra fear!
Have no dread that ye'll distress me—now, agin, ochone! I see her.
Ologone! my Aideen's Aideen, christened by her laughin' lips,
Wid a sprinkle from her finger, as ye started from the slips,
Thirty year ago come Shrovetide, like a swan among the ships.
Wid a sprinkle from her finger, as ye started from the slips,
Thirty year ago come Shrovetide, like a swan among the ships.
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And we both were constant to ye till the bitter, bitter day,
Whin the typhus took my darlin,' and she pined and pined away,
Till yourself's the only sweetheart that was left me on the say.
Whin the typhus took my darlin,' and she pined and pined away,
Till yourself's the only sweetheart that was left me on the say.
So through fair and foul we'd travel, you and I thin, usen't we?
The same ould coorse from Galway Bay, by Limerick and Tralee,
Till this storm it shook me overboard, and murthered you, machree.
The same ould coorse from Galway Bay, by Limerick and Tralee,
Till this storm it shook me overboard, and murthered you, machree.
But now, agra, the unruly wind has flown into the West,
And the silver moon is shinin' soft upon the ocean's breast,
Like Aideen's smilin' spirit come to call us to our rest.
And the silver moon is shinin' soft upon the ocean's breast,
Like Aideen's smilin' spirit come to call us to our rest.
Still the sight is growin' darker, and I cannot rightly hear,
The say's too cold for one so old; O, save me, cap'n, dear!
Now its growin' bright and warm agin, and Aideen, Aideen's here.
The say's too cold for one so old; O, save me, cap'n, dear!
Now its growin' bright and warm agin, and Aideen, Aideen's here.
THE HERRING FLEET
In the golden Autumn gloaming
Our sweethearts loosed away,
And their hookers brown went foaming
Full race o'er Galway Bay.
But through all their shouts and singing
Broke in the breaker's tune,
And the ghostly gulls came winging,
In flocks to the frowning dune,
And angry red was ringing
The rising harvest moon.
Our sweethearts loosed away,
And their hookers brown went foaming
Full race o'er Galway Bay.
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Broke in the breaker's tune,
And the ghostly gulls came winging,
In flocks to the frowning dune,
And angry red was ringing
The rising harvest moon.
Then we girls went back to our spinning,
But soon grew sore distressed
To hear the storm beginning
Far off in the wailing west.
Till fearful lightning flashes
Came darting round our reels—
And dreadful thunder crashes
Made dumb our dancing wheels,
While with lips as white as ashes
We prayed for our fishing keels.
But soon grew sore distressed
To hear the storm beginning
Far off in the wailing west.
Till fearful lightning flashes
Came darting round our reels—
And dreadful thunder crashes
Made dumb our dancing wheels,
While with lips as white as ashes
We prayed for our fishing keels.
In the wild wet dawn we started
In grief to the groaning shore,
Where so lightly we had parted
From our boys but the eve before.
Then sure no angel's story
Ever spoke such comfort sweet
As the cry of the coastguard hoary,
As he sighted each craft complete:
“Our God has saved—to His glory—
All hands of the herring fleet.”
In grief to the groaning shore,
Where so lightly we had parted
From our boys but the eve before.
Then sure no angel's story
Ever spoke such comfort sweet
As the cry of the coastguard hoary,
As he sighted each craft complete:
“Our God has saved—to His glory—
All hands of the herring fleet.”
78
'TWAS PRETTY TO BE IN BALLINDERRY
'Twas pretty to be in Ballinderry,
'Twas pretty to be in Aghalee,
'Twas prettier to be in little Ram's Island,
Trysting under the ivy tree!
Ochone, ochone!
Ochone, ochone!
For often I roved in little Ram's Island,
Side by side with Phelimy Hyland,
And still he'd court me and I'd be coy,
Though at heart I loved him, my handsome boy!
'Twas pretty to be in Aghalee,
'Twas prettier to be in little Ram's Island,
Trysting under the ivy tree!
Ochone, ochone!
Ochone, ochone!
For often I roved in little Ram's Island,
Side by side with Phelimy Hyland,
And still he'd court me and I'd be coy,
Though at heart I loved him, my handsome boy!
“I'm going,” he sighed, “from Ballinderry
Out and across the stormy sea;
Then if in your heart you love me, Mary,
Open your arms at last to me.”
Ochone, ochone!
Ochone, ochone!
I opened my arms; how well he knew me!
I opened my arms and took him to me;
And there, in the gloom of the groaning mast,
We kissed our first and we kissed our last!
Out and across the stormy sea;
Then if in your heart you love me, Mary,
Open your arms at last to me.”
Ochone, ochone!
Ochone, ochone!
I opened my arms; how well he knew me!
I opened my arms and took him to me;
And there, in the gloom of the groaning mast,
We kissed our first and we kissed our last!
“'Twas happy to be in little Ram's Island,
But now 'tis as sad as sad can be;
For the ship that sailed with Phelimy Hyland
Is sunk for ever beneath the sea.”
Ochone, ochone!
Ochone, ochone!
And 'tis oh! but I wear the weeping willow,
And wander alone by the lonesome billow,
And cry to him over the cruel sea,
“Phelimy Hyland, come back to me!”
But now 'tis as sad as sad can be;
For the ship that sailed with Phelimy Hyland
Is sunk for ever beneath the sea.”
Ochone, ochone!
Ochone, ochone!
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And wander alone by the lonesome billow,
And cry to him over the cruel sea,
“Phelimy Hyland, come back to me!”
MY MOUNTAIN LAKE
My own lake of lakes,
My lone lake of lakes,
When the young blushing day
Beside you awakes,
The cold hoary mist,
To gold glory kissed,
Lifts laughing away
O'er your cool amethyst.
My lone lake of lakes,
When the young blushing day
Beside you awakes,
The cold hoary mist,
To gold glory kissed,
Lifts laughing away
O'er your cool amethyst.
My fair lake of lakes,
My rare lake of lakes,
How your tartan, red gold,
In the summer air shakes!
Fold fluttering on fold
Of purple heath bloom
And gay, glancing broom,
A joy to behold.
My rare lake of lakes,
How your tartan, red gold,
In the summer air shakes!
Fold fluttering on fold
Of purple heath bloom
And gay, glancing broom,
A joy to behold.
My sad, sleeping lake!
My mad, leaping lake!
When the palled tempest powers
Into agony break—
Their tears scalding showers,
Thunder moans their lament,
Their garments grief-rent
Thy broken hill bowers.
My mad, leaping lake!
When the palled tempest powers
Into agony break—
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Thunder moans their lament,
Their garments grief-rent
Thy broken hill bowers.
Bright faint-heaving breast,
By fond visions possessed!
Not a wave frets thy beach,
Scarce one ripple's unrest.
Dim, weltering reach,
Where the Priestess of Heaven
And the Steadfast Stars Seven
Hold Sibylline speech.
By fond visions possessed!
Not a wave frets thy beach,
Scarce one ripple's unrest.
Dim, weltering reach,
Where the Priestess of Heaven
And the Steadfast Stars Seven
Hold Sibylline speech.
FAR AWAY FROM HER SCORNING
In the wan, mistful morning to Ocean's wild gales
Afar from her scorning I loose my black sails;
For my kiss was scarce cold on her cheek when she turned
And my love for the gold of a renegade spurned.
Afar from her scorning I loose my black sails;
For my kiss was scarce cold on her cheek when she turned
And my love for the gold of a renegade spurned.
Under cloud chill and pallid, while hollow winds moan,
Lies, alas! our green-valleyed, purple-peaked Innishowen;
For as if my sad case she were sharing to-day,
All her glory and grace she hides weeping away.
Lies, alas! our green-valleyed, purple-peaked Innishowen;
For as if my sad case she were sharing to-day,
All her glory and grace she hides weeping away.
Farewell, Lake of Shadows! Buncrana, farewell
To your thymy sea-meadows, your fern-fluttering dell!
Adieu, Donegal! o'er the waters death-wan,
Under Heaven's heavy pall, like a ghost I am gone.
To your thymy sea-meadows, your fern-fluttering dell!
Adieu, Donegal! o'er the waters death-wan,
Under Heaven's heavy pall, like a ghost I am gone.
81
JOHNNY COX
As in the good ship “Annabel”
We coasted off Corfu,
A sudden storm upon us fell,
And tore our timbers true,
And rent our sails in two.
We coasted off Corfu,
A sudden storm upon us fell,
And tore our timbers true,
And rent our sails in two.
Our top-mast tumbled by the board,
Our mizen mast as well;
Through flapping canvas, scourging cord,
Above like our death-bell
We heard the thunder knell.
Our mizen mast as well;
Through flapping canvas, scourging cord,
Above like our death-bell
We heard the thunder knell.
“Now cut away!” our Captain cries,
“And like a cork she floats;”
But axe in hand, with scowling eyes,
Set teeth and cursing throats,
The Lascars loose the boats.
“And like a cork she floats;”
But axe in hand, with scowling eyes,
Set teeth and cursing throats,
The Lascars loose the boats.
When Johnny Cox, who lay below,
From off his fever bed
Comes stagg'ring up, a ghastly show,
As if from out the dead,
And drives them back in dread.
From off his fever bed
Comes stagg'ring up, a ghastly show,
As if from out the dead,
And drives them back in dread.
“What, quit your posts, ye cowards all,
Here's ballast then for you!”
With that he heaves a cannon ball
Full crash the cutter through,
And saves the ship and crew.
Here's ballast then for you!”
With that he heaves a cannon ball
Full crash the cutter through,
And saves the ship and crew.
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But he, our hero, ere the rocks
We rounded, drooped and died;
And we should lower you, Johnny Cox,
Lamenting, o'er the side
Into the moaning tide.
We rounded, drooped and died;
And we should lower you, Johnny Cox,
Lamenting, o'er the side
Into the moaning tide.
THE DAUGHTER OF THE ROCK
As on Killarney's bosom blue
We lay with lifted oars,
He challenged with his clarion true
The silent shores.
And straight from off her mountain throne
The Daughter of the Rock
Took up that challenge, tone by tone,
With airy mock.
And twice and thrice from hill to hill
She tossed it o'er the heather,
Then drew the notes with one wild thrill
Together.
Like pearls of silver dew
From a fragrant purple flower,
Echo's secret heart into
They shower.
We lay with lifted oars,
He challenged with his clarion true
The silent shores.
And straight from off her mountain throne
The Daughter of the Rock
Took up that challenge, tone by tone,
With airy mock.
And twice and thrice from hill to hill
She tossed it o'er the heather,
Then drew the notes with one wild thrill
Together.
Like pearls of silver dew
From a fragrant purple flower,
Echo's secret heart into
They shower.
We floated on, and ever on,
With many a warbled tune,
Until above the water wan
Awoke the moon
Then with a sudden, strange surprise
A clearer challenge came
From out his eager lips, and eyes
Of ardent flame.
Like Echo answering his horn,
At first I mocking met him;
Till, lest e'en counterfeited scorn
Should fret him,
From all my heart strings caught,
Faint as Echo's closing stress,
Stole the answer that he sighing sought,
Love's low “Yes!”
With many a warbled tune,
Until above the water wan
Awoke the moon
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A clearer challenge came
From out his eager lips, and eyes
Of ardent flame.
Like Echo answering his horn,
At first I mocking met him;
Till, lest e'en counterfeited scorn
Should fret him,
From all my heart strings caught,
Faint as Echo's closing stress,
Stole the answer that he sighing sought,
Love's low “Yes!”
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |