 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
THE MAGIC MIST
Dread Bard out of Desmond deep-valleyed,
Whence comest thou chanting to-night,
From thy brow to thy bosom death pallid,
Thine eyes like a seer's star-bright?
And whence, o'er thy guest seat allotted,
These strange, sudden eddies of air,
And why is the quickan flower clotted
Like foam in the flow of thy hair?
Whence comest thou chanting to-night,
From thy brow to thy bosom death pallid,
Thine eyes like a seer's star-bright?
And whence, o'er thy guest seat allotted,
These strange, sudden eddies of air,
And why is the quickan flower clotted
Like foam in the flow of thy hair?
“To and fro in high thought on the mountains
I strode in my singing-robe green,
Where Mangerton, father of fountains,
Starts sternly from lovely Loch Lene;
When around me and under and o'er me
Rang melody none may resist;
For rapture I swooned, while before me
Earth faded in magical mist.
I strode in my singing-robe green,
Where Mangerton, father of fountains,
Starts sternly from lovely Loch Lene;
12
Rang melody none may resist;
For rapture I swooned, while before me
Earth faded in magical mist.
“And there my dull body sank sleeping
'Neath quickans of quivering sway,
My soul in her song robe went sweeping
Where Cleena holds court o'er the fay—
The land where all tears are with smiling,
The land where all smiles are with tears,
Where years shrink to days of beguiling,
Days yearn into long, blessed years.”
'Neath quickans of quivering sway,
My soul in her song robe went sweeping
Where Cleena holds court o'er the fay—
The land where all tears are with smiling,
The land where all smiles are with tears,
Where years shrink to days of beguiling,
Days yearn into long, blessed years.”
“Arch minstrel of Desmond, we dread thee,
Lest, lifted to-night in our hall,
The spell of lone music that led thee
To Faery, have fettered us all.”
“Nay, fear not! though Cleena be calling,
I only her clairseach obey.
To earth the earth body is falling,
The soul soars exultant away.”
Lest, lifted to-night in our hall,
The spell of lone music that led thee
To Faery, have fettered us all.”
“Nay, fear not! though Cleena be calling,
I only her clairseach obey.
To earth the earth body is falling,
The soul soars exultant away.”
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |