 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
141
MY BLACKBIRD AND I
[_]
(Suggested by a touching episode in the late Michael Davitt's life in Portland Gaol in 1881, recorded by him in his Leaves from a Prison Diary.)
When first you came to me,
And so little you knew me
That from me you struggled
With wild beating breast,
Red sun-rays up-jetting
On fire seemed setting
The wavering woodland
Where once was your nest—
Then, my own dawny blackbird,
The tears my eyes blinded,
As my heart was reminded
How, a child, long ago
With strangers I shivered,
While the cruel flames quivered
Through our kindly old roof-tree
In lovely Mayo.
And so little you knew me
That from me you struggled
With wild beating breast,
Red sun-rays up-jetting
On fire seemed setting
The wavering woodland
Where once was your nest—
Then, my own dawny blackbird,
The tears my eyes blinded,
As my heart was reminded
How, a child, long ago
With strangers I shivered,
While the cruel flames quivered
Through our kindly old roof-tree
In lovely Mayo.
That thought, trembling blackbird,
To my bosom endeared you,
And ever I cheered you
Till so friendly we grew
That together we'd forage
At the one plate of porridge,
And from out the same pitcher
Be both sipping too.
Then so sweetly you'd chuckle
From off of my knuckle,
That, my tired eyes closing
To drink in the sound,
By its glad spell uplifted
From my sad cell I drifted
To the joyful enchantment
Of green Irish ground.
To my bosom endeared you,
And ever I cheered you
Till so friendly we grew
142
At the one plate of porridge,
And from out the same pitcher
Be both sipping too.
Then so sweetly you'd chuckle
From off of my knuckle,
That, my tired eyes closing
To drink in the sound,
By its glad spell uplifted
From my sad cell I drifted
To the joyful enchantment
Of green Irish ground.
Now below, blessed hour!
Even my grey prison's bower
Is laughing with flower
In the eye of the sun;
Rude cliffs throw soft shadows
On green ocean meadows,
And the homesteads of free men
Shine out one by one.
O who could keep captives
In solitude pining,
With such a sun shining,
Such bliss in the blue?
I lingered and lingered,
And then trembling-fingered
I opened your cage door,
And from me you flew.
Even my grey prison's bower
Is laughing with flower
In the eye of the sun;
Rude cliffs throw soft shadows
On green ocean meadows,
And the homesteads of free men
Shine out one by one.
O who could keep captives
In solitude pining,
With such a sun shining,
Such bliss in the blue?
I lingered and lingered,
And then trembling-fingered
I opened your cage door,
And from me you flew.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |