 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
27
SONGS OF CHIEFTAINS
THE MARCH OF THE MAGUIRE
My grief, Hugh Maguire,
That to-night you must go
To wreak your just ire
On our murderous foe;
For, hark! as the blast
Thro' the bowed wood raves past,
The great oaks, aghast,
Rock, reel and crash below.
That to-night you must go
To wreak your just ire
On our murderous foe;
For, hark! as the blast
Thro' the bowed wood raves past,
The great oaks, aghast,
Rock, reel and crash below.
Uncheered of your spouse,
Without comfort or care,
All night you must house
In some lone, shaggy lair;
The lightning your lamp,
For your sentry the tramp
Of the thunder round your camp;
Hark! 'tis there, 'tis there!
Without comfort or care,
All night you must house
In some lone, shaggy lair;
The lightning your lamp,
For your sentry the tramp
Of the thunder round your camp;
Hark! 'tis there, 'tis there!
But to-morrow your sword
More terrific shall sweep
On our foe's monstrous horde
Than this storm o'er the steep;
And his mansions limewhite
Flame with fearfuller light
Than yon bolts thro' black night
Hurled blazing down the deep.
More terrific shall sweep
On our foe's monstrous horde
Than this storm o'er the steep;
And his mansions limewhite
Flame with fearfuller light
Than yon bolts thro' black night
Hurled blazing down the deep.
28
CHIEFTAIN OF TYRCONNELL
Sore misery to Erin that you spread
Your sails for far-off Espan, Hugh the Red!
But sorest doom that on a foreign strand
Quenched your keen eye, and from your falt'ring hand
Struck down the faithful brand.
Your sails for far-off Espan, Hugh the Red!
But sorest doom that on a foreign strand
Quenched your keen eye, and from your falt'ring hand
Struck down the faithful brand.
Who now for us shall sweep the cattle spoil
In bellowing tumult o'er the foamy Foyle?
And till the steers are driv'n dispersed to sward,
Hurl back, like thee, the Avenger from the ford,
Hugh O'Donnell of the Sword?
In bellowing tumult o'er the foamy Foyle?
And till the steers are driv'n dispersed to sward,
Hurl back, like thee, the Avenger from the ford,
Hugh O'Donnell of the Sword?
Who now upon the plunderers from the Pale
Shall wreck the fiery vengeance of the Gael?
With sudden onslaught strike the Saxon crew
And smite them as you smote them, through and through—
Chieftain of Tyrconnell, who?
Shall wreck the fiery vengeance of the Gael?
With sudden onslaught strike the Saxon crew
And smite them as you smote them, through and through—
Chieftain of Tyrconnell, who?
Last, who like thee, with comforts manifold
Shall keep and cherish sick and poor and old?
For, ah! thy open ever-flowing store
Of food and drink and clothing, maet galore,
Fails them now for evermore.
Shall keep and cherish sick and poor and old?
For, ah! thy open ever-flowing store
Of food and drink and clothing, maet galore,
Fails them now for evermore.
29
THE FLIGHT OF THE EARLS
To other shores across the sea
We speed with swelling sail;
Yet still there lingers on our lee
A phantom Innisfail.
Oh, fear not, fear not, gentle ghost,
Your sons shall turn untrue!
Though fain to fly your lovely coast,
They leave their hearts with you.
We speed with swelling sail;
Yet still there lingers on our lee
A phantom Innisfail.
Oh, fear not, fear not, gentle ghost,
Your sons shall turn untrue!
Though fain to fly your lovely coast,
They leave their hearts with you.
As slowly into distance dim
Your shadow sinks and dies,
So o'er the ocean's utmost rim
Another realm shall rise;
New hills shall swell, new vales expand,
New rivers winding flow,
But could we for a foster land
Your mother love forego?
Your shadow sinks and dies,
So o'er the ocean's utmost rim
Another realm shall rise;
New hills shall swell, new vales expand,
New rivers winding flow,
But could we for a foster land
Your mother love forego?
Shall mighty Espan's martial praise
Our patriot pulses still,
And o'er your memory's fervent rays
For ever cast a chill?
Oh no! we live for your relief,
Till, home from alien earth,
We share the smile that gilds your grief,
The tear that gems your mirth.
Our patriot pulses still,
And o'er your memory's fervent rays
For ever cast a chill?
Oh no! we live for your relief,
Till, home from alien earth,
We share the smile that gilds your grief,
The tear that gems your mirth.
30
LOVED BRIDE OF O'BYRNE
Oh! loud keens the wind by peak and pass
From Lugnaquillia to lone Kippure,
Fierce, fierce fall the flakes in Glenmacnass,
Deep mounts the drift in Glenmalure.
But shrill as the shrillest blasts that blow,
Ochone! The Gaval Rannall cry,
For whiter, colder, stiller than the snow,
Loved Bride of our O'Byrne, you lie.
From Lugnaquillia to lone Kippure,
Fierce, fierce fall the flakes in Glenmacnass,
Deep mounts the drift in Glenmalure.
But shrill as the shrillest blasts that blow,
Ochone! The Gaval Rannall cry,
For whiter, colder, stiller than the snow,
Loved Bride of our O'Byrne, you lie.
Black, black o'er the mountains cloud on cloud
Comes gliding while we bear beneath
White, white on our shoulders in her shroud,
Our dearest to the door of death.
Ah! hark, how wild Avonbeg above
Wails back to moaning Avonmore,
“For ever now the faithful lamp of love
Is quenched in frowning Ballin'core.”
Comes gliding while we bear beneath
White, white on our shoulders in her shroud,
Our dearest to the door of death.
Ah! hark, how wild Avonbeg above
Wails back to moaning Avonmore,
“For ever now the faithful lamp of love
Is quenched in frowning Ballin'core.”
LAMENT FOR OWEN ROE O'NEILL
Oh! black breaks the morrow in tempest and gloom,
When we bear to our sorrow O'Neill to the tomb.
Whilst with wailing and weeping the long, long train
Comes woefully weeping o'er Uladh's dark plain.
When we bear to our sorrow O'Neill to the tomb.
Whilst with wailing and weeping the long, long train
Comes woefully weeping o'er Uladh's dark plain.
31
'Twas not reaving their cattle, you fell, Owen Roe,
Or in red, raging battle, your face to the foe.
But the black snake of treason they sent, O'Neill,
To pierce you with poison since you scoffed at their steel.
Or in red, raging battle, your face to the foe.
But the black snake of treason they sent, O'Neill,
To pierce you with poison since you scoffed at their steel.
Oh! leader God-gifted, oh! arm stern of stroke,
That well-nigh had lifted from our shoulders the yoke,
Your death-bell is ringing our doom, our doom,
For with you we are bringing our hopes to the tomb!
That well-nigh had lifted from our shoulders the yoke,
Your death-bell is ringing our doom, our doom,
For with you we are bringing our hopes to the tomb!
HEROINES OF LIMERICK
Faugh-a-balleach! Munster men,
Once more your dogged foe defying,
Though ye count as one to ten,
Forth, forth to rout the Dutch again!
Once more your dogged foe defying,
Though ye count as one to ten,
Forth, forth to rout the Dutch again!
Faugh-a-balleach! 'Tis for greed
They strike, but we for Faith and Freedom;
For a despot's throne they bleed,
But we for Erin's sacred need.
They strike, but we for Faith and Freedom;
For a despot's throne they bleed,
But we for Erin's sacred need.
Faugh-a-balleach! At your side
With shot and shell and rifle ready,
Pale and gaunt and hollow-eyed,
Stand Mother, Daughter, Sister, Bride.
With shot and shell and rifle ready,
Pale and gaunt and hollow-eyed,
Stand Mother, Daughter, Sister, Bride.
Faugh-a-balleach! Hark! they cry,
“We, too, are here to share your glory;
Or if dark defeat be nigh,
With you the proudest death to die!”
“We, too, are here to share your glory;
Or if dark defeat be nigh,
With you the proudest death to die!”
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |