 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
36
THE WILD GEESE
AH, WHY, PATRICK SARSFIELD
Ah, why, Patrick Sarsfield, did we let your ships sail
Away to French Flanders from green Innisfail?
For far from your country you lie cold and low;
Ah, why, Patrick Sarsfield, ah, why did you go?
Away to French Flanders from green Innisfail?
For far from your country you lie cold and low;
Ah, why, Patrick Sarsfield, ah, why did you go?
We pray'd, Patrick Sarsfield, to see you sail home,
Your flag waving victory above the white foam.
But still in our fetters, poor slaves, we live on;
For, oh, Patrick Sarsfield, for, oh, you are gone!
Your flag waving victory above the white foam.
But still in our fetters, poor slaves, we live on;
For, oh, Patrick Sarsfield, for, oh, you are gone!
SHULE AGRA!
His hair was black, his eye was blue,
His arm was stout, his word was true;
I wish in my heart I was with you!
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
His arm was stout, his word was true;
I wish in my heart I was with you!
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
37
'Tis oft I sat on my true love's knee,
Many a fond story he told to me,
He told me things that ne'er shall be,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Many a fond story he told to me,
He told me things that ne'er shall be,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
I sold my rock, I sold my reel;
When my flax was spun I sold my wheel
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
When my flax was spun I sold my wheel
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
But when King James was forced to flee,
The Wild Geese spread their wings to sea,
And bore mabouchal far from me,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
The Wild Geese spread their wings to sea,
And bore mabouchal far from me,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
I saw them sail from Brandon Hill,
Then down I sat and cried my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Then down I sat and cried my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
38
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
I wish the King would return to reign,
And bring my true love back again;
I wish, and wish, but I wish in vain,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
And bring my true love back again;
I wish, and wish, but I wish in vain,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
I'll dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red,
And round the world I'll beg my bread,
Till I find my love alive or dead,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
And round the world I'll beg my bread,
Till I find my love alive or dead,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
THE SAILOR GIRL
When the Wild Geese were flying to Flanders away,
I clung to my Desmond beseeching him stay,
But the stern trumpet sounded the summons to sea,
And afar the ship bore him, mabouchal machree.
I clung to my Desmond beseeching him stay,
But the stern trumpet sounded the summons to sea,
And afar the ship bore him, mabouchal machree.
39
And first he sent letters, and then he sent none,
And three times into prison I dreamt he was thrown;
So I shore my long tresses, and stain'd my face brown,
And went for a sailor from Limerick town.
And three times into prison I dreamt he was thrown;
So I shore my long tresses, and stain'd my face brown,
And went for a sailor from Limerick town.
Oh! the ropes cut my fingers, but steadfast I strove
Till I reached the Low Country in search of my love.
There I heard how at Namur his heart was so high
That they carried him captive, refusing to fly.
Till I reached the Low Country in search of my love.
There I heard how at Namur his heart was so high
That they carried him captive, refusing to fly.
With that to King William himself I was brought,
And his mercy for Desmond with tears I besought.
He considered my story, then smiling, says he,
“The young Irish rebel for your sake is free.”
And his mercy for Desmond with tears I besought.
He considered my story, then smiling, says he,
“The young Irish rebel for your sake is free.”
“Bring the varlet before us. Now, Desmond O'Hea,
Myself has decided your sentence to-day—
You must marry your sailor with bell, book, and ring,
And here is her dowry,” cried William the King!
Myself has decided your sentence to-day—
You must marry your sailor with bell, book, and ring,
And here is her dowry,” cried William the King!
SHE IS MY LOVE
She is my love beyond all thought,
Though she has wrought my deepest dole;
Yet dearer for the cruel pain
Than one who fain would make me whole.
Though she has wrought my deepest dole;
Yet dearer for the cruel pain
Than one who fain would make me whole.
She is my glittering gem of gems,
Who yet contemns my fortune bright;
Whose cheek but glows with redder scorn
Since mine has worn a stricken white.
Who yet contemns my fortune bright;
Whose cheek but glows with redder scorn
Since mine has worn a stricken white.
40
She is my sun and moon and star,
Who yet so far and cold doth keep,
She would not even o'er my bier
One tender tear of pity weep.
Who yet so far and cold doth keep,
She would not even o'er my bier
One tender tear of pity weep.
Into my heart unsought she came,
A wasting flame, a haunting care;
Into my heart of hearts, ah! why?
And left a sigh for ever there.
A wasting flame, a haunting care;
Into my heart of hearts, ah! why?
And left a sigh for ever there.
THE COLLEEN DONN
My Colleen Donn of the golden glances,
The storm black tresses and the shape of snow,
'Tis little surely your light heart fancies
How for your sake a grieving man I go.
The storm black tresses and the shape of snow,
'Tis little surely your light heart fancies
How for your sake a grieving man I go.
The lone night long under woe I'm waking,
While you are taking the joys of sleep;
The bright day through, while you bless another,
Your troth plight breaking, like a ghost I creep.
While you are taking the joys of sleep;
The bright day through, while you bless another,
Your troth plight breaking, like a ghost I creep.
My Colleen Donn of the dancing dimple,
The soft discourses and the love-lit eyes,
How true I thought you, how fresh and simple
In every wish, oh! how unworldly wise!
The soft discourses and the love-lit eyes,
How true I thought you, how fresh and simple
In every wish, oh! how unworldly wise!
My Colleen Donn, there was that about you,
None dared to doubt you—yet you're gone, you're gone!
My winter's warmth, and my summer's shadow,
I'm but lost without you, my own Colleen Donn.
None dared to doubt you—yet you're gone, you're gone!
My winter's warmth, and my summer's shadow,
I'm but lost without you, my own Colleen Donn.
41
THE MINSTREL LOVER
We met when roses wreathed the grey ramparts of O'Connor,
She a maid of Royal blood, her proud father's minstrel I;
Her eyes looked love in mine, but my lips were sealed by honour,
So I sailed from Connaught kind for Espan's alien sky;
But her last faithful glance cheered my gloom and charmed my slumbers,
And I toiled on in trust that her hand I yet might claim,
Till the harp her spirit swayed thrilled all Europe with its numbers,
And the chief of Erin's poets for her dear sake I became.
She a maid of Royal blood, her proud father's minstrel I;
Her eyes looked love in mine, but my lips were sealed by honour,
So I sailed from Connaught kind for Espan's alien sky;
But her last faithful glance cheered my gloom and charmed my slumbers,
And I toiled on in trust that her hand I yet might claim,
Till the harp her spirit swayed thrilled all Europe with its numbers,
And the chief of Erin's poets for her dear sake I became.
Her haughty father sped, again I sought her castle,
For the joyous Beltane feast as a roaming bard arrayed,
And when each minstrel else had made music for the wassail,
Before my lady bright I stood forth once more and played.
I told my tale of love, and when its transport ended,
Cast off my wanderer's weeds and my name of fame confessed;
In her rapture she arose—from her silver seat descended,
And owned me her heart's lord before each glittering guest.
For the joyous Beltane feast as a roaming bard arrayed,
And when each minstrel else had made music for the wassail,
Before my lady bright I stood forth once more and played.
I told my tale of love, and when its transport ended,
Cast off my wanderer's weeds and my name of fame confessed;
In her rapture she arose—from her silver seat descended,
And owned me her heart's lord before each glittering guest.
42
I SHALL NOT DIE FOR LOVE OF THEE
O, Woman, shapely as the swan,
Shall I turn wan for looks from thee?
Nay bend those blue love-darting eyes
On men unwise, they wound not me.
Red lips and ripe and rose soft cheek,
Shall limbs turn weak and colour flee,
And languorous grace and foam-white form,
Shall still blood storm because of ye?
Shall I turn wan for looks from thee?
Nay bend those blue love-darting eyes
On men unwise, they wound not me.
Red lips and ripe and rose soft cheek,
Shall limbs turn weak and colour flee,
And languorous grace and foam-white form,
Shall still blood storm because of ye?
Thy slender waist, thy cool of gold
In ringlets rolled around thy knee,
Thy scented sighs and looks of flame
They shall not tame my spirit free.
For, Woman, shapely as the swan,
A wary man hath nurtured me;
White neck and arm, bright lip and eye,
I shall not die for love of ye!
In ringlets rolled around thy knee,
Thy scented sighs and looks of flame
They shall not tame my spirit free.
For, Woman, shapely as the swan,
A wary man hath nurtured me;
White neck and arm, bright lip and eye,
I shall not die for love of ye!
A LAMENT
Dark, dark drives the tempest o'er Erin to-day,
And rends the green leaf from the writhing oak spray;
Thus struggling forlorn under Heaven's blackest cope,
Heart tortured we mourn the crushed crown of our hope.
And rends the green leaf from the writhing oak spray;
Thus struggling forlorn under Heaven's blackest cope,
Heart tortured we mourn the crushed crown of our hope.
Through foemen unnumber'd, in proud undismay,
To Freedom's pure heights he still won us the way;
Till planting elate on the proud peak our flag,
The fierce bolt of fate dashed him dead from the crag.
To Freedom's pure heights he still won us the way;
Till planting elate on the proud peak our flag,
The fierce bolt of fate dashed him dead from the crag.
43
Moan, hollow wind, moan! weep, weep, heavy cloud,
Sob for sob, tear for tear, for the chief in his shroud!
Ochone! and ochoro! our Heart, Hand and Head,
To our black, bitter sorrow on the bier you lie dead!
Sob for sob, tear for tear, for the chief in his shroud!
Ochone! and ochoro! our Heart, Hand and Head,
To our black, bitter sorrow on the bier you lie dead!
LOVELY ANNE
Lovely Anne, my lovely Anne!
Oh, hearken to my bitter cry!
Alone, on rugged Slievenaman,
For your fond sake I lie;
For you I've fled my friends, fled my clan,
Fair Saxon, have you turned untrue?
And has my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne,
But brought me here to rue?
Oh, hearken to my bitter cry!
Alone, on rugged Slievenaman,
For your fond sake I lie;
For you I've fled my friends, fled my clan,
Fair Saxon, have you turned untrue?
And has my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne,
But brought me here to rue?
Lovely Anne, oh, lovely Anne,
Since darkly here I laid me down,
How oft the wind-swept cannavaun
Has seem'd your flutt'ring gown;
And once a maid, with bright milking can,
Brush'd hitherward across the dew,
“'Tis she, my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne!”
She turned and frown'd me through.
Since darkly here I laid me down,
How oft the wind-swept cannavaun
Has seem'd your flutt'ring gown;
And once a maid, with bright milking can,
Brush'd hitherward across the dew,
“'Tis she, my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne!”
She turned and frown'd me through.
Lovely Anne, oh, lovely Anne!
Cold morn is mounting o'er the height,
And your forsaken Irishman
Afar must take his flight.
Heaven's curse upon the black, heartless ban,
That sunders thus the fond and true.
Adieu, my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne,
For evermore adieu!
Cold morn is mounting o'er the height,
And your forsaken Irishman
Afar must take his flight.
Heaven's curse upon the black, heartless ban,
That sunders thus the fond and true.
Adieu, my lovely Anne, my lovely Anne,
For evermore adieu!
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |