 | The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves |  |
44
COUNTRYSIDE COUPLES
THE REAPER'S REVENGE
Oft and oft I dream, astore,
With secret sighs and laughter,
How once you reaped the field before,
And I came gatherin' after.
While tenderly, tenderly, with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hope to woo me.
With secret sighs and laughter,
How once you reaped the field before,
And I came gatherin' after.
While tenderly, tenderly, with the corn
Looks of love you threw me;
Till I stood up with eyes of scorn
And withered your hope to woo me.
Oft and oft I'm dreamin' still,
With smiles and tears together,
Of how I stretched, so weak and ill,
Thro' all the wintry weather;
While tenderly, tenderly, still you'd tap,
Seeking news of Norah;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than father's voice, acora!
With smiles and tears together,
Of how I stretched, so weak and ill,
Thro' all the wintry weather;
While tenderly, tenderly, still you'd tap,
Seeking news of Norah;
Till I grew fonder of your rap
Than father's voice, acora!
Most I mind the plan conceal'd
That thro' the spring amused you,
To wait to find me in the field,
Where rashly I refused you;
Then earnestly, earnestly, in my eyes
Gaze, till I return'd you
The look of looks and sigh of sighs
On the spot where once I spurn'd vou.
That thro' the spring amused you,
To wait to find me in the field,
Where rashly I refused you;
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Gaze, till I return'd you
The look of looks and sigh of sighs
On the spot where once I spurn'd vou.
THE LIGHT IN THE SNOW
Oh! Pat, the bitter day when you bravely parted from us,
The mother and myself on the cruel quays of Cork:
When you took the long kiss, and you gave the faithful promise
That you'd soon bring us over to be wid you at New York.
The mother and myself on the cruel quays of Cork:
When you took the long kiss, and you gave the faithful promise
That you'd soon bring us over to be wid you at New York.
But the times they grew worse through the wild, weary winter,
And my needle all we had to find livin' for us two;
While the mother drooped and drooped till I knelt down forenint her
And closed her dyin' eyes, dear—but still no word of you.
And my needle all we had to find livin' for us two;
While the mother drooped and drooped till I knelt down forenint her
And closed her dyin' eyes, dear—but still no word of you.
Then the neighbours thought you false to me, but I knew you better,
Though the bud became the leaf, and the corn began to start;
And the swallow she flew back, and still sorra letter,
But I sewed on and on, Pat, and kep' a stout heart.
Though the bud became the leaf, and the corn began to start;
And the swallow she flew back, and still sorra letter,
But I sewed on and on, Pat, and kep' a stout heart.
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Till the leaves they decayed, and the rook and the starlin'
Returned to the stubble, and I'd put by enough
To start at long last in search of my darlin'
Alone across the ocean so unruly and rough.
Returned to the stubble, and I'd put by enough
To start at long last in search of my darlin'
Alone across the ocean so unruly and rough.
Until at the end, very weak and very weary,
I reached the overside, and started on my search;
But no account for ever of Patrick for his Mary,
By advertisin' for you, dear, or callin' you in church.
I reached the overside, and started on my search;
But no account for ever of Patrick for his Mary,
By advertisin' for you, dear, or callin' you in church.
Yet still I struggled on, though my heart was almost broken
And my feet torn entirely on the rough, rugged stone;
Till that day it came round, signs by and by token,
The day five year that we parted you, mavrone!
And my feet torn entirely on the rough, rugged stone;
Till that day it came round, signs by and by token,
The day five year that we parted you, mavrone!
Oh! the snow it was sweepin' through the dark, silent city,
And the cruel wind it cut through my thin, tattered gown.
Still I prayed the good God on his daughter to take pity;
When a sudden, strange light shone forenint me up the town.
And the cruel wind it cut through my thin, tattered gown.
Still I prayed the good God on his daughter to take pity;
When a sudden, strange light shone forenint me up the town.
And the light it led on till at last right opposite
A large, lonely house it vanished, as I stood,
Wid my heart axing wildly of me, was it, oh, was it
A warnin' of ill or a token of good?
A large, lonely house it vanished, as I stood,
Wid my heart axing wildly of me, was it, oh, was it
A warnin' of ill or a token of good?
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When the light kindled up agin, brighter and bigger,
And the shadow of a woman across the windy passed;
While close, close, and closer to her stole a man's figure,
And I fainted, as you caught me in your true arms at last.
And the shadow of a woman across the windy passed;
While close, close, and closer to her stole a man's figure,
And I fainted, as you caught me in your true arms at last.
Then Pat, my own Pat, I saw that you were altered
To the shadow of yourself by the fever on the brain!
While “Mary, Mary darlin',” at last your lips they faltered,
You've given your poor Patrick his mem'ry back again.”
To the shadow of yourself by the fever on the brain!
While “Mary, Mary darlin',” at last your lips they faltered,
You've given your poor Patrick his mem'ry back again.”
And the good, gentle priest, when he comes, is never weary
Of sayin', as he spakes of that light in the snow,
“The Lord heard your prayer, and in pity for you, Mary,
Restored Pat the raison that he lost long ago.”
Of sayin', as he spakes of that light in the snow,
“The Lord heard your prayer, and in pity for you, Mary,
Restored Pat the raison that he lost long ago.”
THE BLUE, BLUE SMOKE
Oh! many and many a time
In the dim old days,
When the chapel's distant chime
Pealed the hour of evening praise,
I've bowed my head in prayer;
Then shouldered scythe or bill,
And travelled free of care
To my home across the hill;
Whilst the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waved my thousand welcomes home.
In the dim old days,
When the chapel's distant chime
Pealed the hour of evening praise,
I've bowed my head in prayer;
Then shouldered scythe or bill,
And travelled free of care
To my home across the hill;
Whilst the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waved my thousand welcomes home.
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For oft and oft I've stood,
Delighted in the dew,
Looking down across the wood,
Where it stole into my view—
Sweet spirit of the sod,
Of our own Irish earth,
Going gently up to God
From the poor man's hearth.
O, the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing
My thousand welcomes home.
Delighted in the dew,
Looking down across the wood,
Where it stole into my view—
Sweet spirit of the sod,
Of our own Irish earth,
Going gently up to God
From the poor man's hearth.
O, the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing
My thousand welcomes home.
But I hurried swiftly on,
When Herself from the door
Came swimming like a swan
Beside the Shannon shore;
And after her in haste,
On pretty, pattering feet,
Our rosy cherubs raced
Their daddy dear to meet;
While the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waved my thousand welcomes home.
When Herself from the door
Came swimming like a swan
Beside the Shannon shore;
And after her in haste,
On pretty, pattering feet,
Our rosy cherubs raced
Their daddy dear to meet;
While the blue, blue smoke
Of my cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waved my thousand welcomes home.
But the times are sorely changed
Since those dim old days,
And far, far I've ranged
From those dear old ways;
And my colleen's golden hair
To silver all has grown,
And our little cherub pair
Have cherubs of their own;
And the black, black smoke,
Like a heavy funeral plume,
Darkly wreathing,
Fearful breathing,
Crowns the city with its gloom.
Since those dim old days,
And far, far I've ranged
From those dear old ways;
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To silver all has grown,
And our little cherub pair
Have cherubs of their own;
And the black, black smoke,
Like a heavy funeral plume,
Darkly wreathing,
Fearful breathing,
Crowns the city with its gloom.
But 'tis our comfort sweet,
Through the long toil of life,
That we'll turn with tired feet
From the noise and the strife,
And wander slowly back
In the soft western glow,
Hand in hand, by the track
That we trod long ago;
Till the blue, blue smoke
Of our cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waves our thousand welcomes home.
Through the long toil of life,
That we'll turn with tired feet
From the noise and the strife,
And wander slowly back
In the soft western glow,
Hand in hand, by the track
That we trod long ago;
Till the blue, blue smoke
Of our cottage in the coom,
Softly wreathing,
Sweetly breathing,
Waves our thousand welcomes home.
TROTTIN' TO THE FAIR
Trottin' to the fair,
Me and Moll Malony,
Sated, I declare,
On a single pony;
How am I to know that
Molly's safe behind,
Wid our heads in oh! that
Awk'ard way inclined?
By her gintle breathin'
Whispered past my ear,
And her white arms wreathin'
Warm around me here.
Trottin' to the fair,
Me and Moll Malony,
Sated, I declare,
On a single pony.
Me and Moll Malony,
Sated, I declare,
On a single pony;
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Molly's safe behind,
Wid our heads in oh! that
Awk'ard way inclined?
By her gintle breathin'
Whispered past my ear,
And her white arms wreathin'
Warm around me here.
Trottin' to the fair,
Me and Moll Malony,
Sated, I declare,
On a single pony.
Yerrig! Masther Jack,
Lift your fore-legs higher,
Or a rousin' crack
Surely you'll require.
“Ah!” says Moll, “I'm frightened
That the pony'll start,”
And her hands she tightened
On my happy heart;
Till, widout reflectin',
'Twasn't quite the vogue,
Somehow, I'm suspectin'
That I snatched a pogue.
Trottin' to the fair,
Me and Moll Malony,
Sated, I declare,
On a single pony.
Lift your fore-legs higher,
Or a rousin' crack
Surely you'll require.
“Ah!” says Moll, “I'm frightened
That the pony'll start,”
And her hands she tightened
On my happy heart;
Till, widout reflectin',
'Twasn't quite the vogue,
Somehow, I'm suspectin'
That I snatched a pogue.
Trottin' to the fair,
Me and Moll Malony,
Sated, I declare,
On a single pony.
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JOULTIN' TO THE FAIR
Joultin' to the fair,
Three upon the pony,
That so lately were
Me and Moll Malony.
“How can three be on, boy?
Sure, the wife and you,
Though you should be wan, boy,
Can't be more nor two.”
Arrah, now then may be
You've got eyes to see
That this purty baby
Adds us up to three.
Joultin' to the fair,
Three upon the pony,
That so lately were
Me and Moll Malony.
Three upon the pony,
That so lately were
Me and Moll Malony.
“How can three be on, boy?
Sure, the wife and you,
Though you should be wan, boy,
Can't be more nor two.”
Arrah, now then may be
You've got eyes to see
That this purty baby
Adds us up to three.
Joultin' to the fair,
Three upon the pony,
That so lately were
Me and Moll Malony.
Come, give over, Jack,
Cap'rin' and curvettin',
All that's on your back
Foolishly forgettin';
For I've tuk the notion
Wan may cant'rin' go,
Trottin' is a motion
I'd extind to two;
But to travel steady
Matches best with three,
And we're that already,
Mistress Moll and me.
Joultin' to the fair,
Three upon the pony,
That so lately were
Me and Moll Malony.
Cap'rin' and curvettin',
All that's on your back
Foolishly forgettin';
For I've tuk the notion
Wan may cant'rin' go,
Trottin' is a motion
I'd extind to two;
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Matches best with three,
And we're that already,
Mistress Moll and me.
Joultin' to the fair,
Three upon the pony,
That so lately were
Me and Moll Malony.
| The Irish Poems of Alfred Perceval Graves | |