 | Late songs |  |
73
IN PEACE TIME
75
THE STORY OF THE BAMBINO
What is it like a light that goes
Swaddled in gold from head to toes?
Swaddled in gold from head to toes?
With chanting cleric and acolyte
In the crimson and in the white.
In the crimson and in the white.
'Tis the Bambino goeth with speed
To succour a woman in her need,
To succour a woman in her need,
For the dear Lady's sake who lay
And bore her Son in the cattle's hay.
And bore her Son in the cattle's hay.
The woman is taken in mortal strait.
Peace! the Bambino is at the gate!
Peace! the Bambino is at the gate!
The woman cries from her loneliness.
Peace! the Bambino cometh to bless!
Peace! the Bambino cometh to bless!
Three fair sons she hath borne in pain:
The three lie out in the night and rain.
The three lie out in the night and rain.
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Dear Bambino, dear holy one,
Save for this mother one little son!
Save for this mother one little son!
To her own heart she speaks: If he,
The blest Bambino, would stay with me,
The blest Bambino, would stay with me,
Surely my pangs would be light and short,
Nor the little bird new-'scaped take hurt.
Nor the little bird new-'scaped take hurt.
Joy and peace would be mine and his
Who comes when the travail hardest is.
Who comes when the travail hardest is.
Surely my little son would thrive
Nor go to his brothers who would not live.
Nor go to his brothers who would not live.
Under the linen sheet there is
Another Bambino like to this;
Another Bambino like to this;
Painted so fine, carven so well,
No man could one from the other tell.
No man could one from the other tell.
The dear Bambino by her is laid,
Joy is come to the childing-bed.
Joy is come to the childing-bed.
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She takes from Bambino his robe and crown;
The false Bambino hath a gold gown.
The false Bambino hath a gold gown.
On the Bambino she turns the key:
I and my babe shall have joy: saith she.
I and my babe shall have joy: saith she.
Her travail is over; the child is come;
No finer baby may be in Rome.
No finer baby may be in Rome.
The women cry from their beds and pray:
Blessed Bambino, where dost thou stay?
Blessed Bambino, where dost thou stay?
The priests come singing their hymns and bear
The false Bambino high in the air.
The false Bambino high in the air.
The people drop on their knees and cry
Viva Bambino! while that goes by.
Viva Bambino! while that goes by.
Bambino goeth in gold and white;
No woman is eased of her grief to-night.
No woman is eased of her grief to-night.
For the true Bambino lieth forlorn,
Naked as Christ in the stable born.
Naked as Christ in the stable born.
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Patience, Lordkin, the woman saith:
Who has saved this night my son from death,
Who has saved this night my son from death,
I will build Bambino so fair a shrine
For Ara Cœli he will not pine.
For Ara Cœli he will not pine.
He shall have a cradle as soft as down,
And finest woollen to be his gown,
And finest woollen to be his gown,
Not stiff with jewels, nor miniver,
But soft for a precious baby dear.
But soft for a precious baby dear.
The night is dark and the snows fall.
What is it flits by the outer wall?
What is it flits by the outer wall?
There's a patter of naked feet, as soft
As Mary kissed in the cattle-croft.
As Mary kissed in the cattle-croft.
Whence is this baby in the chill light,
Ringed about with a ring of light?
Ringed about with a ring of light?
The Burning Bush that Moses saw,
And a golden bird in the golden shaw.
And a golden bird in the golden shaw.
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At Ara Cœli they sleep and dream.
What is it flits in the wet moonbeam?
What is it flits in the wet moonbeam?
The bell soundeth, the knocker too:
Let me in: I have much to do.
Let me in: I have much to do.
Let me in, for I heard as I ran
The women call me in street and lane.
The women call me in street and lane.
The sleepy brother is come awake:
Who is it knocketh before daybreak?
Who is it knocketh before daybreak?
A little child on the door doth knock.
Oh, hear them crying, my piteous folk!
Oh, hear them crying, my piteous folk!
The door was opened and in there came
A naked child in a golden flame.
A naked child in a golden flame.
The rain falls and the wind blows;
In comes Bambino, fresh as a rose.
In comes Bambino, fresh as a rose.
The women called me and I made haste.
I, the Bambino, have travelled fast.
I, the Bambino, have travelled fast.
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One hath taken my robe away:
His feet are plaster, his body clay.
His feet are plaster, his body clay.
He hath no healing for them that cry
On me in their bitter agony.
On me in their bitter agony.
They have stripped the false usurper bare;
They have taken the crown of gold from his hair.
They have taken the crown of gold from his hair.
They have cast him out, of his splendour shorn,
He hath no care for the people's scorn.
He hath no care for the people's scorn.
Once more Bambino goes up and down
The steep high streets of the groaning town,
The steep high streets of the groaning town,
And climbs the stairway, and through the door
Brings life and healing as oft before.
Brings life and healing as oft before.
The shrine in Ara Cœli hath
Many new cradles, many a wreath.
Many new cradles, many a wreath.
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MAGIC
A god, a god sits on my hearth,
Laughs and plays with sober mirth,
Sings a small song, merry and wild,
As a bird might or a child.
Laughs and plays with sober mirth,
Sings a small song, merry and wild,
As a bird might or a child.
As a kitten plays will play,
Or a lamb on a May day.
A happy, busy household elf
Croons a wee song to himself.
Or a lamb on a May day.
A happy, busy household elf
Croons a wee song to himself.
Strayed here from some Olympian hill,
This god in rose and daffodil,
Yet boils my kettle, cooks my dish,
Gives savour to the meats and fish.
This god in rose and daffodil,
Yet boils my kettle, cooks my dish,
Gives savour to the meats and fish.
I stretch my chilly hands above,
And like my dog he fawns in love:
Licks at me with a playful tongue
And frisks, a bright thing, merry and young.
And like my dog he fawns in love:
Licks at me with a playful tongue
And frisks, a bright thing, merry and young.
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And yet so great a god is he,
You shall approach him on your knee,
Lest that his lightnings teach you awe,
This Burning Bush that Moses saw.
You shall approach him on your knee,
Lest that his lightnings teach you awe,
This Burning Bush that Moses saw.
He is the Ark no hand may touch,
The Lily of Light without a smutch,
The Living Rose that none may take,
Caged in a gold and thorny brake.
The Lily of Light without a smutch,
The Living Rose that none may take,
Caged in a gold and thorny brake.
This holy one stays with me still,
Singing his small song merry and shrill,
And hath so many things to do,
There is no time to grieve or rue
Singing his small song merry and shrill,
And hath so many things to do,
There is no time to grieve or rue
For the great state he hath foregone,
The Lord Sun's dear companion,
Who toils and plays upon my hearth,
Nor yet forgets his starry birth.
The Lord Sun's dear companion,
Who toils and plays upon my hearth,
Nor yet forgets his starry birth.
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CALDRA
(On a Tyrone hillside)
The little valley folded lies
Amid the hills a-dream,
The silence, soft as lullabies,
Hushes the wind, the stream.
Amid the hills a-dream,
The silence, soft as lullabies,
Hushes the wind, the stream.
Here where no dreadful thing affrights,
No lurking shadows creep,
Only the short sweet grass invites
The cropping kine and sheep,
No lurking shadows creep,
Only the short sweet grass invites
The cropping kine and sheep,
The pagan giant takes his rest
Who died when this was new.
His huge slab broken o'er his breast
Has let the daisies through.
Who died when this was new.
His huge slab broken o'er his breast
Has let the daisies through.
And round about and all around
The unchristened babies lie.
Only the mother knows the mound
And the name to call it by.
The unchristened babies lie.
Only the mother knows the mound
And the name to call it by.
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When the sad world is all in shade
They bring the babies here,
The little weary ones unstayed
By any Angel dear.
They bring the babies here,
The little weary ones unstayed
By any Angel dear.
The mother lays her lamb away
Where soft South winds will blow
And where the sweet sun shines all day
On small graves in a row.
Where soft South winds will blow
And where the sweet sun shines all day
On small graves in a row.
The mother smooths the clayey bed,
And sets the piteous stone
Where some most precious drowsy-head
Sleeps on alone, alone.
And sets the piteous stone
Where some most precious drowsy-head
Sleeps on alone, alone.
But when the Winter nights are long
And the hearth fires are bright
And babes sleep sweetly and grow strong
Lapped up in fleeces white,
And the hearth fires are bright
And babes sleep sweetly and grow strong
Lapped up in fleeces white,
And when the mother's arms let go
The happy babe full-fed,
These hapless ones in frost and snow
Must go uncomforted.
The happy babe full-fed,
These hapless ones in frost and snow
Must go uncomforted.
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But the old giant in the mirk
He hears the cry and call:
Come hither, O children from the dark,
My arms have room for all.
He hears the cry and call:
Come hither, O children from the dark,
My arms have room for all.
No little babe need go afeard
Since he is strong and kind,
For all his armour and his beard,
His great voice on the wind.
Since he is strong and kind,
For all his armour and his beard,
His great voice on the wind.
The unchristened children rustle and stir,
Their hearts are not dismayed,
God sends as once St. Christopher
His pagan to their aid.
Their hearts are not dismayed,
God sends as once St. Christopher
His pagan to their aid.
Now like a flock of frightened birds
The little ghosts will fly.
He hath mothered them with tender words
And stilled their lonely cry.
The little ghosts will fly.
He hath mothered them with tender words
And stilled their lonely cry.
The pagan giant now grown mild,
His notched sword by his arm,
Draws close to him the hapless child
That never else was warm.
His notched sword by his arm,
Draws close to him the hapless child
That never else was warm.
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As a hen gathereth her brood
He keeps from eve till morn
The little orphaned ones of God
That died ere they were born.
He keeps from eve till morn
The little orphaned ones of God
That died ere they were born.
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THE RECOMPENSE
God made a Garden first for Man
Where He and Man might walk together,
Before the bitter days began
And when 'twas always perfect weather;
A Garden full of fruit and flowers,
The butterfly, the bee, the dew;
Man had enough in those sweet bowers
Before the old snake wriggled through.
Where He and Man might walk together,
Before the bitter days began
And when 'twas always perfect weather;
A Garden full of fruit and flowers,
The butterfly, the bee, the dew;
Man had enough in those sweet bowers
Before the old snake wriggled through.
But when poor Man was driven away,
Hobbled and sad, from those bright portals,
When there was nothing more to say
Between the stript unhappy mortals;
When Eve went shivering in the wind,
With all her sweetness nipt by frost,
God put it into Adam's mind
To build a House; so all's not lost!
Hobbled and sad, from those bright portals,
When there was nothing more to say
Between the stript unhappy mortals;
When Eve went shivering in the wind,
With all her sweetness nipt by frost,
God put it into Adam's mind
To build a House; so all's not lost!
'Twas built of clay and wattled boughs.
So comfortable 'twas, the creeping
Out of the rain into their House,
To dream of Eden in their sleeping.
He taught them next to capture Fire,—
The wild sprite of the roaring storm,
And tether him to their desire
Upon a hearthstone bright and warm.
So comfortable 'twas, the creeping
Out of the rain into their House,
To dream of Eden in their sleeping.
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The wild sprite of the roaring storm,
And tether him to their desire
Upon a hearthstone bright and warm.
Yet there was something incomplete;
They wept for their remembered blisses;
Till God slipt something wondrous sweet
Betwixt His anger and their kisses:
The Woman shall make Home: He said:
With children, and the hearth-fires burning,
And with her bosom for his bed
My Adam praise Me night and morning.
They wept for their remembered blisses;
Till God slipt something wondrous sweet
Betwixt His anger and their kisses:
The Woman shall make Home: He said:
With children, and the hearth-fires burning,
And with her bosom for his bed
My Adam praise Me night and morning.
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THE IMMORTAL
Here, where I went in and out,
I no more may come and go.
This with sweetbriar fringed about
Is another's garden, so
His the master's foot to come
In each dear, remembered room.
I no more may come and go.
This with sweetbriar fringed about
Is another's garden, so
His the master's foot to come
In each dear, remembered room.
Such a blank, forgetting face
The house turns that was my house,
Where I built a little space,
As the birds build in the boughs.
But the birds—the birds are gone
And the vernal days are done.
The house turns that was my house,
Where I built a little space,
As the birds build in the boughs.
But the birds—the birds are gone
And the vernal days are done.
Forth I fare that once would stay.
I have neither walls nor roof,
Being a traveller, blithe and gay,
In a world that's weather-proof,
Where no rust eats in, no moth
Frets the sacred altar-cloth.
I have neither walls nor roof,
Being a traveller, blithe and gay,
In a world that's weather-proof,
Where no rust eats in, no moth
Frets the sacred altar-cloth.
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Open, skies, and let me through.
Here I struck no roots to be
Fearful of all winds that blew.
There I shall grow a tree, a tree
Where in calm and shining weather,
My birds and I shall be together.
Here I struck no roots to be
Fearful of all winds that blew.
There I shall grow a tree, a tree
Where in calm and shining weather,
My birds and I shall be together.
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THE HOUSE OF LIFE
The life of the body's a cage,
And the soul within it
Frets to escape, to be free,
Like a lark or a linnet.
But since the struggle's in vain,
She is weary ere long;
She chirps and she sings a little
To assuage her wrong.
And the soul within it
Frets to escape, to be free,
Like a lark or a linnet.
But since the struggle's in vain,
She is weary ere long;
She chirps and she sings a little
To assuage her wrong.
Behind the bars she sits brooding
Her evil mishap,
Like a wild little hare or a rabbit
That's caught in a trap,
Till, dazed with despair, she is weary,
And struggles no more,
But plays with the sun and leaf-shadow
That dance on the floor.
Her evil mishap,
Like a wild little hare or a rabbit
That's caught in a trap,
Till, dazed with despair, she is weary,
And struggles no more,
But plays with the sun and leaf-shadow
That dance on the floor.
They call—they call to each other:
O sister so small,
Are you there? Are you there, little brother,
Behind the blank wall?
Like a bird, or a hare, or a rabbit,
Frightened, undone,
The soul calls to another,
That she be not alone.
O sister so small,
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Behind the blank wall?
Like a bird, or a hare, or a rabbit,
Frightened, undone,
The soul calls to another,
That she be not alone.
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SUMMER AIRS
This air's a lovely thing: it blows
Softer than any kisses are;
Touches my cheek like a wet rose
Drenched in all sweetness, near and far.
Softer than any kisses are;
Touches my cheek like a wet rose
Drenched in all sweetness, near and far.
There's heather in it, miles on miles,
Rough sweetness of great seas that break
On Achill cliffs and Clew's dear isles;
Oh many a mountain, many a lake!
Rough sweetness of great seas that break
On Achill cliffs and Clew's dear isles;
Oh many a mountain, many a lake!
What soft invisible Loving clings
About my neck and lifts my hair?
The Eternal Love in these wild wings
Meets me and clasps me everywhere.
About my neck and lifts my hair?
The Eternal Love in these wild wings
Meets me and clasps me everywhere.
Thou mad'st for me this air, this wind,
These heavenly sweets for me, for me!
That I might live and thrive, O kind!
Fed on the very Breath of Thee.
These heavenly sweets for me, for me!
That I might live and thrive, O kind!
Fed on the very Breath of Thee.
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THE NEWLY-BORN
The little soul looked out
Into a world of pain,
And sore oppressed with fear and doubt,
Shut eyes again.
Into a world of pain,
And sore oppressed with fear and doubt,
Shut eyes again.
Heard not the mother's cries
Nor saw her arms stretched wide,
Slipped back again to Paradise
On the next tide.
Nor saw her arms stretched wide,
Slipped back again to Paradise
On the next tide.
So small, so soft, so fair,
And like a carrier-dove,
The little soul, Love's messenger,
Fled back to Love.
And like a carrier-dove,
The little soul, Love's messenger,
Fled back to Love.
O, in this storm and din
What place for her abode?
The little white soul but looked in—
Flew back to God.
What place for her abode?
The little white soul but looked in—
Flew back to God.
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