The Poetry of Ireland Mythological Times to the Present

The Poetry of Ireland

Mythological Tim es to the Present

Edited with an Int roduction by

PADRAIC COLUM

L I V E R I G H T P U B L I S H I N G C O R P O R A T I O N

ACKNOWLED GMENT

For their generous permission to use poems published in the n I S : U ited States , the editor indebted to

a Messrs . Brentano , for poems by Fr ncis Ledwidge .

Wa nall s E thna . Messrs . Funk and g , for poems by Carbery c n Messrs . Henry Holt , for poems by Fran is Carli .

‘ Mr . W . B . Huebsch , for poems by James Joyce .

E . The Macmillan Co . , for poems by A . , James Stephens , and

W . B . Yeats . s a Miss Harriet Munroe , for On Waking , by Jo eph C mp ‘ “ b “ bell , The Apple Tree , by Nancy Camp ell , and The ’ ” Rior dan a O . . Counsels of the R nn Maker , by T D ’ l o tr Bo r P e . O ge , published in y, Chicago

Messrs . Frederick Stokes , for poems by Thomas Kettle, M D na h l Thomas ac o g , Padraic Pearse and Joseph P un

kett .

1948 For the revised edition of , permissions have been given by the following poets :

a Coll ec ted Poems Ne Austin Cl rke, for Aisling ( , w York, Macmillan L ou h D er and Denis Devlin , for Welcome My World ( g g, Oth er P oem s Ne w . , York, Reynal and Hitchcock) “ ” Lyle Donaghy, for At My Whisper . “ a Fi t Poems Lord Duns ny, for The Deserted Kingdom ( f y ,

New York, Putnam ) . “ Padraic Fallon , for Mary Hynes .

Robert Farren, for The Cool Gold Wines of Paradise .

Monk Gibbon , for From Disciple to Master . “ Oliver Gogarty, for The Forge . “ Francis Hackett, for Sea Dawn . “ n George Hetheri gton , for Charles at the Siege . a I r emon er V lentin g , for While the Summer Trees Were ” Crying . Patrick Kavanagh , for Through the Open Door . “ S on s r om L eins ter Winifred Letts , for A Soft Day ( g f ) . ” - Th e Dove Lord Longford, for To an Anti poetical Priest ( n h as tl e i t e C , Dublin , Hodges Figgis and “ ” M acD ona h The Hun r Donagh g , for Dublin Made Me ( g y

Gr as s n . , Lo don, Faber and Faber ) “ M a D ono h f or c . Patrick g , Be Still As You Are Beautiful ” 1 M a cM anu n a Franc s s , for Pattern of Sai t Brend n . “ M a c Nam ar a Brinsley for On Seeing Swift in Laracor . ”

M acNeice . Louis , for The Strand ’ M cGr eev Aodh Ruadh D omhnaill Poems Thomas y, for O ( ,

a . London, Willi m , Heinemann ) ’ “

Br e . Dermot O yn , for Dublin Ballad ’ O Connor n Frank , for To Toma s Costello at the Wars . ’ “ ’ ” Neill Pr Mary Devenport O , for The Tramp s Song ( ome theus and Other Poem s , London, Jonathan Cape) . ’ ’ “ Nolan O Br ien Aoibhinn l abh r i n Brian O (Flann ) , for , a e a , ” h r iall do t . ’ ll i n . Seumas O S u va , for Sketch “ ’ R d r s r . . o ge , fo ife s Circumnavigators . W R l L “ ” Blanaid Salkeld, for No Uneasy Refuge .

Thanks is also rendered to :

Mrs . F . R . Higgins , for permission to use The Old Jockey Ar a ble Pas tur es ( , New York, Macmillan

Mrs . Peter Kearney, for permission to use Down by the The Bold Feni an M en Glenside ( , Dublin, Waltons ) . “ d Mrs . William Butler Yeats , for permission to use Un er Ben ” h m L as t Poems New Bul e ( , York, Macmillan

PA T NE T HE HO O F L THE R O ( USE, THE R AD , THE IE D , FAIR AN D THE FIRE SIDE) A POEM To BE SAID ON HEARING THE B IRDS S ING THE SONG OF THE OL D MOTHER ON WAKING A D AY IN IRELAND

THE BLIND MAN AT THE FAIR MARKET WOMEN ’ S CRIES JOHN -JOHN NO MIRACLE E T BE R B WE GO L Us ME RY EFORE HAD I A GOLDEN POUND T HE COOLUN

DEAR DARK HEAD PEARL OF THE WHITE BREAST COUNTRY SAYINGS COIS NA TE I NE ADH H I T E BALLAD OF FATHER G LLIGAN HOMECOMING ’ A ’ WHEN KIAN O H RA S CUP WAS PASSED TURLOUGH O ’ CAROLAN T HROUGH THE OPEN DOOR T HE SPINNING WHEE L RINGLETE D YOUTH OF M Y LOVE DO YOU REMEMBER THAT NIGH T ? THE SONG OF THE GHOST LULLABY I L I E DOWN WITH GOD PART TWO ( STREET SONGS AND COUNTRYSIDE SONGS MAINLY ANONYMOUS ) JO I H R L K W HNNY, A D Y NE YE ’ NELL FLAHERTY S DRAKE ALLAL U MO WAULE E N THE MAID OF THE SWEET BROWN KNOWE

THE LAMBS ON THE GREE N HILLS STOOD GAZ ING M Y LOVE I S LIKE THE S UN ’ THE . NOBLEMAN S WEDDING ’ JOHNNY S THE L AD I LOVE I KNOW WHERE I ’ M GOING CASHEL OF MUNSTE R LOVELY MARY D ONNEL LY DRAHE RI N O MACHREE ’ THE OUL GREY MARE DOWN BY THE GLENSIDE THE BOYNE WATER THE S HAN VAN VOCHT ’ ’ THE WE ARI N 0 THE GREEN THE RISING OF THE MOON THE CROPPY BOY BY MEMORY I NSPIRE D

PART THREE (THE CELTIC WORLD AND THE

’ AI M I RGI N S INVOCATION ’ T R S . PAT ICK S BREASTPLATE I N PRAISE OF M AY E RAI N DERM UI D TH SLEEP SONG OF G NE OVE R HE K D ER M I T AWA ENING OF U D THE L AY OF PRINCE MARVAN ’ THE CO L O OR M K R UNSE S F O RI DAN , THE RANN A E M Y OH S HE I S M Y LOVE , , LOVE AOI BHI NN LE ABHRAI N O THRI ALL , A , D THE WOMAN OF BEARE ’ CUCHULLAIN S LAMENT OVER FARDI AD KING CAHAL MOR OF THE WINE -RED HAND K I NCORA THE GRAVE OF RURY THE S HADOW HOUSE OF LUGH

v ’ KING S S ON FAIRY HOST FAIRY THORN FAIRY LOVER WARNINGS LOVE - TALKER GREEN HUNTERS

THE ISLANDS OF THE EVE R LIVING PART FOUR ( POEMS OF PLACE AND POEMS THE TRIAD OF THINGS NOT DECREED THE STARLING LAKE BOGAC BAN KILLARNEY T HE HILLS OF CUALANN ARDAN MOR CLONMACNOISE THE LITTLE WAVE S OF BRE FFNY M UCK I S H MOUNTAIN THE BOG LANDS THE BELLS OF S HANDON ’ COLUM CILLE S FAREWELL TO IRELAND JOHN O ’ DWYER OF THE GLEN A F R W LL O P R K S R L E RL A E E T AT IC A SFIE D , A LUCAN 1 745 FONTENOY . I N SP I A N KI I N SPAIN : DRIN NG SONG THE BATTLE E VE OF THE IRISH BRIGADE THE FAIR HILLS OF IRELAND THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE CORRYM EE LA T HE IRISH PEASANT GIRL THE COUNTY OF MAYO PART FIVE ( SATIRES LAMENTS ) DIDO TO AENEAS ON HIMSELF ON AN I LL -MANAGED HOUSE ON THE WORLD RIGHTEOUS ANGER THE PETITION OF TOM DERMODY To THE T HREE FATE S IN COUNCIL SITTING To AN ANTI - POETICAL PRIEST T HE NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED BRUADAR AND SMITH AND GL I NN ’ THE GAMBLER S REPENTANCE A A CURSE ON . CLOSED GATE ’ ’ H S S E Y DE U O U S O TO THE MAG IRE A LAMENT FOR THE PRINCES OF TYRONE AND TYRCONNE L ’ LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF E OGHAN RUADH O NEILL DIRGE ON THE DEATH OF ART O ’ LEARY ’ T HE LAMENT FOR O SULLIVAN BEARE A CONNACHT CAOINE T HE CONVICT OF CLONM ALA THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE AGHADOE THE B URIAL OF S I R JOHN MOORE LAMENT FOR T HOMAS DAVIS PARNELL ’ S YNGE S GRAVE REVELRY FOR THE DYING LAMENT FOR SEAN MACDERMOTT LAMENT FOR T HOMAS MACDONAGH LAMENT FOR THE POETS ; 19 1 6 H E HOW OFT AS THE BANSHE CRIED PART S I! (OUR HERITAGE) THE DOWNFALL OF THE GAEL LAMENT FOR BANBA TARA I S GRASS KATHLEEN - NI - HOULAHAN DARK ROSALE EN ROISIN D UBH THE DARK PALACE AFTER DEATH WAYS OF WAR THIS HE RITAGE TO THE RACE OF KINGS T HE IRISH RAPPAREES T HE MEMORY OF THE DEAD THRO’ GRIEF AND THRO’ DANGER xii T HE IRISH MOTHER IN THE PENAL DAYS A SONG OF FREEDOM

THE THREE WOES

PART SEVEN (PERSONAL POEMS )

AT THE M I D HOUR OF NIGHT

EILEEN AROON AND THEN NO MORE MAIRE M Y GIRL HELAS ! I N THE STREETS OF CATANIA THE DOVES S HEEP AND LAMBS THE PIT OF LOVE ’ Y THE FOL LY OF BEING COMFORTED THINK IMMORTALITY A FAREWELL

LOVE ' ON THE MOUNTAIN NIGHT’ S ANCIENT CLOUD M AD SONG THE WINGS OF LOVE ON A POET PATRIOT WISHES FOR M Y S ON GREETING T HE SEDGES T HE HALF DOOR T HIS HEART THAT FLUTTE RS NEAR HEART I HEAR AN ARMY TO DEATH IDEAL RIVER- MATES

THE DAISIES T HE GOAT PATHS THE SPARK A SOFT DAY HE WHOM A DREA M HATH POSSESSED THE WIND BLOWETH WHERE I T LISTE TH THE APPLE-TRE E

PART EIGHT ( POEMS SINCE l AISLING DIRGE OF THE LONE WOMAN WELCOME M Y WORLD AT M Y WHISPER THE DESERTED KINGDOM MAR Y HYNES THE COOL GOLD WINES OF PARADISE FROM DISCIPLE TO MASTE R THE FORGE S E A DAWN CHARLES AT THE SIEGE THE OLD JOC E K Y T WHILE THE SUMMER REES WERE CRYING BE STILL As YOU ARE BEAUTIFUL D UBLIN MADE ME PATTERN OF SAINT BRENDAN ON SEEING SWIFT IN LARACOR THE STRAND ’ AODH RUADH O D OM HNAI LL A DUBLI B LL D : 19 16 N ' A A TO TOMAUS COSTELLO AT THE WARS ’ THE TRAMP S SONG S KETCH LIFE ’ S CIRCUMNAVIGATORS NO UNEASY REFUGE UNDER BE N BULBE N

S LAI NTHE

NOTES INDE! OF AUTHOR S INDE! OF FIRST LINES

INTRODUCTION

I should like to call this an Anthology Of the Poetry of Ireland rather than an Anthology Of Irish Poetry . It is a

ff . distinction that has some little di erence It implies , I think, / ’ that my effOr t has been to take th e poetry o f the people in the ma s s , and then to make a selection that would be rep r es entative Of the people rather than representative o f in

. wa to dividual poets The usual , and perhaps the better , y make an anthology is to select poems and group them ac cording to chronological order , or according to an order that f has a correspondence in the emotional life O the reader . The Of Of ﬁrst is the method the Oxford Book English Verse, and the second is the method Of the Golden Treasury Of Songs and

- - . ah Lyrics In this collection , the last section , there is an thology Oi personal poems that is in chronological order ; and there is an anthology Of anonymous poems—the second sec tion— that is arranged according to an order that is in the ’ editor s own mind . But the other sections Of the anthology are not Chronological and are not according to any mental order— they represent a grouping according to dominant na tional themes . This method o f presentation has been forced upon me by the necessity o f arranging the material in the least prosaic way. It would not do , I considered , to arrange the poetry Of

Ireland according to chronological order . Irish poetry in English is too recent to permit of a number Of initial excel i nCtion E n l encies . Then the racial d sti o f Irish poetry in g

3 — - — lish in Anglo Irish poetry was not an immediate achieve s o t t ment , and the poetry hat would be arranged ch o c ally would begin without the note And because so much o f Irish poetry com es out Of his torical s ituation , because so much o f it is based on national themes , e the order that has a correspondence in p rsonal emotion , Th e would not be proper to it . note that I would h ave it e e begin on , and the not that I would have r cur f r n e s note o acial disti ctiven s . a Of e h e was a e to r e e e nother part the national heritag , bl c iv a great deal . At the end o f the eighteenth century the harpers who had t been wandering hrough the country, playing the beautiful traditional music, were gathered together in Belfast . The music that they were the custodians o f was noted down and s published by Bunting and by Power . With such collection before them the Irish who had been educated in English ways and English thought were made to realize that they had a national heritage . - E n Thomas Moore, a born song writer, began to write g lish words to this music . Again and again the distinctive rhythms Of the music forced a distinctive rhythm upon his f verse . Through using the mould o the music, Moore , with Oi h out being conscious what e was doing, reproduced again and again the rhythm , and sometimes the structure o f Gaelic ’ t Of verse . When Edgar Allen Poe read tha lyric Moore s “ - Of that begins At the mid hour night, he perceived a dis tinctive metrical achievement . The poem was written to an ancient Irish air , and its rhythm , like the rhythm Of the song ” that begins Through grief and through danger , wavering and unemphatic, is distinctively Irish . And Moore not only re roduced the rhythm o f aelic oetry but sometimes he p G p , reproduced even its metrical structure .

Silent , O Moyle , be the roar o f thy water ; C Break not , ye breezes , your hain o f repose , ’ While murmuring mourn fully, Lir s lonely daughter

Tells to the night star her tale o f woes .

Here is the Gaelic structure with the correspondences all on “ ” “ ” — in O a single vowel this case the vowel roar, “ ” “ ” “ ” repose , lonely, woes , with the alliterations break, ” “ ” “ ” “ ” “ breezes , tells , tale murmuring, mourn fully . And s so , through the association that he made with music , Thom*a a Moore ttained to distinctiveness in certain o f his poems .

Robert Burns also t e-created an Irish form by writing to “ ’ ” ’ Irish music in Their Groves 0 Sweet Myrtle . The soldier s “ ” song in The Jolly Beggars reproduces an Irish form also ; the air that Burns wrote this song to may h ave been an Irish air originally. ’ “ Back in 1 7 6 0 MacPher s on s Fragments o f Ancient Poetry ” Collected in the Highlands o f Scotland was published . That - f medley, unreadable by us to day, a fected the literatures o f

h f Br itish England France ermany and Italy . In t e Islands , , G e eager search was made for the Gaelic originals . There wer ’ no originals . MacPh er s on s compo sitions which he attributed Of to the Gaelic bard Ossian were , in every sense the word , e or g nal . nd yet as the his torian o f Scottish aelic lit ra i i A , G L n Of ture, Dr . Magnus Mac ea , has said, the arrival James MacPh er s on marked a great moment in the history o f all e “ C ltic literatures . It would seem as i f he sounded the trum pet, and the graves o f ancient manuscripts were opened , the s books were read , and the dead were j udged out of the thing ” Of that were written in them . Those who knew anything Gaelic literary tradition could not fail to respond to the uni ’ versal curiosity aroused by the publication Of M acPh er s on s compositions . In Ireland there wa s a response in the publi f cation o f a fragment O the ancient poetry and romance . “ The words o f this song were suggested by a very ancient ‘ D ir r i Irish story called e d , or the lamentable fate Of the Son s ’ of Us ne ach which has been translated literally from the ’ Flan Gaelic by Mr . O agan, and upon which it appears that ‘ ’ ” D ar thul a M ac Ph r the o f e s on is founded , Thomas Moore “ ” a wrote in note to the song Avenging and Bright . Slowly fragments Of this ancient literature were r*evealed and were taken as material for the new Irish poetry . After Moore there came another poet wh o reached a dis tinctive metrical achievement through his study o f the music * MacPher s on The Ossian o f (in Ireland Oisin , pronounced Usheen ) was supposed to be the poet who had celebrated the lives and actions o f the heroic companionship known as the “ Fianna . The Irish term for this class Of poetry is Fianaid h h eac t, and an example Of it is given in this anthology in “ ’ ” r nn - r i n G a i e s sleep song over De m u d . At the time whe ” Ossian was making appeal to Goethe and Napoleon the ’ great mass o f the poetry that was the canon o f MacPh er s on s a och r h a a s p yp w lying unnoted in the University o f Louvain , R brought Over there by Irish students and scholars . ecently this poetry has been published by the Irish Texts Society k e and s ( Dunair e Finn , the Poem Boo o f Finn , dited tran l lated by Eoin MacNei l ) . P a that Bunting had published . This poet was Samuel erg and son, He took the trouble to learn aelic, when he trans G ‘ lated the words o f Irish folk-songs to the music that they were sung to , he created in half a dozen instances , poems r h a d that have a acial distinctiveness . Ferguson what Moore — i had not the ability to convey the Gaelic spirit . Take h s “ ” Cashel Of Munster :

’ I d wed you without herds , without money or rich array, ’ And I d wed you on a dewy' morn at day-dawn grey ;

My bitter word it is , love , that we are not far away

In Cashel town , though the bare deal board were our mar r iage bed this day.

ere is the waver ng rhythm the unemphatic word -arrange H i , ment, that is Characteristic Of Irish song and some racial character besides . Callanan , too , gets the same eff ects in his “ translation Of The Outlaw Of Loch Lene

’ O many s the day I made good ale in the glen , That came not from stream nor from malt like th e brewing Of men ;

My bed was the ground , my roo f the green wood above ,

And all the wealth that I sought, one fair kind glance from

my love .

’ b s ” “ Ferguson s translation o f Cean Du h Dili , Dear Dark ” Head , makes one Of the most beautiful o f Irish love songs ; it is a poem that carries into English the Gaelic music and the aelic feeling ; the translation moreo er is more o f a poem G , v , than is the original . Sir Samuel Ferguson was the ﬁrst Irish poet to attempt a t - f e telling O any Of the ancient sagas . He aimed at doing “ ” BO ili n for The Tain Cu g e, the Irish epic cycle , what Tenny son at wa s the time doing for the Arthurian cycle , presenting i t, not as a continuous narrative , but as a series Of poetic s tudies . The ﬁgures Of th e heroic cycle, however, were too

' f primitive, too elemental, too full Of their own sort O humour e f or Ferguson to take them on their own term s . He mad

8 i them conform a good deal to ict or an rectitudes . nd yet V A , it has to be said that he blazed a trail in the trackless r egion r “ o f Celtic omance ; the prelude to his studies , The Tain

Quest, written in a heady ballad metre , is quite a stirring “ ” Conair a r s ens e f poem , and his y manages to convey O vast

. to and mysterious action It was Ferguson that W . B . Yeats turned when he began his delibe rate task o f c reating a n a i l t ona literature for Ireland . With Sir Samuel Ferguson there is associated a poet whom

. a he long outlived , James Clarence Mangan Mangan was great rhapsodist i f . not a great poet . He was an original metrical artist , and it is possible *that Edgar Allen Poe learnt some metrical devices from him . The themes that this poet , “ e seized on were not fromIrish romance , but wer from the h i history Of the I rish ovef t r ow. And what moved him to h s greatest expression were the themes that has a terrible deso — ’ lation or an unbounded e xultation Brian s palace overthrown and his dynasty cut o ff the Princes Of the line Of Conn dying unnoted inexile ; the heroic chief Of the Clann Maguire ﬂ ee ing unfriended through the storm ; or else it is Dark Rosaleen “ ” f with her holy, delicate white hands to whom all is O fered f in a rapture O dedication . Mangan incarnated in Anglo

' Irish poetry the bardic spirit Of the s eventeenth and eighteenth ’ “ O Rahill A mo centuries , and the sigh that Egan y breathed , ” “ ” Thir A m o Gr odk , , O my Land , O my Love , is breathed through all his memorable poetry . He had the privilege o f creating the most lovely Of all feminine representations Of “ Ireland , and in Dark Rosaleen he has made the greatest , ’ because the most spiritual , patriotic poem in the world s litera ’

ture . One has to describe the best o f Mangan s poems as Cons cI OuS translations , but in doing so , one is that one has to im extend unduly the meaning o f the word . And yet, the pulse and the theme has come to him through the work Of Of m another , and this not only in the case poetry he took fro Irish sources but in the poetry that he drew from erman , G and Arabic sources . ’ was Mangan s poems were published in the forties . There

* a Mangan published in the Dublin University Magazine , publication which Poe had opportunities of seeing . Compare ’ ’ with Poe s Mangan s use Of repetitions and internal rhymes . nt then a conscious literary movement in Ireland . It we with the European democratic movement, with the coming to con l - i x s cious nes s o f many European nationa ities . At the t me the Finns were collecting their Magic Songs that were to be Of B0 woven into the enchanting epic the Kalavala , and the hemians were making their ﬁrst efforts to revive their dis tinc i t ve culture . And the Irish , with their ancient literary culti vation and their varied literary production , might be thought to be in a position to create a literature at once national and modern , intellectual and heroic . Under the leadership o f Thomas D avis a movement o f criticism and scholarship wa s — inaugurated a movement that might be looked to to have fruit in a generation . Then came the terrible disaster o f the famine— Of the f ’47 double famine , for the famine O followed the famine 346 ff o f . The e ect of this national disaster (until the war no European people had suffered such a calamity in two hun dred years ) was the making Of a great rent in the social life . How it affected everything that belonged to the imagination may be guessed at from a sentence written by George Petrie . He made the great collection o f Irish music, but in the pre face

. to his collection he laments that he . entered the ﬁeld too late What impressed him most about the Ireland after th e famin e “ ” h e th e . no was , as says , the sudden silence o f ﬁelds Be fore , one could have walked a roadway without hearing music and song ; now there was cessation , and this meant a break in the whole tradition . And what Petrie noted with regard to music was true for

n r t e. s ong and saga . The so g pe ished with the un The Older generation who were the custodians o f the national tradition the were the ﬁrst to go down to the famine graves . And in

' years ' that followed the people had little heart f or the r e “ l -Off s m emb er ing Of O d, unhappy, far things and battle long ” S r Of ago . The history o f Ireland ince is a ecord recovery h h of and rel apse a fter an attack that almostﬁmeant t e deat

the race. Of In 1 889, ending the account Gaelic literature that he gave

Of . in his Literary History Ireland, Dr Douglas Hyde wrote , “ The question whether the national language is to become wholly extinct like the Cornish is one which must be decided in the ” next ten years . A half a century and more has gone by and the question has not been decided . But it would have been decided ;

- Irish to day would have been virtually extinct if Douglas Hyde , -lor is poet , scholar , folk t and great leader , had not put himself O f at the head a popular movement, the Gaelic League, for the restoration Of Irish as a vernacular and a literary medium . The new . Irish state pegged down the gains made by the movement

- and put Irish in all the schools . TO day poems , essays and dramas written in Irish have a fair public . And in half the Irish poets now writing in English Gaelic inﬂuences on theme, rhythm and idiom are strongly marked .

But in pegging down the gains made by the popular movement , the national state acted with a certain intolerance, with an atti tude that discounted the Anglo-Irish contribution to Irish cul ture . The result has been, in certain quarters , a coolness and

- even an antipathy to the Gaelicising effort . In Eire to day every one Oi the younger generation can read works in Irish or can hear long and elaborate poems Of eighteenth century Gaelic poets over the radio . Irish poets writing in English, consequently, are Of aware another approach to poetry, have access to another material , know another idiom . Many have availed themselves Of these factors and have brought freshness and richness into their

. h poetry And even the poets w o have not done so, by reacting against Gaelicism have had to sharpen a di ff erent conviction and f ’ ﬁnd a di ferent style . There are poets who go back to O Rahilly and Raftery and express themselves in a Gaelic mode ; there are who Of poets , aware this mode, turn from it in order to be less local or more modern : their contact with Gaelicism has made their work unlike what it would have been if the inﬂuences were from English poetry solely . For quite some time, I believe , Irish - poetry in either mode will show cross fertilization .

Poetry written in English in Ireland has had a broken history. The use Of Middle English in Ireland began in the thirteenth and ended at the beginning Of the seventeenth century . But out Of what was written in this long period surprisingly little remains to us . English which had for competitors not only Irish, but - Norman French and Latin, spread in the thirteenth, but in the centuries following declined almost to extinction . The Norman

Statute Of Kilkenny forbade the use Of Irish in the Pale, that is - in the eastern counties that had an English speaking population . The year after this Statute was enacted the Fourth Earl Of s c ar Desmond was appointed Ju ti i for Ireland . This Earl ( Gerald t was the Rhymer) wro e poetry in Irish that still survives ; he ,

Of . in fact, the originator in Irish of the poetry courtly love And fﬁ so we have an instance Of a great o cial and a n aristocrat whose - n other language was Norman Fre ch turning, not to English

(the burgher language) , but to Irish, for the language and form

Of aristocratic poetry.

Modern English came to Ireland in the seventeenth century, and gradually spread over the whole country . This new English culture was moulded to some extent by the Older English culture nih r S ta u s t. in Ireland . The link between the two is Richard Stanihur s t was a Catholic and belonged to the Anglo - Ireland that was more Norman than Saxon . The succeeding writers f were Protestant and O the new times . But their intellectual n h r Chieftains , Swift and Berkeley, went to the school that Sta i u st was educated in, a famous school in Kilkenny that had been founded by the Norman and, until then, Catholic house of

rmond . ith Swift and Berkeley oldsmith came under that O W , G - influence . And this leads to the claim that in Anglo Irish litera fl e ture, even when it is unin u nced by Gaelic , there is a distinctive “ element . The Irish, born and educated in Ireland, were always in the preponderance among educated men in Ireland, and there was a true continuance of tradition ; which means that the true roots of culture in Ireland at present (ex cept for the real Gaelic elements in the west) are to be found in the Norman period , D 12 0- 1 5 A. 0 00 . , thus making Ireland quite parallel to England and S cotland ~ in each Of which a fusion Of Norman with local ” elements Of population took place in the same period . Modern English did not emerge victorious from the struggle with Irish until the middle Of the nineteenth century, and its victory then was largely due to the defeatism produced in the 12 domains to Irish tradition . The new writers who attempted to deal with the saga and epic material drew inspiration from ’ ’ r O G ady s Bardic History. Here then are two traditions that will continue to form Irish ' f poetry . And beside them is the tradition O folk poetry and m r popular balladry . But Irish poetry, it s ee s to me, is breaking away from many traditional influences . The younger poets seem to have acquired an individuality that is sometimes harsh .

I do not say that , leaving out certain names , they are gainers or losers by this : it could be maintained that they have lost a a quality that w s to the good, the freshness , say, that one finds f is in some of the younger contemporaries O Yeats . There less Of the countryside in them , less Of something hereditary, and more Of an individual outlook. As one reads some Of these recent poems one may recall such a poem as Yeats ’ “ Song of ” the Old Mother : she rises at dawn and blows the seed Of the fir e i into a glow ; she goes on with the household tasks wh le the young take it easy because they have their dreams ; she works “ f until the fire has to be covered again, for the seed O the fire Old gets feeble and cold . One feels that the mother is aware that all she does has been done for generations , and that there is — something over and above hardship in her doing Of them felt custom and felt community are in hat she . I nwhat she W _does says there is little assertiveness ; it goes with the traditional lilt in the verse . But the awareness Of custom and community is fading out Of the Irish countryside ; the poets Of to-day seem to have little support in the pieties that meant s O much in the days Of W . B . Yeats and Douglas Hyde . The Older poets , when they dealt with the countryside , took their matter from the folk ; the present-day poets take theirs from the individual peasant . Of Still , there is something community in Irish poetry of o- t day . And one can find a quality, I think, that is unusual in — modern poetry a quality that is entertaining . Sometimes that entertaining quality comes from the speech rhythms Of the a un verse, from words th t are colloquial and at the same time usual , a statement now and again that is witty or humourous .

These are surfaces and there is something deeper . Ultimately the entertainment that is in present-day Irish poetry comes from ’ e : the poets attitud to poetry for them, or for most Of them, poetry is not a private meditation but comes out of a topic that can has a group interest, and it comes, one think, as a ﬂourish to a heady conversation . 14 In the second section o f this Anthology there i s a collec-v tion Of songs mainly anonymous—the songs Of the street and i the countryside . These songs are a d stinctive national pos session , and , in many cases , they have been a medium through

which Gaelic inﬂuences have passed into English . Certain traditional songs Of the countryside have been passing over from Gaelic into English ever since E nglish began to be used familiarly here and there in the countryside . ot so many however ; very few o f the famous aelic songs N , G have been changed from Gaelic into English by the country f a people themselves . But as English became a little more miliar, or Gaelic a little less familiar , translations were made , or rather , transferences took place with the music remaining to keep the mould . Thus a technique that was more Gaelic than English grew up in the country places ; and even before scholarship made any revelation o f Gaelic literature to the f cultivated , an interpenetration O the two literatures was taking place . These anonymous songs are o f two distinct types—the song that has in it some personal emotion or imagining ; that comes out o f a reverie .

My love is like the sun , ﬁr n That in the m ame t does And always is c onstant and true ; i ' h But his is l ke t e moon ,

That wanders up and down ,

And every month it is new .

5 Says the Shan an Vocht V ,

The French are on the say, ’ They ll be here without delay,

And the Orange will decay, ch Says the Shan Van Vo t.

The ﬁrst is the song Of the countryside as it is found all the world over , the second is that very characteristic Irish prod

- uet, the street song or ballad It is the business Of the singer Of the street-song and Of the man who makes the verses for him to hold the casual crowd that happens to be at the fair or the market . The maker Of the street -song cannot prepare the mind of his audience for th e his story, and so he has to deal with an event signiﬁcance Of — a which has been already felt political happening, a mur — der, an execution . The maker o f the street song has to make f n h a himsel f the chorus in the drama o d aily happe ings . He s always to be dramatic :

I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand , “ And he said , How is poor Ireland , and how does she stand

’ F 0 then tell me , Shaun O ar r ell , why do you hurry so ?

— More than any other Anglo Irish verse product, these street songs show the inﬂuences Of Gaelic music and the technique s m o f Gaelic poetry . One ﬁnd stanzas the rhyth o f which reproduces the distinctive rhythm Of the music :

- On the blood crimsoned plains the Irish Brigade nobly stood , They fought at Orleans till the streams they ran with their blood ; h t Far away from their land , in t e arms o f dea h they repose , s . For they fought for poor France , and they fell by the hand

o f her foes .

’ A stanz a o f Moore s has been already quoted to show a - t Gaelic verse s ructure , with all the correspondences based on - a single vowel . In the street songs , and the more personal - songs o f the country side , made as they have been , by men more familiar with the Gaelic than with the English way o f n l making verse , , one O ften ﬁ ds the same e aborate and dis

' tinctive . structure Take, for instance, the song in the second “ ” ll h n section called The Boys o f Mu ag b au , in which all the “ ” correspondences are on the broad a °

On ear l a Monday morning y, as my wandering steps did la de me , ’ D ta ti n own by a farmer s s o , and the meadows and free lands , la nt ti n kin I heard great me a o the small birds they were m a g, “ ’ en a em ents Of Saying, We ll have no more g g with the Boys ” M ullaghbann !

Thus mus i c and the memory Of Gaelic verse has left in the Irish country places a technique that is as much Gaelic as l English . In not a l Of them , however ; in parts o f Ulster ,

Scots song has inﬂuence and currency. One o f the characteristics o f Irish poetry according to “ ” M acD na h o e. Thomas g is a certain naivet An Irish poet , “ i f he says , i f he be individual , he be original , i f he be na i n l t o a , speaks , almost stammers , in one o f the two fresh f languages O this country ; in Irish (modern Iris h , newly

- schooled by Europe ) , or in Anglo Irish , English as we speak it in Ireland . Such an Irish poet can still express himsel f in the simplest terms Of life and o f the common furniture Of

Thomas MacD onagh is speaking here Of the poetry that is d being written to ay, o f the poetry that comes out o f a com munity that is still mainly agricultural , that is still close to the soil , that has but few possessions . And yet, with this f “ th naivete there must go a great deal O subtility . Like e apanese says K unO Meyer the elts were always quic J , , C k to take an artistic hint ; they avoid the Obvious and the com ” m onplace ; the hal f-said thing to them is dearest ? This is said Of the poetry written in Ireland many centuries ago but the subtility that the critic c redits the Celts with is still a racial heritage . — Irish poetry begins with a dedication a dedication Of the race to the land . The myth o f the invasion tells that the ﬁrst act o f the invaders was the invoking Of the land Of Ireland Am r in its hills , its rivers , its forests , its c ataracts . e g , the * Literature in Ireland . An T cient Irish Poetry .

1 8 , Of ﬁrst poet pronounced the invocation from one their ships , to thereby dedicating the Milesian race the mysterious land . ’ That dedication is in many poems made since Am er gin s time - Of the dedication the poet to the land , o f the race to the

land .

When the Milesian Celts drew in their ships they found , be peopling the island , not a folk to destroyed or mingled

- with , but a remote and ever living race , the Tuath a De

Danaan , the Golden Race o f Hesiod . Between the Milesians Tuatha /Wa s m and the De Danaan a truce , ade with a parti tionin T g o f the country . O the Milesians went the upper sur

face and the accessible places , and to the D e Danaans went f O . the subterranean and the inaccessible , places the land

Thus , in Ireland , the Golden Race did not go down before t ‘ the men O f he Iron ace . They stayed to give glimpses Of ‘ R more lovely countries , more beautiful lovers , more passionate and adventurous lives to princes and peasants f or more than i a thousand years . And SO an enchantment has stayed n this — furthest Of European lands an enchantment that still lives through the Fairy Faith Of the people , and that left in the Old Of literature an allurement that, through the Lays Marie de rance through the memorable incidents in the Tristan F , n a d Iseult story, through the quests which culminated outside Of Of Ireland in the marvellous legend the Grail , has passed into European literature . Whether it has or has not to do with the prosaic issue Of - sel f determination , it is certain that Irish poetry in these lat ’ ter days is becoming more , and not less national . But it is no longer national in the deliberate way that Thomas Davis “ - thought it should be national , as condensed and gem like ” r - histo y, or , as his example in ballad making tended to make it national , by an insistence upon collective political feeling .

’ ’ Strongbow s force , and Henry s wile , ’ ’ Tudor s wrath and Stuart s guile ,

“National poetry binds us to the land by its condensed

- and gem like history. It ﬁres us in action , prompts our Of invention , sheds a grace beyond the power luxury round f our homes , it is the recognized envoy O our minds among all ” mankind , and to all time .

i on Hear in the ir s Sin P oe m To Be S a d g B d g

n Awaken there , the mor is fair, The birds sing free ; a k and Now dawns the day, wa e pray, And bend the knee ;

Was slain for thee .

The S ong of the Old Mother

a w RI SE in the d wn , and I kneel and blo Till the seed Of the ﬁre ﬂicker and glow ; And then I must scrub and bake and sweep Till stars ar e beginning to blink and peep ;

And the young lie long and dream , in their bed m O f the matching o f ribbons for boso and head , i n And their day goes over idleness , And they sigh i f the Wind but lift a tress Old While I must work because I am , h And t e seed of the ﬁre gets feeble and cold . On Wa king

Has touched me, n And passed o .

I arise, facing the east Pearl -doored sanctuary

‘

From which the light, - dew and ﬁr and linked with e H , Dances .

ail , essence hail ! H , Fill the windows Of my soul With beauty : Pierce and renew my bones Pour knowledge into my heart As Wine .

Cual ann is bright before thee . Its rocks melt and swim : The secret they have kept From the ancient nights Of darknes s s Flie like a bird .

What mourns ? ’ al nn s Cu a secret ﬂying. A lost voice

In endless ﬁelds . What r eJ Oi ces ? My voice lifted praising Praise ! Praise ! Praise ! s Praise out o f the trumpets , whose bras Is the unyoked s trength Of bulls ;

A D ay in I r ela nd

— FOUR sharp scythes sweeping i n concert keeping - b ’ ’ The rich ro ed meadow s broad bosom o er, our strong men mowing with bright health glowing F , A long green swath spread each man before ;

’ With s inews — m springing y keen blade swinging, — I strode the fourth man in that blithe band ;

As stalk o f corn that summer morn ,

The scythe felt light in my stalwart hand .

Oh of ! HOW , King Glory changed my story, ’ — ince in youth s noontide long, long ago , S — I mowed that meadow mo cloudy shadow ’ Between my brow and the hot sun s glow ; Fair girls raking the hay— and making The ﬁelds resound with their laugh and glee, T — ’ heir voices ringing than cuckoo s singing,

Made m usic sweeter by far to me .

h d C B ees overe over the honied lover, Then nes tward hied upon wings Of light ; No use in trying to t race them ﬂying ’ One Of . brie f low hum and they re out sight,

On downy thistle bright insects nestle , Or ﬂutter Skyward on painted wings , At times alighting on ﬂOWer s inviting ’ Twas pleasant watching the airy things .

HD r ov er

‘ MEATH Of the pastures O , T Fr om wet , hills by the sea, Through Leitrim and Longford

GO my cattle and me .

I hear in the darkness

Their slipping and breathing . I name them the bye -ways ’ They re to pass without heeding.

Then the wet, winding roads , Brown bogs with black water And my thoughts on white ships ’ ’ 0 d And the King Spain s aughter .

! ! O farmer , strong farmer You can spend at the fair But your face you must turn TO your crops and your care .

And soldiers—red soldiers ! ’ You ve s een many lands ;

But you walk two by two, ’ And by captain s command s .

! ! O the smell o f the beasts, The wet wind in the mom ; And the proud and hard earth Never broken for corn

The Blind M a n a t the Fa ir 0 TO be blind !

To know the darkness that I know .

The stir I hear is e mpty wind ,

The people idly come and go .

’ The sun is black, tho warm and kind ,

The horsemen ride, the streamers blow ainly in the ﬂuk wind V y , For all is darkness where I go .

Th e cattle bellow to their kind ,

The mummers dance , the j ugglers throw, The thimble-rigger speaks his mind

But all is darkness where I go .

I feel the touch Of womankind , Their dresses ﬂow as white as snow But beauty is a withered rind

For all is darkness where I go .

Of Last night the moon Lammas shined , Rising high and setting low ; But light is nothing to the blind

All, all is darkness where they go .

White roads I walk with vacant mind ,

- White cloud shapes round me drifting slow, White lilies waving in the wind

And darkness everywhere I go . S PH A M P JO E C BELL. And I must maintain them .

But , lest your kissing should be spoiled , Your onions must be tho roughly Or else you may spa re

Your mistress a share , The secret will never be known She can-not discover

But think it as sweet as her own.

B e not spar in

Better never was trie d . ome eat them with ur fresh butter C , p e

Their bellie s are so ft , and as white as a custard . d Come , Sixpence a dozen , to get me some brea ,

herrings , I soon shall be dead . And thought you called to me ;

And when I woke this morning, John, Yoursel f I hoped to s ee ; - But I was all alone , John John , Though still I heard your call ;

I put my boots and bonnet on ,

And took my Sunday shawl , n And went full sure to ﬁnd you , Joh ,

At Nenagh fair .

- Five years ago to day, When ﬁrst you left the thimble -men And came with me away : For there again were thimble -men

And shooting galleries , - nd - And card trick men a maggie men ,

O f all sorts and degrees , Of - But not a sight you , John John,

I turned my face to home again , And called myse lf a fool ’ TO think you d leave the thimble-men

And live again by rule , To go to ma ss and kee p And till the little patch ; My wish to have you home was past B efore I raised the latch

And pushed the door and saw you , John,

Sitting down there .

How c ool you came n here begad i , , As i f you owned the place !

But rest yourself there now, my lad, ’ Tis good to see your face ;

My dream is out, and now by it I think I know my mind : ’ ’ At six O clock this house you ll quit, And leave no grief behind ’ - But until six O clock, John John, ’ ll My bit yOu share .

’ The neighbours shame o f me began When ﬁrst I brought you in To wed and keep a tinker man They thought a kind Of sin ; But now this three years since you ’ve gone ’ Tis pity me they do , ’ - And that I d rather have , John John , ’ Than that they d pity you , - Pity for me and you , John John ,

I could not bear .

’ Oh , you re my husband right enough , ’ But what s the good Of that ? You know you never were the stuff

TO be the cottage cat , TO watch the ﬁre and hear me lock The door and put out Shep i ’ But there , now, it s six O clock And time for you to step od bless and keep you far ohn -John ! G , J ’ And that s my prayer . A D ONA H THOMAS M C G . The gos s I DS Sitting in a row : How Feylim eed took wi fe by throat

° And one, and then another, said

Ah , fortunate i f now she die ; For piteous is a cloth -bound head ’ Instead Of be auty s ﬂashing eye .

Else to some desert let her go

E But ancient e f a whispered low . “ Simply you read the story then .

NO other word Old Befa spoke

“ But smiling blinked from Side to side , “ m Till Enna , breathless , on the , broke

Her mouth and eyes with horror wide.

” He gropes his way , his eyes are out ! ” “ ? Fa lim eed ! Who gropes his way Why, y ’ c The blind at s ﬁngers , without doubt ” “ ot at them sleeping ? Nay indeed , G ,

NO ﬁngers but his own plucked , ﬂung

Them dazzling in the sullen tide,

For ah , they say his heart was wrung ’ ” TO see the wreck o f beauty s pride .

AD I a golden ound to . s end H p p ,

Easy to turn on the kit chen ﬂoor .

With birds in ﬂight and ﬂowers in bloom ,

TO face with pride the road to town ,

And mellow down her sunlit room .

’ And with the silver change we d prove ‘ ’ The Truth Of Love to life s own e nd, Coolun H , HAD you seen the , ’ king down by the cuckoo s s treet, With the dew Of the meadow shining l - On her mi k white twinkling feet .

My love she is , and my colleen 6g

' ’ And she dwells in Bal nagar ; And she bears the palm o f beauty bright

From the fairest that in E rin are .

Bright beauty dwells forever

’ Oh , sweeter is her mouth s so ft music

Than the lark or thrush at dawn , O r the blackbird in th e g reenwood singing

Farewell to the s etting sun .

bo ! Rise up, my y make ready f My horse, for I orth would ride, TO follow the modest damsel , Where she walks on the green hill -side

For ever since youth were we plighted , W In faith, troth, and edlock true ’ e s r Oh , she s sweet r to me nine time ove Than organ or cuckoo ! For ever since my Childhood I loved the fair and darling child

But our people came between us , d ﬁl And with lucre our pure love e ed m Oh , y woe it is , and my bitter pain ,

And I weep it night and day, That the colleen ban Of my early love

Is torn from my heart away .

weetheart and faith ful treasure S ,

Be constant still , and true ; Nor for want o f herds and houses ’ Leave one who would ne er leave you . ’ I ll pledge you the blessed Bible ,

Without and eke within , That the faith ful God will provide for Without thanks to kith or kin .

Oh , love , do you remember

When we lay all night alone,

Beneath the ash in the winter s torm , When the oak wood round did groan ?

NO shelter then from the storm had we,

The bitter blast o r sleet ,

But your gown to wrap about our heads ,

And my coat round our feet .

l IR A ERGU S N . Trans a ted by S S MUEL F O Ha ve You B een a t Gar r ick?

A E you been at arrick and saw my true -love there ? H V C , ? And saw you her features , all beauti ful , bright , and fair t he - ? Saw you most fragrant, ﬂowering, sweet apple tree ! ? Oh saw you my loved one, and pines she in grief like me

h - e ; I ave been at Carrick, and saw thy own true love ther And saw, too , her features , all beautiful , bright and fair ; - And saw the most fragrant, ﬂowering , sweet apple tree I — ! saw thy loved one she pines not in grie f , like thee

Five guineas would price every tress Of her golden hair

Then think what a tre asure her pillow at night to share , These tresses thick-clustering and curling around her brow ! ’ ! Oh , Ringlet o f Fairness I ll drink to thy beauty now

When seeking to slumber , my bosom is rent with sighs ’ I toss on my pillow till m orning s blest beams arise ;

NO aid bright Beloved ! can reach me save od above , , G For a blood -lake is formed o f the light Of my eyes with love !

Until yellow Autumn shall usher the Paschal day, And Patrick’ s gay festival come in its train alway ' m coﬂi n w Although through y the blossoming boughs shall gro , l My love on another I ’ ll never in life bestow !

- LO ! yonder the maiden illustrious , queen like, high , With long-ﬂowing tresses adown to her sandal -tie

Swan , fair as the lily, descended o f high degree , Of e a e ! A myriad welcomes , d ar maid o f my he rt, to the Tr ans la ted by EDWARD WALS H. The sun and the moon are gone ,

The strand o f its waters is bare .

The cuckoo was calling all day, b Hid in the branches a ove , H Oir in ow my s t is ﬂed away, ’ Tis my grie f that I gave her my love.

Sorrow and Si n and death And my mind reminding me

But s weeter than violin or lute — f Is my love and she le t me behind.

I wish that all music were mute .

And I to all beauty were blind .

’ She s more shapely than swan by th e strand ,

’ “ She s more radiant than grass a fter dew, ’ She s more fair than the stars where they s tand ’ Tis my grie f that her ever I knew ! Tr ans la ted b H S MACDONAGH y T OMA . Who r ou e ? , with heart in b east , could deny y lov Pear l of the White Br eas t

’ HE E S a colleen fair as May T R , f r . For a year and o a day, ’ I ve sought by every way her heart to gain ’ There s no art o f tongue or eye ond youths with maidens try F , ’ But I ve tried with ceaseless Sigh , yet tried

I f to France or far -Off Spain he ’ d cross the watery main S , ’ TO see her face again the sea I d brave . And i f ’ tis Heaven’ s decree T hat mine she may not be , , May the Son o f Mary me in mercy s ave !

0 - thou blooming milk white dove , ’ To whom I ve given true love,

' ~ D O not ever thus reprove my constancy. r There a e maidens would be mine ,

With wealth in hand and kine, I f my heart would but incline to turn from

m But a kiss with welco e bland , And a touch o f thy dear hand Are all that I demand wouldst thou not spurn

For if not mine , dear girl , 0 Snowy-B reasted Pearl ! May I never from the fair with life return !

Tr n l te G . a s a d by GEOR E PETRIE

Cois na Teinea dh

WHERE glows the Irish hearth with There lives a subtle spell

The faint blue smoke , the gentle heat,

. The moorland , odours tell

O f white roads winding by the edge Of bare, untamed land , Where dry stone wall or ragged hedge

Runs wide on either hand .

To cottage lights that lure you in From rainy Western skies ; And by the friendly glow Within

O f simple talk, and wise,

, .J

or a s And tales o f magic, love rm From days when princes met To listen to the lay that charms The onnacht easant yet C p ,

T s ns here Honour shine through passio dire , There beauty blends with mirth e Wild hearts, ye never did aspir Wholly for things of e arth ! — old cold th s thousand years yet still C , i On many a time-stained page d d s w Your pri e , your truth , your auntles ill ,

Burn on from age to age.

The Ba lla d of Fa ther Gilliga n

HE old priest eter Gilligan T , P , Was weary night and day ;

For half his ﬂock were in their beds ,

Or under green sods lay .

a c Once , while he nodded on hair, - At the moth hour o f eve,

Another poor man sent for him,

And he began to g rieve .

I have no rest, nor j oy, nor peace , -For people die and die God ! And after cried he, forgive ” n I My body spake , ot > !

He knelt, and leaning on the chair e prayed and fell asleep H , - And the moth hour went from the ﬁelds ,

And stars began to peep .

They slowly into millions grew,

And leaves shook in the wind , e And God covered the world with shad ,

And whispered to mankind .

Upon the time Of sparrow chirp

When the moths come once more , l n The O d priest, Peter Gilliga ,

. Stood upright on the , ﬂoor r - r M av one, m av one ! the man has died ,

While I slept on the chair . e roused his horse out o f it slee H s p , And rode with little c are .

The sick man ’ s wife opened the door “ ” Father ! you come again .

“ He died an hour ago . O ld The priest, Peter Gilligan,

In grief swayed to and fro .

“ When you were gone , he turned and died ” As merry as a bird . ’ l The O d priest, Peter Gilligan ,

‘ n He k elt him at that word .

He wh o hath made the night o f stars

For souls who tire and bleed , Sent one o f His great angels down

' To help me in my need .

wh o He is wrapped in purple robes, With planets in His care Had pity on the least o f things

Asleep upon a chair .

49 B a lla d of D ouglas Br idg e

Douglas Brid e I met a man O N g Who lived adj acent to Strabane, Be fore the English hung him high ’ H l For riding with O an on.

The eyes o f him were j ust as fresh As when they burned within the ﬂesh ; nd his boot-legs wide apart A “ were ’ H nlon From riding with O a .

I od save you ir , said with fear , G , S ” You seem to be a stranger here . “ “ Not I , said he, nor any man ’ H nl n Who rides with Count O a o .

I know each glen from North Tyrone ’ To Monaghan , and I ve been known By every clan and parish since ’ H nl n I rode with Count O a o .

Before that time , said he to me, My fathers owned the land you s ee ; But they are now among the moors ’ ” A- H riding with O anl on.

h e d Be fore that time , said with pri e, My fathers rode where now they ride s a arees before the time A R pp , ’ O Hanl n O f trouble and o .

5 0

J OL LY PHOEBUS his car to the ‘ coach - house had — And unharnessed his high mettled horses of light ; H n e gave them a feed from the ma ger of heaven,

And rubbed them and littered them up for the night .

Then down to the kitchen he leisurely strode ,

was ° Where Thetis , the housemaid , sipping her tea

‘ ’ a amn d u - He swore he w s tired with that d p hill road, ’ He d have none of her slops nor hot water , not he .

So she took from the corner a little cruiskeen . Well ﬁlled with nectar Apollo loves best ;

(From the neat Bog of Allen , some pretty poteen) ,

And he tippled his quantum and staggered to rest .

- — His many caped box coat around him he threw , ’ *of For his bed, faith , twas dampish , and none the best ;

All above him the clouds their bright fringed curtains drew,

vves t.

ANONYMOUS .

‘ Thr ough the Open D o or

H m T ROUGH the open door the hu of rosaries

The tre es Heard nothing stranger than the rain or the wind Or the birds

But deep in their roots they knew a seed had sinned .

was In the graveyard a goat. nibbling at a yew, ’ The cobbler s éhickens with anx 1 ous looks

Were straggling home through nettles , over graves . A young girl down a hill was driving cows

- To a corner at the gable end of a rooﬂess house .

The supper hurried,

Hens shut in,

Horses unyoked,

And three men shaving before the same mirror .

The trip of iron tips on tile mi Hesitated up the ddle aisle , Heads that were bowed glanced up to see

Who could this last arrival be .

’ vomes c Murmur of women s from the por h,

Memories of relations in the graveyard . On the stem

Of memory imaginations blossom . In the dim

Corners in the side seats faces gather , Lit up now and then by a guttering candle h And the g ost of day at the window .

The Spinning Wheel

’E W the moonlight to shine is beginning M LLO , Close by the window young Eileen l s spinning B nandm oth er ent over the ﬁre her blind g , sitting,

Is crooning, and moaning, and drowsily knitting h ” ac ora . Eileen , , I hear someone tapping “ ’ Tis the ivy, dear mother , against the glass ﬂapping . E ” ily, I surely hear somebody sighing . ’ Tis the sound , mother , dear, o f the summer wind dying . M errily, cheerily, noiselessly whirring, ’ wings the wheel s ins the wheel while the foot s stirring ; S , p , nd Sprightly, a brightly, and airily ringing

Thrills the sweet voice o f the young maiden singing .

“ ’ ” VVhat s that noise th at I hear at the window, I wonder ? ” “ ’ - Tis the little birds chirping the holly bush under . “ m ovm What makes you be shoving and g your stool on, f The And singing, all wrong , that old song o f There ’ s a form at the casement— the form o f her true love “ ’ And he whispers , with face bent, I m waiting for you , love ; et up on the stool through the lattice step lightly G , , ’ ’ We ll rove in the grove , while the moon s shining brightly . M errily, cheerily, noiselessly whirring, ’ wings the wheel s ins the wheel , while the foot s stirring ; S , p prightly and brightly and airily r ng ng S , , i i Thrills the s weet voice o f the young maiden s inging.

Ringleted Youth of M y L ove

ING ETED youth o f m love R L y , With thy locks bound loosely behind thee, v You passed by the road abo e, But you never came in to ﬁnd me ; Where were the ha rm for you

I f you came for a little to see me, Your kiss is a wakening dew

Were I ever so ill or so dreamy.

I f I had golden store

- I would make a nice little boreen ,

To lead straight up to his door, The door o f the house o f my storeen ; Hoping to God not to miss

The sound of his footfall in it, I have waited so long for his kiss

That for days I have not slept a minute .

I thought, oh my love ! you were s o

As the moon is , or the sun on a fountain,

And I thought after that you were snow, The cold snow on the top o f the mountain And I thought after that you were more ’ Like God s lamp shining to ﬁnd me ,

s tar f of O r the bright knowledge before, o f And the star knowledge behind me .

D o You Rememb er Tha t Night?

D O YOU remember that night

That you were at the window,

With neither hat nor gloves , Nor coat to shelter you

I reached out my hand to you ,

And you ardently grasped it, And I remained in converse with Until the lark began to sing ?

you remember that night That you and I were

At the foot o f the rowan tree, And the night dri fting snow ;

Your head on my breast, And your pipe sweetly playing?

I little . thought that night

Our ties o f love would ever loosen.

O beloved o f my inmost heart, Come some night, and soon , When my people are at rest, That we may talk together ;

My arms shall encircle you , While I relate my sad tale se That it is your pleasant , so ft conver

That has deprived me o f heaven .

6 0

The S ong of the Ghos t

HEN all were dr eammg but Pa s th een Power W , A light came streaming beneath her bower ,

A heavy foot at her door delayed ,

‘ A heavy hand on the latch wa s laid .

e Now who dare ventur at this dark hour , Unbid to enter my maiden bower ? ” “ P s h n Dear a t ee , open the door to me , ’ ” And your true lover you ll surely see .

' M r y own true lover , so tall and b ave, ” Lives exiled over the angry wave .

“ ’ ‘ Your true love s body lies on the bier, ” His faith ful spirit is with you here .

’ r h r l His look was c ee f u , his voice was gay i Your speech is fearful . your look s gray ; n And sad and su ken your eye o f blue , ’ But Patrick, Patrick, alas tis you .

Ere dawn wa s breaking she heard below

The two cocks shaking their wings to crow . “ O hush you , hush you , both red and gray, ” O r you will hurry my love away .

L ulla by

FT now the burn is rushing S O LY ,

Every lark its song is hushing,

On the moor thick rest is falling, Just one heather -blade is calling

Calling , calling, lonely, lonely,

For my darling, for my only, L eanbhain O L ea nbhain ! , O

Trotting home , my dearie , dearie, ri Wee black lamb comes , wea e , wearie, Here its so ft feet pit-a -patting ’ Quickly o er the ﬂowery matting, — S ee its brown -black eyes a blinking ’ O f its bed it s surely thinking, L n / L n hat ea bhain O, ea b n O!

’ The hens to roost wee Nora s shooing, ‘ m m B rindley in the byre is oo g, ’ - The tired out cricket s quit its calling,

Velvet sleep on all is falling, Lark and cow, and sheep and starling, i - Feel it kiss our wh te haired darling, L nbhain O! L eanbhain O, ea S SEUMA S MACMANU .

64 I LIE down with God , and may God lie down God The right hand o f under my head , n The two ha ds o f Mary round about me ,

The cross o f the nine white angels , From the back o f my head

And may evil not lie with me .

r Anna, mother o f Ma y, ri Mary, mother o f Ch st ,

I myself beseech these three

To keep the couch free from sickness . The tree on which Christ suff ered Be b etween me and the heavy- lying

And a ny other thing that seeks my harm .

With th e will o f God and the aid o f the glorious Virgin . l t Tr ans a ed ELEANOR HULL. The nightmare.

Where are the legs with which you run When ﬁrst you went to carry a gun ?

Indeed , your dancing days are done ! ! Och , Johnny, I hardly knew ye

With drums , etc .

It grieved my heart to see you sail , Hurroo ! hurroo !

It grieved my hea rt to see you sail , Hurroo ! hurroo ! a It grieved my he rt to see you sail , Though from my heart you took leg-bail ’ and Like a cod you re doubled up head tail , oh ! Och , J nny, I hardly knew ye

With drums , etc .

’ ’ You haven t an arm and you haven t a leg, Hurroo ! hurroo ! ’ ’ You haven t an arm and you haven t a leg, urroo ! hurroo ! H " ’ ’ le You haven t an arm and you haven t a g, ’ hick nl s You re an eyeless , noseless , c e es egg ’ You ll have to be put with a bowl to ! Och , Johnny, I hardly knew ye

With drums , etc .

“ ’ I m happy for to see you home , Hurroo ! hurroo ! ’ m I m happy for to see you ho e , Hurroo ! hurroo ! ’ I m happy for to see you home, All from the Island o f S ull oon ;

S O low in ﬂesh , so high in bone ; ! Och , Johnny, I hardly knew ye

With drums , etc .

But sad it is to see you so , Hurroo ! hurroo !

But s ad it is to s e e you so , Hurroo ! hurroo !

’ Nell Fla her ty s Dr a k e

Y NAM E it is Nell right candid I tell , M , ’ a And I live near dell I ne er will deny,

I had a large drake , the truth for to spake ,

My grandfather left me when going to die ,

e was merry and sound and would weigh twenty pound, H , The universe round would I rove for his sake .

Bad luck to the robber , be he drunken or sober , ’ That murdered Nell Flaherty s beautiful drake .

Hi s neck it was green , and rare to be seen , r He was ﬁt for a queen o f the highest deg ee .

is body so white it would you delight , H ,

e was fat lump and heavy and brisk as a bee. H , p , , T his dear little fellow, his legs they were yellow ,

e could ﬂy like a swallow or swim like a hake , H , But b e some wicked abbage , to grease his white cabbag , Has murdered Nell Flaherty’ s beautiful drake !

Ma n y his pig never grunt , may his cat ever hunt ,

That a ghost m ay him haunt in the dark o f the night. Ma y his hens never lay, may his horse never neigh , May his goat ﬂy away like an old paper kite ; Ma y his duck never quack, may his goose be turned black

. And pull down his stack , with her long yellow be ak May the scurvy and itch never part from the b r itch ’ Of the wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty s drake ! ’ ' r May his rooster ne er c ow, may his bellows not blow, Nor potatoes to grow—may he never have none

May his cradle not rock, may his chest have no lock,

May his wife have no frock for to shade her backbone .

That the bugs and the ﬂeas may this wicked wretch tease ,

And a piercing north breeze make him tremble and shake . ’ May a four-years -old bug build a nest in the lug ’ O f the monster that murdered Nell Flaherty s drake .

- May his pipe never smoke , may his tea pot be broke, And to add to the j oke may his kettle not boil ;

May he be poorly fed till the hour he is dead . Ma h y e always be fed on lobscouse and ﬁsh oil .

May he swell with the gout till his grinders fall out, he May roar , howl , and shout with a horrid toothache,

May his temple wear horns and his toes carry corns , ’ The wretch that murdered Nell Flaherty s drake .

May his dog yelp and howl with both hunger and cold ,

May his wi fe always scold till his brains go astray .

May the curse o f each hag that ever carried a bag ,

Light down on the wag till his head it turns gray . ff May monkeys still bite him , and mad dogs a right him ,

And every one slight him , asleep or awake . Ma w y asps ever gnaw him , and j ackdaws ever claw him , h ’ T e monster that murdered Nell Flaherty s drake .

But the only good news I have to diff use , d Is of Peter Hughes and Paddy McCa e , - n And crooked Ned Manson , and big nosed Bob Hanso ,

Each one had a grandson o f my beautiful drake . ! Oh my bird he has dozens of nephews and cousins ,

And one I must have , or my heart it will break . ’ To keep my mind easy, or else I ll run crazy,

And so ends th e song o f my beauti ful drake .

7 3 Alla lu Mo Wa ulee n

(The Beggar ’ s Address to His B ag)

D neighbors dear , be cautious , GOO , ’ And covet no man s pounds or pence . ’ Ambition s greedy maw shun , And tread the path o f innocence !

Dread crooked ways and cheating ,

And be not like those hounds o f Hell , n Like prowling wolves awaiti g ,

Which once upon my footsteps fell .

ll l l n An a a u mo wau ee , My little bag I treasured it ; ’ Twas stuffed from string to s aul een, A thousand times I measured it !

Should you ever reach Dungarvan ,

That wretched hole o f dole and sin ,

Be on your sharpest guard , man , ’ Or the eyes out o f your head they ll pin .

S ince I left sweet Tipperary,

They eased me o f my cherished loa d ,

And left me light and airy, A poor dark man upon the road !

An all alu mo waul een ! NO hole , no stitch , no rent in it , ’ Twas stuff ed from string to s auleen, ’ - My half year s rent was pent in it .

74 A gay gold ring unbroken ,

A token to a fair young maid ,

Which told o f love unspoken ,

To one whose hopes were long delayed , h n A pair o f woolen os e e ,

lOs rib C e knitted , without or seam , - n And a pound o f w eed well chose , Such as smokers taste in dream !

all alu waul een An mo , Such a store I had in it ; ’ ff l Twas stu ed from string to s au een, And nothing mean or bad in it !

Full Of t in cosy corner ’ s it We d beside a winter ﬁre ,

Nor envied prince or lord , or T n o kingly ra k did we aspire .

But twice they overhauled us ,

The dark police o f aspect dire ,

h ir d Because they feared , Mo C a ea s , You held the dreaded Fenian ﬁre !

alla lu waul een An mo ,

My bag and me they sundered us , ’ ff l Twas stu ed from string to s au een, My bag o f bags they sundered us !

“ o Yourself and I, mo st reen ,

At every hour o f night and day, Through road and lane and boh r een

‘ Without complaint we made our way, ' Till one sore day a carman

In pity took us from the road , And faced us towards Dungarvan

Where mortal sin hath ﬁrm abode.

75 llal l An a u mo wau een,

Without a hole or rent in it , ’ l Twas stuffed from string to s au een, ’ My half -year s rent was pent in it !

M y curses attend Dungarvan ,

er boats , her borough and her sh H , ﬁ , May every woe that mars man Come dancing down upon her dish !

For all the rogues behind you , ’ ’ l n From S a ey s bank to Shannon s tide,

Are but poor scholars , mind you , the rogues you ’ d meet in Abbeyside !

allalu mo waul een An ,

My little bag I treasured it, ’ Twas stuff ed from string to s auleen, A thousand times I measured

h h l There is an Inn w ere you call in , I have eard p eop e

break o f day

i ” I f I rap and call and pay for all , the money s all my Own ’ d e h And I ll never spen your fortun , for I hear you ave got

B t ’ n u I ll leave you where I fou d you, at the foot I Know M y L ove

wa I KNOW my Love by his y o f walking, w And I kno my love by his way o f talking ,

And I know my love dressed in a suit Of blue , " if m ? And y Love leaves me , what will I do “ And still she cried , I love him the best,

And a troubled mind , sure , can know no rest , , " “ are f ew And still she cried , Bonny boys , ” s ? And i f my Love leave me , what will I do

’ There is a dance h ouse in Mar dyke , And there my true love goes every night H e takes a strange one upon his knee , ’ ? And don t you think, now, that vexes me “ And still she cried , I love him the best ,

And a troubled mind , sure , can know no rest , “ And still she cried , Bonny boys are few, ? ” And i f my Love leaves me , what will I do

I f my Love knew I could wash and wring,

I f my Love knew I could weave and spin ,

I would make a dress all o f the ﬁnest kind ,

But the want of money, sure , leaves me behind .

And still she cried , I love him the best,

And a troubled mind , sure , can know no rest, “ And still she cried , Bonny boys are few, ? ” And i f my Love leaves me, what will I do

I know my Love is an arrant rover, ’ e o r I know he ll wander the wid world ve ,

The L a mbs on the Gr e e n Hills S tood G a z ing

on M e

HE l ambs on the green hills stood gazing on me T ,

And many strawberries grew round the salt sea ,

And many a ship sailed the ocean .

’ And bride and bride s party to church they did go ,

The bride she rode foremost, she bears the best show,

But I followed after with my heart full o f woe, T o s ee wed . , my love to another

’ The ﬁrst place I saw her twas in the church stand ,

Gold rings on her ﬁnger and love by the hand , “ Says I , My wee lassie, I will be the man

Although you are wed to another .

“ a The next place I saw her wa s on the w y home , kn m I ran on before her, not ow g where to roam , “ ’ ee Says I , My w lassie , I ll be by your side

Although you are wed to another .

’ ’ The next place I saw her twas laid in bride s bed , I j umped in beside her and did kiss the bride ; ” “ Stop , stop , said the groomsman , till I speak a word , Will you venture your life on the point o f my sword ? ’ For courting so slowly you ve lost this fair maid , ’ r e her. S O begone, for you ll neve nj oy

8 1

HE T winter is past,

The hearts o f these are glad

But my poor heart is sad ,

Since my true l ove is absent from me .

The rose upon the briar By th e water running clear Gives j oy to the linnet and the bee ; Their little he arts are ble s t

But mine is not at rest , While my true love is absent from

A livery I ’ll wear ’

And I ll comb out my hair, ’ And in velvet so green I ll appear, And straight I will repair T o the Curragh o f Kildare ’ ’ For it s there I ll ﬁnd tidings o f my

I ’ ll wear a cap o f black

Gold rings on my ﬁngers I ’ ll wear All this I ’ ll undertake ’ - For my true lover s sake , H th e resides at e Curragh o f Kildare . Thus the world for to range , I f I only get tidings o f my dear ;

’ If I m bound to remain ,

I would spend my whole life in despair .

ﬁr m am n r n That in the e t does u , And always proves constant and t rue ;

That wanders up and down ,

And every month is new .

And cannot it remove ,

For experience lets me know

That your hearts are full o f woe,

a no mortal can cure .

’ J oh nny s the L a d I L ove

Being in the youthful spring,

I leaned my back close to the garden wall , the To hear small birds sing .

t—wo And to hear lovers talk, my dear ,

To know what they would say, That I might know a little Of her mind

Before I would go away.

d ome sit you own, my heart , he says , “C All on this pleasant green , ’ It s full three -quarters o f a year and more r ” Since togethe you and I have been .

I will not sit on the grass , she said ,

Now nor any other time, ’ For I hear you re eng aged with another maid,

And your heart is no more o f mine .

’ Oh , I ll not believe what an old man says ,

For his days are well nigh done . Nor will I believe what a young man says, ’ For he s fair to many a one .

But I will climb a high , high tree, ’ And rob a Wild bird s nest, ’ And I ll bring back whatever I do ﬁnd r ” To the a ms I love the b est, she said , “ ” To h t e arms I love the be st . ’ I Know Wher e I m G oing

’ KN W where I m gowg I O , ’ I know who s going with me, h I know w o I love, ’ _But the dear knows wh o I ll

’ I ll have stockings o f silk, of Shoes ﬁne green leather, Combs to buckle my hair And a ring for every ﬁnger .

Feather beds are so ft, Painted rooms are bonny ; But I ’ d leave them all

To go with my Johnny. “ love

’ Some say he s dark, ’ I say he s bonny, ’ He s the ﬂower of them a ll x My handsome, c oa mg Johnny.

’ I know Where I m going, ’ I know Who s going with me , -I I know Who love, ’ B t r h u the dea knows w o I ll marry.

8 7 Cas hel of Muns ter

’ ED you without herds without money or rich array I W , , , D ’ And I d wed you on a dewy morning at daydawn grey ;

My bitter woe it is , love, that we are not far away a In Cashel town , though the bare deal board were our marri ge bed this day

O , fair maid, remember the green hill side , Remember how I hunted about the valleys wide ;

Time now has worn me ; my locks are turned to grey, n ! The year is scarce and I am poor , but se d me not , love , away

O , deem not my blood is of base strain, my girl ,

0 , deem not my birth was as the birth of the churl ; r m Marry me , and p ove e, and say soon you will , That noble blood is written on my right side still !

om My purse holds no red gold, no c of the silver white, No herds a r e mine to drive through the long twilight ! ul But the pretty girl that wo d take me, all bare though I be and

lone, ’ 0 , I d take her with me kindly to the county Tyrone .

’ O , my girl I can see tis in trouble you are , ’ ’ : And , O , my girl , I see tis your people s reproach you bear “ I am a girl in trouble for his sake with whom I ﬂy, ” And , 0 , may no other maiden know such reproach as I !

ns l te I R G . Tr a a d by S SAMUEL FER USON

’ And evermore I m whistling or lilting what you sung,

Your smile is always in my heart, your name beside my tongue ; \ But you ’ ve as many sweethearts as you ’ d count on both your

hands , ’ And for mysel f there s not a thumb or little ﬁnger stands .

’ ’ 0 n Oh , you re the ﬂower womankind in country or in tow ; ’ The higher I exalt you , the lower I m cast down

I f some great lord should come this way , and see your beauty

bright . ’

as . And you to be his lady, I d own it w but right

we Oh , might live together in a lo fty palace hall , Where oyful music rises and here scarlet curtains fall ! j , W we Oh , might live together in a cottage mean and small, ! With s ods or grass the only roo f , and mud the only wall

’ 0 lovely Mary Donnelly, your beauty s my distress , ’ — ' ’ but . It s far too beauteous to be mine , I ll never wish it less u r and The pro dest place would ﬁt you face , I am poor and

blessings be about you , dear , wherever you may go . G‘ A WILLIAM ALLIN H M .

90 E GRIEVE when I think on the dear happy days o f m y

youth , ’ When all ' the bright dreams o f this faithl e ss world s eem d truth ; ’ ’ W s tr a d - hen I y thro the green wood , as gay as a mid summer

bee , In brotherly love with my D r aher in O Machree !

- Together we lay in the swee t scented meadows to rest , ’ ’ ’ ch d n Together we wat the gay lark as he su g o er his nest , Together we plucked the red fruit o f the fragrant hawthorn

tree, D r ah er in ! And I loved as a sweetheart , my O Machree

m His for was straight as a hazel that grows in the glen , His manners were courteous , and social , and gay amongst

‘ ’ H is bosomwas white as the lily On summer s green lea

’ ’ ‘ Hes God s b rightest image was D r aher in O Machree !

Oh ! sweet were his words as th e honey that falls in the

night,

- And his young smiling face like the May bloom was fresh , and as bright ; His eyes were like dew on the ﬂower o f the sweet apple tree ; ’ My heart s spring and summer wa s D r ah er in O Machree !

D own by the Gl e ns ide

D OWN by the glenside I met an old woman

A plucking young nettles nor saw I wa s coming, I listened awhile to the song she was humming “ Glory 0 ! Glory 0 ! to the Bold Fenian Men .

’ eamin Tis ﬁfty long years since I saw the moon b , ’ ’ leamin On strong manly forms an on eyes with hope g , ’ - I see them again sure thro all my day dreamin, r Glory 0 ! Glo y O ! to the Bold Fenian Men .

’ ’ ’ When I was a girl their marchin an dr illin ’ ’ hr illin Awoke in the glens ide sounds awesome an t , They loved poor old Ireland an’ to die they were Willin’ ” Glory 0 ! Glory 0 ! to the Bold Fenian M en.

Some died by the glenside, some died mid the stranger ,

And wise men have told us their cause was a failure, ’ But they stood by old Ireland an never feared danger ,

Glory 0 ! Glory O ! to the Bold Fenian Men .

a I passed on my w y , God be praised that I met her ,

Be life long or short I shall never forget her , — ’ We may have great men but we ll never have better,

Glory 0 ! Glory O ! to the Bold Fenian Men . R PEADAR KEA NEY. The B oyne Wa ter h ﬁ t e ULY rst, o f a morning clear , one thousand six hun

dred and ninety, — King William did his men prepare Of thousands he had

” To ﬁght King James and all his foes , encamped near the H Boyne Water ; e little feared, though two to one , their multitude to scat ter

ing William called his of cers saying : entlemen mind K ﬁ , G ,

your . station , And let your valour here be shown before this Irish nation ’ My brazen walls let no man break, and your subtle foes you ll

scatter, Be sure you show them good English play as you go over ” the water .

/ n B oth foot a d horse they marched on , intending them to

batter, But the brave Duke Schomberg he was shot as he crossed over the water . When that King William did Observe the brave Duke S chom

berg falling, He reined his horse with on the E n-niskillenes calling — v What will you do for me, brave boys see yonder men r e treating ?

Our enemies encouraged are , and English drums are beating . “ y He says , My bo s feel no dismay at the l os mg o f one com

mander , ’ For od shall be our King this day, and I ll be general G ” under .

- wa s Within four yards o f our fore front , before a shot ﬁred , ff A sudden snu they got that day, which little they desired ;

For horse and man fell to the ground , and some hung on their saddle :

Others turned up their forked ends , which we call coup de

ladle .

’ Prince Eugene s regiment was the next, on our right hand advanced

Into a ﬁeld o f standing wheat , where Irish horses pranced ;

But the brandy ran so in their heads , their senses all did

scatter, They little thought to leave their bones that day at the Boyne

Water .

Both men and horse lay on the ground , and many there lay

bleeding, — wa s I saw no sickles there that day but, sure , there sharp shearing ’ ’ Now , praise God , all true Protestants , and heaven s and earth s

Creator ,

the deliverance h e sent our enemies to scatter . ’ - Church s foes will pine away, like churlish hearted Nabal , l our deliverer came this day like the great Z or ob ab a .

9 6

Th e Sha n Va n Vocht

! the French are on the say O H , Says the Shan Van Vocht ;

The French are on the say, Says the Shan Van Vocht ; ! Oh the French are in the Bay, ’

They ll be here without delay, Of an And the ge will decay, h Says the Shan Van Voc t. ! Oh the French are in the Bay, They ’ ll be here by break o f day

And the Orange will decay, o h Says the Shan Van V c t.

And where “will they have their camp ? Says the Shan Van Vocht ; Where will they have their camp ? Says the Shan Van Vocht ;

On the Curragh o f Kildare ,

The boys they will be there ,

With their pikes in good repair , h Says the Shan Van Voc t. To the Curragh o f Kildare The boys they will repair

And Lord Edward will be there , h Says the Shan Van Voc t. Then what will the yeomen do ? S aj s the Shan Van Vocht

What should the yeomen do , Says the Shan Van Vocht ;

What should the yeomen do , ff But throw O the red and blue , And swear that they’ ll be true To the Shan Van Vocht ?

What should the y eomen do , But throw o ff the red and And swear that they’ ll be true To the Shan Van Vocht ?

And what colour will they wear ? Says the Shan Van Vocht ; What colour will they wear ? Says the Shan Van Vocht ° What colours should be seen ’ Where their father s “homes have been: But their own immortal green ? h Says the Shan Van Voc t.

And will Ireland then ‘ be free ? Says the Shan Van Vocht Will Ireland then be free ? Says the Shari Van Vocht ; ! Yes Ireland shall be free, From th e centre to the sea ; Then hurrah for Liberty ! S ays the Shan Van ! Yes Ireland shall be free , From the centre to the sea ; Then hurrah for Liberty ! Says the Shan Van

9 9 ’ ’ The We ar in o the Gr ee n

H ! h ’ ’ O , Paddy dear and did ye hear t e news that s goin round ? The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground ! ’ ’ ’ No more St . Patrick s day we ll keep ; his colour can t be

seen , ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ For there s a cruel law ag in the Wear in o the Green !

I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand , “ ’ And he said , How s poor ould Ireland , and how does she stand ? ” ’ She s the most distress ful country that ever yet was seen , ’ ’ For they re hanging men and women there for the Wear in ’ O the Green .

’ ’ we An i f the colour must wear is England s cruel red , Let it remind us o f the blood that Ireland has shed ;

Then pull the shamrock from your hat , and throw it on

sod , ’ ’ An never fear, twill take root there , though under foot

trod .

’ When law can stop the blades o f grass from gr owin as they

grow, An ’ when the leaves in summer time their colour dare not

show,

Then I will change the colour , too , I wear in my caubeen ; ’ ’ ’ But till that day laise od I ll stick to the Wearin o the , p G ,

Green .

1 00

th There , beside e singing river , That dark mass o f men were seen Far above the shining weapons Hung the ir own beloved green Death to every f oe and traitor ! h Forward ! strike t e marching tune , ! And hurrah , my boys , for freedom ’ ” Tis the Rising o f the Moon .

( Oh ! what glorious pride and sorrow

’ God e en Yet , thank , still are beating d’ Hearts in manhoo s burning noon , The Cr appy Boy

WAS early, early in the spring I T ,

The birds did whistle and sweetly sing,

Changing their notes from tree to tree, was And the song they sang Old Ireland free.

It was early, early in the night, The yeoman cavalry gave me a fright ; The yeoman cavalry wa s my downfall

And taken was I by Lord Cornwall .

in the guard -house where I was laid And in a parlor where I was tried ; My sentence passed and my courage low

When to Dungannon I wa s forced to go .

’ As I was passing by my father s door, My brother William stood at the door ;

My aged father stood at the door , ‘ o And my tender mother her hair she t re.

As I was walking up Wexford Street My own ﬁrst cousin I chanced to meet ;

My own ﬁrst cousin did me betray,

And for one bare guinea swore my life away.

My sister Mary heard the express , She ran upstairs in her morning-dress Five hundred guineas I will lay down , To s ee my brother s a fe in Wexford Town.

1 03 Who could blame me to cry my ﬁll ?

’ r th l But my tende mo er I sha l ne er see more.

My aged father did me deny, And the name he gave me wa s the Croppy

And in Dungannon his body lies ; you good Christians tha t do pass

1 04

‘ h s Like a man , wit out a igh ; But he left his handiwork on Maj or Swan !

- But Sirr , th steel clad breast Wi ,

And coward heart at best , ur o Left us cause to mo n Lord Edward that is g ne ,

’ Here s the memory o f our friends that are gone !

eptember Eighteen - three S , ,

Closed this cruel histor y , ’ Emme t s blood the scaffold ﬂewed upon e Oh , had their spirits been Wis ,

Their freedom , but

’ Here s friends that

1 06

’ a tr ic s r ea s t late S t. P k B p I ARISE to day Through the strength L ight o f sun ,

Radiance o f moon ,

Splendor o f ﬁre , eed o f lightning Sp , Swiftness o f wind , epth o f sea D , Stability o f earth , Firmness o f rock .

I arise to day ’ ilOt Through God s strength to p od ’ s might to u hold me G p , od ’ s wisdom to guide me G , ’ o G d s eye to look before me, ’ God s ear to hear me , od ’ s word to speak for me G , od ’ s hand to guard me G , ’ wa God s y to lie before me , od ’ s hield to protect me G S , God ’ s host to save me

From snares o f devils ,

From temptations o f vices , From every one wh o shall Wish me r Afar and anea ,

Alone and in a multitude .

1 1 0

I n Pr ais e of M a y

MAY-DAY ! delightful day ! Bright colours play the vale along. Now wakes at morning’ s slender ray ’ Wild and gay the blackbird s song.

Now comes the bird o f dusty hue ,

- The loud cuckoo, the summer lover ; Branchy trees are thick with leaves ;

The bitter , evil time is over .

Swi ft horses gather nigh Where hal f dry the river goes ; Tu fted heather clothes the height ; n Weak and white the bogdow blows .

t Corncrake sings from eve o morn ,

Deep in corn , a strenuous bard !

Sings the virgin waterfall,

White and tall, her one sweet word.

Loaded bees with puny power Goodly ﬂower-harvest win ; Cattle roam with muddy ﬂanks ;

Busy ants go out and in .

L need st or S EEP a little , a little little , thou feel no fear

dread , Youth to hom my love is given I am watching near thy W ,

n r t Sleep a little , with my blessi g, De m uid o f the ligh some eye , r r I will gua d thee as thou d eam e s t, none shall harm while I

am by .

0 i ‘ Sleep , l ttle lamb , whose homeland wa s the country o f the

lakes ,

In whose bosom torrents tremble , from whose sides the rive r

breaks .

lee as slept the ancient poet D eda ch minstrel o f th e S p , , ,

South , When he snatched from Conall Ce r nach E ithne o f the laugh

ing mouth .

’ n h A r Sleep as slept the comely Fin c a neath the falls o f s s a oe,

S l aine l - Who , when stately , sought him , aid the Hard head

Failb e low .

’ as Gailan s Sleep in j oy , slept fair Aine , daughter o f the

west , - Where amid the ﬂaming torches , she and Duvach found thei r ’ wh o Sleep as Degha , in triumph , ere the sun sang o er the

land , l Stole the maiden he had craved for, p ucked her from ﬁerce ’ D c l ea a l s hand .

Fold o f Valour, sleep a little , Glory o f the Western world I am wondering at thy beauty, marvelling how thy locks are

curled .

t e Like h parting o f two children , bred together in one home ,

Like the breaking o f two spirits , if I did not see thee come .

- Swirl the leaves before the tempest, moans the night wind ’ o er the lea, r Down its stony bed the streamlet hur ies onward to the sea .

In the swaying boughs the linnet twitters in the darkling

light, On the upland wastes o f heather wings the grouse its heavy

In the marshland by the river sulks the otter in his den ; While the piping Of the peeweet sounds across the distant

fen .

On the stormy mere the wild -duck pushes outward from the

brake , With her downy brood beside her seeks the centre o f the

lake .

In the east the restless roe-deer bellows to his frightened hind ; - On thy track the wolf hounds gather, snifﬁng up against the

wind .

0 Dermuid Yet, , sleep a little, this one night our fear hath

ﬂed ,

Youth to hom my lo e is gi en , see I watch beside thy W v v , bed . Trans la ted b ANOR U y ELE H LL .

1 1 5 The Awake ning of D er muid

the sleepy forest where the bluebells I N m Smouldered di ly through the night, D er muid saw the leaves like glad green waters t At daybreak ﬂowing into ligh , And exultant from his love upspringing Strode with the sun upon the height . Glittering on the hilltops He saw the sunlit rain Drift as around the spindle

- A silver threaded skein , And the brown mist Whitely breaking

Where arrowy torrents reached the plain .

A maddened moon Leapt in his heart and whirled the crimson tide O f his blood until it sang aloud o f battle

Where the querns o f dark death grind , Till it sang and scorned in pride Love— the froth -pale blossom o f the boglands W n That ﬂutters on the waves o f the wandering i d. Flower-quiet in the rush -strewn sheiling dawntim e Gr ainne At the lay, While beneath the birch -topped roo f the sunlight Groped upon its way And stooped above her sleeping White body - With a wasp yellow ray.

THERE is a sheeling hidden in the wood Unknown to all save God ; An ancient ash -tree and a hazel -bush

Their sheltering Shade a fford .

’ Around the doorway s heather-laden porch Wild honeysuckles twine ;

' ’ roli c oaks within the forest s gloom , P ﬁ ,

Shed mast upon fat swine .

Many a sweet familiar woodland path Comes inding to my door ; L W m owly and humble is my her itage,

Poor , and yet not too poor .

’ From the high gable -end my lady s throat

Her trilling chant outpours , ’ Her sombre mantle , like the ousel s coat,

Shows dark above my doors .

From the high oakridge Where the roe -deer leaps - The river banks between , ’ Renowned Mucr aim e and Red Roigne s plains Lie wrapped in robes o f green .

ere in the ilence , where no care intrudes H S , I dwell at peace with God ;

What gift like this hast thou to g ve Prince uaire, i , G Were I to’ roam abroad ? The heavy branches o f the green -barked yew That seem to bear the sky ; h m T e Spreading oak, that shield s e from the storm ,

When winds rise high . L ike a great hostel , welcoming to all , My laden apple -tree L haz -b ow in the hedge , the modest el ush Drops ripest nuts for me.

ound the ure spring, that rises crystal clear R p ,

Straight from the rock, and z i Wild goats and swine , red fox, gra ng deer,

At sundown ﬂock .

The host o f forest-dwellers o f the soil Trysting at night ; To c e a e o meet them foxes om , peac ful tro p, For my delight .

L to e ike exiled princes , ﬂocking their hom , They gather round ; B re t s eneath the river bank g a almon leap,

And trout abound .

ich rowan clusters, and the dusky sloe R , The bitter, dark blackthorn , t - hue Ripe Whor le berries , nuts o f amber , - The cup enclosed acorn .

d al A clutch of eggs , sweet honey, mea and e, ’ God s goodness still bestows ;

ed apples , and the fruitage o f the heath R , His constant mercy shows .

The goodly tangle o f th e briar-trail Climbs over all the hedge ;

Far out o f sight , the trembling waters wail

Through rustling rush and sedge.

1 1 9 Luxuriant summer spreads its coloured cloak And covers all the land - W oak Bright blue bells , sunk in oods o f russet , Their blooms expand

- The movements o f the b r ight red breasted wren , A lovely melody ! ’ and s Above my house , the thrush cuckoo s train

A chorus wakes for me .

The little music-makers of the world

Chafers and bees , Drone answer to the tumbling torrent’ s roar

B eneath the trees .

- From gable ends , from every branch and stem , S ounds sweetest music now ;

Unseen , in restless ﬂight , the lively wren ’ - Flits neath the hazel bough .

i ﬁrm am ent - n eep the the sea gulls ﬂy, D — One widely circling wreath ; ’ ’ The cheerful cuckoo s call , the poult s reply, ’ Sound o er the distant heath .

- The lowing o f the calves in summer time , Best season o f the year !

Across the fertile plain, pleasant the sound ,

Their call . I hear .

Voice o f the wind against the branchy wood Upon the deep blue Sky ;

Most musical the ceaseless water fall, ’ The swan s shrill , cry.

to e f No hired chorus, trained prais its chie , Comes welling up for me ; r- n The music made for Christ the Eve you g, Sounds forth without a fee.

Ma k er

' HE choirs Of Heaven ar e tokened in a harp -str n T i g, ’ A pigeon s egg is as cra fty as the stars . My heart is shaken by the crying o f the lap - n Wi g , th And yet e world is full o f foolish wars .

’ - There s gold on the whin bush every summer morning. ’ There s struggling discourse in the grunting o f a pig :

Yet churls will be scheming , and churls will be scorning,

' - And hal f the dim world is ruled by thimble rig .

The luck o f God is in two strangers meeting , But the gates o f Hell are in the city street For him whose soul is not in his own keeping

And love a silver string upon his feet .

- My heart is the seed o f time , my veins are star dust, ’ My spirit is the axle o f God s dream . Why should my august soul be worn or care-tost ?

o od is but a lam and I his gleam . L , G p ,

’ There s little to be known , and that not kindly, But an ant will burrow through a two-foot wall ; ’ There s nothing rises up or falls down blindly. . ’ ’ That s a poor share o f Wisdom , but it s all . ’ ER T . D . O BOLG . HE casts a spell oh , casts a spell ! S , r Which haunts me mo e than I can tell .

Dearer , because she makes me ill

Than who would will to make me well .

She is my store ! oh , she my store ! .

Whose grey eye wounded me so sore ,

Who will not place in mine her palm ,

Nor love , nor calm me any more .

! She is my pet, oh , she my pet Whom I c an never more forget ;

Who would not lose by me one moan ,

Nor stone upon my cairn set .

h ! She is my roon , O , she my roon

Who tells me nothing, leaves me soon ; ’

Who would not lose by me one sigh ,

’ Were death and I Within one room .

! She is my dear , oh , she my dear

Who cares not whether I be here . n a Who will not weep whe I m dead ,

But makes me shed the S ilent tear .

ard my case oh hard my case ! H , , For in h er eye no hope I tra ce ,

She will not hear me any more ,

But I adore her silent face .

1 23 She is my choice , oh , she my choice ! Who never made me to rej oice ; off Who caused my heart to ache so ,

Who put no so ftness in her voice .

Great my grief, oh , great my grief !

Neglected , scorned beyond belief, h By her w o looks at me askance,

By her who grants me no relief .

’ he s my desire oh my desire ! S , , ’ ﬁr More glorious than the bright sun s e ; Who were than wild -blown ice more cold Were I so bold as to sit by h er

h She it is w o stole my heart, And left a void and aching smart ;

But if she so ften not her eye ,

I know that li fe and I must part. OUG S YDE D LA H .

The Woman of B ear e

E BBING, the wave o f the sea re Leaves , where it wantoned befo

Wan and naked the shore ,

Heavy the clotted weed .

And my heart , woe is me !

Ebbs a wave o f the sea .

I am the woman o f B eare .

Foul am I that was fair , old -embroidered smocks I had G , Now in rags am hardly clad .

or Arms , now so pp and thin , taring bone and shrunken skin S , Once were lustrous , once caressed

Chie fs and warriors to their rest .

’ Not the sage s power , nor lone

Splendour o f an aged throne ,

Wealth I envy not , nor state . Only women folk I hate

n your heads hile I am cold O , W , Shines the sun Of living gold Flowers shall wreathe your necks in

me . For , every month is grey

1 26 o : Y urs the bloom but ours the ﬁre ,

Even out of dead desire .

Wealth , not men , ye love ; but when wa s Life in us , we loved men

Fair the . men , and Wild the manes O f their coursers on the pl a ins we Wild the chariots rocked , when Raced by them for mastery .

: Lone is Femen vacant, bare ’ Stands in B regon Ronan s chair . And the slow tooth o f the sky

Frets the stones where my dead lie .

The wave o f the great sea talks ; Through the forest Winter stalks ; Not to day by wood and sea Comes King Diarmuid here to me .

I know what my King does .

Through the shivering reeds , across

Fords no mortal strength may breast, He rows— to how chill a rest !

Amen , Time ends all .

Every acorn has to fall . l B right at feast s the cand es were, Dark is here the house o f prayer . W I , that hen the hour was mine

Drank with kings the mead and wine, - s Drink whey water now , in rag

Praying among shrivelled hags . k Amen , let my drin be whey, Let me do God ’ s will all day And , as upon God I call ,

Turn my blood to angry gall .

: Ebb , ﬂood , and ebb I, know

Well the ebb , and well the ﬂow,

And the second ebb, all three Have they not come home t o me !

Came the ﬂood that had for waves

Monarchs , mad to be my slaves , Crested as by foam with bounds

O f wild steeds and leaping hounds . Comes no more that ﬂooding tide

To my silent dark ﬁreside .

Guests are many in my hall ,

But a hand has touched them all .

Well is with the isle that feels How the ocean backward steals But to me my ebbing blood

B rings again no forward ﬂood .

Ebbing, the wave o f the sea e Leaves , Where it wantoned befor , hanged past knowing the shore C ,

Lean and lonely and grey . And far and farther from me

Ebbs the wave o f the sea . Trans l te PHE N WYNN a d by STE G .

' Ki ng Ca ha l M or of the Wine-Red

I WALKED entranced Through a land o f Morn :

The sun , with wondrous excess o f light, Shone down and glanced Over seas o f corn And lustrous gardens aleft and right . Even in the clime

O f resplendent Spain , Beams no such sun upon such a land ;

But it was the time , ’ Twas in the reign, - O f Cahal MOr o f the Wine red Hand .

Anon stood nigh By my Side a man O f princely aspect and port sublime H im queried I “ Oh , my Lord and Khan ,

What clime is this , and what golden time ? — “ When h e The clime

Is a clime to praise, ’ The clime is Erin s , the green and bland ;

And it is the time ,

These be the days ,

- f h O f Cahal Mor Of t e Wine red Hand .

Then saw I thrones

And circling ﬁres ,

And a Dome rose near me , as by a spell ,

’ Whence ﬂowed th e tones

O f Silver lyres , And many voices in wreathed And their thrilling chime Fell on mine ears As the heavenly hymn o f an angel -band “I t is now the time

These be the years , - O f Cahal Mor o f the Wine red Hand .

I sought the hall , — And behold a change ! From light to darkness, from j oy to woe

Kings , nobles , all ,

Looked aghast and strange , The minstrel group sate in dumbest show ! Had ' some great crime

Wrought this dread amaze , This terror ? None seemed to understand ’ Twas then the time , _

’ We were in the days , - O f Cahal MOr o f the Wine red Hand .

I again walked forth But 10 ! the sky ﬂ k Showed e c ed with blo od , and an alien

Glared from the north ,

And there stood on high , ! Amid his shorn beams , a skeleton It was by the stream

O f the castled Maine , ’ n One Autum eve , in the Teuton s land , That I dreamed this dream O f the time and reign Mor - O f Cahal o f the Wine red Hand . Trans la ted b S E y JAME CLARENC MANGAN .

1 31 Kincor a

H K in r A WHERE co a ! is Brian the Great ? And where is the beauty that once was thine ? Oh , where are the princes and nobles that sate

At the feasts in thy halls , and drank the red wine , K incor a ? Where , O

Kincor a ! ? Oh , where, are thy valorous lords ! ? Oh , whither , thou Hospitable are they gone ? Oh , where are the Dalcassians o f the Golden Swords And Where are the warriors Brian led on ? K incor a ? Where , O

And where is Murrough , the descendant o f kings The defeater o f a hundred— the daringly brave Who set but slight store by j ewels and rings Who swam down the torrent and laughed at its wave ? K incor a ? Where , O

’ D n h And where is o og , King B rian s worthy son ? n And where is Conai g , the B eauti ful Chief ? r And Kian , and Co e ? Alas ! they are gone They have le ft me this night “ alone with my grief ! Kincora ! Left me,

h w dm . And where are the chiefs with Brian went forth , ’ - The ne er vanquished son o f Evin the Brave , his The great King o f Onaght , renowned for worth, Baskinn And the hosts o f , from the western wave ? K incor a ? Where , O

Th e Gr a ve of Rury

CLEAR as air , the western waters

evermore their sweet , unchanging song Murmur in their stony channels ’ ’ n r round O Co o s sepulchre in Cong .

Crownless , hopeless , here he lingered ; year on year went by him like a dream , While the far -off roar o f conquest murmured faintly like the Singing stream .

Here he died , and here they tombed him men o f Fechin , chanting round his grave .

Did they know, ah ! did they know it, what they buried by the babbling wave ?

Now above the Sleep of Rury holy things and great have passed away ; Stone by stone the stately Abbey falls and fades in passionless decay.

Darkly gro ws the quiet ivy, pale the broken arches glimmer through Dark upon the Cloister -garden dreams the shadow o f the ancient yew . Through the roo fless aisles the verdure - and - ﬂows , the meadow sweet fox glove bloom .

Earth , the mother and consoler, winds so ft arms about the lonely tomb .

Peace and holy gloom possess him , last o f Gaelic monarchs o f the Gael ,

Slumbering by the young, eternal - river voices o f the western vale . N T . W . ROLLESTO .

1 34 The Sha d ow Hous e of L ugh

- D REAM FAIR, beside dream waters , it stands alone A winged thought o f Lugh made its corner stone :

A desire o f his heart raised its walls on high ,

And set its crystal windows to ﬂaunt the sky .

n Its doors o f the white bronze are ma y and bright , ’ With wonderous carven pillars for his Love s delight, And its roof o f the blue Wings , the speckled red , Is a ﬂaming arc o f beauty above her head .

Like a mountain through mist Lugh towers high , ﬁr - his The e y forked lightning is the glance o f eye , ’ His countenance is noble as the Sun -god s face

The proudest Chieftain he o f a proud De Danaan race .

He bides there in pe ace now, his wars are all done

He gave his hand to Balor when the death gate wa s won , - who And for the stri fe scarred heroes wander in the shade , and His door lieth open , the rich feast is laid .

in He hath no vexing memory o f blood slanting rain , O f green spears in hedges ona battle plain ; But through the haunted quiet his Love ’ s silver words - Blow round him swift as wing beats o f enchanted birds . A grey haunted wind is blowing in the hall ,

And stirring through the shadowy spears upon the wall, The drinking-horn goes round from shadowy lip to lip ’ o m eth er s And about the g lden Shadowy ﬁngers slip .

h The Star o f Beauty, she w o queens it there ;

D iademed , and wondrous long, her yellow hair — — Her eyes are twin moons in a rose sweet face,

And the fragrance o f her presence ﬁlls all the place .

He plays for her pleasure on his harp ’ s gold wire The laughter-tune that leaps along in trills o f ﬁre ; She hears the da ncing feet o f S idhe where a white moon

gleams ,

And all her world is j oy in the House o f Dreams .

He plays for her soothing the Slumber-song Fine and faint as any dream it glides along She sleeps until the magic o f his kiss shall rouse ; h - And all er world is quiet in the Shadow house .

is days glide to night, and his nights glide to day : WH ith Circling o f the amber mead , and feasting gay ;

In the yellow of her hair his dreams lie c urled , And her arms make the rim of his rainbow world E THNA RB CA ERY.

u beat PURE white the shields their arms p , ’ With silver emblems rare o er cas t ;

Amid blue glittering blades they go ,

The horns they blow are loud o f blast .

In well -instructed ranks o f war Before their Chief they proudly pace ; ’ Coer ulean spears o er every crest A - - i curly tressed , pale v saged race .

Bare and black turns every coast With such a terror to the ﬁght

Flashes that mighty vengeful host .

t Small wonder that their strength is grea ,

Since royal in estate are all , Each hero ’ s head a lion ’ s fell

A golden yellow mane lets fall .

Comely and smooth their bodies are,

Their eyes the starry blue eclipse , The pure white crystal o f their teeth

Laughs out beneath their thin red lips .

Melodious over meats and ale W O f woven verse they ield the spell , - At chess craft they excel the Gael . Tra nsla ted b F RE D E RC E VA GRA E S y AL P L V . The Fa iry Thor n

- E T u our Anna dear , from the weary sp nn ng wheel ; G p , i i ’ For your father s on the hill , and your mother is

asleep , ’ Come up above the crags , and we ll dance a Highland reel ” Around the Fairy Thorn on the steep .

’ ’ i At Anna Grace s door twas thus the maidens cr ed , Three merry maidens fair in kirtles o f the green ;

And Anna laid the rock and the weary wheel aside ,

The fairest o f the four, I ween .

’ They re glancing through the glimmer o f the quiet eve , Away in milky wavings of neck and ankle bare ; - The heavy sliding stream in its sleepy song they leave ,

And the crags in the ghostly air .

-in- And linking hand hand , and singing as they go , ’ The maids along the hillside have ta en their fearless way, Till they come to where the rowan trees in lonely beauty grow

B eside the Fairy Hawthorn grey.

‘ The Hawthorn stands between the ashes tall and slim , Like matron with her twin grand -daughters at her knee ; The rowan berries cluster o ’ er her low head grey and dim

In ruddy kisses sweet to see .

The merry maidens four have ranged them in a row,

Between each lovely couple a stately rowan stem ,

And away in mazes wavy, like skimming birds they go , ! Oh, never carolled bird like them

1 39 But solemn is the silence on the Silvery haze

l h ir . That drinks a way t e voices in echoless repose , a And dreamily the evening has stilled the haunted br es ,

And dreamier the gloaming grows .

- And sinking one by one , like lark notes from the sky, ’ ' s aileth w When the falcon s shadow across the open Sha , ’ c ‘ i Are hushed the maidens voices , as owering down they l e a I n the ﬂutter o f their sudden we.

For , from the air above and the grassy ground beneath , And from the m oii ntain-ashes and the old white-thorn b e

tween , A power of faint enchantment doth through their beings breathe n And they Sink down together o the green .

They Sink together silent, and stealing side to side , They ﬂing their lovely arms o ’ er their drooping necks so

fair,

Then vainly strive again their naked arms to hide , n For their shrinking ecks again are bare .

Thus clasped and p rostrate all , with their heads together

bowed , So ft o ’ er their bosoms beating—the only human sound They hear the silky footsteps o f the silent fairy crowd h Like a river in t e air gliding round .

c an Nor scream any raise , nor prayer can any say, But Wild , Wild the terror o f the speechless three

For they feel fair Anna Grace drawn silently away,

By whom they dare not look to see .

d They feel their tresses twine with her parting locks o f gol ,

h r . And the curls elastic falling, as e head withdraws

They feel her sliding arms from their tranced arms unfold, But they dare not look to see the c ause

The Fa iry L over

I was by yonder thorn I saw the fairy host T ! (O low night wind , O wind o f the west )

My love rode by, there was gold upon his brow,

And since that day I can neither eat nor re s t .

I dare not pray lest I should forget his face (O black north Wind blowing cold beneath the sky !) His face and his eyes shine between me and the sun

I f I may not be with him I would rather die .

They tell me I am cursed and I will lose my soul , ’ ' (0 red wind shrieking o er the thorn -grown dii n - But he is my love and I go to him to night, Who rides when the thorn glistens white beneath th e i n

n He Will call my ame and lift me to his breast, (Blow so ft O wind ’ neath the stars o f the south !) I care not for heaven and I fear not hell e h !f I have but kiss s o f his proud m ont .

1 42 The Wa r nz ngs

I WAS milking in the meadow when I heard the Banshee keening '

Little birds were in the nest , lambs were on the lea , ’ Upon the brow o the Fairy-hill a round gold moon wa s

She parted from the esker as the B anshee keened for me .

wa s - I weaving by the door post, when I heard the Death watch beating :

And I Signed the Cross upon me , and I spoke the Name o f

Three . igh and fair through cloud and air a silver moon was ﬂ eet H , ,

But the night began to darken as the Death -watch beat for

I was sleepless on pillow when I heard the Dead man

calling, d The Dead man that rowned at the bottom o f the sea .

Down in the and mist, a; dim white moon was falling h must rise ead w o calls on me . D C G ALI E FURLON .

1 43 The L ov e Ta lk er

- I , MET the Love Talker one eve in the glen , He was handsom er than any o f our handsome young

men ,

His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter far ’ ln r Than the crooning o f old Kevin s pipes beyond in Coo aga .

—I was bound for the milking with aheart fair and free My grief ! my grief ! that bitter hour d r ained the life from me ; n I thought him huma lover, though his lips on mine were

cold ,

And the breath o f de ath blew keen on me within his hold .

wa I know not what y he came , no shadow fell behind , But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind c The thrush eased its Singing , a mist crept about , — We two clung together with the world s hut out .

B eyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low,

The little cow from B allina, clean as driven snow,

c ow I nish e er The dun from Kerry, the roan from , — ! Oh , piti ful their calling and his whispers in my ear

His eyes were a ﬁre ; his words were a snare ; ’ I cried my mother s name , but no help was there ;

I made the blessed Sign ; then he gave a dreary moan , t A wisp o f cloud wen ﬂoating by, and I stood alone .

n - Running ever through my head , is a old time rune “ - h r Who meets the Love Talker must weave e shroud soon . ’

My mother s face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall ,

But the kind eyes o f my father are the saddest sight o f all .

The Gr e e n Hunters

TH E Green Hunters went ! ridin T hey swept down the -night Through hollows o f shadow

’ Their steeds shoes o f so ft Silver, ’ They b lew ne er a horn , But trampled a highway

Among the ripe corn .

- I looked from the hal f door,

They never saw me, For each one kept wavin ’ A slip o f a tree ; ’ Twas black as the yewan ,

An ’ red as the sally ’ That goes the Wind s way.

The Green Hunter came ridin ’

Though they heard my lips movin I stood where I

Oh , what do they call him Th e one rode behind ? ’ ’ i n h ldin For my heart s his o ,

My mind in his mind . RE NC N FLO E M . WILSO . We come in the moonlight

Dancing to such a me asure

’ Twould put a bird to S hame.

And many a young maiden r Is there , o f mo tal birth , Her young eyes laden With dreams o f earth .

And many a youth entranced Moves slowly in the Wildered

- His brave lost feet enchanted , With the rhythm o f faery sound .

1 47 Music SO forest wild And piercing sweet would bring Silence on blackbirds singing

Their best in the ear o f spring .

e And now they paus in their dancing,

And look with troubled eyes , E arth straying children

With sudden memory wise .

They pause, and their eyes in the moonlight

With fairy wisdom cold , Grow dim and a thought goes ﬂuttering

In the hearts no longer old .

And then the dream forsakes them ,

And sighing, they turn anew, i As the whispering mus c takes them , lﬁn To the dance o f the e crew .

0 many a thrush and a blackbird

Would fall to the dewy ground , And pine away in silence

For envy o f such a sound .

In our sad pleasure ,

We dance to many a measure ,

That earth never knew . ’ S VAN SEUMA O SULLI .

Only in Emne is There such a marvel Treason and wounding gone

Who to that island comes And hears in the dawning

The birds , shall know all delight

‘

To him, down from a height ,

- Will come bright c lad women, Laughing and full of mirth Lovely their coming ! Freshness of blossom ﬁlls ’ All the isle s mazes ; Crystals and dragon-stones Are dropped in its ranges !

But all my song is not For all wh o have heard me ; Only for one it is

Bran , now bestir you !

Heeding the me ssage brought,

In this , my word ,

Seeing the branch I Show, Leave you a crowd !

n - (In her ow house, the Queen of the Ever living Islands chanted this lay to Bran . )

- l Age O d, and yet th It bears e white blossom, This tree wherein

Hear ! with the hours The birds change their singing ’ But always tis gladness Welcome their strain ! A crown of splendour

Laughter o f wings where the wind went with “ a cry

Happy the dry wide pastures by Ahenree ! : To them , in the speckled twilight , dew a fter drouth

’ ’ t White Clover , a fragrance in the dumb beast s mou h .

My sorrow ! Dew after drouth comes not to me .

Happy OileanAcla in the ample sea ! it - To s yellow shore , long billowed ﬂood after ebb Flash o f the

ebb comes not to me . G FURLON .

1 5 5 “ Or evening there and the sedges still .

For plain I see now e yellow sand . And Lis s adell

in athers to it all the coloured day s . G ' ' My s or r ow that I am not by th e little dii n

By the lake o f the s tarlings at evening when all is still ,

And still in whispering sedges the herons stand . ’ Tis the re I would nestle at rest till

A new world and a new scene mixed its power ’ With the Old world and the old sc ene o f E arth s A doorway had been folded back an hour ; And silver lights fell with a secret grace

Where I endeavoured the white path to trace,

a o Within my mind sudden j y had birth , For I had found an inﬁnite company there

The hosting o f the companies T E E one desires to hear I S H R I f within the shores of Eire Eyes may still behold the scene Far from Fand ’ s enticements ?

Let him seek the southern hills And those lakes o f loveliest water Where the richest blooms o f Spring Burn to reddest Autumn : And the clearest echo Sings

Notes a goddess taught her .

! ’ Ah twas very long ago , ar e now And the words . denied But the purple hillsides know

Still the tones delightsome ,

And their breasts , impassioned,

As were Fand beside them .

an And though many isle be fair,

Fairer still is I nnis f allen, Since the hour Cuchullain lay

In the bower enchanted . - See ! the ash that waves to day. F and its grandsire planted ;

1 5 9

In the red earth lies at rest a blue eye o f Clan Colman the turf covers ,

T H E purple heather is the cloak ’ od gave the bo land b r own G g , ’ But man ha s made a pall o smoke n To hide the dista t town .

Our lights are long and rich in change , e Unscreen d by hill or spire,

From primrose dawn , a lovely range, ’ To sunset s farewell ﬁre .

No morning bells have we to wake

Us with their monotone, But windy calls o f quail and crake

The lark’ s wild ﬂourish summons us To work before the sun ; At eve the heart ’ s lone Angelus

Blesses our labour done .

s We cleave the odden , Shelving bank

In sunshine and in rain , That men by winter-ﬁr e s may thank

The wielders o f the slane .

Our lot is laid beyond the crime That sullies idle hands ; So hear we through the silent time God speaking sweet commands . For which tired wealth may sigh

! And we have music, oh , so quaint

The curlew and the plover ,

In wind and windless weather ; The bees that have no singing-rules E xcept to buzz together .

And prayer is here to give us sight To see the purest ends ; E ach evening through the brown -turf light

The Rosary ascends .

And all night long the cricket Sings

The . drowsy minutes fall , The only pendulum that Swings Across the crannied wall

Then we have re st, so sweet, so good , The quiet r est you crave ; h T e long, deep bogland solitude ’ That ﬁts a forest s grave ;

The lon strange stillness de and deep g, , Wi , ’ B eneath God s loving hand ,

Where, wondering at the grace Of sleep ,

The Guardian Angels stand .

RNE . WILLIAM A . BY The B ells of Sha nd on

WITH deep affection and recollection I often think o f the Shandon bells , d ood Whose sounds SO wild would , in days o f chil h ,

Fling round my cradle their magic spells . ’ On this I ponder , where er I wander ,

And thus grow fonder sweet ork, o f thee, , C

With thy bells of Shandon , That sound so grand on

The pleasant waters o f the river Lee .

I have heard bells chiming full many a clime in, Tolling sublime in cathedral shrine ;

While at a glib rate brass tongues would vibrate, But all their music spoke nought to thine ;

For memory, dwelling on each proud swelling

O f the belfry knelling its bold notes free , Made the bells o f Shandon Sound far more grand on

The pleasant waters o f the River Lee .

’ I have heard bells tolling old Adrian s mole in,

Their thunder rolling from the Vatican , o With cymbals glorious , swinging upr arious In the gorgeous turrets o f Notre Dame ; But thy sounds were sweeter than the dome o f Peter ’ Flings o er the Tiber , pealing solemnly . Oh ! the bells o f Shandon Sound far more grand on

The pleasant waters o f River Lee .

’ Colum-Cill e s Far e well to I r ela nd

ALAS for the voyage , O High King o f Heaven ,

Enj oined upon me , For that I on the red plain o f bloody Cooldr evin

Was present to see .

How happy the son is o f Dima ; no sorrow

For him is designed , own He is having, this hour, round his hill in Durrow,

The wish o f his mind .

The sounds o f the winds in the elms , like strings o f

A harp being played , The note o f a blackbird that claps with the Wings Delight in the Shade .

With him in ROS -Grench a the cattle a r e Iowing r At ea liest dawn , On the brink o f the summer the pigeons are cooing

And doves in the lawn .

th e Three things am I leaving behind me, very

Most dear that I know, - ’ Tir L eedach I m l eavmg , and Durrow and Derry ! Alas , I must go

Yet my Visit and feasting with Comgall have eased ’ Ca inneach s At right hand , e e And all but thy government , Eir , hav pleased me,

Thou water f ul land .

l t G S E . Tr ans a ed by DOU LA HYD

1 7 0 J ohn O Dwyer of the Glen

ITHE the bright dawn found me BL , ’ cr own d Rest with strength had me, Sweet the birds sang around me

Sport was their toil .

The horn its clang was keeping,

Forth the fox was creeping, d Round each dame stoo weeping, ’ ’ Oe r the prowler s spoil .

Hark ! the foe is calling,

Fast the woods are falling, Scenes and sights appalling

Mark the wasted soil .

War and conﬁscation Curse the fallen nation ; Gloom and desolation ’ Shade the lost land o er,

h l C ill the Winds are b owing, eath alo ft is going D , Peace or hope seems growing

For our race no more .

ark ! the foe is calling H , Fast the woods are falling, Scenes and sights appalling Throng the blood -stained shore

- Nobles once high hearted ,

From their homes have parted ,

Scattered , scared , and started - By a base born band . 1 7 1

To the heroes o f imeric the ity o f the Fights L k, C , B e my best blessing borne on the Wings o f the air ; ’ - h We had card playing there o er our camp ﬁres at nig t, r And the Word o f Life , too , and p ayer ! Och , ochone

L onder der r But for you , y , may plague smite and slay Your people ! May ruin desolate you stone by stone ! ’ c ofﬁnl Through you there s many a gallant youth lies e s s to

With the winds for mourners alone ! Och , ochone

I clomb the high hill on a fair summer noon , h And saw the Saxons muster, clad in armour blinding brig t

Oh , rage withheld my hand , or gunsman and dragoon Should have supped with Satan that night och one l Och ,

H h ow a ow many a noble soldier, many a cav lier,

areered along this road , seven eeting weeks ago C ﬂ , - W With silver hilted sword , with matchlock and ith spear, r n Who now, m av o e ! lieth low

Och , ochone

Beinn E idir w All hail to thee , but ah , on thy bro h h o I see a limping soldier , w o battled and w bled no Last year in the cause o f the Stuart, though w ‘ 1 he worthy is begging his bread ! Och , ochone And Diarmid oh , Diarmid he perished in the strife ; His head it was spiked upon a halberd high ; His colours they were trampled : he had no chance o f life I f the Lord God Himsel f stood by Och , ochone

But most, oh my woe I lament and lament li n h For the ten va e t hero es w o dwelt nigh the Nore , And my three blessed brothers ; they left me and went

To the wars , and returned no more

Och , ochone

On r the bridge o f the Boyne was our ﬁ r st overthrow ;

By Slaney the next , for we battled without rest ;

The third wa s at Aughrim . O Eire ! thy woe Is a sword in my bleeding breast ! Och , ochone

wa s a Oh , the roof above our heads , it barb rously ﬁred , While the black Orange guns bl azed and bellowed around !

And as volley followed volley, Colonel Mitchel inquired Whether Lucan still stood his ground ? ! Och , ochone

’ K ll But O e y still remains , to defy and to toil ,

i ’ him t He has memories that hell won t permit o forget, And a sword that will make the blue blood ﬂow like oil Upon many an Aughrim yet ! Och , ochone

And I never shall believe that my fatherland can fall

With the Burkes , and the Dukes , and the son o f Royal James , r ﬁl S a s e d And Talbot , the captain , and above all , The beloved of damsels and dames ! Och , ochone Tr ans la ted b R N y JAMES CLA ENCE MANGA .

7 5 Fontenoy. 1 745

BAD the march the weary march , beneath these alien O H , , Skies ,

But good the night, the friendly night, that soothes our tired

eyes . r And bad the war , the tedious wa , that keeps us sweltering

s But good the hour, the friendly hour, that bring the battle

near .

That brings us on the battle , that summons to their share

The homeless troops , the banished men , the exiled sons o f

Clare .

Bas cinn ! Oh , little Corca , the wild , the bleak, the fair ! Oh , little stony pastures , whose ﬂowers are sweet , if rare

Oh , rough the rude Atlantic , the thunderous , the wide , Whose kiss is like a soldier ’ s kiss which will not be denied !

The whole night long we dream o f you , and waking think ’ we re there ,

we r . Vain dream , and foolish waking, neve shall see Clare

’ - The wind is wild to night , there s battle in the air ;

The wind is from the west, and it seems to blow from Clare .

H ave you nothing , nothing. for us , loud brawler o f the night ? - No news to warm our heart strings , to speed us through the ﬁght ? ’ - In thi s hollow, star pricked darkness , as in the sun s hot

glare , - r ~ In sun tide , in s ta tide , we thirst, we Starve for Clare !

I I — A ter th e Ba ttle ear l dawn lar . f ; y , C e coas t.

ARY MOTHER, Shield us Say, what men are ye, ” Sweeping past so swiftly onthis morning sea ? out sails or rowlocks merrily we glide

Ba S Ci nn me to Corca on the brimming tide .

a ! h sus save you , gentry w y are you so white , ” tting all so s traight and still in this misty light ? lothing ails us , brother ; j oyous souls are we, ” iling home together , on the morning sea .

' in n Ous s , friends , a d kinsfolk, children o f the land ,

= r e we come together , a merry, rousing band ;

ling home together from the last great ﬁght,

me to Clare from ontenoy in the morning light . F ,

’ Bas cinn en o f Corca , men o f Clare s B rigade , i rken stony hills o f Clare , hear the charge we made e us come together , Singing from the ﬁght ,

) o a BaS Ci nn . me to C rc , in morning light EMILY LAWLESS .

1 78

And he wh o misdoubts let him have a care , For her liegemen sworn are we !

Then Ho ! for the land that is green and grey, h The land o f all lands t e best,

For the South is bright and the East is gay,

But the sun shines l ast in the West , The West ! The sun shines last in the West !

A queen is she , though a queen forlorn,

A queen o f tears from her birth ,

Ragged and hungry, woeful and worn , . Yet the fairest Fair on the earth

’ Then here s to the land that is green and grey, land o f all lands the best !

the South is bright, and the East is gay,

the sun Shines last in the West . The West ! sun shines last in the West ! W S EMILY LA LES .

The Fair Hills of I r ela nd

E TE US lace is Ireland f or hospitable cheer A PL N O p ,

Where the Wholesome fruit is bursting from the yellow bar ley ear ;

There is honey in the trees where her misty vales expand , And her forest paths in summer are by falling waters fanned ’ w There is dew at high noontide there , and springs i the yello

sand,

On the fair hills o f holy Ireland .

u d th e n C rle he is and ringleted, and plaited to k ee, Uilea cdn dubh 0 ! E ach captain wh o comes sailing across the Irish s ea ;

1 f and And I will make my j ourney, li fe health but stand

Unto that pleasant country, that fresh and fragrant strand , r rl And leave your boasted b ave es , your wealth and

command ,

For the fair hills o f holy Ireland .

Large and proﬁtable are the stacks upon the ground , Uil ea cdn dubh O!

The butter and the cream do wonderously abound , Uileacdn dubh O!

The Winding B a nks of E r ne

Bel ash ann A DIEU to y , where I was bred and born ’ Go where I may I ll think of you , as sure as night and morn :

The kindly spot, the friendly town , where every one is known , And not a face in all the place but partly seems my own ; ’ ’ There s not a house or window, there s not a ﬁeld or hill , ’ But eas t or west, in foreign lands , I ll recollect them still ' ’ I leave my warm heart with you , though my back I m forced to turn Belash ann n Adieu to y, and the windi g banks o f Erne i

’ d No more on pleasant evenings we ll saunter own the Mall , hen s m the trout is rising to the ﬂy, the al on to the fall .

The boat comes straining on her net , and heavily she creeps , off off— Cast , cast she feels the oars , and to her berth she sweeps h aulm u Now fore and aft keep g, and gathering p the clew , Till a silver wave o f salmon rolls in among th e crew r es a - Then they may sit, with p p lit, and many a j oke and yarn : Belashann i Adieu to y, and the winding banks o f Erne

The music o f the waterfall , the mirror o f the tide ’ - When all the green hill d harbour is full from side to side , li n From Por tnas un to Bul eb aw s , and round the Abbey Bay, From rocky Inis S aim er to Coolnargit sandhills grey ; all While far upon the southern line , to guard it like a w ,

The Leitrim mountains clothed in blue gaze calmly over all , her And watch the ship sail up or down , the red ﬂag at stern of E rne l Adieu to these , adieu to all the winding banks

Farewell to every white cascade from the Harbour to Belleek, - And every pool where ﬁns may rest, and ivy shaded creek ; and The sloping ﬁelds, the lo fty rocks , where ash holly

grow, The one split yew-tree gazing on the curving ﬂood b elow ; The Lough that wind s through islands under Tur aw moun tain green

J nd astle aldwell ’ s stretching woods with tranquil bays A C C , between ;

‘ And Br ees ie ill and many a pond among the heath and H , — For I must say adieu adieu to the windingbanks o f E rne l

The thrush will call through Camlin groves the live-long sum

The waters run by mossy cliff , and banks with wild ﬂowers s ay ; The girls will bring their work and sing beneath a twisted

thorn, O r stray with sweethearts down the path among the growing corn ;

Along the riverside they go , where I have o ften been

O, never shall I see again the days that I have seen ! A thousand chances are to one I never may return B l h nn Adieu to e as a y , and the winding banks o f Erne !

Adieu to evening dances , where merry neighbours meet, “ And the ﬁddle says to boys and girls , get up and shake ” y our feet I To shanachas and wise old talk o f Erin ’ s days gone by ’ Who tr ench d the rath On such a hill , and where the bones may

y O f saint, or king, or warrior chie f ; with tales o f fair

power ,

And tender ditties sweetly sung to pass the twilight hour . The mournful song o f exile is now for me to learn ! Adieu , my dear companions on the winding banks of Erne Now measure from the Commons down to each end o f the

Purt, — ound the bbey Moy and K nath er I wish no one any R A , , , hurt '

The Mam Street, Back Street ollege ane the Mall and , C L , P r n o t a sun,

I f any foes o f mine are there , I pardon every one . I hope that man and womankind will do the same by me ; r Fo my heart is sore and heavy at voyaging the sea . ’ My loving friends I ll bear in mind , and o ften fondly turn To think o f Bela sh anny and the winding banks o f Erne !

’ ’ m n d If ever I m a o e man I mean , please od , to cast y , G My golden anchor in the place where youth ful years were past ; Though heads that now are black and brown must meanwhile

gather grey,

New faces rise by every hearth , and old ones drop away Yet dearer still that Irish hill than all the world beside ; ’ ’ It s home , sweet home , where er I roam , through lands and

waters wide .

And if the Lord allows me , I surely will return l ! To my native Be as hanny , and the winding banks o f Erne I G W LLIAM ALLIN HAM . ’ ’ ’ O h el in Wi VER here in England I m p the hay, And I wisht I wa s in Ireland the livelong day ; ’ Weary on the English hay, an sorra take the wheat ! ’ ! Cor r m eel a the Och y , an blue sky over it .

’ ’ ﬂ owin b e ont There s a deep dumb river by y the heavy trees , ’ ’ ' ’ ’ This livin air is moithered wi the hum mm o the bees ;

’ ' ’ I wisht I d hear the Claddagh burn go r unnin through the heat l ’ Past Cor rymee a, wi the blue sky over it .

’ The people that s in England is richer nor the Jews , ’ There s not the smallest young gossoon but th r avel s in his shoes ! ’ e b a r e f ut I d give the pipe between me t eth to see a child , ’

! Cor r m eel a d. Och y , an the low south win

’ ’ ’ ’ Here s hands so full 0 money an hearts so full 0 care , ’ ’ By the luck 0 love ! I d still go light for all I did go bare . “ ” od save ye, colleen dhas , I said ; the girl she thought me G ‘ wild l ’

r r m l . Fair Co y ee a, an the low south wind

’ h m ortial to D ye mind me now, t e song at night is hard

raise ,

The girls are heavy gom here, the boys are ill to plase ; ’ ’ ’ ’ ’ When ones t I m out this workin hive , tis I ll be back again

r r meel a e r n. Aye, Co y , in the sam so ft ai

1 88

The I r is h Pea s a nt Gir l

HE lived beside the Anner S , i - At the foot o f Sl evna man ,

A gentle peasant girl , With mild eyes like the dawn ; Her lips were dewy rosebuds ; Her teeth o f pearls rare ; ’ And a snow -drift neath a beechen n - Her neck and ut brown hair .

How pleasant ’ twas to meet her

On Sunday, when the bell Was ﬁlling with its mellow tones Lone wood and grassy dell And when at eve young maidens

Strayed the river bank along, ’ The widow s brown -haired daughter

Was loveliest o f the throng.

O brave , brave Irish girls We well may call you brave Sure the least o f all your perils

Is the stormy ocean wave ,

When you leave our quiet valleys , And cross the Atlantic ’ s foam To hoard your hard -won earnings h For the helples s ones at ome . Write word to my own dear mother

‘ I s end them all my love ; Ma y the angels ever guard them ,

- Was a braid o f nut br own hair .

This weary heart has grown or F thy helpless fate , dear Ireland, And f or sorrows o f my own ; Y t i e a tear my eye will mo s ten,

For “ the lily o f the mountain foot The C ounty of Mayo

ON TH E deck o f Patrick Lynch ’ s boat I sat in woeful

plight ,

Through my sighing all the weary day, and weeping all the

night, t Were it not hat full o f sorrow from my people forth I go , ’ ’ By the blessed sun ! tis royally I d sing thy praise; Mayo !

h W en I dwelt at home in plenty, and my gold did much

abound , In the company o f fair young maids the Spanish ale went round ’ Tis a bitter change from those gay days that now I ’ m forced

to go , —” ' in And must leave my bones Santa Cruz , far from my own

’ ’ They are altered girls in I r rul now ; tis proud they re grown

and high , — With their hair-bags and their top -knots for I pass their buckles by ; ’ 5 0 But it s little now I heed their airs , for God will have it ,

Th at I must depart for foreign lands , and leave my sweet

Mayo .

' ’ Tis m r t at Patr k Lou hlinn is not E arl in I rrul still y g ief h ic g , an D uff no l rul s as rd u n th l And that Bri onger e lo po e hil , And th at Colonel Hugh M acGrady shoul d b e lying cold and

low,

And I be s ailin sailin from the ount of M a o . g, g C y y Fox Translated by GE ORGE .

Dido to Ae neas

’ ff O G DDE S S is thy parent nor th art of Dardanus o spring, N O ,

Thou perj ured faitour : but amidst rocks , Caucasus haggish ’

Bre d thee , with a tiger s sour milk unseasoned, uddered . What shall I dissemble ? What points more weighty reserve I ? At my tears showering did he sigh ? Did he wink with his eyelid ? Once did he weep vanquished ? Did he yield once mercy to lovemate ? What shall I ﬁrst utter ? Will not grand Juno with hastening ? Nor the father Saturn w1 th his eyes b ent rightly behold this ?

h e r a Faith quite is exiled : from the shore late a runagate edg b t,

a r bre ch s r un betrash ed A t e quy t o did I take, with frenzy

I placed in kingdom , both ships and company gracing .

Woe to me thus stamping, such brainsick foolery belching . h ell Mark the speech , I pray you , well couched : now s oot t Apollo, ’ Now Lycian s fortunes , from very Jupiter heavenly ’ A menacing message by the God s ambassador uttered .

or s ooth viad h l l F : this thy ge wit care Saints ce ica heapeth,

a l r Their bra ins unquieted with this b da e be buzzing .

I stay not thy body, nor on baw vaw trumpery descant . f Pack to soil Italian ; cross the seas ; ﬁsh or a kingdom . m a Verily, in hope rest I (if gods y take duly revengement) “ ” a d With g g rocks compassed, then vainly Dido reciting ’ Thou shalt be punished . I ll with ﬁre swartish hop after .

When death hath untwined my soul from carcase his holding,

I will , as hobgoblin , follow thee : thou shalt be sore handled .

I shall hear, I doubt not, thy pangs in Limbo related . TANI HURS T RICHARD S .

194

On AnI ll-Ma nag ed Hous e

s Chimneys , with corn rej ecting smoke ;

Air ripens not, nor earth produces : In vain we make poor heelah toil S ,

V Through all the alleys , hills , and plains , i i : The Goddess Want, in tr umph re gns h er fﬁ And chief o cers o f state,

THE lanky hank o f a she in the inn over there

- May the devil grip the whey face d slut by the h air, b a d And beat manners out of her skin for a year .

’ ' vir tue s ath and the On p , a voice that would rasp dead ,

Came roaring and raging the minute she looked on me, The Petition of Tom D er mody to the Thr ee i n C ouncil Sitting

! d RIGHT rigorous , and so forth Humble

By cares and mourning, tost and t umbled, ﬁ

B efore your Ladyships , Tom Fool

Knowing above the rest you rule, Most lamentably sets his case

With a b old heart and saucy face . b Sans shoes or stockings , coat or reeches ,

You see him now, most mighty witches ,

His body worn like an old farthing, a- The angry spirit j ust parting, is credit rotten and his purse H , As empty as a cobbler ’ s curse — ! His Poems , too , unsold that s worse

In short, between con founded c ros s es ,

Patrons all vexed and former losses ,

Sure as a gun he cannot fail ,

Next week to warble in a j ail , Which j ail to folks not very sanguine Is j ust as good or worse than hanging ; fi ﬂ t Though in the rst vain hopes a ter, ’ B ut Hope s quite strangled by the latter .

Thus is a poor rhyming rascal treated ,

Fairly, or rather fouly cheated

O f all the goods from wit accruing, ’ (Wit that s synonomous with ruin) . T d- L s hen take it in your hea piece, adie ,

1 99 a is To set up poor B ard , whose trade Low f allén enough I n conscience ; pity

‘ The m aker of this magic ditty ; And turn your Wheel once more in haste

To see him on the summit placed , ’ ’ For well you wot that woes ( od rot em) ave long since stretched him at the bottom H , Where he wh o erst ﬁne lyrics gabbled

d So pitifully pelte , that ‘ He looks like any drowned rat . 0 u ! Justice, J stice , take his part 0 lift him on thy lo fty Cart Ma ni ﬁc g Fame ! Marry o f Twenty ! THOMA S

200

Reward to verse that told no lie ; e What could have mad him so remiss, If there be any truth in this ? From grassy Fodhla once before The bards were sent to exile sore Colum cille who But , held them dear,

Reversed their doom within a year . ’ ’ Tis said that at a bard s complaint The holy statue of a Saint Lent that presumptuous rogue a Shoe ; There’ s nothing poetry cannot do ! The prize that can be given by none ’ ’ win s I ll from Bles ed Mary s Son , And if there ’ s truth in what they tell ’

I ll get to Heaven for writing well . ma The praise of men y rise and fall , r Then p aise the Lord that made them all ,

And when all earthly praise grows dim , ’ There s still the j oy of praising Him .

By Him were all our blessings given, Then praise the King of Highest Heaven ! Let land and sea alike proclaim His noble acts and praise His Name ! ’ Tho verses be but vanity, own They have their eternity,

And vain enough , when all is said, The men for whom the verse is made ! And he that is to poets cold

Gains not thereby more steeds or gold, ’ And he that ne er a verse can rouse,

Owns but till death his bulls and cows .

If verse expired, good gentlemen , Where were your lays and histories then ? You ’ d know your sires but could not track

Your families much further back .

And were our fount of knowledge dry, Who could to men of rank supply

The branches of their pedigree, And Gaelic geneology ? What consequences would ensue

To gallant knights , the like of you,

Who could not, if no poet sang, Detect the roots from which you sprang ? a Unknown were Skirmish , r id and ﬁght,

Unknown the feats of bravest knight , valient When once his deeds were done,

Each king and royal house unknown . Tho’ Guaire died he liveth yet And who Cuchulain shall forget ?

The Red Branch Hall is honored still ,

And Brian lives and ever will . They peri s h not who praised are ; Is Conall dead or Concoba r ? hl ’ They have not passed from Fod a s plains , h And Fergus yet wit us remains . b M acCuill And Lugh that fell efore , b No one of him remaineth still , And yet so bright his fame appears ’ Twill keep him deathless through the years .

The good, the valiant and the strong,

Their deeds survive in bardic song, ’ Or swift oblivion s shroud would fall

On Niall and Cormac, Conn and all .

You Kings that rule in hall and fort , The poets shall your stock support ;

In north or south or east or west, ’ Tis they uphold your house the best .

If there be not a voice to sing,

With lute and harp accompanying, The glorious feats of men of worth s f or Will pa s ever from the earth .

Oh , shall our nobles cease to trace ’ ? Their fathers fame, their lordly race c Let poets their a hievements tell ,

Or bid the ancient t imes farewell . Did all forget what poets sing

Of ancient huntsman , warrior , king,

Nor learned of Donal or of Conn, The bondsman and t h e free were one ! n So , Irishme , if this decree

Expel the bards , where shall we be ? For every Gael that shows SO brave Is nothing better than a slave ! GI OLL A BRI GHDE MACNAMEE ( Thir teenth Centur y ) v e h Tr ans la t d by t e EARL OF LONGFORD . 203 The Night B efor e L ar ry Wa s Str e tched

THE night before Larry was stretched , The boys they all paid him a visit ; I n A bait their sacks , too , they fetched ; They sweated their duds till they riz it :

For Larry was ever the lad ,

When a boy was condemned to the squeezer, Would fence all the duds that he had

To help a poor friend to a sneezer, ’ And warm his gob fore he died .

The boys they came crowding in fast ,

They drew all their stools round about him , - Six glims round his trap case were placed , ’ ’ He couldn t be well waked without em . When one o f us asked could he die

Without having truly repented , “ ’ Says Larry, That s all in my eye ; clar And ﬁrst by the gy invented ,

To get a fat bit for themselves .

“ ’ I m sorry, dear Larry, says I , To see you in this situation ;

And blister my limbs if I lie , ’ I d as lieve it had been my own station . ! ’ ” Ochone it s all all over, says he , ’ - For the neck cloth I ll be forced to put on , ’ And by this time to -morrow you ll see

Your poor Larry as dead as a mutton,

h as . Because, w y, his courage w good

204

’

Though sure it s the b es t way to die , a- ! Oh, the devil a better living For, sure when the gallows is high Your J ourney is shorter to heaven

But what harasses Larry the most,

And makes his poor soul melancholy, Is to think on the time when his ghost Will come in a sheet to sweet Molly ! Oh , sure it will kill her alive

S O moving these last words he spoke, We all vented our tears in a shower ;

For my part, I thought my heart broke,

To see him cut down like a ﬂower .

On his travels we watched him next day, ! co him Oh , the throttler I thought I uld kill ;

But Larry not one word did say, Nor changed till he came to King William”

Then , musha ! his color grew white .

c the n When he ame to nubbli g chit, a s SO He w tucked up so neat and pretty,

The rumbler j ogged off from his feet, And he died with his feet to the city ; — a He kicked , too but that was all pride, ’ But soon you m ight see twas all over ; oon after th e noose was untied S , c And at darky we waked him in lover,

And sent him to take a ground sweat . AN NY S O MOU . May they lie low In wave s o f Woe,

Bruadar and Smith and Glinn

Helpless and cold , I pray, ! Amen I pray, O King,

To see them pine away .

Br uadar and Smith and Glinn May ﬂails o f sorrow ﬂay ! s Cause for lamenting, snares and care

Blindness come down on S mith , B r Palsy on ruada come ,

Smith in the pangs o f pain , ’ Stumbling on Br uadar s path , - ! King o f the Elements , Oh , Amen

Let loose on Glinn Thy Wrath . For Brua dar gape the grave , U - p Shovel for Smith the mould , ! Amen , O King o f the Sunday Leave l ’ G inn in the devil s hold . Amen !

Br da r Terrors on ua rain , Glinn And pain upon pain on , ! Amen , O King o f the Stars And

May the devil be linking him . Amen !

linn G in a shaking ague , ’ Bruadar s Cancer on tongue , ! Amen , O King of the Heavens and Forever stricken dumb . Amen !

li Thirst but no drink for G nn,

Smith in a cloud o f grief , Amen ! 0 King o f the Saints ; and rout r B ua d a r without relief . Amen

Smith without child or heir, Br r And ua da bare o f store , ! Amen , O King o f the Friday Tear l ’ For G inn his black heart s core . Amen !

Br d r ua a with nerveless limbs , ’ Glinn s Hemp strangling last breath , ’ ! Amen , O King o f the World s Light

And Smith in grips with death . Amen !

linn ff r G sti ening f o the tomb ,

Smith wasting to decay, 0 ’ Amen , King o f the Thunder s gloom , Br And uadar sick alway . Amen !

All ill from every airt

Come down upon the three , And blast them ere the year be out n In rout a d misery. Amen !

Glinn let mis fortune bruise, Br adar u lose blood and brains , ! Amen , O Jesus hear my voice ,

Let Smith be bent in chains . Amen

linn Br r I accuse both G and uada ,

And Smith I accuse to God ,

May a breach and a gap be upon the three , ’ And the Lord s avenging rod . Amen !

Each one o f the wicked three i Who raised aga ns t m e their hand , May ﬁre from heaven come down and slay

‘

This day their perj ured band , Amen !

May none o f their race survive .

May God destroy them all , Each curse o f the psalms in the holy books

O f the prophets upon them fall . Amen !

Blight skull and ear, and Skin ,

And hearing, and voice , and sight,

Amen ! before the year be out,

Blight S on of the irgin , blight . , V Amen !

May my curses hot and red

And all I have said this day, e Strike the Black Pe ler , too , ! Amen , dear God , I pray Amen !

ns lat G AS YDE. Tr a ed by DOU L H n By wounds and nails they think to wi ,

His oaths his heart d oth pierce .

Tha t curse the Tuckles s time

I nthi s mos t vile and sinful cast BE THI S the fate O f the m an who would Shut his gate

l S e l . On the stranger , gent e or impl , early or ate

When his mouth with a day’ s long hunger and

ﬁh For the savour o f salted s ,

Let him sit and eat his ﬁll o f an empty dish .

To the man o f that ilk, his I Let water stand in churn , nstead o f milk ’ That turns a calf s coat Silk.

And under the gloomy night May never a thatch ma de tight l Shut out the c ouds from his sight .

Above the ground or below it,

Good cheer , may he never know it,

Nor a tale by the ﬁre , nor a dance on the road , nor a song b

wandering poet .

Till he open his gate

To the stranger, early or late , e And turn back the ston o f his fate . JAMES H . COUSINS Fr om

It is my bitter grief, it cuts me to the heart That In the country o f Clan Darry this should be his fate ! ? O woe is me, where is he Wandering, houseless desolate , ,

Alone, without or guide or chart !

’ Medr eamS - I see j ust now his face , the strawberry b right , lifted to the blackened heavens while the tem estuous Up , p Winds B low ﬁercely over and round him, and the smiting sleet shower blinds The hero o f Galang to-night l

ﬂ Large, large af iction unto me and mine it is one That o f his maj estic bearing, his fair stately form , ’ Should thus be tortured and o erborne ; that this unspa ring storm Should wreak its wrath on head like his !

That his great hand , so o ft the avenger o f the oppressed,

Should this chill churlish night, perchance, be paralysed by frost ; - While through some icicle hung thicket, as one lorn and lost, He walks and wanders without rest .

- r The tempest driven tor ent deluges the mead, It overﬂows the low banks o f the rivulets and ponds ; - The lawns and pasture grounds lie locked in icy bonds ,

S o that the cattle cannot feed .

The pale -bright margins o f the streams are seen by none ; Rushes and sweeps along the untamable ﬂ oOd on every side ; ’ It penetrates and ﬁlls th e cottagers dwellings far and wide ;

Water and land are blent in one .

’ Through some dar woods mid bones of monsters , ugh k , H

now strays ,

As he confronts the storm with anguished heart, but manly

brow, - f now 0 what a sword wound to that tender heart o his , were A backward glance at peace ful days !

21 4

W MAN o f the p erc ng wail O O i i , ’ Who m our nes t o er yon mound o f clay

With sigh and groan , Would God thou wert among the Gael ! Thou would ’ st not then from day to day

Weep thus alone . ’ Twere long before around a grave T r In green y connel , one could ﬁnd This loneliness ; ’ B nn- ir h Near where ea Bo c e s banners wave, Such grief as thine could ne ’ er have pined

Companionless .

Beside the wave in onegal D , ’ Antr im s In glens , or fair Dromore, K illilee Or , Or where the sunny waters fall As s r At a oe, near Erna shore ,

This could not be .

’ ' in f On Derry s plains , rich Drumcli f, d Throughout Armagh the Great , renowne

In olden years , ’ N 0 day could pass but woman s grie f Would rain upon the burial -ground Fresh ﬂoods o f tears !

- and O no From Shannon , B oyne , ’ D - From high unluce s castle walls ,

From Lis s adill ,

The youths whose relics moulder here er e sprung from ugh high prince and 1 W H , ’ O f Ail each s lands ; u Thy noble brothers , j stly dear ,

Thy nephew, long to be deplored ’ By Ulster s bands . Theirs were not souls wherein dull tim e

Could domicile decay, or house Decrepitude ’ They passed from earth ere m anhood s pr

Ere years had power to dim their brows , c Or hill their blood .

h ’ And w o can marvel o er thy grief, wh o s Or can blame thy ﬂowing tear , Who knows their source ? ’ ’ D nn ll D nn O o e , u as ava s chie f, ff Cut o amid his vernal years , Lies here a corse h B eside his brother Cat b ar , whom Ty r connell o f the Helmets mourns In deep despair :

For valour , truth , and comely bloom ,

For all that greatens adorns , peerles s

21 8 Oh , had these twain , and he , the third , ’ ’ O Niall s The Lord o f Mourne , son

(Their mate in death ) , d A prince in look, in deed , and wor , Had these three heroes yielded on The ﬁeld their breath , ’ Cr iff an s Oh , had they fallen on plain , There would not be a town or cla' n

From shore to sea,

But would with shrieks bewail the Slain, O r chant aloud the exulting rann O f j ubilee

When high the shout o f battle rose , On ﬁelds where Freedom ’ s torch still burned ’

Through Erin s gloom ,

I f one, if barely one o f those

Were slain , all Ulster would have mourned The hero ’ s doom !

I f at Athboy, where hosts o f brave Ulidian horsemen sank beneath

The shock o f spears , ’ ll Young Hugh O Nei had found a grave , Long must the North have wept his death With heart-wrung tears !

— I f on the day o f Ballach myre

The Lord o f Mourne had met thus young, ’ A warrior s fate , In vain would such as thou desire h h m i n To mourn , alone , t e c a p o sprung From Niall the Great ! NO — marvel this for all the dead , eaped on the eld pile over pile H ﬁ , , - At Mullach brack, h Were scarce an eric for his ead , I f death h a d stayed his footsteps while On victory’ s track ! If on the Day o f Hostages The fruit had from the parent bough Been rudely torn ’ — ’ In sight o f Munster s bands Ma cNees

Such blow the blood o f Conn , I trow,

Could ill have borne . I f on the day o f Ball ach -boy

Some arm had laid by foul surprise , C The hie ftain low, Even our victorious shout of j oy Would soon give place to rueful cries And groans o f woe !

I f on the day the Saxon host — Were forced to ﬂy a day so g reat For As h anee

The Chief had been untimely lost, Our conquering troops should moderate

Their mirthful glee . ’ There w ould not lack on Liff br d s day,

From Galway, from the glens o f B oyle , ’ From Limerick s towers ,

A marshalled ﬁle , a long array O f mourners to bedew the soil With tears in showers !

I f on the day a sterner fate

Compelled his ﬂight from Athenree , f His blood had lowed,

What numbers all disconsolate , u Wo ld come unasked , and Share with thee ’ Afﬂiction s load ! I f Derry’ s crimson ﬁeld had seen ’ - H is li fe blood off ered up , though twere ’ On Victory s shrine,

A thousand cries would swell the keen , A thousand voices of despair Would echo thine !

Thy Saviour trod ;

l l f l Sus tain us in these do e u day s , ' ’ L ament f or the D ea th of B ogha n Ruadh O Neill

“ I D they dare did they dare to slay E ogh an Ruadh D , , ’ ” O Neill ?

Yes , they slew with poison him they feared to meet with ” steel . May God wither up their hearts ! May their blood cease

to ﬂow,

who E o han Ruadh . May they walk in living death , poisoned g

b Though it break my heart to hear, say again the itter

words . rom Derry against Cromwell he marched to measure F , , swords : s n h But the weapon o f the S a s a ac met him on his way . ’ And he died at loch Uachtar upon St . eonard s day . C , L

Wail , wail ye for the Mighty One . Wail , wail ye for the

Dead , — Quench the hearth , and hold the breath with ashes strew the

head .

Howtenderly we loved him . How deeply we deplore ! Holy S aviour ! but to think we shall never see him more !

Sagest in the council was he, kindest in the hall , — ’ E h Sure we never won a battle twas og an won them all . — — Had he lived had he lived our dear country had been free : ’ ’ ’ ’ But he s dead , but he s dead , and tis Slaves we ll ever be . “ ’ and Red h O Farrell and l anricarde reston ug , C , P H

But— what are ye all to our darling wh o 1 5 gone ? ’

e . The Rudder o f our Ship was he , our Castl s corner stone

“ him th e ! Our Wail , wail through Island Weep , weep for pride !

l ﬁl s r Would that on the b att e e d ou gallant chief had died ! Be inn — Old Weep the Victor o f Burb weep him , young and — ! Weep for him , ye women your beautiful lies cold

— We thought you would not die we were sure you would

not go , And leave us in our utmost need to Cromwell ’ s cruel blow

Sheep without a shepherd , when the snow shuts out the

0 ! h E h n w y did you leave us , og a ? Why did you die ?

’ ’ was O Neill ! was Soft as womans your voice , bright your

eye ,

0 ! wh ou E o h an ? ou ? O y did y leave us , g Why did y die ’ Your troubles are all over , you re at rest with God on high , ’ E o han l— wh But we re slaves , orphans , g y did you die ? ” I I OM AS V S T DA I .

224

Rider o f the white palm ! With the silver-hilted sword ! Well your beaver hat became you With its band o f graceful gold ; Your suit o f solid homespun yarn Wrapped close around your form ;

Slender shoes o f foreign fashion , And a pin o f brightest silve r

Fastened in your shirt . As you rode in stately wise - On your slender steed , white faced ,

After coming over seas , Even the Saxons bowed before you Bowed down to the very ground ; Not because they loved you well But from deadly hate

For it was by them you fell ,

Darling o f my soul .

My friend and my little cal f ! ff of m O springs the Lords o f Antri , And the c hiefs o f I mm okely !

Never had I thought you dead , Until there c ame to me your mare H er bridle dragged beside her to the ground

- Upon h er brow your heart blood splashed, Even to the carven saddle ﬂowing down

Where you were wont to sit or stand . I did not stay to cleanse it I gave a quick leap with my hands Upon the wooden stretcher o f the bed ;

A second leap was to the gate,

And the third leap upon thy mare.

226 I n haste I clapped my hands together , I followed on your tracks AS well as I could Till I found you la1 d before me dead At the foot o f a lowly bush o f furze ;

’ Without pope , thout bishop Wi ,

To read a psalm for thee ; But only an old bent wasted crone

Who ﬂung over thee the corner o f her cloak .

My dear and beloved one ! When it will come to me to reach our

Little Conor, o f our love , - And Fiac, his toddling baby brother, Will be asking o f me quickly Where I left their dearest father ? I shall answer them with sorrow That I left him in Kill Martyr ; They will call upon their father ;

He will not be there to answer .

My love and my chosen one ! When you were going forward from You turned quickly back again !

You kissed your two children , '

You threw a kiss to m e . “ - b e You said , Eileen , arise now , stirring,

And set your house in order ,

B e swiftly moving .

I am leaving our home ,

It is likely that I may not come again . I took it only for a j e s t

You used o ften to be j esting thus before .

2 27 ’ My friend and my heart s love !

Arise up , my Art,

Leap on thy steed , Arise out to Macroom And to I nchegeela after that ;

A bottle o f wine in thy grasp , h As was ever in the time o f t y ancestors .

Arise up , my Art, Rider o f the shining sword ;

Put on your garments , Your fair noble clothes ;

Don your black beaver, D raw on your gloves ;

See , here hangs your whip , Your good mare waits without ;

Strike eastward on the narrow road ,

For the bushes will bare themselves be fore you ,

For the streams will narrow on your path , For men and women will bow themselves before

I f their own good manners are upon them yet , - But I am much a feared they are not now.

Destruction to you and woe ,

O Morris , hideous the treachery

That took from me the man o f the house ,

The father o f my babes , n Two o f them run ing about the house ,

The third beneath my breast,

. It is likely that I. shall not give it birth

My love and my secret thou . n-S Thy cor tacks are piled ,

And thy golden kine are milking, But it is upon my own heart is the grief !

There is no healing in the Province o f Munster,

Nor in the Island smithy o f the Fians , ’ Till Art O L eary will come back to me But all as i f it were a lock upon a trunk And key o f it gone straying ; . the O r till rust Will come upon the screw .

My friend and my best one ! ’ L r Art O ea y, son o f Conor, Cadach Son o f , son o f Lewis ,

Eastward from wet wooded glens , Westward from the slender hill r - Whe e the rowan berries grow, And the yellow nuts are ripe upOn the branches

Apples trailing, as it was in my day. Little wonder to mysel f ’ ’ L r I f ﬁres were lighted in O ea y s country,

And at the mouth o f Ballingeary, Gou ane Or at holy g Barra o f the cells ,

After the rider o f the smooth grip , After the huntsman unwearied n When , heavy breathi g with the chase ,

Even thy lithe deerhounds lagged behind . s O horseman o f the enticing eye , What happened thee last night ? For I mysel f thought That the whole world c ould not kill you

When I bought for you that Shirt o f mail . My friend and my darling ! A cloudy vision through the darkness

And I alone upon my bed !

I saw the wooded glen withered , I saw our lime-washed court fall en ; No sound Of speech came from thy hunting-dogs Nor sound o f singing from the birds

When you were found in the clay, On the side o f the hill without When you were found fallen ’ Art O Leary ; With you r drop o f blood oozing out i Through the b reast o f your sh rt .

It is known to Jesus Christ, I will put no cap upon thy head , - Nor body linen on my side,

Nor shoes upon my feet, Nor gear throughout the house :

Even on the brown mare will be no bridle ,

‘

But I shall Spend all in taking the law. I will go across the seas To seek the villain o f the black blood

But i f they will give no heed to me , It is I that will come back again To speak with the King ;

Who cut off my treasure from me . M wh o O orris , killed my hero Was there not one man in Erin Would put a bullet through you ?

Had he died calmly , I would not deplore him ; Or i f the wild stri fe ’ O f the sea -war closed o er him But with ropes round his white limbs

Through Ocean to trail him , Like a ﬁsh a fter slaughter ’ Tis therefore I wail him .

Long may the curse O f his pe ople pursue them ; Scully that sold -him And soldier that slew him ! One glimpse o f Heaven ’ s light May they see never ! May the hearthstone o f Hell B e their best bed forever !

In the hole where the vile hands

O f soldiers had laid thee,

Unhonored , unshrouded,

And headless they laid thee , ’ N 0 eye to rain o er thee,

No dirge to lament thee, N0 friend to deplore thee !

Dear head o f my darling How gory and pale

These aged eyes see thee, High spiked on their j ail ! That cheek in the summer sun ’ Ne er shall grow warm ; Nor that eye e ’ er catch light From the ﬂash o f th e s torm !

234

Nor b oile

after been Slain .

h You , young women , w o are drinking wine there ,

H many a day have I ma de good ale in th e glen O , ,

That came not from s tream, or malt , like the brewing Of

“ ll h l And a t e wea th that I s ought, one fair kind glance from my

love .

! the r Alas On night when the ho ses I drove from the ﬁeld, was a That I not near, from terror my ngel to shield !

She stretched forth her arms , her mantle she ﬂung on the wind, ’ And swam o er Loch Lene, her outlawed lover to ﬁnd .

- Oh, would that a freezing, sleet winged tempest did sweep, And I and my love were alone far off on the deep ! ’

I d ask not a ship , or a bark, or a pinnace to save ’ With her arm round my waist, I d fear not the wind nor the wave .

’ Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides ,

That the maid of my heart, the fair one of heaven resides :

' a s h I think, s at eve e wanders its mazes along,

“ The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song . m h I r is h L N N Fr o t e : JEREMIAH JOSEPH CA LA A . Aghad oe

’ A h A HE E a glade in g adoe h adoe, Agh adoe, T R S , g ’ A h There s a green and silent glade in g a doe, ’ we Where met, my Love and I , Love s fair planet in the k s y, ’ O er A h a d that sweet and Silent glade in g oe .

’ A h adoe A h adoe A h adoe There s a glen in g , g , g , ’ A h There s a deep and secret glen in g adoe, Where I hid him from the eyes o f the red-coats and their spies

That year the trouble came to Agha doe .

! r A h a doe A h adoe Oh my cu se on one black heart in g , g , ’ Dhuv A h a doe On Shaun , my mother s son in g , When your throat fries in hell ’ s drouth salt the ﬂame be in

your mouth , For the treachery you did in Agh adoe !

A h d A h For they tracked me to that glen in g a oe, g adoe, When the price wa s on his head in Aghadoe ; ’ him O er the mountain through the wood , as I stole to

with food , A h When in hiding lone he lay in g adoe .

A h a A h d e But they never took him living in g doe, g a o ; h A h a doe Wit the bullets in his heart in g , —m r There he lay, the head y breast keeps the warmth whe e once ’ twould rest ’ one to win the traitor s gold from Agh ad oe ! G ,

A h A hado I walked to Mallow Town from g adoe, g e, ’ h B rought his head from the gaol s gate to Ag a doe,

The B ur ia l of Sir J ohn M oor e

h - OT a drum was eard , not a funeral note N , , As his co rse to the rampart we hurried ; Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot ’ O er the grave where our hero we buried .

We buried him darkly at dead o f night,

The sods with our bayonets turning, ’ By the struggling moonbeam s misty light, h And t e lantern dimly burning .

fﬁ N c O useless o n e nclosed his breast, Not in sheet or in shroud we wound him

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest ,

‘ With his martial cloak around him .

we Few and short were the prayers said , And we spoke not a word o f sorrow ; B ut we stead fastly gazed on the face that was dead ,

And we bitterly thought o f the morrow .

’ we h llow d We thought as o his narrow bed , ’ m o th d And s o down his lonely pillow , That the foe and the stranger would tread o ’ er his

head , And we far away on the billow !

L a ment f or Thom as D a vis

W ED through B allinderry in th e spring-time I ALK , When the bud was on the tree ;

- And I said , in every fresh ploughed ﬁeld beholding

The sowers striding free, Scattering broadside forth the corn in golden plenty

- On the quick seed clasping soil , — Even such this day, among the fresh stirred hearts o f ” Thomas Davis , is thy toil .

I sat by Ballyshannon in the summer, And saw the salmon leap ; And I said as I beheld the gallant creatures

Spring glittering from the deep , ' Through the spray, and through the prone heaps striving onward

To the c alm , clear streams above,

So seekest thou thy native founts of freedom , Thomas

Davis,

In thy brightness o f strength and love .

I stood in Der ryb awn in the autumn ,

And I heard the eagle call, With a clangorous cry o f wrath and lamentation

That ﬁlled the wide mountain hall , ’ O er the bare , deserted place o f his plundered eyrie ;

And I said , as he screamed and soared ,

So callest thou , thou wrath ful , soaring Thomas Davis , For a nation ’ s rights restored !”

244

But my trust is s trong in od, Who made us brothers , H G That e will not suffer their right hands , Which thou hast j oined in holie r rites than wedlock

To draw opposing brands . n u l Oh , many a tuneful to gue that tho madest voca Would lie cold and silent then s e - e E in And songle s long onc more, should o ften widow d r h of h r Mourn t e los s e brave young men .

h bra e young m en, my lo e, my pride , my prom se, O , v v i ’ Tis on you my hopes are set,

I n manliness in kindliness n j ustice , , , i To make Erin a nation yet ; - - - S elf respecting, sel f relying, sel f advancing I n o in uni n or severance, free and strong nd i f od rant this then under A G g , , greater praise belong. SAM UEL E will betray all ride but when e mourn him , T ARS p , y Be it in soldier wise ; As t for a captain who ha h greatly borne him , in And the midnight dies .

Fewness o f words is best ; he was too great

For ours or any phrase . b ound e Love could not guess , nor the slipped o f hat ’ Track his soul s secret ways .

a e Signed with Sign , unbroken , unrev aled , His Calvary he trod - r S O let him keep , where all world wounds a e healed h T e silences o f God .

’ : Yet is he Ireland s , too a ﬂaming coal

Lit at the stars , and sent To burn the sin o f patience from her s oul

The scandal o f content .

And , in the evil stress , For England ’ s iron No ! to ﬂing i r anat c . A grim , g Yes

He t was ast taugh us more , this best as it l When comrades go apart h They shall go greatly, cancelling t e pa s t, Slayi ng the kindlier heart .

to your glasses— steady ’ to our comrades eyes ; Quaff a cup

Not here is the vintage sweet ; ’ Tis cold as our hearts are growing,

And dark as the d oom we meet .

And soon shall our pulses rise ;

And h

Not a sigh for the lot that darkles ,

AS mute as the wine we drink . l s s e — So stand to your g a sf steady ! ’ Tis this that the respite buys ;

One cup to the dead already, And hurrah for the next that dies ! Time was when we frowned onothers ;

We thought we were wiser then . Ha ! Ha ! let those think of their mothers

Who hopes to see them again . — No ! stand to your glasses steady ! The thoughtless are here the wise ; u A c p to the dead already, And hurrah for the next that dies !

’ ’ There s many a hand that s shaking, ’ ’ There s many a cheek that s sunk ; e But soon, though our h arts are breaking, ’ ’ They ll bri m with the wine we ve drunk . So stand to your glasses— steady ! ’ Tis here the revival lies ;

A cup to the dead already, And hurrah for the next that dies !

’ There s a mist on the glass congealing, ’ ’ Tis the hurricane s ﬁery breath , And thus does the warmth of feeling Turn ice in the grasp of death ; — Ho ! stand to your glasses steady ! For a moment the vapor ﬂies ;

A cup for the dead already, And hurrah for the next that dies !

Who dreads to th e dust returning ?

Who shrinks from the sable shore, Where the high and haughty yearning Of the soul shall sting no more ? Ho ! stand to your glasses— steady ! The world is a world of lies ;

A cup to the dead already, And hurrah for the n ext that dies !

L a ment f or S ea n M a cD er mott

MacDermott o e T HEY have slain you , Sean ; never m re thes eyes will greet Th e eyes beloved by women , and the smile that true men loved

’ “ - the and Never more I ll hear the stick tap , and gay limping

feet,

They have slain you , ean the gentle ean the aliant ean S , S v , S the proved

e n f or us wh o the Hav you scor linger here behind you , Sean wise ? As you look about and greet your c omrades in the strange

new dawn .

o one says but saying, wrongs you , for doubt ne er dimmed S , v

your eyes ,

And not death itself , could make those lips o f yours grow bitter, Sean .

d n the he e AS your stick goes tapping ow avenly pav ment,

ean my friend , S , s and That is not your way Of thinking, generous , tender, wi e brave ; who w d are d to the We, kne and loved and truste you , truste

end , And your hand even now grips mine as though there never a were a gr ve. ’ LII AN SEUMAS O SU V . ’

. Thro slanting snows her fan fare shrill ,

And pastures poor with greedy weeds , ’ Perhaps he ll hear her low at morn , L a ment f or the P oets : 1 9 1 6

I HEARD the oor Old Woman say ' “ P

At break o f day the fowler came, And took my blackbirds from their songs ’ Who loved me well thro shame and blame.

NO more from lovely distances

Their songs shall bless me mile by mile, Nor to white Ashbourne call me down

To wear my crown another while .

With bended ﬂowers the angels mark

For the Skylark the place they lie , From there its little family in sk Shall dip their wings ﬁrst the y .

And when the ﬁrst surprise o f ﬂight

Sweet songs excite , from the far dawn

Shall there come blackbirds loud with love,

Sweet echoes o f the singers gone .

But in the lonely hush o f eve

Weeping I grieve the silent bills . I heard the Poor Old Woman say

In Derry o f the little hills . C E E FRAN I S L DWIDG .

r There is mist on ou heads , And a cloud chill and hoary

O f black sorrow, sheds

An eclipse on our glory.

n Has the ma date been given, That the children o f Fir m

From their country be driven .

That the sons of the king and Oh , the treason malice Shall no more ride the ring In their own native valleys ;

No more Shall repair

Where the hill foxes tarry, Nor forth to the air Fling the hawk at her quarry :

For the plain shall be broke

By the share o f the stranger, And the stone-mason ’ s stroke Tell the woods o f their danger ;

The green hills and Shore

B e with white keeps disﬁgured , And the Mote o f Rathmore Be the Saxon churl ’ s haggard !

The land o f the lakes Shall no more know the prospect O f valleys and brakes S O trans formed is her aspe ct ! The Gael cannot tell , In the uprooted wildwood

And the red ridgy dell , The Old nurse o f his childhood

The nurse o f his youth

I S in doubt as she views him,

If the wan wretch , in truth ,

B e the child Of her bosom .

And we thirst amid wassail

For the guest is the lord , And the host is the vassal !

Through the woods let us roam , Through the wastes wild and barren ; We are strangers at home ! We are ex ﬂ es in Erin !

And Erin ’ s a bark O ’ er the wide‘ waters driven !

And the tempest howls dark, And her side planks are riven !

And -in billows o f might Swell the Saxon before her, ! Unite , oh, unite Or the billows burst o ’ er her ! Trans la ted b S I R RG S N y SAMUEL FE U O .

2 63 L a ment f or B a nba

MY land ! 0 my love ! and What a woe , how deep , Is thy death to my long mourning soul ! d God alone , Go above ,

Can awake thee from sleep , Can release thee from bondage and dole ! s al as and ! Ala , , , alas For the once proud people o f Banba !

As a tree in its prime ,

the axe layeth low, _ Which n ! Didst thou fall , O unfortunate la d

Not by time , nor thy crime ,

They were given by a false felon hand ! ! Alas , alas , and alas For the ohee proud people o f Banba !

O , my grie f o f all griefs

I s usurped , whilst thyself art in thrall !

Other lands have their chie fs ,

Have their kings , thou alone ! Art a wi fe , yet a widow withal ! Alas , alas , and alas For the once proud people o f Banba !

Ka thleen-Ni-Houla ha n

NG they pine in weary woe , the nobles of our land L O , a ! Long they wander to and fro , proscribed , las and banned ; ’ altar les s Feastless , houseless , , they bear the exile s brand , But their hope is in the coming -to o f Kathleen - Ni-Houla han !

Think her not a ghastly hag , too hideous to be seen ,

Call her not unseemly names , our matchless Kathleen ; h Young is she, and fair s e 1 3 , and would be crowned a queen , ’ Were the King s son at home here with Kathleen -Ni Houlahan !

0 Sweet and mild would look her face, none so sweet and l mi d , Could she crush her foes by whom her beauty is reviled ; Woollen plaids would grace hersel f and robes o f silk her

child , ’ I f the King s son were living here with Kathleen -Ni Houlahan ! Sore disgrace it is to see the Arbitres s of Thrones Vassal to a S ax oneen o f cold and sapless bones ! Bitter anguish wrings our souls— with heavy sighs and groans We wait the Young Deliverer o f Kathleen-Ni-Houlahan !

267 wh o an and l ed He, over s ds Israel along “ ? H h o i h e , w fed , w th y bread , that c osen tribe and

2 6 8

All day long in unrest, T o and fro do I move, The very soul within my breast

Is wasted for you , love ! The heart in my bosom faints

To think o f you , my Queen ,

My li fe o f life , my saint o f saints , My dark Rosaleen ! My own Rosaleen !

To hear your sweet and sad Complaints ,

My life , my love , my saint o f saints , My Dark Rosaleen !

Woe and pain , pain and woe ,

Are my lot, night and noon ,

To see your bright face clouded so,

Like to the mourn ful moon . But yet will I rear your throne Again in golden sheen ; ’ Tis you shall reign , shall reign alone , My dark Rosaleen ! My own Rosaleen ! ’ Tis you shall have the golden throne , ’ Tis you shall reign , shall reign alone , My Dark Rosaleen !

Over dews , over sands , Will I ﬂy for your weal :

Your holy, delicate white hands

Shall girdle me with steel .

At home in your emerald bowers , ’ ’ From morning s dawn till e en , ’ You ll pray for me , my ﬂower o f ﬂowers , My dark Rosaleen My fond Rosaleen ! ’ ’ You ll think of me through daylight s hours ,

My virgin flower , my flower o f flowers , My Dark Rosaleen ! A second life , a soul anew,

The earth shall rock beneath our tread ,

- And gun peal , and slogan cry

i h ll Ere you shall fade , ere y ou s a die,

The Judgment Hour must ﬁrst be nigh

Ere you can fade , ere you can die ,

Tr ans lated

2 7 1 Roi s i n D ub h

0 WHO are thou with that queenly brow And uncrowned head ? wh And y is the vest that binds thy breast, ’ - ? O er the heart, blood red - Like a rose bud in June that spot at noon , A rose -bud weak ; But it deepens and grows like a July rose - Death pale thy cheek .

The babes I fed at my foot lay dead ; I saw them die ; In Ramah a blast went wailing past ; ’ It was Rachel s cry .

But I stand sublim e on the shores o f Time,

And I pour mine ode, ’ As Miriam sang to the cymbals clang, On the wind to God . Once more at my feasts my bards and priests Shall sit and eat : And the Shepherd whose sheep are on every steep Shall bless my meat ;

Oh, sweet , men say, is the song by day, And the feast by night ;

But on poisons I thrive , and in death survive ” Through ghostly night . B Y DE ERE AU RE V .

272

Ah, woe unbounded where the harp once sounded The wind now sings ; The grey grass sh ivers where the mead in rivers Was outpoured for kings ; The min and -the mether are lost together With the spoil of the Spears ; strong dun only has stood dark and lonely

Through a thousand years .

’ For the banquet s cheer , tall princesses with thei r trailing tresses And their broidered gear ; My grief and my trouble for this palace noble With no chief to lead ’ Gainst Saxon stranger on the day o f danger o f Aileach Neid . ALICE HA m ne eyes behold thy glory oh my country ? S LL i , , Shall m 1 ne eyes behold thy glory ? Or s hall the darkness close around them ere the sun -blaze B reak "at last upon thy story ?

When the nations ope for thee their queenly circle ,

As sweet new sister hail thee,

Shall these lips be sealed in callous death and silence , That have known but to bewail thee ?

th e Shall ear be dea f that only loved thy praises ,

a Shall the mouth be cl y that sang thee in thy squalor , When all poets ’ mouths shall Sing thee ?

Ah ! the harpings and the salvos and the shoutings r O f thy exiled sons retu ning,

‘ ’ th e - s I should hear, tho dead and mouldered , and grave damp ’ Should not chill my bosom s burning .

Ah ! the tramp o f feet victorious ! I should hear them ’ Mid the Shamrocks and the mosses , And my heart should toss within the shroud and quiver - c As a aptive dreamer tosses .

I Should turn and rend the c ere-cloths round Giant sinews I should borrow “ h ' Crying, O , my brothers , I have also I n her lonelines s and sorrow !

This Her itag e to the Ra ce of Kings

HI S heritage to the race o f kings T , Their children and their children ’ s seed Have wrought their prophecies in deed O f terrible and splendid things .

he T hands that fought, the hearts that broke

In old immortal tragedies ,

These have not failed beneath the skies , ’ Their children s heads re fuse the yoke .

And still their hands shall guard the sod ’ That holds their father s funeral urn , Still shall their hearts volcanic bur n

With anger o f the sons o f God .

No alien sword shall earn as wage

The entail o f their blood and tears , No shameful price for peaceful years

Shall ever part this heritage . S PH UN KETT JO E PL .

8 The I r is h Rappar ees

he to and c n RIGH SHEMUS has gone France , left his row behind ; his Ill luck be theirs , both day and night, put running in mind ~ e Lord Lucan followed after , with his Slashers brav and true, —“ And now the doleful keen is raised What will poor Ireland

What must poor Ireland do ? ” “ a c — c an Our luck, they say, has gone to Fr n e what poor ” Ireland do ?

! n s Oh ever fear for Ireland , for she has oldiers still ; ’ ’ For Rory s .boys are in the wood , and Remy s on the hill And never had poor Ireland “ more loyal hearts than these May od be kind and good to them the faith ful apparees G , R The fearless Rapparees ! The J ewel were you ory with our Iri sh a arees ! , R , y R pp

’ h, black s your heart lan liver and colder than the clay ! O , C O , ’ ’ ar s ﬁeld h , high s your head , lan assenach since S s one O C S , g away ! ’ a us It s little love you be r to , for the sake of long ago l s e a d ad But hold your hand, for Ireland sti l trik e ly blow Canstrike a mortal blow ’ -a-Crios t at s l Och , dar tis she th til o s a C uld trike deadly blow. ’ ’ The th e s a s Master s bawn , Master seat, surly bodagh ﬁll ; ’ The Master s son , an outlawed man , is riding on the hills .

‘ But od be praised that round him throng, as thick as sum G _ mer bees, — The swords that guarded Limerick wall his faithful Rap par ees ! H is loving Rapparees ! Who dare say “ no ” to ory ge with all his a arees ? R O , R pp

Blac Billy rimes o f atnamard he r acked us long and k G L , sore God rest the faithful hearts he broke —we ’ ll never see them more ’ ’ w Trua h But I ll go bail he ll break no more , hile g has gallows trees ; — For hy h e met one lonely night the fearless apparees W , R The angry Rapparees !

They never sin no more , my boys , who cross the Rapparees .

r om ell er Now, Sassenach and C w , take heed o f what I say

l ooks » th at Keep down your black and angry , scorn us night and day : ’ For there s a j ust and wrathful Judge , that every action sees , ’ And H e ll make strong, to right our wrong, the faithful Rap par ees ! The fearless Rapparees ! ’ r ﬁld ha S a s e s ! The men t t rode by side , the roving Rapparees HAR S GAVAN FFY “ C LE DU .

‘ The dust o f some is Irish earth ,

Among their own they rest, And the same land that gave them birth Has caught them to her breast ; And we will pray that from their clay Full many a race may start men O f true men , like you , ,

To act as brave a part .

They rose in dark and evil days To right their native land ; They kindled here a living blaz e

That nothing shall withstand . Alas ! that Might can vanquish Right They fell and passed away ;

But true men , like you , men , - Are plenty here to day .

’ Then here s to their memory—may it be

For us a guiding light ,

To hear our stri fe for liberty, And teach us to unite ’ Through good and ill , be Ireland s s till ,

Though sad as theirs your fate ,

And true men , be you , men , - Like those Ninety Eight . J OHN

282 ’ ’ ’ T H RO grief and thro danger thy smile hath cheer d my

l The darker our fortune , the brighter our pure ove burned ,

Till shame into glory, till fear into zeal was turned , ! a Oh slave s I was , in thy arms my spirit felt free, ’ ’ And bles s d e en the sorr ows that made me more dear to thee .

l Thy rival was honoured , while thou wert wronged and scorned l o Tby crown was o f briers , whi e gold her br ws adorned ; ’ ’ he woo d me to temples while thou lay st hid in caves ; S , t ! ; Her friends were all masters , while hine, alas were slaves

Yet , cold in the earth at thy feet I would rather be ,

thought from thee . The I r is h M other i n the Pena l D ays

’ OW e - welcome , welcom , baby boy, unto a mother s fears N , S ff The pleasure o f her u erings , the rainbow of her tears , ’ The obj ect o f your father s hope , in all he hopes to do , ’

A future man o f his own land , to live him o er anew !

’ How fondly on thy little brow a mother s eye would trace , th And in y little limbs , and in each feature o f thy face , ’ His beauty, worth , and manliness , and everything that s his , ! Except, my boy, the answering mark o f where the fetter is

! e Oh many a w ary hundred years his sires that fetter wore , And he has worn it since the day that him his ~ m otf h er bore ; it And now, my son , waits on you , the moment you are born ; The old hereditary badge of suff ering and scorn !

l— Alas , my boy, so beauti ful alas , my love so brave ! And mus t your gallant Irish limbs still drag it to the grave ?

And you , my son , yet have a son , foredoomed a slave to be , Whose mother still must weep o ’ er tears I weep o ’ er thee OHN N M J BA I .

E E though the oil be low more pur el ‘ still and higher S , y The ﬂame burns in the body’ s lamp ! The watchers still

The Uncreated Light, the Everlasting Fire

Burn on , shine on , thou immortality, until n r ‘ l r We , too , have lit our lamps at the f u e ea p y e ; n Till we , too , can be oble , unshakable , undismayed

Till we too, can burn with the holy ﬂ ame , and know There 1 8 that wi

The candles o f God ar ready burning r ow on row

286 The Thr ee Woes

’ T angel whose charge was E iré sang thus o er the THA , dark Isle wmgl ng ; ’ By a virgin his song was heard at a tempest s ruinous close : “Three golden ages God gave while your tender green blade was springing ; ’ - Faith s earliest harvest is reaped . To day God sends you

three woes .

For ages three without laws ye shall ﬂee as beas ts in the forest

For an age and a half age faith shall bring, not peace , but a sword ; - Then laws shall rend you , like eagles sharp fanged , o f your scourges the sorest ; are When these three woes past, look up , for your hope is

restored .

The times o f your woes shall be twice the time of your foregone glory ; But four fold at last s hall lie the grain on your granary ” ﬂoor . Th in a ur s ﬂee and e seas v po hall , in ashes the mountains hoary ; h He s Let n Let God do that whic will . his servants e dure and adore UBRE Y DE ERE A V .

T o revisit past scenes o f delight, thou wilt com e to me the re , i And tell me our love is remembered , even n the sky.

And ff I' I S II , as Echo far o through the vale my sad O O rolls ,

Faintly answering s till the notes once were s o

He re ends she her unechoing song :

. With amber tears and odorous sighs E il een Ar oon

HEN , like the early rose W , Eileen aroon !

Beauty in childhood blows , Eileen aroon !

When , like a diadem ,

Buds blush around the stem , Which is the fairest gem ? Eileen aroon !

I s l au hm it the g g eye , Eileen aroon !

Is it the timid sigh , Eileen aroon ! I s it the tender tone, ’ So ft as the stringed harp s moan ?

Oh ! it is Truth alone . Eileen aroon !

When , like the rising day, Eileen aroon ! L ove sends his early ray, Eileen aroon ! What makes his dawning glow Changeless through j oy or woe ? Only the constant know E ileen aroon !

29 5 a e I know vall y fair, Eileen aroon !

I knew a cottage there, Eileen aroon ! Far in that valley shade

I knew a gentle maid, z Flower o f a ha el glade, Eileen aroon !

Who in th e song so sweet ? Eileen aroon ! Who in the dance so ﬂeet ? Eileen aroon !

Dear were her charms to m e,

Dearer her laughter free,

Dearest her constancy, Eileen aroon ! W ere she no longer true , Eileen aroon ! What should her lover do ? Eileen aroon ! Fly with his broken chain ’ Far o er the sounding main,

Never to love again , Eileen aroon !

Youth must with time decay, Eileen aroon !

Beauty must fade away, Eileen aroon !

Castles are sacked in war,

Chieftains are scattered far,

Truth is a ﬁxed star, Eileen aroon ! ER R F N G ALD G IF I .

296

OVER the dim blue h ills

Strays a wild river, Over the dim blue hills

Rests my heart ever . Dearer and brighter than

Jewels and pearl ,

Ma ire my girl . Down upon Claris heath

Shines the so ft berry, On the brown harvest tree

Droops the red cherry.

Sweeter thy honey lips , So fter th e curl

Straying adown thy cheeks ,

Maire my girl .

’ Twas on an April eve That I ﬁrst met her ; Many an eve shall pass ' h Ere I f orget er . Since my young heart has been

Wrapped in a whirl , Thinking and dreaming o f

’ Maire my girl .

298 She has too pure a heart

’ O r Desmond s earl , n Life would be dark, wanti g

Over the dim blue hills

299 O drift with every p assion till my soul T Is as a stringed lute on which all winds Is it for this that I have given away Mine ancient wisdom and austere control ? Methinks my li fe is a twice -written scroll Scrawled over on some boyish holiday

With idle songs for pipe and virelay,

Wh ich do but mar the secret o f the whole .

Surely there was a time I might have trod ’ The sunlit heights , and from life s dissonance Struck one clear chord to reach the ears o f God I s that time dead ? Lo ! with a little rod I did but touch the honey of romance And must I lose soul ’ s inheritance ? O S CAR

The D oves

E house where I was born,

Grows old amid its corn ,

Amid its scented hay.

h Moan o f t e cushat dove, In silence rich and deep ; Th e old head I love

Nods to its quie t sleep.

Where once were nine a nd ten Now two keep house together ; The doves moan and complain in the All day still weather .

What wind , bitter and great, ’ H s a swept the country s face,

Altered , made desolate The heart-remembered place ?

What wind , bitter and wild , Has swept the towering trees Beneath whose shade a child Long since gathered heartease ?

Under the golden eaves The house is still and sad , AS though it grieves and gri eves n For many a lass a d lad .

Sheep a nd L a mbs

e LL in the April vening, April airs were abroad ; The sheep with their little lambs

Passed me by on the road .

The sheep with their little lamb s Passed me by on the road ; All in the April evening the I thought on Lamb o f God .

The lambs were weary and crying

With a weak, human cry . I thought on the Lamb o f God Going me ekly to die .

Up in the blue , blue mountains Dewy pastures are sweet ;

Rest for the little bodies ,

Rest for the little feet .

But for the Lamb o f God , - Up on the hill top green, Only a cross o f shame

Two stark crosses between.

All in the April evening, April airs were abroad ;

I saw the sheep with their lambs , Go And thought on the Lamb o f d. ATHER NE TYNAN K I .

NE that is ever kind said yesterday ’ ' e Your well belov d s hair has threads o f grey, And little shadows come about h er eyes ; k w Time can but ma e it easier to be ise , Though now it’ s hard till trouble is at an end

And so be patient , be wise and patient, friend . ut B heart , there is no com fort, not a grain ; e Time can but make her b auty over again, B ecause o f that great nobleness o f hers ; he T ﬁre that stirs about her , when she stirs

Burns but more clearly . 0 she had not these ways ,

When all the wild Summer was in her gaze . ! ’ 0 heart ! 0 heart i f she d but turn her head ,

know the folly of being comforted . WILLIAM BUTLE R

n m l u d I f our thought has cha ged to drea , our wil nto esire ,

A VOICE on the winds, A voice by the waters , Wanders and cries : Oh ! what are the winds ? And what are the waters ? Mine are your eyes !

Western the winds a r e,

And western the waters , Where the light lies Oh ! what are the winds ? And what are the waters ? Mine are your eyes !

w Cold , cold , gro the winds ,

And wild grow the waters , Where the sun dies : Oh ! what are the winds ? And what are the waters ? Mine are your eyes !

s And down the night wind , s And down the night water , The music ﬂies Oh ! what are the winds ? And what are the waters ?

Cold be the winds , And wild be the waters , So mine be your eyes ! L NE HN N IO L JO SO .

’ Night s Ancie nt Cl oud

k s Shallow dar hasﬁno surpri e . n Deeper dark ess dei es .

Light we see and feel is ﬂed, - Flakeles s as a phantom sped .

Mystery on mystery shed,

I t must die to raise its head .

At its death old time I S still .

i h Space, enthralled w t stars that spill, n Waiteth trembli gly, until

Light grown weary of its shroud,

Leaps alive with crest unbowed, ’ in night s ancient cloud

The Wings of L ov e

I WILL row my boat on Muckr os s Lake when the grey o f the dove Comes down at the end of the day ; and a quiet like prayer

Grows so ft in your eyes , and among your ﬂuttering hair

h e T red o f the sun is mixed with the red o f your cheek . ou ! I will row y , O boat o f my heart till our mouths have for gotten to speak

In the silence o f love , broken only by trout that spring ’ And are gone , like a fairy s ﬁnger that casts a ring /

With the luck o f the world for the hand that can hold it fast .

“

I will rest on my oars , my eyes on your eyes , till our thoughts have passed From the lake and the Sky and the rings o f the j umping ﬁsh ;

Till our ears are ﬁlled from the reeds with a sudden swish ,

And a sound like the beating o f ﬂails in the time o f corn . We Shall hold our breath while a wonderful thing is born From the songs that were chanted by bards in the days gone by ;

For a wild white swan shall be leaving the lake for the sky,

With the curve o f her neck stretched out in a silver spear . Oh ! then when the creak o f her Wings shall have brought

her near, n ﬂails We shall hear again a swish , a d a beating o f , nd And a creaking o f oars , a a sound like the wind in sails , ir As the mate o f her heart shall follow her into the a .

O wings o f my soul ! we shall think o f Angus and Caer , a e n d And Etain and Midir, th t wer changed i to wil white s wans u h To ﬂy round the ring o f the heavens , thro g the dusks and h t e dawns , b t Unseen by all u true lovers , till judgment day, ! B ecause they had loved for love only . O love I will say,

For a woman and man with eternity ringing them round ,

And the heavens above and below them , a poor thing it is to be bound ’ ‘ To four low walls that will spill like a pedlar s pack, a And a quilt that will run into holes , and churn that will dry and crack ’ ! a d m Oh better than these, rea in the night , or our heart s

’ D n h h That O o og ue, t e enchanted man , should pass between

water and air,

And say, I will change them each to a wild white swan ,

Like the lovers Angus and Midir, and their loved ones , Caer

and Etain ,

B ecause they have loved for love only, and have searched through the shadows o f things For th r ou h the th e the Heart of all hearts , g ﬁre o f love, and Wine love ,

COUS I Ns . HI S s ongs were a little phrase Drowned in ‘ the harping o f lays

More loud and long .

is deed was a single word H ,

To laughter or moan .

deed the echoes ﬁll

c ome . H M S ACDONAGH T O A M .

31 0

But I found no enemy,

No man in a world o f wrong, That Christ ’ s word o f charity D id not render clean and strong

Who was I to j udge my kind, Blindest groper o f the blind ?

God to y ou may give the sight And the clear , undoubting strength

Wa rs to knit for single right, ’ Freedom s war to knit at length , win e And to through wrath and stri f ,

To the sequel o f my life .

But for you , so small and young, ’

Born on Saint Cecilia s Day, I in more harmonious s ong Now for nearer j oys should pray S impler j oys : the natural growth

O f your childhood and your youth ,

ourage innocence , and truth : C ,

These for you , so small and young,

I n your hand and heart and tongue . A DONAGH THOMAS M C .

31 8

I WHISPERED my great s orrow To every listening sedge ; ow And they bent , bowed with my sorr , ’ Down to the water s edge .

But she stands and laughs lightly

To see me sorrow so , Like the light winds that laughing

Across the water go .

I f I could tell the bright ones - That quiet hearted move , They w ould be nd down like the sedges

With the sorrow o f love.

But she stands laughing lightly , “ Who all my sorrow knows , Like the little wind that laughing Across the water blows S E UM As

320

— My hope and all my riches yes !

I laid those treasures I possessed

322 They cry unto the night their battle -name

Clanging, cl upon my heart as upon an anvil .

They come out ~ of the s ea and r unshouting by the shore; n h ? heart , have you o wisdom t us to despair

e A d ep , dark rive the sky above . I s Shut o f the

The glittering Salmon that smells o f the sea I hold him high and whistle !

B ack to our earths ; we will tear and eat l Sea-smelling salmon ; you will tell the cubs the Boot — I am y bringer , I am the Lord the o ! deep, dark, full and ﬂ wing River O mountains fal l on me and

When you lay burning in the throes of fever

Death smote you

i n o Yea , the h ur o f your supremest trial , I l aughed with him ! The shadows on the dial

Nor man nor angel looked at me askance .

Darkness shall be pavilion for my hiding,

' b r oken f a ith Tears Shall blot out the sin o f ,

falsely kissed , shall kiss but C UR G ALI E F LON .

I f I were as Wise as they,

I woul d stray apart and brood , I would beat a hidden way Through the quiet heather spray To a sunny solitude ;

’ And should you come I d run away,

I would make an angry sound , I would stare and turn and bound

To the deeper quietude , To the place where nothing stirs

' I n the s ilence of the furze

In that an y qui etness I would think as long as they ; Through the quiet s unnmes s I would stray away to brood

By a hidden , beaten way I n the sunny solitude,

I would think until I found e Something I can nev r ﬁnd ,

Something lying on the ground,

bottom o f my mind . S PHE S TE N .

330 I f I should see the sun

The blood and smoke dispel .

Because I used to pray

Set me upon my way

And from my fetters free , Because I used to seek Your answer to my prayer And that your soul should speak For Strengthening o f the weak

Now I have seen my sha me That I should thus deny ’ My soul s divinest ﬂame , Now e shall I shout your nam , Now shall I seek -to die

By any hands but these

In battle or in ﬂood ,

On any lands or seas ,

No more shall I spare ease, No more Shall I spare blood

He Whom a D r ea m Ha th Poss es s ed

HE WHOM a dream hath possessed knoweth no more o f

doubting,

' For mist and the blowing o f winds and the ) mouthing o f words he scorns

Not the sinuous speech o f schools he hears , but a knightly

shouting,

And never comes darkness down , yet he greeteth a million

morns .

He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more o f roam ing ; All roads and the ﬂowing o f waves and the speediest ﬂight

he knows , r But wherever his feet a e set , his soul is forever homing , m o o e . And g g he c mes , and coming he hear th a call and goes

He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more o f sorrow, At death and the dropping of leaves and the fading o f suns

he smiles , For a dream remembers no past and scorns the desire o f a

morrow,

And a dream in a sea o f doom sets surely the ultimate isles .

He whom a dream hath possessed treads th e impalpable

marches , From the dust o f the day’ s long road he leaps to a laughing

star ,

And the ruin o f world s that fall he views from eternal arches , ’ And rides God s battleﬁeld in a ﬂashing and golden car . ’ S HAE M AS O S HEEL.

334 The spirit is a wind that blows .

Not the old wayward child to see - I SAW the archangels in my apple tree last night , I saw them like great birds in the starlight i urple and burn ng blue crimson and shining white . P ,

And each to each they tossed an apple to and fro , And once I heard their laughter gay and low ; n And yet I felt o wonder that it should be so .

’ But when the appl e Came one time to Michael s lap “ I heard him say : The mysterie s that enwrap

The earth and ﬁll the heavens can be read here, mayhap .

h Then abriel s oke : I praise the deed t e hidden thing . G p , “The beauty o f the blossom of the spring ” “ I raise cried aphael . Uriel : The wise leaves I sing. p , R

: And Michael I will praise the fruit, perfected , round,

Full o f the love o f God , herein being bound n His mercies gathered from the sun and rai and ground .

l So sang they till a smal wind thr ough the branches stirred , And spoke o f coming dawn ; and at its word

c . Ea h ﬂed away to heaven , winged like a bird

M NING from the coldness of Mount Brandon AT OR ,

n Their yellow crop i one cart at low tide .

To hear the breezes following their young b “ And y the furrow of a stream , I chanced ’ h To ﬁnd a woman airing in t e sun .

Coil of her hair , in cluster and ringlet, Had brightened round her forehead and those curls o S h n ﬁr Cl ser than e could bind them o a nge

' s he Were changing gleam and glitter . O turned o S gracefully aside, I thought her clothes - Were ﬂame and shadow while she slowly walked, Or that each b reast was proud because it rode . the The cold air as wave stayed by the Swan .

I asked of her wa s she the Geraldine Few h orsemen sheltered at the steps of water ?

Or that Greek woman, lying in a piled room the o On tousled purple, whom househ ld saved, When frescoes of strange ﬁre concealed the pillar : Thewhite coin all could spend ? Might it be Niav And was she over wave or from our hills ? When shadows in wet grass are heavier

Than hay, beside dim wells the women gossip And by the paler bushes tell the daylight ;

But from what bay, uneasy with a shipping ” “

? . Breeze, have you come I said 0 do you cross

The blue thread and the crimson on the framework, At darkf all in a house where n obles throng And the slow oil climbs up into the ﬂame ? ”

And there I S pea Are gathered in Claret is on the

And airy pack

s wed My women dance to bright steel that i , Starlike upon the anvil with one str K AUSTI N CLAR E.

340

On your last roof-tree ;

342 M Y WHITE tiger bounding in the west ! n Only eter al , animal and dumb ,

My two arc -lamp globes muttering light My thorax of wild woodbine offered

n . Staid, ﬁery a d slight

My dark room where voiceless chairs are proferred .

My green dragon from the barbarous east !

April swells in yeast, A bafﬂed virgin with a kno

The ﬂesh bound in ﬂat , rasping scales

Reptile , to your fugacity I cling .

b Gannets casually sta the sea . h e Each hunting wave envies t next its pleasure, f Surround me o u The spine is blank, b dy is_ p re measure .

o Marble pr tectress with vigilant breasts , the His enemy armed against curious sun, f Sa e in the dark, the chests

May be opened and your treasure won. My black tortoise from the hatching north !

Geysers and hissing streams , the landlocked sea Are back and forth

Beneath the snail and the sleeper with crooked knee .

My olive naiad in Ionian creeks

My ballad maiden raped in Highland forays ,

World all in fable speaks , - ank My gun ﬂ ed heroine of detective stories .

n Rise and look out the wi dow and dress , ma Mother with child, old n with mottled laughter, s ! World, be my gue t

And sleep again, go to sleep after

' ’ My feast : I m blind ! if oiled athletes preen

Their animal in the glass , if priests refute

Se en with divine unseen, ’ ’ I m dumb, my world, without your light , I m mute .

r l alleons Retu n my early my Lisbon rapture , the g i n a Glittered from Goa rich and me n ,

Immoderate life stallions , And the sky in Chevalier plume -doff of green

And scarlet kept the burghers in suspense : m e Flitter and ﬂit, let others envy , St Starling, arlet , what pretense Could any mortal make to let you be ?

Dancing with you is dancing with

Water , ashes kindle on my mouth

To inform you with , O my red phoenix from the south !

344

The D es er te d Kingd om

HE King is gone the old man said T , , As he went utterly alone

Along the ruined walls of stone,

With monkeys chattering overhead, “ The King is gone The King is gone,

I may not question why he chose To reign far hence in foreign lands ; hi I only wait for s commands , Contented if he ever knows

I bow not to the monkey bands .

' an h So I wait here d watc the gate,

AS I have done through all his reign, h Lest one day he s ould come again, Though all the halls are desolate

And like enough I watch in vain .

I fear that if he comes not soon The last hinge of the gate I guard

Will rust across , and wolf and pard Will prowl in underneath the moon And nothing will be left to ward ;

Already broken are the domes,

Already cracked the outer walls , And all the lovely palace falls ; ntended are the princely homes U , Across whose sills the jungle crawls .

346

Ma r y Hynes

(After the Irish of Raftery)

HAT Sunday, on my oath the rain was a heavy overcoat T , On a poor poet , and when the rain began In ﬂeeces of water to buckleap like a goat I was only a walking penance reaching Kiltartan ;

And there, so suddenly that my cold s pme

Broke out on the arch of my back in a rainbow, This woman surged out of the day with so much sunlight

I was nailed there like a scarecrow,

But I found my tongue and the breath to balance it “ And I said : If I bow to you with this hump of rain I ’ ll ’ fall on my collarbone, but look I ll chance it, ” And after falling, bow again . ah wa S he She laughed, , she s gracious , and softly said to me , “

For all your lovely talking I go marketing with an ass , ’ - I m no hill queen, alas , or Ireland, that grass widow, ’ ” f or ! So hurry on, sweet Raftery, or you ll keep me late Mass

The parish priest has blamed me for missing second Mass h And the bell talking on the rope of t e steeple, But the tonsure of the poet is the bright crash

Of love that blinds the irons on his belfry, ’ Were I making an Aisling I d tell the tale of hair, ’ But now I ve grown careful of my listeners So I pass over one long day and the rainy air

Where we sheltered in whispers .

348

Like a nun she will play you a sweet tune on a Spinet , And from such grasshopper music leap ’ ’ Like Herod s hussy who fancied a saint s head For grace after meat ; Yet she ’ ll peg out a line of clothes on a windy morning u And by noonday p t them ironed in the chest , ’ And you ll swear by her white ﬁngers She does nothing

But take her ﬁll of rest .

’ And I ll wager now that my song is ended,

Loughrea , that old dead city where the weavers

Have pined at the mouldering looms since Helen broke the thread, Will be piled again with silver ﬂeeces : O the new coats and big horses ! The raving and the ribbons ! And Ballyl ea in hubbub and uproar ! ’ And may Raftery b e dead if he s not there to rufﬂe it ’ own ! On his mare, Shank s mare, that never needs a spur

But ah, Sweet Light , though your face coins ’ ’ My heart s very metals , isn t it folly without pardon S For Raftery to ing so that men , east and west, come Spying on your vegetable garden ?

We could be so quiet in your Chimney corner a Yet how could a poet hold you anymore th n the sun,

Burning in the big bright haz y heart of harvest , Could be tied in a h enr un ?

Bless your poet then and let him go ! He ’ ll never stack a haggard with his breath His thatch of words will not keep rain or snow

Out of the house, or keep back death .

But Raftery, rising, curses as he sees you ' as h del h Stir the ﬁre and w p , That he wa s bred a poe t whose selﬁsh trade it is

To keep no beauty to himself . PADRAIC FALLON .

350 their savors will not s our : the cool , gold wines of Paradise,

’ He ll meet the soul which comes in love and deal it j oy on j oy

k to garrison the S y , to' stand there over rams and snows and deck the dark of night s o , God will deal the soul , like stars , delight upon delight .

- s t- Night Skies have planet armies , ill

rich, massive stars have never bowed ’ one cloud -be'd s ﬂock of wool ; red worlds of dreadful molten ﬁre have singed no Speck of air all is in place, and, each to each, ’ God s creatures show His care .

’ Before I go . HE forge is dark The better to show The birth of the spark

The forge is dark That the smith may know When to strike the blow On the luminous arc

As he shapes the shoe .

n blows on the dampe ed slack,

The coal now glows in the heart of the black . The smith no longer his arm need raise

To the chain of the bellows that makes the blaze . I see him search where the blue flames are h In the heart of t e fire to find th e bar, With winking grooves from e lbow to wr 1 s t A he tightens the tongs in his bawdy fist S fi , As he hands the bar to his dgety son Who holds it well on the anvil down Till he raises the hammer that stands on its head a And he brings it down with a sound like le d , ’ fir ' For e has muffled the i ron s clamour,

While his son beats time with a smaller hammer, And the anvil rings like a pair of bells

In time tothe beat that the spark expels ,

And I am delighted such sounds are made, For th es e are the technical Sounds of trade Whose glad notes rang in the heavens above

When a blacksmith slept with the Queen of Love . The hors e is looking without reproof For the leathery lap that has hugged his hoof The patient horse that has cast a shoe ; The horse is looking ; and I look too Through the Open door to the cindered pool

That a streamlet leaves for the wheels to cool . I meditate in the forge light dim

On the will of God in the moving limb, And I realize that the lift and fall

Of the sledge depends on the Mover of All .

0 lend me your sledge for a minute or two

0 smith , I have something profound to do !

- I swing it up in the half lit dark, And down it comes in a straightening are ’ o On the anvil now where there s nothing to gl w . What matter ? No matter ! A blow is a blow ! I swing it up in my bulging ﬁsts To prove that the outside world exists ; That the world exists and is more than naught — As the pale folk hold but a form of thought . You ? think me mad But it does me good,

A blow is a measure of hardihood .

I lift the Sledge, and I strike again Bang ! for the world inside the brain ; And if there ’ s another of which you have heard ’ Give me the sledge and I ll strike for a third .

I have frightened the horse, though I meant it not :

(Which proves that he is not a form of thought) . I shall frighten myself if I ramble on

With philosophy where there is room for none . ’ I was going to say that the blacksmith s blow If I were the Master of Those who Know Would give me a thesis to demonstrate

That Man may fashionbut not create .

He melts the mountains . He turns their lode

Against themselves like a Titan god .

356

Se a D a wn

FROM Wicklow to the throb of dawn I walked out to the sea alone And by the black rocks came upon

A being from a world unknown .

As proud she sat as any queen : On high , and naked as the air

Her limbs were lustrous , and a sheen - o Of sea gold ﬂowed fr m her ﬂowing hair .

And as the spreading sea did swell ’ a With the d wn s strange and brimming light, Her little breasts arose and fell

As if in concord with the sight .

Faint was the sea sound that She made Of little waves that melt in Sand While with her honey hair she played

And arched the mirror l n her hand .

I watched her lift her head and glance,

Then lean away with grace divine . I stood enraptured till in chance

Within the glass her eyes met mine .

N0 eyes had ever such a look,

And then I s aw her free her eyes .

They dwelt in mine . Mine they took

With wonder and with no surprise .

358

ARS I LI UNat Saragossa Charles a t the siege M , , “ All Spain at heel , her castles broken, all , Save only Saragossa every wall A crumbling monument and every liege Blancandr in Dead or a Christian ; Speak, , speak . Blancandr in speaking, every lord and baron, oddin N g and Silent, strokes his bearded cheek ; - E s am ari n Clarin of Balaguet, t , M al bien from over sea , all nod to hear lancandr in n B speaki g for bright, lovely Spain . M ar s ili n u is there, he lends his ear Also to treachery ; and Charlemagne Plays chess at Cor dr es and sees the summer pass

counts, perhaps , the days to Michaelmas . HETHERINGTON .

360

While the Summer Tr ees Wer e Cr ying

ALL EVENING, while the summer trees were crying i ’ The r sudden realization of the spring s sad death, Somewhere a clock was ticking and we heard it here

’ - c we In the sun por h, where sat so long, buying

Thoughts for a penny from each other . Near an Enough it was d loud to make us talk beneath our breath .

w s And a time for quiet talking it a , to be sure, although

The rain would have drowned the sound of our combined voices .

The spring of our . youth that night suddenly dried, And summer ﬁlled the veins of our lives like slow

Water into creeks edging . Like the trees , you cried .

Autumn and winter, you said , had so many disguises

And how could we be always on the watch to plot ’ ’ A true perspective for each minute s value . I coul dn t

So many of my days toppled into the past, unnoticed .

Silence like sorrow multiplied around you, a lot o Of wh se days counted so much . My heart revolted That Time for you should be such a treacherous ally

And though, midnight inclining bells over the city With a shower of sound like tambourines of Spam a G y in the teeth of the night air, I thought who was Of a man said the truth in the pity, ’ o was S mehow, under the night s punched curtain, I

I only knew the pity and the pain . RE M ONGER VALENTIN I . “ Be S till As You Ar e B ea utiful

E STI as you are beautiful B LL , Be silent as th e ro s e ;

Uns poken worship ﬂows To ﬁnd you I n your loveles s room From lonely men whom daylight gave

Impenetrably grave .

A » white owl in the lichened wood I S circling s ilently, More secret and more silent yet r Must be you love to me . m Thus , while about my dr ea mg head

Your soul in ceaseless vigil goes ,

Be still as you are beautiful , e he Sil nt as t rose . T MACD ONOGH PA RICK .

363 Dublin M a de M e

D UB LIN made me and no little town With the country closing in on its streets The cattle walking proudly on its pavements The j obbers the gombeenmen and the cheats

Devouring the fair day between them A public -house to half a hundred men li i r an - And the teacher , the s o c to d the bank clerk r In the hotel ba drinking for ten .

Dublin made me, not the secret poteen still The raw and hungry hills of the West ﬁl The lean road ﬂung over pr o t es s bog

Where only a snipe could nest .

Where the sea takes its tithe of every boat .

Bawneen and curragh have no allegiance of mine, Nor the cute self-deceiving talkers of the South

Who look to the East for a Sign .

The soft and dreary midlands with their calm canals

Wallow between sea and sea , remote from adventure , And Nor thwar d a far and fortiﬁed province

Crouches under the lash of arid censure .

m I disclaim all fertile eadows , all tilled land

The evil that grows from it and the good ,

But the Dublin of old statutes , this arrogant city,

Stirs proudly and secretly in my blood . A D A DONAGH M C ON GH.

This is the evening . Brendan , O sailor , o ff the a e stand mainl nd, backwater and glimm r, though kirtles be ﬂitter ed and ﬂesh be s eas alted e r watch while this Ireland a mirag , grows dimme . What have you come for ? Why cease from faring

through paradise islands and indigo water , through vinl and and bl oomland and carribean glory ? Follow your chart with the smoky sea-monsters ; stay with the bright birds where mus 1 c 1 s pouring

balm for the hurt souls , and Judas repentant

sits for one day on a rock in the ocean . the a Turn from ghostland, O great n vigator ; lower the oars for a legend of j ourneys ; scan tosse d empty horizons from pole to equator - un e Ireland, time fo d red , that Ireland has lost .

366 On S e ei ng Swift in L ar a cor

I SAW them walk that lane again And watch the midges cloud a pool , Laughing at something in the bra1 n

The Dean and Patrick Brell the fool .

Like Lear he kept his fool with him ’ o n r o L ng into Dubli s afte gl w , Until the wits in him grew dim

And Patrick sold him for a s how .

h Here were the days before Nig t came , ” s When Stella and the other lut, s a b — a Vane s , called y him th t ﬂame When Laracor was Lilliput !

And here, by walking up and down, a l e He m de a man called Gu liv r , While bits of lads came out from town

~ To have a squint at him and her .

was s a Still , it Stella that they w, Or el s e some l assie of their own ? hi ’ ﬂ For in s story that s the aw,

h s The secret no one S ince a known .

Was it some wench among the corn

Had set him from the other two , e e n s h a ha Some t nd r es t t he d torn, Some lovely blossom that he knew ?

367 For when Vanessa died of love ,

And Stella learned to keep her place, His Dublin soon the story wove

’ ‘ a Th t steeped them in the Dean s dn race .

’ They did not know, twas he could tell !

The reason of his wildest rages ,

The story kept by Patrick Brell ,

The thing that put him with the ages .

Now when they mention of the Dean Some Silence holds them as they talk ;

Some things there are unsaid, unseen,

That drive me to this lonely walk,

To meet the mighty man again,

And yet no comfort comes to me .

Although sometimes I see him plain,

That silence holds the Hill of Bree .

n ’ For , though I thi k I d know her well , ’ I ve never seen her on his arm , Laughing with him nor heard her tell

She had forgiven all that harm .

’ ’ And yet I d like to know twere true,

That here at last in Laracor,

Here in the memory of a few, h There this rest for im and her .

BRINSLEY MACNAMARA .

368

’ Hodh Rua dh O D omhna ill

J UAN de Juni the priest said Each J becoming H ;

Ber r u ete 1 gu , he sa d, And the G was aspirate

! imenez , he said then

And aspirated ﬁrst and last.

But he never said — — And it seemed odd he Never had heard The Spirated name Of the centur 1 eS -dead Bright-haired young man

Whose grave I sought .

All day I passed In greatly built gloom From dusty gilt tomb Marvellously wrought To tomb Rubbing At mouldy inscriptions With ﬁngers wetted with And asking Where I might ﬁnd it

And failing .

A D ublin B a ll a d : 1 9 1 6 O WRITE it up above your hearth

And troll it out to sun and moon, To a ll tr ue I r is hmen on ear th

Ar r es t and dea th c ome la te or s oon.

— - Some boy o whistled nine ty eight n One Su day night in College Green, And such a broth of love and hate Was stirred ere Monday morn was late

As Dublin town had never seen .

And god -like forces Shocked and Shook

Through Irish hearts that lively day,

And hope it seemed no ill could brook. Christ ! for that liberty they took There was the ancient deuce of pay !

The deuce in all his bravery, i His g rth and gall grown no whit less , He swarmed in from the fatal sea With pomp of huge artillery

And brass and copper haughtiness .

He cracked up all the town with guns

That roared loud psalms to ﬁre and death, hailed down And houses , granite tons n To smash our wou ded underneath .

And when at last the golden bell Of liberty was silenced— then He learned to shoot extremely well At unarmed Irish gentlemen !

To Toma ns C os te ll o at the Wars

(From the Irish)

’ ’ ORourke ERE S pretty conduct , Hugh , r s G eat son of Bri an , blos oming bough, N obles t son of noble kin What do you say to Costello now ? If you are still the man I loved

Hurry and aid me while you can . Do you not see him at my side * a ? ? A w lking ghost What ails you, man ’ n Brian s son, goal of my so g, If any thought of losing me

Could bring you grief, my love , my life, Beseech this man to let me be ’ Yet there s such darkness in his ways , Though he a thousand oaths repeat You must not at your peril doubt

His strong design to have me yet . And if the river of my shame

He ford but once , the frontier crossed, You will not rule that land again ;

Beyond my will my heart is lost .

374 Fear s ome the forms he courts me in ;

Myriad and strange, the arts he plies ;

1 Never dons twice the same dis gu s e,

Sometimes I turn and there he stands,

A stripling with his bashful air, Swooping upon me like a hawk ;

My heart is wrested from its lair ,

e ic and dark rhymes

To woo and mock me in my shame . Far to the Ulster wars he ﬂies ; — Some town he sacks I am the town ; With some light love he charms the night i l B ui in her . eg g , he brings me down And many and many a time he comes So much like you in voice and Shape He takes me in his arms unguessed

My dearest, how can I escape ?

But when he comes in his own form , own With his voice, I stand transﬁxed ;

My love deserts its wonted place,

My mind no longer holds it ﬁxed . nl ou Sweetheart , u es s y pity me And keep my waver mg fancy set And drive that phantom from my Side

I swear that he will have me yet .

I cannot tear myself in two,

My love, your love within my mind Pants like a bird caught in a snare

My lover, must you be unkind ? If ’ tis not wasted time to plead

’ ' S On of hur etan Sweet S , let me be ;

The women of the world are yours, b You grieve my hus and, courting me . O sun-mist of the summer day You will ﬁnd I am no easy game

No graceless , lovesick, moony girl ,

I am not dazzled by a name . Do not believe what neighbours say, I am no harlot as you think ; Long since I gave my love away ; m You ust not look at me and wink.

Enchantment of desire is vain, I see through every mask you don ;

You rascal , pity my good name,

You thief of laughter , get you gone .

You bandit of the world, away ! I Shall not give your lust rel ease ; Smother the frontier posts in ﬂame

But let my foolish heart have peace .

Bright blossom of the scented wood, ’ S hur etan s Yellow hope and pride,

For love, for money or for rank ’ I cannot leave my husband s Side .

And since I never shall be yours , Your father ’ s trade take up anew And magnify the northern blood

The light of poetry are you ,

The stirring of the coals of love,

The voice by which old griefs are healed, The mast of the rolling sail of war I may be yours , I shall not yield .

And yet and yet, when all is said,

All my scolding seems untrue, My mind to each rebuke replies

If love I must, I must love you .

- And now, God bless you and good bye,

Our love perfected , let us part ; Ask me no more or j ealousy ’ Will crucify my husband s heart .

Silence, my darling ! Here he comes ! ! Away, although my heart Should crack Make haste ! N0 wor ds ! (God help me now !) My love—O God —do not look back ! K ’ FRAN O CONNOR .

376

’ THE dark pathways of his lGothic mind IN 1 - Gr m faces , gargoyle featured, peer and gape, m I b Heavy with cloistered s nhi ited,

From many a ruined archway, many a dim - b -wa Uncharted grass grown y y ; and the dead, s But seeing, glas y eyes of things that ape h f r Sad human likeness , bar t e path o him n the b To where, beyo d gi bering host , lies sweet — i The untainted forest fa r and sweet and far , h n Wit its green traceries , sheltering ma y a shy m Soft forest presence , and many a peep g fawn

Lures with faint notes , miraculously drawn

From the uncouth pipes , to where , on a green ﬂoor, - Dim forms are dancing, with dream motived feet, v nm Under the quiet the e e g star .

’ ‘ SEUMAS O SULLIVAN .

378

No Une as y Refuge

TRY is no uneasy refuge, stilly centred, h terrors snifﬁng round it and growling behind ed for darting . The poet has killed all the tigers Soned in dews of his afﬂiction the quick vipers : d angers were clean put away before he entered .

g his retreat, he is taken up by a fresh wind m m a new creation that knows nothing of losses here and there , a frail ghost undoes the close mosses

Lch e — s s half sounds to the silence, sways even to ses — into the moonlight bringing far defeats to the mind .

would be nothing to remember but for the dead . will spring up in its season ; the beasts of destruction

nd . conspire The poet hears the near voice of Sirens , s ued by magic glints to dangerous environs : ill retrieve him from the monopoly of tyrants l OS C tinsel suppositions and the suave deduction ?

! — — ﬁr s quers all enters the cave t stooping his head .

is no uneasy refuge, grimly centred m withdrawal into ystery through a low portal , ’ lter n s under victory s eagle wi g , of a mortal s done with all his enemies before he entered . LANAI D D B SALKEL .

380

You that Mitchel ’ s prayer have heard ‘ ’ wa r 0 ! Send in our time , Lord Know that when all words are said

And a man is ﬁghting mad,

Something drops from eyes long blind,

He completes his partial mind,

For an instant stands at ease,

t a . Laughs aloud, his heart a pe ce Even the wisest man grows tense With some sort of violence a Before he c n accomplish fate,

Know his work or choose his mate .

Poet and sculptor, do the work; Nor let the modish painter Shirk

What his great forefathers did,

Bring the soul of man to God,

Make him ﬁll the cradles right .

Measurement began our might

Forms a stark Egyptian thought,

Forms that gentler Phidias wrought . Michael Angelo left a proof

On the Sistine Chapel roof, Where but half-awakened Adam Can disturb globe-trotting Madam

Till her bowels are in a heat, Proof that there’ s a purpose set Before the secret working mind :

Profane perfection of mankind .

382 ' On backgr ounds for -a God or Saint

’ And when it s vanis hed still declare,

When the greater dream had gone s Calvert and Wil on, Blake and Claude,

Prepared a rest for the people of God, ’ Palmer s phrase , but after that

Confusion fell upon our thought .

Irish poets , learn your trade,

Sing whatever is well made , Scorn the sort now growing up

All out of Shape from toe to top , Their unremembering hearts and heads

a - B se born products of base beds .

Sing the peasantry, and then a - C n H rd riding ou try gentlemen,

The holiness of monks , and after ’ Porter - drinkers randy laughter ; Sing the lords and ladies gay

Throug h seven heroic centuries ; Cast your mind on other days That we 1 n coming days may be

Still the indomitable Irishry .

Sla inthe !

I S PEAK with a proud tongue o f th e people wh o were An d r the people who a e,

The worthy o f Ardara, the osses and I nishkeel R , My kindred

“ “ The people o f the hills and th e dark-haired passes M , y neighbours on the li ft o f the brae ,

In the lap o f the valley.

Old m en I speak o f the , - The wrinkle rutted , Who dodder about foot-weary For their day 1 5 as the day that has been and is no Who warm their feet by the ﬁre And recall memories o f the times that are gone ; Who kneel in the lamplight and pray For the peace that has been theirs And who beat one dry-veined hand a gainst another

For the coldness o f Heath is on them .

I speak o f the old women ’ Who danced -to yesterday s ﬁddle And dance no longer They sit in a quiet place and dream And s ee Vl sl ons e O f what is to com ,

O f their issue , Which has blossomed to manh o od and womanhood And s eeing thus They are happy s no r For the day that was leave egrets , And peace is theirs ,

And perfection .

I speak o f the strong men Who Shoulder their burdens m the Who stand in the market place 1 And bargain in loud vo ces ,

Showing the 1 r stock to the world. Straight the glance o f their eyes

- B road shouldered ,

Supple .

Under their feet the holm s blos som,

The harvest yields .

And their path is o f prosperity.

I speak o f the women , - - Strong hipped, full bosomed , Who drive th e cattle to graz e

Who milk the cows at dusk. s Grace in their home , And in the crowded ways Modest and seemly Mother o f children !

I speak o f the children s O f the many townland ,

Blossoms o f the B ogland,

Flowers o f the Valley, n - Who k ow not yesterday, nor to morrow,

And are happy, The de of se who h a e h em pri tho v begot t .

NOTE S

E o A. . (Ge rge W . Russell ) When m a class in the Art School in Dublin two young men h met and found t ey shared a visionary mood and experience, a s something w done to initiate a literary movement in Ireland, ff for these two, though working together in di erent spheres , ne wa s brought a fresh trend into Irish poetry . O George W . and Russell , then working in a department store , the other was - William Butler Yeats , the son of a well known portrait painter . George Russell established a branch of the Theosophical Society

‘ o in Dublin . When he came to publish his poems in the S ’ “ ” ie - c ty s magazine he wanted to use the pen name Aeon, but the printer set it up as thereafter he u s ed tho s e 1 initials . He was born in the north of Ireland in 867 and died in England in 1935 . His volumes of poetry, mainly mystical ‘ but sometimes with a political intention, include Homeward : ’ ‘ ’ the Songs by way, The Earth Breath, Voices of the Stones ; h his Collected Poems were publis ed in 1 935 . But although he as m an ff held to a mystical vision, w always a of a airs , earning his living as an organizer of groups of farmers for - agricultural co operative societies , and later editing the organ of - the Agricultural Co operative Society, The Irish Homestead . h painted continuously and was able to sell his pictures . W en as ff Irish Free State came into being he w o ered, but declined,

a seat in the Senate . To help in the creation of a new Ireland

he edited The Irish Statesman . A magniﬁcent orator, he lec

tur ed extensively i n America . Beside his volumes of poetry he wrote prose works which have a philosophical import ; the most ‘ ’ solid of them is The National Being, which is a consideration of

the state as a work of human imagination .

ALL W LL INGHAM , I IAM When William Butler Yeats began to write poems that had in them the sense of locality he turned to the countryside poems h as of illiam Allingham for a pattern . The elder poet , w o w W , ’ o r born in the county neighbouring Yeats s , had sung the c unt y

side, made over old ballads , shaped popular traditions . But William Allingham was also a learned man and a considerable

. was 1 824 artist He born in in Ballyshannon, County Donegal ,

his father being bank manager in that little town . As a p rotes u ' sio al litterateur he settled in London, where he moved in the - ’ Pre Raphaelite circle and edited Fraser s Magazine . Amongst his works is an anthology of English poetry with the engaging ‘ ’ . in 1889 title of Nightingale Valley He died London in .

B JO ANIM , HN The brothers Banim produced in collaboration a s eries of Irish

novels and sketches which still retain a high vitality, the Tales ’ ” of the O Hara Family whic h deal with life in their southern Irish

county at the beginning of the nineteenth century . John Banim

was born in Kilkenny in 1 798 and died there in 1844. His verse wa s occasional , arising out of some public emotion .

B T S OYD, HOMA The date of his birth— it was between 1866 and 1870—is not nd L h ou . known for certain , a the place was either Donegal or gt While living in London in desperately straitened circum stances (hewas employed by some automatic machine company to collect the pennies out of the machines ) he wrote some ﬁne poems for ﬁh ’ Arthur Grif t s j ournal in Dublin . The Irish Literary Society in London gave him a better -paid and more congenial j ob as

secretary. Unfortunately his morale was broken by this time .

Thomas Boyd wa s a man of great sensibility, considerable ac m l h n co p is me t and a great deal of learning .

B YR W LL A . NE, I IAM

He published his poems under the name of William Dara . He ’ ’ 1 8 0 1 3 s was born in the 8 s and died in the 9 0 . Living a very

secluded life as a teacher in Catholic colleges , little was known “ about him . From his collection of p oems , A Light on the ” B room, one might think he was a lay brother in a monastery.

C L J R JO A LANAN , E EMIAH SEPH

This poet brought , in one instance, anyway, a recognizable

Gaelic cadence into translations from the Irish . That cadence is “ ” in The Outlaw of Loch Lene . Jeremiah Joseph Callanan was ’ b r k n 1 orn in Co i 795 . He studied to be a priest, then studied to be a doctor , wandered about Ireland a great deal, and died in

Portugal of tuberculosis in 1829 . 392 about the poem he spoke of . He had gone from America to Ireland as a boy and worked on his family’ s farm in Tyrone and was tremendously inﬂuenced by the landscape , people and tradi tions of that part of Ulster . Out of that experience came the “ ” “ poems in My Ireland and his second volume, A Cairn of ” Stars . The poem of his given here requires a note . Redmond ’ ” “ Hanl on b 1623 in O , Francis Carlin wrote was born a out the

County Armagh where his father owned several townlands . During the Cr omwellian s ettlem ent this estate was taken ove r to by the English . Then Redmond and his three brothers took ‘ ’ e the hills as Rapparees . He went to France wh re he was given s the title of Count , which title wa credited to him in the French gazettes . He returned to Ireland before 167 1 and became the ‘ ’ wit leader of the Rapparees of Ulster . Having refus ed to bear ness against the Primate , Oliver Plunkett , one hundred pounds

ff . was o ered for his head by Ormonde , the Viceroy of Ireland He was Slain in his sleep by a clansman who brought his head to ’ Downpatrick gaol . The Receiver s Book in the Dublin Record ‘ ’ f O Hanlon O fice contains the following entry . Paid to Art as a ’ O Hanl on reward for killing Redmond , a proclaimed Rebell and r a l 8 1— Tr a tor Conco d tion 6th . 6 y , as by dated May One Hundred ’ ‘ ’ Pounds . The nearest translation of Rapparee would be ‘ ’ Guerrilla . The disbanded Irish armies formed the nucleus for h these bands . They levied toll on the planters w o had taken over the confiscated estates ; they avenged some of the wrongs ‘ inflicted on the peasantry, and they checked the exactions of The ’ Bashaws of the West and South, as the historian Lecky calls the new landowners . See also the note on the poet Gavan Duffy.

C O R ASEMENT, R GE 1 864 Roger Casement was born in Dunleary, outside Dublin in .

As a young man he entered the British Consular service, and, when he was about forty, wa s selected for a dangerous mission the investigation of atrocities committed on the natives of the

Belgian Congo . The publication of his report created an im mense stir in a Europe that then was unused to atrocity and led to a reform in the administration of the territory . Soon after wards he was selected for a more dangerous mission, the ih vestigation of atrocities on the natives of the Putumayo on the

Amazon . He was knighted by the British government for con r duct and repo ts that reﬂected such glory on the Consular service, and at the age of forty-eight retired from the service with the idea of devoting the rest of his life to the cause of Irish liberation .

The Ireland he returned to was in a revolutionary temper . Case ment backed the creation of a volunteer force which might be used to establish and protect a national government . He fore a a nd and saw war between England Germany, believed that Ire 394 ’ m land Should put herself on Germany s Side . When the war ca e he went to America to get help from American—Irish groups for wa s the Volunteers . From America he went to Germany which war a then at . Returning to Ireland on German submarine he ut i a s a was arrested, p on trial n London, and hanged traitor in 19 16 . AS against all the charges that would make Casement appear a dishonorable man there stand as witnesses the words of “ his great report on Putumayo . It may be long before a de moralization drawing its sanction from so many centuries of indi fference and oppression can be uprooted ; but Christianity owns schools and missions as well as dreadnoughts and dividends . In bringing to that neglected region and to those terrorized Of people something the suavity of life, the gentleness of mind, the equity of intercourse between man and man that Christianity seeks to extend , the former implements of her authority Should be more potent than the latter . Roger Casement published a small book of verse which in the main was the rhetoric of politics . The one personal poem is that given in this anthology .

C J OHN K E E GAN ASEY, 1 4 Was born in 8 6 in County Westmeath . As a very young man ’ ’ he belonged to the revolutionary organization of the 6OS , the

Fenian organization, and was imprisoned for some time . His “ Rising of the Moon keeps the romance and fervour that went with insurrectionary feeling in those days . He died in 1 870.

CL RK A A E, USTIN 1 Was born in 896 . In his early period this poet was fasci nated by the saga material and wrote narrative poems out of it “ ” “ ” rm The Vengeance of Fi , The Cattle Drive in Connaught - but has S ince turned to the theatre and written verse plays . He is the poet wh o has most consistently tried to giye ' a Gaelic pat tern to the verse he writes in English . He does this by making assonance more important than full rhyme . One of his poems given in this anthology is entitled Aisling . The Aisling was the distinctive form developed by the Gaelic poets of the ’ seventeenth and eighteenth centuries ; the word means vision : the omari who poet encounters a beautiful w I S Ireland, and there is a tragic communion between the two .

C L M R M . O UM , A Y m a Born in Ireland, and came to A eric with her husband, 1 9 1 “ ” 4. Padraic Colum, in Author of From these Roots and “ Life and the Dream . She is best known as a literary critic ; b has contri uted critical articles to most American publications, and was literary critic of Forum Magaz ine for seven years .

395 ’ Was born in the midland county of Longford where his father ’ wa wor kh-ous e a h s master of a t t e end of 188 1 . In his twenties n A R was a d . . fﬁ he associated with Yeats , and with Arthur Gri th, ’ the founder of the Sinn Fein movement . In Arthur Grifﬁth s

j ournal his poems ﬁrst appeared . He was a member of the s o ie c ty that founded the national theatre, and wrote plays for the ’ — us Abbey Theatre The Land, the Fiddler s House, Thomas M kerry. He came to America with his wife in 1 914 . Besides poetry and plays he has written novels and a series of books for ” “ s children . A note i needed on his versions of The Islands of ” “ ” the Ever Living ; it is from The Voyage of Bran which wa s

translated by Kuno Meyer , the verse portions of which belong

to the eighth, or perhaps to the seventh century . CORK R D L E Y , ANIE

as born in County ork in 1878 . He lives in h is nati e city W C v , where he is Professor of English Literature in the University .

He is a novelist, short story writer and dramatist as well as a

poet . As a literary historian he has written a very impressive book on the Gaelic poets of the seventeenth and eighteenth cen — “ tut ies The Hidden Ireland . As a critic he stands ﬁrmly f or ’ the ‘ Irish-Ireland idea in literature:

COU J SINS , AMES Was born in 1 873 in Belfast . In his early career he belonged to the society that created the national theatre , and a play of his wa s produced by them . Subsequently he went to India , where he has remained as a professor of English literature .

RR JO P L O CU AN , HN HI P T n 1750 1 1 Was born in Cou ty Cork in and died in Dublin in 8 7 . -a — fﬁ He was councillor t law in a period when men with such o ce were the main defenders of individual and national liberty. As an orator he was not surpassed by any of the great speakers of the time, not even by Grattan , and his defence of Peter Finnerty is one of the great pieces of forensic eloquence . He was a member of the Irish Parliament and strove very fervently against its was abolition . John Philpot Curran closer to the people than any other man of his position at the time ; he spoke Irish . The poem given in this anthology represents the ﬁrst attempt— very likely unconscious— to give Gaelic structure to a poem in Eng “ ’ ” lish : its proper title is The Deserter s Meditation .

D RL G OR A EY, E GE Was born in 1795 in the district which rises to the Dublin hills where his family had long been resident . He was an odd com

1641 -49 of . His victory over the Scottish army at Benburb was

the only inspiring action in that dilatory war . He died as Oliver I n Cromwell uniﬁed the English command Ireland, and perhaps the most unfortunate thing about his death was that it deprived the Confederation of a leader with whom Cromwell could have

made a peace . Owen Roe I s buried I n an island 1 n Lough Oughter

in County Cavan .

D R O TH S E M DY, OMA as born in Ennis County lare in 1 775 and died in ondon W , C , , L - in 1 882 in a destitute condition . AS a scholar and a verse writer

he was an infant prodigy. After a quarrel with a patron of his a in Dublin he enlisted in the British Army, w s in some cam ai ns p g , and got out of military life with a small pension which he sold . AS a boy he showed great promise ; he was discovered in rags in a Dublin bookshop , and at the age of twelve excited scholars by his knowledge of Greek and Latin and by verse that a he had already written . But he w s quarrelsome and drunken , and misfortune pursued him . His most distinctive work is in the satires he wrote when very young.

DE R A R VE E, UB EY

Was the son of Sir Aubrey de Vere and was born in Adare,

1814 . was County Limerick, in He a scholar and held a chair wa in University College, Dublin, and s a close friend of Car dinal Newman who founded that institution . He died in 1902 .

D VL D E IN , ENIS v Born in Scotland in 1908 . He is in the Irish diplomatic ser ice and has been attached to the Legation in Washington . His 1 L ough B er g and Other Poems was published in 946 .

DOW B R L W LING, A THO OME

Was born in County Kerry in 1823. For some years he was an ofﬁce holder in Cork and contributed poems to Thomas ’ Davis s Nation . Then he emigrated to America, where the single poem that he is known by was written . He died in S an

Francisco in 1863.

D F C R G V UF Y, HA LES A AN 1 1 Was born in Monaghan in 8 6 . With Thomas Davis he m founded the Nation in 1842 . He was more politically inded - than Davis , and he made a statesman like attempt to bring about a n alliance between the Catholic and Protestant farmers of

Ireland in 1852 . Frustrated in this enterprise he emigrated to 398 Australia, where his political talents gave him a second career which culminated in a premiership and a knighthood . Leaving

Australia I n 1880 he attempted to enter Irish affairs once more, but the new political forces were against him . He died where he had been residing for s ome time n the South of France in , i ,

1 903.

D RD UNSANY, LO - Descendant of a famous Norman Irish family, the eighteenth

Baron Dunsany wa s born in 1 878 . Besides the poems which have “ now appeared in Fifty Poems , he has written brilliant plays, “ ” the most notable of which are The Gods of the Mountain and “ Ar amines King g and the Unknown Warrior . He is the only modern writer who can be mythological and fabulous .

FALLO P R C N , AD AI Was born in Galway in 1906 and grew up amongst a Gaelic speaking people . The poem of his given in this anthology is ’ Ra not a translation of ftery s famous poem to Mary Hynes , but i s, with its extravagance and its Gaelic fantasy, a dramatization of Raftery himself .

F RR O R A EN, R BE T 19 Was born in Dublin in 09. He has been a school teacher a d n is now a director of broadcasting on Radio Eireann . He “ put the life of Colum-cille into verse in This Man was Ire land and h as written a critical work in The Course of Irish ” Poetry.

F R S L E GUSON , AMUE 1810 Was born in Belfast in and died in Howth, outside 1 a who Dublin, in 886 . He w s the one elder poet had a powerful ’ 1880s inﬂuence on the movement that began with Yeats in the , for “ Ferguson had Shaped some of the saga material in Lays of th e ” “ Western Gael and Congal . But his greatest achievement “ ” was in his translations of Gaelic folk song : Cashel of Munster is one of the three or four poems that carry over a Gaelic rhythm ; it has also the wildness of some man dispossessed of everything warm and familiar ; the tenderness of the Gaelic folk “ song is in his Dear Dark Head . Samuel Ferguson was an a k ntiquarian and a scholar , and was nighted and made President and of the Royal Irish Academy for his research discoveries . “ ” His translation of The Fair Hills of Ireland needs a note . D h m The original was made by onnc ad Ruadh MacNa ara, a

1 . Munster poet, about 730 The refrain has nothing to do with ' to the of hills . The original is sung noblest Irish traditional a1 rs .

FI GGI S D RR , A ELL 1 882 Was born in Dublin in , and, in his twenties , combined business , wandering and adventure for a few years before he launched himself as a writer . His ﬁrst publication was a volume of poems to which G . K . Chesterton wrote an introduction . Thi s was in 19 10. He then wrote a verse play which got a productio n .

At this time he lived in London as a j ournalist . He had started as a novelist when he came back to live with his wife in Ireland,

first in Achill and then in Dublin . He threw himself into the revolutionary movement which then centered round the Volun h teers , and it was he w o was selected to purchase , secretly, of course , munitions for them on the Continent . This he did successfully and helped to land them at Howth . He was high in the council of Sinn Fein after that and was trusted by Arthur ffi h Gri th, w o made him chairman of the committee that drew up the constitution for the provisional government . He was not trusted by the men who came into power after the death of f Gri fith, and, going back to his literary and j ournalist work, he w rote what may well prove a lasting book, The Return of the ” “ Hero , which he published under the pseudonym Michael Ire ” m . on land Then disaster Ca e on him . He was writing a book Blake when his wife shot herself ; a young woman he was in l ove with died miserably ; a life which he had vividly imagined for himself, a life in which he would be a statesman and an out standing literary figure, went out . He committed suicide in 1 2 London in 9 5 .

Fox , GEORGE thin but Is known only for one g, \ that thing is perfect of its “ ” kind, the translation from Irish of the County Mayo . Yeats “ ” s aid of it, It is as wild as a hare . The original was by Thomas

Lavelle or Thomas Flavell , a Connacht poet of the late seven teenth or early eighteenth century .

MOI REE N Fox ,

Now Mrs . Chevasse . A strong adherent of Gaelicism, she and her husband lived among the Gaelic-speaking people of Galway and made Gaelic their home language . Her most important ” r r work is a narrative poetic sequence, Liadain and Cu iti , which was published in America .

FURLONG AL CE , I Lived in Dublin and was one of the literary group that con ’ tributed to Arthur Grifﬁth s United Irishman and Sinn Fein .

400 th e tenth century .

H C FR A KETT, ANCIS ’ wh o Was born in Kilkenny, the son of a doctor in Parnell s time was active in the political crisis . Francis Hackett came to the United States as a young man and for some years was literary editor of The New Republic . He has written a History b r e ufﬁ of Ireland and several ooks of literary criticism . He t ed

’ lived in Toks vi to Ireland and Wexford with his wife, Signe g, for ten years . Subsequently he and she went to live in Denmark, a country which he greatly admires . At present he is living in the United States .

H R O G OR E ETHE INGT N , E G 1 Born in 1 9 6 . He has not yet published a collection of his verse . He lives in Dublin where he is connected with a well known printing establishment .

H L‘ L EL R U , EANO b 1860 1935 Was born in Du lin in and died in . She came of a scholarly family, and she herself was an excellent scholar ; she “ ” wrote the valuable Text Book of Irish Literature . She made

fine translations from the Middle and Modern Irish . Two of her translations given in this anthology need notes . “ The original of the beautiful S leep Song of Grainne over ” “ ” D ermuid is given in Dunair e Fir m (The Poem Book of r ainne aflianced u M c umh l Finn) . G , th e wife of Fion a C a , is ’ r fleeing with D e muid, one of Fionn s paladins . The linnet twit ters , the grouse flies , the wild duck pushes out from the stream r ainn everything around signals to G e that pursuers are close . ff The poem is dramatic in its blend of a ection and alarm , all set “ a to the soothing me sure of a lullaby. In The Lay of Prince ” wh o Marvan, the hermit is brother of Guaire , king of Connacht, praises the hermit ’ s life above the royal state and convinces the king that a hermit’ s life is better than the prince ’ s that he wants him to return to . Scholars say that this poem belongs to the ’ L e r tenth century . The Dirge for Art O a y , with its im r o isations s in p v and reminiscence is the typical Irish ca o e . But the sweep of personal feeling in it puts it apart from all others . ’ L ear Art O y , like many of the Irish gentry of his time , had been as f abroad ; he w an o ficer in the Hungarian service . He married ’ H O Connell ~ Eileen of the Raven air , the daughter of of Derry ’ O Connell nane, whose grandson was to be Daniel the Liberator . The immediate cause of the tragedy was the winning by ’ ’ L ear s I h O y mare of a race . At that time ris Catholics were a not permitted to own a horse worth more th n ten pounds . The ’ English planter whose horse had been beaten o ffered O L ea r y f that sum for it ; he was supposed to take the o fer . He refused . Thereupon he was declared an outlaw and was afterwards shot down . This wa s in 1773. The first intimation his wife received of the tragedy was the arrival of the mare without her rider .

H DO L YDE, UG AS

When, as a divinity student, he entered Dublin University

(Trinity College) , then definitely opposed to Irish culture in any “ was form, Douglas Hyde asked what languages he knew . Eng ” a k lish, Germ n, French, Latin , Gree , Hebrew, he replied, and “ a but . dded I dream in Irish The son of a Protestant rector, b 1 0 he wa s orn in Roscommon in 86 . While in Canada where he taught in a university, he became interested in the Indian tribes u and learned something of their lang age and lore . Returning to ' Ireland he comm enced a work that had momentous consequences in Irish history : he began his great collection of folk poetry and k fol stories , publishing in his own striking English translations with the originals of the beautiful folk poetry of Connacht which would have been lost had he not collected it from old men and “ ” women . His Love Songs of Connacht had an important in fluence on the poetry in English which was written in the d ecade that followed its publication, for it gave a pattern and a language to the young poets . He wrote poems in Irish under the name Cr a oibhin Aoibhinn a An , and wrote in English A Liter ry His ” tory of Ireland . From 1893 to 191 5 he was the leader of the - history making Gaelic League . He wrote the first play in Irish that wa s produced in a regular theatre , taking the principal part . 1938 new When , in , the Irish Constitution was adopted, he was m h fi ade President of Eire, whic of ce he held until 1944 .

I R JO K LL NG AM , HN E S

I S celebrated for one poem, The Memory of the Dead , which he published in the Nation when he was a student . He wa s a professor in Dublin University (Trinity College) and came to be ‘ rather frightened of the revolutionary implications of his early 1 2 ballad. He was born in Donegal in 8 3 and died in Dublin in

1 907 .

I RE M ONGER L N , VA ENTI 1 ’ 19 8 . n Born in He has worked in the theatre, lives in Dubli f ff where he has a post in the O ﬁce of External A airs .

E JOH SO , LIO L N N N — Made his Irish nationalism a kind of religi on h e was essen — ’ tially a religious man but his family s connection with Ireland wa s was remote ; indeed, racially, he more Welsh than he wa s

Irish . He was the most learned of the literary men of the ’ a b nineties , and w s proba ly the last poet who chose to write in 1 67 ‘ Latin . Born in England in 8 he practically lived his whole 1902 b life there, dying in London in from a fractured skull rought about by a fall . Yeats wrote of him while he was still living : He has chosen to live among his books and between two memories— the religious tradition of the Church of Rome and the political tradition of

Ireland . From these he gazes on the future, and whether he ’ ’ writes of Sertorius or of Lucretius , or of Parnell or of Ireland s ’

98 . ! h dead or of , or of St Columba or of Leo III , it is always wit ” the same cold or scornful ecstasy .

JO J YCE, AMES The author of Ulysses and Finnegans Wake published only — “ two small collections of poetry Chamber Music at the begin ” Penn h ning of his career , and Pomes yeac after the publication “ ” of Ulysses . All his poems are intended for music and nearly all , some beautifully, have been set to music . He was born in Dublin 1 in 1882 and died in Zurich in 1 94 .

K V P R K A ANAGH , AT IC 1 905 Was born in in County Monaghan, the son of a shoe “ maker as he has told us in his entertaining autobiography, The ” “ Green Fool . His ﬁrst collection of poems , The Great Hunger, was published in America in 1947 .

r ai h K R P R ( Cea n g , Peadar EA NEY, ETE ) ’ Fought in the insurrection of 1 916 in Thomas MacDonagh s command . The marching song he wrote for the Volunteers has become the Irish national anthem . The ballad in this anthology revives the tradition of the street song ; it is sung to a haunting air . He wa s born in Dublin in 1883 and died in 1942 .

L T OM M . KETT E, H AS 1880 Was born in in County Dublin, the son of a gentleman ’

h . afﬁl farmer w o was one of Parnell s lieutenants His political i n atio s were with the Parnellite Party, headed in his time by John was Redmond, and he elected Member of Parliament under the auspices of that party . At the outbreak of the First World War he j oined the British Army and wa s killed in France in 1916 .

K I CK HAM C RL JO , HA ES SEPH K nocka o was w. Is celebrated in Ireland for his novel , g He ’ 1840s eni an in the revolutionary movement of the , the F move of New York . Besides his poetry he has written a great many prose volumes . R LETTS , WINIF ED 82 She wa s born in 18 , and most of her life has been lived in “ ” Dublin . Her most important book is Songs from Leinster . LONGFORD The sixth Earl of Longford wa s born in 1 902 in County West meath, and he is a nephew of Lord Dunsany. He has written several remarkable plays and manages the Gate Theatre in

Dublin . He has published three volumes of translations of the

Irish bardic poems .

M ACDONAGH DO , NAGH Ma D n h Du h The son of Thomas c o ag , he was born in b n I n “ ” 12 a 19 . His volume of poems , The Hungry Grass , w s pub “ ” lish ed 1947 a s in , and his verse comedy, Happy Larry, was r p oduced in London the same year .

MACDONAGH T OM , H AS AS one of the leaders of the insurrection of 1 916 he was executed after the surrender . He was born in Tipperary; in 1 878 . ’ He taught in Padraic Pearse s school and was afterwards a lecturer in the National University . An Irish scholar, he made some very distinctive translations and wrote an important book “ ” of criticism, Literature in Ireland .

M ACD ONOGH P R , AT ICK 1 2 90 . d Was born in He has publishe three books of verse, ” “ ” “ ” A Leaf in the Wind, The Vestal Fire, Over the Water .

M ACM ANUS FR , ANCIS

1909 . Was born in , and is a novelist and critic as well as a poet .

He is now a teacher . “ a His P ttern of St . Brendan needs a note . Brendan was the navigator , the story of whose voyages made such a sensation in the mediaeval world and j ustiﬁed the later dreams of sailing into ‘ ’ the West . His pattern, a pilgrimage to his birthplace with l re ligious and secu ar Observances , is kept in our time . The poet contrasts the places Brendan sailed to with the place he might be expected to return to, and so makes a bitter satire .

M CM S A ANUS , EUMAS i n 18 0 Was born Donegal in 7 . He is a famous teller of stories and has been able to get the traditional form and the traditional 406 e lilt of the words on the printed pages . Hhas published many “ and The volumes of stories a very characteristic biography, ” a Rocky Road to Dublin . He lives p rt of the year in America

a nd part in Ireland, and I n his native Donegal .

M N R BR L AC AMA A, INS EY 1 890 b Was born in County Clare in , and egan his career as an “

a . ctor in the Abbey Theatre One of his novels , The Valley of ” the Squinting Windows , made much disturbance . His plays , n ovels and poems have the background of County Meath.

M N OU AC EICE, L IS The son of the Protestant Bishop of Down and Connor, he was 1 b in 907 . e orn Belfast in He has lectured on Greek lit rature , and besides his volumes of poetry he has written plays and criticism e dealing with mod rn poetic trends , including an illuminating book on the poetry of Yeats .

M N LL E AC EI , OIN ’ MacNeill S AS an Irish scholar , Eoin work paralleled Douglas ’ - Hyde s . He was vice president of the Gaelic League while Hyde was president ; he dealt with texts while Hyde dealt mainly with the folk traditions ; he wrote of ancient Irish laws a n d institutions while Hyde wrote literary history . Eoin M acNeill wa s chief of staff of the Volunteers at the time of the insurrection, but did not take part in it . He was imprisoned with the surviving leaders of the Volunteers . Later he had a chair of Irish in the National University . He was born in County

Antrim in the seventies and died in Dublin in 1945 . “ ’ ” Aimir in s The poem translated, g Invocation, is tradition a lly the earliest Irish poem, being supposed to b e spoken by Aimir in g , the son of Mile , from the deck of one of the invading l ships ; it is to bespel as much as to invoke ; it is an incantation . ‘ J The metre of the original is called Ros g poems in this metre a ccording to Dr . Hyde depended for their eff ect on rapidity of utterance partly, and partly upon alliteration . In this par ticular utterance a remarkable effect is gained by the repetition of images as a sort of internal rhyme .

M FR S AHONY, ANCI

Was born in Cork 1804 and died in Paris in 1866 . He was i e ducated in France and Italy, was ordained pr est and entered the Jesuit order . Not many duties were exacted from him , and he lived the unattached life of an eighteenth century Abbé in wa s our nal London, Rome and Paris . His active life given to j ism and social intercourse ; he was very learned and very witty, 407 and fond of making erudite j okes . In his writings he called ” himself Father Prout, and it wa s under that name that his one “ ”

. H memorable piece, The Bells of Shandon, appeared . e is

buried in Cork close to the Shandon bell turret .

M J CL R ANGAN , AMES A ENCE 1803 Was born in Dublin in and died in hospital of cholera , a

disease rife in Ireland after the famine, in 1 849 . All his life he

was b ' faced y destitution, and in his later days he s uccumbed t o

alcohol and opium . John Mitchell has left a picture of him as he saw him in the library of Trinity College on the top of a ladder : the blanched hair wa s totally unkempt ; the corpse - like features a s a still marble ; a l rge book was in his arms , and all his soul “ ” “

was . in the book In his distinctive poems , Siberia , The Ode ” “ to Maguire , The Lament for the Princes of Tyrone and ” T r nn ll y co e , he has an unequalled power of evoking a desolate

scene , desolate, but in the Irish evocations , with power to in

Spire undying devotion . He is not always desolate : his Dark ” Ros aleen has exaltation and pr Oph etic fervour ; his Kathleen ” “ ui n r fil Houlaha and Farewell to Patrick S a s e d have a sort u of gladness abo t them that comes from worship , in the case of “ r fil - Patrick S a s e d, hero worship . The Ode to the Maguire was made by the poet of the Maguire ’ H s s e h family O u y, w o happened to be the most distinguished , m poet of his time . Hugh Maguire , Prince of Fer anagh, wa s ’ ’ with Hugh O Neill and Hugh O D onnell in the wa r that came b ’ “ ” at the end of Eliza eth s reign . When it is remembered, writes “ ’ Hus s e Dr . Hyde, that O y composed this poem in the most difficult and artificial of metres it will be seen how much m Mangan gained by his free and untra melled metre , and what ’ ’ technical difficulties fettered O Hus s ey s art and lent glory to his triumph over them . Here it should be said that Mangan did not translate directly from the Irish but worked from the prose ’ D ono an. translations furnished him by the scholar , John O v “ The Lament for the Princes of Tyrone and Tyr connell comes out of the most tragic happening in Irish history. Hugh ’ O Neill (the Earl of Tyrone in English history ) had been the leader in the last war of a purely Gaelic Ireland against the 1 607 English in Ireland . He was forced to leave Ireland in his flight meant the pa s s mg of the leadership of the Gaelic nobles ’ Neill and the close of an epoch in Irish history. With O went the chief representatives of the great Ulster families . The poem ’ is addressed to the Lady Nuala O D onnell by the bard of the ’ O D onnells . , Mac an Bhaird or Ward The bard is supposed to discover the La dy Nuala weeping alone over the tomb of her brother , Rory, in the Church of S . Pietro Montorio on the m Ja iculum . He imagines the whole scene transferred to Ireland 408

ME ER, KU Y NO — Was born in Germany in 1859 and died in Germany out of which he had been nearly all his lifetime after the First World — 1 o in 1 9 9 . was t War A great philologist, he devoted Irish r lite ature , and he made some beautiful translations of early Irish “ ’ ” poems . His translation of St . Patrick s Breastplate needs a “ ’ ” ‘ ’ Aimir in s RoS note . Like g Invocation the original is in the g, and like that poem , too , it is a magical incantation, although the Christian divinity is called upon . It is known to have been current in the seventh century, and it was then ascribed to St . ‘ ’ ‘ ’ ’

I S . . Patrick . It called the Lorica and also the Deer S Cry St Patrick h ad returned to Ireland where he had been a slave ; he ’ was on his way with companions to the High King s seat at Tara where he wa s to confront the pagan power when he uttered f or it . Assassins were in wait him and his companions , but as he chanted the hymn or incantation it seemed to the hidden band that a herd of deer went by.

M LL AL I IGAN , ICE 1 Was born in County Tyrone in 866 . Although of a Pres byterian and Unionist family she became a fervent nationalist in her girlhood and with Anna Johnston (E thna Carbery) Vocht founded and edited a nationalist weekly, The Shan Van , that was a precursor of Gaelic League and Sinn Fein publica tions . She had plays produced in the early days of the theatre “ ” movement . Her single volume of poems , Hero Lays , reveals , in a sort of practicality that goes with her vision and dream, something northern and womanly.

M LL S ITCHE , USAN

. R Was born in County Sligo She was associated with A. . in the editorship of the Irish Statesman . Besides the serious “ ” poems published in The Living Chalice she wrote witty and satirical verses about the celebrities of the day— “Aids to I m mortality of Certain Persons in Ireland . She died in 1930.

MOOR T O E, H MAS 1 779 1 52 Was born in Dublin in and died in England in 8 . He was — the ﬁrst poet of a national awakening one has to regret, of course, that the ﬁrst poet had not more range and intensity ;

he fell heir to the music of his country and to_ the interest in the Ma Phers on Celtic past that c had awakened . AS much a musician as a poet, he wrote verses for the ancient airs that had t in his ime been recovered from the last of the harpers , verses that were thought to be ﬁtting not only for the music but for

410 i m the whole tradit on out of which the usic came . Purely as a W h as song riter, no one surpassed Thomas Moore . Many times he transcended the limits of song writing and reached poetry : “ ’ ” Tﬁhe Harp that Once through Tara s Halls is not only mag ni c n bu e t as a song, t it brings us something that is very rare ’ in song or even in poetry, the dignity of a nation s utterance ; “ ” At the Mid-hour of Night with its distinctive rhythm (the r hythm is a Gaelic one) is a memorable lyric , and there are

oth er lyrics of his that are ﬁne in feeling and craftsmanship . Moore’ s fame and inﬂuence should have been eclipsed in the generation that followed his by a poet who would be more h assuredly Irish, w o would bring into the new national expres

s ion the intensity of Gaelic feeling . But the dire conditions of

the country prevented the emergence of such a u poet from the

‘ r ou that only g p could have given him the proper endowment, nh h n the di s i erited Cat olic peasa try, and so Thomas Moore

remained the representative Irish poet for a prolonged period .

’ D B GE R . . O OL , T —b n Was an Irish orn professor in the University of Pen sylvania .

The poem given in this anthology appeared in Poetry, Chicago . ’ BR FL N O IEN , A N '

Is a novelist and dramatist as well as a poet, and writes a “ witty column in a Dublin newspaper under the name Myles l ” na gCopa een. N 0 one can get better than he into translation

the gracefulness of academic Irish poetry .

’ CO OR FR K O NN , AN 1903 i s l Was born in Cork, , and his baptismal name Michae

. wa s r and Donovan AS a youth he in the ins u rectionary forces , “ o he has written a volume of Short stories , Guests f the Nation ,

which deal with incidents of the guerrilla Wa r . He is a ﬁne

scholar in Irish, and can bring over , not only the import of the old poems but their vigour of utterance . The Tomans Costello , — of the poem given here was a well known poet of the seventeenth h a century . In t e poem he is opposed, not only as a lover to h wh o usband, not only as a poet to a soldier , but as a person , according to the Irish conception of the poet , has a sort of t magical force about him . The poem is extraordinary in the fac that it breaks with the impersonal convention that the Gaelic poets worked in ; no man could have broken through the con — vention as the woman poet in this case has done .

’ O CAROLAN , TURLOUGH 1670 1 738 s o Was born in County Meath in and died in , and h was a contemporary of Jonathan Swift, w o took notice of him .

41 1 was t S He a harper and composer rather than a poe , and hi poems are occasional , made for some entertainment or in praise of the household of some patron . The poem given in this ’ ’ O Ha r a anthology is addressed to Kian of Sligo, one of the two or three Irish princes who had managed to hold on to their ’ — ih O Hara estates the case of the s by becoming Protestant .

’ O CURRY E or E OGHAN , UGENE 1 796 1 2 Was born in County Clare in and died in Dublin in 86 . ’ ' D onova n He and his contemporary, John O , were the giants of

Irish scholarship . They did what no other s cholars since could have done because they i nherited the traditional scholarship in “ language and history . His great work is his Lectures on the ” Manuscript Materials of Ancient Irish History.

’ N LL M R D VE POR O EI , A Y E N T ’ O Neill Was born in Galway, and is the wife of Joseph , the “ ” “ ” author of Land Under England and Chosen by the Queen . “ ” Her volume Prometheus and Other Poems was published in 193 London in 7 . ’ S LL V S O U I AN , EUMAS 1 ’ Was born in Dublin in 879 . His mother s family belonged ’ ullivan to the O S clan, and so he adopted the name, his family name being James Starkey . He was one of the younger poets associated with Yeats , A . E . and George Moore, and his ﬁrst “ book, The Twilight People, brought a new rhythm into Irish a verse . His collected poems were published in Americ with “ ” the title Dublin Poems . He founded and edits The Dublin

Magazine . P R L F A NE L, ANNY ‘ ’ n as Was the sister of The Uncrowned Ki g of Ireland . She w born on the family estate in County Wicklow in 1854 and died in the United States in 1882 . P R P R EA SE, AD AIC Was born of English and Irish parents in Dublin in 1 879 and was executed after the insurrection of 19 16 . He was named

President of the Irish Republic . He had a very full career as editor , educationalist and pamphleteer as well as poet and - story writer . As a poet he wrote in Irish and English , and his

M cD ona h . poems were translated by his colleague, Thomas a g

P R G R ET IE , EO GE 1 Was born in Dublin in 1 790 and died in 866 . Through his f e forts , a great many of the ancient Irish airs were collected j ust as they were about to disappear, among them the famous

412

S I GE RS ON , GEORGE Was born in County Tyrone in 1836 and died in Dublin in 2 19 5 . In his student days in Paris he was a pupil of Charcot

with Sigmund Freud . He wa s a neurologist and biologist as and o well as a literary man , owing to his N rse descent , wa s “ the interested in Norse kingdom of Dublin . In his Bards of the Gael and Gall ” he included translations of poems on Irish s subj ects written in Norse as well as tran lations from the Irish . ’ His translation of Cuchullain s Lament over the friend he had Far dia d slain, , sums up all the chivalry and brilliancy of the uili n Irish epic tale, The Tain Bo C g e .

S TANI HURS T , RICH RD A o H Represented the old English Catholic stock in Ireland . is was o 1 557 1 56 father speaker of the Irish House of Comm ns in , 0, 1 6 a 5 8 . w s and He educated in Ireland, at a famous school n wa s founded by the Ormond family in Kilken y, a school that

to have such pupils as Swift and Berkeley . He wrote a De scription of Ireland and a Continuation of the Chronicles of ” ’ “ ” n Holins h ed Ireland which were i cluded in s Chronicles . He in s lamented that his time the old English di trict in Ireland , the - was a . Pale, becoming Irish spe king As to his metrical work, he insisted that quantity rather than accent Should be the guiding s h on principle of Engli as it is of Latin verse , and, acting this h n n principle he trans lated seven books of t e Ae eid, usi g the h x r e am et e . He dedicated his metrical works to the Lord - — Dunsany of the time who was his brother in law . He died in

Brussels in 1 6 18 .

S J TEPHENS , AMES

Born in Dublin 188 1 . His poems were ﬁrst published in f ’ Arthur Gri ﬁth s j ournal , Sinn Fein , and these , collected , made “

m . his ﬁrst volu e, Insurrections He published his ﬁrst nar ’ ” r ative , The Charwoman s Daughter , in the Irish Review, of

which he was one of the editors , and this attracted the notice of an American publi s her and launched him as a writer with a real “ ” public . He then wrote his famous Crock of Gold and fol lowed it with his beautiful and humorous narratives based on ” “ the old sagas , In the Land of Youth and Deirdre , and his ” extraordinary Irish Fairy Tales . His Collected Poems were 2 published in 1 9 6 .

S JO WIFT, NATHAN - If Stanihur st is claimed as the last of the old Anglo Irish, Jonathan Swift may be claimed as the ﬁrst of the new Anglo 1 667 Irish writers . He was born in Dublin in , the son , as recent ’ AI research seems to show, of Sir William Temple s father . 414 a though his ncestry was purely English, he left, by his great

pamphlets and his propagandist ballads , a mark on subsequent a Irish writing . He w s educated in Kilkenny and in Dublin ’ a s k University ; w Dean of St . Patric s , and left his money to 1 an asylum in Dublin . He died in 745 .

S JO M LL O YNGE, HN I INGT N 1 Born outside Dublin in 871 and died in Dublin in 1909 . After graduating from Dublin University he went on the continent to

study music ; he was a good violinist . He lived in Paris for a While on a very small income and then came back to Irel and —oi - - here he lived in out the way places , learning Irish and the W ’ peoples dialects in Engli s h . These soj ourns gave him the rich f . w and vivid speech that he used in his plays He wrote e poems , “ but they all have great power . It may almost be s aid that before vers e can become human again it must learn to be s brutal , he wrote in his preface to his Poems and Tran

lations .

TO T R JO DHUN E , HN 1 191 Was born in Dublin in 839 and died in London in 6 . He practiced medicine , wrote a play for the Independent Theatre in

London, and translated Faust .

T K R (Hinkson YNAN , ATHE INE ) 1 8 1 1 1 6 93 . Born in County Dublin , and died in London Her volumes of remini s cences of life in Ireland and England in the ’ ’ ’ 90s and 1 900s are of great interest . Her Collected Poems were published in 1 930.

L E R WA SH , DWA D as Was one of the early translators of Irish folk poetry . He w in 1 5 born in Derry in 1805 and died in Cork 8 0. He had a strange life for a poet, being schoolmaster to the convicts on

Spike Island and afterwards to the paupers in Cork workhouse .

JO BL WHITE, SEPH ANCO

Belonged to an Irish family that had emigrated to. Spain ‘ ’ h as hence the Blanco in is name . He w born in S eville, but came to live in England . He regarded himself as an Irishman .

’ L R F L O FL AHE RTI E WI DE, OSCA INGA

Was the son of the distinguished doctor , archeologist and s a s c was wh o t ti ti ian, Sir William Wilde ; his mother a poet “ ” r I S w ote for the Nation under the name of Speranza . There no need for a note on his work here . He was born in Dublin in

1 854 and died in Paris in 1900.

WOL C RL FE, HA ES

Like Blanco White Wolfe was a one poem poet ; however, he wrote a good deal of verse about Ireland which is no longer remembered . He wa s born in Dublin in 1 791 and died in 2 “ 1 8 3. County Cork in His Burial of Sir John Moore , Splendid in its masculine feeling, its sense of suspended action and ill : b lighted interval , wa s pu lished anonymously .

LL B L R YEATS , WI IAM UT E The greatest of Irish poets wa s born in Dublin in 1 865 and ‘ n 1 died i France in 939 . He was fortunate in having the best ’ father in literary history, John Butler Yeats , the portrait painter and noted conversationalist . I n his early career he took up the tradition in Irish poetry that had been initiated by Allingham a and Ferguson , the tradition of local poetry and poetry that w s drawn from the old sagas . All his life he was active in the

Nationalist movement . Through his efforts and productions a national theatre was created ; he became the ﬁrst dramatist in centuries who was able to hold an audience with his verse a s plays . On the establishment of the Irish Free State he w made Senator and took an active part in legislation: He left a tradition that is of inestimable value to succeeding Irish poets .

NOTES ON THE ANONYMOUS S ONGS AND BALLAD S

Waul een : Allulu mo The title might be translated, Hail , my ” ‘ l ’ ‘ ’ little bag . S au een means the little heel or end of the bag ; ‘ ’ ‘ ’ ‘ ’ mo chardas, my dear friend ; a dark man is a blind man . I was do not know if this ballad, which given me by the scholarly

Father Power of Waterford, has a Gaelic original , but the number of Gaelic words in it suggests that it is a translation .

The Boyne Water : This is the oldest and most spirited version of the famous Orange song that celebrates the victory of the

Williamites over the Jacobites at the battle of the Boyne .

My Love Is Like the Sun : Burns r e-wrote some stanzas of this song, and so it sometimes appears in his works . The refer to I t ence , however, the Curragh of Kildare stamps as an Irish popular song .

The Shan Van Vocht : The title is literally The Poor Old ” ‘ ’ ‘

. was Woman This the secret name for Ireland, like Roisin 41 6

I ND E ! OF AUTHORS

I R 9 43 . E . 286 308 309 F R O S S L , 3 A , , , E GUS N , AMUE , 1 4 3 88 1 9 182 246 26 ALL LL , 90 8 5 , 3 , , , 1 INGHAM , WI IAM , , 2 4 1 5 A O MO 45 52 , 69 7 7 F , D RR LL , 7 N NY US , , , , , IGGIS A E 77 79 8 1 83 85 86 87 9 1 Fox 1 92 , , , , , , , , , GEORGE, 93 95 98 1 00 101 103 1 05 MOI RE E N 1 42 , , , , , , , Fox , , 204 236 URLONG 143 1 55 327 , F , ALICE , , , F RLO T O 1 72 U NG, H MAS , 284 B IM , JOH , AN N 5 BO T O 137 , 31 1 G O , MO , 3 3 YD , H MAS , IBB N NK

A. 1 T. B R LL , 66 GO R , L V R S J Y NE , WI IAM GA TY O I E OHN, - E VA 1 64 GORE BOOTH , , C LL J R J GRAVE S AL RE P R V L 6 A ANAN , E EMIAH OSEPH , , F D E CE A , 233 2 2 l 38 , 37, 39 L L P 24 1 1 295 C JO 30 6 GR , G R L AMPBE , SE H , , , IFFIN E A D, C BE LL N 336 G , S 126 AMP , ANCY, WYNN TEPHEN , C R E R E THNA 1 35 144 A B Y, , , C RL FR 50 H , FR 358 A IN , ANCIS , ACKETT ANCIS , C O R 301 H R O G OR 360 ASEMENT, R GE , ETHE INGT N , E GE,

. R C JO K 298 H , F . 361 ASEY, HN EEGAN , IGGINS , 26 65 1 14 1 1 C V GH , MICH EL , HULL , ELE OR, , , A ANA A 225 AN CL R , A 1 1 6 339 A KE USTIN , , DR M . COL M R . 341 H , DO L , 23 58 12 UM , A Y , YDE UG AS , , COL P R 28 149 326 1 70 207 291 UM , AD AIC, , , , , 35 COR ER , D IEL , K Y AN E H. 2 12 1 81 CO J 3 4 I R , JO K LL 2 USINS , AMES , , NG AM HN Y, C RR JO P L O 37 I RE M ONGE R L 362 U AN , HN HI P T, , VA ENTIN , 2 D RL , G OR 94 JO O , O L , 277 , 310 A EY E GE , HNS N LI NE D V T O 181 223 JO J 322 323 A IS , H MAS , , YCE, AMES , , DE R A R 272 287 VE E, UB EY , , K D R O T O 199 K V , P R C 54 E M DY, H MAS , A ANAGH AT I , D VL D 343 KE R P R 94 . E IN , ENIS , A NEY, EADA , DO L 345 K E OHLE R T O 312 NAGHY, LY E, , H MAS , T DO L , B R OLO W 25 1 K L T O 247 W ING A TH ME , ET E , H MAS , D C RL G V 279 K I CK HAM C RL S JO UFFY, HA ES A AN , , HA E SEP D OR 346 1 90 UNSANY, L D,

F LLO P R 350 L ARM I NI E LL 1 59 A N, AD AIC, , WI IAM , F RR O R 35 1 WL E L 1 76 1 79 1 8 A EN , R BE T, LA ESS , MI Y, , , ’ 38 1 62 E LED IDGE, FR , , , N LL, M R D V OR 37 W ANCIS O EI E P T, ’ A Y N 25 5 256 1 88 , O NEILL , MOIR , ’ A L S 1 65 O S HEE L S HAE M AS 334 LES IE, HANE, , , ’ T 249 333 LE TS , WI IFRED , , S LL V , S , 1 47 1 56 N O U I AN EUMAS , O OR E RL O 201 254 320 32 1 378 L NGF D, A F, , , ,

M ACCUM HAI LL F O 1 1 2 , I NN , M ACD ONAGH DO 364 266 324 32 , NAGH , , , MACD ONAGH T O 33 42 , H MAS , , , 31 6 31 7 324 325 \ , , , PL JO 278 331 UNKETT, SEPH , , M ACDONOGH P TR 363 , A ICK , K 387 R M G LL , P R , O R . . 379 AC I AT IC R DGE S , W , 365 4 W . 6 M M , FR , OLL O , T . 1 12 134 AC ANUS ANCIS R EST N , , , M M S 64 AC ANUS , EUMAS , 36 M N R BR L , 7 AC AMA A , INS EY I OLL BRI GHDE M N G A , S L L BLANAI D 380 AC AMEE, A KE D , , 201 S I GE RS ON R 129 , GEO GE , 369 S I GE RS O M N , O , N H E R 313 AC EICE L UIS , EST , 109 S TANI H R T M N LL , PRO OR, U S R 1 94 AC EI FESS , RICHA D, M E O , FR S LV R S J 1 98 328 329 AH NY ANCIS Y STE TEPHENS , AMES , , , U 1 68 1 (F R PRO ) , S , JO ; 3 , 1 95 196 ATHE T WIFT NATHAN , M J CL R ANGAN , AMES A ENCE , 1 0 1 32 173 2 1 2 1 2 4 3 , , , 3, 6, 6 , TODHUNTER JO 241 , HN , 0 M GR V T O , 37 T K R 302 304 C EE Y , H MAS YNAN , ATHE INE, , M R K O 1 1 0 EYE , UN , M LL AL 273 285 LLER JO FR 56 I IGAN , ICE, , WA , HN ANCIS , L M LL S . , 335 L , E R ITCHE , USAN WA SH DWA D, 2 MOOR T O 257 283 29 , C RL 307 E, H MAS , , , WEEKS HA ES , C 293 WHITE , JOSEPH BL O, ’ AN B E R D 122 3 L . 00 O O G . , T , WILDE , OSC R , ’ A 125 14 O BRIE , FL , WILSO , FLORE CE M ’ N ANN N N O BRUAI DAR 1 98 242 , D VID , WOLFE , CH RLES , ’ A A 372 O B R E, DERMOT, ’ Y N CO OR FR 374 , LL B L R 23. O , , YEATS WI IAM UT E , ’ NN ANK O CURRY E 60 48 305 306 381 , EUG E , , , , N 1 L G R L B RO O , ELL , 3 9 OFFA Y , E A D , A N Y UNG A

Draw near to the tables , ye that wear the cloaks , 236 - be s 1 de 135 Dream fair , dream waters , it stands alone,

Dublin made me and no little town, 364 12 Ebbing, the wave of the sea, 6

r ﬁl S a s e d 1 7 Farewell , O Patrick , may luck be on your path, 3 — in 26 Four Sharp scythes sweeping concert keeping, 14 From our hidden places , 7 358 From Wicklow to the throb of dawn ,

s mnm - Get up , our Anna dear , from the weary p g wheel , 1 39 ’ n 74 Good eighbors , dear, be cautious , 38 Had I a golden pound to Spend, 1 55 Happy the stark bare wood on the hill of Bree , s a w m — 1 Have you been at Carrick, and y true love there , 4 255 He Shall not hear the bittern cry, He hom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of doubting W , 334

Here where the taut wave hangs , 379 ’ ’ Ro r ke Here s pretty conduct , Hugh O u , 374 1 His last days linger in that low attic, 36 31 His songs were a little phrase, 6 H un 237 ow hard is my fort e , a h 25 How oft has the B ns ee cried, 7 m f 29 1 I a Ra tery the Poet , da 1 10 I arise to y , - 33 I dreamt last night of you , J ohn John, I I go down from the hill in gladness , and half with a pain 09 depart, 3

I grieve when I think on the dear happy days of my youth, 91 324 I have not gathered gold , n 2 I hear an army chargi g upon the land, 3 3 - w n 31 I hear the wind a blo i g , 3 256 I heard the Poor Old Woman say, n a 109 I invoke the la d of Irel nd , ’ 8 I know where I m going, 7 w 377 I left the S n ects of Gal ay town, 65 I lie down with God , and may God lie down with me , h e Talker ir one 144 I met t Love eve in the glen , w 23 I rise in the da n , and I kneel and blow , ne h and m 297 I s aw her once , o little w ile , then no ore , 336 I s aw the archangels 1 11 my apple tree last night , 367 I S aw them walk that lane again, h o 387 I speak with a proud tongue of the people w were , 1 0 I walked entranced , 3 S r m — 244 I walked through Ballinderry in the p g t_ ime , I wa s milking in the meadowywhen I heard the Banshee keening, 1 43

422 2 I whispered my great sorrow, 3 0 I will row my boat on Muckr os s Lake when the grey of 1 1 dove , 3 4 ’ wed I d you without herds , without money, or rich array, 88 S If sadly thinking, with spirits inking, 37 ’ ’ and ‘ I ll 32 I ll be an otter, let you swim, 6 ’ a er d 1 3 In a quiet w t land, a land of roses , 6 28 In Cavan of little lakes , 5 8 In the dark pathways of his Gothic mind , 37 2 In the scented bud of the morning 0 , 3 8 b 1 1 In the sleepy forest where the blue ells , 6 1 1 In the youth of summer , 6 1 Is there one desires to hear, 59 a b 142 It w s y yonder thorn I saw the fairy host , a 1 It w s early, early in the spring, 03

- Jolly Phoebus his car to the coach house had driven , 52

Juan de Juni the priest said, 370

“

July the ﬁrst, of a morning clear, one thousand six hundred a

ninety, 95 196 Let me thy properties explain, 45 Lie down with the lamb, 1 65 Like a sleeping swine upon the skyline , woe 267 Long they pine in weary , the nobles of our land, 1 80 Many are praised, and some are fair , M ar li s i un at Saragossa , Charles at the siege , 360 - ! 1 12 May day delightful day , 56 Mellow the moonlight to Shine is beginning, 22 My closest and dearest, 5 ! My grief that they have laid you in the town , 249 2 My heart is in woe , 6 1 o n 35 My heart lies light in my w breast , 3

My life is like a dream, 353 m 1 1 My love co es down from the mountain, 3 2 My name it is Nell , right candid I tell , 7 un 1 My sorrow that I am not by the little d , 56 43 white tiger bounding in the west , 3 ! 293 Mysterious Night When our ﬁrst parent knew, 2 Naked I saw thee, 3 5 h Night is a good herd : S e brings all creatures home, 45 th ’ ff No goddess is thy parent , nor art of Dardanus o spring, 1 wa s 242 Not a drum heard, not a funeral note, No 1 w, my son, is life for you , 3 7 ' ’ NOW —bo n welcome , welcome , baby y, u to a mother s fears, 284 294 O blest unfabled Incense Tree, 269 O my dark Rosaleen, ! 264 O my land O my love , 30 O to be blind, h 0 w o art thou with that queenly brow, 272 2 1 6 O woman of the piercing wail , 372 O write it up above your hearth, b b O , ad the march, the weary march, beneath these alien skies , 1 76 345 Oh Danaan brethren , 89 Oh, lovely Mary Donnelly, my j oy , my only best , 239 Oh, many a day have I made good ale in the glen, ! ’ ’ 100 Oh, Paddy dear and did ye hear the news that s goin round, 98 Oh , the French are on the say , ’ O Fa r r ell 101 Oh, then tell me Shawn , 50 On Douglas Bridge I met a man , d 1 95 On rainy days alone I ine , ’ 192 On the deck of Patrick Lynch s boat I sat in woeful plight, ’ was 85 Once I at a nobleman s wedding, 306 One that is ever kind Said yesterday , ’ ’ ’ h el in wi 1 88 Over here in England I m p the hay, 298 Over the dim blue hills , — - ﬂ oor 3 1 9 Over the wave patterned sea ,

was 129 Play each , pleasure each , 380 Poetry is no uneasy refuge , stilly centred, 1 8 Pure white the S hields their arms upbear , 3 4 Put your head, darling, darling, darling, 3 F C Righ Shemus he has gone to rance , and left his rown behind, 279 ! 199 Right rigorous , and so forth Humbled, 58 Ringleted youth of my love ,

l o See , though the oil be w more purely still and higher ,

Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, oh , my country, 275 12 Shallow dark but mocks the eyes , 3 123 She casts a Spell , oh, casts a spell , h 1 She lived beside the A ner , 90

Sleep a little, a little little, thou needest feel no fear or 1 1 4 24 Sleep , gray brother of death , 4 Softly now the burn is rushing, 6 8 1 Swear by what the sages spoke , 3 24 Tears will betray all pride , but when ye mourn him , 7 ’ a E ir That angel whose charge w s é sang thus , o er the dark Isle 287 winging, wa s 348 That Sunday, on my oath , the rain a heavy overcoat, — The choirs of Heaven are tokened in a harp string, 122 The closing of an Autumn evening is like the running of a hound 4 across the moor, 5 a 2 The crooked paths go every w y, 3 9

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