Poems by "Y." in Hibernia, 1882-83
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APPENDIX A Poems by "Y." in Hibernia, 1882-83 In "When Was Yeats First Published?" Micheal 6 hAodha has suggested that eleven poems signed with the initial "Y." in the Dublin periodical Hibernia from April1882 to July 1883 might be the work of W. B. Yeats. 1 6 hAodha offers two pieces of evidence. First, a copy of the initial volume of the journal in the National Library of Ireland has two inscriptions, assigned by 6 hAodha to the librarian and scholar Richard Irvine Best. One attributes an unsigned article on Robert Louis Stevenson, "A New Writer of English Prose" (2January 1882), toT. W. Lyster, a predecessor of Best at theN ational Library of Ireland. The other inscription is found after the poem "Sweet Aura!" in the issue for July 1882 and reads"? W. B. Yeats". Secondly, 6 hAodha points to an exchange of correspondence in the Irish Book Lover. In the April-May 1919 number, "T.C.D." had asked for information about Hibernia. The reply, presumably from the editor of the Irish Book Lover, JohnS. Crone, gives a description of the journal and states that the contributors included "W. B. Yeats over his initial 'Y .' "2 Moreover, the following issue of the Irish Book Lover contains a lengthy and detailed account of Hibernia from someone who signs himself"An Old Contributor". Displaying an intimate knowledge of the workings of Hibernia, he adds to the list of contributors, stating that his names are "in addition to those mentioned" in the earlier number of the Irish Book Lover.3 By implication, then, "An Old Contributor" would seem to confirm that Yeats's work appeared in Hibernia. 1 Micheal6 hAodha, "When Was Yeats First Published?", Irish Times, 5 June 1965, p. 10. The article was reprinted, without the text of "Sonnet", in Eire- Ireland, 2, no. 2 (Summer 1967) 67-71. It might be noted that Hibernia was published only from January 1882 to july 1883 and has no connection with the current periodical of the same name. 2 Irish Book Lover, 10, nos 9-10 (April-May 1919) 93. 3 Irish Book Lover, 10, nos 11-12 (June-July 1919) 110-11. 176 Poems by ''Y." in "Hibernia", 1882-83 177 The evidence against Yeats's authorship, on the other hand, seems formidable. Although Hone states that "at seven- teen he [Yeats] began to write verses",4 it is clear that Yeats's father discouraged publication at such an early age. Writing to Edward Dowden on 7 January 1884, six months after the fial poem by "Y." in Hibernia, John Butler Yeats remarks that "Of course I never dreamed of publishing the effort of a youth of eighteen."5 Secondly, most of the poems in Hibernia have an indication that they were written in either "Surrey" or "London", neither of which Yeats is known to have visited at the appropriate time. Thirdly, so far as I know there is no manu- script material for the poems in Yeats's papers in the National Library of Ireland or elsewhere, whereas manuscripts do survive for the very early poetic dramas of c. 1882 and later. Finally, it seems to me quite unlikely that the correspondence in the Irish Book Lover would have escaped the notice of Allan Wade, who had published his first bibliography of Yeats's writings in 1908 and who was continually adding to it and revising it. Yet Wade makes no mention in either his Bibliography or his edition of Yeats's letters of the poems in Hibernia. Indeed, I think it is conceivable that he saw the statements in the Irish Book Lover, wrote or asked Yeats about the question, and received a negative answer. It is, of course, also possible to argue against Yeats's authorship of the poems on the basis of their content, themes, and style. To me, at least, such a discussion would but make more remote the possibility that "Y." is in fact Yeats. However, since such arguments must always be subjective, and since a complete file of Hibernia is difficult to locate outside the British Library or the National Library of Ireland, I have decided to reproduce the eleven poems, allowing individual readers to weigh the existing evidence and conjecture and to reach their own conclusions. 4 Joseph Hone, W. B. Yeats, 1865-1939, 2ndedn. (London: Macmillan, 1962) p. 34. In his edition of]. B. Yeats: Letters to His Son W. B. Yeats and Others (New York: E. P. Dutton, 1946) p. 52, n. 1, Hone states that "W. B. Yeats wrote his first poems in 1882,just before he was seventeen". 5 ]. B. Yeats: Letters, p. 52. 178 Editing Yeats's Poems SONNET. I saw a shepherd youth, with fixed gaze, As one dream-haunted in his waking hours, Hold listlessly a coronal of flowers, The while his sheep, in unaccustomed ways, Looked meekly back for guidance. Yet he lay, While the still shade like a sweet mystery Enveloped him, as though he could not see: Nor heard: but evermore a[l]thro' the day With little pauses (like the Nightingale's) Of charmed silence, on his lips awoke The same soft simple notes that scarcely broke To sound, and called no echo from the vales. Dear heart! their echo in myself I find: Turning the same love-thought for ever in my mind. Y. [Hibernia, 1, no. 4 (1 April 1882) 55] "THE WINGS OF A DOVE." Some with the wings of song can reach The clear, calm, and eternal heights: Some with the music of their speech Fill life with varying delights: Some from communing with the skies, Catch heavenly glimpses; from the stone Some bid imprisoned Ariel rise; Ah, mel- 0 love: and love alone! Yet love can change-from love I know, - The dullest heart into a shrine: Our love is weak till our lives grow True symbols of Life Divine. Love blindeth? Nay, he clears our eyes To look beyond earth's narrow zone;- Then break thy bonds, my soul! and rise Upon the wings of love alone! Y. [Hibernia, 1, no. 5 (1 May 1882) 75] Poems by "Y." in "Hibernia", 1882-83 179 LOVE'S SILENCES. Buzzings haunt the honied shadows Of the chestnut's broadening tent; Hear the kine low in the meadows With a measureless content: Sparrows quarrel, chat, and glitter, Like quick children, as they dip: 'Neath our eaves the swallows twitter, As with human fellowship: Nature is awake and singing: Poet Love, what song to that full chorus art thou bringing? Dove-like, tell thy fluty numbers One sweet word that never tires? Lark-like, bring'st our sunny slumbers Echoes from angelic lyres? Every change from grief to pleasure Dost in one great hymn combine - In one yearning passionate measure, Hallowed by thy lips divine? ... Nay, Love, nay, -thou art not singing: Only such as serve thee know the thoughts within thee springing! Y. [Hibernia, 1, no. 6 Qune 1882) 92] "SWEET AURA!" With the homely shepherds in fellowship, Under the feathery elms I drowse; Like the tears of a lover, the sere leaves drip From the kindling green of the arching boughs. The rose to-day is consumed with desire; The dry air pulses; the fierce heat beats To the heart of the forest in shafts of fire; In the thin wan grass how the faint flock bleats! 180 Editing Yeats's Poems As the sheep stray, panting, the distant tide With a gleam invites; with the lambs we go; On the lake's smooth bosom the calm swans glide, Floating like delicate flakes of snow. We have left the sheltering woods, in the blaze Of untempered noon, for the open glade; And we still may see, through a pearly haze, A Danae shower in the night-black shade. Laid 'neath the close-knit hawthorn leaves On a bank, the flock is folded to rest; But list, - a rustle! the light wave heaves! God bless thee, kindly breeze from the West! Surrey. Y. [Hibernia, 1, no. 7 Ouly 1882) 106] SONNET. I sang of thee, when Autumn's hectic glow Forecast the dissolution of the Year: I sang of thee, when Winter laid him low, O'erstrewing his white pall with roses sere; And when his Heir, laughing away a tear, New life infused into our sluggish blood, My strains rang out amid Spring's carols clear, And my thoughts burgeoned in each leaf and bud. And now that Summer, more mature and ripe, Flushes with grace the work by Spring begun, I follow Pan with imitative pipe, Warbling thy praises 'neath a quickening sun: Nor think a floral crown to-day to win, But wait my share, when Love his harvest gathers in. (Surrey.) Y. [Hibernia, 1, no. 8 (August 1882) 123] Poems by "Y." in "Hibernia", 1882-83 181 GOING! The clock's quick tick - the bell's slow boom, The bright street's ratding riot, - The shifting shadows in my room - The broadening lull and quiet - The ebb of life that flowed around - Fresh evening breezes blowing - Some near, but late unnoted sound - All tell me time is going: And yet thou comest not, my heart, Altho' the time is going! So have I seen with vapours dun The grinding City sheeted, So watched the purpled sickly sun By hissing showers defeated; So felt the arrows of the East Slay Spring's first greenness growing - And now from her unfinished feast Reluctant Summer's going, - And yet thou comest not, my heart, Tho' Summer kind is going! Love o'er my cares cast flower on flower As on with time he hasted; His sweet thoughts tranced me many an hour: Thank God it was not wasted! You filled my dreams alone, my sweet,- You set hope's sunshine glowing, Then bid me wait your ventruous feet - Still time alas! is going: ..