POEMS — BY — Eileen Duggan PREFACE Four years ago a young giri, still a student in Victoria College, Wellington, shyly sent me a little sheaf of poems for the New Zealand Tablet. There was a grace, a finish of diction, and a spirit of refinement in them that put them on a higher plane than most other verses contributed to a weekly paper. When they appeared in print they attracted no little attention, and there were no few inquiries from readers of the Tablet who wanted Eileen Duggan’s poems pub­ lished in a volume for permanent reading. I fully agreed that they ought to bo preserved, and that they deserved a better fate than befalls most things that are written for periodicals. The modesty of the author was the only obstacle, and now that she has consented, it is with great pleasure I introduce the first fruits of her gifted soul to a wider circle of readers, who will, I am sure, endorse the favourable judgment already passed on them by the readers of the Tablet and its editor. The poems in this little volume bear on them the stamp of good taste and high culture. There is not a commonplace thought in them. It seems to me that they are the products of a heart and mind inspired by two forces—Catholicism and a love for Ireland—■ rare in a girl who never saw the land from which her parents came many years ago. In a home, and beside a hearth, that were an Irish hearth and home trans­ planted to New Zealand, she drank in avidly the tradi­ tionsuai'WKv yr of the race and > the faith of her father and ; mother. Her studies and her successes in our Univer­ sity did not make her forget the lore of her childhood, pu bu c and when song came to her it was, to us who heard her, as if some sweet voice from the Irish hills was singing to us across the ocean. Personally, I think this little book is a wonderful thing to come from a young New Zealand girl’s first flight of fancy. In it I see vast promise for the future, which, I venture to hope, will give us many more such poems from Eileen Duggan. To Irish readers, I would like to say that this book is a pledge to them that our Greater Ireland beyond the seas has preserved the traditions of the old land and that young hearts beat here, as warmly as at home, for the cause that is dearer than life to us all. JAMES KELLY, Editor N.Z. Tablet, 4 THE SORROW-TUNE. A vagrant sang it in the limes, He did not sing it tenderly; For he was travel-worn and sore, And weary utterly. I t was a savage little song About a peasant of the snows Who sent her lover to his death To find for her a rose. A boy sat by his mother dead And shuddered at the little lay: He felt that it was linked for him W ith some great sorrow-day. W hen he grew up he flowered in grace, And yet he dreamed upon a rune, And always feared to hear again The ugly, wistful tune. Then came the day he lost his sight, And dumb and bitter ’neath the blow, He heard behind him some one sing The little rant of woe. And yet uncowed he struggled on, And, striving for his country’s good, He gave his heart into her hand To be by her misunderstood. U n til at last for her sweet sake He did a thing he counted high. For recompense he was condemned, A nd blind and bound he passed to die. And just before his shameful death He heard the sorrow-song again, Across the angry multitude A beggar crooned it in the rain. I t was a savage, wistful thing, I t was not of his race or way, Yet was it ever linked for him W ith some great sorrow-day. s TO ST. FRANCIS OF ASSISI. When sinners with broken wailing Clutched at thy strong brown hands, Didst think of thy briar budding, trailing, And the long, wet clover lands ? Did’st walk, my saint, from the stony city, Seeking to cleanse its stain, Thy kin, the muttering winds of pity,. Thy brother, God’s fine rain? These were thy peace— a yellow tree, And a wild clean air, A dreamy bird, a small gold bee, Climbing the lily's stair. I have no cowl of brown, no word, Nor robe, nor cord of grace, Yet have I loved the yellow tree, the bird, A nd all the sweet-briar place. T W O L A N D S . My land is like a restless, daring child That thirsts to drink up life and scale the stars; Her parted lips and wondering eyelids chide ihe world’s gnarled wisdom and its mystery. W ithin her mother’s hall she hears grave speech And smooths to dignity her wilful brows; And when she smiles, a kowhai breaks in bloom, And when she laughs, a tui chimes in song. How can1 my heart slip through her eager, childish hands ? My father’s land is like a mendicant With hidden face, and silent, stricken lips That dare not speak their mighty need aloud. She in her wallet bears but sorrow’s salt And bread of wrong. Her feet no sandal save From scar of ember, thorn, or stone And when she sighs a hill-tarn stirs in sleep, And when she weeps, a listless curlew moans, And I, I place my heart between her poor bruised hands. 6 SEA PRAYERS. God send a shining wind to blow Upon a little town I know That one there strayed from sea and ships May taste its salt upon her lips; That one there born of fishermen M ay think on weed and rock again, And never know the penalty Of one who hath forgot the sea; That she, within that solemn town, May treasure less the song flung down By missel thrush and meadow lark Than moan of gulls against the dark; And let the spring in her great hour, Come with wet bud and almond flower To wake a troubled memory Of sails upon a windy sea. A nd let this sea-child hold her hand Forever from the servile land, Lest she should slight infinity, And break her faith with majesty. God send a shining wind to blow Upon a little town I know, That one there born of sea and south May know its salt upon her mouth. THE GARDENER. M uttering, he bends above his rows of seeds, Thanking his God for sunshine and blue air, Searching the plot and his own soul for weeds, W hile winds around the bean-flowers blow his prayer. He names his land with lips that bite and burn I n the grand sorrow of an exile’s wrong, Though faith has taught his nimble hate to turn From famine days and youth’s rebellious song. Dear God ! When Thou hast caught him to Thy breast, Remind him of this garden and this place, That by his prayer we walk into our quest And meet him in the orchards of Thy grace. 7 TYRANNY. On that high day when God above all pleas Shall call the trembling nations to Ilis knees And bid them lay, in wide feudality, Between H is hands their share of sky and sea, W h a t wilt thou say when from thy bitter side Shall slip, w ith vassal foot, a child, great-eyed, W ith cloudy head, and little lips of woe That tell their tale to God w ith sobbing slow ? “ Dear God, dear God, this one, this giant one, Put forth his shadow, 'twixt me and the sun, Till all the land, and I with it, grew cold, A n d in the field the wheat-ears lost their gold, Fear caught the throat of every singing lark, How could they sing their songs towards the dark ? And in the land men moaned, or made mad. mirth, M y tw ilight gave wild jesters to the earth. A t last, in doubt and dying, many a one Crept broken from my side to find the sun. And those who did not go cried out for aid, But I, a child, how could I fight the shade?” How wilt answer God above that cloudy head, W h a t say to H im for whom the west is red, W ho saw from m utant space the stars arise, What wilt thou answer then to those grave eyes? DESOLATA. She came with daring foot from out green roads, A nd passing fleetly drew the eyes of men, W ith in her arms a fragrant torch of furze- Leapt to a living flame, a golden fire. A nd as she passed one murmured ‘‘She is rich,' Her gold is brighter than the kowHai’s keel.” Another whispered softly ‘‘She draws love Fiercer than rata buds or wild gorse flame.” And all agreed her heart must bloom in joy A nd riot like the blossoms at her breast, But she, she read their thought, and stepping proud She reared her small head higher than Wild autumn petals blown along the wind, Yet knew the one thing sought her was denied A nd she must walk alone through all the years. 8 THE FAMINE WIND. The land lay alone in the twilight, A n d over each hill and slim spire Fell the quiet ash of the darkness From the sun’s long embers of fire.