I 9 Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2016 https://archive.org/details/dreamsrealitiesOOgilb Dreams & Realities Dreams & Realities BY ROSA MULHOLLAND - C— (LADY GILBERT) LONDON AND EDINBURGH SANDS AND COMPANY ST LOUIS MO. B. HERDER ?R 4013 •T 33V 3)7 THE MEMORY OF MY HUSBAND THESE VERSES, GATHERED FROM A HOARD OF YEARS, ARE DEDICATED Contents Corcomroe The Irish Franciscan . Our Lady of the Irish Hills At Nazareth The Prayer of Mary Queen Laugh and Pray Weather .... May in the Morning . Invitation .... What He Sings . Morning .... Rose-Tide .... Sun-Glamour Night .... Ours A Home .... O May in the Morning Death and the Soul . 5 9 12 i5 19 i 21 25 25 26 27 29 31 32 35 36 • 37 4 i 47 . - . . 48 8132 6 CONTENTS PAGE The Year’s Round 49 Question 50 Silence 51 The Watch Tower ....... 52 Preference 56 Pain 57 Wings ......... 58 The Vision ........ 59 The Closed Door 61 Dread . . ...... 62 The Silver Horn 63 The Ark ......... 64 Evening 65 The Forsaken Mother ...... 66 Ireland Revisited 69 A Lay of the Famine ....... 72 The Factory Girl 75 Shan O’Neill’s Camp 78 Glenmalure 81 Maury’s Vision ........ 84 Maury Oge ........ 92 The Beggar Queen 95 CONTENTS 7 PAGE The Christmas Candle 97 Saint Kevin and the Lark 99 Garalth's Ferry 101 Lament of Fithir 106 All Souls* Night 109 New Tipperary 112 A Warning 116 Midsummer Night . 1 1 7 Song * .119 The Ring 120 Knowledge ........ 121 Faery Thrall . . . . . . . .122 A Legend of Connemara 125 Dreams Realities Corcomroe T HE Burren hills are grey as death, But warm with life their lap of green Their airs are sweet as Mary’s breath, The flower-sweet breath of Mary Queen* Conor O’Brien of the kings, How sound you sleep in Corcomroe ! The night wind in the lone choir sings The hymns of many a year ago. The wild bird folds his wing, and broods Upon the broken altar-stone : The loud rain beats in angry floods, O King, where you are lying lone. On shattered shaft and carven face, Down yonder in the grass-green aisles, Through hollow arch and vacant space The loving sunshine looks and smiles. 9 10 C0RC0MR0E What day was that when you were borne By warriors from the field of red ! Your blade was broke, your side was torn : They laid you in your royal bed. With solemn chant and sacred rite, With burning spice and torches’ flame, They bade you rest who loved the fight, They gave you praise, denied you blame. They ripped the chancel’s paven floor And laid your warriors there in rows : Their requiem is the tempest’s roar, Their souls are sped where no man knows. And are you free from earthly ills? So peacefully you seem to lie. Or do you roam the Burren hills By night, and raise the battle cry ? Do ghostly clans ascend the ridge To fight the battle o’er again That built of men a human bridge To cross the stream was blocked with slain? CORCOMROE ii Oh ! no, it was the sea-bird’s shriek I heard just as the moon went down, You bearing- still in silence meek Your sceptre marred, your broken crown. The grass grows thick upon your host. They hear no pipe, they hear no drum. Their mouths are shut, their feet are dust, The brave are lame and deaf and dumb. May Mary of the fertile rock Befriend you all in Corcomroe ! You, Conor, and your fiery flock Of many a hundred years ago. C Ube Jrtsb Franciscan A BAREFOOT friar all in brown, Weather-beat face and storm-rent gown, Tattered hood over shaven crown, Travelleth as the sun goes down. Whither ere morning goeth he ? Over the bog he moveth free ; Bog so brown it were hard to see That brown man travelling patiently. Hidden under his threadbare vest He holdeth One close to his breast ; “ O Lord, in what poor place of rest This winter’s eve thou harbourest !” Deep in the pools the red lights die, Darkness veileth the western sky ; Only the plovers cry and cry Amens to prayer as they flitter by. 12 THE IRISH FRANCISCAN 13 Who are these, thou barefoot man, Weak and weary and under a ban, Who meet thee in the starlight wan? Columb, and Patrick, and Adamnan ! Three, with torches faint and white, Threading the holes to give thee light, Bowing before the One of might Thou bearest with thee through the night. Now the dawn opes in the east, There’s the altar, and here the priest ; Welcome now to the last and least Who hunger for the Master’s feast ! Table of rock, and cloth of moss ; (Gold and silver are Mammon’s dross), Rude is the stone, and rude the cross, O Christ our gain, O World our loss ! Ye banned and outlawed of the faith ! Shrive ye now with bated breath ; Hither the hunter hasteneth, Fear not the little pain of death ! i 4 THE IRISH FRANCISCAN Shines the moon on the curling sea, Sighs the wind in the white-thorn tree ; Forth from the bough as the gale blows free Swingeth a figure dolorously. A barefoot friar all in brown, Weather-beat face and threadbare gown, Girdle of rope and shaven crown — Swingeth he as the moon goes down. ©ur %abg of tbe 3risb ibills ARY, ’mid her bowers of bliss, In her mansion built of stars, Saith to her angels nigh : “ I am waiting a reply Over-long, and silence mars Joy, for something that I miss.” Saith an angel : “ Lady, Queen, * I can see the purple cloud Wreathing upward of men’s prayer, Hear their cries upon the air, Cries of longing faint or loud. All’s as it hath ever been !” Speaketh Mary : “ In a fold Of the holy Irish hills Beat the hearts most dear to me, Hearts like children at my knee, Souls that suffer earthly ills, Patient in God-love untold ! 15 16 OUR LADY OF THE IRISH HILLS “ Once upon a summer night, While the red was in their skies, And their grass grew high and pale, Stood I there and raised my veil, .Lingered there and loosed their eyes In a faint celestial light. “ And my eyes said unto theirs That so loving looked in mine : ‘ Loving, I have come to ye Hither ; make it known of me, So the world may see the shrine I have built me of your prayers !” “ Yet,” saith Mary, with a sigh, “ Nephin’s purple hills are lone, And my shrine unvisited. When the red is in their skies, And their grass is overgrown, For my answer listen I.” “ Queen and Maid,” the angel saith, “ With world-hurry, rushing feet Seek thee in thy palaces Golden-builded, and in ways Jewel-lighted; as is meet Splendour for a world-wide faith ! OUR LADY OF THE IRISH HILLS 17 “ Holy Irish hills are bare, Sunshine makes their only gold, Flower and grass their jewels be, Their sad music’s the wild sea. Purple lieth in their fold Only of the mystic air ! “ Tender Lady-Queen, the world Ne’er will track thee to that shrine Where the sea-birds sing thy praise, And the windy clouds upraise Banners wove of rain and shine, Star and moonbeam, never furled !” Sayeth Mary : “ Anywhere I can draw the world at will, Through the lonely singing sea, Singing love perpetually, To the blue ’tween hill and hill, And the world shall praise me there. “ Love is more than pearls to me. In the holy Irish hills Love abideth, and world-gold And world-jewels manifold Are as dust before the ills Love endureth patiently. B 1 8 OUR LADY OF THE IRISH HILLS “ Sorrows of their patience are Roses in my coronet ; I will have of them a shrine Set with rubies red as wine, With a veil of sapphire, set In a frame of moon and star. ” Smiling to the angels saith Mary thus : “So my desire Whispered is to men, and I Listen long for their reply, While in Irish hearts afire Love feeds still the flame of faith !” Bt IRasaretb O MARY, cease your weeping. Why ever weep and pray? I’ll tell you a sweet story Will make you laugh to-day ! Yon children at their playing To one another said, “There’s a little crown of glory Round little Jesus’ head 1” Queen Mary ceased her weeping And dropped her eyes from where A sombre cross was hanging Adown the radiant air. “ ’Tis sweet that little story That you have kindly told. The world is full of sunshine, My son has hair of gold !” 20 AT NAZARETH Then she who was not Mary, She hugged her child with joy : “ Thank heaven that my own baby ’S like any mother’s boy !” Queen Mary ceased not praying But checked her falling tears : She saw her King come leaping With laughter for her fears. “ O Boy, my tender baby, O Babe, my God who art, Speak comfort to thy Mother, Thy sword turns in her heart !” Ube prater of Alban? Cfcueen I TRAVELLED on a windy cloud That sailed the midnight sky, And saw, wrapped in a sable shroud, This world go wheeling by. Upon a circling wind I spun The moon and stars between ; Uprose from out a hidden sun The holy Mary Queen ! A golden flame her long hair was, Her eyes were wet with rain ; As sweet a face no lady has — Two cherubs were of her train. Her gown was made of every flower, Her girdle gold entwist, Her veil was all a rainbow shower, Her feet were silver mist. 21 22 THE PRAYER OF MARY QUEEN She stood upon the world's dark rim, Her lifted hands implored, Along with her sweet whisper, Him, The Universe’s Lord. Most piercing sweet the voice, “ O mine Own son, of mortal born ! The robes are still incarnadine On Calvary were worn. “ Is earth grown barren to Thy spade? Yet grew it the rood tree; Of its sharp thorns Thy crown was made, It gave a grave to Thee. “ Its daughter thou wert wont to call Thy mother. Oh, be then Still patient with her kindred, all The wayward sons of men ! “ Thy purple robe is spread with stars, Thy head is crowned with suns, The wheels of Thy life-laden cars Turn while Thine ordinance runs. THE PRAYER OF MARY QUEEN 23 “ A many gold ships navigate The seas of boundless space, And carry their immortal freight To port of Thy loved Face. “ Their children follow their sun, Thee, To days without the night ; Their souls sail for Eternity, And fearless run the light. “ Yet hast Thou mother of their kin : My Babe upon my knee, I link thee to a world of sin — Thou wilt not un-make me ! “ My race shall yet put on the sun, And darkness rule no more. Now, finish what Thou hast begun, The law of light restore. “ O Child, who from my humble knee Unto the Temple strayed, Thou earnest quickly home with me Because I wept and prayed. 24 THE PRAYER OF MARY QUEEN “ O meek and gracious Son of mine, At Cana in Galilee Thou gavest them the needful wine For but a word from me. “ O heaven’s uncomprehended Lord Thy mother still am I. Now hearken, hearken to my word — - Let not the sinner die. “ And bid the rebel orb go by ; Sweet Son, Creator dread, Be mercy only. Saviour, die Again, to raise these dead ! ” The sun uprose, the heavens were rent And took her from my sight, Rose-red grew the wide firmament, And morn was glad with light. Xaugb ant> fl>ras T HERE’S little joy in living-,” do you say? Then we are happy who can say them nay : We’ve lived enough of joy this summer day For many a life-time. Let us laugh- — and pray ! Weather W EATHER, weather, what care we Weather, whether You are in your cruel mood? We’re together. So let be. Rain or sunshine, all is good ! 25 Alias in tbe Aborning M AY in the morning, flushed with rosy gold, Young radiant day with all your tale untold, O stay upon the mountain, go not down To noon or eve, sigh not to be full-grown. But keep your virgin eyes and only be Perpetual Morning in Eternity ! 26 invitation C OME into the house, sweetheart, Built for me and thee With a lover’s mystic art, Dwell in it with me. We’ve a rainbow for a roof, Windows framed in gold, Curtains of a silver woof, With red roses in their fold Glimmering on walls that are Old as the morning star. See the flooring for thy feet Lilies over-strew, And thy couch of meadow-sweet Fragrant is with dew ! There’s a water-mirror smooth, For thy rose face to look in, There’s a thrush’s song to soothe, A moon-wheel thy dreams to spin. Here’s thy gown of saffron silk, And thy kirtle white as milk ! 27 28 INVITATION I’ve dew diamonds for thy hair, Ring to fit thy hand. We will travel with bare feet Through the faery land, With the rain upon our brows And the sunshine in our eyes. We will live within the house God has builded for the wise, Giving endless length of lease In eternal peace. Wbat Ibe Stitts W ORDS set to the blackbird’s lilt, Liquid gold on roses spilt. “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” Sweet’s the day, as sweet the night, Life is all a wild delight : “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” Birds are scarcely safe a-nest Ere the rose-light’s in the east : “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” Now the yellow cowslip’s born, Now the flower is on the thorn : “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” 29 30 WHAT HE SINGS Gold is wove across the green, Sallows wear a silvery sheen : “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” See the flirting daffodil Shakes her golden kirtle still : “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” Two go laughing hand in hand, Children in a faery land : “ Love, my love, love me, Love, for I love thee !” /niontina A THRUSH is asleep in the passion flower, A blackbird dreams in the rose’s bower. Short sleep, and a note at dawn : “ Wake, little birds, the dark is flown ! ” Another sleep and then a trill, “ Little birds, the sun is above the hill !” World’s light, and a shower of gold For meadows abroad beneath the wold. Fields a-flower, and a trickle of gems In the running stream, and dew-diadems For weeds that have won the beauty prize — Worth that’s worthless to common eyes ! Joy for man, and the heart of a child For some grown old, and a rapture wild For the child with wings that have swept the skies, Who may haply remember Paradise ! 31 IRose^Utoe S UMMER, matron beautiful, With a laughing- babe on either arm, And troop of rosy youngsters following, Adventurous on thy steps in sweet alarm, With chubby hands that cling Each unto each, or sudden timorous pull Thy saffron robe that sweeps the verdurous lawn ; Mother of roses, queen of golden dawn, Goddess of laughter, worshipping we greet Thee and thy brood. Be hastened thy white feet ! Knowest thou, beloved, how withered and how grey The green earth grows when thou are absent long, Or how the day Wearies of life and fails too soon away? In all the woods there is not heard a song. 32 ROSE-TIDE 33 These deeply curtaining boughs of velvet green That drop from azure heaven to flowery sward Not then are seen, But all the skies are barred By rigid forms that yearn for thy return — By weeping clouds that thine aloofness mourn. Oh, coming from the seaward with blue eyes In sunshine drowned, and music in thy mouth, And threaded hair on which the daylight lies As gold to gold. Incarnate soul of youth Matured in beauty, tender ardent face Where all things fair and ripe and sweet, Flower and fruit in perfect grace Of colour and of splendour, meet. O voice of nightingale, O song of thrush Ceasing within the woodlands’ murmurous hush ! Dear fellow-traveller of the royal sun, O let him go alone, stay thou with us, Undo not what thou hast so goodly done. Thou wilt not ruin thus Our gardens and our quires Enwrought by thy desires. See how the gold rose hangs upon its green, Thou, fair, the roses’ queen, c 34 ROSE-TIDE Bid it stay so for ever. Canst thou take Thy mild breath from our airs and let the blast Of winter lay our hearts and meadows waste, Hushing thy song to hear his discord wake? Sweet, do not leave us soon ; to thee we bring Our weary and our sick that thou mayst lay Thy healing touch upon them, strengthening Our failing hope and sunning all away The ice-dews of our dread. Oh, let thy rose Bloom on the wasted cheek, thy verdure close, Untenanted, the grave that winter hath Already dug beyond the golden corn That skirts the track of that funereal path Will take thee from us on one weeping morn ! Sun*®lamour M Y bonny rose-tree, You are more dear to me Than diamonds in a string, Or rubies in a ring ! From the seas far away, Through the greens of the May, At his bidding have I come Unto my lover’s home. To the dear eyes of love, To the coo-coo of the dove, To the lark in the blue, At the word of my lover true. Now’s the harvest of the rose, When the sweet south wind blows, And sun-glamour lights the land, As we two go hand in hand ! 35 Might T HE old brown clock that purrs to us By night and day And treacherously whispers thus Our lives away, Its heart-beats throbbing through the light Of morning’s bliss Will promise all the live-long night A day like this ! 36 ©u vs S WEET as ours were Eden bowers? Swaying grasses, floating flowers, All blown one lovely way WHen the soft south wind’s at play ! Under our hedge of rose Where the hill-water flows A little mother water-hen Surrounded by her brood of ten Flutters in the shadow There, by the open meadow. Sweet’s our forest walk Green and dusk for lingering talk. Cool as the sea-nymph’s grot When the sun is high and hot. We have sun-flowers in a row Out where the west’s a-glow, We have hollyhocks and lilies, Hyacinths and daffodillies, 37 38 OURS Pansy, pea, and rose enchanting In our pleasaunce flaunting. Bees go haunting there, And overhead the lavender White butterflies are in the air. Sundial beside the rose Marks how swift the glad day goes : Finger long and black Following grimly on time's track. Peacock stiff with pride Jewelled like an eastern bride, Glance of insolence Seeking for offence, Ebon crested head, Tail of splendour spread. Hoary orchard trees With boughs like wreathed lattices, Little lamps of red and yellow Where the fruit is mellow. Yonder’s a bushy grove Alive with songs of love, OURS 39 As all the song-birds of the air Did celebrate their bridals there. Blackbird and wood guest Each lord of his own nest. Bullfinch, tit and thrush At home in thorn and ivy bush. Forth from every throat a song When the daylight waxeth long. For now the rain-fall’s over Every bird within the cover Poet is as well as lover. Fairies trip and pass Across the lush empurpled grass. Where the shade is deep and wide They dart about and hide Under the canopies Of the limes and chestnut trees. When the summer’s gone, Ice on field and lawn. Skies may gloom and glower Still our joy’s in flower. 40 OURS When the clouds have found us Golden walls are round us Where the sun doth enter There with us to winter. No one knoweth where he goeth When the storm-wind bloweth And the stream no longer floweth, Only we who live always In his fostering rays. B Ifoome HIS happy house was built for our content And planted in its green environment Long* years ere we in living- flesh abode And living- souls were bid to live for God. Its eag-er door stands open on the breeze Admitting homage from the bowing trees Saluting crowds of flitting shades that go Through quiet halls and chambers to and fro, Like tender mindful ghosts of some who were Happy and blithesome in an old time here, Within these old thick walls still aureoled By orchard blossoms and the spring’s young gold On ancient woods, a mighty darkling host In wild sun-glamour all astray and lost. House ever in a reverie Of joy mysterious, out of thee Heaven hath inhabitants. If dost hear The echo of their bliss who are so near Though all apart we may not wonder thou Dost ponder listening, rapt in silence now, 42 A HOME And spread thy roof like brooding wings of dove As shelter still for happy hearts that love And call thee home, next door to happier heaven. Out yonder where the sunset clouds are riven We see the track, yet shrink our earth-bound feet, In thee life throbs so all-sufficient sweet ! Each of thy storied chambers hath Its dreams, the glorious aftermath Of lives well-lived, fields ripely sown With flowers amid the grass long mown. The sweet of them is in the air Like kindred sweets that up the stair Blow on the warm west wind of May Out of the meadow’s heart and stay About their nooks and passages As glad to linger where love is. Up in our garden chamber, high ’Mid chestnut boughs in Orient sky The long wide windows see the dawn, Rose-gold when dark veils are withdrawn And green earth lying fair beneath Throws upward many a purple wreath. There pipes the blackbird’s magic flute, The thrush tunes up his tender lute, A HOME 43 Here thrill a hundred viol strings, While feathered minstrels clap their wings : .Who sleeps within this chamber hears Such music with awaking ears. Across the meadow a sun-gleam Shines all along the running stream, The hemlock caught in a sun-mist Gleams by the hedge-rose water-kissed. The rag-weed in her golden crown, A beggar-queen, stares the mild daisy down. The grass is glad as any living thing, Each tiny blade a quivering wing. A bit of broken woodland owns ’tis dark Even in morn-glory, and a lark With ringing rapturous note, continuous Shares from the sun his exuberant joy with us ! And here’s a little nested room, warm-lined, Like home of birds, ’mid bushes, where the wind Roar as he will can only rock our sleep While musically the rains weep. Here purrs in flame the odorous bough Shed by great trees that rock and sough, And moan of turbulent spirits hurled Into their arms from this our world 44 A HOME To do a penal term for deeds That sown for flowers proved loathsome weeds. Just at the window, low beneath the eaves A starling nests behind bay-leaves Within the roof, and with her noisy brood Bides fearless of our human neighbourhood. This orchard — half a rood of bloom, Pushing a meadow to get room For apple-trees long past their prime And pear-trees bent with fruit and time, Was once a garden redolent of rose And lily, and of violets Empurpled by the April rain that wets The hyacinth, and crowned with living gold Of sun-flowers burnishing the distant wold, And hollyhocks upon whose glancing spears Shone rubies caught from suns of passing years, Thick-set upon their slender flanks ’Mid amber bosses, far out where their ranks In file of splendour reared each one his crest To guard a dream-world in the kindling west. All gone, yet ’mid the long lush grasses still Unbidden springs the joyous daffodil, A HOME 45 And still the aerial blue anemone The darling wind-flower lives and laughs with glee. The hyacinths, an ever-hardy race, Borne by the winging birds from place to place, Flit, ever making colonies ’Neath canopies of the great old-world trees. The hemlock now imperially doth hold The ground they drove him from of old And lifts his head all oversown with white And spreads his giant leaves as with the right To crush usurpers, even the reckless foe Who robbed him many and many a year ago. He has survived a thousand follies sweet Of scent and colour, weakness doomed to meet Death from deep-rooted power. Yet see Under the hedge and apple-tree The lowly things that have defied In their humility his pride : The primrose and the simple cowslip bell, The crocus and the little dear speedwell ! Now, in deep summer friends will come and go Within cool rooms where the tall lime-trees throw 46 A HOME A radiant green shade on glamorous days When burns the sun on open lattices. O rare gold house, our lives are folded in Between thy sheltering arms and but begin To know all joy. Smile on and keep us warm Wrapped in thy heart and safe from all alarm ! © flfcaE in tbe /Ibornina ! O MAY, O May in the morning, And oh, but the world was sweet There came without word of warning One, pale, with winged feet. O May, O May of the thrushes ! O May of the blackbirds’ bliss ! The water sang in the rushes, My love gave me a kiss. O May, O May in the morning ! My lover away, away Stole without word of warning : Black is the winter day ! 47 2>eatb anb tbe Soul IMPATIENT SOUL D OOR of Death, open, open unto me, And let me in ! Door narrow and thin And adamantine strong, Beyond thee God is And the spirit's love-kiss ; I long, long, long To break with violence through thee ! DEATH O rude and noisy soul, thy clamour cease, For I will ope Only to patient Hope, And in her company Through me thou'lt surely pass As the sun's ray through glass. Meanwhile God holds the key, And I am shut upon his fields of peace ! 48 XTbe feat's iRounfc A NOTHER round is done, Another year is run, Since thou from me didst turn thy face away To travel where there is nor year nor day; And yet I reckon here Another year, Winter’s cold and the Summer’s blossoming, Autumn’s flush and the wild sweet of the Spring. O Sun’s gold wheel, Are you not tired of turning ? O stars of steel, Give over your cold burning ! Flowers, shrivel and fade, A grave is made. Sick earth, will you not wither up and die, Since in your bosom cold my love doth lie ? D 49 Question A ND is your new-found knowledge then so sweet Death's mystery that your love now understands? Where travel you, O unreturning feet, What clasp you now, O tender seeking hands ? Your eyes no longer see my light of day : What sun irradiates you and leaves me blind ? What blithe companions make your spirit gay, What happy weaklings know you strong and kind? One sits alone within a darkened home And counts the hours since laughing forth you went With promise of return ; you will not come. So long away ; and are you then content ? The hearth is swept, and purrs the happy flame A chair beside your waiting chair is set. Now rings the joyful hour when still you came. Feet pass the door ; your chair is empty yet ! 50 Silence T HOU Mystery of Silence, bearing still A seal upon thy lips, and in thy hand Grasping the folds that veil thine unseen face ! Sister of death, in virgin drapery White as the summer moonbeams, with round arm And gracious breast, and foot that might beat time To music yet doth neither rise nor fall — Wake from thy trance, unveil and answer me ! O deaf and cruel ! Shall my passion strike Concealment from thy marble front, or shall Rather my patience kneel and humbly kiss The hem of thy close shroud, in trust it hides From this sad soul a joy unspeakable That, when the mystic hour at last may ring, Will sun-like rend the cloud ’twixt thee and me ? 51 Ube Watcb XCovvev T O worship the flame of the fire Our hearts have lit With the purest of soul’s desire, We two sit. Above, o’er the high watch towers The suns are alight And, circling through hours on hours, They travel the night. Oh, chill are the stars up there On a distant trend, And little our love knows where Their travels tend. If spirits can live in their shine We may not see, But our cinder that’s yours and mine, To you and to me, 52 THE WATCH TOWER 53 Is the seed of fire to sow In the years of ours For the grass that’s yet to grow, For the birth of flowers. And while spirit to spirit clings As lips to lips, What reck we of far-off things In light or eclipse? A hand in a hand held fast, Cheek pressed to cheek, What matters an age going past, Days, or a week ? While the little rapturous flame That burns for us, Though fitful and never the same, Continuous, Is enough of the mystery Of the heat of life For lovers like you and me, Husband and wife. 54 THE WATCH TOWER But, dear, when the sweet earth fire Evanisheth, And froze is our heart’s desire By blast of death, Shall one on the far watch tower, Alone on the height, Seek flame in a blackened hour Of a bitter night? And ask of the God who winds His suns in a ring, Who maketh His fires in kinds, Unperishing, A torch in the darkened years, To search for love Through the realm where the circling spheres Burn on above? O love, the flame of our fire That burned so sweet, The flame of our heart’s desire, Alight at our feet, THE WATCH TOWER 55 The sacred flame of our hearth To-day’s but an old, Common trick of the earth To keep out the cold ; A blaze lit up in a camp On a battle morn, While soldiers shout and tramp At blast of a horn. By what hearth do you sit Of the fires on high? I’m coming, my love, to it; Time, fly, fly ! preference I AM not lonely for I feel you near Although your place is vacant to my eyes And evermore I know the sad surprise Of shrouded rooms, and no voice in my ear. I am not all forlorn, nor do I fear Long wakeful nights and joyless morning skies And lengthening eves when daylight slowly dies Along the suntide of the perfect year. For you are always close to me in faith And rather would I follow you through death Into your strange unknown eternal place Where I again might see you face to face Than live forgetting you, by you forgot, Possessed of new-born joys that know you not. 56 patn M Y lovely lady whose sad name is Pain All lonely liveth in her mystic bower, Beyond the sun, above the wind and rain ; Her garden fenced is with white-thorn flower. Beneath the thorny white-flower-laden boughs She sitteth all day long in gathered shade ; Within the circle of her narrow house Her pallid face a moon-like light hath made. Her dusky hair is wove with bud and spine, Her spirit eyes are dark with mystery, Her lips that show no rose incarnadine Are dumb as sculptured lips of martyrs be. Her brow is white with dreams, and her pale hands Pray ever palm to palm, and scarcely stir Against her quiet breast ; an angel stands With eyes of love, and mutely watches her. 57 Mings NTO your angel, when the dawn was red, I spoke, “O, let me soar to him this day ! Lend me thy wings, that I may flee away And see him where he bideth now,” I said. About the morn like store of roses shed I saw earth-glories, yet toward the ray Of highest heaven my track of travel lay Where bliss holds you— from me uncomforted ! There bode I near you, colouring with love’s breath The suns that shine on you, and whispering Sweet words we used to say, till day was gone. Oh, knew you of my tears, and the downward wing That went from you? “Now, angel, take your own,” I cried, and wingless stood, and wept for Death ! 58 Ube IDisfon U NDER my load of grief at length I slept And saw you standing in our chamber, gay And tall and strong even like as yesterday ; You smiled on me who had so moaned and wept, While in amaze of fear toward you I stept In dread to touch a cloud that would not stay, For I had seen you dead and borne away — So, fearing dream and waking, nearer crept And found you warm to touch ; then to your side I clung in rapture ; “ Death is dead/’ I cried, “ There is no death ! ” I held your woollen gown, The dear familiar vesture, drew yours down To my own face and felt your strong heart beat. “ I hold you, love, and Death’s a lie, a cheat ! ” You gave me tender looks and kisses, still You drew me to your breast and sat with me ; So face to face and breast to breast were we. “O love,” I cried, “go not again. I will 59 6o THE VISION Be with you when you go, for good or ill/ “ Not so,” you said ; then I, “ Is it to be That no more joy for all eternity We taste as one, who did all love fulfil?” “ Not so,” again you said, “ but you must wend Obedient and apart till God shall send.” Then loosened you your hold, I felt you draw Your gown from my close grip; no more I saw But felt you go. Yet am I comforted Who know you live although I saw you dead. Cbe Closes Door HE door of heaven has closed on thee ; I stand this side of eternity, The rainy wind and the bitter skies Still mine ; and life with its mysteries. The world’s tears in the drift on the pane, The light to hate and the dark to shun, And joy to remember with the sun. But thou, — away on a flowery sod Walking with saints in the garden of God Be full thy joy, and no more alone, I’ll live with it till it grows my own. If thou wert back in the world again The wind might blow and the rain might rain, The old sweet heaven of thee and me Would be heaven enough for me and thee ! The soul’s cry in the blast with the rain, 61 BteaD T HE world's afire and none to save Wind howl and rain rave, The world is all a wandering grave ! The earth is but a blackened stone Whirling round a greater one, — Frozen sun whose light is done ! Shepherd, what use in your crook ? Scientist, for your outlook ? Poet, who’s to read your book ? All the jewels of the east, Gold and silver of the west, Buried are in ruin’s breast. Wheel of terror, dreadful ball Black with death, containing all Bodies built since Adam’s fall ! Now are all the souls were born To your years of night and morn Gathered by an angel’s horn. 62 XTbe Silver Iborn W HEN I awoke from dreams this morn, Methought I heard a silver horn Shrilling towards me from afar, As if from some faint, setting star ! “ Oh ! ” I said, “ the stars are falling, Or some spirit, calling, calling, Summons me o’er hill and hollow. I will rise, and I will follow ! ” I have climbed the hills all day, Fallen and fainted on the way — Met no spirit. Will that horn Sound for me another morn ? 63 Ube Hvfti* TENDER Heart, strong Ark which doth enshrine The whole sweet law that rules the heart of man ; No longer held as slaves beneath a ban Grateful and free we live by love divine. O Heart, O Sanctuary undefiled Of that new law of love unto us given ; A Veil more precious than of old was riven, A Temple holier than the ancients piled ! What living heart is there that will not come At His Redeeming call, that doth not sigh To give Him love for love, and will not fly Unto His Heart, our everlasting home? * Translated from the Latin. 64 JSvcmwQ I N sober ending of a glamorous day The shadows lengthen, wistful grows the light. The herds are far off and the vale is lone ; The mountain mourns upon its purple throne Accepting darkness and resigned to night. The sea is hiding in its veils of grey. All is consummated, a god is slain Beneath the welkin, and is no more sun. Earth is em-palled, great Nature’s head is bowed Under the burden of a loathsome shroud. Light is extinct, the course of life is run, Day lies in death and may not rise again. But even now upon the pall is wore A jewel, signalling to soul-full seers. In characters of light is writ that he The sun-god is alive in mystery, Life-giving of his love in other spheres : There will be morning more, and more, and more ! e 65 TLhc jforsafeen /Ifcotber (Ireland’s lament) M Y dewy fields are sad and lone, The mountain-top’s a frowning stone* The rain rains tears, the sea is grey For little children gone away. O wirrasthru ! that I could see The little faces round my knee, That I could hear the running feet That ran between my hedges sweet ! I’ll see no more your big blue eyes, No more I’ll hear your shouts and cries ; You grow and turn to heartless men, Unlike the men that stepped the glen. You’re cradled in the stranger’s land, The stranger takes your wedded hand, Your little children are not mine : By hill and glen I weep and pine. 66 THE FORSAKEN MOTHER 67 O sons of mine that leave me lone Your ears will ever hear my moan : On alien hills, by alien streams Your mother’s face will haunt your dreams. I see the ruddy lights no more That shone from window and from door, No more the house-dog’s friendly bark Rings cheery in the winter’s dark. When night is on my pastures green I miss my music sweet and keen. The piping herd that whistled shrill While sat the moon ’twixt wood and hill. My sons, will you come back again, My children grown to sturdy men ? Come back, come back, from east and west, And make your homes upon my breast ? Your mother’s ear is listening still To hear across the purple hill Your feet come tramping from the sea Across the fields and glens to me. 68 THE FORSAKEN MOTHER Your joyful shouts upon the wind, Your loving words and laughter kind, In voices of the midnight streams, I hear them : — only in my dreams ! 3relanfc IRevnsltef* Y OU’RE goin’ home, alanna, to the home y’ never seen, The home that y’ weren’t born in, though sure y’ ought to been ; The land that she was born in that’s now your old grandmother, The sweetest land in-undher heaven, I don’t care where’s the other. The girl she was had hair like gold, an’ a curl in it, an’ her eyes They had the sort o’ colour that’s like bits of Irish skies. You’re laughin’ at me, honey, but I’m grown so old y’ see I might be let to talk about the girl that once was me ! ’Twas she that was the colleen dhas the day that Shemus said A few words she was glad to hear, an’ still a bit afraid. 70 IRELAND REVISITED Herself was milkin’ in the field, the lark was in the blue : He came an’ took the pail ; says he, “ It’s heavy, dear, for you.” You’ll go an’ see the house, asthore, you’ll know it by the thatch In-undher the white elder-flowers; the door is on the latch. The swallows do be very fond of makin’ their nests there. Inside, just by the fire, you’ll see your gran’father’s straw chair. You’ll go to see the neighbours, child ; they’re changed a bit, they say, An’ hair that was as bright as mine is maybe turned to grey. But girshas will be grown like you, an’ take you by the hand, For they’ll be glad to see you cornin’ back to the old land. You’ll go into the chapel, an’ you’ll tell me if y’ find The three old trees foment it that stood shakin’ in the wind, IRELAND REVISITED 71 An’ noddin’ at the chapel porch, as if they wanted :n. Oca, if it was myself was you, — but envy is a sin ! B %a\j of t foe jfamtne u /^vH, hear you how the night wind sighs around V_/ the craggy reek ? Its voice keens high above the wave that thunders in the creek, “Aroon, aroon, arouse you, and hie across the moor ! Ten miles away there’s bread they say to feed the starving poor. “God save you, Eileen bawn asthore, and guide your naked feet And keep the failing life in us till you come back with meat.” She kissed her father’s palsied hand, her mother’s wasting cheek, And whirled out on the driving storm beyond the craggy reek. 72 A LAY OF THE FAMINE 73 But God is kinder on the bog than man is in the town And Eileen quails before the stranger’s harsh rebuke and frown. No bread is in her wallet stored, but on the lone- some heath She lifts her empty hands to heaven and prays for speedy death. O Ululu ! what sight is this, what forms come by the reek As thin and white as is the mist upon the mountain’s peak. Like mist they glide across the bog, a pale and ghastly band, The foremost crosses Eileen’s path and grips her by the hand. “ Dear daughter, we have suffered sore, but we are safe at last, For God has taken us to him and bids yourself make haste. 74 A LAY OF THE FAMINE “ So hurry to our cabin lone, and dig a grave full deep And underneath the white bog-flower our bodies lay to sleep. “Lest winter winds should wreck the walls and throw them on our bones, And stranger-birds should tear our flesh from out the tumbled stones. “Asthoreen, don’t be slow or long, so you may quickly come And share the sweetness of our rest in God’s eternal Home.” Now when the sun went in the sea and rain-winds ’gan to weep Fared Eileen to the cabin lone and dug a grave full deep. And when the moon was high in heaven above the thundering wave Outstretched her slender body lay upon that new- made grave. XFfoe factors <3tvl C HOSE it instead of America, ye see it was neardher home. “Plenty of work in the North/' they said, an’ so I riz an' come. Nine of us on the bit o’ land, an’ failded at last wid the rint ; No price to be got for the cow at all, an' the lan’lord as hard as flint ! Rest o' thim wint to the Huts. I thought I'd be able to arn Somethin' to help thim along, workin’ up here at the yarn. But what wid the sickness an' fines, an’ the wages so tar’ble small I'd niver a ha’penny to sind — I wuz no help to them at all. Fines on all that I wove. My loom was bad an’ it run Wrong wid the web; an’ the weavin', 'twas ruined afore it was done. 75 ;6 THE FACTORY GIRL Fines for a mouthful of water whin yer heart was just ready to burst Wid the roastin’ heat o’ the place, an’ the ragin’ fire o’ yer thirst. Off’ner sick nor well, even at the best o’ your prime ; For, ye see, yer drippin’ wet at yer work the whole o’ the time. Only a shift an’ a petticoat on ye, not enough o’ clo’es To cover a dacent girl, an’ keep her modest, God knows ! An’ thin, whin the bell is rung, an’ ye run out into the street It’s the sharp east wind or the frost that yer bones have got to meet. An’ yer bit of a shawl is not much use to keep out the stabs o’ the could ; It’s that way whin yer young, but ye never live to be ould. A quare place to be sick in. Aye, deed, so ye may say ! Four of us lies in the bed at night, I have it myself all day. THE FACTORY GIRL 77 Will ye write to my mother an’ tell her my heart is sore That I hadn’t a penny to send her — my love, an’ nothin’ more. For whin I’d arned a shillin’ an’ threepence, the threepence was all I’d to get; The shillin’ wint for the fine on the crucked loom that’d set Iverything wrong as it wint. What mather, ’twas me had to pay — I’d betther starved where I wuz in the fields ’twixt the bog an’ the say. Slime an’ dirt where ye stand at yer work, an’ the smells’d dhrive ye mad ; Yer tould to go to hell if ye cry, but hell can’t be half as bad. I know I’m goin’ somewhere, docthor, I see it like prent in your face ; But I hope it won’t be there. Thank God there’s another place ! 8o SHAN O'NEILL’S CAMP And with it the butter like lumps of golden ore, Food for the hosts of Shan ; to eat it we forbore, And brought it through fire and steel from the lion’s lair, Proof for our captain that we, his spies, were there. So now are we heroes or not, that saw O’Neill By flare of the torch on his gallow-glasses’ steel ? Never again could we live through such a night. You may snare the lion — you’ll never beat him in fight. But here’s the plan. We’ve done the bidding you gave. And a curse on your treachery and ours that has so dealt with the brave ! (Blenmalure A WORLD-SONG in the running water : “ Red am I with the red of slaughter.^ When storm and torrent sweep the Glen I mourn the fate of gallant men. “ I wash their graves and keep them green, Prankt with flowers of golden sheen 3 I chant their praise when summer’s kind, I keen for them on the winter wind. “I run, I rush to the cleansing sea And wash me clean in the wave of the free, Yet still am I red with the red of blood In valley shadow, in mountain flood. “ Michael Dwyer still sits in his chair On the red rock up on the mountain there, And the roofless barrack with eyes of bale Stares at him from the heart of the vale. 81 F 82 GLENMALURE “ It threats me as I hurry along For the mindfulness of my ceaseless song; But I will sing when stone on stone The baleful walls to dust are gone. “ Will sing of the patriot hearts that bled, Slaughtered to dye my waters red ; Will sing and sing to the souls of men My world-song from an Irish glen. “ Men of to-day, ye are cold and tame, Care not for praise, care not for blame ; Ye count your sheep in the mountain cave, And feed your kine on the heroes’ grave. “ No more to your crags the eagle clings, On Lug-na-cullia he spreads his wings, The rabbit thrives and the wily fox Lives at ease in his hole in the rocks. “ Some of your old men grieve as I Talk of the brave awhile — and die ! The young are fleeing to happier lands Where’s room for souls and where’s work for hands. GLENMALURE 83 “ Only the river, only the river That knows no death and will sing for ever ; Only the ever-running water Running red with the red of slaughter “ Hears the battle-cry of the brave Ringing from the patriots’ grave, And winds it into a water-song, The song of all days that will live world-long.” /Ibaurg’s Dision W HISHT, honey, I’ll tell you the story. It chanst in the summer one night When the bog, that does still be so black, was all over a dazzle of white With the foam blowin’ in from the sea, an’ the clouds streelin’ down from the skies An’ the moon lookin’ on, like myself, the poor soul, with the tears in her eyes. That I cried as I wint, with the dint o’ the ache was in all o’ my bones On account of the heavy day’s work pickin’ up the loose stones An’ I earnin’ a bit for the childher, till in on the flure Of the cabin I stumbled at last, an’ I barred up the dure. I was sayin’ a prayer at the ould broken chair wid my knees on the clay An’ Owny, my eldest, was answerin’, him that wint over the say, 84 MAURY’S VISION 85 When I looked at the dure I was sure I had barred wid the two of my hands An’ I seen it was standin’ wide open, an’ laid my commands On Owny to get up at wanst, an’ to shut out the dreep o’ the mist, An’ he upped, an’ he wint to the dure, an’ he hammered it shut wid his fist, And on wint the two of us then wid the prayers, an’ myself half asleep, With my face in my hands on the chair, an’ the heart in me bursting to weep. I looked up again as I said the amen, an’ I seen that the dure Was standin’ wide back from the moon, an’ the light on the flure, An’ I let out a curse, God forgive me, on top o’ my prayer, I was manin’ no harm, but it riz of itself from my heart o’ despair. “ Bad luck to you, Owny ! ” says I, “ have you no hands at all That y’ stand up to fasten the dure, an’ y’ lave it there back to the wall ? 86 MAURY’S VISION An’ the boy got lamenting an’ said he had done it, an’ thin Between tremblin’ an’ cryin’ he upped an’ he done it agin. The sobbin’ got into his throat, an’ he crep’ into bed, An’ I druv home the bar wid a blow, an’ lay down by his head, But before I right settled to sleep I just took a back glance at the dure. It was open as wide as my eyes, an’ the light strainin’ in on the flure. I jumped out o’ bed wid a groan, for I seen with my sight That someone was there on the thrashel, an’ darkened the white O’ the mist an’ the moon, an’ I knew by the set o’ the head An’ the square o’ the shouldhers ’twas one was come back from the dead. ’Twas Emun, my husband, himself, wid a child on each arm, An’ he houldin’ the pair to his breast as if keepin’ them warm. MAURY’S VISION 87 ’Twas the two that was laid by his side in the grave at the kille The day my heart broke whin I left thim there sleepin’ their fill. I stood an’ I looked at the three, an’ the sweat on my face Teemed down wid the fear at the thought of a ghost in the place. Till my starin' got hold of his looks, an’ I seen that (ochone !) As kind-like as iver his two eyes were stuck in my own. I gother up courage an’ spoke, an “O Emun” I says “ Will you come to the fire an’ sit down, an’ I’ll rake up a blaze, For it’s could an’ it’s pale that you’re lookin’, yourself an’ the two That I niver again thought to see in this world — wirrasthru ! “ Will you give me the sweet little girsha here into my breast Till I comb out the gold of her hair, till I give her a taste 88 MAURY’S VISION Of the milk that’ll bring the red colour back into her cheeks When she opens her eyes an’ finds out ’tis her mammy that speaks ! “ Will you let me wake up little Dermot an’ see the blue eyes That wanst were the light of our home ? O my husband,” I cries, For a kind of a madness had riz up an’ burned in my brain, An’ I thought they had come back to stay an’ were livin’ again. Then Emun spoke out, an’ his voice was as sad an’ as low As the wind from the sea when the waves do be cornin’ in slow, An’ “ I cannot, my woman,” he says, “ for it’s only we come On an errand from God, an’ it’s soon we’ll be facin’ back home. “O Maury,” says he, “don’t be cursin’ the childher no more. See these little pair that God sent you to look at, asthore. MAURY’S VISION 89 ’Twas their prayers an’ their love that led me into Heaven an’ to Him, An’ the sowl of a child is more precious than life or than limb. “Don’t poison their innocence, Maury; the three that you have ’Ll be as’t for some day from your hands, for it’s not to the grave Ye are goin’,” says Emun, says he, “wid your smile or your frown ; When there’s Wan that is coaxin’ them up, don’t be dhrivin’ thim down.” “O never again will I do it,” says I, when the moan In my throat let the word to my tongue. “ But O Emun, my own, Will you give me the childher a minute, an’ kiss me,” says I, “ ’Tis yourself niver needed the askin’ in thim days gone by.” Then Emun came near me, an’ dhrooped the young childher to rest For a couple of seconds or so on the broad o’ my breast. 90 MAURY'S VISION An’ he leaned a bit neardher an’ put his two lips to my own, An’ he kissed me the way that he used to, my husband, ochone ! The cowld of him wint through my sowl. Oh, the sting o’ the cowld Of the face of himself against mine ! Oh, the chill o’ the mould On the cheeks o’ my babies, it froze an’ it killed me outright An’ I fell on my face in a heap, an’ I lay there all night. Ullagone, I’d more livin’ to do, for I came back again. With the light o’ the dawn in the skies I woke up to my pain, An’ I heard like a twitter o’ birds, an’ a whishperin’ sigh, ’Twas himself an’ the childher that waited all night for to say their good-bye. A dhrame did y’ say? Look at here! did y’ iver behold The purplety blue of a body that’s frozen to death wid the cold ? MAURY’S VISION 9i It’s the blue of my lips since the night whin my dead husband kissed My mouth at the dure, sthrainin’ out through the moon an’ the mist. An’ savin’ your presence, just here in the warm o’ my breast, Where the two little weeshie wans cuddled like birds in a nest Is a couple o’ patchety scars, like a burn leaves behind. They’re as white as the bog-flowers that blows in the breath o’ the wind. Och, sure, but they left their own mark on me. There now, go on, An’ lave me with God an’ themselves that He sint me — mavrone ! The moon niver shines through the mist wid that growl from the sea But I think they’re come back wid Himself’s invitation for me. /n>aun? ®qc M Y name is little Maury Oge, I live at Gurteen Clough ; It’s over there beyant the bog, Just where the sea is rough. And that’s our houseen in the cave, The rock is for our floor ; In winther, sure, the tundherin’ wave Comes tumblin’ through the door. We’ve got a weeshie bit o’ land Betune the bog and sea; It’s that can grow the taties grand When storrums let them be. I’m goin’ on sixteen year old ; It’s me that ups at night, For when the moon is big an’ gold The tide is at its height. 92 MAURY OGE 93 I do go wadin’ from the sands, The wather’s round my neck, And I be gropin’ wid my hands To haul in the sea-wrack. O musha, yis, I’m always dhrowned ; But little matther, so — When wrack is spread out on the ground To make the taties grow ! It’s me that always does be sint Goin’ foreign every year ; For still we have to pay the rint, An’ clay is awful dear ! It’s me that picks the hops that grows In lan’ that’s not like ours ; Where cruel storrums never blows, And rains is only showers. Then I do bind the farmer’s sheaves, And lie the summer’s night In undher hedges full o’ leaves Till dawning of the light. 94 MAURY OGE Och, whin I bring the money home It’s never half enough To pay the shop that must get some. An’ rint of Gurteen Clough. I wish the taties wouldn’t fail, (It’s rain that brings the rot !) For buyin’ of the Indy male It swallys all we’ve got. Oh, whiles I climb the rock up there, An' look out on the sea, For there’s a sailin’ ship somewhere Will soon be gettin’ me ! TLhc Beogav Queen W ANDERER in the wet and cold You shall walk in gems arrayed, You shall sit in cloth of gold Beggar maid, O beggar maid ! You have lands and you have towers, Churches wherein saints have prayed, You have gardens full of flowers. Beggar maid, O beggar maid ! Ships are sailing on your seas, Cattle in your meadows tread, Filled are all your granaries Beggar maid, O beggar maid ! You have subjects leal and strong, Waging battle unafraid For the queen they praise in song, Beggar maid, O beggar maid ! 95 96 THE BEGGAR QUEEN Wear the robes that fit a queen, Wear a crown upon your head, Rule within your valleys green, Beggar maid, O beggar maid ! Cbe Christmas Catt&le I SET the taper in the pane, The Christmas taper got with care (In Advent days by stinted fare), And bade it burn, nor ever wane, From morn to night, from night to morn, Until the Christ-Child should be born ! So tall it stood, its slender white Encrusted o’er with red and gold And purple ; like the kings of old, A crown it wore, its crown of light. Now, little flame, shine down the street, And show the way to travelling feet ! I opened wide the cabin door ; The frosty air came rushing in, The stars aloft shone faint and thin. I knelt upon the earthen floor, And, kneeling so, alone was I : (The rest are in Eternity). g 97 98 THE CHRISTMAS CANDLE A father, mother, one small maid, And two fair lads ; a crowd we were Around the Christmas taper there (Beside the kille 1 the four are laid). “O Christmas taper, shed thy light ! There’s One will come for me to-night.” And oh ! the world was dark and cold (But lighted by my taper’s flame), When down the street the Christ-Child came, An ice-wreath in His hair of gold, And opened His young arms to me : “Now come to where they bide,” saith He. Good neighbours, is it Christmas night ? Ah, yes, I see my taper’s flame Still burning as when in He came Impelled by its imploring light, Came in and stood within the door, And said, “ O mother, weep no more ! ” Then I fell fast asleep, and so You found me. Now I go to them, As bid by Him of Bethlehem. Ere my sweet taper wanes I go ; For He, the Christ-Child, bids me come Where they wait for me in His home. 1 Church. Saint IKevrtn ant> tbe Xarfe S AINT KEVIN, who loved God, and men and birds, And savage beasts, and gentle flocks and herds, Walked solitary in the fields of morn, And praised the light, as light were newly born. And, lifting up his hand to bless the sun For yet another day in God begun, He, praying, walked, and walking, prayed and praised His God with still that blessing hand upraised. A lark aloft, his matins singing loud, Dropped sudden from the heart of a gold cloud, And perched on Kevin’s uplift hand and sang, And sang until the woodlands rang and rang. “ O wondrous voice, uprising from the sod To greet the sun and pierce the ear of God, How canst thou thus forsake the golden quire To sing aloud for me my heart’s desire?” 99 ioo SAINT KEVIN AND THE LARK Said Kevin ; then the bird sang sweet and low, And told such secrets as the angels know Into the ear of Kevin, until he Forgot the world in heavenly ecstasy. So walked he days and nights across the land With that sweet songster perched upon his hand Nor ever knew the time until the bird Soared to the sun and in the cloud was heard. Still, when o’er Irish fields where saint and lark Went praising God who scattereth the dark, At early morn a mystic song is heard, The children cry, “ Saint Kevin and his bird ! ’ ©avaltb’s jFeri’s T HE moon is wroth o’er Avondhu, Wild clouds before her face are flying, Black shadows hang around Rhincrew, The gannets from the sea are crying. And where the river flood runs through The wooded pass with smothered sighing Of pain and fear what terrifying Shout comes startling wood and water With memories grim of fray and slaughter ? “ Hallo there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth a ferry ! ” He lies above the thundering wave : By sea or land, by ford or river, While sea-mews perch above his grave Great Garalth fares no more for ever. The winds may lift a voice and rave And cry aloud with sob and shiver The name of one who answers never, Startling the storm-tost wood and water With memories fierce of fray and slaughter. IOI 102 GARALTH'S FERRY “ What ho, there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give brave Garalth a ferry ! ” In Temple Michael's gruesome wood And down the frighted river's flowing The traveller scanneth tree and flood, The cloud-rack on the night-wind blowing Over Rhincrew, the Point of Blood Before the angry moon's face going, The stream that stumbles hasting, slowing — And hears that cry thrill wood and water With echoings dread of fray and slaughter. “ Hallo there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth his ferry ! " But now the summer wind is still, The young moon dreams behind the beeches, The clouds lie soft on mead and hill, Clear curve in light the river reaches Yet from the deep wood rings a shrill And piercing summons that beseeches. Never so weird the night owl screeches Scaring the peace of wood and water With ghostly dreams of strife and slaughter. “ Ho, ho, there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth a ferry ! " GARALTH’S FERRY 103 Here was the feast, and here the fray, Red lights from every loophole burning, And ruddy fires that flamed alway Hailed Garalth to his own returning. No need to send by night or day That angry call, that cry of warning To rouse the Kerns in bitter scorning Of slothful sleep, by wood and water Broken with threats of war and slaughter. “ What ho, there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth a ferry ! ” Now Temple Michael's lights are out, Death-black are stately shrine and castle, The grim woods darkle round about The walls where kinsman, child and vassal Fly that voice whose angry shout Marreth the mirth of dance and wassail. And with the darkness seems to wrestle, Frighting the soul by land and water With dreadful dreams of strife and slaughter. “ Hallo there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth a ferry ! ” The Garath’s wife is on the shore With pallid face, and whitening tresses 104 GARALTH’S FERRY That were as red as golden ore. And while her cold lip prays and blesses The soul of him in lone Ardmore With tears and whispered tendernesses, That speak a faithful heart’s distresses, — Like moan that follows fray and slaughter Rises a wail o’er wood and water “For love’s grace ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth his ferry ! ” Oh, lift him from his narrow bed Out where the ocean waves are singing Their dirges for great Garalth dead, And set Saint Declan’s bells a-ringing ! Let holy prayers be sung and said With flash of golden censers swinging, And hush that voice by wood and water, That cry that rings of fray and slaughter : “ What ho, there. To the wherry ! To the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth his ferry ! ” Carry him back to Avondhu And make his bed by that sweet river Beneath the heights of bold Rhincrew Where Temple Michael frowns for ever. From the wild haunts of the sea-mew The sleeping saints will miss him never. May God his restless soul deliver ! GARALTH’S FERRY 105 And hush that voice by wood and water, That cry that breathed of strife and slaughter : “ Ho, ho, there ! To the wherry, to the wherry ! Garalth harointha ! Give the Garalth his ferry ! ” Now lay him on his floating bier And bid the lovely river bear him. His kinsman’s sword, his widow’s tear, His children’s simple prayers are near him. His startled foeman grasps the spear — Comes mighty Garalth back to scare him ? Great Garalth by the river faring Again across the dark Blackwater Was stained erewhile by blood and slaughter ? But now that cry is hushed. Put up the wherry. He lies at rest. Great Garalth’s crossed his ferry. Xament of jfttbir I WALKED with my pain Of heavy loss and cruel gain Under the reign Of the summer midnight glorious, And my bosom could not bear The pang of the sword-thrust there, Moaned out in despair With the moan of the great sea-flood. I saw in the southern skies The Sign of the Cross arise, And bright on my ’wildered sight Sudden shine out victorious. I heard all the flowers of the earth Rejoicing in their birth, Though they flourished And were nourished With the human heart’s warm blood ! O the sweet and startled moon Slid down the sky full soon 106 LAMENT OF FITHIR 107 The strong stars quailed and failed In their high eternal places. And the heart of the bold sea-wave Its long death-sigh out gave As broken it found a grave And went headlong into the sand. Far distant beacons flamed, And the planets shamed, Flashed red and waned And hid like affrighted faces, And the dumb trees stood On the verge of the wood Drear with fear ; Like ghouls or damned souls, — Stood up straight in their hate Of the gloom of the darkened land. My feet passed on through the night And the bright Stirring and whirring of life with eyes of splendour, While darksome things with wings Made music as of strings In the hearing of the purple air. And a spirit laden with all ills Came down out of the misty hills With a legion of other spirits to attend her. io8 LAMENT OF FITHIR Weeping they went in a ghostly trail Like a fleet of sail, Swift and frail I saw them sink and fail Like wreaths of foam on the motionless ocean out there. My lips were dumb, But my soul cried “ Come 0 Death without breath And with sweet closed eyes, sleep-waking, A star high set ? Twixt thy quiet brows of jet And a dove above The peace in thine ice-cold breast. 1 will give thee my hand in thy hand, I will rise and depart, I will go to thy land. To thy heart I will give my heart With its tortured burning and aching. My feet to thy feet will I bind That thou most kind Will lead them and speed them, Leaving no trace in this earthly place — Speed them away I pray Ere another day To the unknown world of our rest.” Hu soui5 t mm A LL SOULS’ DAY we had mass at morn. At crow of cock the dear Christ came Down on the altar, as newly born To love us and take away our blame. Crowds of us gathered round Him then, Ate of His feast and went away To think of the souls of long dead men And pray for their rest the live-long day. What soul’s in Heaven, and what soul still Outside, wandering lonesomely On the bleak seashore or the bare black hill Or lashed by the wind in the old thorn-tree ? Sure we who loved them live as we please, The good and the bad of us, walking the road When the sun is shining, or sitting at ease By the side of the fire, — thanks be to God ! 109 no ALL SOULS’ NIGHT Mary Maloney, your house is dark. Only a little bit over the way, Dead as a corpse, and cold and stark ! My house is as bright as day ! I mind the night that your man was drowned More than a couple of years ago, Never was buried in holy ground ; No more of him did you ever know. My man and our childher seven Are gone from me these years on years, And every one of them safe in Heaven. I have no fears, and I drop no tears. But still an’ all on this blessed night, When the sufferin’ souls are free to come Into the warmth and into the light And sit with friends in our old loved home, I sweep my hearth and I sweep my floor, And I set a candle in every room, And a torch of bog-deal at the door To shine far into the midnight gloom. ALL SOULS' NIGHT iii Who knows what lonesome souls of men, With never a friend left now on earth, May draw to the light and venture then Over the threshold and sit by the hearth ? So Mary Maloney, shut up your door That shows no light, and come home with me, And maybe you’ll see your man once more ; Sure if he’s in prison to-night he’s free ! 0 Lord ! we watched on our knees and prayed, And Mary and me, we saw them come Wandering in as if half afraid, And glad to be welcome to someone’s home. Mary Maloney she saw her man. I saw not mine, nor my childher seven. 1 couldn’t, because no spirit can Come that night if he’s safe in Heaven ! IRew Uipperarj? S AID the men of Tipperary : “ Master of our sweat and soil, Great from our persistent toil, Rich in corn and wine and oil Of our strain and our turmoil, Like a story that is told You have got our yearly gold, Loosen now your savage hold Of the starving young and old ! ” Said the men of Tipperary. Said the men of Tipperary : “ We’ve a thousand friends and more, Brothers who are very poor, Down along Blackwater shore, With a tyrant at their door. Life for them is life in death, Give them light and give them breath, Put your sword up in its sheath, So this grave petition saith,” Said the men of Tipperary. 112 NEW TIPPERARY Said the men of Tipperary : “ Since you will not hear our prayer, We will take a brother’s care Of our brothers in despair, Of our own will give them share. Grant us of the over-rent We have paid you with content, Grant us twenty-five per cent. — Ten is for their nourishment,” Said the man of Tipperary. Said the man of Tipperary : “You have turned a sullen ear, Deaf as one who will not hear, Yet our meaning is full clear : Without favour, without fear Stand we up before your face In the pride of our old race, Stand up in our ancient place, “ Cry c resistance or disgrace ! ’ ” Said the men of Tipperary. Said the men of Tipperary : “ Fill no more the tyrant’s hand, He denies our just demand. We will give him back his land, Leave the town our fathers planned. NEW TIPPERARY We will build us roof and room Where the heather is in bloom Grey old fathers, quit your home, Little children, rise and come ! ” Said the men of Tipperary. Said the men of Tipperary : “ Oh, it was a gallant sight When the foremost in the fight Walked out in the broad sunlight Shelterless against the night ; Left the long-loved happy hearth, Left the house that saw their birth, Wanderers now upon the earth,” Said the men of Tipperary. Said the men of Tipperary : “ We will build us a new town Right beneath the landlord’s frown, — Let the old one tumble down Though the stones are all our own, Let the rains of winter fall O’er deserted roof and wall, Let the storm-wind cry and call In the homes of each and all ! ” Said the men of Tipperary. NEW TIPPERARY Said the men of Tipperary : “ Yonder by the open road We will pitch our tents abroad ; Let the master of the sod Kneel and ask his gold from God In the still deserted street Nevermore wherein may meet Clasping hands and hurrying feet — Life and liberty are sweet.” Gallant men of Tipperary ! H Warning OYA’S blue-eyed boy with the yella hair, Him that the fairies took last year, I seen him to-day in the fair, Follyin’ round with one had a basket on her arm, Same as a human woman, — the Lord betune us and harm ! Lookin’ like you or me, an’ a smile in her eye, Tastin’ an’ pricin’ the butter, like one that wanted to buy, An’ her castin’ at Norah Mulligan with her smile (The girl that’s growin’ up so handsome), all the while ! Let Norah’s mother be watchin’ her or she’ll go Where Moya’s bouchal went, to their sports below. It’s the likes o’ them that’s wanted, young and gay, To keep thim ginthry company until the Judgment Day. 116 /BMbsummer IKltgbt I T happened one midsummer night and I gettin’ home slow, A bit tired an’ lonesome, alone in the grey of the road, [to go And I thinkin’ I’d rather I hadn’t much furdher Be myself all alone, just meself and the Presence of God ! Not the ghost of a moon but a glory of stars in the sky, Light enough to be seein’ the dark by, an’ light sure to keep Your feet out of holes, and with never a call or a sigh From man, beast, or wind, and the valley down there sound asleep. Whin a-suddint right out of the breast of the mountain there comes A brattle o’ music, the like of it never was heard, — The silver of trumpets, the pipin’ on gold, and the rollin’ of drums, And singin’ that wasn’t the voices of woman or angel or bird ! n8 MIDSUMMER NIGHT Just as suddint it stopped, with a snap and a crash and a blare ; An’ right over my head come the rush of a million of wings, They drivin' the silence before them an’ heatin' the air, An' hurtlin' and surgin' and circlin' in rings upon rings, As if mad to get into the breast o' the mountain, an' then While I stared all around me and over my head, and could spy Not a thing but the stars, sure the music was at it again, An’ the rush of the wings betune me and the stars in the sky ! An’ so for an hour while I tried to be sayin' a prayer. Now I'll ask you to look at that mountain out there in the sun, An’ it smilin' so innocent, what do y' think went on there On that midsummer night whin thim gintry were havin’ their fun ? SOttQ HERE has fickle Joy out-gone? Yonder lie her golden shoon, Here’s the rose she lately wore, There’s the lute she’ll touch no more. Hist ! she sends a messenger With a playful word from her : “Take my gentle substitute Wears my rose and wakes my lute. “ Grey of habit, grave of face, Sweet Content will hold my place ; Though she wears no golden shoe She’ll go all the way with you ! ’* 1 19 XTbe IRittg M YSTERIOUS circuit travelled by the sun That is a ring, a circlet of pure gold, A belt that binds together new and old, A tale that’s ever telling, never told Un-ending race that’s always just begun. Love took the gold and hammered out the ring, Burnished with joy, with sorrow welded strong, Out of the sweet enclosure banished wrong, And wound the whole into a tender song For such as you and me, dear love, to sing. Our little ring is symbol unto us Of air and earth and water, all that He Created who gives living souls to be Undying like Himself, of death made free In sun-like, ring-like life, continuous. 120 Iknovvle&ge E thought we knew the beauty of the The sky-blue noon, the splendours of sunset, The daffodils of dawn in light unfurled, June’s tears of joy upon the rose-leaf wet. The secret of bird-ecstasy in spring, White fire of stars, the moonlight’s silver thrall, And many a sweet and lovely hidden thing, We, separate, we thought we knew them all ! But neither knew till we went hand in hand Great Mother Nature’s heart, nor did we see The glory of her face, nor understand Her voice that calls us towards Eternity. world 121 ffaen? UbraU B RIDGET DELANY, her that lives under the hill ; There, where the smoke’s on the thatch, for no chimbley have they, Where does she go at the biddin’ of Somethin’ or Somebody’s will In the dead of the midnight, or noon of the midsummer’s day? Droppin’ her needles, an’ throwin’ the stockin’ down there on the chair, And away with her over the bog, an’ she gettin’ thin an’ small Till the sketch of the shape of her’s swallyed at last in the air Of the cloud and the mist, and the last of her’s nothin’ at all. Sure weeks she does be gone, an’ nobody ever speaks As much as to say “ Where’s Bridget?” for all of us know 122 FAERY THRALL 123 What happens when thim ones start to be playin’ their impident freaks, Somewhere above or below, an’ the crature, she has to go ! An’ when she comes back at last, an’ we see her then No more nor the size of a sod of turf that’s a mile away, And she cornin’, cornin’ slow through the mist of the glen, Like one in her sleep, och, nobody dares to say, “You’re welcome, Bridget, an’ where were y’all this while?” For they know she couldn’t tell, but “Give me my needles,” says she. “ An’ where’s the stockin’?” she says with the ghost of a smile, “ That I have to finish, an’ give me a cup of your tea, “For I have not tasted tea since I seen yez all before,” Says Bridget Delany says she, “ an’ my mouth is dry.” FAERY THRALL 124 And they give her the tea, but they durstn’t ask her more. Sure she’ll leave them again some day, an’ they don’t know when or why ! H Xeoett5 of Connemara HE surf beats loudly on the shore, Uneasy rolls the loosened shingle, And Mary bars the cottage door, And stirs the red log in the ingle. She sets her wheel beside the blaze, Her flitting hand to labour steadies, The dark wheel marks the ruddy haze, And whirls the light in sparkling eddies. Her face is full of changeful play, And sweet, as are the summer meadows, When floating cloud and sunny ray Bewilder them with lights and shadows. But now it blanches wildly pale, As wears her spirit dull and weary ; The wind has ta’en a shriller wail, The cabin room is lone and eerie. 125 126 A LEGEND OF CONNEMARA Some creeping sound disturbs her ear, She jerks her wheel to stop its whirring, Then tries to smile away her fear ; ’Twas nothing but the peat fire stirring? Wide opes the door without a sound, And something dark and tall doth enter ; She rises up and stares around, With courage Terror’s self hath lent her. A figure grows upon her sight, A silent gaze upon her bending, Overpowering with its awful might Of wordless anguish, tears transcending. The chill sea from its garment drips, The ocean spray his long hair whitens, With livid cheeks and frozen lips, He glimmers as the peat fire brightens. “ Oh ! tell me has your boat gone down ? Oh ! speak, and come anear the ingle,” Hoarse sounds her trembling accents drown ; The thick surf beating on the shingle. A LEGEND OF CONNEMARA 127 Like distant murmurs faint and rare, Like dreamy echoes low and broken, A voice comes stirring in the air, And words like these are sadly spoken : “ Gone are my dreams of wife and home, My phantom boat is waiting yonder, Like lonely sea-gull in the foam, Henceforth upon the waves I wander. “My sin is this — I tempted God, In eager youth I grew defiant; And forth upon the storm I rode To wrestle with the angry giant. “ He smote me down, God took my life, The life I had flung down so lightly, And doomed me to perpetual strife, Of travel on the ocean nightly. “ In storm or calm, by star or cloud, My boat must plunge among the billows, While comrades round the hearth-stone crowd, And children nestle in their pillows. 128 A LEGEND OF CONNEMARA “ Nor ever can my weary soul Pass restfully through heaven’s portals, Till perfected hath been the whole Of time, decreed me among mortals.” It ceased ; the shadow drenched and pale Went slowly outward from the ingle ; The wind sent forth a keener wail, The surf groaned loudly on the shingle. In calm or storm, by star or cloud Doth Mary watch at dawn and gloaming, Each foam-wreath seems a glistening shroud, Each shadow seems a dark prow looming. She weeps when tempests will not rest, And wildly prays to blast and breaker ; ’T would be a blessing doubly blest If God would pity her and take her. GILBERT. SR 6013 . 1 ' 334 D7 Bapst Library Boston College Chestnut Hill, Mass. 02167