THE GREY FEET OE THE WIND X CATHALCHBYRNE THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES GIFT OF Robert B. Campbell The \ Grey Feet of the Wind Poems by CATHAL O' BYRNE New York Frederick A. Stokes Company Publishers Printed by The Educational Company of Ireland at THE TALBOT PRESS, 89 Talbot St.. Dublin CONTENTS PAGE Foreword vii. The Grey Feet of the Wind 1 The Fairy Well of Slemish 3 The Man who went the Roads 6 A Silent Mouth 8 How Diarrnuid got his Love-spot 10 The Mother o' Shaun 13 Away from Ireland 15 Grainne. After the Death of Diarmuid 18 When Seumas Mac-an-Ree played "The Coulin" 22 The Boy's Mother Speaks 24 Tara of the Kings 25 The White Road to Ireland 30 Lament of a Fishergirl for her Drowned Lover 32 The Wanderer 34 My Share o' the World 35 The Drowned Fisherman 37 White Rose of the World 39 To Eire of the Sorrows , 42 A Donegal Hush Song 43 O, Friend of my Heart 45 When I shall come to You 46 In Ireland (To D.R.T.) 49 The Other Life 51 Spring 55 A Dream 56 The Joy of Giving 58 The Song o' th' Say 59 V, 963271 vi. CONTENTS PAGE Thanksgiving 61 Emer at the Grave of Cuchulain 62 Spring in the City 64 Eire's Awakening 66 The Quickenberrieis of Dooros 68 The Primal Silence 70 Daffodils 73 Asthoreen 74 The Woe of all the World 77 NOTES 79 FOREWORD. The Grey Feet of the Wind sweep o'er the bending grasses, Down the bright meadows in the breezy noon, Leaving behind them where each light foot passes The track of their Silver Shoon. So through the dim-lit aisles of Memory's Garden The Grey Winds go dream laden, crooning some old, dear tune, To where the Seneschal, My Heart, a Happy Warden Keeps each Remembered Rune. A few of the poems in this volume are re- printed from THE LANE OF THE THRUSHES. The others have appeared in the following papers and magazines, and through the courtesy of the Editors and Proprietors are republished here: "The Messenger" (New York), "America" (New York), "The Gaelic American" (New York). "The New York Kven- ing Times," "The Sunday Times" (New York), "Ave Maria" (Notre Dame, Indiana), "The New World" (Chicago), "The Southern Cross" (Buenos Ayres), and "The Westminster Budget" (London). For musical rights apply through the Publishers. THE GREY FEET OF THE WIND, I FOLLOWED in the track of the Grey Feet of The Wind, Where Black Clouds ran across the Moon adown a Sullen Sky Like a Herd of Frightened Cattle with Harrying Wolves behind And dark pines stretched gaunt arms ta- me as I went shuddering by. Past many a Grey Cairn Stone I went the mad wind whistling on With the Dead Dust of Years clogging my eyes and breath, Till White Spears flashed in the East, and the Red Wind of Dawn Fanned into flame the Passion Fires, the Fires of Life and Death. 1 (D338) B .2 THE GREY FEET OF THE WIND On where Night's dream fires are quencht, and Dawn's wide gates unclose, Through cool white mists of Morning, out from the World away, 'To where the Sapphire turns to Flame, the Ruby burns in the Rose, And the Silver Bars that are tipped with Stars melt in the Heart of Day. I followed in the track of the Grey Feet of The Wind, '0, Dew-wet Wind of Morning, what word have ye to say ? O, Life is bitter, and Love is sweet, and only Death is kind, For Life is Hope, and Love is Life, and Life is Death alway. THE FAIRY WELL OF SLEMISH. TWAS the grey of the evening when Shaun came over The mountain's shoulder by Torloch's Tower, Like clustered pearls lay the dew on the clover, One pale star burned thro' that dew- grey hour. He came to the Fairy Well of Slemish, In the cool, green moss like a gem it lay ; And he thought of the girl without blame or blemish, The dark, proud girl who had said him " Nay." 3 4 THE FAIRY WELL OF SLEMISH He stooped to drink of the sweet well- water ; To the moss grown stones he bent a knee. ' Oh, sweet as the kiss of a High King's Daughter, Is the Well of Forgetfulness," said he. ; ' Oh, sweeter far than the sweet well water Are the lips of Love," said a voice, and he Looked up and beheld the High King's Daughter, Of Tir-na-noge in the Realms of Shee. "Drink three deep draughts," said the High King's Daughter, "And the wish of your heart I can give," said she, " Oh I have drunk deep of the sweet well- water, And the wish of my heart is yourself," said he. THE FAIRY WELL OF SLEMISH 3 He kissed her lips, as the poppies scarlet, He made her heart on his heart to lie, While a rain of tears that one gold star let Fall thro' the dusk down the opal sky. Then away with them over the purple heather, By dark fir-wood and by starlit brae; Their silvery laughter ringing together And nor sight nor sign of them since that day. THE MAN WHO WENT THE ROADS. I DANCED on a day in Connacht By the cross in a market square, And the young girls came to the doorways, A piper was playing there. And an old man praised my dancing, Said it was just to his mind, Oh ! 'twas good to be dancing in Connacht Out in the sun and the wind. I told a story in Leinster To a man at a wayside gate, Of Da Derga and Emain Macha, And Tara's sorrowful fate. But the man looked out o'er his pastures, His face never lost its gloom, Ochon ! but Leinster is lonely And cold as an empty room. 6 THE MAN WHO WENT THE ROADS < I made a poem in Munster When the dreams in my head ran wild, 'Twas where a turf fire smouldered And a woman sang to her child At the end of an Autumn evening After the bit and the sup. My hand ! Tis a Munster welcome For lifting a lad's heart up. I sang a song in Ulster In the narrow streets of a town, And the people passed sullen and silent Some looked at me with a frown. But a young man praised my singing, Said it was grand and the like, And put his arm round my shoulder 'Twas a song of a gun and a pike. A SILENT MOUTH. O LITTLE green leaf on the bough, you hear the lark in the morn, You hear the grey feet of the wind stir in the shimmering corn, You hear low down in the grass The singing Shee as they pass; Do you ever hear, O little green flame ! My loved one calling, calling, whispering my name? little green leaf on the bough like my lips you must ever be dumb, For a maiden must never speak till Love to her heart says " Come!" A mouth in its silence is sweet, But my heart cries loud when we meet, And I turn my head with a bitter sigh, When the boy who has stolen my love, unheeding goes by. S A SILENT MOUTH 9 I have made my heart as the stones in the street for his tread, I have made my love as the shadow that falls from his dear gold head. But the stones with his footsteps ring, And the shadow keeps following, And just as the quiet shadow goes ever beside or before So must I go silent and lonely and loveless for ever and evermore. HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE- SPOT. CONAN and Osgar and Diarmuid slept Sweetly and soundly without dream or fret, Until a great light gleamed in the chamber, As if a torch to the roof were set. And they wakened wide-eyed, and wonder- ing, saw, Like a yellow star through the purple gloom, In her young youth's beauty, without robe or raiment, A maiden standing within the room. And the flame of her loveliness glowed and shone, And her shadow lay o'er the rush-strewn space, 10 HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE-SPOT 11 Like a shining candle, where no light was burning, Her hair's bright radiance filled the place. For a while she stood by the bed-post tall, Nor eye that had seen could ever forget, Then like a pink shell on a foam-crest tossing, She slipped 'neath the light, white coverlet. Then Conan stood out on the rush-strewn floor, And his heart was glad with love's sweet pain, : ' Go back to your bed," said the maiden gently, ' I belonged to you once, but can never again." Then Osgar stood out on the rush-strewn floor, " And where are you going?" the maiden said : 12 HOW DIARMUID GOT HIS LOVE- SPOT ' I've a mind to go where my heart is going" : " I belonged to you once, but that day is dead." Then Diarmuid stood out on the rush- strewn floor, ' ' And where are you going ? O, Man of Truth ! ' I may not be yours for the having or taking, I belonged to you once, my name is Youth. ' But come and kneel by the bed-post here, And I'll put a love-spot upon your face; That, seeing once, no woman forever Shall love withhold for a moment's space." Then she put her hand 'tween his level brows, And she sighed as she placed the mark above, Maybe she dreamed of his great undoing By the gift unsought, of a woman's love. THE MOTHER O' SHAUN. SHAUN stood six feet or so, with his head up near the rafter, He be to stoop when he came in the door, Shuttin' out the sunshine, but his cheery hearty laughter Brought more brightness than the streak o' light that lay along the floor. And ye'd think it was a hive o' honey bees among the heather. Or ye'd think it was a ring o' bells through sunny summer air, An' ye'd maybe think 'twas bees an' bells amoiderin' together. But it be to be his heart that made the music everywhere. 13 14 THE MOTHER O' SHAUN An' I wish I'd see him standin' in the shadow there above me, And see his white teeth gleam, his blue eyes glow, Though the other boys are near to me to cheer me an' to love me. Shaun had the hearty ways with him they'll never, never know. But the big worl' called him always, its wonder called him loudly, So he bent his head with his loving kiss beneath the lintel low. An' I prayed "God guard him always " an' I prayed "God bless him" proudly, I'm his mother, ye'll be mindin', an' I knew he be to go. AWAY FROM IRELAND. THOUGH I'm far and very far away from Ireland, There's a knot of purple thistles on a cliff above the sea, Like a silver censer flaming between the sky and me, The blood-red bells of fuchsias swing around a cabin door, Where the yellow sunlight showers down to flood the earthen floor, Far away, and very far away in Ireland. Though I'm far and very far away from Ireland, There's a grey rock 'mid the heather where the bees hum all the day, Adown its mossy shoulder trails a crimson briar spray, 15 16 AWAY FROM IRELAND Like a craobh of ancient Ogham locked beneath Time's magic key, But the beauty of its message is as clear as dawn to me, Far away, and very far away in Ireland. Though I'm far and very far away from Ireland, There's a turf cart standing idle in a quiet village street, The hens roosting on its axle in the shadow from the heat, There's a barefoot boy beside it looking out towards the sea. And the birds have far more trouble for the morrow's morn than he, Far away, and very far away in Ireland. Though I'm far and very far away from Ireland, If the black hand of misfortune had gripped my heavy heart. AWAY FROM IRELAND 17 If the red blisters of disgrace had made my pale cheek smart, I'd little heed the trouble or the blame that lay on me, If climbing on a white road between golden whins I'd be Far away, and very far away in I r eland (D338) GBAINNE. AFTER THE DEATH OF DIARMUID. FORTH from the twilight of a wood she came, Where blossoming isles of purple hare-bells gleamed, Set in a shimmering, sunflecked sea of green. Fair was her face as the deep rose of the dawn, And lithe her form as the lake grasses tall, That whispered of her beauty to the breeze, Tear-stained her cheeks rock roses washed with spray, Great haunting memories dwelt of happier days Deep in the shadowy depths of her sad eyes, Her hair flowed down, a gleaming golden wave, 18 GRAINNE 19 O'er snowy fold and fold of her white robe, Like sun-kissed water on a silver strand, Its ripples streaming on a soft west wind, Were mirrored in the wide, weed-laden lake Where she passed by. The silent, sleepy birds, Thinking the sun had backward from the West Turned in his course, and with his shafts of gold Had stabbed the heart of the dim, silent pool, Burst into music, and a shower of song, Fell through the leaves to greet this new day star. Twin dew-wet quickenberries were her lips, one word, Came through their rosy portals, " Diar- muid," It rang adown the dusky, flower-strewn glades, 20 GRAINNE Through aisles of forest trees, of mighty oaks, Of quivering aspen, and of silver larch, And stately giant pines, and hazel groves; The melody of murmuring waters caught the sound, And chaunted " Diarmuid" to the mossy stones. Down to the depths of the calm woods it sank, And up through arching green to the broad sky, Through traceries of bronze and blue above, And far beneath of glimmering gold and green, The Nightingale caught up the new, sweet sound, And for an instant held it in her throat, Then flung it on the silence of her bower, Where as it fell it burst in silver rain, And scattered to the winds its sparks of song. GRAINNE 21 The myriad songsters caught the glittering drops, And flying with the gems throughout the wood, Sang "Diarmuid" in silver syllables, till the notes, Forming one grand, sweet chord, went echoing Through the vast aisles and gold-green garden ways, And all the wood rang sweet with " Diarmuid," Until the hills in pity sent the name Back to the forest's fringe whereat she stood. And it at length found its true resting- place Deep in the inmost core of her lone heart. WHEN SEUMAS MAC-AN-REE PLAYED "THE COULIN." A SECRET heavy sighing stirred the naked trees That leaned to listen there in Cushendall, Sharp and grief -laden was the wet sea- breeze Like slender arrows whistling in their fall. And as about the strings the bow was curled Love sobbed its woe out in a dirge of pain, A woe that held the weight of all the world Of love that had been spilt in golden rain. And in it was the cry of every Gael That ever yearned, the sund'ring sea between, With outstretched arms to raise the misty veil That hung between him and " Dark Rosaleen" 22 WHEN SEUMAS PLAYED THE COULIN The singing waters mingled with the strain, Tumbling afar down steep Lurgaidan's side, And soft as southwinds through the ripened grain Low through Glenariff's glens a Banshee cried. 'Tis the last glimpse of Erin" sigh the strings, The foam- fringed wave turns back to kiss the shore, A swift, unbidden teardrop smarts and stings, A silence long and deep, the song is o'er. 'Twas Ireland's sad fate was in the wailing A chain of melody that holds her soul A song, a tear, and exile ships a-sailing A wan face, patient-eyed, seeking the promised goal. THE BOY'S MOTHER SPEAKS. IF the Three Blisters of Disgrace were on his face, And his face is like the sun, I would efface each trace from its place With my kisses, one by one ! If his head were bowed with dread and woe and shame, And his head is like dull gold, I'd forget the guilt and shame, and bear his share of blame, For to love is to forgive when all is told. 24 TAEA OF THE KINGS. IN the great Hall of Tara of the Kings, Whose fourteen doors stood ever open wide, With fourteen welcomes to the night and day, The feast was set. White torches flared around From niches in the pillars of red pine, On Gallant Chiefs and Queenly Women there. The warm light glanced and shone on the red gold Of the rich battle gear of Er inn's Men, And on the gleaming mail, and wolf skin cloaks Of the sea-roving Giants of the Loch- lanachs, Strong-limbed and fierce were they, with eyes that held 25 26 TARA OF THE KINGS The cold, blue sheen of star-lit northern deeps, And teeth that gleamed through flowing, tawny beards. The tables groaned beneath the mighty weight Of ponderous vats of rare and precious wines, And carcases of oxen roasted whole, Methers of foaming mead went gaily round From lip to lip, and friend and foe alike Ate, drank, and quaffed their brimming, golden cups, Forgetting for the moment every wrong That ever held them sundered. Such the law- No man might draw his sword in. Tara's Hall, In anger on another man, and live. Then, when the feast was ended, and the Bards TARA OF THE KINGS 27 And Ollavs skilled in Erinn's ancient lore Stood in a white-robed throng around the Throne Then was it that a silence deep as death Fell on that mighty crowd. Outside the wind Stirred in the quicken trees, and to and fro As if by fairy hands, the banners waved, And from the farther end of the great Hall A silver rivulet of music flowed Into the gloom and silence of the place. Faintly at first and sweetly, like the song Of sunbright waters, rang the Harp's clear sound ; Louder and louder yet the music swelled, As Bard and Bard, and Bard took up the strain, And all the burthen of their thrilling song Was Tara and the glory of its Kings. Of Fiann and his Matchless Men they sang, Of the red rout of battle, and great deeds Of skill and daring on the tented field. 28 TARA OF THE KINGS And then the music took a softer sound 'Twas Deirdre's sad tale the Minstrels told, And the dread fate of Usnach's hapless sons, A dirge of sorrow, wailful and desolate The saddest tale the world had ever heard, The women listened with bright, dew-wet eyes, And stern-brow'd warriors stood grim and mute Instinctively each hand went to its spear, And a low, sorrowful murmur like a caoine Thrilled through that mighty crowd, Still the Harps sobbed, and still the Bards sang on, Until with one, grand, maddening crash they tore A mighty chord from out the quivering strings, And the sad tale was told. Adown the Hall TARA OF THE KINGS 29 The murmur grew to a tumultuous sound; The music's fire had quickened hearts and brains, Shield clanged in meeting shield, and through the gloom The torches, in a myriad points of light, Flashed on bright skians and forests of grey spears, Until the swelling chorus thundered forth, In one, great, sonorous, deep-throated roar Of wild applause, its mighty meed of praise That echoed through the dome of the great Hall, And floated through its fourteen open doors. Out and away into the silent night, Startling the Red Deer from his ferny lair, In the green woods round Tara of the Kings. THE WHITE ROAD TO IRELAND. OCH, the weary's on you, London, With your hot streets all ablaze, In a rain o' yellow sunshine, And the drought o' summer days, Sure I mind me well a white road That goes westward to the sea, And the white road to Ireland Is the right road for me. I'm not mindin' o' the money, Here it falls, they say, like rain, But who'd be thinkin' o' the likes That longed for home again? So tie up your kerchief, Maurya, And we'll foot it to the sea, For the white road to Ireland Is the right road for me. 30 THE WHITE ROAD TO IRELAND 31 There's a brown road in Ireland, An' my grief, 'tis steep an' bare, But through the misty sunshine Tis we'll be climbin' there. Do you hear the curlew callin' As he points out to the sea ? Ah, the brown road in Ireland Is the road for you and me. LAMENT OF A FISHERGIRL FOR HER DROWNED LOVER. THERE'S a grey cloud hanging o'er Rath Cruachan, Where the grey rocks are grinning through the heather, And there is no sunlight on the hill-roads Where we two climbed yesterday together. The hill-winds are moaning like the ocean, The flame of the gorse has burned low down, But there are three tall white candles burning Where you lie dead and cold in Galway town. 32 LAMENT OF A FISHERGIRL There's a dark cloud o'er Connacht of the grey stones, Through a wet mist the boats put out to sea,. And there is no dancing now nor laughter, There's a grey stone where my heart used to be. The lark is silent now above the heather,. There is silence on the mouth my mouth has kissed, And the yellow light falls where you are; lying, But the grey cloud is round me like a mist. (D 338) THE WANDERER. SLANTING rain and white mist falling Over the lonely moorland track, Through purple shadows a grey bird calling Ever calling the "Wanderer back. Slanting rain and west wind sighing, Out of the hills with an eerie throb, Lone, grey raths and a Banshee crying, Caoining softly with many a sob. Slanting rain and a wide grey ocean, Where the gaunt ship waits like a spectral bier, Shadowy waters in ceaseless motion, And grief for a Heart- friend through many a year. MY SHARE 0' THE WORLD. MY Share o' the World, With your brown-head curled Close to my fond heart so cosily, To the island of dreams, 'Neath the pale moonbeams, You've flown on the wings of the Sluah Shee. On the yellow strand Of that bright dreamland, Where day dies never, you'll wander free Till your boat of pearl Like a silver curl On the green-streamed sea, bears you back to me. 35 36 MY SHARE 0' THE WORLD Then safe on my bosom, Oh, pink- white blossom! You'll rest till the night's dark wings are furled, When the dawn of your sleeping A blue eye peeping, Shall greet me, a leanniv, My Share o' the World. THE DROWNED FISHERMAN. Because of your love, 0, Padraic A- Hartigan ! Tis like some God-forgotten star I am this many a day, Though the life is left within my breast, 'tis my heart that is far away, For your bed is the ocean's bed a wraith on a sullen sea, And the white bird's call in the darkness brings your cry, your cry to me. My sorrow and my sorrow, 0, Padraic A- Hartigan I My seven curses upon the ocean, and my curse on its many ills, For 'tis I that loved the mountains, God's own grey, kindly hills, 37 38 THE DROWNED FISHERMAN But the sea kept a-calling, a-calling you, 'twas the woe o' the Banshee's cry, And I see in my dreams the storm-tossed boat and a wan face drifting by. Youth o' my heart, 0, Padraic A -Hartigan ! The day is dreary, the night is long when the bay with mist is hid, And the clank o' oars in the gloaming sounds like clay on a coffin lid; By the swell o' ground seas 'cross the bar, through the years shall your caoine be cried, And never till storm and waves are stilled shall the tears in my eyes be dried. Youth, o' my sorrow, 0, Padraic A- Hartigan ! WHITE ROSE OF THE WORLD, // thou wert mine, I'd weave three robes of cloud and glistening dew Warp of white mist and woof of sunset hue, With apple blossoms, faintly red, and musk, I'd strew the ways that lead into the dusk Of deep, cool woods, where dewy fern frond curls, Would scatter 'neath thy feet a shower of pearls, And steel the moonlight's sheen from the dim lake, To pave a silver path for thy dear sake, 39 40 WHITE ROSE OF THE WORLD If thou wert mine, I'd captive make the voice of every bird, And wed to each the sweetest, fondest word Thy name, that when they sang their song should be, Linked with a chain of melodies to thee, I'd pluck from out the day its brightest hours, Wreath them a diadem of fairest flowers, When night should come with sable wings unfurled To crown thy brow, O, White Eose of the World. Jf thou wert mine, I'd seize the wind (O, throbbing wind of sorrow, Vex not her soul with whisperings of the morrow) I'd garner up the radiance of the morn, WHITE ROSE OF THE WORLD 41 The wonder-music of the rustling corn, To fashion fairyland the world apart And when 'twould fade, I'd house thee in my heart. No impious hand this shrine of thine could shatter O, face divine, O, voice as singing water // thou wert mine. TO EIRE OF THE SORROWS. DEAREST, when all is done and all is said, When from Thy head the Crown of Thorns is flung, I shall be happier looking on that Crown To think that not one word of all I sung Or said, had helped to press it down Or bowed in deeper woe Thy Dear Dark Head. 42 A DONEGAL HUSH SONG. GOD bring you safe from the death sleep of night, A Leanniv Machree, My Heart's Delight, From the green-hill'd homes of the Sluah Shee, O'er the purple rim of a star-lit sea. Through a leafy lane, o'er Moy Mell's plain, Where dew-drops strung on a gossamer chain, From blossomy boughs, swing to and fro, And a round, red moon hangs low, so low God bring you safe through the Night to me. My Heart's Delight, A Leanniv Machree. 43 44 A DONEGAL HUSH SONG God bring you safe from the death sleep of night, A Leanniv Machree, My Heart's Delight. From the grey world's edge where the rose- dawn sleeps, Through the white, dream gates where the shy day peeps. Down the silver track of the Morning Star, To the yellow strand where the white cliffs are, Where each fairy foot in a fairy brogue Is hastening away to Tir-na-noge, God bring you safe to the Dawn and me My Heart's Delight, A Leanniv Machree. O, FRIEND OF MY HEART. O, FRIEND of my Heart : Like the swish of the wind in the rustling grass, like the rhythm of a star, Like a singing stream to a thirsty soul in a desert place lonely and far. Like the deep-throated music of thrushes in the windless quiet of days Is the breath of your praise. 0, Friend of my Heart ! Tis a debt I pay in this telling for hours of delight, To lay my wreath of bays at your feet I would climb afar to your height, I would talk the flints with a terrible joy, if at the journey's end, I would greet you, Friend! 45 I SHALL come to you, dear, In the green o' the year, With the breeze on the lake, With the bird in the brake, When the hedges are gay With the white o' the May; I shall come to you bringing The glad summer's singing With the lark's silver trills, With the light on the hills, And the blue in the valleys, When through shadowy alleys Of shimmering larches And sweet woodbine arches, We shall walk as of yore O'er the emerald floor 46 WHEN I SHALL COME TO YOU 47 Of the dim woods, inlaid With the jasper and jade Of the green light that falls Through the aisles, o'er the walls Of the dark leafy fane, Weaving shadow and light Weaving day into night With warp of gold glances And woof of green lances, With the pearl of pale moons To the rune of old tunes. With bronze of dark stems, With the fringe-bordered hems Of the pine groves that trail Their green robes down the vale Through briar, brake and fen I shall come, dear, again, When the hedges are gay With the white o' the May, I shall come to you bringing The glad summer's singing, 48 WHEN I SHALL COME TO YOU With the gold iris bending 'Tween the stream's song ascending; To the song of the breeze In the low-drooping trees When the wood-doves are gay And our hearts glad as they, In the green o' the year I shall come to you, dear. IN IRELAND. (TO D. R. T.) WHAT is it you miss, friend of my heart, there by that arid strand, Where Nilus drags its sun-swept way,. 'tween level banks of sand? Is it the shadow of clouds of mist that shimmer and shine as they pass, Is it the swish of the slanting rain in the long lush wayside grass- In Ireland? Do you miss 'mid the brazen sunshine, and the glorious afterglow, The deep blue of our valleys, the light that our dear hills know ? Do you miss 'mid the clamour and bustle of the city's echoing ways, The hush of a loch where the dragon flies dart through the soft summer haze In Ireland? 49 (D 3381 E 50 IN IRELAND Do you miss the long, low wash of the waves and the silence that follows after, Do you miss the startled sea-bird's note, the blackbird's chatter and laughter, And, oh, do you miss the kindly hearts of the friends that you love so dear, Who with straining eyes and eager arms are waiting to welcome you here- in Ireland? THE OTHER LIFE. " The little stone of truth rolling through the many ages of the world has gathered and grown grey with the thick mosses of romance and super- stition. But tradition must always have the little stone of truth for its kernel, and perhaps he who rejects all is likelier to be wrong than even foolish folk like myself, who love to believe all, and who tread the new paths, thinking ever of the ancient stories." 'Tis but a vain, unreal thing, and yet, and yet Is it that I remember dimly, or but half forget That other Life that comes in dreams to me Over the Hills of Silence from an unknown sea? It seems of old I've wandered through a land 51 52 THE OTHER LIFE Whose gates of pearl ope on a golden strand, And the far spreading boughs of blossomed trees Cover the sward with shimmering traceries ; Where feathery grasses fringe dark pools a dream Across whose placid bosoms white winga gleam, And days drift by as dreams across the night- Swift days that end in long nights of delight. In days long dead I've roamed, and by my side Was Emer of the Faithful Heart Cuchulain's bride, No longer mourning for her valiant Hound, For close about his neck her arms were wound, And Meave of Cruachan, dark-browed, mighty queen, Her crimson mantle trailing o'er the green, THE OTHER LIFE 53 Passed onward with a gracious, shadowy smile, And a Brown Bull lowed deep in a wood- land aisle, Beneath the quicken trees where Grainne laid, Her lips to Diarmuid's, and with that kiss betrayed Her lover and her lord; I walked with Niav, Ere yet she drew sad Oissin o'er the wave Niav of the golden head and witching words, Whose voice had caught the tones of Angus' birds. In that old life when love itself was life, I've lived and loved and gloried in its strife. Perchance I do but dream, and at the ford, Never fell Ferdiad by his heart-friend's sword : 54 THE OTHER LIFE Perchance I do but dream, and Deirdre never Of all sad songs sang yet the saddest ever ; Perchance I do but dream and yet, and yet, Is it that I remember dimly, or but half forget ? SPRING. A SLENDER blade of grass beside a stone, A gleam of sunshine 'tween the narrow roofs, A solitary seed of grass wind sown Beneath the trampling of impatient hoofs. The happy children in the windy street Play Ring o' Eoses, gambol, laugh and sing. Across the blue a flash of wings tweet I tweet ! And so 'tis Spring. 55 A DREAM. IT was fanned of unseen fires, The fires that chasten and smart. Of my seared soul's white flame, And the red flame of my heart. Of the fierce white heat of Youth, And the glow of its passion fire Youth, the Dreamer, who fashions And colours the Heart's Desire. With dead dreams half forgot The living ore was wrought Till it shaped itself in my heart, Took form and came forth a Thought. It burned as a star in the dark In its travail hour of birth, As a diamond deep in the womb Of the fruitful red-brown earth. 56 A DREAM 57 Like a rhythm of joyous sound, Like a gleam of tremulous light, It fell on men's wond'ring ears, It glowed and sang in their sight. They pondered it o'er and o'er, They sundered it part from part, The song that was half my soul, The word that was all my heart. "He has lost the Clue," they said " The Clue and the Golden Key." But it it was all my life For it came from the Soul o' Me. THE JOY OF GIVING. GIVE of the gold whereof your heart is made To those poor bankrupt ones who have no store Of love or joy or hope, whose sorry trade Is digging in the dust-heaps for the phantom ore. Give your tears' balm to every lonely soul Who yearns for a dead day, a little while When Death shall add a name to the long roll You can then answer with a tearless smile. Give loving faith and truth and sympathy To those who in the furnace have been tried, And you shall walk in beauty and shall see Life, Love and Death by gladness glorified. 58 THE SONG 0' TH' SAY. NIGHT an' morn it's on me, this wearyin' for th' say An' th' swish o' breakers an' th' clank o' oars in Inver Bay; Tis a sin to be grievin', they tell me, but, sure, 'twas God above, That put in my heart th' song that fills it with longin' an' love. Many's th' year since I left it, th' home so purty, so poor, An' took th' windin' casaun that led to th' worl' across th' moor, But first I went down th' beach to kiss th' ledge by th' shore, Ah, God ! I can feel th' salt on my lips th' day an' evermore. 59 60 THE SONG 0' TH' SAY A 'kerchief o' spotted red held all my store, an' a shell, An' a song o' th' say within it, th' music I loved so well; Now when th' childre are weary I take them up on my breast, An' th' song that th' shell keeps singin' soothes each weeshy head to rest. 'Tis many's th' year, an' I'm thinkin' will th' longing ever be stilled, For I'm here in th' lonely city yet, an' my dream is unfulfilled. But though 'tis years since it sang to me, my heart knows that some day, When life is over, as th' voice of a lover, I'll hear th' song o' th' say. THANKSGIVING. THANK God for the Trees and the Flowers And the Blue, Blue Sky, Thank God for the Happy Hours And Hope that can never die. Thank God, though the Way be long For Joy when the Journey ends, Thank God for the Gift of Song, And, ! Thank God for my Friends. EMER AT THE GRAVE OF CUCHULAIN. % " Love of my life," she said. As she went down into the new-made grave, And laid her mouth close to his cold mouth, And never did sweeter blossoms swing together In the honey-sweet and breath-warm breezes of the south. " My friend, my sweetheart" she sa'id, And the beauty of her warmed the cold, dead clay, And her voice's music filled Death's lonely house, And her white arms, like swans through sunny waters Tossed her hair's golden spray above his breast, and o'er his death-dark brows. 62 EMER AT THE GRAVE OF CUCHULAIN 63 ' My one choice of Erinn's men," she said, As she laid her length along that narrow place, With bitter crying and with many a moan, And, 'twas what she said, twining his dead arms around her, ' Since you are gone from me, there is no word better with me than, ochon!" SPRING IN THE CITY. " THERE'S a breath of Spring in the air to-day" Called out my neighbour across the way, And the words with their gladdening message wound Through the city's hollow with joyous sound. Down the echoing street Came flying feet, And daffodils leaned from a window sill, Where the merry children laughed loud and shrill, Youth and Joy, A girl and a boy, With a hoop and a ball And a whoop and a call 64 SPRING IN THE CITY 65 To the sunbeams and breeze, all friends- together Went dancing into the wine-like ether, And my heart, atune, sang adown the way To the Yellowbill's note on the topmost spray, And my soul seemed aglow at the greeting gay, " There's a breath of Spring in the air to-day." D338) EIKE'S AWAKENING. SAW you the Wraith-light flicker and fail, Men of the Glens, through the blinding sleet? Saw you a cloud o'er the grey sky sail, And wrap the day in its winding sheet ? Heard you the roar of the tempest's breath, Lashing the waves in its passionate scorning ? Felt you the stillness as deep as Death? 'Twas but the Hour of our Eire's mourning. Heard you the woe of the Caoiner's tale, Men of the Glens, in your eerie shieling ? Heard you the sound of the Banshee's wail, You of the Hills, o'er the upland steal- ing? 66 EIRE'S AWAKENING 67 Saw you the wan light grey and cold Break in the East, at the Day Star's peeping ? Saw you his glory of crimson and gold ? 'Twas but the Hour of our Eire's sleep- ing. Heard you a song by a Siren sung, Men of the Glens, through the woodland ringing, In the liquid tones of the Gaelic tongue, Sweet as the sunlit streamlet's singing? See you a myriad, stern-brow'd men, The very earth 'neath their grand tread shaking ? Seeking the Singer through brake and fen, This, this is the Hour of our Eire's waking. THE QUICKENBERRIES OF DOOROS. THE Quickenberries of Dooros Hang heavy-clustered, dull red as drops of blood, Crimson amongst green branches, scarlet against the sky, And who shall taste of their magic shall know all evil and good Him shall no power destroy, nor sorrow nor scaith come nigh. I walk through low, grey meadows, and ever a kind one stoops To lead me to higher pastures, sun- lighted, shadow- for got, Where the pines trail feathery robes and the heavy fruitage droops, Where the olden silence is flowing and the waves of time beat not. 68 THE QUICKENBERRIES OF DOOROS 69 I have known the laughter of Love and have seen the folly of Hate Clear as the stars that travel the dome of God's floor o'erhead, I laugh at the little ways of Men, the pigmy antics of Fate, For I dream old dreams of delight and live in days that are dead. The Quickenberries of Dooros Hang heavy-clustered, dull red as drops of blood, Crimson amongst green lances, scarlet 'mid bronze and gold, And who shall taste of their magic shall know all evil and good; Him shall no fret disturb, he shall laugh when the world is old. THE PRIMAL SILENCE. (A FRAGMENT.) WHEN Satan laughed behind the apple-tree In Eden was heard no more of Melody, A midnight silence fell across the noon, From grove and glade rang out no sweet bird-tune, Deep in the flowering grasses brute by brute, Lay still as death, the singing streams were mute, And where the reeds and brook-fed rushes swayed, The minstral breeze no wonder-music made, The soaring lark, poising on tremulous wing, Dropped from the sky, a songless, silent thing, 70 THE PRIMAL SILENCE 71 And where a melody of waters played, Silence a finger on their glad lips laid, And when thro' the great hush that laughter jarred Man blushed for shame of that hour evil starred, And hid himself in silence, sore afraid, Dreading to hear the Voice of Him who made The glad days of the World, and every leaf That covered him to hide his fear and grief, And every beast and bird and blade of grass Each living thing that in the Garden was Each tree and flower and stem and seeding pod Listened to hear the awful Voice of God, Then where an Angel stood with fiery sword Bearing aloft the Mandate of the Lord, 72 THE PRIMAL SILENCE Two crouching figures passed, and the red sun Sank on that Day of Doom into oblivion, And God hung out a branch of silent stars Beyond that Portal's menace of Red Bars, Where, to the awful vastness of dim, silent spaces, The Wanderers turned their sorrow- stricken faces. DAFFODILS. CAVALIERS out of the Age of Gold Why come ye trooping, a myriad fold? Gaily riding adown the years With golden helmets and grey-green spears. Wherefore, Gallants, brave and bold, Ride ye out of the Age of Gold Into a world so cold and grey? Way, for the Golden Men, make way! Speed ye forth at some King's behest, Or some high, noble and knightly quest? To succour and save in this forest shady Some high-born captive lady. We come at the call of our Ladye, Spring. Largess of gold for grace we bring, To her Court we ride over mead and wold, Heralding in the Age of Gold. 73 ASTHOREEN. OH, the hills are fair in Erin, green and gold each towering crest, And the laughing streamlet flashes through the heather in its glee. And the nursling of the waters on its ocean mother's breast Is cradled to the music of the sunbright sea; And I look across the valley where the reaper 'mid the grain To the swinging of his sickle sings a careless, happy tune. And I wonder if in Erin we shall ever meet again When the throstle's note is heard among the glancing green of June. Asthoreen ! Asthoreen ! 74 ASTHOREEN 75 Heed you not my sad heart's pleading? It goes out across the green sea that for- ever lies between, And the burthen of its message that the breezes bear unheeding : Shall we meet again in Erin when the hills are fair and green? Oh, the hills are green in Erin, and the fragrant breezes blow Through the tangled briar and bracken where the fairies vigil keep : Gleam the ruddy quickenberries 'gainst the azure sky aglow Sweet as blushes red and radiant on the cheek of child asleep. And my heart is filled with gladness, and the earth with joy is teeming, And my eager eyes look out beyond the green sea's crystal sheen; For the sigh of breeze and song of bird and sunlight softly streaming 76 ASTHOREEN All say we'll meet in Erin when the hills are fair and green. Asthoreen ! Asthoreen ! Heed you not my glad heart's swelling? It goes out across the green sea that for- ever lies between, And the burthen of its message to the breezes I am telling : We shall meet again in Erin when the hills are fair and green. THE WOE OF ALL THE WORLD. THERE is no beauty in the world Deirdre being dead And Ferdiad's white limbs hid in the red- dening stream. The birds of Angus only know Moy Mell, And earth's old ways are desolate, now men save And hoard the joy and laughter of their lives To lavish tears alone on what they love. Oh, I have sat with friends throughout fair hours And laughed and sang and watched their faces glow Like happy children round a ruddy fire. 77 78 THE WOE OF ALL THE WORLD And I have seen those faces pale and set When a sad viol through the silence sobbed, And looked, to see men's souls laid stark and bare In their own sight, to their great wonder- ment When the sweet music trembled and died out, And I have seen the crimson wave of dawn Cast up the beautiful, white corse of day Before a careless crowd, and while the laugh And song alternate flowed from wine wet lips, Have seen the tears for youth's lost fragrant grace Slow coursing down the fair cheek of a friend. NOTES How Diarmuid got his Love-Spot. Diarmuid ever after wore a cap to conceal his love-spot, but, oiice in endeavouring to separate the hounds that were quarrelling over the remnants of a feast at Tara, his cap fell off, whereupon Grainne saw the mark and gave him her love. She persuaded him to fly with her from Tara, and it was while defending her from a wild boar on the mountain of Ben Bulban that he received his death wound. Grainne. After the Death of Diarmuid. Grainne, the daughter of King Cormac, was betrothed to Fionn Mac Cumhal, but falling in love with Diarmuid O'Duibhne, a Captain of the Fianna, persuaded him to elope with her. The " Pursuit of Diarmuid and Grainne" by the vengeful Fionn forms the subject of one of the Bardic tales of Erinn. Diarmuid was killed by a wild boar in the Woods of Ben Bulban. When Seumas Mac-an-Ree played " The Coulin." Jimmy Mac Ilroy, a traditional fiddler of Cushendall, Co. Antrim. The Boy's Mother Speaks. When Meave sent out the Druids and the Satirists to bring Ferdiad to fight against his friend and companion, Cuchulain, she told them 79 80 NOTES if he would not come to raise the three blisters of disgrace on his face, Shame and Blemish and Reproach, so that if he did not die on the moment, he would be dead at the end of nine days. My Share o' the World. The Sluah Shee is the Fairy Host. A Donegal Hush Song. Moy Mell is the Honey-sweet Plain of Fairy- land. Emer at the Grave of Cuchulain. Emer was the beautiful and devoted wife of Cuchulain, the Hound of Ulster. The Quickenberries of Dooros. It was to the Forest of Dooros Diarmuid and Grainne fled for refuge when pursued by Fionn, following their flight from Tara. Thither, too, the incensed Leader of the Fianna and his followers penetrated, and nearly every incident, tragic or romantic which ensued, is associated with the quickenberries, or berries of the rowan-tree, which in Druidic times bore a mystic significance. The Woe of all the World. The kisses of Angus, the Irish god of Youth and Love, turned to white birds which circled about his head. Angus Og, son of the Dagda, was the Irish Hermes, and master of many arts. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. Form L9-32m-8,'58(5876s4)444 A 000 555 490 2 PR 6029 OlUg