w hi i I, BALLADS AND LYRICS. BY THE SAME AUTHOR. SHAMROCKS. Small cyoTcvn %vo, ^s, " Written with simplicity, tenderness, and intensity of feeling. — Academy. " Touches of true grace and distinction." — Pall Mall Gazette. " Full of gorgeous colour and rich music." — Truth, LOUISE DE LA YALLIERE, and other Poems. Stnall craion Svo. 3^. 6d. '' Sweet, pure, and high poetry."— Truth. •' Of no little merit." — Academy. " Very seldom is it our good fortune to close a volume of poems with such an almost unalloyed sense of pleasure, and gratitude to the author. — Graphic. A NUN : Her Friends and Her Order. A Sketch of the Life of Mother Mary Xaveria Fallon. With Portrait, crown Svo. 5^. " A prose poem, enriched by exquisite sketches, simple girlish sports, and womanly tenderness." — Athencciim. •' Exquisite prose idyll." — Truth. London : KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd., Paternoster House, Charing Cross Road, W.C. BALLADS AND LYRICS Mrs KATHARINE CTYNAn) H: ... Author of ^^ Shamrocks ** ^"^ Louise de la Valliere,^' &^c. '* God's in His Heaven, All's right with the Worid.'* ^ OF THE UNIVERSITY uF ^~ LONDON KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER & CO., Ltd. PATERNOSTER HOUSE, CHARING CROSS ROAD i8qi imAJ TO ROSA GILBERT (ROSA MULHOLLAND) GREETING! 15825:^ Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2007 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/balladslyricsOOtynarich APOLOGIA. Here in my book there ivill be found No gleanings from a foreign ground : The quiet thoughts of one whose feet Have scarcely left Jier green retreat ; A little dew, a little scent, A little measure of conteiit, A robin'^s song, perchance to stir Some heart 'Untravelled traveller. A low horizon Items me in, Low hills wit Ji fields of gold between, Woods that are waving^ veiled with grey, A little river far away, Birds 071 the boughs, and on the sward Daisies that dancing praise the Lord. APOLOGIA. n^ Outside my window I can see The bent boughs of an apple-tree^ Where little fruits turn rosier ; And every evening of the year I watch the golden sunsets die Yonder in the wide Western sky. The doves are croonifig wild and soft^ Where elm and beech stand up aloft. Houses of bh'ds that build and fly. The wind is tJie birds' lullaby, Rocking small cradles to and fro, As a fond motJier' s foot might go A nd i7i my garden, all in zvhite, The Mary 'lilies take the light, And southern-wood and lavender Welcome the bee, in golden fur A splendid lover, and on high Hovers the spangled butterfly, Where roses, old and sweet, dream on, Fadifig to rich oblivion, A nd in my thatch the birds will build, And still for me the sunshine gild The world, tJiough it be Winter day. The rain will seem upon the spray APOLOGIA. But showers of jewels, and the rime Pale splendours raise in Winter time. So in my book there will be found No gleanings from a foreign ground. If such you seek, go buy, go buy Of some more travelled folk than I, Kind Master Critic, say not, please, How that her zvorld so narrow is, . Since here she warns expectant eyes That homely is her merchandise I CONTENTS, -Apologia. V^The Children of Lir > /5^ Sheep and Lambs. Only in August f? Nightingale . Of an Angel. Cuckoo Song Lux in Tenebris Kings' Prisoners At Ercildoune " The Blackbird ASecond Sight A New Old Song To Rose in Heaven A Led Flock Winter Evening . In a Cathedral . Golden Weed Of St. Francis and the Ass The Fairy Babe PAGE vii I 6 8 TO 12 H i6 17 i8 21 23 26 28 31 32 34 36 38 41 xii CONTENTS. TAGE A Day-dreamer 43 Storm-gold 44 \-^The Charity of the Countess Kathleen ^. 45 A Girl's Lament 51 v^fOME Sickness -53 Moods -55 De Profundis 57 Rain Raineth 59 To Inishkea 60 St. Francis and the Wolf . . . . 62 On a Birthday .68 The Death-watch 70 Our Lady's Exile 72 The Fairy Foster-mother .... 74 Michael the Archangel t] JBlackbird 79 ^-Vprince Connla of the Golden Hair v . .80 Over Mountains 84 Queen's Roses 86 The Witch 88 A Ring of Polycrates 90 Swallow . . . . . . . .91 Vthe wild Geese 92 Of St. Francis: His Wrath .... 94 "^he Beloved 97 "In White Garments" 99 Green Gravel . loi 1- *^The Dead Mermaiden ^ 103 \— ^Rain in May^ io8 The Dead Son 109 CONTENTS. J PAGE ^ Golden Lilies* . in House-building 113 y-^^A Woman » 114 The Dream of Mary 116 A Franciscan Sermon 117 Sign Manual 120 w- The Hiding- away of Blessed Angus \ . . 121 The Last Word 127 Fairy Horses 129 Aux Carmelites - 131 Votive Offering .133 A Star's Image . 135 Rainy Summer . .* 137 The Chapel of the Grail .... 139 All in All . .143 Two in Heaven ... c ... 146 v-- In Iona n 143 All Souls' Night i^o Rondeau 1^2 ff or THE ■^ " ''NIVER3ITY FORWlhi. BALLADS AND LYRICS. THE CHILDREN OF LIR. " And their stepmother, being jealous of their father's great Love for them, cast upon the King's children, by sorcery, the shape of swans, and bade them go roaming, even till Patrick's mass-bell should sound in Erin,— but no farther in time than that did her power extend." — The Fate of the Children of Lir. Out upon the sand-dunes thrive the coarse long grasses, Herons standing knee-deep in the brackish pool, Overhead the sunset fire and flame amasses, And the moon to ^stward rises pale and c.ool : Rose and green around her, silver-grey and p So for a spring crouched he ; But the Saint raised his head — " Peace, Brother Wolf," he said, ** God made both thee and me." And with the Cross signed him : The wolf fell back a-stare, Sat on his haunches there, Forbidding, black, and grim. " Come nearer, in Christ's Name," Said Francis^ and, so bid. Like a small dog that's chid, The fierce beast fawning came, Trotting against his side, And licked the tender hand That with soft touch and bland , Caressed his wicked hide. " Brother," the Saint said then, * ' Who gave thee leave to kill ? Thou hast slain of thine own will Not only beasts but men. " And God is wroth with thee : If thou wilt not repent, His anger shall be sent To smite thee terribly. 64 BALLADS AND L YRLCS, " See, all men hate thy name. And with it mothers fright The froward child by night : Great are thy sin and shame. ^* All true dogs thee pursue ; Thou shouldst hang high in air, Like a thief and murderer, Hadst thou thy lawful due. " Yet, seeing His hands have made Even thee, thou wicked one, I bring no malison. But blessing bring instead. *'And I will purchase peace Between this folk and thee, . So love for hate shall be, And all thy sinning cease. " Say, wilt thou have it so ? " Thereat, far off, we saw The beast lift up his paw. His great tail wagging go. Our father took the paw Into his blessed hand. Knelt down upon the sand Facing the creature's jaw. ST, FRANCIS AND THE WOLF, 65 That were a sight to see : Agobio's folk trooped out ; They heard not all that rout, Neither the beast nor he. For he was praying yet, And on his illumined face A shamed and loving gaze The terrible wolf had set. When they came through the town, His hand that beast did stroke^ He spake unto the folk Flocking to touch his gown. A sweet discourse was this : He prayed them that they make Peace^ for the Lord Christ's sake, With this poor wolf of His ; And told them of their sins, How each was deadlier far Than wolves or lions are. Or sharks with sword-like fins. Afterwards some came near, Took the beast's paw and shook, And answered his sad look With words of honest cheer. F 66 BALLADS AND L YRICS. Our father, ere he went, Bade that each one should leave Some food at morn and eve For his poor penitent. And so, three years or more, The wolf came morn and even, Yea, long forgiven and shriven, Fed at each townsman's door ; And grew more grey and old, Withal so sad and mild. Him feared no little child Sitting in the sun's gold. The women, soft of heart. Trusted him and were kind ; Men grew of equal mind, None longer stepped apart. The very dogs, 'twas said, Would greet him courteously. And pass his portion by. Though they went on unfed. But when three years were gone He came no more, but died In a cave on the hillside ; You may count each whitening bone. ST. FRANCIS AND THE WOLF. 67 And then it came to pass All gently of him spake, For Francis his dear sake, Whose Brother Wolf this was. F 2 68 BALLADS AND LYRICS, ON A BIRTHDAY. Shall I lament my vanished spring ? Ah no, its joys went withering : Its hopes, long sick, decayed and died With its desires unsatisfied : A moaning wind of discontent Stripped the young boughs of bloom and scent ; The rain was raining every day. Now though it be no longer May, Oh heart, what youth renewed is ours ! With generous scarcely hoped-for flowers. And the good summer but begun : With longer days and riper sun, And 'the large possibihties Of gifts and grace and good increase In the rich weather yet to come. Nor shall the autumn strike us dumb Who knows what fruit for us shall be Swung in some ruddy-hearted tree ; What hopes shall find their harvesting ON A BIRTHDA K 69 When outward birds are on the wing ; When pale September h'ghts her fire — Her Will-o'-the-Wisp on every briar— What ship shall sail to shore at last % Nor shall we dread the winter blast Or the long evening of our year With nothing more to hope or fear : Looking to keep Christ's festival, In His own fair and lighted hall. After the longest night is done, Cometh the Christmas benison. 70 BALLADS AND LYRLCS. THE DEATH-WATCH. UUagone ! UUagone I He and I were all alone. In the wall by the thatch I heard the tick of the death-watch. UUagone I Ullagofie ! And my heart grew cold as stone : Tick, tick, all was still Save that ghastly note of ill. On the flaring candle grew Plain an awful shape I knew : Tick, tick, in the thatch Went the beat of the death-watch. Ullagofie I UUagone I And the tide went with a moan. Bring the candles, two and three ; Chant the dead man's litany. THE DEATH-WATCH, 71 Strew the rose, the rosemary gather For the husband and the father : Tick, tick, in the thatch Hear the knell of the death-watch ! 72 BALLADS AND LYIUCS. OUR LADY'S EXILE. Twelve years, and down on earth the time was long : She.was dreaming all alone in her leaf-framed bower, What time the limes and almonds were in flower ; Outside the casement was a white bird's song Ringing and clinging ; there was scent of spice From some far opening door in Paradise. About her were magnolias, white and red, And palms like emerald flame wTnt leaping up From the poor setting of an earthen cup, Lilies grew pale, and roses crimsoned : At dawn a little angel like a child Brought them to her, and kissed her gowm, and smiled. Such heavenly visitants wxre often here. For this one brought her flowers, and that one fiuit; And here one sitting tinkled to his lute. Singing the songs the Lord Christ loves to hear ; And there one floated in the gathering gloom, L'ke a flushed lily or a rose in bloom. UR LAD Y \S EXILE, 73 Across the sun His birds, the cherubim, Went flying home like distant flakes of light, And a late lark was scaling heaven's blue height, Seeking to trace the self-same path to Him ; Then the sun setting caught her robe's white fold, And lit her mournful eyes with sudden gold. " How long," she sighed. If but the door would swing. And Michael enter in his silvery mail, And the plumed helmet, where the ringed stars pale, And glow about his curled hair glittering, And lean to her, and place the torch a-lit In her tired hands that ofttimes longed for it. No sign ! the red hearts of the roses burned Love-lit; a fiery moon was in the sky. And the night wind was trembling like a sigh ; Faint and far-off the ringdoves yearned and mourned. And from the olives came a voice forlorn, That bird who leans her heart upon a thorn. 74 BALLADS AND L YKTCS. THE FAIRY FOSTER-MOTHER; Go not into the meadow, Ailie, Under the June moon ! Fairies in the shadow, Ailie, Croon a sad tune, And their great King is sad^ Ailie, With his head into his hands. For his delicate little lad, Ailie, Far off in fairy lands. He thinks on his dead wife, Ailie, And heaves many a sigh. She gave her babe her life, Ailie, And never said good-bye. And the little son like silk, Ailie, Is dwindling every day For mother's love and milk, Ailie, Ailie, come avvay ! THE FAIR V FOSTER-MO THER. 75 Run home, Ailie asthore, To your own little one ! Your husband stands at the door, And shades his eyes from the sun, And calls you home from the cows Ailie, his pride and joy. Star of the home and house; To the fine husband and boy ! Her smile was strange and still, She held her eyelids down ; She went by the ruined mill By the ragweed yellow and brown, Into the field forlorn, With fairy rings on the ground ; In the gloom of the fairy thorn Were fairies circling around. She is gone on the fairies' horse The ragweed, yellow and sly, She will be a fairy's nurse And wipe the tear from his eye ; And her own wee troublesome lad May pine, and she will not come : Her husband be crazed and sad. But she will never come home. Id BALLADS AND LYRICS. Never, never again, Ailie, Though long we look for you, Never in sun or rain, Ailie, Never in dusk or dew. With your night-black hair like silk, Ailie, And your eyes like the sky. And your skin as white as milk, Ailie Ailie Carroll, good-bye ! MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL. 77 MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL. Not woman-faced and sweet, as look The angels in the picture book ; But terrible in majesty, More than an army passing by. His hair floats not upon the wind Like theirs, but curled and closely twined ; Wrought with his aureole, so that none Shall know the gold curls from the crown. His wings he hath put away in steel, He goes mail-clad from head to heel ; Never moon-silver hath outshone His breast-plate and his morion. His brows are like a battlement. Beautiful, brave, and innocent; His eyes with fires of battle burn — On his strong mouth the smile is stern. 78 BALLADS AND LYRICS, His horse, the horse of Heaven, goes forth. Bearing him to the South and North, Neighing far off, as one that sees The battle over distances. His fiery sword is never at rest, His foot is in the stirrup prest ; Through all the world where wrong is done Michael the Soldier rideth on. Michael, Commander ! Angels are That sound the trumpet, and that bear The banners by the Throne, where is The King one nameth on one's knees. Angels there are of peace and prayers. And them that go with wayfarers. And them that watch the house of birth, And them that bring the dead from earth, And mine own Angel. Yet I see. Heading God's army gloriously, Michael Archangel, like a sun — Splendid beyond comparison ! BLACKBIRD, 79 BLACKBIRD. Though Christmas boughs were green in bud, And hoodwinked flowers began to show ; The blackbird grew not warm in blood : And when the Spring comes he will knonK For all the sky's soft, shining fleece, And winds that from the southward blow, My wise heart Blackbird held his peace : And when the Spring comes he will know. To-day the unquiet wind is chill. The steely sky is charged with snow ; But Blackbird's singing with a will : And when the Spring comes he will know. The sea-fog's blowing from the east. But thoughts of birds on nesting go ; And Blackbird's singing of a feast : And when the Spring comes he ivillknoiv. 8o BALLADS AA^D LYRICS. PRINCE CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR. Prince Connla of the Golden Hair, All day he goeth listlessly ; From the first dawn to sunset sky He goeth like a sleep-walker. For his old sport he hath no care, His steed is idle in the stall, His hounds are sleeping, one and all, The rust his armour-plates will wear. On a tall throne his father is, The hero of the Hundred Fights. Now his old dreams are sad o' nights For his son's moon-struck fantasies ; So fair, for any queen to kiss, So brave, so strong, so wise in youth. That was a sorry hour, in truth. That slew the Kingdom's hope like this. PRINCE CONNLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, 8i Last night he heard the banshee grieve, Outside his walls incessantly — If for his own death grieved she, He would not go so sad this eve, For life is not too sweet to leave ; But his young son whose heart will break Just for a phantom lady's sake. 'Tis a vile net some witch doth weave. The Druid comes and stands by him, Wise words may give the young Prince peace. Lo ! then a voice that will not cease, Sweeter than nny vesper hymn, Sweeter than choirs in forests dim. Rises upon the enamoured air. With an old melody, wild and fair ; Prince Connla leaps in heart and limb, And flushes, and his eyes are glad ; He knows the words the song will say : " Q my true lover, come away To my bright land where nought is sad From all those grieving doubts you had ; Where sickness cometh not, nor care, Nor age to wither the gold hair. Nor tears, nor Death that maketh mad." G 82 BALLADS AND L YRLCS, " Far in the west," she saith, *' it lies, Gold pastures by a sapphire sea ; Our palace-towers stand silvery Against the rose and amber skies. There too our shadowy gardens rise, With fruit and flowers like jewels set, Where a brown nightingale singeth yet. And lovers whisper lovers' sighs." He hears, and sees her standing there, A slim shape in her gown of silk, Threaded with pearls as white as milk. One scarlet rose she hath to wear, Flaming against her shoulder bare. She takes his hand in hers a while. Drawing his heart out with her smile, Prince Connla of the Golden Hair. The King and Druid standing by Are grieved, there's nought to see at all, Save a tree's shadow on the wall. But hush ! — Prince Connla suddenly, With half a smile and half a sigh ; " A burden is an earthly crown, A burden, and I lay it down, And I go lighter till I die." PRINCE CON NLA OF THE GOLDEN HAIR, 83 Then by that shape invisible, He's gone down the long forest aisle ; Flames the great sunset many a mile, The goldenest sunset ever fell, Thrilling with light incomparable The sea-world and the startled land. Lo there, a shallop by the sand. Rocked, like a rainbow-tinted shell. Crystal it was, with green and rose Shot in it, like the irised dove ; A great bird at the prow thereof, Flapped his wide wings like Arctic snows, And chains of silver, fine and close, ^ Bound bird and boat inseparably. To a gold rose grew sky and sea Where the rich colour ebbs and flows. And in that strange enchanted air, The lovers stepped aboard and went Sailing to that lost Continent, Over the leagues of clear water. But the King, standing spell-bound there. Groaned, his great heart was rent in twain. And never an eye beheld again Prince Connla of the Golden Hair. oO 84 BALLADS AND LYRICS. OVER MOUNTAINS. My heart went roaming and flying Where her one treasure was. The East was luridly dying, A low wind sobbed, " Alas ! " There was no bird at all Out of its nest so warm ; Over the mountain wall My heart went into the storm. And when the night was mirk, And on the shrieking sea The wind was doing its work, My heart came back to me. Tapped at my window-pane. Out of the storm and din, Out of the night and rain, I rose and let her in. OVER MOUNTAINS, 85 O, heart, like a frightened bird, Heart like a small grey dove, Say hast thou seen or heard Anything of our love ? But never a word she said, Her eye was leaden and dim, Her breast had a stain of red. She spake no word of him. And whether she saw him not Over the mountains grey, Or whether he had forgot, I know not to this day. S6 BALLADS AND L YRLCS. QUEEN'S ROSES. Sweet St. Elizabeth, 'tis said, Once when the beggars would be fed, All in a fold of her gown's gold Went carrying them the whealen bread. But the King met her angrily; Half-white, half-red with wrath was he. Stung for her sake, that she should take The scullion's duty, even she, The sweetest woman under the sun. He laid both hands her shoulders on ; Looked like a sword, but spake no word The Queen's tears, gathering, down did run ; Her gown slipped from her trembling hold, And lo ! not bread was in its fold. Out then there fell, O miracle ! Roses the loveliest, red and gold. QUEEN'S ROSES. 87 Roses for breads the story saith : Some day, O my Elizabeth You will go down in your gold gown, And where the crowned King tarrieth : And in your gold gown's fold shall be The white bread of your charity ; '^ Even as you fed the hungered, You did the like to Me," saith He. Then your gold gown let down shall show The loveliest roses ever ablow, For bread, God's roses white and red, That in His garden grow a-row ; Roses that take you with their breath. Yet go not, my Elizabeth. For while you stay in dark and day God's Rose lights up this world of death. 88 BALLADS AND L YRICS. THE WITCH. Margaret Grady — I fear she will burn — Charmed the butter off rny churn ; 'Tis I would know it the wide world over, Yellow as saffron^ scented with clover. At Omagh market the witch displayed it : 111 she had gathered, ill she had made it. Hid in my cloak's hood, one glance I threw it, Passed on smiling ; my troth ! I knew it ! Sheila, the kindest cow in the parish, Mild and silken, and good to cherish, Shame her own gold butter should leave her To enrich the milk of a low-bred heifer ! I said not Yea or Nay to the mocker, But called the fairy-man over from Augher ; Like a russet he is that's withered, Bent in two with his wisdom gathered. THE WITCH. He touched the butter, he peered and pondered, And crooned strange rhymes while I watched and wondered : Then he drew me out through the gloaming O'er the fields where the mist was coming. He bewitched me so that 1 know not Where they may grow, where they may grow not ; Those witch-hazels he plucked and plaited, Crooning on while the twigs he mated. There^s the wreath on the churn-dash yonder. All the neighbours view it with wonder ; And 'spite of Father Tom I avow it The yield is doubled since that came to it. I bless the fairy- man though he be evil ; Yet fairy-spells come not from the Devil ; And Margaret Grady — I fear she will burn — I do forgive her, with hate and scorn. 90 BALLADS AND LYRICS. A RING OF POLYCRATES. Because that Fate was kind to me, I was afraid of my kind fate ; And flung my ring in the blue sea, Where now I stand and wait. And storm and shine flit by apace Over my jewel's resting-place. The appeased gods dwell unansweringly ; It comes not back to me. Now, am I blest, or am I curst ? More sad or glad than the fabled king ? Sometimes I think Fate's best or worst Were naught against my ring. My ring, my ring, that held alway Its illumined heart by night and day ! Without it I am old and cold, In ermine and in gold. SWALLOW, qi SWALLOW. One swallow does not make a Summer. Proverbs are wise, you early swallow ; Yet the Springes here with you, new-comer, April's here, and the May to follow. May and June and the happy Summer. O swallow that has never a fellow, Your home-sick heart grew tired of straying. Of Eastern scarlet skies and yellow ; And you were fain to go a-maying Deep in home woods with Spring for fellow. The blackbird sang long ere your coming : The thrush hath children under her bosom ; Yesterday there were brown bees humming Round and over the cherry-blossom. Vagrant winds of the South were roaming. Proverbs die, and their makers wither. You whom the proverb so dispraises, Satellite of the golden weather. Loved of the children and the daisies, Summer comes on your sea-blue feather ! 92 BALLADS AND LYRLCS. THE WILD GEESE. (A Lament for the Irish Jacobites.) I HAVE heard the curlew crying On a lonely moor and mere ; And the sea-gull's shriek in the gloaming Is a lonely sound in the ear : And I've heard the brown thrush mourning For her children stolen away ; — But it's O for the homeless Wild Geese That sailed ere the dawn of day ! For the curlew out on the moorland ' Hath five fine eggs in the nest ; And the thrush will get her a new love And sing her song with the best. As the swallow flies to the Summer Will the gull return to the sea : But never the wings of the Wild Geese Will flash over seas to me. THE WILD GEESE, 93 And 'tis ill to be roaming, roaming With the homesick heart in the breast ! And how long I've looked for your coming, And my heart is the empty nest ! O sore in the land of the stranger They'll pine for the land far away ! But Day of Aughrim, my sorrow. It was you was the bitter day !