THE LIBRARY OF THE UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LOS ANGELES JAMES DALLY OLD AND RARE BOOKS Oatlands, Tasmania Telephone Oatlands 90 ^os^ 3D^ »\ AN IRISH HEART AN IRISH HEART By DAVID McKEE WRIGHT SYDNEY ANGUS & ROBERTSON LIMITED 89 CASTLEREAGH STREET 1918 Printed by W. C. Penfold & Co. Ltd., 183 Pitt Street, Sydney for AngUB & Robertson Ltd. London : The Oxford University Press Most of the verses in this book were originally printed in " The Bulletin'' ; some appeared in " The Lone Hand'' ; the rest are now published for the first time. To A Scotchman FOR Ireland's Sake. God bless the heather on both sides of Moyle Water. 1417043 Och, the queerest thing is an Irish heart (Will you take it away, Roseen, in your shawl?) , For 'tis sore to stay, and 'tis ill to part. And there's nothing to stay its heating at all. Is it drink with the boys till the day is light? (Will you take it away, Roseen, in your shawl?) Och, sure, 'tis the heart of the world for fight, Or friendship or talk while it heats at all! Is it sighs for pain, is it tears for pride? (Will you take it away, Roseen, in your shawl?) 'Tis a red-blood heart that is ill denied. And it plays all tunes zvhile it beats at all. Is it girls that laugh, is it girls to kiss? (Will you take it away, Roseen, in your shawl?) Bright eyes can teach it a beat to 7niss, For it loves all girls while it beats at all. Is it one soft girl with an Irish eye? Will you take it away, Roseen, in your shawl? Och, nurse it ivarm and 'twill surely try To be loving no other at all at all. CONTENTS Page Norah's Courting ----._. i Morn's Desire ---.--.. __|^ The Wave ---.---.. - The Kissing of Pegeen ---... g A Song of Pipes and Trees - . . . _ jo The Robin --... ....j^ Bridal Song -.._ ....j^ Youth ------ . . . . jy The Holy Piper ---- --.-ig Sunset Bay ----- .---25 The Beggar's Bowl --- --.-26 A Song of Red Things - - - . - - 30 Earth Song -... . . . . ^2 Fairy Rose ----- .---3- A New Zealand Fairy Song - . - - - 35 Creation ----. ---,_jx The Silver Ring ---- ---._jg ^'IKING Song ---. ---.qj The Singers --53 The Balcony -.-. ----5- A Song of Little Gardens - - . . . . z,y Ireland ---_6o Hellas at Watson's Bay - - - . - - 61 Weed-Tryst -.63 Page Moon Dream ._.- . . . . (fj Pen of Mine - - - - . . . _ 68 The Holy Thing 7^ Cave Night ----74 In Green and Blue .-- _..-75 Child Song of the Rain - - - - - - 71 Immortality ._-- . . . . >]% The Moon-Girl 81 A Silent Poet ---- ...-83 Wreckers - .._- __-.86 Haunted Memory ___ _-..87 Margaret ----89 The Inventors .--- . . . . <^2 The Dancers ... - . . . _ 95 For Judgment -.-. ....97 Danny's Wooing ---- ----loi The Adventurers _ _ _ - - - - 104 Dark Rosaleen ---- ----115 AN IRISH HEART NORAH'S COURTING YOU that made the fiddle talk All the night at Carrick Water, Sure, you took the road to walk With the heart of Moragh's daughter. Sleep forgot the way to bed, Kittling stars went wild with laughter; Two that shone in Norah's head Stayed as bright the morning after. Fiddler man, you went your way; Roads are long, and who could find you? Norah's little heart all day Followed pit-a-pat behind you. Norah's foot was at the wheel — White ewe-fleece a bride should cover — Och, the road of jig and reel Takes a girl to find her lover ! Roses blossom on the stalk. Honey nights are warm with laughter — You that made the fiddle talk, Did you know her heart came after? NORAH S COURTING Somewhere through the fields you go — Old green coat and crow's black feather- Scraping w^ith your fiddle bow Dreams across the summer weather. Who could tell you Norah's thought — White as bloom on mountain clover — Chasing some sweet thing she sought, Followed you the green world over? Moragh came from Banagh Bay Up the road to Carrick Water — "Carill spoke me fair this day For the bride-kiss of my daughter." Och, and what will Norah say? — Fiddler dreams make young hearts idle— Carill rides in cloak of blue, Gold a jingle at his bridle. Carill's house is mason stone. Through its twenty windows gazing All he looks on is his own, Wood and field and cattle grazing. NORAH S COURTING Och, and what will Norah say? Pale she is to guess the riddle For her heart is all astray, Dancing courtship to a fiddle. Pale she was in gown of white. Up the road came Carill riding. Would he know at plainest sight That sweet secret of her hiding? Clouds on yellow skies afloat Turned to red in evening weather. Who has on an old green coat? Who would wear a crow's black feather? Norah looked. Her smile came slow. Sure, she guessed the easy riddle. Carill, laughing, drew his bow, Said his greeting with the fiddle. Sleep forgot the way to bed. Kittling stars went wild with laughter; Two that shone in Norah's head Stayed as bright the morning after! MORN'S DESIRE THE Young Day combs his yellow hair On the mountains of Morn's Desire; And, oh, but my Love, my Love is fair, And her heart is a rose of fire ! The sea has fingers foamy white That fondle the wet, wet sand; But, oh, my Love has a touch as light As the lily that is her hand. The Young Wind draws a fiddle-bow Over mountain, and sun, and sea; But the voice of my Love is kind and low With a bridal melody. And all the world is mine to wear — The sea, and the song, and the fire — For, oh, but my Love, my Love is fair On the mountains of Morn's Desire! THE WAVE I DREAMT a strange green dream of many seas .... Within a dusk-enchanted ocean dell, Low at a palmy island's purple knees, 'Mid coral branch and weed, and rosy shell, I heard the calling of the Master Breeze. My soul awoke. From the white-sanded cave The silver bubbles ran to kiss the light; I saw the morning on the waters brave. League beyond league of billows crested white . And I, in pride of life, a wandering wave. Dancing in boundless meadows of the deep, I saw ten thousand brothers at their play. One lonely mountain islet seemed to sleep. Shadowed against the shining morning way; With barrier reefs my spirit longed to leap. Away! There shrilled a trumpet of the wind Out of the columned clouds that swept the sea. The serried ocean, with a single mind. Turned all about me — white crests bent to flee Some elemental fear that rose behind. THE WAVE Again the trumpet. Billows far and wide Reared at the challenge utmost curving bows Of pliant water. Down the screaming tide, In long stampede, the thunder-footed rows Tossed the blown spindrift from their necks of pride. Mad with the joy of that tumultuous race. Stung with the salt whips of the smoking sea, I leaped, spume-dappled, to the foremost place Amid the watery thunders. Over me The angered cloud-wrack showed a darkened face. On, on, on, on! I led the shouting gale With speed that mocked the heavy foot of day, And made the dawning linger, rathe and pale, Always behind us. Rifts of white mist lay Upcurled before me like a shimmering veil. I saw the windy morning lift the lace. As with the reverence of a bridal hand, To show the wonder of a shining space Of sweet, wet forest, fringed with yellow sand, And the clear beauty of a woman's face. THE WAVE I saw the rippling marvel of her hair, Her dark, sweet eyes full of the summer south, Her shell-white foot and snowy ankle bare, And the one happy rose that was her mouth — Dear God, the seas were cold, her face was fair! Trembling, I hung aloft my shadowy green. Wild longing filled my veins with opal fire. Flashing all lights; I felt my spirit lean Out, out, far out to touch my Soul's Desire. . . . Death ! . . . But my lips shall kiss my Spirit's Queen. O Death ! The strife is done, the race complete. The yellow shore has hands to pluck me down. In thunders of white foam I run to greet My clear dream of the morning. Oh, I drown, Broken and spent . . . but I have held her feet! Back in the undersweep of endless seas I faint in dusks, with swaying weed a-stream. Lost are the magic lights, the singing breeze; Cold scale and silver fin abov^e me gleam. . . . The slow tides tremble. ... I am but of these. THE WAVE O Soul, aslumber in the white sand cave, What of the morning full of happy light, The spirit-woven dreams of strong and brave, The clamant voice of star-forsaken night? . . . Ah, frail, green wonder of the wandering wave ! THE KISSING OF PEGEEN IN the valley of little red trees The grey dogs were hunting the hare; With the kirtle of green to her knees Came the fairy Pegeen to me there; With the hare running under the trees Pegeen made a song to me there. Yellow girls, with the sun on their feet, Ran in and out of the wood; Sure, the air with their voices was sweet Around the green place where I stood — Och, the grass in the toes of their feet Was green with a laugh where they stood. Pegeen, fairy girl, she could sing Till the daffodils stept to the tune. And a thorn-tree, in bud at the Spring, Let up a clean leaf to the noon. Pegeen, fairy girl, it was spring, And the sun was just warm at the noon. Och! dimples she had to be sure. With her hair like the wing of a crow. And the white of her neck was a cure THE KISSING OF PEGEEN For a heart that was beating too slow — Och, Pegeen, fairy girl! To be sure, Mine couldn't be beating too slow. 'Twas the laugh of the girls in the sun, 'Twas the green on the lap of the world, 'Twas the way my wits fluttered and spun, 'Twas the way that her eyelashes curled Made me mad for a kiss in the sun. Where her lips at the corner were curled. Pegeen, fairy girl, she could dance; 'Twas not easy to come at her waist. Och ! she puckered my soul with her glance, But her lips had a wonderful taste; Sure, the fairy girl led me a dance Till I caught her pink mouth for a taste. There's a fairy path over the hill. There's a fairy bridge over the stream; 'Twas her song that was leading me still And I went like a man in a dream. . . . There were little red trees on the hill, And the end of the road was a dream. THE KISSING OF PEGEEN Sure, I dreamt like a little brown hare, 'Twas me that the grey dogs would chase. Och, fur is too handy to wear! Give me back the red kiss on my face! Pegeen, I'm a little brown hare, Och, give a man back his poor face ! Yellow girls, with the sun on their feet, Run in and out of the wood. Troth, the sound of their voices is sweet, And the swish of their kirtles is good. . . There are little black toes on my feet, And to stop the grey dogs would be good. A SONG OF PIPES AND TREES I KNOW not if the trees of Arcady Had broader leaves, Or If old suns wove finer broidery Than our sun weaves On the warm quiet of the dimpled ground. In Tempe's vale was laughter, and glad sound Of waters free. I know not if the brown gods laughed as well On Ossa's knee As the brown maids who hear the summer tell Tales 'neath this tree. They say Apollo had a reedy pipe In Thessaly — The world was all with wonder-music ripe On land and sea — He blew his silver breath into the air; Enchanted naiads with their dripping hair Rose from the streams. . . . Perchance he would have changed his pipe for mine. Whose incense seems To make my couch beneath these boughs divine With olden dreams. 12 A SONG OF PIPES AND TREES My pipe can call, through rings of pearly smoke, The old blue day, All that Apollo saw beneath his oak In ages grey. All that the past upon the present spills In joy of wonder through these shadows fills My pipe with sound; And all things seek at its enchanted call This quiet ground — I hold the flute Athene's hand let fall And Marsyas found. 13 THE ROBIN THERE is a little ghost that walks at noon, Making a piping on two simple straws As, with the faltering of a faded tune, A heartache from the yellow light he draws; And all that I have known and still forget Comes near me as the music rises shrill, Something of old desire and new regret And long days cool and still — A hungry robin forty years ago came to my window-sill. That fainting melody I cannot catch However long I strain my heart and ear. Sometimes it seems my hand is on the latch Of an old door that leads to rooms too dear; And could that piper find one lost, far note, The rusted hinge would turn again to show Kind, homely things, so near yet so remote. Out of the long ago — The robin had a song when paths were white with falling cherry-snow. 14 THE ROBIN O little ghost, come with me where the green Of happy leaves may flutter round your song! The street is grey, the passing thoughts too mean, The many voices set your music wrong; But where the waters sparkle in the light And all the grass is bending to the wind We two shall sit from shining noon till night Seeking that strain to find — O robin, singing forty years ago down ways grown leafy-blind! But you shall find the song, O little ghost, And I shall hear the music as it draws The happy things I have forgotten most From the shrill hollow of two twittering straws; And I shall walk again in other ways And hear a fuller music rise and sweep Out of the hidden heart of faded days, Grown fresh from memory's sleep — A happy robin forty years ago sang notes too full and deep! IS BRIDAL SONG YOU whose hair is black as grief, You whose lips are red as sin, Lift the latch and turn the leaf — Happy Love, come in, come in ! From the cav^erns of your eyes — Eyes that seem so shy and meek — All the oracles arise Joy's hot mysteries to speak. On your breast the blisses sleep — Raptures supine, soft and twin — By the secrets that you keep, Happy Love, come in, come in ! From the roundness of your throat Throbs a music silver sweet. And delicious airs afloat Tremble laughter round your feet. By your touches silken light, By your hot, brown fingers thin, By your kisses in the night, Happy Love, come in, come in ! i6 YOUTH I STOOD amid high meadows, morning fair, With moon-cupped blossoms round my careless feet. And bending woods that, in a crystal air. Stooped greenly to a valley clothed with wheat. I heard the young birds sing, the young lambs bleat ; And somewhere world's delight was calling loud, The while the wind was fingering my hair Out of the mist-veil of a dreaming cloud. Oh, gay was all my thought that silver morn. The wine of life was glowing in my heart; I heard the reapers' voices in the corn: Strong-limbed, I swept the dews of dawn apart. The dimpled sunbeams seemed to leap and start Around me, and with laughter on the way. Clashing their cymbals, blowing fife and horn. Went all the bright-eyed children of the day. Hot-foot I passed. The valley opened wide Its shining arms, and all its harvest dress. White as the shimmering garment of a bride. Seemed on my heart its loveliness to press. The summer morning was a long caress; And all the happy kisses of the sun With amber blushes lawn and woodland dyed For gladness of another day begun. 17 YOUTH And lo, before me, under bending shade, All rosy-white amid her shining hair, I saw the clear limbs of the wonder maid, A laughing woman delicately fair. . . . She fled, her loose robe trailing down the air, The red-lipped quarry youth's strong arm should take ; And all the shouting spirits of the glade Joined in the merry chase for sweet love's sake. Then, pierced as by an arrow, long and keen. Of pointed sunshine darting from the height, She stayed amid the maze of arching green With blushing face and panting bosom white. Vanquished, she yielded lips of red delight To hunter-lips more hot to claim their prize; And all her happy nature seemed to lean Out of the darkness of her splendid eyes. The tall, white gods stept down amid the trees; Shrill music laughed aloud in pipe and shell; And, ravished with sharp fragrance, the young breeze Laid airy hands on some mad wedding-bell High in the branches o'er us. Silence fell After that tumult of ecstatic noise .... We stood apart, shy-eyed, with trembling knees, Afraid to lift the burden of our joys. THE HOLY PIPER SLACK snakes, green snakes, hear the pipes and understand! Long snakes, small snakes, all the snakes in Ireland. Holy water, holy sod. Shamrock leaf and the Cross of God — Padraig pipes below his hand To all the snakes in Ireland. Loudly on the summer air Rang the chapel's call to prayer, Brazen notes that shook the bees In white blossoms under trees, While along the river bank Danced the rushes, rank on rank. As if fairy troops rode by. Nodding cap and winking eye — So the bell's vibrations went, Making holy discontent. Rose the people two and two, Walking soft the green world through To the chapel where this day Padraig Saint would come to pray. Rose the herdsman grey and old, Rose the prince with chains of gold, 19 THE HOLY PIPER Flashed the sail across the water, Beat the hooves on turf and grass; And O'Brien's fairest daughter Heard the quiet people pass. "All is well, All is well," Sang the rolling chapel bell, "Come to prayer, Come to prayer," Echo whispered on the air. Would she hear or would she heed Saint or bell or book or bead? Surely she was very fair With a red rose in her hair! Down the way a man would walk Glowed the woodbine on its stalk, Where a twisted apple tree Stood in brambles to the knee — It was there that she would go. Ankle-white and pink of toe. "All is well, All is well," Sang the rolling chapel bell. Surely she was very fair With a red rose in her hair! 20 THE HOLY PIPER Bees about the briars hum Down the way a man would come; And a viper colling there, Angered, heard the call to prayer. Ankle-white and pink of toe, Would O'Brien's daughter know — She with lips a man should kiss — Fang and crest and warning hiss? Death below the briars green Struck and slipped away unseen. Down the road a man would come. Bees were still and death was dumb ; And the bell upon the air Ceased Its rolling call to prayer. Came the people two and two Walking back the green world through. Padralg Saint, with beard of snow. Blessed them ere they turned to go. Pale and cold and very still Lay Aideen and slept her fill. Curse the worm and all his brood Over grass or under wood, Venom creeping through the day While the people bend to pray ! Padralg, holy saint, came by. Saw the folk and heard their cry. 21 THE HOLY PIPER Padraig Saint, below his hand, Played a pipe along the land; Up and up the hill he went In a holy discontent. Snake in wood and grass and wall Heard afar the music call. Night fell black on tree and sod, Shamrock leaf and Cross of God. Snake and adder must obey All the words the pipes will say. Wriggle, wriggle, twine and twist — Adders hi the mountain mist! Fang and scale beneath the moon — The holy piper makes the tune; And all from Moyle to Kerry Water 'Tis wriggle and crawl to the western bay, For the snake that bit O'Brien's daughter Must answer the call of Judgment Day. Two white horns were on the moon Looking light to aid the tune. Up and up the hill he went In a holy discontent. 22 THE HOLY PIPER Wriggle, wriggle, writhe and twist, Climbed the snakes through mountain mist; Wriggle, wriggle, twist and twine; They were there at morning-shine. Padraig Saint, upon the hill. Stayed his hand and laughed his fill — "Now, by holy crook and cross, Ireland's gain's the Devil's loss ! I have tunes and tunes to spare — Make your will and say your prayer — There's a sup of merry sea Calling salt and blue to me." Black snakes, green snakes, hear the pipes and understand! Long snakes, small snakes, all the snakes in Ireland! Holy water, holy sod, Shamrock leaf and the Cross of God — Padraig pipes below his hand To all the snakes in Ireland. 23 THE HOLY PIPER Looked the saint to sea and sand, Took the road the snakes must go. Down the hill across the land Rocks and bushes heard him blow. Och, the pipes were summer-sweet, Blossoms opened round his feet, Vipers wriggled, adders crawled, And the music called and called Down the land across the sea, "Follow, follow, follow me!" On the dancing waves afloat Padraig found a holy boat. In they went, and on they went. Through the waves they coiled and bent, Took the water, left the sand, All the snakes of Ireland. Wriggle, wriggle, twist and twine — When was music made so fine? Sure, the sea was kind and wide — Padraig's piping turned the tide. Now, sirs, swim — God bless deep water- You that nipped O'Brien's daughter! 24 SUNSET BAY LITTLE wavelets, curly-wet, sipping at our toes, 4 This is pretty Sunset Bay, as everybody knows. White foot, brown foot, little fishes' tails — Oh, there's lots of laughing water where the big ship sails ! Little wavelets, curly-wet, do you go to school ? Do you like the sands to shear all your pinky wool? Red light, gold light, little nibbled moon — All the world's a cherry tart, and no one has a spoon. Little wavelets, curly-wet, turn and run away. Thank you for a merry splash ; come another day. Brown head, gold head, little fishes' fins — Oh, the sky is catching bed-time up on small star pins! THE BEGGAR'S BOWL THREE grey beggars at the door- Con McAlister made four. What would yon small creature be Sitting by the stackyard tree? Sure, my heart was mercy light; Both my arms with meal were white. Four grey men on weary feet Blest me for the bite to eat. Four grey beggars at the door — Would they know my need was sore, Wanting four gold pounds to pay Land-rent of the fields that day? Up she came when they were gone. Red the shawl that she had on. Ragged kirtle to the knee, Greener than the sally tree. "Bless your roof-thatch, lady kind; Cold the day and rough the wind — Let me sit on yon wee seat, Lady tall, to warm my feet." 26 THE BEGGARS BOWL 111 I thought to speak her no. In she came from frost and snow, On the wooden creepy small Sat her down in cap and shawl. Bowl of warm milk on her knee, Her blue eyes looked up at me — *'Hand that gives for kindness' sake Out of kindness' lap must take." "Sure," I laughed, "the cows are kind. Small your need that I would mind Giving what your bowl will hold, Bite and sup against the cold." Out she went when she was warm. Bag of white meal on her arm — "Gold and corn be in your store," So she blest me at the door. Shawn, my man, was far away, And the land-rent was to pay; Rough of voice and ill of look Him that brought the quarter's book. ^ THE BEGGARS BOWL Near my three blue rows of delf, Up I reached to touch the shelf. Three white crowns I had to pay What the man would ask that day. Och, 'twas ill to fret and frown ! Slow I took the silver down; Then I saw — keep still, my soul ! — What was in the beggar's bowl. Four gold pounds, and minted new — Och, my heart, what will I do? Will the kind hand-gift of such Curse me black at sight and touch? Father Flaherty came in. "Och, will it be soil or sin?" Sure, he laughed my fear away — "Let it soil the man you pay." Shawn came home. His purse was full. Warm we keep the creepy stool. Always by the good turf blaze Beggars sit on winter days. 28 THE BEGGAR S BOWL Grey old men, on weary feet, Bless me for the bite to eat. Hand that gives for kindness' sake Out of kindness' lap will take. 29 A SONG OF RED THINGS RED roses ! Nodding to me on the stem Through scented gloom, Ye fondle Eden's fragrance by the hem With hands of bloom. The velvet shadows of your petals hold In wondrous wise All tender magic of the new and old — God's painted sighs. What never breeze or wavelet could express He breathed in you — The secret word, wrought in a rose's dress, Of all He knew. Red hair! The splendid flower of womanhood, Rich fold on fold. Blossoms like burnished copper threads imbued With blood of gold. Such glory as tall angels learn to spin On bobbins seven. Whirring the wheels of rapture, void of sin, In some chaste heaven. 30 A SONG OF RED THINGS Such flame as, streaming on the wind of life, Sets hearts afire, Sharpening the swords of kings for madder strife Than world desire. Red leaves! With what a pomp the drifting year Falls to its close ! Gone is the poppy's laughter, and the clear Hue of the rose. What flaunting splendours mock the greyer sky, The flying cloud — Brave things, condemned, that wear, even as they die. Their liveries proud! Spent blood of Autumn, sprinkled on the sod Of a lost day, Staining the white and fragrant feet of God Who walks that way! 31 EARTH SONG HERE it is good to lie Under the sunburnt sky, To watch the lazy wing Of a bird too glad to sing, To hear the tall trees talk Where the dry leaf taps the stalk, And the summer wind goes by Making a laugh and sigh. Listen, with ear low down, To the kind earth hot and brown ! You can hear the world's pulse beat With a motion still and sweet; You can hear the tree-roots tell Of the thunder showers that fell And the murmur of the stones That in mellow undertones Answer softly, "All is well." Aye, but put your ear low down To the kind earth-bosom brown. Listen well, listen long. Can you hear the little song Lilting, lilting from below To a music that you know? 32 EARTH SONG What does the old world say, All the hours of all the day, Very lowly, very sweetly, That your heart may hear completely And be wise? Always is the word the same. Though the music changes often With the changes of the skies, 'Tis a happy woman's name. And the vowels round and soften To the ancient melody — The eternal you and me — That the earth for ever sings 'Neath the feet of clowns and kings. Here it is good to lie Under the sunburnt sky. To hear the old earth croon Beneath the yellow noon; And always to feel and know In the music's ebb and flow 33 EARTH SONG That you are the heart of all, As you are the heart of me, That ever in rise and fall The world's first minstrelsy Breathes to the grass above Only our love, our love. 34 FAIRY ROSE THE world was all white with the snow, But it made a cold darkness to me; 'Tis a heavy, long way he must go With a stick when a man cannot see. There's a house at the top of the glen, And there's one at the foot of the rise — Och, it's walking is hard on dark men, Though it's lightsome for them that have eyes. She came through the road in the trees, She set her soft hand in my own — "Will you buy a red rose, if you please. Dark man, that are walking your lone? ' 'Tis a penny in summer they are. But in winter they sell for a kiss. . . ." Och, I've travelled the land near and far And never heard talking like this. And would I be heeding at all A wild word like that she might speak? Sure, I laid my cold hand on her shawl — "Would you mock a blind man to his cheek?" 35 FAIRY ROSE 'Twas like a warm wind from the south, She lifted the rose small and sweet — "Will you give me a kiss on the mouth, Dark man with your eyes in your feet?" 'Twas a voice like a bird in the spring; And what would a man do at all? Och, she kissed like a butterfly's wing When it touches a weed on the wall. 'Twas lightsome. 'Twas more. . . . 'Twas the light- The blessed white light on the snow. Sure, that kiss gave a man his plain sight; I saw the small houses below. There was laughter along in the trees, And a patter of light-running feet — Och, the fairies are good when they please To the dark men they happen to meet. Sure, I went like a man in a dream Near the black hedges dropping the snow. And over the bridge at the stream To the little warm houses below. 36 FAIRY ROSE "Is it Ryan, the dark man?" they said, And the childer came round me to feel — "Is it eyes that you have in your head Since you went down the road to Kills:eel? " 'Tis the wonder of God to be sure! . . . ." And I thought of the girl on the hill. When the fairies will bring you the cure 'Tis best that your tongue should be still. And the spring came up over the land — Och, the wonder of blossom and tree ! For the world lay all new to my hand, With the sun throwing gold upon me. There's a house near the top of the glen, And there's one at the foot of the rise; And 'tis good to be seeing like men, With the long, open road in your eyes. But I think, will she come through the trees? Will she put her soft hand into mine? Will she say: "Buy a rose, if you please, Tall man that are seeing so fine? 37 FAIRY ROSE " 'Tis In winter for healing they are, 'Tis in summer to make your heart light — " Och, girl, I'll be looking too far. And 'tis hungry I am for one sight. Will she come like a bird in the spring? Och, what will a man do at all? Sure, she kist like a butterfly's wing, When it touches a weed on the wall. 38 A NEW ZEALAND FAIRY SONG RONA In the springtime plucked the snowy flowers, Made a crown to crown her queen beneath the rata tree, When there came a pattering of feet like August showers. And a pretty music-song of "Follow, follow me." Rona, with the snowy blooms in her golden tresses, Heard the little people, and she followed all the day. "Oh, and what will mother say if she only guesses How the pretty fairies came and whispered me away : Down among the feather-fern, down among the mosses, Up again across the stream, and by the river's brim, Where the saucy toi-toi all her soft hair tosses At the laughing water-bubble, after kissing him. On the music wandered, all through the dark and brightness. And Rona tried to catch it where the fuchsia berries grew. Sure she saw the glimmer of a little bonnet's white- ness. And in among the branches a little skirt of blue. 39 A NEW ZEALAND FAIRY SONG Down among the glossy green, beside the brooklet, shiging Over mossy boulders, and past the big white pine, Once, she came so near them, she heard their arm- lets ringing, And she saw the pretty jewels on their fairy fingers fine. All the day she followed them, and when the stars came peeping She saw their lamp-lights moving about in merry play. "Oh, and what will mother say when all the house is sleeping. And she knows the pretty fairies have taken me away?" Down the soft brown shadow-way, and up the moonbeam tripping. Across the bridge of morning, far and far from mother's knee. Stepping on the clouds and stars with never fear of slipping, She heard the pretty music-song of "Follow, follow me!" 40 CREATION THUS it was at eventide. All my soul was open wide, And the windows of my heart Summer's fingers held apart. Over trees a music fell, As of some far wind-stirred bell Tossing in a belfry high, Built In depths of moonlit sky. But no wind the near air stirred. Lightly as a spoken word Breathed within a lover's ear Dropt rose-flakes my casement near; And a white moth's dusty flight Made faint sound across the night. Shadowed faces came and went, Shadow eyes above me bent — Ghostly robe and veil and zone — Harvest of old dreamings sown In glad hours when bird and wing Filled the fallowed field of spring. Scarce I breathed in that still hour, Strange enchantment, rich with power, With white hands my longing prest Lightly to her silken breast. 41 CREATION Suddenly the silence thrilled ! Magic light my spirit filled, And the forms my dreamlngs wrought In full nets of truth were caught. Worlds were open to my ken Thronged with life and breathing men; Music from a woman's throat Edged with laughter seemed to float, And strange flutter of strange wings Winnowed thrones of gods and kings, While all woes that were and are Walled aloud to sun and star. Blood that all the years had bled. Tears that all the sins had shed, Raining wildly over me Held me in an agony; But through all there seemed to float Laughter from a woman's throat. Gardens gay with bloom and bird. Dusts a Pharaoh's chariot stirred, Lonely streams whose dappled shores Heard the plash of pilgrim oars Ere a royal secret hid 'Neath the oldest pyramid — 42 CREATION These In vision fair and fine For a holy hour were mine. Suns of oldest deserts set By the jewelled minaret; And the cave-man lean and white Stared soul-startled through the night. But through all there seemed to float Laughter of a woman's throat. Some white oread, wet with dew, Heard the pipes the shepherd blew On the hillside's thymy steep Where the long flocks loved to creep; And a little altar smoke Made blue shadows near the oak. Sun-browned gods, from worship free, Talked with maids on Ossa's knee. Bearded kings with furrowed brow Taught the oxen teams to plough; And a sudden clash of shields Rang across the Spartan fields. Where a wail of death arose From a town beset with foes. 43 CREATION There the long ships near the shore Moved to wind and slave-strained oar Bearing plunder of the south — Fairer slaves of redder mouth And the robes that queens desire, Purple from the looms of Tyre. These in vision clear and fine For a mystic hour were mine; But through all there seemed to float Laughter from one woman's throat! Horror on the death-choked air! Pits of darkness and despair Shudder 'neath the charnel lights, Where the red worm writhes and bites And the living dead strive on When all things but pain are gone; And an awful purpose heaves Through the slime that sobs and grieves, As if mammoth forms unborn Strove to reach the bitter morn When a hope, in Hope's despite, Yet might win them air and light That their stagnant lips might stain The red mouth of Faith again. . . . Yet o'er all there seemed to float Laughter of a woman's throat. 44 CREATION Shadow on the cloistered ways. Here no idle footfall strays, But with hood about his ears Talks the schoolman with his peers. Monkish books are stored within; Restless quills must strive to win From the ways the sages trod All that is of man and God, Following the laboured line Of a song of loves and wine, Lest within the script should hide Earth's last wonder, open-eyed. Salmon from the flowing stream — Tonsored heads have caught the gleam Of a sun that redly sets. Tinging learning with regrets For the open life and free. Heedless of philosophy; For through all there seemed to float Laughter of a woman's throat. All the things that I had dreamed In that hour about me streamed, Clear as in the well of youth Gleams the jewel light of truth. 45 CREATION I, the dream-creator, there Viewed my world through finer air; Strange, aloof from that I wrought, Saw the long, white lanes of Thought, Even as God may look to see Ages fainting at His knee. . . . Yet through all there seemed to float Laughter from a woman's throat. God whose dream in early spring Taught the youngest bird to sing. Filled a garden full of bloom For the first sweet bridal room, Winged the planets in their flight — Must He see as I this night? Must He hear o'er all things float Laughter from a woman's throat As the last and perfect thing Of His vast imagining? Hear its silver throbbing call Piercing sweetness through the gall, And its clear insistence still Mastering all thought and will? Must He hear? — Ah, God and T, Dreaming till all dreams run dry. 46 CREATION Faint before the perfect thing Of our own imagining. . . . Living woman that I wrote, By the laughter in your throat, By the dreams that come and die, Did God make you or did If 47 THE SILVER RING THE blue smoke came up from the thatch, The white walls were hot in the sun, The girl, with her hand on the latch. Looked in where her grey mother spun. Och, why would her eyes be so blue. And her hair like the night with no moon. And the small secret thing that she knew Go soft in her heart like a tune? "The brown goat is tied to the stone, And the milk is set warm in the dish; ni be leaving you, mother, your lone Till I bring you the two herring fish. "The ass with the creels is below. Coming up through the whins from the bay, And Carty, the pedlar, I know Will be walking from Innis this day." The grey mother looked from her wheel. Broke her thread at the half of the twirl — "Go along with your fish from the creel — 'Tis the pedlar that calls to you, girl." 48 THE SILVER RING She has past by the thorn on the rise, She has crost the brown path through the whins- Och, the thing that she saw with her eyes Where the wood on the hillside begins. She had dreamt that she found it last night, And, sure, 'twas the same in the day — A ring of bright silver as white As the scales on the fish in the bay. Now who would be leaving it there On the moss by the foot of a tree? 'Twas a thing for a young queen to wear. With her two idle hands on her knee Och, heart, would it fit on her hand, On her smallest white finger of all? Was it music came over the land? Was she hearing the strange voices call? The pedlar with ribbons and thread Stayed long at the foot of the rise. Och, girl, with black night on your head. He was sore for a sight of your eyes ! 49 THE SILVER RING The ass with the creels was away, With the herring fish new from the net, And the bare-footed childer at play Made shouts till the red sun had set. The night, with small stars and no moon, Came up salt with the smell of the sea — Och, heart, was it set to a tune, The wind that blew out of the tree? The grey mother sat in her shawl With no word, but her look on the door- Och, what was she dreaming at all Of the girl that came back nevermore? Was it patter of feet that came near? Was it voices that talked in the thatch? Did a girl laugh with never a fear As we heard a small hand on the latch? Och, put out sweet milk on the sill. For the Good Folk will come to the door. Think kind, close your eyes and keep still, If you hear a fine step on the floor. 50 VIKING SONG CLANG, clang, clang on the anvil. In the smithy, by the dark North Sea; Is It Thor that is smiting with the hammer? Is it Odin with the leather on his knee? Clang, clang, clang on the anvil, There are steel ships wanted on the sea ! Clang, clang, clang on the anvil, And the flames of the forges leap. Old Thor with his red beard glowing Has his eye on the furrows of the deep. Clang, clang, clang on the anvil. For the forge of the viking may not sleep. Clang, clang, clang on the anvil, And the hammers of the South Land leap. Australia with her bright hair glowing Has her eye on the furrows of the deep. Clang, clang, clang on the anvil. For the blood of the viking may not sleep. 51 VIKING SONG Clang, clang, clang on the anvil. On the margin of the sun-bright sea. Is it Odin that is watching in the shadow? Is it Thor where the sparks fly free? Clang, clang, clang on the anvil, There are steel ships wanted on the sea ! 52 THE SINGERS WE shall walk daintily in later dew On sweet, far mornings speaking these grave words, Wearing worn silver on our garments blue While spring is full of nests and cheeping birds. And when the clocks chime on, and hearts forget, We shall be very still, as are the wise, Nursing the dreams that make us fairer yet For the wide wondering of newer eyes. Above our heads shall soar large roof and dome. Long windows flaking colour through the gloom, Where the great music has its silent home And rich old bindings in the shadows bloom. But we shall rise and go away, away Down happy meadows to the calling seas, And speak all moments of the yellow day Or sing to moonlight in the lisping trees. 53 THE SINGERS Leaves rustle brownly in the autumn wind. All books shall fade. But, in a realm apart, We shall go fearlessly through all the blind, Green places of the ever-singing heart. And we shall hear and know, too glad for pride, The hot, sweet words our rebel dreamings hurled Against cold Thought's despair come as a tide Flooding across the evening of the world. 54 THE BALCONY THE moon's eye winked on the ruby wine, And a cunning moon was she, Fondhng with light the treUised vine On the balcony by the sea; And there the reddest cup was mine, The reddest cup of three. We drank to friendship and fortune's chance, And we pledged the love of two, And the cloud-caught moon looked down askance For the secret thing she knew — The touch of a hand and a maiden's glance. And a heart that was false and true. Three in the light of the passing moon, And one that spake farewell; We spilled the wine to an old heart's tune Or ever the long cloud fell; And tvvo were left, and the dark came soon With a traitor word to tell. One alone on the swaying ship Dreaming of love and friend — Oh, warm, warm joy of the close-pressed lip 55 THE BALCONY In the dusk where the shadows blend — Are there two with the wine of Hfe adrip, Spilt red to the scornful end? The chill dawn looked on the ruby wine, Corpse-pale she seemed to me, While a breath of green weed, wet with brine, Blew in from the faithless sea ; And a stained and broken cup was mine — Ah, God, we had broken three! 56 A SONG OF LITTLE GARDENS THERE'S a hum of quiet music in the deepen- ing of the twilight, Like far bells in distant valleys heard through lull of murmurous trees, Or the elfin chant that haunts us when the thin moon casts a shy light Down a happy wind-tossed mountain with a cornfield at its knees. 'Tis the song of little gardens, 'tis the song of quiet labour. Of the purple grapes in cluster and the rose upon the wall. Of the blue smoke climbing skyward and the kindly-nodding neighbour. And the moist, warm earth upbreathing its brown benison for all. Tall white angels, winging higher through the incense that enshrouds them. Striking with their slim, white figures chords with Godward longing tense. Pause and bend with eager faces through the mystery that clouds them, As that lower, sweeter earth-note trembles on their holy sense. 57 A SONG OF LITTLE GARDENS 'Tis the song of little gardens, weeded borders green and growing, Watered seed-beds faintly breathing where the starlight fires the dew, Youngest tendrils closely clinging, and the broad leaves softly blowing Over buds that kiss in darkness when the warm wind wakes anew. Where the drums of death are throbbing, and the fires of doom are burning. And the lightnings fork and shiver through the fields of God's despair, Where the torrent slaughter pouring hellward with each day's returning, Drowns the world in tears of madness, comes a murmur on the air. 'Tis the sigh of little gardens, trampled under foot and wasted, Of the withered leaf and blossom by the black and broken wall, Of the vine torn from the trellis, and the fruit that falls untasted. And the awful thing unburled where the weeds are rank and tall. 58 A SONG OF LITTLE GARDENS Through the world-cry and the darkness, stony grief, and fierce red sorrow. Through the war hymns and the shouting, through the victor's shuddering cheer. Comes the hope-voice, faint, but clearly borne on mist-wings of the morrow. Calling all the earth to quiet, making music of her fear. 'Tis the song of little gardens, better walled and safely guarded, With the large fruit hanging golden o'er the graves of broken kings; And the holy sweat of labour by the brown earth's gifts rewarded. With the peoples calm to listen while the warm, sweet summer sings. 59 IRELAND A GREEN and purple island of the sea, A red and very bitter story told, Flecked with the jewel-tales set deep in gold, And aching with the pride of memory. A stalwart people straining to be free; Yet in their bondage rich to have and hold More than broad Freedom's ample robes may fold Of all that fills the soul's fine treasury. Be still, my dream, my purpose and my love, O Island of White Saints and happy things Set to a mournful cadence in the west — Green graves below, a sorrowing mist above — Yet with a voice that down the ages sings Till men who never knew thee hold thee best! 60 HELLAS AT WATSON'S BAY THE wonder tale that Hellas told This hour is mine : The moony mountains lit with gold, The seas of wine, The large gods floating wingless down the world, The incense from dim woodland altars curled, The temples white, The magic of the briny-scented day Chasing the night, And all the young .Egean winds at play Piping delight. Beside the reeds the pool is blue As amethyst. The grass is wet with morning dew. The sun uprist Looks on i\thene's bosom, snowy bare, And all the marvel of her shining hair Tossed by the wind . . . The sweet fear of that beauty I have seen Has made me blind; And all the world is dark until my Queen I trembling find. 6i HELLAS AT WATSON's BAY Selene, climbing up the sky, Thinks me asleep; In Latmos it is good to lie Amid my sheep; In Latmos it is good to lie and sip The chaste, wild honey of her virgin lip On nights like this. When all her starry maids with laughter shake To know her bliss — Ah, sly, white Queen ! She faintly stoops to take From dreams a kiss. At Watson's Bay the sun is fair. The sea is blue; I find Athene standing there When I find you; And when along the harbour dusks at night I watch the steamers trail long feet of light Till the moon rise, Selene comes to kiss me on the lips With no surprise; And the old world into the new world dips In May's bright eyes. 62 WEED-TRYST OCH, what would you see in the weeds to-day, jNIoineen, Moineen, That you left your song and you left your play, Moineen, Moineen? The thorn's in bloom and the ash-tree's green, And a pedlar man's come up the way With a pack of brooches and ribbons gay; Now what would you see in the weeds to-day, Moineen, Moineen? Och, the water's green and the weeds are wet. What else would I see? There's a young cod fish, but I have no net. What else would I see? Now what would the water be saying to me? There a red weed there with a brown weed met. And five sea stars on a grey stone set. And where's the need for a girl to fret? What else would I see? Och, honey woman, you sit too long. Moineen, Moineen ! 'Tis a cold wet sight and the day goes wrong, Moineen, Moineen! F 63 WEED-TRYST Would you see dark things in the water green? Would you watch for a sight of the fairy throng With their speech so soft and their spells so strong? Och, girl, 'tis a sin to hear their song. Moineen, Moineen ! Now what would you make with your talk to me? And why would I rise? 'Tis a hole in the rocks with a sup of the sea. Och, why would I rise? Is it feared I'd be of a sight of my eyes? I'll gather my kirtle over my knee, And I'll lift the weed and let them free; So run and hide, if it's fairy or Shee, When I bid them rise. She has put her foot in the waters cold. Moineen, Moineen ! Come out, wild woman, the way you're told. Moineen, Moineen ! Och, sure, 'tis the strangest sight was seen. On a bed of weed with a crown of gold, With a silver staff for his hands to hold . . . Och, heart, 'tis a king of the days of old! Moineen, Moineen ! WEED-TRYST Is It dead he is or sleeping at all? Och, leave him lie ! Were the men of Emain so fine and tall? Girl, leave him lie ! Och, woman dear, 'tis a live man's eye; And the drawing tide begins to call. Was that a word that his mouth let fall? His breath comes up in the bubbles small. Och, leave him lie ! She has lifted his cold hand, wet with the sea. Moineen, Moineen ! She has raised his head on her naked knee. Moineen, Moineen! 'Tis his dripping arm round her kirtle green, 'Tis his gold crown slipt from his temples free, 'Tis his cold, blue eyes that look on me — Och, girl, that such things in the weed should be — Moineen, Moineen ! He has set a kiss on her mouth so red. Och, shame and fear! Her dark, sweet hair is over his head. Och, shame and fear ! 65 WEED-TRYST The tide comes up and the tide comes near .... And she will not rise till her word is said — Och, girl, but They make you a cold wet bed. . . . And the time goes slow with the sea-drowned dead- Och, shame and fear ! 66 MOON DREAM THE moon was all freckled with cloud, The pipes of the fairies were shrill; The tree pirouetted and bowed To the wind sweeping over the hill — It was good to be chasing a cloud, With the moon peeping over the hill. The lake of the sky was so blue, And the stars were like fish in a net. Now, what was night trying to do. Painting all the world amber and jet? The sky was a cloud-tufted blue, And the earth was all amber and jet. O girl, with the wind in your hair ! There's a dream running wild in my heart, The night has a moonbeam to spare To tie it and hold it apart — Oh, tie up my dream in your hair Lest the mad thing should try to depart! 67 PEN OF MINE PEN of mine, pen of mine, I will give you ink for wine And white paper for your play All a merry, windy day, When pond waters come lip-lapping On the grass And the laughing leaves are tapping On the window as they pass. I will give you ink for wine Till you dream a fancy fine. Pen of mine, pen of mine! Pen of mine, the world is grey, Making dead men all the day. Stamping sorrow in the clay; And a bitter chorus runs From the muzzles of the guns — Death is early, death is late! In his garments of black hate, Running youth and beauty after, How he slays the mirth and laughter Of the day! Let us play, 68 PEN OF MINE Pen of mine. I will give you ink for wine Till your starry fancies shine With a lilt in every ray. Pen of mine, pen of mine, We'll go gipsying again Over lands and blowing brine To our castles in old Spain, To the places that we know Where the yellow lilies grow. And the little lute-strings quiver To the dimples of the river, While the old delicious note Pulses from the whitest throat All the night till morning-shine. Pen of mine, pen of mine. There is laughter in the wine! Pen of mine, the days return; Happier suns are still to burn. Of our years the latest comer Shall bring back the first white summer. Shrill your pipes for ever. Pan, As when pinkest dryads ran 69 PEN OF MINE Blowing kisses, red and rude, To the satyrs in the wood And the f rohc thought went free Laughing over Arcady — Pen of mine, pen of mine, Drown the Gadarean swine ! Pen of mine, the Spanish Main Sees the silver ships in train. Fare we forth from Bristol town, Bold to take and bold to drown. Swings old time upon its hinge — Philip's beard is good to singe; Drake will answer to his drum Where they serve the reddest rum. Westward ho! and Eastward ho! Kiss me thrice before we go ! Homeward bound ! The Asian air Tingles to the spices rare. We shall find an Arab tent Wider than a continent Till, with all our canvas free, We round the bend of Memory, Seeking with our jolly crew That first music laughter blew. 70 PEN OF MINE Blow, Pan, blow ! And here's the Devil Come hot-foot to grace the revel. With the clown and pantaloon, And elfin dances 'neath the moon, Orpheus and the Muses Nine And Venus smiling from the brine, With Prester John and Paul and Peter And Rosamund, with Hal to greet her. And jolly friar and modern ranter And Quilp and Punch and Tam o' Shanter- Blow high, blow low ! The world shall go To the mad dance it used to know ! For pen of mine, pen of mine, There's wine in ink and ink in wine. 71 THE HOLY THING IT was a palmer, hand on staff, Came back from Holy Land. He trolled a song, I heard him laugh Along the yellow sand. The sun was drowning in the sea; And of good heart he bore A token found in Galilee Beside the ancient shore. Fair was the wood and smooth and black, Dovetailed and square and true; The box was strapped upon his back For Christian men to view. The palmer, with his staff and shell, To bench and workshop sought, That Christian carpenters might tell How fair the joints were wrought. "What thing is this that he would show?— God's love's the Devil's loss! — This is no wood, as well we know. Nail-marked of holy cross!" n THE HOLY THING "No wood of holy cross," he cried, And paused that all might see, ' 'Tis wood of holy sweat and pride Hand-wrought in Galilee. "Of holy pride and holy sweat And skilful hand it came — More price upon this sign I set Than on His cross of shame." He trolled a stave, I heard him laugh; Of all good heart was he. The palmer leaning on his staff Beside the sunset sea. "Oh, holy sweat and holy breath! — God's love's the Devil's bane! — Oh, holy saw of Nazareth ! Oh, holy square and plane! "Stooped at a bench below a tree He wrought it fair and true — Look, Christian carpenters, and see The work the Lord could do!" 72, CAVE NIGHT THE lusty cave-men hold their revels deep, Drinking from carven cups of mammoth bone, Where rotted apples a red fever keep, Brimming in blackened vats of hollow stone. The bear-fat lamps stream with a smoky flare. And in the flickering shadows, far apart, The red maid, wonderful amid her hair. Grapples the dragon-slayer to her heart. The ponderous silent feet upon the floor Tread a mad measure to a beaten skin; Red, like the wolf-eyes at the cavern door, Hag-glances pierce the heavy dark within. The dancers, fierce with thirst, their limbs unloose, And clutching dripping cups of mammoth bone. Drain the red fever of the apple juice. Rotted in blackened vats of hollow stone. 74 IN GREEN AND BLUE GREEN is for tired eyes, Blue for a long thought; Old and very wise Are the lessons the sky taught. But folly lives in the green; And the green for me Under the rustling sheen Of a laughing tree. Sea that is very blue As I look from the hill, Old and wise are you When the winds are still: Old and wise am I When my heart is slow; I have looked at the old sky, And I know — I know. Sea that is very green In the lapping pool. Close have I looked and seen, Where the weeds are cool. 75 IN GREEN AND BLUE How the dimpled folly goes In laughter and sighs, Rippling the water that knows More than the wise. Sky that is very blue, If my heart could stand And look at the heart of you From the highest land. Would I find green folly there Laughingly rise Through the pools of the dimpled air That seem too wise? Green is for merry heart, Blue for a long thought; Would ye tear with a word apart The lesson the world taught? Blue and green of fine weather! God bless the laughter and sighs That go always together In the heart of the wise ! 76 CHILD SONG OF THE RAIN LITTLE green rain from the dark of the sky; I am sure you are green, for the grass was so dry, And you painted it over and made it all spring Till the little birds listening could hear the blades sing. And somebody peeping Saw God Himself weeping, With the world for a handkerchief pressed to His eye. Perhaps He was crying for Brian and me. For the little birds chirped and were happy and free; And we must stay in with a doll and a book. And could only tiptoe to the window and look Through a sprinkly old pane. While the little green rain Was kissing the spiders away from the tree. Little green rain, go away by and by. And tell the good sun to come out in the sky; And if God feels so sorry for Brian and me. Just tell Him how cleanly you've washed His old tree, And perhaps He'll be kind. And to-morrow we'll find He's spread His big handkerchief nicely to dry. 77 IMMORTALITY THERE shall be nights of weeping And shining morns after. Into our hearts will come creeping Happy world laughter. Heart of me, God's red mouth Has a full wind for blowing Music out of the south Over green things growing. The eyes in our head May be dim with the salt tears falling; But surely, surely the rose is red And the birds are calling! With word-sheaves to bind us, The fields of their harvest grow white; But God never meant darkness to blind us When He gave us the night. Thought sits late and pale With a hard crabbed book for the reading; And daylight and lampshine may fail, But would we be heeding? 78 IMMORTALITY Would we be heeding who know ? Let them mock us and leave us ; For Love, scraping tunes with his bow, Will never deceive us. And 'tis up and away to the places Beyonti and afar Where the laughter on all the kind faces Is rayed like a star. Heart of me, was it God made laughter? Would He let a tear come Splashing His bright work hereafter And drowning it dumb? Grave mould is death to their thinking Who never yet knew How the worms under green grass are winking At all that they do. But we know, Heart of me, I have read it Deep down in your eyes, Where God Himself seven times said it To make my heart wise. 79 IMMORTALITY Life is the end of life, Not dying and sorrow; And a star has a star for wife Yesterday and to-morrow. And I have you to love me Each day and the fine day after, As sure as God above me Made laughter! 80 THE MOON-GIRL THE white moon touched the sea, And the moon-girl came to me Out of the gossamer night On sandals of still light. Her lustrous arms were bare, And all her cloudy hair. Star-fondled, golden, free. Fell softly over me. She warmly leaned to mine Lips redder than red wine — The young gods die who miss Such wonder of a kiss. The wannth of her white breast Spake mysteries of rest. And all my soul was wise With marvel of her eyes. As in a happy dream, All Nature seemed to stream Around us a slow tide Of Life beatified. 8i THE MOON-GIRL I know not how she went. . . . The grey Morn, from her tent, Looked o'er the leaden sea. And laughed all mockingly. Pale, on the pallid shore, I saw the waves outpour Spent treasure of the deep, Wrought in the looms of Sleep. And I, of peace forlorn. Walked in the young day's scorn- I whom the moon-girl kist Out of the gossamer mist. 82 A SILENT POET THERE is a poet who has made no rhyme, Who never stirred upon a vibrant lyre One crystal phrase of song, who never wrought Deep rhythms, slow-furnaced in a minstrel fire. And battered with the anvil blows of time. No trick of tune or melody he caught From happy singing bird, or marching days. Or hoary forest, scented with the spring. When all the airs were glad with bloom and wing, And young Joy danced a-down the greener ways. The inner voices of the quiet hills. That breathe when all men sleep, have spoken oft Clear words to him alone. The mystic sea, Fondling the sand with white foam-fingers soft. Bore whispers of that secret thing that thrills Its weedy caves. The high winds, blowing free Out of star silences, have deeply sung To his rapt soul; and morn and eventide Have steeped him In a melody that cried Like smitten harp-strings when Delight was young. 83 A SILENT POET The purple vine, whose trellis is the world, O'erarched him with its branches, and lush grapes Dropped a red blood of magic-ripened wine Within his chalice. From the fretted capes Of far dream-islands, where the scented pine Raised its dark banners to the clouds that curled Over a thought-wide ocean, his clear eyes Gazed long and far. Sometimes a wand'ring keel Out of the keen, bright dawning seemed to steal — An opal gleam against the painted skies. The mighty liturgies of Life and Time Pealed a deep undertone within his soul; And all sweet living things filled him with song. Love, Memory and Death, that ever roll Slow tides of music, welling full and strong, Bathed him in thunder harmonies. Wild rhyme Of Hope, a-tingle on the swaying air, Filled all the pearly time of dawn and dew; And in storm-stricken darknesses he knew The organ-wailings of a world's Despair. 84 A SILENT POET His heart and lips were touched with altar-fire, Yet was his voice unheard, nor did his hand Write large imaginings in singing phrase For men to read; and few could understand How the green chaplet of a poet's bays Still clasped his brow. His heart-strings were his lyre; And evermore his full, clear days would trace The lyric thrill, the epic thunder-roll. And the vast, moving drama of the soul In finely written lines upon his face. 85 WRECKERS THE sea is blowing red wine up the roaring strait — Casks they filled in Portugal are knocking at the gate. Throw the thorns upon the flame; give them cheer and light — A London ship with tattered sails will find the rocks to-night. The sea is blowing white spray — hear them grind their teeth, All the reefs of Inverdare hiding black beneath! Whips are in the sloping rain hissing on the straw That burns to bring the red wine with no king's law. The wind has brought a great cry; the breaking timbers roar — A wet face, a cold face, is drifting to the shore; But brim the cup and laugh your fill, there's wine and wine to spare — The casks they hooped in Portugal are loose at Inverdare ! 86 HAUNTED MEMORY TWILL go on to the sunrise, taking the road as it winds Beyond three trees and a broken gate and a great house that cannot see — Because the windows are shuttered over the ragged blinds And there is none within it to open the door to me. But there is a hedge in blossom, and a scent of honey is blown Always out of the garden if one should loiter and pass; And it seems like a place that sometimes at evening I must have known. Walking with shining feet when the dew was wet on the grass. But I will go on to the sunrise, for over the hills is the sea. Making a murmur on rocks and lifting the salt brown weed. And a yellow flower on the cliff that is flaunting a petal free. While the stem below the blossom is heavy with ripening seed. HAUNTED MEMORY I never have looked from the hill, but I know how the headland runs, Caved and crumbling, to shelter a small boat near to the sand; And the quiet water flashes a thousand swift little suns That the breeze chases out to the ocean and hurries back to the land. I will come back from the sunrise, taking the road past the door. By the rusted gate that is broken and the hedge and the silent trees; For surely a ghost walks with me who has been here too often before, Hearing a sob in the water and a grief in the moan of the bees. MARGARET SOUL of my soul, I did but have and hold For one short hour a costly living pearl, Set in a treasure of pure-hearted gold, And all the worlds are homeless while I miss The warm, clear laughter of one dark-eyed girl. In the immeasurable sum of things, I float as floats a feather down the wind. Hearing a beating as of waves and wings, And murmurs of an elemental tide. Far swaying to the thought of cosmic mind. The coloured marbles of this universe Spin on through countless sunsets. Balls of flame Play with their lustrous shadows through the stress Of timeless ages and forgetful days; And no star knows who makes or mars the game. Shrouded in words are all the worlds and ways. Paths in the endless woods of arching thought, Where lost imagination vainly strays Under tall branches, and the yellow sun Seems but a fancy in green meshes caught. MARGARET There is no height of vision to be won, No open space beyond the boles and leaves; But every way the shadowy mazes run With never hint of ending, till the night A solemn curtain of deep darkness weaves. And if beyond the blackness there be light Of clearer stars, or but the utter peace Where words fall meaningless, and thought and sight Droop wearied wings for ever, who can tell? The play goes on whether we dream or cease. The play goes on. Vast tides, in ebb and swell. Draw light and force to world-shores darkly known; Flotsam and jetsam tremble, like the shell Tossed white at midnight on the sandy shore. Where all the grasses of the dunes are blown. What winds between the worlds a white soul bore. Bent like a lily in the soundless deep. To cast in stranger meadows? Never wore This world so fair a blossom on her heart As that frail sweetness that it could not keep. 90 MARGARET For her I hold the curtained dark, apart, As I would hang upon the knees of God, And force His eyes to answer. Echoes start From the astonished silence, and I fall, Blinded, from ways no foot of man has trod. Down the dark steep I hear an angel call : "Seek not to follow, 'tis enough for thee To hold the sweetness of an hour in thrall . . ." And, rippling to my feet, I feel the flow Of the sun-cherished, hungry-hearted sea. The rose and all her sisters richly grow On summer-fondled stems. The magic fire Of dawn and evening sets the world aglow ; The noon has played the spendthrift with his gold; But all their splendours match not my desire. In conquering dreams my empty hand can hold The universal glory as a pearl. Costly beyond the gift of singers old Who swayed imperial strings; yet, holding, miss The living laughter of one dark-eyed girl. 91 THE INVENTORS RATHMOR made a flying spear When the woods and we were young, Barbed with copper, burnished clear. From a leathern thong it sw^ung — Rathmor taught the world to fear When the woods and we were young. Down the glen across the stream, Where the tribesmen's smoke arose, Rathmor's shaft with flying beam Smote a terror through our foes — Down the mosses of the stream Terror crept upon our foes. Carul taught a cord to sing When the dimpled world was fair. With its fitful murmuring Loading all the summer air — Carul taught a thong to sing Tickled with a bow of hair. Up the rocks and through the glen Carul's music crept afar, Smote upon the ears of men 92 THE INVENTORS Couching under pine and star — Carul's music brought to men Dreams of wonder blown afar. Colgar taught a tree to plough When the earth was soft with rain, Scratched a sleepy v^alley's brow, Made the furrows rich with grain — Colgar scratched a valley's brow When the land was soft with rain. Up the coverts winding free Huntsmen passed with hound and horn, Threshing straw beneath his tree, Colgar fed the world with corn — Corn was good beneath his tree While the huntsman wound his horn. Rathmor, Carul, Colgar still Ply their trades beneath the sun, Spear and corn and music fill All the space that man has won; Flying spears upon the hill Guard what plough and string have won. 93 THE INVENTORS Colgar makes a tree to plough, Carul makes a thong to sing, Rathmor bids the nations bow To the shaft his hands can fling; Carul bids the peoples bow When the plough and spear shaft sing 94 THE DANCERS KEEFE came up from Banagh fair Drunk as decent man could be — "Girl with night upon your hair, Will you dance a jig with me?" Och, the wind was mad that night, Playing capers in the moon. All the fairies, tripping light, Brought their pipes to set the tune. Quick and quicker went their feet — Arms on hips and chins held high — Sure, with music made so sweet Lamest heels would learn to fly. Och, a girl to dance like this Must be kind of lip and waist. Keefe was hungry for her kiss. Thinking long her mouth to taste. Happy breath the pipers blew. Fairies clapped their hands with glee; Keefe, while hot brogues hotter grew, Burst his breeches at the knee. 95 THE DANCERS Morning light — och, man, for shame! Black the sin upon your head. Wind and moon may share the blame — Surely you have danced her dead! Keefe looked sober, strange, and wise; Spread before him, cold and still. Sure, he saw with his two eyes Kelly's scarecrow on the hill. y6 FOR JUDGMENT WHEN Gabriel blows his judgment horn Across the land and sea, And every man of woman born Stands forthright nakedly, What friend of mine will face that morn And speak a word for me? Along the yellow of the street The loud accusers come With bills of life that I must meet — (I fear the total sum May make my bankruptcy complete) — Will all my friends be dumb? The many things I did not do, The things I did too well, Offences old, offences new Against my soul must tell, When very near and very blue Appear the flames of Hell. But that I wandered in the night. Bear witness every star; That, doing wrong, I strove for right 97 FOR JUDGMENT And cast my thoughts afar, With longings that were all as bright As angels' pinions are. Bear witness, little clouds that swim Across the front of day, How in large dreamings, golden-dim, My best hours passed away, Waiting, as wait the seraphim. My debts to God to pay. Bear witness all the moving air That heard my spoken choice — The lispings of a thought so fair It scarce could find a voice. Yet sought amid a world's despair To bid a world rejoice. Bear witness — nay, the scales are still Against me as I stand ! The word of stream and field and hill Meet not my sin's demand — I strove with dreams a cup to fill Still empty in my hand. 98 FOR JUDGMENT What witness more? A woman speaks. "He loved me well," she cries; "I thought I saw the highest peaks Of shining paradise Where wonder unto wonder seeks Within his clouded eyes." The balance moves but by a hair, For well the Judge must know The tenderness that women wear Though man should work them woe — And she was young and very fair, For Love had told her so. The hour of judgment passes by. Will no voice speak for me? A little tremor thrills the sky, Faint but persistently; And, in the crowd, the Ji-idge's eye Seems one small child to see. A laughing boy with dimpled hands, I hear him stand and call. The watchers over seas and lands 99 FOR JUDGMENT Can mark the balance fall. And the Judge hears and understands- "He played the best of all!" Were it of love or idleness, When Gabriel splits the sea And angels tread from out the press Wine of eternity, One romping game and long caress Will plead to Heaven for me. 100 DANNY'S WOOING »A I ^WAS the spring in the air A And a laughter that ran Under Murna's black hair To the heart of a man; With the sloe-bush in leaf And the wet clover green — Och, April, you thief, Is it love that you mean? 'Twas her mother's white goat On the side of the hill, And the rain on my coat With the sun laughing still, And the thought of her eyes — Sure, my heart is a gift. In the black of surprise. When her eyelashes lift! 'Twas the word that I spoke With the wind blowing clear. And the small sob that broke In my throat full of fear — DANNY S WOOING "Och, Danny," she said, "There's the white cream to set And the pigs to be fed, And you're plaguing me yet." Would she slip past the door? Och, her tongue was too wise; But I listened far more To the look in her eyes — "Sure, stay and be kist;" . But she turned by the wall With a fine-lady twist Of her neck and her shawl. 'Twas the spring in the air And a laughter that ran With the toss of her hair To the heart of a man — "Och, Murna, come out. Girl of dreams, and be kist" — But she hit me a clout With the white of her fist. 102 DANNY S WOOING Would she slip past the door? Sure, her mouth was too red, With the cheek of me sore, And those eyes in her head. Troth, I kist her too well — Twenty times at the least . "Now, Danny, we'll tell A small word to the priest." 103 THE ADVENTURERS WE drove our prows across the light Of many a sunset's spreading fire; We raised new stars as pale and white As lilies of a nun's desire. We brushed the silver dawn apart By shining continents untrod; We felt the mystic winds that start Clean-winnowed from the robes of God. We touched at many a purple port Mast-thronged with silken-corded ships; On sailor-leave we held our sport With winsome wine and scarlet lips. We saw the walls of temples hung In lace of light from pillars high, Wrought by an artist's hand who flung His dreams in stone against the sky. We felt the awe of things divine Where priestly voices chanted deep. And all the dim air seemed to shine With lustrous breath of gods asleep. 104 THE ADVENTURERS At morn we stirred our anchor chain, And, gliding down a rosy sea, We heard the salt airs smite again A harp of wilder fantasy. Upleaped the waves, outsprang the storm. Wild hands clapped thunder through the sky. Draped in large cloud we saw a form Tremendous as our doom go by. The lightnings split the crashing world, An arch of flame the darkness spanned; Tossed as a leaf our ship was hurled On gleaming shores of silver sand. The tempest died, the broad sun laught On blue lagoon and purple palm. The plumes of seabirds seemed to waft A languid ecstasy of calm ; And through the tall, dark stems was seen A winged palace of delight, Against the pale sky lifting green Its soaring peaks of malachite. 105 THE ADVENTURERS A sweep of song. The doors flew wide. With silver armlets crashing free, Each blushing as a happy bride, Came forth a white-robed minstrelsy. They led us in, they made us cheer; Ripe laughter sped the happy day, Till one lone star shone pale and clear And warm night kissed the sun away. The silken webs beneath our feet Were woven with an opal fire, And, drowned in siren music sweet. We pressed the lips of red Desire. The envious moon with fingers white Beat at the lattice window wide; The young sun came with merry light And tossed a rose to every bride. The clear day spake no word of wrong, By night the kind stars burned above; Life rippled into happy song, And every cadence died In love. io6 THE ADVENTURERS And did we stay seven wild, sweet years? Time lived not on our smiling isle; Men build the almanac with tears; Our days, our weeks were all a smile. But once upon the midnight deep We heard a wailing far away, A cry as of all souls that keep Tryst with the ghosts that walk in grey; And once a wind of evening blew A sobbing as of worlds in pain Out of a wandering cloud to strew Our path with hot, salt tears of rain; And once we heard the clash of steel, And once a trumpet shrilling death — Oh, joy of life, that we should feel That sudden catching of the breath! Of each white love we begged a braid, In sweet remembrance, of her hair; From drifted shreds of wreck we made A high-beaked shallop frail and fair. 107 THE ADVENTURERS Dear hearts, farewell! We go to win Crowns that with crusted jewels burn, Hold sweet the keys to let us in When, victor-weary, we return ! A breeze that wandered round the world Blew speed into our questing sail. The summer waters lightly curled And broke before us lily pale. Three days we ploughed a dimpled sea, Three nights we watched the soft stars die, Until a land of witchery Crept up and purpled half the sky. We saw the crested pine trees wave O'er valleys wide of tilth and corn. And battled turrets flaunted brave A thousand banners to the morn. A crescent harbour washed the feet Of walls with wet weed trailing green. Where wave-worn bastions ran to meet Their shadows in the water's sheen. 1 08 THE ADVENTURERS The people gave us greeting fair, The sea-gates opened at our call ; And up tall flights of marble stair We sought a sultan's audience hall. Though high our bearing, few our words, A royal gift was ours to bring — The promise of our thirsty swords Was meetest offering to a king. We took an oath with solemn breath. An oath reclaimed in deserts wide, Through red years wounded to the death Before the hot steel of our pride. The summers grew, the winters pined, A thousand trumpets blared our fame. And down a war-tormented wind Flamed the long terror of our name. Backward on wings of triumph borne Along the sunset's path we prest; Ripe with large deeds, and battle worn. We soothed our souls with dreams of rest. 109 THE ADVENTURERS The land-gates opened at our call, The city gave us welcome fair — Oh, dreary was the Sultan's hall. Our hearts were on the seaward stair ! We longed for silver beaches bright, For purple palm and blue lagoon. And magic halls of malachite That sheltered love against the moon. Oh, clinging music in the dark! We pined for sweet white arms and dear. Haste, haste the hour when we embark — The laurels of our fame grow sere ! The crescent harbour faded far. The wide sea drowned the land away. The clear dusk blossomed with a star. The hooded night put on her grey. Night paled. The dawn came red with pain. Above a dark and angry sea We heard the salt airs smite again A harp of wilder fantasy. no THE ADVENTURERS Upleaped the waves, outsprang the storm. Wild hands clapped thunder through the sky; Draped in large cloud we saw a form Tremendous as our doom go by. The blind spray smoked from ridges green, We fled before the shouting gale, The curving waters seemed to lean Above the straining mast and sail. Seven days the loud seas laughed in scorn, And when their voices died away The silver sword that smote the morn Was herald of a shoreless day. Adown the waters of the noon, Across the ocean of the night, By dawn, and dusk, and star, and moon We seek our Island of Delight. The months go by, the slow years die; But somewhere on the pale sea's breast Our eyes shall know the palms that lie Close-mirrored in the pools of rest. Ill THE ADVENTURERS Our beards are hoar, the spent fires burn To ashes In the hope we keep; But cold and weary we return, If not to Love, at least to Sleep. 112 DARK ROSALEEN DARK ROSALEEN* I. ON a shining silver morning long ago God made Ireland and you, While His garden angels taught the green to grow, Walking softly in the tears of His dew. They had seven fine crocks of yellow seed, Seven slips of the Heaven-bushes tall. And seven holy bees for honey-mead, But you. Heart, never there at all. Then God felt up with fingers white In the blue where the great blooms are. And He plucked from the branches of the light His youngest and best-loved star. He set it, with the wonder of His hand, In the brown mould crying in the dew Till it grew to a blossom in the land, And, Heart, but the face of it was you. * Dark Rosaleen is the accepted translation of Roisin Diibh, one of the mystic names for the Spirit of Ireland. 115 DARK ROSALEEN God made Ireland for love, With a green dress trailing on the sea, And one star less up above. But the Dark Rosaleen for me. II. Mist over a far sea And fields purple and green; And 'tis there surely that I would be With the old things seen, With the old things I remember. And the old things I forget, By the turf fire of December Or the June hedges wet. There's a tree my mother's father With his own hand set; There's a well I'd drink at rather Than all streams met; There's an old gate swinging In a low, grey wall — And, och, for thrushes singing When the apple blossoms fall ! ii6 DARK ROSALEEN Light over a far sea; And there Sleive Donard looks With more thoughts to bring to me Than all brown books, Than brown books with gold bands And pages yellow old ; For the blue mountain understands All a heart can hold. 'Tis far away and far to keep, And winding is the road, And I have fifty fields to reap With white corn sowed; But the old things that were very fair, And the old things I forget, And a woman's head with soft, grey hair Are living with me yet. 117 DARK ROSALEEN III. This is my country: where the old, green mosses Cling to the stone and stem, And the low, wet wind that the small field crosses Sets on the weed a dripping diadem Of sweet new tears for the old and bitter way. And always my own tears start. Under the laughter down in my heart. For something lost in the grey Of a ghostly yesterday. This is my country: where the warm wind singing Through the kind flutter of trees Is always a new thought delicately bringing Up from the chatter of girlish seas, Petulant seas that the jewels of sunrise borrow To flash on the tears that start, Out of the laughter up from my heart. For something of older sorrow That clings to the soul of to-morrow. ii8 DARK ROSALEEN This is my country: wherever God goes walking Down the clear, windy ways, And the quiet people that were and are are talking Of great things and great days; For you are there, with the flower of Hope in your hand ; And always the glad tears start Deep in the heart of my heart. And I seem to understand That the world is Ireland. 119 DARK ROSALEEN IV. Green rain over the land And green grass under the moon; For the wind, with a cool hand And a long mother-croon, Has drawn the clouds away To let the good light through, That a fine shadow may play With a thought fine and new. Fine thoughts in the night Walk over growing green, And here will I have sight Of my Dark Rosaleen, Sight and touch of her hand, And we will talk together Words of a green land In green night weather. The rain went over soon — Och, sorrow for days gone 1 And there's the white moon That shines on and on, 120 DARK ROSALEEN Shines into the heart of me, With a soft laugh in her light, For a day's dark memory And a clear, fine night. We two had gone together When blood was in the rain, And the wild, red weather Sobbed in long pain; But far across the land The moon in nights green Gave me joy of the hand Of my Dark Rosaleen. 121 DARK ROSALEEN V. Soul to soul have we gone through the lilt of the years, Man-heart to woman-heart singing all the long way. Queen were you in the harvest and queen in the midst of the spears; And a king of a queen am I In service or play. Brightens the front of battle under an angry star. Not in the shelter you waited, nor ever shall wait; But poising the dart beside me, in the maddened rush of the car. With our hair blown back and mingled, you look in the eyes of Fate. Darkens the front of battle — blood on the grass at our wheels — The stricken horses fall, foaming with gusty breath — And your white arm about me as a lost world breaks and reels, With the voice of your courage speaking into the black of death. DARK ROSALEEN VI. Murmur of voices in rooms near and far. The night had grown old and old .... Whispered the tree without, and a lonely star Looked down through the window cold. (Here is my grave made, grey and not green.) The wounds of my soul were chill ; And hope, dropping like blood my fears between, A thin life seemed to spill. Would I live for this, would I live for a cold thought Of your voice mine no more? I knew the tone, but never a word I caught On the wrong side of the door. The wall was a grave wall, grey and not green . . . I went from your voice for a while That my soul might die under white stars seen, Or breathe if a star could smile. Yesterday I was young, with a song in my heart; But the voices were close and cold. With your voice speaking strangely apart, And I had grown old and old. 123 DARK ROSALEEN VII. I think my mother with brown hair came here Out of a quiet place. Where she had rested well, green year on year, With leaves above her face. Death had not held her in brown earth and cold. But, happier trees among, God took her to a garden sweet and old Because she was so young. She came to me with very quiet eyes. Full of still light that crept Out of long dreams that made her starry-wise All summers that she slept. I had been far across a stony hill And down a glade of thorn, And tasted of all fevered springs that spill The waters of red scorn. I thought my mother with brown hair came here And on my loneliness Set one white hand of cool and holy cheer In tenderest caress. 124 DARK ROSALEEN She had not passed the brambles and the stone, Nor known my withered land ; Yet, when I faltered, weary and alone, God made her understand. VIII. In the grey quiet of morning the voices were still; Among the roses you walked with head bent low. Fear, with fingers of silence, tapped at my window- sill; Yet my heart, though it trembled, seemed to feel and know. You had come back to me, back from the words of the night. Back from the voices that seemed so far and so near. Among red roses you walked, and your face was white; But your voice in my heart was mine to love and hear. 125 DARK ROSALEEN IX. My Love Is the voice of a song Out of green leaves, Blown in the dusk along, Over hedges and sheaves, Down to a quiet place Below the hill Where the darkening water's face Is very still. My Love is a light and a sign; For all through the heavy night, When never a star will shine, Her hand is white, Leading me, leading me Over the misty hollow And hill to the sea .... Heart, let me follow ! My Love is the grace of God. With bare feet will I walk To her over the black sod And the bruised flower on its stalk; 126 DARK ROSALEEN For she has the pity of years, And my heart goes clean, Washed with her holy tears, Of dark things seen. My Love is a white girl With lips like a June rose; And under a brown curl I whisper what no one knows. For, oh, woman of mine, 'Tis all the world I would miss If daylight and night-shine Were not in your kiss. 127 DARK ROSALEEN X. The White Birds made a flutter in the land, And the birds of the Glad Heart were they, Where April rainbows wetly, sweetly spanned The green world that blossomed into May. Down the furrows of the long field they came. And the glad White Birds went on before. By the eyes of them I knew their ancient name — Would I bid them all good evening at the door? I will make a little shrine in green of trees, In a secret place of worship will I stand; For very sweet and wonderful are these, The old, white gods of my own land. XI. Thank God for truth under trees, Or in open grass When the Little People please To trippingly pass. 128 DARK ROSALEEN The kings have not seen them going Because their hearts are blind; But the great winds are blowing And the wide night is kind . . . . And there's a happy fiddle That splits leafy June Clean through the middle With a quick fine tune; And when the summer's broken For all the world to see, Words shall be spoken Under bush and tree As clear as water lying In old stone wells — For words have wings for flying And tongues hke bells — And we'll have done with seeming, And find what old years knew. That days are only dreaming And fairy nights are true. 129 DARK ROSALEEN XII. God made his. world green, And a fool with a knife made it red. I stand with my Dark Rosaleen Counting the graves of our dead; But the children go by — White, shining children with a green banner above them — Pointing faith to a clean sky In a world made to love them. Green over red ! And this is Saint Padraig's day — Hope goes like wine to the head That God will have His way! 130 DARK ROSALEEN XIII. I think I have not hated any man, Nor laid on any hving heart the guilt Of the wrong things done since wrongs began ; But I hate the black walls men have built, I hate the walls that shut the prison in, And the walls that shut the poor man out, The walls where the black guns grin, And the walls where the quick wheels shout. Wide is the world and very green, And the white winds think no wrong; And 'tis there that my Dark Rosaleen Has always laughter In her song. But out in the cold and the wet. When the hard doors close upon us all, For a thousand years have I met My White Love weeping by the wall. 131 DARK ROSALEEN XIV. My Love goes out In a green dress, And her face is like a flower, And red, red are her lips to press All the white hour. I will walk far at her side Up and down the day, Lest any wind should see my bride And blow a thought away. And very near her will I sit When she takes her rest To watch the little sighs flit Like moths about her breast. And when the sky is dark above And good stars peep. They'll know the way that happy love Kisses kind sleep. 132 DARK ROSALEEN XV. I know a place where little waters sing Under waving cresses by a green mossy bank; And the high brown hills have a shadow there to fling, And the trees stand rank on rank. There will I make a garden and fence it round with stone, With five currant bushes near the gate; And pansies for your thoughts when you walk there alone And a white rose to whisper while you wait. But I will go afar in the green world, up and down. Hunting songs with a fiddle and a bow; And you will watch me coming when the dusk grows brown By the turn of the road we know. There in our garden at the ending of the day. When the wind comes lisping from the south, I will show the spoil I won and take for my pay Seven fine kisses on the mouth. 133 DARK ROSALEEN And all night long will the little waters sing, One song that they never can forget, Of the sun that is waiting a new day to bring That is always the best day yet. 134 DARK ROSALEEN XVI. Put the horn to your mouth and blow Up the valleys and over the sea. Let all the great winds know That Ireland will be free. Put the horn to your mouth and blow — Victory, Victory! Not with the beat of a drum, Rolling anger over the grass. Will the great, white wonder come Surely to pass; But one will be making a song, And one will be saying a prayer Till out of their hearts will go all the wrong And shame that was there — Carried away on a song, Won to grace on a prayer. Put the horn to your mouth, Blow over land and sea. For the North will kiss the South A kiss full and free — 135 DARK ROSALEEN The kiss of a holy love That the White Watchers above Call Victory. Proudly, proudly will the tall men go, Working a clean plough and a new spade. By the way they carry their heads shall all men know There is a light in their hearts that will not fade. But they will build well with good stone. And they will dig well in free land; And the fair thing and the rare thing that is theirs alone Will be singing till the world can understand. Put the horn to your mouth and blow ! Who is it walks like a queen? Heart of my heart, I know; It is you, my Dark Rosaleen. It is you with the breath of your mouth Calling the North to the South, Calling the years to be free. Calling to land and sea — Victory ! Victory ! 136 DARK ROSALEEN XVII. It is the voice of a child Piping up the years to come. How hav^e the harvests smiled, How have the sorrows grown dumb ! God walks far in the green, With His foot wet in the dew; Would He speak to my Dark Rosaleen The secret word that He knew? It is a child's song Piping through summers fine. Heart, we have waited long — He is soul of your soul and mine. God made Ireland for love. And He talks in her ear as a Friend, With one star more up above To light her white to the end. 137 W. C. Penfold & Co. I^td., Printers, 183 Pitt Street, Sydney Angus & Robertson*s Announcements 1918 Season THE MAGIC PUDDING. A Story by Norman Lindsay, in Prose and Verse, and illustrated by him in 100 pictures, mostly full-page, the title-page in colour. 11^x81 inches, art cover, 21s. Ready in August BACKBLOCK BALLADS AND LATER VERSES. By C. J. Dennis, author of "The Sentimental Bloke," etc. New edition, revised, with 16 new pieces, wholly printed from new type, with frontispiece, title-page and jacket in colour, by Hal Gye. 7^ x 6 inches, 4s. 6d. Ready in August SEX HYGIENE AND SEX EDUCATION: A Book for Parents and Teachers. By Dr. Everitt Atkinson and Professor W. J. Dakin. With illustrations, 3s. 6d. Ready in August THE MUD LARKS. By Crosbie Garstin, Lieutenant, 1st King Edward's Horse. Rollicking sketches of army life in France, that have been said by certain readers with inside knowledge to have more of the spirit of the "lines" in them than most of the serious analytical war studies. Is. net. Ready in August THE CHARM OF SYDNEY: A Christmas Booklet. With coloured and other illustrations by Sydney Ure Smith. 1\ X 5^ inches, Is. 6d. Ready in August WATTLE BABIES. By May Gibbs, author of " Gum-Nut Babies," etc. With 2 coloured and 12 other pictures, 8| x 5| inches, in envelope ready for posting. Is. Ready in August MAY GIBBS' GUM-BLOSSOM CALENDARS for 1919. Two sorts, each with coloured picture and monthly tear-off calendar, on fancy mount 10 x 5^ inches, Is. Ready in August MAY GIBBS' GUM-NUT CALENDARS for 1919. Two sorts, each with coloured picture and monthly tear-off calendar, on fancy mount 10 x 5i inches. Is. Ready in August Announcements RIDDLE-ME-REE : A Story in Verse, for Children. By Zora Cross, author of " Songs of Love and Life." With coloured and other illustrations by Olive Crane. 7^ x 5f inches. Is. 6d. Ready in August SENTIMENTAL BLOKE WALL CALENDARS for 1919. Two sorts, each with coloured picture by Hal Gye and monthly tear-off calendar, on fancy mount 10 x 6 inches. Is. Ready in August OLIVE CRANE XMAS AND NEW YEAR GREETINGS. Six Christmas and New Year cards printed in colours, for posting in ordinary-sized envelopes 5 x 3i inches. Is. per packet of 6 cards. Ready in Atigiist THE ART OF J. J. HILDER. Edited by Sydney Ure Smith, with a Life of Hilder by Bertram Stevens and contributions by Julian R. Ashton and Harry Julius. A handsome volume 10^ x 8j inches, with reproductions of 50 of Mr. Hilder's pictures (30 of them in colour), art cover, 42s. Ready in September SELECTED POEMS OF HENRY LAWSON. Selected and carefully revised by Mr. Lawson during his residence on the Yanco Irrigation Settlement, wholly printed from new type, with portrait in colour, vignette title and 9 full-page illus- trations by Percy Leason. 9x7 inches, art cover, 12s. 6d. Ready ifi September POEMS by Mary Gilmore, author of " Marri'd," etc. With portrait. 7^ x 6 inches, 5s. Ready in September COLOMBINE AND OTHER VERSES. By Hugh McCrae. With illustrations by Norman Lindsay. Ready in September TALES OF SNUGGLEPOT AND CUDDLEPIE. By May Gibbs, author of " Gum-Blossom Babies,'" etc. With frontispiece in colour and 22 jfull-page illustrations, 10 x 7^ inches, picture boards, 3s. 6d. Ready in September THE POETICAL WORKS OF HENRY CLARENCE KENDALL. New and revised edition. Ready in Oetober A 7inounceinen is THE HISTORICAL NIGHTS ENTERTAINMENTS. By Rafael Sabatini. 6s. ^^'/J . Ready in August Mr. Sabatini, with thej shrewdest art and most sympathetic insight, has made the dry bones of history live again in these stories. THIRTY YEARS IN TROPICAL AUSTRALIA. By Right Rev. Gilbert White, D.D., Bishop of Willochra. Profusely illustrated, 12s. 6d. Ready in September THE BUTTERFLY MAN : A Novel. By M. 0. Eemler. Ready iu September Recent Publications ART IN AUSTRALIA, No. IV. Twenty-five Years of Australian Art — the letterpress by Lionel Lindsay, illustrated with 14 coloured and 23 black-and-white reproductions of oils, water- colours, pen drawings and etchings from the originals in the Loan Exhibition held at the National Gallery, Sydney, 1918. 10 X 7h inches, 7s. 6d. (postage 6d.) Just published THE OPPRESSED ENGLISH. By Ian Hay, author of "The First Hundred Thousand," etc. Nearly 40,000 copies sold. Is. THE AUSTRALIAN SWEET-PEA ANNUAL, 1918: A Guide to the Culture of the Sweet Pea in Australia, with articles by successful growers in all the States. Illustrated, 2s. 6d. BACKBONE: A BOUNCER FOR THE BLUES. Hints for the Prevention of Jelly-Spine Curvature and Mental Squint; a Straight-up Antidote for the Blues and a Straight-ahead Sure Cure for Grouch. New edition, to which is added Elbert Hubbard's "A Message to Garcia." Is. 6d. LECTURES ON INDUSTRIAL PSYCHOLOGY. By Bernard Muscio, M.A. (Syd.), B.A. (Cambridge). 5s. GUM-BLOSSOM BABIES. By May Gibbs. With 2 coloured and 12 other pictures, in envelope ready for posting. Is. GUM-NUT BABIES. By May Gibbs. With 2 coloured and 12 other pictures, in envelope ready for posting, Is. DOREEN : A Sequel to " The Songs of a Sentimental Bloke." Four poems by C. J. Dennis. With coloured and other pictures by Hal Gye. In envelope ready for posting, Is. THE BLOKE SERIES (7| x 6 Inches). SONGS OF LOVE AND LIFE. By Zora Cross. Fourth edition, with portrait, 5s. THE GLUGS OF GOSH: Poems. By C. J. Dennis. With frontispiece, title-page and jacket in colour, and other illustrations by Hal Gye, 4s. 6d. THE GLUGS OF GOSH : Poems. By C. J. Dennis. Blue Wren edition, on better paper, with 6 additional full-page plates in colour, by Hal Gye, 7s. 6d. THE SONGS OF A SENTIMENTAL BLOKE. By C. J. Dennis. With frontispiece, title-page and jacket in colour, and other illustrations by Hal Gye, 4s. 6d. THE MOODS OF GINGER MICK: Poems. By C. J. Dennis. With frontispiece, title-page and jacket in colour, and other illustrations by Hal Gye, 4s. 6d. SONGS OF A CAMPAIGN. By Leon Gellert. New edition, with 25 additional poems and 16 pictures by Norman Lindsay, 4s. 6d. THE AUSTRALIAN, AND OTHER VERSES. By Will H. Ogilvie. With frontispiece, title-page and jacket in colour by Hal Gye, 4s. 6d. POCKET EDITIONS FOR THE TRENCHES. Size 52 X 4^ inches. Each volume with frontispiece, title-page and jacket in colour, 4s. THE GLUGS OF GOSH: Poems. By C. J. Dennis. Illus- trated by Hal Gye. THE MOODS OF GINGER MICK: Poems. By C. J. Dennis. Illustrated by Hal Gye. THE SONGS OF A SENTIMENTAL BLOKE. By C. J. Dennis. Illustrated by Hal Gye. SALTBUSH BILL, J. P., AND OTHER VERSES. By A. B. Patersgn. Illustrated by Lionel Lindsay. THE MAN FROM SNOWY RIVER, AND OTHER VERSES. By A. B. Paterson. Illustrated by Norman Lindsay. RIO GRANDE, AND OTHER VERSES. By A. B. Paterson. Illustrated by Hal Gye. THE AUSTRALIAN, AND OTHER VERSES. By Will H. Ogilvie. Illustrated by Hal Gye. UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY Los Angeles This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. fIL SEP 2 5 1972 Form L9-Series 444 UCLA-YouiKj H.-s.-.uMi I ,i„ , PR9619.3 .W931i I 11 III II lllllllll L 009 620 454 UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY A A 001 419 497 1