[p 26]
CARROWMORE
The gray winds call o’er Carrowmore,
Call in the white of the dawn,
And the grasses sigh o’er Carrowmore
When the purple night draws on.
The cromlechs stand on Carrowmore
As they ’ve stood since who can say;
And the thin wraiths flit o’er Carrowmore
Between the dusk and the day.
There ’s never a hush on Carrowmore
Come autumn or come spring,
For, oh, the tongues of Carrowmore,
They are fain of whispering!
And over and over Carrowmore
’T will be ever thus, meseems,—
Like the winnow of wings o’er Carrowmore
The surge of the tide of dreams!
[p 27]
ON CARAGH LAKE
I
On Caragh lake the evening light
Is violet and amethyst,
And the dark shadows of the pines
In silence keep their twilight tryst.
And high beyond the purple groves,
The sweeping moors, the climbing fells,
The rugged Kerry mountains stand
Like grim eternal sentinels.
In dying whispers on the shore
The ripples lap, the ripples break,
And there is peace beyond all words
As night descends on Caragh lake!
II
In unexpected grooves of flight
A blundering bat swoops swiftly by;
From out a coppice drifts a bird’s
Last plaintive melody.
The lake is like a mirror dim
With no disturbing breath to mar,
While o’er a lonely fell there burns
One white vespernal star.
[p 28]
RAHINANE
Wrapt in mist and washed with rain
Is the hill of Rahinane;
Compassed by the hosts of sleep
Is its keep.
Only shadows come and go;
Only wraiths flit to and fro;
And the bat, grotesque and blind,
And the wind.
Just a shard of shattered hope
On a barren Kerry slope;
Just a ruin in the rain,
Rahinane!
[p 29]
THE WIND OF MOURNE
The wind of Mourne comes over the hill,
Over the hill with a trill of song,
And the word of the wind sets my heart athrill,—
“Though life is brief, yet love is long!”
I seek my sweet where the roses stir,
And the stars overhead are a marching throng,
And this is the tale that I tell to her,—
“Though life is brief, yet love is long!”
[p 30]
MAN AND MAID
“I know a lad in Leitrim, I know a lad,” said she,
“I know a lad in Leitrim would give his heart for me!”
“I know a maid in Mayo, I know a maid,” said he,
“I know a maid in Mayo would give her heart to me!”
“Go to your maid in Mayo, go to your maid,” cried she;
“Go to your maid in Mayo, for all—for all of me!”
“Go to your lad in Leitrim, go to your lad,” cried he,
“Go to your lad in Leitrim, for all—for all of me!”
“And yet—and yet—” she faltered, “and yet—and yet,” blushed she,
“That lad may stay in Leitrim! It ’s here I ’d rather be!”
[p 31]
“And yet—and yet—” he echoed, “and yet—and yet—” smiled he,
“And yet—and yet—” he echoed, “and yet—and yet—” smiled he,
“That maid may stay in Mayo. It ’s there I ’d have her be!”
’T is merry down in Kerry beside the laughing sea;
’T is merry down in Kerry when man and maid agree!
[p 32]
THE HUNTER
I crept up Benbulbin a-hunting the boar;
Mist swooped on the heather, mist swept down the shore,
And all of the tongues of the mountain, they murmured behind and before.
Then out of a cleft rose a terrible cry,
And a form like a demon went ravening by,
And I fell in a quake on the moss, and I thought I should die.
I ’m no hunting man now, and I sit by the fire,
And whenever the wind keens around by the byre,
I shiver and rock like a reed that has root in the mire.
And if you ’re a young man, and sound to the core,
And a sweet maid is waiting you home at the door,
Beware how you creep up Benbulbin a-hunting the boar!
[p 33]
RAIN SONG
Oh, it ’s gray rain in the valleys,
White rain where the moorland lies,
And in from the bleak sea-borders
A gust that keens and cries.
Sheep huddle in the hollows,
And the cattle seek the byre,
But I must be up and faring
Away from the warm peat fire;
I must be up and faring,
For this is the hour of tryst,
And Sheilah will be waiting
At the glen amid the mist.
Oh, what ’s gray rain to lovers,
And what though white rains fall,
When blue skies shine in Sheilah’s eyes
For a lad of Donegal!
[p 34]
A ROVER
Oh, I am just a rover
Among the roving men
Who loves to watch the sunlight
Upon the flowering fen;
Who fain would feel the heather
Dew-soft beneath his tread
When morning parts the cloud-wrack
Above Benbulbin’s head;
Who likes to lie and linger
Until the rising moon
Shows all her midnight glories
High o’er the Lough of Cloon;
Whose feet were shaped to follow
The road’s eternal lure
From stormy Stockarudden
To sunny Knockanure!
But since there ’s Sheilah calling,
(’T is love that ’s in her call!)
Faith, I am just a rover
Who ’ll rove no more at all!
[p 35]
QUEENS
Fair Maeve, that was queen of Beauty,
Whither, whither has she gone?
Ask the cairn that over Sligo
Lifts its stones to greet the dawn!
Deirdre, that was queen of Sorrow,
Whither, whither has she fled?
Ask the woods of Finglas Water
That once knew her lissome tread!
Queens!—they are no more than mortal;
Even they must pale and pass
Like the prismy dews of dawning
On the heather and the grass!
[p 36]
THE WONDERS
I dream of the ancient wonders, of the isle of Hy Brasail
That rides through the mists of Mayo, then fades like a fading sail;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but there ’s one that haunts me more,
’T is the faun-like grace of Moira upon Lough Corib’s shore.
I dream of the ancient wonders, of the wells of Death and Life,
Of the voices of the Forest that quell both hate and strife;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but greater than them all
Is the luring laugh of Moira when day ’s at evenfall.
I dream of the ancient wonders, of the Cross caught up in air,
Of the swan of sweet Feale Water that was a maiden fair;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but each fades in eclipse
At the lifted arms of Moira, and Moira’s lifted lips!
[p 37]
AT MONAREE
When springtime comes to Monaree I know
How the blue hyacinths blow,
And how the daffodil lights its golden glow.
These blossoms are remembrancers of those
Who lie in long repose,
Lost to our earthly scenes of joys and woes,—
The saints of other days. How fair to see
These living emblems be
Of their good deeds—with spring at Monaree!
[p 38]
HEATHER SONG
Blue weather, blue weather abroad on the moors,
And the cry of the wind that elates and allures;
Sing “hey” and sing “ho” for the heather!
The brook in the bracken, it prattles and purls,
And the lips of the rose are as red as a girl’s;
Sing “hey” and sing “ho” for the heather!
And the path that leads up from the stile at the start
Is the path of my longing, the path of my heart;
Sing “hey” and sing “ho” for the heather!
For I know I shall find her, my fair heather-bell,
In the warm little dip at the crest of the fell,
And her smile, ah, the burden of love it will tell!
Sing “hey” and sing “ho” for the heather!
[p 39]
OFF CONNEMARA
Off the coast of Connemara,
Sailor, sailor, what ’s the hail?
“Dip the sail to Saint Macdara—
Dip the sail!”
So we dipped it as we tripped it
Southward with the fluting gale.
Long ago did Saint Macdara
Pass beyond this mortal pale;
Yet to-day off Connemara
Deeds of godliness avail;
Where the good old saint said masses
Every sailor, as he passes,
Dips the sail.
[p 40]
POPPIES AT MONASTERAVEN
As clear on my mind are graven
As the carving upon a shield
The poppies at Monasteraven,
And the cottage in the field;
The glint of a thick thorn coppice
Greenly girdling all,
And the glow of the scarlet poppies
Under the cottage wall!
Just a fleeting vision
Caught as I hurried by,
A little scene elysian
Under the morning sky.
For some one a happy haven,
It thus to my heart appealed,
The poppies at Monasteraven,
And the cottage in the field.
[p 41]
THE GLEN OF CASTLEMAINE
Oh, the shadows they lie deep in the glen of Castlemaine,
Purple as the gulfs of sleep, gray as are the drifts of rain!
Here are eerie feet that creep when the moon is on the wane.
In the glen of Castlemaine there are eldritch tongues that call;
And the little leaves have words that will hold the heart in thrall.
In the glen of Castlemaine there ’s a glamour over all.
For the fays have cast their spell o’er the glen of Castlemaine;
There is brooding wonder there, but no dream of blight or bane;
Here, if you have loved and lost, you may find your love again!
[p 42]
SONG
Just the sun on a slope of heather,
The long blue wind and the open sea;
All the cares of the world in tether,
And nobody there but you and me!
That ’s my wish in the golden weather;
Love, you echo the wish with me?
Come, then, ho, for the slope of heather,
The long blue wind and the open sea!
[p 43]
KILMELCHEDOR
Far removed from strife and war
Is the shrine of Kilmelchedor;
O’er one crumbling archway see
Clearly graven—Domine!
Master then and master still,
How we lean upon His will
Who forevermore will be
Unto all men—Domine!
[p 44]
AT DINGLE
At Dingle, upon sand and shingle,
Softly the ripples curve and creep;
Without the white-caps meet and mingle,
Without the breakers range and leap.
Here there is calm, here there is quiet,
And the sweet sense of long delay;
There time and tide by winds that riot
Seem from their moorings swept away.
Which will you choose from life, my masters,—
Where waves are lulled to dream at ease,
Or, in the face of grim disasters,
To sail with daring down the seas?
[p 45]
BACK TO KILLARNEY
Oh, it ’s back to Killarney, the glow and the gleam of it,
Back to Killarney for me;
Back to Killarney, the vision and dream of it,
Back to Killarney, my own countrie!
Back to Killarney at sun or at shower-time,
Back to Killarney for me;
Back to Killarney at frost or at flower-time,
Back to Killarney, my own countrie!
Back to Killarney whose soil seems a part of me,
Back to Killarney for me;
Back to Killarney to soothe the sad heart of me,
Back to Killarney, my own countrie!
[p 46]
GLENCAR WATER
I stood by Glencar Water
When spring filled all the air,
And, oh, by Glencar Water
It ’s a lovely place to fare!
The song of Glencar Water
It has such silvery frets;
And there, by Glencar Water,
Are banks of violets.
But harsh seems Glencar Water
To Norah’s soft replies,
And the flowers by Glencar Water
Are naught to Norah’s eyes!
[p 47]
FROM DERRY TO KERRY
’Twixt Derry and Kerry there ’s many a mile;
They ’ve right men in Derry, no doubt;
But give me the Kerry man’s blarneying smile,
And give me the Kerry girl’s conjuring wile,
And lips, like a peach, in a pout!
And give me the sails tacking in to Tralee,
And the dip of the bluff Dingle bows,
And under Beenaman the surge of the sea,
The heathery slopes that are haunts for the bee
Where Carraghmore raises its brows!
From Derry to Kerry the leagues they are long
For a foot-weary rover to wend,
But I take the far track with a snatch of a song,
And a ready forgetting of aught that is wrong,
If Kerry ’s the goal at the end!
[p 48]
A KING IN KERRY
I dreamed a dream, mavourneen, I dreamed a dream yestreen,
That I was King in Kerry, and you were Galway’s Queen.
I roused and ranged about me three score of burnished spears,
And rode across the moorland, the north wind round my ears.
It bore me buoyant tidings,—your beauty and your grace,—
And, as I galloped forward, I yearned upon your face.
We fared by Abbeydorney, Listowel and Lixnaw,
Where all my word was wisdom, and all my look was law.
We never paused to bivouac; we never paused to sleep
Where murmurous Feale Water ran shallow or ran deep.
[p 49]
We swam the swirl of Shannon; we hurled back to his lair
We swam the swirl of Shannon; we hurled back to his lair
The blustering O’Brien who ruled the kerns of Claire.
Then, mire and foam-bespattered, about the dusk of day
We came where Galway’s turrets loomed over Galway’s bay.
The silence throbbed with trumpets, tumultuous, elate,
And you, a flower of wonder, bloomed in the castle gate.
You made the flush of sunset seem but a pallid thing;
Your voice had all the rapture that trembles through the spring.
Within your eyes the love-light was glory after drouth;
All summer’s hoarded honey was one kiss from your mouth.
Deirdre, whose tragic beauty the great Cuchullin knew,
And Maeve, the long lamented, sooth, what were they to you!
[p 50]
In through the rush-strewn hallway you led us to the feast;
In through the rush-strewn hallway you led us to the feast;
And when the wine was drunken there stood the stolèd priest.
He oped the holy bride-book; he read the marriage rite;
And then—and then—mavourneen, it was our wedding night!
Would I might dream it over, the dream I dreamed yestreen,
That I was King in Kerry, and you were Galway’s Queen!
[p 51]
A KERRY LAD
There ’s a Kerry lad a-wandering across the dipping sea,
A Kerry lad a-wandering the foam,
And oh, the swelling joy of it, the joy that there will be
When that wandering Kerry lad comes home!
There ’ll be glad voices calling him, glad voices in the street,
And hands to clasp the hands of the gossoon;
There ’ll be soft winds a-whispering above the fields of peat,
And little birds a-carolling in tune!
The Kerry sky ’ll be bluer then, for all the clouds will part,
And greener ’ll be the grass above the loam,
And oh, the happy feeling in one lonely Irish heart
When that wandering Kerry lad comes home!
[p 52]
A KERRY DAY
Under the sweep of a fell the smoke-reek curls and drifts
Where a white-walled cottage stands nestling amid the green;
Kerry skies above arched with their azure rifts
Where a glint of sun peeps through to brighten the peaceful scene.
Cattle stand at graze, and there are the piles of peat,
And there is the swift Feale Water rimpling, dimpling away;
And there are the cocks of hay, and the smell of the hay is sweet,
And this is the round and sum of a quiet Kerry day!
[p 53]
A KERRY ROAD
Snow of the blackberry bloom, purple of heather bells,
The fir and the oak tree boughs with the ivy round them twining;
Sheen of a distant lake, brown of the dipping fells,
Racing clouds overhead, and the fitful sun a-shining!
Bracken and thorn and whin, and somewhere a cheeping bird;
Pits of peat, and, then, a cart with its cheery load;
In from Dingle Bay the wind with its ancient word;
On and up and on—and this is a Kerry road!
[p 54]
A KERRY GARDEN
There ’s a garden that slopes to the south and the sun,
A garden in Kerry I know,
Where the poppy ’s a-bloom, and the red roses run
O’er the wall, and the pampas-plume’s streamers seem spun
Of the floss of the moon in the dusk watches won,
And the lake is a-shimmer below.
There ’s a garden that ’s fair, be it day, be it night,
A garden in Kerry I know,
And never an orient dream of delight
Can match with this garden so sweet to my sight,
For here is heart’s home to a wandering wight,—
It calls me wherever I go!
[p 55]
DOWN IN KERRY
Down in Kerry maids are merry,
Down in Kerry maids are fair;
Laughin’ eyes an’ lips o’ cherry
From Feale Water to Kenmare!
Sunny weather in the heather,
Sunny weather everywhere,
Be but man an’ maid together
From Feale Water to Kenmare!
Care a-sheddin’, naught a-dreadin’,
With just one my steps to share,
That ’s the road that I ’d be treadin’
From Feale Water to Kenmare!
[p 56]
HOLY WELLS
At Toberaribba,
Sooth, what do you think,
’T is not holy water
They go for to drink!
At Tobernanavin,
As sure as you ’re born,
There ’s dancing and prancing
And juice of the corn!
At Tobernacerta,
They sport on the green;
There ’s laughing and chaffing,
And lots of poteen!
At Tobernaglashy,
With moss at the brink,
There ’s much holy water,
But not for to drink!
[p 57]
LOW TIDE
The sun on the reeds an’ rushes,
An’ the sand outstretched before,
An’ the sun on the kelp an’ shingle
Away off Galway shore.
An’ the sun on the rocks behind me,
Bright on the gorse an’ whin,
An’ the sun on the slantin’ dories
With their white sails tackin’ in.
Oh, I ’ll be gay o’ the sunlight,
Glad of its glint an’ grace,
If its beams will only show me
The smile on one sailor’s face!
[p 58]
THE “BOHAREEN”1
In the kingdom they call “Kerry” there ’s a “bohareen” goes climbin’
Above the thatch o’ cots at Ballymore—
A little rovin’ footway—an’ the goat bells keep a-chimin’
In the heather slopin’ upward from the shore
For the slopes are clad with heather, noddin’ heather, purple heather,
Where the bees make honey-music in the noon;
An’ if you should chance to stray there in a scrap o’ sunny weather
A warbler will be tossin’ you a tune.
An’ you can look to seaward through the gray-green gulf o’ wonder
An’ watch the slantin’ sails a-dippin’ far,
An’ you can mark about you how the rocks are rent asunder,
An’ the heights are mountin’ up to reach the star.
[p 59]
But it ’s not the sea below it, nor the craggy crests above it,
But it ’s not the sea below it, nor the craggy crests above it,
Nor the bracken with the mosses soft between,
Nor the droopin’ bells o’ heather, nay, it ’s not for these I love it,
That wanderin’, that windin’ “bohareen!”
But a thought that keeps a-chimin’ in my heart like tender rhymin’
Of one who clambered upward from the shore—
Whose feet with mine kept timin’ as the pair o’ us went climbin’
Long ago that “bohareen” at Ballymore!
1 “Bohareen,” bypath.
[p 60]
AN IRISH IDYL
As I stood amid the bracken, as I stood amid the fern,
I could hear the merry bicker, the blithe bicker of the burn.
Bees were hummin’, softly hummin’;
“She ’s a comin’! She ’s a comin’!”
With a little spurt of laughter called the brook at every turn.
“Watch her! watch her! watch her! watch her!” cried a curlew overhead;
An’ I knew that it was Norah by the trippin’ of her tread;
An’ a gentle wind a croonin’
In the silence of the noonin’—
“Dare you kiss her? dare you kiss her?” were the saucy words it said.
Sure, it stirred the heart within me, did that tauntin’ of the wind,
For the selfsame heart I mentioned was a sort of darin’ kind;
When she came within my reachin’
There was no pause for beseechin’,
For I kissed her, an’ I kissed her, an’, faith, Norah didn’t mind!