Lyra Celtica: An Anthology of Representative Celtic Poetry
Part 17
When the pilgrim of strange lore Haunts thy pale phantasmal shore, Dreams and absolution grant, Priestess thou and hierophant! Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
Builder of eternal towers! Weaver of enchanted bowers! Thou dost forge the fighter’s arms, Thee the lover woos for charms: Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
Thou dost soothe the virgin’s fears, Thou dost staunch the widow’s tears, Smooth the wrinkled brows of Care, Still the cries of wild Despair: Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
Healer of the sores of shame! Cleanser of the unholy flame! Thou dost breathe beatitude On the evil and the good: Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
[Sidenote: HERVÉ-NOËL LE BRETON]
When the cup that Pleasure sips Turns to wormwood on the lips; When Remorse, with venomed mesh, Frets and tears the writhing flesh: Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
Queller of the storms of Fate! Quencher of the fires of Hate! In thy peaceful bosom furled Lies the turmoil of the world: Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
Calm as noon’s abysmal blue, Soundless as the falling dew, Soft as snow with fleecy plumes, Sweet as curling incense-fumes: Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
Keeper of the keys of Heaven! (Cease your vigil, starry Seven) Guardian of the gates of Hell! (Loosen not the drowsèd spell) Fold thy wings and come to me, Sleep! thou soul’s euthanasy.
The Burden of Lost Souls.
This was our sin. When Hope, with wings enchanted And shining aureole, Hung on the blossomed steps of Youth and haunted The chancel of the soul;
When we whose lips haply had blown the bugle That cheers the wavering line, And solaced those to whom the world was frugal Of Love, the food divine;
Whose hands had strength to strike men’s chains asunder And heal the poor man’s wrong, Whose breath was blended with the chords that thunder Along the aisles of song;
Whose eyes had seen and hailed the Light of Ages, In cloudiest heavens a star, Whose ears had heard, on ringing wheels, the stages Of Freedom’s trophied car:--
We turned, rebellious children, to the clamour And tumult of the world; We gave our souls in fee for Circe’s glamour And white limbs lightly whirled;
We drank deep draughts of Moloch’s unclean liquor Even to the dregs of shame, And blinded by the golden lights that flicker From Mammon’s altar-flame
We burned strange incense, bowed before his idol Whose eucharist is fire, And on the neck of passion loosed the bridle Of fierce and wild desire:--
[Sidenote: HERVÉ-NOËL LE BRETON]
Till now in our own hearts the ashy embers Of Love lie smouldering, And scarce our Autumn chill and bare remembers The glory of the Spring;
While faith, that in the mire was fain to wallow, Returns at last to find The cold fanes desolate, the niches hollow, The windows dim and blind,
And, strown with ruins round, the shattered relic Of unregardful youth, Where shapes of beauty once, with tongues angelic, Whispered the runes of Truth.
Confession.
[Sidenote: VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM]
Since I have lost the words, the flower Of youth and the fresh April breeze ... Give me thy lips; their perfumed dower Shall be the whisper of the trees!
Since I have lost the deep sea’s sadness, Her sobs, her restless surge, her graves ... Breathe but a word; its grief or gladness Shall be the murmur of the waves!
Since in my soul a sombre blossom Broods, and the suns of yore take flight ... O hide me in thy pallid bosom, And it shall be the calm of night!
Discouragement.
[Sidenote: VILLIERS DE L’ISLE-ADAM]
Athwart the unclean ages whirled To solitary woods sublime, Oh! had I first beheld this world Alone and free in Nature’s prime!
When on its loveliness first seen Eve cast her pure blue eyes abroad: When all the earth was fresh and green, And simple Man believed in God!
When sacred accents, vibrating Beneath the naked sun and sky, Rose from each new-created thing To hail the Lord of Life on high;
I would have learned and lived in hope And loved! For in those vanished days, Faith wandered on the mountain-slope ... But now the world has changed her ways:
Our feet, less free, less fugitive, Tread beaten tracks from shore to shore ... Alas! what is the life we live? --A dream of days that are no more!
The Black Panther.
[Sidenote: LECONTE DE LISLE]
Along the rosy cloud light steals and twinkles; The East is flecked with golden filigree: Night from her loosened necklace slowly sprinkles Pearl-clusters on the sea.
Clasped on the bosom of the sparkling azure Soft skirts of flame trail like a flowing train, And cast on emerald blades a bright emblazure, Like drops of fiery rain.
The dew shines, like a sheaf of splendour shaken, On cinnamon leaves and lychee’s purple flesh; Among the drowsed bamboos the wind’s wings waken A myriad whisperings fresh.
From mounds and woods, from mossy tufts and flowers, In the warm air, with sudden tremours thrilled, Fragrance bursts forth in sweet and subtile showers, With feverish rapture filled.
By virgin jungle-track and hidden hollow, Where in the morning sun smoke tangled weeds, And where live streams their winding channels follow Through arches of green reeds,
Steals the black panther from her midnight prowling, With dawn turned to the lair in which her cubs Among smooth shining bones, with hunger growling, Grovel beneath the shrubs.
Restless she slinks along, with arrowy flashes That scan the shadows of the drooping wood. The bright, fresh-sprinkled crimsoned dew that dashes Her velvet skin is blood.
[Sidenote: LECONTE DE LISLE]
Behind she drags the relict of her quarry Torn from the stricken stag, a mangled spoil That leaves a loathsome trail and sanguinary Along the moss-flowered soil.
Round her the tawny bees and light-winged dragons Flit fearless as she glides with supple flanks; And clustering foliage from a thousand flagons Pours fragrance on the banks.
The python, through a scarlet cactus peering, Slowly above the bush lifts his flat head And curious eyes, his scaly folds uprearing To watch her stealthy tread.
She glides in silence into the tall bracken, Then plunges lost beneath the lichened boughs: Air burns in the vast light, earth’s noises slacken, And wood and welkin drowse.
The Spring.
A live spring sparkles in the bosky gloom, Hidden from the noonday glare; The green reeds bend above its banks and there Blue-bells and violets bloom.
No kids that batten on the bitter herb, On slopes of the near hill, Nor shepherd’s song, nor flute-note sweet and shrill, Its crystal source disturb.
Hard by, the dark oaks weave a peaceful screen Whose shade the wild-bee loves, And nestled in dense leaves the murmuring doves Their ruffled plumage preen.
The lazy stags in mossy thickets browse And sniff the lingering dew; Beneath cool leaves, that let the sunlight through, The languorous Sylvans drowse.
White Naïs, near the sacred spring that drips, Closing her lids awhile, Dreams as she slumbers, and a radiant smile Floats on her purple lips.
No eye, kindling with love’s desire, has scanned Beneath those lucent veils The nymph whose snowy limbs and hair that trails Gleam on the silvery sand.
None gazed on the soft cheek, suffused with youth, The splendid bosom’s swerve, The ivory neck, the shoulder’s delicate curve, White arms and innocent mouth.
[Sidenote: LECONTE DE LISLE]
But now the lecherous Faun, that haunts the grove, Spies from his leafy trench Those supple flanks, kissed by the oozy drench As with a kiss of love;
Then laughs, as when the Satyr’s wanton imps A wood-nymph’s bower assail, And, waking with the sound the virgin pale Flies like the lightning-glimpse.
Even as the Naiad, haunting the clear stream, Slumbers in woods obscure, Fly from the impious look and laugh impure O Beauty, the soul’s dream!
The Return of Taliesen.
[Sidenote: LEO-KERMORVAN]
On my lips the speech, in my ears the sound of the Armorican: I hear the voice of Esus by the shores of the ocean, And the songs which the great bard Ossian Resings by the ancient dolmen.
Many times since this, my twelfth rebirth on earth, Have I seen the mistletoe grow green on the oak, Seen the yellow crocus, the sunbright, and the vervein Bloom again in the woodlands:
But never shall I see again the white-robed Druid of old Seek the sacred mistletoe as one seeketh a treasure; Never more shall I see him cut the living plant With his golden sickle.
Alas! the valiant chiefs with the flowing locks! All sleep in the cairns, beneath the fresh green grass; In vain my voice o’er the fields of the dead lamenting-- “Vengeance! Treason!
“Be swift, Revenge, on the feet of the sorrows of Arvor!” Alas, dull echoes alone answer my wailing summons. Treason, indeed, and Vengeance! for lo, in the hallowed Némèdes The wayside flaunt of the Cross!
Tarann no longer sends forth his terror of thunder! Camul no longer laughs behind the strength of his arm! Tentatès, rising in wrath, has not yet crumbled the earth; Esus is deaf to our call!
Whither, O whither fled are ye, ye powerful, redoubtable gods; And ye, ye famous Druids, the glory and terror of Armor? Who has usurped, who has o’erwhelmed ye, unconquerable knights, Warriors of the golden collar?
[Sidenote: LEO-KERMORVAN]
Thou, who harkenest, I have been in the place of the Ancients! I, alone among mortals, thence have issued alive: Alas, the temple was deserted: I saw nought but some wind-haunted oaks Swaying in the silence.
All is fugitive! pride, pleasure, the song, the dance, Blithe joys of friendship, noble rivalries all: The keen swift song of the swords, the whistling lances! Dreams of a dreamer all!... But no,
A new dawn wakes and laughs on the breast of the darkness; Earth has her sunshine still, the grave her Spring; Many a time Dylan hath oared me afar in the deathbarque, Many a death-sleep mine, and long!
For long I have slept with the heavy sleep of the dead, Ofttimes my fugitive body has passed into divers forms, I have spread strong wings on the air, I have swum in dark waters, I have crawled in the woods.
But, amid all these manifold changes, my soul Remaineth ever the same: it is always, always “myself”! And now I see well that this is the law of all that liveth, Though none beholdeth the reason, none the end.
Still stand our lonely menhirs, and still the wayfarer shudders As in the desolate dusk he passes these Stones of Silence! Thou speakest, I understand! Thy Breton tongue Is that of the ancient Kymry.
Lights steal through the hours of shadow flame-lit for unknown saints, As, in the days of old, our torches flared on the night: Ah, before ever these sacred lamps shone for your meek apostles, They burned for Héol.
Blind without reason are we, thus changing the names of the gods: Thus, mayhap, we think to destroy them, we who abandon their altars! But, cold, calm, unsmiling before our laughter and curses, The gods wait, immortal.
Yea, while the sacred fires still burn along the hill-tops, Yea, while a single lichened menhir still looms from the brushwood, Yea, whether they name thee Armorica, Brittany, Breiz-Izèl, Thou art ever the same dear land!
Ah, soul of me ofttimes to thee, Land of mystery! Ofttimes again shall I breathe in thy charmèd air! Sure, every weary singer knoweth the secret name of thee, Land of Heart’s Desire!
Enduring thou art! For not the slow frost of the ages Shall dim from thy past thy glory immortally graven!-- Granite thy soil, thy soul, loved nest of Celtic nations!-- Sings the lost Voice, Taliesin.
By Menec’hi Shore.
[Sidenote: LOUIS TIERCELIN]
Sad the sea-moan that echoes through my dream, And sad the auroral sky suffused with gold, Sad the blue wave that croons along the shore--
O Joy of Night in whose still calms I sleep!
Sadness of love, and O tired heart of man: Sadness of hope, and all brave vows that be: Sadness of joy itself, the joys we know!
Joy of Oblivion, is there bliss with thee?
Sad is the splendour, glory, the bright flame And laughter of the soul, since underneath Dreams and Desires veiled Mystery broods obscure ...
O Joy of Death, with thee the Vials of Peace!
VIII
THE CELTIC FRINGE
Song.
[Sidenote: BLISS CARMAN]
Love, by that loosened hair Well now I know Where the lost Lilith went So long ago.
Love, by those starry eyes I understand How the sea-maidens lure Mortals from land.
Love, by that welling laugh Joy claims his own Sea-born and wind-wayward Child of the sun.
The War-Song of Gamelbar.
Bowmen, shout for Gamelbar! Winds, unthrottle the wolves of war! Heave a breath And dare a death For the doom of Gamelbar! Wealth for Gamel, Wine for Gamel, Crimson wine for Gamelbar!
Chorus:--Oh, sleep for a knave With his sins in the sod! And death for the brave, With his glory up to God! And joy for the girl, And ease for the churl! But the great game of war For our lord Gamelbar, Gamelbar!
Spearmen, shout for Gamelbar, With his warriors thirty score! Heave a sword For our overlord, Lord of warriors, Gamelbar! Life for Gamel, Love for Gamel, Lady-loves for Gamelbar!
Horsemen, shout for Gamelbar! Swim the ford and climb the scaur! Heave a hand For the maiden land, The maiden land of Gamelbar! Glory for Gamel, Gold for Gamel, Yellow gold for Gamelbar!
Armourers for Gamelbar, Rivet and forge and fear no scar! Heave a hammer With anvil clamour, To weld and brace for Gamelbar! Ring for Gamel, Rung for Gamel, =Ring-rung-ring= for Gamelbar!
Yeomen, shout for Gamelbar, And his battle-hand in war! Heave his pennon; Cheer his men on, In the ranks of Gamelbar! Strength for Gamel, Song for Gamel, One war-song for Gamelbar!
Roncliffe, shout for Gamelbar! Menthorpe, Bryan, Castelfar! Heave, Thorparch Of the Waving Larch, And Spofford’s thane, for Gamelbar! Blaise for Gamel, Brame for Gamel, Rougharlington for Gamelbar!
Maidens, strew for Gamelbar Roses down his way to war! Heave a handful, Fill the land full Of your gifts to Gamelbar! Dream of Gamel, Dance for Gamel, Dance in the halls for Gamelbar!
Servitors, shout for Gamelbar! Roast the ox and stick the boar! Heave a bone To gaunt Harone, The great war-hound of Gamelbar! Mead for Gamel, Mirth for Gamel, Mirth at the board for Gamelbar!
Trumpets, speak for Gamelbar! Blare as ye never blared before! Heave a bray In the horns to-day, The red war-horns of Gamelbar! To-night for Gamel, The North for Gamel, With fires on the hills for Gamelbar!
Shout for Gamel, Gamelbar, Till your throats can shout no more! Heave a cry As he rideth by, Sons of Orm, for Gamelbar! Folk for Gamel, Fame for Gamel, Years and fame for Gamelbar!
Chorus:--Oh, sleep for a knave With his sins in the sod! And death for the brave, With his glory up to God! And joy for the girl, And ease for the churl! But the great game of war For our lord Gamelbar, Gamelbar!
Golden Rowan.
[Sidenote: BLISS CARMAN]
She lived where the mountains go down to the sea, And river and tide confer. Golden Rowan, in Menalowan, Was the name they gave to her.
She had the soul no circumstance Can hurry or defer. Golden Rowan, of Menalowan, How time stood still for her!
Her playmates for their lovers grew, But that shy wanderer, Golden Rowan, of Menalowan, Knew love was not for her.
Hers was the love of wilding things; To hear a squirrel chirr In the golden rowan of Menalowan Was joy enough for her.
She sleeps on the hill with the lonely sun, Where in the days that were, The golden rowan of Menalowan So often shadowed her.
The scarlet fruit will come to fill, The scarlet spring to stir The golden rowan of Menalowan, And wake no dream for her.
Only the wind is over her grave, For mourner and comforter; And “Golden Rowan, of Menalowan,” Is all we know of her.
A Sea Child.
[Sidenote: BLISS CARMAN]
The lover of child Marjory Had one white hour of life brim full; Now the old nurse, the rocking sea, Hath him to lull.
The daughter of child Marjory Hath in her veins, to beat and run, The glad indomitable sea, The strong white sun.
The Quest.
[Sidenote: ELLEN MACKAY HUTCHINSON]
It was a heavenly time of life When first I went to Spain, The lovely lands of silver mists, The land of golden grain.
My little ship through unknown seas Sailed many a changing day; Sometimes the chilling winds came up And blew across her way.
Sometimes the rain came down and hid The shining shores of Spain, The beauty of the silver mists And of the golden grain.
But through the rains and through the winds, Upon the untried sea, My fairy ship sailed on and on, With all my dreams and me.
And now, no more a child, I long For that sweet time again, When on the far horizon bar Rose up the shores of Spain.
O lovely land of silver mists, O land of golden grain, I look for you with smiles, with tears, But look for you in vain!
Moth-Song.
What dost thou here, Thou dusky courtier, Within the pinky palace of the rose? Here is no bed for thee, No honeyed spicery,-- But for the golden bee, And the gay wind, and me Its sweetness grows. Rover, thou dost forget;-- Seek thou the passion-flower Bloom of one twilight hour. Haste, thou art late! Its hidden savours wait. For thee is spread Its soft, purple coverlet; Moth, art thou sped? --Dim as a ghost he flies Through the night mysteries.
June.
[Sidenote: ELLEN MACKAY HUTCHINSON]
Of silvery-shining rains And noonday golds and shadows June weaves wild-daisy chains For happy meadows.
She stoops to set the stream With scented alder-bushes, And with the rainbow gleam Of iris ’mid the rushes, She scatters eglantine And scarlet columbine.
Ah, June, my lovely lass,-- Sweetheart, dost thou not see I stay to watch thee pass-- What hast thou brought to me?
Thy mystic ministries Of glorious far skies, Thy wild-rose sermons, Sweet, Like dreams profound and fleet, Thy woodland harmony Thou givest me.
The vision that can see, The loving will to learn, How fair thy skies may be, What in thy roses burn, Thy secret harmonies,-- Ah, give me these!
Scent o’ Pines.
[Sidenote: HUGH M‘CULLOCH]
Love, shall I liken thee unto the rose That is so sweet? Nay, since for a single day she grows, Then scattered lies upon the garden-rows Beneath our feet.
But to the perfume shed when forests nod, When noonday shines, That lulls us as we tread the woodland sod, Eternal as the peace of God The scent o’ pines.
The Reed-Player.
[Sidenote: DUNCAN CAMPBELL SCOTT]
By a dim shore where water darkening Took the last light of spring, I went beyond the tumult, harkening For some diviner thing.
Where the bats flew from the black elms like leaves, Over the ebon pool Brooded the bittern’s cry, as one that grieves Lands ancient, bountiful.
I saw the fire-flies shine below the wood, Above the shallows dank, As Uriel, from some great altitude, The planets rank on rank.
And now unseen along the shrouded mead One went under the hill; He blew a cadence on his mellow reed, That trembled and was still.
It seemed as if a line of amber fire Had shot the gathered dusk, As if had blown a wind from ancient Tyre Laden with myrrh and musk.
He gave his luring note amid the fern; Its enigmatic fall Haunted the hollow dusk with golden turn And argent interval.
I could not know the message that he bore, The springs of life from me Hidden; his incommunicable lore As much a mystery.
And as I followed far the magic player He passed the maple wood; And, when I passed, the stars had risen there, And there was solitude.
The Celtic Cross.
[Sidenote: THOMAS D’ARCY M‘CGEE]
Through storm and fire and gloom, I see it stand Firm, broad, and tall, The Celtic Cross that marks our Fatherland, Amid them all! Druids and Danes and Saxons vainly rage Around its base; It standeth shock on shock, and age on age, Star of our scatter’d race.
O Holy Cross! dear symbol of the dread Death of our Lord, Around thee long have slept our martyr dead Sward over sward. An hundred bishops I myself can count Among the slain: Chiefs, captains, rank and file, a shining mount Of God’s ripe grain.
The monarch’s mace, the Puritan’s claymore, Smote thee not down; On headland steep, on mountain summit hoar, In mart and town, In Glendalough, in Ara, in Tyrone, We find thee still, Thy open arms still stretching to thine own, O’er town and lough and hill.
And would they tear thee out of Irish soil, The guilty fools! How time must mock their antiquated toil And broken tools! Cranmer and Cromwell from thy grasp retir’d, Baffled and thrown; William and Anne to sap thy site conspir’d,-- The rest is known.
[Sidenote: THOMAS D’ARCY M‘CGEE]