Chapter 2
For some one a happy haven, It thus to my heart appealed, The poppies at Monasteraven, And the cottage in the field.
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!
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!
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!_
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?
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!
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!
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!
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.
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
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!
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.
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.
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!
AN IRISH LASS
My love has kissed me on the lips an’ sailed beyond the sea, An’, sooth, that was a sorry day for Terrence an’ for me, An’ yet I whispered him “God speed” his fortune for to win, For there ’s little gold in Ireland save that upon the whin!
Like weary feet the days drag by; the heart o’ me is sad; The keenin’ o’ the wind at night, it nearly drives me mad; The cries o’ children in the street, they quaver lorn an’ thin, For there ’s little gold in Ireland save that upon the whin!
But when my own lad comes again, ah, colleen, ’t will be sweet; There ’ll be the peal o’ weddin’ bells across the fields o’ peat; Faith, I can hear him sayin’ it, with his shy sort o’ grin, “There ’s more gold now in Ireland than that upon the whin!”
THE BRIDGE OF LUCKEEN
One day as I stood at the Bridge of Luckeen, Above the bright water all glancin’ an’ green, There strayed down the path from the top of the pass Such a slim little, prim little, trim little lass.
“Oho!” then quoth I, and “aha!” murmured she, With as pretty a curtsy as ever you ’d see; “Won’t you pause?” I inquired; “I don’t mind,” said her mien, So we looked, side by side, from the Bridge of Luckeen.
How the minutes flew by, an’ the stream how it flowed, While never a soul came along by the road; An’ I thought her eyes sweeter than Maeve ever knew, An’ she deemed me far bolder than Brian Boru!
There ’s a priest that ties knots, so the knowin’ ones say, In a neat little church in the town of Glenbeigh; If he ’ll tie just one more, I ’ll be thinkin’, I ween, If there ’s luck anywhere, there is luck at Luckeen!
DONEGAL
We made Donegal in the teeth of gray weather, We made Donegal with the wind blowing free, And the spindrift at toss like a snowy gull’s feather Where the highlands lean down to the lips of the sea.
We left Donegal in the azure blue weather, We left Donegal with a soft breeze a-lee, With bees in the broom and the sun on the heather, And scarcely a ripple astir on the sea.
But give me to come in the teeth of gray weather, Oh, give me to come with the wind blowing free, And love’s arms to clasp in their welcoming tether A wanderer worn with the toils of the sea!
For ’t is sorrow to go in the azure blue weather, ’T is sorrow to go with a soft breeze a-lee, Leaving love’s yearning arms where one fain would find tether, Watching dear Donegal sinking down in the sea!
AN IRISH SONG
Over me lifts the peat-reek That parts and drifts and veers, And the wind’s uneasy moaning Is loud about mine ears.
The waves upon the shingle They murmur drearily, And the streamers of the fog-wraith Drive in from the open sea.
The mist hangs over the passes, The mist hangs over the moors, And the eerie cry of the curlew It quavers and endures.
And it all is lonely, lonely, And there ’s sorrow on every face, But the heart of me needs must love it, For the land is mine own place!
TWO HUNDRED AND FIFTY COPIES OF THIS BOOK PRINTED ON VAN GELDER HAND-MADE PAPER AND THE TYPE DISTRIBUTED IN THE MONTH OF MARCH MDCCCCXIV
+--------------------------------------------------------------+ | | | Transcriber’s Note: | | | | The original book printed contractions (as opposed to | | elisions) with a spaced apostrophe: this has been retained. | | | +--------------------------------------------------------------+