Will you come where golden furze I mow,
My Mauria ni Milleôn?"
'To bind for you I'd gladly go,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own.
To chapel, too, I would repair,
Though not to aid my soul in prayer,
But just to gazé with rapture where
You stand, mo buchal baun" *
"Will you rove the garden glades with me,
O Flower of Maids, alone?"
"What wondrous scenes therein to see,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own?"
"The apples from green boughs to strike,
To watch the trout leap from the lake,
And caress a pretty cailin ** like
My Mauria ni Milleôn.
"Will you seek with me the dim church aisle,
O Mauria ni Milleôn?"
"What pleasant scenes to see the while,
My Bliss on Earth, mine own?"
"We'd list the chanting voice and prayer
Of foreign pastor preaching there,
O, we'd finish the marriage with my fair
White Flower of Maids alone."
* Mo buchal baun, my fair boy. ** Cailin, maiden.
She sought the dim church aisle with me,
My Bliss on Earth, most fair!
She sought the dim church aisle with me,
O grief! O burning care!
I plunged my glittering, keen-edged blade
In the bosom of that loving maid,
Till gushed her heart's blood, warm and red,
Down on the cold ground there.
"Alas! what deed is this you do?
My Bliss on Earth, mo store! *
What woful deed is this you do,
O youth whom I adore?
Ah, spare our child and me, my love,
And the seven lands of earth I'll rove
Ere cause of grief to you I prove
For ever—ever more."
I bore her to the mountain peak,
The Flower of Maids, so lone!
I bore her to the mountain bleak,
My thousand woes, mo vrone. **
I cast my cota *** round her there,
And,'mid the murky mists of air,
I fled with bleeding feet and bare
From Mauria ni Milleon.
—-Anon. Translated by G. Sigerson.
* Mo store, my treasure. ** Mo vrone, my grief.
*** Cota, the long frieze great-coat of the peasantry.
A faery dwells in a cove by the sea,
Stately as maiden of high degree;
And ever and aye by night and by day
She carols a melody clear and free.
Many a stout and stalwart knight
She has tempted over the waters bright:
With dance and with song she has led them
along
To the deadly realms of endless night.
And it befell one noontide hour
(Dark was the sky with a glooming shower!)
A gallant knight his troth did plight
To a fair ladye in a lonely tower.
"Sir Knight, Sir Knight!" said the proud
ladye,
"Haste to the faery who dwells by the sea;
And tryst at the Scar with the evening star—
So shall I prove thy love to me."
He mounted his charger, and gallop'd away
By down and valley and cove and bay:
He chaunted a song as he cantered along
By the dismal coast at close of day.
The wind blew fresh and the foam ran high;
Naught he heard but the seamew's cry,
Till he came to the cave by the crisping wave
Where the billow lies calm and the breezes die.
There, over the sea-weed and over the shells
And the tufted glens and the heathery dells,
O'er cave and dale, in the twilight pale,
The blissful melody floats and swells.
The knight grew faint as he ambled along,
And his heart beat high to the charmed song;
Never thought he of the lorn ladye
As he tript the pebbles and shells among.
The Faery stood in a curve of the sand,
And she waved to the Knight with her delicate
hand,
And on to a light on the waters bright
She pointed afar with her silvery wand.
(Her tresses are dark as the tangle that lies
In the calm blue deep at the red sunrise,
And they never have rest on her beautiful
breast,
That heaves and falls as the melody sighs.)
The fickle Knight follow'd her pearl-white feet,
For his bosom was thrill'd with the roundel sweet;
She stept on the sea with frolic and glee,
And he spurr'd his charger dark and fleet.
A meadow it seem'd, the bright green sea,
It seem'd a level and flowery lea;
Nor foam nor spray was dash'd away,
As the good steed over the tide did flee.
On to an isle of purple light
The Faery led him with rapid flight;
She waved her hand, she poised her wand,
And the billows roll'd over the faithless Knight.
Ah, what will become of the sweet ladye
Who prays for her lover on bended knee
By the pointed Scar that looms afar
O'er tarn and turret and winding lea?
She heard a hoof-pace faint and far,
As she pored on the pallid evening star.
Through the distant dell arose and fell
The clattering hoofs of a steed of war.
She sprang to her feet; she clomb the Scar;
And watch'd for the galloping steed of war,
As the sound came near both loud and clear
From the wood lying under the evening star.
Lo, to the tarn a horseman sped;
Pale was his face and his eyes were dead;
He lifted his spear as he gallop'd anear,
And on and on the phantom fled!
O wildly cried the lorn ladye,
And tore her tresses that floated free,
Then madly leapt to the tarn that slept
Under the cliff by the winding lea.
And oft when the sad pale evening star
Touches the tip of the rifted Scar,
A maiden's cry comes shuddering by,
And wakes the echoings near and far.
—-E. J. Armstrong.
O, who could lie a-snoring
Or who carousing be
While such a storm is roaring
And raving o'er the sea?...
A Ship to death is drifting.
Faint hands in prayer uplifting,
With hearts in anguish failing,
The wives and mothers, wailing,
Look out from cliff and lea;
And beacon-fires are glowing,
And, fierce and fiercer growing,
The sleety blasts are blowing
O'er rock and roof and tree.
Come out from giddy dances
And songs and vain romances
And idle dreams and trances,
And man the boat with me.
"Come down while thunders deaden
The minute-guns afar,
And the lightnings as they redden
Make pale the signal's star;
Come down where waves are leaping
And the stricken folk stand weeping,
Our gallant boat uncover,
And through the wet sand shove her,
And speed her o'er the bar;
For though she's but a light one,
For such a sea a slight one,
She's a trim one and a tight one,
And where to-night is he
Whose yearning would not waken
To help the lives forsaken?
Come down with hearts unshaken,
And brave the deep with me!"
So Guy the ever-daring
One fierce September night,
While beacon-fires were flaring
Along the Mizen's height—
As I, from pastimes shrinking,
Of Rose's scorn was thinking—
Cried, all at once upspringing
'Mid dance and mirth and singing
And games and laughters light;
And Hugh the eager-hearted
Out to the portal darted,
And Wolfe and Wilfred started
And Donald, Ralph, and I;
And, prayers and sweet imploring
From maiden lips ignoring,
With spirits wildly soaring
We faced the seas and sky.
As down the beach descending
We drave the quivering boat,
A gleam of moonlight, rending
The darkness, showed afloat
The labouring Vessel, shattered,
With tackle rent and tattered,
Amid the tempest heaving,
Her course to ruin cleaving;
Then fast the surf we smote,
And, boldly toward her steering,
Still Guy our courage cheering,
The deadly breakers clearing,
We strained across the tide;
And on,'mid lightnings gleaming,—
The winds about us screaming,
The rain in rivers streaming,—
We struggled to her side.
The Vessel still to seaward
Came drifting down the bay,
And, steering into leeward
In surf and rain and spray,
Athwart her sides we floated;
And there on deck we noted,
With faces outward gazing,
Their piteous hands upraising
As all forlorn they lay,
A helpless band together
(Like birds in wintry weather
With feather pressed to feather
Close huddled from the blast);
A moment, weirdly flashing,
We saw them,'mid the lashing
Of billows wildly dashing
O'er bulwark, deck and mast.
Four times we all but touched her,
Four times adrift were flung,
The fifth I sprang and clutched her,
And leech-like there I clung;
And thus to Guy's enclasping,
With one arm tightly grasping,
Those famished forms I lowered,
Till, well-nigh overpowered,
I trembled where I hung.
Then Guy and Wilfred, straining,
New strength from victory gaining,
Drew down the last remaining,
Till all were safely stowed;
And shoreward with our treasure,
All pain transformed to pleasure,
With oars in mirthful measure
At break of dawn we rowed.
Ay, well do I remember
The morning stormy-bright
That dawn of wild September,
As through the breakers white
We rowed the brave boat laden
With man and babe and maiden,
While o'er the sandy spaces,
The dawn-beams on their faces,
Looked out with straining sight
The crowd that there had waited,
Each heart with anguish freighted,
As slow the storm abated
Along the Brittas strand;
And how they cheered us, rending
The winds, as slow ascending,
Beneath our burthens bending,
We waded to the land;
And when the last was landed,
And homeward faint and cold
We turned, how, eager-handed,
(Guy leading as of old),
High on their shoulders proudly
They set me, cheering loudly,
And bore me on, declaring
The triumph of my daring;—
And how my love I told
That eve amid the gloaming
To Rose as we were roaming
Where Aughrim stream was foaming,
And how she smiled and sighed,
And,'mid the sunset's splendour,
Laying her white hand slender
In mine in love's surrender,
My prayer no more denied.
——G. F. Savage-Armstrong.
The Sailor Girl
When the Wild Geese were flying to Flanders
away,
I clung to my Desmond beseeching him stay,
But the stern trumpet sounded the summons to
sea,
And afar the ship bore him, Mabouchal machree.*
And first he sent letters, and then he sent none,
And three times into prison I dreamt he was
thrown;
So I shore my long tresses, and stain'd my face
brown,
And went for a sailor from Limerick Town.
* My heart's own boy.
Oh! the ropes cut my fingers, but steadfast I
strove,
Till I reached the Low Country in search of my
love.
There I heard how at Namur his heart was so
high,
That they carried him captive, refusing to fly.
With that to King William himself I was
brought,
And his mercy for Desmond with tears I be-
sought.
He considered my story, then smiling, says he,
"The young Irish rebel for your sake is free.
"Bring the varlet before us. Now, Desmond
O'Hea,
Myself has decided your sentence to-day.
You must marry your sailor with bell, book, and
ring,
And here is her dowry," cried William the King!
——A. P. Graves.
As in the good ship Annabel
We coasted off Corfu,
A sudden storm upon us fell,
And tore our timbers true
And rent our sails in two.
Our top-mast tumbled by the board,
Our mizeh-mast as well;
Through flapping canvas, scourging cord,
Above like our death-bell—
We hear the thunder knell.
"Now cut away!" our Captain cries,
"And like a cork she floats;"
But axe in hand, with scowling eyes,
Set teeth and cursing throats,
The Lascars loose the boats.
When Johnny Cox, who lay below,
From off his fever-bed,
Comes staggering up, a ghastly show
As if from out the dead,
And drives them back in dread.
"What! quit your posts, ye cowards all?
Here's ballast then for you!"
With that he heaves a cannon-ball
Full crash the cutler through,
And saves the ship and crew.
But he, our hero, ere the rocks
We rounded, drooped and died;
And we should lower you, Johnny Cox,
Lamenting o'er the side—
Into the moaning tide.
——A. P. Graves.
Awake, arise! The south wind sighs,
Beneath a cloudy curtain
Old Sol is snoozing in the skies,
There's scent to-day for certain.
And down deep o'er Slowley Steep
The harbourer swears he shall drop, boys,
On brow, bay, bay and tray,
Tray and three on top, boys!
Look up, a stream of sporting pink
Along the ridge is rushing,
Morn's ashen cheek you'd almost think
To rosy red was blushing;
But few, few, so smart of hue
And spick and span from the shop, boys,
Shall stick to-day to brow, bay,
Tray and three on top, boys!
What ho! the tufters on a find
Are turning to the nor'ard.
Hark back! hark back!'tis but a hind!
The stag himself! Hark for'ard!
O'er hedge, spine, sedge and rhine,
Full cry we course and hop, boys,
Behind brow, bay and tray,
Tray and three on top, boys!
Past Dunster towers and Wootton bowers,
Up Cutcombe Crest he's gliding.
Here, roadster friends, your fun it ends,
We've done with arm-chair riding,
And full sail, head to tail,
Down Dunkery side we drop, boys,
On brow, bay, bay, and tray,
Tray and three on top, boys!
We've chucked a City swell to the pig
In his mixen at Cloutsham Corner;
We've hung our artist by his wig,
Like Absalom, in Horner,
Till hard pressed by all our best
From Boscombe Head full flop, boys,
Goes brow, bay, bay and tray,
Tray and three on top, boys!
A boat! a boat! the Weirmen float,
And after him go racing;
But see! to shore he heads once more,
His foes with fury facing.
And back, back! he hurls the pack,
Or heaves them, neck and crop, boys,
Till now, now, down goes brow,
Bay, tray, and three on top, boys!
Yet only five of all the hive
That set on foot the sport, boys,
Rode straight and true the whole hunt thro'
And mingled at the mort, boys!
Now name, name those sons of fame,
Who'll match them nearer and farther?
Jim Scarlett, Bissett, and Basset were there,
With Parson Jack Russell and Arthur.
——A. P. Graves.
When all were dreaming but Pastheen Power,
A light came streaming beneath her bower,
A heavy foot at her door delayed,
A heavy hand on the latch was laid.
"Now who dare venture at this dark hour,
Unbid to enter my maiden bower?"
"Dear Pastheen, open the door to me,
And your true lover you'll surely see."
"My true lover, so tall and brave,
Lives exiled over the angry wave."
"Your true love's body lies on the bier,
His faithful spirit is with you here."
"His look was cheerful, his voice was gay;
Your speech is fearful, your face is grey;
And sad and sunken your eye of blue,
But Patrick, Patrick, alas!'tis you."
Ere dawn was breaking she heard below
The two cocks shaking their wings to crow.
"O hush you, hush you, both red and grey,
Or you will hurry my love away.
"O hush your crowing, both grey and red,
Or he'll be going to join the dead;
O cease from calling his ghost to mould,
And I'll come crowning your combs with gold."
When all were dreaming but Pastheen Power,
A light went streaming from out her bower,
And on the morrow when they awoke,
They knew that sorrow her heart had broke.
—-A. P. Graves.
Silence.—A while ago
Shrieks went up piercingly;
But now is the ship gone down;
Good ship, well manned, was she.
There's a raft that's a chance of life for one,
This day upon the sea.
A chance for one of two;
Young, strong, are he and he,
Just in the manhood prime,
The comelier, verily,
For the wrestle with wind and weather
and wave,
In the life upon the sea.
One of them has a wife
And little children three;
Two that can toddle and lisp;
And a suckling on the knee.
Naked they'll go and hunger sore,
If he be lost at sea.
One has a dream of home,
A dream that well may be;
He never has breathed it yet;
She never has known it, she:
But some one will be sick at heart,
If he be lost at sea.
"Wife and kids and home!"—
Wife, kids nor home has he!—
"Give us a chance, Bill!" Then,
"All right, Jem!" Quietly
A man gives up his life for a man,
This day upon the sea.
——E. H. Hickey.