· Irish Mist and Sunshine PREFACE. The Irish priest who is also a poet commands a range of emotions which are inaccessible and almost inconceivable to the decadent versi ﬁers

IrishMist 8 SunshineA ‘BOOK OF SBALLADS

By

Sliaw—na—mon !

With an in troduc tion byWilliam O

'

Brien , M. P.

‘BOSTON

‘Richard G. B adger 8 Company

(Incorporated!cToronto : W. E.

‘Blake

1901

MAR2 3 1970

Copyright 1900 by“Richard G. Badger 63 Company

(Incorporated!

‘

Reser’

bea’

Dedication

‘To my Brother

The ‘Refu. WILLIAM ‘DOLLARD

Church ofthe Holy Rosary

St. Stephen , N. B.

a locoer ofIreland and her literature, cwhose

teach ings and encouragement hacve

been my greatest aid, this book ofIrish caerse

is affectionately dedicated.

The Author

CONTENTS.

Preface by William O’

Brien , M. P., 9

Rhyme ofth e Still Hun ters, 15Ballad oft h e Coista Gann Kown , 2 7

Th e Cruise ofth e Blue Maureen , 31

Th e Bridge ofOrmonde, 39

Wh en th e Sh adow’s on th e Heath er,

Th e Hanging ofMyles Lehane, 44

Th e Fairy Stolen , 54

On Kenmare Head, 57

Cnoc -Maol-Dh oun , 60

Lamen t for Cill Ceann aigh , 63

Ballad ofth e Bansh ee, 66

Th e Red Walls ofL imerick , 69Lav -Laidhjr Abu , 72

Th e March ofth e Nort h Cork , 75

Th e Pik emen , 79

Song ofth e Lit t le V illages, 83

Th e Sweet River Su ir, 87

Irish Mist and Sunshine

PREFACE .

The Irish priest who is also a poet commandsa range of emotions whi ch are inaccessible andalmost inconceivable to the decadent versifiers who have made the phrase “The MinorPoets” a term of contem pt . There i s

,as in

the great days of poetry,something of the di

vine in hi s cal ling . He is privil eged,as i s no

other man,to enter the Holy of Hol ies of the

Irish soul,whi ch contains a virgin mine of

passion,pathos

,mirth and tragedy stil l await

ing the poet’s al chem i c touch . The surpri sing thing i s that so few Irish priests have yetturned to account for the enri chment of l iterature t h e wealth of hum an interest and feeling which l ies around the poet-priest in thewildest mountain parish . The brooks thatbabble around hi s dai ly path make music, andthere i s no cabin whose blue peat - smoke perfumes the moors around hi s chapel that couldnot yield up. its little lyri c or its tale of deepand haunting patho s . Two Irish priests areat thi s moment setting the example of whatmen who combine literary ardour with a pas

9


sionate love of their people can do to give theworld some glimpse of the charms of the trueIrish temperament

,horizon

,and spirit-world .

Father P. A . Sheehan’s famous book,

“MyNew Curate” gives perhaps the boldest as wellas the truest pi cture ever painted of the Irishpriest and of his peop le

,in habit as they l ive .

Father Dollard,the author of this book of ly

rics treats Irish life and sentiment through t h emore glowing medium of verse

,and with the

intensified passion of an exile from his nativeland . The grass-grown Iri sh villages, whosevery names set his thoughts to musi c, appearto him through an enchanted atmosphere ofrecollections and regrets which gives a touchof consecration too often lost for those towhom the dull realities suggest no more thanthe yel low primrose did to Peter Bell .Here and there a verse may be as franklyunadorned as the peasant cabins themselvesin their homely cloaks of thatch, but everyl in e rings true to life and home and with thetone as h eartmoving as the Angelus whichholds Mil let’s - peasants in its spel l . Father

I O


Dol lard moreover possesses the quality whichalone i s wanting among the perfections of the“New Curate” namely, a wholehearted sympathy with the national yearning of his people. The simple explanation to me at least ofthe dismal fate of al l the more or less Anglified “New Curate’s” proj ects for conqueringthe inveterate stagn ation of the vil lage life

around him is his failure to appreciate the aspirations whi ch are the people’s terrestrialbreath of life and the politi cal conditionswhich set young men either tippling with ! emDeady

,or learning the goose- step by moonl ight

under the command of the village tailor .

Father Dollard un derstands the tailor as wellas the tippler and sees perfectly how a healthynational enthusiasm could regulate the excesses of both and render Iri sh l ife as full ofmanly energy as it i s of n ational charm andpoeti c sen sibi lity. His lyrics have done verymuch indeed to discourage the unnatural He

gira from their n ative land which has temptedsuch myriads of the race from their wholesomemoun tain glen s in to the contamination of the

I I


factories and the city slums in stranger lands .Nobody can well read hi s verses without feeling a breath of healthy air pass through thelungs

, an d a pleasant twitching at the heartsu ch as effects one who in dreams in a distant

cl ime,hears the sound of the chapel bell of his

young days floating on hi s ears . I rish priestswith the gifts of Father Sheehan and FatherDol lard in their several kinds can do more torevive the power of the poet in its ancientGreek sense than the most misty -minded of thedilettanti who arrogate to them selves the credit of what is cal led the “Gaeli c Revival .

They are indeed makers and teachers , and theirbooks leave us with cheerfuller bel ief in our

kind .

WILL IAM O ’BRIEN.

Mallow Cottage,VV estport , Ireland,

September 12,1900.

I 2


RHYME OF THE STILL HUNTERS .

(A B allad of I cur-Connaugh t .

It was the Gauger Regan Buie

That pen sive came to bask,

One sunny day by Galway Bay,

And sat on an empty cask .

A Gauger old and stern was he,

Grim foe to fresh poteen ,Had sought the stil l o’er vale and b ill ;Ful l steady

' h is scent I ween .

He l it his pipe and he puffed a puff,He spat on the salty tide.He gazed on the blue-black Connaught Hill s

Then drooped his head and sighed

“Now,Regan Buie

,what sight dost see

On the lonesome Connaught Hill s ! ”

I see on Kylimore’s swelling slopes

The smoke of whiskey still s .

Is


I feel the peat spring to my feet,

I scent the gorse clad waste,

I long again for crag and glen

Where mountain rivers raced .

Full dim my sight that once was light,My bones are stiffand sore

,

But the Connaught Hill s are cal ling now,

And it’s offI ’d be once more .

Oh, ofi again with the mountain men ;I knew them one and al l

! ack ! oyce that kept round Knockan iss,

And Teig at Balnagal ;

And Maelmorra Lynch, of Dalystown

But t h e lk eenest rogue drew breath

Was Dh iarmid Roe, of B allinasloe,Sly fox and game to death .

’Twas many a day we went hi s way ,Ful l sure to find his lairIn the B ough ta Hill s where smoked his

‘still s

On the bounds of County Clare .

16


And many a night, a woeful sight,My men and I slunk home

,

While down from the shadowy moun tain clifisHis mocking voi ce would come

“Ho,Regan Buie you’re far to see

“My pearly mountain dew,

“I’ll send you a pint with never a stint,First run and tested true .

“But haste you now from the mountain tracks :“Go home to Galway Town

“And say when there that I beat you fair“For al l your name’s renown .

”

We wandered there when fields were fair

And the furze a flame of gold :

We sought again for the outlaw’s den

When winter winds b lew cold .

One day at last we fo l lowed fast ;The trail was straight and true ;Close was the chase till a Cliff’s dark face

Concealed him from our view .

1 7


High and low for a h iding placeWe searched and searched again

,

Till we found a rift in the granite cliff,

The door of Dh iarmid’s den .

Oh chil l that cave as a churchyard vault ;Our hearts had need be bold ;B lack was its mouth

,but the womb within

Was blacker a hundredfold .

‘

High and steep were the stony wall sThe roof was lost to view ;With s huffle and j ar like thunder farOur footfal l s echoed through .

Spoke ! ack Ryan, of B ansha townWho feared not man or ghost ;

“I hear a tread on the road ahead ;And he followed the footsteps fast .

On through the midnight mirk he went ,With n ever a thought or care ;But I Theard the sound of a torrent’s rush ,And called to him,

“Beware !”

18

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! ou r grave is a thousand feet below“Your children wai t at home

,

And your wife shall cry as the days go by“For a hu sband ne’er to come .

“But think on the home in Galway town“And think of child and wife

“And make me a solemn promise here,“! our word shal l buy your life .

For n ever again the mountain men“Your stealthy steps must fear.

“The crag and glen for the mountain men ;“The slope for the mountain deer !

No more the stil l y ou ’l l hunt and spil l ,“Or range the gorse lands high ;

“Your word will hold,’gainst glory

gold ;Who breaks our law must die !”

Then stout his challenge I answered back,And spoke as man to man :

“My word won’t go to Dh iarmid Roe .

“So work the worst you can .

2 0

“I ’l l hunt ye again by crag and glen

(God care for child and wifeB u t

,ere I give ye the pledging word

“I ’l l part with them and l ife.”

Then Dh iarmid Roe spoke grave and slow ;“Your death-knell ’s sounding now ;

“No hurrying bal l your soul shal l call,

“Grim fear must make you bow .

Your grave i s deep and your grave i s high,“Its walls are soundless rock ;And never a soul shal l hear you call ,“Whilst I your sufl’

rings mock .

”

He spoke and the blessed light was gone,We groped in darkest gloom ;And we heard but the foaming flood below,

Sounding a knel l of doom .

Blind on our track we floundered backOur folly to bemoan ;We felt our way where the passage lay,And struck but the solid stone .

2 1


Searched we there in our heart’s despair,

But ever the same we found .

Naught but the boiling depths belowAnd the iron rock around .

Oh,deep our grave by a hidden wave

,

And far from friends and homeWhere never a soul as long years rol lTo breathe a prayer would come .

Then cried Ned Power of Parson town ,

My friend in raid and fray :We’ve held the front in many a brunt“But thi s i s the end to -day.

Oh this i s the end and worse to fear“My curse on Dh iarm id Roe !

May all hi s flin ty heart ho lds dear“Rise up to work him woe .”

Heavy and slow the crawling hours ,And each one seemed a day ,In the deadly gloom of that living tombOur live strength ebbed‘ away .

2 2

And when sweet visions cro ssed the brainOf homes we’d see no more,We heard the drop of the reeking rockAnd the rumbling torrents roar .

At last a light flashed full and bright’Twas sweet as breaking day,

And full in the glow stood Dh iarm id RoeAnd mocked us where we lay :

Ho,Regan Buie

,are the hounds at bay,

“Brought up and trapped at last !“You’ve had your fun of many a run ,

“B ut your hunting days are past .

My curse on ye for stubborn fool s !“Speak now the word I said

“The riftl ess rock is al l around“And the rock roof overhead .

“I ’l l send ye back to Galway TownWhere wife and children wait .

“The time goes by and the end i s nigh“Speak now or speak too late .”

2 3

Up spoke Ned Power of Parson town

! our pardon,Regan Buie :

“The word your pride forever wou ld hide“I ’l l speak for you and me.

“Oh, n ever again by heath and glen

(God pay thee, Dh iarmid Roe !!“Were a whiskey stil l on every hill ,

“On the outlaw’s track we’l l go .

Were a whiskey still on every hill,“And a scent to make one reel ,Oh ! never again on the mountain men“Like blooded sleuths we’l l steal .

“Tho’ many an outlaw roam unhanged,“Of high and low degree,

“To Dh iarm id Roe the palm must go,“The Chief of rascals he.”

Then smiled that rascal , Dh iamid Roe,A wicked smile to see,And said : “This day is the day indeed

“And worth a world to me.”

2 4

The day that I baffled Regan Buie“And brought hi s boasting low

,

“A pint I’l l brew of the mountain dewTo treat ye ere ye go .

”

He bound our eyes and he led us on,And when we looked again,We saw the prize we had hunted long,The daring outlaw’s den .

Bu sy and n eat, in al l complete,V at and worm and stil l ,The mountaineer for many a year

Had worked them al l at wil l .

Then Dh iarm id Roe : “Now ere ye go“Ye’l l test my mountain dew .

”

And loud he laughed as the potent draughtOur shaking frames thril led through .

Oh,gay his laugh and merry his ch afi ,

As he showed the homeward way,And “Regan B uie in the years to be

“! ou’l l never rue this day.

2 5


“Oh, come again to the mountain men,“A Government spy no more :Their friendship true I ’l l warrant you“And wel coming hearts galore .

He said and we looked our last on him,

Then turned our faces home ;But every year to my cottage hereA stealthy cask doth come .

And writ in the ancient Gael ic tongueThis legend you may see :Sweet mountain dew

,from Dh iarmid Roe,

To the Gauger,Regan Buie.

”

Oh,mellow and true that mountain dew .

Old heart and brain it thril l s .

I see as I saw in days of old ,the wind - swept Connaught Hil l s ;

I feel the peat beneath my feetI smell the heathery waste

I long again for the crag and glenwhere thundering torrents raced .

2 6



Black Nial l Moran,

’ti s a blasphemy spoken,

Lone, lone the long road athwart the mountains brown

Oh,’ware you the graveyards whose portalsnow open

And the dread,headless horses of the Coista

Gann Kown .

”

A curse in the midnight,and a loud laugh of

scorn,

A murderer plunges in the black jaws of night,The high gal lows threatened and the pale

breaking morn,

Far out over ocean should see him in flight .

B u t fearful his j ourney, the dreary winds af

fright him .

Sobbing,hopeless sobbing amid the branchessere

From the wood-sheltered cairn,where hi s vi c

tim lies staring

The B anshee’s awesome u llagon comes to hisear .

28

Irish Mist and Sunsh ine

Ullagon' Ullagon ! the wailing winds repeat

Ullagon ! Ullagon ! the hol low hil l s replA rustle in the murky gloom

,—the winging of

a demon !

A voice in the vall ey—’ti s a lost spirit’s cry !

Black Niall Moran,where now your bold

vauntingYour brow’s damp with terror .—God spare

your guilty soul .

Hark ! o’er the din of your scared bosom’s

panting,

Hear the Headless Horses,and the Dead

Coach ’s roll !

Black Niall Moran if e’er you prayed toHeaven ,

Oh,pray unto the Saviour now for succor and

for grace .

They come,the demon horses—sound their

tramp like hol low thunder,The lightnings of their flashing hoofs illume

his ghastly face .

2 9


Ah ! vainly doth he strive to pray—hi s pallidlips are frozen

,

God’s Mother,break the wicked spel l that

binds hi s b ody n ow .

His eyes must view the phantom coach, whosedoor i s swinging open

,

Within—a reeking body—’ti s his victim’s

clotted brow !

A shriek upon the midnight air,—a rumble in

the darkness,A gain the demon horses thro’ the mountains

speed away .

Stark dead upon the roadside,in his eyes a

nameless horror,

They found B lack Niall lying at the breakingof the day !

Where four roads meet they buried :him wheneven-shades w erefalling

But when night’s dusky curtains on t h

shrinking h i lls drop downThey hear t h e D ead Coach rushing by, and

" c ros s their foreheads saying ;His soul must ride t ill j udgment !with the

Coista Gann Kown .

”

3 0

THE CRUISE OF THE BLUE MAUREEN.

It was the brave ship Blue MaureenSwept out from ! ueenstown Bay,

Nor shortened sail to the rising galeThat whipped the seas to spray.

Her skipper was Rorke,of County Cork

,

Where daring men are bred ;Dark scowling now he stood at the prowAnd scanned t h e ski es ahead .

A smuggler free and fierce was he

A s e’er foiled revenue brand ;No storm could daunt him on the seaAnd he feared no l aw on land .

He wore away to the wild sou ’-west,He flew as the swallow flies,Past Seven Heads

,and the Galleys’ crest

To where the Three Stags rise .

3 1


He en tered a lonely cove at lastAnd a Spanish ship lay there ;The Blue Maureen they loaded cleanWith cargo rich and rare .

And none too quick was done the tri ckFor as he sheered awayA gun -boat cleared the ocean swellAnd stu ck its nose in the bay .

Said Rorke,

“The revenue-man ’s not builtCan fool a fox like me”

He found a gate thro ’ a hidden strait,And danced on the open sea .

Now Revenue-man,it’s Catch who can

Said Rorke,

“an

’ we’ve slipped ye wel l ,Ho

,now for a chase and a cl ipping race

To harbor or to hel l .”

The storm-gust shook the Blue MaureenAnd blew her into the westLike thistle down in the summer breezeFrom Brown Knocmeldom ’

s crest.

3 2


The skipper laughed to hi s flying craft,No revenue boat was seen

And would they match their smoky hulksTo sail with the B lue Maureen ! ”

Now lads to wind with her a bitWe’l l head for port again ,See yonder cloud like a dead man ’s shroud,It carries a hurri cane.

They looked and the erstwhile smiling southGrew dark—as dark as midnight .Dusky and dun became the sunAnd bal eful was his light .

B lack and blacker the skies became

Ti l l a white bo lt crashed o’erh ead,And out of the pall came a thunder cal!L ike the last trump of the dead .

Ho ! down the sail s—’ware fou l or slip !And watch ve well the southWe’ve saved our ship from the bailiff’s gripBut we’ve run in the devil ’s mouth !”

33

A curse on my eyes that see no sign,

A curse on the coming blast,T’will carry us bare to God knows whereNor leave us a rag to mast.”

He spoke,and the hissing hurri cane

Drove in to show him true ;It caught the ship in a gusty gripA nd blind to the north she flew .

Oh,blind she flew til l the pal lid crewFor fear could scarce draw breathSaid Rorke

,

“thi s drift i s steady and swiftAnd the end of it al l is death .

”

The end i s death,be it long or short,

Not mine the skill to knowOr grinding shock on a hidden rockOr flung on a white i ce-floe.

”

Then northward drove the B lue Maureen ,

Stil l n orth a day and night,With n ever a l ift nor once a shift

The hurricane proved its might .

34



Steady and stark the Stranger stood,

Nor recked the reeling ship ;Then : “Dermot Rorke

,you have done

work

And sailed your last sea-trip .

Cast is the line,and the prize is mine

So now I claim your soul .”

The skipper he looked to the scowling rocks,And heard the breakers roll .

Oh life is sweet with hel l to meet,The skipper said with a sigh .

“I’l l sel l my soul when seven years rol lIf now you pass me by .

”

Your soul i s mine,said the demon then ,

“When e’er I will to take,But now you ’l l sel l your child as well ,And saved be for her sake .

“Her sou l i s bright with a wondrous light

(God’s grace within her grew!

I ’l l take that soul when seven years roll .

And ti ll that time spare you .

36

Burst from the skipper a cry of fear ;“What ! take my chi ld ! ” he said

,

Not for the earth and al l ’tis worthI ’d sel l a hair of her head.

”

Oh,Lord

,that rules the wind

,and stirs

The deep seas with Thy breath,

In this dread hour show forth Thy powerSave us from sin and death !”

The sinner prayed—hi s lips were stirredBy grace of his own chi ld

’s prayer ;At a distant shrine her call was heard,God crowned her pleading there .

A h ! n one may claim Christ’s aid in vain ;And now a child’s weak moanPierces the sky and there on highSweet mercy claims its own .

G reat is Thy saving Name, 0 Christ !

A far the Tempter flies,God

’s holy peace fal l s o ’er the seas,

The storm -blast moaning dies !

3 7


By ! ueenstown Bay , on the sand-bars gray,

Beached high a boat is seen ;She sai ls no more where deep seas roar,

’Ti s the brave ship Blue Maureen .

No more she’l l breast the bi llow’s crest

On perilou s cruise out-bound,All peaceful now is the skipper’s brow,

God’s friendship he hath found .

Death’s cal l he waits,at the harbor gates

With hope God’s port to see ;May skies be fai r on his voyage there,And Christ hi s Pilot be !


THE BRIDGE OF ORMONDE .

A B allad of Ki lkenny! .

Or-monde’s castle stones are highOrmonde

’s brazen gates are grand

Ri ch i s the Lord of Ormond,why

Coveted he my cot and land !

Steady and clear the river flowsUnder the B ridge of Ormonde

Out with the flood my spirit goesFar from the shades of OrmondI see the home was once mine own

Desolate now its cold hearth-stoneBarren the fields and weed -o ’er-grown

Stamped with the curse of Ormonde.

“Rent or the land” ! they said that dayAnd drove us out on the bleak highwayI cannot rest and I cannot prayCursing the greed of Ormonde.

39

Proudly above Kilkenny townTowers the wall s of OrmondeI wander up and I wander downOver the B ridge of Ormonde .My heart is broken

,my hopes are

No roof to shelter a hoary headBut he lies soft on a down b edSafe in the palace of Ormonde !

The tyrant —Safe ' Ah that dread desireMy soul i s seethed in hel li sh fire !

God rescue me from these whispers dire !

Close by the gates of Ormonde .Peacefu l and stil l the waters flow

Under the Bridge of Ormonde

Wou ld that my tortured breast were soHere by the hal l of Ormonde .

Mother of God ! (the sweet words bless!Hinder my hand from wickedness

Aid ! oh aid me in dark distressLone on the Bridge of Ormonde .

Irish IWist and Sunshine

WHEN THE SHADOW’S ON THEHEATHER .

An Irish Christmas B allad.

Slipping down the Curlew mountains to th

early Christmas Mass,

When the shadow’s of the heather and therime is on the grass

Want may chil l our highl and cottage ; troublesbide with us alway .

But the Saviour makes us happy on his holyChri stmas Day .

I must wake my dear ones early on this mornof peace and joy,

Little pet- lam b , pretty Norah , sturdy Neil, mynoble boy

,

Vshen the hearth i s clean and cosy and thedancing flames are gay,

A nd the kettle croons a wel come to the coming Christmas day.

41

Irish IlIist and Sunshine

Darkness l ingers on the val ley and the fairyhaunted glen

,

Eastward now t h e break of morning brings

the peace of God to men .

Near the mountain- rim,—first j ewel of the

Christ-Child ’s diadem,

Burns a star of radiant beauty like the Star ofB eth lehem .

Wake ye now,my sleeping treasures, wake ye

now,your mother’s j oy

,

Pretty Norah,drowsy lambkin, b lue-eyed Neil,

my laughing boyFor the shadow’s on the heather, and the rime

is on the grass ,And the angel s hurry earthward to the early

Christmas Mass .

See above you ivied abbey, where God’s ser

vants praved of old ,Fiery pil lars in the heavens—bars of silver,

shafts of goldSwing the gates of glory open , shining soul s

unnumbered pass,Let us hurry down to meet them at the early

Chri stmas Mass .

42


Irish .Mist and Sunshine

THE HANGING OF MYLES LEHANE .

The Baron of Graine and Cavan,his heart was

hard and cold,

He loved but his dogs and hunters—his godwas greed of gold .

Said he : “For my pride and pleasure I ’l l have

those broad lands free,

A nd he drove his serfs to the workhouse, orscourged them o ’er the sea.

B u t Myles Lehane of Cashel went up to theB aron ’

s door,

His heart like lead and bowed his head,—h enever had begged before.

Said he,

“for your honor’s payment long yearsI ’ve drudged like a beast,

’Twil l break my heart from the lan d to part.but leave u s the house at least,

For Nora,my wife

,i s dying,—the child is gone

before,’Twas fever kil led ou r darl ing, so the neigh

bors come no more.”


Then the Baron swore a sounding oath,and

ordered the “dog” away,

And back thro ’ the rain went Myles Lehan eto his woful house that day.

Next morning’s sun rose grim and dun,and in

thro’ the val ley’s gate,

L ike a river red the “Death B rigade” defiledin martial state .

Oh,bold and gay they looked that day, theRoyal B ritish Horse

But they did a work would shame a Turk thatspares not the senseless corse .

Their sabres clanked ful l gallantly,their hoof

beat echoed plain,Till they came to halt with never a fau lt by

the house of Myles Lehane,And there they formed a cordon , al l strict to

the rules of war.

(Would they do so well to the Arab yel l on

A fri c sands afar ! !

45


Within his straw roofed cottage,his own no

longer now,

Sat Myles Lehane deep -bowed in pain,cold

fear-drops on hi s brow,

Dread were the thoughts he wrestled,but nev

er uttered a sound,The hand of God lay heavy on him—the wrath

of men around .

His sick wife lay beside him,her life-tide ebb

ing fast,

And he prayed that ere the tr0 0 ps came thereher spirit might have pas sed .

The damp,death-reek was on her cheek, the

Priest was kneeling by,But she heard outside the soldiers’ stride, and

pitiful was her cry

Oh wirra, wirra ,

* the bitter day ! and have I

l ived so long,And must I lie by the road to die, that n ever

did man wrong !

Oh,Myles

,my heart’s light ever, come n ear

and hold my hand,’Twas gladsome May our wedding day and

sunshine fil led the land ;Wirra, (lit . ! Oh , Mary, Mary !

46


The birds sang gay our wedding day,the bend

ing skies were blue,

And you were there my king of men,and I was

fair to you .

Our joys and our heavy sorrows we sharedthem side by side

,

When the crops and cattle prospered—whenthe son ofou r bosoms died ;

But now when your blackest trouble is fallingupon your head

,

I must leave you,Myles

,my husband, to be

with the griefless dead .

Yet hear me,our God i s mercy,—He j udges

the deeds of men ;I ’ll pray at His throne for you , my own , until

we meet again .

”

Ban g on the door a gun-butt—hurtled a hoarsecommand :

Now,Myles Lehane, in the ! ueen

’s high

name,give up your house and land .


The hinges burst like rot-wood,and in the

bailiffs strode,

Now out with them , bag and baggage, to beg

their rent on the road !”

The priest stood up from the bedside,his tear

fil led eyes flashed fireOh

,men

,would ye shame your manhood to

do such deed for hi re,The wild beast chased and wounded may die

at last in hi s lair,

And would ye refuse like mercy to God’s ownimage there ! ”

Then spoke his lordship’s agent,—a fien d in

carnate he,You ’l l leave the house my prating priest, and

curse her ! so shal l she,fetch me the oil -can

,hearties—we’ll have

a bonfire good,And crack our j oke whil e the rats we smoke ,

as loyal subj ects should .

”


They bore her out on the roadside,they l aid

her down to die,The flames from the burning cottage leaped

fiercely to the sky“B ut swifter on to the heavens the sou l of a

woman went,

The angel s found her a dwelling -place, and

never a word of rent .

’Ti s night in the gloomy valley,

’ti s n igh t o n

the hil l side drearHark ! heard ye a gunshot sounding—heard ye

a shriek of fear !A murderer flies in terror

,his deed was done

too well

The Baron of Graine and Cavan , his soul i sdeep in hel l !

A bullet has found its bil let out there on t h (

lonesome moor,No more he’l l grind , in hi s anger bl ind, t h

faces of God’s poor .

49


And out on the widening ocean a swift ship

flies e’en now

The winds blow fair, yet one they bear, withCain-brand on his brow .

Now flash ye the news of horror to every landand clime

,

And mark the race with deep disgrace whosesons have wrought such crime !

What tho ’ in peaceful England a thousand

worse befal l,The Baron great had wealth and state and

lived in princely hall ,But mind ! no word of the woman—she died by

deed of law,

We rule them strong, we may do wrong, but,look ye

,find no flaw ,

And find u s a ready victim , it boots not whom

nor how,

The outraged State must vindicate her inj ured

! ustice now .

50



Better to die and end it than live a trampledslave

With never a breath of freedom—no hope butthe waiting grave .

The precious gold_

we drudge for buys feast

for a glutton’s hall ;B etter than life of tort ure , be robbed at once

of all .”

A h ! Myl es Leh ane, of Cashel dost hear thydeath -bell toll !

The grim black flag they’ve hoisted—Christ’smercy on thy soul !

The guards drag forth their vi ctim , the hangman stands in wait,

Like watchers by a death-bed , the peopl e pray

at the gate.

The b lack mask vei l s his vi sion—h ! looked hislast on the sun ,

Now God and the V irgin aid him—the awfuldoom is done !

Thro ’ the grimy streets of Dublin the crowdscreep shuddering home

,

And down from the Wicklow summits thegusty rain -blasts come .

They weep through the darkened city to washits guilt away .

They tel l to the sullen Irish Sea a tale ofshame today .

I saw a singer of ballads,he sang a song in

the street,In the heart of Dublin City,

’mid bustle andhurry of feet,

Men ’s cheeks flushed hot to hear him, and

women’s went white with pain

I ’ve tried to sing you the song I heard—ThHanging of Myles Lehan e.

53


THE FAIRY-STOLEN .

An Irish B allad.

Mother dear,my mother

,they have stolen me

awayAnd I miss you mother darling al l the live

long dayWhen the dreamy sun i s shining

,and the

fleecy clouds sail by,! ou are weeping for me, mother, and I hear

your bitter cry .

I wandered by the fairy Rath , I wandered al lalone .

I played,nor thought of danger, by the

haunted Ogam Ston eTil l the fairies from Knocsh eela came and car

ried me awayWhere they live within the mountain in their

palaces of clay .

54

Irish Mist and Sunsh ine

Mother dear, oh mother, they have crown edme Fairy ! ueen,

They have robed me in a vesture of the sunset’s wondrous sheen

,

They have dowered me with treasure thattheir fairy castles hold

,

But more precious to me mother your sweetki ss than shining gold .

“T hen the sun i s on the mountain

,and the

cloud shades come and goAnd drowsy brooklets downward ’neath the

nodding hazels flow ,

When the bee 1s in th e fox-glove,and in covert

hides the bare,Oh

,look upon the mountain then, for mother,

I am there.

But when the night has fallen and the mysti cmoonlight comes,

And darkly on the val ley’s breast the greywalled castle l ooms,

Oh then along the river’s banks we’re skipping n ear and far

Til l dawn with spears of silver drives awaythe Morning Star.

55


’Twas but yesternight oh mother that wepassed the cottage by

Ah,my eager heart beat heavily to know thatyou were nigh .

I saw the tears you shed for me,I heard your

troubled prayer,But the fairy throng bore swift along, I

could not linger'

there .

Mother dear,my mother

,I am dying day by

day,

They may hold my lifeless body, but my spirit wil l not stay,

It will seek you mother darling thro’ the sunshine or the rain,

And the fairies of the mountain cannot stealyour child again .

ON KENMARE HEAD .

An Irish B allad.

Sweet Mother of the Cru cified

Be nigh to aid me now .

My old eyes view the sad gray seaBeyond the cliff’s high brow :

The wide,gray sea that sullenly

Beats on the black rocks bare,The whil e I moan

,bereft and lone,

On the Head of Old Kenmare .

Oh bitter day I lost for ayeThe dear ones of my soul !

And cruel sea ! —twixt t hem and meHow broad and bleak you rol l !

Two graves are lying far away

With none to kneel in pray’r

An d I,their mother, weeping here

On the Head of Old Kenmare .

57


My Owen left our cabin doorA dreary winter day

,

Ful l quick I ’l l send ye gold galoreThe heavy rent to pay.

”

Mo nuar ! ’twas the kil ling wordThey wrote from over there,

“He’s dying and his love he sendsTo those in Old Kenmare .”

Then Mary,treasure of my life

How sweet her modest grace !My timid lamb

,she left me too

The hard world-winds to face .

Poor child,her heart was b roken soon

With al l a strange land’s care ;They laid her by her brother’s sideFar

,far from O ld Kenmare .

Now ever to my anguished sou lTheir dying voices reach,I hear them in the waves that rollAnd sob along the beach .



CNOC-MAOL -DHOUN.

*

Ah ! sweet is Avondh uv that flows by lordlyCappoquin

And sighing low the south winds blow acrossthe V ale of Glin ,

God’s b lessings on our Irish land,as well in

field and town,But give me strength and let me stand on

Cnoc-Maol -Dh oun .

Now fai ry hands are finding me and friendlysprites are they,

Oh,fairy hands are binding me, we

’l l bear

you up,

” they say ;Come up where starry heather-flowers and

golden gorse encrownThe monarch of all fairy-mounds, our Cnoc

Maol Dh oun .

Th e brown Smooth Hill .—In Cou n ty Wat erford, Ireland.

60


I yi eld me to their magic spell,its power i s not

gain- said,

We leave at once the lowly del l , and seek t h emountain’s head

,

I feel the breeze of ocean now ,I smell the

fraoi ch brown,

And cooled the fever of my brow on CnocMaol -Dh ou n .

A far the shining Suir leaps A rdfinan’s wood

lands o’er,

Afar the thundrous billow sweeps thine echoing wall A rdmore ;

On sunny hill and misty vale my vi sion rangesdown ,

And fancy teems with olden dreams, on CnocMaol -Dh oun .

On yonder plain,in war -array, I see the hosts

of Finn ,And mighty chiefs of ancient day,—I hear

their arms’ din ;Famed Oisin of t h e Yellow Locks and Conan

of Renown ,Their shadows ri se before mine eyes , on Cn oc

Maol -Dh oun .

61


Pass Conall and the Red Branch Knights,

and Maev, to confli ct dire,

See great Cu cu lain ,

“Lord of Fights” his speara flame of fire .

A moment through the shifting mist sad Deirdre’s face is shown,

Kind fairies grant the sight ye list,on Cnoc

Maol -Dh oun .

Ah ! poor in sordid wealth of gold, but rich isErin stil l

In magic spel l and legend old, that cling t oheath and hill ,

Dearer than gold a thousand fold, God’s beau

ties rare that crown ,

The streams that flow thy heights below o ldCn oc-Maol -Dh oun .

62


LAMENT FOR CILL CEANNA IGH .

It i s my bitter sorrow that the heavy-rollingmain

Betwixt me and the land I love up-swel l s to

mock my pain ;A weary load is on me that the Sprin g is here

again

And I far away from Kilkenny.

This cheerless exile, day by day, more griev

ou sly I rue,And foreign skies grow dark to me recal ling

ski es of blue,Fade out

,ye stretching city streets , and smilethe fields I knew

,

In the gold-misty vales of Kilkenny.


On Su ir’s banks the winds of March awake t h e

daffodi l

In sprouting groves by Clodagh’s stream t h

cuckoo’s numbers thril l,

The saucy, sunny primroses in hol low and onhill

‘ Are scenting the gale of’

Kilk en ny.

Oh ye that pass o ’er heath and grass,al l in the

morning dawn,

The heights to breast,your brows caressed

with breeze from"

Sliav-na-mon ;Til l Suir shines in golden light, a nd every

shadow ’s gone,

Bless God that your home’s in Kilk en nv .

A long the winding country ways the hawthorn hedge i s white,

The red breast from his mossy nest doth watchyou out of sight ;

Oh,sweet the day in balmy May , and soft thedewy night

That fal l s o’er my home in Kilk ennv .

64

Irish Mist ana Sunshine

To l ist the ploughman’s cheery voi ce,—thebou chal

’s whistle call

,

To hear the pure faced cailins sing that guide

the cows to stal l ;To watch the stalwart hurlers leap and strike

the bounding bal l,

Mo bhron that I ’m far from Kilkenny.

There i s a heather-belted hil l lifts high itssummit bare

And up its sides the pleasant fields are c limb

ing everywhere ;If I’d my way

,

’tis there today I ’d breathe theblessed air

,

And greet my old friends in Kilkenny .

0 Erin, call thy scattered sons, and bid themall unite

“To long in alien wars ye bleed—unblest thatfruitl ess fight,

Arise again,unconquered men , do battle for

the right,And free the fair homes of Kilkenny.

65

BALLAD OF THE BANSHEE .

B ack thro’ the hil l I hurried homeEver my boding sou l would sayMother and sister bid thee comeLong

,too long has been thy stay.

Stars shone out, but the moon was paleTouched by a black cloud’s ragged rimSudden I heard the Banshee’s wailWhere Malmor’s war-tower rises grim .

! ui ckly I strode across the slopePassed the grove and the Fairy Mound

(Gloomy the moat where blind owls mope!Scarcely breathin g

,I glan ced around.

66


Back by the grove and haunted moundO ’er the lone road I know not howHearkened afar my baying houndHome at last at the low hil l’s brow .

Lon e the cottage—the door flung wideFour light s burned—oh sight of dread !Breathing a prayer

,I rushed inside,

“Mercy,God !” ’twas my mother

,dead !

Dead and white as the fallen leaf

(Kneeling my sister prayed near by!Wild as I wrestled with my griefFar and faint came the Banshee’s cry .

68


THE RED WALLS OF LIMERICK.

A B rigade B allad.

There’s bitter woe in Erin since the WildGeese sailed away

,

The clairseach“ sobs with sorrow now, that

erst rang loud and gay ;Unheard the tramp of Sarsfield’s Horse and

D ’Usson ’s bugle-bray .

Mo nuar ! Mo nuar ! the lost pride of L imeri ck !

The treaty is broken and our wrongs are um

redressed,

A murdered peasant’s hanging high on yonder mountain crest ;

See there a starving mother, with a dead childto her breast .

Mo nuar ! Mo nuar ! the black woes of Lim

eri ck !

Clairseach—th e h arp .


Go Dh ia, but these deathly days hang l ike afuneral pall

Mine eyes have seen the battle break ’gain st

bel ching fort and wal l ;Dutch Wi l l iam’s stormers stagger back from

shearing blade and ball .Mo nuar ! Mo nuar ! the Red Wall s of Lim

eri ck !

How leaped our hearts when Lu can ’s Horse

swept by at thunderou s pace !

How cheered we Dillon’s dancing plume, and

B erwi ck’s martial grace !

Ah ! days indeed ! Our tender maids feared notgrim death to face,

Mo nuar ! Mo nuar ! the lone homes of Lim

eri ck !

But Sarsfield and hi s “Slashers” al l havesail ed away to France,

On Europe’s shaking battle-fields their fierychargers prance,

And Erin—hapless Erin,now has not one

guarding lance .

Mo nuar ! Mo nuar ! the dead hopes of L im

eri ck !

70


Broad Shannon’s eddying waters hurry outward to the sea,

A hundred exile-bearing ships adown its widegate flee !

Alone I wait the shadows of the night that is

to be.

Mo -

nuar ! Mo nuar ! the lost cause of Limerick !

7 I


LAV -LAIDHIR ABU.

(“Abou t this time a great disgrace fell upon the

noble family ofO’B rien ; for the Ch ieftai n Mur

rough, a man brave beyond compare, and ofcomely parts, wen t over to the English wi th part ofhisclan, and waged war wi thou t mercy against h is

kinsmen and former friends. So terrible in sooth

were h is devastations that he th ereafter was

known to the Irish as‘Murrough the B urner.

’

Old Chron icler .

My head is bowed,and my heart is breaking,

My Clairseach dumb for my country’s shame,This burden black from my spirit shaking,I ’l l strike again to an ancient name.

Lae-Laidh ir Abu !

That shout thril led many a field of fame,Lap -Laidh ir Abu !

7 2


A bard am I of a house dishonored ;A song unsaddened no longer mine ;

Loud rang my harp amid hosts embannered,

When Erin’s shield was the race of B rian .

Lao-Laidh ir Abu !

Lord God,look down on a princely lineLae -Laidh ir Abu !

Flash forth, Kin cora, thy hall s of glory,Come

,famed Clontarf

,to my sad sou l ’s

sight ,A thousand fields where in battle goryThe Strong Hand wrestled for Erin’s right.

Lav-Laidh ir Abu !

Thrice cursed be h e that its strength wouldbl ight

,

Lao-Laidh ir Abu .’

Accursed be he upon plai n and mountain,A ccursed again upon shore and wave,

Shame’s hot breath poison his heart’s life

fountain,Shallow and red hi s polluted grave .

Lau -Laidh ir Abu !

A haughty house,has it borne a slave !

Lav-Laidh ir Abu !

73

Irish Mist ana Sunshine

Murrough the Burner ! from Croome to Conn aught

I see the smoke of your conquests rise ;Maddened with slaughter

,your heme and bon

nagh t

Affright out val leys with murderous cries .Lap -Laidh ir Abu !

The dumb beasts e’en from their presence flies ,Lav-Laidh ir Abu !

Green bosomed Th omond, your bloom is faded,Proud Cash el’s portal s your pride i s fled,Grim Murrough

’s butchers, by Satan aided,

Have made wide Desmond a house of dead .

Lav-Laidh ir Abu !

But ri se,ye clan s to a vengeance dread !

Lap -Laidh ir Abu !

Afar I hearken the banshee calling

Fierce Th ommond’s chief to his bloody

tomb

Murrough the Burner,the bo lt i s fal l ing ,

Thy gibbering vi ctims around thee loom .

Lav-Laidh ir Abu !

Meet for a traitor a traitor’s doom ,

Lav-Laidh ir Abu !

74



On marched the North Cork Regiment,a gal

land sight to see ;Their tall plumes fluttered in the breeze

,their

bugles brayed with glee ;Past fair Mooncoin

,past G ranagh

’s tower ,

past ancient Waterford,

And soon o ’er Wexford’s war- scarred fields

their crimson banner soared .

What fires are those that flash on high ! Whatshrieks that pierce the air !

’Tis not the flame of cannon’s mouth,or battle

trumpet ’s blare .Oh ‘Wexford ! ’ti s thy roofs that b laze, and

’ti s thy women ’s cry ;Now up

, and grasp thy gory pike the ven

gean ce hour i s nigh !

The mornings l ight was glancing bright on

many a gliding ril l,The ri sing sun was burnishing the slopes of

Oulart Hil l ;


From storied Wexford’

s guarded gate a trainof yeomen passed

They l itt le dreamed the march that day wasfated for their last .

At n oon on Cu lart’s moss-clad height loud

ran g the musketryAnd Wexford flung upon the foe her peasant

chivalry,

Short shrift the ruffian spoi lers found when

gleamed the dreaded pike,For vengeance nerved the patriot’s arm and

pointed where to strike.

Old Enn i scorthy n ext saw fall th e “rebel’s”

blow of hate,When fled the fear-struck yeomanry from fa

mous Duffry Gate ;They fel l as fal l the ripened crops when tem

pest lashed them down ,

And few and pale the fugitives that en teredWexford Town .

77


Such was the fate well-merited befell thatfiendish crew

The ravishers of peaceful homes, the butchersof Carnew .

Light,Wexford

,l ight thy triumph fires

,til l

hi ll and vall ey glowAnd bless thy peasant-warriors that n ever

feared a foe !

The patriot flames they k indled then have

never since grown cold,Today in Bargy and Idrone are hearts that

beat as bold ,And tho’ the “Boys of Wexford” failed on fat.

al V inegar Hil l,They’re ready for another efigh t and

’love theircountry s til l .”


THE P‘IKEMEN .

A B allad of’98.

The troops are out in Bargy and the yeomenin Idrone

,

The pitch -caps and the gory lash make guiltless victims groan .

Red murder stalks the vi llages,and high the

roof trees flame,

Arise ye, men of Wexford now, or live in last

ing shame !! e pikemen, bo ld pikemen,Old Wexford calls her pikemen .

See,at her cal l

,they muster all ,

For ven geance now ,grim pikemen !

The plou gh they leave by Slan ey’s banks , th e

scythe in soft Imayle,

And out through famous Scollagh gap, theysurge l ike autumn gale .

7 9


Bold hearts are there from Ballaghkeen and

wooded Sh ilmaliere.

Sends many a stalwart rifleman to fil l the feewith fear .

The pikemen,the pikemen

,

The stormy-cheering pikemen,

Broad Barrow’s flood shal l flow withblood

,

Rush in,ye reb el pikemen !

Above on sunny Camaru s the fraioch -blossoms

b low,

Grim massacre and pil lage fright the fertilevales below,

Rough Corrigrew i s basking in the scentedsummer gale,

In Gorey at the mountain-foot i s heard the

maiden’s wail .

! e pikemen , brave pikemen ,

Ha ! tarry not, ye pikemen !’Tis yours to quell that spawn of hell ,For hearth s and homes, ye pikemen !


Th e morn ing sun i s burn i shing the sl opes ofOulart Hill .

His low beam strikes on serried pikes, a sightthe soul to thrill .

Like flame athwart the ripened fields,from

Wexford’s guarded gateThe “red North Cork”—their life- sands run !

march out to meet their fate .The pikemen

,the pikemen

,

The dread,resistless pikemen

,

Grim harvest now, on Cu lart’s brow

They reap,the rebel pikemen .

High noon in Enniscorthy—from the far

famed Duffry GateThe tyrant’s smoking cann on hurl their mes

sengers of hate,In vain

,in vain

,his bullets gain

,and thunder

loud the guns,

Those ranks accursed,the pikemen burst

old Wexford’s dashing sons !

The pikemen,the pikemen ,

They staggered from the pikemen,Their black hear-t s feelThe patriot steel

,

The vengeance of the pikemen .

81


The “ancient Briton’s” went to death on Tubberneering

’s Plain

,

The Irish green at Taghmon waved o’er manya foeman slain,

Oh, for an Owen Roe again to lead with Spanish steel !

From Wexford’s bri stling vanguard then,op

pression’s ranks should reel .The pikemen

, t h e pikemen,A l eader for the pikemenThey heard with fear

,your stormy

cheer

Ye mocked at death,

fierce pikemen !

’Ti s true,alas

, ye fought, and fai led whenstubborn Ross ran red

,

The fatal slope of V inegar Hil l was mattedwith your dead .

Unconquered souls ! your fame shall livewhil e runs the rapid Nore,

All honor,deathless pikemen to your green

graves evermore !

The pikemen,the pikemen ,

When Erin needs her pikemen ,God send her then heroic men

Like Wexford’s fearless pikemen .

82



The cosy l itt le vil lages that shelter from themist,

Where the great West Wall s by ocean-sprayare ki ssed ;

The happy little vi l lages that cuddle in the sunWhen blackberries ripen and the harvest work

i s done.

Corry-meela, Croagh nak eela, Clogher, Cahirc iveen ,

Cappah aroe, Carrigaloe, Cashel and Coo

sheen,Cast lefin n and Carrigtohil l , Cruml in, Clara,

Clane,

Carrigaholt, Carrigaline, Cloghjordan and

Coolrain .

The dreamy l ittle vil lages,where by the fire at

night,

Old Shanachies with ghostly tale the boldesthearts affright ;

The crooning of the wind-blast i s the wailingBanshee’s cry

,

And when the silver hazel s stir th ev say t h e

fairies sigh .

84


Kilfenora,Ki lfinnane, Kinn ity, Killylea,

Kilmogan ny, Kiltamagh , Ki lronan and Kilrea

,

Killashandra,Kilmacow

,Ki llin ey

,Killa

shee,

Kil lenaule, Killmysh all, Killorglin and Kil!

leagh .

Leave the little vil lages,o’er the b lack seas go,

Learn the stranger’s wel come, learn the exi le‘

s

woe,Leave the little vi llages

,but think not to for

get

Afar they’ll rise before your eyes to rack your

bosoms yet .Moneymore

,Moneygal l

,Monivea and Moyne,

Mullinahone,Mu llinavat t , Mullagh and

Mooncoin,

Shanagolden,Shanballymore, Stranorlar

and Slane,Toberah eena, Toomyvara, Tempo and Sta

bane .


On the Southern Llan os, —north where

strange light gleams,

Many a yearning exile sees them in his dreamsDying voices murmur (passed al l pain and

care!“Lo ! the l ittle vil lages

,God has heard our

prayer.

L isdoonvarna,Lissadi l

,Lisdargan

,Lienas

kea,

Portglenone,Portarl ington

,Portumna

,Port

magee,

Clon egam and Clonegowan , Cloondara andClon ae

,

God bless the little vi l lages and guard themnight and day !

86


THE SWEET RIV ER SUIR.

The gen tle Shu re that mak ing way

B y sweet Clonmell, adorns rich Waterford.

Spen cer’s Faerie ! u een , B ook I V ,

Can to ! I .

From Devil ’s B it to Tuu rles, from Golden un toCahir

By castle-crowned Ardfinan running pure

Past Carrick and Kilsheelan,ever sparkling,

ever wheeling

F low the waters of the sweet river Suir.

The Galtees and Sh eveardagh send their tributes to its flood

The Anmer comes from storied Sliav-na-mon

The sunshine and the shadows fo llow fastacross the meadows

Till the dews o’ the morn are gone.

Irish Misi and Sunshine

By ri ch flowery fields of the p leasant goldenvale

By broken Norman tower and hamlet whi t eThe waters of the Suir saddest bosom would

al lureA s they dance in the sun ’s mel low light.

The w inds croon and sob thro’

ruined abbey

wall s

Low music floats from every fairy -mound

And weird,haunting rhymes of long-forgotten

times

In the flowing of the Suir resound .

In cool,sheltered glens where glossy ha! el s

nod

The wi ld linnet thrill s a j oyful layThe thrush and blackbird singing , sweetes t

melodies are flinging

Thro’ brier-scented groves al l dav .

88

Irish Mist and Su nshine

’Tis there now I ’d be, for my heart is everthere

,

Where Tippreary and Kilkenny plains

stretch outWhere the rival Gaels are dashing

, and the

stalwart hurlers’ clashingIs heard above the throng’s great shout .

Ah fai r i s Killarn ey, where the smile of God is

seen

But when this life i s ended and dust with dustAnd dear to me thy woodlands Glenmalu re

i s blendedLet me rest by the sweet river Suir.


Documents

· Irish Mist and Sunshine PREFACE. The Irish priest who is also a poet commands a range of emotions which are inaccessible and almost inconceivable to the decadent versi ﬁers