G . — .| J DRAMATIC LEGENDS AND OTHER POEMS ^ PADRAIC [ COLUM D 1— - Class Book. w) ^ 6)IpglitiN^_ CJiEmiGHT DEPoam ' / DRAMATIC LEGENDS AND OTHER POEMS By Padraic Colum Wild Earth MoGU THE Wanderer, or the Desert The Adventures of Odysseus AND THE Tale of Troy The Golden Fleece The King of Ireland's Son The Children of Odin The Boy Who Knew What the Birds Said The Girl Who Sat by the Ashes The Boy Apprenticed to an Enchanter The Children Who Followed the Piper DRAMATIC LEGENDS AND OTHER POEMS By PADRAIC COLUM THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1922 All rights reserved Printed in the United States of America. y COPYRIGHT, 1922, By the MACMILLAN COMPANY Set up and printed. Published October, 1922. CONDE NASI PRESS GREENWICH, CONN. OCT 25 ^22 ©C1A686469 DEDICATION To M. C. M. C. The well — They come to it and take Their cup- full or their palms-full out of it. The well — Stones are around it, and an elder bush Is there; a high rowan tree; and so The well is marked. Who knows Whence come the waters? Through what passages Beneath? From what high tors Where forests are ? Forests dripping rain ! Branches pouring to the ground; trunks, barks, roots. Letting the streamlets down: Through the dark earth The water flows, and in that secret flood That's called a spring, that finds this little hollow. Who knows Whence come the waters that fill cup and palm? Sweetheart and comrade, I give you The waters* marches and the forest's bound. The valley-filling cloud, the trees that set The rains beneath their roots, out of this well. ACKNOWLEDGMENT For permission to reprint several of the poems that are in this volume acknowledg- ments are made to the Editors of Poetry, Chicago; The New Republic, New York; The Nation, New York; The Nation, London; The Theatre Arts Maga- zine, New York; The Measure, New York; The Dial, New York; The North Ameri- can Review, and The Yale Review. SECTIONS IN DRAMATIC LYRICS AND OTHER POEMS 1. Poems: Country Songs 2. Creatures and Things Seen 3. Reminiscence .... 4. Dramatic Legends Swift's Pastoral . The Bird of Jesus The Laments of Queen Gormlai The Miracle of the Corn . I 21 31 55 51 65 68 74 POEMS: COUNTRY SONGS The Star TO A POET Below there are white- faced throngs, Their march is a tide coming nigher; Below there are white-faced throngs, Their faith is a banner flmig higher; Below there are white-faced throngs, White swords they have yet, but red songs; Place and lot they have lost — hear you not? For a dream you once dreamed, and forgot! THE STAR A mighty star has drawn a-near, and is Now vibrant in the air: The trembling, half-divested trees of his Bright presence are aware. And I behold him in the stream, and see Him pass from marge to main: What dust will be my flesh and bone ere he. That star, is there again! Dramatic Legends LEGEND There is an hour, they say, On which your dream has power; Then all you wish for comes. As comes the lost field-bird Down to the island-lights; There is an hour, they say, That *s woven with your wish: In dawn, or dayli* gone. In mirk-dark, or at noon. In hush, or hum of day. May be that secret hour. A herd-boy in the rain. Who looked o'er stony fields; A young man in a street, When fife and drum went by. Making the sunlight shrill; A girl in a lane. When the long June twilight Made friendly, far-off things. Had watch upon the hour: The dooms they met are in The song my grand-dam sings. Gilderoy MEN ON ISLANDS Can it be that never more Men will grow on Islands? Ithaka and Eriskey, Iceland and Tahiti! Must the engines he has forged Raven so for spaces, That the Islands dwindle down. Dwindle down ! — Pots that shelve the tap-root's growth ? Must it be that never more Men will flower on Islands? Crete and Corsica, Mitylene, Aran and lona! GILDEROY The Smith who made the manacles. With bar and bolt, and link and ring. Sang out above his hearty blows — "I can't have grief for everything." As Roger by the rope-walk went The bramble bird cheeped up to sing; Dramatic Legends He cut the wanted coil, and said — **I can't have grief for everything." The Lad who came to Ladder Lane, And saw his hemp cravat a-string — "Jack's doom's Jill's dole, but then," said he, "I can't have grief for everything." And I who carried bag and wig, Looked up and saw him turn and swing; The dog he gave fixed eyes on me — Can I have grief for everything? THE RUNE-MASTERS Arch-scholar they '11 call you, Kuno Meyer; One knowing the word Behind the word; Man of learning. And of the world too. The century's child. But who will tell them Of the blackbird That your heart held? The Rune-Master On an old thorn-tree By an ancient rath You heard him sing, And with runes you charmed him Till he stayed with you, Giving clear song. He sang o'er all That Maravaun Told King Guire; And he told you how Bran heard the singing Of a lovely woman And sailed for Faerie; And of how slain princes Kept tryst with women Loved beyond The pain of death. In days when still The boat of Mananaun Bore towards Eirinn ! Arch-scholar they'll call you — Nay, Rune-master! You read in texts Not words only. But runes of old time: 8 Dramatic Legends And when you spoke them A curlew cried Over grass-waste Tara, And a cuckoo called From the height of Cashel, And an eagle flew From Emain Machal Ochoney ochone! That we '11 see no more In the Eastern, or The Western World Your great head over The lectern bending, Nor hear your lore By a pleasant fireside. But the runes you Ve read Have given us more Than the sword might win us: May kind saints of Eirinn Be beside you Where birds on the Living Tree sing the Hours. T- M. K, T. M. K. Thorough waters, thorough nations I have come To lay last offerings at your low abode, Brother, and to appeal To ashes that were you. Since that which none can check has borne you From my regard, poor brother, take these gifts— The tokens that are due To ancient pieties. Yet they are wet, and over- wet with tears. With brother's tears; and now I say Farewell: Henceforth, and for all time Hail, Brother, and Farewell! ON THE DEATH OF ROGER CASEMENT They have hanged Roger Casement to the tolling of a bell, Ochoney ochy ochonCy ochone! lo Dramatic Legends And their Smiths, and their Murrays, and their Cecils say it 's well, OchonCy ochy ochoney ochone! But there are outcast peoples to lift that spirit high, Flayed men and breastless women who labored fearfully. And they will lift him, lift him, for the eyes of God to see. And it's well, after all, Roger Casement! They have ta'en his strangled body and have flung it in a pit, OchonCy ochy ochoney ochone! And fire of the quicklime is what they've brought to it, Ochoney ochy ochoney ochone! To waste that noble stature, that grave and brightening face. The princely favor also, and the high Castilian grace — Putting courtesy and kindliness from emi- nence of place — But they — they die to dust. While 't was yours to die to fire, Roger Casement! Wandering and Sojourning ii WANDERING AND SOJOURNING' Spring Now, coming on Spring, the days will be growing. And after Saint Bride's Day my sail I will throw; Since the thought has come to me I fain would be going, Till I stand in the middle of the County Mayo! The first of my days will be spent in Clare- morris, And in Balla, beside it, Til have drinking and sport; To Kiltimagh, then, I will go on a visit, And there, I can tell you, a month will be short. I solemnly swear that the heart in me rises. As the wind rises up and the mists break below, When I think upon Carra, and on Gallen down from it. The Bush of the Mile, and the Plains of Mayo! 12 Dramatic Legends Killeadean 's my village, and every good 's in it. The rasp and blackberry to set to one*s tooth; And if Raftery stood in the midst of his peo- ple, Old age would go from him, and he *d step to his youth! Autumn A good stay-at-home season is Autumn; then there's work to be done by all: Speckled fawns, where the brackens make covert, range away undeterred; And stags that were seen upon hillocks, now give heed to the call. To the bellowing call of the hinds, and they draw back to the herd. A good stay-at-home season is Autumn; the brown world's marked into fields; The corn is up to its growth; the acorns teem in the wood; By the side of the down-fallen fort even the thornbush yields A crop, and there by the rath the hazel nuts drop from a load. The Poor Girl's Meditation 13 THE POOR GIRL'S MEDITATION' I am sitting here, Since the moon rose in the night; Kindling a fire, And striving to keep it alight: The folk of the house are lying In slumber deep; The cocks will be crowing soon: The whole of the land is asleep. May I never leave this world Until my ill-luck is gone; Till I have cows and sheep. And the lad that I love for my own: I would not think it long, The night I would lie at his breast. And the daughters of spite, after that. Might say the thing they liked best. Love covers up hate, If a girl have beauty at all: On a bed that was narrow and high, A three-month I lie by the wall : When I bethought on the lad That I left on the brow of the hill, 14 Dramatic Legends I wept from dark until dark, And my cheeks have the tear-tracks still. And, O, young lad that I love, I am no mark for your scorn: All you can say of me Is undowered I was born: And if I Ve no fortune in hand, Nor cattle nor sheep of my own. This I can say, O lad, I am fitted to lie my lone! LAMENT I walk by the shore of a lake Where stones drag wet through a wood, And I hear the cry of a bird — Lone^ lone. It cries to the lake, and it cries To the stones, and it cries to the wood, And it cries to my own slow blood — LonCy lone. And once I walked by this lake. And I heard a like cry from a bird, Nor knew what its grief forebode — GonCy gone. The Sister's Lullaby 15 Now the child who gathered the nuts, And brought them to me through the wood — The child who gathered the nuts, That day, from our life is gone. THE SISTER^S LULLABY You would not slumber If laid at my breast: You would not slumber. My thoughts are strayed birds, My blood is possessed: You would not slumber. The rain-drops encumber The hawthorn's crest: You would not slumber. The river flood beats The swan from her nest: You would not slumber. Times without number Has called the woodquest: Times without number. 1 6 Dramatic Legends As oft as she called To me you were pressed: Times without number. Now you 'd not slumber If laid at my breast Times without number. O starling reed-resting, I'll rock you to rest: So you will slumber. OLD SOLDIER We wander now who marched before, Hawking our bran from door to door, While other men from the mill take their flour ; So it is to be an Old Soldier. Old and sore, one 's like the hound Turning upon the stiff frozen ground, Nosing the mould, with the night around : So it is to be an Old Soldier. And we who once rang out like a bell. Have nothing now to show or to sell; Old bones to carry, old stories to tell : So it is to be an Old Soldier. The Wife of Tone 17 THE WIFE OF TONE* My son I reared as might the brooding partridge Rear up an eaglet fall'n from storm-struck- nest: My son, ah no! one captained for high conflict, My chieftain-husband's heir and his bequest. No mother's part in him did my soul treasure, And he would go, and I could stand alone; Ah, so I thought, but now my heart-strings measure The love, the loss— my son, my little son, thou 'rt gone ! I see the grey road winding, winding from me, And thou upon it exiled and away, I turn unto the darkened house beside me — Ah, dark this day as on Wolfe Tone's death's day! But no, no, no ! Up from the sod that 's by me, Up, up, with glorious singing springs the lark— Tis Wolfe Tone's spirit, his, to reconcile me. And in a sword-flash, gone, the loneliness, the dark! 1 8 Dramatic Legends THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRE Bear the love of my heart to my land far away. And the fair hills of Eire O, And to all of Eivir's race that in her valleys stay, And the fair hills of Eire O. That land of mine beloved, where the brown thrush's song Fills hazel glen and ivied close the Summer twilight long: Oh, how woeful swells his music for the downfall of the Strong, On the fair hills of Eir6 O! Tis my lone soul's long sorrow that I must still be far From the fair hills of Eire O, Nor watch a maiden coming as through the mist a star. On the fair hills of Eire O! The Fair Hills of Eire 19 Oh, the honey in her tree-tops where her oak-woods darkly grow. And the freshness of her cresses where her clear well-waters flow, And the lushness of her meadows where her soft-eyed cattle low. On the fair hills of Eire O! SHALL I GO BOUND AND YOU GO FREE? "Shall I go bound and you go free, And love one so removed from me ? Not so; the falcon o'er my brow Hath better quest, I dare avow ! "And must I run where you will ride. And must I stay where you abide? Not so, the feather that I wear Is from an Eyrne in the air! "And must I climb a broken stair. And must I pace a chamber bare? Not so, the Brenny plains are wide. And there are banners where I ridel" CREATURES AND THINGS SEEN The Wild Ass 23 THE WILD ASS The wild ass lounges, legs struck out In vagrom unconcern: The tombs of Achsemedian kings Are for those hooves to spurn. And all of rugged Tartary Lies with him on the ground. The Tartary that knows no awe, That has nor ban nor bound. The wild horse from the herd is plucked To bear a saddle's weight; The boar is one keeps covert, and The wolf runs with a mate; But he's the solitary of space, Curbless and unbeguiled; The only being that bears a heart Not recreant to the wild. THE VULTURES Foul-feathered and scald-necked, They sit in evil state; Raw marks upon their breasts As on men's wearing chains. 24 Dramatic Legends Impure, though they may plunge Into the morning's springs. And spirit-dulled, though they Command the heavens* heights. Angels of Foulness, ye. So fierce against the dead! Sloth on your muffled wings. And speed within your eyes! THE BISON How great a front is thine — A lake of majesty! Assyria knew the sign — The god-incarnate king! A lake of majesty — The lion's drowns in it! And thy placidity — A moon within that lake! As if thou still dost own A world, thou takest breath — Earth-shape, and strength of stone, A Titan-sultan's child! The Pigeons 2^ THE PIGEONS Odalisques, odalisques, Treading the pavement With feet pomegranate-stained: When we *d less years We bartered for, bought you — Ah, then, we knew you. Odalisques, odalisques. Treading the pavement With feet pomegranate-stained! Queens of the air, — Aithra, lole, Eos or Auge, Taking new beauty From the sun's evening brightness. Gyring in light As nymphs play in waters — Aithra, lole, Eos or Auge ! Then down on our doorsteps, Gretchen and Dora . . . 26 Dramatic Legends THE BIRD OF PARADISE With sapphire for her crown, And with the Libyan wine For lustre of her eyes; With azure for her feet (It is her henna stain); Then iris for her vest. Rose, ebony, and flame, She lives a thing enthralled, In forests that are old. As old as is the moon. THE HUMMING BIRD Up from the navel of the world. Where Cuzco has her founts of fire. The passer of the Gulf he comes. He lives in air, a bird of fire. Charted by flowers still he comes. Through spaces that are half the world. With glows of suns and seas he comes; A life within our shadowed world That*s bloom, and gem, and kiss of fire! The Monkeys 27 THE MONKEYS Two little creatures With faces the size of A pair of pennies Are clasping each other: "Ah, do not leave me," One says to the other. In the high monkey- Cage in the beast-shop. There are no people To gape at them now. For people are loth to Peer in the dimness; Have they not builded Streets and playhouses, Sky-signs and bars To lose the loneliness Shaking the hearts Of the two little monkeys ? Yes. But who watches The penny-small faces Can hear the voices: "Ah, do not leave me; Suck I will give you, 28 Dramatic Legends Warmth and clasping, And if you slip from This beam, I can never Find you again." Dim is the evening. And chill is the weather; There, drawn from their colored Hemisphere, The apes liliputian With faces the size of A pair of pennies. And voices as low as The flow of my blood. IN THE CAROLINA WOODS Not in a cavern where the winds Trample with battle call — But in these woods, in these deep woods Where branch and branch let fall Not moss, but grey and cobweb beards. Kings' cabalistic beards — Here you should lie, you kings of eld, Barbarossa, Boabdil, The Hornet's Nest 29 And Czar Lazar, and Charlemagne; Arthur and Gaelic Finn — Here where the muffling Spanish moss Forests with forests fill. AN INDIAN SHOWING FEATS The quickness that he won in the death chase, Out on the plains, five hundred moons ago; The hardness wrought by hungers, and the skill That notched the hardness, arrow to that bow: He shows them these, while these depart from him. Like warriors softly shod, with bodies bent; They reach the mesa bluff; around it howl Coyotes, in long, lonely discontent. THE HORNET'S NEST — How strangely like a churchyard skull. The thing that's there amongst the leaves! 30 Dramatic Legends — A hornet*s nest; but stir the branch And they '11 be round your head and ears ! — Livid, uneyed, articulate. How like a skull their nests are made! — How like to hornets* nests the skulls On many a one that still has flesh! REMINISCENCE Reminiscence 33 REMINISCENCE I The Swallows sang Alien to us are Your fields, and your cotes, and your glebes; Secret our nests are Although they be built in your eaves; Uneaten by us are The grains that grow in your fields. The Weathercock on the barn answered Not alien to ye are The powers of un-earth-bound beings: Their curse ye would bring On our cotes, and our glebes, and our fields, If aught should befall The brood that is bred in the eaves. The Swallows answered If aught should befall Our brood that *s not traveled the seas, 34 Dramatic Legends Your temples would fall, And blood ye would milk from your beeves ; Against them the curse we would bring Of un-earth-bound beings! II The blackbird there was singing, "Oh, now you know my sort; I 'd rather have a guinea Than I would a five pound note. "For a guinea it would sink. And a note it would swim; And yellow is a guinea. And yellow is my bill. "And since you Ve heard my singing. And since you know my sort. You *d better leave your guinea. And take your five pound note." Ill I saw the wind to-day: I saw it in the pane Of glass upon the wall: Reminiscence 35 A moving thing, — 'twas like No bird with widening wing, No mouse that runs along The meal bag under the beam. I think it like a horse, All black, with frightening mane. That springs out of the earth, And tramples on his way. I saw it in the glass, The shaking of a mane: A horse that no one rides! IV Meet for a town where pennies have few pairs In children's pockets, this toy-booth with its wares — Jew's harps and masks and kites. And paper-lanterns with their farthen-lights. All in a dim-lit window to be seen; Within— The walls that have the patches of the damp, The counter where there burns the murky lamp, And then, the counter and the shelf between — The dame. Meager, grey-polled, lame. 36 Dramatic Legends So she is here since times legendary — A bird of little worth, a sparrow, say. Whose crib 's in some neglected passage-way, And one *s left wondering who brings crumbs to her; Soft-voiced and friendly-spoken, she will hop The inches of her crib, this narrow shop When you step in to be her customer. How's custom? Bad enough; she had not sold Six kites this windy year for boys to hold — She sold kites by the gross in times agone; Marbles, none at all — The children had no money to make call. Wasn't it poor, the town, Where boys Could not buy marbles, leaving other toys Like tops and balls — Where little girls could hardly pay for dolls? But she's not tragical — no, not a bit — She laughs as she talks to you — that is it! Her eyes are like the farthen-candle's light In paper-lanterns when they burn bright; And she herself is like a kite upborne, A paper-kite held by a string that's worn; Reminiscence 37 And like a Jew's harp when you strike its tongue — That way her voice goes on! Well, Miler Dowdall, the great pugilist, Who had the world once beneath his fist. Would step in here to buy his pockets full; We used to see him with deft hands held up To win the champion's belt or silver cup. Upon the hoardings on our way to school; Now Miler's is a name that 's blown by! How strange to think that she is still inside After so many turns of the tide — Since this lit window was a dragon's eye To turn us all to wonder coming nigh — Since this dim window was a dragon's eye! V Over old walls the Laburnums hang cones of fire; Laburnums that grow out of old mould in old gardens: Old men and old maids who have money or pensions Have shuttered themselves in the pales of old gardens. 38 Dramatic Legends The gardens grow wild; out of their mould the Laburnums Draw cones of fire. And we, who Ve no lindens, no palms, no ce- dars of Lebanon, Rejoice you have gardens with mould, old men and old maids: The bare and the dusty streets have now the Laburnums, Have now cones of fire ! VI Down a street that once I lived in You used pass, a honey-seller, And the town in which that street was Was the shabbiest of all places; You were different from the others Who went by to barter meanly: Different from the man with colored Windmills for the children's pennies; Different from the drab purveyor With her paper screens to fill up Chill and empty fireplaces. You went by, a man upstanding. On your head a wide dish, holding Reminiscence 39 Dark and golden lumps of honey; You went slowly, like an old horse That 's not driven any longer. But that likes to take an amble. No one ever bought your honey, No one ever paid a penny For a single comb of sweetness; Every house was grim unto you With foregone desire of eating Bread whose taste had sweet of honey. Yet you went, a man contented 'S though you had a king to call on Who would take you to his parlor, And buy all your stock of honey. On you went, and in a sounding Voice just like the bell of evening, Told us of the goods you carried. Told us of the dark and golden Treasure dripping on your wide dish. You went by, and no one named you ! VII "The bond-woman comes to the boorie; She sings with a heart grown wild. How a hundred rivers are flowing Between herself and her child. 40 Dramatic Legends "Then comes the lad with the hazel. And the folding-star is in the rack; 'Night *s a good herd' to the cattle, He sings 'She brings all things back/ " VIII The crows still fly to that wood, and out of that wood she comes. Carrying her load of sticks, a little less now than before. Her strength being less; she bends as the hoar rush bends in the wind; She will sit by the fire, in the smoke, her thoughts on the root and the living branch no more. The crows still fly to that wood, that wood that is sparse and gapped; The last one left of the herd makes way by the lane to the stall. Lowing distress as she goes; the great trees there are all down; No fiddle sounds in the hut to-night, and a candle only gives light to the hall. The trees are sparse and gapped, yet a sapling spreads on the joints Reminiscence 41 Of the wall, till the castle stones fall down into the moat: The last one who minds that our race once stood as a spreading tree, She goes, and thorns are bare, where the blackbird, his full songs done, strikes one metal note. IX The Mountain Thrush I say. But I am thinking of her, Nell the Rambler: She 'd come down to our houses bird-alone. From some haunt that was hers, and we would see her Drawing the water from the well one day. For one house or another, or we'd hear her Garrulous with the turkeys down the street. We children. From neighbour's house to neighbour's house she 'd go Until one day we 'd see Her worn cloak hanging behind our door; And then, that night, we 'd hear Of Earl Gerald: how he rides abroad. His horse's hooves shod with the weighty silver. 42 Dramatic Legends And how he '11 ride all roads till those silver shoes Are worn thin; As thin as the cat's ears before the fire, Upraised in such content before the fire. And making little lanterns in the firelight. The Mountain Thrush, when every way 's a hard one. Hops on in dumbness till a patch of sunlight. Falling, will turn her to a wayside song: So it was with her. Rambler Nell, a shelter, A bit upon the board, and she flowed on With rambler's discourse — tales, and rhymes, and sayings. With child's light in her worn eyes, and laughter To all her words. The lore she had — 'Twas like a kingly robe, on which long rains Have fallen and fallen, and parted The finely woven web, and have washed away The kingly colors, but have left some threads Still golden, and some feathers still as shining As the kingfisher's. While she sat there, not spinning, Reminiscence 43 Not weaving anything but her own fancies, We ate potatoes out of the ash, and thought them Like golden apples out of Tiprobane. When winter's over-long, and days that famish Come one upon another like snow-flakes. The Mountain Thrush makes way down to our houses: Takes doorstep-shelter, Hops round for crumbs, and stays a while a comer Upon our floors. She did not think Bread of dependence bitter; three went with her — Hunger, Sorrow, and Loneliness, and they Had crushed all that makes claims, though they *d not bent her. Nor emptied her of trust — what was it led her From house to house, but that she always looked for A warmer welcome at the hearth ahead ? 44 Dramatic Legends So she went on until it came one day The Mountain Thrush's heart-stop on the way. X An old man said, "I saw The chief of the things that are gone; A stag with head held high; A doe, and a fawn; "And they were the deer of Ireland That scorned to breed within bound: The last; they left no race Tame on a pleasure ground. "A stag, with his hide all rough With the dew, and a doe and a fawn; Nearby, on their track on the mountain I watched them, two and one, "Down to the Shannon going — Did its waters cease to flow. When they passed, they that carried the swiftness. And the pride of long ago? Reminiscence 45 "The last of the troop that had heard Finn's and Oscar's cry; A doe and a fawn, and before, A stag with head held high!" XI "A Stranger you came to me over the Sea, But welcome I made you, Seumas-a-ree, And shelter I gave you, my sons set to ward you, Red war I faced for you, Seumas-a-ree. "Now a craven you go from me, over the sea. But my best sons go with you, Seumas-a-ree; Foreign graves they will gain, and for those who remain The black hemp is sown — och, Seumas-a-ree! "But the Boyne shall flow back from the far Irish Sea, On the causeway of Aughrim our victory shall be: Two centuries of years and the child on the knee Will be rocked to this cronach, Seumas- a-ree!" 46 Dramatic Legends XII You blew in Where Jillin Brady kept up state on nothing, Married her daughter, and brought to Jillin's house A leash of dogs, a run of ferrets, a kite In a wired box; linnets and larks and gold- finches In their proper cages, and you brought with you this song: If you come to look for me. Perhaps you '11 not me find: For I '11 not in my Castle be — Inquire where horns wind. Before I had a man-at-arms I had an eager hound: Then was I known as Reynardine, In no crib to be found. You used to say Five hounds' lives were a man's life, and when Teague Had died of old age, and when Fury that was a pup When Teague was maundering, had turned from hill to hearth And lay in the dimness of a hound's old age, Reminiscence 47 I went with you again, and you were upright As the circus rider standing on his horse; Quick as a goat that will take any path, and lean — Lean as a lash; you would have no speech With wife or child or mother-in-law, till you Were out of doors and standing on the ditch, Ready to face the river or the hill — The Hen- wife's son once heard the grouse Talk to his soft- voiced mate; And what he heard the heath-poult say, The loon would not relate. Impatient in the yard he grew. And patient on the hill; Of cocks and hens he 'd take no charge, And he went with Reynardine. Lean days when we were idle as the birds, That will not preen their feathers, but will travel To taste a berry, or pull a shred of wool That they will never use. We pass the bounds: A forest's grave, the black bog, is before us, 48 Dramatic Legends And in its very middle you will show me The snipe's nest that is lonelier than the snipe That 's all that 's there; and then a stony hill, A red fox climbing, pausing, looking round his tail At us travailing against wind and rain To reach the river-spring where Finn or Fer- gus Hardened a spear, back of a thousand years. And still your cronies are what they were then — The hounds that know the hill and know the hearth; (One is Fury that 's as old as Argos now That crawled to Odysseus coming back) ; Your minstrels, the blackbird singing still When kites are leaving, crows are going home, And the thrush in the morning like a spectre showing Beside the day-spring; and your visitors, The cuckoo that will swing upon a branch, The corncrake with quick head between the grass-tufts. Reminiscence 49 And still your song is what it used to be — About that Reynardine who came to lord A Castle (O that Castle with its trees!), Who heard the horns, and let his turret grow The foxglove where his banner should be seen: The hawk is for the hill, he cried. The badger for the glen; The otter for the river-pools — Amen, amen, amen! XIII It would not be far for us to go back to the age of bronze: Then you were a King's daughter; your father had curraghs on shore, A herd of horses, good tillage upon the face of the hills. And clumps of cattle beyond them — the black and broad-horned kine. And I, I was good at the bov/, but had no men, no herds. And you would have been bestowed in a while on some unrenowned 50 Dramatic Legends Ulysses, or on the old King to whom they afterwards raised Three stones as high as the elk's head (this cromlech where we now sit). How fair you were when you walked there beside the old forest trees! So fair that I thought you would change and fly away a white swan! And then we were mates for play; all-eagle thereafter you grew To drive me to range the tempest, King's child of the hero-age! I called three times as an owl: through the gaps where the herders watched You ran, and we climbed the height where the brackens pushed at our knees; And we lay where the brackens drew the earth-smell out of the earth, And we journeyed and bafiled the fighters of ill-wishing Kings! It would not be far for us to go back to the age of bronze! The fire left there by the nomads is lone as a burning ship! Reminiscence 5 1 We eat them as we fare along, green ears of the wild wheat; At last, a King, I relieve a good clan from a dragon's spleen! Pieces of amber I brought you, big as a bow- man's thumbs, Tr ampets I left beside you, wrought when the smiths had all art, A dancing-bird that I caught you— they are in the age of bronze: I bring you; you bring me again, the love, the triumph, the strife! XIV "The blackbird's nest in the briar, The sea-gulls* nests on the ground— They're nests, and they're more than nests," said he, "They are tokens I have found. "Here, where the rain-dashed briar is A mark in the empty glade. The blackbird's nest is seen," he said, "Clay-rimmed, uncunningly made; 52 Dramatic Legends "By the inland lake, its shore. Where the surgeless water shoves, The sea-gulls have their nests," he said, As low as the catties* hooves." I heard a poet say it. The sojourner of a night; His head was up to the rafter. Where he stood in a candle's light. "Your houses are like the sea-gulls' Nests — they are scattered and low; Like the blackbirds* nests in the briar," he said, *'Uncunningly made — even so. "But close to the ground are reared The wings that have widest sway. And the birds that sing best in the wood," he said, "Were bred with their breasts to the clay. "YouVe wildness — I Ve turned it to song; You've strength — I Ve turned it to wings; The welkin 's for your conquest then. The wood to your music rings; Reminiscence 53 '*Till your salt shall lose its savor, And your virgin soil be cropped; Till you own like other peoples; And the breath of your need be stopped/' I heard a poet say it. The sojourner of a night; His head was up to the rafter Where he stood in a candle's light. DRAMATIC LEGENDS Swift's Pastoral 57 SWIFT'S PASTORAL A story that has for its background Saint Patrick' s Purgatory, Characters: Jonathan Swift and Esther Vanhomrigh, Esther I know the answer: 'tis ingenious. I 'm tired of your riddles. Doctor Swift. Swift Faith, so am I. Esther But that 's no reason why you '11 be splenetic. Swift Then let us talk. Esther But will you talk, too? Oh, is there nothing For you to show your pupil on this highway? Swift The road to Dublin, and the road that leads Out of this sunken island. 58 Dramatic Legends Esther I see a Harper: A Harper and a country lout, his fellow, Upon the highway. Swift I know the Harper. Esther The Doctor knows so much, but what of that ? He '11 stay splenetic. Swift I have seen this Harper On many a road. I know his name, too — I know a story that they tell about him. Esther And will it take the pucker off his brow If Cadenus to Vanessa tell the tale? Swift God knows it might! His name 's O'Caro- lan — Turlough O'Carolan; and there is a woman To make the story almost pastoral. Esther Some Sheelah or some Oonagh, I '11 engage. Swift's Pastoral 59 Swift Her name Was Bridget Cruise. She would not wed him, And he wed one who had another name, And made himself a Minstrel, but a Minstrel Of consequence. His playing on the harp Was the one glory that in Ireland stayed After lost battles and old pride cast down. Where he went men would say: "Horses we may not own, nor swords may carry, But Turlough O'Carolan plays upon the harp, And Turlough O'Carolan's ten fingers bring us Horses and swords, gold, wine, and victory." Esther Oh, that is eloquence! Swift I know their rhapsodies. But to O'Carolan: He played, and drank full cups; made proper songs In praise of banquets, wine-cups, and young maids — Things easily praised. And then when he was old — Esther How old? 6o Dramatic Legends Swift Two score of years and ten. Esther But that's not old! Swift And that 's not old! Good God, how soon we grow Into the Valley of the Shadow of Death! — Not into the Valley, Vanessa, mark, of Death, But into the shadow! Two score of years and ten — Have we not three score and some more to live? So has the tree that 's withered at the top — Dead in the head! Aye, we, Vanessa, grow Into the Shadow, and in the Shadow stay So long! Esther I thought the story would divert Cadenus. Swift It will, it will, Vanessa. What was I Just saying? Esther When he was old — Swift's Pastoral 6i Swift When he was old And blind — did I say he was blind? Esther You did not say it. Swift He 's blind — not book-blind, but stone-blind. Fie cannot see The wen that makes two heads upon the fellow That goes beside him, hunched up with the harp; He cannot see The Justice to the assizes riding With soldiers all in red to give him state. He cannot see The beggar^s lice and sores. I tell a story: When this O'Carolan was old and blind, As I have said, he made the pilgrimage: 'Twas to . . . No, no, 'twas not the place That Fm proscribed to, but yet one that 's called Saint Patrick's Purgatory. 62 Dramatic Legends *Tis on an island in a lake, a low Island or islet. The water round Is dun, unsunned; there are no meadows near, No willows grow, no lark nor linnet sings; The banks there take a bleakness from the clouds. A fissure in the island leads down to The Purgatory of Souls, their fable says. And now the Harper is but one of those. The countless wretches, who have brought their sores To that low island, and brought darkened spirits — Such stream has flowed there for a thousand years. I do not know What length of time the Harper stays, while crowds Are shambling all around him, weeping, praying. Famishing themselves; or drinking the dun water Of the lake for wine; or kneeling, with their knees On sharpened stones; or crowded In narrow, stony cells. Swift's Pastoral 63 Esther It is a place Papistical. Swift It is a place Most universal. Do we not walk Upon a ground that 's drenched with tears, and breathe An air that *s thickened with men's darkened spirits? Aye, and on an islet, Suffering pain, and hearing cries of wretches: Cut off, remote, banished, alone, tormented! Name the place as you will, or let it be Saint Patrick's Purgatory. But comes a time the blind man rows to shore From that low island. He touches shore, and cries "Hands for a blind man's help!" and hands were held him — He touched a hand. Here then 's the pastoral The hand, the fingers of the hand, the clasp. The spirit flowing through — he knew them all; 64 Dramatic Legends He knew all well, and in an instant knew them, And he cried out, "The hand of Bridget Cruise!" Oh, in the midmost of our darkened spirits To touch a hand, and know the truth within it — That truth that's clasped, that holds, the truth that 's all For us — for every day we live, the truth! To touch that hand, and then once more to turn — To turn around upon the world's highway. And go alone — poor hand, poor hand! But she This Bridget Cruise, was leaving that dull shore For that low island, and had cares beyond The memory of O'Carolan. Well, they passed. He going and she coming; well, and then He took his harp, and the country lout, his fellow. Went with him, as we see them going now. The Bird of Jesus 65 Esther They ' ve passed : there is no one now beside us. And will you take my hand? You used to call me A white witch, but there is no witchery In this plain hand of mine! You Ve told a double story, Doctor Swift. THE BIRD OF JESUS It was pure indeed. The air we breathed in, the light we saw, I and my brother, when we played that day. Or piped to one another; then there came Two young lads of an age with one another. And with us two, and these two played with us. And went away. Each had a bearing that was like a prince's. Yet they were simple lads and had the kind- ness Of our own folk — lads simple and unknowing: Then, afterwards, we went to visit them. 66 Dramatic Legends Theirs was a village that was not far off, But out of reach — toward elbow, not toward hand: And what was there were houses — Houses and some trees — And it was like a place within a fold. We found the lads. And found them still as simple and unknow- ing, And played with them: we played outside the stall Where worked the father of the wiser lad — Not brothers were the boys, but cousins* children. There was a pit: We brought back clay and sat beside the stall. And made birds out of clay; and then my brother Took up his bird and flung it in the air: His playmate did as he. And clay fell down upon the face of clay. And then I took The shavings of the board the carpenter Was working on, and flung them in the air. And watched them streaming down. The Bird of Jesus 67 There would be nought to tell Had not the wiser of the lads took up The clay he shaped: a little bird it was; He tossed it from his hand up to his head: The bird stayed in the air. what delight we had To see it fly and pause, that little bird, Sinking to earth sometimes, and sometimes rising As though to fly into the very sun; At last it spread out wings and flew, and flew. Flew to the sun! 1 do not think That we played any more, or thought of play- ing. For every drop of blood our bodies held Was free and playing, free and playing then. Four lads together on the bench we sat: Nothing was in the open air around us. And yet we thought something was there for us — A secret, charmed thing. 68 Dramatic Legends So we went homeward; by soft ways we went That wound us back to our familiar place. Some increase lay upon the things we saw: I '11 speak of grasses, but you '11 never know What grass was there; words wither it and make it Like to the desert children's dream of grass; Lambs in the grass, but I will not have told you What fleece of purity they had to show; I '11 speak of birds, but I will not have told you How their song filled the heart; and when I speak Of him, my brother, you will never guess How we two were at one! Even to our mother we had gained in grace! THE LAMENTS OF QUEEN GORMLAP Thou art lone to-night and unlit; no more than a cairn art thou To the dead, O House of Kings! Thou that didst have thy feasts, thou that didst have thy glow, Thou art lone to-night and unlit! Lament of Qjueen Gormlai 69 Every Kingdom must pass; one Kingdom, one only, endures ! Thou art lone to-night and unlit, and I am remembering Niall ! II Din of a wedding there! To whomsoever it brings Delight, there is one to whom each loud voice brings a grief: O woman, handfasted, besought — the like my lot was once! And Thou, the Giver of Dooms! Thou hast deserved from me Reproach, why didst thou slay King Aedh's upright son ? Were he in captor's hands, gold and swift steeds would go To ransom him, and more— all men 's remem- brances ! Were he in captor's hands, and then were he set free Unransomed, 'twere the meed of all that he bestowed! 70 Dramatic Legends And I, what would I bring to ransom him who gave Out of one spoil to me no less than twelve score kine? White bed on which he lay — white bed to which would come The men of Oriel — thou art now without thy pride! A grief it is to me, white one, to see thee thus ! His tunic is beside, but he who made it brave In Cenannas now lies, alone, and cold, and dead. When once my hero went in battle from Armagh, He said, "If one meet death, and one of us abide What should the living do?" I answered him, "O King, If one should meet with death, let both of us be brought To share a single grave in Aileach's quiet ground." "If thou, O Gormlai, be first that's laid in earth. No woman will I take, no mirth henceforth I'll know." Lament of Queen Gormlai 71 III Lift thy foot, take it away. From my Niall's side, O Monk: Too heavily thou heapest clay, Monk! Too long, I think, thou hast been nigh, Heaping clay on Niall's grave: At his side I used to lie, OMonk! Too long has he, my bosom's friend. Been in the dark, there where his feet Do not reach the coffin's end, Too long. Not by my good will his head Is underneath that cross you raise: Nor that the flagstone on his bed Is placed. Like to Deirdre when she stood Watching Naisi's burial. Till her heart burst out in blood, 1 stand. 72 Dramatic Legends I am Gormlai, she who made Verses that the learned knew: Would that upon me were laid That stone. Lift thy foot, take it away, From my NialFs side, O Monk: Too long hast thou been heaping clay: Lift thy foot! IV A man's hound Is given no credit where it's not been followed: Outlandish and disturbing it will seem. And one unloved — Her presence draws affronts to corner and nook. Even as the hound whose course has not been told. Should I say The raven's black, they '11 hurtle around my words: White feathers they will throw into my face. Lament of Queen Gormlai 73 Be my walk Crooked or straight, be it queenly or abased, The Leinstermen will say it is my spite. Bare yon hill That 's had its copse stripped off; the shoulder 's bare Where there is none to put an arm across. Open 's the warp Upon the gears— a tale they tell in this house — Where children there are none to weave a strength. As it *s with a man: Out of all women he 's matched with only one; And as a woman 's mated with one man. So was Niall The unstained King, the bounteous, upright man A match for me, and I a match for him. Long am I In Muiregan's house: worn am I: I cannot Abide with them, I with my broken days. 74 Dramatic Legends THE MIRACLE OF THE CORN* People in the Legend: Fardorrougha a Farmer Sheila Fardorrougha's wife Paudeen Fardorrougha*s ser- vant, a Fool AisLiNN A child Three Women Shaun o* the Bog A Poor Man The action passes in a Farmer s house in Ire- land in the old times. Scene: The interior of Fardorrougha s house. The door is at back R; the hearth L, the window R are only conventionally repre- sented. What is actually shown is a bin for corn, shelves with vessels, benches, and a shrine. The bin projects from back C; the shelves with vessels are each side of the bin; the shrine is R; it holds a small statue of the Virgin; a rosary of large beads hangs from it; the benches are R and L. One is at the conventional fireplace , *Corn is used in the sense of any kind of" grain — as it is used in Ireland and England — the bread-stuff and the symbol of fertility. The Miracle of the Corn 75 and the other is down from the conventional door. All the persons concerned in the action are on the scene when it opens ^ and they remain on the scene. They only enter the action when they go up to where the bin is. Going back to the places they had on the benches takes them out of the action. On the bench near the hearth sit the people of Fardorrougha s household — Fardorrougha^ Sheila, Paudeen, Aislinn. On the bench near the door sit the strangers — three women, one of whom has a child with her, and Shaun d* the Bog. The people are dressed in greys and browns, and brown is the color of the interior. The three women and Shaun 0' the Bog are poorly dressed; the women are barefooted. Paudeen is dressed rudely, and sandals of hide are bound across his feet. Fardorrougha, Sheila, and Aislinn are comfortably dressed. Paudeen They 're moaning still: The cattle are a long time moaning now, Day in, day out; and will they never stop Their moaning, Master Fardorrougha? 76 Dramatic Legends Fardorrougha We could drive the cows To another place, but the house would not be safe While we were gone; Paudeen, you know There are those outside who would break in my door. Paudeen Aye, the people Are bad from want. They 're worse off than the cattle: The people have to watch The black rain and it falling all the day. Fardorrougha We Ve hay For our own cows; give them a lock Of what the widow of Seumas saved. Paudeen Is it the hay That's under the hurdles behind the hedge? Fardorrougha That hay: She put lean beasts upon me, and she owes me Their fattening. The Miracle of the Corn 77 {Paudeen goes back to his place on the bench. Aislinn comes to the bin.) Fardorrougha What child is this? Aislinn Aislinn is my name. Fardorrougha Who was it Gave you that name? It is strange to name Anyone Dream! Aislinn My own people Gave me that name. And now you'll wonder What brings me to your house. Sheila, your wife. Has brought me here to keep her company. Fardorrougha And you are welcome. There are no young ones here. Aislinn I am well used To doing things about a house, and I Can sweep the floor, and put the fire down, And mind the children. 78 Dramatic Legends Fardorrougha There are no children in the house youVe come to: Are you Afeard of me? AlSLINN No, Fardorrougha, Tm not afeard. Fardorrougha You are like The brown bird in the cage, Aislinn. AlSLINN What has Sheila Upon her altar? I would like to see: It is the image of the Mother of God! O why will the rain. Dear Mother of God, keep falling? It de- stroyed The crop, before the crop was out of the ground; Why will the black rain keep falling now? {Fardorrougha goes hack to the bench. Sheila goes to Aislinn,) Sheila It is the will of God. The Miracle of the Corn 79 AlSLINN God's will is set Against us all; it is against The cattle in the field, and it was they Stood by His crib; they're moaning always now: He has forgotten them. Sheila Do not be listening to The cattle moaning; do not be watching The black rain and it falling all the day. AlSLINN You God has not forgotten. Sheila God has not forgotten Me, Aislinn. AlSLINN If He has left Your fields to the rain. He knows that you Have a good roof and riches under it. Sheila To have them is no sign That God remembers one: I used to look Upon my roof and riches, and yet say "You have forgotten me, Almighty God!" 8o Dramatic Legends AlSLINN And could you say, When there was corn, "You have forgotten me. Almighty God?" Sheila And when I would look Upon my fields and they heavy with the grain, "You have remembered the furrows," I would say, "And they are fruitful, but you have for- gotten Me, Almighty God!" And now. Now when the furrows are forgotten. He, He has remembered me. O Aislinn, child. Your arms put round me — I would have you near: I want Your face before me; I would have a face Like yours, but glad; a child's face glad and bright! {Paudeen goes to the bin and opens it.) The Miracle of the Corn 8i Paudeen That*s empty, and that will take some filling, too; That's empty, and it will hold an apron-full; That's empty, and you can put more Than a cap-full in it. Sheila What are you doing at the bin, Paudeen ? Paudeen Making it ready to put corn in it. "Better have the corn in the bin," says he, "Than in the barn, after what happened Last night in the barn," says he. Sheila What was it happened? Paudeen "And only Gorav," says he, "Only Gorav, the good dog, got the man by the throat. There would be a thief in the parish and a wronged man," says he. Sheila The hard, hard man. 82 Dramatic Legends Paudeen "There's a good door to my house," says he, "And the bin's within for corn; and if the priest/' says he. Can't put the fear of God into the people, Gorav, maybe, can," says he. That's empty, that's empty, that's empty. {Paudeen goes back to his place on the bench.) Sheila He has all The corn that's in the country, and he sets Brutes to guard it. The people bring their cattle Before he gives them corn to keep them living. AlSLINN I'm not a feared Of Fardorrougha. Sheila He is not set In hardness yet; he'll give back In arm-fulls what he took in his hands! AlSLINN Will it be long till then. Woman of Fardorrougha? The Miracle of the Corn 83 Sheila Not long, not long: The fruit is ripening that will bring him to Himself; O Aislinn, do not think Too hardly of my man; there was no child About our house, Aislinn! {Fardorrougha goes to the bin, bringing with him a bag of corn.) Fardorrougha Woman of the house, be careful that you put The big bolt on the door when it gets dark. Sheila Let it not come Between you and your rest, Fardorrougha. Fardorrougha I grudge To give them corn even for what they bring me. Sheila Look at Aislinn here: Would you not let it all go with the wind To have a child like Aislinn for your own ? Fardorrougha Woman, content yourself With what is given. 84 Dramatic Legends Sheila God has given House and mill, and land and riches, but not Content. Fardorrougha Then let what is not Trouble us not. Sheila Aislinn was with me all the day; Aislinn Will fill a bin for you. Aislinn, take A measure off the dresser, and help Fardor- rougha Empty the sack. Fardorrougha Aislinn! It was a woman surely That named her Dream. Sheila She is a biddable child, and one that's good About a house. Fardorrougha She'll have no need To do much while she's here. Sheila And isn't it well, Fardorrougha, To see a child that isn't white-faced? The Miracle of the Corn 85 Fardorrougha The corn into the bin! Sheila Isn't it a comfort To see a child like Aislinn here? Then think Of a glad, bright child! Fardorrougha I have no thought To go that far. That world, woman, The world of bud and blossom, has gone by: There's only now. The ragged sky, the poor and wasted ground, The broken-spirited ones— the people Like you, and me, and Paudeen. Sheila No, Fardorrougha, no. Fardorrougha The world of bud and blossom has gone by. Sheila No, Fardorrougha. Listen to me, Fardorrougha! Fardorrougha Well, my woman. 86 Dramatic Legends Sheila I have something, Fardorrougha, to tell to you. Fardorrougha And I am listening, woman. {Paudeen goes to the bin.) Paudeen Shaun o* the Bog is on the pass Before the barn. Fardorrougha Before the barn? Is it me he wants? Paudeen It's for the woman Of the house he's asking. " Is she by herself? " Says he to me. Fardorrougha She's not by herself, if that's the chance He's seeking. You, Sheila; There's something else you would have said, maybe, "Loose the corn you've gathered." Let you not. Or the harsh word that has not been, will be Between us. The Miracle of the Corn 87 ril see the man, and if he wants to make it A bargain that is fair, it's with myself That he must talk. {Fardorrougha goes back to the bench. Paudeen has some hay in his hands. He has taken it from under where he sat.) Paudeen Where did he say I was to put the hay I got under the hedge? Sheila Where the cows are. O How can your mind keep on the hay ? I know : It is because you're simple! Or so they say. Paudeen, Why do they call you a fool ? Why Do they call him a fool, Aislinn? AlSLINN It is because His mind keeps on the one thing only. Sheila He can see only The hay that's in his hands. But then They are all foolish! Paudeen, they that gathered 88 Dramatic Legends Many thoughts while in the womb are foolish now As you are. Paudeen But you said I was a clean, well-built boy, anyhow, Woman of the house. Sheila Yes, I said it. {Paudeen goes back to the bench,) AlSLINN Vm not afeard Of Fardorrougha: I do not think him hard. Sheila His heart opened to you. AlSLINN He knows that I Am not afeard of him. Sheila His heart opened to you, and that's a sign: Yes, that 's a sign I take. AlSLINN And do you think that he would ever give The harsh word to you ? The Miracle of the Corn 89 Sheila O Aislinn, pray: Pray that it will never come to that; the thought Of the harsh word has come to me, Again and again, like some dark bird. AlSLINN And have you never had The harsh word from him ? Sheila But now The harsh word would be the end of all. Listen to me! Outside 's the rain: The desolation of the rain is near me: If he gave me The harsh word, the rain, the desolation Would be all round me, and what fruit could be? O glad, bright child of my dream! Apple blossom ! What fruit would you, tender and shining, make And the tree of you with desolation round it? {The three women leave the bench and come to the bin. One has a child with her.) go Dramatic Legends Sheila What can I do for you, women ? First Woman We have eaten Only nettles and roots since the want came: Our children droop. Second Woman You do not know what it is To see a child droop. Third Woman God has not opened Doors of madness and pain for you. {Sheila takes a vessel and holds it to a child who drinks^ First Woman Do not forget my child. Sheila Take What is in my house, women. {She opens the bin and fills a woman s apron with corn. The other women hold out their aprons. Sheila fills them?) The Miracle of the Corn 91 First Woman May God Heap up store for you, and may you have Clan with store. Second Woman May God be with your husband when his hand Scatters the seed, and may his labor be Prosperous! Third Woman And may your own labor be Light, and watched by the Mother of God! Sheila Women, who am I That ye should pray for me! {The women go to the bench. Sheila stands quiet. Aislinn goes to her.) AlSLINN Now there is no more O' the corn. Sheila But God will have love And pity for us. g2 Dramatic Legends AlSLINN The bins are emptied — will Fardorrougha .? Sheila Ohush! There is the cattle's moan; here is Paudeen Who brings them hay — Paudeen who is With the broken things! My heart is heavy again ! AlSLINN Fardorrougha . . . Sheila Fardorrougha! I had forgotten him: God protect me! The rain, the rain! The black and ragged sky. The poor and wasted ground — how could there be Any but Paudeen's like. {Paudeen goes to the bin,) Paudeen But you said I was a clean and well-built boy yourself. The Miracle of the Corn 93 Sheila I said it. And now, Paudeen, Open the bins. {Paudeen lets down the fronts of the bin and it is shown to be empty.) Paudeen O what will we tell Fardorrougha? Can any of you think Of a story to tell him? Sheila We can tell him No story at all. AlSLINN But we might Keep him from the bin. Sheila No, Aislinn, no: No good would be in that. It was the right I did. Their children now Around them crowd. O children, I would give Bread to you, again and over again! 94 Dramatic Legends I, too. Was one of them who had their minds upon The one thing only; I hardened To make things easy for myself. It is not "God protect me," I should be saying now. But "God forgive me.'* (Shaun 6" the Bog comes from the bench. He goes to the bins,) Shaun Fardorrougha told me To wait upon him here. Sheila And what has Fardorrougha Promised to you, Shaun? Shaun The corn in the bins. And I have given My wool and loom to him. Sheila He has not what he thinks he has, but you Will not go empty for all that. Shaun It is well for Aislinn, The child that's with you in this house. The Miracle of the Corn 95 Sheila Aislinn, go talk to Shaun; he need not be Anxious nor fretted. AlSLINN Nor need you be Anxious nor fretted, Sheila. Sheila I am not anxious any more, Aislinn. (Fardorrougha goes to the bin^ Fardorrougha The corn is here that I will give you, Shaun, For wool and loom; open you the bin. And see how much is in it. {Shaun opens the bin. A very great quantity of corn gushes out.) Fardorrougha I did not think So much was there. He'll not get all For wool and loom; I will not wrong my- self; As much as half is fair. {He turns to the bin and sees that Shaun^ Sheila and Aislinn are kneeling beside the heap oj corn.) 96 Dramatic Legends Fardorrougha Why are you kneeling, Shaun? Shaun I kneel because I know My children will be fed. Fardorrougha Why are you kneeling, Sheila? Sheila I kneel because I know The fields will break to corn because of the love. And pity God has for us. Fardorrougha Why are you kneeling, Aislinn? AlSLINN I kneel because I know A miracle has happpened; Sheila need not dread The harsh word from you any more or never. Fardorrougha An air comes from it all — a smell of growing, Green, growing corn; and I mind that I Brought Sheila from her mother's to this house The Miracle of the Corn 97 Across a field of corn that smelled sweet, sweet, And whispered lovingly. I*m greatly changed. And often I am strange even to myself. What good's in what I Ve gathered? It's between Myself and her; but when she rises now Nothing will be between us; at what she'll say All I have gathered I shall give away. {With Sheila^ A is linn y and Shaun still kneeling the scene closes,) Notes 99 NOTES I. The Rune Master Kuno Meyer died in Germany in the autumn of 191 9. In the poem written on the announcement of his death, his translation of the dialogue between King Guire and his hermit brother Maravaun ("King and Hermit") is referred to, with his translation of "The Voyage of Bran " and one of the poems in his "Ancient Irish Poetry" called "The Tryst after Death. 1. Wandering and Sojourning The two poems given under this title are translations from the Irish: The first, "Spring," is from the Irish of Raftery, a Connacht poet of the eighteenth century, and the second, "Autumn," is a versification of a passage m Kuno Meyers translation of a mediaeval tale. 3. The Poor Girl's Meditation The original and a literal translation are given by Dr. Douglas Hyde in his "Love Songs of Connacht." 4. The Wife of Tone This and the two pieces that follow were written for famous Irish airs— the first to the beautiful melody that is known as "The Londonderry Air," and the other two to the airs that give titles to them. "The Fair Hills of Eire" freely translates the first and last stanzas of the famous eighteenth eentury poem of exile, and "Shall I Go Bound and You Go Free is derived from the first line of a folk song that is given in one of Mr. Herbert Hughes' collections. The words of The Wife of Tone" paraphrase what the wife of Theobald Wolfe Tone, the leader of the United Irishmen, wrote in her journal on her parting with her son; in accordance with her husband s wish he had been brought up to take service with an army that was engaged in a war of national liberation. loo Dramatic Legends 5. The Laments of Queen Gormlai These are renderings of four out of the eleven *' Poems Attributed to Queen Gormlaith," text and literal translations of which have been given by Professor Osborn Bergin. The poem on the burial of Niall has been nobly translated by Dr. Sigerson in his "Bards of the Gael and Gall" and by Dr. Douglas Hyde in his "Literary History of Ireland." The poems are in lamentation for the death of Niall Black-knee and for her own state of dependence in a Leinster household, away from her husband's Ulster kingdom. Niall Black-knee was killed near Dublin, in a battle with the Norse in 917. His wife Gormlaith lived for thirty-one years after his death. Professor Bergin declares that if the poems were actually written by Gormlaith they were altered afterward. Deacidified using the Bookkeeper process. 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