"I only of the Red Branch hosted now,"Cuchulain cried, "have made and keep that vow."
After short fighting in the leafy shade,He spake to the young man, "Is there no maid"Who loves you, no white arms to wrap you round,"Or do you long for the dim sleepy ground,"That you come here to meet this ancient sword?"
"The dooms of men are in God's hidden hoard."
"Your head a while seemed like a woman's head"That I loved once."
Again the fighting sped,But now the war rage in Cuchulain woke,And through the other's shield his long blade broke,And pierced him.
"Speak before your breath is done.""I am Finmole, mighty Cuchulain's son."
"I put you from your pain. I can no more."
While day its burden on to evening bore,With head bowed on his knees Cuchulain stayed;Then Concobar sent that sweet-throated maid,And she, to win him, his gray hair caressed;In vain her arms, in vain her soft white breast.Then Concobar, the subtlest of all men,Ranking his Druids round him ten by ten,Spake thus, "Cuchulain will dwell there and brood,"For three days more in dreadful quietude,"And then arise, and raving slay us all."Go, cast on him delusions magical,"That he might fight the waves of the loud sea."And ten by ten under a quicken tree,The Druids chaunted, swaying in their handsTall wands of alder, and white quicken wands.
In three days' time, Cuchulain with a moanStood up, and came to the long sands alone:For four days warred he with the bitter tide;And the waves flowed above him, and he died.
THE ROSE OF THE WORLD
Who dreamed that beauty passes like a dream?For these red lips, with all their mournful pride,Mournful that no new wonder may betide,Troy passed away in one high funeral gleam,And Usna's children died.
We and the labouring world are passing by:Amid men's souls, that waver and give place,Like the pale waters in their wintry race,Under the passing stars, foam of the sky,Lives on this lonely face.
Bow down, archangels, in your dim abode:Before you were, or any hearts to beat,Weary and kind one lingered by His seat;He made the world to be a grassy roadBefore her wandering feet.
THE ROSE OF PEACE
If Michael, leader of God's hostWhen Heaven and Hell are met,Looked down on you from Heaven's door-postHe would his deeds forget.
Brooding no more upon God's warsIn his Divine homestead,He would go weave out of the starsA chaplet for your head.
And all folk seeing him bow down,And white stars tell your praise,Would come at last to God's great town,Led on by gentle ways;
And God would bid His warfare cease.Saying all things were well;And softly make a rosy peace,A peace of Heaven with Hell.
THE ROSE OF BATTLE
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!The tall thought-woven sails, that flap unfurledAbove the tide of hours, trouble the air,And God's bell buoyed to be the water's care;While hushed from fear, or loud with hope, a bandWith blown, spray-dabbled hair gather at hand.Turn if you may from battles never done,I call, as they go by me one by one,Danger no refuge holds; and war no peace,For him who hears love sing and never cease,Beside her clean-swept hearth, her quiet shade:But gather all for whom no love hath madeA woven silence, or but came to castA song into the air, and singing pastTo smile on the pale dawn; and gather youWho have sought more than is in rain or dewOr in the sun and moon, or on the earth,Or sighs amid the wandering, starry mirth,Or comes in laughter from the sea's sad lipsAnd wage God's battles in the long gray ships.The sad, the lonely, the insatiable,To these Old Night shall all her mystery tell;God's bell has claimed them by the little cryOf their sad hearts, that may not live nor die.
Rose of all Roses, Rose of all the World!You, too, have come where the dim tides are hurledUpon the wharves of sorrow, and heard ringThe bell that calls us on; the sweet far thing.Beauty grown sad with its eternityMade you of us, and of the dim gray sea.Our long ships loose thought-woven sails and wait,For God has bid them share an equal fate;And when at last defeated in His wars,They have gone down under the same white stars,We shall no longer hear the little cryOf our sad hearts, that may not live nor die.
A FAERY SONG
Sung by the people of faery over Diarmuid and Grania, who lay in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
We who are old, old and gay,O so old!Thousands of years, thousands of years,If all were told:
Give to these children, new from the world,Silence and love;And the long dew-dropping hours of the night,And the stars above:
Give to these children, new from the world,Rest far from men.Is anything better, anything better?Tell us it then:
Us who are old, old and gay,O so old!Thousands of years, thousands of years,If all were told.
THE LAKE ISLE OF INNISFREE
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree,And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made:Nine bean rows will I have there, a hive for the honey bee,And live alone in the bee-loud glade.
And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow,Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings;There midnight's all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow,And evening full of the linnet's wings.
I will arise and go now, for always night and dayI hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements gray,I hear it in the deep heart's core.
A CRADLE SONG
"Coth yani me von gilli beg,'N heur ve thu more a creena."
The angels are stoopingAbove your bed;They weary of troopingWith the whimpering dead.
God's laughing in heavenTo see you so good;The Shining SevenAre gay with His mood.
I kiss you and kiss you,My pigeon, my own;Ah, how I shall miss youWhen you have grown.
THE PITY OF LOVE
A pity beyond all tellingIs hid in the heart of love:The folk who are buying and sellingThe clouds on their journey aboveThe cold wet winds ever blowingAnd the shadowy hazel groveWhere mouse-gray waters are flowingThreaten the head that I love.
THE SORROW OF LOVE