The Fairy Changeling and Other Poems — Reading Companion

he little black hound was gone.

And, traced in the ashes, these words he read: “For the soul of your firstborn son, I will make you rich as you once were rich Ere the glass of your luck was run.”

The Geraldine went to the west window, And then he went to the east, And saw his desolate pasture fields, And the stables without a beast.

“So be it, as I love no woman, No son shall ever be mine; I would that my stables were full of steeds, And my cellars were full of wine.”

“I swear it, as I love no woman, And never a son have I, I would that my sheep and their little lambs Should flourish and multiply.

“So yours be the soul of my firstborn son.” Here the Geraldine slyly smiled, But from the dark of the lonely room Came the cry of a little child.

The Geraldine went to the west window, He opened, and out did lean, And lo! the pastures were full of kine, All chewing the grass so green.

And quickly he went to the east window, And his face was pale to see, For lo! he saw to the empty stalls Brave steeds go three by three.

The Geraldine went to the great hall door, In wonder at what had been, And there he saw the prettiest maid That ever his eyes had seen.

And long he looked at the pretty young maid, And swore there was none so fair; And his heart went out of him like a hound, And hers like a timid hare.

Each day he followed her up and down, And each night he could not rest, Until at last the pretty young maid Her love for him confessed.

They wooed and they wed, and the days went by As quick as such good days will, And at last came the cry of his firstborn son The cup of his joy to fill.

And the summer passed, and the winter came; Right fair was the child to see, And he laughed at the shriek of a bitter storm As he sat on his father’s knee.

Who rings so loud at the Geraldine’s gate? Who knocks so loud at the door? “Now rise you up, my pretty young wife, For twice they have knocked before.”

Quickly she opened the great hall door, And “Welcome you in,” she cried, But there only entered a little black hound, And he would not be denied.

When the Geraldine saw the little black dog, He rose with a fearful cry, “I sold my child to the Devil’s hound In forgotten days gone by.”

He drew his sword on the little black hound, But it would not pierce its skin, He tried to pray, but his lips were dumb Because of his grievous sin.

Then the fair young wife took the black hound’s throat Both her small white hands between. And he thought he saw one of God’s angels Where his sweet young wife had been.

Then he thought he saw from God’s spirit The hound go sore oppressed, But he woke to find his own dead wife With her dead child on her breast.

Quickly he went to the west window, Quickly he went to the east; No help in the desolate pasture fields, Or the stables that held no beast.

He flung himself at his white wife’s side, And the dead lips moved and smiled, Then came somewhere from the lonely room The laugh of a little child.

THE RAPE OF THE BARON’S WINE

Who was stealing the Baron’s wine, Golden sherry and port so old, Precious, I wot, as drops of gold? Lone to-night he came to dine,

Flung himself in his oaken chair, Kicked the hound that whined for bread; “God! the thief shall swing!” he said, Thrust his hand through his ruffled hair.

Bolt and bar and double chain Held secure the cellar door; And the watchman placed before, Kept a faithful watch in vain.

Every day the story came, “Master, come! I hear it drip!” The wine is wet on the robber’s lip, Who the robber, none could name.

All the folk in County Clare Found a task for every day By the Baron’s gate to stray, Came to gossip, stayed to stare.

Nothing here to satisfy Souls for tragedy awake; Just the castle by the lake, Calmest spot beneath the sky.

But the whispered story grew, When the Baron went to dine, That a devil shared his wine, Had his soul in danger too.

Every morn the Baron rose More morose and full of age; Passed the day in sullen rage, Barred his gates on friends or foes.

Lone to-night he came to dine, Struck the hound that asked a share, Heard a step upon the stair— “Come, the thief is at your wine!”

Baron of Killowen keep Running down the vaulted way, To the cellar dark by day, Took the ten steps at a leap.

There he listened with the throng Of frighted servants at the door, He heard the wine drip on the floor, And sea-mew’s laughter loud and long.

Of oaken beam, of bolt and chain They freed the door, and crowded through, Their eyes a horror claimed in vain, Nor ghost nor devil met their view.

They searched behind the hogshead, where The watchful spider spied and span; They sighed to see the wine that ran A crimson torrent, wasting there.

They even searched the gloomy well That legend said rose from the lake; They saw bright bubbles rise and break, But nothing stranger here befell.

The Baron cursed—the Baron said, “Now all be gone, alone I’ll stay, There shall not rise another day Without this thief, alive or dead.”

So still he stood, no sound was there, But just the wine went drop and drip; Save that, the silence seemed to slip Its threatening fingers through his hair.

And then as last an echo flew, The splash of waters thrown apart; He cursed the beating of his heart Because the thief was listening too.

The slipping scrape of scales he hears, And sea-mew laughter, loud and sweet; He dares not move his frightened feet, His pulse beats with a thousand fears.

At that strange monster in the gloom He points his pistol quick, and fires; Before the powder spark expires He hears a sea-bird’s scream of doom.

He saw one gleam of foam-white arms, Of sea-green eyes, of sloak brown hair; He had a glance to find her fair, When he had slain her thousand charms.

The Baron of Killowen slew A strange sea-maiden, young and fair; And all the folk in county Clare Will tell you that the tale is true.

And when the Baron came to dine, His guests could never understand, That he should say, with glass in hand, “I would the thief were at my wine!”

Cean duv deelish, beside the sea I stand and stretch my hands to thee Across the world. The riderless horses race to shore With thundering hoofs and shuddering, hoar, Blown manes uncurled.

Cean duv deelish, I cry to thee Beyond the world, beneath the sea, Thou being dead. Where hast thou hidden from the beat Of crushing hoofs and tearing feet Thy dear black head?

Cean duv deelish, ’tis hard to pray With breaking heart from day to day, And no reply; When the passionate challenge of sky is cast In the teeth of the sea and an angry blast Goes by.

God bless the woman, whoever she be, From the tossing waves will recover thee And lashing wind. Who will take thee out of the wind and storm, Dry thy wet face on her bosom warm And lips so kind?

I not to know. It is hard to pray, But I shall for this woman from day to day, “Comfort my dead, The sport of the winds and the play of the sea.” I loved thee too well for this thing to be, O dear black head!

Banagher Rhue of Donegal, (Holy Mary, how slow the dawn!) This is the hour of your loss or gain: _Is go d-tigheadh do_, _mhûirnín slan_! {21}

Banagher Rhue, but the hour was ill (O Mary Mother, how high the price!) When you swore you’d game with Death himself; Aye, and win with the devil’s dice.

Banagher Rhue, you must play with Death, (Mary, watch with him till the light!) Through the dark hours, for the words you said, All this strange and noisy night.

Banagher Rhue, you are pale and cold; (How the demons laugh through the air!) The anguish beads on your frowning brow; Mary set on your lips a prayer!

Banagher Rhue, you have won the toss: (Mother, pray for his soul’s release!) Shuffle and deal ere the black cock crows, That your spirit may find its peace.

Banagher Rhue, you have played a king; (How strange a light on your fingers fall!) A voice, “I was cold, and he sheltered me . . . ” The trick is gained, but your chance is small.

Banagher Rhue, now an ace is yours; (Mother Mary, the night is long!) “I was a sin that he hurried aside . . .” O for the dawn and the blackbird’s song!

Banagher Rhue, now a ten of suit; (Mother Mary, what hot winds blow!) “Nine little lives hath he saved in his path . . . ” And the black cock that does not crow.

Banagher Rhue, you have played a knave; (O what strange gates on their hinges groan!) “I was a friend who had wrought him ill; When I had fallen he cast no stone . . . ”

Banagher Rhue, now a queen has won! (The black cock crows with the flash of dawn.) And she is the woman who prays for you: “_Is go d-tigheadh do_, _mhûirnín slan_!”

THE FAIR LITTLE MAIDEN

“There is one at the door, Wolfe O’Driscoll, At the door, who is bidding you come!” “Who is he that wakes me in the darkness, Calling when all the world’s dumb?”

“Six horses has he to his carriage, Six horses blacker than the night, And their twelve red eyes in the shadows Twelve lamps he carries for his light;

“And his coach is a coffin black and mouldy, A huge black coffin open wide: He asks for your soul, Wolfe O’Driscoll, Who is calling at the door outside.”

“Who let him thro’ the gates of my gardens, Where stronger bolts have never been?” “’Twas the father of the fair little maiden You drove to her grave so green.”

“And who let him pass through the courtyard, By loosening the bar and the chain?” “Oh, who but the brother of the maiden, Who lies in the cold and the rain!”

“Then who drew the bolts at the portal, And into my house bade him go?” “She, the mother of the poor young maiden, Who lies in her youth so low.”

“Who stands, that he dare not enter, The door of my chamber, between?” “O, the ghost of the fair little maiden, Who lies in the churchyard green.”

For that old love I once adored I decked my halls and spread my board At Christmas time. With all the winter’s flowers that grow I wreathed my room, and mistletoe Hung in the gloom of my doorway, Wherein my dear lost love might stray When joy-bells chime.

What phantom was it entered there And drank his wine and took his chair At Christmas time? With holly boughs and mistletoe He crowned his head, and at my woe And tears I shed laughed long and loud; “Get back, O phantom! to thy shroud When joy-bells chime.”

Why love! I thought you were gay and fair, Merry of mien and debonair. What then means this brow so black, Whose sullen gloom twin eyes give back, Poor little god in tears, alack!

Why love! I thought in your smiling cheek Dainty dimples played hide and seek; Passing by like a winter’s night, With stormy sighs from lips all white. Poor little god, how comes your plight?

A maiden said you were tall and bold, With an arm of steel and a heart of gold; Whose changing face would make her day; When came a frown, the sunshine play Of smiles would chase the clouds away.

A youth once said you were like a maid With sunny hair in a golden braid; Whose cheeks were each a rose uncurled; And brow a lilybell unfurled; The fairest maid in all the world.

Why love! I find you so weak and small, A human child, not a god at all; Two angry, sleepy eyes that cry, Two little hands so soft and shy, I’ll hush you with a lullaby. Come, love!

I go through wet spring woods alone, Through sweet green woods with heart of stone, My weary foot upon the grass Falls heavy as I pass. The cuckoo from the distance cries, The lark a pilgrim in the skies; But all the pleasant spring is drear. I want you, dear!

I pass the summer meadows by, The autumn poppies bloom and die; I speak alone so bitterly For no voice answers me. “O lovers parting by the gate, O robin singing to your mate, Plead you well, for she will hear ‘I love you, dear!’”

I crouch alone, unsatisfied, Mourning by winter’s fireside. O Fate, what evil wind you blow. Must this be so? No southern breezes come to bless, So conscious of their emptiness My lonely arms I spread in woe, I want you so.

At the grey dawn, amongst the felling leaves, A little bird outside my window swung, High on a topmost branch he trilled his song, And “Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!” ever sung.

Take me, I cried, back to my island home; Sweet bird, my soul shall ride between thy wings; For my lone spirit wide his pinions spread, And home and home and home he ever sings.

We lingered over Ulster stern and wild. I called: “Arise! doth none remember me?” One turnèd in the darkness murmuring, “How loud upon the breakers sobs the sea!”

We rested over Connaught—whispering said: “Awake, awake, and welcome! I am here.” One woke and shivered at the morning grey; “The trees, I never heard them sigh so drear.”

We flew low over Munster. Long I wept: “You used to love me, love me once again!” They spoke from out the shadows wondering; “You’d think of tears, so bitter falls the rain.”

Long over Leinster lingered we. “Good-bye! My best beloved, good-bye for evermore.” Sleepless they tossed and whispered to the dawn; “So sad a wind was never heard before.”

Was it a dream I dreamt? For yet there swings In the grey morn a bird upon the bough, And “Ireland! Ireland! Ireland!” ever sings. Oh! fair the breaking day in Ireland now.

I cried all night to you, I called till day was here; Perhaps you could not come, Or were too tirèd, dear.

Your chair I set by mine, I made the dim hearth glow, I whispered, “When he comes I shall not let him go.”

I closed the shutters tight, I feared the dawn of day, I stopped the busy clock That timed your hours away.

Loud howled my neighbour’s dog, O glad was I to hear. The dead are going by, Now you will come, my dear,

To take the chair by mine— Until the cock would crow— O, if it be you came And could not let me know,

For once a shadow passed Behind me in the room, I thought your loving eyes Would meet mine in the gloom.

And once I thought I heard A footstep by my chair, I raised my eager hands, But no sweet ghost was there.

We were too wide apart— You in your spirit land— I knew not when you came, I could not understand.

Your eyes perhaps met mine, Reproached me through the gloom, Alas, for me alone The empty, empty room!

The dead were passing home, The cock crew loud and clear, Mavourneen, if you came, I knew not you were here.

AN IMPERFECT REVOLUTION

They crowded weeping from the teacher’s house, Crying aloud their fear at what he taught, Old men and young men, wives and maids unwed, And children screaming in the crowds unsought: Some to their temples with accustomed feet Bent—as the oxen go beneath the rod, To fling themselves before some pictured saint, “Alas! God help us if there is no God.”

Some to the bed-side of their dying kind To clasp with arms afraid to loose their hold; Some to a church-yard falling on a grave To kiss the carven name with lips as cold. Some watched from break of day into the night. The flash of birds, the bloom of flower and tree, The whirling worlds that glimmer in the dark, All said: “God help us if no God there be.”

Some hid in caves and chattered mad with fear At the uprising of the patient poor. “He suffers with you,” no more could they say, Thus lock with keys of Heaven their bonds secure, Some called their dead, and then remembering fell Abusing death and cursed the wormy grave, And wept for their long hoped-for Paradise, “God help us if there be no God to save!”

And others sought for right and found it not, And, seeking duty, found that it was dead, Blamed their long blameless lives and vowed no more To sacrifice, for “Might is right” they said. And pleasure, leaping in the streets with sin, Caroused through many days till wearily She tired and met with death in bitter pain. “Alas! God help us if no God we gain.”

A few rose up and speaking, “O be strong,” Were answered, “There’s no reason for your right,” But many crept in thankfulness for rest Into the river’s darkness out of sight; And others with their limbs deformed, or sore Seared flesh, shrieked out their patient years of pain. Crying to Death for their lost plains of Heaven. “Alas! God help us if no God we gain.”

Deep in the moving depths Of yellow wine, I swore I’d drown your face, O love of mine; All clad in yellow hue, So fair to see, You crouched within my cup And laughed at me.

Twice o’er a learned page I turned and tossed, For would I not forget The love I lost. All stern and robed in gloom, You read it too, I could not see the words— Saw only you.

Within the hungry chase I thought to kill You, love, who haunted thus Without my will, But in the gentle gaze Of fawn and deer, Your eyes disarmed my hand, And shook my spear.

Beneath a maid’s dark lash I swore you’d drown, Sink in the laughing blue— Give in, go down: But no! you bathèd there Right joyously, And from her liquid eyes You laughed at me.

I wish we could live as the flowers live, To breathe and to bloom in the summer and sun; To slumber and sway in the heart of the night, And to die when our glory had done.

I wish we could love as the bees love, To rest or to roam without sorrow or sigh; With laughter, when, after the wooer had won, Love flew with a whispered good-bye.

I wish we could die as the birds die, To fly and to fall when our beauty was best: No trammels of time on the years of our face; And to leave but an empty nest.

I come from a burial; Hush! let me be: I have put away my love, Fair exceedingly.

Ah! the little gold curls Soft about his face; Now my heart is sorrowful For his sleeping-place.

But he would pursue me, Never let me rest; Till I turned and slew him, Knowing it were best.

Laid his bow beside him, Shovelled in the clay; To-morrow I’ll forget him; Let me weep to-day.

What will you give me, if I will wed? “A golden gown To come sweetly down, And deck you from foot to head.”

How will you keep me, if I am cold? “By a heart so warm, The bravest storm Dare not force through my strong hands’ hold.”

How will you please me, if I should thirst? “Why by the rape Of the purple grape, Which the summer and sun have nursed.”

If I should hunger what may I eat? “For you the skies The falcon flies, And the hounds on the stag are fleet.”

How can you comfort when fair youth dies, When the spirit’s fain For a purer gain, Than the satisfied flesh supplies?