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The Mountainy Singer
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O sunbrowned master
Of the plough!
THE GOOD PEOPLE
The millway path looks like a wraith,
The lock is black as ink,
And silently in stream and sky
The stars begin to blink.
I see them pass along the grass
With slow and solemn tread:
Aoibheall, their queen, is in between —
A corpse is at their head!
They wander on with faces wan,
And dirges sad as wind.
I know not, but it may be that
The dead’s of human kind.
THE STORM IS STILL, THE RAIN HATH CEASED
The storm is still, the rain hath ceased
To vex the beauty of the east:
A linnet singeth in the wood
His hermit song of gratitude.
So shall I sing when life is done
To greet the glory of the sun;
And cloud and star and stream and sea
Shall dance for very ecstasy!
SCARE-THE-CROWS
Twopence a day for scaring crows —
Tho’ the rain beats and the wind blows!
The scholars think I’ve little wit,
But, God! I’ve got my share of it.
Why does the gorbing land-shark
Leave ploughed rigs for the green park?
Where little’s to find, and nothing’s to eat
But rabbits’ droppings and pheasants’ meat.
He knows better than come my way
Between the mouth and the tail of day.
For one lick of my hurding wattle
Would lay him out like a showman’s bottle!
And the thoughts that rise in my crazed head
When the cloud is low and the wind’s dead.
Where you see only clay and stones
I see swords and blanching bones..
But I’ll leave you now – it’s gone six,
And the smoke is curling over the ricks.
And it’s hardly like that the land-shark
Will trouble the furrows after dark.
A CRADLE-SONG
Sleep, white love, sleep,
A cedarn cradle holds thee,
And twilight, like a silver-woven coverlid,
Enfolds thee.
Moon and star keep charmèd watch
Upon thy lying;
Water plovers thro’ the dusk
Are tremulously crying.
Sleep, white love mine,
Till day doth shine.
Sleep, white love, sleep,
The daylight wanes, and deeper
Gathers the blue darkness
O’er the cradle of the sleeper.
Cliodhna’s curachs, carmine-oared,
On Loch-da-linn are gleaming;
Blind bats flutter thro’ the night,
And carrion birds are screaming.
Sleep, white love mine,
Till day doth shine.
Sleep, white love, sleep,
The holy mothers, Anne and Mary,
Sit high in heaven, dreaming
On the seven ends of Eire.
Brigid sits beside them,
Spinning lamb-white wool on whorls,
Singing fragrant songs of love
To little naked boys and girls.
Sleep, white love mine,
Till day doth shine.
TWINE THE MAZES THRO’ AND THRO’
Of the plough!
THE GOOD PEOPLE
The millway path looks like a wraith,
The lock is black as ink,
And silently in stream and sky
The stars begin to blink.
I see them pass along the grass
With slow and solemn tread:
Aoibheall, their queen, is in between —
A corpse is at their head!
They wander on with faces wan,
And dirges sad as wind.
I know not, but it may be that
The dead’s of human kind.
THE STORM IS STILL, THE RAIN HATH CEASED
The storm is still, the rain hath ceased
To vex the beauty of the east:
A linnet singeth in the wood
His hermit song of gratitude.
So shall I sing when life is done
To greet the glory of the sun;
And cloud and star and stream and sea
Shall dance for very ecstasy!
SCARE-THE-CROWS
Twopence a day for scaring crows —
Tho’ the rain beats and the wind blows!
The scholars think I’ve little wit,
But, God! I’ve got my share of it.
Why does the gorbing land-shark
Leave ploughed rigs for the green park?
Where little’s to find, and nothing’s to eat
But rabbits’ droppings and pheasants’ meat.
He knows better than come my way
Between the mouth and the tail of day.
For one lick of my hurding wattle
Would lay him out like a showman’s bottle!
And the thoughts that rise in my crazed head
When the cloud is low and the wind’s dead.
Where you see only clay and stones
I see swords and blanching bones..
But I’ll leave you now – it’s gone six,
And the smoke is curling over the ricks.
And it’s hardly like that the land-shark
Will trouble the furrows after dark.
A CRADLE-SONG
Sleep, white love, sleep,
A cedarn cradle holds thee,
And twilight, like a silver-woven coverlid,
Enfolds thee.
Moon and star keep charmèd watch
Upon thy lying;
Water plovers thro’ the dusk
Are tremulously crying.
Sleep, white love mine,
Till day doth shine.
Sleep, white love, sleep,
The daylight wanes, and deeper
Gathers the blue darkness
O’er the cradle of the sleeper.
Cliodhna’s curachs, carmine-oared,
On Loch-da-linn are gleaming;
Blind bats flutter thro’ the night,
And carrion birds are screaming.
Sleep, white love mine,
Till day doth shine.
Sleep, white love, sleep,
The holy mothers, Anne and Mary,
Sit high in heaven, dreaming
On the seven ends of Eire.
Brigid sits beside them,
Spinning lamb-white wool on whorls,
Singing fragrant songs of love
To little naked boys and girls.
Sleep, white love mine,
Till day doth shine.
TWINE THE MAZES THRO’ AND THRO’
Другие электронные книги автора Joseph Campbell
Другие аудиокниги автора Joseph Campbell
Последний отзыв
Книга дельная. Без воды, приводятся реальные кейсы и способы их разрешения. Много практичных полезных советов и методик. Кое-что уже испробовала в дел...
Далее