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The Mountainy Singer
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Says he, “My lad, you’re lucky —
I wish t’ I was like you:
You’re lucky in your birth-star,
And in your fidil, too!”
He gave me back my fidil,
My fidil-stick, also,
And stepping like a mayboy,
He jumped the Leargaidh Knowe.
I never saw him after,
Nor met his gentle kind;
But, whiles, I think I hear him
A-wheening in the wind!
My father and mother were Irish,
And I am Irish, too:
I bought a wee fidil for ninepence,
And it is Irish, too.
I’m up in the morning early
To meet the dawn of day,
And to the lintwhite’s piping
The many’s the tune I play.
GRASSLANDS ARE FAIR
Grasslands are fair,
Ploughlands are rare.
Grasslands are lonely,
Ploughlands are comely.
Grasslands breed cattle,
Ploughlands feed people.
Grasslands are not wrought,
Ploughlands swell with thought.
WINTER SONG
’Twould skin a fairy
It is so airy,
And the snow it nips so cold:
Shepherd and squire
Sit by the fire,
The sheep are in the fold.
You have your wish —
A reeking dish,
And rubble walls about;
So pity the poor
That have no door
To keep the winter out!
I FOLLOW A STAR
I follow a star
Burning deep in the blue,
A sign on the hills
Lit for me and for you!
Moon-red is the star,
Halo-ringed like a rood,
Christ’s heart in its heart set,
Streaming with blood.
Follow the gilly
Beyond to the west:
He leads where the Christ lies
On Mary’s white breast.
King, priest and prophet —
A child, and no more —
Adonai the Maker!
Come, let us adore.
THE SILENCE OF UNLABOURED FIELDS
The silence of unlaboured fields
Lies like a judgment on the air:
A human voice is never heard:
The sighing grass is everywhere —
The sighing grass, the shadowed sky,
The cattle crying wearily!
Where are the lowland people gone?
Where are the sun-dark faces now?
The love that kept the quiet hearth,
The strength that held the speeding plough?
Grasslands and lowing herds are good,
But better human flesh and blood!
THE BEGGAR’S WAKE
I watched at a beggar’s wake
In the hills of Bearna-barr,
And the old men were telling stories
Of Troy and the Trojan war.
And a flickering fire of bog-deal
Burned on the open hearth,
And the night-wind roared in the chimney,
And darkness was over the earth.
I wish t’ I was like you:
You’re lucky in your birth-star,
And in your fidil, too!”
He gave me back my fidil,
My fidil-stick, also,
And stepping like a mayboy,
He jumped the Leargaidh Knowe.
I never saw him after,
Nor met his gentle kind;
But, whiles, I think I hear him
A-wheening in the wind!
My father and mother were Irish,
And I am Irish, too:
I bought a wee fidil for ninepence,
And it is Irish, too.
I’m up in the morning early
To meet the dawn of day,
And to the lintwhite’s piping
The many’s the tune I play.
GRASSLANDS ARE FAIR
Grasslands are fair,
Ploughlands are rare.
Grasslands are lonely,
Ploughlands are comely.
Grasslands breed cattle,
Ploughlands feed people.
Grasslands are not wrought,
Ploughlands swell with thought.
WINTER SONG
’Twould skin a fairy
It is so airy,
And the snow it nips so cold:
Shepherd and squire
Sit by the fire,
The sheep are in the fold.
You have your wish —
A reeking dish,
And rubble walls about;
So pity the poor
That have no door
To keep the winter out!
I FOLLOW A STAR
I follow a star
Burning deep in the blue,
A sign on the hills
Lit for me and for you!
Moon-red is the star,
Halo-ringed like a rood,
Christ’s heart in its heart set,
Streaming with blood.
Follow the gilly
Beyond to the west:
He leads where the Christ lies
On Mary’s white breast.
King, priest and prophet —
A child, and no more —
Adonai the Maker!
Come, let us adore.
THE SILENCE OF UNLABOURED FIELDS
The silence of unlaboured fields
Lies like a judgment on the air:
A human voice is never heard:
The sighing grass is everywhere —
The sighing grass, the shadowed sky,
The cattle crying wearily!
Where are the lowland people gone?
Where are the sun-dark faces now?
The love that kept the quiet hearth,
The strength that held the speeding plough?
Grasslands and lowing herds are good,
But better human flesh and blood!
THE BEGGAR’S WAKE
I watched at a beggar’s wake
In the hills of Bearna-barr,
And the old men were telling stories
Of Troy and the Trojan war.
And a flickering fire of bog-deal
Burned on the open hearth,
And the night-wind roared in the chimney,
And darkness was over the earth.
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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