Poems

A PEASANTHow she screamed out!SECOND PEASANTAnd maybe we shall scream so.THIRD PEASANTI tell you there is no such place as hell.FIRST MERCHANTCan such a trifle turn you from your profit?Come, deal; come, deal.MIDDLE-AGED MANMaster, I am afraid.FIRST MERCHANTI bought your soul, and there's no sense in fearNow the soul's gone.MIDDLE-AGED MANGive me my soul again.WOMAN (going on her knees and clinging to MERCHANT)And take this money too, and give me mine.SECOND MERCHANTBear bastards, drink or follow some wild fancy;For sighs and cries are the soul's work,And you have none.

(Throws the woman off.)

PEASANTCome, let's away.ANOTHER PEASANTYes, yes.ANOTHER PEASANTCome quickly; if that woman had not screamedI would have lost my soul.ANOTHER PEASANTCome, come away.

(They turn to door, but are stopped by shouts of "Countess Cathleen! Countess Cathleen!")

CATHLEEN (entering)And so you trade once more?FIRST MERCHANTIn spite of you.What brings you here, saint with the sapphire eyes?CATHLEENI come to barter a soul for a great price.SECOND MERCHANTWhat matter, if the soul be worth the price?CATHLEENThe people starve, therefore the people goThronging to you. I hear a cry come from themAnd it is in my ears by night and day,And I would have five hundred thousand crownsThat I may feed them till the dearth go by.FIRST MERCHANTIt may be the soul's worth it.CATHLEENThere is more:The souls that you have bought must be set free.FIRST MERCHANTWe know of but one soul that's worth the price.CATHLEENBeing my own it seems a priceless thing.SECOND MERCHANTYou offer us —CATHLEENI offer my own soul.A PEASANTDo not, do not, for souls the like of oursAre not precious to God as your soul is.O! what would Heaven do without you, lady?ANOTHER PEASANTLook how their claws clutch in their leathern gloves.FIRST MERCHANTFive hundred thousand crowns; we give the price.The gold is here; the souls even while you speakHave slipped out of our bond, because your faceHas shed a light on them and filled their hearts.But you must sign, for we omit no formIn buying a soul like yours.SECOND MERCHANTSign with this quillIt was a feather growing on the cockThat crowed when Peter dared deny his Master,And all who use it have great honour in Hell.

(CATHLEEN leans forward to sign.)

ALEEL (rushing forward and snatching the pen from her)Leave all things to the builder of the heavens.CATHLEENI have no thoughts; I hear a cry – a cry.ALEEL (casting the pen on the ground)I have seen a vision under a green hedge,A hedge of hips and haws – men yet shall hearThe Archangels rolling Satan's empty skullOver the mountain-tops.FIRST MERCHANTTake him away.

(TEIG and SHEMUS drag him roughly away so that he falls upon the floor among the PEASANTS. CATHLEEN picks up parchment and signs, then turns towards the PEASANTS.)

CATHLEENTake up the money, and now come with me;When we are far from this polluted placeI will give everybody money enough.

(She goes out, the PEASANTS crowding round her and kissing her dress. ALEEL and the two MERCHANTS are left alone.)

SECOND MERCHANTWe must away and wait until she dies,Sitting above her tower as two grey owls,Waiting as many years as may be, guardingOur precious jewel; waiting to seize her soul.FIRST MERCHANTWe need but hover over her head in the air,For she has only minutes. When she signedHer heart began to break. Hush, hush, I hearThe brazen door of Hell move on its hinges,And the eternal revelry float hitherTo hearten us.SECOND MERCHANTLeap feathered on the airAnd meet them with her soul caught in your claws.

(They rush out. ALEEL crawls into the middle of the room. The twilight has fallen and gradually darkens as the scene goes on. There is a distant muttering of thunder and a sound of rising storm.)

ALEELThe brazen door stands wide, and Balor comesBorne in his heavy car, and demons have liftedThe age-weary eyelids from the eyes that of oldTurned gods to stone; Barach, the traitor, comesAnd the lascivious race, Cailitin,That cast a druid weakness and decayOver Sualtem's and old Dectera's child;And that great king Hell first took hold uponWhen he killed Naisi and broke Deirdre's heartAnd all their heads are twisted to one side,For when they lived they warred on beauty and peaceWith obstinate, crafty, sidelong bitterness.

(He moves about as though the air above him was full of spirits. OONA enters.)

Crouch down, old heron, out of the blind storm.OONAWhere is the Countess Cathleen? All this dayHer eyes were full of tears, and when for a momentHer hand was laid upon my hand it trembled,And now I do not know where she is gone.ALEELCathleen has chosen other friends than us,And they are rising through the hollow world.Demons are out, old heron.OONAGod guard her soul.ALEELShe's bartered it away this very hour,As though we two were never in the world.

(He points downward.)

First, Orchill, her pale, beautiful headHer body shadowy as vapour driftingUnder the dawn, for she who awoke desireHas but a heart of blood when others die;About her is a vapoury multitudeOf women alluring devils with soft laughter;Behind her a host heat of the blood made sin,But all the little pink-white nails have grownTo be great talons.

(He seizes OONA and drags her into the middle of the room and points downward with vehement gestures. The wind roars.)

They begin a songAnd there is still some music on their tongues.OONA (casting herself face downwards on the floor)O, Maker of all, protect her from the demons,And if a soul must need be lost, take mine.

(ALEEL kneels beside her, but does not seem to hear her words. The PEASANTS return. They carry the COUNTESS CATHLEEN and lay her upon the ground before OONA and ALEEL. She lies there as if dead.)

OONAO, that so many pitchers of rough clayShould prosper and the porcelain break in two!

(She kisses the hands of CATHLEEN.)

A PEASANTWe were under the tree where the path turns,When she grew pale as death and fainted away.And while we bore her hither cloudy gustsBlackened the world and shook us on our feet;Draw the great bolt, for no man has beheldSo black, bitter, blinding, and sudden a storm.

(One who is near the door draws the bolt.)

CATHLEENO, hold me, and hold me tightly, for the stormIs dragging me away.

(OONA takes her in her arms. A woman begins to wail.)

PEASANTHush!PEASANTSHush!PEASANT WOMENHush!OTHER PEASANT WOMENHush!CATHLEEN (half rising)Lay all the bags of money in a heap,And when I am gone, old Oona, share them outTo every man and woman: judge, and giveAccording to their needs.A PEASANT WOMANAnd will she giveEnough to keep my children through the dearth?ANOTHER PEASANT WOMANO, Queen of Heaven, and all you blessed saints,Let us and ours be lost so she be shriven.CATHLEENBend down your faces, Oona and Aleel;I gaze upon them as the swallow gazesUpon the nest under the eave, beforeShe wander the loud waters. Do not weepToo great a while, for there is many a candleOn the High Altar though one fall. Aleel,Who sang about the dancers of the woods,That know not the hard burden of the world,Having but breath in their kind bodies, farewell!And farewell, Oona, you who played with me,And bore me in your arms about the houseWhen I was but a child and therefore happy,Therefore happy, even like those that dance.The storm is in my hair and I must go.

(She dies.)

OONABring me the looking-glass.

(A woman brings it to her out of the inner room. OONA holds it over the lips of CATHLEEN. All is silent for a moment. And then she speaks in a half scream:)

O, she is dead!A PEASANTShe was the great white lily of the world.A PEASANTShe was more beautiful than the pale stars.AN OLD PEASANT WOMANThe little plant I love is broken in two.

(ALEEL takes looking-glass from OONA and flings it upon the floor so that it is broken in many pieces.)

ALEELI shatter you in fragments, for the faceThat brimmed you up with beauty is no more:And die, dull heart, for she whose mournful wordsMade you a living spirit has passed awayAnd left you but a ball of passionate dust.And you, proud earth and plumy sea, fade out!For you may hear no more her faltering feet,But are left lonely amid the clamorous warOf angels upon devils.

(He stands up; almost every one is kneeling, but it has grown so dark that only confused forms can be seen.)

And I who weepCall curses on you, Time and Fate and Change,And have no excellent hope but the great hourWhen you shall plunge headlong through bottomless space.

(A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder.)

A PEASANT WOMANPull him upon his knees before his cursesHave plucked thunder and lightning on our heads.ALEELAngels and devils clash in the middle air,And brazen swords clang upon brazen helms.

(A flash of lightning followed immediately by thunder.)

Yonder a bright spear, cast out of a sling,Has torn through Balor's eye, and the dark clansFly screaming as they fled Moytura of old.

(Everything is lost in darkness.)

AN OLD MANThe Almighty wrath at our great weakness and sinHas blotted out the world and we must die.

(The darkness is broken by a visionary light. The PEASANTS seem to be kneeling upon the rocky slope of a mountain, and vapour full of storm and ever-changing light is sweeping above them and behind them. Half in the light, half in the shadow, stand armed angels. Their armour is old and worn, and their drawn swords dim and dinted. They stand as if upon the air in formation of battle and look downward with stern faces. The PEASANTS cast themselves on the ground.)

ALEELLook no more on the half-closed gates of Hell,But speak to me, whose mind is smitten of God,That it may be no more with mortal things,And tell of her who lies there.

(He seizes one of the angels.)

Till you speakYou shall not drift into eternity.THE ANGELThe light beats down; the gates of pearl are wideAnd she is passing to the floor of peace,And Mary of the seven times wounded heartHas kissed her lips, and the long blessed hairHas fallen on her face; The Light of LightsLooks always on the motive, not the deed,The Shadow of Shadows on the deed alone.

(ALEEL releases the ANGEL and kneels.)

OONATell them who walk upon the floor of peaceThat I would die and go to her I love;The years like great black oxen tread the world,And God the herdsman goads them on behindAnd I am broken by their passing feet.

(A sound of far-off horns seems to come from the heart of the Light. The vision melts away, and the forms of the kneeling PEASANTS appear faintly in the darkness.)

THE ROSE

"Sero te amavi, Pulchritudo tam antiqua et tam nova! Sero te amavi."

S. Augustine.TO LIONEL JOHNSON

TO THE ROSE UPON THE ROOD OF TIME

Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days!Come near me, while I sing the ancient ways:Cuchulain battling with the bitter tide;The Druid, gray, wood-nurtured, quiet-eyed,Who cast round Fergus dreams, and ruin untold;And thine own sadness, whereof stars, grown oldIn dancing silver sandalled on the sea,Sing in their high and lonely melody.Come near, that no more blinded by man's fate,I find under the boughs of love and hate,In all poor foolish things that live a day,Eternal beauty wandering on her way.Come near, come near, come near – Ah, leave me stillA little space for the rose-breath to fill!Lest I no more hear common things that crave;The weak worm hiding down in its small cave,The field mouse running by me in the grass,And heavy mortal hopes that toil and pass;But seek alone to hear the strange things saidBy God to the bright hearts of those long dead,And learn to chaunt a tongue men do not know.Come near; I would, before my time to go,Sing of old Eire and the ancient ways:Red Rose, proud Rose, sad Rose of all my days.

FERGUS AND THE DRUID

FERGUSThe whole day have I followed in the rocks,And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape.First as a raven on whose ancient wingsScarcely a feather lingered, then you seemedA weasel moving on from stone to stone,And now at last you wear a human shape,A thin gray man half lost in gathering night.DRUIDWhat would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?FERGUSThis would I say, most wise of living souls:Young subtle Concobar sat close by meWhen I gave judgment, and his words were wise,And what to me was burden without end,To him seemed easy, so I laid the crownUpon his head to cast away my care.DRUIDWhat would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?FERGUSI feast amid my people on the hill,And pace the woods, and drive my chariot wheelsIn the white border of the murmuring sea;And still I feel the crown upon my head.DRUIDWhat would you?FERGUSI would be no more a kingBut learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.DRUIDLook on my thin gray hair and hollow cheeksAnd on these hands that may not lift the swordThis body trembling like a wind-blown reed.No woman loves me, no man seeks my help,Because I be not of the things I dream.FERGUSA wild and foolish labourer is a king,To do and do and do, and never dream.DRUIDTake, if you must, this little bag of dreams;Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.FERGUSI see my life go dripping like a streamFrom change to change; I have been many things,A green drop in the surge, a gleam of lightUpon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,A king sitting upon a chair of gold,And all these things were wonderful and great;But now I have grown nothing, being all,And the whole world weighs down upon my heart:Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrowLay hidden in the small slate-coloured bag!

THE DEATH OF CUCHULAIN

A man came slowly from the setting sun,To Forgail's daughter, Emer, in her dun,And found her dyeing cloth with subtle care,And said, casting aside his draggled hair:"I am Aleel, the swineherd, whom you bid"Go dwell upon the sea cliffs, vapour hid;"But now my years of watching are no more."Then Emer cast the web upon the floor,And stretching out her arms, red with the dye,Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry.Looking on her, Aleel, the swineherd, said:"Not any god alive, nor mortal dead,"Has slain so mighty armies, so great kings,"Nor won the gold that now Cuchulain brings.""Why do you tremble thus from feet to crown?"Aleel, the swineherd, wept and cast him downUpon the web-heaped floor, and thus his word:"With him is one sweet-throated like a bird.""Who bade you tell these things?" and then she criedTo those about, "Beat him with thongs of hide"And drive him from the door."And thus it was:And where her son, Finmole, on the smooth grassWas driving cattle, came she with swift feet,And called out to him, "Son, it is not meet"That you stay idling here with flocks and herds.""I have long waited, mother, for those words:"But wherefore now?""There is a man to die;"You have the heaviest arm under the sky.""My father dwells among the sea-worn bands,"And breaks the ridge of battle with his hands.""Nay, you are taller than Cuchulain, son.""He is the mightiest man in ship or dun.""Nay, he is old and sad with many wars,"And weary of the crash of battle cars.""I only ask what way my journey lies,"For God, who made you bitter, made you wise.""The Red Branch kings a tireless banquet keep,"Where the sun falls into the Western deep."Go there, and dwell on the green forest rim;"But tell alone your name and house to him"Whose blade compels, and bid them send you one"Who has a like vow from their triple dun."Between the lavish shelter of a woodAnd the gray tide, the Red Branch multitudeFeasted, and with them old Cuchulain dwelt,And his young dear one close beside him knelt,And gazed upon the wisdom of his eyes,More mournful than the depth of starry skies,And pondered on the wonder of his days;And all around the harp-string told his praise,And Concobar, the Red Branch king of kings,With his own fingers touched the brazen strings.At last Cuchulain spake, "A young man strays"Driving the deer along the woody ways."I often hear him singing to and fro,"I often hear the sweet sound of his bow,"Seek out what man he is."One went and came."He bade me let all know he gives his name"At the sword point, and bade me bring him one"Who had a like vow from our triple dun.""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

The quarrel of the sparrows in the eaves,The full round moon and the star-laden sky,And the loud song of the ever-singing leaves,Had hid away earth's old and weary cry.And then you came with those red mournful lips,And with you came the whole of the world's tearsAnd all the trouble of her labouring ships,And all the trouble of her myriad years.And now the sparrows warring in the eaves,The curd-pale moon, the white stars in the sky,And the loud chaunting of the unquiet leaves,Are shaken with earth's old and weary cry.

WHEN YOU ARE OLD

When you are old and gray and full of sleep,And nodding by the fire, take down this book,And slowly read, and dream of the soft lookYour eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;How many loved your moments of glad grace,And loved your beauty will love false or true;But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you,And loved the sorrows of your changing face.And bending down beside the glowing barsMurmur, a little sadly, how love fledAnd paced upon the mountains overheadAnd hid his face amid a crowd of stars.

THE WHITE BIRDS

I would that we were, my beloved, white birds on the foam of the sea!We tire of the flame of the meteor, before it can fade and flee;And the flame of the blue star of twilight, hung low on the rim of the sky,Has awaked in our hearts, my beloved, a sadness that may not die.A weariness comes from those dreamers, dew dabbled, the lily and rose;Ah, dream not of them, my beloved, the flame of the meteor that goes,Or the flame of the blue star that lingers hung low in the fall of the dew:For I would we were changed to white birds on the wandering foam: I and you!I am haunted by numberless islands, and many a Danaan shore,Where Time would surely forget us, and Sorrow come near us no more;Soon far from the rose and the lily, and fret of the flames would we be,Were we only white birds, my beloved, buoyed out on the foam of the sea!

A DREAM OF DEATH

I dreamed that one had died in a strange placeNear no accustomed hand;And they had nailed the boards above her faceThe peasants of that land,Wondering to lay her in that solitude,And raised above her moundA cross they had made out of two bits of wood,And planted cypress round;And left her to the indifferent stars aboveUntil I carved these words:She was more beautiful than thy first love,But now lies under boards.