Fires of Driftwood Part 13

Tir Nan Og

THE breeze blows out from the land and it seeks the sea, O and O! that my sail were set and away-- Fast and free on its wings would my sailing be To the west: to the Tir Nan Og, where the blessed stay!

The darkness stirs, it awakes, it outspreads its arms, O and O! and the birds in their nests are still, The red-browed hill bleats low with the lamb's alarms, And a sound of singing comes from the slipping rill.

My soul is awake alone, all alone in the earth, O and O! and around is the lonely night.

As with the sun, would my soul go forth to its birth-- O'er the darkling sea, to the west--to the light, to the light!

Do they say, "Be content with the land of the Innis Fail, O and O! there is friends.h.i.+p here, there is song."

But they smile to your face, when you turn they stammer and rail And the song of the singer has tears and is over long!

A call comes out of the west and it calls a name, O and O! it is soft, it is far, it is low-- Sweet, so sweet that it touches my soul with a flame That burns the heart from my breast with the wish to go!

(Translated from the Celtic.)

The Little Man in Green

'TWAS a little man in green, And he sat upon a stone; And he sat there all alone, Whispering.

"One and two," so whispered he.

('Twas an ancient man and h.o.a.r) "One and two," and then no more-- Never, "Three".

Hawthorn trees were quick with May-- "Sir," said I, "Good-day to you"!

But he counted. "One and two"

In strange way.

Fool I was--oh, fool was I (Who should know the ways of them!) That I touched his cloak's green hem, Pa.s.sing by.

I was fey with spring and mirth-- Speaking him without a thought-- Now is joy a thing forgot On the earth.

Ere the sweet thorn-buds were through, Wife and child doom-stricken lay, Cold as winter, white as spray-- "One and two!"

Now I seek eternally That grim Counter of the fen, Praying he may count again-- Counting, "Three".

* In the bad chance of a meeting with the "Little People" the mortal is cautioned not to speak to them nor to touch, but to pa.s.s by quickly with averted eye.--Old tale.

The Enchantress

I FEAR Eileen, the wild Eileen-- The eyes she lifts to mine, That laugh and laugh and never tell The half that they divine!

She draws me to her lonely cot Ayont the Tulloch Hill; And, laughing, draws me to her door And, laughing, holds me still.

I bless myself and bless myself, But in the holy sign, There seems to be no heart of love, To still the pain in mine.

The morning, bright above the moor, Is bright no more for me-- A weary bit of burning pain Is where my heart should be!

For since the wild, sweet laugh of her Has drawn me to her snare, The only sunlight in the world Is s.h.i.+ning from her hair.

Yet well I know, ah, well I know Why 'tis so sweet and wild-- She slept beneath a faery thorn, She is a faery child!

And so I leave my mother lone, No meal to fill the pot, And follow, follow wild Eileen.

If so I will or not.

I fear to meet her in the glen, Or seek her by the sh.o.r.e; I fear to lift her cabin's latch, But--should she come no more!--

O Eileen Og, O wild Eileen, My heart is wracked with fear Lest you should meet your faery kin, And, laughing, leave me here!

The Banshee

THE Banshee cries on the rising wind "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

The dead to free and the quick to bind-- (Close fast the shutter and draw the blind!) "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

Why are you paler my dearest dear?

"O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

'Tis but the wind in the elm tree near-- (Acushla, hus.h.!.+ lest the Banshee hear!) "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

See, how the crackling fire up-springs, "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

Up and up on its flame-red wings; Hark, how the cheerful kettle sings!

"O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

Core of my heart! How cold your lips!

"O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

White as the spray the wild wind whips, Still as your icy finger tips!

"O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

On the rising wind the Banshee cries-- "O-hoho, O hoho-o-o!"

I kiss your hair. I kiss your eyes-- The kettle is dumb; the red flame dies!

"Ochone! Ochone! Ochone!"

The Witch