The Mountainy Singer.

by Seosamh MacCathmhaoil.

A LINE'S A SPEECH

A line's a speech; So here's a line To say this pedlar's pack Of mine Is not a book-- But a journey thro'

Mountainy places, Ever in view Of the sea and the fields, With the rough wind Blowing over the leagues Behind!

I AM THE MOUNTAINY SINGER

I am the mountainy singer-- The voice of the peasant's dream, The cry of the wind on the wooded hill, The leap of the fish in the stream.

Quiet and love I sing-- The carn on the mountain crest, The cailin in her lover's arms, The child at its mother's breast.

Beauty and peace I sing-- The fire on the open hearth, The cailleach spinning at her wheel, The plough in the broken earth.

Travail and pain I sing-- The bride on the childing bed, The dark man labouring at his rhymes, The ewe in the lambing shed.

Sorrow and death I sing-- The canker come on the corn, The fisher lost in the mountain loch, The cry at the mouth of morn.

No other life I sing, For I am sprung of the stock That broke the hilly land for bread, And built the nest in the rock!

WHEN ROOKS FLY HOMEWARD

When rooks fly homeward And shadows fall, When roses fold On the hay-yard wall, When blind moths flutter By door and tree, Then comes the quiet Of Christ to me.

When stars look out On the Children's Path And grey mists gather On carn and rath, When night is one With the brooding sea, Then comes the quiet Of Christ to me.

I SPIN MY GOLDEN WEB

I spin my golden web in the sun: The cherries tremble, the light is done.

A sudden wind sweeps over the bay, And carries my golden web away!

CHERRY VALLEY

In Cherry Valley the cherries blow: The valley paths are white as snow.

And in their time with cl.u.s.ters red The scented boughs are crimsoned.

Even now the moon is looking thro'

The glimmer of the honey dew.

A petal trembles to the gra.s.s, The feet of fairies pa.s.s and pa.s.s.

By _them_, I know, all beauty comes To me, a habitan of slums.

I sing no rune, I say no line: The gift of second sight is mine!

DARKNESS

Darkness.

I stop to watch a star shine in the boghole---- A star no longer, but a silver ribbon of light.

I look at it, and pa.s.s on.

MY FIDIL IS SINGING

My fidil is singing Into the air; The wind is stirring, The moon is fair.

A shadow wanders Along the road; It stops to listen, And drops its load.

Dreams for a s.p.a.ce Upon the moon, Then pa.s.ses, humming My mountain tune.

THE GOAT-DEALER

Did you see the goat-dealer All in his jacket green?

I met him on the rocky road 'Twixt this and Baile-doirin.