I pa.s.s on into the darkness.

NIGHT-PIECE

Fill me, O stars, As with an olden tune.

Look thro' your cloudy bars, O summer moon; Look thro', and drench in silver light My soul this night.

O brief, enchanted dream Of sea and sky, Of ploughland, meadow, stream, And twilight loth to die, Of fire and dew-- My soul is one with you!

AT MORNING TIDE

At morning tide, Upon the hill of Sliabh-na-mBan, I saw the dead Christ glorified!

His body, like the risen sun, Was all too bright to look upon: The blue air burned About him: in his side And hands and feet there shone (Thro' stabs and gashes gaping wide) The golden glory of his blood: The gilly stood Upon his right hand: at his feet The fishers, Peter, James and John, Knelt worshipping With outstretched arms, and eyes To heaven turned: And Maria, his mother sweet, (The partner of his mysteries), And Magdalen and Salome Came thro' the doorway of the day Behind him, weeping.

... . Then a cloud came o'er My senses, and I saw and heard no more!

THE MAY-FIRE

Come away, O Maire Ban, Come away, come away Where the heads of _ceanabhan_ Tremble in the twilight air, And the rushes nod and sway, And no other sound is heard But the swaying of the rushes, And the shouts from Croc-an-air, And the singing of the fidils, And the laughing of the dancers Round about the yellow fire, And the scream of the water-bird.

Come away, O life of me, O bone of me, O blood of me-- Feilim has a tale to tell: He would own his love for thee, Smitten first at Mura's well, Bitten at the Lammas pattern, By the blessed Mura's well.

He would tell thee, Maire Ban, How his pulses leap and thrill Quicker than the old men's fidils, Singing out from yonder hill.

Come away, O heart's desire, From the ruddy-featured circle, From the story-telling circle, By the wreathing Bealtein fire.

Come away, come away, Come away, O Maire Ban, Where the heads of _ceanabhan_ Tremble in the twilight air, And the voice of love is heard Whispering o'er the bending rushes Like a hidden, holy bird.

Come away, O Maire Ban-- Feilim's face is fairy-wan, Feilim's heart is sick and pale, Languishing for love of thee.

I LOVE THE DIN OF BEATING DRUMS

I love the din of beating drums, The bellowing pipe, the shrieking fife: The discord and the dissonance is my blood, my breath, my life!

The discord and the dissonance is my life!

Away with flutes and dancing lutes-- Such music likes but lovers' ears: Give me the beating battledrum, The gunpeal and the cheers!

The bellowing pipe and battledrum, The gunpeal and the cheers!

THREE COLTS EXERCISING IN A SIX-ACRE

Three colts exercising in a six-acre, A hilly sweep of unfenced gra.s.s over the road.

What a picture they make against the skyline!

Necks stretched, hocks moving royally, tails flying; Farm-lads up, and they crouching low on their withers.

I have a journey to go-- A lawyer to see, and a paper to sign in the Tontine-- But I slacken my pace to watch them.

THE NATURAL

"Lend us the loan of a halfpenny, sir!"-- And he pa.s.sed with his splendid nose in the air.

A gaunt, grey carcase of skin and bones, As cold as the river, as hard as the stones.

To him the highway was table and bed, Shift for the newborn and sheet for the dead.

The wind that blew from Beola crest Seemed fire to fetter his wild unrest.

The rain that beat on his neck and face, A goad to quicken him in his pace.

But sorrow a step he changed, and his prayer Was still--"Lend us the loan of a halfpenny, sir!"

ON THE TOP-STONE

On the top-stone.

A nipping wind blowing.

Winter dusk closing in from the south Ards.

The moon rising, white and fantastic, over the loch and the town below.

I take off my hat, salute her, and descend into the darkness.

THE WOMEN AT THEIR DOORS

The babes were asleep in their cradles, And the day's drudge was done, And the women brought their suppers out To eat them in the sun.