قراءة كتاب Sprays of Shamrock
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اللغة: English
الصفحة رقم: 9
hay is sweet,
And this is the round and sum of a quiet Kerry day!
[p 53]
A KERRY ROAD
Snow of the blackberry bloom, purple of heather bells,
The fir and the oak tree boughs with the ivy round them twining;
Sheen of a distant lake, brown of the dipping fells,
Racing clouds overhead, and the fitful sun a-shining!
Bracken and thorn and whin, and somewhere a cheeping bird;
Pits of peat, and, then, a cart with its cheery load;
In from Dingle Bay the wind with its ancient word;
On and up and on—and this is a Kerry road!
[p 54]
A KERRY GARDEN
There ’s a garden that slopes to the south and the sun,
A garden in Kerry I know,
Where the poppy ’s a-bloom, and the red roses run
O’er the wall, and the pampas-plume’s streamers seem spun
Of the floss of the moon in the dusk watches won,
And the lake is a-shimmer below.
There ’s a garden that ’s fair, be it day, be it night,
A garden in Kerry I know,
And never an orient dream of delight
Can match with this garden so sweet to my sight,
For here is heart’s home to a wandering wight,—
It calls me wherever I go!
[p 55]
DOWN IN KERRY
Down in Kerry maids are merry,
Down in Kerry maids are fair;
Laughin’ eyes an’ lips o’ cherry
From Feale Water to Kenmare!
Sunny weather in the heather,
Sunny weather everywhere,
Be but man an’ maid together
From Feale Water to Kenmare!
Care a-sheddin’, naught a-dreadin’,
With just one my steps to share,
That ’s the road that I ’d be treadin’
From Feale Water to Kenmare!
[p 56]
HOLY WELLS
At Toberaribba,
Sooth, what do you think,
’T is not holy water
They go for to drink!
At Tobernanavin,
As sure as you ’re born,
There ’s dancing and prancing
And juice of the corn!
At Tobernacerta,
They sport on the green;
There ’s laughing and chaffing,
And lots of poteen!
At Tobernaglashy,
With moss at the brink,
There ’s much holy water,
But not for to drink!
[p 57]
LOW TIDE
The sun on the reeds an’ rushes,
An’ the sand outstretched before,
An’ the sun on the kelp an’ shingle
Away off Galway shore.
An’ the sun on the rocks behind me,
Bright on the gorse an’ whin,
An’ the sun on the slantin’ dories
With their white sails tackin’ in.
Oh, I ’ll be gay o’ the sunlight,
Glad of its glint an’ grace,
If its beams will only show me
The smile on one sailor’s face!
[p 58]
THE “BOHAREEN”1
In the kingdom they call “Kerry” there ’s a “bohareen” goes climbin’
Above the thatch o’ cots at Ballymore—
A little rovin’ footway—an’ the goat bells keep a-chimin’
In the heather slopin’ upward from the shore
For the slopes are clad with heather, noddin’ heather, purple heather,
Where the bees make honey-music in the noon;
An’ if you should chance to stray there in a scrap o’ sunny weather
A warbler will be tossin’ you a tune.
An’ you can look to seaward through the gray-green gulf o’ wonder
An’ watch the slantin’ sails a-dippin’ far,
An’ you can mark about you how the rocks are rent asunder,
An’ the heights are mountin’ up to reach the star.
Nor the bracken with the mosses soft between,
Nor the droopin’ bells o’ heather, nay, it ’s not for these I love it,
That wanderin’, that windin’ “bohareen!”
But a thought that keeps a-chimin’ in my heart like tender rhymin’
Of one who clambered upward from the shore—
Whose feet with mine kept timin’ as the pair o’ us went climbin’
Long ago that “bohareen” at Ballymore!
1 “Bohareen,” bypath.
[p 60]
AN IRISH IDYL
As I stood amid the bracken, as I stood amid the fern,
I could hear the merry bicker, the blithe bicker of the burn.
Bees were hummin’, softly hummin’;
“She ’s a comin’! She ’s a comin’!”
With a little spurt of laughter called the brook at every turn.
“Watch her! watch her! watch her! watch her!” cried a curlew overhead;
An’ I knew that it was Norah by the trippin’ of her tread;
An’ a gentle wind a croonin’
In the silence of the noonin’—
“Dare you kiss her? dare you kiss
