Ballads of Peace in War Part 5

Yea, with laughter in our sails and our hearts a book of tales, Down the silver roadways, a homeward hymn we say:-- Praise the Lord ye great and small, flower and weed majestical, For pleasant seas that G.o.d gave adventurers today.

THE FOUNTAIN OF YOUTH

(For Osceola and Pocahontas)

Was it a hundred years ago, Or was it but yesterday, When we found the roads that grow Blossom and song of May?

Maybe it was but yesterday, Or a hundred years ago.

The roads from Bersabee to Dan Are old and quickly tire, But to the heart of child or man Youth is a fairy fire: Our youthful roads, they never tire From Bersabee to Dan.

Ponce de Leon found no spring, But legend's long, long ruth; But the grace of G.o.d is a magic thing Abides with chivalrous youth: The grace of G.o.d that brings no ruth For them who find the spring.

There is a land, there is a May Beyond the graveyard tree; Ten thousand years are like a day Of a youth that we shall see: Our young hearts pa.s.s the graveyard tree To a land forever in May.

THE BONNIE PRINCE O' SPRING

The little green soldiers are here at last, With their waving blades and spears; And across the hills they are marching fast With the drill of a thousand years: And I wave afar, and I shout, Hurrah!

Till I hear their echoing cheers.

A bonnie prince is at their head, And his love the legions know: For he gives them rest where the twigs are red At the hedges cool in a row: And afoot are they soon to a birdlike tune On the northward march to go.

Oh, I am leal to the marching men, To my bonnie Prince I'm true; For he tells me the way to his tented glen, And the secret pa.s.sword too: And he sets in my hair a blossom to wear, Like his own good hors.e.m.e.n do.

Then I will follow on all the day Where the bonnie Prince has led, Till we drive the Winter foeman away And throne my Prince instead: And sing willaloo! With the birds, willaloo!

For the Winter King is dead.

ON A TRAIN

(For Christine and Tom)

Oases are charming 'mid the Afric sands, Beautiful is summer after rain; But the sweetest blossoms may be eyes and hands, And two playful children on a train.

Aileen and her brother, home from holiday, Left behind them Narragansett town; Innocence like music followed all the way, Summer glowed upon the cheeks of brown.

She that was their escort read a magazine: They were young, and trains are dull at night; All the pa.s.sing signals, red and blue and green, Counted up the miles for young delight.

I was there behind them, earnest in a book: Lo, the journey turned to fairyland, When, like magic mirrors, dusty windows took Aileen's dancing eyes and waving hand!

That is how it happened on a creeping train, How a play began without a word,-- Peekaboo reflections in a window-pane, Such a story-hour was never heard.

Aileen and her brother, strangers were to me; They were friendly for the cloth I wore; And through leagues of window, youthful play could see We were friends to be for evermore.

So we pa.s.sed the hamlets, pa.s.sed the miles of night In a fairyland of silent games, Till the travel ended in the Worcester light,-- Yet we parted, strangers in our names.

But a fortnight later, by an autumn tree, Aileen and her brother came my way, And another, glad to tell the names of them and me, And to hear how travellers can play.

Life is but a journey, say we evermore, Pa.s.sing lights the years have, like a train; Three good friends will travel up to heaven's door, With the world a merry window-pane.

THE COLUMBINE

Gray lonely rocks about thee stand, Ignored of sun and dew, Yet is thy breath upon the land, To thy vocation true.

So come they character to me That works in sunless ways, And I shall learn to give with thee Dark hills a constant praise.

TWO SEANICHIES

(For Aedh)

'Tis the queerest trade we have, the two of us that go about, I that do the talkin', and the little lad that sings, We to tell the story of a Land you ought to know about,-- The wonder land of Erin and the memories it brings.

Sure it is a wonder land, richer than the books it is, Full of magic stories and a hopeful heart of song; Faith, and near the mountains and the sunny lakes and brooks it is, Like the olden seanichies, the pair of us belong.

Far and broad our journeyin', up and down the land we go, Today among the mountains and tomorrow by the sea; Pleasant are the roads with us, and to a welcome grand we go, Erin wins the heart of you, whoever you may be.

Erin's heart will capture you, if you will but listen now, Great she was afore the Danes and all her Saxon foes, After that the sorrows came, sure your eyes will glisten now, Up, my lad, and sing for them "The Dark Little Rose."

Rest awhile and I will tell the fame of Tara's Hall to them, All the deeds of valor and a thousand scenes of joy, Wicklow hills and Derry fields where Killarney calls to them.

Come, my lad, it's Ninety-Eight and sing "The Croppy Boy."

Long ago the stranger came and learned to love the ways of her, Irish more than Irish the Norman foe became; Sure and here across the sea you give your hearts to praise of her, The tear and smile within her eyes that ever are the same.

Not for gold or little fame the two of us to go about, I that do the talkin', and the little lad that sings, We to win your love for her, the Land you're glad to know about, The wonder land of Erin and the memories it brings.

THE GREEN BRIGADE