Sprays of Shamrock Part 7

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!

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 sh.o.r.e

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 sc.r.a.p 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.

But it 's not the sea below it, nor the craggy crests above it, 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 sh.o.r.e-- Whose feet with mine kept timin' as the pair o' us went climbin'

Long ago that "bohareen" at Ballymore!

[1] "Bohareen," bypath.

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 her?" were the saucy words it said.

Sure, it stirred the heart within me, did that tauntin' of the wind, For the selfsame heart I mentioned was a sort of darin' kind; When she came within my reachin'

There was no pause for beseechin', For I kissed her, an' I kissed her, an', faith, Norah didn't mind!

AN IRISH La.s.s

My love has kissed me on the lips an' sailed beyond the sea, An', sooth, that was a sorry day for Terrence an' for me, An' yet I whispered him "G.o.d speed" his fortune for to win, For there 's little gold in Ireland save that upon the whin!

Like weary feet the days drag by; the heart o' me is sad; The keenin' o' the wind at night, it nearly drives me mad; The cries o' children in the street, they quaver lorn an' thin, For there 's little gold in Ireland save that upon the whin!

But when my own lad comes again, ah, colleen, 't will be sweet; There 'll be the peal o' weddin' bells across the fields o' peat; Faith, I can hear him sayin' it, with his shy sort o' grin, "There 's more gold now in Ireland than that upon the whin!"

THE BRIDGE OF LUCKEEN

One day as I stood at the Bridge of Luckeen, Above the bright water all glancin' an' green, There strayed down the path from the top of the pa.s.s Such a slim little, prim little, trim little la.s.s.

"Oho!" then quoth I, and "aha!" murmured she, With as pretty a curtsy as ever you 'd see; "Won't you pause?" I inquired; "I don't mind," said her mien, So we looked, side by side, from the Bridge of Luckeen.

How the minutes flew by, an' the stream how it flowed, While never a soul came along by the road; An' I thought her eyes sweeter than Maeve ever knew, An' she deemed me far bolder than Brian Boru!

There 's a priest that ties knots, so the knowin' ones say, In a neat little church in the town of Glenbeigh; If he 'll tie just one more, I 'll be thinkin', I ween, If there 's luck anywhere, there is luck at Luckeen!

DONEGAL

We made Donegal in the teeth of gray weather, We made Donegal with the wind blowing free, And the spindrift at toss like a snowy gull's feather Where the highlands lean down to the lips of the sea.

We left Donegal in the azure blue weather, We left Donegal with a soft breeze a-lee, With bees in the broom and the sun on the heather, And scarcely a ripple astir on the sea.

But give me to come in the teeth of gray weather, Oh, give me to come with the wind blowing free, And love's arms to clasp in their welcoming tether A wanderer worn with the toils of the sea!

For 't is sorrow to go in the azure blue weather, 'T is sorrow to go with a soft breeze a-lee, Leaving love's yearning arms where one fain would find tether, Watching dear Donegal sinking down in the sea!

AN IRISH SONG

Over me lifts the peat-reek That parts and drifts and veers, And the wind's uneasy moaning Is loud about mine ears.

The waves upon the shingle They murmur drearily, And the streamers of the fog-wraith Drive in from the open sea.

The mist hangs over the pa.s.ses, The mist hangs over the moors, And the eerie cry of the curlew It quavers and endures.

And it all is lonely, lonely, And there 's sorrow on every face, But the heart of me needs must love it, For the land is mine own place!