All day Red Ithel lay dying there,
But he thought of the far-off sea;
And he cried all day till his lips grew white,
"Kind Bronwen, come to me!"
And so it passed till the evening time,
And then the sea-wind came,
And he thought he lay on Morva Hill
And heard her call his name.
He heard her voice, he held her hand,
"This is the day," she said,
"And this is the hour that Holy Church
Has given for us to wed."
There was no strength in him to speak,
But his eyes had yet their say,
"Kind Bronwen, now we will be wed
Forever and ever and aye!"
III.
Beneath the sea pale Bronwen lies,
Red Ithel beneath the sand;
But they are one in Holy Church,
One in love's Holy Land.
Red Ithel lies by Jerusalem town,
And she in the deep sea lies;
But I trow their little babe was born
In the gardens of Paradise.
---Ernest Rhys.
THE BALLAD OF FISHER'S BOARDING-HOUSE
|That night, when through the mooring-chains
The wide-eyed corpse rolled free,
To blunder down by Garden Reach
And rot at Kedgeree,
The tale the Hughli told the shoal
The lean shoal told to me.
|Twas Fultah Fisher's boarding-house
Where sailor-men reside,
And there were men of all the ports
From Mississip to Clyde,
And regally they spat and smoked,
And fearsomely they lied.
They lied about the purple Sea
That gave them scanty bread,
They lied about the Earth beneath,
The Heavens overhead,
For they had looked too often on
Black rum when that was red.
They told their tales of wreck and wrong,
Of shame and lust and fraud,
They backed their toughest statements with
The Brimstone of the Lord,
And crackling oaths went to and fro
Across the fist-banged board.
And there was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
Who carried on his hairy chest
The maid Ultruda's charm--
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.
And there was Jake Without-the-Ears,
And Pamba the Malay,
And Carboy Gin the Guinea cook,
And Luz from Vigo Bay,
And Honest Jack who sold them slops
And harvested their pay.
And there was Salem Hardieker,
A lean Bostonian he--
Russ, German, English, Halfbreed, Finn,
Yank, Dane, and Portugee,
At Fultah Fisher's boarding-house
They rested from the sea.
Now Anne of Austria shared their drinks,
Collinga knew her fame,
From Tarnau in Galicia
To Jaun Bazar she came,
To eat the bread of infamy
And take the wage of shame.
She held a dozen men to heel--
Rich spoil of war was hers,
In hose and gown and ring and chain,
From twenty mariners,
And, by Port Law, that week, men called
Her Salem Hardieker's.
But seamen learnt--what landsmen know--
That neither gifts nor gain
Can hold a winking Light o' Love
Or Fancy's flight restrain,
When Anne of Austria rolled her eyes
On Hans the blue-eyed Dane.
Since Life is strife, and strife means knife,
From Howrah to the Bay,
And he may die before the dawn
Who liquored out the day,
In Fultah Fishers boarding-house
We woo while yet we may.
But cold was Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
And laughter shook the chest beneath
The maid Ultruda's charm--
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.
"You speak to Salem Hardieker,
You was his girl, I know.
I ship mineselfs to-morrow, see,
Und round the Skaw we go,
South, down the Cattegat, by Hjelm,
To Besser in Saro."
When love rejected turns to hate,
All ill betide the man.
"You speak to Salem Hardieker"--
She spoke as woman can.
A scream--a sob--"He called me--names!"
And then the fray began.
An oath from Salem Hardieker,
A shriek upon the stairs,
A dance of shadows on the wall,
A knife-thrust unawares--
And Hans came down, as cattle drop,
Across the broken chairs.
In Anne of Austria's trembling hands
The weary head fell low
"I ship mineselfs to-morrow, straight
For Besser in Saro;
Und there Ultruda comes to me
At Easter, und I go
"South, down the Cattegat--What's here?
There--are--no--lights--to--guide!"
The mutter ceased, the spirit passed,
And Anne of Austria cried
In Fultah Fisher's boarding-house
When Hans the mighty died.
Thus slew they Hans the blue-eyed Dane,
Bull-throated, bare of arm,
But Anne of Austria looted first
The maid Ultruda's charm--
The little silver crucifix
That keeps a man from harm.
[Illustration: 0162]
THE FALL OF JOCK GILLESPIE
|This fell when dinner-time was done--
'Twixt the first an' the second rub--
That oor mon Jock cam' hame again
To his rooms ahint the Club.
An' syne he laughed, an' syne he sang,
An' syne we thocht him fou,
An' syne he trumped his partner's trick,
An' garred his partner rue.
-----Rudyard Kipling.
Then up and spake an elder mon,
That held the Spade its Ace--
"God save the lad! Whence comes the licht
That wimples on his face?"
An' Jock he sniggered, an' Jock he smiled,
An' ower the card-brim wunk:--
"I'm a' too fresh fra' the stirrup-peg,
May be that I am drunk."
"There's whusky brewed in Galashiels,
An' L. L. L. forbye;
But never liquor lit the low
That keeks fra' oot your eye.
"There's a thrid o' hair on your dress-coat
breast,
Aboon the heart a wee?"
"Oh! that is fra' the lang-haired Skye
That slobbers ower me."
"Oh! lang-haired Sky es are lovin' beasts,
An' terrier dogs are fair,
But never yet was terrier born,
Wi' ell-lang gowden hair!
"There's a smirch o' pouther on your breast,
Below the left lappel?"
"Oh! that is fra' my auld cigar,
Whenas the stump-end fell."
"Mon Jock, ye smoke the Trichi coarse,
For ye are short o' cash,
An' best Havannahs couldna leave
Sae white an' pure an ash.
"This nicht ye stopped a story braid,
An' stopped it wi' a curse--
Last nicht ye told that tale yoursel,
An' capped it wi' a worse!
"Oh! we're no fou! Oh! we're no fou!
But plainly we can ken
Ye're failin', failin', fra' the band
O' cantie single men!"
An' it fell when _sirris_-shaws were sere,
An' the nichts were lang and mirk,
In braw new breeks, wi' a gowden ring,
Oor Jockie gaed to the Kirk.
---Rudyard Kipling.
SOLDIER, SOLDIER
[Illustration: 9165]
|Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Why don't you march with my true love?"
"We're fresh from off the ship an' Vs maybe
give the slip,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
New love! True love!
Best go look for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better
dry your eyes,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
What did you see o' my true love?"
"I seed him serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-
green,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did you see no more o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun
to fly--
But you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did aught take 'arm to my true love?"
"I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay
so white--
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll up an' tend to my true love!"
"E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll down an' die with my true love!"
"The pit we dug 'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men
beside 'im--
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Do you bring no sign from my true love?"
"I bring a lock of hair that'e alius used to
wear,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!"
"An' I tell you truth again--when you've lost
the feel o' pain
You'd best take me for your true love."
True love! New love!
Best take'im for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better
dry your eyes,
An' you'd best take'im for your true love.
---Rudyard Kipling.
BALLAD OF EAST AND WEST
|Oh, _East is East, and West is West, and never
the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great
Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor
Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho they
come from the ends of the earth!_
Kamal is out with twenty men to raise the
Borderside,
And he has lifted the Colonel's mare that is the
Colonel's pride:
He has lifted her out of the stable-door between
the dawn and the day,
And turned the calkins upon her feet, and
ridden her far away.
Then up and spoke the Colonel's son that led a
troop of the Guides:
"Is there never a man of all my men can say
where Kamal hides?99
Then up and spoke Mahommed Khan, the son of
the Ressaldar:
"If ye know the track of the morning-mist, ye
know where his pickets are.
At dusk he harries the Abazai--at dawn he is
into Bonair,
But he must go by Fort Bukloh to his own place
to fare,
So if ye gallop to Fort Bukloh as fast as a bird
can fly,
By the favour of God ye may cut him off ere
he win to the Tongue of Jagai.
But if he be past the Tongue of Jagai, right
swiftly turn ye then,
For the length and the breadth of that grisly
plain is sown with Kamal's men.
There is rock to the left, and rock to the right,
and low lean thorn between,
And ye may hear a breech-bolt snick where
never a man is seen."
The Colonel's son has taken a horse, and a raw
rough dun was he,
With the mouth of a bell and the heart of Hell
and the head of the gallows-tree.
The Colonel's son to the Fort has won, they bid
him stay to eat--
Who rides at the tail of a Border thief, he sits
not long at his meat.
He's up and away from Fort Bukloh as fast as
he can fly,
Till he was aware of his father's mare in the
gut of the Tongue of Jagai,
Till he was aware of his father's mare with
Kamal upon her back,
And when he could spy the white of her eye,
he made the pistol crack.
He has fired once, he has fired twice, but the
whistling ball went wide.
"Ye shoot like a soldier," Kamal said. "Show
now if ye can ride."
It's up and over the Tongue of Jagai, as blown
dust-devils go,
The dun he fled like a stag of ten, but the mare
like a barren doe.
The dun he leaned against the bit and slugged
his head above,
But the red mare played with the snaffle-bars,
as a maiden plays with a glove.
There was rock to the left, and rock to the right,
and low lean thorn between,
And thrice he heard a breech-bolt snick tho'
never a man was seen.
They have ridden the low moon out of the
sky, their hoofs drum up the dawn,
The dun he went like a wounded bull, but the
mare like a new-roused fawn.
The dun he fell at a water-course--in a woful
heap fell he,
And Kamal has turned the red mare back, and
pulled the rider free.
He has knocked the pistol out of his hand--
small room was there to strive,
"'Twas only by favour of mine," quoth he,
"ye rode so long alive:
There was not a rock for twenty mile, there
was not a clump of tree,
But covered a man of my own men with his
rifle cocked on his knee.
If I had raised my bridle-hand, as I have held it
low,
The little jackals that flee so fast were feasting
all in a row:
If I had bowed my head on my breast, as I
have held it high,
The kite that whistles above us now were
gorged till she could not fly."
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "Do good
to bird and beast,
But count who come for the broken meats before
thou makest a feast.
If there should follow a thousand swords to
carry my bones away,
Belike the price of a jackal's meal were more
than a thief could pay.
They will feed their horse on the standing crop,
their men on the garnered grain,
The thatch of the byres will serve their fires
when all the cattle are slain.
But if thou thinkest the price be fair,--thy
brethren wait to sup,
The hound is kin to the jackal-spawn,--howl,
dog, and call them up!
And if thou thinkest the price be high, in steer
and gear and stack,
Give me my father's mare again, and I'll fight
my own way back!"
Kamal has gripped him by the hand and set him
upon his feet.
"No talk shall be of dogs," said he, "when
wolf and grey wolf meet.
May I eat dirt if thou hast hurt of me in deed or
breath;
What dam of lances brought thee forth to jest at
the dawn with Death?"
Lightly answered the Colonel's son: "I hold
by the blood of my clan:
Take up the mare for my father's gift--by God,
she has carried a man!"
The red mare ran to the Colonel's son, and
nuzzled against his breast;
"We be two strong men," said Kamal then,
"but she loveth the younger best.
So she shall go with a lifter's dower, my
turquoise studded rein,
My broidered saddle and saddle-cloth, and silver
stirrups twain."
The Colonel's son a pistol drew and held it
muzzle-end,
"Ye have taken the one from a foe," said he;
"will ye take the mate from a friend?"
"A gift for a gift," said Kamal straight; "a
limb for the risk of a limb.
Thy father has sent his son to me, I'll send my
son to him!"
With that he whistled his only son, that dropped
from a mountain-crest--
He trod the ling like a buck in spring, and he
looked like a lance in rest.
"Now here is thy master," Kamal said, "who
leads a troop of the Guides,
And thou must ride at his left side as shield on
shoulder rides.
Till Death or I cut loose the tie, at camp and
board and bed,
Thy life is his--thy fate it is to guard him with
thy head.
So, thou must eat the White Queen's meat, and
all her foes are thine,
And thou must harry thy fathers hold for the
peace of the Border-line,
And thou must make a trooper tough and hack
thy way to power--
Belike they will raise thee to Ressaldar when I
am hanged in Peshawur,"
They have looked each other between the eyes,
and there they found no fault,
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-
Blood, on leavened bread and salt:
They have taken the Oath of the Brother-in-
Blood on fire and fresh-cut sod,
On the hilt and the haft of the Kyber knife, and
the Wondrous Names of God.
The Colonel's son he rides the mare and Kamal's
boy the dun,
And two have come back to Fort Bukloh where
there went forth but one.
And when they drew to the Quarter-Guard, full
twenty swords flew clear--
There was not a man but carried his feud with
the blood of the mountaineer.
"Ha' done! ha' done!" said the Colonel's son.
"Put up the steel at your sides!
Last night ye had struck at a Border thief--to-
night'tis a man of the Guides!"
_Oh, East is East, and West is West, and never
the twain shall meet,
Till Earth and Sky stand presently at God's great
Judgment Seat;
But there is neither East nor West, Border, nor
Breed, nor Birth,
When two strong men stand face to face, tho they
come from the ends of the earth_
----Rudyard Kipling.
[Illustration: 0175]
THE LADY OF SEVILLA
_In the city of Sevilla,
Years and years ago--
Dwelt a lady in a villa
Years and years ago._
"Magdalene," _Revelations of Peter Brown_,
by J. F. Waller.
|In the city of Sevilla,
Years and years ago,
Lived a lady in a villa,
Ah,'twas long ago.
And her lips were cherries ripe
Years and years ago,
And her eyes were like the night
Long ago.
[Illustration: 0176]
All the gallants of Sevilla,
Years and years ago,
Loved the lady of the villa,
Ah,'twas long ago.
But their foolish hearts were broken,
Years and years ago,
For she scorned their true love tokens
Long ago.
Far away from fair Sevilla,
Years and years ago;
Far from city, town, and villa,
Ah,'twas long ago.
Sailed a ship across the ocean
Years and years ago,
And the lady's heart was broken,
Years and years ago.
----Gratiana Chanter.
[Illustration: 0177]
IRISH BALLADS
THE BATTLE OF THE BOYNE
|July the first of a morning fair
In seventeen ninety famous,
King William did- his men prepare
To fight with false King Shamus.
King James he pitched his tents between
The lines for to retire;
But King William threw his bomb-balls in
And set them all on fire.
Thereat revenge the Irish vowed
Upon King William's forces,
And vehemently with cries did crowd
To check their forward courses.
A ball from out their batteries Hew
As our King he faced their fire;
His shoulder-knot away it shot,
Quoth he, "Pray come no nigher!"
Then straight his officers he did call,
Saying, "Gentlemen, mind your station,
And prove your valour one and all
Before this Irish nation.
My brazen walls let no man break,
And your subtle foes you'll scatter;
Let us show them to-day good English play,
As we go over the water."
Then horse and foot we marched amain,
Resolved their ranks to batter;
But the brave Duke Schomberg he was slain,
As we went over the water.
Then King William cried, "Feel no dismay
At the losing of one commander,
For God shall be our king to-day,
And I'll be general under."
Then stoutly we Boyne river crossed
To give the Irish battle;
Our cannon to his dreadful cost
Like thunder-claps did rattle.
In majestic mien our Prince rode o'er,
The stream ran red with slaughter
As with blow and shout we put to rout
Our enemies over the water.
----Anon. Adapted by A. P. Graves.
[Illustration: 0181]
SHULE AGRA
[Illustration: 9182]
|His hair was black, his eye was blue,
His arm was stout, his word was true;
I wish in my heart I was with you.
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun! *
Shule, shule, shule agra! **
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
'Tis oft I sat on my true love's knee,
Many a fond story he told to me,
He told me things that ne'er shall be,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun.
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
* Farewell, my darling. ** Come, come, my love!
I sold my rock, * I sold my reel; **
When my flax was spun, I sold my wheel,
To buy my love a sword of steel,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun.
But when King James was forced to flee,
The Wild Geesef spread their wings to sea,
And bore mabouchal *** far from me,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
I saw them sail from Brandon Hill,
Then down I sat and cried my fill,
That every tear would turn a mill,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
* _Two parts of Irish spinning wheel.
** Irish Jacobites who joined the French army when the
cause of James II. was lost.
*** My boy._
I wish the King would return to reign,
And bring my true love back again;
I wish, and wish, but I wish in vain,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
Ill dye my petticoat, I'll dye it red, *
And round the world I'll beg my bread,
Till I find my love alive or dead,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!,
Shule, shule, shule agra!
Only death can ease my woe,
Since the lad of my heart from me did go,
Go-thee-thu, mavourneen slaun!
---Anon. Adapted by A. P. Graves.
THE NIGHT BEFORE LARRY WAS STRETCHED
|The night before Larry was stretched,
The boys they all paid him a visit;
A bit in their sacks too they fetched,
They sweated their duds till they riz it;
* Beggars of those days were required by the law to wear red petticoats.
For Larry was always the lad,
When a friend was condemned to the squeezer,
But he'd fence all the togs that he had
Just to help the poor boy to a sneezer,
And moisten his gob 'fore he died.
"'Pon my conscience, dear Larry," says I,
"I'm sorry to see you in trouble,
Your life's cheerful noggin run dry,
And yourself going off like its bubble."
"Hould your tongue in that matter," says he;
"For the neckcloth I don't care a button,
And by this time to-morrow you'll see
Your Larry will be dead as mutton:
All for what?'Kase his courage was good."
The boys they came crowding in fast;
They drew their stools close round about him.
Six glims round his coffin they placed;
He couldn't be well waked without 'em.
I axed if he was fit for to die,
Without having duly repented?
Says Larry, "That's all in my eye,
And all by the clergy invented
To make a fat bit for themselves."
Then the cards being called for, they played,
Till Larry found one of them cheated.
Quick! he made a hard rap at his head,--
The lad being easily heated.
"So ye chates me because I'm in grief;
O, is that, by the Holy, the rason?
Soon I'll give you to know, you d-d thief,
That you're cracking your jokes out of sason,
And scuttle your nob with my fist."
Then in came the priest with his book,
He spoke him so smooth and so civil,
Larry tipped him a Kilmainham look,
And pitched his big wig to the divil.
Then raising a little his head
To get a sweet drop of the bottle,
And pitiful sighing, he said,
"O, the hemp will be soon round my throttle,
And choke my poor windpipe to death!"
So mournful these last words he spoke,
We all vented our tears in a shower;
For my part I thought my heart broke
To see him cut down like a flower.
On his travels we watched him next day -9
O, the hangman, I thought I could kill him!
Not one word did our poor Larry say,
Nor changed till he came to "King William."
Och, my dear, thin his colour turned
white.
When he came to the nubbling chit,
He was tucked up so neat and so pretty;
The rumbler jogged off with his feet,
And he died with his face to the city.
He kicked, too, but that was all pride,
For soon you might see 'twas all over;
And as soon as the noose was untied,
Then at darky we waked him in clover,
And sent him to take a ground sweat.
THE PATRIOT MOTHER
|Come, tell us the name of the rebelly crew,
Who lifted the pike on the Curragh with you
Come, tell us the treason, and then you'll be free,
Or right quickly you'll swing from the high
gallows tree."
''_Alarma! Alanna!_ the shadow of shame
Has never yet fallen upon one of your name,
And oh! may the food from my bosom you
drew,
In your veins turn to poison, if _you_ turn untrue.
"The foul words--oh! let them not blacken
your tongue,
That would prove to your friends and your
country a wrong,
Or the curse of a mother, so bitter and dread,
With the wrath of the Lord--may they fall on
your head!
"I have no one but you in the whole world
wide,
Yet false to your pledge, you'd ne'er stand at
my side:
If a traitor you liv'd, you'd be farther away
From my heart than, if true, you were wrapp'd
in the clay.
"Oh! deeper and darker the mourning would be,
For your falsehood so base, than your death
proud and free,
Dearer, far dearer than ever to me,
My darling, you'll be on the brave gallows tree.
"'Tis holy, agra, from the bravest and best--
Go! go! from my heart, and be join'd with
the rest,
_Alanna, machree! O Alanita, machree!_
Sure a 'stag' * and a traitor you never will be."
There's no look of a traitor upon the young brow
That's raised to the tempters so haughtily now;
No traitor e'er held up the firm head so high--
No traitor e'er show'd such a proud flashing eye.
On the high gallows tree! on the brave gallows
tree!
Where smil'd leaves and blossoms, his sad doom
met he!
But it never bore blossom so pure or so fair,
As the heart of the martyr that hangs from it
there.
* "_Stag_," an informer.
THE LAKE OF COOLFIN
|To the Lake of Coolfin the companions soon came,
And the first man they met was the keeper of
game:--
"Turn back Willy Leonard, return back again;
There is deep and false water in the Lake of
Coolfin!"
Young Willy plunged in, and he swam the lake
round;
He swam to an island--'twas soft marshy ground:
"O, comrade, dear comrade, do not venture in;
There is deep and false water in the Lake of
Coolfin!"
'Twas early that morning his sister arose;
And up to her mother's bed-chamber she goes:--
"O, I dreamed a sad dream about Willy last
night;
He was dressed in a shroud--in a shroud of
snow-white!"
'Twas early that morning his mother came there;
She was wringing her hands--she was tearing
her hair.
O, woful the hour your dear Willy plunged in:--
There is deep and false water in the Lake of
Coolfin!
And I saw a fair maid, standing fast by the shore;
Her face it was pale--she was weeping full sore;
In deep anguish she gazed where young Willy
plunged in:--
Ah! there's deep and false water in the Lake of
Coolfin!
_Old Ballad. Recomposed by_ P. W. Joyce.
BY THAT LAKE, WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE
|By that Lake, whose gloomy shore
Skylark never warbles o'er,
Where the cliff hangs high and steep,
Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep.
"Here, at least," he calmly said,
"Woman ne'er shall find my bed."
Ah! the good Saint little knew
What that wily sex can do.
'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew,--
Eyes of most unholy blue!
She had lov'd him well and long,
Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong.
Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly,
Still he heard her light foot nigh;
East or west, where'er he turn'd,
Still her eyes before him burn'd.
On the bold cliff's bosom cast,
Tranquil now he sleeps at last;
Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er
Woman's smile can haunt him there.
But nor earth nor heaven is free
From her power, if fond she be: