Part 19

Across the limits of the land The wind and I swept hand and hand Beyond the golden glow. We danced across the ocean plain Like thrushes singing in the rain A song of long ago.

And on into the silver night We strove to win the race with light And bring the vision home, And bring the wonder home again Unto the sleeping eyes of men Across the singing foam.

And down the river of the world Our glowing, limbs in glory swirled As spring within a flower, And stars in music of delight Streamed gayly down our shoulders white Like petals in a shower.

And tears of awful wonder ran Adown my cheeks to hear the clan Of beauty chaunting white The prayer too deep for living word, Or sight of man or winging bird, Or music over forest heard At falling of the night.

And dropping slowly as the dew On grasses that the winds renew In urge of flooding fire, And softly as the hushing boughs The gentle airs of dawn arouse To cradle morning’s quire.

The murmur of the singing leaves Around the secret Flame, Like mating swallows ’neath the eaves In rustling silence came, And flowing through the silent air Creation fluttered in a prayer Descending on a spiral stair, And calling me by name.

It nestled in my dreaming eyes Like heaven in a lake, And softened hope into surprise For very beauty’s sake, And silence blossomed into morn, Whose fragrant rosy-breasted dawn Could scarcely bear to break.

I sang into the morning light As loud as I could sing, The treetops bowed in sheer delight Before the slanting wing. And all the songs of little birds Who laughed and cried in silver words Adored the Risen Spring.

EDWARD J. O’BRIEN

MICHAEL PAT

TO ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH

Old Michael Pat he said to me He saw an angel in a tree. He knew I’d never, never doubt him, For what would heaven be without them. The angel laughed for very glee And sang out loud: “Heigh! come with me!” Old Michael felt a creeping kind Of wonder in his humble mind, And, hardly knowing what to say, Ran where the angel showed the way. The lambs were running on the hills, Glad laughter echoed from the rills, And many hidden little birds Talked pleasant things in singing words. He followed up a mountain then And saw a crowd of singing men Approaching to a Crown of Light Wherein they took a fresh delight. He danced and sang and whooped and crew To see the Lord of all he knew Surrounded by the living songs Of stars and men in countless throngs, And then he died to life again, And shovelled with the strength of ten. He taught me how to say my letters, And take my hat off to my betters, And when I asked for fairy stories, He told me of angelic glories. He was a lovely farmer, he Had seen an angel in a tree.

EDWARD J. O’BRIEN

SONG

FROM “FLESH: A GEOGORIAN ODE”

Ebb on with me across the sunset tide And float beyond the waters of the world, The light of evening slipping from my side, Thy softened voice in waves of silence furled.

Flow on into the flaming morning wine, Drowning the land in color. Then on high Rise in thy candid innocence and shine Like to a poplar straight against the sky.

EDWARD J. O’BRIEN

IN MEMORIAM: FRANCIS LEDWIDGE (Killed in action, July 31, 1917)

Soldier and singer of Erin, What may I fashion for thee? What garland of words or of flowers? Singer of sunlight and showers, The wind on the lea;

Of clouds, and the houses of Erin, Wee cabins, white on the plain, And bright with the colours of even, Beauty of earth and of heaven Outspread beyond Slane!

Slane, where the Easter of Patrick Flamed on the night of the Gael, Guard both the honor and story Of him who has died for the glory That crowns Innisfail.

Soldier of right and of freedom, I offer thee song and not tears. With Brian, and Red Hugh O’Donnell, The chiefs of Tyrone and Tryconnell, Live on through the years!

NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONOR

EVENSONG

A shepherd piping, herald of the Night Who comes with Silence up the coloured vale, Treading low gently, clad in greyish white, Poignantly piping, sound your reedy wail! For Day departed moves in funeral train Tended by Twilight and, in deepest rose, The splendid Sunset melts beneath the main While sweet the Sea-wind with cool softness blows. As when a mother gathers to her breast The child who frets for Dad’s remembered smart, Now Light fades quickly in the ashen west, And Night-Peace falls across my troubled heart. Flutes, for the night through let my mind be still, And God keep safe with Him my stubborn will!

NORREYS JEPHSON O’CONOR

THE PROPHET