Overview
Celebrated for their unique poetic sensibility and wondrous way with words, the Irish have produced a rich heritage of great poetry. This volume attests to the Irish love of language, spanning fourteen centuries of literary history and featuring works by more than 60 of the Emerald Isle's most distinguished poets.
This comprehensive selection of well-known poems by distinguished writers includes "Verses for Women Who Cry Apples, etc." by Jonathan Swift; J. Sheridan LeFanu's "A Drunkard's Address to a Bottle of Whiskey"; William Allingham's "Four Ducks on a Pond"; "Requiescat" by Oscar Wilde; W. B. Yeats' "The Song of Wandering Aengus" and "Easter 1916"; "Forgiveness" by A. E.; "The Hills of Cualann" by Joseph Campbell; "An Old Woman of the Roads" by Padraic Colum; "In the Poppy Field" by James Stephens; and many others.
Also included is a generous sampling of memorable works by lesser known poets: "Lament for Thomas Davis" by Samuel Ferguson; Dion Boucicault's "The Wearing of the Green"; "The Wee Lassie's First Luve" by G. F. Savage-Armstrong; Francis A. Fahy's "Little Mary Cassidy"; Sidney Royse Lysaght's "The Penalty of Love"; and many more, including the anonymous "A Confession of Forgiveness," "Pearl of the White Breast," and "Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye."
Students, teachers, and all poetry lovers will cherish this fine collection and its diverse cross-section of Irish poetry, from the seventh century to modern times.
Product Details
| ISBN-13: | 9780486111681 |
|---|---|
| Publisher: | Dover Publications |
| Publication date: | 02/02/2012 |
| Series: | Dover Thrift Editions: Poetry |
| Sold by: | Barnes & Noble |
| Format: | eBook |
| Pages: | 160 |
| File size: | 2 MB |
| Age Range: | 14 - 18 Years |
About the Author
Read an Excerpt
Irish Verse
An Anthology
By Bob Blaisdell
Dover Publications, Inc.
Copyright © 2002 Dover Publications, Inc.All rights reserved.
ISBN: 978-0-486-11168-1
CHAPTER 1
Poems from the Irish
ANONYMOUS
The Scribe: "A Hedge of Trees"
This is a pair of ancient Irish quatrains, circa seventh century.
A hedge of trees surrounds me,
A blackbird's lay sings to me;
Above my lined booklet
The trilling birds chant to me.
In a grey mantle from the top of bushes
The cuckoo sings:
Verily—may the Lord shield me!—
Well do I write under the greenwood.
—translated by Kuno Meyer
The Blackbird
This poem was written by a monk in the margin of a book he was copying, circa seventh century.
Ah, blackbird, thou art satisfied
Where thy nest is in the bush:
Hermit that clinkest no bell,
Sweet, soft, peaceful is thy note.
—translated by Kuno Meyer
The Feìlire of Adamnan
Though ascribed to St. Adamnan, Abbot of Iona (died 704), the biographer of St. Columba, the ancient Irish litany, judging by its languages, is later. (Note by Alfred Perceval Graves)
Saints of Four Seasons!
Saints of the Year!
Loving, I pray to you; longing, I say to you:
Save me from angers, dreeings, and dangers!
Saints of Four Seasons!
Saints of the Year!
Saints of Green Springtime!
Saints of the Year!
Patraic and Grighair, Brighid be near!
My last breath gather with God's Foster Father!
Saints of Green Springtime!
Saints of the Year!
Saints of Gold Summer!
Saints of the Year!
(Poesy wingeth me! Fancy far bringeth me!)
Guide ye me on to Mary's Sweet Son!
Saints of Gold Summer!
Saints of the Year!
Saints of Red Autumn!
Saints of the Year!
Lo! I am cheery! Michil and Mary
Open wide Heaven to my soul bereaven!
Saints of Red Autumn!
Saints of the Year!
Saints of Grey Winter!
Saints of the Year!
Outside God's Palace fiends wait in malice—
Let them not win my soul going in!
Saints of Grey Winter!
Saints of the Year!
Saints of Four Seasons!
Saints of the Year!
Waking or sleeping, to my grave creeping,
Life in its Night, hold me God's light!
Saints of Four Seasons!
Saints of the Year!
—translated by Patrick J. McCall
St. Patrick's Breastplate
"According to tradition," writes Padraic Colum, "St. Patrick uttered it while on his way to Tara, where he was for the first time to confront the power of the Pagan High-King of Ireland. Assassins were in wait for him and his companions, but as he chanted the hymn it seemed to the hidden band that a herd of deer went by," circa eighth century.
I arise today
Through the strength of heaven:
Light of sun,
Radiance of moon,
Splendour of fire,
Speed of lightning,
Swiftness of wind,
Depth of sea,
Stability of earth,
Firmness of rock.
I arise today
Through God's strength to pilot me:
God's might to uphold me,
God's wisdom to guide me,
God's eye to look before me,
God's ear to hear me,
God's word to speak for me,
God's hand to guard me,
God's way to lie before me,
God's shield to protect me,
God's host to save me
From snares of devils,
From temptations of vices,
From every one who shall wish me ill,
Afar and anear,
Alone and in a multitude.
Christ to shield me today
Against poison, against burning,
Against drowning, against wounding,
So that there may come to me abundance of reward.
Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me,
Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me,
Christ on my right, Christ on my left,
Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise,
Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me,
Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me,
Christ in every eye that sees me,
Christ in every ear that hears me.
I arise today
Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity,
Through belief in the threeness,
Through confession of the oneness
Of the Creator of Creation.
—translated by Kuno Meyer
The Student and His Cat
The Irish of this playful poem was written by a student of the Monastery of Carinthia on a copy of St. Paul's Epistles about the close of the eighth century. (Note by Eleanor Hull)
I and Pangur Bán, my cat,
'Tis a like task we are at;
Hunting mice is his delight,
Hunting words I sit all night.
Better far than praise of men
'Tis to sit with book and pen;
Pangur bears me no ill-will,
He, too, plies his simple skill.
'Tis a merry thing to see
At our tasks how glad are we,
When at home we sit and find
Entertainment to our mind.
Oftentimes a mouse will stray
In the hero Pangur's way;
Oftentimes my keen thought set
Takes a meaning in its net.
'Gainst the wall he sets his eye
Full and fierce and sharp and sly;
'Gainst the wall of knowledge I
All my little wisdom try.
When a mouse darts from its den,
O! how glad is Pangur then;
O! what gladness do I prove
When I solve the doubts I love.
So in peace our task we ply,
Pangur Bán, my cat, and I;
In our arts we find our bliss,
I have mine, and he has his.
Practice every day has made
Pangur perfect in his trade;
I get wisdom day and night,
Turning darkness into light.
—translated by Robin Flower
Summer Has Come
(circa ninth century)
Summer has come, healthy and free,
Whence the brown wood is bent to the ground:
The slender nimble deer leap,
And the path of seals is smooth.
The cuckoo sings gentle music,
Whence there is smooth peaceful calm:
Gentle birds skip upon the hill,
And swift grey stags.
Heat has laid hold of the rest of the deer—
The lovely cry of curly packs!
The white extent of the strand smiles,
There the swift sea is roused.
A sound of playful breezes in the tops
Of a black oakwood is Drum Daill,
The noble hornless herd runs,
To whom Cuan-wood is a shelter.
Green bursts out on every herb,
The top of the green oakwood is bushy,
Summer has come, winter has gone,
Twisted hollies wound the hound.
The blackbird sings a loud strain,
To him the live wood is a heritage,
The sad angry sea is fallen asleep,
The speckled salmon leaps.
The sun smiles over every land,—
A parting for me from the brood of cares:
Hounds bark, stags tryst,
Ravens flourish, summer has come!
—translated by Kuno Meyer
The Sacred Trinity
The Irish had a passion for triads. Here, in an ancient, circa ninth century verse, the triad is put to use to prove the Trinity.
Three folds of the cloth, yet one only napkin is there,
Three joints in the finger, but still only one finger fair;
Three leaves of the shamrock, yet no more than one shamrock to wear.
Frost, snow-flakes and ice, all in water their origin share,
Three Persons in God; to one God alone we make prayer.
—translated by Eleanor Hull
Early Irish Triads
From the ninth century collection of that name.
Three slender ones whereon the whole Earth swings:
The thin milk stream that in the keeler sings,
The thin green blade that from the cornfield springs,
The thin grey thread the housewife's shuttle flings.
Three finenesses that foulness keep from sight:
Fine manners in the most misfeatured wight,
Fine shapes of art by servile fingers moulded,
Fine wisdom from a hunch-back's brain unfolded.
Three fewnesses that better are than plenty:
A fewness of fine words—but one in twenty—
A fewness of milch-cows, when grass is shrinking;
Fewness of friends when beer is best for drinking.
Three graceless sisters in the bond of unity
Are lightness, flightiness and importunity.
Three clouds, the most obscuring Wisdom's glance:
Forgetfulness, half-knowledge, ignorance.
Three signs of ill-bred folk in every nation:
A visit lengthened to a visitation,
Staring, and over-much interrogation.
Three keys that most unlock our secret thinking
Are love and trustfulness and over-drinking.
Three the receivers are of stolen goods:
A cloak, the cloak of night, the cloak of woods.
Three unions, each of peace a proved miscarriage:
Confederate feats, joint ploughland, bonds of marriage.
Three excellencies of our dress are these:
Elegance, durability and ease.
Three aged sisters, not too hard to guess,
Are groaning, chastity and ugliness.
Three glories of a gathering free from strife:
Swift hound, proud steed and beautiful young wife.
The world's three laughing stocks (be warned and wiser!):
An angry man, a jealous and a miser.
Three powers advantaging a Chieftain most
Are Peace and Justice and an armed host.
Three worst of snares upon a Chieftain's way:
Sloth, treachery and evil counsel they!
Three ruins of a tribe to west or east:
A lying Chief, false Brehon, lustful Priest.
The rudest three of all the sons of earth:
A youngster of an old man making mirth,
A strong man at a sick man poking fun,
A wise man gibing at a foolish one.
Three signs that show a fop; the comb-track in his hair,
The track of his nice teeth upon his nibbled fare,
His cane track in the dust, oft as he takes the air.
Three sparks that light the fire of love are these:
Glamour of face, and grace, and speech of ease.
Three steadinesses of wise womanhood:
A steady tongue, through evil as through good;
A steady chastity, whoso else shall stray;
Steady house-service, all and every day.
Three signs of increase: kine that low,
When milk unto their calves they owe;
The hammer on the anvil's brow,
The pleasant swishing of the plough.
Three sisters false: I would! I might! I may!
Three timorous brothers: Hearken! Hush! and Stay!
Three coffers of a depth unknown
Are His who occupies the throne,
The Church's, and the privileged Poet's own.
—translated by Alfred Perceval Graves
The Song of Manchan the Hermit
The subject was Abbot of Liath Manchan, now Lemanaghan, in King's County. He died 665 A.D. The verse was composed circa ninth century.
I wish, O Son of the Living God, O Ancient Eternal King,
For a hidden hut in the wilderness, a simple secluded thing.
The all-blithe lithe little lark in his place, chanting his lightsome lay;
The calm, clear pool of the Spirit's grace, washing my sins away.
A wide, wild woodland on every side, its shades the nursery
Of glad-voiced songsters, who at day-dawn chant their sweet psalm for me.
A southern aspect to catch the sun, a brook across the floor,
A choice land, rich with gracious gifts, down-stretching from my door.
Few men and wise, these I would prize, men of content and power,
To raise Thy praise throughout the days at each canonical hour.
Four times three, three times four, fitted for every need,
To the King of the Sun praying each one, this were a grace, indeed.
Twelve in the church to chant the hours, kneeling there twain and twain;
And I before, near the chancel door, listening their low refrain.
A pleasant church with an Altar-cloth, where Christ sits at the board,
And a shining candle shedding its ray on the white words of the Lord.
Brief meals between, when prayer is done, our modest needs supply;
No greed in our share of the simple fare, no boasting or ribaldry.
This is the husbandry I choose, laborious, simple, free,
The fragrant leek about my door, the hen and the humble bee.
Rough raiment of tweed, enough for my need, this will my King allow;
And I to be sitting praying to God under every leafy bough.
—translated by Eleanor Hull
(Continues...)
Excerpted from Irish Verse by Bob Blaisdell. Copyright © 2002 Dover Publications, Inc.. Excerpted by permission of Dover Publications, Inc..
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
Table of Contents
I. Poems from the IrishANONYMOUS
"The Scribe: "A Hedge of Trees" (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)"
The Blackbird (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
The Feìlire of Adamnan (TRANSLATED BY PATRICK J. MCCALL)
St. Patrick's Breastplate (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
The Student and His Cat (TRANSLATED BY ROBIN FLOWER)
Summer Has Come (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
The Sacred Trinity (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
Early Irish Triads (TRANSLATED BY ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES)
The Song of Manchan the Hermit (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
The Old Woman of Beare (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
In Praise of May (TRANSLATED BY T. W. ROLLESTON)
On the Flightiness of Thought (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
A Song of Winter (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
King and Hermit (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
"The Scribe: "For Weariness My Hand Writes Ill" (TRANSLATED BY ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES)"
The Deserted Home (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
Colum Cille's Greeting to Ireland (TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
The Vision of Mac Conglinne(TRANSLATED BY KUNO MEYER)
MURDOCH O'DALY
Consecration (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
The Shaving of Murdoch (TRANSLATED BY STANDISH HAYES O'GRADY)
ANONYMOUS
Youth and Age (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
A Confession for Forgiveness (TRANSLATED BY ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES)
Love is a Mortal Disease (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
FEARFLATHA Ó GNÍMH
The Downfall of the Gael(TRANSLATED BY SAMUEL FERGUSON)
The Lament of O'Gnive (TRANSLATED BY JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN)
ANONYMOUS
Dirge of O'Sullivan Bear (TRANSLATED BY JEREMIAH JOSEPH CALLANAN)
MAURICE DUGAN
The Coolun (TRANSLATED BY SAMUEL FERGUSON)
ANONYMOUS
Dear Dark Head (TRANSLATED BY SAMUEL FERGUSON)
Cashel of Munster (TRANSLATED BY SAMUEL FERGUSON)
Pearl of the White Breast (TRANSLATED BY GEORGE PETRIE)
The Convict of Clonmel (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
"EILEEN O'CONNELL ("DARK EILEEN")"
Dirge on the Death of Art O'Leary (TRANSLATED BY ELENOR HULL)
ANTHONY RAFTERY
I Am Raftery (TRANSLATED BY DOUGLAS HYDE)
Dust Hath Closed Helen's Eye (TRANSLATED BY LADY AUGUSTA GREGORY)
ANONYMOUS
"O Donall Oge": The Grief of a Girl's Heart (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)"
I Shall Not Die for Thee (TRANSLATED BY DOUGLAS HYDE)
The Stars Stand Up (TRANSLATED BY ELEANOR HULL)
A Curse on a Closed Gate (TRANSLATED BY JAMES H. COUSINS)
Pastheen Finn (TRANSLATED BY SAMUEL FERGUSON)
II. Anonymous Street Songs and Ballads
The Night Before Larry Was Stretched
Nell Flaherty's Drake
"Johnny, I Hardly Knew Ye"
The Irish Sailor
John McGoldrick's Trial for the Quaker's Daughter
III. Poetry in English Since Swift
JONATHAN SWIFT
An Excellent New Song on a Seditious Pamphlet
"Verses made for Women Who Cry Apples, etc. "
To Quilca: A Country-House of Dr. Sheridan
WILLIAM DRENAN: Eire
ANDREW CHERRY
The Green Little Shamrock of Ireland
EDWARD LYSAGHT: Our Dear Native Island
CHARLES WOLFE: The Burial of Sir John Moore
SAMUEL LOVER
I'm Not Myslef at All!
The Whistlin' Thief
JAMES CLARENCE MANGAN: Dark Rosaleen
GERALD GRIFFING: Gille Machree
ELLEN FITZSIMON: The Woods of Kylinoe
JOHN WALSH: Drimin Donn Dílis
LADY HELEN SELINA DUFFERIN
Lament of the Irish Emigrant
JOHN FRANCIS WALLER: The Spinning Wheel
SAMUEL FERGUSON: Lament for Thomas Davis
ARTHUR GERALD GOEGHEGAN
The Mountain Fern
JOSEPH SHERIDAN LE FANU
A Drunkard's Address to a Bottle of Whiskey
AUBREY DE VERE: The New Race
MICHAEL JOSEPH BARRY: Hymn of Freedom
DENIS FLORENCE MCCARTHY
The Irish Wolf-Hound
DION BOUCICAULT
The Wearing of the Green
I'm Very Happy Where I Am
THOMAS CAULFIELD IRWIN
The Potato-Digger's Song
MARTIN MACDERMOTT: Girl of the Red Mouth
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM
Lovely Mary Donnelly
Four Ducks on a Pond
A Dream
The Winding Banks of Erne
THOMAS D'ARCY M'GEE: Home Thoughts
CHARLES JOSEPH KICKHAM: The Irish Peasant Girl
JOHN TODHUNTER: Song
EMILY LAWLESS: In Spain
G. F. SAVAGE-ARMSTRONG
The Wee Lassie's First Luve
CHARLOTTE GRACE O'BRIEN: The River
ALFRED PERCEVAL GRAVES
The Song of the Ghost
The Irish Spinning-Wheel
FRANCIS A. FAHY: Little Mary Cassidy
OSCAR WILDE: Requiescat
T. W. ROLLESTON: The Grave of Rury
"SIDNEY ROYSE LYSAGHT" The Penalty of Love"
WILLIAM BUTLER YEATS
Down by the Salley Gardens
The Ballad of Father Gilligan
To Ireland in the Coming Times
The Host of the Air
The Song of Wandering Aengus
September 1913
In Memory of Major Robert Gregory
An Irish Airman Foresees His Death
Easter 1916
The Second Coming
MOIRA O'NEILL: The Grand Match
HERBERT TRENCH: Killary
SUSAN L. MITCHELL: Amergin
A.E.: Forgiveness
LIONEL JOHNSON: The Red Wind
JOHN MILLINGTON SYNGE: Beg-Innish
P. H. PEARSE: The Wayfarer
JOSEPH CAMPBELL
The Old Woman
The Blind Man at the Fair
The Hills of Cualann
WILLIAM DARA: Song of a Turf-sod
PADRAIC COLUM: An Old Woman of the Roads
JAMES STEPHENS
In the Poppy Field
The Whispe