THE HAPPY ISLANDS.
“Tell me, brother, dearest brother,
Why it is thou aye dost weep?
Why thus, ever listless, sittest
Looking forth across the deep?
“Thy impatient steed is wond’ring
Why his master doth not come,
On his perch thy hawk is sleeping,
E’en thy hound’s deep voice is dumb.
“Yesternight there came a minstrel
With a glee-maid young and fair,
If mayhap their merry voices
Would beguile thy weary care.”
“Hawk may sleep, and hound may slumber,
My impatient steed must wait,
Nor care I to hear the minstrel
Who is resting at the gate.
“E’en the keen breeze of the mountains
Would not cool my fevered brow,
E’en the shrill note of the trumpet
Would not serve to rouse me now.
“Dost remember, that our father
Told us how his wond’ring eyes
Once beheld the Happy Islands
Far off on the ocean rise?
“Those fair Islands where no mortal,
As ’tis said, has ever been,
Though at evening in the westward
They at sunset oft are seen.
“Those blest Islands that so often
Were our aged minstrel’s theme,
That surpass the fairest fancies
Of a poet’s wildest dream.
“Where the Holy Grail lies hidden
Far from mortal quest or claim,
And the Tree of Life stands, guarded
By the Seraph’s sword of flame:
“Where the Blessed Ones are dwelling
Till the dawning of the day
When this world and all upon it,
Like a dream, will pass away.
“And our sire sailed towards those Islands,
Till their shore he drew so near
That the strains of heavenly singing
Fell upon his raptured ear.
“And as that immortal music
O’er his ravished senses stole,
An intense and eager longing
Took possession of his soul.
“When, lo! as entranced he listened,
Suddenly the mists of night,
Gath’ring round the Happy Islands,
Hid them from his anxious sight.
“Then all through that weary midnight
Stayed he waiting for the dawn,
But when day broke, lo! the Islands
With the mists of night had gone.
“From that day thou know’st he languished,
And could take nor food nor rest,
For he aye was thinking, thinking
On those Islands of the Blest.
“When he died, dost thou remember
We heard music from the sea,
That enchained us with the weirdness
Of its mystic melody?
“Scarce three days ago at sunset
I was sitting, thinking here,
When I saw those Happy Islands
In the west there, bright and clear.
“Words would fail to tell their beauty,
They were wrapt in golden haze,
And they glowed with such a radiance
That on them I scarce could gaze.
“And since that resplendent vision
On my raptured senses fell,
It has haunted and enthralled me
With the magic of its spell.
“I must go and seek those Islands
That far to the westward lie.
I hear distant voices calling,
I must find those isles or die.”
At the early dawn next morning
Young Sir Brian sailed away,
Mournfully his brother watchèd
On the shore the livelong day.
Long kept guard the weary watchers,
’Mid the tempest and the rain,
But ah! nevermore Sir Brian
To his home came back again.
It is said by some he perished
In the wild and stormy wave,
Where the sea-birds wailed the requiem
O’er his mist-enshrouded grave.
If perchance he reached those Islands,
Be ye sure that he stayed there;
For what earthly joy or beauty
With those Islands can compare?
Where the sun is ever shining
And the blossom doth not fade,
Where from quest of mortal hidden
The most Holy Grail is laid.
Where with flaming swords the Seraphs
Stand around the Tree of Life,
Where the Blessed Ones are dwelling
Who have conquered in the strife.
Note.—This poem is founded on an ancient Irish legend, to the effect that the Happy Islands, as they are called—that is, the temporal resting-place of the blessed, where yet stands the Tree of Life guarded by the cherubim—are situated in the ocean somewhere to the far westward of Ireland.
It is said they are sometimes to be seen at sunset from the coast o’ Galway.
Many have sought to find them, and some even have come near them, but just as they were approaching, either the night fell or a storm arose and drove them from the enchanted shores.