O bays of Wicklow, and gorse-crown’d headlands
Whose scent blows far on the seaward breeze,
How oft have I yearned in the tranquil midlands
For one brave shock of your lifting seas!
How oft it may be in days hereafter
Shall rise the thought of you, phantom-fair,
Shall steal the sound of the sea-waves’ laughter
On ears grown dull with time and care!
Waves, wash my spirit, and lonely places,
If well I loved you, and aught you knew,
Mark deep my heart with immortal traces
Of shining days when I dwelt with you!
[MARCH WINDS]
Wind, O wind of the Spring, thine old enchantment renewing,
How at the shock of thy might wakens within me a cry!
Out of what wonderful lands, never trodden by man, never told of,
Lands where never a ship anchored or trafficker fared,
Comest thou, breathing like flame till the brown earth flames into blossom,
Quick’ning the sap of old woods swayed in thy stormy embrace,
Rousing in depths of the heart wild waves of an infinite longing,
Longing for freedom and life, yearning for Springs that are dead!
Surely the far blue sea, foam-fleck’d with the speed of thy coming
Brighten’d in laughter abroad, sang at the feet of the isles,
Sang in a tumult of joy as my soul sings trembling with passion,
Trembling with passion and hope, wild with the spirit of Spring.
Ah, what dreams re-arise, half pain half bliss to remember,
Hearing the storm of thy song blown from the height of the skies:—
Something remains upon earth to be done, to be dared, to be sought for,
Up with the anchor once more—out with the sails to the blast!
Out to the shock of the seas that encircle the Fortunate Islands,
Vision that burns in the blood, home of the Wind of the Spring.
[MIDIR THE PROUD INVITES
QUEEN ETAIN TO FAIRYLAND][1]
Come with me, Etain, O come away,
To that Oversea Land of mine!
Where music haunts the happy day,
And rivers run with wine.
Careless we live, and young and gay,
And none saith ’mine’ or ’thine.’
Golden curls on the proud young head,
And pearls in the tender mouth—
Manhood, womanhood, white and red,
And love that grows not loth
When all the world’s desires are dead,
And all the dreams of youth.
Away from the cloud of Adam’s sin!
Away from grief and care!
This flowery land thou dwellest in
Seems rude to us and bare,
For the naked strand of the Happy Land
Is twenty times as fair.
Come, Etain, come to thine ancient home,
And let these mortals be,
Whose world is a glimmer of rainbow foam
On the breast of a boundless Sea!
We shall watch it go, as we watch’d it come,
From the Kingdom of Faëry.