Three by Colum

Poems by Padraic Colum.

She Moved Through the Fair

My young love said to me, "My brothers won't mind,
And my parents won't slight you for your lack of kind."
Then she stepped away from me, and this she did say
"It will not be long, love, till our wedding day."

She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair,
And fondly I watched her go here and go there,
Then she went her way homeward with one star awake,
As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.

The people were saying no two were ere wed
But one had a sorrow that never was said,
And I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear,
And that was the last that I saw of my dear.

I dreamt it last night that my young love came in,
So softly she entered, her feet made no din;
She came close beside me, and this she did say
"It will not be long, love, till our wedding day."

An Drinaun Donn

A hundred men think I am theirs when with them I drink ale,
But their presence fades away from me and their high spirits fail
When I think upon your converse kind by the meadow and the linn,
And your form smoother than the silk on the Mountain of O'Flynn.

Oh, Paddy, is it pain to you that I'm wasting night and day,
And, Paddy, is it grief to you that I'll soon be in the clay?
My first love with the winning mouth my treasure you'll abide,
Till the narrow coffin closes me and the grass grows through my side.

The man who strains to leap the wall we think him foolish still,
When to his hand is the easy ditch to vault across at will;
The rowan tree is fine and high but bitter its berries grow,
While blackberries and raspberries are on shrubs that blossom low.

Farewell, farewell, forever to yon town amongst the trees;
Farewell, the town that draws me on mornings and on eves.
Oh, many's the ugly morass now and many's the crooked road,
That lie henceforth between me and where my heart's bestowed.

And Mary, Ever Virgin, where will I turn my head!
I know not where his house is built, nor where his fields are spread.
Ah, kindly was the counsel that my kinsfolk gave to me,
"The hundred twists are in his heart, and the thousand tricks has he."

The Poor Girl's Meditation

I am sitting here
Since the moon rose in the night,
Kindling a fire,
And striving to keep it alight;
The folk of the house are lying
In slumber deep;
The geese will be gabbling soon:
The whole of the land is asleep.

May I never leave this world
Until my ill-luck is gone;
Till I have cows and sheep,
And the lad that I love for my own;
I would not think it long,
The night I would lie at his breast,
And the daughters of spite, after that,
Might say the thing they liked best.

Love takes the place of hate,
If a girl have beauty at all:
On a bed that was narrow and high,
A three-month I lay by the wall:
When I bethought on the lad
That I left on the brow of the hill,
I wept from dark until dark,
And my cheeks have the tear-tracks still.

And, O young lad that I love,
I am no mark for your scorn;
All you can say of me is
Undowered I was born:
And if I've no fortune in hand,
Nor cattle and sheep of my own,
This I can say, O lad,
I am fitted to lie my lone!

Collected Poems (1953), pp. 109, 115f, 117f.

Lane Core Jr. CIW P — Sun. 11/09/03 11:15:12 AM
Categorized as Sunday Poetry Series.