Monday, April 28, 2008

Egan O'Rahilly

Here in a distant place I hold my tongue ;
I am O'Rahilly :
When I was young,
Who now am young no more,
I did not eat things picked up from the shore.

The periwinkle, and the tough dogfish
At even-time have got into my dish !
The great, where are they now ! the great had said—
This is not seemly, bring to him instead
That which serves his and serves our dignity—
And that was done.

I am O'Rahilly :
Here in a distant place I hold my tongue,
Who once said all his say, when he was young !

Owen O'Néill

If poesy have faith at all,
If some great lion of the Gael
Shall rule the lovely land of Fál ;
O yellow mast and roaring sail !
Carry the leadership for me,
Writ in this letter, o'er the sea
To great O'Néill.

Inis Fál

Now may we turn aside and dry our tears,
And comfort us, and lay aside our fears,
For all is gone—all comely quality,
All gentleness and hospitality,
All courtesy and merriment is gone ;
Our virtues all are withered every one,
Our music vanished and our skill to sing :
Now may we quiet us and quit our moan,
Nothing is whole that could be broke : No thing
Remains to us of all that was our own.

The Land Of Fál

If all must suffer equally, and pay
In equal share for that sin wrought by Eve,
O Thou, if Thou wilt deign to answer, say :
Why are the poor tormented ? why made grieve
The innocent ? why are the free enslaved ?
Why have the wicked peace tho' void of ruth ?
Why are there none to pity, when, dismayed,
And sick with fear, the lambs bleats to the tooth
That tears him down ? why is the cry unheard
Of lonely anguish ? why, when the land of Fál
Had loved Thee long and well, was she not spared
The ruin that hath stamped her under all
That mourn and die ?