Classic Poem

I.

" A BABY in the mountain gap —
Oh! wherefore bring it hither?
Restore it to it's mother's lap,
Or else 'twill surely wither.
A baby near the eagle's nest!
How should their talons spare it?
Oh! take it to some woman's breast,
And she will kindly care it. "

II.

" Fear not for it, " M'Swiney said,
And stroked his cul-fionn slowly,
And proudly raised his matted head,
Yet spoke me soft and lowly —
Fear not for it, for, many a day,
I climb the eagle's eyrie,
And bear the eaglet's food away
To feed our little fairy.

III.

" Fear not for it, no Bantry bird
Would harm our chieftain's baby " —
He stopped, and something in him stirred —
'Twas for his chieftain, may be.
And then he brushed his softened eyes,
And raised his bonnet duly,
And muttered " the Beantighearna lies
Asleep in yonder buaili "

IV.

He pointed 'twixt the cliff and lake,
And there a hut of heather,
Half hidden in the craggy brake,
Gave shelter from the weather;
The little tanist shrieked with joy,
Adown the gully staring —
The clansman swelled to see the boy,
O'Sullivan-like, daring.

V.

Oh! what a glorious sight was there,
As from the summit gazing,
O'er winding creek and islet fair,
And mountain waste amazing;
The Caha and Dunkerron hills
Cast half the gulfs in shadow,
While shone the sun on Culiagh's rills,
And Whiddy's emerald meadow —

VI.

The sea a sheet of crimson spread,
From Foze to Dursey islands;
While flashed the peaks from Mizenhead
To Musk'ry's distant highlands —
I saw no kine, I saw no sheep,
I saw nor house nor furrow;
But round the tarns the red deer leap,
Oak and arbutus thorough.

VII.

Oh! what a glorious sight was there,
That paradise o'ergazing —
When, sudden, burst a smoky glare,
Above Glengarriff blazing —
The clansman sprung upon his feet —
Well might the infant wonder —
His hands were clenched, his brow was knit,
His hard lips just asunder.

VIII.

Like shattered rock from out the ground,
He stood there stiff and silent —
Our breathing hardly made a sound,
As o'er the baby I leant;
His figure then went to and fro,
As the tall blaze would flicker —
And as exhausted it sunk low,
His breath came loud and thicker.

IX.

Then slowly turned he round his head,
And slowly turned his figure;
His eye was fixed as Spanish lead,
His limbs were full of rigour —
Then suddenly he grasped the child,
And raised it to his shoulder,
Then pointing where, across the wild,
The fire was seen to smoulder: —

X.

" Look, baby! — look, there is the sign,
Your father is returning,
The " generous hand" of Finghin's line
Has set that beacon burning.
" The generous hand" — Oh! Lord of hosts —
Oh, Virgin, ever holy!
There's nought to give on Bantry's coasts —
Dunbwy is lying lowly.

XI.

" The halls, where mirth and minstrelsy
Than Beara's wind rose louder,
Are flung in masses lonelily,
And black with English powder —
The sheep that o'er our mountains ran,
The kine that filled our valleys,
Are gone, and not a single clan
O'Sullivan now rallies.

XII.

" He, long the Prince of hill and bay!
The ally of the Spaniard!
Has scarce a single ath to-day,
Nor seamen left to man yard " —
M'Swiney ceased, then fiercely strode
Bearing along the baby,
Until we reached the rude abode
Of Bantry's lovely lady.

XIII.

We found her in the savage shed —
A mild night in mid winter —
The mountain heath her only bed,
Her dais the rocky splinter!
The sad Beantighearn ' had seen the fire —
'Twas plain she had been praying —
She seized her son, as we came nigher,
And welcomed me, thus saying —

XIV.

" Our gossip's friend I gladly greet,
Though scant'ly I can cheer him; "
Then bids the clansman fly to meet
And tell her lord she's near him.
M'Swiney kissed his foster son,
And shouting out his faire —
" O' Suillebhain abu " — is gone
Like Marchman's deadly arrow!

XV.

An hour went by, when, from the shore
The chieftain's horn winding,
Awoke the echoes' hearty roar —
Their fealty reminding:
A moment, and he faintly gasps —
" These — these, thank heav'n, are left me " —
And smiles as wife and child he clasps —
" They have not quite bereft me. "

XVI.

I never saw a mien so grand,
A brow and eye so fearless —
There was not in his veteran band
A single eyelid tearless.
His tale is short — O'Ruarc's strength
Could not postpone his ruin,
And Leitrim's towers he left at length,
To spare his friend's undoing.

XVII.

To Spain — to Spain, he now will sail,
His destiny is wroken —
An exile from dear Inis-fail, —
Nor yet his will is broken;
For still he hints some enterprise,
When fleets shall bring them over,
Dunbwy's proud keep again shall rise,
And mock the English rover.

XVIII.

I saw them cross Slieve Miskisk o'er,
The crones around them weeping —
I saw them pass from Culiagh's shore,
Their galleys' strong oars sweeping,
I saw their ship unfurl its sail —
I saw their scarfs long waver —
They saw the hills in distance fail —
They never saw Berehaven!