Waiting, by Katherine Tynan

I just randomly selected this poem from a reprint of The Poetry and Song of Ireland by John Boyle O Reilly.
I would welcome a dialog about the writers work, for fun. Sign on with a google name and dialog on the blog or continue the dialog on face book.

Let's have a little Irish poetry- Katharine Tynan- Waiting-


In a grey cave, where comes no glimpse of sky. Set in blue hill's heart full of many a mile, Having the dripping stone for canopy, Missing the wind's laugh and the good sun's smile, I, FIONN with all my sleeping warriors lie.
Waiting, continues- In the great outer cave our horses are, carved of grey stone, with heads erect, amazed, Purple their trappings, gold each bolt and bar, One fore foot poised, the quivering thin ears raised; Me thinks they scent the battle from afar.
A frozen hound lies by each warrior's feet. Ah, Bran, my jewel ! Bran , my king of hounds ! Deep throated art thou, mighty flanked, and fleet; Dost thou remember how giant bounds Did'st chase the red deer in the noontide heat?
I was a king in ages long ago, A mighty warrior, and seer likewise, Still mine eyes look with solemn gaze of woe From stony lids adown the centuries, And in my frozen heart I know, I know.
A giant I, of a primeval race, These, great-limbed, bearing helm and shield and sword, my good knights are, and each still awful face. Will one day wake to knowledge at a word- O' re heard the groaning years turn round a space.
Here with the peaceful dead we keep our state; Some day a cry shall ring adown the lands : " The hour is come the hour grows large with fate" He knows who hath the centuries in his hands when that shall be, till then we watch and wait.
" The queens that loved us, whither be they gone, The sweet, large women with the hair as gold, As though one drew long threads from out the sun? Ages ago, grown tired, and very cold, they fell asleep beneath the daisies wan.
The waving woods are gone that once we knew, And towns grown grey with years are in their place; A little lake, as innocent and blue As my Queens’s eyes were, lifts a baby face where once my palace tower were fair to view.

The fierce old gods we hailed with worshiping, The blind old gods, waxed mad with sin and blood, Laid down their god head as an idle thing at a God's feet, whose throne was but a Rood, His crown wrought thorns, His joy long travailing.

Here in the gloom I see it all again, as ages since in visions mystical I saw the swaying crowds of fierce-eyed men and heard the murmurs in the judgement hall, O , for one charge of my dark warriors then!

Nay, if he willed, HIs Father presently Twelve star - girt legions unto Him had given. I traced the blood - stained path to Calvary, and heard far off the angesl weep in heaven; Then the Rood's arms against an awful sky.


I saw him when they pierced Him, hands and feet, and one came by and smote Him, this new King, so pale and harmless, on the tired face, sweet; He was so lovely, and so pitying, The icy heart in me began to beat.


Then a strong cry, the mountain heaved and swayed that held us in its heart, the groaning world was reft wtih lightning, and in ruins laid, His Father's awful hand the red bolts furled, And He was dead- I trembled sore afraid. "

Then I upraised myself with mighty strain in the gloom I heard the tumult rage without, I saw those large dead faces glimmer plain, The life just stirred within
them and went out and I fell back, and grew to stone again

So the years went-on earth how fleet they be, Here in this cave their feet are slow of pace. And I grow old, and tired exceedingly: I would the sweet earth were my dwelling place- Shamrocks and little daisies wrapping me!

There I should lie, and feel the silence sweet as a meadow at noon, where birds sing in trees; To mine ears should come the patter of little feet, and baby cries, and croon of summer seas and the wind's laughter in the upland wheat. "

Meantime, o'er head the years were full and bright, with a kind sun, and gold wide fields of corn;, the happy children sang from morn to night,the blessed church bells rang, new arts were born, Strong towns rose up and glimmered fair and white.

Once came a wind of conflict, fierce as hail, and beat about my brows; on the east ward shore, where never since the Viking' dark ships sail, all day the battle raged with mighty roar; At night the victor's fair dead face was pale.

Ah, the dark years since then, the anguished cry that pierced my deaf ears, made my hard eyes weep, from Erin wrestling in her agony, While we, her strongest, in a helpless sleep Lay , as the blood stained years trailed slowly by.

And often in those years the East was drest In phantom fires, that mocked the distant dawn, Then blackes nights- her bravest and her best were led to die, while I slept dumbly on, Whith the whole mountain's weight upon my breast.

Once in my time, it chanced a peasant hind strayed to this cave. I heard, and burst my chain and raised my awful face stone- dead and blind. Cried, " Is it time? " and fell back again, I heard his wild cry borne adown the wind.

Some hearts wait with us. Owen Roe O' NEill, the kingliest king that ever went uncrowned, sleeps in his panoply of gold and steel ready to wake, and in the kindly ground a many another's death wounds close and heal.

Great Hugh O Neill, far off in purple Rome, and Hugh O Donnell, in their stately tombs Lie, with their grand fair faces turned to home: Some day a voice will ring adown the glooms, " Arise, ye Princes, for the hour is come!"

And these will rise, and wee will wait them here, In this blue hill-heart fair Donegal; That hour shall sound the clash of sword and spear, the steeds shall heigh to hear their masters' call, and the hounds' shall echol shrill and clear.