William Yeats - Poems

With Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,

And passing the Firbolgs' burial mounds,

Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill

Where passionate Maive is stony still;

And found on the dove-gray edge of the sea

A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode

On a horse with bridle of findrinny;

And like a sunset were her lips,

A stormy sunset on doomed ships;

A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,

And with the glimmering crimson glowed

Of many a figured embroidery;

And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell

That wavered like the summer streams,

As her soft bosom rose and fell.

S. PATRIC

You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

USHEEN

"Why do you wind no horn?" she said.

"And every hero droop his head?

"The hornless deer is not more sad

"That many a peaceful moment had,

"More sleek than any granary mouse,

"In his own leafy forest house

"Among the waving fields of fern:

"The hunting of heroes should be glad."

"O pleasant woman," answered Finn,

"We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,

"And on the heroes lying slain,

On Gavra's raven-covered plain;

"But where are your noble kith and kin,

"And from what country do you ride?"

"My father and my mother are

"Aengus and Adene, my own name

"Niam, and my country far

"Beyond the tumbling of this tide."

"What dream came with you that you came

"Through bitter tide on foam wet feet?

"Did your companion wander away

"From where the birds of Aengus wing?"

She said, with laughter tender and sweet:

"I have not yet, war-weary king,

"Been spoken of with any one;

"Yet now I choose, for these four feet

"Ran through the foam and ran to this

"That I might have your son to kiss."

"Were there no better than my son

"That you through all that foam should run?"

"I loved no man, though kings besought

"Love, till the Danaan poets brought

"Rhyme, that rhymed to Usheen's name,

"And now I am dizzy with the thought

"Of all that wisdom and the fame

"Of battles broken by his hands,

"Of stories builded by his words

"That are like coloured Asian birds

"At evening in their rainless lands."

O Patric, by your brazen bell,

There was no limb of mine but fell

Into a desperate gulph of love!

"You only will I wed," I cried,

"And I will make a thousand songs,

"And set your name all names above.

"And captives bound with leathern thongs

"Shall kneel and praise you, one by one,

"At evening in my western dun."

"O Usheen, mount by me and ride

"To shores by the wash of the tremulous tide,

"Where men have heaped no burial mounds,

"And the days pass by like a wayward tune,

"Where broken faith has never been known,

"And the blushes of first love never have flown;

"And there I will give you a hundred hounds;

"No mightier creatures bay at the moon;

"And a hundred robes of murmuring silk,

"And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep

"Whose long wool whiter than sea froth flows,

"And a hundred spears and a hundred bows,

"And oil and wine and honey and milk,

"And always never-anxious sleep;

"While a hundred youths, mighty of limb,

"But knowing nor tumult nor hate nor strife,

"And a hundred maidens, merry as birds,

"Who when they dance to a fitful measure

"Have a speed like the speed of the salmon herds,

"Shall follow your horn and obey your whim,

"And you shall know the Danaan leisure:

"And Niam be with you for a wife."

Then she sighed gently, "It grows late,

"Music and love and sleep await,

"Where I would be when the white moon climbs

"The red sun falls, and the world grows dim."

And then I mounted and she bound me

With her triumphing arms around me,

And whispering to herself enwound me;

But when the horse had felt my weight,

He shook himself and neighed three times:

Caolte, Conan, and Finn came near,

And wept, and raised their lamenting hands,

And bid me stay, with many a tear;

But we rode out from the human lands.

In what far kingdom do you go,

Ah, Fenians, with the shield and bow?

Or are you phantoms white as snow,

Whose lips had life's most prosperous glow?

O you, with whom in sloping valleys,

Or down the dewy forest alleys,

I chased at morn the flying deer,

With whom I hurled the hurrying spear,

And heard the foemen's bucklers rattle,

And broke the heaving ranks of battle!

And Bran, Sgeolan, and Lomair,

Where are you with your long rough hair?

You go not where the red deer feeds,

Nor tear the foemen from their steeds.

S. PATRIC

Boast not, nor mourn with drooping head

Companions long accurst and dead,

And hounds for centuries dust and air.

USHEEN

We galloped over the glossy sea:

I know not if days passed or hours,

And Niam sang continually

Danaan songs, and their dewy showers

Of pensive laughter, unhuman sound,

Lulled weariness, and softly round

My human sorrow her white arms wound.

We galloped; now a hornless deer

Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound

All pearly white, save one red ear;

And now a maiden rode like the wind

With an apple of gold in her tossing hand;

And a beautiful young man followed behind

With quenchless gaze and fluttering hair.

"Were these two born in the Danaan land,

"Or have they breathed the mortal air?"

"Vex them no longer," Niam said,

And sighing bowed her gentle head,

And sighing laid the pearly tip

Of one long finger on my lip.

But now the moon like a white rose shone

In the pale west, and the sun's rim sank,

And clouds arrayed their rank on rank

About his fading crimson ball:

The floor of Emen's hosting hall

Was not more level than the sea,

As full of loving phantasy,

And with low murmurs we rode on,

Where many a trumpet-twisted shell

That in immortal silence sleeps

Dreaming of her own melting hues,

Her golds, her ambers, and her blues,

Pierced with soft light the shallowing deeps.

But now a wandering land breeze came

And a far sound of feathery quires;

It seemed to blow from the dying flame,

They seemed to sing in the smouldering fires.

The horse towards the music raced,

Neighing along the lifeless waste;

Like sooty fingers, many a tree

Rose ever out of the warm sea;

And they were trembling ceaselessly,

As though they all were beating time,

Upon the centre of the sun,

To that low laughing woodland rhyme.

And, now our wandering hours were done,

We cantered to the shore, and knew

The reason of the trembling trees:

Round every branch the song-birds flew,

Or clung thereon like swarming bees;

While round the shore a million stood

Like drops of frozen rainbow light,

And pondered in a soft vain mood

Upon their shadows in the tide,

And told the purple deeps their pride,

And murmured snatches of delight;

And on the shores were many boats

With bending sterns and bending bows.

And carven figures on their prows

Of bitterns, and fish-eating stoats,

And swans with their exultant throats:

And where the wood and waters meet

We tied the horse in a leafy clump,

And Niam blew three merry notes

Out of a little silver trump;

And then an answering whispering flew

Over the bare and woody land,

A whisper of impetuous feet,

And ever nearer, nearer grew;