Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy (great novels txt) 📕

That back to thee from that adventurous flight, A glorious wreath my happy hands might bear;
Soon would the sweetest Persian rose be thine- Soon would the glory of Golconda's mine Flash on thy forehead, like a star-ah! me,
In place of these, I bring, with trembling hand, These fading wild flowers from our native land-
These simple pebbles from the Irish Sea!


108. This sonnet to the poet's wife was prefixed as a dedication to his first volume of poems.


Underglimpses.


THE ARRAYING.

The blue-eyed maidens of the sea With trembling haste approach the lee, So small and smooth, they seem to be Not waves, but children of the waves, And as each link`ed circle laves The crescent marge of creek and bay, Their mingled voices all repeat-
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! We come to bathe thy snow-white feet.

We bring thee treasures rich and rare, White pearl to deck thy golden hair, And coral beads, so smoothly fair And free from every flaw or speck; That they may lie upon thy neck, This sweetest day-this brightest day That ever on the green world shone-
O lovely May, O long'd-for May! As if thy neck and thee were one.

We bring thee from our distant home Robes of the pure white-woven foam, And many a pure, transparent comb, Formed of the shells the tortoise plaits, By Babelmandeb's coral-straits; And amber vases, with inlay Of roseate pearl time never dims-
O lovely May! O longed-for May! Wherein to lave thine ivory limbs.

We bring, as sandals for thy feet, Beam-broidered waves, like those that greet, With green and golden chrysolite, The setting sun's departing beams, When all the western water seems Like emeralds melted by his ray, So softly bright, so gently warm-
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! That thou canst trust thy tender form.

And lo! the ladies of the hill, The rippling stream, and sparkling rill, With rival speed, and like good will, Come, bearing down the mountain's side The liquid crystals of the tide, In vitreous vessels clear as they, And cry, from each worn, winding path:
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! We come to lead thee to the bath.

And we have fashioned, for thy sake, Mirrors more bright than art could make- The silvery-sheeted mountain lake Hangs in its carv`ed frame of rocks, Wherein to dress thy dripping locks, Or bind the dewy curls that stray Thy trembling breast meandering down-
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! Within their self-woven crown.

Arise, O May! arise and see Thine emerald robes are held for thee By many a hundred-handed tree, Who lift from all the fields around The verdurous velvet from the ground, And then the spotless vestments lay, Smooth-folded o'er their outstretch'd arms-
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! Wherein to fold thy virgin charms.

Thy robes are stiff with golden bees, Dotted with gems more bright than these, And scented by each perfumed breeze That, blown from heaven's re-open'd bowers, Become the souls of new-born flowers, Who thus their sacred birth betray; Heavenly thou art, nor less should be-
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! The favour'd forms that wait on thee.

The moss to guard thy feet is spread, The wreaths are woven for thy head, The rosy curtains of thy bed Become transparent in the blaze Of the strong sun's resistless gaze: Then lady, make no more delay, The world still lives, though spring be dead-
O lovely May! O long'd-for May! And thou must rule and reign instead.

The lady from her bed arose, Her bed the leaves the moss-bud blows Herself a lily in that rose; The maidens of the streams and sands Bathe some her feet and some her hands: And some the emerald robes display; Her dewy locks were then upcurled,
And lovely May-the long'd-for May- Was crown'd the Queen of all the World!


THE SEARCH.

Let us seek the modest May,
She is down in the glen,
Hiding and abiding
From the common gaze of men,
Where the silver streamlet crosses
O'er the smooth stones green with mosses,
And glancing and dancing,
Goes singing on its way- We shall find the modest maiden there to-day.

Let us seek the merry May,
She is up on the hill,
Laughing and quaffing
From the fountain and the rill.
Where the southern zephyr sprinkles,
Like bright smiles on age's wrinkles,
O'er the edges and ledges
Of the rocks, the wild flowers gay- We shall find the merry maiden there to-day.

Let us seek the musing May,
She is deep in the wood,
Viewing and pursuing
The beautiful and good.
Where the grassy bank receding,
Spreads its quiet couch for reading
The pages of the sages,
And the poet's lyric lay- We shall find the musing maiden there to-day.

Let us seek the mirthful May,
She is out on the strand
Racing and chasing
The ripples o'er the sand.
Where the warming waves discover
All the treasures that they cover,
Whitening and brightening
The pebbles for her play- We shall find the mirthful maiden there to-day.

Let us seek the wandering May,
She is off to the plain,
Finding the winding
Of the labyrinthine lane.
She is passing through its mazes
While the hawthorn, as it gazes
With grief, lets its leaflets
Whiten all the way- We shall find the wandering maiden there to-day.

Let us seek her in the ray-
Let us track her by the rill-
Wending ascending
The slopings of the hill.
Where the robin from the copses
Breathes a love-note, and then drops his
Trilling, till, willing,
His mate responds his lay- We shall find the listening maiden there to-day.

But why seek her far away?
Like a young bird in its nest,
She is warming and forming
Her dwelling in her breast.
While the heart she doth repose on,
Like the down the sunwind blows on,
Gloweth, yet showeth
The trembling of the ray- We shall find the happy maiden there to-day.


THE TIDINGS.

A bright beam came to my window frame,
This sweet May morn, And it said to the cold, hard glass:
Oh! let me pass, For I have good news to tell, The queen of the dewy dell,
The beautiful May is born!

Warm with the race, through the open space,
This sweet May morn, Came a soft wind out of the skies:
And it said to my heart-Arise! Go forth from the winter's fire, For the child of thy long desire,
The beautiful May is born!

The bright beam glanced and the soft wind danced,
This sweet May morn, Over my cheek and over my eyes;
And I said with a glad surprise: Oh! lead me forth, ye blessed twain, Over the hill and over the plain,
Where the beautiful May is born.

Through the open door leaped the beam before
This sweet May morn, And the soft wind floated along,
Like a poet's song, Warm from his heart and fresh from his brain; And they led me over the mount and plain,
To the beautiful May new-born.

My guide so bright and my guide so light,
This sweet May morn, Led me along o'er the grassy ground,
And I knew by each joyous sight and sound, The fields so green and the skies so gay, That heaven and earth kept holiday,
That the beautiful May was born.

Out of the sea with their eyes of glee,
This sweet May morn, Came the blue waves hastily on;
And they murmuring cried-Thou happy one! Show us, O Earth! thy darling child, For we heard far out on the ocean wild,
That the beautiful May was born.

The wing`ed flame to the rosebud came,
This sweet May morn, And it said to the flower-Prepare!
Lay thy nectarine bosom bare; Full soon, full soon, thou must rock to rest, And nurse and feed on thy glowing breast,
The beautiful May now born.

The gladsome breeze through the trembling trees,
This sweet May morn, Went joyously on from bough to bough;
And it said to the red-branched plum-O thou, Cover with mimic pearls and gems, And with silver bells, thy coral stems,
For the beautiful May now born.

Under the eaves and through the leaves
This sweet May morn, The soft wind whispering flew:
And it said to the listening birds-Oh, you, Sweet choristers of the skies, Awaken your tenderest lullabies,
For the beautiful May now born.

The white cloud flew to the uttermost blue,
This sweet May morn, It bore, like a gentle carrier-dove,
The bless`ed news to the realms above; While its sister coo'd in the midst of the grove, And within my heart the spirit of love,
That the beautiful May was born!


WELCOME, MAY.

Welcome, May! welcome, May! Thou hast been too long away,
All the widow'd wintry hours Wept for thee, gentle May;
But the fault was only ours- We were sad when thou wert gay!

Welcome, May! welcome, May! We are wiser far to-day-
Fonder, too, than we were then. Gentle May! joyous May!
Now that thou art come again, We perchance may make thee stay.

Welcome, May! welcome, May! Everything kept holiday
Save the human heart alone. Mirthful May! gladsome May!
We had cares and thou hadst none When thou camest last this way!

When thou camest last this way Blossoms bloomed on every spray,
Buds on barren boughs were born- Fertile May! fruitful May!
Like the rose upon the thorn Cannot grief awhile be gay?

'Tis not for the golden ray, Or the flowers that strew thy way,
O immortal One! thou art Here to-day, gentle May-
'Tis to man's ungrateful heart That thy fairy footsteps stray.

'Tis to give that living clay Flowers that ne'er can fade away-