Alfred Perceval Graves

“ Berned the Saint, ripe Wisdom's mouth ever;
"In sleep shall God nod, Who hath sworn to deliver?"
Month of October—thin the shade is showing;
Yellow are the birch-trees; bothies empty growing;
Full of flesh, bird and fish to the market going;
Less and less the milk now of cow and goat is flowing,
Alas! for him who meriteth disgrace by evil-doing;
Death is better far than extravagance's strowing.
Three acts should follow crime, to true repentance owing—
Fasting and prayer and of alms abundance glowing. ”

“ No grief, no gloom, no death, no mortal sickness,
Nor any weakness our sure strength can bound;
These are the signs that grace the race of Evin.
Beneath what other heaven are they found?
A Hero fair, from out the dawn's bright blooming,
Rides forth, illuming level shore and flood;
The white and seaward plain he sets in motion,
He stirs the ocean into burning blood.
A host across the clear blue sea comes rowing,
Their prowess showing, till they touch the shore;
Thence seek the Shining Stone where Music's measure
Prolongs the pleasure of the pulsing oar. ”

“ When the folk of all the Earth,
For the weighing of their worth,
Promised by his Ancient Word,
Freely flock before The Lord—
And His Judgment-seat is set
High on mighty Olivet,
Forthright then shall be the tale
Of the Plougher of the Vale,
If so be his tithes were given
Justly to the King of Heaven;
If he freely shared his store
With the sick or homeless poor—
When his soul is at God's feet
Rich remembrance it shall meet.
He who turns and tills the sod
Leans by Nature on his God. ”

“ Heavy my heart out of Erin steering
And nearing Alba of the beetling brows.
My foot is fast in my chiming curragh,
Tears of sorrow my sad heart fill.
Who lean not on God are but feeble-minded,
Without His Love we go blinded still.
There is a grey eye that tears are thronging,
Fixed with longing on Erin's shore,
It shall never see o'er the waste of waters
The sons and daughters of Erin more. ”

“ With sudden ravishing acclaim salute thee,
Yet everywhere Our Church's white-robed throng
Shall to thy first exultancy transmute thee.
Peace and Good Will again with holy mirth
Proclaiming to the Universal Earth.
Then, too, my soul, forth summoning all thy powers,
Thyself from worldly schemes and wishes sunder,
To worship and admire this hour of hours
That is all miracle and the height of wonder;
Infinity itself shrinks to a span,
Since God, remaining God, becometh Man.
Here is a mother with no mortal mate!
Here is a son that hath no earthly father! ”

“ Follow Thee with holy hasting,
Led by Thy dear Hand
To the Blessed land.
Through despondence dread,
Still support our tread;
Though our heavy burdens bow us,
How to bear them bravely, show us!
Such adversity
Is but the path to Thee.
When our bosom's grief
Clamours for relief,
When we share another's sorrow,
May we Thy sweet patience borrow,
That to our Heavenly Father's Will
We may trust each issue still. ”

“ Therefore refresh you, faint hearts, take comfort, ye souls sorrow-stricken,
Winning from nature relief, courage and counsel in grief,
Judging that He, whose handmaid I am, out of death to requicken
Year after year His earth into more exquisite birth,
Shadows thereby to your souls through what drear and perilous places
Into what Paradise blest beacons His searching behest—
Even the Heaven of Heavens where fond, long-hungered-for faces
Into your own shall shine radiant with rapture divine. ”

“ And ye three fountains—
Two above wind,
And one above earth!
May light and darkness bless Thee!
Fine silk, green forest confess Thee!
Thus did Abraham father
Of faith with joy possess Thee.
Bird and bee-song bless Thee,
Among the lilies and roses!
All the old, all the young
Laud thee with joyful tongue,
As Thy praise was once sung
By Aaron and Moses.
Male and female,
The days that are seven,
The stars of heaven,
The air and the ether,
Every book and fair letter ”

“ With their sick and their stricken, in faith they flock round Him,
As sighing He looks up to Heaven for strength.
He has touched the deaf ears and the blind eyes anointed—
And straightway they hear Him and straightway they see;
Laid hands on the lame and they leap, supple-jointed,
The devils denounced and affrighted they flee.
Yea? for their faith, from each life-long affliction,
Yea, for their faith from their sins they are freed,
And therefore have earned His divine benediction—
Stretch forth Thy hand, for as sore is our need. ”

“ Wherefrom our noble George hath drawn his name;
Three centuries and a half gone by ere this;
By Shakespeare's birth it won a second fame.
A greater glory is its crown to-day
Since at its first and faintest uttered breath
A mighty angel rolled the stone away
That sealed His tomb Who captive now leads death,
And thereby did the great example give.
That they who die for others most shall live. ”

“ THE TERCETS (After Llywarch Hen, a sixth-century prince and poet)
Set is the snare, the ash clusters glow,
Ducks plash in the pools; breakers whiten below;
More strong than a hundred is the heart's hidden woe.
Long is the night; resounding the shore,
Frequent in crowds a tumultuous roar,
The evil and good disagree evermore.
Long is the night; the hill full of cries;
O'er the tree-tops the wind whistles and sighs,
Ill nature deceives not the wit of the wise. ”

“ A charm that shall lift off sorrow's weight and to joyful hope restore you.
A charm to be said at sunrise when your hands your heart are crushing,
When the eyes are red with weeping and the madness of grief outrushing. ”

“ BEHIND THE VEIL (After Islwyn, 1832-1878, the Welsh Wordsworth)
What say ye, can we charge a master soul
With error, when beyond all life's experience
Between the cradle and the grave, it rises,
Whispering of things unutterable, breaks its bond
With outward sense and sinks into itself,
As fades a star in space? ”

“ But fallen away from my haughty folk,
In Irluachair's field my heart lies broke.
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There is chanting in glorious Aidne's meadow
Under St. Colman's Church's shadow;
A hero flame sinks into the tomb—
Dinertach, alas, my love and my doom!
Chaste Christ! that unto my life's last breath
I trysted with Sorrow and mate with Death;
At every hour of the night's black deep,
These are the arrows that murder sleep! ”

“ Opes, and a vision blest yields to the wondering West.
High on her crystal car she trembles in halycon tissues,
Gently with golden curb checking her coursers superb—
All her ethereal beauty elate with Love's infinite issues,
Whilst this enchantment slips forth from her sibylline lips:
"Herb and tree in your kinds, free lives of the mountain and forest,
Shoals of the stream and the flood, flights of the welkin and wood,
Herd and flock of the field, and ye, whose need is the sorest,
Suffering spirits of men, lo! I am with you again. ”

“ Fear no more for the tyrant hoar as he rushes to battle
Armoured in ice, and darts lance after lance at your hearts,
Fear not his flaming bolts as they hurtle with horrible rattle
Out of the lurid inane fulminant over the plain.
Fear not his wizardry white that circles and circles and settles
Stealthily hour by hour, feathery flower upon flower,
Over the spell-bound sleeper, till last the pitiless petals
Darkly in icy death stifle his labouring breath. ”

“ I am sore distressed for thee;
For thou hast been very pleasant,
Very pleasant to me.
Beyond the love of woman
Was the love that for me you bore.
How are the mighty fallen
And perished the weapons of war!
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THE FIERY FURNACE
Bound into the furnace blazing
They have cast the Children Three;
But oh! miracle amazing,
They arise, unscathed and free;
While through paths of fire, to guide them,
Paths no other foot has trod—
Lo! A Fourth is seen beside them,
Shining like the Son of God. ”

“ Delightful indeed, is the purple sea's glamour,
Where sea-gulls clamour in white-winged flight,
As you view it afar from Derry belovèd,
O the peace of it, the peace and delight!
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ST. COLUMBA IN IONA (From an Irish Manuscript in the Burgundian Library, Brussels)
Delightful would it be to me
From a rock pinnacle to trace
Continually
The Ocean's face:
That I might watch the heaving waves
Of noble force
To God the Father chant their staves
Of the earth's course. ”

“ II. Welsh Poems
THE ODES TO THE MONTHS (After Aneurin, a sixth-century warrior bard)
Month of Janus, the coom is smoke-fuming;
Weary the wine-bearer; minstrels far roaming;
Lean are the kine; the bees never humming;
Milking-folds void; to the kiln no meat coming;
Gaunt every steed; no pert sparrows strumming;
Long the night till the dawn; but a glimpse is the gloaming.
Sapient Cynfelyn, this was thy summing;
"Prudence is Man's surest guide, by my dooming."
Month of Mars; the birds become bolder ”

“ Then, when Heaven and earth and sea
Are joining in Love's jubilee;
While morning stars make melody,
Shall man be mute alone?
Naught that hath birth matches the worth
Of Love, in God's own Heaven and Earth,
For through His power divine
Love opes the golden eye of day,
Love guides the pale moon's lonely way,
Love lights the glow-worm's glimmering ray
Amid the darkling bine. ”

“ The word of Mercy free, the singing word of Joy,
The binding word of Love He gives us to employ.
O may the saving might of these three holy words
On Erin's men and women light, and keep them still the Lord's. ”

“ Three slender ones whereon the whole earth swings—
The thin milk stream that in the keeler sings;
The thin green blade that from the cornfield springs;
That thin grey thread the housewife's shuttle flings.
The three worst welcomes that will turn a guest-house
For weary wayfarers into a Pest-house—
Within its roof a workman's hammer beat;
A bath of scalding water for your feet;
With no assuaging draught, salt food to eat.
Three finenesses that foulness keep from sight—
Fine manners in the most misfeatured wight ”

“ Many in her mountains the scanty-skirted fellows,
Many are the hard and the jealous hearts.
Many in the West are our Kings and Princes noble,
Orchards bend double beneath their fruitage vast;
Sloes upon the thorn-bush shine in blue abundance,
Oaks in redundance drop the royal mast.
Melodious are her clerics, melodious Erin's birds are,
Gentle her youths' words are, her seniors discreet;
Famed far her chieftains—goodlier are no men—
Very fair her women for espousal sweet. ”

“ THE LAST CYWYDD (After Dafydd ab Gwilym)
Memories fierce like arrows pierce;
Alone I waste and languish,
And make my cry to God on high
To ease me of mine anguish.
If heroic was my youth,
In truth its powers are over;
With brain dead and force sped,
Love sets at naught the lover! ”

“ THE REIGN OF LOVE (After Ceiriog, to a Welsh Air. Ceiriog, 1832-1887, was the Welsh Burns; his songs to old Welsh Airs are the best of their kind.)
Love that invites, love that delights,
From hedgerow lush and leafy heights
Is flooding all the air;
Their forest harps the breezes strum,
The happy brooks their burden hum ”

“ We see the hermit in his lonely cell, the monk at his devotions or at his work of copying in the scriptorium or under the open sky; or we hear the ascetic who, alone or with twelve chosen companions, has left one of the great monasteries in order to live in greater solitude among the woods or mountains, or on a lonely island. The fact that so many of these poems are fathered upon well-known saints emphasises the friendly attitude of the native clergy towards vernacular poetry. ”

“ Yet paints the lily's cheek.
Yea! whereso'er man lifts his eyes
To wood or wave or sunset skies,
A myriad magic shapes arise
Eternal Love to speak.
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PLAS GOGERDDAN (After Ceiriog to a Welsh Air)
"Without thy Sire hast thou returned?"
In grief the Princess cried!
"Go back!—or from my sight be spurned—
To battle by his side.
I gave thee birth; but struck to earth
I'd sooner see thee lie,
Or on thy bier come carried here,
Than thus a craven fly!
"Seek yonder hall, and pore on all
The portraits of thy race;
The courage high that fires each eye
Canst thou endure to face?" ”

“ Ye may tramp the world over from Delhi to Dover,
And sail the salt say from Archangel to Arragon;
Circumvint back through the whole Zodiack,
But to ould Docther Mack ye can't furnish a paragon.
Have ye the dropsy, the gout, the autopsy?
Fresh livers and limbs instantaneous he'll shape yez;
No way infarior in skill, but suparior
And lineal postarior to ould Aysculapius.
Chorus: He and his wig wid the curls so carroty,
Aigle eye and complexion clarety;
Here's to his health,
Honour and wealth,
The king of his kind and the cream of all charity. ”

“ Two examples are given of the serious verse of Dafydd ab Gwilym, a contemporary of Chaucer, who though he did not, like Wordsworth, read nature into human life with that spiritual insight for which he was so remarkable, yet as a poet of fancy, the vivid, delicate, sympathetic fancy of the Celt, still remains unmatched. ”

“ The surging human tide?
There One stood, with thorn-crown'd head,
Hands of supplication,
Multiplying mystic bread
For her famished nation.
"Children thus remember
My poor and Me!" He spoke,
And in her palace chamber
Weeping she awoke.
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THE WELSH FISHERMEN (To the air of "The Song of the Bottle")
Up, up with the anchor,
Round, round for the harbour mouth!
Wind, boys, and a spanker
Racing due south!
Where 'ood you be going?
How, now can ye hoist your sails?
When blossoms be blowing
Over Welsh Wales! ”