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A Book of Irish Verse: Selected from modern writers, with an introduction and notes by W. B. Yeats

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A Book of Irish Verse: Selected from modern writers, with an introduction and notes by W. B. Yeats

English poetry -- Irish authors; Ireland -- Poetry

And, when mounted on his proud-bounding steed,
    Emon Oge sat a cavalier indeed;
    Like the ear upon the wheat
    When winds in Autumn beat
    On the bending stems, his seat;
              And the speed
              Of his courser
    Was the wind from Barna-na-gee o'er Tirawley!

    Now when fifteen sunny summers thus were spent,
    (He perfected in all accomplishment)--
    The Lynott said, 'My child,
    We are over long exiled
    From mankind in this wild--
              --Time we went
              Through the mountain
    To the countries lying over-against Tirawley.'

    So, out over mountain-moors, and mosses brown,
    And green steam-gathering vales, they journey'd down:
    Till, shining like a star,
    Through the dusky gleams afar,
    The bailey of Castlebar,
              And the town
              Of MacWilliam
    Rose bright before the wanderers of Tirawley.

    'Look southward, my boy, and tell me as we go,
    What see'st thou by the loch-head below?'
    'O, a stone-house strong and great,
    And a horse-host at the gate,
    And a captain in armour of plate--
              Grand the show!
              Great the glancing!
    High the heroes of this land below Tirawley.

    'And a beautiful Bantierna by his side,
    Yellow gold on all her gown-sleeves wide;
    And in her hand a pearl
    Of a young, little, fair-haired girl.'
    Said the Lynott, 'It is the Earl!
              Let us ride
              To his presence.'
    And before him came the exiles of Tirawley.

    'God save thee, MacWilliam,' the Lynott thus began;
    'God save all here besides of this clan;
    For gossips dear to me
    Are all in company--
    For in these four bones ye see
              A kindly man
              Of the Britons--
    Emon Lynott of Garranard of Tirawley.

    'And hither, as kindly gossip-law allows,
    I come to claim a scion of thy house
    To foster; for thy race,
    Since William Conquer's days,
    Have ever been wont to place,
              With some spouse
              Of a Briton,
    A MacWilliam Oge, to foster in Tirawley.

    'And to show thee in what sort our youth are taught
    I have hither to thy home of valour brought
    This one son of my age,
    For a sample and a pledge
    For the equal tutelage,
              In right thought,
              Word, and action,
    Of whatever son ye give into Tirawley.'

    When MacWilliam beheld the brave boy ride and run,
    Saw the spear-shaft from his white shoulder spun--
    With a sigh, and with a smile,
    He said,--'I would give the spoil
    Of a county, that Tibbot Moyle,
              My own son,
              Were accomplish'd
    Like this branch of the kindly Britons of Tirawley.'

Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.

A Book of Irish Verse: Selected from modern writers, with an introduction and notes by W. B. Yeats

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