9316Original
Geoffrey Barron of Clonmel
Dies the traitor's death.
Hark the toll of the death-bell!
Pray! the chimes saith.
Freton has set his ring
And the ink is dry
On the warrant that shall bring
Geoffrey Barron to die.
Many an one in Limerick Street,
With a pale face
Passes, and with hurrying feet
By the market-place.
There the scaffold blurs the sun:
And when noon is high
That most shameful hill upon,
Geoffrey Barron shall die.
O were Owen Roe but here
That's stark in his grave,
He should smite with sword and spear
Every crop-ear knave,
Ululu! but Owen's dead!
And the hour is nigh
When shall fall the comeliest head,
For Geoffrey Barron must die.
He stood up a six-foot man,
Strong as an oak:
Down his neck gold love-locks ran
Strength and manhood in his smile,
On a grass-green cloak.
Laughter in his eye:
Noble, without wile or guile,
Geoffrey Barron must die.
When they led him to the place
Where the General stood
'Mid his crop-ears, lank of face,
Godly men of blood;
Prayed the dying man, "A boon!
Mine own house is nigh,
Let me rest there till the noon,
When Geoffrey Barron shall die."
Clocks had struck three-quarters chime,
When he went in:
All the bells rang out noon-time
With great shock and din,
When the old house-door flew wide,
And in noon-day's eye,
All in splendour like a bride,
Came Geoffrey Barron to die.
Taffeta as white as milk
Made all his suit:
Threads of silver in the silk
Trailed like moonlight through't.
Silver cap and white feather;
Stepping proud and high,
In his shoon of white leather,
Came Geoffrey Barron to die.
Then the Roundhead General said,
Fingering his sword:
"Art thou coming to be wed
Like a heathen lord?
Go! thy bride the scaffold is:
Give her sigh for sigh,
Breath for breath and kiss for kiss!
For Geoffrey Barron must die."
But he laughed out as he ran
Up the black steps:
"Never happier bridegroom man
With his wife's lips!
If for some mortal woman's sake
In silks should go I,
I shall for Heaven the same pains take:
Now Geoffrey Barron must die."
"Sweet death," he laughed, "that I have
wooed
On many a stiff field,
Sweet are the eyes below the hood
To my glad eyes revealed!
Sweet death that leads us home to Christ,
Whose leal man am I!
And sweet the altar and the priest,
Now Geoffrey Barron must die!"
He kissed the Cross on his breast,
Then smiled with rapt eyes
As they beheld the vision blest
Of Christ in Paradise.
O many die for God and the green!
But never an one saw I
Go out with such a bridegroom mien
As Geoffrey Barron to die!
——K. Tynan (Hinkson).
9320Original
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Was weary night and day,
For half his flock were in their beds,
Or under green sods lay.
Once while he nodded on a chair,
At the moth-hour of eve,
Another poor man sent for him,
And he began to grieve.
"I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace,
For people die and die;"
And after cried he, "God forgive!
My body spake, not I!"
And then, half-lying on the chair,
He knelt, prayed, fell asleep;
And the moth-hour went from the fields,
And stars began to peep.
They slowly into millions grew,
And leaves shook in the wind;
And God covered the world with shade,
And whispered to mankind.
Upon the time of sparrow chirp
When the moths came once more,
The old priest Peter Gilligan
Stood upright on the floor.
"Mavrone, mavrone!the man has died,
While I slept on the chair;"
He roused his horse out of its sleep,
And rode with little care.
He rode now as he never rode,
By rocky lane and fen;
The sick man's wife opened the door:
"Father! you come again!"
"And is the poor man dead?" he cried.
"He died an hour ago."
The old priest Peter Gilligan
In grief swayed to and fro.
"When you were gone he turned and died,
As merry as a bird."
The old priest Peter Gilligan
He knelt him at that word.
"He who hath made the night of stars
For souls who tire and bleed,
Sent one of His great angels down
To help me in my need.
"He who is wrapped in purple robes,
With planets in his care,
Had pity on the least of things
Asleep upon a chair."
——W. B. Yeats.
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