No warmth the sun had as it shone; The kine were stalled, the birds were gone; The thick breath hung--a solid cloud,- When André rode to Pont-du-lac, When André rode to Pont-du-lac, A. H. Beesly [18 The Ballad of Father Gilligan 2717 THE BALLAD OF FATHER GILLIGAN 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, “I have no rest, nor joy, nor peace, And after cried he, "God forgive! My body spake, not I!" He knelt, and leaning on the chair He prayed and 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 his 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. 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 the 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." William Buller Yeats [1865 THE FIRST AMERICAN SAILORS Five fearless knights of the first renown From Plymouth in Devon sailed up and down— American sailors they; Who went to the West, For they all knew best Where the silver was gray As a moonlit night, And the gold as bright As a midsummer day— A-sailing away Through the salt sea spray, The first American sailors. Sir HUMPHREY GILBERT, he was ONE He loved the sea as he loved the sun The First American Sailors 2719 And hated the Don as the Devil's limb Hated him up to the brim! In Holland the Spanish hide he tanned, Newfoundland knew him, and all that coast, And now there is nothing but English speech Sir FRANCIS DRAKE, and he was TWO He loved in his heart the waters blue At Cadiz he singed the King's black beard, While the billows beat and the oceans roll On the Three Americas. 1 Sir WALTER RALEIGH, he was THREE And Devon was heaven to him, There was nothing he loved so well as the seaHe hated the Don as the Devil's limb— Hated him up to the brim ! He settled full many a Spanish score, Guiana knew him, and all that coast, From Guiana northward to the Pole; Sir RICHARD GRENVILLE, he was FOUR He loved the waves and their windy roar Hated him up to the brim ! He whipped him on land and mocked him at sea, He laughed to scorn his sovereignty, And with the Revenge beat his fifty-three; Virginia knew him, and all that coast, On the Three Americas. And Sir JOHN HAWKINS, he was FIVE He worshipped the water while he was alive Hated him up to the brim ! He chased him over the Spanish Main, And now there is nothing but English speech From the Rio Grande away to the Pole; Five fearless knights have filled gallant graves Some under the willows, some under the waves— |