By W. B. Yeats
In 1895 the thirty-year-old W.B. Yeats, already demonstrated as considered one of Ireland's best poets and folklorists, released this notable selection of Irish verse as a part of his crusade to set up a convention of Irish poetry healthy for the sunrise of a brand new age in Ireland's historical past. This Routledge Classics variation, whole with a particularly commissioned creation by way of acclaimed author and critic John Banville, is key interpreting for all who savour strong literature.
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Additional resources for A Book of Irish Verse
Twere long before, around a grave In green Tyrconnell, one could ﬁnd This loneliness; Near where Beann-Boirche’s banners wave Such grief as thine could ne’er have pined Companionless. Beside the wave in Donegal, In Antrim’s glens, or fair Dromore, Or Killillee. Or where the sunny waters fall At Assaroe, near Erna’s shore, This could not be. On Derry’s plains—in rich Drumclieﬀ— Throughout Armagh the Great, renowned In olden years, No day could pass but woman’s grief Would rain upon the burial-ground Fresh ﬂoods of tears!
May all kinds Of evil attend thee! On thy dark road of life May no kind one befriend thee! May fevers long burn thee, And agues long freeze thee! May the strong hand of God In His red anger seize thee! Had he died calmly, I would not deplore him; Or if the wild strife Of the sea-war closed o’er him: But with ropes round his white limbs Through ocean to trail him, Like a ﬁsh after slaughter— ’Tis therefore I wail him. Long may the curse Of his people pursue them; Scully, that sold him, And soldier that slew him!
The ﬂood-gates of the river of heaven, I think, have been burst wide— Down from the overcharged clouds, like unto headlong ocean’s tide, Descends grey rain in roaring streams. 33 34 james clarence mangan Though he were even a wolf ranging the round green woods, Though he were even a pleasant salmon in the unchainable sea, Though he were a wild mountain eagle, he could scarce bear, he, This sharp, sore sleet, these howling ﬂoods. O mournful is my soul this night for Hugh Maguire! Darkly, as in a dream he strays!