The Kiltartan Poetry Book | Page 6

I did not linger; when her talk went to my heart
my heart rose. We had only to go across the three fields; we had
daylight with us to Ballylee.
The table was laid with glasses and a quart measure; she had fair hair
and she sitting beside me; and she said, "Drink, Raftery, and a hundred
welcomes; there is a strong cellar in Ballylee."
O star of light and O sun in harvest; O amber hair, O my share of the
world! Will you come with me on the Sunday, till we agree together
before all the people?
I would not begrudge you a song every Sunday evening; punch on the
table or wine if you would drink it. But O King of Glory, dry the roads
before me till I find the way to Ballylee.
There is sweet air on the side of the hill, when you are looking down
upon Ballylee; when you are walking in the valley picking nuts and
blackberries, there is music of the birds in it and music of the Sidhe.
What is the worth of greatness till you have the light of the flower of
the branch that is by your side? There is no good to deny it or to try and
hide it; she is the sun in the heavens who wounded my heart.

There was no part in Ireland I did not travel, from the rivers to the tops
of the mountains; to the edge of Lough Greine whose mouth is hidden,
and I saw no beauty but was behind hers. Her hair was shining and her
brows were shining too; her face was like herself, her mouth pleasant
and sweet; She is the pride and I give her the branch; she is the shining
flower of Ballylee.
It is Mary Hynes, the calm and easy woman, has beauty in her mind
and in her face. If a hundred clerks were gathered together, they could
not write down a half of her ways.
His Lament for O'Daly
It was Thomas O'Daly that roused up young people and scattered them,
and since death played on him, may God give him grace. The country
is all sorrowful, always talking, since their man of sport died that would
win the goal in all parts with his music. The swans on the water are
nine times blacker than a blackberry since the man died from us that
had pleasantness on the top of his fingers. His two grey eyes were like
the dew of the morning that lies on the grass. And since he was laid in
the grave, the cold is getting the upper hand.
If you travel the five provinces, you would not find his equal for
countenance or behaviour, for his equal never walked on land or grass.
High King of Nature, you who have all powers in yourself, he that
wasn't narrow-hearted, give him shelter in heaven for it!
He was the beautiful branch. In every quarter that he ever knew he
would scatter his fill and not gather. He would spend the estate of the
Dalys, their beer and their wine. And that he may be sitting in the chair
of grace, in the middle of Paradise!
A sorrowful story on death, it's he is the ugly chief that did treachery,
that didn't give him credit, O strong God, for a little time.
There are young women, and not without reason, sorry and
heart-broken and withered, since he was left at the church. Their hair
thrown down and hanging, turned grey on their head.

No flower in any garden, and the leaves of the trees have leave to cry,
and they falling on the ground. There is no green flower on the tops of
the tufts, since there did a boarded coffin go on Daly.
There is sorrow on the men of mirth, a clouding over the day, and no
trout swim in the river. Orpheus on the harp, he lifted up everyone out
of their habits; and he that stole what Argus was watching the time he
took away Io; Apollo, as we read, gave them teaching, and Daly was
better than all these musicians.
A hundred wouldn't be able to put together his actions and his deeds
and his many good works. And Raftery says this much for Daly,
because he liked him.
His Praise of the Little Hill and the Plains of Mayo
After the Christmas, with the help of Christ, I will never stop if I am
alive; I will go to the sharp-edged little hill; for it is a fine place without
fog falling; a blessed place that the sun shines on, and the wind doesn't
rise there or anything of the sort.
And if you were a year there you would get no rest,