POEMS***


Transcribed from the 1898 John Lane edition by David Price, email
ccx074@pglaf.org

                         [Picture: The Old Maid]





                                THE FAIRY
                                CHANGELING
                                AND OTHER
                                  POEMS


                             BY DORA SIGERSON
                          (MRS CLEMENT SHORTER)

                  [Picture: Decorative shamrock divider]

                                JOHN LANE
                             THE BODLEY HEAD
                            LONDON & NEW YORK
                               MDCCCXCVIII




NOTE


_Only one of the pieces in the following collection appeared in the
writer's earlier volume_ ("_Verses_" _by Dora Sigerson_; _Elliot Stock_,
1893).  _The remainder have found refuge in_ "_Longman's Magazine_,"
"_The Pall Mall Magazine_," "_The National Observer_" (_of Mr. Henley_),
"_Cassell's Magazine_," _and numerous American publications_--"_The
Century Magazine_," "_The Bookman_," "_The Boston Pilot_," "_The
Chap-Book_," _and others_.  _The Author wishes to thank the Editors of
these magazines and journals for the kindness implied_.




CONTENTS

The Fairy Changeling                        _Page_ 1
A Ballad of Marjorie                               3
The Priest's Brother                               6
The Ballad of the Little Black Hound               9
The Rape of the Baron's Wine                      15
Cean Duv Deelish                                  19
Banagher Rhue                                     21
The Fair Little Maiden                            23
At Christmas Time                                 25
A Weeping Cupid                                   26
The Lover                                         28
A Bird from the West                              30
All Souls' Eve                                    32
An Imperfect Revolution                           34
Love                                              36
Wishes                                            38
Cupid Slain                                       39
What Will You Give?                               40
A Meadow Tragedy                                  42
An Eclipse                                        43
The Scallop Shell                                 44
With a Rose                                       45
For Ever                                          46
The Blow Returned                                 47
Vale                                              48
The Skeleton in the Cupboard                      49
You Will Not Come Again                           51
The Wreckage                                      52
I am the World                                    53
A New Year                                        55
The Kine of My Father                             57
Sanctuary                                         59
An Eastern God                                    61
A Friend in Need                                  63
In a Wood                                         64
A Vagrant Heart                                   65
When You are on the Sea                           68
My Neighbour's Garden                             70
An Irish Blackbird                                72
Death of Gormlaith                                73
Unknown Ideal                                     75
Beware                                            77
The Old Maid                                      78
Wirastrua                                         80
Questions                                         81
A Little Dog                                      82
"I Prayed so Eagerly"                             85
"When the Dark Comes"                             86
Distant Voices                                    87
The Ballad of the Fairy Thorn-Tree                89
The Suicide's Grave                               95



THE FAIRY CHANGELING


   Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town
   In his garden strode up and down;
   He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast;
   And this is his trouble and woe confessed:

   "The good-folk came in the night, and they
   Have stolen my bonny wean away;
   Have put in his place a changeling,
   A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!

   "From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole,
   And lighting a fire of a glowing coal,
   I fried the shells, and I spilt the yolk;
   But never a word the stranger spoke:

   "A bar of metal I heated red
   To frighten the fairy from its bed,
   To put in the place of this fretting wean
   My own bright beautiful boy again.

   "But my wife had hidden it in her arms,
   And cried 'For shame!' on my fairy charms;
   She sobs, with the strange child on her breast:
   'I love the weak, wee babe the best!'"

   To Dermod O'Byrne's, the tale to hear,
   The neighbours came from far and near:
   Outside his gate, in the long boreen,
   They crossed themselves, and said between

   Their muttered prayers, "He has no luck!
   For sure the woman is fairy-struck,
   To leave her child a fairy guest,
   And love the weak, wee wean the best!"




A BALLAD OF MARJORIE


   "What ails you that you look so pale,
   O fisher of the sea?"
   "'Tis for a mournful tale I own,
   Fair maiden Marjorie."

   "What is the dreary tale to tell,
   O toiler of the sea?"
   "I cast my net into the waves,
   Sweet maiden Marjorie.

   "I cast my net into the tide,
   Before I made for home;
   Too heavy for my hands to raise,
   I drew it through the foam."

   "What saw you that you look so pale,
   Sad searcher of the sea?"
   "A dead man's body from the deep
   My haul had brought to me!"

   "And was he young, and was he fair?"
   "Oh, cruel to behold!
   In his white face the joy of life
   Not yet was grown a-cold."

   "Oh, pale you are, and full of prayer
   For one who sails the sea."
   "Because the dead looked up and spoke,
   Poor maiden Marjorie."

   "What said he, that you seem so sad,
   O fisher of the sea?
   (Alack! I know it was my love,
   Who fain would speak to me!)"

   "He said, 'Beware a woman's mouth--
   A rose that bears a thorn.'"
   "Ah, me! these lips shall smile no more
   That gave my lover scorn."

   "He said, 'Beware a woman's eyes.
   They pierce you with their death.'"
   "Then falling tears shall make them blind
   That robbed my dear of breath."

   "He said, 'Beware a woman's hair--
   A serpent's coil of gold.'"
   "Then will I shear the cruel locks
   That crushed him in their fold."

   "He said, 'Beware a woman's heart
   As you would shun the reef.'"
   "So let it break within my breast,
   And perish of my grief."

   "He raised his hands; a woman's name
   Thrice bitterly he cried:
   My net had parted with the strain;
   He vanished in the tide."

   "A woman's name!  What name but mine,
   O fisher of the sea?"
   "A woman's name, but not your name,
   Poor maiden Marjorie."




THE PRIEST'S BROTHER


   Thrice in the night the priest arose
   From broken sleep to kneel and pray.
   "Hush, poor ghost, till the red cock crows,
   And I a Mass for your soul may say."

   Thrice he went to the chamber cold,
   Where, stiff and still uncoffined,
   His brother lay, his beads he told,
   And "Rest, poor spirit, rest," he said.

   Thrice lay the old priest down to sleep
   Before the morning bell should toll;
   But still he heard--and woke to weep--
   The crying of his brother's soul.

   All through the dark, till dawn was pale,
   The priest tossed in his misery,
   With muffled ears to hide the wail,
   The voice of that ghost's agony.

   At last the red cock flaps his wings
   To trumpet of a day new-born.
   The lark, awaking, soaring sings
   Into the bosom of the morn.

   The priest before the altar stands,
   He hears the spirit call for peace;
   He beats his breast with shaking hands.
   "O Father, grant this soul's release.

   "Most Just and Merciful, set free
   From Purgatory's awful night
   This sinner's soul, to fly to Thee,
   And rest for ever in Thy sight."

   The Mass is over--still the clerk
   Kneels pallid in the morning glow.
   He said, "From evils of the dark
   Oh, bless me, father, ere you go.

   "Benediction, that I may rest,
   For all night did the Banshee weep."
   The priest raised up his hands and blest--
   "Go now, my child, and you will sleep."

   The priest went down the vestry stair,
   He laid his vestments in their place,
   And turned--a pale ghost met him there,
   With beads of pain upon his face.

   "Brother," he said, "you have gained me peace,
   But why so long did you know my tears,
   And say no Mass for my soul's release,
   To save the torture of all those years?"

   "God rest you, brother," the good priest said,
   "No years have passed--but a single night."
   He showed the body uncoffined,
   And the six wax candles still alight.

   The living flowers on the dead man's breast
   Blew out a perfume sweet and strong.
   The spirit paused ere he passed to rest--
   "God save your soul from a night so long."




THE BALLAD OF THE LITTLE BLACK HOUND


   Who knocks at the Geraldine's door to-night
      In the black storm and the rain?
   With the thunder crash and the shrieking wind
      Comes the moan of a creature's pain.

   And once they knocked, yet never a stir
      To show that the Geraldine knew;
   And twice they knocked, yet never a bolt
      The listening Geraldine drew.

   And thrice they knocked ere he moved his chair,
      And said, "Whoever it be,
   I dare not open the door to-night
      For a fear that has come to me."

   Three times he rises from out his chair,
      And three times he sits him down.
   "Now what has made faint this heart of mine?"
      He says with a growing frown.

   "Now what has made me a coward to-night,
      Who never knew fear before?
   But I swear that the hand of a little child
      Keeps pulling me from the door."

   The Geraldine rose from his chair at last
      And opened the door full wide;
   "Whoever is out in the storm," said he,
      "May in God's name come inside!"

   He who was out in the storm and rain
      Drew back at the Geraldine's call.
   "Now who comes not in the Holy Name
      Will never come in at all."

   He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
      And never a one saw he;
   But right in his path lay a coal black hound,
      A-moaning right piteously.

   "Come in," he cried, "you little black hound,
      Come in, I will ease your pain;
   My roof shall keep you to-night at least
      From the leash of wind and rain."

   The Geraldine took up the little black hound,
      And put him down by the fire.
   "So sleep you there, poor wandering one,
      As long as your heart desire."

   The Geraldine tossed on his bed that night,
      And never asleep went he
   For the crowing of his little red cock,
      That did crow most woefully.

   For the howling of his own wolf-hound,
      That cried at the gate all night.
   He rose and went to the banquet hall
      At the first of morning light.

   He looked to the right, he looked to the left,
      At the rug where the dog lay on;
   But the reindeer skin was burnt in two,
      And the little black hound was gone.

   And, traced in the ashes, these words he read:
      "For the soul of your firstborn son,
   I will make you rich as you once were rich
      Ere the glass of your luck was run."

   The Geraldine went to the west window,
      And then he went to the east,
   And saw his desolate pasture fields,
      And the stables without a beast.

   "So be it, as I love no woman,
      No son shall ever be mine;
   I would that my stables were full of steeds,
      And my cellars were full of wine."

   "I swear it, as I love no woman,
      And never a son have I,
   I would that my sheep and their little lambs
      Should flourish and multiply.

   "So yours be the soul of my firstborn son."
      Here the Geraldine slyly smiled,
   But from the dark of the lonely room
      Came the cry of a little child.

   The Geraldine went to the west window,
      He opened, and out did lean,
   And lo! the pastures were full of kine,
      All chewing the grass so green.

   And quickly he went to the east window,
      And his face was pale to see,
   For lo! he saw to the empty stalls
      Brave steeds go three by three.

   The Geraldine went to the great hall door,
      In wonder at what had been,
   And there he saw the prettiest maid
      That ever