A Book of Irish Verse

W.B. Yeats

• Publisher: Routledge
• Year: 2005
• ISBN:
  9781134438587
• Edition: 2
• Topic: Literature
• Subtopic: Literary Criticism
• Index: Literature

In 1895 the thirty-year-old W.B. Yeats, already established as one of Ireland's leading poets and folklorists, published this outstanding collection of Irish verse as part of his campaign to establish a tradition of Irish poetry fit for the dawn of a new age in Ireland's history. This Routledge Classics edition, complete with a specially commissioned introduction by acclaimed writer and critic John Banville, is essential reading for all who appreciate good literature.

Anonymous

SHULE AROON

I would I were on yonder hill,

’Tis there I’d sit and cry my fill,

And every tear would turn a mill,

Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.

Shule, shule, shule aroon,

Shule go succir, agus shule go cuin,

Shule go den durrus agus eligh lum,

Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn.

I’ll sell my rock, I’ll sell my reel,

I’ll sell my only spinning-wheel,

To buy for my love a sword of steel,

Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn..

Chorus.

I’ll dye my petticoats, I’ll dye them red,

And around the world I’ll beg my bread,

Until my parents shall wish me dead,

Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn..

Chorus.

I wish, I wish, I wish in vain,

I wish I had my heart again,

And vainly think I’d not complain,

Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn..

Chorus.

But now my love has gone to France,

To try his fortune to advance;

If he e’er come back ’tis but a chance,

Is go de tu mo vuirnin slàn..

Chorus.

THE SHAN VAN VOCHT

O! the French are on the sea,

Says the shan van vocht;

The French are on the sea,

Says the shan van vocht;

O! the French are in the bay,

They’ll be here without delay,

And the Orange will decay,

Says the shan van vocht.

Chorus.

O! the French are in the bay,

They’ll be here by break of day,

And the Orange will decay,

Says the shan van vocht.

And their camp it shall be where?

Says the shan van vocht;

Their camp it shall be where?

Says the shan van vocht;

On the Currach of Kildare,

The boys they will be there,

With their pikes in good repair,

Says the shan van vocht.

To the Currach of Kildare

The boys they will repair,

And Lord Edward will be there,

Says the shan van vocht.

Then what will the yeomen do?

Says the shan van vocht;

What will the yeomen do?

Says the shan van vocht;

What should the yeomen do

But throw off the red and blue,

And swear that they’ll be true

To the shan van vocht?

What should the yeomen do

But throw off the red and blue,

And swear that they’ll be true

To the shan van vocht?

And what colour will they wear?

Says the shan van vocht;

What colour will they wear?

Says the shan van vocht;

What colour should be seen

Where our fathers’ homes have been,

But our own immortal Green?

Says the shan van vocht.

What colour should be seen

Where our fathers’ homes have been,

But our own immortal Green?

Says the shan van vocht.

And will Ireland then be free?

Says the shan van vocht;

Will Ireland then be free?

Says the shan van vocht;

Yes! Ireland SHALL be free,

From the centre to the sea;

Then hurra! for Liberty!

Says the shan van vocht.

Yes! Ireland SHALL be free,

From the centre to the sea;

Then hurra! for Liberty!

Says the shan van vocht.

THE WEARING OF THE GREEN

O Paddy dear, and did you hear the news that’s going round?

The shamrock is forbid by law to grow on Irish ground;

St. Patrick’s day no more we’ll keep, his colours can’t be seen,

For there’s a bloody law agin the wearing of the green.

I met with Napper Tandy, and he took me by the hand,

And he said, ‘How’s poor old Ireland, and how does she stand?’

She’s the most distressful country that ever yet was seen,

They are hanging men and women for the wearing of the green.

Then if the colour we must wear be England’s cruel red,

Let it remind us of the blood that Ireland has shed.

You may take the shamrock from your hat and cast it on the sod,

But ’twill take root and flourish there, though under foot ’tis trod.

When law can stop the blades of grass from growing as they grow,

And when the leaves in summer-time their verdure dare not show,

Then I will change the colour that I wear in my caubeen,

But ’till that day, please God, I’ll stick to wearing of the green.

THE RAKES OF MALLOW

Beauing, belleing, dancing, drinking,

Breaking windows, damning, sinking,

Ever raking, never thinking,

Live the rakes of Mallow.

Spending faster than it comes,

Beating waiters, bailiffs, duns,

Bacchus’s true-begotten sons,

Live the rakes of Mallow.

One time nought but claret drinking,

Then like politicians thinking

To raise the sinking funds when sinking,

Live the rakes of Mallow.

When at home with dadda dying,

Still for Mallow water crying;

But where there’s good claret plying,

Live the rakes of Mallow.

Living short, but merry lives;

Going where the...

Table of contents

• COVER PAGE
• TITLE PAGE
• COPYRIGHT PAGE
• INTRODUCTION TO THE ROUTLEDGE CLASSICS EDITION
• PREFACE
• MODERN IRISH POETRY
• OLD AGE: FROM THE ‘DESERTED VILLAGE’
• THE VILLAGE PREACHER: FROM THE ‘DESERTED VILLAGE’
• THE DESERTER’S MEDITATION
• THOU CANST NOT BOAST
• KATHLEEN O’MORE
• THE GROVES OF BLARNEY
• THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS
• AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT
• THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE
• THE CONVICT OF CLONMELL: FROM THE IRISH
• THE OUTLAW OF LOCH LENE: FROM THE IRISH
• DIRGE OF O’SULLIVAN BEAR: FROM THE IRISH
• LOVE SONG
• THE WHISTLIN’ THIEF
• SOGGARTH AROON
• DARK ROSALEEN: FROM THE IRISH
• LAMENT FOR THE PRINCES OF TYRONE AND TYRCONNELL: FROM THE IRISH
• A LAMENTATION FOR THE DEATH OF SIR MAURICE FITZGERALD, KNIGHT OF KERRY: FROM THE IRISH
• THE WOMAN OF THREE COWS: FROM THE IRISH
• PRINCE ALFRID’S ITINERARY THROUGH IRELAND: FROM THE IRISH
• O’HUSSEY’S ODE TO THE MAGUIRE: FROM THE IRISH
• THE NAMELESS ONE
• SIBERIA
• HY-BRASAIL
• MO CRAOIBHIN CNO: FROM THE IRISH
• MAIRGRÉAD NI CHEALLEADH
• FROM THE COLD SOD THAT’S O’ER YOU: FROM THE IRISH
• THE FAIRY NURSE
• A CUISLE GEAL MO CHROIDHE
• LAMENT OF THE IRISH EMIGRANT
• THE WELSHMEN OF TIRAWLEY
• AIDEEN’S GRAVE
• DEIRDRE’S LAMENT FOR THE SONS OF USNACH: FROM THE IRISH
• THE FAIR HILLS OF IRELAND: FROM THE IRISH
• LAMENT OVER THE RUINS OF THE ABBEY OF TIMOLEAGUE: FROM THE IRISH
• THE FAIRY WELL OF LAGNANAY
• ON THE DEATH OF THOMAS DAVIS
• THE COUNTY OF MAYO: FROM THE IRISH OF THOMAS LAVELLE
• THE WEDDING OF THE CLANS: A GIRL’S BABBLE
• THE LITTLE BLACK ROSE
• SONG
• THE BARD ETHELL: IRELAND IN THE THIRTEENTH CENTURY
• LAMENT FOR THE DEATH OF EOGHAN RUADH O’NEILL
• MAIRE BHAN ASTÓR
• O! THE MARRIAGE: AIR—THE SWAGGERING JIG
• A PLEA FOR LOVE
• REMEMBRANCE
• A FRAGMENT FROM ‘THE PRISONER: A FRAGMENT’
• LAST LINES
• THE MEMORY OF THE DEAD
• THE WINDING BANKS OF ERNE; OR, THE EMIGRANT’S ADIEU TO BALLYSHANNY
• THE FAIRIES
• THE ABBOT OF INISFALEN: A KILLARNEY LEGEND
• TWILIGHT VOICES
• FOUR DUCKS ON A POND
• THE LOVER AND BIRDS
• THE CELTS
• SALUTATION TO THE CELTS
• THE GOBBAN SAOR
• PATRICK SHEEHAN
• THE IRISH PEASANT GIRL
• TO GOD AND IRELAND TRUE
• THE BANSHEE
• AGHADOE
• A MAD SONG
• LADY MARGARET’S SONG
• SONG
• FATHER O’FLYNN
• SONG
• REQUIESCAT
• THE LAMENT OF QUEEN MAEV: FROM THE IRISH OF THE BOOK OF LEINSTER
• THE DEAD AT CLONMACNOIS: FROM THE IRISH OF ENOCH O’GILLAN
• THE SPELL-STRUCK
• WERE YOU ON THE MOUNTAIN?: FROM THE IRISH
• MY GRIEF ON THE SEA: FROM THE IRISH
• MY LOVE, O, SHE IS MY LOVE: FROM THE IRISH
• I SHALL NOT DIE FOR THEE: FROM THE IRISH
• RIDDLES: FROM THE IRISH
• LOUGH BRAY
• THE CHILDREN OF LIR
• ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS
• SHEEP AND LAMBS
• THE GARDENER SAGE
• THE DARK MAN
• THE FAIRY FIDDLER
• OUR THRONES DECAY
• IMMORTALITY
• THE GREAT BREATH
• SUNG ON A BY-WAY
• DREAM LOVE
• ILLUSION
• JANUS
• CONNLA’S WELL
• NAMES
• THAT
• THINK
• TE MARTYRUM CANDIDATUS
• THE CHURCH OF A DREAM
• WAYS OF WAR
• THE RED WIND
• CELTIC SPEECH
• TO MORFYDD
• CAN DOOV DEELISH
• ANONYMOUS
• NOTES