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WAITING, by             Poem Explanation         Poet's Biography
First Line: In a grey cave, where comes no glimpse of sky
Alternate Author Name(s): Hinkson, Katharine Tynan


In a grey cave, where comes no glimpse of sky,
Set in the blue hill's heart full many a mile,
Having the dripping stone for canopy,
Missing the wind's laugh and the good sun's smile,
I, Fionn, with all my sleeping warriors lie.


In the great outer cave our horses are,
Carved of grey stone, with heads erect, amazed,
Purple their trappings, gold each bolt and bar,
One fore foot poised, the quivering thin ears raised;
Methinks they scent the battle from afar.


A frozen hound lies by each warrior's feet,
Ah, Bran, my jewel! Bran, my king of hounds!
Deep-throated art thou, mighty flanked, and fleet;
Dost thou remember how with giant bounds
Did'st chase the red deer in the noontide heat ?


I was a king in ages long ago,
A mighty warrior, and a seer likewise,
Still mine eyes look with solemn gaze of woe
From stony lids adown the centuries,
And in my frozen heart I know, I know.


A giant I, of a primeval race,
These, great-limbed, bearing helm and shield and sword,
My good knights are, and each still awful face
Will one day wake to knowledge at a word -
O'erhead the groaning years turn round apace.


Here with the peaceful dead we keep our state;
Some day a cry shall ring adown the lands;
"The hour is come, the hour grown large with fate. "
He knows who hath the centuries in His hands
When that shall be-till then we watch and wait.


The queens that loved us, whither be they gone,
The sweet, large women with the hair as gold,
As though one drew long threads from out the sun ?
Ages ago, grown tired, and very cold,
They fell asleep beneath the daisies wan.


The waving woods are gone that once we knew,
And towns grown grey with years are in their place;
A little lake, as innocent and blue'
As my queen's eyes were, lifts a baby face
Where once my palace towers were fair to view.


The fierce old gods we hailed with worshipping,
The blind old gods, waxed mad with sin and blood,
Laid down their godhead as an idle thing
At a God's feet, whose throne was but a Rood,
His crown wrought thorns, His joy long travailing.


Here in the gloom I see it all again,
As ages since in visions mystical
I saw the swaying crowds of fierce-eyed men,
And heard the murmurs in the judgment hall ,
O, for one charge of my dark warriors then!


Nay, if He willed, His Father presently
Twelve star-girt legions unto Him had given.
I traced the blood- stained path to Calvary,
And heard far off the angels weep in Heaven;
Then the Rood's arms against an awful sky.


I saw Him when they pierced Him, hands and feet,
And one came by and smote Him, this new King,
So pale and harmless, on the tired face, sweet;
He was so lovely, and so pitying,
The icy heart in me began to beat.


Then a strong cry-the mountain heaved and swayed
That held us in its heart, the groaning world
Was reft with lightning, and in ruins laid,
His Father's awful hand the red bolts hurled,
And He was dead-I trembled, sore afraid.


Then I upraised myself with mighty strain In the gloom,
I heard the tumult rage without,
I saw those large dead faces glimmer plain,
The life just stirred within them and went out,
And I fell back, and grew to stone again.


So the years went-on earth how fleet they be,
Here in this cave their feet are slow of pace,
And I grow old, and tired exceedingly,
I would the sweet earth were my dwelling-place
Shamrocks and little daisies wrapping me!


There I should lie, and feel the silence sweet
As a meadow at noon, where birds sing in the trees,
To mine ears should come the patter of little feet,
And baby cries, and croon of summer seas,
And the wind's laughter in the upland wheat.


Meantime, o'erhead the years were full and bright,
With a kind sun, and gold wide fields of corn;
The happy children sang from morn to night,
The blessed church bells rang, new arts were born,
Strong towns rose up and glimmered fair and white.


Once came a wind of conflict, fierce as hail,
And beat about my brows: on the eastward shore,
Where never since the Vikings' dark ships sail,
All day the battle raged with mighty roar;
At night the victor's fair dead face was pale.


Ah! the dark years since then, the anguished cry
That pierced my deaf ears, made my hard eyes weep,
From Erin wrestling in her agony,
While we, her strongest, in a helpless sleep
Lay, as the blood-stained years trailed slowly by.


And often in those years the East was drest
In phantom fires, that mocked the distant dawn,
Then blackest night-her bravest and her best
Were led to die, while I slept dumbly on,
With the whole mountain's weight upon my breast.


Once in my time, it chanced a peasant hind
Strayed to this cave. I heard, and burst my chain,
And raised my awful face stone-dead and blind,
Cried, " Is it time ?" and so fell back again,
I heard his wild cry borne adown the wind.


Some hearts wait with us. Owen Roe O'Neill,
The kingliest king that ever went uncrowned,
Sleeps in his panoply of gold and steel
Ready to wake, and in the kindly ground
A many another's death-wounds close and heal.


Great Hugh O'Neill, far off in purple Rome,
And Hugh O'Donnell, in their stately tombs
Lie, with their grand fair faces turned to home:
Some day a voice will ring adown the glooms,
Arise, ye Princes, for the hour is come!


And these will rise, and we will wait them here,
In this blue hill-heart in fair Donegal,
That hour shall sound the clash of sword and spear,
The steeds shall neigh to hear their master's call,
And the hounds' cry shall echo shrill and clear.






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