Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, THE FATE OF THE O'SULLIVAN'S, by THOMAS OSBORNE DAVIS


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

THE FATE OF THE O'SULLIVAN'S, by                     Poet's Biography
First Line: A baby in the mountain gap
Last Line: They never saw berehaven!
Subject(s): Bantry Bay, Ireland; Ireland; Irish


I.

"A BABY in the mountain gap --
Oh! wherefore bring it hither?
Restore it to it's mother's lap,
Or else 'twill surely wither.
A baby near the eagle's nest!
How should their talons spare it?
Oh! take it to some woman's breast,
And she will kindly care it."

II.

"Fear not for it," M'Swiney said,
And stroked his cul-fionn slowly,
And proudly raised his matted head,
Yet spoke me soft and lowly --
Fear not for it, for, many a day,
I climb the eagle's eyrie,
And bear the eaglet's food away
To feed our little fairy.

III.

"Fear not for it, no Bantry bird
Would harm our chieftain's baby" --
He stopped, and something in him stirred --
'Twas for his chieftain, may be.
And then he brushed his softened eyes,
And raised his bonnet duly,
And muttered "the Beantighearna lies
Asleep in yonder buaili."

IV.

He pointed 'twixt the cliff and lake,
And there a hut of heather,
Half hidden in the craggy brake,
Gave shelter from the weather;
The little tanist shrieked with joy,
Adown the gully staring --
The clansman swelled to see the boy,
O'Sullivan-like, daring.

V.

Oh! what a glorious sight was there,
As from the summit gazing,
O'er winding creek and islet fair,
And mountain waste amazing;
The Caha and Dunkerron hills
Cast half the gulfs in shadow,
While shone the sun on Culiagh's rills,
And Whiddy's emerald meadow --

VI.

The sea a sheet of crimson spread,
From Foze to Dursey islands;
While flashed the peaks from Mizenhead
To Musk'ry's distant highlands --
I saw no kine, I saw no sheep,
I saw nor house nor furrow;
But round the tarns the red deer leap,
Oak and arbutus thorough.

VII.

Oh! what a glorious sight was there,
That paradise o'ergazing --
When, sudden, burst a smoky glare,
Above Glengarriff blazing --
The clansman sprung upon his feet --
Well might the infant wonder --
His hands were clenched, his brow was knit,
His hard lips just asunder.

VIII.

Like shattered rock from out the ground,
He stood there stiff and silent --
Our breathing hardly made a sound,
As o'er the baby I leant;
His figure then went to and fro,
As the tall blaze would flicker --
And as exhausted it sunk low,
His breath came loud and thicker.

IX.

Then slowly turned he round his head,
And slowly turned his figure;
His eye was fixed as Spanish lead,
His limbs were full of rigour --
Then suddenly he grasped the child,
And raised it to his shoulder,
Then pointing where, across the wild,
The fire was seen to smoulder: --

X.

"Look, baby! -- look, there is the sign,
Your father is returning,
The 'generous hand' of Finghin's line
Has set that beacon burning.
'The generous hand' -- Oh! Lord of hosts --
Oh, Virgin, ever holy!
There's nought to give on Bantry's coasts --
Dunbwy is lying lowly.

XI.

"The halls, where mirth and minstrelsy
Than Beara's wind rose ouder,
Are flung in masses lonelily,
And black with English powder --
The sheep that o'er our mountains ran
The kine that filled our valleys,
Are gone, and not a single clan
O'Sullivan now rallies.

XII.

"He, long the Prince of hill and bay!
The ally of the Spaniard!
Has scarce a single ath to-day,
Nor seamen left to man yard" --
M'Swiney ceased, then fiercely strode
Bearing along the baby,
Until we reached the rude abode
Of Bantry's lovely lady.

XIII.

We found her in the savage shed --
A mild night in mid winter --
The mountain heath her only bed,
Her dais the rocky splinter!
The sad Beantighearn' had seen the fire --
'Twas plain she had been praying --
She seized her son, as we came nigher,
And welcomed me, thus saying --

XIV.

"Our gossip's triend I gladly greet,
Though scant'ly I can cheer him;"
Then bids the clausman fly to meet
And tell her lord she's near him.
M'Swiney kissed his foster son,
And shouting out his faire --
"O'Suillebhain abu" -- is gone
Like Marchman's deadly arrow!

XV.

An hour went by, when, from the shore
The chieftain's horn winding,
Awoke the echoes' hearty roar --
Their fealty reminding:
A moment, and he faintly gasps --
"These -- these, thank heav'n, are left me" --
And smiles as wife and child he clasps --
"They have not quite bereft me."

XVI.

I never saw a mien so grand,
A brow and eye so fearless --
There was not in his veteran band
A single eyelid tearless.
His tale is short -- O'Ruare's strength
Could not postpone his ruin,
And Leitrim's towers he left at length,
To spare his friend's undoing.

XVII.

To Spain -- to Spain, he now will sall,
His destiny is wroken --
An exile from dear Inis-fail, --
Nor yet his will is broken;
For still he hints some enterprise,
When fleets shall bring them over,
Dunbwy's proud keep again shall rise,
And mock the English rover.

XVIII.

I saw them cross Slieve Misklsk o'er,
The crones around them weeping --
I saw them pass from Culiagh's shore,
Their galleys' strong oars sweeping,
I saw their ship unfurl its sail --
I saw their scarfs long waven --
They saw the hills in distance fail --
They never saw Berehaven!





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