Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, RORY OF THE HILL, by CHARLES JOSEPH KICKHAM


Poetry Explorer

Classic and Contemporary Poetry

RORY OF THE HILL, by                    
First Line: That rake up near the rafters, why leave it there so long?
Last Line: The rough and ready roving boys, like rory of the hill.


'THAT rake up near the rafters, why leave it there so long?
The handle, of the best of ash, is smooth, and straight, and strong;
And, mother, will you tell me, why did my father frown,
When to make the hay, in summer-time, I climbed to take it down?'
She looked into her husband's eyes, while her own with light did fill,
'You'll shortly know the reason, boy!' said Rory of the Hill.

The midnight moon is lighting up the slopes of Sliavna-man, --
Whose foot affrights the startled hares so long before the dawn?
He stopped just where the Anner's stream winds up the woods anear,
Then whistled low and looked around to see the coast was clear.
A sheeling door flew open -- in he stepped with right good will --
'God save all here, and bless your work,' said Rory of the Hill.

Right hearty was the welcome that greeted him, I ween,
For years gone by he fully proved how well he loved the Green;
And there was one among them who grasped him by the hand --
One who through all that weary time roamed on a foreign strand;
He brought them news from gallant friends that made their heart-strings thrill -
-
'My sowl! I never doubted them!' said Rory of the Hill.

They sat around the humble board till dawning of the day,
And yet not song nor shout I heard -- no revellers were they:
Some brows flushed red with gladness, while some were grimly pale;
But pale or red, from out those eyes flashed souls that never quail!
'And sing us now about the vow, they swore for to fulfil' --
'You'll read it yet in History,' said Rory of the Hill.

Next day the ashen handle, he took down from where it hung,
The toothed rake, full scornfully, into the fire he flung;
And in its stead a shining blade is gleaming once again --
Oh! for a hundred thousand of such weapons and such men!
Right soldierly he wielded it, and, going through his drill,
'Attention!' -- 'Charge!' -- 'Front, point!' -- 'Advance!' cried Rory of the
Hill.

She looked at him with woman's pride, with pride and woman's fears;
She flew to him, she clung to him, and dried away her tears;
He feels her pulse beat truly, while her arms around him twine --
'Now God be praised for your stout heart, brave little wife of mine.'
He swung his first-born in the air, while joy his heart did fill --
'You'll be a Freeman yet, my boy,' said Rory of the Hill.

Oh! knowledge is a wondrous power, and stronger than the wind;
And thrones shall fall, and despots bow before the might of mind;
The poet and the orator, the heart of man can sway,
And would to the kind heavens that Wolfe Tone were here to-day!
Yet trust me, friends, dear Ireland's strength, her truest strength, is still,
The rough and ready roving boys, like Rory of the Hill.





Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!


Other Poems of Interest...
Home: PoetryExplorer.net