Classic and Contemporary Poetry
THE POPE OF THE HILLS, by THOMAS WALSH First Line: Never a word will you hear at maynooth Last Line: To the gates of the morning and mists of the dawn. Alternate Author Name(s): Gill, Roderick; Strange, Garrett Subject(s): Clergy; Death; Popes; Priests; Rabbis; Ministers; Bishops; Dead, The; Papacy | ||||||||
NEVER a word will you hear at Maynooth Of the pope they have lost; 'tis a bit of the truth That is whispered at noontide by dingle and glen Mid the tangle of daisies when lasses and men Sit down from the harvest with stories of war And of wonderment strange to the cities afar. 'Tis a secret avoided at wake and at feast That is under the ban of the bishop and priest, But is hinted at slyly as sudden winds sigh In the chimney when blustery nights fill the sky, The story how Patsey the lad became pope And was crowned with the crown and was coped with the cope, How he wore the great ring on the back of his fist. And held the white shoes on his feet to be kissed; But one morning when springtime was burgeoning gay To the notes of the lark he was gathered away And over the mountains of Erin was gone Through the gates of the morning and mists of the dawn. Then a heavier loneliness fell over Rome And a holier light lit the hillsides of home, For it seemed in the spring that the smile of the lad Down the blossomy trellises was to be had; That the birds felt a stirring and sang in their nest When the meads and sheep-pastures his light footing pressed; That the violet glanced with his sparkle of blue, That the light of his hyssop shone out in the dew, That over the lover on tryst waiting there Came touch of his blessing on lips and on hair. There's many a tinker and fiddler could say Strange things of the tapers that lighted their way; Many a crone as she drowsed at her prayers Heard him chanting and blessing the still vesper airs; But never could any one answer and tell A word that could lead to his haunt in the dell, When the purple processions at twilight drew near And the cardinals hunted and bishops would hear Where the young pope was lurking; none ever could give The track where he wandered, the place where he'd live, Save over the mountains to beckon them on To the gates of the morning and mists of the dawn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE HIGHWAY DEATH TOLL by KAREN SWENSON CATHERINE TO GREGORY, THE POPE by MARY KATE BLAND CHRISTMAS GIFTS by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING ASOLANDO: THE POPE AND THE NET by ROBERT BROWNING THE BOY AND THE ANGEL by ROBERT BROWNING THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 10. THE POPE by ROBERT BROWNING THE RING AND THE BOOK: BOOK 10. THE POPE by ROBERT BROWNING A DIALOGUE ABOUT COMPELLING A PERSON TO TAKE OATHS TO THE GOVERNMENT by JOHN BYROM ON THE PATRON OF ENGLAND by JOHN BYROM A BALLAD OF OLD POPE JOHN by THOMAS WALSH |
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