Poetry Explorer- Classic Contemporary Poetry, NORTHERN BLACKWATER, by ROSE KAVANAGH


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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

NORTHERN BLACKWATER, by             Poem Explanation        
First Line: O! The broom banks of the river are fair


Oh! the broom banks of the river are fair.

Now the wild briar is blossoming there -

Now when the green banks so calmly repose,

Lulled by the river's strange chant as it goes,
Oh! the broom banks of the river are fair.
Laughing beneath the gold eyes of the broom,
Now the wild briar is blossoming there -
Now when the green banks so calmly repose,
Flashing so free where the heather's in bloom,
Blushing all o'er at the kiss of the sun,
Lulled by the river's strange chant as it goes,
Laughing beneath the gold eyes of the broom,
Tranquil again as the gaze of a nun.
Is it, my river, a sob or a song
Flashing so free where the heather's in bloom,
Beats from that heart as you hurry along?
Blushing all o'er at the kiss of the sun,
Tranquil again as the gaze of a nun.
Once in the twilight I thought it farewell,
Is it, my river, a sob or a song
Just a goodbye to both mountain and dell.
Beats from that heart as you hurry along?
Here the first daisies break free from the sod,
Stars looking up with their first glance to God!
Once in the twilight I thought it farewell,
Here, ere the first days of April are done,
Just a goodbye to both mountain and dell.
Stand the swart cherry trees robed with the sun;


In the deep woodland the windflowers blow;
Here the first daisies break free from the sod,
Where young grass is springing, the crocuses glow;
Stars looking up with their first glance to God!
Down the green glen is the primrose's light,
Soft shines the hawthorn's raiment of white,
Here, ere the first days of April are done,
Round the rough knees of the crabtree a ring
Stand the swart cherry trees robed with the sun;
Of daffodils dance for joy of the spring,
In the deep woodland the windflowers blow;
Where young grass is springing, the crocuses glow;
And then my bright river, so full and so free,
Sings as it wanders through woodland and lea.
Down the green glen is the primrose's light,
Fed with a thousand invisible rills,
Soft shines the hawthorn's raiment of white,
Girdled around with the awe of the hills,
Round the rough knees of the crabtree a ring
Of daffodils dance for joy of the spring,
High in the mountains you spring to the light,
And then my bright river, so full and so free,
Pure as the dawn from the dark ring of night.
Sings as it wanders through woodland and lea.
Well may the fairies keep revelry round,

There where you cleave the thin air at a bound,
And rush on the crag with your white arms outspread -

Fed with a thousand invisible rills,
Only a fairy could step where you tread
'Mid the deep echoes you pause to arouse,
Girdled around with the awe of the hills,
'Mid the grim rocks with the frown on their brows,
High in the mountains you spring to the light,
Pure as the dawn from the dark ring of night.
Type of young Freedom, bold river, to me;
Well may the fairies keep revelry round,
Leaping the crags, sweeping down, to Lough Neagh.
Many a ruin, both abbey and cot,
There where you cleave the thin air at a bound,
Sees in your mirror its desolate lot.
And rush on the crag with your white arms outspread -
Many an ear lying shut far away
Only a fairy could step where you tread
'Mid the deep echoes you pause to arouse,
Hearkened the tune that your dark ripples play.
One - I remember her better than all -
'Mid the grim rocks with the frown on their brows,
Type of young Freedom, bold river, to me;
She knew every legend of cabin and hall;
Wept when the Law and the Famine-time met,
Leaping the crags, sweeping down, to Lough Neagh.

Sang how the Red Hand was radiantly set
Over the victors who fought at the Ford,*

Many a ruin, both abbey and cot,
Over the sweep of O'Neill's Spanish sword -
O our own river! where is she to-night?
Sees in your mirror its desolate lot.
Where are the exiles whose homes are in sight?
Many an ear lying shut far away
Once in the Maytime your carol so sweet
Hearkened the tune that your dark ripples play.
One - I remember her better than all -
Found out my heart in the midst of the street.
She knew every legend of cabin and hall;
Ah! how I listened, and you murmured low
Hope, wide as earth and as white as the snow;
Wept when the Law and the Famine-time met,
Sang how the Red Hand was radiantly set
Hope that, alas! like the foam on your breast,
Broke and was drifted away from its rest.
Over the victors who fought at the Ford,*
Over the sweep of O'Neill's Spanish sword -
Peace did not pass from your bonny broom shore,

O our own river! where is she to-night?
Where are the exiles whose homes are in sight?
Lost though the hope unto me evermore,
Lost, like your song - for I think it a sigh


Stirs that deep heart when I listen anigh.
Once in the Maytime your carol so sweet
Only at dusk does it sound like farewell,
Found out my heart in the midst of the street.
Just a goodbye to myself and the dell.

Ah! how I listened, and you murmured low

Hope, wide as earth and as white as the snow;
Hope that, alas! like the foam on your breast,
Broke and was drifted away from its rest.
Peace did not pass from your bonny broom shore,
Lost though the hope unto me evermore,
Lost, like your song - for I think it a sigh
Stirs that deep heart when I listen anigh.
Only at dusk does it sound like farewell,
Just a goodbye to myself and the dell.






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