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Classic and Contemporary Poetry

A LULLABY by OWEN ROE O'SULLIVAN

First Line: O HUSHABY, BABY! WHY WEEPEST THOU?
Last Line: PIERCE INTO MY HEART LIKE SPEARS.
O hushaby, baby! Why weepest thou?
The diadem yet shall adorn thy brow,
And the jewels thy sires had, long agone,
In the regal ages of Eoghan and Conn,
Shall all be thine.
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!
My sorrow, my woe, to see thy tears,
Pierce into my heart like spears.

I'll give thee that glorious apple of gold
The three fair goddesses sought of old,
I'll give thee the diamond sceptre of Pan,
And the rod with which Moses, that holiest man,
Wrought marvels divine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

I'll give that courser, fleet on the plains,
That courser with golden saddle and reins,
Which Falvey rode, the mariner-lord,
When the blood of the Danes at Cashel-na-Nord
Flowed like to dark wine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

I'll give thee the dazzling sword was worn
By Brian on Cluan-tarava's morn,
And the bow of Murrough, whose shaft shot gleams
That lightened as when the arrowy beams
Of the noon-sun shine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And the hound that was wont to speed amain
From Cashel's rock to Bunratty's plain,
And the eagle from gloomy Aherlow,
And the hawk of Skellig; all these I'll bestow
On thee and thy line:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And the golden fleece that Jason bore
To Hellas' hero-peopled shore.
And the steed that Cuchullin bought of yore
With cloak and necklet and golden store
And meadows and kine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And Connal's unpierceable shirt of mail,
And the shield of Nish, the prince of the Gael;
These twain for thee, my babe, shall I win,
With the flashing spears of Achilles and Finn,
Each high as a pine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And the swords of Diarmuid and fierce Fingal,
The slayers on heath and (alas!) in hall;
And the charmed helmet that Oscar wore
When he left Mac Treoin to welter in gore,
Subdued and supine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And the jewel wherewith Queen Eofa proved
The valor and faith of the hero she loved;
The magic jewel that nerved his arm
To work his enemies deadly harm
On plain and on brine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And the wondrous cloak renowned in song,
The enchanted cloak of the dark Dubh-long,
By whose powerful aid he battled amid
The thick of his foes, unseen and hid.
This, too, shall be thine;
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

The last, not least, of thy weapons, my son,
Shall be the glittering glaive of O'Dunn,
The gift from Enghus' powerful hands,
The hewer-down of the Fenian bands
With edge so fine!
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And a princess, too, transcending all
Who have held the hearts of men in thrall,
Transcending Helen of history,
Thy bride in thy palmier years shall be;
Thy bride heroine:
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

Even Hebe, who fills the nectar up
For Love, in his luminous crystal cup,
Shall pour thee out a wine in thy dreams,
As bright as thy poet-father's themes
When inspired by the Nine.
O hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!

And silken robes, and sweet soft cakes
Shalt thou wear and eat, beyond thy mates.
Ah, see, here comes thy mother, Moirin!
She, too, has the soul of an Irish queen:
She scorns to repine!
Then hushaby, hushaby, child of mine!
My sorrow, my woe, to see thy tears,
Pierce into my heart like spears.




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