| |
| THERE is a sheeling hidden in the wood | |
| Unknown to all save God; | |
| An ancient ash-tree and a hazel-bush | |
| Their sheltering shade afford. | |
| |
| Around the doorway’s heather-laden porch | 5 |
| Wild honeysuckles twine; | |
| Prolific oaks, within the forest’s gloom, | |
| Shed mast upon fat swine. | |
| |
| Many a sweet familiar woodland path | |
| Comes winding to my door; | 10 |
| Lowly and humble is my hermitage, | |
| Poor, and yet not too poor. | |
| |
| From the high gable-end my lady’s throat | |
| Her trilling chant outpours, | |
| Her sombre mantle, like the ousel’s coat, | 15 |
| Shows dark above my doors. | |
| |
| From the high oakridge where the roe-deer leaps | |
| The river-banks between, | |
| Renowned Mucraime and Red Roigne’s plains | |
| Lie wrapped in robes of green. | 20 |
| |
| Here in the silence, where no care intrudes, | |
| I dwell at peace with God; | |
| What gift like this hast thou to give, Prince Guaire, | |
| Were I to roam abroad? | |
| |
| The heavy branches of the green-barked yew | 25 |
| That seem to bear the sky; | |
| The spreading oak, that shields me from the storm, | |
| When winds rise high. | |
| |
| Like a great hostel, welcoming to all, | |
| My laden apple-tree; | 30 |
| Low in the hedge, the modest hazel-bush | |
| Drops ripest nuts for me. | |
| |
| Round the pure spring, that rises crystal clear, | |
| Straight from the rock, | |
| Wild goats and swine, red fox, and grazing deer, | 35 |
| At sundown flock. | |
| |
| The host of forest-dwellers of the soil | |
| Trysting at night; | |
| To meet them foxes come, a peaceful troop, | |
| For my delight. | 40 |
| |
| Like exiled princes, flocking to their home, | |
| They gather round; | |
| Beneath the river bank great salmon leap, | |
| And trout abound. | |
| |
| Rich rowan clusters, and the dusky sloe, | 45 |
| The bitter, dark blackthorn, | |
| Ripe whortle-berries, nuts of amber hue, | |
| The cup-enclosed acorn. | |
| |
| A clutch of eggs, sweet honey, mead and ale, | |
| God’s goodness still bestows; | 50 |
| Red apples, and the fruitage of the heath, | |
| His constant mercy shows. | |
| |
| The goodly tangle of the briar-trail | |
| Climbs over all the hedge; | |
| Far out of sight, the trembling waters wail | 55 |
| Through rustling rush and sedge. | |
| |
| Luxuriant summer spreads its coloured cloak | |
| And covers all the land; | |
| Bright blue-bells, sunk in woods of russet oak, | |
| Their blooms expand. | 60 |
| |
| The movements of the bright red-breasted wren, | |
| A lovely melody | |
| Above my house, the thrush and cuckoo’s strain | |
| A chorus wakes for me. | |
| |
| The little music-makers of the world | 65 |
| Chafers and bees, | |
| Drone answer to the tumbling torrent’s roar | |
| Beneath the trees. | |
| |
| From gable-ends, from every branch and stem, | |
| Sounds sweetest music now; | 70 |
| Unseen, in restless flight, the lively wren | |
| Flits ’neath the hazel-bough. | |
| |
| Deep in the firmament the sea-gulls fly, | |
| One widely-circling wreath; | |
| The cheerful cuckoo’s call, the poult’s reply, | 75 |
| Sound o’er the distant heath. | |
| |
| The lowing of the calves in summer-time, | |
| Best season of the year! | |
| Across the fertile plain, pleasant the sound, | |
| Their call I hear. | 80 |
| |
| Voice of the wind against the branchy wood | |
| Upon the deep blue sky; | |
| Most musical the ceaseless waterfall, | |
| The swan’s shrill cry. | |
| |
| No hired chorus, trained to praise its chief, | 85 |
| Comes welling up for me; | |
| The music made for Christ the Ever-young, | |
| Sounds forth without a fee. | |
| |
| Though great thy wealth, Prince Guaire, happier live | |
| Those who can boast no hoard; | 90 |
| Who take at Christ’s hand that which He doth give | |
| As their award. | |
| |
| Far from life’s tumult and the din of strife | |
| I dwell with Him in peace, | |
| Content and grateful, for Thy gifts, High Prince, | 95 |
| Daily increase. | |
| |
(GUAIRE replies)
Wisely thou choosest, Marvan; I a king | |
| Would lay my kingdom by, | |
| With Colman’s glorious heritage I’d part | |
| To bear thee company! | 100 |
