Six Songs

I have heard a music,
Strange and wild and tender,
Through the mystic splendour,
of the twilight stealing
Like the spell entracing of a magic potion
Slowly it enwound me,
Twirling, twining, dancing, 
In a mazy motion,
Whirling all around me
Thro' the deep'ning twilight
Aery voices calling
And dim shadows falling
Clustered all around me
But I heeded only 
That wild music burning 
With an infinite yearning
all the heart of me
And I wandered lonely 
Lonely, ah so lonely,
Down the pathway weeping
While the world lay sleeping
Dreaming at my feet.

Twixt the sunlight and the shade
Float up memories of my maid
God remember Guendolen.

Gold or gems she did not wear
But her yellow rippled hair 
Like a veil, hid Guendolen.

Twixt the sunlight and the shade
My rough hands so strangely made
Folded Golden Guendolen.

Hands used to grip the sword hit hard
Framed her face, while on the sward
Tears fell down from Guendolen.

Guendolen now speaks no word
Hands fold round about the sword
Now no more of Guendolen.

Only 'twixt the light and shade
Floating memories of my maid
Make me pray for Guendolen.

When I play on my fiddle in Dooney,
Folk dance like a wave of the sea;
My cousin is priest in Kilvarnet,
My brother in Mocharabuiee.

I passed my brother and cousin:
They read in their books of prayer;
I read in my book of songs
I bought at the Sligo fair.

When we come at the end of time
To Peter sitting in state,
He will smile on the three old spirits,
But call me first through the gate;

For the good are always the merry,
Save by an evil chance,
And the merry love the fiddle,
And the merry love to dance:

And when the folk there spy me,
They will all come up to me,
With "Here is the fiddler of Dooney!"
And dance like a wave of the sea.

Eilidh, Eilidh,
My bonny wee lass:
The winds blow,
And the hours pass.
But never a wind
Can do thee wrong,
Brown Birdeen, singing
Thy bird-heart song.
And never an hour
But has for thee
Blue of the heaven
And green of the sea:
Blue for the hope of thee,
Eilidh, Eilidh;
Green for the joy of thee,
Eilidh, Eilidh.
Swing in they nest, then,
Here on my heart,
Birdeen, Birdeen,
Here on my heart,
Here on my heart!

I fear thy kisses, gentle maiden;
  Thou needest not fear mine;
My spirit is too deeply laden
  Ever to burden thine.
                           
I fear thy mien, thy tones, thy motion;
  Thou needest not fear mine;
Innocent is the heart's devotion
  With which I worship thine.

How sweet the answer Echo makes
  To Music at night,
When, rous'd by lute or horn, she wakes,
And far away, o'er lawns and lakes,
  Goes answering light!

Yet Love hath echoes truer far,
  And far more sweet,
Than e'er beneath the moonlight's star,
Of horn, or lute, or soft guitar,
  The songs repeat.

'Tis when the sigh, in youth sincere,
  And only then, --
The sigh that's breath'd for one to hear,
Is by that one, that only dear,
  Breath'd back again.