Part 40 (1/2)

The crying of gannets, The shrieking of terns, Are keening his dying High over the burns.

Grey silence of waters And wasting of lands And the wailing of music Down to the sands,

The wailing of music, And trailing of wind, The waters before him, The mountains behind, --

Alone at the gathering, Silent he stands, And the wail of his piping Cries over the lands,

To the moan of the waters, The drone of the foam, Where his soul, a white gannet, Wings silently home.

The Provinces. [Francis Carlin]

~O G.o.d that I May arise with the Gael To the song in the sky Over Inisfail!~

Ulster, your dark Mold for me; Munster, a lark Hold for me!

Connaght, a 'caoine'

Croon for me; Lienster, a mean Stone for me!

~O G.o.d that I May arise with the Gael To the song in the sky Over Inisfail!~

Omnium Exeunt in Mysterium. [George Sterling]

The stranger in my gates -- lo! that am I, And what my land of birth I do not know, Nor yet the hidden land to which I go.

One may be lord of many ere he die, And tell of many sorrows in one sigh, But know himself he shall not, nor his woe, Nor to what sea the tears of wisdom flow; Nor why one star is taken from the sky.

An urging is upon him evermore, And though he bide, his soul is wanderer, Scanning the shadows with a sense of haste -- Where fade the tracks of all who went before: A dim and solitary traveller On ways that end in evening and the waste.

Moth-Terror. [Benjamin De Ca.s.seres]

I have killed the moth flying around my night-light; wingless and dead it lies upon the floor.

(O who will kill the great Time-Moth that eats holes in my soul and that burrows in and through my secretest veils!) My will against its will, and no more will it fly at my night-light or be hidden behind the curtains that swing in the winds.

(But O who will shatter the Change-Moth that leaves me in rags -- tattered old tapestries that swing in the winds that blow out of Chaos!) Night-Moth, Change-Moth, Time-Moth, eaters of dreams and of me!

Old Age. [Cale Young Rice]