' he says when he has lost his pipe; and no man but he who lives
on the mountain can rival his language on a fair day over a bargain.
on the mountain can rival his language on a fair day over a bargain.
Yeats
Hyde that all night long a light was seen streaming up to heaven
from the roof of the house where he lay, and 'that was the angels who
were with him'; and all night long there was a great light in the
hovel, 'and that was the angels who were waking him. They gave that
honour to him because he was so good a poet, and sang such religious
songs. ' It may be that in a few years Fable, who changes mortalities
to immortalities in her cauldron, will have changed Mary Hynes
and Raftery to perfect symbols of the sorrow of beauty and of the
magnificence and penury of dreams.
1900.
II
When I was in a northern town awhile ago I had a long talk with a man
who had lived in a neighbouring country district when he was a boy. He
told me that when a very beautiful girl was born in a family that had
not been noted for good looks, her beauty was thought to have come from
the Sidhe, and to bring misfortune with it. He went over the names of
several beautiful girls that he had known, and said that beauty had
never brought happiness to anybody. It was a thing, he said, to be
proud of and afraid of. I wish I had written out his words at the time,
for they were more picturesque than my memory of them.
1902.
FOOTNOTE:
[C] A 'pattern,' or 'patron,' is a festival in honour of a saint.
A KNIGHT OF THE SHEEP
AWAY to the north of Ben Bulben and Cope's mountain lives 'a strong
farmer,' a knight of the sheep they would have called him in the Gaelic
days. Proud of his descent from one of the most fighting clans of the
Middle Ages, he is a man of force alike in his words and in his deeds.
There is but one man that swears like him, and this man lives far away
upon the mountain. 'Father in heaven, what have I done to deserve
this?
' he says when he has lost his pipe; and no man but he who lives
on the mountain can rival his language on a fair day over a bargain. He
is passionate and abrupt in his movements, and when angry tosses his
white beard about with his left hand.
One day I was dining with him when the servant-maid announced a certain
Mr. O'Donnell. A sudden silence fell upon the old man and upon his two
daughters. At last the eldest daughter said somewhat severely to her
father, 'Go and ask him to come in and dine. ' The old man went out,
and then came in looking greatly relieved, and said, 'He says he will
not dine with us. ' 'Go out,' said the daughter, 'and ask him into the
back parlour, and give him some whiskey. ' Her father, who had just
finished his dinner, obeyed sullenly, and I heard the door of the back
parlour--a little room where the daughters sat and sewed during the
evening--shut to behind the men. The daughter then turned to me and
said, 'Mr. O'Donnell is the tax-gatherer, and last year he raised our
taxes, and my father was very angry, and when he came, brought him
into the dairy, and sent the dairy-woman away on a message, and then
swore at him a great deal. "I will teach you, sir," O'Donnell replied,
"that the law can protect its officers"; but my father reminded him
that he had no witness. At last my father got tired, and sorry too,
and said he would show him a short way home. When they were half-way
to the main road they came on a man of my father's who was ploughing,
and this somehow brought back remembrance of the wrong. He sent the man
away on a message, and began to swear at the tax-gatherer again. When
I heard of it I was disgusted that he should have made such a fuss
over a miserable creature like O'Donnell; and when I heard a few weeks
ago that O'Donnell's only son had died and left him heart-broken, I
resolved to make my father be kind to him next time he came.
from the roof of the house where he lay, and 'that was the angels who
were with him'; and all night long there was a great light in the
hovel, 'and that was the angels who were waking him. They gave that
honour to him because he was so good a poet, and sang such religious
songs. ' It may be that in a few years Fable, who changes mortalities
to immortalities in her cauldron, will have changed Mary Hynes
and Raftery to perfect symbols of the sorrow of beauty and of the
magnificence and penury of dreams.
1900.
II
When I was in a northern town awhile ago I had a long talk with a man
who had lived in a neighbouring country district when he was a boy. He
told me that when a very beautiful girl was born in a family that had
not been noted for good looks, her beauty was thought to have come from
the Sidhe, and to bring misfortune with it. He went over the names of
several beautiful girls that he had known, and said that beauty had
never brought happiness to anybody. It was a thing, he said, to be
proud of and afraid of. I wish I had written out his words at the time,
for they were more picturesque than my memory of them.
1902.
FOOTNOTE:
[C] A 'pattern,' or 'patron,' is a festival in honour of a saint.
A KNIGHT OF THE SHEEP
AWAY to the north of Ben Bulben and Cope's mountain lives 'a strong
farmer,' a knight of the sheep they would have called him in the Gaelic
days. Proud of his descent from one of the most fighting clans of the
Middle Ages, he is a man of force alike in his words and in his deeds.
There is but one man that swears like him, and this man lives far away
upon the mountain. 'Father in heaven, what have I done to deserve
this?
' he says when he has lost his pipe; and no man but he who lives
on the mountain can rival his language on a fair day over a bargain. He
is passionate and abrupt in his movements, and when angry tosses his
white beard about with his left hand.
One day I was dining with him when the servant-maid announced a certain
Mr. O'Donnell. A sudden silence fell upon the old man and upon his two
daughters. At last the eldest daughter said somewhat severely to her
father, 'Go and ask him to come in and dine. ' The old man went out,
and then came in looking greatly relieved, and said, 'He says he will
not dine with us. ' 'Go out,' said the daughter, 'and ask him into the
back parlour, and give him some whiskey. ' Her father, who had just
finished his dinner, obeyed sullenly, and I heard the door of the back
parlour--a little room where the daughters sat and sewed during the
evening--shut to behind the men. The daughter then turned to me and
said, 'Mr. O'Donnell is the tax-gatherer, and last year he raised our
taxes, and my father was very angry, and when he came, brought him
into the dairy, and sent the dairy-woman away on a message, and then
swore at him a great deal. "I will teach you, sir," O'Donnell replied,
"that the law can protect its officers"; but my father reminded him
that he had no witness. At last my father got tired, and sorry too,
and said he would show him a short way home. When they were half-way
to the main road they came on a man of my father's who was ploughing,
and this somehow brought back remembrance of the wrong. He sent the man
away on a message, and began to swear at the tax-gatherer again. When
I heard of it I was disgusted that he should have made such a fuss
over a miserable creature like O'Donnell; and when I heard a few weeks
ago that O'Donnell's only son had died and left him heart-broken, I
resolved to make my father be kind to him next time he came.
