Mary Hynes-Joanie Madden

[00:00.00] 作词 : Raftery [00:06.83]That Sunday, on my oath, the rain was a heavy overcoat [00:09.58]On a poor poet, and when the rain began [00:12.73]In fleeces of water to buckleap like a goat [00:15.76]I was only a walking penance reaching Kiltartan; [00:19.69]And there, so suddenly that my cold spine [00:23.49]Broke out on the arch of my back in a rainbow, [00:26.62]This woman surged out of the day with so much sunlight [00:29.57]I was nailed there like a scarecrow, [00:32.61]But I found my tongue and the breath to balance it [00:35.96]And I said: “If I bow to you with this hump of rain [00:37.95]I’ll fall on my collarbone, but look, I’ll chance it, [00:41.14]And after falling, bow again.” [00:43.93]She laughed, ah, she was gracious, and softly she said to me, [00:50.36]“For all your lovely talking I go marketing with an ass, [00:54.10]I’m no hill-queen, alas, or Ireland, that grass widow, [00:56.85]So hurry on, sweet Raftery, or you’ll keep me late for Mass!” [01:03.00]When we left the dark evening at last outside her door, [01:06.34]She lighted a lamp though a gaming company [01:09.53]Could have sighted each trump by the light of her unshawled poll, [01:12.80]And indeed she welcomed me [01:14.46]With a big quart bottle and I mooned there over glasses [01:17.81]Till she took that bird, the phoenix, from the spit; [01:20.60]And, “Raftery,” says she, “a feast is no bad dowry, [01:23.48]Sit down now and taste it!” [01:26.38]When I praised Ballylea before it was only for the mountains [01:29.34]Where I broke horses and ran wild, [01:31.73]And for its seven crooked smoky houses [01:35.23]Where seven crones are tied [01:37.87]All day to the listening top of a half door, [01:39.92]And nothing to be heard or seen [01:42.62]But the drowsy dropping of water [01:45.36]And a gander on the green. [01:47.26]But, Boys! I was blind as a kitten till last Sunday, [01:52.09]This town is earth’s very navel! [01:55.58]Seven palaces are thatched there of a Monday, [01:58.97]And O the seven queens whose pale [02:04.08]Proud faces with their seven glimmering sisters, [02:07.61]The Pleiads, light the evening where they stroll, [02:11.50]And one can find the well by their wet footprints, [02:14.14]And make one’s soul; [02:17.04]For Mary Hynes, rising, gathers up there [02:19.94]Her ripening body from all the love stories; [02:24.37]And rinsing herself at morning, shakes her hair [02:27.67]And stirs the old gay books in libraries; [02:32.16]And I’ll wager now that my song is ended, [02:36.29]Loughrea, that old dead city where the weavers [02:40.38]Have pined at the mouldering looms since Helen broke the thread, [02:44.82]Will be piled again with silver fleeces: [02:47.95]O the new coats and big horses! The raving and the ribbons! [02:52.46]And Ballylea in hubbub and uproar! [02:54.90]And may Raftery be dead if he’s not there to ruffle it [02:58.54]On his own mare, Shank’s mare, that never needs a spur. [03:03.82]But ah, Sweet Light, though your face coins [03:07.66]My heart’s very metals, isn’t it folly without a pardon [03:12.49]For Raftery to sing so that men, east and west, come [03:16.48]Spying on your vegetable garden? [03:21.11]We could be so quiet in your chimney corner– [03:25.31]Yet how could a poet hold you any more than the sun, [03:28.05]Burning in the big bright hazy heart of harvest, [03:31.29]Could be tied in a henrun? [03:34.98]Bless your poet then and let him go! [03:39.80]He’ll never stack a haggard with his breath: [03:43.11]His thatch of words will not keep rain or snow [03:46.45]Out of the house, or keep back death. [03:50.78]But Raftery, rising, curses as he sees you [03:54.47]Stir the fire and wash delph, [03:56.91]That he was bred a poet whose selfish trade it is [04:03.69]To keep no beauty to himself.