ST BRIGID’S
LULLABIES
(The Legend
tells that Brigid was the Foster-Nurse
of Jesus.)
I.
FIRST I
kiss the eyelids sweet—
Little eyes
that soon shall know
All the
dark of human woe—
Peace
that
comes
when
sorrows
seize
us
Fill
the dreams
of
Baby
Jesus.
Then I
kiss the little feet—
Hard your
way, and sharp and fierce
Little feet the nails shall pierce.
Hope
that
lifts
and
Faith
that
frees
us
Guide
the
feet
of
Baby
Jesus.
Then the
kisses I repeat
On the
hands in slumber curled—
Little hands
that hold the world.
Love
whose
circling
arms
appease
us,
Cradle
softly
Baby
Jesus.
II.
The burning blight of the midday might on meadow and city falls,
And shadow
fails, and a Terror pales
the dazzle of eyeless walls,
Fierce stifling
gusts of the desert-dusts up lanes and
up alleys beat—
And all
things gasp in
the fever grasp of the merciless hands of Heat.
I chant
the tune of a mountain rune to screen my Babe from the
glare.
And spells
I weave of the dews of
eve and of Ireland's radiant air,
I loop
a twist of her rainbow mist, and a
film of her twilit skies,
And silver
strains of her rills and rains
through the liit of my lullabies.
As low I
croon of the pale green noon
and the long Atlantic
roll,
It sometimes
seems as if Ireland's dreams may
slide into Baby's soul.
That in
the prime of a future time, on my hills
and my isles remote
His words
of speech all
hearts shall reach with a
sweet familiar note.
ETHEL ROLT-WHEELER.
The Dublin Review, Volume CLV, Quarterly No.310, 311; July-October 1914, 60-61.
Content Copyright © Trias Thaumaturga 2012-2015. All rights reserved.
Content Copyright © Trias Thaumaturga 2012-2015. All rights reserved.