home *** CD-ROM | disk | FTP | other *** search
- THE MUNICIPAL GALLERY REVISITED
-
- AROUND me the images of thirty years:
- An ambush; pilgrims at the water-side;
- Casement upon trial, half hidden by the bars,
- Guarded; Griffith staring in hysterical pride;
- Kevin O'Higgins' countenance that wears
- A gentle questioning look that cannot hide
- A soul incapable of remorse or rest;
- A revolutionary soldier kneeling to be blessed;
- An Abbot or Archbishop with an upraised hand
- Blessing the Tricolour. "This is not,' I say,
- "The dead Ireland of my youth, but an Ireland
- The poets have imagined, terrible and gay.'
- Before a woman's portrait suddenly I stand,
- Beautiful and gentle in her Venetian way.
- I met her all but fifty years ago
- For twenty minutes in some studio.
-
- III
- Heart-smitten with emotion I Sink down,
- My heart recovering with covered eyes;
- Wherever I had looked I had looked upon
- My permanent or impermanent images:
- Augusta Gregory's son; her sister's son,
- Hugh Lane, "onlie begetter' of all these;
- Hazel Lavery living and dying, that tale
- As though some ballad-singer had sung it all;
- Mancini's portrait of Augusta Gregory,
- "Greatest since Rembrandt,' according to John Synge;
- A great ebullient portrait certainly;
- But where is the brush that could show anything
- Of all that pride and that humility?
- And I am in despair that time may bring
- Approved patterns of women or of men
- But not that selfsame excellence again.
- My mediaeval knees lack health until they bend,
- But in that woman, in that household where
- Honour had lived so long, all lacking found.
- Childless I thought, "My children may find here
- Deep-rooted things,' but never foresaw its end,
- And now that end has come I have not wept;
- No fox can foul the lair the badger swept --
-
- VI
- (An image out of Spenser and the common tongue).
- John Synge, I and Augusta Gregory, thought
- All that we did, all that we said or sang
- Must come from contact with the soil, from that
- Contact everything Antaeus-like grew strong.
- We three alone in modern times had brought
- Everything down to that sole test again,
- Dream of the noble and the beggar-man.
-
- VII
- And here's John Synge himself, that rooted man,
- "Forgetting human words,' a grave deep face.
- You that would judge me, do not judge alone
- This book or that, come to this hallowed place
- Where my friends' portraits hang and look thereon;
- Ireland's history in their lineaments trace;
- Think where man's glory most begins and ends,
- And say my glory was I had such friends.
-