The Complete Works. William Butler Yeats

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      The birds, for he opened their cages

      As he went up and down;

      And he said with a smile, ‘Have peace now’;

      And he went his way with a frown.

      But if when any one died

      Came keeners hoarser than rooks,

      He bade them give over their keening;

      For he was a man of books.

      And these were the works of John,

      When weeping score by score,

      People came into Coloony;

      For he’d died at ninety-four.

      There was no human keening;

      The birds from Knocknarea

      And the world round Knocknashee

      Came keening in that day.

      The young birds and old birds

      Came flying, heavy and sad;

      Keening in from Tiraragh,

      Keening from Ballinafad;

      Keening from Inishmurray,

      Nor stayed for bite or sup;

      This way were all reproved

      Who dig old customs up.

THE BALLAD OF MOLL MAGEE

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      Come round me, little childer;

      There, don’t fling stones at me

      Because I mutter as I go;

      But pity Moll Magee.

      My man was a poor fisher

      With shore lines in the say;

      My work was saltin’ herrings

      The whole of the long day.

      And sometimes from the saltin’ shed,

      I scarce could drag my feet

      Under the blessed moonlight,

      Along the pebbly street.

      I’d always been but weakly,

      And my baby was just born;

      A neighbour minded her by day,

      I minded her till morn.

      I lay upon my baby;

      Ye little childer dear,

      I looked on my cold baby

      When the morn grew frosty and clear.

      A weary woman sleeps so hard!

      My man grew red and pale,

      And gave me money, and bade me go

      To my own place, Kinsale.

      He drove me out and shut the door,

      And gave his curse to me;

      I went away in silence,

      No neighbour could I see.

      The windows and the doors were shut,

      One star shone faint and green;

      The little straws were turnin’ round

      Across the bare boreen.

      I went away in silence:

      Beyond old Martin’s byre

      I saw a kindly neighbour

      Blowin’ her mornin’ fire.

      She drew from me my story—

      My money’s all used up,

      And still, with pityin’, scornin’ eye,

      She gives me bite and sup.

      She says my man will surely come,

      And fetch me home agin;

      But always, as I’m movin’ round,

      Without doors or within,

      Pilin’ the wood or pilin’ the turf,

      Or goin’ to the well,

      I’m thinkin’ of my baby

      And keenin’ to mysel’.

      And sometimes I am sure she knows

      When, openin’ wide His door,

      God lights the stars, His candles,

      And looks upon the poor.

      So now, ye little childer,

      Ye won’t fling stones at me;

      But gather with your shinin’ looks

      And pity Moll Magee.

THE BALLAD OF THE FOXHUNTER

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      ‘Now lay me in a cushioned chair

      And carry me, you four,

      With cushions here and cushions there,

      To see the world once more.

      ‘And some one from the stables bring

      My Dermot dear and brown,

      And lead him gently in a ring,

      And gently up and down.

      ‘Now leave the chair upon the grass:

      Bring hound and huntsman here,

      And СКАЧАТЬ