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To The Waters And The Wild

by Enda Reilly

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1.
THE WILD SWANS AT COOLE The trees are in their autumn beauty, The woodland paths are dry, Under the October twilight the water Mirrors a still sky; Upon the brimming water among the stones Are nine-and-fifty swans. The nineteenth autumn has come upon me Since I first made my count; I saw, before I had well finished, All suddenly mount And scatter wheeling in great broken rings Upon their clamorous wings. I have looked upon those brilliant creatures, And now my heart is sore. All's changed since I, hearing at twilight, The first time on this shore, The bell-beat of their wings above my head, Trod with a lighter tread. Unwearied still, lover by lover, They paddle in the cold Companionable streams or climb the air; Their hearts have not grown old; Passion or conquest, wander where they will, Attend upon them still. But now they drift on the still water, Mysterious, beautiful; Among what rushes will they build, By what lake's edge or pool Delight men's eyes when I awake some day To find they have flown away?
2.
THE STOLEN CHILD Where dips the rocky highland Of Sleuth Wood in the lake, There lies a leafy island Where flapping herons wake The drowsy water-rats; There we've hid our faery vats, Full of berries And of reddest stolen cherries. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand Where the wave of moonlight glosses The dim grey sands with light, Far off by furthest Rosses We foot it all the night, Weaving olden dances, Mingling hands and mingling glances Till the moon has taken flight; To and fro we leap And chase the frothy bubbles, While the world is full of troubles And is anxious in its sleep. Come away, O human child! To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Where the wandering water gushes From the hills above Glen-Car,. In pools among the rushes That scarce could bathe a star, We seek for slumbering trout And whispering in their ears Give them unquiet dreams; Leaning softly out From ferns that drop their tears Over the young streams. Come away, O human child! To to waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, For to world's more full of weeping than you can understand. Away with us he's going, The solemn-eyed: He'll hear no more the lowing Of the calves on the warm hillside Or the kettle on the hob Sing peace into his breast, Or see the brown mice bob Round and round the oatmeal-chest. For be comes, the human child, To the waters and the wild With a faery, hand in hand, from a world more full of weeping than you can understand.
3.
I will arise and go now, and go to Innisfree, And a small cabin build there, of clay and wattles made; Nine bean-rows will I have there, a hive for the honey-bee, And live alone in the bee-loud glade. And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow, Dropping from the veils of the morning to where the cricket sings; There midnight’s all a glimmer, and noon a purple glow, And evening full of the linnet’s wings. I will arise and go now, for always night and day I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore; While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey, I hear it in the deep heart’s core.
4.
Down by the salley gardens my love and I did meet; She passed the salley gardens with little snow-white feet. She bid me take love easy, as the leaves grow on the tree; But I, being young and foolish, with her would not agree. Thíos cois gharraithe na sailí dúinn mé féin is mo mhíle grá Ghabh sí thar gharraithe na sailí is a dhá coisín chomh bán. Bog breá, ar sí, a stóirín, mar dhuilleoga ag teacht ar an gcrann Ach bhíos-sa baoth is díomhaoin, is ar chiall do bhí mé gann. In a field by the river my love and I did stand, And on my leaning shoulder she laid her snow-white hand. She bid me take life easy, as the grass grows on the weirs; But I was young and foolish, and now am full of tears. I ngort cois na habhann dúinn, mé féin is grá mo chléibh Leag sí lámh ar ghualainn liom, lámh álainn lonrach ghlé. Breá bog, ar sí, a stóirín, mar a éiríonn an chora glas Ach bhíos-sa baoth is díomhaoin, féach na deora liom go fras.
5.
A Faery Song 01:13
Sung by the people of Faery over Diarmuid and Grania, in their bridal sleep under a Cromlech.
6.
A DRINKING SONG /AMHRÁN NA PÓITE Wine comes in at the mouth And love comes in at the eye; That’s all we shall know for truth Before we grow old and die. I lift the glass to my mouth, I look at you, and I sigh. Sa bhéal isteach a thagann fíon Sa tsúil isteach an grá; Ní heol dúinn fírinne tharais sin Roimh chríonna dúinn, roimh bhás, Cuirim an ghloine lem bhéal, Féachaim ort le hosna chléibh
7.
What need you, being come to sense, But fumble in a greasy till And add the halfpence to the pence And prayer to shivering prayer, until You have dried the marrow from the bone; For men were born to pray and save: Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone, It’s with O’Leary in the grave. Yet they were of a different kind, The names that stilled your childish play, They have gone about the world like wind, But little time had they to pray For whom the hangman’s rope was spun, And what, God help us, could they save? Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone, It’s with O’Leary in the grave. Was it for this the wild geese spread The grey wing upon every tide; For this that all that blood was shed, For this Edward Fitzgerald died, And Robert Emmet and Wolfe Tone, All that delirium of the brave? Romantic Ireland’s dead and gone, It’s with O’Leary in the grave. Yet could we turn the years again, And call those exiles as they were In all their loneliness and pain, You’d cry, ‘Some woman’s yellow hair Has maddened every mother’s son’: They weighed so lightly what they gave. But let them be, they’re dead and gone, They’re with O’Leary in the grave.
8.
O sweet everlasting Voices, be still; Go to the guards of the heavenly fold And bid them wander obeying your will, Flame under flame, till Time be no more; Have you not heard that our hearts are old, That you call in birds, in wind on the hill, In shaken boughs, in tide on the shore? O sweet everlasting Voices, be still. A ghuthanna binne síoraí bígí ciúin Imigí chuig gardaí bhanrach Neimhe Is tathantaigh orthu dul ag fánaíocht de réir bhur dtola Lasair faoi lasair go dtí nach ann don am níos mó, Nár chuala sibh gur chríon ár gcroí Is go nglaoon sibh san éanlaith sa ghaoth ar an gcnoc Sa ghéag creathánach sa taoide ar an trá A ghuthanna binne síoraí ciúnas
9.
When you are old and grey and full of sleep, And nodding by the fire, take down this book, And slowly read, and dream of the soft look Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep; How many loved your moments of glad grace, And loved your beauty with love false or true, But one man loved the pilgrim soul in you, And loved the sorrows of your changing face; And bending down beside the glowing bars, Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled And paced upon the mountains overhead And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
10.
Epitaph 01:59
Cast a Cold Eye on Life On Death Horseman Pass by.
11.
Had I the heavens' embroidered cloths, Enwrought with golden and silver light, The blue and the dim and the dark cloths Of night and light and the half-light, I would spread the cloths under your feet: But I, being poor, have only my dreams; I have spread my dreams under your feet; Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
12.
'O words are lightly spoken,' Said Pearse to Connolly, 'Maybe a breath of politic words Has withered our Rose Tree; Or maybe but a wind that blows Across the bitter sea.' 'It needs to be but watered,' James Connolly replied, 'To make the green come out again And spread on every side, And shake the blossom from the bud To be the garden's pride.' 'But where can we draw water,' Said Pearse to Connolly, 'When all the wells are parched away? O plain as plain can be There's nothing but our own red blood Can make a right Rose Tree.'

about

The Poetry of WB Yeats in Song

This is the first collection on CD and features some remixes of tracks from digital-only Whorls. Also features new solo versions of The Lake Isle of Innisfree and September 1913 which have been long requested by fans.

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released September 26, 2022

Photography by Dave Keegan.

Performed, recorded, mixed and mastered by Enda Reilly

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Enda Reilly Plymouth, Michigan

Folk Singer, Songwriter and guitarist.

Original songs in Irish and English, WB Yeats' poetry and collaborations and sharing Irish culture in the USA through song.

"FIRMLY ROOTED IN THE PAST WITH AN EYE AND EAR FOR THE FUTURE. ....THE REAL DEAL.”
RORY MAKEM
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