In memory of William Allington, a man of time past. An Irish Catholic of centuries last. What's your message for us this year, 2006, what bit of your life, lived long ago, can we breath today?
I am just discovering William Allington.
On of the best known 19th century Irish poets, William Allington is commemorated by the townspeople of Ballyshannon, Ireland, with a plaque that bears the following inscription:
"Here once he roved a happy boy
Along the winding banks of Erne;
And now please God with finer joy
A fairer world his eyes discern."
His poems certainly contemplated heaven, hell and salvation, and sometimes shown hints of his Catholic faith.
Here are two fine examples:
TWILIGHT VOICES
Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals
Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere,
Heaven and Hell from invisible portals
Breathing comfort and ghastly fear,
Voices I hear;
I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,
Wavering by on the dusky blast,--
'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;
Come, let us go, for the day is past!'
Troops of joys are they, now departed?
Winged hopes that no longer stay?
Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted?
Powers that have linger'd their latest day?
What do they say?
What do they sing? I hear them calling,
Whispering, gathering, flying fast,--
'Come, come, for the night is falling;
Come, come, for the day is past!'
Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted;
Mortal, thy sands of life run low;
Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:
Time is ending;--we go, we go.'
Sing they so?
Mystical voices, floating, calling;
Dim farewells--the last, the last?
Come, come away, the night is falling;
'Come, come away, the day is past.'
See, I am ready, Twilight voices!
Child of the spirit-world am I;
How should I fear you? my soul rejoices,
O speak plainer! O draw nigh!
Fain would I fly!
Tell me your message, Ye who are calling
Out of the dimness vague and vast;
Lift me, take me,--the night is falling;
Quick, let us go,--the day is past.
A DREAM
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;
I went to the window to see the sight;
All the Dead that ever I knew
Going one by one and two by two.
On they pass'd, and on they pass'd;
Townsfellows all, from first to last;
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd
At soldiers once--but now more staid;
Those were the strangest sight to me
Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea.
Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too;
Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;
Some but a day in their churchyard bed;
Some that I had not known were dead.
A long, long crowd--where each seem'd lonely,
Yet of them all there was one, one only,
Raised a head or look'd my way:
She linger'd a moment--she might not stay.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah! Mother dear! might I only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men;
Many long-forgot, but remember'd then.
And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears the moment after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
That every morning, day by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.
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