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This Poem Is Best Viewed With A Glass Of
Paddy Irish Whiskey
Aileen the Huntress
Edward Walsh
1805-1850
Fair Aileen M'Cartie, O'Connor's young bride,
Forsakes her white pillow with matronly pride,
And calls forth her maidens (their number was nine)
To the bawn of her mansion, a-milking the kine.
They came at her bidding, in kirtle and gown,
And braided hair, jetty, and golden, and brown,
And form like the palm-tree, and step like the fawn,
And bloom like the wild rose that circled the bawn.
As the Guebre's round tower o'er the fane of Ardfert--
As the white hind of Brandon by young roes begirt--
As the moon in her glory 'mid bright stars outhung--
Stood Aileen M'Cartie her maidens among.
Beneath the rich kerchief, which matrons may wear,
Stray'd ringleted tresses of beautiful hair;
They wav'd on her fair neck, as darkly as though
'Twere the raven's wing shining o'er Mangerton's snow!
A circlet of pearls o'er her white bosom lay,
Erst worn by thy proud Queen, O'Connor the gay,
And now to the beautiful Aileen come down,
The rarest that ever shed light in the Laune.
The many-fring'd falluinn that floated behind,
Gave its hues to the sunlight, its folds to the wind--
The brooch that refrain'd it some forefather bold
Hand torn from a sea-king in battle-field old!
Around her went bounding two wolf-dogs of speed,
So tall in their stature, so pure in their breed;
While the maidens awake to the new milk's soft fall,
A song of O'Connor in Carraig's proud hall.
As the milk came outpouring, and the song came out-sung,
O'er the wall 'mid the maidens a red-deer out-sprung--
Then cheer'd the fair lady--then rush'd the madhound,
And away with the wild stag in air-lifted bound.
The gem-fasten'd falluinn is dash'd on the bawn--
One spring o'er the tall fence--and Aileen is gone;
But morning's rous'd echoes to the deep dells proclaim
The course of that wild stag, the dogs, and the dame!
By Cluain Tairbh's green border, o'er moorland and height,
The red-deer shapes downward the rush of his flight--
In sunlight his antlers all gloriously flash,
And onward the wolf-dogs and fair huntress dash!
By Sliabh-Mis now winding (rare hunting I ween!)
He gains the dark valley of Scota the queen
Who found in its bosom a cairn-lifted grave,
When Sliabh-Mis first flow'd with the blood of the brave!
By Coill-Cuaigh's green shelter, the hollow rocks ring--
Coill-Cuaigh, of the cuckoo's first song in the spring,
Coill-Cuaigh of the tall oak and gale-scenting spray--
God's curse on the tyrants that wrought thy decay!
Now Maing's lovely border is gloriously won,
Now the towers of the island gleam bright as the sun,
And now Ceall-an Amanach's portals are pass'd,
Where headless the Desmond found refuge at last!
By Ard-na greach mountain, and Avonmore's head,
To the Earl's proud pavilion the panting deer fled--
Where Desmond's tall clansmen spread banners of pride,
And rush'd to the battle, and gloriously died!
The huntress is coming, slow, breathless, and pale,
Her raven locks streaming all wild in the gale;
She stops--and the breezes bring balm to her brow--
But wolf-dog and wild deer, oh! where are they now?
On Réidhlán-Tigh-an-Eárla, by Avonmore's well,
His bounding heart broken, the hunted dear fell;
And o'er him the brave hounds all gallantly died,
In death still victorious--their fangs in his side!
'Tis evening--the breezes beat cold on her breast,
And Aileen must seek her far home in the west;
Yet weeping, she lingers where the mist-wreaths are chill,
O'er the red-deer and tall dogs that lie on the hill!
Whose harp at the banquet told distant and wide,
This feat of fair Aileen, O'Connor's young bride?--
O'Daly's--whose guerdon, tradition hath told,
Was a purple-crown'd wine-cup of beautiful gold!
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