 Poetry: October 05, 2022 Issue [#11592] |
This week: William Allingham Edited by: Stormy Lady  
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The Fairies
By William Allingham
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray
He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkille he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with music
On cold starry nights
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
If any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
On March 19, 1824 William Allingham and his wife Isabell Johnston welcomed son William Allingham into their family. The couple lived in Ballyshannon Co. Donegal, Ireland. William was a bank manager of English descent. Allingham was the oldest of five. His youngest brother died in infancy. The family moved twice while Allingham was very young. When he was nine, his mother passed away. He was educated at the Royal Belfast Academical Institute until he was fourteen. After he returned to his hometown where he held a post at the custom-house. He would hold several of these posts throughout his career, in Ireland and England. While working he published a volume of Poems in 1850, followed by Day and Night Songs, in 1855. In 1865 he published Fifty Modern Poems. He retired from service in 1870, and became sub-editor of Fraser’s Magazine.
While working at the magazine Allingham met Helen Paterson, who was an illustrator. The two wed on August 22, 1874, even though she was twenty-four years younger than Allingham. The couple lived in London when their first and second child were born, Gerald Carlyle and Eva Margaret. In 1877 he Allingham published Songs, Poems, and Ballads. In 1881 the family moved to Sandhills near Witley in Surrey, where their youngest child, Henry William was born. Allingham published Evil May Day in 1883 followed by Blackberries in 1884 and Irish Songs and Poems in 1887.
After his last volume for poetry was published Allingham's health started to decline. He moved his family back to London and lived in Hampstead Village. But the move did not help his health improve and William Allingham died on November 18,1889. His ashes are interred at St. Anne’s in his hometown in Ballyshannon. His last book was published posthumously, Varieties in Prose, in 1893.
Down On The Shore
By William Allingham
Down on the shore, on the sunny shore!
Where the salt smell cheers the land;
Where the tide moves bright under boundless light,
And the surge on the glittering strand;
Where the children wade in the shallow pools,
Or run from the froth in play;
Where the swift little boats with milk-white wings
Are crossing the sapphire bay,
And the ship in full sail, with a fortunate gale,
Holds proudly on her way;
Where the nets are spread on the grass to dry,
And asleep, hard by, the fishermen lie,
Under the tent of the warm blue sky,
With the hushing wave on its golden floor
To sing their lullaby.
Down on the shore, on the stormy shore!
Beset by a growling sea,
Whose mad waves leap on the rocky steep
Like wolves up a traveler's tree;
Where the foam flies wide, and an angry blast
Blows the curlew off, with a screech;
Where the brown sea-wrack, torn up by the roots,
Is flung out of fishes' reach;
And the tall ship rolls on the hidden shoals,
And scatters her planks on the beach;
Where slate and straw through the village spin,
And a cottage fronts the fiercest din
With a sailor's wife sitting sad within,
Hearkening the wind and the water's roar,
Till at last her tears begin.
A Gravestone
By William Allingham
Far from the churchyard dig his grave,
On some green mound beside the wave;
To westward, sea and sky alone,
And sunsets. Put a mossy stone,
With mortal name and date, a harp
And bunch of wild flowers, carven sharp;
Then leave it free to winds that blow,
And patient mosses creeping; slow,
And wandering wings, and footsteps rare
Of human creature pausing there.
Thank you all!
Stormy Lady
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The winner of "Stormy's poetry newsletter & contest" [ASR] is:
Feisty phantoms circle around
The town’s center square
Swirling wraiths dare abound
In this nippy October air.
The wraith’s raspy voice intones,
He eerily clamors to be heard
Above the clanking cauldron,
But his warning is ignored.
As night’s darkness deepens fast,
Ghosts, ghouls and goblins appear.
The poltergeists airily ask
"Have you a prank or two to spare?"
The witch’s creepy crackling cauldron
Has a brew bubbling on simmer.
Her lusty screech when it is done
Gives ghosts and ghouls a shimmer.
A mummy stiffly wanders toward
The town’s astral center square
Awkwardly approaching, he heard
Celestial chatter on fall’s brisk air.
His eyes are bandaged tightly,
Shut; he has no seer’s sight.
He stumbles near the cauldron-
Fast falling in – oh what a fright!
This creepy night community
Rush sprightly to save their brew,
Pulling the mangled mummy
From the heated cauldron – whew!.
He fights and pushes and moans
Their mummy is badly burned
The slightest touch elicits a groan,
Spirits flee as shadows formed.
Town square lights spark, and flicker.
The apparitions gaze in fright-
Their mummy, soaked in liquor,
Vanished in flames that night.
Honorable mention:
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Good luck to all 
