A Broadside: No. 4 Third Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 4 Third Year
Subject
Ireland
Dun Emer Press
Cuala Press
A Broadside
The Gaelic Revival
Irish Literary Revival
Description
PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY E. C. YEATS AT THE CUALA PRESS, CHURCHTOWN, DUNDRUM, COUNTY DUBLIN. SUBSCRIPTION TWELVE SHILLINGS A YEAR POST FREE.
300 copies only.
300 copies only.
The woodcut on page [3] has caption: "The Tumbler". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
James Stephens
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
September, 1910
Text
THE SPY
O listen, I had climbed into a tree,
Scouting for Indians, when a man came;
I thought it was an Indian, for he
Was running like the wind. There was a flame
Of sunlight on his hand as he drew near,
Adn then I saw a knife gripped in his fist.
He panted like a horse, his eyes were queer,
Wide-open, staring fearfully, and, hist!
And all his hair was matted down with sweat.
I crouched among the leaves for fear he'd spy
Where I was hiding, so he did not get
His awful stare on me, but like the wind
Flew on, as if he heard a thing behind.
James Stephens.
YOUNG NAPOLEON, OR THE BUNCH OF ROSES
By the danger of the ocean,
One morning in the month of June,
The feathered warbling songsters,
Their charming notes so sweet did tune.
There I espied a female
Seeming in grief and woe,
And conversing with young Buonoparte,
Concerning the bonny bunch of roses, O.
Oh! then said young Napoleon,
And grasped his mother by the hand,
Do mother, pray have patience
Until I am able to command;
I will raise a terrible army,
And through tremendous dangers go,
And in spite of all the universe,
I will gain the bonny bunch of roses, O.
When first you saw great Buonoparte,
You fell upon your bended knee,
And asked your father's life of him,
He granted it right manfully;
'Twas then he took an army,
And o'er the frozen realms did go;
He said, 'I'll conquer Moscow,
Then go to the Bonny bunch of roses, O.
He took three hundred thousand men,
And likewise kinds to join his throng,
He was so well provided,
He'd enough to sweep the world along;
But when he came near Moscow
Nearly over-powered by driven snow,
All Moscow was a blazing,
Then he lost the bonny bunch of roses, O.
Oh! mother, adieu for ever,
Now I am on my dying bed,
If I had lived I should have been clever,
But now I droop my youthful head.
But while our bones do moulder,
And weeping willows o'er us grow,
The deeds of bold Napoleon
Will sting the bonny bunch of roses, O.
O listen, I had climbed into a tree,
Scouting for Indians, when a man came;
I thought it was an Indian, for he
Was running like the wind. There was a flame
Of sunlight on his hand as he drew near,
Adn then I saw a knife gripped in his fist.
He panted like a horse, his eyes were queer,
Wide-open, staring fearfully, and, hist!
And all his hair was matted down with sweat.
I crouched among the leaves for fear he'd spy
Where I was hiding, so he did not get
His awful stare on me, but like the wind
Flew on, as if he heard a thing behind.
James Stephens.
YOUNG NAPOLEON, OR THE BUNCH OF ROSES
By the danger of the ocean,
One morning in the month of June,
The feathered warbling songsters,
Their charming notes so sweet did tune.
There I espied a female
Seeming in grief and woe,
And conversing with young Buonoparte,
Concerning the bonny bunch of roses, O.
Oh! then said young Napoleon,
And grasped his mother by the hand,
Do mother, pray have patience
Until I am able to command;
I will raise a terrible army,
And through tremendous dangers go,
And in spite of all the universe,
I will gain the bonny bunch of roses, O.
When first you saw great Buonoparte,
You fell upon your bended knee,
And asked your father's life of him,
He granted it right manfully;
'Twas then he took an army,
And o'er the frozen realms did go;
He said, 'I'll conquer Moscow,
Then go to the Bonny bunch of roses, O.
He took three hundred thousand men,
And likewise kinds to join his throng,
He was so well provided,
He'd enough to sweep the world along;
But when he came near Moscow
Nearly over-powered by driven snow,
All Moscow was a blazing,
Then he lost the bonny bunch of roses, O.
Oh! mother, adieu for ever,
Now I am on my dying bed,
If I had lived I should have been clever,
But now I droop my youthful head.
But while our bones do moulder,
And weeping willows o'er us grow,
The deeds of bold Napoleon
Will sting the bonny bunch of roses, O.
Original Format
Braodside
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats, Jack B. Yeats, and James Stephens, “A Broadside: No. 4 Third Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed April 19, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1374.