A Broadside: No. 6 Third Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 6 Third Year
Subject
Ireland
Dun Emer Press
Cuala Press
A Broadside
Irish Literary Revival
The Gaelic 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 HURLEY PLAYER". Signed by Jack B. Yeats.
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
Francis Macnamara
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
November, 1910
Text
A MORAL BALLAD OF THE PLAGUE OF EYAM, 1666
In the separate valleys of Derbyshire,
Where the Peak is high and deep,
By rumour 'twas known, that the plague of towns
Gave London man to weep.
One morning then in a village hid -
Bright came the sun through the glen -
Softly people began to die,
Children women and men.
No sickness, or orderly sign they gave,
Had they risen into the clouds -
Not more bewildered their friends had stood,
Who now fumbled with their shrouds.
Many they missed, before the Plague
Was named - named with a scream:
'The tailor's parcel from London 'twas!'
And the rich fled out of Eyam.
The rooks fled too, for they too are sure
Of a lodging in every state;
They rose, and above that place on the sky
They put the black mark of fate.
But men have invented the poverty
Which compels to sit and wait.
Death silently leapt from house to house,
Or desisted for a day,
Only to pounce on a springing hope ...
Till he nearly lost his prey:
The villagers now must have made stampede,
Beside themselves young and old,
But Mompesson on the name of God
Their duty to their neighbours told.
When they dared not to come together in church
He preached from a cave in the dell:
Standing between the living and dead
As the prophet in Israel.
As the people obeyed - O wondrous power
The multitude to restrain! -
Not one beyond the village of streams
Would bear its singular bane.
One woman resisted, one woman alone,
And against the parson cried;
Every day, by the pump and cross,
She cried, while the people died.
'That you live and want to like is sure,
But guesses your praise and prayer;
Much good he has done, who your spirits won
From panic to dull despair!
Your flesh is warm and your blood still stirs,
Leave now this filthy place.
Why stayed that crow when the rest did no? -
Keep his black coast from my face!'
Yet whenever she started up the path
Which traversed the parish bounds,
She saw that strong and gentle man,
And though she defied his will and ran
His words pursued like hounds.
She turned again, and her impotence
Lamented with angry sounds.
But she broke away at last, and fled
The unreal time and place;
In frenzy she ran over heather and road,
Till she came to Sheffeld gates.
Visitation of Eyam well known around!
Whence she came 'twas plain to see;
And the scared people stoned her to death,
To such an end came she.
Francis Macnamara.
In the separate valleys of Derbyshire,
Where the Peak is high and deep,
By rumour 'twas known, that the plague of towns
Gave London man to weep.
One morning then in a village hid -
Bright came the sun through the glen -
Softly people began to die,
Children women and men.
No sickness, or orderly sign they gave,
Had they risen into the clouds -
Not more bewildered their friends had stood,
Who now fumbled with their shrouds.
Many they missed, before the Plague
Was named - named with a scream:
'The tailor's parcel from London 'twas!'
And the rich fled out of Eyam.
The rooks fled too, for they too are sure
Of a lodging in every state;
They rose, and above that place on the sky
They put the black mark of fate.
But men have invented the poverty
Which compels to sit and wait.
Death silently leapt from house to house,
Or desisted for a day,
Only to pounce on a springing hope ...
Till he nearly lost his prey:
The villagers now must have made stampede,
Beside themselves young and old,
But Mompesson on the name of God
Their duty to their neighbours told.
When they dared not to come together in church
He preached from a cave in the dell:
Standing between the living and dead
As the prophet in Israel.
As the people obeyed - O wondrous power
The multitude to restrain! -
Not one beyond the village of streams
Would bear its singular bane.
One woman resisted, one woman alone,
And against the parson cried;
Every day, by the pump and cross,
She cried, while the people died.
'That you live and want to like is sure,
But guesses your praise and prayer;
Much good he has done, who your spirits won
From panic to dull despair!
Your flesh is warm and your blood still stirs,
Leave now this filthy place.
Why stayed that crow when the rest did no? -
Keep his black coast from my face!'
Yet whenever she started up the path
Which traversed the parish bounds,
She saw that strong and gentle man,
And though she defied his will and ran
His words pursued like hounds.
She turned again, and her impotence
Lamented with angry sounds.
But she broke away at last, and fled
The unreal time and place;
In frenzy she ran over heather and road,
Till she came to Sheffeld gates.
Visitation of Eyam well known around!
Whence she came 'twas plain to see;
And the scared people stoned her to death,
To such an end came she.
Francis Macnamara.
Original Format
Broadside
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats, Jack B. Yeats, and Francis Macnamara, “A Broadside: No. 6 Third Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed April 23, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1376.