A Broadside: No. 3 Second Year
Title
A Broadside: No. 3 Second 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: "Loot", Signed by Jack B. Yeats.
Creator
E. C. Yeats
Jack B. Yeats
James Guthrie.
Publisher
Cuala Press
Date
August, 1909
Text
THE YOUNG LADY'S LAMENTATION FOR THE LOSS OF HER TRUE LOVE
The night is long and I can find no rest,
The thoughts of my Willy runs in my breast:
I'll search those green woods and valleys wide,
Still hoping my true love to find.
Come, make then for me a little boat,
For it's on the ocean I mean to float,
To view the French fleet as they pass by,
And I'll still inquire for my sailor boy.
She had not sailed more than a day or two,
When a French vessel came into view,
Oh, captain, captain, tell me true,
Does my true love, Willy, sail on board with you.
What sort of clothes did your Willy wear,
Or what colour was your true lover's hair?
A short jacket bound with green,
And the colour of amber was my true love's hair.
Indeed fair lady, he is not here,
But he is drowned, I greatly fear;
On yon green islands as we passed by,
We lost five more and your sailor boy.
She wrung her hands and tore her hair
Just like a lady in deep despair;
Oh happy happy is the girl she cried
That has her true love drowned by her side.
Come all you seamen that sails along,
And all you boatmen that follow on;
From the cabin boy to the main mast high,
You must mourn in black for my sailor boy.
TO A PAINTER ON A SCAFFOLD
When up the creaking swaying pole
The painter climbs,
It is not meet the prosaist's prose
Should sink in tiresome rhymes;
For who in naves a navy has
Of many masts and ropes,
And boards a beauteous aisle
To brush with envious hopes,
Deserves some paean low and soft,
Or organ-note a-loft-
But no cryptic height I vault,
Who only make so tame assault!
James Guthrie.
The night is long and I can find no rest,
The thoughts of my Willy runs in my breast:
I'll search those green woods and valleys wide,
Still hoping my true love to find.
Come, make then for me a little boat,
For it's on the ocean I mean to float,
To view the French fleet as they pass by,
And I'll still inquire for my sailor boy.
She had not sailed more than a day or two,
When a French vessel came into view,
Oh, captain, captain, tell me true,
Does my true love, Willy, sail on board with you.
What sort of clothes did your Willy wear,
Or what colour was your true lover's hair?
A short jacket bound with green,
And the colour of amber was my true love's hair.
Indeed fair lady, he is not here,
But he is drowned, I greatly fear;
On yon green islands as we passed by,
We lost five more and your sailor boy.
She wrung her hands and tore her hair
Just like a lady in deep despair;
Oh happy happy is the girl she cried
That has her true love drowned by her side.
Come all you seamen that sails along,
And all you boatmen that follow on;
From the cabin boy to the main mast high,
You must mourn in black for my sailor boy.
TO A PAINTER ON A SCAFFOLD
When up the creaking swaying pole
The painter climbs,
It is not meet the prosaist's prose
Should sink in tiresome rhymes;
For who in naves a navy has
Of many masts and ropes,
And boards a beauteous aisle
To brush with envious hopes,
Deserves some paean low and soft,
Or organ-note a-loft-
But no cryptic height I vault,
Who only make so tame assault!
James Guthrie.
Original Format
Broadside
Files
Collection
Citation
E. C. Yeats, Jack B. Yeats, and James Guthrie. , “A Broadside: No. 3 Second Year,” Linda Lear Center Digital Collections and Exhibitions, accessed April 18, 2024, https://lc-digital.conncoll.edu/items/show/1360.