All Through the Night Night Poems & Lullabies

Edited by Marie Heaney

For Anna Rose, Aibhín and Síofra

Poetry Ireland Ltd / Éigse Éireann Teo gratefully acknowledges the assistance of The Arts Council / An Chomhairle Ealaíon and The Arts Council of Northern Ireland, and The Westbury, Dublin.

The moral right of the copyright holders has been asserted. ISBN: 978-1-902121-61-1

Prepared for publication by: Paul Lenehan, Muireann Sheahan, Olivia May, Ariana Kaufmann, Daniel Tatlow-Devally and Catherine Ward

Design and illustrations: Paula McGloin, www.paulamcgloin.com

First published by Poetry Ireland, 2016, www.poetryireland.ie

CONTENTS

Introduction xiii

Bill Caddick John O’ Dreams 1

Thomas Dekker ‘Golden Slumbers’ 3

John Ceiriog Hughes Ar Hyd Y Nos 4

All Through the Night 5

Eugene Field A Dutch Lullaby 6

Irish Traditional Fair Rosa 8

Josephine Dodge The Sleepy Song 10Daskam Bacon

Irish Traditional My Singing Bird 12

WB Yeats A Cradle Song 13

Irish Traditional Seoithín, Seo Hó 14

Hushaby, Hush 15

Irish Traditional The Castle of Dromore 16

Joseph Campbell The Gartan Mother’s Lullaby 17

John Irvine The Winter Night 18

Delia Murphy Connemara Cradle Song 19

Alfred, Lord Tennyson Sweet and low 21

Padraic Colum A Cradle Song 22

Moira O’Neill Grace for Light 23

American Traditional Hush, Little Baby 24

viii

Stephen Foster Slumber My Darling 25

German Traditional ‘Roses Whisper Good Night’ 27

Pádraig Pearse Lullaby of a Woman of 28 the Mountain

Michael Longley Lullaby 29

Seamus Heaney Serenades 30

Frank Ormsby Helen 31

Paul Muldoon Cradle Song for Asher 32

Peter Sirr PPS 33

Vincent Buckley For Brigid 35

Eavan Boland Energies 36

Gabriela Mistral Midnight 38

Sara Berkeley Tolchin Smoke from Oregon Fires 40

Gerard Smyth Poem to a Granddaughter 42

Tony Curtis When I Was a Child 43

William Blake Nurse’s Song 44

Robert Louis Stevenson Escape at Bedtime 45

Robert Louis Stevenson Bed in Summer 46

Edna St Vincent Millay Grown-Up 47

Irish Traditional Deirín Dé 48

The Last Wisp of Smoke 49

William Shakespeare ‘I know a bank ...’ 50

William Shakespeare ‘You spotted snakes ...’ 51

Friedrich Wilhelm Gotter Cradle Song 52

Nancy Willard Night Song 54

ix

Sylvia Plath Alicante Lullaby 55

Shane MacGowan Lullaby of London 56

Australian Traditional Yo-Ho, Little Fishy 58

Robert Frost Acquainted with the Night 60

Dennis O’Driscoll Nocturne 61

Moya Cannon Night 62

Walter de la Mare Silver 64

Emily Dickinson ‘The moon was but a chin ...’ 65

Ted Hughes Full Moon and Little Frieda 66

Samuel Taylor Coleridge ‘O sleep! It is a gentle thing’ 67

William Shakespeare ‘Methought I heard a voice cry’ 68

William Wordsworth To Sleep 69

Paul Durcan How I Envy the Homeless Man 70

Máire Mhac an tSaoi ‘ “Ní chodlaím ist oíche” ’ 72

‘ “I don’t sleep at night” ’ 72

Gerald Dawe Serenade 73

John Montague 11 Rue Daguerre 74

Seamus Heaney Night Drive 75

Tiomáint Oíche 76

Thom Gunn The Night Piece 77

Eiléan Ní Chuilleanáin The Copious Dark 78

Greg Delanty While Reading Poets in 80 Their Youth

Peter Fallon An Open Fire 81

Thomas Hardy The Oxen 82

x

Ciaran Carson Sunset 83

William Shakespeare ‘Be not afeard; the isle is full ...’ 84

WH Auden Lullaby 85

Robert Graves She Tells Her Love While 87 Half Asleep

Theo Dorgan She Buckles in Her Sleep 88

Maxine Kumin After Love 89

Robert Burns Lassie Lie Near Me 90

WS Graham I Leave This At Your Ear 91

Anne Le Marquand The Hawser 92Hartigan

Thomas Moore At the Mid Hour of Night 93

Matthew Arnold Dover Beach 94

Nuala Ní Dhomhnaill Gaineamh Shúraic 96

Quicksand 97

Emily Brontë ‘I’m happiest when most away’ 98

Derek Mahon The Dawn Chorus 99

Mairéad Donnellan Rock-a-bye 100

Paula Meehan The Quilt 101

Jane Kenyon Let Evening Come 102

Anonymous Evening Hymn 103

Emily Dickinson ‘When night is almost done’ 104

Norman MacCaig Four o’clock blackbird 105

Theodore Roethke My Papa’s Waltz 106

Louis MacNeice Autobiography 107

Lavinia Greenlaw English Lullaby 109

xi

Sir Thomas Wyatt ‘They flee from me’ 110

John Keats Ode to a Nightingale 111

George Gordon, We’ll go no more a-roving 115Lord Byron

Thomas Moore ‘Oft, in the stilly night’ 116

Dylan Thomas Do not go gentle into 118 that good night

Alfred, Lord Tennyson Crossing the Bar 119

William Shakespeare ‘Now cracks a noble heart’ 120

xiii

All Through The Night

We incline to think of night as a time of peace, rest and relaxation: a time that brings freedom from the cares of the day, a time to dream, to make love and to embrace blessed sleep which, in Shakespeare’s words, knits up the ravell ’d sleeve of care. And this is, indeed, a reality; but night can bring with it other, less benign experiences. With darkness can come sleeplessness and its attendant sadness, anxiety and guilt, emotions that are often more intensely felt at night than during the day with all its distractions. A time when, to borrow a phrase from Keats, conscience burrows like a mole and we are haunted by fears and regrets. Both these aspects of the night, happiness and sadness, are explored by the poems in this collection.

Lullabies, quiet songs to lull a child to sleep and other poems relating to children, form the opening section. The poems in the second part of the collection celebrate the various night-time pleasures as well as giving voice to the anxieties that beset us during the night.

Even in lullabies, there are traces of anxiety. Fears for the wellbeing of the child and the future that lies ahead of it are recurring themes. In ‘Connemara Cradle Song’, a mother soothes her child but her concern for the safety

Introduction

xiv

of the child’s sea-faring father creeps into the song. Tennyson’s song ‘Sweet and low’ echoes the preoccupations of these lullabies in the folk idiom.

In ‘Seoithín Seo Hó’, a lullaby in the Irish language, the parent is guarding the child from the Sidhe (known in English as the fairies), who in the folklore tradition were believed to abduct human children and bring them to the world they inhabited, under the lakes and mounds and fairy thorn trees that were scattered over the landscape. And there are the beautiful lines spoken by the fairies from Shakespeare’s A Midsummer Night’s Dream to lull Titania to sleep.

In the Christian lullabies it is angels who are invoked to watch over the sleeping children, though in some of them, notably ‘The Castle of Dromore’, Christian beliefs and pagan Celtic beliefs are enmeshed.

As any parent will tell you, children do not always respond to the soothing words designed to send them to sleep. This finds expression in the poems written for children, in thevoices of children, by Robert Louis Stevenson, a master of this genre. Two of his poems give expression to a child’s unwillingness to go to bed. And William Blake’s unexpectedly joyful poem ‘Nurse’s Song’ gives happy consent to that wilfulness.

Poems concerning birth and babies might be seen as the domain of mothers, and there are poems about this primal

Introduction

xv

relationship, but I’m happy to include a number of poems, welcoming the newly born, from fathers and grandfathers.

The natural world, its flora and fauna, permeate many of the poems in this collection but it is particularly prevalent in the lullabies and the other poems concerning children. However, I have also included a number of lullabies set in urban environments. Sylvia Plath’s ‘Alicante Lullaby’, a poem full of noise, is a fine example, and there are other poems set in Belfast, Dublin, London and America where local concerns add authenticity and interest to the material.

The poems in the night poems section are very wide-ranging in both emotional expression and subject matter, and they bring the reader to unexpected places. However, unsurprisingly, sleep is still a preoccupation: praise for it, the need for it, the desire for it and the lack of it, is the subject matter of a number of these poems. The adult’s fear of insomnia replaces the child’s reluctance to go to sleep. Even Wordsworth, in his gentle poem, ‘To Sleep’, admits to counting sheep to no avail. Other poets are disturbed by the prospect of the trials that a sleepless night can bring.

However, for some poets even sleeplessness has its rewards: the scent of flowers, intensified by the night air, the birds that are still awake and singing, the beauty of the night sky. The moon comes in for special praise. Walter De La Mare in his famous poem ‘Silver’ and Ted Hughes in the poem about his daughter, ‘Full Moon and Little Frieda’, bring the moon to life to great effect.

Introduction

xvi

Night brings blessings, other than rest and sleep, not least lovemaking, and there are a number of tender, sensual poems by modern poets on that subject. I have included two iconic poems, WH Auden’s love poem ‘Lullaby’ and Sir Thomas Wyatt’s ‘They Flee From Me Who Sometime Did Me Seek’, an angry poem about love betrayed, written in the seventeenth century.

The collection closes with poems that, in Matthew Arnold’s words, ‘bring the eternal note of sadness in’. There is an elegiac tone to these last poems as the poets mourn the loss of their youth, the death of loved ones, and turn to face, in their characteristic ways, the prospect of that last long sleep that awaits us all.

Marie Heaney

Introduction

1Bill Caddick

John O’ Dreams

When midnight sings, good people homeward treadSeek now your blanket and your feather bedHome is the rover, his journey’s over

Yield up the night-time to old John o’ DreamsYield up the night-time to old John o’ Dreams.

Across the hills the sun has gone astrayTomorrow’s cares are many dreams awayThe stars are flying, your candle’s dying

Yield up the darkness to old John o’ DreamsYield up the darkness to old John o’ Dreams.

Both man and master in the night are oneAll things are equal when the day is doneThe prince and the ploughman, the slave and the freeman

All find their comfort in old John o’ DreamsAll find their comfort in old John o’ Dreams.

Now as you sleep the dreams come winging clearThe hawks of morning cannot harm you hereSleep is your river, flows on forever

And for your boatman choose old John o’ DreamsAnd for your boatman choose old John o’ Dreams.

2

When midnight sings, good people homeward treadSeek now your blanket and your feather bedHome is the rover, his journey’s over

Yield up the night-time to old John o’ DreamsYield up the night-time to old John o’ Dreams.

Home is the rover, his journey’s overYield up the night-time to old John o’ DreamsYield up the night-time to old John o’ Dreams.

3Thomas Dekker

‘Golden Slumbers’

Golden slumbers kiss your eyes,Smiles awake you when you rise.Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry,And I will sing a lullaby:Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

Care is heavy, therefore sleep you,You are care and care must keep you.Sleep, pretty wantons, do not cry, And I will sing a lullaby: Rock them, rock them, lullaby.

from Patient Grissel

4John Ceiriog Hughes

Ar hyd y nos

Holl amrantau’r sêr ddywedantAr hyd y nos.

Dyma’r ffordd i fro gogoniantAr hyd y nos.

Golau arall yw tywyllwch,I arddangos gwir brydferthwch,Teulu’r nefoedd mewn tawelwch

Ar hyd y nos.

O mor siriol gwena serenAr hyd y nos.

I oleuo’i chwaer ddaearenAr hyd y nos,

Nos yw henaint pan ddaw cystudd,Ond i harddu dyn a’i hwyrddydd,Rhown ein golau gwan i’n gilydd,

Ar hyd y nos.

5

All Through the Night

Sleep, my child, and peace attend thee, All through the night;Guardian angels God will send thee, All through the night.Soft the drowsy hours are creeping, Hill and vale in slumber sleeping, I my loving vigil keeping, All through the night.

While the moon her watch is keeping,All through the night;

While the weary world is sleeping,All through the night.

O’er thy spirit gently stealing,Visions of delight revealing,Breathes a pure and holy feeling,

All through the night.

A popular version of the Welsh ‘Ar hyd y nos’, by Sir Harold Boulton

6

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod one nightSailed off in a wooden shoe, –

Sailed on a river of misty lightInto a sea of dew.

‘Where are you going, and what do you wish?’The old moon asked the three.

‘We have come to fish for the herring-fishThat live in the beautiful sea;Nets of silver and gold have we,’

Said Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

The old moon laughed and sung a song,As they rocked in the wooden shoe;

And the wind that sped them all night longRuffled the waves of dew;

The little stars were the herring-fishThat lived in the beautiful sea.

‘Now cast your nets wherever you wish,But never afeard are we!’So cried the stars to the fishermen three,

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Eugene Field

A Dutch Lullaby

7

All night long their nets they threwFor the fish in the twinkling foam,

Then down from the sky came the wooden shoe, Bringing the fishermen home;

’ T was all so pretty a sail, it seemedAs if it could not be;

And some folk thought ’t was a dream they’d dreamedOf sailing that beautiful sea;But I shall name you the fishermen three:

Wynken, Blynken, and Nod.

Wynken and Blynken are two little eyes,And Nod is a little head,

And the wooden shoe that sailed the skiesIs a wee one’s trundle-bed;

So shut your eyes while Mother singsOf wonderful sights that be,

And you shall see the beautiful thingsAs you rock on the misty seaWhere the old shoe rocked the fishermen three, –

Wynken,Blynken, and Nod.

8Irish Traditional

Fair Rosa

Fair Rosa was a lovely childA lovely child, a lovely childFair Rosa was a lovely child,A long time ago.

A wicked fairy cast a spellCast a spell, cast a spellA wicked fairy cast a spell, A long time ago.

Fair Rosa slept a hundred yearsA hundred years, a hundred yearsFair Rosa slept a hundred years,A long time ago.

The hedges they all grew aroundGrew around, grew aroundThe hedges they all grew around,A long time ago.

A handsome prince came riding byRiding by, riding byA handsome prince came riding by,A long time ago.

9

He kissed fair Rosa’s lily white handLily white hand, lily white handHe kissed fair Rosa’s lily white hand, A long time ago.

Fair Rosa will not sleep no moreSleep no more, sleep no moreFair Rosa will not sleep no more,A long time ago.

10

As soon as the fire burns red and low, And the house upstairs is still, She sings me a queer little sleepy song, Of sheep that go over the hill.

The good little sheep run quick and soft, Their colours are grey and white;They follow their leader nose to tail,For they must be home by night.

And one slips over and one comes next, And one runs after behind, The grey one’s nose at the white one’s tail,The top of the hill they find.

And when they get to the top of the hill, They quietly slip away;But one runs over and one comes next –Their colours are white and grey.

And over they go, and over they go, And over the top of the hill,The good little sheep run quick and soft, And the house upstairs is still.

Josephine Dodge Daskam Bacon

The Sleepy Song

11

And one slips over and one comes next, The good little, grey little sheep!I watch how the fire burns red and low, And she says that I fall asleep.

12

I have seen the lark soar high at mornTo sing up in the blue,I have heard the blackbird pipe its song,The thrush and the linnet too,But there’s none of them can sing so sweet,My singing bird, as you,Ah, my singing bird as you.

If I could lure my singing birdFrom its own cosy nest,If I could catch my singing birdI would warm it on my breast,And on my heart my singing birdWould sing itself to rest,Ah, would sing itself to rest.

And I would climb the high, high treeAnd I’d rob the wild bird’s nest,And I’d bring back my singing birdTo the arms that I love the best,For there’s none of them can sing so sweet,My singing bird, as you,Ah, my singing bird as you.

Irish Traditional

My Singing Bird

13

The angels are stoopingAbove your bed;They weary of troopingWith the whimpering dead.

God’s laughing in HeavenTo see you so good;The Sailing SevenAre gay with His mood.

I sigh that kiss you,For I must ownThat I shall miss youWhen you have grown.

WB Yeats

A Cradle Song

14

Seoithín, seo hó, mo stór é, mo leanbhMo sheod gan chealg, mo chuid den tsaol mhórSeoithín, seo hó, is mór é an taitneamh,Mo stóirín ina leaba ina chodladh gan brón.A leanbh mo chléibh, go n-éirí do chodladh leatSéan agus sonas a choíche in do chóirTá mise le do thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannachtSeoithín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo.

Ar mhullach an tí tá siógaí gealaFaoi chaoin-ré an earraigh ag imirt ’s ag spóirtIs seo iad aniar iad chun glaoch ar mo leanbhLe mian le é a tharraingt isteach sa lios mór.A leanbh, a chléibh, go n-éirí do chodladh leatSéan is sonas a choíche in do chóirTá mise le do thaobh ag guí ort na mbeannachtSeoithín, a leanbh, ní imeoidh tú leo.

Version by Seosamh Ó hÉanaí

Irish Traditional

Seoithín, Seo Hó

15

Hushaby, hush, my child and my treasure, my guileless jewel, my portion of life; Hushaby, hush, it’s such a great pleasure, my child in bed sleeping without any care. My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well; may good luck and happiness forever be yours; I’m here at your side praying blessings upon you; Hushaby, hush, you’re not going with them.

On the roof of the house there are bright fairies, playing and sporting under the gentle rays of the spring moon; here they come, to call my child out, wishing to draw him into the fairy mound. My child, my heart, sleep soundly and well; may good luck and happiness forever be yours; I’m here at your side praying blessings upon you; Hushaby, hush, you’re not going with them.

English version by Joe Heaney

Irish Traditional

Hushaby, Hush

16

The October winds lamentAround the castle of DromoreYet peace is in her lofty hallsA pháiste gheal a stóir.Though autumn vines may droop and dieA bud of spring are you. Sing hushaby low, lah, loo, lo lan Sing hushaby low, lah loo.

Bring no ill wind to hinder usMy helpless babe and meDread spirit of the BlackwaterClan Eoin’s wild banshee,And holy Mary pitying usIn heaven for grace doth sue. Sing hushaby low, lah, loo, lo lan Sing hushaby low, lah loo.

Take time to thrive my ray of hopeIn the garden of DromoreTake heed young eaglet till your wingsAre feathered fit to soar.A little rest and then our landIs full of work to do. Sing hushaby low, lah, loo, lo lan Sing hushaby low, lah loo.

Irish Traditional

The Castle of Dromore

17Joseph Campbell

The Gartan Mother’s Lullaby

Sleep, O babe, for the red-bee humsThe silent twilight’s fall:Aoibheall from the Grey Rock comesTo wrap the world in thrall.

A leanbhán O, my child, my joy,My love and heart’s desire,The crickets sing you lullabyBeside the dying fire.

Dusk is drawn, and the Green Man’s ThornIs wreathed in rings of fog:Siabhra sails his boat till mornUpon the Starry Bog.

A leanbhán O, the paly moonHath brimmed her cusp in dew,And weeps to hear the sad sleep-tuneI sing, O love, to you.

Faintly, sweetly, the chapel bellRings o’er the valley dim:Tearmann’s peasant voices swellIn fragrant evening hymn.

A leanbhán O, the low bell ringsMy little lamb to rest,Till night is past and morning singsIts music in your breast.

18

Wind in the Wicklow hills tonight, Wind in the hills, and rain;The doors are closed and the curtain’s drawn And winter’s here again.

The leaves are down, the trees are bare, The streams are wide and deep,And what’s to do for a sleepy headBut go to bed and sleep.

John Irvine

The Winter Night

19

On wings of the wind, o’er the dark rolling deep, Angels are coming to watch o’er thy sleep, Angels are coming to watch over thee, So list to the wind coming over the sea.

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow, Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.

On winds of the night, may your fury be crossed,May no one that’s dear to our island be lost,Blow the wind lightly, calm be the foam, Shine the light brightly and guide them home.

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow, Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.

The Currachs are sailing way out in the blue, Laden with herrin’ of silvery hue,Silver the herrin’ and silver the sea,And soon they’ll be silver for baby and me.

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow, Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.

Delia Murphy

Connemara Cradle Song

20

The Currachs tomorrow will stand on the shore, And daddy goes sailing, a-sailing no more,The nets will be drying, the nets heaven blessed, And safe in my arms, dear, contented he’ll rest.

Hear the wind blow, dear, hear the wind blow, Lean your head over and hear the wind blow.

21Alfred, Lord Tennyson

Sweet and low

Sweet and low, sweet and low,Wind of the western sea,

Low, low, breathe and blow,Wind of the western sea!

Over the rolling waters go,Come from the dying moon, and blow,

Blow him again to me;While my little one, while my pretty one, sleeps.

Sleep and rest, sleep and rest,Father will come to thee soon;

Rest, rest, on mother’s breast,Father will come to thee soon;

Father will come to his babe in the nest,Silver sails all out of the west

Under the silver moon:Sleep, my little one, sleep, my pretty one, sleep.

from The Princess

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