Anna Johnston MacManus
Anna Johnston MacManus (3 December 1866 – 21 April 1902) was an Irish writer and poet. She is best-known for the ballad Roddy McCorley and the Song of Ciabhán; the latter was set to music by Ivor Gurney.
She and Alice Milligan published two nationalist publications, The Northern Patriot and (later) The Shan Van Vocht, which was published from 1896 monthly until 1899. more »
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Anna Johnston MacManus Poems
The Shadow House Of Lugh
Dream-fair, beside dream waters, it stands alone: A winging thought of Lugh made its corner stone:
The Heathery Hill
I MIND it well, and I see it yet In a halo of sunset glory, When I climbed knee-deep through the gorse and fern To keep my tryst with Rory.
I know a purple moorland where a blue loch lies, Where the lonely plover circles, and the peewit cries,
The Betrayal Of Clannabuidhe
From Brian O'Neill in his Northern home Went swiftly a panting vassal, Bidding the lord of Essex come
On An Island
Weary on ye, sad waves! Still scourging the lonely shore. Oh, I am far from my father's door, And my kindred's graves!
Brian Boy Magee
I am Brian Boy Magee– My father was Eoghain Bán– I was wakened from happy dreams By the shouts of my startled clan;
A Gaelic’s Song
A murmurous tangle of voices, Laughter to left and right, We waited the curtain's rising, In a dazing glare of light;
The Curse Of Mora
The fretted fires of Mora Blew o'er him in the night, He thrills no more at loving, Nor weeps for lost delight,
I NEVER dance as in days of yore, Caroll O'Daly! Caroll O'Daly! The banquet hall knows my mirth no more, My song is silent, my wheel at rest;
A Ballad Of Galway
The market place is all astir, The sombre streets are gay, And lo! a stately galleon Lies anchored in the Bay–
I roved last night from dusk to dawn lamenting all forlorn! And stept upon a ring of green beneath a twisted thorn,
Beannacht leat! I hold your hand in mine, I say The parting words this parting day–
At The Well Of Branchy Trees
At the Well of the Branchy Trees, I lay awhile to rest, Then God's hand shook the trouble down upon my breast,
Art The Lonely
The berried quicken-branches lament in lonely sighs, Through open doorways of the dún a lonely wet wind cries,
Comments about Anna Johnston MacManus
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The Shadow House Of Lugh
Dream-fair, beside dream waters, it stands alone:
A winging thought of Lugh made its corner stone:
A desire of his heart raised its walls on high,
And set its crystal windows to flaunt the sky.
Its doors of the white bronze are many and bright,
With wondrous carven pillars for his Love's delight,
And its roof of the blue wings, the speckled red,
Is a flaming arc of beauty above her head.
Like a mountain through mist Lugh towers high,
The fiery-forked lightning is the glance of his eye,
His countenance is noble as the Sun-god's face–
The proudest ...