Saturday, June 29, 2024

On Moonlit Heath and Lonesome Bank (by A.E. Housman). Poem 9 of A Shropshire Lad.

On moonlit heath and lonesome bank

 On moonlight heath and lonesome bank

    The sheep beside me graze;

And yon the gallows used to clank

    Fast by the four cross ways.


A careless shepherd once would keep

    His flocks by moonlight there.

And high above the glimmering sheep

    A dead man stood on air.


They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail

     The whistles blow forlorn,

And trains all night groan on the rail

     To men that die at morn.


There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail tonight,

    Or wakes as may betide,

A better lad, if things went right,

    Than most that sleep outside.


And naked to the hangman’s noose 

    The morning clocks will ring

A neck God made for other use

    Than strangling in a string.


And sharp the link of life will snap,

    And dead on air will stand

Heels that held up as straight a lad

    As treads upon the land.


So here I’ll watch the night and wait

   And see the morning shine,

When he will hear the stroke of eight

   And not the stroke of nine;


And wish my friend as sound a sleep

    As lads I did not know,

That shepherded the moonlit sheep

   A hundred years ago.


The poem with the stressed

syllables underlined:


On moonlight heath and lonesome bank

    The sheep beside me graze;

And yon the gallows used to clank

    Fast by the four cross ways.


A careless shepherd once would keep

    His flocks by moonlight there.

And high above the glimmering sheep

    A dead man stood on air.


They hang us now in Shrewsbury jail

     The whistles blow forlorn,

And trains all night groan on the rail

     To men that die at morn.


There sleeps in Shrewsbury jail tonight,

    Or wakes as may betide,

A better lad, if things went right,

    Than most that sleep outside.


And naked to the hangman’s noose 

    The morning clocks will ring

A neck God made for other use

    Than strangling in a string.


And sharp the link of life will snap,

    And dead on air will stand

Heels that held up as straight a lad

    As treads upon the land.


So here I’ll watch the night and wait

   And see the morning shine,

When he will hear the stroke of eight

   And not the stroke of nine;


And wish my friend as sound a sleep

    As lads I did not know,

That shepherded the moonlit sheep

   A hundred years ago.


Analysis:


The poem is interesting for the variation

in the unaccented syllables at the end of

lines: "glimmering sheep" and "Shrews-

bury jail" are an accented syllable

followed by three unaccented syllables.

It seems to work fine in the poem, but

it is an exception to Housman's usual

practice.


The poem itself is a romanticization of

working-class youth. Housman mentions

"us" as being hanged, by which he means

working class youth. The careers of

Montgomery Clift and Marlo Brando

were built on the such romanticizations

of working class youth. The characters

they portrayed at the beginning of their

careers, their most popular roles and the

ones that made them stars, were rough

and kind-of-stupid working class youths.

Did Housman hang around much with

these types? I doubt it, people were

extremely snobby in those days, but

looking across the social gap, Housman

was able to imagine some sort of ex-

ceptional friendship that existed

between these types.



© C.A. MacLennan 2024

You can see a video of me reciting/

singing this poem at:

Poetry & Folklore - YouTube

The Green Fields of America (Traditional Irish Song).




Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and

shamrock.

Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round.

May their hearts be as merry as ever I’d

wish them,

When far away over the ocean I’m bound.


Oh, my father is old and my mother quite

feeble.

To leave their own country it grieves their

hearts sore.

Oh, the tears in great drops down their

cheeks are rolling,

To think they must die upon some foreign

shore.


But what matters to me where my bones

may be buried?

If in peace and contentment I can spend my

life?

Oh, the green fields of Canada, they daily

are blooming

And there I’ll find an end to my misery and

strife.


So, it’s pack up your sea stores and consider

no longer,

Ten dollars a week is not very bad pay.

With no taxes or tithes to devour your

wages,

When you’re on the green fields of

Americay.


The sheep run unshorn and the land’s gone

to rushes,

The handyman’s gone and the winders of

creels,

Away cross the ocean have gone

journeyman tailors,

And fiddlers that flaked out the old

mountain reels.


I remember a time when old Ireland once

flourished,

When lots of her tradesmen could work for

good pay,

But since our manufactories have crossed

the Atlantic

It’s now we must follow to Americay.


I’ll say now to conclude and to finish my

ditty,

If a poor friendless Irishman ever passes

my way,

To the best in my home, I will make him

right welcome,

In my house on the green fields of Americay.


The poem with the stressed

syllables underlined:


Farewell to the groves of shillelagh and

shamrock.

Farewell to the girls of old Ireland all round.

May their hearts be as merry as ever I’d

wish them,

When far away over the ocean I’m bound.


Oh, my father is old and my mother quite

feeble.

To leave their own country it grieves their

hearts sore.

Oh, the tears in great drops down their

cheeks are rolling,

To think they must die upon some foreign

shore.


But what matters to me where my bones

may be buried?

If in peace and contentment I can spend my

life?

Oh, the green fields of Canada, they daily

are blooming

And there I’ll find an end to my misery and

strife.


So, it’s pack up your sea stores and consider

no longer,

Ten dollars a week is not very bad pay.

With no taxes or tithes to devour your

wages,

When you’re on the green fields of

Americay.


The sheep run unshorn and the land’s gone

to rushes,

The handyman’s gone and the winders of

creels,

Away cross the ocean have gone

journeyman tailors,

And fiddlers that flaked out the old

mountain reels.


I remember a time when old Ireland once

flourished,

When lots of her tradesmen could work for

good pay,

But since our manufactories have crossed

the Atlantic

It’s now we must follow to Americay.


I’ll say now to conclude and to finish my

ditty,

If a poor friendless Irishman ever passes

my way,

To the best in my home, I will make him

right welcome,

In my house on the green fields of Americay.


Analysis:


It is notable that the first and third lines end
with four unaccented syllables, and the other
two end with three.
The song seems to have been sung to a fiddle
originally, judging by the ornamentation that
I have heard it sung with. It was preserved in
the Western part of Ireland, the Irish-
speaking part of the country. It seems that
that part of the country was the last to learn
this song, and thus preserved it.

It is quite melancholy, in that it is a song of
survival and success on one hand, but also a
song of loneliness and loss. The fact that it
mentions Canada makes it special for me
and connects me with my Irish ancestors. It
is almost as if I am hearing one speak in this
song.


© C.A. MacLennan 2024

You can see a video of me singing this song