Donall Oge
Were I to go to the West, from the West I would come not again,The hill that is highest I would climb, at the cord that istoughest I would strain;The branch I would soonest pluck is far out of my reach in thehollow,And the track of my lover's feet is the track that my heart wouldfollow.
My heart is as dark as the sloe in a crack of the mountain gorge;Or a burnt-out cinder fallen down at the back of the blazing forge;As the stain of a miry shoe on the marble steps of a palace,As the stain of a drowning fly in the wine of the Holy chalice.
My heart is a cluster of nuts with every kernel dropped,My heart is the ice on the pond above, where the mill has stopped;A mournful sadness is breaking over my running laughterLike the mirth of a maid at her marriage and the heavy sorrow after.
You have taken the East from me and you have taken the West,You have taken the path before me and the path that is behind;The moon is gone from me by night and the sun is gone by day,Alas! I greatly dread you have stolen my God away!
By the Well of Loneliness I sit and make my moan;I hear no sound in the depths below from the fall of the droppingstone;I see the cold wide world, but my lad I do not see,Your shadow no longer lying between God and me.
The colour of the blackberry is my old lover's colour;Or the colour of the raspberry on a bright day of summer;Or the colour of the heathberry where the bog-grass is rarest--Ah! the blackest head is often on the form that's fairest.
I heard the dog speak of you last night and the sun gone down,I heard the snipe calling aloud from the marshlands brown;It is you are the lonely bird flitting from tree to tree--May you never find your mate if you find not me!
It is time for me to leave this cruel town behind,The stones are sharp in it, the very mould unkind;The voice of blame is heard like the muttering of the sea--The heavy hand of the band of men backbiting me.
I denounce love; she who gave it to him is now all undone;Little he understood, yon black mother's son.That my heart is turned to stone, what mattered that to you?What were you caring for, but to get a cow or two?
Words in this poem
- sloe n.
- A small, bitter, wild European plum, the fruit of the blackthorn (Prunus spinosa); also, the tree itself. [OE. slo, AS. sla; akin to D. slee, G. schlehe, OHG. sl$ha, Dan. slaaen, Sw. sl, perhaps originally, that which blunts the teeth, or sets them on edge (cf. Slow)]
- cinder n.
- Partly burned or vitrified coal, or other combustible, in which fire is extinct. [AS. sinder slag, dross; akin to Icel. sindr dross, Sw. sinder, G. sinter, D. sintel; perh. influenced by F. cendre ashes, fr. L. cinis. Cf. Sinter.]
- chalice n.
- A cup or bowl; especially, the cup used in the sacrament of the Lord's Supper. [OR. chalis, calice, OF. chalice, calice, F. calice, fr. L. calix, akin to Gr. helmet. Cf. Calice, Calyx.]
- sadness n.
- Heaviness; firmness.
- loneliness n.
- The condition of being lonely; solitude; seclusion.
- aloud adv.
- With a loud voice, or great noise; loudly; audibly. [Pref. a- + loud.]
- flitting n.
- A flying with lightness and celerity; a fluttering.
- mould n.
- Crumbling, soft, friable earth; esp., earth containing the remains or constituents of organic matter, and suited to the growth of plants; soil. [OE. molde, AS. molde; akin to D. mul, G. mull, mulm, OHG. molt, molta, Icel. mold, Dan. muld, Sw. mull, Goth. mulda, and E. meal flour. See Meal, and cf. Mole a]
- unkind a.
- Having no race or kindred; childless. [See Kin kindred.]
- backbiting n.
- Secret slander; detraction.
- denounce v. t.
- To make known in a solemn or official manner; to declare; to proclaim (especially an evil). [F. dénoncer, OF. denoncier, fr. L. denuntiare, denunciare; de- + nunciare, nuntiare, to announce, report, nuntius a messenger, message. See Nuncio, and cf. Denu]
- undone a.
- Not done or performed; neglected. [Pref. un- not + done.]
Definitions and etymologies from Webster's Unabridged Dictionary, 1913.
About this text
Donall Oge is in the public domain. This text is taken from The Poem-Book of the Gael Translations from Irish Gaelic Poetry into English Prose and Verse, Project Gutenberg ebook #46917; the transcription's header, footer and licence were removed and nothing else was changed. You may copy, print and reuse it freely.
Cite as: Eleanor Hull, Donall Oge, in The Poem-Book of the Gael (1912), text of Project Gutenberg ebook #46917, Laurel, https://laurelpoetry.com/poem/hull-gael/donall-oge.html, id L11780.
Form and metre
Donall Oge is 40 lines in 9 verse paragraphs. It is in rhyming couplets, 55% of the lines. 90% of its stressed syllables fall where the metre puts the beat. The lines average 13.2 syllables. 10 lines end on an unstressed syllable, a feminine ending. 12% of the lines run on without a stop at the line end.
See other poems in rhyming couplets.
Measured by Laurel's pipeline, not copied from a handbook: how stress and metre are counted, how rhyme is lettered, how a drifted rhyme is found. Where the dictionary cannot confirm a rhyme the letter is withheld, not guessed.
Rhyme words, stanza by stanza
The word that ends each line, lettered by the rhyme it makes; a dash is a line whose rhyme the dictionary could not confirm.
- 1 A-A-B-B againA · is · strainA · the · hollowB · would · followB
- 2 AA-- gorgeA · forgeA · palace · chalice
- 3 AABB droppedA · stoppedA · laughterB · afterB
- 4 --AA west · behind · dayA · awayA
- 5 A-ABB moanA · dropping · stoneA · seeB · meB
- 7 AABB downA · brownA · treeB · meB
- 8 AABB behindA · unkindA · seaB · meB
- 9 AABB undoneA · sonA · youB · twoB
Scansion, line by line
Each line with its syllable count and the stresses the words themselves fix: / stressed, ˘ unstressed, · a syllable the word leaves free and the metre decides. How this is done.
| Line | Syl. | Stress |
|---|---|---|
| Were I to go to the West, from the West I would come not again, | 16 | ··············˘/ |
| The hill that is highest I would climb, at the cord that is | 14 | ····/˘········ |
| toughest I would strain; | 5 | /˘··· |
| The branch I would soonest pluck is far out of my reach in the | 15 | ····/˘········· |
| hollow, | 2 | /˘ |
| And the track of my lover's feet is the track that my heart would | 15 | ·····/˘········ |
| follow. | 2 | /˘ |
| My heart is as dark as the sloe in a crack of the mountain gorge; | 16 | ·············/˘· |
| Or a burnt-out cinder fallen down at the back of the blazing forge; | 17 | ····/˘/˘······/˘· |
| As the stain of a miry shoe on the marble steps of a palace, | 17 | ·····/˘···/˘···/˘ |
| As the stain of a drowning fly in the wine of the Holy chalice. | 17 | ·····/˘······/˘/˘ |
| My heart is a cluster of nuts with every kernel dropped, | 14 | ····/˘···/˘/˘· |
| My heart is the ice on the pond above, where the mill has stopped; | 15 | ··············· |
| A mournful sadness is breaking over my running laughter | 14 | ·/˘/˘·/˘··/˘/˘ |
| Like the mirth of a maid at her marriage and the heavy sorrow after. | 18 | ········/˘··/˘/˘·· |
| You have taken the East from me and you have taken the West, | 15 | ··/˘·······/˘·· |
| You have taken the path before me and the path that is behind; | 16 | ··/˘············ |
| The moon is gone from me by night and the sun is gone by day, | 15 | ··············· |
| Alas! I greatly dread you have stolen my God away! | 14 | ˘/·/˘···/˘··˘/ |
| By the Well of Loneliness I sit and make my moan; | 12 | ····/˘······ |
| I hear no sound in the depths below from the fall of the dropping | 16 | ··············/˘ |
| stone; | 1 | · |
| I see the cold wide world, but my lad I do not see, | 13 | ············· |
| Your shadow no longer lying between God and me. | 13 | ·/··/˘/˘····· |
| The colour of the blackberry is my old lover's colour; | 15 | ·/˘··/·˘···/˘/˘ |
| Or the colour of the raspberry on a bright day of summer; | 16 | ··/˘··/·˘·····/˘ |
| Or the colour of the heathberry where the bog-grass is rarest-- | 16 | ··/˘··········/˘ |
| Ah! the blackest head is often on the form that's fairest. | 14 | ··/˘··/˘····/˘ |
| I heard the dog speak of you last night and the sun gone down, | 14 | ·············· |
| I heard the snipe calling aloud from the marshlands brown; | 13 | ····/˘˘/··/·· |
| It is you are the lonely bird flitting from tree to tree-- | 14 | ·····/˘·/˘···· |
| May you never find your mate if you find not me! | 11 | ··/········ |
| It is time for me to leave this cruel town behind, | 12 | ········/··· |
| The stones are sharp in it, the very mould unkind; | 12 | ·······/˘·˘/ |
| The voice of blame is heard like the muttering of the sea-- | 13 | ········/˘··· |
| The heavy hand of the band of men backbiting me. | 13 | ·/˘······/·˘· |
| I denounce love; she who gave it to him is now all undone; | 15 | ·˘/··········˘/ |
| Little he understood, yon black mother's son. | 11 | /˘··˘/··/˘· |
| That my heart is turned to stone, what mattered that to you? | 13 | ········/˘··· |
| What were you caring for, but to get a cow or two? | 13 | ···/˘········ |
Notes from the edition 1
Eleanor Hull's notes to The Poem-Book of the Gael (1912; Project Gutenberg #46917).
- Stanza 2, line 4 This line is not in the original.
The reader shows the same poem with its rhymes coloured and a stress row above each line, the notes beside their stanzas, and any word's definition on a tap; the analysis page takes the whole book apart. How every part of this site was made.