Day 8: 28 May 2018

It was a sad start to our day as we addressed tragedy among us.  Although  Memorial Day is not observed in Ireland, it seemed an appropriate day for our travels through Yeats' Country.  From Drumcliffe, where Yeats worshiped and was buried, to Sligo town, on to the abandoned manor of the Parkes family with it's poignant castle history, to Glencar waterfall where it does not seem improbable that fairies still await the willing human child, and finally to Gleniff Horseshoe  where Dairmuid and Grainne hid from Finn McCool -- the day was filled with memory-invoking landscapes and stories of loss and hope.  As you think about today's events, dwell on the role of memory of past stories and peoples as it relates to modern Irish culture.   The Drumcliffe priest spoke of the area being 'thin': a place where the spiritual and the mundane are close to one another.  If you felt this at any of the spots, feel free to talk about it. 

The Stolen Child  ~WB Yeats

WHERE dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we've hid our faery vats,
Full of berrys
And of reddest stolen cherries.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than you can understand.

Away with us he's going,
The solemn-eyed:
He'll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest.
For he comes, the human child,
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world's more full of weeping than he can understand.