Dirge For Prince Art Poem by Nora Jane Hopper Chesson

(Desired by the Fairies, and being Cold to Them, Slain by an Elf-bolt)

White of skin and brown of hair,
Here he lies who has done with care.
Goibnu's feast called long for him;
Manan's guests made a song for him.


He who eats at Goibnu's feast,
May not be hurt by man or beast;
He who listens to Manan's song,
Hears no other his whole life long.


Manan's guests, and Goibnu's kin,
All in vain they called him in.
Naught he heeded the merrows' call,
Though soft they sang to him one and all.


Naught he heeded of charm or spell,
Holy thorn-tree or haunted well,
Naught he heeded of sowlth or shee,
Or fruit that grew on the quicken-tree.


Wandering signs in the sky he knew,
Magic of moonlight, rain and dew:
Turned his steps not for foul or fair,
Long though they for his soul set snare.


Neither has won him. Here he lies
Sleeping under the wakeful skies.
The stars behold him, the wind has ears-
Ah! but he neither sees nor hears.


Call to him, cry to him, wind and rain,
Breath of the clover, o'er him again
Pass and tarry, if he should wake;
Earth, be moved for his sleeping sake.


Here's the beauty we thought to win,
And the light is quenched that shone bright within
Here's the body we loved and slew:
Art, but where is the soul of you?


Cover softly the quiet face;
Leaves are thick in his sleeping-place.
The soul of him goes far and free,
And the body's left to the Lianan-sidhe.


Empty hands we have folded close
Over buds of the gipsy-rose:
Over his breast and the arrow there
We have laid a mantle of maiden-hair.


We that watched at his head and feet,
Yield our watch to the meadowsweet.
We that loved him and could not win
Breathing body or soul within-


We, immortal, who cannot weep,
Give our grief to the winds to keep.
Here we have all we knew of fair-
White of skin and brown of hair,
Ululu!