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Padraic Colum (1881–1972).  Anthology of Irish Verse.  1922.
 
129. Dark Rosaleen
 
By James Clarence Mangan (Translated)
 
 
O MY dark Rosaleen,
  Do not sigh, do not weep!
The priests are on the ocean green,
  They march along the deep.
There’s wine from the royal Pope,        5
  Upon the ocean green;
And Spanish ale shall give you hope,
  My dark Rosaleen!
  My own Rosaleen!
Shall glad your heart, shall give you hope,        10
Shall give you health and help, and hope,
  My Dark Rosaleen.
 
Over hills, and through dales,
  Have I roamed for your sake;
All yesterday I sailed with sails        15
  On river and on lake.
The Erne, at its highest flood,
  I dashed across unseen,
For there was lightning in my blood,
  My dark Rosaleen!        20
  My own Rosaleen!
Oh! there was lightning in my blood,
Red lightning lightened through my blood,
  My Dark Rosaleen!
 
All day long in unrest,        25
  To and fro do I move,
The very soul within my breast
  Is wasted for you, love!
The heart in my bosom faints
  To think of you, my Queen,        30
My life of life, my saint of saints,
  My dark Rosaleen!
  My own Rosaleen!
To hear your sweet and sad complaints,
My life, my love, my saint of saints,        35
  My Dark Rosaleen!
 
Woe and pain, pain and woe,
  Are my lot, night and noon,
To see your bright face clouded so,
  Like to the mournful moon.        40
But yet will I rear your throne
  Again in golden sheen;
’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,
  My dark Rosaleen!
  My own Rosaleen!        45
’Tis you shall have the golden throne,
’Tis you shall reign, shall reign alone,
  My Dark Rosaleen!
 
Over dews, over sands,
  Will I fly for your weal:        50
Your holy, delicate white hands
  Shall girdle me with steel.
At home in your emerald bowers,
  From morning’s dawn till e’en,
You’ll pray for me, my flower of flowers,        55
  My dark Rosaleen!
  My fond Rosaleen!
You’ll think of me through daylight’s hours,
My virgin flower, my flower of flowers,
  My Dark Rosaleen!        60
 
I could scale the blue air,
  I could plough the high hills,
Oh, I could kneel all night in prayer,
  To heal your many ills!
And one beamy smile from you        65
  Would float like light between
My toils and me, my own, my true,
  My dark Rosaleen!
  My fond Rosaleen!
Would give me life and soul anew,        70
A second life, a soul anew,
  My Dark Rosaleen!
 
O! the Erne shall run red
  With redundance of blood,
The earth shall rock beneath our tread,        75
  And flames wrap hill and wood,
And gun-peal, and slogan cry
  Wake many a glen serene,
Ere you shall fade, ere you shall die,
  My dark Rosaleen!        80
  My own Rosaleen!
The Judgment Hour must first be nigh
Ere you can fade, ere you can die,
  My Dark Rosaleen!
 
Mangan’s version is much greater than the original poem. It is supposed to be Hugh O’Donnell’s address to Ireland at a time when the Irish chiefs were expecting help from Spain and from the Pope.
 

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