Angel of Enniskerry

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  • Love Story

    Poem Commentary

    The places are real, the Powerscourts are real. Muldoon's daughters and the story teller are fictional (I think).

    Angel of Enniskerry

    Aye, tis a long long way to Áth na Sceire

    From the village Brí Chualann

    Some say they can make it in ha’ a day

    But for ithers, they never can.

     

    I wa’ just sixteen when I first knew

    How it feels to be man

    When a met a man who ha’ daughters, two

    Fair Colleen and dark Bethanne

     

    He arrived by way of a Scottish fleet

    Of spring trawl fishermen

    While I thought Bethanne to be quite sweet

    It was Colleen I just ha’ ta ken.

     

    So it ‘twas fate that took a helpin’ hand

    Let Colleen slip as she stepped ashore

    And I was there to catch her trip

    Lent a hand, but nuthin’ more

     

    But Colleen was an angel fair

    Eyes that could light the night

    For as she fell, she feign ripped my shirt

    An’ she demanded to make it right

     

    So I lent that shirt from off ma’ back

    So she could sew that tare

    ‘twas the morning light afor she brought it back

    Even now I see her standing there

     

    Ah, the mornin’ wind is a welcome wind

    For it blows the fleet to lee

    And the sailors know in the winds that blow

    There is riches from the sea.

     

    Aye, Colleen smiled, and the sun arose,

    And shone dayfire in her hair

    And it gleamed across her fine freckled nose

    As she spoke to me her dare

     

    I can outrun all but the fastest one

    I bet I’ll outrun even ye

    To the point anon, may the winner dun

    And collect at will, their fee!

     

    With that she flew along the strand

    Aye, her skirts a billowing high

    And I scarce could close on her swift white heels

    That it seemed that she could fly.

     

    When we reached the point a ha’ mile from Brí

    She was a lead, an’ I behind

    So she tossed her hair, gave the smile to me

    Said, kiss me now it you don’t mind.

     

    Now through all the years, I still taste salt

    When’er I think of her

    For I pulled her in to the briny surf

    While her fee I did confer

     

    That night I scarce could fall asleep abed

    For the lightening in my mind

    Let the thunder roar through my weary head

    Tell what my Irish luck did find!

     

    But fate, cold fate, 

    Didn’t sleep for aye, no, n’er

    to that noontide port, in it’s shadows short

    Brought its shiver to the air

     

    When upon the docks arrived a handsome heir

    Just a lark, said his father dark

    He stood swarthy, tall, with wavy hair

    On a day trip, let’s embark!

     

    Who knows just how the story grew

    From that fated afternoon

    How the rich heir’s Dad fell overboard

    And was rescued by Muldoon

     

    So to fete his life, and celebrate

    He had Muldoon bring his kin

    To the castle by Anneskerry

    And his kin: Bethanne, Colleen!

     

    To meet his son, eigth of Powerscourts

    A certain Merwyn R. Wingfield

    No doubt they spent the day in sports

    To his charms Colleen did yield

     

    Though but a fisherman’s daughter she

    Old Wingfield owed so deeply for his life

    That when his son said, “Please let me”

    Powerscourt let her be his wife.

     

    Now my angel’s seen along high falls

    And a crossin’ Áth na Sceire

    And sometimes I hear when Colleen calls

    But it’s never once for me.

     

    I grieved my loss in Bethanne’s ears

    She even offered me her grace

    But I couldn’t bear to show the tears

    Of loving in second place.

     

    So I stowed my gear and took a ship

    Far, as far e’er it could take

    And I ne’er e’er made my way back to Brí

    For I feared, lest my heart break.

     

    Aye, tis a long long way to Áth na Sceire

    From the village Brí Chualann

    Some say they can make it in ha’ a day

    But for ithers, they never can.

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    tenderpoison commented on Angel of Enniskerry

    01-02-2011

    I love it when you go into story telling mode! if I believed in reincarnation - I'd think you a reborn bard of auld! 10

    HarverTomsson

    01/02/2011

    How far really was it from the sea strand to the castle? Maybe further a hundred years ago, but today about 5 English miles. This is the castle used in Count of Monte Cristo movie and the village in "P.S. I Love You" I knew there had to be a least one more love story in this region. . . LOL Harv

    ginga commented on Angel of Enniskerry

    12-27-2010

    Harver, This my friend is intriguing and so genuine and believable.I am impressed by your prowess to weave such a poignant tale esp in the Irish/Scottish dialect. ginga

    HarverTomsson

    12/27/2010

    i had na ment ta copy tha ken of my friend Hampton. It just 'appened. Harv

    Hampton commented on Angel of Enniskerry

    12-18-2010

    A delightful tale and your Irish brogue adds authenticity to the locale and takes one there as a silent observer of the unfolding saga.. Aye, that Colleen is a heartbreaker and she does get around.

    HarverTomsson

    12/18/2010

    Well, at least she married well. . . . .Harv

    carynontherhine commented on Angel of Enniskerry

    12-18-2010

    Wow Harvy this could be nothing less then a true exciting and catching of the heart. Two hearts of two maidens and yet the one he chose barely had words to mutter in the end. A magnificent write and one I especially will cherish. Your writing is far beyond expectations. I love the part of the fact he could not bare to love in second place. Honorable gent I would say. Almost feel sorry for him as his love does not call for him in the end. Now the end of this write that some say they can make it in ha a day but for theirs, they never can. Awesome! My your vast imagination is one for us all to enjoy. Thank you and hugz

    HarverTomsson

    12/18/2010

    BTW - The "long, long way" is actually less than 4 miles. I originally thought it to be closer to 7 or 8, but checked a modern google map to scale and found it to be even closer than at first thought, Still makes a great poetic line in my opinion. Harv

    Poetry is not an expression of the party line. It's that time of night, lying in bed, thinking what you really think, making the private world public, that's what the poet does.

    Allen Ginsberg (1926-1997) U.S. poet.

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