Lot Essay
The present work depicts a seaman walking towards the village of Rosses Point in County Sligo, a place that Yeats held in great affection for it was here that he and his brother, William, spent much of their summer holidays as children, staying with their Uncle, Henry Middleton, at Elisnore House. The house itself was built by the smuggler John Black or Black Jack and was said to be haunted by smugglers who would tap on the windows during the night.
Three Songs to the One Burden, by W.B. Yeats:
II
My name is Henry Middleton
I have a small demesne
A small forgotten house that’s set
On a storm-bitten green
I scrub its floors and make my bed
I cook and change my plate
The post and garden-boy alone
Have keys to my old gate.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
Though I have locked my gate on them
I pity all the young
I know what devil's trade they learn
From those they five among
Their drink, their pitch and toss by day,
Their robbery by night
The wisdom of the people's gone
How can the young go straight?
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
When every Sunday afternoon
On the Green Lands I walk
And wear a coat in fashion
Memories of the talk
Of hen wives and of queer old men
Brace me and make me strong;
There's not a pilot on the perch
Knows I have lived so long.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen
Three Songs to the One Burden, by W.B. Yeats:
II
My name is Henry Middleton
I have a small demesne
A small forgotten house that’s set
On a storm-bitten green
I scrub its floors and make my bed
I cook and change my plate
The post and garden-boy alone
Have keys to my old gate.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
Though I have locked my gate on them
I pity all the young
I know what devil's trade they learn
From those they five among
Their drink, their pitch and toss by day,
Their robbery by night
The wisdom of the people's gone
How can the young go straight?
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen.
When every Sunday afternoon
On the Green Lands I walk
And wear a coat in fashion
Memories of the talk
Of hen wives and of queer old men
Brace me and make me strong;
There's not a pilot on the perch
Knows I have lived so long.
From mountain to mountain ride the fierce horsemen