THE GREEN SHEAF
TABLE OF CONTENTS
Front Cover, by Pamela Colman Smith [i]
The Book-worm, by Elinor Monsell [ii]
The Hill of Heart’s Desire, translated from the Irish of Raferty by Lady Gregory [iii]
Illustration by Pamela Colman Smith [iii]
A Song of the Pyranees, poem by Alix Egerton [iv]
Illustration by Pamela Colman Smith [iv]
The Parting of the Ways, poem by Cecil French [v]
Illustration by Cecil French [v]
How Master Constans Went to the North, by Christopher St. John (Part I) [vi]
Advertisement for Edith Craig & Co., illustrated by Pamela Colman Smith [vii]
Advertisement for The Green Sheaf [viii]
The Hill of Heart’s Desire
Translated by Lady Gregory from the Irish of Raferty, a Peasant Poet
of seventy years ago.
After the Christmas, with the help of Christ, I will never stop if I
am alive, I will go to the sharp-edged little hill. For it is a fine
place, without fog falling, a blessed place that the sun shines on,
and the wind does not rise there, or anything of the sort.
And if you were a year there you would get no rest, only sitting up
at night and eternally drinking.
The lamb and the sheep are there, the cow and the calf are there, fine
land is there without heath and without bog. Ploughing and seed-
sowing in the right month, and plough and harrow prepared and ready ;
the rent that is called for there, they have means to pay it; oats and flax
there, and large eared barley ; beautiful valleys with good growth in them,
and hay. Rods grow there, and bushes and tufts, white fields are there
and respect for trees ; shade and shelter from wind and rain ; priests and
friars reading their book ; spending and getting is there, and nothing scarce.
A SONG OF THE PYRENEES.
Out of your smile I weave a silver web,
And as the day grows down to evensong
I fold it round my heart, this glistening veil,
And sit and dream there shrouded in your smile.
Out of a word from you I weave a song,
And a dim music that I only hear
Flows through the hours of sunshine and of storm,
The music of the stars out of one word.
Out of your silences I build my heaven,
A strange fair garden ’neath a slumbering moon ;
Amid the din and chatter of the world
I dwell there in my heaven of silences.
THE PARTING OF THE WAYS.
Beyond the warring of vain hopes, I hear
A voice that cries for ever in my breast :
“They who have dreamed of Beauty and yet fear
To cast away the world, shall find no rest
Beneath the sun, but hang upon the Rood
Of Time, until the world is laid to sleep,
And they are one with the bright multitude
Merged in the untroubled splendour of the deep.”
HOW MASTER CONSTANS WENT TO THE NORTH.
Heard and told by Christopher St. John.
There lived in the South a rich Merchant whose name was Musciat,
and his son’s name was Constans.
The father was broad and ruddy-faced. He had great strength and
great Pride. But Constans was weak in body and his Humility was as
though he had been a beggar.
Now in the town by the sea where Musciat lived there was another
Merchant even richer than Musciat, and this merchant had a daughter called
Jehane. And Musciat said : “I will marry my son Constans to Jehane
⋯then her father’s riches will not shame me.”
Although Jehane was very fair, Musciat found that Constans was
nowise hot on the wedding, and Musciat said : “This comes of feeding and
clothing poor people, and kissing their feet. ⋯ My son, you shall have no
more of my gold to squander on mesel folk⋯ if you take not Jehane as
Constans answered nothing for some time. Then, heavy-hearted, he
spoke. “I have sworn faith to a Princess of the North ⋯ and although
Jehane is fairer than a star-bright evening, I will not wed her.”
“God’s mercy !” said Musciat, mocking him. “And when were you
in the North ?” “I was never there,” said Constans. “But in clear
dream I have seen her ⋯ and she is my fellow ⋯ I am to seek her
⋯ when I am worthy.”
And Musciat answered in a great rage that Constans should seek her
now. And Musciat drove Constans out.
(To be continued in the next Number.)
My Sheaf is small ⋯ but it is green.
I will gather into my Sheaf all the young fresh things I can—pictures,
verses, ballads of love and war; tales of pirates and the sea.
You will find ballads of the old world in my Sheaf. Are they not
green for ever ⋯
Ripe ears are good for bread, but green ears are good for pleasure.
I hope you will have my Sheaf in your house and like it.
It will stay fresh and green then.
. . . . . . . . . .
There will be thirteen Numbers in the year, printed on Hand-made
paper, and the Subscription will be Thirteen shillings annually, post free.
Single Copies may be had at Thirteen pence each.
CHRISTOPHER ST. JOHN.
E. HARCOURT WILLIAMS.
W. B. YEATS.
Edited and Published by PAMELA COLMAN SMITH,
14, Milborne Grove, The Boltons, London, S.W.
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.