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Jenny Farrell<\/strong> presents the final poem in the series of poems written by the leaders of the Easter Rising of 1916. It is P\u00e1draig Pearse\u2019s \u201cThe Wayfarer\u201d. It is Pearse\u2019s last poem, his last statement, written on the eve of his execution in Kilmainham Gaol.<\/em><\/p>\n The Wayfarer\u00a0<\/strong><\/span><\/p>\n by\u00a0P\u00e1draig Pearse<\/em><\/p>\n The beauty of the world hath made me sad, To see a leaping squirrel in a tree, Or children with bare feet upon the sands A wayfarer is a wanderer across the countryside, akin to a vagabond. It suggests that Pearse views his short life as a time spent wandering, perhaps restless, an observer of life. The fact that he knows he is facing the end of his life, that the world\u2019s beauty \u201cwill pass\u201d, has made him \u201csad\u201d. Explaining this sadness, he states that this beauty has at times been so overwhelming that \u201cmy heart hath shaken with great joy\u201d. This physical image, combined with the emotion it describes, is very moving.<\/p>\n The beauty Pearse recalls that has shaken his heart is that of the Irish countryside and people. He evokes this for readers in very vivid and varied images. There is fantastic movement in the \u201cleaping squirrel in a tree\u201d in the mid-distance, to the close-up of \u201ca red lady-bird upon a stalk\u201d, adding a beautiful red touch to the green vegetation. The view pans out further away as the day progresses to evening and evokes \u201clittle rabbits in a field\u201d which is lit \u201cby a slanting sun\u201d. The run-on line seems to extend that gloaming.<\/p>\n Next, the eye moves up to take in the solidity of a \u201cgreen hill\u201d which is not still, but has clouds trailing over it, \u201cshadows drifted by\u201d. In this image of a \u201cquiet hill where mountainy man hath sown \/ And soon would reap\u201d, nature and humankind merge in the purposeful activity of \u201cmountainy man\u201d, as do present and future blend in \u201csown \/ And soon would reap\u201d. Again, movement and process are enacted in a run-on line. It is a ripening Pearse will not live to see. Perhaps the anticipated reaping on the hilltop \u201cnear to the gate of Heaven\u201d allowed for some consolation for Pearse. On a more metaphoric level, this sowing and reaping (in the future) also refers to the Rising and that in future, there will be a reaping.<\/p>\n Next, there is a movement from adult to \u201cchildren\u201d, again suggesting the future. The image is very vivid and tactile: readers can see the children but also feel the sand under their \u201cbare feet\u201d. The fact that the children are barefoot underlines their connectedness to nature. The highly visual \u201cebbed sea\u201d contains both the present and the future, as the ripples on the wet sand speak of the tide having gone out and turning again. The ebb and tide suggest the everlasting renewal of life and beauty.<\/p>\n In the middle of the line, the image changes away from the seascape to \u201cthe streets \/ Of little towns in Connacht\u201d. Both the sea and the town images expand by enjambment and suggest continuity and perpetuity. Pearse ends these images from the nature and people of Ireland with \u201cThings young and happy.\u201d<\/p>\n The concluding six lines reflect on this evocation of Ireland as a happy and beautiful place and return to the emotion of the poem\u2019s first line \u201csad\u201d. Pearse\u2019s \u201cheart\u201d has told him that all this beauty will \u201cpass and change, will die and be no more\u201d. The images of the poem however tell the reader while this is true of individual life, there is continuity that outlives individuals. However, Pearse will not be a part of this natural cycle, he will be \u201cgone upon my way\u201d. Pearse poignantly speaks of himself in the past tense at this point, just before he ends the poem on its shortest line \u2013 ending his life prematurely on the solitary word \u201cSorrowful\u201d. The movement we felt in the run-on lines describing vividly the beauty and people of Ireland, are over, the line is cut short, as Pearse\u2019s life was. He was executed the following day, aged thirty-six.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" Jenny Farrell presents the final poem in the series of poems written by the leaders of the Easter Rising of 1916. It is P\u00e1draig Pearse\u2019s \u201cThe Wayfarer\u201d….<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":456,"featured_media":13285,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"footnotes":""},"categories":[1660],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-13286","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-poetry-2"],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13286","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/456"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=13286"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/13286\/revisions"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/13285"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=13286"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=13286"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"http:\/\/www.gfdesign.co.uk\/culture\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=13286"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
This beauty that will pass;
Sometimes my heart hath shaken with great joy<\/p>\n
Or a red lady-bird upon a stalk,
Or little rabbits in a field at evening,
Lit by a slanting sun,
Or some green hill where shadows drifted by
Some quiet hill where mountainy man hath sown
And soon would reap; near to the gate of Heaven;<\/p>\n
Of some ebbed sea, or playing on the streets
Of little towns in Connacht,
Things young and happy.
And then my heart hath told me:
These will pass,
Will pass and change, will die and be no more,
Things bright and green, things young and happy;
And I have gone upon my way
Sorrowful.<\/p>\n