JAW Hamilton - Sligo Poets

Sligo Times 3 February 1912

        THE POWER OF LOVE.

It is so strange; this overwhelming passion
   That mocks at reason that defies derision,
Idealizing in the blindest fashion
   What must be common clay in other’s vision.

What is it thus dethrones our stable reason?
    A curl, a smile—a tricky glance—a dimple,
A well-shaped head, a figure trim and pleasing
    Or feignedly, all artless, pure and simple.

A row of faultless teeth, all flashing pearly,
   Two lips that frown or smile our peace away;
A golden head all rippling and curly,
   Or laughing eyes of azure, brown or grey?

Or what it is may not be always clear,
    The man or maiden may be commonplace
You only know that person is so dear
   That love has gifted them with every grace.

You only know the sun is brightly shining
   And all is fair around, when they are bye,
That when away from them, your heart is pining,
   And every song is smothered in a sigh.

You only know that if you lived without them,
   Life would be robbed of its most brilliant star,
You simple love them, yea, and all about them,
   Is precious, though it only be a sear.

What were the world if robber of love and beauty
   How could we bear grim labour’s constant pain,
Love is the power that lightens every duty,
   And sweetens every task of life and brain.

Sligo, 1912.                                     J.A.W.H.

Sligo Times 2 March 1912

SNOWDROPS.

Thou sweet little snowdrop, so white and so pure
Thou! Emblem of life in winter’s dead hour
How oft have I seen thee, fragile and fair
Bloom sweetly though gardens around thee were bare!

Ah, me! And how often I’ve sighed as I thought,
And cowered o’er the lesson thy fearlessness sought,
For biting east winds and the snow all around
Ne’er kept thy fair blossoms asleep underground.

What! Shall I succumb to my weakness and pain
When thou, gentle snowdrop, the victory gain,
When deep mows of sorrow all over me lie,
Shall flickering hope in my faint bosom die?

No, I shall triumphantly rise o’er them all
Though trials like flakes in a snowstorm fall.
Rise; so that my fortitude others may cheer,
Not sink like a coward in misery and fear.

Do my duty in face of the east wind of scorn,
And rise like the snowdrop in dark, cheerless morn,
All bravely, yet humbly, all self-less and pure,
And gladden with fragrance a wintry hour.

Yes, this my desire for ever shall be,
To copy dear snowdrop, thy virtues and thee,
Live well, though no sunshine would brighten my days,
Insensible either to scorn or to praise.

J.A.W.H. Sligo

Sligo Times 27 April 1912

SPRING CLEANING

Nae wonder I look glum,
   Nae wonder I look blue,
for glorious spring has come—
   The cleaning demon too.

Upstairs and down each airth,
   Paint-brushes, brooms and pails,
while giving them wide berth
   The wife at me—and rails.

“Here, watch yer feet, my man!
   That bit o’er there is clean.
‘Ye want a chair’—so, can
   Ye try and gi’e me yin.

Oh! watch yer head—look out—
   That paint o’er there is wet.
Ye’ve ta’en it off, nae doot,
   It’s on yer sleeve, I’ll bet.

Here, jist sit there the noo,
   Some tea will dae ye fine,
Ye canna bake and stew,
   and roast at cleaning time”

Oh my, ma back’s that sair,
   I wish I wis a man,
They dinna wark nae mair
   Nor langer than they can.

Bit here since brak’ o’ day
   I’m working like a slave,
Till a’ the neighbours say,
   I’ll sin be in ma grave.

Ye needna look so soor,
   O’ trouble, you ha’e nane.
Bit men were always door,
   It’s me that should complain!”

I mumbled something low
   And munched ma bred and chees,
And wondered whar I’d go
   Tae keep fra scenes like these.

Ma wife, I love gal weel,
   And she’s aye nearly sweet.
Guess then hoo bad I feel
   At changes sae complete.

Sae when I did escape
   And dodged the painter’s brush,
Queer thoughts o’ dootful shape
   And words I had tae crush.

Bit, ‘gin I had yin seight
   O’ yon imp o’ the spring,
I’d choke him wi’ deleight
   And dance the ‘Heelan Fling.’

                      J. A. W. Hamilton.