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In came Lenehan.
Round him peered Lenehan. Mr Bloom reached Essex bridge. Yes, Mr Bloom
crossed bridge of Yessex. To Martha I must write. Buy paper. Daly's. Girl
there civil. Bloom. Old Bloom. Blue Bloom is on the rye. (251)
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The Spring is waning
fast, my Love,
The corn is in the ear,
The Summer nights are coming, Love,
The moon shines bright and clear;
Then pretty Jane, my dearest Jane,
Ah! never look so shy,
But meet me, meet me in the Ev'ning,
While the bloom is on the Rye. |
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-- Co-ome, thou lost one!
Co-ome thou dear one!
Alone. One love. One hope. One comfort me. Martha, chestnote,
return!
-- Come!
It soared, a bird, it held its flight, a swift pure
cry, soar silver orb it leaped serene, speeding, sustained, to come, don't
spin it out too long long breath he breath long life, soaring high, high
resplendent, aflame, crowned, high in the effulgence symbolistic, high,
of the ethereal bosom, high, of the high vast irradiation everywhere all
soaring all around about the all, the endlessnessnessness...
-- To me! (264-65) |
When first I saw that form endearing
Sorrow from me seem'd to depart:
Each graceful look, each word so cheering
Charm'd my eye and won my heart.
Martha, Martha, I am sighing,
I am weeping still for thee;
Come thou lost one, come thou dear one,
Thou alone can'st comfort me:
Ah! Martha return! Come to me!
(English version by Charles Jeffrys)
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Instance he's playing now. Improvising. Might be what you like
till you hear the words. Want to listen sharp. Hard. Begin all right: then
hear chords a bit off: feel lost a bit. In and out of sacks, over barrels,
through wirefences, obstacle race. Time makes the tune. Question of mood
you're in. Still always nice to hear. Except scales up and down, girls learning.
Two together nextdoor neighbours. Ought to invent dummy pianos for that.
Milly no taste. Queer because we both, I mean. Blumenlied I bought
for her. The name. Playing it slow, a girl, night I came home, the girl.
Door of the stables near Cecilia street. (267) |
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-- Qui sdegno, Ben, said Father Cowley.
-- No, Ben, Tom Kernan interfered. The Croppy Boy.
Our native Doric. ...
But wait. But hear. Chords dark. Lugugugubrious. Low.
In a cave of the dark middle earth. Embedded ore. Lumpmusic.
The voice of dark age, of unlove, earth's fatigue made
grave approach, and painful, come from afar, from hoary mountains, called
on good men and true. The priest he sought. With him would he speak a word.
Tap.
Ben Dollard's voice. Base barreltone. Doing his level
best to say it. Croak of vast manless moonless womoonless marsh. Other comedown.
...
The priest's at home. A false priest's servant
bade him welcome. Step in. The holy father. With bows a traitor servant.
Curlycues of chords. (271) |
"Good men and true in this house who dwell,
To a stranger bouchal I pray you tell,
Is the priest at home, or may he be seen?
I would speak a word with Father Green." ...
The youth has entered an empty hall--
What a lonely sound has his light footfall!
And the gloomy chamber's chill and bare,
With a vested priest in a lonely chair. ...
"At the siege of Ross did my father fall,
And at Gorey my loving brothers all.
I alone am left of my name and race,
I will go to Wexford and take their place. ...
The priest said naught, but a rustling noise
Made the youth look up in wild surprise:
The robes were off, and in scarlet there
Sat a Yeoman captain with fiery glare. ...
At Geneva Barracks that young man died,
And at Passage they have his body laid.
Good people, who live in peace and joy,
Breathe a prayer, shed a tear, for the Croppy Boy!
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