In Memory Of William Allingston
19th March 1824
– 18th November 1889
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This memorial website was created in the memory of
William Allingston, born
in Ballyshannon
on the 19th March 1824
and passed away on the 18th November 1889, 65 years of age.
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| Biography |
| Full Name: William Allingston |
| Born: 19th March 1824 |
| Passed Away: 18th November 1889 |
| Age: 65 years of age |
| Location: Dublin |
| Country: Ireland |
| Birth Place: Ballyshannon |
| Occupation: Irish poet |
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This memorial was created by Berry on
12 Apr 2006(update)
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In memory of William Allington, a man of time past. An Irish Catholic of centuries last. What's your message for us this year, 2006, what bit of your life, lived long ago, can we breath today?
I am just discovering William Allington.
On of the best known 19th century Irish poets, William Allington is commemorated by the townspeople of Ballyshannon, Ireland, with a plaque that bears the following inscription:
"Here once he roved a happy boy
Along the winding banks of Erne;
And now please God with finer joy
A fairer world his eyes discern."
His poems certainly contemplated heaven, hell and salvation, and sometimes shown hints of his Catholic faith.
Here are two fine examples:
TWILIGHT VOICES
Now, at the hour when ignorant mortals
Drowse in the shade of their whirling sphere,
Heaven and Hell from invisible portals
Breathing comfort and ghastly fear,
Voices I hear;
I hear strange voices, flitting, calling,
Wavering by on the dusky blast,--
'Come, let us go, for the night is falling;
Come, let us go, for the day is past!'
Troops of joys are they, now departed?
Winged hopes that no longer stay?
Guardian spirits grown weary-hearted?
Powers that have linger'd their latest day?
What do they say?
What do they sing? I hear them calling,
Whispering, gathering, flying fast,--
'Come, come, for the night is falling;
Come, come, for the day is past!'
Sing they to me?--'Thy taper's wasted;
Mortal, thy sands of life run low;
Thine hours like a flock of birds have hasted:
Time is ending;--we go, we go.'
Sing they so?
Mystical voices, floating, calling;
Dim farewells--the last, the last?
Come, come away, the night is falling;
'Come, come away, the day is past.'
See, I am ready, Twilight voices!
Child of the spirit-world am I;
How should I fear you? my soul rejoices,
O speak plainer! O draw nigh!
Fain would I fly!
Tell me your message, Ye who are calling
Out of the dimness vague and vast;
Lift me, take me,--the night is falling;
Quick, let us go,--the day is past.
A DREAM
I heard the dogs howl in the moonlight night;
I went to the window to see the sight;
All the Dead that ever I knew
Going one by one and two by two.
On they pass'd, and on they pass'd;
Townsfellows all, from first to last;
Born in the moonlight of the lane,
Quench'd in the heavy shadow again.
Schoolmates, marching as when we play'd
At soldiers once--but now more staid;
Those were the strangest sight to me
Who were drown'd, I knew, in the awful sea.
Straight and handsome folk; bent and weak, too;
Some that I loved, and gasp'd to speak to;
Some but a day in their churchyard bed;
Some that I had not known were dead.
A long, long crowd--where each seem'd lonely,
Yet of them all there was one, one only,
Raised a head or look'd my way:
She linger'd a moment--she might not stay.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah! Mother dear! might I only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand on my tearful cheek were prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men;
Many long-forgot, but remember'd then.
And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears the moment after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
That every morning, day by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.
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