James Bernard Dollard was a Canadian poet and priest.
Life
Dollard was born at Mooncoin, County Kilkenny, Ireland, the youngest child of Anastasia Quinn and Michael Dollard. He studied Classics at Kilkenny College, and then sailed to Canada, where he studied for the priesthood, graduating from Laval University as a Bachelor of Theology and Bachelor of Canon Law. He was ordained to the priesthood in 1896, and served as a parish priest in Toronto and Uptergrove, Ontario.
He published his first collection of poetry, Irish Mist and Sunshine in 1906, and a second collection, Poems, in 1910.
Writing
The Globe (Toronto): "The poems of Father Dollard have long been appreciated for their high literary quality, spirituality and Celtic insight. To the scholarly touch of the classicist he adds the magic and vision of the true Celt. Born under the shadow of Slieve-na-mon, dreamful of mystical lore, Father Dollard was early inspired by the beauty and charm and tender melancholy of his native land. Though with a versatile pen he touches many themes, his supreme gift is that of an Irish lyrist."
Recognition
Laval University made him an honorary Doctor of Letters in 1916.
There is weeping on Cnoc-Aulin and on hoary Slieve-na-mon,
There's a weary wind careering over haggard Knocknaree;
By the broken mound of Almhin
Sad as death the voices calling,
...
I'm sick o' New York City an' the roarin' o' the thrains
That rowl above the blessèd roofs an' undernaith the dhrains;
Wid dust an' smoke an' divilmint I'm moidhered head an' brains,
An' I thinkin' o' the skies of ould Kilkinny!
...
I look below B Niagara torrent white
Is eager hurrying to the dread abyss;
I hear its thunder as the waters hiss
Over the awful brink, to plunge from sight
...
Slain by the arrows of Apollo, lo,
The well-belovèd of the Muses lies
On Lemnos' Isle 'neath blue and classic skies,
And hears th' Ægean waters ebb and flow!
...
Adown a quiet glen where the gowan-berries glisten
And the linnet, shyest bird of all, his wild note warbles free;
Where the scented woodbine-blossoms, o'er the brooklet, bend to listen,
There stands upon a mossy bank, a white-hazel tree.
...