The Mountainy Singer Part 5

"A sword, white as ashes, Shall fall from the sky, To rise, red as blood, On the charge and the cry.

"Stark pipers shall blow, Stout drummers shall beat, And the shout of the north Shall be heard in the street.

"The strong shall go down, And the weak shall prevail, And a glory shall sit On the sign of the Gaodhal.

"Then Emer shall come In good time by her own, And a man of the people Shall speak from the throne."

Strange words I heard said At the Fair of Dun-eas-- "The Gaodhaldacht shall live, The Galldacht shall pa.s.s!"

I MET A WALKING-MAN

I met a walking-man; His head was old and grey.

I gave him what I had To crutch him on his way.

The man was Mary's Son, I'll swear; A glory trembled in his hair!

And since that blessed day I've never known the pinch: I plough a broad townland, And dig a river-inch; And on my hearth the fire is bright For all that walk by day or night.

THE NINEPENNY FIDIL

My father and mother were Irish, And I am Irish, too; I bought a wee fidil for ninepence, And it is Irish, too.

I'm up in the morning early To meet the dawn of day, And to the lintwhite's piping The many's the tune I play.

One pleasant eve in June time I met a lochrie-man: His face and hands were weazen, His height was not a span.

He boor'd me for my fidil-- "You know," says he, "like you, My father and mother were Irish, And I am Irish, too!"

He took my wee red fidil, And such a tune he turned-- The Glaise in it whispered, The Lionan in it m'urned.

Says he, "My lad, you're lucky-- I wish t' I was like you: You're lucky in your birth-star, And in your fidil, too!"

He gave me back my fidil, My fidil-stick, also, And stepping like a mayboy, He jumped the Leargaidh Knowe.

I never saw him after, Nor met his gentle kind; But, whiles, I think I hear him A-wheening in the wind!

My father and mother were Irish, And I am Irish, too: I bought a wee fidil for ninepence, And it is Irish, too.

I'm up in the morning early To meet the dawn of day, And to the lintwhite's piping The many's the tune I play.

GRa.s.sLANDS ARE FAIR

Gra.s.slands are fair, Ploughlands are rare.

Gra.s.slands are lonely, Ploughlands are comely.

Gra.s.slands breed cattle, Ploughlands feed people.

Gra.s.slands are not wrought, Ploughlands swell with thought.

WINTER SONG

'Twould skin a fairy It is so airy, And the snow it nips so cold: Shepherd and squire Sit by the fire, The sheep are in the fold.

You have your wish-- A reeking dish, And rubble walls about; So pity the poor That have no door To keep the winter out!

I FOLLOW A STAR

I follow a star Burning deep in the blue, A sign on the hills Lit for me and for you!

Moon-red is the star, Halo-ringed like a rood, Christ's heart in its heart set, Streaming with blood.

Follow the gilly Beyond to the west: He leads where the Christ lies On Mary's white breast.

King, priest and prophet-- A child, and no more-- Adonai the Maker!

Come, let us adore.

THE SILENCE OF UNLABOURED FIELDS

The silence of unlaboured fields Lies like a judgment on the air: A human voice is never heard: The sighing gra.s.s is everywhere-- The sighing gra.s.s, the shadowed sky, The cattle crying wearily!

Where are the lowland people gone?

Where are the sun-dark faces now?

The love that kept the quiet hearth, The strength that held the speeding plough?

Gra.s.slands and lowing herds are good, But better human flesh and blood!

THE BEGGAR'S WAKE

I watched at a beggar's wake In the hills of Bearna-barr, And the old men were telling stories Of Troy and the Trojan war.