"To-night I will set my needles, Aine, And Eoghan will have stockings to wear: I spun the wool of the h.o.r.n.y ewe He bought at the hiring fair... .

"But what is that sound I hear, Nabla?-- It is like the cheering of men.

G.o.d keep our kind from the devil's snare!"

And the women answered, "Amen!"

Then the moon rose over the valley, And the cheering died away, And the women went within their doors At the mouth of the summer day.

And no men came in at midnight, And no men came in at the dawn, And the women keened by their ashy fires Till their faces were haggard and wan.

For they knew they had gone to the trysting With pike and musketoon, To fight for their hearths and altars At the rising of the moon!

MY LITTLE DARK LOVE

My little dark love is a wineberry, As swarth and as sweet, I hold; But as the dew on the wineberry Her heart is a-cold.

I would her love were as warm as the light That lives in her eye of grey, And then my heart would know the peace It dreams in the hills away.

I would her love were as red as the rose That blows on her cheek of brown, And then my sunless soul would laugh At the woe that weighs it down.

She dwells in the valley, my little dark love, Where the river sings to the sea, And an ogham-stone sits by her door, And nigh to it hazels three.

And oft when the purple twilight comes, And the blind bats flit in the air, I wander down from the quiet hills To seek my sweetheart there.

But she comes never--she loves not me, Nor ever will love, I hold; For tho' my heart is a peat of fire, Her heart is a-cold!

I HEARD A PIPER PIPING

I heard a piper piping The blue hills among-- And never did I hear So plaintive a song.

It seemed but a part Of the hills' melancholy: No piper living there Could ever be jolly!

And still the piper piped The blue hills among, And all the birds were quiet To listen to his song.

THE CLOUDS GO BY AND BY

The clouds go by and by, The heron sings in the blue-- And I lie dreaming, dreaming Ever of you.

The stag on the hill is free, And the wind is blowing sweet-- But I lie bound a prisoner At your feet.

DAVY DAW

Woa! are you there my bonny mare?

Your whinny seems to say-- "By Bealach forge and Creagach fair We'll gallop hard to-day!"

You champ your snaffle all to foam, And fleck your counter bright; But now we bid adieu to home Until the fall of night.

Davy Daw, Davy Daw, with his early horn, His hunting-crop and bag of corn-- His heart's as merry as a mottle-thrush That sings all day in the hawthorn bush.

Come hither, Bran of ancient seed, And lick your master's hand; I swear no dog of purer breed Is found in all the land.

Brave scion of Cuchullain's branch, Well do you, hound, uphold The prowess and the courage staunch That marked your line of old.

Davy Daw, Davy Daw, my merry man, I love toast crab in a pewter can.

Our tastes are like as like can be-- But a measure of ale in the can for me!

The wind is low and scent is good, And Mada's on the green: He hid his head in Cratla Wood Since early yestere'en.

You beat the bush from peep of light, And set the whins afire; And now the tory is in sight, You've got your heart's desire.

Davy Daw, Davy Daw, for a crab well-browned In the smiling flood of a cruiscin drowned.

Give me, sirree, my crab and ale, And bog or batter, my heart won't fail!

The sun is out, and Davy's up, And hounds are on the run: It's hard he'll earn his stirrup-cup Before the day is done!

A jolly life we hunters lead Upon the saddle high: We see no devil in the bead, And drain our noggins dry.

Davy Daw, Davy Daw is a huntsman bold; He's more to me than a kingdom's gold.

A hind for dinner and a hare to sup-- O that's what I get when Davy's up!

The fox is fast upon the hill, He's wary in the dale; But I will ride to Penny Mill Before I lose his tail.

That brush was born to make a cap For gallant Eoin Og; And I will have it, hang-or-hap, As sure as I'm a rogue.

Davy Daw, Davy Daw, for a morning chase, With an Irish blood to make the pace: He's last to check and first to view, And hard to the death he leads his queue.

Day in we hunt the spinney fox, Day out the rapparee; _His_ cave is in the broken rocks Above the Correi-buidhe.

A shameful thing, the ladies say, To hunt your fellow-man; But follow him till hard at bay It's just the ladies can!

Davy Daw, Davy Daw, the brush is won!

A good job, sir, our work is done.

Whitefoot went lame this side o' the mill, And I'm as dry as an old lime-kiln.

Red rogue, he'll kill his goose no more: Close work it was, for the light is o'er.

Just _close_ work, sir, but the Dub's _close to_, With a can for me and a crab for you!

BLACK SILE OF THE SILVER EYE

As I rode down to Gartan fair I met a girl upon the way: The winter night was on her hair, The summer dawn was in her eye.