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The Mountainy Singer
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Sitting in Emer’s seat!” —
…
At this MacGiolla fainted,
Tearing his yellow hair,
And the young men cursed the stranger,
And the old men mouthed a prayer.
For they knew the day would come,
As sure as the piper said,
When many loves would be parted,
And many graves would be red.
And the wake broke up in tumult,
And the women were left alone,
Keening over the beggar
That died at Gobnat’s Stone.
THE BESOM-MAN
Did you see Paidin,
Paidin, the besom-man,
Last night as you came by
Over the mountain?
A barth of new heather
He bore on his shoulder,
And a bundle of whitlow-grass
Under his oxter.
I spied him as he passed
Beyond the carn head,
But no eye saw him
At the hill foot after.
What has come over him?
The women are saying.
What can have crossed
Paidin, the besom-man?
The bogholes he knew
As the curlews know them,
And the rabbits’ pads,
And the derelict quarries.
He was humming a tune —
The “Enchanted Valley” —
As he passed me westward
Beyond the carn.
I stood and I listened,
For his singing was strange:
It rang in my ears
The long night after.
What has come over
Paidin, the besom-man?
What can have crossed him?
The women keep saying.
They talk of the fairies —
And, God forgive me,
Paidin knew them
Like his prayers!
Will you fetch word
Up to the cross-roads
If you see track of him,
Living or dead?
The boys are loafing
Without game or caper;
And the dark piper
Is gone home with the birds.
EVERY SHUILER IS CHRIST
Every shuiler is Christ,
Then be not hard or cold:
The bit that goes for Christ
Will come a hundred-fold.
The ear upon your corn
Will burst before its time;
Your roots will yield a crop
Without manure or lime.
And every sup you give
To crutch him on his way
Will fill your churn with milk,
And choke your barn with hay.
Then when the shuiler begs,
Be neither hard nor cold;
The share that goes for Christ
Will come a hundred-fold.
I WISH AND I WISH
…
At this MacGiolla fainted,
Tearing his yellow hair,
And the young men cursed the stranger,
And the old men mouthed a prayer.
For they knew the day would come,
As sure as the piper said,
When many loves would be parted,
And many graves would be red.
And the wake broke up in tumult,
And the women were left alone,
Keening over the beggar
That died at Gobnat’s Stone.
THE BESOM-MAN
Did you see Paidin,
Paidin, the besom-man,
Last night as you came by
Over the mountain?
A barth of new heather
He bore on his shoulder,
And a bundle of whitlow-grass
Under his oxter.
I spied him as he passed
Beyond the carn head,
But no eye saw him
At the hill foot after.
What has come over him?
The women are saying.
What can have crossed
Paidin, the besom-man?
The bogholes he knew
As the curlews know them,
And the rabbits’ pads,
And the derelict quarries.
He was humming a tune —
The “Enchanted Valley” —
As he passed me westward
Beyond the carn.
I stood and I listened,
For his singing was strange:
It rang in my ears
The long night after.
What has come over
Paidin, the besom-man?
What can have crossed him?
The women keep saying.
They talk of the fairies —
And, God forgive me,
Paidin knew them
Like his prayers!
Will you fetch word
Up to the cross-roads
If you see track of him,
Living or dead?
The boys are loafing
Without game or caper;
And the dark piper
Is gone home with the birds.
EVERY SHUILER IS CHRIST
Every shuiler is Christ,
Then be not hard or cold:
The bit that goes for Christ
Will come a hundred-fold.
The ear upon your corn
Will burst before its time;
Your roots will yield a crop
Without manure or lime.
And every sup you give
To crutch him on his way
Will fill your churn with milk,
And choke your barn with hay.
Then when the shuiler begs,
Be neither hard nor cold;
The share that goes for Christ
Will come a hundred-fold.
I WISH AND I WISH
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