| |
I A young girl sings: | |
| The Lannan Shee 1 | |
| Watched the young man Brian | |
| Cross over the stile towards his father’s door, | |
| And she said, “No help, | 5 |
| For now he’ll see | |
| His byre, his bawn and his threshing floor! | |
| And oh, the swallows | |
| Forget all wonders | |
| When walls with the nests rise up before.” | 10 |
| My strand is knit. | |
| |
| “Out of the dream | |
| Of me, into | |
| The round of his labor he will grow; | |
| To spread his fields | 15 |
| In the winds of Spring, | |
| And tramp the heavy glebe and sow; | |
| And cut and clamp | |
| And rear the turf | |
| Until the season when they mow.” | 20 |
| My wheel runs smooth. | |
| |
| “And while he toils | |
| In field and bog | |
| He will be anxious in his mind— | |
| About the thatch | 25 |
| Of barn and rick | |
| Against the reiving autumn wind, | |
| And how to make | |
| His gap and gate | |
| Secure against the thieving kind.” | 30 |
| My wool is fine. | |
| |
| “He has gone back | |
| And I’ll see no more | |
| Mine image in his deepening eyes; | |
| Then I’ll lean above | 35 |
| The Well of the Bride, | |
| And with my beauty peace will rise! | |
| O autumn star | |
| In a hidden lake, | |
| Fill up my heart and make me wise!” | 40 |
| My quick brown wheel! | |
| |
| “The women bring | |
| Their pitchers here | |
| At the time when the stir of the house is o’er; | |
| They’ll see my face | 45 |
| In the well-water, | |
| And they’ll never lift their vessels more. | |
| For each will say | |
| ‘How beautiful— | |
| Why should I labor any more! | 50 |
| Indeed I come | |
| Of so fair a race | |
| ’Twere waste to labor any more!’” | |
| My thread is spun. | |
| |
II An elder girl sings: | 55 |
| One came before her and said beseeching, | |
| “I have fortune and I have lands, | |
| And if you’ll share in the goods of my household | |
| All my treasure’s at your commands.” | |
| |
| But she said to him, “The goods you proffer | 60 |
| Are far from my mind as the silk of the sea! | |
| The arms of him, my young love, round me | |
| Is all the treasure that’s true for me!” | |
| |
| “Proud you are then, proud of your beauty, | |
| But beauty’s a flower will soon decay; | 65 |
| The fairest flowers they bloom in the Summer, | |
| They bloom one Summer and they fade away.” | |
| |
| “My heart is sad then for the little flower | |
| That must so wither where fair it grew— | |
| He who has my heart in keeping, | 70 |
| I would he had my body too.” | |
| |
III An old woman sings: | |
| There was an oul’ trooper went riding by | |
| On the road to Carricknabauna, | |
| And sorrow is better to sing than cry | 75 |
| On the way to Carricknabauna! | |
| And as the oul’ trooper went riding on | |
| He heard this sung by a crone, a crone | |
| On the road to Carricknabauna! | |
| |
| “I’d spread my cloak for you, young lad | 80 |
| Were it only the breadth of a farthen’ | |
| And if your mind was as good as your word, | |
| In troth, it’s you I’d rather! | |
| In dread of any jealousy, | |
| And before we go any farther | 85 |
| Carry me up to the top of the hill | |
| And show me Carricknabauna!” | |
| |
| “Carricknabauna, Carricknabauna, | |
| Would you show me Carricknabauna? | |
| I lost a horse at Cruckmoylinn— | 90 |
| At the Cross of Bunratty I dropped a limb— | |
| But I left my youth on the crown of the hill | |
| Over by Carricknabauna!” | |
| Girls, young girls, the rush-light is done. | |
| What will I do when my thread is spun? | 95 |
