Elves and Heroes | Page 8

low and
tripping soft.

My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering
there--
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi'
yellow hair.
And every time I'll milk the kine
He'll have his share--the luck be
mine!
I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone,
He'll sup it when he's all
alone--
My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering
there--
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi'
yellow hair.
O me! if I'd his milk forget,
Nor cream, nor butter I would get;
Ye
needna' tell--I ken full well--
On all my kine he'd cast his spell.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering
there--
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi'
yellow hair.
On nights when I would rest at ease,
The merry lad begins to tease;

He'll loose the kine to take me out,
And titter while I move about.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad,
He's tittering here; he's tittering
there--
I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain
To find my lad wi'
yellow hair.
THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.
When all the big lads will be hunting the deer,
And no one for
helping Old Callum comes near,
O who will be busy at threshing his
corn?
Who will come in the night and be going at morn?
The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man--
A bodach
forlorn will be threshing his corn,
The Little Old Man of the Barn.
When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep,
And weary

Old Callum is snoring asleep;
When yon plant by the door will keep
fairies away,
And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day.
The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man--
Will thresh
with no light in the mouth of the night,
The Little Old Man of the
Barn.
For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey,
He will never be
weary when he goes away--
The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so
dear--
When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near.
The Little Old Man of the Barn,
Yon Little Old Man--
So tight and
so braw he will bundle the straw--
The Little Old Man of the Barn.
YON FAIRY DOG.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals,
Whose heart would never fail,

Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce
Come howling down the gale;

The patt'ring of the paws would sound
Like horse's hoofs on frozen
ground,
While o'er its back and curling round
Uprose its fearsome
tail.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals--
Yon man that hath no fears--

Beheld the dog with dark-green back
That bends not when it rears;

Its sides were blacker than the night,
But underneath the hair was
white;
Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright,
And blood-red
were its ears.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals--
The man who naught will
dread--
Would wait it, stooping with his spear,
As nigh to him it
sped;
The big black head it turn'd and toss'd,
"I'll strike," cried he,
"ere I'll be lost,"
For every living thing that cross'd
Its path would
tumble dead.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals--
The man who ne'er took

fright--
Would watch it bounding from the hills
And o'er the moors
in flight.
When it would leave the Uist shore,
Across the Minch he
heard it roar--
Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er
The Coolin
Hills that night.
THE WATER-HORSE.
O the Water-Horse will come over the heath,
With the foaming
mouth and the flashing eyes,
He's black above and he's white
beneath--
The hills are hearing the awesome cries;
The sand lies
thick in his dripping hair,
And his hoofs are twined with weeds and
ware.
Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane--
There's no spell to
help and no charm to save!
Who rides him will never return again,

Were he as strong, O were he as brave
As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom
they'll tell--
He thrashed the devil and made him yell.
He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast,
So high he'll rear, and so
swift he'll bound--
Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past,

Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound--
And the man perchance
who sees and hears,
He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears.
The horse will bellow, the horse will snort,
And the gasping rider will
pant for breath--
Let the way be long, or the way be short,
It will
have one end, and the end is death;
In yon black loch, from off the
shore,
The horse will splash, and be seen no more.
THE CHANGELING.
By night they came and from my bed
They stole my babe, and left
behind
A thing I hate, a thing I dread--
A changeling who is old and
blind;
He's moaning all the night and day
For those who took my
babe away.

My little babe was sweet and fair,
He crooned to sleep upon my
breast--
But O the burden I must bear!
This drinks all day and will
not rest--
My little babe had hair so light--
And his is growing dark
as night.
Yon evil day when I would leave
My little