Sixteen Poems | Page 3

A long, long crowd--where each seem'd lonely,
Yet of them all there
was one, one only,
Raised a head or look'd my way:
She linger'd a
moment--she might not stay.
How long since I saw that fair pale face!
Ah! Mother dear! might I
only place
My head on thy breast, a moment to rest,
While thy hand
on my tearful cheek were prest!
On, on, a moving bridge they made
Across the moon-stream, from
shade to shade,
Young and old, women and men;
Many long-forgot,
but remember'd then.
And first there came a bitter laughter;
A sound of tears the moment
after;
And then a music so lofty and gay,
That every morning, day
by day,
I strive to recall it if I may.
THE FAIRIES

Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go
a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all
together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
Down
along the rocky shore
Some make their home,
They live on crispy
pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black
mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and gray

He's nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he
crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or
going up with music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen

Of the gay Northern Lights.
They stole little Bridget
For seven years long;
When she came
down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,

Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast
asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever
since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of flag-leaves,
Watching till
she wake.
By the craggy hill-side,
Through the mosses bare,
They have
planted thorn-trees
For pleasure here and there.
Is any man so
daring
As dig them up in spite,

He shall find their sharpest thorns

In his bed at night.
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go
a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all
together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!
THE LEPRACAUN OR FAIRY SHOEMAKER
Little Cowboy, what have you heard,
Up on the lonely rath's green
mound?
Only the plaintive yellow bird
Sighing in sultry fields
around,
Chary, chary, chary, chee-ee!--
Only the grasshopper and

the bee?--
'Tip-tap, rip-rap,
Tick-a-tack-too!
Scarlet leather, sewn
together,
This will make a shoe.
Left, right, pull it tight;
Summer
days are warm;
Underground in winter,
Laughing at the storm!'

Lay your ear close to the hill.
Do you not catch the tiny clamour,

Busy click of an elfin hammer,
Voice of the Lepracaun singing shrill

As he merrily plies his trade?
He's a span
And a quarter in height.

Get him in sight, hold him tight,
And you're a made
Man!
You watch your cattle the summer day,
Sup on potatoes, sleep in the
hay;
How would you like to roll in your carriage,
Look for a
duchess's daughter in marriage?
Seize the Shoemaker--then you may!

'Big boots a-hunting,
Sandals in the hall,
White for a
wedding-feast,
Pink for a ball.
This way, that way,
So we make a
shoe;
Getting rich every stitch,
Tick-tack-too!'
Nine-and-ninety
treasure-crocks
This keen miser-fairy hath,
Hid in mountains,
woods, and rocks,
Ruin and round-tow'r, cave and rath,
And where
the cormorants build;
From times of old
Guarded by him;
Each of
them fill'd
Full to the brim
With gold!
I caught him at work one day, myself,
In the castle-ditch where
foxglove grows,--
A wrinkled, wizen'd, and bearded Elf,
Spectacles
stuck on his pointed nose,

Silver buckles to his hose,
Leather
apron--shoe in his lap--
'Rip-rap, tip-tap,
Tick-tack-too!
(A
grasshopper on my cap!
Away the moth flew!)
Buskins for a fairy
prince,
Brogues for his son,--
Pay me well, pay me well,
When
the job is done!'
The rogue was mine, beyond a doubt.
I stared at
him; he stared at me;
'Servant, Sir!' 'Humph!' says he,
And pull'd a
snuff-box out.
He took a long pinch, look'd better pleased,
The
queer little Lepracaun;
Offer'd the box with a whimsical grace,--

Pouf! he flung the dust in my face,
And while I sneezed,
Was gone!
THE GIRL'S LAMENTATION

With grief and mourning I sit to spin;
My Love passed by, and he
didn't come in;
He passes by me, both day and night,
And carries
off my poor heart's delight.
There is a tavern in yonder town,
My Love goes there and he spends
a crown;
He takes a strange girl upon his knee,
And never more
gives a thought to me.
Says he, 'We'll wed without loss of time,
And sure our love's but a
little crime;'--
My apron-string now it's wearing short,
And my
Love he seeks other girls to court.
O with him I'd go if I had my will,
I'd follow him barefoot o'er rock
and hill;
I'd never once speak of all my grief
If he'd give me a smile
for my heart's relief.
In our wee garden the rose unfolds,
With bachelor's-buttons and
marigolds;
I'll tie no posies for dance or fair,
A willow-twig is for
me to wear.
For a maid again I can never be,
Till the red rose blooms on the
willow tree.
Of such a trouble I've heard them tell,
And now I know
what it means full well.
As through the long lonesome night I lie,
I'd give the world if I might
but cry;
But I mus'n't moan there or raise my voice,
And the tears
run down without any