Sixteen Poems | Page 3

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 noise.
And what, O what will my mother say??She'll wish her daughter was in the clay.?My father will curse me to my face;?The neighbours will know of my black disgrace.
My sister's buried three years, come Lent;?But sure we made far too much lament.?Beside her grave they still say a prayer--?I wish to God 'twas myself was there!
The Candlemas crosses hang near my bed;?To look at them puts me much in dread,?They mark the good time that's gone and past:?It's like this year's one will prove the last.
The oldest cross it's a dusty brown,?But