There was never a laugh so sweet
With the ripple of fairy bells,
And never a fairy foot so fleet
Dancing down the woodland dells!
She was eight years old that day,
Two young lovers were they.
There was never a sea of mystical gleams
Glooming under enchanted skies
Deep as the dark miraculous dreams
In Anwyl's haunted eyes.
There was never a glory of light
Around the carolling lark
As Etain's eyes were brave and bright
To daunt the coming dark.
Two young lovers were they
Born in the City of Pain;
There was never a song in the world so gay
As the song of the child, Etain;
Blithe as the wind in the trees,
Blithe as the bird on the bough,
Blithe as the bees in the sweet Heart's-ease
Where Love lies bleeding now.
V
And God sighed in the sunset; and the sea
Forgot her sorrow, and all the breathless West
Grew quiet as the blue tranquillity
That clad the broken mountain's brilliant breast,
Over the City, with deep heather-bloom
Heaving from crag to crag in sweet unrest,
A sea of dim rich colour and warm perfume
Whose billows rocked the drowsy honey-bee
Among the golden isles of gorse and broom