Charm loved of heaven, which forces wind and wave,
Though fierce and mad, our children's lives to save.
"My angel knows, a Christian true am I;
No Pagan, nor in league with sorcery.
Hence I dispense to the four winds of God,
To quell their rage, dust from the holy sod.
"Sweep on my broom; by virtues such as these
Oft through the air I scattered swarms of bees.
And you, old Coulm, to-morrow shall be prest,
You, and my children three, against my breast."