THE GLEN OF THE TWILIGHT.
What road are you taking my Ihiannoo veg villish,
And where will you go at the end of the day?
We are taking the road to the Glen of the Twilight
And 'Cadlag the Sleeper' is showing the way.
Where the Fayries are weaving the dreams for our pillow
And lighting the candles that burn in the sky;
Where 'Cadlag the Sleeper' is swaying the willow
And blackbirds are calling, Oie-vie, oie-vie!
And what will you do in the Glen of the Twilight,
When 'Cadlag the Sleeper' has found you a nest?
We'll play with the roses the Fayries will bring us
And murmur of waters will lull us to rest.
Where the Fayries are weaving the dreams for our pillow
And rocking the cradle where softly we'll lie;
Where 'Cadlag the Sleeper' is swaying the willow
And childher are nodding, Oie-vie, oie-vie.
THE THOLTAN.
Lone little tholtan, left by the wayside,
Where have they wandered that loved thee of old?
Where are the children that played by the fireside?
Poor little chiollagh, forlorn and cold!
Mutely thy gables are standing asunder,
Rafterless, ragged, the ruin between!
All that was homelike, secluded and tender,
Stripped of its sheltering thatch is seen.
Why have they left thee so drear and forsaken,
Was it misfortune, or sadder unthrift?
Was there a stone of the Church in thy building
Secretly working to send them adrift?
Was it the dream of a new Eldorado
Lured them away with its roseate hue?
Only to find the green hills of the distance
Bare as Barooil to the nearer view.
Come winds of Autumn and cover it gently,
Poor little hearth-stone deserted and bare;
Cover it softly with leaves from the woodlands,
Lap it away from the cold bleak air.