She saw by the wall the grave clothes all
Lying empty there, and started,
And timidly asked of the soldier guard,
"Where has our Lord departed."
"I was here," said the guard, "I kept watch and kept ward,
Why seek ye the truth to smother?
I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot—
And the one is as dead as the other."
"I've a nice little cock who boils here in my pot,
While the camp looks on and sees us,
And until the cock rises out of the pot,
He never shall rise, your Jesus."
With that the dead cock flew out of the pot,
And clapped with his wings loud crowing,
"Ochone"! cried the man, and his features grew wan,
"Then Jesus is up and doing."
[Spake the Virgin.]
"I sicken, I sigh, with longing I die,
If ye show me not where to find Him,
To put balm in the cuts and the stabs and the wounds,
Wherewith in His side they signed Him."
He is gone where are gone the Apostles, and soon
In Galilee thou shalt find him.
[Spake Christ.]
By Peter my Church has been holily built
With flame of faithful endeavour,
Though the body be stricken the soul hath no guilt,—
Confess ye My name for ever.
Here is another melodious little piece about the two Marys which I got from my friend Miss Agnes O'Farrelly, who got it from a young gossoon in Inismaan, or in Aranmore, I do not know which.