O men from the fields!
Soft, softly come thro’.
Mary puts round him
Her mantle of blue.
The Coolun.
(“Reincarnations.” Macmillan.)
ELEANOR HULL
Come with me, under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat,
Or wine if it be thy will;
And we will talk until
Talk is a trouble, too,
Out on the side of the hill,
And nothing is left to do,
But an eye to look into an eye
And a hand in a hand to slip,
And a sigh to answer a sigh,
And a lip to find out a lip:
What if the night be black
And the air on the mountain chill,
Where the goat lies down in her track
And all but the fern is still!
Stay with me under my coat,
And we will drink our fill
Of the milk of the white goat
Out on the side of the hill.
The Clouds.
(“Songs from the Clay.” Macmillan.)
JAMES STEPHENS
I stood and looked around where, far and nigh,
The heather bloom was swaying in the air,
The clouds chased one another down the sky
Beyond my sight, and everywhere
The birds flew through the sunshine, where they sang
So loud, so clear, so sweet, the heavens rang
Of lark and thrush and stare.
I never heard a melody so sweet
As I heard then; I never knew a day
So filled with sunshine; never saw the fleet
And tinted clouds so high and free and gay;
Each danced to the horizon like a boy
Let out from school, each tumbled in its joy
And ran away.
The Old Woman of Beare.
(“The Poem Book of the Gael.” Chatto & Windus.)
ELEANOR HULL