To the hills let us go,
Where the raven and crow
In the dark dismal valleys
Wing silent and slow.
There’s no Joy in men’s fate
But Grief grins in the gate;
There’s no Fair without Foul,
Without Crooked no Straight.
Her neck like the lime
And her breath like the thyme,
And her bosom untroubled
By care or by time.
Like a bird in the night,
At a great blaze of light,
Astounded and wounded
I swoon at her sight.
Since I gave thee my love,
I gave thee my love,
I gave thee my love,
O thou berry so bright;
The sun in her height
Looked on with delight,
And between thy two arms, may
I die on the night.
And I would that I were
In the glens of the air,
Or in dark dismal valleys
Where the wildwood is bare,
What a kiss from her there
I should coax without care,
From my star of the morning,
My fairer than fair!
Like a Phœnix of flame,
Or like Helen of fame,
Is the pearl of all pearls
Of girls who came,
And who kindled a flame,
In my bosom. Thy name
I shall rhyme thee in Irish
And heighten thy fame.
Nelly of the Top-Knots.
Dear God! were I fisher and
Back in Binédar,
And Nelly a fish who
Would swim in the bay there,
I would privately set there
My net there to catch her,
In Erin no maiden
Is able to match her.
And Nelly, dear God!
Why! you should not thus flee me,
I long to be near thee
And hear thee and see thee,
My hand on the Bible
And I swearing and kneeling
And giving thee part
Of the heart you are stealing.
I’ve a fair yellow casket
And it fastened with crystal,
And the lock opens not
To the shot of a pistol.
To Jesus I pray
And to Columbkill’s Master,
That Mary may guide thee
Aside from disaster.
We may be, O maiden
Whom none may disparage,
Some morning a-hearing
The sweet mass of marriage,
But if fate be against us,
To rend us and push us,
I shall mourn as the blackbird
At eve in the bushes.