 y father and mother were Irish
And I am Irish too;
I bought a wee fidil for ninepence
And that is Irish too;
I’m up in the morning early
To meet the break of day,
And to the lintwhite’s piping
The many’s the tunes I play!
One pleasant eve in June-time
I met a lochrie man,
His face and hands were weazen,
His height was not a span.
He boor’d me for my fidil—
“You know,” says he, “like you,
“My father and mother were Irish,
“And I am Irish too!”
He took my wee red fidil,
And such a tune he turned,
The Glaisé in it whispered
The Lionan in it m’urned;
Says he, “My lad, you’re lucky,
“I wisht I was like you,
“You’re lucky in your birth-star,
“And in your fidil too!”
He gave me back my fidil,
My fidil-stick also,
And stepping like a May-boy,
He jumped the Lear-gaidh-knowe.
I never saw him after,
Nor met his gentle kind,
But whiles I think I hear him,
A-wheening in the wind! |
