"I've been married a year," quoth he;
"So think not I marry thee.
Nor through seven long years shall I wither and fade,
Nor in three days hence in the grave be laid.
Dead in three days I shall not be:
I will die when it pleases God, not thee.
Yet die this moment would Seigneur Nann,
Far rather than marry a Korrigan."
"Dear mother mine, I am sorely sick;
Let my bed be made, if you love me, quick.
Let not a word to my wife be told:
I am under the ban
Of a Korrigan;
Three days, and you'll lay me in the mould."
In three days' time the young wife said,
"My mother, tell me why the bells are ringing,
And why, so low, the black-stoled priests are singing?"
"A poor man, whom we lodged last night, is dead."
"My mother, say to me,
My Lord Nann, where is he?"
"My daughter, to the town he's gone;
To see thee he'll come anon."
"And tell me, mother dear,
My red robe shall I wear,
Or shall I my robe of blue put on,
When I must to the church be gone?"
"My child, the mode is come to appear
At church in naught but sable gear."
As up the church-yard steps she went,
On a new-made grave her eyes were bent.
"Who of our kin is lately dead,
That I see in our ground a grave new-made?"
"Alas! my child, in that grave hard by,
That new-made grave which thou dost espy—
I cannot hide it—thy lord doth lie!"