The weary, weary aching
To be in the home that I canna, canna win!
Then suddenly the man within put down his ash-lute, and stirred. In a loud vibrant voice he sang:
O far away upon the hills at the lighting of the dawn
I saw a stirring in the fern and out there leapt a fawn:
And O my heart was up at that and like a wind it blew
Till its shadow hovered o’er the fawn as ’mid the fern it flew.
And Silis! Silis! Silis! was the wind-song on the hill,
And Silis! Silis! Silis! did the echoing corries fill:
My hunting heart was glad indeed, at the lighting of the dawn,