WitH THE STORY TELLERS

Hence each hearse strives to pass its neighbor

To save the corpse from grievous labor.

So too whene’er you chance to see

Two funerals for one cemetery;

They’ll stop the caoine,* put on a burst

Of speed, to reach the graveyard first.

But when I got up to the moat,
Imagine my surprise,

Of that vast cortege none appeared
Before my wondering eyes,

Though I could see five miles around
Just as the swallow flies.

Another night I plainly heard
As I approached the moat,
The strains of music soft and sweet,
On the midnight breezes float.
I gazed long in astonishment,
Till through the narrow gate,
Full fifty horsemen sally forth,
And in the roadway wait.
Their suits of green were trimmed with gold,
Their well groomed steeds looked gay;
Proud Shetlands with long flowing manes,
That bore them fast away.
But some of them perceived me
While I watched their airy stunt,
And quickly placed me on a horse,
And took me to the hunt.

The faded town of Golden then
Seemed powerless to allure

Those elves, who wheeled round at the bridge,
And coursed along the Suir;

 

*Gaelic keen

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