With THE STORY TELLERS

 

And every tourist and exile

Will gladly travel many a mile,

To see those caves; throughout our isle
None with them can compare;

But who at midnight would explore

Those gloomy pits, or wander o’er,

Where wicked elves and torrents roar
Neath boulders stern and bare.

Beyond the lofty mountain’s crest,
The hounds no longer will molest
The hunted stag, he’ll safely rest
By Muskery’s lonely lake.
Three mountain summits round it he;
Farbreaga, Galtybeg, more nigh
Is Greenane’s peak, so steep and high,
O’er which the fierce storms break.

Near Shanbally Castle he seems to wait;

What causes him to hesitate,

Or dreads he that some gloomy fate
Awaits him over there?

Take either road, he’s just between

Clogheen town and Ballyporeen,

Where frightful ghosts were often seen,
And never failed to scare.

But he knew his friend was very low,
So for priest and doctor he must go;
"Twas three good miles from Carriganroe,
And the hour was very late;
So he kept on at his fastest pace,
And when he had almost won the race;
He met the demon face to face
Before the pastor’s gate.

64