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THE RIDER FROM THE NORTH
From the play of The Country of the Young
There's many a strong farmer
Who's heart would break in two
If he could see the townland
That we are riding to;
Boughs have their fruit and blossom,
At all times of the year,
Rivers are running over
With red beer and brown beer.
An old man plays the bagpipes
In a golden and silver wood,
Queens their eyes blue like the ice
Are dancing in a crowd.
The little fox he murmured,
O what is the world's bane?,
The sun was laughing sweetly,
The moon plucked at my rein;
But the little red fox murmured
'O do not pluck at his rein,
He is riding to the townland
That is the world's bane.'
When their hearts are so high,
That they would come to blows,
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