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THE LAND OF HEART'S DESIRE.
Run on the top of the dishevelled tide,
And dance upon the mountains like a flame!
Maire Bruin.
Queen of the Angels and kind Saints defend us!
Some dreadful fate has fallen: before she came
The wind cried out and took the primroses,
And I gave milk and fire, and when she came
She made you hide the blessed crucifix;
She wears, too, the green jacket and red cap
Of the unholy creatures of the Raths.
Father Hart.
You fear because of her wild, pretty prattle;
She knows no better.
(To the Child) Child, how old are you?
The Child.
My own dear people live a long, long time,
So I am young; but measure by your years
And I am older than the eagle cock
Who blinks and blinks on Ballydawley Hill,
And he's the oldest thing under the moon.
