The Collected Poems of Dora Sigerson Shorter/The Mountain Maid

From Wikisource
Jump to navigation Jump to search
1721355The Mountain MaidDora Sigerson Shorter

THE MOUNTAIN MAID

Half seated on a mossy crag,
    Half crouching in the heather;
I found a little Irish maid,
    All in June's golden weather.

Like some fond hand that loved the child,
    The wind tossed back her tresses;
The heath-bells touched her unclad feet
    With shy and soft caresses.

A mountain linnet flung his song
    Into the air around her;
But all in vain the splendid hour,
    For deep in woe I found her.

“Ahone! Ahone! Ahone!” she wept,
    The tears fell fast and faster;
I sat myself beside her there,
    To hear of her disaster.

Like dew on roses down her cheek
    The diamond drops were stealing;
She laid her two brown hands in mine,
    Her trouble all revealing.

Alas! Alas! the tale she told
    In Gaelic low and tender;
A plague upon my Saxon tongue,
    I could not comprehend her.