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162 CELTIC POETRY.
Letting her locks of gold to the cold wind free, For me the foremost of our gay young fellows ;
But I 'd leave a hundred, pure love, for thee : Then put your head, darling, darling, darling,
Your darling black head my heart above ; Oh, mouth of honey, with the thyme for fragrance,
Who, with heart in breast, could deny you love ?
The verses entitled The Fair Hair'd Girl express with great sweetness the sense of woe and sorrow which forms the burden of so much of the Celtic poetry, and which is only relieved by occasional flashes of intoxicated merriment with the glass of whiskey for its stimulus and inspiration.
THE FAIR HAIR'D GIRL.
The sun has set, the stars are still, The red moon hides behind the hill ; The tide has left the brown beach bare, The birds have fled the upper air ; Upon her branch the lone cuckoo Is chanting still her sad adieu ; And you, my fair hair'd girl, must go Across the salt sea under woe.
I through love have learned three things, Sorrow, sin, and death it brings, Yet day by day my heart within Dares shame and sorrow, death and sin ; Maiden, you have aim'd the dart Rankling in my ruin'd heart ; Maiden, may the God above Grant you grace to grant me love.