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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 397 |
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Night's gloom enwraps the hills once more and hides
a slender form That shudders o'er the moor again, before the driving
storm.
No bread is in her wallet stored, but on the lonesome
heath She lifts her empty hands to God, and prays for
speedy death.
Yet struggles onward, faint and blind, and numb to
hope or fear, Unmindful of the rocky dell or of the rushy mere.
But, ululu ! what sight is this ?—what forms come by
the reek ? As white and thin as evening mist upon the mountain's
peak.
Mist-like they glide across the heath—a weird and
ghostly band; The foremost crosses Eileen's path, and grasps her by
the hand.
" Dear daughter, thou has suffered sore, but we are
well and free: For God has ta'en our life from us, nor wills it long
to thee.
" So hie thee to our cabin lone, and dig a grave so
deep, And underneath the golden gorse our corpses lay to
sleep — |
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