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528 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF
The bread and the wine had a doom, For these were the host of the air.
He sat and played in a dream Of her long dim hair.
He played with the merry old men And thought not of evil chance,
Until one bore Bridget his bride Away from the merry dance.
He bore her away in his arms,
The handsomest young man there,
And his neck and his breast and his arms Were drowned in her long dim hair.
O'Driscoll scattered the cards And out of his dream awoke.
Old men and young men and young girls Were gone like a drifting smoke.
But he heard high up in the air
A piper piping away, And never was piping so sad
And never was piping so gay. |
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THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE
T
HE host is riding from Knocknarea And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare; Caolte tossing his burning hair, And Niamh calling : Away, come away : Empty your heart of its mortal dream. |
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