The poor ould _caillach_ went down the hill shakin' her finger at me. "'Tis on top o' the world ye think yerself still, an' that's what it is," says she. But _thon_ was the day Dan MacIlray Had me promise to marry. So here stand I, to be married to-morrow,-- The man he is found, but the money's to borrow.
The wrack was dark an' shiny where it floated in the sea, There was no one in the brown boat but only him an' me; Him to cut the sea wrack, me to mind the boat, An' not a word between us the hours we were afloat. The wet wrack, The sea wrack, The wrack was strong to cut.
We laid it on the grey rocks to wither in the sun, An' what should call my lad then, to sail from Cushendun? With a low moon, a full tide, a swell upon the deep, Him to sail the old boat, me to fall asleep. The dry wrack, The sea wrack, The wrack was dead so soon.
There' a fire low upon the rocks to burn the wrack to kelp, There' a boat gone down upon the Moyle, an' sorra one to help! Him beneath the salt sea, me upon the shore, By sunlight or moonlight we'll lift the wrack no more. The dark wrack, The sea wrack, The wrack may drift ashore.
'_Where am I from?_' From the green hills of Erin. '_Have I no song then?_' My songs are all sung. '_What o' my love?_' 'Tis alone I am farin'. Old grows my heart, an' my voice yet is young.
'_If she was tall?_' Like a king's own daughter. '_If she was fair?_' Like a mornin' o' May. When she'd come laughin' 'twas the runnin' wather, When she'd come blushin' 'twas the break o' day.
'_Where did she dwell?_' Where one'st I had my dwellin'. '_Who loved her best?_' There' no one now will know. '_Where is she gone?_' Och, why would I be tellin'! Where she is gone there I can never go.
Loughareema! Loughareema Lies so high among the heather; A little lough, a dark lough, The wather's black an' deep. Ould herons go a-fishin' there An' sea-gulls all together Float roun' the one green island On the fairy lough asleep.
Loughareema, Loughareema; When the sun goes down at seven, When the hills are dark an' _airy_, 'Tis a curlew whistles sweet! Then somethin' rustles all the reeds That stand so thick an' even; A little wave runs up the shore An' flees, as if on feet.
Loughareema, Loughareema! Stars come out, an' stars are hidin'; The wather whispers on the stones, The flittherin' moths are free One'st before the mornin' light The Horsemen will come ridin' Roun' an' roun' the fairy lough, An' no one there to see.