[112] _i.e._ "Let us drink the cruiskeen ('little jug'); fair health to my darling!"
"Who is that without With voice like a sword, That batters my bolted door?" "I am Eamonn an Chnuic, Cold, weary, and wet From long walking mountains and glens." "O dear and bright love, What would I do for you But cover you with a skirt of my dress. For shots full thick Are raining on you, And together we may be slaughtered!"
"Long am I out Under snow, under frost, Without comradeship with any; My team unyoked, My fallow unsown, And they lost to me entirely; Friend I have none (I am heavy for that) That would harbour me late or early; And so I must go East over the sea, Since 'tis there I have no kindred!"
"O Druimin donn dilish,[113] True Flower of the Kine, Say, where art thou hiding, Sad Mother of mine?" "I lurk in the wild wood, No human ear hears (Save my brave lads around me) My fast-falling tears.
"Gone my broad lands and homesteads, My music and wine, No chieftains attend me No hostings are mine. Stale bread and cold water The whole of my hoard, While the warm wine flows freely Round the enemy's board."
"Could we utter our minds To those smart English rogues, We would beat them as soundly As we beat our old brogues! We would whip them through thorns On a damp, foggy day, O'er the cliffs, my Donn dilish, We would chase them away!"
[113] A poetic name for Ireland; _druimshionn donn dileas_, lit. "the beloved white-backed dun cow."
Do you remember that night When you were at the window, With neither hat nor gloves Nor coat to shelter you? I reached out my hand to you, And you ardently grasped it, I remained to converse with you Until the lark began to sing.
Do you remember that night That you and I were At the foot of the rowan-tree, And the night drifting snow? Your head on my breast, And your pipe sweetly playing? Little thought I that night That our love ties would loosen!
Beloved of my inmost heart, Come some night, and soon, When my people are at rest, That we may talk together. My arms shall encircle you While I relate my sad tale, That your soft, pleasant converse Hath deprived me of heaven.
The fire is unraked, The light unextinguished, The key under the door, Do you softly draw it. My mother is asleep, But I am wide awake; My fortune in my hand, I am ready to go with you.