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| I MET the Love-Talker one eve in the glen, | |
| He was handsomer than any of our handsome young men, | |
| His eyes were blacker than the sloe, his voice sweeter far | |
| Than the crooning of old Kevin’s pipes beyond in Coolnagar. | |
| |
| I was bound for the milking with a heart fair and free— | 5 |
| My grief! my grief! that bitter hour drained the life from me; | |
| I thought him human lover, though his lips on mine were cold, | |
| And the breath of death blew keen on me within his hold. | |
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| I know not what way he came, no shadow fell behind, | |
| But all the sighing rushes swayed beneath a faery wind | 10 |
| The thrush ceased its singing, a mist crept about, | |
| We two clung together—with the world shut out. | |
| |
| Beyond the ghostly mist I could hear my cattle low, | |
| The little cow from Ballina, clean as driven snow, | |
| The dun cow from Kerry, the roan from Inisheer, | 15 |
| Oh, pitiful their calling—and his whispers in my ear! | |
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| His eyes were a fire; his words were a snare; | |
| I cried my mother’s name, but no help was there; | |
| I made the blessed Sign; then he gave a dreary moan, | |
| A wisp of cloud went floating by, and I stood alone. | 20 |
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| Running ever through my head, is an old-time rune— | |
| “Who meets the Love-Talker must weave her shroud soon.” | |
| My mother’s face is furrowed with the salt tears that fall, | |
| But the kind eyes of my father are the saddest sight of all. | |
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| I have spun the fleecy lint, and now my wheel is still, | 25 |
| The linen length is woven for my shroud fine and chill, | |
| I shall stretch me on the bed where a happy maid I lay— | |
| Pray for the soul of Mairé Og at dawning of the day! | |
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