The Song of the Ghost

WHEN all were dreaming but Pastheen Power, A light came streaming beneath her bower,

A heavy foot at her door, delayed,

A heavy hand on the latch was laid.

"Now who dare venture at this dark hour,
Unbid to enter my maiden bower?"
"Dear Pastheen, open the door to me,
And your true lover you'll surely see."

"My own true lover, so tall and brave,
Lives exiled over the angry wave."
"Your true love's body lies on the bier,
His faithful spirit is with you here.”

"His look was cheerful, his voice was gay:
Your speech is fearful. your voice is gray;
And sad and sunken your eye of blue,
But Patrick, Patrick, alas 'tis you."

Ere dawn was breaking she heard below
The two cocks shaking their wings to crow.
"O hush you, hush you, both red and gray,
Or you will hurry my love away."

"O hush your crowing both gray and red Or he'll be going to join the dead;

O cease from calling his ghost to the mould, And I'll come crowning your combs with gold."

When all were dreaming but Pastheen Power,
A light went streaming from out her bower,
And on the morrow when they awoke,
They knew that sorrow her heart had broke.
ALFRED PERCIVAL GRAVES.

Lullaby

SOFTLY now the burn is rushing,
Every lark its song is hushing,
On the moor thick rest is falling,
Just one heather-blade is calling-
Calling, calling, lonely, lonely,
For my darling, for my only,
Leanbhain O, Leanbhain O!

Trotting home, my dearie, dearie,
Wee black lamb comes, wearie, wearie,
Here its soft feet pit-a-patting
Quickly o'er the flowery matting,
See its brown-black eyes a-blinking-
Of its bed it's surely thinking,

Leanbhain O, Leanbhain O!

The hens to roost wee Nora's shooing,
Brindley in the byre is mooing,
The tired-out cricket's quit its calling,
Velvet sleep on all is falling,—
Lark and cow, and sheep and starling,-
Feel it kiss our white-haired darling,
Leanbhain O, Leanbhain O!

SEUMAS MACMANUS.

I Lie Down With God

ILIE down with God, and may God lie down with me; The right hand of God under my head,

The two hands of Mary round about me,

The cross of the nine white angels,

From the back of my head

To the sole of my feet.

May I not lie with evil,

And may evil not lie with me.

Anna, mother of Mary,

Mary, mother of Christ,

Elizabeth, mother of John Baptist,
I myself beseech these three

To keep the couch free from sickness.
The tree on which Christ suffered

Be between me and the heavy-lying

And any other thing that seeks my harm.

With the will of God and the aid of the glorious Virgin.

*The nightmare.

Translated by ELEANOR HULL.