The Mountainy Singer

The sun is out, and Davy’s up,
And hounds are on the run:
It’s hard he’ll earn his stirrup-cup
Before the day is done!
A jolly life we hunters lead
Upon the saddle high:
We see no devil in the bead,
And drain our noggins dry.
Davy Daw, Davy Daw is a huntsman bold;
He’s more to me than a kingdom’s gold.
A hind for dinner and a hare to sup —
O that’s what I get when Davy’s up!

The fox is fast upon the hill,
He’s wary in the dale;
But I will ride to Penny Mill
Before I lose his tail.
That brush was born to make a cap
For gallant Eoin Og;
And I will have it, hang-or-hap,
As sure as I’m a rogue.
Davy Daw, Davy Daw, for a morning chase,
With an Irish blood to make the pace:
He’s last to check and first to view,
And hard to the death he leads his queue.

Day in we hunt the spinney fox,
Day out the rapparee;
His cave is in the broken rocks
Above the Correi-buidhe.
A shameful thing, the ladies say,
To hunt your fellow-man;
But follow him till hard at bay
It’s just the ladies can!
Davy Daw, Davy Daw, the brush is won!
A good job, sir, our work is done.
Whitefoot went lame this side o’ the mill,
And I’m as dry as an old lime-kiln.

Red rogue, he’ll kill his goose no more:
Close work it was, for the light is o’er.
Just close work, sir, but the Dub’s close to,
With a can for me and a crab for you!

BLACK SILE OF THE SILVER EYE

As I rode down to Gartan fair
I met a girl upon the way:
The winter night was on her hair,
The summer dawn was in her eye.

And O, she stepped with such a gait,
And bore her round black head so high,
And tossed it so, I knew her straight
For Sile of the Silver Eye.

“God save you, Sile, love,” says I:
“God save you kindly,” murmured she —
And love was welling in her eye
As she dropped me the courtesy.

The mountain boys upon the road
Were at themselves for jealousy
When they saw Seamus win the nod
From Sile of the Silver Eye.

We rode together to the fair,
We danced together on the green;
And, faith, they say a suppler pair
Was ne’er before a piper seen.

Black Sile of the Silver Eye
Has been my wife for twenty year,
And still her sloe-black head is high,
And still her eye is silver clear.

And, God be praised, we have a girl,
As like her as like well can be —
The round black head, the roguish curl,
The soft tongue and the silver eye.

God bless the old, God bless the new,
And send them stout posterity —
Old Sile and young Sile, too —
Both “Sile of the Silver Eye!”

A SHEEPDOG BARKS ON THE MOUNTAIN

A sheepdog barks on the mountain,
The night is fallen cold;
The shepherd blinks at his fire,
The sheep are in the fold.

The moon comes white and quiet
Into the winter sky;
And nothing walks the valley
To-night but you and I.

DEAD OAKLEAVES EVERYWHERE