The Ballad of Downal Baun The moon-cradle's rocking and rocking, Where a cloud and a cloud goes by: Silently rocking and rocking,

The moon-cradle out in the sky.

To-morrow we'll gather the rushes,
And plait them beside our fire,

And we'll make Saint Bridghid's Crosses,
To hang in the room and the byre.

25

SHE MOVED THROUGH THE FAIR

My young love said to me, "My brothers won't mind,
And my parents won't slight you for your lack of kind."
Then she stepped away from me, and this she did say,
"It will not be long, love, till our wedding day."

She stepped away from me and she moved through the fair,

And fondly I watched her go here and go there,

Then she went her way homeward with one star awake, As the swan in the evening moves over the lake.

The people were saying no two were e'er wed
But one had a sorrow that never was said,

And I smiled as she passed with her goods and her gear,
And that was the last that I saw of my dear.

I dreamt it last night that my young love came in,
So softly she entered, her feet made no din;

She came close beside me, and this she did say,
"It will not be long, love, till our wedding day."

ACROSS THE DOOR

THE fiddles were playing and playing,
The couples were out on the floor;
From converse and dancing he drew me,
And across the door.

Ah! strange were the dim, wide meadows, And strange was the cloud-strewn sky, And strange in the meadows the corncrakes, And they making cry!

The hawthorn bloom was by us,

Around us the breath of the south.

White hawthorn, strange in the night-timeHis kiss on my mouth!

A CRADLE SONG

O, MEN from the fields!
Come gently within.
Tread softly, softly,
O! men coming in.

Mavourneen is going

From me and from you, Where Mary will fold him

With mantle of blue!

From reek of the smoke

And cold of the floor, And the peering of things Across the half-door.

O, men from the fields!
Soft, softly come thro'.
Mary puts round him
Her mantle of blue.

NO CHILD

I HEARD in the night the pigeons
Stirring within their nest:
The wild pigeon's stir was tender,
Like a child's hand at the breast.

I cried, "O, stir no more!

(My breast was touched of tears), O pigeons, make no stir— A childless woman hears."