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When my kine are on the hill, Who will charm them from all ill?
While I'll sleep at ease until All the c.o.c.ks are crowing clear.
Who'll be herding them for me?
It's the elf I fain would see-- For they're safe as safe can be When the Gunna will be near.
He will watch the long weird night, When the stars will shake with fright, Or the ghostly moon leaps bright O'er the ben like Beltane fire.
If my kine would seek the corn, He will turn them by the horn-- And I'll find them all at morn Lowing sweet beside the byre.
Croumba's bard has second-sight, And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, When the frosts are flickering white, And the kine are housed till day; For he'll see him perched alone On a chilly old grey stone, Nibbling, nibbling at a bone That we'll maybe throw away.
He's so hungry, he's so thin, If he'd come we'd let him in, For a rag of fox's skin Is the only thing he'll wear.
He'll be chittering in the cold As he hovers round the fold, With his locks of glimmering gold Twined about his shoulders bare.
THE GRUAGACH.
(MILKMAID'S SONG.)
The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, The elfin lad that is so fair, He comes in rich and braw attire-- To loose the kine within the byre--
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
He's dressed so fine, he's dressed so grand, A supple switch is in his hand; I've seen while I a-milking sat The shadow of his beaver hat.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
My chuckling lad, so full o' fun, Around the corners he will run; Behind the door he'll sometimes jink, And blow to make my candle blink.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
The elfin lad that is so braw, He'll sometimes hide among the straw; He's sometimes leering from the loft-- He's t.i.ttering low and tripping soft.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
And every time I'll milk the kine He'll have his share--the luck be mine!
I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone, He'll sup it when he's all alone--
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
O me! if I'd his milk forget, Nor cream, nor b.u.t.ter I would get; Ye needna' tell--I ken full well-- On all my kine he'd cast his spell.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
On nights when I would rest at ease, The merry lad begins to tease; He'll loose the kine to take me out, And t.i.tter while I move about.
My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.
THE LITTLE OLD MAN OF THE BARN.
When all the big lads will be hunting the deer, And no one for helping Old Callum comes near, O who will be busy at thres.h.i.+ng his corn?
Who will come in the night and be going at morn?
The Little Old Man of the Barn, Yon Little Old Man-- A bodach forlorn will be thres.h.i.+ng his corn, The Little Old Man of the Barn.
When the peat will turn grey and the shadows fall deep, And weary Old Callum is snoring asleep; When yon plant by the door will keep fairies away, And the horse-shoe sets witches a-wandering till day.
The Little Old Man of the Barn, Yon Little Old Man-- Will thresh with no light in the mouth of the night, The Little Old Man of the Barn.
For the bodach is strong though his hair is so grey, He will never be weary when he goes away-- The bodach is wise--he's so wise, he's so dear-- When the lads are all gone, he will ever be near.
The Little Old Man of the Barn, Yon Little Old Man-- So tight and so braw he will bundle the straw-- The Little Old Man of the Barn.
YON FAIRY DOG.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals, Whose heart would never fail, Would hear yon fairy ban-dog fierce Come howling down the gale; The patt'ring of the paws would sound Like horse's hoofs on frozen ground, While o'er its back and curling round Uprose its fearsome tail.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- Yon man that hath no fears-- Beheld the dog with dark-green back That bends not when it rears; Its sides were blacker than the night, But underneath the hair was white; Its paws were yellow, its eyes were bright, And blood-red were its ears.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- The man who naught will dread-- Would wait it, stooping with his spear, As nigh to him it sped; The big black head it turn'd and toss'd, "I'll strike," cried he, "ere I'll be lost,"
For every living thing that cross'd Its path would tumble dead.
'Twas bold MacCodrum of the Seals-- The man who ne'er took fright-- Would watch it bounding from the hills And o'er the moors in flight.
When it would leave the Uist sh.o.r.e, Across the Minch he heard it roar-- Like yon black cloud it bounded o'er The Coolin Hills that night.
THE WATER-HORSE.
O the Water-Horse will come over the heath, With the foaming mouth and the flas.h.i.+ng eyes, He's black above and he's white beneath-- The hills are hearing the awesome cries; The sand lies thick in his dripping hair, And his hoofs are twined with weeds and ware.
Alas! for the man who would clutch the mane-- There's no spell to help and no charm to save!
Who rides him will never return again, Were he as strong, O were he as brave As Fin-mac-Coul, of whom they'll tell-- He thrashed the devil and made him yell.
He'll gallop so fierce, he'll gallop so fast, So high he'll rear, and so swift he'll bound-- Like the lightning flash he'll go prancing past, Like the thunder-roll will his hoofs resound-- And the man perchance who sees and hears, He would blind his eyes, he would close his ears.
The horse will bellow, the horse will snort, And the gasping rider will pant for breath-- Let the way be long, or the way be short, It will have one end, and the end is death; In yon black loch, from off the sh.o.r.e, The horse will splash, and be seen no more.
