MY GUNNA.

When my kine are on the hill,

Who will charm them from all ill?

While I'll sleep at ease until

All the cocks 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.