THE MAY-FIRE

Come away, O Maire Ban,

Come away, come away

Where the heads of ceanabhan

Tremble in the twilight air,

And the rushes nod and sway,

And no other sound is heard

But the swaying of the rushes,

And the shouts from Croc-an-air,

And the singing of the fidils,

And the laughing of the dancers

Round about the yellow fire,

And the scream of the water-bird.

Come away, O life of me,

O bone of me, O blood of me —

Feilim has a tale to tell:

He would own his love for thee,

Smitten first at Mura's well,

Bitten at the Lammas pattern,

By the blessed Mura's well.

He would tell thee, Maire Ban,

How his pulses leap and thrill

Quicker than the old men's fidils,

Singing out from yonder hill.

Come away, O heart's desire,

From the ruddy-featured circle,

From the story-telling circle,

By the wreathing Bealtein fire.

Come away, come away,

Come away, O Maire Ban,

Where the heads of ceanabhan

Tremble in the twilight air,

And the voice of love is heard

Whispering o'er the bending rushes

Like a hidden, holy bird.

Come away, O Maire Ban —

Feilim's face is fairy-wan,

Feilim's heart is sick and pale,

Languishing for love of thee.