Ghost-bereft :: :: University of Virginia Library

I remimber the time me poor father was tuk on us, a great while ago,
And we waked him and buried him—Heaven be his bed—in Dugort down below;
And then back wid us home to th' ould house, that was strange-like and still when we came.

And I said to meself he was gone, but I thought he'd be there all the same.
Till I streeled out at sunsettin', round to the field where we'd broken the lea,
That's a quare long stiff pull 'gin the steep of the hill, and 'twas often I'd see
Where he follied th' ould horses, nid-noddin' their heads to the sky on the ridge,
Wid their big feet all tramplin' togither in pairs as they turned on the idge
Of the headland. So there in its furrow the plough lay, laned over on one side,
Wid its handle-crooks lookin' to feel in the air for the grip that 'ud guide;
And says I to meself: ‘He'll ne'er hold them agin till the whole world rusts red.’
And wid that, on a suddint, I couldn't say how, but I knew he was dead.