 | Irish Songs and Ballads |  |
125
BELTANE.
Oh, mild May day, in Fōdla's climeOf fairy colour, the laughing prime
Of leafy summer from year to year,
I would that Leagha were with me here
To lie and listen down in a dell
To Banba's blackbirds warbling well,
And her cuckoos crying with constant strain
Welcome, welcome the bright Beltane;
When the swallows are skimming the shore,
And the swift steed stoops to the fountain,
And the weak, fair bog-down grows on the moor,
And the heath spreads her hair on the mountain,
And the signs of heaven are in consternation,
And the rushing planets such radiance pour,
That the sea lies lulled, and the generation
Of flowers awakes once more.
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