 | Experiences |  |
11
THE IRISH PIPES.
I heard the piper playing,
The piper old and blind,
And knew its secret saying—
The voice of the summer wind.
The piper old and blind,
And knew its secret saying—
The voice of the summer wind.
I heard clear waters falling,
Lapping from stone to stone,
The wood-dove crying and calling,
Ever alone, alone.
Lapping from stone to stone,
The wood-dove crying and calling,
Ever alone, alone.
I heard the bells of the heather
Ring in the summer breeze,
Soft stir of fur and feather
And quiet hum of bees.
Ring in the summer breeze,
Soft stir of fur and feather
And quiet hum of bees.
The piper drew me yearning
Into the dim grey lands,
Where there is no returning
Although I wring my hands.
Into the dim grey lands,
Where there is no returning
Although I wring my hands.
There to the piper's crooning
I saw my dead again,
All in a happy nooning
Of golden sun and rain.
I saw my dead again,
All in a happy nooning
Of golden sun and rain.
12
You piper, kind and hoary,
Your pipes upon your knee,
If I should tell my story,
The things you piped for me;
Your pipes upon your knee,
If I should tell my story,
The things you piped for me;
The folk would leave their selling
And bid their buying go,
If I could but be telling
The things you let me know.
And bid their buying go,
If I could but be telling
The things you let me know.
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