 | Late songs |  |
83
CALDRA
(On a Tyrone hillside)
The little valley folded lies
Amid the hills a-dream,
The silence, soft as lullabies,
Hushes the wind, the stream.
Amid the hills a-dream,
The silence, soft as lullabies,
Hushes the wind, the stream.
Here where no dreadful thing affrights,
No lurking shadows creep,
Only the short sweet grass invites
The cropping kine and sheep,
No lurking shadows creep,
Only the short sweet grass invites
The cropping kine and sheep,
The pagan giant takes his rest
Who died when this was new.
His huge slab broken o'er his breast
Has let the daisies through.
Who died when this was new.
His huge slab broken o'er his breast
Has let the daisies through.
And round about and all around
The unchristened babies lie.
Only the mother knows the mound
And the name to call it by.
The unchristened babies lie.
Only the mother knows the mound
And the name to call it by.
84
When the sad world is all in shade
They bring the babies here,
The little weary ones unstayed
By any Angel dear.
They bring the babies here,
The little weary ones unstayed
By any Angel dear.
The mother lays her lamb away
Where soft South winds will blow
And where the sweet sun shines all day
On small graves in a row.
Where soft South winds will blow
And where the sweet sun shines all day
On small graves in a row.
The mother smooths the clayey bed,
And sets the piteous stone
Where some most precious drowsy-head
Sleeps on alone, alone.
And sets the piteous stone
Where some most precious drowsy-head
Sleeps on alone, alone.
But when the Winter nights are long
And the hearth fires are bright
And babes sleep sweetly and grow strong
Lapped up in fleeces white,
And the hearth fires are bright
And babes sleep sweetly and grow strong
Lapped up in fleeces white,
And when the mother's arms let go
The happy babe full-fed,
These hapless ones in frost and snow
Must go uncomforted.
The happy babe full-fed,
These hapless ones in frost and snow
Must go uncomforted.
85
But the old giant in the mirk
He hears the cry and call:
Come hither, O children from the dark,
My arms have room for all.
He hears the cry and call:
Come hither, O children from the dark,
My arms have room for all.
No little babe need go afeard
Since he is strong and kind,
For all his armour and his beard,
His great voice on the wind.
Since he is strong and kind,
For all his armour and his beard,
His great voice on the wind.
The unchristened children rustle and stir,
Their hearts are not dismayed,
God sends as once St. Christopher
His pagan to their aid.
Their hearts are not dismayed,
God sends as once St. Christopher
His pagan to their aid.
Now like a flock of frightened birds
The little ghosts will fly.
He hath mothered them with tender words
And stilled their lonely cry.
The little ghosts will fly.
He hath mothered them with tender words
And stilled their lonely cry.
The pagan giant now grown mild,
His notched sword by his arm,
Draws close to him the hapless child
That never else was warm.
His notched sword by his arm,
Draws close to him the hapless child
That never else was warm.
86
As a hen gathereth her brood
He keeps from eve till morn
The little orphaned ones of God
That died ere they were born.
He keeps from eve till morn
The little orphaned ones of God
That died ere they were born.
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