Ghost-bereft :: :: University of Virginia Library

And contented I was, when me troubles 'ud vex me, wid only the strame
To console me, and Norah; between them me dark humour'd pass like a drame,
Oft and oft. Till that once I met Hughey Maclean, runnin' home through the wood.
'Twas a wild April day, and the wind in the trees stooped the straightest that stood

All its own way; and if you laid hold of a bough, it 'ud strive and contend
Like some live thing you'd gripped. So I seen him along at the straight footpath's end;
And I thought to meself, would he mind the quare show I was, just skytin' past,
Wid me hair all blown loose, and the shawl flutterin' off of me head in the blast?
And I run like a rabbit. But right in a place wid no room to slip by,
Hughey met me and stopped, and: ‘Fine evenin',’ sez he, and: ‘Fine evenin',’ sez I.
Then he lifted the end of a strand of me hair on two fingers, and drew
Out its length, soft as if he was handlin' moths' wings, and sez he: ‘I ne'er knew
They'd sell gold by the yard in this country,’ sez he, wid the smile in his eyes

Lookin' into me own dark and kind, ‘But for sure you're the colleen that buys.’
‘It's the red gold,’ sez I; and sez he: ‘And the red gold was ever the best—’
And wid that a long beam of the sun come aslant on us out of the west,
And, true for him, that lock of me hair was naught else but the colour of gold—
‘Faith, the red gold's the right gold,’ sez he, and he lettin' it slip from his hold.
I remember it well: ‘The right gold,’ he sez. ‘Ay, and the prettiest to see.’
That was just and he turnin' to go: ‘The red gold for me, Oonah machree.’