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Mairead Ni Ceallaigh
At the dance in the village
Thy white foot was fleetest;
Thy voice mid the concert
Of maidens was sweetest;
The swell of thy white breast
Made rich lovers follow;
And thy raven-hair bound thee
Young Mairead Ni Ceallaigh.
Thy neck was lots made
Than the ceannabhan whiter;
And the glow of thy cheeks
Than the monadan brighter;
But death’s chain hath bound thee
Thine eyes glazed and hollow,
That shone like a sun-burst
Young Mairead Ni Ceallaigh.
No more shall mine ear drink
Thy melody swelling;
Nor thy beamy eye brighten
The outlaw’s dark dwelling;
Or thy soft heaving bosom
My destiny hallow;
When thine arms twined around me
Young Mairead Ni Ceallaigh
The moss couch I brought thee
Today from the mountain;
Has drunk the last drop
Of thy young heart’s red fountain;
For this good ‘scian’ beside me
Struck deep and rung hollow,
In thy bosom of treason
Young Mairead Ni Ceallaigh
With strings of rich pearls
Thy white neck was laden;
And thy fingers with spoils
Of the Sasanach, maiden.
Such rich silks enrobed not
The proud dames of Mallow;
Such pure gold they wore not
As Mairead Ni Ceallaigh.
Alas, that my loved one
Her outlaw would injure;
Alas that he e’er proved
Her treason’s avenger.
That this right hand should make thee
A bed cold and hollow;
When in death’s sleep it laid thee
Young Mairead Ni Ceallaigh.
And while to this lone cave
My deep grief I’m venting,
The Saxon’s keen bandog
My footsteps is scenting.
But true men await me
Afar in Duhallow;
Farewell, cave of slaughter,
And Mairead Ni Ceallaigh.