Part 3 (1/2)

When my kine are on the hill, Who will charm them from all ill?

While I'll sleep at ease until All the c.o.c.ks are crowing clear.

Who'll be herding them for me?

It's the elf I fain would see-- For they're safe as safe can be When the Gunna will be near.

He will watch the long weird night, When the stars will shake with fright, Or the ghostly moon leaps bright O'er the ben like Beltane fire.

If my kine would seek the corn, He will turn them by the horn-- And I'll find them all at morn Lowing sweet beside the byre.

Croumba's bard has second-sight, And he'll moan the Gunna's plight, When the frosts are flickering white, And the kine are housed till day; For he'll see him perched alone On a chilly old grey stone, Nibbling, nibbling at a bone That we'll maybe throw away.

He's so hungry, he's so thin, If he'd come we'd let him in, For a rag of fox's skin Is the only thing he'll wear.

He'll be chittering in the cold As he hovers round the fold, With his locks of glimmering gold Twined about his shoulders bare.

THE GRUAGACH.

(MILKMAID'S SONG.)

The lightsome lad wi' yellow hair, The elfin lad that is so fair, He comes in rich and braw attire-- To loose the kine within the byre--

My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

He's dressed so fine, he's dressed so grand, A supple switch is in his hand; I've seen while I a-milking sat The shadow of his beaver hat.

My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

My chuckling lad, so full o' fun, Around the corners he will run; Behind the door he'll sometimes jink, And blow to make my candle blink.

My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

The elfin lad that is so braw, He'll sometimes hide among the straw; He's sometimes leering from the loft-- He's t.i.ttering low and tripping soft.

My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

And every time I'll milk the kine He'll have his share--the luck be mine!

I'll pour it in yon hollowed stone, He'll sup it when he's all alone--

My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.

O me! if I'd his milk forget, Nor cream, nor b.u.t.ter I would get; Ye needna' tell--I ken full well-- On all my kine he'd cast his spell.

My lightsome lad, my leering lad, He's t.i.ttering here; he's t.i.ttering there-- I'll hear him plain, but seek in vain To find my lad wi' yellow hair.