Part 1 (1/2)
The Fairy Changeling and Other Poems.
by Dora Sigerson.
NOTE
_Only one of the pieces in the following collection appeared in the writer's earlier volume_ (”_Verses_” _by Dora Sigerson_; _Elliot Stock_, 1893). _The remainder have found refuge in_ ”_Longman's Magazine_,”
”_The Pall Mall Magazine_,” ”_The National Observer_” (_of Mr. Henley_), ”_Ca.s.sell's Magazine_,” _and numerous American publications_-”_The Century Magazine_,” ”_The Bookman_,” ”_The Boston Pilot_,” ”_The Chap-Book_,” _and others_. _The Author wishes to thank the Editors of these magazines and journals for the kindness implied_.
THE FAIRY CHANGELING
Dermod O'Byrne of Omah town In his garden strode up and down; He pulled his beard, and he beat his breast; And this is his trouble and woe confessed:
”The good-folk came in the night, and they Have stolen my bonny wean away; Have put in his place a changeling, A weashy, weakly, wizen thing!
”From the speckled hen nine eggs I stole, And lighting a fire of a glowing coal, I fried the sh.e.l.ls, and I spilt the yolk; But never a word the stranger spoke:
”A bar of metal I heated red To frighten the fairy from its bed, To put in the place of this fretting wean My own bright beautiful boy again.
”But my wife had hidden it in her arms, And cried 'For shame!' on my fairy charms; She sobs, with the strange child on her breast: 'I love the weak, wee babe the best!'”
To Dermod O'Byrne's, the tale to hear, The neighbours came from far and near: Outside his gate, in the long boreen, They crossed themselves, and said between
Their muttered prayers, ”He has no luck!
For sure the woman is fairy-struck, To leave her child a fairy guest, And love the weak, wee wean the best!”
A BALLAD OF MARJORIE
”What ails you that you look so pale, O fisher of the sea?”
”'Tis for a mournful tale I own, Fair maiden Marjorie.”
”What is the dreary tale to tell, O toiler of the sea?”
”I cast my net into the waves, Sweet maiden Marjorie.
”I cast my net into the tide, Before I made for home; Too heavy for my hands to raise, I drew it through the foam.”
”What saw you that you look so pale, Sad searcher of the sea?”
”A dead man's body from the deep My haul had brought to me!”
”And was he young, and was he fair?”
”Oh, cruel to behold!
In his white face the joy of life Not yet was grown a-cold.”
”Oh, pale you are, and full of prayer For one who sails the sea.”
”Because the dead looked up and spoke, Poor maiden Marjorie.”