A Cradle Song (Colum)

O, men from the fields! Come softly within. Tread softly, softly, O! men, coming in.

Mavourneen is going From me and from you, To Mary, the Mother, Whose mantle is blue!

From reek of the smoke And cold of the floor, And peering of things Across the half-door.

O men from the fields! Soft, softly come thro'. Mary puts round him Her mantle of blue.