Page:The Celtic twilight. Men and women (IA celtictwilightme00yeat).pdf/8



The host is riding from Knocknarea,
 * And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare;
 * Caolte tossing his burning hair,

And Niam calling, 'Away, come away;

'And brood no more where the fire is bright,
 * Tilling thy heart with a mortal dream;
 * For breasts are heaving and eyes a-gleam:

Away, come away, to the dim twilight.

'Arms are a-waving and lips apart;
 * And if any gaze on our rushing band,
 * We come between him and the deed of his hand,

We come between him and the hope of his heart.'

The host is rushing 'twixt night and day;
 * And where is there hope or deed as fair?
 * Caolte tossing his burning hair,

And Niam calling, 'Away, come away.'