By Richard J. Finneran (eds.)

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Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing! ' Then Emer cast the web upon the floor, And raising arms all raddled with the dye, Parted her lips with a loud sudden cry. ' 'The Red Branch camp in a great company Between wood's rim and the horses of the sea. ' 40 50 Among those feasting men Cuchulain dwelt, And his young sweetheart close beside him knelt, Stared on the mournful wonder of his eyes, Even as Spring upon the ancient skies, And pondered on the glory of his days; And all around the harp-string told his praise, And Conchubar, the Red Branch king of kings, With his own fingers touched the brazen strings.

And now moves many a pleasant tongue Upon his wasted hands, For leading aged hounds and young The huntsman near him stands. ' The huntsman loosens on the morn A gay wandering cry. ' Servants round his cushioned place Are with new sorrow wrung; Hounds are gazing on his face, Aged hounds and young. One blind hound only lies apart On the sun-smitten grass; He holds deep commune with his heart: The moments pass and pass; The blind hound with a mournful din Lifts slow his wintry head; The servants bear the body in; The hounds wail for the dead.

And these were the works of John, When, weeping score by score, People came into Coloony; For he'd died at ninety-four. 30 There was no human keening; The birds from Knocknarea And the world round Knocknashee Came keening in that day. The young birds and old birds Came flying, heavy and sad; Keening in from Tiraragh, Keening from Ballinafad; 40 Keening from Inishmurray, Nor stayed for bite or sup; This way were all reproved Who dig old customs up. Crossways 2I 15 The Ballad of Moll Magee Come round me, little childer; There, don't fling stones at me Because I mutter as I go; But pity Moll Magee.

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