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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 303 |
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(Mournfully, sing mournfully!)
The Fairies are a silent race, And pale as lily flowers to see;
I care not for a blanched face,
Nor wandering in a dreaming place, So I but banish memory, —
I wish I were with Anna Grace. (Mournfully, sing mournfully!)
" Hearken to my tale of woe ! " —
'Twas, thus to weeping Ellen Con, Her sister said in accents low,
Her only sister, Una bawn ;
'Twas in their bed before the dawn, And Ellen answered, sad and slow,
" O Una, Una, be not drawn (Hearken to my tale of woe !)
•To this unholy grief I pray, Which makes me sick at heart to know,
And I will help you if I may 3,
—rThe Fairy Well of Lagnana'y — Lie hearer, me, I tremble so, —«•
Una, I've heard wise women say (Hearken to my tale of woe !) > •
That if before the dews arise , True maiden in its icy flow
With pure hand bathe her bosom thrice,
Three lady brackens pluck likewise, And three times round the fountain go,
She straight forgets her tears and sighs." (Hearken to my tale of woe !)
All, alas ! and well away! ' " O sister Ellen, sister sweet, |
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