It was in the month of June Hanrahan was on the road near Sligo, but he did not go into the town, but turowards Beinn Bulben; for there were thoughts of the old times ing upon him, and he had no mind to meet with en. And as he walked he was singing to himself a song that had e to him oime in his dreams: O Deaths old bony finger Will never find us there In the high hollow townland Where loves to give and to spare; Where boughs have fruit and blossom At all times of the year; Where rivers are running over With red beer and brown beer. An old man plays the bagpipes In a gold and silver wood; Queens, their eyes blue like the ice, Are dang in a crowd.
The little fox he murmured, O what of the worlds bahe sun was laughing sweetly, The moon plucked at my rein; But the little red fox murmured, O do not pluck at his rein, He is riding to the townland That is the worlds bane.
When their hearts are so high That they would e to blows, They unhook their heavy swords From golden and silver boughs: But all that are killed in battle Awaken to life again: It is lucky that their story Is not known among men. For O, the strong farmers That would let the spade lie, Their hearts would be like a cup That somebody had drunk dry.
Michael will unhook his trumpet From a bough overhead, And blow a little noise When the supper has been spread. Gabriel will e from the water With a fish tail, and talk Of wohat have happened O roads where men walk, And lift up an old horn Of hammered silver, and drink Till he has fallen asleep Upoarry brink.
Hanrahan had begun to climb the mountain then, and he gave over singing, for it was a long climb for him, and every now and again he had to sit down and to rest for a while. And oime he was restiook notice of a wild briar bush, with blossoms on it, that was growing beside a rath, and it brought to mind the wild roses he used t to Mary Lavelle, and to no woman after her. Aore off a little branch of the bush, that had buds on it and open blossoms, and he went on with his song: The little fox he murmured, O what of the worlds bahe sun was laughing sweetly, The moon plucked at my rein; But the little red fox murmured, O do not pluck at his rein, He is riding to the townland That is the worlds bane.
And he went on climbing the hill, ahe rath, and there came to his mind some of the old poems that told of lood and bad, and of some that were awakened from the sleep of the grave itself by the strength of one anothers love, and brought away to a life in some shadowy place, where they are waiting for the judgment and banished from the face of God.
And at last, at the fall of day, he came to the Steep Gap of the Strangers, and there he laid himself down along a ridge of rock, and looked into the valley, that was full of grey mist spreading from mountain to mountain.
And it seemed to him as he looked that the mist ged to shapes of shadowy men and women, and his heart began to beat with the fear and the joy of the sight. And his hands, that were always restless, began to pluck off the leaves of the roses otle branch, ached them as they went floating down into the valley in a little fluttering troop.
Suddenly he heard a faint music, a music that had more laughter in it and more g than all the music of this world. And his heart rose when he heard that, and he began to laugh out loud, for he khat music was made by some who had a beauty and a greatness beyond the people of this world. And it see