My dainty Dame, my heart’s delight,
Star of my watch, serene and bright;
Come to the green wood, mild is May,
Cosy the arbours, come away!
In me thy spouse and servant see,
To silvan hall I’ll usher thee;
Thy bed shall be the leaves heaped high,
Thy organ’s note the cuckoo’s cry.
Thy covert warm the kindly wood,
No fairer form therein e’er stood.
Thy dress, my beauteous gem, shall be
Soft foliage stript from forest tree;
The foliage best the forest bore,
Served as a garb for Eve of yore.
Thou, too, throughout the summer day
Shalt rove around in Eve’s array.
My Eve thou art, my ever dear,
Thy Adam I’ll attend and cheer.
Come to the green wood, come away,
The floor with grass and flowers is gay!
There ’neath no tree shalt thou descry
In churlish guise old jealousy.
Fear not my love, afar is now
The loon, thy tiresome lord, I trow;
To all a jest amidst his clan
He choler deals in Cardigan.
Here, nestled nigh the sounding sea,
In Ifor’s bush we’ll ever be.
More bliss for us our fate propounds
On Taf’s green banks than Teivi’s bounds;
Thy caitiff wight is scarce aware
Where now we lurk, my little fair.
Ah! better here, in love’s sweet thrall,
To hark the cuckoo’s hearty call,
Than pine through life in castle hall!
GRASACH ABO
OR
THE CAUSE OF GRACE
O, Baillie Na Cortie! thy turrets are tall,
Descried from their top is the oncoming foe;
Though numerous the warriors that watch on thy wall,
Thy hope and thy trust are in Grasach Abo.
O, Baillie Na Cortie! thy chieftains abound
With courage no dangers can ever lay low;
In the day of the fight can their equals be found,
When is roared to the heaven’s heights Grasach Abo?
O, Baillie Na Cortie! brave helps thou hast nigh,
Will rise at thy summons full quickly I trow;
The Shortuls, Roothes, Shees, clans so mighty and high,
Will rise on the foemen of Grasach Abo.
O, Baillie Na Cortie! thy banner shall bound
Blood red in the winds o’er the battle that blow;
When thy lion so gallant breathes terror around,
And thy soldiers are shouting out Grasach Abo.
O, Baillie Na Cortie! thy armoury boasts
The arms of great chiefs on the wall in a row;
Gilliepatrick let fall, and O More of the hosts,
When they ran in red rout before Grasach Abo.
O, Baillie Na Cortie! when blazed the bright swords,
Thy sons gave the Butlers a signal o’erthrow;
When Desmond was scattered with all his dark hordes,
He loathed the wild war whoop of Grasach Abo.
O, Baillie Na Cortie! thou needest no aid
Of strangers the day when the blood torrents flow;
The Brennaghs, Powrs, Parcels with buckler and blade,
Shall triumph and feast with the Grasach Abo.
O, Baillie Na Cortie! thy bards hope to praise
Thee, thee through long ages undarkened with woe;
And him, thy brave chieftain, his bountiful ways,
And the heroes who bleed for the Grasach Abo.