_A Girl's Babble_
I go to knit two clans together;
Our clan and this clan unseen of yore:--
Our clan fears nought! but I go, O whither?
This day I go from my mother's door.
Thou, red-breast, singest the old song over,
Though many a time thou hast sung it before;
They never sent thee to some strange new lover:--
I sing a new song by my mother's door.
I stepped from my little room down by the ladder,
The ladder that never so shook before;
I was sad last night; to-day I am sadder,
Because I go from my mother's door.
The last snow melts upon bush and bramble;
The gold bars shine on the forest's floor;
Shake not, thou leaf! it is I must tremble
Because I go from my mother's door.
From a Spanish sailor a dagger I bought me;
I trailed a rose-tree our grey bawn o'er;
The creed and my letters our old bard taught me;
My days were sweet by my mother's door.
My little white goat that with raised feet huggest
The oak stock, thy horns in the ivies frore,
Could I wrestle like thee--how the wreaths thou tuggest!--
I never would move from my mother's door.
O weep no longer, my nurse and mother!
My foster-sister, weep not so sore!
You cannot come with me, Ir, my brother--
Alone I go from my mother's door.
Farewell, my wolf-hound that slew MacOwing
As he caught me and far through the thickets bore:
My heifer, Alb, in the green vale lowing,
My cygnet's nest upon Lorna's shore!
He has killed ten chiefs, this chief that plights me,
His hand is like that of the giant Balor;
But I fear his kiss, and his beard affrights me,
And the great stone dragon above his door.
Had I daughters nine, with me they should tarry;
They should sing old songs; they should dance at my door;
They should grind at the quern;--no need to marry;
O when will this marriage-day be o'er?
Had I buried, like Moirin, three mates already,
I might say: 'Three husbands! then why not four?'
But my hand is cold and my foot unsteady,
Because I never was married before!
_Aubrey de Vere_