And the word of the wind sets my heart athrill,--
"Though life is brief, yet love is long!"

I seek my sweet where the roses stir,
And the stars overhead are a marching throng,
And this is the tale that I tell to her,--
"Though life is brief, yet love is long!"

MAN AND MAID

"I know a lad in Leitrim, I know a lad," said she,
"I know a lad in Leitrim would give his heart for me!"

"I know a maid in Mayo, I know a maid," said he,
"I know a maid in Mayo would give her heart to me!"

"Go to your maid in Mayo, go to your maid," cried she;
"Go to your maid in Mayo, for all--for all of me!"

"Go to your lad in Leitrim, go to your lad," cried he,
"Go to your lad in Leitrim, for all--for all of me!"

"And yet--and yet--" she faltered, "and yet--and yet," blushed she,
"That lad may stay in Leitrim! It 's here I 'd rather be!"

"And yet--and yet--" he echoed, "and yet--and yet--" smiled he,
"That maid may stay in Mayo. It 's there I 'd have her be!"

'T is merry down in Kerry beside the laughing sea;
'T is merry down in Kerry when man and maid agree!

THE HUNTER

I crept up Benbulbin a-hunting the boar;
Mist swooped on the heather, mist swept down the shore,
And all of the tongues of the mountain, they murmured behind and before.

Then out of a cleft rose a terrible cry,
And a form like a demon went ravening by,
And I fell in a quake on the moss, and I thought I should die.

I 'm no hunting man now, and I sit by the fire,
And whenever the wind keens around by the byre,
I shiver and rock like a reed that has root in the mire.

And if you 're a young man, and sound to the core,
And a sweet maid is waiting you home at the door,
Beware how you creep up Benbulbin a-hunting the boar!

RAIN SONG

Oh, it 's gray rain in the valleys,
White rain where the moorland lies,
And in from the bleak sea-borders
A gust that keens and cries.

Sheep huddle in the hollows,
And the cattle seek the byre,
But I must be up and faring
Away from the warm peat fire;

I must be up and faring,
For this is the hour of tryst,
And Sheilah will be waiting
At the glen amid the mist.

Oh, what 's gray rain to lovers,
And what though white rains fall,
When blue skies shine in Sheilah's eyes
For a lad of Donegal!

A ROVER

Oh, I am just a rover
Among the roving men
Who loves