he love of hundreds in her face, and there is the
promise of the evening star. If she had been living in the time of
the gods, it is not Venus that would have had the apple.

'Her hair falls down below her knees, waving and winding to the
mouth of her shoes; her locks spread out wide and pale like dew,
they leave a brightness on the road behind her.

'She is the girl that has been taught the nicest of all whose eyes
still open to the sun; and if the estate of Lord Lucan belonged to
me, on the strength of my cause this jewel would be mine.

'Her slender lime-white shape, her face like flowers, her neck, her
cheek, and her amber hair; Virgil, Cicero, and Homer could tell of
nothing like her; she is like the dew in the time of harvest.

'If you could see this plant moving or dancing, you could not but
love the flower of the branch. If I cannot get a hundred words with
Mairin Stanton, I do not think my life will last long.

'She said "Good morrow" early and pleasantly; she drank my health,
and gave me a stool, and it not in the corner. At the time that I
am ready to go on my way I will stay talking and talking with her.'

The 'pearl that was at Ballylee' was poor Mary Hynes, of whom I have
already spoken. His song on her is very popular; 'a great song, so that
her name is sung through the three parishes.' She must have been
beautiful, for many who knew her still speak of her beauty, of her long,
shining hair, and the 'little blushes in her cheeks.' An old woman says:
'I never can think of her but I'll get a trembling, she was so nice; and
if she was to begin talking, she'd keep you laughing till daybreak.'
But others say: 'It was the poet that made her so handsome'; or,
'whatever she was, he made twice as much of it.' I give one or two
verses of the song:--

'There was no part of Ireland I did not travel: from the rivers to
the tops of the mountains, to the edge of Lough Greine, whose mouth
is hidden; but I saw no beauty but was behind hers.

'Her hair was shining, and her brows were shining too; her face was
like herself, her mouth pleasant and sweet. She is the pride, and I
give her the branch. She is the shining flower of Ballylee.'

Even many miles from Ballylee, if the _posin glegeal_--the 'shining
flower'--is spoken of, it is always known that it is Mary Hynes who is
meant.

Raftery is said to h