Five Irish Songs

Odalisques, odalisques, 
Treading the pavement 
With feet pomegranate-stained: 
We bartered for, bought you 
Back in the years 
Ah, then we knew you, 
Odalisques, odalisques, 
Treading the pavement 
With feet pomegranate-stained! 

Queens of the air 
Aithra, lole, 
Eos and Auge, 
Taking new beauty 
From the sun's evening brightness, 
Gyring in light 
As nymphs play in waters 
Aithra, lole, 
Eos and Auge! 
Then down on our doorsteps, 
Gretchen and Dora. . . . 

As I came over the grey, grey hills
And over the grey, grey water,
I saw the gilly leading on,
And the white Christ following after.

Where and where does the gilly lead?
And where is the white Christ faring?
They've travelled the four grey sounds of Orc,
And the four grey seas of Eirinn.

The moon is set and the wind's away,
And the song in the grass is dying,
And a silver cloud on the silent sea
Like a shrouding-sheet is lying.

And Christ and the gilly will follow on
Till the ring in the east is showing,
And the awny corn is red on the hills,
And the golden light is glowing.

I heard a piper piping
The blue hills among —
And never did I hear
So plaintive a song.

It seemed but a part
Of the hills’ melancholy:
No piper living there
Could ever be jolly!

And still the piper piped
The blue hills among,
And all the birds were quiet
To listen to his song.

The fiddles were playing and playing, 
The couples were out on the floor; 
From converse and dancing he drew me, 
And across the door. 

Ah! strange were the dim, wide meadows, 
And strange was the cloud-strewn sky, 
And strange in the meadows the corncrakes, 
And they making cry! 

The hawthorn bloom was by us, 
Around us the breath of the south 
White hawthorn, strange in the night-time 
His kiss on my mouth!

Bring Kateen-beug and Maurya Jude
To dance in Beg-Innish,
And when the lads (they're in Dunquin)
Have sold their crabs and fish,
Wave fawny shawls and call them in,
And call the little girls who spin,
And seven weavers from Dunquin,
To dance in Beg-Innish.
  
I'll play you jigs, and Maurice Kean,
Where nets are laid to dry,
I've silken strings would draw a dance
From girls are lame or shy;
Four strings I've brought from Spain and France
To make your long men skip and prance,
Till stars look out to see the dance 
Where nets are laid to dry.
  
We'll have no priest or peeler in
To dance in Beg-Innish;
But we'll have drink from M'riarty Jim
Rowed round while gannets fish,
A keg with porter to the brim,
That every lad may have his whim,
Till we up sails with M'riarty Jim
And sail from Ben-Innish.