These dusky evenings in December
I do be scared with sudden fright,
So many things you'd dis-remember
Shows quare an' darkish in the night.
Sure kilt you'd be if a dog should bark,
Or an old cow wheeze in the lonesome dark;
For who can tell who is in it at all,
With the Tax man murdered there by the wall,
An' the druidy stone foreninst the wood,
Where you'd maybe see what isn't good.
An' the haunted house.
Och! Glory be,
There's a power of terrible things you'd see
In the dark.

I'm feared itself lest some black stranger
Would step behind me on the grass;
Or goodness knows what sudden danger
Might lep upon me as I pass.
For strange an' lonesome roads do seem
Like a far-off place you'd see in a dream;
An' you'd never know who you'd meet at the turn,
Old crazy Nelly or mad John Byrne,
Or the headless one that wrings her hands,
Where the old deserted cabin stands,
Or the fairy dog.
Och! Glory be,
There's a power of terrible things you'd see
In the dark.