The mountain's shoulder by Torloch's Tower,
Like clustered pearls lay the dew on the clover,
One pale star burned thro' that dew-grey hour.
He came to the Fairy Well of Slemish,
In the cool, green moss like a gem it lay;
And he thought of the girl without blame or blemish,
The dark, proud girl who had said him "Nay."
He stooped to drink of the sweet well-water;
To the moss grown stones he bent a knee.
"Oh, sweet as the kiss of a High King's Daughter,
Is the Well of Forgetfulness," said he.
"Oh, sweeter far than the sweet well water
Are the lips of Love," said a voice, and he
Looked up and beheld the High King's Daughter,
Of Tir-na-noge in the Realms of Shee.
"Drink three deep draughts," said the High King's Daughter,
"And the wish of your heart I can give," said she,
"Oh I have drunk deep of the sweet well-water,
And the wish of my heart is yourself," said he.
He kissed her lips, as the poppies scarlet,
He made her heart on his heart to lie,
While a rain of tears that one gold star let
Fall thro' the dusk down the opal sky.
Then away with them over the purple heather,
By dark fir-wood and by starlit brae;
Their silvery laughter ringing together
And nor sight nor sign of them since that day.
Cathal O’Byrne (1867 – 1957) Ireland
(also sometimes listed as Cathal O'Bryne)
Source: The Grey Feet of the Wind by Cathal O'Byrne, Frederick A. Stokes Company, 1917
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