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- THE HOSTING OF THE SIDHE
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- THE host is riding from Knocknarea
- And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
- Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
- And Niamh calling i{Away, come away:
- Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
- The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
- Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
- Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,
- Our arms are waving, our lips are apart;
- And if any gaze on our rushing band,
- We come between him and the deed of his hand,
- We come between him and the hope of his heart.
- The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
- Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
- And Niamh calling i{Away, come away.}
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