The Faery Reaper

'Tis on Eilanowen
I seem to be,
And bright grain growing
I surely see;
A golden sickle
My fingers keep,
And my slow tears trickle
On what I reap!

'The moon is gleaming,
The faeries gather,
Like glow-worms gleaming,
Their eyes flash quick;
I try while reaping
To name 'Our Father!'
But round me leaping
They pinch and prick —
On the stalks of amber,
On the silvern ears,
They cling, they clamber,
Till day appears!
And here I'm waking
In bed, once more,
My bones all aching,
My heart full sore!'

I kiss'd her, crying
'God bless your reaping!
For sure no sighing
Can set you free.
They'll bless your wedding
Who vex your sleeping;
So do their bidding,
Ma cushla chree!

But O, remember!

Your fate is cast,
And ere December
Hath fairly past,
The Faery Reaper
Must be a Bride,
Or a sad cold sleeper
On the green hill-side
Sure wedding 's better
Than dying sadly!'
She smiled, and set her
Soft hand in mine.
For three nights after
She labour'd gladly,
'Mid fairy laughter,
And did not pine;
And when the seven
Long nights were run,
Full well 'neath Heaven
That work was done:
Their sheaves were slanted,
Their harvest made,
And no more they wanted
A mortal's aid.

'Tis on Eilanowen
There 's laughter nightly,
When the Fays are sowing
Their golden grain!
God bless that laughter
That grain blow brightly!
For luck came after
My Mary's pain.

And when sweet Mary
Was wed to me,
Sure the folk of faery
Were there to see: —
The white board spreading,
Unheard, unseen,
They blest the wedding
Of a pure colleen!