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THE RIDER FROM THE NORTH
From the play of The Country of the Young
There's many a strong farmer
Who's heart would break in two
If he could see the townland
That we are riding to;
Boughs have their fruit and blossom,
At all times of the year,
Rivers are running over
With red beer and brown beer.
An old man plays the bagpipes
In a golden and silver wood,
Queens their eyes blue like the ice
Are dancing in a crowd.
The little fox he murmured,
O what is the world's bane?,
The sun was laughing sweetly,
The moon plucked at my rein;
But the little red fox murmured
'O do not pluck at his rein,
He is riding to the townland
That is the world's bane.'
When their hearts are so high,
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