Page:The Celtic twilight. Men and women (IA celtictwilightme00yeat).pdf/8

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THE HOST.

The host is riding from Knocknarea,
And over the grave of Clooth-na-bare;
Caolte tossing his burning hair,
And Niam calling, 'Away, come away;

'And brood no more where the fire is bright,
Tilling thy heart with a mortal dream;
For breasts are heaving and eyes a-gleam:
Away, come away, to the dim twilight.

'Arms are a-waving and lips 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;
And where is there hope or deed as fair?
Caolte tossing his burning hair,
And Niam calling, 'Away, come away.'