Prose · 1888 · Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry
Song of the Ghost
Alfred Percival Graves
When all were dreamingBut Pastheen Power,A light came streamingBeneath her bower:A heavy footAt her door delayed,A heavy handOn the latch was laid.
“Now who dare venture,At this dark hour,Unbid to enterMy maiden bower?”“Dear Pastheen, openThe door to me,And your true loverYou’ll surely see.”
“My own true lover,So tall and brave,Lives exiled overThe angry wave.”“Your true love’s bodyLies on the bier,His faithful spiritIs with you here.”
“His look was cheerful,His voice was gay;Your speech is fearful,Your face is grey;And sad and sunkenYour eye of blue,But Patrick, Patrick,Alas! ’tis you!”
Ere dawn was breakingShe heard belowThe two cocks shakingTheir wings to crow.“Oh, hush you, hush you,Both red and grey,Or you will hurryMy love away.
“Oh, hush your crowing,Both grey and red,Or he’ll be goingTo join the dead;Or, cease from callingHis ghost to the mould,And I’ll come crowningYour combs with gold.”
When all were dreamingBut Pastheen Power,A light went streamingFrom out her bower;And on the morrow,When they awoke,They knew that sorrowHer heart had broke.
Text: Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, edited and selected by W. B. Yeats (Walter Scott, London, 1888). Public domain.