LITMIR.BIZ

      A fighting-man he was,

      Guts and soul;

      His blood as hot and red

      As that on Cain’s hand-towel.

      A copper-skinned six-footer,

      Hewn out of the rock.

      Who would stand up against

      His hammer-knock?

      Not a sinner —

      No, and not one dared!

      Giants showed clean heels

      When his arm was bared.

      I’ve seen him swing an anvil

      Fifty feet,

      Break a bough in two,

      And tear a twisted sheet.

      And the music of his roar —

      Like oaks in thunder cleaving;

      Lips foaming red froth,

      And flanks heaving.

      God! a goodly man,

      A Gael, the last

      Of those that stood with Dan

      On Mullach-Maist!

      My mother has a wee red shoe —

      She bought it off a bacach-man;

      And all the neighbours say it’s true

      He stole it off a Leath-brogan.

      Bacach-man, bacach-man,

      Where did you get it?

      Faith now, says he,

      In my leather wallet!

      My father has an arrow-head —

      He begged it off poor Peig na Blath;

      And Mor, the talking-woman, said

      She found it in a fairy rath.

      Peig na Blath, Peig na Blath,

      Where did you get it?

      Faith now, says she,

      In my wincey jacket!

      My brother has a copper pot —

      He tryst’ it wi’ a shuiler-man;

      And gossip says it’s like as not

      He truff’d it from a Clobhair-ceann.

      Shuiler-man, shuiler-man,

      Where did you get it?

      Faith now, says he,

      In my breeches’ pocket!

      By a wondrous mystery

      Christ of Mary’s fair body

      Upon a middle winter’s morn,

      Between the tides of night and day,

      In Ara’s holy isle was born.