The Host of the Air
O'Driscoll drove with a song,The wild duck and the drake,From the tall and the tufted reedsOf the drear Hart Lake.
And he saw how the reeds grew darkAt the coming of night tide,And dreamed of the long dim hairOf Bridget his bride.
He heard while he sang and dreamedA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.
And he saw young men and young girlsWho danced on a level placeAnd Bridget his bride among them,With a sad and a gay face.
The dancers crowded about him,And many a sweet thing said,And a young man brought him red wineAnd a young girl white bread.
But Bridget drew him by the sleeve,Away from the merry bands,To old men playing at cardsWith a twinkling of ancient hands.
The bread and the wine had a doom,For these were the host of the air;He sat and played in a dreamOf her long dim hair.
He played with the merry old menAnd thought not of evil chance,Until one bore Bridget his brideAway from the merry dance.
He bore her away in his arms,The handsomest young man there,And his neck and his breast and his armsWere drowned in her long dim hair.
O'Driscoll scattered the cardsAnd out of his dream awoke:Old men and young men and young girlsWere gone like a drifting smoke;
But he heard high up in the airA piper piping away,And never was piping so sad,And never was piping so gay.
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