He singeth.

O women, when we wend our ways
To deal with death and dread,
The Banner of our Fathers' Days
Must flap the wind o'erhead.

She singeth.

Ah, for the maidens that ye leave!
Who now shall save the hay?
What grooms shall kiss our lips at eve,
When June hath mastered May?

He singeth.

The wheat is won, the seed is sown,
Here toileth many a maid,
And ere the hay knee-deep hath grown
Your grooms the grass shall wade.

They sing all together.

Then fair befall the mountain-side
Whereon the play shall be!
And fair befall the summer-tide
That whoso lives shall see.


Face-of-god thought the song goodly, but to the others it was well