shining, he is gold.




_The Hag of Beare_


It is of Corca Dubhne she was, and she had her youth seven times over,
and every man that had lived with her died of old age, and her
grandsons and great-grandsons were tribes and races. And through a
hundred years she wore upon her head the veil Cuimire had blessed.
Then age and weakness came upon her and it is what she said:

Ebb-tide to me as to the sea; old age brings me reproach; I used to
wear a shift that was always new; to-day, I have not even a cast one.

It is riches you are loving, it is not men; it was men we loved in
the time we were living.

There were dear men on whose plains we used to be driving; it is good
the time we passed with them; it is little we were broken afterwards.

When my arms are seen it is long and thin they are; once they used
to be fondling, they used to be around great kings.

The young girls give a welcome to Beltaine when it comes to them;
sorrow is more fitting for me; an old pitiful hag.

I have no pleasant talk; no sheep are killed for my wedding; it is