MARSEY TOWN

As I came over the Hill of Clayne Or ever the leaf was brown, The wind blew light in the pods of broom, For the gay, gold flower had lost its bloom, And “O the jewel,” I sang again, “That’s waiting in Marsey Town!” The shadows raced on the sun-swept hill, And dappled its ancient crown, The kestrel hovered on wings outspread, The rabbit slipped through the bracken-bed And the world beat time as I sang my fill And travelled to Marsey Town. O foolish singer and foolish song! The lure of a pinchbeck clown Had thieved my jewel, my heart’s own core, My goal was gained, but I sang no more, And I turned me home as the shades grew long From the steeples of Marsey Town. A lad came over the Hill of Clayne A-singing as he stepped down— Aye me! forget what a fool has said, For I called him “I” but he’s long, long dead— Dumb—gone like the sound of his own refrain And buried in Marsey Town!