Part 3 — A DROVER

To Meath of the pastures, From wet hills by the sea, Through Leitrim and Longford, Go my cattle and me.

I hear in the darkness Their slipping and breathing— I name them the bye-ways They're to pass without heeding;

Then, the wet, winding roads, Brown bogs with black water; And my thoughts on white ships And the King o' Spain's daughter.

O! farmer, strong farmer! You can spend at the fair; But your face you must turn To your crops and your care.

And soldiers—red soldiers! You've seen many lands; But you walk two by two, And by captain's commands.

O! the smell of the beasts, The wet wind in the morn; And the proud and hard earth Never broken for corn;

And the crowds at the fair, The herds loosened and blind, Loud words and dark faces And the wild blood behind.

(O! strong men; with your best I would strive breast to breast, I could quiet your herds With my words, with my words.)

I will bring you, my kine, Where there's grass to the knee; But you'll think of scant croppings Harsh with salt of the sea.

Padraic Colum [1881-