MY MOTHER HAS A WEE RED SHOE

My mother has a wee red shoe— She bought it off a bacach-man; And all the neighbours say it’s true He stole it off a Leath-brogan. Bacach-man, bacach-man, Where did you get it? Faith now, says he, In my leather wallet! My father has an arrow-head— He begged it off poor Peig na Blath; And Mor, the talking-woman, said She found it in a fairy rath. Peig na Blath, Peig na Blath, Where did you get it? Faith now, says she, In my wincey jacket! My brother has a copper pot— He tryst’ it wi’ a shuiler-man; And gossip says it’s like as not He truff’d it from a Clobhair-ceann. Shuiler-man, shuiler-man, Where did you get it? Faith now, says he, In my breeches’ pocket!

By a wondrous mystery Christ of Mary’s fair body Upon a middle winter’s morn, Between the tides of night and day, In Ara’s holy isle was born. Mary went upon her knee Travailing in ecstasy, And Brigid, mistress of the birth, Full reverently and tenderly Laid the child upon the earth. Then the dark-eyed rose did blow, And rivers leaped from out the snow. Earth grew lyrical: the grass, As the light winds chanced to pass— Than magian music more profound— Murmured in a maze of sound. White incense rose upon the hills As from a thousand thuribles, And in the east a seven-rayed star Proclaimed the news to near and far. The shepherd danced, the gilly ran, The boatman left his curachan; The king came riding on the wind To offer gifts of coin and kind; The druid dropped his ogham wand, And said, “Another day’s at hand, A newer dawn is in the sky: I put my withered sapling by. The druid Christ has taken breath To sing the runes of life and death.”