THE HAPPY TOWNLAND
 
 THERE'S many a strong farmer
 Whose heart would break in two,
 If he could see the townland
 That we are riding to;
 Boughs have their fruit and blossom
 At all times of the year;
 Rivers are running over
 With red beer and brown beer.
 An old man plays the bagpipes
 In a golden and silver wood;
 Queens, their eyes blue like the ice,
 Are dancing in a crowd.
 The little fox he murmured,
 "O what of the world's bane?'
 The sun was laughing sweetly,
 The moon plucked at my rein;
 But the little red fox murmured,
 "O do not pluck at his rein,
 He is riding to the townland
 That is the world's bane.'
 When their hearts are so high
 That they would come to blows,
 They unhook rheir heavy swords
 From golden and silver boughs;
 But all that are killed in battle
 Awaken to life again.
 It is lucky that their story
 Is not known among men,
 For O, the strong farmers
 That would let the spade lie,
 Their hearts would be like a cup
 That somebody had drunk dry.
 The little fox he murmured,
 "O what of the world's bane?'
 The sun was laughing sweetly,
 The moon plucked at my rcin;
 But the little red fox murmured,
 "O do not pluck at his rein,
 He is riding to the townland
 That is the world's bane.'
 Michael will unhook his trumpet
 From a bough overhead,
 And blow a little noise
 When the supper has been spread.
 Gabriel will come from the water
 With a fish-tail, and talk
 Of wonders that have happened
 On wet roads where men walk.
 And lift up an old horn
 Of hammered silver, and drink
 Till he has fallen asleep
 Upon the starry brink.
 The little fox he murmured,
 "O what of the world's bane?'
 The sun was laughing sweetly,
 The moon plucked at my rein;
 But the little red fox murmured.
 "O do not pluck at his rein,
 He is riding to the townland
 That is the world's bane.'