Arthur Quiller-Couch, ed. 1919. The Oxford Book of English Verse: 1250–1900.
Jeremiah Joseph Callanan. 17951839638. The Outlaw of Loch Lene FROM THE IRISH
O MANY a day have I made good ale in the glen, | |
That came not of stream or malt, like the brewing of men: | |
My bed was the ground; my roof, the green-wood above; | |
And the wealth that I sought, one far kind glance from my Love. | |
Alas! on that night when the horses I drove from the field, | 5 |
That I was not near from terror my angel to shield! | |
She stretch’d forth her arms; her mantle she flung to the wind, | |
And swam o’er Loch Lene, her outlaw’d lover to find. | |
O would that a freezing sleet-wing’d tempest did sweep, | |
And I and my love were alone, far off on the deep; | 10 |
I’d ask not a ship, or a bark, or a pinnace, to save— | |
With her hand round my waist, I’d fear not the wind or the wave. | |
‘Tis down by the lake where the wild tree fringes its sides, | |
The maid of my heart, my fair one of Heaven resides: | |
I think, as at eve she wanders its mazes among, | 15 |
The birds go to sleep by the sweet wild twist of her song. |