MY fair-haired boy is sore bewitched, He goes all full of grieving; The web of gloom upon his brow Is sure of fairy weaving. His cheery laugh I never hear, His voice is rough and chiding; Upon his path some evil thing Does watch him from its hiding. Ahone! Ahone! I bid him tell If he has trod unknowing Upon the fairy sleeping grass Or cut the thorn a-growing. He only turns his head away, His words are bitter hearing; But, ah! he cannot silence so A mother's heart from fearing. Last night I made a waxen shape To bring the witch before me, So she could take the sullen lad, And my bright child restore me. Nine pins I thrust within its side To pierce her heart to dying, And laid it on the glowing turf, So listened for her crying. Soon pressed a hand upon the latch, I feared the evil fairy; But when I raised my frightened eyes 'Twas none but Dwyer's Mary. I told her of the boy bewitched, She listened unbelieving; And said she knew to-morrow's eve Would free him of his grieving. She turned her blushing face aside, Her voice was low and cheering; But, ah! she cannot silence so A mother's heart from fearing. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE DRUM: THE NARRATIVE OF THE DEMON OF TEDWORTH by EDITH SITWELL THE MIRROR by THEODORE AUBANEL A GLORY GONE by WILFRID SCAWEN BLUNT MID-WINTER by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN THE HILLS by MADISON JULIUS CAWEIN SMALL DEATH TO LAUGH by EDOUARD JOACHIM CORBIERE |