I FEAR Eileen, the wild Eileen— The eyes she lifts to mine, That laugh and laugh and never tell The half that they divine! She draws me to her lonely cot Ayont the Tulloch Hill; And, laughing, draws me to her door And, laughing, holds me still. I bless myself and bless myself, But in the holy sign, There seems to be no heart of love, To still the pain in mine. The morning, bright above the moor, Is bright no more for me— A weary bit of burning pain Is where my heart should be! For since the wild, sweet laugh of her Has drawn me to her snare, The only sunlight in the world Is shining from her hair. Yet well I know, ah, well I know Why 'tis so sweet and wild— She slept beneath a faery thorn, She is a faery child! And so I leave my mother lone, No meal to fill the pot, And follow, follow wild Eileen, If so I will or not. I fear to meet her in the glen, Or seek her by the shore; I fear to lift her cabin's latch, But—should she come no more!— O Eileen Og, O wild Eileen, My heart is wracked with fear Lest you should meet your faery kin, And, laughing, leave me here! |