Роберт Дуайер Джойс (Robert Dwyer Joyce)

Kilbrannon

“MY love, braid up thy golden locks,
  And don thy silken shoon,
We ’ll sit upon Kilbrannon’s rocks,
  Where shines the silvery moon;
And bring thy little babe with thee,
  For his dear father’s sake,
The lands where he ’ll be lord to see,
  By lone Kilbrannon lake.”

She ’s braided up her golden locks,
  She ’s donned her silken shoon,
And they ’re away to Kilbrannon’s rocks
  By the cold light of the moon:
Sir Hubert he took both wife and child
  Upon that night of woe,
And hurled them over the rocks so wild,	
  To the lake’s blue depths below.

And he has married another May,
  With the locks of ebonie,
And her looks are sweet, and her heart is gay,
  Yet a woful wight is he;
He wakes the woods with his bugle-horn,
  But his heart is heavy and sore;
And he ever shuns those crags forlorn
  By lone Kilbrannon shore.

For down in the lake the dead won’t rest,
  That vengeful murdered one;
With her little babe at her pulseless breast,
  She walks the waters lone;
And she calls at night her murderer’s name,
  And will call forevermore,
Till the huge rocks melt in doomsday flame
  By wild Kilbrannon shore.

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