AN OLD GAELIC MS. 19 



How can I ever be happy or rich, 



If robbed and tormented by fairy and witch," 



Quoth he ; and lo, with a sudden turn 



He stumbled and spilt the cream-full chum ! 



He went to his mother (she dwelt in the cot 



Amid the hazels down by the linn : 

 Full well the wild birds loved that spot, 



And taught its echoes their merry din) — 

 He went to his mother, that Bachelor gruff : 



He was mild with her, though with others rough. 



" Mother," quoth he, " I have not now 



One-half the butter or cheese, I trow, 



That loaded my dairy shelves when you 



Had charge of my household and dairy too : 



Tell me mother, what shall I do ? 



I vow and declare that some faiiy or witch 



Is robbing me still and doing me ill — I shall never be rich." 



" My son," the mother mild replied, 



" See that you pay the fairies their due ; 

 A tribute due should ne'er be denied — 



Others don't grudge it, and why should you ? 

 Nor thrive their flocks nor kine, I ween. 

 Who scorn or neglect the ahian green." 



" But, mother, the witch that lives down i' the glen ?" 



' ' A widow, my son, with a fatherless oe. 



Who has seen much sorrow and years of woe ; 



Give her as heretofore, my son. 



Of your curds and whey, and let her alone. 



And oh, my son, if you would be rich, 



And free from dread of fairy and witch, 



And happy and well-to-do through life — 



Go get thee, my son, a winsome wife ! " 



The bachelor hied him home full soon — 



He sent to the widow, far down in the glen, 

 A kebbuck of cheese as round as the moon, 



Of oaten cakes he sent her ten. 

 With a kindly message, " Come when you may 

 For curds and whey in the good old way." 

 He sent her withal, 'tis right you should know, 

 A braw new kilt for her fatherless oe. 



