The Courting Man and the Echo


[modelled after: Lover and Echo / Carrol O'Daly, 14th cent., Co. Clare]


What makes my heart sing?
Is it good stout ale?
Or hunting the stag?
Or telling a tale?
'Tis the ale.

I race with the wind ;
Beside me runs my hound,
Through the meadows green,
Without a single sound.
To be reknowned.

The King gives fine gifts--
The best at his feast,
The hero's portion--
A fleet, strong beast.
Of his--least.

I dress in good silk
And the softest wool--
Or linen of fine weave--
Among men, a bull.
Aye, ALL bull!

To her, I will pledge
My life, hand and sword,
My heart and my love,
As to land, King & Lord.
'Til he's bored.

I put on my torc,
My boots of soft suede.
A wooing to go,
Of a fair young maid.
Be afraid!

Gra/inne, by my hand, this 11th of March, AS XXXVII
[aka: Carol J. Bell Cannon, 11 March 2003 <cjcannon@greymists.com>]

 

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