O the lover and his company
Will fight them man to man--
All shrieking from the conflict
The merry maidens fly--
There's a Battle Royal raging now across the Northern Sky.

Through all the hours of darkness
The fearsome fight will last;
They are leaping white with anger,
And the blows are falling fast--
And where the slain have tumbled
A pool of blood will lie--
O it's dripping on the dark green stones from out the Northern Sky.

When yon lady seeks her lover
In the cold and pearly morn,
She will find that he has fallen
By the hand that she would scorn,--
She will clasp her arms about him,
And in her anguish die!--
O never again will trip the twain across the Northern Sky.




MY GUNNA.


When my kine are on the hill,
Who will charm them from all ill?