Poetry
The Yellow Bittern
"Deirin De, Deirin De !
Ta a» barman damn ag labhairt son Weal& Deirin De, Deirin- De ! "
(Iam( Four Sm.) Tux yellow bittern flew into the bog, And sat him strait on a sinking sod : Oh ! the pagan old herons may fish from a log, But the bittern's boom is the Voice of God.
Deirin De, Deirin Dc!
The wild geese and night ducks are winging so high That they call to the stars of the skies to make room : And none but the mountainy fowler can catch their cry, But God overhears the brown bittern's boom.
Deirin De, Deirin De!
The snipe without song may flit out of the frost And the cocks of the wood are signs of the snow But the bittern thinks of the souls of the lost And the bittern calls to the dead below.
Deirin De, Deirin De !
The yellow bittern foretelleth no luck To a man nor coming of birth nor a tomb : For the yellow bittern sits in the muck And trumpets all day for the Day of Doom.
Deirin De, Deirin De
SHANE LESLIE.
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