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019 - A Legend of Tyrone · Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry

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  Speaker 1: Section eighteen of Fairy and Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry.
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  Speaker 1: This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in
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  Speaker 1: the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please
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  Speaker 1: visit LibriVox dot org. Recording by Aubrey Bjorke. Fairy and
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  Speaker 1: Folk Tales of the Irish Peasantry, edited and selected by W. B. Yates.
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  Speaker 1: Section eighteen. A legend of tyrone Ellen O'Leary crouch round
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  Speaker 1: a bare hearth in hard, frosty weather. Three lonely, helpless wiands,
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  Speaker 1: clean clothes together, tangled those goldlocks, once bonny and bright.
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  Speaker 1: There's no one to fondle the baby to night. My Mommy,
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  Speaker 1: I want, oh my, mommy, I want the big tears
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  Speaker 1: streamed down with a low wailing chant. Sweet eyely slight
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  Speaker 1: arms unfold the gold head, poor weeny Willie. Sure Mommy
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  Speaker 1: is dead and Daddy is crazy from drinking all day.
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  Speaker 1: Come down, holy angels and take us away. Aili and
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  Speaker 1: Eddie keep kissing and crying outside. The weird winds are
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  Speaker 1: sobbing and sighing all in a moment. The children are
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  Speaker 1: still only a quick coove of gladness from will The
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  Speaker 1: shieling no longer seems empty or bare. For clothed in
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  Speaker 1: soft raiment, the mother stands there. They gather around her.
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  Speaker 1: They cling to her dress. She reins down soft kisses
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  Speaker 1: for each shy caress, her light loving touches, smooth out
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  Speaker 1: tangled locks, and pressed to her bosom. The baby she rocks.
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  Speaker 1: He lies in his cot. There's a fire on the hearth.
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  Speaker 1: To Ailie and Eddie, tis heaven on earth. For mother's
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  Speaker 1: deaf fingers have been everywhere. She lulls them to rest
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  Speaker 1: in the low sogaum chair footnote chair made of twisted
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  Speaker 1: straw ropes end footnote. They gaze open eyed, then the
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  Speaker 1: eyes gently those as petals fold into the heart of
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  Speaker 1: a rose. But oh soon again in awe love, but
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  Speaker 1: no fear, And fondly they murmur, our Mammy is here.
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  Speaker 1: She lays them down softly, She wraps them around. They
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  Speaker 1: lie in sweet slumbers. She starts at a sound. The
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  Speaker 1: cock lovely crows in, the spirits away. The drunkard steals
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  Speaker 1: in the dawning of day again and again, between the
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  Speaker 1: dark and the dawn, glides in the dead mother to
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  Speaker 1: nurse williebaud Or, is it an angel who sits by
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  Speaker 1: the hearth an angel in heaven, a mother on Earth,
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  Speaker 1: and of section eighteen recording by Aubrey Yorke