Chapter IV

So wan evenin’--I know if I think, ’twas whin last they were cuttin’ the oats,
Maybe four months from now, whin outside past the bars there’s an odd snow-flake floats,
But it seems to me feelin’ a world’s breadth away, and a life’s lenth ago--
Well, the two of us sat on the hill, an’ the sun was about gettin’ low,
An’ there wasn’t a ray on the lan’, for the dhrift o’ dark cloud overhead
Sthretched away like a roof, till just rimmin’ the west ran the light in a thread,
Same as if ’twas a lid liftin’ up on bright hinges; an’ sorra a breath
Thro’ the leaves or the grass, for the win’ never stirred, an’ ’twas stiller than death.
An’ so Nelly’d a poppy-bud pulled, wid the red all crased up in the green,
An’ sat smoothin’ its leaves on her lap, till ye saw its black heart in between;
An’ her hair curlin’ over the shine of her eyes, an’ a smile on her mouth,
As I knew by the dint in her cheek turned aside from me. Sure ’twas the truth,
But I dunno for why of a suddint the notion come into me mind
That in all o’ that bog-land it’s Nell was the purtiest thing ye could find;
An’ thinks I: ‘Sure the slip of a lass, whin the days o’ me life ’ill be dark,
Is the same as yon glame in the west that widout it has sorra a spark.’

V

But that instant he stepped round the end o’ the turf-stack fornint the boreen,
Wid a scarlet to aquil the poppies ablaze on his bit o’ coateen,
And his belts and his straps and his buckles as white an’ as bright as could shine--
Whin a dragon-fly sits on the slant o’ the sun he looks somethin’ as fine--
Till he seemed to be lightin’ a dazzle an’ glitter each step that he stirred;
And his little red cap set a-top wid a cock, like the crest of a bird,
And his spurs glancin’ out at his heels, an’ the stripes o’ gold lace down his sleeve;
And himself was just Felix Magrath comin’ home to his father’s on leave.