Chapter VII

I’d not aisy mistake it; sure out on these bogs scarce a minit goes by,
But anear or afar on the win’ comes a flicker of the crathur’s cry--
Faith, I heard wan just thin--and on many a day, ere the sun ’ud be up,
And around and around stood the grey of the air like a big empty cup
Fit to hold every sound ever stirred, and to catch all the light ever shone,
I’d be out wid me on to our bogland, all desolit lyin’, and lone
As the say whin you’ve watched the low shore till it dips where the ridges rowl green,
And I’d spy was there e’er a wan out, and belike not a sowl to be seen
Save Jack whistlin’ away to me down be the lough; you ’d ha’ swore ’twas the bird,
Barrin’ just the laste differ; Jack done it the likest that ever I heard.
And there’s plenty that thry at it. Seldom a sunsit throops out of the west
But some lad ’ll be whistlin’ his sweetheart, that’s sittin’ and listenin’ her best,
While the corners grow dark, and she’s reckonin’ the shadows for ’fraid he might fail.
So his call lit the world like a star. Ne’er a sweetheart had Jack, I’ll go bail,
For the truth is his mind was tuk up wid his own folk; it couldn’t be tould
The opinion he had and consait of the whole of thim, young wans and ould,
And it’s there where I’m bothered entirely to think how he got the idee
To go soldierin’ off to the ends of the earth wid no comrade but me.
Howanever, he went of a suddint, afore we knew right what was on;
And I thought to meself the ould place ’ud be quare wid Jack Connolly gone,
So I up and I down to the barracks below, an’ the shillin’ I tuk--
That’s the way it fell out, and belike ’twas himself had the best of the luck.