Éamonn of the Hill
“Who’s that outside
whose voice is urgent,
pounding on my closed door?”
“I’m Éamonn of the hill,
drowned, cold and wet,
from endlessly traveling mountains and glens.”
“Dearest love and treasure,
what can I do for you
but cover you with the lap of my dress?”
And black gunpowder will be
fired endlessly at us,
and we will both perish!”
“I’ve long been outside
in snow and in frost,
not daring to approach anyone.
My fallow unplanted,
my team in need of unyoking,
and I no longer have them at all!
I have no friend—
how that grieves me—
who’d take me in, early or late.
And so I must go
eastward across the sea,
for it’s there I have no kindred.”