Margaret Grady-I fear she will burn- Charmed the butter off my churn; 'Tis I would know it the wide world over, Yellow as saffron, scented with clover. At Omagh market the previous hit witch next hit displayed it: Ill she had gathered, ill she had made it. Hid in my cloak's hood, one glance I threw it, Passed on smiling; my troth! I knew it! Sheila, the kindest cow in the parish, Mild and silken, and good to cherish, Shame her own gold butter should leave her To enrich the milk of a low-bred heifer! I said not Yea or Nay to the mocker, But called the fairy-man over from Augher; Like a russet he is that's withered, Bent in two with his wisdom gathered. He touched the butter, he peered and pondered, And crooned strange rhymes while I watched and wondered: Then he drew me out through the gloaming O'er the fields where the mist was coming. He bewitched me so that I know not Where they may grow, where they may grow not; Those witch-hazels he plucked and plaited, Crooning on while the twigs he mated. There's the wreath on the churn-dash yonder. All the neighbours view it with wonder; And 'spite of Father Tom I avow it The yield is doubled since that came to it. I bless the fairy-man though he be evil; Yet fairy-spells come not from the Devil; And Margaret Grady-I fear she will burn- I do forgive her, with hate and scorn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DILIGENCE IS TO MAGIC AS PROGRESS IS TO FLIGHT by MARIANNE MOORE THE BETTER PART by MATTHEW ARNOLD COUNTRY DOCTOR by DANA KNEELAND AKERS A WORLD BEYOND by NATHANIEL INGERSOLL BOWDITCH NIMROD: 3 by ANNA HEMPSTEAD BRANCH MAKING FRIENDS by JULIEN AUGUSTE PELAGE BRIZEUX |