The Good Lady
Ay, the lake so beautiful in the early morning light,
by Cúcídh Mac Cuagh
A dreamlike haze ‘twixt the faery world and mere mortal sight.
From the rising mist o’the lake comes the mysteries it beholds,
From bog to bank; ice-sheets keep it cold.
Nor man, nor woman can see to th’other side,
To the plain I would fain to see her:
Be she her or no?
Nothing but her keeps me going hence,
Radiance out o’the grey; love in jest!
But on I will go and go and sue to know,
If’t be her or no.
By the lake so beautiful in the early morning light,
An apparition of beauty thence filling me with delight.
The breeze gently caresses, lightly her long brown hair,
I hate this fear for being so near, and I not at all there.
But is it true to say she’s there and taunting me away?
I would gladly depart withal so merrily and gay.
Whither I know not, nor care I not to say:
The good lady comes to steal me away?