She rowed one morning out to Dursey Island To gather kelp along the windward shore. Sun warmed her arms in early summer weather She'd often come to Dursey time before. By noon she'd seven baskets full of seaweed A harvest fine, a good day's work for fair. Then sporting in the cool Atlantic water She caught the fancy of the sons MacLir. Mannan's lads they were, both tall and golden Full Tuatha de Dannan, standing there To meet her at the shoreline, where they waited The high sun striking red gold from their hair. They feasted her on whitefish, clams, and mussels, Washed down with finest wine and water clear. Then both the bright lads favored her with kisses From fingertips to cheeks their touch did sear. Where seagulls skim the blue Atlantic waters Her cries of joy arose into the air. While both sought ever onward to delight her By liberties no Christian man would dare. Her father found her dory the next morning Still beached as she had left it sitting there. But of Moire all he found was cast off clothing She'd gone beyond the veil of toil and care.
Author:
Bill Gawne