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The moon-cradle's rocking and rocking |
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Where a cloud and a cloud go by |
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Silently rocking and rocking |
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The moon-cradle out in the sky. |
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Then comes the lad with the hazel |
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And the folding star's in the rack |
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"Night's a good herd to the cattle," |
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He sings, "She brings all things back." |
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But the bond woman down by the boorie |
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Sings with a heart grown wild |
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How a hundred rivers are flowing |
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Between herself and her child. |
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"The geese, even they trudge homeward |
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That have their wings and the waste |
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Let your thoughts be on Night the Herder |
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And be quiet for a space." |
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The moon-cradle's rocking and rocking |
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Where a cloud and a cloud go by |
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Silently rocking and rocking |
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The moon-cradle out in the sky. |
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The snipe they are crying and crying |
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Liadine, liadine, liadine |
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Where no track's on the bog they are flying |
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A lonely dream will be mine! |
