Volume: CBÉ 0485 (Part 2)

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1. The Song of the Corncrake (continued)

   

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   Crake, crake, crake,
   'Neath overhanging grass
   Which sways and rolls above me
   As the perfumed zephers pass
   As I lie on the pimpernel,
   Taking shelter from the heat,
   The swallow, skimming along, perceives
   Me 'neath the meadow sweet.

   III
   O. men, who work in the meadow,
   O' children, who seldom awake,
   Can't you see that the season is dying.
   As more rarely you hear me crake? -
   Crake, crake, crake,
   At night, at evening and dawn.
   Since the meadow is mown and the leaves on the trees
   Are turning a russet and brown.

   (continues on next page)

   

   Transcribed by a member of our volunteer transcription project.

   History Edit

   Item type

   Lore

   Language

   English

   Writing mode

   Handwritten

   Writing script

   Roman script

   Informant

   • Timothy Hurley