John Jeffreys - I Am the Gilly of Christ
The mate of Mary's Son;
I run the roads at seeding-time
And when the harvest ’s done
I sleep among the hills
The heather is my bed;
I dip the termon-well for drink
And pull the sloe for bread
No eye has ever seen me
But shepherds hear me pass
Singing at fall of even
Along the shadowed grass
The beetle is my bellman
The meadow-fire my guide
The bee and bat my ambling nags
When 1 have need to ride
All know me only the Stranger
Who sits on the Saxons' Height:
He burned the bacach's little house
On last St. Brigid’s Night
He sups off silver dishes
And drinks in a golden horn
But he will wake a wiser man
Upon the Judgment Morn!
I am the gilly of Christ
The mate of Mary's Son;
I run the roads at seeding-time
And when the harvest 's done
The seed I sow is lucky
The corn I reap is red
And whoso sings the 'Gilly's Ranu'
Will never cry for bread
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