THE LONG ROAD.

New Zealand Tablet, 18 September 1919, Page 7

THE LONG ROAD.

The long road, ma bouchal, is the road that I must take; Long I’ve walked the home-paths and heard the noisy crake; Now my bird’s the curlew, that with its druid call. Lures my feet to follow in the safest way of all. The long road, ma bouchal, is wearying for my feet; I’ll pile no more the seaweed, I’ll glean no more the wheat. My wheel may whirr and whisper for other hands than mine, And other spinners handle the coarse thread and the fine. The convent on my sister shut fast its jealous gate; The sea-waves took my —their hunger would not wait. My birth no word of welcome from my pale mother found, But I could dig, and spin, and weave, and so the lads came round. The long road, ma bouchal, is well to walk alone; ’Tis ill to live and labor when your heart is like a stone A grey stone in the highway that lovers spurn away. May once have been a heart that beat, as mine did yesterday, Ere the voice of my drowned father came calling from the

sea, ' “The long road, my colleen long road for ye!” Noe a Che s son.