 | |
| |
| Who will go drive with Fergus now, |
| And pierce the deep wood's woven shade, |
| And dance upon the level shore? |
| Young man, lift up your russet brow, |
| 5 | And lift your tender eyelids, maid, |
| And brood on hopes and fear no more. |
| |
| And no more turn aside and brood |
| Upon love's bitter mystery; |
| For Fergus rules the brazen cars, |
| 10 | And rules the shadows of the wood, |
| And the white breast of the dim sea |
| And all dishevelled wandering stars. |
