To Meath of the pastures, <br />From wet hills by the sea, <br />Through Leitrim and Longford <br />Go my cattle and me. <br />I hear in the darkness <br />Their slipping and breathing. <br />I name them the bye-ways <br />They’re to pass without heeding. <br />Then the wet, winding roads, <br />Brown bogs with black water; <br />And my thoughts on white ships <br />And the King o’ Spain’s daughter. <br />O! farmer, strong farmer! <br />You can spend at the fair <br />But your face you must turn <br />To your crops and your care. <br />And soldiers—red soldiers! <br />You’ve seen many lands; <br />But you walk two by two, <br />And by captain’s commands. <br />O! the smell of the beasts, <br />The wet wind in the morn; <br />And the proud and hard earth <br />Never broken for corn; <br />And the crowds at the fair, <br />The herds loosened and blind, <br />Loud words and dark faces <br />And the wild blood behind. <br />(O! strong men with your best <br />I would strive breast to breast <br />I could quiet your herds <br />With my words, with my words.) <br />I will bring you, my kine, <br />Where there’s grass to the knee; <br />But you’ll think of scant croppings <br />Harsh with salt of the sea.<br /><br />Padraic Colum<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-drover/
