The Pooka

Riding, riding, riding,

Riding through the night.

Riding, riding, riding,

'Til the morning light.

Gallop toward the village,

Canter up the hill,

See the frightened faces

Peep o'er window sill.

Riding, riding, riding,

Riding through the night.

Riding, riding, riding,

'Til the morning light.

Who will be your rider

On this moonless night?

Who shall sit astride you,

Gripped by chilling fright?

Riding etc.

Stopping at a cottage,

All inside is still.

Luckless folk are hiding

From your iron will.

Riding etc.

Stamping in the dooryard,

You call out a name,

The cot door cracks open,

Out creeps small Etain*.

Riding etc.

Rearing on your haunches,

Snorting clouds of steam,

You leap quickly forward,

Etain chokes a scream.

Riding etc.

Tearing through the pastures,

You begin the tale,

Of young Etain's fortune-

All she does will fail.

Riding etc.

Etain has no chances

For a happy life.

Your keens eyes have foreseen

Misery and strife.

Riding etc.

Seasons of great hardship,

Days of loss and grief,

Years of hopeless waiting

For the grave's relief.

Riding etc.

The sun is arising,

Stars begin to pale,

Fleets of blood-red clouds on

The horizon sail.

Riding etc.

The night ride is over,

Etain at her door

Watches as you gallop

Across the green moor.

Riding etc.

The young dawn has risen,

You will run no more

'Til another moonless

Midnight is in store.

Riding etc.

*Etain is pronounced 'ee-tane'