There was once a poor man who lived in the fertile glen of Aherlow, at
the foot of the gloomy Galtee mountains, and he had a great hump on
his back: he looked just as if his body had been rolled up and placed
upon his shoulders; and his head was pressed down with the weight so
much that his chin, when he was sitting, used to rest upon his knees
for support. The country people were rather shy of meeting him in any
lonesome place, for though, poor creature, he was as harmless and as
inoffensive as a newborn infant, yet his deformity was so great that
he scarcely appeared to be a human creature, and some ill-minded
persons had set strange stories about him afloat. He was said to have
a great knowledge of herbs and charms; but certain it was that he had
a mighty skilful hand in plaiting straws and rushes into hats and
baskets, which was the way he made his livelihood.
Lusmore, for that was the nickname put upon him by reason of his
always wearing a sprig of the fairy cap, or lusmore (the foxglove), in
his little straw hat, would ever get a higher penny for his plaited
work than any one else, and perhaps that was the reason why some one,
out of envy, had circulated the strange stories about him. Be that as
it may, it happened that he was returning one evening from the pretty
town of Cahir towards Cappagh, and as little Lusmore walked very
slowly, on account of the great hump upon his back, it was quite dark
when he came to the old moat of Knockgrafton, which stood on the
right-hand side of his road. Tired and weary was he, and noways
comfortable in his own mind at thinking how much farther he had to
travel, and that he should be walking all the night; so he sat down
under the moat to rest himself, and began looking mournfully enough
upon the moon, which--
"Rising in clouded majesty, at length
Apparent Queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw."
Presently there rose a wild strain of unearthly melody upon the ear of
little Lusmore; he listened, and he thought that he had never heard
such ravishing music before. It was like the sound of many voices,
each mingling and blending with the other so strangely that they
seemed to be one, though all singing different strains, and the words
of the song were these--
_Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort, Da Luan, Da Mort;_
when there would be a moment's pause, and then the round of melody
went on again.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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