Kling-klang, ding-dong, hear the hammers clinking-- Stone pots, iron kettles, copper cups for drinkin'! Elf-shots for bowmen plough a mighty furrow-- Hee-o, wee-o, foxling in our burrow! Hush thee, my baby! The Beltane's aglow, Making the deasil the wiseacres go. Brewing our heather-wine, dancing in round-- Earth-folk are we, by her spells are we bound. Hee-o, wee-o, hear the pipes a-croonin', Like the dragon's beetle-wings a-droonin', Dyeea guard us from the Sword-man's quellin',-- Hee-o, wee-o, bairnie in our dwellin'! Hush thee, my baby O! hear the dogs bark, Herdin' the lammies home out o' the dark. Cradled and christened frae goblin's despite, House-folk we hear the kirk bells through the night. Hee-o, wee-o! hear the cricket chirrin', Hear auld Bawthrens by the ingle purrin',-- Christ us keep while daddie's gone a-huntin'! Hee-o, wee-o, bonnie Babie Buntin'! The winds and the waters our Father shall praise, The birds, beasts and fishes shall tell o' His ways. By seashore and mountain, by forest and ling, O come all ye people, and praise ye our King! VII THE WOLVES OF OSSORY Philosophers generally incline to the opinion that the werewolf has no tail. Therefore, this being the sign--” “Nennius positively states that in certain Irish families, the power to change at will into a wolf--” “And who knows how numerous may be these abominable wizards?” Padraig, the scribe, sat listening intently while the company around the guest-house fire discoursed in monk-Latin of werewolves in Ireland. “In saecula saeculorum”--“ab incunabilis horrendum”--“quocunque nomine notandum”--“coram diabolo”--the sonorous many-syllabled phrases clattered like the noise of rooks in treetops. It was January, the “wolf-month” of old English shepherds. Meadows ran floods of icy half-melted snow; mountain winds were screaming about the cloisters, and for two days travelers had been weather-bound at the Abbey. Some time before, there had been rumors of wolves infesting the hills and displaying in their forays an all but human boldness and cunning. Then other tales began to be whispered. The peasantry huddled early about their turf-fires, and the shepherds of the Abbey sought counsel from their superior. They got small comfort from the Abbot, who curtly ordered them to attend to their duty and avoid vain babblings. All the same, among the manuscript volumes in the nest-egg of a library the monks possessed, there were chronicles that mentioned the werewolf. Marie de France in her “Lays” included the Breton romance of Bisclaveret, the loup-garou. The nerves of the weaker ones began to play them tricks. It was less and less easy to keep unbroken the orderly round of monastic life.