Tell it out in the streets for the people to hear, Denis Cahel from Slieve Echtge is dead. It was Denis Cahel from Daire-caol that died in the place of his neighbour! It is he was young and comely and strong, the best reaper and the best hurler. It was not a little thing for him to die, and he protecting his neighbour! Gather up, Mary Cushin, the clothes for your child; they’ll be wanted by this one and that one. The boys crossing the sea in the springtime will be craving a thread for a memory. One word to the judge and Denis was free, they offered him all sorts of riches. They brought him drink in the gaol, and gold, to swear away the life of his neighbour! Pat Ruane was no good friend to him at all, but a foolish, wild companion; it was Terry Fury knocked a gap in the wall and sent in the calves to our meadow. Denis would not speak, he shut his mouth, he would never be an informer. It is no lie he would have said at all giving witness against Terry Fury. I will go through Gort and Kilbecanty and Druimdarod and Daroda; I will call to the people and the singers at the fairs to make a great praise for Denis! The child he left in the house that is shook, it is great will be his boast in his father! All Ireland will have a welcome before him, and all the people in Boston. I to stoop on a stick through half a hundred years, I will never be tired with praising! Come hither, Mary Cushin, till we’ll shout it through the roads, Denis Cahel died for his neighbour! (_She goes off to the left, Mary Cushin following her._) _Curtain_ MUSIC FOR THE SONGS IN THE PLAYS [Illustration: Music sheet for THE RED-HAIRED MAN’S WIFE THE RED-HAIRED MAN’S WIFE _Spreading the News._ I thought, my first love, there’d be but one house between you and me, And I thought I would find yourself coaxing my child on your knee. Over the tide I would leap with the leap of a swan, Till I came to the side of the wife of the red-haired man.] [Illustration: Music sheet for GRANUAILE GRANUAILE _The Rising of the Moon._ As through the hills I walked to view the bills and sham-rock plain, I stood a while where nature smiles to view the rocks and streams. On a ma-tron fair I fixed my eyes beneath a fer-tile vale, As she sang her song—it was on the wrong of poor old Gran-u-aile. Her head was bare, her hands and feet with iron bands were bound, Her pensive strain and plaintive wail mingles with the evening gale, And the song she sang with mournful air, I am old Granuaile, Her lips so sweet that monarchs kissed--] [Illustration: Music sheet for JOHNNY HART JOHNNY HART _The Rising of the Moon._ There was a rich far-mer’s daugh-ter lived near the town of Ross; She courted a High-land soldier, His name was John-ny Hart; Says the mother to her daughter, “I’ll go distracted mad If you mar-ry that Highland soldier dressed up to his High-land plaid.”]