Did you see Paidin,
Paidin, the besom-man,
Last night as you came by
Over the mountain?
A barth of new heather
He bore on his shoulder,
And a bundle of whitlow-grass
Under his oxter.
I spied him as he passed
Beyond the carn head,
But no eye saw him
At the hill foot after.
What has come over him?
The women are saying.
What can have crossed
Paidin, the besom-man?
The bogholes he knew
As the curlews know them,
And the rabbits’ pads,
And the derelict quarries.
He was humming a tune —
The “Enchanted Valley” —
As he passed me westward
Beyond the carn.
I stood and I listened,
For his singing was strange:
It rang in my ears
The long night after.
What has come over
Paidin, the besom-man?
What can have crossed him?
The women keep saying.
They talk of the fairies —
And, God forgive me,
Paidin knew them
Like his prayers!
Will you fetch word
Up to the cross-roads
If you see track of him,
Living or dead?
The boys are loafing
Without game or caper;
And the dark piper
Is gone home with the birds.