He comes through the lis[1] to me over the sward,
The man of the foot that is narrow and hard,
I would he were running the opposite way,
For o'er all that are living 'tis he who bears sway.
The Death.
In the garden's a castle with hundreds within,
Yet though stripped to my shirt I would never
fit in.
Ant-hill.
From house to house he goes,
A messenger small and slight,
And whether it rains or snows,
He sleeps outside in the night.
Boreen.
Two feet on the ground,
And three feet overhead,
And the head of the living
In the mouth of the dead.
Girl with (three-legged) pot on her head.
On the top of the tree
See the little man red,
A stone in his belly,
A cap on his head.
Haw.
There's a poor man at rest,
With a stick beneath his breast,
And he breaking his heart a-crying.
Lintel on a wet day.
- ↑ Rath or fort or circular moat.
