But when at last I did, I was safe.

She stood there motionless, radiant with the first beams of the royal sun as he leapt up from the sea.
"Look, Humphrey," she cried.

"Is not that worth keeping watch for ?" Then she broke again into song.
"Is that an Irish song you sing ?" I asked.
"It is.

How knew you that ?" "I guessed it.

What does it mean ?" She blushed.
"'Tis a song the maidens sing at home--an old, old song," said she, "that I learned from my nurse." "I pray you, sing it again," said I.
She turned her face to the rising sun, and sang, in English words, as follows: Who cometh from the mountain like the sun for brightness?
Whose voice ringeth like the wave on the shingle?
Who runneth from the east like the roe?
Who cometh?
Is it the wind that kisses my tresses?
Or is it the harp of Innis thrilling my ear?
Or is it the dawn on Ramore that dims my eyes?
Who cometh?
Is he far?
Is he near?
Whence comes he riding?
Dazzling in armour and white of brow?
Is it for me that he filleth the mountains with music?
Who waiteth?
Who cometh?
"'Tis a wild song, full of riddles," said I.