8. The Hosting of the Sidhe (W.B.Yeats)

a  Em  D  A  C  Hm  Em

     Em              G         Am
The host is riding from Knocknarea
     C                  D         Em
And over the grave of Clooth-na-Bare;
  Em             G           Am
Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
      C             D          Em
And Niamh calling Away, come away:
    F           Em      Am
b  Empty your heart of its mortal dream.
         F      Em         Am
   The winds awaken, the leaves whirl round,
         F         G         Am
   Our cheeks are pale, our hair is unbound,
         F           G           A!
   Our breasts are heaving, our eyes are agleam,
        D                     Am
c1 Our arms are waving, out lips are apart;
        D              Am
c2 And if any gaze on our rushing band,
       D                        C
   We come between him and the deed of his hand,
       C                        D           Em
   We come between him and the hope of his heart.

a  The host is rushing 'twixt night and day,
   And where is there hope or deed as fair?
   Caoilte tossing his burning hair,
   And Niamh calling Away, come away. 
   
   + b (проигрыш) + с2