Daluan, the Shepherd,
When winter winds blow chill,
Goes piping o'er the upland,
Goes piping by the rill;
And whoso hears his music
Must follow where he will.
Daluan, the Shepherd,
(So the old story saith)
He pipes the tunes of laughter,
The songs of sighing breath;
He pipes the souls of mortals
Through the dark gates of Death.
Daluan, the Shepherd,
Who listens to his strain
Shall look no more on laughter,
Shall taste no more of pain,
Shall know no more the longing
That eats at heart and brain.
Daluan, the Shepherd—
Beside the sobbing rill,
And through the dripping woodlands,
And up the gusty hill,
I hear the pipes of Daluan
Crying and calling still.