The twenty brothers of Eynhallow
Have made a figure of Our Lady.
From red stone they carved her
And set her on a headland.
There spindrift salts her feet.
At dawn the brothers sang this
Blessed Lady, since midnight
We have done three things.
We have bent hooks.
We have patched a sail.
We have sharpened knives.
Yet the little silver brothers are afraid.
Bid them come to our net.
Show them our fire, our fine round plates.
Per Christum Dominum nostrum
Look mildly on our hungers.
The codling hang in a row by the wall.
At noon the brothers sang this
Holy Mother, Una the cow
Gives thin blue milk.
Where is the golden thread of butter?
The stone in the middle of our glebe
Has deep black roots.
We have broken three ploughs on it.
Per Christum Dominum nostrum
Save Una from the axe,
Our dappled cow with large eyes.
The girls go by with pails to the byre
At sunset the brothers sang this
Sweet Virgin, the woman of Garth
Is forever winking at Brother Paul.
She puts an egg in his palm.
She lays peats in his cowl.
Her neck is long as spilt milk.
Brother Paul is a good lad.
Well he brings wine and word to the priest.
But three red midnights
His tongue has run loose among dreams.
Paul has broken knees at the stone.
At midnight the brothers sang this
Queen of Heaven, this good day
There is a new cradle at Quoys.
It rocks on the blue floor.
And there is a new coffin at Hamnavoe.
Arnor the poet lies there,
Tired of words and wounds.
In between, what is man?
A head bent over fish and bread and ale.
Outside, the long furrow.
Through a door, a board with a shape on it.
Guard the ploughs and the nets.
Star of the sea, shine for us.
