'Tis long since, long since, since I heard br A tin-whistle played, br And heard the tunes, the ha'penny tunes br That nobody made! br br The tunes that were before Cendfind br And Cir went Ireland's rounds br That were before the surety br That strings have given sounds! br br And now is standing in the mist, br And jigging backward there, br Shrilling with fingers and with breath, br A tin-whistle player! br br He has hare's eyes, a long face rimmed br Around with badger-grey; br Aimless, like cries of mountain birds br The tunes he has to play br br The tunes that are for stretches bare, br And men whose lives are lone br And I had seen that face of his br Sculptured on cross of stone, br That long face, in a place of graves br With nettles overgrown.