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46 |
IRISH MELODIES. |
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BY THAT LAKE WHOSE GLOOMY SHORE.*
By that Lake, whose gloomy shore Sky-lark never warbles o'er, f Where the cliff hangs high and steep, Young Saint Kevin stole to sleep. " Here, at least," he calmly said, " "Woman ne'er shall find my bed." Ah ! the good Saint little knew What that wily sex can do.
'Twas from Kathleen's eyes he flew, — Eyes of most unholy blue! She had lov'd him well and long, "Wish'd him hers, nor thought it wrong. Wheresoe'er the Saint would fly, Still he heard her light foot nigh ; East or west, where'er he turn'd, Still her eyes before him burn'd.
On the bold cliff's bosom cast, Tranquil now he sleeps at last; Dreams of heav'n, nor thinks that e'er Woman's smile can haunt him there. But nor earth nor heaven is free From her power, if fond she be: Even now, while calm he sleeps, • Kathleen o'er him leans and weeps.
* This ballad is founded upon one of the many stories related of St. Kevin, whose bed in the rock is to be seen at Glendalough, most gloomy and romantic spot in the county of Wicklow.
f There are many other curious traditions concerning this Lake which may be found in Giraldus, Colgan, &c. ' |
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