| Share page | Visit Us On FB |
|
i34 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
||
|
|
||
|
She who ice-pierced on perilous coasts
To land and sky Lifted the swan-song of her grief,
Yet could not die.
Enchantment fell and powerful spell
Of envious hate Had robbed her of her maiden robes,
Her regal state, And she in halls of kindred kind
Could walk no more, But floated far a phantom pale
From shore to shore.
And yet the spell of hatred fell
Through centuries long Harmed not the everlasting soul
Or power of song, And we who grieve for bleeding breast
And broken wing, Shall see her rise in beauty yet,
The Child of the King. |
||
|
THE BURIED FORESTS OF ERIN
" The wilderness and the solitary place shall be glad for them."—Isaiah 35 : 1.
THERE were trees in Tir-Conal of the territories In Erin's ancient yet remembered days, Where now to clothe the leagues of bogland lonely Is only heather brown or gorse ablaze: |
||
|
|
||