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198 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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FITZ JAMES O'BRIEN (i828-i862)
LOCH INA1
I
KNOW a lake where the cool waves break, And softly fall on the silver sand — And no steps intrude on that solitude,
And no voice, save mine, disturbs the strand.
And a mountain bold, like a giant of old Turned to stone by some magic spell,
Uprears in might his misty height,
And his craggy sides are wooded well.
In the midst doth smile a little Isle,
And its verdure shames the emerald's green — On its grassy side, in ruined pride,
A castle of old is darkling seen.
On its lofty crest the wild cranes nest,
In its halls the sheep good shelter find ;
And the ivy shades where a hundred blades
Were hung, when the owners in sleep reclined.
That chieftain of old could he now behold
His lofty tower a shepherd's pen, His corpse, long dead, from its narrow bed
Would rise, with anger and shame again.
1 A beautiful salt-water lake in County Cork near Baltimore. |
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