Thomas William Rolleston Poems

WHERE glows the Irish hearth with peat
There lives a subtle spell—
The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat,
The moorland odours tell.
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MAY-DAY! delightful day!
Bright colours play the value along.
Now wakes at morning’s slender ray
Wild and gay the blackbird’s song.
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When the time comes for me to die,
Tomorrow, or some other day,
If God should bid me make reply,
'What would'st thou?' I shall say:
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IN a quiet water'd land, a land of roses,
Stands Saint Kieran's city fair;
And the warriors of Erin in their famous generations
Slumber there.
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CLEAR as air, the western waters
evermore their sweet, unchanging song
Murmur in their stony channels
round O’Conor’s sepulchre in Cong.
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