T. W. Rolleston


The Dead At Clonmacnois - Poem by T. W. Rolleston

From the Irish of Angus O'Gillam

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.

There beneath the dewy hillside sleep the noblest
   Of the clan of Conn,
Each below his stone with name in branching Ogham
   And the sacred knot thereon.

There they laid to rest the seven Kings of Tara,
   There the sons of Cairbre sleep--
Battle-banners of the Gael that in Kieran's plain of crosses
   Now their final hosting keep.

And in Clonmacnois they laid the men of Teffia,
   And right many a lord of Breagh;
Deep the sod above Clan Creide and Clan Conaill,
   Kind in hall and fierce in fray.

Many and many a son of Conn the Hundred-Fighter
   In the red earth lies at rest;
Many a blue eye of Clan Colman the turf covers,
   Many a swan-white breast.


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Read poems about / on: sleep, city, son, water, red, rose



Poem Submitted: Saturday, January 4, 2003



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