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166 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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And gliding grandly to the sea, with many a flash and
gleam And many a curve by swelling shores the dear old
storied stream, That flows and frets o'er ford and fall, to meet the
waves below, And murmurs still the song it sang a thousand years
ago. |
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To thee, Belleek, where anglers came from all the
country round, And simple lives of lowly toil by simple joys were
crowned; And thee, Rose-isle, whose ivy-crested crumbling
tower hath stood, Through centuries a warder gray above the foamy
flood. And thee, Tetuny, blandly calm, within whose solemn
shade The mingled dust of sire and son in peaceful rest is
laid. Corlea's green vale, Cliff's stately halls, Laputa's
emerald grove; Fair Camlin woods and Kathleen's Fall long famed in
lays of love. To Ballyshannon's shingly strand and bright Bundoran
Bay — To each and every dear old spot doth memory fondly
stray! Much changed, I fear, is all the scene, yet grandly
dost thou flow, O stately stream, as erst thou didst a thousand years
ago! |
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