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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 335 |
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GLEN-NA-SMOEL
I
N the heart of high blue hills Where the silence thrills and thrills, In the Valley of the Thrushes : From the golden low furze-bushes On the mountain wind's light feet Comes a perfume faint and sweet.
Where the hills stand blue and gray In the sunshine miles away, Rises a small streamlet brawling, On the silence calling, calling; Flows by fern and foxglove tall And green mosses curled and small.
Through the valley it goes swift, 'Tis the mountain's wayward gift; Dancing onward, laughing, leaping, Amber eddies gayly sweeping Round the big stones grayly-white In the sunny summer light!
In the Thrushes' mystic glen
Are the only dwellers men ?
When the ghostly moonlight glimmers
And the singing river shimmers,
Do the fairies never come —
Are their nimble feet grown numb ?
Ah ! I think the fairies fled When the mountain people said : " In this crystal-watered valley Skill and labor both shall rally, |
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