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404 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF |
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As the shining salmon, homeless in the sea depths, Hears the river call him, scents out the land,
Leaps and rejoices in the meeting of the waters, Breasts weir and torrent, nests in the sand;
Lives there and loves; yet with the years returning, Rusting in the river, pines for the sea,
Sweeps back again to the ripple of the tideway, Roamer of the waters, vagabond and free —
Wanderer am I like the salmon of the rivers;
London is my ocean, murmurous and deep, Tossing and vast; yet through the roar of London
Comes to me thy summons, calls me in sleep.
Pearly are the skies in the country of my fathers, Purple are thy mountains, home of my heart.
Mother of my yearning, love of all my longings, Keep me in remembrance, long leagues apart.
MATER SEVERA
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HERE the huge Atlantic swings heavy water eastward, Ireland, square to meet it, shoulders off the seas; Wild are all her coasts with stress of cliff and billow, On her northern moorland is little sheltered ease.
Well is with the salmon, ranger of her rivers : Well is with the mackerel shoaling in each bay,
Dear is all the land to the lonely snipe and curlew: Ay, but for its manfolk ! a bitter lot have they. |
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