Chapter I: Front Matter

SPRAYS OF SHAMROCK

SPRAYS OF SHAMROCK

BY CLINTON SCOLLARD

PORTLAND MAINE THE MOSHER PRESS MDCCCCXIV

COPYRIGHT CLINTON SCOLLARD 1914

CONTENTS

PAGE
MUCKROSS 3
THE HILL OF MAEVE 5
AT KILLYBEGS 7
THE CRIPPLE 8
AN EXILE 9
ABBEYDORNEY 10
A SONG FOR JOYCE’S COUNTRY 12
BALLAD OF PROTESTANT’S LEAP 14
ETCHING AT NIGHT 16
THE SPECTRAL ROWERS 17
TYRCONNELL 18
THE WAY OF THE CROSS 19
THE ISLE OF DOOM 20
DESMOND 21
THE LITTLE CREEK COONANA 22
O’DONNELL ABOO 23
NIGHTFALL IN SLIGO 24
CARROWMORE 26
ON CARAGH LAKE 27
RAHINANE 28
THE WIND OF MOURNE 29
MAN AND MAID 30
THE HUNTER 32
RAIN SONG 33
A ROVER 34
QUEENS 35
THE WONDERS 36
AT MONAREE 37
HEATHER SONG 38
OFF CONNEMARA 39
POPPIES AT MONASTERAVEN 40
THE GLEN OF CASTLEMAINE 41
SONG 42
KILMELCHEDOR 43
AT DINGLE 44
BACK TO KILLARNEY 45
GLENCAR WATER 46
FROM DERRY TO KERRY 47
A KING IN KERRY 48
A KERRY LAD 51
A KERRY DAY 52
A KERRY ROAD 53
A KERRY GARDEN 54
DOWN IN KERRY 55
HOLY WELLS 56
LOW TIDE 57
THE “BOHAREEN” 58
AN IRISH IDYL 60
AN IRISH LASS 61
THE BRIDGE OF LUCKEEN 62
DONEGAL 64
AN IRISH SONG 66

SPRAYS OF SHAMROCK

_Just a few songs of her,
Not of the wrongs of her
Many and bitter and long though they be,—
Songs of the hills of her,
Songs of the rills of her,
Ireland, set like a gem in the sea!_

_Just a few songs of her,
Not of the thongs of her,
She that is bound, and yet fain would be free,—
Songs of the gleams of her,
Glamours and dreams of her,
Ireland, girt by the arms of the sea!_

MUCKROSS

At night there came unto MacCarthy More
A hooded vision with a voice that said,
“Go thou straightway and raise a house to God
Upon the spot where stands the Rock of Song!”
So with the golden lifting of the dawn
Upsprang the chieftain and loud called his kerns,
And bade them seek the Rock. For many a day
They roved the sweeping meads and fens and fells
In fruitless search, and ever forth again
Relentlessly he drove them from his hold
Beside the dimpling waters of Lough Leane.
“The Rock!” he cried, “find ye the Rock of Song!”
And still they found it not. Then the gaunt chief,
His long locks hoary with the frost of years,
Girded himself, and turned his tottering steps
Abroad in the soft lengthening of the dusk
Athwart a woodland close, and saw and heard
A little maid, her pitcher held at poise,
Singing an old lament in minors clear
And plaintive as the twilight, words that voiced
The poignant, passionate yearning of the soul.
“A sign!” the spent man whispered low, “a sign!”
And on the spot he raised a house to God.

THE HILL OF MAEVE

I

This is the hill of Maeve, the queen,
A mighty bulwark of gray-green

Whereon was set, by hands unknown,
A rugged monument of stone.

The great winds mourn, and sobs the wave
Beneath the lichened cairn of Maeve.

II

From many a rocky Leitrim height
O’er Lough Gill’s waters, blue and bright,

From where Benbulbin fronts the foam,
And sees the Sligo ships put home,

Maeve’s hill is like a pharos flame,
As is eternally her name!