Borne on the current the vessel glides smoothly but
swiftly away,
By Carrigaholt, and by many a green sloping headland
and bay,
’Twixt Cratloe’s blue hills and green
woods, and the soft sunny shores
of Tervoe,
And now the fair city of Limerick spreads out on the
broad bank below;
Still nearer and nearer approaching, the mariners
look o’er the town,
The old man sees nought but St. Mary’s square
tower, with its
battlements brown.
He listens—as yet all is silent, but now,
with a sudden surprise,
A rich peal of melody rings from that tower through
the clear evening
skies!
One note is enough—his eye moistens, his
heart, long so wither’d,
outswells,
He has found them—the sons of his labours—his
musical, magical bells!
At each stroke all the bright past returneth, around
him the sweet Arno
shines,
His children—his darling Francesca—his
purple-clad trellis of vines!
Leaning forward, he listens, he gazes, he hears in
that wonderful strain
The long-silent voices that murmur, “Oh, leave
us not, father again!”
’Tis granted—he smiles—his
eye closes—the breath from his white lips
hath fled—
The father has gone to his children—the
old Campanaro is dead!
94. The hills of Else. See Appendix to O’Daly’s “History of the Geraldines,” translated by the Rev. C. P. Meehan, p. 130.
95. Bell-founder.
96. The country of youth; the Elysium of the Pagan Irish.
97. Camden seems to credit a tradition commonly believed in his time, of a gradual increase in the number and size of the lakes and rivers of Ireland.
98. The beautiful hill in Lower Ormond called “Knockshegowna,” i.e., Oonagh’s Hill, so called from being the fabled residence of Oonagh (or Una), the Fairy Queen of Spenser. One of the finest views of the Shannon is to be seen from this hill.
ALICE AND UNA. A TALE OF CEIM-AN-EICH.[99]
Ah! the pleasant time hath vanished, ere our wretched
doubtings
banished,
All the graceful spirit-people, children of the earth
and sea,
Whom in days now dim and olden, when the world was
fresh and golden,
Every mortal could behold in haunted rath, and tower,
and tree—
They have vanished, they are banished—ah!
how sad the loss for thee,
Lonely
Ceim-an-eich!
Still some scenes are yet enchanted by the charms
that Nature granted,
Still are peopled, still are haunted, by a graceful
spirit band.
Peace and beauty have their dwelling where the infant
streams are
welling,
Where the mournful waves are knelling on Glengariff’s
coral strand;
Or where, on Killarney’s mountains, Grace and
Terror smiling stand,
Like
sisters, hand in hand!