to watch the sunlight
Upon the flowering fen;

Who fain would feel the heather
Dew-soft beneath his tread
When morning parts the cloud-wrack
Above Benbulbin's head;

Who likes to lie and linger
Until the rising moon
Shows all her midnight glories
High o'er the Lough of Cloon;

Whose feet were shaped to follow
The road's eternal lure
From stormy Stockarudden
To sunny Knockanure!

But since there 's Sheilah calling,
('T is love that 's in her call!)
Faith, I am just a rover
Who 'll rove no more at all!

QUEENS

Fair Maeve, that was queen of Beauty,
Whither, whither has she gone?
Ask the cairn that over Sligo
Lifts its stones to greet the dawn!

Deirdre, that was queen of Sorrow,
Whither, whither has she fled?
Ask the woods of Finglas Water
That once knew her lissome tread!

Queens!--they are no more than mortal;
Even they must pale and pass
Like the prismy dews of dawning
On the heather and the grass!

THE WONDERS

I dream of the ancient wonders, of the isle of Hy Brasail
That rides through the mists of Mayo, then fades like a fading sail;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but there 's one that haunts me more,
'T is the faun-like grace of Moira upon Lough Corib's shore.

I dream of the ancient wonders, of the wells of Death and Life,
Of the voices of the Forest that quell both hate and strife;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but greater than them all
Is the luring laugh of Moira when day 's at evenfall.

I dream of the ancient wonders, of the Cross caught up in air,
Of the swan of sweet Feale Water that was a maiden fair;
I dream of the ancient wonders, but each fades in eclipse
At the lifted arms of Moira, and Moira's lifted lips!

AT MONAREE

When springtime comes to Monaree I know
How the blue hyacinths blow,
And how the daffodil lights its golden glow.

These blossoms are remembrancers of those
Who lie in long repose,
Lost to our earthly scenes of joys and woes,--

The saints of other days. How fair to see
These living emblems be
Of their good deeds--with spring at Monaree!

HEATHER SONG

Blue weather, blue weather abroad on the moors,
And the cry of the wind that elates and allures;
Sing "hey" and sing "ho" for the heather!

The brook in the bracken, it prattles and purls,
And the lips of the rose are as re