But the little roads of Cloonagh are dearer far to me
And the little roads of Cloonagh go rambling through my heart.

A great storm from the ocean goes shouting o'er the hill,
And there is glory in it; and terror on the wind:
But the haunted air of twilight is very strange and still,
And the little winds of twilight are dearer to my mind.

The great waves of the Atlantic sweep storming on their way,
Shining green and silver with the hidden herring shoal;
But the little waves of Breffny have drenched my heart in spray,
And the little waves of Breffny go stumbling through my soul.

WALLS

Free to all souls the hidden beauty calls,
The sea thrift dwelling on her spray-swept height,
The lofty rose, the low-grown aconite,
The gliding river and the stream that brawls
Down the sharp cliffs with constant breaks and falls--
All these are equal in the equal light--
All waters mirror the one Infinite.

God made a garden, it was men built walls;
But the wide sea from men is wholly freed;
Freely the great waves rise and storm and break,
Nor softlier go for any landlord's need,
Where rhythmic tides flow for no miser's sake
And none hath profit of the brown sea-weed,
But all things give themselves, yet none may take.

_Moira O'Neill_

Moira O'Neill is known chiefly by a remarkable little collection of
only twenty-five lyrics, _Songs from the Glens of Antrim_ (1900),
simple tunes as unaffected as the peasants of whom she sings. The best
of her poetry is dramatic without being theatrical; melodious without
falling into the tinkle of most "popular" sentimental verse.

A BROKEN SONG

'_Where am I from?_' From the green hills of Erin.
'_Have I no song then?_' My songs are all sung.
'_What o' my love?_' 'Tis alone I am farin'.
Old grows my heart, an' my voice yet is young.

'_If she was tall?_' Like a king's own daughter.
'_If she was fair?_' Like a mornin' o' May.
When she'd come laughin' 'twas the runnin' wather,
When she'd come blushin' 'twas the break o' day.

'_Where did she dwell?_' Where one'st I had my dwellin'.
'_Who loved her best?_' There's no one now will know.
'_Where is she gone?_' Och, why would I be tellin'!
Where she is gone there I can never go.

BEAUTY'S A FLOWER

_Youth's for an hour,
Beauty's a flower,