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Sprays of Shamrock   By: (1860-1932)

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First Page:

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... Continue reading book >>




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