CLEAR as air, the western waters evermore their sweet, unchanging song Murmur in their stony channels round O'Conor's sepulchre in Cong. Crownless, hopeless, here he lingered; year on year went by him like a dream, While the far-off roar of conquest murmured faintly like the singing stream. Here he died, and here they tomb'd him, men of Fechin, chanting round his grave. Did they know, ah! did they know it, what they buried by the babbling wave? Now above the sleep of Rury holy things and great have passed away; Stone by stone the stately Abbey falls and fades in passionless decay. Darkly grows the quiet ivy, pale the broken arches glimmer througt; Dark upon the cloister-garden dreams the shadow of the ancient yew. Through the roofless aisles the verdure flows, the meadow-sweet and fox-glove bloom; Earth, the mother and consoler, winds soft arms about the lonely tomb. Peace and holy gloom possess him, last of Gaelic monarchs of the Gael, Slumbering by the young, eternal river-voices of the western vale. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...MAN IN A ROOM by WILLIAM CARLOS WILLIAMS BERTHA IN THE LANE by ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING THE HOUR OF DEATH by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS MUSIC IN THE NIGHT by HARRIET PRESCOTT SPOFFORD ON SENESIS' MUMMY by LEONIE ADAMS ON THE LATE S.T. COLERIDGE by WASHINGTON ALLSTON FROM AN EXCAVATION ON THE WARRIOR RIVER by ESTHER BARRETT ARGO |