Ballads of Irish chivalry By Robert Dwyer Joyce: Edited, with Annotations, by his brother P. W. Joyce |
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THE OAKS OF HOURA. |
 | Ballads of Irish chivalry |  |
THE OAKS OF HOURA.
I
O, think of the days when the crags' rugged massesLooked o'er one great forest in Houra's wild passes,
When the grey wolf preyed fiercely by woodland and mountain,
And the red deer ran free by the swift torrent's shore,
When the peasant was king of his home by the fountain,
And welcomed the trav'ller with smiles at his door.
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II
Twas a brave time—a free time—the hills seem to mournTill the splendour of glade and of forest return;
Yet is there not splendour as grand and as shaggy,
Where the huge twisted roots of that forest remain,
Wide spread o'er each deep cave and precipice craggy,
Sending scions of strength to the blue sky again?
III
In bright Lyre-na-grena where the blue stream is flowing,And in dark Lyre-na-freaghaun those scions are growing:
They spring from the streams and they tower from the ledges
Of the huge rocks that frown o'er the lone fairy dells;
Like young guardian giants encircling the edges
Of the deep silent pools and the moss-wreathèd wells.
| Ballads of Irish chivalry | |