by Belashanny town,

It has neither door nor window,

the walls are broken down;

The carven-stones lie scatter'd

in briar and nettle-bed;

The only feet are those that come

at burial of the dead.

[8]

A little rocky rivulet

runs murmuring to the tide,

Singing a song of ancient days,

in sorrow, not in pride;

The boortree and the lightsome ash

across the portal grow,

And heaven itself is now the roof

of Abbey Asaroe.

It looks beyond the harbour-stream

to Gulban mountain blue;

It hears the voice of Erna's fall,—

Atlantic breakers too;

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