Were loved by him; the old storm-broken trees

That cast their shadows upon road and bridge;

The tower set on the stream's edge;

The ford where drinking cattle make a stir

Nightly, and startled by that sound

The water-hen must change her ground;

He might have been your heartiest welcomer.

[9]

8

When with the Galway foxhounds he would ride

From Castle Taylor to the Roxborough side

Or Esserkelly plain, few kept his pace;

At Mooneen he had leaped a place

So perilous that half the astonished meet

Had shut their eyes, and where was it

He rode a race without a bit?

And yet his mind outran the horses' feet.

9

We dreamed that a great painter had been born

To cold Clare rock and Galway rock and thorn,

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