And when They call her earthward,

No living thing will grieve.

[15]

[15]

 COIS NA TEINEADH

Where glows the Irish hearth with peat

There lives a subtle spell—

The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat

The moorland odours tell

Of white roads winding by the edge

Of bare untamèd land,

Where dry stone wall or ragged hedge

Runs wide on either hand

To cottage lights that lure you in

From rainy Western skies;

And by the friendly glow within

Of simple talk, and wise,

And tales of magic, love or arms

From days when princes met

To listen to the lay that charms

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