p. 16

IX

“Time trieth troth.” Who carved the text Above the narrow cottage door? Two hundred years of storm have vexed The words which front the western moor.

Time

Was it a hind who loved the king That held his court beyond the sea, A hind who taught his child to sing Of Stuart rose and Stuart tree?

Was it a swain whose soul adored A maid who went to London town? And did she choose some spangled lord And coldly flout her country clown?

p. 17“Time trieth troth.” And was he true Whose chisel carved that rugged line? And was he loyal till the yew O’erarched his heart’s now silent shrine?

p. 17

Then, though bereft of king or love, He found the poet’s secret gain, The sympathy of suns above, The friendship of the falling rain.

p. 18X A MEMORY OF IRELAND

p. 18

X

Where the saints of Holy Ireland sleep No chancels pen them round, But the waving trees their vigils keep Above each verdant mound.

Where

Here they climbed no lofty marble beds To find a frigid rest, But a canopy of golden threads Hangs o’er them in the west.

When the larks have ceased their thankful hymn, The ocean booms his bell, And the lamps of heaven swing o’er the rim Of every holy well.

May the Lord bring back that race of men Whom charity enticed To desert the world for some poor glen And give the people Christ.

p. 19XI “TÍR NAN ÓG” [19]

p. 19

XI

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