Poem by Clinton Scollard

The Hill of Maeve

I

This is the hill of Maeve, the queen,
A mighty bulwark of gray-green

Whereon was set, by hands unknown,
A rugged monument of stone.

The great winds mourn, and sobs the wave
Beneath the lichened cairn of Maeve.


II

From many a rocky Leitrim height
O'er Lough Gill's waters, blue and bright,

From where Benbulbin fronts the foam,
And sees the Sligo ships put home,

Maeve's hill is like a pharos flame,
As is eternally her name!


III

'Neath azure tides of morning air
Ripple the waves of Ballysadare

Under where frowning Knocknarea
Looks o'er the Rosses far to sea,--

Looks far to sea, remembering
Maeve's loveliness, a vanished thing.


IV

The cromlechs, gray with eld, below,
Recall the dreams of long ago,--

The dreams of kern and king, both slave
To beauty, and the white Queen Maeve;

And though she slumbers, deep, so deep,
Her golden memory may not sleep!

1. The Mist and the Sea
2. The Tides
3. Night Song by the Sea
4. The Way of the Cross
5. The Wind of Mourne

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