Poem by Clinton Scollard

A Rover

  Oh, I am just a rover
    Among the roving men
  Who loves to watch the sunlight
    Upon the flowering fen;

  Who fain would feel the heather
    Dew-soft beneath his tread
  When morning parts the cloud-wrack
    Above Benbulbin’s head;

  Who likes to lie and linger
    Until the rising moon
  Shows all her midnight glories
    High o’er the Lough of Cloon;

  Whose feet were shaped to follow
    The road’s eternal lure
  From stormy Stockarudden
    To sunny Knockanure!

  But since there ’s Sheilah calling,
    (’T is love that ’s in her call!)
  Faith, I am just a rover
    Who ’ll rove no more at all!

1. The Wind of Mourne
2. The Speech of the Sea
3. Queens
4. At Monaree
5. Heather Song

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