Delights in Erinn

Lovely Edar's Hill to me,
Ere we sail the pale, pale sea:
Billows breaking at its base,
Bare and lone its lofty face.

Lovely Edar's Hill to me,
After the bright-bosomed sea:
There to row our boatlet o'er
White waves racing round the shore.

Fleet my Curach's flying track,
When on Derry turns its back;
I lament the happy havens,
Seeking Alba of the ravens.

My foot's in my tuneful Curach,
My heart bleeds in constant sorrow;
Men must lead, or feebly follow,
Ignorance is blind and hollow.

There's an eye of gray
Looks back to Erinn far away:
While life lasts, 'twill see no more
Man or maid on Erinn's shore!

I gaze o'er the bitter brine,
From these oaken planks of mine,

Big tears wet that eye of gray —
Seeking Erinn, far away.

Still on Erinn nests my mind —
Lene and Linne left behind,
On Ultonian mountains wild,
Meath and Muman smooth and mild.

Many heroes eastward are,
Many an ail, ill and scar,
Many scant of garb and art,
Many a hard, jealous heart.

Many, west, sweet apples shine,
Many kings and princes fine,
Many snowy-blossomed sloes,
Many oak-trees, few the woes.

Sweet her birds, her clerics sage,
Soft her youth are, wise is age —
Noble men who glad the sight,
Noble maids for nuptial rite.

Westward is sweet Brendan now,
Colam, son of Crimtan's vow.
(Westward shall fair Baithin be,
And Adamnan after me.) J

Bear my greetings, noble youth!
O'er to Congall's soul of truth,
Bear my greetings home again,
To Emania's king of men.

Blessings bear, benedictions,
From this heart of afflictions,
Half for Erinn — seven times!
Half for Alba's eastern climes.

Bear my blessing with thy sail
To the Nobles of the Gael;
Let them never more give ear
When Molaisi's words they hear.

Were it not Molaisi's speech,
I should stand on Imlais' beach,
Keeping constant watch, to ward
Ail and ill from Erinn's sward.

Bear my blessing to the West,
Broke my heart is in my breast;
Should a quick death be my bale,
'Tis for great love of the Gael.

Gael, O Gael! O name most dear!
Wish I've none but that to hear;
Dear fair Cumin o'er the brine,
Caindech dear, and Comgall mine.

Came all Alba's cess to me,
From its centre to its sea,
I would choose a better part —
One house set in Derry's heart!

Dear for these things Derry fair:
Purity and peace are there,
Hosts are there of angels white,
Moving through it, noon and night.

Derry mine! my small oak -grove!
Little cell, my home, my love!
O thou Lord of lasting life,
Woe to him who brings it strife!

Dear is Durrow, Derry dear,

Dear Raphoe is, calm and clear,

Dear Drumholme, where sweet fruit swells,

Dear to me are Swords and Kells.

Dear too, westward, evermore,
Drumcliffe on Culkinny's shore —
O to see fair Foyle in might,
'Mid its woodlands were delight!

Delight is there. — There's delight
Where flash ocean's sea-gulls white —
Far I bear from Derry's grove,
Quiet peace and lasting love.