Gougane Barra

There is a green island in lone Gougane Barra,

Where Allua of songs rushes forth as an arrow,

In deep-valley’d Desmond – a thousand wild fountains

Come down to that lake from their homes in the mountains.

There grows the wild ash, and a time stricken willow

Looks chidingly down on the mirth of the billow;

As, like some gay child, that sad monitor scorning,

It lightly laughs back to the laugh of the morning.

And its zone of dark hills – oh! to see them all bright’ning,

When the tempest flings out its red banner of lightning;

And the waters rush down, ‘mid the thunder’s deep rattle,

like clans from their hills at the voice of the battle.

And brightly the fire-crested billows are gleaming,

And wildly from Mullagh the eagles are screaming,

Oh! where is the dwelling in valley, or highland,

So sweet for a bard as this lone little island.