A DREAM OF IRELAND

New Zealand Tablet, 18 May 1916, Page 47

A DREAM OF IRELAND

Lo l I dreamt as I dreamed by my fireside A lady in pure robes of white Once came forward so softly to greet me From out of the dimness of night. And she said, ' 1 am Morrigu, Princess Of days when our Ireland was free, When brave Cuehulain, King of the Irish, Was fought, then befriended, by me.

' Ah! But past seems the glory of Ireland Deserted her mountains and vales, And forsaken, the spirit of Eire Alone her dark sorrow bewails.' Then I cried, ' If you will, Princess, tell me How Ireland I could but best serve, Then with loyalty, truth, and' devotion, One man will his Ireland preserve!'

Then she led me the whole length of Ireland She lingered as though loth to part ' From the loveliness draping Ivillarney, And sighed as we turned to depart; And she told me the triumphs of Tara, At Tailton, the brave deeds of knights, And at Armagh of our great Apostle, At Lim'rick, of our stolen rights.

' In the north is the cancer of Ireland,' Cried Morrigu, Princess of old, ' In this so-called industrious city Are dangers to Ireland untold. Here are poverty, riches, oppression That Ireland would never have known If the English had but understood us, And black seeds of discord not sown.

'You have said you are willing to serve me; Gaze well on the vision I bring Of an Ireland, the pride of the future, A land of which poets shall sing. See the valleys again are re-peopled, The cabin smoke softly ascends. And the people are simple, God-fearing, Enjoying the gifts that He sends.

True no more are the knights and fair ladies, At Tailton the monks kneel at prayer, And at Tara no king accepts homage Save Him Who in silence waits there; And our Ireland is now to all nations

A cynosure, sacred, afar From the strife of the world and its turmoil, A virgin whom no man would mar.

' For the Irish will always be Irish And live in a world none can share, In a world that is simple and holy With which other worlds can't compare; So my Ireland, renowned for its learning, Again shall all nations enthrall, For its faith and the strength of its wisdom Will make it the wonder of all.'

I awoke with a start from my dreaming, And looked for my lady in white, But, lo! nothing was there save the sadness That visits the lonely at night; So I gazed in my flames that were dying, A fresh log I threw on my fire, And I sighing returned to my dreaming, Went back to my Land of Desire.

And my Ireland I see in a vision Repeopled with those I love best, And together wo dwell in a valley— A haven of love and of rest; But the log with a thud falls asunder, It fades, that sweet valley so green, And its lakes and its mountains have vanished—•

'Twas only a sweet might-have-been.

Angela Hastings.