MUCKROSS

At night there came unto MacCarthy More

A hooded vision with a voice that said,

“Go thou straightway and raise a house to God

Upon the spot where stands the Rock of Song!”

So with the golden lifting of the dawn

Upsprang the chieftain and loud called his kerns,

And bade them seek the Rock. For many a day

They roved the sweeping meads and fens and fells

In fruitless search, and ever forth again

Relentlessly he drove them from his hold

Beside the dimpling waters of Lough Leane.

“The Rock!” he cried, “find ye the Rock of Song!”

And still they found it not. Then the gaunt chief,

His long locks hoary with the frost of years,

Girded himself, and turned his tottering steps

Abroad in the soft lengthening of the dusk

Athwart a woodland close, and saw and heard

A little maid, her pitcher held at poise,

Singing an old lament in minors clear

And plaintive as the twilight, words that voiced

The poignant, passionate yearning of the soul.

“A sign!” the spent man whispered low, “a sign!”

And on the spot he raised a house to God.