THE ISLE OF DOOM

By Clinton Scollard

Out of the mist off Galway shore,

Out of the morning mist,

Rose the island of Hy Brasail

With its crags of amethyst;

Crags of purple and amethyst,

And meads of gleaming green,

Rose the island of Hy Brasail

With a shimmer of sea between.

And what shall come to Galway shore,

What shadow of doom prevail,

With this fading dream of the mists of morn,

This island of Hy Brasail?