Poem by Aubrey De Vere

Gougane Barra

NOT beauty which men gaze on with a smile,
Not grace that wins, no charm of form or hue,
Dwelt with that scene. Sternly upon my view,
And slowly,—as the shrouding clouds awhile
Disclosed the beetling crag and lonely isle,—
From their dim lake the ghostly mountains grew,
Lit by one slanting ray. An eagle flew
From out the gloomy gulf of the defile,
Like some sad spirit from Hades. To the shore
Dark waters rolled, slow heaving, with dull moan;
The foam-flakes hanging from each livid stone
Like froth on deathful lips: pale mosses o’er
The shattered cell crept, as an orphan lone
Clasps his cold mother’s breast when life is gone.

1. Glengariff
2. The Glen of Glangoole
3. Kilmallock
4. Lismore
5. Castleconnel

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