"Lough Derg" by Thomas D'Arcy McGee

"Lough Derg" by Thomas D'Arcy McGee

Lough Derg--Poetry--Catholicism--Thomas D'Arcy McGee

"In a girdle of green, heathy hills,
In song-famed Donegal,
An islet stands in a lonely lake,
(A coffin in a pall)..."

Thomas D'Arcy McGee, 1825-1868

D'Arcy Magee, Thomas, The poems of Thomas D'Arcy McGee : with copious notes: also an introd. and biographical sketch, pp. 483-86

P.J. Kenedy, New York

1902

Boston Library Consortium Member Libraries

Public domain

Monograph

English

Poetry collection

DD_0194

54.616218, -7.876212

https://archive.org/details/poemsofthomasdar00mcge_0/page/n9

i.
In a girdle of green, heathy hills,
In song-famed Donegal,
An islet stands in a lonely lake,
(A coffin in a pall),

A single stunted chesnut tree
Is sighing in the breeze,
While to and fro “the Pilgrims” flit,
Or kneel upon their knees;

Down to the shore, from North and East,
From Antrim and the Bosses,
Come barefoot pilgrims, men and maids,
Through water-ways and mosses;

And some from Dublin city, far,
Where sins grow thick as berries,
From Sligo some, and Castlebar,
Come crossing by the ferries.

ii.
Oh ! blessed Isle, a weary wight,
In body and in spirit,
Last year amid your pious ranks
Deplored his deep demerit;

And though upon his youth had fall’n
A watchful tyrant’s ban.
Though sorrow for the unfought fight,
And grief for the captive man, *

Peopled his soul, like visions
That cloud a crystal sleep,
These sorrows there pass’d from him —
’Twas his sins that made him weep.

And forth he went, confess’d, forgiven.
Across the heathy hills,
His peace being made in heaven,
He laugh’d at earthly ills.

iii.
Oh ! holy Isle, a ransom’d man
On a far distant shore,
Still in his day-dreams and his sleep
Sits by the boatman’s oar;

And crosses to your stony beach
And kneels upon his knees,
While overhead the chesnut-tree
Is sighing in the breeze;

And still he hears his people pray
In their own old Celtic tongue,
And still he sees the unbroken race
From Con and Nial sprung;

And from departing voices hears
The thankful hymn arise —
That hymn will haunt him all his years,
And soothe him when he dies.

iv.
Oh, would you know the power of faith,
Go ! see it at Lough Derg;
Oh, would you learn to smile at Death,
Go ! learn it at Lough Derg;

A fragment fallen from ancient Time,
It floateth there unchanged,
The Island of all Islands,
If the whole wide world were ranged.

There mourning men and thoughtful girls,
Sins from their souls unbind;
There thin gray hairs and childish curls
Are streaming in the wind ;

From May till August, night and day,
There praying pilgrims bide —
Oh, man hath no such refuge left,
In all the world wide !

Poem