Page:Landscape Illustrations - Irish Melodies.pdf/4

Rh

A lofty moat denotes the place Where sleeps in slumber cold The mighty of a mighty race— The giant kings of old.

There Gollah sleeps—the golden band About his head is bound; His javelin in his red right hand, His feet upon his hound. And twice three golden rings are placed Upon that hand of fear; The smallest would go round the waist Of any maiden here.

And plates of gold are on his breast, And gold doth bind him round; A king, he taketh kingly rest Beneath that royal mound. But wealth no more the mountain fills, As in the days of yore: Gone are those days; the wave distils Its liquid gold no more.

The days of yore—still let my harp Their memories repeat— The days when every sword was sharp, And every song was sweet. The warrior slumbers on the hill, The stranger rules the plain: Glory and gold are gone; but still They live in song again.