THE ISLE OF DOOM

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?