OH, ARRANMORE, LOVED ARRANMORE.
Reading edition
Oh! Arranmore, loved Arranmore, How oft I dream of thee, And of those days when, by thy shore, I wandered young and free. Full many a path I've tried, since then, Thro' pleasure's flowery maze, But ne'er could find the bliss again I felt in those sweet days.
How blithe upon thy breezy cliffs, At sunny morn I've stood, With heart as bounding as the skiffs That danced along thy flood; Or, when the western wave grew bright With daylight's parting wing, Have sought that Eden in its light, Which dreaming poets sing;[1]—
That Eden where the immortal brave Dwell in a land serene,— Whose bowers beyond the shining wave, At sunset, oft are seen. Ah dream too full of saddening truth! Those mansions o'er the main Are like the hopes I built in youth,— As sunny and as vain!
[1] "The inhabitants of Arranmore are still persuaded that, in a clear day, they can see from this coast Hy Brysail or the Enchanted Island, the paradise of the Pagan Irish, and concerning which they relate a number of romantic stories",—Beaufort's "Ancient Topography of Ireland."