COIS NA TEINEADH
Reading edition
(By the Fireside.)
Where glows the Irish hearth with peat There lives a subtle spell— The faint blue smoke, the gentle heat, The moorland odours, tell Of long roads running through a red Untamed unfurrowed land, With curlews keening overhead, And streams on either hand; Black turf-banks crowned with whispering sedge, And black bog-pools below; While dry stone wall or ragged hedge Leads on, to meet the glow From cottage doors, that lure us in From rainy Western skies, To seek the friendly warmth within, The simple talk and wise; Or tales of magic, love and arms From days when princes met To listen to the lay that charms The Connacht peasant yet. There Honour shines through passions dire, There beauty blends with mirth— Wild hearts, ye never did aspire Wholly for things of earth! Cold, cold this thousand years—yet still On many a time-stained page Your pride, your truth, your dauntless will, Burn on from age to age. And still around the fires of peat Live on the ancient days; There still do living lips repeat The old and deathless lays. And when the wavering wreaths ascend, Blue in the evening air, The soul of Ireland seems to bend Above her children there.