POETRY.
THE HIGHLAND HILLS TO THE HILLS OF • INISFAIL.
Lo: we be Queens together.
Magic and Memory bind us, breast to breast.
By the curlew's darkling cry and the rose of heather Sisters we are, in the soft and sorrowful West.
Dust is Cuchullin's glory.
Fingal's valour may sea and sky forget.
Still in cur bosoms guard we the ancient story— Mothers of mighty men, we remember yet.
Shared we not- sign and token Through the slumbering seasons, 0 Hills of Inisfail- Love of battle and dreams, and a pride unbroken?—
Till the War pipes blew, and Honour called to the Gael.
Heard ye not through your sleeping?
We heard, we thrilled from the lonely Lewes to Clyde, And the glory of old we gave to the young lads' keeping, Who went as kings to the War, and as chieftains died. Gold be our mourning only,
Though the flocks lament, and the breakers bear no sail ! But our splendour burns unshared, and our pride is lonely— For ye sleep, ye sleep, 0 Sisters of Inisfail !
Maar ADAIR MACDONALD.
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