Poetry
In Anglesey
ALIGHT the gorse from shore to shore, And widely rolls the empurpled moor— The sea birds pipe, the sea-gulls soar, The sedges whisper evermore,
In Anglesey.
Here is a land of aeons old, A land of mysteries untold ; The windmills stand like sentinels Above the haunted rocky dells Where fairy flowerets cling and creep, And wistful conies play and peep ; Still Eadwine's warriors vigil keep.
For robed in purple, crowned with gold, The hoary rocks stand where of old The fierce sea kings in battle wrought— Their chieftains slumber where they fought ; About the lonely silences Hover their brooding presences.
Is it the shrilling of the wind ?
Is it the murmur of the sea ?
Or does a band of white-robed men
With brows oak bound, wind up the glen, Deep throated chanting seem to rise, A harp's wild music and the cries Of victims borne to sacrifice ?
'Tis but the droning of the bee, The curlew wails along the lea ; The sea-gull sweeps towards the sea, The plaintive lapwing calls to me.
As dim the headlands one by one.
Royal pageant holds the westering sun ; And far and fast the shadows fly Between a wondrous sea and sky ; The twilight deepens—and awhile Soft dusk enfolds the ancient Isle ; The homing spirits fill the air,
Their questing o'er, they seek rest where The thund'rous waves for ever cry,
And rushing winds eternal sigh In Anglesey.
E. E. FL
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