The opening tune is
'The Cliffs of Doneen'
Page 3 of the poem by By Edward Walsh
She bow'd - and he raised some
enchanted tone
Ne'er warbled by mortal tongue.
If golden-harp'd seraphs to
earth had flown,
The voice of the stranger would
seem their own,
And these were the strains
he sung: -
THE SONG OF THE SPIRIT
Thou knowest where yon mountain
uprears its huge head,
Where the hoarse torrent roars
down its rude rocky bed,
There stands my bright palace -
high dwelling of air -
And the bride of my bosom shall
smile on me there.
Where the hues of the rainbow
all glorious unite,
Festooning the hall in gay
vapours of light,
Whose diamond-starred pave-
ment now sparkles in sheen,
Far brighter than gems, the
deep grottos of Lene.
The soft bridal bed my beloved
shall share,
I've plucked from the perlons of
spirits of air.
And the fairies of ocean by
strong spell beguiled,
Shall soothe her to slumber with
melody wild.
I know where the waters of
loveliness flow,
Whose pure draught can beauty
immortal bestow;
And the rose of her cheek, and
the snow of her brow,
Shall through the wreck'd ages
as peerless as now.
My chariot the wild winds, my
pathway the sky,
O'er wide earth and ocean
unfettered I fly;
And my bright bird of beauty
can wing her quick way
On the zephyr's soft pinion, as
light fancy may.
I know where the diamonds of
brightness have birth,
In the caves of old ocean and
dark womb of earth;
I'll choose for my fairest the
rarest of all,
To deck as she pleases the
crystal-built hall.
'Tis the night of my bridal - I've
passed it with you;
The morning star blazes - ye
chieftains, Adieu!
When yearly this dark night of
wonder shall be,
Remember the bridal; and
think, think of me.
High lord of the castle, dark
chief of the wold,
The banquet of feasting I leave
but, behold!
I'll snatch to my bosom the maid
of my vow,
McAuliffe's bright daughter,
that maiden art thou.
'Tis vain, O rash bridegroom
nor tempt my high power
I've decked for Meelan the
gay nuptial bower;
My train are in waiting,
impatient I fly,
My chariot the wild winds, my
pathway the sky.
Then rose through the castle the
wild guests fright,
As his strong arm he twined her
round.
And winged through the wide
yawning roof of his flight;
But ne'er was the bride, since
that fear-fraught night,
Or the mysterious stranger, found.
To yonder rude cliff called from
Meelan's name,
Through many an olden day -
Where stood the gay hall of
enchanted fame,
Invisible save to the wizard's
beam -
The mountain-sprite bore his prey.
At night when cottagers calm
repose,
And silent the grove and green,
Fair Meelan is oft at the dark
heat's close,
While swells the sad tale of her
fate and woes,
Near her rock of enchantment
seen.
The Legend of Meelan
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