ship cast anchor on its soft bright tide,
But all was silence by its flowery brink,
Save when a dreamer sought its quiet side,
And there on God's bright beauty sat to think.
Keegan Casey ("Leo") 1846-1870
I crossed tInny at Forigny and rested under
the shady woods. I am near Forigny and Pallas,
where some of Goldsmith's youth was passed. But
it is not Goldsmith's poetry that is in memory
now. I am thinking about William MacGeoghegan
and "Leo" Casey. Both of them write
of the Inny. Goldsmith never did. I remember one
of MacGeoghegan's verses:
grows the turf by Inny's side,
And white the daisies spring.
When April cometh forth a bride
To hear the brown thrush sing,
And peeps my bonny gem of blue,
Sweet, pure, forget-me-not,
The sheltering rushes slyly through,
And by that favoured spot
The proud swan sails with open wing.
The water lilies wait
Till Summer's sun to them shall bring
The white robes of their state.'
Bulfin, 'Rambles in Eirinn' ( 1907), p. 276.
great mills of MacGann, of Fagan, of Murtagh and
others - all busy centres of industry forty years
ago - are tenantless, and the owls and bats alone
keep guard over the remains of the rust-eaten
William Bulfin, 'Rambles in Eirinn' (1907),
In the Valley of the Inny