Ossian Collection > Lyra celtica

XXX LYRA CELTICA
Gaelic, whose muse is laughter-loving though ever with
"dewy dark eyes."
If, however, the blithe and delightful peasant poetry
of Mr Alfred Percival Graves, and that so beautifully
translated and paraphrased by Dr Douglas Hyde, be
characteristically Irish, so also is such typically Celtic
poetry as this lyric by the latest Irish singer, Miss
Moira O'Neill—
"SEA WRACK."
The wrack was dark an' shiny where it floated in the
sea.
There was no room in the brown boat but only him an'
me ;
Him to cut the sea wrack— me to mind the boat,
An' not a word between us the hours we were afloat.
The wet wrack.
The sea wrack.
The wrack was strong to cut.
We laid it on the grey rocks to wither in the sun ;
An' what should call my lad then to sail from Cushendun?
With a low moon, a full tide, a swell upon the deep,
Him to sail the old boat— me to fall asleep.
The dry wrack.
The sea wrack.
The wrack was dead so soon.
There's a fire low upon the rocks to burn the wrack to
kelp;
There's a boat gone down upon the Moyle, an' sorra
one to help.
Him beneath the salt sea— me upon the shore —
By sunlight or moonlight we '11 lift the wrack no more.
The dark wrack.
The sea wrack,
The wrack may drift ashore.