Verse > Anthologies > Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed. > Poems of Places > Ireland
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow, ed.  Poems of Places: An Anthology in 31 Volumes.
Ireland: Vol. V.  1876–79.
Glashen-Glora, the River
’T IS sweet in midnight solitude,
When the voice of man lies hushed, subdued,
To hear thy mountain voice so rude,
        Break silence, Glashen-Glora!
I love to see thy foaming stream        5
Dashed sparkling in the bright moonbeam;
For then of happier days I dream,
        Spent near thee, Glashen-Glora!
I see the holly and the yew
Still shading thee, as then they grew;        10
But there ’s a form meets not my view,
        As once, near Glashen-Glora.
Thou gayly, brightly, sparklest on,
Wreathing thy dimples round each stone;
But the bright eye that on thee shone        15
        Lies quenched, wild Glashen-Glora!
Still rush thee on, thou brawling brook;
Though on broad rivers I may look
In other lands, thy lonesome nook,—
        I ’ll think on Glashen-Glora!        20
When I am low, laid in the grave,
Thou still wilt sparkle, dash, and rave
Seaward, till thou becom’st a wave
        Of ocean, Glashen-Glora!
Thy course and mine alike have been        25
Both restless, rocky, seldom green,—
There rolls for me, beyond this scene,
        An ocean, Glashen-Glora!
And when my span of life ’s gone by,
O, if past spirits back can fly,        30
I ’ll often ride the night-wind’s sigh,
        That ’s breathed o’er Glashen-Glora!

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