Down by the river zephyrs go to sleep,
They fold tired wings among the poplars tall;
The silent hills, with Venus, vigil keep;
Solace, and peace, and rest at evenfall!

These weary little winds have wandered far,
But now, like birds beneath a mother’s wing,
They flutter and lie still.  How peaceful are
These poplars now! not one leaf quivering!

And yet the poplars clashed a thousand shields,
And waved a gallant farewell to the sun,
Less than an hour ago; when o’er the fields
He kissed good-night.  Then the winds sighed – “He’s gone,”

Silence, and night, and slumber! the winds dream.
No song of bird, no stir in bush or tree;
Only the hush-song of the sleepless stream –
A ship of silver on a golden sea.

MICHAEL MULLIN, ‘THE BARD OF FOREMASS,
Foremass Lower, Sixmilecross. Co. Tyrone.