In Northern Spain and Italy our brethren also dwell, And brave are the traditions of their fathers that they tell: The Eagle or the Crescent in the dawn of history pales Before the advancing banners of the great Rome-conquering Gaels. One in name, and in fame, Are the sea-divided Gaels. A greeting and a promise unto them all we send; Their character our charter is, their glory is our end-- Their friend shall be our friend, our foe whoe'er assails The glory or the story of the sea-divided Gaels. One in name, and in fame, Are the sea-divided Gaels. _Thomas D'Arcy McGee_ THE GOBBAN SAOR He stepped a man, out on the ways of men, And no one knew his sept, or rank, or name; Like a strong stream far issuing from a glen, From some source unexplored the Master came; Gossips there were who, wondrous keen of ken, Surmised that he must be a child of shame; Others declared him of the Druids, then-- Thro' Patrick's labours--fallen from power and fame. He lived apart, wrapt up in many plans; He wooed not women, tasted not of wine; He shunned the sports and councils of the clans; Nor ever knelt at a frequented shrine. His orisons were old poetic ranns Which the new Olamhs deem'd an evil sign; To most he seemed one of those Pagan Khans Whose mystic vigour knows no cold decline. He was the builder of the wondrous Towers, Which, tall and straight and exquisitely round, Rise monumental round this isle of ours, Index-like, marking spots of holy ground. In glooming silent glens, in lowland bowers, On river banks, these _Cloichteachs_ old abound, Where Art, enraptured, meditates long hours And Science ponders, wondering and spell-bound. Lo, wheresoe'er these pillar-towers aspire, Heroes and holy men repose below; The bones of some, gleaned from a Pagan pyre, Others in armour lie, as for a foe; It was the mighty Master's life-desire To chronicle his great ancestors so; What holier duty, what achievement higher Remains to us, than this he thus doth show? Yet he, the builder, died an unknown death; His labours done, no man beheld him more; 'Twas thought his body faded like a breath-- Or, like a sea-mist, floated off Life's shore. Doubt overhangs his fate--and faith--and birth: His works alone attest his life and love, They are the only witnesses he hath, All else Egyptian darkness covers o'er.