Pittsburg dispatch. [volume] (Pittsburg [Pa.]) 1880-1923, 1889-02-17

fpassage is equivalentto to its certain death.
A few sea-eagles, apparently driven by hun
ger from the near coast, wheeled slowly
around the valleys rims, their huge, gaunt
forms sprawling uncouthly, their tre-
mendous snow-white tails Tapping like
gigantic plumes, and their ugly, un-
wieldy heads moving IN clumsy jerks,
as if set in uncertain sockets,
Among the crags, and circling about the
highest peaks, but ever wary of human
proximity, the true eagle OF lottiest soli-
tudes was here. Nearly half hundred
were counted in one weeks clambering
among the Highlands; but on no occasion
were they sufficiently approachable to en-
able their outlines. to be followed by the
naked eye. With glass their raven plum
age, their royal collar of gold, their bowed
meditative posture, the sudden dropping Of
their wings as their shrill, impatient
screams were uttered, could be clearly dis
cerned; and the feeling was irresistible that
one is very far from the haunts of men and
very near to the clouds and sky, when asso-
ciated with the grandest sublimity of nature
where this majestic monarch of the plumy
race is in his haunts and home.
MIDwINTER SURPRISES.
To the nature-loving walker, there is an
indescribable delight in the presence of any
form of fora in midwinter. And 1 confess
that the glowings of pleasure among these
glittering Irish heights were truer and
deeper from the emotions thus awakened
than from all the majesty and grandeur in
bewildering scenic effects; just as the heart
is touched BY coming upon sweet and per-
feet lives where want and squalor are, when
greatness among the great often commands
but grudging obeisance. Wild flowers in
bleak Irish mountain heights in january
Truly, yes; and here are those 1 saw.
At nearly the summit OF Bengower,
found a little pockety vale in
which a rivulet trlckled from a soggy
tarn. At its northern edge in a little
misty dingle, was mass of Irish iurze-the
gorse of England; the whins of Scotland.
Down in the very heart of this hank was a
bunch of the gay, golden iurze blossoms, as
brave and proud as ever shook their bios
SONS in the balmiest breeze of June.
warm valley among the Manturks discov-
cred several of the purple-edged hellebores,
growing as prettily on bank of leaves as
in the beds of a May garden. On the east
ern ascent of Littery in four protected hooks
were found the modest and best beloved of
Chaucer's flowers, his "day's-eyes," and
ones heart warns to the crimson-tipped dali
sizes, breathing out their lives unnoticej in
these almost inaccessible mountain fast
nesses. Many specimens of the pretty red
nettle were seen, almost always in little
clefts OF mighty cliffs where the suns rays
were warm in spite of bowling blasts.
MOUNTAIN FLOWER.
But of all the rare surprises in mid-win-
ter mountain flowers was that one exper-
fenced during my last morning in the High
lands, just as l was turning down the last
descent rom grim Bengower into the great
Connemara road to CliIden. Startled by a
rush and girlish call from a hidden path,
turned just in time to receive the head
long force of an irrepressible donkey laden
with creels. caught the beast and held it
despite its viciousness, and in another in
slant its companion, 1.-the, supple, and
bare-legged mountain maiden, the most ex-
quisitely beauti ul lass l had seen in Ire
land, bounded down the path, and, after
soundly larruping the obstreper-
Gus animal, thanked me heartily,
innocently, bewitchingly, for the tri-
fling service / had rendered. She was 60
ing to Cliiden to sell donkey-load of peat.
was also going to Clilden. We three, the
maid, the man, and the donkey went to-
gether The honest prattle OF the little
woman, the giadness of the man, the riot
Gus behavior of that donkey, and the larrup-
lngS and laughter on that bright winter
morning, made the way all too short. And
as we parted at Clifden, where one road led
to the village and another to the heights
above, in all reverence for the unconscious
simplicity, purity and bravery
of this sweet mountain maid, my heart sang
all that these lines may tell:
ToAN IRISH MOUNTAIN FLOWER.
Maiden sweet of wild Bengower.
Fairer thou than fairest foweri
Boddced blue; with skirts of red;
Braideen sweeping from thy head;
Dainty toes and arching feet;
MatchleSs half-shown limbs deer-deet:
Where in all the circling zone
Blend such charms as thine in one?
Where are tones in linnet's note
Like the music in thy throat;
Where in all the faint far South
Turks such langeurs In a mouth;
Where in depths of Irish skies
Are such depths as in thine eyes?
Dead to all the graces he
Who thrills not, as he looks on thee.
Dead to grace he who shall first
Make thee conscious and accursed.
Maiden sweet OF wild Bengower,
Be for aye its mountain flower.
EDGAR L. WAKEMAN.