The Irish standard., 1901-07-27
FROM IRELAND !
Roscolnmon's Fields.

RoscommOn's Fields.
The historic hill-or, rather, raised
table-land-of Royal Cruachan, or
Rathcroghan, lies nearly in the center
of the county Roscommon, within a
mile of the village of Tulsk. Nothing
remains now to suggest or mark its
ancient greatness as Cruachan of the
Kings save it's large raised rath or
fort the ancient cave, and the long,
upright stone that marks the grave
of Dathi. In ancient Ireland Rath-
cruachan was known as the "Plain of
the Champions" but it could now be
more appropriately called the 'Plain
Of the Bullocks," for that raised plain
or tahle-land, with it's area of over
two square miles of the best land of
Roscommon-or, indeed, of Ireland-is
almost wholly bullock rancho for the
graziers of the county. ''ris a bare
verdant hill standing out against the
skyline-treeless and houseless. save
: at wide intervals an old herdsman's
dwelling.
Old Connacht, home Of memories old,
OF sadness and of glory, =
Whate'er may coming years unfold
That wraps thy future story,
A son of Erin, loyal and true
AS thy green valleys breed them,
Wishes brave future days to you,
And prays kind Heaven speed them,
Old Connacht e'er to- me was dear,
But dearer, fairer still,
! The day viewed Roscommon's fields
From Cruachan's royal hill.
A summers sun was shining bright,
The sky dome of blue,
My native lakes were dazzling white
Midst fields of verdant hue;
No wild birds sang from leafy trees,
But the larks high up in air,
For never woodland wooes the breeze
On that landscape bleak and bare.
The scene around was silent, lone
i moraliZed at will,
The day viewed Roscommon's fields
From Cruachan's royal hill.
Bare, verdant, silent, sad and lone
The old plains lie around
see them still, stretch after stretch,
AS in magic stiffness bound;
While here and there round herdsmen's
homes
The lazy cattle creep,
And fleecy sheep in stringing fiocks,
Suggesting thoughts of sleep.
Such was the scene that beheld,
And still doth memory fill,
The day viewed Roscommon's fields
From Cruachan's royal hill.
Dear Ireland of storied past,
And of our bright hopes yet,
That day upon thy stored hill
thought thy star was set.
But whether in prophetic gaze,
Or but the poets dream,
saw thy fields TRANSPORTED glow
In that elysian CLEAN:
By filth and tillage, smiling homes
1 saw thy valleys fill
The day I viewed Roscommon's fields
From Cruachan's royal hill.
Aye. come it shall in His good time
Who rules the nations still,
And Who helps those who cen can't
he'c
Themselves, but have the will.
Fen as gazed saw the change
White homesteads near and far,
And all the bounteous life that flows
Where a happy people are;
The children's laugh, the maiden's
song.
The schoolboy's whistle shrill-
The day l viewed Roscommorls fields
From Cruachan's royal hill.
Long live the workers of our cause,
And speed the day in coming
The day tllat'll change our wasted
plains
And blighted fields to blooming.
Long live the pioneers who SOW
For that bright day that comes
Planting a cattle-wilderness
With peoples happy homes.
"Let empires rise elsewhere" 1 cried,
"Be ours nation STILL
,rha dav r viewed RoscommOn's fields
From Cruachan's royal hill.
j. j. Bradley in Irish People.
III ANTRIM.
AT meeting of the Belfast magis-
trates, i'll the municipal buildings, on
July 8, the lord mayor presiding, it