To take the air one evening fair by Cathragh’s banks I strayed.
In spring cold stream the crystal gleam and golden sunlight played.
The plaintive call of waterfowl proclaimed my presence there
And Magner’s Tower in it’s ivy bower looked out with a timeless air.
In cloister trees a gentle breeze bore lilt of blackbird’s call
And wild bees’ drone from hive of stone high in the castle wall.
The flitting ghosts of antique hosts haunted the glen serene;
And Magner’s Tower in it’s ivy bower looked down on the peaceful scene.
Lord Arden’s bridge below the ridge enspanned the river’s flow,
Astride the ford where haughty lord rode splashily to and fro.
Where Gaelic steel made Norman reel and reddened Cathragh’s rill
Ere Magner’s Tower in it’s ivy bower looked out on green Ardine hill.
The shadowed wall and sombre hall darkened the treelined sky;
The rock cleft base and buttress face baffled the prying eye.
The ‘stepping stones’ were old men’s bones lapped white in dappled shade
And Magner’s Tower in it’s ivy bower looked down on the sylvan glade.
Where river tide runs fast and wide and riffs the gravel bed,
Beside the shell of Bridget’s Well, I prayed for long-lost dead.
The muted toll of church bell stole over the prospect fair,
And Magner’s Tower in it’s ivy bower bowed for the evening prayer.
The fretful sedge at water’s edge enjoined my homebound way
Mid pungent press of watercress and mangrove mass display.
To crystal stream and spectral dream I left the hermit vale;
And Magner’s Tower in it’s ivy bower abandoned to time’s travail.