THE WIND ON THE HILLS
127
And your children will inherit
The unrest of the wind,
They shall seek some face elusive.
And some land they never find.
When the wind is loud, they sighing
Go with hearts unsatisfied,
For some joy beyond remembrance,
For some memory denied.
And all your children's children,
They cannot sleep or rest.
When the wind is out in Erinn
And the sun is in the West.
