Poems (Frances Elizabeth Browne)/Bray head, wicklow
BRAY HEAD, WICKLOW.TO MISS C. S.
Dear Charlotte! our ramble along the sea-shore,When Bray Head's fair prospects we sought to explore, You beg me to give you in verse;And, though no cold critics my lines may commend,I ever comply with the wish of a friend, And thus our adventures rehearse.
'T was a bright, glowing day, in the dawn of the year,When the primrose and violets begin to appear, And Winter seems struggling with Spring;This day the fair youth seemed the victory to gain,And dreary old Winter to give up his reign, And away his dark mantle to fling.
The air was as mild as a morning in May,The sky was so bright, and the midges so gay, All nature appeared to rejoice;The sea, and the waves, as they rolled on the land,And sparkled, and dashed the white spray on the strand, Seemed to echo the general voice!
But, though all above us was brilliant and fair,Though the sky was so clear, and so balmy the air, Yet some traces of winter we found;For when Bray's rugged headland we sought to ascend,On our most cautious footsteps we scarce could depend, From the damp, slippery state of the ground.
But, mutually lending each other our aid,We the summit attained, and were fully repaid By the prospect which greeted our sight; Whilst below, 'midst the rocks, the sea eddied and boiled,With the roar as of cannon, and fruitlessly toiled, As the waters were chafed in their might.
One false step, and our wanderings for ever were o'er,And earth's varied beauties would charm us no more,— We should sink in the chasm below!From the fearful abyss, then, our eyes let us turn,To where Howth and yon miniature isle we discern, And the waters so peacefully flow.
Perchance, my dear Charlotte, when hither you stray,When your friend may be far o'er these waters away, You may think of your wanderings here;And wherever that absent one's footsteps may rove,Yet Erin's sweet shores and kind friends she will love,— They will still be to memory dear.