Denis J Foley

The Alloa's Tide


I am wondering to-day while I'm strolling,
And have got a moment to spare;
If there is in Erin a landscape
That with the scenes I view can compare.
Here high hills and sweet smiling valleys,
Meet the eye, yea! stretching far and wide
Dame Nature has bedeck'd in beauty,
Those meads. by the dark Alloa,s tide,

In summer when fields are in verdure,
And violets and sweet pimpernel,
Profusely bloom in each shaded nook,
And daffodils grow in each dell.
And the corncrake chirps in the meadows,
High waving on every side;
Where the cuckoo chants too, so sweetly,
By the Alloa's sweet rippling tide.

And old Sol gilds in glory the horizon,
As he slowly sinks down to the west;
Seeming loathe to leave lovely Erin,
(The sweet Emerald Isle ever blest)
His last rays shining softly - serenely,
On the beauties of crag and hillside,
That proudly, and in splendour rise over,
The Alloa's dark rippling tide.

Below flows on the gay river,
In its waters the silvery trout gleam,
Here the angler may reap a rich reward,
In its eddy's - infringed in rare sheen;
As he trips by its moss grown verdant border,
His soul in gay mood may abide,
Aye-- to an earth's Paradise he's transported,
As he stands by the sweet Alloa's tide.

Now the mild gentle kine quaff its waters,
As they browse its green banks along
While the gay feathered tribe wake the echoes,
In sweetest, melodious song.
Each brake and each woodland claim a charm,
To enrapture, on ev'ry side,
While down ev'ry creek rolls a sweet, limpid rill,
To swell the swift Alloa's dark tide.

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