CEAD MILE FAILTE
( One
Hundred Thousand Welcomes )
by
Elizabeth
Dammarell
It's
the language of love when you open the door;
It's Macushla, Mavoureen, Allanah Asthore;
It isn't a plaint and it isn't a moan;
But sure, it's the typical Wolfhound tone.
It's
a gay warm greeting that gives account
Of the watch just served to the full amount.
It's the good round tongue that tells about
What's happening at home since you've been out.
It's
a rumbling mumble that comes out blurred
Like ancient Gaelic by moderns heard.
It's pet words spoken in secret tone
By a loving guard to you alone.
It's
a soft sure sound so quiet and small
To come from the throat of a hound so tall.
It bids you welcome, it says hello;
But somehow the joy is touched with woe.
Most
poignant sound in the world to hear,
Filled to its echo with joy and tear;
Heart speaks to heart on Friendship's ground
In the wordless speech of the Irish Hound.
