Tomorrow we start our journey home with some sightseeing and a stay in the Cork Airport Hotel. We are all excited to see our fiends and family again and to tell them all about the wonderful experiences we have had over the past month, but I think we will all miss Lough Hyne.
This is a poem that is on display at the Skibbereen Heritage Center that I think perfectly describes Lough Hyne’s beauty and how I feel about the lough.
I know a lake where the cool waves break,
And softly fall on the silver sand -
And no steps intrude on that solitude,
And no voice, save mine, disturbs the strand.
And a mountain bold, like a giant of old
Turned to stone by some magic spell,
Uprears in might his misty height,
And his craggy sides are wooded well.
In the midst doth smile a little Isle,
And its verdure shames the emerald’s green -
On its grassy side, in ruined pride,
A castle of old is darkling seen.
On its lofty crest the wild crane's nest,
In its halls the sheep good shelter find;
And the ivy shades where a hundred blades
Were hung, when the owner in sleep reclined.
That chieftain of old could he now behold
His lordly tower a shepherd’s pen,
His corpse, long dead, from its narrow bed
Would rise, with anger and shame again.
‘Tis sweet to gaze when the sun‘s bright rays
Are cooling themselves in the trembling wave -
But ‘tis sweeter far when the evening star
Shines like a tear at Friendships grave.
There the hollow shells through their wreathed cells,
Make music on the lonely shore,
As the summer breeze, through the distant trees,
Murmurs in fragrant breathings o’er.
And the sea weed shines, like the hidden mines,
Or the fairy cities beneath the sea;
And the wave-washed stones are bright as the thrones
Of the ancient Kings of Araby.
If it were my lot in that fairy spot
To live for ever, and dream 'twere mine,
Courts might woo, and kings pursue,
Ere I would leave thee - loved Lough-Ine.
Fitz-James O'Brien 1828 - 1862.
We have finished collecting our data and we have given talks presenting some results from those data, but even though we are now leaving, we are not done with the lough. We do still have to write up formal reports and most of us will travel to conferences to present our results, gaining even more amazing experiences from our time here. Even when the science comes to and end, I think I will always feel a pull to come back to this place and I would love to bring some of my family here and show them how amazing it is. I will always have fond memories of my time here and a special place in my heart for Lough Hyne.
Note: The poem says Lough-Ine and we call it Lough Hyne. Both are correct and there are numerous other spellings.
This is a poem that is on display at the Skibbereen Heritage Center that I think perfectly describes Lough Hyne’s beauty and how I feel about the lough.
I know a lake where the cool waves break,
And softly fall on the silver sand -
And no steps intrude on that solitude,
And no voice, save mine, disturbs the strand.
And a mountain bold, like a giant of old
Turned to stone by some magic spell,
Uprears in might his misty height,
And his craggy sides are wooded well.
In the midst doth smile a little Isle,
And its verdure shames the emerald’s green -
On its grassy side, in ruined pride,
A castle of old is darkling seen.
On its lofty crest the wild crane's nest,
In its halls the sheep good shelter find;
And the ivy shades where a hundred blades
Were hung, when the owner in sleep reclined.
That chieftain of old could he now behold
His lordly tower a shepherd’s pen,
His corpse, long dead, from its narrow bed
Would rise, with anger and shame again.
‘Tis sweet to gaze when the sun‘s bright rays
Are cooling themselves in the trembling wave -
But ‘tis sweeter far when the evening star
Shines like a tear at Friendships grave.
There the hollow shells through their wreathed cells,
Make music on the lonely shore,
As the summer breeze, through the distant trees,
Murmurs in fragrant breathings o’er.
And the sea weed shines, like the hidden mines,
Or the fairy cities beneath the sea;
And the wave-washed stones are bright as the thrones
Of the ancient Kings of Araby.
If it were my lot in that fairy spot
To live for ever, and dream 'twere mine,
Courts might woo, and kings pursue,
Ere I would leave thee - loved Lough-Ine.
Fitz-James O'Brien 1828 - 1862.
We have finished collecting our data and we have given talks presenting some results from those data, but even though we are now leaving, we are not done with the lough. We do still have to write up formal reports and most of us will travel to conferences to present our results, gaining even more amazing experiences from our time here. Even when the science comes to and end, I think I will always feel a pull to come back to this place and I would love to bring some of my family here and show them how amazing it is. I will always have fond memories of my time here and a special place in my heart for Lough Hyne.
Note: The poem says Lough-Ine and we call it Lough Hyne. Both are correct and there are numerous other spellings.
By Caitlin Plowman