Hard by Blackwater’s Banks it lies in quiet seclusion,
It’s plots when made to kindred eyes brought tears in profusion,
There sleep my kith and kin – friends I could number,
Passed from life’s strife and din, calmly they slumber,
Infants, youths, and maidens lie, adults, aged folk too
All found a resting place there in Dromrue.
There early promise died, lifes twilight ended,
Manhood’s blazing noon was quenched, darkness descended,
Some, passing left behind hardship and grief,
To others from a pain-racked life death bought relief,
Many in nearby fields toiled the day through,
Their human efforts o’er they rest in Dromrue.
Close by the river flows, peaceful, serene,
Flanked by a milestone road that wends past Tourin,
Cappoquin adjacent lies with woodlands caressed,
It’s sons and daughters too there lie at rest,
Often from the Boathouse sweeps a fast training crew,
Their rhythmic oars the waters break that flow past Dromrue.
Mostly through the years un-changed, it lies alone,
Except when added now and then an inscribed stone,
Or some new mound appears – some fresh-clayed bed,
To indicate once more a soul has fled,
Or when o’er hanging trees their dead leaves stew,
Add a sombre setting to Dromrue.
For those who sleep beneath O! Lord I pray,
Theirs was a simple life and if in anyway,
They ever wandered from Thy care,
Forgive their failings Lord and listen to my prayer,
Watch o’er them now and ever keep with you,
The souls of all who slumber in Dromrue.
©2013 The estate of William O’Donnell (Chiswick)