the glorious expanse of Clew Bay without thinking of Grania Uaile, and I honestly believe that when the statesmen and politicians of our own time are dead and forgotten, the memory of the Queen of Clew Bay will still be green in the hearts of the men of the West yea, as long as the holy mountain of St. Patrick stands in its place of pride, looking down like a guardian angel on that beautiful bay with its myriad islands, which Grania kept so stoutly and loved so well.
Almost everything around Clew Bay is associated with her memory. Her undying presence still haunts its shores and islands. In the words of a great poet, slightly changed, it may be said that:—
The waters murmur of her name,
The woods are peopled with her fame
The silent abbey, lone and grey,
Claims kindred with her sacred clay
Her spirit wraps the dusky mountain,
Her memory sparkles o’er the fountain,
The meanest rill, the mightiest river,
Rolls mingling with her fame for ever.
