St. Fintan’s Road, a Legend of Clonenagh   The night-clouds were dark, holy Fintan returning, Dun, dreary and dismal the prospect before, As feebly he journeyed, foot-sore; No bright lunar orb in the starless sky burning, Soft yielding each step that morass scarce bore, For quagmires had sprinkled it o’er.   “Dear grey abbey-walls,” said the saint while approaching, “Oh, when shall I find your delightful repose, On the fertile and grass-bearing knowes; The tempest howls over on wild moss encroaching, Tall pines of the wilderness bend as it blows, And the danger more fearfully grows.   Pious peasants relate, how that tempest then ceasing Unveiled the bright moon, from a covert of shade, In all her true glories arrayed, When a clear shining star, through the liquid air chasing, Led on to his churches a road newly made, And in calm were the soughing winds laid.   Even yet, at the lone hour of midnight returning, Swains tread on with joy, o’er that causeway secure, For their patron will safety insure; Nor fear they if midnight be shadowed in mourning, While telling their prayers, devoutly and pure, To Fintan, the saint of that moor.   "Lageniensis": St. Fintan’s Road, a Legend of Clonenagh.   Source: p.455 of 'LAOIS An Environmental History'. 1983. by John Feehan. ISBN 0 9509188 0 6

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