Tholt-Y-Will

 

Below the mountain’s flank

Uprearing to the sky,

Where spur and rock and shoulder rank

Round snaefell’s majesty,

 

Deep hidden in a cleft

That splits the mountain side,

There lies a glen that man has left

Unspoiled by greed or pride.

 

There stately pine trees sway,

Thee is a stillness blest;

There water softly sings all day

A lullaby for rest.

 

Above it is the moor,

Below it is the gorge

Fashioned, another Koh-i-noor,

In earth’s primeval forge.

 

A jewel in the crown

Our dainty island wears;

Too unassuming for renown,

Too beautiful for tears.