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.