By Aubrey De Vere
Royal and saintly Cashel! I would gaze
Upon the wreck of thy departed powers,
Not in the dewy light of matin hours,
Nor the meridian pomp of summer's blaze,
But at the close of dim autumnal days,
When the sun's parting glance, through slanting showers,
Sheds o'er thy rock-throned battlements and towers
Such awful gleams as brighten o'er Decay's
Prophetic cheek. At such a time, methinks,
There breathes from thy lone courts and voiceless aisles
A melancholy moral, such as sinks
On the lone traveller's heart, amid the piles
Of vast Persepolis on her mountain stand,
Or Thebes half buried in the desert sand.
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Tuesday was a lovely cool day without rain, so after a quiet morning getting computer work done, we walked to the beach and discovered that the coot commotion has moved back for the winter into the lake behind our apartment. Then my Voyager group and I watched "The Void"; I really hated it when I first saw it and wrote a scathing review, but this time I just thought it was kind of boring and highly derivative and made most of the crew look bad.
We ate dinner while watching the World Series, which did not go the Dodgers' way tonight, but that won't matter if they win tomorrow. Now we're watching Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix, which may objectively be the best of the movies, though POA is my favorite. Here is the Rock of Cashel, ancient home of the kings of Munster, where St. Patrick converted King Aenghus to Christianity in 450 and Brian Boru was crowned High King in 978:
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