From the loveliness of South Ireland, and the stern beauty of North Ireland, I travel westward into the primitive. The rolling green hills, the streams in flowering meadows, the thatched cottages with clothes blowing gayly on the hedges, give way to a treeless landscape of furze and stocky shrubs. Stone everywhere now, stone walls, often fallen into decay, stone castles eyeless and dark, stone fences around hard fields, whole villages of stone, strange villages—Mullingar and Athlone. Green gives way to gray, the gray of sod houses and peat bogs, the gray of encircling mountains, with the beat of the sea not far distant, and the somber sky overhead.
KeywordsStone Wall Irish History Hard Field Treeless Landscape Federal Theatre
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