He stood before a portal closed
To him for evermore,
Behind him with uncreaking hinge
Oped the eternal door.
And ere the east grew red again,
His life blood's purple flow
Had made that pavement holy ground,
And filled the land with woe.
My country! Oh my country!
What is to thee the gain?
Wilt nourish trees of liberty
In blood so foully slain?
LINES TO A SHAMROCK
A SONG OF EXILE
A withered shamrock, yet to me 'tis fair
As the sweet rose to other eyes might be,
Because its leaves spread in my native air,
And the same land gave birth to it and me.
They were as plentiful as drops of dew
In our green meadows sprinkled everywhere,
Heedless I wandered o'er them life was new,
Now as a friend I greet thee shamrock fair
Because I dwelt with my own people then,
Erin's bright eyes, and kindly hearts and true,
That from my cradle loved me, and again
We'll never meet—spoken our last adieu
I am a stranger here, I have not seen
One friendly face of all that I have known,
And my heart mourns for thee my island green,
Because I am a stranger and alone
So thou art welcome as a friend to me,
Tell me where lay the sod that brought thee forth,
Idly I wonder as I look at thee
If thou hast come, as I did, from the North?