Verses and Rhymes By the Way

by Norah

Its green robe is starred with daisies; it is brilliant fresh and
fair,
With a verdure that no other spot of earth affords to wear.
It has banks of pale primroses that like bits of moonlight glow;
There are hawthorn hedges blossomed out like drifts of perfumed snow,
Bluebells swinging on their slender stems and cowslips on the lea.
I was better for the lessons they in childhood taught to me;
And still sweet is every memory, and blessed each regret
That twines round that dear island home, which our hearts cannot
forget.

From where Antrim's giant columns at the north are piled on high,
The sentinels of centuries tow'ring up against the sky,
From mountain top and purple heath, from valleys fair to see,
Where streams of flashing crystal bright are flowing merrily,
To Kerry's lakes of loveliness that dimple in the sun.
'Tis fair as any spot of earth that heaven's light shines upon.
O Erin, my mother Erin, dear land more kind than wise,
I think of thee till loving tears come thronging to my eyes.

Thou hast nourished on thy bosom many sons of deathless fame;
Who, while the world will last, shall shed a lustre on thy name.
While Foyle's proud swelling waters roll past Derry to the sea;
While yet a single vestige of old Limerick's walls there be;
Shall those who love thee well, fair land, lament that feuds divide
The sons of those who for each cause stood fast on either side.
From every ruined castle grey, well may the banshee cry
O'er bitter waters once let loose that have not yet run dry

O would the blessed time might come when, party feeling done,
The noble deeds of both sides will be gathered into one!
On the battle-fields of Europe thy sons quit themselves like men,
Till those who made them exiles longed for their good swords again,
Wherever fields were fought and won, in thickest of the fray,
Where steel bit steel, thy sons have fought and laurels bore away
And thou hast bards in deathless song thy heroes' praise to sing,
Or make hearts throb responsive when for love they touch the string

Thou hast lovely, white-armed daughters so tender and so true,
As modest as the daisies, and as spotless as the dew,
With flashes of sweet merriment, and virtue still and strong
They fire the patriot's heart and charm the poet into song
Thou hast nourished those right eloquent to plead with tongue and pen,
For those eternal rights which men so oft deny to men,
And land of saints in song like mine, but little can be said
Of those who stand for God between the living and the dead

Thou'rt not without His witnesses for children of thy sod,
In lofty and in lowly life, are found who walk with God
Land of the hearty welcome! who travels thy valleys o'er
Knows more of human kindness than he ever knew before.
While some are kind to friends alone, thy sons whate'er befal
More like the blessed sun and rain have kindliness for all.
O Erin, my mother Erin! much my love would say of thee,
Were my lips but half so eloquent as my heart would have them be.

As Moses longed for Lebanon, so I long that once again
My feet might press the shamrocks in the meadows by the Maine.
Oh to see the wee brown larks again, once more to hear them sing,
As up to heaven's blessed gates they soar on tireless wing!
I'd watch them till I'd half forget the burden of my years,
And tender thoughts of childhood would well up in happy tears.
I may never see thee more, mo run, but with each breath I draw
Thou art still to me mavourneen, so an slainte leat gu bragh.

WRITTEN FOR THE O'CONNEL CENTENARY.

Sons of the bright, green island,
Gathered by the pine-fringed lake,
In honour of his memory,
Who battled for your sake,
Listen, we too pay our tribute
To a fame that well endures;
He, who ventured much for liberty,
Is ours as well as yours.

Men fought in vain for freedom,
And lay down in felon graves;
"Your noblest then were exiles,
Your proudest then were slaves"
When the people, blind and furious,
Maddened by oppression's scorn,
Struggled, seethed in wild upheaval,
Was the Liberator born.