In diction antiquated, quaint,
Or with a modern sound,
They speak their thoughts without restraint,
Although they're mostly bound;
And cease to speak when none attends,
A valued feature of my friends.
Although they shun the thoughtless crowd,
The frivolous disdain,
Their titles have not made them proud,
Nor all their pages vain;
No common mortal less pretends,
None can be opener than my friends.
They care not that they've all been cut,
A number by myself,
And often taken down, and put
As often on the shelf;
My estimation makes amends
For such ill-treatment of my friends.
An ever-fresh, unfailing source
Of thought and sympathy,
What hours of goodly intercourse
They have afforded me!
I cannot doubt that heaven still sends
Us angels while I have my friends.
If he who sits at home in gloom,
Or rushes here and there,
Will put a bookshelf in his room
And furnish it with care,
He'll bless the evenings that he spends
With such companions as my friends.
NOTHING TOO GOOD FOR THE IRISH.
It's the Emerald Isle is the beautiful land:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
O'er the whole of it, Nature, at heaven's command,
Has scattered her charms with a prodigal hand
From Skibbereen town to the Donegal strand;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
And it's many a hero the Irish can claim:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
"Red Hugh" put his country's invaders to shame;
Owen Roe was a fighter they never could tame;
As a nation the Irish have glory and fame;
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.
And the Irish are noted for piety, too:
There's nothing too good for the Irish.
In the far-away time before Brian Boru,
The faith by Saint Patrick was planted and grew,
And the "Island of Saints" has had saints not a few:
For there's nothing too good for the Irish.