S

THE BANKS OF BANNA
HEPHERDS, I have lost my love,—
Have you seen my Anna?
Pride of every shady grove
On the banks of Banna.

I for her my home forsook,

Near yon misty mountain,
Left my flocks, my pipe, my crook,
Greenwood shade, and fountain.

Never shall I see them more
Until her returning;

All the joys of life are o'er

Gladness changed to mourning. Whither is my charmer flown? Shepherds, tell me whither ? Woe is me, perhaps she's gone Forever and forever!

STANDISH JAMES O'GRADY
(1846- )

I GIVE MY HEART TO THEE

I

I

GIVE my heart to thee, O mother-land ·
I, if none else, recall the sacred womb.
I, if none else, behold the loving eyes
Bent over on thy myriad progeny

Who care not nor regard thee as they go,
O tender, sorrowing, weeping, hoping land!
I give my heart to thee, O mother-land.

II

I give my heart to thee, O father-land,
Fast-anchored on thine own eternal soul,
Rising with cloudy mountains to the skies.
O proud, strong land, unstooping, stern of rule,
Me rule as ever; let me feel thy might;
Let me go forth with thee now and for aye.
I give my heart to thee, O father-land.

III

I give my heart to thee, heroic land-
To thee or in thy morning when the Sun
Flashed on thy giant limbs-thy lurid noon
Or in thy depth of night, fierce-thoughted one-

Wrestling with phantoms of thy own wild soul,
Or, stone-still, silent, waiting for the dawn,
I give my heart to thee, heroic land.

IV

I give my heart to thee, ideal land,
Far-soaring sister of the starry throng.

O fleet of wing, what journeyings are thine,
What goal, what god attracts thee? What unseen
Glory reflected makes thy face a flame?
Leave me not; where thou goest, let me go.
I give my heart to thee, ideal land.

LOUGH BRAY

OW Memory, false, spendthrift Memory,

No Disloyal treasure-keeper of the soul,

NOW

This vision change shall never wring from
thee

Nor wasteful years effacing as they roll.
O steel-blue lake, high cradled in the hills!
O sad waves, filled with little sobs and cries!
White glistening shingle, hiss of mountain rills,
And granite-hearted walls blotting the skies,
Shine, sob, gleam, gloom forever! Oh, in me
Be what you are in Nature—a recess
To sadness dedicate and mystery,

Withdrawn, afar, in the soul's wilderness.
Still let my thoughts, leaving the worldly roar
Like pilgrims, wander on thy haunted shore.

JOHN O'HAGAN
(1822-1890)

DEAR LAND

HEN comes the day all hearts to weigh,
If stanch they be or vile,

WE

Shall we forget the sacred debt
We owe our mother isle?

My native heath is green beneath,

My native waters blue,

But crimson red o'er both shall spread
Ere I am false to you,
Dear land,

Ere I am false to you.

When I behold your mountains bold,
Your noble lakes and streams,
A mingled tide of grief and pride
Within my bosom teems.

I think of all your long dark thrall,
Your martyrs, brave and true,
And dash apart the tears that start;
We must not weep for you,
Dear land,

We must not weep for you.

My grandsire died his home beside,

They seized and hanged him there;

His only crime, in evil time,

Your hallowed green to wear.

Across the main his brothers twain

Were sent to pine and rue,

But still they turned, with hearts that burned,
In hopeless love to you,

Dear land,

In hopeless love to you.

My boyish ear still clung to hear

Of Erin's pride of yore,

Ere Norman foot had dared pollute
Her independent shore.

Of chiefs long dead who rose to head
Some gallant patriots few,

Till all my aim on earth became
To strike one blow for you,
Dear land,

To strike one blow for you.

What path is best your rights to wrest,
Let other heads divine;

By work or word, with voice or sword,
To follow them be mine;

The breast that zeal and hatred steel
No terrors can subdue;

If death should come, that martyrdom
Were sweet endured for you,
Dear land,

Were sweet endured for you.

OURSELVES ALONE

HE work that should to-day be wrought,
Defer not till to-morrow;

THE

The help that should within be sought Scorn from without to borrow.