Imatges de pàgina
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DENIS A. McCARTHY

(Living)

AH, SWEET IS TIPPERARY

H, sweet is Tipperary in the spring-time of the

year,

When the hawthorn's whiter than the snow, When the feathered folk assemble and the air is all a-tremble

With their singing and their winging to and fro. When queenly Slievenamon puts her verdant vesture

on

And smiles to hear the news the breezes bring; When the sun begins to glance on the rivulets that dance

Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring!

Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring-time of the year, When the mists are rising from the lea,

When the golden vale is smiling with a beauty all beguiling

And the Sair goes crooning to the sea;

When the shadows and the showers only multiply the

flowers

That the lavish hand of May will fling;

When in unfrequented ways, fairy music softly playsAh! sweet is Tipperary in the spring!

Ah, sweet is Tipperary in the spring-time of the year, When life like the years is young,

When the soul is just awaking, like a lily blossom breaking

And love words linger on the tongue;

When the blue of Irish skies is the hue of Irish eyes And love dreams cluster and cling

Round the heart and round the brain, half of pleasure half of pain

Ah! sweet is Tipperary in the spring!

DENIS FLORENCE MACCARTHY
(1817-1882)

BLESS THE DEAR OLD VERDANT LAND

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LESS the dear old verdant land!

Brother, wert thou born of it!
As thy shadow life doth stand
Twining round its rosy band,
Did an Irish mother's hand

Guide thee in the morn of it?

Did a father's first command

Teach thee love or scorn of it?

Thou who tread'st its fertile breast,
Dost thou feel a glow for it?
Thou of all its charms possest,
Living on its first and best,
Art thou but a thankless guest
Or a traitor foe for it,

If thou lovest, where's the test?
Wilt thou strike a blow for it?

Has the past no goading sting

That can make thee rouse for it?
Does thy land's reviving spring,
Full of buds and blossoming,
Fail to make thy cold heart cling,
Breathing lover's vows for it?

With the circling ocean's ring
Thou wert made a spouse for it.

Hast thou kept as thou shouldst keep
Thy affections warm for it,
Letting no cold feeling creep
Like an ice-breath o'er the deep,
Freezing to a stony sleep.

Hopes the heart would form for it, Glories that like rainbows peep Through the darkening storm for it?

Son of this down-trodden land,
Aid us in the fight for it.

We seek to make it great and grand,
Its shipless bays, its naked strand,
By canvas-swelling breezes fanned:
Oh! what a glorious sight for it,
The past expiring like a brand
In morning's rosy light for it!

Think, this dear old land is thine,
And thou a traitor slave of it:
Think how the Switzer leads his kine,
When pale the evening star doth shine;
His song has home in every line,
Freedom in every stave of it;

Think how the German loves his Rhine!
And worships every wave of it!

Our own dear land is bright as theirs,

But oh! our hearts are cold for it; Awake! we are not slaves but heirs. Our fatherland requires our cares,

Our speech with men, with God our prayers
Spurn blood-stained Judas gold for it,
Let us do all that honor dares

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Be earnest, faithful, bold for it!

FROM THE CENTENARY ODE TO THE
MEMORY OF THOMAS MOORE

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ND as not only by the Calton Mountain,

Is Scotland's bard remembered and revered, But wheresoe'er, like some o'erflowing fountain, Its hardy race a prosperous path has cleared,

There, 'mid the roar of newly rising cities,

His glorious name is heard on every tongue, There, to the music of immortal ditties,

His lays of love, his patriot songs are sung.

So not alone beside that Bay of beauty

That guards the portals of his native town, Where, like two watchful sentinels on duty, Howth and Killiney from their heights looked down,

But wheresoe'er the exiled race hath drifted,
By what far sea, what mighty stream beside,
There shall to-day the poet's name be lifted,
And Moore proclaimed its glory and its pride.

There shall his name be held in fond memento,
There shall his songs resound for evermore,
Whether beside the golden Sacramento,

Or where Niagara's thunder shakes the shore ;—

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