Dear Harp of My Country
Dear Harp of my Country! in darkness I found
thee,
The cold chain of silence had hung o’er thee long,
When proudly, my own island Harp, I unbound thee,
And gave all thy chords to light, freedom, and song!
The warm lay of love and the light note of gladness
Have waken’d thy fondest, thy liveliest thrill;
But, so oft hast thou echoed the deep sigh of sadness,
That ev’n in thy mirth it will steal from thee still.
Dear Harp of my country! farewell to thy numbers,
This sweet wreath of song is the last we shall twine!
Go, sleep with the sunshine of Fame on thy slumbers,
Till touch’d by some hand less unworthy than mine;
If the pulse of the patriot, soldier, or lover,
Have throbb’d at our lay, ‘tis thy glory alone;
I was but as the wind, passing heedlessly over,
And all the wild sweetness I wak’d was thy own.
Oh
the Shamrock
Through
Erin’s Isle,
To sport awhile,
As Love and Valour wander’d,
With Wit, the sprite,
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squander’d.
Where’er they pass,
A triple grass
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming,
As softly green
As emeralds seen
Thro’ purest crystal gleaming.
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin’s native Shamrock!
Says
Valour, “See,
“They spring for me,
“Those leafy gems of morning!” -
Says Love, “No, no,
“For me they grow,
“My fragrant path adorning.”
But Wit perceives
The triple leaves,
And cries, “Oh! do not sever
“A type, that blends
“Three godlike friends,
“Love, Valour, Wit, for ever!"
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin’s native Shamrock!
So
firmly fond
May last the bond,
They wove that morn together,
And ne’er may fall
One drop of gall
On Wit’s celestial feather.
May Love, as twine
His flowers divine,
Of thorny falsehood weed ‘em;
May Valour ne’er
His standard rear
Against the cause of Freedom!
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin’s native Shamrock!
About Thomas Moore
