Full Online Books
Authors Authors Short Stories Short Stories Long Stories Long Stories Funny Stories Funny Stories Love Stories Love Stories Stories For Kids Stories For Kids Poems Poems Essays Essays Nonfictions Nonfictions Plays Plays Folktales Folktales Fairy Tales Fairy Tales Fables Fables Learning Kitchen Learning Kitchen
Valid XHTML 1.0 Transitional Free Classified Website Without Registration Free Classified Website Daniel Company
Twitter Twitter Add book
Full Online Book HomePoemsA Shamrock From The Irish Shore
Famous Authors (View All Authors)
A Shamrock From The Irish Shore Post by :jlmason Category :Poems Author :Denis Florence Maccarthy Date :October 2011 Read :3958

Click below to download : A Shamrock From The Irish Shore (Format : PDF)

A Shamrock From The Irish Shore

(On receiving a Shamrock in a Letter from Ireland.)

O postman! speed thy tardy gait--
Go quicker round from door to door;
For thee I watch, for thee I wait,
Like many a weary wanderer more.
Thou brightest news of bale and bliss--
Some life begun, some life well o'er.
He stops--he rings!--O heaven! what's this?--
A shamrock from the Irish shore!

Dear emblem of my native land,
By fresh fond words kept fresh and green;
The pressure of an unfelt hand--
The kisses of a lip unseen;
A throb from my dead mother's heart--
My father's smile revived once more--
Oh, youth! oh, love! oh, hope thou art,
Sweet shamrock from the Irish shore!

Enchanter, with thy wand of power,
Thou mak'st the past be present still:
The emerald lawn--the lime-leaved bower--
The circling shore--the sunlit hill;
The grass, in winter's wintriest hours,
By dewy daisies dimpled o'er,
Half hiding, 'neath their trembling flowers,
The shamrock of the Irish shore!

And thus, where'er my footsteps strayed,
By queenly Florence, kingly Rome--
By Padua's long and lone arcade--
By Ischia's fires and Adria's foam--
By Spezzia's fatal waves that kissed
My poet sailing calmly o'er;
By all, by each, I mourned and missed
The shamrock of the Irish shore!

I saw the palm-tree stand aloof,
Irresolute 'twixt the sand and sea:
I saw upon the trellised roof
Outspread the wine that was to be;
A giant-flowered and glorious tree
I saw the tall magnolia soar;
But there, even there, I longed for thee,
Poor shamrock of the Irish shore!

Now on the ramparts of Boulogne,
As lately by the lonely Rance,
At evening as I watch the sun,
I look! I dream! Can this be France
Not Albion's cliffs, how near they be,
He seems to love to linger o'er;
But gilds, by a remoter sea,
The shamrock on the Irish shore!

I'm with him in that wholesome clime--
That fruitful soil, that verdurous sod--
Where hearts unstained by vulgar crime
Have still a simple faith in God:
Hearts that in pleasure and in pain,
The more they're trod rebound the more,
Like thee, when wet with heaven's own rain,
O shamrock of the Irish shore!

Memorial of my native land,
True emblem of my land and race--
Thy small and tender leaves expand
But only in thy native place.
Thou needest for thyself and seed
Soft dews around, kind sunshine o'er;
Transplanted thou'rt the merest weed,
O shamrock of the Irish shore.

Here on the tawny fields of France,
Or in the rank, red English clay,
Thou showest a stronger form perchance;
A bolder front thou mayest display,
More able to resist the scythe
That cut so keen, so sharp before;
But then thou art no more the blithe
Bright shamrock of the Irish shore!

Ah, me! to think--thy scorns, thy slights,
Thy trampled tears, thy nameless grave
On Fredericksburg's ensanguined heights,
Or by Potomac's purpled wave!
Ah, me! to think that power malign
Thus turns thy sweet green sap to gore,
And what calm rapture might be thine,
Sweet shamrock of the Irish shore!

Struggling, and yet for strife unmeet,
True type of trustful love thou art;
Thou liest the whole year at my feet,
To live but one day at my heart.
One day of festal pride to lie
Upon the loved one's heart--what more?
Upon the loved one's heart to die,
O shamrock of the Irish shore!

And shall I not return thy love?
And shalt thou not, as thou shouldst, be
Placed on thy son's proud heart above
The red rose or the fleur-de-lis?
Yes, from these heights the waters beat,
I vow to press thy cheek once more,
And lie for ever at thy feet,
O shamrock of the Irish shore!

Boulogne-sur-Mer, March 17, 1865.

(The end)
Denis Florence MacCarthy's poem: Shamrock From The Irish Shore

If you like this book please share to your friends :

Italian Myrtles Italian Myrtles

Italian Myrtles
(Suggested by seeing for the first time fire-flies in the myrtle hedges at Spezzia.)By many a soft Ligurian bay The myrtles glisten green and bright,Gleam with their flowers of snow by day, And glow with fire-flies through the night,And yet, despite the cold and heat,Are ever fresh, and pure, and sweet.There is an island in the West, Where living myrtles bloom and blow,Hearts where the fire-fly Love my rest Within a paradise of snow--Which yet, despite the cold and heat,Are ever fresh, and pure, and sweet.Deep in that gentle breast of thine-- Like fire and snow

Darrynane Darrynane

(Written in 1844, after a visit to Darrynane Abbey.)Where foams the white torrent, and rushes the rill,Down the murmuring slopes of the echoing hill--Where the eagle looks out from his cloud-crested crags,And the caverns resound with the panting of stags--Where the brow of the mountain is purple with heath,And the mighty Atlantic rolls proudly beneath,With the foam of its waves like the snowy 'fenane'--(1)Oh! that is the region of wild Darrynane!Oh! fair are the islets of tranquil Glengariff,And wild are the sacred recesses of Scariff,And beauty, and wildness, and grandeur commingleBy Bantry's broad bosom, and wave-wasted Dingle;But wild as the wildest,