 | Cuckoo songs |  |
80
Ivy of Ireland
(Charles Stewart Parnell. Obiit., October 6, 1891)
O'er many an Irish castle great and hoary,
The Irish ivy clings,
That now shall creep about your ruined glory,
Greater than kings.
The Irish ivy clings,
That now shall creep about your ruined glory,
Greater than kings.
And over Round Towers that forget their building,
The Irish ivy trails;
And o'er grey fanes that catch the sun's last gilding,
See the last sails.
The Irish ivy trails;
And o'er grey fanes that catch the sun's last gilding,
See the last sails.
And o'er our precious graves, of love undying,
Stealing, it whispers soft,
And wraps the patient dead when night is sighing,
And storms are up aloft.
Stealing, it whispers soft,
And wraps the patient dead when night is sighing,
And storms are up aloft.
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And so because you were our Tower, our Castle,
Tall in the landscape grey,
Though all the lights are out, and over wassail,
And night usurps the day.
Tall in the landscape grey,
Though all the lights are out, and over wassail,
And night usurps the day.
And since—our sorrow!—in the grave you're sleeping,
The ivy you shall have,
Wrapping your towering height in tender keeping,
Kissing your grave.
The ivy you shall have,
Wrapping your towering height in tender keeping,
Kissing your grave.
The birds shall build, shall build their pleasant places
Under its leaves,
From whence shall wing their songs to tell your praises
By many eaves.
Under its leaves,
From whence shall wing their songs to tell your praises
By many eaves.
Like Cashel, or like Muckross, famed in story,
Your name shall arch the sky
Against the sunset and the sunrise glory,
So mournful and so high.
Your name shall arch the sky
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So mournful and so high.
All your sad splendour shall the ivy cover
With dew and rain-drops wet,
And ever greener as the years go over,
Closer and greener yet.
With dew and rain-drops wet,
And ever greener as the years go over,
Closer and greener yet.
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