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 | The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere |  |
151
A BARD'S LOVE FOR ERIN.
I
I thought it was thy voice I heard;—Ah no! the ripple burst and died;
Among cold reeds the night-wind stirr'd;
The yew-tree sigh'd; the earliest bird
Answer'd the white dawn far descried.
II
I thought it was a tress of thineThat grazed my cheek and touched my brow;—
Ah no! in sad but calm decline
'Twas but my ever grapeless vine
Slow-waving from the blighted bough.
III
O Eire, it is not ended! Soon,Or late, thy flower renews its bud!
In sunless quarries still unhewn
Thy statue waits; thy sunken moon
Shall light once more the autumnal flood!
IV
Memory for me her hands but warmsO'er ashes of thy greatness gone;
Or lifts to heaven phantasmal arms,
Muttering of talismans and charms,
And grappling after glories flown.
V
Tired brain, poor worn-out palimpsest!Sleep, sleep! man's troubles soon are o'er:—
152
Star-high shall flash my Country's crest,
Where birds of darkness cannot soar!
| The Poetical Works of Aubrey De Vere | |