Poems of James Clarence Mangan (Many hitherto uncollected): Centenary edition: Edited, with preface and notes by D. J. O'Donoghue: Introduction by John Mitchel |
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THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRÈ, O! |
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 | Poems of James Clarence Mangan |  |
THE FAIR HILLS OF EIRÈ, O!
Take a blessing from my heart to the land of my birth,
And the fair hills of Eirè, O!
And to all that yet survive of Eibhear's tribe on earth,
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
In that land so delightful the wild thrush's lay
Seems to pour a lament forth for Eirè's decay.
Alas, alas! why pine I a thousand miles away
From the fair hills of Eirè, O!
And the fair hills of Eirè, O!
And to all that yet survive of Eibhear's tribe on earth,
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
In that land so delightful the wild thrush's lay
Seems to pour a lament forth for Eirè's decay.
Alas, alas! why pine I a thousand miles away
From the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The soil is rich and soft, the air is mild and bland,
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Her barest rock is greener to me than this rude land;
O, the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Her woods are tall and straight, grove rising over grove,
Trees flourish in her glens below and on her heights above;
Ah! in heart and in soul I shall ever, ever love
The fair hills of Eirè, O!
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Her barest rock is greener to me than this rude land;
O, the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Her woods are tall and straight, grove rising over grove,
Trees flourish in her glens below and on her heights above;
Ah! in heart and in soul I shall ever, ever love
The fair hills of Eirè, O!
73
A noble tribe, moreover, are the now hapless Gael,
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
A tribe in battle's hour unused to shrink or fail,
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
For this is my lament in bitterness outpoured
To see them slain or scattered by the Saxon sword;
O, woe of woes! to see a foreign spoiler horde
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
A tribe in battle's hour unused to shrink or fail,
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
For this is my lament in bitterness outpoured
To see them slain or scattered by the Saxon sword;
O, woe of woes! to see a foreign spoiler horde
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Broad and tall rise the cruachs in the golden morning glow
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
O'er her smooth grass for ever sweet cream and honey flow
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Oh, I long, I am pining, again to behold
The land that belongs to the brave Gael of old!
Far dearer to my heart than a gift of gems or gold
Are the fair hills of Eirè, O!
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
O'er her smooth grass for ever sweet cream and honey flow
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Oh, I long, I am pining, again to behold
The land that belongs to the brave Gael of old!
Far dearer to my heart than a gift of gems or gold
Are the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The dewdrops lie bright 'mid the grass and yellow corn
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The sweet-scented apples blush redly in the morn
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The water-cress and sorrel fill the vales below,
The streamlets are hushed till the evening breezes blow,
While the waves of the Suir, noble river! ever flow
'Neath the fair hills of Eirè, O!
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The sweet-scented apples blush redly in the morn
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The water-cress and sorrel fill the vales below,
The streamlets are hushed till the evening breezes blow,
While the waves of the Suir, noble river! ever flow
'Neath the fair hills of Eirè, O!
A fruitful clime is Eirè, through valley, meadow, plain,
And the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The very bread of life is in the yellow grain
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Far dearer unto me than the tones music yields
Is the lowing of the kine and the calves in her fields,
In the sunlight that shone long ago on the shields
Of the Gaels, on the fair hills of Eirè, O!
And the fair hills of Eirè, O!
The very bread of life is in the yellow grain
On the fair hills of Eirè, O!
Far dearer unto me than the tones music yields
Is the lowing of the kine and the calves in her fields,
In the sunlight that shone long ago on the shields
Of the Gaels, on the fair hills of Eirè, O!
| Poems of James Clarence Mangan | |