 | Poems (1867) |  |
355
A NATIONAL SONG.
Of flowers that bloom in gardens fair, that bloom in meadows free,
I had my choice of all that blow, and I chose me only three;
But I must have them all or none! the first one that I chose
Was Queen of all the flowers that be, the red, the royal Rose!
I had my choice of all that blow, and I chose me only three;
But I must have them all or none! the first one that I chose
Was Queen of all the flowers that be, the red, the royal Rose!
The Rose that blooms upon the rock, and lets the salt sea-spray
Drift over her, nor asks if this be anger or be play;
She bows not down her stately head for any breeze that blows,
She smiles in kindness on her friends, in pride upon her foes.
Drift over her, nor asks if this be anger or be play;
She bows not down her stately head for any breeze that blows,
She smiles in kindness on her friends, in pride upon her foes.
356
A lion watches by her root, and all her gallant stem
Is set with thorns, ah, woe betide the hand that touches them!
But deep within the rose's heart, in many a silken fold
Wrapt round, a costly treasure lies of fragrance and of gold.
Is set with thorns, ah, woe betide the hand that touches them!
But deep within the rose's heart, in many a silken fold
Wrapt round, a costly treasure lies of fragrance and of gold.
Then lone and free, on hill and lea, unguarded yet unharmed,
All green I saw the Thistle grow that groweth ready armed,
She flings her arrowy seeds afar to thrive where'er they fall,
Oh grasp the hardy thistle close, or grasp her not at all!
All green I saw the Thistle grow that groweth ready armed,
She flings her arrowy seeds afar to thrive where'er they fall,
Oh grasp the hardy thistle close, or grasp her not at all!
Oh love the thistle well, for she will love thee to the end,
For scorching sun she will not droop, for storm she will not bend;
How fair upon the thistle's head her purple-tasselled crown,
And oh! within the thistle's heart, how soft and warm the down!
For scorching sun she will not droop, for storm she will not bend;
How fair upon the thistle's head her purple-tasselled crown,
And oh! within the thistle's heart, how soft and warm the down!
357
Yet must I farther on to seek a flower that loves the West;
I only found a little leaf, with mystic signs imprest;
“Hast thou no flower?” I sadly said, “and hast thou nought to show
But this thy high and heavenward hope, but this thy patient woe”?
I only found a little leaf, with mystic signs imprest;
“Hast thou no flower?” I sadly said, “and hast thou nought to show
But this thy high and heavenward hope, but this thy patient woe”?
“Yet saints have loved thee, fairies danced across thee at thy birth,
And thine are gifts that suit with joy, and gifts that suit with mirth;
Shine on, green leaf, to kindly Trust, to Wit, to Valour dear,
And still let Erin's smile be ours, though smiling through a tear.”
And thine are gifts that suit with joy, and gifts that suit with mirth;
Shine on, green leaf, to kindly Trust, to Wit, to Valour dear,
And still let Erin's smile be ours, though smiling through a tear.”
Of flowers that bloom in gardens fair, that blow in meadows free,
Now have I had my choice of all, and I have chosen three;
I would not live, I would not die, I would not sing for one,
I love them all so well that I must have them all or none!
Now have I had my choice of all, and I have chosen three;
I would not live, I would not die, I would not sing for one,
I love them all so well that I must have them all or none!
| Poems (1867) | |