When Hylas was sent with his urn to the fount,
Thro' fields full of light, and with heart full of play,
Light rambled the boy, over meadow and mount,
And neglected his task for the flowers on the way.
Thus many, like me, who in youth should have tasted
The fountain that runs by Philosophy's shrine,
Their time with the flowers on the margin have wasted,
And left their light urns all as empty as mine.
But pledge me the goblet;--while Idleness weaves
These flowerets together, should Wisdom but see
One bright drop or two that has fallen on the leaves
From her fountain divine, 'tis sufficient for me.
OH THE SHAMROCK.
Thro' Erin's Isle,
To sport awhile,
As Love and Valor wandered,
With Wit, the sprite,
Whose quiver bright
A thousand arrows squandered.
Where'er they pass,
A triple grass[1]
Shoots up, with dew-drops streaming.
As softly green
As emeralds seen
Thro' purest crystal gleaming.
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf.
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!
Says Valor, "See,
"They spring for me,
"Those leafy gems of morning!"--
Says Love, "No, no,
"For _me_ they grow,
"My fragrant path adorning."
But Wit perceives
The triple leaves,
And cries, "Oh! do not sever
"A type, that blends
"Three godlike friends,
"Love, Valor, Wit, for ever!"
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!
So firmly fond
May last the bond,
They wove that morn together,
And ne'er may fall
One drop of gall
On Wit's celestial feather.
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