May Love, as twine
His flowers divine.
Of thorny falsehood weed 'em;
May Valor ne'er
His standard rear
Against the cause of Freedom!
Oh the Shamrock, the green, immortal Shamrock!
Chosen leaf
Of Bard and Chief,
Old Erin's native Shamrock!
[1] It is said that St. Patrick, when preaching the Trinity to the Pagan
Irish, used to illustrate his subject by reference to that species of
trefoil called in Ireland by the name of the Shamrock; and hence, perhaps,
the Island of Saints adopted this plant as her national emblem. Hope,
among the ancients, was sometimes represented as a beautiful child,
standing upon tiptoes, and a trefoil or three-colored grass in her hand.
AT THE MID HOUR OF NIGHT
At the mid hour of night, when stars are weeping, I fly
To the lone vale we loved, when life shone warm in thine eye;
And I think oft, if spirits can steal from the regions of air,
To revisit past scenes of delight, thou wilt come to me there,
And tell me our love is remembered, even in the sky.
Then I sing the wild song 'twas once such pleasure to hear
When our voices commingling breathed, like one, on the ear;
And, as Echo far off thro' the vale my sad orison rolls,
I think, oh my love! 'tis thy voice from the Kingdom of Souls,[1]
Faintly answering still the notes that once were so dear.
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