Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,[2]
And caves, where the gem is sleeping,
Bright as the tears thy lid
Lets fall in lonely weeping.
Glens,[3] where Ocean comes,
To 'scape the wild wind's rancor,
And harbors, worthiest homes
Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.
Then, if, while scenes so grand,
So beautiful, shine before thee,
Pride for thy own dear land
Should haply be stealing o'er thee,
Oh, let grief come first,
O'er pride itself victorious--
Thinking how man hath curst
What Heaven had made so glorious!
[1] In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Forth), Dr.
Keating says, "There is a certain attractive virtue in the soil which
draws down all the birds that attempt to fly over it, and obliges them to
light upon the rock."
[2] "Nennius, a British writer of the ninth century, mentions the
abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, hung them behind
their ears: and this we find confirmed by a present made A.C. 1094, by
Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a
considerable quantity of Irish pearls."--_O'Halloran_.
[3] Glengariff.
QUICK! WE HAVE BUT A SECOND.
Quick! we have but a second,
Fill round the cup, while you may;
For Time, the churl, hath beckoned,
And we must away, away!
Grasp the pleasure that's flying,
For oh, not Orpheus' strain
Could keep sweet hours from dying,
Or charm them to life again.
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