Thomas Davis, Selections from his Prose and Poetry Part 46

I hoped to right my native isle, I hoped a soldier's fame, I hoped to rest in woman's smile And win a minstrel's name-- Oh! little have I served my land, No laurels press my brow, I have no woman's heart or hand, Nor minstrel honours now.

III.

But fancy has a magic power, It brings me wreath and crown, And woman's love, the self-same hour It smites oppression down.

Sweet thoughts, bright dreams, my comfort be, I have no joy beside; Oh! throng around, and be to me Power, country, fame, and bride.

THE GIRL OF DUNBWY.

I.

'Tis pretty to see the girl of Dunbwy Stepping the mountain statelily-- Though ragged her gown, and naked her feet, No lady in Ireland to match her is meet.

II.

Poor is her diet, and hardly she lies-- Yet a monarch might kneel for a glance of her eyes.

The child of a peasant--yet England's proud Queen Has less rank in her heart, and less grace in her mien.

III.

Her brow 'neath her raven hair gleams, just as if A breaker spread white 'neath a shadowy cliff-- And love, and devotion, and energy speak From her beauty-proud eye, and her pa.s.sion-pale cheek.

IV.

But, pale as her cheek is, there's fruit on her lip, And her teeth flash as white as the crescent moon's tip, And her form and her step like the red-deer's go past-- As lightsome, as lovely, as haughty, as fast.

V.

I saw her but once, and I looked in her eye, And she knew that I wors.h.i.+pped in pa.s.sing her by; The saint of the wayside--she granted my prayer, Though we spoke not a word, for her mother was there.

VI.

I never can think upon Bantry's bright hills, But her image starts up, and my longing eye fills; And I whisper her softly, "Again, love, we'll meet!

And I'll lie in your bosom, and live at your feet."

BLIND MARY.

AIR--_Blind Mary._

I.

There flows from her spirit such love and delight, That the face of Blind Mary is radiant with light-- As the gleam from a homestead through darkness will show Or the moon glimmer soft through the fast falling snow.

II.

Yet there's a keen sorrow comes o'er her at times, As an Indian might feel in our northerly climes!

And she talks of the sunset, like parting of friends, And the starlight, as love, that not changes nor ends.

III.

Ah! grieve not, sweet maiden, for star or for sun, For the mountains that tower or the rivers that run-- For beauty and grandeur, and glory, and light, Are seen by the spirit, and not by the sight.

IV.

In vain for the thoughtless are sunburst and shade, In vain for the heartless flowers blossom and fade; While the darkness that seems your sweet being to bound Is one of the guardians, an Eden around!

OH! THE MARRIAGE.

AIR--_The Swaggering Jig._

I.

Oh! the marriage, the marriage, With love and _mo bhuachaill_ for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage Might envy my marriage to me; For Eoghan[84] is straight as a tower, And tender, and loving, and true; He told me more love in an hour Than the Squires of the county could do.

Then, Oh! the marriage, etc.

II.

His hair is a shower of soft gold, His eye is as clear as the day, His conscience and vote were unsold When others were carried away; His word is as good as an oath, And freely 'twas given to me; Oh! sure, 'twill be happy for both The day of our marriage to see.

Then, Oh! the marriage, etc.

III.

His kinsmen are honest and kind, The neighbours think much of his skill, And Eoghan's the lad to my mind, Though he owns neither castle nor mill.

But he has a tilloch of land, A horse, and a stocking of coin, A foot for a dance, and a hand In the cause of his country to join.

Then, Oh! the marriage, etc.