In honor of St. Patrick’s Day here is a public domain collection of Irish poems.
LET EVERY IRISHMAN READ IT! (1 8 7 O)
Written by-P. M. KING,
And must thy lyre, so long divine,
Degenerate into hands like mine.”
A POEM
St. Patrick’s Day,
To-day ;
Irishmen! once more our day has come round.
This day our people greet where’er they’re found,
Whether in the palace, or the humblest cot,
To them ’tis all the same. It matters not.
they ne’er feel weary, sad or faint,
For ’tis the birthday of our patron saint
THE LAND WE LIVE IN.
Friends and fellow-countrymen !
we meet again,
To-day, as Irishmen, as countrymen !
We meet not in our own old Shamrock land,
But here, on the Pacific’s distant strand ;
Not in our own Evergreen Isle, ’tis true,
But here in a land that is always new,
Where Nature ever smiling seems to be,
Bounteous alike o’er Land and Sea.
This fertile soil, which you may truly call
The land of plenty, with liberty for all !
Here in this land, but once so nobly won
By Freedom’s first of heroes
—Washington
Ever sacred name !
Thy banner when unfurled,!
Proclaims at once
—Freedom to the world!
BEAUTY OF IRISH WOMEN, PAST AND PRESENT.
We meet to-day, not as your sires of yore
Met the presumptuous Dane, on Erin’s shore
When Brian’s stalwart arm, with mighty sweep,
Hurled back the proud invader to the deep ;
Not in the glory of those good days of old,
When a ” Malachi ” won and wore his collar of crold
Not like them, in far-famed Tara’s hall,
To the mirth-resounding- music of the ball
As lords were revelling with ladies bright,
Whose eyes outshone the stars in heaven by night.
But, in this sense, we are not yet undone,
For here, to-day, is many a lovely one,
With eyes as bright, and hearts as pure and warm,
As any of those ancient heroes e’er did charm !
Yes, my friends, it
may be loud narrated,
The beauty of our women has not degenerated,
States may fall around them—perish, if you will,
But they, thank heaven, oh !
they are lovely still.
IRISH HOUSE OF PARLIAMENT AND VOLUNTEERS OF ’82.
This is a fine hall which you fill to-day,
Oh, that ’twas your own hall, so far away !
Your Hall of Parliament, once grand in every sense,
Whilst echoing forth a nation’s eloquence ;
The hall which held your country’s foremost rank,
But now degraded to a paltry bank.
That grand old hall, debased by Britain’s yoke,
The hall where Curran, Plunkett, Grattan spoke
that these names we could again renew !
Oh !
Oh !
for such another year as Eighty-Two !
Have we no living poet to diffuse
The spirit of that one year by his Muse ?
Are we at once of Fame and Hope bereft ?
Is there not one spark of the old fire left ?
Where is the music native to your land?
Gone, forever !
with each once mighty hand
That touched the lyre in those bygone years,
Which roused a nation’s volunteers.
Glorious Year !
the heart, it turns to you,
My Country’s one year
—immortal Eighty-Two!
Of all the years since *” Chaos was ended ” or begun,
Since or before, fIreland had but that one.
* “Chaos was ended.” This is the commencement of a Poem written by Mr. W. H.
Rhodes, for St. Patrick’s Day, 1869. I wish I could truthfully apply the expression to Irish affairs.
That I cannot is but too evident.
If any have doubts on the subject, I
recommend them
to read Mr. Bornal Osborne’s Speech,
just delivered in the British House of Commons.
On that year, Ireland leaped from her place in the bed of the ocean and advanced one
step nearer to the Sun.
Meagher.
IRISH TRIALS AND SUFFERINGS WITH NATIONAL. CHARACTERISTIC.
She’s had, alas !
her time of trial, shame and sorrow,
Her night of death without a coming morrow,
Ages of misery, so deep, so dire,
That they should set the tamest heart on fire.
‘Twere vain, ’twere vain, that I should now rehearse
The story of her wrongs in idle verse.
To sum that sad list, even in the mean,
Would take me from this day till this day comes again
And even then I
should have left unsung,
Many who have nobly bled or were ignobly hung,
Whose greatest crime, and that they dared to tell,
Was loving Ireland !
not wisely but too well.
There is not one town or city in that land,
Not one house or castle, field or strand
On yon lone isle, so blest by Nature’s God,
That has not felt the proud usurper’s rod.
alas !
Alas !
it boots not now, to say
What deeds were done on each eventful day.
High Heaven, it saw them. I shall not describe
The valiant prowess of each gallant tribe,
Though I
have read them all ;
aye, every one,
From glorious Clontarf to Slivenamon ;
One feature all present, there is no denying,
From Brian Boru down to Smith O’Brien.
Here 1
assert it ;
it is no lie to fame
*Tis Irish bravery, ever still the same.
The same it ever has been, all o’er God’s earth,
For ’tis your heritage, born with your birth.
cause of Ireland’s misfortune,
Why lost your cause then ? I will tell you why.
I speak the truth ;
let who dare deny.
The cause of all your miser)- and tears,
The death, the worse than death, of these long- years,
Your estates sold, your altars overturned,
Your brethren exiled, spat upon and spurned,
What you have lost of glory and of fame,
Your country’s desolation, grief and shame,
All that we have borne, more than I can mention,
All, all, has been owing to your own dissension.
Dissension was within you, on your flanks ;
Dissension foiled your leaders, thinned your ranks ;
Dissension stamped its curse upon the brow ;
Dissension made you powerless then, as now !
FUTURE GREATNESS OF IRISHMEN AT HOME AND
ABROAD PREDICTED.
I am no prophet, but I hear a bird that sings,
A bird with heavenly voice and angel’s wings ;
I note its warblings, I listen to its lays,
And as I construe, this is what it says :
Dissension helps out every wrong ;
Dissension never yet was with the strong ;
Dissension baffled Freedom has made sigh ;
Dissension is the tyrant’s best ally.
Cast out this demon !
fling it far amain !
And then your greatness comes to you again.
Great you will be on every land and sea,
Great in the nations struggling to be free.
Great in great deeds, amone great men the great,
Great in your morality, in your estate,
Great in yourselves, your rank, your station,
Great with the greatest in this oreat nation,
Great forever, on every shore and strand,
And Great once more in dear old Ireland
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