Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis
Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis
222 1829. Into the senate swept the mighty chief, Like some great ocean wave across the bar Of intercepting rock, whose jagged reef But frets the victor whom it cannot mar. Into the senate his triumphal car Rushed like a conqueror's through the broken gates Of some fallen city, whose defenders are Powerful no longer to resist the fates, But yield at last to him whom wondering Fame awaits. And as "sweet foreign Spenser" might have sung, Yoked to the car two wing`ed steeds were seen, With eyes of fire and flashing hoofs outflung, As if Apollo's coursers they had been. These were quick Thought and Eloquence, I ween, Bounding together with impetuous speed, While overhead there waved a flag of green, Which seemed to urge still more each flying steed, Until they reached the goal the hero had decreed. There at his feet a captive wretch lay bound, Hideous, deformed, of baleful countenance, Whom as his blood-shot eye-balls glared around, As if to kill with their malignant glance, I knew to be the fiend Intolerance. But now no longer had he power to slay, For Freedom touched him with Ithuriel's lance, His horrid form revealing by its ray, And showed how foul a fiend the world could once obey. Then followed after him a numerous train, Each bearing trophies of the field he won: Some the white wand, and some the civic chain, Its golden letters glistening in the sun; Some--for the reign of justice had begun-- The ermine robes that soon would be the prize Of spotless lives that all pollution shun, And some in mitred pomp, with upturned eyes,
223 And grateful hearts invoked a blessing from the skies. 1843-1847. A glorious triumph! a deathless deed!-- Shall the hero rest and his work half done? Is it enough to enfranchise a creed, When a nation's freedom may yet be won? Is it enough to hang on the wall The broken links of the Catholic chain, When now one mighty struggle for ALL May quicken the life in the land again?-- May quicken the life, for the land lay dead; No central fire was a heart in its breast,-- No throbbing veins, with the life-blood red, Ran out like rivers to east or west: Its soul was gone, and had left it clay-- Dull clay to grow but the grass and the root; But harvests for Men, ah! where were they?-- And where was the tree for Liberty's fruit? Never till then, in victory's hour, Had a conqueror felt a joy so sweet, As when the wand of his well-won power O'Connell laid at his country's feet. "No! not for me, nor for mine alone," The generous victor cried, "Have I fought, But to see my Eire again on her throne; Ah, that was my dream and my guiding thought. To see my Eire again on her throne, Her tresses with lilies and shamrocks twined, Her severed sons to a nation grown, Her hostile hues in one flag combined; Her wisest gathered in grave debate, Her bravest armed to resist the foe: To see my country 'glorious and great,'-- To see her 'free,'--to fight I go!"
- Page 171 and 172: 171 To be hushed, to be whipt, Its
- Page 173 and 174: 173 March 11th, 1856. 107. It is st
- Page 175 and 176: 175 A glorious wreath my happy hand
- Page 177 and 178: 177 Thine emerald robes are held fo
- Page 179 and 180: 179 Let us seek the wandering May,
- Page 181 and 182: 181 The wing`ed flame to the rosebu
- Page 183 and 184: 183 Of the life that follows this,
- Page 185 and 186: 185 Is with the flowers the time of
- Page 187 and 188: 187 Or following its devious course
- Page 189 and 190: 189 In Andalusia's Eden clime, Or '
- Page 191 and 192: 191 One, who is labour's useful tra
- Page 193 and 194: 193 Supports the mightiest crown on
- Page 195 and 196: 195 They twin'd their trembling han
- Page 197 and 198: 197 And grateful joy, the first and
- Page 199 and 200: 199 All their silvery stores, There
- Page 201 and 202: 201 Now with elf-locks dripping Fro
- Page 203 and 204: 203 Rises soaring to heaven in its
- Page 205 and 206: 205 Nought could resist his mighty
- Page 207 and 208: 207 The modest maiden May. Oh! she
- Page 209 and 210: 209 And as the thoughtless children
- Page 211 and 212: 211 And the young Year rose from hi
- Page 213 and 214: 213 THE FIRST OF THE ANGELS. Hush!
- Page 215 and 216: 215 And a blessing to the low. When
- Page 217 and 218: 217 Centenary Odes. O'CONNELL. AUGU
- Page 219 and 220: 219 And a voice rings out through t
- Page 221: 221 But soon had come the final com
- Page 225 and 226: 225 He slept by the soft Ligurian S
- Page 227 and 228: 227 In words though weak, in hues t
- Page 229 and 230: 229 The Homer of the West. He sings
- Page 231 and 232: 231 'Twas thus he sang, And while t
- Page 233 and 234: 233 The whole horizon fills. Or the
- Page 235 and 236: 235 The wit and song, the name and
- Page 237 and 238: 237 In visiting some bower, She sca
- Page 239 and 240: 239 'Tis Love, methought, blind Lov
- Page 241 and 242: 241 Thou by my side, fair vision, u
- Page 243 and 244: 243 Where scarce a flower that now
- Page 245 and 246: 245 Ah! wondrous is the lot of him
- Page 247 and 248: 247 And rob the heavens of stars fo
- Page 249 and 250: 249 What without me were all the po
- Page 251 and 252: 251 RECOLLECTIONS. Ah! summer time,
- Page 253 and 254: 253 Near to the lilacs round the po
- Page 255 and 256: 255 DOLORES. The moon of my soul is
- Page 257 and 258: 257 Of thy young heart's fond ambit
- Page 259 and 260: 259 'Tis Baiae, by a softer blue! G
- Page 261 and 262: 261 The songs melodious, which--a n
- Page 263 and 264: 263 The poet's dream--the lover's j
- Page 265 and 266: 265 And the ivy clothes the wall, T
- Page 267 and 268: 267 Let the spring-tide of Hope sen
- Page 269 and 270: 269 DARRYNANE. [Written in 1844, af
- Page 271 and 272: 271 115. The abbey on the grounds o
223<br />
And grateful hearts invoked a blessing from the skies.<br />
1843-1847.<br />
A glorious triumph! a deathless deed!--<br />
Shall the hero rest and his work half done?<br />
Is it enough to enfranchise a creed,<br />
When a nation's freedom may yet be won?<br />
Is it enough to hang on the wall<br />
The broken links of the Catholic chain,<br />
When now one mighty struggle for ALL<br />
May quicken the life in the land again?--<br />
May quicken the life, for the land lay dead;<br />
No central fire was a heart in its breast,--<br />
No throbbing veins, with the life-blood red,<br />
Ran out like rivers to east or west:<br />
Its soul was gone, and had left it clay--<br />
Dull clay to grow but the grass and the root;<br />
But harvests for Men, ah! where were they?--<br />
And where was the tree for Liberty's fruit?<br />
Never till then, in victory's hour,<br />
Had a conqueror felt a joy so sweet,<br />
As when the wand of his well-won power<br />
O'Connell laid at his country's feet.<br />
"No! not for me, nor for mine alone,"<br />
The generous victor cried, "Have I fought,<br />
But to see my Eire again on her throne;<br />
Ah, that was my dream and my guiding thought.<br />
To see my Eire again on her throne,<br />
Her tresses with lilies and shamrocks twined,<br />
Her severed sons to a nation grown,<br />
Her hostile hues in one flag combined;<br />
Her wisest gathered in grave debate,<br />
Her bravest armed to resist the foe:<br />
To see my country 'glorious and great,'--<br />
To see her 'free,'--to fight I go!"
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