Poems MacCarthy, Florence Denis

37
Truth, forget the constant beaming
Eyes at home that watch for thee.
Stately palaces surround thee,
Royal parks and gardens bound thee--
Gardens of the 'Fleur de Lis':
Do thou not, for all their splendour,
Quite forget the humble, tender
Thoughts at home, that turn to thee.
When, at length of absence weary,
When the year grows sad and dreary,
And an east wind sweeps the sea;
Ere the days of dark November,
Homeward turn, and then remember
Hearts at home that pine for thee!
THE CLAN OF MAC CAURA.[21]
Oh! bright are the names of the chieftains and sages,
That shine like the stars through the darkness of ages,
Whose deeds are inscribed on the pages of story,
There for ever to live in the sunshine of glory,
Heroes of history, phantoms of fable,
Charlemagne's champions, and Arthur's Round Table;
Oh! but they all a new lustre could borrow
From the glory that hangs round the name of MacCaura!
Thy waves, Manzanares, wash many a shrine,
And proud are the castles that frown o'er the Rhine,
And stately the mansions whose pinnacles glance
Through the elms of Old England and vineyards of France;
Many have fallen, and many will fall,
Good men and brave men have dwelt in them all,
But as good and as brave men, in gladness and sorrow,
Have dwelt in the halls of the princely MacCaura!
Montmorency, Medina, unheard was thy rank
By the dark-eyed Iberian and light-hearted Frank,