A Book of Irish Verse. Various

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">       So pensive was Kathleen, my poor little Kathleen,

       My Kathleen O'More!

      Cold was the night-breeze that sighed round her bower,

       It chilled my poor Kathleen, she drooped from that hour:

       And I lost my poor Kathleen, my own little Kathleen,

       My Kathleen O'More.

      Bird of all birds that I love the best,

       Is the Robin that in the churchyard builds his nest;

       For he seems to watch Kathleen, hops lightly o'er Kathleen,

       My Kathleen O'More.

      James Nugent Reynolds

THE GROVES OF BLARNEY

       Table of Contents

      The groves of Blarney

       They look so charming

       Down by the purling

       Of sweet, silent brooks,

       Being banked with posies

       That spontaneous grow there,

       Planted in order

       By the sweet rock close.

       'Tis there's the daisy

       And the sweet carnation,

       The blooming pink,

       And the rose so fair,

       The daffydowndilly,

       Likewise the lily,

       All flowers that scent

       The sweet, fragrant air.

      'Tis Lady Jeffers

       That owns this station;

       Like Alexander,

       Or Queen Helen fair.

       There's no commander

       In all the nation,

       For emulation,

       Can with her compare.

       Such walls surround her

       That no nine-pounder

       Could dare to plunder

       Her place of strength;

       But Oliver Cromwell

       Her he did pommell,

       And made a breach

       In her battlement.

      There's gravel walks there

       For speculation

       And conversation

       In sweet solitude.

       'Tis there the lover

       May hear the dove, or

       The gentle plover

       In the afternoon;

       And if a lady

       Would be so engaging

       As to walk alone in

       Those shady bowers,

       'Tis there the courtier

       He may transport her

       Into some fort, or

       All under ground.

      For 'tis there's a cave where

       No daylight enters,

       But cats and badgers

       Are for ever bred;

       Being mossed by nature,

       That makes it sweeter

       Than a coach-and-six or

       A feather bed.

       'Tis there the lake is,

       Well stored with perches,

       And comely eels in

       The verdant mud;

       Beside the leeches,

       And groves of beeches,

       Standing in order

       For to guard the flood.

      There's statues gracing

       This noble place in—

       All heathen gods

       And nymphs so fair;

       Bold Neptune, Plutarch,

       And Nicodemus,

       All standing naked

       In the open air.

       So now to finish

       This brave narration,

       Which my poor genii

       Could not entwine;

       But were I Homer

       Or Nebuchadnezzar,

       'Tis in every feature

       I would make it shine.

       Richard Alfred Milliken

THE LIGHT OF OTHER DAYS

       Table of Contents

      Oft in the stilly night,

       Ere slumber's chain has bound me,

       Fond Memory brings the light

       Of other days around me:

       The smiles, the tears

       Of boyhood's years,

       The words of love then spoken;

       The eyes that shone

       Now dimm'd and gone,

       The cheerful homes now СКАЧАТЬ