Classic Poem

I.

Genius of Erin, seize the harp,
From Tara's cloudy hill descend;
No plaintive tones, no accents sharp,
Let martial sounds the welkin rend.
Shall tow'ring Windsor boast her garter'd knights?
Shall the keen thistle guard bleak Scotia's shore?
The guardians of their country's sacred rights,
The badge of valor, and of glory, wore:
Shall not fair Knighthood's star this land adorn?
Bright is her rising same, clear is her orient morn.

II.

High was her worth in Druid times,
To her the sage's lore was known,
The bard pour'd forth the tide of rhymes,
O'er the deep harp his hand was thrown;
Lo! Gothic shadows dim the golden orb,
From iron wrongs the noble spirit flies,
Each gen'rous ray coercive laws absorb,
The sun of valor beams thro' distant skies;
In Belgian fields has stream'd Ierne's blood,
On Buda's banner'd plains, by Danube's swelling flood.

III.

Again, her splendid days return,
Britannia wears a sister's smile;
Sublime, exalted passions burn,
Heroic legions guard our isle;
Tremendous War his ensign had unfurl'd,
Proud Bourbon threaten'd, with his galling chain;
Britannia nobly brav'd a hostile world,
Green Erin's standard shar'd the doubtful plain:
Her val'rous knights in deadly combat close,
Amidst the strife of spears, their kindling courage glows.

IV.

Illustrious chieftains, doom'd to bear
Rich emblems of your Sov'reign's love,
To Honor's spotless shrine repair,
The virgin will your suit approve:
True to your God, your Country, to your King,
Let bright example swell your gen'rous rage,
To rescue beauty, mount the eagle's wing,
The laws of knighthood read, in Froissart's page
Unsullied honor, lo! your step attends,
See! Erin's guardiar saint his hallow'd wand extend.

V.

On dark Croagh Patrick's shaggy brow,
Which frowns above the western wave,
This wand he shook — black reptiles flow,
Plunging, they find a wat'ry grave.
No scaly serpent glides along our fields,
No crested adder darts his poison round:
Healthful the flow'rets which Ierne yields,
Pure are her rills, her vales with plenty crown'd
Soft are her maidens, as the vernal gale;
Her sons, the angry storm, which rends the swelling sail.