Classic Poem

Song

O fairer than the mountain snow,
When o'er it north's pure breezes blow!
In all its dazzling lustre drest,
But purer, softer is thy breast!

Colla the Great, whose ample sway
Beheld two kingdoms homage pay,
Now gives the happy bard to see
Thy branch adorn the royal tree!

No foreign graft's inferior shoot
Has dar'd insult the mighty root!
Pure from its stem thy bloom ascends,
And from its height in fragrance bends!

Hadst thou been present, on the day
When beauty bore the prize away,
Thy charms had won the royal swain,
And Venus 'self had su'd in vain!

With soften'd fire, imperial blood
Pours through thy frame its generous flood;
Rich in thy azure veins it flows,
Bright in thy blushing cheek it glows!

That blood whence noble Savage sprung,
And he whose deeds the bards have sung,
Great C ONALL -C EARNACH , conquering name!
The champion of heroic fame!

Fair offspring of the royal race!
Mild fragrance! fascinating grace!
Whose touch with magic can inspire
The tender harp's melodious wire!

See how the swan presumptuous strives,
Where glowing Majesty revives,
With proud contention, to bespeak
The soft dominion of that cheek!

Beneath it, sure, with subtle heed,
Some rose by stealth its leaf convey'd;
To shed its bright and beauteous dye,
And still the varying bloom supply.

The tresses of thy silken hair
As curling mists are soft and fair,
Bright waving o'er thy graceful neck,
Its pure and tender snow to deck!

But O! to speak the rapture found!
In thy dear voice's magic sound!
Its powers could death itself controul,
And call back the expiring soul!

The tide that fill'd the veins of Kings,
From whom thy noble lineage springs;
The royal blood of Colla, see
Renew'd, O charming maid! in thee.

Nor in thy bosom slacks its pace,
Nor fades it in thy lovely face;
But there with soft enchantment glows,
And like the blossom's tint it shows.

How does thy needle's art pourtray
Each pictur'd form, in bright array!
With Nature's self maintaining strife,
It gives its own creation life!

O perfect, all-accomplish'd maid!
In beauty's every charm array'd:
Thee ever shall my numbers hail,
Fair lilly of the royal vale!EnglishPatrick Linden