Thomas Davis, Selections from his Prose and Poetry Part 47

IV.

We meet in the market and fair-- We meet in the morning and night-- He sits on the half of my chair, And my people are wild with delight; Yet I long through the winter to skim, Though Eoghan longs more I can see, When I will be married to him, And he will be married to me.

Then, Oh! the marriage, the marriage, With love and _mo bhuachaill_ for me, The ladies that ride in a carriage, Might envy my marriage to me.

--------------------------------------------------------------- [84] _Vulgo_, Owen, a name frequent among the Cymry (Welsh).

THE BOATMAN OF KINSALE.

AIR--_An Cota Caol._

I.

His kiss is sweet, his word is kind, His love is rich to me; I could not in a palace find A truer heart than he.

The eagle shelters not his nest From hurricane and hail, More bravely than he guards my breast-- The Boatman of Kinsale.

II.

The wind that round the Fastnet sweeps Is not a whit more pure-- The goat that down Cnoc Sheehy leaps Has not a foot more sure.

No firmer hand nor freer eye E'er faced an autumn gale-- De Courcy's heart is not so high-- The Boatman of Kinsale.

III.

The brawling squires may heed him not, The dainty stranger sneer-- But who will dare to hurt our cot When Myles O'Hea is here?

The scarlet soldiers pa.s.s along; They'd like, but fear to rail; His blood is hot, his blow is strong-- The Boatman of Kinsale.

IV.

His hooker's in the Scilly van When seines are in the foam; But money never made the man, Nor wealth a happy home.

So, blest with love and liberty, While he can trim a sail, He'll trust in G.o.d, and cling to me-- The Boatman of Kinsale.

LOVE AND WAR.

I.

How soft is the moon on Glengariff, The rocks seem to melt with the light: Oh! would I were there with dear f.a.n.n.y, To tell her that love is as bright; And n.o.bly the sun of July O'er the waters of Adragoole s.h.i.+nes-- Oh! would that I saw the green banner Blaze there over conquering lines.

II.

Oh! love is more fair than the moonlight, And glory more grand than the sun: And there is no rest for a brave heart, Till its bride and its laurels are won; But next to the burst of our banner, And the smile of dear f.a.n.n.y, I crave The moon on the rocks of Glengariff-- The sun upon Adragoole's wave.

MY LAND.

I.

She is a rich and rare land; Oh! she's a fresh and fair land; She is a dear and rare land-- This native land of mine.

II.

No men than her's are braver-- Her women's hearts ne'er waver; I'd freely die to save her, And think my lot divine.

III.

She's not a dull or cold land; No! she's a warm and bold land; Oh! she's a true and old land-- This native land of mine.

IV.

Could beauty ever guard her, And virtue still reward her, No foe would cross her border-- No friend within it pine!

V.

Oh! she's a fresh and fair land; Oh! she's a true and rare land; Yes! she's a rare and fair land-- This native land of mine.

THE RIGHT ROAD.

I.

Let the feeble-hearted pine, Let the sickly spirit whine, But work and win be thine, While you've life.

G.o.d smiles upon the bold-- So, when your flag's unrolled, Bear it bravely till you're cold In the strife.

II.

If to rank or fame you soar, Out your spirit frankly pour-- Men will serve you and adore, Like a king.

Woo your girl with honest pride, Till you've won her for your bride-- Then to her, through time and tide, Ever cling.