@aloha-cowgirl and I were chilling in Barnes and noble yesterday, and because I have no self-control, I bought these...
(I say it was lack of self control but I’m actually super excited/in love with each of them)
Anyway, I had a couple minutes to kill while waiting on some people this evening, so I decided to read a couple poems while I waited from this one...
And my dudes, I am exactly two poems in and I am shook. I have been sitting here reading the second one over and over. In the beginning, I was a little “yes, yes, Ireland’s pretty. I’ve heard this before,” but by the end...I can’t even give name to all of the emotions it gives me. So, I figured I’d share. Here’s Eire by William Drennan...
(Hey, @wanderingcas you were asking about poetry recommendations the other day, so here ya go)
Eire
by William Drennan
When Eire first rose from the dark-swelling flood,
God blessed the green island, and saw it was good;
The emerald of Europe, it sparkled and shone,
In the ring of the world, the most precious stone.
In her sun, in her soil, in her station thrice blest,
With her back towards Britain, her face to the west,
Eire stands proudly insular, on her steep shore,
And strikes her high harp ‘mid the ocean’s deep roar.
But when its soft tones seem to mourn and to weep,
A dark chain of silence is thrown o’er the deep;
At the thought of the past the tears gush from her eyes,
And the pulse of her heart makes her white bosom rise.
O! sons of green Eire, lament o’er the time
When religion was war, and our country a crime;
When man in God’s image inverted His plan,
And moulded his God in the image of man.
When the interest of state wrought the general woe,
The stranger a friend, and the native a foe;
While the mother rejoiced o’er her children oppressed,
And clasped the invader more close to her breast;
When, with Pale for the body and Pale for the soul,
Church and State joined in compact to conquer the whole;
And, as Shannon was stained with Milesian blood,
Eyed each other askance and pronounced it was good.
By the groans that ascend from your forefathers’ grave,
For their country thus left to the brute and the slave,
Drive the demon of Bigotry home to his den,
And where Britain made brutes now let Eire make men.
Let my sons like the leaves of the shamrock unite,
A partition of sects from one footstalk of right,
Give each his full share of the earth and the sky,
Nor fatten the slave where the serpent would die.
Alas! for poor Eire, that some are still seen
Who would dye the grass red from the hatred to Green;
Yet, O! when you’re up and they’re down, let them live,
Then yield them that mercy which they would not give.
Arm of Eire, be strong! be gentle as brave!
And, uplifted to strike, be still ready to save!
Let no feeling of vengeance presume to defile
The cause of, or men of, the Emerald Isle.
The cause it is good, and the men they are true,
And the Green shall outlive both the Orange and Blue!
And the triumphs of Eire her daughters shall share,
With the full swelling chest, and the fair flowing hair.
Their bosom heaves high for the worthy and brave,
But no coward shall rest on that soft swelling wave;
Men of Eire! awake, and make haste to be blest,
Rise --Arch of the Ocean, and Queen of the West!
