Whose soul must wait the hour of Fate, His name be known to none; But his feet shall stand on the Irish land In darkness of our captive night, Whilst storms the watch-tower shake, Until the morning break; Until through clouds of threatening hate, The first red beam of the sun-burst gleam Oh! perfect, pure, exalted One, As night to noon goes swift and soon, May years now roll away And bring the hour of thy conquering power And the dawning of the day! IRELAND, oh Ireland! center of my longings, As the shining salmon, homeless in the sea-depths, Hears the river call him, scents out the land, Leaps and rejoices in the meeting of the waters, Breasts weir and torrent, nests in the sand; Lives there and loves; yet with the year's returning, Sweeps back again to the ripple of the tideway, "Hills o' My Heart" Wanderer am I like the salmon of the rivers; 2195 London is my ocean, murmurous and deep, Pearly are the skies in the country of my fathers, "HILLS O' MY HEART" HILLS o' my heart! I have come to you at calling of my one love and only, The hearth of my fathers wanting me is lonely, Hills o' my heart! You have cradled him I love in your green quiet hollows, Your wavering winds have hushed him to soft forgetful sleep, Below dusk boughs where bird-voice after bird-voice follows In shafts of silver melody that split the hearkening deep. Hills o' my heart! Let the herdsman who walks in your high haunted places Give him strength and courage, and weave his dreams alway: Let your faces, cairn-heaped hero-dead reveal their grand exultant And the Gentle Folk be good to him betwixt the dark and day. Hills o' my heart! And I would the Green Harper might wake his soul to singing With music of the golden wires heard when the world was new, That from his lips an echo of its sweetness may come ringing, A song of pure and noble hopes-a song of all things true. Hills o' my heart! For sake of the yellow head that drew me wandering over Your misty crests from my own home where sorrow bided then, I set my seven blessings on your kindly heather cover, Ethna Carbery [? -1902] SCOTLAND YET GAE bring my guid auld harp ance mair, Gae bring it free and fast, For I maun sing anither sang, Ere a' my glee be past; And trow ye as I sing, my lads, The burden o't shall be, Auld Scotland's howes and Scotland's knowes, And Scotland's hills for me; We'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honors three. The heath waves wild upon her hills, As they dance doun the dells; That's girded by the sea; Then Scotland's vales and Scotland's dales, And Scotland's hills for me; We'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honors three. The thistle wags upon the fields, Where Wallace bore his blade, And looking to the lift, my lads, He sang this doughty glee, The Watch on the Rhine Auld Scotland's right and Scotland's might, And Scotland's hills for me; We'll drink a cup for Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honors three. They tell o' lands wi' brighter skies, For I've nae skill o' lands, my lads, That kenna to be free; Then Scotland's right and Scotland's might, And Scotland's hills for me; We'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honors three. 2197 Henry Scott Riddell [1798–1870] THE WATCH ON THE RHINE * A VOICE resounds like thunder-peal, 'Mid clashing waves and clang of steel:"The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine! Who guards to-day my stream divine?" Chorus-Dear Fatherland, no danger thine: Firm stand thy sons to watch the Rhine! They stand a hundred thousand strong, The dead of a heroic race From heaven look down and meet their gaze; "While flows one drop of German blood, For the original of this poem see page 3583. "Our oath resounds, the river flows, In golden light our banner glows; Our hearts will guard thy stream divine: The Rhine, the Rhine, the German Rhine!" After the German of Max Schneckenburger [1819-1849] THE GERMAN FATHERLAND * WHICH is the German's fatherland? Is't Prussia's or Swabia's land? Is't where the Rhine's rich vintage streams? His fatherland's not bounded so! Which is the German's fatherland? Is't where the Marsian ox unbends? Ah, no, no, no! His fatherland's not bounded so! Which is the German's fatherland? His fatherland's not bounded so! Which is the German's fatherland? Such lands and people please me well.— His fatherland's not bounded so! Which is the German's fatherland? *For the original of this poem see page 3584. |