Fairest! put on awhile

  These pinions of light I bring thee,

And o'er thy own green isle

  In fancy let me wing thee.

Never did Ariel's plume,

  At golden sunset hover

O'er scenes so full of bloom,

  As I shall waft thee over.

Fields, where the Spring delays

  And fearlessly meets the ardor

Of the warm Summer's gaze,

  With only her tears to guard her.

Rocks, thro' myrtle boughs

  In grace majestic frowning;

Like some bold warrior's brows

  That Love hath just been crowning.

Islets, so freshly fair,

  That never hath bird come nigh them,

But from his course thro' air

  He hath been won down by them;—[1]

Types, sweet maid, of thee,

  Whose look, whose blush inviting,

Never did Love yet see

  From Heaven, without alighting.

Lakes, where the pearl lies hid,[2]

  And caves, where the gem is sleeping,

Bright as the tears thy lid

  Lets fall in lonely weeping.

Glens,[3] where Ocean comes,

  To 'scape the wild wind's rancor,

And harbors, worthiest homes

  Where Freedom's fleet can anchor.

Then, if, while scenes so grand,

  So beautiful, shine before thee,

Pride for thy own dear land

  Should haply be stealing o'er thee,

Oh, let grief come first,

  O'er pride itself victorious—

Thinking how man hath curst

  What Heaven had made so glorious!

[1] In describing the Skeligs (islands of the Barony of Forth), Dr. Keating says, "There is a certain attractive virtue in the soil which draws down all the birds that attempt to fly over it, and obliges them to light upon the rock."

[2] "Nennius, a British writer of the ninth century, mentions the abundance of pearls in Ireland. Their princes, he says, hung them behind their ears: and this we find confirmed by a present made A.C. 1094, by Gilbert, Bishop of Limerick, to Anselm, Archbishop of Canterbury, of a considerable quantity of Irish pearls."—O'Halloran.

[3] Glengariff.