The Lovely Land

GLORIOUS birth of Mind and Colour,
Gazing on thy radiant face,
The most lorn of Adam's race
Might forget all dolour!

What divinest light is beaming
Over mountain, mead, and grove!
That blue noontide sky above,
Seems asleep and dreaming.

Rich Italia's wild-birds warble
In the foliage of those trees.
I can trace thee, Veronese,
In these rocks of marble!

Yet no! Mark I not where quiver
The sun's rays on yonder stream?
Only a Poussin could dream
Such a sun and river!

What bold imaging! Stony valley,
And fair bower of eglantine!
Here I see the black ravine,
There the lilied alley!

This is some rare clime so olden,
Peopled, not by men, but fays;
Some lone land of genii days,
Storyful and golden!

Oh, for magic power to wander
One bright year through such a land!
Might I even one hour stand
On the blest hills yonder!

But — what spy I? ... O, by noonlight!
'Tis the same! — the pillar-tower
I have oft passed thrice an hour,
Twilight, sunlight, moonlight!

Shame to me, my own, my sire-land,
Not to know thy soil and skies!
Shame, that through Maclise's eyes
I first see thee, IRELAND!

No! no land doth rank above thee
Or for loveliness or worth!
So shall I, from this day forth,
Ever sing and love thee!