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IRISH SONGS AND LYRICS 71 |
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Though haply still, by Liffey's tide, That mighty master must abide,
Who voiced our grief O'er Davis lost;■ and he who gave His free frank tribute to the grave
Of Eire's Chief;8
Yet must it not be said that we Failed in the rites of minstrelsy,
So dear to souls Like his whom lately death had ta'en, Altho' the vast Atlantic main
Between us rolls!
Too few, too few, among our great, In camp or cloister, Church or State,
Wrought as he wrought; Too few, of all the brave we trace Among the champions of our race,
Gave us his thought.
He toiled to make our story stand, As from Time's reverent, Runic hand
It came undecked By fancies false; erect, alone, The monumental Arctic stone
Of ages wrecked.
He marshaled Brian on the plain, Sailed in the galleys of the Dane;
1 Sir Samuel Ferguson.
'Denis Florence MacCarthy, whose poem on the death of O'Connell was one of the noblest tributes paid to the memory of the great Tribune.—Author's note. |
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