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238 THE GOLDEN TREASURY OF
And so it was from isle to isle we passed, Like wanton bees or boys on flowers or lips;
And when all that was tasted, then at last We thirsted still for draughts instead of sips.
I learned from this there is no Southern land
Can fill with love the hearts of Northern men. Sick minds need change; but, when in health they stand
'Neath foreign skies, their love flies home again With love for Ireland, looking on Cathay !
And thus with me it was, the yearning turned From laden airs of cinnamon away,
And stretched far westward, while the full heart burned.
My first dear love, all dearer for the grief!
My land, that has no peer in all the sea For verdure, vale or river, flower or leaf,—
If first to no man else, thou'rt first to me. New loves may come with duties, but the first
Is deepest yet,—the mother's breast and smiles; Like that kind face and breast where I was nursed
Is my poor land, the Niob6 of isles. |
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UNSPOKEN WORDS
T
HE kindly words that rise within the heart And thrill it with their sympathetic tone, But die ere spoken, fail to play their part And claim a merit that is not their own. |
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