Poems by Denis Florence MacCarthy

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I dreamt a dream, a dazzling dream, of a green isle far away,
The dream is over,
They are dying! they are dying! where the golden corn is growing,
(On receiving a Shamrock in a Letter from Ireland.)
God bade the sun with golden step sublime,
Long have I loved the beauty of thy streets,
Ah! the pleasant time hath vanished, ere our wretched doubtings banished,
The Sun called a beautiful Beam, that was playing
The weary, dreary, dripping rain,
Oh! thou whom sacred duty hither calls,
[Written in 1844, after a visit to Darrynane Abbey.]
When I wander by the ocean,
The moon of my soul is dark, Dolores,
The poet's heart is a fatal boon,
An Episode from the Ancient Irish Epic Romance, "The Tain Bo Cuailgne; or, the Cattle Prey of Cuailgne."
Come! Liberty, come! we are ripe for thy coming--
[Suggested by seeing for the first time fire-flies in the myrtle hedges at Spezzia.]
Oh! many bright eyes full of goodness and gladness,
Author: Pedro Calderon de la Barca - Now First Translated Fully From The Spanish In The Metre Of The Original By Denis Florence MacCarthy.
"Whither art thou gone, fair Una?
Need I say how much I love thee?--
MAY 28TH, 1879.
On receiving through the Post-Office a Returned Letter from an old residence, marked on the envelope, "Not Known."
AUGUST 6TH, 1875.
Oh! had I the wings of a bird,
Sad eyes! why are ye steadfastly gazing
Ah! summer time, sweet summer scene,
With that pleasant smile thou wearest,
Bless the dear old verdant land,
There are voices, spirit voices,
On receiving an early crocus and some violets in a letter from Ireland.
Summer is a glorious season
The summer is come!--the summer is come!
The blue-eyed maidens of the sea
A lady came to a snow-white bier,
Beautiful clime, where I've dwelt so long,
Down unto the ocean,
PART I.--LABOUR AND HOPE.
O Kathleen, my darling, I've dreamt such a dream,
Yes! the Summer is returning,
Oh! bright are the names of the chieftains and sages,
The awful shadow of a great man's death
I have tasted all life's pleasures, I have snatched at all its joys,
Hush! hush! through the azure expanse of the sky
"C'est ainsi qu'elle nature a mis, entre les tropiques, la plupart des fleurs apparentes sur des arbres. J'y en ai vu bien peu dans les prairies, mais beaucoup dans les forets. Dans ces pays, il faut lever les yeux en haut pour y voir des fleur
Con, the son of Hugh Roe O'Donnell, with his small-powerful force,--and the reason Con's force was called the small-powerful force was, because he was always in the habit of mustering a force which did not exceed twelve score of well-equipped and exp
"Oh! come, my mother, come away, across the sea-green water;
Had I a wish--'twere this, that heaven would make
We have mourned and sighed for our buried pride,[1]
There is within this world of ours
The pillar towers of Ireland, how wondrously they stand
Man of Ireland, heir of sorrow,
The days of old, the good old days,
The Rain, the Rain, the beautiful Rain--
The day of wintry wrath is o'er,
Let us seek the modest May,
The different hues that deck the earth
Sweet sister spirits, ye whose starlight tresses
The night brings forth the morn--
A bright beam came to my window frame,
When I have knelt in the temple of Duty,
Oh! the orator's voice is a mighty power,
Hearing how blessed Enda lived apart,
[We are informed that Brendan, hearing of the previous voyage of his cousin, Barinthus, in the western ocean, and obtaining an account from him of the happy isles he had landed on in the far west, determined, under the strong desire of winning heathe
[The peasants who live near the mouth of the Shannon point to a part of the river within the headlands over which the tides rush with extraordinary rapidity and violence. They say it is the site of a lost city, long buried beneath the waves.--See
"Post resurrectionis diem dominicae navigabitis ad altam insulam ad occidentalem plagam, quae vocatur PARADISUS AVIUM."--"Life of St. Brendan," in Capgrave, fol. 45.
[The earlier stanzas of this description of Paradise are principally founded upon the Anglo-Saxon version of the poem "De Phenice," ascribed to Lactantius, and which is at least as old as the earlier part of the eleventh century.]
[When St. Brendan was an infant, says Colgan, he was placed under the care of St. Ita, and remained with her five years, after which period he was led away by Bishop Ercus in order to receive from him the more solid instruction necessary for his adva
At length the long-expected morning came,
At my window, late and early,
It is the last of all the days,
[The remains of the Rev. Francis Mahony were laid in the family burial-place in St. Anne Shandon Churchyard, the "Bells," which he has rendered famous, tolling the knell of the poet, who sang of their sweet chimes.]
Ethna, to cull sweet flowers divinely fair,
First loved, last loved, best loved of all I've loved!
(Dedication of Calderon's "Chrysanthus and Daria.")
I'll heed no more the poet's lay--
(On being presented by him with a copy, painted by himself, of a rare Portrait of Calderon.)
My native Bay, for many a year
In deep dejection, but with affection,
Ah! my heart is weary waiting,
Welcome, May! welcome, May!
To give the blossom and the fruit

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