Denis Florence MacCarthy
After Reading J. T. Gilbert’s - Poem by Denis Florence MacCarthy
Long have I loved the beauty of thy streets,
Fair Dublin: long, with unavailing vows,
Sigh'd to all guardian deities who rouse
The spirits of dead nations to new heats
Of life and triumph:-vain the fond conceits,
Nestling like eaves-warmed doves 'neath patriot brows!
Vain as the 'Hope,' that from thy Custom-House
Looks o'er the vacant bay in vain for fleets.
Genius alone brings back the days of yore:
Look! look, what life is in these quaint old shops-
The loneliest lanes are rattling with the roar
of coach and chair; fans, feathers, flambeaus, fops,
Flutter and flicker through yon open door,
Where Handel's hand moves the great organ stops.
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