Samuel Lover

Samuel Lover Poems

A BABY was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping;
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
And the tempest was swelling

I'll seek a four-leaved shamrock in all the fairy dells,
And if I find the charmed leaves, oh, how I'll weave my spells!

Faintly glitters the last red ray,
Tinting the flickering leaves that play
On the swaying boughs of the old gray trees,

A mother came when stars were paling,
Wailing round a lonely spring,
Thus she cried, while tears were falling
Calling on the Fairy King:

Oh! did you ne'er hear of 'the Blarney,'
That's found near the banks of Killarney?
Believe it from me,
No girl's heart is free,

Tempt me not, stranger, with gold from the mine,
I have got treasure more precious than thine;
Freedom in forest, and health in the chase,

Now let me alone, though I know you won't,
Impudent Barney O'Hea !
It makes me outrageous
When you're so contagious,

Widow Machree, it's no wonder you frown,
Och hone ! Widow Machree,
Faith, it ruins your looks, that same dirty black gown,

Julia was lovely and winning-
And Julia had lovers in plenty,
They outnumber'd her years

Come with me, love, I'm seeking
A spell in young year's flowers;
The magical May-dew is weeping
Its charm o'er the summer bow'rs;

Part I

A dew-drop, once,
In a summer's night,

Oh, Moina, I've a tale to tell
Will glad thy soul, my girl;
The King hath giv'n a chain of gold
To our noble-hearted Earl.

They say there's a secret charm which lies
In some wild flow'rets bell,
That grows in a vale where the west wind sighs,

Father Roach was a good Irish priest,
Who stood in his stocking-feet, six feet, at least.
I don't mean to say he'd six feet in his stockings;

Dark is the evening and silent the hour;
Who is the minstrel by yonder lone tow'r
His harp all so tenderly touching with skill?

A Fable From Æsop - Versified and De-Versified:

Cupid, one day, was surprised in a shower of rain,
(He's a delicate fellow);

At Glendalough lived a young saint,
In odor of sanctity dwelling,
An old-fashion'd odor, which now
We seldom or never are smelling;

Oh! watch you well by daylight,
By daylight may you fear,
But take no watch in darkness-
The angels then are near;

'True love can ne'er forget;
Fondly as when we met,
Dearest, I love thee yet,

The night was cold and dreary-no star was in the sky,
When, travel-tired and weary, the harper raised his cry.

Samuel Lover Biography

Samuel Lover (February 24, 1797 Dublin – July 6, 1868) was an Irish songwriter, novelist, as well as a painter of portraits, chiefly miniatures. He was the grandfather of Victor Herbert. Samuel was born at number 60 Grafton Street and went to school at Samuel Whyte's at 79 Grafton Street, now home to Bewley's cafe. By 1830 he was secretary of the Royal Hibernian Academy and lived at number 9 D'Olier Street. Samuel eventually moved to London and made his main residence there. Lover produced a number of Irish songs, of which several — including The Angel's Whisper, Molly Bawn, and The Four-leaved Shamrock — attained great popularity. He also wrote some novels, of which Rory O'More (in its first form a ballad), and Handy Andy are the best known, and short Irish sketches, which, with his songs, he combined into a popular entertainment called Irish Nights. He joined with Dickens in founding Bentley's Magazine. "When once the itch of literature comes over a man, nothing can cure it but the scratching of a pen." - Samuel Lover Lover's grandson was Victor Herbert who is best known for his many successful operettas that premiered on Broadway. A memorial in St Patrick's Cathedral, Dublin summarises his achievements Poet, painter, novelist and composer, who, in the exercise of a genius as distinguished in its versatility as in its power, by his pen and pencil illustrated so happily the characteristics of the peasantry of his country that his name will ever be honourably identified with Ireland. This article incorporates public domain text from : Cousin, John William (1910). A Short Biographical Dictionary of English Literature. London, J. M. Dent & Sons; New York, E. P. Dutton.)

The Best Poem Of Samuel Lover

The Angel's Whisper

[In Ireland they have a pretty fancy that when a child smiles in its sleep it is "talking with angels."]

A BABY was sleeping;
Its mother was weeping;
For her husband was far on the wild raging sea;
And the tempest was swelling
Round the fisherman's dwelling;
And she cried, "Dermot, darling! O come back to me!"

Her beads while she numbered
The baby still slumbered,
And smiled in her face as she bended her knee:
"O, blessed be that warning,
My child, thy sleep adorning,—
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee.

"And while they are keeping
Bright watch o'er thy sleeping,
O, pray to them softly, my baby, with me,—
And say thou wouldst rather
They 'd watch o'er thy father!
For I know that the angels are whispering with thee."

The dawn of the morning
Saw Dermot returning,
And the wife wept with joy her babe's father to see;
And closely caressing
Her child with a blessing,
Said, "I knew that the angels were whispering with thee."

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