Thomas Osborne Davis Poems

I.

She is a rich and rare land;
Oh! she's a fresh and fair land;
...

I.

Thrice, at the huts of Fontenoy, the English column failed,
And twice the lines of Saint Antoine the Dutch in vain
...

I

The Geraldines! The Geraldines! - 'tis full a thousand years
Since, 'mid the Tuscan vineyards, bright flashed their
...

AIR--_An Cota Caol._
I.
His kiss is sweet, his word is kind,
His love is rich to me
...

I.

We hate the Saxon and the Dane,
We hate the Norman men--
...

I.

A Nation's voice, a nation's voice--
It is a solemn thing!
...

I.

How soft is the moon on Glengariff,
The rocks seem to melt with the light:
...

I.

In Bodenstown Churchyard there is a green grave,
And wildly along it the winter winds rave;
...

AIR--_The Brink of the White Rocks._
I.
When all beside a vigil keep,
The West's asleep, the West's asleep--
...

I.

Let Britain boast her British hosts,
About them all right little care we;
...