Thomas Osborne Davis Poems

I.

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

THE mess-tent is full, and the glasses are set,
And the gallant Count Thomond is president yet;
The vet’ran arose, like an uplifted lance,
...

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.

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

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