Shall mine eyes behold thy glory, O my country,
Shall mine eyes behold thy glory?
Or shall the darkness close around them ere the sun blaze
Break at last upon thy story?
When the nations ope for thee their queenly circle,
As a sweet new sister hail thee,
Shall these lips be sealed in callous death and silence
That have known but to bewail thee?
Shall the ear be deaf that only loved thy praises
When all men their tribute bring thee?
Shall the mouth be clay that sang thee in thy squalor
When all poet's mouths shall sing thee?
Ah, the harpings and the salvos and the shoutings
Of thy exiled sons returning!
I should hear though dead and moldered, and the grave-damps
Should not chill my bosom's burning.
Ah, the tramp of feet victorious! I should hear them
'Mid the shamrocks and the mosses,
And my heart should toll within the shroud and quarter
As a captive dreamer tosses.
I should turn and rend the cere-clothes round me,
Giant sinews I should borrow,
Crying, "Oh, my brothers, I have also loved her,
In her loneliness and sorrow.
"Let me join with you the jubilant procession,
Let me chant with you her story;
Then contented I shall go back to the shamrocks
Now mine eyes have seen her glory."
X