The Poetry Corner

My Own Green Land

By Nora Pembroke (Margaret Moran Dixon McDougall)

It was in the early morning Of life, and of hope to me, I sat on a grassy hillside Of the Isle beyond the sea, Erin's skies of changeful beauty Were bending over me. The landscape, emerald tinted, Lying smiling in the sun, The grass with daisies sprinkled, And with shamrocks over run, The Maine water flashed and dimpled, Still flowing softly on. The lark in the blue above me, A tiny speck in the sky, Rained down from its bosom's fulness A shower of melody, Dropping through the golden sunlight, And sweetly rippling by Afar in the sunny distance, O'er the river's further brim, Like a stern old Norman warder, Stood the castle tall and grim, And, nearer a grassy ruin, Where an old name grew dim I knew that the balmy gladness Was brooding from sea to sea, But I felt a note of sadness That sobered my youthful glee, The love of my mother Erin Stirred all my heart in me Oh Erin! my mother Erin, Thou land of the tearful smile, Hearts that feel, and hands of helping Are thy children's blessed Isle' The stranger is so no longer That rests on thy breasts awhile Be he Saxon, Dane or Norman, That steps on thy kindly shore, Who sets his foot on thy daisies Is kinder for evermore, For thy cead mille failtha Thrills warm to his bosom's care. But Erin, never contented Struggles again and again, As all proud and free born captives Must strive with the conqueror's chain. That, if ever snapped asunder, Is riveted firm again The words of an Hebrew exile, Like to some sweet song's refrain, That sweetly goeth and cometh And echoes through heart and brain, "Be sure that the day is coming "When Erin shall rise again "She only of all the nations, "Since in dust our temple lies, "Has not our blood on our garments "Has brought no tears to our eyes, "He says, they prosper who love us "Thy Erin at last shall rise." I waited, watched for the blessing Promised, oh so long ago, I looked for the brilliant future The end of the long drawn woe, My hopes, with my years, Time the reaper, Hath laughingly laid them low. Oh Erin! my mother Erin! Will "to be" repeat what has been? Will your sons ever "shoulder to shoulder" Be strong and united seen? Will ever the foreign lilies Blend with the nation's green? For in other lands the peoples, Quite forgetting ancient wrong, Have blended and fused, becoming Because of their union strong, Leaving all old feuds and battles, As themes for romance and song From party's Promethean vulture, When wilt thou get release? When will the strife of races, The strife of religions cease? And the hearts of thy loving children Mingle and be at peace?